Exhibit A: A clip from Campbell Brown's program on CNN : A correspondent in Haiti is outside a building which had several people still buried under the rubble and people working round the clock to rescue them. One man had been found alive but trapped under the rubble and rescuers were struggling to get him out. The correspondent told us that she managed to get a microphone to the trapped man, and asked him "What is going through your mind right now?" He answered "I pray that you are able to rescue me in time".
Wow, breaking news indeed.
Someone at CNN thought - "sure there's a devastating earthquake and tens of thousands of people have perished, millions are homeless and starving. But that's just meaningless statistics, our viewers can't comprehend that.. how do we make it personal and interesting for them? I know, lets ask a dying man what's on his mind. And report his response in our most earnest, breaking news voice - pretending that it provides some unique insight." There's got to be a term for this attempt to use meaningless sentimentality to bring home the magnitude of a great tragedy.. kind of like "gilding the lily" but the exact opposite.
And yes, I really don't watch the news. I caught this particular bit on Sirius satellite radio. And no, I don't pay for satellite radio either, I got a 6 month free subscription with my new car. It's pretty good though, it has every possible channel anyone could ever want. All the ads are for truck drivers though.
"Spraying skunk venom on a turd"? Not catchy enough...
Thursday, January 14, 2010
Monday, January 04, 2010
Avatar
We saw Avatar this weekend. The trailers had been quite enticing and I knew there was lots of CGI eye candy, but reviews had mostly dissed the story. So while my interest level was high, expectations were set fairly low.
As it turns out, I kind of enjoyed the movie. The alien universe is well imagined, the graphics are amazing, the plot is tight (if predictable) and the action is engrossing. The lead characters did a decent job with the acting and the computer generated characters emote even more realistically. And a shout out to Michelle Rodriquez - Ana Lucia from Lost - who plays essentially an Ana Lucia clone, but does it very well.
So yes, an enjoyable movie - as long as one doesn't over analyze it. But since I'm blogging about the movie, you've probably already guessed that I over analyzed it.
To be fair, if this had just been a run of the mill action flick, I would have left off the analyzing. But James Cameron makes it clear that it is much more - a moral lesson, an allegorical tale, a political statement. And hence, fair game.
Let's start with Hollywood's favourite cliche - the hero single handedly saving the day. It is particularly galling in this movie which purports to be a jab at American colonialism and arrogance. The swaggering colonel and the greedy CEO (humans) look down on the natives (aliens). Their sole goal is to exploit the native land. They make no attempt to understand the natives, underestimate them and treat them with utter contempt and condescension. Terrible, terrible - and we all get to snicker and look down upon the humans. Yet in the end the natives are incapable of defending themselves. It is the good hearted human hero who charges to the rescue, protects the guileless aliens, defeats the evil humans, picks up the prettiest alien female and becomes leader of the tribe. A modern day Lawrence of Arabia with all the accompanying unconscious colonial arrogance.
Speaking of Hollywood touches, the climax is seriously unbelievable... A bravehearted group of patriots, riding hard, swinging swords and shooting arrows descends on a modern army equipped with big guns. Seriously? That tactic was tried in 1854 - it didn't work then, and the guns have only gotten bigger since.
And then there is the movie's main message. Quite clearly, it is all about conserving the environment and respecting nature. Don't get me wrong, I completely support this. However the movie takes it one step too far and sets up a false dichotomy between nature and technology. Right? Or am I imagining that? I felt it as an undercurrent through the movie. Uniformed soldiers and brute machines are juxtaposed against an idyllic, green paradise where everyone lives in harmony with nature. The humans mine expensive minerals (unobtanium?!) and bring in tanks and giant metallic robots. The aliens live in trees, worship trees, and commune with all living creatures - literally, via some convenient mind-melding appendage on their heads. The humans dismiss all this as "that tree hugging crap". The aliens need nothing the humans can bring them, all their simple needs are met by the beautiful forest in which they live. Hey, who needs technology when you can defeat tanks and airborne missiles with arrows and large birds. All nice and sweet and uplifting, and... kind of rings hollow. Like watching a National Geographic documentary full of naked kids deep in some African desert and sighing over the simplicity and romance of their lifestyle.
Quite possibly I'm reading too much into the movie. But it always riles me when people glorify nature by belittling technology. In my mind that is a false dichotomy - science is the most beautiful miracle of nature (and naked kids in African deserts can actually have miserable lives). And I find it a little sad that a movie only made possible by the latest, most sophisticated computer animation cannot find enough space in its heart for a little technology.
Oh, and George Bush has been out of office for a year - so references to "shock and awe" and "preemption" are no longer topical commentary. They are merely a pathetic reminder of how nice it would be if only the Democrats could grow a spine.
Monday, September 21, 2009
Sunday, August 30, 2009
A long trip
Seen in a recent Facebook status message: "Going to a 90's themed party this weekend! Trying to remember what I wore back then".
Excuse me?! A 90's themed party? Boy, I feel old. Maybe Facebook should have age appropriateness filters for its news feeds. Something like "Trust me, reading this will only make you reach for a tub of ice cream". To me the 90's feel like just the other day, I am always caught by surprise when I do the math and realise how many years it has been. Or when I indulge in nostalgia and realise how far back my memories go...
Far back indeed, to times and people that are nearly forgotten unless I go searching for them. Things I expected to remember always, like the time I spent in Bangalore. Right after college and before I went to grad school in New York, I spent some time working in Bangalore. It was my first time living away from home. I was looking forward to the experience and the freedom. The experience was interesting, although the freedom was a little wanting.
As a young, single woman, you see, living alone was quite out of the question. And since I didn't have any friends to share a house with, my best option was a PG (paying guest) accommodation. In theory, this meant living with a family in their house - occupying a bedroom, sharing the family meals - you know, sort of like a guest, except paying for it. In practice, this picture turned out to be somewhat optimistic. Paying guest accommodations were a lucrative business in Bangalore, since a large number of single people migrated there for work and college. And so people tried to maximise their opportunity. Most of the places I saw accommodated several girls in a single room. Beds were lined up along all the walls, 5 or 6 to a room, with some more in the hallway shielded by a thin curtain for privacy.
I saw such appalling places that Mrs C's house seemed like a veritable luxury. She lived in a very quiet, pleasant and upscale neighbourhood. A simple 2 story bungalow in a cul de sac. "Aunty-ji" was a cultured, well spoken, military widow about 75 years old. She was clearly a cut above all the other landladies I had encountered. The living quarters consisted of three bedrooms and two bathrooms upstairs, that were shared by 7 women. By now I had realised that this was about as good as it would get, and signed on immediately. I moved in the next day and Aunty-ji became my landlady.
Aunty-ji was a very interesting person, and I always respected her. If I felt no warmer emotion, the fault was not mine. She had lived a full life and in her benevolent moments she would tell us stories. The time she been brought out to sing in front of Mahatma Gandhi, an eight year old girl with an angelic voice. The picture of her as a school girl giving something to (or was it receiving something from) then Prime Minister Nehru. How she and her family were living in Lahore before independence, and had to flee when the partition happened. And her brother, an airforce pilot, commandeered a military plane and flew them out to India with 'nothing but the clothes on their backs'.
We respected her for her forceful personality and her fierce independence. She was determined to earn her own keep, although she had two wealthy children who could look after her very well. So she opened her house up to paying guests, and taught music lessons in her garage. She took no nonsense from anyone, stood strong on her principles and usually got what she wanted.
But while admiring her in the abstract, we objected to many of the particulars. She had an overbearing personality and a fickle temper. She was snobbish and looked down on many of her "girls" as not being her social equals. To hear her, you'd think she was doing charity work - giving home and shelter to young women out of the kindness of her heart, and the rent was a purely nominal business. Worst of all was her inexcusable prejudice against South Indians, ridiculous considering she had spent most of her life living in - South India. She would often pass snide remarks about their collective character, hygiene and courage. And how it was the North Indians who fought for independence and all the subsequent wars. On the one hand I was disgusted by her views, on the other a lifetime's ingrained values made it literally impossible for me to remonstrate with someone her age.
It was ironic that the girl who most liked her and always stood up for her was from Kerala. For a time, we had three sophisticated Punjabi girls living with us and Aunty was thrilled to bits about it. She would talk to them in Punjabi, share jokes and discuss food and was downright rude to the Keralite. The Punjabi girls were disgusted by the accommodations and the rules, told us we were silly to put up with it all and left within a couple of months. Aunty was crushed and forced to fall back on her unwilling friendship with the Keralite. I got along fine with her, being neither from the north nor the south and although no socialite, my family background was graciously deemed good enough.
But to truly understand our relationship, you have to hear about the rules. We had to be home by 10pm and we could never have visitors. We weren't allowed to eat any food in our bedrooms, only in the kitchen. Which would be fine if only Aunty didn't hover over us lustily watching us eat all the stuff she wasn't permitted to. We weren't allowed to come in the front door, only through the back door and we had to take our shoes off and walk barefoot up to our rooms. And we weren't supposed to ever run the taps, just fill up a cup of water and use that to brush our teeth. Fill a bucket of water to bathe with, never run the shower.
It is fair to say that we regularly broke every one of those rules. But they did make life exciting, an evening snack of samosas felt so much tastier when I had smuggled them in under a sweater, while another girl distracted Aunty with conversation. And I was going to use as much water as I needed for my daily ablutions, rules be damned! Alright at this point I have to admit - through gritted teeth - that Aunty had a point. Her rules were conceived for the silliest, slyest girls and she must have seen lots of those through the years. It's very annoying to see prejudices come true, but I have to admit that my fellow-PGs occasionally justified her stupidest rules with their actions. There was the girl who constantly ate in bed, leaving crumbs scattered all over and under the bed. And then there was the girl who couldn't turn off the bathroom tap, and so simply left it running and walked out of the house! In a short while water was pouring down the stairs.
Oh but the antics of the other girls are a whole new story, and I'll leave them for another day.
It was a pity about Aunty though, she was good and she was lonely. She was surrounded by people, yet she put up a wall between herself and us - a wall of arbitrary rules, pride and prejudice.
I saw such appalling places that Mrs C's house seemed like a veritable luxury. She lived in a very quiet, pleasant and upscale neighbourhood. A simple 2 story bungalow in a cul de sac. "Aunty-ji" was a cultured, well spoken, military widow about 75 years old. She was clearly a cut above all the other landladies I had encountered. The living quarters consisted of three bedrooms and two bathrooms upstairs, that were shared by 7 women. By now I had realised that this was about as good as it would get, and signed on immediately. I moved in the next day and Aunty-ji became my landlady.
Aunty-ji was a very interesting person, and I always respected her. If I felt no warmer emotion, the fault was not mine. She had lived a full life and in her benevolent moments she would tell us stories. The time she been brought out to sing in front of Mahatma Gandhi, an eight year old girl with an angelic voice. The picture of her as a school girl giving something to (or was it receiving something from) then Prime Minister Nehru. How she and her family were living in Lahore before independence, and had to flee when the partition happened. And her brother, an airforce pilot, commandeered a military plane and flew them out to India with 'nothing but the clothes on their backs'.
We respected her for her forceful personality and her fierce independence. She was determined to earn her own keep, although she had two wealthy children who could look after her very well. So she opened her house up to paying guests, and taught music lessons in her garage. She took no nonsense from anyone, stood strong on her principles and usually got what she wanted.
But while admiring her in the abstract, we objected to many of the particulars. She had an overbearing personality and a fickle temper. She was snobbish and looked down on many of her "girls" as not being her social equals. To hear her, you'd think she was doing charity work - giving home and shelter to young women out of the kindness of her heart, and the rent was a purely nominal business. Worst of all was her inexcusable prejudice against South Indians, ridiculous considering she had spent most of her life living in - South India. She would often pass snide remarks about their collective character, hygiene and courage. And how it was the North Indians who fought for independence and all the subsequent wars. On the one hand I was disgusted by her views, on the other a lifetime's ingrained values made it literally impossible for me to remonstrate with someone her age.
It was ironic that the girl who most liked her and always stood up for her was from Kerala. For a time, we had three sophisticated Punjabi girls living with us and Aunty was thrilled to bits about it. She would talk to them in Punjabi, share jokes and discuss food and was downright rude to the Keralite. The Punjabi girls were disgusted by the accommodations and the rules, told us we were silly to put up with it all and left within a couple of months. Aunty was crushed and forced to fall back on her unwilling friendship with the Keralite. I got along fine with her, being neither from the north nor the south and although no socialite, my family background was graciously deemed good enough.
But to truly understand our relationship, you have to hear about the rules. We had to be home by 10pm and we could never have visitors. We weren't allowed to eat any food in our bedrooms, only in the kitchen. Which would be fine if only Aunty didn't hover over us lustily watching us eat all the stuff she wasn't permitted to. We weren't allowed to come in the front door, only through the back door and we had to take our shoes off and walk barefoot up to our rooms. And we weren't supposed to ever run the taps, just fill up a cup of water and use that to brush our teeth. Fill a bucket of water to bathe with, never run the shower.
It is fair to say that we regularly broke every one of those rules. But they did make life exciting, an evening snack of samosas felt so much tastier when I had smuggled them in under a sweater, while another girl distracted Aunty with conversation. And I was going to use as much water as I needed for my daily ablutions, rules be damned! Alright at this point I have to admit - through gritted teeth - that Aunty had a point. Her rules were conceived for the silliest, slyest girls and she must have seen lots of those through the years. It's very annoying to see prejudices come true, but I have to admit that my fellow-PGs occasionally justified her stupidest rules with their actions. There was the girl who constantly ate in bed, leaving crumbs scattered all over and under the bed. And then there was the girl who couldn't turn off the bathroom tap, and so simply left it running and walked out of the house! In a short while water was pouring down the stairs.
Oh but the antics of the other girls are a whole new story, and I'll leave them for another day.
It was a pity about Aunty though, she was good and she was lonely. She was surrounded by people, yet she put up a wall between herself and us - a wall of arbitrary rules, pride and prejudice.
Sunday, August 16, 2009
Of futile gestures
Isn't it funny the memories that pop into one's mind when one is sitting around on a lazy weekend afternoon! Today I suddenly remembered an incident from when I was in college in Pune, living with my parents.
One weekend morning, our cleaning lady brought her daughter along when she came to clean our house. The girl was about 10 or 11 years old. She did some minor tasks for her mother, but mostly she just wandered around the house, drinking in the novelty of it all. I was in my room brushing my hair when I noticed her in the doorway. She was trying to be unobtrusive but was clearly immensely interested in me and my room. She stood there watching me with a mixture of curiosity, admiration and envy. I invited her in and chatted with her a little. I can't remember what we talked about, only that she was very pleased and excited at the attention. So I gave her a bottle of nail polish from my dressing table. She was thrilled to bits by the gift and ran off excitedly. Which of course made me feel quite good about myself, all generous and kindly.
A few days later, I noticed a red stain on the steps outside our house and pointed it out to my mother. She told me it was the nail polish. The girl was showing it off to her mother as they left, and dropped it on the stairs. Someone had cleaned off the mess but the stain remained. I remembered the girl, so pleased and excited and proud of her gift, and I imagined how she must have felt when she dropped that bottle right as she left. Too late for me to see it happen and too soon for her to have got even a minute's use out of it.
She never came to our house again, at least not while I was around. So I couldn't give her a new one. Perhaps I should have sent one through her mother but that seemed strangely inappropriate - like placing too high a value on my own trivial gift. Or maybe I was just too shy to make a deliberate present like that and talked myself out of it. But I would wince every time I passed that stain on the stair, imagining a little girl's bitter - if fleeting - disappointment.
The girl - I knew her name at the time - was married off when she was 15 or 16 years old. Today she probably cleans houses like her mother did, probably has a litter of kids to feed, and very probably a husband who comes home drunk and beats her up. It is safe to say that she has long forgotten that incident - likely drowned out in her memory by other, more weighty disappointments. Why then does it still come back to me occasionally? And each time I feel her disappointment (as imagined by me) in the pit of my stomach and my heart turns to lead. In vast disproportion to the actual incident - I wonder why. Perhaps it is my own disappointment, at my failure to make even the smallest improvement to her life. Or maybe it's the reminder of just how cruel the gods of fate can be - not content with robbing us of the great happinesses of life, sometimes they take particularly malicious pleasure in depriving us of the small trivial joys.
One weekend morning, our cleaning lady brought her daughter along when she came to clean our house. The girl was about 10 or 11 years old. She did some minor tasks for her mother, but mostly she just wandered around the house, drinking in the novelty of it all. I was in my room brushing my hair when I noticed her in the doorway. She was trying to be unobtrusive but was clearly immensely interested in me and my room. She stood there watching me with a mixture of curiosity, admiration and envy. I invited her in and chatted with her a little. I can't remember what we talked about, only that she was very pleased and excited at the attention. So I gave her a bottle of nail polish from my dressing table. She was thrilled to bits by the gift and ran off excitedly. Which of course made me feel quite good about myself, all generous and kindly.
A few days later, I noticed a red stain on the steps outside our house and pointed it out to my mother. She told me it was the nail polish. The girl was showing it off to her mother as they left, and dropped it on the stairs. Someone had cleaned off the mess but the stain remained. I remembered the girl, so pleased and excited and proud of her gift, and I imagined how she must have felt when she dropped that bottle right as she left. Too late for me to see it happen and too soon for her to have got even a minute's use out of it.
She never came to our house again, at least not while I was around. So I couldn't give her a new one. Perhaps I should have sent one through her mother but that seemed strangely inappropriate - like placing too high a value on my own trivial gift. Or maybe I was just too shy to make a deliberate present like that and talked myself out of it. But I would wince every time I passed that stain on the stair, imagining a little girl's bitter - if fleeting - disappointment.
The girl - I knew her name at the time - was married off when she was 15 or 16 years old. Today she probably cleans houses like her mother did, probably has a litter of kids to feed, and very probably a husband who comes home drunk and beats her up. It is safe to say that she has long forgotten that incident - likely drowned out in her memory by other, more weighty disappointments. Why then does it still come back to me occasionally? And each time I feel her disappointment (as imagined by me) in the pit of my stomach and my heart turns to lead. In vast disproportion to the actual incident - I wonder why. Perhaps it is my own disappointment, at my failure to make even the smallest improvement to her life. Or maybe it's the reminder of just how cruel the gods of fate can be - not content with robbing us of the great happinesses of life, sometimes they take particularly malicious pleasure in depriving us of the small trivial joys.
Thursday, July 02, 2009
Welcome to the 20th century!
In what newspapers invariably refer to as a "landmark judgment", the Delhi High Court legalized homosexuality. Now the ball is in the government's court (so to speak). The law criminalizing homosexuality was written 150 yrs ago during the British Raj. In the last few weeks the newly elected Indian government has been making noises about this law. First they said that it was clearly absurd in this day and age. Then they backtracked and talked of commissions, and parliamentary discussions. This decision has clearly forced their hands, and it will be interesting to see whether the government has the balls to rewrite the law.
Hurray for the judiciary!
Hurray for the judiciary!
Sunday, June 28, 2009
A Woman Scorned
Pet peeve #316
We all know how this plays out. A (American) politician cheats on his wife, gets caught and is splashed across the front pages of newspapers across the country. Then he gets up in front of a mike, talks about what an idiot he was and how great his family is and how lucky he is that his wife has forgiven him. And there standing right behind him is the forgiving wife. They are going to emerge from this tough time stronger than ever. And every time I want to throw my shoes at the TV (or I would, if I ever watched the news on TV instead of reading it on Google News).
I hate to be judgmental... actually I love to be judgmental, so I shall - grow a backbone, lady! He completely disregards your feelings, cheats on you, and then uses you as a prop to salvage his career. Why would you put up with that! Surely, surely, in the 21st century it is acceptable for a woman to put her foot down and stand up for her own dignity?!
And so, it was a pleasant surprise to see Jenny Sanford, the South Carolina governor's wife, break from the script. True, she hasn't left him yet and she suggests that it is still possible for them to work things out. But at least she doesn't pretend to take adultery in her stride. She isn't standing by her man promising to pray her way out. She is at a vacation home with her children., having kicked her husband out. When the press asked her about him, she said "His career is not my concern". You go girl!
Oh, and how bizarre was this whole story!
We all know how this plays out. A (American) politician cheats on his wife, gets caught and is splashed across the front pages of newspapers across the country. Then he gets up in front of a mike, talks about what an idiot he was and how great his family is and how lucky he is that his wife has forgiven him. And there standing right behind him is the forgiving wife. They are going to emerge from this tough time stronger than ever. And every time I want to throw my shoes at the TV (or I would, if I ever watched the news on TV instead of reading it on Google News).
I hate to be judgmental... actually I love to be judgmental, so I shall - grow a backbone, lady! He completely disregards your feelings, cheats on you, and then uses you as a prop to salvage his career. Why would you put up with that! Surely, surely, in the 21st century it is acceptable for a woman to put her foot down and stand up for her own dignity?!
And so, it was a pleasant surprise to see Jenny Sanford, the South Carolina governor's wife, break from the script. True, she hasn't left him yet and she suggests that it is still possible for them to work things out. But at least she doesn't pretend to take adultery in her stride. She isn't standing by her man promising to pray her way out. She is at a vacation home with her children., having kicked her husband out. When the press asked her about him, she said "His career is not my concern". You go girl!
Oh, and how bizarre was this whole story!
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Bay to Breakers
Yay! I did the Bay to Breakers this year.
Actually, I feel a little guilty claiming that. We were part of what Wikipedia calls "Large numbers of participants walk the route behind the runners". Sree and Farhan, our fitter friends, ran the race. While David & I (because of me) walked, alongside all the fancy dressed people. So it was more like a long tiring hike/halloween street party.
But a really fun hike! Bay to Breakers is known for its quirky participants, and we got a great view of all the cool stuff. The guys dressed up as Spongebob Squarepants, the several dozen swine flu costumes, the salmon runners who start from the finish line and "swim upwards" through the race. Have to admire all these people, it was a very hot day (first one I've seen in San Francisco!) and walking 7.5 miles in those elaborate costumes is a real test of endurance.
And of course, there were the brave "Bare to Breakers". I hope they took sfgate.com's advice and slathered on the sunscreen! Why is it that nudists are so often the people who most need to cover up? For a long stretch, my main view was a man's floppy naked butt. Hmm, considering the alternative maybe I shouldn't complain.
My digital camera's seized up, so I had to settle for iPhone pictures. And very soon after the start, I was too tired to care about taking pictures. So these are quite lame and have no fun costumes.. but they stand as proof of my participation. The only way you could take such lousy pictures is if you were in the thick of things!
At the start line
Sea of humanity racing up the steepest part (and bonus shot of David striding up the road)
I will probably be limping all week, but it was totally worth it!
Actually, I feel a little guilty claiming that. We were part of what Wikipedia calls "Large numbers of participants walk the route behind the runners". Sree and Farhan, our fitter friends, ran the race. While David & I (because of me) walked, alongside all the fancy dressed people. So it was more like a long tiring hike/halloween street party.
But a really fun hike! Bay to Breakers is known for its quirky participants, and we got a great view of all the cool stuff. The guys dressed up as Spongebob Squarepants, the several dozen swine flu costumes, the salmon runners who start from the finish line and "swim upwards" through the race. Have to admire all these people, it was a very hot day (first one I've seen in San Francisco!) and walking 7.5 miles in those elaborate costumes is a real test of endurance.
And of course, there were the brave "Bare to Breakers". I hope they took sfgate.com's advice and slathered on the sunscreen! Why is it that nudists are so often the people who most need to cover up? For a long stretch, my main view was a man's floppy naked butt. Hmm, considering the alternative maybe I shouldn't complain.
My digital camera's seized up, so I had to settle for iPhone pictures. And very soon after the start, I was too tired to care about taking pictures. So these are quite lame and have no fun costumes.. but they stand as proof of my participation. The only way you could take such lousy pictures is if you were in the thick of things!
At the start line
Sea of humanity racing up the steepest part (and bonus shot of David striding up the road)
I will probably be limping all week, but it was totally worth it!
Saturday, May 16, 2009
One finger salute
Congress won the Indian elections! They showed a surprisingly good performance with almost an absolute majority. I'm not exactly jumping up and down cheering (like Vanity Fair, Indian politics is a story without heroes). But this is still good news.
For one thing, it almost doesn't matter who is in charge in Delhi if we could just get some stability! The last several administrations have been coalition governments - precarious, unlikely alliances between the strangest bed-mates politics ever made. And with so many different parties to please it is incredibly hard to get anything done. It was galling to think that the Prime Minister had to run his policies by a bunch of marxist communists (unfortunately, this is not an epithet, simply the name of their party). The Congress will still need allies but it has far more seats in Parliament than it did 5 years ago, so it doesn't need them as badly as it did in the previous government. And while I'm not a fan of Manmohan Singh, he feels like a boon from the gods compared to some other names being thrown around recently.
Also it's good to see the BJP put in their place. Oh, sooo good! The way they went around talking about national security and terrorism, bemoaning the Congress on being "soft on terror". It is nice being the party in Opposition, isn't it - you can thunder on about what you would have done, while secretly thanking your stars you weren't in charge. Let's just say the BJP's record on terrorism is... less than stellar. Even if you discount the domestic terrorism they themselves instigated.
Overall, I think the election results showed amazing maturity and wisdom on the part of the electorate. Ah, it is awesome to see any large mass of humanity behave rationally!
And now, on a lighter note
Usually, when you vote in India, they put an indelible ink stain on your forefinger so you can't vote again. Displaying that ink stained finger makes a great photo-op for politicians and celebrities on election day
For some reason the election officials in Mumbai decided to stain the middle finger instead. Here's the Bachchan family, clearly enjoying themselves :)
Other, more image conscious movie stars resisted the temptation
And then there were the ones who clearly had no idea that gesture meant anything special
Coming from a politician on election day... sometimes an image truly says a thousand words.
For one thing, it almost doesn't matter who is in charge in Delhi if we could just get some stability! The last several administrations have been coalition governments - precarious, unlikely alliances between the strangest bed-mates politics ever made. And with so many different parties to please it is incredibly hard to get anything done. It was galling to think that the Prime Minister had to run his policies by a bunch of marxist communists (unfortunately, this is not an epithet, simply the name of their party). The Congress will still need allies but it has far more seats in Parliament than it did 5 years ago, so it doesn't need them as badly as it did in the previous government. And while I'm not a fan of Manmohan Singh, he feels like a boon from the gods compared to some other names being thrown around recently.
Also it's good to see the BJP put in their place. Oh, sooo good! The way they went around talking about national security and terrorism, bemoaning the Congress on being "soft on terror". It is nice being the party in Opposition, isn't it - you can thunder on about what you would have done, while secretly thanking your stars you weren't in charge. Let's just say the BJP's record on terrorism is... less than stellar. Even if you discount the domestic terrorism they themselves instigated.
Overall, I think the election results showed amazing maturity and wisdom on the part of the electorate. Ah, it is awesome to see any large mass of humanity behave rationally!
And now, on a lighter note
Usually, when you vote in India, they put an indelible ink stain on your forefinger so you can't vote again. Displaying that ink stained finger makes a great photo-op for politicians and celebrities on election day
For some reason the election officials in Mumbai decided to stain the middle finger instead. Here's the Bachchan family, clearly enjoying themselves :)
Other, more image conscious movie stars resisted the temptation
And then there were the ones who clearly had no idea that gesture meant anything special
Coming from a politician on election day... sometimes an image truly says a thousand words.
Saturday, May 02, 2009
So it isn't actually green?
No it isn't, turns out it's white. But it says "Permanent Resident Card" at the top alright.
For several years now, the 'temporary' aspect of the H1-B visa has hung threateningly over my life and my career decisions. And now I am finally accepted as a permanent resident of the country where I have spent almost my whole adult life.
Also, it is one more check mark on the standard NRI success checklist - grad school? check. married? check. green card? check.
So I ought to feel happy. And I did too, for a moment. My first thought was "Wow, I could take a break from work if I wanted". My second thought was "Damn, I can't! I need the health insurance." And so life goes on..
For several years now, the 'temporary' aspect of the H1-B visa has hung threateningly over my life and my career decisions. And now I am finally accepted as a permanent resident of the country where I have spent almost my whole adult life.
Also, it is one more check mark on the standard NRI success checklist - grad school? check. married? check. green card? check.
So I ought to feel happy. And I did too, for a moment. My first thought was "Wow, I could take a break from work if I wanted". My second thought was "Damn, I can't! I need the health insurance." And so life goes on..
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
Age is a strange thing
I really looked forward to every birthday until my 21st one. I was growing up, and each new year was a new milestone! Then on my 22nd birthday, I suddenly thought - its all downhill from here. Yes my friends, I have been feeling old ever since I turned 22. Each subsequent birthday was more dreaded than the previous.. I'm no longer in my early 20s, I'm over 25, OMG! I'm 27 and still single!!
Then I turned 28. I was at a low point in my life ... stagnating in a dead end job, at a company rapidly running out of money, in the meantime they wouldn't even apply for a green card and the clock was running out on my H1. Even my boss asked me what I was still doing there! My personal life was even worse, had just worked off some entanglements that left me free but oh so lonely. And as I turned 28, I had an epiphany - "This could be it. There is a real chance that I may die alone." Funny, but I had never considered the possibility before - and it was a strange, intensely deeply lonely feeling. Heart felt like lead, blood turned cold. And I treated myself to a weekend getaway - a nice, romantic getaway, all by myself.
Of course, when you've hit rock bottom, there's nowhere to go but up. I found another job, eventually even stumbled on to a boyfriend somehow.
29 was very different. Somehow 29 didn't seem much older than 28, it actually felt younger. This was the last year in my 20s. A 29 yr old is someone who isn't 30. I must have used the phrase "in my 20s" a thousand times that year!
Eventually of course, I was forced to turn 30. At that point, I enjoyed my birthday, but developed a healthy mental block towards my age. Seriously, sometimes I genuinely forget how old I am, and have to do some quick mental arithmetic! Ah well, I am happy to stay in this blissful state as long as I can. I suppose around 38 or so I will start panicking about turning 40.
I have no idea why I thought this was worth blogging about. But now that I've written it up I will have to post it.
Then I turned 28. I was at a low point in my life ... stagnating in a dead end job, at a company rapidly running out of money, in the meantime they wouldn't even apply for a green card and the clock was running out on my H1. Even my boss asked me what I was still doing there! My personal life was even worse, had just worked off some entanglements that left me free but oh so lonely. And as I turned 28, I had an epiphany - "This could be it. There is a real chance that I may die alone." Funny, but I had never considered the possibility before - and it was a strange, intensely deeply lonely feeling. Heart felt like lead, blood turned cold. And I treated myself to a weekend getaway - a nice, romantic getaway, all by myself.
Of course, when you've hit rock bottom, there's nowhere to go but up. I found another job, eventually even stumbled on to a boyfriend somehow.
29 was very different. Somehow 29 didn't seem much older than 28, it actually felt younger. This was the last year in my 20s. A 29 yr old is someone who isn't 30. I must have used the phrase "in my 20s" a thousand times that year!
Eventually of course, I was forced to turn 30. At that point, I enjoyed my birthday, but developed a healthy mental block towards my age. Seriously, sometimes I genuinely forget how old I am, and have to do some quick mental arithmetic! Ah well, I am happy to stay in this blissful state as long as I can. I suppose around 38 or so I will start panicking about turning 40.
I have no idea why I thought this was worth blogging about. But now that I've written it up I will have to post it.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Anniversaries...
This has been a month for anniversaries - married for a year... working at Google for three... March is a nice month.
We went to Santa Barbara for our wedding anniversary. A place that has meant very different things to me at different times in life -- strange how events work out...
We went to Santa Barbara for our wedding anniversary. A place that has meant very different things to me at different times in life -- strange how events work out...
It was a very nice weekend, warm and sunny except when the breeze picked up. Santa Barbara has some very attractive houses - not just large and grand, but unique, quirky and imaginative that somehow feel quite authentic. There was a definite "southern California" air to the place, particularly close to the beach.
We also went down to the Santa Barbara Mission, quite a nice building. I have lived in California all these years, without really understanding what these "Missions" were all about. It turns out the Spanish built Christian missions down the coast from San Francisco to Mexico, to bring Christianity to the heathens. Or the heathens to Christianity, if you prefer.
As I stood there in Santa Barbara Mission, reading about its history, the conversion and "education" of local Indians, I couldn't help thinking: thank God the practical British were more into trade than religion. Less of that religious zeal than the Portugese and Spanish. I shudder to think what India would have looked like after two centuries of coerced conversion.
As I stood there in Santa Barbara Mission, reading about its history, the conversion and "education" of local Indians, I couldn't help thinking: thank God the practical British were more into trade than religion. Less of that religious zeal than the Portugese and Spanish. I shudder to think what India would have looked like after two centuries of coerced conversion.
Oh well, back to the present.
The Santa Barbara courthouse is a surprisingly interesting and pretty building, with some very attractive interiors. Far better than the average bureaucratic outpost.
The Santa Barbara courthouse is a surprisingly interesting and pretty building, with some very attractive interiors. Far better than the average bureaucratic outpost.
On our way back, we stopped at Solvang, which is a mildly interesting, touristy, fake Danish town.
And I can finally say that I have been to Santa Barbara.
Tuesday, March 03, 2009
A Wednesday
I finally watched 'A Wednesday'. Interesting movie, awful name, some cringe-worthy moments - for instance the over zealous cops. Overall, it was better made than most Hindi movies.
But of course, what people were talking about was not the quality of the production, but the questions it posed. Particularly poignant is the fact that it came out less than 3 months before the November attacks on Mumbai. I believe it captured the mood of the country perfectly. It clearly raised all the right questions. Now, if only someone would make a movie with all the answers!
Here's a Hemingway-esque short story for you: Wikipedia article for "13 September 2008 Delhi bombings" starts with "Not to be confused with 27 September 2008 Delhi blast".
But of course, what people were talking about was not the quality of the production, but the questions it posed. Particularly poignant is the fact that it came out less than 3 months before the November attacks on Mumbai. I believe it captured the mood of the country perfectly. It clearly raised all the right questions. Now, if only someone would make a movie with all the answers!
Here's a Hemingway-esque short story for you: Wikipedia article for "13 September 2008 Delhi bombings" starts with "Not to be confused with 27 September 2008 Delhi blast".
Sunday, February 22, 2009
My upcoming exam
We are coming up on our first wedding anniversary. We are also coming up on our green card interview. I'm not sure what to expect, but apparently if they suspect that the marriage is fradulent -- they put us in separate rooms and quiz us about our marriage.
Hmm, that sounds uncomfortable.. but what would be really awkward is if I couldn't answer the questions!
Where was he born? Where did you go on your first date? What did he have for breakfast yesterday? What's his favorite music band? What color are the walls in your bedroom? (I swear I looked around the house to double check the answer) What gifts did you give each other for your birthdays? (Uh, nothing...) Who does most of the cooking? (Umm, did you mean who defrosts the pizzas?)
Will the immigration officer pass judgment on the genuiness of my marriage -- or on my fitness as a wife? Are any of us ready to have our marriages examined by total strangers?
Hmm, that sounds uncomfortable.. but what would be really awkward is if I couldn't answer the questions!
Where was he born? Where did you go on your first date? What did he have for breakfast yesterday? What's his favorite music band? What color are the walls in your bedroom? (I swear I looked around the house to double check the answer) What gifts did you give each other for your birthdays? (Uh, nothing...) Who does most of the cooking? (Umm, did you mean who defrosts the pizzas?)
Will the immigration officer pass judgment on the genuiness of my marriage -- or on my fitness as a wife? Are any of us ready to have our marriages examined by total strangers?
Tempests in Teapots
A British director makes a movie based in the slums of Mumbai, and self righteous Mumbaikars accuse him of 'peddling poverty porn'. As if hundreds of Hindi movies haven't dwelt on the exact same storyline. And as if the poverty needs peddling, as if it isn't right there, in your face -- on street corners, waiting at each intersection, squatting along train tracks.
In the movie, several very nasty characters scornfully refer to the hero as a 'slumdog' - and slumdwellers associations are up in arms! The irony of being offended by a term invented precisely to highlight the callousness of the characters using it.. is lost on them.
The New York Post printed a really nasty cartoon. A man with a smoking gun, a bullet ridden monkey corpse -- all this parodying the horrible mauling of a woman! Yes, a seriously disturbing cartoon. But racist? Give me a break! The stimulus bill has been roundly criticized by Republican types, but the bulk of the blame has been on Congress. If anything, the cartoonist was calling Nancy Pelosi a crazy chimpanzee, not Barack Obama. To jump from this image to racism to a call for violence against Obama is just plain ridiculous.
Ah well, the sillier the cause, the louder the protestors.
I am glad A.R.Rahman won at the Oscars today -- he has singlehandedly transformed Hindi film music over the last 15 years. My only complaint is that the quality of the lyrics is inversely proportional to the quality of the music.
In the movie, several very nasty characters scornfully refer to the hero as a 'slumdog' - and slumdwellers associations are up in arms! The irony of being offended by a term invented precisely to highlight the callousness of the characters using it.. is lost on them.
The New York Post printed a really nasty cartoon. A man with a smoking gun, a bullet ridden monkey corpse -- all this parodying the horrible mauling of a woman! Yes, a seriously disturbing cartoon. But racist? Give me a break! The stimulus bill has been roundly criticized by Republican types, but the bulk of the blame has been on Congress. If anything, the cartoonist was calling Nancy Pelosi a crazy chimpanzee, not Barack Obama. To jump from this image to racism to a call for violence against Obama is just plain ridiculous.
Ah well, the sillier the cause, the louder the protestors.
I am glad A.R.Rahman won at the Oscars today -- he has singlehandedly transformed Hindi film music over the last 15 years. My only complaint is that the quality of the lyrics is inversely proportional to the quality of the music.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Epiphany time
Hmm, I've never really known the US under any other president. Tomorrow is going to be a strange day.
I wonder how long the magic will last.
Wait, Wait Don't Tell Me, The Daily Show and Real Time are all going to get a lot less funny.
I was watching a documentary about Dr King yesterday, and was struck by the parallels with Gandhi's struggle. You know something really weird - it doesn't take any more bullets to kill a great man than it does to kill an ordinary one.
I wonder how long the magic will last.
Wait, Wait Don't Tell Me, The Daily Show and Real Time are all going to get a lot less funny.
I was watching a documentary about Dr King yesterday, and was struck by the parallels with Gandhi's struggle. You know something really weird - it doesn't take any more bullets to kill a great man than it does to kill an ordinary one.
Friday, November 28, 2008
WTF
Two and a half years ago, I wrote a blistering blog post ranting about Indian politicians. Yet again, they had allowed disaster to hit Bombay, and yet again their response was ridiculously inadequate. Well, here we go again...
Allow me to recap:
In 1993, Dawood Ibrahim and his thugs blew up 250 people, and injured thousands. Mumbaikars reacted like heroes, ordinary citizens rushed to help the injured. The next day everybody went about their jobs as usual, they were not going to let the biggest terrorism attack in India stop them.
Our wonderful government responded by
(a) praising the 'resilience' of Mumbaikars and
(b) whining about how Dawood Ibrahim was the mastermind behind the attacks, but Pakistan was sheltering him.
For one thing this long, drawn out standoff -- in the full glare of international media -- has been a public humiliation for India. Our myth as an up and coming superpower was busted. I have the greatest respect for our troops and national security guards and they acted with great courage. But as the 3 day drama unfolded, it was abundantly clear to anyone with a TV, that we were completely out of our league. A handful of boys with guns landed in our largest city with bags full of explosives. They marched into our fanciest hotels and shot our rich and powerful at will. They wandered from one murderous job to another, completely unmolested. They hijacked a police van - a police van for crying out loud! They took a small building with maybe 10 hostages and it took us two days and six lives to free that building. They wandered around shooting up our most famous hotel for three days, and we were powerless to stop them, free the people inside, or even know whether the hotel was safe. A handful of boys with guns kept our commercial capital hostage for 3 days.
Allow me to recap:
In 1993, Dawood Ibrahim and his thugs blew up 250 people, and injured thousands. Mumbaikars reacted like heroes, ordinary citizens rushed to help the injured. The next day everybody went about their jobs as usual, they were not going to let the biggest terrorism attack in India stop them.
Our wonderful government responded by
(a) praising the 'resilience' of Mumbaikars and
(b) whining about how Dawood Ibrahim was the mastermind behind the attacks, but Pakistan was sheltering him.
In 2005, unprecedented rainfall caused massive flooding , leaving hundreds dead, widespread property damage and a paralyzed city. Mumbaikars reacted like heroes. Ordinary citizens organized rescue attempts, and lined the streets providing food, water and shelter to stranded folks.
Our wonderful government responded by
(a) praising the 'spirit of Mumbai'
(b) acting surprised that it was possible for this amount of rainfall to occur (it had only occured seven times before)
(c) acting surprised that such rain could cause so much damage in a city that is damaged every year by regular rainfall
(d) acting surprised that they were expected to have a plan to deal with it
(e) claiming that it was unrealistic to expect the disaster management team to get together during ... a disaster.
In 2006, a whole new generation of terrorists brought bombs to Mumbai, this time in trains. As in any large city, the public transportation system is the lifeblood of Mumbai. A bomb in a train is a truly egalitarian bomb, it targets rich and poor, Hindu and Muslim, men and women, college students and retirees. By now Mumbaikars knew the routine. They pulled bodies out of trains, drove the injured to hospitals, and streamed out into the streets to help the affected.
They told each other how resilient they were and boasted of the spirit of Mumbai, and talked about how they would all go back to work the next morning. The stock exchange shot up to prove its confidence in Mumbai.
Nobody particularly expected the government to do or say anything. But out of a sense of obligation, the government went through its old tired routine
(a) praise resilience
(b) blame the Pakistani Intelligence Service (ISI), indulge in some blustering and empty threats.
(c) announce large sums in compensation to victims and their families.
(d) wait for commotion to die down and carry on as always.
This time is different. I feel it in my bones.
For one thing this long, drawn out standoff -- in the full glare of international media -- has been a public humiliation for India. Our myth as an up and coming superpower was busted. I have the greatest respect for our troops and national security guards and they acted with great courage. But as the 3 day drama unfolded, it was abundantly clear to anyone with a TV, that we were completely out of our league. A handful of boys with guns landed in our largest city with bags full of explosives. They marched into our fanciest hotels and shot our rich and powerful at will. They wandered from one murderous job to another, completely unmolested. They hijacked a police van - a police van for crying out loud! They took a small building with maybe 10 hostages and it took us two days and six lives to free that building. They wandered around shooting up our most famous hotel for three days, and we were powerless to stop them, free the people inside, or even know whether the hotel was safe. A handful of boys with guns kept our commercial capital hostage for 3 days.
Nobody had the luxury of surprise this time around. Bombay has been struck twice before. There have been several terrorist attacks all over India this year. There was no excuse for the complete lack of forewarning, the complete lack of security and the completely shoddy response.
And of course, the targeting of foreign nationals has a clear psychological impact. It will definitely erode international confidence and cause real and lasting financial damage.
Most importantly, when the politicians go up on stage to offer another round of platitudes, they will find that the resilience of Mumbaikars has worn thin. They are finally tired of walking around wondering what will blow up next.
I hope that tomorrow, instead of going back to work as usual, Mumbaikars come out in the streets and go on strike. I hope they remind the government that its first job is to protect its citizens. Above all, I hope they remember that they are citizens of a democracy. Which means that they are the government and are ultimately responsible for all its failings and when the government is broken, it is their job to fix it.
Tuesday, November 04, 2008
November 4, 2008
It was 10 pm Pacific time. I was at a friend's house, watching the election results come in on her crappy TV (no cable; just scratchy, over the air network television). She had gone to bed but I stayed up, fingers crossed, switching channels, hoping against hope. And then, they called Ohio. Ohio went for Bush, Florida went for Bush, and before my unbelieving eyes, Americans elected Bush to the White House for four more years. This time around there was no excuse, no hanging chads, no partisan judges. Americans had voluntarily and decisively brought Bush back into power. And I went to bed, a little sad, a little worried and a lot disappointed.
Tonight was very different. The clock struck 8, polls on the Pacific coast closed, and instantly, CNN handed CA, WA and OR to Obama, and declared him "President Elect". Obama wins by a landslide, with more than twice the electoral votes McCain received. However he has a heavy burden on his shoulders. Extremely high expectations that perhaps no one can live up to. He has won the campaign and now the real challenge starts, and he will need to prove that he can act as well as he talks. There may well be disappointment in our future.
But for tonight, I am going to bed a little happy and a little proud, my faith in humanity a little restored.
Tonight was very different. The clock struck 8, polls on the Pacific coast closed, and instantly, CNN handed CA, WA and OR to Obama, and declared him "President Elect". Obama wins by a landslide, with more than twice the electoral votes McCain received. However he has a heavy burden on his shoulders. Extremely high expectations that perhaps no one can live up to. He has won the campaign and now the real challenge starts, and he will need to prove that he can act as well as he talks. There may well be disappointment in our future.
But for tonight, I am going to bed a little happy and a little proud, my faith in humanity a little restored.
Saturday, November 01, 2008
Let's pretend this is my diary
It is 6pm on a lazy, rainy Saturday in November -- and this is going to be one of those stream of consciousness posts. You have been warned.
I have missed out on several blogging opportunities this year. I did not blog about the upcoming elections, or my recent trip to Greece, or about sunny San Diego or my friend's newborn kid or another friend's wedding. For that matter, I did not even blog about my own wedding or honeymoon! And now, it is too late. The window of opportunity has passed, along with the window of enthusiasm. Instead, here I am, with itching fingertips, yet no stories left to tell. But I can't turn away, the desire to talk, to say something -- is too great. My heart is filled with that strange emotion I can never find a name for, but which comes over me every once in a while. You know what I mean -- the sort of feeling that engulfs you when you are sitting around a campfire in the middle of the night. Or in a rocking chair by the window on a rainy evening. You want to speak so badly, speak about serious things -- not silly stuff -- but stuff you rarely out loud. In fact, things you just don't know how to say out loud, you feel them inside of yourself, but you lack the language to articulate them.
It has been a strange week, I have seen myself reflected in different people's eyes, and am left wondering who I am. Who I am, who I am pretending to be, and who I want to be.
And just as I write this, my husband comes scurrying in like an excited school boy. He wants to show me what he just made - a wood threading tool. Except the demo doesn't work quite so well, and he goes back to his woodshop, still excited but a little subdued.
And I'm sure there is a great moral lesson I can draw from all this, but I have no idea what it could be.
I have missed out on several blogging opportunities this year. I did not blog about the upcoming elections, or my recent trip to Greece, or about sunny San Diego or my friend's newborn kid or another friend's wedding. For that matter, I did not even blog about my own wedding or honeymoon! And now, it is too late. The window of opportunity has passed, along with the window of enthusiasm. Instead, here I am, with itching fingertips, yet no stories left to tell. But I can't turn away, the desire to talk, to say something -- is too great. My heart is filled with that strange emotion I can never find a name for, but which comes over me every once in a while. You know what I mean -- the sort of feeling that engulfs you when you are sitting around a campfire in the middle of the night. Or in a rocking chair by the window on a rainy evening. You want to speak so badly, speak about serious things -- not silly stuff -- but stuff you rarely out loud. In fact, things you just don't know how to say out loud, you feel them inside of yourself, but you lack the language to articulate them.
It has been a strange week, I have seen myself reflected in different people's eyes, and am left wondering who I am. Who I am, who I am pretending to be, and who I want to be.
And just as I write this, my husband comes scurrying in like an excited school boy. He wants to show me what he just made - a wood threading tool. Except the demo doesn't work quite so well, and he goes back to his woodshop, still excited but a little subdued.
And I'm sure there is a great moral lesson I can draw from all this, but I have no idea what it could be.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Touchy topics..
Facebook should really learn not to insult its users.
Here's the ad it showed me today:
"I am 87 yrs old, but I look 67! Thanks to Vogue Wrinkle remover"
Thanks, but no thanks :)
Here's the ad it showed me today:
"I am 87 yrs old, but I look 67! Thanks to Vogue Wrinkle remover"
Thanks, but no thanks :)
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