Showing posts with label mumbai. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mumbai. Show all posts

Saturday, 19 April 2014

Better Late




(15 Oct ’06)
            I began a career at 38. Like most of my generation, through college, ‘work’ had been topmost in my mind, but much though I wanted to, I couldn’t.

            So I began to write. I freelanced. Initially secretly. I opened envelopes, clipped several together, and made them into homemade ‘notebooks’ so that I wouldn’t have to buy paper. I wrote when no one was at home, in between cooking, tidying and other chores. Then I mailed the articles/stories by ordinary post to publications. When things began to get published, there was no way I could keep it a secret. And to his credit, my husband realized that my ‘need’ to work was a basic thing: he enrolled me in a typing class and babysat when I attended it. He paid the fees for a journalism course by correspondence and helped me with my homework, cooked sometimes when I had a deadline to meet.
            Wherever, whenever I could, through the different transfers, I took up a part time job close to my home. I worked for the UNICEF, as a librarian, a teacher, and, of course, I wrote. When we came to Goa, late in life though it was, I could begin a ‘career’ of sorts. I joined a five star hotel as a guest relations officer. Goa didn’t discriminate by age. I was taken in with no experience in that field and taught the job by eager younger colleagues. I have much to thank Goa for. (An aside: I recall two women, both doctors, discussing something about Panaji being different from Goa-city. I interrupted to tell them about Goa being a state, and Panaji its capital and their reaction?: What does she know, she’s only a receptionist!! Pah! My opinion of doctors sank then. Fortunately, I subsequently have come across highly qualified medical professionals who are humble enough to accept/ acquire facts from anyone. Their thirst for knowledge overrides all prejudices.) Had it not been for that opportunity, I might not have become a ‘career’ person. I made customer service my profession. I studied tourism trends, the needs of the hospitality sector, selection and training processes in the service industry, methods of gathering, sorting and analyzing customer feedback….stuff.
It took me to the innards of the highly technical healthcare industry. Now, five years later, the industry has accepted that Patient Satisfaction has as much to do with medical care as other unrelated topics like what food will the attendant get, whether there’s adequate parking space, whether the doctor is accessible, whether the staff at the counter is polite, and more. I’m happy to be part of the pioneers in that field, late though I entered it.
            Now, coming to Goa and medical tourism. It is a fledgling field. Some players are going to scout around to invest in the state to make use of the state’s fame, and infrastructure. There are going to be tie-ups between private hospitals and hotels. But for that, one golden rule Goa must follow is Be Professional. If the best brains, skills, doctors, nurses, technicians, therapists have to be attracted, the best managers must be employed, and no excuses like ‘he is related to so and so’ will work.
            Recently, a Goan surgeon I know attended an interview held by a private hospital in Goa. He was put off by the lack of courtesy accorded to him, the lack of seriousness….not just the junior staff, but even the very senior persons/investors behaved like they just didn’t care. The gentleman returned, perturbed. It’s going to be hard to work in a culture like that, he commented sadly.
 We Goans need to change our attitudes to work if we are to succeed in health tourism….that’s the next big thing….in fact to even sustain what we have. Better late than never.
@@@@@










Thursday, 17 April 2014

An Enigmatic Evening




(6 May ’06)
            Thanks to my salsa dance class I had a couple of invitations to attend a show at Enigma, an upmarket disco in the five star hotel, JW Marriott at Juhu, Mumbai. My husband made strange noises about not wanting to do anything ‘strange’, but my newly found assertion made itself felt and I won. Husband, son, daughter-in-law and I went dressed ‘appropriately’ in clothes one normally wouldn’t be seen around in. Mine were all not mine at all. From the shiny metallic-looking shoes to the shimmering black see-through top, they were borrowed feathers.
            First, we had to battle through a traffic jam that required us to drive the car for over twelve kilometres in first gear. Then, we stood in a long queue to enter the disco. Everyone was weirdly dressed so we didn’t feel silly at all. There were so many people that it was hard to breathe. Fortunately, that was a no-smoking room so that was a blessing. The dark, the loud music, the crowd, was uncomfortable to say the least. I avoid religious places and festivals because of the crowd. It was no different here. There was noise, people dressed to their teeth, forcing their way in and near the ‘sanctum sanctorum’ where the ‘show’ was to be held.
            We were lucky to be able to sit on a sofa, pushing away all the bums that came our way….hundreds of them, in all shapes, sizes and covers. When the show began, one of the bouncers told me I could climb onto the glass shelf at the back of the sofa. It was safe, he said. So, middle-aged me didn’t hesitate to do so. I had come here with a purpose, to see my dadaguru, Sandip Soparrkar (the double r is intentional), dance. And I was going to do just that, come what may. I remembered words from The Alchemist: when you desire something strongly, the entire universe conspires to make it happen. I perched on that seemingly delicate edge and stood my ground for the next hour and half. Fully pregnant Maria Goretti couldn’t believe, she said, how many people fitted into such a small place.
            Never mind the dance(s). There were fights happening below me. Entertainment within entertainment. One woman climbed up in front of me, Mumbai local train style, and everyone adjusted a couple of inches. But she had annoyed someone standing at the back and they had a little tiff, first of words, then a little push here and there. If it wasn’t for the Mumbaikar spirit, there would have been a casualty. Here, everyone stood on one foot to make space for yet another body. Sturdy hands supported the fighting women even whilst the show was going on. A hundred mobile phones were filming the goings on, creating little neon-glow patterns of their own in that blackness. The bouncers came and asked the younger ones to climb down lest they fall and hurt themselves. So tightly were the people packed that few would have got hurt even if someone did fall. Those who couldn’t see a thing, and there were many, gravitated towards to the bar. A few couples began to groove to the music and there began a sub-show of sorts. Good fun, multiple entertainment, from my site. Finally, when I climbed down, my eyes had got used to the darkness and the brightly lit lobby made a big (literally) difference.
            Not the sort of thing my sorts do ever, to spend an evening like this. There are many city-zens who do this regularly, go disco-ing. To me, it’s fun in very small doses. This experience will last me a couple of years. If one has a penchant for the ‘happening’ things in life, if one likes to let one’s hair loose and dance to catchy music, one has little choice but to do so in a disco, I guess. It’s an exercise in patience, tolerance, and good for the muscles, too.