Traffic in Delhi (and a side note on How the Indian Publishing Model Blew My Mind)

The commute from South Delhi to my office in Noida takes no less than an hour without traffic.  I'd like to know who came up with that figure, because there doesn't seem to be a traffic-less moment in India.  So many cars are on the road that Indian drivers develop precise spatial awareness.  I've gotten buzzed too many times to count, but have stopped worrying whether or not the driver knows to avoid me.  He does.  He's honking to let me know he's there, not to ask me to move.  The only way to get run over is to flinch, because that's a movement they don't anticipate.


Not very comforting.


During yesterday's commute, we were at a standstill with our engine off (not for the first time) and I noticed the funniest thing.  The guy next to us gave us a calculating look, then slowly rolled down his window and pulled in his side mirror.  I knew a mile away what was coming next.  As soon as the traffic moved, he gunned it, and you know what? He won.


If you don't care about publishing and would rather I talk about elephants, here's your way out.  If you want to hear how this is a metaphor for the work I'm going to be doing...


The Indian university is largely set up after the British model, much like the American K-12 system.  Universities don't exist as a campus, they exist as a concept. Each university system dictates a curriculum and syllabus, and each college within that university follows it to the letter.  For fields such as the humanities, the curriculum from state to state can vary anywhere from 5% to 90%.  Though certain textbooks are "assigned", they aren't mandatory, and students can choose to buy whichever books they want (or get a pirated photocopy).


The challenge for publishers, then, is how to create one book that will satisfy enough universities to make a profit.  Big outfits like mine are the trucks on the road - we take up lots of space with our content and can generally muscle our way into any market. Our competition is nimble publishing houses who cater to one or two universities and can customize books for their specific needs. They're the mopeds on the road, weaving in and out through the gaps we leave.  Big publishers do our best to fill in those gaps - creating a Delhi University-specific text, for example, like Americans will create a Texas state edition for high schools.  My question is, if we're already doing customized university editions and know we can't keep up with the little guys... what more can this new custom division do?


It gets trickier. A U.S. custom textbook is guaranteed 100% buyback by a contract signed in advance by an individual professor. It's a highly secure business model. Indians, on the other hand, have no concept of a contract. For our Indian division, the goal is to create a custom edition for an individual professor who doesn't dictate the curriculum, with no guarantee of a purchase.  Sales opportunities appear immediately as they're wanted, so, for instance, I was shown one book that took 15 days to produce. Not for the editorial work. Fifteen days to conceptualize, develop, produce, and print. I just hope no one tells my home office because those expectations are absurd.


So, we suss out the correct balance between quality and efficiency.  We can't put our name on something that's crap.  But we can't take too long making it, or it will be worthless to the customer.  Given the market, there's a fine balance between customizing a book and just plain creating a university-specific text.  Where do you draw the line?  Even my new boss admitted, we don't know.  

Still, there is space available on the road, and it's silly of us not to take advantage of it.  Like that guy in traffic: we're pulling back our side mirror and... gunning for it.


This could be quite an interesting four months.  What a challenge!