No Prime Minister. Yes.

"Every country has the government it deserves"
- Joseph De Maistre, 1811

In less than 24 hours we are likely to have a new Prime Minister. His victory will also likely be as emphatic as the decimation of his opponents. Maybe in a few hours, and the leader of the largest democracy will get a congratulatory phone call from the leader of the most famous democracy. And the little matter of a denied visa some years ago would be forgotten. The great nation would elevate a chaiwallah of a low caste to dizzying heights of power, thus dislodging a famous family from an inherited throne not entirely earned.

Mr. Narendra Modi was not my choice for Prime Minister. I was hard pressed to put my virtual vote firmly in favor of a candidate who I could trust to take us to a better place. A candidate who could inspire by articulating a strategy who also has the public service credentials on execution. That candidate remained elusive.

As I watched the infamous Arnab Goswami interview with the famous scion, my takeaways were not uniformly negative. Mr. Gandhi kept his cool and averted some pointed questions which didn't have easy answers, or had answers unlikely to endear the masses anyway. He refused to be drawn into a chest beating fight with Modi. He recounted the many sacrifices of his family, explained who Rahul Gandhi was in the third person - with facts and anecdotes, mostly indisputable. He accepted responsibility for 1984 and had a mild demeanour through the tete-a-tete with a fairly aggressive interviewer. All in all, he was a gentleman. But gentlemanly conduct does not take you to the Lok Sabha. Votes do. In spite of his fine but uninspirational conduct throughout the election season - he had to contend with the baggage of incumbency,graft, nepotism and a brother in law.

Mr. Kejriwal was never really a contender. While his clean image has helped him inspire the urban middle class, his abdication of the throne in Delhi reminded me of the "historic blunder" of the Left in declining a lead role a few decades ago. Both shied away because they realized they could not, or would not, get their way in a coalition. The failure to navigate an unclear mandate was theirs, not of the people who gave them the opportunity to lead.

Modi's story is a fascinating case study in political ascendancy. Deeply rooted in RSS ideology, helped by a famous mentor who he would later discard,barely tainted by an infamous pogrom and management skills sharpened while running a state known for its entrepreneural people. Propelled by an admiring fourth estate, and a vocal middle class who saw in him a ticket to upward mobility, the juggernaut of the Chaiwallah has gone from strength to strength. Modi has electrified those you are likely to talk to.

In electing Modi to the throne however, India would be putting economics over humanity. Let me qualify that further. In electing Modi - the majority would be putting trickle down economics over the need to perfect a fractured union. The same nation, whose inspirational birth was based on secular and inclusive values - would suspend those intangibles for now. Maybe those intangibles do not mean much to the majority anyways. As a people, inspite of all we have achieved since our birth, we continue to fail miserably everyday in treating our fellow citizens with respect and discharge the social contract. Caste, religion, social class continue to divide us. Inexplicably those who apparently have had the privilege of getting an "education" are often culpable. We are willing to bend the rules in our daily life, push a little "speed money" to expedite their interests, sometimes refusing rent apartments to people who eat meat, or the meat of a different animal. Our toilets are cleaned by people we hire but do not touch, and our maids and drivers underpaid and treated with disdain even when they do twelve hour days. We raise our voices when a diplomat is strip searched for conducting a crime, but we are unafraid to strip a woman in the public square for sleeping with someone of a different caste. We celebrate the number of mobile phones we have, while more than half of the country defecates in the open. The legislators we choose to write our laws have far too many transgressions in criminal law of their own.

Narendra Modi and Amit Shah personify who we are, and in choosing them to represent us we are choosing one of our own. They are a manifestation of the imperfections already in us, warts and all, as their favourite Swami would say. That is the triumph and tragedy of our democracy.

He was not my candidate, but I accept him as my Prime Minister. Until I change, and I can change you.

RumBhakt's Road Rage

अनगिनत रास्ते है, और मंज़िल भी होगा कहीं
चल पड़े हो जब, ढूंडनेय से डरना नहीं
अंजाने राहों में अपने और मुसाफिरो का दोस्ताना
मिलना तो सब से है पर खुदको पहले पहचाना?

Rum-maging for images

All images here are presented exactly as captured on the Canon 7D Sensor, without any post processing.


Reflected Glory


Strings and Chrome


Darkly Red


Lens Banned


Close of Business


Hydrocarbons and Silicon

Sach is India

Aarique is five years old. He is an American born son of Indian born parents, both computer scientists living in Silicon Valley. His family is living the American dream but maintains a close connection to India. They make the annual trip when the grandson gets to see the grandparents, and the parents renew their core affiliations to the place they come from. Aarique loves these trips, where he is lavished with unqualified love and affection - something only a child knows instinctively. He is also bewildered by the sights, sounds and tastes during these trips, often wondering why there are so many people on the roads, and why the grandparents subscribe to two different daily newspapers (his parents dont get a printed paper anymore at home). On his trips to the local McDonald's, his sparkling eyes scans the menu in vain for his favorite cheeseburger. Although he finds the substitute, the McMaharaja - quite delectable. He often wonders why the children have to play cricket on the narrow streets instead of parks, and how their parents are OK with them on those busy streets shared with many others, rickshaws, trucks and the occasional animal. All in all, he remains fascinated. And for some reason, his eyes swell up when they say their goodbyes at the airport.

We know, and I know Aarique's parents know, to recognize and celebrate these differences in the world he will grow up to. A world which is disrupting the traditional identities western and eastern, industrialized and spiritual, democratic and autocratic at breakneck speeds. And in doing so, enabling a grand confluence of cuisine, culture, corporations and consumers. A world that appears to look much more colorful from the outside when there is diversity, but appears to move along more efficiently when there is uniformity. As large numbers of Indians in India increasingly emulate western traditional and societal moorings, one wonders what could be the essential Indian story we should have for Aarique. His parents grew up to the role models of wise kings and honorable princes immortalized in the Amar Chitra Katha comic books, complemented with a healthy dose of patriotism told through the life of those who fought to free a nation. These stories do not evoke the same wonder with Aarique, as he draws a playful trajectory of Angry Birds on his smartphone.

What is therefore the idea of India, or Indian-ness, that we should thrust forth into the new world where Aarique's generation will thrive?

Is there something at all? India is no more than a loosely defined conglomerate of princely states drawn together on a political map for matters of governance. What is the one motif for the concept of India as a people, her aspirations and thoughts, something deriving from where they come from yet not entirely defined by that alone. Something that Aarique would understand, and could proudly claim to be what his parents grew up to before his time, yet something that would stand the test of time in his new world order. In the part of the world Aarique now lives, India is imagined as the place churning out thousands of computer engineers, or hundreds of Bollywood song and dance sequences or tens of spiritual dimensions and traditions. These are the popular and often the easiest lenses to see modern India, but none of them are particularly likely to impress a five year old used to seeing the heroism of the lone warrior who has great power, and who is equally up to the great responsibility it comes with.

The task of finding a modern hero of the Indus valley civilization has its own perils, the least of which is the fact that the great river is not even in India as we know it today. Because the hero has to stand for more than the nation, at once personifying not only geography, but also the guiding philosophy of the Indus, the history of the ancient land stretching eastward to the Brahmaputra while integrating the resurgent sounds of a new flattened world unveiling in the swanky campuses of Bangalore. It could not be Vivekananda, for his oratory while powerful is too steeped in the mystic. Gandhi is more known, and although his humanity endures - the frail man's strong philosophy is better understood with age. We must look for someone with gladiatorial command to inspire a young mind, with the violence of Roman arena perhaps substituted with the might of a languid Indus.

Perhaps Sachin Tendulkar could be that icon, for modern India has produced few heroes who strode as he has . In his representations to the world, playing for India, but often representing the best in the people of Indus, he has singlehandedly changed the face of imperial sport of cricket since he was just a kid. Too many sporting icons have fallen from the high pedestal recently, for indiscretions of their personal lives or of bad choices in their professional pelotons. Tiger Woods is still a great golfer and nothing can take away what Lance has done for cancer, but Sachin's unblemished life story does offer hope of finding heroes in this noisy age. Operating under the intense glare of media, fans, statisticians, pundits - at once a gifted cricketer and a national treasure, the complex art and science of cricket has manifested in this diminutive hero. He is not revered because he is a great teacher, but because he is still a student. He is not loved because he has set very high standards, but because he exceeds them most of the time. His cherubic face has changed with the changing face of India, the exuberance of the lofted shots have been grounded as the nation has dug in to chart a future for an emerging nation.

Aarique will be visiting Mumbai this year to see the innumerable cricketing greens in Shivaji park where many his age are building a billion futures. Here is to hoping that he finds something there, something valuable that stays with him long after he has left that dusty place behind. Such is the face of the nation, Sach is India.

Give her a Gun

How a modern society manages its own aberrations is often a function of a number of complex variables, but management is rarely questioned unless in times of visible and often tragic aberrations. In those times, many in those societies often raise their voices to stimulate discussion and offer solutions to avoid future aberrations, but the underlying complexity often undermine the chances of success in the short term.

As the year draws to a close, the two biggest democratic societies on the planet have been rocked by aberrations. In the United States, by the senseless slaughter of many schoolchildren by a mentally unstable man with a powerful weapon. And in India, with the brutal violation of a woman going about her daily life in the capital city. Both instances provoked strong outrage, and many pundits emerged to start discussing ways to avoid such future tragedies. No executable solution has emerged, and it is unlikely that any quick fixes are possible. This writer is guilty of the same impulse to offer easy fixes.

In the United States, solutions suggested have ranged all the way from stripping the constitutional rights of all citizens to own any guns to the ideas suggesting that arming the victims could have led to less tragic outcomes. A spirited debate is underway, now with the President involved to find an “American” solution – whereby reasonable people may continue to own guns while maniacs are kept away from them. The jury is still out, however, on what types of reasonable guns could be given to those deemed to be reasonable people. While the majority in society were on the side of less gun control prior to the most recent tragedy, it remains to be seen whether the changes some detect in public opinion following the aberration have any permanence. There are some things fundamental to the American ethos and world view, and gun ownership has remained one of those things. Shooting events are common in America ,and so is per capita gun ownership, so this shooting event wasn't a statistical aberration. But comparisons of gun related body counts in the US to the rest of the rich world’s societies, in absolute terms, reveal stark aberrations.

In India, the upwardly mobile urban youth has said, tweeted, posted, suggested quite a lot - especially in cyberspace. Human rights activists, media, students, politicians, career bloggers and NRIs have taken to the streets and their Facebook walls with a lot of words, passion and ideas – ranging along the spectrum of stronger legislation to barbaric instant justice that mutilates the rapists. The complex interplay of inequality, gender ratios, gender roles and criminal impulses of a few have contributed to what happened, possibly undeterred by the inability of a fiscally starved, hurtfully inefficient and bureaucratic set of institutions. A reasonable set of laws to deter crimes such as rape appear do exist on paper, but are incredibly unable to bring justice to those who deserve it simply because the apparatus required to do so does not exist. The way society handles the victim in the aftermath , how it polices the incident and then ultimately how it prosecutes through the criminal justice system is often more criminal than the act. This may partly explain why so many of these acts go unreported in the first place. These failures are not all failures of governance and bureaucracy, although they too are certainly failing, but also a failure of society to better manage its own affairs. It is a resource problem in providing enough people, systems and processes to police crime, assure dignity and dispense justice. Very bluntly put, society has failed more in not having supported these institutions to be in a position to take action. One could argue that this support and respect should be earned, but then again it’s a vicious circle of debate that does not solve the issue at hand. This event was also a statistical aberration, in that the criminals were not known to the victim, whereas most rapes in India are committed by acquaintances.

The second amendment of the American constitution was put in place to arm the citizen militia, should it ever have to rise to defend against the forces of tyranny. It is time for an amendment to the Indian constitution to provision guns for her women citizens as they emerge from the shadows of ancient domination. Because society is unable to prevent this tyranny. And very rarely is it willing to take notice. Let New Delhi show the way now.

(And since we were talking statistics :
http://www.thehindu.com/opinion/op-ed/executing-the-neighbour/article4218247.ece)

The Minister vs. Free Speech

We regularly lay claim to the elevated ideals of free speech in the public domain, celebrate debate and discourse as a core cultural anchor of the Indus valley civilization. Yet, six decades after we our famous tryst with destiny - we have failed in large measure to defend these mighty ideals every time they have been threatened. A nation of a billion people, thousands of politicians, hundreds of languages, tens of languages and a place of worship for all four major world religions could find this hard to do, but should not find it hard to aspire for. And fight for.

What is happening in West Bengal is alarming, but it is only a reflection of the dangers of populism, and a result of our choices. As the ecstatic celebration of "Change" was starting to wind down, the worrying underbelly of a newly elected leadership started to show. With strictures on what news sources public libraries should use, school curriculum changes to remove specific historical figures, harassing political opponents and stifling harmless political satire - Mamata Banerjee is doing a huge disservice to her own goals and the electorate's expectations. She must understand the difference between being a popular leader of the masses and running a government. The former requires inspiration, whereas the latter is largely a matter perspiration and general management. Carrying over inspirational gimmicks into the business of governing smacks of desperation and insecurity, often indicating arrival but uncertainty over ones place at the scene.

Free speech in India has often found itself directly on the cross hairs of populism, and Mamata's recent actions while deplorable, are symptomatic of a broader weakness in our public life. Weaknesses beget attack, and populism often catalyzes attacks based on divisive ideas of faith, ideology and diversity. Populism has prevented books from being read apparently because the text could have dismantled the religious structure that had stood steadfast for thousands of years. Artists have been prevented from creative expression, deemed prurient for public consumption by religious zealots who were certainly not versed in cubism or objective criticism. As Rushdie was disbarred from entry by the mullahs, while Hussain was shown the exit door by Pandits - the world laughed while nation denied citizens the artistic genius of her own sons. We have been complicit in these infractions over the years, often through silence. Hussain's depiction of a naked goddess on canvas was not taking it too far, and the atheistic writer had the right to mock a divine prophet. No different than the right of a gentle professor to share a cartoon of the minister. Once you build a wall around is allowed to be read or seen or thought or said, the maze of walls do not take too long. Erecting walls have always been easier than creating windows to let the light in.

The intelligentsia should raise its voice, but must do so with the awareness that sound bytes quickly stale with the 24x7 hour news cycle - while the pursuit of free speech must be relentless. As a society we have rarely measured ourselves with these yardsticks, and have frequently been found wanting. It is only too easy to claim allegiance to the lofty ideals of free speech, when you agree with what is being said. Only when we are able to defend the right of a disagreeable position to exist and challenge our notions and our preferences - we measure up.

Animals fight when they disagree. Humans invented free speech to avoid loss of limb over disagreements. But it can only be free if you fight for it. Disagree?

And while on the subject, here is movie recommendation.
The People vs. Larry Flynt, 1996. A pivotal point is captured in this clip:
http://youtu.be/Z0X3T6-K22o

The Oil conundrum - India, Iran, Israel and the USA

Lets solve this together for S.M. Krishna.

Facts:
1. America is mad at Iran, and what the Iranians are doing with Atoms
2. Israel is threatened by Iran
3. America and Israel are friends
4. America, Iran have significant oil reserves
5. India is largely an importer of oil,hence,
6. India buys a whole lot of barrels from Iran to grow
7. India and Iran collaborate in Afghanistan, keeps Pakistan at Bay
8. Israel and America have strong internal and external security systems
9. The Chinese own America, dis-own free speech and don't like the Indians
10. Atoms are Atoms everywhere, fusioning and fissioning as directed irrespective of georgraphy

Problem:
India wants to make its mark in the world, emerge from "emerging" status, cement its friendship with America, use Israeli technology. And use oil to compete with the Chinese. But the Americans and Israelis, and the Israelis in America - don't like the fact that the Indians are buying Irani oil. Thus diluting the effect of anti-Iran sanctions. The Indians need American/Israeli Friendship - and can't really take a public anti-Iran posture due to energy and security. What a conundrum?

Please help the foreign minister.

One for the Road

I often wonder why I -
We are here. Must have been some grand design.
Or Maybe just an accident.

The kindness of strangers, makes me think it was not
- an accident.
And I am here to be humbly kind to others,
when we travel on this road.

I often wonder why we
travel, and why there is a road.
Maybe because roads inspire new journeys.

The experiences of the journeys is all there is,
And I am here to make this journey, as others who come after will.
Maybe they will find the flowers.
Blooming on the plants we protected during the storm

I often wonder why we
think we need a legacy.
Maybe its most beautiful when we leave no trace,
legacies stain the pristine.

We live once, believing we are special,
And want to be remembered for our rebellions.
Some insignificant, some - hardly rebellions,
Seeking acknowledgement as rebels.

I often wonder if I remembered to acknowledge.
Them and me. And if there is more of me to know.
Maybe some discoveries must remain unmade.

The discoveries of the road, the journeys,
and failed rebellions and elusive legacies
- often feel inadequate.
I wonder why.

Maybe an adequate discovery of self is what we seek.
Safe travels.

Inconsistency and Magic. Sometimes.

The Indian Cricket team has had a horrid outing this season in Australia. Outbatted, outfielded, outbowled - and thus outplayed by the perfect mercenaries game after game, they rapidly hit rock bottom within a year of winning a coveted prize and becoming the darling of a billion fans. Could you not detect the sense of dejection - in the resignation of their approach, the reports of infighting and the captain's nonchalant ways.

Then, out of the blue - comes an electrifying win where the same bunch of beaten men conjure up magic in a momentous win, and overcome an insurmountable target. One for the ages. As if to jolt us out of our jaded minds, our inertia of giving up on a bunch of humans who practice a skill we have come to value. These men are not gods, although we would like them to be. Some of us were quick to ask for replacements, retirements and rectitude. We burn effigies and often attack their homes, assuming these mortals could conquer their weaknesses every time they face a motivated opposition hammering at the same weakness. When they fail, we are merciless and unforgiving.

And because they are merely human, maybe we need to remind ourselves of their mortality when we celebrate their successes and castigate their failures. Maybe they are right in being a little nonchalant about facing success and failure. Maybe they have come to know themselves better than we think. And maybe they do really want to win every time they don the national jersey, but accept it is merely a sport where there will be losses on the way. Maybe they had paid attention to Rudyard Kipling while we were looking for an ego boosting world domination.

.....If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same; ...

From - "If" By Rudyard Kipling - http://www.kipling.org.uk/poems_if.htm


I am willing to hold out for a few days of magic over the boring consistency of a dominator. I will always remember the old vaccum tube radio carrying wonderful news of an emerging nation in 1983, Dhoni's steely eyes at Mumbai - Circa 2011 and colossal Kohli on Feb 28, 2012.

And on the days magic remains elusive, I will wish for Yuvraj to get better, because he is mortal. As we are.

Movie Review - Aparajita Tumi (In Bengali with Eng. subtitles)

Official Trailer : http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QeMnAMU3rqI

Aparajita Tumi (The Unvanquished) is a complex movie and as such also one with many layers. Layered, not in the way requiring you to peel away one at a time, but instead challenging you to synthesize and enjoy all of them at once. Director Anirudha Roy Choudhury is from the genre of modern makers of Bengali cinema who practice their craft with an eye for the thinking crowd, and this by far is his best attempt in this space. Ultimately, as the name might lead you to believe, this is a film about a wife, mother, lover, daughter – and how a particular set of events initially question but eventually restore her as the unvanquished modern woman.

In a quintessential setting of a Bengali immigrant family in America, replete with the key ingredients in a classic Jhumpa Lahiri book on probasi bengalis – the social gatherings where everyone appears Bengali, loves Ilish mach and fond conversations on Ray and Rabindranath, the framing easily epitomizes the first generation Diaspora experience. The film was shot entirely on location on the west coast of California, aka as the “Bay area” or “Silicon Valley”, where the story is set. Ranajit Palit does a fine job capturing the rugged edges and unforgiving moods along the famous Pacific Coast Highway and in and around the famous city of “Frisco”. But the essence of the film is not restricted, although it is beautifully influenced, by the environment in which the events unfold. The romantic city provides an appropriate backdrop for the moments of carefree connections and meeting again, whereas the ocean provides the moods of a teetering relationship and impending separation. The songs are haunting and lovely, the music appropriate to the build-up, but appeared to overwhelm the visuals sometimes. Too many beautiful things could be distracting, especially if you are middle aged.

The film opens with the betrayed wife, Kuhu, walking out on the marriage and depositing the kids with the parents to get some personal time to gather herself. Always an independent woman, in her thoughts as well as in making choices about her life and love, Kuhu has developed a classic American directness of dealing with things. She is willing to deny herlsef a romantic relationship if it doesn’t assure the stability she seeks, or in telling the “other woman” to get a grip on her thoughts or even in telling her own parents that her marital discord is a her problem she has to sort out on her own. With Padma Priya, we have a Tamilian playing the role of a Bengali girl schooled in America, falling in love with a Muslim Boy from Bangladesh, discussing relationship dramas with a multi-ethnic single mother of three children and an old friend. What confluence of cultures, Tagore would have been happy.

The story unfolds on many fronts. In the immigrant’s dilemma of going back to the people and places left behind, in the longing for the lost days of youthful camaraderie, learning the notes and finding an elusive harmony, and in having to deal with the certainty of death of people we have loved. But the central theme appears to be the “grey” area of relationships, amidst the many societal and some biological pressures on it. The film takes a stance on the subject in the end, after pondering on the fundamentals of how to sustain one comprising of pillars of marriage and offspring, and the question of fidelity of pure companionship versus fidelity in general. This is the where the complexity of the movie lies, and exactly where you have to unravel all the layers at once to find its subliminal message.

(In the spirit of full disclosure, the author claims no authentic knowledge of the subject, and could be biased by insignificant personal involvement in the project. Also in the same spirit, he claims to be objective in his views in spite of subject matter inexpertise and human influences)

Bring it on - civilized violence

Humankind is a violent kind. In every form, factor and form factor - as we rebel against the usual and the unusual. Breaking a rule for fun, changing an established order and or in challenging status quo in the streets of Cairo, we would be nothing if we were not violent.

Thankfully, superior samples of the species have put their violent brains into good use in coming up with sports as a means to avoid mutually assured destruction. We are hence civilized when we challenge our brethren to compete vigorously in play, and share a beer at the end of the day. Sports is a different kind of violence - the kind that endears us to each other. The kind where you want to outcompete and outsweat the opposition with all your strength. It is channel for our restless energies, our alcoholic breaths and our codified minds. Teaching us a life lesson in being able to fight again after you have lost the day.

There is enough violence and aggresion in sports, but there is also an opportunity to make a better human being. In learning to deal with loss, defeat and in learning to trust the collective strength of your team - the grounds of sporting activity are probably the best breeding grounds for future leaders of businesses and nations. It will be an interesting study to see what the contribution of sports has been in shaping leaders. One can assume its significant, and maybe our leadership schools should include a mandatory course in team sports for its entering class. Accounting can come once we have accounted for those who can pick themselves up.

" No games, Just sports" is what NIKE is saying. We do not disagree.

Further reading :
http://www.espncricinfo.com/magazine/content/story/500957.html

A muted cheer

It is good to see a people rising to claim and then win a right to choose their leader. We hope this choice leads to positive change in their way of life and those of their children. This land has been a great cradle of civilization - here is to a new beginning that rings in an uncensored exchange of new learnings and free thought. We also hope that they inspire their neighbours to ask the same questions of their rulers, and demand answers until they get reasonable ones. An idea whose time has come easily brushes aside any contrarian views, and it is inspiring to see the exuberance of youth as the juggernaut moves. Good Show - Egypt.

Yet as I see these winning images and cheer for the moment, the deserted roads of Srinagar appear to ask difficult questions. If there was a similar attempt by the majority population in that part of the world to change who they are governed by, as an Indian citizen would I be celebrating with same cheer? Wouldn't some of the compelling arguments for overthrowing Mubarak apply in the case of Kashmir as well? A long rein of governing a people by clever wording in an accession treaty, with the powerful side choosing not to honour some of its own commitments. The little matter of a plebiscite, or fulfilling the basic needs of human development and free assembly. You could argue state elections are a testament to a functioning democracy. But who are we to judge if that is what people want? Try selling that to the young man on the streets of Sri Nagar who is stopped on his way to college just because he sports a beard. Or consider that Hitler was truly elected by popular vote in a democracy - it is a minor detail that the he was running on the Nazi party ticket. If the people of Kashmir do no want to be governed by New Delhi, it would be no different than the inspirational assertion of self determination in Cairo. How should a "patriot" in Washington DC or Tel Aviv react to a similar protest on the streets of Gaza against the occupation.

So how am I really reacting? With the years, the mind appears to have developed a strange reluctance to arrive at binary answers. Taking a side invariably boxes me in as the details unravel and the motivations of kings and their subjects are revealed. Would have loved be a lot more vocal and convincing when I cheered for the new dawn in Cairo, but I love my country too much. Maybe that love is too exclusive, and I should be "Imagining" a world without countries. Just maybe.

Knowing who you are...and where that off stump is

The years have taken their toll, I ruminated as the brilliant fireworks lit up the chilly skies to usher in a brand new year. Maybe because I have been listening to a lot of Leonard Cohen recently, whose famous lines from the "Tower of Song" have now been etched deep and absorbed without resistance -

"....well my friends are gone and my hair is grey,
I ache in the places where I used to play...".

So it is with some trepidation I welcomed 2011, questioning and examining the years. Mr. Cohen did lift the spirits greatly, as he concluded his epic concerts in sin city (were you surprised that Cohen finishes in Vegas?) with elan. A seventy year old man at his sensual best in engaging millions with humility, magnetic charm and intellectual foreplay does leave some hope of sustenance after all. But then, very few of us spend quality time living and meditating as monks upon a hill top. In the end, it comes down to learning about who you are. Whether you ever wanted to be you - is an entirely different and largely irrelevant matter for this discourse.

The new year brought some insights from that cradle of humankind - Africa. An acknowledged legend who was also learning more about himself and the insecurities of his trade, while an equally talented young turk relatively new to the business was hurling fast moving cherry red projectiles at his off stump. Mostly off stump, as it wasn't quite clear where cricket ended and magic began when Steyn was bowling to Tendulkar last night. The fact that the off stump stood firm after such torrid action was not logical. Two men at the top of their trade where playing a zero sum game, Tendulkar's loss would have been Steyn's gain. During most of this epic battle, Tendulkar was unsure of where he stood, and was reminded that glorious years alone are not enough to see you through - although they might come in handy. And the young bowler was learning more about growing up, for some of your best efforts don't always lead to the most desired results. In the end, both went away wiser, no quarter given - only a grudging respect for outstanding effort.

"...
The ponies run, the girls are young,
The odds are there to beat.
You win a while, and then it´s done -
Your little winning streak.
And summoned now to deal
With your invincible defeat,
You live your life as if it´s real
A thousand kisses deep.
..."

I am going back to school under the banyan tree, the finest malts from the Hebridean Islands of Islay, and to Leonard Cohen. What are your resolutions?

And in case I got you intrigued -

1. On Cricket
www.espncricinfo.com/south-africa-v-india-2010/content/current/story/495388.html

2. The Poem
www.youtube.com/watch?v=L3eSZbIHdRU

3. The Song
www.youtube.com/watch?v=xt_rlHdTYMU

4. Cohen's Tour
www.themillions.com/2010/12/take-this-waltz-leonard-cohen%E2%80%99s-tour-comes-to-an-end.html

5. Roebuck on Tendulkar
www.espncricinfo.com/sachinat20/content/story/434360.html

Oh !! C2H5 - Oh

My love story with the bottle did not begin at an early age. For i did not regale, at the bonnie age of a few months on the planet, at the thought of sipping lactogen. Today's litterateur might not find this name to ring a bell - but in my day this was the concoction that happy parents gave their unhappy progeny from the bottle at all points. I was able to consistently stave off, with mixed success, the continued efforts to fill me up with that foul fluid. I would concede that there were certain disadvantages of my diplomatic position, for i turned to be the weakling in my hood -however what of that when i knew that the bottle would be my calling another day.

Dont exactly recall when the the alcoholic ambrosia overwhelmed my attentions, but i can soundly guess that this was the NBT (next big thing) that had happened to me since the day i had occassion to feed thai chillis to my neighbours goat. Through its amber view i have seen things and experienced feelings hitherto unknown to my soma, and befriended characters that seemed distant and lonely. I had occassion to share a drink on the local train to my In-law's place with an gutsy girthy fruit seller who i shall never meet again for sure - and created memories that i shall forever treasure. Although, i would graciously concede that like all good things that come with their fine print, there are a few minor chinks in the consuming the ethanol with unbridled desire - but again we are mature enough to take the smooth with the rough. And when the smoothness emanates from the gentle brewing of the single malt, one can take a lot of rough in exchange.

But again,dont let me digress. As i was saying, i was introduced early and learned quick using my energies to bootleg the spirit from the hidden corners of household. There was a period when i could not make sense of why it was such a big deal - as gulping down the alcohol from my dad's bar did not really leave me with feeling that was especially nice. Moral has to count for something, at some point.

As another year draws to a close, and a dramatic one at that, reflections seem to seep into the drink i sit nursing by the crackling fireplace. No matter what they say, drink not to get away from but to get into.

Here is to getting away and into imprecision and good conversation in the flickering light. Cheers

Motorcylce diaries

There is a whiff of positive energy in the economic indicators, and because my chinese brethren are starting to reconsume the fluid - the gas prices are up. Now that can never be a good thing for the meagre finances of third worldly household residing in the first worldly climes of silicon valley. Now one cant be bogged down by these travails of the new world order, so i bought myself a new motorcyle. The executive of the household signed off once it was assured that the risks of aforesaid decision had a been secured with a nice accidental death cover. Fair argument, I say - whoever said womankind was not reasonable was lying.

Returning to the subject of combustion engines, one has to do one's bit to reduce our carbon footprints. And Two wheels are better than four, although numerically four is greater than two in classical math (which makes me wonder, is there another kind?).

The machine looked mean and shiny when it arrived, as all new fascinations should be. Chrome in no small measure, and appealing to the chromosome that had been dormant awhile. So i jumped on the saddle, put on my riding boots and ignited the cylinders from TDC. RumBhakt roared into to the roads of perdition.

Well almost. Two ribs and clavicle didnt agree in a minor incident shortly thereafter. I am back to being wise again. But the fire burns.

366

I have never believed in looking back. Not because I could lay claim to not having made any serious errors in judgement over the years, but precisely because. Wounds will take time to heal, and we have often travelled too far down the other road. Who I was and how I saw things then would have hardly led me to a different direction, and very few things could have been done differently. Regrets take away valuable time. Where we stand is a sum total of our decisions, some good and a few bad.

Yet, after having downed a few stiff ones since the evening, i feel a sudden impulse to look back over the year that was. Would I have the heart to face everything that 2008 brought along, or would i forego everything i witnessed over the year in exchange for an unknown list of 2009 offerings. Given the power to permanently wipe out all the good and the many bad things in the year, that changed the way we live, love and lead - would i exercise that option?

The coverflow of "Images 2008" appears expansive, as i try to compress the three hundred and sixty six days. In closing the calendar and springing forth a brand new set of three hundred and sixty five , point two five - i struggle to put the year in a box. Where do I start, in the knowledge that the question of the end game is probably premature.

A year of Mega losses for the many in the glitzy world of complex financial instruments, credit default swaps and intrigueing instruments involving the second integral. Lost hopes and shattered dreams for thousands - with the gloom hiting home with family and friends. On the other hand, a year that closed with new hope for a few billion people who were yet again able to put food on the table for their malnourished children. Nothing in the world is absolute, they say - and somewhere it does seem like a zero sum game.

A year of an emerging dragon in another part of the world. In cleaning up the Bejing haze, almost as if by prevailing over mother nature, and in showcasing a blitzkreig -China announced to the world that impossible is nothing. Long before Obama popularized the now iconic "Yes we can", a sleeping dragon and a billion people had executed on the promise. A lanky american created history at the same event, swimming to a glorious victory of humankind over the other element of nature. There are six billion of us, and there are about six millions ways viewpoints to account for. But it is truly beautiful to see the unanmimous applause for the purity of the human spirit, and in celebration of six glittering medals.

But alas,the human drama played out beyond the sports stadium and took its toll. In the streets of Georgia, Gaza, Guantanamo and Mumbai - as human life was reduced to a mere bystander in a dramatic dance of isms, ideals and talking points. Beamed live to a different set of people who flipped their universal remotes to a different channel and tucked their children to bed, only hoping for a better tomorrow. Also hoping that someone else was going to ensure tomorrow is indeed, better.

The restlessness of youth took on the old guard and defied odds in the Americas , and a smart daughter of a martyred general takes charge in Bangladesh. That poor nation of hungry people unseated those that stood for fanaticizing their faith. Dont pray in my school, and i won't think in your church.

Years from now, i will remember exactly where i was when the young man spoke in a park in Chicago, and when a thousand men beat their drums to a rousing crescendo as the world watched in awe.

Some good men left us, but better men may have been born. Dont give up yet, go change the world - and you will see it changing for you. It may be better, or worse, but it will never be the same.

Happy New Year.

When i am gone....

When I am gone, don't cry for me O Father
For there were moments when i doubted if your love
and affection was unconditional

When I am gone, don't cry for me unborn Child
Because i did not bring you into this beautiful world - I was weak and
feared if you would be looked after with the same fondness

When I am gone, don't cry for me sweet Lover
When i doubted if Love alone was going to be enough
to see us through a lifetime - and did not hold your hand

When I am gone, don't cry for me dear friend
I was hiding in your hour of need - I know you forgave me,
but i never did.

When I am gone, don't play for me wild Musician
For not understanding the language of the notes, you had
wanted me to listen to your heart as you played

When I am gone,dont cry for me - O ticking clock
Should have known that you couldnt wait for me
Should have remembered that i was going to pass this way but once

When I am gone, don't cry for me - deep blue Ocean
For leaving at sunset as the night set in. Vastness did not need seeing, but feeling, your presence permeated the darkness

When I am done, don't cry for me beloved earth
For listening to those busy drawing those lines,states and nations
- i clung to my gun when you were smiles away

When I am gone, don't cry for me spartan enemy
After the battle was won, i did not stop to think why you had given it your all.
And for not saying sorry to those lifeless but determined eyes.

When I am gone, don't cry for me fellow traveller
The road I took was less travelled, not one never travelled.

When I am gone, don't cry. You remain wonderful

Related link:
http://web.cn.edu/kwheeler/epitaphs.html

A poem

I thought of reproducing a poem that touched a chord this morning.


Nothing Is Lost

Deep in our sub-conscious, we are told
Lie all our memories, lie all the notes
Of all the music we have ever heard
And all the phrases those we loved have spoken,
Sorrows and losses time has since consoled,
Family jokes, out-moded anecdotes
Each sentimental souvenir and token
Everything seen, experienced, each word
Addressed to us in infancy, before
Before we could even know or understand
The implications of our wonderland.
There they all are, the legendary lies
The birthday treats, the sights, the sounds, the tears
Forgotten debris of forgotten years
Waiting to be recalled, waiting to rise
Before our world dissolves before our eyes
Waiting for some small, intimate reminder,
A word, a tune, a known familiar scent
An echo from the past when, innocent
We looked upon the present with delight
And doubted not the future would be kinder
And never knew the loneliness of night.

"Nothing Is Lost" by Noel Coward, from Noel Coward Collected Verse. © Methuen Publishing, Ltd., 2000

Live strong

(Loosely based on his autobiographical books)

Two different human challenges and a common human stain running through both of them.

The first challenge, with fifteen million people along a journey spanning three weeks, covering mountains and riding into the rain. A simple objective, to cover a distance three thousand miles distance as quickly as possible – and still be alive at the end. It is an event that has endured for about a hundred years now that was started by a crazy Frenchman trying to outsell his competitor’s newspaper circulation. A place where your current standing is measured by the color of your jersey. Yes, I am referring to the Tour de France and the name Lance Armstrong. The latter has also come to become very familiar in the renaissance villas of the French countryside.

The second challenge also has a human element but in a more tragic sort of a way. It is also about a competition, to outlive and to out manouevuer a very real human condition. It is the dreaded C word – CANCER and it now affects a few million lives every year. There is almost an uncanny similarly between the tour and the disease – you go through stages in both of these thinking that it might be your last. You see your fellow competitors and fellow patients that drop out of the race or the fight. Lance Armstrong features in this challenge too – and is also a very familiar name in the corridors of the cancer wards in hospitals across the country.

Growing up in a faraway land, one of the first Americans I had heard about was another Armstrong,the man from Ohio who conquered the moon. Cycling has never been my thing, so it was not until recently that I came across this other Armstrong,and started learning about the man. The more I learned, the more I marveled at his story.

One day in 1996, in the prime of his youth,he coughed up blood and was diagnosed with cancer. It was already in an advanced stage and had spread into other parts of his body including the lungs and the brains – the doctors gave him a 50-50 chance of survival. In a matter of days he was in a hospital bed getting brain surgery and starting with an aggressive chemotherapy regimen. He was to take four months of chemo causing him to lose weight, hair, eyelashes and eyebrows besides his strength. Within a matter of weeks, one of his biggest sponsors decided to terminate his contract as their brand would not have anything to do with sporting icon who could merely walk. His career appeared to have had ended. He was not a superstar anymore, he was merely one of many that fighting for life. Cycling would come later.

His memoirs say that he learned a few things about himself during the time. The importance of love, friends and family. The joy of having a good day where a good day is where you don’t want to vomit. Of learning about children and kids with no eyelashes and shaven heads, yet happy and oblivious to their dreaded affliction. Of learning that you could lose your ability to be parents by getting a single vial of drug in your bloodstream. Of having to deal with a body that appears to be giving up and fighting at the same time. The days you are feeling sick – you are actually getting better. Of the need to treasure every moment, every day that you are alive.

He completed treatment went home with a hope that his cancer would not return. Cycling was his life and he wanted to get back to it - however being able to cycle again in his condition was unheard of. He was still going through the pangs of surviving cancer – of deciding whether his priority was to spend the rest of his life on the wheels. So he set about rebuilding from scratch. He trained for a while and showed up in some races here and there in 1998. His race results were not initially promising and it was unclear whether he had in him. So he dropped out of the tour in 1998 and went back to train in the mountains, alone. The same mountains that he had led his peloton in his pre- cancer days, only that it was to very different this time. He had matured as a person in his sense of harmony with himself and his aggression was less overt. Sometimes it helps to be an underdog instead of the star. And one day, during one of those 7-hour training days, he felt his rhythm coming back.

There has been no looking back since. He then went on to win the Tour de France in 1999 as a part of the USPS team and went on to continue his winning spree without precedent. If scripted in Hollywood, the story would be dismissed as melodrama: a deadly disease affecting a promising athlete. Despite desperately thin odds, he manages not only to beat the illness but also to emerge more powerful and return to the sport to win the top prize. Unbelievable, except that in this case it was true. He says that cancer is the most important thing that happened to him.

It is in rising from the ashes that defines character. It is in being afraid and then conquering the fear that you get a footing. I have lost loved ones to cancer and look forward to the day when they will find a cure for this defining challenge of our times. Unfortunately, until that time – no matter how hard we try – we will have to deal with the C word in friends, family and people we love and care about. It will never be easy to deal with such scenarios, but if you ever need something to hold on to – remind yourself of the amazing story of this Texan who battled it out in the piercing cold rain of the grey French mountains. And how he defied the odds.

Take Courage and Take Care.

Related link:
http://www.livestrong.org

A time of celebration

(Originally written in the autumn of 2005)

Driving on Pacific Coast Highway–Route 1, the most scenic of roads in the United States, this time of the year – you are bound to notice the explosion of orange on the green farms. This, in preparation for the famous Half Moon bay Pumpkin festival. It is also the time that some residents of the Bay area, originally from half way around the world, look forward to a different kind of festival – Durga Puja. The quintessential Bengali obsession of celebrating the Puja is as strong here as any other place in the world.

The greater Bay area is where you would find the Golden Gate Bridge and Gay movement, the highest concentration of computer geeks anywhere in the world and the a treasured collection of Ray's original films at the University of California at Santa Cruz. A sizeable number of Bengalis call this place home, living out the American Dream in this hotbed of technology, freedom and creative thought.

At the time of writing, most resident Bengalis are likely to show up at one of the four Durga Pujas in the area. Four Pujas, you might wonder – and ascribe it to the infamous Bengali inability not to get along in a team. There is an upside to this apparent discord, in the options available to the pandal hoppers (and believe me, we do have the kind here too). So if you are booked with your daughter's soccer practice (all the girls appear to play soccer nowadays) on this Saturday and will not be able to make the anjali - try the one at Prabasi's next Saturday. And if you are musically inclined, and simply cannot take profusion of the Bangla band music that is taking over the scene – don’t go to the Chandrabindoo concert this Sunday and try the Bollywood night at Sanskrit’s next Sunday.

One of the contentious issues between the groups is the issue of timing - the "Panjees" were not really written keeping time zones and datelines in mind. So if "Shosti" happens to be at 4 PM Wednesday according to the Indian time – how do you do it living in the pacific time zone where it is 03:30 AM Tuesday night. Some have solved the problem by scheduling the Puja over the two days of that great American getaway - the "Weekend". Keep in mind that the great G.W Bush has not declared a "Dashami'r chooti" yet, but we are told that some enterprising ones are working on the maniac. Others claiming to be sticklers of tradition are actually accounting for the time differences and organizing their offerings on the actual calendar days prescribed by that great book (the Panjee - if you missed my train of thought).

Most other things though, remain the same.

You have the untiring organizers - putting in the hours to acquire the idols, stage decoration and management, sending the email invitations out, hounding the Indian grocers for sponsorship funds, and working up a grand crescendo of dhonoochi nach the end. The majority though are the numerous pandalhoppers – who show up on almost all days at all four locations hoping to catch a glimpse of the goddess, the gliteratti and the Junta. Some come for Anjali, some to support a friend that is performing – while some with the hope of to find friends that may be in the area. It is also the few times in the year when the women would show off their finest “Taant” – making sure that they are not seen to be wearing the same one at two different pandals. The metrosexual Bengali man has now taken after the Hrithik’s, or our own Rituporno – and is often seen sporting the long version of the Panjanbee with the “Chooni” thrown in. And in keeping with the other indomitable spirit of “adda” – continues to wax eloquence on the need to invest in the real estate in Rajarhat despite the fact that the only real estate the dude may have known is his inheritance in New Alipore.

Over the free khichuri for lunch, reminiscing with an old friend about how nice it was to drive through the VIP road before Salt Lake happened, slamming the leftist government back home, sitting through another rendition of “Chitrangada” and falling in love with Tagore all over again – Durga Puja continues to enthrall another generation of Bengalis far away from home.

Related Link:
http://prabasi.org/Main/www_prabasi_org.html

The problem with Chicken Tikka Masala and Bollywood

The problem with Chicken Tikka Masala and Bollywood is they are doing a fine job of misrepresenting what Indians eat and how Indians live and love.

Silicon Valley,California has more Indian eateries per square mile than Calcutta,India. All of these serve up a standard fare of curries that are uniformly red, hot and spicy. Many of the customers at these places are of Indian origin, and many others who are not - are continuing their exploration of culinary delights of the subcontinent. The Tikka Masala, has come to represent Indian cuisine to a sizeable chunk of these customers. Bring up the subject of Indian food, they are quick to express their love for Tikka Masala and Tandoori. No wonder that Tandoori was tomtomed to be the national entree of the English people in a recent survey on the island.

Now i come from a part of the India where nobody was eating Chicken Tikka Masala until twenty years ago. Twenty years later, the only people partaking of its delights are still marginal in comparison to the folks that are not. My grandpa, and this is true, never picked up a CTM on his way back from work at his day job in the East India company.

Bengalis do not eat CTM at home. They do not sing and dance around trees either, as Bollywood would lead you to believe. Neither do Tamilians and Gujaratis and Telegus. I can vouch for that.

Curry was and is an integral part of the cuisine, but a mild and flat fish curry that was never as colourful. We would listen to music, but of the genre whose inflections did not require gyrations of the pelvis. I wrote my first love letter in english, and was reprimanded by the elders for the mere expression of love in the handwritten letter. I shudder to think what would have happened had i decided to employ my oustanding skills on tree-dancing. As a point of clarification - this particular dance form has no relation to pole dancing, tree dancing was entirely invented in Bollywood and involves lovelorn characters running around huge barks. Never in my travels through the country, have i seen young boys and girls dancing in,on or under trains, roads and waterfalls. While in almost every Bollywood movie with a Boy-meets-Girl storyline, this is a recurring visual - with the female curves accentuated by glamorous and ornate dresses.

The true window into a society is through its popular culture and cuisine. There truly isn't any one thing called the Indian cuisine (see map above). Note that the map shows state of Kashmir in its entirety, for i am patriotic beef eating Indian.

Maybe art is not supposed to reflect the realities of life, and since film is an art form, Bollywood is free to choose what it wants to depict. Its just that it creates the perception disconnect, popular culture and mood may not be the best face of a nation. The masses had also wanted a certain Adolf many years ago.

Meanwhile, i will continue to defend the position that the land of CTM and Bollywood is not the land you have come to love or hate as India. Er, what land .....?

Related Link
http://www.cafedhaka.com/

Democracy is puzzling

Now that does not boggle the mind, does it.

Hear me out, my drunken brother, and ignore the vagaries of the EVM malfunction or the exercise of suffrage for a second. Lets talk about where we are truly taking ourselves in the exercise of that sacred right of universal adult franchise.

Given that democracy is about the rule of the majority, its true resiliency is measure by the rights of the minority. Its hallowed pillars are further strenghthened when the majority elect a minority to represent their best interests. You know a Benazir Bhutto, a woman who was elected prime minister in a country that was largely on the Islamic right. You know a Manmohan Singh, a Sikh prime minister, in a society that is seeing a rejuvenation of Hindu jingoism. In the recent past, you have read about Yuliya Tymoshenko in Ukraine too. All minorities in their respective rights, being chosen to lead a larger majority. Fairly, unequivocally and without a call to any of primitive human urges to go to war or annihilate a common enemy.

America, on the other hand, continues to amaze. It has made tall claims to be the best democracy, and rightly so in almost all cases. But what about minority representation in political leadership. Why have we been unsucessful in choosing a president from one of the minority segments of colour, sex or race? Even more intriguing is the relative sucess of minorities business life, with women leading many in the Fortune 500 list. The effect has simply not percolated to the fabric of political life and psyche. We have had an occasional Rice or a Powell, but they were not elected positions.

If corporate america can choose to have minority leaders at the helm, making decisions about their lives, the EPS and what products they consume - whats different in the political spectrum?
Why has the presidency been an exclusive domain of the white man in the United States, and third world nations with closed and impoverished demographies continue to elect minority leaders in a whim. The brits put a Thatcher in residence at Downing street, the point is conceded with the tenant list in the White house. It would be rather naive to argue that competent leaders have failed to emerge from the minority.

Will it be different this time? Will America make a point just to dispel any doubts on the fundamentals of its institutions. Are we mature enough as a people to let go and let the weaker individual show the way?

Obama or Clinton, that don't matter. The politics is unimportant.

Related Link
http://usinfo.state.gov/products/pubs/whatsdem/whatdm8.htm

A Binary Life, or is it really ?

Many years ago, i created software code in assembly language. This is the language of the Computer, and has a dictionary of two words. Yes, two words exactly. Its either a zero or a one, you are either a High or a Low, you are ON or you are OFF - you, in short, ARE or you ARE NOT.

Very Black and White, you could say.

You could never be in-between or in the grey zone. The Computing machine resembles another institution of our time in that regard, the great George Dubya of the promised land. Oneday he ordained from the house of elected representatives, that the world was either with him or against him. I have often wondered if he was ever an assembly language programmer, and whether his code had subroutines and detailed comments, and was easily outsourceable. Turns out that he got quite a few run time errors. But i digress.

The question that i am seeking the answer for is this : What would the world be like if all answers to questions were a Yes or a NO? What if there were no grey? Would it be a better place after all?

After many years of deep thought employing the services of grey matter - i have come to conclude that grey is not a good thing. Greenspan-speak is confusing, period. The housing market is doomed, the bubble will burst and Feds will fudge with the financials - these are undeniable facts of modern life. The world is hurtling along the wrong freeway because we are finding too many shades of grey in the signposts. Men and women in power (i included the fairer sex not because i am a sexist, but a feminist in full measure) are providing too many ambiguous answers instead of zeros or ones. Their leadership is grey and not strong and reflective of their convictions, which as my psychonanalysts friends tell me - are almost unfailingly binary. They have concluded already, but the pronouncements are not conclusive. Life is truly a zero sum game, where the resources are limited and the wants aren't, and conflict resolves to a win for one side - no matter if you put a glossy shrink wrap on the consolation prize. Captilalism was not founded on symbiotic relationships, for Marx's sake.

You live(One or you don't live(Zero), philistines can claim you may simply exist(Grey). You are right or you are wrong, philistines can claim that you weren't entirely correct. True, the context can colour the size of the one or the zero, but after you have made adjustments for all things and considered all perspectives - you have to come to terms to what it really was. One or a Zero. If you can't read, or are not an assembly language programmer, it is still a One or a Zero.

Life would be monchromatic in black and white, your colourful side might argue. But you would have brightness and black holes - instead of a dull grey signposts. Its a different matter altogether that you, as I - in full control of our respective faculties would gravitate towards them black holes. That would be keeping in line with our exploratory instincts, and of choosing the road less travelled. As we perish in that black hole, we would atleast be happy in the knowledge of having made an informed choice.

The President was right. I am with Him. Are you NOT?

Related link:
http://www.arl.wustl.edu/~lockwood/class/cs306/books/artofasm/toc.html
http://archives.cnn.com/2001/US/11/06/gen.attack.on.terror/

Making amends

Driving through the interstate on the way to work is the personal time of my day. I-280 is beautiful in the early morning, you see the fleeting remnants of the hallowed Frisco fog being burned down by the sun in the back drop of the golden california hills. I am also usually tuned in to the local public radio station during this twenty minute drive - for my daily update on what is going on with the wide world. It is also a time for assimilation and contextualizing, as i listen to who is perpetuating what under the glaring Iraqi sun in another part of the planet. And catching up on the lunch menu in the San Francisco unified school district.

Today, amidst all this news of mindlessness, there was mention of a statute that had been passed without much ado. It is called the Rosa Parks act and it provides for pardon for all convicted of violating a law used to maintain or enforce racial segregation. Rosa Parks had been convicted decades ago of refusing to give up her seat on a bus reserved for whites and was a spark that ignited a whole generation of civil rights activists. My grasp of american history is weak, and a lot of you may have a lot more on this story - but this simple piece of news touched a chord. I came to work and started looking up a little more on the subject in the major networks, but alas - the story had been under the radar for most of the major media conglomerates.

It is significant to note that Rosa Parks passed away last year, and this act will be used to strike off her conviction record posthumously in some obscure record book in a dusty old room. It will not make a material difference to any of our lives as we start the summer weekend following this lazy friday, but it made my day a little more wondrous. To think that we do need to dwell on the past sometimes, to make amends whenever possible and an affirmation that symbolism is sometimes more etheral and sublime than the numbers in the latest tax codes that money dot com churns out in colourful graphics.

A line from the quixotic John Quincy Adams, Jr, pleading for the slaves of the Amistad, immortalized in the movie of the same name, came to mind - "we are - what we were" - he had said.

Whatever it takes.

Related Link http://jurist.law.pitt.edu/paperchase/2006/04/alabama-legislature-approves-pardons.php