My New Book

Escape
Okay. I can no longer keep it hidden: my new book, entitled ESCAPE, published by Picador India, is due out in the first week of November. I don't know at what resolution this image will appear (I have yet to go back and dig up a larger scan of Alice Albinia's book, featured in the post just before this one -- her cover was transformed into a miniature by the time it uploaded), but if it's normal, then it should be possible to read the back-cover blurb.

My editor has forbidden me to say anything even faintly negative about the book/its cover/myself -- which means I pretty much have to cork down right away. Well I suppose I am allowed to say positive things -- in which case I will confess to being really and truly relieved that I wasn't asked to produce a cover because now I ... ummm ... I suppose if I continue in this vein I will say something negative about myself. Okay, I've just GOT to finish that statement (yes, Shruti? Do you grant me that?) -- I realize that with most of my previous books, either I produced a cover that was utterly self-effacing or I refused to get involved in the totally awful covers that the publishers produced -- I will NOT, in this context refer to the title of the book whose cover was created by Picador UK, because it STILL gives me nightmares ...

I am glad to say that I find the current cover practically perfect (like Mary Poppins). Of course there IS something, one tiny thing, that I dis... uhhhhh ... okay! I'll stop right here. *sound of whip being cracked in the distance*

And ...

I'd like to draw attention to the blog newly added to my list on the left -- 30-in-2005 -- lively, feisty, frequently updated. I should've done it some time ago, following my own desire to showcase any site I return to regularly but laziness usually wins out over any other impulse in my world.

Empires of the INDUS

Empires of the INDUS by Alice Albinia
This is an invitation to attend the launch of Alice Albinia's "Empires of the INDUS", the inaugural title from Hachette India. I don't normally feature invitations to book launches at my blog so ... explanations? Well, Hachette India's CEO is my buddy Thomas Abraham and the author, Alice Albinia is someone I met many years ago, in Delhi. She had that quality of youth and freshness that made it possible to believe -- just very briefly -- in the idea that the world might be a rather nice place after all.

I haven't read her book, but I'm sure it must be brilliant because -- I cannot tell a lie -- because she e-mailed to invite me to the launch and in her message, mentioned that she'd quoted a passage from my book GETTING THERE in her book. Well! That's certainly never happened before and probably never will again: that book sank out of sight so fast it's hard to believe it was ever published. I can't help but feel Albinia's research must be very thorough indeed ...

Thomas says it might be worth carrying an actual copy of the invite to the Brit Council, security concerns being what they are these days.


DATE: 12th September, 2008
VENUE: British Council, 17 Kasturba Gandhi Marg, New Delhi
TIME: 7.00 p.m.

Growing Up Plural in a Singular World

This link goes to the Citizens for Peace site where Peter Griffin (also known as Zigzackly) has posted an essay by me with the above title. It's in response to an article entitled "We need to stop being such cowards about Islam" by Johann Hari in the Independent, UK, on Aug 14th 2008. Peter Griffin sent a link to his friends and I wrote my response after conferring with him.

It's worth reading Hari's piece before reading my response which appears in full below (if you go to the Citizens for Peace site, you'll read a proofed version -- Pete was kind enough to pass an editorial eye over it before posting. This was at my request since I can never write anything without including outrageous bloopers -- I can of course never see them till about a week later)


The question that began to appear in my head as I read Johann Hari's piece was: How long did it take before Christianity turned the corner that led away from witch-burning and towards enlightened rationalism? Seventeen centuries? Eighteen? Whatever the actual numbers, the point is, it surely took a long time and the changes that took place were wrought largely by thinkers and believers within the religion. That's a very different situation to the one in which the Islamic world finds itself today, in which profound transformations are being forced upon it by external forces, political as well as cultural.

So what I'm saying here is that we -- by which I am claiming membership to a global community of people who believe themselves to be enlightened rationalists -- need to refrain from piling on to Muslims and from making statements about their faith that they find hurtful or disrespectful. If that means we need to rein in some of our cherished freedoms of speech, then yes, so be it. We should do it cautiously, thoughtfully and with a view to creating greater freedoms in the long run.

What is being asked of Muslims by non-Muslims is that the Islamic world make an extreme turnaround without the benefit of a centuries-long process of introspection and carefully reasoned doubt. Yet even moderates and non-fanatics will pull back from the brink when their core beliefs are questioned or ridiculed by outsiders. In the arena of sports, for instance, it's a rare day when fans of one team will cross the floor to root for an opposing team -- and that's just sports, not god-and-cosmic-destiny. How much more must this be true in a world where faith is frequently tested at the point of a gun, or when small ethnic communities are pledged to maintain their customs and practices despite being surrounded by the beliefs of hostile neighbours?

I believe deeply in the principle of freedom of thought and speech. Nevertheless, I recognize that it is no longer possible to uphold those freedoms in a rigid, unidimensional way. We live in a world where monotheists must share space with other monotheists as well as polytheists, atheists, animists and perhaps various -ists who resist definition altogether. Maybe the price we pay for pluralism is having to redefine some core freedoms, having to be a little more inclusive about what each society considers "free" and having to wage painstaking battles over each redefinition. Making the effort might result in important insights being gained about the nature of pluralism and about what new elements might need to be packed into the small word "we" versus that bigger word, "they".

Take the issue of women wearing the veil (meaning the burkha). Belonging as I do to the veil-free segment of the world's communities I admit that I find it really unacceptable for women to be obliged to wear a garment that looks like a black bedsheet. However, over the course of many years of attempting to think cross-culturally, I have also come to think that the way women are manipulated by the fashion industry in Western countries is equally unpleasant. In fact, I have come around to thinking of the heavy make-up that (for instance) actresses and TV newsreaders wear as entirely analogous to the veil.

Think about it -- a fully made-up woman can no more give her face a good wipe-down with a hankie on a hot day than a woman with her face covered in a burkha. Make-up conceals faces while pretending to reveal them -- and many women who dress formally for their work-place joke about feeling "naked" without their lipstick and foundation cream. Being made up is supposed to be a choice that women make, but there's hardly much choice involved when, for many women, choosing not to meet cultural standards of personal grooming can result in losing jobs and career advancements.

But moderating attitudes to feminine dress codes to be inclusive of other cultures is just the front doorstep of adjusting to the realities of a culturally plural world. There are so many other levels. How do we train ourselves to be inclusive without becoming numbed to cultural signage? How do we let diversity in while leaving prejudice out?

Ever since the Dutch cartoons that inflamed Islamic sentiments around the world, I have been thinking through some of my beliefs, trying to understand the type of fanaticism that leads to violent confrontations. I am opposed to organized religion and have no faith in any gods. Even so, I realize that it's possible to sympathize with the profound discomfort that is caused when a cherished belief or beloved icon is treated disrespectfully by others. I have discovered that this is true even when there's no overt intention to be disrespectful and even when there is no faith or deep conviction involved.

Here is an anecdote: I can remember feeling unhappy when I was introduced to the much beloved family cat of well-travelled American friends. Out of genuine affection for their pet and for the pleasant memories of their visit to India, they had called their cat ... Shiva.

Believe me when I repeat myself -- I am NOT religious and I am very fond of cats. I even acknowledge that this cat was a creature of tremendous dignity and philosophical depth. Yet the sadness was real, and it came as a surprise to me. It forced me to understand that culture is a very complex phenomenon. That for my friends to name their cat Shiva was no different to my naming one of my pets Odin or Pluto. That this kind of affectionate naming is not really any different to bringing home a tribal artefact from some other part of the world, only to use it as a as a lamp stand or soap dish in my house.

At what point does the inappropriate cross-cultural use of an artefact become disrespectful? Only when a member of the tribe to which a totem-figure is significant crosses the doorstep of a home that uses that item as a soapdish? Or when the tribe-member is considered a social equal to the extent that his/her cultural sensitivities will be respected?

To return to the specifics of the freedom-of-speech issues in our globalized world, yes, of course it's true that many of the more extreme responses to Western media are motivated by cynical power-mongers, people who are only too eager to fix upon transgressions that can be squeezed for political advantage.

At the same time, I think we all need to remind ourselves continuously and consciously that every culture has its tender spots in which, if that culture is poked, it will react with "unreasonable" anger.

In the West today, perhaps the icons of Christianity no longer have the significance that, say, references to the Prophet have for Muslims. Perhaps Christian icons have become invulnerable to attack -- we know that there have been very many instances of desecrations by Westerners of various icons of Christianity in the name of Art without grand general meltdowns. Then again, it's possible that Western Christians have become invulnerable to assaults on their religion because they are feeling invulnerable in general. It isn't difficult for a culture to feel invulnerable when it continues to be besieged by would-be immigrants, when its currency is considered highly desirable even by its enemies and when its products and inventions continue to define the standards of inventiveness in our world.

I wonder though, if the relatively mild response to desecrations involving Christianity in the West might be linked to the fact that the desecrators are, typically, people making statements about themselves and their own culture? Would the response be different if the desecration originated not just from another culture, but from one that was regarded as a threat? If that were ever to be the case, would the response turn towards violence? Would the violence become increasingly desperate as the gulf between the two groups grew in depth and distance?

And does the level of violence indicate the level of commitment to a particular tradition -- or only to the level of insecurity of the group that wants to cling to that tradition in the face of opposition?

Returning to the theme of freedoms, I believe that one of the most direct examples of constraints that nevertheless result in greater freedoms is to be found in traffic regulation: when drivers observe the rules of the road, everyone gets around faster and with fewer accidents. The effects of the OPPOSITE approach are clear for all to see. In New Delhi for instance, where every driver applies his/her own definition of freedom on the road, we experience continuous mayhem, extreme traffic delays and daily fatalities.

It will of course be enormously difficult to attempt to create a system of "traffic regulation" which can apply to the world's cultures and to the way in which the international news media report on all our individual selves in all our plural situations.

But that shouldn't stop us from trying.

Maze!

Clicking this link will take you to a simple two-dimensional maze but with an interesting twist: after you've completed the initial one or two challenges the cursor moves in mirror-reverse! Even though your mind accepts this immediately, the eye-hand coordinator chip in your brain (oh, allRIGHT -- just MY brain, then!) takes a while to accept the new rules ...

There are ten levels. And once you're through, you can visit the home-site where there are DOZENS more games ...

Caferati's FLASH FICTION Contest

I'm posting the following invitation on behalf of my buddy Zig, of Caferati


Hi all,

We're delighted to be able to tell you about this contest we have just got up and running. We're presenting it in partnership with LiveJournal, one of the oldest, most respected names in the community blogging world.

It's a pretty simple challenge we have here, one that will particularly appeal to all the fiction writers among you, but light enough for those of you who prefer other forms of writing to give it a bash.

==========

Can you tell a quicker, snappier story than anyone else? Would you care to pit your story-telling abilities against those of your peers?

Quick Tales, the LiveJournal - Caferati Flash Fiction contest, asks you to tell us a story in 500 words or less. On offer: delicious cash prizes (top prize: Rs 19,999), global visibility and the chance to be part of a book.

You probably know what Flash Fiction is all about - we have run Flash Fic contests for the Kala Ghoda Arts Festival for the last three years, and FF tags and memes have been floating around the blogosphere for ages - but, just in case you do need a few starting tips, see this page: STARTING TIPS

The contest is open to residents of India who are members of LiveJournal's India Writing community. (If you're not an LJ member, joining is free. Click the "Create a LiveJournal Account" link at the top of any LJ page.) The theme is "Journal," and your deadline is 7th September.

Prizes? The top 5 winning entries take home cash prizes of Rs 19,999, Rs 16,000, Rs 12,000, Rs 8,000 and Rs 4,000, respectively. And the rest of the top ten get paid accounts on LJ for one year. Each of the top 100 entries will also be highlighted on LJ's India Writing community - for the world to see. (Short-listed stories may also be included in a book that LiveJournal plans to publish at a later date.)

Go straight through to our Quick Tales microsite for all the details, and don't forget to join India Writing, which is the place where all the updates will be happening. Live Journal has more plans for writers in all languages in India, and that community will be HQ.

==========

We'd also be very, very grateful if you chose to tell your friends about it, and, if you have a blog or personal site, or are a member of other writing communities, to link to the site as well.

Good luck, and we hope to see your entry soon!

Peter Griffin, Manisha Lakhe and Annie Zaidi
Editors & moderators, Caferati

Link to Express piece

Here's a link to the piece that appeared in the Indian Express yesterday (Thursday, Aug 7th, 2008) entitled Whose Right Is It Anyway? I thought it might be worth providing a link on account of the comments from people who read the story there, then came here and found the article on Naga Naresh.

An Ah-maaazing and Inspiring Story

I got this story in the mail from -- no, NOT Anvar this time -- but Amar. I don't know who wrote the article or where it was published.

[a couple of hours later. I found a number of blog links of which I'm posting just one. There seems to be some disagreement about the correct spelling of his name. I've decided to go with the one featured in this title, but the article spells the name with an "a"] Naga Naresh Karuturi

'God has always been planning things for me'
NagaNareshKaruturi-01

Naga Naresh Karutura has just passed out of IIT Madras in Computer Science and has joined Google in Bangalore .

You may ask, what's so special about this 21-year-old when there are hundreds of students passing out from various IITs and joining big companies like Google?

Naresh is special. His parents are illiterate. He has no legs and moves around in his powered wheel chair. (In fact, when I could not locate his lab, he told me over the mobile phone, 'I will come and pick you up'. And in no time, he was there to guide me)

Ever smiling, optimistic and full of spirit; that is Naresh. He says, "God has always been planning things for me. That is why I feel I am lucky."

Childhood in a village
I spent the first seven years of my life in Teeparru, a small village in Andhra Pradesh, on the banks of the river Godavari . My father Prasad was a lorry driver and my mother Kumari, a house wife. Though they were illiterate, my parents instilled in me and my elder sister (Sirisha) the importance of studying.

Looking back, one thing that surprises me now is the way my father taught me when I was in the 1st and 2nd standards. My father would ask me questions from the text book, and I would answer them. At that time, I didn't know he could not read or write but to make me happy, he helped me in my studies!

Another memory that doesn't go away is the floods in the village and how I was carried on top of a buffalo by my uncle. I also remember plucking fruits from a tree that was full of thorns.

I used to be very naughty, running around and playing all the time with my friends. I used to get a lot of scolding for disturbing the elders who slept in the afternoon. The moment they started scolding, I would run away to the fields!

I also remember finishing my school work fast in class and sleeping on the teacher's lap!

January 11, 1993, the fateful day
On the January 11, 1993 when we had the sankranti holidays, my mother took my sister and me to a nearby village for a family function. From there we were to go with our grandmother to our native place. But my grandmother did not come there. As there were no buses that day, my mother took a lift in my father's friend's lorry. As there were many people in the lorry, he made me sit next to him, close to the door.

It was my fault; I fiddled with the door latch and it opened wide throwing me out. As I fell, my legs got cut by the iron rods protruding from the lorry. Nothing happened to me except scratches on my legs.

The accident had happened just in front of a big private hospital but they refused to treat me saying it was an accident case. Then a police constable who was passing by took us to a government hospital.

First I underwent an operation as my small intestine got twisted. The doctors also bandaged my legs. I was there for a week. When the doctors found that gangrene had developed and it had reached up to my knees, they asked my father to take me to a district hospital. There, the doctors scolded my parents a lot for neglecting the wounds and allowing the gangrene to develop. But what could my ignorant parents do?

In no time, both my legs were amputated up to the hips.

I remember waking up and asking my mother, where are my legs? I also remember that my mother cried when I asked the question. I was in the hospital for three months.

Life without legs
I don't think my life changed dramatically after I lost both my legs. Because all at home were doting on me, I was enjoying all the attention rather than pitying myself. I was happy that I got a lot of fruits and biscuits.

'I never wallowed in self-pity'

The day I reached my village, my house was flooded with curious people; all of them wanted to know how a boy without legs looked. But I was not bothered; I was happy to see so many of them coming to see me, especially my friends!

All my friends saw to it that I was part of all the games they played; they carried me everywhere.

God's hand
I believe in God. I believe in destiny. I feel he plans everything for you. If not for the accident, we would not have moved from the village to Tanuku, a town. There I joined a missionary school, and my father built a house next to the school. Till the tenth standard, I studied in that school.

If I had continued in Teeparu, I may not have studied after the 10th. I may have started working as a farmer or someone like that after my studies. I am sure God had other plans for me.

My sister, my friend
When the school was about to reopen, my parents moved from Teeparu to Tanuku, a town, and admitted both of us in a Missionary school. They decided to put my sister also in the same class though she is two years older. They thought she could take care of me if both of us were in the same class. My sister never complained.

She would be there for everything. Many of my friends used to tell me, you are so lucky to have such a loving sister. There are many who do not care for their siblings.

She carried me in the school for a few years and after a while, my friends took over the task. When I got the tricycle, my sister used to push me around in the school.

My life, I would say, was normal, as everyone treated me like a normal kid. I never wallowed in self-pity. I was a happy boy and competed with others to be on top and the others also looked at me as a competitor.

Inspiration
I was inspired by two people when in school; my Maths teacher Pramod Lal who encouraged me to participate in various local talent tests, and a brilliant boy called Chowdhary, who was my senior.

When I came to know that he had joined Gowtham Junior College to prepare for IIT-JEE, it became my dream too. I was school first in 10th scoring 542/600.

Because I topped in the state exams, Gowtham Junior College waived the fee for me. Pramod Sir's recommendation also helped. The fee was around Rs 50,000 per year, which my parents could never afford.

Moving to a residential school
Living in a residential school was a big change for me because till then my life centred around home and school and I had my parents and sister to take care of all my needs. It was the first time that I was interacting with society. It took one year for me to adjust to the new life.

There, my inspiration was a boy called K K S Bhaskar who was in the top 10 in IIT-JEE exams. He used to come to our school to encourage us. Though my parents didn't know anything about Gowtham Junior School or IIT, they always saw to it that I was encouraged in whatever I wanted to do. If the results were good, they would praise me to the skies and if bad, they would try to see something good in that. They did not want me to feel bad.

They are such wonderful supportive parents.

Life at IIT- Madras
Though my overall rank in the IIT-JEE was not that great (992), I was 4th in the physically handicapped category. So, I joined IIT, Madras to study Computer Science.

Here, my role model was Karthik who was also my senior in school. I looked up to him during my years at IIT- Madras.

He had asked for attached bathrooms for those with special needs before I came here itself. So, when I came here, the room had attached bath. He used to help me and guide me a lot when I was here.

I evolved as a person in these four years, both academically and personally. It has been a great experience studying here. The people I was interacting with were so brilliant that I felt privileged to sit along with them in the class. Just by speaking to my lab mates, I gained a lot.

'There are more good people in society than bad ones'
NagaNareshKaruturi-02

Words are inadequate to express my gratitude to Prof Pandurangan and all my lab mates; all were simply great. I was sent to Boston along with four others for our internship by Prof Pandurangan. It was a great experience.

Joining Google R&D

I did not want to pursue PhD as I wanted my parents to take rest now.

Morgan Stanley selected me first but I preferred Google because I wanted to work in pure computer science, algorithms and game theory.

I am lucky
Do you know why I say I am lucky?

I get help from total strangers without me asking for it. Once after my second year at IIT, I with some of my friends was travelling in a train for a conference. We met a kind gentleman called Sundar in the train, and he has been taking care of my hostel fees from then on.

I have to mention about Jaipur foot. I had Jaipur foot when I was in 3rd standard. After two years, I stopped using them. As I had almost no stems on my legs, it was very tough to tie them to the body. I found walking with Jaipur foot very, very slow. Sitting also was a problem. I found my tricycle faster because I am one guy who wants to do things faster.

One great thing about the hospital is, they don't think their role ends by just fixing the Jaipur foot; they arrange for livelihood for all. They asked me what help I needed from them. I told them at that time, if I got into an IIT, I needed financial help from them. So, from the day I joined IIT, Madras , my fees were taken care of by them. So, my education at the IIT was never a burden on my parents and they could take care of my sister's Nursing studies.

Surprise awaited me at IIT
After my first year, when I went home, two things happened here at the Institute without my knowledge.

I got a letter from my department that they had arranged a lift and ramps at the department for me. It also said that if I came a bit early and checked whether it met with my requirements, it would be good.

Second surprise was, the Dean, Prof Idichandy and the Students General Secretary, Prasad had located a place that sold powered wheel chairs. The cost was Rs 55,000. What they did was, they did not buy the wheel chair; they gave me the money so that the wheel chair belonged to me and not the institute.

My life changed after that. I felt free and independent.

That's why I say I am lucky. God has planned things for me and takes care of me at every step.

The world is full of good people
I also feel if you are motivated and show some initiative, people around you will always help you. I also feel there are more good people in society than bad ones. I want all those who read this to feel that if Naresh can achieve something in life, you can too.

Kenyan poet, Shailja Patel

I'm posting a link to a poem I just read, called Drum Rider by a young Kenyan poet of whom I had not heard till this morning: Shailja Patel.

I'm also posting the poem, but I may remove it (-- okay, I've removed it. Had cold feet. Will send an e-mail asking the lady if she objects)(she DOES object. So please go visit her site).

I received the poem by e-mail from Rubin D'Cruz, director of the Kerala State Institute of Children's Literature (whom I met last November, in Goa as part of the Indo-Swedish workshop I attended there). He was present at the Swedish literary meet (WALTIC -- Writers And Literary Translators International Conference), at which Patel performed her piece. It must have been very powerful.

Loopy Logos

I posted some logos here earlier but on second thoughts decided they weren't worthy of being blogged for all posterity (ha). So I've left just one of them in. It -- and its friends -- got a chuckle out of me when I got it by e-mail from (you guessed it!) Anvar but up here in my blog they seemed to lose their sparkle. Whatever. Here's the best one:

Logo-01

Sadness

The morning after taking the photographs below, I found E holding the bird in his hands. Then he looked up and said, "He's dying."

It was a painful shock -- even though I could see right away that there was something wrong with the little body. E said he'd found him that way a few moments earlier. There was no sign of any external injury. The eyes were shut but he seemed to be experiencing some type of convulsions. It was very sad to be unable to do anything to help.

We wrapped him in a bit of soft cloth and then I just held him in my hand till the tiny whirring sensation that signified he was still alive gradually ceased. It didn't take very long, perhaps ten minutes. I am glad that at the very least, it didn't happen in the darkness and all alone. It occurred to me that perhaps the saddest of fates is to be alone at the time of death. It must happen to so many people! Of course, one could argue that it hardly matters, since the dying person is not going to "know" -- since he/she will then be dead ...

Whatever.

We're guessing that it was the diet that did in our little guest -- we should've been able to hunt up a few spiders or at least some caterpilars to feed him. Instead we were lulled into complacence by the fact that he did appear to be managing on the tiny scraps of meat we were feeding him -- in the sense that we could see it was certainly being processed, judging by the little white deposits that appeared at regular intervals. Alas, we were wrong.

I will remember a sweet moment: I was lying on the bed, napping, when he flew down from his favourite perch, on the ceiling fan (off, of course) and landed on my tummy. Then he just stood there and had a bit of snooze too!

Bird Season (again)

RobinChick-01

RobinChick-02

Four days ago, E was walking around the local Community Centre when he happened to see a tiny bird attempting to break into the Standard Chartered Bank ATM salon. According to the security guard sitting by the door, the bird had been there ALL DAY. So of course E picked it up and brought it home.

It appears to be a young robin, able to fly, but not quite ready to leave home. He's (I think it's male, going by the picture of the adults in Salim Ali) survived so far, but every day we worry about his prospects. He's an insectivore so we've been force-feeding him tiny kababs of mutton, but we realize that spiders would be much more to his taste. Ordinarily this house is awash in spiders, but of course now that we want to find some, there isn't a SINGLE ONE IN SIGHT.

Washington Post Invitational

In case it isn't already obvious, this post is aimed at women rather than at men. Or at any rate, those women (or men) who wear women's underpants, hereinafter to be referred to as "undies".

It's very possible that millions of you have never been annoyed by the need to remove undies while peeing. This could be because you either do not wear undies (perfectly reasonable -- one of my cousins (and I will NOT say which) told me, years ago, that her mother didn't believe in wearing 'em. I was deeply impressed) or because you have already discovered the solution I am about to reveal or because you wear split-crotch panties, which, I am told, nonscarlet ladies know nothing about, despite having seen salacious advertisements for them (the undies, not the ladies) in comicbook end-pages. Whatever the reasons, this post is not aimed at you but at all your friends and relatives who have not yet seen the light (but would like to).

The solution is this: you prepare yourself to pee without removing the undies -- whether sitting or squatting -- and then you just reach underneath yourself, pull your undie aside and, umm, pee. It's as simple and brainless as that. Most undies these days have elastic around all their edges, and even if they don't, it makes very little difference: the gusset underneath is very easy to pull aside and just as easy to return to its position.

Amazing as it may be to confess this, I have spent some part of my 55 years fretting about having to pee out in the open, while en route to a picnic spot (or indeed AT a picnic spot since I belong to the generation and type of family that believed it was utterly bourgeois to frequent picnic spots which had been created for picnickers, complete with cement-concrete benches and public toilets). I don't go out on picnics or long-distance car journeys anywhere near as often as I used to as a child, but it does happen now and then.

Just last week, f'rinstance, when I was in Bombay, I went up to Panchgani in the company of my friends A and J, who drive up every weekend, to visit their farm. I may blog about this visit at greater length some other time, but on this occasion, the relevant point I want to make is that, as one might expect of farmland that was only bought last year, there was no loo. A and J, being men, had no concerns. I knew that I would, eventually. When that time arrived, I was pointed in the direction of a handy tree, behind a screen of walls and bushes.

This was when I, for the first time, employed the above-described method of peeing without having to bare the royal bum to the elements. The weird thing is, I've thought of it many times but never actually done it. Can't explain why. After all, there are many occasions when (in trains, in airport toilets) the only available toilet is a floor-level squatter. If you are anything like me, then you will have cursed the need to be perched above the toilet-pan with your ankles shackled in a tiny elastic undie that has been stretched to breaking point, while you pee. The option is to partially disrobe. This means removing the undie from one leg, which means that you must balance on one foot while performing this operation, attempting all the while to prevent the intimate underparts of your garment coming in contact with your germ-laden shoe as the undie passes over it ...

Well. You get the picture. It's been a nuisance. And yet I've never, before last week, considered the very simple solution described above.

Isn't that astonishing? The funny thing is, it really is less hassle and yet I must report a peculiar resistance to doing it -- like discovering that I'm a closet-Nazi and not wanting to admit it. I don't even know if it's unusual. Is it? I don't normally discuss peeing procedures with my friends (or even, it must be admitted, with my enemies) nor do I attempt to watch what others do, so I have no existing fund of information to share on the subject. I did once review a book called THE BATHROOM, by Alexander Kira, but that was many years ago and anyway, it did not concern itself with undies at all but the design of bathroom fixtures.

I need hardly add, moving the panty aside is the easier solution to disrobing prior to peeing wherever one needs to go, at home as well as anywhere else -- yet I still prefer to take the longer route (i.e., the pull-'em-down approach)! This reluctance is, in my opinion, bizarre, so I have begun applying corrective measures.

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And when you've disentangled yourself from your underwear, here's a list of words distilled from the WASHINGTON POST MENSA INVITATIONAL, sent to me by my tireless buddy Anvar. Some really good ones. Lists like this are a serious JOBSTACLE ...


Contemporary words you should know

Pagerism
A journalist using someone else's beeper

Fartcical
A small, barely audible emission of wind from the anus, ridiculous in nature.

Forlornication
Unhappy, miserable, desperate sexual intercourse between two unmarried persons.

Meanderthal
Large, unintelligent, hairy people meandering obliviously in your path and not letting you pass by

Celebation
Party at a monastery or convent

Deja pu
The inexplicable sense that you have smelled that malodorous gas before

Assimilatte
An attempt to get people from different coffee drinking cultures to live happily ever after in caffeinated harmony

Cantelope
A species simlar to the antelope, who can't do anything

Anurhythm
A song that gets stuck in your head despite all your efforts to get it out

Guiltar
A musical instrument whose strings are pulled by your mother.

Screwpulous
A conscientious, meticulous, thorough fuck

Askhole
An individual who disrupts andprolongs a meeting with an irritating series of foolish questions

Mastabrasion
A genital injury resulting from overzealous self-gratification.

Plea Market
A flea market where you have to beg for the lowest price

Lessbian
A lesbian who's just not quite sure

Hindkerchief
Really, really expensive toilet paper. Like the kind you find at Buckingham Palace

Geekabyte
A unit of computer memory so enormous it can only be comprehended by Steve Jobs.

Foxymoron
A member of the opposite sex who you tolerate, despite their stupidity, because they are ridiculously good-looking.

Aeropain
Lower back discomfort experienced when not seated in business class.

Thyme-machine
A laundry appliance for washing futuristic herbs.

Deturdgent
Suds specially formulated to remove those embarrassing brown stains from underpants.

Chronic Fartigue Syndrome
Medical condition where excessive flatulence causes exhaustion.

Intepid Traveller
A tourist who is absolutely fearless of luke-warm water.

Centrifungal Force
A phenomenon in physics whereby mushrooms are pushed to outer edge of a high speed rotating object.

Infartuation
An inexplicable attraction to someone who can effortlessly and frequently clear a room.

Stereo-type
Keying words or data in time to a Rolling Stones LP.

Turnacious
A singular focus and complete commitment to taking the next street on the left.

Myxomatosis
A condition resulting when toe replacement surgery goes horribly wrong

Feng-shuin
The artful shifting, placement, and ultimate arrangement of butt cheeks to achieve harmony with the seat of a bicycle.

Slovereign
An unkempt monarch

Tequila Bunrise
A drink made from tequila that makes you want to shake your ass

Jobstacle
Anything that prevents you from doing your work

Rambodextrious
Hands like Sylvester Stallone

Edible complex
A man who is totally in love with his mother's cooking

Burniture
Chairs you get from a fire sale

ATTENTION: all e-mail users

Got this in the mail from my sister G, who got it from someone else ...


Subject: appreciate your mail-MANY THANX for keeping me on your E-mail address list!!

My thanks to all those who have sent me emails this past year........

I must send my thanks to whoever sent me the one about rat shit in the glue on envelopes because I now have to use a wet towel with every envelope that needs sealing.

Also, I now have to scrub the top of every can I open for the same reason.

I no longer have any savings because I gave it to a sick girl (Penny Brown); who is about to die in the hospital for the 1,387,258th time.

I no longer have any money at all, but that will change once I receive the "$$$150,000" that Bill Gates/Microsoft and AOL are sending me for participating in their special e-mail program ....

Or from the senior bank clerk in Nigeria who wants me to split $7 million with me for pretending to be a long lost relative of a customer who died.

I no longer worry about my soul because I have 363,214 angels looking out for me, and St. Theresa's novena has granted my every wish.

I no longer use cancer-causing deodorants even though I smell like a water buffalo on a hot day.

Thanks to you, I have learned that my prayers only get answered if I forward e-mails to seven of my friends and make a wish within five minutes.

Because of your concern, I no longer drink Coca-Cola because it can remove toilet stains.

I no longer can buy petrol without taking a friend along to watch the car so a serial killer won't crawl in my back seat when I'm filling up.

I no longer go to shopping malls because someone will drug me with an aftershave sample and rob and rape me.

I no longer answer the phone because someone will ask me to dial a number for which I will get a phone bill with calls to Jamaica , Uganda , Singapore and Uzbekistan.

Thanks to you, I can't use anyone's toilet but mine, because a big brown African spider is lurking under the seat to cause me instant death when it bites my bum.

And thanks to your great advice, I can't even pick up the £50.00 I found dropped in the car park because it probably was placed there by a sex molester waiting underneath my car to grab my leg.

If you don't send this e-mail to at least 144,000 people in the next 70 minutes, a large dove with diarrhoea will land on your head at 5:00pm this afternoon and the fleas from 12 camels will infest your back, causing you to grow a hairy hump.

I know this will occur because it actually happened to a friend of my next door neighbour's ex-mother-in-law's second husband's cousin's beauticians relative once removed.

By the way ....
a South American scientist after a lengthy study has discovered that people with low IQ, who have infrequent sexual activity always read their e-mails with their hand on the mouse.

Don't bother taking it off now, it's too late!
--

Updates, Updates ...

Markku Salo, Finnish Glass Museum, Riihimaki, 2008

This is just one of the many beautiful pieces of glass art I saw at the Finnish Glass Museum in Riihimaki -- the artist's name is Markku Salo and my photograph in no way does justice to the piece. My camera's battery died before I could take many more -- but even if it hadn't, I would urge you to take a look at his web-site if you want to see more of his work.

Briefly ...

... we're leaving for Delhi tonight. Regular blogging will resume (i.e., regularly irregular) in a day. I have much to report, having visited three very good and VERY different museums in Finland yesterday -- a wonderful glass museum, the excellent Tibetan show in Tampere and finally a most delightful permanent exhibition at the Moomin museum, also in Tampere.

Needless to say, my camera's battery failed almost immediately ... but I managed to get a couple of pix from the glass museum. I'll post them here once I'm back at my home 'puter.

Travel Notez

Sayre, PA. 20-23rd June. Unknown to the world this small town (one cinema house, two traffic lights) is the Centre of the Universe. All members of my clan and most of their friends have made the trek at some time of their lives. As a result, it should come as no surprise that I am going to be here for my 55th birthday (TOMORROW!!!! Yow). I plan to spend it lying on my back with my feet in the air, gorging on chocolates, but my sister tells me that she has more energetic planz for me ... *grin*

My journey to Sayre was via New York -- and I have been wanting to share the observation that for the ENTIRE FOUR AND A HALF HOURS from Boston to New York on the Peter Pan bus, two middle-aged men (possibly Italian) talked NONSTOP. They spoke in soft voices and were not irritating or annoying in any way, but by the end of the journey I wanted to nuke em both. Failing which, I wanted to blog about em. And now I have.

Boston June 18-19th. Arrived back in Bos from Newport. Went right over to the T-Mobile shop to complete the transfer of my %^!!&^%%@# Sprint number to the newly acquired T-Mobile SIM. So now I have two phones, both with the same number. According to T-Mobile, the Sprint account will "automatically" terminate itself (hysterical laughter fades into the distance) -- yeah RIGHT. Like life would be so easy. We shall see! By evening of the 18th, I had two phones with the same number. Both appeared to work, but I have turned the Sprint phone off.

We had a great dinner at home with my niece and her new beau -- as this is being aired on the web I will not puncture the lives and privacies of all and sundry, by revealing anything more except that she cooked shrimp a Creole-Inde (her spontaneous creation) with rice and fresh green salad, we all stuffed ourselves silly and talked nearly continuously for two hours -- quite a feat, considering we were all eating continuously as well -- I believe we took turns, holding forth.

19th was the day designated for E to leave for Vermont, which he did, at the crack of dawn. Dawn cracks around 4.30 a.m. in these parts, so immediately after accompanying him to South Station (yes! Wasn't that nice of me? I even managed to avoid eating a Dunkin Doughnut on the way back), I came back and slept till noon.

14-18th June: Newport. I am running out of time at this moment, so I will merely say that we had a wonderful stay AS ALWAYS and had to tear ourselves away with a huge effort.

11-13th June: arrived in Boston, checked in at my niece's beautiful little apartment in Alrington -- she was away, so we didn't expect to see her, but we were very grateful for the safe and comfortable haven, from which we could make forays to the mall (jeans and v-neck vests for E) and on Friday, had a wonderful day-spend with a Tibetan friend of E's, terminating with lunch at his home.

This is all for the moment! More later.

Finland!

... is where I am right now, en route to the US. We're staying with a dear friend, an exceptional, amazing person called Oppi Untracht, whose apartment is like a museum -- no, it's more accurate to say it IS a museum, but a residential one. It's filled to bursting with a display art objects created over a lifetime of collecting. Even the briefest description would take at least three pages -- and that would only cover the desk I'm sitting at! He had a special interest in India and Indian art and jewellery, so there are very many familiar objects around, but unusually beautiful and original versions of them. His wife, a highly acclaimed Finnish designer and artist called Saara Hopea who died many years ago, made marvellous jewellery and glassware. Her work and her personality fill the house too, so even though I never met her, I can feel her presence here, warm and creative. A wonderful influence.

Oppi's not well, so E and I take turns spending time with him in his room.

When we're not talking to him or sitting at the computer, we're walking around the small town of Porvoo, which is on a river of the same name (I think! I never do any research when I travel, which means that practically all my descriptions are based on sights, smells, tastes and sounds rather than hard fact). By the water's edge, there is a row of red 'barns' -- actually old warehouses -- which are so quaint it's quite unbearable. I made a couple of sketches of them, but am feeling frustrated that we're going to be leaving too soon (tomorrow) for me to really bond with them. There's SO much to draw! The barns ... their reflections in the river ... the church steeple behind ... the clouds, the sky, cobblestones ...

We're here at a time of year which I had previously only read about in my geography book -- the season of the midnight sun. Last night I actually set the alarm clock on my cellphone to wake me at 2 a.m. -- I had of course just gone to sleep at 1 -- to see whether or not the sky would darken any further. And it did NOT. I tried to stay up for the dawn, but only managed a bleary eyelid-prop around 4 -- not much change outside -- but the sky was heavily overcast, so it was hard to tell. As a result of the 24 hours of daylight, we arrive at 10.30 p.m. without any sense that the day is drawing to close! Quite amazing. It feels very much like two days being fitted into the space of one ...

Moomin (the comic strip) belongs to Finland, as do Fiskars scissors and Nokia phones. I don't especially see more phones or scissors around, but cute little Moomins peek out at us from every second curio-shop and also from occasional billboards and street signs! Very sweet. I realize now that I never managed to get quite enough Moomin in my life, and may have to rectify that absence with a book ...

Not that I want to spend any money. In years gone past, I used to visit England and think, "Oh! Only ONE POUND!" -- and my mental calculation skills were too weak to make the conversion to roops. Now, of course, my calculation skills are so weak that I don't even try -- but I can feel my credit card trembling whenever I look at a price tag expressed in Euros. So I don't.

Seen & Heard

PERFUME

I spent a week in Madras and managed to inhale eight movies while I was there -- WARNING: product endorsement coming up!! -- on my sister's gorgeous HP 17" screen laptop. At the Ah-MAAAAZING price of Rs 33K it is a glory to behold and works like a dream.

Anyway! I thought it was right and proper to file a handful of quickie reviews.
First up is PERFUME: The Story of a Murderer, directed by Tom Tykwer. I read the book of that name by Patrick Suskind maybe ten years ago and though I liked it, can't say I loved it or remembered it while compiling lists of favourites. The movie was faithful to the novel and strangely moving, all considered. After all, it IS about a murderer and his obsessive passion for the perfect scent but there was something deeply touching about the performance. I don't think I felt that way about the hero of the book, but in the movie, the English actor Ben Whishaw lent an air of extraordinary innocence and melancholy to the role. It was easy to sympathize with him. By the end of the movie, I could practically smell the flowers ...

I am going to list all the movies with their links right away and write my brief takes as and when I find the time.


THE KITE RUNNER directed by Marc Foster. I haven't read the book (by Khaled Abdalla) but I liked the movie even though the final third of it was so wholly unlikely that it was as good as a fairytale. I don't have any first-hand experience of the Taliban, but something tells me they would simply NEVER allow an USA-returned Afghan to leave their camp and/or their country alive and intact, no matter what the past connection. But I enjoyed the early scenes of pre-Taliban Afghanistan, which reminded me of my brief holidays in Iran as a child; I thought faces of the actors and bystanders in the movie were beautiful and I loved hearing the spoken language -- understanding odd words here and there -- which seemed highly refined, sweet on the ears; I thought the children's performances were good. And I was grateful that it wasn't too unbearably sad, even though I know that there must be a thousand-times-thousand stories that are both true and heart-rendingly tragic.

ATONEMENT directed by Joe Wright. I think I remember enjoying the book by Ian McEwan more than the movie -- right until the end, when I thought the book and the movie both produced a strange, unsatisfied result. All through the book, I had enjoyed the terrible sense of injustice which the book so knowingly explores, not merely that a child could get away with making an atrocious accusation but also that we can all be betrayed by time -- i.e., Time -- the cold imperviousness with which one moment of stolen pleasure separates the next moment of disastrous discovery, leaving us to spend the rest of our lives shattered by those intolerable if-onlys. Yet in the movie, just as in the book, I couldn't quite believe in the ending. It was appropriate, yes -- and clever, yes -- and insightful. But not satisfying.

NO COUNTRY FOR OLD MEN directed by Ethan Coen and Joel Coen. The best part of this movie, for me, was the way that one is allowed to remain bizarrely hopeful all the way through -- in spite of all the portents that Xavier Bardem is a monster par excellence. There's nothing more to say -- it cleans you out -- and at the end, you marvel at the exquisite emptiness of it all. It reminds me of a toy I read a description of -- a clockwork hand which, when you turn on a switch, stirs to life, reaches around to its rear and turns itself off.

I AM LEGEND directed by Francis Lawrence. I've been wanting to see this ever since it came out -- and wasn't disappointed. It scared me more than I expected -- no, really: I had to watch the final quarter with the sound off. I find Will Smith highly watchable so it was easy on the eyes and the post-apocalyptic theme is one that I am, for various reasons, especially interested in these days. I don't know if I'd recommend it -- those Nasties (they've got several different names in the movie -- Dark Seekers is one) really are creepy and hopeless -- they take off from where the red-eyed zombies in 28 Days leave off. But I'm glad I saw it. In a gloomy sort of way.

JUNO directed by Jason Reitman.
Bitter-sweet, mildly amusing fluff about a pregteen-finds-foster-mom-for-her-unborn story. It was a pleasant relief to encounter a father who was just ... Dad, The Nice Guy (rather than Dad, The Hairy-nosed Raver or Dad, The Impossible Angel) and a step-mom who was ditzy but came through. Juno, the pregteen was believably 16 -- i.e., not a child, and yet, in that sad, confusing way not yet an adult.


BEE MOVIE directed by Steve Hickner. Fun! And VERY odd. I mean, what kind of movie even WANTS to attempt a romance between a human and a bee? As in WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY(swat)? But -- as it happens -- I'm fond of bees, I bee-lieve in them and I'm glad that someone's paid tribute to these amazing little critturs from whom we steal honey so shamelessly.

THE DEVIL WEARS PRADA directed by David Frankel. And finally, this light but unexpectedly thoughtful flick set in the fashion industry. Nothing that happens in the movie is a revelation but it's got a little spark of magic -- Meryl Streep is her name -- umm, so make that a BIG spark -- and for that reason, it works.

On the air again at Another Subcontinent

Red Field



Back in December 2004, I had a show at the Sarala Art Centre in Madras. I showed a collection of prints and collages, of which the prints were later featured at Another Subcontinent, a lively US-based site for netizens belonging to and interested in SouthAsiana. Currently, AnotherSub has very graciously displayed the collages (or "squiggle paintings" or "hybrids" -- I haven't found a particularly good handle for them -- they're not exactly paintings OR collages) at the site, in a show entitled Dit-Dot-Dash. Please go visit!

Elephantastic!

In case you've not already seen this, believe me, it's worth a visit. Don't worry about the French, since the video doesn't exactly require any explanation.

Un éléphant, ça peint énormément
LE MONDE | 22.04.08

©

Last week I wrote a review of The White Tiger in OUTLOOK magazine -- and a couple of friends called in response to the review -- one of them, while standing in Landmark Bookshop in Madras, with a copy of the book in his hand (he promised he wouldn't buy it ... but who knows? Maybe he lied)! On the rare occasions that someone calls to say he/she's read something of mine in the press, it'll be a slash'n'run review. When it's a favourable assessment the only person who MIGHT call is the author. Ah well. "Everyone Loves a Good Bloodletting" might make a good title for a collection of vicious book reviews.

Keeping this in mind, I'd love to post a link to a favourable review by me, this time in BIBLIO of Sara Paretsky's autobiography entitled WRITING IN AN AGE OF SILENCE -- but I CAN'T coz it's not "free" (i.e., it's not enough to register, you have to buy the right to read it). I liked the book and recommend it highly -- not just to admirers of Paretsky's novels -- very noir, very Chicago, centred on woman private eye, V I Warshawski -- but anyone who enjoys reading a tight, highly focused autobiography, as much about coming of age in the US of the sixties as about becoming a celebrated crime-fiction author.

I've been wanting to blog about the Starving Dog Exhibition for some time now. These pictures were being circulated along with an appeal to sign a petition to prevent the artist from repeating his "exhibit" -- but it turns out there may have been some mis-understandings regarding the artist's intentions. I signed the petition right away, feeling immediately nauseated by the pictures and the story and also forwarded the pictures on to friends. It's hard not to feel silly afterwards -- esp since I don't normally forward appeals or sign petitions. The artist claims that his intention was to draw attention to the wretched plight of street dogs in Nicaragua.

Regardless of what he and the gallery spokespeople now claim about the actual events (that the dog was NOT kept in the gallery to starve and die while callous visitors just looked on; that it was released in three hours and/or escaped anyway after the first day) it is surely deeply offensive to use a living creature in this way. It's bad enough that the poor creature and all its fellow-sufferers -- animal as well as human, everywhere in the world -- suffer at all, but for an artist to use that suffering to further his own career is really too degrading all around -- and supremely lazy. It's like, "Hey, I can't draw but so what? I can drag the subject of my artistic inspiration into the gallery and show it to y'all and call it an installation! Yow! Ain't I smart?"

He's received death-threats and universal condemnation, but what about all the visitors to the gallery who did not try to feed or water the poor animal, all those who did not react immediately with outrage? Everyone's to blame.