Desicritics Category: Media: Events

Fallen Role Models - Keeping The Value

Somik Raha — Wed, 10 Mar 2010 16:30:27 EST

The recent happenings with Swami Nithyananda have shocked many. After the infamous video released, there has been violence on the Swami's ashram, purportedly by his own disgruntled devotees. Meanwhile, the ashram has neither confirmed nor denied the videotape of the Swami, while dealing with all the other allegations. The Swami has millions of followers across the globe, who have woken up to disbelief, anger and confusion.

While the truth about the tape and the Swami may take some time to come out, the media brings on all its fury, and uses this as another occasion to berate those who would believe in teachers. This attitude is quite harmful for several reasons, for it makes errors of logic. The first being availability bias. When someone in the monastic order falls from grace, it is big news, and published all over the place. However, for one who falls, the tens of thousands who don't are not big news - that is the norm, right? Thinking that the exception is the norm is a big mistake to make. The second mistake is the bipolar reaction - when things are going well, the teacher is considered God incarnate, and when things have gone wrong, there isn't a drain that is dirty enough to drag the teacher in. This kind of extreme reaction serves no one - not the media, not the people.

But my interest in this post is to reach out to the followers of the Swami, who find themselves in a very vulnerable position - should they defend the Swami, whom they have genuinely loved and respected? Should they denounce him and his teachings, and give up learning from monastic teachers/role models? How should they face their friends, whom they had eagerly talked to about the Swami? It is not easy to be in this position.

Many years back, my professor shared a gem with me, which I feel is my duty to pass on - I think it will help the followers of Swami Nithyananda to reflect on this. The context of our conversation was Ayn Rand, and someone had praised Rand.

Me: I find it very hard to follow Ayn Rand's philosophy, after learning that she died insane. I was very influenced by her writing, but decided to throw it all out after knowing about her personal life.

Prof: I used to know a Buddhist teacher many years back, who was very high up in this country. He used to give wonderful enlightening sermons. Then one day, he was found to be a pedophile. I found myself questioning whether the knowledge I'd received from him should be thrown away. It was clear to me that whatever he had said about truth, compassion and love was invaluable, and had helped me in my own life. Nothing he did changed the value of his message for me, so it made no sense to throw out what he said because he could not live up to it. The value was for me to keep.

This was an eye-opening conversation for me. Prior to this conversation, I was a poor man. The moment I learned of some weakness they had, I'd throw out all the value I had received from them. After this conversation, there was a great sense of freedom. It didn't matter to me what the person had done. We are all human - and we make mistakes all the time. I don't care who is carrying gold in their hands - I will take gold when I see it. I know that my life is so much richer because of this change in my mental operating system. I am happy to learn from all. (Of course, it took some years to format the system, and the work is still in progress).

Stepping it up, this philosophy has big implications. What if someone tells me that Krishna was a mythical character - never existed! Suppose all of modern science backs up this assertion. The real test of whether I've understood the Gita at all is if I can say, without batting an eyelid, "Makes no difference! I have read and consumed the Gita, and it helps me every day of my life. My thanks to whoever concocted it- it is most helpful." This test can be applied to every religion, every sect, every order, and yes, even to science. It should not matter to us if Darwin or Galileo ever existed, or what indiscretions they indulged in.

What they have left behind is for us to experience in our own lives, and if we find value in that, why should we impoverish our lives by throwing it away?

poetry: whirling

temporal — Sun, 28 Feb 2010 10:04:28 EST

said the cab driver
as he swooshed and swirled
through the desi roads
with cars and carts
and men and machines
rushing, idling, squeezing
with a foot on the pedal
and a hand on the horn
'it is not my fault'

fault? blame? confession?

adam would have smiled

quakes, tsunamis,
holocaust, ethnic cleansing
greed that blinds
individuals and nations
precariously countered
by grit, will and concern
for adam's progeny
by eve's children
who descend to salvage
flustered dignity

conflict borne of heaven
fermented by earth
moving in circles
between the many dazed
and the unconfused few
who whirl

hirsute adam
unabashed and shaved
would have revealed
mona's first smile
(leonardo tells me)
metonymy for
'not-my-fault'

Pakistan Fashion Week Lights Up Lahore

Halima Khan — Wed, 24 Feb 2010 09:17:55 EST

Saturday night Royal Palm kick started the much controversy stricken and the much awaited and the much talked about but Lahore's very own and very first Fashion Week. Cooperate commercialism has been kind once again and the event is being publicized as Sunsilk fashion Week. The grandeur of Royal Palm and Golf Club does justice to the glitz and ripples Pakistan fashion industry definitely causes now. Colors splashed in ways many out of us never deemed a possibility. The world sat up and took notice, they were forced to. Executed with class and hints of demure talent was amply obvious even to the blind. Pakistan Fashion Design Council the organizers of the even managed to not go wrong with almost anything.

Governor Salman Taseer and US Consulate Principal Officer Carmela Conroy played chief guest at the opening reception which was prelude to a four-day event and the galore of 32 designers. Lahore, Karachi, Islamabad came together as emerging and existing and the struggling and the established all came together to define Pakistan fashion in their own enlightened way.

Eight ramp shows, eight designers, twenty creations each; no 24 hour day gets more lucky with style than this.

For those who might feel in such tragic times of such turmoil flaunting color to cr�me de la cr�me is frivolous and nothing but. Then Nickie Nina corrects them with their political awareness:

"We are honored to be a part of this event and to be showcasing our couture collection here in Lahore. We have drawn inspiration from the courageous women of Swat, and our spring/summer collection is a tribute to their dignity and honor."

Also Sehyr Saigol, chairperson PFDC, also reminds how fashion is more: "It is an occasion of immense pleasure for PFDC to bring its first ever fashion week to Lahore. Along with presenting both cutting edge and classic designs of over 32 designers from across Pakistan, this event will also work towards formalizing the processes needed to help commercialize Pakistan's fashion industry. Indeed the main objectives of this week are not only to showcase the country's diverse repertoire of creative talent but to cerate meaningful business relationships, and to facilitate interaction between the designers, the buyers and the media."

Nawwab and I: Turning to a Lamb

temporal — Fri, 19 Feb 2010 10:42:30 EST

N: Regrets? I've had a few...
t: What? Not again on Lucy's lawn?
N: But then again, too few to mention...
t: Thanks for confessions.
N: I did what I had to do....
t: Where is my poop-n-scoop bag?
N: This will take 4.40.
t: What are you talking about?
N: At 11am EST, Teddy Lamb would speak for 5 minutes.
t: Teddy Lamb? You mean a remorseful Tiger?
N: In five minutes, without questions he hopes to wipe it all clean.
t: Ah, the pseudo "press conference"... he certainly chewed more than he could digest.
N: Woof woof...you're a tad slow...as always.
t: Let's not go there or I will turn you over to the Humane Society.
N: You will never do it. You need me.
t: Just like the hydrant?
N: OK, stop being sarcotouchy.
t: I know what he would say.
N: "I regret letting down my family
t: ...and my friends...
N: .. and my fans...
t: ...I have sought help...
N: ...and am actively seeking rehabilitation...
t: ...(to repair my image, my handlers and enablers advise)
N: (He would never utter those words)
t: Just like he would never really own up.
N: ..."I would like to return to the game that is my life...
t: ...this time without all the women save one...
N:...and I seek your understanding and support
t: (Ladies please do not thrust yourself on me)
N: He will flash a sad smile and leave
t: ...as the select media scramble to report the non-event.
N: And Von-Siffers would form a fan club and cheer on when he shows up in India?
t: He will play in India?
N: Woof! Woof!
t: But this lamb is no Blue Eyes.

Chakravyuh 2010, IMT Ghaziabad - Your World Stops Here

Ankur Bhatia — Sun, 14 Feb 2010 07:59:21 EST

Chakravyuh, the sports festival organised by IMT Ghaziabad is nothing short of being spectacular. This year was my first time and the three days i spent there were really some of the best days of my life. I have written in a post some time back about how many days of your life can you remember. Well, lets just say that i added three more to my total.

I reached IMT after a two-hour drive from my college on the eve of 4th feb and was totally exhausted. As you drive into the campus you can see the parking right away but i did not. My eyes were fixed on bright lights coming from around the corner right opposite the parking lot. As i drove round the corner, the scene appeared in front of my eyes, A football ground all decked up and ready for the first kick and over 300 students dressed in their respective team kits waiting for the opening ceremony to start. For a few seconds i was dumbstruck as it just looked like a dream, too good to be true. After the opening ceremony and dinner all the teams were called to the amphitheater for ...well.. a welcome of sorts, like no other. So all teams filled the amphitheater and the welcome started. All team captains were asked to introduce their teams and others including the very witty hosts made fun of anything and everything that was being said. By the time the insult session was over, the fixtures were out and it was down to business.

Over the next three days all teams battled it out for the top spot in various sports. Our team had major heart breaks in Cricket and Badminton and we failed to win anything. As a sportsman I hate losing, really hate it. However, for some reason i did not mind it that much. That was the beauty of those three days as It was there that I learnt, it's not always about winning or losing, at times its just about doing what you love. Imagine three days when no matter what time u got up, there was always a sport happening, no matter where you went, people were talking about who won or who lost and no matter how tired you were, you still wanted to play more. I didn't understand all this while i was there. It was only when i was leaving that these thoughts came to me. That is why as i left after three grueling days of non stop competition, taking back nothing but my bruised and battered body with me, my heart refused to leave. I was already thinking about the next Chakravyuh even before i left this one. It was very addictive and it had me totally hooked.

Some teams that deserve a special mention for their performances are The Titans and Kshatriyas of IMT who were just spectacular in multiple games, MDI played some special Table Tennis and Football, FORE School of Management whose Basketball and Badminton teams made a real fight of impossible matches. On top of that there were a few players who were a joy to watch, Rajinder from Amity, Gladson from XIMB, Pulkit Garg from MDI, Vishal Mehra from Titans and Sumit Arora from FORE (comeback of the tournament after being down 1-11).

For me this Chakravyuh 2010 was about the electrifying atmosphere, making friends, appreciating fine sportsmen, watching some truly remarkable matchups, sleepless nights, realization that i need to lose weight if i wanna compete and above all doing what i love the most, play till i drop. Hats off to IMT for giving us these three days every year over and over.

TV Review: Colors Bingo Fails to Click

Aaman Lamba — Sat, 23 Jan 2010 11:39:58 EST

Colors Bingo premiered after a melange of promos over the last month, including a muddled Twitter campaign termed @iamaarami - that had little connection with the show. This wasn't the last thing to go wrong with the show, which is Abhishek Bachchan's television debut.

To put it baldly, Colors Bingo is the worst, most ill-conceived poorly produced product-promo show ever on television. Amitabh Bachchan rendered a few dialogues, random people stood up and a trusty sidekick seemed to have no role to play other than interrupt proceedings randomly. The other sidekick was even less relevant than a gangster's moll to the main action.

The first episode garnered viewership with the presence of the Big B, but the repeated Paa shtick seemed tired and overdone. The game is stacked against the viewer/audience, with the celebrity guest standing to win over Rs. 25 lakhs while they can get only Rs. 1 lakh. Psychologically, seeing the celeb win doesn't do much for the viewers or the audience. Amitabh Bachchan did give his winnings away to charity, setting an excellent example, but there's no guarantee other celebs will do this.

Online reactions seemed to be universally negative, ranging from opinions that the show was boring to views that it was confusing. People seemed to be clicking away to other channels, such as Star Plus' Music Ka Maha Muqqabla, which featured Shah Rukh Khan. Some pretty good singers were on the show when we switched to it.

It seems unlikely Colors Bingo will sustain beyond the first season, but the fan following is sure to give it quite a bit of momentum.

Concert Review: Dischordian + Gillian Grassi - Cafe Goa

IdeaSmith — Fri, 22 Jan 2010 21:29:37 EST

I was at Café Goa this Wednesday (20th January) for the UTV World Movies & Music event organized by the Bombay Elektrik Projekt. As it was, the trek to Bandra is a formidable thought (and I stop short of saying ‘unrealistic’ since that’s what’s I call travelling to town). In typical Mumbaiker fashion, I aim for efficient usage of time so I clubbed this with another event – meeting a longtime friend/reader of my blog. We decided to skip the movie in favor of coffee & chat and come back for the music performance.

The opening act was by Gillian Grassie, a harpist from Philadelphia on a year-long tour of several countries including India to study the relationships between new technologies and independent music scenes around the globe. I managed to catch only the last few minutes of her act and what little I saw was quite mesmerizing. The harp carries associations of white-clad angels and an otherworldy, semi-religious feel of music. Gillian's music was none of those things but managed to bring a sweet freshness to instantly hummable tunes. Her fingers seemed to be feather-touching, almost dancing on the strings of the harp (which was almost as big as her..and here I thought the harp would be a much smaller instrument). The harp provided only a very soft background to the songs which primarily rode on her voice. It's quite impressive to create a song purely from one's voice, virtually unassisted by the grandeur of an orchestra and Gillian pulled it off, holding the audience spellbound. I do wish I had made it to the venue earlier to catch her entire performance.

The headlining act of the evening was Dischordian, a venture by Garreth D’mello (also of Split). Dischordian is described as 'an attempt to move away from the wall of sound and aggression and testosterone that makes up most rock music, an attempt to strip music down to its basics'.

Garreth was accompanied by Howard Pereira on his guitar and Agnnelo Picardo (Aggie), the percussionist/trumpeteer. The last began the evening, hugging a trumpet close to his chest while listening to Garreth and Howard spark up the show. I’ve never seen a trumpet that close. The advantage of a place like Café Goa is the proximity it provides between the performer and the audience. So I kept my eyes trained on the trumpet, an instrument I only have vague associations with, of loudness and some sort of stiff-necked wedding band. Thus it came as a pleasant surprise when the trumpet actually made its entry into the music at ‘The Old Whore’. Aggie led it in with the kind of regal dignity and grandeur that you would associate with a quiet, well-built black man who surprises you with jazz. Yes, jazz was unmistakably what I heard in Dischoridian’s sound everytime the trumpet was a part of it.

Garreth himself has tremendous presence on stage. His face is boyish and manner as laidback and easygoing as his Goan roots. But when he begins to sing, those notions melt away as you are carried off in the power and forceful magnetism of his rich voice. It’s a deep voice, the kind that sounds mature and all-knowing with wisdom that comes from having experienced excitement and grown past it. Possibly because of the selection of songs and the jazz feel that I described earlier, it also felt like a strong but gently caress, the sort that can crush but knows how not to.

I’ve heard ‘The Old Whore’ before, live as well as a recording. It has a classic country-western feel to it. Some artists sound much better in person than on the polished finish of a recording and Dischordian is certainly in this category.

'Scourge of Love' revved up the tempo and suddenly the audience was drawn into the performance, before we even knew it, thumping our feet and trying to sing along (or hum along at least). This is when Swati who had accompanied me clapped her hands and called Garreth, India's answer to Kurt Cobain (which elicited a weak smile from Garreth when I told him later, followed by a hasty retreat).

The piece de resistance of Dischordian's performance has to have been ‘Bucket of Blood’ (I actually thought that was ‘Bucket of Love’ when I tweeted about it);-). It’s a racy, foot-thumping number, all adrenalin and blood-rushes. I’ve not seen Garreth in his former avatar but several people I know have given me a pretty graphic account of his rockstar days as a tee-shirt ripping stage-stud, girls screaming et al. His shirt stayed firmly on and he remained seated but this song was a more than adequate hint to those days. And yes, there were a lot of people screaming, even in that tiny room in the café, men and women alike.

The trumpet was replaced by a sort of bongo (hand-drum?) for the same song and served to showcase Aggie's talent. All artists are trying to communicate something in their own ways and media. Musicians face that challenge by appealing to something whose response can’t often be quantified in words – melody, beat, the combination of the various sounds made by wind and strings and voice. Some instruments like the guitar and indeed, the human voice make that connection a lot more easily but it is a greater challenge to connect with the audience with the more distant (but grand) percussion. Aggie displays as much presence as Garreth does, in a different way. As the lead guitarist and vocalist, albeit with his own brand of showmanship, Garreth is the flash-and-dazzle of Dischordian but Aggie makes his presence felt subtly and yet, noticeably. It’s an impressive talent and makes for a great performance.

Garreth performed solo on 'One of these days' and 'How I wait'', which while melodious, didn’t quite send me into rapture like the earlier songs. They could just be the kind of songs you’d prefer to listen to within the intimacy of headphones and in solitude rather than with a big group of people. Fortunately Howard and Aggie returned to perform ‘She lied to me’ and a cover version of Jello Biafra's 'Are you drinking with me, Jesus?' which really had the crowd howling in appreciation. The other songs they performed were 'Same old conversations', 'Your Right Heel' and 'Baby, Maybe'.

The performance closed a few minutes after midnight.

The neighbors are complaining. You wouldn’t think an acoustic band could make much noise. But apparently we can.

was Garreth’s wry observation as the audience begged him for an encore.

In sum, the evening was well-spent and totally worth the trip to Bandra. The second half was good but I think the first few songs took away the show. Dischordian is great, live in action and I’ll gladly make the trek again to hear them. I would also like to hear their recorded songs to be able to compare it to their live performance. But my feeling is their real talent lies in the tangible connection they are able to make with their audience when they are right in front of them.

* Dischordian is on Facebook and Twitter. The Bombay Elektrik Projekt is on Facebook. My tweets of the event are hashtagged #bep.

The Haiti Earthquake - Do Your Part for Relief

Aaman Lamba — Fri, 15 Jan 2010 10:14:51 EST

The Haiti disaster is beyond belief in terms of impact and relief organizations are scrambling to meet the need. Please contribute to the Haiti crisis through your local charity, company, or organizations such as the International Red Cross.

The situation is dire. The Haitian President said over 7,000 people were buried in a mass grave. The infrastructure is defunct, and the geopolitical implications are bleak for Haiti as a country. After shocks continue, with the mass of people on the streets amidst uncleared debris. Thousands of people are missing, presumed dead. Google has established a website for helping people find their missing loved ones, People Finder.

Relief flights are tied up in air traffic and at the small airport in Port-au-Prince. The police are insufficient to keep order and a U.N. food warehouse was looted as the people grow more desperate. American troops arrived in Haiti to speed up relief operations. While one might decry disaster capitalism, now is not the time to pick holes but to step up and do your part. As an illustration of how disasters can bring humanity together, Cuba allowed U.S. flights to fly over the island, reducing the flight time to Miami by 90 minutes. Major U.S. Telecom companies have waived charges for calls to and from Haiti, and on fees on SMS messages to charity organizations. Over $5 million has been raised through SMS campaigns thus far.

Here is a link to contribute through Google Checkout - Indian credit cards accepted - through UNICEF and CARE.

The International Red Cross donations page to efforts such as Haiti, Afghanistan, Iraq, and more zones is another useful page.

As the ICRC puts it, when talking about this international disaster:

Our World, Your Move - In Haiti

Ruchika Girhotra: Where's The Justice?

DesiGirl — Wed, 30 Dec 2009 21:07:45 EST

19 years, 400 hearings, 40 adjournments and at the end of it, Ruchika Girhotra's family had no justice for the injustice meted out to them in 1990. It was in 1990 that 14-year-old Ruchika was molested by DGP Shambhu Pratap Singh Rathore and within the span of three years, drove the child to take her own life rather than face a day more of torture and harassment at the hands of Rathore and his goons.

And the punishment? Six months imprisonment and a fine of Rs 1000. That is what the life of Ruchika Girhotra is worth. That is the price of her honour, the price of the harassment her family has faced.

Shame!

A supposed pillar of the community in Chandigarh, Rathore, a Director General of Police, sworn to protect the lives of the common man, woman and child cannot keep his glands in check and molests a child, one who is the same age as his daughter and is in fact, her classmate. He, Rathore, is defended in the court of law by his wife. Not one to sit back, he keeps up a daily assault on the Girhotras - Ruchika, her ten-year-old brother Ashu and their father. Ashu is repeatedly tortured and beaten in a bid to make Ruchika take back the case. Ruchika is kicked out of school on trumped up charges and their father is harassed at work, with false cases of murder and theft filed against the Girhotras, man and boy.

After years of this non-stop harassment, Ruchika commits suicide. Not even an FIR has been filed for the atrocity committed against her and the teenager finally gives up her fight. But still her family wasn't left in peace until they were driven out of Chandigarh, forced to take up menial jobs to survive.

Whilst the lives of the Girhotras continued in a downwards spiral, things couldn't be more different for Rathore. Less than a year after Ruchika's death, Rathore gets promoted to Director General of Police. In 1999, he is recommended for a President's Medal for Distinguished Service.

Meanwhile, the fight for justice for Ruchika continues. Ruchika's friend Aradhana Prakash, the eye-witness, is running a signature campaign to garner support. Her family has appeared on NDTV, where Barkha Dutt interviewed various power figures like Kiran Bedi. Online petitions have been set-up, in a bid to get the President's eye.

Will the Girhotras get justice? Will Rathore get his comeuppance? Going from the past, where Jessica Lal and Priyadarshini Mattoo got justice after a furious campaign kicked up by the people, one can live in hope. But justice? Basic rights of the common man? Truth? Do these have a place in the Indian society? Or will money and power be the only currencies and, in the words of Kiran Bedi, the criminal justice system be on the side of the criminals?

poetry: long live god

temporal — Tue, 29 Dec 2009 04:33:18 EST

the world looks ahead to 2010
as karachi buries its dead in 2009
unleashed by the delusionistas
the flickering fury of the mob blinded
rolls over red lava - burning, killing, maiming
the seeing blind cannot see the tears
that will not stop with time
the sleep walkers seek imagined prizes
and the denialistas do what they do best
blame others, finally the lines have blurred
difficult to discern between husain and yazid
between the believers gods invoked to kill
between sheep and wolf, between me and me
husain is dead, long live husain
god is dead, long live god

***

i have a craving for a bagel with cream cheese
and moca java and tried hard as i did
stricken and sad, i could not shake it off
the plight of the father who lost his young ones
the mother's inaudible sighs without tears
others frantic in their search for news
---any news
perplexed, agitated, and saddened me
but did nothing to curb the craving...