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Urban life has a way of responding to change positively. Even recession does not faze it. Well, it seemed like that at a micro-party (a small get-together of people with similar thoughts) thrown by a conscientious single mom. Perhaps the idea was to welcome the recession as one would welcome the winter. Perhaps it was a tribute to the doggedness of Bangalore’s enterprise.

On that dog-day night, the food was austere: only local leaves, roots and buds. Everyone seemed ready to contribute to the cool conversation; they wanted to make a statement on the downturn spreading across boom-boom India.

Across the balcony, a Bridget Jones look-alike was updating her mobile blog with the confidence and cheer of a person who had survived downsizing. She quickly keyed in: “10 pm: I arrive for a party with common aspirations. 1030 pm: I decide to cut down on cigarettes, from 20 to 7. 10.45 pm: I promise to go to office on a bicycle. I am doing my bit for recession. I can do more.”

Bridget’s blogging had provoked a computer codie to come clean on recession. “If you have two chauffeurs, perhaps it’s time to keep one and return one to the industry. So, my wife and I have just one driver now. After all, why do you need a driver for a Reva, our second car…”

Before he could complete his sentence, a young entrepreneur had barged in. “This is the era of efficiency. Do you know that Toyota sends its engineers to sell cars during recessions? We have asked all our employees to plunge into sales. Sell, sell, sell is the new mantra. They are learning to think innovatively. They are learning new skills. They are winning the battle against recession in their minds. It’s just the beginning but it’s a good start.”

“Cost is king.” The sentiment was echoed by a middle manager who had evolved since the 1990s into a custodian of business processes. “Cost is also strategy,” he roared like the white tiger in Mysore Zoo. “It helps you to concentrate talent, sharpen business focus, re-engineer processes. It helps you to strategise like never before. To make a telling point, I might just tatoo COST in Kannada on my arm. That’s what I call leading upfront.”

Work is worship; recession is a reminder of that truism, said a HR manager-cum-pop psychologist. “Computers are being shut off; lights are being used sparingly; printouts are vanishing as everything goes digital. There’s a spiritual attachment to work. I can sense a new work ethic and a superhuman zeal to attain the impossible. Hierarcy is venerated; mission statements are chanted like prayers.”

A lady draped in super brands, flaunting luxury leather and haute heels, was the next to speak loudly and lucidly. “I have capped my discretionary expense at Rs 4 lakh a month.” Nobody dared ask what it was earlier. “I am slashing global holidays and rediscovering India.

The downturn forced me to visit Hampi, and I was simply fascinated. I am glad I cancelled by trip to Phuket. Shravanabelgola and Bijapur are now on my holiday list. Please don’t laugh at me. I haven’t gone downmarket, I am seeking better alternatives.”

“It’s the era of tradeoffs,” said the hostess. But before I can dwell on that, I would request you to read Aravind Adiga’s White Tiger. It is a glimpse of the other India, the dark underbelly of entrepreneurship, the great Indian rope trick of survival... You would know post-boom India better if you know the muffled sounds of its struggle.”

That night, as Adiga received a second Booker from a single mom, I resolved to finish reading the tale of the tiger. My second impression was one of controlled awe. It was a book for the hard times, the post-boom times.

I remembered the hostess’s favourite White Tiger quote: “This city (Bangalore) has its share of thugs and politicians. It’s just that here, if a man wants to be good, he can be good. In Laxmangarh, he doesn’t even have this choice. That is the difference between this India and that India: the choice.”

Needless to say, everyone at the micro-party suddenly felt better. Even the blogger keyed in: “I must visit Laxmangarh one day.” It was a mood unique only to urban India.
Email: vinaykamat@dnaindia.net