A Different Doctor

Treya Doctor Series (starring Treya as ‘Doctor’ and Anisha as ‘Patient’)

Episode One

Doctor: Good morning. What’s the matter?

Patient: I am feeling very tired, Doctor.

Doctor: Oh? Let me see, since when have you had fever?

Patient: No, Doctor, I don’t have fever, I am feeling very tired.

Doctor: Oh, that doesn’t mean anything.

Patient: But it does – I’m feeling very sleepy and I can’t work as much as I would like to.

Doctor: Oh, what did you eat in the morning?

Patient: Bread and cheese – and an egg. And milk.

Doctor: Hmmm. And was this before you had fever?

Patient: But I don’t have fever!

Doctor: Oh well, before you fell ill?

Patient: Yes.

Doctor: And after?

Patient: After what?

Doctor: After you fell ill?

Patient: What?

Doctor: What did you eat?

Patient: Nothing.

Doctor: And before?

Patient: Before what?

Doctor: Before you had fever?

Patient: But I don’t have fever.

Doctor: Oh all right. Before you fell ill, illish?

Patient: That’s all I’ve eaten since morning, Doctor.

Doctor: Hmmm. Well, when did you discover you had fever?

Patient: But I don’t have fever.

Doctor: Oh yes, you do.

Patient: Oh, all right, Doctor!

Doctor: And you also have worms.

Patient: Oh Doctor!

Doctor: Yes, you have to have vitemes and antebylex. Here is the electrician.

Patient: Here?

Doctor: Yes, it’s all noted down in the electrican. Here, Bye. Come every day.

Episode 2

Doctor: Come in! What happened?

Patient: I have a bad cough.

Doctor: Oh, what’s your name?

Patient: Anisha.

Doctor: Say something else.

Patient: Something else?

Doctor: Yes, like Snehanshu.

Patient: My name is Snehanshu.

Doctor: No, like Dumballo.

Patient: My name is Dumballo.

Doctor: Ha! Ha! What a funny name! I don’t think that can be your name. Ok, what are your names?

Patient: Kitchaloo.

Doctor: Can’t be. I’ll write Salda. What’s wrong with you?

Patient: I have a cough.

Doctor: Oh, you have a cough? Fine. Go home.

Episode 3

Doctor: So how did you get the cough?

Patient: I think I did not dry my hair properly after washing it.

Doctor: Oh, that’s nothing. What did you do after that?

Patient: I sat inside.

Doctor: Hmmm. You should have sat outside. Then what happened?

Patient: What happened?

Doctor: Yes, did you get a headache?

Patient: No.

Doctor: Oh no headache, then there’s nothing wrong with you.

Episode 4

Doctor: So, then what happened? Still no headache?

Patient: No.

Doctor: Oh say na, you have a headache.

Patient: OK. I have a headache.

Doctor: That means you are going to get a fever. You’ll have to have lots of medicines. I’ll write them down. (Taking out a hammer) Hmm. There’s an insect. Open your mouth.

Just a minute – this doesn’t work. Yes, open your mouth now. Yes, that’s right. There is an insect. We’ll have to take your temperature. Wow! Its 39! Hmmm.

(Taking out a stethoscope and placing it on the stomach, truimphantly) Yes! That’s where the fever comes from!

Figuring out the Economics of Design with Obelix and Co

Obelix and Co, the 23^rd in the series by Rene Goscinny and Alberto Uderzo, first published in French in 1976, deals with the transformation in the ‘one small village of indomitable Gauls’, caused by the introduction of a market for menhirs– and how it affects the design sense as well as the values in the only part of Gaul not occupied by the Romans in 50 BC.

As part of a strategy to conquer the tiny Gaulish village that still holds out against the might of Caesar, his deputy, Caius Preposterous trained in the Latin School of Economics, proposes to use ‘the profit motive’ to enfeeble and corrupt the Gauls. He homes in on Obelix, ‘the big fat brute’ who is the terror of the Romans, convinces him that ‘having money is a good thing’ and buys the only thing he can from him–menhirs–in great numbers and for increasingly large sums of money.

To cope with this sudden demand for menhirs, Obelix sets up a company, employs fellow-villagers to turn menhirs, to stitch clothes for him, and even to hunt boars! This sets of a flurry of menhir-turning amongst practically everyone in the village, regardless of aptitude or training. So, Fulliautomatix abandons iron-smithy and Unhygenix stops selling fish, because the only market is for menhirs and boars. Tempted by the lure of money, the villagers lose their ability to think rationally and the leisure to do things properly – even to have fun. As Chief Vitalstatisx remarks to Asterix and the Druid Getafix, the only two to remain unaffected by the new economy, they are ‘the last sane people in the village’.

The Gauls no longer have either the time or energy, or even an interest in beating up the Romans, who are after all business partners. In the bid to sell more and more menhirs to the Roman camp, they forget what is sensible and logical in their habitual way of life and lose all sense of balance and proportion. And Caius Preposterous’s strategy is successful. Meanwhile, the mounds of menhirs are rendered unto Caesar, who is not unnaturally, unhappy at the drain on his treasury for something that is ‘no good for anything’. So, Caius conceives of the strategy to sell them to the Roman public.

Since they are not ostensibly useful, comfortable or fun, he decides to milk the envy factor – “You own a villa, a chariot, slaves but…do you own a menhir?’. The menhirs are marketed in Rome with an all-out publicity campaign that endows them with values of ‘status’ and ‘exoticness’. The Roman public falls for the marketing strategy and laps up the menhirs that have neither any functional or cultural value in their context (which presumably, the menhirs do have for the Gauls – even though they do not quite know how).[1]

Everyone cashes in, with rival sellers promoting Roman vs. Gaulish menhirs. The artificially created symbolic value of the menhir plumbs absurd depths with superficial twists in appearance, and advertisements claiming the merits of Egyptian menhirs, or offering free slaves for every menhir! Finally, the market crashes, the Gauls are told that their menhirs are no longer required, and after trading insults and fighting with each other, good sense finally prevails. They go back to beating up the Romans and end with a grand feast to celebrate the restoration of their own ‘indigenous’ ways.

And how does their brief foray into ‘the market economy’ affect design? In various ways. Since they lose all sense of proportion in aspects of daily living, they are inevitably unable to apply a sense of proportion and balance in any design decisions, with respect to the attributes of the product as well as what sort of product they should be making. The only gauge of the necessity of making a product is whether there is a market for it, and how much money does it get them.

So, the overriding preoccupation is with numbers - “How many menhirs can you deliver?” This obsession with quantity, rather than quality, nor even with necessity, is akin to the influences in the industrialized large-scale markets of today, where the only emphasis is on ‘more’. Design offices today, are rated on their size, not on their ability - how many people do you employ in your office? Loans are given by governments or by investors based on ‘how much can you produce’? Contracts are given on the basis of ‘what is your annual turnover?’ Rarely are there any discussions about creativity, congeniality or craft.

Not only does this flood the market with superfluous non-essential designed items, it also creates a situation where standards of design are lowered all across the spectrum - in the producers’ world as well as the consumers’ world – to demonstrate notions of economic superiority. So Obelix dresses up in ridiculously ill-suited clothes to show that he is ‘the most influential man in the village’. Soon practically the entire village follows suit and dresses in loud clothes and absurdly ornamented accessories. This is similar to what is happening and has already happened in the Indian context, where the qualities of balance, proportion and appropriateness in design are giving way to kitsch. So an economy of money seems to lead to a dumbing down of design ethics and values.

Along with a devaluation of and deviation in design sense, this introduces standardization and reduces diversity. For a global market, everything has to confirm to a uniform standard. The only relief is in superficial changes. Thus, there is no great difference in mixer or refrigerator specifications, or automobile engineering. Instead, product designers are hired to introduce ‘styling’, cosmetic changes, features in the ‘dashboard’; colours of finishes. While all the emphasis is on profits, a lot of money is invested in publicity campaigns. This explains why innovative designs such as the ‘Mitticool’ refrigerator arise not out of the minds and hands of trained product designers, but a potter from a local context who designed this to fulfil the need of his fellow-Gujaratis after the earthquake.

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[1] The depths that public gullibility can plunge to - and the frenzied commercial activity that this can lead to – are clearly evident from a reading of A Short History of Financial Euphoria, J.K. Galbraith’s excellent analysis of speculative economic debacles down the ages. In particular, the classic case of Tulipomania in Holland in the mid-1630s, where ‘people of all grades converted their property into cash and invested it into flowers’ - namely in the tulip, which first came to Europe from the Mediterranean in the 16^th century - shows that such hysteria not confined to the realm of fiction.

On the pitfalls, the possibilities, and the potential of language(s)

“Mamma, your knees are looking”:

(Treya, age 4 years and some months)

Or

The Incomprehensible Indian

Ours is a multi-lingual family.

Which means that when I speak to Treya in English, she will probably reply in Hindi. When Snehanshu asks her something in Bangla, she will often respond in English. And when Snehanshu talks in Hindi, I take the opportunity to practice my Bangla.

Of course, there are times when we all converse in the same language, but rarely do we achieve perfect synchronisation. Or do I mean coordination?

Anyhow, most Indian households will relate to this situation. Our daughter at 8 years, reads English extensively, Hindi a little less fluently - and the Bangla alphabets. Schools today give strict injunctions to read story-books in English (not any other language, please note), but conversations between students are generally conducted in a sort of Hindi. Back home, grandparents will almost certainly ensure that the family still speaks together in Marathi, Oriya, Malayalam, Telegu, Kashmiri or any of the other languages they have grown up with. That sounds pretty impressive. Except that, since there is no time or incentive to read in regional languages, and since despite several decades of trying hard, we have not been able to make ourselves English (or American) - we end up using a ‘cross-over’ of words and grammar from many different languages. Very amusing and exciting, and as analysts will tell us, it shows the vibrancy of Hindi/English/Bangla/Gujarati etc. in India. Even better, it reveals how cosmopolitan, pan-Indian and ‘global’ we are.

To me, it seems this is basically poor justification for bad language, and I don’t mean cuss words. Of course, I cannot be held up as a shining example of what the good Indian should sound like. Having more or less forgotten the smattering of Tamil, Punjabi, Sanskrit, and Hindi studied as Second and Third languages in different parts of the country –I unfortunately seem to be most fluent in English. That may be a result of the vast collection of books in that language (presumably left over from the days of the Raj) in the army libraries, which I must confess, I devoured eagerly. Or the fact that this was the only language common to the different parts of the country that we found we could converse in - whether in the markets of Mettupalyam or Mhow. Or maybe this is the outcome of the training given to us by the Irish nuns in the cantonment schools. I remember the soft-spoken receptionist at one of the architecture offices I worked at, observing with a smile that even when I began any of my sentences in Hindi, I invariably ended up finishing them in English. Since then, I have consciously tried to be consistent about speaking in one language at a time.

It is not a wholly successful attempt. But I try. So, we have designated exclusive ‘Hindi Time’, ‘English time’, and ‘Bangla Time’ at home. Of course, it is not possible to discuss profound truths about architectural and spatial relationships in Bangla or Hindi, as we explain to Treya. And I cannot really express myself coherently in Bangla when I am displeased with the performance of my cook. So, often the rule gets amended to, ‘Reply in the language that you are addressed in’. Which probably explains why we all race to start a conversation. Not surprisingly, this can get a little exhausting. So, the rule at meal-times, is ‘no conversation please’.

It is difficult for most of us to think in more than one language. Snehanshu’s father, when he came to New Delhi from Kolkata to help in setting up the All India Fine Arts and Crafts Society, couldn’t understand at first why his head used to ache all the time – till he realised that instead of thinking and speaking in Bangla, he was sub-consciously constantly translating in his mind from Bangla before speaking in Hindi or English. All of us invariably think in our ‘native tongue’ and translate into the languages we have learnt later. The reason that Treya still confuses ‘yesterday’ with ‘tomorrow’ may be because, in Hindi the word for both is the same! And only those who have grown up speaking Hindi will realise (perhaps after a brief moment of blankness) what she meant when she once asked me with perfect seriousness in English: “Has your throat got up?” With repeated practice, we eventually grow out of such hazards of literal translations and the nuances between ‘Dikh rahein hain’ and ‘Dekh Rahein hain’. As when Treya, noting that I was going to answer the door in shorts instead of the long skirts I normally wear, primly pointed out to me, “Mama, your knees are looking”!

There is an Akbar-Birbal story about a visitor who arrives at the Emperor Akbar’s court and challenges anyone present to correctly guess which is his actual ‘mother-tongue’, and which part of the country he originally hails from. The entire court tests him, but he speaks all languages with the diction and fluency of a native. Akbar then turns to Birbal as his only hope. What does Birbal do? At night, when the tired visitor is in deep slumber, Birbal gets a servant to rudely rouse him from sleep (in one version of the story, by throwing water; and in another one by repeatedly making a din outside the window). The exasperated visitor responds by cursing aloud involuntarily in his mother-tongue. And Birbal triumphantly announces his discovery in court the next day. The story is as much about the ability of certain people to ‘pick up’ languages with ease, as about Birbal’s cleverness, as about the fact that in moments of great emotion – anger, joy or grief – we revert to the language we are most familiar with: invariably the language we have first learnt, traditionally at our mother’s knee – hence our mother-tongue.

Birbal’s plan may not have worked today. Certainly not in my case. I often wonder what language I would have shouted out in. Probably Hindi? Though it is primarily a combination of Hindi and English that I have grown up with. So, I may have yelled out in English and finished the phrase in Hindi or vice versa. But my mother-tongue is Garhwali. And originally my family – if I trace it by its patriarchal connection, which is usual in my part of the country – is from Kumaon. My father, apart from Hindi and English, is however most fluent in Gorkhali, because after leaving home at the age of fifteen to join the National Defence Academy, it was the Gorkha Rifles that he was commissioned in four years later. And till he was in his battalion, the language for communication amongst officers and soldiers was almost exclusively Gorkhali. Which makes me think how much more exciting – and confused – domestic conversations would be if I knew Kumaoni, Garhwali and Gorkhali.

That marriages in India are no longer confined to the same caste or region, should mean that we are enriched by a greater understanding of different cultures. But it seems to be working the other way these days. Instead of children knowing the customs, literature, languages or traditions of the regions of both their parents, they end up knowing neither - only Hindi and English. And so we have the great urban Indian, dressed up in clothes advertised on television or elsewhere (so what if they are designed for completely different climates and cultures?) speaking a combination of ‘Americanese’ and Hindi slang, getting larger and larger on a diet of Coke and McDonald’s. Their children mouth identical dialogues, believing only in the possibilities of Barbies and Ben-Ten like toys, unaware of the fast-disappearing plural and diverse traditions of the country they inhabit. As Ashis Nandy points out: ‘So, it is not only globally that the diasporas are producing one-dimensional national cultures, such national cultures also have clear links with pockets of national culture that are crystallizing within the countries’. [1]

Languages play a vital role in ensuring the continuation of local cultures. Each language ensures that personal, familial, local, regional memories and traditions pass on. It preserves memories and conjures up entire visual scenes, and retains the memory of local responses to climate, architecture, space. The word ‘roak’ cannot simply be translated as a plinth or a platform or a stoop. It is not just an architectural element in the town-houses of North Kolkata. It contains the entire experience of the habitual gathering of neighbourhood-men lounging there interminably, playing chess and cards; their animated arguments; their indolently watchful gaze guarding the neighbourhood from strangers.

This is why, when we do not understand or speak in the languages of our grandparents, we not only lose out on a different universe of sound and text, we also lose out on their connection with a unique and distinct landscape. This is why, while I insist that my students in the post-graduate course of design and architecture, have to work harder at expressing themselves coherently and correctly in spoken and written English, I also urge them to explore the ideas in their own literature, mythology, and folk-songs.

All languages have different personalities – they open up doors to newer worlds. The single Garhwali children’s rhyme and the Kumaoni folk-song I know, transmit a lilt and cadence, at once peculiar to the Central Himalayas and common to all mountains. In one, the conversation between a child and a dove, evokes equally the speech and the pace of mountain-folk, and the soft sight and sound of their birds. The other celebrates the image of the beloved Mountain-Goddess, Nanda Devi even as the song flits in and out of a recollection of the particular berries that fruit in different seasons in a part of Kumaon, including the tiny ‘kaphal’.

So, sooner or later I will learn Garhwali and Kumaoni, dialects thought they may be conventionally understood as, and read the Ballad of Malushah in the original and not in an English translation. Meanwhile, these days our afternoons are punctuated by my halting Bangla renditions of UpendraKishore Roy Choudury’s stories for children written a hundred years ago. I look forward to the day when it will not merely be silver-fish who will investigate Treya’s grandfather’s extensive collection of Bengali literature. Then she will read aloud to me and I will lie back.

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[1] p. 138, Talking India, Ashis Nandy in conversation with Ramin Jahanbegloo, OUP New Delhi, 2006

Technology and Design

How much and what sort of technology do you need?

And what should we do with it?

Part 1 

So - What is 'Technology'?

The meaning of ‘technology’ according to the Chambers Twentieth Century Dictionary[1] is: ‘the practice, description, and terminology of any or all of the applied sciences of commercial value’. ‘Technical’, on the other hand, is defined as: ‘pertaining to art, esp. a useful art or applied science’. The Compact Oxford Dictionary, Thesaurus and Wordpower Guide, [2] defines ‘technology’ a little differently: ‘the application of scientific knowledge for practical purposes’; ‘the branch of knowledge concerned with applied sciences’. The Dictionary notes that the word itself originates from the Greek tekhnologia ‘systematic treatment’. Further, ‘Technical’ here is defined as ‘having to do with the practical skills of a particular subject, art or craft’, and ‘having to do with the practical use of machinery and methods in science and industry’.

Thus, the Chambers Twentieth Century Dictionary seems to stress the ‘commercial value’ of the applied sciences, while the meaning of technology in the Oxford Dictionary lays stress on its ‘scientific nature’ and ‘practical uses’. ‘Technical’ seems to have a more broad-ranging meaning in both dictionaries, encompassing art as well as science and their practical uses. Wikipedia clarifies the origin of the word further and extends its definition thus: ‘Technology is the usage and knowledge of tools, techniques, crafts, systems or methods of organization. The word technology comes from the Greek technología (τεχνολογία) — téchnē (τέχνη), an 'art', 'skill' or 'craft' and -logía (-λογία), the study of something, or the branch of knowledge of a discipline.[3]’

Based on this information, how would you club the above two images? Would they qualify as ‘technology’? If we look at the dictionary meanings, it seems that they do fulfill the criteria of ‘technology’? They illustrate scientific principles both in their construction and their use. Thus, the sil-batta or Grinder is an application of the principle of friction and the application of force to break down larger particles into finer ones; its construction and design heightens the effect of friction by deliberately ‘pitting’ the surface of the sil to increase friction. In the case of the lamp, it applies principles of metallurgy in its construction, and knowledge of convection and other forms of heating in its design and use. In both cases, the knowledge of scientific principles is used for commercial purposes, in the sense that both the sil batta and the lamp were obviously made and sold by specialized craftspeople/ technologists. They also exemplify ‘the usage and knowledge of tools, techniques, crafts, systems or methods of organization’.

However, despite the fact both these objects fulfill all the conventional definitions of ‘technology’ and ‘technical’, they are not conventionally or generally regarded as examples of technology. Instead we would think of the electric grinder or the fluorescent tubelight as examples of technology. 

Getting Behind The Way We Think

Now, that’s very intriguing. They fulfill comparable functions, so why is it that we do not regard the sil batta and the oil lamp as examples of technology, while we do regard the electric grinder and the CFL as examples of technology?

If we look at the differences between these two sorts of technologies, some interesting facts emerge. The first is, the sort of technology that the sil-batta and the oil lamp embody, require greater exertion of human effort (manual grinding in the sil batta) or greater involvement of human senses (preparing a cotton oil wick, rolling and forming it, filling the lamp with oil, lighting it and using it carefully to prevent spills and burns). In the grinder and CFL, however the human involvement is essentially limited to switching the devices on and off. They represent the ‘fill it, shut it, forget it’ sort of philosophy.

The second difference is in the volume – the amount of mixture that can be ground at a time in the mixer is much greater than that in the sil batta; similarly the amount of light that is emitted from a FL or CFL is much greater than that from an oil lamp.

Thirdly, the amount of energy utilized in both constructing and using the ‘modern forms of technology’ embodied in the CFL and the mixer, is far greater than that used in constructing and using the sil batta and the oil lamp – it is as if the saving of individual human effort while using these modern devices is compensated by a far greater energy invested in their construction and greater energy consumed in their use. In fact, such devices only work at the scale of large volumes. To make an electric grinder-mixer, highly mechanized systems have to be used - for which large factories or manufacturing-plants are required; such manufacturing plants can only be profitable if they make and sell large numbers of electric grinders-mixers; and the blades of the electric-grinder only work if large quantities of food are to be ground.

Deciding What 'Technology' to Use - and When and How.
Where large volumes of food are required to be processed in this manner on a regular basis or large volumes of artificial light are required, such high-energy intensive and labour-saving forms of technology are both useful and appropriate. Where, however, they are not, such forms of technology have only a limited use which needs to be judicious, and not as a matter of course. This would be applicable for instance, in situations where the way of life or the design of the habitat ensures that most activities are done during daylight. Or in cases where the size of the family is small or there is manual help in the form of willing and able family members or staff. Here, the volumes of food required to make an electric grinder work are superfluous and the energy consumed in each use is wasteful and simply not justified. In fact, because the blades of an electric grinder will not work unless there is a certain minimum quantity, many families end up grinding in quantities larger than they need and then are forced to store these in the refrigerator – another high-energy product. Thus, in a restaurant perhaps or with limited domestic help, an electric grinder-mixer has a definite use and in a hospital, you evidently cannot have oil lamps lying around.

However, the other aspect of modern forms of technology is that since they depend on large and continuous volume of production and sale to make their manufacture profitable, they require large-scale use by all manners of consumers (not just those that actually require to use them), and they thrive on an economy of continual buying rather than one of reuse or repair. This is another essential difference between earlier forms of technology - now seen as backward, traditional or archaic – and modern forms of technology; that the earlier technologies were more sustainable and consumed fewer resources.

In fact, the reminiscences of an architect friend about the making and maintenance of the sil batta, make for very interesting reading and show how traditionally, the ‘life’ of objects was extended through appropriate ‘technology’ and social practices.

'I fondly remember the "sil-batta banwaa lo..!" call of the crafts-man who used to visit our street/muhalla once every month looking for work. He used to carry a number of sils in his bag, different sizes but, still to be worked upon. He used to also 'repair' old sil-battas whose 'pocks & dots' had begun to disappear due to prolonged use.

A new sil bargain would discuss size of the stone, its thickness, colour of the stone etc. and…finally the chiselling..! Something I loved watching! The 'pattern' of chiselling the surface of the sil is an art in itself. The stone slab (shaped like a 'boat-in-plan') was divided into 2 distinct zones. Borders were chiselled in to frame the zones and the chiselling patterns decided. Spiral, concentric, herring-bone, arrow-like or simply parallel straight-lines…

The angle of the punch differed in different parts of the stone surface as also the size & depth of the punched dents. Density of the dents were different in the two zones and the rows of the dents were staggered for better grinding. Some craftsmen would also use floral patterns on the top end of the sil.' [4]

Of course, we haven’t even spoken about the quality of the end-product generated. An oft used term to market modern technology is the ‘quality’ of the product. However, it is a fact that the quality of the mixture achieved – the taste, texture and nutritional value – through hand-grinding is far better than that obtained through an electric mixer. Similarly, the soft, calming quality of light achieved through an oil lamp is incomparable, which is why it is still used for special occasions, especially sacred or ritual occasions such as pujas or religious functions.

Today, the meaning of technology as ‘the practice of applied sciences for commercial value’ has overridden all its other meanings, so much so that technology is often used for purposes and at a scale that is wholly unnecessary or downright harmful either to the consumer or to the environment. This explains the practice of rubbing petrochemical based wax on fruits to make them shiny and more attractive so as to increase their commercial sale, or that of wrapping naturally clean and ‘pre-packaged’ food such as bananas in plastics. The only purpose of such absurd practices is to make them appear more ‘presentable’ in order to increase their perceived value - and therefore their sale. The fact that such use of technology often reverses the very benefits that the activity is supposed to yield – in the case of coated apples or vegetables, their food-value which is the original reason for consuming them, actually reduces by ‘such application of science’ - is either disregarded or ignored by both the seller and the consumer, who blindly admire this as an instance of progress. In contrast, in many cases, the traditional technologies that such practices have replaced are actually better, more aesthetic and more beneficial.

Compare the familiar sight of 'bhuttas' - corn - wrapped and tied in their own outer leaves by local road-side bhutta-wallas (who may not be educated and do not talk about eco-friendly packaging, yet use a progressive, sustainable and pleasing way of selling their wares) with the manner in which bananas, a fruit that nature has ‘pre-packaged’ for us, are wrapped in plastic and sold by Mother Dairy (a government institution that promotes itself as an organization that sells non-chemically ripened, ‘natural’ fruits)! This completely needless use of technology is especially strange, when the government itself has issued strictures regarding the perils of plastic, and actually banned the sale of goods in plastic polybags!

How much and what sort of technology do you need?

And what should we do with it?

Part 2

So, Who is Responsible?

The biggest culprits in this unethical and useless promotion of technology are the seller and the maker (whether private companies or government institutions), since for them the only criteria is that the product should sell. In extreme cases such as in the cosmetic industry, the fact that there are lethal doses and cocktails of chemicals in most personal-care products, is never revealed to the customer.[5]

Hence it is up to the consumer to be more vigilant and to make more intelligent choices. But very often, the choices are limited to variations of the current technology being promoted in the name of progress. This is where designers can step in to use their creative skills to promote appropriate green technology – which may already have been in use for many centuries. In some cases, these may need to be revived and extended, as in the effortless and beautiful packaging of mogra flowers - again by a roadside seller. 

In other cases, they may need to be reinterpreted or re-styled to make them more acceptable today, such as this hand-made soap, now exported from India, which is made from, and packaged, in completely natural materials.

Finding Appropriate Technology

If we apply such a philosophy of reviving or popularising appropriate technology to the example of the sil batta, we may find that we need to make some minor changes, keeping in mind the size and occupation of most families today. Since there are an increasing number of nuclear single-child families with mothers working away from the house, the size of the sil may be made smaller so as to be more easily usable. The use of the floral and decorative patterns in the sil, could be reintroduced with advantage for an ‘image makeover’, so that it is no longer seen as a symbol of an archaic old technology, but is viewed as something that is not only useful but is also worth displaying and flaunting even in so called ‘modern’ kitchens. This may help to increase both its usability and its popularity, in a similar manner to what FabIndia has achieved, for ceramic and wooden vessels and jars.

It is also not as if all technology is bad. For instance, something like Wikileaks, the whistleblower website, could not have been possible without the freedom, connectivity and access that current technology gives. Julian Paul Assange, the internet activist who founded Wikileaks, claims it has released more classified documents than the rest of the world press combined. Assange was the winner of the 2009 Amnesty International Media Award (New Media), awarded for exposing extrajudicial assassinations in Kenya with the investigation The Cry of Blood – Extra Judicial Killings and Disappearances. Similarly, organizations such as Greenpeace and Avaaz who have raised awareness and garnered public support against powerful individuals or governments perpetrating wrong actions – on issues as varied as the barbarous stoning of Sakineh in Iran, or the introduction of Genetically Modified food in India, or the sale of community land to multi-national firms – could not have managed to reach out to so many people without computer and internet technology. 

Even this essay was composed and written on a high-end technology product. Finally, like anything else, technology is only as bad or good as the uses it is put to, and the individuals or individual who uses it.

But it is nevertheless true, that the production and use of modern technology in many cases, is harmful both to people and to the environment. It is also a fact that the conventional production, promotion and use of technology increasingly removes the power of decisions from the hands of individuals and centralizes authority. After all, the very same tools of technology used by Wikileaks, are with other media organizations too. Which is why Assange has publicly clarified about his statement that Wikileaks has released more classified documents than the rest of the world press combined: ‘That's not something I say as a way of saying how successful we are – rather, that shows you the parlous state of the rest of the media. How is it that a team of five people has managed to release to the public more suppressed information, at that level, than the rest of the world press combined? It's disgraceful.’[6]

Perhaps all of us like the famous actor and director Charles Chaplin, whose own films reflected his concern for the dehumanizing effects of the excessive use of machinery, are ‘somewhat confused’ about how to use technology. In a conversation with Mahatma Gandhi, he questioned the Mahatma’s ‘abhorrence of machinery’, saying that ‘After all, if machinery is used in the altruistic sense, it should help to release man from the bondage of slavery, and give him shorter hours of labor and time to improve his mind and enjoy life’. We need to be as clear as the Mahatma who replied: ‘India has a different climate from England; and her habits and wants are different. In England the cold weather necessitates arduous industry and an involved economy. You need the industry of eating utensils; we use our fingers. And so it translates into manifold differences.’[7]

And What should we do?
Thus, I would imagine that in the climate, culture, society and economy such as ours, the way forward, is to: firstly, have a decentralized use of technology, where decisions about which technology to use and to use it, rest with the individual or the community rather than a centralized system where large scale private or public corporations decide which technology to promote. Secondly, to promote a situation where there is opportunity and encouragement for people to question and discuss what form of technology is the most appropriate for their needs. We must use technology that is appropriate – whether it is old, new or cutting edge is immaterial. It should first and foremost be appropriate for the purpose. Thirdly, we must discourage excessive dependence on complicated technology, and promote a controlled use of new technology – not to replace each and every human activity, but only where it is necessary. The obsession with newness or novelty factor needs to be questioned, since if we give so much value to ‘novelty’, redundancy will automatically set in and we will have a culture of ‘use and throw’ which is suicidal for the human race. To bring about such a change in the mindset of people, we will have to use skills of both design and marketing, in both function and image of the product and the activity - as explained in the example of the sil batta.

The levels that our current obsession with ‘novelty’ can take us to, may perhaps be best explained by the object below, which is promoted as ‘the most famous example of a lemon squeezer today’ and is lauded as an icon of industrial design and studied in design schools all over the world. Designed in 1990 by Philippe Patrick Starck, whom Wikipedia describes as ‘probably the best known designer in the New Design style’, this object termed the Juicy Salif, is a lemon squeezer, and has been displayed in New York's Museum of Modern Art.

Ironically Starck’s ‘iconic’ juicer that has had record sales and is now a collectors’ item, seems to garner more points for the way it looks than for its efficiency in squeezing juice! Though some users claim that it both looks and works well, even the more starry-eyed, write that it ‘doesn't stop pips going into the cup; that ‘in terms of functionality, it works reasonably well but is difficult to keep balanced when pushing down on it’; that ‘the style of this one outweighs any ease of use issues,’ that ‘it can be messy and needs to be cleaned right away as it marks really quickly.’[8] The conventional logic that the squeezer itself must be so designed as to resist the manual pressure to extract the juice - and so soft, easily deformable, non acid-resistant materials should not be used - seem to have been abandoned for the sake of novelty. So while Starck’s original version is made from cast and polished aluminium manufactured by the famous Italian kitchenware company Alessi, the 10,000 squeezers manufactured to mark the tenth anniversary of its launch, were individually numbered and gold plated. The gold plated version was described as an ornament because the citric acid in a lemon discolors and erodes the gold plating. Starck is even rumored to have said, "My juicer is not meant to squeeze lemons; it is meant to start conversations".[9]

A case of making a virtue out of a vice? Whether or not, this much we can certainly deduce: with appropriate promotion even an object which does not necessarily fulfill the function that it is touted to perform, can be successfully sold. Surely then, we can think of ways in which we can also successfully market our home-grown skilful, useful, and sustainable examples of traditional technology?

Image Credits:Oil lamp from Sankho Choudhuri’s Private Collection, Courtesy: Ira Chaudhuri
Juicy Salif: Source: http://flickr.com/photos/43671130115@N01/137575863 licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 2.0 Generic license, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lemon_squeezer; accessed 13 July 2011.All other images © Anisha Shekhar Mukherji; Text © Anisha Shekhar Mukherji

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[1] (Edited by William Geddie, first published 1901, revised 1952, this edition 1959, W. & R. Chambers, Ltd., Edinburgh and London) i[2] Oxford University Press 2001,[3] Accessed on 28 August 2010[4] Comment by Tapan K Chakravarty on June 27, 2010 11:27 PM to ‘Who Designed the Sil Batta - and why should we care?’ by Anisha Shekhar Mukherji posted at anishashekhar.blogspot[5] Annie Leonard, storyofcosmetics.org,[6] http://en.wikipedia.org.wiki/Julian_Assange#cite_note-smh2-15, Accessed on 29 August 2010[7] My Autobiography, Charles Chaplin, pp. 371-4[8] http://www.designaddict.com/design_addict/forums/index.cfm/fuseaction/thread_show_one/thread_id/529/

[9] http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lemon_squeezer

The article also states that the oldest known lemon squeezers are found in Turkey, and are individually made ceramic presses in the traditional style of Turkish pottery of the 18th century.