کہ تمہارے قدموں کی خاق سے خدا انسان بنائے
(Ke tumhaare qadmon ki khaaq se Khuda insaan banaaye)
Selfistan - a land, well webpage, where all you see and read is stuff that I want you to see and read. Inspired by my constant ramblings and thought processes and by Salman Rushdie's quote on Selfistan in "Shalimar the Clown", Ramblings From Selfistan looks at the deeper and the not-so-deep aspects of life as I see it. Welcome to my world...
Thursday 31 December 2009
Wednesday 16 December 2009
Two Minds
I'm sitting at my desk, writing my last paper of the term and procrastinating by reflecting on the past few months. Without mincing words, they've been life-changing in multiple ways. Learning to live alone; moving to a new city; looking after myself as I have never before; not having my father to figure things out for me (i.e. banking, taxes, money etc, and understanding me), nor my mother to do what she's done her entire life (i.e the mundane stuff like laundry and food - I miss her food - and the more important like being my mommy), nor my sister to get me out of my various states of moodiness with her constant chatter and laughter - even when she's had a horrible day; not having my friends to bounce ideas off of, or even to hug/complain after a long day, or to do stupid things with; falling in love in multiple ways; questioning my principles and motives and everything about myself millions of times; having no friends and being forced to make them and to trust people more quickly than I've had to ever before; feeling completely disconnected from home and going back and seeing how much things had changed, how much I'd changed...
The first few weeks were complete hell. Even though the past month has been atrocious, what with the amount of work I've had, they've been memorable - in a good way. My random experiences, long nights and crazy times (seriously) at the library (I gave new meaning to the term 'catalogue model' one night, and played 'gangster' another) with friends, weekly Chinese food dates, prying ourselves away from the Internet and forcing ourselves to study for specific lengths of time without speaking, and the heart palpitations from Red Bull overload...it's been a good month.
So now, as I try to finish up this final paper on Iqbal, attempt to actually go into Midtown for the first time in weeks (that is, if I finish my work on time), and pack my bags to go home, I can't figure out what I'm actually feeling. I'm excited about going home and spending time with friends and family, but I'll miss this new life as well...
sigh
back to papering
The first few weeks were complete hell. Even though the past month has been atrocious, what with the amount of work I've had, they've been memorable - in a good way. My random experiences, long nights and crazy times (seriously) at the library (I gave new meaning to the term 'catalogue model' one night, and played 'gangster' another) with friends, weekly Chinese food dates, prying ourselves away from the Internet and forcing ourselves to study for specific lengths of time without speaking, and the heart palpitations from Red Bull overload...it's been a good month.
So now, as I try to finish up this final paper on Iqbal, attempt to actually go into Midtown for the first time in weeks (that is, if I finish my work on time), and pack my bags to go home, I can't figure out what I'm actually feeling. I'm excited about going home and spending time with friends and family, but I'll miss this new life as well...
sigh
back to papering
Monday 14 December 2009
Friday 11 December 2009
Beatles-Love
One of my favourite Beatles songs of all time. That girl wiping away tears? Ya - that's me...(I wish)
Thursday 10 December 2009
More Iqbal-Love
Again in more ways than one...
دیارِ عشق میں اپنا مقام پیدا کر
نیا زمانا نئے صبہ و شام پیدا کر
(In the world of love, create your own abode. Create a new age, a new night and day.)
نیا زمانا نئے صبہ و شام پیدا کر
(In the world of love, create your own abode. Create a new age, a new night and day.)
It's All About Love
I wrote in my previous post about how I was wondering whether to change the topic of my thesis or not, from one of Indian/Hindu nationalism to something about Iqbal (most probably the idea of destiny). Having thought about it for the past little while, I think I'll stick to my current topic for a bunch of reasons. That being said, this 'break' is going to be spent doing some serious soul searching and I may change my mind again. I can't wait to go home and shoot questions off of certain people - two in particular...
Anyway. As you've probably noticed, I've become more inspired by Iqbal as the semester has progressed, to the point where I know that I'll be learning Farsi soon, just so I can read his work in the original. My plan to go to Lucknow and learn Urdu over the summer (let's hope this materializes!) is also connected to this (and to my general obsession with Urdu poetry and literature).
One idea that Iqbal deals with constantly is the idea of Love. Not the romantic type of course, but the more spiritual one - one in which the love of G/god(s) and of the world are key. It's an inspiring philosophy. He speaks about how through love, we build ourselves, we strengthen ourselves and become better people. I won't go into it in too much detail here, but let's just say that the Ana al-Haq tattoo is becoming less important in face of the 'ishq one.
Don't necessarily like this representation of it - but you get the idea...
Anyway. As you've probably noticed, I've become more inspired by Iqbal as the semester has progressed, to the point where I know that I'll be learning Farsi soon, just so I can read his work in the original. My plan to go to Lucknow and learn Urdu over the summer (let's hope this materializes!) is also connected to this (and to my general obsession with Urdu poetry and literature).
One idea that Iqbal deals with constantly is the idea of Love. Not the romantic type of course, but the more spiritual one - one in which the love of G/god(s) and of the world are key. It's an inspiring philosophy. He speaks about how through love, we build ourselves, we strengthen ourselves and become better people. I won't go into it in too much detail here, but let's just say that the Ana al-Haq tattoo is becoming less important in face of the 'ishq one.
Don't necessarily like this representation of it - but you get the idea...
Monday 7 December 2009
Thesis Angst- UhOh....
So, I'm writing my Masters thesis on a specific aspect of Hindu Nationalism, one that hasn't been touched on before. One of my papers this term looks at the concept of nationalism from a European point of view, and is intended to be the start of my thesis.
I've read a bunch of books already and am still researching for the paper, but I can't seem to get passionate and excited about the topic. The Iqbal paper, on the other hand, is one that I'm so passionate about that I've been able to stay awake for about 20 hours just reading him and his beautiful work.
So do I change my thesis topic? Do I attempt to become an Iqbal scholar? If I write on Iqbal for my M.A Thesis, what do I do afterward? Oh no....
I thought I had at least one thing figured out in my life...I guess not.
Now, back to writing a paper on a bad poet....
I've read a bunch of books already and am still researching for the paper, but I can't seem to get passionate and excited about the topic. The Iqbal paper, on the other hand, is one that I'm so passionate about that I've been able to stay awake for about 20 hours just reading him and his beautiful work.
So do I change my thesis topic? Do I attempt to become an Iqbal scholar? If I write on Iqbal for my M.A Thesis, what do I do afterward? Oh no....
I thought I had at least one thing figured out in my life...I guess not.
Now, back to writing a paper on a bad poet....
Sunday 6 December 2009
Saturday 5 December 2009
More Late Night Philosophizing
This time with BKScope (whose blog has disappeared for some reason...).
B: Nabz what happened to you?
N: I started living alone, and far away, and realized that what I'd been chasing was right in front of me and I'd fled from it, chasing other dreams...And I started reading Iqbal...lol.
N: B, you need to live in NYC for 3 months. You see these people. They don't smile B. It's like they've forgotten how. Their version of happiness - making their money, being 'important'. And then partying. Living in this disgusting city. This sinful city. It tears you apart. And makes you something else: a robot; not yourself. We can't do this to our selves. Our God-given gifts aren't meant to be used for their purposes. I am truly convinced today that I am not meant to follow the path they're following. We need to create our own path. Not follow those that we've seen growing up in the worlds we've grown up in. Our brilliance - intellectual and otherwise - has never come from following the paths of those who have come before us. So why should we spend the rest of our lives doing exactly what we haven't been doing? At UBC, neither of us did what others were doing. And if we did, we did it as BKScope and Nabz. So why change? Why take the path more travelled? Why sit in a skyscraper with thousands of other people? For the money? For the feeling that we have power? For the ability to live in this city? It's all lights. The power goes out and you see what it really is. It's all an illusion, and everyone's trapped.
B: You are right...
N: We're lucky. We come from supportive families. We can afford - in more ways than one - to follow our hearts. So why not? Neither of us needs to make money to survive...so why not be ourselves and do what we love? What's stopping us apart from societal pressure? It'll be hard. Both of us want to change the world. But we'll do it in our own way. See...I don't want to wake up 20 years down the road, and realize that I've wasted the last 20-odd years in doing what someone else wants me to do, and realize that I haven't been truly happy, that I haven't been able to give myself to my husband or my children or my parents or my friends or family
B: ...and people love to construct dreams for others and many happily oblige.
N: I can't sacrifice the people around me for the illusion that I'm 'helping' people somewhere else.
B: hmmm...
N: And as a Marxist friend of mine says - 'helping people' is such a bourgeois concept.
B: Love the Marxists. My father comes from the same line of thought.
N: Lol. Don't waste yourself.
B: It's scary - to not conform. It's scary. Especially when you're told that it is the only way you'll be successful.
N: Remember. You're too important to sit in a skyscraper.
B: Nabz what happened to you?
N: I started living alone, and far away, and realized that what I'd been chasing was right in front of me and I'd fled from it, chasing other dreams...And I started reading Iqbal...lol.
N: B, you need to live in NYC for 3 months. You see these people. They don't smile B. It's like they've forgotten how. Their version of happiness - making their money, being 'important'. And then partying. Living in this disgusting city. This sinful city. It tears you apart. And makes you something else: a robot; not yourself. We can't do this to our selves. Our God-given gifts aren't meant to be used for their purposes. I am truly convinced today that I am not meant to follow the path they're following. We need to create our own path. Not follow those that we've seen growing up in the worlds we've grown up in. Our brilliance - intellectual and otherwise - has never come from following the paths of those who have come before us. So why should we spend the rest of our lives doing exactly what we haven't been doing? At UBC, neither of us did what others were doing. And if we did, we did it as BKScope and Nabz. So why change? Why take the path more travelled? Why sit in a skyscraper with thousands of other people? For the money? For the feeling that we have power? For the ability to live in this city? It's all lights. The power goes out and you see what it really is. It's all an illusion, and everyone's trapped.
B: You are right...
N: We're lucky. We come from supportive families. We can afford - in more ways than one - to follow our hearts. So why not? Neither of us needs to make money to survive...so why not be ourselves and do what we love? What's stopping us apart from societal pressure? It'll be hard. Both of us want to change the world. But we'll do it in our own way. See...I don't want to wake up 20 years down the road, and realize that I've wasted the last 20-odd years in doing what someone else wants me to do, and realize that I haven't been truly happy, that I haven't been able to give myself to my husband or my children or my parents or my friends or family
B: ...and people love to construct dreams for others and many happily oblige.
N: I can't sacrifice the people around me for the illusion that I'm 'helping' people somewhere else.
B: hmmm...
N: And as a Marxist friend of mine says - 'helping people' is such a bourgeois concept.
B: Love the Marxists. My father comes from the same line of thought.
N: Lol. Don't waste yourself.
B: It's scary - to not conform. It's scary. Especially when you're told that it is the only way you'll be successful.
N: Remember. You're too important to sit in a skyscraper.
Iqbal-Love: In more ways than one...
در بود و نبود من اندیشہ گمانہا داشت
از عشق ہویدا شد ایں نکتہ کہ ہسم من
(There were doubts about my being or not-being, but it was
only through love that I discovered the fact that I do exist.)
از عشق ہویدا شد ایں نکتہ کہ ہسم من
(There were doubts about my being or not-being, but it was
only through love that I discovered the fact that I do exist.)
Late-Night Philosophizing
As I said to the Yogi today,
Goddesses are made from ordinary women.
You can't find them.
Same with Gods.
We're the ones who put them on pedestals.
They don't come with the pedestals attached.
You can't find them.
Same with Gods.
We're the ones who put them on pedestals.
They don't come with the pedestals attached.
Barbies on the other hand...
Friday 4 December 2009
Nabz' Theme?
What are the chances? I was wandering through the World Wide Web earlier today and chanced upon the website of a Vancouver, BC-based photographer. Her pictures are absolutely gorgeous, and as I was flipping through them, a song I was familiar with, and had always loved, started playing in the background.
Latika's theme from Slumdog Millionaire.
It's an absolutely wonderful piece composed by A.R. Rahman (who's been nominated for a Grammy. WOOT!) and sung by Suzanne D'Mello. Anyway, as is usually the case with songs that I love, I started humming along. I kept on playing the song, and had it still running through my head as I went to take my afternoon nap.
Now the odd part is this. I've always felt that Akbar (my iPhone) can sense what's going on through my head, and plays songs accordingly when he's on shuffle. As I walked out of my apartment 30 minutes ago, to head to the library for another late-night studying session, I started a new shuffle session (as I usually do every morning). The first song was this random song that made me semi-dance all the way to the elevator, and the second one was....yes...Latika's theme. And I have 591 songs on my iPhone.
Weird no?
Anyway. Here's the song - classic viraha song don't you think?
Latika's theme from Slumdog Millionaire.
It's an absolutely wonderful piece composed by A.R. Rahman (who's been nominated for a Grammy. WOOT!) and sung by Suzanne D'Mello. Anyway, as is usually the case with songs that I love, I started humming along. I kept on playing the song, and had it still running through my head as I went to take my afternoon nap.
Now the odd part is this. I've always felt that Akbar (my iPhone) can sense what's going on through my head, and plays songs accordingly when he's on shuffle. As I walked out of my apartment 30 minutes ago, to head to the library for another late-night studying session, I started a new shuffle session (as I usually do every morning). The first song was this random song that made me semi-dance all the way to the elevator, and the second one was....yes...Latika's theme. And I have 591 songs on my iPhone.
Weird no?
Anyway. Here's the song - classic viraha song don't you think?
Thursday 3 December 2009
Faiz-Love
اشعار
رات یوں دل میں تری کھوئی ہوئی یاد آئی
جیسے ویرانے میں چپکے سے بہار آ جائے
جیسے صحرائوں میں ہولے سے چلے بادِ نسیم
جیسے بیمار کو بے وجہ قرار آ جائے
(Raat yuun dil mein teri kho'i hu'i yaad aa'i
Jaise viiraane mein chupke-se bahaar aa jaa'e
Jaise sahraaon mein haule-se chale baad-e-nasiim
Jaise biimaar ko be-wajah qaraar aa jaa'e)
رات یوں دل میں تری کھوئی ہوئی یاد آئی
جیسے ویرانے میں چپکے سے بہار آ جائے
جیسے صحرائوں میں ہولے سے چلے بادِ نسیم
جیسے بیمار کو بے وجہ قرار آ جائے
(Raat yuun dil mein teri kho'i hu'i yaad aa'i
Jaise viiraane mein chupke-se bahaar aa jaa'e
Jaise sahraaon mein haule-se chale baad-e-nasiim
Jaise biimaar ko be-wajah qaraar aa jaa'e)
Wisdom from the Yogi
Some wisdom from the Yogi on Selfistan and 'To Be Born Again First You Must Die'.
I was thinking:
If you want to change one small aspect of yourself you're going to change your whole being. Change doesnt come in discounts. It's large stock - Costco style.
If you want to change one small aspect of yourself you're going to change your whole being. Change doesnt come in discounts. It's large stock - Costco style.
Wednesday 18 November 2009
Be my Diary for the Night
This just happened to me, and I'm blogging about it not necessarily so that you can read it, but that I can remember it. Let's call this a diary entry of sorts.
Last night, as I was walking home from a late-night study session at the library, a homeless man called out to me from the steps of a church. I had no cash, and wasn't ready to part with the bagel I'd just purchased because I had no food at home. I had just dialed my father's number and was listening to the ring when he called out at me. He called thrice. A bit louder each time. And each time I pretended to have not heard him.
I kept on walking; went to the drugstore to get cereal, and thought about the guy as I made my purchases. What he was doing, whether anyone had given him food, or if anyone had even acknowledged that he'd been sitting on the steps. Maybe he hadn't been a beggar or even be-ghar. Maybe I'd dropped something or maybe he just wanted to talk to someone. But it bothered me all the way home, and especially while I was wolfing down my bagel. I felt selfish and horrible. And promised myself that I'd try to be less selfish and more conscientious in the future.
After I got out of the gym today, I went to the supermarket to get some juice and granola bars. I'd heard a couple of my friends talking about the Luna Bar - which is supposed to be designed for women, so I bought one of those. Not sure whether it'd be good or not, I also bought a Kashi bar - a fudge sundae one mmmmm (healthy actually...). I paid and left the supermarket.
Standing outside was a man - very small, wearing an oversized blue raincoat, and with his hand stretched out. I stopped, and asked him if he wanted a granola bar. He smiled and said yes.
I reached into my bag and pulled one out. It was the Luna Bar. 'Oh! This one's for women!' I exclaimed. He laughed and said 'no worries - it's ok.'
'No! There's another one.'
And I reached into my bag again, found the Kashi bar and handed it to him. He took it, said thank-you (still laughing about the women-only bar) and smiled. And I left for the library.
I can still see that laugh. And I'm still laughing as well...
Last night, as I was walking home from a late-night study session at the library, a homeless man called out to me from the steps of a church. I had no cash, and wasn't ready to part with the bagel I'd just purchased because I had no food at home. I had just dialed my father's number and was listening to the ring when he called out at me. He called thrice. A bit louder each time. And each time I pretended to have not heard him.
I kept on walking; went to the drugstore to get cereal, and thought about the guy as I made my purchases. What he was doing, whether anyone had given him food, or if anyone had even acknowledged that he'd been sitting on the steps. Maybe he hadn't been a beggar or even be-ghar. Maybe I'd dropped something or maybe he just wanted to talk to someone. But it bothered me all the way home, and especially while I was wolfing down my bagel. I felt selfish and horrible. And promised myself that I'd try to be less selfish and more conscientious in the future.
After I got out of the gym today, I went to the supermarket to get some juice and granola bars. I'd heard a couple of my friends talking about the Luna Bar - which is supposed to be designed for women, so I bought one of those. Not sure whether it'd be good or not, I also bought a Kashi bar - a fudge sundae one mmmmm (healthy actually...). I paid and left the supermarket.
Standing outside was a man - very small, wearing an oversized blue raincoat, and with his hand stretched out. I stopped, and asked him if he wanted a granola bar. He smiled and said yes.
I reached into my bag and pulled one out. It was the Luna Bar. 'Oh! This one's for women!' I exclaimed. He laughed and said 'no worries - it's ok.'
'No! There's another one.'
And I reached into my bag again, found the Kashi bar and handed it to him. He took it, said thank-you (still laughing about the women-only bar) and smiled. And I left for the library.
I can still see that laugh. And I'm still laughing as well...
Sunday 15 November 2009
I'm a Nerdy Girl, In my Nerdy World
Title sung, of course, to Aqua's 'I'm a Barbie Girl'.
And I swear - there's an Indian rip-off of this...hmmm.
___
Right - so back to the REAL reason for this post.
I think I've returned to Academic Heaven, after a short sojourn in what I'd like to call Academic Hell, but will refrain from doing so as segments of this academic life of mine may get worse...
Anyway. Don't you love it when you can write papers on things that you actually love? That you're actually passionate about? I wrote a paper about Chai Tea Lattes last year (I hate them with a passion, but love Chai/Tea in general), and this year, or this term to be more exact, I'm writing three papers on topics that I absolutely adore.
The first is on the motto of my life: khudi ko kar buland itna keh har taqdeer se pehle Khuda bande se khud poochhe bataa teri razaa kya hai.
The second is on a king/poet I've been interested in ever since I first saw my favourite movie in the whole wide world (Shatranj Ke Khiladi): Wajid Ali Shah
And the third paper is connected to my Master's Thesis: Conceptions of Nationalism in South Asia
Woot Woot!
Now: back to reading Iqbal's 'Asrar-i-Khudi' - which is absolutely beautiful by the way...
And I swear - there's an Indian rip-off of this...hmmm.
___
Right - so back to the REAL reason for this post.
I think I've returned to Academic Heaven, after a short sojourn in what I'd like to call Academic Hell, but will refrain from doing so as segments of this academic life of mine may get worse...
Anyway. Don't you love it when you can write papers on things that you actually love? That you're actually passionate about? I wrote a paper about Chai Tea Lattes last year (I hate them with a passion, but love Chai/Tea in general), and this year, or this term to be more exact, I'm writing three papers on topics that I absolutely adore.
The first is on the motto of my life: khudi ko kar buland itna keh har taqdeer se pehle Khuda bande se khud poochhe bataa teri razaa kya hai.
The second is on a king/poet I've been interested in ever since I first saw my favourite movie in the whole wide world (Shatranj Ke Khiladi): Wajid Ali Shah
And the third paper is connected to my Master's Thesis: Conceptions of Nationalism in South Asia
Woot Woot!
Now: back to reading Iqbal's 'Asrar-i-Khudi' - which is absolutely beautiful by the way...
Friday 6 November 2009
Wednesday 28 October 2009
it wasn't supposed to have been this way...this was supposed to be the culmination of five years of ass-busting, no-sleeping, working constantly work...it was supposed to be the attainment of nabz superstarhood and the explosion of ideas and brilliance and love
instead
the leaves have fallen onto the ground
and I feel like I've lost everything
instead
the leaves have fallen onto the ground
and I feel like I've lost everything
Saturday 17 October 2009
Off to the Temple We Go
Today is Diwali, the festival of lights. Now, usually, I'd celebrate Navratri, Eid and Diwali. But because of this move over to the Real East Coast (a nudge to all you Canadians who think TO = East Coast), and the lack of beautiful brown people in my life (a shout out to all my V-City Brownies), I missed both Navratri and Eid. While people back home danced around Maa-Bhavani's idol and hugged each other after seeing the Eid Moon and after Eid-Namaaz, I sat at home and hit update on Facebook so I could see their celebration pictures.
Such was my life - until today.
I went to the mandir today - the first time in quite a while. Back home, I'd always gone to the VHP one. Even though I didn't really agree with VHP philosophy. But the pandit-ji at this particular one was pretty open, and it was the temple that all the Gujjus went to - so whenever we went (which was less often than our forays to JK), we went to this particular one. So I found this NYC mandir online, and it was the closest one to campus (but in the Bronx). A bunch of friends and I got into a cab and made the trek to the Bronx, expecting Gujjus and yummy food.
It was a Guyanese mandir - and was definitely not what I was expecting. If you've ever been to a Gujju mandir, you'll notice that the prayers and ceremonies are very sober (very Gujju in fact). This one was a tad outrageous (not in the negative sense of the word). We ended up leaving half way through (we were starving) and were looking for a cab when an aunty came up to us and forced us to eat (I love aunty-jis...). And she also called us a cab...
Anyway...so the point of this post is actually quite different from the Happy Diwali story outlined above (p.s. Happy Diwali). What's important that this is the first time I've been to a house of worship out of my own free will in a really long time. Now, I know I don't fit into the Hindu philosophy much, but, it definitely felt good. And it made me think...
If I can believe in a mathematical infinite, what's stopping me (apart from myself and academic/societal pressures) from believing in a spiritual version of the same thing?
Thought du jour, for sure....Now back to Charles Taylor and 'The Politics of Recognition.'
Such was my life - until today.
I went to the mandir today - the first time in quite a while. Back home, I'd always gone to the VHP one. Even though I didn't really agree with VHP philosophy. But the pandit-ji at this particular one was pretty open, and it was the temple that all the Gujjus went to - so whenever we went (which was less often than our forays to JK), we went to this particular one. So I found this NYC mandir online, and it was the closest one to campus (but in the Bronx). A bunch of friends and I got into a cab and made the trek to the Bronx, expecting Gujjus and yummy food.
It was a Guyanese mandir - and was definitely not what I was expecting. If you've ever been to a Gujju mandir, you'll notice that the prayers and ceremonies are very sober (very Gujju in fact). This one was a tad outrageous (not in the negative sense of the word). We ended up leaving half way through (we were starving) and were looking for a cab when an aunty came up to us and forced us to eat (I love aunty-jis...). And she also called us a cab...
Anyway...so the point of this post is actually quite different from the Happy Diwali story outlined above (p.s. Happy Diwali). What's important that this is the first time I've been to a house of worship out of my own free will in a really long time. Now, I know I don't fit into the Hindu philosophy much, but, it definitely felt good. And it made me think...
If I can believe in a mathematical infinite, what's stopping me (apart from myself and academic/societal pressures) from believing in a spiritual version of the same thing?
Thought du jour, for sure....Now back to Charles Taylor and 'The Politics of Recognition.'
Friday 9 October 2009
I Know I Can Die
you don't truly understand mortality until you are made aware of it
and then - you understand it a bit too well
and then - you understand it a bit too well
Monday 28 September 2009
NYC Dogs - Part II
Everyone has a dog. It's pretty weird actually. You wander down the street just after dinner time, and you invariably see more people with dogs than without. I think I've seen more types of dogs in 3 weeks here, than I ever saw back home. Today (or was it yesterday?) I saw the most adorable pug ever. Short, stout and a tad on the grumpy side, he was adorable.
It amazes me that people would keep dogs in their tiny one bedroom places. I barely have space for myself in this studio of mine, let alone a s***ting and smelling dog. I can't bathe it every day, and this city is so frigging dirty that it would probably be horribly in need of a bathe after every walk! I feel like I need one after I go out - and I wear clothes and shoes! Sigh.
Apart from the spatial and nasal issues of dog rearing and handling in this city, I've wondered for a while just why so many people feel the need for the 4-legged creatures. The only plausible, and somewhat sensical, explanation I have come up with is this:
It amazes me that people would keep dogs in their tiny one bedroom places. I barely have space for myself in this studio of mine, let alone a s***ting and smelling dog. I can't bathe it every day, and this city is so frigging dirty that it would probably be horribly in need of a bathe after every walk! I feel like I need one after I go out - and I wear clothes and shoes! Sigh.
Apart from the spatial and nasal issues of dog rearing and handling in this city, I've wondered for a while just why so many people feel the need for the 4-legged creatures. The only plausible, and somewhat sensical, explanation I have come up with is this:
People here are so lonely, that they need the added comfort in their lives that 'man's-best-friends' give. They'd have babies, but they're too busy trying to live and make money to spend 9-months gestating or helping gestate...
Wednesday 23 September 2009
The End of Everything?
Come-on Shelly, not everything is dying is it? First you write Death of Sanskrit (fascinating by the way), and now your most recent article is on the Death of Philology. Sigh.
I really hope you're not depressing. I guess we'll see tomorrow. You're really cool - everyone who's done any Sanskrit (myself included) thinks so. I really hope you're cool.
But, I'm sorry.
The Tyra show is much more interesting at this point than the article.
(ps - I really haven't had a break for a while, so it's also an excuse to relax)
I really hope you're not depressing. I guess we'll see tomorrow. You're really cool - everyone who's done any Sanskrit (myself included) thinks so. I really hope you're cool.
But, I'm sorry.
The Tyra show is much more interesting at this point than the article.
(ps - I really haven't had a break for a while, so it's also an excuse to relax)
Friday 18 September 2009
Academic Heaven
So today, I went to a lecture hosted by Nobel Laureate Jagdish Bhagwati, and featuring the Indian Minister of State for the Environment - Jairam Ramesh.
I'm in love with Indian politics (if you hadn't noticed yet). And the lecture was fascinating! It was great to see how the type of people in Indian politics has changed over the past few years. Ramesh was eloquent, impeccably dressed in a white kurta and blue vest (and with the coolest hair!), and quite funny as well. I also wanted to appropriate his accent - sometimes my 'eh' tinged Canadian accent sounds so boring. Sigh.
Anyway. Ramesh spoke about India's road to Copenhagen and the various processes that have been put into place, and are being put into place, for the upcoming climate change summit. What was fascinating though, apart from the numbers and the action being undertaken by the ministry, was how much India has started to assert itself on the world stage. India's desire to be at the top of the world, in terms of power and influence, was apparent - nay, tangible - in every sentence.
I'm not going to post the notes I took, but will leave you with my favourite quote of the afternoon - from Jairam Ramesh, of course...
And I'm paraphrasing here..
"Why is climate change such an important issue for India? It's because India is completely dependent on climate - economically, socially, culturally. Think about it - what would Bollywood do if the rains stopped coming?"
Hilarious.
I'm in love with Indian politics (if you hadn't noticed yet). And the lecture was fascinating! It was great to see how the type of people in Indian politics has changed over the past few years. Ramesh was eloquent, impeccably dressed in a white kurta and blue vest (and with the coolest hair!), and quite funny as well. I also wanted to appropriate his accent - sometimes my 'eh' tinged Canadian accent sounds so boring. Sigh.
Anyway. Ramesh spoke about India's road to Copenhagen and the various processes that have been put into place, and are being put into place, for the upcoming climate change summit. What was fascinating though, apart from the numbers and the action being undertaken by the ministry, was how much India has started to assert itself on the world stage. India's desire to be at the top of the world, in terms of power and influence, was apparent - nay, tangible - in every sentence.
I'm not going to post the notes I took, but will leave you with my favourite quote of the afternoon - from Jairam Ramesh, of course...
And I'm paraphrasing here..
"Why is climate change such an important issue for India? It's because India is completely dependent on climate - economically, socially, culturally. Think about it - what would Bollywood do if the rains stopped coming?"
Hilarious.
Wednesday 16 September 2009
NYC Dogs - Part I
Part I because this post was supposed to be about them and is now about something completely unrelated that came up in a conversation with BKScope.
Here it is:
Here it is:
It's like he's become a part of you and you don't really know why or how you let him do that. And you'd like him to leave you alone, but he kinda gives you solace by being there. But it hurts...and oh it's so complicated. And then you can't decide whether you're happy or sad that you miss him...
Men.
*shakes head*
Tear you apart and don't even know it.
Men.
*shakes head*
Tear you apart and don't even know it.
Sunday 13 September 2009
A Night with the Angels
Tonight was, for Isma'ilis anyway, Laylat-ul-Qadr - the night of power, the night on which it is believed that the Prophet Muhammad (saww) first received the Qur'an's verses. I have family in town (yay!) for the US Open, and so, we decided to meet up for dinner tonight. It got cancelled this morning, and then because the rain kept on coming down incessantly, was rescheduled (for the same night, of course). Excited about being with family and of getting out of the house, I got ready really quickly and got into a cab.
As you may know already (I can't remember if I've written about the many random and odd conversations I've had with cab drivers - but I've had quite a few, including one where I was so scared I almost thought of getting out of the cab immediately), I speak to cab drivers. So when this one opened his mouth, I thought he sounded Italian - so I asked him if he was from Italy. Turns out, he was from Ecuador, but had Italian parents (score! I'm awesome - teehee) who had emigrated to South America. Anyway, we started chatting about this and that and it was quite amusing. He found out I was studying South Asian politics and then went on about how it was religion that was tearing the world apart (which - I agree with) and how he couldn't understand how Partition ever occurred.
He asked me what my religion was. And remembering the last time I'd discussed my religious views with a cab driver (a year ago - I was between agnostic and atheist, and had received a 20 minute lecture on how I needed to believe in Allah and His messengers - my views have actually changed since then - not on account of that lecture of course), I decided to tell him I didn't believe in God. Given his already-affirmed semi-negative views on religion, I figured that it was the safest option and, thankfully - because I was in no mood to discuss my own religious views - it was. Anyway, so we also discussed men and how apparently, with my new hair, I look like Cleopatra or Isis and how I'm a very shy person and perhaps conservative with a mix of Wild Western thrown in, and how I shouldn't go out with a Desi guy because they're all really boring (FYI - I opposed this statement of his vehemently!) etc. and then he dropped me off at the restaurant with a 'goodbye senorina'.
So I got out of the cab, and went up to my aunt who was standing outside, talking on the phone. And - dinner plans had just gotten cancelled because my uncles had JUST received a call from the USTA, telling them that the tennis matches were about to resume. Having spent a lot of money and having travelled across the continent for the matches, they sped away to Flushing Meadows, and we 3 women were left dinner date-less.
My aunt and her friend are quite the religious people and had come from JK (Isma'ili version of a mosque) just for dinner. I hadn't eaten, and they offered to take me out for dinner. But I could see that they wanted to get back to JK for the various prayers. Anyway, then my aunt had an idea - she said, why don't you just come to JK with us, there's food there (Gujarati food - yummy!) and then you can sit and pray if you want. We'll leave after the 12am prayer and you can go home.
Now, being quite lonely and hungry, and not particularly excited about going back home, watching tv, reading this article I still haven't finished, and ordering-in Thai food, I acquiesced (*collective gasp*). For those of you that know me, I'm quite the un-Ismaili. I went to Alma Mater for 5 years and never figured out where the campus JK was, let alone went to it. I've been here 5 days (not counting the days my parents were here), and about to go into JK. Helloooo!!!!
When I got into JK though, it was an amazing feeling. No No. Not the spiritual kind, but the one where you feel completely comfortable. Having been in places and situations that are completely and utterly new and different, it felt amazing being somewhere where I didn't have to constantly wonder or worry about what was going to happen or how to act or what to do. And when I had that pilaf. OhEmJee. I almost cried. It made me miss my mommy's food even more because it tasted exactly like it (except the salt content was perfect - my mother comes from a family that uses very little salt).
As far as the praying part goes, I'm more Muslim than Isma'ili (no - not the same thing), and so it wasn't too fulfilling spiritually. It was ironic though, for sure, given that I'd just denied the existence of any religiousness within myself an hour or so before stepping foot into JK and then had partaken in a ceremony that only 'the very faithful' go to.
Oh So Funny.
Right. It's now 2am, and my sleep angels are waiting for me to fall asleep. But first, the tooth fairy wants me to go brush and floss my teeth - so sleep will have to wait a little while longer.
Night ya'll and remember...to be born again, first you must die.
As you may know already (I can't remember if I've written about the many random and odd conversations I've had with cab drivers - but I've had quite a few, including one where I was so scared I almost thought of getting out of the cab immediately), I speak to cab drivers. So when this one opened his mouth, I thought he sounded Italian - so I asked him if he was from Italy. Turns out, he was from Ecuador, but had Italian parents (score! I'm awesome - teehee) who had emigrated to South America. Anyway, we started chatting about this and that and it was quite amusing. He found out I was studying South Asian politics and then went on about how it was religion that was tearing the world apart (which - I agree with) and how he couldn't understand how Partition ever occurred.
He asked me what my religion was. And remembering the last time I'd discussed my religious views with a cab driver (a year ago - I was between agnostic and atheist, and had received a 20 minute lecture on how I needed to believe in Allah and His messengers - my views have actually changed since then - not on account of that lecture of course), I decided to tell him I didn't believe in God. Given his already-affirmed semi-negative views on religion, I figured that it was the safest option and, thankfully - because I was in no mood to discuss my own religious views - it was. Anyway, so we also discussed men and how apparently, with my new hair, I look like Cleopatra or Isis and how I'm a very shy person and perhaps conservative with a mix of Wild Western thrown in, and how I shouldn't go out with a Desi guy because they're all really boring (FYI - I opposed this statement of his vehemently!) etc. and then he dropped me off at the restaurant with a 'goodbye senorina'.
So I got out of the cab, and went up to my aunt who was standing outside, talking on the phone. And - dinner plans had just gotten cancelled because my uncles had JUST received a call from the USTA, telling them that the tennis matches were about to resume. Having spent a lot of money and having travelled across the continent for the matches, they sped away to Flushing Meadows, and we 3 women were left dinner date-less.
My aunt and her friend are quite the religious people and had come from JK (Isma'ili version of a mosque) just for dinner. I hadn't eaten, and they offered to take me out for dinner. But I could see that they wanted to get back to JK for the various prayers. Anyway, then my aunt had an idea - she said, why don't you just come to JK with us, there's food there (Gujarati food - yummy!) and then you can sit and pray if you want. We'll leave after the 12am prayer and you can go home.
Now, being quite lonely and hungry, and not particularly excited about going back home, watching tv, reading this article I still haven't finished, and ordering-in Thai food, I acquiesced (*collective gasp*). For those of you that know me, I'm quite the un-Ismaili. I went to Alma Mater for 5 years and never figured out where the campus JK was, let alone went to it. I've been here 5 days (not counting the days my parents were here), and about to go into JK. Helloooo!!!!
When I got into JK though, it was an amazing feeling. No No. Not the spiritual kind, but the one where you feel completely comfortable. Having been in places and situations that are completely and utterly new and different, it felt amazing being somewhere where I didn't have to constantly wonder or worry about what was going to happen or how to act or what to do. And when I had that pilaf. OhEmJee. I almost cried. It made me miss my mommy's food even more because it tasted exactly like it (except the salt content was perfect - my mother comes from a family that uses very little salt).
As far as the praying part goes, I'm more Muslim than Isma'ili (no - not the same thing), and so it wasn't too fulfilling spiritually. It was ironic though, for sure, given that I'd just denied the existence of any religiousness within myself an hour or so before stepping foot into JK and then had partaken in a ceremony that only 'the very faithful' go to.
Oh So Funny.
Right. It's now 2am, and my sleep angels are waiting for me to fall asleep. But first, the tooth fairy wants me to go brush and floss my teeth - so sleep will have to wait a little while longer.
Night ya'll and remember...to be born again, first you must die.
Friday 11 September 2009
9/11/9 - Where It All Started
So, a couple posts ago, I mentioned the fact that I'd be in NYC on the 9th anniversary of 9/11. I wondered how I'd feel, what I'd do, and promised to write about my 9/11/NYC experience(s).
I slept through it. I honestly did. I woke up at around 11:30am, and proceeded with my various morning rituals (sans tea this morning because I slept well - *gasp* - and didn't feel like I needed it).
Recognizing the danger of sounding like a complete fool, I must say that I even forgot about 9/11, until I was flipping through the tv and came across a documentary about that particular event.
Sigh.
Back to Premchand.
I slept through it. I honestly did. I woke up at around 11:30am, and proceeded with my various morning rituals (sans tea this morning because I slept well - *gasp* - and didn't feel like I needed it).
Recognizing the danger of sounding like a complete fool, I must say that I even forgot about 9/11, until I was flipping through the tv and came across a documentary about that particular event.
Sigh.
Back to Premchand.
Tuesday 8 September 2009
Today = September 7, 2004
Today was my first day of school. Grad school. I woke up this morning having barely slept the night before and anxious about how the day would go. It felt almost exactly like that day I first went to my now-Alma Mater for Orientation, without the comfort of driving to campus with two other friends from high-school. I remember that anxiety well. Even though I didn't have to pick the colour of my t-shirt (it was purple because that was my faculty's colour), it was still nerve-wracking figuring out the other details. What pants to wear, whether to wear a sweater or not, what to bring in my backpack, whether to take a smaller bag instead, whether I'd actually talk to anyone throughout the day, whether they'd have a vegetarian option for lunch, whether I'd have fun etc etc. Intense and insane.
That first day was ok. Nothing special. My second time at Orientation (as a volunteer/MUG leader) was much better. I was more confident and enjoyed the festivities much more than I had as a freshie. Plus, not having an insanely weird group leader (who sent us some email about houses burning down and cars getting crashed) helped - although, it is highly possible that my freshies saw me in the same light. My first day of real classes was definitely better than Orientation. I felt much more in my element (even though I started off horribly - and my marks dropped about 25% that first term), and actually got to know a bunch of the people in my class.
Today, was interesting. I was completely freaked out this morning. I set my alarm for 6am, and ended up getting out of bed at 7:30am. Thankfully, I'm a 15 minute walk away from campus, so I was on time (well - early) for my 9am class. I'd planned ahead, knowing that I wouldn't be in the best state of mind this morning, and had already decided what to wear and had put it out on the chair. All I had to do this morning was to iron my top and put on my clothes. So easy. Then, I decided not to take my carry-mug of tea with me (that'll depend on whether or not tea-drinking during class is a common occurrence here - the coffee/tea mug is almost ubiquitous back in YVR) and started walking towards campus.
I got into my class about 5 minutes before it was supposed to start, and saw a bunch of students there. Now, I'm really bad at telling who's a grad student and who's not, so I figured they were grad students. Ends up they weren't - but were undergrads who had already studied the language for a couple of years. My prof walked in, and class started.
During the routine intros, my prof and I started talking - about a common professor we'd both had (at Alma Mater incidentally). It broke the ice, and after she said she'd gone through my file, it made me realize how lucky I was to have had some awesome experiences during my undergrad. Example of how awesome they were - I didn't have to take this language placement exam the others had had to, and was asked whether I wanted to work for this certain prof. Not sure how things will play out, but fingers crossed.
Haha. So afterwards, I went to this awesome bookstore and picked up a translation of the Yoga Sutras, and then got my NYPL library card. Then, I had to use the washroom. Now, over the course of 5 years, I'd figured out where the cleanest washrooms were on campus. Being new to Columbia, I had no idea where to go, and so (because I had 1.5 hours until the department orientation), I walked back home. I found it hilarious. During my undergrad, I went home to eat and sleep. Here, I can go home whenever I want/need to. Lol.
The Department orientation was also cool. The craziness of the PhD program (i.e. how difficult it is) made me want to do my PhD (I'm weird - I know), but I feel as if I need to go out into the real world. Who knows. Maybe I'll end up sticking around for another 6 years. Maybe I'll be gone by February 2011.
Right. So I'm going to finish watching this Monfils/Nadal match. Rooting for Nadal so I can see a Fed/Rafa final on Sunday. I'm going to the final! Woot!
Monday 7 September 2009
Reduce, Reuse, Recycle - NYC Style
This city is starting to get on my West Coast-let's recycle everything we can find-and use cloth bags for our groceries etc-mentality's nerves. It's insane. I went to the grocery store today to buy eggs, milk, flour, veggies and that sort of stuff. I'd gone gro-shopping a week ago at this place and the veggies were pretty bad. So I walked a couple extra blocks to the Garden of Eden and stepped into fruit and veggie heaven, and recycling hell.
The grapes were in paper - the type I use on the tops of gifts that have been bagged. And in more paper than I would use for the biggest type of bag.
Anyway. So I got all my stuff and proceeded to the check-out. I had my cloth bag with me and told the lady I'd put everything except the milk and eggs in it. She looked at me like I was from another planet and proceeded to hand me my sugar and to put the rest of the items into two massive plastic bags. It bothered me. So much so that I walked briskly back home, threw (well - placed) my eggs and milk in the fridge and signed on to blogger.
Right. Now - back to unpacking. Ugh. Or to Skype...hmmm
ps. I didn't buy any apples...not yet ready to fall from Grace
The grapes were in paper - the type I use on the tops of gifts that have been bagged. And in more paper than I would use for the biggest type of bag.
Anyway. So I got all my stuff and proceeded to the check-out. I had my cloth bag with me and told the lady I'd put everything except the milk and eggs in it. She looked at me like I was from another planet and proceeded to hand me my sugar and to put the rest of the items into two massive plastic bags. It bothered me. So much so that I walked briskly back home, threw (well - placed) my eggs and milk in the fridge and signed on to blogger.
Right. Now - back to unpacking. Ugh. Or to Skype...hmmm
ps. I didn't buy any apples...not yet ready to fall from Grace
Thursday 3 September 2009
An Evening at JFK
I find it quite amusing. I haven’t been blogging much for a while, and here I am, writing my third post for the day (although, since this airport doesn’t have free wireless, it won’t be up on RFS until tomorrow). In my loneliness, I find writing soothing. It’s a way to get my emotions out, without having to resort to Facebook or Skype or MSN. It feels more human to do it this way, almost as if I’m writing in a diary – without the diary and the physical writing parts of course. As my friend Christina said, upon her return from Scotland, it feels as if my real life is actually the one taking place on social networks. My physical life in NYC, seems very distant and disconnected from what’s actually going on.
That being said, today was quite a good day. Apart from having barely slept last night, because I’m still a bit afraid to sleep with the lights out in my new apartment (reminds me of that song from Taare Zameen Par – main kabhii batlaataa nahiin. Par andheron se dartaa huun main maa.) and I can’t actually sleep with the lights on. Finally, at around 3am, exhausted but still fully awake, I got out of bed and turned them off. I was asleep within 5 minutes.
And then my alarm rang at 830am and - as is usually the case – I switched it off and dozed for a short while. After I finally got out of bed, I made myself my much-needed cup of tea (more like cups of tea this morning) and dashed off to the International Students’ office to make sure all my visa stuff was in order so I could fly back to Canada for the weekend. My grandmother passed away (inna lilaahi wa inna ilaihi rajiun) yesterday, so I’m flying back for the funeral ceremonies (hence the reference to the airport above). Anyway, I walked the forty blocks there and back (and experienced my first taste of the New Yorker accent along the way – as those of you who have read my earlier post will recollect) and then went home for lunch. After left-over Bangkok fried rice (so yummy!) and Rice Krispies (I had to finish my milk before I left and I didn’t want to drink it straight), I headed out again to the Staples another 20 blocks away. I hadn’t really explored the Staples end of my part of town, and so I was excited to get out and walk the 20 blocks.
So I turned on my iPod. Set it to my Coke Studio and Pakistani Rock playlist that I’ve been listening to constantly for the past few weeks (Noori. Oh,Em,Jee! And Kinara uff!!), put on my Ray Bans and, dressed for the occasion in my West-Coast Kits Beach clothing (Lululemon and Karma plus a t-shirt from my Alma Mater), I set off for the Staples. My attempt to explore wasn’t that fruitful actually – I was more interested in my music. Sigh. Good music will do that to you. I’m sure I got some pretty odd stares as I walked along, smiling at the brilliance of it all and probably (although I’m not sure) bobbing my head along to the music. And maybe singing. I dunno. I don’t remember.
Anyway, I got to the Staples and was happy because they had a massive sale! As a student without a source of income and flabbergasted by the amount tuition costs (although – one year for my Masters is less than a year as an undergrad at Harvard and my tuition will drop $10,000 per semester after this year), I love sales. *Massive Smile*
I got all my school supplies for the year (apart from 3 notebooks I’ll need next term and possibly binders) for 30 bucks – not including the mail-in rebates that will give me back around $10. Yay! (I feel like such a cheapo.)
Diversion RE: I feel like such a cheapo
I’m dressed quite well right now. In my nice jeans, nice flats – the purple Aldo ones I love, this white blazer-type jacket, a polo shirt and a vest. And I’m drinking Starbucks – even though their coffee sucks (but I don’t want to risk having worse coffee in this airplane lounge, so Starbucks it is). Anyway, so it feels weird talking – well writing – about being a cheapo when I don’t look like or feel like a cheapo. Oh – and I better explain why I’m dressed well too. So I’m taking my small suitcase instead of the carry-on so that I can bring my nice jacket from home that I had to leave behind because it wouldn’t fit in the suitcases I brought with me last week. I thought about wearing sweats, but that would mean putting my jacket and the other clothes I’m wearing in my suitcase, and that would give me less space to bring stuff from home.
Anyway, back to my story.
So yes, I bought my school supplies and thought of taking the subway back home. But then I went – hey, it’s a nice day. You need some exercise. It’s only 20 blocks and these bags aren’t that heavy are they? So I decided to walk. And it was decidedly harder than the walk to the Staples. Apart from the fact that part of the walk was uphill, the bags started really weighing down on me after about 10 blocks. By the time I got home, I was so tired (remember – I barely slept last night [you should see the bags underneath my eyes – Nabz during exam season would be proud]). But then I had to pack. So I couldn’t really relax and take a nap.
Next story.
I’m sitting at JFK, waiting for my flight. When my Pakistani cab driver (who apparently used to own an ice-cream factory with 287 employees and then lost it all after 9/11 because ‘something happened’, and who has 5 kids, all of whom are in Pakistan and either doctors or surgeons or heads of operations at some company – and then you wonder why he’s driving a taxi and wearing tattered clothes?) told me there were 9 terminals here, I was astounded and got really excited about being at the crossroads of humanity (clichéd…I know…don’t shake your head at me) and seeing people from all over the world inside. One thing I remember so well is the first (and really the only time) I spent some time at Heathrow (on my way to Kenya). It was so cool because there were all these people from different parts of this world. I remember this Shi’a mullah quite distinctly – I found him fascinating. I need to go to the East. I really do. *lament*
Anyway. But I feel like I’m sitting in Vancouver – without the pretty airport. This place is packed with Chinese people (although that’s probably because the flight I’m on is heading to Hong Kong and is just stopping over in Vancouver). Dammit. My phone rang and I lost my train of thought.
Maybe it’s a sign. I’m nearing the end of two pages on Word (like I said, I don’t have internet access here) and should probably wrap up. I know this post was random. But I felt like writing, so bear with it.
I’m excited to go home. Even though it’s for a sad occasion. I’ll get to meet my bff after 9 months and a bunch of other people I haven’t seen for quite some time. 1.5 hours until the flight departs. Sigh. I’m going to start Gandhi’s autobiography – given that I’m taking a course on his political views.
I love MEALAC
I love school
Wow. I’m such a nerd. :D
PS – I still haven’t gotten around to finding out how to meet Rushdie. Note to self – do it ASAP.
Wednesday 2 September 2009
Maximum City - Sort Of
Maximum City is a book I've always loved and found fascinating. Having only been to Bombay once, I feel as if it's my own little window into the magic and mayhem of that city.
There's a segment in that book, that's always stayed in my mind - the one where he talks about living by the water, in an apartment, and leaving the windows open - and how all sorts of junk (including a wet diaper - yuck!) and dust fly into his house.
Now. I always thought he was exaggerating a bit, until I cleaned my own apartment, overlooking water, after having kept the window open for about 30 minutes. Although no stray diapers found their way onto my floor, the amount of dirt that came in within those 30 minutes was amazing. The pan I use to grab all the dirt was full (it's one of those small hand-held ones), and I'm still feeling the effects of all that dust and dirt in my nose...
Anyway. Sorry Suketu. You were right.
There's a segment in that book, that's always stayed in my mind - the one where he talks about living by the water, in an apartment, and leaving the windows open - and how all sorts of junk (including a wet diaper - yuck!) and dust fly into his house.
Now. I always thought he was exaggerating a bit, until I cleaned my own apartment, overlooking water, after having kept the window open for about 30 minutes. Although no stray diapers found their way onto my floor, the amount of dirt that came in within those 30 minutes was amazing. The pan I use to grab all the dirt was full (it's one of those small hand-held ones), and I'm still feeling the effects of all that dust and dirt in my nose...
Anyway. Sorry Suketu. You were right.
Noo Yawk
I had my first experience of the New Yorker accent today - and it was semi-embarassing. I felt like such an idiot. Here I am, a languages major and lover of accents, and I can't figure the hell out what this guy is saying! I don't have a garbage for the kitchen - and have been using a plastic bag (tied tightly of course) for the past few days. Thankfully, my only real stinkable food products right now are the ends of the french beans I made two nights ago. Imagine if I ate meat - wow, my room would've stank!
Anyway, so back to this story. Right, garbage can. So I went into this home appliances store close to campus to get this garbage can, didn't have enough cash and so decided to use my debit card. It got declined (because apparently the ATM machine didn't activate it properly), and so the guy tried telling me it got declined. I heard: 'swipe the card again,' 'the card', 'declared', and everything else except 'declined.' Finally, this lady with a non-New Yorker accent had to explain to me that the guy was saying the card had been declined. Felt like an idiot. I can understand the heaviest of Chinese accents (a product of growing up where I grew up), but not New Yorker accents.
And that's a lesson for all you folks. Sometimes the things that should be closest to you are actually the farthest away.
Anyway, so back to this story. Right, garbage can. So I went into this home appliances store close to campus to get this garbage can, didn't have enough cash and so decided to use my debit card. It got declined (because apparently the ATM machine didn't activate it properly), and so the guy tried telling me it got declined. I heard: 'swipe the card again,' 'the card', 'declared', and everything else except 'declined.' Finally, this lady with a non-New Yorker accent had to explain to me that the guy was saying the card had been declined. Felt like an idiot. I can understand the heaviest of Chinese accents (a product of growing up where I grew up), but not New Yorker accents.
And that's a lesson for all you folks. Sometimes the things that should be closest to you are actually the farthest away.
Monday 31 August 2009
The Day the World Changed
A couple days ago, as I was walking down some random street near Times Square, I was reminded by my sister that I'd be in NYC during September 11th. Even though 9/11 has affected my life in ways that I cannot even begin to describe, the date itself hasn't had as significant an impact on me as others. Usually, when I wake up on 9/11, my first reaction is "GIVE ME TEA" and then "Crap I'm late for school", and as I'm heading to campus on the bus, I suddenly realize it's 9/11. Then I think about whatever's happened since, swear at le bush a couple of times for the havoc he's created in Afghanistan and Iraq and Pakistan, shake my fist at Bin Laden, and return to my music on my iPod.
Anyway. This year will be interesting. I was surprisingly emotional when I went to the site of 9/11 for the first time, so not sure what this year's reaction will be. Will keep ya'll posted.
Now. Back to my TomYum yummy soup.
Anyway. This year will be interesting. I was surprisingly emotional when I went to the site of 9/11 for the first time, so not sure what this year's reaction will be. Will keep ya'll posted.
Now. Back to my TomYum yummy soup.
Friday 28 August 2009
Apologies...
For not having written in a while. I'm in the midst of moving myself and my possessions to NYC and of starting a completely new life. The past week and a bit has been spent saying goodbye (not alvida/goodbye...the other see-you-soon type) to my near and dear (in both spatial and emotional terms), packing my life into 1.5 suitcases, spending two hours on a tarmac waiting for remnants of Hurricane Bill to pass through the East Coast (then giving up and walking off a cancelled flight), arriving in the centre of the world at 830am and crashing almost in the middle of Times Square, finalizing an apartment, buying furniture and whatever else one needs for a home (from toilet paper to desk tops), shopping along 5th Avenue (not advisable unless you want to be stuck in a tourist trap or have enough money to shut down the boutiques for yourself - just go to the other Burberry or Abercrombie stores in town), and taking hundreds of pictures at the M&M store. Tomorrow is my first orientation! Things should settle down over the next few days, and I'll be back to talk (well write) about this city.
Also on the plate: wandering around, taking pictures.
ps: Rushdie's here...in the city that is...
Also on the plate: wandering around, taking pictures.
ps: Rushdie's here...in the city that is...
Tuesday 18 August 2009
Seriously??
"Dating the Ethnic Man: Strategies for Success – New!
Multicultural relationships are increasingly common despite the challenges involved. If you’re a woman considering a relationship with an ethnic man, this insightful course will enlighten you to the influences that religion, family obligations and peer pressure may have on your partner’s ability to fully commit to you. Through practical advice and case studies, you’ll learn how to address and embrace cultural differences, while enriching your experiences of life and each other. Questions for contemplation and an in-depth compatibility test provide additional insights into the ethnic man’s values, sexual matters and emotional conflicts."
Multicultural relationships are increasingly common despite the challenges involved. If you’re a woman considering a relationship with an ethnic man, this insightful course will enlighten you to the influences that religion, family obligations and peer pressure may have on your partner’s ability to fully commit to you. Through practical advice and case studies, you’ll learn how to address and embrace cultural differences, while enriching your experiences of life and each other. Questions for contemplation and an in-depth compatibility test provide additional insights into the ethnic man’s values, sexual matters and emotional conflicts."
Seriously!!?!?!! And this too at a newly-accredited university (I still call it a college - yes, I'm an education snob) in my home province. Ooh - I want to date a brown guy - let's examine some case studies. Idiots. The only case studies worth examining are your own past relationships. And how do you LEARN to embrace cultural differences? You either do or you don't - simple.
Also - what are an 'ethnic man's values'. All you men of colour, along with those men who don't have colour but are still considered 'ethnic' in North America (shout out to the Mexicans, Brazilians [yes - I know not all of you are 'white' - sorry, for lack of a better term], Russians etc) - stay away from people who take this course. Seriously...If they think you're worth it, they'll ask you the questions, instead of some random 'expert' on 'ethnic men'.
Sheesh
Friday 14 August 2009
Of Guitars, Wrists and Freedom
I've never strung a guitar. Even though I've had one since I was 5, and two (1+1 of course) since I was 19. Neither have ever demanded new strings, so I've never bothered. The violin though - because I played it so often (but not enough for my violin teacher(s) to love me more than their other students) - needed changes every now and then. I feel like comparing this to a baby needing a diaper change - but that would be disrespectful to Gligz (my violin - I name things) and doesn't really fit as a comparison. I won't go into details about why it doesn't fit - you should be able to figure that out.
Anyway, so back to the guitar. The one that I acquired (it used to be my father's - I appropriated it once I discovered the beautifulness that is Asturias) when I was 19 was last strung before I was born - so around 25 years ago. It's a beautiful guitar with a very deep tone that reminds me of hazelnut chocolate spread (i.e. Nutella - the European type that's not as sweet as the stuff we get here). Unfortunately, or fortunately, one of the strings broke a couple days ago and, because I enjoy playing this particular guitar more than my other one and because dad's work is across the road from a guitar store, I asked dad to buy a set of strings.
Last night, I decided to restring the wooden beauty and figured that it would be as easy as stringing a violin. I was wrong. It was much more difficult and tedious. Anyway, it ended up taking me almost 2 hours to get all the strings off and the new ones on (mostly because I'm really picky about where the string is sitting on the peg and how it looks) and a lot of that time was spent in winding the pegs. Thinking that my wrist (which underwent surgery a couple years ago and hasn't actually fully recovered) would be fine, I didn't bother taping it up or being 'careful.' Now - I'm in dire pain, and my hand is swollen - but - the stringing turned out well. And because my wrist was due for a bout of pain (the last one was during exams in April), I don't really mind having to go through it. At least - my guitar looks pretty and shiny with its brand new, silver strings. I still need to tune it though - spent today drinking tea, getting my hair cut and realizing that I'm actually quoteable. Oh - and had a massive tete-a-tete (dammit - there aren't any diacritical marks) with BKscope about PhDs and whether or not to pursue a three-year PhD or a three-year joint MIA/MPA and MBA. Hmm. Questions...questions...questions.
Answers? None yet. Maybe within the next few months as I get settled into Said-land (Edward - not the past form of 'to say').
And to all the South Asians out there. Happy Independence Day(s). 'S' in brackets for those who celebrate both - like me.
Anyway, so back to the guitar. The one that I acquired (it used to be my father's - I appropriated it once I discovered the beautifulness that is Asturias) when I was 19 was last strung before I was born - so around 25 years ago. It's a beautiful guitar with a very deep tone that reminds me of hazelnut chocolate spread (i.e. Nutella - the European type that's not as sweet as the stuff we get here). Unfortunately, or fortunately, one of the strings broke a couple days ago and, because I enjoy playing this particular guitar more than my other one and because dad's work is across the road from a guitar store, I asked dad to buy a set of strings.
Last night, I decided to restring the wooden beauty and figured that it would be as easy as stringing a violin. I was wrong. It was much more difficult and tedious. Anyway, it ended up taking me almost 2 hours to get all the strings off and the new ones on (mostly because I'm really picky about where the string is sitting on the peg and how it looks) and a lot of that time was spent in winding the pegs. Thinking that my wrist (which underwent surgery a couple years ago and hasn't actually fully recovered) would be fine, I didn't bother taping it up or being 'careful.' Now - I'm in dire pain, and my hand is swollen - but - the stringing turned out well. And because my wrist was due for a bout of pain (the last one was during exams in April), I don't really mind having to go through it. At least - my guitar looks pretty and shiny with its brand new, silver strings. I still need to tune it though - spent today drinking tea, getting my hair cut and realizing that I'm actually quoteable. Oh - and had a massive tete-a-tete (dammit - there aren't any diacritical marks) with BKscope about PhDs and whether or not to pursue a three-year PhD or a three-year joint MIA/MPA and MBA. Hmm. Questions...questions...questions.
Answers? None yet. Maybe within the next few months as I get settled into Said-land (Edward - not the past form of 'to say').
And to all the South Asians out there. Happy Independence Day(s). 'S' in brackets for those who celebrate both - like me.
Monday 10 August 2009
A Real, Live City...
I'm no longer a student of the most beautiful university in the world, but - in fact - of one of the oldest on this side of the Atlantic. Want a hint? Think of Mr. Black-yet-White President, the Writer of India's Constitution, one of the Founders of The Country In Which Even Pennies Trust God and so on...
I'm moving in two weeks to a city - oh Lordy to a Real, Massive, Intense, People-Crammed and Cramming city.
I'm moving in two weeks to a city - oh Lordy to a Real, Massive, Intense, People-Crammed and Cramming city.
Sunday 9 August 2009
Sunday 2 August 2009
Paimana Bideh - Bring me the Glass...
More wonderfulness from Coke Studio - this time from Zeb and Haniya. This one makes me want to wander around North-West Pakistan more than I wanted to a while ago...But alas! I have to go to grad school. North-West Pakistan will just have to wait for another year.
Lyrics + Translation: Awais Aftab
Part one, translated from Darri/Farsi:
Paimana bideh ki khumaar astam
(Bring me the glass so I may lose myself)
Man aashiq-e chashm-e mast-e-yarastam
(I am in love with my beloved’s intoxicating eyes)
Bideh, bideh, ki khumaar astam
(Bring (the glass), bring (the glass), so I may lose myself)
Part two, translated from Pushto:
Dilgeer garzama labela taana
(You have captured my heart and I wander aimlessly without you)
Khabar me waakhla, raasha jaanana
(My love come/return, and see the state I’m in)
Khabar me waakhla, raasha jaanana
(My love come/return, and see the state I’m in)
Tarso ba garzay te bela mana?
(How long will you wander without me?)
Lyrics + Translation: Awais Aftab
Part one, translated from Darri/Farsi:
Paimana bideh ki khumaar astam
(Bring me the glass so I may lose myself)
Man aashiq-e chashm-e mast-e-yarastam
(I am in love with my beloved’s intoxicating eyes)
Bideh, bideh, ki khumaar astam
(Bring (the glass), bring (the glass), so I may lose myself)
Part two, translated from Pushto:
Dilgeer garzama labela taana
(You have captured my heart and I wander aimlessly without you)
Khabar me waakhla, raasha jaanana
(My love come/return, and see the state I’m in)
Khabar me waakhla, raasha jaanana
(My love come/return, and see the state I’m in)
Tarso ba garzay te bela mana?
(How long will you wander without me?)
Thursday 30 July 2009
Music Love (part 2?)
OK. This is old - from last year's version of Coke Studio. I was away for a couple of weeks, and so I missed this year's Coke Studio episodes and am just catching up on them. Anyway, while I was listening to Shafqat and Josh do a great rendition of Mahi Ve (Shafqat should have sang more though), I was reminded of this absolutely brilliant episode from last year. I've always loved loved loved Rahat Fateh Ali Khan (mostly because I'm absolutely in love with the brilliance of Nusrat-saab), and Junoon was the first Pakistani band I ever encountered (not face-to-face of course) - so this episode was special.
Sigh. I want to sing like this. Riaz Nabz...riaz....lots and lots of riaz.
Sigh. I want to sing like this. Riaz Nabz...riaz....lots and lots of riaz.
Wednesday 22 July 2009
Remembering the Enclave
the car waits patiently outside the gates
it is time to go
yet I am lost, lost in the black light
that sparkles in the haze
all is silent while the mouth speaks
of what, I do not know
do not remember
the sound of silence in the background is imagined
the yellow fluffiness is inviting
yet I am scared
scared of the consequences that will come by touching the three letters
by touching the face of the faceless person
who remains in my mind.
it is time to go
yet I am lost, lost in the black light
that sparkles in the haze
all is silent while the mouth speaks
of what, I do not know
do not remember
the sound of silence in the background is imagined
the yellow fluffiness is inviting
yet I am scared
scared of the consequences that will come by touching the three letters
by touching the face of the faceless person
who remains in my mind.
Monday 20 July 2009
Dwindling Agnosticism
Echoing adhaans in Sultanahmet
Complete peace in the Blue Mosque
Tears at Maulana's grave
An intense longing
ishrat-e-qatra hai darya mein fana'a ho jaana
Saturday 16 May 2009
Life in Slow Motion...
Life is so slow these days. Don't get me wrong; I'm not complaining. In fact, I've been enjoying my slow wanderings around the house and the city. Apparently, I no longer have my head in the clouds (or up in the white tower) these days either. While the hopeful academic in me is somewhat disappointed by that observation, I'm not that concerned about my brain being turned off for a while. It's been in fourth-gear for way too long.
The past few weeks have definitely been interesting. I'm continuously amazed at how much has changed in my life in just this short period of time since the end of exams. I knew that the end of this degree would be momentous; that it would be so life-changing - I had no idea. Now that I'm not worried about grades, working my @$$ off so that I can get into grad school (fingers crossed), going to work so I can pay my tuition and finishing all my extra-curricular projects by their deadlines, I have much more time to reflect on and to look at the changes happening in my life - and I'm fascinated by how, in the heat of the moment, one can lose (and gain) so much more than what one had anticipated losing (and gaining). It's as if the entire world has slowed down and is letting me watch it go by in slow-motion.
Being used to weeks that feel like days, I love it.
Next post will be less about me + feelings, and more about something interesting - outcome of the Indian elections perhaps...
Wednesday 22 April 2009
Racism Anyone?
Late at night and no paper to write (that rhymes, I know - however it was unconscious on my part) because I'm done! My undergraduate degree that is. Feels wonderful and horrible at the same time. I have no idea what I'm going to be doing in September (waiting for a reply from grad. school), which freaks the hell out of me, but am ecstatic about finally getting a change to do things I haven't in a few years - music, tennis, driving, wandering, reading.
As you know, or should know, the UN anti-racism conference just occurred. Now, as much as I'd like to comment on Ahmedinejad's speech, I haven't read the full text yet - so will not; however, during my late-night YouTube surfing, I came across this video from Fox News on the subject. I found it amusing - especially the part where the news anchor says that Ahmedinejad engaged in racism by calling the Israeli state 'racist.' Last time I checked, the definition for racism was much different - oh well, American media and spin at its best.
Check it out:
As you know, or should know, the UN anti-racism conference just occurred. Now, as much as I'd like to comment on Ahmedinejad's speech, I haven't read the full text yet - so will not; however, during my late-night YouTube surfing, I came across this video from Fox News on the subject. I found it amusing - especially the part where the news anchor says that Ahmedinejad engaged in racism by calling the Israeli state 'racist.' Last time I checked, the definition for racism was much different - oh well, American media and spin at its best.
Check it out:
Sunday 29 March 2009
Dhikr Dude
I have a paper I need to hand in tomorrow morning (it was due on Friday), and as you know, it is during times like these that I decide to write in Selfistan.
Today's post will not take me too long to write, nor will it use up too many of my brain cells - or yours for that matter. You may have noticed the new RFS header that I put up a couple days ago. If you haven't yet, move your eyeballs slightly upward, and you'll see it.
I was beginning to find the old one a bit too 'graffiti-ish,' a bit too jarring on the eyes, and all-in-all unrepresentative of RFS and myself.
This new one is much more to my taste. The font is one I love (manzanita) and that I use for all my pictures and cards. As well, being in love with Islamic architecture, I love the fact that I now have an arch in the header.
But it goes beyond just the arch. The picture itself is an edit from Aerosol Arabic's Dhikr Dude. Hopefully, it will inspire me to be more thoughtful in my posts - and will restrain me from putting up nonsense (even though some of my nonsense has been translated into papers that profs have loved - case in point the Chai and Orientalism one).
Anyway - back to this paper on the Naxalites (who are actually quite fascinating and under-studied).
Today's post will not take me too long to write, nor will it use up too many of my brain cells - or yours for that matter. You may have noticed the new RFS header that I put up a couple days ago. If you haven't yet, move your eyeballs slightly upward, and you'll see it.
I was beginning to find the old one a bit too 'graffiti-ish,' a bit too jarring on the eyes, and all-in-all unrepresentative of RFS and myself.
This new one is much more to my taste. The font is one I love (manzanita) and that I use for all my pictures and cards. As well, being in love with Islamic architecture, I love the fact that I now have an arch in the header.
But it goes beyond just the arch. The picture itself is an edit from Aerosol Arabic's Dhikr Dude. Hopefully, it will inspire me to be more thoughtful in my posts - and will restrain me from putting up nonsense (even though some of my nonsense has been translated into papers that profs have loved - case in point the Chai and Orientalism one).
Anyway - back to this paper on the Naxalites (who are actually quite fascinating and under-studied).
Monday 23 March 2009
Desert Sunset - 16 August 2004
the desolate wind sweeps across the desert
picking up dust, leaves and the occassional call
of a lost bird
and yet,
I am left standing,
waiting for that which will not come.
picking up dust, leaves and the occassional call
of a lost bird
and yet,
I am left standing,
waiting for that which will not come.
tired.
the fleeting and warm smile of the unknown
lends me a helping hand in my quest across the desert,
as the gold leaves my fingertips
the cold night surrounds me
and I sit
waiting for the next sunrise.
lends me a helping hand in my quest across the desert,
as the gold leaves my fingertips
the cold night surrounds me
and I sit
waiting for the next sunrise.
(ps- hakka noodles)
Saturday 21 March 2009
Kuchh Ishq Kiya, Kuchh Kaam Kiya (Faiz Ahmed Faiz) - AKA - Aaj Kuchh Nahin Kiya
With a paper to finish as soon as possible so I can go to this event on Monday (the paper is due Tuesday morning), one would think that I would get my act together and write the damn thing. But - it's on a topic that I'm not interested in at all (were it not for the professor teaching it - and the amazing things I'd heard about him, I wouldn't have taken the course), and thus I've been procrastinating quite a lot.
Having now sat in the library for almost 6 hours (excluding the amount of time I spent in the SUB eating horrible pizza, and getting my caffeine and sugar fix), I haven't accomplished too much. Yes - I've gotten most of my notes down and have pretty much finished my introduction - but given that I wanted to finish the paper today, it doesn't seem like I've done much. So what have I actually been doing? Well - Dawn and Urdupoetry.com have gotten quite a lot of hits because of me today.
Was reading the Faiz Ahmed Faiz section on Urdupoetry.com and came across this short piece. It's so simple, but yet so true about so many of our lives - and made me seriously think how sometimes I try and do so much that I don't really do anything.
Woh log bahut khush kismat the,
Jo ishq ko kaam samajhte the,
Yaa kaam se aashiqui karte the,
Hum jiite ji masruuf rahe,
Kuchh ishq kiya, kuchh kaam kiya.
Kaam ishq ke aaDe aata raha,
Aur ishq se kaam ulajhta raha,
Phir aakhir tang aakar hum ne,
Donon ko adhuuraa chhoD diya.
Thursday 19 March 2009
To Be or to BJP...That is the Question
I find the political blowup in India about Sanjay Gandhi's son Varun running for election under the BJP banner quite amusing. For those of you who don't know the history behind the issue, it's somewhat of a soap opera, and quite entertaining.
Essentially, Varun Gandhi belongs to the Nehru/Gandhi (no relation to the Mahatma) family, the first-family of Indian politics who has governed the country (in one way or another) for most of the past 60 years through the Congress Party. Here's where the drama seeps into the story. Indira Gandhi, Nehru's daughter and India's Prime Minister during the 1970s and 1980s (until she was assassinated), had two sons: Sanjay and Rajiv. Sanjay was the eldest, and thus the next-in-line to the Indian throne (Prime Ministership). He was also actively involved in politics - and even led a vasectomy and sterilization campaign during 'The Emergency.' Rajiv got married first though - and brought his Italian wife (Sonia) to the family home. When Sanjay got married, Rajiv and Sonia already had a son - Rahul - and Sonia was already established as The Daughter-in-Law in the Gandhi household. Obviously, Sanjay and Menaka (his wife) were jealous.
The problems started now, including fights between Sonia and Menaka for power in the household. And then one day, Sanjay died in a plane accident, and Rajiv came into the limelight - and became Prime Minister. The younger son, became the Prime Minister and the Menaka and her kid(s) were shunted out of the political light. But not for long.
Menaka joined the BJP - the Congress' arch-enemy - and contested parliamentary seats in the same region as Rajiv. Rajiv was eventually assassinated, and like the dutiful daughter-in-law that she is, Sonia took up the political mantle and became the leader of the Congress Party. Today's Indian government, although presided over by Manmohan Singh, is still run with her 'best wishes.' Sonia's children, Rahul and Priyanka, have also made forays into the political sphere - and with the Indian elections in sight (polling starts in less than a month), all eyes are on the Gandhi kids.
Here's where more trouble starts. Varun Gandhi (Sanjay and Menaka's son) has refused to run for the Congress (not sure if he was ever asked to - I doubt it though) and is instead running for the BJP (the Congress' enemy, like I said). There is a massive uproar in India about a son from the Gandhi/Nehru household joining the ranks of the Hindu Nationalist (and possibly pseudo-fascist) BJP [keep in mind that the BJP is an offshoot of the RSS, an organization that was banned by Nehru for its complicity in Mahatma Gandhi's assassination].
To be completely honest, I think the uproar is unfair. Yes, the BJP can be a fear-mongering party at times, but it is largely restrained by its desire to win a sizeable number of parliamentary seats. Obviously, like any other political party in the world, it cannot run on a platform that would alienate a large number of people. If Varun Gandhi truly believes in the BJP's policies, then why not let him run for the party? Stop the smear campaign against him - just because he was born into the Gandhi family, doesn't mean he has to do everything that Aunty/Chachi Sonia tells him to do.
India prides itself on being the world's largest democracy - it's time it lived up to that title.
(apologies for the long post and if it doesn't make sense...)
Essentially, Varun Gandhi belongs to the Nehru/Gandhi (no relation to the Mahatma) family, the first-family of Indian politics who has governed the country (in one way or another) for most of the past 60 years through the Congress Party. Here's where the drama seeps into the story. Indira Gandhi, Nehru's daughter and India's Prime Minister during the 1970s and 1980s (until she was assassinated), had two sons: Sanjay and Rajiv. Sanjay was the eldest, and thus the next-in-line to the Indian throne (Prime Ministership). He was also actively involved in politics - and even led a vasectomy and sterilization campaign during 'The Emergency.' Rajiv got married first though - and brought his Italian wife (Sonia) to the family home. When Sanjay got married, Rajiv and Sonia already had a son - Rahul - and Sonia was already established as The Daughter-in-Law in the Gandhi household. Obviously, Sanjay and Menaka (his wife) were jealous.
The problems started now, including fights between Sonia and Menaka for power in the household. And then one day, Sanjay died in a plane accident, and Rajiv came into the limelight - and became Prime Minister. The younger son, became the Prime Minister and the Menaka and her kid(s) were shunted out of the political light. But not for long.
Menaka joined the BJP - the Congress' arch-enemy - and contested parliamentary seats in the same region as Rajiv. Rajiv was eventually assassinated, and like the dutiful daughter-in-law that she is, Sonia took up the political mantle and became the leader of the Congress Party. Today's Indian government, although presided over by Manmohan Singh, is still run with her 'best wishes.' Sonia's children, Rahul and Priyanka, have also made forays into the political sphere - and with the Indian elections in sight (polling starts in less than a month), all eyes are on the Gandhi kids.
Here's where more trouble starts. Varun Gandhi (Sanjay and Menaka's son) has refused to run for the Congress (not sure if he was ever asked to - I doubt it though) and is instead running for the BJP (the Congress' enemy, like I said). There is a massive uproar in India about a son from the Gandhi/Nehru household joining the ranks of the Hindu Nationalist (and possibly pseudo-fascist) BJP [keep in mind that the BJP is an offshoot of the RSS, an organization that was banned by Nehru for its complicity in Mahatma Gandhi's assassination].
To be completely honest, I think the uproar is unfair. Yes, the BJP can be a fear-mongering party at times, but it is largely restrained by its desire to win a sizeable number of parliamentary seats. Obviously, like any other political party in the world, it cannot run on a platform that would alienate a large number of people. If Varun Gandhi truly believes in the BJP's policies, then why not let him run for the party? Stop the smear campaign against him - just because he was born into the Gandhi family, doesn't mean he has to do everything that Aunty/Chachi Sonia tells him to do.
India prides itself on being the world's largest democracy - it's time it lived up to that title.
(apologies for the long post and if it doesn't make sense...)
Friday 13 March 2009
Sense-less Post
My city has been reborn. It died earlier this week (it snowed - at least it's still March, and not April like last year) - which was natural and expected (to be born again, first you must die) - but I'm excited with this rebirth, as it brings promises of much greatness and happiness to come in the following weeks.
This week has been fabulous. I've worked like maniac, but things are finally starting to come together. Wounds are being healed slowly but surely, and I can finally see the changes. Thank-you. The Journal is off to the printers - so EXCITED! - and I get to see the final, bound version tomorrow. Three papers to write, a project to do, four final exams - the application - and then I'm done. Counting down. 36 days to go.
Back to music...
This week has been fabulous. I've worked like maniac, but things are finally starting to come together. Wounds are being healed slowly but surely, and I can finally see the changes. Thank-you. The Journal is off to the printers - so EXCITED! - and I get to see the final, bound version tomorrow. Three papers to write, a project to do, four final exams - the application - and then I'm done. Counting down. 36 days to go.
Back to music...
Thursday 12 February 2009
Tid-Bit
I'm currently in the process of figuring out a paper topic for my intrastate security studies course, and (because I'm not allowed to write anything South-Asia specific for my other PoliSci classes) I've decided to write about conflict in India. I know very little about the Naxalites, and was fascinated by Hazaaron Khwahishein Aisi, so I think I'll probably end up writing about them.
Anyway, so I was on the Indian Home Ministry's site (a horrible site that needs to be updated and that needs live links) and came across the guidelines for India's flag. I'm not surprised by the following piece of information, given India's history - but it was something I didn't know.
The National Flag of India shall be made of hand spun and hand woven wool/cotton/silk khadi bunting.
Anyway, so I was on the Indian Home Ministry's site (a horrible site that needs to be updated and that needs live links) and came across the guidelines for India's flag. I'm not surprised by the following piece of information, given India's history - but it was something I didn't know.
The National Flag of India shall be made of hand spun and hand woven wool/cotton/silk khadi bunting.
I wonder what Gandhiji would say to that...According to Munna, he'd probably be upset and would call on the Indian population to look at the reasons behind symbols, and not to deal with them at face value.
Tuesday 27 January 2009
Self-Gloating
Now if you've followed my RFS journey for a while, you'll know I do this very rarely - self-gloating that is; however, my brilliance in the little while leaves me with no other choice but to carry-out this act of self-promotion.
You see dear readers, I was right, and I have empirical proof of my veracity (GRE word - beware - once you study them, they appear everywhere!). In a previous post, I wrote about how I'd noticed a certain fat-chested crow sidling up to another one. With my amazing intellect and perception skills, I conjectured that it was mating season.
A couple days ago, I saw a very small crow - one that was obviously very young; and thus my friends, I can conclude that it was indeed crow mating season in mid-November.
And now I'll go and get my Nobel Prize for Ornithology, thank-you very much!
You see dear readers, I was right, and I have empirical proof of my veracity (GRE word - beware - once you study them, they appear everywhere!). In a previous post, I wrote about how I'd noticed a certain fat-chested crow sidling up to another one. With my amazing intellect and perception skills, I conjectured that it was mating season.
A couple days ago, I saw a very small crow - one that was obviously very young; and thus my friends, I can conclude that it was indeed crow mating season in mid-November.
And now I'll go and get my Nobel Prize for Ornithology, thank-you very much!
Arziyan - Delhi-6
Another masterpiece from the team of Prasoon Joshi and A.R Rahman!
Arziyan
Arziyaan saari main, chahere pe likh ke aayaa huun,
Tum se kya maangu main, tum khud hi samajhlo maula,
Maula maula mere maula.
Maula maula maula mere maula,
Maula maula maula maula,
Daraarein daraarein hain maathe pe maula,
Marammat muqaddar ki kardo maula, mere maula.
Tere dar pe jhuka huun, miTaa huun, banaa huun,
Tere dar pe jhuka huun, miTaa huun, banaa huun,
Marammat muqaddar ki kardo maula.
Jo bhi tere dar aayaa, jhukne jo sar aayaa,
Jo bhi tere dar aayaa, jhukne jo sar aayaa,
Mastiyaan piie sab ko jhuumtaa nazar aaya;
Pyaasein leke aayaa thaa dariyaa woh bhar laayaa,
Nuur ki baarish mein bhiigtaa satar aayaa.
Maula maula maula mere maula,
Maula maula maula mere maula,
Maula maula maula maula.
Daraarein daraarein hain maathe pe maula,
Marammat muqaddar ki kardo maula, mere maula.
Jo bhi tere dar aayaa, jhukne jo sar aayaa,
mastiyaan piie sab ko jhuumta nazar aayaa.
Ho ek khushbuu aati thi,
Ho ek khushbuu aati thi, main bhaTaktaa jaataa thaa,
Reshamii si maayaa (?) bhi aur main thaktaa jaataa tham.
Jab teri gali aayaa, sach kabhi nazar aayaa,
Mujh mein hi woh khushbuu thi, jisse tu ne milvaayaa.
Maula maula maula mere maula,
Maula maula maula maula.
Daraarein daraarein hain maathe pe maula,
Marammat muqaddar ki kardo maula, mere maula.
TuuTke bikharnaa mujhko zaruur aataa hai,
Par na ibaadat ka shahuur aataa hai (?).
Sajde mein rehene do, ab kahiin na jaaungaa,
Ab jo tumne Thukraayaa to savar na paaungaa.
Maula maula maula mere maula,
Maula maula maula maula.
Daraarein daraarein hain maathe pe maula,
Marammat muqaddar ki kardo maula, mere maula.
Sar uThaake maine to kitnii khwaahishein ki thi,
Kitne khwaab dekhe the, kitnii koshishein ki thi.
Jab tu ruubaruu aayaa,
Jab tu ruubaruu aaya, nazarein na milaa paayaa,
Sar jhukaake ek pal mein,
Sar jhukaake ek pal mein, maine kyaa nahiin paayaa.
Maula maula maula mere maula,
Maula maula maula mere maula,
Maula maula maula maula.
Mora piyaa ghar aayaa mora piyaa ghar aayaa (x6)
Maula maula maula mere maula,
Maula maula maula maula.
Mere maula maula maula maula,
Mere maula.
Saturday 24 January 2009
My Beautiful Star
The twinkle in your eyes has disappeared, replaced by complete blackness, as if something has died inside you.
But you will live again and twinkle brighter than before. Have hope my beautiful star.
But you will live again and twinkle brighter than before. Have hope my beautiful star.
Tuesday 6 January 2009
EEEK
I never knew I could be so stressed I would have trouble falling asleep at night. It's actually quite amusing, if you're one of those people that can laugh at yourself (which it seems I am). I'm entering my last semester of my B.A program and am going crazy. Well, that is, going crazy internally. On the outside, I'm as cool as one can be. I know what I need to do, and I'm doing it. But as soon as the sun sets (plus a few hours because the sun has been falling asleep at 4:30pm these days), I get jittery. Finishing my work well in advance of the time I used to finish it at (let's hope this lasts), I go up to bed, and lo and behold, toss and turn for a couple of hours. Eventually, I manage to fall asleep - only to be jolted awake by a dream (not a nightmare - at least not yet) a few hours later. This continues until around 6:30am, at which time I fall into a relatively deep slumber, only to be unceremoniously kicked out of a dreamless (and thus very peaceful) sleep by the dreaded alarm clock.
Is there a solution to these crazy nerves? Well, to be honest, not really. Unless you count finishing your graduate school application quickly and prodding the admissions committee for a quick response, acing your GRE, and staying on top of things in all your classes - there's really not much I can do. That being said, I am the type of person who thrives on having a sword pointed at my neck - so who knows, maybe this pressure's good for me and I'll live to tell the tale.
And if not, Selfistan can tell it for me - well most of it that is...
Is there a solution to these crazy nerves? Well, to be honest, not really. Unless you count finishing your graduate school application quickly and prodding the admissions committee for a quick response, acing your GRE, and staying on top of things in all your classes - there's really not much I can do. That being said, I am the type of person who thrives on having a sword pointed at my neck - so who knows, maybe this pressure's good for me and I'll live to tell the tale.
And if not, Selfistan can tell it for me - well most of it that is...
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