Desicritics Author: The Great Ganesha

Photo Essay: Locked in Seattle

The Great Ganesha — Thu, 15 Nov 2007 13:26:13 EST

I was in Seattle last week for a talk at a conference. The organizers were offering a cruise around the Seattle lakes and locks. I decided to check it out - take a breather from the conference chaos, and heave a sigh of relief after my talk.

At first, I thought "locks" was a mis-spelling of "lochs," but it's not. The Hiram M. Chittenden locks are actually a feat of maritime engineering. Being as lazy as I am, I'll just let them do the explaining:

The locks and associated facilities serve three purposes:

To maintain the water level of the fresh water Lake Washington and Lake Union at 20–22 feet above sea level [2][3] (Puget Sound's mean low tide).[citation needed]

To prevent the mixing of sea water from Puget Sound with the fresh water of the lakes (saltwater intrusion).[5]

To move boats from the water level of the lakes to the water level of Puget Sound, and vice versa.[6] [Wikipedia article]

We started on Lake Washington on an unusually sunny day.

I only had my cell phone with me, so I apologize in advance for the small sizes, the consistent wide angles and the occasional graininess.

We went past some houseboats in front of the George Washington Memorial bridge (not to be confused with the George Washington Bridge), before going under the bridge itself.

We also sailed past a past-century oil refinery which has since been cleaned up, aestheticized by a local artist and made into a park by the government.

Did you know that if you want a bridge to be raised in Seattle, you have to give an hour's notice? Here's the number to call (fortunately, we squeaked through below it).

And then we were headed to the famous locks.

I noticed an interesting apparatus on the way. Have no idea what it is or does, other than the fact that it was huge (see the street-lamp to its right for comparison).

Here are a couple of shots of the locks, from the Lake Washington side, looking on to Puget Sound.

Just before we entered the Sound, there were two locals intently watching the entire crossing process.

The post-lock panorama was pretty.

We saw Mt. Rainier in the distance.

And a suburb of Seattle called Magnolia, which has no such trees (but apparently they're working on it).

We started to see downtown in the panorama (McKinley's to the right, a bit of Magnolia to the extreme left).

This little guy seemed more interested in me, than in the view...

Ultimately, it got too cold and windy to stay upstairs, so we went downstairs into the cabin, and got the final shot of Seattle's downtown (with the Space Needle in the left-middle window, if you can make it out).

Then we trundled back to the conference center for more of the chaos and a helluva long day.

Play Review: Opus Prodigiosus

The Great Ganesha — Mon, 3 Sep 2007 00:04:36 EDT

I was in New York recently, and whenever I'm there I try to catch an off-Broadway play, or a decent Broadway one, if that's possible. Well, this time I was way off Broadway - on 59th between Park and Madison, in fact - at the 59E59 theaters. The play was Michael Hollinger's Opus (directed by Terrance Nolen) and it was brilliant.

The story is about the fictitious Lazara string quartet. Why is that interesting? Well, that question is answered in the first few minutes of the play when we are told that being in a quartet is like a marriage, only without the fidelity. The dynamics, the politics and the interdependencies between the members and their sometimes clashing, sometimes attracting personalities are riveting for the entire intermission-free, ninety minutes of the play.

There's Alan (Richard Topol), who's easygoing and extremely likeable. There's Carl (Douglas Rees) who's the only married one, and he's understated and always trying to iron out the mostly petty and always passionate disagreements between the group's members. There's Elliott (David Beach) who's clearly the leader, and extremely controlling, driven and caustic. And there's Dorian (Michael Laurence), who's the most stereotypically artistic, being a poet at heart and a visionary, but also the least stable.

We begin when Dorian mysteriously disappears. Now, the members of the quartet are somewhat like rock stars of the classical world in that they are extremely popular, have had a documentary made about them and have even won a Grammy. So with an upcoming performance at a White House function, the disappearance causes quite a stir, and they are forced to look for a replacement. And that's where Grace (Mahira Kakkar) comes in to the picture. She wows them at her audition and is practically hired immediately. What happens over the next hour and a half is a meandering drama with enough comedy, romance and tension to keep you at the edge of your seat.

Hollinger, a violinist himself, creates a montage of scenes that occur mostly during rehearsals or backstage before and after a performance. They fluctuate between the past and the present, and with each scene it becomes clearer why Dorian disappeared and what the quartet should do next. The acting is subtle and enticing, with each character played to believable perfection. And the plot, well, there isn't really a plot, per se, other than the sheer pleasure one derives from watching the members talk, argue, love, hate, philosophize and reminisce.

Picture Source

Mahira Kakkar

An aside on Grace, who was played by Kolkata-born Julliard graduate, Mahira Kakkar. Her performance was, to say the least, quite endearing. Her character is a young musician, fresh out of graduate school, trying hard to impress the members. She plays a wide-eyed but extremely talented neophyte, trying to understand the dynamics of the much older, much established quartet. At times, her presence was necessary to create an offset to Beach's egotistical and chauvinistic Elliot. At other times, she was just refreshing. It was great to see an Indian-born desi in an off-Broadway play (although she's not the first desi that I've seen on Broadway), and that too, speaking with an almost Indian accent. It's about time us desis start to represent on the theater scene, and Kakkar is an excellent ambassador.

The purpose of the play is in the journey itself, and the ending, although damn good, is not a surprising twist or a melodramatic coup d'état. Probably the only surprise (and, in retrospect, it shouldn't have been a surprise at all) was how much fun I had watching the members of the quartet interact with witty dialogue and melancholy observations about life. Not unlike the interactions that we all have had with our own friends and significant others. I could easily see this play making it to Hollywood, and if it does, I'll be the first in line to buy a ticket to watch it again.

Photo Essay: Old San Juan, Puerto Rico

The Great Ganesha — Wed, 18 Jul 2007 00:42:12 EDT

One section of the capital of Puerto Rico - San Juan - has cobbled streets, brightly colored buildings and beautiful sculptures. This part, called Old San Juan, shows the strong influence the Spanish had on Puerto Rico, and also has several historical monuments and forts. The old city is very small and very dense and we took a self-guided walking tour.

We started with a view of the marina, and an old sail-ship moored there.

Next, we walked by La Aduana, the old, pink Customs House, which is still used by the US and Puerto Rican port authorities.

Across the street from the Customs House, is a corner of the wall that once enclosed the old city. And there's a watchtower there, which are the icons of San Juan, as you can see at the bottom of the pic.

From there, we walked along the wall, and passed by some old statues which precede La Princesa - formerly, a jail (and now an art museum).

The statue on the left is part of a set of three that's displayed prominently. Although I've looked around a little bit, I've not been able to find out exactly who created them, or how old they are, or what they stand for.

Being on a limited schedule, we didn't stop in at the museum, but its huge white wall had ornate brackets for their lamps, and there were some other travelers taking a break, perhaps.

We walked on to Raices (meaning 'roots'), an imposing bronze sculpture and fountain. The fountain represents the Taino, European and African ancestors of the modern-day Puerto Rican. Here's a detail.

The large city wall then turns a corner and pushing us to the edge of the water, left a narrow path to walk down on...

...but also gave a nice view of one of the city's edges.

Going inside the wall and entering the city from the San Juan gate, we were hit in the face with a gulmohar tree sandwiched between two colorful buildings, offering some welcome shade.

Looking back, we saw the inside of the San Juan gate which looks out on to the bay (or bahia). Here's a detail.

Taking a side-road led us up to a view of some of Old San Juan's famed colored houses, some of which have been around since the Spanish colonial era. This view looks down Calle Sol (or Sun Street).

To the left, we saw Plazuela de la Rogativa, on which there is a statue commemorating a march made by a bishop and some townswomen to scare off the British (it worked).

Beyond the statue is a nice panorama of new San Juan, sandwiched between two watchtowers.

To the right, is a beautiful old house with a mural of Mary and Jesus.

From there, we walked up a small pathway, past the Instituto de Culturo Puertorrique�a...

...and on to Fuerto San Felipe del Morro also known as the El Morro fortress, which is surrounded by a vast field.

We got there at closing time, so we didn't really get a chance to go in, but across the street from El Morro are two great sculptures. Again, I can't seem to find any info on the who/why/when, but they're definitely worth a look.

Walking away from Casa Blanca (the ancestral home of Ponce De Leon's descendants) we passed by some colorful walls.

You turn right on to Calle Cristo and see the blue-ish cobbled path in all its glory - a trademark of Old San Juan.

At the end of the road is the Capilla del Cristo (Chapel of Christ), in front of which we saw a family having dinner in the middle of the road.

Also on the Calle Cristo is the Catedral de San Juan Bautista or the San Juan Cathedral.

On the way back to the car, we passed some locals rapt in animated conversation at the street corner.

Alas, all good things must come to an end and we too, eventually had to say goodbye to the island in the sun.

Buddha-Inspired Kitsch...

The Great Ganesha — Fri, 6 Jul 2007 00:05:43 EDT

...or "the puckish humor of Pop Art [combined] with the serene and cerebral qualities of Minimalism" [link] depending on your point of view.

Stingel's Buddha

An article in last Sunday's Times talks about Italian artist Rudolf Stingel and his association with associations with Buddha and India:

Mr. Stingel's associations with Buddha are longstanding. As a boy in northern Italy, he played with the Buddha figurines that his father, who traveled to India for work, brought home as souvenirs. As a rebellious young man in the early '70s, it was mandatory, he said, to profess an affinity for Buddhist practices: namely, to have a little shrine and practice meditation.
"You had to do it if you wanted to be cool," he said. "But we all faked it. It was all a lie -- no one ever really meditated."

And, he added, "I have a problem sitting cross-legged, anyway." [link]

To lampoon those pseudo-Buddhists or "elite Buddhists" (a term coined by prominent Buddhologist Charles S. Prebish) Stingel created a series of east-meets-east sculptures:

...that blended the meditative Buddha with many-armed Hindu deities like Siva or Vishnu. In this new deity's six hands, Mr. Stingel placed the implements he cited in his earlier D.I.Y. manual: a brush, a squeegee, a scissors, a mixer and so on. Cast in rubber and made in 24 candy-bright colors, these gods of Stingelian creation became themselves an instant style-set collectible. [link]

I've talked about this kind of thing before, and the jury is still out on this one. I can't seem to decide whether appropriating these images and modifying them to suit one's purpose (whatever it may be) is disrespectful or not. In the U.S., showing irreverence to age-old concepts is applauded and thus, encouraged. However, in eastern countries, that is not the case. This is not to say that Indians couldn't do with a little irreverence, but at what point is it all right to get outraged?

This doesn't come from nowhere. I have an amateur artist friend who has a few paintings similar to Stingel's art and, knowing him as well as I do, I know that he has little or no understanding of the significance of what he's appropriating other than "Hey! This would look good over here". Even I myself have dabbled in the arts and freely used Indian images from time to time in my own (somewhat limited) creations. And of course, I have appropriated the name of my favorite deity.

The answer, I suppose, lies in Stingel's Buddha or specifically, Buddhism's middle way. It's ok to appropriate these images as long as it is done with a reasonable intent, and with a certain amount of understanding and respect. Now, what constitutes "reasonable intent" and "certain amount of understanding and respect"? Well, the answer to that depends on the situation and this brings us back to square one.

In my earlier posting, I quoted from Subhamoy Das' About.com article on the subject. I think he answers the question well, so I'll quote from it again:

...the entire concept of judging works of art is quite relative... [I]s it morally right to reap creative benefits at the cost of maligning the cultural and religious sentiments of another sect? [I]t remains an open debate... But the bottom line is that it's not as easy to understand the culture, symbols and essence of Hinduism as finding them colourful enough for use in films or fashion. [link]

Fiction: The Elevator - Part One

The Great Ganesha — Fri, 29 Jun 2007 05:18:15 EDT

"Goddamm piece of shit!" he muttered under his breath, but just loud enough for the man next to him to hear.

"Amen to that!" Replied the man.

"I have some chemicals here, that I got to get to the lab," he said raising his carry-box with the radioactive sign on it, "and if that elevator doesn't come in the next ten seconds, there will be consequences!"

"Damn straight, brother! Those things take way longer than they should. My pizza here's getting cold and I'm going to have to shell out fifteen bucks if that thing isn't delivered soon!"

Trying desperately to ignore this testosterone outburst, I took out my cell phone and started pressing buttons, trying to look busy. Dan's name came up when I pressed the 'Send' button, since I had only just called him ten minutes ago. Dan - short for Danesh - is my husband, who was on a business trip to New York. School being out for the summer, and the third-graders off my back for a few months, I decided to tag along courtesy of Hewitt and Larson, LLP, Dan's employers. Today, I was just walking around the city and I landed up in Midtown, so I decided to take a ride up and down the elevators in the Empire State Building. I was desperately pressing random buttons on my phone, hoping and praying that the two men wouldn't expect me to join in their griping.

Fortunately, the elevator arrived in the nick of time and I didn't have to call Dan interrupting his business meeting. Patiently waiting for it to empty, with the pizza-guy's foot tapping furiously, we finally got in. Just as the doors were about to close, a hand slipped in between them and in walked a middle-aged man, dressed in a suit and tie, completely involved in a conversation on his cell phone. This was followed by the elevator's ding, and we started to go up. There was a brief silence and the air was heavy with the odour of sweat coming from (I thought) the pizza guy.

"Yeah," said the well-dressed man, "don't sell it now. Just wait for the forward price to hit thirty two. I'm telling you, man! You do this and you won't regret it. Trust me!"

Silent pause as he waits for a reply. The floor numbers are being lit, one by one, 6, 7, 8, ...

"No, no, no! Look, what was the Dow this morning? Eleven K plus, right? I'm heavy into the ETFs right now, I got stuff in the Dow, the S&P, you name it. So I'm telling you, I know what I'm talking about! Just wait until it hits thirty two before selling. And it will hit thirty two. Believe me, it will! I'm in the business, man! I know what I'm talking about!"

12, 13, 14. It stops. The pizza guy gets out. And then there were three. 15, 16, 17...

"Where is it now? In the late teens? I'm telling you that it will hit thirty two in the next ten minutes. It's climbing, isn't it?"

23, 24, 25...

"Ok, ok, so like I said. It's going faster than I thought. That's fine. That's better than fine! We get rich quicker! Heh heh!"

30, 31, 32. Ding!

"That's it, buddy! Sell, sell sell! Sell it all! Heh heh! You owe me big-time, man!"

The lab guy gets out with his radioactive box. Now it's just the two of us - the businessman and me.

"What did you have in there? Three, four hundred K? Excellent!"

38, 39, 40. Ding! The man gets off. He has a big grin on his face. Now I'm alone and the elevator starts again. My ears pop as it climbs all the way up.

Is Life Black and White, Or Are There Shades of Gray?

The Great Ganesha — Thu, 31 May 2007 14:10:09 EDT

I'm a big fan of Emmanuel Derman. Both he and I are in the same field (quantitative finance) and he's a much accomplished and widely published academic and quant, who's at the top of his field. He gives good reason to us young 'uns to look up to him.

Regardless of that though, I was reading his blog this morning and came across an interesting post entitled '10cc of H2O'. He says:

I have a hard time dealing with these kinds of contradictions, when someone tells you something that is both half-true and half-nonsense. .... I like things and people to be clear cut; people should be either obviously smart or clearly bullshit artists. [link]

This got me thinking. I have rarely come across anything in my life that has been so clear-cut. The only exception to that is (possibly) my work, which is purely theoretical mathematics, but that exists only in one's imagination, so I'm not sure if it really counts.

While it would be nice to have the world neatly divided into black and white, it has never been that simple for me. Take, for example, the US. When I first got here, I was a teenager, and pretty much everything about this country looked nice, shiny and bright. But beneath that gleaming surface (a consequence of the image it exports) were things that were neither gleaming nor bright. People were ignorant. Sometimes, more ignorant than those I had encountered back home. Life was fairly individualistic, which is nice for a while, but has its negative consequences (isolation, a spiritual void). And, from time to time, I was discriminated against. Nothing serious, but enough to remind me -when I was aware of it- that I didn't quite belong here.

My point is that the country, while once The Best Place In The World for me, suddenly was no longer so great. Don't get me wrong, the US has a lot to offer, but nothing in life is so black and white. Everything has its pros and cons.

Derman also talks about the movie, The Lives of Others, where a Stasi (the then-East German equivalent of the KGB) agent starts off being clear-cut about his role in the agency, and his purpose in life. He's an up-and-coming agent at the top of his game and has few questions about what he's doing. Life, for him, is black and white. Either you are a dissident or you're not. There's no gray area. That is, until he's assigned to spy on a so-called dissident writer whom, the Stasi agent quickly realizes, is not quite a dissident. And that the entire assignment originated in the selfish motives of a senior officer, and not the so-called 'good of the country'. His realization that life is not so black and white is what the movie is all about, and he pays for this realization dearly.

If there's one thing that's clear-cut, it's that life, people and things are never black and white. In the Economics courses that I've both, taken and taught, the mantra "There's no such thing as a free lunch" gets repeated endlessly. So perhaps life is something like that - you can't have the good without the bad. You can't have the pros without the cons. And anything that's too good is, at the cost of writing a cliche, too good to be true.

Satire: Gere-ing Up For Shilpa: A Fervent Appeal

The Great Ganesha — Tue, 17 Apr 2007 01:32:26 EDT

Actor Richard Gere has sparked protests in India after kissing Celebrity Big Brother winner Shilpa Shetty at an AIDS awareness rally in New Delhi.
Demonstrators in Mumbai (Bombay) set light to effigies of the Hollywood star, while protesters in other cities shouted "death to Shilpa Shetty".

The protesters said Gere insulted Indian culture by kissing the hand and face of the Bollywood actress.

What is this world coming to? Our culture is being destroyed, bit by bit. White men forcefully kissing brown women on stage. This, of course, means only one thing: White culture is slowly taking over Indian culture. At this rate, we will not have any culture left. And then what will happen?

Just the other day, I was telling a friend of mine, whatever happened to the chaste days when Pandit-ji used to sleep with Lady Mountbatten? At least they never did it in public. And when, in films, the heroine used to get pregnant only by rainy days in a forest, with the hero on the other side of a tree. This was significant of the one-ness of nature that is in our culture. But no more. These days heroines are running around naked and white people are kissing our own Hindu girls. Once again I ask, what is this world coming to?

I beg you, please burn more effigies of Richard Gere. It is imperative that you do so. Only then can we prevent our culture from being destroyed. If we don't burn more effigies, then there will be nothing left of our culture. In these trying times, it might be hard to find effigies. In that case, burn a picture. But please do it fast. Otherwise there will be no Indian culture left. I thank you wholeheartedly.

Postscript: In the event that you need some inspiration, and if you have the constitution for it, you may watch a video of the ignoble deed.

Movie Review: The Namesake (2007)

The Great Ganesha — Tue, 13 Mar 2007 15:15:19 EDT

Mira Nair's The Namesake follows the life of Ashoke Ganguli (played superbly by Irrfan Khan) as he goes to the US to get a Ph.D., and returns to look for a wife in Calcutta. He finds Ashima (portrayed excellently by Tabu), they have an arranged marriage, replete with all the colors and exotica of an Indian wedding, and return to New York (this is changed from the book) for Ashoke to finish his graduate studies. The story then follows them as they adjust to life in this country and move on with their lives. Soon they have a boy, Gogol/Nikhil (Kal Penn), and shortly thereafter, they have a girl, Sonia (Sahira Nair). They move into a house in suburbia, as Ashoke becomes a professor and Ashima gets a job at the local library. Then, watching Gogol grow up, we follow him as he begins to live his adult life - choosing a career, a girlfriend and then a wife - and all of the trials and tribulations that he faces, being a second-generation Indian in America.

The film had a few good moments, especially in the interplay between Ashoke and Ashima. Their relationship was poignant, stirring and sweetly humorous. Another scene was also good: In the bridal suite after Gogol/Nikhil marries Moushumi (Zuleikha Robinson), they both do a short, Bollywood-style dance, inserted in there clearly as a parody. Other than that though, the movie was mildly entertaining.

Carried mainly by the superlative acting of Irrfan Khan and Tabu, it was tender and emotional at moments. Overall however, the movie falls flat. Nair caters to a Western audience and spends some time in the exposition of Indian customs and clarifies their purpose for the average Western viewer. This is necessary, to some extent, but perhaps a little subtlety might have made it more palatable. Also, some of the shots of Calcutta are straight from the Textbook of the Exotic - a kid flying a kite, a statue of Durga being hoisted down from a building. While there is a certain nostalgic appeal to all of this, it ultimately seems disingenuous and ends up distancing the Indian moviegoer. It is a disappointment and a step down from Monsoon Wedding and Mississippi Masala.

In The Namesake we see the single-mindedness of purpose and spirituality of the first-generation Indians, that comes from the struggle to adapt and fit in. We also see success and adaptability come easier to the second generation but they too, have a plethora of issues that they must contend with. Clearly, both generations face complex problems with no easy solutions. While many of us can probably identify (or at least, empathize) with either of those, it did not make for good movie-making. Perhaps Nair was trying to put too much into one movie and the balancing act resulted in everything falling down.

On the whole, if you liked the book, then watch the movie. Otherwise, wait for the DVD.

Crime, Sociopaths and Revenge: Asian Film At Its Finest

The Great Ganesha — Tue, 13 Mar 2007 01:35:16 EDT

I just saw The Departed. A few months late and a few dollars short (thanks to Netflix) but it was on purpose, because I wanted to watch Infernal Affairs first. I'm glad I waited. It’s unfortunate that Martin Scorsese has resorted to making big budget blockbusters in the last few years, because it has diluted his body of work. This is not to say that there’s anything wrong with big budget blockbusters; it’s just that the ones that Scorcese has been making in the last few years are pretty flat compared with his earlier stuff. While it was tightly shot, with decent cinematography, The Departed seemed shallow and unreal overall. More importantly, it did not fare well against its elder twin Infernal Affairs for three main reasons. First of all, the plot for the latter was completely original – something that very few moviegoers had ever had the chance to see. Secondly, the actors brought out an incredible level of depth and complexity in their characters, which was not seen with The Departed. And third, and most importantly, the concept of loyalty – on which the entire plot hinges – seemed so much more culturally believable in Hong Kong, than it was in Boston. As a bonus, audiences for Infernal Affairs had no soft landing in the end - the finale was more powerful, more realistic and consequently, more cynical than The Departed's. When comparing the two, Infernal Affairs comes out head and shoulders above The Departed, all of its Oscars notwithstanding.

While Infernal Affairs has had the privilege of being remade by Martin Scorsese, not all films coming out of East and Southeast Asia share this honor. Over the last ten years or so, especially since the economies there have started to pick up, the film industries have been booming. As a result, there have been some real gems that have been created on that side of the Pacific. Too many other films deserve the exposure that Infernal Affairs received, and quite frankly, almost all of them are not going to get it. Most likely, several of you reading this will miss out on some examples of excellent cinema only because you never get the chance to hear of a particular film. Readers in the Bay Area however, need not despair. An excellent opportunity is only a few days away. I’m talking, of course, about the Asian American Film Festival that’s showing in San Francisco, Berkeley and San Jose, from March 15th through the 25th. Some of the finest films shot in the last decade are going to be previewed there, including some which have never received any prior western exposure, either in the form of widespread DVD availability or in the form of theatrical release.

The Day A Pig Fell Into The Well

One of the striking features of the festival is a Hong Sang-soo retrospective. Sang-soo is a South Korean filmmaker who received critical recognition with his debut directorial feature The Day A Pig Fell Into The Well released in 1996. His latest feature is Woman on the Beach which was released last year. The Festival is featuring a complete viewing of all his films. A recurrent theme in all of Sang-soo’s films, the characters always suffer from alienation and stunted emotional growth. They all relate to others in a unique and particular way, which clearly shows how they can be members of society but yet remain completely detached from it. These people are sociopaths on some level, creating a world for themselves which is completely isolated from the real world. What is most interesting is to see how they react to each other, and to their own handicap especially since they themselves are unaware of it. What is most disturbing is that if their detachment were not so extreme and their emotional void not quite so empty, they might just be people like you or me. If you believe in accidents, then it is a small twist of fate that has made these characters the way they are and it is just as likely they could have gone another way, in which case, ended up quite normal. This fragility is what makes Hong’s movies so enticingly repulsive. If you are interested in the complexities of human nature, Hong’s films are for you.

Blackout

But we need not delve into the seamy underbelly of the human unconscious to enjoy a good movie. The Festival is also showcasing some of the best action thrillers. Of note is the Filipino film, Blackout about an alcoholic, single father who wakes up to see his rear bumper bloodied after one of his blackouts. Directed by whiz kid Ato Bautista, the movie blurs the line between reality and unreality as we unravel the mystery. Also showing is Chris Chan Lee’s Undoing, a neo-noir film based in (where else?) LA, about crooked cops, blackmail and a fugitive who returns home for some revenge. It stars Sung Kang of The Fast and Furious: Tokyo Drift fame, in a strikingly different role. And finally, the Canadian drama Dragon Boys tells the story of a Chinese Canadian cop who wants to take on the Vancouver triad. Directed by Jerry Ciccoritti, it showcases talent from the US, Canada and Hong Kong, and has been compared with The Sopranos and The Wire.

The Year of the Fish

For the more romantic types, we have David Kaplan’s The Year of the Fish, a rotoscoped fantasy film about a young Chinese immigrant, showcasing New York City like you’ve never seen it before. There’s also the racy and sexually charged Summer Palace which has director Lou Ye tell the story of two Beijing University students over the period of ten years. Noteworthy documentaries like Duc Nguyen’s Bolinao 52 showcase the story of a boat of ill-fated Vietnamese refugees who leave the country in the hopes of escaping persecution in 1980 Vietnam. There are even shorts from South Asia like the striking chapters from Sita Sings the Blues which takes stories from the Indian epic, The Ramayana, and retells them in short, animation form.

It’s impossible to highlight every good movie showing at the festival. This is just a handful of noticeable films and for each one mentioned here, there are about three or four films which are just as good. My only advice is: If you’re in the Bay Area, check it out. You won’t want to miss it.

My Big, Fat Indian Fiasco

The Great Ganesha — Sat, 3 Mar 2007 00:33:36 EST

While most people were (wisely) watching the Law and Order marathon on TNT, the RXGeek and I went to an Indian wedding. It was the son of a close family friend and so it was unfortunately unavoidable. It was a fairly ritzy locale in New York City and, if nothing else, provided the promise of free food and booze. So we dressed to the nines and headed over. Well, I should say, the RXGeek was dressed to the nines. I was somewhere near a six, six and a half, at the most.

Cocktails and Appetizers
We got there during the cocktail hour, headed straight to the bar, and then to the buffet table. We decided to control the binge-eating until dinner and had "only" two helpings of the hors d'oeuvres (hey - I'm a starving grad student, after all). And everything seemed to be going fine. In fact, to my surprise, we were quite enjoying ourselves.

There's something extremely satisfying about the privacy that is afforded to one by being completely anonymous in a heavily crowded room. You also get to peacefully observe the aunties and uncles rushing around greeting each other with loud hellos and over-concocted smiles, each one more primped up than the next. You get to see the "crazy" uncle who never got married and is grossly under-dressed (the latter following from the former, probably), sitting on the corner table, bleary-eyed and nursing his single-malt scotch ("no ice, haan!" - he has a cold, you see). You can watch decades-old rivalries between relatives that, no matter how hard they try to hide it in public, shows up in their understated and cold hellos. Also, you get to eavesdrop on to the occasional "keeping-up-with-the-Sharmas" conversation. For example,

Sharmila aunty says (quite proudly), "You know Hema, we just bought a new fridge last week - capacity twenty-five cubic feet."

And Hema aunty's witty retort? "We also just bought a fridge. Capacity was thirty cubic feet. And it even has a bottom freezer. They're more efficient, you know."

Game, set and match to Hema aunty!

Dinnertime
Soon it was time to head over to the dining hall. After some intense maneuvering and some number theory to locate our table, we found ourselves seated between a boring girl who spoke in staccato and mostly with herself, and some desi guy married to an American - which seemed to be his greatest achievement thus far. At least, he wouldn't stop talking about it. So, patiently making small-talk (well, at least with the Indian guy, about his wife) we awaited the first course.

Everything seemed to be going as expected until the MC came on. This really hip black guy, he began strutting furiously round and round the dance floor trying to rile the crowd out of their drunken stupor and pre-prandial lethargy by shouting "Come on people! Let's see some hands!" and "DJ Asheesh - pump up the bass!". And boy, did DJ Ashish pump up that bass. The beat went from low-volume, innocuous Air India-style elevator muzak, to sounding like a small, furry animal caught in the rotating turbines of a jet engine and being repeatedly thumped onto the side of the plane.

As if that wasn't bad enough, the DJ then started introducing three generations of the couple's family (with siblings, mind you) one by one, after which each ambled across the dance floor. And he would not progess until there was adequate applause ("Come on people! You can do better than that!"). I phased out of half of it, probably passed out because of my hunger, but I guess I regained consciousness when he, at long last, introduced the newly married couple by saying, "And, in their first-ever public appearance as a married couple! Heeeeeere's..." as if it was Madonna and her newly-found Kabbalah priest.

All right, I thought to myself, finally we get to eat. And, the waiters and waitresses (who, incidentally, were better dressed than me, and definitely better dressed than crazy uncle) even came out to take our "order". We got to choose from the lobster souffle or the corn souffle as appetizers and a bunch of other stuff as entrees. It suffices to say that the entrees and desserts were fancy, hard-to-spell Western food with accents and tildes from a prix fixe menu without the prix, i.e., free.

Alas, however, the meal was not to be. Well, not right then anyhow, because the bride's father stood up, DJ Ashish pumped down the bass, and the MC introduced him, reading his name off a small chit, and grossly mispronouncing it. And then there was a long, elaborate speech punctuated with bad jokes and with thank-yous to both, Hema and Sharmila aunties. Who knows what violence would have ensued if one had been thanked and not the other? And if you think that was bad, the highlight of the evening was yet to come. After the speech, the MC came back on, DJ Ashish had pumped up the bass again (think furry animal plus jet turbine again) and the wedding couple came on for the first dance.

The Happy Couple Dance
And this was where the proverbial furry animal hit the side of the plane and exploded. This was no ordinary dance. It was an elaborately rehearsed, Bollywood-style, professionally choreographed dance number. At least, that's what I think they intended it to be. Just picture two brown people, one tall and completely uncoordinated and the other, short, chubby and trying to keep up. Both sweating profusely on the dance floor under bright spotlights. These were by no stretch of the imagination Bollywood stars - just two NYC lawyers flapping their arms about, thrusting their pelvises at each other and doing what I think was the tango, but it could also very well have been the chicken dance.

The groom was hopeless. I mean, if dance is poetry of the body, then he was right about at the level of Humpty Dumpty. Stiff, awkward and extremely conscious, this guy was a dance instructor's nightmare. The girl was marginally better, a little fluid, but shaking that girth was no small feat. And required pretty large and thumping feet, to boot. And I thought the speech was bad. I'd take a hundred speeches over that public display of ridiculosity. Why anyone would want to subject themselves and, more importantly, others to that is well beyond my comprehension.

It got worse when the MC ~~called~~ ordered everyone on to the dance floor to join the 'happy' couple, who seemed far from happy right then. Suddenly, there was a throng raising the roof in a circle around the groom. Those who weren't dancing were pushing and shoving everyone around while risking punches and kicks from the violently gyrating crowd simply to try and catch a glimpse of the groom and his clunky Govinda moves. For some reason, the word "cattle" crossed my mind several times at that point. And, after all of this, when things had finally settled down a little, the guy with the American wife proudly proclaimed to me,

"We also danced at our wedding, you know. But my wife did a solo Bollywood number during our dance sequence. It lasted for fifteen minutes! Pretty cool, huh?"

This, ladies and gentlemen, is why I'm a cynic and an atheist.

Exit Strategy
Finally, after tolerating crazy uncle, Sharmila aunty, staccato-girl, speechifying father, desi-guy-with-American-wife and (*groan*) the Mithun-Silk Smita dance number, the first course was served. It was a lobster souffle all right, but was about the size of a mini-muffin and was fifty percent air. I inhaled it. After which point, the MC decided to call everyone on to the dance floor AGAIN! I mean, it's bad enough they make us dance before eating, but who the hell dances between courses?

After almost an hour of watching the herds flock to the dance floor to make asses of themselves, we used sophisticated statistical techniques to project that, at the current rate of serving, we would get dessert at approximately five in the morning. That was the breaking point. We exited the ritzy locale ASAP, took a $5 cab ride to a friend's place and filled up on some delicious Parsi chicken and Bengali cabbage. And, most importantly, some single malt scotch. A lot of it. Now, THAT'S how you survive that fiasco!