Just Good Business!

If you’ve watched the Pirates of the Caribbean series, you’d remember, in the third part, Lord Cutler Beckett murmuring his favourite line, “Nothing personal Jack, it’s just good business…” as he goes about executing his evil plans to control the seas. Richard Branson’s “Screw Business As Usual” reminded me of the memorable dialogue — not because the book endorses the idea, but because it strictly opposes it. What the glamorous and flamboyant magnate wants to tell the world through his book is that all business is indeed personal — it’s not just about making profit, it’s about making a difference.
He quotes Ray Anderson: “For those who think business exists to make a profit, I suggest they think again. Business makes a profit to exist. Surely it must exist for some higher, nobler purpose than that.”
Through the countless examples of big and small entrepreneurs that his book is strewn with — along with his own, of course — Branson wants to make people believe that “doing good is good for business”.
The book has a preface that compels you to turn the pages — it begins with the fire at Necker Island that completely razed his house to the ground. That wouldn’t be news for you, if you’ve followed the life of the adventure-loving billionaire. But he’s used the incident to subtly remind us “how unimportant ‘stuff’ is” compared to people. Which really sets the tone for the rest of his book, talking about the ‘stuff’ that really matters — the creatures (people as well as animals) living on the 24,902 miles that make up the earth’s circumference. And that, as you come to know, is what gave rise to Capitalism 24902 — doing business in a way that you can contribute to making lives better. As Branson says, people want opportunities, not charity.
And there is information here that would shock you: in the US (of all places!) almost two million young people — some less than 12 years of age —experience homelessness every year. Then there are stories that you would marvel at, such as that of Gyanesh from Bihar who is creating electricity from rice husk for 30,000 rural homes at $2 a month, or that of Adam Balon and Richard Reed, founders of Innocent Drinks. When they created their first smoothie, they were working at Virgin Cola but wanted to start their own enterprise. Unable to decide whether to quit their jobs for this, they took their smoothies to an open air jazz festival, put two waste bins labelled ‘yes’ and ‘no’ in front of their stall, and put a sign above the bins that read: ‘Should we give up our jobs to make these smoothies’! (By the end of the day, the ‘yes’ bin was overflowing.) The book is topped up with dollops of the billionaire’s trademark humour, which brings the text to life. As he cleverly says, “humour can often be a far better way to change behaviour than just trying to scare the hell out of people. If Martin Luther King’s famous quote, ‘I have a dream’ had been ‘I have a nightmare’ it would never have been so successful.”

Walking with Death

Most people feel uncomfortable discussing death. I have always marvelled at how desperately we want to ignore something that’s the biggest truth of existence. There is nothing closer to a human being than death; it could be with you the next second. But you’d rather not think about it.
I became acquainted with death early on in life. My father died in a car accident when I was nine. At that time of course, I didn’t really understand what dying meant. What I did understand, though — courtesy Hindi movies — was that I would never be able to see him again, except in photographs.
But the time when the truth of life really hit me was a year ago, when one of my classmates died, again in a car accident. She had been an exceptionally bright person and though we had been competitors, there was no tension between us. We were close enough to share some deep secrets, although we were never a part of each other’s closest circles.
I did not go to her house when she was flown back to Aligarh from Bangalore. (It was devastating to hear people referring to ‘her body’ being flown in… one minute you’re you and the next you’re a body.) I didn’t have the courage to see her lying motionless, lying dead. I have never seen a person lying in the stillness of death — not even my father; he was buried before I regained consciousness in the hospital (72 hours after the accident).
To come back to my friend, I cannot say that she was particularly dear to me, or that I felt a personal sense of loss. The shock, however, went deep, deep down. More particularly, she had been like a space rocket and we were all eager to see where she landed. It was shocking to realise that it was the grave.
People say death shows you the futility of life. I’d like to disagree. It taught me the preciousness of life: Am I doing what I want to, or sacrificing for a future I might not even reach? More importantly, am I doing what’s good and what’s right, right now, or am I waiting to get old before I give up my vices, or get honest and generous and forgiving? There’s nothing as certain as death. I’d rather not be scared of it; I’d want to be prepared for it. Every moment.

Arabian nights on a magic carpet: From spell-casting gypsies to the Facebook-savvy bedouins— Jordan never fails to enchant you

Seeing is believing. You can truly appreciate this adage when you set foot in the small country that is Jordan. No amount of pictures can do justice to the sights, as each step leads to a fresh delight, juxtaposing the developed-modern with the magical ancient-Arabian. You’d have to see it to believe it.

My five-day visit to this land straight from the pages of the Thousand and One Nights was an enchanted journey of sorts—a tryst with holy lands, nomadic tribes, spell-casting gypsies, Facebook-savvy bedouins, hot springs in the middle of the desert and ancient cities carved out of mountains. Not to mention the sea that leaves you dumfounded as you float like a paper boat on the super-salty surface.

But this is not the way Sheherzade would have narrated it: a proper Arabian Nights tale must begin at the beginning. So the first stop for our tale is the Queen Alia International Airport, where I meet the guide: Ali Abu Dayah. He is a cheerful man, with loads of patience, ever ready to answer the flurry of questions hurled at him. Ali tells me that the farther north one moves in Jordan the greener it gets. The desert lands can be encountered down south.

And right now we are headed towards the north, to the city of Jerash, that boasts of having the largest and most well preserved Roman architecture site outside Italy. It is drizzling as I step in through the Hadrian Arch or the Arch of Triumph, built by the emperor Hadrian in the 2nd century AD. The huge columns loom ahead one after the other, slowly taking me out of modern Jordan and into the Roman settlement centuries ago. To the left is the Hippodrome where the Romans held chariot races. You can enjoy the sight even today, as Chariot races are held once a day for the benefit of tourists. We, however, were not lucky enough to witness these. But somehow, there is a certain enhanced thrill in imagining the unseen…in standing smack in the middle of the huge open space and letting the patter of raindrops translate into the clatter of hoofs and wheels around you…

A football hits me, breaking my reverie. The Hippodrome, while its empty, is the preferred place for a game of football by a handful of school and college kids. Football, by the way, is a national obsession in Jordan. I move out of the line of kick…er…fire, and walk farther into the magnificent city that, even though in ruins now, cannot but leave you awe­struck. Inside the building, we come to a miniature model of the grand Zeus Temple that once stood inside the complex. Back outside, we gaze at what is left of the Zeus Temple… The rain stops and a delightful breeze takes its place. Zeus, it seems, is pleased with us.

Moving ahead, we enter the Oval Plaza, a circular space measuring 90x80 m, half-lined with 56 Ionic columns, used as a venue for social, religious and political ceremonies..The plaza is now the venue for the annual Jerash festival of culture and arts, held in late July. From here, you can see columns upon columns in the distance. That, Ali tells us, is the ‘Cardo’ or the street lined with 500 columns. As we saunter through the Cardo, he points to chariot marks embedded in the stones.Further uphill is the Southern Amphitheatre, adjacent to the Zeus temple. The steep steps leading to the top of the theatre beckon to me. By the time I reach the top, I am panting. But the view makes me forget everything. The entire Roman city, the modern inhabited city in the distance and the hills all around—it is quite understandable why people would hold religious ceremonies here—at such a height you would possibly feel closer to the heavens and easily contemplate God. I stand there and for a minute wonder if this is what the Creator of the universe feels, looking at the beauty of the created land.

But my attention is diverted by the sound of bagpipes and drums. Two men in traditional Jordanian attire have begun to play a catchy tune, with drums and bagpipes, that echoes all round the theatre. The precarious perch, the strong wind and the steep fall below are sufficient deterrents to the irresistible urge to break into a merry jig. But the music combined with the view and the weather makes it an almost ethereal experience. I think again: seeing is believing.

From here we move farther uphill towards the Artemis Temple and the Byzantine Church, which has a mosaic floor. Mosaic floors are common to the churches in the Byzantine period, and Mosaic work is a flourishing handicraft in modern Jordan.Sitting on the edge of the ruins, I spot a boy holding a typical shepherd-stick with a curved upper end as his sheep follow him, grazing randomly in the green-yellow fields. I am reminded of the shepherd-Prophet David in the Old Testament story of David and Goliath. That’s what the place does to you—every step conjures a new story.

The second day includes Madaba, St George’s Church with its famous Mosaics, Mt Nebo and the Memorial of Moses, and olive plantations along the way! Madaba, the city of mosaics, has been mentioned in the Old Testament. St George’s Church here, is famous for its Mosaic floor which is a ‘religious map’ describing the travels of the various Prophets that crossed Jordan. It was also from this Mosaic that the place of Baptism of Jesus—Bethany beyond the Jordan—was discovered.

Hold your breath when you get to Bethany. It is truly sacred land, crossed by messiahs, such as the prophet Elijah who ascended to the heavens from here on a chariot of fire. I stand across from the place where John the Baptist baptised Christ. Behind it is the river Jordan—just a ribbon of a river now—which holds the holy water. I walk slowly back, my feet treading gro­und that has been treaded on by Messiahs.

The desert experience begins with the drive down to Dead Sea. A roadside signboard says ‘Bahr Al-Mayyat’, (mayyat is commonly used for dead body among Muslims) which is a thousand times more chilling than the English name! It is the lowest point on the earth and four times saltier than other seas. The salt makes the Dead Sea ‘dead’—one, it makes it impossible for marine life to survive, and two—it makes you float…like a lifeless body. That is where the magic begins. I step into the sea—and it wraps itself around me. I lie down limply in the water, raise my eyes to the sky, scan the hills in the distance and wonder if Sheherzade could spin this one.

The same day we visit the Ma’in hot springs—streams of water spurting out of nowhere in an entirely barren land of rock mountains. The place is now part of the Evason Ma’in six senses spa that has been built around it.

A pool has been constructed here at the foot of the hot-fall: the springs contain minerals that would make you relax and forget your worries.

Night brings us to Petra—the rose-red rock city carved out of mountains, built by the Nabateans more than 2000 years ago.But Petra by Night is entirely different from Petra in the daytime. Held every Monday and Thursday, Petra by Night is a sensory experience. Night is the mother of mystery and magic, and while the day would answer all your questions, night unleashes your imagination.

We are asked to keep silent during the walk. As we set off down a winding passage flanked by imposing rocks, all I can hear is the hushed whispers and the soft crunch of gravel. There is no moon—but the rocks gleam white in the starlight. Tiny lamps light up our path, and nothing else. Camera flashes are like flashes of lightning reflected on the rocks, I can make out carvings and entrances all around. Suddenly the path narrows down and we are hemmed in by huge rocks—it is the ‘Siq’ or the gorge, which marks the way to the main city. I stretch my hand and let it trail across the mountains—perhaps it would touch the handprints of an ancient Nabatean who went this way. My companions are wondering how the gorge was made…I try to imagine the royal magician cleft the rocks asunder with a spell…Just as the walk seems to go on to nowhere, the mountains abruptly open up to reveal a majestically imposing structure—the Treasury at Petra—with a carpet of a hundred lamps lit in front.

We squat before the lamps and hear a Bedouin play the rababa… I lie down on my back and watch the stars… maybe the theme was played ages ago by a youth in memory of his beloved. Then follows a flute performance and everyone is spellbound. Maybe that was the magician leading everyone into the city…

Petra in the daytime is a rose-coloured city, its rocks adorned with natural multi-colour patterns. The place might even remind you of grand canyon. The Treasury, which is actually the Nabatean King’s tomb, was so called because the Bedouins thought it contained money. A carved urn at the top of the entrance even holds bullet holes—efforts to get the coins out of the urn!Royal tombs, natural caves, cities, palaces all spill out of the rock. Every step leads you to something greater and more marvellous—the amphitheatre, the Great temple, The Qasr Al-Bint or Palace of the King’s Daughter—and not to forget the parade of the ‘Roman soldiers’ that takes place everyday for visitors!

I try to photograph a Bedouin selling knick-knacks and he mutters something curse-like, followed by a yell—“I’ll follow you around! Don’t take pictures, I’ll follow you!” The subsequent event is something like running for dear life!

But not all Bedouins mutter curses. Captain’s Desert Camp in Wadi Rum gave me a slice of Bedouin life. The brightly embroidered insides of the tent followed by some cola-coloured desert ‘chai’ set the mood for our jeep tour. An open jeep, with sand blowing in your face and the sun beating down on you, lets you take in the gloriously stark magnificence of this protected site, which was also where Lawrence of Arabia was filmed.

Open-mouthed is the right expression when experiencing Wadi Rum. We stop at a place with drawings on the rocks. These, Ali tells me, are inscriptions dating to the 4th century BC—drawings of camels, ostriches and hunters. Now we know why the valley is protected. Walking in Wadi Rum is no piece of cake—the sand seems to pull you down and the rocks look down contemptuously upon your insignificance.

But the sight of the sun setting behind the rocks will remind you why an Arabian on a horse is a creature of romance.

Dinner at the Captain’s Camp is typical Bedouin affair, to the accompaniment of two Bedouins playing desert songs. I am recording the performance, when one of them asks me to transfer it to him by bluetooth. For a moment, I just stare at him. “No bluetooth? Well, then, please add me on Facebook,” he ends, smiling.That’s what you get in Jordan--An arabian genie in an iPhone!

Words' worth: A story of some of the most exquisite books in India and abroad

How much would you be willing to spend on a platinum ring? And how much would you sell it for, if it’s the one you wear on your ring finger…?” So went an ad for platinum jewellery, almost a decade ago. The tagline was something like this: the most precious things in life don’t come with price tags attached.

If you are one of those obsessed with books, you might want to re-interpret the ad: how much would you be willing to spend on a book that contains rare pieces of poetry and art? And for how much would you sell that book for if it’s signed by the artist you’d die for…?

Probably, the ad was right. The best things in life can’t really be valued by bar codes. Nevertheless, they do come with price tags—and no mean ones at that. Rare books, like any other sacrosanct object of art, come with their own little haloes and, sometimes, with their own not-so-little stands, too.

Hold your breath—Bhutan: A Visual Odyssey Through The last Himalayan Kingdom, which holds the world record for being the largest book at 5 ft x 7 ft, weighs 150 pounds and was priced at $15,000 (Rs 7 lakh) and had a limited run of 100 copies. Interestingly, it was only offered to donors who made a tax-deductible gift to support education in the world’s special places, and was produced on demand for each of them.

The book—if that’s what this monumental work of art can be called—contains arresting pictures of Bhutan and comes with its own custom-built aluminium stand.

The author, editor and principal photographer, Michael Hawley, is the director of special projects at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. “I love Bhutan,” he told Financial Chronicle, “and hoped the book might have a positive impact by sharing some of their culture and values.” Ask him if he could briefly describe his journey, and he replies, “Briefly? Not really. Two years in the field, half a dozen trips covering the entire kingdom, hundreds of unique adventures and personal encounters.”

The publisher of the book is a non-profit educational charity called Friendly Planet, founded by Hawley, to support educational efforts in Bhutan and Cambodia.

“The King of Bhutan has seen it. I personally gave him a copy of the small edition,” Hawley says. “There are at least three big copies in Bhutan, one in the National Library, one at Sherubtse College, among others. It is a well-known project,” he adds. Though not for sale now, you can buy smaller editions and ‘read’ versions on Amazon.com.

However, if you do want to buy a rare book—with a stand, too—you need not go very far. Timeless—The Art Book Studio, at South Extension in New Delhi, proudly displays Modern Art—Revolution and Painting, a “wooden hardback covered in pale leather, hand finished and punched warm with silver” that measures a little over 100cm x 70cm when open, and weighs 32 kg. Sitting grandly on its own book-rest made of lacquered wood, it would surely dazzle you. And not just because it’s priced at a cool Rs 4.5 lakh.

The book, published by Art Media Italia in 2002, describes its own purpose to be the presentation of a “virtual art gallery” analysing modern art through the cultural and political revolutions of two centuries, “that changed mankind’s position in the world and consequently also its vision of art.”

Raavi Sabharwal, the owner of the store, tells you how he got 12 copies, out of 1,000 that have been published. He has sold five.

“I was at the Frankfurt book fair in Germany in 2009, when I first saw it. As I requested to meet the publisher, the organiser pointed a finger over my back and said ‘there he comes,’” recounts Sabharwal. “When I turned, I came face to face with the man and asked him how many copies were left. He said he had 12. I offered to buy all of those. Hearing this, the man turned to his companions and exclaimed, ‘see, you thought I was crazy!’”

Sabharwal has other such tales to tell, but he cannot divulge the names of the buyers. “People who buy such books are art lovers and book lovers. They could also be collectors. One man who bought this took it as a gift for his friend who is an artist,” he says.

There are several factors that make these books command the handsome amounts they do. “First, they are limited edition books. That alone makes them much pricier,” says Sabharwal.

“Then there is the size of these works, the quality of their prints and pages, and of course, their value as an object of rare beauty,” he adds.

Anuj Bahri Malhotra, CEO or Delhi’s most famous bookstore, Bahrisons Booksellers, has an important point to make. “You really cannot say what it is that makes a book expensive, or even which book is the most expensive of all. For instance, if a book is out of print, and I am willing to pay any amount to get it, how expensive does that make it?” Which means, ultimately, that it’s the precious factor, that human longing for all things beautiful and rare, which comes into play here.

To behold other such royalty, you can go to the Vadehra Art Gallery bookstore in Defence Colony. It houses some enchanting volumes of MF Husain’s reproductions, with prices ranging from Rs 25,000 toRs 45,000. The former is for Poetry To Be Seen, a 2-ft- high treasure trove of charcoal paintings by Hussain, accompanied by poetry that interprets them, or vice versa. As you turn the cover, you come face to face with a homage by Mulk Raj Anand: “Let the ‘poetry to be seen’ and the ‘poetry to be read’ here excite the imagination of those who have so far looked but not seen.”

Pradeep, store manager of the Vadehra book store, informs that in the past six months, they have sold two copies of this limited edition book (100 copies) published by Cinema Ghar, ‘Museum of Art and Cinema’, Hyderabad, in 2006. The last page of the book leads to this description: each sheet is hand-printed with silk screens and signed by Husain.Then there is Husain for Rs 30,000, a first edition publication by Tata Steel, also a reproduction of his works — designed, conceived and with a foreword by the maestro himself — handwritten, signed Bombay, 1981.

The foreword describes the journey of art from the caveman’s abode to the briefcase of the multinational conglomerate… “Poor ‘MONA LISA’ once abducted from Italy by the/ French general is now being raped at every/ street corner. Growth of ‘art consciousness’ galore…”Interestingly, the book has, on its back cover, a postscript, again handwritten, declaring “any resemblance to any of my paintings in this book is coincidental,” because “reproduction is not a true replica of the original.” Therefore, the book is “a joint effort of printer and painter”.

There are other books, such as those published by Timeless, priced at pretty much the higher end of the spectrum. Panorama of India and Ladakh, priced at Rs 30,000 each, and a book in the pipeline, titled Taj Mahal, with photographs by Raghu Rai and text by Usha Rai, to be priced at about Rs 25,000 when published.With this book, says Sabharwal, “you would be able to take the Taj with you.” Flipping through the book is a visual delight. Instead of the usual pictures, you have distant views of the Taj with people’s experiences of it. One, for instance, shows tourists at the Agra Fort gazing happily into their digital cameras after having taken a picture of the Monument of Love. Another, a very old one, has a steam engine chugging away with the Taj in the background…

But we have only been talking about contemporary books here. If you want real literary-artistic opulence, then you need to head towards the antiques section. First- edition works such as The Gutenberg Bible—the first book printed with moveable type or the Codex Leicester—a 72- page notebook containing the scientific writings and sketches of Leonardo da Vinci, belong to the category that are not really sold; they go under the hammer. The list includes Birds of America by John James Audobon that has life- size sketches of birds, and measures 3 ft x 2 ft.

The Codex was purchased by Bill Gates in 1994 in an auction. Handwritten by Leonardo in his characteristic mirror-writing, the book is put on public display once a year in a different city around the world.Birds of America, The Codex Leicester and The Gutenberg Bible have been bought at $11 million, $30.8 million and $35 million, respectively. Now, that’s definitely something to be said for the most precious things and their price tags.

The Cat's Table by Michael Ondaatje: Like a sea voyage

The most striking thing about Michael Ondaatje’s The Cat’s Table is the effortless quality of his prose, full of vivid and colourful images seen through the eyes of an eleven-year-old. The story seems to sweep you in without you being aware of it. It is as simple as it is dreamlike, weaving in every character with such ease that they seem to already be vaguely familiar.
A Sri Lanka-born Canadian, Michael Ondaatje’s life seems intimately connected with this latest work of fantasy. Its protagonist is named Michael and journeys aboard a ship from Sri Lanka to England — just as Ondaatje himself had done at the same age. Moreover, with the boy growing up to be a writer and migrating to Canada, the book could be easily mistaken as woven round the story of the author’s life, if not for the end note —clearly stating that though it “uses the colourings and locations of memoir and autobiography”, the story is fictional.
The three-week journey aboard the Oronsay is full of incredible images — the wild run of a child left to himself for the first time. Michael and the two boys he befriends — Cassius and Ramadhin — are assigned to the Cat’s table for their meals, which is “the least privileged place”, far from the Captain’s table. For the three, however, this fact is of no consequence as they explore every tiny bit of the ship, collecting images, nuggets of interesting information, and sentences overheard from fellow passengers.
The narration is criss-crossed in places with episodes from a grown-up Michael’s life, subtly revealing the deep effects that the wild 21-day adventure had, not just on him but on his two companions as well. The world of adults and the things occurring within it are presented in a perfectly non-judgemental manner, such that would only be possessed by an eleven-year-old, who, while watching a movie on the ship’s deck, remarks: “The plot was full of grandness and confusion, of acts of cruelty that we understood and responsible honour that we did not.”
In the process, we are treated to images that are astonishing and entertaining at the same time: a man with an entire garden, artificially-lit and unbelievably magical, hidden inside the dark bowels of the ship; a woman who carries birds about the decks in the pockets of a specially designed coat, and the two boys, Michael and Cassius, tethering themselves to the hull to experience the fury of a sea-storm.
Then there are the people whose tales both amaze and influence the children: Mr Mazappa the man of music, who played with the ship’s orchestra and gave piano lessons or Mr Nevil, a retired ship dismantler, who tells them how “in a breaker’s yard you discover anything can have a new life, be reborn as part of a car or railway carriage, or shovel blade. You take that older life and you link it to a stranger.”
One image after another unfolds with barely a ripple, so that when the sudden twists occur, they are least expected. The book is much like the sea voyage it describes; sways you gently and moves you deeply, just as the people at the cat’s table affect Michael: ‘It would always be strangers like them, at the various Cat’s Tables of my life, who would alter me.”

The book loving sensualist

We’re living in the virtual age. Physical forms are beginning to lose their significance, as the world becomes more and more compact — small enough to fit in the palm of your hand, through the display of your smartphone. The need for physical presence, even in relationships, has become minimised, courtesy social networking sites, helped by video chats and video calls — stuff that you read about in science fiction not so long ago. And speaking of reading, we really don’t know how long the book is going to stay around in its actual physical form. What with e-books taking over with a vengeance, flipping through the pages is fast getting replaced by ‘scrolling over’ the pages. The Oxford Dictionary of English defines an e-book as the electronic version of a printed book, but the fact is that books are now being published directly on the web in an electronic version. So you have books that don’t even have a physical form anymore.That isn’t such a bad thing, though, because now you have a hoard of literary loot right there in your pocket, at your disposal whenever you please, without having to lug it around or it getting ruined in the process. You don’t even need huge shelf space around the house to store your treasure.And yet, somehow, having an electronic book just isn’t the same as having a ‘real’ book. It’s sort of like looking at the picture of your beloved, rather than seeing them in person. Perhaps it’s an old-school way of thinking, but can scrolling through a list of names on a web page make up for the experience of sauntering inside a bookstore? The feel of taking in the colours and shapes, walking from one section to the next — exploring at length, letting your fingers slip around the myriad forms and textures… breathing in the woodsy smell of newly printed words on paper… the experience is deeply sensual.Then there are those little nuggets of memory — ‘inheriting’ a cherished book from a parent or a teacher, discovering an old forgotten work in an attic or a storeroom perhaps, or just having ‘the one’ book that we always came back to, which could be counted upon to provide some emotional or spiritual relief — like an old friend that’s always there. There’s also the collector’s joy or the crazed fan’s delirious satisfaction of having all the parts of a much-loved series occupying pride of place in your room.But more than all that, there’s something about the human psyche that places a lot of emphasis on the sense of touch. Think about it — when we see something arresting, intriguing or just beautiful, we are tempted to reach out and touch. It’s that human longing to be able to ‘hold’ what you like; the longing that appears in its raw, unblemished form in infants. They reach out toward whatever it is that catches their fancy. Adults, moulded by civilised culture, restrain themselves; but who can deny the pull? Perhaps that’s why touch screens became such a phenomenon, and that’s also why e-book readers have come up with versions where you can virtually ‘flip’ the pages as you read.The more sensualist you are, the more you’d miss the smell, the look and the feel of the physical form. And I’m sure there are a lot of those out there. So hang on, ‘the book’ isn’t going anywhere in a hurry.

India: a case of disappearing liberal arts?

India’s growing labour force is already a much talked-about asset, not just within the country but also around the globe. There have been numerous discussions on how the country needs to bring about changes in its education system to properly harness the human capital and reap the demographic dividend. Now, HRD minister Kapil Sibal has stated at the India Economic Summit that India will have 200 million graduates and 500 million skilled staffers by 2020, accounting for 20 per cent of the entire world’s workforce. To ensure employability of these huge numbers, Sibal also said that the government is trying to set up vocational institutes near industry clusters so that industry can give inputs on its requirements. Interestingly, the talk around employment in India mostly focuses on the IT sector and providing skilled labour for it. There has, of course, been some concern over manufacturing too. But IT, with its status of being a key driver of the country’s growth, gets greater importance. While the presence of a skilled workforce is definitely a must for a growing nation, the development of human capital in our country has shown an increasing tendency of being lopsided. There is much emphasis on vocational or technical education, and with good reason. But in the process, the liberal arts are increasingly being pushed into the background. The liberal arts have a tradition of being an integral part of human educational history, since the time of the Roman Empire. At the time Romans used the term liberal arts to refer to the proper education that a “free individual” should receive. It was supposed to be essential for creating a well-rounded individual and was based on the premise that a free man (as opposed to a slave) should have a broader education, encompassing a vast field of subjects. In the developed nations of the western world, there is an essential balance between the study of liberal arts and the imparting of technical education. The youth are equally encouraged to aspire to be researchers, writers, economists or historians, as they are to be engineers or managers. Which is, in turn, reflected in the quality of writers or social scientists that they produce. In India, the lack of names that can claim global recognition in these fields is very apparent. The above-mentioned professions don’t really attract a huge pool of talent, and parental or peer pressure doesn’t help the situation in any way. Professional education, in particular the churning out of engineers and IT professionals, has hogged all the limelight. However, it must be kept in mind that emphasis on the liberal arts is important for the growth of knowledge in a country’s citizens. Rather than mere employability, a country’s education system also needs to deliver broader, in-depth knowledge to its youth, honing their intellectual capabilities. A liberal arts education is designed to help an individual develop rational thinking and intellectual capacity. More than that, it can also be a major growth engine for the economy, for it encourages innovation and forward thinking. Holistic growth in the economy cannot come from just employable labour being provided to one or two sectors. For an economy that is knowledge driven and innovation focused, it is very important that the youth be encouraged to delve deep into the various pools of knowledge and help create a nation that is balanced in its growth.