A Hummer near New Market!
A Hummer near New Market?
Calcutta continues to throw up elements of a completely surreal nature. While riding an auto up Rafi Ahmad Kidwai Street I saw a goddamned Hummer jostling for space amongst the usual mix of autos, rickshaws, taxis and other cars. Why would anyone want to drive a Hummer in Calcutta.
Anyway, our auto overtook it soon enough.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
after a few pegs
I spent a day or so in Delhi before making it to Calcutta and it was as crazy as always. Much of Saturday night was spent at f-bar because my friends found a way to get everyone inside for nothing. Over the course of the night I found myself sitting alone in the parking lot, smoking and looking at everyone leaving the place through some serious beer goggles.
Somehow I managed to strike a conversation with a certain parking attendant by the name of Jal Singh. It was obvious that he was really busy but maybe I was a welcome distraction from the hundreds starting to make their way out of the hotel. We discussed the fact that most people around there were in their teens or early twenties and were blowing up some serious amounts of money. Jal Singh didn't mind though. He thought if people have money it should be spent. Never at the expense of one's honour and respect though. And never to let down the family's name.
"What's wrong with a few drinks?" he asked.
"I like a couple of pegs before work too."
I didn't quite know what to make of this burly man with a moustache like a genuine Rajput but we parted with a hug and the night left with a little more to think about than usual.
Somehow I managed to strike a conversation with a certain parking attendant by the name of Jal Singh. It was obvious that he was really busy but maybe I was a welcome distraction from the hundreds starting to make their way out of the hotel. We discussed the fact that most people around there were in their teens or early twenties and were blowing up some serious amounts of money. Jal Singh didn't mind though. He thought if people have money it should be spent. Never at the expense of one's honour and respect though. And never to let down the family's name.
"What's wrong with a few drinks?" he asked.
"I like a couple of pegs before work too."
I didn't quite know what to make of this burly man with a moustache like a genuine Rajput but we parted with a hug and the night left with a little more to think about than usual.
evolution of self-centredness
For the longest time I meant to hold on to this space for posting bits of writing that I had worked on with some care, with some patience and always with an eye on my environment. Discipline is one mountain high enough for me. And so this space is evolving/mutating into a place for echoing thoughts.
Plus, I've given up on trying to be profound with the written word. It's not quite my cup of tea.
Plus, I've given up on trying to be profound with the written word. It's not quite my cup of tea.
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
The fantasy of a traveller trapping himself
The lure of the world emerges in office cubicles, in college libraries, in dorm rooms full of monotony; it wakens from restless sleep and prevents the writing of final papers, steals joy from weekend binge-drinking and turns familiar faces into strange speakers. The urge to wander takes hold quickly but manifests itself slowly. The window at your library carrel becomes smaller each day, the world outside shrinks to the size of a postcard and you can’t focus on the next point that you should include in your exam paper.
Library research moves from class-work to a quest for tales of ancient travellers, many who travelled to where you were born and where you grew up, many from so long ago that their quaint ideals are often laughable. But these words etched into the moth-eaten pages, yellowed by the breath of time, still swirl before your eyes. To go where all have been yet to see what none have set eyes upon, hear ephemeral sounds and smell whiffs lost seconds after they emerged from hidden corners of the ground.
To dream, dream of walking forever, looking to infinity, waking to new things and remembering it all, letting the imagination twist into reality for once.
Library research moves from class-work to a quest for tales of ancient travellers, many who travelled to where you were born and where you grew up, many from so long ago that their quaint ideals are often laughable. But these words etched into the moth-eaten pages, yellowed by the breath of time, still swirl before your eyes. To go where all have been yet to see what none have set eyes upon, hear ephemeral sounds and smell whiffs lost seconds after they emerged from hidden corners of the ground.
To dream, dream of walking forever, looking to infinity, waking to new things and remembering it all, letting the imagination twist into reality for once.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
typewriter blues
Wake up, slam your palm on the electrical clock with its laser-like digits and curse the beeping sound that created a homicidal robot dog in your dream. Promise yourself that you’ll get a new old-fashioned alarm clock, the kind that puts you to sleep with its gentle ticking to replace this glaring, gleaming plastic monster.
Get ready and check your e-mail. Read the newspaper; maybe get into the habit of just calling it the news. Look away from the screen and remember the times when you would hold those large sheets of paper that rustled in your hands as you read about the world. Feel nostalgic and imagine how you’ll be explaining the concept of a newspaper to children, twenty years from now.
Finish up with classes and get almost magnetically drawn to your computer screen. Check your e-mail again and then Facebook. Think about deactivating your Facebook account. Shy away from doing it. Then, one day, take a deep breath, click on the Deactivate Account link and go through the confirmations and be Facebook-less. Two, maybe three weeks later return from the edge of suicide because of boredom and reactivate your account. Look heaven-wards and thank the gods of technology for saving all your account information and realise that you are but a slave to this machine that stares at you, unblinking.
Stumble upon your small collection of letters and browse through them. Relive the feeling of receiving a letter from your friend, who lives across the world, over summer and realise how much longer you’ll remember the two letters you got even though you got an e-mail almost every other day. Re-read the only letter your father ever sent you, the only time, you think, he actually spoke to you and how he wrote that he wished that telephones and the internet weren’t invented so that people still wrote. Make a mental note, promising yourself that you’ll write to him tomorrow and then forget about it because you sent an e-mail later that night.
Let your mind wander back to the day you were leaving home to travel across the world to receive an education and remember the odd, blue bag that lay on your bed and the surprise as you opened it to reveal a small, portable typewriter. Fish the bag out from the abyss under your bed and set it up on your table, pushing aside the sleek laptop from its place, place a sheet of paper in the typewriter and punch, punch, punch, let the words flow out of you, lend the words a part of yourself, sculpt, chisel, imagine yourself as Michelangelo, invest your entire being to create a piece of art to reflect your passion for writing, punch the wrong letter, grab the whitener and try to undo the mistake, muse on how the typewriter teaches you that mistakes can never just be deleted by tapping a key, breather, put the paper back in and punch, punch, punch, stop thinking, stop breathing, block out the music that your roommate’s iPod is churning out, punch, punch…and look up as your friend walks in and asks you why you can’t be normal and use Microsoft Word like everyone else.
Get ready and check your e-mail. Read the newspaper; maybe get into the habit of just calling it the news. Look away from the screen and remember the times when you would hold those large sheets of paper that rustled in your hands as you read about the world. Feel nostalgic and imagine how you’ll be explaining the concept of a newspaper to children, twenty years from now.
Finish up with classes and get almost magnetically drawn to your computer screen. Check your e-mail again and then Facebook. Think about deactivating your Facebook account. Shy away from doing it. Then, one day, take a deep breath, click on the Deactivate Account link and go through the confirmations and be Facebook-less. Two, maybe three weeks later return from the edge of suicide because of boredom and reactivate your account. Look heaven-wards and thank the gods of technology for saving all your account information and realise that you are but a slave to this machine that stares at you, unblinking.
Stumble upon your small collection of letters and browse through them. Relive the feeling of receiving a letter from your friend, who lives across the world, over summer and realise how much longer you’ll remember the two letters you got even though you got an e-mail almost every other day. Re-read the only letter your father ever sent you, the only time, you think, he actually spoke to you and how he wrote that he wished that telephones and the internet weren’t invented so that people still wrote. Make a mental note, promising yourself that you’ll write to him tomorrow and then forget about it because you sent an e-mail later that night.
Let your mind wander back to the day you were leaving home to travel across the world to receive an education and remember the odd, blue bag that lay on your bed and the surprise as you opened it to reveal a small, portable typewriter. Fish the bag out from the abyss under your bed and set it up on your table, pushing aside the sleek laptop from its place, place a sheet of paper in the typewriter and punch, punch, punch, let the words flow out of you, lend the words a part of yourself, sculpt, chisel, imagine yourself as Michelangelo, invest your entire being to create a piece of art to reflect your passion for writing, punch the wrong letter, grab the whitener and try to undo the mistake, muse on how the typewriter teaches you that mistakes can never just be deleted by tapping a key, breather, put the paper back in and punch, punch, punch, stop thinking, stop breathing, block out the music that your roommate’s iPod is churning out, punch, punch…and look up as your friend walks in and asks you why you can’t be normal and use Microsoft Word like everyone else.
kaleidoscope
The plane descends slowly down towards the city that is supposed to be my home. I can see a shining clump of neon lights, something out of the dream of a child obsessed with sci-fi stories. As the plane hovers over the airport, probably awaiting clearance, waiting for another plane just like itself, carrying people who look the same and think the same way, I feel sick. Not physically sick or anything – just plain queasy in the head or something. I already miss college, what I now consider home, or will, at least for the next few years. I’m apprehensive about meeting my family after these few months. I don’t know what I’m going to do. I wonder if the internet connection at home is up and running – I need to stay in touch with my friends.
When I’m not in Calcutta I think of it as home and when I am there home seems to be elsewhere. I am not sure what home is and so I come up with definitions that sound good but don’t make much sense:
Home is a feeling.
or
Home is a group of people around whom one’s comfortable.
or
Home is a time, not a place.
I calm myself and tell myself I am just going through a phase of self-discovery. I figure that it’s about the right time for that. At least that’s what I understood from all the books I’ve read or the movies I’ve watched or from all the music that blares from speakers everywhere I go.
I am a global nomad, I say. I think I read that somewhere.
I’m just sick of the way people are – if Holden Caulfield did it so should I.
I need to go find the answer to life, maybe walk on the razor’s edge.
And then I see myself in a mirror as I walk towards the arrivals wing and I see how similar I am to everyone else who’s walking by and how similar, in fact, everyone is. Everyone has a cell phone, an iPod, everyone wears the same kind of clothing, everyone is humming the same tune, how little everyone notices of what’s around them. I am a child of technology. I am not raw feelings and emotion – I am neurons and electrical signals. I am a global nomad who is searching for a home. I wander aimlessly in the midst of throngs of people who have been rendered perfectly alike and are unable to recognise themselves because they see their own face in the face that walks past on a crowded street. I am not a piece of art or a glittering amalgamation of magical potential; I am an iPod or a car that has so many features that most of them are completely useless. I am defined by everyone around me and they, in turn, are defined by me, and because we have none to tell us what is right have become the generation that can’t know its own name. That is also why I am mass of gibberish when faced with describing myself. I am not the living breathing creature that I should be – I am a random mixture of figments of other people’s imaginations.
When I’m not in Calcutta I think of it as home and when I am there home seems to be elsewhere. I am not sure what home is and so I come up with definitions that sound good but don’t make much sense:
Home is a feeling.
or
Home is a group of people around whom one’s comfortable.
or
Home is a time, not a place.
I calm myself and tell myself I am just going through a phase of self-discovery. I figure that it’s about the right time for that. At least that’s what I understood from all the books I’ve read or the movies I’ve watched or from all the music that blares from speakers everywhere I go.
I am a global nomad, I say. I think I read that somewhere.
I’m just sick of the way people are – if Holden Caulfield did it so should I.
I need to go find the answer to life, maybe walk on the razor’s edge.
And then I see myself in a mirror as I walk towards the arrivals wing and I see how similar I am to everyone else who’s walking by and how similar, in fact, everyone is. Everyone has a cell phone, an iPod, everyone wears the same kind of clothing, everyone is humming the same tune, how little everyone notices of what’s around them. I am a child of technology. I am not raw feelings and emotion – I am neurons and electrical signals. I am a global nomad who is searching for a home. I wander aimlessly in the midst of throngs of people who have been rendered perfectly alike and are unable to recognise themselves because they see their own face in the face that walks past on a crowded street. I am not a piece of art or a glittering amalgamation of magical potential; I am an iPod or a car that has so many features that most of them are completely useless. I am defined by everyone around me and they, in turn, are defined by me, and because we have none to tell us what is right have become the generation that can’t know its own name. That is also why I am mass of gibberish when faced with describing myself. I am not the living breathing creature that I should be – I am a random mixture of figments of other people’s imaginations.
father and son
Before reaching the age of ten, most boys want to grow up and be like their father. Struggling through the myriad small complications that come up during their everyday lives they wish for time to pass quickly so that they can be big and strong like father, able to do what they want, able to drive, to shave everyday, to tell stories about their days at school and college, or at least that’s what I wanted when I was a little boy.
As I waited for my father to return from work, for the piercing whistle that would ring out as soon as he entered the house, I would think of things to tell him and would plan the couple of hours when he would be free to play any game I asked him to play.
Playing chess – that is one of the first things that my father taught me. Although I don’t play it anymore, the evenings when I sat with my father and tried to understand the nuances of this odd looking game are some of my favourite childhood memories.
“The demon-king of Sri Lanka was a very good chess player. He was one of the first people in the world to play it,” my father told me one day.
“But he was evil so why do we also play it?”
“He was evil but very intelligent and hard-working and also religious. He was one of the smartest men in the world.”
That lead us into discussions about good and evil and God and religion and the supernatural. The things we talked about I cannot remember anymore but I remember talking about them and those evenings were a few of the last times when my father and I really spoke, our respective quiet natures not allowing us to connect once the innocence and enthusiasm of childhood left me.
As of today if I had to choose a way to spend time with my father it would be over that intriguing chequered, black and white board, where tiny figures take up enormous dimensions, where kings are killed and wars won or lost because of one knight’s bravery, those tiny paths that I walked along when my father was twice as tall as I and from where I would look up and try to understand what it means to be big.
As I waited for my father to return from work, for the piercing whistle that would ring out as soon as he entered the house, I would think of things to tell him and would plan the couple of hours when he would be free to play any game I asked him to play.
Playing chess – that is one of the first things that my father taught me. Although I don’t play it anymore, the evenings when I sat with my father and tried to understand the nuances of this odd looking game are some of my favourite childhood memories.
“The demon-king of Sri Lanka was a very good chess player. He was one of the first people in the world to play it,” my father told me one day.
“But he was evil so why do we also play it?”
“He was evil but very intelligent and hard-working and also religious. He was one of the smartest men in the world.”
That lead us into discussions about good and evil and God and religion and the supernatural. The things we talked about I cannot remember anymore but I remember talking about them and those evenings were a few of the last times when my father and I really spoke, our respective quiet natures not allowing us to connect once the innocence and enthusiasm of childhood left me.
As of today if I had to choose a way to spend time with my father it would be over that intriguing chequered, black and white board, where tiny figures take up enormous dimensions, where kings are killed and wars won or lost because of one knight’s bravery, those tiny paths that I walked along when my father was twice as tall as I and from where I would look up and try to understand what it means to be big.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Nightmare in the City of Dreams
Last week’s terrifying attacks on Mumbai left in their wake death and destruction on the ground, confusion and helplessness around the country, and horror in the minds of millions around the world, including many on campus, watching the events unfold on television. For a long time we had no words to express our feelings. We sat glued to news channels, unable to understand what to say, words of anger, disgust, fear and hope intermittently filtering through our shocked minds. Sitting thousands of miles from home we watched the heart of our country under the siege of terror. The tragedy was unimaginable, the lack of respect for human life was shocking; our hearts went out to all who were in Mumbai at this time of horror and silent prayers filtered through the disbelief. It was close to impossible to articulate our thoughts at the time, it is terribly hard to know how to respond even now.
Mumbai, the city that epitomises the nation that is home to over a billion, the city that almost single-handedly supports the economy of the largest democracy in the world, the city that represents the Indian dream in its truest form, a city that never turns away those who seeks its embrace, had been taken over by terrorists. This meant more than just an attack on the nineteen million who call Mumbai home; it meant that the entire country was at war.
The implications of the attacks are manifold. One need only take glance at any leading newspaper to know that India stands at a very crucial juncture in its history and its future is closely related to that of the entire world. The effects of the attacks will be felt in the spheres of economics, politics, international relations, internal security and will affect the national psyche in an unprecedented manner. It is not that India is any stranger to terrorism – the last six months have seen six major attacks around the nation and India ranks second in the world in terms of the terror strikes it faces. What’s different this time, as many repeat over and over, is that enough is enough.
The scope of the horror unleashed by the terrorists is mind-boggling – the ten young men hoped to kill up to 5000 people, ravage the city till it was on its knees and do so till they breathed their last. The targets were the most crowded places in Mumbai, the places that were the landmarks of the city, places where one would find all kinds of people the city had to offer. The terrorists planned to create havoc, to kill indiscriminately and cause destruction till they were caught or killed.
The strikes left close to 200 dead and over 300 injured.
Numbers, they say, speak for themselves. But it is only now that the people of India are waking up to the fact that their combined voices can to be heard too. All across the nation there is unparalleled outrage at the events; people want action to be taken, people want to know what went wrong and want their country safe again. It is tragic that only in the face of horror can a country unite, but it is the hope of most that this will lead to a safer India, if not a safer world.
Sentiments, understandably, are running high in India, both on the streets and amongst the authorities. The situation has already been politicised with an eye on the upcoming national elections and the media frenzy has left people gasping for the truth. Those affected directly are trying to limp back to normal life, others are venting their anger through diatribes against the suspected perpetrators, while everyone prays for a safer future. Tension is already rising in South Asia as leaders from India and Pakistan begin their anticipated exchange of blame and try to use the situation to gain political and tactical mileage.
But this is not a time for indiscriminate anger, not a time to raise spectres from a violent and tragic past, it is not a time to secure votes or gain alliances, it is not a time to align with extremists or liberals, it is not a time to speculate, nor a time to sit back and spew fire against old enemies or act hastily. Some atrocities are too big to be turned into trivial issues. Some atrocities demand action and demand action based on prudence. The voices in India are finally beginning to unite and they can hear an echo from across borders, near and far. And these voices are demanding immediate action.
All I hope is that action is taken prudently, justice is served rapidly and fairly, anger is restricted by reason, hope is not thwarted by pessimism, that the dead and wounded do not become mere numbers in our memories, that we never experience another tragedy like this. And I also pray that my hope resonates amongst people around the world as we grieve for the losses borne by the City of Dreams.
Mumbai, the city that epitomises the nation that is home to over a billion, the city that almost single-handedly supports the economy of the largest democracy in the world, the city that represents the Indian dream in its truest form, a city that never turns away those who seeks its embrace, had been taken over by terrorists. This meant more than just an attack on the nineteen million who call Mumbai home; it meant that the entire country was at war.
The implications of the attacks are manifold. One need only take glance at any leading newspaper to know that India stands at a very crucial juncture in its history and its future is closely related to that of the entire world. The effects of the attacks will be felt in the spheres of economics, politics, international relations, internal security and will affect the national psyche in an unprecedented manner. It is not that India is any stranger to terrorism – the last six months have seen six major attacks around the nation and India ranks second in the world in terms of the terror strikes it faces. What’s different this time, as many repeat over and over, is that enough is enough.
The scope of the horror unleashed by the terrorists is mind-boggling – the ten young men hoped to kill up to 5000 people, ravage the city till it was on its knees and do so till they breathed their last. The targets were the most crowded places in Mumbai, the places that were the landmarks of the city, places where one would find all kinds of people the city had to offer. The terrorists planned to create havoc, to kill indiscriminately and cause destruction till they were caught or killed.
The strikes left close to 200 dead and over 300 injured.
Numbers, they say, speak for themselves. But it is only now that the people of India are waking up to the fact that their combined voices can to be heard too. All across the nation there is unparalleled outrage at the events; people want action to be taken, people want to know what went wrong and want their country safe again. It is tragic that only in the face of horror can a country unite, but it is the hope of most that this will lead to a safer India, if not a safer world.
Sentiments, understandably, are running high in India, both on the streets and amongst the authorities. The situation has already been politicised with an eye on the upcoming national elections and the media frenzy has left people gasping for the truth. Those affected directly are trying to limp back to normal life, others are venting their anger through diatribes against the suspected perpetrators, while everyone prays for a safer future. Tension is already rising in South Asia as leaders from India and Pakistan begin their anticipated exchange of blame and try to use the situation to gain political and tactical mileage.
But this is not a time for indiscriminate anger, not a time to raise spectres from a violent and tragic past, it is not a time to secure votes or gain alliances, it is not a time to align with extremists or liberals, it is not a time to speculate, nor a time to sit back and spew fire against old enemies or act hastily. Some atrocities are too big to be turned into trivial issues. Some atrocities demand action and demand action based on prudence. The voices in India are finally beginning to unite and they can hear an echo from across borders, near and far. And these voices are demanding immediate action.
All I hope is that action is taken prudently, justice is served rapidly and fairly, anger is restricted by reason, hope is not thwarted by pessimism, that the dead and wounded do not become mere numbers in our memories, that we never experience another tragedy like this. And I also pray that my hope resonates amongst people around the world as we grieve for the losses borne by the City of Dreams.
The Issue of Kashmir
Anyone with even a vague notion of diplomatic relations amongst the South Asian nations will know that Indo-Pakistani relations have been strained since independence and the bone of contention has always been the Kashmir Valley. Since gaining independence from the British and being partitioned into India and Pakistan, there have been four armed conflicts between the two nations, of which three were directly related to claims over Kashmir.
At the time of British India’s partition in 1947, Kashmir was ruled by Raja Hari Singh, a Hindu king who aspired for an independent state, not committing to either India or Pakistan as was the directive for all kingdoms in the region. Pakistan claimed the kingdom on the basis that Kashmir was home to a predominantly Muslim population. As a nascent Pakistani army descended upon Kashmir, Hari Singh chose to join the Indian side and requested military help, resulting in a war that ended with the division of Kashmir into two contested regions. The issue remains unsolved today with the most recent armed conflict occurring in 1998. The Kashmir issue is one that is close to every Indian and Pakistani’s heart. Over the years it has turned into an issue of national pride, which most people find hard to look past.
Even though Indians and Pakistanis look alike, speak similar languages, eat the same food, follow similar lifestyles, there is always this shadow that hovers somewhere in the distance ensuring a rift between people who share everything but a national identity. Some of my closest friends on campus are Pakistani but somehow we always avoid discussions about Kashmir. I realize that this isn’t because we find it hard to broach such a sensitive topic but because we realize the uselessness of the conflict and are tired of agreeing with each other over that fact. Our nations don’t need to spend billions on the military when there are much more pressing needs to be addressed.
Despite sitting quite low on the UNDP’s Human Development Index rankings, both India and Pakistan (ranked 126th and 134th respectively) continue to allocate around three percent of their respective GDPs to military expenditure. Around thirty percent of either country’s population is living below the poverty line. The respective public spending on education is no more than military expenditure while more than half of either country’s adult population remains illiterate. Public spending on healthcare is less than half of the expenditure on the military. One could go on and on and never come across a statistic that made sense to anyone when compared with the presence of a war that has lasted over sixty years.
I came across a button that said, “Don’t act stupid! We have world leaders for that.” It is easy for one to forget about bigger issues from around the world, particularly if they don’t directly affect one’s college life, and it is easy to push them aside by using jokes, but those issues never go away. They only wait in the distance, threatening to grow bigger than they are. The only route to peace in South Asia is through a resolution on the Kashmir issue and our generation is the first that has the opportunity to pursue that goal. Only those who have the ability to move beyond issues from the past, to look past illogical prejudices and to replace the narrow-mindedness of a minority with the hopeful outlook of tolerance, can begin the peace process that is so essential for improving living conditions in South Asia.
At the time of British India’s partition in 1947, Kashmir was ruled by Raja Hari Singh, a Hindu king who aspired for an independent state, not committing to either India or Pakistan as was the directive for all kingdoms in the region. Pakistan claimed the kingdom on the basis that Kashmir was home to a predominantly Muslim population. As a nascent Pakistani army descended upon Kashmir, Hari Singh chose to join the Indian side and requested military help, resulting in a war that ended with the division of Kashmir into two contested regions. The issue remains unsolved today with the most recent armed conflict occurring in 1998. The Kashmir issue is one that is close to every Indian and Pakistani’s heart. Over the years it has turned into an issue of national pride, which most people find hard to look past.
Even though Indians and Pakistanis look alike, speak similar languages, eat the same food, follow similar lifestyles, there is always this shadow that hovers somewhere in the distance ensuring a rift between people who share everything but a national identity. Some of my closest friends on campus are Pakistani but somehow we always avoid discussions about Kashmir. I realize that this isn’t because we find it hard to broach such a sensitive topic but because we realize the uselessness of the conflict and are tired of agreeing with each other over that fact. Our nations don’t need to spend billions on the military when there are much more pressing needs to be addressed.
Despite sitting quite low on the UNDP’s Human Development Index rankings, both India and Pakistan (ranked 126th and 134th respectively) continue to allocate around three percent of their respective GDPs to military expenditure. Around thirty percent of either country’s population is living below the poverty line. The respective public spending on education is no more than military expenditure while more than half of either country’s adult population remains illiterate. Public spending on healthcare is less than half of the expenditure on the military. One could go on and on and never come across a statistic that made sense to anyone when compared with the presence of a war that has lasted over sixty years.
I came across a button that said, “Don’t act stupid! We have world leaders for that.” It is easy for one to forget about bigger issues from around the world, particularly if they don’t directly affect one’s college life, and it is easy to push them aside by using jokes, but those issues never go away. They only wait in the distance, threatening to grow bigger than they are. The only route to peace in South Asia is through a resolution on the Kashmir issue and our generation is the first that has the opportunity to pursue that goal. Only those who have the ability to move beyond issues from the past, to look past illogical prejudices and to replace the narrow-mindedness of a minority with the hopeful outlook of tolerance, can begin the peace process that is so essential for improving living conditions in South Asia.
Religious Violence in India
In the first few months of 2002, modern India saw its worst religious rioting since partition: the western state of Gujarat saw clashes between Hindus and Muslims. Estimates place the number of dead anywhere between one and two thousand, with the majority being Muslims. Over ten thousand people were affected by the violence that ensued as retaliation for the burning of a train carrying Hindu pilgrims in the town of Godhra. The violence continued for several months and allegations about who was responsible flew around as the death toll mounted. The state government, led by Narendra Modi of the BJP, a political organisation backed by the conservative right-wing Hindu RSS, was widely held responsible for the atrocities committed all over the state. The state was blamed for failing to curb the violence and in fact there were several instances when state machinery was seen as being directly used to spur the rampaging mobs all across the state. Only recently were several people, both Hindus and Muslims, convicted for their actions in 2002. Modi and the BJP continued to stay in power.
Fast-forward to December 2007: state-wide elections were held in Gujarat and many saw this as the end of the rule of Modi, dubbed “the merchant of death” by many. Contrary to all expectations, Modi won convincingly, hailed as the new face of Indian politics, and seen by many as a future prime minister for the country. Modi has always been a controversial figure and has used communal divisions as the primary mode for bagging votes throughout. One cannot deny that Gujarat has done well under his regime – the economic growth rate for Gujarat has been estimated at around ten percent, well over the national average – but at one cost? If the government that lets rioting continue for over three months is allowed to stay in power for ten years after the riots, how can a nation continue to call itself secular or democratic?
Religious fundamentalism of the worst kind has become a grave issue for people all around the world. One can see the wrongdoings of people who use religion as the basis for furthering their cause without caring about the consequences, but often the principles of religion are blamed instead of the people behind such issues. Instead of focusing on how people are using religion in such a way it probably makes more sense to focus on the people who spur others to embrace such extremist views. The responsibility for this does not lie with any one group of people – unless a majority of people responds to such acts in order to force the government to take the required steps it is hard to see changes in the near future. Hiding behind prejudice and bigotry to launch attacks on a faith can only aggravate the problem and allow individuals to continue using religion for violence. We need to take a few steps back and look at the problems within a broader perspective, take a look at history and the way in which religion has created conflicts all around the world, try to realise that most of them were steeped in irrational prejudice and refrain from judging the common person on the basis of his or her faith. And until we can do that, it seems unlikely that world will see a change in the recent trend of growing religious fanaticism.
Fast-forward to December 2007: state-wide elections were held in Gujarat and many saw this as the end of the rule of Modi, dubbed “the merchant of death” by many. Contrary to all expectations, Modi won convincingly, hailed as the new face of Indian politics, and seen by many as a future prime minister for the country. Modi has always been a controversial figure and has used communal divisions as the primary mode for bagging votes throughout. One cannot deny that Gujarat has done well under his regime – the economic growth rate for Gujarat has been estimated at around ten percent, well over the national average – but at one cost? If the government that lets rioting continue for over three months is allowed to stay in power for ten years after the riots, how can a nation continue to call itself secular or democratic?
Religious fundamentalism of the worst kind has become a grave issue for people all around the world. One can see the wrongdoings of people who use religion as the basis for furthering their cause without caring about the consequences, but often the principles of religion are blamed instead of the people behind such issues. Instead of focusing on how people are using religion in such a way it probably makes more sense to focus on the people who spur others to embrace such extremist views. The responsibility for this does not lie with any one group of people – unless a majority of people responds to such acts in order to force the government to take the required steps it is hard to see changes in the near future. Hiding behind prejudice and bigotry to launch attacks on a faith can only aggravate the problem and allow individuals to continue using religion for violence. We need to take a few steps back and look at the problems within a broader perspective, take a look at history and the way in which religion has created conflicts all around the world, try to realise that most of them were steeped in irrational prejudice and refrain from judging the common person on the basis of his or her faith. And until we can do that, it seems unlikely that world will see a change in the recent trend of growing religious fanaticism.
Tibet
As protestors follow the Olympic torch's passage across the globe, the issue of China's treatment of Tibet has captured newspaper headlines the world over. The issue of China's occupation of Tibet came up once again as protests broke out in Lhasa last month, approximately coinciding with the anniversary of the major Tibetan uprising against Chinese authorities in 1959.
What began as a series of protests by monks in Lhasa has turned into a concern for the global community; it is now a very sensitive issue with nations skirting around it, wary of ruffling any feathers.
The issue itself seems to be forgotten by the general public, hidden behind a media-driven frenzy, with scores of people running to associate themselves with the cause of “freedom”. Chinese authorities argue that Tibet is an integral part of their nation, while Tibetans accuse the Chinese government of impinging their freedom, of erasing their cultural identity.
China occupied Tibet in 1949 claiming that Tibet has historically been a part of it. Since then Tibet has enjoyed only a certain level of autonomy and it is doubtful that the Tibetan spiritual identity, based on centuries of belief, would be wiped out even under a regime with ideals so different from theirs. However, the most important effect of the occupation can be seen by the influx of non-Tibetans into Tibet. The Chinese occupation has certainly improved the economic situation in Tibet but for whom, and what cost? Can an improvement in numbers that appear in development reports justify the loss of one world’s richest cultural heritages? This is what the Tibetans argue – they do not want economic development at the cost of their independence and their identity.
While the debate over Tibet’s relationship with China can go on incessantly, the fact remains that at this point violent protests and violent crackdowns are becoming worse in Tibet and areas of China with large Tibetan populations. The problem is further compounded by the attitude of Chinese authorities towards news coverage by independent groups. Even news groups from Hong Kong have been forced to stay away from affected areas. The international community’s outrage has been heightened by China’s treatment of the issue itself, by their refusal to talk about it openly and multilaterally.
As protests mount all over the world the situation surrounding Tibet and the upcoming Olympics is getting tenser as the opening ceremony gets closer. China’s refusal to conduct dialogue with the Dalai Lama, Tibet’s spiritual leader, or with other international leaders (China states that the entire issue is an internal affair), the protestors’ use of violence and rioting, and the refusal of world leaders to take a firm stance on Tibet are all contributing to a worsening situation in Tibet.
Violence begets violence. No matter who is right and who is wrong, world leaders have a duty to conduct peaceful talks (and reach a viable solution), to curb violence without using violence, to work towards peace swiftly. Unless dialogue is initiated immediately the world can include one more failure in the struggle for peace.
What began as a series of protests by monks in Lhasa has turned into a concern for the global community; it is now a very sensitive issue with nations skirting around it, wary of ruffling any feathers.
The issue itself seems to be forgotten by the general public, hidden behind a media-driven frenzy, with scores of people running to associate themselves with the cause of “freedom”. Chinese authorities argue that Tibet is an integral part of their nation, while Tibetans accuse the Chinese government of impinging their freedom, of erasing their cultural identity.
China occupied Tibet in 1949 claiming that Tibet has historically been a part of it. Since then Tibet has enjoyed only a certain level of autonomy and it is doubtful that the Tibetan spiritual identity, based on centuries of belief, would be wiped out even under a regime with ideals so different from theirs. However, the most important effect of the occupation can be seen by the influx of non-Tibetans into Tibet. The Chinese occupation has certainly improved the economic situation in Tibet but for whom, and what cost? Can an improvement in numbers that appear in development reports justify the loss of one world’s richest cultural heritages? This is what the Tibetans argue – they do not want economic development at the cost of their independence and their identity.
While the debate over Tibet’s relationship with China can go on incessantly, the fact remains that at this point violent protests and violent crackdowns are becoming worse in Tibet and areas of China with large Tibetan populations. The problem is further compounded by the attitude of Chinese authorities towards news coverage by independent groups. Even news groups from Hong Kong have been forced to stay away from affected areas. The international community’s outrage has been heightened by China’s treatment of the issue itself, by their refusal to talk about it openly and multilaterally.
As protests mount all over the world the situation surrounding Tibet and the upcoming Olympics is getting tenser as the opening ceremony gets closer. China’s refusal to conduct dialogue with the Dalai Lama, Tibet’s spiritual leader, or with other international leaders (China states that the entire issue is an internal affair), the protestors’ use of violence and rioting, and the refusal of world leaders to take a firm stance on Tibet are all contributing to a worsening situation in Tibet.
Violence begets violence. No matter who is right and who is wrong, world leaders have a duty to conduct peaceful talks (and reach a viable solution), to curb violence without using violence, to work towards peace swiftly. Unless dialogue is initiated immediately the world can include one more failure in the struggle for peace.
Responsibilities
Over the last couple of decades the number of young men and women who leave their home countries to pursue further education elsewhere has risen by leaps and bounds. The increase has been particularly high when one considers the flow of students from the developing world to the developed world. The reason for such an increase is easily explained when one considers the relative standards of education that exist in the developed and developing world, along with rapid economic growth for many nations of the developing world, much of which has allowed a certain segment of their respective societies to be able to afford a daughter or son studying at a school in the developed world.
While this indicates the movement towards a world that is much more “global” in a nature, the creation of a generation that is made up of individuals who can empathise with those who might be as different from them as chalk is from cheese; while it shows that the developing world is catching up, that the economic inequality facing the world is slowly being reduced, one can’t ignore the deeper-reaching implications of this wave of students moving to the developed world, or the questions it raises about their links to their home countries.
Often, there are arguments about the “brain-drain” that arises for an economy that is seeing a larger amount of human capital flowing out of the country and how it affects the nation’s economic future. To view human actions in purely economic terms makes it easy for us to understand the economic effect of such actions but we ultimately lose the microscopic implications of moving away to a world that provides one with a significantly higher level of opportunity, comfort, and freedom.
The question then, is: What responsibilities do students from developing nations have once they leave their own country, one that is still struggling with problems that the developed world dealt with quite a while ago? Is it irresponsible to forget about that and move along keeping in mind that the opportunity one has is the first step towards personal success in a field chosen from a host of available options?
To say that one should forego everything one has worked hard for and often faced myriad difficulties to achieve would not only be hypocritical but also foolish; but to completely ignore the opportunity of giving something back to one’s home country after learning so much about the world would be tantamount to something quite similar.
There is no easy way to understand what one can do to help alleviate some of the problems that one has seen before moving away from home. But there is always a way to begin seeking ways of using one’s education to improve conditions that outsiders won’t ever be able to completely understand. It is important for students leaving their countries to consider going back to use their education and make a change: to take a stand is important, and to use that as the basis for moving ahead is critical to any change that we want to see in the world.
While this indicates the movement towards a world that is much more “global” in a nature, the creation of a generation that is made up of individuals who can empathise with those who might be as different from them as chalk is from cheese; while it shows that the developing world is catching up, that the economic inequality facing the world is slowly being reduced, one can’t ignore the deeper-reaching implications of this wave of students moving to the developed world, or the questions it raises about their links to their home countries.
Often, there are arguments about the “brain-drain” that arises for an economy that is seeing a larger amount of human capital flowing out of the country and how it affects the nation’s economic future. To view human actions in purely economic terms makes it easy for us to understand the economic effect of such actions but we ultimately lose the microscopic implications of moving away to a world that provides one with a significantly higher level of opportunity, comfort, and freedom.
The question then, is: What responsibilities do students from developing nations have once they leave their own country, one that is still struggling with problems that the developed world dealt with quite a while ago? Is it irresponsible to forget about that and move along keeping in mind that the opportunity one has is the first step towards personal success in a field chosen from a host of available options?
To say that one should forego everything one has worked hard for and often faced myriad difficulties to achieve would not only be hypocritical but also foolish; but to completely ignore the opportunity of giving something back to one’s home country after learning so much about the world would be tantamount to something quite similar.
There is no easy way to understand what one can do to help alleviate some of the problems that one has seen before moving away from home. But there is always a way to begin seeking ways of using one’s education to improve conditions that outsiders won’t ever be able to completely understand. It is important for students leaving their countries to consider going back to use their education and make a change: to take a stand is important, and to use that as the basis for moving ahead is critical to any change that we want to see in the world.
Monday, June 16, 2008
remembrance
He walks into the alleyway slowly, deliberately, looking at everything around him, trying to absorb all that he has been away from for so long. The sunlight filters through the leaves and creates shadows that are fixed. The air is heavy and very still but he likes that. He had told his friend once that the air in Calcutta is unlike that in any other place, that it is velvety, you can feel it brush past you or feel yourself brushing past it. It’s never cold enough to sting nor hot enough to burn, it just floats around you like an ethereal being with a life of its own, like it is feeling the texture of your skin and trying to understand what you are thinking of.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
On Tea and Cigarettes
The journey home always brings with it the taste of hot tea and dusty alleyways. Maybe it's an old habit that won't die out or just me clinging on to the past in the hopes of rediscovering youthful exuberance. One of the things that tea and cigarettes always lead to is nostalgia and a feeling of being older.
If I were to try and explain the journey from that first tea shop to this one, I would probably massacre the memories of several dear friends. Many of us have written about the creation of that odd little family and many of us have placed masks on the tale, sometimes cliffs replace pavements, sometimes forests, mountains and even swimming pools. Whatever it be, it'll be undecipherable when strangers stumble upon this collection of odd words all mixed together within the warm elixir of youth and friendship.
By the teastall we sat and by the teastall we discovered ourselves. Sentimentality always gets the better of meaningful words so no more nostalgia please.
In the evenings I sometimes visit the teastall around the corner. The owner charges my friends and me an extra rupee on each glass that we drink. The economics of price discrimination is a very valuable tool a business economics professor once told me.
My friends here are very close to me. This is another family to which I belong, but here I could never sit at a teastall and waste away hours without thinking. No, we go, instead, to the pub nearby, driving in an air-conditioned car, a sleek beast that purrs quietly, and we quaff beer till our bulging pockets are rendered powerless.
Delhi has a different perspective on life compared to the way Calcutta peers at the world. At the pub, young men of my age come dressed in glitzy shirts that could easily measure up in value to my tea consumption of two months. At the teastall back home, we spend hours enough to fill up a work week sitting and sipping tea while smoking our lungs away.
If I were to try and explain the journey from that first tea shop to this one, I would probably massacre the memories of several dear friends. Many of us have written about the creation of that odd little family and many of us have placed masks on the tale, sometimes cliffs replace pavements, sometimes forests, mountains and even swimming pools. Whatever it be, it'll be undecipherable when strangers stumble upon this collection of odd words all mixed together within the warm elixir of youth and friendship.
By the teastall we sat and by the teastall we discovered ourselves. Sentimentality always gets the better of meaningful words so no more nostalgia please.
In the evenings I sometimes visit the teastall around the corner. The owner charges my friends and me an extra rupee on each glass that we drink. The economics of price discrimination is a very valuable tool a business economics professor once told me.
My friends here are very close to me. This is another family to which I belong, but here I could never sit at a teastall and waste away hours without thinking. No, we go, instead, to the pub nearby, driving in an air-conditioned car, a sleek beast that purrs quietly, and we quaff beer till our bulging pockets are rendered powerless.
Delhi has a different perspective on life compared to the way Calcutta peers at the world. At the pub, young men of my age come dressed in glitzy shirts that could easily measure up in value to my tea consumption of two months. At the teastall back home, we spend hours enough to fill up a work week sitting and sipping tea while smoking our lungs away.
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