Desicritics Author: Sunil

Book Review: Illustrated Guide to Home Chemistry Experiments: All Lab, No Lecture

Sunil — Fri, 15 Aug 2008 00:01:41 EDT

Warning: This book might be dangerous. It has the capacity to make the reader think.

When I was a kid growing up in India, it was some sort of dream of mine to have my own little secret chemistry lab. There were all these stories in books about kids having their secret dens in their basement, where they made fascinating discoveries or invented cool compounds. Except there were two small problems; we didn’t have a basement (or too many extra rooms) and, more importantly, there was no such thing as a “home chemistry set” to be found in any store in India. So it was with absolute wonder that I imagined every smart or curious kid in the US to be working away into the night in his or her own little lab.

Of course, I learned that it wasn’t really true. But it certainly was true that at least till the eighties many, many kids in the States got a home chemistry set as a Christmas or birthday present sometime in their lives. And many of them had the time of their lives creating colorful solutions, horrible stinks or flashing explosions, even as they learnt the scientific method and gained a love for chemistry. Somehow, this love for “do-it-yourself” science died in the US in more recent times. Perhaps it was because companies became too worried about liability issues that could come from some kid getting injured. Perhaps it was because the state became a big nanny, and people live in constant fear about the next potential chemical weapons attack. Perhaps because of this it became harder to get chemicals. Or perhaps it was because of all these reasons and more. Anyway, the concept of home chemistry kits was slowly lost, and that sadly might have killed the potential scientist in many a kid.

But it looks like there have remained some die hard enthusiasts of home chemistry experiments, and Robert Thomson, the author of the Illustrated Guide to Home Chemistry Experiments: All Lab, No Lecture must be amongst the foremost enthusiasts of those. In writing this book, he has thought through every little detail to help anyone, from a high school student to the adult diehard, in establishing a complete, very effective home chemistry lab.

In a world where everything comes in a nicely over-wrapped package, Thomson doesn’t expect you to rely on any kit. On the contrary, he points out how most of the kits out in the market presently have been dumbed down to ridiculous proportions, and also avoid selling any chemical that could be slightly toxic or dangerous (which pretty much leaves only salt and sugar to sell). The book starts with the very basics; the equipment you need, the space you’ll need, and the source for chemicals, and goes through seventeen comprehensive chapters of chemistry. There are simple chapters on making and separating solutions, chapters covering important chemistry basics like redox reactions or acid-base reactions, chapters on chemical stoichiometry and then electro and photochemistry, qualitative and quantitative analysis and finally even a pure fun chapter on forensic chemistry. In all of these chapters, Thomson has been very meticulous in explaining basic chemistry concepts (using simple definitions and very effective examples), providing details on the equipment, and finally, some excellent experimental details. The first chapter draws you right into the book, as Thomson explains how he became interested in home chemistry. He describes how to convert anything, from a kitchen to a garage, into a suitably safe and convenient chemistry lab.

He provides plenty of information on obtaining equipment and reagents that are surprisingly extremely cheap. I was very surprised not just at how many chemicals I could get at the local pharmacy or hardware store, but at how pure many of them were. Many of them were an order of magnitude cheaper than the stuff my own lab buys from Fisher and Sigma-Aldrich, but just about as pure. Perhaps I should tell our lab manager to get our stuff from the retail market. Home chemistry can be very effective and very cheap. And he also makes sure to tell you how you can get stuff that is safe, and will not get you into trouble with paranoid agents. Importantly, Thomson tells you how to avoid serious trouble by avoiding any discussion of making stuff that could blow up (which is a little bit of a pity, since some of the most fun science experiments start or end with a pop and some nasty smells sure to amuse kids).

Thomson also is very clear in telling you how easy it is to hurt yourself (or someone else) by not taking the right precautions at home, and then goes on to tell you the precautions you should take for a safe working environment. Home science is a serious pursuit, but while you have to be careful, you can and should have fun doing it. Thomson remembers that throughout the book. I was particularly pleased with his emphasis on good book keeping, and the importance of a record notebook. Without carefully recording experimental detail and results, science quickly deteriorates from reproducibility and substance to entertaining but irreproducible anecdote.

This book is almost a must have for a high school chemistry enthusiast (any AP Chemistry major), but will work just as well for any kid with a love for experiments, or the adult who has time for a hobby and a passion for science. There’s a lot of learning to be had by doing experiments yourself. This is a book that should be whole-heartedly recommended, and is something I hope many high school chemistry teachers will adopt enthusiastically in their classes. It is also my dearest hope that this book reaches India, and at least some school teachers there get their hand on it. It is a book that can actually make you think.

If you are one of those closet home chemists, this is the book for you. Go get it. Meanwhile, I’m off to observe some copper turning turquoise blue due to oxidation.

Book Review: HomeSpun

Sunil — Thu, 1 May 2008 00:04:28 EDT

It is hard to resist the lure of a sepia tinted book cover with a black and white photograph of a couple with that glazed, nostalgic look on their eyes. The cover almost suggested something vintage, perhaps timeless. That was more than enough for me to start reading HomeSpun, by the debutante novelist Nilita Vachani.

The book starts with the death of Nanaji, and a scene of mourning. And just like that, you plunge into the lives of different families, and a story of different ideologies, of conflict and reconciliation, love, relationships, marriage and death, all narrated by Sweta Kalra, while the characters slowly emerge as the chapters roll on. Parallel stories develop, all of which you know are interconnected through Sweta. And while the book starts with tragedy, and has plenty of tragedy within, it takes us for a ride without plunging into darkness or depression.

The book is part coming of age, part exploring the complexities of human relationships, part conflict, and part exploring the idiosyncrasies of human nature.

There is the story of Nanaji, and his struggles as a revolutionary and freedom fighter fighting against the British for an independent India. He tries to live an extremely principled life, following the idealistic example set by Mahatma Gandhi. The problems of the world and day-to-day life remain somehow esoteric to his mind. Yet his wife, Naneeji, is a polar opposite. She loves her jewellery and silk, and she wants herself and their kids to lead a good, comfortable life, the life she believes that a senior government official (which is what Nanaji becomes after independence) should live.

Their lives are spent in open conflict, sometimes bitter, sometimes petty. You know their every relationship is strained. Yet the book starts off with Naneeji wailing and bemoaning the loss of her “wonderful” husband.

Then there is the story of the Kalras, most importantly Ranjit “Ronu” Kalra. His father is a sub-inspector of police. Sub-inspector (later superintendent) Kalra could be described with clichés like conscientious, simple, earthy. The apple of inspector Kalra and his wife’s eyes is their son, Ranjit. A chance encounter with a film producer, who happens to adore Ranjit’s curly 5-year old locks, changes Ranjit’s life forever. He goes on to become the greatest child star of the black-and-white era transitioning between silent movies and sound dubbing.

While Ranjit’s brief celluloid career takes off, the author gives us a hilarious and fascinating view of the film (“phillum”) industry of the time, filled with histrionics and glycerine, political sensitivities, charlatans and bigger-than-life characters.

Ranjit’s career as India’s favorite kid ends abruptly with him growing up, but his childhood stardom stays with him for life, and in a strange way directs his fate as an adult. In this mix enters Anamika (Anu) Reza, a spirited teenager, Ranjit’s first girlfriend and true love. Their lives entwine, and they go through passion and longing and separation. Both characters are immensely likeable, yet as different as chalk and cheese. Ranjit is almost immediately endearing. He has the burden of having to grow up as a former child star, and yet remains shy and simple. He’s one of those people who may have dreams, yet lives by avoiding conflict, and trying to keep everyone happy, never confronting tradition.

Just by being with the fiery, modern and liberal Anu throws him into a cauldron of thoughts and conflicting emotions. When the time comes for him to make his decisions, he is unable to go with his dreams. His father decides his future, and soon Ranjit heads off to join the air force to become a pilot he would never have become on his own. In contrast Anu’s life, just like her, remains turbulent and feisty and fiercely independent, and she lives on her own terms without holding regrets.

In between all these stories is the pivotal subplot of a small but important character, Ranajit’s friend and fellow officer, Dusty, and the war with Pakistan. And then there is Sweta herself, mostly as a frumpy, slightly overweight but bright and curious girl, with usual and atypical growing up problems. There is her relationship with her beloved Nanaji, and Nanaji, or her mother, and most importantly, Anu.

The author, Vachani, takes us through a whole panorama of events and emotions, and the story progresses beautifully through the last days before independence, the turbulent fifties and sixties, and more contemporary India in the seventies or eighties. We start with tragedy and the death of Nanaji, and as the book progresses, the different stories interweave, interspersed with gentle or dramatic twists.

“Homespun” is almost a perfect title for the book, the elaborate plot weaves through a post-independence middle/upper middle class India, and the lives of characters you understand and empathize with, or often relate to. And every one of the characters is beautifully developed and utterly believable. In between the characters, the author explores the myths and stories that we hear about the freedom struggle, or the wars with Pakistan; myths that are almost always rosy.

What lies beneath those tales? My only complaint with the book was the way the relationship of Anu and Sweta develops, and the slightly predictable direction it heads towards. But that is just a minor quibble with what was a thoroughly enjoyable read, and just the kind of story that will make a terrific movie.

Book Review: Textures of Time: Writing History in South India

Sunil — Thu, 18 Oct 2007 01:11:36 EDT

As an avid amateur historian, reading about the history of kingdoms and cultures (and their influences on religion) has been a long standing hobby of mine. So my interest was more than piqued when I obtained a copy of Textures of time: Writing history in South India 1600-1800.

The main focus of the book is rather novel. It has been postulated often, by numerous historians, that India did not have a tradition of recording and preserving history. It has been said that history in India is a mixture of fact, legend, myth and popular belief. The Arab polymath, Al-Biruni, observed way back in the 10th century that “the Hindus did not pay much attention to the historical order of things.”

A substantial section of historians conclude that a historiographical tradition came to India with the Europeans coming and establishing themselves in India. It was they who brought with them the dry, “factual” style of recording history. This assertion usually crumbles under the mountain of historiographical literature the Delhi sultans, and subsequently the Mughals and their feudal nobles left behind. But two questions immediately raise themselves; the first being that perhaps the Indian historiographical traditions were borrowed from the well developed Persian and Turkish systems of recording history, and two, what about South India? Did the literary traditions of South India not have a historiographical tradition at all, but only had facts blended into stories and myths.

The authors of this book, Velcheru Narayana Rao, David Shulman and Sanjay Subrahmanyam, decide to investigate this assertion, and also see if they could bridge the somewhat artificial divide between “Hindu” and “Muslim” writing, by digging into a vast collection of resources from the 16th to the 18th century. They draw on primarily Telugu sources, along with a collection of Tamizh, Sanskrit, Marathi, Kannada and other sources of the time. Using an approach where the authors combine story-telling (of events from those times) with a systematic and rigorous analysis of those works, the authors steadily set about disproving that hypothesis.

For their material, the authors draw upon various court writings by scribes in the courts of various rulers; the songs and works of ballads and poets of the times, folk epics, as well as prose narratives of the time. Early on in the book, the authors point out that any choice of genre for writing history isn’t a constant, but has changed over time, as the society changes its preferred literary style. So, over time, a historical work ends up becoming a “literary work”. In the course of the book, as they explore four major historical incidents between the 16th and 18th century, based in what is today Andhra Pradesh and Northern Tamil Nadu, the authors subtly but elegantly point out that any history is invariantly written in the dominant literary genre of a particular community at that particular time (something that is quite intuitive, yet overlooked). For example, if puraana is the dominant literary form of the time, history would be written in puraana style, or kaavya style when kaavya is the dominant literary style. Obviously, this means that in any style, you will find both history and literature, and the trick is in distinguishing the two. But there are definite textual markers, syntax and expression styles, metrical devices and other indicators that distinguish literature from history. It is these that the authors try to distinguish and point out through the book.

The key question is how can they distinguish historical work from non-historical texts. The authors say that the answer lies in adopting a new way of reading the text. The “texture” of historical writing is substantially different from literature, though the style used may be the same. Part of the reason that this difference has been lost is because, to modern historians, the context has often been lost. In any story, the relation between the teller of the tale and the audience is of paramount importance. But if their connection is displaced, confusion is but inevitable. Literary traditions are easily broken, particularly when the audience for that text is “fragile”.

In this book, the authors explore stories which many of us would consider lesser-known, yet were well known (at least in South India) at the time. The major incidents explored in this book were recorded by numerous writers of the time (or even a little later) in the karanam style. Karanams were primarily accountants or court scribes of the time, and the authors describe their collective style of writing as the “karanam” style. Karanam scribes had been well established all across Telugu lands for centuries, and there exists a vast mountain of their recordings, from before the time of the Vijayanagara empire, and their traditions continued to evolve and develop long after Vijayanagara had fallen.

The authors start with the battle of Bobbili (which took place in 1757), of which detailed recordings and folk ballads were composed in Telugu. It essentially was a battle between two small-time warrior velama kings (who were both technically under the rule of the Nizam of Hyderabad). One of them decides to usurp the lands of the other (the “valiant” ruler of Bobbili, Pedda Bobbili Raju), and does so using the help of a confused, clueless French general, Bussey. The beauty of this tale is that it had distinct chronicles written by various sides; the admirers of the Bobbili Raju, or the rival treacherous king of Vijayanagaram (later Vizianagaram, and not to be confused with the earlier Vijayanagara empire).

In all these chronicles, while the characters may be described in different hues, and the valor or cowardice of one character might be exaggerated or diminished, the major facts of the story remain remarkably consistent. What’s more, the “dry, historical” recordings of a few English of French sources who were present match exquisitely with the facts in the Telugu sources. Similarly, later the authors explore the tale of the Desingu raja, in Senji, in the Arcot region of (present) Tamil Nadu. This minor chief rose up agains his lord, the Nawab of Arcot. Here too diverse sources, from karanams to folk singers, to Jaswant Rai, who chronicled history for the Nawab of Arcot, have remarkably consistent details. Jaswant Rai was a munshi, the north Indian equivalent of a karanam, who chronicled the life of the then Nawab of Arcot (who fought the king of Senji fort). As the authors take us through these (in themselves fascinating) tales, they consistently point out aspects of the narrative that shift from fact to fiction and to eulogy. The distinctions are subtle, but clearly consistent and significant.

By the end of the book, you are certainly convinced that there was a historiographical tradition in South India, which was very mature long before the establishment of European presence in India. However, like most academic books, this one too left me with many thoughts.

One question that immediately comes up is that a main intention of this book was to show a substantial and well developed histographical tradition in South India that was thriving before the establishment of European colonial rule in India. So, would the earlier literary and historical traditions of the preceding South Indian empires (Vijayanagara, the Kakatiyas, the Pallavas, Cholas, Chalukyas etc) not be a better choice of material to show this? Those sources distinctly preceded the arrival of the Europeans, and were possibly less influenced by Mughal, Persian or Turkish histographical traditions as well. A related but obvious question would be to ask how well developed the historiographical traditions of those times were in South India. Could Al-biruni have been right, and did even the karanam style develop after the Mughals came to India? How different was the style of recording history in the 8th century versus the 16th?

A particularly interesting question would be to ask if there were similarities in the style of writing of Indian muslim writers (who went beyond the traditional Persian style of historiography) and other Hindu writers (of the karanam tradition). How much did each influence the other’s style? Was there an effort made by writers of each style to remain true to their chosen literary styles, or was there a strong influence of each style, and co-evolution? After all, by the 16th century, at least the northern parts of South India were strongly under the influence of the Mughals or the Dakkani sultans etc.

Of course, as the old saying goes, “history is written by the victors.” Even the most hardened skeptic will agree to some truth in that saying. The authors perhaps expect only South Asian historians to read this book, and therefore much of the book remains only of academic interest for the hardcore historian. But their engaging writing style, and admirable choice of thoroughly entertaining ballads and stories with which to make their points, actually makes the book rather readable. Through their systematic and nuanced analysis the authors go a long way in demolishing the idea that there was no concept of recording history in South India.

Book Review: The Physics of The Buffyverse

Sunil — Wed, 28 Feb 2007 00:24:46 EST

The Physics of the Buffyverse might just be the most unlikely title (or subject material) for a popular science book. I mean, Buffyverse? That fictional universe where Buffy, the Vampire Slayer and her gang of Scoobies ran amok destroying vampires and other such bizarre beasties (or is it the other way around)? The physics of Buffyverse? Using that most unlikely material as her inspiration, Jennifer Ouellette decided to write a book about some of the most interesting and important concepts in science.

The Buffyverse is undeniably a crazy place. Of course, given that you can find almost anything in California, if a fictional Sunnydale had to exist, it would be in Southern California. And here is where the Hellmouth is located, connecting the world with another dimension, filled with vampires, witches and a host of other unworldly creatures. So, where does science fit into all this gobbledygook? It's hard to imagine, but Ouellette uses episodes, events and characters from Buffy to explain science concepts, and the science in the Buffyverse itself.

My impressions of a book are not always totally unbiased. If the book starts well, I almost always will finish reading it. If it doesn't start well, even if the book starts to become fascinating, I invariably have a poorer opinion of it. In this case, the first chapter of the book is fantastic (and of course, I finished the book).

Ouellette starts to describe the various types of demons in the Buffyverse, and surprisingly (but very convincingly) draws parallels from the natural world. While describing Dracula (or a creature who thought he was Dracula) Ouuellette draws out historical fables that described the evolution of the modern day Dracula, and then goes on to describe how some of the aspects of vampire lore that actually resemble real diseases or phenomena.

For example, there is a hereditary disease called porphyria, where the body doesn't have enough heme (which is an iron-rich pigment in the blood, essential for binding and transporting oxygen). In certain types of porphyria, patients are super-sensitive to light. It perhaps was also true that porphyria patients were given fresh blood as a remedy (though it doesn't work). Could this have been a starting point for the legend of the vampire or werewolf?

The first chapter builds on from this, and delves into other creatures of the Buffyverse, and how sometimes they draw parallels from real animals or plants or insects, and how (even more frequently) they violate the laws of physics or chemistry.

Surprisingly, some of these parallels work, and Ouellette does write with a simple, engaging style that avoids too much scientific jargon. From this starting point, Ouellette starts to draw from more Buffy material. There's plenty of magic in Buffy, and that almost invariably means plenty of flashes of lightning, or sparks emanating from some demon's hands, or someone disappearing in a flash (followed with some smoke).

These provide excellent examples from which to build on the concepts of electromagnetism, conduction, the atom, or thermodynamics. However, it sometimes becomes a stretch like when Ouellette starts to reason out plausible explanations for magic.

As the book goes on, and starts delving into more complex aspects of Physics, the subject matter sometimes seems to hold back the book, and the explanations of concepts. It becomes harder to accept the analogies that Ouellette makes from Buffy, as she starts to explain wormholes ("shortcuts through space and time"), or string theory, or even the improbability of time warps.

But to Ouellette's credit, after every section that seems to be too much of a stretch, she comes up with very imaginative ways to illustrate some of physics' most complex concepts using Buffy examples. I had to smile while reading the section on Schrodinger's "cat in the box" problem.

Here Ouellette reminds us about Miss Kitty, Willow's adopted kitten. The kitten appears on a couple of shows, and then mysteriously disappears, and there's some vague explanation of a cross-bow accident, but no clear story. So, is Miss Kitty dead or alive? Ouellette imagines a room where Miss Kitty is in a corner, in front of a loaded crossbow, which is triggered by a Geiger counter, and there is no one in the room. For the Geiger counter to click, a radioactive uranium atom must decay, but has a 50% chance of decaying. If it decays, the crossbow will fire, and kill the kitten. If not, the kitten would be alive. Logically, the kitten cannot be both alive and dead. But to find out if it is alive or not, we need to enter the room and see. What is the state of the kitten before we enter? Now this, I thought, was an extremely imaginative way to describe the "cat problem" AND use an episode from Buffy to explain it!

Still, it is difficult to be constantly intrigued by Buffy craziness. Unfortunately for Ouellette, her choice of subject material, Buffy, holds back the book (and this is purely my own opinion). Buffy, though a cult-classic, is not that kind of cult-classic. It is not Star Trek. Most Trekkies are dedicated science buffs, and a whole bunch of scientists are devoted Trekkies. They love to watch, and re-watch endless episodes of Star Trek, and analyze where the science was incorrect or highly improbable (teleportation, or even "warp speed"), or where it was plausible (a silicon based universe), or where the creators got it just right.

Unfortunately, the biggest fans of Buffy aren't science geeks. It falls squarely in the realm of fantasy which is mostly improbable or absurdly impossible (which Ouellette gets, of course, and uses often in her book). Some of us science buffs devotedly watched Buffy purely for the ravishing Sarah Michelle Geller, some great action sequences, and little else.

Many of the science concepts explained in the book, while well written, may not appeal to a hard-core science buff (though I mostly enjoyed it). There is a lack of detail on many topics (which is understandable in a popular science book). This is where the power of a footnote could come in. With footnotes, authors can often explain details of scientific concepts that need more explanation (for the serious science buff), but which allow a less interested reader to ignore. Some footnotes (with the equations behind the science, or more information) would have gone a long way in adding substance to the book.

On the other hand, devoted fans of Buffy may not spend sleepless nights worrying about how a vampire could not reflect off a mirror (if we can see them, they must reflect light. If they reflect light, they will reflect off a mirror), but can be knocked out by a baseball bat or bump into furniture. I've known a few dedicated Buffy fans, and none of them cared for the science behind it.

Any technology far more advanced than our own present technology or science will appear as magic. This was something the creators of Star Trek realized, and so (like a lot of Sci-fi) by placing themselves in the future made their own gadgets more plausible. However, the Buffyverse is all magic. It does not try to, or pretend to, have rational explanations for anything. Sometimes it goes out of the way to make something impossibly unscientific. Therein is the problem. One cannot always successfully explain science by basing your explanation on the absurd.

So, Ouellette certainly has written an excellent book to bring together her two great loves (Buffy and Physics, in case you were still wondering), but that may not be what we all crave. Still, I certainly did enjoy the book in parts. It is not a book that I could read for long hours at a stretch (something I usually do with most books), as it got a little repetitive, and sometimes was too simplistic. But it did work very well when read in small bits over many days.

The Physics of the Buffyverse is a welcome addition to the growing list of accessible popular science books that deal with detailed science. But it is not a science book I'd keep going back to.

South Asian Film Festival, Seattle: Suk Bahadur and The Great Indian School Show

Sunil — Thu, 5 Oct 2006 00:16:47 EDT

Saturday, the third day of the excellent South Asian Film Festival here in Seattle, had a rather interesting session. This one was dedicated to education themed films, and there were two movies, both striking in their own way.

The first was a charming little short film from Nepal, called Suk Bahadur Class IV. This was about an eighty something year old gentleman, Suk Bahadur Adhikari, who lives in a remote village in Nepal, who wants to learn. He's spent a lifetime in India, working as a driver (and drove Meena Kumari herself around, if his anecdotes are to be believed), and now has come back to his birth-village up in the mountains to retire. He now wants to study and become literate, and so goes to school faithfully every day, with his little granddaughter.

You see him doing morning drills with the little kids, and then cramming lessons in classes, to come back home and do his homework (while being scolded by his seven year old granddaughter for not reading words correctly). And, like most garrulous old men, Suk Bahadur is never short of stories, or reasons why Nepal remains backward.

When the documentary maker finally shows the movie to Suk Bahadur, he only has these profound words to say,

Main hero nahin, super-hero ban gaya. Sunil Dutt aur Ashok Kumar say bhi bada (I've become a super hero, bigger than Sunil Dutt and Ashok Kumar).

The second movie was the simply outstanding The Great Indian School Show". Set in the Mahatma Gandhi High School in Nagpur, the documentary chronicles events at this school, which has installed close-circuit cameras in all classrooms, corridors, the playground and all exits.

Yes, you read that correct. One hundred and eighty-five closed-circuit cameras at every point in school. And all cameras lead to an array of monitors placed in the principal's office.

The principal, an unctuous Mr. Bajaj, with gold rings in all fingers, a gold bracelet adorning the wrist, and killer dark glasses (henceforth to be referred to as Pimp Daddy B) goes on to explain the rationale behind such a necessary use of resources.

He says, now with the cameras, he can monitor what is happening in every corner of school. He knows if there is the slightest indiscipline. He can see what each teacher is teaching in class. If he thinks the teacher isn't teaching well, he has video proof, and can fire him/her. This technology also comes with a direct speakerphone to each classroom.

He demonstrates, by zoning in to some random class, and his voice booms across the room.

The moment the students hear HIS voice, they all stand up, and the teacher too gets up from her bench!

He then asks the teacher how many students were failing in that subject. The poor sods have to stand up (in full view of the camera), and he asks the teacher to send him the list.

"See", he turns to tell us, "how efficient the running of the school is." And then he beams, and I almost expect to see gold teeth.

Pimp Daddy B, it seems, runs a tight ship. All the teachers sing endless praises of the cameras and mikes in every room. And here are some select pearls of wisdom they come up with.

"Thanks to this, the discipline is very high in the school", muses teacher X.

"This is a co-ed school. Both boys and girls study here. So, things might happen. Therefore, these cameras are necessary", philosophizes another erudite lady.

"Not just in this school, but we should have this in all schools, colleges, and offices. Only then will people work properly", chastises sycophant teacher number three.

Some students are asked what they think, and they immediately sing praises of Pimp Daddy B. Other students march down the corridor, flourishing military style salutes.

And we, the audience, watch this movie in utter and total incredulity. Now this, truly, will make India the land of great free thinkers, and a hotbed of creativity.

Mahatma Gandhi, I'm sure, would have been proud of this school.

Movie Review: Amu At The Seattle Independent South Asian Film Festival (ISAFF)

Sunil — Sat, 30 Sep 2006 13:13:06 EDT

Seattle's Independent South Asian Film Festival started with the screening of Shonali Bose's Amu, and the experience was quite fulfilling.

When Indira Gandhi was assassinated, I was about six years old. Still, I do have some childhood memories of the family glued to the TV, watching Doordarshan news and the telecast of the assassination's aftermath. But, living in Southern India, I guess at best we heard some stories of some "riots" in the North. It didn't seem like a big deal. There weren't large populations of Sikhs in South India. There were no riots. It all seemed distant, and my own memories are dim.

Amu turned out to be a sharp reminder of what happened, and how little has changed since then. The story is about Kaju (played by the irrepressible and always exceptional Konkona Sen Sharma, who, if she doesn't have a fan club, has one now started by me), an Indian-American, visiting India (and her extended family) from Los Angeles. The director, Shonali Bose, uses a rather interesting method to lead up to 1984 through Kaju. The first half of the movie is light, meandering along with some snippets of everyday city life, of college students in Delhi, some banter and light heartedness as the story proceeds. It is more a gradual unfolding as Kaju slowly learns about her past, and about 1984 from a very naive perspective (like many other people, she didn't know that it even happened), but gradually learns that she is intrinsically tied to the Sikh riots.

I felt the movie jumped a little abruptly into the depth of the riots, and tragedies that followed, the horror and the continuing travesty of justice. However, the performances by the characters (Sen Sharma, the always reliable Yaspal Sharma, Ankur Khanna, and (surprisingly) Brinda Karat) are very sincere and compelling. This more than made up for the discontinuity in the movie.

The movie did however remind us of the horrors of the riots, and of the complicity of politicians, police and bureaucrats in these riots. It was not one or two people who orchestrated it (Tytler or Bhagat are just two politicians who led the carnage), but many, many more. The movie also reminds us of the many families and individuals who helped hide many Sikhs (their friends and neighbors), sometimes accepting great risk to their own lives. The movie maker, Shonali Bose, was there to answer questions, and most questions brought out these facts, which many of us have forgotten, or never knew (it is another matter altogether that sometimes the discussion diverged and some how ended in Iraq).

A lot of water has flowed from the Ganges to the Bay of Bengal since then. And most of the victims of the tragedy (an estimated 4,000 odd killed) and the survivors who lost their families and livelihoods still remain without justice.

A Sikh prime minister of India has not been able to change that.

The movie ends with a (somewhat cliched) news clipping of Godhra. And history repeated itself.

Amu is certainly well worth your time.

Soccer World Cup 2006: Where Is Ronaldo?

Sunil — Wed, 14 Jun 2006 00:20:47 EDT

The luxury of an academic life lets me take long lunch breaks, and I just spent the past two hours enjoying the Brazil-Croatia game.

As expected, Brazil came up with some superb football. ESPN2 unfortunately has some rather annoying American commentary (I'd rather enjoy Spanish commentary which I don't understand, waiting for the one moment of "goal, goal, goal, goal, goal, goooooooaaaaaaaaal", but oh well), but the match was (in my opinion) the best one thus far of the cup. The Argentina-Ivory Coast match was good, the Czechs drilled the US, France played to a dull draw, but this really was the match people were looking forward to.

Brazil! And up against a very solid Croatian lineup.

Ronaldinho was everywhere and it's thrilling to watch his on-field impact. It was also great to see Roberto Carlos playing with a still magnificent left foot. Old man Cafu pulled his weight, while Kaka was explosive, especially at that one moment before half time when Brazil scored their only goal. Till then, though Brazil had taken the ball close to the Croat goal, the Croat defences were splendid.

Croatia were surprisingly intense on the field, and did not allow Brazil to dictate the pace of the match. The second half was outstanding, with lots of opportunities, and Croatia really ran Brazil close. Most people expect Croatia to come in second in their group, and progress to the next round. I will be very surprised if they fail to beat (even a suddenly resurgent) Australia or Japan. But I will not be surprised if they advance further in the cup. They seem more than capable of beating some of the more fancied teams in the cup (Germany, France, Spain, perhaps England).

Amidst all this excitement, there was one big low of the match.

Ronaldo.

I'd heard he was fat and slow now, but had no idea how much of it was true.

It was all true. Brazil did it's best to hide his ineptness in the field, and failed.

His only moments in the game were two shoddy off-side "jogs", and a fashionably late appearance after halftime. He walked more than he ran, was out run and out flanked by every Croat defender, and was booed off the field when Robinho replaced him (and made his presence more than felt in moments). Ronaldo, the golden boot of 2002 unfortunately now resembles the fat, slow banana slugs that are so common here in the Pacific Northwest.

A pity, but he just has to go, if he's keeping out Robinho.

Book Review: The Priest's Madonna, Amy Hassinger

Sunil — Tue, 6 Jun 2006 00:17:44 EDT

Holy Blood, Holy Grail, a book that's stirred plenty of controversy as well as admiration, and a whole slew of theories, mentioned Berenger Sauniere, a Catholic priest who may have discovered secret documents that suggested that Jesus Christ married Mary Magdalene, and their descendants went on to form the Merovingian dynasty. Perhaps, perhaps not. But this story provides Amy Hassinger plenty of material for her book, The Priest's Madonna.

But this is not another conspiracy theory about the Catholic Church. The Da Vinci Code did a sufficiently tacky job of that. This book turned out to be a rather enjoyable "romantic-thriller" (is that even a real genre, or did I make it up?).

It is set in late 19th century France, in a little southern village, Rennes-le-Chateau. The tale is that of Marie Denarnaud, a young girl in her teens when the story starts. A new priest, Berenger, moves in to the village, to take over the parish, and stays with the Denarnauds. He soon fascinates the village, and earns its devotion, with his passionate sermons. Marie is drawn towards him, as is Berenger towards her. Soon, they are deeply in love.

The story itself is narrated by Marie, and constantly flashes to the past, weaving in Mary of Magdalene's life and association with Jesus. We're soon drawn in to the lore of the region of Rennes-le-Chateau, through Marie. The region is full of legends and myths. Mary Magdalene herself was rumored to have lived in Gaul, after Jesus was crucified. Local legend believed that Mary Magdalene died in the region. The region was also home to the Cathars, who were suppressed by the Catholic Church, and rumors of hidden catacombs and treasure filled the hills.

Marie befriends the mysterious Madame Simone Laporte, wife of the mayor of the village, who lives in the local chateau. There, Marie reads the many books Madame Laporte had in her library, while Laporte speaks to her of local legend, history, and lore. Of the Cathars, of Visigoths, and of the Merovingian kings of the region, and (perhaps) of herself. Marie begins to question her own rigid ideas of religion. Meanwhile, Berenger and Marie draw closer to each other, yet resisting each other, avoiding the "corruption of sin".

We're drawn in to little secrets. A rich nobleman grants Berenger wealth to restore the church, in return Berenger has to reveal any thing out of the ordinary he finds. He discovers some secrets, that he tries to hide from Marie, and the book really does take off from here, and there are plenty of hints of mystery, intrigue, and romance thrown in, and yes, questions about the bloodline of Christ.

Through this book, and through Marie, Madame Laporte and Berenger, Hassinger questions the rigidity of faith. Does becoming more rigid in your faith take you farther away from it? Does questioning and accepting history make your faith stronger? Through Edouard, Marie's father, and a staunch supporter of a secular republic, questions of separation of church and state are raised. Thankfully though, Hassinger keeps these questions to the characters, and hence it flows well with the book. Rather, it all adds to the characters, and their own internal conflicts and doubts about doctrine and belief.

There are moments in the book though where I felt Hassinger gets carried away by her own (wonderful) writing skills, and some sections appear to just be showcasing her skills in sentences that delve in to excessive description.

"We passed through the kitchen-which was not so very different from our own, only bigger and better stocked-and then through the dining room, which boasted a long mahogany table, empty except for a three-pronged candelabra that held the dribbling stumps of unlit tapers, four dining chairs, and a plain mahogany sideboard"

Wonderful, certainly, but perhaps slightly distracting. A Marquez effect? Some parts of the novel (especially in the first half) drag as a result.

The book's strengths are definitely in the characterization of Marie, and the growing relationship between Berenger and Marie. The growth of their feelings amidst tensions and their own questions are rather beautifully portrayed. As are all the other characters in the book, and it's a pleasure to read about Marie, Laporte, Berenger, Marie's father Edouard, her mother, and sister Michelle. As are the hints of local lore, history and myth. But the novel doesn't delve in to the discovery they make, as much as a "thriller" would. There are no red herrings, or surprising twists in this tale. You can see what's coming, and it comes.

Yet, through Berenger and Marie's doubts and questions, the book ends up being a rather charming read about faith, belief and love. As a romantic novel, with touches of spirituality, it's excellent, and here Hassinger's skills as a writer shine. The little flashbacks, to Nazareth and Jerusalem, and Mary of Magdalene, are thoroughly delightful. There are sections in this book that are to be thoroughly relished. But perhaps it could have been absolutely riveting if we were thrust in to the legends, rumors, discovery, catacombs and treasures more, and some of the meandering of the first half of the novel had been sacrificed.

A very enjoyable read, none the less.

Movie Review: The Warrior

Sunil — Tue, 23 May 2006 05:39:45 EDT

A couple of years ago, there was a little buzz about a film by a British filmmaker of Indian origin, Asif Kapadia. It was called The Warrior, and went on to do rather well in the indie film circuit. But it took a long time to release on DVD here in the States. It was finally released last month, and I finally watched it a week ago.

As the titles rolled out on screen, in a stark desert backdrop, a warrior appeared, practicing his swordcraft. And soon, we plunged right in to the story. The DVD cover described this as "a timeless epic tale, of a warrior's change of path, and quest for meaning in life." Those words of course are used by marketing wizards to describe just about all movies, so don't count for much.

But the tale is set in India, in the desert climes of Rajasthan, in feudal days gone by. It's the story of Lacfadia (played by Irfan Khan), a yodha, a warrior-enforcer of a small-time local warlord. A normal day at work for Lacfadia would be to ride out on horseback with his band of fellow warriors, and raid and pillage a village or five on the behest of his bloodthirsty lord. But then, he would return from work to a home where his teenage son Katiba lives. A boy still dreaming of one day becoming a warrior, but currently busy at play, and visiting village markets.

On one routine raid-and-pillage act in a village, Lacfadia has "a moment". One moment of blinding vision, just as he's about to hack the head off a little girl. It's his moment of nirvana. He drops his sword, and walks away from the battleground, abandoning his band of warriors. He then vows never to take up arms again, and tries to escape with his son.

But his lord is enraged at his abandonment, and sends out his warriors (Lacfadia's own former mates) for Lacfadia's head. If you've seen any more than five movies in your life, you will guess that along the way, tragedy will happen, and there's little chance that Lacfadia's son Katiba will survive. You'll be right. But then, to keep the movie going, Lacfadia will have to escape, and he does, and he makes his way up north to the Himalayas.

Where else does an Indian go in search of peace and enlightenment?

Along the way, he makes the unlikeliest of friends, and meets simple, normal village folk, from whom he'll learn much.

But this movie is not only about the story. There's little hidden here, and the director, Kapadia, draws rather obvious inspiration from the classic "man with no name" Westerns, and much more so from the classic Samurai movies that made legends out of directors like Kurosawa and actors like Toshiro Mifune. This movie pretty well might be the first Indian Samurai film, made in Hindi.

Of course, it turns out that it's not an Indian movie, but a British one, but why split hairs?

Like all good Samurai movies, this movie too builds slowly, and you are drawn to Lacfadia's character as he wanders along the countryside. There are plenty of moments of subtle humor, as events seem to pass us by, just like all good Samurai movies must have. It remains, to the very end, a very earthy story, not a fantasy about great warriors with spectacular armies and magical powers, but a simple soldier-warrior, encountering peasants, and armed with a rusty old sword (which he renounces anyway).

And of course, he's being pursued by his former friends-turned enemies. Which obviously means he'll be forced to lift up the sword again. And the story slowly builds towards this inevitable, inescapable end.

In reality, the story is just average. Kapadia is so much in awe of the greats who made the Samurai flicks that he misses out on fleshing out the story well enough. There aren't too many sub-plots that add to storylines. The buildup to the final confrontation leaves much to be desired. The final confrontation of Lacfadia with the other warriors, and his revenge (over his son's death) is rather tame. His final enlightenment has a little twist, but nothing unpredictable.

But why am I complaining? Even simple, mediocre stories when made well can rise towards excellence. And Kapadia's movie does that, through its moments and performances. The cinematography is absolutely spectacular. The arid desert landscapes of rural, medieval Rajasthan are captured beautifully, from the sand-dunes to the mud huts and forts, to the colorful people and camels. A far better job than any tourism website can boast of. And as Lacfadia goes towards the Himalayas, the transition from desert sand to rock to green and water, and finally snow is just breathtaking. There is obvious symbolism too, and the stark harshness of the desert to the calm serenity of the Himalayas accompany the transformation of Lacfadia himself and the completion of his quest.

Most of all, Irfan Khan underplays Lacfadia's role to perfection. I've always been very impressed by the man, who consistently impressed in roles as varied as the menacing Ranvijay Singh in the excellent commercial flick Haasil, or the brilliant Indian McBeth, Maqbool. Here, it's his show from start to finish. Lacfadia's little teaser games with his son, or his confrontation moments are all performed perfectly by Khan.

Dash it. The marketing buzzwords of "poetic, timeless, beautiful" work just fine for this movie.

Book Review: The Passion of Mary Magdalen by Elizabeth Cunningham

Sunil — Mon, 10 Apr 2006 06:52:45 EDT

"My name," I said one more time, "is Maeve Rhuad.......I am the daughter of the warrior witches of Tirna mBan, daughters of the Cailleach, daughter of the goddess Bride..."

And so it begins, one of the most remarkable adventures I've read in recent times. I started reading Elizabeth Cunningham's The Passion of Mary Magdalen with a little bit of caution. After all, Mary Magdalen was a hot commodity, especially after The Da Vinci Code. I half expected another pulp-thriller that wove between religious imagery and wild fiction. I ended up being only half right. The passion turns out to be full of religious imagery and wild fiction, but turns out to be a rollicking entertainer with a most remarkable story and wonderful style.

The second most famous woman of Christianity in this story is a wild, beautiful, red-haired Celt. She's the daughter of warrior-witches, from distant Celtic isles, foster-daughter to a great Celtic king, and trained in the lore and wisdom of druids. The book though starts off in a Roman slave market, in the city that all roads led to.

Here we meet our protagonist, in the story being narrated by her. She's bought by a brothel madam, the greatest domina in Rome, and from then on, the adventure never stops. Maeve first becomes a reluctant whore, and then goes on to become the most coveted prostitute in Rome. We are drawn into an ancient world of decadence and splendor, and squalor and misery. To a republic where there are perhaps more slaves than citizens, yet all slaves are not the same, and all slaves certainly were not unhappy. Maeve makes friends at the unlikeliest places and forms a deep bond with her fellow prostitutes.

Yet, deep down, she is constantly reminded of her lover, who came to her in the Celtic isles. He is Esus to her, though he called himself Yeshua. And the strangest of events separated her from him. And she constantly has the same dream, a dream of the great Egyptian goddess, Isis, the goddess of all life and fertility, and her quest on a boat for her divine but separated lover, Osiris. Maeve escapes, only to encounter the priestesses of Isis, who see in her a connection to the goddess. And then, from whorehouse, she becomes slave to a Roman mistress, the endearing and slutty Paulina, a woman of much beauty, but deeper sadness.

Cunningham delves deeply in to the lives, miseries, stratagems, intrigue and complexity of slave life in Rome, even as Maeve continues her adventures. From whore-slave, she also becomes a priestess of Isis. There's even a remarkable encounter with Rome's vestal virgins. And they all, including Maeve's friend and admirer, Joseph of Arimathea, journey on to the holy land, and Jerusalem, fleeing from Rome. There, Maeve establishes a "divine" whorehouse, a temple of Isis (the Temple Magdala), where she is priestess, whore, and healer, welcoming every person in as if he were divine.

Amidst all this we also meet the other Mary, the most important woman in Christianity. She's a rather likeable but completely dotty character. And she decides to give Maeve the name Mary of Magdalen. And then there's yet another Mary, of Bethany, who (in this book) is a Jewish scholar, who was supposed to marry our (largely absent) hero, Jesus, but doesn't. Jesus himself makes a physical appearance only late in to the second half of the book. Till then, he's with the readers only as a part of Maeve's dream and memories, even while Maeve searches for him in the desert, amusing and annoying the populace (including John "the dipper" Baptist) to no end. Finally, she finds him, or rather, he finds her. And she heals him back to life.

And Jesus turns out to be a character only almost as strong-willed, and perhaps a little less charismatic. After all, here he's still unsure if he's the son of god, while Maeve has the deeper sight, and is intimately bonded with Isis. Their union is passionate (none of that "Maeve was touched (asexually) by Christ" stuff here), stormy and wonderfully drawn out. They fight and make up, and understand each other; while Jesus' other disciples bumble around, taking everything Jesus says literally.

There are famous stories from the bible and the gospels here. The one about Jesus walking on water, or feeding a crowd, or making water at a wedding turn in to wine (of course, by now you must have guessed whose wedding it is in this story), all those good stories. Except that they are all quite different here, and superbly written. Even the miracles Jesus performs have more to them than meets the eye. And the "lost years" of Jesus are for any one to imagine, so Elizabeth Cunningham does just that, and does a good job of it.

There are a few stylistic elements in this book, like Maeve's narration suddenly drawing modern allusions, which startle you at first, but then grow on you. After all, Maeve isn't a woman of that time, but is just a woman, for all time. Elizabeth Cunningham's Maeve also has a wonderful sense of humor, which shows up just when you're being bogged down by a touch of excessive sentimentality. If you're squeamish about sex, sexuality, gays or lesbians, or blunt passion, you can give this book a miss. If you're tied to the bible and the (four) gospels as the literal truth, you might cry blasphemy.

But this is a thoroughly wonderful book (my only complaint being that it is a tad longer than it should have been). Elizabeth Cunningham's Maeve might even draw plenty of controversy. But then, if you're offended, you'll miss the beauty of this book completely. It's hard not to constantly admire and love Maeve's spirit, stubbornness, love, temper, loyalty, wit, and passion.

It's not the love of Mary Magdalen, or the devotion of Mary Magdalen, but the Passion of Mary Magdalen. And that's the only title that would fit.

Stereotypes are flat, one-dimensional, like the donkey you blindly pin the tail on. Archetypes are rich, lush, juicy...you can't keep a good archetype down.