Thursday, March 19, 2015
came upon this
the following, by Joan Naviyuk Kane
In a House Apart
You hurt me, then,
Burnt a bird’s white plumage—
Claim that we are the better for it,
That we will heal in time.
Strident and inaccurate
Despite all proximity,
The mountains no longer
Made me feel better.
The year in its wheel of winter
And its small cylinder of light
In excess. Far pillars could
Resemble human figures
Though only rock rises
From some progression
Of dust, demand, and rotten
Wood. I place my hand on stone
And become stone myself.
Wednesday, March 18, 2015
small and big news around the world
ugh. Netanyahu again. :(((
on another note, some churches in the western world let muslims pray inside them. St. John's Church, Waterloo deserves applause for this, for bridging gaps between religious groups especially by reaching out to those who cannot find mosques in their immigrant land. although I do not understand why christian idols would need to be covered while such a service was on???
anyway sadly the orthodox devouts step in to stop this, just as expected. http://www.christiantoday.com/article/no.more.muslim.prayer.services.in.churches.says.bishop/50159.htm
I walked into a similar service in a church here the other day. but it was better, nothing was covered, and anyone could join in whatever garb they had on. some people were simply using praying space to pray in the only way they knew. we should open up all houses of prayer to peoples of all religion. in fact I later learned of another church here that allows muslim services. not naming them cos the orthodox hawks can't be trusted to let them pray in peace.
Sunday, March 1, 2015
lovesong - Ted Hughes
the poem is disturbing. the love making almost violent. and yet it ends with this beautiful imagery.
"Their heads fell apart into sleep like the two halves
Of a lopped melon, but love is hard to stop
In their entwined sleep they exchanged arms and legs
In their dreams their brains took each other hostage
In the morning they wore each other's face"
... and I didn't know whether I was dreaming of sleeping with you or sleeping with you and dreaming.
"Their heads fell apart into sleep like the two halves
Of a lopped melon, but love is hard to stop
In their entwined sleep they exchanged arms and legs
In their dreams their brains took each other hostage
In the morning they wore each other's face"
... and I didn't know whether I was dreaming of sleeping with you or sleeping with you and dreaming.
Saturday, February 28, 2015
rape in india
the problem doesn't need more living-room opinions of which people are more likely rapists and/or what a woman's responsibility is to her own safety. so plain and simple I found some statistics,
http://ncrb.nic.in/CD-CII2013/CII13-TABLES/Table%205.2.pdf
and there's more here in the Tables of 'crimes against women'.
http://ncrb.nic.in/
I do understand there are biases due to under-reporting and that those may be skewed in some regions. Till more data and evidence..
http://ncrb.nic.in/CD-CII2013/CII13-TABLES/Table%205.2.pdf
and there's more here in the Tables of 'crimes against women'.
http://ncrb.nic.in/
I do understand there are biases due to under-reporting and that those may be skewed in some regions. Till more data and evidence..
Wednesday, February 18, 2015
philosophy, psychology, economics, ...
I've just started reading Adam Smith's 'Theory of Moral Sentiments' (led to it by Vernon Smith's podcast on econtalk, of course), and I don't know what I'd expected from it, but I am surprised. to think that he wrote this in 1759. phew. its pretty spot on, and I'm just in the first few pages. and although the language is a little rambling, such that I have to reread some sentences and add some imaginary punctuation or remove some unnecessary ones, he does a beautiful job of expression. so here's an excerpt from somewhere in the beginning of the book where he's talking about judgment and empathy although the word 'empathy' did not exist then.
".... it is always disagreeable to feel that we cannot sympathize with him, and instead of being pleased with this exemption from sympathetic pain, it hurts us to find that we cannot share his uneasiness. If we hear a person loudly lamenting his misfortunes, which, however, upon bringing the case home to ourselves, we feel, can produce no such violent effect upon us, we are shocked at his grief; and, because we cannot enter into it, call it pusillanimity and weakness. It gives us the spleen, on the other hand, to see another too happy or too much elevated, as we call it, with any little piece of good fortune. We are disobliged even with his joy; and, because we cannot go along with it, call it levity and folly. We are even put out of humour if our companion laughs louder or longer at a joke than we think it deserves; that is, than we feel that ourselves could laugh at it.
When the original passions of the person principally concerned are in perfect concord with the sympathetic emotions of the spectator, they necessarily appear to this last just and proper, and suitable to their objects; and, on the contrary, when, on the bringing the case home to himself, he finds that they do not coincide with what he feels, they necessarily appear to him unjust and improper, and unsuitable to the causes which excite them. To approve of the passions of another, therefore, as suitable to their objects, is the same thing as to observe that we entirely sympathize with them; and not to approve of them as such, is the same thing as to observe that we do not entirely sympathize with them. The man who resents the injuries that have been done to me, and observes that I resent them precisely as he does, necessarily approves of my resentment. The man whose sympathy keeps time to my grief, cannot but admit the reasonableness of my sorrow. He who admires the same poem, or the same picture, and admires them exactly as I do, must surely allow the justness of my admiration. He who laughs at the same joke, and laughs along with me, cannot well deny the propriety of my laughter. On the contrary, the person who, upon these different occasions, either feels no such emotion as that which I feel, or feels none that bears any proportion to mine, cannot avoid disapproving my sentiments on account of their dissonance with his own. If my animosity goes beyond what the indignation of my friend can correspond to; if my grief exceeds what his most tender compassion can go along with; if my admiration is either too high or too low to tally with his own; if I laugh loud and heartily when he only smiles, or on the contrary, only smile when he laughs loud and heartily; in all these cases, as soon as he comes from considering the object, to observe how I am affected by it, according as there is more or less disproportion between his sentiments and mine, I must incur a greater or less degree of his disapprobation: and upon all occasions his own sentiments are the standards and measures by which he judges of mine.
To approve of another man's opinions is to adopt those opinions, and to adopt them is to approve of them. If the same arguments which convince you convince me likewise, I necessarily approve of your conviction; and if they do not, I necessarily disapprove of it: neither can I possibly conceive that I should do the one without the other. ...."
".... it is always disagreeable to feel that we cannot sympathize with him, and instead of being pleased with this exemption from sympathetic pain, it hurts us to find that we cannot share his uneasiness. If we hear a person loudly lamenting his misfortunes, which, however, upon bringing the case home to ourselves, we feel, can produce no such violent effect upon us, we are shocked at his grief; and, because we cannot enter into it, call it pusillanimity and weakness. It gives us the spleen, on the other hand, to see another too happy or too much elevated, as we call it, with any little piece of good fortune. We are disobliged even with his joy; and, because we cannot go along with it, call it levity and folly. We are even put out of humour if our companion laughs louder or longer at a joke than we think it deserves; that is, than we feel that ourselves could laugh at it.
When the original passions of the person principally concerned are in perfect concord with the sympathetic emotions of the spectator, they necessarily appear to this last just and proper, and suitable to their objects; and, on the contrary, when, on the bringing the case home to himself, he finds that they do not coincide with what he feels, they necessarily appear to him unjust and improper, and unsuitable to the causes which excite them. To approve of the passions of another, therefore, as suitable to their objects, is the same thing as to observe that we entirely sympathize with them; and not to approve of them as such, is the same thing as to observe that we do not entirely sympathize with them. The man who resents the injuries that have been done to me, and observes that I resent them precisely as he does, necessarily approves of my resentment. The man whose sympathy keeps time to my grief, cannot but admit the reasonableness of my sorrow. He who admires the same poem, or the same picture, and admires them exactly as I do, must surely allow the justness of my admiration. He who laughs at the same joke, and laughs along with me, cannot well deny the propriety of my laughter. On the contrary, the person who, upon these different occasions, either feels no such emotion as that which I feel, or feels none that bears any proportion to mine, cannot avoid disapproving my sentiments on account of their dissonance with his own. If my animosity goes beyond what the indignation of my friend can correspond to; if my grief exceeds what his most tender compassion can go along with; if my admiration is either too high or too low to tally with his own; if I laugh loud and heartily when he only smiles, or on the contrary, only smile when he laughs loud and heartily; in all these cases, as soon as he comes from considering the object, to observe how I am affected by it, according as there is more or less disproportion between his sentiments and mine, I must incur a greater or less degree of his disapprobation: and upon all occasions his own sentiments are the standards and measures by which he judges of mine.
To approve of another man's opinions is to adopt those opinions, and to adopt them is to approve of them. If the same arguments which convince you convince me likewise, I necessarily approve of your conviction; and if they do not, I necessarily disapprove of it: neither can I possibly conceive that I should do the one without the other. ...."
Thursday, February 12, 2015
winter sleep
Heard that roofs have crashed in Boston under the weight of the snow this month. and there's more snow starting today. I couldn't imagine living in Boston. it almost feels as if humans are fighting against nature in places that have become near-uninhabitable. here itself the cold is awful and long drawn, and yet nothing near the reality of humans buried in snow. although the wind does carry the trauma of bostonians into our ears. such that I've taken off my earrings for the entire winter. better unadorned than freezing with cold metal biting into them. and morning runs are painful without my ear-band.
And yet winter is good. it is fresh, and so alive, to be out in the cold hiding from the wind in the hood and in those pockets. it makes me feel so alert. and of course staying indoors while the white feathery precipitation blows around. uncertain whether to layer the earth. for now giving in to the wind and waiting it out. winter is bare and ruthless and yet so far from death or stillness.
it was therefore good timing to go watch 'Winter Sleep'. in an out of nowhere, pop-up Angelika. with about 20 seats, us in the second row, and not more than 5 others filled. sleeping the winter out is such a bummer, why would any animals want to do it? even if we hadn't invented heating and clothing and snowblowers etc. and were forced to stay indoors or rather under-earth, we wouldn't help being awake I'm sure. like me in my unemployed status right now for example. lazy and passive, yet hardly napping. or like the ppl in winter sleep: biting at each other, clawing, snapping, driven by their own motives and convictions of self-heroism or despair.
the movie teetered at the edge of a sopa opera. yet was real enough not to tumble down that alley, allowing forgiveness among and for the characters, saving the conversation within and without from becoming sentimental. sort of like the only kind of hibernation humans are capable of.
and we all are in some sense always like that. supremely proud of our work our achievements however admirable or small, however tangible or imagined, leading to an arrogance that naturally miniaturizes others; those others around us, who can only weaken us, attack us, reduce us. and continue to do so, till they have debased us to such a point where we fight back out of urgency. fight back with self-pity, with self-righteousness, with fists of blame and indignation that help our way back. to "resurface to the top like oil".
someone once said to me how important information was. information from one human to another about the latter. and vice versa when possible. its like what Smith (Vernon) was talking about in the podcast the other day: how a person sees and realizes what s/he is only through the reactions and feedback others give. and yet civility dilutes such feedback and substitutes it with politeness, when the external is deceiving. on the other hand breakdown of civility often results in anger and then censure without information, mutual and tit-for-tat. it is then that our inner voices deceive us. between the two, or probably with some filtering of both lies true information. in both cases, it is information that is sacred, and possibly scarce too. it is information we need, and we must give. yes, with caution, with care but also with honesty. and we should learn to take too.
And yet winter is good. it is fresh, and so alive, to be out in the cold hiding from the wind in the hood and in those pockets. it makes me feel so alert. and of course staying indoors while the white feathery precipitation blows around. uncertain whether to layer the earth. for now giving in to the wind and waiting it out. winter is bare and ruthless and yet so far from death or stillness.
it was therefore good timing to go watch 'Winter Sleep'. in an out of nowhere, pop-up Angelika. with about 20 seats, us in the second row, and not more than 5 others filled. sleeping the winter out is such a bummer, why would any animals want to do it? even if we hadn't invented heating and clothing and snowblowers etc. and were forced to stay indoors or rather under-earth, we wouldn't help being awake I'm sure. like me in my unemployed status right now for example. lazy and passive, yet hardly napping. or like the ppl in winter sleep: biting at each other, clawing, snapping, driven by their own motives and convictions of self-heroism or despair.
the movie teetered at the edge of a sopa opera. yet was real enough not to tumble down that alley, allowing forgiveness among and for the characters, saving the conversation within and without from becoming sentimental. sort of like the only kind of hibernation humans are capable of.
and we all are in some sense always like that. supremely proud of our work our achievements however admirable or small, however tangible or imagined, leading to an arrogance that naturally miniaturizes others; those others around us, who can only weaken us, attack us, reduce us. and continue to do so, till they have debased us to such a point where we fight back out of urgency. fight back with self-pity, with self-righteousness, with fists of blame and indignation that help our way back. to "resurface to the top like oil".
someone once said to me how important information was. information from one human to another about the latter. and vice versa when possible. its like what Smith (Vernon) was talking about in the podcast the other day: how a person sees and realizes what s/he is only through the reactions and feedback others give. and yet civility dilutes such feedback and substitutes it with politeness, when the external is deceiving. on the other hand breakdown of civility often results in anger and then censure without information, mutual and tit-for-tat. it is then that our inner voices deceive us. between the two, or probably with some filtering of both lies true information. in both cases, it is information that is sacred, and possibly scarce too. it is information we need, and we must give. yes, with caution, with care but also with honesty. and we should learn to take too.
Friday, October 24, 2014
the more I try to be nonjudgmental, the more I see myself being judged by others.
question 1: why do people hold family as so sacrosanct? and not just their own but mine too, in their opinion of how important it should be for me.
situation: diwali. apparently being alone for diwali is the saddest thing people (south asians) can imagine. really? even if the person being alone is me, and I am not sad about it, but rather seem to like it, to be away from all of that exaggeration and noise and crowd, and over what?!
related question: why does an honest statement that you don't miss your family on diwali dismay people? why does it make them judge me as inhuman and cold?
question 2: religiously fervent people pity people lacking beliefs and look at you with shock and abhorrence. why?
situation: because I have a cartoon of hanuman on my office desk that is in no way derogatory but still a caricature of his mythological strength. and because I'm saying that this country makes one question the very idea of religion and although I still pray I don't know what the target of my prayers is.
question 3: (and I know I've said this before umpteen times) why do women who are also mothers consider other women - who're not planning to make a family or don't seem to care for those questions - to be less womanly? and why do they talk about kids as if its my duty to have some, as if I don't have a life if I don't?
I hope someday Jad Abumrad and Robert Krulwich will try answering those questions on Radiolab. till then this post was supposed to only say that I love what they're doing. their podcasts are not just informative, they make me feel like I'm there with them, travelling, learning, seeing for myself. and each is heartwarming, and in some ways a revelation into human life and existence.
Thursday, October 23, 2014
"one is still what one is going to cease to be, and already what one is going to become... "
its been busy. I know that when I haven't visited online sales on loft.com in a long while. and although because I'm in texas where 'fall' just means the end of scathing heat, I can't say for sure I had time to realize that winter is just around the corner.
so what's been biting me all these months? literally speaking, a small family of bedbugs that I hope is vanquished and dead (but that still gives me bouts of anxiety scanning my sheets for aliens and lint). but more broadly, I really don't know.
I know there are a couple random movies and stories and the ubiquitous phdcomic on our lives, but its still unbelievably annoying how each one of us goes through the same timeline of emotions although all of us stubbornly want to believe we are special. so I'm at that point now, where I'm on the market and about to finish, and well you should know the rest without me having to tell you.
But I do believe I'm different right, and therefore you do expect me to tell you how it is for me.
typically in the last year and a half, my campus and department, my school and its surroundings and the people have become both too new (and different; I mean why are there thousands more students around and why are there houses and buildings coming alive where there used to be fields earlier?) and too unchanged (have I really been living within 3 miles of my first apartment for more than 5 yrs? and did I really tolerate all these people for so long without a reason?) for my liking. I'm having a second life and identity crisis (the first was when I moved two-three jobs before coming back to school here and realized I'd found my calling for then at least) where I keep telling myself that I'm good, but something inside keeps asking in return, "For what?".
and here's the bit that does make me different: although I'm hunting for jobs and making multiple people spend their weekends writing letters recommending me, I am not really praying for a job. or am I but because these last years have made me a semi-atheist, the nature of prayers have changed, unrecognized? maybe that too. but the point is, I find myself instead thinking of what else I could do if that job does not come. I could make a baby while still reflecting on my calling for the next phase of life. or write a book instead. or volunteer for something I'd admire myself for but probably lack the courage to do (or else there wouldn't be self-admiration).
and then today I find (on the internet, where else; I'm an antisocial PhD candidate with no friends remember?) a classmate who was working with me for a brief period of self-searching (probably also for him) 5-6 yrs ago. and he has since then quit the pretense of academic research and is lending his head to creating advertisements, and hang on, is also publishing his first novel very soon, after having had a short story selected for some Indian award! am I shouting, that could have been me?? sort of, but I feel his sketches are way better than mine, and I still have to see his writing. but I am searching out my window at that immaculate scene of suburban america and wondering if its time to take a U-turn yet again. its been a great 5 yrs but now its beginning to sour.
happy diwali, all. I must go get a box of those samosas home that beat anything you find in India (they have Mexican cooks in their kitchen and boy have they beat us to it)!
so what's been biting me all these months? literally speaking, a small family of bedbugs that I hope is vanquished and dead (but that still gives me bouts of anxiety scanning my sheets for aliens and lint). but more broadly, I really don't know.
I know there are a couple random movies and stories and the ubiquitous phdcomic on our lives, but its still unbelievably annoying how each one of us goes through the same timeline of emotions although all of us stubbornly want to believe we are special. so I'm at that point now, where I'm on the market and about to finish, and well you should know the rest without me having to tell you.
But I do believe I'm different right, and therefore you do expect me to tell you how it is for me.
typically in the last year and a half, my campus and department, my school and its surroundings and the people have become both too new (and different; I mean why are there thousands more students around and why are there houses and buildings coming alive where there used to be fields earlier?) and too unchanged (have I really been living within 3 miles of my first apartment for more than 5 yrs? and did I really tolerate all these people for so long without a reason?) for my liking. I'm having a second life and identity crisis (the first was when I moved two-three jobs before coming back to school here and realized I'd found my calling for then at least) where I keep telling myself that I'm good, but something inside keeps asking in return, "For what?".
and here's the bit that does make me different: although I'm hunting for jobs and making multiple people spend their weekends writing letters recommending me, I am not really praying for a job. or am I but because these last years have made me a semi-atheist, the nature of prayers have changed, unrecognized? maybe that too. but the point is, I find myself instead thinking of what else I could do if that job does not come. I could make a baby while still reflecting on my calling for the next phase of life. or write a book instead. or volunteer for something I'd admire myself for but probably lack the courage to do (or else there wouldn't be self-admiration).
and then today I find (on the internet, where else; I'm an antisocial PhD candidate with no friends remember?) a classmate who was working with me for a brief period of self-searching (probably also for him) 5-6 yrs ago. and he has since then quit the pretense of academic research and is lending his head to creating advertisements, and hang on, is also publishing his first novel very soon, after having had a short story selected for some Indian award! am I shouting, that could have been me?? sort of, but I feel his sketches are way better than mine, and I still have to see his writing. but I am searching out my window at that immaculate scene of suburban america and wondering if its time to take a U-turn yet again. its been a great 5 yrs but now its beginning to sour.
happy diwali, all. I must go get a box of those samosas home that beat anything you find in India (they have Mexican cooks in their kitchen and boy have they beat us to it)!
Monday, June 23, 2014
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.
Sunday, April 20, 2014
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
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
Saturday, April 5, 2014
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.
Thursday, February 6, 2014
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.
Friday, January 24, 2014
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.
Sunday, November 3, 2013
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.
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.
Friday, November 1, 2013
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.
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.
Sunday, July 21, 2013
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.
- 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.
Thursday, May 23, 2013
'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
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
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
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.
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.
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