Happy Diwali

 It was sometime in October it struck me that soon it would be that time of the year again. Diwali. In past many years, I would not be at home for this occasion. Not that it would a big pompous celebration. More so after my sister’s wedding and her transplantation into her husband’s home, the pomp at our home has rather been reduced. Yet, even reduced pomp would be much brighter than Diwali in America, which is usually celebrated either in advance or after Diwali due to the event often falling on a weekday. Moreover, Diwali in India is not just about celebration at home. It’s also a lot about being soaked in the spirit of the festival experienced through the idiosyncrasies of the neighbors, of the kids blowing up crackers even at 4 am, of the insulin-injecting-diabetes-pained aunts slyly devouring extra sweetened gulab jamuns, of the brightening up of all the houses and buildings and not just Empire State building. I have a very poor memory. I don’t know if I ever had all these experiences or this is just my unusual romanticism with most things Indian. Regardless, I felt that I would miss all this if I decided to stay in New York. This, thus, sowed the first seeds of the idea of coming to New Delhi for Diwali.

What pushed the idea significantly ahead was the fact that off late, I hadn’t delivered any strong happy news to my parents. Fine, I recently completed my MBA from an American University. It was no where close to something like I got married. Or I became father. Or I came home for Diwali unannounced. There you go. Their happiness would know no bounds if I get home for this biggest family festival of Hindu calendar. My mother’s complaints about being lonely on Diwali in the past years had given me a fair picture of what they would be like if did not come home. My father would be asleep by 8:30 in the evening after the laxmi pujan. My mother would be watching TV like other three-sixty-four days of the year.

Thus I decided to come home. After all, doesn’t the romanticism of Diwali include home coming of Ram? At a short notice I got cheapest tickets with Kuwait Airways, which I regretted later though. 

In America, a usual greeting is ‘What’s up’. Of course, all cultures of have their own versions of what’s up. India or the Hindi-speaking India has “Aur sunao”, “Nayi taazi?”, “Kya haal chaal”. Irrespective of the flavor, this greeting would often annoy the hell out of me because I detest pattern repetition, more so such repetition in my own responses. I just could not stand me saying ‘Nothing much’ or ‘bas badhiya’ all the time to someone. I am ready to be accused of having retarded social skills for not coming up with new responses each time. I just didn’t like boring the crap out of a person by responding to him or her with this redundant reply every time.  But now,  when any friend or colleague who would say, ‘what’s up’, I would launch into an excited reply, “Well, I am going home for Diwali. What’s more, I am landing on the day of Diwali. My folks have no idea that I will be there! It would be just like K3G movie. Except a helipad.”.. And now, the innate entertainer in me would feel so happy to see the other person so engaged and excited and enthused. In any relationship, I often take it upon myself to engage and entertain the other person. I do not know the name that the social psychologists give to this disorder. I just like to crack people up. Sometimes I succeed; sometimes I end up embarrassing myself. But with this reply, everyone was excited and happy. I wasn’t even worried about anyone spilling beans to my family about my arrival because I knew damn well that my life outside my family is highly insulated from the one inside. This and any other blog I ever wrote,  has never been read by my folks. It’s quite interesting to have this dichotomous life. I guess many Indians or many bi-lingual people lead those lives.

In my flight to New Delhi, I sat next to this interesting country girl from England who was on her soul searching trip to India. She gave me useful tips of reducing the ear-disturbance during landing and take-off of the planes. Well she offered me sweet candies for that. Interestingly, she used those candies for many purposes, including keeping her breath fresh every time I popped a Wrigley’s gum. The best gift she gave me was the phrase ‘country-bumpkin’. That’s the British version of the funny American phrase hillbilly !

As soon as I  landed at the Airport, I changed from my country bumpkin’s clothes into  a three piece suit and cleaned up real well. When I emerged out of the Men’s room, the Brit conceded that I didn’t look sexy, I looked New York sexy. She had never been to New York. But I took that as an assurance that I had completed this part in my theatrics of Meet the Parents. I do not usually dress up to see my family. They have seen me in all shapes, sizes and colors. Yet, on my last visit to India, I drew a lot of flak for not being nice and clean ( after completing an over 20 hour ordeal across continents). Outside the airport, I approached a pre-paid taxi stand and on hearing the fare of Rs 360 for getting home which was less than 8km from the airport, I got my first reverse cultural shock. Even though I had no bench mark for taxi fare because I either drove or used public transport in India, this first exposure to a three digit expense in last two years woke me from my sub-conscious slumber of jet-lag now. I surrendered though; theatrics had to be complete after all.

The taxi-driver was friendly. He met me first time this morning and asked, “kaise ho”. I launched into my overly enthusiastic detailed reply about my unannounced visit to home. He told that he also did the same when he would go to Bhagal Pur. He wasn’t going home for Chatth this time though. Too much time and rising prices would force his wife to observe chhath in a makeshift pond in Delhi this year. While chatting, I would adjust my place in this rickety taxi every once in a while to make sure that I was not overexposing my head to the wind that would screw up my recently made hair. There would be no big a** mirrors like those at Indira Gandhi International and the only comb I had was now buried deep in one of the two identical bags I carried.

Despite preparation for over a month for this moment, as I opened the gate of my house at 7am  and started walking upstairs, my heart was pounding like the dog that chased me on my last visit to Delhi. I blame my funny looking red short for that though. I was here, in front of doorbell. There was no mirror for a last minute check. I took the name of Bhagwan Shankar and rang the bell, assured that I was all good. Out of anxiety and nervousness, I rang multiple bells. Something that only I or my sister do. My father opened the door thinking that it was my sister. My mother stood by refrigerator, staring at me, probably just having finished with a call to her brother. I could sense a pause of one second in the timeline of universe. I really did. Our eyes were frozen. Our minds were pacing. To understand what was going on. And now it happened. She cried. They hugged. We hugged. We were oblivious of the two identical bags and the friendly taxi driver from Bhagal Pur on the street downstairs. Three of us hugged  for several minutes we took to absorb that this happened. I knew my parents were happy. Very happy. But I wanted to experience that happiness. I wanted to know how much happy they were. When someone is enjoying a chocolate and making those umm sounds, I know she is enjoying that chocolate a lot. But I can’t experience that by just looking at her and by hearing  those sounds. I was happy too. I knew my parents were happier still. I probably can never experience their joy till I become a father.

Regardless, I was happy that all this meticulous planning and theatrical delivery resulted into a Happy Diwali –

Is it any wonder then that not many attempted to defend India from the writings of Sahaja Patel but Michaela Cross’ story got attacked from left, right and center?

Once at a workshop on race issues in the United States, I told an African-American colleague, “These race matters are indeed quite serious, I have one suggestion about it.”

“Don’t you have caste system in your country?” she said before I could continue.

***

During my usual Sunday morning calls to friends and family in India, I shared with a friend who I have known for over eight years, “Man, these sexual harassment stories in India just keep increasing.”

“Does that not happen in your America?”, he snapped.

***

These and many other similar incidents made me observe a pattern in the reactions. Reaction is not completely based on the content of the original comment. A significant weight on the attribute of the creator of comment goes into that reaction. Attributes can include the location, or gender, or race or countless other dimensions. What would have been the first reaction above if I were African-American?  What would have been the reaction of my friend if the same remark was made by an Indian living in India?

This kind of offensive defense describes many of the arguments that many Indians have given in their reaction to the CNN narrative of American citizen Michaela Cross about the alleged sexual harassment she went through at the hands of some Indian men during her travel in India. Often, the statistics about number of rapes in America is quoted in those reactions.  Before making comparison of crime statistics, we must take into cognition that rape statistics in India are the proverbial tip of the iceberg. Getting a case registered is a herculean task and the police are often a major hurdle. A few of my closest female friends told me that they have gone through some of the troubles in the recent years that Michaela Cross faced. But their troubles have never been recorded as a statistic in police record because they would never share that with police or anyone they can’t trust or feel comfortable with.

Granted that the veracity of Cross’ story and her intentions behind that story are under scanner now due to some contradicting stories appearing on web about her experiences on the same trip. But interesting irony is that if the same narrative was written by an Indian woman, the dialogue would have taken another shape. There might not be even a dialogue. Incidentally, another blog, written by an Indian woman Sahaja Patel about disrespectful experiences that Indian girls go through could not become the trending piece. Of course, the marketing dollars of CNN’s brand name too had to do with the exposure that Cross’ story received. But Patel’s story did not cause as many Indian readers to act or react. Possibly because they knew it – it was an all too familiar story. Patel is a metaphor for so many Indian babies, girls and women for whom this is an unspoken part of life.  Is it any wonder then that not many attempted to defend India from the writings of Sahaja Patel but Michaela Cross’ story got attacked from left, right and center?  

To the Indians who point to rape and crime statistics in US in their attempts to defend India’s pride, here are some questions. Are you concerned more about safety of women in India or in the rest of the world? Where do most of your sisters and female relatives live? Even if Europe or North America has more rape cases, would those more cases make any India safer for  women? Concluding that all Indian men are predators is grossly inaccurate and dangerous. But is the observation that safety of women is a concern in India (in no relative context, but absolute context) inaccurate? Even if there is one case in a year in all of India, will Indians not be doing disservice to themselves in defending the country by comparing themselves with the countries that are worse? Isn’t even one a matter of shame?

Imagine India being a mass of land that happens to have the name India. People are trying to live on this piece of land productively and there is a safety concern for these people. Whether one of these people highlights this or some visitor to this land points it out, it is in the benefit of the people of this land to acknowledge and fix it. Visitor won’t be always enjoying the benefits of living on this safe land, but people of this land will. For a long time.

Next time when someone points to the alleged acts of Asaram Bapu, please do not mention the history of molestation of young boys at the hands of the priests in the Vatican. That won’t make him holier if the allegations are proved to be true.

PS: “Dude, you have ink on your shirt.”

“You have that too.”

“Well this is New York, people take different paths to reach their destination.”

Morning time is quite a crowded time at subway stations  and while emerging out of station, many people (at times me too) walk up using the left part of the stairs when right one is moving too slow. I saw this Asian guy waiting at the beginning of stairs for the right lane to get clear. In front of him were many commuters (including Asian girls)  walking up the left stairs. When crowd cleared from the right lane, this guy began walking up and I just followed the Asian guy.  When we came out, I said, “Excuse me, can I ask you a question?”

“Yes”

I asked him why he did so. First, my articulation skill in English is quite poor in describing physical scenarios. I really need a pen and paper. I can’t put things in words as easy as I could describe visually. So I take longer to frame my question and convey what I meant to ask. During those 40-60 seconds, I feel so much pressure about what’s going in the mind of my subjects. I look at their eyes and their face. They are very attentive, after all I am asking a question about them, about their action, and not about why sky is blue. Their face is not relaxed and they are not smiling. They might as well be feeling that I am judging them. When I finish my question, that’s when I see a faint smile or sometimes laughter on their faces.

So this guy explained to me that right lane is what people use to go up. People come down from the left.

“Yeah exactly, but there were many who were going up from the left too..  .. in front of you”

“Well this is  New York, people take different paths to reach their destination.”

Are you going to work?

The temperature was 95 degrees Fahrenheit. My feet were almost melting in socks further enclosed by a pair of leather shoes. Walking on 8^th street, I noticed the feet of a woman in a sky blue foot wear that was letting every pore on her feet to breathe. I wondered how comfortable this woman must be feeling. I was quite happy for her because she could chose to wear what is comfortable for her. I was proud of her as well for making a choice for herself. As we got into the building and walked into elevator, she pulled out from her purse another pair of footwear, which was fancier and apparently more office-like.  All the stock points she gained in my head in last 120 seconds, she lost in no time now. Rate at which stock price of the woman-with-sky-blue-footwear fell, was exponential. I could not ask her why.

Another hot morning to work. Just when I was about to get off the Q train, I saw a gentleman in a nice grey suit. What caught my attention though were his feet, which were interestingly not covered in shoes or any other close footwear. He was casually and comfortably walking out of the subway station. But this time I asked him, “Are you going to work?”

“Yes, why?”

“I am quite amused by what you are wearing on your feet, which is in stark contrast with the rest of the paraphernalia that is covering your body. I wish I could wear slippers like that. But I have logistic dilemma – is that appropriate to wear to work?”

“No, not really. I change into formal dress shoes when I reach work.”

“Where do you change?”

“In my office, I have a big office room.”

“Oh, alright, great. Have a great day!”

I started wondering about my options. I don’t carry a purse to place an extra pair of shoes. I don’t have a big office room either. Should I continue to burn my feet? But more importantly, why the woman and gentleman above had to change their footwear? Would the seriousness of their actions at work   be doubted if they continue to wear something they are comfortable with and something that is not conventionally counted in formal office wear? Are human feet so ugly they need to be covered all the time to do any kind of business?

Few days later, I decided to wear flip flops. I really did. I had to attend a workshop that day. A woman asked me, “What is it that you are wearing there?” I looked at her feet, and I noted that bottom of her feet were covered by a flat black sole and top of her feet were covered by a pair of black slings. Essentially, the only difference between hers and my foot wear were that mine were made of rubber and hers were made of leather, and mine were white and hers were black. So I was quick to reply as I pointed to her feet, “What, you can, and I can’t?” 

What would it take a Zimmerman to see a Martin as one of him?

A famous Bollywood movie called Fashion featured the downfall of a fashion model played by an even more famous actress Priyanka Chopra. The nadir of her career and life is shown when she meets a Black man in a club and discovers later in the morning that she slept with him. She walks out of the room filled with extreme guilt. The scene of the film became viral. UTV Motion Pictures (owned by Disney) itself posted the video on YouTube in its channel. It still exists with the name “Priyanka Chopra Sleeps With a Black Man - Fashion”.

Coming to America from New Delhi only two years ago, I had almost zero understanding or experience of America high school education system and diversity matters until I came to Teach For America, a month ago. When Matt Kramer mentioned the word ‘other’ in the first reflection, it made me question every experience I had in India with Africans and African Americans. When I watched that film five years ago, I was flowing with emotions sitting in the theater like all other audience. The absurdness of the scene did not at all occur to me. But now I ask why could they not use any Indian person for that character? A black man was sufficiently different from ‘us’ so that he could be used as an ‘other’.

My parents would probably never allow me to marry a Muslim woman. Because Muslims are ‘others’ for them.

When I worked in Himalayas, and co-interned with a colleague of Uganda, kids in the village will giggle every time this colleague would pass by. He was an ‘other’ for them.

What would it take a Zimmerman to see a Martin as one of him?

I grew up with some Muslim classmates in kindergarten and grade school. As a child, I shared lunch box with them. I would trade my rice-lentils with their biryani.  Many years later, when I went to college, two of my closest friends happened to by Muslims. This was only possible because I was able to bridge the distance to the ‘other’ when I was too young to have any meaning of the ‘other’.

This was how I made the ‘other’ as one of me. How would you do?

PS: My mother just returned from her pilgrimage to an Islamic Shrine Pushkar where she prayed for a nice Hindu girl to enter my life soon.

People of Color

In India, there is a broad spectrum of skin color. When I was growing up, I saw children, men and women of colors ranging from very black (which is often offensively referred to as the back of a frying pan in some regions in India), to varying shades of brown (which is objectively called wheatish in the notifications of matrimony or lost person reports) to fair complexion ( pale white  or yellow, or pink). I, like most other people I knew, thought each of these shades as colors. A very fair person fair has a skin color and so has a person who is dark complexioned. Thus, because every person was a person of color, there was no concept of person of color.

Living in New York City, I hear the phrase ‘people of color’ quite often. In the discussions about economic and social equality, researchers and policy makers often use this phrase. We understand that, African American and Hispanic communities have suffered oppression and inequality historically, and that’s why there is vital need to work for empowerment of people of colors if those are the races we refer to by ‘people of color’. But what surprised me was an Indian woman referred to her as ‘people of color’. She came to America two years ago and she is asserting her right to be given more opportunities. As I observed further in various situations, including in employment forms, anyone not white Caucasian is a person of color.  All of my life, I didn’t consider myself or my family any special because everyone was born with some color. So seeing this identity given to me - ‘person of color’ confused me. Indians, who come to America, for most part, are smart and bright people with reasonably decent socio-economic background. By the time they reach the American shores, they have had enough opportunities to get over any opportunity gap they might have suffered in life so far. They come here on fellowships and scholarships and pursue excellent careers. They don’t need special treatment from the perspective of ‘opportunity gap’. Putting them in the category of ‘people of color’ seems grossly inaccurate. This phrase has meanings beyond the literal meaning about colors.

And speaking of colors, it is not still not clear that why is white not a color? And you know who is white? - People having Albinism. Everyone else is actually not white if we are discussing literally. By calling every non-white-Caucasian as a person of color, are we not exercising a latent form of racism? Are we not referring to one voice as a main stream voice, and everything else as streams of voices that need to be heard?

  

As I graduate today ..

One of the many reasons I wanted to MBA was to find out what the fuss was about. Well others, more important ones included learning to make more rational decisions and not feeling handicapped when someone threw the words like NPV or marketing mix!

To some extent, I did figure out what the fuss was about. The fuss is different for different people. For some, it was an opportunity to be a kid again and party in a university town, for some others, it was the time to invest in one self. For me, it was to afford a luxury of choice -making an informed choice after seeing a world of possibilities.

As I started the program, many career paths – industries and functions – looked attractive to me. Whole world was my oyster and that world of possibilities was overwhelming to say the least, when not knowing which one to pick.  That’s when my aunt Mary came to my rescue, “I know what you want to do – you want to sell stories. You talk about movies and TV and stories all the time.” That was indeed an epiphany moment. Boeing Engines or hedge funds did not excite me as much as the drama and stories did.

It was easier said than done though. Hollywood was a big world and I did not know where to start. I started the art of networking using my most important asset – telling and selling stories. One thing led to another and I ended up in the heart of Hollywood – NBC Universal – it was indeed one in a million success story  -  from a small part of New Delhi to the entertainment capital of world. Doing market research for the primetime shows was very engaging and learning experience. In fact, to make up for my lack of experience in the industry, I did two unpaid internships – the only MBA student from my class to do that. And serendipities kept happening and upon the end of summer, Matt Farber, the founder of MTV Logo wrote to me, “I am looking for a business development intern for my new venture GWIST TV. Can you suggest someone?”. My reply was, “Look no further!”.   This school year internship gave me ample opportunities to learn and contribute heavily. I effectively used my computer science back ground, my data analytics skills, my passion for technology and my love for content to increase the audience engagement.

As I stand today at the cross roads of past and future, I can’t feel more excited to launch a career at the intersection of technology and content, which is where I believe the growth is. Even if I have some more miles to walk before finding the right job, my business degree has given me the confidence to make the choice of waiting. Till then, I will stay hungry and stay foolish. Cheers class of 2013.

Food, the new sex?

A famous consumer food company conducted a taste test in which subjects were asked to identify the taste of a jelly with their eyes closed. In this test, one more sense was eliminated. Smell.  Subjects’ noses were blocked. No one could get the taste right. In the next round, noses were unblocked and almost everyone could tell if the jelly was sour or sweet or salty.

Eating food is supposed to be a wholesome experience. Like sex. Why do we call someone sensual? Why do we enjoy sex so much? Why does sex make us complete and happy? Because it uses all the five senses. During your most fulfilling sex, you would not be watching Late Night Show with Jimmy Fallon or be reading the New York Times while making love.

In this day and age, the twenty some-things are very ambitious. They try to pack in too many activities in twenty four hours because they can’t invent time yet. But it is practically not possible to achieve all that in a day, so they begin multi-tasking, even with food. I, like so many other twenty some-things, eat my Nature Path sunrise crunchy maple and read the IDS campus newspaper together. For different people, everything after the ‘and’ can be replaced by thousands of options including skimming Wall Street Journal or watching The Today Show. For most single twenty some-things, including me, dinners are accompanied with Workaholics or The Office or something to that effect. So often, the meal becomes a secondary activity and the actual accompanying activity becomes the primary one. It almost becomes background music. Your eyes are so fixated on the screen of the device that you don’t admire the colors of food. Your brain is so occupied in the content that you don’t attempt to feel the texture of your toast. Your ears are so busy hearing the voices in the show that you can’t appreciate the subtle sounds that echo when butter melts in your mouth, than only you can hear. In this new lifestyle, how can eating food make you happy?

Why should then food not be the new sex? Why should it not be given the same respect, time and devotion that we give to sex? There are not many activities left that human beings can do every day without feeling sick of it. Since food is one of those things, it should be consumed with complete sensuality to experience a holistic healthy life. Most joys are ephemeral and require lot of efforts. Food, like sex, can give you blissful pleasure everyday.  

Why do we need grades? Or not?

When I was 3 and went to kindergarten, I don’t remember why I studied. When I went to first standard in primary school, I distinctly remember why I studied. To not fail. This continued till I reached standard 6th and without any planning, got rank 1. Well, the boy who used to take that place had left the school. But I was nowhere even in top ten earlier. That was surprising. Like a snake, I had tasted the blood of attention. From no one, I became number one.

Was that a curse? I had pressure to maintain that rank. And who gave me that pressure? I myself. To myself. I continued to finish every grade with rank one until this fish was taken out of the pond and thrown in a sea of bigger school. Where I sucked to begin with. Why do I call that bad? Because psychologically, I formed in my head that not being ranked-one is not cool. What next, I went to a kick ass college and sucked again real bad. Why? I did not get as good grade as my peers got.

What if there was no concept of grades and ranks? Imagine an exam with 10 questions with no points assigned to any question. Should the desire to do all questions right not be enough motivation? Can the discovery of where I made mistakes not be enough feedback? Or for me to study,  reason should be to get grades better than my peer? Should my feedback be the result that I got rank two and not rank one?

Counter theory. We may have academic institutions without grading and comparison system. But how real is that? Once you get out of that school and enter workforce, your performance will be compared with those of your colleagues. That comparison will decide your appraisal. Moreover, in the ‘real’ world, there points and ranks for everything. Every company desires to be the leader or ranked one in the business it operates. So how will not having grades mimic the real world?

Even in the absence of any grade or ranks or marks, considering that example of 10-question exam, we unintentionally create bench mark for comparisons. “I got 3 of them right, how many did you get right?”. Someone hiking Himalayas alone, without the presence of any other human being around will also have a comparative goal in his mind – to hike at least more than what another hiker did who was here before him. Is that the human nature then? His physical presence does not even need to be there for him to create benchmarks of comparisons for others?

If that is the case, how do Montessoris and Waldorfs and Rishi Valleys and Aurovilles of the world succeed in nurturing human beings who are ready to face the real world in spite of having different foundation? A foundation  of grade-less-ness.

Diversity - In Action ?

Diversity in the modern context is often seen as simplistic as having certain number of people at one place from different backgrounds – race, color, culture, gender, sexual orientation. Many work places claim to be diverse because their employee composition represents a reasonable mix of people. Same goes for many organizations around the world. At my school, I noted that we have significant number of international students. So if diversity is to be measured in terms of pie chart and excel tables, we stand pretty high. Yet, I noticed an interesting trend, beginning with class room. White Americans sit with white Americans. Black Americans sit with black Americans. Asians sit with Asians. So goes with Indians. I avoided the risk of committing the fallacy of hasty generalization. So I started observing in social settings – in bars and social events. I could still notice it in varying degrees. Picture decorated Facebook walls are a testimony of this. No amount of forced diversity could fix it. People started appearing as tiny magnets who you can keep separately but as soon as external forces are taken away, pieces get down to their original tendencies and form sub-network. 

I thought hard to explain this trend. One possible line of reasoning was that our average age could be 27. At this age, we are more or less frozen in our preferences, tastes and the kind of company we enjoy. (Although my aunt who is in her 80’s refuses to agree and she maintains that it will be so unfortunate if human beings shut themselves so early in life and that she continues to learn to enjoy the companies of new people every day). With those frozen preferences comes the impatience with dissimilar persons. Is that what we can call the exact opposite of natural affinity or comfort zone? Language would definitely play a role. Many international students might be having lesser proficiency in verbal English. Those who are proficient might not be patient enough to listen slowly and speak slowly with non-native English speakers. There kicks in the ‘matured’ age of 27.

To validate this explanation, I turned my attention to undergraduate students. They range from 18-22. That’s a very malleable age. One would expect that that would be more interactions there. I started by observing just the kids walking around the campus. Interestingly, the degree of association with similar people was less yet observable. I do not have any numbers though to back up any of the observations as none of this has been a controlled experiment. I do however give a solid credit to the power of observation. Whole Buddhism is based on this power. Today, with the power of big data from social media we are coming to the conclusion that happy people attract happy people and depressed people would make associations with other sad people. Eastern philosophies found that back in the day and so did Quantum physics that all matter emits waves and good or bad interactions amongst matter depends on constructive or destructive interference of those waves. Replace matter in that statement by people, and there you go!

Coming back to the validation of the observation in younger demography, I started asking undergrads I would meet in different classes, lectures, talks, bars, streets, bus stations. Question would not be, “Who do you hang out with?”. Question would be, “Since you came to college, amongst the new close buddies you found, how many of them are not from your native culture?”. Answer will be mostly zero.

I do not subscribe to the idea of diversity whose foundation is based on filling in the quotas. And then creating layers of diversity around the buckets through events or forced interactions. This numerically driven diversity often masks the underlying lack of diversity in action – which is attained by gradual annihilation of boundaries of culture and geography. When people manage to make as close human connections with people of different backgrounds as they succeed in making with people of their own back ground, that’s when you get the true foundation of diversity. And then, there will not be humongous need to create affinity clubs and organize events to validate the diversity quotient of the organization at the top level. The decentralized diversity at the level of people to people understanding will itself be the natural catalyst for voluntary celebrations and events.

Question now is how to lift that decentralized number from zero or minimal to a respectable figure. Is it even possible to fight the original forces of natural affinity and comfort zone to create new comfort zones and new affinities ? In my quest for a solution, I ran into this concept of Homophily – tendency of individuals to associate and bond with similar others. Apparently, its presence has been found in a vast array of network studies. But can we not find similarity in values? Does similarity has to be always in what music you like, what sports your play or watch and what food you eat?

My knowledge in cricket, or in most sports or in any music outside Indian classical or Bollywood is minimal. I do not share my interest in cooking, in movies, and in fashion and in few others with a whole lot of people. Yet I can say that my closest friends admire similar things in people as I do. Human values are much above any traditional ‘hobbies’ and ‘interests’. They possibly could be key drives for creating decentralized diversity at a mass level.