In response to my previous post, one reader asked: “Okay, so fake leather isn’t right for women, nor the polo shirts for guys – but what would be the right present?”
I think USB sticks make great gifts these days as everybody keeps losing them. They should have just picked a more unisex style instead of one that was permanently embedded in Terminator style leather. Business card holders are useful – everyone needs them anyway; but again a unisex design is important. And if you are thoughtful enough to get something with elegant ‘green’ packaging you get extra bonus points.
These discussions about appropriateness of gifts have reminded me of a Panchtantra story I had read as a kid. It is a common story that most Indians have learned in school (at least, people my age).
There are two friends – a crow and a crane. One day the crane invites the crow for dinner at his home. He serves a delicious porridge in a ‘surahi’, a narrow necked earthen pot. While the crane thoroughly enjoys the meal, the crow’s short beak can’t reach the porridge in the pot. He is forced to eat the crumbs spilled by the crane.
The crow doesn’t say anything but in turn invites the crane for dinner. And he serves the meal in a flat ‘thali’. Of course, this time the crane doesn't get much to eat and he soon realizes his mistake.
So taking a cue from the Panchtantra tale: Next time I’m in-charge of corporate gifts, maybe I’ll distribute silk blouses with embroidered company logo to all. :)
Mar 31, 2008
Mar 24, 2008
Corporate Gifts
I’ve been thinking: How come so much of what I observe and write about is related to my experience as a woman, rather than as a human being. Surprisingly, this wasn’t a topic that was even remotely top of mind for me while I was in the US. It seems to me that living in India, you get rubbed the wrong way at least once (if you are lucky) or more, every-single-day. And after 3.5 years of this, I’ve just had enough. With that preamble, let’s pick a non-India example for a change :).
On Friday, I gave a talk to a bunch of 20 students and 2 profs from an MBA school in the US. Any B-school class studying emerging markets end up studying India, and ends up visiting us as one of the interesting companies to profile. So, inevitably, we end up hosting quite a few such student groups. So, back to the presentation on Friday...
I spent over an hour talking to the students about the company, India, its economy, etc. At the end of it, one of the students got up and, on behalf of the class, presented a gift. This practice of giving a gift is rare and not followed by all visiting groups because of restrictions on corporate gifts, especially the value of it, which they keep below $25-50. In any case, upon opening it I found a USB stick keychain and a money clip. Both of these are made in a bulky style, of heavy leather with bold stitching in a very male style to say the least. It’s something that Arnold Shwarzenegger would have carried as the Terminator (in the first of the movie trilogy), if he’d wanted to seem stylish. Believe me, I don’t mind leather, but no woman would carry anything of this style by choice.
So, why is a business school, in the year 2008, assuming that this is an appropriate gift for a woman? If in their defense they say, well, we didn’t know that we’d be giving this to a woman – well then, why are they assuming that there won’t encounter any women presenters? Sure, the number of senior women in business is low, but it is not zero!
Thoughtlessness is very off-putting.
The same goes for all kinds of corporate gifts and paraphernalia: it is all designed for men. Two years ago, I was responsible for organizing an annual meeting for roughly 100 senior leaders of the company. It had been customary for my department to give out polo-shirts for all participants. I had received one such shirt the previous year. As with all corporate-wear, this stuff is designed for men; I have never seen a woman wear a company-logo shirt in this company or previous ones. Since no other alternative was available, I decided against giving out any shirts. When an attendee inquired about the missing polo-shirts, I told him that when the company starts stocking shirts appropriate for women also, I’d be glad to give them out. :)
On Friday, I gave a talk to a bunch of 20 students and 2 profs from an MBA school in the US. Any B-school class studying emerging markets end up studying India, and ends up visiting us as one of the interesting companies to profile. So, inevitably, we end up hosting quite a few such student groups. So, back to the presentation on Friday...
I spent over an hour talking to the students about the company, India, its economy, etc. At the end of it, one of the students got up and, on behalf of the class, presented a gift. This practice of giving a gift is rare and not followed by all visiting groups because of restrictions on corporate gifts, especially the value of it, which they keep below $25-50. In any case, upon opening it I found a USB stick keychain and a money clip. Both of these are made in a bulky style, of heavy leather with bold stitching in a very male style to say the least. It’s something that Arnold Shwarzenegger would have carried as the Terminator (in the first of the movie trilogy), if he’d wanted to seem stylish. Believe me, I don’t mind leather, but no woman would carry anything of this style by choice.
So, why is a business school, in the year 2008, assuming that this is an appropriate gift for a woman? If in their defense they say, well, we didn’t know that we’d be giving this to a woman – well then, why are they assuming that there won’t encounter any women presenters? Sure, the number of senior women in business is low, but it is not zero!
Thoughtlessness is very off-putting.
The same goes for all kinds of corporate gifts and paraphernalia: it is all designed for men. Two years ago, I was responsible for organizing an annual meeting for roughly 100 senior leaders of the company. It had been customary for my department to give out polo-shirts for all participants. I had received one such shirt the previous year. As with all corporate-wear, this stuff is designed for men; I have never seen a woman wear a company-logo shirt in this company or previous ones. Since no other alternative was available, I decided against giving out any shirts. When an attendee inquired about the missing polo-shirts, I told him that when the company starts stocking shirts appropriate for women also, I’d be glad to give them out. :)
Mar 23, 2008
"Can Money Make You Happy?"
The answer seems to be "YES". The catch? You have to spend it on others. So claim a recent study by researchers at the University of British Columbia.
As part of the study, U.B.C. psychologists gave volunteers a wad of cash to spend; half of them were told to splurge on themselves and the other half to spend it on others. The givers rated themselves as being happier, on average, than the self-spenders. The findings mesh with those of a Harvard B-school survey of 16 people who were asked to measure their happiness before and after receiving cash bonuses. Those who spent more of their loot on others rated themselves as happier than their co-workers who had failed to spread the wealth. "These findings suggest that very minor alterations in spending allocations, as little as $5," says study author and U.B.C. psychologist Elizabeth Dunn, "may be enough to produce real gains in happiness on a given day."
Read SciAm blurb
As part of the study, U.B.C. psychologists gave volunteers a wad of cash to spend; half of them were told to splurge on themselves and the other half to spend it on others. The givers rated themselves as being happier, on average, than the self-spenders. The findings mesh with those of a Harvard B-school survey of 16 people who were asked to measure their happiness before and after receiving cash bonuses. Those who spent more of their loot on others rated themselves as happier than their co-workers who had failed to spread the wealth. "These findings suggest that very minor alterations in spending allocations, as little as $5," says study author and U.B.C. psychologist Elizabeth Dunn, "may be enough to produce real gains in happiness on a given day."
Read SciAm blurb
Pay for Performance, in School
‘When the rewards were handed out, [Manhattan fourth grader] Jazmin Roman was eager to celebrate her $39.72. She whispered to her friend Abigail Ortega, “How much did you get?” Abigail mouthed a barely audible answer: $36.87. Edgar Berlanga pumped his fist in the air to celebrate his $34.50.’
These children had just been awarded real money for better grades. Now, before we jump to take a stand on either side of whether it is ok to pay for grades, let’s take a moment to consider.
First, let’s assume that paying students for performance actually works – in the sense that it gets them to pay attention to learning and get better grades. If so, is this approach of paying for better grades necessarily wrong?
We can say that it is plain morally wrong to reward performance with pay. It will distort the children’s value systems. But isn’t this (getting more pay only if we perform to our employer’s requirements) what we have to live with for the rest of our adult lives? So why is it wrong to do it when we’re young but ok when we’re old?
We can claim that it will lead to students not learning to value education in and of itself. But let’s face it: Even most parents talking about giving their children a good education, want to do it so that the children will fare well in life, that is, find a good job/career and make lots of money. So they are seeing education as a means to an end (involving loads of money at the end of it).
Societies, when they talk about valuing education, want an educated populace because only then can the economy grow and prosper. Again, it’s about the money. And again, the reward mechanism for the society is money.
In every human profession, except probably pure science research (though even that is becoming highly commercialized – e.g. biotech), the reward for performance is money. So let’s not be hypocritical and claim that it is morally wrong.
However there is one argument that is harder to defeat. And that is, that there is some value to learning for learning’s sake.
Yet, there are only a few people who get a kick out of learning, of knowing, of being the best at something – for its own sake. And most likely, these people who are already inclined towards real learning won’t be adversely affected just because someone pays them every time they to do accomplish something. Those who needed an extra push, might learn for the money. And finally, the completely unredeemable – well, we’ve lost nothing by trying.
Or perhaps we could claim that it is ok as an adult to get money for performance but not as a child. So are we expecting children to be wiser than adults, by learning for learning’s sake, and adults to be more driven by such “superficial” things as money?
I remember one incident – probably I was in class 6 or 7. I had a particularly good math teacher. One day in trigonometry, he taught us how to calculate the height of a tree, given the angle to the tree-top and the distance to its base, and assigned several homework problems. The next day in class he solved a few of them for us, ones that involved two trees (one behind the other) instead of just one.
At the end of the class, to everyone’s surprise, he made a bet with us: Any student who could solve the next problem by the end of lunch session would get two rupees as a prize. Two rupees was not a huge sum even in 1980s, but to us kids, a test based on money was a novelty. We all got our notebooks and pencils ready. He wrote a problem with two trees on the black board and the class ended. And during the break that followed we all worked on the problem. I worked out the answer and turned in my notebook, just as all children had. But somehow it didn’t feel right. Then I got it: This was a 3-dimensional problem. One of the trees was on the other side of the river. So I ran to the teachers’ desk, got my notebook back, and re-did the solution. I still remember my friend Ritika hovering around me to finish so that she could put the notebook on the desk before time was up :).
The next day I was the proud recipient of a crisp new two rupee note tucked inside a book of logarithms. I still remember that I couldn’t pay attention to any other classes the rest of the day. My mind kept wandering to the slim logarithms book signed by Mr. Raman (the teacher) and the crisp two rupee note.
Did that experience of being paid for solving the problem make me expect that I’d be paid every time I solved a class problem? No. Did it turn me off of math? No. Did it corrupt me for life? I don’t think so .
If he had rewarded us with money every day instead of just once in a year, would the answers be different? I doubt it. After all, most companies pay for performance these days. Does it make every employee their job less? Not that I can see.
Though this is a dataset of one , I think value systems of people are not formed by being rewarded for better grades or not. They are formed by watching how adults around us act and behave. Children are quite perceptive. And I doubt that paying them for good grades would harm them for life. At worst, it will be ineffective. It might actually give them a better understanding of financial management – in fact, I hope the teachers use this as an opportunity. At best, it will help those who need the extra push to perform better.
Read NYT Article
Mar 6, 2008
“Go left, left, left, left”
So far I’ve been driving in India on the basis on of international driving license. I had decided to get an Indian license and a few months ago I just about managed to obtain a learning permit. That is an entertaining story in itself – but for another time.
So my status as of a couple of weeks ago was that I had an Indian “Learning License”. I had gone through a driving school to obtain this. The school was charging me money just for the process without doing any training. Given the large number of people with international licenses who’ve landed up in Bangalore, the schools have recognized a good opportunity and even have standard rate cards for this service.
As the learning license was nearing the end of its validity, I decided that I cannot procrastinate any further and must face the bureaucracy to get a proper Driving License.
My previous experience with the Regional Transport Office, the agency that grants these licenses had been rather stressful to say the least. So, with much trepidation and reluctance, I called up Manjunath at the same driving school that helped me get the learning license. He asked me to deliver the Learning License and a photo to his office, and tells me to show up at 9am on Saturday at the RTO.
Suffering from the punctuality disease, I show up exactly at 9:00am on the dot at the RTO office on 2nd floor, having parked my car outside. Upon arrival, I called Manjunath who informed me that he would be there in “10 minutes”. Tired of waiting after 20 minutes, I had decided to sit in one of the 25 bright red chairs arranged (or rather, bolted) in 5 neat rows in front of the inner office. Some guy who seemed he was an official asked me “DL or LL?”
It took me a moment to realize what the initials stood for and I blurted out “LL”. Quickly realizing my mistake I said “DL. DL!” He waved his hand -- Swallowing my pride, I looked hopelessly at him, trying to decipher the meaning of the hand-wave. He made me get up from the seat: the seats were for men only. No I am not kidding! The seats represented the men’s line. The women’s line had no seats – standing only.
Another 20 minutes later I spotted Habib from my driving school. More hand-waving occurred, which I interpreted to mean “Wait”. A few minutes later, I had signed some forms and was standing in a line.
Soon I found myself in the office of the same official who had uprooted me from the men’s chairs reviewed my forms, gave them back to me with a stamp and again waved me away!
Determined to not be hand-waved away this time, I asked him in Hindi where I am supposed to go next. He impatiently muttered something and pointed me to the door. Oh well, so much for my pride…
Outside I found a bunch of men and women carrying forms with the same yellow sleeve which identified them as customers of the same driving school as mine. So I decided to wait near them. When Manjunath approached, defying hand-waving norms, I deliberately voiced my question: “what’s happening? Where is the test going to happen”. He told me to go wait downstairs near the road. 15 minutes later he shows up again. On asking, I was told to drive my car to the Post Office road for the test.
I followed the directions and ended up at a street where some 15 men were waiting. I was the only woman there. After 15 minutes,, like a flock of birds taking off together, they all start walking in one direction. I followed them. It turned out we were standing at slightly wrong corner. I re-park and wait again.
Finally I spot both Manjunath and Habib. I run over and demand that they tell me properly what is going to happen. Don’t just tell me to wait or the next micro-step in the process. Who is going to show up? When/where is the test going to take place. Etc. For the first time I get two complete sentences in response . Somewhat mollified, I wait for the next step.
Like Moses parting the red sea, a group of cars bringing the Test Takers (don’t know what else to call them) cut through the throng of waiting legal-drivers-to-be. I wait.
Manjunath asks me to drive to a certain point where the Test Taker is standing on the side of the road. He takes my papers. Tells me to go make a round and come back. I was expecting him to get into the car so I hesitate. He repeats in English: “Go left, left, left, left. Come back.”
I smile to myself and take off, obediently making left, left, left, left and returning to the spot in question.
Before I can even come to a full stop near him, the Test Taker shouts, waving his hands “Go! Go home!”, at which I promptly take off.
Ah, but the story didn’t end. When I called up the driving school to pick up the license, they say I haven’t taken a photograph. He accuses me of running off after the previous weekend’s test instead of going for a photograph. I exclaim that despite my repeatedly asking them, they had told me nothing about going back for a photograph; Habib had told me to go home after the test. He muttered something about a “card license”. Exasperated, I went back the following weekend, got the photograph done. Putting two-and-two together, I figured out that the “card” license which fits in a wallet has a computerized production process, and therefore, they needed a digital photo instead of the print photo submitted during my previous visit.
Oh well, now I’m keeping my fingers crossed – I’ve gotten the driver’s license but the birthdate is wrong. I don’t think I have it in me to get it corrected. I’ll simply be a day older in anything requiring a driving license proof.
So my status as of a couple of weeks ago was that I had an Indian “Learning License”. I had gone through a driving school to obtain this. The school was charging me money just for the process without doing any training. Given the large number of people with international licenses who’ve landed up in Bangalore, the schools have recognized a good opportunity and even have standard rate cards for this service.
As the learning license was nearing the end of its validity, I decided that I cannot procrastinate any further and must face the bureaucracy to get a proper Driving License.
My previous experience with the Regional Transport Office, the agency that grants these licenses had been rather stressful to say the least. So, with much trepidation and reluctance, I called up Manjunath at the same driving school that helped me get the learning license. He asked me to deliver the Learning License and a photo to his office, and tells me to show up at 9am on Saturday at the RTO.
Suffering from the punctuality disease, I show up exactly at 9:00am on the dot at the RTO office on 2nd floor, having parked my car outside. Upon arrival, I called Manjunath who informed me that he would be there in “10 minutes”. Tired of waiting after 20 minutes, I had decided to sit in one of the 25 bright red chairs arranged (or rather, bolted) in 5 neat rows in front of the inner office. Some guy who seemed he was an official asked me “DL or LL?”
It took me a moment to realize what the initials stood for and I blurted out “LL”. Quickly realizing my mistake I said “DL. DL!” He waved his hand -- Swallowing my pride, I looked hopelessly at him, trying to decipher the meaning of the hand-wave. He made me get up from the seat: the seats were for men only. No I am not kidding! The seats represented the men’s line. The women’s line had no seats – standing only.
Another 20 minutes later I spotted Habib from my driving school. More hand-waving occurred, which I interpreted to mean “Wait”. A few minutes later, I had signed some forms and was standing in a line.
Soon I found myself in the office of the same official who had uprooted me from the men’s chairs reviewed my forms, gave them back to me with a stamp and again waved me away!
Determined to not be hand-waved away this time, I asked him in Hindi where I am supposed to go next. He impatiently muttered something and pointed me to the door. Oh well, so much for my pride…
Outside I found a bunch of men and women carrying forms with the same yellow sleeve which identified them as customers of the same driving school as mine. So I decided to wait near them. When Manjunath approached, defying hand-waving norms, I deliberately voiced my question: “what’s happening? Where is the test going to happen”. He told me to go wait downstairs near the road. 15 minutes later he shows up again. On asking, I was told to drive my car to the Post Office road for the test.
I followed the directions and ended up at a street where some 15 men were waiting. I was the only woman there. After 15 minutes,, like a flock of birds taking off together, they all start walking in one direction. I followed them. It turned out we were standing at slightly wrong corner. I re-park and wait again.
Finally I spot both Manjunath and Habib. I run over and demand that they tell me properly what is going to happen. Don’t just tell me to wait or the next micro-step in the process. Who is going to show up? When/where is the test going to take place. Etc. For the first time I get two complete sentences in response . Somewhat mollified, I wait for the next step.
Like Moses parting the red sea, a group of cars bringing the Test Takers (don’t know what else to call them) cut through the throng of waiting legal-drivers-to-be. I wait.
Manjunath asks me to drive to a certain point where the Test Taker is standing on the side of the road. He takes my papers. Tells me to go make a round and come back. I was expecting him to get into the car so I hesitate. He repeats in English: “Go left, left, left, left. Come back.”
I smile to myself and take off, obediently making left, left, left, left and returning to the spot in question.
Before I can even come to a full stop near him, the Test Taker shouts, waving his hands “Go! Go home!”, at which I promptly take off.
Ah, but the story didn’t end. When I called up the driving school to pick up the license, they say I haven’t taken a photograph. He accuses me of running off after the previous weekend’s test instead of going for a photograph. I exclaim that despite my repeatedly asking them, they had told me nothing about going back for a photograph; Habib had told me to go home after the test. He muttered something about a “card license”. Exasperated, I went back the following weekend, got the photograph done. Putting two-and-two together, I figured out that the “card” license which fits in a wallet has a computerized production process, and therefore, they needed a digital photo instead of the print photo submitted during my previous visit.
Oh well, now I’m keeping my fingers crossed – I’ve gotten the driver’s license but the birthdate is wrong. I don’t think I have it in me to get it corrected. I’ll simply be a day older in anything requiring a driving license proof.
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