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.
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