Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Morphing movies - We have a long, long history of asking anyone from India what their favourite Bollywood movie is. If there isn't enough life left to read every book published, the same is even more true for Bollywood films, so we value recommendations. And, yes, we do ask everyone: Mr. Singh, our famous tuktuk driver (who has dropped us rather dramatically as he probably realizes we won't be buying another carpet or real estate from his friends); the hotel security guard; the trainers in the gym; Bert's colleagues.
It is very entertaining how few of those we ask actually tell us the movies that they enjoy, but rather think about what we 'ought' to see. The biggest example of this were the trainers in the gym. There happened to be four of them in the gym when I first asked them for their list of best movies. The gym was quiet (just me puffing away) and they put their heads together seriously to come up with a list that would be 'good' for us. The next day we ran into another of the trainers and told him about our list and he gave us the name of one of his favorites (Apne, about a boxer father and son) and later he was reprimanded by the other guys in the gym because this really was one of his favourites, but not what the others considered suitable for us. :) One of the butlers, Deepak, the front security/check in fellow from my poinsettia tree photo, and Ravish from the Tapas bar, all get full marks too, for actually recommending films they personally liked.
So, Bollywood isn't what it used to be. Well, some of it isn't. It all goes back to the time when there was only one theatre in town with just one screen and the government gave subsidies to movies that developed themes of inclusivity. Every movie used to be a mix of thriller, love story, action, musical and drama and had to show all races and castes and religions getting on wonderfully with one another. And no kissing, let alone more, on the screen. Our security wallah recommended Amar, Akbar, Anthony (1979) which is a classic old style Bollywood(three little brothers get adopted by a Hindu, a Muslim and a Christian and the violence is beautifully choreographed and the bad guys have the decency to die discretely) Either the subsidies have been dropped, or the industry doesn't need them anymore, and certainly all the cities now boast multi-screen cinemas, certainly all today's movies don't have inclusivity as their primary theme and scantily dressed actresses and public displays of affection have become standard fare.
Some films now have very serious themes: the Kashmir conflict, terrorism, corruption in politics, the value of handicapped people, learning disabilities. Some movies are now absolutely straightforward movies with none of the musical interludes: A Wednesday is one very popular movie which young Indian men particularly like, a violent and fairly realistic view of the frustration the general public has with the government's handling of terrorists. In contrast most movies still break into the choreographed high energy musical mode despite the serious themes: Ghajini (a Bollywood remake of Momento) and Three Idiots (picture of the inordinate pressure university students have to succeed). Felix had a friend come and watch a movie with him and this young man was really distressed by the juxtaposition of the serious content of the film with the lighthearted nature of the dance and music. We have forgotten how odd it seems - perhaps because I fast forward the song and dance if I get the chance.
In a country where it seems compassion and concern are often lacking it is a great encouragement to see three recent films focused on the value of individuals with disabilities or distinguishing features that often set them apart: dyslexia, Asperges and being wheelchair bound.
Felix finds it irritating that some Indian films are remakes of American ones. We, on the other hand, find it often works, and if Shakespeare could do it, why shouldn't Indian script writers import a basic plot into an Indian context? Bride and Prejudice is a great example.
Two surprises: Mr. Singh (entrepreneurial tuktuk driver) doesn't watch movies! First Indian I've spoken to who just wasn't interested; and Naysi (a lovely young women from Nagaland) didn't want to recommend any Bollywood, but Schindler's List, which she 'loved'! I still haven't had the courage to watch it.
It is very entertaining how few of those we ask actually tell us the movies that they enjoy, but rather think about what we 'ought' to see. The biggest example of this were the trainers in the gym. There happened to be four of them in the gym when I first asked them for their list of best movies. The gym was quiet (just me puffing away) and they put their heads together seriously to come up with a list that would be 'good' for us. The next day we ran into another of the trainers and told him about our list and he gave us the name of one of his favorites (Apne, about a boxer father and son) and later he was reprimanded by the other guys in the gym because this really was one of his favourites, but not what the others considered suitable for us. :) One of the butlers, Deepak, the front security/check in fellow from my poinsettia tree photo, and Ravish from the Tapas bar, all get full marks too, for actually recommending films they personally liked.
So, Bollywood isn't what it used to be. Well, some of it isn't. It all goes back to the time when there was only one theatre in town with just one screen and the government gave subsidies to movies that developed themes of inclusivity. Every movie used to be a mix of thriller, love story, action, musical and drama and had to show all races and castes and religions getting on wonderfully with one another. And no kissing, let alone more, on the screen. Our security wallah recommended Amar, Akbar, Anthony (1979) which is a classic old style Bollywood(three little brothers get adopted by a Hindu, a Muslim and a Christian and the violence is beautifully choreographed and the bad guys have the decency to die discretely) Either the subsidies have been dropped, or the industry doesn't need them anymore, and certainly all the cities now boast multi-screen cinemas, certainly all today's movies don't have inclusivity as their primary theme and scantily dressed actresses and public displays of affection have become standard fare.
Some films now have very serious themes: the Kashmir conflict, terrorism, corruption in politics, the value of handicapped people, learning disabilities. Some movies are now absolutely straightforward movies with none of the musical interludes: A Wednesday is one very popular movie which young Indian men particularly like, a violent and fairly realistic view of the frustration the general public has with the government's handling of terrorists. In contrast most movies still break into the choreographed high energy musical mode despite the serious themes: Ghajini (a Bollywood remake of Momento) and Three Idiots (picture of the inordinate pressure university students have to succeed). Felix had a friend come and watch a movie with him and this young man was really distressed by the juxtaposition of the serious content of the film with the lighthearted nature of the dance and music. We have forgotten how odd it seems - perhaps because I fast forward the song and dance if I get the chance.
In a country where it seems compassion and concern are often lacking it is a great encouragement to see three recent films focused on the value of individuals with disabilities or distinguishing features that often set them apart: dyslexia, Asperges and being wheelchair bound.
Felix finds it irritating that some Indian films are remakes of American ones. We, on the other hand, find it often works, and if Shakespeare could do it, why shouldn't Indian script writers import a basic plot into an Indian context? Bride and Prejudice is a great example.
Two surprises: Mr. Singh (entrepreneurial tuktuk driver) doesn't watch movies! First Indian I've spoken to who just wasn't interested; and Naysi (a lovely young women from Nagaland) didn't want to recommend any Bollywood, but Schindler's List, which she 'loved'! I still haven't had the courage to watch it.
Perhaps I can drape some tinsel over the flat screen TVs!! I just can't compete with the wonderful flower man.
Salt, rice, lentils, beans are all dried less than I am used to in other countries. I don't know why. A teaspoon of salt here isn't as salty as I anticipate and the cup of lentils doesn't take as long to cook here as it would in Virginia. Is it the cost of dehydration? Sellers trying persuade consumers they are getting more than they think? Indian preference for faster cooking rice and pulses?
From a friend in the confection industry we learned that there is a tariff on importing cocoa. Thus chocolate is expensive here. I have tried several Indian chocolate biscuits and some hot chocolate and although the colour is right, the flavour isn't. I suppose it is because they don't put that much cocoa in. Bert and Felix have ensured that the cupboard is never lacking Nutella (about $4 for the regular sized jar) so they are getting their regular chocolate dose. Our hotel makes a superb chocolate biscuit with little chocolate chips and I enjoy at least one of these a week, so I too haven't felt deprived.
Prices continue to yo-yo dramatically. Oranges and tomatoes seem the only steady staples at the moment. Both are delicious but I do need to change things up a bit and splurge with a small portion of strawberries (from Australia) or pomegranates (from Afghanistan) or, even more rarely at present, a mango (from the south).
I have found that many packaged staples have recommended retail price stamped on them. Few stores, and certainly none that I shop at, offer these goods below that price. Schlepping cartons of milk, and juice and pots of yogurt from the Khan market gives me more of a workout than I want. Although I am getting less bothered by it I still get embarrassed when the hotel staff rush out to help me carry bags that are so heavy they even make them wince and the staff probably relate tales of wonder about the volume of food we consume. :) Our hotel is next to a petrol station/service station/body shop with a convenience store and coffee shop attached. Only relatively wealthy people have cars so these stores are not your motorway convenience stores - there are many business executives heading into these on their way home so the selection of goods varies from the odd imported child's toy to boxes of chocolates (high end item) and household staples and the equivalent of Starbucks (Coffee Day). I send Felix out once or twice a week to transport in the heavy liquids from this shop and save my muscles for fresh fruit and vegetables from Khan market.
Minor surgery - Poor Bert has history of big toe issues. :) The latest challenge has been a persistent pain in his left 'great' toe. Bert's colleague's wife gave us a connection to a doctor and we arranged (by call directly to the doctor on his cell phone!) for Bert to see him today. We had been briefed that there would be a consultation when he'd decide what to do and then a scheduled procedure. When Bert and I discussed the coming consultation Bert wondered if I wanted to join him and I am glad I did.
We arrived about two minutes late for our appointment. The doctor was on his way. We were asked to pay RS250 (a bit more than $6) and to sit down and wait. We had about four minutes' wait before we were asked to stand outside the doctor's door. He was seeing a patient and Bert was the next up. I had enough time to realize the hospital/medical center (Medical Mission) was named after a Sadhu, so perhaps the equivalent of a St. Luke's Hospital (Felix was born in one of these). On the ground floor right next to the check in was a 'prayer chapel.' The front hall way had one of those enamel type street notices with the following on it: "Here pre-natal sex determination (boy or girl before birth) is not done, it is a punishable act." I assume the Hindi underneath echoed this statement: positive similarities with the St. Luke's around the world.
Within 10 minutes of our arrival we were in the presence of a slight, confident doctor in his 40s. He pronounced his verdict within seconds: we'll have to cut off a wedge of the nail. He responded to the inquiry about the possibility of the need for an anti fungal medication by saying he'd refer Bert to one of his colleagues for that. We expected a follow up appointment, but no, Dr. Durga told us to wait a couple of minutes and he'd do the surgery in little bit. Bert got a tiny bit of anesthetic injected just under the skin and the time to operate (?) (the nurse tried to explain it was to determine the dose he would need) written in ballpoint on his arm above the dot of anesthetic.
We had time to look around. Things seemed remarkably clean. (Delhi is daily coated in a greasy grime - no exaggeration. If you don't dust daily you can draw in the deposit after 24 hours.) Equipment looked well taken care of even if it seemed liked like the stuff of my childhood. Another 20 minutes wait to the appointed ballpoint time and Bert was asked into the operating theatre. I waited outside and heard Dr.Durga asking Bert at regular intervals ,"Are you in pain, Sir?" Bert told me later that he had anticipated pain and tensed up, but actually hadn't felt anything, so rather nice that the doctor was sensitive to his patient's body language. On the way out we were asked for another RS 1000. Bert told to reappear in two days for dressing to be changed, but no word on referral to the colleague. . .
Now, of course, we hadn't anticipated that Bert would be leaving the place with a fat bandage on his great toe so he hobbled out of the facility in his socked foot and waited at the Mission gates while I hunted for a tuktuk.We headed to a market near the hotel where I had left a pair of Bert's shoes for resoling. The promised shoes were not ready (in fact they added two more days to the anticipated collection day) but we did get a pair of sturdy sandals for the great toe's comfort. RS750. Bert climbed back into the tuktuk and waited while I walked up the street a few shops to find a chemist. Dr. Durga had prescribed pain killer for two days, antibiotic for five days, vitamins for five days and something for the upset stomach (because of the other medications?) for two days. RS 300. So far pain isn't a big deal although there is some throbbing and the backside is uncomfortable having sat for so long today. Let's hope he is up and about in two days with no complications.
Felix is embarrassed by Bert's sandals, not by the big toe, big bandage and the elevated foot, however!
Tomorrow Bert has a meeting with seven business men and I am wondering whether in India his obvious physical vulnerability will aid or handicap his negotiations. :)
We arrived about two minutes late for our appointment. The doctor was on his way. We were asked to pay RS250 (a bit more than $6) and to sit down and wait. We had about four minutes' wait before we were asked to stand outside the doctor's door. He was seeing a patient and Bert was the next up. I had enough time to realize the hospital/medical center (Medical Mission) was named after a Sadhu, so perhaps the equivalent of a St. Luke's Hospital (Felix was born in one of these). On the ground floor right next to the check in was a 'prayer chapel.' The front hall way had one of those enamel type street notices with the following on it: "Here pre-natal sex determination (boy or girl before birth) is not done, it is a punishable act." I assume the Hindi underneath echoed this statement: positive similarities with the St. Luke's around the world.
Within 10 minutes of our arrival we were in the presence of a slight, confident doctor in his 40s. He pronounced his verdict within seconds: we'll have to cut off a wedge of the nail. He responded to the inquiry about the possibility of the need for an anti fungal medication by saying he'd refer Bert to one of his colleagues for that. We expected a follow up appointment, but no, Dr. Durga told us to wait a couple of minutes and he'd do the surgery in little bit. Bert got a tiny bit of anesthetic injected just under the skin and the time to operate (?) (the nurse tried to explain it was to determine the dose he would need) written in ballpoint on his arm above the dot of anesthetic.
We had time to look around. Things seemed remarkably clean. (Delhi is daily coated in a greasy grime - no exaggeration. If you don't dust daily you can draw in the deposit after 24 hours.) Equipment looked well taken care of even if it seemed liked like the stuff of my childhood. Another 20 minutes wait to the appointed ballpoint time and Bert was asked into the operating theatre. I waited outside and heard Dr.Durga asking Bert at regular intervals ,"Are you in pain, Sir?" Bert told me later that he had anticipated pain and tensed up, but actually hadn't felt anything, so rather nice that the doctor was sensitive to his patient's body language. On the way out we were asked for another RS 1000. Bert told to reappear in two days for dressing to be changed, but no word on referral to the colleague. . .
Now, of course, we hadn't anticipated that Bert would be leaving the place with a fat bandage on his great toe so he hobbled out of the facility in his socked foot and waited at the Mission gates while I hunted for a tuktuk.We headed to a market near the hotel where I had left a pair of Bert's shoes for resoling. The promised shoes were not ready (in fact they added two more days to the anticipated collection day) but we did get a pair of sturdy sandals for the great toe's comfort. RS750. Bert climbed back into the tuktuk and waited while I walked up the street a few shops to find a chemist. Dr. Durga had prescribed pain killer for two days, antibiotic for five days, vitamins for five days and something for the upset stomach (because of the other medications?) for two days. RS 300. So far pain isn't a big deal although there is some throbbing and the backside is uncomfortable having sat for so long today. Let's hope he is up and about in two days with no complications.
Felix is embarrassed by Bert's sandals, not by the big toe, big bandage and the elevated foot, however!
Tomorrow Bert has a meeting with seven business men and I am wondering whether in India his obvious physical vulnerability will aid or handicap his negotiations. :)
Sacred music and jazz - A lady at church on Sunday told Bert about a choir she sings in that was giving two concerts on Sunday night at a cathedral and then on Monday at the Indian Habitat Center (up the road from us - the venue for the rodent appearance with the classical dancer!). Bert and I felt it would be a wonderful Advent event for us.
I came from a chiropractor's appointment and met Bert outside the hotel with a rickshaw with only a minute or two to spare. Our experience at the IHC made me confident that it wouldn't be a disaster if we wandered in a minute or two late. That assumption proved correct, however, we hadn't calculated that the concert would be PACKED. The audience was primarily Indian with a smattering of expats and the choir a good mix of nationalities, though predominantly Indian. There wasn't a seat left in the place and every possible surface had people sitting or standing to enjoy the entertainment. We squeezed between people at the back of the balcony and sat on the floor. Wouldn't have been allowed in the USA, of course, because of fire regulations, but it made for a wonderful atmosphere of anticipation.
The music was an odd mix from Schubert mass to schmaltzy adaptation of classical carols and one superb spiritual "Who's that Baby in a Manger Bed?" Definitely agony and ecstasy. :) Parts of the concert were superb, some teeth gratingly awful, and at times the poor performance couldn't spoil the exquisite beauty of the harmonies and the profound words.
Both Bert and I remarked how surprised we were that interspersed through the songs a very clear presentation of who Jesus was was delivered, although by appearance it didn't seem that the choir was a Christian choir (Sikh man in the bass section for instance).Somehow couldn't imagine that happening at the Kennedy Center.
I confess to a tiny bit of disappointment that the local rodent population didn't put in an appearance as they had at our earlier dance recital in the same theatre. Perhaps they felt there were too many performers to compete with.
I came from a chiropractor's appointment and met Bert outside the hotel with a rickshaw with only a minute or two to spare. Our experience at the IHC made me confident that it wouldn't be a disaster if we wandered in a minute or two late. That assumption proved correct, however, we hadn't calculated that the concert would be PACKED. The audience was primarily Indian with a smattering of expats and the choir a good mix of nationalities, though predominantly Indian. There wasn't a seat left in the place and every possible surface had people sitting or standing to enjoy the entertainment. We squeezed between people at the back of the balcony and sat on the floor. Wouldn't have been allowed in the USA, of course, because of fire regulations, but it made for a wonderful atmosphere of anticipation.
The music was an odd mix from Schubert mass to schmaltzy adaptation of classical carols and one superb spiritual "Who's that Baby in a Manger Bed?" Definitely agony and ecstasy. :) Parts of the concert were superb, some teeth gratingly awful, and at times the poor performance couldn't spoil the exquisite beauty of the harmonies and the profound words.
Both Bert and I remarked how surprised we were that interspersed through the songs a very clear presentation of who Jesus was was delivered, although by appearance it didn't seem that the choir was a Christian choir (Sikh man in the bass section for instance).Somehow couldn't imagine that happening at the Kennedy Center.
I confess to a tiny bit of disappointment that the local rodent population didn't put in an appearance as they had at our earlier dance recital in the same theatre. Perhaps they felt there were too many performers to compete with.
Friday, December 10, 2010
Hindustan Times vs. Times of India-
"Government spending and contracts today are black holes into which taxpayers’ money is shovelled with little or no outcome and accountability. This unaccountable spending is the breeding ground for corruption and nepotism. "Rajeev Chandrasekhar, Rajya Sabha MP, Hindustan Times, 10 December, 2010
It must be my lucky week. We've had both newspapers delivered three times this week which has meant I could put the Times of India (TI) straight in the rubbish. The TI is the print equivalent of the old Bollywood movie: something in it for everyone, and often all on the same page. Both the HT and TI have horrible 'social scene' sections with large colour pictures of Indian celebrities and American starlets in varying degrees of undress. One page of this section has the cultural offerings of the city for the day so I do sometimes find myself scanning swiftly through the rubbish to find the exhibition or concert announcements before marching that section smartly to the bin.
For fun this week I decided to take a copy of the front section of each newspaper and do a systematic analysis of the contents. It wasn't a pleasant experience and probably added to my growing anger about some of what we observe here. :)
TI is shameless in exploiting every gruesome story by writing about it three times if they are short of copy. There is a callous factual presentation that somehow doesn't recognize the humanity of victims. Emphasis is on the blow by blow details of the crime and little attention placed on rehabilitation of victims or redemption of situations. They seem short on editorial staff and layout people too as the typos and malapropisms are frequent and at times delightful, while several pages have articles that look like icicles trickling down the side of the page with just one or two words per line.
Front page on Wednesday had two fairly modest ads across the top under the Times banner and in the bottom right quarter. Two above the fold leads, and one under the fold, lead focused on Indian corruption,while the central lead was about a terrorist blast on the anniversary of the Ayodha mosque destruction. The Wikileaks founder arrest got a front page spot as did the Sarkozy team. (Monsieur S has had plenty of good press as has Carla who made the Indians' day by praying for a son on their visit south, but it is nothing like what Mr and Mrs. Obama received for weeks before and after their visit.) Corruptions stories continued from page 1 and new, are featured on p. 2 (2 items), p. 3 (2), p. 4 (3), p.6(1), p. 7 (1), p.9 (1), p 11 (2). From about p. 13 the newspaper gets quite legitimate and the back 2 pages of business and 4 of sport look reassuringly familiar. The Varanasi bomb story from p.1 generated almost a page of articles p. 16 with a gruesome photo of the one fatality - a little girl with the unusual name of Swastika (Wikipedia: The word swastika is derived from the Sanskrit word svastika, meaning any lucky or auspicious object, and in particular a mark made on persons and things to denote good luck). the report mentioned that poor little Swastika's body was to be taken for a post mortem. All seems totally inappropriate - photo, report, examination. The gruesome stories of the city: A young man persuaded his friend to join him in killing an annoying girlfried p.3; Petrol pump attendant beaten to death by irate customer after the attendant pumped in more petrol than asked for p. 4; School taxi driver beaten to death by another driver when his car dented by the taxi p.4; An angry railway passenger snatched a 4 year old off a seat he wanted and threw her out the train door near a station. She is in critical condition. p.9
On a lighter note there were government ads on p. 2 (Delhi International Arts Festival); p. 9 (to promote plastic recycling- another no frills notice that won't get much attention ); and p. 9 (display-cum sale of Kashmir products organized by Ministry of Textiles)p. 17 (half page ad to encourage tax paper returns from Income Tax Department) and p 27 (half page ad for Handicrafts Week again paid for by the Ministry of Textiles).
A total of 15 complete pages of the entire 28 pages were devoted to advertising.
The HT looks less tabloid-like. It has a separate htbusiness section (8 pages of which fully 5 are advertising). While the last 4 pages of the main section are devoted to sport. Friday's front page above the fold lead is corruption in politics. Climate change and ICC Cricket World Cup also make it above the fold. Under the fold the Indian ambassador's frisking got some coverage as well as China's approach to visas for Kashmiri residents and a piece on the increase in airfares.
In contrast to TI the HT does a better job pulling articles on one topic together. P. 2 is crime and the city. Manager's murder, gang rape investigation, Delhi women not safe, pickpockets, murder of a teenager, 27 yr old stabbed to death, truck hits senior, fines for using the bus lanes. However, there seem to be more items than can fit on that one page so there are more of these grim reports scattered through the following pages: teen burns cigarette vendor for failing to give him cigarettes on credit; traffic cop thrashed by speeding driver.
The front section of 24 pages had 11 entirely devoted to ads. 1 1/2 pages of those ads sponsored by government agencies, Ministry of Textiles biggest sponsor.
Conclusions of the scientific analysis: When possible avoid The Times of India.
"Government spending and contracts today are black holes into which taxpayers’ money is shovelled with little or no outcome and accountability. This unaccountable spending is the breeding ground for corruption and nepotism. "Rajeev Chandrasekhar, Rajya Sabha MP, Hindustan Times, 10 December, 2010
It must be my lucky week. We've had both newspapers delivered three times this week which has meant I could put the Times of India (TI) straight in the rubbish. The TI is the print equivalent of the old Bollywood movie: something in it for everyone, and often all on the same page. Both the HT and TI have horrible 'social scene' sections with large colour pictures of Indian celebrities and American starlets in varying degrees of undress. One page of this section has the cultural offerings of the city for the day so I do sometimes find myself scanning swiftly through the rubbish to find the exhibition or concert announcements before marching that section smartly to the bin.
For fun this week I decided to take a copy of the front section of each newspaper and do a systematic analysis of the contents. It wasn't a pleasant experience and probably added to my growing anger about some of what we observe here. :)
TI is shameless in exploiting every gruesome story by writing about it three times if they are short of copy. There is a callous factual presentation that somehow doesn't recognize the humanity of victims. Emphasis is on the blow by blow details of the crime and little attention placed on rehabilitation of victims or redemption of situations. They seem short on editorial staff and layout people too as the typos and malapropisms are frequent and at times delightful, while several pages have articles that look like icicles trickling down the side of the page with just one or two words per line.
Front page on Wednesday had two fairly modest ads across the top under the Times banner and in the bottom right quarter. Two above the fold leads, and one under the fold, lead focused on Indian corruption,while the central lead was about a terrorist blast on the anniversary of the Ayodha mosque destruction. The Wikileaks founder arrest got a front page spot as did the Sarkozy team. (Monsieur S has had plenty of good press as has Carla who made the Indians' day by praying for a son on their visit south, but it is nothing like what Mr and Mrs. Obama received for weeks before and after their visit.) Corruptions stories continued from page 1 and new, are featured on p. 2 (2 items), p. 3 (2), p. 4 (3), p.6(1), p. 7 (1), p.9 (1), p 11 (2). From about p. 13 the newspaper gets quite legitimate and the back 2 pages of business and 4 of sport look reassuringly familiar. The Varanasi bomb story from p.1 generated almost a page of articles p. 16 with a gruesome photo of the one fatality - a little girl with the unusual name of Swastika (Wikipedia: The word swastika is derived from the Sanskrit word svastika, meaning any lucky or auspicious object, and in particular a mark made on persons and things to denote good luck). the report mentioned that poor little Swastika's body was to be taken for a post mortem. All seems totally inappropriate - photo, report, examination. The gruesome stories of the city: A young man persuaded his friend to join him in killing an annoying girlfried p.3; Petrol pump attendant beaten to death by irate customer after the attendant pumped in more petrol than asked for p. 4; School taxi driver beaten to death by another driver when his car dented by the taxi p.4; An angry railway passenger snatched a 4 year old off a seat he wanted and threw her out the train door near a station. She is in critical condition. p.9
On a lighter note there were government ads on p. 2 (Delhi International Arts Festival); p. 9 (to promote plastic recycling- another no frills notice that won't get much attention ); and p. 9 (display-cum sale of Kashmir products organized by Ministry of Textiles)p. 17 (half page ad to encourage tax paper returns from Income Tax Department) and p 27 (half page ad for Handicrafts Week again paid for by the Ministry of Textiles).
A total of 15 complete pages of the entire 28 pages were devoted to advertising.
The HT looks less tabloid-like. It has a separate htbusiness section (8 pages of which fully 5 are advertising). While the last 4 pages of the main section are devoted to sport. Friday's front page above the fold lead is corruption in politics. Climate change and ICC Cricket World Cup also make it above the fold. Under the fold the Indian ambassador's frisking got some coverage as well as China's approach to visas for Kashmiri residents and a piece on the increase in airfares.
In contrast to TI the HT does a better job pulling articles on one topic together. P. 2 is crime and the city. Manager's murder, gang rape investigation, Delhi women not safe, pickpockets, murder of a teenager, 27 yr old stabbed to death, truck hits senior, fines for using the bus lanes. However, there seem to be more items than can fit on that one page so there are more of these grim reports scattered through the following pages: teen burns cigarette vendor for failing to give him cigarettes on credit; traffic cop thrashed by speeding driver.
The front section of 24 pages had 11 entirely devoted to ads. 1 1/2 pages of those ads sponsored by government agencies, Ministry of Textiles biggest sponsor.
Conclusions of the scientific analysis: When possible avoid The Times of India.
Wednesday, December 8, 2010
Poinsettias are finished - It shouldn't have come as a surprise to me, but it did: poinsettias are in full red leaf in the heat of the summer months here and only a few rather ratty exemplars are now available because, of course, now the temperatures have dropped and the plants will only grow green leaves and no one in India is going to be forcing any plants in greenhouses for the odd Christmas celebrations! So I have contented myself with a rather orphan-like runt of a poinsettia and am hoping to coax a few more green leaves onto its lower limbs in the next two weeks.
People don't seem to plant so many plants in the ground here. They keep masses of plants in pots.Even in public gardens or outside office buildings, museums or municipal sites the landscaping is often in large terracotta pots that can easily be trucked away and replaced. I used to think the work was still in progress - perhaps the pots had been delivered, but the plants not yet put into the ground - but now realize thie pots are just frequently replaced.
There are two garden centers very close to one another in the block next to the Khan market (so upmarket clientele). They have a very diverse offering from bedding plants, vegetable starter plants all the way to perennials and shrubs and a steady stream of flowering plants for each season. I was impressed given how small each plot was and how built up the area is.
I found the tiniest little terracotta seed starter pots, really the size of a thimble. The salesman was amused that I found them so extraordinary and was delighted to give me a couple - I might even string them as a Christmas tree ornament.
It still comes as a bit of surprise that in every place the workman's laundry is fairly evident. We should be used to it by now, but it still hits me like one of those picture puzzles I loved as kid "Find the ten mistakes in this picture" or "find these hidden objects in the picture." Strolling amongst the annuals I find the day's laundry drying. :) Well perhaps the gardener lives on the premises, or perhaps he can only do the laundry during the day or perhaps it is that he can't possibly leave it unguarded all day. It all blends in quite well anyway.
There are two garden centers very close to one another in the block next to the Khan market (so upmarket clientele). They have a very diverse offering from bedding plants, vegetable starter plants all the way to perennials and shrubs and a steady stream of flowering plants for each season. I was impressed given how small each plot was and how built up the area is.
It still comes as a bit of surprise that in every place the workman's laundry is fairly evident. We should be used to it by now, but it still hits me like one of those picture puzzles I loved as kid "Find the ten mistakes in this picture" or "find these hidden objects in the picture." Strolling amongst the annuals I find the day's laundry drying. :) Well perhaps the gardener lives on the premises, or perhaps he can only do the laundry during the day or perhaps it is that he can't possibly leave it unguarded all day. It all blends in quite well anyway.
99 years of growth - I spotted this ad on the street today and foolishly didn't get the whole of the wording in the picture. The Central Bank of India - Central to you since 1911. Where growing is a way of life. :)
It struck me that given the climate in India and the 99 years of banking history that their little illustration with a few leaves really wasn't very impressive. Perhaps it is, however, realistic. Just imagine what it could have looked like if they too had invested heavily in the American subprime market - perhaps a cotton plant after the Boll weevel got to it, or a wheat crop after locusts landed.
To give or not to give? - If Rohinton Mistry's A Fine Balance is accurate then a kind of beggar mafia exists in some cities in India. 'Protection' is given to beggars; they are assigned specific areas to beg in; they will be fed and clothed (appropriately for their professional needs) and the money they collect will go in the main to the Beggarmaster. I am busily trying to ascertain whether this has any credence. It isn't easy to ask just anyone this kind of question - I have so far met with raised eyebrows and shrugs of uncertainty. Even if there were no Beggarmaster I would still not want to give any beggar money on principle, but even more so if the money wouldn't even go to help the destitute but to line some beggar manager's pockets. I have grown used to seeing the beggars on specific corners. Surely that isn't right. What should I do?
Today in broad daylight in the middle of the day I marched up Lodhi Road with my video camera and one of those black nylon briefcases (that some conference gave Bert) with a modest load of oranges, sultanas and almonds (I still vividly remember the protein deficient Sudanese children I met and guess the Delhi street children don't get much of a balanced diet either) and a simple English/Hindi children's book. As anticipated one of the band of kids, where my Chaplin/Jackson entrepreneur weaves his way between the cars at red lights to perform, walked up to me as I approached. I think he is probably Charlie's older brother - not quite so talented and doesn't have the same swagger as his younger slightly more agile brother. I smiled at him and showed him my camera and asked permission to film him. Not sure if he fully understood, but he gladly performed and I showed him the video which he enjoyed and then he asked for "Money M'em?" and I shook my head and handed him the briefcase. He wasn't thrilled and then I opened it and showed him the fruit and he got a bit more interested.I just smiled again as his younger sister approached curiously and I walked off. Not responsible for their reactions, but at least feeling I didn't do any harm.
Here is the young entrepreneur: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3C9VZPOpOlc
You have to look closely to notice that he has a small weight on a string attached to his cap that he twirls and he uses a wire ring to climb through. Notice too the small sibling in pink behind and to the right of him who walks into the traffic to 'work' the crowd as the light turns red.
Felix pointed out yesterday that India theoretically provides free education for all children. It would surprise me if these children are ever going to school and yet they are on a main Delhi road in a wealthy area, hardly hidden from view.
Today in broad daylight in the middle of the day I marched up Lodhi Road with my video camera and one of those black nylon briefcases (that some conference gave Bert) with a modest load of oranges, sultanas and almonds (I still vividly remember the protein deficient Sudanese children I met and guess the Delhi street children don't get much of a balanced diet either) and a simple English/Hindi children's book. As anticipated one of the band of kids, where my Chaplin/Jackson entrepreneur weaves his way between the cars at red lights to perform, walked up to me as I approached. I think he is probably Charlie's older brother - not quite so talented and doesn't have the same swagger as his younger slightly more agile brother. I smiled at him and showed him my camera and asked permission to film him. Not sure if he fully understood, but he gladly performed and I showed him the video which he enjoyed and then he asked for "Money M'em?" and I shook my head and handed him the briefcase. He wasn't thrilled and then I opened it and showed him the fruit and he got a bit more interested.I just smiled again as his younger sister approached curiously and I walked off. Not responsible for their reactions, but at least feeling I didn't do any harm.
Here is the young entrepreneur: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3C9VZPOpOlc
You have to look closely to notice that he has a small weight on a string attached to his cap that he twirls and he uses a wire ring to climb through. Notice too the small sibling in pink behind and to the right of him who walks into the traffic to 'work' the crowd as the light turns red.
Felix pointed out yesterday that India theoretically provides free education for all children. It would surprise me if these children are ever going to school and yet they are on a main Delhi road in a wealthy area, hardly hidden from view.
Tuesday, December 7, 2010
Delhi Newspaper ads- There are plenty of ads in the paper and amazingly it seems that any space can be bought. One guest was quite stunned that the bottom quarter of the front page of the Times of India had a Harpic toilet cleaner ad running for most of a week. Occasionally I guess that someone puts down an even larger sum of money and an extra half front page is folded over the paper for something that has to grab our attention even before we recognize our paper.
We don't choose our paper. The hotel provides it. The Times of India comes daily and when we are lucky we also get the Hindustan Times. HT ads are far more sedate than those of TI though both regularly have an ad on that front bottom left of the front page. TI has a lot more large full page ads and more colour in them than HT.
Both papers have quite a few public service type ads and these are a puzzle to me. In contrast to the very high tech and professional appearance of the usual ads the government ads look like something from the 1950s or early 60s. There is a half page ad in yellow red and blue for YELLOW PEAS DAL issued in the public interest by the Government of India Ministry of Consumer Affairs. There is a photo of quite lovely (very white) hands holding a clear bag of dried yellow split peas on the left and a very 2-D drawing of a school girl on the right pointing to the highly enlightening info from the Ministry:
A Nutritious and Healthy diet at a reasonable cost
Benefits of Yellow Peas Dal
It's an excellent source of:
Protein Carbohydrates
Fibre. . .and other benefits
[Spelling and punctuation faithfully reproduced.] The ad kindly includes places that these peas are available. What is the point? Is that dusty old ad going to persuade anyone who reads a paper to go and find some dal to cook up? Did the ministry have extra budget that needed to be used up before the year's end in case someone decided to cut that amount from the next year's budget?
It is easier to understand the colourful spread announcing the inauguration of the Barapulla Elevated Road connecting Sarai Kale Khan, ring road to Jawaharlal Nehru Stadium. The pictured ministers and contractors are glad to be associated with a success and some good news.
I don't remember seeing so many celebrity endorsements in newspapers elsewhere, but here the Bollywood oldies, Amitabh Bachan and Shahrukh Khan, seem to be in the papers almost daily recommending household paint or watches.
My favourite ad so far has been for an upscale shawl shop and it starts out:
'The fourth anniversary of you forgetting her birthday.
The eighteenth anniversary of her parent's saying no.
...
So what are you celebrating today?
Anniversary Gifting Ideas by Ahujasons.'
We don't choose our paper. The hotel provides it. The Times of India comes daily and when we are lucky we also get the Hindustan Times. HT ads are far more sedate than those of TI though both regularly have an ad on that front bottom left of the front page. TI has a lot more large full page ads and more colour in them than HT.
Both papers have quite a few public service type ads and these are a puzzle to me. In contrast to the very high tech and professional appearance of the usual ads the government ads look like something from the 1950s or early 60s. There is a half page ad in yellow red and blue for YELLOW PEAS DAL issued in the public interest by the Government of India Ministry of Consumer Affairs. There is a photo of quite lovely (very white) hands holding a clear bag of dried yellow split peas on the left and a very 2-D drawing of a school girl on the right pointing to the highly enlightening info from the Ministry:
A Nutritious and Healthy diet at a reasonable cost
Benefits of Yellow Peas Dal
It's an excellent source of:
Protein Carbohydrates
Fibre. . .and other benefits
[Spelling and punctuation faithfully reproduced.] The ad kindly includes places that these peas are available. What is the point? Is that dusty old ad going to persuade anyone who reads a paper to go and find some dal to cook up? Did the ministry have extra budget that needed to be used up before the year's end in case someone decided to cut that amount from the next year's budget?
It is easier to understand the colourful spread announcing the inauguration of the Barapulla Elevated Road connecting Sarai Kale Khan, ring road to Jawaharlal Nehru Stadium. The pictured ministers and contractors are glad to be associated with a success and some good news.
I don't remember seeing so many celebrity endorsements in newspapers elsewhere, but here the Bollywood oldies, Amitabh Bachan and Shahrukh Khan, seem to be in the papers almost daily recommending household paint or watches.
My favourite ad so far has been for an upscale shawl shop and it starts out:
'The fourth anniversary of you forgetting her birthday.
The eighteenth anniversary of her parent's saying no.
...
So what are you celebrating today?
Anniversary Gifting Ideas by Ahujasons.'
Mistry and Nasrin - I have struggled to finish two novels in the last couple of weeks. Taslima Nasrin's Shame about the backlash against Hindus in Bangladesh after the demolition of the Babri Mosque in Ayodha, India, in 1992, and Rohinton Mistry's A Fine Balance, a gripping 600 page weaving of threads describing several lives in 1970s India after Indira Gandhi was accused of rigging the election and the State of Internal Emergency was imposed.
Nasrin's novel was turgid in its sporadic quoting of newspapers and reports. Her novel lost the thread of urgency and involvement in the characters because of her repeated documentary digressions. She hit us over the head with her statistics and lists of atrocities perpetrated against the innocent Bangladeshi Hindus in retaliation against a group of Hindus' desecration of a mosque in another country. I am sure that everything she wrote happened, probably not all to one family, and the writing does help see the utter barbarity of the violence and gave me a far better understanding of the recent history of Bangladesh.
Mistry's novel, on the other hand, is a page turner. In his work, too, I suspect that most of the events are possible, though hardly all probable in one set of characters. However, this book, too, had to be put aside for days at a time as the degree of pain and inhumanity he describes was unbearable.
The Fine Balance paints a grim picture of caste in the villages with elections being a total farce:
"'There must be a lot of duplication in our country's laws,' said Dukhi. 'Every time there are elections, they talk of passing the same ones passed twenty years ago. Someone should remind them they need to apply the laws.'
'For politicians, passing laws is like passing water,' said Narayan. 'It all ends down the drain.'"
Mistry goes on to explain how the voting proceeded: the election officer was plied with gifts and led off to eat and drink the day away, while the local goon's henchmen got every villager to put his thumb print on a ballot which the henchmen then filled in as the goon directed. Narayan decides that he will vote for himself in the next election and the goon has him and the whole of his family annihilated.
Mistry describes a Mafia like organization for organizing beggars in which there is a Beggarmaster who 'takes care of' the beggars by giving them poignant identities, specific begging territory, 'protection,'and if they have might have babies he takes care of 'professional modifications' to make the babies more pathetic and thus more profitable in the begging profession.
Both novels are unrelenting in their depiction of misery and horror and evil. Although I learned a great deal by reading both I don't recommend either book.
There is a larger discussion of good and evil that these stories provoke. Evil is present in all parts of the world, but I feel that it is far bolder here than in the west. Ghastly things do happen in London and Washington, but everyone agrees that they are ghastly. Here there is too much indifference to the suffering of others and a tolerance for evil that sometimes makes me feel hopeless.
Clearly lots of God-sized problems in India, and not likely that I will persuade Indian politicians to start enforcing the laws they promise to pass, but perhaps I can walk the little book and oranges up the street to my little band of street urchins entertaining the rush hour traffic. Oranges and books won't be collected by any Beggarmaster.
As an absolute antidote to the depressing reading I bought myself Madhur Jaffrey's autobiography of growing up in India, Climbing the Mango Trees. She can't possibly publish a grim book - it would destroy her revenues on all the cookbooks. :)
Nasrin's novel was turgid in its sporadic quoting of newspapers and reports. Her novel lost the thread of urgency and involvement in the characters because of her repeated documentary digressions. She hit us over the head with her statistics and lists of atrocities perpetrated against the innocent Bangladeshi Hindus in retaliation against a group of Hindus' desecration of a mosque in another country. I am sure that everything she wrote happened, probably not all to one family, and the writing does help see the utter barbarity of the violence and gave me a far better understanding of the recent history of Bangladesh.
Mistry's novel, on the other hand, is a page turner. In his work, too, I suspect that most of the events are possible, though hardly all probable in one set of characters. However, this book, too, had to be put aside for days at a time as the degree of pain and inhumanity he describes was unbearable.
The Fine Balance paints a grim picture of caste in the villages with elections being a total farce:
"'There must be a lot of duplication in our country's laws,' said Dukhi. 'Every time there are elections, they talk of passing the same ones passed twenty years ago. Someone should remind them they need to apply the laws.'
'For politicians, passing laws is like passing water,' said Narayan. 'It all ends down the drain.'"
Mistry goes on to explain how the voting proceeded: the election officer was plied with gifts and led off to eat and drink the day away, while the local goon's henchmen got every villager to put his thumb print on a ballot which the henchmen then filled in as the goon directed. Narayan decides that he will vote for himself in the next election and the goon has him and the whole of his family annihilated.
Mistry describes a Mafia like organization for organizing beggars in which there is a Beggarmaster who 'takes care of' the beggars by giving them poignant identities, specific begging territory, 'protection,'and if they have might have babies he takes care of 'professional modifications' to make the babies more pathetic and thus more profitable in the begging profession.
Both novels are unrelenting in their depiction of misery and horror and evil. Although I learned a great deal by reading both I don't recommend either book.
There is a larger discussion of good and evil that these stories provoke. Evil is present in all parts of the world, but I feel that it is far bolder here than in the west. Ghastly things do happen in London and Washington, but everyone agrees that they are ghastly. Here there is too much indifference to the suffering of others and a tolerance for evil that sometimes makes me feel hopeless.
Clearly lots of God-sized problems in India, and not likely that I will persuade Indian politicians to start enforcing the laws they promise to pass, but perhaps I can walk the little book and oranges up the street to my little band of street urchins entertaining the rush hour traffic. Oranges and books won't be collected by any Beggarmaster.
As an absolute antidote to the depressing reading I bought myself Madhur Jaffrey's autobiography of growing up in India, Climbing the Mango Trees. She can't possibly publish a grim book - it would destroy her revenues on all the cookbooks. :)
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Nizamuddin Auliya (1238 - 3 April 1325) - Nizamuddin Auliya was a famous Sufi saint and his tomb lies around the corner from us. The immediate surroundings of the tomb are a jumble of medieval looking buildings with Muslim locals living, working and worshiping on top of one another. I don't go here by myself and none of us venture in after dusk. It feels very alien. We are in sight and sound of a major flyover but crossing that main road and walking into the Nizamuddin West neighborhood is like stepping back several centuries. The streets are very narrow and there are goats running and climbing everywhere. A shady tree incongruously (this is a Muslim neighborhood) looks as though someone has put an offering at the base of it. A couple of vegetable vendors have small barrows laden with fresh vegetables and the local barber is wielding his razor under another large shady tree while his customer examines the progress in the mirror propped up against the trunk of the tree. Laundry is hanging on any available surface. Flies buzz lazily around the hanging butchered meat (those goats are here for a good purpose) and the smell of the butcher's establishment mixes with the city grime. There are several tailors busy at their narrow doors and plenty of people watching the obvious intruders. Bus loads of Indian tourists come daily, but they don't stand out quite like us. We can see what we think is the dome of the tomb and keep walking in circles towards it. We find a collection of sellers with fairly elaborate stalls of tourist like items as well as the required head coverings and masses and masses of fragrant rose petals, and a young chap trying to earn some money guarding all the shoes that visitors to the site have to discard at this point, all set up around an ornate arched entrance.
We all need the head coverings. There is no English sign to indicate we have got to the place we are looking for, but everyone is urging us in and all those vendors wouldn't be in the wrong spot so we leave our shoes to the entrepreneurial young man and head down the cool marble floored corridor in the stream of people. There are many sitting along the walls, some lying down and sleeping,some begging with open hands and mournful moanings. A few little children in varying degrees of dress wander about with no apparent anxiety or parental supervision. The corridor takes a left turn. More little shops with Arabic and Urdu and western translations. (Of what? We'll have to go back and find out. It is a topic for another post, but it is remarkable that this is a Muslim neighborhood and Nizamuddin was a Sufi and today people of many faiths come to his tomb. India is puzzling.) The corridor takes a right and there is an opening to the right showing the jumble of building balanced tightly upon one another. Another right, and then a left and a quick right (more small shops) and another opening showing where the large ablution pool should be.
The idea, that we can probably all relate to, is that to come onto holy ground one should be clean. This tank, however, is very, very sad. Another Indian mystery: if the tomb is so precious, and we take our shoes off at the door and walk 1/4 mile barefoot to get to it, why don't people respect the tank enough to not throw their rubbish in it? We've passed a couple of rooms which have some learned discussion going on inside and the whole length of the passageway we've passed the same odd assortment of people who seem to be permanent fixtures.
Finally, at the end of the tank the corridor opens onto a square with the saint's tomb in the center and a mosque off to the west side. There are perhaps a hundred people milling, sitting, praying, discussing and a couple of vendors still hoping I'll buy rose petals for the tombs (there are several other venerables buried here). The little town was built onto the tomb and mosque areas. Nizamuddin seems to have been gifted at reconciliation and after his death his reputation for healing was so respected that others wanted to live within the shadow of his tomb so there are other buildings literally built onto all four sides of the tomb area.
The overhead canopy is pulled out to protect visitors from the sunlight and makes the whole area seem smaller and more crowded. Women are not permitted into the actual tomb, but men are encouraged to circle it inside the pillars. It is fascinating - the whole area perhaps only about four square blocks and less than 1/2 mile from two five star hotels - but it is quite a bonus to stop back into 2010.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
6 big bonuses in one day - I needed to head up the road to the post office to send off a few packages and the young rickshaw driver zeroed the meter for the trip before I had even asked. (Bonus #1! No need to bargain) I tapped the meter at the end of the trip and said 'Thank you for using the meter' and handed him a very fat tip. One very happy tuktuk driver!
I walked straight up to the post office counter and the packages were mailed in less than ten minutes! (Bonus #2) Last time we went to send packages it took closer to 40 minutes. Although it sounded a great amount to pay in rupees, it really wasn't when I thought of what it costs to send things from England or USA. In fact when I really considered what I had paid I started to wonder how it could possibly be that cheap. I paid less to send the packages registered airmail than I would have had to to send them regular air mail the opposite way. (Bonus #3).
The Post Office is on the opposite side of the street from Lodhi Gardens so I decided to walk through the gardens to get to Khan Market. It was a beautiful day and the garden peaceful and lush. For several minutes in the center of the garden I could only hear birds and gentle gardening sounds. (Bonus #4)
I got my shopping at Khan Market done swiftly and went to the rickshaw stand for a ride home. Extraordinarily there were none waiting. I put my bags down and a tuktuk pulled up to discharge a passenger. As I told the driver where I wanted to go, he nodded and put the meter back to zero - again without my asking! Again, at the end of the trip I thanked the driver for using the meter and gave him a lovely tip. He too grinned ear to ear. Felix suspects that word will get around and I won't have to bargain at all any more because they will all realize they get more if they don't hassle me. :) (Bonus #5)
Hendrik sent an email from Annandale asking whether I had ordered $500 boots, size 5 1/2, from Neiman Marcus on line. Head scratch and think! No I have never bought boots for $500, I don't know anyone size 5 1/2 who would like those hideous boots, I have never bought anything from NM on line and the last time I was in the shop was more than a year ago. The boots had been shipped to Annandale with clear indication that my credit card had been used. There were two other small charges on my credit card account to something called Intelius.com that did not originate with me. The card was canceled immediately. The ugly boots go back to NM and the credit card company does some investigating and we get new cards. So glad this didn't develop further - surely the petite footed purchaser made an error in shipping the goods to my home address. (Bonus #6).
A day for the record books.
I walked straight up to the post office counter and the packages were mailed in less than ten minutes! (Bonus #2) Last time we went to send packages it took closer to 40 minutes. Although it sounded a great amount to pay in rupees, it really wasn't when I thought of what it costs to send things from England or USA. In fact when I really considered what I had paid I started to wonder how it could possibly be that cheap. I paid less to send the packages registered airmail than I would have had to to send them regular air mail the opposite way. (Bonus #3).
The Post Office is on the opposite side of the street from Lodhi Gardens so I decided to walk through the gardens to get to Khan Market. It was a beautiful day and the garden peaceful and lush. For several minutes in the center of the garden I could only hear birds and gentle gardening sounds. (Bonus #4)
I got my shopping at Khan Market done swiftly and went to the rickshaw stand for a ride home. Extraordinarily there were none waiting. I put my bags down and a tuktuk pulled up to discharge a passenger. As I told the driver where I wanted to go, he nodded and put the meter back to zero - again without my asking! Again, at the end of the trip I thanked the driver for using the meter and gave him a lovely tip. He too grinned ear to ear. Felix suspects that word will get around and I won't have to bargain at all any more because they will all realize they get more if they don't hassle me. :) (Bonus #5)
Hendrik sent an email from Annandale asking whether I had ordered $500 boots, size 5 1/2, from Neiman Marcus on line. Head scratch and think! No I have never bought boots for $500, I don't know anyone size 5 1/2 who would like those hideous boots, I have never bought anything from NM on line and the last time I was in the shop was more than a year ago. The boots had been shipped to Annandale with clear indication that my credit card had been used. There were two other small charges on my credit card account to something called Intelius.com that did not originate with me. The card was canceled immediately. The ugly boots go back to NM and the credit card company does some investigating and we get new cards. So glad this didn't develop further - surely the petite footed purchaser made an error in shipping the goods to my home address. (Bonus #6).
A day for the record books.
Saturday, November 27, 2010
Manicure freebies - Khan Market: most expensive real estate in New Delhi, a higgledy piggledy assortment of shops and services close to many ex-patriots and wealthy Indian neighborhoods. I'm a fairly regular customer at the Khan market. I can walk to it if I want good exercise. I feel safe shopping there. They have a good selection of food products and three book shops.
This week I went in search of a manicure. Between the pomegranates and the constant grime of New Delhi my hands at times erroneously reflect betel nut addiction and an improvised nail brush (couldn't buy a designated 'nailbrush') isn't shifting the tenacious stain. I walked up the narrow stairs to the hair salon Felix and I have frequented before. My earlier appointment was just as they were coming awake at 10 a.m. This time I arrived in the full swing of business with 6 stations busy with various hair processes. I wasn't sure they even did manicures. Madam at the desk nodded towards the waiting room couch and said "Most welcome," when I asked. She stepped around the corner and spoke some rather harsh words and a pleasant young man came and took me in hand.:) In good India style everything was a bit improvised, but had very specific order and at different points in the proceedings my pleasant young man would also imperiously snap some order to a lesser minion and a bowl of yellow warm water showed up, or heated damp towels appeared. The yellow water got my attention, looking rather like a warm liquid I didn't want to put my hands into. I don't think the young fellow had a clue what my concern was but he obligingly told me that it was Savlon and water (so the yellow Savlon should kill anything in the water I might have been worried about :)).
As I sat through the lengthy, most enjoyable, manicure I had the whole salon to observe. The music was heavy on bass and loud, very much the flavour of the young, black T-shirted men working. There were 4 hair stylists and about 6 assistants and a strict hierarchy - floor sweeper and water carrier; hair washer; stylist assistant and stylist. The higher up the ladder the longer and curlier the toes on the black leather shoes (even floor sweeper was proud of his canvas Converse shoes). The clientele, in contrast, were mainly slightly overweight women in their 40s and 50s, Indian and ex-pats. The whole scene was somewhat surreal as the young men from the hip down repeatedly broke into MTV choreography while their hands steadily went about the hair business of washing, snipping and sweeping. Even my nail improver,although seated for his job, managed to get his head into the MTV action while buffing and greatly appreciated the MTV parallel when I mentioned it.
Apart from the great entertainment, the manicure also included a fabulous arm massage. All wonderfully unexpected and good things to add on to the list of things to be thankful for in Thanksgiving week.
This week I went in search of a manicure. Between the pomegranates and the constant grime of New Delhi my hands at times erroneously reflect betel nut addiction and an improvised nail brush (couldn't buy a designated 'nailbrush') isn't shifting the tenacious stain. I walked up the narrow stairs to the hair salon Felix and I have frequented before. My earlier appointment was just as they were coming awake at 10 a.m. This time I arrived in the full swing of business with 6 stations busy with various hair processes. I wasn't sure they even did manicures. Madam at the desk nodded towards the waiting room couch and said "Most welcome," when I asked. She stepped around the corner and spoke some rather harsh words and a pleasant young man came and took me in hand.:) In good India style everything was a bit improvised, but had very specific order and at different points in the proceedings my pleasant young man would also imperiously snap some order to a lesser minion and a bowl of yellow warm water showed up, or heated damp towels appeared. The yellow water got my attention, looking rather like a warm liquid I didn't want to put my hands into. I don't think the young fellow had a clue what my concern was but he obligingly told me that it was Savlon and water (so the yellow Savlon should kill anything in the water I might have been worried about :)).
As I sat through the lengthy, most enjoyable, manicure I had the whole salon to observe. The music was heavy on bass and loud, very much the flavour of the young, black T-shirted men working. There were 4 hair stylists and about 6 assistants and a strict hierarchy - floor sweeper and water carrier; hair washer; stylist assistant and stylist. The higher up the ladder the longer and curlier the toes on the black leather shoes (even floor sweeper was proud of his canvas Converse shoes). The clientele, in contrast, were mainly slightly overweight women in their 40s and 50s, Indian and ex-pats. The whole scene was somewhat surreal as the young men from the hip down repeatedly broke into MTV choreography while their hands steadily went about the hair business of washing, snipping and sweeping. Even my nail improver,although seated for his job, managed to get his head into the MTV action while buffing and greatly appreciated the MTV parallel when I mentioned it.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
How do the guys collect their commissions? - Bert and returned to the markets just south of Connaught Place in the city center on Saturday. These are markets renowned for second hand clothing, cheap clothing and cheap imitations of expensive products. We were just starting to relax and enjoy the mix of people, colours and products (having left anything valuable in our hotel suite in case we were going to get into jostling crowds) when the young man who was so 'helpful' in guiding us to a more suitable, more expensive shopping location, several weeks ago, showed up again and grinning ear to ear asked "Remember me?" He then had the gall, yet again, to try and persuade us that we were not looking in the right place and would surely get much better goods in the direction he wanted to point us. I didn't feel too charitable, but Bert, always keen to avoid an international incident, waved him off in a friendly manner.
If things had worked out the way the lad had hoped the first time I assume we would have trundled off towards the correct shop and another amazingly friendly buddy of his would have received some signal from him that we were the target customers and perhaps youth #2 would have suggested a slight course correction for us. Would he have walked us to the door or passed us off to another agent, #3, in line? Would they all get a cut of the profits of anything we bought? I keep having to remind myself that this is good entrepreneurial spirit and much better than sitting in line to pick up unemployment benefits.
Last weekend as we left the grounds of the Lotus temple in the south of the city we wanted to visit an area nearby that had been recommended to us. We mentioned where we wanted to go and the rickshaw driver said, ok,quoted an outrageous price and then said he'd go in the opposite direction so that we could take a look at some products before he took us to our desired destination. No thank you, we really don't want to see other goods and that is the opposite way of our destination. The fellow almost begged us (he didn't look underfed) to go with him to get some fuel token if he showed up at the aforementioned emporium with potential customers. Good sense won out, in that we just walked off in the direction we wanted to go and later found a more accommodating tuktuk driver. The incident left us wondering about the incentives involved. The original driver ostensibly gave up a RS50 ride for a RS30 fuel voucher. We are guessing there is more to the story and presumably the success rate of persuading reluctant customers to purchase something must be fairly high.
I wonder how much weight I will gain in Virginia when I no longer have tuktuk drivers to haggle with and no reason to walk miles to get to my destination.
If things had worked out the way the lad had hoped the first time I assume we would have trundled off towards the correct shop and another amazingly friendly buddy of his would have received some signal from him that we were the target customers and perhaps youth #2 would have suggested a slight course correction for us. Would he have walked us to the door or passed us off to another agent, #3, in line? Would they all get a cut of the profits of anything we bought? I keep having to remind myself that this is good entrepreneurial spirit and much better than sitting in line to pick up unemployment benefits.
Last weekend as we left the grounds of the Lotus temple in the south of the city we wanted to visit an area nearby that had been recommended to us. We mentioned where we wanted to go and the rickshaw driver said, ok,quoted an outrageous price and then said he'd go in the opposite direction so that we could take a look at some products before he took us to our desired destination. No thank you, we really don't want to see other goods and that is the opposite way of our destination. The fellow almost begged us (he didn't look underfed) to go with him to get some fuel token if he showed up at the aforementioned emporium with potential customers. Good sense won out, in that we just walked off in the direction we wanted to go and later found a more accommodating tuktuk driver. The incident left us wondering about the incentives involved. The original driver ostensibly gave up a RS50 ride for a RS30 fuel voucher. We are guessing there is more to the story and presumably the success rate of persuading reluctant customers to purchase something must be fairly high.
I wonder how much weight I will gain in Virginia when I no longer have tuktuk drivers to haggle with and no reason to walk miles to get to my destination.
Festival of lights - The topic of what was being celebrated is complex, but Diwali is a big deal for business and temple in the Hindu world. There was a flurry of pre-Diwali buying that could well compete with pre-Christmas shopping and the amount spent on gifts carried great significance. Where in the west businesses might send clients cards, here there was a great deal of gift giving from business to client. The piles of chocolate piled up outside all the little shops was incredible. It all disappeared so I am assuming it didn't get stuck in some corner of the shops for storage, but instead went to delight many.
The hotel did a phenomenal job decorating with lights (little candles) and intricate floor designs made with flowers, petals and coloured rice. The large one at the hotel entrance took 12 people 6 hours and they only left it out for two days before it was replaced with a newer, less intricate pattern. The long corridor/cloister walk down to our block of suites had a different floor decoration on each side of each door.
After dark all the candles were lit and the Aman looked like fairy land. We got a surprise ring at the door and were presented with a small plate of sweets with candle lit and a couple of environmentally friendly sparklers. The excitement with all the fireworks over Diwali leaves Delhi absolutely blanketed in smoke and the mayor of Delhi, Mrs.Dickshit (Dix-it) appealed "My dear little friends" please don't celebrate Diwali with fireworks. I am not sure sure how many of her dear little friends responded to her pleas, but the Aman was respectful. The city, however, was wreathed in smoke as we headed to the airport the next morning. :)
The first time I went to Haus Khaz with Elaine there was an older group of teen boys playing cricket. This time the younger boys were playing soccer, a few in shoes, most in flip flops, and a couple with bare feet, while the teenagers were hanging out in groups in the ruins of the mosque and madrasah next to the soccer field.
All you can eat for RS80 - Walking from the center of the city southwards to India Gate at the weekend, Bert and I found a monument of a pleasant looking man at a our side and idly decided to find out who he was. In the excitement of what followed I have completely forgotten exactly who he was, but certainly an important man for Andhra Pradesh (4th largest state of India in the south). Behind the statue was a well weathered sign 'Canteen' and a steady stream of people was using the turnstile into the alley promising food. We had had a good walk and a grueling morning haggling and bargaining and decided to try our luck. Did one have to be from Andhra Pradesh to eat at this canteen (located in Andhra Pradesh House)? Would the place be clean? Would our (actually this was only my private concern) stomachs cope with the spices? We followed the crowd in. About forty or fifty people were crushed into the entrance waiting. In fairly close quarters about 16 tables seating four or two people were full of customers enjoying the southern food. I crept closer to the cash register and asked for two 'veg' (as opposed to non-veg) meals. RS160. We crowded in with the other hungry clients while a rather healthy, and very loud doorman called out repeatedly 'Just five minutes madam, please wait sir. Number 32, 32, How man in the party, come now 33. Please move back.' I don't know what we did to deserve the preferential treatment, but he pulled us in before we reached our numbers. We were pointed to a small table for two and immediately two steel cups of water arrived followed swiftly by two thali plates. (Thali plates are steel trays with multiple small compartments and many restaurants serve meals this way so that customers enjoy small portions of multiple dishes.) Servers came by at stunning speed and relentless repetition (they almost seemed disappointed that we didn't take more). It was delicious, a fabulous variety and opportunity to take second, thirds or even fourth portions of favourite dishes. What heaven for students if they ever get to this area. Now I have to find out if they are open every day, and at what hours. We left at about 3:15 and although the queue for meals had dwindled, the supply of food was still strong.
Further inquiry indicates that many, if not all, the states have their own 'houses' and some of them have restaurants, but not all are such good value. Rather sad that our time isn't sufficient to scout out all of them.:)
Further inquiry indicates that many, if not all, the states have their own 'houses' and some of them have restaurants, but not all are such good value. Rather sad that our time isn't sufficient to scout out all of them.:)
Begging dilemma - Lodhi road (our hotel is almost at the east end of Lodhi) is a fairly wealthy area with lots of office space and non profit type organizations and a major six lane east west thoroughfare south of the city center. A junction in the center of the road draws a small group of regular beggars. Perhaps it is just one family or a combination of a couple. Mother often has a grimy baby on her hip and makes a repeated pitiful gesture of hand pinched to take food moving to mouth with a mournful 'Ma'am, Ma'am.' I have steeled myself to merely pray for this little group. Bert and I walked up the road earlier this week and passed the cluster of children. One little chap has a marvelous curly moustache drawn on his face. I pointed him out to Bert who confessed that he had given him something earlier. I was amazed. Didn't we agree that we were perpetuating a vicious cycle by given anything to beggars? Bert said, yes, but this chap was a bit more than a beggar. Two days later my tuktuk had to stop at the light and I got a front row seat to watch Master Moustachio. He had some weighted string on the back of his little baseball cap which he started twirling before he launched into his 30 second choreography routine. Michale Jackson would have been proud of him. My tuktuk driver laughed when I mentioned the similarity, but rolled his eyes when I handed over a small bill.
I want to go back and film the little chap (I think he may be six, but hard hard to tell given how poor his food may be) and take him a bag of food and books as payment for his excellent entertainment, but struggling to discern whether this is good or not. Reading Rohinton Mistry's A Fine Balance, I wonder about making anyone jealous of my Charlie Chaplin Jackson and whether I inadvertently encourage him to stick with his Lodhi street corner when he might have other positive options.
I want to go back and film the little chap (I think he may be six, but hard hard to tell given how poor his food may be) and take him a bag of food and books as payment for his excellent entertainment, but struggling to discern whether this is good or not. Reading Rohinton Mistry's A Fine Balance, I wonder about making anyone jealous of my Charlie Chaplin Jackson and whether I inadvertently encourage him to stick with his Lodhi street corner when he might have other positive options.
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
Rain after the monsoon - I didn't realize that showers continue after the monsoon. The first shower hit very suddenly. I remember walking into the hotel thinking 'if I were in Europe or America, I'd say we were in for a shower.' It darkened suddenly and the heavens let loose rain and hail. The shower probably lasted about 10 minutes and was absolutely drenching.http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Dxm6XgYDZUw
Since then we have had several more showers. Some are short and heavy, some are just a sprinkling while today was several hours of quite English steady, good garden watering rain.
Given how much of the economy is on the street and without cover I wonder what on earth all those vendors do. Are they better at predicting the weather than I am? Do they have somewhere to hide with their wares? Do they have tarps tucked out of sight until they need them?
Since then we have had several more showers. Some are short and heavy, some are just a sprinkling while today was several hours of quite English steady, good garden watering rain.
Given how much of the economy is on the street and without cover I wonder what on earth all those vendors do. Are they better at predicting the weather than I am? Do they have somewhere to hide with their wares? Do they have tarps tucked out of sight until they need them?
Food, glorious food - Fruit is far more expensive than vegetables here. Tomatoes have vacillated somewhat between RS20-RS40 a kg over the last two months, but the Kashmiri pears or apples are about RS85-120 while the Afghani pomegranates are RS220-450 a kg. Sporadically everything is available. Melon imported from Japan can be RS500 a piece, while a small punnet of strawberries could fetch RS250. Dried fruit and nuts and highly esteemed and relatively expensive and there were many baskets of dried fruit and nuts made up for Diwali gifts. (It isn't strictly accurate, but for rule of thumb I reckon about RS50=$1) Last week I bought 5kg plum tomatoes: about 10lbs of tomatoes for $2! That seems incredible to me.
It took me a while to spot the Indian oranges. The earlier ones were a bit larger than tangerines and somewhat irregularly shaped and mainly green skinned. These were fairly fibrous and full of pips and were just intended as juice oranges. Delicious, but not drastically juicy. Now there are larger looser skinned green oranges which seem like giant mandarins, delicious, juicy, sweet, a few seeds, speedy to peel.
Pomegranates: we've bought some directly from the vegetable distribution market in the north of the city (the best of those we've bought); some that Bert schlepped in his suitcase from Kabul (perhaps not fair to judge these as they inadvertently spent an extra day in his suitcase when the flight back to Delhi was cancelled at the last minute) and plenty from the Khan (high end) market and INA (not quite so high end). I cannot bring myself to pay RS400 for the smaller ones, but a guest of mine for high tea here in the Aman asked whether the pomegranates on the table were just for show, or might they be eaten too. :) The very well trained waiter didn't hesitate to offer to prepare one in the kitchen for her, although they were clearly part of the decorations. This was the most tender pomegranate I have ever had. The seeds were hardly noticeable. Some of the cheaper ones really feel as though they have wooden chips for seeds.
Breadfruit is a wonderful discovery. The skin looks a little like something that a dinosaur might have worn and inside is succulent white fruit wrapped around large brown seeds. It is quite a mess to eat, but a per fumy delicacy. The banana in the photo is only for perspective.
As for those amla/Indian gooseberries. . .gulp! It is hard to believe that anyone really eats them raw. (Perhaps it is a manly thing to do - like eating steak tartar.) They are so sour - much more so than lemons or rhubard and that mouth drying raw rhubarb sensation is magnified several times in these small plum sized stoned fruit. They are prized for phenomenally high vitamin C. I have boiled our exploratory 1/2 kg with plenty of sugar to make chutney. I doubt they will be a repeated buy.
I'm a bit more cautious now about the quantity I buy of an untried product.
It took me a while to spot the Indian oranges. The earlier ones were a bit larger than tangerines and somewhat irregularly shaped and mainly green skinned. These were fairly fibrous and full of pips and were just intended as juice oranges. Delicious, but not drastically juicy. Now there are larger looser skinned green oranges which seem like giant mandarins, delicious, juicy, sweet, a few seeds, speedy to peel.
Pomegranates: we've bought some directly from the vegetable distribution market in the north of the city (the best of those we've bought); some that Bert schlepped in his suitcase from Kabul (perhaps not fair to judge these as they inadvertently spent an extra day in his suitcase when the flight back to Delhi was cancelled at the last minute) and plenty from the Khan (high end) market and INA (not quite so high end). I cannot bring myself to pay RS400 for the smaller ones, but a guest of mine for high tea here in the Aman asked whether the pomegranates on the table were just for show, or might they be eaten too. :) The very well trained waiter didn't hesitate to offer to prepare one in the kitchen for her, although they were clearly part of the decorations. This was the most tender pomegranate I have ever had. The seeds were hardly noticeable. Some of the cheaper ones really feel as though they have wooden chips for seeds.
As for those amla/Indian gooseberries. . .gulp! It is hard to believe that anyone really eats them raw. (Perhaps it is a manly thing to do - like eating steak tartar.) They are so sour - much more so than lemons or rhubard and that mouth drying raw rhubarb sensation is magnified several times in these small plum sized stoned fruit. They are prized for phenomenally high vitamin C. I have boiled our exploratory 1/2 kg with plenty of sugar to make chutney. I doubt they will be a repeated buy.
I'm a bit more cautious now about the quantity I buy of an untried product.
Bonus material - I've had three massages here at the Aman*. It probably seems incredibly indulgent and in some regards it is, but it still works out more reasonably than the chiropractor would in Virginia and I am still trying to work through my post snow shovelling shoulder injury of last winter. Everyone has a different diagnosis - the orthopedic surgeon, the chiropractor, the trainers in the gym, the massage therapist. :) Interestingly the surgeon and the trainers have a similar take while the chiropractor and massage therapist seem to basically agree.:)
My favourite therapist is a lovely, tiny Christian woman from Mizoram. (I'll call her Rebecca.) I had never heard of Mizoram (granted statehood in 1986). It is one of those tiny Indian states on the east side of Bangladesh, on the border with Burma. My 2006 children's atlas of India tells me that Mizoram has 22 towns and 699 inhabited villages, of which 663 are electrified. The atlas also states that the population of Mizoram was 891,058, while today Wikipedia postulates 888,573. It is easy to see why young people might be leaving to find more opportunities. It must be quite beautiful and tough to access. It takes about 2 1/2 days to make the journey from Delhi to this lady's home town. .
Rebecca is a really skilled therapist. She is really good, both technically, and psychologically. She is able to distract from the discomfort of some of the manipulation with a stream of fascinating information. She has worked at the best hotels in New Delhi and for all kinds of people. Here are a couple of nuggets I gleaned.
Mizoram is a mainly Christian state because Welsh Baptist missionaries came in 1894.
Our 5 star hotel has a canteen which serves everyone from window washer to the General Manager (GM). Everyone gets the same food from the same kitchen.
Every woman whose shift ends after dark is driven home to her door by one of the hotel's drivers and seen into her building. This policy seems the same for all the good hotels, but Aman people seem to go the extra mile by seeing the women into their buildings.
The former GM of the Taj Mahal hotel in Delhi (where Rebecca used to work) started off working as a steward in the hotel and worked his way up to GM at the Taj and is now #3 for the whole Taj group of hotels.
The spa staff of this hotel number about 29. 6 attendants (managing the changing rooms) and 3 beauticians (can only guess what they do), a few managerial and secretarial positions, but the vast majority massage therapists. At times all the facilities are booked.
The outgoing GM of the Aman (a Scotsman) was remarkable because he would carry luggage if all the other staff were occupied when a guest needed help. [I take it that an Indian GM wouldn't dream of confusing roles/status in this manner.] The incoming GM is a tall distinguished elderly Indian. He has a tough act to follow.
We've now had opportunity to have longer conversations with several staff members, housekeeping and dining staff as well as the lobby and reception stewards and many speak 3 or 4 languages and have degrees in hotel management or engineering.
*Aman: from an exhibit in the National Museum in Dhaka I found out that in some parts of Bangladesh they harvest three crops from the same fields. The first major crop is the 'aman.'
My favourite therapist is a lovely, tiny Christian woman from Mizoram. (I'll call her Rebecca.) I had never heard of Mizoram (granted statehood in 1986). It is one of those tiny Indian states on the east side of Bangladesh, on the border with Burma. My 2006 children's atlas of India tells me that Mizoram has 22 towns and 699 inhabited villages, of which 663 are electrified. The atlas also states that the population of Mizoram was 891,058, while today Wikipedia postulates 888,573. It is easy to see why young people might be leaving to find more opportunities. It must be quite beautiful and tough to access. It takes about 2 1/2 days to make the journey from Delhi to this lady's home town. .
Rebecca is a really skilled therapist. She is really good, both technically, and psychologically. She is able to distract from the discomfort of some of the manipulation with a stream of fascinating information. She has worked at the best hotels in New Delhi and for all kinds of people. Here are a couple of nuggets I gleaned.
Mizoram is a mainly Christian state because Welsh Baptist missionaries came in 1894.
Our 5 star hotel has a canteen which serves everyone from window washer to the General Manager (GM). Everyone gets the same food from the same kitchen.
Every woman whose shift ends after dark is driven home to her door by one of the hotel's drivers and seen into her building. This policy seems the same for all the good hotels, but Aman people seem to go the extra mile by seeing the women into their buildings.
The former GM of the Taj Mahal hotel in Delhi (where Rebecca used to work) started off working as a steward in the hotel and worked his way up to GM at the Taj and is now #3 for the whole Taj group of hotels.
The spa staff of this hotel number about 29. 6 attendants (managing the changing rooms) and 3 beauticians (can only guess what they do), a few managerial and secretarial positions, but the vast majority massage therapists. At times all the facilities are booked.
The outgoing GM of the Aman (a Scotsman) was remarkable because he would carry luggage if all the other staff were occupied when a guest needed help. [I take it that an Indian GM wouldn't dream of confusing roles/status in this manner.] The incoming GM is a tall distinguished elderly Indian. He has a tough act to follow.
We've now had opportunity to have longer conversations with several staff members, housekeeping and dining staff as well as the lobby and reception stewards and many speak 3 or 4 languages and have degrees in hotel management or engineering.
*Aman: from an exhibit in the National Museum in Dhaka I found out that in some parts of Bangladesh they harvest three crops from the same fields. The first major crop is the 'aman.'
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Both of my pictures were taken on the Ahsunulla Road along the Buri Ganga river. We spent about an hour on this road managing almost a mile at snail's pace. The one picture is taken under a bridge - the overpass is an impromptu garbage heap where a couple of men have parked and the young fellow is stooped with bag in hand gleaning. Incidentally I didn't see any men going through the rubbish. Here in Delhi I see men wheeling enormous bales of old plastic on their bikes to someone who will pay for it. Can we deduce that the children and women get something for the gathering and then the men get a bit more for collecting a larger volume and hauling it off to someone who will in turn get it to a recycling facility? The other picture shows two men focused on sorting industrial waste - they had four baskets in front of them and one had rubber pieces and another metal in it. From the car I failed to identify the other two.
Perhaps we could move to a (tax deductible) charitable donation of recyclable materials rather than paying taxes for recycling pick up.:) employing those seeking manual labour at the sorting facility. :)
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Bangladesh history - I wasn't there at the time, but from today's perspective it seems ludicrous that the British could make Pakistan one nation out of two completely separate geographic areas. I grossly over simplify.
First came the violent struggle to be able to retain Bangla/Bengali language as the primary language in the area, 1952, (Bangla-desh = land of the Bangla people) over which there was violent struggle and many died (Muslim and Hindi) and then came the Independence struggle from Pakistan (1971) over which many more died (Muslim and Hindi).
These two events are very important to the Bangladeshi and Bert's colleagues at SEAF and the young man appointed to be Felix's and my guide on Monday were clear that the FIRST things we had to see were the two big monuments to the martyrs.
I believe the the Monument to the Independence Martyrs lies approx 20 miles outside the city center. It took us two hours at 8 a.m. to get there. The drive was fascinating. The spectacular monument is next to spacious university grounds and the whole park is a restful and well-kempt spot. Each of the pillars was built to honour one of the leaders who died in the struggle. The park will be full later this month for annual celebrations.
From this monument we headed back into the city to see the Martyrs of the Language Struggle movement which involved another two hours of colourful travel. This monument looks less visited today, but for a while was almost a pilgrimage destination for Bangladeshis.
Our guide subsequently took us to look at the LalBagh Fort, a 17th century red sandstone fort in lovely gardens in the old town, but clearly the new Bangladesh history was what was important.
Bert and I have a habit of looking for novels from the area we are visiting. I walked into two of the Khan Market book stores and asked for recommendations of English translations of contemporary Bangladeshi novels: much head scratching. (It turns out that there is a much contemporary Bangla literature, but it isn't translated.) The only thing they could come up with was a novel called Shame. I took it and later found out that the writer, Taslimi Narin, is banned (person and writing) in Bangladesh. She is a strong feminist humanist and writes bluntly about the horror of religious extremism. Shame is a hard read as it deals with the Muslim persecution of Hindi Bangladeshis after the destruction of a mosque in India in 1992 . I didn't take this book with me to Dhaka. Instead I very much enjoyed reading Bert's pick of Rabinadrath Tagore's The Wreck. It is old, but much of the village life today is still as it was when he wrote it.
The Wreck is the second example I have run into of stories where a 'bad' character doesn't get his deserved desserts. It reminded me of "It's a Wonderful Life" when the horrible banker isn't brought to justice for his mean theft of the money. I have a slight sense of outrage and dissatisfaction that everything isn't straightened out neatly by the end.
First came the violent struggle to be able to retain Bangla/Bengali language as the primary language in the area, 1952, (Bangla-desh = land of the Bangla people) over which there was violent struggle and many died (Muslim and Hindi) and then came the Independence struggle from Pakistan (1971) over which many more died (Muslim and Hindi).
These two events are very important to the Bangladeshi and Bert's colleagues at SEAF and the young man appointed to be Felix's and my guide on Monday were clear that the FIRST things we had to see were the two big monuments to the martyrs.
Our guide subsequently took us to look at the LalBagh Fort, a 17th century red sandstone fort in lovely gardens in the old town, but clearly the new Bangladesh history was what was important.
Bert and I have a habit of looking for novels from the area we are visiting. I walked into two of the Khan Market book stores and asked for recommendations of English translations of contemporary Bangladeshi novels: much head scratching. (It turns out that there is a much contemporary Bangla literature, but it isn't translated.) The only thing they could come up with was a novel called Shame. I took it and later found out that the writer, Taslimi Narin, is banned (person and writing) in Bangladesh. She is a strong feminist humanist and writes bluntly about the horror of religious extremism. Shame is a hard read as it deals with the Muslim persecution of Hindi Bangladeshis after the destruction of a mosque in India in 1992 . I didn't take this book with me to Dhaka. Instead I very much enjoyed reading Bert's pick of Rabinadrath Tagore's The Wreck. It is old, but much of the village life today is still as it was when he wrote it.
The Wreck is the second example I have run into of stories where a 'bad' character doesn't get his deserved desserts. It reminded me of "It's a Wonderful Life" when the horrible banker isn't brought to justice for his mean theft of the money. I have a slight sense of outrage and dissatisfaction that everything isn't straightened out neatly by the end.
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