One one things

It’s been a while since I wrote something during office hours but i’m feeling mildly rebellious today. I have nothing to say as such but I’m going to say it anyway. Just because I’m feeling rebellious. It’s been an oddish day - started up with a bang (mea culpa, bad joke) and proceeded to improve despite a 3 hour bat on the Sri Lanka transport board courtesy some chap the office chaps felt would be a good chap to talk to us. And he was good. He said some great stories about moving from the private sector to work in the govt sector - spiced by some super reenactments of phone conversations, sarong hiking and all. In the last few months I’ve heard encouraging stories about the SLTB and the Railways - at least the chaps in charge are quite encouraging, and they both seem to think that the minister is the shit.

(I must at this point digress for a minute to relate a great railway story this chap said. So our friend was on an inspection run from Colombo to Badulla and he was with his deputy in the Engine putting a giggle with the driver. All is good till the guard rocks up, swearing at the top of his lungs and looking in bad shape. The deputy is told to go and see if the guard is cocked. “Plastered sir, stinking of booze even.” So they stop in Nawalapitiya (or Nanuoya, I can’t recall) and GMR hands over the drunk guard to the railway security chaps and tell them to get the bugger charged by the superintendent. Now it’s quite late in the piece, just short of midnight, and the security chaps escort the guard to the SI’s residence. After several knocks a light flickers on and the SI staggers out. “Mokada oy raa meda? hic” The SI is trolleyed. The security chaps explain that the guard was removed from the Badulla train bc he was drunk and needs to be charged. The SI peers at the guard for a good 2 mins before spluttering, “Meya beela nah yako, mama outa wada veri ne, yanawa yanna.” Slams the door. So they return to the station with the guard who passes out promptly. The GMR stops by the next day on the return leg only to be told that the guard could not be charged and that he now is demanding an apology and compensation for being wrongfully kicked off the train. So the GMR apologised, and the guard was compensated.)

So at the minute both systems (SLTB, CGR) are, unfortunately, not the shit. SLTB loses around Rs. 3Bn a year (main problem being a spectacularly bloated staff of 38000 swelled by politically appointed Johnnies who are predominantly ata pass, at best) and the railways can’t cover variable cost - which is bad form, really (here the problem is a lack of flexibility in pricing. It costs around Rs. 70 to go back forth Colombo Moratuwa by bus - by train it costs around Rs. 18 - and GMR can’t increase it without the political nod - so obviously no cash for investment, incentives, nothing). But these chaps who spoke to us have the balls and the mind to set things in the right direction - VRS’s at the SLTB and internal markets in the CGR. Let’s wish them some luck because they bloody well need it with our trade union brothers. That said, we’ll probably have a change of government and everything will be scratched. That’s why we love our political system. Rah.

After that super long discourse I did two sound hours of work before taking a break to have a Dinemor Tuna sub which is, also, the shit. Unfortunately my day took a turn for the worse having received in my inbox a rather dicey picture of a Chinese kid trying to cut off his love-stick. Now I know they’ve had population issues in the past but this might be a tad extreme. Just as I was recovering from that I get pictures from a colleague of this morning’s bomb victim - gruesomely splayed across Galle road. What strange people I associate with. Thankfully my spirits were rescued by a fabulous image I stumbled across of a young lefty girl wearing a beret and brandishing a Kalashnikov. Which explains why I’m feeling rebellious, and this post for that matter. I’m certainly not getting those fifteen minutes of my life back. Thankfully my procrastination came to an end when I came across a former housemate’s PhD topic. This is the kind of thing that slaps you in the face, tells you to sit up and appreciate your job, well mine at least. His thesis is entitled;

“The Acquisition of Books by Chetham’s Library 1655-1685: A Case Study in the Distribution and Reception of Texts in the English Provinces in the 17th Century.”
It goes on to explain that he will be undertaking a three-year AHRC-funded doctoral (PhD) project to research the Library’s acquisitions policy between its foundation in 1655 and the death of its first supplier, Robert Littlebury, in 1685. It is hoped that this project will not only generate a thesis about the trade in books and ideas between London and Manchester in the 17th century, but also a detailed transcript of the Library’s earliest accessions registers.”

My God. Oh GSP +, let me embrace you in amorous splendour.

P.s.
This post’s title pays tribute to the Island headline of 5/3/2008 “Robbers of pubic money will burn in hell - CJ” which is easily the best example of journalism, ever. Who says we don’t have media freedom?

A week back home and I was ready for the last leg of a month of travels. I had never been to the Philippines and hadn’t been East of Sri Lanka in a while, so I was quite looking forward to it. More importantly it was a WTO gig and I’m a fan of multilateral trade. The annoying part was that the flights had to be via Singapore, with an overnight transit both ways. The SQ inflight entertainment is excellent and I watched more movies that I had in ages on those flights to Dhaka and Manila. Arriving in Singapore however was a lot more eventful than I had hoped. I rocked up to immigration armed with my laptop and a print out of my hotel reference number. The woman at the counter looked at my passport, tried to scan it but it didn’t register. She asked me to follow her and I was led to some desk where a couple of other young Lankan boys from my flight were hanging around. Great, VIP treatment for LKA holders. A stubby Singaporean immigration woman asks the four of us if we’re together. I shook my head and the other three said they were going on holiday. We were herded into a little corridor where a couple of other SL chaps were sitting around. I sulked and walked up to a wall next to two fellows sitting down and one of them mumbled while looking hard at the ground “Apith ekka katha karanna epa, api anduranne nathuwa wagey inna” I thought this is a bit sketchy, the last thing I wanted was to be rounded up with some dodgy buggers trying to get in on the sly. After about 20 mins we were taken to a room one at a time to be finger printed and photographed. This was really taking the piss. I was here to stay 10 hours and get some sleep and had to go through all this nonsense. I was not a happy bunny. Eventually it was my turn and I didn’t make a fuss and let him fingerprint me. A list of criminals come up on the screen with finger prints of similar nature. To my horror one bugger shows up 100%, some Canadian Tamil chap. The immigration guy looks hard at my passport picture, then at the screen and then back up at me. He adjusts his specs, points to the screen and shrieks “He look like you!” I said “No no man that’s not me” and laughed it off bc the chap really looked nothing like me. He readjusts his specs and says “He you! he you!” At this point I got a bit nervous, what if we all look alike to them, like they do to us. Then luckily he said okok and smiled. I said that I’m on transit and showed him my hotel number, and he looked very troubled and said, “Ohh transit?? you should have say. No problem with transit. You go.” Great. Why didn’t i say that before? I went back and got my passport stamped and got a million apologies from the immigration chap, but it really was my fault for assuming that this is standard procedure for SL passport holders. It turns out the reason for the detainment was that my passport was of the old variety that doesn’t get read by their scanners. Oh well.

The night in Singapore was pleasant, I found food at a street market and the airport drama felt miles away as I slurped up noodles and dim sum. The next morning my cab driver on the way to the airport from my transit hotel was interesting. He had been on holiday to SL and lectured me all the way about Kandy, Colombo and the LTTE. All along I was thinking it would be quite fun if our three wheel chaps can go on holiday to S’pore. 4 hours later, touch down in Manila. The ride to the hotel was in the hotel vehicle and the driver was a hoot. The car itself was quite dodge despite being a pretty fancy merc, it kept stalling and Romeo, the driver, kept swearing. Manila looked very dry and lacked any greenery at first glance. There was American influence all over. Burger shops, kids playing basket ball - it was how i’d imagine a Latin American city, even the ppl looked like Latino. Romeo got chatty and started asking what my plans were. “So you wanna go out in the night and all eh? you married?” He grinned back at me through the mirror. I was tired and mumbled that i’m not married. “So then in the evening, if you want to go get some beer, see some dancing” another big smile..”Maybe some naked dancing?”. I looked sheepishly out of the window, Bangkok all over again. “Alcohol, girls, both, haha, you tell to call me, ask for Romeo, any evening eh, girls, dancing, you want to fuck? anything, haha.” I mumbled some more and the topic shifted to music, jazz in particular; I asked if there were any live gigs in the evenings close by. He didn’t know of any but he did say that his favourite was Diana Krall, bc she looks sexy. The traffic increased as we got closer to the city and there were loads of slums lining the waterways, and in the background the sky scrapers began to emerge, classic South East Asian cities.

The hotel was fabulous, and the girls by default wore really short skirts. A quick nap, informal welcome dinner and bed. The proceedings began the next day and i was somewhat disappointed. It was full of NGO chaps who hadn’t a clue about economics and spent the day WTO bashing. More details a couple of posts down (Down with them liberals). I laid into one guy who went on and on about how NAMA was not in the interest of Sri Lanka (based on preference erosion - without him having ever heard of the term preference erosion), he kept saying NAMA will result in x number of job losses in SL, y number of factory closures, women will be destitute, save us, save us! He never once mentioned the term preference erosion. It’s pretty ironic that in Geneva SL is fighting hard against a move by certain African countries to exclude 21 US tariff lines from NAMA reductions bc they receive preferences at the moment. Anyway, idiots. This went on for two days, and I took every chance I could to get under the skin of these fellows using rubbish data and sad excuses for economics. I was very unpopular by the time the final dinner came round. A Pakistani chap said over dinner, “So it seems only the man from Sri Lanka is happy with this trade business” I smiled and said something about small markets, economies of scale blah blah. He wasn’t convinced.

My flight was on the 3rd night, a few hours after the closing sessions, so unless I skipped a bit I wouldn’t get to do any exploring. The hotel was in Ortigas, a very commercial area full of malls and offices, not my idea of travel. Luckily an Indian guy who I knew from a previous conference was keen on seeing a bit of Manila and he suggested we take off just before lunch and get back for the final session. It sounded like a plan. Quick change and we were in a cab to Manila Bay. The driver had absolutely no command of English and before we knew it we were on a wild goose chase. He kept radioing HQ and muttering “Anila Way? Banila May? Vanilla Ray?” Eventually PK lost patience and asked him to stop near a building and we got down and asked for proper directions. Manila Bay was a bit useless at 1pm, it was a promenade lining the bay, but it looked promising for the evening; little cafes waking up to dusk and street musicians collecting coins in hats. Plan B was Fort Santiago in Intramuros a bit further up. This Spanish fort was the final home of several prisoners who were executed by the Japanese in WWII. What stands today is what was rebuilt in 1945 following the original structure being destroyed by the yanks during the War. The place was charming if slightly commercial - with horse rides and a mini golf course. There were interesting tunnels, moats, dungeons and several life like models of soldiers guarding the place. Intramuros itself was very nice, it reminded me a lot of Galle, it had the same narrow streets, old buildings, cobble stones and an air of coolness (literally). After having a look at the cathedral we took a ride in a buggy attached to a bike. This was the old Manila, much more interesting than where I had spent my first 3 days. Our buggy took us through a maze of roads, little cafes lining the street and fort walls. The driver (cyclist/guide) stopped every so often to point at something and fire away in Phillipino. Time flew, it was three O clock so we decided to find some food and head back. Unfortunately we couldn’t find the nice cafes we had passed and we wandered around in search of food, ending up in the poorer areas full of cheap dorms. All we found was an internet cafe jam packed with teens playing Warcraft.

Hungry and late we headed back to where we came from to find a cab to Ortigas. But every cab driver we stopped just shook his head and sped off when we said Ortigas. We asked some locals and they said that Ortigas is really far away and nobody will be willing to take us at this time. Shit. Wank. Bugger. It was only later on looking at a map that I realised how far we had traveled in that short time. It was almost 4 and we were running out of options. Luckily PK spotted a bus that said “ORTIGAS” in the front. Relieved, we sat down in the A/C comfort and it felt great to only cough up 20p between us compared to the 100p the cab set us back. We told the conductor to let us know when we reach SM mall, the nearest landmark to our hotel. We drove along for about 20mins in bumper to bumper traffic, PK fell asleep. The bus stopped and the conductor waved at me, “SM mall SM mall”. I looked out and it wasn’t where we had to be. I hurriedly walked up to him, “Is this Ortigas? ORTIGAS?” He clicked his tongue, shook his head, asked for another 20p and we drove on. The route was completely unfamiliar, and by now I was worried that we’d end up in the middle of nowhere, it was impossible to communicate with anyone else. Luckily 3 adolescent chaps got onto the bus brandishing ipods. I showed them our map and pointed to where we should be and said “Ortigas, discovery suites. You know?” They seemed excited and poured over the map, pointing fingers, disagreeing with one another and eventually the guy in the middle said, “OK I tell you when to get off.” Brilliant. But there was always a chance that he could be wrong as well. It was almost 5 when the guy told us to get off at the next junction. PK and I gathered our stuff, thanked them and pushed our way to the exit, the kids were grinning and one yelled “God bless you” as we waved. Hoping we’d make it for the last few minutes we sprinted back to the hotel, just in time to find everyone winding up and bidding their farewells. It was a relief to have made it back, but I was annoyed bc we might as well have stayed a couple more hours since we missed the final session anyway.

The trip back wasn’t eventful and it felt really nice to be making that last drive from Katunayake to Colombo. What a month. I never thought I’d get through it, and it was really tough at times, specially the hours upon hours at the airports, the jet lag and most of all the red tape of visas and the like. But it’s nice now to look back and feel satisfied that I made full use of every aspect, workwise and travelwise. Here’s to more.

The London conference was probably the most important one for me since it was the culmination of over 6 months work in a totally new area for me, and the work would have to stand the scrutiny of experts in the field from all over. There were participants from Trinidad, Ghana, Nigeria, Vietnam, the USA, Canada, Germany, England, World Bank, UN, AfDB, IMF - and more. I landed fairly early in the morning and took the tube to Victoria. I was half smiling as I rushed into the train with the doors still open, and in between gasps for breath I asked a fellow passenger if this is going towards Central, the guy looked back at me and in a strong South African accent said “your guess is as good as mine mate, we’ve just arrived.” Ah, London at its cosmopolitan best. Later on I helped them find the quickest route to Paddington and felt so at home. The conference was about an hour and a half from London, in an old country manor - Wilton Park - in West Sussex that is now a conference centre focusing on international relations. The house was more like a castle, it was surrounded by acres of farm, had its own little chapel and beautiful interior design, cozy despite the extent of stone. I wasn’t due to speak till the next day so I relaxed and spent some time talking to the other participants, enjoying the food (which was some of the best English food i’ve eaten) and made a few friends.

The Trinidadian prof stuck in my mind the most. He walked up to me and said, “you’re from Sri Lanka, we were all hoping you would win the cricket my friend, someone had to teach those Australians a lesson. But whatever happened, your team gave a wonderful account of themselves, both on the field and off it.” I was so happy and proud to hear that, it felt like he was talking about my family or my closest friends, and I caught myself saying thank you. The Africans are always nice to speak to, and this conference had invited a couple of African parliamentarians and they turned up in their fabulous clothes - you can always trust an African to have the most exciting and vibrant attire at any international event - their booming laughter and big smiles. One of the nicest guys I met was the chairman. Easily the best chair i’ve seen at any conference, he managed things beautifully with great wit, control and tact. There were also the odd anti-west, anti-globalisation voices - lauding Chavez for his stand against the neo-liberal world order, and speaking of regional blocs from the NAM days. Good luck to them.

My session went well and I had good feedback which was a relief. To celebrate we went down to the nearest pub in Steyning - a good 30 mins walk from the conference centre, at around 10pm. It was pretty chilly and the road was pitch black, but the company was good - a Bolivian economist, a French guy from the OECD, an Indian attached to G24. It was freezing cold and pitch black, I was glad to get back to the room for a nice sleep under the duvet. I went back to London that evening, made a Bee-line to the Crispy Duck in China town for a classic oil infused dinner, crashed at a friends place bc the flight was the next day. Woke up late the next morning and had lunch at Cuba Libre in Angel (fantastic pork and duck dishes and mixed appetizers), followed by crepes and coffee in our old South Ken haunt. I really miss London. Flying back home was quite fun bc it was on Qatar and the flight was full of chaps returning home from the Middle East. There was so much joy in that plane, there were only about 3 ppl who were not returning from the Middle East and the rest made it feel like we were going on a school trip. Friends huddled together and giggled about holiday plans and the new goods they had purchased. As we descended into SL we flew through clouds much to the delight of the passengers who hooted when the plane bumped bc of the turbulence - “Onna wadinawa wadinawa, ohhh hooo!” We approached Colombo from the West coast and there was a temple quite close to the sea, one of the girls pointed and asked if that’s the Shri Maha Bodhiya. It was sad though to see such young and clearly naive girls being thrown into the world of migrant labour. Small wonder they run into so many problems there. I got back home, spent the evening with friends in the comfort of the SSC pool and indulged in some hot butter cuttlefish - I was off to Dhaka in 36 hours.

Between the first week of May and the first week of June I did the most travelling I’ve done in my life. Sadly none of it was for pleasure, though they all had their moments. During this period between May 9th and June 7th, I set foot in 5 countries, 7 airports and spent 47 hours in the air. I traveled a distance of 37690km, and my average speed for the entire month was 56km/h. I was effectively breaking the Colombo speed limit as I slept. And thank heavens it’s over. Most ppl i speak to think it’s glamourous and exciting to travel for work, but it really isn’t unless you’re very lucky. Late last year I was very lucky bc I had to go to Delhi and present a paper at a conference where I didn’t have to be present at any other sessions, so I had a free hand to do whatever i wanted over the other 2 days. But that’s a very rare gem, most of the time there’s no chance to breathe between work, formal receptions and mandatory sleep. This was pretty much the case for the 4 trips last month, but somehow I managed to squeeze in some amusement for each of them. But as I said, i’m glad it’s over. It’s an extremely tiring process, particularly hanging around in airports, lugging bags back and forth, living out of a suitcase, jet lag and the lack of time between trips. I miss my dog a hell of a lot, I miss home cooked food and annoyingly I had to work on every weekend of May, missing two trips in SL with friends. A few snippets from the different journeys will follow.

Delhi - I touched on Delhi in a previous post about the civil service. There really was very little free time in Delhi, there were 2 days worth of discussions and dinner reception on the first night, leaving the 2nd evening off to explore. I was really tired by then, and since I had already done Delhi before I had half a mind to just kick back and chill for the 4 hours before going to the airport. But thankfully common sense prevailed and I flicked through the Delhi pages of my Lonely Planet and discovered that Humayun’s Tomb was close by and I hadn’t seen it last time. I got into a pair of shorts and T shirt and stepped into the dry heat of Delhi, side stepped a couple of cabbies who tried to convince me to go shopping to Connaught Square instead. “Tomb? what tomb, only dead people. Come I take shopping, handicrafts, spices, saris for your girl, come come, only Rs. 100.” I smiled and walked away as he clicked his tongue in annoyance. If ever possible I prefer to walk to my destinations when i’m exploring another city, there’s no better way to experience a place. The half hour walk took me past a few street cricket games, some slums, a drain that was particularly harsh on the olfactory system and some pleasantly wooded government buildings. Humayun’s Tomb is one of the first major pieces of Moghul architecture in the city, and I read that the Taj Mahal would later be modelled on this. It’s a stunning complex, the main building is breathtaking with its perfect symmetry, and typical moghul domes and curves. I walked around the gardens, trying to imagine what it would have looked like when it was abuzz with action, servants running back and forth, guards and messengers on horseback, and royalty living off the luxury. A peacock’s cry helped my imagination take flight. Besides Humayun’s tomb, the tomb of his wife, Haji Begum, who had Humayun’s tomb built by a Persian architect, is also within the same complex.

The tomb closes to visitors at sundown so I headed back to the hotel where I was due to meet a Bhutanese participant for dinner. We ate at a Thai restaurant, and the coconut milk based hot and sour soup was the best Thai food i’ve ever had. Fresh kaffir lime leaves, lemmon grass, corriander and juicy prawns. I can’t think of too many better combinations. The Bhutanese guy was interesting, a trade negotiator by profession, he was on his way to Mongolia to meet some negotiators over there who had been arrested for making a mess of Mongolian negotiations in a bilateral agreement. I’m going to try and stay in touch with him bc it’s notoriously difficult to travel to Bhutan, and he would be a useful contact to facilitate things. There was a short, sharp shower just before I left for the airport, and it was sharp enough to submerge a couple of roads leading to the airport. My transport was a smallish Maruti, and while cars and jeeps took the more circuitous route to avoid the water, my guy decided to take the partially submerged road and avoid the traffic. The water level looked ominous, and just ahead a van had stalled and its driver was on the road, sarong hitched up, trying to coax it back to life. A little way ahead a couple of cars had given up the ghost too. I was nervous, I wasn’t wearing socks, I decided then that if he gets stuck it’s his problem, I’m not stepping out of the vehicle. By some miracle we ploughed through the flood, not before raising my blood pressure to more than a healthy level, and got to the airport. One down, three to go.

“Our inland revenue department has more staff than the Royal Navy, it seems our government thinks that the best form of defence is a tax” - Yes Minister, The Economy Drive.

You’ve got to love the civil service. Well not really. Most of my exposure to civil servants involves peering at them through the wide array of files and tea cups on their desks, being interrupted when they answer the phone and then continue their conversation oblivious to my presence in the room, even if it’s about the neighbour’s cat. By the time the phone call is over it’s 4.30 and mid-sentence he (or she, sorry Amartya) stands up, smiles and makes haste to the bus stand. Some of the above are generalisations, but they are generally true. I’m still unsure what the difference between a civil servant and a government employee is. If there is no difference, then in SL there are more servants than masters. There are still a few good men and women in Sri Lanka’s administrative service, the remnants of the exam intake days. It’ll be another decade or so before we really feel the pinch of political appointees and graduate employment schemes. Anyway, this isn’t meant to be a rant though it is fast becoming one.

I was in Delhi last week and met some fascinating civil servants, mainly from India and Pakistan and their respective foreign services. Diplomats are like actors, you never really know what they’re up to. They’re trained to appear interested in the most boring of environments and to coat everything in five layers of sugar. But this makes them all the more intersting. A diplomat from Pakistan provided an absolute masterclass in backroom diplomacy over dinner. At the table were 5 of us from the SAARC countries other than India and Nepal. I asked the Pakistani diplomat whether it’s more pleasant working in India given the thawing of relations between the two countries. He first laughed and said that when things are “good” between two countries it’s not “good” for diplomats bc there’s more work for them, it’s better when they’re not on talking terms. (I had my doubts about this statement, I mean I’d much rather be Sri Lanka’s first secretary in the Bahamas than in Norway, but I guess he has a point). This guy was really interesting, I loved his use of language, analogies, and his background. I asked him where he’s from and he said ____ province. I use a blank bc I had never heard of the place, and now I can’t remember it. It was surprising bc you’d expect a senior diplomat to be from one of the major cities, Karachi, Islamabad or Lahore. Apparently this guy is from a tribal region, in his words “the part of Pakistan that isn’t ruled by Musharaff’s laws”. I asked him who’s laws does it fall under, to which he looked me in the eyes and said, “Our laws.” I giggled. He put down his fork and knife and said that he’s serious. “My father is the chief of our tribe, and I am next in line to be chief,” and then continued to eat. I couldn’t believe it. This man, in a suit, speaking in the most cultured English and quoting Humphrey Appleby, a tribesman? I asked him what he’s doing here, being chief sounds like it could be quite fun. But apparently he didn’t like bodyguards so he let his younger brother take that route. Fair enough. I tried to be clever and said that he doesn’t look like a Pathan, he didn’t look up from his Murgh Tikka and replied that not all tribesmen are Pathans and not all Pathans are tribesmen. D’oh.

In between our exchange, he managed to convince all around the table (now joined by an Indian academic) that the only reason Indo-Pak relations are not moving as fast as they should is the Indians. And not the politicians, but the bureaucracy, and in chief the military bureaucracy. He then explained how the power of the civil service is still massive in India and Pakistan, and how one letter to the Minister from the Secretary (or general) saying “Sir, if you go ahead with this, I can not be held responsible for the consequences,” would stop the minister dead in his tracks. The rest of us looked at one another unconvinced, the Pakistani diplomat then said “Have you watched Yes Minister? I rest my case.” He went on to say that Pakistan is run by a military man, not a politician, and he’s pushing for resolution but India is stalling. I asked why he thinks India is stalling, “Their army is 5% of your population. What will they do if there’s peace?” By now most of his conversation was aimed at the Indian academic, who in turn asked him why Pakistan is not giving MFN status to India in terms of economic relations. The diplomat cleverly side-stepped using some analogies which diverted from the issue at hand before killing the Indian’s argument with the hard facts about informal trade routed via Dubai and Singapore. (None of this can deny the fact that Pakistan doesn’t extend the most basic economic diplomacy to India).

He carried on with momentum, “So we don’t want you to solve Kashmir just yet, just start with the simple things like Siachen (glacier) and Sir Creek, then we’d have something to tell the ppl in Pakistan that it’s a two way process, and MFN can be considered” The resolution of both issues seems to require some form of concession by India, particularly at the glacier where India in all probability has more to lose from a joint troop withdrawal. Interestingly, Siachen glacier is the highest battleground in the world, and 80% of casualties are due to the climate rather than bullets. The Indian struggled to meet the Pakistani’s tact, and quietly left the table. The victor pounced on the opportunity to lobby the other SAARC diplomats to put pressure on India (and Pakistan, he said, almost as an afterthought) to solve issues that are holding back the region as a whole. There were nods all around. It was a classic case of bullying, the powerful diplomat armed with tact and words wielded like stealthy arrows, against a harmless academic throwing around a few textbook arguments in a political vacuum. He had no chance. All the other kids in playground were in such awe that they saw the bully as a hero. Uncivil bullying by a civil servant, brilliant. I came home from Delhi with a dodgy stomach and a fresh curiosity about the civil service. The former was cured by some tarivid and thambbum hodi, the latter by my newly acquired Yes Minister DVDs. It is as they say in Paris, Le shit.

P.s.
In other news, I thought I had discovered the world’s greatest irony and I was thrilled about it, but response thus far has been muted, and possibly slightly confused. Anyway the irony is this; everyone in the world is unique.

The second day of the sessions ended a bit earlier than the first, and was thoroughly satisfying. It was heartening to see such dedicated, knowledgable and committed individuals working under the most trying conditions. We always complain about the boys and girls who work for the government, but there are certainly a fair few who keep the flag flying. After clearing things up and post session networking, we finally got a chance to get out of the Village around 6.30. A quick call to Chanaka and they were at the gate in the Defender, we were all cocky after the previous nights bounty, and having boasted to those who didn’t show up we were hoping for and expecting even more elephants. The jeep set off into the night, we were standing again gripping the frame of the uncovered roof for support whenever we swerved out of the way of a bus or lorry.

The night started well, Chanaka spotted a pair of Jackal even before we entered the forest. They were scampering alongside the main road and glared back at the jeep’s lights with confused green eyes. As we entered the forest from yet another new dirt road Chanaka said not to expect too many elephants bc of the light drizzle that had been going on since evening. The roads had become quite muddy as well, and it wasn’t long before we got stuck while trying to cross a small stream. Chanaka flashed his light all around to make sure we were alone and stepped out to inspect the problem. Mahinda revved, the Defender chugged, we strained and pushed but the mud was winning. Eventually all the forces clicked in our favour and the jeep jarred out of the ditch to the chorus of our whoops. As Chanaka predicted we didn’t see too much for the first hour or so. I got a strong odour of animals and felt quietly confident that we were near a big herd. And we were, but it was a herd of buffalo masquarading as elephants, much to our disappointment.

We tried a different track and Mahinda as usual yelled to the bunker over the din of the engine. The soldiers came out and said something which none of the could quite decipher, but it didn’t sound too important so we carried on with a wave. About 5 mins down the road (not a great distance given the quality of the road) I noticed a fair number of insects being attracted to Chanaka’s flashlight. This was out of the ordinary but again not really significant so it was ignored. As we scanned the surroundings following the light, Mahinda slowed down to a halt, I looked all around but saw nothing and began to ask Mahinda why he stopped when I saw a large object on fire, bang in the middle of the road. And then it came. The stench. I closed my mouth with one hand and felt my stomach muscles tighten as hard as they could to prevent the urge to retch. The insects were flies, and they were all over. I doubled up and struggled with my free hand to swat away the flies that swarmed around my face. “Ammata hudu marichcha aliyek” yelled Mahinda and he grappled with the steering wheel to reverse the jeep through the potholes and shrubs. M produced some kind of aromatherapy liquid which was passed around and provided some respite. As we recovered slowly and Mahinda managed to reverse the vehicle to safety, Chanaka suggested that the elephant would have stumbled upon the bunker in the night and the army boys would have shot him admist the chaos. This story was confirmed by them as we reached the bunker, we were all angry at them for killing the elephant but anyone would have done the same in that situation.

We saw a couple more smallish herds that night but nothing really to write home about, I guess we were spoilt by the night before. It was nonetheless an extremely pleasant couple of hours despite the depressing encounter with the dead elephant. Before heading back we stepped out of the vehicle at a large rock, and spent a few mins stretching our legs and star gazing lying down on the rock. I was exhausted by the end of the day, and after a couple of hours relaxing on one of the tree houses I called it a night. The next day would be the last session so it was to be an early start.

I had decided to stay over an extra night bc I was keen on doing an evening round in Minneriya before it got too dark, and this would only have been possible on the third day bc it was a half day session. The work finished on a very satisfactory note, more excellent deliberations completed the 2 and a half days and I was very happy with all the work done. The entire time in Habarana was excellent bc we worked hard and played hard, and that’s how life should be lived. Soon after lunch most of my colleagues left, so it was only myself, M and her family remaining (and half of Colombo who had descended for the long weekend). Chanaka was due to show up at 3.45 so we had a couple of hours to kill. The plan was to drive up to Ritigala, and unfortunately I took the wrong turn off and headed down Colombo road instead of driving towards A’pura road. After losing about 45mins we didn’t have a realistic chance of climbing Ritigala at all but we thought we’d just drive along in any case bc the roads were empty and it was nice to be driving around instead of being cooped up in the hotel. We then stumbled upon the most fantastic piece of luck. One of the reasons I don’t venture much towards the Habarana Sigiriya area is the lack of places to stay (I’m not a fan of 5* hotels, I prefer smaller homely places like the Zimmer in Unawatuna, places that feel like a home away from home and where you don’t feel like a visitor). And just there was a place that seemed to fit exactly my requirements. A couple of tree houses, a Yala style bungalow and a main house with a total of 7 rooms housing a maximum of 20 ppl, run by a lovely retired couple. M and I stepped out of the car like kids into a candy shop, I could barely contain my excitement, and speaking to Chris made it all the more exciting. He said elephants walk into the property in the evening, and that they also organize camping stints into the forest. I’m not going to say anything further bc I got the impression that the two owners are happier keeping it a low profile place just for friends, family and the like. We spent close to half an hour there chatting with the owners and promising to be there in March.

We drove back towards the hotel to meet Chanaka bc it was closing in on 3.45. But as soon as we got back we found out that Minneriya was barren (of elephants) these days due to the first signs of the rainy season. So we hopped a ride with another safari and did an evening round in the same places where we did the night safaris. It was a completely different experience bc all along we had been driving around blind to the outside world, with sight limited to the range of the flashlight. We saw a couple of large herds and spent a long time watching them move around, but the thrill of the night safari was missing. The tracker spotted a lovely crested hawk eagle perched upon a dead tree, it was stunning against the backdrop of the clear blue sky. The evening was rounded off by climbing the now crowded palugaswela gala, resting for a short while and heading back to the hotel in time to meet Chanaka for a final night safari.

Mahinda was not around this time, he was apparently tired after his afternoon work, so it was Chanaka, a new driver called Tenne (short for Tennekoon) and a new jeep. Despite it being the fourth night of elephant hunting I felt the same excitement and enthusiasm as the first night. And justifiably so, Habarana had clearly saved the best for last. We saw more elephants on the last night than both previous nights put together. As soon as we entered the forest we saw a really large herd within about 10m of the vehicle. Tenne cut the engine and we spent ages with them, listening to the crunching of vegetation, the mumbles and squeaks they use to communicate, all with half an eye on the matriarch whose own eyes never left us. Moving on we stopped at a bunker where one of the STF guys approached us. “meh hariye mada pipichcha thani aliyek innawa, athulata yanna epa” he warned. M asked me what was going on and I explained that there’s a lone elephant in musk so we need to be careful. Chanaka looked at me as if to ask whether its ok to proceed, I gave the usual sideways nod, he grinned and tapped the side of the jeep, and Tenne sped into the forest. We were on edge as we drove along, specially as Chanaka said “mada pipichcha aliyekge suwanda enawa.” We soon stumbled upon a small herd feeding by the dirt track. Tenne cut the engine but both he and Chanaka were staring hard at one of the elephants who glared back at us. “Machan balanna ouge kaney hilak thiyanawada kiyala” Tenne said, and we all strained hard but couldn’t see his ear completely. M asked Chanaka why we’re looking for a hole in the ear, it seems there’s one elephant in the area which has a track record of attacking vehicles, and he has a hole in his ear. The elephant then turned around, and we all held our breaths as the ear came into full view, and to our relief it was un-damaged. We moved along back towards Trinco road and relaxed a bit and chatted with Chanaka about life in Habarana. M and I complained that Colombo is full of concrete and that we love to come out of town as often as possible, Chanaka laughed and said that he’s one wish is to come and work in Colombo and asked us to try find him a job. “Mama igena gaththe nah mahaththaya, eheth mata driving license ekak thiyanawa, rassawak hoyala dennako colambadi”. I suggested he work as a tour guide with one of the private operators in Yala or some place, but he wasn’t keen on that field. Anyhow we promised to get in touch with him if we did find anything of interest. And then out of nowhere there was a rustle behind the bushes and an elephant charged onto the road behind us. Tenne braked hard and we screached to a halt. The elephant’s ears flared out and his trunk raised in anger as his head swayed from side to side. I looked at his forehead but didn’t see the tell tale liquid pouring down the side. I told Tenne to reverse towards him, and we slowly did, but he had clearly had enough and retreated into the forest.

On the way back to the hotel we saw several more herds feeding on the ample grass on the side of the road. We followed one herd into the forest and watched them eat, unperturbed by our silent presence. Thoroughly satisfied we headed back to the hotel, and due to the extensive stopping we were too late for dinner. Thankfully there was a kottu shop down the road so we had a fantastic chicken kottu topped up with freshly fried lake fish, all washed down by chilled ginger beer. I couldn’t have come up with a better script for three days in Habarana; hard work, great results, night safaris with elephants, wonderful company, all in a quite fantastic part of the world.

So I just finished two things for work which have taken up all my time for the last couple months. I cursed and cursed from the time I was assigned bc it really isn’t my thing, but now that it’s over I can’t help feeling a bit sad. The only thing that kept me looking forward to this was the fact that it was to take me out of town, first to Habarana which is a place I haven’t been to in ages and then to Galle, where I go all the time but I’d never shy away from some unawatuna fun.

There was some vehicle going from office but I wanted to take my own car bc that way I could run off and see elephants in the evenings after work, N brought his car along for the same reason. I’ve never driven as far as Habarana before so M insisted she join me to keep me awake. Despite leaving at the ungodly hour of 1pm it was a really really nice drive. Kandy road traffic was a bitch bc there was some significant funeral going on, but once we took the Kurunegala turn off things improved significantly. Whenever I go towards the Dambulla/Habarana/Sigiriya area I really get into the mood when we reach the first of two long shady stretches where vendors sell corn. A long time back when we went on a school trip to Sigiriya the driver of the bus knocked down a chap around there and didn’t stop. We were promptly chased down by the cops and spent the best part of the day at the cop shed where we decided to play some cricket in the garden followed by having some of the dodgiest fish curry I’ve ever eaten. It had me puking the next day while climbing some rock and giving the false impression that I was an underage drinker (shock horror). So anyway M and I stopped to have some corn in one of the little shops, sitting on a bench and marvelling at how fresh and succulent the stuff was compared to what you get in Colombo. I can’t think of any better way to get over driving fatigue, the place is so peaceful and cool because of all the trees, it even smells fresh, and the people are so nice and welcoming as well. Two cobs set us back 20 bucks, which is criminally cheap so we gave them a bit extra whilst trying not to be patronizing.

We chatted away for the entire duration of the journey and only kept quiet when we passed Dambulla town and hit the Dambulla-Habarana road around 5pm, which meant it was elephant spotting time. It doesn’t get much better than cruising on an empty road, shutters down and looking for elephants. Unfortunately we didn’t see any, but there would be plenty more time for that. We finally got to Habarana around 5.30 and soon after the lovely ambarella juice welcome drink, we set about sorting stuff out for the next morning. We had a team of 3 support staff and a couple of researchers along with myself so we got things done pretty efficiently. N suggested we take the cars and go for a spin in the night after dinner to try our luck with roadside pachyderms. Dinner was super at the Village, they did some really nice local vegetables, and with red rice and lake fish you really don’t need anything else. I was quite tired by this time but the thought of driving down Trinco road in search of elephants felt like a shot of espresso, so we were off without a second thought. We were initially due to do this gig in October last year, but with the Habarana bomb blast we had to postpone, and I still remember boss asking me if Habarana would be safe, and my answer was “yeah certainly, as long as you don’t go too far down Trinco road it’ll be fine”..and here I was at 10.30pm driving down Trinco road with 3 colleagues.

My memories of the North Central Province have always been of aridity, heat and bright bright sun. So the night drive towards Trinco was a bit of a pleasant surprise. The air was slightly chilly, crisp and everything felt so fresh. We didn’t have great fortune spotting elephants however, just one fellow on the roadside just past the Habarana railway station. About 25km down the road we decided to turn back, the frequency of bunkers was increasing a bit too fast for our liking. We couldn’t tell if the bunkers were manned or unmanned, but we didn’t want to slow down and find out. It wasn’t late as such so we thought we’d try our luck down Polonnaruwa road after going back towards Habarana town. A short way down the road both cars were flagged down by an army checkpoint. I rolled my shutter down;

Soldier - Mahaththayala kohede yanne?
Me - Api ali balanna yanawa aiye
Soldier - Ali?? meh welawata?
Me - Ow, ada tikak parakku wuna (winning smile)
Soldier - (looking thoroughly confused) ah hari hari, eheth poddak mehey hitiyoth ali methanatath enawa.

M looked at me as if to say let’s stay let’s stay..the soldier’s voice seemed to want us to stay as well. But there were another two people in my car, and 3 in N’s car, and it was a bit too much of a risk, and more responsibility than I wanted to bear in case there was some issue. So I dejectedly told him that we’ll go up the road and come back, the soldier waved us off, and as I looked in the mirror he was watching us go, I felt sad. These are the boys who go first, they’re scared, lonely and would like nothing more than normalcy, they’re as human as any of us, but they are reduced to numbers in the newspapers, reduced to propaganda. We didn’t see any more elephants that night, but the drive was incredibly pleasant. The 4 of us giggled all the way and then turned back when I started to feel the pinch of sleeplessness. We waved at the checkpoint on the way back and they waved back with a grin. We got back to the hotel around midnight, and after a short chat by the lake we decided to call it a night.

The next morning work began, and things went pretty well, except that I was a tad overdressed (!!) so much so that a Mayor called me sir thinking i’m some big fish. I quickly said good morning your Worship, to which he looked even more confused, so I ran off before doing any further damage. It was a long day, and we finished up only around 6.30pm. Evening safari was clearly ruled out, but luckily Mr. D had run into some boys on his dawn walk who had promised a jeep at any time of the night to go see elephants. “Flash light okkomo thiyanawa sir” they enthusiastically assured him, and for Rs. 1750, it sounded like a plan. They were due to meet us at half 7, we had no idea where we were going, but we were all excited and looking forward to some unique fun.

Poor form these days. I’ve just been through 15 pages of mathematical dribble which concluded that the average Bangladeshi will increase consumption by about $1 if income increases by $1, and that if they have more access to credit that they will increase consumption by a greater amount. And the buggers use about 10 different models to prove this, GETS, ADF, BETS, FUKS..bloody jokers. And for good measure they rape Friedman, Modigliani and other consumption bad boys in the process.

In other poor news I managed to put my trousers into the washing machine with my Ipod in the pocket. I thought I had lost the bugger so I was looking round frantically when I came home to find it on the washing machine, clean as a whistle. As expected it didn’t work despite trying to tip the water out of it from all possible angles. That’s what happens when technology makes things smaller and smaller. I comfort myself knowing that it was a Shuffle, 2nd hand, and had served me for a good year after serving my flatmate for a couple of years before that. Doesn’t stop me being a monkey though. I miss it at work now, whenever my concentration would drop I’d put it on and listen to whatever was on the playlist for the day, and would be on the money fairly soon. The sound of the A/C seems louder now, almost drowning out my rumbling tummy.

As a final piece of worrying news, I’m increasingly suffering from road rage. Contrary to what most ppl think, driving in Colombo is a hoot. Never a dull moment with these trishaw buggers squeezing in from all over, competing with the car in the next lane as you both edge forward at the traffic light waiting to get ahead when the green comes on and of course avoiding pot holes and the mad buggers who jump into the middle of the road and grin. At which point you can’t help but grin back, shrug your shoulders, and keep driving. It’s life and death at the best of times but I can’t help but enjoy it. If I had to drive in some place like England I’d be lost, what with all the order, ridiculous. Sadly of late I think it’s been getting to me. I’ve been swearing to myself, putting the shutter down and gesticulating, giving mock kaney paras and generally being a bit of a chav.

The other day I had just left home and was driving down my road when thadang, hena noise like i’d been slapped by a saucepan. To see the car coming on the other lane had whacked my side mirror, which duely snapped onto my shutter. Thankfully the shutter was up bc it was hot, normally I avoid the A/C bc I spend the whole day in a A/C room so its nice to get some fresh air. Anyway after the initial 3 seconds of shock I looked back to see the other bugger had stopped about 30 yards down the road. I felt my blood boiling and I reversed all the way back. Now all the three wheel buggers on the road know me so they were up in arms running to the other car and making the person get down and generally looking rather menacing. Then an oldish woman steps out looking nervous as hell. My heart melts and I walk up to her and ask her if everything is ok and whether her car is damaged. Not a scratch it seems. I still dont know whose fault it was, and she didn’t seem to know what was going on so I said ok let’s leave it and we went off. It’s quite funny that the only two (touch wood, thuk thuk thuk) accidents I’ve had so far have been down my own road.

But yes, all this angst is I think due to the weather. Seriously the timing is awful. It’s nice and sunny all day, and then 5′ o clock when I’m out of work and driving home the clouds form like some army that is really peeved about something or the other. Then just when I get home and strap up the doggie for her walk the rain falls down in buckets. By around 6 when I’m ready to go for a swim gadugudas the thunder and lightning take over. The other day I was so desparate I went to the pool anyway. Within a few minutes the pool attendent comes looking like mother superior.

PA(MS): *clap* *clap*
Me: Moko aunty?
PA(MS): Pissuda oy?
Me: Aiyooo aunty…
PA(MS): eliyata enna, haiyo lamayo.

The lightning doesn’t allow me to watch the cricket either, not that it’s been flash (pun intended though it is bloody awful). I’ve been disappointed by the Champs trophy, not only bc SL is out but bc the standards of cricket have not been great. The matches have in general been one sided and plagued with really shoddy displays. For instance the West Indies batting against SL, Windies again tried their very best to lose to India despite having the match in the bag, Pakistan against SA, NZ against SL, SL against Pakistan, India in general. So many really ordinary matches, I guess the pitches and the dew haven’t helped, but it just seems everyone is lacklustre. But then it’s the Champion’s trophy and nobody really gives a shit do they? In other interesting cricket news Minki van der Westhuzian has been named cricket WAG of the year. w00t! Also not bad for Murali’s missus, beat a pop-star to second place. Excellent quote by the director of Stickcricket,

“Minki is a cricket fan’s dream woman. She’s sleek, sexy and with a successful career to boot. Cricketers attract a finer class of WAG. While football is a game for chaps copping off with Chavs, cricket is a game for gentlemen going out with goddesses.”

Quite right too. Yet another moment that I lament sacrificing a career in cricket for one as an economist. Buggeroo.

Oil prices have fallen a bit in SL, and happily enough Fowzie has attributed this to world prices falling. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had instead said that according/due to the Chinthanaya oil prices are falling. Also CBSL has increased short term lending rates a bit, eating, ever so slightly, into the negative rates that we have right now. It’s a good start to the day. It’s been a bit difficult to keep pace these days bc the weeks have been moving so fast. Last week went like a rocket bc I spent 5 days at a WTO training session for trade negotiators. I’ve been reading about WTO technical assistance for a long time but this is the first time I’ve seen tangible evidence. The course really was excellent. The WTO trainer himself was the epitome of globalisation, born in Ghana, lives in Australia, works in Geneva, and flies all over the developing world to train and impart wisdom. The first day and a half was spent running through the agreements themselves, trying to get past the superficial and dig a bit deeper into the nitty gritty. The afternoon was spent going through negotiation skills, which are applicable not just to trade but to any form of negotiations, and also some trade speicific skills. The trainees were an interesting bunch, a cross section of economists and lawyers, mainly from Commerce and the AG’s boys and girls. There were also a few ppl who were a bit lost bc they really had no WTO or trade background and struggled quite a bit to keep up. That was actually the only drawback in the whole process, the trainees selection needed to be better, a trade background should have been mandatory.

We were then split into 6 groups of five, and each assigned a hypothetical country, armed with complete details of trade, political and negotiating interests of all 6 countries, and then had to run through mock negotiations over the next 4 days. The first three days would be bilateral negotiations followed by multilateral negotiations on the final day.We basically had to conclude the Doha round on our own! Each team had a Minister of trade, and chief advisors on services, agriculture, NAMA and rules. I was doing services, and had to spend the rest of the day preparing my country’s position in terms of offensive and defensive intersts by going through hypothetical service schedules that were provided (though i suspect they weren’t entirely hypothetical, some of the schedules given were suspiciously similar to those of the country in real life that the hypothetical country was modelled upon).

The negotiations themselves were excellent and very very professional. We took great efforts to maintain a degree of realism, referring to one another as sir, your excellency etc. and each country having their own “territory” and playing host to their trading partner during the bilateral sessions. The country we represented was modelled on India, we also had China, the EU, the States, possibly Japan and one other developing country. We negotiated 3 successful bilateral deals, I was very generous in my services offers in mode 3 and got exactly what I wanted in terms of horizontal liberalisation in mode 4, which would never have happened in real life. The problem was that as negotiators we faced no domestic political pressure in this simulation, and therefore we were able readily liberalise as long as we stuck to our mandate. For instance, my mandate instructed looking after our interests in Financial, telecom, IT, retail and outsourcing sectors, which I did, but I had no pressure to protect any other sectors, so I happily gave up to 75% equity participation in mode 3 in return for Mode 4 commitments. That said, negotiations in NAMA and agriculture were more protracted, specially agriculture. Nonetheless all 3 of our bilateral negotiations went well and we had a deal in each. The boys and girls playing for China weren’t as lucky and only had one deal, they couldn’t agree with their 2 other developed partners, particularly in terms of tariff cuts in NAMA. The negotiations were hard work, it’s not for fun that the word negotiation is dervided from the Latin neg (not) otium (leisure). It requires hours of planning your own position (in real life weeks and months), and strategizing give and take options, the strengths and weaknesses of trading partners, and at the same time thinking about domestic interests and negotiating with them.

On the final day, the results of the bilateral positions were multilateralised under the MFN clause. This is where you see the value of the multilateral system. Even though the country simulating China failed to strike a deal with the US on a bilateral basis, they enjoyed the benefits of the commitments given by the US to other negotiating partners. This could also be viewed as free riding, but at the end of the day, only China loses out by protecting. So back to the training session, the final morning saw simulation of coalition building as we got into groups of developing and developed nations to prepare multilateral positions. Once again agriculture and NAMA proved to be stumbling blocks, the 6 services experts got together for a parallel session as a last ditch attempt to salvage some kind of deal, but just when we got close to a possible compromise we ran out of time. And so the multilateral session collapsed with no deal possible, much like in real life.

The session overall was a great success. I learnt a hell of a lot not just about negotiations skills but also some of the nitty gritty of the agreements, GATS in particular. It also heightened my sadness about the state of multilateral trade liberalisation in the world today. It becomes so clear how much room there is for mutual benefit, and yet it is difficult to strike a balance in intersts due to the unwillingness to compromise. Sure there have been some bad deals in the past, like the TRIPS agreement, but these are greatly exaccerbated in bilateral agreements between developed and developing nations. That said, I am confident that the WTO will get back on track once the environment for negotiations improve. Let’s just hope that is sooner rather than later.

The session ended on friday afternoon, I went up to the trainer to say toodley doo and spank him very much, so I offered my hand, he took it and pulled me to him and gave me a big hug! It was such a nice gesture from a very nice guy. Throughout the sessions he had that typical African friendliness and enthusiasm, laughing out loud all the time and gesticulating wildly. He hugged everyone else and things ended on a very pleasant note. I skipped lunch and skipped home as soon as possible for I was off, off to Kandy to watch the Bradby. But that’s another story.

It’s mid January and we’re bang in the middle of another over rated London winter. Every year they say that the forthcoming winter will be the worst in so many years but inevitably pfft, it’s just another winter. But January, i’ve been telling myself that I need to start thinking about permanant employment come January. I’ll be closing shop on my formal education this September admist much protest from the village elders (my parents and their friends), and so I need to find my first proper proper job.

Last year I worked as a trade economist (that sounds flash) at what I call an “econ research joint” whenever ppl go “eh?” when i tell them where i work. At times I just say “I’m at an institute” and ppl would go ohh..and cock their heads looking for signs of mental degeneration. It was alrite as far as a first job goes, I quite enjoyed some days and got some super opportunities, but all in all it didn’t quite set my house on fire. The bottom line is that I don’t want to spend the better part of my life doing some research, having 5 ppl read it, nod their heads in unison and watch it pass from file to file until somebody gets bored and says screw this. I want to do something tangible, something I can look back at and tell myself that I contributed to that. And I want to affect the lives of others in some useful way, I didn’t see that happening at the Institute. So, what are the options?

Like most ppl i’ve had my share of dreams, but probably not as many as most. I started off wanting to be a vet I think. I used to own a battery of star tortoises who’d fall ill on a regular basis (admitedly some at my own hands) and i’d be so thrilled when the vet worked his magic (though now i’m fairly sure he just injected those buggers with saline and let them recover on their own merit - I say this bc most of them died before their mandatory 100 odd years). Then quite naturally I thought it would be clever to play cricket for Sri Lanka, I mean at the time there were some fairly ordinary buggers donning the national colours, Don Anurasiri, wtp? In the quest I joined Bloomfield C&AC, practiced a couple of years under Brendon Kuruppu, got screamed at by Arjuna Ranatunga for walking in front of the sightscreen one day, and dropped out. Not bc of the screaming, I just lost interest in hours at the nets after some time. Air Force was the next bet, but then the LTTE discovered anti-aircraft missiles, bastards. And that’s it really, I started doing O/L’s and did human geography and thought hey this economics shit looks fun. A friend of mine maintains that I used to say that I want to be a development economist since the age of 14, scary. Haven’t seen that friend in an age, he was supposed to join the airforce with me. And then there was uni, and maths. Bloody mathematics, the scourge of my life, among others. I discovered that to be a pro economist, maths is more important than nice economic theory. But i’m way too far down the line of hating maths to get off my arse and actually learn it. So, plans slightly screwed really. Came home after uni and worked at the UN doing what I thought would be a taste of me in 15 years. Bad taste though, the bureaucracy in that place is not even remotely funny. I was involved in a project that materialized in some bastardized form a whole year after the stipulated date, and that’s just a report mind you. I saw the amount of resources wasted in that effort, I shudder even today at the thought.

I’ve had a few other ideas between then and now. I’ve always wanted to do some teaching at a more formal level that the little economics classes I used to run for friends’ siblings last year. But a couple of problems, have to wake up bloody early in the morning, have to control a group of increasingly garrulous young Sri Lankans, neither of which I’d be particularly good at. On the bright side, holidays! Another option is to dabble in a bit of journalism. I’ve always enjoyed writing, and it would be fantastic to work with a paper like The Economist or something along those lines, bc I’d enjoy being involved in the research aspect even if I don’t become the editor within the first 6 months. Working for cricinfo is also a bet, Charlie Austin, how goes it?

So that leaves me where I am today, doing a Masters to buy some time and help me get a bit of a headstart over the competition. Now I really need to start thinking, the options are as follows. Sell my soul to the World Bank, ADB, UN or something, risk getting thoroughly frustrated and being a hypocrite for believing that these organizations should be collectively shot for wasting money on flash cars and fat salaries (hence the selling the soul part). One condition is that the job needs to involve an actual ongoing project, not some pipe dream, and ideally not a purely desk job. I’m open to the idea of working with a private firm if I find something particularly interesting to do, so it wouldn’t be clever to commit too far into any one of those, i’ll leave that part to fate. Journalism and teaching are interesting and most probably short term options, but I’ll need some extra cash from next year bc if all goes according to plan I’m going to move out of my parents’ place so will need to pay those utility bills too. And I need to save up for when I open my restaurant in 15 years time