now reading 'The Overcrowded Barracoon' - Naipaul

the peoples of any country (or region for that matter) have at least one false pride. its a belief for them, and therefore its the highest ultimate truth for them. but for an outsider, it is a joke.

in America it is nationalism. the belief that "we are the most sophisticated and therefore the most superior (we are not racists, mind you)and the mightiest peoples on earth today. and along with great power comes great responsibility which leads us higher mortals to teach you lower beings the ideals of civilized human life."

for Indians it is their proximity to the supernatural, it is their spirituality. "the poor in india are happier and more content than the rich in the west. we have a lot to teach the west about attaining salvation of the body and mind." notice the poor in india never brag about being happier than the rich of anywhere. yet this is the national belief, the pride of india. Naipaul calls it "lack of intellect", "total absurdity" and ridicules it brutally. in his opinion those from the west who revere india do so in search of their medieval barbaric roots. and those indians who swell with pride at the reverence are self-humoring idiots.

Naipaul writes with prejudiced opinion but he is spot on. reading his writing on india never fails to anger me. my papa always says (though he never learned to control his anger) that anger is one's incapability to deal with the situation at hand. and that's spot on, too. the anger within me on reading Naipaul is not so much targeted at him, as much as it is at myself, at my incapability to concretely disagree with him, to prove him wrong. or to change things.

character 1

like always, her shift wouldn't begin till 2pm. and that was good. she sighed a heavy sigh in gratitude. the morning was almost over. she had just woken up, sullen as every morning. and the first thing she did after confirming her shift in memory, was to reach out for the pack of cigarettes. the almost-noon sun was peeping in through that broken bit in the blinds in her room, falling directly into her face. getting a response of a scowl from her, while the white tips of her bangs caught the light. if you looked at her hair alone you would think they were feathers on a bird's closed wing. those dense short black lacklustre bangs with white tips, like a 2-colored bird's wing, seemingly capable of sudden flight.

she thought of calling her son, then dismissed the thought cos she couldn't think of anything pleasant to talk with him. it was best this way. she hadn't spoken with him in months, and every once a week she dismissed the thought. staring at the smoke from her lips she was thinking about people, about her son, about when she last had a conversation with a person. a real conversation, not those one-way 2-word greetings that she would respond to with a grunt whenever she took over a shift from someone. nor those meaningless - "hi"s and "thank you"s from the university students who boarded her bus. those juvenile-good-for-nothing kids. why did they bother smiling at her anyway. all she wanted to do was to finish circling a complete route so she could disembark for the 5-10 minute break and puff at her cigarette. maybe slip off her loafers and scratch her feet meditatively. and relax. take a break. from her life.

Chinese women at a beach in Shandong, afraid of becoming dark-skinned!!! (from nytimes.com)

and when you came alive on paper last night, you seemed strangely familiar. do I know you?

what do those people do who always restrain themselves from being expressive in any manner. who hesitate with what they have an impulse to do but check that impulse in time. maybe with more than one effort. but successfully. so successfully that the next instant they are unaware there ever was such an impulse.

those who hardly ever make the first move. they never embarrass themselves. they play when they are assured of a favorable return. and only then.

do they have regrets? do they ever wish they hadn't waited, hadn't played safe. had given in to some emotion, been reckless.

or is regret only for those embarrassed, those who knock, dig, scrape because they must, because if they didn't they'd be someone else. because there's no reason to reason with. and find things they don't like. because they actually find. unlike knowing what's on the other end and then choosing to walk the distance, they come upon it.

lately the way I've been whining and complaining about acne both on and off my blog, and the way the modern web picks up cues for targeted ads has resulted in youtube giving me suggestions of acne videos and even movies and sitcoms streaming online patiently waiting for commercials from serious acne and skin medication to entice me. what caught my attention were some of these commercials of medical solutions to some skin diseases I haven't ever heard of, with warnings of very serious side effects. and when I say very serious, I mean even fatal. like lowering the body's immunity to other diseases - TB, cancer, lymphoma, liver damage; and some sure effects like causing depression. and the commercial touts the miracle of the drug and its possible side effects, all in one breath, with no economizing on the details, not even an effort to conceal the evils (not that that's what they should do, but it is incredible that they can so unashamedly talk about the bads of the drugs and yet go ahead and actually advertise it)!!!

Is this an American thing or is it just a human thing; that appearances are so important. that the skin and what's visible is worth more care than is general health and well-being. now some months ago I was awed by this country having figured out effective cures, where back home in India all you got was natural home remedy suggestions from every other (unasked-for) agony aunt. but then slowly I realized how much damage these chemicals cause to the natural skin, and how the best thing one could do was to stick to organic remedies (just like they say back home).

one dermatologist on youtube even defended his medication's side effects of inducing depression with the argument that acne causes depression anyway when a person suffering from it faces lack of confidence because of unsightly appearance. and therefore according to him even if the medication caused some depression in the short run, it cured acne in the long run and therefore had the net effect of actually reducing depression!!! wow, what an argument.

look at this commercial for instance

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D8oejFeTv5o

so apparently Diane Rehm has a speech disorder; its not only her age that makes her voice sound so frail and labored.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XM-nrgVVHGU

ok, so I'm usually in favor of equal opportunity in employment and everything, but shouldn't a radio host selection, where voice is the most important, base its choice on the clarity, ease and efficiency of a candidate's voice? aren't there other people who are much better qualified for the job with their voices; and who should get a chance? because someone has a disorder of some kind, should it necessarily imply employing the person in a kind of job where that very disorder is the core of her work? is it sympathy or what?

I know I'm late with my mornings when by the time I've switched on my radio its already 9 and the voice I dread to hear comes on...

something I heard on the radio the other day during a story promoting a new movie about a young girl just beginning to be aware of her sexuality.. "she is dressed provocatively in this scene, just like teenagers her age usually are". the comment made me think, that it was said so casually yet with some acceptance and understanding. you know what I mean if you've seen those undergrad women walking to school wearing shorts little more than bikini bottoms, with more than their legs showing. its a remarkable thing then to see men behind them walking without an untoward glance, when sometimes I can't take my eyes off. you really have to give the American (male) credit for how he has trained himself to not look (when will the Indian man get there). now, I'm not a lesbian (at least not to my knowledge) but a flab-less human body is beautiful. I love to sketch the human anatomy, and more often than not, when I do that I settle for the female. cos its beyond arguing that the female human body is really beautiful with all its curves suggesting gentleness. suggesting emotion, thought, love and intimacy.

so then you think of how teenage girls in this country (and some more) have the freedom to flaunt their new found sexuality. to share with the world her sudden surprising triumph that ohmygod she is beautiful. every woman has that stage in her life. when after months (maybe years) of stabbing aches in her chest and discomfort with her body, one day she looks at herself in the mirror and realizes that she is a beauty.

and then its always natural to want to show off anything beautiful you have. so there's a trend with age in the wardrobe of say, an American woman. in her teens she grows out of clothes chosen for her by her parents and into everything she imagined her idols to wear. with increasing access to more and more information, her teen idol image is wide, and she outdoes them all.

its all part of growing up. and it makes her proud of who she is. a woman. unashamedly so. and here their male compatriots must be given credit. who sometimes ogle, often desire, but rarely violate the female independence.

compare this age trend in an Indian woman's wardrobe. in my mom's generation there was a similar trend although always at a much lower freedom level. in their teens they wore skirts and trousers with trendy tops; but never showed more than their arms and necks and maybe ankles and knees. a halter top was like the limit that caused whispers and nudges. they were limited to admiring themselves alone in front of the mirror or maybe were too incredulous to do that because the world didn't seem to second their opinion. a show of body was considered outrageous and not beautiful. that trained their opinion likewise. and once they got married there was a natural shift in trend to Indian clothes, and even saris were taught to hide the slim pretty waists.

the Indian teenager who grew up with me saw a lot of societal change in her life in her country. she was told repeatedly that she was no less in any way than a man. and yet she was told to cover herself up. she grew up wanting to feel beautiful. but she was told she wasn't safe if she was attractive. she was more aware and exposed to the world than her mother and had more temptations to compete and show herself off. and therefore the world around her pushed back a little harder, clearly setting boundaries for her. she fought off the ban on hip-hugging jeans, then shorter tops, and by the time she fought off the ban on showing off her legs a little higher than her knees, she was already in her twenties. which meant she had to stay there, quit the fighting and give some part of her life to more serious stuff (like Economics). this had already led to something of a reverse of the age-trend in her wardrobe.

finally in her late twenties after she was married she found a different freedom. her marriage became a handover of responsibility, and an acceptance of coming of age. such that now no one could blame her for being irresponsibly clad.

many of my friends experimented with showing off their body for the first time when they were 25+. women who thought their legs were stocky and misshapen wear shorts and minis now, and pose for photographs to put up on their facebook accounts. the off-shoulder, backless dresses they should have rightfully worn as teenagers came to them much later in life. I have beautiful shoulders and yet I've not so far shown them off. before my age starts showing on them, I should take my chance.

this one really needs re-blogging..

all credits to 'The Local Tea Party'

http://thelocalteaparty.com/post/27192073244

Spring and Fall: To a Young Child

Márgarét, are you gríeving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leáves, líke the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! ás the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you wíll weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sórrow's spríngs áre the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It ís the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.

Gerard Manley Hopkins

ever since I've been living on my own, I've got into the habit of listening to the radio. its one of the first things I fix in the mornings. and its the surest companion to all my cooking, cleaning, and acne-scar-treatment regimens. and of course, NPR it is. rather a member station of NPR for this region - KERA. (I probably should pay/contribute toward the public good, but will think of that when I also stop stealing information from nytimes through incognito windows). so apart from the really slow, dragged, and feeble (old) voice of Diane Rehm, which fills me with one of those unnamed anxieties of stagnation and lack of life; and the Prairie Home Companion, which I don't know why I'll never follow, understand or enjoy, radio is a pretty cool thing. and I don't know if this is weird but it feels kinda anachronistic to hear about 3D-printing and artificial intelligence on of-all-things, radio. radio, which even as a child, I thought to belong to a decaying age, a companion for older people who lacked stuff to do, who probably couldn't read/watch due to some medical conditions of the eyes.

and now without a TV (not that I want one. I always felt the TV robbed one of the freedom of choice to watch it cos it sets in such inertia once its on and you're in front of it), and a keener genuine curiosity for what's happening in the world (that I till some years ago, thought I was genuinely incapable of), radio has become my refuge. it gives my apartment a sensation of ongoing conversation even when I'm alone, and lets me free to be busy with something else at the same time. and it tells me these stories about the world. both important and entertaining, and shocking, and funny.

so in the last few weeks I've heard something surprising (other than the fact that 3D design prototypes would be available for free download and you could pretty much make anything you wanted yourself). the progress on artificial intelligence. I hadn't ever given artificial intelligence a serious thought, relegating such ideas to the realm of science fiction and never realized how commonplace its becoming with the advent of something like self-driving cars. and its funny I was just making small talk with my dad-in-law (about the constraints to possibility) the other day but I realized that everything scary that science fiction predicted has more or less been successfully avoided in reality. that science and technology have so far not created any great demons for humanity, other than maybe Facebook(!!) and then listening to some stolen/free ridden news on nytimes and KERA I heard about what's happening on the topic of artificial intelligence. now that's a topic that I'm weary of. that sounds scary with the possibilities it has. there's one short story on it here

http://www.npr.org/2012/06/26/155792609/a-massive-google-network-learns-to-identify

the key word here is 'recognition'. and there was a more interesting story (that I cannot find anymore) where computers were being told/fed synopses of Shakespeare's stories and were taught to recognize and identify patterns of human behavior in these dramas. for example, the identification of the phenomenon of revenge. of opinions and therefore different perspectives. the second key word common to both stories being 'identification'. now that, on a really simplistic level is pretty cool. if a machine can, from information alone, manage to identify, recognize and isolate patterns out; it surely implies some self-learning and thinking. and the possibilities of more progress are both frightening and exhilarating. is there a machine out there than can express itself (and what is a 'self' if not its experiences and learning) in say a blogpost of this kind, or maybe is waiting to but has not as yet received the command to do so, and 'will' someday not wait anymore.

she kept looking back
at her trail
the mess she always left behind
and she needn't have turned back either
cos it all stained her heart
weighing it down with every step.

she was heavier, more stooped over
with every step
every encounter.

she couldn't forget.

stubbornly, aggressively, self righteously
she went on
feeling everything in excess
overdoing it all
leaving people overfed, sick and puking
tired and disgusted
sighing as they finally breathed at her exit
at the expulsion of her air reeking with emotion.

on and off she would find a recluse
when no human was in sight
the blackbirds doming the air above her head
those raindrops barely testing her skin for thirst
when she forgot the people-world
cos every spark of feeling needed a co-heart to burn with.

she couldn't cause to destroy alone.

I've been putting this one off for sometime now...a week ago I turned 30. yeah, that scary milestone of age where you can no longer excuse yourself with the usual "I'm still a kid". I wonder what I had thought of being 30 when I was say sixteen or so. because I can still pretty well remember those days. and remember myself from within, and how I felt, what opinions and desires I had, how I was often challenged by others with the claim that I was too young, too rosy-eyed to make sense. I don't think I gave turning 30 ever a serious thought. not even last year when I was despite myself heading headlong into it. in fact, not even on the day when I did turn 30. but yeah 2 weeks before that something strange happened. I suddenly felt like the horror and the mystery of that number 30 were coming true when my life felt like it was imploding. like I was suddenly left alone, cheated, ridiculed, without a plan, with no defence, hurt, and yes, alone. what struck me then was the similarity with that awful bollywood movie (I couldn't bare to watch) - 'turning 30' and how cliched what was happening felt.

I don't know how things turned around. and now looking back those 2-3 weeks, everything feels so irrelevant. so petty, so inconsequential. maybe this is the real change. from then to now. having crossed that landmark age. its not the maturity, its perspective. its the realization that things take time. and intensity. and real change. for change to occur. and a lot of that is hardly reversible. hardly. you can blur it out if you want. you can force it to an unremembered corner. but if it occurred and it changed you, you cannot undo it. you cannot erase it. you cannot oust it from your life for a little aberration. a little imperfection. you cannot, meaning you are futile for trying.

it also then squares what's you and what's the world, and how one causes the other. I am not all supreme, I don't call all the shots. and yet I'm not helpless either. I can decide. I can choose but I cannot control what I am when I make that choice.

focus your mind on something or someone who moves you. or look at them for a long while in silence. and notice the range of emotions that cross your mind, and then contemplate the effect of any stimulus on you and how you would react depending on what part of the spectrum of your range you were on when the stimulus hit you. and a minute later that changes. and you change.

this one week I've felt really fragile, and this last month almost everything turned against me. only almost. cos I'm still me, I'm still alive, still calm and happy and wise. and although I haven't made myself proud, I still haven't let myself down in any way.

so I'm literally financially hard up, more so than I have ever been in my life. so much so that I had to ask my dad to sponsor my tickets for my sister's wedding. and this because I'm being paid much less for some months cos the school wanted to cut down expenditure and grad students being slave labor, we have no reservation utility. to top that I now have a place of my own which means my rent shot up and my bank account empties out as soon as the paycheck comes in. all this highlighted with the irony of receiving a check in my mailbox on the eve of my birthday for an amount of, guess what, 35cents!!! yes $0.35, not in coins but a check. the paper must have been worth more. (that incidentally, sums up the American attitude and efficiency)

my work has come to a standstill, and I've just been fighting the fact that I need to start over again. I've been teaching enough to not want to do it one more day, and yet yesterday was a good class and that made me happy. made me realize it wasn't me that was wrong. I'm still good at it, just as I thought I was 10 yrs ago when I taught my classmates statistics but never aspired to make it part of my profession.

and I am not a cog in the wheel. I get to choose and I'm looking forward to teaching game theory next year as promised, though I'm sure my knees will be knocking against each other at least the first class. and I'm still reading interesting stuff and thinking interesting thoughts even if they lead to nothing. and in fact today I remembered why I'd come here in the first place. to while away some part of my life studying something I liked. and I'm doing that. and my panic was only because I was trying to change that to a more purposeful and time bound plan to prove myself a genius.

compared to when I was 16 then, I now look better (and still get asked for my ID at times when I want alcohol) but get more acne! am more independent, and happy living by myself, and more loved, more confident, and have enough years behind me to know that I recognize people well for what they are and that I've been lucky with those around me. and I've done most of what I longed to do then but was restricted from, and there's still more and nothing now is stopping me. so here's to the 4th decade of my life. those are just words, don't read too much into it. life is just as good on the other side of every landmark, especially if in the middle of the summer, at 11pm last night the breeze turned cool (70 something) and the sky was clear with a glowing full moon generously smiling down at me

i'm upset and when i'm upset i write these good cathartic posts. what is good, and who is to decide that anyway. especially when i'm not blogging for sale and i'm not requesting consumer approval.

so this post is about overbearing women. the kind who love making you squirm in your seat because they disapprove of you. the kind who pointedly teach you that the right way to take group photos is to get people's feet in(?!). so you get the picture. i mean, come on woman. grow out of it now. relax a little. let go a little. learn to cherish life. be a little less step-mother-ly.

the kind who tell you that it's your fault you cannot block the light streaming in from one side. i mean, one would have thought the cleverer and easier way to do this would be to locate the group such that light does not stream in. anyway, let this post not turn into one about the art(lessness) of taking group photos... so these women are the kinds who hold grudges for years. who thrive on baseless fame and rude authority and evil sarcasm. and who train people around themselves to derive humor at the expense of other people, always. no joke of theirs would be funny if someone were not made to look funny.

who genuinely regard it as praise when someone tells them they are "a publishing machine". and will you believe it that the person who said this also meant it sincerely as a compliment!! maybe i'm totally missing the point here or maybe i'd be totally guilty of agreeing with the comment only if it was an insult.

the weird thing is these are the women one does not usually care tuppence for. and one neither likes nor respects them to value their opinion on anything. the kind i could happily push off a cliff some dark evening if i had the chance, and later seriously forget all about it. she is so immaterial to my life. and yet these are the people who can often severely hurt you, upset you, arouse in you such strong hatred for them that you wonder why you're having any kind of strong feelings for her at all. she isn't worth this. she isn't worth a post on my blog. and yet here's to you C.. may you hold that grudge against me till your last day alive. i'm through with you. i wash my hands off of you. its a true farewell. and i do hope i don't see you ever again.

and the weather reflects my moods. so often. when i'm bursting with emotion it turns to torrid rain. when i don't know where i'm headed, or who i am, half the night sky was dark purple grey. and half was clear and light. weightless. the purple grey slowly advanced to conquer the sky. but it took all night. it knocked on my window with very slight rain. telling me something. echoing something within me. it did not sleep either. nor did it fall.

and since morning its been overcast and waiting. intermittently letting off what's beyond what it can hold. and now and then it smiled with some sunshine. it may look like calm, but its indecision. its lost. its tired. its helpless.

morning

what do people mean by "sleep over it"? why do some hours of darkness and semi(or un)-consciousness make a difference? does my mind lose some continuity in those hours? is every morning really a new beginning? what is with it???

or maybe its dreams, those you remember and those you don't and those that leave you just with random visions that make sense. that communicate to this you, this awake you. communication from somewhere deep within yourself, somewhere far away beyond your control, beyond regular access. or maybe i'm reading too much into this. maybe nights just hypnotize the mind into a belief of an end. and when the eyes re-open they search for a lead, for a cue, for a push to a start.

"cloudless every day you fall
upon my waking eyes
inviting and inciting me to rise.
and through the window in the wall
come streaming in on sunlight wings
a million bright ambassadors of morning.."

trust and fidelity are not constrained to the context of sex. for the nth time the realization dawns.

i was right, it was inertia. and like everything else it comes to an end.

found him right in front of my apartment in the morning sun at 7:30AM. I despise summer in this place, but sometimes I have to admit, it does have a surprising charm.

touch wood

being human, i often notice the green grass far away. often think some ppl have had all the goodies. but once in a while, some stories heard, make me stop and think. and smile and treasure the people i've known. the people i have in my life. not quantity but quality. the ones who make you close your eyes and smile and send a quiet thanks to the (questionable) creator.

coming from small towns and segregated gender-wise from society my age, in general till teen age and even after, i always had trouble with friendships with the opposite sex. was all fun and comfort with a crowd but could never really single out a guy and be real friends alone. till the time that it happened and the friend insisted he was something more. i let him have his way cos even i was having trouble stopping him there.

since then men ceased to be 'the opposite sex' to me. it was sex that became irrelevant in that phrase with anyone else, therefore rendering the phrase useless. men were people, just like women were..? not quite, though. they are often easier companions and conversationalists than the fairer sex. so now i had the friends i had never been comfortable to have had before. and yet there was a limit to the intimacy and the exclusivity of such friendships. they were still better in crowds, although not impossible alone. the one or two who were thick and good alone, often made me feel guilty imagining they were falling for me. and there must have been something to suggest this to my imagination. and QED, because these don't last. distances usually kill these because it gives the guy the opportunity to rid himself of the habit of me.

but once in a lifetime does a friend like you come along. and it doesn't get affected by how long it will last. not even when while you decide on that one wish to use when blowing that candle in front of you, you look me in the eye and give me the illusion that you are wishing for us to be known to each other forever. a friendship like yours which illustrates the true meaning of Platonic-ism: not the non-existence of attraction, but rather the conscious realization that there is something higher than sex here which can at no cost be sacrificed to physical attraction. a super-physical connection of being known through aeons. an empathy, a tenderness, a comfort, a take-for-grantedness, like "i am bored and i hate the world, so i walked in here" and "i always have time for you". and the affectionate teasing like "you are spending the only 15 mins you have free in the day with me, i am honored".

not everyone gets what i have. all that i have..

kalyuga

the problem with India is that people are comfortable living below their moral ideals. that they comfortably look into the mirrors everyday without looking themselves in the eyes. its not just the politicians, because they are just mirrors reflecting the general people of the country. in fact they are the general people of the country. the problem is them just as it is us, you me, our parents, all of us. and its an old problem. and its hard to accept, because there has always been denial against it. and for those some who admit to it, there's been hope against it...

Mulk Raj Anand in 1975 quoted a judge regarding an inquiry into the riots in Bhiwandi, Jalgaon, and Mahad (Maharashtra)

"It was a lonely, arduous and weary journey through a land of hatred and violence, of prejudice and perjury. The encounters on the way were with men without compassion, lusting for the blood of their fellowmen, with politicians who traficked in communal hatred and religious fanaticism, with local leaders who sought power by sowing disunity and bitterness, with police officers and policemen who were unworthy of their uniform, with investigating officers without honour, and without scruples, with men committed to falsehood and wedded to fraud and with dealers in mayhem and murder."

and then MRA comments on above quote with "That even one man speaks like this, encourages one to hope."

the problem with India is that people are wedded either to falsehood, or to hope. too many of us survive on threadbare hope, hope without action, threadbare enough to be unable to support so many of us..

what does it mean for a person to choose a partner. to what degree does the person resign himself from the world in doing so. to what degree does the entire world blur before this chosen person. how mindless can the plunge into a relationship be such that the body loses control, loses its sense of orientation, loses its sense of being. such that there is no rising back again. such that there is no u-turn. the world has faded into semi-oblivion, and the person has surrendered to the pull (and hold) of a new magnetism, a new axis. is now a powerless atom in a magnetic field and has totally let go. and what if the partner still has control, still has a will, still has a mind, still has a world.

in yoga class yday the instructor asked us if we could lay on our backs and raise our legs up and then slowly rotate them to come above our head such that the feet touched the mat behind the head. and she said something very important. make sure you don't push yourself beyond where you can go. make sure you don't lose your sense of orientation, your sense of where and in what position you are with respect to the ground... its a deep thought. the fear of falling does not scare one as much as the panic of not knowing how one is oriented, how one is positioned. only when one knows that, can one soften the fall, or pick oneself up successfully after a fall. only when one knows that, does one have any control. without the knowledge of which way the certainty of earth lies, one is utterly lost. and that's why the panic. it gives one a stricken feeling of hopelessness, of extreme vulnerability, of being powerless.

yday for the first time i realized i could do it. that i could actually feel the ground beneath my feet, above my head. that so far i panicked only because my mind thought it was contrary to what it had always known - the head above the ground beneath my feet.

but its not always so simple to be conscious of one's orientation with respect to the force before which one is futile.

birds of a color...

the world is surprisingly clan-nish even today. its not only the bongs and the chinese who remain glued together no matter where in the world they are and no matter how hybrid a society they live in, its practically everybody.

am i the only who is annoyed by an attitude of - you and i are indians, so we should be familiar. even the random indian 'uncles' i bump into at airports, on campus (assuming they are profs), in conferences, etc. think i am obliged to converse with them because i share their home country. you can almost see a sense of adopted paternal/patriotic pride in their eyes and faces as i answer in reply to their inquisitiveness that i am a phd student....??!!!

and today even the hispanics! lord the save the mingling world where i thought the word 'foreign' was losing its meaning (copyright: United airlines). a room full of hispanic student-friends (colombian & mexican; at least they have a liberally large clan = all spanish speakers) proudly tell us how they are so different from the rest of 'us'. mind you, they didn't realize they were differentiating themselves from anyone. all they were trying to explain was that "throughout most hispanic states, people trust their friends (& strangers) more than their family (!!!), because one does not choose one's family but does so, one's friends". and one person goes "because we know that if we extend help to family (one finger), they will grab our entire arms. so hispanics don't stand by and for their families". another goes, "in fact, once hispanics move to the US, they cut off ties from those left behind so that they are not obliged to help them". clap, clap, clap. i'm so glad you guys all agree on that so proudly. while 'us'= (literally the non-friends in the audience) = the lone chinese, the lone brown south asian me, and the few americans, look around and scratch our brains to understand this...

so the hispanics are different from us. and they don't stick by their clans. and yet the room is full of hispanics because one of them has a dissertation defence on. they really do stick by their friends. or maybe they just stick by their own kind who have managed to migrate into this land of plenty. wow. i'm becoming racist, in that i do not like the races who do not not racially segregate.

ok so I'm this Indian girl brought up in a respectable family. what does that mean?
it just means that I have these subtle perceptions ingrained within me, those that are difficult for me to shed, even willfully. here is a short list:


1. a woman's breasts are to be kept hidden as is a majority of the female body

2. sex is for after marriage

3. some things (those above included) are not to be talked about

4. shame is easy to gain and impossible to be rid off

5. women are more vulnerable to shame than men

6. 'money' is an embarrassing topic of conversation


its not an exhaustive list. but it serves the intended purpose of communicating an honest picture of who I was made to be, and much of who I still remain, despite numerous self-taught ideas and behavior that conflict with the above list.

so what is this post about? its an effort at an honest confession of failure to be what I'd like to be. the ideas passed onto one (even without conversation) in one's early years, form the basic sculpture of one's behavior, if not of one's thought. even today, I'm uncomfortable with plunging necklines, not just my own but of other women I'm trying to talk to. even today if you catch me sleeping on my side (soundly), you would notice my arms crossed across my shoulders to hide myself. there have been occasions when I've either lied or kept the truth from my parents and of those I am almost guiltless. even today I think honesty is not the best policy with them, for their own good (and this is a deep belief, not an excuse). even today when I'm asked to relax and lay still and free at the end of my yoga class, I cannot un-tense my muscles. I am conscious, awake, aware, alert. prepared to hide.