Pinto Has An Idea

by Rajeev Saxena

  ‘As maids have access to jobs so openly, aren’t they changing jobs?’ It seemed like a likely consequence to Mala.

  ‘We also had the same fear but the system has corrected itself,’ said Pinto with satisfaction. ‘We are getting reviews of maids as well as of employers so the movement is controlled.’

  ‘How are maids posting reviews of their employers? Most of them don’t have internet,’ Mala quizzed him.

  ‘Actually, Indians are very innovative. In some cases, maids are asking their new employers to post the review of the old one. Sometimes they are asking their college- or even school-going kids to help them. Never underestimate your consumers, they are smarter than you think.’

  ‘Anything new since we talked last time?’

  ‘Keep coming for this kind of interview,’ rejoindered Pinto. ‘I promise I’ll not disappoint you. We are extending this service to plumbers and electricians. We have also started SMS-based notifications so that maids don’t have to go to the franchisee for everything. In fact, we are planning soon to introduce an interactive voice-response system as well.’

  ‘Thanks, Dr Srivastava. The service has revolutionized the city.’

  One day, Lavanya came home thrilled, ‘Honey, do you know what I got today?’

  ‘What?’.

  ‘I found a domestic help training centre!’ she made it sound like a blessing from God himself. ‘They train resources professionally. Can you believe, they are posting these trained resources on Double H! I’ve hired a cook who knows Western cuisine as well.’

  ‘Great! That’s like an ancillary service around Double H.’

  ‘The head was saying that they are also training plumbers and electricians so that they learn how to handle high-end fixtures around luxury homes,’ added Lavanya, barely able to contain the news.

  ‘Interesting.’

  ‘I’m going to hire a cleaning lady as well from him. He has created some practice rooms with different floors and fixtures, and trains maids how to clean different types of surfaces.’

  ‘Incredible!’

  ‘He says they don’t spend on marketing because being on Double H is enough. He is also thinking of starting a cleaning service, when he’ll send his crew every day to different homes and charge them monthly. That way, we don’t have to worry if a maid has taken vacation or just doesn’t show up. He’ll charge premium… but then, it’s a really great service.’

  ‘There is another side to it as well,’ Pinto said. ‘Maids have become more aware of their rights, working hours, minimum wages, and time-off policies.’

  ‘Who thinks they are not already aware of those? They are the ones that take vacations all the time,’ Lavanya sneered.

  But Pinto had become more sensitive to labour after working on this project. ‘We should empathize with them as well,’ he said. He had a good memory for the sights and sounds of poverty he had been witness to over the years. ‘The ground realities are very different for them. Kamli was telling me that her four-year-old daughter was having febrile convulsions, while her husband was lying drunk by the gutter asking for more money for liquor. When she took her daughter to a doctor, her husband snatched away the money kept aside to pay the doctor. She couldn’t have her little girl seen to without money. Can you think what she must be going through?’

  ‘No,’ said Lavanya quietly. ‘I can’t bear to even imagine it.’

  ‘I can tell you worse,’ went on Pinto ruthlessly. ‘On top of it all, her employer threw her out as she was taking too many days off. Even more pathetically, she borrowed some money and bought medicines for her daughter’s constant coughing. Her husband consumed the entire bottle of cough syrup to get a kick out of its alcohol content. I had tears in my eyes after hearing that.’

  ‘I understand there are genuine cases as well,’ Lavanya agreed. ‘But you need to look at the other angle as well. Why did her employer remove her? Probably she was taking a lot of vacations which he thought unnecessary because he didn’t know the real cause.’

  ‘You could be right. Who knows? But one more thing, have you ever wondered why most of these men are drunkards?’

  ‘They’re an irresponsible lot. What else?’

  ‘No, most of them are in extremely laborious jobs. By the evening they are dead tired. Their employers also misbehave with them, even hit them. The easiest way to forget the abuse and humiliation is to get drunk and beat their wives.’

  ‘Do you also drink when an experiment is not successful?’

  ‘You’re giving a bad example. I’m neither undernourished nor poorly paid nor have been given to believe since birth that I’m less than other human beings simply because my parents have no money.’ Pinto felt he had driven the point home.

  ‘Fine, then find a solution for alcoholism on Double H.’

  ‘I wish I could. But there’s another related thing on my mind: they don’t have access to basic healthcare facilities. We can do something for them.’

  ‘Good idea. Keep working.’

  In two weeks, Pinto called Mala again. ‘I’m ready with some new features.’

  ‘Happy to hear that. People are already very happy with what you’ve done. We get several letters to the editor about it every day, praising Double H.’

  ‘Are you aware where our domestic help get their treatment from?’

  ‘Either they go to government hospitals or self-proclaimed jhola chhap doctors who have never studied medicine.’

  ‘You know the ground realities well. I’m pleasantly surprised.’

  ‘That’s my job. In fact, I did a story on the jhola chhap doctors. They are popular as they are fast and cheap. They buy antibiotic chemical compounds in bulk, mix and fill them in capsules on their own and give them to all their patients. These cheap chemicals appear to cure patients quickly—but have long-term side-effects.’

  ‘As I’ve lived in the US for a long time,’ Pinto told her, ‘I can only laugh about the idea of making your own medicines. In the US, it’s not possible to buy even antibiotics without a prescription. But you know what? Lavanya has set up her own “dispensary” at home and frequently gives medicines, including antibiotics, to her staff. Her staff is extremely happy with the “free” treatment.’

  ‘I can imagine, with the little money they have. It’s illegal, of course, but at least your wife uses branded medicines. Anyway, tell me, what’s on your mind?’

  ‘This is what I’ve been thinking,’ said Pinto, settling down to the chat. ‘Some pharmacies in the US have installed diagnostic machines where you can check your blood pressure, heart rate and temperature free of cost. I want to enhance that machine a little and make them available to all the maids registered in Double H.’

  ‘I’m not able to envision how that will work,’ Mala said frankly.

  ‘I’ll install a pad which would scan a person’s chest just like a stethoscope does and save the reading in an audio file. These diagnostic machines will be installed at different franchises. The data will be sent to a centralized team of doctors. A patient can also record her symptoms, which will be sent with other data. The whole process will take a couple of minutes. The doctors will prescribe the treatment and send an SMS. The patient can then show the SMS to the chemist and buy the required medicines.’

  ‘How much will you charge for your part in the diagnosis and prescription?’ Mala asked the question because she knew as a trained journalist that that would be the first thing her readers—rich or poor—would want to know.

  We’ll charge only 20 rupees per patient,’ replied Pinto promptly.

  ‘But that’s too good, yaar!’ marvelled Mala, for once dropping her reporter’s calm. ‘This is one story I’ll really enjoy writing. Feels great to be reporting good news for a change!’

  Pinto started with three machines. For basic discomforts like fever, cold, cough, and dysentery, the system was pretty reliable and worked great. There were long queues outside these clinics so he decided to expand the setup. For that the main hurdle was
the cost of the diagnostic machine. Vipul, a jolly, talkative but hardworking guy was one of the owners of a franchise who came forward to help Pinto accelerate the implementation. He convinced various charity organizations to sponsor chairs. Six months passed by, but the system was still getting a mixed response. Pinto contacted several franchise-owners directly but everybody said, ‘It’s working great. People are very happy.’

  One day Lavanya asked Pinto, ‘Double H has hit the headlines everywhere. Why don’t you expand it to other cities?’

  Pinto sighed, ‘The media are not always right, you know, love. I’m really frustrated. All the franchisees are telling me it’s a great system, but I still see that the number of users per machine are decreasing every week.’

  ‘Do you think they’ll tell you the right reason?’

  ‘Why not? I am very friendly with them,’ Pinto was genuinely surprised by her suspicions.’

  ‘Because they are afraid of you,’ Lavanya said with what she hoped was more than womanly instinct. ‘If you get angry, they fear maybe you’ll cancel their franchisee or at least take the chair away.’

  ‘Why would I do that?’

  ‘They might think you will,’ Lavanya shrugged.

  ‘What does one do to quell such fears?

  ‘Call Mala.’ By then, both she and Pinto had developed a healthy respect for their local correspondent.

  A drowning man clutches at straws, but Mala had proved to be much more than someone’s last resort. Pinto called her immediately and described the situation he was facing in his well-intentioned enterprise. ‘Would you please help me?’ he ended. ‘At least, you have an idea of what’s really going on.’

  ‘Of course, let me interview a few franchisees and maids. Who is the most talkative one?’

  ‘Vipul.’

  Vipul was sitting in his internet café, around five patients waiting in the queue. Mala told Vipul, ‘I’m from the media. I want to publish a story on your franchisee. Can I interview you and your patients?’

  ‘We are lucky to have you here.’

  Kantabai was the last one in the queue, ‘Do you like this machine?’

  ‘It’s great, madam. All of us love it.’

  ‘What do you like?’

  ‘The doctors are very good.’

  ‘Somebody told me that there used to be twenty people in the queue all the time, why only five today?’

  ‘Sometimes, the treatment doesn’t work.’

  ‘If you are saying the doctors are good, why would their treatment not work?’

  ‘We don’t know.’

  By this time Vipul was done with the other four. Kantabai was next at the machine.

  Vipul asked Mala, ‘Would you like to have tea?’

  ‘Sure,’ Mala responded. She wanted to be friendly.

  The interview started, ‘What’s the reason for this thin crowd?’

  ‘Can I tell you a story instead, from my childhood?’

  ‘Sure, Pinto was right. You love to talk.’

  ‘I was around ten. On a Sunday, all of us were enjoying biryani made by my mother. It was the tastiest food we had those days and my mother cooked it perfectly. Suddenly, a poor child came by the house, begging for food. My mother gave the boy whatever was left of the biryani.

  ‘He started eating on the lawn of our house. Beggars came out in groups. If you gave something to one, the rest of the group would show up quickly from nowhere. And it so happened, another girl of the same age also came begging. My mom didn’t have any more biryani left but she had six rotis and gave all of them to her with the very little curry she had. Suddenly, the boy got up, looked upset and came to my mom and said, “You gave me so little biryani but gave six rotis to that girl.” He just cared about the volume. Taste didn’t matter to him.’

  Mala was not able to understand the context, ‘So what’s the connection here?’

  ‘These folks don’t care about the quality of treatment; how much they spend is what matters. It’s the cost of medicine. We charge only twenty rupees for doctor’s fee but medicines cost at least two hundred rupees. How can they afford them? The jhola chhap guys give them homemade medicines for forty rupees including consultation.’

  ‘Oh, I see.’

  ‘You know, they come here and get the prescription. After that they go to the pharmacy. If the price is reasonable, they’ll buy it. If it’s high, they’ll go to those quacks. Naturally, they are not cured. Then they blame our system, and don’t come back.’

  ‘Why didn’t Kantabai tell me this? Also, why are these people saying that the treatment is not working. They can say that they cannot afford the medicines. Why are they lying?’

  By this time, Vipul felt he could be frank with Mala. Mala was also happy that she was getting a lot of material to publish.

  ‘Madam, shall I order lunch?’asked Vipul humbly.

  ‘Sure, but I’ll pay.’ Mala had a strict code of professional ethics to keep to about accepting favours from the people associated with the subject of her writing.

  ‘Arrey, madam, who listens to me with so much patience? So I should offer lunch to you.’

  ‘We’ll see. So, you were saying?’

  ‘Be ready to hear a long answer. Illiteracy is a big issue among poor people. It is human nature for one to feel more comfortable within the culture they are familiar with. The relation could be based on class, social status, education or the type of work. An illiterate person feels more comfortable with another illiterate person. They trust each other’s advice very easily as it is aligned with their own set of deeply-rooted beliefs.’

  ‘My God, you are such an orator. You are in the wrong profession. You should be in politics!’ she led him on purposely because she genuinely felt she had a lot to learn.

  Vipul laughed but continued in a serious vein. ‘If someone in a village has a fracture, they don’t go to an orthopaedic surgeon even if some of them could afford to; they first go to a desi version of a “chiropractor”, who’d try to fix the bone. This guy never went through any education, but learned the skill from his father, as it has been the tradition of his family to work on such problems. Sometimes, it works, but most of the time, it does not. If there is a fracture, massage wouldn’t be of any help but illiterate people believe it will work. Human nature is very strange. When you are frustrated by your failure, you don’t like to look closer at why you have not achieved your goal; instead, you criticize those who have.’

  ‘I’m enjoying your discussion. Still, I’m not sure what you want to convey,’ Mala’s interest had waned by now, as had her energy.

  Vipul had his own style, ‘You need to have patience, Malaji. I’m not charging for my preaching.’

  ‘Well, I agree now that you should certainly pay for my lunch,’ Mala giggled.

  Vipul said, ‘Sorry, I’m losing my chain of thought. Please bear with me. I think you’ll be really happy with my conclusion.’

  And he resumed, ‘When you go to an architect’s office for plans for your new house to be built, the mason will tell you the architect knows nothing. They will claim they are the ones actually building the house, so they know better. An x-ray technician will brag about how good he is at reading the plates and claim that the radiologist just signs the report. A compounder or pharmacist will claim that they’ve taught several doctors. A software developer will tell that a manager is not needed. IAS officers would claim they are running the country; politicians are the burden.’

  Mala was an engineering student—like Lavanya—though she joined journalism later. ‘You are right,’ she observed. ‘I had a similar experience in my engineering lab. When I was working on the model for my final-year project, the technicians working in that lab would always tell me that they could teach professors... But I still don’t find any relevance to your what you are saying.’

  Their lunch was almost over. The waiter came with the dessert menu. Vipul ordered two plates of jalebi with rabdi. He knew Mala was eventually going to pay for their meal togethe
r.

  ‘So many calories!’

  ‘It’s really famous at Manmeet’s.’

  ‘Oh, all right, then, please continue.’

  Vipul broke the suspense, ‘Now I come to the point. Illiterate people believe their traditional methods are the best and that educated people know nothing. It could be because of lack of exposure or due to the frustration that they couldn’t get the right education. It’s like sour grapes.’

  ‘Still, I don’t understand...’ broke off an impatient Mala, who had a deadline to keep at her newspaper office.’

  Vipul was enjoying lecturing a renowned journalist. He also knew that he was approaching his main conclusion. ‘Almost everybody in India boasts about themselves, mostly out of frustration—which leads them to lying,’ he went on, undeterred. ‘That’s the reason these people are not admitting they didn’t buy the medicines because they simply couldn’t afford them, and instead, told lies about the medicines not working. They feel that at least, the lie does not expose their poverty. It also assists them to prove that their old method of going to jhola chap is the best.’

  Mala smiled approvingly at his analysis. ‘You’re great. Do you just preach or also solve problems?’

  ‘Madam, don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. Aren’t you happy I gave you some good insights—at the risk of boring you?’

  Mala laughed.

  Vipul started again, ‘Let’s order some coffee. I’ll not disappoint you. There might be a simple solution. The culture, habits, and beliefs are not easy to change, but you could change the system and services.’

  Mala interrupted, ‘Were you a student of philosophy?’

  ‘No, I was a professor. Just kidding… I never went to college after my 12th. Running a café gives me a lot of time for reading on the internet. It helps.’

  ‘So what’s your solution?’

  ‘Most of the educated and rich people, who have household help, keep a medicine box. The box would have some basic lifesaver medicines, such as pain-killers, cough syrups, loose motion medicines and, believe it or not, antibiotics as well. Those medicines are there for an emergency. Once in six months or a year, these people do a clean-up and throw away the expired or near-expiry medications and refill with new ones. If we can request them to donate near-expiry medicines to our patients, even at nominal charges, that’d help.’