Why Tata Fired Mistry

(This is a spoof and a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or places or actual events is purely coincidental)

Office of a digital publication

“Oh Shit!,” yelled the young intern, who had been asked to keep a tab on what was happening in the world at large.

“What happened?” asked the senior desk hand sitting next to him.

“Tata has fired Mistry,” said the intern, in an excited state.

“What?” screamed the editor from across the bay.

“Yes,” said the senior desk hand who had checked out the news by then.

“Okay. Shouted the editor. Let’s get working on this.”

“Yes Sir!” said the intern.

“I want you guys to start working on Five Reasons Why Tata Said Bye Bye to Mistry.”

“But Sir so soon?” asked a confused intern.

“Yes goddamit. We are a website and not the Economic & Political Weekly, which can take six years to figure out what really happened. If you hadn’t been asking questions you would have already figured out two and a half reasons by now.”

“Sir, five reasons won’t work,” screamed the senior desk hand.

“Oh, but why?”

“While we were talking, another website has already come with Five Reasons Why Tata Said Bye Bye to Mistry.”

“Oh, then let’s use six.”

“Sir, the numbers six to 77 have already been taken.”

“What?”

“Yes Sir.”

“Let’s do 78 then.”

“78?” asked the intern again. “How do we come with 78 Reasons Why Tata Said Bye Bye to Mistry?”

“Oh that’s simple,” said the senior desk hand. “We just ask a question on Facebook and Twitter to the people.”

“What question?” asked the bewildered intern again.

“We ask the readers why do you think Tata fired Mistry,” said the senior desk hand patiently. “Take those reasons and turn them into 78 Reasons Why Tata Said Bye Bye to Mistry.”

“But how will the readers know, if we don’t know?” asked the intern, rather innocently.

“Well. The readers don’t know. But every reader on the social media thinks that he knows. So, we just cash in on that.”

“Ah. Like that,” said the intern, finally figuring out what was happening.

By now, the editor had totally lost patience. “Let’s get cracking. This is a part of our strategy of building direct reader connect. If readers generate their own content they feel more connected with it. We also don’t need to spend money on generating content.”

All this left the intern wondering: “Does the nation really want to know?”

Meanwhile in a business TV studio.

“I want you guys to get cracking on this,” shouted Maureen.

“Yes Mam,” came the reply from the young reporters.

Two minutes later Maureen was on air, explaining the development to the audience which was watching the news on mute.

“Why do you think Tata fired Mistry?” she asked the reporter.

“Sources close to sources said that the sources have no idea behind the mystery of the mysterious sacking of Mr Mistry…” the reporter explained, speaking at breakneck speed.

“Ah. Thank you for giving us that exclusive breaking news. Remember you heard it here first,” said Maureen. “And now it’s time to take a break.”

“Good show girl,” Maureen told the reporter. “I love it when you speak so confidently. After all that is what TV is all about.”

Meanwhile at a Hindi news channel.

“So what angle do we take?” the editor asked the reporter.

“Sir, aap jo bole wo angle le lenge (Sir, whatever angle you ask we will take),” the reporter replied.

The reporter up until two minutes back had been covering politics and suddenly he was now being asked to turn himself into a business journalist.

“Hmmm…Let’s take the Mulayam angle,” the editor suggested.

“Mulayam?” asked the reporter, totally stumped.

“Yes. Arre, Mulayam could have fired Akhilesh but he hasn’t. He has managed to postpone the problem for another day,” explained the editor. “Also, there is a family angle. Ratan’s brother is married to Mistry’s sister. So,  we can compare it to Mulayam. To chal jaega (It will do).”

“Yes Sir. Yes Sir,” agreed the reporter, thanking the Gods. At least, he would be able to speak something on this.

Meanwhile at one of India’s leading pink papers…

“What have we got?” asked the editor leaning back on his chair and trying to blow imaginary smoke rings into the air. This was something he used to love to do all day in his office for real, until the no smoking policy became the order of the day. Now he could only smoke in the office loo.

Six Reasons Why Tata Said Bye Bye to Mistry,” explained the corporate editor.

“Ah. You wrote it so fast Mr Matthew,” said the editor.

“Yes. Mr Chakraborty.”

“But that will be published on the web. What do we do for tomorrow morning?”

“Yes Sir!” explained the corporate editor, who had already put in all the spin he could think of into the Six Reasons piece.

“Let’s do something conceptual.”

“As in?”

Sabka badla lega tera faijal,” explained the editor, leaving everyone totally flummoxed for a moment. For a Bong he did watch a lot of Hindi cinema.

“As in?” the corporate editor asked again.

“Let’s call it Gangs of Bombay House. You know a play on Gangs of Wasseypur, with the Tata camp taking on the Mistry camp.”

“Wonderful idea Sir. Should take care of tomorrow’s page and hopefully by tomorrow we should be able to figure out what really happened.”

“Ah. Tomorrow we need to come with more reasons behind what really happened. Day after, a few more. We need to keep coming up with reasons behind what really happened. It doesn’t matter what really happened because nobody knows what really happened,” said the editor, as he made his way towards the loo, having gotten done with his share of philosophy for the day.

“What is the truth?” asked the corporate editor, imagining, he had an audience around him. “No one really knows. Everyone has their own version.”

And then he wondered “Where had he heard that before?” “Or I am getting better and better at writing fiction?”

The article originally appeared in Vivek Kaul’s Diary on October 25, 2016

Khada hai khada hai was a Sufi song: A dreamy conversation with Pahlaj Nihalani


pahlaj
It is 12.30AM at night and I am sleeping. In my sleep I am dreaming about Pahlaj Nihalani. I am actually talking to him. We are having a conversation.

“Sir if you could produce a film with a song khada hai khada hai khada hai, why don’t you like kissing anymore?” I asked him a simple question to start the proceedings.

“You are misquoting the song?”

“Misquoting the song?” I repeated, wondering how does one misquote a song.

“Well you are just singing a part of it,” explained Mr Nihalani, the censor board chief and started humming it himself: “Khada hai khada hai khada hai, dar pe tere aashiq khada hai.”

“This is the complete line?”

“Yes.”

“So?”

“This is a Sufi song. In fact, it was India’s first filmi Sufi song.”

“Sorry?” I asked, wondering what made one of India’s grossest double meaning songs, a Sufi song.

“Let me explain,” continued Nihalani. “The lover is calling out to his beloved and singing that he is standing on her doorstep waiting for her to open the door.”

“Yes?”

“The beloved is essentially a representation of God, you see and the lover is her devotee,” he explained.

“Ah,” I said surprised at this masterful spin that Nihalani had come up with.

“Imagine a Sufi song in Hindi cinema of the 1990s. They used to be full of these double meaning songs. Choli ke peeche/andar kya hai and all that. This was a time when the world hadn’t discovered Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan sab. Or Abida Parveen for that matter. I was ‘so’ ahead of the times.”

“But Sir what about lal duppette waali tera naam to bata?” I asked, trying to get back into the game.

“What about it bacche?”

“Well there is a line in the song where the heroines sing, “har ajnabi ke liye khidki nahi khulti,” and in a very suggestive way slightly raise the hemline of their white mini-skirts. This clearly wasn’t a good projection of Indian culture that you now seem to be so passionate about?”

“Ah, the tragedy of my life,” shouted Nihalani.

“Nobody ever understood the real meaning behind my songs.”

“Real meaning?” I asked.

“Yes. That was a song against pollution. I was telling the people to keep their windows closed till the air gets a little cleaner. Again, I was ahead of the times. Now we at least have Modi Kaka’s Swacch Bharat.

“And what about main maal gaadi tu dhakka lagga? What was that all about?” I asked, hoping to catch the censor chief off-guard.

“Oh that was a song for the Indian Railways,” he replied.

“Indian Railways?”

“You know that the passenger service of Indian Railways is a loss making operation?”

“So?”

“That was my way of indirectly telling the government that they should be running more freight turns, if they wanted the Railways to be profitable and sustainable.”

“Ah.”

“And look at what happened?” he asked rhetorically.

“What happened?” I repeated.

“Lalu Prasad Yadav stole my idea when he became the Railway Minister in 2004. He gave immense importance to freight operations and revived the Railways,” explained Nihalani. “I never got the respect I deserved until Modi Kaka came along.”

“Hmmm. But what about angna main baba duare pe ma?

“What about it?”

“The song starts with the heroine Shilpa Shirodkar lifting her ghagra to reveal her thigh. It is followed by the heroine and a string of women extras gyrating their chests and doing other suggestive movements.”

“So?” Nihalani persisted.

“Well if you can produce that sort of a song, what is wrong with James Bond kissing?”

“Well, again you are seeing only what unfolds on the screen.”

“So what is the ‘deeper’ meaning?” I asked, trying to be sarcastic.

“This was a song against obesity.”

“Obesity?” I asked, with my head ready to spin.

“Yes. Look at the dance movements. I have just tried to Indianise aerobic movements. I had given special instructions to the choreographer to do that.”

“Oh.”

“Yes. And this was a time when even Baba’s Yoga was not on the scene,” he explained.

“Yes that is pretty recent,” I said accepting defeat.

“And it was up to me that the country remained healthy until Modi Kaka came along.”

This was when a bucket full of water landed up on me and the girl-friend yelled at the top of her voice, “can you stop shouting Modi Modi even in your sleep.”

(Vivek Kaul is the author of the Easy Money trilogy. He tweets @kaul_vivek. On most days he writes on finance and economics).

This spoof originally appeared on Huffington Post India on Nov 26, 2015

The Sensex will touch one million by 2050

Vivek Kaul 

So, the bosses are really mad at us,” said Harshad, the senior most analyst at the brokerage firm.
“Oh, why?” asked Ketan. “What did we do now? I have recommended every stock that they wanted me to recommend.”
I guess it must have to do with all the Sensex forecasts. There was even one report which predicted that the index will touch one lakh points by 2020,” explained Rakesh.
“Yeah and we haven’t put out one,” said Harshad.
“You know I don’t like these Indian numbers,” said Samir, butting in on the video-conference from Singapore. “This
lakh-shak is too small. Let’s talk of at least a million.”
“Samir,” said Ketan. “How come you are not on TV today, driving up the market?”
“Guys, lets get serious,” said a rather worried Harshad. “We need to do something.”
Arre this prediction business is too risky,” said Rakesh. “I predicted in 2007 that the Sensex will touch 50,000 points in six-seven years.”
“So?” asked Samir.
“Well, we are only half way there.”
“You forgot the first law of forecasting, which it to make as many forecasts as possible and then publicise the ones you get right. How do you think I have managed to survive so long?” explained Samir.
“Guys, we are deviating from the point,” said Harshad. “We need to do some damage control.”
“Like what?” asked Ketan.
“Like coming up with our own Sensex forecast,” answered Harshad.
“Then, let’s follow the second rule of forecasting,” said Samir.
“Second rule?” asked Rakesh.
“Oh. Let’s say that the Sensex will touch one million points by 2050.”
“But what is the second rule of forecasting?” asked a frustrated Harshad.
“Oh, it is to make a forecast very far into the future, so that even if we get it wrong, nobody would know that we had made the forecast in the first place,” explained Samir with a chuckle.
“Actually, the Sensex needs to give a return of just 10.8% per year for it to touch one million points by 2050,” said Ketan, quickly running the numbers on the excel sheet. “So this is one forecast we will most likely get right.”
Nah, but 2050 is too far off,” said Harshad. “While we can say that, we will also need something which is a tad nearer.”
“How about the Sensex touching one lakh points by 2022,” said Rakesh, not having learnt from his previous mistake.
“But why 2022?” asked Ketan. “And not 2021 or 2023?”
“Oh, in 2022, we complete 75 years of freedom,” replied Rakesh.
“So?” asked Samir.
“Mr Bachchan also turns 80 that year,” said Ketan.
“Guys, where is this heading,” said Harshad. “You will get me fired. I still have EMIs to pay.”
“Actually Mr Bachchan reminds me of a line from the film
Amar, Akbar, Anthony,” said Ketan.
Ye kya ho raha hai?” asked Harshad, having lost control of the meeting totally.
“So, y
ou see, the whole country of the system is juxtaposition by the haemoglobin in the atmosphere because you are a sophisticated rhetorician intoxicated by the exuberance of your own verbosity,” said Ketan.
“Man, I never knew you could say that,” said Samir, jumping from his seat. “I tried
rattoing it for almost a year and then gave up.”
“Guys, guys, but what is the point?” asked a beleaguered Harshad.
“The point is that we need to come up with some sophisticated sounding gibberish to predict that Sensex will touch one lakh points by 2022,” explained Rakesh.
“Ah you read my mind so well,” complemented Ketan.
“So, what is the story?” asked Harshad.
“It’s simple. The Sensex needs to give a return of 17.8 to 20.3% returns per year if it needs to touch one lakh points in 2022,” explained Ketan, quickly using the excel sheet again.
“And?” asked Samir, totally flummoxed about where this was going.
“If we look at Sensex since 1979, it has given a return of a little over 17% per year on an average,” said Ketan.
“But 17% is not enough. We need more than that,” said Harshad, feeling a tad relaxed now.
“Well, we can add a few percentage points, as the new government premium,” said Ketan.
“New government premium?” asked Samir, feeling totally left out in Singapore.
“You need to comeback Samir,” said Rakesh. “You are not getting even the most basic stuff these days.”
“Let me explain,” said Ketan. “Basically we will say that the new government will set right everything that is wrong with the Indian economy. And that will mean that the Sensex will rise at 20% per year over the next eight years, instead of the usual 17%.”
“Brilliant story guys,” exclaimed Samir.
“So, I guess we have our story,” said Rakesh. “Let me just go and check how my value picks are doing. I had bought some of these stocks in the late 1980s.”
“Wait, wait, guys. Let me add the icing on the cake,” interrupted Samir.
“But make it quick,” said Harshad.
“I think along with the story, we also need to launch a new M.O.D.I. fund,” said Samir.
“Eh, what is that?” asked Ketan, irritated by the fact that Samir was butting in to take all the credit. “Oh M.O.D.I. fund stands for
Multiple Opportunities in the Development of India fund,” said Samir.
“The name will help us raise a lot of money.”
“Ah, Samir, the I love way you give it a spin,” said Harshad. “Its all about Modi anyway.”
The article originally appeared on www.FirstBiz.com on June 16, 2014
(Vivek Kaul is the author of the Easy Money trilogy. He tweets @kaul_vivek) 

The Sensex will touch one million by 2050

Vivek Kaul 

So, the bosses are really mad at us,” said Harshad, the senior most analyst at the brokerage firm.
“Oh, why?” asked Ketan. “What did we do now? I have recommended every stock that they wanted me to recommend.”
I guess it must have to do with all the Sensex forecasts. There was even one report which predicted that the index will touch one lakh points by 2020,” explained Rakesh.
“Yeah and we haven’t put out one,” said Harshad.
“You know I don’t like these Indian numbers,” said Samir, butting in on the video-conference from Singapore. “This
lakh-shak is too small. Let’s talk of at least a million.”
“Samir,” said Ketan. “How come you are not on TV today, driving up the market?”
“Guys, lets get serious,” said a rather worried Harshad. “We need to do something.”
Arre this prediction business is too risky,” said Rakesh. “I predicted in 2007 that the Sensex will touch 50,000 points in six-seven years.”
“So?” asked Samir.
“Well, we are only half way there.”
“You forgot the first law of forecasting, which it to make as many forecasts as possible and then publicise the ones you get right. How do you think I have managed to survive so long?” explained Samir.
“Guys, we are deviating from the point,” said Harshad. “We need to do some damage control.”
“Like what?” asked Ketan.
“Like coming up with our own Sensex forecast,” answered Harshad.
“Then, let’s follow the second rule of forecasting,” said Samir.
“Second rule?” asked Rakesh.
“Oh. Let’s say that the Sensex will touch one million points by 2050.”
“But what is the second rule of forecasting?” asked a frustrated Harshad.
“Oh, it is to make a forecast very far into the future, so that even if we get it wrong, nobody would know that we had made the forecast in the first place,” explained Samir with a chuckle.
“Actually, the Sensex needs to give a return of just 10.8% per year for it to touch one million points by 2050,” said Ketan, quickly running the numbers on the excel sheet. “So this is one forecast we will most likely get right.”
Nah, but 2050 is too far off,” said Harshad. “While we can say that, we will also need something which is a tad nearer.”
“How about the Sensex touching one lakh points by 2022,” said Rakesh, not having learnt from his previous mistake.
“But why 2022?” asked Ketan. “And not 2021 or 2023?”
“Oh, in 2022, we complete 75 years of freedom,” replied Rakesh.
“So?” asked Samir.
“Mr Bachchan also turns 80 that year,” said Ketan.
“Guys, where is this heading,” said Harshad. “You will get me fired. I still have EMIs to pay.”
“Actually Mr Bachchan reminds me of a line from the film
Amar, Akbar, Anthony,” said Ketan.
Ye kya ho raha hai?” asked Harshad, having lost control of the meeting totally.
“So, y
ou see, the whole country of the system is juxtaposition by the haemoglobin in the atmosphere because you are a sophisticated rhetorician intoxicated by the exuberance of your own verbosity,” said Ketan.
“Man, I never knew you could say that,” said Samir, jumping from his seat. “I tried
rattoing it for almost a year and then gave up.”
“Guys, guys, but what is the point?” asked a beleaguered Harshad.
“The point is that we need to come up with some sophisticated sounding gibberish to predict that Sensex will touch one lakh points by 2022,” explained Rakesh.
“Ah you read my mind so well,” complemented Ketan.
“So, what is the story?” asked Harshad.
“It’s simple. The Sensex needs to give a return of 17.8 to 20.3% returns per year if it needs to touch one lakh points in 2022,” explained Ketan, quickly using the excel sheet again.
“And?” asked Samir, totally flummoxed about where this was going.
“If we look at Sensex since 1979, it has given a return of a little over 17% per year on an average,” said Ketan.
“But 17% is not enough. We need more than that,” said Harshad, feeling a tad relaxed now.
“Well, we can add a few percentage points, as the new government premium,” said Ketan.
“New government premium?” asked Samir, feeling totally left out in Singapore.
“You need to comeback Samir,” said Rakesh. “You are not getting even the most basic stuff these days.”
“Let me explain,” said Ketan. “Basically we will say that the new government will set right everything that is wrong with the Indian economy. And that will mean that the Sensex will rise at 20% per year over the next eight years, instead of the usual 17%.”
“Brilliant story guys,” exclaimed Samir.
“So, I guess we have our story,” said Rakesh. “Let me just go and check how my value picks are doing. I had bought some of these stocks in the late 1980s.”
“Wait, wait, guys. Let me add the icing on the cake,” interrupted Samir.
“But make it quick,” said Harshad.
“I think along with the story, we also need to launch a new M.O.D.I. fund,” said Samir.
“Eh, what is that?” asked Ketan, irritated by the fact that Samir was butting in to take all the credit. “Oh M.O.D.I. fund stands for
Multiple Opportunities in the Development of India fund,” said Samir.
“The name will help us raise a lot of money.”
“Ah, Samir, the I love way you give it a spin,” said Harshad. “Its all about Modi anyway.”
The article originally appeared on www.FirstBiz.com on June 16, 2014
(Vivek Kaul is the author of the Easy Money trilogy. He tweets @kaul_vivek) 

Inflation over 10%: India needs a Rajiv Gandhi Inflation Control Yojana

RAJIV_158869fVivek Kaul
But Ma I want to become an economist,” said the son.
An economist?” asked the mother. “Why in the world do you want to do that? You are already a politician.”
“Aren’t they kind of cool?” asked the son.
Care to explain?”
“Look at Rajan at the Reserve Bank, the women are just swooning over him,” said the son. “Mrs De even wrote a column on how hot he is.”
“Yes. But do you remember the one before Rajan? No woman would have fallen for him, even though he did try and learn the salsa dance,” said the mother, puncturing the bubble.
Ah, trust you to spoil the fun as always,” said the son. “I was so looking forward to the women swooning over me.”
“Aren’t they already,” replied the mother, trying to do some damage control. “Look at the number of responses we have got to that advertisement we placed on 
globalshadi.com. Wanted a fair, convent educated, homely girl who respects her elders and can cook.”
He He.”
“But why do you suddenly want to become an economist?”
Oh, every other day the media talks about inflation, index of industrial production and what not,” said the son. “And I don’t understand any of it.”
“But you don’t have to understand all that 
beta,” said the mother. “What else do we have mauni baba for?”
“Oh yeah, 
mauni baba is an economist, I had almost forgotten, given that he rarely speaks these days.”
“Yes. Let me just call him for you.”
Five minutes later, 
mauni baba is hurried in through the door.
What happened madam?” he asked. “Hope all is well.”
“Nothing really,” she replied. “My son here just had a few small doubts. I’ll leave the two of you alone to have a man to man talk.”
Saying this, the mother left the room and the son decided to brush up on his economics.
“You know sir, the index of industrial production(IIP) number came in earlier in the day and it rose by 2%.”
“Yes, it did 
beta. What do you want to know about it?” asked mauni baba rather lovingly.
“Why is the number so low?”
“We are going through tough times. You know the IIP essentially measures the level of the industrial activity in the country.”
“But isn’t 2% very low?”
“Yes it is. In fact, if we look at just manufacturing which forms 75% of the IIP, it grew by only 0.6%.”
“Oh, so low?”
“Yes,” said 
mauni baba. “The industrial activity in the country has come to a standstill.”
“But why is that?” asked the son.
People are not buying as many cars as they were. Neither are they buying consumer durables, which fell by 10% during September 2013, in comparison to the same period last year,” said mauni baba, without answering the question.
“But what is the problem?”
“The problem is inflation. The consumer price inflation for the month of October 2013 was at 10.09%.”
“Oh, yes I saw that on television,” said the son. “They keep going on and on about onion and tomato prices going up. I am so bored of watching that.”
“Yes, you should watch Star World Premiere HD.”
“And if they can’t eat onions and tomatoes, why don’t they try pasta and pizza,” said the son. “Or even caviar.”
“Doesn’t go down well with the Indian taste, you know,” said 
mauni baba. “We need our dal, rice and rasam.”
So you were telling me something about inflation.”
“Yes. So inflation is greater than 10%. Food inflation is higher. Consumer price inflation number suggests that food inflation is at 12.56%. As per the wholesale price inflation number, the food inflation is at 18.4%.”
“And what does that mean?”
“Half of the expenditure of an average Indian household goes towards food. Given the rate at which food prices are rising, more and more money is being spent on paying for food and other essentials.”
“Oh.”
“Hence, there is very little money left to buy non essential items like consumer durables and cars. And this leads to low industrial activity. When the demand falls, so does the supply.”
“But where does this inflation come from?” asked the son. “Why can’t we just stop it by launching a RGICLY?”
“RGICLY?” asked 
mauni baba. “What is that?”
“Rajiv Gandhi Inflation Control Yojana,” explained the son, very seriously.
“We can try, we can try,” said 
mauni baba going with the flow.
“But where does this inflation come from?”
Well, over the last few years, the government has increased its expenditure. All this money being spent lands up in the hands of people. And they go out and spend that money. When a greater amount of money chases the same amount of goods and services, prices rise. Food prices particularly work along these lines.”
“Ah. So basically we need to grow more onions and tomatoes.”
“Yes, yes,” said 
mauni baba. Its an opportune time to launch IGKTUY.”
“IGKTUY?” asked, the confused son. “What is that?”
“Indira Gandhi Kaandha Tamatar Ugaao Yojana.”
“Kaandha why not just Pyaaz or Pyaaj?” asked the son. “No one understands Kaandha in North India.”
“Oh, I just though IGK comes in a sequence and thus, sounds better,” 
mauni baba explained.
“IGK or IJK?” asked the son.
“Oh, never mind.”
“But now I get it. Basically inflation is killing growth,” said the son.
“Yes, in fact there is even a term for it.”
“And what is that?”
“Stagflation, which is a combination of stagnation and inflation.”
“Ah, stagflation,” said the son. “I quite like the term. Reminds me of all the stag parties I used to attend.”
“So can I go now?” asked 
mauni baba.
Wait, wait, wait,” said the son. “I just understood what you were really trying to say.”
“What?”
“That, mother is essentially responsible for everything. She was the one who got the government to increase its expenditure and spend much more than it earned, which is what finally led to inflation.”
“But I didn’t say that,” 
mauni baba protested.
You did not. But that was what you meant,” said a confident son. “Mother won’t like listening to this.”
“Ah. You are making the same mistake as other people.”
“What?”
“They don’t call me 
mauni baba just for nothing,” said mauni baba and walked out confidently from the room.
The mother soon came back into the room and the son told her everything. As he finished, the mother burst out into a hearty laugh.
You know, this is quite unbelievable,” she said. “You want me to believe that for the last half an hour mauni baba was speaking and you were listening?”
The article originally appeared on www.firstpost.com on November 13, 2013
(Vivek Kaul is a writer. He tweets @kaul_vivek)