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BACK OF THE
BOOK
Why Is MLA 146 Angry?
Because in Karnataka, ground zero of
India's information-technology explosion, the wired world isn't anywhere
close to reaching his people, says Samar
Halarnkar
One day I
trawled my way to U.R. Sabhapathi's home page (www.ursabhapathi.com) and
clicked on the ''Work Done'' section. It said blandly, ''under
construction''. When I went in to the ''Press Room'', it was fully
updated.
My first response: how like a politician.
Cynicism comes easily when you talk of a politician, but an Indian
politician with a web site?
Still, a simple Internet home is little
more than a gimmick. ''March 3-School computerisation launched in Udupi,
courtesy Infosys,'' says one headline on Sabhapathi's site. Another, more
grandiose and magnificently vague: ''January 31-U.R. Sabhapathi plans for
the future of Udupi.''
Sabhapathi is the only member of the
legislative assembly (MLA) of Karnataka with a website, which told me that
he hoped to use the power of the PC and the Internet to boost the
development of his constituency in Karnataka's western corner. In the
spirit of Net-engendered open government, he has on his site details of
every municipal work in his constituency since 1994.
My second response: there seemed to be
something about Sabhapathi.
Sabhapathi is MLA of Karnataka constituency
146, Udupi, an area most famous for providing all of India with the
spotlessly clean and efficient dosa, idli joints that we know of as Udupi
hotels.
But Udupi is an unusual Indian constituency
in that it is almost fully literate. It is an area of temples, vedic
learning, engineering and medical colleges. It is a nook ready to move on,
a silk worm ready to emerge from the chrysalis. As it does, Sabhapathi
wants to weave in the threads of the silicon revolution.
By early 2002, the land records of about 20
million Karnataka farmers will be fully computerised and available at
cyber kiosks at the click of a mouse. Optical fibres are lacing the state.
By 2002, Karnataka's engineering colleges will also step up their
production line of computer engineers from 10,000 to 14,000.
So it seems fitting that a MLA from
Karnataka would think of moving government functions to the net. In his
block office in Udupi, Sabhapathi has already installed computers, putting
everything from population statistics to details of road resurfacing
online.
TREADMILL |
Just Change The
Music
I have a problem. I
simply can't work out to the beat of bhangra. Nor can I do my reps
to the accompaniment of Hindi film music. I just can't. And that, I
discovered, was a serious disadvantage at my friendly neighbourhood
gym, a no-frills basement outfit in one of South Delhi's colonies,
which insists on playing tracks like Kambakht ishq hai yeh (from the
new Fardeen Khan-Urmila Matondkar starrer, Pyaar Tune Kya Kiya, said
the gym's instructor, looking derisively at ignorant me). After a
few days of doing pathetic, formless pull-overs and bench-presses, I
decided it was time for drastic action. One morning at six, I
appeared at the gym with a bagful of cassettes. And, wonder of
wonders, managed to get the guy in charge play some Leftover Salmon,
a polyethnic cajun slamgrass band that I am digging these days. They
belt out music you can dance as well as work out to...well, okay,
make that I can work out to.
As I settled into my
pre-workout warm-up schedule, I heard a voice from the treadmill
next to mine: ''Good move. I was getting tired of the monotonous
music they play here.'' I turned to see a middle-aged gentleman, a
gym regular who I've seen here often. Gym conversations are usually
rare and restricted to a brusque ''How many sets left?'' directed at
you when you're at the lat machine or the leg press machine. But
this gent and I quickly fell into an easy chat. In a few minutes, he
was complaining about how he'd been hitting the weights for around
three years now but wasn't making much progress in terms of looking
markedly different. At 43, he was fit and all that but wasn't
developing muscle mass and wasn't getting anywhere near the
ripped-body look that he wanted.
It's a common problem in
weight training. And the reason is simple. If you do the same set of
exercises with the same set of weights, you're not going to get
anywhere. Of course, you're going to be much better off than you'd
be if you never exercised at all. Remember, that once we reach
middle age, our metabolism slows down with each passing year and we
lose muscle mass. If we don't do weight training to maintain muscle
mass, it's likely we'd put on extra kilograms of pure, unmetabolised
fat. But, if you don't merely want to maintain your muscle mass but
want to add to it and get closer to that ripped look, bump up those
weights. And, because muscles get used to monotonous routines and
stop growing, keep varying your exercises. You'll be surprised at
how that works.
MUSCLES
MANI |
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A swarthy man, forehead smeared with
vermillion, Sabhapathi works out of room 275 of the Legislator's Home (LH)
in Bangalore. The LH provides an anteroom, an office, and a bedroom to
each legislator. Most of the anterooms are filled with "party
workers", constituents, job-seekers, and servants. These are the
people who power the representatives of the people. They mill around the
four-storey LH's sole typist, the travel agent, and book stall.
Sabhapathi was a footsoldier himself. After
his B.Com, this son of a small-town electrical appliances businessman
spent about two decades in politics, switching parties and allegiances.
He's now with the Congress party. Unfortunately, there are 224 MLAs in
Karnataka. To become a state government minister or perhaps chairman of a
government board, you must either have a mentor or capture public
imagination.
So Sabhapathi waxes eloquent on computers
in Udupi, how he would now like to take grassroots e-government to his
constituency. Much like Gyandoot, otherwise backward Madhya Pradesh's
showcase of e-governance-45 villages linked on an intranet, ironically
modelled on a design drawn up in Karnataka.
Now, consider this: Karnataka, home of
India's wired elite, hasn't managed to wire a single village.
''Isn't this ironical?'' I ask Sabhapathi.
The smile of this otherwise affable son of
the Udupi soil fades.
''Yes, isn' it?'' he says darkly.
Sabhapathi gets up and opens his steel
almirah. From a file he detaches a letter. It was written in June 2000 to
his leader, the chief minister of Karnataka, S.M. Krishna, pointing out
just the irony that I'm talking about. ''It is sad that non-descript Dhar
district in Madhya Pradesh was recipient of the International Stockholm
award,'' says the letter, urging Krishna to hasten the stillborn attempts
to wire Karnataka's government.
Can A Computer Tar A Road?
''It is a very hard task I say,'' sighs
Sabhapathi. ''When I talk to my colleagues in the party, they ask me
questions like, 'can we get water from computers, can we get roads
tarred?' Such ignorant responses only indicate how my colleagues think.''
''Only this year were ministers in
Karnataka given e-mail, but they don't use it. Most bureaucrats who work
for them don't have e-mail, so what's the use? These computers are
glorified typewriters! That's all,'' says Sabhapathi bitterly.
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M.M.NANIAH,
Minister for IT,
Karnataka |
He blames his political colleagues and the
babus for the state's stalled e-governance initiatives. ''Everyone wants
to promote it, go abroad,'' he fumes, lapsing into colourful, colloquial
Kannada. ''None of these bureaucrats is interested in e-governance.''
At the time of going to press, Karnataka's
bustling IT secretary Vivek Kulkarni was indeed abroad, trying to
encourage US companies to weather the tech downturn by moving operations
to Bangalore. Without Kulkarni, his boss M.M. Naniah is like a PC without
a chip.
Karnataka's infotech minister is an affable
man who laughs at his heartiest when he must talk about things he is only
vaguely familiar with-like infotech. Ask him why the state is so unwired
and Naniah guffaws again. ''Have you met our IT secretary? What did he
say?'' When you tell him you were told of some experimental projects and
the land-records effort, he says affably: ''Then what he said is right.''
To enter the Vidhana Soudha, the seat of
Karnataka's government, is to enter an alternate reality to the heaving
tech energy outside its grand stone walls. The clatter of typewriters, the
chatter of clerks is everywhere. Like most ministerial cubbyholes here,
Naniah's office is firmly Remington land.
Can Naniah receive e-mailed complaints?
''Where is the need for all this? I tour my constituency regularly and
redress all grievances there itself.'' Of Sabhapathi's frustrations,
Naniah laughs: ''He is too fast for the administration! But we shall
definitely catch up with his suggestions.'' In an administration, Naniah
philosophises, ''these things take time to implement''.
In 2000, the estimate to wire up
Karnataka's government statewide was Rs 300 crore. That is modest. The
annual expenditure of the state rural development and panchayat raj
ministry is Rs 6,000 crore. In 2001, the estimates were down to about Rs
200 crore, primarily due to falling equipment costs.
''Cost recovery is in a few months, not
years,'' says Subramanya Jois, CEO of the software company wiring
Sabhapathi's constituency. ''And for this cost we can do it in style, set
up a high-bandwidth, stable system. We've pursued this project
passionately for two years, but I think it's of no use.''
Sabhapathi says 11 gram panchayats (local
governing bodies) in his constituency will be fully computerised in a
couple of months, but that could be all. He gestures to his PC. ''Do you
know why other MLAs come to my room? There is always a queue at the
typist, so they come to use the only computer in the LH. They know I don't
mind.''
Sabhapathi smiles ruefully. ''People also
like to work at my computer because it is so quiet here.'' His hand cuts
an arc across the room. ''As you can see, there are no hangers-on here. My
workers have realised there is no need to waste time and money, no need to
catch the overnight train to Bangalore any longer.
''They send me e-mail!''
-With additional
reporting by Venkatesha Babu
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