Desicritics Category: Culture: Family

Should Marriage be Abolished?

Sumanth — Wed, 17 Mar 2010 07:42:15 EDT

In old days, people mostly lived in communities in villages. The parents used to take care of children and the grown up children used to take care of frail and sick old parents. That was the circle of life.

Today, with the Americanization of the world, some new noble actors gatecrashed into this circle of life. They are the Corporates, Society and the Government.

Today, parents solely take care of children, and then they handover the grown up children to Corporates and Governments. The young children work for the corporates and pay taxes to the Government, which claims to take care of everyone. In reality, children do not have time for old and sick parents. I see a lot of respectable elderly people in the neighborhood, who explain their old age loneliness with tears in their eyes.

Even though there is a lot of pressure for Americanization of India by Helen Clark of UNDP, our Government does not talk about anything American like Social Security or Healthcare System for old people in India.

The returns on investment (ROI) on children by parents are virtually zero today. So, children should be the responsibility of the Society or the Commune. Osho wanted the family to be replaced by the Commune.

Marriage should be abolished. With that there will be an end to divorce industry. There will be no family courts, lawyers, psychoanalysts, therapists, priests, perverts, dowry takers and prostitutes. When commune takes care of all children, there will be absolutely no orphans in the society.

When marriage does not exist and children become responsibility of the commune, men and women do not have to struggle for work life balance and they will have more choices in life. The personal emergencies and shocks will get absorbed by the whole commune.

In the book Third Wave, Alvin Toffler wrote, "Nuclear Family has no meaning, when there is no nucleus at home." The Commune will fill richness in children's lives, where as in a marriage today, the child has to remain suppressed between 2 adults and their narrow identities.

The Commune will create an alternate circles of life with much more stable interactions and interrelationships.

Osho On Marriage and Children:

Kensei, Our Warrior Cat

Deepti Lamba — Fri, 5 Feb 2010 00:51:04 EST

He was a gorgeous cat. People used to think he was a little lion living amongst us. He had bit of an attitude probably caused by the abuse he suffered as a kitten but was otherwise an affectionate feline. But one fine day he did what cats tend to do - he squeezed through a window I forgot to close, jumped the garden wall and fell prey to the street dogs late in the night ;

We found his body next day in the open fields behind our house. The poor tom didn't stand a chance. His body was torn into shreds. We brought him back home and buried him in the garden.

The grief of losing him still stays with me and its been well over two weeks. The house doesn't feel the same without him. Zoey, our female cat is a docile little thing who likes a bit of petting and then sleeps. Kensei on the other hand was a little tornado. He used to play with us and bug Zoey to no end.

In the middle of the night while lying in our bed we could hear things falling around the house with the cats chasing each other. But the house has now become silent and I miss those gorgeous tawny eyes and the gentle nudging he did against my feet.

Grief tends to dull with time but then it returns in the form of memories. And the wound opens all over again. People who aren't animal lovers cannot understand the lingering grief felt over an animal but that's where love comes in. Its what makes us human and loving animals comes easy - they ask for nothing and give so much.

Its taken me so long to write about Kensei who had been with us for over two years. It still feels as if he would come around the corner and patiently ask for food. He was my stink bomb, my little warrior and like his namesake he died in a fight. But I so wish he died an old cat's death in our midst.

Rest in peace, Kensei.

Oh Calcutta!

a traveller — Tue, 2 Feb 2010 04:34:10 EST

When friends, particularly non-Bengali ones, visit Calcutta, I'm usually filled with feelings of jealousy. But when they come back with tales of Park Street, the best continental or Italian restaurants in the city, partying nights, or having luchi-aloo at Oh Calcutta (!!), I invariably feel like they're talking of a city I've never been to.

In all the years I've been to Calcutta, I've visited Park Street exactly twice, and the promised visit to Flurry's has never yet happened. Calcutta for me has always been about relatives and my mother's college haunts. Visits there tend to get restricted to the same beloved places.

It's about the pavements of Gariahat and the maze that is New Market. The Sardarji at the purse shop who always smiles in recognition when he sees the mother, remembering vociferous arguments and long-drawn negotiations in the years gone by. The rolls at Bedouins, the jhal-muri at Nandan. Convincing my grandmother to skip cooking a heavy Bengali meal for one day at least so we can take her to the Chinese shop at the corner - which we enjoy far more than any 5-star restaurant my uncle wants to take us to; I get that from her. Strolls down College Street, and cutlets at Coffee House. The tram rides where my uncle insists I sit in the Ladies section of the compartment, away from him and the brother - even though we three are the only passengers in the compartment. Riding the metro to Esplanade simply to ride up the escalator and come down again - it was the only station with an escalator in those days. Stopping to pick up Ujjaler chanachur on the way to the airport or the station, with the father looking grimly at his watch.

Visiting my mother's numerous relatives, all of whom exclaim how much I look like their niece - even though my mirror tells me I take after my father. Speaking on the phone with the numerous relatives I haven't been able to meet - and hearing in great detail every ailment they and their spouses have had in the past year. Hearing my grandmother's neighbours yell at each other from corner of their house to another - all of which can be heard through the open walls between the two houses. Going to her neighbour's house to visit Doctor Dadu and Didu - the elderly couple who've been in that house for as long as I can remember and who always manage to make me feel so loved, even though there is no blood connection between us.

I love Calcutta, I do. But more than four days there, and I'm yearning to get away from all the questions. But those four days are usually a little piece of heaven.

My grandmother moved last year from the tiny little house she's lived in for nearly three decades to a high-rise building. I haven't visited her there yet, and in some ways I'm dreading it. Calcutta with no music coming in from the neighbour's houses in the morning and the evening? What is that like?

Liberate Our Students From Sexual Repression

Golden Boy — Sun, 31 Jan 2010 08:49:50 EST

My decision of taking up the Profession of a Spoken English Trainer came with its own pros and cons. On one hand it meant I would have had to settle for less money, on the other hand I found out that it could be a deeply satisfying experience as it meant I could work with young people, helping them learn a language that could open for them not only a door to a whole new world of expression but also free them of the cultural baggage of their mother-tongue.

In my experience as a Spoken English Trainer, I have discovered that two things compel Indians to learn the language: One, the whole new vista of better job prospects that the knowledge of this International Language offers; and secondly, the characteristic of English language as a tool of self-expression which is used across the globe in a growing community of forward-looking people who belong to the realm of progressive thought.

Being able to speak and communicate in English is the key to adopt a whole new culture based on freedom from archaic traditions imposed by religion and society. It is THE medium now for universal brotherhood, the language of the Global Citizen who does not believe in boundaries of narrow nationalistic ideologies.

"Experience in the Classroom"

Even as I struggled to find my own ways and means to teach a foreign language to young people who largely belonged in the age group of 17-24, in an attempt to equip them with a skill for financial betterment, I was soon to discover that I was also dealing with their psychology in some way.

Knowing a particular Indian language as your first language can bring with it its own luggage of past history and cultural ideologies and limitations

Very soon in my career as a Spoken English Trainer I found that my students were basically shy, non-expressive, self-repressive, and carried a baggage of puritanical ideology, all of which was evidently not their own baggage but the heritage of their mother tongue which was the symbol of a particular lifestyle and psychology that their elders belonged to.

People from Hindi and Marathi medium schools are basically unexposed to the ideas of Individuality and Liberty. The Cinema of these languages are hugely influenced by a sexually repressive and narrow Nationalistic mentality which has been the heritage of a country like India, a country that has historically been subject to foreign onslaughts, and was subject to major religious influences (Indic, Islamic and Victorian) which believed in suppression of one's sexual energy.

Even as I struggled to help them learn a foreign language, I noticed that just knowing the nuances of the language was not enough.

The struggle lay not as much in teaching them Grammar but in giving them a voice to express themselves, a voice that had been silenced over generations by forces- religious and imperialistic that wanted the multitudes of this country to remain quiet and adhere to the Ideology of Suppression

Talking openly in the classroom about Sex or anything remotely to do with sexuality, even about being attracted to the opposite gender, could be termed as a major diversion from my duty as a Language Trainer

But what can be more liberating than tapping into one's sexual energy for the purpose of freeing oneself from the mentality of suppression? And what better way to expressing oneself than tapping into a space within which is hugely sexual in nature, in order to free individual expression?

Everyone knows that even the most loyal of Elephants goes wild when in 'heat' i.e. the period of 'heightened sexual desire', when the animal struggles to break away from its shackles.

What lies beneath all our highly held ideologies of Liberty and Freedom as the basic Human Right enshrined in every progressive Constitution today, is this sexual energy. And if it is tamed or suppressed in any way, be it religious or societal is an abuse of the most pervert order.

What I have found in my classrooms is that families go to an extra mile to suppress the sexual energy of a growing child, even to the extent of depriving them of Attention as a means of manipulation of their sexual life-force. Lack of validation for the Individual in them, due to the archaic family roles and duties in India, makes Individual Expression even more repressed.

How can an Individual speak the language of the Free when he/she has to bend down under the weight of his own cultural baggage? How can he even start expressing himself in English, when self-expression itself has been muffled in every home in this country for generations?

It is time to wake up and think!

Marital Bliss - Happily Ever After?

Purba — Sat, 30 Jan 2010 23:45:04 EST

We start early when it comes to acquiring aversions. As children we are mostly averse to milk, studies, pesky relatives who love tweaking our cheeks. I had all of these and a special one - an aversion to newlyweds.

My first brush with this strange species was as a six year old on a summer trip to Mount Abu. A giggly, coochie-cooing group infesting the back rows of our sightseeing bus. Unfortunately they took a shine to me and I was mostly perched on their laps, privy to the most inane conversations ever heard and embarrassing public displays of affection. Every time we halted they would scurry off to the nearest cliff and pose kamasutra style with me as the hapless spectator. Needless to say I was traumatized.

From Gangtok to Ooty, Kanyakumari to Kalimpong , there was no escaping them. You could hear them before you could spot them. Hysterically happy, over made up girls tottering on high heels clinging for dear life to their macho mates. But what puzzled me the most was how just a few years down the line the same couples would turn into stoical uncles and aunties with a bunch of wailing kids in tow. Domesticity kills and how! Quite like the before and after ads that slimming centres love splashing in newspapers.

Time stops for no one and soon it was time for me to bear the ignominy of being "newly married". After a whirlwind courtship where I managed to run up telephone bills that had my parents in the throes of panic attacks, I was ready to play house with the man of my dreams.

On our honeymoon, I was cautious, very cautious. I didn't giggle and maintained a safe distance from my puzzled husband. I looked somber, almost angry at the world. I was so sans the usual jingbang one associates with a newlywed that we had curious people make surreptitious enquires about our marital status or rather the lack of it. We didn't bother to clear the air.
Hey! We had fun too. Smoked my first cigarette, had my first bottle of wine, tried my hand at cooking and failed miserably. A tantalizing teaser to our rosy future.

Men and women have diametrically different expectations from this holy union called marriage. We, the fairer sex have silly romantic notions and the men expect us to be a wife, and not just an ordinary wife. Now these are guys who grew up watching ads which show the lady of the house cooking up a six course meal with a beatific smile plastered on her face. Is overjoyed when her kid comes back home in soiled clothes. And cleaning utensils is her lifelong passion. She scours and scrubs from morn to noon and she still manages to look like a million bucks. The occasional back pain is taken care of by MOOV massaged lovingly by the husband.

Then they marry us. Imperfect creatures who stress easily, worry constantly and think household chores are mind numbing.

After a few weeks of fun and frolic (honeymoon and a stay with in-laws) it was time to get down to the business of living together in our rented accommodation in Delhi. I was a novice at the threshold of domesticity, whose expertise extended to straightening crumpled bed covers and making amoeba shaped chapattis. But when you are young, hopelessly in love, technicalities of running a household are mere formalities.

For nearly a fortnight we sailed through. He found it amusing that I was such a cleanliness freak. I cleaned cupboards, rearranged closets, dusted furniture with passion. The window grills which had quite forgotten they were once white were restored to their former glory. We had a maid who would clean the house and the utensils. Life was good, sparkling clean, till it was time for me to enter the kitchen. All this while I had avoided this excursion thanks to the many dinner invitations and weekends spent with my parents. A stray day or two were taken care of by eating out.

But my mate was dying for some good ol' home cooked khana made lovingly by his brand new wife. He soon started dropping gentle hints. He would fix up elaborate breakfasts, show off his culinary expertise obviously expecting a reciprocal gesture.

When you are whispering sweet nothings into each other's ears, looking adoringly into each other's eyes do you actually have the time to confess that you can't cook to save your life! Well I had made a few half hearted attempts at it during my college days. But what do you do when your Mom, Dad even your kid brother are amazing cooks! You just eat right? That's precisely what I did and made just the right noises to further encourage them in their gastronomic pursuit. I thought this ploy will work as successfully with my soul mate too, but alas it didn't. Unable to procrastinate any further I made a desperate call to my mum, consulted my friends and voila I was ready to serve a dish or two. But the problem with cooking is it's an endless cycle of chopping, frying, stewing and to further the agony you are supposed to roll out chapattis as well. After a couple of hours of toil I emerged sweaty, near ecstatic and served my first dinner ever. To my utter misfortune it turned out to be palatable (actually delicious according to me). Darling, not bad at all...so what are we having for dinner tomorrow?

So began my domestic phase, coming back from office and having to worry about self made dinners. But the typical lazy bum I was, I tried to avoid it as much as possible. Honey you make the most amazing Palak Gosht, so are we having it tonight? Office was so stressful, can we order in? Let's pile on Gopa Di (a benign sweet neighbor).

To further add to the agony we were expected to shop for veggies as well. Come Thursday and both of us would head out with voluminous bags to the weekly haat. Two brave hearts scouting for the freshest of fresh vegetables. This onerous task was deftly passed on to my perfectionist of a hubby. I don't like getting too involved in all the nitty-gritties. But lugging all those heavy bags, the chaos, the noise and the smells would get so overwhelming and exhausting that we would end up eating out yet again.

Fast forward to the future. We are now responsible parents to our teenaged offspring who is even lazier than her mum. Indian women in ads are still cooking delectable treats for their family, but sans unhealthy fat and sugar. The family breaks into an impromptu musical while doing chores (what will they think of next). The newlyweds have gone global now. They are now traumatizing the world at large.

It has been eighteen years of domesticity and I continue to be a cleanliness freak but a reluctant cook. The husband no longer finds it amusing though. He still fixes up elaborate breakfasts and when it's my turn it's usually cereals (hey I believe in healthy eating). But now I have two ad-like ladies cooking and cleaning without a murmur of protest. They are my lifeline, my maids.
But the better, bitter?? half still has a cherished dream of me cooking a six course zinger of a meal just for him. Hopefully he won't have to wait another eighteen years for that.

Photo Essay: Flowers From Our Winter Garden

Aaman Lamba — Thu, 28 Jan 2010 15:16:16 EST

It might be best to begin with a disclaimer. While I did take most of the photographs in this essay and have benefited from the salubrious climes induced by the beautiful array of plants and flowers, the true credit and labours are those of Deepti Lamba, and thus the kudos.

We are fortunate to have a large yard. My mother and father were ardent gardeners, but of the functional variety. While we had a few rose bushes and gladioli, the layout was oriented towards fruit trees, garden vegetables, and some special breeds like the elephant's foot. I recall quite a few good bonsai, and that is a special art indeed.

Our garden today is quite different. The fruit trees grow strong, except for a couple cherry and banana that had to be removed. We suffer from acute water shortage though, like most of Bangalore, that odd city which wasn't built next to a major water source, and has murdered the few rivers that flowed through it. Our choice of plants is therefore oriented towards ones that can go without frequent watering and also our aesthetic tastes run to colorful vibrant flowers.

This January seems to have produced a fine crop of blooms. Here are some for your appreciation.

There are more than flowers in our garden, as with any ecosystem.

We got this Violet orchid recently.

This tom is a frequent visitor to our garden.

Travel Review: Bheemeshwari Fishing Camp, Cauvery

Deepti Lamba — Thu, 21 Jan 2010 11:34:29 EST

Last weekend we wanted to get away from the city for a short trip and living in Bangalore makes such sojourns possible. We went to Bheemeshwari, a fishing camp managed by Jungle Lodges Resorts, the Karnataka Government-funded company that runs fine camps in Karnataka sanctuaries. Bheemeshwari is about hundred kilometers from Bangalore, about 40 km from Kanakapura. We drove out of the city at eight in the morning and were there by ten, much to our surprise.

The roads were butter smooth except for a few patches where a small nondescript town, a few miles before of the camp, wore a war torn look. It was quite a disturbing and dusty drive through the dilapidated town but then the deciduous greenery and rolling hillocks re-appeared and the gentle Kaveri ran parallel to the road.

As usual, there were monkeys and plastic bags littering the landscape. It seems that the Nilgiri hills are the only hills devoid of ugly fluttering plastic bags. We drove on and reached Bheemeshwari. There are two other camps along the Cauvery operated by Jungle Lodges, Galibore and Doddamakali.

The Bheemeshwari Fishing Camp has tented huts, Cottages and Log Huts. We stayed in a cottage facing the river close to the reception. The dining hall was a quite a walk for us, but one we thoroughly enjoyed. The Fishing Camp is child friendly, the food is a little spicy but delicious and the people who work there are considerate, such as Mr. Anthony, the resident coordinator, who roams around with an unloaded rifle which he points at the monkeys when they get a little too noisy.

The area is well lit and unlike B R Hills, where lights go off at ten in the night here the rooms not only has electricity through the night but each unit has an AC.

The cottages are reasonably priced -Rs 7000 for adults and 50% less for children under ten.

As usual there is no television and no cell phone connections. Its a place to relax, play with kids on the nets, play swings and of course go fishing.

The resident monkeys are quite genial, not the rough and intrusive variety we've seen elsewhere. There are also large squirrels and other small wildlife.

Swimming is not allowed, as there are whirlpools and the occasional crocodile. We spotted our first crocodile sunning itself on one of the river rocks within a few minutes into our arrival at the Camp and those around us were also excited to spot the croc without going on a 'river safari' (boat ride).

The Cauvery river is teeming with Mahaseer. These are gorgeous fish that can grow up to three feet and when caught they have to be released back in the waters. Fun fishing, as they call it, takes place early in the morning and late afternoon. We could not go for fishing since we were with kids but there were local kids at the camp who helped us fish with nothing more than a twine tied to wood. They made clumps of Ragi balls on the hooks and with a mean swing threw the line in the water.

Initially I shouted - 'Money making Scam' to Aaman as I waited holding the twine. But within five minutes there was a tug and I was screaming as I pulled the line in. I caught my first small Mahaseer, and it was gorgeous.

The slime that coats the fish made it slippery and as it flipped on the ground one of the boys caught it quickly, Aaman took a picture and we released it back in the waters.

Aaman too caught a Mahaseer, though a smaller one.

We also went on a boat ride on the Coracle. Since the boats are round we twirled around in the water and my heart thumped due to my fear of deep waters. The kids enjoyed the boat ride and were hungry pretty soon.

When we returned we had coffee, tea and sanwiches and I made Aayan read the sign that warned that swimming wasn't allowed in the waters since there were dangerous whirlpools and crocodiles in the river.

The fishing camp has a lot of photographs showing people holding the big Mahaseers and its a matter of luck whether one catches fish or one can get none. We managed to catch the baby ones without much effort and were tickled pink about it.

The food at the camp especially at night was drool-worthy. At 7:30 in the evening they had barbeque - there was tandoori chicken, pakoras and beer. People sat around and chatted and then at about 8:30 we had our dinner.

The way back to the cottage was well-lit and we didn't stumble around like we did back in BR Hills.

We saw this strange branch shaped like a monkey - it fooled many people.
We slept well at night and morning had a scrumptious breakfast before we headed back to the city.

Its best to have a heavy breakfast before heading to the camp. The rooms are available after 12 noon and food is available only from lunch time onwards.

Like us most people landed up early and on empty bellies. Also its important to carry munchies, books and other activity items like cards and board games. Remember, do not feed the monkeys nor swim in the waters no matter how calm and inviting the Cauvery may look.

Fiction: Rockstar

IdeaSmith — Fri, 15 Jan 2010 19:57:21 EST

I've just discovered a kink in my sexual make-up. I have a thing for gender role switching. That's not men dressing in lingerie (eww, gross!). It's a woman who's sexy because she's wearing a guy's long tee-shirt that comes down to mid-thigh. It's the breath-catching oomph of a rolled-up cuff revealing a slender arm. Or ooh...a chunky, sporty man's watch on a delicate female wrist.

How about the reverse? Hrithik Roshan gliding across an airport, pink tee-shirt, coloured sunglasses glory, the cool criminal in Dhoom 2. Oh he kills me, he kills me.

But the true master, the one that transcends gender, who takes sexuality beyond female or male has to be Sting. A voice that feels like a caress...of a man's tongue. When he lifts one foot to step forward and a field of golden corn springs up within him, it makes me think...that's the kind of sex that makes life, it makes you come alive.

How come all the lead guitarists, the famous ones, the images you have of a rockstar are all male? There's obviously something vaguely sexy about a guitar. The curvaceous soundbox, the long phallic arm and what about the strumming? I've played the guitar and I know it doesn't have to be held at crotch-level. And yet, why not? It goes from song-making to love-making.

I'd love to be straddling a guitar with my torso, strumming in tune to the master, letting his melody caress my song.

Ooh....

Oh, it's my phone. That buzz in my pocket feels so good.

Down with flu. Can't make it to practice today.

AHEMMM.

My mother's grim throat-clearing conveys that she is very, very angry about my checking my phone in church.

It's about choir practice.

Her thin-line mouth is a pointed reminder that we are still in church and I'm talking. I drop my gaze and shut up.

Twenty minutes later, I am settled in as comfortably as is possible in the confessional. Why do they make these seats so uncomfortable? Probably to punish the confessors for the sins they confess to.

Yes, my child.

Father, I have sinned.

Tell me about this thing you have done.

It's not something I did. I've been having...wrong thoughts.

Deeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep brooding silence. Presumably to make me ponder on my wrongdoing. Shame me into confessing all and purging my sins.

The silence is music. The silence is sexy in its own way.

About what, child?

About three notes too low. But low is good. It takes me higher. Go down, down further, go down on me.

I've been thinking of quitting the choir.

The silence is different now. Taut tension knife-edge sharp like the orchestra falling away to leave just that one high-pitched note behind.

I want to be in a rock band instead.

CRRRRRASSSSSHHHHHH.

I take a bow.

Casual Racism in Advertising

Dr Bhaskar Dasgupta — Wed, 13 Jan 2010 07:22:33 EST

While walking back from work, at my local chemist, I spotted this advertisement which I photographed for posterity.

This totally blew me away and I blogged it at face book saying this:

“This is WTF on so many levels. Not least because of massive confusion between dermatology, geography, language and racism. What the hell is Arabic or Asian skin?”

I got some really interesting comments and the heartfelt fulminations such as:

I think they mean if your skin is darker - I guess they could have said mediterranean or south american too :)
are they trying to whiten it? What the fuck for?
this is presumably people with dark skin wanting to whiten or lighten their skins. MORONS!, I have a better idea, how about DULUX? they do a great line in white paint. in Matt, Satin or Smooth finish even.
I'm in india and cant find a facewash without a whitener in it...its all about being fair here...
I know that a TV commercial got banned in India for this product. In the commercial, a dark skinned lady went for a job interview and got rejected. She used the cream, got lighter, went back to the interview and got the job. Absolutely horrific that (a) companies make this product (b) people buy them! This whole inferiority about being dark skinned... See More has been externally imposed upon dark skinned people for centuries, now we seen to be sustaining the complex internally. It MUST be challenged, first and foremost by ourselves - people are beautiful no matter what color skin they have, have we not learned that yet?
Wow!! Some deep shit right here Bhaskar.
it's horrid!! In India this is rampant for fairness, yeah?
In Cambodia, I found Paula's Pinky Nipple cream so dark skinned people could ... you know, be like white people ... even there! horrid.
WTF indeed. us dark skins aren't safe here too now eh? good grief!

My brother in law, Sameer Bhargava, sent me this link to a You Tube Video:

This is horrible, to see these morons all gallivanting around trying to get fair. I knew about this phenomena in India but Arabic? So it proves from this story about how Palestinian women are also busy slathering this gunk on their faces to become whiter. I quote:

“I admit it. I want to change my complexion,” Ms. Suleiman, a sociology student at Al-Quds Open University, explains with a sheepish smile. She and a classmate sport Islamic head scarves and a significant coat of makeup, also aimed at a lighter-skinned appearance. “Palestinian men like brunettes,” she says, “but they want light skin.”

The article also quotes another writer:

“Lebanese standards of beauty and complexion have taken the Arab world by storm since the resurgence of the Lebanese in media ... further limiting the accepted definition of beauty as light-skinned, catty-eyed and slim-nosed. Fair & Lovely, a popular whitening cream, advertises itself on Arabic TV when a model is rejected for being too dark, only to be ecstatically accepted after a few weeks of applying the magic cream.”

This seems to be a pretty normal problem with Arab teenagers. Here’s a very good article on how an Arab American Lebanese teenager felt while growing up and the impact on skin colour. Strongly suggest readers read these 4-5 pages. While I can understand the background to this, this wanting to fit in with the white Americans does not apply to people in say Palestine. For them, it must be because of attainment hero’s and heroines such as Ms. Wehebe which they see on TV and want to become like that. How about sending Ms. Naomi Cambell to the TV studios?

And while researching this topic, found that Wikipedia had a full fledged entry on skin whitening. Reading the variety of crud that goes into these cosmetics is simply horrifying. And to think that people slop mercury and acids on their skin, these film stars push these products and the stupid girls get taken in by this. Plus there are 1.6 million hits on “skin whitening” not counting the hits for other terms that Google helpfully suggests:

skin lightening pills
skin lightening tips
natural skin lightening
skin lightening cream

proactiv skin lightening lotion
skin bleaching
hydroquinone
meladerm

So nice. When women use this crud, this photograph shows what can happen as written in a Tanzanian site:

Talking about Africa, my friend, Vikram Doctor (who btw has a planet sized brain with the most amazing stories), told me about the Aparthied Museum in Jo’burg. This museum was made by this family who made millions by selling creams to South Africans who would want to pass as whites for obvious reasons. I have not seen this museum, but the next time I am out there, i will definitely go check it out.

This syndrome seems to be all over the damn world. Here’s an article on the skin lightening market in Japan, use in Senegal, Nigeria, South Africa, China / Hong Kong, etc.. The same kind of feeling was in China as well, where women would prefer to be foot bounded and very pale skin to show that they are rich enough not to work in the fields and presumably get tanned.

But while there have been tons of medical articles, I was simply unable to find solid well researched academic articles from the sociology, anthropology, history, psychology or other areas which could shed more light on this issue. Why would this be the case? I immediately jumped to the conspiracy theory that its the cosmetic and pharmacy industry which stops this research from happening. But surely this isn't the case. While, for example, the NHS does state clearly that this kind of skin lightening stuff should not be used, why isn't there more research on this?

There are also tons of legal judgements. In other words, people are buying this stuff enough to make economic sense out of counterfeiting them. If there was not enough demand, then you counterfeit this stuff, would you? So this also goes to show that the creams and potions are sold at an absurdly high price.

And all this while, we have this crap showing on TV, in our films, in our songs and even casually walking up and down the high streets. Disgusting.

Where Does "Control" Figure in Your Parenting Style?

Cee Kay — Fri, 1 Jan 2010 00:03:24 EST

When I first became a parent, I thought I could control all aspects of bringing up my child. Her environment, her influences, her choices, likes and dislikes. Well, I knew I couldn't control her choices, likes and dislikes completely, but I sure hoped I could help shape them. Only thing is - I didn't think of this as "controlling behavior". I sincerely thought of it as "perfect parenting".

11 years down the line, I know one thing. There is no such thing as a "perfect parent". I have worked hard at keeping an open communication channel with my older daughter (the younger one is too young to "communicate") and through various conversations with her I have realized that, maybe, I went overboard in certain things. Things that, when I reconsider my approach, I could have held back on and gotten approximately the same results. In other words, I should have been more picky about choosing my (parenting) battles.

Good thing is - I realized it at all. Given that I have an ego the size of a mammoth, it hasn't been an easy task to realize and accept that I am not *gasp* The Perfect Parent!! I see parents around me who have gone through YEARS of parenting without realizing that the amount of control they want to exert on their kids' lives is not healthy. It is unhealthy for their relationship with their kids and it is probably unhealthy for their kids' self-esteem. Extreme control will, most probably, either make the kids complete pushovers or rebels. It will disrupt their ability to develop a balanced personality. There are very few who have, and will, overcome that kind of influence and go on to develop all-rounded, wholesome personalities.

I understand the need to control your child's environment, influences etc. when he/she is little. But I am a great believer of gradually letting go as the children grow older. My intolerance towards extreme parental control also arises from witnessing, firsthand, how some people try to control even their grown up, adult children. It is difficult to let go when you are not mentally prepared for it. I have seen what kind of bitterness that introduces in the relationship between the parents and children.

So, how much control is acceptable in your opinion?