BAKER STREET

BAKER STREET

Okay, here's the story: I heard this tune maybe thirty-one years ago, in a club or discotheque -- it went straight to the bedrock of my being and remained there, WITHOUT A NAME, for all this time. Every so often, I would hear the sweet-hot saxophone solo playing somewhere in the distance and something would turn over inside me -- and I would still not know the name of the song.

Cut to ... ten days ago. At a FedEx counter in Long Island, NYC. I had to mail my passport to the British Consulate and was a bit tense (I HATE mailing my passport anywhere. I am convinced I will never see it again, etc etc). But the man behind the counter was exceptionally calm and confidence-boosting. Just as I completed the address on the mailing envelope, BAKER STREET began to play on the radio. On an impulse, I asked the man whether he knew the name of the tune and he said, after a slight pause "... uh, that's ... Baker's Street."

Ahhhhhh! Heavenly relief!

I have been sneaking off to YouTube to hear it every couple of days ...

Meanwhile, in Newport ... no, I've NOT been sleeping, even though I've certainly not been posting daily activities either. The past few days have been so pleasant I've been feeling too much like a seagull soaring on an updraft to write about it! But today's my last day and I thought I'd enter a few notes.

Day ONE (Sunday 24th June): I had a hilarious time baking bread -- it was a mess! I did everything wrong! And it STILL PRODUCED EDIBLE LOAVES! This is the amazing thing. I mean, when I say I did everything wrong, it was essentially a case of paying the wrong kind of attention to temperature. Instead of just planning in advance to ensure that the yeast was correctly set up to eat its sugar quietly and fluff itself up, I instead soaked it in milk that wasn't quite hot enough, then tried to keep it warm by placing it over a pan of boiling water, so that it got scalded, then I used it anyway and made all the same mistakes again with the dough. The wretched lump of flour-water-salt just sat in its bowl, looking miserable, while I attempted to keep it warm by repeatedly over-heating it so that its outer skin became leathery.

Finally, recognizing that this wasn't going anywhere, I shaped two short batons and stuck them in the oven, expecting that the result would be two very hot batons, now converted to stone. Surprise! The dough DID rise a little bit and it developed a nice little crust and though the interior was not aerated half enough, the sliced results were quite tasty and edible. I am now convinced that bread will make itself regardless of what abuse the would-be baker subjects the dough to ...

For dinner that day, G pan-fried some shrimp with garlic and pesto and we ate them with angelhair pasta. Delish.

Day TWO:
It was my turn to make something for dinner and I chose Shepherd's Pie. It came out effortlessly well -- I mean, if I had to quibble, I'd say it could have been a little more moist. But otherwise ... really. It's embarrassing.

Day THREE:
G went out to the beach with a friend, in the afternoon. I made another two loaves of bread. And this time, realizing that room temp wasn't warm enough, I got the sequence of warmings and risings correct and ... ta-daaaaaaaaaaa! Two beautiful loaves! All nicely shaped and fragrant. At night, emboldened by this success, I went on to an encore using a packet of spice for CHICKEN TIKKA MASALA. It was totally easy and the only thing that wasn't quite perfect was that it took a little longer to wrestle into place than I would have preferred. But it was okay. With brown basmati rice.

Day FOUR:
G and I went to a local establishment called
THE ACCIDENTAL ARTIST where we both had a delightful time decorating unglazed pottery which would later be kiln-fired for us to pick up a few days later. I did two mugs and a square platter and G did two mugs -- but I could probably have spent a whole week in there and not had enough! As some of you know, decorating ceramic is one of the things I can do obsessively ... And at an excellent price: $7 for a walk-in individual, $5 each for two or more people who come together. Over and above that, you pay only for the unglazed mug, dish whatever -- a mug is $8, for instance -- and that's ALL. You pay nothing extra for the paints you use, or the brushes or the length of time you spend there. I was AMAZED that the place wasn't teeming with people. G and her sister and mom had all been there before, so she knew the routine. It was really FUN. Alas, I will not be here to collect the pieces, so they'll remain in Newport, awaiting my return. But I don't really care. The painting is what I'm interested in and the results are a secondary thrill.

In the evening, I followed a recipe I got off the internet but through my friends in Delhirium, Sunita, Sonal and Amit, for RISOTTO as made by JAMIE OLIVER. It's so simple and delicious, you'd have to be brain-damaged to get it wrong. I made tons, so we definitely have enough food now to last till when M and S return from their holiday in Maine -- reportedly excellent.

Day FIVE:
The previous day I went over next door for a visit with Y and R and their mom, Mrs A -- and had a fun time chatting. So I went over again today to talk with the mom, who is an old Newportian, from an old Portuguese family and full of wonderful stories. Also G made OATMEAL CHOCOLATE CHIP COOKIES yesterday, for delivery to Y's grandson T today, for his birthday. The cookies are called VANISHING COOKIES because they're so good and I'll testify to the fact that they vanish ...

In the evening I taught G how to play a great card game called RUSSIAN BANK and in the afternoon we went down to the Wharf to have lunch at a local eatery called PANERA. It was good, and later we walked a little further to the Gateway Centre to buy my bus ticket back to Boston ... sadness!

And that brings me up-to-date. Got to end this now or I'll never get anything done before I bundle all my belongings into the two tiny bags I've been travelling with for these past couple of weeks. My sister S sent me thrilling birdie gifts -- including a funny little clock that wobbles on a spherical orange base and the DVD of PAN'S LABYRINTH, which I watched last night (alone, coz it's DEFINITELY not PG-13), awash with tears but in a sad and beautiful way, because it's that kind of movie.

Oh -- and OF COURSE we went for walks in the morning, and to the grocery and ate tons of icecream -- yes, the ice-cream scoop is limp from overuse! -- but that's all standard stuff.

Travels With My Blog

This is the birthday flower I got from G, L, M & S in Newport! Isn't it CUTE?
Just so you know, I am currently reporting from Newport, having arrived here yesterday after a very pleasant stay in Baltimore with my cousin and family plus SNOWY, their totally darling little Maltese -- he looks like a curly white lamb except of course for his button-black nose and pink tongue! He barked himself hoarse when I arrived and then became extremely friendly (though he continued barking, because he wanted to play).

My cousin's elder child celebrated her 13th birthday with a day-spend at home with six other girls, a pizza-extravaganza for lunch with a chocolate-chip cake made by her Mum, followed by the Nancy Drew movie -- however, my cousin, his nine-year-old son and I peeled off to see a DIFFERENT film -- The Fantastic Four, starring Jessica Alba looking super-pouty at all times, even when she's smiling.

Friday evening we went out to the harbour, where the birthday girl had her first Frappucino -- my cuz and I had our millionth and millionth-and-a-halfth respectively -- while the other two had icecreams from Marble Slab. I blush to confess that one taste of the icecream convinced me that we could well afford to share another single scoop -- and she came back with a giant serving, that required the combined efforts of all three adults to finish! It was butter pecan with extra pecan (and something else too, but I've forgotten what).

In the morning on Saturday, I got a gift from the family -- THE ideal gift for me: a pocket-electronic Crossword Puzzle selection from the New York Times!! Naturally I opened it right away and we attempted to solve the first of the puzzles en route to the train station, but didn't get past the first few clues because I was too distracted by worries about time. My train was scheduled for 9.52 and we got to the station a shade past 9.30 -- and I still needed to pick up my ticket. BUT ... I needn't have worried. Through the marvels of technology, it was a breeze: I had already bought the ticket online the day before, so now all that was needed was for me to pop my card into the ticket-machine, confirm that the information contained in the reservation was correct and -- out came the ticket! It was totally cool.

The journey was a little over six hours long, passing through New York, New Haven et al, arriving in Kingston, Rhode Island on time, at 4.15. I was collected at 4.30 -- got home at quarter to five and then, not much later the five of us walked down to a Hibachi restaurant near the waterside, to have MORE DESSERT!

That was, of course, post-dinner, which was a yummy bar-B, outside in the front yard, with hamburgers and a highly recommendable shrimp item -- individual servings of fresh shrimp, loosely wrapped in foil, with garlic paste, pesto and butter (but you can add whatever you like to the packets) then left on the grill to cook -- along with pasta and salad. For dessert at the restaurant I had mixed berry cake, S and M had something called a "bombe" which was three flavours of sorbets brought together within a thin shell of white chocolate, L had a green tea sorbet and G had a chocolate mousse cake. I also got a gift package of very cute stuff -- optical-illusion card, optical-illusion notebook and optical-illusion novelty pen, with a box of very cute matches with ERASERS instead of striking heads and a tiny fold-out silver-foil lotus (well, actually, I think it's a Night Blooming Cereus) -- you have to see this to understand what I mean -- it starts out looking like a small flat item which unfolds to the size of maybe a five inches across, complete with a corolla of stamens inside!

After this feast we wandered slowly through the tourist-traps by the waterside -- the sky was still very light, at 8.30 in the evening and the air was just like pale iced tea with a touch of lemon in it -- delicious.

I'll be here for the rest of the week, so if I'm industrious, I'll blog the events of the day as we go along. If not ... I'll ... ummm ... probably be sleeping!

Happy Whatever! It's great to be 54.

OH! And the RAINBOW SWEETS telephone number: 802-426-3531 -- remember: some items can be ordered over the phone ...

Chickens I have known ...

Isn't this the most attractive little bird? She's called a SEABRIGHT (don't know if that's one word or two separate) and she's a variety of bantam. I spent a good half hour chasing her all around the garden, trying to get her to pose and finally managed this picture. I don't know if the image that appears on-line will do her justice, but she always looks to me like a doodle in black ink on very white paper. Hen-a-doodle-dooooooo!

So yes, I am still in Vermont. I always start taking pictures just before I'm about to leave because right uptil then, it seems sort of silly to try and tie down images when reality is streaming past at the rate of thousands of interesting things to look at per second/minute/hour etc. Just yesterday, for instance, we went to my favourite restaurant -- RAINBOW SWEETS of Marshfield of course -- and had a huge dinner, topped with a dessert that can only be described as sublime -- chocolate, almond and cherry torte. OOOhhh. And it was still warm ... aiyayaiieeeeEEE, as they say in Asterix in Spain.

I had planned to post the telephone number of Rainbow Sweets here, but I forgot to bring it downstairs with me, and am currently immobilized in my seat here with the laptop on my lap and the very precariously connected telephone lead plugged in -- why do they make those little plastic connector jacks so fragile that the spring-clip loses its ability to remain locked into its socket? So that people like me, who use laptops are forever sitting in rigor mortis when we're online, in terror of twitching so much as an eyelash and thus losing the connection?? Anyway. As a result of this problem, I do not dare get up to fetch the number now, but will do so tomorrow morning.

The reason it's worth posting the number is that a few items can be ordered by telephone -- and I thought it would be worth sharing this important information with the world. Of course, the main attraction at RS is Bill, the proprietor and raconteur-extraordinaire of the establishment. Wonderful as the food is, it's Bill's outstanding charm, humour and kindness as a host that makes the experience one-of-a-kind. Where else can you go with small children and -- the youngest diner is as charmed and happy as everyone else? Truly, Bill is a rare and wonderful being.

Very Belatedly ... the GENERAL ASSEMBLY report

It's atrocious to post reports so long after the events that inspired it occurred but ... it was either this way or NO way. So, all things considered, I'm glad to be getting down to this, finally.

A little background about GENERAL ASSEMBLY. I began writing the play late last year (around November, I think, or October latest), at the invitation of Neera Jain, commissioning editor at Ratna Sagar, in Chandigarh. She wrote to ask if I had any existing plays that would be suitable for High School students (in India, i.e.) and when I said I didn't, she wondered out loud (by e-mail) if I'd be interested in writing one for a selection she was putting together. Her selection criterion was simple: she wanted a "classic play".

Well! That set me a challenge, didn't it? Because of course we both knew that no can (or should) SET OUT to write a classic-anything. The only reasonable approach is to write something that is true to one's beliefs and experience -- if it turns out to appeal to the tastes of a large number of people over a long period of time, and if the reason for that appeal is not mere vulgarity then ... MAYBE ... the thing might turn into a popular classic over time. But without the element of time and the opinions of large numbers of people, whatever else it is, it's not a classic.

So anyway. I LIKE challenges, so I said to Neera that I'd think about it. I had two ideas and began working on both (in the sense of, I began both) then settled on GA. Initially the complete title was "... of the GALACTIC UNION" but I preferred the shorter title ultimately. I completed the first draft in January this year, sent it off to Neera and after she returned it with comments, I added in the construction of the bomb -- resulting in the current version. Then I sent it off again and for a while it seemed like Neera would be able to use it in her anthology but ... that's not how it turned out.

Instead, what happened was two things: one, I gave it to Scholastic for an anthology of contemporary plays for young people that THEY were putting together -- general editor Sayoni Basu, collection editor Anushka Ravishankar -- and it was accepted for publication. Two, I brought it along with me to Boston, in March. I had been very kindly invited by Claire Conceison (Assistant Prof., Dept of Drama and Dance), at Tufts, to present an illustrated lecture about ... umm ... my journey as an author/illustrator.* At the time I met Claire, I offered her GA to read, saying that I would be very thrilled if I could hear a reading of the play, perhaps by some of her students.

And that's what happened.

Cut to: a meeting between me and Brendan Shea, the young final year student who offered, in his FINAL WEEK at college -- it has to be an indication of his confidence and sense of preparedness for his exams, that he even had time to spare on such a project! -- to direct a rehearsed reading of the play, at TUFTS, scheduled for just after the exams. Brendan had read HARVEST, so he'd already had a little exposure to my work and I think we both enjoyed the meeting at Starbucks, at the Arlington Centre. It was a surprisingly cold but very sunny morning, and I was practically an icicle by the time I walked into Starbucks that morning, but the pleasure of the meeting was enough (well JUST ABOUT) to keep me warm for the walk back to my niece's apartment, about 10 minutes north. (memories of major brrrrrrrrrrr ...)

Cut again to about one month later. May 14th was the day chosen for the reading. I got to the auditorium about an hour before it was due to begin, which gave me a little time to talk to the cast of fourteen -- here I have to pause to say that this would be the very first time I would hear the play being read with one voice per part. It's got a large number of characters -- in line with Neera's initial commission, which asked for a play that would cater to a large number of students -- and though my two nieces and I had read it out loud in Madras in January/February, I hadn't seriously expected to round up the full complement of a dozen voices at any time on my own.

The reading was held at Tufts U's Balch Arena Auditorium, which, as its name suggests, is the kind of auditorium in which the audience sits in tiers around a central pit. In this case, Brendan chose to seat the audience on one side of the pit, while the 12 main readers stood in a semi-circle facing them, with music stands on which they placed the scripts from which they read. In keeping with the play's requirements, there were four animal-shaped cut-outs (in white construction paper) arranged in front of the semi-circle -- well, three, actually, because FLIT, the dragonfly was posed enigmatically at the back, along the edge of the upper balcony, facing the audience. The remaining two readers sat to one side, one of them reading stage directions/announcer's voice and the other awaiting his turn as RAUF.

Here's the list: (sent to me by Brendan)
ANNOUNCEMENT/STAGE DIRECTIONS - Katie Clark
RAUF - Will Shaw
MITTOO - Brian Smith
AKU-AKU - Armen Nercessian
NANOOK - Brendan Shea
MUSTAFA - Laur Fisher
ASTRID - Caitlin Johnson
ALPHA - Erica Finkel
VIJAY - Luke Yu
YOKO - Molly O'Neill
TONY - Dave Adler
ANDY - Timothy Wagner
WORKS-AT-CASINOS - David Jenkins
MARIA - Stacy Davidowitz

If you've read this far, there's a chance that you're starting to wonder about the play ... So here's a quick overview: it's set in some future time (okay! okay! No groans from the audience please! Maybe it's a little more obvious now why this play wasn't included in a collection of "classic" plays ...), and all the action takes place in the common room of the delegation from Earth, at the General Assembly of the Galactic Union, taking place on some (unknown) other planet. The eleven human members of the delegation are locked in argument, as time counts down till the moment when they will make their presentation. Part of the point of the play is the squabbling -- the fact that the delegates are unable to present a united front or to agree about their agenda. There are a few animals who have been included as part of the delegation and eventually it is one of the animals that is chosen to address the assembly. The play ends with that speech.

When my nieces and I read the play out loud amongst ourselves, it helped me get a sense of the general flow of conversation and ideas; I also read it out loud to my friend Sunita at her home in Delhi, because she was kind enough to indulge me in my whims and out loud to my mother (in Madras, during the same period that my nieces and I read it -- we couldn't read it FOR my mother, because she would have found it difficult to follow three separate voices reading together) on account of her waning eyesight. But hearing a reading with one voice per part is really the ONLY way to be reasonably sure that the conversation overlaps in an intelligible manner, that there isn't too much bunching of activity and that characters have enough time to develop their points of view for the brief (half hour) duration of the piece.

So ... what can I say? It was wonderful to have an opportunity to hear the whole thing, in separate voices. It seemed to me that each of the actors put in just the right kind of energy into their performance -- special mention must go out to MITTOO and WORKS-AT-CASINOS here, for their virtuoso farting (mouthed, of course!) -- and it certainly allowed me to hope that if the play is ever performed, it'll gallop along with enough chuckles to keep it afloat till it gets to the end.

I especially enjoyed the pre-reading discussion with the cast and if I have any regrets it is that we DIDN'T opt for a post-reading talk-back. That was my choice -- but I realized almost at once that if only we'd had it, I would've had an opportunity to thank the cast and Tufts U for the reading. I thought that the cookies-and-sodas after the reading would give me ample opportunities to chat -- but that's not the same as being able to say a formal (and sincere) thank you. All I can do to make up for that lapse is, if/when the play is ever published as a stand-alone item, I will mention this reading. I can't be sure it'll ever happen, of course, but I have a notion that it would be really quite amusing to publish the play with illustrations (by me) of the different characters, suggested props and ideas for improvising costumes/set with a minimum of expense and fuss. The human characters are meant, of course, to represent the many different races and nationalities of our planet, but highly exaggerated, so there's much scope for zany dressing up.

For the moment, of course, the first published appearance of the play will be in Scholastic's collection, due out sometime next month (I think). I haven't heard from Sayoni recently, but I'll post links once I have more information.

*I was planning to blog about it, but didn't get around to that either. There's a reason for all these missed opportunities ... but at least as regards the workshop, I thought perhaps it would be a little teeny bit smarmy for me to report about myself here. That's not really the purpose of this blog.

GARTHNEWS

Reproduced as publicity clips only with permission from Penguin Books India. Not to be reproduced or transmitted thereafter without permission. Penguin Books India will be publishing The Complete Garth (as a 5-volume box set later in the year), under licence from Mirriorpix UK, for sale only in the Indian subcontinent and Singapore.

As promised, here is an up-date about the Penguin Books India publication of the ENTIRE GARTH SERIES, in a hard-cover boxed set: pub. date is scheduled for Oct/Nov and all 16,000* strips are going to be available for the astounding price of Rs 8600!! This is such a steal -- esp when you consider what the average graphic novel is priced at -- and it represents literally decades-worth of strip-stories. The CEO, Penguin Books was kind enough to permit me to reproduce the above strip from the series -- believe me, those of you who have never read GARTH, it is a series to die for -- and those of you who HAVE known him over the years, I need say no more. It's going to be a love-fest. Yum to the max.(*I miswrote this earlier, as 1600 -- which wouldn've been laughable, since the strip ran for many years)


AND ALSO ...
Today is special for me for another reason altogether -- it so happens that my most recent play, GENERAL ASSEMBLY, will be presented as a reading this evening at TUFTS UNIVERSITY in Boston, directed by Tufts alum BRENDAN SHEA. It's a short piece, about half-an-hour long and I wrote it with (Indian) high-school students in mind. However, at tonight's reading, it'll be performed by University undergrads (that's my assumption -- I'll confirm when I know) with a full cast of 12 members! I've never heard it read by twelve voices, so this IS going to be fun for me.

It was originally commissioned by Ratna Sagar for a high school text, but they felt it was a too non-classical for their collection (and of course they are right: it's set in the future, on a planet far, far away from our own!). Then SCHOLASTIC (India) accepted it for their own anthology, which will be out very shortly, perhaps as soon as a month from now. I'm kind of hoping that I will eventually be able to publish a stand-alone version of the play, complete with drawings of the costumes I have in mind for the characters -- it's meant to be a bit of a romp! -- but no firm offers at this moment.

TUESDAY MORNING -- the reading went off VERY well last night and I was very happy with the result. I will blog about it at greater length later today.

CRISIS AT BARODA FACULTY OF FINE ARTS

A new chapter in the suppression of artistic freedoms is playing itself out at the Baroda Faculty of Fine Arts. The link will take you to a blog where you'll find more details as well as comment boards.

Here's a document I received with details. It's entitled

THE EVENTS SO FAR:

9th May 2007

Exam and evaluation work in progress
At around 3:30 in the afternoon, Niraj Jain storms into the Faculty of Fine Arts. He has a section of the media with him, and soon after calls the police who arrive in about two minutes, by which time they have manhandled Chandramohan. A final year MA student from a small village in Andhra Pradesh, Chandramohan is a BC, his father is a carpenter, and he studied at the JNTU, Hyderabad, and is one of the three Gujarat Lalit Kala Academy Awardees of 2005-‘06
Police whisk away Chandramohan and his friend Venkat Rao without producing an FIR or a warrant, and without having taken permission from the in-charge Dean, Dr. Shivaji Panikkar or the Vice-Chancellor of the University.
While all this is happening, Niraj Jain abuses and threatens Dr. Panikkar, other staff, and the students of the Faculty. Even though the Dean had informed the Vice-Chancellor and other authorities of the events taking place on campus, no help was forthcoming from their side. None of the higher authorities visited the Faculty.
The police order the removal of the ‘offensive’ pictures. All the while Niraj Jain and his associates roam freely in the campus threatening staff and students alike.
The police ACP, T. R. Parmar order that the offending five works be taken down and sealed. This was communicated to the Vice Chancellor, and the sealing process begun. Niraj Jain and associates want to tear down the works and vandalise them. Towards the end of the sealing process, the in-charge Registrar, Mr. Beedekar arrives, during which time the students have drafted a complaint to the Police Commissioner, who directs them to lodge a compliant at the Sayajigunj Police Station. Initially the police refuse to register the compliant, but after some time they accept it, but as of today, it has not been lodged as an FIR. Following further negotiation with the Police Commissioner , it has been lodged in the Police Bhavan, in order for consideration as an FIR.
The Dean’s statement was also taken. Only late at night was a copy of the FIR against the student, under Section 153A, released. The student body’s compliant has to date not been acknowledged. The Center for Social Justice has appointed a lawyer who agreed to handle the case.


10th May 2007

Chandramohan was produced at court at about 10:30 a.m., along with a representative of the student body posting bail and a lawyer. A large contingent of VHP activists were also present, who jostled and intimidated him. Therefore the judge asked him to be removed to the Baroda Central Jail, where he has been lodged ever since. When the police produced the FIR, two new sections, - 293A and 293B, had been added to it. The case was adjourned till 3:30 p.m. Again the VHP crowd gathered following which the hearing was postponed to 2:30 p.m. the following day, on which day the judge did not turn up. So the student was remanded to another two days in jail, since the next two days were Saturday and Sunday.
The student has been lodged with other under trials and has not been ill treated in any way.
Students and Staff approach the Vice-Chancellor to submit a memorandum bearing the following two important points:
The University must file an FIR against Niraj Jain for disrupting the exams.
Extend all legal help to the student in custody.
Instead of a response to these demands the Vice-Chancellor wanted an unconditional apology from the staff and the students of the Faculty of Fine Arts, for offending their sentiments tendered to the public. It was rejected by the staff/students body on the grounds that it would be tantamount to accepting that they have committed a wrong, whereas that was patently not the case.

No help was forthcoming from the University authorities till the end of the day, except for the Vice-Chancellors contention that an FIR could be lodged by the Dean in his personal capacity, a proposition that was again not acceptable to the students/staff of the Fine Arts Faculty.


11th May 2007

It was decided by the students that an exhibition dealing with the long history of Erotica in both Indian and Western art would be put up in order to inform the press and the public. This exhibition was set up around 2 to 3 in the afternoon. Many came and visited the exhibition. It was suggested that the staff members leave the campus as the situation was becoming increasingly tense and volatile, but a section of the media would not allow that to happen, following which the staff had to lock themselves into the art-history department. At around 4:00 p.m the Deputy Registrar issued a verbal request that the exhibition be closed down, which the Dean refused to do as it was a decision taken by the students and was a peaceful protest drawing from the academic curriculum. A written order followed, and was received by the Dean and Faculty members, but work on the exhibition carried on. The Pro Vice Chancellor then arrived at the venue, accompanied by some members of the Syndicate of the University. They requested Dr Panikkar to close down the exhibition, then ordered him to do so. When it became clear that the Dean would not bend to their will, they had the exhibition locked. The argument put forward by the Dean was that, since, in spite of the number of times that the students had invoked the help of the University authorities in the matter, and insofar as no help had been extended to them, how could he, as the Dean, be sure that their actions were in the best intentions and for the good of the University? The Dean reiterated that he would stand by the students and staff in the matter. The authorities went ahead with the sealing of the exhibition as well as the Regional Documentation Center. BJP corporators who had come to see the exhibition were very abusive to the women staff, going so far as to say that they would like to see their nude pictures on the wall.
A suspension order was pasted on the Dean’s Residence door at 10:00 p.m. No reason has been given as to his suspension. As per the local media, the Dean of Management Faculty, professor Maheshwari, has been given charge of the Fine Arts Faculty. Teachers have gone on mass casual leave in protest of the University’s decision.


-----------------------------
Meanwhile, I've receieved the following list from ZIGZACKLY of locations where solidarity protests are being staged:

Date and time for all: 14th May, 6p.m .

New Delhi - Rabindra Bhavan
Mumbai - Jehangir Gallery
Vishakapatnam - Faculty of Fine Arts, Andhra University
Cochin - Kashi Art Café
Hyderabad - Fine Arts, S N School, University of Hyderabad
Bangalore - M G Road, opposite Gandhi statue
Santiniketan - Kala Bhavan
Guwahati - Press Club

ATTENTION, BIRD-FEEDER-PEOPLE!

This may be a minor revolution in squirrel-proofing technology -- today, I smeared cooking oil on the long hanging bird-feeder that our local squirrel (see previous photograph) or one of his/her relatives has been using as a stepping stone for reaching the top storey of the feeder.

And ... the squirrel slipped off!! Not right away, I'll admit: he/she initially managed to cling to the feeder, but a moment later appeared to be struggling and then leaped down. She (I think it's a she) tried again -- but now her paws were greasy and she couldn't get up the central pole on which the feeder is fitted.

Then a stalking two-tone predator (ibid.) interrupted her attempts and she (the squirrel, i.e.) scampered off to safety.

Of course, in a couple of days the oil will have evaporated, leaving a sticky residue to which the squirrels will adhere. And soon, there will be a bird-feeder with some very angry squirrels stuck to it ...

Window Shopping!

I don't suppose these images need much elaboration ... Your basic squirrel enjoying a shade-break while being ogled by a peeping-kittie.

This is a very rare example of a picture I managed to take before the main actors got bored of posing and moved away.

In the second picture, the squirrel has a, "Hmmm. Something not quite right here ... dunno what exactly but ..." expression on his/her face.

A heartbeat later, he/she picked him/herself up and shimmered away.

Okay, so I've been playing hookie AGAIN

These two pictures were what I took THIS AFTERNOON, in my sister's beautiful home in Sayre, PA. The photograph looks like some kind of optical illusion but it's just two separate photographs taken from the same angle, of the mirror across the room from where I'm standing. The second picture is a zoomed version of the same situation, but taken in such a way that it looks as if the frame of mirror is the frame of the photograph (but isn't. You can see the lower edge of the mirror in the bigger pic, and match it to the lower edge of the mirror in the previous image)

The thing behind me is a large oil-painting I did seven years ago, which my sister bought last year and installed in my niece's home-bedroom (which doubles as the guest bedroom) and I can't get over HOW NICE it looks in this warm, gorgeously pink and tangerine room. It's like the painting has come to life in this setting -- and for all five years of its existence before this period, it lived in my mother's house in Madras, completely unnoticed (despite its size) in the small spare room at the back of the house.

I took these photos so that I could send them to a long-time cyber-buddy (Pauline) but then I was so pleased with the way the painting looked that I decided to share it here, with my extended network of bods and buds on the net ...

In other news, I find that Sharanya Mannivanan has tagged this blog for a THINKING BLOGGER award -- you'll need to go to her blog (link above) to see what this means, since I don't see myself doing whatever it is I need to do in order to acknowledge the tag correctly -- but it was very kind of her, esp considering how lazy I've been for the past several weeks (months). I don't know why that link isn't showing up the right way, but it isn't and I'm too full of pizza just now to fix it. Mebbe tomorrow. *

Much to talk about -- but (see excuse above for reason why I won't just now) not tonight, Josephine.

*umpteen days later, I have finally fixed it. Maybe. But the link-thingie STILL isn't working properly. I hate having to type in the "href=" stuff manually. I always leave out something or the other and get strings of error messages before the thing falls into place. I suppose I'm not getting a job as a programmer anytime soon.

Last Week's Sideways Icicles

New Blogger At Last!

Well ... at last! New Blogger has gathered me in to its fold! What a relief! Oh OF COURSE it won't work when I shift computers and discover that there's a cookie-problem on the other one and some other terminal rot on the third and a whateverwhatever on the fourth ... WHO CARES! I'm glad for today's minor triumph.

I was hoping to post a picture of my current position in reality, but AOL isn't offering me that option on account of its glacially slow local server. I'm about to try again, but I don't have much faith in the system coz it's been bumping me off on a regular basis all fortnight -- I could whine about this and complain that THIS is the reason I haven't been posting regularly ... but I won't. Coz I hate whiners and complainers.

Anyway, WHATEVER. It's been a wonderful two weeks so far (it'll be two weeks on Tuesday), and I am about to take a break from it (meaning, from VT) to visit my sister in the teeming metropolis of SAYRE, PA, where she lives (three traffic lights! And one movie house). That'll happen at the end of the week, and though I'm still working out the exact details, it's likely to mean a brief transit through NYC -- too brief, alas, to meet up with most of my friends, but it WILL give me a chance to catch up with my Long Island buddies V&C, whose warm and welcoming home used to be my portal into the US for all the years when NYC was my arrival point.

And now I am going to end this maiden post on New Blogger coz I'm nervous about losing the connection altogether. Thanks AOL! Always great to log in with ya! (snort)

Yes ...

... I'm alive and well (and drinking Kabmbucha tea no less!!) in Vermont. More news soon!

DESSERT ALERT!

This is a snack idea I had the other day -- and tried out in Madras (I've just been there and back for a quickie visit). The snack is a quick-fix for sugar junkies, requiring very little effort and providing much amusement! I call it ...

PURI MAGNOLIANA

YOU NEED:

Chilled and sweetened whipped cream OR ice-cream

Chunks of fruit – we used tinned peaches and dried cranberries. But any mouth-sized chunks of strong-flavoured fruit would be equally good: mango/sweetened strawberries/bananas – even dates, maybe

Crumbled praline – we didn't use any but I think it would be great

Nuts – we used chopped walnuts

Dessert toppings – we used butterscotch syrup, but there's always chocolate, Cointreau, Kahlua, whatever … you could even flame a bit of brandy and pour it on!

AND FINALLY ….

Pani-puri puris – about six per head.



METHOD:



Set the chilled whipped cream (or softened ice cream) in a bowl and place that bowl inside a larger bowl filled with ice. All the other ingredients might be served in little bowls, the puris in a basket – and everything within easy reach of the diners. It's your basic mix 'n' match pani-puri experience EXCEPT … it's sweet! Lots of teaspoons, quarter plates, paper napkins and perhaps finger bowls too might be good.



What we did: punctured the puri, stuffed it with chopped nuts, a chunk of peach, a big dollop of ice cream, a goosh of butterscotch syrup – then POP! In the mouth and down the hatch.



YUM!

Finally, a book I actually liked!

Here's a link to my review in OUTLOOK of Amitava Kumar's HOME PRODUCTS -- I was feeling quite pleased with my review (it being such a rare event, after all, to find that I have something positive to say) but my sister G tells me that she didn't find the review enticing -- in the sense of, she didn't feel moved by it to run out and buy the book. That's a real shame! So I'm trying to make up for that boo-boo (in case other readers had a similar response) here, by saying it out loud and obvious: I REALLY LIKED THIS BOOK!! Maybe one of the things I liked best was that it was cool -- it didn't sound like it thought it was the best thing since -- oh, come on, let's just trot out the cliche -- sliced bread. It just got on with telling its story without fuss, tantra or fanfare of trumpets.

I think I also liked it coz I liked the author photograph. This is a terrible confession to make. But it's a cool photograph, just like the book. I have no idea whether the original item (i.e., the author) looks anything like his picture or whether he consciously set out to look a little bit like Paul Theroux or whether anything about the picture is authentic. Author photographs are supposed to enhance the saleability of a book, but most often, I find, I react so badly to the highly posed and perhaps PhotoShop-enhanced likenesses leering out at the reader, screaming READ ME! READ ME! that nowadays I automatically assign a bad-mark to such books. If the book happens to be worth reading then, okay, the black mark gets erased. But if it begins to stink, then every little dot and comma that annoys me gets added to the black mark like a rolling snowball of disappointment.

It will probably not come as much of a surprise to hear that I haven't published pix of myself alongside the author-info in my books -- caricatures, yes, but not photographs (at least I don't think so -- I've forgotten whether or not the MOUSE books have pix of me on the inside back-flap). I wouldn't buy a book that had a picture of me on the back cover! I look like a podgy middle-aged nerdette, someone completely incapable of producing anything readable.

So I don't know: do author-pix help or hinder the sale of a book? Dunno.

MEANWHILE, here's another link*, this time to a short piece I wrote in CITY LIMITS after visiting
Anjolie Menon's recent exhibition.
*(and it happens to feature an ancient photograph of me, at least 10 years out-of-date. I no longer look anything like it! I think it was Kurt Vonnegut (or someone pretending to be him) who made the point that we might as well enjoy the way we look now because we'll only get worse, not better. This is all very well, but I can STILL never get used to the way I look now, whatever it happens to be. It's as if I've never gotten over my adolescent antipathy towards myself)

MAXIMUM THRILL-A-DILLIUM!

GARTH

So all right, I've been playing hookie for ... umm ... okay, practically all month. But I've been BIZZY! Flexing the culinary muscle. Yes, you read that right: I, hitherto a stranger to kitchens (except as an Olympic-class dish-washer) have been secretly learning to cook a thing or two! It all began with a biryani recipe that my niece Meenakshi taught me in Madras and then, when I'd managed to wrestle it to the ground two weekends in a row, (i.e., I made it twice, on Sundays, the day on which the reigning lord of the kitchen has his weekly half-holiday) steamed ahead and made Channa Bhatura.

Okay! But! These amazements are as nothing compared to the one that has been revealed to me JUST TODAY. Okay, to explain, I have to step back several paces. If the picture at the top of this page is visible, then you already have the context -- i.e., the superlative adventure strip known as Peter O'Donnell's (better known as the creator of that OTHER superlative adventure strip, Modesty Blaise)
GARTH is involved. But here's what you don't know: I used to be a huge fan of that strip.

Undoubtedly, a major catalyst of my fanhood was my elder sister Surya's passion for the strip. She used to cut it out of the newspapers and carefully stick the strips together to make up complete albums -- this, despite our travelling childhood, when keeping track of newspapers and story-lines was quite a challenge -- which could be read like graphic novels. Tragedy struck, however when my sister's entire carefully collated masterpiece was lost by a friend of hers -- and since then, i.e., since the early seventies, we have been severely Garth-deprived.

I have made several attempts to locate a source of the series -- it used to appear in the Hindustan Times (which is the newspaper from which Surya clipped her collection) -- but to no avail, because it was discontinued just around the time I was living an existence settled-enough to be able to consider subscribing to a second daily paper, STRICTLY for the strip.

Enter Penguin(India). While engaged in idle chat with Someone Important there, about one year ago, I happened to bring up the subject of "GARTH: Unavailability To Sorrowing Fans". One thing led to another ... and ... believe it or not, this evening I was told that Penguin(India) is going to bring out a COLLECTED EDITION!!! I am so astonished that such things are even possible (i.e., that one can keep up a silent, long-term, desperate desire for something and actually GET it, at the end of a really long time) -- that it doesn't bother me that actual satisfaction is still several months away in the future. I am willing to be shattered into many joyous fragments just in the contemplation of this knowledge.

And ... okay. That's enuff for tonight!

Where The Wild Things Are

TigerHavenSunset

We travelled by train and taxi to reach Tiger Haven, the home of Billy Arjun Singh, tiger conservateur extraordinaire or "Honorary Tiger" as he is sometimes known, near the Nepal border. We left on Friday 16th night and returned just this morning, Tuesday the 20th. I'll post a longer account soon, but for the moment, here's this beautiful sunset to warm your toes upon!

MEANWHILE! Please note, there is a NEW LINK on the left -- and it's right at the top coz it represents a turning point in my life (darn! What a confession to have to make right out in the open) -- the superlative Infocom DOS text game called The Hitch Hiker's Guide to the Galaxy (yes, of COURSE it's based on the Douglas Adam trilogy of five books). This version is an update, with graphics. I've never played it -- never even seen it before -- but the text game was so life-altering that I feel I just HAVE to post this link here, if only as homage. Most of you who visit this blog are not, I suspect, gamers in any sense. So I'm assuming that only a tiny handful of you will understand what it means to me to have that link in place there. Wow. Or, to use a technical term which will be recognized only by those who played the game all the way through: YOW.

Chai Noon (Hi Res)

Two Indian mothers battle it out over who has the better daughter and only one is left standing....

This has to be the funniest short video EVER! Send it to the Oscars, I say! For those who cannot follow the accent ... well ... tough!

Happy Short Fiction Day*

More amusements from my smart friend Anvar -- and *no, there's no official day by this name! Just made it up for the purpose of avoiding mention of the "V" word.

The World's Shortest Short Stories
There is the short story. And then there is the short short story.

Like this one written by Ernest Hemingway, which he once claimed was the best thing he had ever written:" For sale: baby shoes, never worn."

Or this, more recent example:"The last man on earth sat alone in a room. There was a knock at the door. "

The short short story can be written in two words, one word … or, indeed, even less:


Death of a Duck Hunter

"Duck!"

"Where?"

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Counter-Revolutionary

"Unite!"

"Why?"

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Short Trip in the Woods

"What bear?"

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Virgin

"No."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Last of the Cheyenne

Zzzwip!

Bang!

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Day in the Life of a Man Who Dressed Like a Bear

"Don't shoot!"

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
With Stanley in Africa, Part I

"Dr Livingstone?"

"Nope"

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Day the World Ended

KA-BOOOOOOOOM!

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Unhappiest Man Who Ever Lived

"Forgive? Never!"

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

An Answer to Prayer

"Um... no."

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Joshua's Childhood

"P-Papa?"

Whack!

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A Perfect Moment in Time

-


(The world's shortest short story: 0 words)


-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Minor Amusments

Sean Young in "BLADE RUNNER"
I know, I know -- everyone disapproves of smokers, smoking and all things tobacconary but ... who can resist that wonderful scene in BLADE RUNNER (featured on this page) of Sean Young wreathed in sinuous coils of fume? I was reminded of that vision when I read this piece, by Nandini Mehta in the current issue of OUTLOOK. Holding her elegant hand up against the tide of today's Anti-Smoking fanatics, she makes a coolly reasoned and unapologetic case for being pro-choice(i.e., she's not championing cigarettes or smokers but the notion of being liberal in all dimensions, including this). I'm not a smoker coz I wheeze and snuffle but ... I used to smoke, a long time ago, and I enjoyed it for what it was. I never had a major habit (never bought my own ciggies!) but I still regret that it's a bad habit, bad all around -- for general health, for the environment, for social relations (viz. the food v/s tobacco debate in low-income families) -- because ASIDE from being bad ... it's soooo coooool. *sigh*

Onward, onward. Here's a tiny amusement for all those of you who play BOUNCE on your NOKIA phones -- a nifty little cheat: once you've launched the game, key-in the numbers: 787898. Your bouncer will be rendered immortal until you exit that session.

Neat, huh?

OH! -- while on the subject of SF(BLADE RUNNER, i.e.), here's an absolutely superlative list of what might be dubbed nanofiction, SF branch courtesy my friend Anvar, from WIRED mag.

6-word Sci-fi

Wired magazine asked dozens of its favorite auteurs to put their words to paper. Sure, Arthur C Clarke refused to trim his: God said, 'Cancel Program GENESIS.' The universe ceased to exist., but some of the rest were concise masterpieces. Random specimens:

Failed SAT. Lost scholarship. Invented rocket.
- William Shatner

Computer, did we bring batteries? Computer?
- Eileen Gunn

Longed for him. Got him. Shit.
- Margaret Atwood

From torched skyscrapers, men grew wings.
- Gregory Maguire

Epitaph: Foolish humans, never escaped Earth.
- Vernor Vinge

It cost too much, staying human.
- Bruce Sterling

Kirby had never eaten toes before.
- Kevin Smith

To save humankind he died again.
- Ben Bova

Tick tock tick tock tick tick.
- Neal Stephenson

Wasted day. Wasted life. Dessert, please.
- Steven Meretzky

Epitaph: He shouldn't have fed it.
- Brian Herbert

Nevertheless, he tried a third time.
- James P. Blaylock

Lost, then found. Too bad.
- Graeme Gibson

Cyborg seeks egg donor, object ___.
- David Brin

Death postponed. Metastasized cells got organized.
- David Brin

Osama’s time machine: President Gore concerned.
- Charles Stross

Will this do (lazy writer asked)?
- Ken MacLeod

Salinger story: three koans in fountain.
- Howard Waldrop

The baby’s blood type? Human, mostly.
- Orson Scott Card

Finally, he had no more words.
- Gregory Maguire

Broken heart, 45, WLTM disabled man.
- Mark Millar

He read his obituary with confusion.
- Steven Meretzky

Time traveler's thought: "What's the password?"
- Steven Meretzk

Leia: "Baby's yours." Luke: "Bad news…"
- Steven Meretzky

Parallel universe. Bush, destitute, joins army.
- Steven Meretzky

There were only six words left.
- Gregory Maguire

Dorothy: "Fuck it, I'll stay here."
- Steven Meretzky

More!

www.christophegilbert.com
This astonishing image is one of a series sent to me by Amro -- I was so fascinated by it (and the others that were part of the PP presentation) that I dug online till I arrived at CHRISTOPHE GILBERT's web-site, where there are lots more images of a similar genre/quality. Enjoi ...

Found On The Web ...

I Am Different!

The picture shows the cover of my
most recently published book -- I haven't actually seen it and don't know if it's on the market anywhere yet -- I found this image while browsing the web (that's right, I routinely Google my name, just like everyone else in the Universe). It's the German publication of a book I created last year for TULIKA in Madras. The German publication is a co-production. Its name in English is "I AM DIFFERENT!" and it's a collection of picture-puzzles, where you've got to locate the one item that's different on each page. The reason I say "created" rather than "drew" is that the images are collages, with 3D paint decorations surrounding them. So the effect is sort of interesting -- too bad it wasn't possible to print the book as a touchie-feelie item. The Indian edition will be out some time later this year.

Meanwhile: last night I watched Peter Sellers in THE PINK PANTHER -- the first movie of the series, starring David Niven, Claudia Cardinale and Capucine -- and ... ouch! I was very saddened and puzzled to find that it just didn't work for me. I can remember laughing myself sick during the final scene with the ridiculous zebra-costumed men galloping across a street in Rome. But last night I sat mostly stony-faced through the movie last night. *depression* I SO wanted to enjoy it!

Instead I found myself wondering how a turtle-faced old man like David Niven (very dashing in his youth) could have possibly hoped to romance a slinky-eyed kitten like Claudia C -- and of course I thought it was utterly bizarre that she was apparently INDIAN. Wheehoo. Capucine was gorgeous but once again, I found myself feeling tremendously sorry for poor old cuckolded Clouseau -- so blinded by love, so idiotic. All in all, I just felt sorry for everyone and not even the famous gags involving the two (actually THREE) gorilla suits and the idiotic zebra and the crossed identities worked at all. I had entirely forgotten that the plot was so involved and that Niven was supposed to have been the star and that his professional identity in the film was "The Phantom", not the Pink Panther, which was of course the name of the jewel he was trying to steal ... oy, oy, oy.

On a lighter note, however, let it be said that the feature BEFORE the Pink Panther was Steve Martin's MIXED NUTS. And, implausible and ridiculous as it is, there were many hysterical moments to be had. Maybe I should just avoid seeing it 20 years from now? Hmmm. Assuming I'm still on this plane of existence, that is ...

Balloons & Birthdays

from www.balloonhat.com
The photograph is from a gallery of charming images, all about hats made out of balloons. Here's a descriptive paragraph from the site:

In 1996, Addi Somekh and Charlie Eckert began traveling to different places in the world to make balloon hats for people and take photos of them. The goal was to show people all over the world laughing and having fun, and to emphasize the fact that all human beings are born with the ability to experience joy. In total, they visited 34 countries and have over 10,000 pictures. Inside this web site you will find all sorts of photos and stories, as well as a way to purchase their book, The Inflatable Crown, and see scenes from the feature documentary film, Balloonhat.

The link was sent to me by a world-travelling friend called Maude, currently in Bhopal. I hope it's okay to display pix from that site here on my blog. I keep forgetting what the correct protocol is -- Zig? Any thoughts? -- whether or not it IS okay to display a correctly attributed pic from another site. In case anyone feels it's inappropriate, pls alert me and I'll remove the pic. It's a great site though and well worth the visit.

Speaking of travelling, I'm currently in Madras, spending a week with my mother, sister, brother-in-law, two nieces, nephew, nephew-in-law and niecelet. It is on account of the niecelet's second birthday that we have all gathered -- the day and its celebration took place on the 25th -- and we are all alive to tell the tale! Well, no -- that's not really fair at all, as it was a remarkably stress-free day, mainly due to the excellent pre-planning of both my nieces. The birthday girl held herself together with admirable elan (can't get the accent to show, sorry) and neither freaked out to see the house filling up with many strangers (about 20 people, all told, and only three other children!) nor showed any reluctance to share her toys with the guests.

Otherwise ... the same old, the same old. Hogging chocolates and feeling morose about hogging chocolates, leading to (inevitably) MORE hogging of aforementioned confectionaries. *sigh*

Am currently listening to a collection of short stories by Kurt Vonnegut on CD (published by HarperCollins). Anyone in need of a cerebral massage should consider mainlining WELCOME TO THE MONKEY HOUSE. It's the title-story of the collection. It also happens to be a great favourite of mine -- I read it for the first and last time perhaps twenty years ago and I realized, as I listened to it a couple of days ago, that it's remained fresh in my memory ever since. I just love the witty originality of Vonnegut's imagination and the seeming effortlessness of his style. Many authors say that what looks effortless on the page takes about as much doggedness and determination as a Challenger lift-off, but something tells me that in KV's case, it really IS rather less than more. Effort, I mean.

And so it goes ...

More Linx

WhyPaintCatsBookCover

My first link is to a phenom I was introduced to through friends who gave me a book called WHY PAINT CATS by author Burton Silver and photographer Heather Busch. The picture you see is just one of very many astonishing images in the book -- and then, when you read the text, you begin to be astonished at a secondary level: you begin to doubt the book's pix. If you visit the link, you'll see that the visitors there are fairly evenly split between those who love the book and believe the pictures are genuine (i.e., that there really are people who decorate their cats with dyes, sometimes paying huge sums of money for the privilege); those who love the book and believe the decorations have been faked; those who hate the book and cannot bear the thought of decorating felines with paint/dye/whatever, whether faked or real.

I will admit I didn't for a moment doubt that the cats really had been painted, until I showed it to S in Vermont, who took one look and said, "... PhotoShop?" It was only when I read the text that I too began to have doubts. And even before I became suspcious, I was rather surprised to see a picture of an Indian woman holding a "traditionally" painted cat -- the caption would have us believe that it's a common practice in North Indian temples for cats to be thus decorated. Well! Hmmm! So far as I know, many Indians consider cats to be inauspicious and either dislike them or are a little scared of them. Temple rats we've heard of, temple snakes, temple elephants; but CATS?? Uh-uh. Nope.

Uncontrollable immodesty leads me to post this second link -- it's to my review in OUTLOOK magazine of Raj Kamal Jha's recently published novel, FIREPROOF. After I'd read the book, I called the Books Page editor to ask if I could wriggle out of having to write a review but she was TOUGH and said "DO IT, WIMP!" (well, of course, not in those words!) and so -- being a wimp -- I did it. For once, I believe, I got away with quite an amusing result. I even think some people will feel inspired to buy the book just coz of the review ... but that may be self-flattery beyond acceptable limits. What I will say is, I actually enjoyed writing the review and THAT's a rare event!

Back to the Beginning...

DANDELION, VT by MP
Two offerings for the beginning of the year: this dandelion puffball and a few links. The puffball is for you to wish on and the links are to ... punish you for believing that dandelions can grant wishes!! Okay -- okay -- my little joke. About three days ago, while clicking around, I wandered over to WIRED magazine and read their top story for that day. It was about enhancing one's performance with particular reference to mental abilities. It turns out we were all wrong to think that after the age of thirty we lose brain cells at the rate of knots -- well, yes, we DO but ... there's evidence that the brain can be kept limber and maybe even be coaxed into bulking up a little by doing "mental exercises". Well, whatever: I have always loved puzzles and am ALWAYS looking for sites where the games are reasonably interesting. From WIRED, I got this link to get a statistic for brainabilities and from there I arrived at GAMES FOR THE BRAIN which is where I've been exercising hard ever since! I particularly recommend the MAHJONGG SOLITAIRE... HAPPY GNU EAR everyone!

Happy Chanumas, Everyone!

VT 2006, by Manjula Padmanabhan
A clever friend wished me "Happy Chanumas" this year and I decided he'd got it right -- blending Christmas and Chanukkah to make an interestingly non-secular greeting-word appropriate to the season.

The photograph is of the sunset that filled the sky on Thanksgiving evening, in Vermont. As always the photograph barely does justice to the real thing but I thought I'd share it anyway.

New for me!

Last night on Animal Planet, David Attenborough blew me away (though he didn't know it, did he?) by featuring an animal of which I had not the slightest awareness -- it's called an Amazonian BUSH DOG -- an unusual creature in several ways. It's the only aquatic canid, has webbed feet and is female-dominant. Quite a trip! The film shows the short, stubby Alphettes running through the woods and marking their territory in the time-honoured way (i.e., by peeing) -- except that in order for a female to do it, the little critturs arch their backs, balanced on their front paws! MOST BIZARRE!! Makes you wonder what sort of mood Mother Nature was in the day she created them ...

A Joke

This came to me in a spam-post -- it was supposedly a comment left at one of my posts of last year, so hardly likely to be a genuine post -- yet the spammer had the good sense to include a fairly amusing joke. Since I moderate comments, I can choose to reject the comment -- and of course I have -- but here's the joke:

During a visit to the mental asylum, a visitor asked the Director what the
criterion was which defined whether or not a patient should be
institutionalised.

"Well," said the Director, "we fill up a bathtub, then we offer a
teaspoon, a teacup and a bucket to the patient and ask him or her to
empty the bathtub."

"Oh, I understand," said the visitor. "A normal person would use the
bucket because it's bigger than the spoon or the teacup.

"No," said the Director, "A normal person would pull the plug. Do you want a
bed near the window?"

Back From My Longest Blog-holiday Yet

Yes I AM alive! It's hard to explain how blog-holidays occur ... It starts with a gradual lapse of interest in the Internet because of using someone else's dial-up connection, followed by an increasing need to clear e-mail back-logs, which results in less overall time surfing or engaging in any non-e-mailorious activities ... and soon ... no blogging at all. *sigh*

Well, I'm back in harness now and also back in Delhiberate. Returned on Tuesday afternoon, on possibly the only flight to scrape through the fog that day, thank goodness. I'd had a surreal journey on account of a 14-hour stopover at Heathrow -- a scheduled stopover, but surreal nevertheless. Everyone told me I should take the opportunity to run into town and spend time with my uncles and cousins BUT ... I had realized well in advance that I wasn't going to be compos mentis. Look at this way: my Virgin Atlantic flight left Boston at 19.45, arriving in London around 8.00 a.m. after a 7 hour flight. Do the math: it means that as far as my body-clock was concerned, it was 2.45 a.m. While it's true I'm a night owl, and am often awake at that hour, I'm not really capable of social interactions at the time! So I figured I might as well save my relatives the annoyance of talking to a walking corpse (i.e., me) and just hang about the airport.

For company I had a newly acquired electronic Sudoku game and also a tiny MP3 device (lest anyone grow envious, NO, this was NOT an i-Pod or any of its fancier avatars, but a tiny little thing called a Zen Nano, 1 Gb and fairly user-UNfriendly) onto which I had downloaded an entire audio-book of shortstories. There were the shops in the arcade and a very lively Starbucks outlet and a selection of other eateries as distractions, but of course, like every tired traveller since the dawn of time, the only thing I REALLY wanted was a place to lie down and sleep. Heathrow isn't entirely hideous in this respect because it's got vast seating areas and some banks of seats are created in such a way that it's possible to recline full-length (i.e., four seats in a row with no armrests separating them). But only a few are like that and of course they are ALWAYS occupied, so I had to make do with being curled up like a prawn, using my backpack as a cushion, over the seat adjoining mine. There were lots of other transit-prawns strewn about the place, so I didn't feel even slightly self-conscious.

Between playing Sudoku, listening to stories and guzzling various Starbucks products, I managed to stay afloat. The flight boarded at 20.45 -- and it was packed to the rafters -- and my seat mate happened to be a rather portly Sardar. The seats were right at the back of plane -- the very last two -- and for that reason, slightly narrower than the rest. This meant that the two of us were squished together like incestuous Siamese twins and I am ashamed to say I actually considered asking the nearest hostess for a change of seat -- not because my fellow passenger was unpleasant in any sense, he REALLY wasn't -- but just that his physical size and the miniature seats guaranteed that I would be a basket-case by the time we landed. Very fortunately, he must have had the exact same idea -- and he acted upon it more speedily than me by finding a friendly Punjabi lady who was willing to exchange places with him. Once he and his mates were sitting in a row, they proceeded to spend the entire flight (a) getting drunk (b) trying to get further drunk but being frustrated in this attempt because the steward announced that they had run out of drinks (c) staggering about in the vicinity of the toilet.

Considering the 14-hour ordeal, you'd think I might have just fallen asleep, but ooo nooo, I am far too much of a movie hog. I'll watch the inflight movies on a plane if I have to pin my eyelids back, rather than sleep through! Especially on the London-Delhi flight (yes, this is an unabashed plug for VA, an airline I absolutely ADORE) is that you get FIFTY FILMS to choose from and you can watch 'em at your own pace, fast-forward, fast back and over and over again, just as you wish. I had already decided I was going to watch a movie called LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE -- I'd read about it on the Boston-London flight, on which it was NOT on the menu -- and I was thoroughly satisfied. It's about a totally dysfunctional family on their way to California from (? Albuquerque, I think) in their even more dysfunctional van, just so that their youngest member, Olive, can compete in a beauty pageant for the under-teen set. Olive wears big-frame glasses, is tubby around the waist and may even have a mild case of buck-teeth. But she's got a container-load of personality and ... well, I'm not about to give the plot away! Alan Arkin plays the role of the grandfather from hell -- but a sweet-pickle hell -- just like the rest of the family, mad but in a curiously adorable way.

The flight circled above Delhi for at least an hour, waiting for the fog to clear -- it looked like a blanket of fleece beneath us -- but once we were down, the queue at immigration moved so fast I was through it and out the other side before I'd had time to wake up. E was at the airport to collect me, and soon enough I was home and having lunch. After which I dove into bed and slept for about two days ...

There's really SOOOOO much to tell, especially about my time in Vermont, that I just know I'll never get around to it. So I'm going to end* this post with a photograph from the Fellini-esque Thanksgiving dinner we had at Stone's Throw Farm, at which the item featured in the picture at the top of this page was an ingredient. Believe it or not, that is a MUSHROOM ... an oyster mushroom, grown by the person holding it, Glen. I was completely mesmerized by the sheer size of the thing -- and it tasted great too. Glen also talked at great length about the fascinating life and times of a mushroom-farmer -- but it'll take much too long to go into all of that, so I won't. I'll just have to return with pictures of the turkey and the sunset and the pig and -- oh! I've just GOT to end this post RIGHT NOW! I promise I'll be back quite a bit sooner than I was the last time.
[*-- though I placed it at the BEGINNING. I didn't want visitors to miss seeing it merely because they found the rest of the post boring!]

Glad to be at Groton!

It's been a week already -- no, a week and TWO DAYS -- since I arrived in the US on Wednesday 1st November, and was whisked away to Groton School, west of Boston, to watch yet another production of HARVEST. I am so pleased and relieved to be able to report that I really enjoyed the show, directed by Susan Clark (or should I say, DR Susan Clark, Director, Campbell Performing Arts Center at the school) and performed by the youngest cast ever to take on the play. I will eventually get a link which will lead to photographs of the production, but for the moment I'd just like to record my appreciation of the entire experience.

I arrived in Groton on Thursday and stayed for two nights as Susan's house-guest, very warmly welcomed to her home by Amy, her partner and Samantha, their extremely charming (and thank goodness, FRIENDLY -- she's a BIG girl!) Old English Sheepdog. We've been in correspondence since early this year so we had agreed that my time in Groton would be spent fruitfully visiting classrooms, aside from watching the play. So I addressed a literature class on the morning of my arrival and later the same day, in the evening, read one of my stories at a post-dinner session. A number of students had been given two stories from the KLEPTOMANIA collection to read and at the morning's class we talked about BEADS; in the evening, I read the second story, SHARING AIR. I generally like talking about my stories because it's something I can do easily (without having to prepare, read up facts or fret about appearing to be brain-dead) and both these occasions were good examples of how pleasant it can be, when the audience is engaged and congenial.

The school was something of a revelation -- idyllic campus and curiously, given that this is the US, very ENGLISH. I had to keep reminding myself that I was across the pond from the Mother Culture -- the study hall with its rows of ink-stained (OLD ink stains!) desks, the wooden tables in the dining hall, the tall ceilings -- was that traces of Hogwarts that I kept seeing around me!? It was President Roosevelt's (FDR, i.e.) alma mater and has a gallery of letters received from every president since the school's inception. The study hall includes, on its walls, wooden panels inscribed with the names of every outgoing student, many of the famous or familiar. Since I spent three years in an Irish-convent boarding school I felt a strong (an unexpected) resonance -- a sense of being in a familiar place -- but a NICE one: this is the kind of school I would have LIKED to have attended.

Anyway. The next morning began early for moi -- I am not famed for early wakefulness! -- obviously the surroundings were a great help, because I was wholly conscious for the three art classes I attended, during which I showed a PowerPoint presentation I had made of my illustrations and prints (alert visitors to this blog will recall that I put together the presentation when I visited Madurai in August this year). Once again, it is so stress-free for me to show my own stuff that it was wholly pleasurable to just click my way through the presentation, talking about some of the hows and whys of the drawings/prints on display. The students were friendly and bright -- and the art rooms were soooooo cool! The two teachers whose classes I was addressing, Beth and Anne were so warmly welcoming it felt good just to be there.

Then in the evening, I attended the opening night of the show, after a sit-down dinner with many of the Trustees of the school. The show was followed by a reception at the Headmaster's house. It seemed to me that everyone was able to relax with and enjoy the play -- given the very weird world that it presents to its audience, with its unlikely story and its bitter-sweet ending ... I think it was a real accomplishment that the young cast pulled it off so well. Josephine Ho was JAYA -- it is such a demanding role, onstage for the entire length of the production -- and she performed with tremendous dignity and poise. Everyone did well -- Hannah Wellman as MA, William Castelli as OM and Alex Klein as JEETU, to mention only the four lead characters -- oh! And Haley Willis as GINNI! -- and if I'm not mentioning the entire cast it's only coz I will eventually post a link to their website where pix and other references will be amply available.

I particularly enjoyed the costumes of the Agents in the final act, designed by Catherine Coursaget -- perhaps the funkiest costumes eveer created for the play, matched only by the Greek production, I'd say! -- and the two major gadgets in the play, the Contact Module and Video Couch were also way up there, topped only by the outstanding Athens production.

Considering this was a HIGH SCHOOL production that's really commendable.

I went back to Arlington (Boston) on Saturday and on Sunday returned with my niece Divya and partner Liam to see the show again, with them. Once more, I think we all enjoyed our time in Groton. Then on Monday, I returned to the school one last time to have a session specifically with the cast, followed by dinner back in Boston with Susan and Catherine.

I could go on and on but at this moment, I am in Sayre with my sister Surya and family -- it's a beautiful Saturday morning, and I can hear that Su is in the final stages of her stupendous Saturday brunch of spicy sausage and Egg Glorium (some people might think of it as an omelette, but those of us who have eaten it know better) so ... I must flee! I've not read through this account, so it is undoubtedly full of proofing errors. Will return and correct at leisure.

Veils and Questions

My friend Viji Ghose forwarded this article to me some days ago and I've been meaning to post it here but have been too pre-occupied with all my travels to get around to it (I'll get back to the news of my travels later). I read the article with much interest -- on the one hand, I was glad to read, finally, a piece from a Muslim woman criticising the experience of being veiled -- on the other hand, it made me think about the many issues to do with being veiled that we all need to examine and to process through our different filters.

For instance, I have often found myself thinking that women who wear make-up are in a sense, veiling themselves. In fact, the whole industry of women's fashion and self-adornment has become an extraordinary type of inverted veil -- fashionable, glamourous women spend what amounts to huge quantities time and effort obscuring their true appearance behind masks composed of cosmetics and clothing. How would it be if the mass of women living in cultures that require women to be perfectly groomed and coiffed at all times were to be forced to "remove the veil" of their glamour and appear unadorned to the gaze of the world? Would that be the same as asking Islamic women to remove the veils behind which they have grown up?

Another thought, and of a similar bent, is: supposing we turn the mirror of culture around, so that we are no longer looking at Islamic women and their veils as an aberration but instead at some cultural feature which is considered "normal" in the west -- for instance, breast enhancements: supposing western women were told they could NOT enhance their breasts? What would they think about it? After all, there is something analogous here -- breast enhancements are potentially uncomfortable surgical procedures that women employ in order to make themeselves more attractive to men.

Though it is not a cultural REQUIREMENT for women to enhance their breasts (in the way that wearing the veil is a cultural requirement), nevertheless it is something that so many women find worth doing that it amounts to a type of pressure -- after all, millions of women (or so we are told) have found better jobs/salaries/husbands on account of their breast implants. And, unlike the veil, which is by and large benign(there are no major health disorders caused by wearing the veil -- yes, vitamin D deficiency has been reported for some veiled women, but as far as I know, it has rarely been life-threatening) breast enhancements have been associated with health risks.

So ... would it be acceptable for western women to be forbidden (by whom, I wonder?) to enhance their breasts -- and would such a ban be analogous to Islamic women being denied the right to veil their faces or to wear head-scarves? And here's yet another question, sort of in the same vein -- if Islamic women can be asked to remove their veils, should Jewish/Islamic communities be told to cease to circumcize their boy children? Just as female circumcision is condemned because it is performed on young girls without their consent and at a time when they are helpless, the same should be true of little boys who have no say in the shearing away of intimate body-parts.

Many questions! Here, now, is the article posted to me:




"Even other Muslims turn and look at me"

Muslim journalist Zaiba Malik had never worn the
Niqab. But with everyone from Jack Straw to Tessa
Jowell weighing in with their views on the veil, she decided
To put one on for the day.
She was shocked by how it made her Feel --
and how strongly strangers reacted to it.

By Zaiba Malik, The Guardian, London, October 17, 2006

"I don't wear the niqab because I don't think it's
Necessary," says the woman behind the counter in the
Islamic dress shop in east London. "We do sell quite a
Few of them, though." She shows me how to wear the
Full veil. I would have thought that one size fits all
But it turns out I'm a size 54. I pay my £39 and leave
With three pieces of black cloth folded inside a bag.

The next morning I put these three pieces on as I've
Been shown. First the black robe, or jilbab, which
Zips up at the front. Then the long rectangular hijab
That wraps around my head and is secured with safety
Pins. Finally the niqab, which is a square of
Synthetic material with adjustable straps, a slit of
About five inches for my eyes and a tiny heart-shaped
Bit of netting, which I assume is to let some air in.

I look at myself in my full-length mirror. I'm
Horrified. I have disappeared and somebody I don't
Recognise is looking back at me. I cannot tell how old
She is, how much she weighs, whether she has a kind or
A sad face, whether she has long or short hair,
Whether she has any distinctive facial features at
All. I've seen this person in black on the television
And in newspapers, in the mountains of Afghanistan and
The cities of Saudi Arabia, but she doesn't look right
Here, in my bedroom in a terraced house in west
London. I do what little I can to personalise my
Appearance. I put on my oversized man's watch and make
Sure the bottoms of my jeans are visible. I'm so taken
Aback by how dissociated I feel from my own reflection
That it takes me over an hour to pluck up the courage
To leave the house.

I've never worn the niqab, the hijab or the jilbab
Before. Growing up in a Muslim household in Bradford
In the 1970s and 80s, my Islamic dress code consisted
Of a school uniform worn with trousers underneath. At
Home I wore the salwar kameez, the long tunic and
Baggy trousers, and a scarf around my shoulders. My
Parents only instructed me to cover my hair when I was
In the presence of the imam, reading the Qur'an, or
During the call to prayer. Today I see Muslim girls
10, 20 years younger than me shrouding themselves in
Fabric. They talk about identity, self-assurance and
Faith. Am I missing out on something?

On the street it takes just seconds for me to discover
That there are different categories of stare. Elderly
People stop dead in their tracks and glare; women tend
To wait until you have passed and then turn round when
They think you can't see; men just look out of the
Corners of their eyes. And young children - well, they
Just stare, point and laugh.

I have coffee with a friend on the high street. She
Greets my new appearance with laughter and then with
Honesty. "Even though I can't see your face, I can
Tell you're nervous. I can hear it in your voice and
You keep tugging at the veil."

The reality is, I'm finding it hard to breathe. There
Is no real inlet for air and I can feel the heat of
Every breath I exhale, so my face just gets hotter and
Hotter. The slit for my eyes keeps slipping down to my
Nose, so I can barely see a thing.

Throughout the day I trip up more times than I care to
Remember. As for peripheral vision, it's as if I'm
Stuck in a car buried in black snow. I can't fathom a
Way to drink my cappuccino and when I become aware
That everybody in the coffee shop is wondering the
Same thing, I give up and just gaze at it.


At the supermarket a baby no more than two years old
Takes one look at me and bursts into tears. I move
Towards him. "It's OK," I murmur. "I'm not a monster.
I'm a real person." I show him the only part of me
That is visible - my hands - but it's too late. His
Mother has whisked him away. I don't blame her.

Every time I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirrored
Refrigerators, I scare myself. For a ridiculous few
Moments I stand there practicing a happy and
Approachable look using just my eyes. But I'm stuck
Looking aloof and inhospitable, and am not surprised
that my day lacks the civilities I normally receive,
the hellos, thank-yous and goodbyes.

After a few hours I get used to the gawping and the
sniggering, am unsurprised when passengers on a bus
prefer to stand up rather than sit next to me. What
does surprise me is what happens when I get off the
bus. I've arranged to meet a friend at the National
Portrait Gallery. In the 15-minute walk from the bus
stop to the gallery, two things happen. A man in his
30s, who I think might be Dutch, stops in front of me
and asks: "Can I see your face?"

"Why do you want to see my face?"

"Because I want to see if you are pretty. Are you
pretty?"
Before I can reply, he walks away and shouts: "You
fucking tease!"

Then I hear the loud and impatient beeping of a horn.
A middle-aged man is leering at me from behind the
wheel of a white van. "Watch where you're going, you
stupid Paki!" he screams. This time I'm a bit faster.

"How do you know I'm Pakistani?" I shout. He responds
by driving so close that when he yells, "Terrorist!" I
can feel his breath on my veil.

Things don't get much better at the National Portrait
Gallery. I suppose I was half expecting the cultured
crowd to be too polite to stare. But I might as well
be one of the exhibits. As I float from room to room,
like some apparition, I ask myself if wearing orthodox
garments forces me to adopt more orthodox views. I
look at paintings of Queen Anne and Mary II. They are
in extravagant ermines and taffetas and their ample
bosoms are on display. I look at David Hockney's
famous painting of Celia Birtwell, who is modestly
dressed from head to toe. And all I can think is that
if all women wore the niqab how sad and strange this
place would be. I cannot even bear to look at my own
shadow. Vain as it may sound, I miss seeing my own
face, my own shape. I miss myself. Yet at the same
time I feel completely naked.

The women I have met who have taken to wearing the
niqab tell me that it gives them confidence. I find
that it saps mine. Nobody has forced me to wear it but
I feel like I have oppressed and isolated myself.

Maybe I will feel more comfortable among women who
dress in a similar fashion, so over 24 hours I visit
various parts of London with a large number of Muslims
- Edgware Road (known to some Londoners as "Arab
Street"), Whitechapel Road (predominantly Bangladeshi)
and Southall (Pakistani and Indian). Not one woman is
wearing the niqab. I see many with their hair covered,
but I can see their faces. Even in these areas I feel
a minority within a minority. Even in these areas
other Muslims turn and look at me. I head to the
Central Mosque in Regent's Park. After three failed
attempts to hail a black cab, I decide to walk.

A middle-aged American tourist stops me. "Do you mind
if I take a photograph of you?" I think for a second.
I suppose in strict terms I should say no but she is
about the first person who has smiled at me all day,
so I oblige. She fires questions at me. "Could I try
it on?" No. "Is it uncomfortable?" Yes. "Do you sleep
in it?" No. Then she says: "Oh, you must be very, very
religious." I'm not sure how to respond to that, so I
just walk away.

At the mosque, hundreds of women sit on the floor
surrounded by samosas, onion bhajis, dates and Black
Forest gateaux, about to break their fast. I look up
and down every line of worshippers. I can't believe it
- I am the only person wearing the niqab. I ask a
Scottish convert next to me why this is.

"It is seen as something quite extreme. There is no
real reason why you should wear it. Allah gave us
faces and we should not hide our faces. We should
celebrate our beauty."

I'm reassured. I think deep down my anxiety about
having to wear the niqab, even for a day, was based on
guilt - that I am not a true Muslim unless I cover
myself from head to toe. But the Qur'an says: "Allah
has given you clothes to cover your shameful parts,
and garments pleasing to the eye: but the finest of
all these is the robe of piety."

I don't understand the need to wear something as
severe as the niqab, but I respect those who bear this
endurance test - the staring, the swearing, the
discomfort, the loss of identity. I wear my robes to
meet a friend in Notting Hill for dinner that night.
"It's not you really, is it?" she asks.

No, it's not. I prefer not to wear my religion on my
sleeve ... or on my face.

Guardian Unlimited © Guardian Newspapers Limited 2006