Desicritics Category: Culture: Social Issues

Colour

IdeaSmith — Fri, 2 Jan 2009 10:44:02 EST

(Based on my fortnight-long tour of Europe in October 2008)

I buy a bottle of sandalwood scented sunscreen lotion. Yes, yes, I hate the fairness-driven notion of beauty as any self-respecting Indian should. But I don't particularly want splotchy multi-coloured skin either.

Along with my lotion, sits my spray-on foundation. No.5 is closest to my skin tone, according the salesman. I wondered how he can tell since all three (identical-looking) shades he selects for me, turn up reddish patches from being rubbed vigorously into my arm. Hooray, my blood is still red and turns up under the dermis to say hello!

~o~o~o~I go shopping on Tuesday evening, Wednesday morning, nights after work and weekends to prepare for a fourteen-day (and night) journey. Among my purchases are a grey vest with red lining on the neck. To be worn with black cotton track pants with a red lining down the sides. For deck wear, for nightwear, for 'I'm so sporty-I'm so cool' wear, never mind the fact that I've never seen the inside of a gym.

The next day, dad decides to play homemaker with the laundry. I pull the clothes out of the washing machine and in horror, exclaim,

What happened to my grey vest????!!!

It is now very pink with a red lining. Pink and Red! Ghastly, ghastly, ghastly!! And I don't have matching trackpants to wear it with! Dad looks quite contrite and then asks, rather timidly,

You don't like the pink colour?

~o~o~o~

At the airport, I discover that my flight has been delayed 4 hours. A discreet door tucked away at the far end looks interesting. Entry only for travellers who have a Gold Card. At 4 a.m. as I walk out, stomach full with delectable cutlets, sandwiches, hot soup and fine tea, I conclude that life in plastic, is fantastic indeed. And Gold continues to open doors.

~o~o~o~The breakfast shift is packed. I spot an empty table, the plates of its previous occupants bearing mute testimony to their appetites. I sit down.

Five minutes later I stand up so I can see over the bar and beckon to the servers. In vain.

Then I approach a tall, blond steward standing at the bar and wait for him to finish whatever he is doing and turn around. He does but his gaze glides smoothly over my head to a distant table.

Can I have someone take my breakfast order, please?

He fixes steely eyes on me and mouths,

Sit down and keep waiting.

Twenty minutes later, I flag down a Filipina waitress who smiles sunnily and brings me my breakfast immediately.

-------------

The next morning, I arrive early and have the satisfaction of bagging a prime seat with a view of the deck as well as the serving staff. I can be patient today, I decide, ignoring my growling stomach. At the table in front of me, the blond steward is charming two Americans. He dashes off and swishes back with the menus, in a smooth move and a pleasant,

And what may I bring you lovely ladies today?

I wait for him to finish. Waving now would be rude but I'm sure he can see that I've been staring steadfastedly in his direction. He finishes, snaps the menu shut and looks up and away.

Another group of girls approach. I've noticed them the last evening. Youngish, mini-skirted, very made-up. They never seem to leave the ship and a video camera follows them around everywhere. Models for a cruise brochure, I guess. One is blonde, another looks like a teenage Catherine Zeta-Jones and their friends are various versions of Christina Aguilera. They sit down, chattering and fluttering. The steward materializes from nowhere and a gaggle of giggles break out. And a few minutes later he brings them their breakfasts - yoghurt as white as the young Zeta-Jones and fruit.

I'm still hungry.

-----------

The next evening I join two couples for dinner. We select the biggest table. Ten minutes later, in good cheer, we move to another (equally big) table on the other side of the room where we decide the serving staff is hovering. But we don't seem to be able to catch the steward's eye.

As he swings by us for the fifth time, one of my group calls out,

Could you please taken our order?

He spits out with breaking his step,

It is not your turn. Keep waiting.

------------

The man who runs the ship restaurant offers a polite apology adding firmly that it has never been his policy to discriminate on the basis of nationality or race. He also tells us about his life in another country as an alien and promises us that he understands what we mean. An hour later, after many anecdotes about travel, belief and culture, he leaves us, charmed and smiling. I'm forced to conclude that Greeks are marvelous story-tellers...indiscriminate of their audience.

~o~o~o~Maybe it is windchill, maybe it's skin unaccustomed to clean air but my face has turned a funny shade of orange. It isn't tomato-red like the sunburnt Brits, not pink like the pretty Ukrainian stewardess, not chocolate like the African-American passenger in the neighboring cabin. It isn't even brown anymore.

My friend laughs at me and points to his sneaker lining to show me what orange looks like. I scowl and think to myself,

Orange-flavoured caramel, then.

~o~o~o~"A city like every other", I think to myself, remembering my own Island, home. The malls, the skyscrapers, the busy people, the money and the flash. Then I look at the gray pavements and the white kerb-stones, stainless and clean. It's Mumbai minus the paan-stains, I surmise.

~o~o~o~Everything in Europe is so expensive! I complain. I've gotten used to not converting to rupees in my head by now but even so the shops seem to be trying to palm off touristy junk to me for 10 or 11 euros apiece. I walk down the roads thinking of Colaba Causeway and I tell my companions,

Shopkeepers world-over do this!

I stare at the ocean and then I chance upon a man sprawled on the ground, next to an array of trinkets displayed on cloth. I can never resist these.

What's this?

I ask, holding up a curious black stone. He tell me that is from the ancient island of Delos, where he brought it over and carved it. I smile back and inform him that I was in Delos that morning and didn't see any black stones since they were all white pebbles and blocks.

He doesn't bat an eyelid as he says,

You, an Indian. I am Indian too. I won't cheat you. You also don't tell me what you say to Indian shopkeepers.

I shrug and say,

How much?

20 euros.

I sputter and tell him that all the stuff in the shops is 10 euros. He leers and says,

Okay you go back to India and buy there only.

The firang couple next to me bursts into loud laughter, apparently very amused. I toss it back and walk away.

I hope it turns their pink fingers green. And I hope that racist pig never shows his brown face back in the country that links him to me.

~o~o~o~The sea varies from turquoise to ink to cerulean, depending upon which island I'm on. Each time it has a personality of its own and each colour introduces itself to me in its signature style. Indigo, at the start of cruise looks at me through lidded eyes and tells me that I can take my time but I'll have to come to it, eventually. Blue, mornings, welcomes me with a bright cheery 'Hello!' and asks me to come out and play. Turquoise crooks its mischievous finger at me and commands me to follow it without a splash. And silver makes me bow my head in respect as it reminds me that water covers most of the planet that human beings haven't been able to conquer.

~o~o~o~Lunch alone since everyone is sleeping in. A friendly, American co-passenger waves to me as he passes but he declines my offer to eat with me telling me he's already eaten. He's on his wave to relieve his wife from her vigil on their sunning chairs on the top deck.

She arrives a few minutes later and sits down with her plate. We eat the unfamiliar casseroles and savor the fruits in companionable silence. Then we talk about what we've seen, where we are from and what we do for a living. She tells me that she works in a tanning salon. I listen, interested and then tell her that the concept is completely alien where I come from. She looks surprised and says,

But you are such a lovely colour!

~o~o~o~Over the bay, the water has turned steely-grey, like the sky. The wind is chilly too so I shut my book and prepare to move indoors. The tables next to mine are emptying too.

At least the night is the same colour over everyone.

A Different World Part II: Zina ul Haq's Debauchery

temporal — Tue, 30 Dec 2008 03:27:51 EST

(Continued from A Different World Part I : A Travelogue of Sorts)

The irony is this: people on both side of the frontiers were predominantly Punjabis. Only fifty plus years back they spoke the same language, looked the same, shared similar culture and passions, but today they are different...not physically different...but in their mindset and attitude.

Zina-ul-Haq (Zina means rape: Haq is Truth – my coinage for the erstwhile dictator) induced religious stupor had flamed the latent fundamentalism and created such a wide gulf of intolerance and divide that most Pakistanis today accept segregation as the norm. Some even elevate it with piety. He unleashed his version of Islam that has polarized Pakistanis, increased the chasm not only between Sunnis and Shias but also between Sunnis themselves as well as fanning parochial differences between residents of all provinces.

The denial of one's roots and ersatz emphasis on a culture that was and is almost alien led to an influx of mental and sexual depravity. The orthodox misinterpreters of religion (read Islam) twist and bend the religious injunctions to satisfy their limited understanding and fetishes. This increase in provincialism, parochialism and ethnic diversity played well in the hands of manipulative politicians and the occupying army. Divide and Rule!

And it has also led to the killing of Pakistanis by other Pakistanis in the name of the same Allah.

Today's West Punjab and indeed Pakistan is set on a different course. Not the one envisioned by any of her founders or detractors in their wildest hallucination.

Off the intersection of Aram Bagh Road and Bunder Road, now M. A Jinnah Road, the Pakistani equivalent of Indian cities' Gandhi Margs, there is a side street. To the south is Dow Medical College and to the north is Pakistan Chowk. At the end of this side street there is a gurdwara, I was told. I had dragged M through the traffic, dirt and pollution but all we could see was the walls. The side street was a furniture market and unless you knew there was a gurdwara once there you would miss it.

In Mata: Meem, Alif, Tay, Alif I had written about visiting some of the mandirs in Karachi:

Karachi has lots of mandirs. And there are a few functioning ones too that I visited. There is one in Clifton, one across from the KMC building on M A Jinnah Road, one near the old Native Jetty Bridge, two in Soldier Bazaar and one in Amil Colony # 2 near the Islamia College. And there is a crumbling one on the beach in Manora that ravages of time has turned into a crumbling structure.

The Lakshmi Narayan Mandir across from KMC building on M. A. Jinnah road is in a compound. When we visited it one afternoon, the mandir was closed and some boys were playing cricket nearby. One twelve year old asked us if we were Hindus. M smiled and said she is an insaan. The kid nodded wisely.
Tu Hindu banayga na Musalmaan banayga
Insaan ki aulad hay insaan banayga

Neither a Hindu nor Muslim will you be
A human you are, a human you shall be
Another day we visited one in Soldier Bazaar. One thing is imprinted on my mind from that visit. Inside the sanctum sanctorium on the far wall Mata was spelled in glittering Urdu lettering, about two feet high - meem-alif-tay-alif. Mata was written in multicolored glitter ribbons, the kind used in garlands and for decorating the bridal car. Mata: Meem, Alif, Tay, Alif

Karachi is perhaps in the top twenty cities of the world by population. It citizens are always on the go and unaware of its history and heritage. Less than one in twenty Karachite is aware of a fort in Karachi. It is a city of affluence and poverty - of palaces and mansions with high walls, private zoos, monitoring cameras and Kalshnikov carrying guards and jhuggis and huts. In a nation where prohibition is the law, more alcohol is consumed than can ever be imagined to the loss of the exchequer. The private bars of individuals would shame the sommelier of a seven star establishment.

In one evening friends spend more at the BarBQ Hut or Coppper Kettle than the average monthly salaries of their drivers and servants. The poor can be seen lining outside modest hotels in the evening, where the affluent drive by and pay up for the meals for 20 or 30 people.

The middle class wants to shrivel and disappear. It is despondent and despairing.

Lawlessness is rampant and its acceptance is annoying for the casual visitor. Almost everyone you meet has had their cellphones snatched or robbed at gun point at least once. Every acquaintance you meet has a home robbery tale for you.

My notes for the trip - names, places, times and photos stored on the Palm Treo were lost to a gun totting polite robber. "Uncle, please give me your cell phone." With the gun inches away from the stomach, there were few options available. The phone was replaced the next day but it took me a long time to get over the loss of those notes.

Action Sociology: Human Rights with Sanitation

Somik Raha — Sat, 27 Dec 2008 16:34:43 EST

Ever since independence (and from a long time before that), people in India have been appalled with the abuse of the caste system, especially the poor treatment meted out to "untouchables." As usual, well-meaning people think they can change attitudes by passing laws. And so, India has The Protection of Civil Rights Act, 1955, which punishes the preaching and practice of untouchability. Needless to say, the act made little difference on the ground in terms of changing people's attitudes.

There is no dearth of angry activism on this issue in India and outside, and as is the nature of all angry activism, the message is so loud that people close their ears and ignore it. Meanwhile, India's politicians are more interested in maintaining the status quo and milking caste divisions for votes instead of working for the welfare of the "untouchables." In this hopeless scenario, one man is running a silent revolution with a lot of success.

This is the story of Bindeshwar Pathak, whose life transformed as a young man in the 60s, when he was told by the General Secretary of a Gandhian organization that it was Gandhi's unfinished work to remove the profession of manual scavenging from India and liberate the untouchables. The General Secretary told the young Pathak that he had to finish Gandhi's mission and added, "I see light in you." The young man had no clue what this meant, but he read a few books published by the WHO on sanitation, and decided to live in a scavenger's colony for two months to understand them and their problems. People thought he was crazy. He survived, and came back with an understanding that was different from any social activist in this field.

He felt that the discrimination of the untouchables was due to technical reasons. The untouchables, or manual scavengers of toilets, were considered dirty as they dealt with human excreta while cleaning "bucket toilets." Human excreta would be pulled out of such toilets into buckets and then, scavengers would carry buckets on their heads to a location for disposal. If there could be an alternate toilet designed to be self-cleaning, then it would be cheaper for the consumer as they wouldn't need to hire people to clean it. It would also eliminate the need for the scavenging profession.

Pathak started "Sulabh" (which means "easy") to address this. He came up with the two-pit pour-flush toilet which would work in the Indian context. One pit would be in use at a time. Once the pit was full, it would would be closed and the other would be in operation. Over a year, the first pit's contents would turn into manure and could be used as fertilizer in the field. Thus, there would be no need to scavenge and clean these toilets. Sulabh's toilet product turned out to be a great hit, with over a million pieces already sold. Sulabh then channeled their profits toward retraining the untouchables to enter mainstream society - as cooks, beauticians, electricians, etc. Today, Sulabh has a whole array of toilet products to suit your budget.

Pathak also felt strongly about the problem of open defecation. Unlike those who faulted the "Indian civic sense," he recognized that the problem was that we didn't have enough public toilets. This is also a question of human dignity, especially for women, as they would suppress the call of nature the whole day and only go very early in the morning or in the night. Even so, such trips would make them a target of sexual predators, snakebites, diseases due to defecating in unhygienic environs, etc., not to speak of the health problems that come from suppressing the call of nature the entire day. Again, this was a technical problem waiting to be solved. So, he started the first public toilet in (hold your breath) Arrah, Bihar, a state where people would rather travel on top of trains than buy tickets. Pathak believed people would pay for a clean toilet experience, and he was proved right. The people of Bihar paid and sustained the public toilets. Today, Sulabh has built over 5000 public toilets all over India, including the largest toilet in the world at Shirdi for pilgrims.

Not only do these toilets generate local employment, they also collect raw material for Sulabh's energy innovation - bio-gas and electricity production. You have to see it with your own eyes - yes, your excreta can now be used to produce cooking gas and electricity.

Pathakji also understood that he needed to help the children of the scavengers get the same opportunity as others. Sulabh uses its profits to run a school where children of the scavengers get free education, books and uniforms. They also eat together with children of other communities, and learn Sanskrit, a language they were earlier denied access to. The children in this school are taught all religions so they can celebrate all of India's traditions.

And the story does not end here. Sulabh also has a toilet museum which is now on the tourist maps of New Delhi. They have expanded to eco-sanitation projects that help with pisciculture, among other things. Throughout these projects, Pathakji continued his education to go on for a Phd and a D.Litt, and has coined a new term, "Action Sociology," which he advocates as a way to solve social problems.

Behind all of these efforts is a deep-rooted spirituality. Pathakji's day begins with the entire Sulabh community praying (they sing a universal prayer) and filling their hearts with positive vibrations. When I interviewed him, not once did I sense anger against society for discrimination of the untouchables. At the same time, there was no acceptance of the injustice. Like Krishnammal and Sandhya, and in a completely unique manner, Pathakji has transcended anger and hatred to make a difference, a big difference, through social entrepreneurship. He is indeed a bright light in India who has illuminated our conscience and given us great hope for the future.

You can meet him by going to the Palam Vihar (New Delhi) office of Sulabh International Social Service Organization (although he travels often, he is generally accessible). You can also meet the other heroes of Sulabh and see their toilet museum and a demonstration of bio-gas and electricity from human excreta in the same complex. There are several volunteering and internship opportunities with this organization, if you have the time.

And if you can't visit them, here is a film I made on Sulabh in 2006. I recommend watching it in full-screen mode (press the TV icon) and using headphones.

In case the full screen feature does not work below, you can watch it directly on Blip TV.

Errata: the film says Sulabh has built over 500 toilets, when in fact, the number is ab

The Storyteller And His Audience

Deepa Krishnan — Fri, 26 Dec 2008 05:27:28 EST

If you are visiting North India, you will probably come across a kathak performance somewhere.

The word kathak comes from the word katha or story. Kathak dancers are traditional story tellers, showcasing legends through music and dance. A kathak performance teaches as well as entertains, using a rich and sophisticated poetic literature in Sanskrit and Brajbhasha.

I spotted this kathak dancer at an upscale hotel in Agra. He was on a little stage, dancing to a piece of recorded music. His audience was a bunch of foreign travellers, several of whom had just made the 5-hour drive from Delhi, and were now relaxing at the bar watching him over their beers.

The dancer told the story of the blue-skinned God Krishna and his lover Radha. It was a beautiful story, embellished with subtle glances and elegant footwork. In the story, Krishna and Radha meet in the forests of Vrindavan, he plays the flute for her, and even the birds and the deer stop to listen to the magic of his song. She quarrels with him, over the attention he pays to other women. As he cajoles and teases her into forgiveness, she becomes lost in his leela. In the eternal all-consuming fire of her love, she forgets herself and merges into the divine.

The story was well told, but the audience understood absolutely nothing.

I was not surprised - the song was meaningless to them, and the vocabulary of the dance was entirely foreign. How does someone from a strange culture understand the symbolic mechanisms that dancers use while switching roles? How do they understand what the arched coquettish eyebrow, or the sideways glance, or the delicate flick of the wrist means, when they don't even get the context of the story? Not surprisingly, at some of the most sublime moments of the performance, the audience merely stared into their beer mugs or looked around for the bartender.

The real tragedy of it was that the performer was quite competent, with at least 10-15 years of rigorous training behind him. In spite of people moving around, or ignoring him completely, he danced with grace and dedication, as if he had all eyes upon him. I felt so bad for him, I wanted to run away and hide somewhere.

That night in my hotel room, I asked myself - Why does this happen in India, this trashing of our art forms until they become a pathetic mockery of themselves?

I realized that there are multiple issues, some of them quite complex. But I believe our lack of respect and value for our art forms is definitely one of the problems. The hotel staged this performance in their lobby, in a noisy area near the bar, perhaps because they had no other venue. But because it was presented like that, as an optional "cultural" show with drinks at the bar, the dance became a trivial tidbit, a take-it-or-leave-it affair. There was no formal introduction to the performer and his background, no explanation of kathak traditions or gharanas, no story outline – as a matter of fact, there was even no seating around the stage for anyone who wanted to watch the whole performance. It is as if the hotel had decided already that this was a boring performance, and not worth the effort. Naturally, the performance just tanked. When you yourself treat something like trash, it is very difficult for others to treat it with respect.

Contrast this with my experience in The Oberoi Bali. The hotel arranged a Balinese dance show with dinner, a rendering of some scenes from the Ramayana. They had amphitheatre style sunken seating for those who wished to view the show. For others, there were tables set discreetly so that every single person had a view of the dance. The waiters were quiet and hushed, you could order food and drinks, but it was clear that there was a performance, and you had to give it due respect. On every table, there was a one page description of the show, describing the acts that it was broken into, and giving a brief summary of the storyline. I’m sure we didn’t understand all the nuances of the performance – but we enjoyed it because of the way it was organised.

Some would argue that it is not the hotel, but the artiste who is responsible for audience delight. If the audience doesn’t like something, then either the dancer is to blame, or the dance form itself is to blame. Why was the kathak dancer not able to have any impact on his foreign audience? In spite of the poor seating and noise, could he not have drawn the audience towards him? Could he not have told them the story before dancing?

Unfortunately, our classical performers are not geared to explain their art to people from other cultures. The Indian art tradition assumes that audiences come from the same broad cultural milieu. It presupposes a shared cultural background where the stories and legends are commonly understood. In addition, the classical dance forms also assume that audiences understand the format in which dance is delivered, for example, the way in which sections of story/emoting are interspersed with sections of pure rhythm/dance. The other problem is purely practical - I very much doubt the dancer had the necessary English-speaking skills to explain the origins of kathak, or its morphing over the ages, to a foreign audience.

My personal view of the matter is that in our country, it is not practical to leave the matter to the artiste. Most Indian performers, including those from both folk and classical traditions, have poor/basic English education levels, with little or no exposure to overseas audiences. Their skill lies in their art, and not in the packaging or marketing of their art to overseas visitors. In my mind, it is very much the responsibility of the intermediary – for example, the hotel, or the tourism development board or the tour company arranging the performance – to ensure both the dignity of our arts as well as an enjoyable experience for the tourist.

As someone who is part of the tourism industry, I will do my bit to make things better. But I suspect it will take a while to get to the point where "cultural" performances don't make me squirm.

19 Varieties of Gazelle: Poems of the Middle East by Naomi Shihab Nye

Vivek Sharma — Mon, 22 Dec 2008 02:03:31 EST

Naomi Shihab Nye's collection contains sixty poems about Palestinians and Middle East, about love and longing for lost and imaginary homelands. The poems are fragrant with spices of the Middle-East, flavors of figs and olives, and served with a tenderness of a grandmother talking to a grandchild, a five year old to his mother, an aged man to his beloved he unites with after a lifetime.

In the world torn by religious and political conflicts, these poems represent an oasis of hope. It is the humanity of these verses, that leaps from the page like the memory of nineteen varieties of gazelle described in the title poem.

The poems assume special significance in the context of post-September 11 world, for they contain a platter of understanding and taste served to assuage our need to be comforted. The solace is brought in by the mint green language of a poet born to a Palestinian father and an American mother. Perhaps the unique identity of Nye offers her perspectives about the Arab East and American West which her creativity has shaped into a narrative that offers respite from the reactionary rhetoric that dominates our daily thinking and actions.

As an Indian residing in America, I sense a brotherhood with Nye's characters, who chase the voices, flavors, visions, music and familiarity that maps their nostalgic world. As a poet with Indian heart and Americanized mind, I find Nye, like Agha Shahid Ali, present our cultural and emotional duality in a lyric that is both powerful and poignant. The tapestry of inheritance of the East is laced with tales quite unknown in the West, and this wealth can nourish many a chasms that exist between the material and spiritual. It is voices like Amichai's and Nye's that remind us that the transcendental humanity within us can help us to outlive the wounds inflicted by the fanatic forces everywhere.

Not One Of The Family

IdeaSmith — Mon, 15 Dec 2008 00:24:38 EST

Friend and openly gay writer, Parmesh Shahani in his book Gay Bombay says that being gay isn't just a sexual preference, it's a lifestyle.

My sexuality was something that I had compartmentalized as something that was surreptitious and all about the sexual act, not about an identity.

Yes, perhaps. I guess I can't claim to understand fully since my choices go by what society sees as the norm and anything else is forced to be defined starkly, clearly as separate.

I was recently at a party and ended up sitting next two friends who both happened to be gay, one guy and one girl. I've known each of them independently for years now. Till a few months ago, I didn't even know that they knew each other and from what I can tell, they've only recently become friends. That they get along so well suits me just fine since they're both such lovely people and besides I understand for each of them, considering the staggering enormity of the cause they each champion, it is good to meet a kindred soul. Add to that the fact that they're both such rollicking fun that getting together with both of them is usually a blast.

I turned away from the conversation on my other side to get back to them and found I had moved into a private guy/girl-watching session. He was checking out the geeky looking dude on my left while she had her eyes on a fiery femme fatale at the other end of the room. Chuckling and commenting on each other's choices. I was about to join in with an elbow-nudge and a side-joke when he said,

How about an introduction? You know him?

I hesitated for a minute, because I really didn't but also because I wondered if bespectacled eye-candy in question was gay as well. I shook my head and told my friend that I didn't think so. Both of them exchanged meaningful glances and almost in unison said,

She wouldn't know. She's not one of the family.

I'm not sure exactly what happened in that one remark but I suddenly felt cut out of the discussion. I've examined it over and over in my head. Is that really true? As a straight person, do I also not feel attraction, ponder on it, act on it? Do I not run through similar thoughts of whether the object of my affection reciprocates? And does it really matter that I'm crushing on the opposite sex while my friends are ODing on the same sex?

What's with the family bit anyway? That part really annoyed me. I've never judged either of them or been anything other than respectful of their choices, their opinions and feelings. Each of them is a real, live person to me, not a body bearing a tag that says 'Gay'. Then why do they hang the tag of 'Straight' on me and behave like it makes me less kin to them than to each other? I felt excluded. And I felt betrayed, that's what.

I must ask whether the gay community hopes to ever get the respect due to it, considering what a tremendous backlash they are and will continue to face in years to come? And whether in the process of defining themselves clearly, they aren't drawing boundaries between straight people and gay people in a 'them' versus 'us' scenario. If the gay community wants to enjoy the same rights as others, on the premise that they are no different from anyone else, I think they should start thinking of themselves as the same as everyone else. And family is people who love and accept you, not necessarily people who like the same things you do. But that's just me.

Dr. Binayak Sen - A Poem

Amitabh Mitra — Wed, 10 Dec 2008 00:55:18 EST

Chattisgarh
Nothing really happened on that day
A few crows bled
Others were strangulated
In a corner of a sky
That turned gradually red
I told you
About these crows
My departure yielding
To another sky
Yet somebody far had been
Brought down suddenly
And cast away behind iron seasons
The crows bled soaking
The sun
I had held aloft
And its redness
Slit the earth too
Faraway again
Would you recognise me then
Would you still mingle your voice
Would you breathe on my shadow
Would you fear catching the corner of
That sky.

Dr Binayak Sen, a medical doctor and human rights defender, was arrested on 12 May 2007 in Chattisgarh, India. He is currently in prison awaiting a trial that has been repeatedly delayed.

Police allege that he passed letters between imprisoned members of a banned leftist group. However, Amnesty International believes the charges against him are politically motivated, aimed at stopping his human rights work. Dr Sen, a pioneer in providing accessible health care to the rural poor, has been documenting the impact of conflict in the region on the rights of marginalised communities.

Terrorism - What's Under The Surface?

Uma Ranganathan — Fri, 5 Dec 2008 01:45:43 EST

There is a good and a bad side to almost everything, when you think about it. Maybe this is part of life’s complexity, it occurs to me, especially in times of adversity. However, given the incalculable loss in human lives, destruction of property, and other resources could there be anything good about the fiesta of destruction on which ten young men from across the seas recently embarked, in which over 200 lives were lost and so much havoc was caused?

I look at this way. These are events, no matter how horrible, which give the rest of us a chance to think things over, to start life afresh, to wake up to changes that are crying out to be made. When you look at it in this light, at least you get the feeling that the lives which were snuffed out were not lost in vain. That the people who died, did so in order to give the survivors a chance to live differently, to improve their circumstances. One wishes there could have been another, less painful way but since we are so slow and so unwilling to open our eyes to reality perhaps this is the only way left to jolt us into waking up.

So what is it we really need to wake up to? Is it to the need to subject our already restricted lives to even more control? More policing? A huge announcement by one of our daily papers asks us to serve as the “eyes and ears of the nation” by reporting suspicious happenings wherever we go, pertaining not only to terrorist activities but to any “ills that plague society”. Just think of some of the possible repercussions if such a movement were to come into effect! Should we emulate countries like Israel (whose young visitors to India are so unpopular on account of their aggressive and crass behavior) - or the U.S. which so many of our fellow citizens have been citing as a prime example of a country which has fended off terrorist attacks since 9/11? Really? We should invade and destroy countries which we have convinced ourselves are the source of our problems and even risk the danger of nuclear war to make a point? Do we really think that military might or that turning India into a quasi police state is going to ensure us the health, wealth, safety and happiness we are all looking for?

Or could it be that events like the one we’ve recently witnessed are a call for us to wake up to, and address the gross inequalities in the world. Is not the violence which we are subjected to so often, ranging from city murders to wars, to acts of terrorism, inviting us desperately to redress the injustice and crazy distribution of wealth and the fact that there is a serious breakdown of values wherever we look, a dissolving of whatever it is that holds the community of human beings together? The horror which is unfolding before us everywhere, is it not begging us, among other things, to give back to the people who are slogging their ass off for the country, at a very concrete level, their dignity? Among others, our farmers, without whom we would not survive more than a few weeks at the most, the workers who put up our buildings, bridges and other constructions, or the coal miners who risk their lives to keep our electrical circuits running?

The lone terrorist to be caught alive following the recent onslaught – Mohammed Ajmal Kasab - according to newspaper reports, comes from a poor family in Pakistan. There are two reasons that seem to have motivated him to become a terrorist. One is, that his best friend Fayaz Ahmad who he believed was innocent, was killed in an encounter three years ago, by the Jammu and Kashmir Police. The other is that his father persuaded him to join the LeT in return for money, in order that the family back home might survive.

As long as there are people starving in the world, as long as a large number of deprived human beings continues to be not only confronted with existential problems but is simultaneously forced to watch crass indulgence by sections of the population, who ignore the basic needs of the poor, we can be sure of by being plagued by rebellion in various destructive forms since that is the only way apparently, in which the poor can make themselves heard. It is not enough to blame the criminal minds making use of the poor – be they slimy, mealy mouthed, manipulative politicians or hate filled, power hungry maniacs who brainwash and train frustrated youngsters to blow up public facilities and kill large numbers of people wherever it may be, leaving a trail of blood and gore behind them.

As far back as 1972 the disastrous consequences of our consumerist attitude and crazy way of life, was documented in a book called “Limits to growth”, published by the Club of Rome. Sadly, over thirty years later, when wars are actually being fought over oil, over water, and other natural resources in short supply, when the effects of the lopsided growth around the world is known to be leading to violence and destruction, we are still thinking in terms of the sort of growth which can only lead to further destruction and are hardly giving a thought to measures we need to take to save our resources and to use them in a way that benefits the maximum number of human beings in the world.

What is scarier than the terrorists is the fact that not enough people even now, seem likely to wake up to the urgent need for us to change the way we relate to each other in the world – politically, economically, and most significantly in the realm of personal relationships, which is where all transformation really begins. The fact that so many of us go through life like self satisfied zombies, indicates that by and large we are not leading happy lives, that we lack genuine fulfillment – because otherwise we would be longing to share our joy and to extend the sense of fulfillment to others – not to cut ourselves off from the world as we have done and to live in our own separate cocoons without caring about the rest.

Today I am wondering, who are the real terrorists? The people we think of as terrorists? Or is it all those who hold the world to ransom with their greed, their hunger for power, their exploitative attitudes? Are the real terrorists the men and women who have been seduced into joining criminal organizations in order to feed themselves or their families, or is it people who have unfairly amassed wealth and power and who now refuse to use it for the common good, to bring about a society which is peaceful and democratic in the true sense of the word?

Children, Adults, and Other Animals

Vinod Joseph — Tue, 2 Dec 2008 12:09:21 EST

Recently I read the results of a study on children carried out in the UK which said that more than half the British population believed that children behave like animals. More than half the respondents of the study said that children were increasingly a danger to others. More than one-third of those surveyed also agreed that "it feels like the streets are infested" with children, while 43% said something had to be done to protect adults. Half the respondents did not have much sympathy for children who got into trouble and didn’t think they might need professional help.

I was not surprised by the result of this study. In the last 6 years which I have spent in the UK, I have heard many adults express absolute hatred for children. Married couples have proudly told me that not only do they not plan to have kids, but they don’t like kids in the first place. In the UK, it is still illegal to breastfeed a child in public, though it is not illegal to drink in public (I am not against either activity). Passengers in trains and buses raise eyebrows if a baby starts bawling – why should I be inconvenienced by your child is the usual attitude, though a loud mouthed drunk will be cheerfully tolerated.

On the flip side, I have also seen gangs of children terrorise adults. Entire streets become no-go zones after dark, taken over by mobs of children whose ages range from six to sixteen. In some towns where there is high unemployment, it is common to see children playing truant and wandering around in groups even in the daytime. I’ve seen adults travelling in public transport cower into corners when a bunch of children wander in. Child gangs frequently assault people and commit robberies.

This is not to say that they are no well-mannered or hard-working children in the UK. Most children of middle-class parents in the UK are very well-behaved, in fact better behaved than children in India. I have many colleagues and friends who spend a substantial amount of their free time with their children. I had a (male) colleague who took a few weeks off to help his thirteen year old son prepare for entrance exams to a well-known public school. In all probability, the number of ‘good’ children in the UK exceeds the number of ‘bad’ children, but since the ‘good children are not as visible as the ‘bad’ ones, UK’s ‘children’ problem is bound to catch your eye if you live in the UK for more than a week.

There are various theories advanced for this state of affairs in the UK, which is not seen anywhere else even in the western world. The breakup of the family is usually cited as the main reason, though other European countries where family units have broken down do not seem to have similar problems with their children. In the UK, corporal punishment is banned in school. Parents are allowed to mildly smack their children, though any punishment that leaves a mark on a child can land a parent in jail. Interestingly, various European countries such as Norway, Austria, Germany etc. have totally banned any form of parental punishment that involves violence. The rationale is that no human being should have the right to use physical force against another and children very much fall within the definition of ‘human being’.

The situation in India and other Asian countries is in stark contrast to that in the UK. Asian children are pampered to an extent that may be described as ‘unhealthy.’ In some cases, both sets of dotting grandparents are at hand to do the pampering. Children are brought up to believe that they are the most important thing in their parents’ lives. A working woman who has her child taken care of by a nanny or in a day care centre is looked up on with suspicion, as if she is neglecting a sacred duty. Many Indian schools expect their pupils to receive full-time attention from at least one parent, which will invariably be the mother. There are some schools which refuse to admit students if both parents hold full-time jobs. I have always believed that Indian schools teach their children too much unnecessary stuff and give them too much homework (instead of wrapping up studies during school hours), but that’s for another post.

Every time I’ve travelled by air, the most unruly children are the Asian kids, who seem to be incapable of sitting still. Indian parents tend to believe that their children are entitled to make a nuisance of themselves wherever they are and others have a duty to put up with it. Recently there have been a few stories of how Indians have started to refuse to make allowances for children in public places, but by and large, strangers in India are willing to tolerate the shenanigans of children in public places.

In a way I am glad more and more Indians are starting to demand that parents not inflict their children on others, though I don’t think I would like to see India reach the same position as the UK is currently in. I have always taken the view that what’s usually branded as ‘western culture’ is actually the culture of urbanisation and industrialisation, though Japan stands out as an exception to this. As India progresses economically (at least it did till the recent recession and terror attacks in Mumbai), its culture is bound to follow a trajectory similar to that taken by western countries many decades ago. There will be more and more nuclear families, single parents and broken homes as is currently the case in the western world. However, it remains to be seen if Indian society will reach a stage where it has the sort of ‘children problems’ which UK currently has.

In my opinion, continental European countries like France, Italy and Germany are in a much better position than the UK vis-à-vis children. In these countries, one doesn’t hear of children having such a strained relationship with their parents or having serious drinking or drug-related problems. It is difficult to pinpoint the reasons for this disparity among European nations, but if India continues to industrialise and urbanise, I hope it ends up in the continental European position rather than the British one.

Children With Learning Problems - It's the Schools, not the Kids, Stupid!

Deepa Krishnan — Tue, 2 Dec 2008 08:24:25 EST

It's a problem fairly common in schools, but we don't know how big it is. It has solutions, but we don't know how to implement them. All we've done so far, is sit by, and let children blunder on.

I'm talking about kids with difficulties in reading, writing and math.

No one really knows how many children in India have learning disabilities (LD), but it looks like a staggering 20 to 50 million might be affected. And still, there are very few schools that have any mechanisms in place to identify children with LD, or offer remedial therapy. The real tragedy is that LD children are not "stupid" - some of the brightest minds of our time, from Einstein to Edison to Pasteur, have had LD.

This Saturday, I went to an LD conference at the Hyatt, a gathering of educators, teachers, researchers and parents. The conference was hosted by Tata Interactive Systems, as part of their CSR initiative. As several speakers presented their thoughts and experiences, I learnt a lot about LD.

What I found most frustrating was when I realised that the real problem is not with the kids. The real failure seems to be of school boards, administrators, and teachers. A survey of school teachers across CBSE, ICSE and SSC schools in Mumbai, conducted by the Bombay Teachers Training College, shows very low levels of real awareness amongst teachers ("Oh, I didn't realise, you mean like Taare Zamin Par?").

If those who are entrusted with teaching our children are themselves blind, then where do the rest of us go?

For the past 2 years, my mother has been tutoring a little girl from the slum nearby. Pranali has problems with the Marathi and the English alphabet. She's also bad with numbers and multiplication tables. But she's a very bright child, with twinkling eyes and winning ways, and can recite poetry and lessons beautifully. My mother's patience, her fair but firm handling, and her genuine love are making Pranali blossom. The child loves coming to our house, loves to write her squiggles, and is almost tragic in her eagerness to please. If my mother moves away to another room, the girl follows her. "Mi ithe basu ka?", she asks......"Can I sit here (near you)?" It is like a flower finding the warmth of the sun and wanting to bask in it forever. It is the first time the child has found love and understanding, instead of strict balwadi teachers with frowning faces.

Last year, she passed her second standard exams, and has now moved to the third standard. To help with her third standard Marathi lessons, my mom enrolled for Marathi language classes nearby. I am amazed at my mother's dedication. "I promised Pranali's mother", my mom said. "So I'm going to do the best I can."

When I compare this with the thousands of other children subject to the tyranny of indifferent balwadi and municipal teachers, I'm telling you, it's enough to make me cry.

There are some small glimmers of hope. The B.Ed curriculum just got modified to include lessons on learning disabilities (finally!). At Sion Hospital, Dr. Kulkarni is doing some outstanding work in testing, diagnosis and remedial therapy (that's her in the photo below, a small grey haired lady with an iron will). Parents in Bombay are increasingly driving change at schools. Some schools already have counsellors and special needs educators, and more schools are waking up to the need. Last month, the school I went to, SIES, appointed a counsellor and is going to have a Special Needs Teacher from the next academic year.

There is progress, yes, but it is frustratingly slow. Several questions remain unanswered - for example, is there lower dyslexia in studying Indian languages than in English? Are Devnagri graphemes easier for those with dysgraphia? Does living in joint families, where there are different speech cadences, make a difference to infants? Does losing traditional lullabies result in increased LD? Do Indian girls have more LD, given the potentially lower attention in childhood? How early can we diagnose LD in India, and through what mechanism? Does improving balwadi nutrition programmes offer high rewards in improving performance of children LD?

Many questions come rushing at me when I think of the social and cultural issues involved in something as complex and widespread as LD. Every one of these could make a significant research topic, if only the funds (and the academic will) were there! I am deeply grateful Tata Interactive is putting not just money, but also thoughtful and invovled effort behind this. More power to them.