MRP–does it make sense?

India’s got a really interesting sticker on almost every product on the market – the MRP, Max Retail Price. I used to think this was great as this meant products had clear pricing listed for the customer’s benefit and was more than happy to pay up the listed MRP. Lately with my visits to the Kotla market nearby, I’m learning that MRP really is the upper limit for an item and I’d be hard pressed to find anyone in this competitive market sells at this price. This whole bargaining trip indicates the same. Almost everything is up for bargain and the ceiling under which they operate is the MRP.

Pearl Pet, a producer or reasonable quality plastic kitchen ware sells a pack of 6 1 Liter water bottles. Listed MRP is approx. 240 180 Rs. If you were to buy this in any upscale market, this is the non-negotiable price you’d be quoted 99% of the time. At Kotla, the starting price is 160 Rs. I got my set for 130 Rs. after looking around a bit.  And as per the source I spoke to at the shop, their cost price was 120 Rs. So, the MRP appears to be a 100 50% mark-up on the cost price (to retailer) in case of plastic kitchen ware and 84 38% on the retail.

Here’s a short table with MRP vs. retail price:

Product	MRP (Rs.)	Retail Price (Rs.)	% difference
TV	40,900	31,500	30%
Kitchen Ware	240 180	130	84 38%
Electric Geyser	3,150	2,350	34%
Washing Machine	19,490	17,700	10%

While researching the topic, I came across the following viewpoints:

1. Indian Express 1990 – Get retailers to print price on the goods and do away with MRP. This article has a great description of how the MRP is set and why it may not make sense to keep this system.
2. Legal Service India – they give you the legal low down and take a very anti-capitalist stance with the opening shot against the manufacturers.

I guess this is an interesting topic to think about and shows the Indian divide; on one end you’ve got the entrepreneurs who want to create products with value and are burdened by the need to manage the complexities of varying profitability across states and the consumer viewpoint where profit is seen as a necessary evil.The complexity of indirect taxation and tariffs inside India pose a major barrier to trade, so perhaps instead of targeting manufacturers or retailers as evil doers why not focus on the source of complexity and seek to simply that? In effect, why not look into ways of simplifying indirect taxation within India and overhauling this MRP system.

What’s a direct tax? Direct tax is collected by the government departments from the bodies who are to be taxed, e.g. income tax. It’s deducted directly from your salary with no intervention on your part. What’s an indirect tax? Taxes collected through intermediaries. Generally any financial transaction (purchase or sale) has a tax attached. So if you buy coke, pay for a dinner, pay your rent, etc. there is a portion of this amount that goes into the government coffers. It is collected by the seller. Hence an indirect tax.

Digging further into this issue, I found an excellent post talking about the evolution of inter-state trade in India and the legalese behind it (caveat – this will give the lay reader a case of acute boredom, possibly followed by a painful sensation induced by excessive stress on the comprehensive centers of the brain the forebrain, aka headache). 

The complexities are such that Deloitte and PwC have practices that help businesses with advisory services to address the impact of indirect taxation. Here’s the link to a conference that’ll be held in November. I’m not sure if this is as much of a challenge in more developed countries.

India seems focused on a program to reform indirect taxation with the Goods and Service Tax (GST), which should (according to the website) simplify taxation and bring prices down for consumers, which in turn will boost trade and consumption resulting and greater tax yields. Why? That is a tw0 part question question, because the question really is, “how is GST better than the current state of affairs?” The first part is about how taxation works in India constitutionally at the Central and State levels (current state) and the second part is about a prediction on how it will work post GST (future state). Here’s a rough table outlining who benefits from what in the current taxation scheme:

Exclusive Beneficiary	Taxable Product
Center	Manufacture tax Service tax
State	All sale of movable goods

Central taxation is uniform across all States. Each State may apply various taxes under the umbrella of “all sale of movable goods”, e.g. entertainment, luxury, amusement, tax on goods transported via roads and entry of goods into a local area for sale or consumption. Here’s an example that may help clarify this. For a particular product State A has taxes X, Y and Z at 4, 7 and 3 percent respectively. State B could have taxes Y and Z at 9 and 2 percent for the same product. Consider the number of goods in an average household and consider the possible taxes that could be applied on these goods in your State. As you can imagine, it is a painful state of affairs. How do you expect companies to react when trying to set an MRP with this state of affairs? 

GST brings the promise of simplification. GST envisions a Central tax and a State tax for Goods, for Services and for Concessional items. Which means that the States and the Center will share a common income source.  Calculating taxation would then be a matter of determining which category your commodity falls into (Exempted goods, Special Rate goods, Standard Goods, Concessional goods or a Service) and applying the relevant Central and State taxes. I used the video below to develop my understanding of the vision of GST, among other resources.

The implementation of GST has fallen hostage to opposition politics according to Finance Minister, Pranab Mukherjee. Initially the expected implementation was April, 2011 but now it seems that it may be delayed till late 2012.

Why is the GST causing such an uproar and why is the implementation stalled? This long article that goes into much (read as: putting me to sleep) detail about the current consensus on the GST. The length of this document is testament to the conflicting interests and viewpoints at play.

The debate over GST is nowhere near done. Business leaders and the Central government are pro GST. The States on the other hand have a list of reservations. Some of the concerns of the States are:

• What gets exempted – in a sense the debate is about what is a necessary commodity; quite philosophical
• Perception that the Center is intervening in matters which are in the State’s area of jurisdiction – changes to the constitution will be required, so changes will be permanent (or as permanent as the constitution is).
• Specific rates – Loss of income from taxation is a major concern here. After all, while the consumer and businesses may be winners, will this merging of the taxation pools benefit the States? The devil we know (status quo) or the devil we don’t (post GST) problem.
• Dispute resolution with the Center

The Empowered Committee of State Finance Ministers on GST is the key body representing the States’ point of view. I find it hard to imagine that the GST will ever pass and with my poor understanding of Center vs. States and party politics, I’m nowhere near qualified to even judge whether this would be a good move. I’ve spent the whole day researching and writing this article and I’m disappointed at the amount and quality of material that’s available online that could shed more light on the different points of view. One thing is clear to me. If India is to count itself in the rank of developed nations, the Government of India, the State Government, businesses operating inside India, the NGOs and the Citizens will all have to raise their game. And it all starts with our duties as Indian Citizens. In effect, the fact that MRP does not make sense is our collective problem, and its not the only problem we have.

Blog updates!

So, after a comment by Pragmatic Phil about updating twitter and all my social media sites about my blog posts, I did some research. Since I use Windows Live Writer, I wanted to use a plugin that could do it for me. After some searching I came across ping.fm This site lets you cross post to several social media networks including Twitter & Google Buzz. And WLW has a plugin called vCrossPost which kicks-ass! And here we go!

Research in New Delhi

I’m reading up ancient Indian history and came across some really interesting subjects and facts:

• India was the first country where an envoy was always given safe conduct.
• To surrender, you held a straw between your teeth.
• At one time Patliputra (Patna) was one of the amazing cities of the east.
• The chakra was not just a mystical weapon (as seen in the horrible horrible and totally inaccurate depictions by Ramanand Sagar), but a deadly disc that could slice through bone! And yes, one could spin it on the index finger to launch it.
• There’s proof that India was one of the first countries to develop and use firearms.

So, of course this means I’ll need to dig up some dusty tomes for some research, which got me to thinking of libraries. Just found this list of libraries in New Delhi:

http://www.mapsofindia.com/maps/delhi/new-delhi-library.htm

The Delhi Public Library’s in Sarojini Nagar market. While I haven’t looked into its collections yet, it does seem a promising start.

 

Of Tennis in India

I spent most of my day today watching the U18 qualification rounds at the R. K. Khanna stadium in New Delhi. I’m new in town and know very few people here, so when Srinath Prahlad suggested I join him and Kyra Shroff at the stadium to watch a round or two, I was game.

Walking into the stadium at 11, I desultorily watched a few matches while waiting for Sri and Kyra to show up. I wasn’t following the matches or keeping score, but I could appreciate the young players and their skills as they battled each other. I say young players and their skills because in the three games that I watched, skill counted for a lot, but the composure of the players was what made them winners or losers. A young player of 18 vented his anger and frustration at his game by chucking the racquet, another voiced out loud, her low opinion of herself as she lost point after point. 

I observed the winners acknowledging their mistakes and fumbling, but not giving into their doubts. Despite their losses, and errors, they maintained their composure and played on.

Kyra and Srinath joined me towards the end of the second match. Over lunch, Srinath and I enjoyed a delicious vegetarian thali. Kyra was more in the mood for a sandwich, and finding none at the café, declined to eat. They’d been training at the Siri Fort complex and were here to support Kyra’s friend Arancha in her qualifying round. Arancha, and her father, Gary joined us as we wrapped up our meal.

Arancha was excited about her upcoming match. She left us to warm up and figure out the court she’d be playing on. After coffee, we headed to the courts to watch her play. As we walked through the stadium Srinath would stop often to say hello to one person or another, with a big smile. During the game, he commented for my benefit, often calling out encouragement to Arancha, and pointers about how to correct her mistakes and look beyond them. She made her share of errors and in the last 3 games found herself facing her doubts. Her opponent had beaten her soundly in their last match. She had to overcome that failure and believe in herself to move on. Arancha won the best of 17 round (9-3).

Sri chatted amicably about the game, and his current coaching career. Tennis is his passion and he spoke on various topics; the differences in bounces on an open vs. closed court, breathing exercises to lower stress, or boost performance, training regimens of players, the lamentable quality of regular coaching, outdated training methods, the importance of neural training to successfully receive, discipline and more. He seemed to accept my ignorance in good cheer and seemed pleased that I was interested enough to ask, listen and share my observations.

Kyra and I got to chatting at the end of Arancha’s game. I was curious about this 18 year old. She’s charming, laughs easily and loves her sport. As a junior she’d been India’s #1 player. Now she was blazing her trails in the women’s category. Diagnosed with Type-I Diabetes at a young age, she spoke of the lamentable, outdated attitude towards Diabetes in India. “It’s a condition, not a disease,” she stressed. “Your pancreas produce 50 units a day, and my doctor used to prescribe 16 units for me,” she lamented. Her tennis career almost ended when her doctor instructed her parents to keep her out of sports,  pronouncing it her death sentence. Her father went along with the advice, but relented when he realized the depth of her depression two weeks into tennis withdrawal. “I was lucky,” she says. She is. But there’s more to her success than just luck. She’s also very determined. And her will’s found her a way and I hope it continues to.

At the age of 10, Kyra moved to Bangalore to improve her game. Her parents stayed on in Mumbai and with the support of her school she swam through her grades till the 8th. 9th and 12th were a challenge and she had to squeeze her studying into her touring schedule, cramming her syllabus in bits and snatches. “I had a choice between the easy life, and Tennis,” she said, speaking about her choice not to attend university abroad. She was offered scholarships at esteemed universities like Northwestern,  and Urbana-Champaign. Her choice was reasoned; college level women’s tennis is below par and that would affect her game. It’s not just the “easy life” that Kyra’s had to sacrifice. Speaking of her upcoming 19th birthday, she wasn’t sure she’d be home to celebrate. The last time she celebrated her birthday at home, she was 10. She does get calls from her family and friends, and she’s content with that.

“India doesn’t lack talent”, according to Kyra. Sadly, most promising players drop out opting for the “easy life”, because Tennis is an expensive game. The costs of touring, medical expenses, equipment, coaching fees, and laughable amounts for prize money in India, all can be insurmountable barriers for most players. “Every two and a half weeks, I use a new pair of Nikes worth eight grand. Eye wear’s sponsored by Oakley and my tennis racquet by Babolat,” she explained. The average age of Tennis retirees until recently has been 35. Kyra expects that with the latest trends, that could be pushed to 40, or 45 even. Without sponsorship and support this rising star’s career could come under some fearsome clouds.

Egypt Report–Feb 4,5 – 2011

Below is what I wrote up for an online journal – however, it went unpublished. Since I’d already done the write-up here it is:

Feb 5, 2011

Time seems a bit distorted due to our changed sleep cycles. It feels like a bit longer, but only yesterday, Volkmar, my neighbor was recounting his experiences in Shehab st. We were standing outside the German Embassy in Zamalek. I’d been complaining about the Street Watch checkpoints and how annoying they were. I nearly lost my temper with them yesterday when they asked to check my fiancée’s luggage at 8 am, on our way to the German embassy, where a convoy of buses awaited Germans and their families to assist with their evacuation.

Volkmar, a German exchange student in his mid-twenties, had been in Egypt for a few months. He lived with his wife and daughter in the apartment above mine. We often met on the stairs in our apartment building and exchanged a hello now and then. He told me that when walking down Shehab St. to a charity run shop, he’d been accosted by several youths from one of the Street Watch and they’d pushed him around a bit saying things that, “Get Out!”, “This is not your country!” His wife had left earlier. He’d wished to stay on previously but he was glad when he’d been asked by the student exchange program (DAAD) to evacuate. He’d spent the night at the DAAD premises as it was a short walk from the office. We’d always planned to get together for drinks, and now we were unlikely to do so anytime soon.

Feb 4, 2011

I’ve not been able to sleep too well. I find it hard to sleep when it’s bright outside and with the Street Watch duty I’ve been pulling in the past few nights, it’s been a bit tiring. After much trying I fell asleep around 7pm and woke up at 11pm to get ready. I looked outside the balcony and the roads nearby had makeshift roadblocks set up every 30 meters or so. The roadblock near my flat is a line of small concrete blocks. In a nearby street it’s an abandoned street vendor’s cart with some of his goods and elsewhere people have commandeered traffic barriers or even felled massive branches from trees by the roadside.

Taking a quick bite and fixing a mug with some tea, I quickly dressed in jeans, a medium weight sweater, heavy jacket and a scarf. I’d grown tired of my stubble so I’d shaved in the morning and found some pimples from ingrown hair where my jaw chafed against the rough scarf I’d been wearing.

Things were a bit different in the street today. Eddy had brought a couple of tables and the guys had set up a game of “Estimation”, a popular card game in Egypt. They were bantering easily and invited me over. I stood with them for a few moments and joked about the cool gangster set up they’d prepped. We laughed and I shot a picture of them with their weapons on the table. The gang wasn’t all present and when I commented Khaled said they were out walking. I waved and said I’d do the same.

Picking up a brisk pace I walked down the street in search of the various groups that I hung out with nearby. I found only the doormen standing. “Salam Waleikom,” I called out to them as I walked by to standard replies of “Wa’alekom Assalam”; greetings of peace between strangers. Absent today were hooded youngsters with pipes, baseball bats and other clubs. Absent also were elderly professionals with their rifles, hunting vests and camouflage pants. The first couple of days we’d seen quite a few people strutting around with their guns. It’d felt like a hunting expedition. I guess the long nights had worn them out too and they’d grown bored with very little action in the night. With no constant threat, they’d grown bored.

My neighbor, an ex-security person, Mr. Khaled held the same concern. I met him on my way to Lebanon St. He’d been chatting with a group there and asking them why there weren’t more youngsters on the Watch. It was around 1:30 am. He seemed a bit upset and he handed them a flyer asking them to post it on their building entrance. He seemed worried but was pleased to see that I was up and about. In a wider sense this dissipation of interest is also plaguing the protests. On twitter under #jan25, #tahrir, and #egypt, I see lots of tweets trying to keep the motivation up. In the streets, people are getting restless and weary.

“Egypt is a country of rumors,” claimed a person I chatted with last night. This came in response to several rebuttals I threw at his claims of, “Israel is organizing these protests”, “they’re pumping 50 million dollars into this”, and “all the anti-Mubarak protestors are being paid to stand there daily”. I’d visited Tahrir Sq. I knew some people out there who were protesting. I’d even met with one of the political figures and heard him share stories of the background discussions between the various political parties. My responses to most of his claims were accounts of first-hand experiences. I suggested he visit Tahrir Square. I think he might do that tomorrow.

Mr. Adel an elderly gentleman, guarding a construction site with the anonymous lad, launched on a long diatribe about the protests in Tahrir and their causes, pulling examples from 1936! He’s a contemporary of the new Vice President, Omar Soleiman. He remembered the revolution and made references to the Cairo Fires of 1952, Mohamed Naguib, first President of Egypt and various others. One moment he was anti-Nasser, and the next he praised him for universal health insurance he provided.

I’ve been having a lot of random conversation on the streets of late. It’s partly to pass the time, and partly because the faces I encounter are becoming more familiar. Sherif, a teenager in Shehab St., complained about his hair getting mussed since he’s been wearing a hoodie every evening for the last week. Startled by the popping and cracking of the fire against the nearby pavement, he wondered at what was causing the popping. The boy next to him suggested it was the paving stones that were causing it and he pointed to the cracked and chipped cement blocks. They’d been scavenging wood from everywhere. He’d even broken the bottom of the police barrier they were standing against for the wood.

Stories of looting have been quite abundant too and all peppered with bits of wry Egyptian humor. “Look how decent those thieves were! They entered through the door and exited through it. They stole all, but broke nothing.” Another story Sherif shared was about guys breaking into the clothing store near his apartment building. “They broke in and grabbed everything and walked to Ard El Lewa [a poor neighborhood nearby]. From the Ezz building they stole the steel safes! It must’ve taken 5 men to manhandle those.” Another told me that when real men stood guard the looters stayed away. “The shop next the grocery store… 4 men stood there with clubs made from branches and kept the looters away, and then this gentleman from his apartment fired a few rounds into the air dispersing them.”

Ibrahim, a colleague, was on the phone with me a few minutes ago. We swapped stories. “These protests are well organized,” he said. “They say that they start at the same times across the country.” I held a different opinion. I pointed out that Tahrir was never empty, so start and end times did not matter there. Additionally, while there was a semblance of organization it was primarily because the various groups were online and broadcasting, picking up and exchanging information. It wasn’t a conspiracy that dated by 5 years as rumors were held.

“I’m going crazy with boredom,” said Ibrahim, echoing my feelings and those of my Street Watch. My doorman, Mohamed, wants a return to normality. When pressed about whether he’d like to go return to the status quo and specifically to the old regime, he said he wanted a return to normalcy; he wants to sleep regular hours, he wants the curfew ended and he wants to feel safe. “Aren’t the protestors satisfied? Isn’t what Mubarak offered enough? They should end this,” says Helal from the street nearby. On twitter I see a frenzy of posts with #Egypt and #tahrir, echoing this sentiment while others report more protests planned for tomorrow, Tuesday and Friday. Are the Egyptian protestors losing focus and public interest? With over 150 dead and hundreds injured, what will the outcome be?

Back to bread… and about Sanderson

Today I got back to baking after a really long time. I used proper yeast this time. Found a source that’s approx. 5 mins walking distance away . So, fresh yeast is at hand! F**k Active Dry Yeast.. I never learnt how to use you anyways – says I by way of Alanis, I think.

I read Brandon Sanderson recently; Alcatraz and The Evil Librarians… if I don’t look up the name of the text, you’ll never read me again coz Orson Scott Card says if the writer’s too lazy to do the work, the reader ain’t going to love him/her. So, the name is “Alcatraz Versus The Evil Librarians”. It was quite interesting written and is intended for middle-schoolers. I guess that’s somewhere between 9 and 12? Alright… I’ll look it up!

And I did… according to Sanderson, “the publisher places it for ages eight through thirteen, but I’d personally target it at ages ten and up.”

I’ll go with Sanderson, coz I’m definitely in the upper range of 10 and up.

I’m happy I found Brandon’s books. I came across him via LibraryThing.com – I added a few books I’d read; Brent Weeks – who I found while perusing the site sffaudio.com, Iain M. Banks – an all time favorite, and others. So I look forward to happily adding even more authors and books into LibraryThing and seeing what else they’re likely to recommend!

And LibraryThing I came across coz I was fiddling with Calibre and trying to download metadata for some books and some cool cover photos for others. I’m glad when I can backtrack with those crumbs… an expression I heard recently again when watching Star Trek: Voyager episodes – Season 1… I think it was the one where Torres our Human-Klingon mix is split to her Klingon and Human bits and half of her survives the experience. Come to think of it the Human bit’s whiny and appreciative. Her Klingon bit seems to take things as they are. At this point, I won’t find you the name of the episode. I’ve shown you, my reader, good faith and done a good bit of research and shared some cool sites. And, I’m writing a blog, not an article!

Yes, I was making bread.

Enjoying James Clavell

Clavell’s books are about passion and passionate people. He covers the basics really well: love, hate, sex, greed, and power. He doesn’t think much of Piety, or religion. His protagonists generally appear smarter, drink boiled water or tea, and are often beset by problems.

I find that reading Clavell always brings some level  of focus to my life. Reading the lives of his intensely focused and passionate characters, I often find my life drab in comparison. Nothing unique about that. If stories talked about the ordinary and the mundane, would they have the arresting qualities?

Recently, I read Gai-Jin and watched the “Noble House” mini-series. The Struan family features positively in both. Gai-Jin is based in Japan, in the early 19th Century, with the settlement of Yokohoma. Clavell literally brings this period and city to vivid life. Joss features heavily and the story develops with layers of complexity piling up and the reader is often bewildered and hooked by the twists in the story. Interesting tidbits like the first sewage system, invention of the underground railway, the economics of the China trade, American civil war, taxation reform, interesting points of British law, and more are built into the story.

Young Malcolm Struan, heir apparent to the Noble House, comes onstage confidently. He gets injured in a tragic incident and things start getting interesting. Both, the European and the Japanese, sides of the stories are well covered and a vast game unfolds with characters making moves, counter-moves and random decisions. Each play illuminating the board and the characters in interesting ways. Change is inevitable. Loss of control and composure leads to failure. Evil gets punished, or it doesn’t, all in its own time, but blindness always leads to failure. And this is where Clavell is a master. Characters that adapt and survive do so by taking risks, and keeping their eyes open and accepting their Joss.

Oana!

The first time I read her name, I pronounced it Ooo-Nah. She pronounced it more like Ooo-aaah-nah (and for some reason my new Zune software update has a “I wanna” tune that just circles in my head all the freaking time at the sound of Oana). I first read her post on Cairo Scholars. She was looking for a flat mate and she had a cat. Couldn’t be better. The asking price for the flat wasn’t too steep either, esp. for Zamalek. Check. I wrote up her phone number and added it to my visit list.

“Yes, you’re calling about the flat?” she asked in her greek sounding accent.
“Yeah, is it still available?”
”Yes. When do you want to come? I’m working and evening after seven is better.” She sounded a bit harried – stressed. I could empathize. Work can be tiring. We agreed to a call and I rang off. This was about a week ago. Immediately things starting getting derailed.

“Hey Morganne,” I called her up to try and reach Jan who’d been absent and not returning any calls for a while.
“Salut! Bon jour!”
”How are you?”
“I’m good! Was that you on Cairo Scholars? I’ve seen some of your mails. You’re looking for an apartment?”
“Ah, you’re on it too? Yeah, I am looking. It’s been a bit tough… I saw a few ads, but people hopped on to those even before I scheduled an appointment!” I laughed.
And suddenly she was telling me about her apartment which she hadn’t listed. Would I be interested? She’d only be able to let it starting March. I accepted and set up a meeting that afternoon. It was going to be the 3rd place I’d visit that Friday. Oana was going to be 4th around 7:30pm.

The first visit was great. I’d found a really good one. The apartments seemed well situated, if in a crowded area, or close to it. The ambience felt great and for me that’s an important consideration. Serene, the current resident, showed me the place and gave me a few tips, recommending that I ask for a few things before moving in. She made me feel very much at home.

Next was my appointment in Mohandiseen. Finding the place wasn’t much of a challenge, since I’d lived in that Dokki/Mohandiseen wedge before. After some confusion, I found the right building. My spider sense was tingling. I walked up to the building and noted immediately that parking in this area was going to be a bitch. Climbing up the stairs, I felt claustrophobic and trapped by the dark and narrow climb. An old lady opened the door and greeted me. She had an open looking face. I smiled and said hello. She pointed to the door to the left. “This is the one we’re looking to rent. It’s been recently redone and you’ll be the first tenant.”

Pink! Pink walls greeted me. The entrance faced the kitchen, which was modest sized. On my right was a 1.5 meter sq. bathroom and it appeared to be the only one the flat. On my left the sitting room. I walked left. It was a spacious room and beyond it I could see a good sized bedroom. There were a few chairs and a table in the hall and a bed in the bedroom with a cupboard to the side. The pink in the room felt oppressive and the only balcony faced a building about 5 meters away. I kept the smile firmly pasted on my face and kept talking.

An older lady walked into the room, she was shorter than the lady who’d let me in. She was introduced as the grandma. A short while later a younger lady dressed in pink and with a rosy face walked in. She had a huge smile on her face. We talked for a bit and realized that we had a few friends in common. Sensing some relaxation in the room, my landlord decided she could be open up a bit.

“Are you married?”
“Our menfolk really won’t like too many visitors on the staircase.”
“Sahabat – hope you understand that we won’t appreciate them.”
My head started hurting and my smile grew fixed. I emphasized that I wasn’t a playboy, but certainly I did have friends. And I do love having visitors over. They seemed to be somewhat ambivalent, the younger lady was excited, but my landlord, her mom? seemed less so, dreading trouble. I’d had enough. I smiled and said, I’d get back to them since I was still looking forward to full day of appointments.

Walking out, I filled my lungs and smiled. Wow, I hadn’t expected that, but it just reminded me why apartment hunting can be such a chore. It’s not just finding an apartment, it’s also about finding a compatible and easy going landlord who has expectations of how you maintain his property and impact his image.

Morganne, after this encounter, was turning into a more appealing sight! I rang her up and we agreed to meet in 30 mins. I hopped into my car and headed towards Zamalek. Up Brazil St., and into Mohamed Mazhar, straight until Safir, then a left right there. Parking was a problem in Marashly, so I took the first right and chanced a parking. I figured if Marashly was where the flat was, I was likely going to be parking here, so a short walk away. I checked out the surroundings. A good friend of mine lived up this street and nearby there were some guards minding a building, a small shop just to my right and down the street, a high wall to my left and trees everywhere. Bird droppings were likely and I’d probably have to arrange something with a bawwab nearby. No leaving valuables in the car. I zipped up my jacket and turned right towards Marashly and gave Morganne a call to say I’d be with her in 5. She was home already. Perfect.

Rounding the corner at Arabica, I crossed the street and found her building. No elevators, but this was a great spot. Accessible, supermarket nearby, a florist, and some restaurants. I knew Zamalek’s rhythm. I climbed up the floors and was somewhat breathless when I arrived. I rang the bell and within moments I faced a smiling Morganne.

I knew this place. I’d been here before. Eva had lived here and I recognized the windows, the sofa, and the kitchen. Morganne had done a fabulous job with the curtains and the room was filled with gentle light and a light breeze blew the curtains in graceful curves. I love that look of gauzy curtains and wind blowing through them. Despite the shabby look the Windsor hotel downtown still has a lot of appeal because of the gauzy curtains.

She offered me a beer and I sat on the sofa comfortably talking my first good look at the place. There was a lot of space here and the place looked clean and tidy. I smiled and told her of my recent encounters. She laughed, knowingly. We walked through the apartment and she showed me the rooms. They were oddly shaped but spacious. I liked it. I could have it starting March. It was worth it, I thought. I’d be sharing the flat with a friend and I had loads of people I knew nearby. The drive to and from work would be half what it is now. IF I was moving away from Heliopolis, this place could be great.

“I think it’s a great place you’ve got here. I love it,” I smiled.
”Yes, I love it too and I’m enjoying having it to myself for a bit.”
”I think of the places I’ve seen I’d prefer here or the one in Mohandiseen. They’ll be letting me know if I can have that one by the 16th, so would it be ok if I get back to you around then?”

She seemed ok with the arrangement. I think the hunting spirit hadn’t left me yet, so I was ready for Oana. Things got busy though. We went to visit a friend and that turned from a thing of an hour to something like 3 or 4 and then I had to rush to an appointment at 8. Oana hadn’t called. I was exhausted. I drove home, exhausted.

Sunday I woke up and after a brief stint at the ICT headed home feeling ill. I called in sick and spent the next 3 days nursing a cold. Oana called twice to see when I could come in. She sounded a bit harried. I figured she was about 35, super-efficient and with no time for bullshit. I told her I was ill, but would love to see her place.  Eventually, I got to.

Oana called me on Thursday and we arranged to meet near Metro Zamalek. I managed to get there by 10:45 and waited. She arrived a few mins after I rang her. I couldn’t have been more wrong about her. She looked about 24 and not harried at all, although she perhaps was. Her speech was purposeful and fast, trying to lay out everything in a clear concise manner, but she had loads to say.

We went up the elevator and she told me about her search for a good apartment and told me of the people I’d meet and the effort they’d put in. I was amazed. The kitchen looked bright – the windows, as he pointed out, were – as windows in Egypt often aren’t – clean! All the amenities were present and well taken care of. She showed me the bathroom and explained her concerns with it, then showed me the room on offer.

It was on the smaller side for rooms in Zamalek, but clean and simple. To the right of the entrance was a massive wall cupboard with mirrored doors and an AC hung over the bed. It felt cozy and smelt of fresh paint. They’d really outdone themselves.

Paolo, she explained, had a cleaning company and they were in the startup phase.

“He’s very particular and does great work, and he’s really good around the house. We’ve cleaned the AC filters, disinfected the cupboards….” and more around the experience of the place. Had the parking been fine and perhaps the room a bit bigger, I’d have had few qualms in taking the place.

She’d taken so much effort to follow-up with me, it almost pained me to decline. I did it clearly and explained my reasons. Perhaps I am being picky, but in my exhausted state that evening, even the short walk to the apartment felt exhausting.

Oh, and it turned out that she was Romanian not Greek.

More Cairo Coincidence

“12 it is,” I said, and hung up on Adel, my trusty real estate agent from ERA. It was 11:05am and I was still in my PJs checking email and rounding up some work. I’ve been flat hunting and in Cairo that spells chaos. After over 3 weeks, of searching, calling and emailing, things were starting to turn my way. This being the latest update.

After some replies here and there, a couple of calls, it was 11:35. Time to get dressed. I dropped the work in my home office and stepped into my bedroom, startling Spotty, my cat, in the process. Spotty warbled and gave me a reproachful look and turned his back on me. I just shook my head and ignored him.

Looking through the pile of clothes, I quickly picked out a pair of dark jeans, a light colored shirt and a sweater. It was cold out and I needed to look a bit chic for the landlord. It goes easier that way.

A scrub, soap, a wash and 2 missed calls later, I was on my way, if a bit late. “I’m right besides the Mobil station on Khalifa el Maamoun,” I lied smoothly to Adel on his 3rd attempt at reaching me. My conscience twinged a bit, but I rationalized it by observing that I was about 300m from where I said I was. It was a passable exaggeration. I smiled to myself and ran the next red light.

Checking out the location afresh, I noted the traffic and thought once more if this would be such a good area. The traffic was passable, but the parking might be a mite tough. I swung right into the slip lane and found myself a parking spot. That wasn’t so hard. There were 2 supermarkets nearby and pharmacies. The fast food restaurants, which I wasn’t planning on using, were about 4 mins walk from where I’d parked. I rang up Adel.

“Hey, I’m parked right next to the Family Market. Where are you?”
”Right besides the Metro supermarket…. I see you,” and he waved. I waved back.

"Looking chic! What’s the occasion?” I remarked at his dressed up look. He smiled, “Et faddal.”

“So, tell me about this place!”
”It’s nice. Well furnished, and on the first floor. We’ve talked to the landlord and he’s got someone who’ll open up the flat for us. It’s right below his office.”
”Hmm… alright. How much does he want for it?”
”About 4,000. But why don’t we have a look?”

Here goes Adel again, pushing my budget. He had another fellow, Emad, with him. Emad seemed friendly, and smiled pleasantly, introducing himself. I shook his hand and followed him up the stairs. “The bell works,” he remarked after a moment while we waited on the landing. “And so does the light,” I added with little humor. He got the message and excused himself to check out where the guy had got to. He returned with a key and opened up the apartment.

Marble floors. Wow, I thought. And the rest of the apartment was quite a delight too. The walls were really well painted and the furniture was quite tasteful. I checked out the bedrooms and the bath. The bath seemed a bit small, but the kitchen was fine. Not too big, but spacious and he had a washing machine. 4,000. Hmm…

It was a great flat. The view from the balcony was good. The location was great, and the furnishings were fine too. I think it was a bit better than what I had expected and for the price, I really didn’t feel like arguing. However, it was beyond my budget. I tried explaining my concerns to Emad. He smiled and gently cut me off, saying, “It’s really up to you. Name your offer and we’ll propose it to the guy.” I couldn’t. I declined and we walked out.

Saying goodbye, I headed towards my car thinking of the various offers in my head.

“Kailash!” the shout roused me from my thoughts. I looked right. It took me a moment to figure out the owner of the smiling face. Peter! I waved at him and he stepped out of his car to say hello.

“What are you doing out here? Strolling?” he asked.
”Nyah… apartment hunting. Gotta move out of my current digs and I had an appointment here.”
”Who with? Was it the apartment near Metro?”
”Yep. How did you guess?”
”Emad?”
”Yes,” I said looking even more startled.
”It’s mine!” Peter exclaimed explaining that he’d gotten a call from the guys from ERA and got caught up with errands so couldn’t make it to the meeting.

“Small world! They said someone was checking out the place, and found the price a bit steep. It would’ve been awesome if I’d made it for the appointment and found you there!”
”Yeah, sorry about that. I really thought it was a well-priced place, but just beyond my budget.”
”Really? You think it’s well priced? It’s been sitting empty for the last 3 months.”
I perked up a bit at that.
”You really should think about the pricing then, Peter. I mean, you’ve lost 3 months rent. You could’ve shaved off the price a bit.”
He pulled out his mobile and did the math. “Yeah,” he smiled ruefully. “I guess I’d have been able to give 750LE off.”
”Well, there you go then. I’m sorry it was out of my budget.”

I closed it there and told him that I had a meeting to rush to – which I did. Driving home, I wondered what that’d be like, to rent a flat from Peter. My current flat belongs to another good friend and I’d had a blast. I guess I could look forward to something similar with Peter. But it was beyond my means and it’d be tough finding a flatmate who’d share my appreciation of Heliopolis. I’m still looking until Feb 16th when I figure out whether I’ll get the flat in Mohandiseen.

The Itch

“What a wicked thing to do, to make me dream of you!” From the cover by HIM – that’s weird!

And to start with all I wanted to hear was Danny Elfman’s, “The Little Things”, from Wanted’s OST. That brought me to Nine Inch Nails’, “Everything Is Exactly The Same”, which, I fear, describes the current state of my life. To work, to bed and so on… leaves out the triumphs and tribulations each day brings. In an envelope, the daily routine would be true, but there is the life of the mind and the heart.

Somehow, that led me to, “Behind Blue Eyes”. I was looking for the Limp Bizkit cover (not knowing that it was a cover). Which led me to the original song by The Who. And somewhere in the comments following the assertion that the original’s the best, I came across the reference to HIM’s cover of, “Wicked Game”.

Now I’ve got ideas leaping left, right and center. I want to hear Tool! I want to hear some more HIM (although Wicked Game was not my fave). However, they seem to have interesting titles for their songs, like, “Razorblade Kiss”, “Bury Me Deep Inside”, and “Bury me Deep inside your Heart”. Is it me or does this seem very S&M – leaning heavily on the M?

Ok, out with HIM. I can’t stand this crap. Denke ich das ich hatte gemeint The Cult und schriebt Tool. “I’ve still got your face, painted on my heart…. etched upon my memory… I still got your kiss burning on my lips…” This is ROCK!, “It’s just no use. Every part of me is still a part of you!” That’s pain. That’s the burn. This is what parting feels like and when you pair it up with Joe Campbell’s myths of love, sacrifice and loss, it’s the journey of the hero; growing and living, moving forward with the loss; transcending and accepting, yet perhaps, holding on to the lessons learned.

Which ties into my burning urge – to write, to craft and to create. I’m assembling the pieces and perhaps gathering the crumbs… like Nut swallowing the sun and shitting it out! Terrible analogy, but let us call me the slug that eats the leaves and spins yarns? Or the slug that eats these jeweled ideas and turns these grains into a fabric. Which reminds me of a poem of Yeats’ that I came across recently:

HAD I the heavens’ embroidered cloths,
Enwrought with golden and silver light,
The blue and the dim and the dark cloths
Of night and light and the half light,
I would spread the cloths under your feet:
But I, being poor, have only my dreams;
I have spread my dreams under your feet;
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.

- William Butler Yeats

from this glad, ad-less site (http://elise.com/quotes/quotes/yeats.htm)

Well, it speaks naught of ingestion or of transformation, but speaks of dreams and of spreading them under feet, which may tread harshly – the writer exposing and sharing his own mind with his readers, opening him/herself up to ridicule.

(Apologies, force of habit drives me to use him/his and other masculine forms in the third person – no slight intended)

Oh, and I love the Limp Bizkit version of, “Behind Blue Eyes”. That don’t make The Who any less of a band or their original any less wonderful. Just shows that I’m a child of the electronica age and am comfy with the eletronic strings and the electronically mutated voice – made to sound somewhat tinny – alternately that could just be the YouTube version I’m listening to!