As the end of the year approaches, I find my calendar packed to the hilt. Besides, with the kids home, I have very little time to myself. Hence the break from blogging. For all those (seven) people who hang onto my every word and wait with bated breath for the next post (yeah right!) I say, don't be disappointed. I hope to be back to it as soon as possible. Once the hangover lifts, the holiday weight disappears and guilt from the vacation bingeing abates. Actually, sounds like it might take a while.....
Anyway, I just wanted to wish everyone the very best for 2010. Let's hope the Commonwealth Games in New Delhi don't turn into a national humiliation. And I'm certainly looking forward to an action-packed FIFA World Cup in South Africa. Once every four years I turn into a crazed football fan, seeking out all the yellow I can get my hands on. Go, go, goal Brazil (yes, I am very Bengali in my soccer loyalties)!
Cheers y'all. Kick off the New Year in style.
Wednesday, December 23, 2009
Thursday, December 17, 2009
Of history and professors keeping it immortal
I studied history in college and loved it thoroughly. Many felt it was a peculiar, boring choice given I could potentially have selected another course. But I didn't get English in a college to my liking. History was the only other thing I wanted to study, so I enrolled for three years of the stuff at Delhi University's Hansraj College.
Anyway, the purpose of this blog is to share the gems that were passed on to us in those dingy classrooms. I speak not of historical facts and chronologies that you can find anywhere. I am referring here to the unparalleled spin our professors put on it thanks to their eccentricities and idiosyncrasies. You'll understand why I don't mention names here. I remember all these professors very fondly. They injected life into history lessons like few could manage. The students were so busy stifling smirks, giggles and guffaws that the classes whizzed by year after year. Never a dull moment.
Let's begin with the ancient Indian history teacher in our freshman year. He wore clothes flashy enough to give Austin Powers a complex. We'd rarely look at his face because we were mesmerised and dazzled by his favourite canary yellow tie that seemed aglow with mild radioactivity. And the checks on his loud plaid jacket, heaving on a hint of a potbelly, were almost hypnotic. But his most striking feature was the ability to make just about anything sound like total sleaze. "The Vedas are ancient India's biggest contribution to universal knowledge," he might be saying in his deep baritone. But it sounded like the narrative of a B-grade soft-porn film. It mattered not what he said. The lilt, diction, voice and delivery had this baffling effect of making it sound very, very dirty.
For medieval Indian history in our second year, we had the most absent-minded simple soul as a professor. A wonderful and kind man, he was unfortunately blessed with a very exaggerated Indian accent. What I will never forget are the lessons on the Slave Dynasty that once ruled Delhi, much before the Mughals. "Iltutmiss bilt a tomm for himself. But hij sunn Nassruddin Mahmud pre-decijed him and was entommed in that tomm," he told a very confused class one morning. For those not conversant in Indian, let me translate - "Iltutmish built a tomb for himself. But his son Nasiruddin Mahmud pre-deceased him and was entombed in that tomb."
Can you imagine keeping a straight face through a year of this? I frankly don't know how we survived gems like this and "bullbush domm" (bulbuous dome, while discussing Islamic architecture).
For European history the same year, we had a cantankerous old professor who always looked like he was at death's door. On occasion we actually got extremely concerned he'd passed on seated in class when he didn't stir for several minutes together. Anway, when he got going, he was difficult to understand. It sounded like he was speaking through a mouth full of marbles. And the day he discussed Catholicism and the Vatican, we were left mystified. He kept grunting about the Pope and his Pepsi. It took us quite a while to figure out he was speaking of the Pope and his papacy.
But you know what? Had it not been for all this, I'd probably have forgotten entirely about my history course through college. These professors left an indelible impression and made my years at university immortal.
Anyway, the purpose of this blog is to share the gems that were passed on to us in those dingy classrooms. I speak not of historical facts and chronologies that you can find anywhere. I am referring here to the unparalleled spin our professors put on it thanks to their eccentricities and idiosyncrasies. You'll understand why I don't mention names here. I remember all these professors very fondly. They injected life into history lessons like few could manage. The students were so busy stifling smirks, giggles and guffaws that the classes whizzed by year after year. Never a dull moment.
Let's begin with the ancient Indian history teacher in our freshman year. He wore clothes flashy enough to give Austin Powers a complex. We'd rarely look at his face because we were mesmerised and dazzled by his favourite canary yellow tie that seemed aglow with mild radioactivity. And the checks on his loud plaid jacket, heaving on a hint of a potbelly, were almost hypnotic. But his most striking feature was the ability to make just about anything sound like total sleaze. "The Vedas are ancient India's biggest contribution to universal knowledge," he might be saying in his deep baritone. But it sounded like the narrative of a B-grade soft-porn film. It mattered not what he said. The lilt, diction, voice and delivery had this baffling effect of making it sound very, very dirty.
For medieval Indian history in our second year, we had the most absent-minded simple soul as a professor. A wonderful and kind man, he was unfortunately blessed with a very exaggerated Indian accent. What I will never forget are the lessons on the Slave Dynasty that once ruled Delhi, much before the Mughals. "Iltutmiss bilt a tomm for himself. But hij sunn Nassruddin Mahmud pre-decijed him and was entommed in that tomm," he told a very confused class one morning. For those not conversant in Indian, let me translate - "Iltutmish built a tomb for himself. But his son Nasiruddin Mahmud pre-deceased him and was entombed in that tomb."
Can you imagine keeping a straight face through a year of this? I frankly don't know how we survived gems like this and "bullbush domm" (bulbuous dome, while discussing Islamic architecture).
For European history the same year, we had a cantankerous old professor who always looked like he was at death's door. On occasion we actually got extremely concerned he'd passed on seated in class when he didn't stir for several minutes together. Anway, when he got going, he was difficult to understand. It sounded like he was speaking through a mouth full of marbles. And the day he discussed Catholicism and the Vatican, we were left mystified. He kept grunting about the Pope and his Pepsi. It took us quite a while to figure out he was speaking of the Pope and his papacy.
But you know what? Had it not been for all this, I'd probably have forgotten entirely about my history course through college. These professors left an indelible impression and made my years at university immortal.
Sunday, December 13, 2009
At the turn of the millennium I was........
In the spirit of year-end retrospection, which this time coincides with the end of the 21st century's first decade, I thought it would be fun to see how much I'd changed since December 1999. Let's see now:
At the turn of the millennium I was......
1) ....well, 10 years younger (25) and a little bit naive.
2) ....still basking in the newlywed glow and thrilled to discover that, contrary to what one hears, marriage can be extremely liberating. Arvind and I got hitched in 1998.
3) ....on the way to becoming a mum. Full of hope. Oblivious to what a natural childbirth really entails! Baby 1 arrived in August, 2000.
4) ....more patient. Or was it less? I can't quite decide. I do think little things drive me insane much sooner now. But then I realise that I have become immune to a lot of aggravation and provocation being around my children all the time.
5) ....a LOT slimmer. But less fit and flexible than now.
6) ....able to make friends more easily. Now I just don't have the time or patience to endure pointless small talk in the hope of unearthing a friend. Go for quality rather than quantity. Few pass muster, I'm afraid.
7) ....less likely to give people a second chance. Thanks to being a parent, that has changed.
8) ....more likely to be distracted by the superficial. Thankfully, with time, lucky ones like me learn to separate the wheat from the chaff and go for substance rather than flash.
9) ....much more ambitious. I wanted to build a career in the news business. I don't miss my professional life one bit now.
10) ....totally unaware of my painting skills. Didn't make a start until 2003. Was pleasantly surprised, to say the least. Now I hope that can turn into my primary profession some day.
11) ....more easily drawn into arguments. I'd rise to the bait each time. Now I can let things slide when I know an argument would just lead to bickering and not a constructive exchange of ideas.
12) ....less capable of being a heartless bitch when the situation demanded it (some might disagree). No such problems now!
13) ....more likely to wear jewellery.
14) ....less likely to wear make-up. Camouflage is now necessary sometimes!
15) ....just as likely to pick out mistakes in print, even text on the TV screen. Can't switch the inner editor off - ever!
16) ....able to consume mind-boggling quantities of food and alcohol! Those days are, mercifully, behind me.
17) ....as likely to switch on the telly and hunt for the funnies. I badly need a good laugh to unwind at the end of each day.
18) ....just as impatient with Hindi films. While things have begun to change, the majority of movies coming out of Bollywood still hold no appeal whatsoever for me.
19) ....more likely to offer justification for my behaviour in the hope of validation. Now, I frankly don't give a fig what others think.
20) ....less in love than I am today! (I know, I know. High on barf value. A sappy note to end on, but it's the truth)
So tell me about yourself. How have you evolved in the last decade?
At the turn of the millennium I was......
1) ....well, 10 years younger (25) and a little bit naive.
2) ....still basking in the newlywed glow and thrilled to discover that, contrary to what one hears, marriage can be extremely liberating. Arvind and I got hitched in 1998.
3) ....on the way to becoming a mum. Full of hope. Oblivious to what a natural childbirth really entails! Baby 1 arrived in August, 2000.
4) ....more patient. Or was it less? I can't quite decide. I do think little things drive me insane much sooner now. But then I realise that I have become immune to a lot of aggravation and provocation being around my children all the time.
5) ....a LOT slimmer. But less fit and flexible than now.
6) ....able to make friends more easily. Now I just don't have the time or patience to endure pointless small talk in the hope of unearthing a friend. Go for quality rather than quantity. Few pass muster, I'm afraid.
7) ....less likely to give people a second chance. Thanks to being a parent, that has changed.
8) ....more likely to be distracted by the superficial. Thankfully, with time, lucky ones like me learn to separate the wheat from the chaff and go for substance rather than flash.
9) ....much more ambitious. I wanted to build a career in the news business. I don't miss my professional life one bit now.
10) ....totally unaware of my painting skills. Didn't make a start until 2003. Was pleasantly surprised, to say the least. Now I hope that can turn into my primary profession some day.
11) ....more easily drawn into arguments. I'd rise to the bait each time. Now I can let things slide when I know an argument would just lead to bickering and not a constructive exchange of ideas.
12) ....less capable of being a heartless bitch when the situation demanded it (some might disagree). No such problems now!
13) ....more likely to wear jewellery.
14) ....less likely to wear make-up. Camouflage is now necessary sometimes!
15) ....just as likely to pick out mistakes in print, even text on the TV screen. Can't switch the inner editor off - ever!
16) ....able to consume mind-boggling quantities of food and alcohol! Those days are, mercifully, behind me.
17) ....as likely to switch on the telly and hunt for the funnies. I badly need a good laugh to unwind at the end of each day.
18) ....just as impatient with Hindi films. While things have begun to change, the majority of movies coming out of Bollywood still hold no appeal whatsoever for me.
19) ....more likely to offer justification for my behaviour in the hope of validation. Now, I frankly don't give a fig what others think.
20) ....less in love than I am today! (I know, I know. High on barf value. A sappy note to end on, but it's the truth)
So tell me about yourself. How have you evolved in the last decade?
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
It's about temperament as much as temperature
As attempts stumbled along in Copenhagen to reach international concord on arresting climate change, it struck me that what's happening around us isn't just about rising temperatures and all the related disasters. It's also about human temperament. It's about us as a people, as a species.
I'm not talking about human survival. That is certainly at stake if the worst case scenarios climate researchers have projected do come true (God forbid!). Let those more in the know debate and discuss the environmental aspect of things. What I'm speaking of is the change in human temperament that has been another unfortunate outcome of global warming.
History shows that people from areas with harsh climates who had hard lives battling the elements were the ones who left their shores to invade the balmier parts of the world. Think about it. Where did the early invaders and conquerers come from? The Vikings, the Huns and many more of their ilk all hailed from regions known for their cruelly cold winters and brief, fleeting summers. When growing or gathering food and staying comfortable were daily battles, the temptation of securing supplies from more fertile lands and perhaps living in more clement weather proved overpowering.
The people of the tropics, on the other hand, were happy to stay put and enjoy the bounty of their native lands. They were placid as a people, easy-going. With the abundance of fruit, crops, rain and fresh air around them, they never felt the need to seek greener pastures. I can't really think of a tribe or nation of conquerers and imperialists that emerged from the balmy tropical regions. Even if there were warrior tribes in the tropics, they mostly fought for control of local resources.
But that was then. Now pollutants have become the great levellers. The deterioration in quality of life and resources across the world is proving directly proportionate to the spike in aggression and unrest. The fight for resources is no longer the domain of nations. It has come down to individual levels in extreme cases. You can see it in urban slums across the developing world (many of them in the tropics) where water riots routinely break out.
You don't even need to study the entire world. India is the perfect microcosmic example. Indians living in areas with harsher climate and extreme temperatures tend to have mercurial temperaments to match. There is an underlying tinge of aggression, a tendency to restiveness. Indians from areas where the weather is milder have traditionally been more even-tempered. I know, you feel I'm oversimplifying and generalising here. But think about it. Be honest. Isn't that the case?
Unfortunately, things are changing now. And nowhere is it more apparent than in our overcrowded cities. A steady poisoning of the air, water and soil has corresponded with a rise in impatience, belligerence and suspicion. Climate change and pollution are certainly not solely responsible for this. But they are significant factors. It is extremely challenging to stay patient and placid when caught in a snarl of toxin-belching traffic, lining up in the heat for a few buckets of water, breathing in fumes from diesel generators every time the electric supply fails. The hotter it gets, the worse things become.
The cities of India's north are used to punishingly hot summers. But not the rest of the country. Mumbai has seen a steady rise in its day temperatures and a decline in annual rainfall over the past few years. Homes in Bangalore (I should say Bengaluru), the Garden City, now don't just have ceiling fans but air conditioners too. That certainly wasn't the case a decade ago. Chennai's water woes are famous. These conditions are fairly new to them, so people are struggling to cope with the changes. In all these cities and surrounding regions, tempers have been creeping up just like the temperatures. People there are no longer the easy-going folk they used to be.
That's why I have my fingers crossed for Copenhagen. I hope our leaders finally agree to work together for a cleaner, greener world where our children can breathe a little easier and live in harmony. Because I certainly don't like what climate change is turning us humans into.
I'm not talking about human survival. That is certainly at stake if the worst case scenarios climate researchers have projected do come true (God forbid!). Let those more in the know debate and discuss the environmental aspect of things. What I'm speaking of is the change in human temperament that has been another unfortunate outcome of global warming.
History shows that people from areas with harsh climates who had hard lives battling the elements were the ones who left their shores to invade the balmier parts of the world. Think about it. Where did the early invaders and conquerers come from? The Vikings, the Huns and many more of their ilk all hailed from regions known for their cruelly cold winters and brief, fleeting summers. When growing or gathering food and staying comfortable were daily battles, the temptation of securing supplies from more fertile lands and perhaps living in more clement weather proved overpowering.
The people of the tropics, on the other hand, were happy to stay put and enjoy the bounty of their native lands. They were placid as a people, easy-going. With the abundance of fruit, crops, rain and fresh air around them, they never felt the need to seek greener pastures. I can't really think of a tribe or nation of conquerers and imperialists that emerged from the balmy tropical regions. Even if there were warrior tribes in the tropics, they mostly fought for control of local resources.
But that was then. Now pollutants have become the great levellers. The deterioration in quality of life and resources across the world is proving directly proportionate to the spike in aggression and unrest. The fight for resources is no longer the domain of nations. It has come down to individual levels in extreme cases. You can see it in urban slums across the developing world (many of them in the tropics) where water riots routinely break out.
You don't even need to study the entire world. India is the perfect microcosmic example. Indians living in areas with harsher climate and extreme temperatures tend to have mercurial temperaments to match. There is an underlying tinge of aggression, a tendency to restiveness. Indians from areas where the weather is milder have traditionally been more even-tempered. I know, you feel I'm oversimplifying and generalising here. But think about it. Be honest. Isn't that the case?
Unfortunately, things are changing now. And nowhere is it more apparent than in our overcrowded cities. A steady poisoning of the air, water and soil has corresponded with a rise in impatience, belligerence and suspicion. Climate change and pollution are certainly not solely responsible for this. But they are significant factors. It is extremely challenging to stay patient and placid when caught in a snarl of toxin-belching traffic, lining up in the heat for a few buckets of water, breathing in fumes from diesel generators every time the electric supply fails. The hotter it gets, the worse things become.
The cities of India's north are used to punishingly hot summers. But not the rest of the country. Mumbai has seen a steady rise in its day temperatures and a decline in annual rainfall over the past few years. Homes in Bangalore (I should say Bengaluru), the Garden City, now don't just have ceiling fans but air conditioners too. That certainly wasn't the case a decade ago. Chennai's water woes are famous. These conditions are fairly new to them, so people are struggling to cope with the changes. In all these cities and surrounding regions, tempers have been creeping up just like the temperatures. People there are no longer the easy-going folk they used to be.
That's why I have my fingers crossed for Copenhagen. I hope our leaders finally agree to work together for a cleaner, greener world where our children can breathe a little easier and live in harmony. Because I certainly don't like what climate change is turning us humans into.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Mumbai, be grateful for the Dharavi wart
It's the biggest wart on the face of an already pockmarked and scarred Mumbai. Most residents of this gigantic city that's home to about 19 million people feel embarrassed whenever the name Dharavi comes up. A sprawling, stinking mass of tin, tarpaulin, cardboard, brick, slush and sewage that throbs in the very the heart of Mumbai, Dharavi was till a few months ago considered Asia's largest slum. In September the UNDP (United Nations Development Programme) said the Pakistani city of Karachi has now wrested that dubious distinction with the spread of its Orangi township.
Anyway, the size of Dharavi (175 hectares, housing a million people) isn't the point of this blog. Last night I was surfing channels and came across a programme called Slum City on National Geographic. I stopped to watch, and was mesmerised. I knew so little of what went on within that fragile, choking city within a city!
I knew that Dharavi was the main centre for the production of leather goods in Mumbai. Many of our American friends and acquaintances have made endless trips there to shop for bags, jackets, overcoats and belts - some even custom made. I also knew that there were several small-scale garments manufacturing units there. I knew that several designers make use of embroiderers and crochet artisans from Dharavi.
But what I learnt from Slum City came as a very pleasant surprise. Dharavi is apparently the epicentre of garbage segregation and recycling in India's financial capital. Had it not been for the queen of the slums, Mumbai would be sitting on a heap of refuse of Himalayan proportions. Mounds and mounds of inorganic waste are painstakingly sorted, segregated and recycled within the slum every single day. Plastic, tin, paper, rubber, metal - anything and everything is reincarnated in Dharavi. I knew recycling was big in Dharavi, but I had no idea of the scale.
Instead of being ashamed of its presence, Mumbai should be thankful to Dharavi and its enterprising people. The city's collective endeavour should be to find out how to assist these recycling businesses and make them cleaner, more efficient.
We know that the government's efforts to redevelop Dharavi are failing miserably. Many residents have been promised small homes with electicity and sanitation, but in alternate locations. The residents, while all for better living conditions, just don't want to relocate. When it comes to location, Dharavi is better placed than most upscale neighbourhoods. It is close to the airports, to the three main inner-city train lines, and to both the expressways that lead into and out of Mumbai. Naturally, its people don't wish to live anywhere else.
The state should perhaps start with giving the recycling businesses in Dharavi a helping hand. Maybe efforts to expand the recycling facilites will entice the people involved to move to bigger, better and cleaner spaces. Or at least to clean up their current locations. Just remember Mumbai, we're deeply indebted to these people. We owe it to them to try and make their lives better.
Anyway, the size of Dharavi (175 hectares, housing a million people) isn't the point of this blog. Last night I was surfing channels and came across a programme called Slum City on National Geographic. I stopped to watch, and was mesmerised. I knew so little of what went on within that fragile, choking city within a city!
I knew that Dharavi was the main centre for the production of leather goods in Mumbai. Many of our American friends and acquaintances have made endless trips there to shop for bags, jackets, overcoats and belts - some even custom made. I also knew that there were several small-scale garments manufacturing units there. I knew that several designers make use of embroiderers and crochet artisans from Dharavi.
But what I learnt from Slum City came as a very pleasant surprise. Dharavi is apparently the epicentre of garbage segregation and recycling in India's financial capital. Had it not been for the queen of the slums, Mumbai would be sitting on a heap of refuse of Himalayan proportions. Mounds and mounds of inorganic waste are painstakingly sorted, segregated and recycled within the slum every single day. Plastic, tin, paper, rubber, metal - anything and everything is reincarnated in Dharavi. I knew recycling was big in Dharavi, but I had no idea of the scale.
Instead of being ashamed of its presence, Mumbai should be thankful to Dharavi and its enterprising people. The city's collective endeavour should be to find out how to assist these recycling businesses and make them cleaner, more efficient.
We know that the government's efforts to redevelop Dharavi are failing miserably. Many residents have been promised small homes with electicity and sanitation, but in alternate locations. The residents, while all for better living conditions, just don't want to relocate. When it comes to location, Dharavi is better placed than most upscale neighbourhoods. It is close to the airports, to the three main inner-city train lines, and to both the expressways that lead into and out of Mumbai. Naturally, its people don't wish to live anywhere else.
The state should perhaps start with giving the recycling businesses in Dharavi a helping hand. Maybe efforts to expand the recycling facilites will entice the people involved to move to bigger, better and cleaner spaces. Or at least to clean up their current locations. Just remember Mumbai, we're deeply indebted to these people. We owe it to them to try and make their lives better.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
A year since
A year since those horrific, numbing 60 hours in Mumbai. A year since a band of misguided young men brought a mammoth metropolis to it knees. A year since India realised just how shamefully inadequate its emergency response apparatus is. A year since we saw just how little coordination our emergency services have.
The memory of the 26/11 attacks of 2008 remains alive, with plenty of periodic reminders and public discourses on the subject. Yet it has turned out to be a year of squandered opportunities, of misplaced priorities and an unpardonable waste of time.
Our first responders remain woefully ill-equipped to take on terror, or even a natural disaster. Firemen have reportedly been given bullet-proof vests rather than better equipment to contain blazes. Our overburdened hospitals struggle to cope with any sort of pressure, be it a terror attack or a public health outbreak.
Our police forces remain largely armed with archaic weapons that can certainly not match the new generation assault rifles that terrorists favour. Just some weeks ago it was reported that the government hadn't even bothered to arrange basic accommodation for several security personnel. These men had set up camp under the imposing canopy of the Gateway of India, sleeping, cooking and bathing out in the open. This is how we treat men we expect will put their own lives in jeopardy to protect us!
The broadcast media remain shrill and prone to sensationalism, gaining no maturity from the tragic experience that exposed their tendency to stoke panic and even jeopardise rescue efforts with their overzealous coverage.
What's worse, there's no sign of the seamless coordination between emergency services that is key to effectively responding to threats of any nature. And the unfortunate thing is that there is no one person or office that can be held responsible. It was a collective, systemic failure.
Even at an individual level, we've failed. Life has trudged on, regaining the momentum that was rudely interrupted by those harrowing few hours last year that claimed nearly 170 lives. While the tragedy unfolded in south Mumbai, we couldn't tear ourselves away from our television sets. We watched in disbelief as a bunch of youngsters swaggered through our streets, killing people at random and holding the city to ransom. We - even I - vowed to ensure that this incident would change us forever. We pledged never to allow our leaders to leave us so vulnerable again. But life went on. Personal preoccupations soon pushed any proactive public campaign efforts to the backseat. The 2008 terror attacks didn't even figure as an issue when we elected a new state government for Maharashtra in October! Nothing changed.
What's the way forward? I feel we need to shake off this Indian tendency to react rather than preempt. It requires a fundamental change in belief and behaviour as a people. It won't be easy. We need strategists who sit together, think up various worst-case scenarios and ensure that we remain prepared for each at all times. I'm not saying that we could have pulled this off in the one year that has passed since the Mumbai attacks. But we could have made a start and already covered a lot of ground. That's what's disheartening. We haven't even begun.
The memory of the 26/11 attacks of 2008 remains alive, with plenty of periodic reminders and public discourses on the subject. Yet it has turned out to be a year of squandered opportunities, of misplaced priorities and an unpardonable waste of time.
Our first responders remain woefully ill-equipped to take on terror, or even a natural disaster. Firemen have reportedly been given bullet-proof vests rather than better equipment to contain blazes. Our overburdened hospitals struggle to cope with any sort of pressure, be it a terror attack or a public health outbreak.
Our police forces remain largely armed with archaic weapons that can certainly not match the new generation assault rifles that terrorists favour. Just some weeks ago it was reported that the government hadn't even bothered to arrange basic accommodation for several security personnel. These men had set up camp under the imposing canopy of the Gateway of India, sleeping, cooking and bathing out in the open. This is how we treat men we expect will put their own lives in jeopardy to protect us!
The broadcast media remain shrill and prone to sensationalism, gaining no maturity from the tragic experience that exposed their tendency to stoke panic and even jeopardise rescue efforts with their overzealous coverage.
What's worse, there's no sign of the seamless coordination between emergency services that is key to effectively responding to threats of any nature. And the unfortunate thing is that there is no one person or office that can be held responsible. It was a collective, systemic failure.
Even at an individual level, we've failed. Life has trudged on, regaining the momentum that was rudely interrupted by those harrowing few hours last year that claimed nearly 170 lives. While the tragedy unfolded in south Mumbai, we couldn't tear ourselves away from our television sets. We watched in disbelief as a bunch of youngsters swaggered through our streets, killing people at random and holding the city to ransom. We - even I - vowed to ensure that this incident would change us forever. We pledged never to allow our leaders to leave us so vulnerable again. But life went on. Personal preoccupations soon pushed any proactive public campaign efforts to the backseat. The 2008 terror attacks didn't even figure as an issue when we elected a new state government for Maharashtra in October! Nothing changed.
What's the way forward? I feel we need to shake off this Indian tendency to react rather than preempt. It requires a fundamental change in belief and behaviour as a people. It won't be easy. We need strategists who sit together, think up various worst-case scenarios and ensure that we remain prepared for each at all times. I'm not saying that we could have pulled this off in the one year that has passed since the Mumbai attacks. But we could have made a start and already covered a lot of ground. That's what's disheartening. We haven't even begun.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
The priceless curiosity of childhood
I've been meaning to share this very proud mommy moment. While we were holidaying in Sri Lanka in October, our van stopped at a petrol station in a one-horse town in the island country's central province. When the driver got back into the van, my older son Kabir asked him: "Is petroleum a major industry in Sri Lanka?"
I wondered if I'd heard right. I had. The driver, a wonderfully patient man called Sarath, said Sri Lanka didn't produce petroleum. So Kabir asked where it came from. Saudi Arabia and Malaysia, he was told. So how did it get here? Through pipelines and marine tankers. And how did it get to the individual gas stations? It's offloaded at the ports and then transported by tanker trucks.
The conversation then turned to sources of energy and Kabir asked if Sri Lanka had any hydroelectric power plants. He wanted to know where the dams were. This entire exchange was spontaneous and not once was he prompted by either my husband or me. Sitting in the back seat, we couldn't believe our nine-year-old was making such serious conversation. We were so proud. And we realised just how much the sometimes punishing school curriculum in India had impacted him. This time, in a good way. Geography lessons had definitely further fuelled his natural curiosity.
Geography seems to be the hot favourite for Kabir and his six-year-old brother Raghav at the moment. Their pet game these days is something called Atlas where you have to name a place using the last letter of the place the previous player names. This takes care of many a long car ride, which is quite commonplace in the cities of Thane and Mumbai whose roads are choked to bursting point. As a consequence, the boys have learnt the names of so many distant places, including Argentina, Nicaragua, Azerbaijan, Kazakhstan, Armenia, Norway, Yorkshire, Zimbabwe etc. etc.
Their mission, every time they play it, is to land the other players with the letter A. The names of the majority of places end with 'A', so after a point you do get stuck. Raghav needs help after the first few rounds, but in the process he picks up a lot of new names.
Last weekend we were driving to a wedding in Mumbai. We had to cover a distance of just about 30 kilometres but it took us two-and-a-half hours! The streets were completely clogged with traffic that day. Thanks to Atlas, the drive that could have been a nightmare from my restless kids turned out to be quite pleasant. Adding to their delight was the fact that their grandfather, my father-in-law, was with us. And they did their darndest to land Dadu with an 'A' each time. There were hysterical fits of laughter each time Dadu got an 'A' and protested vehemently!
A couple of weeks ago when I found the kids were getting frustrated while playing Atlas because they were running out of names too soon, I told them to sit with an atlas each and use the index to find new names every time they got stuck. That really paid off. They learnt so many new names! And they're really keen to try that again as soon as their school examinations finish in the second week of December.
A child's curiosity and capacity to absorb information are just astounding. Of course I've had to answer the usual questions about how do babies come out of their mummies' tummies. So we've had conversations about the uterus, the birth canal and contractions. The subject of conception hasn't come up yet, but I expect it to any day now.
And you learn from your kids too. Every now and then Kabir or Raghav comes up with a nugget of information that I didn't know, especially about the habits of animals. And they get so smug when that happens! This is what I most enjoy about parenting - the give and take of knowledge.
I wondered if I'd heard right. I had. The driver, a wonderfully patient man called Sarath, said Sri Lanka didn't produce petroleum. So Kabir asked where it came from. Saudi Arabia and Malaysia, he was told. So how did it get here? Through pipelines and marine tankers. And how did it get to the individual gas stations? It's offloaded at the ports and then transported by tanker trucks.
The conversation then turned to sources of energy and Kabir asked if Sri Lanka had any hydroelectric power plants. He wanted to know where the dams were. This entire exchange was spontaneous and not once was he prompted by either my husband or me. Sitting in the back seat, we couldn't believe our nine-year-old was making such serious conversation. We were so proud. And we realised just how much the sometimes punishing school curriculum in India had impacted him. This time, in a good way. Geography lessons had definitely further fuelled his natural curiosity.
Geography seems to be the hot favourite for Kabir and his six-year-old brother Raghav at the moment. Their pet game these days is something called Atlas where you have to name a place using the last letter of the place the previous player names. This takes care of many a long car ride, which is quite commonplace in the cities of Thane and Mumbai whose roads are choked to bursting point. As a consequence, the boys have learnt the names of so many distant places, including Argentina, Nicaragua, Azerbaijan, Kazakhstan, Armenia, Norway, Yorkshire, Zimbabwe etc. etc.
Their mission, every time they play it, is to land the other players with the letter A. The names of the majority of places end with 'A', so after a point you do get stuck. Raghav needs help after the first few rounds, but in the process he picks up a lot of new names.
Last weekend we were driving to a wedding in Mumbai. We had to cover a distance of just about 30 kilometres but it took us two-and-a-half hours! The streets were completely clogged with traffic that day. Thanks to Atlas, the drive that could have been a nightmare from my restless kids turned out to be quite pleasant. Adding to their delight was the fact that their grandfather, my father-in-law, was with us. And they did their darndest to land Dadu with an 'A' each time. There were hysterical fits of laughter each time Dadu got an 'A' and protested vehemently!
A couple of weeks ago when I found the kids were getting frustrated while playing Atlas because they were running out of names too soon, I told them to sit with an atlas each and use the index to find new names every time they got stuck. That really paid off. They learnt so many new names! And they're really keen to try that again as soon as their school examinations finish in the second week of December.
A child's curiosity and capacity to absorb information are just astounding. Of course I've had to answer the usual questions about how do babies come out of their mummies' tummies. So we've had conversations about the uterus, the birth canal and contractions. The subject of conception hasn't come up yet, but I expect it to any day now.
And you learn from your kids too. Every now and then Kabir or Raghav comes up with a nugget of information that I didn't know, especially about the habits of animals. And they get so smug when that happens! This is what I most enjoy about parenting - the give and take of knowledge.
Sunday, November 22, 2009
Why I hate Blackberry
This is going to sound like a typical wife's rant, but I hate my husband's Blackberry from the bottom of my heart. It's like the other woman in our marriage, keeping his mind straying away from home and family. He just can't resist its chimes and flashes. He checks it first thing at the start of each day, even before wishing me and our kids a good morning! On his days off he keeps going back to it by force of habit, spinning the dial and checking messages that could surely wait for the other side of the weekend. At airports, doctors' offices or anywhere else we need to wait, he turns to his Blackberry for comfort and companionship. It's as if the kids and I aren't even there! He's either answering emails or playing games. He's unable to function without that sleek, shiny black temptress touching his skin! To be fair, I must confess that he loves me to death and lets me know that often enough, but I could surely do without competition from what is essentially a mobile phone on steroids.
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Pinnacles of preposterousness
In the very first front page I skim through this morning I come across two news items that are some of the best examples of preposterousness one can encounter. One in the sheer callousness it reflects, the other in the ridiculousness of the research project it publicises.
The first report is about an insurance lawsuit. The vaunted lawyer of a gigantic Indian insurance firm actually tried to convince a court that being left paralysed by a motor crash sixteen years ago was a "blessing in disguise" for the young woman asking for a larger compensation package. Can you imagine that?!
Shweta Mehta, now 27, is paralysed from the waist down. She has spent 16 years in a wheelchair and is unable to do much independently. Her medical bills are high and salaries for hired help have been steadily spiralling upwards. That's why she is asking the third party insurer for more.
So what's the insurance lawyer's logic for this absurd argument? "The accident, for the girl, was blessing in disguise as she could get better education and also compensation," he told a shocked courtroom in Mumbai. Jokes about lawyers being heartless abound, but this has to be a new low even for people in the profession with such a poor reputation. The judges, fortunately, immediately let it be known that this line of attack would just not cut it.
The other report I notice is about a research project that claims to have succeeded in putting a price on happiness and sorrow. Australian economist Paul Frijters has been tracking and valuing human emotion since 2001. He claims to have found that to a man, marriage is worth 18,000 pounds and to a woman just half that. (Now that challenges all previously held beliefs about men abhorring marriage and resenting the fetters they feel come with tying the knot). And Frijters says - more in line with contemporary thinking this time - divorce is worth over 61,000 pounds for a man and just 5,000 pounds for a woman. She, like Ivana Trump, clearly believes in not just getting mad but getting everything!
The researcher has also assessed the monetary worth of other human milestones like the birth of a child and the death of a loved one. According to him they affect a man much more dramatically (in terms of monetary worth, that is) than they do a woman.
Doesn't Frijters' research project sound like a decade-long exercise in futility? What's the point of research like this? What does it achieve? How can its findings be applied or used? What's more, who backs it? Who funds it? Who stands to gain from this farce?
I'm sure some would like to be able to study human emotion in a more dispassionate fashion, but isn't this going to an absurd extreme? Can we be as cold and calculating about feelings and sentiments as we are about money? And I absolutely do not believe, despite all of Frijters' findings, that anyone can put a price on human emotion. Mr. Frijters, I wish you luck but sincerely hope your next research effort isn't as pointless.
The first report is about an insurance lawsuit. The vaunted lawyer of a gigantic Indian insurance firm actually tried to convince a court that being left paralysed by a motor crash sixteen years ago was a "blessing in disguise" for the young woman asking for a larger compensation package. Can you imagine that?!
Shweta Mehta, now 27, is paralysed from the waist down. She has spent 16 years in a wheelchair and is unable to do much independently. Her medical bills are high and salaries for hired help have been steadily spiralling upwards. That's why she is asking the third party insurer for more.
So what's the insurance lawyer's logic for this absurd argument? "The accident, for the girl, was blessing in disguise as she could get better education and also compensation," he told a shocked courtroom in Mumbai. Jokes about lawyers being heartless abound, but this has to be a new low even for people in the profession with such a poor reputation. The judges, fortunately, immediately let it be known that this line of attack would just not cut it.
The other report I notice is about a research project that claims to have succeeded in putting a price on happiness and sorrow. Australian economist Paul Frijters has been tracking and valuing human emotion since 2001. He claims to have found that to a man, marriage is worth 18,000 pounds and to a woman just half that. (Now that challenges all previously held beliefs about men abhorring marriage and resenting the fetters they feel come with tying the knot). And Frijters says - more in line with contemporary thinking this time - divorce is worth over 61,000 pounds for a man and just 5,000 pounds for a woman. She, like Ivana Trump, clearly believes in not just getting mad but getting everything!
The researcher has also assessed the monetary worth of other human milestones like the birth of a child and the death of a loved one. According to him they affect a man much more dramatically (in terms of monetary worth, that is) than they do a woman.
Doesn't Frijters' research project sound like a decade-long exercise in futility? What's the point of research like this? What does it achieve? How can its findings be applied or used? What's more, who backs it? Who funds it? Who stands to gain from this farce?
I'm sure some would like to be able to study human emotion in a more dispassionate fashion, but isn't this going to an absurd extreme? Can we be as cold and calculating about feelings and sentiments as we are about money? And I absolutely do not believe, despite all of Frijters' findings, that anyone can put a price on human emotion. Mr. Frijters, I wish you luck but sincerely hope your next research effort isn't as pointless.
Sunday, November 15, 2009
Taking the magic out of magic
I'm really conflicted about this. My kids have lately been watching Magic's Biggest Secrets Finally Revealed, a television programme that gives away all the tricks magicians use for their trade's most popular acts.
On the one hand I'm happy that the boys are now questioning every magic trick, wondering what sleight of hand has been used to pull it off. They are constantly trying to guess the secret - there's a hidden trapdoor; the magician has the ball up his sleeve; there's another assistant behind the screen etc. etc.
But on the other hand I feel a little bad that the magic has been lost. When we were children, a magic show was truly mesmerising. We really believed some people possessed extraordinary skills that helped them defy natural laws. All of us suspected in the backs of our minds that there had to be some other explanation for what we saw being done, but most didn't question it beyond a point. We just enjoyed those few moments of wonderment.
Magic's Biggest Secrets Finally Revealed has put an end to that, at least for my boys. Is that a good thing? I'm not sure. But I do hope that my kids appreciate the skill and dexterity that go into performing magic on stage.
On the one hand I'm happy that the boys are now questioning every magic trick, wondering what sleight of hand has been used to pull it off. They are constantly trying to guess the secret - there's a hidden trapdoor; the magician has the ball up his sleeve; there's another assistant behind the screen etc. etc.
But on the other hand I feel a little bad that the magic has been lost. When we were children, a magic show was truly mesmerising. We really believed some people possessed extraordinary skills that helped them defy natural laws. All of us suspected in the backs of our minds that there had to be some other explanation for what we saw being done, but most didn't question it beyond a point. We just enjoyed those few moments of wonderment.
Magic's Biggest Secrets Finally Revealed has put an end to that, at least for my boys. Is that a good thing? I'm not sure. But I do hope that my kids appreciate the skill and dexterity that go into performing magic on stage.
Tuesday, November 3, 2009
To-wit, to-who
My kids are growing up fast. And just as rapidly developing a sense of humour. A couple of days ago we'd stopped at an ATM, so there were questions from the boys about money transcations and whether you can withdraw coins from a bank. We said yes, but for that you have to go to a branch. Immediately our nine-year-old Kabir said, "Ah, that gives me an idea. Who do you call when you find a twig in your soup?" Who, we asked in unison. "The branch manager!" We couldn't help but guffaw. And, as parents, we felt so very proud. For him to absorb what he hears and use it to pun is really quite amazing.
Some months ago, while Wimbledon was on, Kabir asked me one afternoon, "Mama, what do elephants play at Wimbledon?" What, I asked. "Squash!" he proclaimed with pride. That was another original.
Our little one, Raghav, also loves jokes. But he hasn't yet started dishing out original material. Our six-year-old's current favourite is: "Knock, knock. Who's there? Sonia. Sonia who? Sonia shoe I can smell it!" So we hear that one again and again. He has tried to make up some knock, knock material, but he hasn't quite struck gold so far. One of these days......
Actually, it's no surprise that my boys have taken so keenly to jokes, especially puns. Compulsive punning runs in the families of both their parents. My husband has quite a reputation. One of his best so far came when he heard that a Bengali friend of my father's had been appointed India's envoy to Germany. "Ambassador Bonn gaya," he said. Those familiar with the Bengali accent and the Hindi language will get it.
And hubby isn't the only one. His father, my father and my brother are just as bad. Every family event has the room reverberating with laughter as one wisecrack follows another. So, given the combination of genes, I suppose my boys were pre-destined to by witty. Actually, I think it's great. There can be nothing better than a life full of laughter.
Some months ago, while Wimbledon was on, Kabir asked me one afternoon, "Mama, what do elephants play at Wimbledon?" What, I asked. "Squash!" he proclaimed with pride. That was another original.
Our little one, Raghav, also loves jokes. But he hasn't yet started dishing out original material. Our six-year-old's current favourite is: "Knock, knock. Who's there? Sonia. Sonia who? Sonia shoe I can smell it!" So we hear that one again and again. He has tried to make up some knock, knock material, but he hasn't quite struck gold so far. One of these days......
Actually, it's no surprise that my boys have taken so keenly to jokes, especially puns. Compulsive punning runs in the families of both their parents. My husband has quite a reputation. One of his best so far came when he heard that a Bengali friend of my father's had been appointed India's envoy to Germany. "Ambassador Bonn gaya," he said. Those familiar with the Bengali accent and the Hindi language will get it.
And hubby isn't the only one. His father, my father and my brother are just as bad. Every family event has the room reverberating with laughter as one wisecrack follows another. So, given the combination of genes, I suppose my boys were pre-destined to by witty. Actually, I think it's great. There can be nothing better than a life full of laughter.
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Growing up Indian, the Amar Chitra Katha way
Last week my kids got special delivery of a veritable treasure chest. Two cartons packed with the entire collection of Amar Chitra Katha. That's more than 400 comic books! It was a gift from a much loved friend of mine. It must have cost her a small fortune. But, to my mind, it's worth every penny, and much, much more. The hours spent with these wonderful books are far more precious than anything money can buy.
Most of us have grown up reading Amar Chitra Kathas. And I am overjoyed that my little boys are doing the same. An unmatched concept, Amar Chitra Katha was the first to introduce Indian children to their rich cultural, religious and historical heritage using the irresistible comic book format. Gone were the dull and weighty accounts of India's past that were heavy on text and low on appeal. The bright colours, rich illustrations and simplified storytelling brought characters from mythology, folklore and history alive for kids, making them real and accessible somehow.
Launched in 1967, the Amar Chitra Katha series introduced us to all our freedom fighters in a way that school and library texts on history never could. From Lokmanya Tilak to Subhas Chandra Bose, Mahatma Gandhi to Bhagat Singh, Veer Savarkar to Jawaharlal Nehru, the series gave us a tantalising glimpse into the lives of men who helped shape our collective destiny. It was the best possible introduction to the world of biographies.
And Amar Chitra Katha simplified the often confusing world of Indian mythology in a way no one else has managed to do. The two great Indian epics, the Ramayan and Mahabharat, are so full of complex characters, relationships, equations and sub-plots that it is easy to lose one's way. So Amar Chitra Katha gave us simple overviews of the main stories and also separate books on the significant sub-plots to the epics. For instance the Gita, which is one of the central tenets of Hindu belief, is based on a dialogue between Lord Krishna and the warrior Arjun while they are poised for a mighty battle between good and evil. There is a separate comic on that exhange. I re-read it last night after decades.
Apart from their entertainment and educational value, I feel Amar Chitra Katha help our children understand the meaning of being an Indian. The books help them see that our nation has no single, monolithic identity or truth. Being Indian can mean being anything, or anyone. They make kids appreciate diversity by offering a basic understanding of many faiths - Hinduism, Islam, Christianity, Buddhism, Sikhism, Jainism, Zoroastrianism and Judaism. Tales of saints and reformers like Kabir, Guru Nanak, Shankaracharya, Ramakrishna give them hope that things can be changed for the better when they start to go wrong. Accounts of our struggle for independence awaken a sense of pride in nationality.
Available in a host of Indian languages as well as English and even French, the Amar Chitra Katha series has tried to keep current by offering new biographies on contemporary personalities like India-born American astronaut Kalpana Chawla (who died in the Columbia explosion in 2003) and the late industrialist J.R.D. Tata, among others. And its Heroes Challenge invites its young readers to nominate heroes on whom Amar Chitra Katha has not yet released a book.
In a way, Amar Chitra Katha has made an invaluable contribution to helping us grow up Indian. And it continues to do so for future generations. I hope this unique venture never runs out of steam.
Most of us have grown up reading Amar Chitra Kathas. And I am overjoyed that my little boys are doing the same. An unmatched concept, Amar Chitra Katha was the first to introduce Indian children to their rich cultural, religious and historical heritage using the irresistible comic book format. Gone were the dull and weighty accounts of India's past that were heavy on text and low on appeal. The bright colours, rich illustrations and simplified storytelling brought characters from mythology, folklore and history alive for kids, making them real and accessible somehow.
Launched in 1967, the Amar Chitra Katha series introduced us to all our freedom fighters in a way that school and library texts on history never could. From Lokmanya Tilak to Subhas Chandra Bose, Mahatma Gandhi to Bhagat Singh, Veer Savarkar to Jawaharlal Nehru, the series gave us a tantalising glimpse into the lives of men who helped shape our collective destiny. It was the best possible introduction to the world of biographies.
And Amar Chitra Katha simplified the often confusing world of Indian mythology in a way no one else has managed to do. The two great Indian epics, the Ramayan and Mahabharat, are so full of complex characters, relationships, equations and sub-plots that it is easy to lose one's way. So Amar Chitra Katha gave us simple overviews of the main stories and also separate books on the significant sub-plots to the epics. For instance the Gita, which is one of the central tenets of Hindu belief, is based on a dialogue between Lord Krishna and the warrior Arjun while they are poised for a mighty battle between good and evil. There is a separate comic on that exhange. I re-read it last night after decades.
Apart from their entertainment and educational value, I feel Amar Chitra Katha help our children understand the meaning of being an Indian. The books help them see that our nation has no single, monolithic identity or truth. Being Indian can mean being anything, or anyone. They make kids appreciate diversity by offering a basic understanding of many faiths - Hinduism, Islam, Christianity, Buddhism, Sikhism, Jainism, Zoroastrianism and Judaism. Tales of saints and reformers like Kabir, Guru Nanak, Shankaracharya, Ramakrishna give them hope that things can be changed for the better when they start to go wrong. Accounts of our struggle for independence awaken a sense of pride in nationality.
Available in a host of Indian languages as well as English and even French, the Amar Chitra Katha series has tried to keep current by offering new biographies on contemporary personalities like India-born American astronaut Kalpana Chawla (who died in the Columbia explosion in 2003) and the late industrialist J.R.D. Tata, among others. And its Heroes Challenge invites its young readers to nominate heroes on whom Amar Chitra Katha has not yet released a book.
In a way, Amar Chitra Katha has made an invaluable contribution to helping us grow up Indian. And it continues to do so for future generations. I hope this unique venture never runs out of steam.
Saturday, October 31, 2009
Saying it like it is
A little candour now and again can be a good thing. In diplomacy, it can be like a breath of fresh air. When Hillary Clinton lost her patience at an interaction with Pakistani journalists during her Lahore visit this past week and cut right through the BS to call a spade a spade, I was as pleased as punch.
The diplomatic world's worst-kept secret - that Pakistan harbours terrorists - exploded in the local media's face when U.S. Secretary of State Clinton said: "I find it hard to believe that nobody in your government knows where they (Al-Qaeda operatives) are and couldn't get them if they really wanted to."
Osama bin Laden, his Al-Qaeda network and scores of other terrorist comrades have made the inhospitable mountains along the Pakistan-Afghanistan border their home for close to a decade. The entire world knows this. And it's obvious that this safe haven could not exist without the tacit approval and cooperation of at least some in positions of influence in Pakistan as well as Afghanistan.
But so far world leaders have been walking on eggshells each time they speak of Pakistan's apparent attempt to rein in the forces of terror. They hail Islamabad as a key ally in the war on terror. And they refuse to publicly acknowledge that the Pakistanis have been turning a blind eye to the presence on their soil of men wanted around the world for killing thousands of innocent people.
Finally, the U.S. seems to have dropped the act and is saying it like it is. I don't know if Clinton had President Obama's approval before speaking that harshly, but I feel only good can come of ending an era of mouthing platitudes. "I want to have the kind of relationship where we really are talking honestly about everything between us because there's just too much at stake," Clinton reportedly said in defence of her outburst.
If Clinton really wants to work towards cutting the crap and getting real results, let's wish her the very best.
The diplomatic world's worst-kept secret - that Pakistan harbours terrorists - exploded in the local media's face when U.S. Secretary of State Clinton said: "I find it hard to believe that nobody in your government knows where they (Al-Qaeda operatives) are and couldn't get them if they really wanted to."
Osama bin Laden, his Al-Qaeda network and scores of other terrorist comrades have made the inhospitable mountains along the Pakistan-Afghanistan border their home for close to a decade. The entire world knows this. And it's obvious that this safe haven could not exist without the tacit approval and cooperation of at least some in positions of influence in Pakistan as well as Afghanistan.
But so far world leaders have been walking on eggshells each time they speak of Pakistan's apparent attempt to rein in the forces of terror. They hail Islamabad as a key ally in the war on terror. And they refuse to publicly acknowledge that the Pakistanis have been turning a blind eye to the presence on their soil of men wanted around the world for killing thousands of innocent people.
Finally, the U.S. seems to have dropped the act and is saying it like it is. I don't know if Clinton had President Obama's approval before speaking that harshly, but I feel only good can come of ending an era of mouthing platitudes. "I want to have the kind of relationship where we really are talking honestly about everything between us because there's just too much at stake," Clinton reportedly said in defence of her outburst.
If Clinton really wants to work towards cutting the crap and getting real results, let's wish her the very best.
Sunday, October 18, 2009
Soul-salving Sri Lanka
We're back, though we don't want to be. Back to reality, chores and responsibilities after a fabulous week in stunning Sri Lanka. A week when we unwound, switched off and recharged. When cell phones weren't a distraction, when newspapers didn't numb us with frightening facts. It was an idyllic state of disconnect. And the spectacular natural beauty of the place was like a salve for the soul.
A week is far too little time to really experience the Emerald Isle in its entirety. But we were fortunate to have even that much. We landed in Colombo airport in the wee hours of October 10 and drove four hours to the town of Kandalama in the central province. It's a quaint little place by the man-made Kandalama tank, close to the Buddhist pilgrim town of Dambulla that is famous for its ancient cave temples.
The Heritance hotel where we stayed is an architectural marvel that lies ensconced in thick woods. The 900-metre structure is hard to spot even from close range because of the clever way in which it has been made to blend with its surroundings. Floor to ceiling picture windows run the length of the structure. Most of the corridors have been left open, so you have rooms along one side while the hill and the woods lie at arm's length on the other. Monkeys, squirrels and monitor lizards have a run of the place, just as much as the guests. Deer and elk roam the property. And bats whizz above your head as you make your way to dinner.
I'm now a confirmed admirer of the architect, the late Geoffrey Bawa. He has created a building of delightful simplicity, yet with remarkable features. Terrace gardens camouflage the Heritance Kandalama completely, so much so that you probably won't spot the hotel in the day till you drive into the porch. And he has integrated large chunks of the rock around which the hotel has been built into the design. So you have portions where the rock serves as the wall. All the rooms have balconies that are surrounded by cascading foliage. Of the three swimming pools, the most beautiful is the infinity pool that overlooks Kandalama Tank.
The other thing that sets the Heritance, Kandalama, apart from other hotels is the quality of the food. It served up some of the best food we've ever eaten, be it Sri Lankan, Oriental or Continental cuisine. There were buffets for every meal and such was the standard that we saw not one guest at the hotel opt for the a la carte menu through our three-day stay. No surprise then that its kitchens have won the Heritance, Kandalama, a whole host of awards.
While in Kandalama, we visited the ancient city of Anuradhapura. A world heritage site, Anuradhapura was the first Buddhist capital of Sri Lanka and is dotted with stunning ruins, the oldest of which date back 2,500 years. To me, the most spectacular were the Abhayagiri and Jetavana stupas. They are impressive in the sheer scale as well as simplicity of design. The Jetavana dagoba is made of more than 90 million bricks! It is considered the largest structure in the world made entirely of bricks. It is said that there are enough bricks in the stupa to build a great wall from London to Edinburgh, a distance of over 500 kilometres.
I noticed though that the Sri Lankan authorities seem to be cementing most of the stupas and painting them white, which to my mind takes away from the beauty of the original structures. Though the effort to protect these gems of history are laudable, I feel one should find a way of doing so without changing their basic character.
Kandalama is a great place to stay if you want to visit Sri Lanka's Cultural Triangle that includes the rock fortress of Sigiriya, the ruins of Anuradhapura and Polonnaruwa, the island's second Buddhist capital. Not surprisingly, the Heritance Kandalama plays host to large groups of Buddhist pilgrims and holidaymakers from East Asia.
After three days in Kandalama, we drove south-west to the beach town of Ahungulla. The drive was picturesque right through, but we had the misfortune of riding in a van that seemed to have no shock absorbers whatsoever. Except for the main motorways, roads in Sri Lanka aren't the best around. So if you're planning to travel there (and especially if you have a bad back), do try to avoid hiring the very popular Toyota HiAce vans. Because those will rearrange your skeletal frame.
Anyway, the six-hour drive did eventually end. And it was fortunate that the place is so very beautiful that you don't dwell too much on the discomfort. Ahungulla lies by the Indian Ocean south of capital Colombo. It is just south of the more popular beach resort town of Bentota, and therefore less crowded. Exactly like everyone's idea of a beach holiday destination, Ahungulla was practically razed to the ground by the 2004 Tsunami. It has built itself back up remarkably well.
Our home in Ahungulla was another Heritance hotel, also designed by Bawa. An equally beautiful property, it bears all of Bawa's hallmarks. Nature occupies centrestage. No element of the design ever takes attention away from the landscape. The Heritance Ahungulla has a massive colonnaded reception lobby that opens out into a placid swimming pool. As you enter, at a single glance you take in the lobby, the pool, a patch of sand and the Indian Ocean beyond. It just takes your breath away.
We'd decided to use the Ahungulla leg to just relax, not exert ourselves by dashing about visiting the local sights. And we did just that. The Ahungulla Heritance offers its guests more onsite recreation options. It has two tennis courts, a badminton court, two swimming pools, billiards, ping-pong, a library and Internet connectivity. So the evening we arrived we hit the beach and then the pool. The next day was library, badminton and then the pool. Followed by tennis for my husband and the kids. And the beach at sunset. The third day all four of us hit the tennis court before cooling off in the pool. (My kids will never forget the sight of a monitor lizard taking a drink from the pool we were in and a squirrel stealing my older son's lemonade!). The evening was reserved for the beach after a well-earned afternoon siesta.
The only excursion while in Ahungulla was to nearby Kosgoda to visit a marine turtle hatchery. It is a remarkable, not-for-profit facility. Run purely on donations and entry fee, the hatchery was completely destroyed by the Tsunami. It's up and running again, thanks to the generosity of patrons around the world.
The hatchery pays local fisherman a little more than market rate for the turtle eggs they excavate from the beaches. This ensures that these endangered creatures don't end up on breakfast tables. The hatchery then incubates the eggs under mounds of sand. Soon after the hatchlings emerge, they are released into the ocean. The local species include the Green Turtle, the Leatherback, the Olive Ridley, the Loggerhead and the Hawksbill.
The hatchery caretaker said only one percent of a clutch of eggs bears female hatchlings. So the females are doubly endangered and their survival is critical to the future of the species. That's why the hatchery keeps the females for seven years, making sure they are strong and their chances of survival once back in the ocean are the best they can be.
After a memorable three days in Ahungulla, we drove north two hours to the Sri Lankan capital Colombo. It was the 16th of October. A bustling metropolis, Colombo is full of the sights and sounds of any South Asian city. It is full of beautiful buildings constructed during British colonial rule, which ended in 1948. My husband had been to the city on work in June and was keen to take us for lunch to a place he had visited then. Paradise Road Galleries, situated in an upscale area of Colombo, was everything he'd promised and more. The food was excellent, the ambience unparalleled. Curiously, the house was once home to the architect Bawa. So it seems we were on a virtual Bawa pilgrimage!
Of course we did the truly touristy thing and hit a few export surplus clothes stores in Colombo. The much talked of House of Fashion was a little chaotic and disappointing. What surprised me was the fact that it had no trial rooms! Odel was much more impressive in the way it was organised and the variety of stock. The prices were unbelievable. So I quickly emptied hubby's wallet.
We'd booked an apartment for the day at the Hilton Residences. The apartment was well-appointed and comfortable. We relaxed there for a few hours and flew out at midnight back to Mumbai, just in time to be home for Diwali.
Sri Lanka was incredible. We came back happy, rejuvenated, sated, a little bit heavier and very, very tanned. And we can't wait to get back.
Friday, October 9, 2009
Seriously, Nobel committee?
W-H-A-T???!!! My jaw dropped as I heard U.S. President Barack Obama was to receive this year's Nobel Peace Prize. I was up to my eyeballs in clothes that I had to pack for the holiday that begins just a few hours from now, but I had to drop all that and blog.
I couldn't understand. I still can't. Why Obama? Why? What has he done to deserve this highest of honours? Given a few speeches? Renewed hope among non-whites of a world of equal opportunity? Spoken kindly and respectfully to the Islamic world? Yes, yes and yes. But so what?
The entire world had succumbed to Obama appeal during the U.S. presidential election last year. And his victory was celebrated just as enthusiastically across the globe as it was by his supporters in America. I was among the billions applauding at the time. We have since followed his fortunes with interest. His quiet dignity and erudition have earned our respect. His address to the Islamic world through his speech in Cairo was a welcome departure from the macho BS that used to flow out of his predecessor's mouth. But has all that made the world a better place? Has it changed anyone's life? Has it ended the mutual suspicion - even hate - between the Western and Islamic worlds? No, no and no. It's true that America and the world have very high expectations of this man. But he hasn't done anything yet.
Which brings me back to 'Why?'. I am well and truly baffled. And I hope Obama is too. He must know he has done nothing to deserve this honour. My respect for the man would increase manifold if he gracefully declined the award in favour of someone truly worthy of it. I hope he does.
I couldn't understand. I still can't. Why Obama? Why? What has he done to deserve this highest of honours? Given a few speeches? Renewed hope among non-whites of a world of equal opportunity? Spoken kindly and respectfully to the Islamic world? Yes, yes and yes. But so what?
The entire world had succumbed to Obama appeal during the U.S. presidential election last year. And his victory was celebrated just as enthusiastically across the globe as it was by his supporters in America. I was among the billions applauding at the time. We have since followed his fortunes with interest. His quiet dignity and erudition have earned our respect. His address to the Islamic world through his speech in Cairo was a welcome departure from the macho BS that used to flow out of his predecessor's mouth. But has all that made the world a better place? Has it changed anyone's life? Has it ended the mutual suspicion - even hate - between the Western and Islamic worlds? No, no and no. It's true that America and the world have very high expectations of this man. But he hasn't done anything yet.
Which brings me back to 'Why?'. I am well and truly baffled. And I hope Obama is too. He must know he has done nothing to deserve this honour. My respect for the man would increase manifold if he gracefully declined the award in favour of someone truly worthy of it. I hope he does.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Why can't we cast caste out?
Caste. A word that in India could spell power or misery. Privilege or dishonour. Influence or helplessness. Don't you think it's time we cast it out?
Ironically, in today's India the caste knife cuts both ways. Earlier belonging to a high caste was like being born with the silver spoon in the mouth. No longer. The chauvinists among the high caste groups still haven't come to grips with the fact that people they consider lesser mortals are getting preference in education and employment, while also becoming considerably influential politically. But discrimination against the lower castes is certainly not a thing of the past. There are still thousands of temples that bar entry to "untouchables". Thousands of villages even today don't allow people from the lowest castes to live among them or draw water from their wells.
Today India is extremely nervous that the United Nations will declare caste discrimination a violation of human rights. But I think we should jump at this chance and sign on, as our neighbour Nepal has reportedly done.
Wouldn't it make sense to just declare caste discrimination immoral and illegal? Lots of old, anachronistic practices have slowly died out after being declared unlawful. For instance, widows no longer burn on their husbands' funeral pyres (except for a few shocking cases now and again) and child marriage appears to be on the decline. This change has come very slowly, over many generations. But at least we seem to be moving in the right direction on these fronts.
I know hundreds will pounce on me for advocating this, claiming I am over-simplifying a very complex issue. But then sometimes the easiest and most obvious solution can be the right one, especially when the problem is tremendously complicated. Won't doing away with caste restore honour to millions who have been ill-treated and insulted all their lives? Won't it gradually fix the fundamental problems in society that have caused widespread discontent, feeding violent reactionary movements like the Maoist insurgency that is slowly bleeding the life out of a large swathe of central and eastern India?
The main problem is that there is a lot riding on caste politically. Our leaders have spent decades nurturing hopes and expectations in various caste groups. Job and educational reservations for SCs (scheduled castes, or listed lower castes) and OBCs (other backward castes) are among the most popular carrots politicians dangle before voters ahead of every election. Politicians like Uttar Pradesh Chief Minister Mayawati have got where they are today because of caste politics. She is the newest mascot of Dalit empowerment. Dalits are members of the lowest bloc in the Indian caste heirarchy who received the most inhuman treatment of all, shunned as "untouchables" and left the worst jobs.
On the other hand, high caste chauvinists want to cling on to the system because they feel it gives them honour and privilege, somehow making them better than the rest. And these group wield a lot of political influence in many parts of the country.
The tragedy of it all is that the caste system began centuries ago as a simple way of distinguishing people in various vocations. Priests were Brahmins, warriors were Kshatriyas, traders were Vaishyas and people doing menial work were Shudras. Trouble began when someone decided to make it hereditary. So a Brahmin family would always be covered in honour while the children of the Shudra had no hope of improving their lot or elevating their social status because they were condemned to a life of menial labour. That's when this most inhuman of social systems began to evolve. Gradually scores of sub-castes emerged, creating an extremely complicated social web.
Even today inter-caste marriages are fairly uncommon in the Indian heartland. Though my husband and I live in a bustling 21st century city, people are surprised to learn that our parents aren't from the same state and that we had a "love marriage". And when they find out that we have no idea what my husband's caste is, they're truly horrified!
So deeply ingrained is caste in the Indian psyche that it even crosses religious boundaries. Though millions turned to other other faiths such as Sikhism, Buddhism, Christianity and Islam because of caste discrimination among Hindus, caste identity has remained intact for most of them. Marriages are generally arranged between families with similar caste backgrounds.
To me, the United Nations move to brand caste bias a glaring human rights violation is a golden opportunity to give this barbaric system a long-due burial. Anyone who maintains that anything good has come of the caste system is lying. There have been no advantages to us as a people. All it does is divide us, create hatred and suspicion. Mahatma Gandhi recognised this. He told us we wouldn't get far as a nation if we didn't end discrimination against the socially disadvantaged, whom he called Harijans (people of God). We should have paid heed.
There's still time. Let's cast caste out now.
Ironically, in today's India the caste knife cuts both ways. Earlier belonging to a high caste was like being born with the silver spoon in the mouth. No longer. The chauvinists among the high caste groups still haven't come to grips with the fact that people they consider lesser mortals are getting preference in education and employment, while also becoming considerably influential politically. But discrimination against the lower castes is certainly not a thing of the past. There are still thousands of temples that bar entry to "untouchables". Thousands of villages even today don't allow people from the lowest castes to live among them or draw water from their wells.
Today India is extremely nervous that the United Nations will declare caste discrimination a violation of human rights. But I think we should jump at this chance and sign on, as our neighbour Nepal has reportedly done.
Wouldn't it make sense to just declare caste discrimination immoral and illegal? Lots of old, anachronistic practices have slowly died out after being declared unlawful. For instance, widows no longer burn on their husbands' funeral pyres (except for a few shocking cases now and again) and child marriage appears to be on the decline. This change has come very slowly, over many generations. But at least we seem to be moving in the right direction on these fronts.
I know hundreds will pounce on me for advocating this, claiming I am over-simplifying a very complex issue. But then sometimes the easiest and most obvious solution can be the right one, especially when the problem is tremendously complicated. Won't doing away with caste restore honour to millions who have been ill-treated and insulted all their lives? Won't it gradually fix the fundamental problems in society that have caused widespread discontent, feeding violent reactionary movements like the Maoist insurgency that is slowly bleeding the life out of a large swathe of central and eastern India?
The main problem is that there is a lot riding on caste politically. Our leaders have spent decades nurturing hopes and expectations in various caste groups. Job and educational reservations for SCs (scheduled castes, or listed lower castes) and OBCs (other backward castes) are among the most popular carrots politicians dangle before voters ahead of every election. Politicians like Uttar Pradesh Chief Minister Mayawati have got where they are today because of caste politics. She is the newest mascot of Dalit empowerment. Dalits are members of the lowest bloc in the Indian caste heirarchy who received the most inhuman treatment of all, shunned as "untouchables" and left the worst jobs.
On the other hand, high caste chauvinists want to cling on to the system because they feel it gives them honour and privilege, somehow making them better than the rest. And these group wield a lot of political influence in many parts of the country.
The tragedy of it all is that the caste system began centuries ago as a simple way of distinguishing people in various vocations. Priests were Brahmins, warriors were Kshatriyas, traders were Vaishyas and people doing menial work were Shudras. Trouble began when someone decided to make it hereditary. So a Brahmin family would always be covered in honour while the children of the Shudra had no hope of improving their lot or elevating their social status because they were condemned to a life of menial labour. That's when this most inhuman of social systems began to evolve. Gradually scores of sub-castes emerged, creating an extremely complicated social web.
Even today inter-caste marriages are fairly uncommon in the Indian heartland. Though my husband and I live in a bustling 21st century city, people are surprised to learn that our parents aren't from the same state and that we had a "love marriage". And when they find out that we have no idea what my husband's caste is, they're truly horrified!
So deeply ingrained is caste in the Indian psyche that it even crosses religious boundaries. Though millions turned to other other faiths such as Sikhism, Buddhism, Christianity and Islam because of caste discrimination among Hindus, caste identity has remained intact for most of them. Marriages are generally arranged between families with similar caste backgrounds.
To me, the United Nations move to brand caste bias a glaring human rights violation is a golden opportunity to give this barbaric system a long-due burial. Anyone who maintains that anything good has come of the caste system is lying. There have been no advantages to us as a people. All it does is divide us, create hatred and suspicion. Mahatma Gandhi recognised this. He told us we wouldn't get far as a nation if we didn't end discrimination against the socially disadvantaged, whom he called Harijans (people of God). We should have paid heed.
There's still time. Let's cast caste out now.
Saturday, October 3, 2009
Fling out the faux front page, please
I hate it. Just HATE it when a faux front page stares back at me first thing in the morning. Why do I have to turn a page to get to the front page? Doesn't the name say it all? It is the FRONT PAGE for god's sake. Completely self-explanatory.
I understand that the print news business is fighting for its life these days thanks to the explosion of competition from the electronic and online media. So advertisements are more important than they've ever been before. But you can't go and change the basic character of a newspaper. A reader should not have to turn a page to get to the main news. The front page should tell all.
But now, a couple of times a week, the first page of a newspaper won't tell you what's happened in the world in the past 24 hours but instead tom-tom the launch of a new property development or trumpet yet another luxury brand. I personally find it sickening. Please keep the ads inside and preserve the sanctity of the front page. Please.
I understand that the print news business is fighting for its life these days thanks to the explosion of competition from the electronic and online media. So advertisements are more important than they've ever been before. But you can't go and change the basic character of a newspaper. A reader should not have to turn a page to get to the main news. The front page should tell all.
But now, a couple of times a week, the first page of a newspaper won't tell you what's happened in the world in the past 24 hours but instead tom-tom the launch of a new property development or trumpet yet another luxury brand. I personally find it sickening. Please keep the ads inside and preserve the sanctity of the front page. Please.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
The China chip on our shoulder
It's time. High time we stopped. This perpetual chip on the Indian shoulder when it comes to China is getting plain embarrassing. We just can't seem to stop ourselves from comparing our achievements with those of the Chinese. To what purpose? It's most counter-productive.
On Thursday China marked the 60th anniversary of being a Red republic with great pomp and pageantry. Indian journalists were among hundreds from around the world invited to watch the spectacle at Beijing's Tiananmen Square. From all accounts it was a great show, the centrepiece being the parade through which China showcased its military prowess. Nothing wrong with that, considering we Indians do it every single year on the occasion of Republic Day in January. What I found pitiful was how some of our news channels started comparing the arsenal missile by missile. They said things like India has no answer to this one, matches this one, surpasses that one.
Why, why, why? What's the point? I hope to god that our defence decision-makers and military commanders are already aware of all this. Why do you need to flash these comparisons in front of the public? Are you trying to work up a mammoth inferiority complex? Or mass paranoia? You've already tried your best to do both by harping on increased "Chinese incursions" along the borders just about a month ago. Thankfully the hysteria whipped up then was very short-lived.
And it's not limited to the domain of defence, is it? Whenever we try to assess urban progress, we seem to promptly compare things to Shanghai. Our economic indices and business accomplishments are always compared to those of the Chinese. Why the hell can't we stop ourselves?
The thing is that while we're ahead of the Chinese in a handful of fields, we're way behind in most others. So such comparisons simply end up depressing us as a nation, denting morale. Doesn't that defeat the purpose?
There's no denying that China has notched up phenomenal successes in the last six decades. But it is a fundamentally different nation. It is goverened in a very different way. Its achievements have come at the expense of personal liberties and human rights. Individual voices are stifled. So much that we take for granted in our lives as Indians are pipe dreams for the Chinese, even people in booming cities like Shanghai.
I'm not trying to say that we're better off, or they are. It is important to understand that our two nations have evolved in very different ways. It's only natural that the pace of advancement will not be the same. The India we know and love is a cacophonous, chaotic place full of conflicting opinions and courses of action. Yet we are advancing. There's no attempt being made here to justify tardiness in development. I'm just pointing out that this is inevitable because of the way we are as a people. Comparing ourselves to the Chinese monolith is futile.
That reminds me, I just love the new Hindustan Times ad campaign that has It Is Time as its catchphrase. It urges an end to Indian cynism, sycophancy, breaking of rules and disregard for human rights. People are made to snap back to their senses with the swat of a rolled up newspaper. One of the ads shows three guys looking at the Bandra-Worli Sea Link, Mumbai's beautiful new landmark that took over eight years to build. One of these chappies says China could do this in two years, which is when he gets swatted on the head and shuts his trap. "It is time to end cynicism", says that ad. And I agree wholeheartedly. Let's not constantly beat ourselves up and run our morale to ground. That's defeatism at its best. Let's have a little more faith in ourselves and stop looking over the shoulder constantly at what our northern neighbour is up to.
On Thursday China marked the 60th anniversary of being a Red republic with great pomp and pageantry. Indian journalists were among hundreds from around the world invited to watch the spectacle at Beijing's Tiananmen Square. From all accounts it was a great show, the centrepiece being the parade through which China showcased its military prowess. Nothing wrong with that, considering we Indians do it every single year on the occasion of Republic Day in January. What I found pitiful was how some of our news channels started comparing the arsenal missile by missile. They said things like India has no answer to this one, matches this one, surpasses that one.
Why, why, why? What's the point? I hope to god that our defence decision-makers and military commanders are already aware of all this. Why do you need to flash these comparisons in front of the public? Are you trying to work up a mammoth inferiority complex? Or mass paranoia? You've already tried your best to do both by harping on increased "Chinese incursions" along the borders just about a month ago. Thankfully the hysteria whipped up then was very short-lived.
And it's not limited to the domain of defence, is it? Whenever we try to assess urban progress, we seem to promptly compare things to Shanghai. Our economic indices and business accomplishments are always compared to those of the Chinese. Why the hell can't we stop ourselves?
The thing is that while we're ahead of the Chinese in a handful of fields, we're way behind in most others. So such comparisons simply end up depressing us as a nation, denting morale. Doesn't that defeat the purpose?
There's no denying that China has notched up phenomenal successes in the last six decades. But it is a fundamentally different nation. It is goverened in a very different way. Its achievements have come at the expense of personal liberties and human rights. Individual voices are stifled. So much that we take for granted in our lives as Indians are pipe dreams for the Chinese, even people in booming cities like Shanghai.
I'm not trying to say that we're better off, or they are. It is important to understand that our two nations have evolved in very different ways. It's only natural that the pace of advancement will not be the same. The India we know and love is a cacophonous, chaotic place full of conflicting opinions and courses of action. Yet we are advancing. There's no attempt being made here to justify tardiness in development. I'm just pointing out that this is inevitable because of the way we are as a people. Comparing ourselves to the Chinese monolith is futile.
That reminds me, I just love the new Hindustan Times ad campaign that has It Is Time as its catchphrase. It urges an end to Indian cynism, sycophancy, breaking of rules and disregard for human rights. People are made to snap back to their senses with the swat of a rolled up newspaper. One of the ads shows three guys looking at the Bandra-Worli Sea Link, Mumbai's beautiful new landmark that took over eight years to build. One of these chappies says China could do this in two years, which is when he gets swatted on the head and shuts his trap. "It is time to end cynicism", says that ad. And I agree wholeheartedly. Let's not constantly beat ourselves up and run our morale to ground. That's defeatism at its best. Let's have a little more faith in ourselves and stop looking over the shoulder constantly at what our northern neighbour is up to.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Gun-nesh puja
Everytime I think our leaders couldn't get more vulgar or politically incorrect in their behaviour, they promptly go out and prove me wrong. When I saw a front page picture this morning of Gujarat Chief Minister Narendra Modi praying to assault rifles and guns on the occasion of Dussehra, I thought my still sleepy eyes and brain were playing tricks on me. I blinked and took another look. Same picture. I rubbed my eyes and looked yet again. Nothing had changed. There he was, reverentially worshipping a huge display of modern firearms and medieval weapons.
I read up a little bit about this bizarre ritual and was horrified to learn that this is something Modi has been doing for some years in his home to mark Dussehra, a festival that celebrates the triumph of good over evil. Apparently it is an old custom called Shastra Puja, or worship of weapons, that was popular among Rajputs and other warrior classes. That I can understand, because it was a ceremony where these warriors were paying their respects to the tools of their trade. It is something people in many professions do even today, praying to whatever helps them earn their living. Policemen often perform Shastra Puja, but then they use these weapons in the defence of innocents like you and I.
But Modi is the chief minister of a state. He sits in an office, administers, signs papers, works the phones, canvasses votes, shakes hands, poses for photos, pontificates, and rubs people like me the wrong way. I don't agree with a lot of what he believes in - that's okay. This is a democracy after all. But him sitting with folded hands in front of the tools of death - Kalashnikov rifles, guns, cartridges, tridents, swords - just seems WRONG. He is a public figure. Surely he considers how something like this would look?
Modi has a large fan following among hardline Hindus because of his tough posturing on some sensitive religious disputes. But more moderate Hindus who believe we Indians should just try to get along view him with a degree of suspicion, especially after the 2002 religious violence in his state that led to the deaths of many Hindus and thousands of Muslims. There were allegations that the administration turned a blind eye while Hindu mobs went about killing Muslims across Gujarat in retaliation for the burning of a train carrying Hindu pilgrims.
Let me state clearly here that I have nothing against Shastra Puja. It's just that it looks bad when a public figure holding a job that has nothing to do with weapons sits and worships them. Bad PR is what it is. Is Modi's Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) too myopic to see how bad this is for its image among millions of liberal middle class Indians that it is so desperately trying to woo?
I read up a little bit about this bizarre ritual and was horrified to learn that this is something Modi has been doing for some years in his home to mark Dussehra, a festival that celebrates the triumph of good over evil. Apparently it is an old custom called Shastra Puja, or worship of weapons, that was popular among Rajputs and other warrior classes. That I can understand, because it was a ceremony where these warriors were paying their respects to the tools of their trade. It is something people in many professions do even today, praying to whatever helps them earn their living. Policemen often perform Shastra Puja, but then they use these weapons in the defence of innocents like you and I.
But Modi is the chief minister of a state. He sits in an office, administers, signs papers, works the phones, canvasses votes, shakes hands, poses for photos, pontificates, and rubs people like me the wrong way. I don't agree with a lot of what he believes in - that's okay. This is a democracy after all. But him sitting with folded hands in front of the tools of death - Kalashnikov rifles, guns, cartridges, tridents, swords - just seems WRONG. He is a public figure. Surely he considers how something like this would look?
Modi has a large fan following among hardline Hindus because of his tough posturing on some sensitive religious disputes. But more moderate Hindus who believe we Indians should just try to get along view him with a degree of suspicion, especially after the 2002 religious violence in his state that led to the deaths of many Hindus and thousands of Muslims. There were allegations that the administration turned a blind eye while Hindu mobs went about killing Muslims across Gujarat in retaliation for the burning of a train carrying Hindu pilgrims.
Let me state clearly here that I have nothing against Shastra Puja. It's just that it looks bad when a public figure holding a job that has nothing to do with weapons sits and worships them. Bad PR is what it is. Is Modi's Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) too myopic to see how bad this is for its image among millions of liberal middle class Indians that it is so desperately trying to woo?
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Deflating the airbrush
The airbrushing secret to picture perfect models has been out for many years. But even now, despite knowing about this highly underhanded tactic for making gorgeous models look even more alluring, us lesser mortals gaze at magazine covers and wonder how they manage to look that bloody good!
So when I read in this morning's papers that French politicians want a health warning on airbrushed glamour photographs, I couldn't help but applaud. A group of about 50 French leaders want the health warning law to fight eating disorders that ordinary women develop in their quest for the impossible figures they see in commercials and glossies. They have proposed a hefty fine of 37,500 euros or 50 percent of the cost of the advertisement if the law is broken.
Whether or not their efforts succeed, I believe these French politicians are fighting for a good cause. Coming a few years after the ban of size zero models on runways in some of the world's fashion capitals, it will advance the struggle for a world of women without serious body image issues.
No matter what we say, images of lissome women with curves in all the right places, flawless skin, legs that go on forever and sparkling pearlies do affect us. Take me, for instance. I have never been obsessed with physical appearance, but I do try to look presentable. I've fought a looooong battle against weight since my two pregnancies. After years of consistent exercise, I am approaching a respectable size and feeling good about myself. But when I see pictures of actresses and models my age, who are also young mothers, looking just as luminous, taut and perky as they did a decade ago, I can't help but get a little disheartened. And this is even though I am fully aware of airbrushing! So I can't even imagine the effect these pictures have on impressionable young girls who don't know of this cunning method of hiding flaws.
I get seriously worried when I see little girls these days. Firstly, the lack of physical exercise (which has become a common problem in most cities) has made many of them tubby. Then, they come to parties dressed in sequin-covered cutaway blouses or dresses and caked with make-up. Unfortunately, most of them end up looking like tarts-in-the-making. I know it isn't a nice thing to say, but it's absolutely true! I suppose it's only to be expected because they live on a daily diet of MTV and Channel V that play non-stop Hindi music videos showing full-size versions of what they're trying to look like.
At times such as these, I thank my stars for being the mother of boys. I can't imagine what these girls' moms live through. (I heard a hair straightener appeared on a seven-year-old's Christmas wishlist last year. This isn't hearsay, it's someone I know!) When misguided little girls hit adolescence, they take to all the new fad diets in an effort to starve themselves into shape. If a parent doesn't catch on, the child can end up with serious and lifelong health problems.
The problem of body image issues is very real. Especially for young girls, but even for older women. I think this health warning idea is a good one.
So when I read in this morning's papers that French politicians want a health warning on airbrushed glamour photographs, I couldn't help but applaud. A group of about 50 French leaders want the health warning law to fight eating disorders that ordinary women develop in their quest for the impossible figures they see in commercials and glossies. They have proposed a hefty fine of 37,500 euros or 50 percent of the cost of the advertisement if the law is broken.
Whether or not their efforts succeed, I believe these French politicians are fighting for a good cause. Coming a few years after the ban of size zero models on runways in some of the world's fashion capitals, it will advance the struggle for a world of women without serious body image issues.
No matter what we say, images of lissome women with curves in all the right places, flawless skin, legs that go on forever and sparkling pearlies do affect us. Take me, for instance. I have never been obsessed with physical appearance, but I do try to look presentable. I've fought a looooong battle against weight since my two pregnancies. After years of consistent exercise, I am approaching a respectable size and feeling good about myself. But when I see pictures of actresses and models my age, who are also young mothers, looking just as luminous, taut and perky as they did a decade ago, I can't help but get a little disheartened. And this is even though I am fully aware of airbrushing! So I can't even imagine the effect these pictures have on impressionable young girls who don't know of this cunning method of hiding flaws.
I get seriously worried when I see little girls these days. Firstly, the lack of physical exercise (which has become a common problem in most cities) has made many of them tubby. Then, they come to parties dressed in sequin-covered cutaway blouses or dresses and caked with make-up. Unfortunately, most of them end up looking like tarts-in-the-making. I know it isn't a nice thing to say, but it's absolutely true! I suppose it's only to be expected because they live on a daily diet of MTV and Channel V that play non-stop Hindi music videos showing full-size versions of what they're trying to look like.
At times such as these, I thank my stars for being the mother of boys. I can't imagine what these girls' moms live through. (I heard a hair straightener appeared on a seven-year-old's Christmas wishlist last year. This isn't hearsay, it's someone I know!) When misguided little girls hit adolescence, they take to all the new fad diets in an effort to starve themselves into shape. If a parent doesn't catch on, the child can end up with serious and lifelong health problems.
The problem of body image issues is very real. Especially for young girls, but even for older women. I think this health warning idea is a good one.
Saturday, September 19, 2009
Please pass the low-calorie butter substitute
Oi, what happened to the butter? There isn't any available anywhere! Not in Thane, where I live. I believe not even in Gurgaon. And is apparently very hard to come by even in Mumbai. Don't know about the rest of the nation, but I suspect it's much the same.
So where did it all go? Have the cows and buffalos imposed a ban on the production of butter, all other dairy produce being spared the same fate. You get plenty of cheese, buttermilk, cream, yogurt. But not butter. Not the scrumptious, golden, creamy spread that can transform an ordinary piece of morning toast into a bite of bliss, inject magic into a baked dish. My older son loves the stuff, as does my husband. They're missing it sorely. And the baked goodies coming out of my kitchen are missing a little bit of their magic.
What's even more strange is the fact that the shortage is across the board - all manufacturers. Amul, Mother Dairy, Britannia. I didn't even know of the scarcity till about a fortnight ago when we finished the last half-kilo slab of butter in our fridge. The shops told us they hadn't had any fresh stock in for more than a month! You do get some unsalted, white butter from Parsi Dairy (and I now stock that for baking emergencies), but it isn't quite the same thing.
This mysterious shortage is good news for some. Zydus-Cadila is making a killing! Its low-calorie table spread Nutralite, which it positions as a healthier alternative to butter, is flying off the shelves. So high is the demand that the company is finding it hard to keep up. Now Nutralite ain't bad, but it isn't a patch on the real stuff.
I remain baffled. Will someone please tell me what's going on? Where's the butter? And howcome no one has written about this? Is no one else curious? I'm not a big eater of the stuff, but butter is a constant in our fridge and is consumed in fair quantities in our home. It is missed.
So where did it all go? Have the cows and buffalos imposed a ban on the production of butter, all other dairy produce being spared the same fate. You get plenty of cheese, buttermilk, cream, yogurt. But not butter. Not the scrumptious, golden, creamy spread that can transform an ordinary piece of morning toast into a bite of bliss, inject magic into a baked dish. My older son loves the stuff, as does my husband. They're missing it sorely. And the baked goodies coming out of my kitchen are missing a little bit of their magic.
What's even more strange is the fact that the shortage is across the board - all manufacturers. Amul, Mother Dairy, Britannia. I didn't even know of the scarcity till about a fortnight ago when we finished the last half-kilo slab of butter in our fridge. The shops told us they hadn't had any fresh stock in for more than a month! You do get some unsalted, white butter from Parsi Dairy (and I now stock that for baking emergencies), but it isn't quite the same thing.
This mysterious shortage is good news for some. Zydus-Cadila is making a killing! Its low-calorie table spread Nutralite, which it positions as a healthier alternative to butter, is flying off the shelves. So high is the demand that the company is finding it hard to keep up. Now Nutralite ain't bad, but it isn't a patch on the real stuff.
I remain baffled. Will someone please tell me what's going on? Where's the butter? And howcome no one has written about this? Is no one else curious? I'm not a big eater of the stuff, but butter is a constant in our fridge and is consumed in fair quantities in our home. It is missed.
Monday, September 14, 2009
Missing the clouds
Oh, how I miss them! Those fluffy, wispy, grey tufts in the sky that make my world look so much more beautiful for a quarter of the year. This morning we have blue skies above, the unrelenting sun bleaching everything out. I keep checking the south, which is where the rain-bearing clouds roll in from in these parts. But it's just a blue haze today, holding out very little hope for an overcast day.
Just yesterday I read my father's blog complaining about a week of rain in Delhi and realised how much living away from the city of my birth has changed me. While I was in Delhi, I too enjoyed the rain for a couple of days but began to grow restless and frustrated if it lingered for any longer than that. I loved the rain in short, sharp spells. But not when an incessant pitter-patter stretched for days.
Living in Mumbai and Thane for half a decade has changed how I feel about the monsoon. The buildup to the season of rain is absolutely spectacular. I can't quite put it in words. After months of sticky, icky weather, you can't describe the ecstasy on spotting the first bank of monsoon clouds rolling in, the first burst of cool breeze caressing your face. Everyone starts to smile. It's infectious. This buildup sometimes lasts for over a week, the anticipation growing every second. People keep peering out, extending their hands out of apartment windows to check if the heavens have finally decided to be charitable.
We've been extremely lucky in living throughout in apartments with beautiful views of hills and water bodies. We could see Powai Lake from all the rooms in our home in Mumbai. In Thane we face the hills of a wildlife sanctuary and the river Ulhas. And these views are the most breathtaking in the monsoon. On lazy weekends my husband and I at times spend hours sitting in the balcony, sipping coffee and gazing at the scenery. And we keep wondering how we'll adjust back to a life with no views to speak of when we move back to Delhi!
Of course, there's a downside to the monsoon. You wage a constant battle against mould and mildew in every nook and cranny of your home. This year I realised to my horror that textured lampshades with grooves in the fabric are mould magnets! Drying clothes is a nightmare. It can take up to three days for clothes to dry, longer for thicker fabric like denim or linen. But this monsoon has been much better for me because my husband bought me a 100% clothes drier that makes life so much simpler. So no more musty smell in clothes and no rooms taken over by drying laundry.
There are also several waves of viral and gastric infections in this season. If there are children in the house, you'll all fall ill at least two or three times each monsoon. There are also mounds of rotting refuse here and there, slush on the streets, clogged drains on days when the rain is heavier than usual. Yet I love the season.
A good monsoon here lasts about three months. You adjust to a quality of daylight that is gentle on the eyes. So when the clouds disappear, it takes quite a while to get used to the glare again. Something I am struggling to do today, which is why I am missing the clouds. The monsoon arrived late this year and it hasn't rained as much as it should in a good season. So I haven't had my fill quite yet.
Just yesterday I read my father's blog complaining about a week of rain in Delhi and realised how much living away from the city of my birth has changed me. While I was in Delhi, I too enjoyed the rain for a couple of days but began to grow restless and frustrated if it lingered for any longer than that. I loved the rain in short, sharp spells. But not when an incessant pitter-patter stretched for days.
Living in Mumbai and Thane for half a decade has changed how I feel about the monsoon. The buildup to the season of rain is absolutely spectacular. I can't quite put it in words. After months of sticky, icky weather, you can't describe the ecstasy on spotting the first bank of monsoon clouds rolling in, the first burst of cool breeze caressing your face. Everyone starts to smile. It's infectious. This buildup sometimes lasts for over a week, the anticipation growing every second. People keep peering out, extending their hands out of apartment windows to check if the heavens have finally decided to be charitable.
We've been extremely lucky in living throughout in apartments with beautiful views of hills and water bodies. We could see Powai Lake from all the rooms in our home in Mumbai. In Thane we face the hills of a wildlife sanctuary and the river Ulhas. And these views are the most breathtaking in the monsoon. On lazy weekends my husband and I at times spend hours sitting in the balcony, sipping coffee and gazing at the scenery. And we keep wondering how we'll adjust back to a life with no views to speak of when we move back to Delhi!
Of course, there's a downside to the monsoon. You wage a constant battle against mould and mildew in every nook and cranny of your home. This year I realised to my horror that textured lampshades with grooves in the fabric are mould magnets! Drying clothes is a nightmare. It can take up to three days for clothes to dry, longer for thicker fabric like denim or linen. But this monsoon has been much better for me because my husband bought me a 100% clothes drier that makes life so much simpler. So no more musty smell in clothes and no rooms taken over by drying laundry.
There are also several waves of viral and gastric infections in this season. If there are children in the house, you'll all fall ill at least two or three times each monsoon. There are also mounds of rotting refuse here and there, slush on the streets, clogged drains on days when the rain is heavier than usual. Yet I love the season.
A good monsoon here lasts about three months. You adjust to a quality of daylight that is gentle on the eyes. So when the clouds disappear, it takes quite a while to get used to the glare again. Something I am struggling to do today, which is why I am missing the clouds. The monsoon arrived late this year and it hasn't rained as much as it should in a good season. So I haven't had my fill quite yet.
Monday, September 7, 2009
The silent agents of change
Sitting ensconced in our upper middle class worlds, we all like to believe that we are in some little way making a difference in the world. Somewhere out there, things are better because of a little charitable deed we did. That could well be so. But what we don't recognise is that the real, silent and potent agents of social reform inhabit our everyday lives but remain invisible to most of us sahibs and memsahibs
Take the time to get to know the team of women who clean and cook for you and you’ll be amazed. While we were living in Mumbai a few years ago, we had three ladies coming in to help us. One used to clean, one used to cook and a third babysat my younger son, who was then less than a year old. Their life stories, on the surface, were just the same as those of millions of other women occupying the less glamorous part of the urban Indian landscape. But dig a little deeper and you’d be blown away by their individual initiative, ambition and fortitude.
All of these women had three children each, coincidentally two girls and a boy in each case. The cook was a widow and the other two had been deserted by their husbands soon after the third child was born. None of these women had studied beyond primary school. And all of them had been married off while they were girls, in their early or middle teen years.
Now these ladies led very hard lives. The cook and cleaner worked three or four part-time jobs in middle class homes to make ends meet. Money was always short. Yet all of them – and this is what impressed me most – had promised themselves that they would educate their daughters and not marry them off before the age of 18. This wasn’t because of advice from social activists or from fear of being punished for breaking the anti- child marriage law. This came from within.
People like you and I cannot understand just how much it takes for such women to stick to this resolve. First, money is a constant challenge. Even public schools for the poor cost some money. Second, there is no supportive spouse to share the responsibility. Then there is always pressure from peers less evolved in their thinking to pull the kids out of school and put them to work. And when it comes to the daughters, the constant advice from the peers is to get them married and pass the “burden” on to another family. Yet none of these three ladies caved. The cook, who was older and had grown children, even made sure that her younger daughter got the vocational training she wanted in order to get a good job.
We’ve now moved to another city and the women who keep our current home running are more fortunate as they are in good marriages. But they too were child brides. Yet they don’t wish the same fate for their daughters, all of whom are in schools.
Through my life I have encountered scores of such examples of admirable courage among the invisible members of home after home. The majority of maids had alcoholic and abusive husbands. The women kept the home fires burning. The cleaning lady in my mother’s home in Delhi has single-handedly put five children through school. Her husband, a gifted embroiderer, wasted his earnings, talent and life on drink. Yet all their kids completed school, thanks entirely to the mother. One of the sons now runs an Internet cafe and computer repair store.
Think about it. This is a gigantic leap, accomplished in a single generation. I can’t think of a parallel in the lives of us, more advantaged, people. We are born into means, giving us automatic access to the education we want to make something of ourselves. We get all the right opportunities, know all the right people. Some of us have probably done a little bit better than our parents managed to at our age, but nothing life-altering.
And then look closely at the lives I have written about. Don’t ever look down on these women. Don’t ever be condescending towards them. They’ve moved mountains while we’ve probably just piled our sand dunes a little bit higher.
Take the time to get to know the team of women who clean and cook for you and you’ll be amazed. While we were living in Mumbai a few years ago, we had three ladies coming in to help us. One used to clean, one used to cook and a third babysat my younger son, who was then less than a year old. Their life stories, on the surface, were just the same as those of millions of other women occupying the less glamorous part of the urban Indian landscape. But dig a little deeper and you’d be blown away by their individual initiative, ambition and fortitude.
All of these women had three children each, coincidentally two girls and a boy in each case. The cook was a widow and the other two had been deserted by their husbands soon after the third child was born. None of these women had studied beyond primary school. And all of them had been married off while they were girls, in their early or middle teen years.
Now these ladies led very hard lives. The cook and cleaner worked three or four part-time jobs in middle class homes to make ends meet. Money was always short. Yet all of them – and this is what impressed me most – had promised themselves that they would educate their daughters and not marry them off before the age of 18. This wasn’t because of advice from social activists or from fear of being punished for breaking the anti- child marriage law. This came from within.
People like you and I cannot understand just how much it takes for such women to stick to this resolve. First, money is a constant challenge. Even public schools for the poor cost some money. Second, there is no supportive spouse to share the responsibility. Then there is always pressure from peers less evolved in their thinking to pull the kids out of school and put them to work. And when it comes to the daughters, the constant advice from the peers is to get them married and pass the “burden” on to another family. Yet none of these three ladies caved. The cook, who was older and had grown children, even made sure that her younger daughter got the vocational training she wanted in order to get a good job.
We’ve now moved to another city and the women who keep our current home running are more fortunate as they are in good marriages. But they too were child brides. Yet they don’t wish the same fate for their daughters, all of whom are in schools.
Through my life I have encountered scores of such examples of admirable courage among the invisible members of home after home. The majority of maids had alcoholic and abusive husbands. The women kept the home fires burning. The cleaning lady in my mother’s home in Delhi has single-handedly put five children through school. Her husband, a gifted embroiderer, wasted his earnings, talent and life on drink. Yet all their kids completed school, thanks entirely to the mother. One of the sons now runs an Internet cafe and computer repair store.
Think about it. This is a gigantic leap, accomplished in a single generation. I can’t think of a parallel in the lives of us, more advantaged, people. We are born into means, giving us automatic access to the education we want to make something of ourselves. We get all the right opportunities, know all the right people. Some of us have probably done a little bit better than our parents managed to at our age, but nothing life-altering.
And then look closely at the lives I have written about. Don’t ever look down on these women. Don’t ever be condescending towards them. They’ve moved mountains while we’ve probably just piled our sand dunes a little bit higher.
Wednesday, August 19, 2009
Splitting hairs over partition, again
Rake up the dead, especially controversial figures from history, and they'll bite you in the behind. India's former foreign minister Jaswant Singh certainly learnt that lesson yesterday. His book on Muhammad Ali Jinnah, the father of the Pakistani nation, got him unceremoniously kicked out of the nationalist Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP).
Calling Jinnah secular proved Singh's undoing even though his political boss, Lal Krishna Advani, had survived a similar mistake some years ago. While Singh would surely have expected - perhaps even hoped for - some protest and controversy over his just released book Jinnah: India-Partition-Independence, I don't think he had anticipated expulsion from the BJP. Controversy can be very profitable for authors because suddenly thousands of people who would otherwise not have considered reading the book in question will rush out to buy a copy to figure out what all the fuss is about. But this proved to be more than a storm in a teacup.
Now I've been a student of history at university, and even a cursory glance through books on the Indian independence movement make it amply clear that Jinnah was a suave politician from a previleged background who was deeply secular in his thinking. It was merely his personal ambition that made him back the British idea of breaking India up on religious lines. Jinnah was, clearly, an opportunist. But, for a member of an aggressively Hindu political party to go and write that in a book is fraught with danger.
I personally believe that splitting hairs over partition is an exercise in futility. It creates bitterness, dredging up emotions that would better have been left buried. It keeps us from moving forward. There aren't many left of the generation that lived through the horrific bloodbath that accompanied the biggest mass human migration in history in 1947. We, a generation born into freedom, should now keep our sights focused on the future, ending decades of mutual hate and suspicion between India and Pakistan.
I can't quite understand why Jaswant Singh had to write about Jinnah in the first place. What was the compulsion? There are plenty of Indian historical figures, even controversial ones, that he could easily have chosen as subjects. So why Pakistan's Quaid-e-Azam?
For the BJP, a party that has always questioned the Indian subcontinent's break-up into Hindu-majority India and Mulsim-dominated Pakistan, it is impossible to stay quiet when one of its own is perceived to be glorifying the man they hold responsible for partition. To add insult to injury, Singh is reported to have written that Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel and Pandit Jawharlal Nehru were perhaps as culpable. That is what pushed the BJP leadership over the edge. While they might let the dig at Nehru slide because he was the patriarch of the Nehru-Gandhi dynasty that dominates the rival Congress party, any assault on Patel's reputation is unacceptable. Iron Man Patel, independent India's first minister of the interior who orchestrated the formation of this gigantic union of states, is one of the BJP's prime historic idols. In fact its current leader, Advani, aspires to the Iron Man epithet.
Jaswant Singh is now going hoarse telling whoever cares to listen that he is shocked at the expulsion from a party he has served for three decades. But I really cannot understand why he set out on a literary project that would surely sour - if not sever - relations with the leadership of the BJP. Even he cannot be fool enough to have not anticipated that.
This will certainly be right up there among some the darkest hours of Jaswant Singh's long career, first in the army and then in politics. The darkest hour by far was when he, as India's external affairs minister, personally escorted three Islamic terrorists to Kandahar in Afghanistan in December 1999. The terrorists were freed in exchange for hostages on board the hijacked Indian Airlines flight IC 814. It'll be interesting to see if Jaswant Singh can now manage to salvage his political career.
Calling Jinnah secular proved Singh's undoing even though his political boss, Lal Krishna Advani, had survived a similar mistake some years ago. While Singh would surely have expected - perhaps even hoped for - some protest and controversy over his just released book Jinnah: India-Partition-Independence, I don't think he had anticipated expulsion from the BJP. Controversy can be very profitable for authors because suddenly thousands of people who would otherwise not have considered reading the book in question will rush out to buy a copy to figure out what all the fuss is about. But this proved to be more than a storm in a teacup.
Now I've been a student of history at university, and even a cursory glance through books on the Indian independence movement make it amply clear that Jinnah was a suave politician from a previleged background who was deeply secular in his thinking. It was merely his personal ambition that made him back the British idea of breaking India up on religious lines. Jinnah was, clearly, an opportunist. But, for a member of an aggressively Hindu political party to go and write that in a book is fraught with danger.
I personally believe that splitting hairs over partition is an exercise in futility. It creates bitterness, dredging up emotions that would better have been left buried. It keeps us from moving forward. There aren't many left of the generation that lived through the horrific bloodbath that accompanied the biggest mass human migration in history in 1947. We, a generation born into freedom, should now keep our sights focused on the future, ending decades of mutual hate and suspicion between India and Pakistan.
I can't quite understand why Jaswant Singh had to write about Jinnah in the first place. What was the compulsion? There are plenty of Indian historical figures, even controversial ones, that he could easily have chosen as subjects. So why Pakistan's Quaid-e-Azam?
For the BJP, a party that has always questioned the Indian subcontinent's break-up into Hindu-majority India and Mulsim-dominated Pakistan, it is impossible to stay quiet when one of its own is perceived to be glorifying the man they hold responsible for partition. To add insult to injury, Singh is reported to have written that Sardar Vallabhbhai Patel and Pandit Jawharlal Nehru were perhaps as culpable. That is what pushed the BJP leadership over the edge. While they might let the dig at Nehru slide because he was the patriarch of the Nehru-Gandhi dynasty that dominates the rival Congress party, any assault on Patel's reputation is unacceptable. Iron Man Patel, independent India's first minister of the interior who orchestrated the formation of this gigantic union of states, is one of the BJP's prime historic idols. In fact its current leader, Advani, aspires to the Iron Man epithet.
Jaswant Singh is now going hoarse telling whoever cares to listen that he is shocked at the expulsion from a party he has served for three decades. But I really cannot understand why he set out on a literary project that would surely sour - if not sever - relations with the leadership of the BJP. Even he cannot be fool enough to have not anticipated that.
This will certainly be right up there among some the darkest hours of Jaswant Singh's long career, first in the army and then in politics. The darkest hour by far was when he, as India's external affairs minister, personally escorted three Islamic terrorists to Kandahar in Afghanistan in December 1999. The terrorists were freed in exchange for hostages on board the hijacked Indian Airlines flight IC 814. It'll be interesting to see if Jaswant Singh can now manage to salvage his political career.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Enough about Kasab, please
It isn't news that our news publications seem to be suffering from an escalating lack of imagination and increasingly warped perspective. But the continuing manic obsession with terrorist Mohammed Ajmal Amir Kasab, for all the wrong reasons, is downright ridiculous. I have no quarrel with the media reporting on Kasab's trial relating to the terror attacks in Mumbai on November 26 last year. That is news and people would like to know how things are progressing. But all the rest is completely unnecessary.
Some front pages this morning have reports about the young Pakistani - the only terrorist taken alive after Mumbai's 60-hour nightmare in 2008 - pining for a rakhi! Apparently he felt left out after seeing cops, lawyers and prison guards sporting colourful rakhis (threads that sisters tie on the wrists of their brothers). He asked his lawyer if anyone would do him the honour. The lawyer shared this little tid-bit with the press, which promptly lapped it up. Who needs a PR agency when the Indian press is so willing to oblige?
There's more just from this morning. Apparently Kasab very helpfully offered to sketch the faces of two other terrorists, also wanted for the 2008 attack, whose pictures the Indian police do not have on file. And he handed over childish doodles to the expectant cops. What on earth did they expect?!! Disappointed cops and prison authorities have now dismissed the sketches as "completely useless" and decided not to hand them over to the judge trying Kasab. The report further enlightens us on how the Pakistani was given paper and pencil for the sketches and then watched "extra closely" to ensure he didn't hurt himself with the writing tool.
The Indian Express quotes an unnamed prison official as saying: "Although he is not a sketch artist, we were expecting him to make a serious effort to draw the two faces. However, when he gave us the sketches we did not know what to say. He had drawn doodles like a small child. The drawings do not resemble actual faces by any stretch of the imagination and are completely useless."
I ask again, what the hell did you expect?!! That this young, misguided killer is a closet Van Gogh?
These are just the latest in a series of such absurd reports. We've read before about Kasab getting bored in prison (well, d-uh!) and asking for books to read. According to reports he has been reading books on magic (probably hoping to spirit out of Arthur Road Jail) and the autobiography of Mahatma Gandhi. We were also informed when he asked for permission to take a stroll outside his solitary confinement cell. And when he requested an Urdu newspaper, toothpaste and a bottle of perfume.
Now I've been in the print news business for quite a while, so I am aware that papers need what are called human-interest stories. But human-interest reports are meant to tug at a reader's heart, stirring compassion and empathy. Why on earth would you want to do that for a man who killed several innocent Indians in cold blood? And, even if you think it necessary for some strange reason, why on the front page?
On the night of November 26, 2008, a group of young men landed on Mumbai's shores after setting sail from Pakistan some days earlier. They had orders to randomly kill as many people as possible and were talked through the barbaric operation by their minders in Pakistan. The final toll of Mumbai's ordeal was 170. Kasab was one of those killers. Please let's remember that and not - even unwittingly - try to humanise this monster.
Some front pages this morning have reports about the young Pakistani - the only terrorist taken alive after Mumbai's 60-hour nightmare in 2008 - pining for a rakhi! Apparently he felt left out after seeing cops, lawyers and prison guards sporting colourful rakhis (threads that sisters tie on the wrists of their brothers). He asked his lawyer if anyone would do him the honour. The lawyer shared this little tid-bit with the press, which promptly lapped it up. Who needs a PR agency when the Indian press is so willing to oblige?
There's more just from this morning. Apparently Kasab very helpfully offered to sketch the faces of two other terrorists, also wanted for the 2008 attack, whose pictures the Indian police do not have on file. And he handed over childish doodles to the expectant cops. What on earth did they expect?!! Disappointed cops and prison authorities have now dismissed the sketches as "completely useless" and decided not to hand them over to the judge trying Kasab. The report further enlightens us on how the Pakistani was given paper and pencil for the sketches and then watched "extra closely" to ensure he didn't hurt himself with the writing tool.
The Indian Express quotes an unnamed prison official as saying: "Although he is not a sketch artist, we were expecting him to make a serious effort to draw the two faces. However, when he gave us the sketches we did not know what to say. He had drawn doodles like a small child. The drawings do not resemble actual faces by any stretch of the imagination and are completely useless."
I ask again, what the hell did you expect?!! That this young, misguided killer is a closet Van Gogh?
These are just the latest in a series of such absurd reports. We've read before about Kasab getting bored in prison (well, d-uh!) and asking for books to read. According to reports he has been reading books on magic (probably hoping to spirit out of Arthur Road Jail) and the autobiography of Mahatma Gandhi. We were also informed when he asked for permission to take a stroll outside his solitary confinement cell. And when he requested an Urdu newspaper, toothpaste and a bottle of perfume.
Now I've been in the print news business for quite a while, so I am aware that papers need what are called human-interest stories. But human-interest reports are meant to tug at a reader's heart, stirring compassion and empathy. Why on earth would you want to do that for a man who killed several innocent Indians in cold blood? And, even if you think it necessary for some strange reason, why on the front page?
On the night of November 26, 2008, a group of young men landed on Mumbai's shores after setting sail from Pakistan some days earlier. They had orders to randomly kill as many people as possible and were talked through the barbaric operation by their minders in Pakistan. The final toll of Mumbai's ordeal was 170. Kasab was one of those killers. Please let's remember that and not - even unwittingly - try to humanise this monster.
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Truth be told
So our parliamentarians are outraged yet again. This time it's a stupid television programme that has their jocks in a bunch. Sach ka Saama, the recently launched Indian version of the ridiculous American show Moment of Truth, has our enlightened representatives agonising over the future of Indian culture and morals.
The show basically has people answering a set of 21 questions that progress from the mundane to the increasingly embarrassing and personal in the hope of making some quick cash. In India prize money is Rs. 1 crore (just over 200,000 USD). This is how it works. Aspiring contestants have to submit to a polygraph test where they are asked several questions. When they actually appear on the show, they are asked questions picked from the same set of queries and their answers are tallied against responses in the lie detector test.
I have watched a few episodes of the Moment of Truth and could never understand how people willingly made complete asses of themselves on prime time television and tore their families asunder just to win some money. Questions relating to professional ethics could be very uncomfortable and those relating to fidelity were downright cruel. And yet people queued up to appear on the show! The smug Indian in me dismissively shook the head because it fit in with the popular global perception of Americans.
Truth be told, I was a little shocked to discover a few weeks ago that India was now to have its own version of the show. It shook my belief that to an Indian, family comes first. But then I suppose one has to acknowledge the emergence of a new breed of Indian to whom cash is king. I am also a firm believer in the principle of laissez faire, so I was curious to see how this would pan out. If people don't mind endangering conjugal harmony in the hope of easy money, more power to them.
Not surprisingly, Sach ka Saama has hit a roadblock in its very first week. Members of the Rajya Sabha (the upper house of Indian parliament) are up in arms over its "obscene content" and the broadcast ministry is reportedly considering throwing the book at Star Plus (a channel desperately trying to shore up ratings after its bouquet of soap operas fell out of popular favour) for apparently violating the content code. What's really stirred the cauldron is a married woman being asked if she has ever considered adultery. She said no, but the polygraph ruled she was lying through her teeth.
Now what's the point of taking the TV station to task? If there are asinine people who voluntarily go on the chopping block to satisfy India's newly acquired insatiable voyueristic appetite, let them go hang. They walked into this with their eyes wide open.
And what's this about Indian culture yet again? Are you saying that no married Indian woman has ever fantasised about having a fling, if not actually gone ahead and had one? Come on people! Why is it that everything is fine as long as it's not discussed in the open? Has this country never witnessed infidelity? And don't try to brand this an urban phenomenon triggered by the degradation of values under the influence of the crass West. You know just as well as I do that this doesn't just happen in big cities. And none of this is new.
So let Sach Ka Saama run its course and die a natural death. Believe me, it'll happen. People will fairly soon tire of watching skeletons tumbling out of closets. Just leave it be, because you'll just appear hypocritical trying to shut it down under the guise of high Indian morality.
The show basically has people answering a set of 21 questions that progress from the mundane to the increasingly embarrassing and personal in the hope of making some quick cash. In India prize money is Rs. 1 crore (just over 200,000 USD). This is how it works. Aspiring contestants have to submit to a polygraph test where they are asked several questions. When they actually appear on the show, they are asked questions picked from the same set of queries and their answers are tallied against responses in the lie detector test.
I have watched a few episodes of the Moment of Truth and could never understand how people willingly made complete asses of themselves on prime time television and tore their families asunder just to win some money. Questions relating to professional ethics could be very uncomfortable and those relating to fidelity were downright cruel. And yet people queued up to appear on the show! The smug Indian in me dismissively shook the head because it fit in with the popular global perception of Americans.
Truth be told, I was a little shocked to discover a few weeks ago that India was now to have its own version of the show. It shook my belief that to an Indian, family comes first. But then I suppose one has to acknowledge the emergence of a new breed of Indian to whom cash is king. I am also a firm believer in the principle of laissez faire, so I was curious to see how this would pan out. If people don't mind endangering conjugal harmony in the hope of easy money, more power to them.
Not surprisingly, Sach ka Saama has hit a roadblock in its very first week. Members of the Rajya Sabha (the upper house of Indian parliament) are up in arms over its "obscene content" and the broadcast ministry is reportedly considering throwing the book at Star Plus (a channel desperately trying to shore up ratings after its bouquet of soap operas fell out of popular favour) for apparently violating the content code. What's really stirred the cauldron is a married woman being asked if she has ever considered adultery. She said no, but the polygraph ruled she was lying through her teeth.
Now what's the point of taking the TV station to task? If there are asinine people who voluntarily go on the chopping block to satisfy India's newly acquired insatiable voyueristic appetite, let them go hang. They walked into this with their eyes wide open.
And what's this about Indian culture yet again? Are you saying that no married Indian woman has ever fantasised about having a fling, if not actually gone ahead and had one? Come on people! Why is it that everything is fine as long as it's not discussed in the open? Has this country never witnessed infidelity? And don't try to brand this an urban phenomenon triggered by the degradation of values under the influence of the crass West. You know just as well as I do that this doesn't just happen in big cities. And none of this is new.
So let Sach Ka Saama run its course and die a natural death. Believe me, it'll happen. People will fairly soon tire of watching skeletons tumbling out of closets. Just leave it be, because you'll just appear hypocritical trying to shut it down under the guise of high Indian morality.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Frisk farce
I find more than a little ridiculous the Indian leadership's collective outrage on former president A.P.J. Abdul Kalam being frisked by employees of an American airline at Delhi airport. What's the fuss about? Isn't he just another world citizen, subject to procedures designed to keep us all safe in the skies? What's more, the man in question didn't seem to find anything offensive in being asked to take his shoes off and being swept with a metal detector.
Explain to me, how is this a slight to out national honour? The reactions have ranged from the melodramatic to downright mischievous. Civil Aviation Minister Praful Patel has reportedly called the act "absolutely unpardonable". Congress party's Jayanti Natarajan has dubbed it an incident of national humiliation and gone as far as to recommend that Continental Airlines services to India be scrapped till those responsible are punished. Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) leader Arun Jaitley claims we bend over backwards to pamper our state guests (which I agree with to an extent) while Indian VIPs are subjected to humiliating security measures the world over. The Marxists, of course, have again taken the cake. Sitaram Yechury of the Communist Party of India (Marxist) has reportedly suggested that the Indian government investigate whether the former president was frisked because he is a Muslim!
Was Kalam's a singular experience among passengers of the Continental flight from New Delhi to Newark? Highly unlikely. Did Continental staff ask only those passengers with Muslim names to step aside for frisking? They might be able to do that in the United States, but I can't imagine a foreign airline trying to pull such a stunt on Indian soil. Besides, people, Kalam isn't the least bit bothered or offended!
This Indian obsession with wresting special treatment at all costs is just annoying. Actually it's no surprise that these reactions are streaming out of Delhi, a city notorious for its "jaanta nahi mein kaun hoon (don't you know who I am?)" culture. Every has been, is and wannabe in our national capital aspires to VIP treatment.
Kalam WAS our president. He is now an ordinary citizen. He has earned the respect he deserves not just from the nominal office he held but for his scientific work and as a national motivator. If Continental staff were brazenly discourteous to him, I would take strong objection. But a security check isn't disrespect. It's common sense. And former leaders the world over would be well advised to submit to them in order to set a good example.
Surely the Indian leadership can find more worthy causes for outrage and action? How about the agony of millions of farmers whose crops are withering on parched fields across northern India? Or the billions of rupees being wasted on erecting statues of egomaniacal leaders? How about expending some of that misdirected energy on making sure our defence personnel are better looked after as we reminisce as a nation a decade after the Kargil war with Pakistan? Please stop wasting your breath. You're on our payroll and we'd like to see more responsible use of your time for a change.
Explain to me, how is this a slight to out national honour? The reactions have ranged from the melodramatic to downright mischievous. Civil Aviation Minister Praful Patel has reportedly called the act "absolutely unpardonable". Congress party's Jayanti Natarajan has dubbed it an incident of national humiliation and gone as far as to recommend that Continental Airlines services to India be scrapped till those responsible are punished. Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) leader Arun Jaitley claims we bend over backwards to pamper our state guests (which I agree with to an extent) while Indian VIPs are subjected to humiliating security measures the world over. The Marxists, of course, have again taken the cake. Sitaram Yechury of the Communist Party of India (Marxist) has reportedly suggested that the Indian government investigate whether the former president was frisked because he is a Muslim!
Was Kalam's a singular experience among passengers of the Continental flight from New Delhi to Newark? Highly unlikely. Did Continental staff ask only those passengers with Muslim names to step aside for frisking? They might be able to do that in the United States, but I can't imagine a foreign airline trying to pull such a stunt on Indian soil. Besides, people, Kalam isn't the least bit bothered or offended!
This Indian obsession with wresting special treatment at all costs is just annoying. Actually it's no surprise that these reactions are streaming out of Delhi, a city notorious for its "jaanta nahi mein kaun hoon (don't you know who I am?)" culture. Every has been, is and wannabe in our national capital aspires to VIP treatment.
Kalam WAS our president. He is now an ordinary citizen. He has earned the respect he deserves not just from the nominal office he held but for his scientific work and as a national motivator. If Continental staff were brazenly discourteous to him, I would take strong objection. But a security check isn't disrespect. It's common sense. And former leaders the world over would be well advised to submit to them in order to set a good example.
Surely the Indian leadership can find more worthy causes for outrage and action? How about the agony of millions of farmers whose crops are withering on parched fields across northern India? Or the billions of rupees being wasted on erecting statues of egomaniacal leaders? How about expending some of that misdirected energy on making sure our defence personnel are better looked after as we reminisce as a nation a decade after the Kargil war with Pakistan? Please stop wasting your breath. You're on our payroll and we'd like to see more responsible use of your time for a change.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Thanks, Mr. Zardari
Thank you Mr. Asif Ali Zardari. Other than for marrying the charismatic Benazir Bhutto, history will now remember you for admitting at long last that Pakistan has been nurturing terrorists as part of deliberate national strategy. At least Indian historians will. Your nation might now plead with the world to put your remarks of July 7 in the context of the situation in Afghanistan after Soviet withdrawal, but few are buying that line.
The Indian press has, understandably, pounced on those few words you uttered while addressing former civil servants in your country. Your statement was front page news on all Indian dailies on Thursday, July 9. Because finally there is something we can throw back at a world that for decades has been unwilling to openly back us when we say most of the worst terror strikes on Indian soil have had their roots in Pakistan.
Incidentally, and not surprisingly, the Pakistani press has been uncharacteristically silent on the issue.
Was it a gaffe, Mr. Zardari? Or are you actually trying to set things right? Just a few days ago you had reportedly admitted in an interview that militants were, in the past, considered "strategic assets". What's going on? Is someone twisting your arm? Holding a gun to your head? Why these sudden bursts of conscience?
Whatever the reason, we as a nation are thankful. Hope the world will now recognise just how these subversives your nation has bred have left India bleeding. We have reportedly lost 60,000-70,000 lives to militancy since the 1980s. Punjab, Kashmir, the Northeast - wherever discontent surfaces, your "strategic assets" have fuelled the fire and taken an unacceptably heavy toll.
We hope that your public acknowledgement of responsibility as a nation (yes, many of us see it that way) will mark the beginning of the end to this inhuman strategy.
The Indian press has, understandably, pounced on those few words you uttered while addressing former civil servants in your country. Your statement was front page news on all Indian dailies on Thursday, July 9. Because finally there is something we can throw back at a world that for decades has been unwilling to openly back us when we say most of the worst terror strikes on Indian soil have had their roots in Pakistan.
Incidentally, and not surprisingly, the Pakistani press has been uncharacteristically silent on the issue.
Was it a gaffe, Mr. Zardari? Or are you actually trying to set things right? Just a few days ago you had reportedly admitted in an interview that militants were, in the past, considered "strategic assets". What's going on? Is someone twisting your arm? Holding a gun to your head? Why these sudden bursts of conscience?
Whatever the reason, we as a nation are thankful. Hope the world will now recognise just how these subversives your nation has bred have left India bleeding. We have reportedly lost 60,000-70,000 lives to militancy since the 1980s. Punjab, Kashmir, the Northeast - wherever discontent surfaces, your "strategic assets" have fuelled the fire and taken an unacceptably heavy toll.
We hope that your public acknowledgement of responsibility as a nation (yes, many of us see it that way) will mark the beginning of the end to this inhuman strategy.
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Death by burger
Okay, this may be late, but only now have I learnt of the existence of a culinary monstrosity called the Quadruple Bypass Burger in the U.S. After seeing pictures of this 8,000-calorie horror in a newspaper here this morning, I was just too curious. I had to google it. What I found astounded and amused me in equal measure.
Available at the very appropriately named Heart Attack Grill in Chandler, Arizona, the father of all burgers has 19 layers that include two pounds (nearly a kilogram!) of beef in four thick patties. I use the masculine here because the restaurant management claims only a real man would dare to take on the challenge of wolfing down this artery-clogging sandwich. Also squashed into this voluminous burger are three layers of cheese, four bacon rashers, lettuce and tomato. One site claimed someone called Joey Chestnut had finished a Quadruple Bypass Burger in 1:42, not mentioning any unit of time. I hope that's in hours but have a nasty suspicion it's minutes. How can anyone possibly do that?!! You have got to have a death wish to even attempt such a feat.
That's not all. To make it an experience that would have any cardiologist worth his salt either keel over in shock or rub his hands in glee (depending on the ethics, of course), the Heart Attack Grill serves potato fries cooked in pure lard. And if you're so inclined you can round off the medically nightmarish meal by ordering a can of sugar-loaded Jolt power cola and a pack of Lucky Strike filter-less cigarettes! No wonder one of the perks of being a patron is having a skimpily-dressed waitress in a naughty nurse outfit roll you to your car on a wheelchair.
The restaurant owner claims in his blog (check out heartattackgrill.com) he thought it would be funny to have a hospital theme for a place that serves fare considered bad for health. And the more obese you are, the more likely you are to keep going back because if you tip the scales at over 350 pounds (that's more than 150 kilos!!!), you can eat there for free.
Now, I have never been to the United States. But all the people I know from other parts of the world who have travelled there on work or leisure have reported deep shock at the amount people in that country eat. The portions restaurants there serve have stupefied and intimidated each and every one of these travellers. I have only read and heard about steakhouses that offer not to charge patrons who can finish two-kilo slabs of meat, unassisted, in an hour. But what horrifies me is the fact that hundreds successfully complete these challenges! To my Indian mind (and appetite, which I must confess isn't small by standards in this part of the world), that's something that would definitely lead to death by steak. Or burger. Chew on that!
Available at the very appropriately named Heart Attack Grill in Chandler, Arizona, the father of all burgers has 19 layers that include two pounds (nearly a kilogram!) of beef in four thick patties. I use the masculine here because the restaurant management claims only a real man would dare to take on the challenge of wolfing down this artery-clogging sandwich. Also squashed into this voluminous burger are three layers of cheese, four bacon rashers, lettuce and tomato. One site claimed someone called Joey Chestnut had finished a Quadruple Bypass Burger in 1:42, not mentioning any unit of time. I hope that's in hours but have a nasty suspicion it's minutes. How can anyone possibly do that?!! You have got to have a death wish to even attempt such a feat.
That's not all. To make it an experience that would have any cardiologist worth his salt either keel over in shock or rub his hands in glee (depending on the ethics, of course), the Heart Attack Grill serves potato fries cooked in pure lard. And if you're so inclined you can round off the medically nightmarish meal by ordering a can of sugar-loaded Jolt power cola and a pack of Lucky Strike filter-less cigarettes! No wonder one of the perks of being a patron is having a skimpily-dressed waitress in a naughty nurse outfit roll you to your car on a wheelchair.
The restaurant owner claims in his blog (check out heartattackgrill.com) he thought it would be funny to have a hospital theme for a place that serves fare considered bad for health. And the more obese you are, the more likely you are to keep going back because if you tip the scales at over 350 pounds (that's more than 150 kilos!!!), you can eat there for free.
Now, I have never been to the United States. But all the people I know from other parts of the world who have travelled there on work or leisure have reported deep shock at the amount people in that country eat. The portions restaurants there serve have stupefied and intimidated each and every one of these travellers. I have only read and heard about steakhouses that offer not to charge patrons who can finish two-kilo slabs of meat, unassisted, in an hour. But what horrifies me is the fact that hundreds successfully complete these challenges! To my Indian mind (and appetite, which I must confess isn't small by standards in this part of the world), that's something that would definitely lead to death by steak. Or burger. Chew on that!
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
The Ostrich-isation of Oz
Oz is in denial. It is just not a good time for Australia. On the one hand it is battling a swine flu epidemic that is washing ashore mostly in the form of cruise ship passengers, and on the other is watching its reputation being torn to shreds over a spate of attacks on Indian students that the victims allege are racially motivated.
What shocks Indians like me the most is the Australian government's stubborn refusal to acknowledge that at least some of the attacks are obvious outcomes of racial hatred. Certainly brings to mind the image of an ostrich doing what it does best in a sandy patch. With all due respect to the authorities, but so many sudden attacks on brown-skinned folks can't possibly be "opportunistic" crimes. I find it hard to believe that struggling Indian students have suddenly become mugger-magnets.
The only official so far to concede a possible racial motive in some cases has been Victorian state police chief Simon Overland. But then he also added that a few of the attacks were "opportunistic".
Back in India, most of us had no idea that Indians were being targeted until late last month when we read about a student being stabbed with a screwdriver and left battling for his life. Soon after came the petrol bombing of another Indian student's home in Sydney. Only now are we learning from news reports that such assaults have been fairly common for several years, especially in and around Melbourne. But it appears the frequency and hate quotient have dramatically risen since the end of May.
News reports suggest that victims of attacks before May 2009 hestitated going to the police to press charges for fear of losing any chance of making a future for themselves in Australia. Some have even alleged that the police simply refused to record the crimes.
I appreciate Prime Minister Kevin Rudd's appeal for calm and request to refrain from doling out vigilante justice, but he must understand that the Indian student community - which is reported to be about 90,000 strong - is angry, vulnerable and probably a little scared.
These are young people. You push them, they will push back. So use of excessive force trying to break up their protests is probably not the way to win their confidence. Maybe you should sit down and talk to them. Hear them out. And please stop burying your head in the sand Australia. It is perhaps time to recognise that you might have a racial problem on your hands.
What shocks Indians like me the most is the Australian government's stubborn refusal to acknowledge that at least some of the attacks are obvious outcomes of racial hatred. Certainly brings to mind the image of an ostrich doing what it does best in a sandy patch. With all due respect to the authorities, but so many sudden attacks on brown-skinned folks can't possibly be "opportunistic" crimes. I find it hard to believe that struggling Indian students have suddenly become mugger-magnets.
The only official so far to concede a possible racial motive in some cases has been Victorian state police chief Simon Overland. But then he also added that a few of the attacks were "opportunistic".
Back in India, most of us had no idea that Indians were being targeted until late last month when we read about a student being stabbed with a screwdriver and left battling for his life. Soon after came the petrol bombing of another Indian student's home in Sydney. Only now are we learning from news reports that such assaults have been fairly common for several years, especially in and around Melbourne. But it appears the frequency and hate quotient have dramatically risen since the end of May.
News reports suggest that victims of attacks before May 2009 hestitated going to the police to press charges for fear of losing any chance of making a future for themselves in Australia. Some have even alleged that the police simply refused to record the crimes.
I appreciate Prime Minister Kevin Rudd's appeal for calm and request to refrain from doling out vigilante justice, but he must understand that the Indian student community - which is reported to be about 90,000 strong - is angry, vulnerable and probably a little scared.
These are young people. You push them, they will push back. So use of excessive force trying to break up their protests is probably not the way to win their confidence. Maybe you should sit down and talk to them. Hear them out. And please stop burying your head in the sand Australia. It is perhaps time to recognise that you might have a racial problem on your hands.
Monday, June 8, 2009
Watch and whine
As I type this, my kids are sitting behind me watching a Japanese animation series dubbed in Hindi. I can't tell you just how ridiculous it sounds, especially because the young voiceover artistes are for some incomprehensible reason encouraged to speak like whiny, inarticulate brats. What especially gets on my nerves are the inane "aaaa-aaah-waaah" sounds that seem to punctuate the dialogue ever so often. And the tone of speech! You have to watch one of these to understand what I am talking about.
Lots has been written and spoken about violence in cartoon films and their effect on a child's psyche and behaviour. All true. As the mother of two boys I can personally vouch for the fact that watching such programmes definitely triggers aggression in children. There was a phase when my kids watched such junk regularly and all play in those days involved some form of violence. Finally I banned the Power Rangers, Eon Kids and others of their ilk in the animation world from our home. The effect was almost immediate.
But I don't think parents have yet realised the danger from other seemingly harmless foreign shows. The anything but carefully thought out vernacular voiceovers to these programmes seem to be rapidly affecting children's temperaments and speech patterns.
In the past few months my kids have developed this horribly grating, whiny way of speaking. Initially I couldn't figure out where this was coming from. I merely had to question them about something they'd done and they would start moaning, screaming and complaining. Now I know why. It's the dubbed drivel on television. So now viewing of the offending shows has been severely curtailed. The boys' summer break from school ends this week and I couldn't be happier. At least their television viewing will dramatically shrink back to an hour or two a day. But they still haven't stopped speaking in that irritating manner. It might take months more to completely undo the damage.
Would someone tell the Indian arms of Cartoon Network, Nick and Pogo to please choose the shows they air more carefully. I'm not sure who does the voiceovers, but they certainly need to reassess their approach. Please understand that the tone used in these nonsensical shows could negatively influence speech in an entire urban generation. If things aren't checked soon, we could end up with a nation full of young whiners. God help us then!
Lots has been written and spoken about violence in cartoon films and their effect on a child's psyche and behaviour. All true. As the mother of two boys I can personally vouch for the fact that watching such programmes definitely triggers aggression in children. There was a phase when my kids watched such junk regularly and all play in those days involved some form of violence. Finally I banned the Power Rangers, Eon Kids and others of their ilk in the animation world from our home. The effect was almost immediate.
But I don't think parents have yet realised the danger from other seemingly harmless foreign shows. The anything but carefully thought out vernacular voiceovers to these programmes seem to be rapidly affecting children's temperaments and speech patterns.
In the past few months my kids have developed this horribly grating, whiny way of speaking. Initially I couldn't figure out where this was coming from. I merely had to question them about something they'd done and they would start moaning, screaming and complaining. Now I know why. It's the dubbed drivel on television. So now viewing of the offending shows has been severely curtailed. The boys' summer break from school ends this week and I couldn't be happier. At least their television viewing will dramatically shrink back to an hour or two a day. But they still haven't stopped speaking in that irritating manner. It might take months more to completely undo the damage.
Would someone tell the Indian arms of Cartoon Network, Nick and Pogo to please choose the shows they air more carefully. I'm not sure who does the voiceovers, but they certainly need to reassess their approach. Please understand that the tone used in these nonsensical shows could negatively influence speech in an entire urban generation. If things aren't checked soon, we could end up with a nation full of young whiners. God help us then!
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