Why isn't there anything to write or say?
In pursuit of a mirage - Step 1
Tomorrow, I will be taking the leap. Into a world of uncertainty. A time where my insecurities may further bog me down. Or a time of deep introspection from which I emerge stronger. Clarity of thought has so far eluded me. Opportunities have yet followed me.
As I decide to take a career break my mind is filled with a thousand questions. Over-thinking complicates life, and that is a burden I will bear my whole life. Will I achieve what I am setting out to? And do I know what I want to? In an Indian context of a super-competitive space, am I making the biggest, biggest mistake of my life? Am I a fool to be knocking off every big opportunity for the fear of failure (or as my friend says I am running away from success)? And is success defined by what people around you think, your peers and bosses appreciation, or is it truly defined by your internal satisfaction of your work (and by extension your life)? Should I be taking on work that bogs me down for the perceived benefits of external validation?
As I think about tomorrow, my mind is abuzz with questions - will I get a job after the break? is my backpacking plan just a foolish fantasy or is it a genuine yearning that will take me far and give me clarity? 7 years into my job if I am uncertain, am I in for a life of uncertainty? am I being foolhardy to assume this break will be my epiphany?
What do i seek to achieve? In an order that is as yet unclear, I intend to achieve the following:
- Travel for the soul, travel for pleasure, travel for clarity and travel for fun before life really does take over
- Introspect - find the confidence in me to accept the trust that others place in me
- Identify that one thing I really want to do. Or may be the 10 things I really want to do.
- Prepare for the future - is it GMAT to get into a B-School?
- Fitness
- Uncomplicate life
I squander another opportunity in life (long live the queen!) in pursuit of a mirage.
Goliath vs. David
What a brilliant, nail-biting match between Rafa and the 100th ranked, virtually unkown Lukas Rosol. Rafa was no match for the brilliantly in form Rosol who kept knocking down aces and straight winners, and some amazingly well placed shots. A truly fairy-tale ending where the underdog walks away the winner. It was great to see Rosol remain unruffled while Rafa was all agitated and being irate at the referee.
The crowd was rooting for the underdog and so was I. Everybody loves that bit of drama that could upstage the predictable (and there was no lack of it with the match briefly suspended after 4th set to continue the game indoors under artificial lights). In spite of leading in the match, and being 3-1 in the 4th set, the commentators were quick to point out that it was time to wake up from the dream when Rosol made one unforced error, finding it hard to believe that this match could indeed end up as a fairy tale.
Watching a sport this exciting after ages has made me relate to Nitin's night-outs to watch football, and even Shubhi (!!!). The Wimbledon has just begun - here's to more evenings of Tennis, albeit accompanied by Carlsberg instead of Pimms!
And this is what Tim Henman had to say before the match started: "You have to say Rosol's got two hopes of winning this: slim and none, and slim's got his bags packed and is about to leave town..."
The crowd was rooting for the underdog and so was I. Everybody loves that bit of drama that could upstage the predictable (and there was no lack of it with the match briefly suspended after 4th set to continue the game indoors under artificial lights). In spite of leading in the match, and being 3-1 in the 4th set, the commentators were quick to point out that it was time to wake up from the dream when Rosol made one unforced error, finding it hard to believe that this match could indeed end up as a fairy tale.
Watching a sport this exciting after ages has made me relate to Nitin's night-outs to watch football, and even Shubhi (!!!). The Wimbledon has just begun - here's to more evenings of Tennis, albeit accompanied by Carlsberg instead of Pimms!
And this is what Tim Henman had to say before the match started: "You have to say Rosol's got two hopes of winning this: slim and none, and slim's got his bags packed and is about to leave town..."
Deep breaths
Much has changed in the last few months.
Battling demons is now a full-time hobby. But what about the real hobbies I once had?
The manual settings in my camera have moved back to auto and no sight seems worthy of a click. Facebook updates have replaced the occasional phone calls to friends. Birthdays and anniversaries forgotten. My blog on google dangerously close to being deleted for inactivity. October 2011 was the last time a book was read, fiction or otherwise. Travel now means the tram ride into central Manchester for a pint. Bank holiday planning now seems like an ordeal. Personal targets of sky-dives, bungee jumps, trying golf, exploring Turkey etc. have become long overdue.
Puffing away to glory on Marlboro's seems to be the only area where I am exceeding expectations.
It is time to shake off the lethargy, put some demons to rest and claw back some life. Why does it seem impossible?
Deep breaths!
Battling demons is now a full-time hobby. But what about the real hobbies I once had?
The manual settings in my camera have moved back to auto and no sight seems worthy of a click. Facebook updates have replaced the occasional phone calls to friends. Birthdays and anniversaries forgotten. My blog on google dangerously close to being deleted for inactivity. October 2011 was the last time a book was read, fiction or otherwise. Travel now means the tram ride into central Manchester for a pint. Bank holiday planning now seems like an ordeal. Personal targets of sky-dives, bungee jumps, trying golf, exploring Turkey etc. have become long overdue.
Puffing away to glory on Marlboro's seems to be the only area where I am exceeding expectations.
It is time to shake off the lethargy, put some demons to rest and claw back some life. Why does it seem impossible?
Deep breaths!
Miserable
Not sure how one single mail can break the whole flow, momentum, mood!
Here I was working nice and neat concentrating on one task at a time, and bang!!! One mail gets me all worked up and have been sulking since. Email is a wicked, wicked invention. Period. And then there is the email on your mobile that is even more annoying than the silly pug in Vodafone.
Turned off everything. Time for 'The West Wing'.
Here I was working nice and neat concentrating on one task at a time, and bang!!! One mail gets me all worked up and have been sulking since. Email is a wicked, wicked invention. Period. And then there is the email on your mobile that is even more annoying than the silly pug in Vodafone.
Turned off everything. Time for 'The West Wing'.
Quote Unquote
What is it about quotes that people just lap it up and remember for a lifetime? Of the umpteen books that I have read, I cannot remember a single quote. No matter how profound or powerful the thought. Every often I come across quotes that I think are great and worth remembering and using in conversations just to sound smart and well-read, but 30 mins after reading I cannot for the love of God remember it.
Do people highlight it in their books, take note of it in some obscure notebook/diary, mug up the quote instantly or are people in general gifted with such amazing memories that one reading cements the memorable quote in their minds? Does it not break the flow when trying to memorize the quote?
Of late in every book I read I see beautiful quotes. From Malcolm Gladwell in Blink who has some serious quotes on the power of human mind to Karla in Shantaram whose character has some of the smartest, best ever quotes to Haruki Murakami who just spits out whatever comes to his contemplative mind while he keeps running around in the streets in What I talk about when I talk about Running. But the question remains - how can i remember all these wonderful quotes? Work on improving my memory power? Or just pick random people and talk about the quotes so often that they are bugged and the quote gets embedded deep down in my brain?
Ah well, before I forget the newest 2 quotes I read yesterday (remembering from yesterday to today is itself is quite and achievement):
"In every shave lies a philosophy. No matter how mundane an action might appear, keep at it long enough and it becomes contemplative, even meditative act"
"Pain is inevitable but suffering is optional"
Do people highlight it in their books, take note of it in some obscure notebook/diary, mug up the quote instantly or are people in general gifted with such amazing memories that one reading cements the memorable quote in their minds? Does it not break the flow when trying to memorize the quote?
Of late in every book I read I see beautiful quotes. From Malcolm Gladwell in Blink who has some serious quotes on the power of human mind to Karla in Shantaram whose character has some of the smartest, best ever quotes to Haruki Murakami who just spits out whatever comes to his contemplative mind while he keeps running around in the streets in What I talk about when I talk about Running. But the question remains - how can i remember all these wonderful quotes? Work on improving my memory power? Or just pick random people and talk about the quotes so often that they are bugged and the quote gets embedded deep down in my brain?
Ah well, before I forget the newest 2 quotes I read yesterday (remembering from yesterday to today is itself is quite and achievement):
"In every shave lies a philosophy. No matter how mundane an action might appear, keep at it long enough and it becomes contemplative, even meditative act"
"Pain is inevitable but suffering is optional"
Pumped up Harsha?
Yesterday was the fist time I saw a Van Diesel flick - Fast Five. In spite of all the pumped up bulk and the deep booming voice, it was impossible to take VD seriously. What with a child-like face on a pumped up body. All the serious planning for the heists with a baby face somehow did not feel serious enough.
All that VD reminded me was of my friend Harsha (minus the big body, of course), the resemblance in face truly uncanny.
All that VD reminded me was of my friend Harsha (minus the big body, of course), the resemblance in face truly uncanny.
Cleansing the blog
This post is only so that the first post in my blog is not the pervert joke "howler or growler"....
Howler or Growler?
Q: What kind of bees produce milk?
A: Boo-bees.
Courtsey : Joke on the back cover of Salty Dog crisps
A: Boo-bees.
Courtsey : Joke on the back cover of Salty Dog crisps
Olio, Aglio and Pepperoncino
"Its pepper-on-chi-no", said the waiter. If its CHino like in Gucci, then where is the 2nd C I wondered. Aglio and Olio sounded as alien as things could sound and the ever familiar pepper also was pronounced with a twist, as Mr. Italian pointed out. OA&P is how I ended my day in Florence yesterday, a delicioso sphaghetti. Some pasta finally after all the thin crust Margharitas in venice.
For a consummate vegetarian foodie that I am, the chesse in the Italian dishes had started to get to me. Pizza with toppings of cheese, pasta with grated Parmesan, risotto with melted cheese.. What would not taste good with cheese I wondered. With my non-existant knowledge of meat dishes and my chessy knowledge of the vegetarian dishes, my trip down to Italiano did not excite any gastronomic desires. The Margharitas - the only affordable, vegetarian dish - in Venice did nothing to salvage the image of veggie Italiano dishes in my mind.
What made the OA&P taste so good, I know not. Whether it was the cheap Italian wines and Limoncello acting or whether it indeed was the cooks culinary skills. At this point my adventures with the wines deserve a special mention, a series that would make a true wine connoiseur cringe at its mention. A round of Chianti Rosso, followed by a round of some white Chianti with an accompaniment of potato chips(for lack of anything better). Ah well, I anyways do not understand wines. Gimme a Bud or Stella anyday, but this trip was all about trying new things. The wines were quickly followed by a round of Limoncello(chello..). This I got the pronunciation right and the guy behind the counter gave me an approving nod. Limoncello was unlike nything I ever tasted before - a lemon yellow, lemoney flavored drink. It came in a small shot glass looking very innocent, but did taste like a vodka mixed with lime. I read the "French Revolutions" as I sipped on. Halfway through the Limoncello my stomach started it own revolution, the grumblings could probably be heard over the music. A cursory glance at the menu and the only interesting dish was OA&P.
Enter OA&P. A lovely, lovely pasta. And as simple as it gets. The O stood for Olive oil, the A stood for garlic and the P for the pepper. And that is all the dish had. The flavor of roasted garlic and pepper in the warm olive oil with slightly undercooked sphaghetti was simply out of this world. The overflowing Olio in the dish.. Yummm... Would have licked the olio off my plate, if only I were at home. But then of course if I could whip up a meaty dish like that, I would not be going around to restaurants and making a fool of myself with all the wrong pronunciations.
At the risk of sounding like a tourist, I declare that OA&P was the best pasta I ever had. Three days down my Italian trip, having tasted only the Margharitas and not-so-different-from-ice gelatos, I realize I it is time to loosen my purse string and to get more experimental with food (and drinks of course). And off I head to try some new dish today. Here I come Firenze.
For a consummate vegetarian foodie that I am, the chesse in the Italian dishes had started to get to me. Pizza with toppings of cheese, pasta with grated Parmesan, risotto with melted cheese.. What would not taste good with cheese I wondered. With my non-existant knowledge of meat dishes and my chessy knowledge of the vegetarian dishes, my trip down to Italiano did not excite any gastronomic desires. The Margharitas - the only affordable, vegetarian dish - in Venice did nothing to salvage the image of veggie Italiano dishes in my mind.
What made the OA&P taste so good, I know not. Whether it was the cheap Italian wines and Limoncello acting or whether it indeed was the cooks culinary skills. At this point my adventures with the wines deserve a special mention, a series that would make a true wine connoiseur cringe at its mention. A round of Chianti Rosso, followed by a round of some white Chianti with an accompaniment of potato chips(for lack of anything better). Ah well, I anyways do not understand wines. Gimme a Bud or Stella anyday, but this trip was all about trying new things. The wines were quickly followed by a round of Limoncello(chello..). This I got the pronunciation right and the guy behind the counter gave me an approving nod. Limoncello was unlike nything I ever tasted before - a lemon yellow, lemoney flavored drink. It came in a small shot glass looking very innocent, but did taste like a vodka mixed with lime. I read the "French Revolutions" as I sipped on. Halfway through the Limoncello my stomach started it own revolution, the grumblings could probably be heard over the music. A cursory glance at the menu and the only interesting dish was OA&P.
Enter OA&P. A lovely, lovely pasta. And as simple as it gets. The O stood for Olive oil, the A stood for garlic and the P for the pepper. And that is all the dish had. The flavor of roasted garlic and pepper in the warm olive oil with slightly undercooked sphaghetti was simply out of this world. The overflowing Olio in the dish.. Yummm... Would have licked the olio off my plate, if only I were at home. But then of course if I could whip up a meaty dish like that, I would not be going around to restaurants and making a fool of myself with all the wrong pronunciations.
At the risk of sounding like a tourist, I declare that OA&P was the best pasta I ever had. Three days down my Italian trip, having tasted only the Margharitas and not-so-different-from-ice gelatos, I realize I it is time to loosen my purse string and to get more experimental with food (and drinks of course). And off I head to try some new dish today. Here I come Firenze.
A bloody affair
In a Kill-Bill world it would have been jets of blood spurting out. In my world it was just some blood gushing out happily from my foot. The water in the tub not really able to dilute the thick warm blood that just came out of my body. But the blood is not what I noticed or felt first. It was the thud, as my head banged against the hard ceramic of the bath tub. For a couple of seconds there I thought it was a harmless fall with just a bump on my head as a reminder. Only a couple of seconds later did I feel a painful sensation in my foot and saw the bloody blood.
It was one of those days when even if you fractured your skull, you had to report to work. There was a big meeting scheduled and there was no way I could pull out. Off I pulled myself out of the tub and washed my bloodied feet and rushed down to see if I could somehow stop the blood. As I searched frantically for a stopper, the blood oozed out like there was gonna be no tomorrow. The pitiful little plaster I had was no match for the ~1 inch cut in my foot. None of the medically approved items in my first-aid kit could stop the blood. It was time to get Indian. I rushed to the kitchen, pinched off some turmeric and sprinkled it liberally on the cut; not unlike how I usually sprinkle for my Cabbage Poriyal. And voila, after a few seconds the flow decreased!! But just the turmeric was not the solution, I still needed a plaster if I had to get to work. Enter uncle.
It would not have required a Sherlock Holmes to figure out that there was an injured animal from the trail of blood I left from the bathroom to my room. I can imagine that it was not the most pleasant of things for uncle to wake up and see. Uncle, however, came into my room and saw me fiddling around with the bloody foot. He immediately rushed up and got his first aid box which had just the plaster that I used to have wet dreams about. A good 2’’X3’’ plaster which would totally and completely cover up my wound. With no time to clean the turmeric off the wound, I quickly wrapped the plaster on the wound and tied it around with a cloth bandage to ensure it did not slip off. Quickly dressed(wore my socks and shoes with utmost care) and set off to work. Limping.
As luck be it, the meeting room was on the 4th floor. I climbed all the way up limping only to hear that the meeting room was overbooked and we had to go down to the canteen for the meeting. Just as we settled down there was a suggestion to try and find a proper meeting room. *&$%&*. The only meeting room we managed to get was the one across the street in Talbot house. Everybody set off in a hurry, I fell back limping at my own sweet pace. After the meeting, all through the day at workI kept imagining that blood was still oozing out . I kept my usual visits to the loo at a bare minimum and timed it such that I limped across when none of my managers/friends were around. But then it was meant to be my lucky day and the loo in my floor was ‘Not Working’(as the notice on the door indicated), so I had to limp down a floor to take a leak.
As the day ended I knew that I could not put up with so much theatrics at work – the limp, the blood, the meetings – and decided to take it easy and WFH today. Dunno why everytime I read WFH it looks like WTF.
While the world was sleeping...
…I was lying wide awake. Not the least bit sleepy. Tired I certainly was, it had been 3 days since I had a good night’s sleep. Must have slept for 12 hours in the past 3 days. My body complained and my legs ached(a weird sign of my bodily-rebellion). At work I am constantly yawning and can hardly concentrate. I come to work puffy-eyed and with dark circles and have to put up with Ageesh asking me if I took bath at all or just walked straight from my bed to work.
And while the world is sleeping what do I do? Not much really, I toss and turn around for a good 30 minutes till I realize that it is gonna be one of those nights when I will stay up all through. All kinds of thoughts start creeping in, most of them which disturb me more than calm me down and these go on for quite some time. I mentally spew venom at the people I hate. I imagine the conversations I would have if I meet them now. And when am all worked up, I try to calm myself down and try the famous ‘count sheep’ to fall asleep. Never really managed to get beyond 30 by when the next thought creeps in. There are of course nice thoughts as well, I do drift into the ‘Mungerilal ke haseen sapne’ mode during which my entire future gets planned.
My various attempts to fall asleep have been utterly unsuccessful up until now. Listening to soothing music has been an utter failure. Too lazy to go and change tracks in my laptop I end up listening to the same song nearly 10 times. And just before I can go crazy I go and turn off the stupid songs, the thought of anymore songs is also too repulsive. The musical approach to falling asleep lasts for a good 1 hour yielding no results whatsoever. Reading a book to fall asleep somehow did not work over the last few days. All I have at home are a few guidebooks and reading them at 12 in the night neither excites me nor does it bore me enough to fall asleep. How I miss Manoj’s book(just can’t recollect the name, just remember an Indiana Jones kind of protagonist), reading 2 pages of which would instantly put me to sleep. The worst and the least effective sleep-inducers was chamomile tea. The tea was definitely a relaxant, I felt my body pain disappear but even the faint traces of sleepiness disappeared. I was wide, wide, wide awake after the stupid tea. A second glass of tea soon followed after an hour, just to re-test the product, producing the same results. Changing my orientation from Portrait to Landscape also does not help, a 180 degrees turn does not help, dousing a liberal dose of 'Thengina Enne' on my head does not help. Nothing ever fuckin helps.
And amidst all the depressing thoughts and mind-numbingly boring music my stomach starts to grumble. Day 1 of my insomniac week I was ill prepared. I had no milk, no bread, no desserts, no cookies. All I had was some cold rice and I had curd-rice at 3 AM. But over the days I have smartened up and my fridge is loaded with cookies and cereal and desserts to keep me going through the night. There was round of weetabix in milk at 12Am and a round of Rice Vanilla Pudding at 3AM yesterday. Tonight is gonna be a Tiramisu night, the dessert is the only thing I am looking forward to tonight L. And then there is the pressure on my bladder every 30 mins. Where does all the water come from?
This attack of insomnia is apparently because I quit smoking cold turkey. I have all of sudden become a nocturnal creature, albeit without the hip-n-happening night-life. Makes me wonder if it would not be easier to simply go out and smoke and put myself out of this misery.
No coke for smoke
And apparently substituting coke for smoke is not a very good idea..
"When you quit smoking, the amount of coffee or colas you're used to drinking might now make you very jittery and anxious. Cut back on, or cut out caffeine completely for awhile, especially if you’re having trouble sleeping through the night. Chances are good that once you're through the withdrawal process, you'll be able to drink coffee again, though maybe not as much as you used to."Now that explains my sleeplessness in Harrow
Exciting days!!!
Yesterday was yet another party night. Hmmm...To call it a party would probably be taking it too far, let's say it was yet another get-together. Like we don't get-together enough, every lunch we meet up and now almost every weekend also we meet up.
Dunno when or how it started. Is it because Bhu and Senthil came here or is it because Nihar moved to a new place near a beautiful park or is it just the summer? Whatever the reason, the past few weeks have been exciting and interesting and fun. I have now started spending time with people other than myself (for a change).
- First it was 'meet the newbies and make them feel comfy'
- Then it was 'Use the morale budget, hog at Nando's'
- And before the hogging was 'play some mean-ass tennis in the park'
- Then it was 'kind of house warming at Nihar's, cook-your-own-food afternoon '
- There was the 'help-newbies-find-accomodation evenings'
- The usual 'Friday evenings at the Village Inn'
- Yet another visit to the Oxford circus, Piccadilly circus and Leicester square
- Then it was a Chinese night at the china town to have some authentic Chinese food(frowned upon by the waiter when I asked for vegetarian dishes)
- Football finale at the Yates pub followed by pizza night at Nihar's
- And then yesterday it was 'my landlord is away party at Shreeni's'
And in between all this I felt homesick and started thinking of the monsoon back home, saw Kaliyattam and was blown away by Gopi's acting and kept humming malyalam songs which I did not understand (which for some weird reason are to do with 'pinakkam') and was force-fed a prawn.
Whew!! The last few days have been amazing and looking forward to many more exciting, fun filled days and beer nights in London.
My monsoon-sickness
Is it the sudden change in weather here(the annoying drizzle after weeks of bright sunny days)? Or is just the month July - my friends celebrating birthdays and having parties? Or is it an overdose of beautiful Malyalam Songs? Or is it the simplest reason of all, am I homesick already? For the past few days I have been having this inexplicable urge to talk to my friends and family. It was not enough to just talk to friends; I had to talk to people in Tulu. I had to laugh at the Pappu's silly PJs and Yashas's jokes (don't know what genre that would be). I had to know what was happening back home, about every aunt and uncle and cousin. The hitherto annoying news about X getting married to Y became interesting news. And more than anything else wanted to know if it's raining back home. Am still not sure what triggered this homesickness, but I think it just might be the monsoon back home.
How I would love to be in Moodbidri now - Just watching the torrential downpour from the window, watching the roof leak and hearing my dad complain about it, sipping a hot cup of tea and eating my mom's not-so-perfect chattambade, hear the rhetorical conversations on how good the monsoon was this year and how 3 years back there was no rain, hear my mom talk about how clothes don't dry in this damp weather.
How the courtyard would now be slippery due to the pamaji(fungi). How my mom or dad would have a stock of sunna(lime) ready for that one day when it would not rain and they would attack the slippery fungi with sunna. How the inexpensive whitewash on the outer walls would start turning a shade of brown-green due the water dripping down. How the water-well would be so full that if only we had arms like Lord Rama, we could just dip the Kodapana(don't know the English word) and draw water. How tricky it would be to carry the kodapana back home(there is a stretch of cement and then 10 steps to scale and then another stretch of cement between the home and well and all of it would be slippery like hell). How green the fungi-covered walls are and how soon after the monsoon they would turn a shade of brown. How dark the already dark rooms of the house would get.
How it would now be the end of jackfruit season and the lovers of that terrible fruit would relish every last bit of it. How mom would make jackfruit dosa and kadubu and try to convince me that it was not very sweet and that I should try at least one before the season ends and how upon my rejection she would quip that I am missing out on something divine. How yummy the hot pathrode might taste now (not sure if the leaves would be able to survive the rain). How good would the red-rice ganji taste now with the dry mango pickle.
How the kids at Jain High School would get a day off when it rains very heavily in the morning. How the NCC would be cancelled if there was too much water logged in the grounds. How the rocket-fast buses would zoom past you splashing muddy water on you and how even the gentlest and most pious of persons would resort to swearing. How the shopkeeper in the cold-house would no longer stock ellu juice (made of sesame) or punarpuli juice(birunda).
How full the lake in Varanga would be that the priest would no longer take devotees in his rickety boat to the temple. How the truly religious would brave the rains and visit all the open basadis early in the morning. How the fields would be logged with water and how there would be kambala races in it.
Oh, how I would love to take my scooter out now and just go on and on and on and never ever stop. Oh, how I long for these familiar tastes and smells and conversations.
Malnourished in Karnataka?
Is it a classic case of ignorance or do we really turn a blind-eye even when facts are staring right in our faces?
Today I read an article in the Hindustan Times which had some statistics on the malnourished, underweight children in the greater states of India. As I scanned the table I was not surprised to see a few North Indian and central Indian states, but I was in for a shocker when I saw Karnataka and Kerala in the list. What was even more shocking is that Karnataka was second only to Kerala in terms of malnourished children.
| State | % of underweight children | % of undernutritioned children | % of hunger deaths under the age of 5 |
| Rajasthan | 40.4% | 14.0% | 8.5% |
| Gujarat | 44.7% | 22.3% | 6.1% |
| Madhya Pradesh | 59.8% | 23.4% | 9.4% |
| Maharashtra | 36.7% | 27.0% | 4.7% |
| Karnataka | 37.6% | 28.1% | 5.5% |
| Kerala | 22.7% | 28.6% | 1.6% |
| West Bengal | 38.5% | 18.5% | 5.9% |
I never did imagine that such basic thing as food was lacking in Karnataka. The only rural areas I have seen in Karnataka are in DK and everything around looked hunky-dory. I did not read/hear of any hunger issues. Or have these issues become so commonplace that I no longer choose to give it a second thought?
I am currently reading the Tracking Hunger series in HT and as I read that I am sure many more myths(in my head) are gonna be shattered as I find out many more ugly truths.
Multiculturalism – Good, bad or ugly?
Is multiculturalism indeed a good thing for society? Or is it just a romantic idea of people from different races and religious backgrounds living together harmoniously? A definition I picked from Wiki says "Multiculturalism is the acceptance or promotion of multiple ethnic cultures, applied to the demographic make-up of a specific place". And the definition of a specific place could extend from a small body like a club or school to an entire state or nation.
On the face of it, it does seem like a great concept, but does it really work? And do the advantages outweigh the disadvantages? This is an issue that we Indians are only too familiar with - the country is so huge and the cultures, languages, religions and even the skin colors so different. One of the first things we learn about India is the 'Unity in diversity' that we have. But is there really any unity? The North Indians and the South Indians do not get along, Hindus and Muslims butcher each other, Hindus look down upon lower caste Hindus, Indians from North-east will forever remain children of Mao.. The list just goes on. And this in a country that has had this mix from time immemorial, millennia of living together has still not rooted out some of the inherent problems of a multi-cultural society. Post independence India was divided into different states on a linguistic basis. And it does seem like a fair division because people speaking a common language are also culturally more similar. India as a country has probably never promoted MC as such (what with so many other problems to deal with) but as with most other countries in the world, people migrated to places with better prospects setting up their shop in a different culture. And as the influx increased, the problems slowly started showing up. The recent attacks of the MNS in Mumbai and that of the Kannada Rakshana Vedike activists in Bangalore have shown some of the problems of a MC society.
I remember discussing this very same issue with my cousin who thought that there is no credence to the call 'Bangalore for Kannadigas' or the 'Mumbai for Maharashtrians'. His thoughts were similar to those of the media which was crying hoarse that the cities were the great cities that they were not just because of the locals but also because of the migrant population who built the city. Media produced statistics of the number of non-local industrialists who helped build the cities and so on. Whilst the contribution of the non-locals is undisputable, the problems of a MC society are also not to be ignored. A MC society can only work when all people in it respect and imbibe the local culture – which means the language, the traditions, the beliefs, the idiosyncrasies and every small aspect of the culture. For without being one with the local culture and by continuing to be a cultural outsider, there will never be a melting pot of cultures but rather a salad bowl of it. As activists have pointed out, in spite of living in a place for decades together the migrant populace cannot utter a single word in the local language. This is not a problem indigenous to Indian society; it is a problem the world over and something that deeply does affect the local populace. A shocking survey in Britain revealed that a lot of the migrant populace could not speak a word of the local language even after living there for 20 long years. Yet this is also a point strongly mooted by the educated Indians who disagree that not speaking the local language is not a problem because it does not affect anybody and that life goes on as usual. But can MC survive when the local culture is ignored while a newer, stronger culture spreads its wings with utter disregard for the resident one?
When immigration started in late 19th and early 20th centuries it was based on a need for workforce, be it UK or the US. It had nothing, whatsoever, to do with trying to build a multi-cultural society and it definitely was not a desirable thing then. What gradually happened, and mind you it took many many years, is that the next generation of the migrant population was one with the local culture and then is when a peaceful, multi-cultural society was born. What started out as a necessity in the yesteryears and culminated in a multi-cultural hotchpotch is not an indicator that an ethnic mix is a necessity. The racist attacks against Indians and Pakis in Britain or the secondary citizen status to the Chinese in US were signs of trouble in adjusting to a different culture. And the same issues are cropping up even now with the newer set of migrants. The middle-eastern migrants have set-up ghettos in every city, just like the china-towns of a bygone era. The Eastern Europeans are widely unpopular for stealing jobs. Though statistics have shown that job market is not affected due to migrants, the fact remains that the general public will never be any the wiser or anymore richer due to the influx and there will always be the tensions with every first generation of migrants.
What got me thinking on this issue is an election broadcast here in London. With the general elections just round the corner, every party gets some screen time to talk about their policies and the issues they would tackle. Immigration is a fiercely debated issue here and the major parties Labour, Tories and the Lib-Dems dare not take a strong stand on this and talk about the problems it has created. British National Party (BNP) on the other hand was extremely vocal about the issue of immigration and the ills of it were the single most important point for the BNP. The video shows how immigrants have settled in and with utter disregard to the local culture have created ghettos which resemble a middle-eastern country, the job opportunities lost for the country men due to immigration and the special policies served in a platter by the government to appease the immigrants. What stood out in the broadcast was the mention of term 'political correctness'. BNP argued that most major parties were trying to be politically correct in allowing immigration, just because the neighboring country was allowing it. And when I think about it, I wonder if it is indeed not just political correctness? Is there really a shortage of workforce which forces the governments to encourage migration? It certainly does not seem so considering the new policies carved out for eastern-Europeans, majority of who are unskilled laborers.
What I sincerely believe is that migration is good and ought to be encouraged if it is a necessity, but tying to build a multi-cultural society because it sounds good or for the sake of political correctness is not the way to go about and sounds a little like building Angelina Jolie's 'Rainbow family'.
"It's been sometime since I started this article and a new government has been formed here in UK. The activist BNP has not secured a single vote, probably an indicator that the majority of the populace is unfazed by the migrant in-flux. This is overall a positive, healthy sign that outsiders are generally respected and welcome. But contrary to what the polls indicate, the sourness and unrest is still visible around. A friend of mine was recently on the receiving end of a speech by a shopkeeper which veered towards racist comments. I and my friend were subject to racist actions where a couple of guys in cycles came towards us on an empty street and made threatening gestures (like they would beat us up). Am I reading too much between the lines when in fact it was just a harmless prank? I don't know, but I was and am still a little shaken up and try to avoid empty streets."
Fact is stranger than fiction
Bamboo flowering, rats and famine
Mizoram has always suffered from famine known locally as 'Mautam' or 'Thingtam' every few decades. The problem is caused by the synchronous flowering of bamboo species which naturally flower and then die at regular intervals. When bamboo has flowered it produces many seeds and fruit causing rodent feeding frenzies. The Mautam / Thingtam always leads to dramatic increases in local rat populations as well as producing swarms of insects, which then spread to the human food storage areas after the natural harvest is expired - destroying stocks and food crops. Historically it led to death by starvation (102 in 1859) and even today presents much hardship to many rural communities whose very survival depends on a successful harvest.
The famines are called after the name of the bamboo that flowers. Meloccana baccifera is called "Mautak" in mizo and the famine that is caused by its flowering is named "Mautam". When Bambusa Tulda flowers, called "Rawthing" in mizo, the consequent famine is known as "Thingtam". The first Thingtam famine in 1739 was followed by a Mautam in 1769. A Mautam famine occurs 30 years after a Thingtam famine and the latter occurs 18 years after a Mautam. This gives a cycle of around 48 years. There was a Mautam famine in 2006- 2007 and so a Thingtam is expected in 2025. The next more severe Mautam famine is expected in 2055.
It was in October 2005 that the initial heavy flowering of the bamboo was first noticed at Chawngtlai bamboo forest in the southern district of Champhai. It then spread rapidly in 2006 - 2007 throughout the state. After the Mautam, desperate to control the rising rat population, the state government announced a reward of one rupee for every rat-tail taken. During 2006 alone more than 221,636 rats were killed.
The famines have played their part in Mizoram's history. The famine in 1958 led to the formation of the Mizo National Famine Front which lobbied for and set up relief to villagers by mobilising the youth to distribute rice and provisions. The MNFF later changed its name to the MNF and operated as a political unit to fight for the rights of Mizo people. Under the then Chief Minister Laldenga together with his supporters including the ex Chief Minister Zoramthanga, the group fought a bitter separatist struggle for twenty years against the Indian Army for self rule.
It’s limerick time baby!!!
There once was a plumber from Lee
who was plumbing his girl by the sea
she said Stop your plumbing,
there's somebody coming!
Said the plumber still plumbing... It's me!
A bear taking a dump asked a rabbit
"Does shit stick to your fur as a habit?"
"Of course not," said the hare,
"It's really quite rare!"
So the bear wiped his ass with the rabbit.
There once was a man from kanass
whose nuts were made out of brass
in stormy weather
he'd clack them together
and lightning shot out of his ass
There once was an artist named Saint,
Who swallowed some samples of paint.
All shades of the spectrum
Flowed out of his rectum
with a colorful lack of restraint.
A pirate, history relates
was scuffling with some of his mates
when he slipped on a cutlass
which rendered him nutless
and practically useless on dates
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