The terrorists struck again, the states blamed the centre again, ope-ds have been written on relooking at the "root" of terrorism again and as ever, and there have been articles on how life goes on in these two cities. Being as we are in alien lands, whenever the news of a bomb blast in an Indian city is aired, thousands of us are gripped with anxiety. And then relief: thank God, it wasn’t my city. And then anger: but why Bangalore? Why Ahmedabad? Why Jaipur? Why India? There are discussions and ruminations as I am sure there are in India. There are explanations to be given to concerned colleagues who want to understand if the Muslims in India are as “bad” as they are elsewhere.
How can I answer this? I who went to a catholic school where more than half of us were Muslims? I who grew up in a Muslim majority city and would look forward to the Id as eagerly as to Diwali? I, who had always had friends that were not colored Muslim or Christian or Sikh by my parents? All I know is that those who flew those planes into the towers were not born and brought up in the US. That however, is not true in case of many behind the bomb blasts in India, Muslim or otherwise. And what causes them to erupt once in a while in demonic anger that compels them to burn, blast and destroy living, walking, normal people like you and me on the street who have nothing to do with their angst? I don’t know.
All I know is that when that happens as regularly as it has been happening nowadays, one part of me is desensitized. One part of me is depressed. Another part of me just wants to ignore it. But an overwhelming part of my being roars in anger. Anger at the mockery of the government that we have elected. Anger at the world at large for largely ignoring this (remember how many days we were subjected to images and discussions on the London bombings in July?). Anger that there is no one who would issue a war cry on behalf of all us against this putrid form of human emotion. Anger at my own helplessness and that of our useless wimp of a prime minister who has sacrificed his spine at the altar of the lady in a cotton sari so-far-away in her attitude and outlook to the murk that has befallen us all. Anger that the so called moderates among us just play the blame game. And that the world seems to fall in darker and deeper despair. This independence day, when the PM talks of sovereignty, I will be angry again, I know.
What does sovereignty mean if we cannot take any action against the very people who inflict this upon us?
Tuesday, 29 July 2008
Saturday, 5 July 2008
Telusa Manasa?
“Many are the days that pass in mirth, in the quiet calm of a fresh engagement with life after eons of apathy. Many are the nights that yield passion if only driblets of what the all-encompassing ocean that it once was. Many a moment when I actually smell this world, when I truly see the colors in it, taste the simple joys of a meal in the moon light, walk down an unknown road in yet another alien land, dream a new dream for the years to come, read a line without thinking of what you would make of it, even look at life in the face for an undaunted minute or two. And then all it takes is a tear drop in the eyes of a child sitting in front of me in a bus, for this yearning to come back. As if it never did go away. As if all these years without you are but dreams. “
This is what I wrote after listening to this rather obscure telugu song, (God, was it really) ten years ago! Those were days of dreams and the shattering of dreams seemed rather romantic and inspirational for an aspiring writer.
telusaa manasaa idi ae naati anubandhamo
telusaa manasaa idi ae janma sambandhamo
tarimina aaru kaalaalu edu lokaalu cheraleni odilo
virahapu jaadalenaadu vedi kannesi choodaleni jatalo
Shata janmaala bandhaala bangaaru kshanamidi
prati kshanam naa kallallo niliche nee roopam
bratukulo adugdduguna nadipe nee sneham
oopire neevugaa praanamee needigaa
padi kaalaalu vuntaanu nee prema sakshigaa
ennadu teeriponi runamugaa vundipo
chelimito teegasaage mallega alluko
lokame maarinaa kaalame aagina
mana eegaadha migalaali tudileni charitagaa
Today, when I listen to this, I can only think of how fragile and beautiful the relationship portrayed in this song is. I feel ridiculously protective about the woman in this song (I don’t remember much of the movie but for the fact that she dies immediately after this song, utterly tollywoodisque).
For some reason, I had an urgent urge to transliterate this song last night. Have you ever felt this way about things as you age? What you take for granted in your formative years seems fragile when you are older. You don’t even feel anymore that death and old age cannot touch you anymore. Is it this feeling of being mortal or actually the lack of it in your younger years that make one yearn to be youthful forever? Is this why first love, college, friends of early years and the home you grow up in always yield nostalgic pleasure because whatever happens in your later years will never match up for the sheer abandon and total lack-of-inhibitions of the years of the yore? Telusa, manasa*?
From whence this proclivity, would you know, my mind?
Of which lifetime past is this bond, would you know my mind?
In an alcove of myriad lifetimes of togetherness lies this golden moment
Which neither the six seasons, the seven worlds nor the tempests of separation dare touch.
Your image it is that rests in my eyes every moment,
Your friendship it is that walks by my side in every step of my life,
It is verily you: this very breath of mine, this very life of mine.
And it is your love that will witness my love for you through the cycles of time.
Be thou the debt that can never be repaid
Be thou the jasmine creeper in the fragrance of accord
If times change, and with it, the ways of the world,
let this story of ours remain endless and unchanged.
* Manasu is loosely translated as mind/heart but is more fittingly described as an intension or a desire and not a visceral organ (as in neither brain nor heart). I left it as mind for obvious lack of creativity.
This is what I wrote after listening to this rather obscure telugu song, (God, was it really) ten years ago! Those were days of dreams and the shattering of dreams seemed rather romantic and inspirational for an aspiring writer.
telusaa manasaa idi ae naati anubandhamo
telusaa manasaa idi ae janma sambandhamo
tarimina aaru kaalaalu edu lokaalu cheraleni odilo
virahapu jaadalenaadu vedi kannesi choodaleni jatalo
Shata janmaala bandhaala bangaaru kshanamidi
prati kshanam naa kallallo niliche nee roopam
bratukulo adugdduguna nadipe nee sneham
oopire neevugaa praanamee needigaa
padi kaalaalu vuntaanu nee prema sakshigaa
ennadu teeriponi runamugaa vundipo
chelimito teegasaage mallega alluko
lokame maarinaa kaalame aagina
mana eegaadha migalaali tudileni charitagaa
Today, when I listen to this, I can only think of how fragile and beautiful the relationship portrayed in this song is. I feel ridiculously protective about the woman in this song (I don’t remember much of the movie but for the fact that she dies immediately after this song, utterly tollywoodisque).
For some reason, I had an urgent urge to transliterate this song last night. Have you ever felt this way about things as you age? What you take for granted in your formative years seems fragile when you are older. You don’t even feel anymore that death and old age cannot touch you anymore. Is it this feeling of being mortal or actually the lack of it in your younger years that make one yearn to be youthful forever? Is this why first love, college, friends of early years and the home you grow up in always yield nostalgic pleasure because whatever happens in your later years will never match up for the sheer abandon and total lack-of-inhibitions of the years of the yore? Telusa, manasa*?
From whence this proclivity, would you know, my mind?
Of which lifetime past is this bond, would you know my mind?
In an alcove of myriad lifetimes of togetherness lies this golden moment
Which neither the six seasons, the seven worlds nor the tempests of separation dare touch.
Your image it is that rests in my eyes every moment,
Your friendship it is that walks by my side in every step of my life,
It is verily you: this very breath of mine, this very life of mine.
And it is your love that will witness my love for you through the cycles of time.
Be thou the debt that can never be repaid
Be thou the jasmine creeper in the fragrance of accord
If times change, and with it, the ways of the world,
let this story of ours remain endless and unchanged.
* Manasu is loosely translated as mind/heart but is more fittingly described as an intension or a desire and not a visceral organ (as in neither brain nor heart). I left it as mind for obvious lack of creativity.
Monday, 30 June 2008
Greece...
A New Remedy for Jetlag
Picture this...
You are jetlagged, have overslept by atleast 5 hours, are groggy eyed and in desperate need to get out into the real world. You think a dinner by the riverside and a crisp english movie (not the drawling amriki ones) would do it.
The dinner is fine if a little on the spicy side.
Now for the movie. You get your popcorn and coke, you get the tickets and walk up the stairs and you are looking forward to sinking into the inviting seat, armed with your nicest pashmina to ward off the evil aircon, dreaming of the little gamble you are up for in that bag of "mixed" popcorn, when,... they actually tell you that "food and drinks are not allowed in this cinema"?!
You nod and walk on obviously having misheard them - I mean, a movie hall which doesn't allow popcorn inside? Where exactly are we? Red meets green? But no, it is not a dream after all. They insist that you throw the "food and drinks" off or "have them before you enter the hall". You plead and you threaten but eventually, you actually throw away your popcorn, water and the coke.
You are sober now and in the eternal enthiusiam of a jetlagged dumbo, you look forward to listening to the "crisp" english. Only, you cannot hear a sentence through because the audience is laughing. Wait a minute, you want to catch the joke too? .. no they insist on laughing. A Church, someone singing and a priest who is saying...BAH! You miss it again. Whats wrong with your ears? Why dont you catch the d**n joke? A 17 year old guy is talking to a career girl after his first ever and he knows that she knew he lied about his age when he says" thanks for having me". The audience bursts out in peals of laughter.You feel like one of those dried up ones who never will find fun in life ever again. Silently you pray that someone will tell you secretly why they are laughing. You wonder if you are in a freak show. You wonder if you are watching a Korean movie which you mistook to be an english one. After the mentor tells her student of her two-year old kid who died of meningitis, a poet and his mentor stand still and watch a skylark amidst breathtaking surroundings, you hear them laugh again. You give up and just start looking around. A lot of people are munching on one thing or the other from their copious handbags (that should teach V for not buying me a huge Gucci). That's it. Your jet lag is demolished.
I woke up completely by the end of this movie. I loved the movie (its called the driving lessons, if you care to know) so will probably go buy a DVD someday.
But guess what? I found a new remedy to jet lag.
Watch an english movie in this movie hall.
Which one you ask? Come on!
You are jetlagged, have overslept by atleast 5 hours, are groggy eyed and in desperate need to get out into the real world. You think a dinner by the riverside and a crisp english movie (not the drawling amriki ones) would do it.
The dinner is fine if a little on the spicy side.
Now for the movie. You get your popcorn and coke, you get the tickets and walk up the stairs and you are looking forward to sinking into the inviting seat, armed with your nicest pashmina to ward off the evil aircon, dreaming of the little gamble you are up for in that bag of "mixed" popcorn, when,... they actually tell you that "food and drinks are not allowed in this cinema"?!
You nod and walk on obviously having misheard them - I mean, a movie hall which doesn't allow popcorn inside? Where exactly are we? Red meets green? But no, it is not a dream after all. They insist that you throw the "food and drinks" off or "have them before you enter the hall". You plead and you threaten but eventually, you actually throw away your popcorn, water and the coke.
You are sober now and in the eternal enthiusiam of a jetlagged dumbo, you look forward to listening to the "crisp" english. Only, you cannot hear a sentence through because the audience is laughing. Wait a minute, you want to catch the joke too? .. no they insist on laughing. A Church, someone singing and a priest who is saying...BAH! You miss it again. Whats wrong with your ears? Why dont you catch the d**n joke? A 17 year old guy is talking to a career girl after his first ever and he knows that she knew he lied about his age when he says" thanks for having me". The audience bursts out in peals of laughter.You feel like one of those dried up ones who never will find fun in life ever again. Silently you pray that someone will tell you secretly why they are laughing. You wonder if you are in a freak show. You wonder if you are watching a Korean movie which you mistook to be an english one. After the mentor tells her student of her two-year old kid who died of meningitis, a poet and his mentor stand still and watch a skylark amidst breathtaking surroundings, you hear them laugh again. You give up and just start looking around. A lot of people are munching on one thing or the other from their copious handbags (that should teach V for not buying me a huge Gucci). That's it. Your jet lag is demolished.
I woke up completely by the end of this movie. I loved the movie (its called the driving lessons, if you care to know) so will probably go buy a DVD someday.
But guess what? I found a new remedy to jet lag.
Watch an english movie in this movie hall.
Which one you ask? Come on!
Saturday, 31 May 2008
Mocking, Mediocrity and Ms. Azmi
It is when mediocrity aims for excellence and for lack of obvious talent or inclination, assumes the cloak of supremacy by mocking others as mediocre that smoke starts erupting from one’s ears. Don’t ask me what in the world made me watch “Koffee with Karan”. It must have been this ex-colleague of mine who mocks it all the time but nevertheless doesn’t miss a single episode (perhaps because he gets enough ammunition from it to mock all Indians, by extrapolation naturally, in front of me). Or perhaps it was the boring, pouring Saturday evening when the only other refuge would have to be the packed shopping malls of the great sale. I chose to blame it all though on my curiosity to watch the man of words- Javed Akthar and the woman whose substance has been touted over and again by our media (oh God indeed!)- Shabana Azmi tackling the monster of cliché- Mr. k..k..k..kkkkk Johar (his use of phrases like “do you all..” is just stupendously smoke evoking, need I say?).
Before we move on though, Disclaimer #1) I am not against feminists, nor against people of any gender who wear ethnic stuff and imagine themselves to be the torch bearers for the rest of the masses simply because they can talk what they want and yet get away with it with no practical impact what so ever (are you thinking Shoba De? don’t even go there).What I am against is pretention. And that has been bestowed in abundance by some quirk of fate to all three of the people on the set. So I kind of knew that I would be enraged by the end of the show when I sat down with my coffee to watch it (why watch it you ask? I was curious if I would catch Koffee Karan drinking from his mug of whatever-he-has-in-it. Okay?).
Disclaimer #2) Let me also clarify what I mean by pretension. This is an art form that all of us possess inherent talent for and most of us practice in our daily lives to a certain extent. However, like say lying to your spouse about the cost of your 20th pair of shoes or feeling greedy about the 5th Samosa, this can only be tolerated to an extent. Each one has his way of looking at the limits for tolerance but once a person tries to emulate this image of him/her that has been conceived and nurtured by self, I draw the line. Or the media bred monsters who lecture us on everything that they don’t believe in would have made the “normal” among us extinct.
You ask what’s my grouse? First things first. I was absolutely stunned by KJ’s question – “Sometimes has the presence of mediocrity ever upset you?” (don’t even get into the grammar part of it OK? Just accept it that most of the Bollywood stars speak pidgin and not English). But what followed was even better. 'Well I was doing a special appearance. It was a three-day part and I went on the sets and he was a south Indian film director who was ready with the scene. I told him, I need to ask you a couple of questions and he said fine. So he said “Madam, she’s mad!”, so I said, ‘What madness does she suffer from? Is it psychosis, is it schizophrenia, is it neurosis?’ and as I asked every question I saw him becoming paler and paler and he looked completely shocked and he said, “Madam, just play filmi-mad!” So I said, “What does that mean?” and he said, “It means nothing madam. It only means that you laugh HA HA HA HA and then start crying! That is filmi-mad”.
Ma’am we all know you have a degree in psychology but then it must be your failing memory that made you list cause (schizophrenia) and effect (psychosis) as two different “kinds of madness”. And where exactly was your aversion for mediocrity when you do a three day stint in a south Indian movie? I guess the lure of south Indian bucks made you temporarily inane to mediocrity. I have some advice for you – absolutely free of cost – just one south Indian to a north Indian - If you want to be seen as an intellectual, you need to:
1) Have some grey matter
2) Use it and not just imagine that you are using it
3) Be consistent in your attitude to life (it is either paisa or non-mediocre art ma’am not a path that leads to either as it suits you)
4) Stop changing your opinions every two seconds (to one of those pseudo-intellectual questions: What would you do if you could ask Sonia Gandhi to change one policy or something on those lines, she first answered that she would demand that slums shouldn’t be evacuated without providing alternative accommodations for the slum dwellers. And ten minutes later, she wanted to “change” her answer to –I would like to have the right to information/freedom of speech or some such s***t)
5) Stop pretending to be what you are not (intellectual)
I am pretty sure once you take this path of enlightenment; you shall find your goal – that of evading mediocrity. In the meanwhile, perhaps you can perhaps remind your man of words some of the stunning poetry that Gulzar has bestowed Indian cinema with – poetry with real emotions and real words and not recycling of a vocabulary of less than a 1000 words – ishq, mohobbat, zindgagi, dil, pyar, et al (no matter how much you adore the Americans, this is simply not an area which would beg emulation!). Because for the life of me, I cannot understand how he aspires to have written not a “tujhse naaraz nahin zindagi”, “mera kuch saaman” or “o saathi re” (and a zillion others) of Gulzar but a “beedi jalayle”?!
Oh, can I add to the list?
6) Aspire for greatness and you might even reach somewhere close. Otherwise, you will continue to generate smoke from the ears of one woman who at one point in her life (sadly) had thought of you as a sensible person
7) Read Indian history
8) Phew!
Before we move on though, Disclaimer #1) I am not against feminists, nor against people of any gender who wear ethnic stuff and imagine themselves to be the torch bearers for the rest of the masses simply because they can talk what they want and yet get away with it with no practical impact what so ever (are you thinking Shoba De? don’t even go there).What I am against is pretention. And that has been bestowed in abundance by some quirk of fate to all three of the people on the set. So I kind of knew that I would be enraged by the end of the show when I sat down with my coffee to watch it (why watch it you ask? I was curious if I would catch Koffee Karan drinking from his mug of whatever-he-has-in-it. Okay?).
Disclaimer #2) Let me also clarify what I mean by pretension. This is an art form that all of us possess inherent talent for and most of us practice in our daily lives to a certain extent. However, like say lying to your spouse about the cost of your 20th pair of shoes or feeling greedy about the 5th Samosa, this can only be tolerated to an extent. Each one has his way of looking at the limits for tolerance but once a person tries to emulate this image of him/her that has been conceived and nurtured by self, I draw the line. Or the media bred monsters who lecture us on everything that they don’t believe in would have made the “normal” among us extinct.
You ask what’s my grouse? First things first. I was absolutely stunned by KJ’s question – “Sometimes has the presence of mediocrity ever upset you?” (don’t even get into the grammar part of it OK? Just accept it that most of the Bollywood stars speak pidgin and not English). But what followed was even better. 'Well I was doing a special appearance. It was a three-day part and I went on the sets and he was a south Indian film director who was ready with the scene. I told him, I need to ask you a couple of questions and he said fine. So he said “Madam, she’s mad!”, so I said, ‘What madness does she suffer from? Is it psychosis, is it schizophrenia, is it neurosis?’ and as I asked every question I saw him becoming paler and paler and he looked completely shocked and he said, “Madam, just play filmi-mad!” So I said, “What does that mean?” and he said, “It means nothing madam. It only means that you laugh HA HA HA HA and then start crying! That is filmi-mad”.
Ma’am we all know you have a degree in psychology but then it must be your failing memory that made you list cause (schizophrenia) and effect (psychosis) as two different “kinds of madness”. And where exactly was your aversion for mediocrity when you do a three day stint in a south Indian movie? I guess the lure of south Indian bucks made you temporarily inane to mediocrity. I have some advice for you – absolutely free of cost – just one south Indian to a north Indian - If you want to be seen as an intellectual, you need to:
1) Have some grey matter
2) Use it and not just imagine that you are using it
3) Be consistent in your attitude to life (it is either paisa or non-mediocre art ma’am not a path that leads to either as it suits you)
4) Stop changing your opinions every two seconds (to one of those pseudo-intellectual questions: What would you do if you could ask Sonia Gandhi to change one policy or something on those lines, she first answered that she would demand that slums shouldn’t be evacuated without providing alternative accommodations for the slum dwellers. And ten minutes later, she wanted to “change” her answer to –I would like to have the right to information/freedom of speech or some such s***t)
5) Stop pretending to be what you are not (intellectual)
I am pretty sure once you take this path of enlightenment; you shall find your goal – that of evading mediocrity. In the meanwhile, perhaps you can perhaps remind your man of words some of the stunning poetry that Gulzar has bestowed Indian cinema with – poetry with real emotions and real words and not recycling of a vocabulary of less than a 1000 words – ishq, mohobbat, zindgagi, dil, pyar, et al (no matter how much you adore the Americans, this is simply not an area which would beg emulation!). Because for the life of me, I cannot understand how he aspires to have written not a “tujhse naaraz nahin zindagi”, “mera kuch saaman” or “o saathi re” (and a zillion others) of Gulzar but a “beedi jalayle”?!
Oh, can I add to the list?
6) Aspire for greatness and you might even reach somewhere close. Otherwise, you will continue to generate smoke from the ears of one woman who at one point in her life (sadly) had thought of you as a sensible person
7) Read Indian history
8) Phew!
Thursday, 22 May 2008
My take on the global food crisis
I have been away for a while so might as well start with what has been catching widespread attention in the media (the great gender versus race debate not withstanding) -Global food crisis. I have been racking my brains and trying with my short sight to divine between the lines of the famous and the infamous but haven’t yet figured out if there is a shortage of food worldwide or not. Don’t get me wrong, I am not trying to prove the World Bank wrong- I do believe that global food prices have risen 83 percent in the last three years and I better believe that there is an acute shortage of rice in this part of the world. V and I made two trips to little India in the past week to get one bag of rice for twice the usual price. Yes, we have started witnessing the much talked about rationing and hoarding of grains. The part that I haven’t figured out yet is whether we are in a situation where in the world demand for food has already surpassed the production yet, have we reached the Malthusian line yet?
I have read reports that quote the Food and Agriculture Organisation (FAO) saying that the world cereal production was a record in 2007 and is expected to hit a new record in 2008. But as the world cereal consumption has been slightly faster than production for seven years, the world stocks have fallen to about 400 million tonnes. Ok that makes sense – we have low food stocks.
Why do we have low food stocks? That information too was not that difficult to come by. Apparently, higher income among the growing middle class of developing countries such as India and China has played a major role in generating a high demand for food. This piece of erudite information from the respectable President has been thoroughly derided by many scholars Indian and otherwise. Some of them went to uncover the “real” culprit – increased demand and enhanced subsidies (by the US who else) for bio-fuel raw materials such as – yes- wheat, maize, and palm oil! The lesser sensationalists among them have also pointed towards other causes for this rise in food prices: climate change (inducing change in rainfall patterns and in some cases such as Australia causing long periods of drought), falling dollar (commodities being priced in dollars, any fall in the dollar rate will increase prices), protective government policies (about 40 countries including India have curbed food exports to control domestic prices), speculation, falling productivity of the agriculture sector (diversification of agricultural lands, poor irrigation practices, diminishing returns from overused land) as well as high oil prices that make it expensive to use petroleum-based fertilizer, operate farm machinery or to transport agricultural products.
I have also read plenty of op-eds and the likes on the consequences of this global food crisis which have already led to riots in places like Haiti and Pakistan and will push almost one sixth of the world’s population below the poverty line. In short, if left alone this “silent Tsunami” is going to wreck havoc in every part of the world. Pretty scary prospect.
And yet, I haven’t yet read any analysis of what the current situation is in terms of demand and supply. I haven’t found for example anywhere that I tried to look an analysis of how much food stocks we have, how much are we expected to have to not fall below the Malthusian line of catastrophe. In other words, if say by next year we have persuaded the 40 odd counties to give up the export bans/duties and have managed to get Mr. Bush to slash bio-fuel subsidies, would we have sufficient for everyone to eat? I cannot for the life of me believe that no one has done that analysis. Clearly, someone did but no one is really interested. It goes on to say how information is managed in these supposedly utopian days of information sharing. Everyone is out to put the blame on each other and pontification seems to be the order of the day in the media of today.
Well, I have vented my bit of fury into the cyber world. I can still afford the rationed rice that we are able to buy here. Would that be enough then? What can we as individuals do to decrease the burden of increasing global prices? I think I can definitely and effectively prevent people that I can influence from hoarding. I can also restrict the amount of food that goes to the bin whether it is in my kitchen or in a restaurant. I can stop complaining about the rise in food prices because, I can afford to have two meals a day as opposed to millions in the world. I can certainly try raising awareness among some of my ignorant acquaintances who think the issue is “blown out of proportion by the media”.
Will that change the world? Perhaps not – but hell! Who would have predicted a couple of hundred years ago that the small change man made towards industrialization will lead to today’s situation of global warming? Remember, the butterfly effect?
I have read reports that quote the Food and Agriculture Organisation (FAO) saying that the world cereal production was a record in 2007 and is expected to hit a new record in 2008. But as the world cereal consumption has been slightly faster than production for seven years, the world stocks have fallen to about 400 million tonnes. Ok that makes sense – we have low food stocks.
Why do we have low food stocks? That information too was not that difficult to come by. Apparently, higher income among the growing middle class of developing countries such as India and China has played a major role in generating a high demand for food. This piece of erudite information from the respectable President has been thoroughly derided by many scholars Indian and otherwise. Some of them went to uncover the “real” culprit – increased demand and enhanced subsidies (by the US who else) for bio-fuel raw materials such as – yes- wheat, maize, and palm oil! The lesser sensationalists among them have also pointed towards other causes for this rise in food prices: climate change (inducing change in rainfall patterns and in some cases such as Australia causing long periods of drought), falling dollar (commodities being priced in dollars, any fall in the dollar rate will increase prices), protective government policies (about 40 countries including India have curbed food exports to control domestic prices), speculation, falling productivity of the agriculture sector (diversification of agricultural lands, poor irrigation practices, diminishing returns from overused land) as well as high oil prices that make it expensive to use petroleum-based fertilizer, operate farm machinery or to transport agricultural products.
I have also read plenty of op-eds and the likes on the consequences of this global food crisis which have already led to riots in places like Haiti and Pakistan and will push almost one sixth of the world’s population below the poverty line. In short, if left alone this “silent Tsunami” is going to wreck havoc in every part of the world. Pretty scary prospect.
And yet, I haven’t yet read any analysis of what the current situation is in terms of demand and supply. I haven’t found for example anywhere that I tried to look an analysis of how much food stocks we have, how much are we expected to have to not fall below the Malthusian line of catastrophe. In other words, if say by next year we have persuaded the 40 odd counties to give up the export bans/duties and have managed to get Mr. Bush to slash bio-fuel subsidies, would we have sufficient for everyone to eat? I cannot for the life of me believe that no one has done that analysis. Clearly, someone did but no one is really interested. It goes on to say how information is managed in these supposedly utopian days of information sharing. Everyone is out to put the blame on each other and pontification seems to be the order of the day in the media of today.
Well, I have vented my bit of fury into the cyber world. I can still afford the rationed rice that we are able to buy here. Would that be enough then? What can we as individuals do to decrease the burden of increasing global prices? I think I can definitely and effectively prevent people that I can influence from hoarding. I can also restrict the amount of food that goes to the bin whether it is in my kitchen or in a restaurant. I can stop complaining about the rise in food prices because, I can afford to have two meals a day as opposed to millions in the world. I can certainly try raising awareness among some of my ignorant acquaintances who think the issue is “blown out of proportion by the media”.
Will that change the world? Perhaps not – but hell! Who would have predicted a couple of hundred years ago that the small change man made towards industrialization will lead to today’s situation of global warming? Remember, the butterfly effect?
Wednesday, 26 March 2008
Of truth and fiction and of love
Yesterday morning, over a sleepless, “don’t-want-to-go-to work” Monday morning’s coffee, I was reading a story written by P.S Narayana in a telugu magazine. Once in a while on my grocery shopping forays into Little India, I induce myself into buying this magazine as a much deserved nostalgic trip to the world that I was born into but invariably, I end up feeling abysmal about the quality of the reading material in it. I do know about the abundance of telugu sites on the www but I don’t enjoy reading online so much as I enjoy reading a book or a magazine or even a desperate printout. V laughs at my quotidian bouts of enthusiasm about the language and dismay about the current trends in my homeland but that doesn’t stop me from buying this magazine. I also doubt that one of the reasons I cannot afford to not buy it is because of the fear that I might miss speaking to the one telugu speaking person I know in Singapore- the magazine store guy!
But for all my snivels about the current trends, this story was one of those little gems which make life seem beautiful. Remember literature of the yore? Where beauty is extolled without drama? Where leisurely descriptions of the place, people and the events are more important than the “plot”? Where the grammar of the language does not matter as much as its lyrical cadence? This story was truly one of those although I doubt it will be perceived as “literature of the yore” by many. I was so thrilled that I tried searching online for this author in vain. Here is how the story goes - A tamilian by birth, Tambivelu came to a small town in Andhra Pradesh with his mother when he was five and lived there for the rest of his life as a lorry driver. When informed of the death of someone by a friend, he goes all out to ensure that she gets a decent funeral. He being a married man, one is almost deliberately made to believe that this certain someone might at one point have a romantic connection of some sort with him, given the intensity of his feelings for her which were very perceptively portrayed by the author. He remembers the little things that she had said – that he shouldn’t consume “zarda pan”, that she craved for an azure saree with white dots (which he buys for her as a final gift before the funeral), that she had at one point remarked on the piety in being cremated near the Krishna river ( he dutifully ensures that). It is only to the end when his aide, who cannot keep his curiosity to himself, probe him that he blurts out the fact that he was married to her. And that they had spent five beautiful years together after which, she had chosen to be lured by someone else into a life that eventually turned out to be in dregs. The story has hues of almost all human emotions that you can conceive of but all painted ever so carefully that they don’t over whelm you –magnanimity of human sprit, affection, gratitude and the lack of it, lust, friendship, spiritual belief and above all, a love that has no boundaries. I don’t know where you could find it, but if you do come across it and if you happen to be able to read telugu, read it. You might just fall in love with love once again.
Was it then just a coincidence that the very day I had come across a story of yet another facet of human emotions? Only that this time it wasn’t fiction- but real life. A software guy working in Bangalore had murdered his wife because he had supposedly “spied” on her PC and found her to be having an affair with a colleague. After this, he committed suicide. It might sound morbid but I couldn’t help thinking of the similarity in situation between the protagonist in the story above and that of the latter. One chose to forgive and move on and yet with the same tenderness of heart that had loved her in days past, bid her a final farewell. The other chose to wipe her memories out literally. Who knows what went on in the mind of this guy when he was smothering his wife to death?
But could it be the same love? Or have we all finally reached this stage where instant gratifications have taken over every other parameter of our existence? Love- now, Justice-now, everything- now? Or is fiction, as always, an idealization of the human situation? One that we aspire for and truly yearn for: but it eludes us because we are not made for it?
But for all my snivels about the current trends, this story was one of those little gems which make life seem beautiful. Remember literature of the yore? Where beauty is extolled without drama? Where leisurely descriptions of the place, people and the events are more important than the “plot”? Where the grammar of the language does not matter as much as its lyrical cadence? This story was truly one of those although I doubt it will be perceived as “literature of the yore” by many. I was so thrilled that I tried searching online for this author in vain. Here is how the story goes - A tamilian by birth, Tambivelu came to a small town in Andhra Pradesh with his mother when he was five and lived there for the rest of his life as a lorry driver. When informed of the death of someone by a friend, he goes all out to ensure that she gets a decent funeral. He being a married man, one is almost deliberately made to believe that this certain someone might at one point have a romantic connection of some sort with him, given the intensity of his feelings for her which were very perceptively portrayed by the author. He remembers the little things that she had said – that he shouldn’t consume “zarda pan”, that she craved for an azure saree with white dots (which he buys for her as a final gift before the funeral), that she had at one point remarked on the piety in being cremated near the Krishna river ( he dutifully ensures that). It is only to the end when his aide, who cannot keep his curiosity to himself, probe him that he blurts out the fact that he was married to her. And that they had spent five beautiful years together after which, she had chosen to be lured by someone else into a life that eventually turned out to be in dregs. The story has hues of almost all human emotions that you can conceive of but all painted ever so carefully that they don’t over whelm you –magnanimity of human sprit, affection, gratitude and the lack of it, lust, friendship, spiritual belief and above all, a love that has no boundaries. I don’t know where you could find it, but if you do come across it and if you happen to be able to read telugu, read it. You might just fall in love with love once again.
Was it then just a coincidence that the very day I had come across a story of yet another facet of human emotions? Only that this time it wasn’t fiction- but real life. A software guy working in Bangalore had murdered his wife because he had supposedly “spied” on her PC and found her to be having an affair with a colleague. After this, he committed suicide. It might sound morbid but I couldn’t help thinking of the similarity in situation between the protagonist in the story above and that of the latter. One chose to forgive and move on and yet with the same tenderness of heart that had loved her in days past, bid her a final farewell. The other chose to wipe her memories out literally. Who knows what went on in the mind of this guy when he was smothering his wife to death?
But could it be the same love? Or have we all finally reached this stage where instant gratifications have taken over every other parameter of our existence? Love- now, Justice-now, everything- now? Or is fiction, as always, an idealization of the human situation? One that we aspire for and truly yearn for: but it eludes us because we are not made for it?
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