Suggested Reading: The Economist

If you aren’t already a reader of The Economist, I strongly urge you to try it. Financially conservative, socially liberal, truly international in scope, it’s one of the best magazines and news sources in the world.

It can be hard to find on the newsstand in much of the US; in Silicon Valley, travelling away from my home subscription, I could rarely find the latest issue. Once, heading out on vacation, I eagerly snapped up a copy in an airport somewhere. As I was standing in line to pay for it, the woman behind me looked over my shoulder and gasped: “You actually read that?!?” – as if ordinary mortals could not be expected to understand such a magazine.

Don’t let the title put you off. The Economist manages to explain difficult concepts and situations in clear, elegant language, and with a wry, dry, very British sense of humor. Agree or don’t with its politics, but read it – you’ll be in good company (in several senses).

Terms of Address: What to Call People in India

In response to my mumblings about “signora” vs “signorina,” Yuti writes:

In India, as you know, we are all related to each other. Kids routinely call complete strangers “Uncle” and “Aunty”, maid-servants call the woman of the house Bhabhi (brother’s wife), and the elderly are instantly your parents or grandparents (Maa-ji, Bapu-ji, etc). And so I have taken particular interest in what appellations complete strangers have used for me over the years.

As a young girl and teenager, I was a Beti (daughter), although I recall at least one occasion on which I was actually called “Daughter” in English by an elderly salesman. As a young “westernized” woman in my 20s, I would be called shishter (sister). If, however, I was dressed in Indian clothes (rather than jeans and t-shirt), I’d be called didi (older sister) if the person was much younger, or behen (sister) if the person was older. In my 30s, I noticed a gradual shift from shishter and didi to bhabi-ji (brother’s wife, with the extra respect of ji thrown in). Now, in my 40s, I am still mostly bhabhi-ji, unless I am accompanied by my children, in which case I graduate to “Aunty-ji”. With men, the shift is more or less parallel, from beta (son) to bhaiyya (brother) to “uncle”. I now await with consternation the day I finally become Maa-ji (mother), or even worse Dadi-ma (grand-mother). That’s when I’ll know I’ve well and truly aged!!

I asked Yuti for some clarification:

But why bhabhi, brother’s wife, instead of (I don’t remember the words) husband’s sister, etc.? And, in India and/or with Indian friends, even I am Deirdré-aunty to my friends’ kids. Which begs another question: why not the Hindi equivalent of aunty?

Yuti answered:

Yes, there are various words that can be and are used… these are just the ones most common in Mumbai, where the local lingo is a mish-mash of Hindi, Gujarati, Marathi and English. In various parts of India you may find Mausi (mother’s sister), Chachi (father’s brother’s wife), etc., but these are generally for older women. For a younger woman, Didi and Bhabhi are more appropriate. Bhabhi also acknowledges your status as a married woman, and therefore, presumably due the “respect” that comes automatically with marriage. Second, it also denotes a direct relationship to a close relative (i.e., the person is saying he is your husband’s brother), so you can trust them. These are just theories from the top of my head, and I seriously doubt such thoughts go through anyone’s head when they call me bhabhi, but that is probably part of the reason for its wide usage. Another possibility could have been wife’s sister, but the word in question (saali) is also used as a swear-word, so that won’t do! Also, words for relations tend to differ in different parts of the country. Bhabhi is one of the few which is more or less the same everywhere and also in languages other than Hindi.

I feel that the reason you are called Aunty rather than any Hindi equivalent – firstly, I think kids probably think it is cool to use English words (especially to a foreigner). Second, kids may not know (at least when they’re very young) that each word denotes a specific relationship, for example, they may know that both “chacha” and “mama” are uncles, but may not know that a chacha is always your father’s brother, whereas a mama is always your mother’s brother. Or, perhaps, even if they DO know, they must wonder as to whom they should relate you to – their mother or their father. So, the neutral Aunty is better!

Zafar adds some more thoughts and experiences on Indian terms of address:

[But why bhabhi, brother’s wife, instead of (I don’t remember the words) husband’s sister etc. etc.?]

Slightly more distant/less familiar? Though I think it’s probably a Bombay thing…in Delhi men shamelessly call women behenji (sisterji) with no thought for propriety.

[And, in India and/or with Indian friends, even I am Deirdre-aunty to my friends’ kids. Which begs another question: why not the Hindi equivalent of aunty?]

The generic thing:

I agree with Yuti that ‘Aunty’ is the generic fall-back. I’s also never used with your actual (biologically related) aunts, who are almost ALWAYS the Hindi (or whatever) word. In my own experience I also used Maasi etc. with very close friends of my parents, while Aunty was for everybody and anybody. (Er… unless they were Uncle, of course.)

The gender aspect:

Those couples who were friends of my parents and who had graduated, so to speak, beyond Uncle/Aunty to the Indian words when addressed, were called:

The men: Chacha (Father’s brother) and
The women: Maasi (Mother’s sister).

While the superficially correct thing to do (since they were married to each other) would have been to call them ‘Chacha and Chachi (father’s brother’s wife)’, the whole point of the exercise was to place these unrelated adults in a family context – at which point it became more ‘proper’ (and completely unconscious) to classify the women as your mother’s sisters and the men as your father’s brothers.

The ethnicity/language aspect:

Oddly enough, language/ethnicity also comes into this. (Which might explain why the instinctive ‘Deirdre Aunty’ in your case.) Sticking to mother’s friends, for the sake of consistency/simplicity, these included:

Devahuti Maasi (Punjabi Hindu)
Suchandra Mashi (Bengali Hindu, hence Maasi transforms to Mashi)
Zehra Khala (Gujarati Muslim, hence the use of the Urdu version, Khala, for Maasi.)

Gouging the European Customer

Why Do We Pay Higher Prices Higher for the Same Downloaded Software?

I have for some time been considering buying ACDSee, photo management software recommended to me by Tony Boccaccio, whose opinion I trust in the matter (he’s a professional photographer). I tried it last year and liked it, but at the time $99 was more than I was willing to spend on that particular set of functions. Most of what I need I can accomplish with other software I already own, though admittedly not as gracefully.

ACDSee now has a new version out, and, since I’m on their mailing list (they put out a nice newsletter with photo tips etc.), I received an email asking me to try it. Previous experience shows that they would keep sending special offers during the trial period, and today I was almost moved to take advantage of one of these, until I noticed:

Buy Now
North America & Other Areas
39.99 usd

Buy Now
Europe
39,99 euro

Given that the current exchange rate is 1.34 dollars to the euro, as a resident of Europe I’d be paying 34% more for this software. Why should that be? Shipping costs are not a factor – this is a download-only purchase. Localization (translating the interface and instructions) also not a factor – I speak English.

ACD Systems is not the only culprit; it’s standard practice for software companies to charge more for their products in Europe than in North America, sometimes hundreds of dollars/euros more. I’ve tried several times to get companies to tell me why, but have never had any answer at all.

By the tone of its newsletters, ACD Systems is a friendly company, so I went to their website to look for someone of whom I could ask this question. Finally tracked down an email address for Larry Langs, Executive Vice President of Sales, Marketing, and Business Development.

I wrote Mr. Langs a polite email with my query, and got the following reply from his mail system:

“(llangs@acdsystems.com) 64.114.67.86 failed after I sent the message.
Remote host said: 500 Resend your message with the word notacdspam in the subject line or contact the recipient through alternate means. Your message appears to be unsolicited spam or your domain is blacklisted.”

So I tried again, this time putting “notacdspam” in the subject line as requested, and got exactly the same error message in reply.

So much for “contact us.” No hope of an answer to my question, and therefore no hope that I will purchase their software. As a last resort, I’ve tried replying to the latest newsletter they sent. If their newsletter team is on the ball, and their system works as it should, someone will actually read that reply and answer it, or at least forward it appropriately – as I used to do when I worked for Adaptec/Roxio.

However, I’m not holding my breath.

Dec 8, 2004

Wow, just shooting themselves in the feet all over. Having put up this page, I tried to inform them about it. Filled out a web-based form to send email to a Ms. Monisha Khanna, head of PR. Got the exact same error message as for Mr. Langs. Do they even know that their anti-spam system is turning away all email?

Happy Ending

Mar 15, 2005

Back in December, I wrote about my difficulties trying to get anyone at a software company to explain to me why their software should cost more in Europe than in the US. A few days after I published that article, because I am stubborn and irritable about such things, I wrote to ACD’s tech support about the saga. To my pleasant surprise, I got a reply within a few days, suggesting a workaround on their e-commerce site that might even have worked to get me the software at the US price. But I was busy, figured I had already spent enough time on this, and I wasn’t that desperate for the software at that moment.

The software in question was ACDSee, a digital photo management and editing tool. I tried several others, including the free Picasa software from Google. Abandoned that one in a hurry when I realized it offers no easy way to crop photos, which seems a very strange oversight – anyone but the most amateur photographer knows that you can often improve a picture by judicious cropping. ACDSee’s crop tool darkens the area outside the crop, so you can see better what you’re cropping to, and gives you an exact pixel measurement of the crop area as you adjust it: very useful when you’re cropping a picture to fit a particular spot on a web page.

Some six weeks after my original complaint, I had another pleasant surprise from ACD Systems: a nice email from the man in charge of their online store. He made the usual corporate noises about not being able to discuss the reasons for their pricing, but promised that my comments would be considered in future decisions. He was pleased that I had complimented ACDSee’s newsletter (to reiterate: probably the best company newsletters I’ve seen, including the ones I used to do myself), since he had originated that project. We had an email conversation about our respective experiences with newsletters and software pricing, which culminated in him giving me a copy of the software, free except that he wants my comments on it (I’m working on that).

So, a happy ending with ACDSystems, and I do strongly recommend ACDSee, the best tool I know of for digital photographers.

Italians Flying the Flag

Italians are not much for patriotic displays. You rarely see Italy’s ‘Tricolore’ flag flying, except during World Cup soccer. During his first run for office ten years ago, Silvio Berlusconi brought to Italian politics the very American notion that ‘flag = patriotism = [my] political party’. Billboards for his Forza Italia party were swathed in red, white, and green. As owner of the popular AC Milan soccer team, he also managed to mix sport into his message: ‘Forza Italia’ (‘Let’s Go, Italy!’) sounds like a cheer for the Italian national team – no accident, of course.

As I recall it, that election coincided with a World Cup, or maybe it was a European championship. At any rate, between that and Berlusca, there were Tricolore flags everywhere. I asked my daughter, then three years old, if she knew what that flag meant. “Oh, yes,” she said brightly: “Those are the colors of Milan” – the football team!

photo: The Tricolore flying at the Vittorio Emmanuele monument in Rome.

When is a Mountain a Hill?

I suppose that what I see out my office window are technically Alps, but I can’t get used to calling them “mountains”. In Mussoorie, we lived at 7000 feet (2133 meters) and called that a “hillside.” Here in Lecco I live at 400 meters, and it’s supposed to be a mountain. The Alp on whose slopes we live, il Resegone, reaches a mere 1874 meters (6148 feet).

In reality, this nomenclature problem originates with the British, who founded Mussoorie and other towns in India and called them “hill stations.”

“To use the word ‘hill’ to refer to stations balanced precariously on the edges of ridges some six to eight thousand feet in elevation seems, on the face of it, a rather odd choice of terminology. It has been argued that the Himalayan stations seemed as though they were situated on little more than hills because they were set against the backdrop of the high country. But the universal adoption of the term ‘hill station’… also suggests an etymological effort to minimize the disturbing implications of the sublime… To speak of hill stations rather than mountain stations rhetorically scaled back the overwhelming force of the landscape.”
Dane Kennedy, The Magic Mountains

I also have trouble adjusting to the Alps visually. They’re much steeper than the Himalayas I grew up on, so they look (to me) taller and further away than they actually are. From my window (and in the photo above) I see the Medale, a sheer-sided mass of rock, and, to my Himalaya-formed perceptual habits, it should be very big and very far away. But it’s not far at all – Rossella’s school is practically at its foot, and from where I’m sitting I can see the windows of the houses on its lower slopes.

 

Deirdré Straughan on Italy, India, the Internet, the world, and now Australia