Desicritics Section: Culture

What Goes Wrong With MLM Companies?

enidhi — Fri, 16 May 2008 12:12:45 EDT

With the Chennai Police opening investigations on QuestNet/Goldquest MLM company, operations of such companies which promise an easy wealth creation for everyone involved, are again under scanner. Hundreds of network marketing companies are operating in India, each calling itself unique, genuine and best. Each of them may have their pros and cons and while we may not have specific legal backing to term their operations illegal, caution is advised before getting associated with these companies. Why do most of these companies face trouble over a period of time?

During early stages, all goes well and it will be difficult to sense the trouble ahead. Because most of the companies will have some products to cover their money schemes, because there are no laws which declare this kind of operations illegal, because MLM promoters manage to get some high profile persons on board to show their credibility all goes well during early years. As the idea is new it spreads like wildfire and thousands of people would sign up every day. Obviously few early joinees make huge money in this process and seeing them buying luxury homes and cars only propels the greed of new joinees who start promoting the scheme with all new energy and aggression. But then, market reaches a kind of saturation and it won’t be possible to enroll new people, at the rate it was possible in the early years.

This is when the trouble begins. The concept of MLM survives on the belief that the chain continues to grow sine die in a never ending fashion and existing people do not leave. But unfortunately this won’t happen. As the saturation is neared, desperate members start resorting to unethical practices with a sheer greed of making quick money. Some examples of unethical practices are as below:

1. Empty Assurances. Telling prospects “You just invest the money, I will bring more people and enroll them under you-you don’t have to do anything” Someone who invested because of assuring words like above of their friends would feel cheated if their friend fails to recruit people under him, resulting in loss of his investment

2. Balance Transfers. “Use your credit card 1 to make payment now-after 50 days use balance transfer facility and transfer the balance to second credit card - you’ll get 3 months time this way by which you can get your money back” But in most cases the member won’t be earning his investment back within first few months. Besides losing money he’ll also end up paying hefty credit card interest and this results in direct rage against the company and his upline who suggested such an approach.

3. Members investing their own money on behalf of others. Sometime, for specific reasons, members pay on behalf of their down line (Because both legs need to be balanced or because a person thinks his friend is very much capable of signing up people or other reasons) and sign-up people for free. This kind of approaches may not give expected results adding to frustration.

4. Hiding facts: Many people hide several disturbing facts while giving presentation, because their sole objective is to sign you on the spot. Some facts which are never disclosed: Both side needs to be balanced, maximum payable amount, annual charges, cancellation/refund policies, ongoing legal cases and other negative news, minimum amount of money you’re expected to bring in (by referring people under you) to get back your money, what rights you have/do not have as a member etc. Some of these facts people will discover, sooner or later and that will give a sense of betrayal.

5. Forcing people. Ideally you should tell both positive and negative aspects of the business and let the person take his own time to decide. But more often than not, prospects are given only the positive side and are often forced to sign up on the spot. Hypnotic environment conducted by the up-line and faith in their friends may make people sign up on the spot but they may repent later for that.

6. Ignoring Unethical Practices. Ideally, a company is expected to terminate membership of those who use unethical business to promote the business. But we seldom hear such news. As long as money flows in, company doesn’t really bother about the approach used. (they will have a well crafted fine print to protect themselves in case something goes wrong). Only when things go out of control (like when someone files police complaint), they look for some scapegoats.

7. Drop in company’s efficiency. Most of the companies operate promptly during initial years, by sending out checks and products in time. As members get their check and product on time they build a trust and advocate on behalf of the company to their friends. But after few years, when member base grows beyond control, some companies fail to maintain the same efficiency- Products do not reach in time and checks take forever to come. If this happens, credibility starts falling and bad words spread real fast.

8. Inducing cultism and over commitment: Gradually, up line try to exercise an influence on their down line even in areas not related to business. Some examples: Encouraging down-line to quit his main job and take MLM full time, setting targets and pressurizing them to meet the same, discouraging members from using competitor products (even when they are cheaper and better than MLM one),forcing down-line to attend meetings and seminars, humiliating those who do not show enough commitment or question things and so on

9. Ignoring early warning signs. Because of the unquestionable faith (shall I say Cultism) members develop towards their company, upline and its business model, early signs of warning, even if detected by few in time, are often suppressed and ignored. Beliefs that “That can’t happen to me” or “he failed because he didn’t work hard” or “there must have been some misunderstanding-everything is fine” or “this is a small issue-we’ll get over it” etc keep members hooked to their dream. Only when things go totally out of control they wake up to the reality. Lot of trouble can be saved if members maintain an open mind to question and verify any negative news that they come across, without any prejudice.

Note: All companies may not face all the above issues, must most of them do at some time or the other. These are general observations - some companies may take exception w.r.t. certain points.

The Dangers of Being a Man

IdeaSmith — Thu, 15 May 2008 10:01:57 EDT

I discussed this article on adolescent boys being the targets of forced sex with a friend recently and she asked me,

Do you believe it?

The numbers look suspect to me which may be because female respondents have been more reluctant to talk than males, thus skewing the statistics the other way. However, it raises an important point.

Men are the victims of sexual crimes as well. That's obvious at an intellectual level. But take a minute to think of the gamut of horrors that are encompassed in this: child abuse, date rape, harassment at work, non-consensual marital sex. I've been very vocal about the tragedies of being a woman and vulnerable to all sorts of dangers. On the other hand, men aren't completely insured to these same dangers, are they?

What's most chilling is the thought that these dangers exist without a comparable level of support. If a guy broke up with his girlfriend, citing 'too much of pressure for sex' as a reason, how many of us would take him seriously? If a husband were to report trauma caused by marital abuse and non-consensual sex, who would believe him?

Let's get closer home. Say you know a couple. And let's say one of them meets a third person of the opposite sex who starts paying them a lot of attention. These affections may not be reciprocated and there is bound to be some strain in the couple's relations as a result of the third person. Now if it is the girl who is party to unwelcome affection, a brisk, "No thanks. I'm not interested" usually sorts the problem out, failing which there's always, "Get lost, creep! I have a boyfriend". However, if it is a guy who is the object of a new girl's attention.....ah, didn't you just stop and think, "Lucky dog!"? Hmm, I did too. And that is exactly the point. Since we assume that any kind of female attention is an enjoyable experience for a man, we can't conceive the idea that it could be unwelcome and even traumatizing.

Don't get me wrong, attention is la-di-da for all of us, but most of us are practical enough to realize that it could jeopardize other aspects of our lives. So a girl can easily shrug off the attention...it is the 'right' thing for her to do after all. But what does a guy do? Being rude to a woman makes him look caddish, spurning affection makes him seem cold. And heaven help him if girlfriend is the jealous, non-understanding type.

Now the above has actually happened to a couple I know. As it turned out the woman in the couple ended up taking matters into her hands and going out to war with the other woman. The man breathed a sigh of relief. But the couple has also started avoiding certain places and occasions where they are sure to meet the other woman. The other woman hasn't been deterred in her activities however, and proceeds on smoothly with her life like nothing happened. This is one time I do not sympathize with my sex.

This has still been a fairly safe situation, with one woman playing the perpetrator and another woman riding to the rescue, in the proverbial knight-in-shining-armour manner. However, what of situations where this isn't possible?

At schools and hostels, who is taking care of little boys from the 'inappropriate' advances of adults and - would you believe - their own peers?

Within marriages, is there a way for the husband to seek help in case he needs it? I'm hardly surprised now that men seemed to more and more petrified of commitment than ever.

At adolescence, boys are learning to drive, to drink, to try and get girls into bed. Someone may also be teaching them safety regulations, how to deal with hangovers and seduction techniques. How about self-defense?

Women are no less corruptible than their male counterparts. In the cubicle space of shattered glass ceilings, who is ensuring a safe, harassment-free workplace for male newcomers?

While these times may be long in coming, they're headed our way, for sure. If women aren't sex-objects, playthings, showpieces, trophies and dumb bimbettes, we aren't all paragons of virtue either. The very same temptations to evil lie before us as well and who is to tell...when faced with an opportunity and virtually no chance of being caught, if we wouldn't take it up ourselves? The average woman is no more an angel than a man. All we all are, is human.

Of note, I'm not minimizing the risks faced by women, indeed not. All I'm doing is pointing out that men are vulnerable to some of these too and in some ways the risks are higher since they have even less of our sympathy than the female victims. While we raise our voices to protest the crimes against women, we speak for empowerment and independence, are we doing so at the cost of making men 'the weaker sex'? I don't like the thought of that either. And worst of all, I realize that this is little more than idle intellectualizing since womenpower is the way the tide is turning, even if drowns out some basic rights for men in the process.

If any of my readers are surprised by this post, well, don't be. There are men I love and care for, after all. And I fear for their safety and peace of mind, just as I do for my own. I've often thought that it would be more practical to have a son since being a girl is fraught with so much of agony. But then...I think....I can teach my daughter to take care of herself, and where I don't, the world will provide ways to support her. If nothing else, I can bring her into a world where she will be heard. I am not sure I can say the same for a son.

Patang Fever - For the Love Of Kites

Harold Bergsma — Thu, 15 May 2008 09:55:52 EDT

Two annas! I clutched the strangely shaped squared cupro-nickel coin in my hand as I stared at the display. Noab Din our cook held my other hand and pointed first at one, then another marvel, each a different color of paper, each slightly different depending on the whims of the kite makers.

I glanced up when I heard the rattling snarl of paper being buffeted by the breeze. Above my head, four kites flew; their strings invisible to me. It seemed that each had a life of its own swooping and descending with dizzying speed only to magically turn and climb into the sky again. Then one kite, a large green one, no longer flew but fell with swooping, sickening arches and caught by the wind was carried away. Under it a horde of children ran, shouting and pushing each other, eager to be the one to catch the falling treasure. I watched as the kite neared the earth, only to be snared by electric lines. Now it hung sadly out of the reach of the children beneath it. Instead of trying to retrieve it they picked up stones and pebbles and threw them at the paper, shouting each time a stone tore the green gauze.

"I will take the red and white one." I pointed at a medium-sized beauty. "I will need a spool and lots of line covered with ground glass." I looked confident.
"Watch out. Wait until you learn to fly well before you try the glass covered line. You can easily cut your fingers, and then I will be in trouble with mem-sahib."

Childhood memories make us what we are.

What greater joy is there than to stand on the roof of your house and hold a line tied to a soaring kite above you? Basant! What joy. The breeze was good on this January day and it took my kite joyfully aloft. I let out the string too quickly and the kite twirled and sagged, then plummeted toward the earth. As soon as I stopped the reel from spinning the kite again reared upward. It was an early lesson; one can't rush joy and love. Now I let out the string more slowly, hoping to get my kite higher than all my neighbors.

Patrus, my friend stood next to me giving instructions. "Not so high. Others will not like it and cut you down."

Hardly had he spoken when a white, small kite moved toward mine and crossed my string and in a flash my kite was floundering in the sky.

"Bo kata! Patang kat gayi!" The children screamed and began their chase after my descending shame.

I stood dejectedly holding limp string and a spool almost empty. I began to wind up the string, feeling violated, cheated of my glory. "I will buy another and get glass on my string. I will come back and cut that white one down!" There were tears in my eyes.

Basant! Spring in the Punjab. Kite glory in Lahore and kite madness in Taxila.

Maryam Arif's comments in Pakistan Paindabad, (March 26, 2007) "Kat Gayi, Kat Gayi, Patang Kat Gayi" were wonderful to read. I can see her standing on a Lahore rooftop in the evening, holding a kite string and reveling in the joy of being shoulder to shoulder with the male members of her household experiencing the fun of the Basant festival. She asks, "Who owns this festival?" Good question. Perhaps before Partition such a question would never be asked, because Lahore, the city of delights was in and of India. But what about now?

Where did all this high flying madness begin? Who has the ownership rights? Is this a purely Punjabi exercise? Did India fly kites before 1947? Why are conservative Islamists in Pakistan opposed to the fun of kite flying to celebrate the coming of spring?

It was not madness that began it. There was a General Han Hsin in the Han Dynasty in China who, according to written records, flew a kite in 200 B.C. They had lots of bamboo, string and of course, fine silk cloth that was light and strong. Written records show that this Chinese cultural phenomenon was adopted by others over a period of time and kite flying, particularly in the spring was a custom that migrated to Japan, Korea, Burma and eventually to India.

India really picked up on it and incorporated kite flying during Basant into their Hindu religious festivals. Basant was a time to honor deities, wear yellow clothing, eat yellow colored candies and fly kites that would soar high, lift spirits, give even the common poor man a chance to celebrate and have sky fun for a few paisa. Any kind of tamasha was a mechanism to forget for a brief time the drudgery, boredom and pain of living in poverty. Fun! How else could it be put?

"Fun is wrong!" Can you hear the mullahs shouting in Lahore about banning Basant, banning the flying of kites which leads one away from the important and serious considerations of service to Allah, leading Muslims away to the new-found secular freedoms of pagan and Hindu origin, leading young women to hold a string on a kite in Lahore and laugh and shout for joy?

There is a lovely expression we used to use in Michigan. "Oh, go fly a kite!" When a person became too heavy, too dogmatic and would not listen to reason, we would say it. Very interesting! The very act of flying a kite moves one into a new realm, away from the seriousness of one's own arguments and philosophy to feel the tug on the string, hear the rattle of paper as the wind buffets the surface of the kite. There is another use of the expression of kite flying. "Come fly a kite with me!" This was written on a greeting card that lovers could send to each other. The image is beautiful, uplifting and wonderfully sensual, two kites flying side by side, each responding to the winds of love, uncontrollable invisible currents that move their colorful displays.

Hong Kong, The Perfect Shopping Destination

Sakshi Juneja — Thu, 15 May 2008 09:20:01 EDT

Let me begin by saying that I loved Hong Kong; its clean with enough green, lively till early am, not very heavy on the pocket (if you play economically, that is), shopping is abundant, public transport rocks and though language could be a problem thankfully friendly people are always around to help (except for the rude staff @ Zara store in IFC Mall).

For an overview, well it was something like this: 6 women, 4 days in HK, total 3 hours sightseeing and the remaining waking hours mostly spent travelling from one shopping hub to another.

Yup, that’s pretty much it.

I mean seriously. Just imagine being woken up at wee hours of the day, given only 20 minutes to get done with your morning business and even less for the most important meal of the day. Then being gutted with a short speech by the group leader basically specifying the number of materialistic destinations aka. malls and street markets to be covered in that given day.

Rebelling against such a schedule was futile because you see; these women were on a mission. A mission to fill up their bags to the very last inch.

Since Shopping was our main agenda, here is a list of places worth checking out when in Hong Kong.

Upper-Class Malls: Brands simply perfect for window shopping (Stella McCartney, Prada, Rolex, Dior, etc etc). Only the likes of Bachchans, the Khans and Johars can afford purchasing from such super priced boutiques. Folks like us are content with gushing over the chic mannequins placed perfectly at front.

- IFC Mall

- Pacific Place

- The Landmark

Malls featuring Affordable Brands: Names such as Mango, Zara, Armani, Gucci and the likes.

- Harbour City (A must must)

- Times Square Mall

- Festival Walk

Street Markets: Night time street markets can been found practically at every third nook and corner in Hong Kong’s Kowloon district. Frankly speaking mostly all look-alike and are really not worth the while.

However the one that really makes an impression is the day-time Stanley Market in main land Hong Kong. Very close to Ocean Park. Not only is it placed at the beautiful seafront, the surrounding area is buzzing with people enjoying themselves in poshy bars and restaurants. Expenses wise, it’s reasonable and stuffed with both branded and non-branded items.

Sight Seeing:

- The Peak: Mostly every major city in the world has something on these line, the highest point. Nothing extraordinary but the tram ride up the peak is quite decent.

- Lama Island: Just a ferry away from Central. A perfect place for dinner time but only if you are a complete sea-food fan.

To sum it all up: Hong Kong is by all means a perfect shopping destination and its people, extremely brand conscious. The city is swanky (Mainland Hong Kong) but not without its numerous dark lanes (Kowloon). Language is a slight issue but this only makes you better at sign language. The only negative aspect; if you are vegetarian, you are totally screwed.

Oh yeah, before I finish as mentioned in one of the previous post – Yours truly was fortunate enough to be a part of the Hong Kong Torch Relay which took place on 2nd May and guess what, right at my hotel’s entrance (next to Tsim Sha Tsui Promenade).

I have to admit, it was an overwhelming experience.

"Oh Boy!"

Seema Dhindaw — Thu, 15 May 2008 03:43:09 EDT

“Thank god, it’s a boy! How wonderful! Congratulations” I remember the desi uncles and aunties saying with abandon even as I stood right next to my parents. My memories of their uninhibited exclamations of “Badhaai ho, munda hua!” ring loud and clear even today. Being their first-born, a daughter, I couldn’t help being overcome with feelings of jealousy and apprehension. The realization that someone else was going to steal my parent’s attention was enough to get my 6-year old heart racing. My big brown eyes widened and filled with fear as I looked up at my parents and repeatedly asked “Do you still love me?”

As my brother and I grew older, sadly my fears became reality. The favoritism had become strikingly apparent not just to me but others as well. My aunt and neighbors noticed and did what they could to make me feel special. My grandmother, on the other hand, visiting from India could not see past my brother.

I faded into the background and all my tiny accomplishments in kindergarten and elementary school went unnoticed. I began to realize just how important it was for my parents to have a son, particularly my mother. As teenage years approached, the treatment meted out by our parents was obviously differential. He got to stay out later than I did. His mistakes were more readily forgiven. His anger and outbursts excused with “Boys are like that, its ok.” He was bought an expensive car because “it would stay in the family.” His announcement of having a girlfriend was met with pride and encouragement while even a mention of my boyfriend would probably inspire histrionics. Over the years my hostility towards him manifested and our relationship floundered.

Many Indians including Punjabis tend to agree upon the value of the male child. In Indian households and particularly in North Indian families, the son is expected to live with his wife and children while caring for his aging parents in the same house. This can be quite a lot of pressure for any son. Financial responsibilities and the lack of privacy can make life pretty miserable for everyone.

What is bothersome is not that these biases exist but that many families strive relentlessly to preserve and propagate those here in America. My own family, I feel, has been guilty of this. Many a times my mother has made statements such as “He’s a boy, so it’s different. You should be more understanding”, ” We feel sad for so and so. They just have two daughters. Who will care for them when they’re old?!” A daughter can take as good if not better care of her parents than any son could. Why such a strong bias especially when you have a daughter who cares for you? A gift from me is “no big deal” but any small card or gesture from my brother is received with open arms and praise.

How does being female somehow make us inferior? The last time I checked we were in the year 2008, weren’t we? Not 1930. One would think these views about women would be the height of the matter but surprisingly they are not! It actually makes a difference if you are thin and fair. Even Bollywood has adopted the “gori chitti aur patli” (fair and skinny) paradigm. Recently, Bollywood actress Kareena Kapoor has made headlines for becoming an unhealthy and perhaps anorexic size zero. “Zero” not only describes how good she looks but also her acting abilities.

Bollywood actresses like her wear drag-queen-style make-up to match the desired skin color to appear beautiful. Up until recently no significant effort was made towards making the nearing 40 year old balding male actors with receding hairlines and age inappropriate clothing, more appealing.

No doubt Bollywood is guilty of such nonsense but what does one say when the almost 300 lb aunties in sarees with bulging love handles, blouses that barely fit and extraordinarily huge hips casually comment on how so and so’s daughter should lose weight. “She would look so much prettier.” What about their own short chubby sons? I'd like to ask. The standard response which I've heard so often is "Oh, but they are boys, so looks don’t matter as much. It is the girl that has to get married off.” Such a mentality is difficult to change.

Enforcing these beliefs in girls raised in the United States is ridiculous. It breeds low self-esteem within an environment that values confidence and grooming over skin color and weight. Tanning salons have opened up all over and constitutes a multi-billion dollar industry. Yet you still have Indians saying “Hai! Kitni gori hai, patli hai! Changa munda milega”.

As a woman born and raised in the US, I now find myself rolling my eyes at these comments but I have to admit, they affected my self-worth deeply as a teenager. Perhaps on a subconscious level they made me rebellious as well. Why do the women have to endure phone calls and comments centered around their weight and looks? How fair is it that no one seems to notice the nice developing potbelly on my brother or the man boobs that have appeared on Kunal? Women have to deal with comments such as "moti hogayi hai na?"

It doesn't matter that you might be a successful researcher or a prominent scientist or an engineer. Fat is of utmost importance. It is the men,the sons who are complimented on their careers. Even your female friends who happen to get in touch with you online after years have past don't care about your professional accomplishments. "You've become chubby" "Moti, fat jaadi....i".This obsession with weight among Indian women in particular is upsetting.Why aren't such comments directed towards men?

Hearing such female-degrading comments from families and friends at social gatherings has become commonplace for me. However, it was astonishing to face such comments in a professional setting. My very own Indian ex-PhD advisor wasn’t afraid to reveal and act on her biases. At a lab lunch celebrating my birthday, she in a very matter of fact manner said “Indian women need to be subdued, as Seema will learn.”

On other occasions, instead of providing advice regarding my project she would make comments about how I should “lose weight” so that I can “get a husband.” “ You should work 24 hours a day, 7 days a week because you don’t have a husband or kids. Look at all the other people in lab,they aren’t single. They have families. Even XYZ has a girlfriend.” As I listened to these unprofessional comments, I couldn’t help thinking ”aren’t you a woman too? Don’t you have a daughter? “ At the time being her student, I was too scared to say anything for fear that she would jeopardize my future. As fate would have it, I didn’t have to say anything, I guess just being an overweight, single American woman of Indian descent was enough for her to screw me over on a whim.

It’s depressing that such strong biases exist in the US among Indians even today. It takes a toll on you when you hear the same comments so many times from the people who are supposed to be your strongest supporters. It is even more alarming that people with these views can abuse their power and get away it. Isn’t it about time that people do away with this mentality and accept each other with fairness and equality? Man, woman, short. Tall, fat, skinny—what does it matter? Aren’t we all human?

Fishing For Wishes: A Fish Who God Listens To

Aditi Nadkarni — Thu, 15 May 2008 00:49:18 EDT

Red was an impulse buy. He was, really. My roommate and I were at a 24-hour supermarket late one night to buy a coffee maker on a lazy Saturday for lack of anything better to do. Go figure. And there he was, in a short plastic jar looking at me. It was fate. I do not just say this, mind you. In this post I have empirical evidence to back it up. The following narrative is based on true accounts.

I was never a fish lover. But these flashy fish with their dazzling colors immediately caught my eye from an aisle away. Only one of them actually made eye-contact even from that far. I walked over and picked up the jars carrying a Betta fish each, one by one scrutinizing the brilliant fins of all the other fish. They were all jumpy. As we later found out, most Siamese Fighter Fish are. But when I picked up Red's glass it was magical. He did not jump or twitch like the others had and instead continued to look at me very intently. The only time I saw Red display any spunk was when I set his jar back on the shelf and started to walk away. He swam to the periphery, blew a few bubbles and did a couple of quick and startlingly violent twirls that caught my attention. He was the only bright scarlet one among the bright collection of Betta fish. They all seemed ferocious and a little upset. This little guy however, appeared peaceful and mainly curious. When I picked up his jar again, he continued to stare, right into my eyes, even more intently than before. I made up my mind.

That night, my roommate and I went home with a very treasured polythene bag. Every time he moved inside the thin plastic, I felt a gentle twitch on my fingers. I've felt a baby's kick on one of my pregnant friend's belly before and this twitch reminded me of that heady sensation, of how gently and unexpectedly even the littlest of life makes its presence felt.

Usually a pretty rational person, I surprised my roommate considerably when I held Red's polythene bag to the glass window letting him catch a glimpse of the world outside our car as we headed home. When else would he get a chance to look around again, I wondered. It could've been a series of coincidences but we passed on our way home, a Red Roof Inn, a Red Lobster and the song "Red, Red Wine" by UB40 came on the radio. At home as we put our new member in a bowl and turned on the TV, the feisty Red Foreman from 'That Seventy's Show' appeared making one of his dry, sarcastic quips. My friend and I exchanged glances and we knew. This was meant to be. He was christened Red.

Inside his bowl Red discovered his surroundings like a baby discovers the world around him. He moved in and out of the plastic flora and stared in awe at the sandalwood Ganesha next to his bowl. He wolfed down the small pellets of Betta fish food we had bought for him and we warmed up the apartment so that our tropical fish would be at a comfy temperature.

One fine morning Red's presence turned into somewhat of an added excitement. My friend was interviewing for a job the next day for which her credentials weren't exactly ideal. I was in the midst of feeding Red as she sat on our sofa and told me how much she needed the job. I turned to Red and for no particular reason said "Red, do you hear how much she needs the job? You are going to have to talk to God about this and make sure she gets it, OK?".

My friend stared at me with narrowed eyes as if I were nuts.

"Just wait and see" I said with a wink. Lets face it, we all do weird stuff to give our friends the extra bit of confidence and luck that they need. I have sat and patiently cracked 25 fortune cookies at a restaurant amidst startled Chinese waiters for a friend desperately looking for signs about her relationship. So praying to a fish was not odd any more. The next day my friend graciously called me to tell me she had received the job. There were so many people with great credentials, she told me, but she was the one who landed the position.

"It must be Red. He is lucky!" she exclaimed, in her excitement crediting our fish with what was most likely her own skills and talent that paid off in the interview. But word quickly spread and the next day I had a few voice messages from a few people half-joking about Red's newfound ability and half-asking me to pray for them as well. I won't lie, following this, I too whispered my own wishes to Red and watched wide-eyed as they all materialized one by one. Even the weather dodged rain and storm forecasts at Red's behest, which almost never happens in Ohio.

Someone came over and asked me to pray to Red for their sick pet and later sent pictures of their doe-eyed, recovered dog. Yet another wanted their car to be fixed. There were quite a few people who wanted that one precious job offer to come their way. And one by one Red granted them their wishes. Stock market hopes, loan needs, even relationship longings were rewarded almost instantly when I brought them to Red's bowl and made a quick wish.

Now Red's kind of a celebrity fish. I have started to maintain a notepad to keep track of wish-requests. My parents in India ensured that I receive such requests across borders as well. Friends and family call in to request that a good word be put in with Red. Red's schedule is jam packed and he has not let anybody down thus far. Every single wish has been brought to fruition...except maybe the one I made for world peace which I now believe falls out of Red's capabilities and is only a term meant for beauty pageant speeches.

Recently a fishy fungal infection sent waves of panic among the Red Wishing Club. Prayers were offered. My parents made a visit to the Siddhivinayak Temple in Bombay and my roommate and I made several trips to PetSmart looking like troubled, anxious parents. Red fought the fungus and made a speedy recovery meeting wish-deadlines with ease.

Most importantly, Red has contributed significantly towards our social life. People now call or come over if only to pay our stellar fish a visit. Betta fish are social beings to begin with and Red is enjoying all the attention to say the least. Meanwhile, funnily enough, I feel like the mother of a prodigy who needs to make sure that her wonder of a child sleeps and eats well and doesn't get an inflated ego as he goes on using his genius to do world a greater good.

One morning, a friend rendered skeptical by a recent heartbreak, after hearing about Red told me in great length about how faith is nothing but a crutch and that such superstitions just make him suspicious.

"True" I agreed much to his surprise, "I can see why you are suspicious. After all, more than anything, Red has demonstrated that faith does seem to be fishy"

Note: Red is still accepting wish-applications :)

Much Ado About the Moustache

IdeaSmith — Wed, 14 May 2008 14:36:47 EDT

There are men who look good with facial hair. Greek gods walk in our midst after all.

Then there are those who're passably nice looking and on whom the facial fuzz can act like the proverbial Fairy Godmother (oh okay, magic potion a la Shrek) completely transforming their faces into something else altogether!

Of course every once in a while we do come up against a case of the mustache making the man (and not vice versa). These are those speciMENs that are ordinary, even laughable clean-shaven (remember Lamhe?) but add some fuzz and voila - a star is born!

And then there are all those images one has, leftovers from too many childhood stories, of Chinese gentlemen in floor-sweeping rebonded-straight mustaches. Are those supposed to be shampooed? :-)

Back in Idli-land where I come from, a mouch is considered a sign of manliness so you'll rarely spot a clean upper lip. Facial fungus rules! Oh ewww I shudder and tell my family.....

(Click on thumbnail to view comic)

Why am I so acerbic? I've lived all my life with a mustachioed man after all. But then again there's no one quite like Dad. Besides I have nasty memories of horrid punishments that involved the moochie. When I was extra naughty, dad would grab me and rub his cheek on mine. Far more effective than spanking, it was like being sandpapered. So now when it comes to gentlemen professing l'amour for me, smooth faces get brownie points...I have no intention of thinking of childhood punishments and dad in the midst of such activity.

The moustache is so much more than a line (or jungle) of hair. It's a style statement, an extremely sexual one at that! It's probably the oldest icon of male vanity (not to mention the oldest excuse men use to gain our sympathies in the 'how painful to scrape one's face everyday' school of thought).

The goatee or French beard (I can't tell the difference - is there one?) straddles the machismo of the moustache as well as the dandiness of vanity - the perfect accessory for a Metrosexual Man (which is probably the only reason I resist it). Then again, faces can look quite appealing with the mini-mouch (muhahaha..) except for the ones with too much of baby-fat (but there's very little to improve those, one supposes!)

So finally, how do you like your men? Mustachioed, in-between or not at all?

Sixteen Flies on a Rope

Harold Bergsma — Wed, 14 May 2008 02:23:32 EDT

The white canvas tent was stained the color of mud and clay on its bottom. Touches of greasy hands had left their marks on the fabric which in turn had become magnets for dust. A capricious Nepali child, with charcoal in hand, had drawn two pictures at the back of the tent, perhaps of the owners of it, as the men depicted were too tall and all had strange hats on their heads. But the tent, when pitched under a tall Deodar Cedar looked inviting and spoke of restfulness, an escape from weary muscles, aching joints, a place into which one crawled for quietness, sleep, a place that smelled of often used sleeping bags and socks, almost stiff from use, stuffed into the bottoms that waited for the next hot springs to be washed and pounded a grey-clean.

The tent’s ropes were anchored to stakes pounded into the soil, three on each side, one in the front and one in the back. During the day, the front rope was untied and hung loose, making entry to the tent easier, or if perchance a small tree grew nearby, it could be tied up high enough so that the occupants did not need to bend down to enter. This rope was a light brown color, not from dye but from the stains of a hundred hand-holds, hands that had just finished eating the leg of a Monal Pheasant, hands that minutes earlier had held the blood stained skinning blades now lying on the small folding table with bird specimens in various stages of being skinned and stuffed, hands that had held ink pens that leaked onto fingers that wrote the day’s diary, ‘Jumuson-Nepal, September, 1949.’

These ropes, still wet from the light rain during the night, now sagged from the weight of their wetness, but when the sun shone bright and brilliantly, would once again shrink and resume their tightness.

It was on this rope, tied to a small tree, that visitors arrived daily. When the men had left for a daily hike or hunting expedition to the lake near Pokhara, sparrows landed on the rope, a mother sparrow and a fledgling baby bird nearly the size of its mother, which sat and begged with a wide open yellow mouth to be fed; then waited for her return. Sitting fat bellied on the rope it defecated a white sticky dung ball which stuck to the cord. A small green caterpillar hanging from a gossamer thread swayed back and forth in the breeze until its perigee from some distant branch, brought it to the rope where it rested momentarily, then arched its green slender body and began the long, inching journey the length of the rope all the way to the tent, where it hesitated, then dropped again on a silken thread to be carried away by the breeze to another juicier landing place. The lizard, not more than two inches long, crawled out onto the tent rope and did two little push ups, then sat motionless waiting for flies.

In spite of the open front flaps of the tent the temperature inside the tent became hot and humid and all the odors and aromas on bags, clothing and old boots filled the tent with fetid air. I looked up from my sleeping bag, now half out of the tent, resting on the ground in the shade, and studied the rope above my head. Sixteen flies were now the owners of the fiber highway, and from where I lay in the partial shade they looked like dark knots until one or another flew off, or until without foreplay or warning two mated for a frenzied moment and then remained in a coital bind that held them together until the female flew off, carrying her conjugal partner on her back to land on the tent flap some six feet away. Sixteen! I counted them again and now noted that all sat horizontally on the rope, all facing away from the tent. Some compulsion moved them to wash their ‘hands’ and then stroke their eyes and heads with their front feet as if ridding them of some unseen taint. All were common house flies except for one which was larger, a brilliant shiny blue-green. When this green bot rose in flight, its wings hummed and sang a tune known well to all who use the great out-of-doors as their toilet; all who remember with amazement that these ‘shit flies’, invisible, until fecal deposits graced the floor of the jungle, arrived in aggressive numbers, intent on some ghoulish quest. Fifteen; and one preening green blue-bot fly.

A shadow of a flying vulture passed across the rope and in an instant the flies were gone, leaving the rope alone and lonely, but not for long. The breeze caught the opening of the tent and the sides billowed, pulling the rope taught each time air blew into the tent. The roof canvas now flapped and snapped and dust swirled near the entrance, filling my eyes and blowing sand into my sleeping bag so that I was forced to turn away with eyes tightly closed. Then as abruptly as the wind arrived, it left and there was a still, an almost breathless waiting until the next current found its way to my campsite. A bright red dragonfly, the largest I had ever seen, landed on the tent rope, less than three feet from my eyes. I watched it sitting motionlessly, noticed that its head was in constant motion, its compound eyes staring, first one way, then another, watching for flies. The sun reflected from its wings, yet shone through the diaphanous lace throwing a glow onto the rope beneath it as if igniting the fibers in pink splendor. I blinked and the creature was gone, for an instant, to return with a green fly in its mouth, held with two tiny legs as it consumed its prey. A vulture circled high and the pink dragon was gone with a flip of its wings.

The tent-rope now looked black against the white snows of Annapurna behind it. The black line sliced the massif in two, as if a willful child had drawn a dark crayon across the picture in a travel book. Annapurna! From where I lay it stretched for some thirty miles and soared into the azure sky with its six major peaks, its summit reaching 26,538 feet, the tenth highest mountain in the world. ( Annapurna, in Sanskrit, Goddess of the Harvests; in Hinduism a symbol of fertility and a manifestation, an avatar of Durga.) The late afternoon sun shone against the snow-covered surface, now a slight orange- saffron tint. High, near its summit, strong winds blew a snow plume, like the plumed crest of a snowy egret which wavered and swirled in the late sunset.

I could hear their voices now. “Kaseru. How has the Barkat Zaman* sahib done today? Did you feed him?” Dr. Carl Taylor, the expedition’s physician, strolled into the clearing and headed toward the tent. “Harold. How’s it going, old man?” He reached down to feel my forehead and withdrew his hand, his face slightly frowning. “Did you take the medications I set out for you?”

“Yes,” I replied. “There were sixteen of them on the rope. The blue one got eaten. The baby shit on the line.” The words came tumbling out all at once.

Later I could hear the other members of the Nepal Ornithological Expedition talking as they ate their meal that Kaseru had prepared.

“No. It is really a mystery. Fever’s still at 104 degrees. Dangerously high. Until we get down to the plains, to Butwal or later in Ludhiana and have blood work done, I can only guess. Hemorrhagic fever, perhaps carried by the rats in the place we stayed in Jumosum, or typhus, or some strange parasitic disease.” Doctor Carl sipped the hot coffee in his mug. “Poor chap, hallucinating again. Rectal bleeding. All he could say this evening was, ‘Today about sixteen of them on a rope and the green one was eaten.’ Poor chap.”

“Well,” said Dr. Robert Fleming, the expedition leader, “we may just have to have him carried out on a litter; Pokhara to Tansing, then on to Butwal. That is going to be some feat, carrying him over the Himalayas in a litter.”

* Barkat Zaman is the Urdu equivalent of Bergsma. Harold Bergsma is the only surviving member of the Chicago Natural History Museum and the National Geographic Society Ornithological Expedition to West Nepal in 1949-1950.

Travel Report: Korba Street Festival - Heliopolis, Cairo

Kim — Wed, 14 May 2008 02:19:02 EDT

Last Friday was the annual Korba Street festival in Heliopolis - a residential suburb in Cairo.

Baghdad street was closed off to traffic and stalls were put up along the sidewalks. There were stalls from the Asean countries selling native food and some handicrafts.

The Indian stall just had posters urging visitors to visit India. Nothing else. :(

There were tables along the sides for families to relax and grab a bite and the main road was left free for kids to express their creativity on the road with chalk and paints.

Marriott's Bakery, Swiss Inn, Sultana Ice Cream had tables on the road and were serving food there. The Swiss Inn even had a buffet set up on the road. But the more exciting stuff to eat were the street stalls which were selling things like cotton candy,the hummus drink and beans.

I attended in the morning half and left by 1:30pm, before the crowds really started to pour in. This meant I missed out on the musical performances (by Wust el Balad among others) and the puppet show, but what I managed to catch was great anyway.

My friends tell me, there was a short parade later in the noon with flower covered floats and giant coke bottles. More of advertising than Spring flowers was a comment I heard.

What I got to see, kind of reminded me a bit of the Kala Ghoda festival in Bombay, but just a little bit. The concept is similar, but there is so much further that the Korba festival can go. Its a good start though, just to have an open air event in a residential area of Cairo.

I would definitely try to catch it again next year.

Putrid Pilgrimages in India

Shantanu Dutta — Tue, 13 May 2008 13:23:25 EDT

A doctor who has just started some charitable work in the island of Rameshwaram among Sri Lankan refugees has an experience to share. Hailing from Chennai, she was used to the thought of abandoning the comforts of city life and get used to the exigencies of rural life. But the one thing that greeted her as she crossed over into Rameswaram and that one thing which she was not prepared for was the over whelming stench of human excreta hovering all over the island.

Apart from the infrastructural issues of there not being any adequate sewage disposal on the island, she wondered aloud as to why a pilgrim centre of religious significance should be so dirty and why whether or not the official machinery did any thing or not, the basic piety of the people should have served as some kind of an incentive to keep the place clean. Going by the press reports, the problem in Rameswaram has been noticed and action asked for at least a year ago when A. Sellamuthu, Secretary for Housing and Monitoring Officer for the district, had directed the Rameswaram Municipal authorities to take urgent steps clean the island town. He had also noted that that “Rameswaram was an important pilgrim centre, which was attracting thousands of pilgrims and tourists daily. Hence, it had to be kept neat and clean always”

The question is worth asking as to why filth and squalor are so routinely associated with places of pilgrimages –except for the cash rich ones like the temples at Tirupati and Vaishno Devi and a few others and may be the Dargah at Ajmer. As for the rest, be it the shrine of a pir or a typical teerth sthan, the gathering of crowds for journeys of piety and pilgrimages are almost synonymous with dirt, disorder and chaos instead of harmony, serenity and order.

Remember the kanwarias who crowd up the roads every couple of months. Emerging from every little town and village that India has it would seem, they run through the land like locusts ravaging a field. Small time charities spring up to feed and shelter these hockey stick wielding pilgrims. During the time the season is on, these resting places are filled with leaf plates with flies buzzing, plastic and other waste lying around every where and ear splitting music of the crassest kind copied from the latest Bollywood hits but supposedly charmed to induce piety.

Or remember the Kumbh Melas, the largest gathering of humans on earth for any purpose, but not necessarily the most tranquil or peaceful. There are these akharas filled with opium soaked sadhus and their equally fanatic followers jostling for space and dominance. And oh yes, till modern times, the end of Kumbh Mela often sprouted cholera. The rather provocatively titled blog “The Shit of the Saints is Still Reeking” talks pointedly of the 2007 mela in Allahabad and quotes the Chief Medical Officer of Allahabad alluding to the threat of diarrheal diseases, typhoid, and hepatitis as a direct result of the trash and human waste.

The Incredible India Campaign has run several direct ads on the need to keep and preserve our heritage –from vandalism as well as other acts that might desecrate them in any way. But they have largely concentrated and talked about historical monuments. But considering that so much of our heritage is tied up with religion and religious places and yatras and pilgrimages, it might do well to also talk of keeping religious places and events clean and sanitized so that the memory of having visited them might remain pleasant memories and not stories of nightmares.