Digital Media Conference 2009, NOVA

While 75% of the panel discussions concentrated on analyzing digital trends, the remainder elongated our ideas by swerving the topics towards forecasting. And the difference between both was noteworthy. While one brought in the big-brother watch-everything-control-everything perspective, the other talked about radical communication, taking risks and transparency.

Panel Speakers
The nine-hour conference accommodated only one female speaker for twenty-three minutes. I am very disturbed by this kind of myopic representation of the media industry. The ratio of male to female speakers at the conference was 65:1. Let me repeat that, and bold it and highlight it: 65:1. I hope that there is a sound explanation to this narrowed selection. I hope that all the female speakers on the organizers’ list were unavailable through phone, email, twitter, facebook, mail.

With the panelists in general, some were great while some lacked the luster. And I say that only because they referred to consumers as ‘people who have no names their jobs entail to only wait to be targeted by advertising messages’. They referred to social media as the problem child. Such a troublemaker, this Twitter!

Someone aptly said, “Wow, we don’t have anything to criticize about this guy. He ought to be good.” We are not imminent critiques. I don’t want to sound arrogant but I don’t know how else to put this; We just know the good versus the bad. For over half of the panel discussions, we sat there with scorecards on our minds wherein we evaluated them on the basis of thought-leadership, non-redundancy, thought provoking and awareness.

Key Takeaways

The Idea Of ‘Free’
One particular panel pondered at the idea of ‘free’. They said that any application, tool, entertainment service and music should not be free. The panelists’ consensus was that mobile phone service providers or the gadget providers should charge people for downloading ringtones or music.
But really free is how you define it. Because one of the misnomers that surround social media is that the tools are free. They are clearly not free. They require immense amount of time, thought and planning to make a brand successful in the social media space.

‘Ownership’ Culture
We all still reclaim the idea of “we are what we own”. Hence, we collect. Everyday on the internet, we find cool things and we save them. We buy music, we buy clothes, we buy cars. We own things. Brands must learn to create an experience and then let it go. Don’t give consumers something and then take it back. Now that the communications model has flipped upside down where we go to the consumers rather than waiting for them to come to us, we need to be more equipped with ideas and services that we can hand over to them. ‘Hi, we don’t just make products, we make experiences and we make them count.’

Cross-Platform Effectiveness
With the emergence of new platforms that facilitate accessibility to the internet, how can brands utilize various fragments of media to tell one cohesive story? The panelists predicted that the future lies in further fragmentation of media into smaller but incredibly useful and personalized tools for people, which will all live in each individuals one-stop consumer-generated media space. How can we as marketers be a part of this journey and ensure that we aid this forecast and enable a richer and more valuable experience for people?

Virtual Versus Real
A few years back, we all placed our bets on the virtual. Second Life sprung up. Myspace was the number 1 social networking site. And then everything changed. People thought that the experience in virtual was just not the way to go. Real was rewarded. Now, who you really are is prominent on the web. We are not afraid of being real. MySpace and Second Life are suffering because they predicted otherwise. People prefer Tweetups over meeting on Second Life. Real

The Next
“I don’t want to predict the next. Because I hope that whatever it is in the future is something we can’t even imagine right now” said a panelist when asked what future looked like in digital. But here are a few future trends spotted by the panelists:
Walls will be broken down: The consumer will own the media channels. And will help form your brand message.
Mobile: Anything and everything will have a presence on mobile. Mobile is the next social media.
Open Source: User-generated platforms will emerge. More and more sites and companies will open up their APIs and allow for personalizations and modifications
Mainstream Media: Mainstream media will emulate the web. More interaction, more targeted messages and more fun!

Examples/Brands Mentioned
•    Gossip Girl Mobile Application
•    Google Wave
•    National Geography Mobile Games
•    XP Touchscreen Printer that is not attached to a computer
•    Lowe’s created viral campaign: Earth Hour
•    Hulu, YouTube Geo-targeting
•    Yammer as a great communication tool for organizations
•    Whirlpool donated a fridge per home. 9 homes were donated to 1 block/ week. They partnered with Yahoo to broadcast 2-way video on “Building Blocks” site

Key Statistics and Points:
•    Less than 2% of downloaded apps go on to be long term users.
•    80 percent of CEOs believe their brand represent superior product. 8% of consumers agree
•    ”Click here to interact” can very effective when it comes to banner ads.
•    To succeed digitally “live where people live” – don’t change their habits.
•    Mark Renshaw from Leo Burnett on 70/20/10 rule. 70% of digital marketing budget for the basics (video, search marketing), 20% on Digital media (engagement, gaming etc) and 10% on marketing insurance

Best Speakers
Scott Ferber, Chairman, TidalTV
Ross McNab, Director of digital solutions, Eyeblaster
Ali Partov, CEO & Co-founder, iLike
Haroon Mokhtarzada, CEO and Founder, Webs.com
Bill Bradford, Chief Product Officer, Fox Digital Media
Adam Kasper, Havas Digital

Hues of orange and maroon

VTech spirit is contagious. It raises all bars when it comes to team spirit, building strong tribes and thousands of people finding a common thread and preserving it. The color of the skin hides behind the smile that sips from glasses of yellow beer and burgers. Cheers for the Hokies echo in every corner, every turn and every stop. A friend, beaming with smile, confessed and claimed “Blacksburg is a town where the grass is always green, the sky is always blue and people will always hold the door for you.” Its true, chivalry persists in the air. And happiness, well, let’s talk about that.

The town has had its share of downs but everyone comes together and prays. Two years have passed since the tragic occurrence, everyone still lights a candle with warmth in their hearts and condolences for the affected families. Every year, hundreds of new students come, hundreds leave and yet it remains the same. Vibrant, warm, green and happy.

For the Hokies, everyday is a day worth living. In the library, in Cabo Fish Taco, in the Rec Center, in Terrace View, in the Lyric theatre, in Blacksburg. Bikers ride around the town, hikers climb the steep hills, poets muse by the pond, kids play in the pool, couples lunch on the patio, everyone basking in the sun and glory of the long summer.

Let yourself be taken away by the smiles, give yourself away to canopies of foggy hill mornings and June sunsets.

Let yourself be carried away by the hues of orange and maroon.

Trickstar and googling Mother Teresa

The evening came with a lot of fine print, which either I initially failed to pick up on, or they’d intentionally whited it out.

While I still wander into the Communications Industry, trying to find home for my skills, I let a friend approach me with help in his hands. He called me on a slightly cold Sunday to tell me, his uncle and aunt had started a company and would love some help on using social media to promote their business. I jumped at the idea. I was lusting at the idea of helping a small business grow by applying everything I’d learned so far. I was charged with the emotion of working on an exciting project. I’d contemplated doing it for free. I’d argued, against all odds and the Monday’s weather, that I’d be prepared. So, I did my homework, stuffed my files, grabbed my chai and walked out of the door. I drove for thirty five minutes on icy streets, making sure I am not late. And I waited for them at the food court, with a smile on my face.

A family of five walked in, beaming and bright, taking the seats next to mine, and introducing themselves. We talked about the weather and economy, we discussed businesses and good entrepreneurs. And then I asked, How can I help?  Mr.Smile-a-lot opened his white mac, inserted a “demonstration” cd in the bucket and a man appeared on screen. I sat there listening for ten minutes, unwilling to admit the obvious and so raised another question, “So, what is this company?” He drew a chart that I’d been warned against by peers and pals. The infamous “Amway” tree. And suddenly, as my blood boiled its way through my head, I figured out that I’d just been tricked by Quixtar’s certain someones to join their company, only so they could get a gracious commission out of it. They talked about false dreams that they’d been disillusioned into and huge salaries they’d bought into. They promised, while still projecting the smile they were trained to give, about never having to being laid off. And they repeated this thrice. They started handing out some “educational materials” my way. Oh, No, I’ll just google your company, I proclaimed. And then, Mr.Smile-a-lot, patiently moved his uper lip into an ambient frown and sighed.

“Look, if you google Mother Teresa, you’ll get positive, and negative responses. Likewise, if you google Quixtar, you’ll get mixed reactions but that doesn’t mean Mother Teresa was bad, right?” No, sir. You are wrong. As opposed to what your Sunday Sessions on Socializing told you, Mother Teresa only had positive reactions while Quixtar (read: Trickstar) only had negative.

When I first moved to New Jersey, I was warned about this. My friends told me, don’t believe them if an Indian at a grocery store says they recognize you from somewhere and invite you over dinner. They’ll only talk to you about Amway. And if you refuse, they’ll never talk to you again. I was careful and determined to let this contagious virus fly by but I got tricked into it. And now, thanks to this dreadful idea of using completely unethical means to attract people, I now refuse to smile at any desi at the grocery store, offering to be my friend.

And I hope that the Trickstar refugees cut the chords with the company that barely sells anything and thrives on misleading people into becoming their own bosses.

(And I could not help but post this picture, there were just too many similarities and I call them Amway Zombies – no offense to the living or to the Dead)

Arranged Marriage

Recently, certain “Arranged turned love” alliances have restored my faith on Arranged marriages. When my aunt first elucidated on the idea of having your other half presented to you in a pretty platter, I gulped a swear or two in total disgust. You wear a salwar kameez, not jeans which would mean you are not serious about this nor a saree which would scream that you are too ripe for marriage and you need to be hitched soon. So Salwaar kameez, preferably red or yellow since they are auspicious, not because they bring out the color of your eyes or make your cheeks blush.

So, it would be a step by step ‘process’. First, the elders of the family would talk about your qualifications not because they were proud of you but solely because they could weigh your possibilities of finding global v/s local groom, a doctor v/s engineer, a greencard v/s h1. Slowly, as weeks would pass by, your pictures would be passed around the town, you’d be obliged to go to the market with your mom with hope of grabbing notice of other moms hunting for homely brides, you’d be prettied up for weddings since those were the best places to get you in the ‘radar’. Finally someone would notice the expensive jewelry and good hair days and your dad would get a few calls or more. You would meet the boy, once if you are lucky, twice if you are destined to be together, and your third encounter would be by the holy fire and you’d be orbiting around it, hand in hand, gaze down, a few cameras focused on you, and all the elderly looking for another matrimony project. Kids, education, expense, nannies, more expense, retirement, poof. Life of an arranged marriage couple included no world tour or visit to an art gallery and definitely no bar hopping. I was wrong. The books and aunt’s stories were outdated with the last generation.

Last night, a friend called, thousands of miles away, on a foreign land talking about a foreign subject. Marriage. He’d met someone. I awed in response and asked where. He said, “what do you mean where?”. I said, “you know, in a train, in a bar, in a library, over the plane?” He replied in a higher pitch and a happier tone, “No, my mom and her mom are friends and it was sort of, (pause) planned.” He didn’t like the term arranged for obvious baggage that came with it. I was definitely surprised by his openness to the idea of his mom discussing his bio-data with a stranger. But he was happy. And in love. With someone he’d met a few weeks back based on an arrangement. Not because he had to or because he’d reached that age but because he wanted to. And here I was taking it as a personal offense because one of my best friends was hypnotized by the system, giving up on dating and buying a lifetime pass to the world of “supposed to”.

I think we only hold a grudge against arranged marriages because it feels like converting your religion from being an independent thinker to traditional thought. And because we hate to conform, or atleast look like we did. But, thanks to my best friend and another amazing duo who admit being goo-goo-ingly in love with each other, Arranged Marriage is on my good books. Yes, the paperwork, the lines, the irritating aunts is all worth it in the end. And I am so happy for the friend who can’t stop talking about how good it feels, how happy he is and how much he is looking forward to 2009 with a great companion. And here I am, coming to terms with the ‘other’ side, signing a peace treaty with tradition, promising not to gulp swears when people bring it up but instead sigh in awe and exclaim, ‘oh so in love!’ I am sure when I meet someone with my precedent opinion on arranged alliances, I’d be hoping to change their minds because its just another term for courtship, a happy couple and a lifelong of companionship and more.

Displaced

Displaced = put out of its usual place, position, or relationship

Usual.

I moved to Michigan in June 2007. I always considered myself a foreigner because I did not want to become a ‘Mid-Westerner’. I did not switch my area code from 804 to 586. I refused to embrace the niceness in the air and the humility of people I met here. I chose not to recognize the potential in this town, the richness in its culture and the grandeur in its history. I treated Michigan like it was a temporary adjustment and never home.

But then, in a few months, home happened. I married ‘usual’ and ‘michigan’ together and I settled in. I knew the faces I nodded at everyday, I was comforted by the familiarity in streets, I knew just how many Starbucks cafes were there on what intersections, I smiled at the voices I heard everyday and I gave in my hesitation to become a ‘Mid-Westerner’.

While I played hide and seek with the Michigan’s Economy, it finally caught up and found me. I gave in a plastic white badge; the size of a cigarette pack but what I handed over was more than just my monthly allowances. With it, I was letting go off some great mentors, some warmth, some friendships, some great work and some delicious cookies.

I gave up my usual.

Today, I march out into the unknown with a better perspective and a semi-loaded resume. And I am not so worried about the usual anymore as much as the unusual that happened to me. The people. Every single one of them. Offering me good advice and a whole lot of wishes. Willing to trade their smiles for my worries. Knowing that I will find home. Soon. Somewhere. Soon.

So really, being Displaced today means being out of my usual place and positions but I know I will take these relationships with me, wherever I shall go.

Displaced = put out of its usual place, position, or relationship

www.dsplaced.com

CRY’s Fundraising Dinner

As ten of us volunteers sat down for some Mutter Paneer and Noodles, one of us confessed “Guys, really, I don’t bring this up often, but volunteering is such a great feeling. I never thought I would do it but I did and I love this feeling. I love this feeling.”

This feeling.

The day started with each one of us waking up with this feeling, looking forward to the day that belonged to children thousands of miles away. Every minute was dedicated to every single underprivileged child. Every smile was devoted to every hope. We quickly recapped the last three months that went by, the initiative of the leaders, the passion of the planners and the will of us all. We reached the venue, considered it as a blank drawing board and painted it with flowers, saris, candles and determination. We marched by the afternoon to acquire perfection. Why? Because we wanted to make sure that everyone who came to dine, to support, left the room filled with this feeling. And they came, danced, dined, smiled and donated. They all cared, traveling from other cities, traveling in spite of busy schedules, enjoying in spite of the economy.

Yes, this feeling is contagious.

The evening began with dreamers and doers, one by one, each sharing their experiences as volunteers and achievers. Then came the changers, the ones that make you move, a mile at a time. They projected stories of sorrow and talked about expressions of change. The children danced in black and grace, in color and passion, with diyas and dreams. And they all expressed this feeling in their own beautiful way.

This feeling is special.

The volunteers raised questions and answered with facts and firm beliefs. While one journeyed the audience through child marriage, the others addressed upon child labor and rights. Others collected, displayed and raised care with the help of silence and handicrafts. Some of us served, registered, took care of the logistics, with a hope to make this a successful conversation rather than only a successful event. Some orchestrated tunes and notes, keeping the energy level of all those on the other side of the stage over hundred percent. They played music and everyone danced, the ones with sprained ankle, the ones with heels, the ones with two left feet and the ones with curfews. We all danced, irrespective of age, irrespective of color, irrespective of time. We all danced this feeling.

This feeling is priceless.

We walked out of the room to our own comfort zones, saying silent promises of never quite becoming too comfortable in our lives that we forget those who need us. We were already trotting next steps, missing the days that had gone by, wishing we all could be together again and do this all over again. Because the feeling that we got because you came, you volunteered, you lead, you donated, you dined, you served, you danced, you enacted, you announced, you organized, you sang, is not temporary. It lives for more than a day.

This feeling is permanent.

The Silent Types

For over the last twelve months, when the red fought the blue, when one raised his voice over another, when questions were raised and when debates took over, I sat on the apathy chair watching evening news, moving my toes. I just sat. I forwarded emails to prove my depth of dips in politics or business. I watched you-tube play its games, gazed over various facebook status proclamations, read one hopeful story after another. While I didn’t preach, I didn’t listen either. I just sat. I was the silent types when it came to politics especially when the country wasn’t mine.

While I never indulged in left wing, right wing arguments, I didn’t set aside my monthly allowance to contribute to either campaigns. Like I said before, I just sat. I never chanted songs of change. I didn’t ‘maverick’ my way through dull conversations. I didn’t participate in twitter bashing, nor did I angle my dislikes towards one or the other.

Today, I stand up. Because today he told me, it didn’t matter if I was black or brown or white or orange. It didn’t matter if I was American or not. Today, he didn’t talk about changing 1 year or 10 or 20 but he talked about changing 100. So today, I refuse to just sit on the apathy chair with flickering toes and an indifferent mind.

Today I am happy to see that color doesn’t matter, potential does, hope does, change does.

Today, I stand up and give up my “silent types” seat. Any takers?

CRY Walk, Aug 23rd

At the spur of dawn, dozens of volunteers dressed in white and love for humanity ran around with sheets of papers, posters, ribbons and tables, to make sure they welcomed the honorary walkers like they deserved.

One by one, the hope bearers came, in colors, in smiles, in strength, in unity. They registered while the volunteers greeted them with smiles on behalf of every single child who was being helped today.

A few months back, two volunteers took the first steps while a battalion of harbingers joined in. What had started as an idea for an event a few months back had become an important landmark in each of their lives. All of them tread on a path with their strong torches and hearts filled with care. They chanted the prayers of the children while they stomped every foot on the ground with determination to fulfill dreams.

Weeks before this Saturday, words were passed along to those who lived miles away from us. Today, each of them walked with us, despite of being thousands of miles away, through every $25, through every kid’s education, through every thoughtful move, through every effort.

The words of Nelson Mandela were repeated in the spirit of child rights, “There can be no keener revelation of a society’s soul than the way in which it treats its children.” A crowd of us stood facing north bowing to the two flags that sway in proud wind, flags of United States of America and India. We beamed with pride while a 12 yr old sang America’s prestige and a Mom sang India’s honor.

CRY Detroit’s initiator stood on a pedestal and led everyone through an emotional journey of the cause and the reason we all cared. We didn’t have to say it. Everyone knew why. As three girls mounted their feelings in the form of a beautifully enacted skit, everyone sat spellbound and teary-eyed. We all witnessed ourselves on the right; the ones who lived happily but wished we were all there on the left, for the ones who barely lived.

And then we walked. Our care today might have stretched three miles long but with each mile we remembered, we supported, we commemorated, we recognized, we protected, we gave and we cared.

As a Henna painter painted everyone’s hands in shades of orange and green, she etched feelings of patronage in each of the lives. As a green clown with a cherry nose, walked around spreading smiles and bubbles of laughter, painting faces with fairies and mermaids, she led them to the road to compassion.

Today as everyone walked, watching the light grow in their eyes, seeds were sown. Seeds of hope, of a better tomorrow, of a better future, of a better life for millions of all the children who sang in unanimity, “mera bhi toh adhikaar hai, jivan ki har khushi par, zindagi par (lt is my birthright, to be happy, to live )”.

Today, we walked. We put our best foot forward and fought for that adhikaar (right). We walked for happiness. We walked for life.

Today, we walked.

CRY “MERA BHI TOH ADHIKAAR HAI”

Two Five = Twenty Five

We all knew it was going to happen. For some of us, it already has and some of us are hiding quietly behind our bookshelves, wishing to go unnoticed. Some of us are just scared standing, feeling the slight breeze that is soon going to be a life-changing tornado taking us in its whirlwind and throwing us far away, in a place we have never been before. And some of us are just marking our calendars, for that very moment when we are going to be taken seriously, and our car insurance falls considerably low.

We all knew 25 was going to happen. Predictably, I am the one who is anticipating the ugly tornado coming my way. Yeah, the weatherman’s warned me but clearly this is not an option where I can run to the basement and pretend it never happened. 25, from what I’ve heard, changes your life.

Right. So, in my head, I deny the mental list I’d prepared when I was 17. The list that included:
• Learn how to cook
• Become a strategic planner
• Travel to at least 3 countries
• Get a tattoo • Learn to swim • Watch Exorcist • Make it to Business mag’s “Young Achievers” list • Stay in touch with all your college friends • Volunteer a lot • Write a book

Sorry, but 3 out of 10 is a really really bad score. So, clearly, I am not ready for my twenty-five candles yet. And if I am okay in math, I have about 140 days to get them done. O-M-F-G!

I anticipate about 10% increase in respect from my peers and my relatives but I also expect 75% rise in the amount of questions about changing my status from 1 to 2 and probably even 3. Eye-brow raising, sweat soaking, heart-beat rising questions on Marriage, engagement, body clock. Bah! No, don’t have answers to these either.

When I was blowing my 16th candle, no one told me growing up was more than attaining my license to drink and drive, both done mutually exclusively of course. Of course.

So all of you, the ones who smoothly passed 25 and pretended it never happened, the ones who stood in silence trying to cope with hormonal reactions to the big 2-5, the ones who celebrated on top of the Empire State Building felicitating themselves for appreciating the pot-pourri of happy experiences, tell me how to cope with it. I am still a few leaps behind on the calendar but I need to put on my Star Wars robe and pull out my swords, armor myself for the biggest change of my life. Hey, after all, growing up in itself is a big battle against myself.

Illuminated

She stood there in the middle of a blue wooden stage, nervously clearing her throat, her eyes flickering amidst the sharp shadows, blinking once, blinking twice at a crowd that stood in silence, respecting her presence. “I am a 2nd time cancer survivor, and the cancer has taught me a lot, follow your heart, no matter what, follow your heart, always.” She sung songs of hope, of cure, of candles, of tomorrows.

It was a regular Saturday afternoon, sleeping in late, maxing my credit cards, whining about the Michigan weather, lunch at Indian buffet and then something. That something changed the meaning of today for me. Relay for life, organized by American Cancer Society . And I just don’t mean changed my today as in June 22nd, 2008, I really meant that it changed how I would look at my everyday todays.

We all walked amidst all the thousand candles covered in golden luminaries, all sketched in colors with names of Cancer survivors, Cancer fighters and Cancer victims. We were not just a crowd of three hundred people walking in silence on the path of hope for Cancer cure but we were accompanied by thousand others whose aspirations sat on our shoulders while we walked. Aspirations of a better tomorrow. Aspirations of a tomorrow.

We all stood under the dusky skies, unsurpassed by the beeping time, uninterrupted by the Saturday hypes, choosing to walk for life over our regular Saturday sundries. “Dear daddy, we miss you”, “Age: 12 years, cancer survivor since 10″, “In loving memory of Smita Masi”, one by one we walked by each life loved and commemorated.

Tonight, we might not have held hands or shed tears, we might not have shared memories in silence, we might not have looked at the sky with our hands joined together in search of answers but we celebrated, we laughed, we danced and we laughed some more. Because while we raised money to find cure for cancer, we appreciated in awe, a guitar player fifty feet over our heads, we smiled at the idea of auctioning cutesy mannequin heads, we cheered along beautiful henna carved in our hands and celebrated. We celebrated those who are fighting, who did. We celebrated those who had won the war and those who would. We celebrated at the idea of hope that in a few years no being would have to hear the three words “you have cancer”.

And we did know that hope will change to cure someday, we did know we needed to love our todays, we did know that in life, all there was to do was to live.

In life, all there was to do was to live. And happy.