A Research Metaphor

An unsual metaphor that explains differences between qualitative and quantitative research in a very interesting way.

Qual Research

Full of colors and shades and layers
Reflecting personalities
Life Like
Unique
Something that has a mind of its own
Capable of changing its course mid way
Art
Encourages deviations or a creative approach

Quant Research

Full of patterns
Reflecting facts
Scientific
Replicable
Precise
Structured
Also art, but not free hand…
more like an engineered art
Encourages conformity

Categories: Qualitative Research_

qualitative research, metaphor

My very own bullshit generator

Some one I once worked for had a rare gift...he could speak a minute long sentence in using actual...real English words, without making any sense whatsoever!! At first I thought it was a simple thing to do and an important skill set to have...so I sat down one day and started to write a sentence that made no sense...and i just could not do it! I was shocked at my own incompetence. I was also sad that I would never learn the art of talking nonsense.

But I never give up on anything so easily (for those of you who know me, you know how true that is). So, from that day onwards, whenever i sat in meetings with him I would take copious notes of all that he said. God knows! I treasured my note pad more than my life. It traveled with me every where i went. It saw me through some really tough times. Whenever i was faced with a question, I would peak into my little nonsense book and utter something inane and vacuous...it worked so beautifully. Nobody would get offended at what i said, and i would get away without committing to do any work. Ah! Those blissful days!

A colleague of mine, jealous that she was...could not stand my bliss. She lay her evil eyes and her fat ugly hands painted with hideous nail colour, on my little nonsense book....one day...and stole it!!!! I could not find it anywhere. I had no clue she had it, until one day I heard her speak...She stole a line - right out of that book of mine. I could not do a thing about it. After that day, I was condemned to work! Whenever some one asked me a question or spoke to me about my willingness to take on a piece of work...I would scramble for words...but nothing would come to mind. My words would not come to my rescue.

But yesterday i stumbled upon...a bull-shit-generator. It can create bull shit at the press of a button. Believe me, you must go and try it. It could be a life saver in times when all heads at an important meeting are turned towards you to say something 'significant'...or when you are running to catch the evening movie while boss stops you on the way to ask for your opinion on some presentation he has just made....some of it's output is just mind blowingly cool!

Here's a sample

We should all work towards 'generating plug-and-play communities' to 'incentivize efficient mindshare' that will help us 'integrate open-source action-items'...sounds intelligent...doesn't it?

Categories: Humor_

Ma

Trying to capture all that a mother does, in words is so so difficult. Though this poem is about a mother, our parents are simply responsible for 'what we are today'. What they did for us we very easily forget. We just move on with our lives....We forget that they are 'real people' beyond being just someone's mother or father. They have needs, desires and hopes too, which they very often put aside, just for our happiness. And this becomes such a habit with us and them, that we forget about their existence beyond us and keep expecting them to live their lives according to what we want. Spare a thought, spare a moment, spare a smile. They do not ask for much!

(A picture of my mom and my niece, clicked by my brother - I love this picture!
They are the two people I love the most!)

Though I saw her each day of my life,
I barely noticed her
Sometimes I smelt her in the cup of tea that I sipped…
Staying up late in the nights as I prepared to read

Another time…I felt her as I rest my head
Whenever I returned home after a long day
I always found a pillow, a warm blanket and night clothes near my bed

My clothes were always soft and clean
Neatly stacked in my cupboard…I would see
Mindlessly I would mess them up each day
She silently re-arranged those…not a word she would say

Yet I barely noticed her….

Sometimes a glimpse of her I would see
As I sat with our old family album
In a sepia toned image…there was she
A young girl…on a picnic with her friends
A carefree girl, I saw through that lens

Never did I once stop to think
Where have all those people gone?
Never did I once ask her
What is it that SHE wants?

Since I barely noticed her…

She toiled endlessly
As days, months and years passed us by
All she wanted in return
Was to see, a smile on my face…
A twinkle in my eye

In the last twenty nine years
Not a single holiday has she earned
It is only now, that I stop to wonder
How does she find the strength to carry on?

I wish I could go back in time
And if I could do it all over again
I would not mess up my cupboards so often
Or come home late at nights or cause her pain

I wish I had listened to her
Noticed all that she was doing for me
I wish I could thank her for being by my side
Each and every time I felt at sea

All I can do now is
Thank her and God for giving her to me
And in my thoughts and prayers…
She shall always be!

Categories: Poems_ , Reflections_

poem'mother, ma

Why the bloody hell are you here?

I was flipping through web pages, scrolling up and down in a mindless manner when I came across this post that said…If you curse at them, they will come?

It spoke about the Australian government's effort to boost tourism in their country.

And I thought to myself, what a quaint way to get people to their country…compare this to the effort launched by the Indian tourism authorities preaching all and one to treat the guest as god, this was rather bold !!!

Why would some one come to their country I wondered?

What are they trying to say? How do they want me to react to this?

So I sat back and allowed my thoughts to drift a bit

Are they asking such a rude question – so people start thinking up earnest and interesting responses to give to such a question – which at some subliminal level is going to work on their mind and finally give them enough reasons to make them want to go there and – is that how this communication supposed to make people want to go to Australia? What a twisted thought!

Yeah…was beginning to convince myself of this logic…after all they are a plain speaking and friendly lot. Maybe this is how they talk to people who come visiting. If I ever go to Australia, I thought to myself, and if anyone asks me that question, I will surely have a witty response ready :)…

Its later when I read the details on the campaign that I gathered they are not trying to tell me….Why the bloody hell are you here but asking me

Where the bloody hell are you?

I guess my mind was pre-conditioned since the title of the article read …If you curse them they will come and reading that I started spinning my own yarn

I could not help feel more foolish when I figured this out…but it reinforced in my mind an important lesson I have learnt and come across in how people decode communication.

I have often found in the context of carrying out research on advertising (especially print ads…since TVCs engage the consumer’s attention in more ways than one) that consumers do not always decode the campaign as intended by the marketer.

Most often I have seen people latch on to a few key words in the copy of the ad and just spin a story around it in their minds and blurt it out.

Sometimes the story could be close to the intended one…at other times it could be completely off the mark! Clients frown (especially if there is someone from the ad agency present), this is not the way the ad is supposed to work…your consumers are inarticulate…they are not our target audience…blah...blah

The truth however is…it is not the poor consumer who is at fault. Whenever we are faced with new stimuli, we attribute meaning to it, based on what we already ‘know’ or what is already in our ‘frame of reference’ and throw out, stimuli that we do not need.

You can read more about Selective Perception here where the concept has been explained in a fairly simple manner

So, the next time you see a print ad for the first time – why don’t you try it for yourself. Get all fuzzy eyed and just give it a glance and then close the mag and guess what they were trying to say there and then compare…it could be fun!

And drop me a line if you come across some funny such incidents yourself :)

selective perception'australia'communication

Relinquish

Background

I first wanted to name this poem (if i can call it a poem), 'surrender'...but the word seemed to have a negative ring to it. Though it has shades of the spirit of relinquishing, it also connotes an acceptance of despair, an admittance of defeat.

'Relinquish' on the other hand...sounds relatively more straight-forward and matter-of-fact to be the title of a poem. It is in fact very 'prosaic' but, I found some very powerful visual cues when looking up this word

Relinquish is to...

To part with a possession or a right
Cease to hold or adhere to
Relinquish to the power of another; yield to the control of another (and the last one is my favorite)
To release, as from one's grip

I have always grappled with the question...do I own my life? Am I the master of my own destiny? And each time i have asked myself this question, i have a subtle reminder that there is something beyond me that is steering the course of my life...call it a force, destiny, fate or God....and whenever I step back a bit from myself and my life and watch what is happening and let it happen...I find myself happier, instead of forcibly trying to steer it to another path. That does not mean I surrender my life and stop dreaming and living and experiencing what it offers. I merely open my fist...and release my grip and then sit back and enjoy the auto pilot mode....And I have written this poem...so that every time i forget this truth or doubt it, it serves me as a reminder

_________________________________________________________________________________

I give back to you what is yours
What was never mine…I can never own
I can never control

I am just here to experience what you have set out for me
I do not choose these experiences
I neither despair…nor hope…nor desire
I accept what you have given me
And thank you for it

I have nothing of mine in me.
Whatever is there….is yours!

Categories: Reflections_ , Poems_

Whisper

Background

The experience of visiting some of the best museums in the world is truly awe-inspiring. It literally seems like taking a ‘walking tour’ of the world. However, how much of the world has been plundered to create those displays was a thought that kept haunting me time and again. Nations have started demanding their treasures back and rightfully so. Their plea has fallen upon deaf ears. In one way, these museums do great service to the world by preserving and protecting artifacts which at least in some cases would have otherwise fallen to ruin – we are all familiar with how easily this could happen in India. Nevertheless, a nation does have a right to its history and relics that represent that. But then who says everything in life is fair and square
_______________________________________________________________________________

Whisper...

I drifted from one gallery to another
In wonderment of what lay ahead further
It seemed like the whole world had converged under one large roof
The sun rushed in through the glass top…determined it stood!

People posed for pictures…
Some kneeled in front of the displays
To capture their mere presence at this place
On to the sculpted marble...some others held on
To merge with a moment in time, by-gone

As I stood watching…I heard a whisper…

I looked around and everywhere
I heard it again…though saw no one there
I listened closely and found
In the corner of the room, from a column came that sound

‘Twas a column from an ancient stupa
Which stood tall…in all its splendor
Though now only a poor shadow of the past…
It was reminiscent of the days of grandeur
From the plaque I knew
It was one of the two
Together the twins
Adorned the gates of the shrine

It whispered…

I have stood here now
As many (years) have come and gone
I feel…here, I do not belong
I belong to a different time…a different place
Without me…which bears no grace

My soul yearns for my people…my land
Which lies incomplete without me and in ruin
I wish to be taken there
Where I am one amongst my kin
For there my soul will find peace within

I drifted again from that gallery to another
I heard more voice, cries from many others
From columns, statues, pillars and tombstones
That belonged to another time …another nation
They lay locked in their glass cases
All waiting for salvation!

Categories: Poems_

Meeting AIBO

Think of a robot…and what comes to your mind?

A creature (…one I cannot define or slot as something I have seen / encountered before)…that moves in a slow, deliberate fashion…something that is pre-programmed to do a set of simple tasks…perhaps walk a short distance, pick up an object and reach it to you. If it trips and falls down…something that would make a buzzing noise to catch the owner’s attention…

I would not certainly associate emotions…feelings…moods…with robots. In fact the two I would have thought were on diametrically opposite ends of a spectrum.

Robot = something mechanical…someone or something that responds automatically without thought / emotion. And by extension…the character of a robot (as opposed to that of a living being) would define one's interaction with it. So if I had to think about myself interacting with the robot, I would imagine myself giving it ‘directions’...to do things...at best. I could not imagine ‘talking’ to one…and quite honestly If I would see someone ‘talking’ to a robot / playing with it…I’d think the person has either lost his sanity, is terribly lonely or is one of those with the ‘geek strain’ who gets excited at the thought of gizmos.

I know that I never had that ‘geek strain’. Since like most women (and here I make an assumption that technology does not excite women), and at the risk of sounding absolutely sacrilegious to my male counterparts…I’d say that for me an IPOD was a music player, much like any other…or a mobile phone was a mobile phone…whether it is my basic Nokia 3310 or the one with the latest alphanumeric code suffixed to it. I seriously would not get that ‘butterfly in my stomach feeling’ at the launch of the next generation X-Box.

But last week I met AIBO and it changed my perspective on robots and technology.

At first I stood at a safe distance and just watched people…the whole experience of watching humans interact with a robot was so captivating that I stood there for more than half a day watching people stroke its head and rub its back…hold their hand forward to its paw. I watched AIBO respond to it being called by name, it played in its pen, sat down when it was tired, tried to grab its bone and even made a sad face :( when it dropped the bone.

I saw people talk to him…Good boy…hear take this…as naturally as they would. There was no feeling of hesitation, embarrassment or of ‘being watched’ by others in the crowd

I saw children giggle and play

I saw men from the museum staff… (and I thought men would not do that at the risk of sounding stupid)…come up to him at the end of the day and say…Bye AIBO…see you tomo

For the whole time that I stood next to that exhibit in a museum, not for once did I realize that it was not a dog…it was a robot!

By the end of the day, I had grown to like AIBO and wanted to take back a picture of him with me…AIBO surprised me by standing up and posing for the picture :)

It amazes me to see that what technology can accomplish. That robots can recognize voices and people and faces…that they can talk…dance…sing to you…emote. They respond to what you tell them, they learn and remember what you teach them (one can teach AIBO new tricks that it will remember).

Sony, has circumvented the conventional concept of robots and positioned AIBO and later QRIO as ‘entertainment robots’ that don’t do anything. AIBO is just there as an entertaining and lovable pet that no one would expect to be useful and as for QRIO, it’s more like a playful child…“QRIO’s dreams are limitless. But one is clear: to make your life fun and happy” explains the promotional text on Sony’s Web site

At the end of this post I feel calling AIBO and QRIO robots would be doing injustice to their character, (etymologically the word robot is derived from roots that connote ‘labor’ or 'slave labor'...there is always some reference to ‘work’) Perhaps just as a new category of robots is born, we’ll soon see a new word in the lexicon that describes these complex creatures…playbots perhaps…pardon my lack of creativity!

Categories: Wandering Around_ ,

10

Things I have learnt since I came here (London)

1. That the correct answer to the question how do you do…is to ask the person the same question again… and in the same tone….its not even like you ask them back...‘ and how do YOU do ?’

2. That there is not such thing as bad weather, there is only bad clothing!

3. That when someone says ‘Mind the Gap’ they are not really talking about the gap between the train and the platform. That phrase has many layers to it…one being, the gap between the upper and the working classes….a subject that is not discussed overtly in society today….but the divide exists nevertheless.

4. That the now world famous Harrods, started off as a grocery store in the1800s

5. That the Big Ben does not refer to the clock but a huge 13 ton bell that hangs within it

6. That the surest way to annoy a Londoner is to stand on the left hand side of the escalator in the tube stations. This side of the escalator is usually reserved for hurrying working crowd who prefer to walk up their way rather than stand there liesurely looking at the ads alongside ...which is an activity associated with tourists.
   

7. That natives love moaning about two things – 1. The weather and 2. The transportation system. But that does not mean that you have the permission to complain about them too, especially the weather…which is much like a part of the family…we can talk ill about family members but do not like others, outsiders to join in the bashing

8. That approximately 5000 people stay in central London. 300,000 people travel to central London each day on work

9. That Sigmund Freud spent the last year of his life in London. His family home, which contains his famous ‘couch’, has been converted into a museum in his memory and that of his daughter Anna Freud.

10. That when a stranger comes and tells you….hmmm cold isn’t it…it is considered rude not to respond. It is also considered rude to respond…but refute that statement. The English are not obsessed about the weather, they are just very very reserved, and by virtue of being surrounded by the ocean on both sides, weather is bound to be erratic most of the time. Weather talk has just evolved as a topic which one can fall back on, each time one wishes to engage in conversation.

And like Mr. Blair….I think No. 11 is more comfortable number to work with…so here is one more….

11. That Tony Blair does not occupy 10, Downing street, but exchanged it for No. 11, with the chancellor since the later is more spacious

Categories: Trivia_

Whats with the Black

For those of you who believe that the world is not just black and white…and life is nothing but a multitude of greys must stop by at London. I have been here a little over 2 weeks and one of the first things that I observed about this place was - that everybody is ‘in black’. The second that thought struck my mind, I felt a mild sense of discomfort since for one I am a person who loves color – colors make me happy! And second and a more practical problem was that I did not have that many black clothes in my wardrobe…so what was I to do?

Is black the dominant code here…some unknown, unwritten rule that native Londoners know of and the new kids on the block just conform to, so as to fit in

Is it the color in vogue...has it been decided by fashion gurus as color of the season for winter 05…is that why people are all dressed in black since the stores would not just sell any other colors?

These and more thoughts about ‘black’ tossed around in my head until one day the rebellious streak in me took over and I dared to wear…a bright green winter jacket. I looked at myself in the mirror and affirmed…yeah that’s better…I don’t need to do things that I don’t believe in…I don’t need to follow the crowd…I don’t need to conform to some silly code that warrants people only wear black clothing.

All was well till I was having this conversation with myself in my living room. The minute I stepped out and was amidst a sea of black attire…I felt like…well there is no polite way of putting this…a glo worm!

Not that people turned around and looked at me. In fact even in what seemed like a hideous green at that time, no one even gave me a second look. That’s the beauty of this place. It has people coming from such diverse backgrounds and one looking so different from the other that it has been said that there is no such thing as a typical Londoner any more. It is so truly cosmopolitan that one seldom reads about city life in London without the mention of clichés such as … ‘London is a world in a city’ and a journey on the tube is like ‘finding yourself in a Benetton ad’…And I have digressed again from the point I was making

So coming back to the green jacket day, on that day I somehow realized what’s behind the unwritten code of black

The green I somehow felt was jarring to the eyes in a weather which is grey most of the time this time of the year. It just spelt someone who is loud…and if I were to stretch it…someone who does not care about inconveniencing others around. The green amidst the sea of black was an ‘eye sore’. Well this is just me desperately trying to theorize seriously about the dominance of black

Talking to a German acquaintance who has only black in her wardrobe…and I mean ONLY black clothes….no other color…not even white, she says

I started buying only black clothes since I was too lazy to sort out laundry. Now I can just put everything in one wash load. And I don’t even have to waste time every morning trying to match my clothes and figure out what goes with what. I can pull just about anything from my wardrobe and I know I’ll never feel out of place in office.

Black is a matter of convenience! So much for over analyzing…and why do I get the feeling that this piece sounds like I wrote it since I had nothing else to write about…

Categories: Wandering Around_ , Humor_