i feel sorry for the newspaper editors of this country today. Look at their options for tomorrow's headline...
'Andrew Symonds racially abused by Harbhajan Singh'
- Huh?!! What?!! A white man abused by a brown man??
'Match referee believes Michael Clarke, bans Harbhajan'
- Wow... that would be funny. Or maybe someone got reallllyyy drunk. Would you trust someone who doesn't walk when it's obvious he's out?
'Indian calls Australian a monkey'
- i think we need to call Sanath Jayasuriya to bear witness.
'Australians complain about sledging'
- Oh come on!
Maybe this would be appropriate:
'Race row in Australia: Brown man suffers'
25.12.07
CSI Theatre of Performing Arts...
Waiting at the International Airport to pick people up is like watching hundreds of performances at one shot.
First of all, is the audience. Arranged in two tiers, the cheap 'seats' are outside the building and the 'balcony section' is inside, where you pay to enter. Already the audience is waiting for their rockstars with signs saying 'Mr. Adam Smith, Welcome to India' or 'Fertiliser industry welcomes delegates'. The excitement mounts as the flight information indicator changes frmo 'Scheduled' to 'Arrived' and reaches a crescendo when the Opening Act (read: the airline crew, who get first preference to leave) makes its appearance.
Then come the stars of the show. They are watched at every point along the looooong corridor that has bouncers standing along the edges. They have to make sure they meet the expectations of their waiting audience. The firangs have to look 'desified' enough, the desis have to look firang enough. Let's face it, who'll give bhaav to a desi without a pony or not dressed in a tracksuit?(that's funny, isn't it? Most of us leave in shirts and corduroys and return in banians and shorts. Is is THAT expensive?) Or for that matter, a firang without the mandatory tilak or Goa shirt?
The waiting audience is also performing. People who've spoken in Hindi or Marathi or Tamil or any of the hundreds of native tongues all their lives, suddenly acquire a new comfort with English when they enter the waiting lounge. And a twang to boot. But the air inside the waiting area is not firangified enought, so mentions of 'snakes and cheaps' slip through amongst the 'oh yeah the flight is naat on ske-dool'.
The show begins. Our country bumpkins turned rockstars acquire a new coolness to them. Compulsory mineral water bottle in hand, (after drinking our sludge for 25 years that too) they wear their sunglasses (at 3 in the morning) and emerge at the end of the exit corridor with their trolleys and waist pouches. The crowd goes into a frenzy. Camera phones click, ring tones start getting louder, conversations become hypersonic. And the waving! Oh who could forget those! The two carloads of people who've come to receive the rockstar start a mexican wave. (And why shouldn't they? What else could be the purpose of 15 people coming to receive one person) The rockstar responds with a wave thats strangely cold (Were they moonlighting as President Bush's waving body double?) and as he/she approaches the by-now-wild fans, he/she lets out a 'Hey wazzaa?' (Yes, your grandmother understands what you say. The universal language of showing attitude.) Then the point towards the exit, and all the groupies run off behind their rockstar.
But all is not hunky dory for our rockstars. Sometimes, they get stuck in customs and baggage loading. Or sometimes, CSI airport just messes with them. Just for fun. Really.
Thank God for CSI airport people. Without them, our rockstars would have had heads the size of watermelons!
First of all, is the audience. Arranged in two tiers, the cheap 'seats' are outside the building and the 'balcony section' is inside, where you pay to enter. Already the audience is waiting for their rockstars with signs saying 'Mr. Adam Smith, Welcome to India' or 'Fertiliser industry welcomes delegates'. The excitement mounts as the flight information indicator changes frmo 'Scheduled' to 'Arrived' and reaches a crescendo when the Opening Act (read: the airline crew, who get first preference to leave) makes its appearance.
Then come the stars of the show. They are watched at every point along the looooong corridor that has bouncers standing along the edges. They have to make sure they meet the expectations of their waiting audience. The firangs have to look 'desified' enough, the desis have to look firang enough. Let's face it, who'll give bhaav to a desi without a pony or not dressed in a tracksuit?(that's funny, isn't it? Most of us leave in shirts and corduroys and return in banians and shorts. Is is THAT expensive?) Or for that matter, a firang without the mandatory tilak or Goa shirt?
The waiting audience is also performing. People who've spoken in Hindi or Marathi or Tamil or any of the hundreds of native tongues all their lives, suddenly acquire a new comfort with English when they enter the waiting lounge. And a twang to boot. But the air inside the waiting area is not firangified enought, so mentions of 'snakes and cheaps' slip through amongst the 'oh yeah the flight is naat on ske-dool'.
The show begins. Our country bumpkins turned rockstars acquire a new coolness to them. Compulsory mineral water bottle in hand, (after drinking our sludge for 25 years that too) they wear their sunglasses (at 3 in the morning) and emerge at the end of the exit corridor with their trolleys and waist pouches. The crowd goes into a frenzy. Camera phones click, ring tones start getting louder, conversations become hypersonic. And the waving! Oh who could forget those! The two carloads of people who've come to receive the rockstar start a mexican wave. (And why shouldn't they? What else could be the purpose of 15 people coming to receive one person) The rockstar responds with a wave thats strangely cold (Were they moonlighting as President Bush's waving body double?) and as he/she approaches the by-now-wild fans, he/she lets out a 'Hey wazzaa?' (Yes, your grandmother understands what you say. The universal language of showing attitude.) Then the point towards the exit, and all the groupies run off behind their rockstar.
But all is not hunky dory for our rockstars. Sometimes, they get stuck in customs and baggage loading. Or sometimes, CSI airport just messes with them. Just for fun. Really.
Thank God for CSI airport people. Without them, our rockstars would have had heads the size of watermelons!
2.12.07
Moving On...
This Indo-Pak cricket series has been devoid of all the passions that usually accompany it. One could say, considering the frequency with which these teams play each other nowadays, it has become less and less of an entertainer. But Indo-Pak cricket has more than just cricket, hasn't it?
i think the rivalry was at its peak in the '80s when, ironically, both teams played each other as often as they do now. Sharjah was the battleground then, and anyone even remotely interested in the game knows about Javed Miandad's last ball six in 1986. The best team of the time was the West Indies, but no one seemed to care how we fared with them. As long as we beat Pakistan. Somehow the yardstick has changed and Australia is the team we have to beat, come what may. Some see the Pakistan series as a warm-up before the Australia tour! Have our focuses changed?
i think it's got to do with the fact that, as a nation, we aren't competing with Pakistan anymore. The world sees us as India, not as the 1st part of a hyphenation that linked us with Pakistan since 1947. We've left Pakistan behind in most economic indicators, and also most political ones. A battle on the cricket pitch in the 80's seemed almost allegorical to the battle for political and economic one-upmanship the two countries were involved in. Not so much anymore. If China played cricket (sorry... good cricket), the China tour of 2007 would have been the highlight of the cricket season. We've clearly moved on.
i think the rivalry was at its peak in the '80s when, ironically, both teams played each other as often as they do now. Sharjah was the battleground then, and anyone even remotely interested in the game knows about Javed Miandad's last ball six in 1986. The best team of the time was the West Indies, but no one seemed to care how we fared with them. As long as we beat Pakistan. Somehow the yardstick has changed and Australia is the team we have to beat, come what may. Some see the Pakistan series as a warm-up before the Australia tour! Have our focuses changed?
i think it's got to do with the fact that, as a nation, we aren't competing with Pakistan anymore. The world sees us as India, not as the 1st part of a hyphenation that linked us with Pakistan since 1947. We've left Pakistan behind in most economic indicators, and also most political ones. A battle on the cricket pitch in the 80's seemed almost allegorical to the battle for political and economic one-upmanship the two countries were involved in. Not so much anymore. If China played cricket (sorry... good cricket), the China tour of 2007 would have been the highlight of the cricket season. We've clearly moved on.
28.11.07
Bullshit...
Gems from the mouth of Hafeez Contractor:
"I might have caviar, lobster, salads and a whole lot of things for dinner but if there is nothing to eat and my mother gives me some simple food, I would happilly devour it. I look at architecture from this approach. We have the skills to compete with Frank Gehry and Renzo Piano but would my client accept it?"
"I look at architecture from a survival point of view; as a service to the nation. so if we are doing some so-called bad buildings compared to the world scenario thats all right because we are making the whole nation survive."
Which means that making bad architecture is his service to the nation???? And since the accompanying article says he's the 'inspiration for the next generation of Indian architects', does it become my responsibility too??
"I might have caviar, lobster, salads and a whole lot of things for dinner but if there is nothing to eat and my mother gives me some simple food, I would happilly devour it. I look at architecture from this approach. We have the skills to compete with Frank Gehry and Renzo Piano but would my client accept it?"
"I look at architecture from a survival point of view; as a service to the nation. so if we are doing some so-called bad buildings compared to the world scenario thats all right because we are making the whole nation survive."
Which means that making bad architecture is his service to the nation???? And since the accompanying article says he's the 'inspiration for the next generation of Indian architects', does it become my responsibility too??
31.10.07
Pedagogy...
Mr. M was a nice man who taught us Hindi and Marathi in school. His passion for teaching reflected in the way he taught, every sentence and every word somehow acquiring a new meaning attached to it. We made fun of some of his habits, including his cycling all the way to school from his home, but i am sure others too had as much respect for such simple habits as i did. He was one of the few teachers who avoided being a caricature, by avoiding being too pedagogical or too friendly. For people like me who hated learning Marathi, he was someone we aspired to impress by working hard.
He was also in charge of the prefects and the Scouts in the school. One of of my friends who was a prefect and almost flunked in Marathi one time was told 'Don't bring ME to shame by flunking next time.' Most of us remember him along with this salute he taught us, to be performed during all flag hoisting ceremonies. It was derisively called the 'prefect salute' and made much fun of, but it was something that made us feel a part of a bunch.
This is not an obituary. Mr. M still teaches and inspires a new generation of kids in my school and will for atleast a few more years.
But to my surprise (and it wasn't a pleasant one) i saw the 'prefect salute' on TV last week. It was performed by old men in khaki shorts and the news reel showed other old men talking about their 'gallant' acts in disemboweling pregnant women and emasculating young Muslim men. i couldn't help but wonder if that's where the salute came from. And it shames me that Mr. M is in some way associated with these monsters. It shames me that a salute that made me feel proud at one point of time is equated with such acts of horror. It shames me to see perfectly peaceful and ordinary men and women reduced to acts of depravity.
i try to remember if there was some sign of Mr. M being in cohorts with these guys. i've tried remembering every chapter i've learnt with him, if there was some subliminal message of hatred in them. i've second guessed every word, every sentence i can remember coming from him.
The inspirational man with the Hitler moustache who rode a bicycle to school has been forgotten. The Hitler moustache is all that remains.
He was also in charge of the prefects and the Scouts in the school. One of of my friends who was a prefect and almost flunked in Marathi one time was told 'Don't bring ME to shame by flunking next time.' Most of us remember him along with this salute he taught us, to be performed during all flag hoisting ceremonies. It was derisively called the 'prefect salute' and made much fun of, but it was something that made us feel a part of a bunch.
This is not an obituary. Mr. M still teaches and inspires a new generation of kids in my school and will for atleast a few more years.
But to my surprise (and it wasn't a pleasant one) i saw the 'prefect salute' on TV last week. It was performed by old men in khaki shorts and the news reel showed other old men talking about their 'gallant' acts in disemboweling pregnant women and emasculating young Muslim men. i couldn't help but wonder if that's where the salute came from. And it shames me that Mr. M is in some way associated with these monsters. It shames me that a salute that made me feel proud at one point of time is equated with such acts of horror. It shames me to see perfectly peaceful and ordinary men and women reduced to acts of depravity.
i try to remember if there was some sign of Mr. M being in cohorts with these guys. i've tried remembering every chapter i've learnt with him, if there was some subliminal message of hatred in them. i've second guessed every word, every sentence i can remember coming from him.
The inspirational man with the Hitler moustache who rode a bicycle to school has been forgotten. The Hitler moustache is all that remains.
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