Yoroshiku Onegaishimasu!

Walking through dimly-lit back-alleys of Kyoto, looking for a place to eat, I chanced upon what seemed to be a hole-in-the-wall izakaya. I wasn't entirely sure what to expect as I walked in to the room. In many ways that feeling sort of sums up my experience in Japan until then. After deciding to stay on for a week, all alone and armed only with a guidebook and my repertoire of a smattering of Japanese phrases, things had turned out unexpectedly well and I was hoping that this night would be no different.

For what seemed like an eternity, I shifted uncomfortably in my seat, waiting to figure out the protocol for ordering in this place. The izakaya that I happened to pick that night seemed like the kind of neighborhood joint where everyone knows everyone else. No one would have had any trouble picking me out as the foreigner in there. Soon enough I exchanged smiles with the proprietor. Unfortunately, most introductory Japanese speaking lessons cover only formal introductions of the kind "Hello, I am XYZ. Pleased to meet you!"; not entirely appropriate for this location so I had to make do with lots of smiling and prefacing everything I said with a lot of "please" and "thank yous". I proceeded to order some sake after convincing the proprietor that I did indeed want sake and not beer in spite of his repeated insistence. As it turns out, the sake was delicious, and went very well with the bowl of snails that were placed in front of me.

I spent the next few minutes enjoying the sake while impolitely overhearing conversations of the neighboring customers. I didn't feel terribly bad about doing this since I barely understood what anyone was saying anyway. I managed to rationalize it by thinking that it was good practice for learning a little more Japanese to add to my limited vocabulary; an educational eavesdropping experience of sorts. And then finally, and fortuitously, I met the only person in the place that spoke some English, and very good English at that. As it turns out, this person had traveled all over the world in her 20s and had been to some of the places from back home that I was familiar with. All conversations between me and the proprietor were now funneled through her and she didn't seem to mind playing the part of the interpreter. In due course, everyone in the place wanted to chat and I didn't really feel alone in there anymore. Soon I was being offered sake by the other customers and laughing out aloud while trying tons of delicious and tasty snacks, most of which were offered on-the-house after some gentle prodding from one of the customers.

As the night wound down, I knew I had just a tad bit too much to drink, but not so much that the short walk to the place I was going to spend the night would prove to be challenging. I am glad that I decided to try out the izakaya, while rejecting the guidebook advice of seeking out a 'foreigner-friendly' place. That night, like all the others spent in Japan was extremely memorable. I can't wait to be back!

The Indian Middle-class

A newly proposed definition of what constitutes a middle class in a developing country, seeks to only consider those that earn at least 10$ a day, after excluding the top 5% of the richest people in the country. Shockingly this would mean that India would have no middle-class. One could argue with how the figure of 10$ was arrived at, but I can't help being shocked by the level of disparity in incomes between the reasonably well-off and the vast multitudes of the poor. It's going to take more than a few cosmetic 'on-paper' laws to turn things around.

Religious encounters of the strange kind

I don't think about religion on a daily basis. If anything, I would describe my self as agnostic leaning towards atheistic. But more than anything else, I think religion is an extremely personal matter, and I'm all for the cultural aspects of religious celebrations (for the most part anyway). As far as religion is concerned, I'd describe myself as "don't care", which made a recent encounter that I had all the more odd.

I was walking home, when I saw a couple on the sidewalk. I had a fair inkling of what they were doing when I noticed that the person walking in front of me had to weave his way through the couple, vigorously shaking his head as he walked by. The man (one half of the couple) would almost block your path thereby forcing you to listen to him. He had a book in his hand and a extremely-wide-and-therefore-creepy smile plastered on his face. Predictably he stood right in front of me. I noticed that both the man and the woman looked fairly young, probably in their mid-thirties and spoke with thick Asian accents. The conversation went something like this,

Man : Hello! Are you christian?
Me : No
Man : Are you Jewish?
Me : No
Man : What religion are you?
(I was tempted at this point to just walk away, but I didn't I'm not really sure why)
Me : Hindu
(I was a little surprised by my own answer. I think that the bottom-line is that I didn't really want to discuss my beliefs with a random stranger on the street. What happened next is the bit that I found really odd.)

Man : "Oh ... Have a nice day!"

This exchange left me a little baffled. I wonder what he was trying to do.

Hypothesis 1: He was actively trying to convert people away from Christianity/Judaism
Hypothesis 2: He was actively trying to convert people to Hinduism
Hypothesis 3: Either way, he didn't want to spend anymore time on the conversation

I'm not quite sure what to make of it all.

Winter

A single icicle juts out in front of my window, dripping slowly in the bright sunshine. Spring is just around the corner. I carefully make my way down the sidewalks covered in snow, soon to be packed into an uncrossable sheet of ice. I can't help thinking that winter this year has been worse than the last. My gloved hands return to my coat pockets, still stinging gently under the light wool. The trees are still bare; the colors of fall a many months away. For now, I wait patiently for warmer weather, for spring and then summer. Until then I pray that we've received the last heavy snowfall for the season.

Of Gut-Wrenching Poverty

Life in India is full of contradictions, as any visitor to the country will tell you. For someone living in India, however, reconciling these contradictions is essential for survival. It is hard if not impossible, to be faced with crippling poverty on a daily basis and not feel an overwhelming sense of sadness and guilt.
My home state of Maharashtra was recently contemplating changing the rules so that taxi permits would only be issued to persons who had lived in the state for at least fifteen years and can "read and write marathi (the local language)". The move is primarily aimed at keeping migrant workers from poorer states from acquiring local jobs. In a country where a vast number of people are illiterate, where we have failed to provide our poorest and most vulnerable sections of society with a minimum standard of living, where large sections of the population go hungry, this is what the Government imagines up. Perhaps we should soon expect a set of minimum qualifications that all of the urban poor must meet if they want to subsist amongst the more affluent. The irony is not lost on me.

The films of Louis Malle and India

Louis Malle is a wonderful filmmaker. Each of his films, that I have had an opportuinity to see, have been magnificent (Au Revoir Les Enfants, Lacombe Lucien, Le Souffle au Coeur, L'Inde Fantome, Calcutta) and I highly recommend them all. The last two in the list deserve special mention. L'Inde Fantome (Phantom India) and Calcutta are documentaries that were filmed in the late 70's in India, and they paint a startling, enchanting and at times disturbing portrait of India 40 years ago. If, like me, you have had a chance to see modern day India, these films might give you a new perspective on India's development in the past few years.

Two Movies and Some Fiction

What follows is another random bit of writing. Everything here is pure fiction, more or less anyway, that I was almost compelled to write after a couple of movies that I recently saw - "One Day You'll Understand" (Plus Tard) by Amos Gitai, and "The Class" (Entre les Murs) by Laurent Cantet. I highly recommend them both.

Its just another evening, no different from any other. A night out with friends, at the local pub. We've had a couple of rounds of beer each. "Nowhere close to my limit yet", I think. I excuse myself and head off to the restroom. My feet momentarily falter. Im almost surprised that im that drunk already. So much for my ability to hold my alcohol. By the time I've converted two pints into litres, and then calculated 5.7% of that, Im already back at the bar. One last draught and the glass is empty. "Just one last pint for the day, and then Im done", I decide. Drinks are ordered. Everyone seems happy. I look accross at a friend. He has a silly smile on his face. He's busy telling us how much he loves us. I smile. I turn back to my other friends. They are busy having a heated discussion about something. I can't really make out everything they are saying... but occasionally, I hear platitudes, I hear the same arguments repeated over and over... old wine in a new bottle ... except no one seems to realize that its the same old bottle. Im not sure if its the alcohol or just me, but I don't care. Im comfortable. Im happy. Its great to be out with friends.

I've seen enough

"I've seen enough, of nothing news,

The blackest stain on history, or last laugh blues.

Not gonna fight not gonna cry,

Not gonna shop around for one flag to fly."

-I've seen enough by The Cold War Kids.

There is a limit to stupidity ... right? Wrong. If you're a right-wing group in India you just keep creating new issues, each more ridiculous then the previous one. (For example, see this or this) But each new issue they raise is just so ridiculous that you have to stop and 'applaud' their creativity. After all, at some point the rational, thinking part of the brain chimes in. It points out errors in your thought processes, it identifies flaws in arguments, it throws reason at you, it hits you with a dose of logic. To reach a point when you can suppress the 'intelligent' parts of your brain and be ruled by insanity takes effort. Lot of it.

What then of the thinking, silent majority (at least I like to think that this is the majority of the population)? How long before they tire under the constant insanity heaped on them by our 'defenders of culture', our 'moral police'? How long before they stop trying to reason with these insane fools? How long before they stop trying to talk sense into the minds of the insane? After all, of what use are arguments and explanations to these mindless and witless few?

Thankfully there are some who haven't given up and who hopefully never will, as this innovative (?) campaign demonstrates. Thank God for them!

On love or the lack of it

"I love you", he says. It sounds natural, unrehearsed, almost like he means it. She won't know the difference... Or will she? Does she see it in his eyes, in his smile, the way his lips move as he say this? 

He thinks he sees it in her eyes. That brief momentary flash of doubt... but this time it seems to linger a little longer, almost uncomfortably so. Her smile betrays her words. "I love you too", she says.

He remembers something his friend once said ... "there's just the moment, the now and nothing else matters". You can analyze your life over and over, rethinking, pondering, what would you do different if you could, what would you change if you could... and would that change 'the now'? Aren't you better off just living 'in the now'? Maybe your life isn't perfect, but that shouldn't stop you from enjoying it, should it? But that's harder said than done.

He thinks back to when they first met. Was it love at first sight? He doesn't think so. He has always had his doubts. A woman flashes in his mind... red lips, red dress. Remembrance slowly washes over him ...  ... Aah ... the bar ... last night ...  He quickly shakes the thought out of his mind. But he loved her before ... didn't he? Was it all a lie? And what now... should he continue smiling, saying words he no longer truly means, acting out this part that he has so expertly been playing for the last few years. Or should he throw it all away, in search of true love. He smiles ... he thought he had already found true love ... "what makes me think next time will be any different?", he wonders. He waves goodbye from the car.

Until tomorrow.

Unaccustomed Earth, Language, Identities

I recently began reading Jhumpa Lahiri's 'Unaccustomed Earth'. One of the stories describes the life of Rupa, the daughter of Bengali immigrant parents, born and brought up in the USA. At one point in the story, Rupa reflects on the fact that although she grew up speaking Bengali when she was young, her conversing skills in Bengali are not what they used to be and that she has begun to find it harder and harder to carry on a conversation in Bengali - her native language. As a child growing up in a multilingual household, in many ways, I understand her predicament. You would think that growing up immersed in multiple languages, I would be highly conversant in all of them. Unfortunately as it turned out, I essentially spoke only English at home and I would describe my abilities in the other languages, that I grew up with, as being average at best. As I think back now, I feel a sense of loss. It almost feels like I am losing a link to a part of my culture. That being said, the fact of the matter is that we live in an increasingly globalized world. Being comfortable and conversant in English, the language of my adopted home (and across much of the world) has proved to be extremely helpful. So I guess that in a sense, this loss has a silver lining after all- I have moved from being a citizen of my native country to being a citizen of the world.

On friendship

"Mia: Don't you hate that? 

Vincent: What? 

Mia: Uncomfortable silences. Why do we feel it's necessary to yak about bullshit in order to be comfortable?

Vincent: I don't know. That's a good question. 

Mia: That's when you know you've found somebody special. When you can just shut the fuck up for a minute and comfortably enjoy the silence." - Pulp Fiction. (1994)

I have recently come to the realization that my friends fall into one of two distinct groups. There are those who I have to make a conscious effort to carry on a conversation with and then there is the other group where the conversation always seems to flow spontaneously, and no effort seems to be required on my part. Perhaps I know the people in the second group better, and so I instinctively 'know' what makes an interesting conversation with them. But I don't think this accurately explains the difference between the two groups. I think what it comes down too is that it really doesn't matter whether I carry on a conversation with them at all... just being in their presence makes me happy ... even sitting with them in silence.

Les Carabiniers - The war movie that is not

If you are a fan of Jean-Luc Godard, like me you probably have your favorite Godard movie. Since I have only been able to watch three of his films to date ('Contempt', 'Breathless' and 'Les Carabiniers'), it may seem a little pointless to say that I am a fan of his work. Perhaps I can only truly say that I like what I have seen so far, but I suspect that what I like about his movies is his point of view. I think 'Les Carabiniers' is a perfect example. To me 'Les Carabiniers' is special because it is a war movie, that turns the whole genre on its head. Gone are the heroic battle scenes where the lead actor gives rousing speeches about saving the world. There is no attempt to glorify war. The 'heroes' of the movie are two bumbling fools, 'Ulysses' and 'Michelangelo', who respond to the kings invitation to set out to war with promises of untold riches. You might think that the movie is a bit slow in parts, you might think that its a load of nonsense at times, but I think that you will see something that you've rarely seen before. I think you'll see a man who manages to clearly get his point across. I don't want to give too much of the story away, but I will say that this is one of the best satires on war (second only to Dr. Strangelove) that I have ever seen.

The Riddle of the Sphinx

“Which creature in the morning goes on four legs, 

at mid-day on two, and in the evening upon three, 

and the more legs it has, the weaker it be?”

When I was young I grew up in a country so beautiful, there was no place like it on the earth. It was a land as ancient as the earth... steeped in rich traditions, a culture as old as time itself. A land where all the people lived together in peace. Regardless of their ethnicity, their religion, their language or their customs, they lived as one. There was peace and tranquility and happiness throughout the land.

Then I grew older, and things had changed. But I couldn't understand how. Where was the peace of old? Why was everyone fighting? But we were one... right? Were we not all living together in peace? Where was the land of my youth? How did things change so fast?

Now I am old. I understand it all... I chose not to understand when I was young, I chose not to see. But it was there all along. It has been there all along. When I was young, I chose not to see the suffering around me ... the poverty, the violence, the injustice ... I looked away, closed my eyes and they were gone. Then as I grew older that's all I saw. I wanted to make a difference. Now I am cynical. Now I am a realist. I don't have time for fairy tales. I see things for what they are. The land of my youth existed only in my head. Created by escapism, perpetuated by false hope, the dream remains and will forever. After all, you don't have to acknowledge the problems of today, if you can live off the high of yesterday, do you? But when the smoke settles, and sanity returns you'll see things for what they are. And unfortunately, you wont have the excuse of naivete that was readily available when you were young. 

But deep down, I have this lingering feeling that things will get better, that someday, we will have peace and tranquility all around ... I can't explain this rationally. If you ask me for facts ... I have none. If you want reasons ... I have none. All I have to offer is a feeling ... whatever that may mean. Hope springs eternal...

Synechdoche, NY

I just watched the movie "Synechdoche, NY" written and directed by Charlie Kauffman. I was literally blown away. Roger Ebert compares the experience to the first time he watched "Last Year at Marienbad". I couldn't agree more. Both movies had plots that twisted and turned on themselves, almost to the point that I was ready to give up. But I could never really turn away, both movies had me glued to the screen ... both had an indescribable quality ... in the end I couldn't help feeling that I had just witnessed a masterpiece.

On a related note, I have recently begun to feel that the best way to get your point across is to do it subtly. Somehow screaming from the rooftops doesn't seem to be as effective. If you've see the music video to the song "Doesn't remind me", by Audioslave you'll know exactly what I mean. Everyone knows that war is horrible, that it leads to tremendous suffering... somehow the video says everything without saying it.

Giving, guilt and the Beatles

He walks home after a long day at the lab. He looks forward to some well deserved rest. Its been a really long day at the lab. He still can't seem to get all the experiments out of his head. He's trying to think of why it isn't running quite right ... maybe it's the ... but then he stops himself. 

'Its time to head home, the experiments can wait till tomorrow',he thinks. 

He slips his had into his coat pockets, and he makes a mental note to remember to wear his woolen scarf before he sets out tomorrow. He reaches into his pocket and presses play on his new mp3 player. The song sounds familiar ... the beat ... it's a dead give away ... he smiles ... the Beatles ... its been a long time since that song has played.

He looks up. He sees a guy holding a folder. He tries to look away ... avoid eye-contact he says to himself. Too late ...

'What is it this time?', he thinks.

"Do you have a minute for ...", the guy says.

He hits pause. 'Can't really say no now, can I?', he thinks.

The guy begins reading of his sheet. 

"Do you know that ...", the guy begins. 

He rolls off a bunch of statistics, all read off the paper he's been carrying. It's his first day doing this, the guy apologetically explains. 

'He's about half done ... just a few more lines .... I know where this is going', he thinks. 

The cold winter breeze blows into his face. He puts his hands back in his coat pocket, waiting for the inevitable. He wonders how anyone can stand in the freezing cold, trying to convince a bunch of strangers to do something for their cause. He can't help admiring the guy's dedication. He wonders if he would be willing to do the same. 

'Almost done... wait for it ... wait for it,'he thinks.

"... and so the best way you can help out is by making a monthly donation to our cause...", the guy says.

He politely explains that he is a graduate student, and that making monthly donations is not something he can do right now. Deep down he feels a little guilty. 

'That money could make a difference, and I do think its an important issue', he thinks. 

But he shrugs it off quickly. 

'Maybe when I start earning', he thinks. 

The rationalization works. No guilt anymore. Pleasantries are exchanged. 

"Well have a nice day... thank you for your time", the guy says. 

"You too", he says. 

He can't help thinking that the guy sounded a little dejected. He starts walking away. 

'Maybe I should have contributed a little',he thinks. 

He almost turns back. Then just as quickly he decides that its time to move on ... no point worrying about it now.

'What's done is done ... I had a choice, and I made it', he thinks. 

He reaches down and hits play again. The familiar music fills his ears. He hears John Lennon crooning,

"I am he, as you are he, as you are me and we are all together ..."

He smiles. 

Of Peace and Conflict

What does it take to stop the endless cycle of hate and violence?

I recently watched the Oscar-nominated documentary 'Promises', that explores the Israeli-Palestinian conflict through the eyes of young children on both sides. There is no shortage of extreme views on either side, with children on both sides spouting vitriol and hate. At one point, one of the boys living in an Israeli settlement talks about the Israeli army soldiers practicing at a firing range nearby and comments that it wouldn't be too bad if they missed their targets and accidentally shot an Arab instead. At another point, one of the Palestinian children talks about his twelve year old friend being shot dead by Israeli forces during the Intifada and says that he thinks it is his duty to fight what he sees as an occupation force. But in the midst of all the hate, there are a few sane voices. As one of the children rightly points out, 'what does it mean to 'win' in the war? In the end people on both sides suffer'.

I think it says something about our society, when we allow the minds of young children to be poisoned with hate. I cannot help believing that deep down everyone desires peace. Does constantly living under the spectre of fear, anger and hate change that? Does one reach a point where there is just nothing left to lose? Is it possible to be so full of hate, so full of anger, so full of despair that no price is too high to pay?

At times I feel like a mute and dumb observer, watching the world spin violently out of control, powerless to stop the insanity. But then again, I have the luxury of being so far removed from most of these problems that I don't need to worry about them on a daily basis. There are no 'one-size-fits-all' solutions to the world's problems. Maybe all that I can do is to try to learn all sides of the story. I may not agree with everyone's point of view, but I can atleast try to understand where they are coming from.

What does it take to stop the endless cycle of hate and violence? I don't know.