Category Archives: Article

Should I build house on loan or live on rent and build later? The math is simple

We are going to do two calculations with a timescale of 30 years. You can do them for a shorter timescales but I don’t see the point because it is the compounding effect over long time that makes this whole exercise interesting.

Imagine you are currently 30 year old and plan to retire by 60. You have steady salary and you want to build your own house. Housewarming is always a good story to tell to your peers. Should you build it now or should you put money into a “house fund” and build the house when you retire and live in a rented house? I’ll suggest that the later (delayed gratification) is at least twice as cheaper than the former (instant gratification) over the timescale of 30 years.

To simplify calculations, let’s assume that you are planning a 1Cr (₹10 million) house. If you take a home loan repayable over 30 years, your EMI will be ₹77,601 per month at 8.60% interest. This is the cost per month of the base case of building house here and now.

04221668383848bda558eeda546e9e03 -- Return by pension fund after 30 years when Rs. 57,601 per month is deposited every month.

Return by pension fund after 30 years when Rs. 57,601 per month is deposited every month.

Second option is that you rent the house and invest the rest of the money into a fund so that after 30 years, you can build the same house. I think you can rent such a house for ₹15,000 to 20,000 in my neighborhood. I am going to use 20,000 per month rent and I am going to assume 5% increase on the rent per year. You will spend Rs. 66 lacs on rent over 30 years.

I still save ₹57,601 per month (77,601 EMI – 20,000 rent). If I put all of this into the national pension scheme (NPS) for 30 years, and with a moderate 6% return, you will get ₹7.87 Cr as lumpsum and ₹2.62 lacs per month as pension!

If you have this amount of money in your savings, you can probably build the house and avoid the pain of EMI. However, according to the math, it is still a bad idea.

The question you should be asking — at least for this exercise — is your 1Cr house today available for 7.87 Cr after 30 years? It will be much cheaper unless your house continuously appreciating over 7% per year for over 30 years!

1 Cr house today after 30 years
Assuming 3% YoY appreciation 2.42 Cr
Assuming 5% YoY appreciation 4.32 Cr.
Assuming 10% YoY appreciation 17.00 Cr.

Assuming a 5% appreciation on your house (only land appreciates, the house depreciates), your 1 Cr house will be worth 4.32 Cr after 30 years. The EMI is at least twice as costly and we are ignoring the monthly pension that comes with pension scheme. In an Index fund, assuming no inflation, an investment of ₹13,000 per month will give you a return of 4.6 Cr. So effectively, making a house after 30 years while living on rent will cost you ₹33,000 per month compared to ₹77,601 per month if you build your house using loans.

I have not considered inflation into any calculation. While inflation is a complicated subject, we can safely assume that your salary will have some protection against inflation. So you can increase the investment to compensate for the inflation. I am not sure if the land price and rent appreciation available on some sources that I have used are already adjusted for inflation?

I don’t think building house on loan is a rational choice.

Writing And Speaking

…For five years, I gave the shortlisted candidates for our M.Tech (IT) entrance a short second test. In one of the questions, I would ask them to write something in English about their family, then rewrite the same thing in their mother tongue or in any other Indian language they knew. Invariably, people who wrote bad English also wrote bad Hindi, bad Marathi, bad Telugu, etc. My belief, therefore, is that poor writing is a result of a lack of mental discipline to write properly. Also, it is language-independent. If you’re good in one language, it means you’ve disciplined your mind to write well and carefully. Then you usually imbibe that discipline when writing in another language. Inadequate preparation on the topic may be one aspect, but invariably, lack of discipline and training in writing is the problem.
— Prof. Deepak Pathak, CSE, IT Bombay, Raintree, Jan-Feb 2011

How terrible I am at writing! It occurred to me first when I had to write and submit my undergraduate project in college. I had no issue talking about it to anyone who cared to listen. But I found it very difficult to put it on paper. This bad writing I am concerned about here is not about spelling and grammar mistakes — this blog has an unhealthy number of them — but rather how I wove my thoughts together. The same feeling popped up once again when I sat down to write my M. Tech. thesis. After spending 3 years (and counting) as a teaching assistant and reading many reports and writing a few, I can say with much confidence that I am not the only one who lacks the ability to write well-structured prose.

Indians seem to be at much more ease with spoken rather than the written word. They speak eloquently and to a great length with evident pleasure but their writing is often hasty and careless. I am aware that there is a vast number of Indians who cannot put written words altogether. But many others have the capacity, and my purpose is to comment on how they use and misuse it. There are of course first-rate poets, writers, and columnists but my intention is not to comment on individual talent.

We just excel at the spoken words. Anyone who belongs to that large and very ill-defined category called ‘public intellectual’ can speak at any length and on any subject at hand. The curious fact about them is that the speakers hardly refer to any note or reference and often talk without much application of mind. Also, they do not like being interrupted or corrected while they are talking. I am not sure whether they feel the same way should anyone correct their writing.

Here, I wish to share an experience of Andre Beteille when he gave lectures at two premier universities each of which was chaired by the vice-chancellor of the university concerned. The first lecture was at the University of Cambridge where the VC was a distinguished medical scientist. He introduced him briefly and, after he finished his lecture, also thanked him briefly. As they were walking out, he told Beteille that he had greatly enjoyed his lecture. When Beteille remonstrated that he was merely being polite, he quietly took out the notes that he took during lectures which ran into three pages: he had come to the lecture to listen rather than to speak.  At another lecture in the Indian university, the vice-chancellor arrived thirty-five minutes late while the speaker and audience waited. Having arrived late, he embarked on a lengthy and eloquent speech on the challenges facing the country and the need for teachers and students to rise up to them. By the time he sat down and Beteille began his lectures on whose preparation he had spent more than a month, it became evident that the audience had lost interest in it. As to taking notes, no self-respecting vice-chancellor in India takes notes at a lecture given by a mere professor.

Back in my village where literacy level is well below the national average, educated people are called ‘padhe likhe log’ (people who can read and write). For them, the ability of speaking is not impressive since all of them can speak at any length. For villagers, and perhaps to many others as well, speaking counts for little unless it is in English. Indeed, there is a peculiar attitude towards the English language, especially among the urban middle class. The command over the English language, which is very unevenly distributed among them, is not only a very important intellectual asset but also a yardstick to measure one’s social status. An Indian takes perverse pleasure in correcting and improving others’ English by which she establishes not only intellectual but also social superiority over others.

Perhaps lack of reading also hinders the growth of writing skills. It is also interesting to note that libraries in India are not only hard to find; they are also the least used on a per capita basis. Unlike many Western countries, buying and reading books for entertainment and pleasure is not in our culture. Indians prefer to buy a book only if it serves some specific purpose and has a long shelf life. I am of the view that one can not go very far in developing ideas without reading good books or conversing with thoughtful people. It is much easier to access the former than the latter.

Many believe that this lack of writing ‘good’ prose is due to the use of foreign language. If there is a problem with language then why do they use it; or chose to write at such immoderate length when the language is forced onto them? It is only a part of the picture as the experience of Prof. Pathak shows. Perhaps the most important reason is the lack of care and patience which is hard to notice while one is speaking.  This same lack of measure and discipline shows itself vividly in a written discourse which can easily be found in our judicial and in academic prose. I often read in the news that Supreme Court judgments often run into thousands of pages. Mr. Nani Palkhiwala had once observed that this clearly shows the Indian preoccupation with eternity and infinity.

By their very nature, writing and reading are solitary activities. Speaking, on the other hand, is a way of being gregarious. The Indian is gregarious by nature. He finds it very hard to be alone unless he is a sanyasi or a poet. From childhood, he grows in the company of others: relatives of uncountable denominations. He is never allowed to be himself and made to believe that being himself is a way of being selfish and arrogant. And as he grows in status in society, so do his visitors in number and variety.

I find myself perplexed by the inordinate amount of time Indian academicians can spend in meetings. When do they get the time to think and work on their ideas? I do not have any experience of academic life in the West but it is easy to notice the difference. Just look at the amount of time they put into writing. It rarely happens that an Indian professor prepares notes to make them available on his home page or to circulate in the classroom. In the West, it seems to be a primary activity among academics. Their home pages are filled with notes, information, and tutorials even though similar material is available outside. That much of writing is not possible without spending a significant time in solitude. It is not to say that academicians in the West do not spend time in committees and meetings but they must be aware of the time they need to be by themselves. Successful Indian academics like to complain endlessly about the time they have to spend on committees and meetings, but their complaints need not be taken seriously. They cherish nothing more than being surrounded by people before whom they can hold forth; what they cannot bear is being themselves.

The ability to write good prose does not emanate entirely from intelligence or the facility with the language. Writing is a solitary art that requires patience and care and a certain kind of emotional investment. If a person spent so much in being gregarious, she can not put a concentrated effort into writing. Of course, there are masters of both spoken and written words. These individuals are outstanding and therefore are not confined by the circumstances but can rise above them.

In engineering colleges, in which I have first-hand experience, this lack of patience and care is evident in the code or design students submit for their assignments. These erroneous designs and buggy codes, and their carelessly written reports which say little about the design or the implementation is of little worth. But they are accepted and graded. What is troubling is that even the most technically sound student writes hastily and with little care for the reader. Often her writing does not match her technical abilities. Contrasting this with my experience on many online discussion forums mainly located in the west; I was amazed to read carefully written and extremely lucid answers provided by academicians to questions posed. In these online communities, they are very strict about the style of writing and community standards, and they protect them jealously. It would not strain one’s credulity to believe that there is some difference in general orientation between cultures towards this very important academic activity as Prof. Andre Beteille puts it, ‘some cultures tolerate careless, vacuous and disjointed writing while others discourage it.’

Related Articles

  1. http://www.paulgraham.com/speak.html

Some Notes on Hindi and Hindiwallah

Why do you despise the culture of the language you speak every day of your lives, the only language which your mother and sister understand? — Dr. J. Ballantyne (Title of an essay he gave his students in an attempt to “improve” their Hindi)

One of students spoke on behalf of the group

We do not clearly understand what you Europeans mean by the term Hindi, for there are hundreds of dialects, all in our opinion equally entitled to the name, and there is no standard as there is in Sanskrit… If the purity of Hindi is to consist in its exclusiveness of Mussulman words, we shall be required to study Persian and Arabic in order to ascertain which words are habitually issued every day in Arabic or Persian and which are Hindi. With our present knowledge, we can tell whether a word is Sanskrit or not Sanskrit; but if not Sanskrit, it may be English or Portuguese instead of Hindi, or anything else—we cannot tell. English words are becoming as completely naturalized in villages as Arabic and Persian words, and what you call Hindi will eventually merge into some future modification of Oordoo, nor do we see any great cause for regret in the prospect.

As the late Ravindra Kumar used to say, “history is futuristic.” You can run away from history as much as you like, but history always catches up with you. In India, nothing is ever finished: the “sack” of the Somnath temple is avenged a thousand years later in the fetid fields of Bhagalpur and in the alleys of Bombay. If you want to understand anything about India, first get her history right.

As a child, I was made to believe that Hindi originated from Sanskrit—its loyal eldest daughter—and that other languages such as Bangla, Marathi, Gujarati, etc., were either younger daughters of Sanskrit or evolved from Hindi. With all the “Mera Bharat Mahan” and “Proudly say Hindi–Hindu–Hindustan” drilled into my head, believing this was easy—and even lovable. Then you open a page of history and bang—disillusionment.

History in India is a hot potato. Write one honest line and they will come after you. A sentence on Shivaji can vandalize a library. Write about Ram or Krishna and you may be beaten. History has always been part of Indian nationalism and has been weaponized by the opportunistic middle class. Perhaps that is why we have all these Hindiwallah who once forced this nonsense on us and now boast children who cannot read or write their own mother tongue—yet lose their minds when someone questions why Hindi is a “national language.”

Double standards are the hallmark of the Hindi/Bangla middle class. The Hindiwallah moralize loudly about corruption in public while hobnobbing with the corrupt in private. A Bengali may march with a party at twenty and work in a U.S. university by forty. Over time, they have learned to do all of this simultaneously.

Anyway, let us restrict ourselves to Hindi.

My biases should be clear. Hindi is an emotional matter for me. But I do not use English as a replacement for Hindi, nor Hindi as an excuse for not learning English. If English lets me reach a wider audience (even with broken grammar), Hindi lets me write my diary. I do not mind being emotionally bilingual. Learning multiple languages is always beneficial.

You may have heard the saying:

हिंदुस्तान की अजब कहानी,
कोस कोस पर बदले पानी,
चार कोस पर वाणी।

(An odd tale is Hindustan’s: every mile the water changes taste; every four miles the language changes.)

Post-Bollywood Hindi has become too homogeneous, and city dwellers may never have witnessed these nuances. In villages, the differences are vivid. Just two kilometers from my village, people use buhari for jhaadu and are unaware of the other word. The reason is simple: only women use the buhari, and women from that village never visit ours. They are Vishnoi; we are Chauhans.

What Ballantyne wanted was the killing of these vernaculars for the sake of one standardized language, just as Europe had done. His student’s response was closer to the truth: India is a melting pot of cultures and languages and must evolve at its own pace—however slowly.

Those who pride themselves on being “modern” hate this slowness. They want to change the world on demand, and when people resist, they label them uneducated, conservative, fundamentalist, yokels, villagers, or indecent. Society changes slowly. People adopt what makes life easier. Pajamas replaced lungis not because of Westernization, but because they were practical. T-shirts replaced kurtas for the same reason. Fashion weeks and MTV matter, but their reach is limited.

There is no escape from language. As speakers change it, it changes them—often more strongly. Languages carry traits. Bangla comes with chauvinism, Tamil with tradition, Hindi with arrogance.

Speak English with a Tamil; another Tamil joins and the conversation stays in English. Speak English with a Bengali; another Bengali joins and suddenly you are invisible. Speak a non-English language with a Hindi speaker and you will be nudged toward Hindi. Add another Hindi speaker and the “national language” argument appears.

English is spared—unless the speaker is uneducated. Yet the same person will lecture you on why you should learn Hindi, even if he cannot read or write decent Hindi.

It is not entirely their fault. It is how Hindi was raised. The invention of Hindi was a heroic project. But if a child is born with polio, what can one do?

Purani Hindi

Chandradhar Sharma Guleri’s Purani Hindi demands careful reading—probably a B.A. in Hindi. The evolution looks roughly like this:

Root Language
└─ Vedic Language
├─ Sanskrit
└─ Prakrit → Apabhransh

Sanskrit was the language of elites, declared ajar-amar. It was not the language of the masses—and that is why it did not survive. One social movement could wipe out English just as Sanskrit was wiped out. The real challenge is defeating the Hindiwallah first.

Vedic language split into two streams. One flowed freely as Prakrit. The other was dammed into Sanskrit by Panini’s grammar. Sanskrit became sacred; change was allowed only in Prakrit.

Examples abound:
* देवा: and देवास: → only देवा: in Sanskrit
* अस्मिनममीम्म्हीमें

Ashoka’s edicts, Buddhist Pali, Jain Magadhi, Kharosthi—these show the flow. Politics followed. If Sanskrit was the language of gods, Magadhi claimed to be the original language of humans and gods alike.

Out of this linguistic promiscuity was born Apabhransh, the mother of Hindi—Purani Hindi—between the 7th and 11th centuries. Many believe the first Hindi poetry was Prithviraj Raso by Chand Bardai.

If Hindi evolved solely from Sanskrit, why is Hindi gender-sensitive (jata/jati) while Sanskrit and Bangla are not? In Vedic language, purush meant both man and woman. Panini masculinized it. Brahmins were excellent at polluting what they touched.

Let us jump to the 18th century, when a section of the middle class—the Hindiwallah—began searching for identity in a linguistic melting pot they named Hindi.

They Called It Hindi

From Allahabad to Bombay, I conversed in Urdu everywhere—and people replied in Urdu… Hindi was created by replacing Perso-Arabic elements of Urdu with Sanskrit ones.
Chandradhar Sharma Guleri, Purani Hindi

करवा बसते गए, हिंदुस्तान बनता गया।
(The caravans rested and settled; thus Hindustan came into being.)

“When people say Hindi is not a language, I feel pain,” said Bhartendu Harishchandra, the Ramanujan of Hindi. He died at 36, leaving behind the Bhartendu Yuga. He wrote prose in Khari Boli, poetry in Braj Bhasha.

To fight for an idea, you must name it. A simple name—so it can later be bent, emptied, weaponized. That is what happened to Hindi.

As Alok Rai says:

“Meaning is a conspiracy—one that includes and excludes.”

One person’s Hindi is another’s Urdu. Linguistically it hardly matters. Politically, people kill and die for names.

Kill Braj Bhasha, She Is Too Old

Braj literature is the life-breath of Hindi.
Seth Govind Das, 1952

Braj Bhasha is used by illiterate rustics; Khari Hindi by the educated.
King, 1990

Ayodhya Prasad Khatri argued that Khari Boli could do poetry. Bhartendu disagreed. Khatri was mocked—by future Hindiwallah who later buried Braj.

Khatri identified five styles of Khari Boli:
1. Theth Hindi
2. Eurasian (today’s Hinglish)
3. Pandit (Sanskritized)
4. Maulvi (Persianized)
5. Munshi (Premchand)

Today, Hinglish dominates urban North India.

Bhartendu was right: Khari Boli was stiff. It took Nirala, Agyeya, and Raghuvir Sahay to make it poetic.

By 1911, Khari Boli had won.

देख रेल का सिग्नल तुम किस कारण झुक जाते हो?
संसारी जीवों को इससे क्या तुम कुछ सिखलाते हो?

Braj was finished. She was declared old and overly ornamented.

Braj Is Dead. Now Get Urdu.

Urdu was not killed only by Hindiwallah. Urduwallah helped—often unknowingly. In the 19th century, Urdu was as dominant as English today.

That, however, is another story.

Resources

  1. Acharya Hemchandra’s works on early poetry are available at
    http://www.jainlibrary.org/ (registration required)