A Right Turn and Then Some

Summary: A weekend of new experiences included a friendly game of cricket and an exploration of the city on bicycle.

For those of you who have always told me that I will never become a professional cricket player, I am here to prove you right. This past weekend, I played a semi-organized game of cricket for the first time, with a bunch of other equally clueless Americans and a handful of local kids. The chosen field was in a relatively quiet neighborhood, and the boundary wall was high enough to prevent an otherwise inevitable growing crowd of curious observers.

This was, in short, the perfect introduction to cricket. Both my throwing and hitting form was a bit off, but it was nonetheless loads of fun.

My “new adventure” bug wasn’t so easily quenched. Given that cricket occurred at 10 am and took place in a semi-familiar area of town, I took the opportunity to go on a bicycle joy ride around town (never before had I left my neighborhood area of Gomti Nagar). I followed unfamiliar major roads just to end up in another (different) familiar area, from which I followed my directional instinct that was to lead me back home.

As I biked toward what I thought was Gomti Nagar, I suddenly saw a sign for Clark’s hotel. To my knowledge, there was only one Clark’s hotel, and that one existed on the far side of Hazratganj, the original familiar territory. Sure enough, this was the same one; as I biked through Hazratganj again, I racked my head trying to figure out how I managed to bike away from home.

A quick consultation with Google Maps upon reaching home clarified the situation; a right turn that took me in the wrong direction, and a left turn that took me back in a right one.

I maintain that had Lucknow been developed on a grid system, the turns I made would have taken me home. My fatal mistake was forgetting that I was in India, where urban planning doesn’t exist and things are never as you expect.

Maternity Leave and Don’t Come Back

Summary: Maternity and child-care leave benefits are examples of the way the UP government squanders money and encourages teacher apathy.

The outrageousness continues. Not only are government school teachers paid a ridiculous sum (Rs. 22,000 per month, vs. the Rs. 1500 per month some other teachers get) for not doing much, but they’re also given outrageous fringe benefits.

In a recent visit to one of our village schools, Randy asked about the prolonged absence of one of the teachers, which resulted in the following discovery: In addition to six months of maternity leave, a teacher is given two years’ paid leave for child-raising. This teacher has had two children, and hence gets five years off, with pay; this figure amounts to Rs. 1.3 million (about US $30,000).

I sure hope there’s a maximum number of years a teacher can take off on this program, because this program is a triple-whammy; it is (1) encouraging folks to have more children, (2) incentivizing teachers to stay away from their jobs, and (3) understaffing schools because of the exorbitant amount being paid out to teachers on leave.

Might I be bold enough to suggest to the government that there might be a better use of those resources? With Rs. 13 lakhs (Rs. 1.3 M), DSH can reach over twenty schools and 2000 students.

Diwali: Christmas, Meet Fourth of July

Summary: In Northern India, Diwali carries with it the significance of Christmas and the fireworks of the Fourth of July. Deciding to experience Diwali in the most authentic way possible, I spent the evening with my landlords, which consisted of a mix of pooja, fireworks, food, and house visits.

Diwali and Holi are the two biggest festivals across India, particularly in the North. Both are celebrated with lots of color and fanfare; Holi by day, and Diwali by night (+ 7 months). Holi is the Festival of Color, and Diwali is the Festival of Lights.

For me, Diwali is best characterized as a fusion of Christmas and Fourth of July. With the religious significance of Christmas (Lord Raama returns to his kingdom, having triumphed over the evil Ravana), Diwali is celebrated with lights, family and friends, food, and gifts. And, like the Fourth of July, fireworks are at the heart of celebratory activities. Bottle rockets, fountains, firecrackers, you name it. And they’re burned not only the day of Diwali, but in the week leading up to it and for some time after, explosions ringing sporadically from evening onward. You can literally hear Diwali coming.

On the night of Diwali, the entire neighborhood comes alive with personal fireworks. The fireworks actually also ignite a number of interesting conversations about noise and pollution levels and fears of terrorism. (Am I buying fireworks or other explosives?) My landlords invited me to celebrate with them, and we spent the evening doing pooja, enjoying the artificially lit up sky and making house visits. Good times were had by all.

My landlords were bold enough to leave me alone with the apartment for the next two days, while they and the other tenant family visited their relatives. Granted, they were only put at ease after they personally saw that I knew how to lock and unlock the gate, and how to use a padlock. (They had some serious doubts before they saw with their own eyes that I knew how to turn a key; they also wanted me to skip work on Monday so I could housesit for them.)

So, what does a single girl in Lucknow do when given such a long leash? Nothing, because let’s face it, we’re still in Lucknow. Lucky for them, my landlords came back and their house hadn’t been burnt down (which would, admittedly, have created quite a quandary since it’s made of brick and concrete).

Another Side of Agra and Delhi

Summary: Xi and I played tourist for the weekend in Agra and Delhi; though I had been to both cities previously, we explored places I had never seen before, all of which were absolutely delightful and pleasantly surprising.

This past weekend, my friend Xi and I played tourist in Agra and Delhi. As I had been to both places before, Xi was gracious enough to adjust her program to places I hadn’t yet seen. Some highlights from the trip:

Agra Cantonment Police Station: Our first destination was the Taj Mahal, and we caught an autorickshaw from the Agra Cantonment Train Station. A policeman hops into the front even before we pull out of the parking lot; I initially assume he’s just catching a free ride, but a heated argument between him and the driver hints otherwise. The bits of conversation I catch (“I picked her up from the Agra Fort station,” and “She speaks some Hindi”) aren’t enough to help me understand the nature of the dispute. We slowly turn out of the train station into a small road, and into a police station courtyard. The driver stops the autorickshaw, gets out, and continues arguing with what has now become three policemen. Only after one of the policemen confirms the autowallah’s story with us do they let us go, with smiles on their faces. Turns out they thought the driver was ripping us off, and were asking for baksheesh (a bribe) of 200 Rs., not knowing we were only paying 50 Rs. for the ride. Yet another example of justice gone wrong.

Fatehpur Sikri: A former capital during Mughal emperor Akbar’s reign in the late 16th century, before the capital was moved to Lahore. A mere 26 miles from the mayhem of Agra, Fatehpur Sikir is quite a gem. It’s not only a nice escape from the crowds and touts in Agra, but the walled palace complex itself is rather well-maintained and quite astonishing. The palace itself was in better condition than Delhi’s Red Fort, and the nearby masjid was larger and more breathtaking than the more popular Jama Masjid (also in Delhi).


The Apartment (at the Singapore High Commission): See previous post.

Imperial Hotel, Delhi: We stopped here in the morning to pick up one of Xi’s new acquaintance-friends. Easily the nicest hotel I have ever seen, the Imperial feels like an estate; I almost expected a stable in the back. The interior was beautiful, stunning, spacious, classy, and elegant. Think Titanic meets Pride and Prejudice.

Jama Masjid Minaret, Delhi: Never in my previous visits have I climbed the minaret at Jama Masjid; this time, we were lucky enough to have a male accompany us (females are not allowed up without a male). The spiral staircase to the top was extremely narrow; each time we encountered someone heading down, bags had to be dropped and both parties had to flatten against the wall. The top wasn’t any more spacious (of the 5’-radius circle, only 60% was ground one can stand on), but it provided a nice view of the expansive metropolitan city that is Delhi.

Akshardham, Delhi: An exquisite new Hindu temple complex completed in 2005, carved from red sandstone. As we walked through the complex, stripped of all our non-monetary belongings, we mused about the Disneyland / theme park ambience and debated whether or not the fact that the temple is only five years old detracts from the significance of the intricately carved figures.

All in all, it was a great weekend with good company, interesting conversation, and new experiences.

It also made me realize just how little of Lucknow I’ve actually explored.

The Country Bumpkin Meets the High Life

Summary: Sometimes, you don’t realize what you’ve got until it’s gone. Other times, you don’t realize what you’ve missed until you get it back.

The past eight months in the heart of the cow belt has turned me into a country bumpkin; this past weekend, I finally saw myself for what I’ve become.

Xi, a friend from Monitor, was recently sent to Mumbai for a project, and we arranged for a fun-filled weekend in Agra and Delhi. She has a friend working for the Singapore High Commission in Delhi, who was nice enough to let us both stay with him. Preliminary email exchanges foreshadowed what was to come – there was talk about his two spare bedrooms, playing pool and foosball in his apartment, and cars and drivers. Reading those emails in our humble office, I found myself feeling a little uncomfortable, and it wasn’t (entirely) because I was sitting on a plastic patio chair.

Delhi itself felt deceptively new for the country bumpkin. The train station, NZM, had a 24-hour Vegas-like café with music next door. There were still many lights and cars (and people!) out and about at 10:30 pm. It was like being in a dream; everything I used to know but no longer remembered.

Then there was the Apartment. When I first stepped into said Apartment at 11:32 pm on Saturday, October 10, 2009, I felt like I entered a parallel universe. Seventeen seconds later, I took my first breath in this foreign place, and commenced the exploration process. There were many things that “first” caught my eye – the spaciousness, the cleanliness, the pool table, the big-screen LCD television, the cleanliness, the couch, the brightness, the white walls, the shiny floor, and, did I mention the cleanliness? (He is from Singapore, after all.) Now, unless you’ve actually experienced life here in Lucknow, it’s hard for me to explain exactly why I was so struck by each and every one of those items listed.

After almost an hour of jaw-dropping awe, I made it into the bathroom to take a much-needed shower. As some background information, I’m lucky enough to have a shower at home, though poor water pressure sometimes forces me to surrender to the buckets. In order to maximize enjoyment from the shower, however, I have to time it very precisely, given that I rely on the sun to heat my water.

So I step into his shower underneath the raindrop shower head, and I turn the hot water on. The water starts falling on me, and washes away any remaining sanity left on me. I laugh. Not just any laugh, but the guttural laugh of a madwoman who has lost her last screw. And I can’t stop laughing. The more the water falls, the harder I laugh.

I finally pause long enough to see the shower settings (because yes, there were settings), and, like any good explorer, I test them all. There’s the stylish removable showerhead spray, the lateral jacuzzi-massage jet spray, and the regular spigot. I tried them all, in every possible combination.

As I stepped out of the steam-filled bathroom onto the tile floor, I finally remembered what it feels like to be clean. To feel like I am at home.

Which Edge of the Sword?: Rookie Start-Up Mistakes

Summary: One of the reasons I joined Digital StudyHall was to learn about social entrepreneurship. In the past seven months, I’ve seen DSH struggle with some important strategic and financial decisions, challenges that are common to start-ups.

Sandwiched between the Silicon Valley and the venture capitalists on Sand Hill Road, Stanford is plagued by the entrepreneurship bug and I, being an MS&E (i.e., business) student, was smack in the middle of it.

Now, I am a type-“A,” semi-OCD person who secretly derives pleasure from systematically named computer files and generally prefers events that are pre-planned, though you’ll never find “Spontaneous Activity” penciled into my calendar. However, I dislike cubicles and sterile environments even more than I like structure and organization; hence my decision to ride the entrepreneurship wave and give the “start-up experience” a try.

Based on my sample size of one, my first conclusion is that no two start-ups are the same. (I say this with no sense of irony, despite the fact that differentiation is the basic premise of any entrepreneurial venture.) There is a saying in philanthropy which I believe extends equally to entrepreneurships: “When you know one foundation, you know one foundation.” So much for seeing whether the start-up life is for me.

At the same time, however, I think there are some challenges and mistakes common to many start-ups. My time at Digital StudyHall has shown me the importance of both learning from your own mistakes and those of others.

Working at Digital StudyHall, therefore, has taught me a lot about struggles of start-up operations, whether they be traps people fall into or desperately try to avoid. Some of the most salient include:

1. Overspending on things of little value-add: What counts as “worthwhile” expenditures, of course, differs not only from person to person, but also over time. DSH decided that at this stage, office furniture is not an important expenditure (explaining the patio chairs); others may argue that a professional office environment can have a major effect on morale and productivity. Every organization will also have its own “spending” threshold; also, the more money an organization has, the higher its threshold is likely to be. It’s important to note that the disagreements and resulting discussions themselves are critical, for they heighten awareness and force deliberate decisions about the use of resources.


2. Being overly frugal: It’s easy to understand how a well-intentioned but resource-strapped organization can err on the side of over-frugality, to the point where it under-invests in people. It’s hard to argue with a diminishing banking account, but I believe that such underinvestment leads to mediocre performance at best and organizational death at worst. I haven’t yet been able to decide on which side of the scale DSH sits; my hunch says we err on the side of frugality, though I’m not sure if that’s because I migrated from the consulting culture (and its Herman Millers).


3. Develop a 5-year plan and follow it religiously: I admit, I like plans and goals. But I also recognize the impracticalities of 5-year plans (not to be confused with the vision) in the start-up environment. Things change. Ideas fail. Challenges arise. There aren’t enough contingency plans to cover all possible scenarios. If for nothing else, DSH embraces the idea of experimentation as a way to adapt and learn. In spite of our implicit prioritization criteria (e.g., is the idea scalable?), I think DSH places too high a premium on trying new ideas. The risks associated with over-experimentation are, (a) spreading already limited resources even thinner, thereby possibly compromising the quality of all programs, (b) developing a culture that lacks direction and supports the “flavor of the month,” and (c) creating a feeling of stagnation in the organization.


4. Resist all bureaucracy and organizational structure: Psychologically, humans have an inherent need to categorize and structure the world; without a sense of structure, we flounder. Start-ups tend to lack processes and structure for one of two reasons, often both: (a) they take pride in their independent, revolutionary spirit, which contrasts sharply with the corporate monsters they’re taking on (think: TPS reports), or (b) they think that building their offering is a better use of their time than putting processes in place. With respect to the latter, the truth probably lies somewhere in the middle; without sound structure and processes, the organization is ironically slowing itself down.


5. Scale too quickly: Something DSH adamantly wants to avoid is scaling before we’re “ready,” as many entrepreneurial organizations have died doing. On the other hand, there’s a sense of fear and paralysis regarding the challenges of scaling that can only be addressed when we cross that bridge; you often don’t know you’re ready until you do it. I’m not sure DSH is ready to scale, but status quo is certainly dissatisfying. I’ve only been here seven months and I’m getting restless! (Is this the impatience of youth?)

Even as I write this, I realize there are two sides to each “mistake” or challenge; nothing is ever as clear as it seems. As my former manager used to ask, “Clear as mud?”

Which brings me to my second major conclusion about start-ups and, in this case, life in general: the choices lining most decisions* are double-edged swords. The catch(-22) is that one side is sharper than the other; the sharp side will cause a quick death, and the dull side will cause a slower, prolonged death (with, of course, a potential future possibility to “stop the bleeding”).

Moderation is key. Perhaps the “best” decision involves the unspoken third edge of the sword – the flat edge.

* Every item in the list above boils down to a decision the leaders of the entrepreneurship must make.

On the Road: Nainital

Summary: A short, relatively uneventful weekend trip to Nainital, a nearby hill station, gave me a taste of a “local’s vacation.”

Many festivals and holidays occur in the months of September and October, and I decided to take advantage of one of the rare two-day weekends at the office.

After much wavering, a last-minute decision was made to visit Nainital, a small, colonial “hill station” built around a lake. A recommended escape into an admittedly over-commercialized version of nature, Nainital is a family vacation hotpot amongst locals.

Given that the images of Nepal burned into my mind are still so fresh they’re hot to the touch, I didn’t have very high expectations of this place; this proved wise, as Nainital neither impressed nor disappointed. Nainital felt like a fusion of Lake Tahoe and Pokhara, but unfortunately less beautiful and stunning than both.

One of the first things my friend and I did was trek up to the Eco Cave Park, which is a group of six natural caves open for exploration, with only a few directional signs and even fewer safety precautions. Tempted as I may be, I can’t in good conscience call this experience “spelunking.” On the other hand, as I squirmed through small openings and climbed over muddy, slippery boulders, I couldn’t help but to think that a place like this would be a law suit waiting to happen in the U.S. But such was not the case in India; instead, couples and families freely explored the dimly lit and mildly dangerous caves, accepting the risk as part of the 15 Rs. entry fee.

While I can’t say much about the naturalistic scene of Nainital, I will talk about the culinary experience, as the rest of our day, aside from the hour on the lake in a peddle boat, was spent hopping between food joints. Now, I’m going to go out on a limb and claim that Nainital has the best momos my recalibrated palate has ever tasted. (If you ever find yourself in Nainital, find Sonum’s Fast Food in the Tibetan Market.) This small town managed to harbor quite a few gems, including (real) feta cheese, fro-yo (i.e., frozen yogurt, or soft serve), and…persimmons! Granted, the fro-yo was disappointing at best, but the persimmons were heavenly.

Our second (and last) day was spent with a group of three foreigners, after a chance encounter left us all walking up together to Snow View, which is, on a clear day, supposed to have great mountain views. We were not so lucky, and ended up being the view ourselves. Back in town, however, we managed to catch a bit of the Dussehra festivities.

All in all, Nainital wouldn’t rank particularly high on my list of recommended places to visit in India (perhaps on par with Lucknow), but I can see why it would be overrun by families on vacation. When I have a family, maybe we’ll go to Lake Tahoe and I’ll tell them about how it reminds me of a small town I once visited in India called Nainital.

The Hidden Utopia Between India and China

Summary: My recent trip trekking to the Annapurna Base Camp in Nepal was not without surprises or setbacks, but it was the perfect vacation at the perfect time. Pictures are available here.

The word Nepal conjures up fond memories of breathtaking mountains, stunning scenery, beautiful and friendly locals, numerous and fun tourists, and good food.




Things that mercifully escape the forefront of my memory include:

1. Unrelenting cloudy skies peppered with rain, wind, and cold.
2. Leeches, leeches, and more leeches.
3. Steep stone steps. Lots of them.
4. An unnecessarily heavy pack (~10 kg), especially when compared with that of my guide.
5. Having diarrhea the first 6-7 days of the 12-day trek, resulting in too many meals of daal soup and rice.
6. The day we walked 5.5 hours just to end up 2.5 hours from where we started, due to relentless rain, which created swollen and dangerous river-waterfalls. The next morning, we put on our cold, wet clothes and trekked 7.5 hours in suboptimal (cold, windy, and wet) weather to make up for lost time.
7. A 7-hour bus ride from Pokhara to Kathmandu which ended up taking 14 hours due to a landslide.
8. A “postponed” (i.e. cancelled) flight back home discovered at the last minute, and the resulting panic. Don’t worry, I ultimately got an extra day in Kathmandu (hotel and relevant food eaten at the hotel paid for).
9. Potholes on the runway, causing flight delays and slight, amusing fear of missing my overnight train back home from Delhi to Lucknow.

In spite of all this, my three-week trip to Nepal turned out to be the perfect vacation, a well-timed and much-needed break from Lucknow. (See pictures from the trip here.)

To give you a sense of how much I’d lost it by the time I left, I found myself standing in the perfume section in Delhi airport’s duty-free shop, bursting out in uncontrollable laughter. (How long it had been since I smelled such “fresh,” wonderful smells!) This almost maniacal laugher resurfaced when I looked out the window of the plane and saw the lush, seemingly endless green hills of Kathmandu Valley.

Though this purely joyful first impression largely remains with me, it has since been deepened by a greater understanding of the cultural complexities of Nepal. True to its geographical position, Nepal feels like something that’s four parts Indian and one part Chinese: underdeveloped, divided, hierarchical, and poor, but rich in history, culture, joy, and love.

In my 12-day trek to and from the Annapurna Base Camp, I was consistently struck by the stunning natural beauty juxtaposed with tremendous poverty. On the trails, I was frequently passed by locals carrying unbelievable loads, sometimes barefoot. One afternoon, while relaxing at the lodge, I witnessed three men make three separate trips up and down the mountain in the course of an hour, each time carrying what must’ve been 50+ pounds of wet sand on their foreheads.


Such sights conjured up a mix of often incongruous feelings, including embarrassment, gratefulness, awe, sadness, helplessness, admiration, destiny, injustice, privilege, guilt, weakness, and strength.

However, one feeling that never surfaced was pity. In the place of pity stood admiration and respect: admiration of their persistence in the face of seemingly insurmountable life obstacles and their ability to find joy amidst everyday hardships, and respect for their pride and strength.

These people might not be able to teach me about the Pythagorean Theorem or the String Theory, but I’m sure they can teach me a thing or two about what’s important in life.

The Doctor is: IN

Summary: “Fiddle dee dee, that will require a tetanus shot.” (Homer J. Simpson)

In terms of efficiency, India seems to be binary: speed of light or slower than a slug.

Upon reaching a locked gate one evening, Anna decides to ceremoniously climb over as one of her last hoorahs, and Elizabeth and I follow. It’s an easy climb, with footholds and handholds in all the right places. Swinging my foot over the top, my foot grazed the sharp tip and I felt a slight, but sharp, pain. Ignoring it, I hopped down.

Glancing over at the wall, we see a spot of red. “Looks like blood,” I comment. “Nah, it’s probably just paint,” one of the girls reply. Lo’ and behold, turns out it was blood. My blood.

I’m sure the wound will heal and forget about it, but the word “tetanus” kept coming up in conversation. I can’t recall when I had my last tetanus shot, but I’m pretty sure it wasn’t that long ago. After all, I had had a series of vaccinations before my previous India trip two years ago. One friend convinces me that if I can’t remember, it ‘s been too long. Sure enough, records say it was just over a decade ago.

In my mind, I weigh the pros and cons of getting a tetanus shot (a) before I leave for Nepal in a few days, (b) when I get back from Nepal, and (c) when I get back to the States. For everyone’s peace of mind, I go with option (a).

Apparently tetanus is very common here, as are tetanus shots. I walk into the office of one of many doctors in the neighborhood, and instantly feel claustrophobic. (The entire office, partitioned into a waiting area, the doctor’s desk, and the assistant’s station, is smaller than my room in SF.) Our conversation, as I experienced it, was as follows:

"Hello. I want to get a tetanus shot."
[Confused.]
"Te-ta-nus shot chahie." ["Te-ta-nus shot I want."]
"Kaun se?" ["Which?"]
"Vaccine. Shot." [Imitate a drug addict shooting up.]
"Sit." [Still confused.]
"Tetanus. Rusted nails. Shot."
"Tetanus shot!" [Spoken by the assistant in the “back.”]
"Ji!" ["Yes!"]
[Assistant opens package containing syringe, takes out a vial, prepares shot. Doctor wipes syringe with a piece of a cotton ball pre-soaked in alcohol, wipes an area on my arm, and shoots some liquid from the syringe.]
[Getting nervous.] "Tetanus, right? T-e-t-a-n-u-s."
"Tetanus." [Head bobble.]
"Can I read the package? The box?" [Hand gestures to indicate reading.]
"Haa...." [Hands over vial. Vial reads: “Tetanus toxoid....”]
[Still uncomfortable.] "Tikh hai."
[Gives shot. Leans back, pauses, looks at me.] "Okay?"
"Okay."
"50 rupees."
"Tikh hai. Thank you." [Pay. Point at blood still oozing out. Ask for something to stop the bleeding, receive another cotton piece. Exit.]

I was in and out within five minutes (half of which was waiting time).

As I walked back across the street, the ridiculousness of my experience struck me and I burst into uncontrollable laugher. In my mind, I was imagining a parallel universe in the U.S., where a Band-Aid and even a lollipop wouldn’t have been out of the ordinary.