The Hindu Business Line : High on Fr@ppuccino

It used to be in India you had three choices for a career," says Vignesh, 29, HR manager in a Chennai-based software company, the future inheritor of a successful family business in ceramics, and my current flat mate. "Engineer. MBA. And if you were good enough, a professorship or some form of government service."

But the times have changed. A recent CyberMedia-Dice TNS survey states there are over 1.1 million professionals working in the IT sector alone. What's more interesting is that 63 per cent of those surveyed have been working in the field for less than five years; and only 75 per cent of those have been with their current job for two years. This is a highly mobile and salary-conscious group of young adults. And the offshoot from their economic gain is evidenced everywhere, as this prosperity spreads to other fields.

Any night out gives indication enough. Italian-American cuisine fronts itself with names like `Eatalica', all the while offering an Indian twist; the crowds on the street outside are equally eclectic. Women don elegant slim-fit kurtis over tapered French denim, while men lounge on shiny two-wheelers, cajoling and laughing. Good times are here and leisure is now synonymous with life as usual. "People are marrying later and delaying parenthood," continues Vignesh. "They're taking control of their lives, living their dreams."

Vignesh's fiancée, for example, is 25, independent, and works in television journalism. "I have friends who're pop singers, filmmakers, architects and entrepreneurs. The range is very diverse now." Was this possible ten years ago? Vignesh smiles: "Not even three. But a lot of people are making big money now. And it shows."

Wired for the good life

It's interesting to see how work affects play, how this new purchasing power is exerted. With sophisticated office environments, young professionals seek to maintain the good life they're grown accustomed to at work.

Murali Venugopal is a case in point. From rural Puducherry, he's worked in Chennai for the past four years. He makes Rs 15,500 a month — good money, but not enough, not yet anyways. "I expect I'll receive a salary hike of 30-40 per cent in the next year alone," he says. He's been at his current job for a year.

Experts say growth and the opportunity for advancement are the most important factors in securing employee loyalty in today's competitive environment. In a recent lecture about GenNext IT professionals, Pradeep Gupta, Managing Director of CyberMedia, explains: "A closer look at the profile reveals that they are restless, very ambitious professionals looking for career growth. The challenge for the industry will be to match their aspirations." That's not to say the bottom line doesn't count anymore; but rather, aspirations come in all shapes and sizes.

Murali owns a motorcycle and hopes to save enough in a year to buy a car. He is one of thousands flocking to cities for work, and who must then adapt to an independent lifestyle and pay their own way. The usual suspects: rent (Rs 1,750), motorcycle fuel (Rs 2,000), entertainment, food and shopping (a relatively modest Rs 3,000). He isn't supporting a family, so he can still save on his current salary. Murali is fiscally prudent. "I try to save over Rs 1,500 a month," he says. He also diligently sends Rs 400-500 to his parents every month. "They're economically fine, but I feel it's important to help out when I can."

Globalising in top gear

Chennai's IT Corridor, 9 km from the city-centre, has wide roads and the palm trees cast shadows on the sleek new tarmac. Behind security perimeters, high-rise buildings with glass exteriors dominate the landscape. These BPOs deal with backend operation for multinationals, both Indian and foreign. Men barely out of their teens sip iced-coffees on break; inside the compound you'll find everything from gift shops, fitness centres and food-courts; even a vegetarian Kentucky Fried Chicken!

Vijendran Rao, a consultant for Barclay's Bank, is in his mid-20s, and nattily dressed in designer trousers; he carries an attaché case. "Not changing," he corrects me, "the boom is radically altering Indian life. This is culture imbibed."

He sips his Frappuccino, and adds: "This is globalisation. It's happening now, happening very fast, and for serious-minded people it presents huge opportunities." His parents live in Bangalore, which grants him free bird status. "Sure, we go out after work. Your colleagues become your new social network. People's relationships revolve around work, rather than family. We're together all day. Afterwards we spend money on clothes, movies. Everyone wants to be seen living the life."

Conspicuous consumption or a matter of luxury? Likely nothing more than the shades of a life with a disposable income.

"We're looking for the regular things, stuff that you can't get if you're raised in the country," says Vijendran. Vignesh, my flat mate, qualifies that. "Not having to support a family so early on in their 20s, people are buying everything that they've heard of and seen advertised, but couldn't afford. Now they can; and they want it."

This desire to spend, however, elicits a more contentious issue. Why do young professionals feel the need to acquire such goods in the first place? Vijendran explains the almost imperceptible rift he sees between the newly wealthy working in the BPOs and those who come from established backgrounds. "Most of us working in the call-centres can pinpoint an American accent to an actual State. The same goes for the UK. It's as if we know the culture, are a part of it," he says. "But we're not really, are we? It's something different here. Most of us are living in a city for the first time. We can hear it over the phone, but we aren't necessarily a part of it, or invited to be a part of it. Most of us have never been out of India."

Opportunities on home ground

Diverging job opportunities have created a hierarchy of divisions within the middle class. Anand and Sonali, both 25, hail from solid upper-middle class backgrounds. Anand studied in Australia; Sonali has travelled in both the US and Europe. City life is nothing new — but opportunities from the economic boom are. "It's easier to get ahead in India," says Sonali. "If you can make a good salary you can really get value for your money. Lots of people are coming back to India from the States and the UK now." Anand agrees. "I save Rs 5,000 a month in mutual funds." But there's a catch: "When you live with your parents you can save a great deal more."

Anand, an IT consultant, brings home just over Rs 25,000. He seems slightly reticent about how much he spends versus how much he saves. "I'd have to say probably Rs 6,000," he says. Both he and Sonali drive cars that their parents pay for. Their biggest expense? Again, the universal black hole of entertainment: iced coffees, cinema, new shoes or clothes.

"It wasn't like this for my brother," Anand muses. "He's only a few years older than me, but my generation goes out way more than he ever did." Raised in relative luxury, Anand and Sonali are understated, appreciative of the subtler things. Sonali is interested in the dynamics of her work in the publishing industry, or jobs for those with trust funds, she jokes. "I doubt much of the publishing industry would stay afloat if it wasn't for silent beneficiaries, peerage. I definitely took a pay-cut to do what I'm doing."

But she does have to work for a living. "In India I don't think you can work in publishing if you have an ailing grandmother, pensioner parents, children or even a cat — you get the picture? But even if my father bought my car, I had to save up for it first. Then he made me put the money away: long-term fixed deposits, mutual funds, life insurance and provident fund." For Sonali, money isn't the driving force. "I let my father worry about a lot of that." In the past five years she's changed jobs thrice, but none of those were economically driven, and her last choice in particular meant a huge pay-cut. "I felt there would be more interesting work to do. This job gives me a chance to travel and document Indian art forms — both traditional and contemporary."

For Anand, bachelor status means enjoying the irony of 1980s' rock music like Iron Maiden, or the classic appeal of retro denim. Slightly disparaging of the new wealth they see downtown, neither appears to be living a "boom" lifestyle.

The `boom' and the bemused

In a grand old home, a subdued crowd lingers. Most remain slyly aloof, and the setting is a far cry from the loud joints in Chennai's centre. It's Saturday night and I'm with this city's cultivated heirs. We're listening to jazz — alternating between Herbie Hancock and the three-piece bass-heavy band, Morphine — and sitting in a circle under a thatched canopy on a first-floor balcony. Some are strangers, others old friends. Discreet flirtation passes for conversation, which mainly revolves around history, politics. There are two visiting documentary filmmakers from Assam, just returning from Sri Lanka. Most gathered under this roof are professionals in the classic sense: architects, engineers, journalists and teachers; we also have in our midst an actor and a dancer.

Rajiv, the house owner, went to Cornell and worked in the hotel industry, but has since retired and now devotes himself to theatre direction. "I think often of making a film," he says. "But it would have to be a topic I enjoy, and not just good entertainment. I'd want more out of it." The black-and-white stills framed on the corridor walls are indicative of the generational pride amongst this set of people. The teak cupboards are reminiscent of some Frank Lloyd Wright I've seen — "No, it's representative of the larger Indian arts and crafts movement as a whole," one of the architects corrects me.

Many aspects are shared by these "boom" professionals in India and those in the West: it's fun to socialise with the stylish and the young, try edgy new cuisine or converse about the latest elections. What seemingly separates much of the young here and those in the West is that Indian youth are closer to their homes, their traditions. They've been quick to embrace change, though, perhaps too quick. I chat with Tarun, a handsome, earnest man of 26, who produces content for TV. "So much of the individuality of culture is disappearing," he says. "Endless chains, all these youth inside, drinking coffee every night. It's all the same." He looks around him. "Maybe we're unsure of what we're doing."

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High on Fr@ppuccino