One of the most salient features of our culture is that there is so much bullshit. Everyone knows this. Each of us contributes his share. But we tend to take the situation for granted. Most people are rather confident of their ability to recognize bullshit and to avoid being taken in by it. So the phenomenon has not aroused much deliberate concern, or attracted much sustained inquiry. In consequence, we have no clear understanding of what bullshit is, why there is so much of it, or what functions it serves. And we lack a conscientiously developed appreciation of what it means to us. In other words, we have no theory. I propose to begin the development of a theoretical understanding of bullshit, mainly by providing some tentative and exploratory philosophical analysis. I shall not consider the rhetorical uses and misuses of bullshit. My aim is simply to give a rough account of what bullshit is and how it differs from what it is not, or (putting it somewhat differently) to articulate, more or less sketchily, the structure of its concept. Any suggestion about what conditions are logically both necessary and sufficient for the constitution of bullshit is bound to be somewhat arbitrary. For one thing, the expression bullshit is often employed quite loosely — simply as a generic term of abuse, with no very specific literal meaning. For another, the phenomenon itself is so vast and amorphous that no crisp and perspicuous analysis of its concept can avoid being procrustean. Nonetheless it should be possible to say something helpful, even though it is not likely to be decisive. Even the most basic and preliminary questions about bullshit remain, after all, not only unanswered but unasked. So far as I am aware, very little work has been done on this subject. I have not undertaken a survey of the literature, partly because I do not know how to go about it.

Fascinated? I was too. This classic was written by Harry Frankfurt from Princeton University. Go right here to read all of it.

My wife was detected with jaundice late December. It took the GP a week to figure that out. Because it took him so long while it was painfully obvious to most of us around her, I didn’t quite trust the treatment he prescribed. Which is why, I took a second opinion. One look at her reports and the doctors suggested she ought to be hospitalized. Mercifully, they didn’t prescribe medication. Just a controlled diet and bed rest.

While she was there, I did some reading and figured two things.

1. She didn’t need to be hospitalized.
2. 1 in 20 people contract infections while at the hospital.

Asking for a discharge was met with contempt.

A few days ago, she caught a cold and went down with a seriously bad throat infection. Once again, we visited the GP who promptly prescribed antibiotics. I just didn’t get it.

• In the first place, what was he doing prescribing antibiotics for a woman whose liver still hadn’t started functioning normally?
• Secondly, you don’t prescribe antibiotics at the drop of a hat. Because when you really need it, chances are, your immune systems would be resistant to the whole thing.

Clearly, there had to be a better solution. She insisted we visit a classic homeopath. Three hours of questioning later, he prescribed some medicines. As much as he looked earnest, I’m not too sure of its efficacy though. I simply can’t come to terms with a system of medicine that is still trying to defend itself. Worse still, there is no conclusive evidence that homeopathy works for everybody, all the time.

So what am I supposed to do? Take chances with somebody’s life who means the world to me? I am at a complete loss.

I stumbled over a dated (but interesting) set of numbers the other day. According to a study conducted by the US Department of Commerce, the US imported software worth $1.6 billion in 2002-03 from India. The report quoted a spokesperson of the Confederation of Indian Industry (CII) debunking the study and saying the Americans got it wrong. India actually exported $6.3 billion worth of software to the US in the same period.

A discrepancy of $4.7 billion? That's Rs 22,000 crore. I find it intriguing. Is something the matter here? For a moment, let's give the Indian software industry the benefit of doubt and assume the Americans got it all wrong, and that India actually exported software to the US worth $6.3 billion during the period.

Problem is, the assumption raises too many questions to which I have no answers.

Question #1: Somebody doesn't know how to count? Who is it—the Indians or the Americans?

Question #2: During the period under scrutiny, NASSCOM figures indicate total software exports from India were of the order of $9.5 billion. Of this, the top 20 Indian IT companies accounted for $4.5 billion. What it means is simply this: the Top 20 Indian software companies exported less than half what the industry as a whole could manage. I find this strange because I can't think of any other industry where the Top 20 companies contribute so little. Is the structure of our industry an aberration from what exists elsewhere?

Question #3: For the sake of an argument, let me assume the Indian IT industry is indeed an exception to the rule. That means, the Top 20 apart, there are software companies who collectively generate $5.1 billion (Rs 24,000 crore). For the period in question, I reckon there were close 800 software companies. To create this kind of money, wouldn't each of these software companies have generated on average Rs 30 crore?

Question #4: The latest statistics put out by Nasscom clearly indicate only 12 Indian IT companies generated revenues in excess of Rs 500 crore. After digging a little deeper to get a better picture, only 172 Indian companies earn over Rs 30 crore. This number was culled from a survey of India's Top 200 IT companies by the widely-respected Dataquest.

What do I believe now? That I don't know how to count or that these publicly available numbers are horribly wrong?

Question #5: There's an interesting theory I've heard at countless cocktail parties. Picture this. I have Rs 1 crore in black money. Because this money is unaccounted for, there is little good use I can put it to. To derive real value from it, the money ought to be legal.

To get around the problem, I take all my cash, go to the US and set up a mom-and-pop shop there. Even as I do that, I create a 'technology services provider' in India. This mom-and-pop shop of mine then places an order for software worth Rs 97 lakh from the company in India. I'm assuming Rs 3 lakh will be spent in setting up the whole racket and paying off a few operators. What I get now is white money. I report this income to the authorities as legitimate software export earnings, pay my taxes and walk away into the sunset. Indian authorities record the exports. The Americans don't see it because nothing ever got imported. Nobody's wiser.

Am I just the victim of an imagination gone wild?