Cluck, cluck

So the bird flu is in India. Prices of mutton and fish have dramatically increased and chicken price has plunged. The government in various states is killing chicken on poultry farms en masse. Tens of thousands of chickens are being killed.

A medicine/poison is put in the water a chicken is about to consume. A chicken must ingest 5ml of the treated water and dies slowly over the period of two to three hours. After the chicken dies, it emits a foul odor.

The sister of the lady-of-the-house has a huge business selling, exporting all chicken products. She had seven hundred people working for her. The whole family is tied up in the business- her children and her children's spouses. Their chicken products were exported to the UK , huge orders from airlines, all halted and huge carriers returned from the UK unopened. She has had to close her factories and has to watch the government kill their chickens and dispose of the eggs. She's been appealing to ministers to find out what is going on because this is the season that chickens get sick with some other chicken illness and nothing like this has occurred before. When I was told this and nodded empathetically, all I could think was "don't put all of your eggs in one basket." The phrase pulsed along in my mind like a ticker-tape. It's been going through my mind all day.

So much chicken-talk and meat-talk and non-veg talk change to veg-talk flew around me all day. Since the summer of 2000, when the room I stayed in shared a half-wall with a chicken coop, the only thing I have ever been very aware of hating is the sound of chickens.

No egg whites, no chicken at all for a while, because the state is acting as a parent and cutting off access to chicken.

It's for a good reason, it's for a good reason, it's for a good reason- changing the ticker tape.

right to vote

So I just read that NRIs are getting the right to vote. This mostly affects Indian nationals working in the Middle East. I think it’s a strange move because some NRIs who have cash, have lots of it and political connections. Those people could end up having too much influence on a country that they no longer inhabit, and may be out of touch with the issues at play here. I thought about this when I read that Anil Agarwal is planning to pay to set up a state of the art university somewhere in India. He’s considering five states as possible sites, and, according to ToI, Maharashtra is in the lead. He has a corporation called Vedanta that I kept mispronouncing in my mind as “vendetta”. His company will put up $1bln to set up the university and the university will be called Vedanta University. I know plenty of NRIs (basically, if you are of Indian origin (through your patriarchal lineage) and living abroad you are an NRI) and I wonder what folks think about being able to attain citizenship and if they would want the right to vote. Personally I was happy to find out I could even have dual citizenship. I did not mind not having the right to vote in India, it made sense to me. If you have property holdings and other investments here, then maybe you keep up with what’s going on and would like the right to vote. I guess I think about the definition of citizenship in this context. Hmm, still forming an opinion, any input is welcome.

Fresh Feeling

I love this song by the Eels. I woke up this morning irritated. I dreamt about some unsavory characters I thought I had left in the past. So after trying to get some sagely advice from my feisty gran ("uck, just forget about that buffoon. did u get a valentine's day kiss?" a-haha! ) I put this song on replay and went about my morning routine. Now I am feeling great again.

Little cousins are accusing me of being to formal on this medium. It's a weird feeling to be la-la-la-la talking, and then realize that sometimes some stranger is listening. So I am working on the voice I use.

I am working at the nation desk now, which has a different energy than the international desk. Tempers flare for lesser things, so it's a gregarious volatile crew. The use of english is different at nation. The copy changes quite a bit from the time the reporter sends it and until it hits the page. The articles are edited with readership in mind so it has to stay light and conversational in tone. There's an element of indian-english in the nation news that i have to get used to. When i edited i look to make the copy as clean as possible without completely altering the writer's voice. Usually at nation, when i clean it up the tone becomes too formal. I notice that nation articles are peppered with italicized hindi idioms, whereas international was english only. I have been looking at other papers to see if this works, this change in voice from section to section.

Anyway, to many of you- thanks for keeping in touch, to some of you- drop me a line. ;)

Happy belated Valentine's Day

There were huge protests all over the country against celebrating Valentine’s Day. Some called it a holiday of lust and not love, others shouted that Indians should not emulate the west. People in some parts gathered to burn Valentine’s Day cards. Influential extremist parties in some areas stated that any couple caught cuddling or coochy-cooing would be forced to marry. They were taken to the police station and their parents were called in and then told that they had to register the marriage of the couple in question. Some of the couples welcomed the mandate because then the relationship would have to be recognized by their folks, who in many cases disapprove of such relationships. Most of the forced marriage stuff ended up being a lot of blustering because there was dissent within the extremist party’s different factions.
From talking to people I gathered that the idea of Valentine’s Day celebration is pretty recent. Apparently Hallmark started marketing the holiday in India in the mid-90’s. So here Valentine’s Day seems to be something like Sweetest Day to Americans, a day that people celebrate, sometime grudgingly, but that many consider a bogus holiday, a card manufacturer’s marketing gimmick.

life or death

In the morning just outside of the hospital compound, Bombay Dream noticed a man lying on the sidewalk sleeping in what he thought was an odd position. The man had his face covered, but Bombay Dream didn’t think too much of it because he just thought the guy had a peculiar sleep habit. Then much later in the day, early evening, Bombay Dream went out again and noticed the man no longer had his face covered and his eyes were partially open. He called, “Baba? Baba? Excuse me?” when he did not receive an answer, he leaned in and noticed ants crawling on the man, out of his nostrils and in his eyes. That’s when he realized the man was dead. He walked to the security guys, who were just on the other side of the wall, and they said, oh yeah, we know, you should call the police. So Bombay Dream called the police, but couldn’t believe that the man was just lying dead right outside the gate of the hospital and no one had bothered to take care of him even though they knew. The man will most likely go where unclaimed bodies go- to the morgue and then will be incinerated after some time. A sad way to go- no one around you, people barely noticing or caring if you are dead. Ask an elder here, why does this happen? Murmurings about karma, destiny, it was written…still do not stymie the incredulity of the situation in my mind.

Mrs.Doubtfire and Maximum City

Suketu Mehta’s “Maximum City” is my companion. I received his book before leaving the US as a birthday gift. I halt my life to read most books. I have cancelled plans, bailed on friends, and pushed deadlines to finish a book. This book is different. I pick up the book, read a bit in the morning when I wake up or just before sleeping. I feel like I am listening to someone who shares an understanding with me, whose definition of home is many places and many people. I feel like some chapters offer insight into worlds I will not have ready access to and some feel like a pat-on-the-shoulder “don’t sweat this kid” relief. Since the trouble at this home has now settled down to a backburner issue, I flipped through the book and landed where the author and his family move to Bandra after their first year back in Mumbai. He talked about his wife’s Hindi getting better, they work with perceived inefficiency rather than against the grain, and their lives start to warm up with new and old people with whom they enjoy spending time. He called the money wasted- getting ripped off by most people that you encounter, higher prices attached to your accent, not being able to tell people off adequately, trying not to get sick by buying mineral water, adjusting even though you’re pretty sure a compromise was not reached only a sugar-coated demand obliged- a “newcomer’s tax”. Lately I have been paying that tax not just monetarily but in other ways too. I find myself biting my tongue when the answer I get for why we do not cover Africa news as much, is at best a superficial understanding of “the readership”. I bite my tongue when I notice people lie. Little, white, transparent lies, the purpose of which I don’t understand. I can always feel when I am being lied to, like an itchy bug bite. Most of the time the lies have nothing to do with me, but I am baffled by a lie every time. Most times there are at least two different conversations happening simultaneously. There is the textual- light, small talk; the subtextual-what the other gains from this exchange; the character sketch- who am I talking to. Then there’s the junk/ color- the lies that you forget about or laugh about down the road. So I turn to Suketu Mehta to elaborate on these communication differences for me. He gets how I think and he also gives me a plausible idea for what the folks in my latest environment may be thinking. India is an odd place for me to be I’m not totally on the outside of things but I am not on the inside either. You can apply for Indian citizenship even if your grandfather was born here and your folks were not. You have all rights except the right to vote. Someone that I don’t know well at all asked me if I consider myself Indian or American. I said that I am American, and then said well, American but some cultures of India inform my life in deep ways too. I think about this a lot. I realize that the images of Americans abroad are narrow indeed and depressing. Baywatch, the current administration, the OC, MTV, Disney, Pepsi, McDonald’s- all that is America- one boring, migraine-inducing, fun-in-small-doses face. What is missed is what makes America fantastic- so many varied stories, different faces, people from all over the world, some degree of socioeconomic mobility-all of what’s bubbling beneath the surface is glazed over with candy images. Hmm, it’s close to 3:30am and watching Mrs. Doubtfire sparked this mind-unwind. Go figure. My guess- a very long winded “I’m homesick”. G’night ;)

Let's Go to the Movies

The auto rickshaws swarming around my neighborhood are starting to look like cockroaches to me. I have been angry, irritated, and basically in a sore mood because things on the home front are a bit dicey for stupid reasons, hence reinforcing exactly why I hate to deal with the menial tasks of daily living. It’s a disconcerting experience to be in a foul mood when it’s so damn sunny outside.

Anyway, I want to put myself in a better frame of mind so let me tell you about a theatre experience here. Last weekend we went to see the late show of Raang de Basanti, the latest Bollywood mega-hit. The movie has its problems, but it’s a feast. Before the movie everyone sat in the theatre- chatting, dropping food, having extensive cell phone conversations. Ushers shined too-bright lights in your eyes helping people to their seats who unwittingly stomp on each other, then decided they wanted to sit next to some other friend and asked some stranger to please move to that seat because s/he wants to sit here. Witnessing the chaos, you hope for the best- that people will not continue to be distracting. Then the strains of "Jana Gana Mana" floated around the room, as it became stronger, everyone stood for the national anthem (which isn’t played at every movie theater nationwide, but is in Mumbai), there was patriotic silence. You could feel the electricity in the room. Then the movie started and the audience clung to each other and their seats as we moved with the emotional tides of the movie. There’s an element of call-and-response in the movie. When a hero said “your mother’s eye” (I still don’t get the depth of the insult) in Hindi to a villain, the audience whooped, wolf-whistled, clapped, and settled down to a chorus of “shh, shh, shh”. When the musical scores came on people sang aloud with the track or played air guitar to a rock instrumental (symbol of today’s youth). During the weepy moments most of the theater leaned forward, attentive and eyes glistening with unshed tears. I am telling you men and women alike. If someone dared to cough during such a moment, the “shh, shh, shh” began again. This crowd was on the same wavelength. For those few hours everyone cared about the same thing deeply, passionately. There’s definitely power in harnessing that kind of energy. I thought about this a lot during the movie because the movie was about countering apathy.

Go Steelers!!!

Woohoo! Pittsburgh must be crrraaazy right now. They were hungry for that win. Similar to football fanaticism , the sport is cricket. When India played Pakistan recently more than half of the office was crowded around the tv (we have the tv on 24/7 following tv news) during various parts of the day. Those of us who had to stay at our desks were craning our necks over the sea of people trying to get a glimpse of what was happening. Pakistan won.

Hot Town

I’m burnin’ up here. My face is beet red and no matter how much sunblock I put on I am darkening everyday. As any of my nuclear family will tell anyone, I am a bit of a hypochondriac at times. But I ‘m not kidding, my face and arms hurt most days because of exposure to sun and I crave to wear long sleeves, so that I stop frying myself. Tomorrow I shall hunt for the sunblock of all sunblocks- that brand which has zinc oxide as it’s major ingredient. That stuff is like a shield against the sun. I'll need it with summer around the corner. I also have a weird bug bite on my neck…feels spread out like a spider bite but does not hurt/burn like a spider bite does. Yeah, you wanted to know,

I realize that I don’t say much about work. If the reasons are not obvious, I don’t speak about work because it doesn’t seem prudent to do that. That said, work is definitely interesting and usually an experience I look forward to in my day. I am switching desks in this coming week and I feel a little sad about not working with the people at my desk in the same capacity. I am switching just to vary the experience (I am moving to an editing desk for a different section) and I want to start reporting. I can’t forget about my objectives.

I’ve been very lucky to have every aspect of my life truck along on an even keel lately. It’s been a while and it is bliss. Knock on wood.

Will write more soon. I think I need some sleep. Mwah! G’night :)

Music_Man

This weekend I finally got a chance to hangout with the man of the house. He’s an Ayurvedic doctor with some famous clientele. He’s developing a new technique of massage set to music. So he demonstrated on my shoulders and neck and I have to say that the tension that I carry dissipated after that 6-minute massage. He doesn’t do the normal kneading, but it’s a light tapping: tap, tap, tap-tap-tap-tap-, tap-tap, tap, tap-tap-tap, tap-tap, tap, ta-a-a-a—p, tap.

He got into the business about 15 years ago. At that time he was a business man who had been diagnosed with stage II cancer. Twenty-eight days that he spent in the hospital has changed his life forever. “I felt an energy go through me. It was a gift. I realized that I must help people heal.” He then said, “I went to the other side and came back.” From that point on “I had to do good. Not do things for monetary reasons, but because people feel better after I help them.”

I like listening to his way of saying that music is the great equalizer when talking about how Zakir Hussain, “though a staunch Muslim,” performs any venue be it temple or church, or Carnegie Hall. Then in the next breath he tells me he liked Wisconsin because “there aren’t that many blacks there” and the streets are organized and quiet. Then the next story he says he can’t live any where else because he would miss the chaos and buzz of this city. Despite these turns and contradictions he wholeheartedly says that he is always working to be a better person. He says no matter who he meets, he looks for the good in that person and works with that. He discusses the world in terms of energy and the world being about the handling of this energy. I like talking to people who don’t see the world in concrete terms. When you think about how vision works, how sound works, how color comes to be what it is, how light works, how the senses work by explanation of science/ physics, it’s actually a beautiful metaphor he weaves.

Guilt

Most of the time, I feel accustomed to seeing people beg for money on the street. I understand that a whole system is in place. Someone sends children out begging and then takes the money from them. Sometimes parents put their kids up to the task. If you tried to take the kid home with you people would come out of the woodwork to find you and the kid. That said I still feel immensely guilty when a kid surprises me with a light, incessant poke-poke-poke to my knees. Often on the train these kids jump on into the ladies’ first class car, because it’s less crowded and because they look for money and beg. Sometimes these kids don’t even bother, they just enjoy the ride and hoot and holler and tease each other. If you look at them too blatantly they revert into the street mode and come over and stand in front of you tapping you and holding their palms out for money. When you’re not watching them they have this bundle of bristles tied at the top that they use to sweep under people’s feet looking for fallen bits of food and change. So often I have watched these kids sweep with one gesture and quickly pick out the bits of food and pop those bits into their mouths. So much guilt. At home I would absolve this guilt by participating in the community- most often by tutoring kids, teaching people to read, volunteer at homeless shelters, organize events. Here, what people need is money. It doesn’t make sense to teach someone to read English when s/he can’t read in his/her first language.


I feel as though one year is not enough time to be here. Hold me to that when I start whining mid-year.