When the Democracy goes Digital - Part 1

“A democracy is only as effective as its citizens, and requires your active participation to thrive and grow.” Someone told me this. I had, clearly, failed my democracy. And so I sought to mend my ways.

Eighteen months ago, I decided to avail my right to vote. To strengthen my resolve: a Voter ID, much more than a Passport, is a solid source of identity in this country. I applied for my right, and my application was graciously accepted at the Corporation Office.

Every three months or so, I’ve visited this office to enquire about the status of my application. Here are a few accounts:

Attempt 1:

I showed them a scanned copy of the receipt, and asked them for the ID Card. My request was met by a happy officer who said, “Sorry, we accept only photocopies. Please bring me the original, or a photocopy of the receipt.”

“But why?”

“Because we need to file it…”

Attempt 2:

Producing the photocopy first, “Where’s my card? It’s been nine months,” I said.

“We are unable to check the records now. For the past four to five days, our systems are down. Please come again after a few weeks.”

“Can I check this online?”

“Yes, but first you have to confirm your ID with us. Once we confirm, it will reflect online…”

Attempt 3:

“Can I have my Voter ID? I filled my application last year…”

“Please come after lunch. That madam will be able to help you,” said a smiling, moustached man.

So I waited. I didn’t leave. And when they returned, I confronted them: “Where?”

“There is a process for this,” she said, in a matter-of-fact way. “First, you need to check the Voter Lists at any of the polling booths. If your name is there, please note down the number, and come back to us with this. We will give you the ID.”

“I have to find my name myself? What is the use of this receipt then?”

“That is for your reference,” she said, and dismissed me.

Attempt 4:

I admit I am not a top-class citizen. I didn’t act promptly enough. It took me five months to check one of the polling booths, and return to them with my number. But when I got there, I produced it valiantly: “Here. That’s my number. Please give me my Voter ID.”

“Today, we don’t have the material to print these Cards. We have contacted the supplier… You will have to come back in one week.”

“Can I help you? I can get you the material right now… Where do you get it from?” I asked.

“Denmark,” she said.

“Oh…”

“So I should come back…?”

“Not to worry, you’re now an eligible voter. Even without the card, you can use your ID Number. Just carry another ID Proof.”

Attempt 5:

Yesterday, I visited the office again. “ID!” I said, and produced my details.

“Your ID is there, sir, but it cannot be printed now… There’s some problem…”

“What’s the problem now?!”

“Don’t get agitated, sir.”

“I applied nearly two years ago! What is the problem?”

“It is not reflecting in the system…”

“What should I do for it to reflect in your system?”

“Please call the Toll Free number. And tell them your ID. They will resolve the problem; then, you can come to us…”

In the meanwhile, another woman barged into the line and shouted over my shoulder: “I have applied for an Address Change. When can I collect my card?”

“Don’t shout, madam. It will take us some time to update.”

“Should I come after one month,” she said, as if it’s the most natural thing to wait one month for a deliverable.

“Not one month. Come in October,” she said. I looked at my phone to confirm: we were still in January.

I'd spent so much time in their queues, I was unwilling to accept their tardiness. So I stepped aside and called the Toll Free number right there, from the office. The officers asked me to leave. I didn't budge.

An annoying song, conducive to a Government setting, blared through my phone's speakers. I held on for nine whole minutes ("You're in queue. Please wait."), before a lady answered my call. I conveyed to her my issue, my reference number, and my frustration. She replied, "Looks like you can vote... But your number doesn't identify on the system."

The System! As if it was a place with a mind of it's own. Does anyone even know what The System is? Who controls this System? What are its rules?

"What must I do now, if your stupid system doesn't have my ID?"

"Please wait until Monday, sir. We will call you."

"You will call me?! But this is a Toll Free number... Who will speak to me?"

"One of the officers will call you." Very helpful, thanks.

I hung up the phone, and looked up at the officer at the counter, wondering what to say next. I realized there was no point. The democracy was moving along smoothly.

Product-Market Fit V/S High Art

A tried and tested technique for internet entrepreneurs, especially those based in China, is this:
1 - Look up international comparable with unicorn potential.
2 - Perform extensive local search-engine queries to check organic traffic.
3 - Optimize and tweak business-model to fit observations.

Even if Step 1 is overlooked, Steps 2 & 3 are considered critical. E.g. if you want to start selling cakes online, then perform enough searches to verify traffic on the keyword "cake". Your findings may show great demand for blueberry cheesecakes; boom, that's your MVP (minimum viable product).

In other words, the market precedes the product. The grand-question of Product-Market fit is neatly obviated. You give people what they want. Why try inventing things which may or may not have buyers?

Of course, killer innovation may not happen. So some may question this method, and call it inferior to the conventional maverick route. But it's hard to imagine a sad billionaire. So the ends must justify the means.

The issue only occurs when you gauge artistic value of a business; all businesses are a form of art. I can't bring myself to digest the thought of an artist who Googles his or her audience's tastes, and tailors art accordingly.

 

Two Men Who Spoke

There was once a man who spoke the truth. He always told you what you already know. When you were fatigued, he'd say "go sleep it off, you look like you're dying". When you spoke too loudly, he'd shush you. If you lied, he'd smack you on your back and make you swear you wouldn't do it again. If you did well, he'd commend you and ask you to keep it up.

 

Sometimes, when you felt naughty, you'd do something bad - cheat someone, maybe - and then feel bad about it. He'd come down on you like a brick wall. "You're a shitty person. Go think about what you've done," he once shouted.

 

The man who spoke the truth was a failure. No one liked him. He got nowhere.

 

But there was another man, his friend. He never spoke the truth. He'd tell you what you wanted to hear. He'd asked you if you'd lost weight ("you look so fit") when you were tired. When you were loud, he back-patted you for confidence; he called you smart when you lied. When you achieved something big, he'd say - "Dream big! This is nothing... You are capable of great things".

 

He always said people oughtn't be judged. You obviously had your justifiable reasons to cheat other people. He would support everything, and their opposites too. If it happened, he'd say something you'd like hearing about it.

 

The man who never spoke the truth was a smashing success. Everyone loved him. He did whatever he liked.