Passive aggressive – the new mantra for old fashioned romance

I can already hear the “et tus” from the background as I write this blog. I admit it. I finally succumbed to the hype, after being surrounded by it for a year through my travels, as every demographically valued teenaged girl in the world was being hypnotized by the world of vampires, werewolves and Bellas. I watched “Twilight” and “New Moon”. Back to back.

It is highly unlikely that I will read the bestseller four part series that have been authored by Stephanie Meyers. Please don’t see this as snobbery; more like impatience to thumb through excessive detail. However, during my travels since this past summer, it was becoming hard to ignore the shrine-like presence of DVDs, CDs, books, magazines, decals, memorabilia etc, in every store across the world. Bella-mania, Edward-mania, Jacob-mania seems to have gripped impressionable young ladies of all nationalities between the ages of 13 to 19. Okay, that’s a bit restrictive. I did see a good number of mums and grannies at the cinema too. 

So here’s my take - 

Girls never had it so good. Let’s start with the personification of the story’s protagonist Bella (played by Kristen Stewart); she’s a good kid with a dark side; she holds out for her boy-friend and is fulfilled by spiritual seduction. She drives a truck, makes do with eye-liner and barely has four changes of clothes throughout each film. Talk about taking out the pressure! And that too, for being unconditionally coveted by two young lads, one with a darker side (Edward played by Robert Pattinson) and the other with a brutish charm (Jacob played by Taylor Lautner). And this girl’s not shy too! She knocks back mean punches, particularly to a cheeky werewolf and jumps off cliffs.

Dads never had it so good too! For all the intensity the films have generated, the content is mildly presented, with romance being the genre, as versus lust and all experiments in that line that dads of teenage daughters dread! Save a few lip brushes, even the mouth-to-mouth resuscitation scene in New Moon was as clinical as can be, and missed in a blink. In addition, the boys seek out Bella’s dad’s permission to date his daughter and Bella does everything to save him from the evils that lurk beyond. 

The story (at least till the two parts I’ve watched) is woven around strongly sketched characters that come together in a simple fairy-tale like quality. As always, conflict is provided by families with differing cultural orientations (in this case, one is a veggie-vampire brood). The romantic liaison aims to be timeless through cliched dialogues and screenplay. And as always, the lovers endure separation, mistrust and adversaries to eventually triumph. Nothing new here except that the breathtaking scenery provided by the state of Washington, USA, which is the backdrop for this film, comes alive with clever camera-work and agile special effects. I believe that most scenes were actually shot across the border in Vancouver. But that’s minor.

What I most appreciated about the film is that it aims to reinstate restrain, family values and well, a case for passive aggression. something that the next generation should be influenced by. After all, growing up too fast cannot always be too much fun.

Watch the films, if you have kids in the said age group, or if you are just curious about the power of suggestion.

My way or the highway…

What do you get when you put four Indians, one Turk, one teenager and one kid in a van for 13 hours? The final installment of National Lampoon’s Vacation series?? Immigration pot-boiler? An ad for a Japanese car manufacturer’s latest offering?

Try members of the Advani family with counterparts and progenies, journeying back from Ohio to New Jersey, passing through West Virginia and Pennsylvania (the state that never seemed to end), after a lavish and overwhelming Thanksgiving weekend family reunion. 

This is how I spent last week. But this post is not about the weekend, or my family, as much as it is about the highway.

As I shuffled from the last seat to the front seat with every pit stop we made (a much pregnant cousin required the bladder breaks and the rest of us took turns to crouch and stretch from the Indian railways-style back seat to the passable east European business class style seat in  the front of the van), it occurred to me that no piece of infrastructure in the world has had as many songs written about it as much as the network of American highways.

Country roads, Road to Hell, Hotel California, Highway Blue, Heartaches and Highways… google it if you don’t take my word for it… the list is endless and growing.

And think about this: the Autobahn in Germany, which is a dream for roadsters with its zero speed limit, has had a negligible mention and that too in local pop-lore as versus international fame and claim.

So what makes this particular maze of concrete and tar get serenaded as much?

As I looked into every passing vehicle, whether a sedan, or a trailer, or a van, or the 16 wheel monster trucks, one got a glimpse of Americana as never before. It is indeed about the journey, more than the destination, or at least they live it that way.

For lining the highways at frequent intervals are rest areas, which are sometimes elaborate enough to house gas stations (petrol pumps to the uninitiated) , a selection of chain branded food providers (golden arches, colonel sanders, the lady of all caffeine delights etc), gaming zones, outlet shopping and of course, reasonably  clean loos (pass marks here, for no one can surpass the fastidious Hong Kongers in this regard). And into these middle class consumerism havens, each car or van or truck that pulls up, is dedicated a generous halt-time meant for rest, respite and bonhomie. Don’t cringe your nose as you read this, but making potty/ poo-poo/ ka-ka/ crap becomes family time! 

As I browsed through the aisles of products devised for road trips (food, games, clothing, cameras, you-name-it), I realized that the American highway is an extension of the American home. It is where families bond, romances bloom, broken hearts heal and well, everyone comes home.

That’s not all. Nature has its moment too. Ironic as it is, while the volume of fuel consumption on these roads destroy a sizable part of our ecosystem, it magnanimously stands witness to its own demise, serving as a changing canvas through which the highway carves its way. Mountains, hills, plains, rivers and even deserts, driving down the highway, man, woman and family are enchanted by visual treats meant for calendars. 

If I sound in awe, and even delighted by the experience, I have to credit more than just the highways. For the 13 hour journey from Ohio to New Jersey brought me closer to my place in nature – my family.

Credits – Rinku & Sandeep Gidwani, Nymrata & Yunus Bickici, little Anysa-Lila and precocious Simran; not to miss the Ohio Jhangianis (Anil, Poonam, Karina and Karissa) who plumped us for three days so that we could make the journey).

Post script – After 13 hours, I required 48 hours to recover from the drive, the aches and pains. Next time, we fly. That is, after all, my way!

Koffee for Kurbaan

Blame it on the fact that I hadn’t slept too well, having only just returned from Egypt a few hours earlier. But I am more inclined to blame the patchy pace of the loosely scripted Kurbaan that I watched last afternoon. 

Most of you have probably ventured to your neighborhood cinemas this past weekend to consume the latest offering from Dharma Productions. So let’s consider this review an augmentation of your impressions. For those who haven’t as yet, wait for the DVD or when it airs on SONY/ UTV. For the film is watchable, but doesn’t justify the ‘kurbaan’ of your monies at the ‘plex.

The good stuff – Kareena is stunning. Barring close-ups of her badly manicured hands, she has been styled to suit the role. Instinctive camera-work, credible art designing and a mood inducing background score make this film qualify as watchable.

The ‘uff’ stuff – the screenplay lacks depth and relevance. It fails to distinguish between senseless revenge killings and carefully contemplated organized terrorism. It tries to redeem itself by describing the gun-totting, brood of wronged self-proclaimed jihadis as a ’sleeper cell’. No dice. Sleeper cells may have an amateur approach to their acts, but they are always backed by an invisible, subliminal movement, whether to shape it with thought, idealism or then just plain funds (remember the bakery angle in the recently released and imminently more believable ‘New York’?). Add to this a range-challenged performance from Saif. But that can be a script flaw as well, as can the placid chemistry between Kareena and him. A word to the wise here – just because they are a good looking pair who look good together, doesn’t necessarily translate into chemistry!

The scape goat stuff – Vivek Oberoi seems to have the biggest chunk of change in the film. Which is why the average 40% (I went for the Sunday afternoon show and the theater was half empty) and dropping collections of the film are clearly going to be pinned on this insincere performer. A real pity as you actually feel sorry for the guy. Will someone advise him to change his career?

The think-about-it stuff – if Bollywood has graduated to producing ‘international’ story-lines that require western actors for supporting and sometimes pivotal roles, why can’t we spring for good, recognizable actors from Hollywood, and I don’t mean A listers, but even those from the rolodex of TV stars (thinks 24, Law & Order, Without a Trace, CSI etc)? Why do we cast people who would be ideal for roles as flies on the wall or then hands-on-deck crew? Watch Kurbaan, see the FBI agents, particularly a bloke named ‘Collins’, who actually, has a pretty important role in the film. Then you’ll know what I mean. 

Last word – Watch the film if you must. But make sure you have a pot of Koffee to keep you company. Yawn.

E-gypped!

So, my two and half followers (that’s the RSS subscription base… sigh!) (half is for the half attempt that chose to not go through with it!) have probably noticed a week long hiatus from my amateur attempts to garner interest for what I have to say (read as write). If this sounds like a over-indulgent introduction, forgive me. I’ve been E-gypped!

To those who’ve been there, done that, you’ve probably chuckled at my play of word. For the uninitiated, I am indeed, in the land of the pharaohs and pyramids (180 in all I believe, but that count goes up with every tourist guide one encounters). I am in Egypt.

And the misspelt title should explain the ‘in general’ feeling that lingers despite being completely enchanted by the sheer historical evidence that one is surrounded by. As much as I want to remain enraptured by ‘rediscoveries’ (Egypt, my dear friends, is never discovered, for you have not been its first… pun intended), I have to emphatically confide that the over-zealous tourist ecosystem completely kills the moment. Each and every one that you will have.

For starters, you become everyone’s ’sister’. That’s a pretty Indian phenomenon, so I could handle that. Next, everyone wants to warn you about everyone you will encounter and be gypped by in Egypped. That’s Indian too… the familiar crab mentality, so one discounts it. But then you suddenly find yourself sucked into a web of invisible inter-connectivity between hotels, concierges, tourist guides (that is the no. 1 profession of choice in Egypped), shop-keepers, restaurants, taxi-drivers, cops. Every Egyptian pound (LE) you spend, gets divided and credited in pre-conditioned proportions. And of course, more the interested parties, heavier the levy. I wish I had a chevy to drive off the West Bank’s!

It takes a while. Even for the brightest of us. It takes a while to catch on that you are a worshipped sisterly goose that is compelled to lay the eggs for the entire duration of your trip. There are plenty of worthy distractions to delay the realization. For Egypt is perhaps the busiest holiday I have ever had. There is so much to do!

You have to pinch the pyramid (and while you are at it, hopefully learn a thing or two about the ‘old kingdom’ and its fascination with death and after life), kiss a sphinx (and acknowledge that it is indeed a splendid way to guard tombs), belly dance down the Nile (you know I have the goods for that!), visit all the temples, sail a felucca, live on kebabs… see? I could go on and Egypt deserves every ounce of adulation that comes its way from everyone blessed to grace its being. But back to where I started…

Egypt could do with revamping its tourism industry. The national attitude could use a realignment. Tourists are revenue. Within reasonable boundaries. Labeling very obvious shopping destinations as museums (try ‘papyrus’, ‘alabaster’, ‘kaftan’… you name it!) is a new low that tarnishes any high that the country deserves. Standardize tourist commissions, history lessons and spiel which are preached as the gospel by tour guides. Above all, make it business to rid cynicism off everyone who visits by not giving them an opportunity to become one.

This is not my only installment on Egypt. There is more to follow. I have to share nuggets that will hopefully motivate you to make the trek, wiser on take off, as I will feel, on landing back home.

Till then, shukran!

Arm & a Leg for a Thai…

… meal!

After a couple of lack luster restaurant experiences this past week, my Saturday evening has ended on a high note. Nothing like the tried and tested formula of consistent service (Joe has to be the best restaurant manager ever) and quality cuisine of the Thai Pavilion at Hotel President in Mumbai.

Had an excellent meal that started with scallops dressed in a chilli orange sauce with pieces of poached pears that had soaked the marinade to a perfection, white prawns (also known as jumping prawns) tossed in chili paste and som tam (papaya salad). Followed this with the spectacular grilled john dory in lemon grass dressing, soft shell crabs and the comforting green curry beef. I finished off the meal with my favorite Thai dessert of water chestnuts floating in sweetened coconut milk. Of course, this bounty was shared with two of my flat-mates (read my article Sleeping Beauty to know who they are), who were fun company.

Actually, a chance discussion with a dear cousin earlier this week prompted a revisit to Thai Pavilion, almost after three years. You see, since I moved home from south Mumbai to midtown by the sea-link, the snarling traffic of Peddar Road has been a major deterrent to venture in that direction unless imperative. Especially on a weekend at the start of the Indian marriage season, it takes a good 90 minutes of crawling and dodging to make it to the two rounds of security check at the hotel. No complaints – they’re doing this for our benefit. 

The trek today was no different. But it was well worth it. 

No punch-lines. No catch phrases. Only one recommendation – discount the traffic, head for Thai Pavilion.

MA

 

Ajab Prek ra ki gadgy kanihen

You read that right my friend – no typo there! After nearly three hours of an inane, garbled story line, with Tom & Jerry inspired humor, you struggle to unscramble the name of the film you went to watch. Blame the movie. You are now suffering a comprehension paralysis which will take a few hours to wear off. And then you can resume your life by deleting any memory of the zero chemistry couple Ranbir Kapoor & Katrina Kaif starring mess.

My resolve to approach the consumer guidance cell is strengthening with every fawning, false film review we the public are consistently swayed by. Four stars????? The only stars I saw were from an imaginary whack on my head, which is how I felt when I left the theatre after watching Ajab Pre… oh forget it.

MA

To duck or not to duck…

Yesterday I was at lunch at the revered China House which is part of the Grand Hyatt in Mumbai. Revered it is as the food has mostly exceeded expectations, with special mentions including the Dan dan noodles, a near-authentic Peking duck and an excellent selection of vegetarian adaptations of Shanghanese favorites.

Now for the brick-bats. My co-diners and I were subjected to a consistent condescension in tone and content by the young gentleman who was attending to us. As we began to order, he frowned enough to perch his nose, roll his eyes and dismiss what seemed to him like our inexperience in ordering sufficient portions. And what made matters worse was when he insisted that the four of us order an entire Peking duck and not just half. I gently indicated to him that we intended to sample it as a starter and that we had done so at past visits, being completely satisfied with the portion. 

When the duck arrived in its entire glazed splendor, the pre-advised chef proceeded to deftly carve the bird. And just when a third of the meat had been laid out at our table, he looked up inquiringly, expecting us to relent our decision and succumb to the subliminal pressure to adopt the rest. Of course, all along, our ‘wise’ attendant, stood firmly behind the chef, almost ready for our admission of folly in not taking his recommendation at the start.

By now, the four of us at our table were silently outraged at the negative pressure tactics meant to get us to order more than we wished to. The meal ended very quickly and we resigned to the fact that none of us would return to this restaurant in a hurry. At least not till they figured out that a third is not the same as a half.

My reason for sharing this experience is that on the same morning, I had read a very interesting article about Choice Architecture. It talked about the subliminal tactics deployed to leverage predictive consumer behavior in order to get the customer to exercise what is a choice to him, but a fait accompli in actuality. Better explained, imagine walking into a stylish ‘it’ restaurant in your city. Ask for the wine list. Upon scanning it, you discover there are 5 bottles listed in the white wine category. Two bottles are priced at INR 1200, one bottle is INR 1850, one bottle is INR 2900 and the last bottle on the list is being offered at INR 6000. Almost automatically, ignoring vintage and winery, you are most likely to pick the bottle priced at INR 2900. If you surveyed the restaurant, you will find that a majority of diners would have made the same pick, and if you knew the restaurant management well enough, then you’d discover that they stock maximum capacity of the INR 2900 bottle. And that, my friend, is choice architecture. 

In this case, the process of elimination to arrive at a predictive choice factored that the average joe would, upon studying the list, almost definitely omit the most expensive and the cheapest. The real choice would occur between the bottles that cost INR 1850 and INR 2900. The clincher was that the gap between the most expensive (INR 6000) and the next in line (INR 2900) was academically programmed to be larger, thereby rendering the latter to be perceived as “value for money” and not a “cheap decision”.

Back to my China House experience, its staff have clearly developed their own choice architecture, but not necessarily one that will make the cash registers ring, as much as offend their clientele. I tried to analyze where this rationale may have germinated from. All I came back with was that the hotel is located in close proximity to a growing business district (BKC) and attracts a lot of business diners at lunch. Most business diners are either with clients or among peers, both environments with different objectives, but simple social pressures. Hence, a consciously arm-twisting attendant is likely to yield positive results in the likelihood that the host be embarrassed for not ‘choosing’ the expert ’suggestion’. 

At this point, I expect some of you to be shaking your heads in disagreement that what I experienced was probably an anomaly. I must share here that before writing this piece, I talked to a number of friends and associates who frequent the place and they concurred to being subjected to similar brusque demeanor. So it is in all probability, tactical rather than being an exception. Or then just bad management.

The concept of choice architecture is one of the many common sense marketing strategies we use and are subjected to on a daily basis, whether to make or influence a purchase or even in social and behavioral preferences. However, a word of advice to us marketeers, whether we are selling wine, detergent or then Peking duck – the customer always has the right to be right. That is our predictive choice!

MA

 

The Economist v/s The Chosen One

Loyalists are familiar with the Economist’s maverick ways of commentary, particularly on Americanomics. Which is why it should come as no surprise when in this week’s issue (Oct 31 – Nov 05), the publication has taken the lead in critically analyzing Barack Obama’s first anniversary as ‘the’ President. However, is, and here’s the quote “Is this “change we can believe in” or merely Bush with panache?” taking it too far??

I must confess to being pretty much on the fence when it comes to Obama. I am seldom swayed by aggressive prose, and that too, when it resembles Moses delivering 10 commandments. In fact, I am reminded of a tongue-in-cheek article that appeared this past summer in Vanity Fair, where it described how Obama would eat breakfast with his kids. It was hilarious. Not verbatim, but the gist of the column read as “This cereal we are about to have, shall but not fulfill our appetites, but it shall indeed be that which shall be that deserved by every American family and I am committed to making sure that what my predecessors failed to deliver shall be what I will strive to and so dear children, enjoy what we have today. For tomorrow, we must make another day.” Sounds familiar? Don’t you think ‘bon appetite’ would have sufficed??

Stripping the dressage, it is clear that Obama has inherited more than he bargained for. But some of his indecisiveness is definitely creating a legacy of inaction, or at least a lethargy in acting on them. Take for instance the entire see-saw approach to Pakistan. Or that Guanatanamo Bay prison continues to remain in business, despite his pre-election pledge to disband its controversial existence. The Economist article painstakingly lists all the undelivered promises. And then claims insurance for a harsh piece of critique with “The best test of Mr Obama’s presidency is not whether he changes things quickly but whether he changes them for the better.”

There is no going away from the fact that no world leader has been more available and adept at massaging the message through the media. But Obama needs to be cautious. What’s that old saying – those who live by the sword, die by the sword?

 

Those who live by the media, die by the media.

Tut tut Tote…

Went to the much acclaimed Tote at the Turf in Mumbai this weekend. The stylish latest from celebrity (?) chef Rahul Akerkar’s stable, Tote has a welcoming, contemporary Western European layout and design. Reminded me of some of the places I have visited in Amsterdam (Lute, Rain etc). The dining area is contained, given the restaurant’s conscious penchant for promoting inebriation in unlimited, unrestricted quantum (the bar, the verandah, the terrace lounge and above all, respectful smokers’ benches in grey stone). This doesn’t necessarily mean that food is intended to be a low priority. The menu makes lofty promises of delivering artistry. And fails.

 

At my table, we were an adventurous bunch who ordered a reasonable cross section of the menu in three courses each. Disappointedly, we worked our way through unhonorable mentions such as -

- The foi gras starter tried to mimic Joel Robuchon’s classic mini burger… and flopped! It was a battered, over well done mince patty slapped on an uninspired piece of bread, with a shameful offering of jam from the bottle, being passed off as a berry compote to contrast.

- The tuna carpaccio and scallop starter was presented attractively with a misleading swoosh of mango sauce… turned out to be melted ice lolly which was a poor attempt to be clever. And the scallops had been bashed in marinade for way too long, killing every scent of the sea they should have released on bite.

- The seafood grill main was overcooked and an overkill.

- The lamb shank was stewed to death and served on biryani flavored barley which was only dish that was unfortunately undercooked.

I could go on but I’ve lost my appetite. 

 

I guess they still have to get their act together. Or then my advice to mid-town revelers is to sample alcoholic libations at Tote and saunter over to AD Singh’s tried and tested Olive in the race course neighborhood for a chicken skewer. A formula that can never go wrong.

 

MA

Monkey mind tamed!

I wrote this article in December 2008, almost 12 months ago. It was to be published in a leading Indian business magazine. Unfortunately, a few weeks later, I had negotiated my exit from Randstad, which required me to go ’silent’ with the media. The article landed up in my backed-up files, which I was going through last week. I know it seems a little late in the day, considering that the Indian economy has announced that it has recovered. But I do believe it contains timeless lessons, which may be of help to you as employers or acting on behalf of your employers.

My late yoga teacher had an amusing anecdote to inspire my focus while meditating. She would say “Your mind is like a monkey. It wants to jump from tree to tree, without building a house or planting roots. You have to tame the monkey to stay on a tree. That’s when it can build on it.” I would chuckle silently at this thought and visualize the bane of my professional life as a recruiter – candidates, who like monkeys, jumped from job to job.

While all of corporate India slumps into a gloom on consuming the daily dose of economic despondence, the silver lining in every HR department is a rapidly declining attrition rate. A much deserved relief is displayed on faces which were fighting a losing retention battle only some months ago in their respective companies. Holding on to talent had become the only measurable metrics by which an HR professional was being judged.

And what a challenge it was! The revolving door became a reference to the flippant employee who treated his current employer like a transit lounge from which he shopped and shopped and shopped. And there were takers. An incestuous horse trading of talent had been taking place and no one was insulated from it. Even the most noble of noble, whether employee, or employer, or recruiter, were in this mad market of change for change.

And speaking of change, pennies replaced pounds, as the Indian talent was repeatedly and out of turn re-appraised for improved terms of compensation. The international employer was spending in dollars to retain in rupees, so even as much was not enough. But we all know the drill. We’ve seen it on balance sheets where personnel costs have spiraled to unnatural levels, compromising profitability in tough times.

The monkey kept jumping from tree to tree without building a house or planting roots!

And as if by magic, the forest shrugged. Monkeys in mid-air came crashing down, some held on to branches and twigs, others were not so lucky. And those who were perched on a tree have now elected to stay on them.

It’s time to build.

The silver lining I speak of is indeed an opportunity for corporate India. Retention on an employer’s terms is like a dream come true. Best of all, employees are in a state of mind to listen and accept.

So what’s the formula to tame the monkey mind?

Restore focus on the right elements of the career you offer as an employer. Move away from individual wealth creation to organizational health and instill a stakeholder’s mindset in those you have retained. Strengthen their belief in your enterprise’s survival and inevitable success, and link them to not just output, but also outcome. Most of all, resist the temptation to devalue or rejoice openly. Taunting your employee at a time when you know he has few options is like setting yourself up for future exits.

For the good times will return. And the trees will once again beckon. How much you made your employee feel at home, when he felt most vulnerable, will indeed influence your retention, more than anything else anyone would offer.

And a word to the monkey mind – It’s time to plant roots. It’s time to build.

MA