Beauty

So what is beauty? In the days of Facebook when everyone is beautiful to their friends n family. When an exotic holiday leaves u with pics that receive zillion likes, that make u feel attractive. Make u feel appreciated, applauded.

Is beauty youth, or skin color, or mystery, or desirability, or a smile? Or dark long hair, or blonde shiny hair. Or is it daily highlighted eyes? so noone knows what they really look like.

Or what's behind you, or what ur wearing? Or the country ur holidaying in? Or is it being a bride (fget grooms, one can't talk of beauty with reference to men, right? Unless they're gay maybe. Huh!!)?

Or is it the profile of ur loved one?

No, no its probably a good selfie.

Come to think of it. I haven't known a single beautiful person. Everyone looks good, well almost everyone. But then maybe I'm getting the rules of beauty wrong. Or maybe I need to have more empathy with others, and I'd agree with them that they're each beautiful. At least the lucky ones.

its time to move again. not yet, right away. and not for good. but soon, for the time being.

5 yrs in this place and I'm yet not itching to, dying to, run? it is a sort of a wonder. but I do hate growing roots, that shackle you to the ground. and to the same people. while with more and more time spent nitpicking their faults, makes their novelty to you change to loathing, and then makes the loathing grow.

so then maybe its right, at least for us mortal beings. those who are known and will be remembered by only those they came in contact with, if at all. maybe its right, that for us, who have no larger impact on this world; transcendence is to tug with each other into deeper meanings: physical, political, social, supernatural, metaphysical, critical. with some minimum engagement, enjoyment, trust, honesty and commitment. to a conversation.

that's when you allow those tendrils of roots to grow. entangling with people, with locations, and situations.

au revoir

addiction and binge watching

in the old days, when all you had for eye entertainment was the cinema or the random movie on the tv, one sat down to it prepared. to give time. and therefore, it came as an event to break the routine of one's life. cos, not every Sunday movie on doordarshan was worth the patience or the sacrifice of homework/bed time. then came vcr, and then dvd. and one felt 'cool'er, being able to bring home a movie. being able to choose which oldie one wanted to watch on which weekend, and which pirated running movie one could steal in one's livingroom. but it was still a slight bit of an occasion. with friends and family gathered around. while the big screen lived on, but became more of an outing. more about the popcorn and comfortable seats, and the atmosphere. and conversation.

while all this while, for me at least, sitcoms, tv series, etc. were beneath my time. because those needed regular time-allegiance. and waiting. and giving in to both of those demands meant accepting the addiction. which almost seemed like an insult, given what it required and what it gave back, in disappointing return.

and then netflix happened. watching half a movie a meal, became common for me. and maybe for other single adults living alone. and it opened up the world of movies. from north korea, to japan, to bengal, to algeria, to chile, to .... , from indies to documentaries. and then, came coming around to even the sitcoms, and tv drama series. and that last one, started all this binge watching.

its hardcore addiction, to the drama of the lives of the characters who keep cheating, lying, crying, killing, failing, struggling, dying. and netflix removed that barrier of waiting when one episode ends, and before the next begins. and it removed also, the need to devote a particular weekly/daily date for the drama. now while you saw the credits and listened to the music of an ending episode, the next would threateningly (secretly welcomed) flash in the bottom corner as coming on in the next 10,9,8,7, ... seconds. and one realized, one might as well click on it than pretend that it came up on its own, against one's will.

and some people still reserved this kind of binge-ing for holidays, or weekends, but to me it was never precious enough for holiday time. so it spilled onto weeknights, when half an hour between dinner and spouse's phone-call would anyway not be productive any other way. or the other half hour between phone-call and bed would anyway go away just recollecting where I left off on that last proof in that paper's appendix. and that's how it came about, me watching season 6 of Mad Men in 5 days flat. after having waited months because season 5 left off with pathetic Draper getting back to his addiction of sleeping with others' wives.

and all of season 6 I chafed myself for having been taken in because of the brilliant actors, into this wretched drama of pitiful people. and don't get me wrong, I was addicted yes. but I still knew it wasn't worth it. and so the season began, one episode a day, at the end of each - me wondering what I ever saw in it; and having to watch some comedy after, to clear the bad taste in my mind's mouth. but the last three days, the consumer in me behaved differently. and this is not the first drama that brings that consumer out. I knew this was the last season, and that the drama would then end, either for sure, or for me at least for now. so I clicked on that 'next episode playing' a little too easily, a little less pretentiously. with hope now of ending this trauma for myself, for once and for all. of watching Draper die (in the real sense or at least out of character - no spoiler alerts here, this is just what I was expecting, having been so disgusted with him) and only crossing fingers to uphold Peggy, so as to leave her in my memory as the one reason worth the while for having given in to 6 seasons of this.

and yes today morning I feel free. if addiction brings guilt along with it, and if fight is difficult, I've found my easier way out. to give in, to die with it, and emerge out afresh from the embers of the pyre. it works till I start watching some Indian drama series, possibly the Mahabharata. cos who knows if those ever end.

the one and only good learning, an Indian schooling teaches you, is failure. and that's the one thing the American education system does not teach at all. or maybe very rarely, and certainly never after high school. if you're in college, it will give you a degree as long as you don't drop out. if you're enrolled into a graduate program, the worst you can do, is get a Masters degree. Noone will ever show you the reviled 'F', simply because the assumption is that if those before did not, then you are entitled to sail through this higher level. Even if, you know nothing that you must, given you are being certified.

maybe that's why Asian immigrants do so well once they are here. acquaintance with failure can be a huge win in life.

do i believe in coincidences?

when all of a sudden a random stranger's words make me forget those angry tears i was fighting to hide, de-redden my nose, and bring a smile to my face; then yes I believe it was a sign.

lately i've been reminded of my own adage over and over again. money does not matter as much on the positive scale as it does on the negative. beating your head against the lack of it, and against bureaucratic walls, gives you an extreme sense of futility. knowing how hard you tried, and how long you could go on without budging a stone from its place, gives you perspective.

and then you're waiting for the elevator after crossing the entire campus walking super fast because you cannot bare to spend another minute there with those people. one of the two elevators is out of order and it is news to you because this is not your building. the other arrives, two people get out. one remains. a brown man, and like all brown men, he smiles at you because you're brown too. you notice the elevator is going up rather than down. just like everything else in the world right then. you still ask, by habit "you're going up?" with a face that says the rest "not what I want". he replies "eventually it will go down". you smile politely, shaking your head to show "no, I'd rather wait". and then quick as lightning before the doors close in on your face, he says, "it's the only one!". and in a microsecond of a flash, you know he's right while you're already in, smiling at him, hiding your face at the same time. while he is still saying something, "you control your destiny"; gesturing with his hand as if the elevator buttons are the controls. before he exits on 4, he goes again, unasked, "If you keep 3 pressed continuously, it won't stop there, when you're going down to 2". it takes you a minute to get it, crane your neck out after him to thank him for the tip.

of course a girl steps right in, presses 3, and you have to wait for another opportunity to try it out.

maybe it works. you can press something avoidable out. but if its a Shabbath 'lift', it will stop at each level when going down, no matter what.

its easy for a practiced mom to make a statement like "people are selfish until they have kids"! what I don't understand is why those unarmed (with kids) are always so easy to take censure and smile at it. ever heard of a mom being open to criticism, of any kind? the immediate retort will be "don't judge until you understand!"

my view is: parenthood expands a person's definition of 'self', to include those born from oneself. but the concentration on the new 'self' is far stronger and more selfish than anything before. ever heard of a parent having time for you, if you're not the offspring? so parents, stop judging others.

its not a coincidence. I do tend to blog only when I'm alone. it doesn't even occur to me when I'm not.

by myself I hear and sense better. I realize more. I feel different, like I'm more myself. all definitions blur and the days are open for experiments. I don't have to sleep at night if I can't. even if my body aches as if I've been wrestling a strong enemy. morning doesn't happen at a specific time. nor do meals, and schedules don't survive. I don't have to celebrate crossing a hurdle if I don't feel the need for celebration. I allow myself wider error gap. its all ok. I needn't conform to what you agree. or those you like. I become white noise. I can err, hugely, widely, and know I'll return to self acceptance. I know I'll be fine, and yes I don't need anyone telling me that.

I speak with people differently. and I talk to different people. I realize how little I know about some. people are the same everywhere. its easy to reach them, to touch them, only if you care to. everyone has a history. something they are not sure they don't regret. but it makes them. everyone hurts within. sometimes I'm amazed, and afraid how easy it is to hurt people, with a look or a glance or an offhanded word or two. you leave marks and bruises on them if you handle them carelessly. the realization feels like a tender sweet cloud, filling in the space between me and them. like an airbag, a pinprick could destroy. and I feel myself becoming weightless so that destruction becomes inconceivable. even in self defense. cos I do hurt them the most who hurt me. be careful what you do to them. your fingerprints could last on their skin forever. they could continue to shiver even after you warm them in your arms. you could see the pain in their eyes even though they're pretending its nothing, and you're helping them pretend. always treasure those who you can hurt, they love you the most. and don't test it.

I had a different day. it was golden and windy. such that my bare shoulders were warm, my feet hot insider my favorite leather shoes, but my armpits dry with the cool breeze. my hair danced around my face, free, impossible to catch and settle down. and my smile felt to me like friendship and conversation and affection.

and now I think back. to a story I heard today. a 16 yr old girl marrying, visiting his family, wearing a burqa. doing things, conforming, for what? foreign, yet familiar. cos she's grown up on the other side of the world in a culture where women could be killed for honor. there, where they were property too, but exhibits. and here, where exhibition is a sin. people are the same everywhere. deep down.

long procrastinated

I've been wanting to do a post on Israel ever since I got back, but have been putting it off because it seemed like a daunting task. almost two weeks, mostly in Jerusalem, leave me with so much to tell, that I don't think I'm upto it. so I'm taking the easier way out, by this substitute of a photo-blog on it. more later sometime. or maybe in spurts.

- The heart of the conflict:
1. The stone that began 'the world' and housed the 'Arc of the covenant' in its 'Well of Souls'
2. The point where Abraham was called on by God to sacrifice Isaac
3. Where Mohammad ascended into heaven
4. Earlier Solomon's Temple
5. Now 'Haram-ash-sharif'
(there are conflicting legends to some of the above claims)

- The mosque next door, in the direction of Mecca

- Mount of Olives
the oldest olive trees in the world, apparently all siblings

- Praying as close as can get to the 'Holy of the Holies'

- Church of Gethsemane
Next to The garden of Gethsemane, where apparently is Mary's tomb
Also the garden where Jesus met with his disciples to rest. And where he was apparently arrested and betrayed.

- The Dead Sea
Probably will be no more, in 30 yrs or so, the way its shrinking. So salty, it chokes you, threatens to blind you. There's a nudist bit of the beach for those who want it.

Beautiful people, beautiful music.

Holocaust Museum.


Can't possibly cover everything... oh yeah and I kissed an Israeli old man on his cheek because he asked for it by giving me two old books for just 10 shekels. don't have his picture. and I fell in love with the Jewish headscarf (tichel) and have been wanting to wear it ever since.

some reading..


http://www.bu.edu/arion/archive/volume-18/colin_wells_how_did_god_get-started/

'One man's terrorist is another man's freedom fighter"

i wouldn't have expected an ex-chief of Shin Bet (the Israeli internal intelligence agency) to quote that.

maybe this is just my impression but i think a lot of people with absolutely no connections with the middle east, feel something about the Israel-Palestine issue. and I don't know why. at least i always have. more than i feel about the North-East of India, or for that matter, more than what i feel for Kashmir. i don't know why. maybe for me, its easier to have an opinion about a region that i'm alien to, than to say something about people who are fighting occupation by my own country. maybe because of the religious legend of the Kingdom of David, of an inability on my part to denounce their occupation that's based on their belief, and yet because i know its wrong. maybe because somewhere deep down there's a belief that in the resolution of the Israel-Palestine issue, lies the beginning to the larger Islamic issue in the entire world today. i don't know. maybe because there's some hope that there will be a resolution to this, unlike what i feel about the Kashmir issue for example. i don't know. all i know is that the words Israel and Palestine generate a lot of thought in people, and in me.

so I went to see this documentary today. a completely un-hyped and yet brilliantly shot movie, 80% of which is just interviews - of some of the ex-chiefs of the Shin Bet. some 4-5 of them. i don't know what i had expected, i had gone simply out of curiosity. but this was better than anything i hoped to see and learn and know. this was honest. and although there wasn't a single Palestinian's version in the entire film, it seemed to tell the tale from both sides. rather, these guys interviewed honestly admitted to their being mindless and cruel at times, admitted that they knew a killing by them set off a retaliation by Hamas and yet what were they to do when the threat of a retaliation was always real, but there never was an inherent promise of armistice (intertwined with the threat) in case of no targeted killing, admitted that morality was forgotten in their goal to protect their peoples. and they talked not just about Fatah and Hamas, but also about the Jewish underground that killed Palestinians. and they talk about uncovering them as well, but how that was futile in the end cos they were all acquitted. they talk about their misjudgments and how one miscalculated and failed operation made them guilty and restrained the next time, resulting in another failed operation simply because it was overcautious. its so honest that they talk about one of their own as if he was a tyrant. you know they aren't scripting their dialogue when the oldest ex-chiefs contradicts himself by first saying there is no morality in such a war against terrorism, and then an hour later denounces someone else's decision to bomb a target in a populated urban neighborhood (only because it actually killed innocents and the target escaped unscathed).

quite a few of these chiefs resigned, one because of some unethical killings of captured 'terrorists', another because Rabin (probably the only Israeli Prime Minister who strove for a solution) was assasinated. and when he says he took the decision to resign after consulting his wife, i suddenly felt how human he was just like you or me. that invited a question to him by the interviewer about what the wife says to him. and his reply, without a thought, and a slightly embarassed laugh, was strangely stirring. he said, "she keeps me alive".

this is one regional issue, where the occupied are not just fighting the regime, but they are just as much fighting the people of the 'other side' who encroach and illegally settle. i was surprised to hear these guys admit that the settlements were a breach of trust, just as Hamas' attacks were.

the movie combines interviews, history, pictures from major events, security videos, to tell a cohesive story, one that everyone needs to know. especially those living in the region, so that the Palestinians know that Shin Bet is human too, that it understands when they are wronged; and that the Israelis know that a balanced version of the issue is so crucial that even their 'Gatekeepers' don't shy from it. that everyone knows that these people who are given the responsibility to take a blind side in a war, find it impossible to do so. and that each of them have the same last words - cooperation, talks, efforts to a solution.

it was a humbling moment when the credits came up with a sombre background music to it. i felt like i had shared something humane with the other 4 people in the audience. and my only self-reaction to the documentary was a wistful sigh.

here's the trailer

its been quite some time since i was alone like this for a full week. the first two days were great, spreading my wings and feeling all that space around me. and now slowly its getting to me. more so, because school is out and there's not much to do. not much routine that is. i can for sure think of at least 3 things to do that were waiting for exactly such time on hand. but after a full semester i've never been known to myself to be able to continue to work. no, not even learn latex, for which i never before seemed to have the time. i'm simply not inspired to work these days. blame it on the weather, warm and humid, or whatever; its actually just me. and i do love the mornings and evenings, its the afternoons when i shut out every dot of natural light, and stay cooped up in my artificial weather. and get drowsy after lunch, tired of watching movies, sitcoms, trying to read academic papers, or Fuchsia Dunlop's memoir, or playing wordruggle, or checking my email continuously waiting to hear from the elusive Canadian consulate.

and for the last 2 days, at exactly the same time in the afternoon, no matter where i sit in this apartment, with whatever to do in hand, i eventually find myself dozing. with nightmares. and i literally have to drag myself up after more than an hour only to feel disgusted with myself, with a horrid aftertaste in my mouth of sleeping after a meal. today - with a lot of fig-seeds stuck all around my teeth and gums. ugh.

not that i haven't been getting out. yesterday inspired by a movie in which a writer takes a break in a country-house in France where she goes shopping with a pretty basket for food, i set out early morning with my cotton environmentally-friendly, 'love the earth' shopping bag and got some good stuff from my favorite farmers' market. but the trip back made me feel so like a coolie, it totally deflated my spirit, that was already puzzling over why a Texan law stopped me buying alcohol (just some cider!) on a Sunday morning.

its not been all bad though. the morning runs have been great, given that without hubby, i can actually get out even before the sun (thanks to the naps in the afternoons). and with the delayed spring the new route runs parallel to the wildflowers in purple, yellow, pink, and the single-petaled red poppies.

and then this is the only time i've been alone when i'm actually inspired by food. i bought Brussel sprouts for the first time in my life, hoping i could do something with it to change the impression i've been given of it being typical 'eat these if you want to ...' veggies. and i got some beautiful tangy sun-dried tomatoes, to die for. its been a cooking binge as well - with some Middle Eastern shakshuka, Moroccan style eggs, an original multicultural dahi-baingan recipe, and today, still licking my fingers with this



a recipe from Hunan province of China, penned down by Dunlop here.



of course i altered it a lil to make do with what i had - not pork stomach, but tiny pork stew pieces from god knows what part of the body. and disobeyed the author and added salt much before it should have been added to suit my Indian palate. in fact, the picture on the cover happens to be the same dish, although mine looks much different; i added different greens to garnish and my star anises are lost underneath somewhere cos mine seemed to be only broken pieces (bought some years ago from Crawford market in Bombay). but the result was a yummy hot and sweet slow-cooked pork dish with caramelized sugar, chili and soy sauce leading the flavors. which i ate to accompany a documentary about adopted Chinese girl-children around the US and the world. the movie made by a woman who herself adopted a lil infant girl, made for her new daughter, for when she grows up and has questions, many of which will go forever unanswered.

all in all its been quite a Chinese day. that's what i like about this country, the melange of people, of customs, of cuisines, of cultures. i think i'm losing my knack of whipping a quick Indian dish that is also scrumptious. or maybe those skills are just lying low for a while cos it has been some time i really wanted to cook some Indian fare. but even if its withering away, in its place is coming a wide range of lip-smacking flavors. i'm rethinking whether my call in life is to explain pricing dilemmas in little-informed markets, or to host a little cottage with cusine-of-the-day. but for that i will have to learn how to sweeten the tongue after a hearty meal, and i still do not even have the faintest idea how they make either a bread pudding, crunchy golden palmiers, or the stick-to-your-teeth&gums (so you can enjoy the taste for a long time) baklavas.

a piece about writing

it's see through. you can tell if its honest. and that is its appeal, that's when its good. so blatantly true that it has no regard for sentiments, one's own and of those who will read, of those who have been written about, of those who may take offence, of how important and how fragile they are.

I know what I need to bring in and yet its not easy. anonymity helps but is sacrificed to human society. and its made worse by the unsaid norms of human society itself. by definitions of what is ugly, disgusting, humiliating, rude, unacceptable.

http://opinionator.blogs.nytimes.com/2013/04/21/is-american-nonviolence-possible/?smid=pl-share

a recommendation

I'm still young..

an incident today. the source of a tiny bit of annoyance, a little disbelief, a little of that "really???!!" feeling that talks for itself, and some post-analytical amusement.

me in my yoga pyjamas, a loose, larger than life t-shirt, cross-legged on a bench with my hardcover game theory book in my lap, reading and highlighting with my pretty orange cra-z-art pen. waiting for the yoga class, with its door in view, meaning to use the waiting time to finish off the last bit of this chapter.

i briefly catch the eye of a student who looks like he is marketing/selling something and i congratulate myself on how brief i made that contact last so as to communicate that i do not want to be disturbed. a guy comes and sits by me on the bench. i feel im being observed, i look up and catch him peering at me. weirdo. forgive him cos after all he looks like a desi, and all desis peer at all others, in a foreign land. i continue reading... the guy gets up, goes off, someone else comes and sits. hardly 2 mins of quiet reading, a voice next to me asks, "have you got a test or something coming up?". i look up, its the same guy. i smile against myself, at the question. and before i can retort with "what's it to you" or a "do i know you?", a "no" spills out of me.

"well then?" he actually bothers to continue. i want to say "really?? that's the best you could do to talk to a strange girl?" but i look at him one full glance. and then shut my book, and inform him "I am teaching this book" !!

i got up then and went to the yoga class. should have got a good look of his face but i just stopped enough to hear an "Ohh"

because I'm worth it

my very first box of pretty, non-disposable, real Japanese chopsticks (made in China). cos I deserve this.. after being complemented on my adept wielding of these sticks in a traditional Japanese restaurant, with the reference point of my partner who stuck to his fork!!

lately my blog is becoming more my channel to share others' ideas and thoughts. but if repetition makes something more effective, why not??

so here goes.. something I try to express but fail to... in all those futile arguments over why 'we' always need a punching bag. a Manmohan Singh who is responsible for our miseries..

http://the-phoenix-chronicles.blogspot.in/2008/12/me-myself-and-hypocrite.html

http://thelocalteaparty.com/post/44691218545

the Economics of 'asking'

voluntary provision to public goods...? is this Varian's idea of those who care for the good the most, will pay and provide for others...



and her full name really is Amanda Fucking Palmer.

a second best solution and an unfair world

a 2nd best solution to the informational asymmetry of private values is given by offering buyers a menu of contracts and the choice of contracts separates buyers into high and low values. the mechanism design of such second degree price discrimination apparently turns out to be really old, long before game theory. this is a quote (translated I presume) from 1844 by Dupuit, a Belgian railroad engineer:

"It is not because of a few thousand francs which would have to be spent to put a roof over the third class carriages or to upholster the third class seats that some company or other has open carriages with wooden benches... What the company is trying to do is to prevent the passengers who can pay the second class fare from traveling third class; it hits the poor not because it wants to hurt them, but to frighten the rich... And it is again for the same reason that the companies, having proved almost cruel to third class passengers and mean to second class passengers, become lavish in dealing with first class passengers. Having refused the poor what is necessary, they give the rich what is superfluous."

Incentive compatibility constraints beautifully explained. Rob the lowest value customer of all reservation utility and give informational rents to the higher types.

happy valentine's day (belated). let go.. and then come back. trans-atlantic relationships are good then..