Southern Hospitality Part 3

Left Bangalore on the 18:20 Air India flight to Cochin. Marvelous airport, incredibly well-designed. Possibly my favorite in the world. Stepping onto an Air India flight, one feels the 1980's. Seats are similar to Emirates, individual TVs. Seated next to two teenagers from Mangalore (Karnakata state, western coast). They are on holiday to Munnar, the elevated and cool hill station in Kerala state. Their father works in customs at an airport, in either mangalore or bangalore. The twenty-year-old studies civil engineering and says he will soon start a job. Apparently, there are too many computer science graduates these days.

The sixteen-year-old has a mature sense of humor, which he tells me his teachers don't appreciate. He plans to study medicine and business (both?) and is informs me that the Indian education system is excellent at teaching math and science.

Speaking to him, I wonder if Thomas Friedman hasn't been writing his books for an Indian audience, as many of the folks I speak with are steeped in flat world thinking and discourse. What becomes clear in conversation with my seatmate is that the humanities and non-quant/science education is weak and will be an impediment to this fellow if he wants to study in a top American university. Where does creativity come from? What sort of education produces entrepreneurs?

The Cochin airport is a small and steamy porcelain bowl. Waiting for my bag, I wander out to the hotels desk and spot a chess set at the Taj counter.

The only way to get a taxi is by waiting on line for a prepaid ticket, with the driver's name, license plate, destination, and some indecipherable information. Set prices, "Communist" state. I meet an elegantly suited young businessman while standing on line. The best suit I've seen in months, he's an mba from IIM, which he tells me is the top management (set of) school(s) in country. He manages universities, enjoys working in education, gives off a sense of affluent balance.

Driving through Cochin, I get the feeling I'm on the gulf coast, in Pensacola or Mississippi. Then I check into the hotel, and am passed by a white-robed-red-kerchiefed man, with a small entourage in tow.
Ben Magarik
917.371.8266
magarik@gmail.com