Neti Neti

Mani Kaul 25 Dec 1944 - July 6 2011

2011-07-07T11:51:00.000-07:00

Sixty six is not an age to die but then Mani Kaul the philosopher may well have disagreed. Mani Kaul was an unusual director in Hindi cinema. "He should have made films in Malayalam or Bengali," said a classmate long ago, "I wonder why he chose Hindi." Call that a back-handed compliment? A Kashmiri Pandit who was born in Jodhpur (Rajasthan) as Rabindranath Kaul, he grew up in the Hindi belt. Throughout his childhood he was exposed to the sights and sounds of Rajasthan and sorrounding areas.

I remember interacting with him when he visited the FTII Pune in June 1991 for a screening of his documentary Siddheshwari (starring Mita Vashishtha) for those attending the Film Appreciation course.

His debut film Uski Roti (1969) brought him to the notice of critics and connoisseurs of fine cinema. This film is also well known for the fact that the legendary Malayalam director John Abraham was the Assistant Director.

I remember seeing his film Nazar (1991) in which a forty year old antique dealer (a role essayed by Shekhar 'Elizabeth' Kapur) is obsessed with a teenager (played brilliantly by Mani's daughter Shambhavi). I doubt anyone in the Hindi speaking areas barring cineastes remembers this 'heavy' Hindi film.

The documentary Siddheshwari on the singer - a role played by Mita Vashishtha - was exquisite and I consider myself lucky to have seen it in a hall where he was also present. The Wikipedia article on him has this quote by him "The dividing line from my films and documentaries is thin. Some of my films like "Siddheshwari" are like poetic documentaries." Will Hindi cinema get another director like him? I doubt it even though there are some very promising guys there today.

In her tribute The Solitary Artist written for Hindustan Times the critic Aruna Vasudev talks of his love of Hindustani Classical music and also of painting. According to Aruna he was about to start work on a feature film based on the book Under Her Spell by Dilip Padgaonkar on Rossellini's stay in India during the fifties when his affair with an already married Sonali Das Gupta scandalised India and Nehru (of all people) had to ask him to leave.

Click here for the Wikipedia article which also contains plenty of links to articles on Mani Kaul.

India of the 50s

2011-05-27T06:47:00.000-07:00

From the 50s when India was grappling with some very serious issues chief among them being procuring food for the hungry. With few cards in its hand and such few resources the only way India could establish a place for itself only through international for a like the UN. It was almost like an existential cry from India: we speak, therefore we exist! So India talked and talked and talked. Krishna Menon, did not frankly make too many friends with his endless speeches of a high-minded and scorching nature for those less enlightened than himself.
That was early Indian diplomacy...

David Malone (former Canadian High Commissioner to India)

Source here: http://www.dnaindia.com/blogs/post.php?postid=2749

World Cup Opportunists

2011-03-27T18:44:00.000-07:00

World Cup is hurtling into a frenetic climax this week. Dhoni and may be Afridi are trying their best to ignore emotive and charged atmosphere around a game and focus on things they do every day.

Its unfortunate Manmohan Singh has found this as the time to bring back his force-shelved and pointless diplomacy to invite a few feudal elites from Pakistan pretending to be leaders of the state. Between badmouthing opposition leaders (BJP, Commies et al) and supervising looters in his cabinet, perhaps MMS is thinking of himself as another elite who is not far from a feudal "proxy" lord.

Like the warring Nawabs enjoying a game of chess after the day's bloody battle is done!

Zardari visibly chuffed, let one rotten prisoner go, while hundreds of fishermen are still lost in the dungeons.

Spare the players, please!

Pulp & Noir from Tehelka

2011-01-09T09:31:00.000-08:00

The special annual issue of Tehelka is out. The 3rd in the series of Original Fictions. This one is devoted to Pulp&Noir. I think I missed the 2nd issue. I do remember an entry I had posted in this blog on the 1st issue.

At Rupees Twenty per copy it is a steal indeed.

Click here to access the online version.

His Last Novel?

2011-01-01T07:56:00.000-08:00

The Sunset Club is Sardar Khushwant Singh's sixth novel. He says that it is his last. "I am ninety six," is the main reason proferred by the man obsessed with writing who had once famously said that there is no condom for the pen.

Worth reading: The Word Become Flesh Sheela Reddy's review of the book in Outlook India (Dec 06 2010) and for something irreverent and adulatory here is Three Old Farts at Lodhi Garden by the former diplomat Bhaichand Patel (Outlook Dec 06, 2010)

Who is the best Test Cricketer of India?

2010-12-30T18:39:00.000-08:00

Vangiparappu Venkatasai Laxman
The greatest spartan Indian cricket has ever seen.
Enjoy while it lasts.

Of Assent and Dissent

2010-12-26T12:26:00.000-08:00

From Emily Dickinson to Dr Binayak Sen:
Assent, and you are sane;
Demur- You're straightaway dangerous
And handled with a chain
Do read Nation outraged by Binayak Sen verdict by Anil Mishra and Kunal Majumder (Tehelka, issue dated Jan 01 2011).

If Pakistan has its blasphemy laws then India has its laws on sedition.

On Litanies of Dutch Battery...

2010-12-21T12:02:00.000-08:00

Litanies of Dutch Battery by N.S. Madhavan Translated by Rajesh Rajamohan.
Published by: Penguin Books India on 25 Oct 201
Format: Paperback
Extent: 324 pp
Cover Price: Rs 350

When a fellow blogger translates a good book and the translation is also critically acclaimed it is time to celebrate. The reviews and endorsements have been very encouraging. This is what Khushwant Singh has to say about the book in his column with malice towards one and all (Hindustan Times, Dec 19, 2010) :

In the past I was able to read between 30-40 books every year. This time I could read only 25. But some of them impressed me deeply. On top of my list is N.S. Madhavan's Litanies of Dutch Battery, translated from Malayalam to English by Rajesh Rajamohan (Penguin). It is an outstanding work of historical fiction which tells the story of the inhabitants of the Malabar coast from ancient times to the present; from the caste-ridden Hindu past dividing Namboodris and Ezhera (sic) toddy-tappers to Arab traders who brought Islam with them, built mosques and married local women whose children came to be known as Moplaha. A second influx comprising Portuguese, Dutch and English brought Catholics, Protestants, Anglicans and Syrian Christians. With the increase of means of communication Hindi films and songs of K.L. Sehgal came to Kerala and brought Keralites closer to Northern Indians. After Independence, it became the first State of India to elect a Communist regime, attain 100% literacy. It is a beautiful state, rich in its flora and fauna, inland waterways, which earned it the little of being 'God's own Country'. I only wish its title of the book was more comprehensible than it is. Click here to read the column as it appeared on Dec 19. The Hindustan Times is a paper which we subscribe to but I saw the issue of the 19th on the 20th after returning from seeing the Buddhist stupas at Sanchi (more on that later.)
More:
‘A remarkable novel. Rarely has Kerala, the crossroads of global cultures and ideologies, been so sensuously and grippingly evoked’ - Pankaj Mishra

'Epic imagination . . . N.S. Madhavan has rejuvenated Malayalam fiction’ - The Little Magazine

Many of the writings on the book are endorsements or informative pieces.They would not qualify as reviews. Well, as long as they whet the appetite of readers...
From Himal: The stories of Dutch Battery (or Lantham Bathery, in Malayalam) are told by Jessica, who begins while still in the womb. She grows up to be a feisty teenager and a devout but reflective Christian. From her, we learn that the residents of Lantham Bathery name Vasco da Gama in their prayers, crediting him for both their conversion to Christianity and an end to their oppression as lower-caste Hindus. We hear how Amrita Sher-Gil, the painter, appears in Kochi and buys two easels, the most perfect that she has ever seen. We come to know that as a result of the rice shortage in Kerala in 1958, its communist chief minister introduced macaroni into the market – and was subsequently referred to as ‘Lord Macaroni’.

Litanies is set on the imaginary island of Lantham Battery, just to the north of Fort Kochi. ‘Historical’ anecdotes comprise the first half, with a prominent theme being the rise of communism in Kerala. The result, though, is the reader feels a little lost without a plot. One emerges in the second half, however, when Jessica is sexually harassed by her mathematics tutor. When she speaks up about the abuse, her family tries to shut her up, save for her grandfather. More interesting is that the response to Jessica’s plight by followers of god and Marx is the same: Let it be. The padre cannot intervene because her perpetrator is not a Catholic, and the local communist leader says she imagined it. In the end, Jessica has to choose between suicide and going mad – the latter her grandfather’s suggestion. (Meher Ali) (Click here to see it on their website)

It was through Rajesh's blog that I came to know about Litanies of Dutch Battery. An excerpt: The mosaic Madhavan created when he inversed Jessica’s itsy bitsy memories through a glass has been a joy. I have traveled the places he narrated. I have studied in the school where Raghavan and Pushpangadan master taught in the book, I have watched the orange sunsets beyond the slender strip of Vypin behind Lanthan Batheri and I think I have met all the characters in person if I let go on this anachronistic time, really!

As a Malayali I feel it is sad that I can only read a translated version. That is the sad story of many like me who have lived all over India like gypsies thanks to their fathers being soldiers. But I am glad that a fellow blogger and good friend has enabled me to savour this piece of exquisite writing through such an exquisite example of good translation.

Winter Time is Guava Time in Mhow

2010-12-01T10:02:00.000-08:00

With winter come hand-carts laden with guavas - a fruit which grows well locally. Called amrood in Hindi, it is called jaam in the local Malwi dialect of Hindi. Interestingly the fruit is supposed to be 'cold' hence unsuitable for the cold weather.

Q: "How do you know winter has started if you live in an area where it does not snow?"
A: "When the coconut oil freezes and your knuckles pain due to the cold when you drive a two-wheeler."

A Talk on the Rajataringini - the 12th century Sanskrit Historical Narrative from Kashmir

2010-11-13T08:39:00.000-08:00

Arundhati Roy's comment that Kashmir was never an integral part of India reminded me of this talk titled "Rajatarangini and the Making of India's Past" delivered by Chitralekha Zutshi at the Library of Congress on July 10 2008.

This is how the Library of Congress describes the event: Nineteenth-century European orientalists and philologists considered the Rajatarangini--a 12-century Sanskrit historical narrative from Kashmir--as the only Indian text to which the status of "history" could be accorded. Chitralekha Zutshi analyzes several late-19th and early 20th-century translations of this text by both Europeans and Indians to illustrate the mediated nature of the process of colonial and nationalist production of knowledge about India's past--indeed of the idea of history itsef--in British India.

According to the website: Kluge Fellow Chitralekha Zutshi is associate professor of history at the College of William and Mary. She is the author of "Languages of Belonging: Islam, Regional Identity and the Making of Kashmir."

Click here to listen to the 65 minute talk. Kashmiri Pandit friends whom I sent this link to were very happy to receive it.

It is indeed a lovely and fascinating collection of webcasts that have been recorded and made available through the internet. There are times when I close the door of my study and listen to these talks. I think I would have done that even if I were living in Washington D.C. as there are times I feel too lazy to attend events.

Saina Nehwal - the girl child who was not wanted.

2010-10-28T08:01:00.000-07:00

Saina Nehwal the gold medallist in the badminton event of the recently concluded Commonwealth Games tells us, in an article titled Time for girls to come out and play she wrote for India Today, how tough it has been for her.
Some extracts:
" I was told that my grandmother did not come to see me till a month after my birth"

"My uncles and other relatives are against encouraging girls in every aspect and that includes sports. I hardly interact with them.My parents are more open. They back me all the way..."

Click here to read this beautiful article written by a brave and gutsy girl.

Salman Rushdie Talks about Luka and the Fire of Life

2010-10-13T14:01:00.000-07:00

The novelist Salman Rushdie talks about Luka and the Fire of Life, a sequel to Haroun and the Sea of Stories (1990).

Conversation with Mathew Sweet, BBC Radio 3, 12 Oct 2010.

Of Shyam Benegal's Bharat Ek Khoj and General Zia's Pakistan

2010-10-08T07:51:00.000-07:00

Bharat Ek Khoj was Shyam Benegal's serial based on Jawaharlal Nehru's Discovery of India. This was telecast on Doordarshan (national television) during the late eighties on sunday mornings. It was one of those few well made serials on Doordarshan. And in spite of being rather academic in flavour it had a huge fan following.

The other day I happened to see a DVD set of this serial in an Indore bookshop. That led to a search for the DVDs on online bookshops. In one of these sites I came across a comment by a Pakistani viewer:

"When it went on air way back in 1980s, I was also a school going kid. In those pre-dish antena days, we used to struggle with our VHF aerial to catch Amritsar station of Doordarshan TV. Discovery of India was mesmerising experience for me. Those were the days when General Zia was in power through martial law and had put all kinds of censorship to distort history to make it more Islamic. Discovery of India not only allowed me to strike a mental balance but also enabled me to have an organic link with the past of my people, whom we were being taught to consider the Indian enemy."

Interesting. As Naipaul had once said "The convert denies his origins." Pakistanis have done this in a bewildering manner. When it comes to music and literature they have no option but to look eastwards towards their cousins on the other side of the Radcliffe line but when it comes to fundamentalism they look westwards and deny their subcontinental origins and roots. This denial of the pre-Islamic past was done with a vengeance during General Zia's time.

It is more than two decades since I read Naipaul's Among the Believers. If memory serves me right Naipaul talks about history books in Pakistan which talk of the Indus civilization (pre-Hindu) and then fast forward to the advent of Islam in the subcontinent and then to independence from Britain. Besides Jinnah, Liaquat Ali and some other politicians the heroes of Pakistan are their soldiers who, the text books say, fought valiantly against India.

Zia's efforts to Islamise Pakistan ended with the fundamentalists virtually taking over this 'moth eaten' state. It is a strange nation. We have Pakistani generals who plan the next invasion of India and interact with hardcore Islamic fundamentalists and then go home and listen to a Lata Mangeshkar song while sipping Scotch and patting their rather un-Islamic pet Pomeranians.

And we also have those who admit that Pakistan will never be able to host a Commonwealth Games. I do not know whether that is a blessing or a curse. But the admiration of India pleases the heart even though there is a Kalmadi connection.

Indian Media, Commonwealth Games and Sainath...

2010-09-23T04:33:00.000-07:00

An amended text of an email exchange with a friend: Journalism is a demanding vocation. As appealing as it is, it lays your soul open to the world. Unlike most professions that are becoming micro-specialized and super-skilled, Journalism marries two diametrically opposite skills.

First - Judgment of the external world – all the contemporary events, people, perceptions et al. As a Journalist you are required to see, assess, and judge the world with all its hosannas and gravitas; it’s not easy especially so as you are required to do all that being aware of your own biases and prejudices. You are required to be gregarious, extrovert and open. Any wrong call anywhere in this process, you’ll end up looking a fool. The other skill is writing – how very distant it is from the first. Can you think of any other act that can be more intimate and personal for a human being ? ( Hmm , sex you may say but sex is motor, not cognitive i.e not exclusively human) So, whatever you have seen and assessed, you have to reflect in your own mind, arrange the facts, perceptions and arrive at a judgment. Then you have to express it clearly so others can see what you have seen.

Indian media – We all know the writing / presentation in Indian media is above average for a race whose language is not English. But it is at the judgment they are so poor. It’s not that they refuse to see it, they quite simply can’t see it. My intense abhorrence of them stems back to this - their utter lack of judgment. And not just that, their Indian sense of completeness: they are perfect and beyond mistake.

Many a months back when I passed through India there were enough reports to raise concerns about the shoddy preparations and siphoning scams involved but media failed to mount any pressure whatsoever to get the job properly done. Instead they were all busy covering M S Dhoni’s wedding or yet another utterly unremarkable cricket series in Sri Lanka.

Incidentally as it happens – the weekly I had read in transit in India was the first weekly to carry an article about the games scam. Here are the links for the archives of the three national weeklies:

India Today This is the one I had read. August 2 edition. That’s 8 weeks before the kick-off.

Tehelka Cover Story August 28. Think of it, this is the group which congratulates itself on investigative journalism.

Outlook None that I can see. And hover over April 12 edition. It sounds of singing praises about the game.

Kalmadi and co are old hacks. They’ve built a career sucking off public money. I hold the new Indian media equally if not more responsible. The first report of any mismanagement and corruption came in summer, when the whole infrastructure was scheduled to be finished before summer. Millions had been allotted over more than five years ago and the Media accounts for the public money just two months before the event. But then Indian media is nothing more than deadlines, plagiarism and scratching backs. It is an assembly of semi-educated dimwits who can’t sit down and think. They neither have any influence over the legislature above nor can they touch the masses below. They are an enormous unaccounted waste of ink and bytes.

You have to bear in mind this is not an event that is to be held in a distant no man’s land. These people - the journalists and the politicians, both are mostly based in Delhi and would have been seeing each other regularly – both professionally and socially. Today no one speaks of what media owed the people. If Kalmadi and Co didn’t do their jobs properly so didnt the media. Slagging off Kalmadi is totally useless, leopards and spots. He should have been disciplined long back by building political and public pressure around him. The Media didn’t. Now they just ‘report’ the happenings. Usual Status quo. They deserve each other. Though it’s not something to be proud to state, I don’t hesitate a minute to say I really wish as many countries withdraw from the games. There are many ways of learning and for some the harder way works. It’s just how it is.

+++

Also find this wonderful article about P Sainath during his recent visit to Canada.

Finally, this is a bit dated but still relevant thoughts by perhaps the only man in India who understands the meaning of the world Journalism. Not that I endorse all of his views but I admire that he is serving no one but himself - a fundamental requirement to be taken seriously in journalism. His anger is plain obvious.

The First DSC Prize for South Asian Literature

2010-09-21T11:02:00.000-07:00

The DSC prize for South Asian Literature has been instituted by the infrastructure firm DSC. They are also the main sponsors of the Jaipur Literature Festival.

The ten member advisory committee has the writer Nayantara Sehgal (whose mother Vijayalaxmi Pandit was Jawaharlal Nehru's sister), the economist and British MP Lord Meghnad Desai, journalist Tina Brown and historian Urvashi Butalia among others. It is this committee which chose the five person jury. The jury includes Lord Matthew Evans, Ian Jack, Amitava Kumar, Moni Mohsin and the chairperson Nilanjana S Roy.

The award is for English novels from South Asia.

The longlist for the first DSC Prize has been announced. It consists of fourteen novels. Here they are, in no particular order:

From India:

Amit Chaudhuri's 'The Immortals'

Chandrahas Choudhury's 'Arzee the Dwarf '

Upamanyu Chatterjee's 'Way to Go'

Rokkaiah Salma's 'The Hour Past Midnight'

Anjum Hassan's 'Neti Neti'

Tania James' 'Atlas of Unknowns'

Manju Kapur's 'The Immigrant'

Sankar's 'The Middleman',

Jaspreet Singh's 'Chef'

Aatish Taseer's 'The Temple Goers'

From Pakistan:

Ali Sethi's 'The Wish Maker'

Musharraf Ali Farooqui's 'The Story of a Widow'

H M Naqvi's 'The Home Boy'

From Sri Lanka:
Ru Freeman's 'A Disobedient Girl'

What can one say? May the best work win. That's all.

p.s. One must add that it is pleasing to see a USD 50,000 literary prize for South Asia.

Source: Outlook Magazine. Click here

Notes from America

2010-09-11T07:32:00.000-07:00

Terry Jones has chickened out on time. Rauf wouldn't give a hoot for his proposed quid pro quo. In the end, a few flags were burnt and angry rallies came out in familiar places shouting slogans like "rasist America v/s victim Muslims".

The talking heads went into a tizzy right from white house to the basement blogger introspecting on the bigot within, need for bigger concessions and chiding ignorant Joes and Bobs for their misplaced fears. From the right, speculations of global religious war carried a little more space than usual. The casualties this time have been the stand up comedians sense of humor and the average Joe's right to ignore the bigotry and carry on with his everyday dysfunctional debt ridden life in the time of regressive economy.

Even on the day of another memorial of September 11, its interesting to find how the debate invariably is about the secular credentials of the other, including religions and agnostic ideologies, but not about the intolerance and fanaticism of Islamic belief. It is always about the heightened sensitivity of every believer, but not the indifference of its majority when the passionate few among them assaults humanity in grand expressions of cruelty. Why there is never any movement from the "moderate" to fight the political and killer ideologies of its extreme member? Why is it easy to hide behind the status of minority and scuttle dialogues within the community or outside of it, even in the west where security and freedom of speech are held in higher standards?

Fundamentalism is always about the measure of the others liberalism until it vanquishes the other. Modern discourses and philosophies find it hard to counter fundamentalist ideology of Islam. Christianity and Communist ideologies went through intellectual and moral turmoils over centuries through inquisitions, church-state strife, world wars, collapse of states and on and on. However with Islamic ideology, there is no space for introspection or conversation. Its practitioners reject any critique and tactically attack all of it by bringing (amoral) equivalence of similar bigotries committed by the ideology or religion its critic purportedly stands for.

It is this turbulent True-believer syndrome, deafening rejection of dialogue and reforms from within make Islamic faith potent that seeks to carry the entire planet to a regressive monolith through great bouts of neurosis and pain.

Serious Men by Manu Joseph

2010-09-04T10:24:00.000-07:00

I remember reading many well written articles by Manu Joseph in the Indian weekly Outlook edited by Vinod Mehta. Serious Men is his debut novel and has a Brahmin astrophysicist and his Dalit assistant as "the interdependent poles" (New York Times).

And this is from the review in The Independent (UK) by Peter Carty: "Manu Joseph's first novel elegantly describes collisions with an unyielding status quo, ably counterpointing the frustrations of the powerless with the unfulfilling realities of power. With this astute comedy of manners he makes a convincing bid for his own recognition as a novelist of serious talent, the latest addition to a roster of Indian writers who are creating fine literary art from their country's fearsome contradictions." Click here to read the review.

It will be interesting to see how his first novel fares.

Of Veil and the new Message

2010-07-24T06:57:00.000-07:00

"In public gardens and in other places in this new town (which used to be old colonial town) can be seen young village Malays dressed as Arabs, with turbans and gowns. The Arab dress - so far from Pakistan, so far from Arabia - is their political badge. In the university there are girls who do not only wear the veil, but in the heat also wear gloves and socks. Different groups wear different colors. The veil is more than the veil; it is a mask of aggression. Not like the matted locks of RasTafarian in Jamaica, a man dulled by a marginal life that has endured for generations; not like the gear of the middle class hippie, who wishes only to drop out; these are the clothes of uprooted village people who wish to pull down what is not theirs and then take over. Because an unacknowldged part of the fantasy is that the world goes on, runs itself, has only to be inherited. "
...
"The West is eating itself up with its materialism and greed. The true believer, with his thoughts on the afterlife, lves for higher ideals. For a nonbeliever, life is a round of pleasure. "He spends the major part of his wealth on ostentatious living and demostrates his pomp and show by wearing of silk and brocade using vessels of gold and silver."
The new islam comes , and to the new men of the (Malay) village it comes as an alternative kind of learning and truth, full of scholarly apparatus. It is passion without constructive programme. The materialist world is to be pulled down first, the Islamic state will come later - as in Iran, as in Pakistan.
And the message that starts in Pakistan doesn't stop in Malaysia. It travels to Indonesia-120 million to 12 million, poorer, heterogeneous, more fragile, with a recent history of pogroms and mass killings. There the new Islamic movement among the young is seen by its enemies as nihilism; they call it "the Malayasian disease". So the Islamic passion of Pakistan, with its own special roots, converts and converts again, feeding other distresses. And the promise of political calamity spreads as good news."
- V.S. Naipaul (Among the Believers - Conversations in Malaysia)

Naipaul's Banquet Speech: 2001

2010-06-15T22:48:00.000-07:00

An accidental discovery. Sir Vidia Naipaul's speech at the banquet during Nobel week 2001. Short and sweet.

Tweet on Vishy

2010-05-15T10:23:00.000-07:00

For a change Vishwanathan Anand seems to have got a fair amount of media attention this time. But most of India continues to be in mourning because of India's early exit from the cricket T20 World Cup. Prolific blogger and columnist Amit Varma has compared Vishy Anand's World title triumph to a man with a Maruti 800 winning a Formula 1 car race. An apt comparison. Read the post by clicking here.

Novel uses of the Internet

2010-05-11T05:31:00.000-07:00

One of the greatest advantages of the internet is it’s infinite potential to accommodate any venture. Over the last few years, with the growth of numerous 2.0 sites there have been many efforts to use the web for a more specific, goal directed and referential purposes. I have always thought that one of the important subjects that the web could act as an useful medium is - History - an academic, obscure, often regarded as a boring subject. In recent times, one such effort to make it more accessible directly to the seekers has been the British Library digitalising the vast archive of 19^th century newspapers. You can access it here. I am sure one can find many interesting stories hidden in those archives there.

The other, exciting and impressive effort is from India - called The Indian Memory project. It is an assortment of historical photographs sent by netizens to make a grand collection of Indians and Indian history across times, cultures and classes. Started by Anusha Yadav it is one of the most novel uses of the web I have seen in a long long time. Have a look here and contribute if you can.

Salim Baba

2010-04-10T04:56:00.000-07:00

April 10, 2010: One of the offerings on the Youtube Screening Room.

"Salim Muhammad is a 55-year-old man who lives in North Kolkata with his wife and five children. Since the age of ten he has made a living using a hand-cranked projector to screen discarded film scraps for the kids in his surrounding neighborhoods. "

Duration - 15:15

When Karthik Calls Karthik Does He Need A Psychiatrist?

2010-02-26T10:50:00.001-08:00

Hindi cinema tries to portray mental illness in 'Karthik Calling Karthik.' I am sceptical of mainstream Indian cinema trying to take up a serious issue like this. And subjects like mental illness can be used to make films which appeal to the voyeuristic instinct in the audience. I doubt that this film will make a mark among the classes and definitely not among the masses. Farhan Akhtar (the son of Javed Akhtar and the step son of Shabana Azmi), the protagonist in this film, shows that he is a good actor besides being a director with a professional touch. And the dusky Deepika Padukone who plays his girlfriend is lovely but thats all that she was supposed to be in this film. She was meant to portray a modern urban Indian girl who is going through her own heartbreaks as she searches for a 'gentle and caring' man.

Farhan Akhtar's acting is the redeeming feature and I would watch the film again just to see him. The end does became a bit text-bookish what with all the explanations. Nikhat Kazmi gives the film a 3.5 out of 5 in his review in The Times of India. Click here to see the review. I would give it a 3 (grudgingly).

[A promotional poster for Karthik Calling Karthik.]

The film also exemplifies something which has especially been seen in recent Bollywood films - technical excellence and a certain slickness which was totally absent till the 2000s. Call it a positive fall out of globalisation. Its a level playing field now as far as technology and gizmos are concerned. However most Bollywood films continue to remain of the kind that make one feel like gnashing one's teeth. The difference nowadays is in the number of good films which are being produced. This was impossible in the single-cinema days, the multiplexes today are able to absorb the loss which such films may incur thanks to the 300 plus crore rupees that '3 Idiots' can rake in in three weeks or the 120 crores that 'My Name is Khan' can bring in in a week.

I do not remember any really good mainstream Indian film about mental illness. I do remember a Kannada film I saw during the early nineties which was, if I remember rightly, about a man who got his kicks by making his wife have sex with other men and then hearing her talk about it. Girish Karnad had played the role of the psychiatrist in the same film. There was also Khamoshi, a Hindi film, in which Waheeda Rehman plays a nurse in a mental asylum who gets too close to a patient.

p.s. I realised later that Feb 26, the day I saw the film, was the date it was released all over India. This is another novelty. Couldn't imagine this some years ago. Hundreds, nay thousands of prints, being released in theatres all over the country and downloaded through satellite. The balcony ticket in Dreamland Cinema, Mhow costs Rupees Thirty. And the snacks in the canteen were all within Rupees ten a piece. The ambience of a small town, including the odd mosquitio, while watching the latest film. What more does one want? If only I were a fan of Bollywood.

Born In India...

2010-01-07T09:31:00.000-08:00

I was thinking about British writers born in pre-independent India. These are the ones I know of:

(1) Eric Blair (George Orwell) Motihari, Bihar.

(2) Lawrence Durrell - Jamshedpur, Bihar.

(3) George Durrell - Jamshedpur, Bihar.

(4) Spike Milligan - Ahmednagar, Maharashtra.

(5) Rudyard Kipling - Bombay (now Mumbai).

Am sure there are more. Keep watching this space.

The Last Scotsmen on Earth?

2010-01-02T08:19:00.000-08:00

"The last Englishman on earth would be an Indian," - Malcolm Muggeridge.

What about the last Scotsman on earth?

The pipes and drums of a battalion of the Rajput Regiment, Indian Army

The fragrance of Rajnigandha....

2009-12-20T07:11:00.000-08:00

I bought a VCD of the Hindi film Rajnigandha a couple of weeks ago. This film, directed by Basu Chatterji, was released when I had just entered my teens. We were living in Alwar, Rajasthan at that time. I never got to see the film but it certainly made an impact on me. The beautiful songs, the stunning beauty of Vidya Sinha, the charming boy-next-door hero Amol Palekar along with the artistic looking Dinesh Thakur all added to the beauty of this film.

The film is based on a story Yehi Sach Hai by Mannu Bhandari. It is about the dilemma a young woman faces when she meets an ex-boyfriend and old memories get revived. She is caught between two men who are head over heels in love with her.

The Bengali gentleman Salil Choudhary was the music director of this film. He had also composed the music for the National Award winning Malayalam film Chemmeen. The song Kai Baar Yun Hi Dekha Hai ... sung by Mukesh encapsulates the dilemma so well. It talks of the mind transgressing the boundary line which the mind itself had drawn and flirting with danger. It has been sung so beautifully by Mukesh I am not surprised that it won a national award. I must admit that I have listened to this song time and again. The words towards the end are "Kisko meet banaoon, kiski preet bhulaoon?" ("Whom should I make my beloved? Whose love should I forget?" )

Rajnigandha had won the 1974 Filmfare award for the best film. Try to see it if you haven't already seen it.

Writer Mannu Bhandari. [Pic courtesy www.abhivyakti-hindi.org]

Awaiting Kerala Cafe

2009-11-15T07:40:00.000-08:00

Malayalam cinema has been dead for a long time - notwithstanding the fact that Adoor G is still alive. After all Dada Falke award is nothing more than an invitation to one's own funeral!

Kerala Cafe - is the new Malayalam incarnation of Dekalog by a Krzysztof Piesiewicz ingénue - Renjith. Instead of a project house/apartment complex, the general setting is a cafe in a railway station. A sneak peek here.

I haven't seen the movie yet. But it has managed to spark a bit of anticipation. I have always thought of malayalam directors as capable but weighed down by the pulls of market and bizarre perceptions of neurotic distributors and prejudiced producers. Bringing ten of them with individual plots together relieved them of the pressure of carrying a two hour enterprise to the far end of box office. From what I've seen from the promos, it promises quite a bit. The compositions appeared tight and rhythm taut with an unmistakable thread of a theme. After a long time, the actors looked really the part!

Looking forward to watch it.

Globalisation and IWE...

2009-11-10T09:19:00.000-08:00

The effects of globalisation on IWE (Indian Writing in English)?

"As the Indian novel in English, assisted by India's rising profile in global affairs, finds an audience wherever English is spoken, it often seems to sacrifice the particularities of Indian experience for a watered-down idiom that can speak to readers across the globe.." - Chandrahas Chaudhury writes about the Indian writer in English no longer being seen as someone who panders to the tastes of the West. But at what cost?

Click here to access the full article.

apropos Dalrymple

2009-11-05T19:00:00.000-08:00

Take off from a review of malayalam colonial era movie, Pazhassi Raja - a royal nemesis of East India Company from the erstwhile kingdom of Kottayam.

...18th century Kottayam, a royal house otherwise renowned for producing Sanskritists and Kathakali playwrights. On the map, it’s approximately where William Dalrymple was doing his research at approximately the same time. Why, if he had wandered on to the sets of this multi-culti Company-era epic, there surely would have been a walk-on part for a cherubic Scotsman. And by offering to impale himself on a quivering Kurichiya (tribal) spear, he could have atoned for the sins of his ancestors at one stroke and spared himself the rigours of ethnography!

The Sad Inevitability of War

2009-10-07T08:56:00.000-07:00

Pakistani battle tanks destroyed by the Indian Army, displayed as war trophies in Mhow. I wonder how many men died in these two tanks. A google search showed me that the Pakistanis have also displayed destroyed Indian battle tanks as war trophies.

India and Pakistan fought a bitter war in April - Sept 1965. Both sides lost around 7000 men totally. Both sides claim to have won the war.Many independent analysts claim that the cease fire saved Pakistan as it did not have enough resources to sustain a long war. It also taught them a lesson that India could not be defeated so easily. Similarly India also learnt that defeating Pakistan was not a cake walk. The stalemate continued till 1971 when India defeated Pakistan and liberated Bangladesh.

I was a pre-schooler in 1965. But I remember my father, who was then posted in the Army HQ at New Delhi, and his colleagues talking about the war. As a matter of fact it was impssible to not know that a war was on considering one lived in a defence colony like Dhaula Kuan. I also remember how our windows were blackened for safety from attacking aircraft at night time. Luckily no enemy aircraft reached Delhi. In an ideal world there would be no wars - something which is impossible in real life. Like the Jews and the Arabs India and Pakistan will always remain at loggerheads. Their common history has gifted them confrontation. Only, today both have nuclear arms.

No Indian Writer in this year's Booker Shortlist

2009-10-04T09:58:00.000-07:00

I had never thought that this would happen. But it has. There is no Indian writer in the shortlist this year. Was there an Indian in the long list? Not sure. As a matter of fact there is no South Asian writer shortlisted this year. Ah well, maybe we will be back with a bang next year.

Click here to read Neel Mukherjee's brief views on each of the shortlisted books this year (The Hindu Literary Review Oct 4, 2009).

Twittering Gandhi

2009-10-03T06:42:00.000-07:00

The greatness of Gandhi is that he proposed there are ways to liberate the victim and oppressor without vanquishing the other.

Don't you think?

Mahatma Gandhi, Aijaz Khan, General Bob and Bhagat Singh

2009-08-05T08:01:00.000-07:00

If there is a Nobel Prize for fooling others the 2009 prize must go to Aijaz Khan the 29 year old techie from Mumbai. He morphed his face onto a photograph of Gandhi and Jinnah by substituting his face instead of Jinnah's. And all this on the front page of The Times of India dated Friday July 12 1945. The caption he put below the picture is priceless: "Congress President Mahatma Gandhi and the president of the Azad Hind Party Aijaz Khan" It also says: "Mumbai: Congress President Mahatma Gandhi and the president of the Azad Hind Party Aijaz Khan together in the rally at Mumbai Azad Maidan. And after the rally they went to meet General Bob to discuss about the arrest of Bhagat." (emphasis mine) Phew!!! And this many years after Bhagat Singh had
been hanged to death by the British. And General Bob of all people!!!! Oh God, it pains when I laugh too much!!!

Using this photograph he was able to con many people to the tune of Rs. 50 Lakhs. He convinced them that he would be investing the money they gave in government schemes and they stood to double their money.

It is unbelievable that nobody questioned him.
Read more about this believe it or not case by clicking here.

Source: Amit Varma's blog India Uncut.

Two Great Losses to Hindustani And Carnatic Music

2009-07-17T10:17:00.000-07:00

Ustad Ali Akbar Khan (April 14, 1922 – June 18, 2009)

D K Pattammal (28 March 1919 – 16 July 2009)

A Visit To Kerala

2009-07-03T12:12:00.000-07:00

A few days in Kerala, June 2009.

Photograph taken from a moving train.

More such shots as well as some taken while walking around - click here.

My short story Visiting God's Own Country published in the Mumbai newspaper DNA's Sunday Jun 28 supplement (11 months after it was selected for publication). Read by clicking here. Bouquets and brickbats expected.

Madhavikkutty RIP

2009-05-30T21:19:00.000-07:00

The charm of growing up in the Kerala of eighties, besides the balmy summer vacations and monsoons were the voices of a few writers. They spoke on the pages of Mathrubhumi magazine which the newspaper boy threw every week at the gate.

That was a long time ago.

Basheer was gone. Vijayan left a while ago. Now its Kamala Das's turn.

Madhavikkutty, as she is known to her malayalam readers, tormented them in more ways than they could've bargained for. She was loved when she was not hated.

The charm too is gone!

P.S: An article on Madhavikkutty, written a while ago.

Movie Memorabilia...

2009-05-15T05:50:00.000-07:00

Thanks to some of the recent movies, much of the talk of late has been around memory and its functioning. So I thought that I'll just jot down a few points about memory to help understand both memory as such and the movies better.

Firstly memory is a function of the mind. It is multidimensional and dependent on time space and matter. Since these dimensions are always in a constant flux, memory becomes a complex dynamic process rather than a quantifiable constant. It can be best imagined as a constantly changing graph or a curve (something akin a screensaver) inside a cube whose co-ordinates are time, space and matter along the three axes.As we all know, everyday we form and lose a lot of memory.

This is basically governed by three sub-processes:

a. Encoding – information input in terms of sensations.

b. Storage – processing this information and its maintenance over a period of time.

c. Retrieval – accessing and using this information in the future.

Based on these fundamental functions the mind constructs its own reality of the world, subject on what it chooses to remember and what it doesn't. Therefore we all remember and recall things differently, though we undergo the same experience. (Say the taste of a particular dessert.)

Types of Memory: Memory is a formless, shapeless fluid entity but for the purpose of convenience it is broadly classified into Short Term and Long Term Memories.

Short Term Memory is measured in terms of seconds. eg Remembering what attire the actor wore in the previous shot in a movie, or recalling the last sentence of the book you are reading. It is the most active of all the memory processes which means it is almost always switched 'on' throughout the consciousness. However, since the resources of the Short Term Memory are finite, the information within is quickly lost as it is replaced by newer information. Imagine an overflowing bath.(One can remember what we had lunch yesterday but not a week before). Therefore, Short Term Memory is just a conduit through which more complex, central, Longer Term Memory processes operate.

Long Term Memory is measurable in days, months, years. Imaginably it is far more complicated and stable. Again, it is broadly divided into :Declarative Memory and Non-Declarative Memory.

As already mentioned memory is a continual process, hence these divisions are merely arbitrary. There is considerable overlap in the actual process of storing and recalling.

Non Declarative Memory is a collective term for all the memory processes that involves non conscious learning. This includes skills, intuitions and abilities. Again the three main sub-groups here include -

1. Procedural Memory - is the memory of perceptual skills and procedures. eg: Driving a car. One does not need to be aware of the elements and the sequence involved in driving a car (like ignition, gears, accelerator etc ) one simply can remember to drive a car!! (often misused word - automatically). The same applies to playing instruments, swimming etc.

2. Conditioned Memory - is based on Pavlovian theory where the mind 'learns' a certain aspect of the memory from experience. For instance accents- an Englishman who has moved to Australia will develop the ozzie twang 'without any active effort because it is just natural to pick up an accent'.And since conditioned memory is learnt, it can also be unlearnt- so if he goes back to England he might lose his twang without any effort.

3. Priming: Here the mind becomes increasingly efficient in identifying set patterns of memories through past experience. Say, recognising a particular singer on a radio or the voice of a friend on a telephone etc.

Next category is the Declarative Memory: This is the lay man's understanding of memory ie the memory involved in remembering and recalling information – facts, figures, events etc.Broadly subdivided into two groups Episodic Memory and Semantic Memory:

Episodic Memory is the most spatial and conscious of all the memory processes. Basically it is the memory of the events based on episodes - like - What did you do this Weekend? It is personal and hence open to be biased and interpreted. It also includes other shared memories like – US Elections, Cold war etc.

Some other notable subtypes here include a. Autobiographical memory: Significant events that happened in your life: Like where did you meet your wife? (a la Harry met Sally) In earlier days, the answers were charming- Salsa class, A local pub down the road, a protest march or even in the middle of a world war, but these days it seems mostly, well, a club or online. Facebook ?

Some other forms of Episodic Memory act as a bridge between personal/autobiographical events and more impersonal shared episodic events. These memories are called b. Flashbulb memories. eg a generation before it used be.. What were you doing when JFK was shot? Or even going back another generation – Where were you during the blitz ? But in our generation, it seems - Where the hell were you doing when Salma Hayek had a malfunction LOL :-P ? No ! just kidding; where were you when The Twin Towers collapsed?

Me? Well right in front of television!

The other type of Declarative Memory is the standard Semantic Memory which is the memory of information. Say, what is the capital of Russia? Or spell the name of the current Iranian president. (Ha ha! buggers, I'm sure you'll get it wrong, so look it up)

That's a basic overview of the memory and types. Let's consider a day to day event and see how the various types of memories work together:Your friend Adam calls you saying that he is in town on a business visit. You recognise his voice immediately (priming). You exchange pleasantries and recall that it had been a while since you last saw each other a few months back in a party (episodic). You suggest meeting up for lunch in a local pub. You drive there (procedural) without worrying about the directions as you have been there many times before (conditioning). During the lunch, he tells you in detail the football match he had been to (autobiographical).So a quick few minutes in a routine life involves a complex interplay of many types of memory functions.

Finally, a quick word about forgetting: As said before, memory entails encoding, storage and retrieval. If there is an impairment in any one of these functions, forgetting is hastened. Often the impairment is a result of an injury to the part of the brain involved with that specific function. Such forgetting or if you are into Greek Amnesia, is divided into three subtypes again:

Retrograde – you can't remember anything that happened before the event. Episodic memories may be lost but usually the more fundamental Non Declarative Memory is preserved.

Post Traumatic - After a trauma/injury there is usually a time period where the person is fuzzy about things. She might not remember for a while but eventually the memories 'come back'. This amnesia may extend from minutes to months, and very rarely even years.

Anterograde - In this condition there is impairment with the laying down of new layers of memory while the memories before the event are intact.

+++

With that understanding I guess it's easier to figure out the complexities of both Memento and Bourne.

Jason Bourne had a trauma which basically resulted in two types of forgetfulness:

a. Post traumatic amnesia – He does not remember how he ended up on the boat in the Mediterranean, or how those Italian boatmen saved him. (Bourne Identity) This presumably only lasted a few days.

b. Retrograde amnesia – He lost his declarative autobiographical memory ie no identity, no retained past ( therefore not able to remember who he is/was, what he did etc) but his Non Declarative Memory as often in such cases, was intact. ( He could drive effortlessly, dismantle a sub-machine gun, remember his CIA training in espionage etc) . Further, his Semantic Memory was also intact. (He could remember that Berlin is the capital of Germany and Francs was the currency of France).

But notably He did not suffer any anterograde memory loss – which is the ability to form new memories after the trauma is intact, so he was able to remember everything that happened after but nothing before the event.

Lenny's case in Memento is a bit complex. After the trauma he has:

a. Post Traumatic Amnesia: A small duration of time when he has lost all his memories following the trauma. As I have said before, it is fairly routine for someone to lose consciousness, and with that memory after a head injury. It usually takes a bit of time to orientate himself ( the usual.. Where am I ? ..question in Hollywood). The movie doesn't focus much on this amnesia and understandably so as it is not important.

b. Retrograde amnesia: Once Lenny is conscious he is shown not to suffer from any form Retrograde amnesia – so he is able remember in detail about himself, his wife, his life before the event etc ( Declarative episodic intact)

c. But Lenny's major problem is anterograde amnesia which makes him unable to lay down newer memories after the event. He is able to encode his life experiences as memories but he cant retrieve the memories, as they are stored unlinked to each other. Therefore Lenny's reality is broken down into discrete segments of experiences of 20 mins each, which he simply cant relate to each another. After every few minutes he is unable to remember the people around him or what they do. Unlike for us, where the world moves in forward time, for Lenny it moves in a circle. So being Lenny is like being trapped in a maelstrom without an end. But the viewer who is watching the movie moves in a linear time. It is here one can appreciate the genius of Nolan; the beauty of Memento is in its narration where it presents discrete fragmented perception of time ( for Lenny) in a linear time for the viewer. This is achieved by retro-narration ( story moves forwards to backwards), which I personally think is a marvel of a story telling.

I hope that makes things clearer.

Election Masala

2009-04-26T00:32:00.001-07:00

(1) Haathe boma, Mukhe Prem, Er naam CPI(M) "Bomb in hand, Love on lips, thy name is CPI (M)" - Trinamool Congress slogan in West Bengal.

(2) Professor Matuknath Choudhary is a candidate from Patna Saheb constituency. He has promised to set up "love parks" if he is elected. He had shot to fame a couple of years ago when he had eloped with a student of his. His partyss name is Prem Party. When last heard he hadn't yet been allotted the symbol of his choice - the heart.

(3) The Rashtriya Ahimsa Manch is fighting all 20 seats in Kerala. They are fighting "cruelty to animals, flesh-eating and consuming intoxicants," which, according to them, has become a way of life in Kerala.

- Source Outlook issue of 27 April 2009

The Sting of Good Fiction?

2009-01-12T21:41:00.000-08:00

I associate the magazine Tehelka with sting operations and investigative journalism. Journalist, Naipaul fan and Army brat (a rather afffectionate way of describing those who spent their childhoods in the Army thanks to their dads being in uniform) Tarun Tejpal is a writer of no mean repute himself and each issue of Tehelka has some good articles on literature and book reviews. That notwithstanding it was a pleasant surprise to see the Jan 10 issue of Tehelka. This year-end double issue has 15 short stories by Indian writers. This list includes 'seniors' like Ruskin Bond (born 1934) and 'juniors' like Amruta Patil (born 1979).

The stories have a common theme: Excess. In an introductory note Tejpal says, "The writers were given no other brief. Just the one word." I found this bit enlightening, "I once asked the great writer O.V. Vijayan what was it that literature did that gave it a showcase place in civilisation. He thought for a bit, and said, "It refines us. And that is a very big thing." In a time of bombarding information and facts, of crude posturing and increasing battlelines, this special issue of original fictions is then about that - that amorphous 'refining' thing."

The contributors in this year-end double issue include: Altaf Tyrewala, Manjula Padmanabhan, Mridula Koshy, Tishani Doshi, Rajorshi Chakraborti, Ruskin Bond, Amruta Patil, Sunetra Gupta, Vivek Narayanan, Ambarish Satwik, Sarnath Banerjee, Anjum Hasan, Sudeep Chakravarti, Kalpish Ratna and Rana Dasgupta.

Click here to get to this special issue in the Tehelka archives.

p.s. I have picked up 5 copies of the print edition at the princely sum of Rs. 20 per copy. The idea is to gift it to those friends in town who like good writing.

A worthy effort

2008-12-16T11:26:00.000-08:00

There was a time, not so long ago when we used to learn about the exploits of Kapil and Gavaskar on the radio. How they stood up to the mighty West Indians and won the world cup. And how a generation of young children was brought together with a common religion – cricket. But that was a different time.

We learned about the fans of cricket in Australia and especially the ones with a name in England too – Barmy Army. I was glad to find out that they too had come following their national team after Mumbai massacre. I was elated to know that their cheerleader while reflecting on the game didn’t miss out on the enormity of the moment:

“And more pertinently it proved that this series should have gone ahead. What better way for a shell-shocked nation to get over recent events than to watch Test cricket and watch one of its greatest players produce something like that? And it was a shot in the arm for Test cricket because while we'd sat at home watching India play Australia in front of a handful of people, the stadium here was packed. The noise was amazing and it was quite fun for the few England fans to try singing in the middle of it. We could barely hear ourselves speak, never mind sing, but we persevered anyway.”

Wasn't it a great match? It had to be! I am sure, years after today, this will definitely be remembered, not for the result - but the choice England had made - to come back and play the game we love and affirm the simple pleasures of friendship and camaraderie in the face of terror and agony.

Here is to you Paul and all your friends. Let's celebrate the victory together - as fans of cricket and life.

Despatch from U.S of A

2008-11-03T17:52:00.000-08:00

This is it! Here we are. One more night away from the day of reckoning - not just for the new tenant in the Whitehouse, but also for the millions who’d been quarrelling the other side of their own identities. The relics of ideologies and party machinery ran themselves out of the race when two of the unlikeliest candidates took positions to commandeer their recalcitrant armies. It’s been an unusual journey for both Obama and McCain.

Obama fought off centuries old notions of race stereotypes to ride on an incredible wave of Americans’ yearning for change. Obama is the first person to admit the impossibility of chasing a dream more than anyone else. Yet the voters are ready to give hope a chance. Even if he wins, Obama might be overwhelmed by the weight of expectations or entangled in a web of garish visions. Or he may turn out to be just another smooth talker as is his wont.

I was listening to a rapper’s chant on the radio: “Martin Luther King walked, so Obama could run. And Obama ran in order for us to fly! For us to believe in ourselves and fly!”

There is something in the air for the beautiful black soul to rise from the abyss of history. And rise he must!

* * *

McCain has had more lives than a cat! Having survived the most number of plane crashes, five years in a 5x5 prison in the NAM, threw his gambler’s dice to advance in career and personal life. He again fell on hard times when he faced off with Karl Rove led W campaign machine. Even in 2008, McCain was so broke that he had to disband his campaign office and he kept his candidacy alive literally on wife’s personal bank account. The right from center to the farthest had never given him a kind glance even once.

McCain campaign will most likely be known for its blatant negativity against Obama. Many will remember McCain for his barely concealed condescension towards Obama. Some even compared this as a classic case of modern oedipal drama played out in front of the whole world. Republican hate machine may have bought McCain’s soul. Economy has had him in a tight corner. Age may have added a final punch to the blow that took him out of his comfort zone. But what was quite evident was that McCain looked completely uncomfortable in his attacking avatar. Watching him on SNL had given me that bit of a tunneled vision of what could’ve been!

Whoever wins, this election season had given people a chance to grab a piece of history. I’ve never felt this good about democracy since Prague spring and the end of apartheid.

The Motivator (Flash Fiction)

2008-09-24T10:15:00.000-07:00

The train left Mhow at 9:15 a.m. The 23 kilometres to Indore would take at least an hour if there were no chain-pulling. He had entered the compartment a few seconds before it left. He had had to rush to make it. I wish he had got into another compartment. As the train left Mhow he started talking loudly to nobody in particular. But the common man being the common man one or two passengers in the crowded compartment reacted to his words. That was oxygen to him. And he started blabbering away.

I felt he had read all the self-help books available in the market. And he was translating it into Hindi for the benefit of the passengers. I could see a young man holding his head in his hands and moaning silently as if the barrage of words were like a barrage of artillery shells.

As the train entered Indore station the motivator got up and told his captive audience in chaste Hindi, "You must dare to dream and you must act upon it. What is the use of living if you do not do what your heart wants?" No sooner had he finished the sentence that the young man got up and gave him a tight slap.

Ghosh And Adiga in Man Booker Prize 2008 Shortlist

2008-09-10T09:52:00.000-07:00

It always gives me a thrill to see an Indian name in the Man Booker Prize shortlist. Considering the size of the Commonwealth it shouldn't come as a surprise that an Indian figures in such a shortlist but then this has to do with creativity and there is no guarantee that a work by an Indian will be good enough to be in the shortlist. So I guess I am allowed the previlige of feeling a wee bit of patriotic thrill on such a non-nationalistic issue.

Of the six works in the shortlist this year two are by Indians. These are:

(1) Writer and novelist Amitav Ghosh for Sea of Poppies. (Indian Foreign Service officer Vikas Swarup had written a best selling novel titled Q & A a few years ago. He had mentioned in an interview that he was neither a Bengali nor from St. Stephens. Amitav Ghosh is both. And so is Upamanyu Chatterjee. But considering the large number of IFS officers who had started penning novels a wag had rechristened IFS as Indian Fiction Service!)

(2) Journalist (former India correspondent for TIME) and writer Aravind Adiga for his novel The White Tiger.

See the complete short list at the official website by clicking here.

Blogger Amit Varma of India Uncut fame whose novel Sancho My Friend is in the longlist of the Man Asian Literary Prize in a blogpost titled The Inside Story Of the Booker Prize had quoted James Wood who was a jury member of the Booker Prize in 1994:

"The absurdity of the process was soon apparent: it is almost impossible to persuade someone else of the quality or poverty of a selected novel (a useful lesson in the limits of literary criticism). In practice, judge A blathers on about his favourite novel for five minutes, and then judge B blathers on about her favourite novel for five minutes, and nothing changes: no one switches sides. That is when the horse-trading begins. I remember that one of the judges phoned me and said, in effect: “I know that you especially like novel X, and you know that I especially like novel Y. It would be good if both those books got on to the shortlist, yes? So if you vote for my novel, I’ll vote for yours, OK?....That is how our shortlist was patched together, and it is how our winner was chosen."

Ah well, choosing a winner had always involved some give and take. (Incidentally, the winner in 1994 was How Late It Was, How Late by James Kelman.) Do I hear some of my compatriots shouting Jeetega Bhai Jeetega, India Jeetega! the way they shout before an India Pakistan match?

Added on Sept 12:

According to the bookies Sebastian Barry is the favourite to win. So I can celebrate a 'victory' by either Aravind or Amitav but I will put my money on Sebastian!!! The results will be out on October 10.

If I try to remember South Asians and/or WIOs (Writers of Indian Origin) who have won this prize I remember V.S. Naipaul (Trinidad - UK), Salman Rushdie (UK), Arundhati Roy (India), Michael Ondaatje (Sri Lanka), Kiran Desai (India) and Ruth Prawer Jhabvala - the Polish lady married to an Indian Parsi which qualified her as an Indian and hence a citizen of a Commonwealth nation. Have I missed any?

And in case you wish to learn how to write a Booker winning novel this article from BBC News could be of some use. The article says, "Martyn Goff, who ran the award for 35 years, says the key is literary tourism - taking the reader somewhere they are not familiar with."

Sept 24:
Some more gossip on the Booker. Not to be missed.
And The Booker Goes To... by Nandini Lal (Tehelka Sept 27 2008)

October 22: The winner is Aravind Adiga this year. The results were announced a week ago. Chennai rejoices for he was born there. Bangalore rejoices for he is a Kannadiga. Delhi rejoices for his novel is set there. Indians, whether they read books or not, rejoice because an Indian has won the Booker..... Adiga is the third debut novelist to win this award after DBC Pierre won it in 2003 for his novel Vernon God Little and Arundhati Roy won it in 1997 for The God of Small Things . Adiga has dedicated his novel to the people of Delhi. It is in Delhi that the protagonist of his novel Balram Halwai lives. "My criteria were 'does it knock my socks off?', and this one did," is how Michael Portillo the chairman of the judges described this book. According to Portillo the book's originality lay in its showing the "dark side of India," - could that be an algorithm to winning more Bookers? Adiga, a former TIME correspondent in India, will be in the limelight now and his book may well sell in lakhs if not millions. But what about the others who also made it to the shortlist on the basis of their excellence? They may well fade into oblivion as also-rans. That is the dark side of all literary prizes. Maybe someone can write a Booker winning novel about that.

Jeans - Indian And American

2008-09-07T08:45:00.000-07:00

Travel writer (or travelling writer as he prefers to be called) Paul Theroux says "In Iran, in 1973, if you had blue jeans and a watch, people would follow you down the street, saying 'Please, sir, sell me your watch, sell me your jeans.' In Mashhad, I sold a pair of jeans for $15, quite a lot of money, because they were real American blue jeans and everyone wanted American blue jeans. It was cool. Hippies would go, and bring three or four pairs and sell them in Iran, in Afghanistan." All this, he observes, was "pre China and India making clothes. The price of clothes has gone down in the world. Clothes are cheaper everywhere. No one's naked any more."

I remember that during the mid seventies original second hand Levi and Wrangler jeans (made in U.S.A) sold in Bara Bazaar Shillong for around Rs 350 to Rs. 450. My father's salary as a senior major of the Indian Army was around Rs. 1500 per month. I was sixteen then. To be really hep in the westernised town of Shillong one had to wear American jeans. Indian ones just wouldn't do. "Don't eat food but save money and buy a pair of American jeans," a Naga classmate told me. A Mizo classmate also agreed. Thanks to the cold and damp, England like climate of Shillong one didn't have to wash one's jeans too. At least not for a month. And there was no question of ironing them. Shillong contributes immensely towards lessening global warming.

No self respecting son of an Indian Army officer wore American jeans in those days. We were more British than the British. Terrycotton bellbottoms, Corduroy trousers and Indian denim (neatly ironed) were supposed to be our uniform. No wonder we looked so odd in Shillong. I told Dad about the rates of second hand jeans in Bara Bazaar. I didn't ask him to buy me a pair. He laughed loudly. "Only a fool would buy worn clothes for such exorbitant prices," he said. I completed my Pre University Science in St. Edmunds' College Shillong wearing Indian terrycot and denim. Dad was against corduroy most probably because the British Army Officers whose dress code the Indian Army followed associated it with artists and bohemians in Paris and had frowned on its use by servicemen. Sigh. Maybe thats why that pretty girl in Nongrim Hills rejected me.

The pre-liberalisation (pre-1992 Narasimha Rao-Manmohan Singh years) created its own brand of deprivation and mental poverty. Indians died for anything remotely phoren. I remember reading an article about the auctions of household goods by foreign diplomats living in Chanakyapuri, New Delhi when they were posted out of India. They sold everything. Everything included used undergarments. There were enough affluent Indians willing to cough up good money to buy used undies. Make that used foreign undies.

Nowadays I see retired generals in Mhow wearing denim jeans. But then the denim is made in India. And the shock value is provided not by denim but by the low slung jeans worn by the daughters and young wives of army officers.

p.s. Click here to read the article on Theroux by Tunku Varadarajan in the online edition of The Wall Street Journal.

Chennai: Arrival

2008-09-04T08:49:00.001-07:00

I arrived in Chennai at six in the morning, half an hour before schedule, to the city waking up to the chirps of birds and bawls of the morning vendors. The ochre glow of the dawn had started trickling through the sky. The new CMBT bus stand was a remarkable improvement than my memories of the old Madras Bus stand. It was more spacious and better organised; the sign-boards were all well marked both in Tamil and English. And far importantly, the area was lot cleaner. So Chennai was learning its ways.

The lack of civic sense in Chennai was an unfortunate, and perhaps unintended consequence of the Dravidian movement. The movement started after the Indian Independence and gained further momentum both socially as well as in political circles. But in essence, it was a class struggle - where in the oppressed lower classes as they called themselves revolted against the upper classes of the region. By the midsixties when the power equations changed, populations of lower classes had become averse to the idea of purity (dearer to the upper Brahminical class) and had developed a sense of antagonism towards any social activity that imposed an idea of cleanliness. The upper classes on the other hand became increasingly alienated and withdrew into their own circle of cleanliness.

Between the classes and their struggles, sadly and for no one’s fault, the civic sense of the people went down the famous open drain of Chennai. Naturally, Madras, and to an extent Tamil Nadu in general developed a notorious reputation of lacking in cleanliness, of even being dirty.

It was only in the capitalist nineties, with the power balance somewhat settled, people started making concerted efforts to bring in the awareness of cleanliness in the city. One such successful initiative was Exnora which, as I learnt had become widely popular and well established now.

I could see the results of these innovative endeavours as I travelled to Mylapore in an autorickshaw from the Bus station. The roads were cleaner, without the usual Madras stink, even the civic spaces appeared well maintained by Indian Standards. Chennai was undoubtedly catching up.

I felt hungry and a friend suggested over the phone a particular eating-place suitable for that time of the morning. The rickshaw driver dropped me off at a small hotel of the same name, after repeatedly assuring me that it was indeed the place I sought. As I had suspected it wasn’t.

I found myself in a sort of a junction where two big roads with their flowing traffic intersected. Signboards overhead announced the directions to various localities of the city. There was a small newspaper stall at the corner bustling with people. And behind me was a signboard that announced a wedding- the names of bride and groom designed in jasmines and roses. I was appreciating the work that had gone into the placard when someone asked me if I belonged to the bride or the groom side? For a brief moment I considered crashing into the wedding but later decided against it. I explained to the gentleman that I was only a visitor in my first hour in the city , just checking the flower work. My Tamil , with years of disuse was rusty and sounded very different to what I had thought I wanted to say. But, I guess the man got what I said.

Now I wanted to find out where exactly I was. I noticed a middle-aged man who had gotten down from the car and was making his way to the newspaper stall. He wore a cream T shirt, a white shorts (presumably of early morning round of Badminton) and sported a full bristly Indian moustache which I hadn’t seen for a while. I asked him what place it was? I thought I heard him say Lust Corner which needless to add got me excited. But I had to confirm what I thought I had heard:
Lust corner?
No, No, No, LUZ corner, he replied frantically as he walked on nodding his head in a forceful disapproval as though it was no just against me but against an entire generation who had achieved puberty on MTV.

I thanked him.

So there I was, desperately looking for an auto, in a LUZ corner of the Brits , within a Chennai of Indians.

Hampi: Notes on Departure

2008-08-29T18:35:00.001-07:00

I left Hampi on a Volvo 9400, a symbol of the liberalization that transformed the landscape of South India. Sturdy and elegant, it stood out in an otherwise unremarkable bus station. What Volvo did to Road Transport system of South India is a bit of unsung story. Before Volvo started its operations in 2001, access by land to any place in India less than a metro was, owing to either the condition of the roads or the efficiency of the decrepit road transport system, a pain - in all possible sense of the word. But soon after Volvo was introduced, the world shrunk into a miniature playground. Suddenly, even the farthest tip of Kerala or the hills of Tirupati was just a night away and without any painkillers. Instead you got a refreshing bottle of mineral water.

The Interior of the 9400 was modified, with seats and overhead cabins converted into a series of berths of twos and ones on either side of the aisle. This was new. Though it reduced the number of passengers, the idea, I thought was not all bad. Like in the days of the notorious Leyland Panthers there was no misery to pack oneself in half a box of seatspace with a snoring Bengali seated beside. On a Volvo with new arrangement, one could lie down in a mini enclosure of his own.

I located my mini-bunk at the far end of the bus and snuggled in. It wasn't as comfortable as it looked at first, but it was worth every penny than that of business class British Airways. I experimented with a few possibilities before aligning myself in the most comfortable of positions. I considered taking down some of the dictations made in the day, but the jaunts of the ruins all morning in the scorching sun had left my being totally exhausted. So instead, I lazily switched on the iPod and laid there gazing through the window.

It was an experience watching the world at such an unique elevation from this sort of midprone gaze. The world looked like a space hidden in an oyster handshake between the land and the sky. The smooth moving Volvo made it a slow silent disney animation of a sort.

The road was flanked by a series of trees planted by the department of forest; they ran one after another, equidistant and almost identical with concentric circles painted around their torsos; they looked almost endless and were only interrupted by settlements, shops or small villages . Beyond them, spead all across was vast hinterland - there was no grass, no fields, no weeds, no vegetation - nothing. Except for a faint hint of distant hills the whole region looked glabrous and widowed. The earth was parched and the sky forsaken. Night started falling at its own pace.

Old glories notwithstanding it is surprising to see how the region so desolate, with no real spectacular attraction in a post modern sense, continues to attract so many visitors from all over the world.

As I wondered about such things of the day, the volvo went past a million things beside the road : creaky old cars, a large herd of cattle returning home, huts springing up here and there with dimgrey smoke rising lazily through their narrow chimneys - perhaps a supper being cooked?, vendors on their rickety cycles, a train of trucks parked roadside for a break , women carrying water, a congregation of men sharing a joke with their tea in small tea stall. The montage rolled past like an Eisenstein's cut.

One by one I let all the thoughts they evoked wash over me. I wondered how it was to be one of them, to be so content, so assured when being so very aware that they are so oblivious. It was inexplicable. I must have pondered a while because I did not notice that we had stopped. A crowd had gathered into a mini road block as one of the trucks had run into a tree. The driver had been taken to a nearest hospital. The incident must have been a few hours old and a small crowd around it seemed settled with all their speculations. The driver was suspected to be driving under the influence. After everyone on the bus had satisfied their curiosity, we slowly made our way.

I went back to my window and found the sky changing its character. The distant hills had vanished and the air was filled with anticipation. Suddenly, as though attending a call, clouds of all form and shape started hovering in from all directions. The temperature dropped and light faded in a few minutes.

It was so sudden, it was magical. I watched it with a sense of awe.

The ipod started playing amelie soundtrack. And as if to match the crescendo of Yann Tarsien's notes conveyed through the tiny white tubes to my ears, the sky built up its symphony note by note to its highest pitch, and then gracefully like an opera singer climaxing her note into silence, it all went still for a moment. Just a fraction of a moment later, it opened up pouring the most furious rain I had seen for a while that hastened to meet the dry earth as fast as it could. It was incredible.

The world in one space of a ipod song had transformed from nothing to marvelous. Through the rear window I could see rain splashing the wet road as it trailed off into an eternity. As I gazed at that road, I thought this could have been anywhere: Texas, Kenya, France. But it wasn't. It was a remote corner somewhere in south India. It occurred to me, in a world when ipods are named for the time duration in which they can be rebuilt , here was a place where a great empire was just once, now forgotten, unclaimed in time. But then what is the worth of anything when you think of time in terms of A Brahman who’s breath is a billions of years?

The rain stopped after a good while; through the sealed window, I could almost smell the ozone of the rained earth. It smelt like how it exactly did when I was a six year old - marvelous.

15 August 2008 In Mhow....

2008-08-25T21:20:00.000-07:00

Pandrah Agast Ki Tasveerein.... Images of 15 August

I clicked a few photographs on 15 Aug 2008.
It was an overcast day but the farmers were happy. We have had only 13 inches of rain this year as opposed to 40 inches last year.

Baba Saheb Ambedkar's statue at the town hall was garlanded. He was born in Mhow as his father, a Subedar Major in the Mahar Regiment, was posted in Mhow during the late 19th century. Mhow has been renamed Dr. Ambedkar Nagar a few years ago. Something which hasn't gone down too well with the 'upper castes'. The compulsions of vote bank politics ensured that the state government had no choice...

Flag seller sitting by the side of the road as an Army school bus takes kids back home after attending the I day function at school. Mhow and the Indian Army are synonymous. A Cantonment has existed here since 1818 when the Scotsman John Malcolm led the East India Company troops to a victory over the Holkars who ruled Indore state.

This kid wanted a flag. The flagseller tells me that he is from a village in Depalpur, not far away. He gets good business on 15 Aug and 26 Jan every year so he comes to Mhow along with his family members and sells flags and toys.

The flag seller's mother taking some stock over to her son....

A shy schoolgirl at the middle school of village Gangliya Khedi. The colony where I live with my parents is in this village. The students were given a special treat of puris, aloo subji, laddoos on this day by the school.

The principal and staff pose for a group photograph. It was an overcast day. I have promised copies to each teacher. As the males were fewer in number I told them to sit on the bench. The lady teachers were chivalrous enough to agree...

Back to the bazaar in the evening. This young papaya seller wanted me to click him. "Hamari bhi photo lo na ... " The bazaar was full of people shopping for the festival of Rakhi which was on the 16th.

A flag planted on M.G. Road where the road joining Tin Gali and Hammal Mohalla crosses it.

My blogpost on Republic Day Celebrations at Garrison Ground Mhow

Indian writers dominate the longlist of the Man Asian Literary Prize 2008

2008-08-22T20:00:00.000-07:00

The Man Asian Literary Prize is an annual award for an "Asian novel unpublished in English". The first Prize was awarded to the Chinese writer Jiang Rong for his novel Wolf Totem on 10 November 2007.

I remember one of the novels in the long list in 2007 was an english translation of N S Madhavan's Malayalam work Litanies of Dutch Battery . The translator was our own Rajesh. There were 143 submissions this year and 21 have been chosen for the longlist according to a release dated July 22.

The number of novelists in India seems to be increasing by leaps and bounds. Just take a look at the longlist of the Man Asian Literary Prize 2008. It seems to be dominated by writers from India or those who are of Indian origin. Among the Indian names I see in the longlist are established well known writers as well as those whose names I am reading for the first time. Here they are:

(1)Tulsi Badrinath Melting Love

(2)Hans Billimoria Ugly Tree

(3)Anjum Hasan Neti, Neti

(4)Daisy Hasan The To-Let House

(5) Rupa Krishnan Something Wicked This Way Comes

(6) Kavery Nambisan The Story That Must Not Be Told

(7) Sumana Roy Love In The Chicken's Neck

(8) Vaibhav Saini On The Edge of Pandemonium

(9) Salma Midnight Tales

(10) Sidharth Dhanwant Shanghvi The Lost Flamingoes of Bombay

(11) Sarayu Srivatsa The Last Pretence

(12) Amit Varma My Friend Sancho

And there is also 1931 born Abdullah Hussein whose novel The Afghan Girl has made it to the longlist. His work has been published in India and Pakistan but to add to the fun his nationality is not mentioned. A delightful list indeed. May the best work win.

Click here to get to the website of the Man Asian Literary Prize.

Read more about those in the running in the article titled
A Man Asian For Every Season, every Reason by Namita Gokhale (Tehelka, Aug 5 2008)

Thoughts on Grand Indian Malady

2008-08-20T07:15:00.000-07:00

Earlier this year, there was a season when practically everyone from Mia Farrow in her New York Condo to Soha Ali Khan in her flight attendant suit had an opinion on Beijing Olympics. During this, rather busy period, Sharon Stone, who generally knows how to enjoy her money, in one inexplicable weak moment - as if because of a naughty butterfly flapping its wicked wings in Jamshedpur – instead of flashing her jouly smile and walking away, stopped and opened her mouth before a few waiting journalists to utter what would become history.

This is what escaped from her hapless mouth:

"Of course. You know, it was very interesting because at first I am not happy about the way the Chinese are treating the Tibetans, because I don't think anyone should be unkind to anyone else, and so I have been very concerned about how to think and what to do about that because I don't like that". "Then I have been concerned about, oh, how shall we deal with the Olympics? Because they are not being nice to the Dalai Lama, who is a good friend of mine."And then this earthquake and all this stuff happened and I thought, 'Is that karma, when you're not nice that the bad things happen to you?''

Sharon stone is an actress past her prime. Her position in Hollywood as a sexy seductress has been long since coveted. She has little reputation for her social insights. In fact she is remembered for a different type of insight. In short, she was a woman that the world never took seriously. But yet, as soon as she uttered those words, the response was swift.

Western media went on an over drive, printing her words in block quotes as headlines. People around the world amused themselves at her expense. Parodies abound, the fun was instantaneous. Within twenty four hours YouTube went berserk with angry Chinese who posted their video responses. Chinese government called a press conference and in essence scoffed at her. Dior, her famed sponsor, dropped her from their Asian campaign. She apologised: unasked, unconditionally. No one wanted to dismiss her as a stupid woman. All of this was in May 2008.

Three months later, this weekend, speaking on an Indian television show run on primetime, Shabana Azmi, a nominated Member of Indian Parliament and a respected actress (I am told) , in a pre-prepared, recorded interview accused the Indian polity of being a hypocritical democracy, a shame to secularism. She alleged that India discriminated against her Muslim subjects. All because someone refused her a flat in Mumbai.

Shabana Azmi , curiously was born in Independent India in a region not disputed. Her father, a famous writer and lyricist in Bollywood Mumbai(!) came from Uttar Pradesh which has, as far I know not seen a dispute over sovereignty or allegiance to the Indian republic. Shabana went to St Xavier's College Mumbai, and FTII Pune. Both it could be argued from a point of Indian history as Hindu strongholds. She has won many national awards. Further, one time or the other Shabana has been on various committees and boards of the Indian government, including the censorship board. She has represented India on international forums and Film festivals. Most important of all, in recognition of their talent and contribution, various Indian governments had conferred upon Shabana and her father and her husband (!) one of the highest civilian awards of the nation. This as you can imagine is only a snapshot of her association with India as an Indian over the last 58 years.

This enviable and illustrious history is undone by a nation because someone in some corner of the country has discriminated against her. His prejudice is instantly transferred on to that of the nation. A democracy has all of a sudden become unsecular, fascist! What Shabana Azmi did not see herself as all these years, she has transformed into instantly. A Muslim. Rest is of no significance. Her entire identity and being is reduced to a religious label in a post-modern world. In the history of the Islam in all the lands where it is/was practice/d there has never been a woman or never likely to be, with a greater freedom to achieve what she has, yet, all of that suddenly doesn't matter because someone said no to her. This is as far as a mind primed in Muslim theology can get- back to itself.

She is a Muslim and there can be no explanation beyond this. Therefore, the world, with all its glories and blemishes is to be understood only through Muslim eyes. Outside this, there can be no view, no theory, no world.

This has to be made public; her pain has to be shared with the nation on prime time television. Mind you, the words are not of an uneducated, biased, mechanic in Hyderabad; this is an educated, liberated, experienced, socially conscientious mind speaking to the masses. With no intent of offence but only analysis, this is - to use her own label, a mind of a Muslim. --After years of human civilization there is no process or no procedure to be followed. If someone stares at you, you gorge his eyes out; if someone misbehaves, you stone him to death; if someone steals, you chop his hands off; if someone says no to you, you go on national television to cry foul. Peace be upon him but not on the world which is out to get you. This is exactly what Naipaul had long back called the religion of narcissism, and a German friend here calls more of an affliction than a religion.

But the purpose of the post is not Islam. My interest is in what I call the grand Indian dynamic. Let's consider the response vis a vis Sharon Stone episode.

But there has been no response. There are no regrets expressed, no apologies solicited, and no calls for resignation. The media is oblivious, ignorant. I have keenly followed the issue on technorati and google blogs. Save for one or two negligible expressions of emotional outbursts, there have been no reactions. It is, as if the event never happened. A shallow mind might be quick to point out the comparison of the examples are mismatched; that Sharon stone was insensitive during a tragic time. I have used it only as a popular example. The purpose is to emphasise the value of identity and not of similarity. A couple other latest but less known examples would be of Germany disapproving a book on Kafka and Serbia withdrawing another book . Just yesterday a Top Policeman in UK accused the Metropolitan Police Department of discrimination . Not the entire nation mind you. He did not go and cry his heart out in front of the media. He went to a tribunal. And this is the first news item in UK.

That is elsewhere. And this is India. In India, one can casually a throw an allegation at her most sanctum sanctorum and get away with it . It is okay.

Consider these:

Sania Mirza, an upcoming tennis player is threatened by men of her own religion for reasons singularly religious. In turn she conveys her distress to the nation as a -threat - should such problems persist she shall not represent the country. But no Shabana Azmi wants to come forward to talk about any religion.

Taslima Nasreen, a Bangladeshi writer is attacked by men of her own religion in various cities in India. The government of India is held responsible for her safety and security. No Shabana Azmi comes forward to talk about any religion.

City after Indian city has been targeted by bomb attacks for reasons inexplicable except that of zealous religious fundamentalism. All the newspapers, all the television channels, all the blogs express anger, disbelief and concerns of lack of security etc, but no one and certainly no Shabana Azmi comes forward to talk about any religion. It is never the religion; it is always the goon, the illiterate, the fundamentalist, the terrorist. As if they all are exotic entities with independent existence that dropped by from a distant planet.

But a Shabana Azmi would choose to talk of religion because she did not get a flat in Mumbai.
And therefore, naturally, India is undemocratic and intolerant. A Nation is held accountable for a tennis player, a writer for matters of concern of one religion. In other words a nation is held ransom by a religion. In India this is all right. It is borne in silence. This is the Indian notion of secularism, the Indian Idea of democracy.

These are only examples and religion is just handy tool to study; Indian mind is far more complicated and layered to be assessed by a single tool. Indian life to be honest is difficult to read. It is an effort. This is essentially because even a casual question on India ricochets from one end to another- a religious enquiry, before you can realise, would have turned political or a contemporary question would have in no time lead you to antiquity hidden in layers of mindless tradition. It is because of this reason however modern an Indian seems or sounds, his is a mind burdened by the weight of his own history. It is deep buried within him and yet so distant and inaccessible. Caught in between so many things, his modern mind takes refuge in Russian literature or Pink Floyd. What can be seen now and here on the surface is what India has internalised for centuries. A habit has been turned into an addiction to tradition to culture to identity to malady. Many Indians call it greatness.

This greatness is an idea. But India is a land of free floating ideas. You can find one anywhere.

Beliefs erase and erode over time, but it is a gradual process. And these are replaced by another set of beliefs of no consequence. It is an abstraction passed on through centuries without any active enquiry. It can be seen in all spheres of life; and all through: from politics, sports, entertainment, literature et al. This is what binds Indians – recycling their own absurdities from time to time.

Consider the other religion Hinduism which is replete with every possible abstraction a human mind is capable of. The last one of such abstractions came after the industrial revolution. It is a story of Bengali Man called Narendra. He is now referred as a divine soul Swami Vivekanda. You can notice the fading photograph of his handsome face in small town sweetshops. There are schools, public parks and organisations dedicated to his name. Yet, after a long and tiring day, all a Hindu can remember about this divine sage – is that he swam a few miles of an ocean and he represented India in a conference in Chicago in 1891, where, he was applauded and sent home. (That was just America bemused by a funnily dressed Indian speaking English in late 19th century). For a few years Hindus obsessed after him, worshipped him, after which his divinity was forgotten. This story is just around 100 years old, the more farther you go the more fantastic they become.

On the other side of the spectrum are the so called modern Liberal Indians without any apparatus to evaluate their history or identity making every effort to assimilate someone else’s history and covet others identity as their own.

Here is a question to a contestant in a beauty pageant in Mumbai

Have you heard of marital rape?
Err uhhm (bit confused)

How shall you respond if you are subjected to marital rape?

I will scream. ( after few secs of thinking)

I would say the girl had loads of commonsense, and her answer was apt. But they will not let her proceed onto the next round, because she is wrong! She is not intelligent enough.The term has been chosen from a glossary of a liberal western text or a women magazine in an airport, it has no plank to hang it by, no meaning in India. It is expected to elicit a textbook answer, which, if not received shall mean the failure of the candidate. This is how India appraises its candidates in all the competitions including academics and examinations. A set of questions and answers. Rights and wrongs.

Men and women who have come out of such a system find the life outside in a big world with its immoral rights and flexible wrongs without any ready answers extremely uncomfortable. Some even disconcerting. For some others it is a shock. Some run back into the familiarity of old ideas. Some start looking out for answers, and once convinced of having found the correct answer, they start imagining the questions.

Regard this:

A few women meet for a coffee in a local Barista. They agree how distressing it is to change their names after marriage. They all don’t like it. Since it involves women like themselves they unanimously decide it is feminism. They will apply all the answers- all the rights and all the wrongs they had learnt and reaffirm that it is indeed feminism. Just like those Hindus who believed that Vivekananda was divine, they have neither the means to evaluate their conclusions nor have inclination to find its relevance to the population of the nation. Like Shabana Azmi, they simply project their thoughts onto a nation as that of a nation. Their idea of its relavance or its connotations in the world is nil. A misunderstanding is invented and turned into imagined activism. It is another caste system. Now they will have to find a population for their grievance, so they endlessly write about this, as liberal, as lofty. With no tool to assess the impact or change, they go nowhere. For Mother India this is not at all new so it endures them and lets them be. A few years later, when capitalism has uplifted a few more Indian women, having done nothing on their own, they would move onto a different notion sitting in another cafe.

+++

A communist party of India believes nuclear treaty with America is harmful for the nation. But it refuses to explain to the very nation why or how the treaty is potentially harmful. It doesn't wish to engage in a debate, and declines any suggestion of a discussion. A belief that it held without evidence is transformed into an opinion and a political stance.

With such a stance politicians meet around their New Delhi residences and party offices. Shots of cream and ivory coloured ambassador cars are shown to get in and out of residences in the leafy suburbs of Delhi. For the average Indian voter this is all surreal, as if watching a bollywood movie after which he will walk back into his real life. Nevertheless, they all watch, not because of their interest in politics but because of their stake in the markets. A day later, the communist party of India withdraws support and the government is called in for a No Confidence Motion. It is that easy. Now a different dynamic commences, if the motion is carried the government survives, else the nation is subjected to another general election worth billions of rupees. Even if there was a new election little changes, players are altered here and there, roles are shifted. And the whole cycle repeats. This in India is politics – like feminism above - a system of unverifiable personal beliefs.

+++

In Mangalore I watched a Indian blockbuster they called Chak De. Apparently it was a huge hit and had revived a nation’s idea of pride and patriotism. It was lauded by all Indians of all class and customs- from Bay Area to Southall to Chandni Chowk as a very sensible and intelligent portrayal of Indianess. Chak De was even adopted as the slogan of the sporting teams representing the nation.

And the story of this great movie is this: An Indian hockey captain, a Muslim, is accused of treason by the nation for shaking hands with an opponent after having missed a crucial penalty stroke. The entire country of one billion falls into the trap of its own misunderstanding. It comes natural. Painful shots of being called a traitor are emphasised in rapidly edited montage of national newspaper headlines alternated with slow moving shots of the crestfallen, betrayed actor with a screaming Sufi music playing in the background. He vanishes. Eight years later he resurfaces all of a sudden and trains a motley team of girls into an unlikely junior championship victory. He becomes an instant hero. He is redeemed. All is forgiven and forgotten. After eight long years, suddenly everyone agrees that he is or was not a traitor. Thus the story ends.

If you look at it, it is not all that a new story to India. With minor alterations it could be a - a story of Rama or Pandavas or Mohammed who all vanish into oblivion, accused or cheated of this or that and after many years return to glory. It has been rehashed and remade for the new, intelligent, liberated generation which welcomes it as progressive. There is no sense of period or perspective. The story happened. It could have been 1911 or 2007. In India such absurd stories are passed on for intelligent cinema.

+++

Like anywhere in the world, any question of intelligence is inevitably related to that of identity. But Indian identity, from bits of what we have seen is a simile of its own, for its insurmountable complexity and intrigue. It is fluid and elusive. It is in its belongingness and its absurdity. The state government of Kerala, a southern state in India half of whose population can easily find a Sharjah in the Middle East than a Chandigarh in northern India wanted to recognise the achievement of Abhinav Bindra, a chap from Chandigarh who had won a gold medal for the country in the recently concluded Olympics. So The State of Kerala decided to confer its own gold medal on an Olympic gold medal winner. This is the Indian idea of belongingness.

+++

Indian idea of intelligence is perhaps most special in that it is compounded by its own ignorance. Of the world and itself. To Indians Intelligence is not a faculty of judgement but of information. The more one knows, the more intelligent he is. Thousands of university students in Bangalore and Delhi pursue Quizzing. It is a game of collecting information and remembering it. But there is no interest in anything that involves judgement. Some even speak of it is as a career. An Indian can tell you a remote trivia about American History but he doesn’t have an opinion on say, Kashmir. It takes many a years into his third decade in his life to realise that Trivial Pursuit is game of 16-18 year olds.

Such notion of intelligence is best seen on Indian blogosphere, where the most intelligent of the nation, apparently hang about. It is here, you can dissect out their idea of intelligence and their confusion about their identity. This confusion is a direct result of the synthesis of the past and the future floating and ricocheting in the Indian present .

For an Indian a generation back, he was nothing more than what he did or where he came from?

What do you do?

Or where are you from?

These were the second and third Indian questions in a new introduction. The rest of the talk revolved around this and called itself a conversation. These days the Indian identity has moved on from the concept of vocation to a label:

We are feminists. An young Indian will declare blindly. Consider my new feminist friend Anindita : She writes here as delicately, as elegantly any rubbish can ever be written. The muddled thoughts flow from one big word to another - art, civilization, activism, feminism et al to eventually arrive at this conclusion - Women should be encouraged to write. Else the civilization is not complete.

The article cant bear itself out. There is no commitment to any meaning. It could be a subhashitaa (well intent couplet) from 4000 BC. An intense personal wish, with no endemic idea, no identified collective need , with no independent validity, no feedback loop is disseminated as activism of the nation, for the nation. In modern parlance it is similar to a bollywood song. It has no past, no future. It happens and any sense , if at all, has to be found only within it. Outisde of it , there is no sense. In India, this is the understanding of civilization and feminism : A personal idea constructed around a publishing house.

Indian web is full of such muddled up mediocre minds. An Indian in Calcutta will befriend an Indian in Pennsylvania over their blogs, because they believe they are feminists. A mutual interest in a movement and its understanding from two different contexts of the globe is the basis of their friendship. It is theoretical. They reaffirm their beliefs by linking to each other and exchanging links of feminist articles which are written in another context in another part of the world. Their idea of identity is in their concordance - a sense of sharing of a word and its agreed meaning. Without this word, they are strangers.

After such personal agitations and imagined activisms comes favourites.

We all are our favourite authors or our favourite movies.

An Indian blogger in Delhi will exchange thoughts with an Indian blogger in Hyderabad on the French poet Rimbaud. And without any perspective or judgement on his life they talk about Rimbaud as if he was a local Kalidas about whom they have no clue. They both insist on impeccable English grammar without which they can’t comprehend each other if speaking their respective tongues. Two days later both of them shall be seen talking about the Turkish poet Cavafy. Next week it is someone fresh say, Darwish. What Indians of the past did to gods for centuries, Indians of now are doing it to poets and writers. It comes natural.

Their identities lie in their relentless assimilation of the exotic and irrelevant interests which has no meaning to their lives. It is a self imposed struggle against oneself. If someone challenges them, they will respond by distilling their beings and projecting it as an abstraction - poetry is universal which is the new version of God is in everyone. Others typically engage in why and why not arguments? Some others respond by getting into details- rhyme, meter etc. After all these charade they will return to eat their Dhal Chawal Aloo Sabjis. To them these are not interests or pursuits of men, these are the men themselves. To them like their ancestors before, it is hard to distinguish a myth from a reality, an interest from an identity.

This, imagined, self-imposed strife, is the modern Indian idea of intelligence.

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The concept of Literature is more interesting. There is no shared lineage or history of national literature. In fact the very idea of those are at a distant safety. I personally believe it is absurd for a nation as big and as diverse as India to think of National Literature. There was some promise of vernacular literature, which never took off in the 20th century. Mostly because it was perpetually cursed by the Indian way of looking which was always religious and mythical, until 20th century when it turned mostly political and reformatory - to address social stigmas and such issues. It was focussed and limited. Barring a few works from Kerala, it could not transcend to reach out for anything. Except for ancient sanskrit dramas and the stories, there is nothing autonomous and worth enriching to be found there. The novel in India is less than hundred years old. There has been an odd voice here and there. There is no experimentation or innovation. For the mind primed in religious tomes, it tries to get back to them through the novel; stories about large families, grandeur, weddings, and other rubblish when India was importing wheat from USA. So all that remains of an never existent Indian novel now is, what was left in india all these centuries: a formula, fakery and lies. Earlier it was written by brahmins, now by journalists in Delhi and Mumbai. Naturally therefore, all that literature implies for an modern young Indian is a potpourri of exotic favourites. The one who has read the most distant and the most obscure is the most respected. It is a rule to be followed and not a judgement.

Committees are formed to discuss writing. A communion gathers on a Sunday evening on a terrace in Delhi or a living room in Hyderabad. They read out for each other - sonnets imagined in cubicles, villanelles written for the sake of writing villanelles, short stories without any perspective or relevance. Someone might correct a transitive verb or a wrong tense. As politely and as vaguely as they are naturally given to. They commend and critique each other. Samosas and pakoras are passed around. They discuss - form, characterization structure etc of a Murakami writing about 60s Japan or a Winterson writing about lesbianism in Manchester.
In the next meeting they will consider the works of a Jhumpa Lahiri living in LA or a Kiran Desai hiding in a Himalayan cottage who has written about them - their lives, how all of them think, feel and behave. They would admire a character, the prose, the craft. Some might not. It doesn't matter.

End of it all they go home feeling intelligent and sublime. This is the ritual. This is the Indian idea of reading books, of literature. Just like a few hundred years ago when Indians used to gather in a temple and read together Hanuman Chaleesa which had no meaning to their lives but the communion gave them strength and consolation to forget their own insignificance in the world. It is another rehash.

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For a nation that has internalised the myth of a cycle, understandably it is difficult to distinguish what is past and what is future, more so when you cant see yourself which way you are looking. This is the fundamental tragedy of India. Sixty years after existence, better of her citizens - from Shabana Azmi to Sania Mirza to Anindita Sengupta haven’t been able to grasp the concept of the state.

There are comical understandings of words like marginalised, civilization and literature. The idea of growth both in its consciousness and activity is zilch. Amidst all the celebrated vibrancy and diversity there is this underrunning monotony. India’s new found status is only that of one facet - economic. A market of one billion must account for something in a post-modern world. Apart from economic, rest is drowned in a huge static muddled pool. As a friend who had visited India recently for the first time observed - there is no independent thought. Contrary to what you might be told, this is no renaissance Italy or Industrial Britain.

Simply because :Nothing is learnt, therefore nothing is applied.

My interest to investigate India arises from my need to understand my own position and history in the world. It is understandable to be dismissive or indifferent. It is easy to get lost in the marvels of the post modern world. But such a life , however grand it may be, I know shall eventually amount to nothing. I know I am an Indian and there is little sense in disowning that. But I had to know so much of myself that is not Indian, despite being an Indian. This is my motivation, because somewhere in there must lie my own identity. In this aspect, the last twelve years have been fruitful . This quest has found me many answers to questions I have long pondered over. I have been able to explain aspects inexplicable a few years back. I do realise that, in a sense it is brutal to be so honest , so antagonistic , so negative but I need the perspective to evaluate without bias - the world and myself. To see it and see it right. Nothing for me as a human is more important.

Getting back to Shabana Azmi : I hadnt seen much of her, but having seen her two interviews I dont have much to say of her. As a 20 year old brit so eloquently described her on youtube: she is a great lol. As per her comments, at the worst, a couple of months later, if she manages to rattle a few , a group of totally aimless Hindu youth would pelt a few stones at her portico window and the country would be in uproar. Young reporters would start another wave of screaming and howling into the microphone. Indian bloggers from all over the world would exchange thoughts on the meaning of tolerance and secularism in India. Page 3 celebrities - models, one time novelists, university professors rooted in 60s with no idea of Indian history or perspective would discuss in an air conditioned studio in New Delhi on a Sunday evening, screaming over each other.

Give the country a week more and everything shall be forgotten. Business resumes as usual. Bloggers move on to booker lists and movie reviews. And soon the entire country would start looking forward for the Australian cricket team to land.

Further update on Mrs Azmi: Here is a latest forward. A sort of reluctant defensive Indian version of an explanative apology from Mrs Azmi. Hiding behind the self proclaiemd label of moderate muslim, she conflates it all typically like an Indian, bringing past history and other issues like Dalits to Female infanticide. Such a shame she calls herself a social activist who fights against discrimination. So who wants to be in the choir?

Women post menopause...

2008-08-18T08:49:00.000-07:00

Previous Chart topper:

"Of course. You know, it was very interesting because at first I am not happy about the way the Chinese are treating the Tibetans, because I don't think anyone should be unkind to anyone else, and so I have been very concerned about how to think and what to do about that because I don't like that". "Then I have been concerned about, oh, how shall we deal with the Olympics? Because they are not being nice to the Dalai Lama, who is a good friend of mine.
"And then this earthquake and all this stuff happened and I thought, 'Is that karma, when you're not nice that the bad things happen to you?'"

~Sharon Stone , making a fool out of herself in response to China Earthquake .

Current Chart Topper:

"I wanted to buy a flat in Bombay and it wasn't given to me because I was a Muslim and I read the same about Saif (Ali Khan). Now, I mean, if Javed Akhtar and Shabana Azmi cannot get a flat in Bombay because they are Muslims, then what are we talking about?"

~ Shabana Azmi trying to explain how hard it is to live with paranoid delusions on an Indian National television.

On the Indian Gold Rush

2008-08-17T14:39:00.000-07:00

Andrea: "Unhappy is the land that has no heroes"

Galileo : "No, Unhappy the land that needs heroes."

~From Life of Galileo, Bertolt Brecht. (Never has been a quote more apt )

I must admit it was a bit puzzling to watch the youtube clip of Abhinav Bindra receiving his gold medal at Beijing. Probably because - the moment was so unique. I had never, and , as it turns out no one had ever seen an Indian on the top podium at the Olympics since it was introduced in 1896.

For someone else seeing from outside, a nation as vast and as populous as India not having managed to hit a gold in an Olympics event after all these years even by accident might occur as a bit strange. But for us, it would be anything but natural. So my first reaction, as often as in such cases, was that of cynicism- it must be pure chance. But his demeanor, made me curious about him.

Thanks to Indian Media which was preoccupied with Scarlett, Aarushi et al, I had never heard about Abhinav before. A cursory study of his profile online easily ruled out any suggestion of luck. His success was, so it seems now, a thing waiting to happen sooner or later. And the lad has willed it with tremendous fortitude. Though people would argue that funding himself to practice in Europe with a coach of his own as a bit of luxury by Indian standards, nevertheless, it still reflects considerable self-belief that an Indian only gets to see in a Bollywood movie.

Abhinav Bindra - How dare you having a laugh at Indian media?

But above all , Abhinav's Gold, in its most charming implication is the proof for the utter joke that is the Indian media, which is made of thousands of thoughtdistorted-menopausal writers/editors (Tehelka running a cover story that Tibetans are hyper articulate) along with dozens of 20 something reporters screaming into the microphone while counting days to drown their stress in a gulp of Bloody Mary at a Goan Beach resort. It is then of no surprise that none of sports editorial/reporting team of any newspaper or TV channel had an iota of a hint (forget confidence in their own judgement) that Bindra was likely to end up in the top three if not the top.

It is only natural that they make up for it now. Suddenly with their new-found judgement sports editors who couldn't predict this a few months back would wax a ghazal; what the gold means to the long term future of Indian sports! Just like how they deified Ishaant Sharma into a Glen McGrath when all he did was to bowl one extraordinary spell in a cricket match a few months back. Where is the poor fellow now? Add to that flowery eulogies and Didnt-I-tell-you congratulations from every Ram, Sham, Ghansam : from popular Parker Pen Salesmen like Amitabh Bacchan to I dont know - Ram Vilas Paswan?

But Media is just a part of a nation. It is unfair to hold any Media anywhere solely responsible for something so inherent in its water supply. India is but, a land of deities. For a population of a billion and growing, even thirty million odd gods would never be enough. For in India, God is not a person, a force, or a consciousness; he is only an act – like killing an evil demon or rescuing the helpless lady or winning an award or hitting a match winning century. He is only -- an avatar-- to be celebrated, to be revered and to be consigned to the realm of supernatural, before, as if all of it didn't really matter, moving onto the next available one.

As a weed smoking Sadhu in the Himalayas once famously wrote in an Upanishad – Rock on!

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A list reproduced ( not in the naughty sense) from Wikipedia about the awards Bindra has been showered with after his Beijing Gold.

Rs. 1 crore cash prize by State Government of Punjab.[17]
Rs. 2 lakh cash prize by Shiromani Gurdwara Prabandhak Committee[citation needed]
Rs. 25 lakh cash prize by the Board of Control for Cricket in India [18]
Rs. 15 lakh cash prize by Steel Ministry of India[19]
A free lifetime railway pass by the Railway Ministry of India[20]
Rs. 10 lakh cash prize by Chief Minister of Maharashtra state[21]
Rs. 5 lakh cash prize by State Government of Orissa[citation needed]
Rs. 1.5 Crore by L N Mittal, Arcelor Mittal
Rs. 10 lakh cash prize by the State Government of Karnataka [22]
Rs. 11 lakh cash prize by the State Government of Bihar. The Patna Indoor Stadium will be renamed after Abhinav Bindra.[17]
Rs. 1 lakh cash prize by the State Government of Chhattisgarh [17]
Rs. 25 lakh cash prize by the State Government of Haryana.[17]
Rs. 5 lakh cash prize by M. Karunanidhi, the chief minister of Tamil Nadu [23]
A Gold medal by the State Government of Kerala.[24]

This list as we all know is never going to be complete. Not even if Maharashtra Electricity Board awards Free electricity for the rest of his Life, Not even if the State of Bengal announces him 2500 acres of land, Not even if Russia makes him a AB-47....

Interestingly, amidst all hosannas, Wiki also notes that the Bindra business has a turn over of Rs 300 Crores INR.

Having gone through the above list, I thought it was only natural, and without any intention to dampen the thunder of the boy that I share the following; Here is a superficial list of compensation for casualities of the major Bomb Blasts In India over last year:

1. Bangalore Blasts July 25 2008: 1 Lakh, Govt of Karnataka, 1 Lakh , Govt of India

2. Ahmedabad Blasts 26 July 2008 : 5 Lakhs Govt of Gujurat, 3.5 Lakhs, Govt of India

3. Jaipur Blasts 13 May 2008: ? Govt of Rajasthan , 1 Lakh Govt of India

4. Hyderabad Twin Blasts 25 August 2007: 5 Lakhs Govt of Andhra Pradesh, ? Govt of India

5. Hyderabad Mosque Blast 18 May 2007 : 6 Lakhs, + a Govt job to the nearest relative Govt of Andhra Pradesh, ? Govt of India.

Surely when a nation yearns for a hero more than the lives for whom he is a hero, it must be Oh, Herr Brecht, truly unhappy.

On Travelling Brit and Culture Shock at Home...

2008-08-13T14:33:00.000-07:00

The recently published Lastminute survey has just confirmed that Brits are the rudest of all the travellers. I certainly tend to agree with that, but , I must say it is only applicable to the younger generation Brits who are brought up on the irresponsibility of party-drink-drug-benefits culture. In my experience most of the middle aged Brits have been charming conversationists and unbelievably passionate enthusiasts in exploring the the foreign cultures and scapes.

It is not a new fact that a Brit on a holiday abroad is totally different from a thank-you- yes- please Brit at home. Though one does acknowledge accomplished and passionate travelers like Chatwin or Woods, a typical image that a traveling Brit evokes in many a minds is that of a dead drunken idiot violently pushing it all up by the streetside, followed being carried by his mates back to the hotel. And if you have been to stag-spots in Europe like Amsterdam or Dublin, you would surely know to avoid the disgusting Brit crowd with their appalling definition of revelry.

Incidentally, around the same time of the lastminute survey, Radio 4 has aired this episode of You and Yours programme about the same problem. (Click on Tuesday Programme) I am not sure if it was prompted by the former, but it is surely an interesting listen.

Often in the segments of the programme it is highlighted how the Brits, though not exclusively, take the local culture and customs for granted. They either dismiss or ignore the local sensibilities expecting the natives to somehow understand and approve of their lifestyles. Easy examples are asking for Pork dishes in a Muslim restaurant or hovering in a bikini near a local settlement.

In India, while I certainly would not spare a moment's feeling to commercial tourist destinations - say, Goa, and Kerala , it makes me livid to see 'unadulterated' places being slowly poisoned. Havelock Island of the Andaman Archipelago, my favourite place in India, is being slowly subjected to same insult over the recent few years.

Greta Garbo amongst all asian beaches

Beach 17 or Radhanagar Beach on Havelock Island, India

If you talk to the natives there, they will explain their plight. Here is an extract from Lonely Planet India -

Well my family cant go to the beach and I can't go out fishing sometimes, when my boat's on-shore and men and women are sunbathing naked on the sand beside it. We don't take our clothes off in front of the strangers. They never see us like that, so why do they think it's okay and that we don't mind?

Anjuna Beach, Goa

The amazing bit of all is how these disapproving voices are lost . While one half of the country is fascinated by the fair skin, the other half is busy writing blogs how it is so wrong and immoral to be fascinated by fair skin even if it is bare and roaming in your backyard. The latter as I gather is called 'Feminism' in India.

PS- Photo Credit : Anjuna Beach, Ganuullu @flickr

Notes from India: Hampi

2008-08-04T10:20:00.000-07:00

Ugra Narasimha:

I stepped out of the Virupaksha temple from beneath the long shadow of its colossal tower onto the main street. It was lined on its either sides by an arcade of shops. And immediately I was thronged by a dozen guides, who must have, all this time patiently waiting in the shadows of the side-shops while I was clicking the snaps of the main tower trying out different combination of filters.

The main Tower of Virupaksha Temple, Hampi.

They were of all ages - from a boy of sixteen to a man of about sixty, falling on one another in a semi-stampede, eager to tout themselves before the other. It was like being in an Indian rock concert. I couldn't make out a word, though I was sure it was English - a type of hip-hop Indian English where all the words ran as a song-train without any spaces in between. The sentences were typically, incomplete.

I replied loudly in Kannada, which seemed to settle all the confusion. A mild wave of disappointment passed over the faces of a few, who one by one, dropped out of the crowd. I haggled with the accoster who stood closest to me - He was a small built man with a balding head which, along with his deep eyes made him look wiser. He wore a faded striped shirt and a beige trouser. He looked weak but he kept endlessly enlisting in a rapid spray of words the names of all the local attractions -- presumably to mean that he covered them all. And finally, to keep up his advantage over others he started flashing an old, half torn, and what imaginably was once an ID badge, while shouting into my face - 'apprrroved gaid',' apprrroveddd gaidd'.

A sepia burnt photograph on the badge showed a more cheerful younger face, the head was as bald as now. I don't remember the name but the year was a distinct scribble of a cheap pen- 1983. He confirmed this, in a rather proud tone, that he had experience over twenty years.

We settled for Rs. 200.

He led me, over the steep Hemakuta Hill through the pediment where the Jain temples and other mandapams looked abandoned, burning helplessly under the pitiless summer sun. Through our climb, he often spoke in bursts of paragraphs which were monotonous and incredibly quick for me to follow. And whenever he spoke, as if he couldn't help, he was throwing the name of Abdul Razzaq almost after every other line. Abdul Razzaq said this, Abdul Razzaq wrote that etc. I suppose he wanted to be heard as quoting Abdul Razzaq. But in his enthusiasm, he sounded as if he had appropriated Abdul Razzaq. Obviously he was trying to impress.
I gauged him cautiously; a cursory probing into some of the details perplexed him, which he shrouded in another incoherent ramble. For all the twenty odd years of being a guide here, he gave me an impression that he did not know any other traveler to Vijayanagar other than Abdul Razzaq. It seemed he hadn't heard of Nuniz. And when I mentioned his name, he nodded rather disinterestedly. But Abdul Razzaq was his favourite. May be just because the name was easy for him to repeat.

His, like thousand others Indians of his generation was an unexamined life. A life, that had to perhaps struggle so much for a living during a miserable time of the nation that all his vast experience had been given no chance to be accounted for , either by opinion or judgment. All he had learnt was to smile often.

I just followed him.

By the time we coursed our way through the gigantic boulders that hung precariously, and climbed onto the Huge Ganesh temple, I had realized that I could not expect to learn much from him about Vijayanagar than what I had already known. In a sense, I suppose he realized this too. But he was polite and well mannered. That was more than enough for me. So, I asked him to just show me around and help me with the directions. To my surprise he understood.

Down the hill we walked on the road that cut through vast hillocks of dust beaten rocks. And rocks. And more rocks. Never in my life, had I seen so many rocks in one place. It was, so unique. Rocks- they glistened in grim quietitude under the sun. Often, they were interrupted by scattered ruins: a half fallen dome, a suggestion of a rampart, a possible wall, a colonnade hiding in an ongoing excavation, a few disabled pillars, a temple long desecrated - from whose interior I heard the unmistakable Mancunian accent. Silently, we walked in the middle of a million structures. Among all of them, as if it was only natural there existed not a single thing which had a sense of completeness.

Not a soul was visible in any direction; an odd cow that had wandered into the road from her herd or a lazy stray dog that made a brief appearance once in a while was all we saw. Otherwise we were as old and as forgotten as the history that surrounded us. It was midday and sun slowly sucked the life drop by drop.

But we walked on, a bit slowly now. As the boulders became smaller in size, the hill tapered down and eventually opened out as a vast land looking endlessly lush with shades of green fields and trees. And through all this the road carried on further, gently curving to the left. Into more history.

We turned right onto a small dusty bridle path and found ourselves suddenly surrounded by fruit orchards and banana plantations. Overlooking them few tall coconut trees shot out into the heaven. Few women, with their heads wrapped in cotton towels, were tending to the crops while a couple of goats cheerfully gamboled about in the corner. The air became pleasantly cooler and the earth smelt fresh; just as I had suspected a narrow canal ran beside carrying olive grey water that moved in silence. The land was being irrigated. We kept on walking.

By the time I asked the guide where we were headed, it was easy enough for him to just raise his arm with his finger pointing at an angle to announce in a quick breath, as if the word was made of just one syllable - Narasimha.

And before me, in this unseemly silent banana plantation with its cool air smelling of old cheddar, had suddenly appeared a gigantic idol of Ugra-Narasimha, the fourth Avatar of Lord Vishnu!

The image was a huge monolith of a chimera - Half man and Half lion, carved in gray washed beige stone squatted and staring over your head into a distance with a pair of ferocious eyes imaginable, mouth wide open in a mid roar. A multi-headed serpent roofed lazily. It was striking. I had seen the pictures of Narasimha before, but seeing in real was breath taking. Though all of hundreds of years old, except for a broken arm, and as I learnt later a small Lakshmi along the arm, the idol looked mighty and majestic.

Ugra Narasimha, at Hampi, India.

I was immediately reminded of Lion of Lucerne (Löwendenkmal) which I had visited the summer before. It was a mesmerizing monument in The city of Lucerne designed by Bertel Thorvaldsen, dedicated to the six hundred Swiss guards, who lost their lives guarding the Tuilleries and Versailles palaces and their royal inhabitants in Paris during the French revolution.

The story goes something like this: After Bastille was successfully stormed the mob headed to Versailles Palace where the King and the Queen were believed to be resident. The Palace was guarded by a thousand Swiss Guards hired by the King who did not trust his own army.

By the time the blood thirsty mob reached Versailles, the royal family had already received news of the fall of Bastille and had escaped via a secret tunnel. But the hapless Swiss Guards still under the impression of protecting the Royal family fought on a long brave battle, until finally around six hundred of them lay killed. Versailles was eventually taken and their lives went unaccounted- to no man, nation, wealth or idea. It lacked sense. It is such an irony to think of it now that the most neutral country in the world had lost six hundred of its very own men in perhaps the most mindless battle of all time. And to these six hundred brave men who laid their lives in Versailles on August 10th 1792 was dedicated the Lowendenkmal.

A huge lion carved in a niche before a pond is stabbed in the back and lies dying in dolour and deep anguish of betrayal amongst the broken sovereigns and symbols of the French royalty. The Latin reads as dedicated to the loyalty and courage of Swiss.

The Lion of Lucerne, Lowendenkmal, Lucerne Switzerland.

Back to Hampi: The story of Ugranarasimha, another lion in a sense, is more enthralling. Narasimha was the fourth incarnation of the ten avatars of Lord Vishnu who chose this unique avatar to kill the evil Hiranyakashipu. Hiranyakashipu was one of the powerful demons (asuras) wanting to avenge his brother who had also been killed by Vishnu. He had subjected himself to great penance and had gained enviable powers and favours of many gods. But his son Prahlada was a devout follower of Vishnu. This naturally upset him, and he started harassing his son. But Prahlada was firm in his devotion. He refused to accept that his father was greater than Lord Vishnu.

In one such argument, when Prahlada had claimed that Vishnu was omnipresent, Hiranykashipu had scoffed at the idea and challenged Vishnu to present himself before him if he really was present in one of the random pillars of the Palace. It is said that Vishnu, all furious at the mockery emerged from the very pillar in the great Ugra-Narasimha Avatar. Ugra means furious. And after a long battle killed Hiranyakashipu at the doorway of the palace by disemboweling him with his bare hands.

But the interesting bit is the mode of killing- which abided to all the boons Hiranyakashipu possessed - he was killed by a chimera- not entirely human, neither god, demigod nor animal. He was killed in the hour of twilight between day and night when neither sun nor the moon could be seen, and on a threshold using claws which is neither human nor inanimate. He died on the lap of Narasimha between earth and heaven.

Mark Twain it is quoted had remarked that Lion of the Lucerne was the most moving piece of stone he had ever seen. I know Twain passed through Northern India but not sure if he visited Hampi. I wondered what he would have thought if he had seen the Ugranarasimha?

Somewhere between my thoughts the guide mentioned something about vandalism and the gated enclosure protecting the idol, but I did not register much. I stood in silence unable to take my eyes off this magnificent piece of stone that had been vested with form and myth for eternity such that in spite of all the desecration, and all the negligence that extended for centuries, the idol continued to - mutely, gracefully exude great power. You see, the stone in Lucerne had become a lion, but this stone here at Hampi had become Lion and a Liongod. In world we live, there isn’t anything more, any stone can ever become.

Hindus, it is said abandon their idols if it is desecrated. They hold that, once violated the sanctity of the idols cannot be restored. So the great Liongod wasn’t being worshipped or offered prayers. I do not know if this could be called praying but I stood there before this forsaken Lord in silence, in awe, in unbelievable sense of calm with my hands clasping each other and head bowed. I do not know what it was; it just seemed like the natural thing to do.

We stepped back onto the road; the sky hovered like a huge ivory gossamer with patterns of cirrus clouds being weaved at a distant height. We sat under the shade of a nearby Jacaranda tree and ordered coconut water from the vendor beside, who as we drank, argued for about ten minutes with another customer over the quality of his coconuts.

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Ammannur Madhava Chakyar (1917 - 2008)

2008-07-27T11:49:00.000-07:00

Ammannur Madhava Chakyar the 91 year old Kudiyattom dancer is no more. He died on July 1 at his house Ammannur Chakyar Madom, at Irinjalakuda near Thrissur. He was 91. Had it not been for him Kudiyattom would have gradually died a tragic death in select Kerala temples. He brought it out and the world saw this graceful Sanskrit dance form which is a predecessor of Kathakali. He had a string of awards to his name, these included Padma Bhushan, Kalidasa Samman, Kerala Sangeeta Nataka Akademi Award and Kendra Sangeet Nataka Akademi Award. He was selected to receive the UNESCO heritage citation which described Kutdiyattam as a “Masterpiece of the Oral and Intangible Heritage of Humanity”.

I had the good fortune of attending a Kudiyattom performance at the Indore Rajwada on March 20 2008. This was part of the Phalgun festival to celebrate Holi. The Jatayu Ravana confrontation after the abduction of Sita was the theme of that day's performance. Some images I clicked that day

A Short Biography Of Ammannur - Kapila. Kapila maintains a weblog on Kudiyattom. She is a disciple of Ammannur and is the daughter of G Venu who is also a disciple of Ammannur and is an eminent researcher into the dance and theatre forms of Kerala who has also played a major role in the revival of many of these ancient forms.

Link to an article from The Hindu (Friday Mar 18 2005) titled Endowed With Divine Talent. It is about Madhava Chakyar and his disciple and researcher G Venu who were honoured at a function in Chennai. Click here.

P. Sainath - A Mirror For Rural Poverty In India

2008-07-16T10:35:00.000-07:00

P. Sainath's despatches from the most poverty struck pockets of India which were published in The Times of India during the nineties had aroused the consciousness of urban Indians towards the cruelty of rural poverty. It was a world that we urbanites were far removed from. It was a world whose very existence we denied. I used to look forward to reading these despatches as he travelled around India on a Times Fellowship. I was not surprised when Penguin brought out these despatches in book form. The title of the book was Everybody Loves a Good Drought. And, not surprisingly, it became a bestseller.

After buying it I was able to read some of the despatches that I had missed. But I admit that it was difficult reading them. It was unbelievable what poverty could make a man do. There were times when, overcome with emotion, I would put the book down. I had sent a copy of this book to a friend in the U.S.A who was working on a research project for her doctorate. She wrote to me that she wept after reading some of the chapters in the book. I became very 'Sainath - sensitive'. I would read any article written by him with utmost attention. It was the same story over and over. How rural India had been ignored and neglected. How the poor lived lives of dignity inspite of the fact that they had hardly anything.

In 2007 Sainath had won the Magasaysay Award for Journalism, Literature and Communication Arts. An article in the Economic Times dated 5 August 2007 had brought out a few facts from Sainath - facts which all educated Indians should know.In this age of globalisation we connect to London and New York but not to our countrymen in the rural areas.

Some of the facts which Sainath states in the above mentioned article are:

(1) The rural poor are migrating towards urban India and becoming domestic servants. Delhi has two lakh maids from Jharkhand. These women come from a resource rich area. It is sad that they have to leave their native place and come to a city like Delhi which has nothing but abuse and exploitation for them. But they prefer the anonymity of city life to the toughness of village life. At least they are able to fill their stomach, send money home and have some hope in their hearts.

(2) Sainath says: "Interest on loan for a Mercedes Benz is charged at six to eight per cent while it is 12 to 15 per cent on a tractor loan." One need not add more to this. Our priorities are clear.

(3) More than a lakh of farmers have committed suicide in the past ten years. A majority of farmers would like to take up some other profession.

(4) The coverage of banks in the rural sector has come down from 58 percent to 48 percent. More than 3000 rural banks have shut down in the past few years.

Click here to read the full article.

Thank You P Sainath for showing us an India which we know exists but which we do not wish to acknowledge.
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Based on a blog post of many months ago in my Sulekha weblog . I dont know what triggered this post. Must be something I saw/read recently.

p.s. I remember reading somewhere that P.S. happens to be a grandson of ex-President V.V. Giri

Trying a Terrence Malick

2008-06-30T01:09:00.000-07:00

Crocodile Bank, enroute Mahabalipuram, Northern Tamil Nadu, India

Shot with movie mode Panasonic Lumix FZ camera.
Edited with imovie.

PS- Wasnt prepared or had planned for the shot , hence the clumsiness. Apologies.

Alvida Sharan (Sarod) Rani....

2008-06-08T01:07:00.000-07:00

Sharan Rani or Sarod Rani as she was popularly known is no more. She expired on Tuesday 8 April 2008 - day before her 80th birthday. She was suffering from cancer. She was a disciple of Baba Allauddin Khan and Ustad Ali Akbar Khan and was the first female sarod player in India. Her dedication to her art can be seen through the long list of awards she won - the Padmashri in 1968, the Sahitya Kala Parishad award - the Delhi State Honour in 1974, the Sangeet Natak Akademi award in 1986. And also her own admission of the three miscarriages she suffered because of holding the sarod pressed against her stomach. She had donated around 400 musical instruments to the National Museum. She wrote a book titled The Divine Sarod: its Origin, Antiquity and Development in India since BC 2nd century in 1992.

Playing with the Moroccan Oud player Nasser Houari (3:59)

Playing with Aashish Khan (grandson of Baba Allauddin Khan) (1:00)
Youtube video. Click here (embedding disabled)

The entry on Sharan Rani in the website of the Jain community: Click here

Sharan Rani's page on Music India online. You can hear some of her selected pieces here.

Strumming New Tunes - Sharan Rani reminisces about her student days. (India Today website)

Interview with Sharan Rani (1:11:17) (and also with other musicians). Click here

Brief obituary in The Hindu. Click here

Tribute in Rediff - click here

Exemption:

2008-05-27T08:44:00.000-07:00

This is a lovely board I found in one of the Indian Airports last year. But not sure why Dalai Lama and Robert Vadra have to fall into exceptional exemptions? Any rationale or good ole fancy?

NS Harsha wins Artes Mundi

2008-05-05T14:06:00.001-07:00

It is sad that whenever one thinks of painting in India, one is forced to think either of the royal classics depicting the erstwhile durbars or dated fools like MF Husain passing on his senile tremors that helplessly sketches absurd nudes as some rare masterpieces.

I know I am harsh on Husain , but I think he deserves no better. I must say I quite like his early works and believe he should have retired long back.

Anyway that being not the point of the post, I want to share my joy on the occasion of one of my favourite conceptual artists in contemporary India, NS Harsha winning the prestigious Artes Mundi award recently. Amounting to £40000, the Artes Mundi award is one of highest cash-awards in contemporary art world- on par with the well known Turner Prize.

The unique feature in Harsha’s works is the ability to marry an authentic Indian experience to a narrative space and time which becomes the special niche of the painting. It is as if subject is crystallized into a realm of its own. This is most easily seen in his work Mass Marriage (below) which finds a strange sense of natural rhythm in an quintessential period-Indian ceremony that it almost seems to have an identity of artificiality.

Mass Marriage, NS Harsha

Also perhaps, for their shared interest in capturing a multiplicity of mass experience, like in Mass Marriage above, Harsha reminds me of Lowry. Here is a Lowry that shares quite a lot in common with Harsha.

Going to the Match, LS Lowry

Recognition of Harsha’s talent is also a vicarious nod to the terribly underrated MSU, Baroda where he studied art. Hope to see more enticing works from his brush.

PS: Here is video of Harsha explaining his simplistic a Footprint of time.

Amritsar

2008-04-15T16:59:00.000-07:00

A conversation in a post-modern party on sunday that drifted into the civil rights movement made me realise that it was the very day of the Jallianwala Bagh Massacre . ( 13/04) Though history would count it as one of the most heinous atrocities a single man would ever be capable of, it also brought forth one of the greatest gifts of India and Indians to mankind - how a non-violent, concerted effort for a just cause can defeat the most tyrannical of the oppression, something which wasnt built upon later at Sharpeville or Bloody Sunday.

A quick technorati search revealed no blogs either on the 89th anniversary or in memorium of the unique event, so thought I'll just post here an old jotting from my travelogue of the first impressions of Amritsar.

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Punjab generally is vast and green owing to many river beds that cut through the land. In fact the name Punjab means land of five rivers. Travelling all across Punjab to get to Wagah on the Pakistan border left us little time in Amritsar; so we weren’t able to cover it as much as we would have liked to. Also, when we got to Amritsar, the night was growing and the city too busy for our drained souls.

The cities in Punjab were largely unremarkable-clumsy and congested lacking any coherence in planning; But I suppose the most salient feature of Punjab are the people. They were well built, strong and notably loud even in the most inane of the conversations. And when they laughed, it was a hearty guffaw invariably accompanied with the shrugging of shoulders. A sight really. It wouldn’t take long to notice that these people lived by their heart than the mind.

We reached Amritsar quite late; the traffic was haphazardly scary- everyone drove with no concern for others, and I mean everyone. From a bicycle to a large truck. The pedestrians walked the roads as if they were reserved for leisurely promenades. It was only normal that I managed to see a few notorious collisions or would be collisions leading on to skirmishes. In terms of the city proper-the urban structures were mostly charmless, but I would have to say they made up for it in history.

Amritsar housed the renowned Golden Temple, the sacred worship place of the Sikhs- the dominant population of Punjab. The Golden Temple, glowing under the moon, looked all glorious. It was situated in the middle of a sacred tank flanked by a wide pavement of marble stone on which the visitors went around before entering the temple. The temple in itself was simple and soulful. There were no elaborate rituals seen in Hindu temples or no darkly boring protocols of the Church. The pilgrims queued for their turn to spend a few minutes in the sanctum sanctorum and left with a lightened heart. I am always amazed to see the power of belief and religion in a place of worship; The whole ambience was elevating, and the whole experience memorable.

Belief, is the Élan vital of human consciousness.

Just a few yards away from the temple there was the noted public park, The Jallianawalla Bagh. As it is well known, it is one of the sadly significant premises in the Indian independence movement. It was here that General Reginald Dyer intent on crushing the growing momentum of the Indian Independence movement open fired on a peaceful gathering, which included children and women. With the ground enclosed by tall walls and the exit gates blocked it turned into a carnage with more than a thousand dead and many a thousand injured. It was a great shame to the British governance, as every single of its planks was broken and principle violated. General Dyer was eventually dismissed from the service.

Unlucky for me, it was too late when we visited and the public ground was closed. I had to be content with a peek through the gate and a snap. As I observed earlier the public place is symbolic in many ways- it exposed the imperfections of the British but more importantly it united splinters and shards of areas into one single nation. In my eyes it deserved to be nothing short of a national monument that had to be preserved and charged for a visit*.

And here it was, uncared, unprotected surrounded by carts, vendors and other medium scale businesses. The surrounding walls looked like bombed ghettos out of world war movie, and as usual there was a liberal quantity of litter all around. It was all appalling. Though disappointed in many ways I promised myself to visit again when it was open. I wanted to see and feel it in daylight.

Amritsar is also noted, perhaps not that widely, for another significant event. It was here that the 34th session of the Indian National Congress was held in 1919. Following JallianaWala Bagh, the Congress chose Amritsar as the venue.

It was in this historic session that one of the most important speeches was made by MK Gandhi, that led to the decimation of the surviving factions which encouraged violence against the British and thus prepared the ground for one of the most remarkable struggles in human history- Non Violent Disobedience. The Story goes something like this--

The Amritsar Congress chaired by Motilal Nehru had drafted the resolution in two parts- one condemning the Jallianawala Bagh massacre and the other condemning the violence that was resorted to by the Indian crowd. But with an indignant nation that it was at the time, fresh with the memories of the massacre and the British repression that followed, many didnt take a liking for the latter half. As a result, the second part of the resolution was defeated by a large margin. Gandhi however, in the interest of the struggle was insistent to reconsider the motion. This led onto severe protests and cracks within the party and imaginably in the nation that was being put together.

It is reported that the next day, a stubborn Gandhi, ill and running a high temperature had to be helped on to the dais, where he spoke sitting. The speech was delivered with such deep fervour that at the end of the speech, the resolution was reconsidered, voted and accepted without any major opposition. It was a complete Volteface. If you look back the speech sounds simple but under the circumstances it was admirable. It was unique, like nothing seen or heard before. No doubt it was appealing, for it was the voice of the true Indian conscience; India was spoken as one nation, one entity higher than its rulers.

I often think that , if he had not spoken that day, the struggle would have been factionalised with no single goal or plan thus incorrigibly weakening it from within. It was this speech that laid the foundation for the great struggle, and in turn led onto one of the most remarkable campaigns in human history culminating in its first absolute victory eleven years later in the famous Dandi salt march in 1930. An empire was brought to knees without a single shot being fired. It had never happened before and as any sane man would agree, very unlikely to happen ever after.

In Amritsar, with that speech , Gandhi had chosen to deal with his opposition by reason and dialogue thus calmly imposing his will over a very restless crowd and succesfully changing their minds. It was here also, that General Dyer had fired a three-o-three at peaceful men, women and children to display his power. So it wouldnt be unfair to say that it was here that Indians had won their first battle against their rulers. In essence, it was in Amritsar that India had become independent in mind.

I asked around if anyone knew about the venue of the famous Congress session. And I wasnt all that surprised to hear a bold no for an answer.

PS- KM Munshi's Pilgrimage to Freedom, published by Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan, gives a good account of the Amritsar Congress session 1919 and Gandhi's speech.

* I say this because the event was not only unique in its response but per se it had the most casualities in human history in a single venue outside a war zone. Though the British sources at that time acknowledged about 400 deaths and 1000 wounded , it is generally accepted that 1500 odd people lost their lives and 2000 were wounded. All because one man lost his head.
It is interesting to note that the casualities of this man-made tragedy are more than that of much popularized natural disaster of sinking of the Titanic . There are more than a dozen movies and innumerable references on Titanic but not a single film , either by India or from outside on the Amritsar Massacre. That perhaps is food for thought for a certain Aamir Khan before Bollywood tries to capitalize on the fervour of the centenary of the event in the next decade.

On Indian women bloggers and comment moderation:

2008-04-10T03:42:00.000-07:00

Remember the indelible Mrs. Vatsala Rajan ( Upamanyu Chatterjee’s English, August) before whom almost everyone becomes Somerset Maugham?

I think sometime last month, during an innocuous gtalk conversation on a rather pleasant afternoon I happened to remark that barring a few very rare exceptions most Indian women, most of the time are incapable of original thought.
No. It isn’t a conclusion based on emotion but quite simply there aren’t enough women who could stimulate you even by accident. Of course the talk was related to Indian blogging.

Naturally, I was told to prove it. And was given a time frame of two weeks to gather my evidence. So here are three examples, as agreed:

* First, is an old wine in a new bottle - claiming modernity and novel perspective of liberal thought. This way please. But it is only a classical instance of what Naipaul had assessed long back:

India feeds its own intellectual crisis. At one moment they express the old world, of myth and magic, alone; at another they interpret the new in terms of the old.

Pause a moment to think how many women of the world, who would be offended if someone remarked about their work, or actually at the prospect of them working, would say this -

Hope the milk you bought at the shop was spoiled before it made it to your occupied and entertained fridge. Ggrr.

How funny, the absurdity is complete in its own irony.

* The second of course is just unadulterated ignorance shining through large gaps in rational thought.

Oh!! India killed Scarlett, India failed Scarlett?

But how?
Answer: Like any other country that failed any other victim.

There are no reasons given, either by the blogger or by the empowered committee except lengthy mutual harangues exchanged by the sisters against the Oh so cruel cruel world. And to think actually, this is supposed to be a modern liberal thought after years of civilization. Such a shame. I have given some relevant education on the subject elsewhere .

* The latest is interesting, in that it blindly alleges that one another blogger is inconsistent(? hypocritical) and racist. According to the post such a sentiment is fit enough to term the other blogger with a flowery nomenclature - A Baboon. But why and what for? We dont know. How is it racist? Well, it just is. Typically, when your sole identity and worldview is based on your parent's fortunes, you will find Baboons everywhere and Pythons in everything and start using a spleen for a brain, and are invariably joined by a few other similar insightful juveniles. I am yet to understand the arcane imagination involved in calling the second post racist? Ah, deliberate provocative mocking is original comedy, while just highlighting one common feature in your experience is not only racist but also befitting the behaviour of a buffoon. Pythons are Gods, while rest of the world is racist. What a total tosh? Speak of hypocisy. This would qualify to be nothing but folie de grandeur.

Of course all of this isn’t a newly emerged stupidity, at least not in our experience, so we shall not concern ourselves too much with it. But it is interesting to note that two of the three women call themselves feminists (!) and all of them use comment moderation.

My focus here is on the emerging hypocrisy of comment moderation; I wonder what exactly is achieved by comment moderation?

Firstly, it isn’t meant to pick and prevent advert spams; which is to be taken care of, at least in theory by the word-confirmatory tool . Next, it doesn’t actually prevent someone from abusing you or your friends if he/she wants to. Which I am told, if it really comes to that, has to be sorted by blocking the IP address. And finally if you are a sort of tender-hearted person, the comment moderation doesnt actually make you not read the vulgarity of the world? So what exactly does it achieve?

All it does is to give an undue and undiminishing advantage and control of reading the comment before it appears on your very own blog. How charming? So where exactly is the democracy- if you want to say whatever you want to say at your own convenience but want the others to remark about it only subject to your taste? Also, how would other readers/ commentators know which particular comment has not been published and why? Further it just compels the commentator to return to the post to check, mind you - not if he/she has a particular view on the post - but to see if the view is good enough to be accepted? This is deliberate killing of dissent under the pretext of non-existent protection and some superior taste. Is this the democracy of blogging, free speech and what nots? This is nothing but utter bollocks sweet-painted as moderation for the insecurity of people who want to stay at home and call it the world. Hear this you all, in plain english: this isnt the real world.

To be fair to the above bloggers, I have to say that of the two posts I commented, none of the both have censored my comment. Moderation is not all that widely used in any of the blogging community made of people who can handle themselves in the world; but why then is it not surprising that these women who want to call themselves feminists when they absolve and hand over their Locus of control to external sources ( perverts, lechers) in real life use comment moderation in their own blogs? Apropos Oh, perverts shouldnt stare at me, oh! all of the world isn’t safe for women at all etcetera! but I am going to use comment moderation and keep the bad people of the world away? How's that for a volte-face of your conviction?

You might wonder how all of this is related to Mrs Rajan ? It is such women , Ladies and Gentleman, left to their own, invariably grow up into the various versions of Mrs Rajans.

TP Kailasam

2008-04-03T02:40:00.000-07:00

TP Kailasam is a sort of South Indian Spike Milligan if you like. Apparently, like all great souls, he ran away from home sometime during his childhood just for the fun of it. Upon return , the father who was a strict south Indian Brahmin ( and therefore naturally would have wanted his son to become a doctor or a engineer ) note: not an engineer, scorned upon his son and asked what exactly did he learn by running away?

The son answered , “ Well Dad , even if there is a storm on the beach, I can manage to light a cigarette with just one match.’’

Pennsylvania's choice

2008-03-29T15:09:00.000-07:00

In normal times, by the time primary voters in Pennsylvania get their chance to have a say, the actors for the great American show will have been cast in iron. Hence understandably so, there has been a steadily rumbling uneasiness among Pennsylvanians having found themselves in unfamiliar position.

Pennsylvanians are Midwesterners at heart thrown into the deep end of East coast’s masters of free market. Democrats in New York, New Jersey and Ohio have already cast their votes in favor of Hillary. But none of these states did so for the same reason. If Ohio by virtue of its reputation for being blue color state, split their votes along racial divides, Hillary locked in New York early in the game being a senator from the state. Since then the campaign has changed a lot.

This was supposed to be a walk in for anyone in the name of democratic candidate. Having fought among themselves ever so painfully and torn apart over the fear of terrorists and revulsion at the abomination that is Iraq war, even the republicans were waiting for a chance to redeem. Instead they were given an unsolicited choice of electing a woman or an African American. Suddenly the liberal party found themselves asking uncomfortable questions on race, gender and politics of expediency and attrition.

Black American’s true loyalty have been questioned, Whites belonging to specific class, gender and age have been categorized to stereotypes to fit the voting patterns and pre-election polls. Among other things Clintons’ political legacy have been laid out threadbare and the subsequent consternation among media and pundits to put their every political strategy in ‘anything goes’ context.

This is where Obama, an unlikely “serious” candidate (if you care to remember Al Sharpton and Jesse Jackson), came in along with a new set of voters , young - black, white, yellow and red to challenge the status-quo and took on the age-old contradictions and conveniently covered truths about them. Although in this age, talking about hope and change is passé, Obama sounded believable for a lot of people and it showed.

However to keep oneself up over a year facing protracted and in most times tiresome and unrelenting campaign, one needs more than personal charisma and belief in one’s own vision. The way Obama took on race issues in Jeremiah Wright issue has won him plaudits across party lines. However the mood of voting public can never be gauged from political pundits words. Like Hillary upstaged everyone’s prediction in New Hampshire, this battle is far from over.

The mood in Pennsylvania right now is to find out who is talking more about sagging economy than how strong and old does MacCain appear to the leaders around the world. They would like to know when the troops can come home and when Osama will be nabbed. They would also like to know if the Health insurance can ever benefit the middle class who are getting poorer by day. And yes, they are mindful of their race! Thank you.

On Sir Vidia, Some Thoughts

2008-03-14T03:00:00.001-07:00

Usually I manage to resist reading a review before I read any book. But when it is reviewed as the main article at the London Review of Books, it becomes incredibly hard to ignore. And impossible, either due to the reaction to it or because of my admiration for the writer, if it is a Naipaul book. So, through such travails of reading the book after having read about it, and, amidst reverberating echoes of such canon-shots booming between the pages, I finished Naipaul's latest book Writer’s people -Ways of looking and Feeling, last week.

It deals with one of the expansive and original subjects one can read about in the post-modern world. Naipaul typically, with no allegiance to anyone and no belongingness anywhere writes about writing and the writers - whom he had read or come across in his lifetime; and how, with their ways of looking and seeing, they helped to shape his own way of seeing.

Admittedly, the book is quite airily written and lacks the eye for detail that one usually associates with Naipaul. Given the vastness of the domain chosen for the book, it is at best a selective summary. It is fragmented, flaky and even in the best of its pieces surprisingly incomplete. Also, I must add, for anyone who has keenly followed Naipaul’s works, it would not be a subject entirely unfamiliar. At least I wasn't when I read the book.

Though there are liberal transplants of sentiments from his earlier books ( we all know about the influence of Huxley’s Jesting Pilate and Vidia's positive takes on Gandhi and RK Narayan), still The Writer's People doesn’t fail to give you a clearer understanding of his perspective. Yet, somewhere while translating the cynicism into criticism, in a passage here and there, one finds his shameless malice unmasking itself . Many pages on Anthony Powell have little relevance and are presumably prompted by his personal differences that existed between them. ( Naipaul briefly alludes to how Powell stopped seeing him before his death even while he continued to see others). The chapter was, as Naipaul claims himself at the very beginning - difficult to write - making the reader who has read it wonder, what exactly was the need to go through such hardship? More so, at a premise when it is least pertinent? Difficulty or malice, whatever it is, the sentiment has been given the treatment it deserves by many a critics. However, that shouldn’t make us overlook other segments of the book: there are wonderful observations and assertive judgements on others which, as hard as they are to digest, cannot be reasonably refuted: The takes on Vinoba Bhave and Flaubert for instance. I haven’t read any Salvon so I cant make a valid personal judgement. And the well-known Walcott-Naipaul bitching duel that's been running on for a while also finds it's share in the book. Pity really.

In all, personally the book was a welcome, coming during the hackneys and baloneys I have been letting myself read over the last few months. From a larger view, it wasn't an incredibly outstanding book but neither was it a dull put-aside. Which other writer would research to tell you that an Indian Bullock-cart did 24 miles a day in 1890s? And going back to the reviews, after having read the book was - sort of irony of relevance – because the book is all about ways of looking.

It’s always amazing to see how reviews on Naipaul often aid to propagate their own perception of him; the most commonest transference that goes into his reviews are that he is an arrogant, provocative prude who defines himself by criticism. But readers, who are able not to let themselves carried away by their own prejudices and loyalties often, if not eventually, bring themselves to admire his work - fiction and otherwise. But, for almost repeating his own old material and the apparent offence he has wrapped it in, I am not sure if that would happen with this book.

That regardless, a larger audience, as often as it is seen, continue to draw a great consolation by running a Naipaul work down the drain of their perspective ignorance. Here is one such insalubrious effort related to the book in question.

Half-way through the review, I had to go back to check who was able to write with so much self pity. Must admit though, if I was asked a year back about Dalrymple I could have convinced you that it’s a rare Belgian dish. It was only during my last visit to India I found he was a Scot writing about Delhi's history while living in Delhi! ( God save him). The only bit I have read of anything by Mr Dalrymple is a small essay while glancing through one of his book in a library; it was about the protests against the Miss-World competition that was to be held in Bangalore sometime last decade.

It was a typical western-modern eye looking down confusedly - about the Indian fundamentalists threatened by the erosion of their value, culture etc. To cut the long trauma short, nothing was placed in perspective-- Whys were blatantly ignored for the Hows and the Whats? The running sentiment was of sympathy and hopelessness for people who were opposing a beauty pageant; There was no effort made to really understand the underbelly of the emotions involved, no history was palpable; as if it was all read in readily available books: Kali, Kamasutra, Khajuraho? The impression was as much shallow as the oremise it was made from. After reading that piece, naturally, even the strongest recommendation of his work went into my fourth waiting list. The unread City of Djinns, sitting somewhere in my attic, must be as old and as sarsenic brown as a Delhi Minaret. May be someday when they cleanup Delhi, perhaps?

It is a similar sentiment he entertains here in the review: For the first five paragraphs in his review Mr Darlymple takes upon himself to introduce to the Sunday Times reader, Mr Naipaul, a Nobel laureate. The biased account of a perceived deterioration is so well articulated it conveniently ignores his Booker in 1971 and The Nobel in 2001. Perhaps the only thing the summary lacks is his obituary. Further, in the latter part Mr.Dalrymple contests equally in malice with Naipaul and completes the travesty of the review by making a grocery list of all the negative adjectives in the book. Not surprisingly there is no perspective, not even judgement of why Naipaul is or may be wrong. The defense is based on the irrefutable reputations of the people, Naipaul seemed to have challenged in the book. It might as well have been called a gospel and the writers apostles. The Naipaul dynamic, that so often has become to define his work and the response to it is thus complete. It is no wonder Mr Dalrymple writes about courtesans and Moghul jewellery - things that cant even beseech a judgement by a post-modern reader.

In areas where he reluctantly does offer some judgement ie Gandhi, he comes across as in grave need of reason. Kathryn Tidricks’s Biography of Gandhi is available on Google; anyone can make out it is far from the bounds of brilliance forget relevance, in fact is a curriculum vitae of Gandhi a la carte. What Mr Darymple terms as dull and superficial of Naipaul's judgement of Gandhi is perhaps one of Naipaul’s brilliant insights in retrospect ( not for the first time though) of Gandhi’s battle with reverse-culture-shock, a phenomenon now not unfamiliar to the Indian Diaspora and undoubtedly beyond the realms of Mr Dalrymple’s imagination.

Naipaul’s statement on the lack of autonomous intelligentsia in India is a fact; any average Indian blog has it written all over its template. Mr Dalrymple’s Indian universities - buzzing with the same vibrancy of commerce - is either at its best a rush to be recruited for a plum post in the farthest MNC or at its worst, the bass of some local wannabe ( invariably somehow they would never be) rock-band covering the ancient 80s Guns and Roses number. If that is autonomous, India might as well claim Rudyard Kipling as her literary masthead.

As I have said, its often hilarious to see why people who don’t know a penny about what Naipaul writes about, have an urge to put him down. This isn’t first time people have found it hard to figure him. A chunk of the criticisms railed against him is a confused literary babbling of a response obligated to say something mean, often about him rather than something valid against his work.

Part of the confusion I have always supposed, arises from people’s lack of understanding his place. Whenever I think of his position I am reminded of Archimedes saying that if given him an appropriate place to stand out and a suitable lever, he would move the earth. Naipaul, not belonging anywhere and no influences from his background, holds that enviable position which makes it possible for him to see the cultures and civilizations as crystal as sunrise : what he himself described as..' looking through multiplicity of impressions to central human narrative'.

His Area of Darkness is a mirror representation, a testimonial of the so called socialist state that was India. His judgement on half-formed African societies are as true today as much as they were when it was said. And it took twenty years for the world to understand what Naipaul had written - on his own, without any influence or motive - about Islam, what Edward Said had dismissed as 'Intellectual catastrophe' and what Mr Darlymple still calls in his review: persistent negative assessment of Islam is turning out to be a prophecy of sorts. But thankfully, it took less than a month after 9/11 for the Nobel committee to endorse Naipaul's views. This ability to see things - as they are, were and going to be - was more loftily put by the Nobel committee as : having united perceptive narrative and incorruptible scrutiny in works that compel us to see the presence of suppressed histories.

I remember in his Nobel acceptance speech Naipaul had said - He is the sum of his books. I dont think many of us can actually comprehend the meaning of the phrase. It is an accurate self-judgment, a rubric which in my opinion can only be accorded to two other writers of the twentieth century: Joyce and Kafka. This unique position is also reflected in Naipaul’s unwillingness to have any children as they would come between him and his work. For what is incomprehensible for many a writers or critics, that is just a symbol of how unique his position is and the possible layers it conceals.

I always believe, a reviewer who is reflecting on a writer; who cant stand in where the writer has stood should take special care to separate the works from the person. Unfortunately in Naipaul’s case, either by his own doing or as a package of consequence beyond him, people carry around his negative image wanting to fit him into it somehow. As said before, there is almost a palpable negative precept and a compulsion to offer an opinion on him, rather than his writing.

Here is one, dare I say Indian version that I found while scouring the Indian blogosphere. Admittedly the chap hasn’t read Naipaul recently, and in the event mentioned in the post, found him uninteresting and thought he looked liked a constipated Walrus. Further, much to his disappointment, he found Naipaul deaf (wow) and ERGO Naipaul is everything that he was told about. Well, there goes your autonomous intelligence. If you are not nice enough to me, you are bad or wrong. Or boring! You simply must be. The absurdity, is unbearable even for any humour. The only acknowledged interesting writer of the last fifty years, (apart from the oulipo) being dismissed as uninteresting. If people want to read beautiful, tender sentiments why dont they just go and read Neruda? It reminds me of what Naipaul had written about long back - The absurdity of India can be total, it appears to ridicule analysis. It takes the onlooker from anger beyond despair to neutrality.

Perhaps it was this neutrality that made him ask to repeat the question again. It’s not all that hard to imagine - someone getting up and asking in his or her best haryanvinglish in one go, “Sirrrviddiyyaa, whatdoyouthink of the Hindunaaationalist move-menntt?” (Just like on Ibnlive)

Of course, you are bound not to hear and not understand the question. It's just courteous to ask to repeat again. I couldn’t tell in the Delhi airport if the PAS was in English or Welsh or Urdu. Thankfully, Naipaul is deaf only in Delhi; when he was elsewhere he was just as fine as a fiddler - as Finny told me once when Naipaul was asked by another nincompoop - What do you think of Indian Roads? He had answered " Well, You deserve it." I bet it cant get any more interesting than that.

If you look at it in toto, it is a very interesting dynamic: Given his incorrigible inclination, Naipaul can see only cultures and societies as accurate as numbers. These in turn, just like the reviewers above, would just go on to validate what he had said. The thing speaks for itself, as it has been for the last fifty years. Well, what can one say? While Naipaul would want us to believe that he is the kind of writer that people think other people are reading, the world, with all its blemishes and glories, is what it is. Men who are nothing, men who allow themselves to become nothing have no place in it. Men who want to tell other people what other people are not reading and still want to find a place in the world for that.

Hockey - The Stepchild of Indian Sport

2008-03-11T08:41:00.000-07:00

"Call It Inspiration," said Bollywood...

2008-03-03T11:43:00.000-08:00

Here is Mozart's Symphony 40 Movement 1 (8:15)

(Nikolaus Harnoncourt conducting Vienna Philharmonic Orchestra. Live concert at the Suntory Hall, Tokyo, Japan on November 11th, 2006.)

And here are Lata Mangeshkar and Talat Mahmood singing Itna Na Mujhsay Tu Pyar Badha.... (Film Chhaya, 1961, Director Hrishikesh Mukherjee, Composer Salil Choudhury)

Bharat Gopi... Actor par excellence is no more....

2008-01-29T07:43:00.000-08:00

Question: Smita Patil, Om Puri, Naseeruddin Shah and Amitabh Bachchan are four of the five actors who have had the honour of a retrospective of their films being shown in Paris by the French Government. Who is the fifth?

I won't be surprised if most of us get this wrong. The answer is Malayalam film actor Bharat Gopi. Bharat Gopi expired today, Jan 29, in Thiruvanantapuram of a heart attack. He was 71. He was taken ill five days ago while shooting. My mother told me this when I returned home today evening. She liked Gopi as an actor and knew that I was also a fan of Gopi.

Gopi was at his peak during the eighties. He was famous for his roles in films directed by Adoor Gopalakrishnan, Aravindan, K.G. George and Govind Nihalani among others. A paralytic stroke laid him low for a long time during which he faced a lot of difficulties. He turned to film direction later on.

In her tribute to Gopi written for rediff.com Shobha Warrier mentions how Gopi got noticed in his very first film Swayamvaram directed by Adoor Gopalakrishnan. His frustrated face drew attention to it for the brief span that it was shown on the screen. The Guardian had an article on him titled The Face of Unemployment. Click here to read Goodbye Mr. Bharat Gopi, Shobha Warrier's excellent tribute to Gopi.

Some of his well known films include Kodiyettam (1977) which won him the National Award for acting. This award was known as the Bharat award in those days. It was after this award that he came to be known as Bharat Gopi. He had also acted in Mani Kaul's Satah Se Udta Aadmi and Govind Nihalani's Aghaat.

His book Abhinayam Anubhavam won the National Award for the best book on cinema (1994). His production Padhyam (1991) won him the V Shantaram award for the best film. A very intense person he overcame personal tragedy and put great passion into everything he did. He will be missed.

Links:

Wikipedia article on Bharat Gopi.

Tribute in the Hindustan Times

Manil Suri's The Age of Shiva

2008-01-24T00:45:00.000-08:00

Book Received:

The Age Of Shiva by Manil Suri
Bloomsbury
464 pp; Rs 495

One shouldn't write about a book before one has read it. But then some rules are made to be broken. One good thing about being a member of an online book club- I am able to get new books at roughly the same time as my friends living in the big cities of India.

Manil Suri's The Age of Shiva is one book I was looking forward to reading. And now that it is here I look forward to savouring the craftsmanship of this U.S. based Professor of Mathematics who also writes novels.

Suri was born in Mumbai and teaches mathematics at the University of Maryland (USA). His first novel The Death of Vishnu received rave reviews and (so important in today's age) a six figure advance (in US dollars).

The reviews have all been adulatory. A few samples:

"In The Age of Shiva India's birth as a new nation parallels a woman's complex psychological journey confronting tradition and modernity. Exchanging sentimentality for clear vision, Suri reveals an immense humanity, and a tenderness for women making their way in a world of men. Drawn by this compelling narrative, I read this marvelous book in one sitting." —Kiran Desai, author of The Inheritance of Loss, winner of the Man Booker Prize 2006.

"Both intimate and epic... a majestic story about love and its unexpected consequences" - Amy Tan

"...consistently engaging and provocative. It’s only January yet, but it’s unlikely that there will be many better novels this year." - Jai Arjun Singh in Tehelka

"... like the Spanish auteur Pedro Almodovar, he is blinded by the beauty of the feminine. Even though he is excessively diversionary, in The Age of Shiva, it is as gleaming as a tear drop." - S Prasannarajan in India Today.

Do read Jai Arjun Singh's review in Tehelka - Click here. And also his blog entry on the book - Click here

Meanwhile, I will get on with the book....
-----------------------
UPDATE. Feb 1 2008.
Not all reviews have been adulatory as I wrote earlier. I happened to see one by Kalpish Ratna in the magazine Outlook dated 4 February. A few extracts:

If you, dear reader, abjure primetime Hindi soaps, then Manil Suri's new novel is not for you....

The myths of Andhakasur and Ganesh - often read as Indian versions of the Oedipus complex - are intricately ramiform, and Suri never peers beyond the surface.

Indian publishers, who deem novels written in India as scarcely worth the paper they're written on, must read The Age of Shiva. It might shame them into reconsidering the slush pile.

From my scrapbook: An interview with Manil Suri when he attended the Jaipur litfest in late Jan. From a supplement of the Hindustan Times dated 31 Jan. Click to see larger (and readable) image.

Fakers, False Feminism and Flotsam:

2008-01-17T19:25:00.001-08:00

I am sure you would understand that if it were not to be the significance of this issue, I would not have called upon your attention. The subject, I believe is important both for India as a social construct and for Indians- by this I restrict myself to thousands vulnerable young minds who stand exposed to the vanities of some insane individuals roaming about freely on the net.

It is a trend we had discussed before with some alarm; that of almost every other Indian with a modem declaring himself as a feminist, without the least idea of what it means or its current position or form in the contemporary times. And in turn, influencing many other susceptibles, thus substantially imperiling its validity, veritability, itself.

The present series is related to the unfortunate molestation incident that you might have heard recently that happened on the early hours of New Year day in Bombay. Reportedly, two women while walking with their partners were sexually touched and groped by a boatload of uncouth men who could not come up with a better idea to start the year with. But thanks to couple of brave journalists, who happened to be at the premise, not only was further damage contained but also the shameless episode was caught on film and subsequently and rightfully made an issue, which is taking its own course now.

Well then, it is not new to our knowledge that such incidents naturally bring about the best of the social outpourings. More so and more often in the Indian blogosphere, where, it is a habit to show your camaraderie with your friends by exchanging cognition, the formulaic construct of which is defined by commending each other for their views and collectively attacking any sign of slight disagreement.

But in relation to the Bombay incident it seems that such an Indian congregation has outdid itself. My first contact to the whole episode was through a forwarded mail. With some disbelief I read the words asking women to come out and enlist the details of their sexual abuse. For whatever purpose it was put up, I must say I have never come across more uglier words anywhere. As you can see, the unbelievably appalling sentiment ended up making me crisscross (no pun) the preceding events and posts.

Here is the background account. It would be clearer if we trace it in its chronological order. And, I suggest you check on the links before proceeding with my post so that you can make your own impression for the discussion, and not be, influenced by mine.

In the background of aforementioned molestation incident, a blogger named Sakshi wrote this post, which was linked to by Desipundit which I gather is a sort of blog-consortium that assorts together various posts of the day in the blogosphere by linking to them. With the Sakshi’s link though it seems to have triggered a huge debate.

The bone of the contention: One group arguing that Sakshi has been misread and misinterpreted; the phrase-the crux of the conflict being ' blaming the victims ' which was used as the linking words by someone named Lekhni to describe Sakshi's post on the Desipundit template. The other party vociferously arguing that the mentioned phrase was apt and reflected Sakshi's intention to blame the victims and soft-pedal an imposing patriarchal model by asking women to be safe. The discussion like any other such discussion by Indian bloggers has remained inconclusive and devoid of any new perspective; In fact has snaked away into imaginative arguments about seat belts. All in all, as always, both the parties have ended up holding onto what they already believed in with the ultimate sign of conviction- to each his own. However, this time around though, it did not quite end there.

Not content with the disagreement, one other blogger, the main voice of accusing Sakshi of covert patriarchy, a chap called Falstaff found himself a chance to score a Brownie point by posting another entry here that requested women to enlist the shape, form and co-ordinates of any violation they have experienced. The purpose of the post as claimed was to somehow support a frustrating argument that has been already abandoned. And it was this post that was brought to my mail box with a subject line: schoolboy does it again!
With all the patience that you know I can permit myself around such idiocies, I have read all the posts. From my impression these are my views and contentions:

Continued:

On the why of the misinterpretationism:

Speaking of the primary post, had I come across it in a neutral context, I am sure I would not have thought of it any more or any less than an open advice. The likes you often see in magazines and TV shows. Personally I don't think the post implies the notion that women are responsible for their own safety any more than men, animals and ghosts are for their own. And certainly never by any length of suggestion that women, well, are to be blamed for perverts who lack manners and behaviour; latitudes and lipsticks notwithstanding. However, if we really have to regard such hot-blogging as a serious affair, I think the post lacks a centre and enshrouds its own intent of purpose. Besides, as you can notice, the post is more or less a rendition of common-sense of real time and space. But, having said that and after following the counter arguments I think it can be seen that the intent of the post is to a certain extent confounded by the use of dubitable phrases, two of them that I discovered by couple of readings- moral of the story (what story?) and better sense must prevail; However, the post is crystal on two aspects: Safety-that women aren’t safe anywhere? Perverts exist! So we should keep an eye on ourselves. Secondly women should mind their drink: excess becomes, on many levels hideous. (more on these later)

Sakshi is entitled to hold her views. If the views are polemical, she is obligated, within the framework to justify or expound on her views. And her views alone. This is what is judged? She is neither obligated to explain any one single or all the possible interpretations of the views nor she is open to be questioned if she should have held such a view in the first place. But this is precisely what Sakshi has been, comment after comment bullied to explain. This is a classical instance of that lovely and underrated theory by Derrida [Sorry cant seem to find better link for Derrida's text online] which fits like a fuck in the post-modern world [Remember Danish Cartoons?]

And this is the chant passed as debate: Oh why oh why oh why you think such? You are wrong because I think it is consistent with patriarchy or whatever the bollocks I can think it is? Now, If you don’t explain why it is not (consistent with patriarchy) then you must be wrong, which I think you already are.

Consider an example: Lets say I don't like Jews. The judgment on this view should be based on and only on why I hold this view. And if I state openly my view, it doesn’t make me obligated to explain ideologies, anti-Semitism, Nazism or make me one of its supporters. Such a reductionist expectation naively equates anti-Semitism to not liking Jews! I might just not like because they make me pray too long before the food, which, as a matter of fact is not anti-Semitism.

I think all of us can do the substitutions.

Holycows on a witch hunt:

Meanwhile, at the Desipundit site, the vagaries of thoughts and the anguish of post-modern cubicle existence can be seen in full flow. The debate starts between the usual realist-nominalist schools and proceeds to seat belts and sausages. The first group led by alpha articulate Falstaff (PBUH), convinced about Sakshi's ulterior christian intent to soft swaddle a subliminal anti-feminist message in a saheli talk, has repeatedly subjected her to full-frontal attack and open vilification. Based on an assumption, the gang has logically extended the argument to its own desired end, and consummated Sakshi's view in an allegation (vide supra). In the process has, disregarded both-the intricacies of the feminist ideology as well the autonomy of the writer.

As for the argument, it is best described as unfounded for it does not provide any form of evidence that would either support the allegation or preclude a defence. Speaking of the allegation itself, it is neither drawn by deductive nor inductive reasoning from the post, but purely imaginative (drawn out of thin air)! All of this is not new; it is the good old Fragile Girl Theory of the eighties which argued that society exists, in all its form to victimize women and women alone. Meaning: the world existed to make women extinct. Such paranoia, was chucked out in toto in no time by Christina Sommers which is why you probably might not have heard it.

So in summa, we have an allegation which has no evidence but only belief. Like : I believe you meant this and this alone and therefore you are wrong. If you aren’t wrong then you must be wrong. So what would you like then: to burn or to drown?

I suppose since we are not medieval anymore, we are not allowed such pleasures but expected to clarify: both the intent and the content.

On intent:
But then, Sakshi the very writer of the purportedly outrageous (you wish!) post has been given no space to confirm or deny if she intended to blame the victims. Even when out of her own initiative she has denied repeatedly and categorically the presumptuous charge of any intent to lay the blame on the victims or as her allegers believe peddle in patriarchy she has been totally ignored for convenience!!! No one from Desipundit has explained the reasons for the continued insistence of the validity of the interpretation.From the interactions, it is inferable that the general sentiment of the arguing school, cheered by a few low-lives, is visibly punitive and ornery.

It is worthy to state this again because people seem to have missed it. The writer has been held accountable to one allegedly implied view which has no reasonable proof; no proprietary claim by the writer yet is propagated as a criminal act. This is fundamentalism. If we really understand the meaning of the word then the debate- another widely misunderstood term as I found out, ends here.

But then if we don’t give them the benefit of the doubt then we are making the same mistake we have accused them of:

Desipundit has been questioned by many independent readers regarding the contentious words which form the link. Also, its worth to the claim of having interpreted the post rightly. I personally have tried to understand the underlying reasoning in the continued insistence on the righteousness of their impression as the sole possibility, despite the fact that the writer has openly refuted and disowned the intent. Till date, there have been three apologetic defences on record:

The first by a certain Neha, who says that “Most of us are bound to come to that conclusion” (and by implication that alone). She also personally tries to convince me that there isn't any ulterior motive in Desipundit's intent but that “When sometimes people write posts things tumble away and give meaning other than what the writer intended”.

I dont have to tell you that such thoughts are the product of a mind that has been closed; well, at least in the context.

The other one by Lekhni, the one who linked the post, the messenger, as she sees herself states “There are so many different concepts in the universe that all of you cant try to comprehend”.

Of course, surely. For one, such reasoning is beyond me. I simply can’t understand the fact that when both the sender and recipient/s of the message are disputing its passage, she thinks herself as only an innocent conveyor.

At the moment, I am trying to look more into- if these issues are because of lack of reason or culture.

Continued:

To the content and the contentions:

A sentence can only say, it can’t be, in any realm expected to show. As long as it fulfills that, it can be true.

~ Ludwig Wittengenstein, explaining why logic isn’t true in society in his Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus

Before we move to the content and my views on it we must understand the contested perceptive values and the abstracted notions which the content includes.Though this is likely to be more of a monologue, I believe, given the confusion and the subsequent rhetorics I have noticed it has given rise to, we can only put all of it into perspective by clearly explaining the attributes involved: responsible, safe, blame, victim, (therefore, freedom, society and law)

Freedom is a value, a right to live freely and openly within an agreed framework. It is not a fancy to do whatever you want whenever you wish! That is anarchy. Since the demands upon such a framework, society in this instance are heterogeneous, it tries to harmonize the divisive extremities into a collective common of best interest by generating a concept of law. Law is best defined, I think in phenomenological terms as the representative wisdom of the people and the times. Within this defined framework, we are to claim our rights by following our duties.

Here, it is important to note that it does not include the two extremes – evolutionary consciousness of instinct (common sense) or flights of fantasy (ideals, idiocy or illness).

This means, to give an example, we are free to chop our hands off. It is not against the law.Yet no one does it. Law presupposes that such knowledge has been internalized by centuries of instinctive memory. On the other hand (if you haven’t done away with it) it isn’t illegal to argue that numbers (1, 2, 3...) or adjectives (moron, millionaire etc) or separate toilets for men and women should be banned because they are against principles of equality. Yet, no one does. Well except a few who can only see the numbers and alphabets of the keyboard.

It is for the reasons above, that law, promises freedom but only strives to preserve safety. This means, regardless of whether you are a man, woman, Hamlet or his father you are free to walk the streets at 3 am but you cannot insist that the statue must ensure your safety i.e. that no one attacks you. Followingly, if you are attacked, the charges are of assault not danger!

In the spirit of striving for this safety the state advises you against the possible dangers at various fronts in a variety of forms: expiry dates (food, medicine), condoms (sex), parental guidance (entertainment), smoking (leisure). It is neither obligatory nor legally required to follow them. You are held accountable to yourself alone. No autonomy or freedom is undermined. In other words, by following them you will not ensure your absolute safety or by ignoring them you will not attract sanction. Meaning you are held accountable to only your choice of discretion. That is responsibility.

It is one of the infinite abstractions unique only to man. Others, to name a few are: justice, humour, risk, and love (the most abused one) . These all are learnt in life by all of us when we are in our early teens. These are arbitrary values of unique subjective significance. It is to moderate the potential heterogeneous excesses of such attributes did society bring the law in the first place. (above)

The example in question is an amazing irony because Sakshi reiterates commonsense (as described above) that women should watch their back, mind their drink etc. Yes, perhaps needless, but the role of such a sentiment in the society has been explained. In the arguments, it is countered with the other end of the pole- delusions of fancy- which can only exist as a priori truth in mathematics. For instance, why shouldn’t someone be whacked out of their minds?
If such an act had no variables exclusive of the act itself or no bearings from the act, ie a value in the realm of mathematics, (say number 17, which is free as number 17 and nothing else) it is true. Unless proved otherwise. The event alluded to, unfortunately did not take place in mathematics!

This means our arguments must be valid to the defined set and the context of what is being talked about. But as I see that has been ignored in favour of vain rhetorics. Also, in the background of this gross overlooking, there are couple of rumours doing rounds that putting together such rhetorics, with a comma and a conjunction in a syntax is reasoning!! (Why haven’t proofreaders and secretaries ever given rise to philosophical schools?) Let us dispel all notions of such arguments one by one.

Howzat 1:

Asking women to exercise caution is blaming the women?

This is the fundamental premise of the interpretation and the argument. This is one of the astounding leap of delusional logics I have seen.
Consider this: Women are advised to examine their breasts regularly, now if they develop a lump then everyone in the world would blame them for it?
Consider scenarios where a second party is involved: Say, women are asked to be careful during being out in a night; now if she gets murdered she is to blame? Would this mean it is not a crime and the murderer is not a criminal?
If it doesn’t apply in such contexts why is it applied here? Would she not be the same woman? Why doesn’t anyone object to such advices?
And what exactly is some blame, as it is mentioned in the link?

Tip, Googly: The opposite of responsibility is not blame.

Howzat 2:

Asking someone to be safe implies they aren’t safe enough?

This is absurd! As explained above safety is an abstract attribute and not a value in logic. It is based on perception of risk, which again is an abstract subjective value. There exist departments and disciplines for risk management.(fact)

One where I work, we know that the risks are not quantifiable or cant be qualitatively concurred upon; to use the defining phrase: not objectively predictable and not objectively preventable. Hence we bring in measures to minimize and manage it; one of them might be to take actions to prevent the risk.
And since we always work(or live) with a belief that we aren’t safe enough, it doesn’t imply we are off-gaurd. It doesn’t imply that we were careless every time there was an incident. Every woman who is reading this in her heart knows this. And yet every time she hears a Danger-story, she wants to put the learning hat on and introduce an apt safety measure into her safety structure. That's Darwin.
So if we go to a higher threat level (orange/red) that means we are more vulnerable than before and that alone, it never means we are/were complacent or ignorant!!!( How preposterous!)

Tip, Chinaman: For women or anyone there isn’t any absolute safety. We strive for it though. (Vide supra)

Howzat 3:

Asking someone to be safe is a value judgment of omission? So if you ask some one particular to be safe (or whatever) it means a judgment of their safety (or lack there of)?

The foolishness of the argument is impossible even for imagination. We have already defined the nature and form of risk and the place of advice in the scheme of things.
So if I ask my girlfriend to take care, that means she is reckless and vagabond? And if she doesn’t happen to take care as I had asked her to, and god forbid should something happen , I am going to judge her/blame her?

Tip, Off spin: Lets not get ahead of ourselves and our lives, which we seek to enrich. We all live a life, we dont think it out.

Howzat 4:

If you ask someone to be safe then you should define safe, when where and the time?

This is heights of existentialism from where we can only fall into hinterland of vast uselessness. Again let us not forget the significance and individuality of value of the word safe and the definition of risk. This arbritariness is what we deal with day in and day out. This is how we live, love.

For the purpose here, imagine this fictional conversation between Sartre and Simone-

Sartre: Bye, honey.

Simone: Bye, I love you.

Sartre: Er, excuse me, Define Love.

Simone: ? What?

Sartre: Define love?

Simone: er? Get lost.

Sartre: Define get lost? Where should I get lost to?

Simone: Ok You pig! Define Define.

Sartre: !!@"£!! errr.....I’ll get back to you.

Simone: Don’t bother.

Yes the hilarity of the conversation is a prompt reflection of the utility of the argument in the given context.

Tip, Half Volley: How, where, when? It was said long back:
Quantum vis, quantum sufficit, quantum libet-- as much as sufficient, as much you please, as much you wish. Yes, It is up to you. Really. ( No not Radiohead =), Commonsense.

Howzat 5:
Since you haven’t told me when and where to be safe then you are so terribly wrong in advising about safety?

This is reasoning? That to ask people to be responsible (however silly) you have to define where and when? Isn’t such thinking a farce of the farce of the farce? This confounds the very meaning of responsibility (as above).

So if Sakshi says, Yes it is not safe at Camden market at 3 am. She and Falstaff will go and check it out at that time? And if some hapless fellow misbehaves with Falstaff, then should we infer Camden market is unsafe forever? Or if he is not bullied does that mean it is safe forever?

It isnt funny. No Sir. But people who ask such questions believe since two people cant agree on a definition of dangerous premise (arbitrary) as dangerous (subjective value) across time, space and matter, one shouldnt regard anything or any place or anytime as dangerous at all! And since what one can regard is different from other, one should never venture to use the word dangerous unless one defines it by time, space and matter? What Nonsense?
What is the premise that defining the location and time going to prove in the context?

Tip, outswinger: Articulation is conveying a concept, a thought; not assassinating your own character grammatically.

Howzat 6:

Telling anyone to be safe is okay, but telling women to be safe is promoting patriarchy?

That is a classical stereotype of the eighties feminist mind (after all bras were burnt, acid-trips were had, rock stars were slept with): Eternally offended by patriarchy and wanting to fill it into the vacuity of their and everyone else's lives. This has been picked up some aimless and mediocre Indian minds and used on the internet just to prove their fashion-liberalism over people who don’t know much. Let’s see why and how they are inconsistent.

There are thousand messages aimed at women daily: beauty, health, grocery, safety.

Some might recall women in India are warned about chain-snatchers on buses and public places. The other day, I remember someone in Indian blogosphere writing women should be careful on orkut and people were falling on themselves to agree with him. No one questioned him of pushing in patriarchy? But as we are going to see, questioning here is not only poor understanding of patriarchy but also feminism. I think there were some discussions to this effect on Desipundit.

First Patriarchy is not in itself or even by implication asking women to be safe. Or locking up women for the fun of it. The fundamental basis of Patriarchy is women discriminated against and dominated over for control. And further, only because they are women.

If I persuade my girlfriend to stay at home today because I am concerned that if we go out, she is going to swipe my card clean, it doesn’t constitute patriarchy. But if I say you should not go out because you are a woman that’s patriarchy.

In the post Sakshi hasn’t discriminated against women because of their gender, nor has she asked them to submit their control to men. She is only asking women to mind themselves against what she so eloquently puts as sexually frustrated fuckers. Further, she has said both women and men should watch their drink. She, however has also stated, that she doesn’t like women being pissed and making themselves vulnerable which is entirely personal and not discriminatory. That is a matter of experience and I concurr. Personally, I have seen the sight of women being touched totally unaware whilst under the influence of alcohol as well had not so very proud moments of being carried munted on high-street by mates on early Saturday mornings. Hence, such a view isn’t discriminatory or intended to be dominant against womanhood; it is only a matter of learning. I am sure women and men who have gone out, seen and experienced things would agree. (Btw, that doesn’t constitute a value judgment on people who haven’t.)
All this is only an example of Isaiah Berlin's theory .

Tip 6 leg break: Drink your drink do not let the drink drink you.( Dont tell, I know I am being stupid here )

Thats an over.

All that said, what is the insane idea that patriarchy is wrong in all contexts?

There are so many South Indian Brahmin women I know who are educated, intelligent but who don’t want to subject themselves to the disapproval of their fathers. Or they want to go at length to make their fathers approve of their choices. (Arranged marriage?) Though this is changing, it is but still prevalent. This is real hard fact. Not fantasy!

Last week, I interviewed a woman from Congo with an interpreter. (My French isn’t sensitive enough for such interviews). She was serially raped in her own house (safety anyone?) in front of her husband who was killed later. She was trafficked to UK and in the process she was exploited by different men in various capacities in many countries because she was on her own. Home office wouldn’t have her and she cant get back to her country and her family which has been killed.The sad part is she says a few months back she was living happily with her husband and earning a living working from home (weaving). Perhaps she was submitting to his will in their culture, but she was content and functional? All her painful memories are when she was out of his protection. The interpreter, neither acquainted nor trained to deal with such gruesome tales was in tears.

These are facts and not poetry or movie reviews. The examples are to show the positive influence of patriarchy. Personally, I dont approve of it and believe it has to be systematically phased out. But that doesnt include jumping on dubious online posts, arguing when the intent is denied, and asking women to give evidence of their abuse to feel good about ourselves. If that is, count me out.
The most important point is to set the tenets of what form of patriarchy is acceptable and to what extent without undermining the autonomy of women in general and a woman in particular in a given context? That's a point to think for a real debate. (Think No.1)

I have cited so many examples of advices in our lives involving women: breast lump, road and online safety, chain-snatching, domestic violence, relationships. No one in the society we live has questioned their validity till now or alleged that such messages are patriarchal. But we all jump on and about when the context is sex? Notwithstanding the intricacies of all such advices and if possible ignoring subtexts of the sentiments they imply, let's just step back a bit and think who exactly is equating women to their bodies here?

On the Falstaff of it:

Now lastly, as if such nonsense wasn’t enough, Falstaff went on to post this hideous blog while a few extras of the internet who can’t think even if paid for, approved of it in no time.

Here I must share a few observations on Mr. Falstaff and co., the modus operandi is post it hot, cook black & white soup and kill any dissent. When challenged justify your view by attacking proofreading and copywriting skills(which can be paid for) and eventually become silent and dismiss the rest of the world on those grounds. Ditto this blog too.

Coming to the blog itself, after you have managed to ignore the over-spilling self love , the most you can do, if at all you can manage, is to infer it is morbid.

Firstly, on a moral level, (vide Kohlberg above) it is: So, when did you stop beating your wife? argument. If women respond (thanks none did) then as we all know, he would have subjected them to a synchoretic cross-examination reminiscent of the melodrama in a 1980s Hindi movie climax. ( Magar, Tinaji us wakht aap wahan kya rahi thi?, aapki paas saboot hain?) to such an extent that women would feel as if they were being molested?

If they don’t respond (women are always smart) then oh eureka, I proved it? I am the feminist. So we have proved beyond doubt that Sakshi was wrong in advising women to be safe? See win-win.

The idiocy of the argument is, given the nature of it, a joke no one can laugh at. I am sure, the intent is not perverse or malice but it is so deeply swimming in its own vanity even to realize that the page would be an investigative search result if some sex-maniac goes overtime in Pennsylvania. ( thats how they operate)

Even limiting ourselves to logic; Kindly see above the relevant paragraph for asking definitions of safety which fits in perfectly here.

So if women don’t come out and tell him about it, that means to infer there is no one woman in the world who feels they could have watched out a bit more? Is that it? What Rubbish! And even if someone came would that mean it is wrong? I have discussed above how platonic logic is limited in its application to argue in the setting of day to day constraints.

Now lets consider real logic:

The argument is between Sakshi’s view, say X and Falstaff view Y.

Now if the hypothesis Z (the poser question in his blog) is taken to be a proof by exclusion to the second view (Y) , it would still only provide support to the second view. (Y) , and within its own set constraints. How is that going to counter or disprove Sakshi’s view X?

On similar lines, it assumes that all views that arent compatible with X should be agreeable with Y. Furthermore, Y and its hypothetical proof Z assumes everyone who reads Sakshi's post have to arrive at Y except Sakshi. I have read the posts and my view is Y1 which I believe is valid and I think Y is a conclusion of a mind that is disposed to misreading. I can count bloggers for all my fingers of the two hands who dont agree withY.(I have thing for hands?). Therefore it is logically (logically, logically) inconsistent.

Here it goes more plainly: See, I asked this question and no one answered so I am right. But that doesn’t make Sakshi wrong, unless it is logically proved that both X and Y cant be true in the same context. This means that all the women who were/are/being abused etc have to sit before their computers, come to the site and give their view about X and Y. Given that is even possible, then no one should have disclosed all the nonsense requested: Real name time blah blah !!
Figure that? We all know it is a fourth order idea that closely borders on illness- this can possibly be accomodated in one and only one mind. At our age, we are at least expected to sense the stupidity of it, if not know.

Despite all this, just to see how it goes, I have given example to the question asked: Of R vs Benjamin Bree (meanwhile it would be useful for people to know R is Regina which is one of standard anonymous, not give me your real name?). Bree had been sentenced for five years for rape but in this appeals-court verdict the sentence was quashed claiming that the allegation was lacking (not in evidence for the incident, but allegation itself) The basis of acquitall was secondary effects of excess alcohol. (Her memory was patchy). There are many more such cases. I know two personally where women have regretted and felt they shouldn’t have drunk so much.

The point is alcohol has lot of acute effects, the very reason why it is consumed, but if done in excess (the notion of excess itself can be influenced by the alcohol , google for Mallenby effect). To name a few pertinent effects here: disinhibition, decreased reflexes, delayed co-ordination, imbalance, impaired vision, increased sexual drive (this is regardless of gender) and impairment of short term memory.

All of them, would render both men and women vulnerable for exploitation and even when exploited, it is sticky wicket esp. with memory impairment. So if the defence lawyer can prove to the jury that your memory was impaired then your allegation is going to be shaky. That whether you were so careless enough to make yourself drunk to an extent you might have consented and not known? As in the above case. So, be careful. I know personally of women who woke up with someone they didn't recognize in the morning.
But as expected, all these cannot be digested if you have already made up your mind on what to believe and what is right. So naturally, my points were first missed, then not understood, and having not understood and not to my surprise refuted away. With guess what? It’s all patriarchy argument.

Of Misliberalism:

Some of you here have asked me whether such ignorant sentiments should actually be worth our time. Mostly No. But not always. None of us are perfect but then it is important to address a problem when it sets a dangerous precedent, and more so when it is always from one source and passed on ignorantly as some rare esoteric wisdom.

I think it is here I should speak of Falstaff; I have never before spoken of any one blogger or likely to again but I speak now because I think he is setting a dangerous example of some false liberalism without any understanding either by thought or by any experience and continues to do so without realizing any of it.

I gather from a source that he is one of the knowledgeable folks on poetry in Indian blogosphere, which is admirable. He has my respect for his enviable grammatical skills and for not using comment moderation( he is not devoid of censoring though). But I humbly feel he should keep himself out of social commentary because his primary thought process is located in a realm of idea outside the paradigm of social functionings. I am certain that he is nothing but nice as a person so what follows is not a reflection of him as a person but only his insane ideas propogated as fashionable on his blog.

The first time I interacted with him was during the Shilpa Shetty Big Brother Row. You might recall that Shilpa Shetty was subjected to racist remarks by two eejits on a TV Show. Sentiments like Indians are undernourished because they eat underprepared food. And Indians live in a shant were expressed on a reality television programme. It was first objected to by disgusted British public and later spilled over into a typical pop-controversy.

Falstaff who having not seen the show(!) thought it wasn’t racist at all (if that isn’t I don’t know what is?) he then went on to argue that people who watch television, more so reality television are morons and instead advised the humanity that they should all read a book to enhance the meaningfulness of our lives. (Don’t ask me)
I am not making it up, funny it may be but it is true. Over here.

What happened: The next week the eejits were voted out by an overwhelming number of British audiences. Both of them lost their contracts and endorsements (in real life) and their sponsors disowned them (in real life). They have been since consigned to obscurity.Shilpa Shetty meanwhile, for whatever it was worth went on to win the show voted by British audience. ( who according to a survey have the highest average for books read per person in the world.)

The second time was when Taslima Nasreen was attacked in Hyderabad, with the incident being captured on film, Falstaff without any shame took the chance here to share his exotic library (yes, a man of letters!) and went on to suggest- you guessed it, to read a book. But this time it was Taslima’s as he himself was reading, in an effort to prove a point to all the illiterate goons who had attacked her. I am sure he found the book hopelessly average.

What happened: Taslima sadly has been packed and parcelled around the land by various governments. She is presently under state protection in an undisclosed location due to concerns of her safety. Also, with shame we must note, she has removed the objectionable sections of her book. Still, things are not settled and considered as brewing.

This time, he has come out with a post intended to elicit the sexual violations of women to prove a point which is flawed even for fantasy as shown above. This is superflous and against the very tenets of the learning theory. This is not one but consistent gaffes of serious lack of judgement clouded by absurd reasoning and hopeless self-righteousness. Something is seriously moribund in such thinking and if not realised now is going to grow into a regret.

With such a bearing, lets return back to his post- which if dismissed as a product of a mindthat cant, even willingly look beyond itself, what about the readers? The folk who pride themselves in announcing that they are feminists even before their names? Though it is there for everyone to see, though it openly humiliates the very women it is apparently is trying to defend, till date there hasn't been a single person who has deemed fit to raise the issue of the offence it purports to women. So much gasbag feminism. And to think of it, all of this to prove a fashionable notion against what even remotely doesn’t constitute a threat to feminism. Even if we assume that the such a sentiment of safety advice, deliberate or not, in some form or the other qualifies to be considered as an veiled attack and a danger to the principles of the freedom of the women, would it, even by any stretch of imagination deserve to be condemned with asking for details of a molestation? Is this Feminism? Or is this the sort of feminism we want to encourage? Are we getting ahead of our own enthusiasms here? ( Think No.2)

Reflecting upon it, is it not in the beauty of this evident irony: in this feeling, that it is or was worthwhile to ask such a, for the lack of better word, irresponsible question lies the proof for the accusation that most feminists or Pro-feminists, try to hide their ego and rationalise their agenda as a form of veiled humanistic movement? It is indeed true that feminism has to fight many battles.

Finally, all of this-- from the attack on Sakshi to this mindless vanity, I believe it is all wrong and I have taken my time and resources to explain my conviction why it is. Not to moral police, not to sound clever, not to vilify or embarrass anyone, but only to register this is wrong. And that alone. Nothing more nothing less. In the post, I have highlighted two points that I feel every one of us should think about. Plus, it would also be useful pondering over, if you wish, of what worth is wanting to hang on to something when its refuted by the only one who was responsible for it?

All said, don’t take it otherwise. I am all for feminism, provided we understand it. All I am saying is this is not.

Europe can thrive without feminism, while American feminism is academic cocktail talk; but the real thrust of future surge is in Asia and Africa.

If India continues to sustain with the current rate of progress that we all are witnessing, in around 20 years we would be able to realize a revolution--millions of women shrouded in the darkness of millennia of oppression would be able to break free from all the cobwebs of history; I am speaking of not one but millions of women, who make India, who perhaps even as we speak now might not have enough to drape themselves with respect, forget someone ripping it off them; Women, who after all these years find themselves in a position to realise their potential and find their own voice. I think it is up to us, that we help them find that voice and when they find it, make sure it is the right voice- free with all the possibilities and free from prejudice. I think we owe it to them.

Thank you for your patience, hope it was worth it.

Nature Notes From Mhow

2007-12-20T07:25:00.000-08:00

I remember reading an article in an American website about how military garrison towns in Europe and America often end up protecting flora and fauna because these towns are not allowed to 'develop' the way a normal town has to.

Mhow, where I live, is also a paradise of nature. The East India Company was given this town in 1818 after the Holkars who ruled Indore state till 1947 were defeated at the Battle of Mahidpur and the Treaty of Mandsaur was signed. Cantonment laws prohibit any form of building and the civilian population has its complaints about these laws being outdated and relics of the British Raj. The net result of all this is the sheer profusion of flora and fauna.

The English chose their cantonments well. Mhow, Pachchmarhi, Pune, Bangalore, Secunderabad, Wellington were some of the towns chosen in Central, Western and South India as being fit for training institutions. Pune, Bangalore and Secunderabad have changed beyond recognition thanks to the IT revolution and globalisation. But Mhow has still remained the same. The writer Jaisinh Birjepatil whose novel Chinnery's Hotel is set in a fictional Mhow and has been selected by Khushwant Singh as one of the best post Independence (post 1947) pieces of fiction written by an Indian had told me in an email that he chose Mhow because it has hardly changed.

I have spent most of my life in this small town. A few months ago I decided to make use of a modest sum I earned through my weblog at Sulekha and chose to buy a digital camera. This has enabled me to snap hundreds of pictures which have to do with various aspects of life in this small town. This includes the trees, birds and animals I see here. I am posting these as a series of linked blog posts titled Nature Note From Mhow in my Sulekha weblog.

Click here to see these posts and the beauty of the Malwa region of Western Madhya Pradesh.

Notes from India:

2007-12-08T17:15:00.001-08:00

Bashir and Amid are half brothers, eight and eleven years old respectively who I met at the entrance of Golconda fort. They work at a sugarcane juice kiosk all day preparing juice for customers. Their work involves coaxing the tourists to buy a drink, thrusting the raw sugarcane into the squeezer and mixing the drink.
They start around ten and end their day about six, after which they return back home with the wage the Seth pays them, eat the supper their mother has prepared, watch a bit of telly and get to bed. The following day it is the same. This is their routine. On some days they might get to play a local game of cricket in a side alley with the neighbouring kids.

What about school? I ask.
Bashir answers- Iskool mein kya rakha hain? Khaana hain? (What’s there in school, it hardly can feed.)

And quickly asks Kisko bechoge iskool? (Whom to send to school?)

Their family includes seven children of school going age. All of them, like Bashir and Amid work daily to earn wages. They save what they can in between their domestic commitments and pool in money to watch a latest Bollywood movie once in a month which is a big event.

Salman teek hain magar saaaruk mast hain. (Salman is all right , but Shahrukh is the best)

Both of them are ardent fans of Shahrukh Khan, the nation’s most popular star.

+++

A few days before, while waiting to meet a friend in Udupi , we managed to catch up a Shahrukh Khan movie in a charmingly modest theatre. The movie, the flavour of the month in India, is an elaborate spoof of many 1970s Bollywood movies. On an international dais, it is on par with a C grade Hollywood flick. Like a well designed theme park, it is dumb, linear and clichéd . Yet like a theme park, it entertains, which was palpable during its screening in that obscure theatre.

The movie grossed 25 crores in its first week of release in India alone and is marked to be the biggest hit of the year. It was produced by Shahrukh Khan’s own company Red Chillies Entertainment which had doubled its production investment of 35 crores by selling the movie’s distribution rights before the release.
Needless to say , part of the share would go to the choreographer, Farah Khan, who has reportedly managed to direct the non-song sequences of the film by gluing in spoofs of scenes from various movies. During the title credits, Farah Khan makes a modest display of her claim to be the director by showing herself to make an entry in an auto rickshaw .

Farah Khan , unlike Bashir and Amid went to a school. In a chauffeur driven car.

+++

Back in my hotel room in Hyderabad, flipping through the channels of Indian media I catch a story . One of the officials of Board of Cricket Control in India has accused Shahrukh Khan of promoting his aforementioned film during a cricket match. The newsreader in the studio is visibly excited, screaming as if she is breaking the news of the century. The reporter covering the story is almost shrieking into the microphone. There are opinions expressed, rights and wrongs. Should he ? Should he not? Should one care? Should one not? Etc.

In the next newsreport after half an hour or so, Shahrukh Khan in a quick interview reacts that he is offended, and emphasises he was at the cricket match only because he was invited. Also, quite actorly, he avers that he would never take his children to watch a cricket match again. And should they wish to go to one, he says raising his voice he is left with no option but to conceal their father’s identity. Lest, they/he shall be wrongly accused of mispromoting.

The news-piece carries the clip of the alleged interview that was held during the cricket match. Rameez Raza, a former Pakistani cricketer turned commentator, hired for the sole reason of being one of the very few cricketers from his country who can manage decent English speaks to Shahrukh Khan and one another official from a local cricket board. The interview, presumably arranged as a promotional insert is haphazard. It seems none of the three men know the agenda for the interview, if there was one really! Anyway, what is the deal? Even George W Bush Jr. can tell you that promoting cricket in India is like gilding a golden lily every day.

Except for a new Cricketing Academy that is coming up in Rajasthan (which according to the chap, is one of the finest cricketing academies in the world but just not ready), the chap blurts out some ground report.( ….people love it out here, everybody loves to come here, weather‘s great…etc )

When asked to comment on one of the bowlers in action, Shahrukh Khan, for reasons unknown, quickly presents a rehearsed summary of how the youngsters are given a golden platform in the game. To the subsequent questions further in the interview, between chuckles and laughs, he goes on to add remote and irrelevant thoughts such as how Pakistan is going to follow India’s example and achieve balance etc. All, in one mentally rehearsed take.

But as if the interview so far wasn’t ridiculous enough, Rameez Raza is intent to make it more hilarious. He caps it all with sharing the schedule of his family who, we are told are visiting from Pakistan. He goes on to declare that he has been asked by his family to arrange tickets for this great Shahrukh Khan movie, which in his own words is a massive hit! All on national television beamed live.
It doesn’t quite end there. To place the cherry on top he holds the microphone to Shahrukh Khan as if expecting him to announce the tickets reserved for his family. But Shahrukh Khan with the rehearsal done with, extols on the specifics of the hit, thanks the audience who, have been kind and the great god who has never been more kinder to him. Forgetting both that he is live on national stream, and the tickets for Mr Raza’s family, Shahrukh Khan converts the interview into a pub conversation:
Have you seen it?
Oh you should see it. Its great entertainment or something like that. Rameez Raja, it appears, suddenly is in quite haste to finish the conversation and hurry over to book the tickets.
Meanwhile, somewhere not far away Murali Karthik has bowled the twentieth over.
+++

On another day, Richard Branson is in Delhi for his Indian Radio station launch. In one of his exclusive interviews he is complaining how Indian economy is not actually what it is made out to be. He suggests India should open up more and cut down on regulating. He also laments about how he is a not permitted to name the Radio station after his company.
+++
The next morning in the complementary newspaper that is delivered to my room by the prompt Syed, I notice a colourful photograph of Richard Branson, draped in somewhat Indian looking attire, wearing a tilak flanked by a few others, trying to do a Bhangra at the launch ceremony. I show it to Syed who although has failed SSLC, would beat any Marriott staff at efficiency any day. He gazes at it for a moment. First he grins hesitantly and then breaks into flowery laughter asking: Arey ye Firang kya kar raha hain saab? (What's the white man upto?)

Perplexed to find a suitable answer, I think of something quickly and reply: Ye naach-gaana banane aaya hain.(He has come here to sing, dance) to which he chuckles peering dismissively at the snap and walks away. I note the radio station is called Fever 104.

I try to imagine how Syed would guffaw with a Aap mazaak kar rahein hain saab!, (You are kidding!) if I tell him that Fever 104 means Bukaar ek so chaar. I admit to myself that it has a nice ring to it. It is just waiting for someone from Bollywood, someone with the similar taste of Farah Khan to make a misery and money out of it.

+++

On the return flight, I wondered how even if I had tried , I wouldn’t have been able to explain to Syed who was Richard Branson and what really he was doing here in India. I thought how odd it was to have such a feeling- to be an Indian and yet be unable to explain to a fellow Indian what was happening in and to India.

As I ruminated over such thoughts I realised something, whatever was the reason behind such a feeling, it ought to be the same reason why, even if I get to meet all of them, I would not be able to explain to Shahrukh Khan that beyond fame , money and success was conscience or that a celebrity is accountable to a society which has created him or to Farah Khan that to direct means conceiving a scene and realizing it, not having a laugh at others and feeling proud about it. To Rameez Raza, well , simply not to watch too many Bollywood movies. As well to Bashir and Amid’s father, and thousand other such potential fathers, that two is enough.

I realised it was also the same reason why Richard Branson who wouldn’t dare to attempt a Samba in South America or a Flamenco in Spain would try a Bhangra and get away with it.

The plane roared farther away from the west coast and higher over the Arabian sea and through the receding mists, the reason took a clear shape and form, standing out as a gigantic stretch of land, on its own, like how it had stood for centuries, so vulnerable yet so very unconquerable, so very inexplicable - India.

Diwali 2007 - Images from Mhow (MP); India

2007-11-14T06:39:00.000-08:00

Diwali could well be described as the main festival of Madhya Pradesh.
Here are a few images I clicked in Mhow - the small cantonment town in Indore district where I live.

In Mhow bazaar:

Cowdung and colours produce a lovely rangoli:

Happy Diwali, Deepavali ki Shubhkaamnaein:

Govardhan Puja at village Gawli Palasia just outside Mhow town the day after Diwali:

More pictures of Diwali in Mhow available here

Kumble in the Field of Dreams

2007-11-10T07:02:00.000-08:00

Even before Kumble get down to his work on green pastures as a leader, I want to stick my neck out and say that this must be hailed as one of the most important decisions of our time. Even if its for few days, considering the attention span of our decision makers and how general politics and cricket in India are one and the same this one decision has a quality which is not just a throwback on the charmed world of the chivalrous, but a much yearned prospect of playing by the rules and hard.

A trailblazing career had been unfortunately ignored and unrewarded for historical and political reasons. Kumble played with an intensity and integrity unmatched at the highest level and so long that his persona for the fans is that of an unrelenting warrior in the pitched heat of many an epic battles. His calm demeanor is hardly a facade for rivals to see through the fierce competitor who is always on the offensive, mentally and physically. So much so that the reluctant and pugnacious Australian not only eulogized Kumble's asendancy, more importantly he is relishing the prospect of the spirit of the game being brought back with the help of Ponting and Mahela in Test arena. He hopes to see that these personalities will reinvent the game on the ground which has been compromised considerably by the parasitic ICC and its cohorts.

I guess everyone will hope to see the game manned with mindfulness than mindlessness in days to come. After all, reducing a game to mere win and loss have had its consequences. A cricket crazy nation like us must reinvent the game for our own sake. It must grow out of cheap shekels and bollywood sleaze to find its destiny. I remember watching "Fields of Dreams" and thought how churlishly sentimental it was and how alien baseball was to me. However when I applied the context to cricket, it was easy to see how Indians connect socially and personally between parents, siblings, neighbors, in the office and strangers on commute trains and buses - it became all clear to me.

I hope the fearless generals will rise to the occasion for Kumble, the thoughful commander and warrior.

Michelangelo Antonioni (1912-2007) is no more...

2007-08-01T09:19:00.000-07:00

Michelangelo Antonioni (1912-2007) is no more...

Thus Spake Antonioni:
"I am not a theoretician of the cinema. If you ask me what directing is, the first answer that comes into my head is: I don't know. The second: All my opinions on the subject are in my films."

"When a scene is being shot, it is very difficult to know what one wants it to say, and even if one does know, there is always a difference between what one has in mind and the result on film. "

"When I am shooting a film I never think of how I want to shoot something; I simply shoot it."

As if the news of Ingmar Bergman's death wasn't tragedy enough for one day we came to know that another giant of world cinema - Michelangelo Antonioni- also died the same day.

There is a reference to Antonioni in Kundan Shah's Hindi film Jaane Bhi Do Yaro (1983, starring Naseeruddin Shah, Ravi Baswani, Satish Shah, Om Puri and Neena Gupta) - the park where the duo discover the corrupt Municipal Commissioner D'Mello's dead body is named Antonioni Park. In Blowup (1966) - Antonioni's first English Language film - we have a fashion photographer who believes that the photograph of lovers that he took in a park also shows a murder being committed. In Jaane Bhi Do Yaro Kundan Shah salutes Antonioni by using the same idea. Incidentally, Blowup was the first British film which displayed full frontal female nudity.

The master of film aesthetics Antonioni was famous for his trilogy - L'Avventura (1960), La Notte (1961), L'eclisse (1962). This trilogy deals with man's alientation in the modern machine dominated age.
Monica Vitti in L'Avventura (1960). This film received many brickbats in the form of boos, catcalls and walkouts at the Cannes film festival. In 1961 the magazine Sight and Sound conducted a poll and declared this to be the second best film of all time after Orson Welles' Citizen Kane.

Antonioni had said "In Blow-up I used my head instinctively!"

Beyond The Clouds (1995). Directed from a wheelchair after suffering a stroke with the help of director Wim Wenders. According to The Guardian this is "a serious, stately meditation on the meaning of life ... and the beauty of naked women."

------------------------------------------------
Videoclips:
From L'Avventura,1960 (4:31)

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
From Blowup, 1966 (3:15)
"You are right to say that Blow-up is my most unorthodox film, but it is unorthodox in montage, as well as photography. "

"In Blow-up I used my head instinctively!"

--------------------------------------------------------------
From Zabriski Point (6:40) which had music by Pink Floyd, The Who and The Rolling Stones

Tributes and links:
Italian visionary Antonioni dies at 94 - Xan Brooks and agencies (Guardian Unlimited, July 31)
Michelangelo Antonioni, 94, Italian Director, Dies - Rick Lyman (The New York Times, July 31 2007)

The languorous, achingly hip films of Michelangelo Antonioni by Dennis Lim (Slate July 31)

Article in TIME (Feb 19, 1965) on Antonioni's Red Desert.

Quotes by Michelangelo Antonioni

Adieu Ingmar Bergman (1918-2007)

2007-07-31T09:31:00.000-07:00

Ingmar Bergman "poet with the camera" (1918-2007)

"Masters like Ingmar Bergman can die only in the physical sense. He has been with me — as, I am sure, he has been with many others — ever since I discovered cinema as an art form. His work will live on forever for he has, through his huge body of work, defined the very contours of cinema for the modern world. You think of cinema, you think of Bergman. " - Adoor Gopalakrishnan's tribute to Bergman

"probably the greatest film artist, all things considered, since the invention of the motion picture camera" - Woody Allen
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Quotes by Bergman:

"Film as dream, film as music. No art passes our conscience in the way film does, and goes directly to our feelings, deep down into the dark rooms of our souls."

"I hope I never get so old I get religious. "

"I write scripts to serve as skeletons awaiting the flesh and sinew of images."
-------------------------

One of the first headlines I read when I woke up today was that film icon and giant Ingmar Bergman is no more. Press reports quote his daughter Eva who said that her father passed away peacefully at his home on the Baltic Sea island of Faro.

The Associated Press writer Louise Nordstrom in her tribute to him writes:

Bergman's dozens of works combined deep seriousness, indelible imagery and unexpected flashes of humor in finely written, inventively shot explorations of difficult subjects such as plague and madness.

His vision encompassed the extremes of his beloved Sweden: the claustrophobic gloom of unending winter nights, its glowing summer evenings and the bleak magnificence of the Baltic islet of Faro, where the reclusive artist spent his last years. (Link to article given below)

A very strict upbringing by his father, a Lutheran Minister, who believed in "spare the rod and spoil the child" traumatised him. His films dealt with love, pain, good, evil, the fear of death, the joys and pain of family life, relationships.... a navarasa of sorts on celluloid....

The unforgettable chess scene with death in The Seventh Seal (4:00)

Wild Strawberries: Prof. Borg's first nightmare (4:00)

Adoor Gopalakrishnan's tribute to Ingmar Bergman (Indian Express, July 31 2007)

Film Great Ingmar Bergman dies at 89 by Louise Nordstrom (Guardian Unlimited July 31)

Ingmar Bergman, Famed Film Director, Dies at 89 by Mervyn Rothstein (New York Times, July 30)

Ingmar Bergman: Summing up a life in film by Michiko Kakutani (New York Times, June 6 1983)

Thinking beyond criticism.....

2007-05-17T13:25:00.000-07:00

For some, art is the reinterpretation and re-expression of the old. If you imagine such a world of art, it would be replete with endlessly reinterpreted, restructured, rehashed and quite simply, repeated works. If you want a symbol, think of a music album raised to the power of its infinite cover versions. Yes, not just the excruciating monotony, it would also be a kitschy charade?

Besides, what exactly is the re-interpretation referred to here? Undraping Gods and displaying them before an urinal? Going by such a definition, I can effectively reinterpret your father as a bastard, your mother as a whore and your God as a buffoon. I of course am an artist and therefore you should accept all that without any protest. And if you don’t, as some educated would like us believe, it is undemocratic and blatant infringement of right to expression. Excuse me, but did I miss something here?

We have never lost a chance to hide the fact that we are the largest democracy. What we have hid though is that we don’t understand democracy. Anyone, who had abhorred the civics text book as I did would remember that all duties come in the same page as that of rights. If you claim your rights as a subject of the state, you owe back certain promises in return to the state. One of the prominent is to be tolerant and sensible towards other beliefs and practices. And as I see, the instalments are far from being sensible. Also if you are into art you would appreciate it is neither original. Hate to sound discouraging but it is as dull as, well an, urinal. Oh Jesus! Duchamp would be turning in his toilet. Well, the aesthetic value of the art isnt the contention here. And value of any art is defined by perceptions.

Agreed that art is about perceptions. But religion isn’t. And if we come to believe that religion is redundant, so is mocking it or if you like basing your works on it as any artist would tell you. Mostly because many of us cant be bothered about religion anymore and those who seem bothered make sure that you are bothered as well. If it is hard to accept that, try asking any John cleese or Salman Rushdie or MF Husain or Martin Scorsese or Chris Ofili or Dan Brown or even the chap who sketched the illustrative cartoon. Or still better try it out yourself. But be prepared for a bit of thrill. Might take the form of mild protest to being chased across continents. Personally, I am not religious, well not in the sense of the word; I mean I can pass for a buddhist, when I am not publicly trying to kiss women I dont know without their consent. But seriously, what I can never understand is this urge to express oneself in religious motifs, especially when you yourself dont value religion, unless the intent is to spoof in which case it readily offers an universal platform to which populations are pre-acquainted. But then it has a flipside too, one has to be prepared to face or dodge both the brickbats and bouquets, as one man's spoof can be easily another's suffering and the line between is so thin, that it isnt visible at times.

But broadly, religion in art, more so in these times, is a topic which I sincerely believe should be discussed in art schools either theoretically or in corridor conversations for which art schools are so reputed for; had it been openly discussed, then such misguided, misencouraged, though naïve instances wouldn’t have happened. Else he, (sorry ladies) shall be seen mistaking religion as mythology and essentially ending up disowning his works. Hello there! Could someone take him for a drink and explain that a Holy cross before an urinal isn't mythology ? I am glad it isn’t illegal to claim innocence. However, after all that, if someone still insists on choosing that motif ie religion, toilet and nudity then he, - okay you feminists, she, alone is accountable for it. Neither his faculty nor her university.

Followingly, regardless of wherever it was exhibited and to whatever purpose, the office had no business defending the artist. I mean his art per se. In our haste to defend art we have apparently made a few assumptions, like for instance, how do we know that the seemingly innocous portrayal isnt meant to be offensive or that the artist produced the work in sound mind ? Furthermore, you would have to be from a distant galaxy to believe that the whole issue had to do with only art and its expression. It would be as puerile like believing that we all discontinued nuclear proliferation because someone wrote a song about hazards of the bomb to sell their album. Patently, going by the reports of repeated refusal by the staff to obey as well as the counter exhibition of the ancient nudes by the students it is apparent that all of it is quite emotional and perhaps even personal. Both of which doesn’t help to solve the issue at hand. By being adamant of being correct and liberal, whatever that means, we are not only undermining others' right to their sensibilities but also reflecting a bad display of taste. And in the midst of it all, torn and traumatised between two different schools, would be, sadly a young, perhaps even talented artist unable to get his head around it. That is the most disheartening piece of it all.

All that has been written to highlight why I do not agree with this insane idea we seem to foster that by being an artist you have unbound freedom to express yourself in whatever means that pleases you. In effect I have sought to separate the right to art defence vis a vis imprisonment. And also to state my concerns about our instant tendency to label any such protest as undemocratic or curtailing freedom of being oneself without even sparing a moment 's thought. Personally as implied earlier, I do not recognise it as art and even if I do, it is just down there level with the art of making and burning effigies. And I certainly do not endorse that all art by default has to be immediately defended against rest of the world. That would only mean ending up making the same mistake we accuse others of ie not being perceptive to perspectives.

But having said all that it isn’t hard to understand the indignation brought about by, to use an Indian phrase, the way in which all this seem to have allegedly happened. The imprisonment and the events leading to it is something one cant be proud of but it has to be clearly excluded from the right to art factor. Speaking of imprisonment as such, I do not feel like going on about how much all of it is sad and unacceptable. That is mainly because I see the response as cultural. If you add a bit of restricted world-view and a sense of power, the imprisonment isnt all that unimaginable. In fact, it fits in quite perfectly. We burn buses at slightest provocation, we go on strike at whim , our players speak against their coach in public whilst in office, we counterprotest by being deliberately provocative and we have long history of violence inherent in our politics, even blogging; and for all the high falutin talk, us, the so called educated, are incapable to think beyond linking each other's posts and fuming at the failure of democracy before our keyboards at every such possible incident. We all, just blame one another.

I do not mean to minimise it all by being dismissive of the event; but first, let’s honestly look at ourselves. During few of these days we expend our verbiage on people in whose worlds our words have no presence, let alone meaning. And give a few more days; we would be back to our blogs, business and being generally proud of our post-modern conscience writing our movie reviews that our education has endowed us to, all until we chance upon to write again how ridiculous it all is.

These people, this world.

We arent one among them. We are different of course. We follow a pattern, a different one. Go to google and search for any of these issues: MMS scandal, Kareena Shahid Kapoor kiss, Shilpa Shetty racism, Da vinci code Delhi controversy, blogspot ban, Gandhi on youtube, Richard Gere Shilpa Shetty (oh yes) kiss etc, you would end up with a collection of snobbish looking templates heavier than War and Peace. Not once anywhere has there been a suggestion or any attempt to prevent such a incident again. Not even on any scale.

Simply, nothing has happened. We survive, we live. We blog.

No wonder, that in the last hundred years the sum total of all the original ideas we put forth are- Two: Non violent non cooperation and Jaipur foot!

Evidently we are just poncing about, deriving comfort in our English. Our views. Ourselves really.

Probably there is a reason for it all: We quite simply do not know beyond that.

Unless we get out of our new found post-modern elitism and cease regarding others: self appointed moral policers, nut-wingers, rightists, religious goons, this and that, whoever for however disagreeable they are for whatever reasons and take us all as one whole single unit, we shall only be speaking for ourselves. So, by implication we do not have any right to speak for a country. Which means, in other words, we shall be unable to look into solving these issues, by whatever means. That is the bigger shame.

Before us would be, two options, firstly, if we see ourselves as an elitist cohort exclusive of the rest of the citizens of our country, then we simply have to shut up this self-patting culture of blame blogs which we very well know only we ourselves read.

Secondly, if we take to see ourselves as a part of all these, then, I am certain we wouldn’t be writing any of these blogs.

---

PS-Know what? I marvel at my own ability to motivate myself when it comes to responding to such incidents and subsequent Indian blogorrhea. Although I insist on not being patriotic, I cannot deny being a scoundrel.

Post-modern India

2007-03-13T12:37:00.000-07:00

Born in my time in India , I can easily imagine the lifestyles of one entire generation split into two totally and almost contrasting halves. This is a poem I jotted a few months back to remember the days.

Festivals would be grand in India; Uncles and
aunts flocked from all over in advance. The males
having had a long hot bath sat around in their new
vests and lungis discussing politics,
monsoon and elopements. While the
women busy in the kitchen preparing
the grand midday lunch, fondly
sliced their variably coloured vegetables- tomatoes,
onions, cucumbers, catching up with their dose of gossip.
We children roamed around draped
in our new crispy clothes and pride,
hollering and running about; generally
being kids until the late evening
feature film on the good old
doordarshan.
One day it was tawaif.
Being the inclined in such matters, I asked the
elders gathered what would tawaif mean ? Many of them, It
is likely, did not know but they did enough to
hide it from a ten year old. Those who knew,
made disapproving nods, and broke on to
a monologue about immoral influences
of television on kids.
So naturally
I thought it was a bad filthy
word, bad enough to be safely stored for future use(if need be).
I guess it was next morning at the school, a girl
made me angry over something I cant
recall now -- so in my rage it came to me
to call her tawaif. Naturally again,
she presumed it was a bad filthy word
and covering her gaped mouth with her tiny hands, promptly
reported to the bespectacled teacher. Miss Daisy
although did not exactly catch what I had said, scolded me
for being bad filthy and told me to write
an imposition to the effect that I would not repeat it.
so I ended up apologising
for something I did not know.
It took a good few years
to realise that tawaif meant
a dancer dancing for others
pleasure. Oh!! just like Jennifer Lopez ,
I thought
switching on the MTV.

Holi and the Flame of the Forest....

2007-03-05T07:50:00.000-08:00

"I think I shall never see a poem as lovely as a tree
Poems are made by fools like me
But only God can make a tree" - American poet Joyce Kilmer (1886-1918)

(Kilmer was killed in the trench warfare of World War One)

Spring is in the air. The Semul or silk cotton tree (Salmalia malabarica or Bombax malabaricum) is on flower. And so is the mango. "Aam kay ped par mor aaye hain" I overheard a young girl tell her grandfather. The flower of the mango tree is known as mor (peacock) in Hindi. And the most beautiful of all trees is the Flame of the Forest or Dhak. It is also known as Palas, Bastard Teak, Parrot Tree, Porasum (Tamil) , Khakda (Gujarati).The battle of Plassey was fought near a forest full of these trees. And I have seen villages named Palasiya in Madhya Pradesh. I recommend a google search for all those of you who are do not live in areas where this tree grows naturally. I remember boiling the flowers and making colour for Holi when I was a child and my Dad was posted in Mhow.

A naturalist from Pune had once written an essay on this tree in Bittu Sahgal's Sanctuary magazine and he had claimed to have seen more than twenty species of birds on this tree in a short time span of 3 or 4 hours. I love the feel of the trifoliate leaves when they are green, it is like touching suede. I have often seen squirrels and parrots eating the seeds from the pods. I used to collect these pods, one had to get to them when they fell down before the squirrels did so. Even succeeded in making some of them sprout but they died and I felt heartbroken.

I remember taking some photographs of a clump of these trees from a moving train while travelling from Indore to Jabalpur almost ten years ago. I wish a serious effort is undertaken to make this tree more popular. Whenever I see the Flame of the forest on flower I remember these words of the poet Ezra Pound :"The difference between a gun and a tree is a difference of tempo. The tree explodes every spring."

On March 3 I went around town on a moped with a young man named Shyam who I borrowed from a photographer's studio and who was wielding a digital camera. We were taking pictures of a small stadium and on the way back we took a few pictures of a Flame of the Forest tree. I am including them in this post so that all of you can also enjoy this sight.

p.s. In the last picture you can see a male purple sunbird. A parakeet was also sitting on this tree but we disturbed it so it flew away. Maybe we will have better luck next time.