Living in the city

Nope, I am not referring to Bangalore, though since I have mentioned it now, I might as well touch upon it. Nice place, trees and lakes and breezy and civil. Strange autos, good buses. For the city that likes to tag itself the 'pub capital' of India, the pubs still all shut at 11pm. Of course, having been in London, that doesn't sound very strange but well, I have been in Delhi too. Not that I have yet had the chance to be in a pub here till closing time, but I am just talking, you know. In fact, I haven't visited any pub at all since I have begun living here. And that brings me to the city the post title refers to - domesticity.

Aye, it sits heavy on the shoulders, the mind, the balls, the heart, the soul, the everywhere. I feel my nomadic innards churn more and more every day that passes by encumbered in the chains of this domestic existence. It is not the intoxication I miss, lest some of you naively start thinking that way. I have learnt, rather harshly, that there exist different kinds of monotonies. You know, when you have a 9-5 job and little else in terms of having a life, there is a sense of monotony which is positively exhilarating compared to my current domestic regularity. Without going in to any more morbid detail, I will leave it at that.

As can perhaps be seen by my more than usual amount of output here on this space, I have time on my hands. A LOT of time. Yes, I have been told that I can and should use this plethora of time productively. You know, do something with it. Ideally, I would do something with it - roll it up in to a pellet and shoot boredom with it. But well, since I haven't mastered such temporal pyrotechnics yet, I will just confine myself to regular boring things like playing computer games endlessly and ocassionally staring out my window at the tots playing in the kids' play area of the building complex I live in or the middle aged men who like to think of themselves as the sporting kind by indulging in a tennis-ball based game of cricket on weekends.

Oh, I do have some work, in a sense. If things go as planned, I will soon be an educationist. Of course, it begs the short question - whose plan? Certainly not mine, I assure you. And for reasons this and that, I am a sort of half-willing part of the plan. As for the work itself, there is precious little to do right now, since we are past the planning stage and before the implementation stage. Limbo, I think they call it. And for those of you who have never had the privilege of visiting that surreal place, let me assure you, it is an experience that is more than just worth the wait, for it is the wait itself objectified.

So while I live in this city that for most people is the most normal and usual thing to do, I find myself stifled like a fly would under the falling foot of an elephant. Maybe, if I reduce myself to an ant, I will escape unhurt. Or maybe, the city will claim me as one of its own, and I will become another denizen in its vast sprawling underbelly, join fellow psychophants in their worrying about the right school for the kids, finding a maid and an interior designer, complaining about grocery prices and watching crap on TV over dinner with the family.

Amen.

Being a 'celeb'

An aside before I talk about the subject of the post. This is a quote from an AP report, "Benedict lamented what he called strains on the traditional African family, condemning sexual violence against women and chiding countries that have approved abortion." Quite something to say in the same breath, isn't it? I suppose his papal wisdom and devout faith blinds him to the fact that it is often sexual violence against women that leads to them seeking abortions. Or would the pope prefer the victimised women to spawn unwanted kids anyway, all for the sake of supposedly pleasing a supposed almighty? Anyway...

So you are watching the telly, pretty much any idiocy that the box is spewing out. Chances are, 9 of 10 times, the mug on the screen will belong to a 'good looking' person. Actors, singers, newsreaders, and a whole host of other morons, including the often-doctored vox populi. Well, at least some of them have at least a shred of some talent or the other to their name. Half the time, I don't even know why the hell some idiot's mug is pasted all over the idiot box, or even who the idiot in question is. Does that make me ignorant? Not unless the benchmark for ignorance was brought down to accommodate idiot losers who have little better to do than follow the lives of other idiots rather than mind their own businesses. But I suppose they don't mind much, let alone their own businesses, since they have very little mind so to speak.

For instance, who is Jade Goody? Well, she is no more, so the question becomes, who was Jade Goody? If you ask me - who the fuck cares? But seriously, who was she and why was she famous? Because she came on a reality TV show at some point, before which she was a dental nurse. And why was she chosen to be on that reality TV show? Fuck knows. What did she do on it? I'll tell you what - she said Cambridge was in London and on being told that it was actually in East Anglia, thought it was somewhere abroad. Such dazzling display of boundless information about her own country while on television earned her the title of a media personality. What exactly is a media personality then? Yep, you guesses it - a celebrity!

Anyway, so what is it that entitles someone to get their few seconds of fame by becoming, if nothing else, a media personality, whatever that is? And why do these so called celebrities set trends, be it a hairstyle, purity rings or even videos of sexual acts, and that, coming from some talentless brainless nitwits? And why is it that there are such few ugly faces on TV, unless being shown as freaks or some such? I don't think that the so-called ugly people have not a single talented bone in their bodies or that they are universally dumb too. I am sure they can act, they can sing and dance, they know their news, whatever the hell else. In fact, this is one form of discrimination I think is more rampant than most others put together and is perhaps also the most difficult to prove.

When it comes to females, this obsession to look a certain way, what is considered looking good, is almost comical. I mean, on the one hand, they talk of feminist emancipation and on the other, celebrate aesthetic conformation as an assertion of their emancipated femininity. Someone really ought to tell them what it means to be emancipated in the true sense of the word. But then again, I suppose it doesn't matter if I say these things, since after all, I am no celebrity.

Taliban in the Vatican?

The pope, on the papal plane while flying to Africa, repeated to reporters the old official stance of the Catholic church on the usage of condoms, which I am sure I don't need to repeat here. He also stressed that using condoms, in fact, increases the risk of spreading HIV. I suppose he must know a lot about these things, seeing as he has sex daily with all the nuns in the Vatican. Or is it with the choirboys? I forget, I made it a point to miss mass. Mr pope, just because you consider something incongruous with your interpretation of your religion does not make it a fact, much as you may tout the supposedly obvious link between faith and religion.

He has also been meeting Muslim leaders during his trip, a habitual practice I suppose he has inculcated ever since his gaffe in Germany a couple of years ago. Now, he says a lot about how all 'true' religions (he is leaving out things like Scientology I suspect, while I would say that religions are false and fake by definition... well, to each their own and all that) are essentially all the same, preaching the same message, blah blah.

I saw on the news today (though I freely admit, I don't trust most of the news on these Hindi language news channels which are beginning to get even worse than Fox but as entertaining as many Bollywood films) that terrorists from Taliban - who have taken over huge swathes of Afghanistan and Pakistan - have declared condoms un-Islamic. They say that Islam asks its followers to produce ever-more Muslim children. Do they actually say that? I don't know, and perhaps neither does the journalist who would like us to believe so.

But the edict, except the bit about producing more Muslim children, is similar to that of the pope, and eerily enough, comes around exactly the same time. Is that what the pope meant by 'true' religions preaching the same message? Of course, it is entirely possible that the news reports about the Taliban have only come around because the pope said what he did and then came along an enterprising journalist. Easy to accuse the demon of any atrocity, isn't it?

Either way, the next time a devout Christian falls victim to AIDS, I hope he goes ahead and sues the pope, saying "he told me not to use a condom..."

The nature of researches

There ought to be some kind of law governing the usage of the word 'research'. If the damn EU legislators can come out with the inane politically correct dictionary and handbook that recommends not using, among other things, 'Mrs' (apparently, it is sexist), why the hell not a law about using the word 'research'?

Anyway, it is also a free world apparently, and who am I to stop anyone from doing some research linking the use of mobile phones by parents to rashes caused to infants by their diapers (the infants', not the parents')? I mean, I couldn't stop Saddam's murder or even myself from being born, so how can I even begin trying to stop every Rahul (that name itself deserves to be stopped, for a start) and Neha (right there next to Rahul in the to be stopped list) from carrying out their fanciful researches, whether or not they have any bearing of any consequence on this apparently free world. For those not familiar with the over-abundance of the two names I just mentioned, just consider them my substitutes for John & Jane Doe.

Here is one such research. I suppose it is pretty obvious but I will still say it. Virgil Griffith is one smart smug arsehole. He has gone about it in a most research-like fashion (admittedly and precisely vague and incomplete) but I have a strong suspicion that he had the premise before he decided on the research, mainly as a means to justify his premise. It wouldn't surprise me in the least if it was done after he made a wager with some Timberlake fan, which to his own delightful surprise (and mine), he won.

What tickles me a lot too, is the usage of Facebook for yet another unexpected reason. And of course, how Facebook apparently reacted. Anyway, one should also mention to Mr Griffith another practice (certainly not the word in this case, far from it) that is quite in vogue with people, especially in places like colleges - pretence. Maybe dumb people just don't pretend as much!

Driving to the Deccan, part 2

When we were leaving the Konark Sun Temple and walking back to the parking lot, with the throngs walking back to their guided tour buses, my mother asked me our next stop. I told her we were going to see the picturesque Chilka Lake, and along with many species of birds, maybe even spot some dolphins. Just as I was telling her this, a man's voice immediately behind my left shoulder said these exact words - "आप झूठ क्यों बोल रहे हैं?", or "Why are you lying?". Despite the crowded space, I wondered why this voice was speaking at such proximity to my ear and turned to look at the speaker. And I was amused to realise that he was indeed addressing me. Turned out, he assumed that my mother and me were part of some guided tour group which was clearly not going to Chilka and he thought I was lying to my mom (he probably assumed we weren't mother-son either), perhaps in a bid to somehow swindle her. Well, at least his intentions were good. And as I laughed my way to the car, I was reassured to see that people still like poking their noses in the general business around them, whether it concerns them or not. Those who know me will know well how much it would have pleased me after the usual sterility of London.

Greatly amusing were also two usages of English, one of the word 'traffic' and the other of 'come in'. Across parts of Bengal and Orissa, most people we asked for directions would give us landmarks of 'traffic', like "turn left from the traffic" or "take right from the second traffic". Yes, they are referring to traffic light signals. It was almost at par with another usage in Orissa and even Andhra, where any traffic intersection, be it a three-way, four-way or seven-way, were all referred to as "four-junction". Not difficult to see how it could mislead someone, but I ain't complaining. And I came across "come in" at the rest house we stayed in at Puri, where the room service would knock on the door, and in the same breath, say "come in" and then walk right in! My folks, who didn't pay attention to this, couldn't understand why I cracked up each time room service came around.

We were on the street somewhere, I think getting back to the rest house from the Jagannath temple. So we got in to the car but could not move since a cow chose that very moment to shit, right on the car's bonnet at that. How do you even prevent something like that? I mean, even if I was angry instead of being busy laughing, it probably wouldn't have been prudent to chase away the cow in the middle of such an important act right outside one hell of an important temple which is bristling with, among others, 80-year old elephant women that I mentioned in my previous post. And I have a feeling, asking the cow politely wouldn't have worked.

At one place, driving from somewhere to somewhere else, my dad stopped to ask for directions. Had I noticed a second earlier the person he was going to ask, I would have asked my father to wait for a minute or so, since the person in question was standing on the side of the road in the middle of what seemed like nowhere, NOT to give us directions, but to take a piss. Anyway, since I noticed a second too late, my father was already asking him and he was telling us where to go and so we went. I could not help but look back to see if he went on to attend the call of nature in the wild, and lo! For as long as he was still in sight, which was a good 2-3 minutes, all he did was walk around with his hands thrust in his pockets! A sudden bout of modesty?

Oh, modesty. You know how young unmarried couples in India are still frowned upon in many places, for even something like holding hands and walking around, how such behaviour is considered entirely immodest. This mentality banishes such couples from public places in many parts of the country and Vizag was no exception. On Thotla Kunda, as we drove around the monastery, and then to the edge of the hill to contemplate the view that the monks of yore must have beheld, I saw the tell-tale signs. Bikes parked strategically, marking occupied spots that harbour couples come there to escape curious eyes and talkative mouths and social scrutiny. I also couldn't help laughing when some of them were visibly uncomfortable at my bringing out the camera. Probably thought I was either a pervert or potential blackmailer. Pity I didn't have time to be either.

Driving to the Deccan, part 1

The national highways, thanks to Vajpayee's Golden Quadrangle project, are actually quite cool. Even though you got to pay a toll every 70km or so, it is well worth the money. Except when you are driving through Orissa, where you wonder which moron is in-charge of the construction work and why the road keeps alternating sides abruptly. The state charges an Rs 800 "state entry" fee to boot. Like a monopolistic old diseased prostitute harassing some military platoon in a desert with no option but to pay. And even where the roads were proper 4-lanes, for some inexplicable reason, not just motorbikes but even trucks regularly came at us on the wrong side at full-speed. Thankfully, the weather was pleasant throughout.

Anyhow, Puri itself was quite nice. Pity I didn't get the chance to enjoy the famous beaches, my stomach chose those two days to revolt in style. However, I did visit the famous temple there, and even touched the statues of Jagannath and his consort and whoever else they have idolised in there. Had it not been for morbid curiosity, it was a bit much for my irreverent soul, especially the bits where I had to walk from the footwear stall to the temple, barefoot on the road which had everything from spittle to plastic waste to dung to whatever else you can imagine decorating the typical Indian small town street. Inside the temple however, the religious fervour hit me like a hammer on the head. Seriously, I am sure most of you have never been pushed by a frail 80-year old woman half your height with the force of a rampaging elephant in heat. More than the push, its the surprise that throws you across the room. Thankfully for me, there was no space in the room in question to be moved an inch anywhere, let alone be thrown across it. Anyway, I was glad to be out and be done, and I think my relieved face at the moment led my mom to mistakenly believe that I had just enjoyed myself. And three days later, I had to throw a royal fit to make her believe otherwise. The upshot: I kept my word and visited Tirupati with them and have now extricated myself from all future temple visits, unless my soul is stirred with religious awakening. Frankly, I had rather castrate myself.

The Konark Sun Temple though, now that is something to actually admire. The construction itself was bizarrely intelligent for its time, and the carvings spectacular. The informative guide gave two reasons for the multitude of erotic carvings. One, the association with fertility. Two, more importantly, 1200 male artisans working for 12 years without the permission to leave the compound. Anyway, read more about the temple's architecture if you can, interesting stuff.

Tirupati and Tirumala, what strange places. Entire towns come around solely on the basis of a temple that is probably THE richest religious body in the world. Their famous laddu is now being copyrighted, and I have to admit, it does taste quite good. Apparently, on especially auspicious days, devotees queue for more than 2-3 days to pay homage. We, with a special pass obtained from the head priest himself, on a most ordinary day, had to wait for about 4 hours. The arrangements to take care of the pilgrims though are rather extensive and impressive.

What intrigued me beyond comprehension about both these temples I went to is this: most people get to see the idols themselves from a distance of 25-30 metres, if not more, and for barely 3-4 seconds, if that. And yet, and yet there is the madness I mentioned in the example of the 80-year old frail elephant woman. I wonder how often kids get trampled there...

Vizag is a nice city, hills on one side, sea on the other. Clean too, and civil people, unlike most of north India. We drove to Borra caves, apparently the longest natural cave in the country. Quite breathtaking, at least to me. Sadly, I couldn't get on camera any of the huge bat colonies that make patches of the roof their home. Of course, someone managed to convert a stalagmite in a remote corner of the cave in to a Shivlingam and I was quite disappointed when I followed a stream of people to that corner without having first inquired what it was. Also visited a place called Thotla Konda in Vizag which turned out to be the site of a 2000 year old huge Buddhist monastery. On a hill overlooking the sea. Breathtaking view, those monks at least chose a good site.

Arrival, in brief

The previous post was started on January 16, which is when I wrote the first two paragraphs, but owing to various pressures and constraints, I found the keyboard again about 7 weeks later. After posting it, I realised that blogs (at least on this site) get published with the date you save the first draft for them. So effectively, you can publish something in the past! Interesting way to metaphorically screw around with time.

I am still writing about the past, one that starts after my arrival in India. This time around in India has felt very different from before, since I have hardly done any of the things I was used to doing while I lived here, I have visited hardly any places I used to visit, and I have "hung out" with very few of my old friends. The current experience of living here is far removed from the memory of doing the same in the past. But I shall get to that by and by.

So Delhi. Hot, even in January, though I suppose it is not true from an objective point of view. My body was perhaps still acclimatising or some such. AJ did his best to make it a bit like old times, like getting some ganja from some shanty (which was straight out of the really old times), smoked in a park, talked about music and computer games and blah. But meeting Stef (dude, no offence meant) in the middle of it, while nice in itself, definitely made the scene a bit surreal. My 'meeting' with Rajdeep Sardesai passed most uneventfully, as I had expected. Then, there was the proverbial saving grace in the form of Venus, whose plentiful familiar bosom I lost myself in for the next few days. Being a most unexpected luxury, it felt even better than ever. Ah, Venus sweet Venus, I worship thee and thy melodious body and thine divine carnality.

But as surely as small spurts of good things follow long stretches of bad ones, the small spurts in question fall back to the ground. I reached Calcutta, where surprisingly, a couple of friends were in town for a couple of days, so I did not absolutely die of boredom. Then, there was packing up the house to shift to Bangalore. The packers came, packed and took away the stuff and we left by car to drive about 2000 km. The journey, I will write about in a separate post. And once I reached Bangalore, we reach at my present life, which also will be revealed in a separate post. I know this is no un-put-downable thrilling novel, but if you are reading this, you probably will read the next post too anyway.

As for my observations about the country and how it has changed in the time I have been away... The cities have become more expensive and the young working people don't seem to mind, or even notice I suppose. The economic crisis has affected people insofar as they won't be getting their usual 30-70% hike this year, and some might even get a paycut. I have yet to meet anyone who has lost a job, though people are not risking quitting a job to find another. People in trains are thankfully still as talkative as I remember them, and onlookers on the street as curious and brazen. I also notice improved civic sense, but that may be because I have seen a whole different part of the country this time, and very little of the bits I know from before. In a nutshell, this country is still much the same, loud, noisy, chaotic, in your face, bursting with people, blah blah, and yet, there is a sense of betterment that doesn't lend itself easily to explanation. If I find the time and inclination to get all emotional about it, maybe I will dedicate it a post, though I have my doubts about that.

Oh, happy Holi.