Wrap-Up

 

Well, I just thought I’d look through my journal from the trip, and pick out some highlights (and maybe a few lowlights) to share with y’all in a kind of recap/reflection post. Events and ideas presented below do not follow any chronological order.

 

First, I want to recount an experience that I did not transcribe in my notebook, but which remains firm in my memory. When we went to the McDonald’s outside of Agra, I met a white gentleman in the bathroom. I asked him his name, I think it was Chris, but I don’t remember. He had a thick Texan accent. He told me that he works for Dell in New Delhi. He does software interfacing for them. “Basically they have a hotch-potch of different codes and I interface between them so that they are mutually intelligible. I can code in six languages. That’s how I got my job. It’s funny, I have degrees in business and biology, but I was a really big gamer as a kid. So, I learned how to code in a few different languages to help me with the games, and now that’s my job.”

“Well, that’s incredible that your hobby turned into your job. There’s a lesson in that, I think.” I replied. I still think there is a great lesson in that. One of my favorite hobbies is to travel and try to learn new languages, so maybe I’ll be able to turn that into a job someday. I also read somewhere that people, who do jobs they enjoy rather than pursue jobs with high monetary compensation, actually make more in the long-run.

Anyway, an Indian fellow came up to us, and Chris introduced me to him. “Pierce, this is Rakesh (I forget the guy’s real name, I just inserted a random Hindi name) my driver/translator/if-you-try-to-rip-me-off-he’ll-beat-your-a**/best friend/everything. He’s been working with me ever since I came here to work for Dell more than two years ago.” The conversation proceeded and Chris gave me some tips as a tourist in India. “Yeah, since I’ve been here I’ve traveled to 19 countries on my passport. Because once you’re here, everything’s dirt-cheap. Like, I’m flying to Thailand next weekend. $300 total. First class tickets, staying in the Hilton over there. $300 total. But anyway, while you’re in India you need to visit Goa and Kerala, man. No hurries, no worries, just a laid-back good time. Anyway, where are you planning to visit?”

“We’re just staying in the Golden Triangle: Delhi, Agra, and Jaipur.”

“Oh, when you’re in Delhi you gotta go to this mosque by Chandni Chowk. On a clear day, you can climb the minuets (sic) and see the whole city.” My new friend had to go shortly after that, but he did leave me with some good tourist knowledge of India. Another thing I learned from him was that it really does not matter if you are “uncultured,” as long as you bring a good skill to the table. The fact that this guy didn’t know that the spires around mosques are called “minarets” and not “minuets” doesn’t matter at all (he said some other stuff that gave me the feeling he wasn’t the most “cultured” person, but again it doesn’t matter at all). He’s been able to manage in India for more than two years, and seems like he’s really enjoying his time there. In a nutshell, it doesn’t matter if you call the spires, “minarets” or “minuets,” as long as you enjoy the view!

 

 

Ryoji has already written fairly extensively about Maj. DP Singh’s inspiring remarks. But I just wanted to mention that listening to his speech was one of the highlights of the trip for me as well. I will always remember his acronym ASK, and try to have a positive attitude in all situations and apply whatever skills and knowledge I can to that situation.

 

Looking back on my notes from all the corporate visits it is just staggering how much knowledge those corporate leaders imparted to us. I don’t want to reel off statistics here, but my notebook is packed with so many interesting ones about the Indian economy and its various sectors. What a privilege it was to meet those people. I wish I had done a better job of networking, and obtained a few more business cards. Those would all be great contacts to have. Thanks again to Professor Gupta for arranging all of that for us.

Now, I do want to cite one tidbit that we picked up from the speakers. Apurva’s father said something that was very interesting to me. He said something like, “Because there is instability in Jammu & Kashmir, you might think that loaning to people there is very risky, but actually because their culture places a high value on honoring one’s debts, the repayment rate is very high! This shows that you must pay attention to the local culture, and the culture of each caste when you are doing business.” I was impressed by that. I was also impressed by the decentralized, local-focused business model, which Mr. Aggarwal’s NBFC employed.

Another quote that made me ponder came from Oxigen’s CEO. He was discussing the ways in which Oxigen’s services benefited the rural poor, and he said, “Indian rural poor are not poor because they don’t have money, they’re poor because they don’t have access.” I think he meant they are poor because they don’t have access to modern infrastructure etc. But I am still not really sure. Looking back, I really should have questioned him further about this.

 

As I recall the trip, I have one major regret. I should have had a notebook on my person at all times to write down each and every new Hindi word or phrase that someone taught me. I had a notebook (affectionately known by myself and all my classmates as my xiao benzi) on me at all time in China, and I wrote down every new word I was taught. I don’t know why I didn’t do this in India. I guess I just felt like more of a tourist being there for only two weeks or something. It makes me mad to think of the lost opportunity to learn. That’s my biggest regret by far.

 

Looking back at my notes from the Rajasthan Police Academy, it is clear that the DGP H.C. Meena cares much more about using objective measures to recruit and promote officers than he does about physical fitness. It is lamentably predictable that the media would focus on this sub-point of his overall agenda, rather than his main point, objective measures. I gained a lot of respect for the police force through that visit. Though I must admit I was very uncomfortable interacting with the cadets. I just don’t like police. The type of person, who would join the police, and me are on opposite ends of the spectrum. Although as I get older I find it easier to comply with other people’s rules. Still, I’m not too fond of rule-enforcers. I thought H.C. Meena brought up some great points about how the police are seen as a tool of the rich. I feel that this is a cross-cultural problem. I mean, why do laws exist? If you look at human history, writing and laws have always followed the advent of agriculture and the establishment of settled villages. Why? In my opinion it is because once people settle down, they begin to accumulate possessions (i.e. property). Now, they need a framework to protect that property. Boom. It’s law time! So, the people who have property and interests to protect come up with laws that do just that. So, the whole legacy of legal structures is to protect the interests of those who have (i.e. the rich). In America, the law is now enforced more uniformly, but it still serves the interests of the rich in many ways. The most revolutionary part of H.C. Meena’s whole agenda is his focus on enforcing the law more uniformly. I remember this quote clearly:

“What can a police officer do for the poor? A poor man comes to me for money, I cannot give him a loan. I’m not authorized to do that. A poor man comes to me for a piece of land. I cannot give him land. A policeman can only enforce the law. So what can he do to help the poor? A policeman can give the poor a sympathetic hearing. All you can do is enforce the law, so enforce the law uniformly, fairly, and sympathetically.”

 

As I finish off this wrap-up, I figure I might as well express some controversial opinions about my experience at Akshardham, and opinions on religion in India and in general. I mean, why not make this post a little more interesting, right?

First, I want to say that I really believe in the values espoused at Akshardham. I remember walking through the garden of great Indian historical figures, and reading a plaque about one great person, whom I forget. The plaque said something like, “Our parents were here when we breathed our first, we should be there when they breathe their last.” I thought that was an eloquent way to express the filial piety we all should have. I also enjoyed reading about Sita, the wife of Ram in the epic poem, the Ramayan (which means something like “the journey of Ram.”). Her plaque talked about how she waited for Ram for 14 years while he was exiled, and maintained her purity etc. It said that she exemplified female loyalty. Again, this is a great virtue (although, male loyalty should be emphasized just as much). All men can only hope that we will find our own Sita.

Then, we went inside to watch the videos about the life of Bhagwan Swami Narayan. As soon as I saw the robot-child Nilkanth revive the fishes from the dead, I shook my head, and knew I was in for a long, painful experience at Akshardham. Actually it wasn’t painful at all. See, when you grow up in America and are bombarded by Christian nonsense on a daily basis (I spent five years at Catholic school where I won the award for best knowledge of scripture upon graduation. No big deal), you develop a great sense of humor about religion because it is your only defense mechanism. So, I enjoyed the outlandish adventures of Nilkanth.

But even though I can laugh about all the farfetched fairy tales, I still do believe in the values espoused by Bhagwan Swami Narayan. That’s why it saddens me so much that the values can’t be judged just on their own merits. No, most people couldn’t accept that. The values have to be couched in a mythical story with miracles. You know what would be a real life miracle? If there were a religious figure who didn’t need to perform miracles, and could just espouse his/her ideas in a humble and compelling way and people could follow that. That miracle has happened once so far. The man’s name was Siddhartha Gautama. The Buddha is the only religious figure I know of who seems like he actually cared about the truth, and not just glorifying himself (I’m looking at you, Jesus. Even if you were the Son of God, did you have to go around bragging about it? If you really were, I should know that without you saying it. If someone is really smart, you should know that just from their words and actions. They shouldn’t have to explicitly say it. If someone is a great athlete you should see that from their movement and performance. They shouldn’t have to say anything about it. So, the fact that you preached so much about how you were the son of God, is a piece of evidence suggesting that you were not….I’m sorry I get really upset when I think about how many people have been brainwashed by religion, and how it’s taken the best thing humans have—our spirituality, and perverted it in such grotesque ways. Again, these are all just my opinions, and if your opinion is that you hate my opinions and hate me. That’s your opinion, and that’s okay.)

The other thing that is lamentable about Akshardham is the gaudy idolatry of it all. I thought Nilkanth preached about the simple life and helping the poor! How much of the money used to develop Akshardham could have helped improve physical and human capital in a poor, rural area? Whatever though, I understand the appeal of idolatry (I also understand the appeal of religion in general, I have a soul that “hungers and thirsts for righteousness” as it were). It’s hard for a guy sitting at his computer, as he looks at his statues of the Buddha, Krishna and Radha, and Shiva to complain too much about the baleful nature of idolatry!

You know, after seeing all the religious tolerance in India, it inspired me to try to be more tolerant in my own life. I don’t know if making an honest post like this is tolerant or intolerant, and I don’t really care because as Krishna told Arjun, “Think thou also of thy duty, and do not waver. There is no greater good for a warrior than to fight in a righteous war.” Fighting for the truth is a self-imposed duty that I bear. If thinking critically about religion, and expressing my views openly and honestly makes me intolerant, or a bigot, then so be it! I’m a warrior for the truth, and there’s no more righteous war than the battle for true spirituality. A spirituality unadulterated by religious institutions, which exist only to preserve and expand their power and influence.

Anyway, I hate to end on a controversial note, but I had some things to get off my chest (some of which I didn’t include in here for fear of even more opprobrium). It’s been a great journey, and many thanks to all the people who made it so special!

Just Another Day

 

It was one of those timeless moments when the thrill of a vicarious victory flows through a fan. As I jumped around the courtyard of the Birder Inn, the Indian staff laughed in bemusement. The Giants had upset the defending-Super Bowl Champions, and were just one win away from the big game itself. The news would fill me with joy throughout the day, but the big news from America was nothing compared to the big experiences of our 7^th day in India.

We had a delightful and educational bike ride through the Bird Sanctuary in Bharatpur, Uttar Pradesh. Were I a more patient man, I would have enjoyed it even more. Bird-watching though educational and interesting was incredibly slow-paced and dull when compared to the frenetic schedule we’ve been on. Fortunately, I would get my fair share of excitement on the road from Bharatpur to Jaipur, the capital of Rajasthan.

Rajasthan is literally “the land of royalty.” I didn’t necessarily find it to be that exactly, but my experiences there were as rich as the coffers of any king. Professor Gupta asked me if I wanted to sit in the front cabin with the driver and his assistant on the ride to Jaipur. I accepted the invitation with alacrity.

I introduced myself to the driver, as I sat on the counter on the left-side of the cabin. “Namaste, Mera nam Sudarshan hai. Apka nam kya hai? (Hello, my name is Sudarshan. What’s your name?)”

“Sudarshan?! Apka nam Sudarshan hai! Mera nam Inder Preet Singh hai. (Sudarshan?! Your name is Sudarshan! My name is Inder Preet Singh.)”

I began calling the driver, Singhji (Mr. Singh), mostly because I couldn’t really remember how to pronounce his first name. We spoke mostly in English, as his English is miles ahead of my Hindi. Let me just say that I couldn’t have asked for a friendlier companion on this trip. I was getting a real kick out of seeing trucks, buses, and cars with several locals hanging off the back, or sitting on the top. Singhji would drive up next to them, and maintain their speed long enough for me to snap a picture of them, and then he would throttle up and we would go whizzing past them at 90 km/h.

Even more interesting than the over-stuffed motor vehicles were the animal-powered vehicles. It was astonishing to see camel-drawn buggies trudging along a modern highway, while cars, trucks, and buses whizzed past them. After living in China for 7 months, I became somewhat numb to the stark contrast between the modern and the ancient, but I was not prepared to witness this. Likewise, it was quite interesting to see the fields of mustard, and brickmaking towers on the side of the road. I don’t know for how many years people in this area have been making bricks in this way, but it looked very traditional. As we drove further into Rajasthan the fields of mustard disappeared. Dry scrubland was the new vista hugging the highway. Finally, we arrived in Jaipur.

Our first stop in Jaipur was a fabric cooperative. They had absolutely beautiful blankets, shawls, saris, and other items. I decided I’d buy my mother one of the blankets there since her birthday is coming up on the 20^th (It transpires that the blanket I bought is actually called a “Jaipuri Rajhai,” but blanket is an adequate description for an American). Since the place was a cooperative there was no bargaining there. I prefer that style actually. First, you know you’re getting the same price as everybody else. Second, I sometimes consider it beneath my dignity to haggle over a few hundred rupees. I mean, what’s that money to me? The merchant could probably use it more than I could.

Anyway, we headed back to the bus, and drove a couple of blocks to see an old summer palace of one of the kings of Jaipur, which was built out in the middle of a lake. The palace was lit up beautifully in the night, but my camera couldn’t get any clear pictures. A couple of young boys came up to me with palms up, saying “Chacha, chacha, chacha, chacha.” Again and again, and gesturing as if putting food in their mouths. Chacha is the Hindi word for the younger brother of your father (i.e. a special kind of our word “Uncle.”). Those kids were smart to beg from me. Little rascal body-language-readers knew that I’m a very sympathetic guy. I walked with them back to the bus, and grabbed some cookies from inside to give to them. I headed back outside to the rest of the group. Those little rascals kept on hounding me—like flies to honey. When I re-entered the bus, I threw my melted Toblerone out to them. I wasn’t going to eat it anyway, and if they really were hungry, then they’d enjoy that melted chocolate. I also gave a few cookies to Professor Gupta, who was outside of the bus waiting for some other students to return, to give to them. He came back in the bus to tell me that they said they didn’t want cookies. Kind of brings new meaning to the phrase, “Beggars can’t be choosers.” I have a feeling that with that kind of attitude those boys will always remain in poverty.

As we drove to the hotel, Prof. Gupta spotted a wedding procession on the side of the road. He told our driver to stop and park on the side of the road. He led the group over to catch a glimpse of the spectacle. We watched as the traditionally and fabulously-clad groom dismounted his horse, and entered the gate. Prof. Gupta asked a relative of the groom if his students could enter, and experience an Indian wedding. The relative responded affirmatively, and thus we entered.

I must confess that I felt great trepidation about attending the ceremony. How odd would it be if a group of Indian students with an American professor asked to join in the wedding ceremony of an American couple? Still, I knew Prof. Gupta wouldn’t lead us into a situation where he knew we were being blatantly rude. So, a few students began dancing with the group of revelers encircling the groom as he walked toward the “chapel.” I began dancing in the group, trying to mimic the Indians’ movements as closely as possible. Apparently, I got too close to a few sari-clad women, and a man began shouting at me, “No mixing with the women! No mixing with the women!” I obliged him, and shimmied my way into a crowd of dancing men. What an experience to be part of this procession!

The day before, we had been at a picnic in a rural area of Haryana. As we ate our lunch, we watched dozens of young Indians dancing ecstatically to the pop music blaring out of the DJ’s speakers. It was two in the afternoon, and these people were dancing harder than Americans would be if they were in a club at two AM! A German professor, named Chris Streb, who had been accompanying us, commented on how music and dancing seemed to be a much bigger part of Indian culture than in any other culture he had experienced. I must agree, and here is yet another piece of evidence supporting that claim. Could you imagine a group of Americans dancing behind the groom as he proceeded to the altar to wait for his bride? It would be ridiculous. But this is India, and this is different. Still, that voice of trepidation whispered in my mind’s ear, and I could not fully enjoy the festivities, even though I knew we really had nothing to be embarrassed about. It’s funny how intellectually you can know that you should be unencumbered by your cultural hang-ups, fears or whatever else. But emotionally you still hold onto that baggage and it weighs down your action, no matter how much you reason through its irrationality or inapplicability to the current situation etc.

Anyway, servers started bringing hors d’oeuvres to us. I had a few delicious samosas, and some ice cream. “We’re crashing this wedding so hard.” My conscience said to me.

“Hey man, they’re the ones bringing the food to me!” I replied.

“Fair enough. You do your thing, Pierce. Just trust in Guptaji. Guptaji wouldn’t lead you astray.”

So, I finished the food, and chased after the groom and his dancing entourage as they entered the chapel. We danced on the altar behind the groom until the banging of the drum had ceased, and the entourage dispersed. Now, the priest and several others came to the altar to begin preparing the formal marriage rites. We stood to the sides and watched. I wore an embarrassed and bemused grin as I stood there wondering if we would remain there for the entirety of the ceremony. Just then, the conscience of one of my female classmates spoke out to our Professor.

“Professor Gupta we have to leave right now!” She shouted anxiously. “If this was my wedding do you know how offended I would be? We are being so rude by being here. I’ve never felt so rude in all my life! We have to leave right now, or at least I have to leave right now!” She walked a few paces toward the exit. Professor Gupta surveyed the opinion of some of our other classmates, and we soon left. As I exited the chapel I bowed and thanked whomever I could. Oddly, many people came up and thanked me for my attendance, with sincere-seeming smiles.

“Gupta, that sly dog!” My conscience exclaimed.

 

…I had originally ended this post with the line above. But I wanted to make a brief comment about the driver, Singhji. I feel like I learned a lot about doing business in general and in India from Singhji. Prof. Gupta told me Singhji’s business owned seven vehicles when we were in the parking lot of the fabric cooperative. Later that night, I asked Singhji about his business. He told me that when he was 17 he bought a cab and started his business. He drove the cab himself for four years before expanding into other vehicles. “Now, I just work in the office, but, you know, the driver had pain in his head yesterday, and couldn’t come. So, I come drive. No problem. I drive. No problem.” With that kind of attitude you can see why he has succeeded so far. He struck me as the embodiment of the saying, “Take it easy, but take it.” He has a very laid-back, friendly persona, but he haggles as hard as anybody I’ve ever seen. I’m sure he worked out some good deals for the vehicles he’s purchased. I hope that I can learn from him, and become a better negotiator, while maintaining a kind, friendly disposition. That’s just one of the lessons that can be learned from Singhji, but I think it might be the most important one for me.

 

Your Faithful Correspondent,

Pierce Smith

 

Notes: All quotes of others are paraphrased as accurately as possible.

An afternoon at JRE

 

In the early afternoon, we headed out to JRE—a recently established graduate school of management in the rapidly developing city of Greater Noida, Uttar Pradesh. As we stepped off the bus, red dye was smeared on our third eyes and garlands draped around our necks in a display of respect and hospitality. A semicircle of students had assembled around the doorway of our bus. I greeted each one individually with some of the few words of Hindi I can speak. “Namaste,” I uttered respectfully as I placed my hands together as if praying, and bowed slightly at the shoulder. I followed with “Ap kaise hai (How are you)?” Our courteous and curious hosts were delighted that I could even utter these few simple words, and indulged me with a brief (very brief) conversation in Hindi.

While greeting our hosts in the semicircle, I met a young gentleman named Harleen Singh. “Ap kaha se hai (Where are you from)?” I managed to fumble out of my mouth.

“Mai Panjab se hu (I’m from Panjab).” He replied with a smile.

After I had greeted all the other members of the semicircle, he led me into the classroom building of their small, but sparkling campus. First, he gave me a tour of the library. I was really trying to get some Hindi practice in so I hazarded another question. “Apka bhai-bahane kitne hai (How many brothers and sisters do you have)?” He replied with a questioning stare. I repeated my question trying particularly hard to aspirate the “bh” in “bhai.” We do not have this phoneme in English, so it is very difficult for me to enunciate. It’s also very difficult for me NOT to aspirate the “p” and “k” in “apka” (Note: the Hindi transliterations “ph” and “kh” correspond directly to the English “p” and “k”), so I could have botched my pronunciation at any number of points in that short sentence. Finally, I was able to express my point to him.

I don’t remember exactly how many brothers and sisters he said he had, but he did mention that his family had suffered a loss recently. He told me his grandfather had died a few months ago. I expressed my condolences, but it seemed Harleen did not need them. “It is okay. It is a necessary part of life, you know?” I nodded in affirmation. His words impressed me very much. I don’t want to extrapolate from just one man to the whole population of this diverse land, but his words seemed to comport with the Indian belief in cycles, and the necessary existence of opposites (e.g. life entails death. Death entails new life.).

Despite how impressed I was by his healthy attitude toward the unfortunate passing of his grandfather, I was about to be yet more impressed by our young Sikh friend. I forget how, but somehow we stumbled back on the topic of his Panjabi origin. He mentioned something about how the state of Panjab was divided during the tragic partition of the subcontinent. “So how do you feel about Muhammad Ali Jinnah?” I asked, with the full expectation that he would express hostility, aversion, or even pure hatred for the founder of Pakistan.

“He’s fine. You know, he just wanted the same thing that we all want—a nation for his own people.”

I was stunned. Impresed and stunned. Muhammad Ali Jinnah is portrayed as a calculating and power-hungry man in the movie “Gandhi,” and the nation of Pakistan has not exactly developed into an admirable state, so my personal opinion of him was low (and still is not high. I will need to do more research about this historical figure). However, the fact that someone, who lives in India, a country which has suffered from many Pakistani-led terrorist attacks and aggressive actions by the Pakistani armed forces, could empathize with the founder of that nation was beyond impressive. It would be like meeting a Chinese who said, “The Dalai Lama is a good person. He just wants the same thing that we all want—a nation for his people.” It would be like meeting an America who could say, “Osama bin Laden’s tactics are treacherous, murderous, counterproductive, and despicable, but, at base, he wants the same thing that we do—a nation for his people, free of imperial influence, whether it be the Soviet Union, the United States, or any other superpower.”

Though I spoke much more with Harleen Singh, I will cease my discussion of this fine young gentleman here.

I want to fast-forward to one of the speakers at the event JRE hosted for us. He was a venerable gentleman, whose name I cannot remember, but whose ideas I will not forget. He spoke about a number of wide-ranging subjects. He brought up a curious anecdote toward the beginning of his speech in order to illustrate the point that if you are a disciplined man, with a clear aim and a passion to achieve it, you should be respected despite other character flaws you may possess. He told the story of his British drill-sergeant, when he was in the Royal Armed Forces before Independence. “Our drill-sergeant was very upset with the quality of our marching on that day and he yelled out to us, ‘You bloody black Indians! Black on the inside! Black on the outside! March with some bloody pride, will you? Chin in, chest out! March with some bloody pride!’ Even though he was a racist man, I still respected him because he wanted us to become the best force we possibly could be…”

I chuckled silently as I envisioned his sunburned drill-sergeant barking out orders and racial slurs. I scanned the room and saw many uninterested eyes struggling to stay open.

He then went on to discuss the importance of non-conscious processing for human decision-making. It included many ideas which are similar to those discussed in the work of Amos Tversky and Daniel Kahneman, and which were presented to a general audience in Malcolm Gladwell’s “Blink.” He used an anecdote about Sigmund Freud to illustrate his point. “A patient came to Sigmund Freud once and asked him, ‘What career should I pursue? Who should I marry?’ Freud stopped him right there and said, ‘These questions are too important for your conscious mind to answer!’” Although many of Freud’s ideas have fallen out of fashion in the psychological community, I thought our venerable and long-winded speaker made a good point here.

Our wise, but verbose orator dragged on and on. A student next to me wrote me a note asking if I was bored. I shook my head. Though his oratory style was incredibly poor, the substance of this man’s talk was rich. The patient listener was rewarded greatly because the orator posed an exceptionally stark and important question at the end of his speech.

“Jesus Christ, the Buddha, every religious thinker or prophet you can think of, has taught us that by reducing our wants we can become happier, and live a more fulfilled life. But in these past few hundred years, ever since Adam Smith, many economists have advocated increasing production as the key to increasing human happiness. You know, you increase production, more people can obtain jobs, now more people have money to spend on goods, and so on, and now everyone’s happier. But how do you increase production? You can’t increase production without an increase in consumption, yes? How do you increase consumption? You market, you advertise, you increase people’s wants, you turn wants into needs, and so on and so forth. So how do we reconcile this? All our great religious and philosophical teachers have taught us that we can increase happiness by reducing wants, but our modern economic system is geared toward increasing wants in order to create happiness for people. I don’t have the answer to this yet, but I hope maybe one of you does…”

Wow. This thought, this feeling, has been seething inside me for so long. The wise, yet verbose old man had finally articulated what I had felt for so long. Hopefully I can contribute to the answering of this epic question. Hopefully…

 

Your Faithful Correspondent,

Pierce Smith

 

Notes: All quotes of other individuals are paraphrased, but I tried to transcribe them as faithfully as I could. Also, did anyone see the tacit lesson in the wise old man’s speech? This is the tacit lesson I gathered—No matter how wise and important the substance of your speech is, if the style is inadequate the message will not be heard by many. Most people left the conference room with only a feeling of happiness that the long-winded guru’s vocal chords no longer vibrated.