How do Vipassana centres in India differ?

A friend of mine recently asked for some advice on which Vipassana centre I would recommend for his first course, if he tries it during a visit to India. My explanations ended up being rather verbose, so I figured it wouldn't hurt to publicize them. If you are considering taking a Vipassana course in India, I hope this information is helpful to you!


My response:

Crazytown! Ha ha! That's awesome. Here's the rundown of the places I've tried so far:





Bangalore (Dhamma Paphulla): I did a 3-day course here, and it was okay. The 3-day course is available to anyone who has taken the 10-day introductory course. It was much less intense but I found it really valuable since my first 10-day kind of freaked me out. :P They don't have a pagoda (no meditation cells so you're always in the main hall). At the time they didn't have individual residences so you couldn't meditate there, either. They have a few now. It's directly adjacent to a village so there is sometimes more noise than one would like. There aren't a lot of trees and there aren't really any animals (cute animals provide welcome distraction on the hardest days). The paths are dirt... and sometimes mud. With all of that said, I think I find the teacher at the Bangalore centre (he lives nearby) to be one of the more approachable. The fellow who donated the farmland to create the centre is also a wonderful human being; he helped repair a flat on my mountain bike after the 3-day course then invited me to his house for tea. The centre is, of course, pretty convenient. It's about a Rs.500 Uber ride to get there and if you can't get an Uber/Ola on the way back, there's always rickshaws and buses. The metro almost reaches the village but isn't operational at the major junction points yet.




Dharamkot/Dharamshala (Dhamma Sikhara): I did my first 10-day course here. Dharamkot is a little village above McLeod Ganj, which is above Dharamshala. The space is wonderful. Weirdly, the centre is built right in the middle of a pine forest the British planted, so the whole place smells like the Canadian Rockies. The village doesn't add much noise -- the monkeys running across the tin roofs are the only intrusive sound. The centre is small and can't grow (despite receiving quite a lot of money in donations, I imagine, due to all the foreign tourists who take courses here) because there is a Tibetan meditation centre to the west and the village to the east. Hence, it has no pagoda and never will, but it does have individual residences for most meditators (shared bathrooms / showers, though) that you can meditate in when the teacher gives you the option. It was nice and cold, which meant no sweaty meditations and no mosquitoes. There are stone paths everywhere. Most of the course was attended by foreigners, which I'm guessing is generally the case because of the centre's proximity to the touristy land of McLeod Ganj. The teacher was some professor (or something) from Delhi. Sometimes he was really helpful and sometimes he felt almost dismissive but I don't think I would have made it through the course without my daily conversations with him.




Jaipur (Dhamma Thali):  I did my second 10-day here over last Christmas / New Years. This space is beautiful, if somewhat plain (it's in the desert, after all). There were langurs and peacocks and huge flocks of smaller birds. It was cool but not uncomfortably cold, which meant I avoided mosquitoes for one more year. ;) The centre is older and has stone footpaths between the residences, pagoda, and meditation hall(s) -- avoiding dust and mud made a surprising difference in my overall comfort, as I found out this year. It's a huge centre, which means the experience is more intense and the course grounds are busier. There wasn't much space to walk without seeing other dudes (or at least their feet, which meant adjusting my walking path mid-stream... this is surprisingly disrupting). The meditation hall is almost entirely underground, so it's quiet, huge, cold, and dark. That made the meditation more intense but also made the whole experience a lot creepier. The pagoda has very little light entering it so the meditations in the cells were even *more* intense. The courses in Jaipur are primarily conducted in Hindi -- there were only a handful of foreigners and the teacher was much more comfortable in Hindi than English, so I'm very glad this wasn't my first course. Despite its size, the Jaipur centre is kind of run down. The meditation hall, pagoda, mini-halls, and cafeteria are well taken care of but the residences leave something to be desired. However, most of the residences here are individual: you might have your own toilet and shower. Because this is a larger centre, some of the volunteers are Very Serious Meditators(TM), which means they can come off as kind of culty or creepy. FWIW, none of the 5 teachers I've met have given me this vibe.




Nagarjuna Sagar Dam (Dhamma Nagajjuna): I did my third 10-day course here this year and I would say this was my least-favourite centre. The government has allotted some 250 acres to Buddhist ...stuff... and the centre is on a 35 acre portion of this land. It's huge and kind of barren. The paths are dirt, which means you'll spend a lot of time knocking dust and sand out of your feet before entering the pagoda and meditation hall. The meditation hall is quite small and they fill it to capacity. So for tall people like you and I the knees-near-neighbours situation is rather uncomfortable. There is a pagoda, which is good. New students are allotted cells on the 6th day, I believe. However, the pagoda isn't shaded and the meditation cells can be surprisingly bright inside which sometimes makes meditation difficult. I was under regular assault from mosquitoes. Given a meditation technique that's all about "remaining equanimous with whatever bodily sensation is happening in the present moment", I don't think my beginner-grade equanimity is ready for 2 full meditation periods (dawn and dusk) of constant mosquito bites just yet. The meditation instructions on the 10-day course are already quite verbose and in Telangana (Andhra Pradesh) the instructions come in English, Hindi, and Telugu. The meditation centre is far removed from any city or village so it's extremely quiet save for some distant highway noise. It's right beside Nagarjuna Sagar, and there was apparently a beautiful spot where everyone would go to watch the sunset over the lake. I met a fellow on the 10th day who exclaimed, "I saw you weren't coming to see the sunsets! I wanted to tell you so badly to come and watch them... but I couldn't talk!" Quite cute. It's possible a better view of the lake might have made the course experience a bit more enjoyable so I might be underselling the centre in this blurb. The buildings are very pretty and the architecture has a lot more character than other centres -- you can see some photos on their website. Oddly, the cafeteria has allotted seating and utensils. Most of the cafeteria seating is on the ground... just in case 10 hours a day of cross-legged sitting wasn't enough. Despite having both a meditation hall(s) and a pagoda, the centre can only host about 40 men and 40 women. There was a lot of construction under way, though. The teacher seemed very approachable and though I didn't speak to him much, a Dutch girl we met after the course said he was very helpful. She spoke to the male teacher because this course had no female teacher, for some reason. Prior to this, I wasn't even aware that was allowed. After the course, we stayed in a nearly-empty hotel near the Dam... but the entire area feels like some sort of abandoned moon colony and I don't recommend sticking around for long. Most of the students on the course came from Hyderabad, which is a 2 or 3 hour drive. My one biggest issue with the centre was the administration's insistence on the "sacred" nature of the cushions. Leaving aside the introduction of religious or near-religious concepts into an otherwise largely secular practice, one of the administrators actually ruffled my cushion and told me to take my feet off of it because he didn't like the position I was sitting in. This sounds trivial, but this happened on the fourth day after a particularly painful and difficult meditation so the attention was particularly unwelcome. Between the sunlit meditation cells, the mosquitoes, and being spoken to by a staff member, this was the least intense 10-day course of the 3 I've attended. It felt like I was constantly distracted by something.

I'm not sure if that helps you pick or not. :) The most interesting / intense / terrifying / valuable course I've taken so far was definitely in Jaipur, but it's hard to say how much of that was due to the environment and how much was due to my mental state. If I had my first course to do all over again, I would probably still do it in Himachal Pradesh.

The Himachal centre is closed from December to March (it gets quite cold) so that won't be an option this Feburary. No matter which centre you pick, you should pick and apply sooner than later. Sometimes it takes them a couple weeks to respond to an application, which can make travel planning difficult.

Good luck!

Bangalore 2030


"Why do you live in Bangalore?"

This past week, nilenso interviewed a German fellow for a software development position. As part of the routine of meeting a new stranger in this city, a variation of "Why do you live in Bangalore?" passed between us. My answer to this question is complex and usually varies based on the tone and implied subtext with which the question is asked. My immediate reasons are somewhat boring. My job is here and I like my job. My friends are here and I like my friends. The weather is pleasant.

Beyond that, however, I have wanted to capture my answer to this question in a way that could be conveyed clearly, immediately, convincingly. The complexity of the answer derives from the juxtaposition of Bangalore's past 15 years of growth against her next 15 years. I am quite convinced that anyone who knows Bangalore today only needs to think creatively about the latter half, since they are intimately familiar with the former. Hence, I plan to commission artwork (as I am no artist) which captures Bangalore's upcoming progress. This document is an open description which I intend to use for this purpose: Anticipate Bangalore 2030 and provoke both conversation and action.


Just Suppose We Juxtapose

Every feature of this commissioned artwork falls into one of two categories: The first is a quality native Bangaloreans say the city is losing or has already lost. The second is a feature which many established cities actually lack but are retrofitting onto legacy architecture and infrastructure. Features lacking in most major metropolises can be contrasted to Bangalore's present state not only to highlight where the city is going but to emphasize how Bangalore might leapfrog the models of other cities in 2015 to push toward a more effective society based, at least in part, on the pressure caused by its failing infrastructure.

Both forms of duality will become clearer by way of example, but this point cannot be stressed enough: Backpressure is a good thing. Bangalore is positioned to lead by quiet example in a very short period of time, given a concentrated effort. By way of counterexample, Chicago (the last city I lived in) has no garbage crisis. It's unlikely it ever will. Without backpressure from the system of waste disposal reaching the citizens, it will be decades (perhaps a generation) before Chicago sees a distinct shift in behaviour within every household.


Why Bangalore?

Bangalore is in a position few other cities are in at the moment. It is changing quickly. Very quickly. It is in a small flux from week to week alone and it undergoes drastic changes every few months. If I visit my family and Canada and return a month later, entire streets are sometimes unrecognizable. Some of this change is moving in the opposite direction this document proposes as the city becomes increasingly industrialized, commercialized, and modern. However, much of that change is absolutely necessary if we are to envision Bangalore as a New World City. Its metro population is that of New York and London; by 2030 it will have outstripped them. Its new workforce is largely post-industrial technology firms and supporting industries. It's not hard to imagine Bangalore as a city of the future.

Bangalore is also a cheat. The weather here supports year-round bicycling and yet much of the flora remains tropical. Choosing Bangalore when fantasizing about cities of the future circumvents a multitude of problems. The ground does not freeze. It is far from the ocean and does not suffer many natural disasters. It seems likely that many of Bangalore's immigrating technology workers choose it for this very reason, though, which in some ways validates choosing it for this thought experiment.

Lastly, Bangalore supports an array of cultures and (so far) does so in a way that they do not seem to melt together. New York is metropolitan but it doesn't always feel that way. Londoners feel like Londoners. Bangalore's masjids, bars, temples, restaurants, churches, mansions, slums, government offices, parks... they are a bizarre blend of activity that I have yet to experience in any other city. If infrastructural and behavioural change can work in Bangalore, it can work anywhere.


Our Juxtapositions

1. The traffic: Bangalore's traffic is a mess. Once a sleepy city full of retirees, old streets are now packed with trucks, buses, single-occupant cars, 2-wheelers, bicycles... and even the odd bullock cart. No one enjoys driving in Bangalore and even getting around as a passenger can feel stressful. Because the arteries of the city are clogged with every shape and size of vehicle, drivers get frustrated and address each other with incessant honking. Air and noise pollution choke the streets. A Bangalore commute often feels like traveling on a fantastic version of Mulberry Street.



The Metro: The Namma Metro is nearer and nearer to completion every day. Some of my friends already use it for a portion of their commute, despite the fact that the entire length of the metro's journey is walkable at the moment. The project seems forever-delayed, but a vision of Bangalore 2030 features the metro as its centrepiece. As long as the memory of Bangalore's traffic in 2015 is fresh in everyone's minds, there should be no shortage of public support to continue expanding the metro to new neighbourhoods. Electric feeder buses don't exist in Bangalore now, but are not hard to imagine as a staple form of transportation by 2030.

Bicycles: Copenhagen and Amsterdam were not always the cyclist's paradises they are perceived to be now. In many cities, the convenience of the car easily trumps the desire for most to choose a bicycle, even for those convinced of the environmental, health, and resource benefits. That line of thinking is hard to follow in Bangalore, though. At the moment, it's often faster to get across the city by bicycle than it is by car, simply due to agility. Bangalore is infinitely bicycle-able: The traffic is safe, due to its slowness. The weather is perfect 10 months of the year. The roads could be better, but they are constantly improving. There are very few gradients.

Bangalore has seen a small surge in its bicycle interest among the middle class. Shops like BumsOnTheSaddle, The Specialized Store, Crankmeister, and ProCycle have popped up in recent years. A bicycle culture can't be subsidized by the government and won't materialize apropos of nothing. But the sooner Bangalore's bicycle renaissance occurs, the sooner it will snowball into dedicated bicycle infrastructure whenever a new road is paved.

Fragile, Indian-made bicycles and/or those with century-old designs (Hero, Atlas) still comprise the entirety of the bicycle market for Bangalore's lower economic classes. These still fall in the Rs. 5000 to Rs. 10,000 price range... which isn't actually that affordable. Simple, reliable, single-speed steel-frame bicycles could be produced in India at that price.

Electric, Automated Taxis & Rickshaws: Though not as revolutionary as clean public transportation or a confluence of Bangalore's two bicycle cultures into the middle classes, electric and autonomous vehicles do seem the most cartoonishly futuristic. They're not. Self-driving cars are on the streets in the US and Europe. Fully-electric cars have been a reality in India for 20 years and it's not hard to imagine that within a few years the Revas and E2Os will keep the company of Bangalore's first Teslas. With the advent of just-in-time taxi services, the future of roads in any city (not only Bangalore) is obvious. Fully electric cabs can already be seen on Bangalore streets. On the streets where cars are still permitted in the Bangalore of 2030, it seems likely that many cars will carry 4 or 5 passengers but no driver. Rickshaws inhabit a different slice of the economy and may still have human operators in 2030 but the polluting two-stroke engines of today will be seen as legacy. Electric rickshaws and electric bicycle rickshaws are already common in Delhi.

While an electric, autonomous vehicle is unlikely to generate much noise pollution, I can't help but imagine that as awareness of the damage noise pollution does (to humans and animals both) goes up, clear "NO HONKING" signs will become the norm.



WFH. The late-90s dream of telecommuting has panned out differently for everyone who dreamt it. Some of us can't focus at home. Some jobs still require interacting with the physical world. But for many (including about half the nilenso office) remote and distributed are the new default. I can't actually envision how one would capture this in an art piece about Bangalore 2030, but it's a reality, all the same.


2. The Garbage Crisis: Thankfully, the citizens of Bangalore's surrounding villages have started to fight back against the dumping of garbage in their homes. The backpressure of their resistance causes Bangalore's streets to fill with Garbage. This is fantastic.

It might seem odd to think of Bangalore's garbage crisis as a good thing, but if the infrastructure existed to truck the trash of 8.5 million people far enough away from the city that no one needed to think about it... then no one would think about it. As it stands, the truth of our waste is in our faces. Every day, on every street.

Compost: The more I think about compost, the more confused I am about the fact that it isn't the default option for wet waste in every city of the world. But within Bangalore, it is obviously the right choice, since it is the only option the government currently supports. Wet waste, disposed every day, goes to a city-wide composting facility as long as it is not stored in a plastic bag. More adventurous citizens can compost easily at home.

"Dry Waste": Garbage workers pick up "dry waste" (recyclables) twice a week. Thanks to a massive labour force, Bangalore's recyclable waste is actually sorted at recycling centres... even though this should be the responsibility of every citizen. Composting and recycling is the government-requested (and desperately needed) default in 2015. In addition to basic waste segregation, it's not unlikely that "NO FIRES" signs will become commonplace as lighting roadside garbage fires becomes illegal.



Recycling: True recycling in 2030 will mean recyclables are separated at the source. Every home will wash and segregate plastic, metal, and glass from e-waste, paper, and cloth. The best implementation of this system I have ever seen was in Tokyo, where our AirBNB instructions explained that plastics were to be sorted into three categories before providing them for pickup. As long as there is a garbage crisis, there is the perfect opportunity to teach the public about proper recycling in a tangible way that directly affects their personal comfort.


3. Power Cuts: Bangalore experiences common power cuts. Some are very intentional and continue year-round. Others are based on a lack of water in the dams which feed Bangalore's primarily hydro electricity supply. For a city with a growing economy, this has meant diesel generators for large businesses and battery backups for SMBs like nilenso. Running tiny power plants in every major business contributes to Bangalore's asthma-inducing air pollution.

Solar and battery: Thanks to the emergence of lithium-ion batteries, the batteries of 2015 should quickly become relics. Currently, nilenso operates on some rather hideous batteries which require us to fill them with water periodically. They occasionally spill acid on the floor. They're huge. But the fact is: They exist. Out of necessity, businesses and homes in Bangalore already have the kind of battery backup Tesla intends to sell to every American. Whether Bangalore becomes the biggest Tesla Powerwall customer by 2030 or not, some form of lithium battery will overtake the existing market. Solar panels are increasingly affordable and not only offer freedom from the grid during power cuts but would provide homes and businesses with resilient, distributed electricity during floods or other disasters (as Chennai is currently experiencing). A Bangalore of 2030 has a cityscape of buildings blanketed in solar panels.


4. The Mud of the Monsoon: While we're on the topic of floods, we can address Bangalore's annual battle with the monsoon. The slightest rain seems to bring the city to a halt. Streets are somehow instantly clogged with both water and traffic and the power goes out in most neighbourhoods. The latter would be taken care of by building-independent power sources. The former, by proper infrastructure.

As of today, sanitary sewage and storm water are both dealt with using semi-covered and uncovered "drains". When a street floods, the sanitary sewers are overburdened and waste water (including human faeces) is ejected into the street, endangering citizens' health.

Storm sewers: Bangalore needs a massive storm sewer system, akin to the Ninja Turtles' portrayal of the storm sewers in New York: Underground, walkable for maintenance, and completely separate from sanitary sewers. Bangalore gets plenty of rain. Rather than the present nuisance, it could wash a dusty city clean, restock water tables, and irrigate nearby farmland.

Sanitary sewers: New sanitary sewers between now and 2030 need to be built underground and completely covered. Disposal will be to a proper waste water treatment plant or  preferably — to a more future-focused human waste composting plant. An image of separate storm and sanitary sewers is easy enough to imagine, though the specifics of where they go afterward is a bit more difficult to portray in a painting.




5. The Useless "Army Area": India, thankfully, is not a terribly violent nation. Bangalore has little use for the army any longer and it seems quite bizarre to use valuable inner-city land for military training exercises. Yet a substantial portion of the city can be seen on Google Maps as large, blank and grey: labelled "Army Area". The cadets can be seen early in the morning... running around in uniform or calling out strokes in a rowboat on Ulsoor lake. They seem... bored.

Disaster Relief: Never mind the army of 2030, the army (and navy, and airforce, and whatever other antiquated units of government you can think of) of today should serve one purpose: global safety and security. At a minimum, the military and military resources, such as land, could slowly be funnelled into government departments of greater utility, such as DART, serving all of India, at a bare minimum — and hopefully its neighbours. I'm sure there is debate to be had as to whether starvation and poor health of one's own citizens is a "disaster." Some of us might choose stronger words. But as long as I'm fantasizing, a Bangalore of 2030 would welcome its least fortunate citizens into refurbished Army Areas to serve simple meals and provide basic healthcare services.


6: Lost: Some Trees: Bangalore's old tagline of "The Garden City" is less appropriate with each new building constructed. Parks remain, but Koramangala is unlikely to be returned to the earth within our lifetime. Those who knew the old Bangalore speak words of regret. Those who see infographics describing urban density wonder what can be done (other than the childish suggestion that immigrants should stop coming here).

Aggressive Reforestation: Inside and outside of Bangalore, an appreciation and understanding of the necessity of plant life is coming. (For some, it's already here.) Augmenting the desire to maximize land usage, homes will one day be built smaller with space for trees and gardens. Rooftop gardens will fill the space not occupied by solar panels. Government-mandated green spaces in every neighbourhood will maintain some semblance of balance and reverse Bangalore's transformation into an urban heat island. Self-awareness of one's space consumption is unlikely to derive from the longing for parks; this change will require education and perseverance.


7. Lost: Some Religion: My generation is not violent and drug-addled due to its dearth of spirituality. A sagging of religious participation will not degrade our cities into dystopian hellholes. It has, however, lost some of the values and guidance religion provided our grandparents. Generosity is no longer to open one's home to any who need it but to donate a tax-refundable amount to a charity of one's liking. Forgiveness has lost a universal quality and favours a polar described by media on all scales, each running an attention deficit. Time my grandmothers dedicated to community and silence my peers dedicate to music and alcohol.

Space for Silence: Meditation, prayer, uninterrupted contemplation. These wildly different activities all carry the same characteristic: absolute silence. There are few spaces these days for anyone of any background to simply escape the din of Bangalore's public space. Universally-accessible quiet spaces do not exist yet, which makes them in some ways more fantastic and futuristic than self-driving, all-electric robot cars. Despite this, I think Bangalore is capable of constructing a building where conversation and mobile phones are not permitted. 2030 will see some such space (even if I have to build it myself) but it is hard to say how common they will be.

Space for Generosity: The recent outpouring of support from the general public for those in need of help in the Chennai floods is proof that the average citizen wants to help and will do so when required. I often wonder how to make this a daily or weekly practice for myself, rather than one I hold for unpredictable catastrophe.

In 2030, Bangalore's neediest will find space to sleep and poop — and simple meals to eat — without this assistance attached to any particular belief system. Nearest to this are the meals provided in Gurudwaras, but in time I expect to see spaces emerge for all of us who feel our free time could be spent more meaningfully.


8. Wealth Gap & Limited Resources: Bangalore is not yet a rich city. It may never be one of the wealthiest cities on Earth. The wealth gap is widening and for many people (and many industries), resources will remain scarce. This is a wonderful constraint, thanks to its realism.

Focus on necessity: Bangalore is full of clinics, hospitals, and schools. Markets for the most necessary items are walking distance from any home and India is unlikely to form food deserts like the U.S. suffers from. A continued focus on absolute necessity for all income levels will ensure that as the Bangalore of 2030 starts to look like Olympus from Appleseed, one can still buy sitaphal from a wooden cart on the side of the road while it's in season.

As Bangalore's citizens' access to personal transportation increases, clinics and hospitals risk suffering the centralization which has occurred in rural Canada. I don't yet see this happening and I hope it does not. A healthy Bangalore of 2030 still has walking-distance health clinics in almost every neighbourhood.

Schools are another matter. It is possible that progress in remote learning will mean "homeschooling" can take on a different definition, schools may be more about physical space than about colocation of teachers and students, and the trucking of children from one end of the city to the other will become a goofy story about industrial-age lifestyles for the next generation to laugh at.

Tiny houses: While hinting at my hippie granola upbringings and preferences, limited resources should push more and more people back toward sensible living accommodations — even the rich. Bangalore draws its cultural inspiration from the subcontinent's long history and mixes it with ideas from around the globe. The U.S. and its predominantly overindulgent lifestyle features heavily, but that can be balanced by the sensibilities of Osaka, Sao Paulo, and Seoul. The Tiny House Movement may very well fade away as an extremist fad, but some variation thereof could become the norm for a progressive Bangalore.

Repeatability, Repeatability, Repeatability: More valuable than any other item on this list is the ability of the rest of the world to repeat Bangalore's actions from the coming 15 years  and for Bangalore itself to repeat and refine these actions into 2045. Repeatability is hard to capture in a painting, but at its core is no doubt simplicity, which I think can be expressed artistically, even when describing an array of concepts. Indeed, the desire to see such artwork is a desire to witness these ideas expressed as simply as possible, so that anyone can understand and appreciate them.

Bangalore represents the breadth of the global economy, from the untraveled and uneducated to the owners of multinational corporations. It is a meeting ground for people of all fields and it's the perfect laboratory to run experiments predicting the global society of the future.

This is essential. The infrastructure and lifestyles of Earth's wealthiest nations are not sustainable and not repeatable. As the global economy continues to flatten itself, the behaviour of the wealthiest will need to change, from London to Los Angeles. Comparatively, the infrastructure of the Earth's poorest nations will continue to heal and mature. As every nation frees itself from conflict, it will require the tools to become a modern economy as quickly and cheaply as possible.

Bangalore 2030 is a blueprint.

How to Co-op: Salaries & Reviews



Today, I'm a wifi parasite in the uSwitch office. Over lunch, Tom Hall pointed out that nilenso doesn't pay bonuses, instead opting for transparent salaries, chosen on merit to the degree possible. (Read more on our original post: "Huh? A Software Co-operative?") His question is one we get often: How do we decide salaries?

Our first stab at this was a model we'd inherited from other companies we'd worked at: have salary bands which match up to the skill and experience of the current staff, match that to the available cash, and set salaries accordingly. At first, we actually started off with an approach that was even more naive -- rather than salary bands, we had "levels". To improve one's salary beyond the usual bump provided for inflation, it was really a huge leap from "college kid" to "junior" to "intermediate" to "senior". Under this model, we also had no real vision for future "levels" (yagni?); the most senior person on staff was the highest salary we imagined paying.



This system is very obviously broken when graphed this way, but there are a number of other little firms in Bangalore which still operate this way. The inevitable conclusion is the introduction of "Level 2.5" and other confused ideas which make a broken system even worse.

Incrementing on this inherited model, we tried to smooth out the curve and divide up each "level" into ten increments. The old integer levels (now L1.0, L2.0, and so on) represented concrete, documented responsibility changes under the incremental system. The new incremental levels (L2.2, L4.3) were sort of tweened into thirds. A concrete example: L2.0 is a intermediate developer who is capable of driving design decisions (and a pair, if pair programming). L3.0 is an intermediate developer who can mentor, architect individual systems, and drive hiring decisions. L2.1 to 2.3, L2.4 to 2.6, and L2.7 to 2.9 give us three junior-to-senior tiers to play with when describing the growth of a developer from a "solid intermediate pair" to "mentor". With increments, everyone grew 0.2 or 0.3 each year, rather than jumping from L2 to L3 every three years. (In practice, the integer system usually meant redesigning the entire system every year.)


Reviews in 2014


Once we had the incremental model in place, we tried to iterate on our previous experience of "behind closed doors" reviews, as well. The goals were transparency, fairness, and comfort. Big all-hands referendums could be embarrassing -- and had proven inefficient for all sorts of other decisions, which caused us to elect a small "Executive" (two people), similar to an elected Board of Directors in a large corporate co-operative. The Executive drove the review process. We kept track of each review on a whiteboard, so everyone could see what was going on as it happened. Each review included the two people from the Executive, the person being reviewed, that person's "sponsor" (another vestige of another company we'd worked for - namely, ThoughtWorks), and their closest coworkers/team members. The sponsor presented a proposed salary, and the review discussion worked backward from there. The process worked reasonably well, but as we discovered this year, we were a bit too liberal with salary jumps.

Once we'd finished the review cycle, we took a step back and tried to answer the "what does the future look like?" question. Working with "explicit is better than implicit" as a foundational rule, one is forced to visualize a complete salary framework. This implies a couple of things:

1) "complete" inherently means "global"
2) "complete" inherently means "lifelong"

Therefore, our salary bands had to map a curve from the lowest-paid, straight-out-of-college hacker to the most talented and experienced computer scientist money can hire. The former is easy enough to imagine... we've all hired dozens of those folks. But the best of the best, the world over, near the end of her career? I'm not even sure I've met such a person.


The COMPLETE Salary Curve


So, for the sake of argument, let's assume we're hiring Leslie Lamport, assuming he makes a high salary at Microsoft Research. Or perhaps a senior-most computer programmer from Google. A little asking around, Glassdoor, and that infamous secret.ly "salaries at Google" thread all told us that our ballpark figure of $500,000 USD wasn't too far off. Maybe a little higher or a little lower, but something so far away from nilenso's present reality need not be overly precise. It's just a helpful stake in the ground. For us, a $500,000 salary represents Developer Level 10.0 -- someone who's about to retire and has turned the industry upside down over the course of their career.

There's huge value in imagining the highest salary you will ever pay. We humans don't like to spend a lot of time pondering the end of our productive days. We like to spend time pondering the scary last chapter of our mortality even less. But these things are real. Everything real, everything fact-based, has to be laid bare in a completely transparent organization.

Our first pass was difficult, uncomfortable, and (of course) incorrect.



Fast forward one year to nilenso's 2015 review cycle, and it was apparent our 2014 curve didn't really fit. We'd made a few mistakes: high-end salaries (L4.x and L5.x) were too high, some jumps had been too big, the L1 salary band didn't fit on a smooth curve. (You can see this from the graph: the L1-L2 salary band has a steeper slope than L2-L3 and the inflection at L4-L5 is also obviously incorrect.)  However, being completely honest about the data is only step #1. Step #2 is to be completely honest with _ourselves_: we'd made some mistakes in 2014 and we needed to correct them. We jiggled the L1 salary band a bit, some L2.x salaries didn't jump as much as expected, L4.x and L5.x salaries came way down.

Our second pass was difficult, uncomfortable, and (will likely be) incorrect.



...but it was a little less difficult, a little less uncomfortable, and (hopefully) a little less incorrect. The goal is not perfection. Next year, the benefit of hindsight will expose this year's mistakes and we can once again go through the mild discomfort of correcting them. And, with any luck, our second pass was enough of an improvement on our first that the mistakes will be smaller.

I've jumped ahead of myself a bit, here. The 2015 salary curve starts at about 7.5 lakh rupees ($12,000 USD) for Developer Level 0.0 and curves relatively smoothly up to 317 lakh rupees ($500,000 USD) for our realistic Developer Level 10.0. Everyone at nilenso is presently L1.x - L4.x, so don't get too excited about multi-crore salaries we might lavish you with. But how did we arrive at the curve?


Reviews in 2015: Tim & Deepa to the rescue


Our review process in our first year wasn't too bad. Everyone received meaningful feedback and was given a clear path for growth. However, it felt ad-hoc, everyone's feedback/reviews were delayed (as they are in most companies), and it felt strange to have the Executive drive the conversation -- even the most logical and robotic Executives are still human and will introduce their own bias. In 2015, we improved on this thanks to two distinct efforts from Tim and Deepa, who signed up to organize the 2015 review process. This would normally be a thankless job, consisting mostly of manually coordinating an Excel spreadsheet. But not this year.

First, Tim (being Tim) spent a Saturday automating the review workflow. The nilenso reviews app was born. Since any annual review cycle for any company tends to be little more than swimlanes of todo lists, it was the perfect job for Rails and Heroku. Tim, and anyone else at nilenso, could modify the workflow, relationships, and privacy across the reviews process in a matter of minutes with a quick code change and redeploy. Everyone could glance at http://reviews.nilenso.com to see their feedback and to hassle people who hadn't reviewed their colleagues yet.

The review app lets everyone ask for reviews/feedback from specific people. Reviewers are then tasked with completing a review for everyone who asked them. Each review is a free-form text entry field and a "suggested level" field, if the reviewer is comfortable suggesting the reviewee's growth in the past year. Though we'd initially planned on discussing salaries directly, the Level system addresses skill, contribution, network, and experience rather than what anyone "feels" other employees should make. This has the immeasurable advantage of keeping emotion out of the equation and keeping everyone focused on the facts at hand.

Second, Deepa facilitated the review meetings. After scheduling and planning each meeting with Tim, she played the role of non-participating facilitator to discussions which included the reviewee, everyone who gave them a review in the app, and anyone else who wanted to listen in. Each meeting started with everyone in the room grabbing a laptop (or iPad) and quickly re-reading the reviews in question, to make sure they hadn't missed anything. Then the reviewee would summarize their self-review and the reviews they'd received from their coworkers; we did away with "sponsors" and let the person speak for themselves. At the end of the summary, s/he would explain whether the average Suggested Level (calculated by the app) seemed appropriate. The floor was then open to discuss and debate. By the end of these meetings, everyone knew what everyone else's level would be for the upcoming year.

The meetings cost us a lot of time but everyone agreed it was time well spent. Attempts to limit participation in 2014 hadn't prevented the review meetings from cutting into everyone's work day, and in 2015 there was no question that the open forum felt totally transparent.

A good rule of thumb for corporate transparency: You're probably doing it right when everyone finds the transparency boring.



A small consulting company has a fixed amount of money to spend on annual raises. By working through the entire review process without discussing money, we were free to be completely honest with one another with feedback^ and conversation. Certainly some conversations were harder than others but the overall process was smooth. Once everyone's reviews were complete, Deepa took away a Level Curve (really more of a straight line with dots on it, like above) which she could retrofit our earnings onto. That became the proposed Salary Curve, which we discussed one last time and then finalized.

^ It's worth noting that we expect feedback to be a continuous, daily process. If someone is giving you new constructive criticism for the first time only in the annual review process, they've failed you miserably. Since peer-to-peer reviews take the form of "feedback" the terms are sometimes used interchangeably. Though we may muddle terminology, we try not to muddle intent.


Unsolved Problems


Though we have a smooth, meaningful Level/Salary Curve for developers, we are yet to figure out what this will look like for administrators, executives, project managers, designers, accountants, or operations staff. We only have one desiger, executive, and PM on-staff at the moment, so our best approach is to find some middle ground between industry averages and the developer curve. But that's vague. These roles are definitely in beta at nilenso.

A meaningful salary curve for operations staff is even murkier. Though we have 3 people who do operations (security & operations, cleaning, operations & basic accounting) and their salaries are similar, the industry average for these positions is unfairly low in India. We're also less sure what the growth path for each of these folks will be in the coming 2 or 3 years. Mintu will certainly get bored of working security at some point, and we need to make sure the Salary/Level Curve for Operations makes sense in light of that.

Though nilenso has a very liberal paid leaves policy (unlimited sick leave and plenty of vacation), we do not have sabbaticals (unpaid leave) figured out. Sabbaticals present a number of difficulties: Does a senior employee have more access to sabbaticals than a junior employee? Someone senior undoubtedly makes more money and has longer vacations in any company, but most companies don't offer sabbaticals. Is one's salary based on a 12-month working year, or 12 months less any sabbatical months? How can we plan sabbaticals far enough in advance that they're comfortable for both us and our clients? How many sabbaticals can a consulting firm support in one year? At one time?

Nilenso has expenses. An office, non-billable staff, food, travel, books/classes/conferences, and a couple of internet connections. While everyone would love to take a sabbatical whenever they like, it is damaging to a company if the company isn't 100% remote and overhead-free.


Other Approaches


Discussing salaries-in-a-coop always leads to the peripheral topics: performance reviews, bonuses, reinvestment, paycheques, and sabbaticals. I was excited to find that talking with Tom Hall and Hakan Raberg the conversation was almost entirely focused on sabbaticals. Juxt and MavenHive  take a similar approach: you get paid for the hours you work. A company could take this idea to either extreme: either by hiring subcontractors rather than full-blown employees or by laying out basic salaries and adjusting them every month.

Tom hasn't chosen a model yet, and I'm guessing it will evolve with his co-op. His key issue is the ability for employees to take sabbaticals (he describes the need for sabbaticals as a "founding principle"), which for a consultancy implies salaries will swell and shrink with billable hours. At nilenso, we've had varying success with mixing hourly billing rates and monthly retainers. Depending on one's billing model, the process of taking sabbaticals could shift. Once Tom's co-op Gets Huge(tm), it will require operations, admin, and accounting staff. Those folks still need to get paid even if all the developers are off at HillHacks for a month, so I'm excited to see what solution he and his team opt for.


tl;dr


For us, decoupling performance reviews from both feedback and salaries has worked really well. Feedback should be a daily occurrence, not a yearly ceremony. Salary structure should be a consequence of financial planning, not individual evaluation. Because we were discussing "levels", rather than salaries, emotions were (largely) kept at bay and we could discuss facts. We will definitely use Tim's Review App again next year since we found it a great tool for getting things done and for discussions. We recommend you try it too!

We will keep publishing our experiments, failures, and learnings. And we'd love to hear from you at hello@nilenso.com if you have a suggestion!



Huge thanks to Tim and Deepa for making this post happen!

Patient Charts


This is a brief idea I remembered while cleaning up some old files. It initially occurred to me while discussing the status of my eyes with the surgeon after I had a vitrectomy and scleral buckle. Our conversations were terrible. He would stare at the back of my eye with his lenses and probes, ask what I saw, I would give a lengthy description (forgetting a few things) and he would inevitably only write down one or two things I said. It seemed like the old software engineering concept of "shared understanding" wasn't really familiar to ophthalmologists.

I would discuss the process with my Mom on the phone during my recovery from the surgeries. In one of these conversations, she mentioned she always takes notes if she's seeing a doctor with any regularity. She can then present the notes to the doctor, making the information consistent, repeatable, and persistent. Her communication with the doctor effectively begins at her identification of symptoms, and that communication is as good at time of delivery as it was at the time of her recording.

This system made a lot of sense to me. The doctor has a chart describing my condition as the doctor sees it, on a timeline correlating to events such as surgeries. Why didn't I, as a patient, have a similar tool?

For myself and my doctor, I came up with the following (click for a PDF):



Using this, I could precisely describe what I was seeing, when I was seeing it. More importantly, I could visualize things that were difficult or impossible for him to see with external instruments, such as:


This is how I filled out a page of my "patient chart" when I described the blind spot I was seeing after surgery. Since this is a symptom of optic nerve damage, there was no way for the doctor to see this.



Another page looked like this. These were Perfluoron bubbles left in my eye by accident, during the surgery. The doctor could see the largest of these, but only after I repeatedly pointed it out.


When I saw him for the last time, he commented that he should really have a stack of blank "charts" for his other patients. I doubt he ever implemented this... and I wish I'd left him some... but perhaps my Mom's general idea will be of use to someone else.

Emergent-Continuous Design

I've recently returned to Canada for a month to visit family. While here, I've run into some old friends (and friends of friends) whom I haven't been in contact with since moving to Bangalore three years ago. "Oh! You live in India? What's that like?" is one common conversation piece. Or the frequent line of questioning which positions the entire subcontinent as though it were a chic new restaurant: "India? You must like it. Do you like it?"

I do like it. Bangalore is vibrant, growing, and accessible. But those aren't necessary qualities for living abroad; many would be happy with seclusion, calm, and diversity as qualities around which to build a new home. As long as I'm in technology, however, a jostling city life breeds the right rate of change. Change, in Indian cities, is ubiquitous, constantly pushing me to remember humanity's global growth and interdependence.

While home visiting my parents, I'm reminded of this as I look out across their back yard. The back yard is taking shape. It's been taking shape for twenty years. The grass was replaced by xeriscaped gardens of mini-forest. The fence was overhauled. A garage was built which would serve as my Dad's shop as he went through his own transition from educator to carpenter. A giant square hole marks the forthcoming home of a new shed. The yard has forever been under construction, under repair. The yard is a microcosm, a city of two. The shop is another, smaller microcosm for a city of one and the change is faster here: one week it's the construction site of ornate boxes, the next, of kitchen cabinetry. The workbenches and storage of the shop are single-layer, finite recursion, self-replicating organisms when the shop occasionally finds use for modifying itself or improving on its existing structure.

My house, Bangalore, one month ago. While en route to Cooke Town's neighbourhood tree-mapping exercise, Abhinav, Nid, and Noopur were storm-stayed in my apartment while hail and rain tore apart the undocumented trees outside. Sufficiently warmed with tea, honey, and chocolate, the conversation drifted to the layout of my flat, as it was Noopur's first visit. She wasn't offended by much (which is in the neighbourhood of compliments when in the company of designers and architects) save the laundry rack. I have a metal laundry rack I drag into the living room whenever I'm drying clothes, which is almost always, and drag elsewhere when I have guests. She suggested a wooden ceiling rack on pulleys and when Nid complained that such a rack is always visible, Noopur had an observation that, like all meaningful observations, seems obvious in hindsight: It should be always visible, since I'm always doing laundry! A pulley system keeps it out of the way of foot traffic and makes a home for the drying clothes in my tiny one-bedroom apartment. We all agreed that an extra room, even if I had it, wasn't a real solution: design, it would seem, is as much about admitting the truths of our constraints as it is about shaping them and manipulating the world within them.

My parents' house, Saskatchewan, last week. Out the back window, I watch my parents put in their garden, I notice two things. Both are answers to Alexander's question, "how does the space make you feel?" and they're both surprising. The work-in-progress garden shed feels ...productive. It feels like design is happening. As my Dad drags a hose around the yard to water plants, the hose, comparatively, feels like a burden. The design of the hose is over -- and it's a failure. Like the laundry rack, it's not a part of its environment. While in use, it's an eyesore, something to be put away, to be hidden from the view of neighbours and friends. While hidden, these items are the shame of a household: they get their own space, but not much, and that space serves no other purpose but to hide those tools to which we ascribe utility without beauty.

Today. As luck would have it, my ponderings over the hose came just in advance of my parents installing underground sprinklers. Mechanical rain now falls in late evening, automatically, as the evaporative powers of the sun quiesce. One wonders how many technological leaps we are from harnessing the rain of the sky rather than our parabolic artifice. When we do, will we relearn the lessons nature's rhythms have taught us in our crops and dams? A universal desire to reverse our worldwide climate change seems to hint that we might overdo our first go in the driver's seat of Earth's weather system. Thankfully, our first attempts at anything are usually dramatically underpowered against their inspiration. Much of the global balancing act is done for us and humanity's most embarrassing stumbling comes on the heels of progressive haste.

Our work in more plastic media is discovering itself. The absence of physical boundaries (save the limitations of electric current and the speeds of light and thought) give us undeniable freedom to play. Reshaping a metaphorical yard: the shop, the tools in the shop, the garden, and even ourselves... these things can and do happen on a daily basis. A tempting trap is to believe we in the software industry are regularly creating revolutionary works. No matter how quickly or effectively we work as individuals or teams, the measurable output, which one could say is measurable on a scale of global human awareness and, considered in that physical frame, only measurable for a still-fleeting period of time (though that time may span generations, if unlikely), is undeniably chaotic. Controlled chaos loops, floats, or crushes the paper gliders of human thought across an atmosphere of gas perceived as modern time. It is perceived this way, of course, at every point in time. All people of all societies in all eras have witnessed the cliff as though it were impossible to witness anything else, as this threshold can hardly unwind into another truth. Our work on the cliffs, our collective creation, is the emergence of the next technology, the next business model, the next government, the next family, the next garden.

I often ask myself if the waves of emergence -- the climate of generational human endeavour to the storms of our yearly activity -- are so obvious and observable in the absence of our bustling, surely successful businesses built on meaningful technologies are little but the observation of our current wave or updraft and the intelligent prediction of the next obstacle against which it will crash? Surely. But such predictions are unfortunately easy to make in terms of accuracy on only relative scales of time. The trajectory of our intent is clear: we will eliminate poison and disease as we unearth solutions, we will find new systems of thought for peace on every scale, we will feed the world's hungry and stem our cancerous growth. One look no farther than one's own household, but observation at every scale tells the same story: across our cities and across global statistics.

But what inaccurately passes for optimism to the inattentive also does not write a guidebook for the most perceptive witness of our Earth-sized paper glider competition. A rock in the nose of one glider may put it well ahead of the rest, crushing competitors along the way - at least as long as the rock-nosed glider remains in the air. The wiser glider-flyers mutter clich├ęs about the dance, about the interplay between the gliders, about a glider design which will outlast not only their glider but the very memory of their glider and themselves. Every shade of the palette. Every new gadget. Every line of code folded across every abstraction in the domain across every abstraction which transcend domain across every medium of shared knowledge. Our grandchildren will not know GitHub or Oracle any more intimately than we presently experience Compuserve or Geocities. But what becomes of the ideas? As the world pulses closer, I can only guess that increased precision -- the absolute and utterly undivided attention to each crease and fold of my glider -- will dictate how long I might keep it afloat. If we observe the unbroken continuity of the universe in which we live, and dedicate ourselves to act only on the threshold of that continuity, how can we fail?

Morris's "Have nothing in your houses that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful." implies further union. The perfect localized mechanical weather system would be one which tunes itself and is utterly undetectable as human creation. The perfect corporation is a model which outlasts its owners and employees, a design so beautiful as to barely materialize into view. The perfect network connects everything, grows, learns, and heals... but does not intrude. I endorse pursuing the inevitable confluence of these notions. Our personal spaces are easy to fill with both. Our work spaces are quickly converging with our personal spaces, and should be equally beautiful and functional. Our public spaces are little more than a network of those two. And our codebases? Well, that's where many of us spend the majority of our time. In the plastic. It only makes sense that we want to see inside what we long for out here.

How To Recycle





If we look around Bangalore, we see a city with enormous potential. Businesses thrive here. Technology, design, food, and music are all finding a cosmopolitan home in 2015 Bangalore. It is not hard to imagine the Bangalore of the future: a thriving metropolis of modernity built in the centre of the southern subcontinent. The city is already growing quickly -- in many ways, outgrowing itself.

One such way is waste management.

The future Bangalore is clean. Electric vehicles, bicycles, and a bustling metro will spell the end of inner-city air pollution. Modern clean-water infrastructure and waste water facilities will end water-borne disease. One can visit the world's most sophisticated cities today to witness these features. However, humanity's attitude toward garbage still limps along, across the globe. As I visit cities and towns in Canada, the approach to garbage is almost ubiquitous: landfills. There is a bit of paper, plastic, and glass recycling here and there... but it's not front-and-centre, and it's often not even certain that the recycling is really happening. Canada is a big country, and it would take millennia at our current population density to recognize our bad habit.


Bangalore is more fortunate. The consequences of poor waste management are immediate, and they frequently make the news. The landfills around Bangalore are poisoning nearby villages, and when those villages revolt garbage piles up in the city, poisoning the very people who produced it. The necessary pressure exists for Bangalore to leapfrog other major cities across Earth and tackle waste with a vision of the Long Now. The steps below are a sort of branching flowchart: each step removes more and more, in order of importance, from the waste in your home and workplace.




Step 0: E-Waste

Never throw electronics or batteries in the garbage. They are extremely poisonous. Thanks to their value, they're also incredibly easy to recycle. Bangalore has many e-waste recycling options.


Step 1: Compost

The clearest distinction between types of waste is compostable (organic) waste vs. Everything Else. Thus far, the BBMP Solid Waste Management doesn't offer compost services. But it's very easy to compost in any size of home. Composting doesn't stink and doesn't attract vermin.

Composting requires very few tools, and they are easily obtained:


Step 1.1 Compost leaves!

Leaf composters are even less work than food waste composters, but they do a huge service to Bangalore neighbourhoods by preventing BBMP employees from burning tree droppings within city limits. Asthma affects a lot of us, and this is a sure way to reduce its effects.

You can buy leaf composters pre-built from organizations like Daily Dump or you can build one yourself using steel or wood for a frame and chickenwire or plastic mesh for a liner. Use a liner with larger holes so the finished compost can fall through the bottom.

Once you have your leaf composter built or purchased, you may even want to consider locking it outside at the street so your entire neighbourhood can use it! Most of the leaves at nilenso are street-side, so we keep our leaf composter outside the gate and speak to the BBMP service people frequently about using it instead of burning leaves.


Step 2: Segregate Dirty/Clean

Recycling in Bangalore is done at a variety of stages. There are BBMP waste segregation facilities all over the city, and even if you can't actively recycle yet, separating soiled waste from clean waste will keep your home and office clean and discourage pests like cockroaches.

The rules for this are simple: Is there food waste that can't be cleaned off? That's soiled waste. If you can clean the waste, do that!

Examples of soiled waste are dirty napkins, greasy pizza boxes, and aluminum foil with burnt food on it. Examples of garbage that can be cleaned: dahi containers, tetrapacks, plastic bottles, aluminum cans. Clean these by washing and rinsing them in your kitchen sink. Throw soiled/dirty waste out regularly, since it attracts bugs. Clean waste, even if not recycled, will never rot or stink since it's nothing but glass/plastic/metal/paper. I often go an entire month without throwing out my clean dry waste.


Step 3: Recycle

Once you have started segregating clean waste from soiled waste, full recycling is just a short jump away! Segregate paper/cardboard, plastic, glass, and metal. Those four categories comprise most non-organic material of anything you might purchase. If your neighbourhood offers recycling services for any of these materials, use them! There is a list of dry waste collection centres available on the BBMP website, even if it's a bit difficult to read.

If your neighbourhood doesn't offer dry waste collection and recycling yet, you can contact the BBMP's Commissioner and Administrator.


Step 4: Reuse!

This step should probably come before Steps 1 through 3, but it's not as frequent, since the items tend to be larger. There are dry waste collection services in Bangalore which will also happily pick up large quantities of dry waste: furniture, tools, appliances, linens and clothing. They will separate reusable items from recyclable items and deal with each appropriately. In particular, Hasirudala is a non-profit which works in conjunction with the BBMP to collect large quantities of dry waste. You can contact them here:




As Bangalore grows and matures, so will its services. Every aspect of this simple process will become smoother and more ubiquitous. Waste will, sooner or later, transform from Bangalore's most visible social problem into a valuable resource. The growth process will of course experience its ups and downs, so don't be discouraged. Persist. Your integrity will become the integrity of your home, your workplace, your neighbourhood, your city.

Have fun!

Why Ayurveda? Because Science!

He squinted through a pair of wrap-around sunglasses, the kind one often expects to see on the crowning end of a wheelchair with wings of lenses spread wide and soaring across a sea of wrinkles -- or drool, if the sea had previously suffered a stroke. Or at home in makeshift bingo halls constructed of a dusty old Lions Club because all the Lions and Lionesses were dead and even the Rotary Club (Rotors?) was a shrivelled relic of a more thoughtful and communal age. It's Bingo and iPhones today. Let the neighbours find their problems to be what finally motivates them to pull themselves out of the mud, right? We already have plenty. These sunglasses ("the glass", as it was described on the first day when Ranju suggested he go out and buy some from a local market and he rode across the city instead to get the pair he'd purchased while in recovery) rested on the nose of an individual no more or less nobel than the other hunters and gatherers of new technology. His phone was dimmed as much as possible, to benefit the eyes behind the glass, and although it still processed billions of tiny pieces of data almost instantly before sending them as though magically across the entire planet, he cursed the momentary "Connecting..." as he waited for entertainment from the other side.

I sure hope you're not spending a lot of money on this garbage. Is all of India like this? I dunno, Steve, I hope you don't have a lot riding on this. The veiled criticism wasn't helping a stomach full of medicated ghee (120 millilitres per day, which is provably enough to loosen anyone's bowels, as that is the expected result of its ingestion. It wasn't clear to him as to the intention and those servicing the treatments did not provide much in the way of explanation.) as it sloshed involuntarily against the walls of its present cavity. Another window, but this one raced data across the city from a neighbourhood adjacent to the home of his old-lady sunglasses. How much money have you drained on this project? Project. The notion that the pursuit was somehow enjoyable or a toy like a go-cart built from spare Maruti 800 parts on alternating weekends and probably there were only a few dozen more weekends to go if we could only get the mini-transmission right since we've given up growing the project as we were wont to do in the early days and our heads were filled with dreams of go-cart teams and races rather than the practical matter at hand of simply getting the pile of scrap metal to travel its first kilometre unassisted. At first, the comparison bubbled through his chest and into his throat in a web of thoughts that escaped their generative home but not his mouth. Impotent shouts of explanation burst through his mind until they calmed themselves at their mental reflection: a team of listeners and onlookers who were no more understanding than they had been before. But perhaps Ayurveda was causing him to go Schizophrenic... so at least that's one nugget to tuck away when unskilfully debating its merits, apropos of no particular desire for a useful outcome or conclusion.

Words escaped, as text, since the week had been speechless anyway. They were neither angry nor explanatory, as the imagination had so flamboyantly predicted. They were sad, and a little self-pitying, which was the last image he wanted to convey but somehow the only one available to the vocabulary resting against the back board of the scrabble shelf. A board was filled with words serving little or no purpose, and further constructions beyond that which mired themselves in meaninglessness to a degree the individual words (words. word. shabd. paaaayyyyd. he was mentally muttering, knowing that even without the disadvantage of an unpracticed tongue the Hindi in his head was no nearer to any socially accepted definition of correct (and there were many, which was often a handy way of forgiving oneself for one's ineptitude) than if the sounds had escaped his throat. Now the board rests in the shade of a tree, though the makeup of the game's present state has not improved. The tree towers above familiar buildings and the other side of the conversation takes on a different tone. Do you really believe Ayurveda will heal your optic nerve? No, of course not. I don't "believe" anything I can manage to avoid by way of the little intelligence I have available. Not anger, but annoyance. His fingers trembled, as a clear passage of dialogue with the intent of conveying a message, again, unconveyable, materializing as a desire to ...cook a fish? wash the dishes? build a bird feeder? Perhaps the very typing which manifests the source of the scrabble board. Or is the typing manifest? One can never remember all the way back to the beginning. It was hard enough to acknowledge the confusion under the tree. No, friend. Listen carefully.

Hope. Belief. Faith. These are the siblings of Bitterness, Anger, and Hatred. In fact, they are identical entities if one can find them manifest. But of course one can never remember where to start or what is manifest anyway. So ignore that. Use your imagination and imagine them as sisters, brothers. They are all the children of Fear and Fear is as much You as it is your only opponent. So this will be difficult.

Were you listening? Let me repeat myself as I have done a thousand times not on the board but in these quivering digits: Hope, Belief, and Faith are the children of Fear. They are the enemy of your intellect. And while I am not offended that you might suggest they live within me, as they certainly do, I will try to convey to what degree... in what ....capacity....

The board has words on diagonals now. Damn the space where the rules are written by the rules themselves and damn that space for escaping the prison of my understanding. I have manifested... all of reality itself? The board? The beginnings? Obviously not. Therein lies megalomania and narcissism and a belief (that word again. words. shabd. shabdden.) that the beginnings and ends exist, much less that they can be perceived. No, friends. Curiosity is perhaps at best a word capable of describing the leap from simple consideration to complex execution. Applied Curiosity is Observation. And though the words are probably illegible on the board at this point, another example gurgles out from under the bridge.

Enjoy your yoga retreat! Project. Retreat. If the former, in its greatest moments and wildest misinterpretations, implies some work is being done, the latter does not. None at all. It implies laziness and escapism and selfishness. An understandable conflation, yoga, and Hinduism, and Ayurveda, and magic, and belief, and hope. Expectation. Such an aged thing is bound to have wisdom and scars. The depth and the breadth are what we are to measure, to the best of our ability, to the best of our ability from our current vantage point. Yoga, as far as he can tell, is not a scar this alien practice. The scars and the wisdom are yet to be sorted! Wheat and chaff, ghee and religion. Chaff and wheat, medicine and prayer. Life-long dedication is something he's never understood, but it is one more set to be sorted as to whether or not his belief that retirement planning is an activity of a generation past. Regardless, waking an hour before the break of dawn can hardly be considered life-long dedication. It can hardly be called dedication at all, except to these ideals which are so difficult to convey. Why are curiosity and observation unconveyable? Is it that they require conveyance? A vehicle not yet built? Telepathy? Perhaps only then! Perhaps in the ending the One True Ending we shall telepathically hear all the words and understand not just their their pronunciations and their meanings and their millennial matriculation but their intentions, for in the end they are a vehicle of intention, and we can dig one layer deeper only to find we are not at The End but we are simply watching a trembling finger and perceiving ourselves to understand the hopes and fears which force it to tremble.

Enjoy your yoga retreat! Okay, I will. It is hard to imagine how ten days spent digesting an overdose of lipids in solitary confinement, with no yoga, mind you, though that's probably for the best as a digestive tract full of fat is likely to expel its contents under the stress of even ordinary physics, could possibly be enjoyed. Maybe therein lies purpose not to satisfy curiosity or to observe anything at all but to educate oneself on the complexities of enjoyment. He leans back. Today's bath was enjoyable. Honesty is key, honesty at all costs. And this particular bit of honesty costs little. Seven days without shampoo left his head a matted, ghee-and-oil-soaked mess to the extent that were this not the final day of enduring such a strange procedure, tomorrow was likely a wakening addressed to his own vomit rather than the Sun or the Sun God or whatever it was he was addressing in the weak hours, the quiet hours, the hours before Earth began to tremble at this particular meridian. Honesty about the concrete is always easy. I woke up early. I didn't do my homework. I hurt your feelings. I hate this food. Fear and the fractals of itself it creates of itself, there's the rub. It is not just frightening for him to think of abandoning ten years of work. It is terrifying. He has lived no other life and neglected even passing interests in the interest of this one pursuit. And while he can wave away the difficulties of others, as is always much easier to wave away the difficulty of others than to wave away one's own, the idea that in eighteen months time he may have to choose to stop reading both horrifies and excites him. To ride this wave of mind is to see a future cooking delicious, healthy meals and teaching yoga or pilates or tai-chi or feng-shui or something else he presently does not know and riding on boats and doing real labour with his hands and feet living a real life using his real body to do real things. And there the wave stops. We ride its crest to a cliff, a waterfall of realization, that none of this is real and has not and may not ever occur. The images remain in the wave as we glance back across the river, but they shift from beautiful cartoon dioramas to disappointed versions of a universe which chose not their path. The shift occurs, ironically, with the second half of the book we hold so dear, in the second half of our instructions, in the second half of the instructions we have given ourselves: truth. Honesty is not truth manifest but our human attempt, manifest. Attempts to be better. Attempts to achieve an unachievable universal ideal. Honesty at the waterfall is human because we are not observing but remembering. I remember the failed surgery. I remember my first glimpse of a blind spot interrupting most of my macular data. I remember the ophthalmologists telling me it was permanent. I remember finding out my left eye is going blind because of the right. These are facts. These are not facts, but memories. Observation gives us facts. Memory gives us a manifestation of ourselves. And conflation of the two gives us confusion. Self-pity, in this case... at least at first. Pity is a child of fear, Anger is a child of Pity, Hope is a child of Anger, Faith is a child of Hope and they will birth one another to no end. It is an incestuous garden.

We are photons and H2O.

Look at this board. Someone has mixed up an academic definition of honesty with a poetic definition of inevitability. Someone has gone back to playing with single-letter tiles. Someone puked on their shelf. I can't not do this. Alright, keep it together, avoid drama. It's not drama, it's intent.

He leaned back. This lean had the character of an awkwardly designed Swedish chair trying to bend forward and backward simultaneously, arse back hips forward lower back inside shoulder blades spread eagle like those damn sunglasses that have nearly fallen in the toilet, an "Indian style" (a choice that surprised Ranju... Ranju? Raju? His name pronounced always sounds like Brinjal but that can't possibly be correct.) toilet chosen originally because it was attached to the largest room but with the unexpected side benefit of making it easier to answer the doctor's questions pertaining to fecal constitution, for perhaps the three-dozenth time, though they have never fallen in completely. Kitty was the only one to ask the direct question, for which he was uncomfortably grateful. The question could be posed so clearly and yet the answer lies in a scrabble board covered in vomit under a tree on a terrace of a painting which never truly touched canvas though it perhaps could and that wouldn't solve anything either. Why are you doing this? I can't not do this. Because curiosity and observation seem so clearly the answer to the faithful of Scientific disciplines like he, The Beginning had to introduce a third (and a fourth, and a fifth, but not yet) to keep the show worth watching. The human capacity to plan is largely what differentiates the creatures from any other. But what is planning if not the imagination? What is the imagination if not fear? And there's the rub.

He leaned forward. He excused himself the tangent, since he'd already come this far and the scrabble board was now tumbling down the waterfall as he realized that he, too, was tumbling and had perhaps ever prior and would ever hence remain tumbling and while falling with the water, which is quite surreal and even more mysterious when devoid of its usual gravitational nature thank you very much relativity, he felt no reason not to indulge the tangent, excuse the tangent, if only for a moment. And so we indulge and excuse. He thinks to his thought process, which is presumably a comedy of visual errors if his memories of the facts were to be believed any time between then and now, which he presumes at this juncture that they were not, and decides that all right no problem I will forgive myself another tangent since we've barely started this one anyway and begins:

IMAGINE! Imagine the future! Too loud, sorry. Imagine 2017. Imagine that the blind spot never gets better. Imagine that the left eye continues to get worse. Imagine the most likely scenario. Imagine it is in my best interest to stop reading, to listen to audio books and save my eyes for truly important things. Imagine I forge a new career, one that does not involve text. Imagine how I might look back on this time period. Should I try Ayurveda? Should I try the 9-month prescription of liver medication the ophthalmologist prescribed with a shrug, stating, "give it a try... it has no side-effects" despite the fact that its list of side-effects is quite easy to google with a Thai-to-English translator (since the drug has only been used to treat nerve damage in Thailand, of course)? Should I try homeopathy? Magic beans? The Power of Positive Thinking? The present option was presented to me and it seemed not wholly unreasonable. It still doesn't, at present. And so I tried it and I am continuing -- continuing to give it an honest try. When I look back from 2017, I hope, I believe, I have faith, that I won't regret trying.

If words serve no purpose but to satisfy their manifest intent, outcomes serve no purpose but to satisfy their manifest curiosity. It is the daily effort of the human being to seek truth, against all odds and its own mental faculties. Humanity drives us to find actions which reveal truth and to reveal truths to ourselves which tell us how to act. This self-referential discovery process may have no end, but to presume we have found The End is almost certainly failure, for skepticism is a tool which can be applied to itself, a knife carving ever sharper, ever finer. The moment we become dismissive of something we do not understand, we have fallen into the same old trap, as we have now made a false god of whatever it is we chose not to reject.

He leaned back. Satisfied with a single writing and a single reading, he submitted his thoughts to an audience he hoped would try their best to understand.