Reading Raghuram Rajan on social, economic disarray; need for rebuilding communities

 

"The Third Pillar: How Markets and the State Leave the Community Behind" is a book written by economist Raghuram G. Rajan, published in 2019. The book explores the tensions and imbalances created by the dominance of markets and states over community, and highlights the importance of rebuilding and strengthening the role of communities in today's society.

 

Rajan argues that there are three essential pillars in any society: the state, the market, and the community. While the state provides governance and public goods, and the market offers economic opportunities and efficiency, the community plays a vital role in fostering inclusiveness, social cohesion, and well-being. However, in recent decades, the state and the market have grown in influence, often at the expense of the community, leading to social and economic disarray.

Some of the key learnings and insights from the book include:

 

Importance of inclusive growth: Rajan emphasizes the need for economic growth that benefits all segments of society, reducing inequality and ensuring a more equitable distribution of resources. Neglecting inclusive growth can lead to social unrest and political instability.

Role of communities: The book underscores the significance of strong communities in addressing societal challenges. Communities provide a sense of identity, belonging, and social support, fostering trust and cooperation among individuals.

Market and state failures: While markets and states have their strengths, they are not infallible. The book explores instances where market and state failures have resulted in negative consequences, such as financial crises, inequality, and social fragmentation.

Democratic participation: Rajan emphasizes the importance of citizens' participation in the democratic process. He suggests that communities should be empowered to voice their concerns and actively engage in decision-making processes to ensure policies align with their needs and aspirations.

Technological disruptions: The book discusses the impact of technological advancements on communities and highlights the need to manage the disruptions caused by automation and globalization. It calls for policies that support skill development, retraining, and job creation to mitigate the adverse effects on communities.

Rebuilding social contracts: Rajan argues for the rebuilding of social contracts that balance the power of the state and the market with the needs and aspirations of communities. This involves fostering inclusive institutions, encouraging civic participation, and promoting social cohesion.

Policy recommendations: The author provides policy recommendations for addressing the challenges faced by communities. These include improving education and healthcare systems, supporting entrepreneurship, investing in infrastructure, and designing welfare programs that empower individuals while preserving social safety nets.

 

"The Third Pillar" provides a comprehensive analysis of the dynamics between markets, states, and communities, highlighting the need to restore the balance among them. Rajan offers valuable insights into the challenges of our time and proposes a roadmap for creating a more inclusive and sustainable society.

 

Intricate interplay—Reading ‘The Gene: An Intimate History’

Siddhartha Mukherjee's "The Gene: An Intimate History" is a riveting literary work that explores the complexities of genetics and its impact on human life. The book challenges readers to ponder the intricate interplay between genes and behavior, while also urging us to approach the ethical implications of genetic technologies with utmost care and discernment.

One of the key takeaways from the book is the immense power and limitations of genes. While our physical attributes are largely determined by our genetic makeup, the book underscores the significance of environmental variables in shaping our overall development. It cautions against oversimplifying the connection between genes and behavior, recognizing that our fate is not solely determined by our genetic blueprint.

The book also delves into the thorny ethical issues surrounding gene editing and genetic engineering. Mukherjee meticulously examines the pros and cons of gene editing, emphasizing the need for careful consideration of its potential consequences.

Moreover, the book highlights the profound impact of history on the field of genetics. Mukherjee traces how social, political, and cultural influences have shaped our understanding of biology and urges readers to appreciate the evolving nature of genetic knowledge, mindful of the historical context in which it has developed.

The book eloquently underscores the importance of scientific inquiry and the pursuit of knowledge. Mukherjee pays tribute to the pioneers who have advanced our understanding of genetics, making a persuasive case for continued investment in scientific research and innovation.

 

Notes from Gladwell's book 'David and Goliath'

 

"David and Goliath" by Malcolm Gladwell is a book that explores the idea that what we perceive as disadvantages can actually be sources of strength. Gladwell argues that we can find inspiration in the stories of underdogs who have overcome great challenges and achieved remarkable success.

Here are some of the key takeaways and insights from the book:

The story of David and Goliath is not just a tale of an unlikely victory but a demonstration of how perceived disadvantages can be turned into strengths. David's decision to fight Goliath with a slingshot was a tactical move that played to his strengths.

The inverted U-curve, also known as the "law of diminishing returns," suggests that there is a point where additional resources may actually hinder success. Gladwell gives examples of how smaller class sizes may actually lead to worse educational outcomes, and how wealthy parents may inadvertently harm their children's chances of success.

Dyslexia may be a disadvantage in traditional learning environments, but it can also be a source of strength. Many dyslexics have developed unique problem-solving skills and creativity as a result of their condition.

The concept of "desirable difficulty" suggests that making things harder can actually lead to better outcomes. For example, students who are forced to learn material without the aid of technology may have better retention and understanding of the material.

Gladwell argues that there is such a thing as too much power, and that sometimes being an underdog can be an advantage. He cites examples of how smaller armies have defeated larger ones, and how insurgent movements have toppled established regimes.

The concept of "near misses" suggests that failing just short of a goal can actually lead to more motivation and success in the future. Gladwell gives examples of how a rejection from a top-tier college can motivate a student to work harder and eventually achieve great success.

The idea of "capitalization" suggests that we can turn our disadvantages into strengths by embracing and utilizing them. Gladwell gives examples of how people with disabilities have found success in various fields by developing unique skills and perspectives.

Overall, "David and Goliath" is a thought-provoking book that challenges readers to rethink their perceptions of success and failure. It encourages us to find strength in our weaknesses and to see the world in a more nuanced way.

J&K can see maximum utilization of hospital resources by May end

Predictive models forecast increase in cases, daily death

By Irfan Tramboo 

The predictive models that are operating based on the global COVID-19 data, predicts that the Union Territory of J&K and Ladakh are inching towards the peak of the maximum utilization of hospital resources by the end of May while, as per current projections, the daily deaths are also going to see the peak at the same time.

Institute for Health Metrics and Evaluation (IHME), Seattle, USA, which is operating a predictive model, states that the Union Territory of Jammu & Kashmir and Ladakh are going to have an aggregated 6,878 COVID-19 deaths based on the current projection scenario by August 1, above 7000 deaths in case thing take a bad turn and little over 6000 in case the public adheres to COVID SOPs particularly usage of masks.

The peak in daily deaths in J&K and Ladakh is going to be witnessed at the beginning of June, taking into consideration the worse conditions. In terms of the current projection scenario, the model shows, the peak—way lower than what is predicted in June—in the daily death is going to be witnessed by the end of May.

As per the data, the daily deaths in J&K and Ladakh can also see their minimum peak on or around May 8 in case 95% of mask usage is observed in the public.

What is to be noted here is that the model predicts J&K and Ladakh, both the UTs are inching towards the peak where there would be the maximum utilization of the hospital beds, ICUs.

As per the model, while the jump towards the peak has already started to pick, the peak can be witnessed by the end of May.

As per another predictive model, ‘COV-IND-19 Study Group’, J&K is going to add over 23 thousand COVID-19 cases by the end of April with it forecasting the caseload of 177,586 cases on April 30.

Of Saharkhan and my oddly crushing thoughts

Saharkhan was trying hard to wake people up, and there I was, already up, or may be, I didn’t quite sleep and was waiting for him to come by, start banging his drum. I sometimes thought to peep out of my window and tell him that I was up: just to make him happy.

But I never could bring myself up for that. May be, I never wanted him to be happy, or I never wanted anyone to be happy and that too at my sight—too much to ask. I was up, I was up. He was trying hard, so let him be. Why care?

Instead of peeping out of my window and say hello to him, those sounds that reverberated into the air usually brought a smile on my face. May be, he too was happy somewhere. We decided not show our happiness to each other.

Something is not letting me sleep these days. A lot has happened lately—enough to deprive one of sound good night sleep. Some things are happening around, while some happening within; dancing, achingly.

Outside: some were ready to sleep with those who had either killed their brethrens, or had tied them on their vehicles once—not like, those, who were ready to sleep with them, or had already done so several times, were not aware of the fact that they (those they were eager to sleep with) were the culprits—they knew that well, but were at the same time ready to give their fantasies a real shot and sleep with them: sleeplessly.

Picture Credits: Andrew Chui

The incident happened some weeks ago, all set to be forgotten, many might have already, but in my case, it is still there. It keeps on banging disturbingly, it keeps me awake. How could they? But then, why care?

Outside: people were being killed. Now they, as someone recently said, are fed up with the bullets and are now using their vehicles to kill whosoever might come in their way. 

The other day, I saw a picture of a young boy, under the wheels of a vehicle—such vehicles have got another type of license too—apart from the one that is mandatory for the driver to drive the vehicle—this licence is a ‘kill’ license, they all have it. Two at a time.

The long bearded guy was ‘jeeped over’ by a vehicle with two licenses. Helplessly, he was trying to get out the vehicle, but couldn’t. Those expressions on his face are still haunting me, depriving me of some good night sleep. He survived, while the other one didn’t. He too was jeeped over, mind you! Jeeped over by a vehicle with two licenses, mind you!

The Saharkhan must have been aware of both the incidents that I mentioned, but he still got up right on time. He still managed to wake people up—except me.

He tried every night and succeeded in waking some people up, but why have I failed to toss these disturbing incidents out of my mind just to get some sleep until the Saharkhan comes. Why don’t I sleep so that the Saharkhan succeeds in waking me up too, so that one more person is added to the list of those he wakes up successfully?

Instead, I stay quiet. I let him bang around his drum. I don’t peep out of the window. I smile and believe that he too has not been able to sleep. I remain up all night, but he prefers to come out on streets with his drum; waking people up.

Inside: Few abstract things. Let that story be told some other day.

Why Writers Write?

Writers are prophets.

They are here with a message to convey. They are on a mission to give life to those emotions which are there, but invisible.

Writers write, because they have to convey those messages which are embedded onto them.

Writers write, because they want to express, because they have got words. Writers write, because they know that they can give life to the piece of paper, lying as if dead on the table. Writers write, because they know that their pen is filled with life called: ink.

Writers write, because they want to heal. Writers are healers, aren’t they? The words they have got are dressed up as healers. When they embrace a wound, they heal it, and heal it forever. Isn’t there too much of pain in this world, what if writers are doing their bit to eliminate some pains, somewhere, from someone’s soul? What if people are relieved of their pain, when these prophets write?

Writers dive deep and express those things that are beyond expression. Those beyond expression things are full of awe, and when they are dressed up in words, and are read, they elevate readers, to something unknown and strange. The readers do find themselves deep within those lines; much in-between the lines

Writers write, because they love to. They love to play with words. They love to create marvels out of 26 letters and a handful of punctuation marks.

Writers write to exaggerate: a positive exaggeration! They stress on a particular things, a miniscule thing, and magnify it. They turn a simple feeling or an emotion into a colossal entity. This magnifying, and this exaggeration, compels a reader to understand such small things in completely different way.  A way where: nothing is unimportant and nothing is miniscule. Writers write to emphasize.  

Writers write to praise; to praise beauty (there can be many other things.) They write to make readers smell a fragrance that was refreshed the air, a decade ago. They write to make readers feel a tender thing that existed a century ago. They write to make readers see a fairy that never existed. Writer, the magicians!

Writers write to be immortal. They say: if a writer falls in love with you, you can never die. Writers write to turn themselves and those whom they love, immortals. Writers write because they fear death.

A writer in love is a catastrophe. A writer in love expresses a lot, but with a tinge of love. He will praise the beauty of sky, and will link it with the face of his beloved, because he can see nothing more. A star finds a place on the face of his beloved. A moon too can be adjusted there. Twinkling of starts finds a comparison with the blinking of her eyes, and lots more. For him, she walks like a fairy. Well, he is a writer, he can do anything. And, a writer in love is surely a catastrophe. For him, there is nothing but her. No solar system, but her. No Moon, but her. No Stars, but her. No oxygen, but her. No him, but her. A pure catastrophe!

Writers write to create: a moon on earth (on her face, or her face) a flower, her lips. Writers create, and they can create anything.

Writers write to unveil the unseen; to uncover the beauty. They write to let the readers fly with their own set of imaginations.

Writers write to bestow their readers with a flight to the wondrous lands.

Writers write to be read as well! We shouldn’t miss that point, should we?

   

Unlce Jehangir and Kashmir

This is Kashmir, and it is known as heaven on the earth. Very well then! Uncle Jehangir termed Kashmir so, and the world picked it up. Uncle Jehangir came with his wives, with a comfort, I mean, and called Kashmir a heaven. Well, he usually came to Kashmir in summers. And those summers used to be quite joyful and that would have prompted him to term Kashmir as heaven. I don’t think he would have said so, if he would have visited Kashmir in winters, or in the summer of 2016 or the ongoing killing spree of winter, 2017, for that matter.  

These winters, as we listen to our grandparents, are nothing in comparison to the winters of their time, not to speak of winters during the times of Uncle Jehangir. Those would have been harsher. No one dared to visit Kashmir, then.

Well, it is heaven, but not in winters. Shehanshah Jehangir should be made to roam around streets. No, not on his horse, but on foot. Then, I’d like to watch him naming Kashmir as the heaven.

He wouldn’t have. He wouldn’t have dared to call it Firdous, as they say. He would have packed his bags, assembled his numerous wives, and would have been seen marching towards Delhi. Frozen roads and icy winds would have made him realise that indeed: Hunooz Delhi Door Ast (Delhi is still far away)

His wives would have cursed him. Numerous wives (numerous aunties), numerous curses. There would have been no room to think that “This place is a heaven.”  He would have been looking to get out of this place, as soon as possible.

This is a place where you need electricity for almost everything. If there is no electricity and that too during winters, there is only 1% chance of taking even a shower and cleaning yourself up. I am yet to see any Kalle Kharaab individual, who can take a shower in the total absence of electricity.  Shehanshah Jehangir should have been brought to Kashmir in 2017, without servants, but with his numerous wives and without electricity. I’d like to see this word heaven coming out of his mouth, then. I am sure that this word would have preferred to stay indoors.

Summers used to be very joyful until 2008. This joy and merriment is now, lost in our summers. Kashmir isn’t heaven during summers, too. Had there been a Shahanshah Jehangir now, he would have called Kashmir a beautiful slaughter house. Ah! I feel bad for Uncle Jehangir, he has lost every chance to call Kashmir a heaven, even in summers! He has got nothing to give to the world now.

Summers kill and winters freeze those dead bodies. Summers spill blood and winters turn it into ice. Summers boil the blood up, and the winters boil it down. Summers bring about passion and revolution, and the winters make us crave for even a shower. Summers fill this land with slogans, and the winters choke them down (mobile phones, too needs electricity; so no sloganeering!)  Summers bring about tension and fear, and the winters, too come with fear and tension (of cold water in the morning, and ‘battery about to die’ message with a cry of my mobile phone.) Summer comes with a dream of freedom. I discuss it in the morning: “I had dream where in I saw: people from that side of tunnel were applying for visa, to visit Kashmir.”  And winters, too do come with a dream of: electricity, a warm tub of water in the morning and a mobile phone with a charge of 99% left to use. A dream: in summers and in winters too.

I am a Kashmiri with a diverse set of thoughts. I am passionate about everything. I aim high during summers and aim equally high during the winters. That’s me! Collars up! I desert everything during summers, I aim high. Then, I beg, I still aim high.

Uncle Jehangir, Kashmir used to be heaven during those days, and not today. Don’t try to visit Kashmir alone, or with your numerous wives. You may die of tear gas. Your wives may lose their eye sight, pellets may welcome them! Aren’t they more into sightseeing? Don’t let them visit downtown please! Pellets shower there frequently. Pepper gas may choke them! Beware, uncle Jehangir, beware!

So don’t visit us, till you too, will have to apply for a visa to visit Kashmir. You may call it heaven then, but now there is no room for that.

Listen To Them

In separation from you I turned to the moon, I turned to these stars. The sky is aware of tears. It has seen that unending stream of tears flowing down through my eyes. The moon has been my companion when you weren’t. This moon is so beautiful, just like your face but it listens to me patiently, unlike you. It just listens to me. This sky is the witness to my pain---the pain of separation. This sky has always embraced me to hear my voice---voice which has always carried gloom and agony with it. This sky has let me to shed my tears---tears which carried your reflection, whenever I shed them.

I have talked so much about you with the moon that it now knows you better than me. If I know the dark page of your existence so does this moon, this sky and these twinkling stars. These stars seem to be twinkling, you see them. They are telling you that we know you. They are talking by twinkling. They are telling you how I have suffered in your separation. They are telling you to feel that pain of that cruel separation. The moon is fading away just to tell you what the separation is and what it brings upon one which gets caught in it. 

Do listen to them. Do hear what they are trying to convey. Do they tell you that how much I love you? Do they? If they do, then please tell me. I want to know if they have been able to look deep into my eyes where, only you exist: your reflection. I want to know.  If they could, then why can’t you? Why not? I see you in everything. I see you everywhere: If I can why can’t you? What is hindering you?

The moon, the stars and this sky have got to tell you so many things---listen to them. Listen: they speak the language of love soaked in separation.

They speak of you.

They speak of me. 

The Redness

The redness of your eyes,

the brightness of your face,

that melody in your voice,

has let me build a gap.

The unending cruel gap,

which nourishes my love,

extirpates the admiration.

With you in front of me,

everything thing seems dead.

Tell me what to praise?

the dead one or the beauty like you?

I breathe you in,

I breathe you out,

you run through my veins,

you make this heart to beat.

Tell me what to admire?

the dead one or you my love?

A touch of you,

enough to make immortal,

with a touch, infusing life,

with a  touch, turns autumn into spring,

a touch worth of everything,

tell me what to crave for?

a lively touch or a dead sigh?

The redness of your eyes,

the brightness of your face,

is all the treasure I have,

the state of death or life,

does that matter,

if that redness and that,

brightness stays with me?

Death will be a life,

if you are there.

Life will be a death,

if your aren't.

Autumn within

Tell these leaves that unlike you I never see the spring. I never see the greenery. I never see the life. The autumn is in my veins. The destruction is within me. These colorful flowers and green leaves cannot tell you what the autumn is all about. Ask me and I will tell you the reality of autumn: the autumn creates a hole within you---a hole of separation. The autumn has destroyed me--the autumn of separation—the separation from the spring. Ask me how is it to crave for spring? Ask me what the longing for the spring is?

They saw the autumn and now they are in full bloom. But, I have lived through the autumn, the harshness and how it peels off my skin. Don’t ask these leave, ask me and I will tell you how my dry skin made sounds when crushed. Don’t tell me about the fragrance of these flowers: the fragrance of autumn has made me forget all other wonderful fragrances in the world--the fragrance of pain, harshness, agony, separation and you. The last one ‘you’ is suited to make me forget everything.  Don’t tell me about the chirping of birds. The sound of my dry veins, craving for blood, made every sound meaningless.

There is autumn within me---a decades old autumn and what lies outside is the reflection of what is inside.

Autumn, autumn and autumn: with no sign of the spring to come.