More Rushdie Love

He's coming here AND he's writing the sequel to Haroun and the Sea of Stories (Luka and the Fire of Life) AND writing about his years in hiding after the Fatwa.


More tears of joy and happiness.

Oh Sir Salman. If you ever read this...I'd die of bliss but - thank-you for making my literary world so wonderful.

Pet Peeve

Pet peeve: when you ask a simple, innocent question and the person becomes offended not because of what you said/how you said it, but because of his/her preconceived prejudices towards that question.

And then they make YOU feel guilty.

Hmph. People.

Sigh: A Slow Expulsion of Breath

I won't lie. It's been a hard week. A damn hard week. First there was the craziness of Sunday/Monday/Tuesday. Two-hours of sleep in 48 hours isn't the best way to end your Spring Break - especially after you spent most of the break studying 10hours/day.

Then there was the craziness of Tuesday night, that caused mayhem, confusion, and oodles of nastiness. Add in the lack of sleep and an already-short temper, and you have a recipe for hell.

Wednesday was good. I literally did nothing of merit, apart from saving over $150 at Century 21. And then I went out with friends, met some new friends and walked the 20+ blocks home.

Thursday. Oh Thursday. Should I call it the hardest day of my life? Maybe not. Maybe not yet. It's always hard to deal with things breaking down. Although I've known that the process started a while ago and saw it happen, the extent to which the cracks have appeared is starting to freak me out. I've seen such cracks before. I've seen the consequences of those cracks. I also know that the repercussions of these particular cracks will be huge and that there's very little - how shall I say this - impetus, yes that's the right word, there's very little impetus to mend the cracks. It's almost as if a resignation has set in. The cracks are there. It takes too much to fix them. So I won't. Sad, no?

I'd do the exact opposite. But then again, my way of doing things isn't the same as others. It never has been. I'd try fixing them. I'd put in all my effort into fixing them, even if it required hurting myself in the process. I wouldn't do it for myself. I'd do it for the ones who'd be affected the most.

The Princess and I

Today was a pretty awesome day. It started with me waking up at an appropriate time (read: not too early, not too late), getting dressed and going to the library. I got to read some absolutely wonderful Iqbal and drank the mango juice that I love. Then, 5pm rolled around and I grabbed my books, bag and coffee, hailed a cab, and went to the Asia Society.

Now, if you know me, or have read RFS thoroughly, you'll know that a lot of my work focusses on Hindu Nationalism. I'm in the process of determining my thesis topic, but it'll focus on a specific aspect of the phenomenon during the time of Partition. So, when I found out that the BJP's (a Hindu nationalist/fundamentalist political party) ex-Minister for External Affairs/Defence/Finance was going to be speaking at the Asia Society on his book on Muhammad Ali Jinnah, I jumped with excitement. I'd always liked Jaswant Singh the most from all the BJP politicians, and was excited to hear him live.

There was a book signing after the event and I stood in line with my book (that I'd purchased when it had come out, unlike almost everyone there who'd just bought it that evening). When it was my turn, I gave the lady behind me my camera and asked her to take a picture of Mr. Singh and me. I went up to the ex-Minister and told him I was working on Hindu nationalism during Partition. He smiled, pointed at the book as if to say - well, read this then, and asked me what my name was. The lady didn't get the picture (don't trust old women with an iPhone!) but it's ok.

All excited, I left the building and went to hail a cab. No-one would stop. Finally, this black cab stopped. He asked me where I was going, and I told him. He told me he was going that way and to get in. I asked him how much, and he said - for you, nothing. I got a bit creeped out and refused. Then he said, I'm serious. I'm going to see my girl and I'll drop you off on the way. But if you want, you can pay me for gas. Anyway. I figured, why not? And got in.

We started talking. His name was Jerry. Jerry told me that he was a driver for a Saudi princess, and that he'd just finished work and was heading home. He then proceeded to tell me that he worked 12hour shifts for a black cab company, earned at least $1000 a day (not including tips) and once got paid $800 for going to the Hamptons and back to get a CEO's sneakers that he'd forgotten at home. He also told me that I was sitting in the spot that the Saudi princess sat in usually.

Anyway, so Jerry dropped me home and I asked him how much the gas had cost, to which he turned around, looked at me and laughed. He said, hey don't worry about it. It's my good deed of the day. It was late and you were alone. Here's my number and if you ever need a black cab, let me know.

I said thank-you, asked him to give my regards to the Princess and to have a great evening, and went home exhilarated at having just had a pretty sweet evening. Jaswant Singh and a great conversation with a nice person.

Only in NYC folks, only in NYC.

Things Fall Apart?

Chinua Achebe is wrong. Things don't fall apart. We let them fall apart, through inaction, through waiting on the other party to fix it, through not understanding the issues, through letting our egos get in the way, through not understanding that our lives are ours and that we have the capacity to make it, break it, be it, do it, lose it, gain it, accomplish it, ruin it, love it, hate it, better it, worsen it, understand it, not understand it, pretend to understand it, not pretend to understand it, take the high ground, sit on the low ground, blame others, not blame ourselves, remain silent, be vocal...and everything else that we can do and not do.

I don't get it. I really don't. You can't hide things; you never can. People are always going to see it whether you want them to or not. And even if they're not connected to the people, they're still going to see it. It comes across. In the way you don't talk. In the way you don't act.

People forget that inaction is also action.

Praying, or hoping, that the day doesn't come on which we curse ourselves for our act of inaction. Iqbal was right. We die when we stop acting. And from our deaths arise a myriad of others, who will eventually take our place among the dead.

Pray for us sinners now and at the hour of our death

Ratrau part 3

And, once again, I am discovering my love for the night. This city is never quiet, but apart from the rain spattering against my window, my neighbours talking and giggling, and my hands typing away at a paper that's due in a couple hours, I can't hear anything. Oh the fridge. It's humming, as usual.

I haven't slept much these past few days, thanks to my hyperactive brain that's been contemplating issues of Hindi and Hindu nationalism for the past week. I have a mini-war going on in my head between the forces of secularism and hate. Well, actually, it's not as Manichean as that - as I try to argue in this paper I'm writing, which, I think, will turn out to be the most fascinating I've ever written (iA, of course). It's on a Highly Contentious Subject and could fail dramatically - but those papers make the best ones. And my Professor has promised me that if I write it well, he'll help me get it published. Oh - that would be so awesome. *dreams for a short while*

Anyway, I'm basically arguing against everything everyone of note has said about the forces of Hindu nationalism, while not going over the edge and joining the Hindutva apologentsia (yes, I just coined that word thank-you-very-much). But then again, given my fascination with Hindutva, the fact that I'm finally arguing something that cuts them some slack, should not come as a surprise. But see, I'm actually arguing against them as well - so it's not really that contentious after all. But it's still contentious enough to cause fireworks.

Oooh.

Back to the paper, which is much more eloquent than this post ever will be.

Praise the Lord

Rushdie's coming

I think I'm going to cry with joy

A Little Thing Called Faith

I get spoken to randomly on the street. Sometimes it creeps me out - actually, most of the time it creeps me out. I guess I'm not used to the attention, or whatever you want to call it, from random people. Back at home, people would smile, pet your dog (not that I had one), or just say mornin', but here it's different. Here, people try to have conversations - but not necessarily conversations that I want to have.

I was in a good mood today. I think it was the sunshine. I like sunshine. Having grown up in a city that is perpetually cloudy and rainy, being able to bask in warm, unadulterated, yellowness makes me sort of giddy with joy. So I was in a really good mood today. I even called home as I was walking to the library (something I rarely do - I usually call at night) and spoke to my parents for a while.

Point of this post. There are some people who creep you out, and then there are the others who stop you and say 'God bless you.'

I got that twice today. First from a guy I bought a kid's book from (rainbow fish anyone?), who looked at me with amusement as I gushed with glee at having seen a book from my childhood sitting in a bucket on the street, and rushed to look through it. And second from some guy walking along the street as I headed home after a night with friends.

People are good. People are nice.

And yes, Shalimar. Laugh as much as you like, I still have faith in Humanity.

(I dunno if this post makes any sense. It does in my brain...)

Best Job Ever?

One that offers opportunities even after it's over; that isn't limited by the job description or the job's location. That offers potential benefits even two years after handing in the last assignment.

It could be wonderful.

Or it could be tragic.

Wait and watch I guess.

Updates later...

Thought du Jour

I haven't written much of note in the past little while. As you may have noticed, if you've been reading RFS for long enough, my rate of blogging varies considerably. At times, I'll blog multiple times in a week; at others, I won't blog for weeks. Then there are those times, during which I'll blog about issues that seem not only inconsequential, but also unimportant. Emphasis on seem.

I guess, I haven't been doing much thinking outside of the world of academia these days. It's not that I don't have significant issues to deal with, I do, but I just haven't been inspired to actually think them through in a manner that's conducive to writing on RFS. Let's just say that a lot of what is going through my head, and my life, is stuff I want to keep out of the realm of RFS. That being said, if I'm able to write about them in a way that is cryptic (i.e. complex and odd) enough to not be completely understood by those involved in the various issues of my life (censorship - yes), then I may post about them here. Candy dreams, is one such post.

Today, I had a bit of a thought explosion. It was quite grand - or seemed grand in my head, at least. I realized the following. Take what you may from it. It started off while I was thinking about the number of languages I know, and how I'm not actually completely fluent in all of them (which is a shame), and how my fantastic Urdu professor once told the class that, apart from those in extraordinary circumstances, multilingual people will never be truly fluent in any of their known-languages as one who only knows a single language. Oh polylingualism...sigh.

And then the thought expanded to my multiculturality -and this issue of identity that I've always grappled with.

Anyway - so at the end of the thought process, this is what emerged.

In my multiplicity is my nonexistence...

Candy Dreams

I had a dream about you the other night. In it, you saw that I was upset at you and decided to make amends. So you bought me candy. Lots of candy. Different types of candy, including Cherry Blasters and Fuzzy Peaches and those green gummies that sort of look like flat apples. You showed me the candy and I got all excited, and then you sat in your chair - that looks exactly like my chair - in your house that's across the street from my other home here, swivelled your chair around so I could only see your profile (which is nicer than your face front-on by the way - I want to photograph you properly), and proceeded to eat all the candy.

I still don't understand if you're rude or just confused. For your sake, I hope it's the latter...

Wisdom from a Wise Man

A wise man once told me - and yes, you are both a man and wise. At least, according to my conception of 'wise,' which is Sheikh Sa'adi's conception: buzurgi ba-'aql na ba-saal ast.


He once told me, and rightly so, in much more eloquent terms than these, that sadness is easy to live with, loneliness not so much.