I'm at a swank, post modernistic Greenwich Village apartment with my friend, I do not know how I got here, and we are staring at this beautiful woman screaming at us to get out...Its Saturday morning 3:30 am, and all i can think of at that time is the Wall Street Journal that we stepped on near her open door (you conservative bitch...)
Let me begin from the beginning, which was Friday evening...
The night started innocently enuff, with me going to the Met at 7:30 with Keith and Anne from work (not their real names, and if u read on, you will know why...). The Met, or the Metropolitan Museum of Art, is one of the most famous museums in the world, and is tremendously boring during the day except for the fact that its on Central Park, and theres really no entrance fee to get in (you have to give a donation, but if u can endure the withering looks, u can get by giving a buck). But come evening, and the whole place changes...its as if the damn thing has been swished over by some fairy queen's wand, and has suddenly become sexy and mysterious...part of the charm is the long shadows of the UES buildings over Central Park, but most of it is the tremendous lighting they have and the way the architecture shows up at night. So they have this 'After Dark' series at the Met, where the museum is open till 9 on Fridays and Saturdays, and you can pretend to look at the sculptures (some of which are quite amazing, to tell u the truth), and head to the Balcony Cafe and the Wine Bar, where you have a magnificent view of most of Central Park and most of Manhattan's beautiful maidens with their hedge fund husbands or trust fund boyfriends, having an early Merlot before going and painting the town red (and of course, the well-meaning and extremely beautiful cougars trying to snare one of the afore-mentioned arm-candy).
After a lot of people-watching and a little drinking (all we could afford, considering the ridiculous prices), we took our leave of one museum and dived headlong into another, the Guggenheim at 86th, another famous, slightly more interesting museum because of the fact that they have these avant-garde (yeah, the gratuitous French phrase to burnish my stupid post...) modern art pieces, like the latest from this chinese guy with 3 one-syllable names (he's damn good, tho'), with the centerpiece being 9 cars in different stages of free fall from the ceiling of the central space to the ground (to represent a car bombing, apparently).
Thankfully the lines were pretty short due to it raining heavily (i.e., we were one of the few drenched unfortunates in line). Once we got in, it was magical...the center space has apparently been created by Frank Lloyd Wright, an artist who Ayn Rand proclaimed as coming nearest to Howard Roark in his creations...and the cars hurtling towards apparent destruction almost made me want to turn into one of those annoying 'cultural' types, when thankfully the free appetizers arrived and I came back to frat-boy earth.
After the gang and I feasted on some decadent fried stuff, way too expensive martinis and people with plum lips and high cheekbones (that last was equally provided by both sexes, so Anne had a field day too), we began what my friends had primarily come out that night to do, mingle with the beauties over wine and maybe snare someone interesting for afters...
So while I played the straight man in the conversations, Keith and Anne went to town...within minutes Keith was intently chatting up a foxy co-ed, while Anne was using me to front her flirty conversation with this hulk of a guy from somewhere in the Carribean...(and he had the Bob Marley dreadlocks to prove it), who possessed a big smile and a bigger speech impediment. A sample -
Subbu - 'So, T (dreadlocks guy), is this your first party at the Guggenheim...'
T - grunt...gugga...Central Park...muttering...grunt
Anne - (looking quizzically at me) 'Thats, um, nice...so where are you staying?'
T - (saying something nearly incoherent...), grunt, ...sexy...grunt...
Anne - Thats so sweet, thanks (apprently he had said something abt her hair, which she understood perfectly, leading to my observation that a woman will know a compliment in any language)
Both Anne and T glaring at me - (Anne) We are going to get another drink, do u wanna come (her glaring eyes indicating that any answer in the affirmative would make things unpleasant for me)
so I slunk off, and started talking about the relative merits of spring vs winter with this beautiful European-looking couple. Just when I was getting warmed up and ready for my 'Spring might have the sun, but it will never have Christmas' schtick, Keith came up to me, breathless, and blurted out - dude...I met this chick, she gave me her number, and her address! I have to go see her! This is awesome! Shes hot! I made out with her! I owe the bartender 30 bucks!', all in the space of 5 seconds...
As I struggled to process this barrage of information through my drunken stupor, he continued - 'Come, we have to go...she stays in the Village, I have to go to her place...'
I needed another screwdriver, or 10...Weakly, I took him to the bar and made him close his tab out (not forgetting to get my couple screwdrivers on his card, proving that a drunk desi is every bit as cheap as a sober one).
Fortified, I tried to reason with the bugger But pleas of 'its almost 1', 'you can call her and meet some other time','get the f$%k out, I'm going home', fell on deaf ears. We took one look at Anne, who was having Carribean for dessert, and trooped out of the museum...We took a cab to the west village; once there, I immediately took him to the nearest coffee shop, and tried to get some coffee into his system, and some sense into his brain. Besides, I was feeling pretty far gone myself...
'Right. I agree with you. Lets just go get some beer.' Better words were never spoken. Finally, I had managed to drum some sense into his head. We went to this pub at Macdougal and W4th. After a couple of pints of fine belgian brew (which is pretty strong, BTW...), I settled back to make sense of Keith's ramblings about the girl he made out with earlier...Soon enuff, my attention started to wander, and I started thinking about what I wanted right then, more than anything else in the world...chicken tikka, and some biryani...
I sat up with a jolt...I had fallen asleep...Keith was nowhere to be found...Oh shit. I ran out of the bar, and tried to find Thompson St (he had mentioned that the girl lived somewhere on Thompson, near the park). Luckily, I managed to find the apartment building, and my friend, Keith, sorrowfully sitting nar the front door...'The bell doesnt seem to work, and she is not picking up her phone...'. Thank God...I was about to drag him from there and take a cab, when someone walked by us, opened the door, walked in, and Keith ran inside. Curses. I had to go with him...He ended up reaching the apartment, found the door open, and just walked in...No knocking, ringing the doorbell, nothing...I ran in to stop him, and reached this amazing, duplex house...man, if this is where Caroline stays (her name was Caroline), I would gladly marry her...The living room had all these amazing pieces of furniture, art on the walls, the works...I was admiring the kitchen when I heard a scream...apparently Keith had reached the bedroom upstairs, found Caroline sleeping there, called out her name...only, the woman who got up was not Caroline...She had given Keith some random address, which jus happened to be this woman's home...It was right about then that I noticed the Journal at the door...
Epilogue - Anne called the next day..turns out she came out of the museum with the dreadlocked guy, stopped for a smoke, and ran for her life when he offered her a marijuana cigarette instead...
PS - been super busy, hence no blogs...will try to keep u guys updated with such happenings more regularly...
PPS - I saw Donnie Darko for the 2nd time, and understood it better..Best.Movie.Ever.
A question for the movie geeks (and Rawat, you'ld better stop watching English movies if u dont know the answer to this) - Connect Donnie Darko and Superbad...
Sunday, March 9, 2008
Monday, December 10, 2007
Things I hope I remember...(OR, idle gyan 'coz I'm too bored to write a real post)
Monday morning 9:30 am, I've been here since 7, and already I'm defusing a potentially explosive mistake by IT, by soothing the traders and cajoling IT to clean the mess up asap. Its partly my mistake, too, as I should have questioned the assumptions made during the whole process. In between kissing ass of all concerned and making them work, I thot I should write down things that I keep reminding myself...(also, this counts as a post, and goes towards fulfilling my resolution of atleast 5 posts per week) -
1. Never make any assumptions, if possible. If you absolutely have to make assumptions, validate them, publicise them, and be ready to question them, always.
2. Professional life is the constant struggle between covering your ass and actually getting something done. Sometimes you have to follow the whole process, and cover every eventuality to ensure success, sometimes (especially when time is of the essence), you have to improvise, streamline, speed up the process or abandon process and use your experience and instinct to get the job done. The ability to understand when to do what, is your competence.
3. It doesn't just sound sexy, it also makes professional sense to stand up for what you believe in, as long as you believe it is in the best interests of the firm. If you accept status quo, you are not just dooming your firm to mediocrity, you are also losing a chance to coast into the upper echelons of the firm.
4. There are things that are made by man, there are things that are made by God (or nature, or evolution, or chaos, whatever makes you happy). Examples of the former are religion, plastic, and business processes, while examples of the latter are human nature, trees, and free will. Preserve and deal very carefully with things made by God, question, debate and try to improve everything made by man.
5. Sometimes you screw up, or sometimes things get so out of control that you get angry, frustrated, or you start to panic. In those times, take a deep breath, look out of the window (or if you face skyscrapers, like I do), come out of the office, take a walk or get a breath of fresh air. In my case, I come out and walk till the end of Wall St, which is also the end of Manhattan island, and stand at the pier, by the East River. I can see Brooklyn Bridge on one side, and the Statue of Liberty on the other side. If I turn around, I can see the mass of structures thats Wall St. I think to myself, any screw-up that i do, is it going to kill somebody? Is it going to affect any God-given bounty to mankind? Will the Sun not rise tomorrow? Will the stars stop shining tonight? When I find the answers to these questions is No, I smile and come back to work. Try asking yourself these questions, and you will get a proper perspective on your missteps. (In case the answers to any of those questions is Yes, then you are really screwed, man...)
6. Everyday, try talking to atleast one stranger face-to-face. It could be at work, in the train on your way home, at the supermarket, in the gym or the pub. It could be a simple smile and a comment about the weather, or it could be an interesting conversation lasting hours and several drinks (and a number, if you are so inclined and so lucky). It could be with someone your own age, it could be someone older, or someone younger (though if you look like the typical engineer or IIM grad, I would suggest staying away from kids below 14, however honorable your intentions...). Approach someone without any preset notions, and without any expectations. It will do wonders to your confidence, give you a fresh perspective on life (Point 5 above was suggested to me by a retired Columbia University doorman, a Scot, who I met at a pub), and might improve your chances of getting laid (not necessarily with a retired Columbia University doorman, but hey, whatever makes you happy...).
7. As far as possible, try to look at both sides of a situation before taking a decision, or jumping to conclusions. If you hate Rudy Guiliani (or love Hillary Clinton) because the New York Times hates him (loves her), try to find out what an ideologically opposite paper (Wall st Journal) says about him (or her). If you love slasher movies and extremely violent video games, try watching the Titanic (or DDLJ). You might still not change your view, but it will help you get a more nuanced position.
8. Look sharp. Nothing spectacular, just shave, trim unwanted facial hair in other places, shower, use a deo, get rid of any nasty odors from your mouth (try chewing gum, works for me), wear clean, matching, pressed shirts and trousers, manage your hair (comb it, gel it, whatever), and wear clean socks and polished shoes. You will not only stand a better chance of being taken seriously at work, your wife will stay some more years with you before running away with a younger guy.
1. Never make any assumptions, if possible. If you absolutely have to make assumptions, validate them, publicise them, and be ready to question them, always.
2. Professional life is the constant struggle between covering your ass and actually getting something done. Sometimes you have to follow the whole process, and cover every eventuality to ensure success, sometimes (especially when time is of the essence), you have to improvise, streamline, speed up the process or abandon process and use your experience and instinct to get the job done. The ability to understand when to do what, is your competence.
3. It doesn't just sound sexy, it also makes professional sense to stand up for what you believe in, as long as you believe it is in the best interests of the firm. If you accept status quo, you are not just dooming your firm to mediocrity, you are also losing a chance to coast into the upper echelons of the firm.
4. There are things that are made by man, there are things that are made by God (or nature, or evolution, or chaos, whatever makes you happy). Examples of the former are religion, plastic, and business processes, while examples of the latter are human nature, trees, and free will. Preserve and deal very carefully with things made by God, question, debate and try to improve everything made by man.
5. Sometimes you screw up, or sometimes things get so out of control that you get angry, frustrated, or you start to panic. In those times, take a deep breath, look out of the window (or if you face skyscrapers, like I do), come out of the office, take a walk or get a breath of fresh air. In my case, I come out and walk till the end of Wall St, which is also the end of Manhattan island, and stand at the pier, by the East River. I can see Brooklyn Bridge on one side, and the Statue of Liberty on the other side. If I turn around, I can see the mass of structures thats Wall St. I think to myself, any screw-up that i do, is it going to kill somebody? Is it going to affect any God-given bounty to mankind? Will the Sun not rise tomorrow? Will the stars stop shining tonight? When I find the answers to these questions is No, I smile and come back to work. Try asking yourself these questions, and you will get a proper perspective on your missteps. (In case the answers to any of those questions is Yes, then you are really screwed, man...)
6. Everyday, try talking to atleast one stranger face-to-face. It could be at work, in the train on your way home, at the supermarket, in the gym or the pub. It could be a simple smile and a comment about the weather, or it could be an interesting conversation lasting hours and several drinks (and a number, if you are so inclined and so lucky). It could be with someone your own age, it could be someone older, or someone younger (though if you look like the typical engineer or IIM grad, I would suggest staying away from kids below 14, however honorable your intentions...). Approach someone without any preset notions, and without any expectations. It will do wonders to your confidence, give you a fresh perspective on life (Point 5 above was suggested to me by a retired Columbia University doorman, a Scot, who I met at a pub), and might improve your chances of getting laid (not necessarily with a retired Columbia University doorman, but hey, whatever makes you happy...).
7. As far as possible, try to look at both sides of a situation before taking a decision, or jumping to conclusions. If you hate Rudy Guiliani (or love Hillary Clinton) because the New York Times hates him (loves her), try to find out what an ideologically opposite paper (Wall st Journal) says about him (or her). If you love slasher movies and extremely violent video games, try watching the Titanic (or DDLJ). You might still not change your view, but it will help you get a more nuanced position.
8. Look sharp. Nothing spectacular, just shave, trim unwanted facial hair in other places, shower, use a deo, get rid of any nasty odors from your mouth (try chewing gum, works for me), wear clean, matching, pressed shirts and trousers, manage your hair (comb it, gel it, whatever), and wear clean socks and polished shoes. You will not only stand a better chance of being taken seriously at work, your wife will stay some more years with you before running away with a younger guy.
Sunday, November 4, 2007
An open letter to Barack Obama, American Presidential Candidate (Democratic)
(An actual mail that i sent to Barack Obama, US presidential candiate competing with Hillary Clinton for the Democratic nomination. He's a young senator from Chicago, Illinois, who reminds people of John Kennedy, and reminds me of a young Rajiv Gandhi in 1984. I'm a volunteer for his campaign, and hope he wins in 2008)
Hi dude,
I was pretty impressed with your restraint till now. Am nevertheless pleased and intrigued that you have started showing some life and a little bite. A caveat - you are walking a thin line. You will have to publicly massacre Hillary while being beyond reproach yourself. So that means you will have to dig up all the shady stuff that her campaign is doing, like muffling the press at every stage (everyone knows it, no one has the balls to get it out), or keeping billy boy out of the news. Your biggest asset right now is your spouse, you have to turn hillary's spouse her biggest liability. So please tell the team in Washington and New York to dig up all the unflttering things about her, like her support for abortion, her being in bed with the building a bridge to nowhere bill, her total neglect of New York state during her term. Spitzer did more in his first day than she did her entire term. Best of luck, I'll do my bit in Harlem, Manhattan and Brooklyn for you, mate...
Oh, and another thing...play up Iran for all its worth, man...i mean, try to get dialogue going with the Ayotollah..if nothing else, you might just succeed in getting ahmedinejad out of power...as it is the iranians are pissed off with him (i know coz i have a lot of iranian friends in new york)confront hillary directly on iran...and more forcefully...like "Hillary wants America to go to war again...", "Hillary is George Bush Lite", "Stop Hillary now!", "We did not want this war, and we do not want another one now...Hillary are you listening?"Link Iran directly with the Iraq war veterans, and decouple Iran from Ahmedinejad...everyone who's not a retard, or a member of the Bush admin.(or both) knows that Ahmeddy boy doesnt count for shit in Iran, its the Khameini, and he's actually on America's side...
Hi dude,
I was pretty impressed with your restraint till now. Am nevertheless pleased and intrigued that you have started showing some life and a little bite. A caveat - you are walking a thin line. You will have to publicly massacre Hillary while being beyond reproach yourself. So that means you will have to dig up all the shady stuff that her campaign is doing, like muffling the press at every stage (everyone knows it, no one has the balls to get it out), or keeping billy boy out of the news. Your biggest asset right now is your spouse, you have to turn hillary's spouse her biggest liability. So please tell the team in Washington and New York to dig up all the unflttering things about her, like her support for abortion, her being in bed with the building a bridge to nowhere bill, her total neglect of New York state during her term. Spitzer did more in his first day than she did her entire term. Best of luck, I'll do my bit in Harlem, Manhattan and Brooklyn for you, mate...
Oh, and another thing...play up Iran for all its worth, man...i mean, try to get dialogue going with the Ayotollah..if nothing else, you might just succeed in getting ahmedinejad out of power...as it is the iranians are pissed off with him (i know coz i have a lot of iranian friends in new york)confront hillary directly on iran...and more forcefully...like "Hillary wants America to go to war again...", "Hillary is George Bush Lite", "Stop Hillary now!", "We did not want this war, and we do not want another one now...Hillary are you listening?"Link Iran directly with the Iraq war veterans, and decouple Iran from Ahmedinejad...everyone who's not a retard, or a member of the Bush admin.(or both) knows that Ahmeddy boy doesnt count for shit in Iran, its the Khameini, and he's actually on America's side...
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Sex and the Indian polity...
One of the major problems of blogging part-time is that you are never really able to capture all those interesting nuggets of wisdom that come to you throughout the day. Life happens 24/7, but u can blog about that life only for about 1 hr per day. To remember all those moments when u finally sit down to write is downright impossible. One way out is to carry a small recorder with you always (like a journalist) and speak out your mind when a thot occurs to you.
(Be still, my beating heart) Segolene Royal - France's opposition leader, my personal favorite
Belinda Stronach - Canada's minister and presidential hopeful (there were hajaar rumors linking her with Billy Clinton...)
Ok, now to the topic, lets start with some pictures to whet your appetite (and calculated to increase page hits) ...
Ukranian Prime minister - Yulia Tymoshenko
Argentina's new president - Christina Fernandez Kirchner
(Be still, my beating heart) Segolene Royal - France's opposition leader, my personal favorite
Belinda Stronach - Canada's minister and presidential hopeful (there were hajaar rumors linking her with Billy Clinton...)Ok, if you are wondering why these pictures are there, and why this post shouldn't be called 'Fantasies of an overworked nerd in his pre-midlife crisis', the answer to both is the same - focus on the captions, all of these women are either heads of state or senior decision makers in their countries...beautiful, sexy, hot, but senior politicians nevertheless...
wait a minute...sexy women, and politicians...now why does that sound like an oxymoron to me...is it because I'm a FREAKING INDIAN, who had to content his puerile fantasies with Brinda Karat's big bindis and menaka gandhi's (once-upon a time) svelte figure when the elders were watching Doordarshan...and who has to now resign himself to looking at Sonia Gandhi and wonder what might have been, if this italian mami had not been reduced to the grieving housewife by Indian politics....
Seriously, what is it with us Indians...why do we abhor anything even hinting on sensuality or sexiness in our politicians...is it the same old explanation of - "We are Indians, we do not like to discuss such issues in public, and hence all our public servants should be completely sexless, and become maas, betis and bahus if they want our votes". Because thats what happens when a confident, sexy, Indian woman wants to serve our country...she either has to cover herself up in uglies and remove any trace of sensuality of her being, or endure being always being on the coattails of the males (witness jaya jeitley and brinda karat, or even jayalalitha).
Don't get me wrong, I'm not being sexist here, I am not being superflous by focusing on looks, I am not even being ageist (all the above women, BTW, are older than Jayalalitha or Mayawati)...
All I am saying is, in a country that is known for placing a premium on looks while judging its women, whether to star in a remix video, or to star as the trophy wife of the NRI, isn't it amazing that we have always liked our women leaders sexless...why cant the indian public stomach the idea of a strong, sexy woman being able to run the country while taking care of her hair and showing off her shape in fitting sleeveless blouses or short kurtis (lets not even talk about jeans and gowns here)...
P.S. - I promised a review of Alan Greenspan's new book, i still haven't finished, my early word is that its damn good, only everytime i read more than 5 pages at a time I promptly fall asleep...though that might be more 'coz of the crazy hours i keep, rather than Papa Greenspan's lack of writing cred...
Monday, September 24, 2007
Some clarifications to the previous post...
I just realized that some terms in that post might not be understood by the 'cool' guys who are not finance nerds...so i have attempted to explain some of the terms here -
1. mortgage - Americans call a home loan a mortgage. The monthly payment on the home loan is generally called a mortgage payment.
2. Mortgage Lender - The financial institution that gives you the loan. Unlike in India, where most lenders are also banks like ICICI, here you have specialized lenders like Countrywide.
3. Sub-prime Mortgage - Generally mortgages are defined by the interest rate that is charged on the original loan. A Prime rate is the standard bank rate, and denotes a borrower of moderate risk or low risk. A sub-prime mortgage is where the interest rate is higher than the prime rate, to account for the increased risk of some borrowers (people like the guy i explained below, or like me...;-) )
4. mortgage securities - a fantastic invention by a Salomon Brothers guy by means of which the mortgage lender can essentially take the loans that it gives out, put all of them in a big pool, and sell it as bonds to suckers like pension funds and hedge funds. Essentially, the bond payment is the mortgage payment (or the EMI, as they call it in India)
5. Credit Rating Agency - Agencies like Moody's, Standard and Poor's and Fitch. These guys analyze companies, governments and other organizations and rate their bonds ranging from 'investment grade' meaning really, really good organizations with no chance of default (yeah, right...); to 'junk' meaning you might as well buy the lottery (or General Motors stocks)
1. mortgage - Americans call a home loan a mortgage. The monthly payment on the home loan is generally called a mortgage payment.
2. Mortgage Lender - The financial institution that gives you the loan. Unlike in India, where most lenders are also banks like ICICI, here you have specialized lenders like Countrywide.
3. Sub-prime Mortgage - Generally mortgages are defined by the interest rate that is charged on the original loan. A Prime rate is the standard bank rate, and denotes a borrower of moderate risk or low risk. A sub-prime mortgage is where the interest rate is higher than the prime rate, to account for the increased risk of some borrowers (people like the guy i explained below, or like me...;-) )
4. mortgage securities - a fantastic invention by a Salomon Brothers guy by means of which the mortgage lender can essentially take the loans that it gives out, put all of them in a big pool, and sell it as bonds to suckers like pension funds and hedge funds. Essentially, the bond payment is the mortgage payment (or the EMI, as they call it in India)
5. Credit Rating Agency - Agencies like Moody's, Standard and Poor's and Fitch. These guys analyze companies, governments and other organizations and rate their bonds ranging from 'investment grade' meaning really, really good organizations with no chance of default (yeah, right...); to 'junk' meaning you might as well buy the lottery (or General Motors stocks)
'Heinlein was wrong - there is such a thing as a free lunch'. Re: the US sub-prime mortgage bailout
Picture this...you are a 30 yr old renter in a suburb in Midwestern US. You have a family, a new job with a not-so-steady salary, old parents on Medicare (US govt. healthcare for seniors) but with increasingly unmanageable healthcare costs, and you an barely make ends meet. However, you believe in the American dream...you believe that, eventually, you will be able to buy a house.
Enter this nice broker from one of the biggest morgage lenders in the country. She offers you a house (your own!), with no credit check, no income verification, no down payment, and nominal payments for the next year. Never mind that little 'adjustable' clause, where your payments increase exponentially after that. Never mind that a house like this is way beyond what you can afford, never mind if a 3rd grader could tell you that the math doesn't make sense. Hey, prices are going up, you can always sell the house, right?
So you take the mortgage, and enter your own house. The mortgage broker makes a ton of money on commissions, the lender makes a ton of money on fees. As for the money the lender gave you, it just uses a bank and a friendly credit rating agency to package it into investment grade securities (suddenly, Wall St trusts you more than the Govt. of India or Brazil). They sell it to the pension fund that holds your risk-averse neighbor' retirement money. The bank, the agency, the lender all make a ton of money. Everyone's happy, most of all you, right?
Right, till you realize that there are such things are taxes and maintenance costs, which the broker glossed over when she sold you the loan. Suddenly its tough for you to find work, and you can barely manage to pay the low initial interest payments. Just when you think things cant get any worse, the 'adjustable' clause kicks in, and you are left with monthly payments bigger than your current income. You default, and you go to the nearest bar, and the nearest foreclosure lawyer for sustenance. Meanwhile each default of yours is another nail in the coffin of that sexy investment grade security your mortgage had become, and your lender, bank and your neighbour's pension fund are all looking at losses. Things look really bad, right?
Wrong. for here's where the fun begins. Papa Govt., aided by some scathing New York Times editorials, orders a stay on foreclosures, and directs lenders to give you the option of a kinder mortgage rate, which you can pay at your leisure. You can even take your sweet time with the payments, no one will kick you out of your house. Meanwhile, Santa Bernanke decreases interest rates, and allows banks to borrow at a lower rate and keep their crap mortgage securities till the next boom. This way everyone's happy.
Everyone, that is, except that poor pension fund, which invests only in investment grade securities. It cannot unload its securities, the banks will not give it a loan, and its value halves, along with the value of your neighbor's nest egg. So Heinlein was right after all, there IS no such thing as a free lunch for America. Contrary to what the public believes, the greedy get rich and the risk-averse suffer not in a free-market economy, but in a turncoat economy thats capitalist when the goings good and that protects you from any loss when the going's bad.
I guess Indians would get deja vu on reading this, having witnessed countless UTIs and co-operative bank bailouts ourselves...
Enter this nice broker from one of the biggest morgage lenders in the country. She offers you a house (your own!), with no credit check, no income verification, no down payment, and nominal payments for the next year. Never mind that little 'adjustable' clause, where your payments increase exponentially after that. Never mind that a house like this is way beyond what you can afford, never mind if a 3rd grader could tell you that the math doesn't make sense. Hey, prices are going up, you can always sell the house, right?
So you take the mortgage, and enter your own house. The mortgage broker makes a ton of money on commissions, the lender makes a ton of money on fees. As for the money the lender gave you, it just uses a bank and a friendly credit rating agency to package it into investment grade securities (suddenly, Wall St trusts you more than the Govt. of India or Brazil). They sell it to the pension fund that holds your risk-averse neighbor' retirement money. The bank, the agency, the lender all make a ton of money. Everyone's happy, most of all you, right?
Right, till you realize that there are such things are taxes and maintenance costs, which the broker glossed over when she sold you the loan. Suddenly its tough for you to find work, and you can barely manage to pay the low initial interest payments. Just when you think things cant get any worse, the 'adjustable' clause kicks in, and you are left with monthly payments bigger than your current income. You default, and you go to the nearest bar, and the nearest foreclosure lawyer for sustenance. Meanwhile each default of yours is another nail in the coffin of that sexy investment grade security your mortgage had become, and your lender, bank and your neighbour's pension fund are all looking at losses. Things look really bad, right?
Wrong. for here's where the fun begins. Papa Govt., aided by some scathing New York Times editorials, orders a stay on foreclosures, and directs lenders to give you the option of a kinder mortgage rate, which you can pay at your leisure. You can even take your sweet time with the payments, no one will kick you out of your house. Meanwhile, Santa Bernanke decreases interest rates, and allows banks to borrow at a lower rate and keep their crap mortgage securities till the next boom. This way everyone's happy.
Everyone, that is, except that poor pension fund, which invests only in investment grade securities. It cannot unload its securities, the banks will not give it a loan, and its value halves, along with the value of your neighbor's nest egg. So Heinlein was right after all, there IS no such thing as a free lunch for America. Contrary to what the public believes, the greedy get rich and the risk-averse suffer not in a free-market economy, but in a turncoat economy thats capitalist when the goings good and that protects you from any loss when the going's bad.
I guess Indians would get deja vu on reading this, having witnessed countless UTIs and co-operative bank bailouts ourselves...
Sunday, September 23, 2007
only in new york...
On a lazy Sunday morning after a mad booze and puke-filled party the night before, Hema dragged me (along with Samcho and Vikrant, who were crashing at my place) to Union Square as she had an appointment with the hair stylist. While waiting for her, we guys were browsing through the Sale section of the Strand at 12th and Broadway. Most of the books were for a buck, and I was looking at some good ones on american history (have been trying to understand what exactly makes this country so much richer than India, its certainly not the intellect...), when i noticed this handwritten note inside one of the books. Untitled and unsigned, it was likely written by some couple trying to start a family, or could be just a bored co-ed, there was no way of knowing. It was pretty sweet, though. I've reproduced it below, go through it, its a nice read -
Once upon a time, not so long ago, there lived a happy couple called Sandra and Eddie. 'Yes', they said, 'we are very happy', 'But', declared Sandra, 'If we had a baby then we would be the happiest people in the world', and Eddie agreed.
So they set out to get a baby. They wished upon the stars - can you please give us a baby, but they only smiled and twinkled back, 'we are too far away to give you a baby', 'perhaps you can try someone else.'
They followed a rainbow and found a leprechaun sitting on a crock of gold. 'Mr. Lep, can you give us a baby', asked Sandra and Eddie. 'A baby?!' said the leprechaun gruffly, 'I can't give you a baby - I can give you this crock of gold, perhaps you can try the Easter bunny.' But that is not what Sandra and Eddie wanted, a crock of gold is not a baby. So off they went and asked the Easter bunny 'Mr. Easter bunny can you please give us a baby'. 'A Baby?', said the Easter bunny twitching its nose, 'I can't give you a baby - I can give an Easter egg perhaps you can try the stork.'
So off went Sandra and Eddie and asked the stork, 'Mr Stork can you give us a baby?'. 'A baby', said the stork peering down his glasses, 'I can't give you a baby, its thanksgiving and I am on my way to Florida, its far too cold here. Perhaps when I get back I can give you a baby'. 'But we want one this year', cried Sandra and Eddie.
Poor poor Sandra and Eddie, they were so sad. 'Now what do we do?' asked Sandra, 'Its almost Christmas and we have no baby.' Then Eddie had an idea, 'I know, lets write a letter to Santa Claus...
And there it ended, evidently incomplete. Extremely cheesy, but it struck a chord with my dehydrated, hungover, post-pukescent brain... I showed it to Samcho, he liked it too. I gave the parchment to Vikrant to read, he glanced over it, murmured something inaudible and went back to a book on automobiles that he had unearthed from the junk...Just then the missus came out with no apparent change in hair length or texture (in fact, it seemed as if her hair had magically grown longer), and asked, 'hows my hair?' After the obligatory comments on how they make her look thin, smart, sexy, young, successful and so 'New York', I eagerly gave her the piece of paper to read...'See what I found!' She took it from my hands, went through it slowly, and as always, had the last word...'But why didn't they just have sex?'...
Once upon a time, not so long ago, there lived a happy couple called Sandra and Eddie. 'Yes', they said, 'we are very happy', 'But', declared Sandra, 'If we had a baby then we would be the happiest people in the world', and Eddie agreed.
So they set out to get a baby. They wished upon the stars - can you please give us a baby, but they only smiled and twinkled back, 'we are too far away to give you a baby', 'perhaps you can try someone else.'
They followed a rainbow and found a leprechaun sitting on a crock of gold. 'Mr. Lep, can you give us a baby', asked Sandra and Eddie. 'A baby?!' said the leprechaun gruffly, 'I can't give you a baby - I can give you this crock of gold, perhaps you can try the Easter bunny.' But that is not what Sandra and Eddie wanted, a crock of gold is not a baby. So off they went and asked the Easter bunny 'Mr. Easter bunny can you please give us a baby'. 'A Baby?', said the Easter bunny twitching its nose, 'I can't give you a baby - I can give an Easter egg perhaps you can try the stork.'
So off went Sandra and Eddie and asked the stork, 'Mr Stork can you give us a baby?'. 'A baby', said the stork peering down his glasses, 'I can't give you a baby, its thanksgiving and I am on my way to Florida, its far too cold here. Perhaps when I get back I can give you a baby'. 'But we want one this year', cried Sandra and Eddie.
Poor poor Sandra and Eddie, they were so sad. 'Now what do we do?' asked Sandra, 'Its almost Christmas and we have no baby.' Then Eddie had an idea, 'I know, lets write a letter to Santa Claus...
And there it ended, evidently incomplete. Extremely cheesy, but it struck a chord with my dehydrated, hungover, post-pukescent brain... I showed it to Samcho, he liked it too. I gave the parchment to Vikrant to read, he glanced over it, murmured something inaudible and went back to a book on automobiles that he had unearthed from the junk...Just then the missus came out with no apparent change in hair length or texture (in fact, it seemed as if her hair had magically grown longer), and asked, 'hows my hair?' After the obligatory comments on how they make her look thin, smart, sexy, young, successful and so 'New York', I eagerly gave her the piece of paper to read...'See what I found!' She took it from my hands, went through it slowly, and as always, had the last word...'But why didn't they just have sex?'...
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