The effectiveness of PPP model is a hot topic today beyond the traditional outsourcing space. HMRI is one of the greatest working examples of this. Here we have another successful PPP model where in the e-learning space ‘IT as an enabler’ brings state-of-art teaching methods to the students of Chattisgarh. Yes that’s right – you heard it right- CHATTISGARH.  

Under the project called “Gyan Vinimay”, virtual classrooms are setup and online lectures from IIT Kanpur are screened using video-conferencing facilities to the state engineering colleges. In the earlier part of this decade, there was acute shortage of faculty in these areas and the students had no access to high-quality education. This issue was thus addressed by the higher education department.  The program was piloted in Govt. Engineering College, Raipur and Institute of Technology, Bilaspur. They were connected using VSAT technology from Hughes in 2006-07. Later on, four more colleges were added and connected by a terrestrial VPN over Boardband (2MBPs) BSNL for uninterrupted connectivity.  

“The Private sector resources would carefully dovetailed with their commercial interests and those of the Government to provide Value Added Services” says the policy document from the Govt. of Chhattisgarh emphasizing the need of PPP in effectively implementing e-Governance solutions. The various players include initial infrastructure funding by the Higher Education Department, respective colleges pitching in for recurring costs like bandwidth charges and courseware and also funds raised in Jan Bhagidari Samitis. The Government plans to bring the 18000 colleges in e-classrooms via the “National mission on education through ICT” initiative.  

<Bullet point – begin> 

It was the year 2001. The dot com bubble had busted. And even men with unambiguous sexualities were handed down slips in pink. Companies with a skewed sense of humour even played Aerosmith’s ‘Pink is my favourite colour’ as they handed it down. Protagonist, rookie programmer is sitting hunched over his desktop, concentration writ all over his face. Such were the times. Big Brother CEO had appeared over video conference the previous day and announced dourly ‘We need to save every penny ((read) there shall be no toilet paper in the loo from tomorrow); we need to increase productivity ((read) kiss your kids goodbye, you might not see them in a while); and employee performance will be tied in with health of the company ((read) when you order your burger at lunch and the waiter asks you ‘Would you like to have some cheese on top, sir’, scream ‘NO’) 

He stared hard. The debugger danced through the lines of code in harmony for a long time. And then, somewhere in the innards of a for loop, it careened out of control. The exception on the screen looked as unfriendly as the CEO in the video conference screen. Protagonist, rookie programmer, rubs his brow. Breathes hard. God knows what the code means. God knows what the error means. He reaches down and restarts the machine. Voila, it works. The golden tenet of software programming. The one that is handed down from one generation to the other but mentioned not once in any book on computer science. Restart the computer when something does not work and you know jack about how to solve it.  

Code compiled and rolled into production. Bits of data figuratively skim through the lines of code. Transactions happen. Flags turn from 0 to 1. More transactions happen. In the distant somewhere some customer is happy. And distant somewhere in the corporate treasury, a penny is saved. And another. And another, until it is a million USD. 

In 2008 a bullet point summarizes it all – ‘’Successfully initiated and executed system improvements to re-engineer process methodology of a critical system to realize cost savings of up to 1 million US dollars’. Wow, what profoundness. 

<Bullet point – end>

Circa 1942: World War II

The shelling had gotten louder. It always does after sundown. Dufus crouched in his bunker and tried blocking out the deafening sound. He heard everything faint these days. Distant almost. And it was embarrassing when he had to keep repeating ‘Sorry?’ when someone talked to him in good earnest. It seemed like the war had raged since eternity. He took out his pocket book. Two months. That’s all it had been.

It was a pleasant day in the woods. But for the shelling. Starry. Moonlit. Romantic almost. If only real life had a mute button, he wondered. He fumbled in his pocket. Four. Five. Six cigarettes. Four would fetch him coffee. Why did he want to have coffee? Some irresistible urge. Something to transport him to happier times. To the café back on the banks of the flowing Danube; where the smell of freshly baked bread and grounded coffee made him sit intoxicated for hours on end. The saxophonist playing in the background; happy tunes like in a fairly tale. And the twilight; and the glow on her face as she stooped down to serve him coffee. And……Biff!!! Red earth smattered onto his face. He’d probably stretched and they had noticed. Sweat streamed down his brow; the crawling; the mud in the face. And the ‘will this be the end?’ feeling that he hated so much.

He hated the yellow light at the mess. Made life, for lack of a better word seem yellow. He walked up to the sergeant. ‘Hey mate, can I get some coffee’, he said, handing him the four stubs. ‘Glad to see you alive and talkin bugger. Heard that was close’, the sergeant replied, smiling. ‘But you know how things are. Coffee now comes for six’. 

‘Six?’ Dufus exclaimed. ‘You trade whiskey for four’

‘Funny eh? Lots more soft souls like you around I suppose. Coffee is six. Take it or leave it’

Dufus stood staring at the sergeant. But one fleeting moment, and the remaining two stubs were in the sergeant’s hands.

He could hear the cicadas in the distance as he sat on the rocks overlooking the night sky. Swig off the coffee mug. He could now hear the Danube flowing. And in the distance, strains from a saxophone that sounded familiar.

                                                *****************

Circa 2008: B school, India

The whiteboard looked distant. And what was that marker colour? Grey? Poor black? And what is that Greek symbol. A half theta – half psi? It seemed too distant to be worried out. For all you know, it might not even be a Greek symbol. It might be a figment of my imagination. And this might not even be a lecture but some strange Freudian dream that I am currently going through.

‘Yes, you have a question?’, the professor enquires.

God bless Freud. But this is no Freudian dream. Neighbour of mine has a question. Always has. Generally profound. The kind that demands respect. Except of course when you are in a state of quasi wakefulness and the profundity suddenly happens.

Yesterday had been another long night. And there was a point in time when I thought the numbers on the excel sheet were moving around to adjacent cells like cards on an Ouija board. That’s when realization dawns really - that I will never ever find the right answer to the assignment problem that I am trying to solve. Like they never ever found Shangri-La. You are here for the learning godammit, I try to convince myself. And grades? Well, they are mere numbers are they not? 

Recess. I fumble for that fiver in my wallet. Coins of all denomination but the one I am looking for. And the godamn vending machine wouldn’t serve coffee for anything else. I need that coffee. And I need it now. 

‘Hiya, you’re looking nice today. You got a fiver’, I ask in valiant hope.

Like it works; it never does. ‘I’ll give you a ten’er. You give me a fiver’, I haggled. Someone shorted the deal. I don’t know who. A cup of coffee at last. It’s insipid. But the caffeine still hits. 

                                                *******************

P.S: The effort of the author is to make a convoluted yet profound statement that history is testimony to the fact, that whether it be German POW camps or Indian B schools, the economic value of a good (in this case, coffee) at times, is much more than it’s actual monetary value. Period.

Freak, didn’t that sound good or what!!!

‘Heard you’re writing for the ISB blog and all’, alter ego snapped suddenly, breaking the calm of the mid night nothingness. 

‘Eh…..ya’, I replied uneasily. I hate it when he appears uncalled and unexpected. Just when you don’t want questions. Just when you don’t want conversations. 

‘And I heard it’s this glorified story of how you mere mortal transformed into this Kryptonite eating B school grad of sorts. Of how you can read Adam Smith beyond page 26 and solve optimization problems that have double integration signs and Greek symbols you don’t even know how to pronounce’, he laughed. I hate that laugh. That questioning laugh. Sarcasm, derision and all things negative written all over it. 

‘How do you know?’, I wanted to ask. But what the hell; he’s my bloody other half. How would he not know? 

‘I know it because I know it’, he giggled. 

And even before I could interject, he continued ‘So what’s it gonna be like. The Harvard Business Review meets Economist kinda articles eh? Think of you sitting in front of your laptop pouring over HBR articles for inspiration, just because your blog submission is due by 12 o clock’. Laughter. 

‘Hey, hey, wait a minute’, infuriated me quips back. 

‘And do write one of those wishful thinking ‘If I were a consultant, I would wear Giovanni to work everyday’ kinda articles as well. If not perspective, they will at least add humour’ he continued, like my voice never carried at all. 

I had half a mind to smash the face peering out of the mirror with questioning snigger plastered all over. 

‘Listen. I don’t think you’re ever gonna get this but what makes you think I am gonna make this a blow your trumpet space for godsake. All this is is a perspective to life in a B school. And I swear it’s gonna be as interesting as any of those 150 other book versions plaguing the roadsides screaming perspectives from a B school grad. But I swear I’ll be different. For one, I’ll give a perspective – to life, the times and all that jazz’, I screamed profoundly. 

Laughter. Uproarious laughter. 

Sound of shattering glass. I hate it when he laughs like that. 

There are no stitches; but take rest, the doctor told me. And I am still trying to convince the housekeeping guys that it was the freakin dynamites at Gachibowli that made the mirror mysteriously fall onto my hands and shatter. I don’t think they are buying it. Damn.