A small piece of land in Uttar Pradesh

Curfew starts in fifteen minutes in Hyderabad, whose population is nearly 60% Hindu and 40% Muslim. Apparently all major roads are already blocked outside. The reason? Predicted backlash from today's court decision concerning Hindu claim to a Muslim site in Ayodhya. From the NYT:

"The case has existed almost as long as independent India itself. Dating from 1950, the legal battle between Hindus and Muslims over a religious site in the city of Ayodhya began as a little-noticed title dispute. With a ruling finally expected on Thursday, the case has become something altogether different: a test of India’s secular soul.

The test is not so much in the verdict, which will deal with a handful of issues, including the central question of which side controls the site of a 16th-century mosque known as the Babri Masjid. Rather, the test will come in the public reaction. In 1992, an enraged mob of Hindu extremists destroyed the mosque, asserting that the site was the birthplace of the Hindu deity, Ram. Riots claiming about 2,000 lives, mostly Muslims, and horrifying a nation founded on the ideal of religious tolerance.

...

Later on Tuesday, Prime Minister Manmohan Singh called on the nation to “maintain peace, harmony and tranquillity.” Perhaps the only person eager for the verdict is Hashim Ansari, a Muslim tailor in Ayodhya who is the case’s oldest surviving plaintiff. He is 90 and tired of waiting. Mr. Ansari, who joined the case as a plaintiff in 1961, said in a telephone interview that he did not want any tumult or violence, just closure."

On the Road Again

Pinkberry and Veuve Cliquot: a balanced meal, courtesy of Dubai airport and the Emirates lounge.

I can't think of a single airport where I wish my layovers were longer, or a carrier whose flights I wish were just one hour more. It didn't even annoy me that my seat companion was talking on his cell phone the entire flight in air. Emirates is just such an amazingly pleasurable experience; even with only getting three hours of sleep last night, I stayed up the whole flight for the entertainment (Robin Hood, followed by snippets of a few episodes of Grey's Anatomy and Glee) and the food (ravioli and meatballs!). In the 3.5 hour flight to Dubai, I engage in a bit of all my guilty pleasures, which only heightens once I reach the airport (Pinkberry or Coldstone?)

It's funny to think how different my experience was this morning, flying back from Delhi. My body so tired it hurt from so little sleep, a companion who insisted on sitting next to me in the middle row even though the window seat was free... and (drumroll) cockroaches crawling around the aisles!! What's amazing is this is one of my two favorite airlines in India (although, naturally, the experience is usually much better).

That's the crazy thing about experiences here... my days are so often marked by multiple peaks of highs and lows, and not much in between.

Case in point: after my not-so-fun plane ride this morning, I arrive Hyderabad to find that Amjad's wife has made me an amazing feast for breakfast, packaged up in a tiffin (lunchbox) to bring to work. Amazingly nice! ... followed by the frustration of a meeting starting seven hours late.

But as a new-found mentor here in India says: "If everything went according to plan, where would all the fun be?"

Um, as it turns out: at the Dubai airport.

Harmandir Sahib, the "Temple of God"

It's one of those nights where the weather is absolutely perfect. Warm with a cool breeze. The auto rickshaw (which is much more spacious than those in Hyderabad or Delhi) drops us off, and Tyler and I head to the Golden Temple (or Harmandir Sahib, as it's called here in Punjab) -- the holiest shrine in Sikhism.

Like many religious institutions in India, it's not as straightforward as just walking in. We deposit our shoes and head to tall bin with (damp) handkerchiefs to cover our heads. We then dip our feet in water before stepping into the gates that house the Golden Temple.

Never having been in a Sikh temple, I feel a slight sense of unease and anxiety. I don't know any of the customs or rituals, and am sure we're likely to do something offensive. Yet as soon as we start walking around, I realize there are no hard and fast rituals or customs... or rather, there are, but to each his own: some are sitting down near the water gazing at the Golden Temple, others are lying in the middle of the ground fast asleep, still others are stripping down and submerging in the holy water surrounding the Golden Temple. Even though we're the only foreigners I see, we are refreshingly paid no heed. We notice, like in other temples, the flow of movement is from left to right, so we move amidst the general herd.

The temple itself is beautiful -- smaller than I expected, yet sits regally in the middle of a large lake of holy water (which the Sikhs call "immortal nectar"). The gold seems to shimmer in the darkness. There are other beautiful structures surrounding us, and we remark how different religions seem to merge together: there is an adjoining mosque (and quite a few Muslims inside the Golden Temple), and a tree under which the Buddha lay inside the gated area as well. It occurs to me that it's September 11th, and I think about the sad controversy back home around the proposed Muslim community center near the WTC. I later learn the tenets of Sikhism: they believe in a Universal God and advocate for personal salvation through personal meditation. They see God as the Universe itself -- something I find fascinating. Their focus on acceptance and openness is also embodied in the four entrances to the Golden Temple (akin to Abraham's tent being open on four sides to welcome travelers coming from all directions).

It is 10pm and we are literally two of thousands of people in the Golden Temple. There's much movement and action (people are prostrating themselves, praying; going into the water; queuing to enter the temple)... yet it all seems immensely peaceful and almost "other wordly". Religious chanting is amplified around the structure, and it adds to the sense of gravitas of the temple.

Unlike the logical and straightforward nature of Christian churches, this feels a bit like a labyrinth. The temple itself sits squarely in the middle of the "lake", but around it, there are different staircases and areas to explore. My favorite "scene" was walking up the stairs to find what appeared to be a row of hotel rooms. Sitting on the low bed of each room was a monk in prayer, door wide open.

I later learn that baptised Sikhs are bound to wear the "Five Articles of Faith" at all times: uncut hair, small comb, circular iron bracelet, dagger, and special undergarment. Comprising only 2% of the Indian population, 75% of the world's Sikhs live in the Punjab. What appeals to me is that, unlike the Hindu notions of caste, Sikhism is very open. Rich and poor "serve" at the Golden Temple, preparing meals given for free, cleaning the kitchen, and helping ensure things are in order. Each day, free lunch at this "communal kitchen" serves about 80,000 people on a weekday and double that on a weekend (A good NYT article on this here.)

It's a pretty remarkable place, and one of the few places in India where I've experienced real peace while being surrounded by thousands of people.

In Defense of Marketing to BOP

One of the most refreshing aspects about moving to India was not needing to constantly explain the work I do. "Social enterprise" was always a bit of an enigma at home -- seen as profiting off the poor to some; and cute, charity work to others.

The downside of not constantly explaining my work, it turns out, is living in a bubble. This is especially true in India, where the majority of my friends have left lucrative jobs in the private sector to do similar work here. Visitors to our hospital are interested in how our model works, rather than questioning why a private hospital is providing services traditionally reserved for the government and charity hospitals. In countless ways (thank goodness!), as a field we have moved much beyond the black-and-white juxtapositions and "novelty" of social enterprise.

Yet of course the skeptics remain. Why are we charging for our services? -- would we still charge if we were given $20 million dollars? What does "marketing to the BOP" even mean and what are the ethics involved?

Passion is a funny thing. The field one is most passionate about should be the area where one can speak and debate most intelligently and articulately. Yet so often, I suppress the urge to just yell: "Because traditional aid does not work!!!!!!! DUH!!!"

So it was a bit of a nice surprise reading a blog from the Austin Center for Design. Upfront, the author flat-out writes: "I have to admit that the idea of 'marketing to the bottom of the pyramid' leaves a bad taste in my mouth."

Here we go.

But then I read:

"When Tricia Morente, head strategy and marketing at LifeSpring Hospital, talks about making the hospital a sustainable business rather than relying on a one-time cash infusion, it makes sense in the long run. What resonated with me was when she says turning it into a mutual business transaction not only empowers the customer (in this case a new mom) with choice, but also increases the responsibility of the hospital to provide quality service. They are working for-profit, but not for profit maximization."

So while we're on the topic, a few more thoughts in defense of Marketing to the BOP (a la Sasha Dichter's "In Defense of Raising Money"):

I vividly remember needing to convince the head of a Philippine microfinance institution that we should engage in client feedback and gain their input in the types of livelihood training the institution would offer. "Why?" he asked - "we know they like our product. They are coming." True. But also doesn't say much when you are the one MFI in the province. Fine for a monopoly, but clearly not where the field would remain in the future.

To me, "marketing to the BOP" means giving the BOP the same respect and dignity we give to other consumers in the economy. It means asking what their needs are, understanding the psychology of how decisions are made, and creatively providing a solution that uniquely meets their unmet desires.

Beyond my own desire to make an impact through social enterprise, intellectually this work is fundamentally more engaging than marketing to any other segment, for it involves the challenge and question of: how do we translate need into demand?

What the West often assumes is this: a "need" (e.g. for safe maternal care) automatically translates into a "demand"; yet the reality is this is rarely this case. A big aspect of marketing is spending time with the end users, key decision-makers, and family influencers, to better determine their pain points and corresponding desires. Contrast this with organizations who take a more paternalistic tone, assuming they know what's best for the end users of their product or service. In the private sector, such a company would go out of business. In the not-for-profit sector, all too often this mentality is perpetuated.

A final aspect is this idea of mutual partnership, ownership, and empowerment. There is a powerful scene in the Acumen Fellows documentary "The New Recruits", where kids in the Kibera slum tell Suraj something like: "You've made a promise! You've made a promise! You now have to stay." While this scene was just shown in passing, to me it expressed the implicit "elephant in the room" -- that donor priorities inevitably shift. What may be important one year may not be three years later, when project funding dries up. In contrast, social enterprises (like all businesses) aim to be going concerns -- running indefinitely into the future. This results in much more of a partnership in the community, who looks to you to still be there, twenty years down the line.

Working in a start-up social enterprise (which isn't much of a start-up anymore) is hard work, and it's easy to get focused on the challenges of day-to-day. So it's refreshing every once in a while to take a step back and re-remember what I'm doing here in the first place.

A/C and poetry

And so I continue to learn: it's the little things that matter. Frustrated by a day that refuses to cooperate (no water to take a shower -- even a bucket bath, the plumber refusing to come, feeling sick for no good reason, etc etc), it's funny how quickly you can turn yourself around.

I don't quite know what sparked it, but I had the strongest craving to read poetry. Ten minutes later (aided by a strong working air conditioner), I am once again feeling grateful and happy. I remember reading this poem over and over before coming to India.

From T.S. Eliot and "The Waste Land":

My friend, blood shaking my heart
The awful daring of a moment's surrender
Which an age of prudence can never retract
By this, and this only, we have existed
Which is not to be found in our obituaries
Or in memories draped by the beneficent spider
Or under seals broken by the lean solicitor
In our empty rooms

Grandfather Love

One of the biggest cultural surprises when I first moved to India is how involved mothers and mother-in-laws are in making decisions around their daughters' pregnancy. It is these soon-to-be grandmothers who make the majority of decisions regarding whether to deliver at home or in an institution, the frequency of antenatal visits, and other decisions regarding pregnancy. She is the one who is present during delivery -- often I've seen husbands called by their mothers to come to the hospital only after the delivery has taken place.

If husbands are much less involved in pregnancy and child-rearing, so much more so are grandfathers. So it was particularly endearing to see this grandfather bring his grand-daughter to receive her vaccinations at our hospital. He was absolutely beaming with pride, showing off his first grandchild to me. She lay bundled and nestled in his lap... incredibly adorable!

Life and Death

Just heard awful news. The husband of one of our hospital receptionists was in a motorcycle accident last night -- the victim of a hit-and-run. The deep tragedy (besides this happening at all) is that he was lying on the ground of a busy road for forty-five minutes before anyone was alerted.

And even then, the good samaritan did not call 108 (Hyderabad's 911). Rather, she called the last number dialed: his wife.

Speeding from her house, his wife found him and his motorcycle where he was hit -- and then took him to a nearby hospital. Five minutes later, he was dead from head injuries (no helmet, like 98% of the motorcyclists in Hyderabad). The tragedy, of course, is that this may have been prevented if someone -- ANYONE -- had called 108 as soon as the accident happened.

The crazy thing is that just two days ago, a friend told me about a man who died right on Road #1, near her office. He was dead at least seven hours before being taken away. Her colleague called the ambulance, which never showed up. What's disturbing is that the security guard (as well as many others, I'm sure) saw this man shivering in the night. He described it to my friend, and blamed his death on the monsoons.

It's hard not to judge, or feel like it's a cruel cold place, when people literally see others dying in front of them and not call for help.

In talking to one of my colleagues who used to work in emergency care, I learn of another, more systemic factor that could be contributing to this culture. Apparently up until three years ago, if you called an ambulance to report an accident, YOU the caller would then need to go to the police station and be interrogated as the first witness. Of course, this could take hours, if not all day. While the government has since banned this law, perhaps the after-effects still remain. There's also the perception that ambulances won't come, or that hospitals won't be able to help.

Whatever the reasons, the outcomes created just blow your mind. There has to be a better way.

Simple/easy ???

Third time getting registered at the Foreigners Registration Office, and while it should be a piece of cake by now, it's not. Four separate trips over the last two weeks, I am now officially registered and "allowed" to stay here one more year. I just have one question -- what do they DO with all those mile-high stacks of papers in triplicate?!