Archive for the 'Life' Category

Ravikiran Rao

The Delivery

 
The Contemplative Indian

The Contemplative Indian

At 9:28 PM, September 29, 2008, we  took delivery of this as-yet unnamed package at Fernandez Hospital, Abids, Hyderabad. He weighed 2.8kg at birth and took 30 hours to push his way out of his mother Soumya’s womb. He came a few days early, partly in response to his father’s threat to name him “Mohandas” if he dared arrive on October 2. His other major accomplishment in the past week has been to learn to feed himself. In the coming weeks, his parents hope that he will learn to distinguish between night and day, and stay awake during the latter rather than the former.

Ravikiran Rao

How I Manage My Investments

Aadisht was keenly interested in the spreadsheet I referred to in the post below. It so happens that I am inordinately proud of my creation. So, as a service to society, I have uploaded it to Google and shared it with the world.  But:

  1. You need to be logged in to google to see it
  2. The data is scrubbed. All values are dummies, except the names of the funds in the first sheet - those are a subset of the ones I actually own. But everything else, including folio numbers, prices and number of units is fake.
  3. It is writable by anyone.  I had to make it writable for you guys to see the formulas. But please don’t make any changes.
  4. On the last sheet are supposed to be two pivot tables. As I have explained, when I upload a .xls file, Google converts pivot tables into simple tables. But the pivot is self-explanatory and  you can recreate it.
  5. You can download as .xls for your use. But a stupid bug will be apparent to you if you compare the last sheets. It is trivial to fix it.
  6. The spreadsheet is probably unusable unless you understand the thinking behind it. 

The last lacuna, I shall now rectify with the following treatise on how I do my investing.

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When I announced my Tirupati and Pondicherry itinerary on Wikitravel, I received this enticing piece of advice:

The best Malai Kofta ever

Since you’re heading there… is in Pondicherry, on a side street roughly across the street from Sri Aurobindo’s Paper Factory off of SV Patel Salai. I can’t remember the name of the restaurant, but I think maybe it had “green” in the name, or the building was green. Anyhoo… I dream about it still.

The person who left me this message was Cacahuate, an American who had spent two years traipsing all over the world (of which more than  a year was in India) and to whom I shall remain forever indebted for helping me plan my honeymoon at Havelock Island.  So I made it part of my mission in Pondicherry to track down and try the Malai Kofta.

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Ravikiran Rao

Relived: A Weekend in Hospital

I was a sickly boy as a child, but I realized how far I had come when I had to rush to the hospital on Sunday. All because of medical insurance. 

It wasn’t for me, but for my wife. She caught a fever on Saturday and it wouldn’t subside by Sunday. I realized that we’d need to see a doctor, and I also realized that I did not know any doctor in Hyderabad.  So we took her to one of the hospitals that were on the approved list provided by the insurer.

My belief is that if you are a generally healthy person, your medical needs are best served by finding a decent doctor who makes his living by treating lower middle-class people and sticking to him. This is from my personal experience, having been a lower middle-class person myself in my childhood.  You are better off with this guy than with an excellent doctor who treats the rich.  The first reason is that he will have more experience. The second, more important reason is that his incentives will be aligned to yours. He will be used to treating people who cannot afford too much money for useless tests. He will be focused on volume rather than on trying to extract as much value from you as possible. So you will get treated for your disease in  a no nonsense way.

Opting for insured treatment for minor illnesses is usually a bad idea, because the hospital will find multiple ways to treat you and charge the money to the insurance company.  First, they insisted on hospitalizing my wife rather than gave her outpatient treatment, because the latter is not covered by insurance. Then they tested her for every illness imaginable. Then they put her on the drip and injected her with such a large diet of antibiotics that by the end of Monday, she was in tears from the pain and was begging me to take her home. Today morning I insisted on a discharge and got it.

I could turn this into a discussion on the various interesting ways in which the market fails when it comes to medical treatment - and how the attempts to fix it breaks it in various interesting ways - but I am too drowsy from having spent two nights in a hospital bunk.

Ravikiran Rao

Relived: Mungaru Male

Watching a Kannada movie was not my idea of the ideal way to spend a Sunday morning. When I last checked, directors of Kannada movies had not yet learnt to distinguish between making a movie and directing a play in a village which had not yet been introduced to electricity.  Characters in the typical Kannada movie used to stand shoulder-to-shoulder while having a conversation - something that normal people don’t do, but which makes perfect sense for actors in a play, because they’d need to face the stage. If they wanted to express something, it wasn’t enough to show it on their face - their whole body needed to convulse with surprise, shock or anger - something completely natural when you realise that the typical drama has poor support for close-ups. They also needed to scream their dialogues because the Ram-leelas fifty years back did not have microphones.

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Ravikiran Rao

These Americans Are Crazy: Part IV

I was in Ohio at a Wal Mart with a colleague. A child, perhaps five years old was standing with his back to me - his parents were a couple of feet away. The child obviously misestimated their location, because he put his arms behind his back and around my legs, evidently taking me for his father or some such. I gently disentangled myself - and when he looked around and saw who I was, the child recoiled. I smiled at the child and tried to pat him on his cheek. This action got me a horrified reaction from my colleague who had spent enough time in the US to know that a man never ever does such things to a child unless he is a glutton for a child abuse lawsuit.

I was reminded of the incident when I read this rather saddening article.

Ravikiran Rao

Relived: The Broken Life

The following things have suffered breakdowns in my life in the past week or so:

  1. My cell-phone: Entirely my fault. I was on vacation and sitting at my in-laws. In a fit of joblessness, I started exploring its various features and somehow managed to lock my sim card. Fortunately, that was easily rectified.
  2. My watch: I was returning from my vacation lugging a heavy bag. While loading it into the bus, the strap of the bag got into a fierce embrace with the strap of my watch and took it down with it.
  3. My car: I don’t know what’s its excuse. I return from said vacation and I find that the steering is giving me trouble. Haven’t found time to fix it.
  4. My doorknob: I don’t know how I managed to break the door knob, but I did. Now if I shut the door from inside, I need to spend as much time and burn as much calories as I would if I worked out at the gym.
Ravikiran Rao

Scheduling Sex

Twenty years ago, when I was at secondary school and much wiser than now, I was a major fan of creating schedules, or “time tables” as I called them then. My time table involved going to sleep at 10:30 PM, waking at 5:30, taking five minutes to brush my teeth, 25 minutes to exercise, studying for an hour, etc. I will admit that I was no better then at following those plans than I am now, but I was quite enamoured of the idea.

Then I learnt about sex, and scheduling sex turned into an intractable problem for me. I wasn’t actually having sex; my interest in sex was entirely Platonic. But I had decided that preparing time tables and leading one’s life according to them was a good way to lead one’s entire life, and I couldn’t understand how one could have sex at all if that were the case. The problem, as I understood it, was that the decision to have sex would be an impulsive one, and the act would take 20-25 minutes at the very least, if not more. If one got the impulse after one went to bed, it would mean that he (and she) would have to get less than eight hours of sleep, which was obviously unacceptable.

I don’t think I ever resolved the problem.

Ravikiran Rao

Cramped marketplaces

Last sunday, I was wandering through a rythu bazaar - “farmer’s markets” where farmers directly sell their produce to consumers and eliminate middlemen - set up by Chandrababu Naidu as part of his drive to, like, totally neglect farmers and focus on the IT industry.

As designed, the market had a broad corridor for the buyers to walk through, with granite-floored galas for the sellers to sit. But every single one of the sellers had abandoned those galas and were sitting on the corridors, getting in the shoppers’ way. The actual galas were badly underutilized. They were being used for storage, but not very efficiently. If the sellers had wanted, they could have used it for both.

I thought that this was a perverse result, which had occurred as a result of the fallacy of composition. One seller must have found that he could get a share of the customer’s attention by moving to the corridor and squatting there. Competition must have forced the others to follow. The result was that no seller was better off, but the buyers were worse off, because the shopping experience had worsened. The solution to this problem, I thought like any good free market fundamentalist, was to have marketplaces compete in giving a better experience to customers. I was like totally going to blog it, but didn’t find the time.

It was a good thing I waited, because Prashant Kothari sent me a link to an article in the Wall Street Journal that tells me that this is actually what the customers prefer.

Mr. Biyani redesigned his stores to make them messier, noisier and more cramped. “The shouting, the untidiness, the chaos is part of the design,” he says, as he surveys his Mumbai store where he just spent around $50,000 to replace long, wide aisles with narrow, crooked ones: “Making it chaotic is not easy.”

Even the dirty, black-spotted onions serve a function. For the average Indian, dusty and dirty produce means fresh from the farm, he says. Indian shoppers also love to bargain. Mr. Biyani doesn’t allow haggling, but having damaged as well as good quality produce in the same box gives customers a chance to choose and think they are getting a better deal. “They should get a sense of victory,” he says.

Instead of long aisles and tall shelves, the stores cluster products in bins and on low shelves. With long aisles, he says, “the customers never stopped. They kept on walking on and on so we had to create blockages
The bins let customers handle products from different sides. Decades of shopping from stalls also means that most customers feel more comfortable looking down when they shop, he says. Narrow, winding aisles create small traffic jams that make people stop and look at products. Last month, one of his first stores in Mumbai changed from long, straight aisles to the haphazard cluster design. “Sales are up 30% since the change,” Mr. Biyani said, as he struggled to walk through the knots of shoppers at the store.

Indian consumers aren’t used to processed and packaged goods, so the stores sell wheat, rice, lentils and other products out of large buckets. Housewives want to grab handfuls, checking them out for pebbles, quality and smell, he says. Mr. Biyani tells his staff not to tidy up, as he noticed that customers are less likely to check out a product if it is in neat stacks. He scoops up a handful of plastic razors from a pile in a bin. “When it is like this,” he says, “it feels like a good deal.”

(Link might stay good only for a week.)