Ellie Smith and Lisbeth Salander -- "daddy's girls" revisited

A while ago I had read The Daughters of Cain by Colin Dexter. It was after seeing an Inspector Morse Mystery on television. I was in India at that time. There is a character in there named Kay Eleanor Brooks or Ellie Smith, as she calls herself later. A girl who fights back, in ways that maybe an outsider wouldn't understand, but which are perfectly plausible. A wild, seemingly antisocial, but intelligent and purposeful person is our Ellie. And there is that unrealized/unrealizable forever kind of sexual and emotional tension between the moody, irascible, almost antisocial Morse  an unlikely hero, and this at the same time awkward and confident girl with the double nose rings, and colorful hair. Something enduring, that we only see in books, for in real life, the tension becomes either a rope to strangle the relationship, or a nuisance that we are eager to be rid of. Anyway, needless to say I identified with both the characters. I am sure they are Aquarians, with a touch of Virgo.

Years later, another fascinating girl comes along, another fighter/survivor. And this time around, the whole world looks up. (The world had got smaller in the intervening years). Stieg Larsson's The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo aka Lisbeth Salander. Again I am caught up by this character. The same awkward but sure character. Back then I had wished to know more of Ellie, wanted her to succeed, and that wish came true with Lisbeth. I have a vague memory of Ellie appearing in  another novel, and some tragedy, but I may be wrong.

By now I am way older. But that does not affect the identification process. I couldn't help thinking that had I grown up in a Western country, this could have been one of the persons I would have become. (could be wishful thinking) And Ellie came back to my mind. Both girls  are smartly self sufficient but pathetically vulnerable. Both are attracted to older men  in the stories. I liked both the unlikeable heroes, but I prefer Morse, maybe. Because he is that annoying sort of  romantic who is in love with the idea of being in love, which creates its own set of problems. He is the passive wait-specialist, eternal student type who pushes away any sort of culmination, consummation, ending. It is the waiting that thrills him, again, bringing to mind the Aquarian personality. This is the type that even picks a fight for no reason so that that eternal waiting is not changed, and just the yearning is left. yikes! On the other hand, Blomquist, the other type of romantic, is promiscuous. He seems to have no trouble with beginnings and endings.  When it comes to women, one -- Morse, as the true classicist -- seems to put them on a pedestal, and the other seems to just fall into their beds rather too easily. And going with that, whereas Ellie is voluptuous, Lisbeth is waif-like, almost androgynous, as Aquarians usually are said to be! It is the same classicism that juxtaposes the goddess and the fallen woman. But the Swedish heroine/anti-hero cannot be classified as "fallen", nor does she get punished for her amorality, which makes me as a reader and a woman, happy. And my preference for the hero could be defined by fact that  at this point, I  am older and Morse is the character that is older than me now!

Ellie and Lisbeth could be sisters separated by years. They have traumatic experiences with their real father or father figures. Whatever it was, there is a lack of a good father figure in their lives. I  do not want to feed that assumption of a sexual attachment between fathers and daughters, (or mothers and sons, for that matter) as that is a fantasy of perverted/sick minds, or people trying to look sophisticated and highbrow, or unique and different. ( I know I sound dogmatic or naive or stupid when I say that. I am talking about good fathers, not pedophiles.  Normal humans have evolved beyond incest, I believe and hope). Needless to say, it doesn't apply to regular, normal father-daughter relationship. But you could associate it with that longing for kindness,  security and protection. And usually people who are older and who have your welfare at heart tend to provide that more. That person could be an older brother or a father. Like I said before, both the girls look up to older men, the "heroes".

While both possess that raw, unpolished intellect, Lisbeth seems to be an advanced version of Ellie. An Ellie in a digitalized world. A player on a global level,  in the Aquarian Age. A self-taught computer whiz who knows how to use her exploiters to win the war between good and evil -- what she sees as good or evil. One who is more than biology, who uses more than biology to survive, and falls for another flawed hero. Lisbeth is allowed to think like a man, like a girl more influenced by her dad, if she had one around, and if he did not mind her being a tomboy inside and out -- another social expectation matter. (I was no tomboy, but we did not have much choice back then, back home. I wonder -- what if. But I know I wanted to be more like my dad, rather than mom. And on the other end of the spectrum, when we have had the perfect dad, we do look for him, if he is gone forever, just to have him as dad). The difference between the two may be the difference in the outlook of their makers and their heroes. While Dexter seems to be a classicist like Morse, in his handling of his characters, Larsson is more modern, not beyond transcending gender stereotypes, not altogether, but to a greater extent. 

PS : I wish they'd asked Lady Gaga to be the girl with the dragon tattoo. :)

musings for no reason (mainly for malayalis)

There are some sayings  where i come from -- for instance, "two things that cause grief - gold and woman". something like that. possibly true. especially since this profound piece comes from a place where acne on a girl's face and fungus on a man's torso are seen as signs of beauty and virility respectively. :) If you don't believe me, just listen to the songs in this post - In the first one, actress Geetha sings her heart out about the handsomeness and masculinity of the aloof warrior (who by the way, has eyes only for another) she admires. In the second one, our evergreen "around -the-tree - romance" aficionado Prem Nazir lip-synchs his way through yet another extravagantly poetic and sometimes gagworthily descriptive love song( don't mistake me, Prem Nazir is one of my favorites no matter what ).  anyway, what I think is that it is the tummy that causes grief, seems to take a life of its own. and it is an equal opportunity matter. they say that the cessation of growth is one indicator of old age. but I say that growth may stop in certain areas, but certain other areas tend to flourish, a fact that I am made increasingly aware of, painfully.  This is also the time when everyone around you seem to be way younger than you are.

The other day I was thinking about death and such, and sighed and stated that we cannot bring back the dead. Promptly my son quipped, "of course, you can! you are just too lazy!". :) When he looked at me with a sly smile after that, I had to laugh. He was just giving back my own medicine. Isn't that  the basic understanding behind our traditional Indian parenting? Nothing is impossible, it is just for want of your trying that you don't get something. But then, that "unimpossible' thing has to meet with total parental approval, of course! to be contd. -- maybe.

clogged in London

Can't believe that just two days back, I was in London! A short, sweet stay. Even though one day was spent in drenchings and splatters, and the Thames cruise became a foggy blur, I savoured it. While waiting at the airport to catch the return flight to Chicago, it felt like I had been away for a long long time. But once I landed in O'hare, the London sojourn seemed a distant, misty memory. I wondered why we even bother to make trips, if we are going to feel it never happened! But I also know that things will come back once I unwind. Jetlag had caught up, I guess.

The mind and its ways! In London, I thought I saw my dad in a restaurant! In a mirror facing me, I saw this  grey haired man sitting on a sofa, looking outside, with his head to one side. Just the way my dad used to. Even the frame of his glasses  below the high forehead, looked like my dad's. For a minute, this stupid mind of mine told me, " hey , he was here all along! what were you being sad for??" You won't believe the sudden wave of sheer joy and relief that overwhelmed me to see that he was all right! Then the moment passed, as the man stood up and walked out in front of me, and I felt duped. Not that I was completely unaware of the fact all along -- that my dad was gone forever. It was almost as if I was observing myself, my reactions. But still I can't get over the vulnerability of one's mind. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I really thought it was my dad. That all the sad things that happened were just a nightmare. How easy  it is  for the mind to believe in something that is not there!

Anyway, in case you are wondering about the title of this piece, it is all about clogs. Of the shoe variety. I like to wear them all the time, because as I tell anyone who would listen, they are comfy. You can walk in them as much as you want, and your legs don't tire or hurt. I know some swear by flats, others by sneakers. But I like a little bit of heel in the shoe. And because the front is covered, the toes don't get cold or wet. A small puddle is not a problem if you have clogs on. It is leather. But no matter how much I tout it, my sisters won't buy into it. They say clogs are okay with jeans, but not with skirts, dresses or saris. I know your legs look funny in clogs with skirts and such, but I did not care. Comfort being more important for me. And also, I have this habit of closing my eyes to things I don't want to see or just wishing things away, like if I pretend not to see it, it won't be there!

Well, walking around in London was no different. I wore my trusted pair of chunky clogs all over, with everything. When someone asked me if I was from Paris, I was pleased as punch. Like the clogs, I have a preference in jackets too. I have a favorite leather jacket for not so warm days, and a quilted down one for a little cold days. I wear those with everything no matter what. I walked for hours looking at flowers and gardens at the Chelsea flower show. I had teas and pasties and pub food. My clogs and my quilted jacket made them all even more enjoyable. I was glad I had them, as each gust of cold wind blew around me. I was even gladder for the garment, when I saw a few around me shivering in their trendy, light jackets. :D I could empathize with them poor souls, especially since I had been in their shoes a few times before.

I got back home. Then the photos. And I squirmed painfully in shame as I looked at them. :)I looked like an old bag lady! Especially from the front, the clogs looked ugly with my rather nice dress. And what with the bulky jacket and idiotic scarf, I was a sight! My  young sisters asked me who it was that asked me if I was from Paris! They wondered aloud if he was really in his right senses, if he was a drunkard doing savaasana.  I told them, it looked bad because I was posing for the photos. I should 've been photographed while moving. Then they asked if I meant as if by paparazzi? I said, of course! And I tried to make them laugh saying that the way I was packing for the trip was as if I expected the paparazzi to be clicking away left and right, in a frenzy, the moment I stepped into the airport. haha. But no quips or self-deprecating jokes could alter the fact that I looked style-challenged/positively dowdy, and that it was against their  knowledgeable counsel, over the years. "The dress is good, but the shoes are wrong", I have heard that from them a hundred times. The penalty for sacrificing style for comfort!

At last I conceded that clogs do look bad with certain items of clothing, from certain angles.
But that doesn't mean I will follow their advice! That will be sacrilege, for an Aquarian. :) I cannot dismiss the fact that I am getting older, as well. So clogs aren't remiss, totally. While waiting in line at Manchester airport, we encounter confessors at various points, more than any airports here. I really felt like I was doing confession as I answered the set of questions asked by persons of venerable age. It was the regular "did you pack your bags by yourself" questions. But I couldn't hear a single thing. I did not want to ask them to repeat either. Also my mind kept wandering. So I fired away "yes", "no". "no", "yes", with no rhyme or reason. At the first check point, I did fine. At the second point, the respectable gentleman stopped and looked at me and repeated the question. Then I knew I had said the wrong thing. And corrected myself. No, I don't think my ears were clogged. Of course, air travel wreaks havoc in my ears. But this time it was just because I couldn't hear. I remembered my dad who used to do this, towards the later years of his life -- random yes and no to questions or statements. :)) And I used to get mad, and used to ask him, why can't you listen, dad? Why can't you ask them to repeat?! Now I am in the same state, or country (of old folks).

Clogs and I belong together! :D

of quite "unpromising" matters, and of Thor, and gods in general

"What(ever) happened to your promise?" the singer belts out intensely in the song. As I trundle along, listening to it, like I have a thousand times before, it strikes me all on a sudden. That's it! No one has promised me anything! Ever! Then why would I expect anything from anyone? Well, another light bulb moment for this tubelight. I have heard someone tell me this, of course. But back then I disregarded it. If no one promised me anything ever, how can I blame anyone for not keeping promises? I cannot blame even death. But that is a whole different enchilada. (Not that I would believe it if anyone made any promises to me. oh well! )

Related to this could be the reason I prefer knocking on the wrong door. Any sensible person knows such an activity is inadvisable. For one, there may a ferocious bulldog behind that door! Then why do I do it? You may think it is that quality of persistence in me. Or that I am one of those "fatal attraction" fans. Or it could have been the foggy Neptunian influence on me -- that's astrology. Or, it could be that Aquarian urge to bring about change, without being changed themselves, to teach, to impart/share knowledge/info to/with all, whether they would listen or not. But I do it, if I do,  maybe, because I know that there is no one behind that door. That is, no one who has promised me to open the door for me. Now isn't that safe, and pragmatic? You have something to do, or you feel like you have something to do or wait for, and all that. And I get to not change at all! Much like life, I think.-- imagine the picture! everyone in the world knocking away on the wrong doors, or the right ones, for that matter, doesn't make much difference, right? And much like writing, say, this blog.  No one reads it, but I write anyway. And like the concept of "God". ref: in the absurdist tradition, waiting for godot, here, knocking on "godoor" ;)

Talking of gods, saw Thor. Enjoyed it hugely.  Now that is a lover/God worth waiting for! Another wrong door to knock! (I remember the songs that the nuns sing back home, at Mass - "My soul thirsts for you" and things like that) A golden god. Not a silent suffering one. But one who can easily wreak havoc.  Someone who does not pretend to be all-loving and forgiving, and still make us humans suffer anyway, and then wash his or her hands off calling it free will! No false show of humility, and then expect  to be revered/glorified, and kneeled down to, or beware! No, I think that any god who is worth his salt should be this Thor! God! Larger than life.Greater than human.Someone who looks like he can make things happen for you in this world! and not sell you or promise to sell you timeshares in heaven, if you please everyone else but yourself in this life.

Each time you whirled that mjolnir of yours, Thor, my heart, not unlike many other womens' and mens' too, I am sure, went hurtling along. The sheer power! that tremendous, immense, victorious, proud display of physical strength -- brought tears to my weakling eyes. As for Kenneth Branagh, I admired him as Wallander, and now, this, as master sculptor/craftsman of Thor! Thorough, large scale, rollicking, heart-pounding fun!

On "Murder at the Gallop" (1963)

Margaret Rutherford

Joan Hickson

David Suchet

All those involved in the making of this movie have to be congratulated -- they did a fine job of murdering Miss Marple, Agatha Christie, and Poirot, all at once! Done them all in properly! Not at all satisfied with changing a Poirot story into a Marple one, the makers had to make a mockery of Marple. I had to watch a Joan Hickson - Marple  movie to get  rid of the frustratingly disgusted, disappointed feelings that this farcical circus of a movie left in my mind. The character of Miss Marple has been completely turned upside down and trampled on by the character that the venerable Rutherford plays. Marple was not a strutting, bragging, condescending female Sherlock (though I like the eccentric  Holmes). She was a dignified spinster who kept a low profile while calmly and surely solving cases through shrewd observation and knowledge of human nature. She never bragged or climbed over stuff to peep in through windows. They could have made a mystery with Rutherford, or say, Ustinov -- it would not make a difference for those who never read an Agatha Christie mystery. But please do not call them Marple or Poirot. Hickson and Suchet are the only actors who knew the soul and the spirit of those characters. But then, it is sad to note that  in the recent Poirot movies, Poirot has suddenly become fanatically Catholic! Unforgiving and railing against immorality! The humaneness of Christie's Poirot is one of his admirable and endearing qualities! Just as calmness and dignity are some of the qualities of Miss Marple.  A dear sweet old lady who appears quite laid back and almost apologetic for intruding. Modest, utterly feminine, and not hurtfully judgemental. Not at all loud or manly or acrobatic!!! Or sexily clad in strappy dresses and doing the twist!! Notthat there is anything wrong with all that. But that it just isn't Marple.

on death

Thursday, August 2, 2007


One of those days, weeks . . .

So it is going to be one of those days when old age and death make themselves pronounce certain inevitabilities. Today they call me, shake me by my shoulders and say, "hey, wake up! that's enough sleep. Blissfully ignorant sleep! we are waiting here for you. Can't you see? We are right here and we always win."

My first pair of reading glasses had almost done me in. Till then, my eyes had given me no trouble at all. But when they started to deceive me, and when I got this equipment to help me, I panicked. Parts of the machine that is my body, are wearing out. Repairs can help, only temporarily. Soon other aches and pains will enter. Weakness will set in. Diseases of the body, of the mind. No matter what I do, what they do, Time will run forward relentlessly. I will run with it, but ironically, I am being left behind. Lagging. Slowing down. Falling down. Dying.

The glasses were forgotten in a month, as I could read even without it. And the fear of the end was forgotten along with it. New friends, old ones, new smiles, new hellos. Life seemed to be alive once more. But again, along comes the next medical checkup. Sleepless nights -- nights filled with fear. Of pain, of death. Filled with regrets. For things left half done, never done, for dreams that will never be true ever again. For things that will never be the same again. Time. Something that I seem to have a lot of, but in fact, I have so little of.

Who do I say goodbye to? Should I say it? Why? Wish I could say goodbye to time. Meet death half way? Would that defeat Time? Is there someone around to remind me how great life is? Well, if life has been a long slumber, then death ought to be a dream too.

Diary of a bridger of gaps

2008-05-02T06:55:06.497+05:30

Most of us are born with an ability to be bridgers of gaps. For instance when I was a toddler, I had some tricks up my sleeve to make my arguing mom and dad smile at each other again, so I am told. And those smiles made them smile at me in turn which must have been the reason I did use those tricks. Call it self preservation , or preserving the harmony of my environment to my liking.

As I grew up, my studies lead me quite naturally to this theme over and over. I quite easily connected the African American Ralph Ellison and the Indian Salman Rushdie through their books. At the end of my researches, I declared that Midnight’s Children grew up to be Invisible Men – and women.

Next, I had the chance to delve into feminist criticism and theories of narrative techniques while applying it to Emily Bronte's Wuthering Heights. There was a gap I was eager to bridge – the gap between the aesthetics and politics of feminism. And I did it, by adapting the theory of deconstruction to my advantage. Twisting and changing and transforming it to an extent that Derrida would squirm in his grave.

Then came the real identity crisis, as I came to live in the United States of America. All on a sudden, I was a nobody, who belonged nowhere. After a couple of courses in globalization, I found my new job in bridging. The bridging of the Hindu, the Muslim, the Parsi, the Nazrani, – into one group of Vedic people. I utilized many ideas here for my own end in the belief that end justifies the means. For instance, I took into consideration the common elements between Hinduism and Zoarashtrianism. The way the Vedic "deva" became the Zoarashtrian demon and the asura became their god. Compare Maha Asura and Ahura Mazda. And soon that lead me to a bridging of the gap between the Aryans and the Semitics.

The bridges are growing now – between the Mediterranean people and ancient Indians, between the Chinese and Indians, Africans and Indians, and Central Asians and Indians and so on.Meanwhile I did undergo a genetic test to satisfy my curiosity as to my corporeal identity. After all, we Nazranis do believe that we are descendants of Brahmins converted into Christianity by St. Thomas in 52 A.D. A beautiful myth as has been proved by many. I found that we are descendants of Jews who had settled in Kerala long before Brahmins. About the genetic test, nothing much to say except that I wasted some money in order to let someone inform me quite officially that I belong to the human race!

This need to bridge the gaps between people is of course for my own selfish reasons, as I said before. Self preservation, and a longing to preserve the harmony of my environment for myself and for future generations. So there would be no more Darfurs or Somalias or Iraqs and Kashmirs. And boys and girls will not be send away to fight windmills and allowed to die needlessly. And real bridgers of gaps like Sergio Vieira de Mello will not be sacrificed at the altar of greed and indifference.

update on the DNA test -- I got it done again recently and found that my maternal ancestor roamed around the plains of Central Asia around 60,000 years ago, and my paternal one in that area and Eastern Europe around 12,000 years ago. pretty amazing India, don't you think?


another update: the presence of Brahmins in Kerala  when St Thomas came cannot be easily dismissed as I did till now. It is possible, I realize now.

About the Revolutionary Road

2009-02-05T03:30:31.210+05:30

the special folks on Revolutionary Road

"The Feminine Mystique" and "The Female Eunuch" and my thoughts and feelings when I first read those books a long time ago, rushed back to my mind with a vengeance, when I watched Kate Winslet and Leonardo di Caprio in Revolutionary Road. Disturbing. disturbingly real. too close for comfort. "the emptiness and the hopelessness" of it all. a land where the only sane voice is that of a certifedly insane man. I couldn't even cry while watching the movie. does that mean i have developed a thicker shell? or that i am too numb to want to react? i resisted, to be frank. didn't want to be reminded of that old "revolutionary" young asha.

Kate and Leo are trueto life, as the special couple Wheelers. hypnotically real. we all think we are special, don't we? esp. those of us who have been told so when we were kids. the thing is we are not allowed to be special like we want to. there are these expectations -- the question is, whose have the way of right? anyway, we learn later that we are not that special after all. life gets to us. be it in the form of an imaginary sense of obligation to one's dead ancestors, like where Mr. Wheeler warms up to the idea that his dead father must be proud of him when he, the son got a promotion in the same company that his dad worked. and then of course, we become realistic about things. and the children. the born and the unborn. motherhood.the blamings. the brandings. the burnings on the stake. certain ideals ought not to be ever questioned! the guilt, the burden, the justifications, the defiance.

poor Mrs.Wheeler, and her husband, and her kids, and her neighbors. the unrealized dream. Mrs. Wheeler's Paris. Madame Bovary's Paris. some other housewife's New York . the more practical among us opt out of dreaming and out of thinking too! because don't we all know that it is thinking that gets us into trouble? so, even though, for a while some of us hope that there's something good, meaning something that will make us happy, just around the corner. soon, we kill that thought too. there's nothing around that corner. except old age and death. and one feels old suddenly.

Looking back, age was one of the reason I rooted for Hillary Clinton, even though she isn't old to me. apart from the fact that she is a woman. i identified myself with her. easily. ageism and sexism was rampant in the election process, i felt. the media circus.and i am against racism as much as against the other two isms . now i wonder what made it so easy for me. that is, to identify with another generation. after all, i am not in that generation. i belong to the new President's generation. but then i realize, it is the death of dreams that makes one age faster. but then, this too shall pass.

About "The Reader"

302009-02-21T21:31:39.198+05:30


The Reader

Michael Berg (David Kross and Ralph Fiennes) is a Scheherazade of modern times. and he reads to his girl. till her death. what if the "girl" is old enough to be his mother? what if she is a secretive, cold, distant woman? and incredibly simple too. except when they are in bed together. he reads to her. she listens. she wants more. she is a reader who reads without reading. and he sends audio cassettes to her when she is in jail. when the reading stops, she stops too. by then she has started to read. not a "Notebook" kind of reading . or aN "Out of Africa" kind of story-telling. still, it a story telling. and it is a love story.

the gray areas of morality and justice. what does a soldier feel after he has killed a lot of innocent people? including children? in a war that has nothing to do with him or the dead child? the need for a war that the soldier's own country concocted out of and for nothing? will he be ever brought to trial for his cruelty and inhumanity, by his victim? or his victim's family? what do the people inhabiting a country which sent him to a war that caused the deaths and/or enslavement of millions feel? can anyone teach them the right way to feel about these things? will they be brought to trial? will the dead victims ever get justice? if and when these people are brought to a trial in court, how many would lie to escape justice? how many would feign ignorance of what was going on right before their eyes? and how many would really have been ignorant? ignorance is evil, but knowledge could be evil too, if the subjects being taught are hatred and vengeance. or the superiority of a certain race or culture.the woman was just surviving in a moment in history. without thinking, maybe. and she pays the price. but her victims, as she says, are still dead. so is her young lover, in a way. maybe she could have refused to go with the flow. (but how many would, really?)she could have chosen not to let people be killed. she did not. as she says, she had her responsibility. she was a guard. are we allright with it if a soldier said that? that he killed because he had been ordered to. are we, who keep quiet, when we send these soldiers to kill, innocent? will that include all those people who follow a religion or religions, whose leaders sanction killings of others, in the name of religion and/or for ease of colonizations?

as for the actors -- ah! Kate! mesmerizing kate. the vulnerability, the silly vanity, the ordinariness of hannah have all been captured by her. and David Kross and of course, Ralph Fiennes! the Constant Gardener! they have lived the story. left me crying.they can rest assured that they do not belong to the common herd. no wonder some are stars!nor do they have to wonder if they really are special, or worry if they are cursed (or blessed) with that thing called "mediocrity". They are special people. people whose dreams have value. forever young.

what is wrong with (some, well, actually, a lot of) Indian men?

So another girl has been attacked in Kerala, that bastion of tradition and high morality. She was just travelling by train, and this man rapes her. She jumps out of the train to escape him, and she dies. There were other passengers aware of the evil, they kept quiet. A few years ago, another girl was attacked, a nun came to her rescue, and both the girl and the nun were pushed off the train. The nun lost an arm and a leg. In both cases, the men were from other states. Not that Mallu men are saints.
What is wrong with these men? Women and girls of any age cannot walk along Kerala's streets in daytime without being groped and pawed. Even if a male realtive is with a girl, these men feel free to molest the girl. Does this mean we have to cover ourselves up and sit at home behind locked doors? That is not going to happen.

And  in this case, we have to bear in mind that these  unfortunate girls were in the "ladies' compartment". The fact that the ladies need to be seated in a different area itself is suspicious. These same men with their uncontrollable urges behave wonderfully well when they are in other countries. So what is it that gives them the liberty to do whatever they want to, to whomever they want to, whenever they want to, in "God's own country"? Maybe these "literate" males think that www stands for that -- wherever, whenever, whoever -- not unlike many others. Kerala has become the place which looks upon its girls as just objects to toy with. A place where girls have no worth. Of what use is literacy if people cannot acknowledge the basic rights of their fellow beings? Now men from other states come to Kerala to display their perversions. Live and let live, please. It is a proven fact that If a nation's women are not recognized as human, and are not treated equally/ or better, that nation is always going to lag behind in every way. No amount of technological or scientific advances, no social networks, no internet,  nothing is going to bring these nations into the 21st century. Nor will they make these rabid persons human, unless they become human. And for that, education helps, not the textbook kind. But about man and woman. Their rights. The meaning of fairness.

Well, even in so-called civilized countries, it is hard for people to realize that a woman's body is her own. They talk and act as if her biology and her biological clock is everyone else's except her's. It is as if everyone else decides what she should do with her body, when she should have a baby, actually, they are determined that she have a baby. But these are matters which we still have  a choice in, I hope. But in India, everything goes a step further. Girl child is unwanted. She is killed off before she is even born. And what happens to her if and once she is born? Look at this young girl. She is  gone, she  lost her life, after an inhuman horrific ordeal. The distinction between revenge and justice gets blurred in my mind, even when I know that the rot in our culture goes deeper than we allow ourselves to see.
That a woman cannot go about her life without attracting unwanted attention is a violation of her space. I remember once a fellow student at the university countering my argument with "we men get mugged too!"
There was no point in convincing someone who pretended not to understand the basic tenets of civilization and refinement.

And a word to the wise -- that is, those in authority, who are at once proud of our state's culture and tradition, and privately condone the imbecilic treatment of women,-- you better clean up your act. No use parading elephants and pushing houseboats around backwaters -- there won't be any tourists to see it all, if they can't feel safe there. And the modern technology will do something -- it will put an end to secrecy, and coverup, whch is what  till now protected the offenders. We showered the victim with shame and guilt that no one dared to speak out, even when they were hurt badly. But now, it would be like shouting from the rooftops. And these are the kind of things that will blacken our faces, and make us bow our pathetic little heads in shame. We are responsible, our collective inertia, our fear, our selfishness and shame ,and our resistance to change.


I will add more to this piece, once I can breathe properly. It is with a heavy heart that I think of my homeland now. I never thought I will be this glad to be out of that place.

age of self-conscious living-- part 3 or 4?

My fascination with the blurring of boundaries between the real and  the unreal goes hand in hand with my fascination for the age of self-conscious living. This is the third or fourth time I am writing about it. trying to articulate the ideas in my head. Recently I read an article in Time, about Oprah. Now, I admire Oprah, and the writer of this article does too, as he writes about not Oprah in particular, but her new cable channel, OWN -- Oprah Winfrey Network. I do not know where to start! The ideas that ran in my mind as I was reading this article! virtual wild horses waiting to be caught! and tamed! familiar ideas that sounded almost crazy suddenly turned probable and real!
Oprah embodies the spirit and substance of "celebrity". As I said before, we all want to be 'celebrities" in our own ways. The writer of the above article concludes his article thus, "your best self, it turns out, is a self with a show on Oprah's network." What is your "best self'?" We have read and heard a million answers for that. A host of religions attempt to teach you that. But in the present world of democratized media, what constitutes "best self"? To me, that would be a self whose existence has been validated, is being validated. Who validates it? Myself, I could say, like a million self-help books tell me, but i would say it is others. My existence is validated by other selves, the world. And what better way than being in the media? No wonder these reality-tv shows are not going away anytime soon.
And you cannot say that celebrities are just twinkling stars that do just that -- twinkle. it takes a George Clooney to bring Sudan to your attention. It is his idea about the satellite in the sky over that troubled spot that is being put to work right now. His voice is heard, his movements are followed, and there is his power to make things happen. Like Oprah. So the age of self-conscious living , the age of TV living is here as a natural evolutionary force in our existence. I do not know the "real" Oprah. I just know the "virtual" Oprah. And this virtual Oprah changes lives. Inspires others to be life-changing celebrities.yes, your best self is your virtual self!
Now, in this age of self-conscious living, we are all characters in a virtual world. We are heroes -- tragic at times, with one great flaw, comic at other times laughing at ourselves. Movies are made of our thoughts, ideas and what we see. Great or funny music accompanies us, those same thoughts and ideas. We are significant beings whose existences are valid. Valid enough to be seen and heard on a global platform by other valid beings.We are all walking movies, at the same time, we are all moviemakers. We are the "best selves" living in a "self-conscious" world of which we are very aware, a world which has to notice us in turn.

An affair to remember

Having a 13 year old son has its advantages. Apart from the fact that you get to learn a lot about yourself, you also get introduced to a whole new world. The world of video games. It is a completely different culture, a civilization on its own populated by young and the young at heart. They have their own lingo, customs and traditions.

My son has reached that age when let's say, mom, as I was, is no longer needed, badly.  But still he is growing up, which he should, by the way.I watch amusedly, sometimes in exasperation, the disbelieving look that he throws at me at times, -- which, I have to admit, is well-deserved by me --and the overall dissatisfaction at the state of affairs, where he has to follow certain rules around the house, not unlike any typical teenager. But there are times when I feel I am in the circle -- as when I ask him to talk to me about his video games. Then -- boy, can he talk! Out pour all the words. I wonder at the enthusaism, the excitement,  the depth of knowledge, and of feeling.

The other day  I brought to his attention that the VGA - Video Game Awards-was to be aired on TV . Oh, was I the loved mom that evening! We watched it together. I saw something that I would have never seen, if not for him. I enjoyed it, and marvelled at the advance of  technology. Of course it was a young world. But it was exciting, and alive!J knew all the games, the merits, the drawbacks, it was his world.

When I learn that one of his videos on these games that he posted on his channel on youtube, has been watched by over 10,800 viewers, I am spellbound. What is the fascination of these games? Being in control? Being able to interact with the characters? To be a character in the unreal world? He tells me the military finances many of these games.If that is true, this is not just a game anymore. It is going to be a way of life.

Again, my thoughts about that blurring of boundaries between the real and the unreal is being proved to be real. There are commercials being shown now where you can interact with the person. Soon there are going to be movies and TV shows where the viewers play the roles along with the "unreal" characters. 3D participation and time lapse speed would be nothing. Real people living unreal lives. Other lives. Other people's lives. Not just a "second life". The whole world becomes a fantasy world. Which actually it very well maybe. " Maya". We could  defeat death and destruction through a virtual life. Or have perpetual death and destruction, but then like a character in a video game jump right back up to life.

The viewer in the  theatre or before the TV set at home is kind of in love with what is going  on screen. At least as long as s/he watches it, there is a relationship. Once that barrier between the real and the imagined world dissolves through technology, the affair can continue, even stronger. The viewed and the viewer become one.

These days anyone can be an actor, a singer, or writer or anything they choose to be. There are people to see, means to put it all out there. We can make movies, be in them, show them to all. Creativity is flowing all over the net. What was once accessible to just a handful of people is available to all now. Be it knowledge, or creativity. Instead of one genius who seem to know stuff intuitively, there will be a million who can easily clone themselves to be that genius. They can be characters interacting with characters, and the characters themselves. Gradually, new creatures/beings and a new life will form.

As I watch the "unreal" characters speak to the audience, and the overwhelming response  of the admiring audience, these thoughts swirl in my head. I want to clear it, so inspired by a medieval themed game, I yell out, to my husband, waving my tankard, " Inn-keeper!more wine please!" He is not amused. So there is one who doesn't go for role-play! :)

Artisten (The Artist) by Jonas Grimås

It was in 1987 when I was a Literature student at this girls' college back home, that a professor from another university visited us. He read a poem about a train (not his, I remember that) and held up this black and white picture of a train winding up a hill, with trees on either side of the tracks, as he read it. ( We did not have TV)The reading wasn't that rhythmic, but I fell in a trance imagining that train as it chugged its way round the bend, and up the hill, "smoking" all the way. I could see the green of the trees, the blue of the greyish blue of the skies, and above all, hear the rhythm of the train.

There is a romance about trains, and the people who travel on those, and no wonder they have been used in movies and songs and commercials and fashion shoots. Murders take on more mystery, forbidden love gets spicier -- all in that rarefied ambience of trains. Be it the Murder on the Orient Express, or that Vogue shoot with an exotic Diddy and his lady, or the latest Chanel ad with Audrey Tatou, trains and train stations thrill us. And it is the same for me.

Artisten

But add to that, my fatal fascination with the blurring of boundaries -- between realities, the real and the unreal, between genres, between art and life -- I will get hooked. That is what I felt when I saw this short movie named  Artisten, by Jonas Grimås made in 1987. What I saw in my classroom back then, and what I see now in this movie, I should say it has been a gradual journey that has reached a particular culmination. The journey won't end here, surely.  Obviously I am sure much has been written about this brilliant, award winning movie by many and much better qualified people than me. But these are my thoughts.

The Artist is about the blurring of boundaries. In a way, it is  a metamovie, a movie which explores the making of a movie.The synchronous art of the foley artist-hero, and the movie he was showing, is captivating.The final explosion in the movie within the movie, and in the theatre fittingly tops it. This movie is layered and the themes are so many that it makes you think on so many different levels -- an embarrassment of riches, as they say. It is a big, short movie. I cannot get that artist out of my mind, the passion, and the belief. Nothing is beyond bounds for him. Not at all worried about going overboard! He does it with panache. Nor can I forget the would-be artist. There is a sadness and a humor in both the persons that touch one. Do I imagine that sadness? Am I coloring it with my feelings?In moments of self-doubt, which are many, by the way, I think I am that person. Of course I want to be the hero, but will I ever?They are pathetic and heroic at the same time, like us. Maybe I am way off mark in my understanding of the film, but I guess the movie is in the mind of the viewer now.
see the film here : http://vimeo.com/17857824

may 17  2011 update : there seems to be something to the name? another "Artist" is making waves in Cannes! I think i should call myself "The Artist" -- maybe that would help! ;)

career opportunities for medics in airports!!!!

To think that one of these days when i am  trying to catch a plane, my suspicious looking ovary can be looked upon just like that -- suspiciously!
The arrival of full body scanners in airports seem to cause no worry among the general public. at least most of the people i talked to seemed to think it was something inevitable, say, like death. or as if i was making too much of a fuss about silly stuff as usual. fear of privacy invasion has been overridden by that other great fear -- that of terrorrism. obviously pre-emptive attack efforts didn't work well enough. Now the big bro wants to see the average person naked. i did wonder why no one seems to be bothered that much that their B&Bs will be out there for all to see. apparently, i wasn't thinking!

Imagine the pros of such a situation! actually it could prove to be a wonderful opportunity to improve the quality of the nation's health care. For instance, while they are looking at your body, they could let you know your BMI, which would help a lot of people. They could hand out flyers explaining the significance of that number along with their bags. Now, what if a lady tried to hide a weapon of mass destruction in her tampon deployed inside her? What if someone swallowed the same and the wmd is lying peacefully in his stomach?
or lower? well, soon there will be more than x-rays at the security check. CT scanners and MRIs too will
arrive.

Now think of the possibilities! If they had radiologists and pathologists at hand, -- they should, because otherwise someone might think my suspicious looking ovary, with its cysts and scars, is a WMD, and what about someone else's fibroids -- these specialists can read the scans and let the people concerned know. In no time, there will be surgeons too at the airport, and, won't that be convenient? Sometimes we do not know what all disease- ridden things are hidden in our bodies, and the new airport checks would be a godsend then. Mammograms and colonoscopies can be easily done here, not to speak of cosmetic/plastic surgery. If found lacking in any area, implants may be provided.  and if there is an excess, of course, the necessary adjustments can be done.  Ah, dentists too will be in great demand, for things could be concealed under crowns and bridges.

And then, let's imagine the states of mind of the persons who see our naked bodies. I don't know about anyone, but I know Mallus and other Indians. If such a thing as a full body scanner landed in our airport, the guys there will have the time of their lives. Boy! would they now!!! A perpetual hum and frisson of excitement will pervade the whole city. A surge in the number of job applications from guys to man the scanners. Soon the web will be flooded with our pics. One would be posted right in the middle of the town square! Everyone gets to be famous! As an added bonus, disgruntled/rejected boyfriends/girlfriends can have their revenge easily. just get a copy of the pic and send it to the would-be bridegroom's address. or make  a poster and stick it in the middle of the town. Students can wage wars against teachers, friends turned enemies can find comfortable weapons of destruction in these highly colorful images. Of course, the women would be found at fault! duh! how dare they are naked under their underclothes!!! serves them right for being so daring!!

oh, and  I hear that the Police will have the full body scanner in their cars! that is going to be more fun! we, the public are going to be taken care of so well! nothing like the up close and  personal touch.

PS : update --  a protest is being planned around Thanksgiving day, I hear. Thank Goodness! :)

latest update May 31, 2013 - They're gone! TSA has removed the offensive , intrusive machines - http://www.cnn.com/2013/05/29/travel/tsa-backscatter

update: Feb 10  2014 Wrong! they are still here.
http://www.cnn.com/video/data/2.0/video/bestoftv/2014/02/01/tsr-pkg-marsh-body-scans.cnn.html

I have seen agents sitting behind computer screens looking at the bodies, get up and look at the person's face -- to connect the body with the face -- more fun! so much for respect, privacy, dignity,  promised anonymity etc. for the passengers, and  maturity and integrity on the part of the agents.

new adventures of old asha or Omphaloskepsis

there is nothing much to do. maybe because it's all been done. either by myself, or by others. actually, much more .... and more... by others. but then that is all right, since we are one.
believe it or not, i haven't really tried to pick lint off my navel. i hear it is an art worth cultivating.
sadly, even if i wanted to try it now, it won't be feasible. there is this gooseberry- sized gauze ball stuffed tight in my navel. yep. and there is a band -aid over it. i look at it longingly. curious to see what's happening underneath . but i am not supposed to pry. obviously, privacy concerns. so, the contemplation of my navel has to be put off for now.

in any case, i have other things to do. or not do. when i get off bed, i am not allowed to sit right up. no sudden jumps and all that. but i notice that i am prone to do that -- just like my dad. but then, since i do not want a lotus, or something akin to it,  to rise out of my navel, i try to remember to roll over to my side, slowly bring my feet down, and sit up. i tell all this to my relatives who havent been very impressed with me lately, and have written me off the "going places" list. Here is my chance to grab that elusive 15 seconds of fame, among them. Of course once they hear it is laparoscopic, every one of them is pretty dismissive like seasoned surgeons. But ... but there are incisions! 4 of them! on me!! come on! thats not simple! and other stuff that was done inside me!
well, anyways,

i am asked to support my tummy when i lie down. i support it so much it hurts. someone in charge here asks me, " you always have to take that one extra step, dont you?" "Do I?" , I wonder. hmm. something else to think about. maybe i do! i think of all the friendships, and would-be friendships that I had lost on the way, probably because of this overdoing business? or, that may have happened because of other stuff, like them being mountains and i being a teeny tiny ant.ants are mighty envious of mountains, btw.

ok- back to contemplation of my navel -- i touch it, does it hurt? not really. but after a while, i feel a twinge. does it feel colder than the other areas? oh NO! it feels wet! it is infected! no, no. it is fine, really. i imagined it.

all the do's and don'ts! i am fed up. i can't run, i can't do situps or crunches, i can't climb stairs, omg! how am i going to take it!! actually it is only for a couple of days. but you don't know that! my six-pack (fl)abs is going to be a thing of the past. and my dream of world domination  in the next Olympics, or at least CWG, is out the window. and, SACRILEGE! i cant have sex for 2 weeks! for 2 whole weeks! now that is a hit on my
(r)aging libido. at the end of the said 2 weeks, watch out, you studs between 23- 29! ;) to add insult to injury,  i shouldn't get pregnant for the next 5 years! that is unthinkable! how can i bear that!!!not that i have been making babies nonstop all these years. it is the principle of the thing. (after the 5th year, it's all right, since the question doesn't arise, and the Holy Ghost has gone on to newer pastures).

as i lie there, i remember that heavenly feeling or not-feeling while i was under general anaesthesia. whoever invented that has to be hugged and kissed forever. I did not feel a thing! I do not remember a thing! for 3 hours I was totally unaware! dead to the world! to me that is unbelievable. to not worry if i talked too much, or too little, to not think , or remember, to not know that i am breathing!! 3 hours of my life -- a big mystery.
back to navel-gazing. i am not supposed to look at  my navel. that would count as an almost-crunch. i give up, i have to take a peek. just let me get this band aid off first.
:)

On Mr Bourdain's visit to Kerala, -- and my wayward mind's workings

started off as a response to some comments on Kerala by a few facebookers, after Anthony Bourdain's visit to that state. this blog could be said to be  indirectly set off by all that.  Bourdain's sweeping statement about Indian food being not aesthetically pleasing, even though delicious, put my back up. Any food can be presented in a "cultured' way. I have tried to do it in my humble way, like my mom ( and many other moms do)  does it everyday without going overboard -- I am no professional. This ancient culture of mine has seen and done it all, and so called modern cultures are re-discovering it everyday --say,  in their adoption of vegetarianism, which has been a way of life for us for centuries.( well, my ancient culture is backward in one factor -- its treatment of its girls, but that's another story , or maybe not, come to think of it)

 ..

all right. It was interesting to find out what the thoroughly rebellious, but democratized Mr Bourdain would do to Kerala. Along with many other proud Mallus, I waited for the show to air.

After all, Kerala is the state with the highest rate of literacyin India. Because of the Marxist revolution, its people are relatively freer than their counterparts in some other states. No bonded labor here, a strong labor union etc. etc. There aren't many communal riots here, and our health care is on par with a wealthy European country. We have enjoyed trade relations with the known world from ancient times. This is  the fabled Malabar -the  spice land. This is the land about which Roman historian Pliny wrote, when Roman Senators complained about the flow of gold to India in return for  black pepper. You do not have to go far to look for the politics of food, if you look for the history of the need for black pepper and other spices. This is where the legendary port of Muziris was, from where gifts were sent to King Solomon! Where St Thomas the Apostle landed. We have defeated the Dutch in battle. Our Kings were more forward thinking and less flamboyant.  And it is not all Portuguese influence, as one person on Bourdain's show seemed to imply! Jews were there before Christ. I belong to that group - Nazrani. descendants of the ancient Jewish population in Kerala. Phoenicians, Arabs and Persians came there too. So did the Chinese. Kerala was from where they got their martial arts. Compared to all that the  Portuguese was a recent intrusion. And there was Christianity in Kerala before their arrival. They forcibly made us Roman Catholic, that is all. The Portuguese may have brought tomato to Kerala. But we already had various types of tamarinds, garcinia, and mangoes, so the cuisine did not suffer that much, I should say. Also, the Portuguese did not go empty-handed either. They took away more than they gave. Like all the rest of the  East India Company traders.
Kerala - Roman - Middle East connection http://www.keralatourism.org/muziris/

To see Kerala through Mr B's eyes, and stomach ( :) ) , was pleasantly engaging. of course, what he showed was just a little bit of street level Kerala. Very much a part of it, but just one part. But then we all know that is what Mr Bourdain does.And  I was happy, on the whole, as just seeing a bit of that greenery makes my day. He missed out on both Nazrani and Malabari/Muslim cuisines, along with all other traditional and also regional basics. So what if Mr B did not taste even the standard, run of the mill 'fish curry meal" , or notice the fact that we keralites eat a variety of rice that is different from most other states'? As it is, it is a special, nutritious and delicious rice which is not bleached but double-boiled with hints of  brown on it. Rich in thiamine. Or the "kanji" from that rice, with the Nazrani staple "beef and  green banana varattiyathu". Mr B did not savor the aroma or the taste of pearl onions sauteed in ghee, poured over the above mentioned rice. !! Or the numerous jackfruit dishes, with or without coconut. Nor did he see or taste our "upperis" or "thorans" and "mezhukkupurattis" -- our versions of salads, where we make use of all kinds of veggies and greens, from the crunchy, white inside of the plantain trunk, to the tender, green shoots of the bean plant -- another standard, basic food of Keralites. And all the "appams"!! Come to think of it, I wonder at whoever acted as guides for this show?!!! oh well!

Then I happened to read the comments, and  I started to remember certain "facts" Mr Bourdain made in passing. For instance, the assumption that all elections in Kerala are rigged,. 1957 's was not a rigged election. Mr B! In fact, it was some of the enlightened "upper" caste leaders who lead that revolution.


Along with that it dawned on me that some people only see what is shown here. They will never see the rest of Kerala or India, or wouldn't want to, if they had the chance. So this is the only lesson they get! And that set me thinking again. Again conveniently reinforcing their exalted ideas about themselves and the opposite about others.

Someone said India should be a parking lot for Asia and other derogatory stuff, I have to remind them that not all nations get to throw up their superfluous onto other nations, and not all superfluous get to kill off the natives and grab all their land, and start a new nation from scratch. Nor do they get to start up wars anywhere they like so that they can fill up their dwindling coffers, at the same  time make their citizens' jingoist hearts swell with pride and patriotism.

And the caste system -- as if they are new to that! the slavery and the aftermath has been swept under the rug? of course, most people are drugged senseless here, by TV and shopping.
India is an ancient country, and it has an ancient culture, (not to speak of a different climate!) its landmass has been reduced by hook or by crook, and its people are just waking up from centuries of colonial abuse.



As for the concern about  cleanliness, of course we are too, actually I haven't seen or tasted much of what Mr Bourdain ate!! (And we do have breaded beef and starch dishes,  if that is the epitome of "civilization" and prettiness!!.) There is a huge majority who eat only clean, healthy (and also unhealthy, fatty , since that is a criterion for an advanced civilization!!!)  homemade food.


Anyway  I guess it is much better than eating almost-touched -by fire raw meat, and fish. Or drinking milk from cows that aren't cows anymore. I mean a herbivorous animal fed on meat! or the sausages, and the chickens and the eggs and so on and so on.
Or the mush that they serve here in the name of "curry" or the "curry powder" that they sell as spice!!!
and they add that thing to everything, and call it Indian!!

I know it is a natural tendency of many of  the so called First World to assume that they are the superior ones in everything, and  smugly watch the misery of others, pretending all is cool with them and their lot. I would be ideal if people knew that every culture is different, and that India has a huge population, in which each state, each district, each community, and each family is different. There is no standardized, assembly line home style food making here, for good or bad. For a westerner, it is an almost incomprehensible unique individualistic but collective identity that is India. Also, talking about differences in culture, and a foreigner's perception and expectations when they visit India, in this case, Kerala, let me give an example, esp. since Bourdain is taking us not to high end restaurants but to the low end eateries. Well, there lies the rub. For instance take the beach culture that you can experience almost anywhere in the world. But come to Kerala with its beautiful beaches -- there is no such culture here. Not many outdoor eateries where the whole family or women can go. Yes, the class structure even thoug hit is slowly dissolving is still very much there. Does that mean people do not eat good food? They do, but mostly at home. If Bourdain wanted to see low-end eateries serving tasty Kerala food, he should have gone to college or university students, youngsters at workplaces. But even then, he may not srike luck, because again, these will be mostly the male sex, thereby missing a whole chunk of ideas from the majority of the population.( The reason for a  lack of a beach and outdoor and a commercialized foodie culture in Kerala can be traced to the traditional ways of controlling women. Sadly. That needless to say has many other consequences, least of all being that the people there seem to be idiots, again, sadly. Add to that the idea that has been ingrained in the patriarchal minds about cooking as a whole -- it is a woman's job. And a woman's place is in the kitchen of her own home. And the work she does there is not appreciated or valued or considered important. So there is no real incentive to take that cooking out to the public. Granted, there is an instance of untapped potential resourcewise and marketwise, with regards to local food taken to the public stage. As it is, it is mostly a man's world. Things are changing, of course, but slowly. But I still have hopes for my state -- not to blindly ape western habits, for example, please stick to drinking water! not Coke and Pepsi, and keep using those spices, and not cheese and salt and sugar -- but treat the women as human beings.)


 But I don't think Mr Bourdain meant that to happen. I hope not! Because I always admired his lack of condescension and ability to get along with everyone.  Accepting them for what they are, even respecting them, without that sense of superiority that plagues others. Which makes one distrustful... .He never seemed to  be one of those show persons who show only the Magnificent Miles of their own country, and went a-scavenging in others.(anyway, it is taken for granted that the white world is rich and happy, they needn't be afraid that people will misunderstand!) Showing just this bit of Kerala cuisine makes it rather representative of the whole state's cuisine, which is far from reality. Almost like me assuming that eating opossums and innards is representative of white American cuisine, thinking those are the the only things that the whites eat. Or that everything is porridgy or "custardly" and are in a rather dastardly manner pushed through various implements to form curls or swirls and slivers. Bourdain's disdain for simple food is unhealthy -- the less processed and breaded, the more nutritious. Anyway, reduction should stay as a culinary technique, not as a method to reduce the cuisine of a whole civilization. Like they did with the branding, 'curry".For the colonial powers it was a systematic reduction of everything that was Indian, of course, their history, philosophy, religion etc -- part of their exploitation agenda, and placing imperialist machinery of law, politics, and education in their place. for instance, see Macaulay's educational ''reforms' tailored for Indians, which we sadly follow even now.

But getting back to the Bourdain matter,  the boorish comments from the viewers color the whole thing for me -- negatively. makes me wonder if here is just another white guy pretending.....another phony.... or just human? after all, not everyone can be a Henning Mankell. could it be another instance of "all are equal, some are more..."? I want to be proved wrong.


Still, all this, including my reaction, ( because I know that I can't blame Mr B for the comments from a few of his fans, but that is what triggered these thoughts)  leaves a bad taste in the mouth, and I will stay clear off Bourdain's show  at least for a while.
Aah! that feels better -- end of rant.

And something else -- Mallu TV channels broadcast the "fact" that Mr B came all the way from America   in order to discover the favorite foods of Mammootty, Kerala's beloved actor. :D

Mammootty

PS: I just read this again. and my goodness! I wince! what an embarrassing rant! but there it is. :) I have to agree that things can be better.
I realize I have to work on this piece some more. later, when I have the time and patience. for instance why do I have pictures of our food here? Do I need to prove that our food is better and tastier than any other? but it is inevitable that the second rate world citizen gets angry, because in his mind, he is not second rate, but he knows that in their eyes he is, or they prefer to think he is so.
someone once told me that the proletarian and the feminist have one thing in common -- they whine.
I should also add, they become defensive too. and not just them -- well -- I guess it is a part of the  subaltern effect.




(UPDATE: $20 billion - Temple's secret vaults yield treasure - World news - South and Central Asia - msnbc.com
http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/43629294/ns/world_news-south_and_central_asia/

wonder how the Brits overlooked this bit of treasure. one reason could be the lack of flamboyance on the part of Kerala kings. the British, and the others, did take a lot (an understatement, if I didn't make it clear) - one gets an inkling of the enormity of their loot from the kingdoms of India. .)

fish in coconut milk - nazrani mode

erissery

basic upperi/mezhukkupuratti

malabar pathiri

noolappam and malabar egg masala

Anyway  I guess it is much better than eating almost-touched -by fire rare meat. Or drinking milk from cows that aren't cows anymore. I mean a herbivorous animal fed on meat! or the sausages, and the chickens and the eggs and so on and so on.
Or the mush that they serve here in the name of "curry" or the "curry powder" that they sell as spice!!! haha
and they add that thing to everything, and call it Indian!!

I know it is a natural tendency of many of  the so called First World to assume that they are the superior ones in everything, and  smugly watch the misery of others, pretending all is cool with them and their lot.



beef cutlets and yogurt sallaas - nazrani's

kappayum meen vattichathum/ tapioca and fish in hot sauce

paalappam and mutton stew -- nazrani's

kerala egg puffs

But I don't think Mr Bourdain meant that to happen. I hope not! Because I always admired his lack of condescension and ability to get along with everyone.  Accepting them for what they are, even respecting them, without that sense of superiority that plagues others. Which makes one distrustful... .He never seemed to  be one of those show persons who show only the Magnificent Miles of their own country, and went a-scavenging in others.(anyway, it is taken for granted that the white world is rich and happy, they needn't be afraid that people will misunderstand!) Showing just this bit of Kerala cuisine makes it rather representative of the whole state's cuisine, which is far from reality. Almost like me assuming that eating opossums and innards is representative of white American cuisine, thinking those are the the only things that the whites eat.

But wrongly, maybe, such boorish comments from the viewers color the whole thing for me -- negatively. makes me wonder if here is just another white guy pretending.....another phony.... or just human? after all, not everyone can be a Henning Mankell. could it be another instance of "all are equal, some are more..."? I want to be proved wrong.
 As it is, the majority of commenters are gracious.

Still, all this, including my reaction, ( because I know that I can't blame Mr B for the comments from a few of his fans, but that is what triggered these thoughts)  leaves a bad taste in the mouth, and I will stay clear off Bourdain's show  at least for a while.
Aah! that feels better -- end of rant. ;)
 I just hope you don't come before my mom, Mr B! :))
And something else -- Mallu TV channels broadcast the "fact" that Mr B came all the way from America   in order to discover the favorite foods of Mammootty, Kerala's beloved actor. :D

Malayali's puttu and kadala



upma and payaru

a few nazrani x'mas dishes

malayali's sadya

malabar chicken biryani

kerala/malabar porotta



malabar mutton korma

Kerala- Roman - Middle East connection http://www.keralatourism.org/muziris/






Age of self-conscious living - part 3

Modern human is a showman, or woman. The adoring public gives meaning to his/her existence. It is for them that we perform. The validation of our existence, as I said before. Many of us try to give the performance of our lives, be it to our immediate family and friends, or to the world in general, with some faces thrown in for that personal touch and inspiration. Some take it to the extreme of course, and some to the extent that it becomes a freak show. The age of self-conscious living. We of course announce that we do it for ourselves. But imagine if there wasn't an audience! People to applaud and envy you? I dare say it wouldn't be half as much fun. So the bigger the performance, the bigger the applause, and the bigger the satisfaction, especially when  you assume that you are the best, and that you have the most enchanted life. What a wonderful feeling it must be to think that all the rest are plodding idiots waiting to hear about your next exploit?

There is a romance and drama in being single too,. So when one is seemingly unattached one looks freer and then the more the envy and admiration. This applies more to the single man than to the woman. Because the usual thinking is that the man chooses to stay single, and the woman, because she couldn't get a man. But the majority of the spectators prefer to watch and enjoy, while trying to create a smaller scale version of the drama in their own lives. While the "free" one continues giving the show of his or her life.

While before it was just a handful who did this on a world stage, now, in this age of globalized demoracy, and explosion of media, all of us train and aspire to be heroes and heroines, in whatever way we can.  Some sign up for reality TV, others write blogs, books, everyone twitters their daily activities, as if  we make the news, or that we are news.  The age of the internet calls for new  kinds of relationships, terminologies and ideals. So, naturally, crash courses in spoken netword becomes necessary. Idioms and usages specifically aimed at different types. "Follow your heart" and "chill" are used indiscriminately. Along with pep talk phrases. In the end, when we all want to be unique and different,  what we have is a group of ageing people trying to hold on to their youth. Clones and machines. Which is fine. But for this platitude-culture to work,  we expect  a willing suspension of disbelief from everyone we meet. It is hard for us to tolerate a different point of view. We say we do as long as that willing suspension of disbelief is at work. If we don't get that, we turn mean. The philosophical and/or moralistic or amoralistic guru in us, the one with the all encompassing love and compassion for all, who loves to dish out unnecessary, unhelpful advice , which by the way, we can get anywhere else, and extend promises of "being there for you" (LOL), disappears. Spitefully we hurt the stupid who dared to think out aloud, a little differently, say, he or she did not think your last speech was that great, or found it absolutely boring,!( Or, in case of promises  -- the one who promises does not expect you take up on his or her promise literally, and expect him or her to be there. That is where the "willing suspension of disbelief" comes in handy. Imagine you assuming that the grocery clerk who asks you how are you, really cares how you are! Or that if you really tells her or him about your plight, s/he will come to help! )
So this community becomes just another insular village-community of the Middle Ages. The modern element with its really Aquarian positive, friendly, tolerant energy  remains in our imaginations. In a way, again, people use each other. Some more than others. Some in the guise of a  benign welcoming, forgiving machine-like personality, actually swallows up an unsuspecting person, wringing out all the excitement and wonder of a romance, and then spitting out  what is left over.

If this is Aquarian Age, I feel disappointed. But I am hopeful that this is just the beginning. That we human beings will evolve more and more-- to be real Aquarians.

"Third world" woes

This is the post-postmodern age. we all know that. in this age, we abhor racism, sexism etc. We are enlightened beings, or on the way to being so. esp. celebs. Almost all of them have causes to work for. and we are grateful that their famous faces bring the attention of people with money to the fate of the underprivileged.
And we hope that that would bring some long awaited changes in the lives of the disadvantaged and the dispossessed.

These celebs of course are compassionate, they want to help these unfortunate people. But at some point, the problem peeps out. the fact that in their heart of hearts, they don't see these human beings as their equal. "all are equal, some are more equal" comes true here. oh, i hear protests.

We hear casual references like  "something that may happen in a Third World country", to denote the speaker's disbelief at a pathetic occurence in a rich country. ( that was the great humane do-gooder George Clooney). Or "showing that even the tall, blonde foreign lady wanted to use it" when a celeb is describing her philanthropic work in a certain Third World country ( this is from an article in Vogue). The funny thing is the lady here doesn't have a clue as to what an average Third Worlder thinks. The Third World woman, for instance, has so many other important immediate matters to think about and deal with -- like her daily bread, her children, and her family to mention a few, that the 'blonde lady" shouldn't have to worry about what we think. We do not have any concept of your blinding beauty just because you are tall and blonde. Well, if you were really beautiful with a loving smile, then, yes. But not if you were arrogant, and condescending. Anyway, most probably, if they are anything like us Malayalis, they will look on you as just an alien, as a totally different kind of being -- not necessarily angelic or intelligent. Some of them may be even laughing behind your back. Of course there will be those who fear you  like they fear ghosts.

So -- What do these unthinking, (maybe)  by the garden-variety philanthropic celebs tell a person like me? that is, someone of average intelligence? I get the idea that the celeb concerned has inadvertently revealed his or her sense of racial superiority. in the second quote, she might as well have added "Aryan"! I do not know why these people think that we like the name-calling? or that we must like it? It is like using the N- word, dear people! That you have deigned  to stop using. Why keep using this? Of course, once you stop using this particular word, another word or phrase will take its place, which for  a while will be fine with us third worlders -- for a time. after a while we may or may not protest against that too. that is our privilege. and dancing to our tunes is your burden. :) after all, third worlds did not appear overnight on their own. we know our faults, our lacks, our situation better than you. we will call ourselves names, you do not have that right.


It is this  uncomfortable, distasteful mixture of compassion and contempt of the white race toward the so-called Third World, that makes some of  us and many of the underprivileged, distrustful of these white good samaritans. this is why the whites see hatred in the eyes of many of the poor,  even as they accept the numerous kindnesses. somehow they know, because they are not stupid. and particularly because the precedents are not that good. Historically, the advent of the  white man into the  Third World countries has not been advantageous to the Third Worlder. In fact, they know that it is this "discovery" by the white man that played a huge role in making them Third in the first place. These modern day human rights activists are the descendants  of people who made grabbing what belonged to others, an art. And no matter how much the outward trappings may change, inside, most of them are the same as their ancestors. Unless they acknowledge this contradiction/self-delusion, and change -- from the inside.

I have seen this in a university setting, where the ideas of equality and justice are accepted as everyone's birthrights. Professors who strive to be fair, non-racist, evolved beings, gay men who try the same thing, but at some point,one can see through the pretense -- conscious or otherwise. They delude themselves into thinking that they are  highly enlightened regarding the race issue, just because they are afraid to be mean to the black students,  or because they are in the field of arts and humanities, or because they are outside the mainstream as they are not heterosexual. But that doesn't naturally make them non-racists.

Now, there is a white man who acknowledges this uncomfortable truth in his writings. Henning Mankell. That is just one thing, and one very important thing -- that makes him better and different from all other great white writers or scholars, in my eyes. and he is an Aquarian too! :)



PS : A variation of this covert racism is parallelled in the area of sexism. Thus we see even educated men stoop to harping on annoyingly inane jokes that make use of outdated notions about women's nature. That there are men who find such types of jokes even remotely intelligent or  funny, in this age, is unbelievable. The basic reason here too is the contempt that they hold in their heart of hearts for women, underneath all that pretense of respect and honor.And also the fear that women are getting ahead, that tradition and mores made by men may not be able to keep women suppressed for much longer.