Where I wonder about symbols

It's been a very difficult few months, with everything going on in India. Of the nine years since I've moved away, the distance has never felt greater than it has since December. I've started and stopped writing a number of rambling posts since then, and even the ones I've completed are still sitting in my drafts, because it hasn't felt right to publish them. But I overheard a conversation yesterday that intrigued me, and prompted this set of ramblings.

The first anti-CAA protest I went to was on a freezing morning last December, in front of the Indian Embassy. It had been organized pretty much overnight, in response to the early violence that had taken place in Jamia Milia. Maybe 20-30 people had shown up, heard a few speeches, chanted a few chants, and rolled our eyes at the embassy officials peering at us through the curtains. One of the moments that has stayed with me from that cold (very cold, and I'd forgotten my gloves) was a gentleman who was wearing a black overcoat and a saffron scarf, who spoke of reclaiming the saffron - why should this colour become associated with a movement so filled with hate and bigotry? It's a colour with beauty, with meaning far more than what it has become now, and so he was reclaiming it.

I was back at the same spot yesterday evening for another protest; fifty or so people had shown up this time. This time, as it happened, I was wearing a saffron-ish scarf, which I realised much later. But there was a conversation that took place that I overheard, and wanted to think through.

The protest was pretty much over, but most people were still there, and the crowd was trying* to sing Hum kaagaz nahi dikayenge and Hum honge kamyaab. Then someone suggested singing the national anthem. And there was immediate push back - if you sing the national anthem in front of the embassy, it'll seem like we're singing in praise of the government. And the same gentleman from last time asked why that should matter. Why should we, as Indians, give up singing a song that means something to us, because it's been turned into a symbol by those who stand for hate?

One of the most traumatic videos from the past week - and there have been so many - is the one of a group of boys, beaten, bleeding, being forced to sing the national anthem. By cops. One of them has now died I believe. Unsurprisingly, there has been no action taken against the cops who did this.

I still stand for the Indian national anthem when I hear it. I stand if I'm in a crowd, in a movie theater**, or if I'm alone in my living room watching a cricket match or the Republic Day parade. One of the most beautiful sounds in the world is 52 seconds*** of listening to a full stadium sing the anthem.

And just because the notions of what counts for nationalism and anti-nationalism no longer has anything to do with patriotism or actual love for your country shouldn't mean we give up singing this song that still means a lot to many of us.

A lot of us who have spent the last several months alternating between rage and despair are in those states because of our love for India, and because of what people are doing to India in the name of nationalism. And it's a pity when we have to stop and think about whether singing the national anthem, or showing any symbol of love or pride for our country, our religion, our culture, feels wrong because of what they've been turned into by those we're opposed to.

I don't know how the conversation yesterday ended, because I left soon after. But I hope they ended up singing the national anthem.




*I say trying because tbh you guys, these weren't the best renditions I've heard. Points to us for trying though?

**I stand, but I do absolutely think forcing people to stand for the anthem before a movie, especially when they're navigating holding popcorn and drinks is one of the stupidest ideas in the world.

***I also just remembered that I ranted 13 years ago about how they created a much longer version of the anthem and I did not like it at all. I stand by my position.

On democracy

A conversation at lunch, a few weeks ago. Three Indians, one American.



Indian #1: What are you people doing? Trump actually became the nominee!

American: Yeah, I don't know what people are doing!

Indian #1: You need to get it together.

American: I have it together. Politically, that is. My personal life is a bit of a mess. My point is, I'm voting the other way!

Indian #2: But, there has to be some safeguard, right? Don't you people have some safeguards? To prevent such a crazy person actually winning?

American: You would think.

Indian #2: I mean, what if a mass murderer decided to suddenly run for President? Would you let him?

Indians #1 and #3 turn to Indian #2.

Indian #3: You do realize...

Indian #2: Yeah, I just realized what I said. Okay, never mind.
Indian #3: Because this is democracy.

*******************************

Here's my thing, okay? When general elections in India happened in 2014, I was vocally, and consistently, against the BJP. We all knew they would be coming to power, and Modi would end up Prime Minister, but a part of me held out hope that it wouldn't happen, and wanted to bash my head against the wall when it did.


But my thing? Is this. I could see why people supported the BJP, and voted them to power. Because the alternative sucked. I didn't agree with it, because even though the alternatives sucked, I didn't think voting the BJP to power was a good idea. Two years later, my opinion hasn't changed much. I still don't see a viable alternative, but I still don't see the BJP as a good idea. But I see why others do, or did.


They seemed less corrupt. They talked of "achhe din" and all the progress they would bring. The social side of them, which is the scary as hell side of them, was ignored for the idea of all the economic development that people thought would come. And since social stands are more important to me than economic stands, very obviously I was in the minority (not that I was able to vote, but still).


So here's my thing. I don't get the Presidential election campaign going on in the US right now. I haven't got it for the past year. I don't see how, or why, the Republican primaries have gone the way they did. I don't see how this country can choose the Presidential candidate they have.


Again, in my view, if you are a Republican, your choices were, granted, all horryifying to me. But not to you, surely? So the fact that Trump is the candidate they went with, out of the 11 options (or more?) they started out with, is something I am not able to fathom. At all.


I'm so very terrified for November.

Annoyed

I'm annoyed.

I'm annoyed with politicians, across the board, whether in power or in the Opposition, for being insensitive, incompetent, ignorant, for being worried about nothing more than their own hides. For thinking shutting down metro stations, banning protests, passing the buck are acceptable responses to the anger on the streets.

I'm annoyed with the media houses, barring one or two, for turning this into a circus, for thinking it's a good idea to chase an ambulance to the airport, for thinking they're so clever with the names they came up with for her, for being the way the media always is.

I'm annoyed with people putting up FB status updates with conspiracy theories about how she must have already died and they must have moved her to Singapore to avoid the furore. I'm annoyed with people who think these assumptions are more important than the stupidity and insensitivity we know the government has displayed.

I'm annoyed with people demanding the death penalty or chemical castration. Without first asking for a country where I can actually walk into a police station and report a molestation or rape and be taken seriously and be treated with respect.

I'm annoyed with people who are turning this into a Delhi vs. other cities debate. With people who think Delhi's not that bad. With people who think it's only a Delhi problem.

I'm annoyed that there are people who think changing school uniforms from skirts to trousers or salwar kameezes is the answer. Who think a prostitute can't be raped. Who think women shouldn't travel alone at night or wear short skirts.

I'm annoyed with people who think a city is safe if women can travel alone at night and wear short skirts.

I'm annoyed with myself. For getting upset again. For wanting to bash my head against the wall. For not getting annoyed enough. For not doing anything beyond ranting and retweeting others and adding to the noise with yet another pointless blog post. For not coming up with a better word than annoyed for this post.

I'm annoyed with myself for that second of worry I had while entering the metro station at 10.30 PM a week ago.

This is my city. This is my country. I shouldn't have had to have felt that second of worry.

I'm annoyed.

Yes, yes, we should have known that once I publicly said I was done about a topic, I would obviously get worked up about it again. Moving on.

More here: http://storify.com/a_traveller/when-i-wasn-t-really-done

Conversations on the phone

The father and I just had a chat on the phone, while he was waiting to board a flight back from Bombay to come home, during which I tried to articulate a lot of what's been bothering me for a while now. We both rambled, and jumped from topic to topic, so I can't quite present the whole thing. Snippets that I can recall, in no very clear order are presented below. Oh and if you haven't seen Ishaqzaade but plan to and don't want spoilers, avoid the third snippet, which pretty much gives away the main "twist" of the movie.

Baba: What did you think of the Satyamev Jayate episode yesterday?

Me: Wasn't bad. I broke down while watching it, of course. Thrilled they're finally talking about CSA, and SO awed by how brave and incredible the survivors were to come and talk the way they did. But I wish Aamir Khan wouldn't lead the conversations so much. Let the people articulate things their own way na, instead of saying "so what you mean is this...?".

Baba: Hmmm. Some of the folks I met here saw the show. People don't seem to have liked the show much. 

Me: Yes well, from what I see on twitter these days, people like to be cynical because they seem think that's what's expected.

Baba: People seem to be worried "intelligent actors will now be determining government policy."

Me: But... he's not going into policy. He's stopping at spreading awareness. Which, yes, could be a complaint, but at least he's spreading awareness. Who said this?

Baba: Oh, the educated folks of Bombay. And fool editors who print such letters to the editor.

Me: Yes well, your reform is never going to come from the educated folks. They're too busy try to convince themselves and everyone else that everything happens in other homes and classes, not in their own.

Baba: Come on, that's not entirely true.

Me: Oh come on, not to take anything away from the tragedy, but one hit-and-run happened in Gurgaon, and people are organizing silent marches to protest because they knew the persons involved. How many such incidents happen with people the "educated people" don't know, and who organizes marches for them?

Baba: But then the question is, which one will hit? And make the point?

Baba: I hear all the "young MPs" were absent from the 60th anniversary celebrations in Parliament yesterday.

Me: I'm impressed the old folks showed up.

Baba: Who's being cynical now?

Me: But that's the thing no? Where do you see hope? Our politicians are useless, social reform is not happening, so what do you have that you shouldn't be cynical about? But I'd like to think my cynicism is not because I feel I need to be, but because I can't help it!

Baba: Mindsets need to change.

Me: But where do you start? We just came back from seeing Ishaqzaade, and yes, the crowd was horrible. You know what I hated the most? There's this scene where the lead pair has just slept together, and he's walking away from her after informing her that he only pretended to fall in love with her because he wanted "revenge" for the slap she gave him. There's a woman crying on the screen, Baba, and the men in the audience are hooting with glee. What do you do with such mentality? How do you begin to change that?

Baba: I think we should completely avoid the PVR in Sahara Mall. The price difference isn't worth it.

Me: Well, yes, but again, how does that change things?

Me: Did I tell you about the FirstPost article where the writer wondered why the women who'd been forced to have abortions continued to agree to have "conjugal relations" with their husbands?

Baba: Does this writer have any idea about what India's like?

Me: Uh huh. So there seems to have been such uproar that the editors took down the article and apologised, saying they are aware all women don't have that option.

Baba: Well, at least they have some sense.

Baba: Well, I have to switch off now. So you're going to Delhi in the evening? By metro?

Me: Yep.

Baba: *silence*

Me: Chill na, if I get late coming back, I'll take a cab.

Baba: Oh, okay.

There was more, a lot of which I can't put together coherently. Heck, I'm not sure this was coherent. I went to the mother to chat after I ended the call, and her first words, as happens rather frequently, were: You're worked up again. Now what?

I told her a bit about the conversation and she wanted to know if I was upset because there are problems, or because I don't know what to do about the problems. 

There's a good question to ask myself.

A tourist at home

I spent two weeks in Hyderabad in March, with 30-odd classmates of various nationalities. I had written, before going, that I wasn't sure how to answer their questions about India. What I hadn't anticipated was the discomfort I would feel visiting India with a group like this. Not during the project part of the trip so much, but more during the sightseeing portion.

I didn't like being a tourist in my own country. And I don't mean visiting Hyderabad, where I had never been before. I mean being part of a group of foreigners, for lack of a better word, that was visiting India, and by default, therefore, being treated like one.

I didn't like being bought a "high-value" ticket at the Taj Mahal so that I could escape the long queues to get in. I definitely didn't like being told to hold my ticket unlike everyone else, because y'know, I look Indian. I didn't like that my classmates could get away with doing head stands, but I had to keep waving my high-value ticket to prove I could go peer over the railing in the courtyard.

I didn't like how we were taken to tourist traps for shopping where 100 grams of spices or tea cost exorbitant prices. I didn't like that we were taken to a highway shop where chips and soft drinks were ten times their MRP - although I am quite proud of the fact that I found a roadside stall just outside that stupid shop, and bought stuff there.

I didn't like the whining about the crowds and the queues that began among my classmates halfway through the trip, particularly when people started getting close to exhaustion and stress on their projects. I didn't like the constant defensiveness I felt, and the way I had bite back the urge to retort.

It wasn't all bad, no. Most of the folks, especially my team, were extremely comfortable trying out new food stuffs, exploring random shops and areas, getting off the buss and walking through Agra to find a place to eat. I loved how curious they were about the tiny things, things I probably haven't given a second thought in years. I loved being able to explain things to them, introduce my country to them.

But there was a lot that made me uncomfortable. And part of me wonders if I'm overreacting. I've taken a step back, waited more than a month, to when I'm finally back home in India, to publish this post. And the feelings are still there. So maybe I'm not. I just wish I could explain it better.

International conversations

So I'm an international student, don'tcha know? And while most of the conversations over the past three weeks have been about what we all were doing before B-school, and what we plan to do after this, there's also a lot of interest in my background.

You've never lived in the US before? How come your English is so good?

I'm sort of taken aback by how many times I've been asked this question. Yes, my English is probably better than the average Indian, but I'm just so used to having spoken it all my life, that it startles me every time someone asks me this question.

Classmate: What's the time difference between here and India?
Me: Ten and a half hours.
Classmate: Oh yeaaaaaah, you Indians have that funny "and a half" thing going on.

I had not realised this was such an unusual occurrence. Really.

Oh you're Indian! I love Indian food! Chicken tikka/ Butter chicken is awesome! You must make it for me!

Because y'know, Indian food is pretty much entirely made up of what you get in Delhi and Punjab. For the record, I have never cooked a chicken dish in my life. My specialities have just recently expanded from Maggi and Knorr soups to include pastas. Indian food - of any region - remains a distant goal. Except arhar dal. I make awesome arhar dal.

A conversation yesterday was interesting though. I was again asked how I'm finding the transition, and I again responded that it's really really quiet. And a classmate told me, "But you know, coming here, to a small town like this, will probably tell you so much more about the real US than going to any of the cities in the North East would. Those cities are too cosmopolitan. This is the real America."

And it struck me, that's quite possibly true. If my classmates came to India and visited me in Delhi, got introduced to my friends, saw Mumbai and Bangalore, would they get a sense of the real India? We, the "urban", English speaking, Indians can afford to travel around and get the kind of exposure we do - we are a minority, aren't we? And we - at least I - tend to forget that.

First impressions

I'm 26 years old, and I've never lived away from the parents. College, grad school, three years of work - it all happened from the comforts of home, where the biggest decision I had to make was what to wear the next day.

I stood in Walmart's yesterday and spent five minutes trying to figure out which type of milk I should go for. I finally chose Organic and Fat-free; it sounded healthy yet more appealing than soymilk. It took me ten minutes to figure out which mop stick to buy; mainly because the cheapest one didn't have refill mops available, and the ones which did were too expensive. Buying an iron was easy - the cheapest option was also the only brand I'd heard of.

My Japanese flat mate and I invited people over for dinner tonight; I, all the Indians I know, and she, her friends from the language pre-classes she's been attending. I was chatting with a Colombian girl, who's moved here with her boyfriend. Both of them will be going to school with me, and as it turns out, both lived with their respective parents before they moved here. So they spent 15 minutes today trying to figure which type of soap they should buy for the dishwasher. As I told her, it felt SO good knowing I'm not the only one in this state.

In other news, people keep asking me if I'm homesick. Now that I've given in and bought a BlackBerry, with everyone just a text/BBM away, not so much. The only time I sniffled a little bit was when the mother showed the princess on Skype this morning. She can't get a smartphone. Maybe the mother's idea of inventing a cell phone for dogs has some merit.

May I also say, that for all the talk about Indians behaving very differently when they go away from their country, at a dinner party of people coming from the Far East, South America, and Europe, the Indians were the only ones walking in two hours late. Indian Stretched Time is a constant everywhere we go, it seems.

The story of one day

I woke up at 3.45 AM on Tuesday morning, to catch the early morning flight back from Kolkata to Delhi. My flight took off on time, but landed in Delhi 90 minutes late due to bad weather. Which was actually kinda awesome, because that extra hour of sleep is the only reason I was alert enough for the events that subsequently unfolded.

I had to head to a client site in Okhla directly from the airport to help run a development centre, a fact I was informed of only Monday evening. It's a darn good thing I had carried an extra white salwar-kameez and my favourite orange dupatta to wear in Kolkata if the weather was nice enough.

A friend came back on the same flight as me, and I went with her to the pre-paid taxi counter at T3. The Meru Cabs counter seemed to be shut, so she queued up at the counter that's run by the Delhi traffic cops. I was leaning against the side of the counter, and so could see the entire conversation. Her billed amount came to 340, so she handed over a 500 rupees note. The guy at the counter took it, placed it below the counter, then picked up a 100 rupees note and gave it to her saying, you gave me only 100. She apologized and took it back, and handed him another 500 rupees note. I was about to protest, when she turned to me and asked "Wait, didn't I give him a 500? I didn't have any 100 rupees notes, remember?" I nodded, so she turned back to the guy at the counter and said the same to him. He looked at her, shrugged, and gave her back a 500 rupees note and the correct change.

Simplest scam in the world I tell you.

The development centre I then headed to went off just like any other centre I have been a part of - with all the panels running a good two hours behind schedule, except one, which was running four hours behind schedule. We finally wrapped up at 9.30 PM, as opposed to the scheduled end time of 6.30 PM. Five of us colleagues, all women, got into a cab to get home to Gurgaon.

I was sitting in the front seat of the Xylo we were travelling in, snuggled under the spare shawl I was carrying, on the phone with the father who, poor thing, was waiting for me to get home with my suitcase keys so he could pack for the early morning flight he was taking Wednesday morning. As we approached a traffic light, I suddenly saw, about ten feet ahead of us, a man on a bike go crashing into the truck that had braked suddenly in front of him, and fall off his bike.

We stopped our car on the side and went to see how badly he was hurt. Two colleagues got off the car to go see him, I stayed with the car, while another started calling for an ambulance. Within minutes, a crowd of at least 50 men collected, with everyone giving suggestions on what to do and where to take him. The man was bleeding profusely, and my dupatta was taken to try and stem the flow. My colleague who was trying to call for an ambulance was getting increasingly exasperated - "Press one for cashless transactions, Press two for..."

We finally decided to take him into our car and take him to the hospital down the road - it would be much faster than waiting for anything to show up. And then our cab driver refused to let us take him into the car: "Meri gaadi kharab ho jayegi." When we finally convinced him, we turned to the crowd and asked if someone would come with us to help. Not a single man agreed.

We gave up, and got him into the car, and headed to the hospital. The man was somewhat conscious by now, and we got him to give us his wife's number so we could call her. When we got through to her and told her her husband had had an accident, her first reaction was "he was drinking, wasn't he? I told him not to drink so much! He must have gone to that shop to drink!" We finally got her to calm down enough to hear us out, at which point she panicked and handed the phone over to the man's brother. We had reached the hospital by this time, and the phone was handed to me so directions to the hospital could be given. Turns out my Hindi's a lot worse than I thought it was.

The hospital was a tiny, government-run hospital, run by doctors who looked more like college ruffians. But they were nice, and actually concerned about what had happened. While my colleagues stayed with the man, I went back to the car to find his phone, which had fallen somewhere. Just as I found it, his second brother called, asking what had happened, and where to come. After speaking to him, I went and gave the phone inside, and then some of us took the car back to the accident site to try and see what we could do with the bike.

The crowd, which had completely vanished by now, had placed the bike at the side of the road. We collected the keys, contemplated calling a tow truck or something, and finally decided to leave it there for now. Just as we reached the hospital, his brother showed up as well. We explained what the doctors were saying, handed over the phone and keys, told him exactly where the bike was, and left.

My dupatta got left behind.

As we drove back to Gurgaon, our cab driver tried to explain to us that it wasn't so much his new car he was worried about, but the thought of "authorities" getting involved. Do I blame those 50 men there for not coming with us? Not entirely. Had I been travelling alone, instead of with four other women, would I have stopped at all? Extremely unlikely. The only reason I was brave enough to do anything, in a city like Delhi, was because I had four other women with me, and a cab driver who we've known and trusted for years. Had the police got involved, the chances of me returning home in time to see my father leave for the airport would've been highly unlikely. Had we gone to a bigger government hospital, the chances of that man receiving any kind of medical attention in a timely manner would've been slim to zero. Had we gone to a private hospital, the chances of his getting even a stretcher to come out of the car would be practically zilch.

This is the kind of country I, nay, we live in.

Outrage, yet again

Some time back, my friend Puneet had blogged about how Indians aren't really seen as Asians in the eyes of the world. It was an interesting perspective, and she had shared this fabulous site which attempts to prove that we are, in fact, eligible to be called Asians.

What stayed with me, however, was this comment that she received on her post:

hehehe... I guess thats what you call an irony then. I'm Indian, but nobody ever considers me to be Indian, however hard I try to be because I'm from the North East where most of us look "oriental" (or should I say "Asian" acc to your post context).

I guess we can conclude that the ignorance you find over there in the West, is pretty much abundant here within India too :) Nice post.

It's true, innit? I was once asked by the security guard at a client site about my "Nepali" colleague - she's Sikkimese.

Why am I bringing this up today, after more than a year? Because once again, I find myself worked up over something, and I'm too passive-aggressive to do anything other than blog about it.

This tweet popped up on my timeline a couple of hours ago:

Tell me when you figure it out!!! RT @b50 How the heck do sardaars land up with hot chicks?

And I'm sorry, but I did not find this anything other than very, very poor taste. I unfollowed the originator of that tweet a long time back, so whether this was meant as a joke, or it was sour grapes, or what, I don't know, nor do I wish to know. What it came across, however, to me at least, is terribly racist - for lack of a better word.

Two years on

Exactly two years ago, almost to the hour, I was downstairs in our basement, doing my usual combination of watching TV while tweeting/blogging/Facebooking. The parents were in their room, watching TV. Suddenly, the mother called; NDTV was saying shoot-outs were happening in South Bombay. No one knew exactly what was happening; it seemed like some gang war had broken out.

I called my friend who lived in Powai at the time to ask where he was; he was home, but told me to keep him updated since he didn't own a TV. The brother, in faraway Boston, tended to get worried when attacks happen here, especially since mum and I had almost got caught in the GK blast just two months prior, so I shot off this mail to him:

shootouts happening all over south bombay... not too sure at this point if it's a gang war or terror attack. cafe leopold, taj hotel, oberoi hotel, vt station. find out if your friends are ok.

I wasn't very big on punctuation back then.

By midnight, we knew it was a terrorist attack, but it hadn't yet struck home just how bad the situation was. I put up this utterly frivolous post which I have never yet forgiven myself for, shut down my computer, and settled down to watch TV. And for the next two hours, watched in increasing horror as Bombay burned.

26 November 2008. It's one of those dates when practically everyone remembers where they were and what they were doing when the news came in.

2008 as a year was bad for India. There were attacks happening every few months, if not weeks. Jaipur, Ahmedabad, Bangalore, Delhi - all these cities got hit one after the other that year. And this is what we heard about. Back then the Naxal situation wasn't even getting the media attention it has got over the past year or so; no one was even bothered about Kashmir.

But Bombay caught everyone's attention. The sheer audacity, the targets, the execution, and the way it went on for nearly 60 hours - quite literally, the world watched as Bombay burned.

Everyone knows someone who was affected - directly or indirectly. Even after it was over, emotions ran high for weeks, with India wanting action. Heads had to roll, and India didn't care whose heads rolled. Kasab got the fastest trial and verdict ever, and is now sitting in jail, awaiting the day his sentence is finally carried out.

But a post by Dilip D'Souza asks a very pertinent question: why this and not others? There's a lady he has quoted in his article which hit me.

“If we have a remembrance for one,” she said, “I want it for all. I want it for everyone who dies like this. Otherwise we wonder, what did our sons die for?”

Two days ago, on the roads of Delhi, I saw a piece of graffiti saying 'Justice for 26/11 victims. What about victims of 1984 riots?' As I tweeted when I saw that, it's never going to be enough in this country. There will always something else that'll come to mind and make you feel the despair.

1984, 1992, 1993, 2002. Events that make me cringe when I think of them. Events where justice hasn't happened even today.

I'm not trying to take away from the trauma of 2008. It was a terrible time - I personally know someone who was in Singapore at the time, and whose mother was in Hong Kong. And whose father spent the night hiding in a restaurant in Colaba. And he couldn't tell his mother this, because she was in hospital with her daughter, who gave birth to her first child that night. Can you imagine what this guy was going through? Knowing that he may just lose his father the same night he gets a nephew?

But see, that's the thing. This time, we were hit, so to speak. We knew people who were impacted. It wasn't faceless, nameless Indians dying in some corner of another city. It was people who have access to twitter, to blogs, to freaking candles.

Why don't we ask for the same kind of justice for other victims? Why don't we speak out for any other tragedy?

This is a very hypocritical post. Apart from sharing a whole bunch of links on twitter, what have I ever done, after all?

I don't even know the point of this post. It's more rambling catharsis than anything else.

It's just... the bleakness of it all is very frustrating at times. Isn't it?

The day the Sur died

If you haven't seen the "new" version of Mile Sur Mera Tumhara, you clearly haven't been on twitter or Facebook all day. Both sites have been full of updates lambasting Zoom's attempt to modernise the classic we grew up watching on DD 1 on a regular basis.

I sat through it, all 16-and-a-half freaking minutes of it (which is nearly thrice as long as the original), and have the following thoughts on it:

1. As I said on twitter, in the original one, you felt you were watching Indians sing about their country. In this one, you never, for one second, are allowed to forget that these are the stars of Bollywood you're watching. I mean, did anyone look at Priyanka Chopra in that suit with the kids and think, "awww, look how sweet and loving she is"?!? And what the heck were Shahid and Deepika doing?!?
2. Some of the acts were truly cringe-worthy. I love Aamir Khan, but his whole act with the kids was totally uncool. And SRK at the end, with his trademark spreading arms out. Really? What was this, a promo for your next movie?
3. The original had mixed India's two passions, movies and cricket. This one, being made by Zoom, naturally focussed on move stars and movie stars alone (with a few musicians thrown in for fun). For some reason, however, they decided to then also throw in a few sportspersons at the end, all people who've made it to the papers in recent times. Firstly, the way it was shown seemed utterly patronizing and there-for-the-heck-of-it. Secondly, and interestingly, not one from cricket. What happened, was Lalit Modi not entertaining their calls?
4. The singing, oh, the singing. The original had Lata Mangeshkar's gorgeous voice for all the actresses. I know she's not singing anymore, but really, could they have at least tried to match the singer to the face? And didn't someone tell Shiamak Davar years ago that he should never, ever sing in public again?
   
5. The original had managed to show glimpses of India, the country. This simply couldn't. This was nothing but a bunch of actors being taken to a bunch of sceninc spots, and asked to smile at the camera.

This is yet one more reason why I have no respect for the TOI group.

For some more excellent points on why this new version is such a disaster, you may read the tweets put up by @mojorojo. (Update: He's put them all in one place here, so you may just head there.)

And now, for your viewing pleasure, the old:



And the new:



Tell me you didn't feel like a little piece of your childhood died.

(PS: A modified version of this post was also published on Desicritics.)

Here vs. there

Some months back, I visited an incredibly beautiful place, which happens to house the Santa Maria de Montserrat cathedral. Mass was just ending, and a priest was handing out what seemed to be their equivalent of prasaad, so my colleague and I went up to him. He asked in Spanish if we were Christian, and when we said no, shook his head and turned away.

Yesterday, on Guru Purab, I visited a gurdwara after a long, long time. As I was leaving, the priest sitting near the door stopped me and sent me back inside, because I hadn't noticed that prasaad was being handed out inside.

And, no I'm not a Sikh either.

What a difference.

And yet, there are complete asses in this world who will say such things about their own country.

Yes, I know the two things probably aren't comparable. But still.

Utter darkness

I was gone for a week. One week with no access to any English newspapers, the Internet, television, the radio, or any inkling of what was happening in India. Sure, I spoke to the parents everyday, but the sharing of news there was limited to the family and events around home. 

Only on the last day was I told about the attack in Lahore on the police academy there. And on asking about what's happening here at home, I was told Varun Gandhi continues to hog the limelight. C'est tout.

The day after I got back, I read about the supposedly estimable L K Advani saying that Varun Gandhi reminds him of Vajpayee and and other leaders of yore. Pretty much confirming what any sane person has suspected all along - Varun Gandhi said those things mainly because he knows, and the BJP knows, that if he passes communal statements, gets the media's attention (and therefore the public's), he can win by a very comfortable margin. Divisive politics works in this country every bloody time.

And then there's the wonderful Sanjay Dutt. Who comes across as a bigger ass every time he opens his mouth. First it was the utterly annoying statement when he said "Women should not stick to their father's surname after marriage after marriage just for the sake of fashion. It will be a disrespect for their husbands if they do so." as well something about sisters never getting along with their brother's wife. (Do read that entire interview by the way - I would find it screamingly hilarious if I didn't want to hang upside down by his toes.) Then comes the supremely chauvinistic statement about his wife's decision making being limited to what gets cooked for dinner. And now I hear he's accusing the Congress of pretty much killing his father. I don't how much truth lies in the sob story he's spouting, and frankly I don't care. All I know is the guy's a bloody jackass. And I'm rather glad he can't contest elections.

The latest news is about Jagdish Tytler getting a clean chit from the CBI. Where the Sikh riots of 84 are concerned, I have only hearsay to go by. But from all accounts, they were no less the Gujarat carnage of 2002. And if this man had anything to do with them, then he's no less than Narendra Modi, and deserves to be punished for his crimes. And if the Congress is shielding him, then my last hope is really gone.

Because the way I see it, I don't think the Congress has done too great a job in the past five years. But tell me, what other option do we have? The BJP? Whose coming to power means every bit of Hindu fanaticism from the Rediff message boards coming into play in the streets of India? Or Mayawati, who will take every paisa left in the Stock Exchange (oh, I hear it crosses 10K after the G20 talks! Will it last?) ad use it as a mattress. Or our lady Mamata Banerjee, who refused to let Ratan Tata do to Singur what his family did to Jamshedpur, but promises to turn Kolkata into the new London?

I was in Ahmedabad a couple of weeks back, and yes, I was impressed with the roads and the infrastructure. So sure, I can see why people rave about what a brilliant administrator Narendra Modi is. And I can get why they say he's good for Gujarat, and probably good for India. From a development perspective.

But here's my thing: where do we draw the line between good for us in terms of what we get, and good, period? Between right, and convenient? Because he could maybe bring about change in terms of roads, and infrastructure, and lighting, and housing, and all of that, do we forget that even if he didn't encourage the 2002 massacres, as Tehelka would have us believe, he definitely stood by and watched it all happen?

Till today afternoon, to my mind, the Congress was the best of the worst. Our only hope amidst all the inept, self-serving goons who call themselves our politicians. But if they're shielding Tytler for the same things Sonia Gandhi called Modi a maut ka saudagar for, where do we turn?

Sorry for rambling so much. It's 1.30 AM. And I'm tired. I'm tired of wondering where my country is headed. I'm tired of seeing the news channels go mad about one brief conversation between Manmohan Singh and Barack Obama, like a little boy who's exhilarated at getting a smile from his favourite teacher. I'm tired of seeing the same politicians say the same things and proving yet again that we don't deserve such leaders.

I want one leader. Who actually means what he/she says. Who really does want to do some good, and is willing to do it, and is capable of doing it. I want one single, solitary ray of hope.

Wild Wild West

The current issue of Tehelka has an excellent point raised by a reader in the Bouquets and Brickbats section.

Daniela from Mumbai says:

YOU SQUEAL loud about the way ‘The West’ portrays India in Slumdog Millionaire. As a white woman, I feel embarrassed at how Bollywood and the Indian media portray the West. You may believe that India’s complexity surpasses the mental capabilities of westerners, while Bollywood has done an excellent job in portraying ‘The West’ to its own well-educated audience. Let’s see: white women enjoy wearing strips of red latex barely covering their pubic hair. White women want to be old Big B’s girlfriends and never wear more than underwear in his apartment. Most Australian women’s vocabulary does not extend beyond “Sorry?” but at least they wear hot pants to make up for their lack of intelligence. Also, in the West, male nurses are welcome to make advances to female patients in hospitals without ever earning a sexual harassment lawsuit. That is because the white woman really enjoys being fondled by Abhishek Bachchan, who — like most nurses — lives in a beach-front apartment. Drug dealers are Jamaican-hat-wearing white dimwits, and live close to brothels staffed with lusty white women, because each female tourist works the mattress for at least half of her Indian holiday. Perhaps this is why Indians ask me how much I charge for a pop, though I may be attired in full Indian dress, displaying my mangalsutra. Some of these Bollywood fantasies may exist in the West, but does that make them apt representations of an entire culture? And then again: does it matter? It reflects more on the Indian mind than the western, so why should people in the West bother? They don’t. Why do you? Your interest in the West barely outstretches white porn in Palika Bazaar and H1B Visas. I believe that Slumdog at least attempted to be somewhat interested in India, whereas Bollywood doesn’t go beyond Swiss Alps and the white woman because that is what audiences want. Danny Boyle has shown no malice toward India. I wonder sometimes whether the same can be said for Bollywood.

It's true, you know. I've always though Westerners are portrayed either as utter fools or ghastly villains in most Hindi movies, and I really don't see why.

I was watching Corporate last night (Why, I don't know; I have no particular high opinion of Madhur Bhandarkar's movies and why he gets so much hype is beyond me. Plus Corporate has got to be one of Kay Kay's worst performances) and there is this scene where the American investor is talking to the Finance Minister. Either the guy portraying that role was a really bad actor, or they just wanted him to sound like a blustering weirdo.

Look at Slumdog Millionaire, even. The scene in Agra where the American tourists express horror on seeing kids being beaten up, and are told, "This is the real India." To which the American dude responds, "I'll show what a real American is," and gives the kid a nice amount of cash. I mean, kya? What was that supposed to mean? What was the point of that utterly ridiculous dialogue?

Indians can be incredibly immature, especially in terms of what they find humorous. And since they do have this insatiable desire to get recognition for the rest of the world, they need to understand that all the great work they do, all the wonderful movies they make, are all likely to be of no use if we continue to portray Westerners in such poor light all the time.

The aftermath

It's almost exactly a week, to the hour, since it all began. Since India saw the beginnings of what would turn into 60 hours of unending horror.

I was in a conference in Chennai all of Friday and Saturday, and had told my father and my friend to keep updating me. All my friend would keep saying in her SMS' all through Friday was "It's still not over." Saturday morning I was about to leave the hotel when I saw the Taj catch fire again on the ground floor and first floor. Half an hour later, en route to the conference, I got the news: It was over.

My brother's friend's uncle. My friend's aunt's friends. My dad's former colleague's nephew. These are not people I would have ever met. But they're impacted. Greeting people online in the past week, we haven't been saying "how're you doing?"; we've been asking, "is everyone you know alright?"

It's hard to put down thoughts about all that has happened. I could talk about how anguished I am at all the deaths and the injuries. I could talk about how awed I am at the courage displayed by the hotel staff of the three hotels, all the NSG commandos and to some extent, the journalists who were out there for three days, telling us what was happening. I could tell you how grateful I am to know my immediate near and dear ones are safe. I could tell you how weird and guilt-inducing it feels to realise that we are back to our regular lives, when for so many, life will never be the same again.

Or I could tell you how sickened I feel when I hear R R Patil quote DDLJ, or watch Naqvi talk about "paschimi poshak". How exasperated I feel when I watch the Congress and the NCP squabble over who could be the next Chief Minister of Maharashtra. How disgusted I feel when I hear about Narendra Modi offer compensation to the widow of the man he said all kinds of things about when he was alive - well, that I don't really need to; you all know I hate the man.

There are, however, three things I would like to say.

First of all, the BJP has no bloody business talking about the Congress' ineffectiveness against terror and demanding the whole government resigns. Their Prime Ministerial candidate, L K Advani, was Home Minister when the IC 814 hijacking took place; he didn't resign when his Foreign Minister escorted those terrorists to the border. He didn't resign when Parliament was attacked; he didn't resign when hundreds of Muslims were killed in Gujarat. So, no, I'm not particularly impressed with the Congress, but the BJP has no right to say anything.

Secondly, there's been a lot of comment all round on the role of the media in this entire incident. I am impressed with the courage they have shown, and if not for them, we would have had no idea about what was happening. I watched only three channels all through the events - NDTV 24x7, CNN IBN, and Times Now. Of the three, I thought NDTV was the sanest, Barkha Dutt's increasing stupidity notwithstanding. I could have whacked all the channels on the head for showing minute details of the rescue operations while the operations were on, but that's 24-hour news channels for you. They don't think terrorists with satellite phones have access to cable television.

What is annoying me, however, is the way they're carrying on after the attack is over. By carrying on and on about how ineffective our government is, they're pretty much telling the whole world the state of our country, and scaring the people of the country even more. So the terrorists might be dead, but you're just adding to the success of their mission, aren't you?

And finally, this entire campaign that the citizens of India have begun. Candle light marches, rallies in all the metros, and a strong desire to make our authorities understand what we need.

Here's my question: why has this come about? Because the "elite" of the country were hit. You can talk all you want about wanting a better India; the only reason this is happening is because the moneyed people have woken up to the fact that they are vulnerable as well.

The TV channels were up in arms talking about injustice to Jessica Lall when Manu Sharma got acquitted; other than Tehelka, name one newspaper, magazine, or channel which even mentioned the Dalit killings in Maharashtra? Plenty of soldiers die everyday in J&K and in the North East; which politician goes to visit their homes?

For three days, we saw cameras focused constantly on the Taj, the Oberoi, the Trident, and Nariman House. Can someone tell me the sequence of events VT station? How many people died there? What really happened at Cama Hospital? I don't know. Because amidst all the media reports, the blog entries, everything, these events are barely mentioned.

I can understand the focus being on the Taj. The people trapped inside for 58 hours, the commandos who went in and battled it out - they all have my utmost sympathies. But don't forget the aam aadmi in the concern for the rich.

If this campaign by the citizens lasts, I'll be extremely happy. If it achieves some good, I'm all for it. But please, be honest about why this has happened.

And on a lighter note, here's Jon Stewart for you:

The Daily Show With Jon StewartM - Th 11p / 10c

Mumbai Tragedy

Barack Obama Interview
John McCain Interview

Sarah Palin Video
Funny Election Video

The horror continues

After my post of midnight, I was up till 1.30 AM last night, watching with increasing horror at the situation in Mumbai. For the first time since I left college I think, i was up before 6.30 AM, to see the latest updates, only to realise that, far from being better, things were the same, if not worse. I did absolutely nothing productive at work today, spending most of my time tracking things on Twitter. This is by far the most horrifying thing to happen to India in my living memory, although the parents may counter that.

I am also feeling extremely guilty about the way I spoke of the Taj and the incident in my last post; considering the gravity and the widespread nature of incidents across our "commercial capital", it was completely unjustifiable.

There are people who have been inside their hotel rooms, unable to leave, for more than 20 hours now. Luckily, in this modern age of technology, almost all of them have mobile phones and are in touch with their near and dear ones. But does that lessen their trauma in any way?

Amidst all the reactions in the blogosphere, the most evocative first-hand accounts come from two of my favourite bloggers, who happened to be together at the time - Amit Varma and Sonia Faleiro. Another first-hand account which I heard on the news this morning was from a guy named Deepak, who was/is a guest in the Taj. He talked of how the hotel staff had kept him and his neighbour updated through the night, how he could see the terrorists from his room window, and how he was staying calm by reading the Hanuman Chalisa. Does it ever strike you as strange, how religion can calm and destroy at the very same moment?

I'm so very scared for the future of my country.

And again

My one and only visit to Mumbai was in May this year. It was soon after the Jaipur blasts, if I remember correctly, and we happened to go to both the Taj and the J W Marriott. The latter had actually beefed up security to the extent that my purse was put through one of those screening machines - the kind you see at the airport.

The day of the second Delhi blast in October - the one which happened exactly a week after the GK ones - I was in Connaught Place. A friend called from Mumbai to find out if I'm fine and mentioned that he's actually made groups in his phone's contact list - one for each metro city of the country. Makes it easier for him to react and find out about family and friends every time a blast happens.

I'm beginning to realise he has a point.

Back in May, the Taj had no security to speak of. What're you betting that'll change for the next six months at least?

This is sickening.

The Stylish Indian

I love Shoba Narayan's latest column, especially the ending, in which she talks about just how stylish Indians are.

Style is hard to define. Reams of pages in fashion magazines are devoted to it. Designers take it apart and even then it is useless because style is subjective — the exuberant overdose that John Galliano thinks is stylish would be anathema to a Japanese.

As a people, I believe that we Indians are stylish. I don’t mean the Page 3 socialites who have fallen prey to Western dictates (and brand names) of what constitutes style. I mean that rural India has a style that is entirely and uniquely our own. It is in the upturned jootis and the dignified walk of a turban-clad farmer in Rajasthan; in the crisp folds of a Bengal cotton sari, especially when worn by pretty much any woman in Kolkata; in the green bangles of a koli fisherwoman who goes to Crawford Market; in the pristine white “mundu” dhoti of Kerala politicians including defence minister A.K. Antony; in the graceful walk of any woman who balances a pot of water on her head. Wherever you look in India, we have a style and grace that is a mixture of Bauhaus functionality and Baroquean exuberance. It follows Mies van der Rohe’s dictate that form must follow function and then adds a fillip of colour and je ne sais quoi to it.

Every morning after putting my kids in the school bus, I sit down and watch the line of maids who enter our building complex. Not one of them is poorly put together and I’ve heard this said about bais (maids) all over India. They take pride in their appearance and come in wearing neatly-pinned saris, perhaps some jasmine in their hair, maybe a bangle or two and a dangling earring as a nod to current fashion. No make-up, no expensive accessories, just professionals dressed up for their jobs. Are they stylish? I doubt that they think in those terms. They are unstudied but not nonchalant. They pay attention to their clothes but don’t fuss over them. Most of all, their outfits stay true to themselves, with a little extra fillip. If that’s not style, I don’t know what is.

On another note, I started another blog, dear visitors. You may visit it here.

A lil' too close to home

Mamma and I went shopping yesterday; usually a very painful experience because she and I have very different opinions on what should or should not be bought. However, there are weddings coming up, so we didn't really have an option.

Our first stop was GK - I. We visited a dozen shops there, and when we were on the verge of giving up, we went into a shop and found what we needed. I had a sore throat and body ache (think viral's about to hit), so I was miserable, and I desperately needed soup. We considered going to Pizza Hut, but since we were in a hurry, we decided to just pick up a couple of burgers from McD's and leave.

Our next stop was South Extension, where we had to visit exactly one shop and miraculously managed to exit from there within half an hour. Both GK and South Ex were crowded to hilt, full of either people shopping for the wedding season coming up, or excited Bengalis shopping for the upcoming Durga Puja festival.

Our last stop was Green Park where we had to visit someone. While we were there, we heard the news: Delhi had been hit by a series of bomb blasts, including GK's M-block market.

We left GK between 5.30 and 5.45 PM yesterday; the bombs went off between 6.30 and 6.45. An hour made all the difference.

Baba was at home; I managed to speak to him minutes after I heard the news. He had just heard the news on the radio, and wanted us to come home immediately. Soon after, all the networks in Delhi got jammed. I couldn't call or sms anyone to find out if people were fine.

When the bomb blasts in Bangalore and Ahmadabad happened last month, I was horrified. What sickened me even further was that they had actually targeted hospitals - those very hospitals where the injured were taken, where people had rushed to donate blood and died in the process.

This time, the horror is accompanied for the first time by a very real fear. As a friend told me last night, GK and CP are our hang-out places. The previous incidents involved fellow Indians, who I was extremely sorry for. This time, it could have any of my friends and family. A very dear friend is usually at the Barakhamba metro station at 6.30 every evening, waiting to get home; yesterday, she happened to be at home. What if she hadn't?

On another note, Operation BAD? Seriously? That's the best acronym/name they could come up with? Seriously?

Antics and speeches

I haven't blogged in more than a month, and I really have no excuse other than a lack of effort. I have added yet another widget to my left sidebar, so you may take a look if you wish to do so.

Yesterday was an interesting day, for lack of a better word. For those not in the know, if there is any political stand I do hold, it is simply this: anti-BJP. And my disgust with that party grew tenfold yesterday.

Forget the fact that they were behaving like brattish school children with the way they were constantly interrupting various speeches and not letting Members speak. The entire drama they enacted with bringing money into the well of the House waving it about like frenzied idiots was absolutely sickening to see.

Let's accept for a while that their allegations are true - which I by no means do, if for no other reason than the facts that a) I'm biased, and b) I'd like to see some proof before I make up my mind. If the allegations are true, why couldn't those three MPs go the media or the Speaker (because I'm fairly sure going to the police, as Amar Singh suggested, is something no politician would ever do) as soon as it first happened? Why wait till an hour before the PM's speech, and 90 minutes before the actual vote?

I caught some of the speeches in the evening, including Omar Abdullah's absolutely brilliant speech. I had to go out after that, so i missed the whole part about the PM not being allowed to give his reply and therefore laying the text on the table, but I did read it this morning, and think it was pretty darn decent. I do wish our Prime Minister had more of a personality, however. His speech could be greatest thing since sliced bread, but one would never be able to tell because his delivery is usually so very... flat.

Another person I wish had better delivery is Rahul Gandhi. I caught his speech on the news channels at night, and while I appreciate most of what he said, including his responses to the idiots in the Opposition and the Speaker, his way of speaking was not that great. Omar Abdullah, on the other hand, was impassioned, furious, had conviction in his voice, and was just... brilliant.

While watching the news, I also happened to catch Rajdeep Sardesai on Cnn-IBN talking about the tapes he has and his statement that he is not part of any "larger political battle" and his decision to not telecast the tapes but instead hand them over to the Speaker. I admire his decision and all that, but I want to know what those tapes show.

I still hate the BJP though. And I'm extremely relieved the Congress is still in power. if only for another six months. And I really wonder what is going to happen to this country of ours.