British Formal

One of the earliest impressions I had of India was the intensity of colors that grace a table, a market place, and each individual. The colors are the richest of rich even on the poorest of poor and I am surrounded by rainbows and pots of gold at every turn. I knew it would be relatively warm in Bangalore, and so I brought my classic professorial attire of summer weight suits. The six or so suit jackets have not left the closet. It is just entirely too warm to wear them. I have, however, been unwilling to shed my skirts, light sweaters, and heels—the style, I have learnt, that is called British Formal.

Whilst I have grown accustomed to spelling like a Brit and eating like an Indian (“Nana ge Masala Dosa beku,” I can now say in fluent Kannada to order my favorite morning breakfast treat), I am in brain freeze as surely as if I had eaten an Indian ice cream parfait far too quickly when it comes to shifting my mode of dress. Straight away I requested of my hosts to take me shopping for Indian women’s wear and straight away I purchased two Salwar Kameez, the tunic top and balloon-style pants with scarves in shades of brilliant green and fuchsia. They sit, however, on the couch, where I gaze at them lovingly and imagine what a stark raving idiot I would look if I walked down the street. I’m not talking about risking something as dramatic as the Sari, which requires some serious amount of abdominal work before you take that one on. I’m talking about colorful tops and slacks, and yet there is just some strange and fearful thing about what amounts to me as trying to look Indian when in my estimation, I would be exposed as a fraud.

In comparison to the people in southern India, I look like an albino, pale and starkly washed out. Although I have many people look me over on a daily basis here when I walk around in British Formal, at least the clothing is to what I am accustomed, which is my little mantra of justification. Little prepared me, though, for our trip last weekend to Shravanabelagola, the pilgrimage site of the 58-foot tall monolith, Jain deity Bahubali. Better than any ride Disneyland could offer, the drive into the countryside kept me in a constant running monologue of reflection about dharma and karma, for it felt that at any moment one’s life could end.

Ravi, my driver, is exceedingly skilled at manoeuvering in classic Bangalore style. If the road has three lanes, he drives down the white line of one, whilst abreast us as many as five or so additional vehicles speed too. In the first week, I had grown accustomed to this highly conventional mode of being, Indian style, but highly unconventional mode, Western style.
“Aren’t there traffic laws, Ravi?”

“Madam, they are guidelines,” he replied.

Several of my new Indian friends have reported that if they lived in the United States for a while, it was fearsome to drive once again in Bangalore. We frequently turn a corner at full tilt and come to a screeching halt because one of my adopted cows has taken up residence in the middle of the road. Indians exude patience. No one honks. No one yells. No one jumps out to guide the cow out of the road. We simply wait. And wait. And wait. Meditation has replaced my acerbic Los Angeles angst. During my first few days in Bangalore, I would query, “Where is that cow going?” I now replaced it with the question, “Where is that cow not going?”

As we sped out of the city and into the country, palm trees, rice fields, and ox-drawn carts outnumbered the buildings and the rickshaws and the 5,545,000 Bangalorans. The road was principally two lanes, and quite newly-constructed, Ravi said, but as I came to find, could transmogrify into a dirt stretch or a small city or village with utterly no warning. When we could drive at approximately 120 or 130 kilometers, Ravi would speed down the middle of the two lanes or take the opposite lane, leading you to believe we actually had full control of the road—that is, until a bus or large truck appeared, compelling us to move behind or in front immediately. The adrenaline rush exhausted me and I attempted to fall into that meditative state to which I had become accustomed in the city and simply ignore it.

As we approached Shravanabelagola, the roads narrowed and traffic came to a standstill. Every twelve years is the important Head Anointing Ceremony of Bahubali that is called

Mastakabhisheka, and although I had arrived several weeks into it, the festivities were still in full swing. Feeling a bit like the Pied Piper, men hawking souvenir postcards and miniature Indian deities, along with begging children, followed me toward the base of the mountain. The swelling crowds of people, many dressed in brilliant orange, climbed the 700 granite steps. Those who came down off the mountain were frequently drenched in a sauce of buttermilk, honey, and tumeric. Whilst I photographed people, I became the object of great curiosity. Large groups of individuals, particularly children, would simply stare. British Formal was nowhere in sight and neither did I see nary a soul who even remotely resembled me. Ravi insisted that I should not walk the distance myself, but rather be carted up the hill in a bamboo carrier. Whilst hesitant about having four men haul me up a mountain, the prospect of doing so in bare feet in the blazing sunlight intimidated me and so I agreed to pay the 150 rupees, which amounted to less that $3.50 USD.

Because of the festival, scaffolding with large platforms had been carried up the mountain and erected earlier in the year so as to give seating to the thousands of pilgrims who would view the many ceremonies; thus, whilst from a distance I had seen the massive monolith, I had no unobstructed view until I made my way through a labyrinth of pipe and plywood and stone walkways. Bahubali is the tallest known monolithic statue in the world carved out of a single huge granite boulder nearly one thousand years ago. It appears that the statue is part of the hill, sculpted by removing portions of the hilltop. The statue includes creepers, coiled snakes, and anthills, and is completely free of clothing, a Jain precept that represents utter sacrifice and selflessness, and one that is practiced by some of the followers. Ravi explained that there are naked Jain followers—holy men—called Digunbara and then there are normal naked men called Betaleh. I explained to him that in the United States no naked man on the street is considered normal, but rather subject to arrest. I asked where the naked women followers were. Ravi, who by this point had grown accustomed to my outrageous questions, merely laughed goodheartedly.

I arrived in time to see the faithful anointing the head of Bahubali with gallons of purified water, which at its base was captured in brass pots and given to the pilgrims. People sat around, chatted, and performed various ceremonial acts. Jainism suggests that as we are captured in our bodies at present, that it is difficulty to comprehend true reality. A pilgrimage such as one to Bahubali, may result in samyak darsana, which is Sanskrit for rational perception. If one attains this frame of mind, emptying oneself of preconceived notions and prejudices, then one can discern the true nature of things, which in turn leads to ethical conduct, and ultimately to salvation.

As I walked amidst the followers, many asked to take photographs of me and whether their children might touch me. I was more than happy to oblige, for I recognized that these many hours from a major city I was likely the only Westerner these lovely people had ever seen in person. Indians are curious people. I had read before I arrived to expect a good lot of staring and questioning, which is considered acceptable and appropriate conduct in a society that places high premium on relationships, be they personal or professional. What I had not anticipated was that regardless of my own mask, my own costume of dress, the individuals whom I have met accepted me regardless, for it is not a matter of differences being either better or worse, but rather simply being different. After seeing a few more remarkable temples, Ravi and I headed back to Bangalore. By the end of the day the Digunbara—the naked Jain holy men— had outnumbered the British Formal two to one.

You may learn more about the preparations for the Head Anointing Ceremony of Bahubalil at http://www.deccanherald.com/deccanherald/Feb82006/index204745200627.asp

Heterodoxy and Discourse

When Hema Ravichandar sent me his vitae, I knew Dr. Narendra Agarwal and I would have much to discuss. A distinguished professor and fellow of the prestigious Indian Institute of Management, this nation’s premier training ground for MBA’s and Ph.D’s, Dr. Narendra invited me to spend Friday and Saturday morning at the campus. Breakfast would begin the day, I would attend class with him to meet his students, and then, on Saturday, I would present an invited lecture to a group of over seventy-five. The presentation began with all of us standing, hands folded under chin as if in prayer, and about two minutes of silence. I did not know if we were praying, meditating or doing some other activity, and later asked my host to explain what had happened. He shared that he was demonstrating a sign of respect to his students, as they were to him and to each other.

I began my talk with a quote from Rabindranath Tagore.

The best and noblest gifts of humanity cannot be the monopoly of a particular
race or country.

I shared a bit about my background, my commitment to building relationships and alliances internationally, and my fervent belief that our survival depends on our recognition and practice of respect for one another. I came to India, I said, to learn, and to the degree that I have something to give back, to share.

Using Margaret Wheatley’s work, Leadership and the New Science: Discovering Order in a Chaotic World, I titled my lecture, “Leadership: From Chaos to Order.” I suggested to the group that sometimes to gain insight into a subject, one must move beyond the classic literature associated with our field and seek analogues in art, in poetry, in music, in science, and in other fields. Meg Wheatley examines quantum physics and uses it to discuss the principles of chaos, of relationships, of information, and of vision in organizations. I shared with the group how these principles can be made manifest as a leader.

For example, with the principle of information, I pointed out that in application, a leader must

Let go of the need to hoard knowledge;

Recognize that knowledge is power and access to it distributes the power to others in the organization;

Acknowledge that with power comes responsibility; and

Commit that all in the organization have a right and responsibility to lead from any chair.

I then asked the group to spend about 5-8 minutes reflecting on lessons they have learned about leadership and to frame their thoughts through the lens of chaos, relationships, information, or vision. They spent some time writing, then sharing with a partner, and then discussing as a group the various challenges, questions, and insights. Many of their issues are similar to those we face in the West; some are unique to India. One issue similar to a matter we face in the United States is the idea of heterodoxy, the ability to embrace a variety of perspectives. India, as reflected most quintessentially in the 8th century work, the Isa Upanisad, truly is a paradox, a riddle, a conundrum, a contradiction.

It stirs and it stirs not; it is far, and likewise near; it is inside of all
this and it is outside of all this.

The ability of Indians to hold seemingly antithetical states simultaneously astonishes me. In these early days of initiating this research, recurring notions, possible themes are already emerging, and one is this uncanny ability for individuals to be and/or simultaneously. Is this recognition of khela, of change coupled with an underlying and unchanging harmony in nature and in us, one key to acceptance, and ultimately to loving the other in our midst?

I have come to work in a nation that through the millennia demonstrates respect for heterodoxy and embraces discourse. No, the road has not always been smooth, for we humans are human, after all. Often in the United States we talk about diversity, we talk of respecting differences and of cherishing debate, and yet do our actions reflect this? The respect I am extended here in India I wish to see in my own university among each of us—faculty, administration, students, staff, the larger community. If we take principles of chaos, of information, of relationships, and of vision, are they not the warp and weft of the fabric of Indian culture as surely as they are that of quantum physics? Perhaps the standing, the hands folded, the quietude, and the humble honoring of another individual can serve a both metaphor and action in our own lives not only when class begins, but moment by moment.

Corporation as Campus, Business as Curriculum, Leader as Teacher

On Wednesday, April 19, Ravi, my new driver, wound his way through busy Bangalore until we reached a four-lane roadway that took us to Electronics City, the home of many of the multinationals. As we drove the streets, behind gated communities lay Hewlett Packard, Tata, Wipro, and countless others. I had seen the pictures, but nothing prepared me for the beauty of the Infosys Technologies Limited campus, which is what the company calls any of its locations. Often described as Disneyworld’s Epcot Center in real time, it is a lush, verdant array of gardens, architecturally intriguing buildings, walking pathways, and food courts. At Gate Four, I presented my business card and asked for Rajani Kanth Katragadda, the Associate Vice President of the Leadership Institute. The guard photographed me, examined my laptop and recorded its serial numbers, looked at other electronic devices, and then asked a woman guard present to examine my handbag.

Rajani arrived, greeted me warmly, and as we walked, he explained that whilst only ten years old, the Bangalore campus is called the heritage site. I found it an amusing example of the speed of light pace at which change happens today in India, for true governmentally-designated heritage sites in this nation must be at least one thousand years of age. Welcome to the new India. He and I settled into his office and began to talk. We had been corresponding for over a month and Rajani shared my interest in leadership, its relationship to the phenomenon of globalization, and its implications for each sector of society within each of our nations. He had suggested that in addition to my questions regarding development of human capital and development of the organization, that we discuss why many of the multinationals are investing in growing leaders, what they are doing to create this pipeline, and the implications for the various stakeholders in the global economy—our governments, our educational systems, the private sector, and the non-governmental agencies, as well as future generations.

Following the formalities of obtaining his consent to participate in my study, we settled into a conversation that began with Rajani’s background and extended into nearly three hours of discussion about his work with leadership. He shared with me one of the founder’s visions of Infosys, which is Company as Campus, Business as Curriculum, Leader as Teacher. Clearly, one of the deeply-cherished assumptions of this young, twenty-five year old company, is that learning is a value that permeates all facets of the organization. Rajani explained that in the beginning Infosys did not “grow” its own leaders, but that over time—approximately 6 years back—they came to recognize the value of raising up their own—that a living and thriving organization and the individuals in it could develop present leaders and raise up new ones. Their tiered system of leadership development creates opportunities for present management to learn in formal settings and for identified future leaders to begin the work of moving toward leadership positions.

Rajani emphasized that the critical question at the beginning, and one that recurs, is “Why? Why should we develop leaders?” As they began to work through the answers to this question, the next one became, “What do we teach them?” Finally, “How do we teach them?” became the natural outgrowth of the what. The What of leadership evolved over time. At first, the focus was on leader competencies. Over time, it became competencies and business outcomes. Rajani says that at this point, they theorize that leadership is more about a “state of being,” not too dissimilar from many of the principles embedded in Hinduism, but that they are still actively engaged in the competencies and outcomes model.

I suggested that as reflection is one of the principles of Hinduism, that the degree to which an organization is able to reflect—individually and collectively—is the degree to which it is moving toward that ideal state of being and of knowing, and that perhaps Infosys was not so awfully far away from recognizing state of being as an important aspect of leadership.


We both had lost track of time and were quite exhausted, and yet we had not even made it beyond his questions. I suggested we continue on my next visit to Bangalore. I often say that as a leader we should subscribe to two maxims: first, that less is more and second, that to move fast, one has to move slowly. Our conversation had been rich and revealing and multifaceted and there was no need to barrel through my agenda. Having committed a minimum of three years to this work, I had created a framework for building relationships with the leaders whom I meet—and with a focused effort to nurture these new friendships, I would have opportunities to meet with people again. Additionally, my training in cultural anthropology and my previous work in other countries told me that so much of my early visits to India would be about understanding the culture into which I had now found myself. The theory of Indian culture on which I had briefed myself well would pale to the reality of the experience of being here daily with people.

As our time was coming to an end, we walked the campus to one of the food pavilions, where we enjoyed an Indian lunch of dosas and chutneys. Rajani and I exchanged stories about our families. As we returned to his office, he invited me to join his family and him for dinner that night. This very generous man—generous with his knowledge, his time, and his experience—confirmed what I had heard of India: the guest is God and is respected above all else. I could only humbly accept his kind invitation with my thanks.

As Easy as Onedu, Yaradu, Muru

In learning a language, when from mere words we reach the laws of words, we
have gained a great deal. But if we stop at that point, and only concern
ourselves with the marvels of the formation of a language, seeking the hidden
reason of all its caprices, we do not reach the end—for grammar is not
literature, prosody is not a poem.

Rabindranath Tagore, Sadhaha

India has thousands of languages when one considers the panoply of dialects, and yet in the United States, we frequently believe that the principally-spoken language of India is Hindi. Only around 24 of these countless languages are spoken by over a million people each. If one recalls that this is a nation of over one billion, then obviously there are an extraordinarily larger number of languages for which one must account. Here in the province of Karnataka, the local language is Kannada, which is a prominent Dravidian language. Spoken by approximately 50 million, it is one of the most ancient of Indian languages next to Sanskrit, Prakrit, and Tamil, and dates back at least by evidence to an early inscription discovered c 450 CE. Bear in mind, however, that Kannada also has an array of dialects.

The language of Kannada appears in many forms and in many places—from writings on temples to ancient coins to ancient literature, both poetry and prose. A seventh century eulogy of Kappe Arabhatta, a hero remembered as Kaliyuga Vipartitan honors him in this way. Even this simple phrase’s rendering in English is vastly deep, rich, and lovely.

Good to the good, sweet to the sweet,

This exceptional man of Kaliyuga

Is a veritable Madhava himself (to the distressed).

Madhava is one of the thousand names of Vishnu or Krishna, preserver of the universe, and one of the principal gods in Hinduism. It may mean one who is the consort of Ma, the mother of the universe or the lord of Ma, the lord of knowledge.

This most inconsequential budding of my knowledge is indescribably humbling. I cannot even grasp the import of one translated phrase of Kannada—never mind the array of other languages—and yet I must form relationships with leaders in this nation. My command of Hindi is nil, and my command of Kannada is presently limited to namaskara (hello), tata, (goodbye), diavit-too (please), danyawada (thank you), how-du (yes), and i-la (no). I’m working on Nana yesaru Elizabeth, which is, with hope, self-explanatory.

As a consequence of my lack of language, the principal manner in which I communicate with others is through English, which is widely spoken. I must, however, filter the English I hear through the accent the individual brings to it, and this can become extraordinarily daunting, particularly in a research setting, where I am recording conversations for later transcription. The rules of active listening have become ever more essential as I have found myself in an unending dance of paraphrasing and clarifying what people say to me. The challenges abound.

Can I understand what words the person said? Indians learn British English, and if one is unfamiliar with it, even a phrase such as “tick the box” becomes confusing. Did he mean, “kick the box,” “pick up the box,” “check the box,” or something entirely different? In my case, my background in British literature (with my humble thanks to Doctors Cox and Knighton, amongst several of my undergraduate professors), along with the good lot of time I have spent in England has helped me immensely.

Are there cultural layers that inhibit my understanding? For example, Indians do not like to say no. I had read this before I arrived in India, but what did it really mean? Rajani Kanth Katragadda of Infosys explained that he is hardwired to not refuse in a direct manner what someone wants. He said that clearly this comes with liabilities, particularly in a business setting where many cultures expect your yes to mean yes and your no to mean no. “Imagine,” he said, “that your client wants the product earlier than you can deliver. How do you go to the client and tell him, ‘No, we will have to stay to the original date.’” He expressed that deep in the Indian psyche is this difficulty with being the bearer of bad news and of the inability to meet another’s needs.

I add to this the notion of agreement and disagreement. Indians relish debate and discussion, but deeply embedded in culture is a respect for authority and a respect for the guest, who is seen as God. If someone agrees with me, is she doing so because she actually believes it? Does she intend to change her actions based on her verbal assent? Or is she demonstrating respect to me only by her agreement?

Other questions I ponder are Can I grasp the meaning of his or her words? And, Is the individual understanding what I say? Thankfully, it is time for a nice cup of Assam tea, which will permit me to escape the prosody of these enigmas and to reflect on the poetry of the moment, for, as Tagore says, “the best part of the song is missed when the tune is absent; for thereby its movement and its colour are lost, and it becomes like a butterfly whose wings have been plucked.”

The Road to Yantra

Mr. Thomas, my driver, navigated with adroitness and grace the roads of Bangalore, tapping the horn nearly continually whilst dodging bovine, goats, dogs, and chickens; men, women, and children of all ages and appearances; as well as every imaginable conventional and unconventional motorized vehicle. Our destination was Yantra Solutions, now a company of Sterling Commerce, the multinational corporation that has graciously hosted me and whose executives have helped to make possible this research initiative.

Countless roadside vendors dotted the landscape, selling sliced red and gold melons, honey-on-the comb complete with bees, and multi-colored liquids in communal drinking glasses. Small and exquisitely-detailed Hindu temples stood on corners. On another, a statue of the Virgin Mary stood encased in glass.

I peppered him with questions. "Thomas," I queried, "Why is that temple too small to get inside? Where are all of these people going? Is there work for them? Where is that cow going? Why does it have silver decorations on its horns? Who feeds it? Does anyone own it? Where does it go at night?" I was becoming obsessed with the steer and their fate as I wondered how long they, as well as the temples and roadside vendors, would last in a land where the private sector was more and more casting India's destiny. What aspects of Indian culture, cherished for millennia, could and would be carried forward into the twenty-first century? I had no answers and no judgments--only more and more questions.

Colonel Jai Padki, head of administration and security and Miss Vinitha, the administrative assistant who had helped me to coordinate the many details of my visit from thirteen time zones away, greeted me warmly at the entrance of Yantra. AP Rao, Yantra Sterling's financial controller joined us. As we settled into the conference room, business cards were exchanged and I whispered silent gratitude to Serge and Peter for their cultural coaching, for it was exactly as they had said: this was more of a ceremony than a perfunctory moment in passing. Hot, fragrant chai arrived in tiny china cups.

Jai and AP reviewed with me my schedule and began to fill in some of the gaps with meetings that I will have with Yantra Sterling. They added cultural outings in the form of a Saturday trip to the markets, along with the admonition that I was to buy nothing at first, but just examine and absorb all that I saw. We toured the facility and I noted that most of the employees looked so young. AP told me that most were around twenty-seven years of age and that he was essentially the old man. I laughed and mentioned that the only way the youngsters could learn was for the veterans of the business to mentor them.


Thomas took me back to my hotel, Leela Palace, and as I sat out on my balcony overlooking the waterfalls in the gardens, ruminated once again on the fate of the cows and of the gracious Indians I had met this day.

Situations Vacant

The Times of India, Bangalore
Wednesday, April 19, 2006

Situations Vacant

A Multinational Trading Co.

Having its office in Prestige Meridian, M.G. Road is looking for a female receptionist. Smart, good looking, with good communication skills & computer savvy...post your resume and photograph at___.

The breakfast buffet included countless stations with choices ranging from standard Western fare to Japanese cuisine to freshly prepared Indian cuisine. I was astonished at the array of choices and not a small bit overcome. I said to Vijay, my server, "I am not in the West and so do not wish to eat omlettes or lox and bagels. Will you tell me what these many Indian breakfast choices are and teach me what I should eat?"

Vijay willingly obliged and brought me what approximated a massive crepe filled with spiced potatoes. A side dish of sauce or soup accompanied it. He departed and I was left to contemplate just how to eat it. Looking around for an analogue and finding none among fellow diners, I picked up knife and fork, and European style, dug in. Vijay returned, and in somewhat uncharacteristic Indian fashion, momentarily looked askance.

I paused and queried, "How do I eat this, Vijay?"

I knew Indians did eat with their right hands--never the left--but did not quite understand how one negotiated the entire enterprise. He explained that I was to tear off a piece of the crepe, put some of the potato in it, and then dip it in the sauce. Clumsily, with one hand, I followed directions. Fragrant, flavorful, and delicious, I declared, and managed to eat the entire plate, which I chased with an acidophilus-rich bowl of yoghurt.

Whilst eating, I read The Times of India.

PM Bats for Quota in Private Sector

I learnt that Prime Minister of India, Mammohan Singh, has placed job quotas on the national agenda by asking industry to voluntarily extend affirmative action so as to value diversity and broaden their workforce. He is attempting to ensure that no group feels excluded from the rapid economic growth that India is experiencing. While he would prefer to leave quotas for the private sector to work out, the Prime Minister is willing to look at laws if they continue to balk. Nandan Nilekani, the chief scion of Infosys, said that he shared the concern of the Prime Minister and that it was time for all to sit down and discuss the matter more fully.

Whilst this article presented a mere fifteen second visual byte of information, it does raise many questions. What is driving the quota issue? Is is truly about social justice and an attempt to level the entry to the playing field? What are the policy issues? The political matters to consider? It appears that the quota issue is also one the universities are facing. How does that new matter relate to the quotas the Prime Minister is calling for in industry?

Tomorrow, I meet with one of the executives of the Infosys Leadership Institute, Rajani Kanth Katragadda, and in several days' time, with the Senior Vice President of Wipro's Corporate Human Resource Development, Ranjan Acharya, and shall seek to explore these issues of quotas and social justice in greater depth.

Culture 101

Serge queried, "So, Elizabeth, do you know how to present a business card?"

I looked at him curiously. I had met Dr. Gravelle, the chairman of Depan Financial Group, on the flight from Los Angeles to Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, and he invited me to join colleagues and him in Subang Jaya, a town about thirty minutes from KL, to observe a leadership program for entrepreneurs. I had already noticed that anyone I met immediately offered me a card, but to this point had missed any subtlties associated with its exchange.

"Yes, indeed, Elizabeth, there is a protocol for giving a business card in Asia. You place your card in both hands, information facing toward the individual, and you proffer it with a slight bow at the waist. When he or she takes the card--in the same manner that you offer it, note what happens. Unlike in the West, where we grab the card and shove it in our wallets, he will inspect your card carefully and read it thoughtfully before putting it away."

On my flight from KL to Bangalore, Peter Andrist, Vice President of Business Development for Gate Gourmet, a multinational originally based in Switzerland and now with headquarters in Washington State, added, "And Elizabeth, be certain not to write on the card--at least not in the individual's presence. It is, for example, in Japan, considered very offensive to deface it."

Peter went on to explain that Westerners pay little attention to the detail of business protocol when working in other parts of the world. He said his biggest challenge in working in Asia, as he is responsible for acquiring new companies for Gate Gourmet , is helping his colleagues in Europe and in the United States to understand that business is conducted wholly differently.

I questioned, "Do you love what you do?"

"Indeed, yes." Peter now lives in Bankok and misses only the Swiss mayonnaise ("not sweet as Thai mayonnaise is) and mustard (senf, auf Deutsch, and a bit sweeter than the Asian varieties) that come in little toothpaste-style tubes.

"When you were a little boy, did you imagine you would be doing this?"

"I imagined I would be a chef, quite frankly, and now I have little time to cook, eating aboard airplanes quite a lot, actually."

"So, Peter, you are Swiss German. To use a euphemism, one might suggest you to be as tightly wound and precise as a Swiss watch. How is it that you have the patience to work in a culture so very different from that to which you are accustomed."

He replied, "I've come to see that to accomplish anything, it is the relationship that matters. People in Asia need to trust you and to discuss, discuss, discuss. You will see that especially in India, where they love to talk. "

I mentioned to him Amartya Sen's book, The Argumentative Indian, where he begins by boldly proclaiming that "prolixity is not alien to us in India." Peter laughed.

Peter agreed to meet with me again at a later date, where I could formally interview him and learn what it is his multinational will do to woo a company in Bangalore to become part of the Gate Gourmet family.

The world is flat

It began with a conversation, as many amazing things often do. He queried, "Where were you when you discovered the world was flat?" I looked up from my book, The World is Flat, and replied, "When I realized I could have breakfast in London with my oldest daughter, set up my doctoral class online, have an instant message conversation with one of my dissertation students, and still be back in California that same evening to tuck my two youngest into bed." He smiled. President/CEO of Sterling Commerce, Inc., Samuel R. Starr, along with Thomas Friedman, were about to make life quite interesting.

As I considered Friedman's perspectives, it occurred to me that India represented the quintessence of his assertions, yet there could likely not be a nation more a study in contrasts. Over the course of the next few months with the insight and reflection of several executives, I gave birth to a research initiative that will take me to a land both ancient and new age, steeped in customs milennia old, yet poised on the precipice of a megatrend of globalization unprecidented to this point in history.

What is happening in India? And more specifically, what does leadership look like at present and what is its relationship to the sucesses the nation is enjoying? What are its challenges? And finally, what are the lessons and the implications for both India and the United States.

Come join me on a journey that will take me deep into the past and far into the future.