Let's face It... Twitter IS elitist English in India. Tharoor's Achille's Heel...

As per stats available, India has the third largest number of twitterers in the world. At 7 % of all twitter users, which is stated to be 7 million in February 2009, this works out to 0.49 million.

In a nation that has a total of 80 million internet users. And a media savvy population of at least 400 million. With a popn of over one billion.

Although intended as 'a service for friends, family and co-workers', it has become a social networking place. Cool so far. Thing is, in a nation where a mere 40 million are supposed to be speaking English fluently, twitter by its very nature - i.e. the need to communicate skillfully in 140 characters - is elitist... it is the more comfy in Angrezi variety of folks who tweet regularly.
Must be the top skimmed 0.49 million of the 40 million Angrezi bolne wale, I am guessing.

The ones who know when to use 'myself' (Those saying 'Myself Ravi' or 'Myself Sunita' ko cold shoulder dene wale), or when to use 'was' versus 'were'... as per '5 grammer mistakes that make you sound like a chimp'
'If I were rich, I would buy lots n lots of pants' versus 'If I was rich' ke nuances samajhne waale.

What this means is that folks like Shashi Tharoor 'joke' for this skimmed audience, and of course it is but natural, that we tweeple are now taking up cudgels on his behalf.

And THAT makes me uncomfortable.

Just because you are MoS in External Affairs, does not mean that you do not think of the wider ramifications of an audience (by far, higher than 0.49 million angrezi jokes samajhne waale) who can all hear you now quoted in context or out - and misconstrue you.

I can already imagine the way the Shashi Tharoor tweet 'Absolutely. In cattle class in solidarity with all our holy cows' would have been gleefully picked up and translated by now across the vernacular press and media - who we all KNOW - are waiting for juicy cud to chew over.

This is what in Hindi would make one ask of the 'careless whispers' of the hon minister : 'Akkal kya ghaas charane bhej diya?'


Diplomacy is a word that has recently become a must-have for celebrity-hood. Ever since the world has enabled a 24x7 spotlight.

Else, the earliest & widest use of this word was via that word 'Diplomats' - those suave IFS types who we all know - strived to steer clear of all controversy at all times.

And here we have an MoS of the very same biradari... who does not think things through... and expects all to behave like 0.49 million bhaasha experts. It is like filmstars judging everyone out there as a 'fan' via the ones who send in fanmail personally to them.

We may debate it till the cows come home, pur bheedu, duniyadari isi ka naam hai.

He is lucky Congress is merely 'annoyed'...
at this 'mad cow disease' of 'foot in the mouth'.

Saguna Baug - a Getaway from Mumbai We Love...

Imagine a log home... sound of gentle water lapping up behind you, around you and under you. Once in a while a bullock cart, or a few cyclists go past. Those close to you are the kingfishers, lapwings, wood pigeons, partridges, hoopoes.. If you are lucky, you take the Salim Ali book of Indian Birds and get introduced to more members.
A boat all your own, to go paddling when you feel like. Put your feet up to 'chill' in the midst of the pond. Perhaps watch a snake gliding lazily on the banks.
A gaggle of geese to call, befriend and talk to when you feel like company. Fishing rods at your disposal that are like magnets to the fishes... each immediately put back in the water as they indignantly swim away, and we watch in delight.
A string of a river busy as ever, rushing off somewhere, to bathe in. Or to just walk around fields of paddy, vanilla plantations, mango trees...
For those who love lobster sized fresh water prawns, the most amazing catch caught from the pond and cooked for you.

Home cooked food served on your private verandah. To reach out and eat from your jhoolas.
Yummy breakfast of kanda poha - or puri bhaji, or upma with piping hot tea and coffee. Fresh vegetables straight from the farm. Rice, Dal, Chapati. Cooked sans spice for that's how we like it... light, healthy, aromatic. The best hot puran polis I have eaten anywhere as dessert. With cold milk and ghee. Or gulab jamun. Or sheera...
And the Bhadsavle family alert as always looking after their guests personally.


Only three hours from Mumbai. An hour from the new Mumbai-Pune expressway.

No AC, no TV. My daughter's whining refrain of 'Aw, ma... what am I going to do here' on the first day is never heard again. A city born and bred child experiences farming first hand. Is busy all through the lazy day. Plucking cucumber, chillies, green leafy vegetables. Works with the staff at a culvert next to the river, and leaves her initial 'I' for posterity...

And at night, we catapult straight into the Milky Way.
Together, we are awed at the range of Nature. At the sheer reach of the Universe. And far away in the distant Matheran Hills, lights of village homes merge with the stars of the sky... 360 degrees of stars... 360 degrees of water... As we merge into the Infinite.

Water, sky, stars, birds and beasts... Silence, peace, quiet...
Just three hours away.

Shunu Sen, HLL and Road Number 3 HO.... ADIOS...

Soon, Levers will move lock stock and barrel to its new offices in the Mumbai suburbs.

And that will be the end of an era.

Back in 1985, we - 65 of us - began our Masters in Management Studies at Jamnalal Bajaj, situated on 'Road Number 3'. This address is so nameless. Situated in Backbay Reclamation, it sounded (still sounds) like some forgotten postscript of the city of Bombay. Like a garrison. Or a prison to house the goons of the city or something. (It does house the MLA hostel).

But then, we Bajajites had HLL directly opposite us on the other side of the road. We basked in the penumbra of its quiet glow. A steady stream of the most impeccable visiting faculty was assured. And made up for the fact that we were not IIM A, B or C... the three IIMs that existed, and the only other 'ranked' institutes.

We spent two years less than a stone's throw away, and yet rarely got to see the stalwarts that made up the top brass. In a city of 8 to 10 million (those days) it was easier to catch a sight of top film stars rather than the 'big guys' of Levers.

Later, during campus placement, two of our brightest batchies got into the company. And the image of the company shot up in campus. For one of the truths of MBA life is that batchies everywhere form impressions of a company basis its ability to recognize talent we KNOW in house.
And Nitin Paranjpe and Srila Chatterjee were our stars for sure.

Other companies were busy shooting themselves in the foot and committing both Type 1 and Type 2 blunders/ errors. Some real good guys of the batch did not get taken. Some duds of the batch did. So many companies have forever since, been scorned by the rest of us.

I had already opted to accept the job offer made to me by Lintas during summers, and this was to be the beginning of a career where my work has been intertwined with that of... well.... what do I call the company now... HUL? Sounds like some truncated Bhangra rap word. When i first heard it a couple of years ago at an MBA campus, for a moment I imagined an oil company, drilling in the sea, raking in the petrodollars.

It is not HLL any longer, the moniker treated with awe across generations of MBA students at the best institutes, as THE place to work in.
It was our Day-One company, in an era when placement began with the 'first' day and had not yet regressed to the newfangled policy of 'Day Zero' at the institutes.
(Typically Day Zero companies recently have been the I-Banks. Lehmann, Merrill Lynch, Deutsche Bank...Apt name, no?
Day 'ZERO' --- Shoonya. Nothing. Nought... )

Most of us prefer to (continue to ) call it Levers. And that thrill of walking into its conference rooms exists as ripples of feelings of a long while ago rookie entering its portals. Recently, I was at its HO for a workshop and had this out of body experience. For a moment, I was in my early 20s again, and the month was December, 1988.
Shunu Sen and my boss at Lintas, Pranesh Misra had sent me into the boondocks - go find out whatever you can about rural India. A brief made all the more formidable for its sheer laconic nature. Boldly go forth where no corporate (wo)man had gone before - and figure out the future...

And I came back with 'P: RuMark'.
Rural Markets.
A key finding : villagers everywhere purchased goods in 'chhataaks'... to suit their weekly purchase cycle, and the shopkeepers opened up the large sealed packs to sell it loose / piecemeal in these chhataaks.

Chhataak : A word from pre Independence times to mean a smaller quantity. Usually and loosely worked out to invariably cost one rupee. And packed in a piece of grubby newspaper. Detergent, daal, sugar, salt, tea, aur to aur, even soaps were cut up and sold in chhataaks.

Shunu, sitting at the head of the table loved it. He began to envision the future of many Lever brands as pouch packs. In one rupee formats. Chhataak packs.

Sachets was not yet a word in our FMCG dictionary. Back then...

And rarely have I felt so GOOD in my 22 years career, as at his words of praise...

Shunu had a back problem (he was not yet on his wheelchair) and back then he would talk to folks sitting both sides of the long conference table without eye contact with them, looking only straight ahead. As the presenter, I was at the other end of the long table, and over the next few years got used to the unnerving experience of Shunu speaking to other individuals via eye contact with me alone.

What sheer joy to listen to him talk of the future of various brands, to his core lietenants of those days. Sharp, holistic, marketing knowledge of the highest order.. all 'spoken' as if to me :-).

And that was another amazing quality about him. His hands on, always keen on participating in consumer findings, frame of mind. As far back as I can recall, he ALWAYS made it a point to attend quali research presentations. Research results across Lifebuoy, Surf, Pears, Fair & Lovely, Paras Fertilisers, Sunlight detergent, Close Up... it was his way of staying in touch with his core target, his ear to the ground. Perhaps, those were simpler times. Fewer brands.

But hey, there was far more of an aura. And the adrenalin rush of being in the presence of a person who I saw as the Ultimate Brains. One who others have called Guru, and who could ask the most unexpected of questions. Catching the presenter off-guard.

Today I see young capable managers rushing around in Levers. Brands are the same. The semiotics have changed. And like on this day recently, I seek that distant twinkling alive presence. So essential to the essence of HLL.

HLL to HUL. Road Number 3 HO will soon morph into the new HO off distant WE Highway.

Nitin Paranjpe, classmate, today is the youngest CEO this company HUL/ HLL has seen in its 75 year history.

Srila Chatterjee, who quit HLL ages ago, is one of the finest, most respected film producers that the advertising world - and Indian film world too - has seen. Her creative instincts are for all to see in Blue Frog as well, that amazing live music watering hole, recently rated at par with Madison Square Garden, by The Independent, London.

Shunu Sen passed away in 2003.

Forever leaving a vacuum.

And I regret this. That I never did tell Shunu. How much gyan seeped in, into the akkal in his presence, what this has meant to me.

Perhaps that is how it was to be. For sure, he would have had a cutting yet kind retort. Something unexpected. And funny. ('Don't call me a Guru. Gurus don't have sex')
In a world suffering from SOHF - Sense of Humour Failure, Shunu Sen's day to day life was the stuff that today's corporate legends are made of.

So musical a discord, such sweet thunder...

What can be more beautiful than unexpected thunder and lightening? Tonight over Powai... Yet : No Rain whatsoever...


The farthest Thunder that I heard
Was nearer than the Sky
And rumbles still, though torrid Noons
Have lain their missiles by --
The Lightning that preceded it
Struck no one but myself --
But I would not exchange the Bolt
For all the rest of Life --
Indebtedness to Oxygen
The Happy may repay,
But not the obligation
To Electricity --
It founds the Homes and decks the Days
And every clamor bright
Is but the gleam concomitant
Of that waylaying Light --
The Thought is quiet as a Flake --
A Crash without a Sound,
How Life's reverberation
Its Explanation found --

Emily Dickinson