J.K. Rowling I Hate You!
India
Prominent Italian born Indian politician Sonia Gandhi is reported to have once said something along the lines of: there is the right way of doing things, there is the wrong way of doing things, and then there is the Indian way of doing things…
Outsourcing or off-shoring is the buzzword of the age. It is part of that amorphous thing known as globalisation. Everywhere I look, I read about global markets, global consumers and now global call centres. It is estimated that US and UK businesses will outsource up to three million call centre and service sector jobs to India over the coming decade. On more than one occasion I have been sitting at home in Liverpool, having picked up the telephone to hear on the other end of the line a Delhi-based or Hyderabad-based Indian called “Ed” trying to convince me that I need some whiter than white, newer than new life-changing product that I have no use for. He also tries to convince me that he is calling from London, but his accent gives the game away, and after some probing I find he is talking to me from some call centre on the outskirts of an Indian city. So I decided to get in on the act by doing a bit of off-shoring myself. I dipped my feet into the murky waters of the global marketplace by getting some books published in India.
Anyone who has ever been to India will readily identify with what is about to unfold and the type of logic that seems to be unique to India. You know the type of logic I mean: the type that leaves many foreigners frustrated, baffled and tearing their hair out, leaving them with that “I’m in India” feeling.
Can anyone help me? I’m a bit confused. When people tell me that something has definitely been done, and then I find out that it hasn’t, then why did they tell me it had been done in the first place? To be told one thing, only to find out that the opposite is true is an all too common experience in India. The Truth is all too often elusive; you know it is out there (somewhere), but, somehow, can never grasp it.
This is the kind of logic that infuriates a lot of westerners in India. We spoilt westerners are used to being informed that if something cannot be done, why it cannot be done, and are then given some provisional timescale as to when it may be done. Variable factors and various dependables are thrown into an equation, resulting in some form of explanation. We may or may not be happy with the outcome, but at least we then have an understanding of what is happening and why it is happening.
It all started in Delhi when I went to get a book printed. “It will take six days to complete,” I was informed with extreme confidence by the printing press owner. Fifteen days later it was finished. What my simple little brain didn’t understand was that along the way was a two day festival; then the owner had to go to Amritsar to visit the Golden Temple; and then he had to attend a doctor’s appointment, which had been arranged weeks ago.
When the printing actually began (an achievement in itself), there were the inevitable mistakes. So they had to start again; and of course there were the numerous long power cuts that caused further delay. So, when Vijay, the owner, told me six days, he really meant at the very, very least, ten – taking into account the festival, the doctor’s appointment and his trip. He knew this beforehand, but why bother to muddy the waters with such trifling matters.
Things were already progressing at a snail’s pace prior to delays. Vijay told me on day five that the printing had begun after having processed the master proofs. On day seven he told me it had not begun because there was trouble getting the paper. He spoke like it was all my fault that the paper was unavailable at the market. “Why did you tell me that the printing had started two days ago, when it had not?” I asked. He looked at me with a blank expression.
“It will begin tomorrow.” So I asked him again. He replied, “Yes, it will begin tomorrow.” After another failed attempt, I gave up asking. I went to be; I could feel a migraine coming on.
I have been in such situations before in India and was just working myself up into a lather over it. And when I quizzed him over the printing process going wrong, again he talked like it was all my fault that someone else had made a mistake. It was like he was paying me to do a job and not me paying him. Customer service? – Vijay had never heard of it. He had also never heard of the concept of a timescale either – no matter how provisional it is; nor of the concept of keeping the paying customer informed of delays. The customer is always right? Don’t believe a word of it. Vijay gave indifference a bad name.
Trying to see Vijay to talk things over was like attempting to juggle wet jelly while standing on a slippery eel. This man was slippery. His slipperiness took slippery to new heights. We arranged appointments, meetings and deadlines. Gradually, I began to understand that when Vijay said, “We will meet here tomorrow at three o’clock” meant: we could meet tomorrow but probably won’t because I’ll be elsewhere doing something else, and what I really mean is that I’ll see you more by way of accident than arrangement in a couple of days time.
I thought that things couldn’t get worse. But they did. In Chennai (Madras), I went to another printing press, with the aim of getting a physically better quality version of the book printed. This time I had backing; the full backing of the Indian publisher, Zine5. Alas, similar delays, and similar excuses from the printer. However, unlike Vijay in Delhi who (eventually) produced a book of quality paper, the Chennai printer produced a book using recycled newsprint paper! And what we had told him was that we wanted a book of Penguin Classic quality. It was also so badly cut that I had thought he had cut the paper with a pair of nail-cutters. And to top it all, he had used two different shades of paper. Each book had two shades inside! I was assured that the lighter paper was from a new ream and would fade within six weeks to match the other. “What rubbish,” I thought to myself. But there was a nagging doubt – what do I know about paper – maybe he was right, and maybe magic paper actually does exists.
Well, he wasn’t (and it doesn’t); months later the books are gathering dust in the hub of Zine5 and still contain two different shades of paper. So finally, another printer: I couldn’t believe it – efficient and effective. Mission accomplished!
The printing process was on-going nightmare, getting the books into the shop – and keeping them there – was a different matter entirely. The publisher had employed a book distributor. I asked the distributor whether he had put the books in X, Y and Z shops. I was informed with the utmost certainty that they were indeed on the shelves in those shops. But I knew for a fact they weren’t. I had just returned from X, Y and Z and the managers had not even heard of the book. I told this to the distributor. The reply was something along the lines of they will be, would be, or could be; or might be, maybe, or should be (or something like that). It had definitely been done, but had not really been done. It all had something to do with procedures. I wonder if those procedures involve misleading the customer.
It was too complicated for me. I decided that he probably knows what he is doing. Anyway, I had to believe this because I was just too afraid of getting bogged down in Vijay-esque logic all over again.
Once in the shops, the trick is to keep the books in the shops (on the shelves). They sold out in one of the shops and I wanted to make sure the shelf would be replenished as soon as possible. At this point, I must admit that authors tend not to get involved with all of this, but being India, things are different and people need a little gentle persuasion to get things done. After all, what is the point of getting publicity for a book if the shelves are going to be left bare for days on end?
The shop manager: “Yes sir, definitely they have been reordered. We reordered yesterday and they will be back on display tomorrow.” Two days later, the shelf was still bare. “We will reorder tomorrow,” I was informed.
“You told me you had reordered two days back,” I groaned. I didn’t wait for the reply. I knew it would be along the lines of… would be, should be, maybe or might be… By this stage I had been worn down by Vijay logic.
And, of course, if books are to sell, they must be displayed appropriately. It is a soul destroying experience to enter a shop and look twenty minutes for your book, only to find it groaning under the weight of a stack of books, which in turn are groaning under the weight of another stack. If I have trouble finding it, then what chance the customer! Perhaps by listening out for the groaning?
Do people tell me that something has been done just to make me feel better? Well it has the adverse effect. When I find out it hasn’t been done, then I feel ten times worse than if they had been upfront with me in the first place and had told me that it hadn’t been done and stated the reasons why. I understand that things getting done are often dependent on other factors. If people explained those factors to me at the outset, instead of being fobbed off, then I could live with it. Or at the very least, I would like to be informed of delays. Then I would not have a constant feeling of disappointment based on false promises and false hope.
These experiences and encounters are not necessarily unique to India, but, like we Brits and our complaining, I get the impression that in the art of frustrating, India often excels. I could write a book on it! (A very thick one.)
India – it turns me into a gibbering wreck whereby pulling my hair out by the handful becomes a pastime. Room twenty-three in my hotel room in Chennai – don’t be alarmed if you ever walk past and see hairballs flying in the wind to the tune of some mumbling madman inside. And no, I’m not a overly-uptight Westerner or mathematician, obsessed with variables, equations, explanations and probabilities; I’m just someone who expects a fair deal. What is it all about? Can someone explain?
Having said all of this, however, Zine5 achieved the near impossible and got my book published, formally released, promoted, distributed and displayed. No mean achievement. But be warned: the road to hell is littered with failed publishers and frustrated authors. Now it’s in the lap of the Gods; or to be more precise – the distributors and shop owners.
Anyway, no doubt the next Harry Potter book will soon hit the shelves and every other book in every other shop will be relegated to the dusty, far-flung corner of some forgotten shelf. And when it happens I will finally let all of the months of pent-up frustration free by screaming at the top of my voice: “JK Rowling – I hate you!”
