It's been a long time since I've been fascinated with a specific book. I am an avid reader, and I typically have 2-3 fav authors. However, I predominantly like to visit the library or Indigo's and browse through the shelves, until I find a few I want to read. Today, I read this blurb about Abu Ghraib, froma book written by Lewis Alsamari, and am fascinated:
"...
The notoriety of Abu Ghraib was enough to chill the fervor of even the most revolutionary citizens. It was said that thousands of men and women were crammed into tiny cells and that abuse, torture, and executions were daily occurrences. The regime tested chemicals and biological weapons on the inmates, and some prisoners were given nothing but scraps of shredded plastic to eat. Chunks of flesh were torn from the bodies of some prisoners and then force-fed to others. Gruesome tortures involving power tools and hungry dogs were routine, and thousands of people who entered the doors of that fearsome place were never heard from again. It was known that mass graves existed around the country, and it was known in general terms where they were situated; but of course nobody dared to hunt out the final resting places of those poor men and women who had become victims of the enthusiastic guards at Abu Ghraib, for fear of becoming one of their number.
The four AIDS-stricken women were dealt with in a fashion brutal even by the standards of the prison. Stripped of their clothes, they were placed, alive and screaming, into an incinerator so that they and their “vile disease” could be utterly destroyed. In this way Saddam “delivered” our country from the horrific infections of the West and from the inequities of the “evil Zionist state.” I kept quiet about my maternal grandmother’s Jewish heritage. She was one of only a handful of Jews who remained in Iraq during the great exodus of 1950. Before that time there were about 150,000 Jews living in Iraq; now there were fewer than a hundred, and it would have done me no favors if anyone suspected that I might embrace Zionism.
Other atrocities took place more openly. As living conditions became increasingly intolerable, many women were forced into prostitution in order to make enough money to feed themselves and their families. It was an occupation deemed unacceptable by the state, punishable by death. The swift hand of justice was left to officials of the Ba’ath party, who were given orders to seek and behead all those suspected of prostitution. The standard of proof required was low, but the enthusiasm with which these officials carried out their work was high. Accompanied by two “witnesses” from the local community, they forced their way into the house of a suspect then dragged her out into the street, where a specialist executioner was waiting with a sword. He sliced off the head of the screaming women with one deft, well-practiced stroke. The head hung outside the woman’s house for two days, and her front door was branded with the warning “Hathihee Al-Qahba’a.” “This is the Whore.”
I remember a parade down one of the main thoroughfares of Baghdad when I was a child. The road was closed to traffic, and thousands of people joined in the march, which was intended to celebrate the glory of Saddam. As the day wore on, however, a small group of insurgents became vocal in their criticisms of the regime and started to shout anti-Saddam slogans. There weren’t very many—certainly only a small proportion of the crowd—but the Republican Guard was quick to react. A helicopter immediately flew overhead, and white paint was poured over the entire crowd—insurgents and noninsurgents alike. Heavily armed soldiers were then dispatched with orders to shoot anyone stained with white paint. The whole operation took less than an hour. A few lucky souls with paint only on their clothes managed to escape the crowd and change, but people with paint in their hair or bodies, where it was more difficult to remove, fared less well. The military scoured the area and shot dead anybody suspected of being part of the “uprising.”
..."
The brutality is mind boggling. Amit's comments about this book are insightful (as usual)...
"It underscores something that many of us seem to have forgotten in our idealogical zeal: Iraq under Saddam was a hellish land. Yes, the Americans bungled their invasion, and with their arrogance created more enemies than the friends they expected. (I foolishly supported the invasion at the time.) But I’m not sure they made Iraq any worse off. "
I will end my ravings tonight with a link to another article. This one is by Akshay Ahuja from India/MD, USA, and reflects his journey in the Indian Death Metal music-o-sphere (does that word even exist? too tired to check dictionary.com now)...here is a brief section:
"...
On the mp3 page, the band said that they wished to compose pieces that combined “melody and brutality.” The three songs on the website were named “Shattered Shield”, “Perceiving Resurrection”, and “Removal of the Fetus”. I tried “Shattered Shield”, which was identified as being about police and government corruption.
The song loaded. A single guitar played arpeggios on a slow, dark three-chord progression. The drums came in, and then some fairly complicated ornamentation from a second guitar. Wow, I thought, they’re pretty good. Then the drums started pounding bapbapbapbap, the guitars raged, and the vocals came in—grunts, growls, screams, all emerging from some place deep in the back of the throat. I couldn’t imagine what connection the words had to the Indian police force.
...
We got back in the car and drove through the empty streets, the blue coming into the sky. We reached my home just as dawn was breaking on Independence Day. I gave Pradyum a hug, and we promised to see each other again soon.
When we did, more than a year later, Gorified had broken up—the others weren’t serious enough about it, Pradyum said—and Pradyum had formed a new band called Infinite Dreams; their music was softer, more melodic. His band mate was headed to London for a six-month course in audio recording, and Pradyum would hopefully follow him there. Then they would try to really make it abroad. He and Anitha were married now, and she was moving up the Alamo chain. Pradyum was making good money too; he had started a real estate company that, he told me in an email, dealt in “total real estate solutions.” The rural land around the city was being bought up for office buildings, and Pradyum brokered deals with the farmers and secured the land for the companies, making sure, he assured me, that no one was cheated.
From the calls he took on his cell phone, I could already tell that he had the necessary combination of forcefulness and charm. I told him that he must be good at his job and he seemed offended. Music was his life, he said; this was just temporary.
We drove in his new car around this stretch of land, beautiful and green after the monsoon. We were heading towards the Nandi Hills, an hour outside Bangalore. There were buildings going up everywhere.
I asked him about the guitar, and he told me, half sheepishly and then with a smile when he saw that I didn’t mind, that he had sold it. It wasn’t right for his new band, he said. He had made a rather sizable profit on its sale.
I remembered what he had said about identity music, and wondered how much of your life you had to give to something before you could claim it as identity, and how you could measure the level of that allegiance. Was it in clothes and nose rings and how many hours a day you spent doing each thing? Or maybe all of that was irrelevant, and it was purely how you looked at your life, even while selling real estate or being an engineer or taking midnights calls from Americans.
Pradyum turned the stereo up—it was Judas Priest—and we headed towards the mountains.
..."
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Friday, March 21, 2008
Peacock or Chicken..an Indian dilemma
Columnist Jug Suraiya for the Times of India calls for a change of the Indian National Bird from a beautiful Peacock to the smaller statured Chicken. Why? Simple. He describes the current Indian political attitude as 'chicken hearted' and cites the Taslima Nasreen incident and Tibetan protests as evidence.
Although I read quite a bit about the events in Tibet, I did not hear about Taslima Nasreen until his article. For those who don't know, here is a little bit of background from Jug's article:
"Forced into exile from her native Bangladesh by religious fanatics who didn't like her feminist writings, Taslima sought sanctuary in Kolkata in whose Bangla milieu she felt creatively comfortable. However, after street riots instigated by local goons disguised as religious zealots caused the Marxist state government to decide that minority-appeasing discretion was the better part of secular valour, the writer was bundled out of the city and taken first to an undisclosed hideaway in Rajasthan and later to Delhi, where she was kept in virtual isolation."
The Indian political response, after bundling the author out of Kolkata and isolating her?
"Made to apologise for her 'anti-Islamic' views, she was warned by no less than the information and broadcasting minister - supposedly the custodian of the fundamental right to freedom of expression as spelt out in the Constitution - that she should not say or do anything that might hurt the religious sensibilities of any group."
Finally, Taslima left India for sanctuary in Europe/North American. Jug's article states that she is Scandinavia, but in a brief interview with TOI before her connecting flight out of London, Taslima comments about her stay in India and the proposed sanctuary location:
""If I disclose my destination my security will be compromised. My face has now become recognisable and I could be target of religious fundamentalist", Taslima said, adding that she will not hesitate to discuss what she said the traumatic experience she allegedly went through during various international seminars lined up in Europe in the next few months. "I was put under tremendous stress but I could not speak out as I was under their (government) surveillance and could be harassed by them," she said in a choked voice. "The government is no better than religious fundamentalists," she said."
A rather sad state of affair, don't you think?
Sadder still is the Indian response about the protests in Tibet. I love Jug's sarcastic comments...
"In the case of the Chinese crackdown in Tibet, India's official response has been so politically correct, not to mention politically chicken, that it has earned praise from no less than the Chinese premier, Wen Jiabao (who might have made special mention of the Indian Left whose non-response might be summed up as 'Tibet who?'). Despite China's continuing claims on Arunachal, and despite its proven nuclear proliferation to Pakistan, New Delhi walks on eggshells where Tibet is concerned and seems vaguely embarrassed by the Dalai Lama's presence on Indian soil. Why? Because then, maybe, China will support India's admission to the UN Security Council. Or at least stop using Pakistan as a foil against us. Or sell us cheap pichkaris for Holi. Or something."
Well said...and oh yes, we should tie in the chicken to these stories right? Here is the grand finale to end this sad story..
"Can't move mountains? Find convenient molehills, turn them into mountains, and then move them. That seems to be the recipe. Not just for the health minister but for the entire sorry mess which might aptly be called Indian chicken curry."
Although I read quite a bit about the events in Tibet, I did not hear about Taslima Nasreen until his article. For those who don't know, here is a little bit of background from Jug's article:
"Forced into exile from her native Bangladesh by religious fanatics who didn't like her feminist writings, Taslima sought sanctuary in Kolkata in whose Bangla milieu she felt creatively comfortable. However, after street riots instigated by local goons disguised as religious zealots caused the Marxist state government to decide that minority-appeasing discretion was the better part of secular valour, the writer was bundled out of the city and taken first to an undisclosed hideaway in Rajasthan and later to Delhi, where she was kept in virtual isolation."
The Indian political response, after bundling the author out of Kolkata and isolating her?
"Made to apologise for her 'anti-Islamic' views, she was warned by no less than the information and broadcasting minister - supposedly the custodian of the fundamental right to freedom of expression as spelt out in the Constitution - that she should not say or do anything that might hurt the religious sensibilities of any group."
Finally, Taslima left India for sanctuary in Europe/North American. Jug's article states that she is Scandinavia, but in a brief interview with TOI before her connecting flight out of London, Taslima comments about her stay in India and the proposed sanctuary location:
""If I disclose my destination my security will be compromised. My face has now become recognisable and I could be target of religious fundamentalist", Taslima said, adding that she will not hesitate to discuss what she said the traumatic experience she allegedly went through during various international seminars lined up in Europe in the next few months. "I was put under tremendous stress but I could not speak out as I was under their (government) surveillance and could be harassed by them," she said in a choked voice. "The government is no better than religious fundamentalists," she said."
A rather sad state of affair, don't you think?
Sadder still is the Indian response about the protests in Tibet. I love Jug's sarcastic comments...
"In the case of the Chinese crackdown in Tibet, India's official response has been so politically correct, not to mention politically chicken, that it has earned praise from no less than the Chinese premier, Wen Jiabao (who might have made special mention of the Indian Left whose non-response might be summed up as 'Tibet who?'). Despite China's continuing claims on Arunachal, and despite its proven nuclear proliferation to Pakistan, New Delhi walks on eggshells where Tibet is concerned and seems vaguely embarrassed by the Dalai Lama's presence on Indian soil. Why? Because then, maybe, China will support India's admission to the UN Security Council. Or at least stop using Pakistan as a foil against us. Or sell us cheap pichkaris for Holi. Or something."
Well said...and oh yes, we should tie in the chicken to these stories right? Here is the grand finale to end this sad story..
"Can't move mountains? Find convenient molehills, turn them into mountains, and then move them. That seems to be the recipe. Not just for the health minister but for the entire sorry mess which might aptly be called Indian chicken curry."
Friday, March 14, 2008
Love letters..the art and the emotional stories...
It's March 14th today and a very uneventful day, except the fact that it's a Friday, and I'm glad my weekend's finally here. The feeling lasted only until I read these two excerpts...They reminded me that it's a month since Feb 14th, that all important sugary day which slithered by so quietly this year..We either overdo the importance of Valentine's day or we ignore it..These two articles travel beyond those simplistic reactions to something deeper.
The first one is a love letter by the French philosopher Andre Gorz to his terminally ill wife before their joint suicide in September 2007. Here are the excerpts I fell in love with...
I was amazed that my leaving the journal, after 20 years of collaboration, was neither painful to myself nor to others. I remember having written that, at the end of the day, only one thing was essential to me: to be with you. I can’t imagine continuing to write, if you no longer are. You are the essential without which all the rest, no matter how important it seems to me when you are there, loses its meaning and its importance. I told you that in the dedication of my last work.
You’ve just turned 82. You are still beautiful, graceful and desirable. We’ve lived together now for 58 years and I love you more than ever. Lately I’ve fallen in love with you all over again and I once more carry inside me a gnawing emptiness that can only be filled by your body snuggled up against mine.
At night I sometimes see the figure of a man, on an empty road in a deserted landscape, walking behind a hearse. I am that man. It’s you the hearse is carrying away. I don’t want to be there for your cremation; I don’t want to be given an urn with your ashes in it. I hear the voice of Kathleen Ferrier singing, ‘Die Welt ist leer, Ich will nicht leben mehr’ and I wake up. I check your breathing, my hand brushes over you.
Each of us would like not to survive the other’s death. We’ve often said to ourselves that if, by some miracle, we were to have a second life, we’d like to spend it together."
....excerpt ends.
The emotion behind this letter is strong, so strong we are left to wonder if it's true, and if we will know love like that...
The second article I read today is about love letters displayed as art at the Lawrence A. Fleischman Gallery of the Smithsonian Institution's Donald W. Reynolds Center for American Art and Portraiture in early February. Essentially, it showcases letters written by famous artists to their paramours or children...it's not always about romantic love, but rather the different emotions that color each shade of love (aah, rather versatile with my words now dont'cha think..lol)..Here's my favourite excerpt about one of the letters...
excerpt begins...
Xavier Gonzalez (1898-1993), to take just one example, left small illustrated love notes for Ethel, his wife, almost every day. The papers that he left to the Archives of American Art include many hundreds of them. Almost anything could prompt them -- a memory, a whim or the act of stepping out to get the morning paper. One that's on display shows him struggling home in the pose of Atlas, bowed beneath the towering gray weight of the Sunday New York Times.
...excerpt ends and so does my monologue..
Goodnight everyone, and sweetdreamz......
The first one is a love letter by the French philosopher Andre Gorz to his terminally ill wife before their joint suicide in September 2007. Here are the excerpts I fell in love with...
excerpt begins.....
“You will soon be 82. You have shrunk six centimetres and you weigh just 45 kilos and you are still beautiful, gracious and desirable,” the book starts. “It is now 58 years that we have lived together and I love you more than ever.”
...
I asked myself what was the inessential that I needed to give up in order to concentrate on the essential. I told myself that, to grasp the reach of the upheavals that were looming in every domain, there had to be more space and time for reflection than the full-time exercise of my profession as a journalist allowed.
I was amazed that my leaving the journal, after 20 years of collaboration, was neither painful to myself nor to others. I remember having written that, at the end of the day, only one thing was essential to me: to be with you. I can’t imagine continuing to write, if you no longer are. You are the essential without which all the rest, no matter how important it seems to me when you are there, loses its meaning and its importance. I told you that in the dedication of my last work.
....
I am as mindful of your presence now as in the early days and would like to make you feel that. You’ve given me all of your life and all of you; I’d like to be able to give you all of me in the time we have left.
You’ve just turned 82. You are still beautiful, graceful and desirable. We’ve lived together now for 58 years and I love you more than ever. Lately I’ve fallen in love with you all over again and I once more carry inside me a gnawing emptiness that can only be filled by your body snuggled up against mine.
At night I sometimes see the figure of a man, on an empty road in a deserted landscape, walking behind a hearse. I am that man. It’s you the hearse is carrying away. I don’t want to be there for your cremation; I don’t want to be given an urn with your ashes in it. I hear the voice of Kathleen Ferrier singing, ‘Die Welt ist leer, Ich will nicht leben mehr’ and I wake up. I check your breathing, my hand brushes over you.
Each of us would like not to survive the other’s death. We’ve often said to ourselves that if, by some miracle, we were to have a second life, we’d like to spend it together."
....excerpt ends.
The emotion behind this letter is strong, so strong we are left to wonder if it's true, and if we will know love like that...
The second article I read today is about love letters displayed as art at the Lawrence A. Fleischman Gallery of the Smithsonian Institution's Donald W. Reynolds Center for American Art and Portraiture in early February. Essentially, it showcases letters written by famous artists to their paramours or children...it's not always about romantic love, but rather the different emotions that color each shade of love (aah, rather versatile with my words now dont'cha think..lol)..Here's my favourite excerpt about one of the letters...
excerpt begins...
Xavier Gonzalez (1898-1993), to take just one example, left small illustrated love notes for Ethel, his wife, almost every day. The papers that he left to the Archives of American Art include many hundreds of them. Almost anything could prompt them -- a memory, a whim or the act of stepping out to get the morning paper. One that's on display shows him struggling home in the pose of Atlas, bowed beneath the towering gray weight of the Sunday New York Times.
...excerpt ends and so does my monologue..
Goodnight everyone, and sweetdreamz......
Tuesday, March 11, 2008
Presidential elections...
Unlike most of my contemporaries, I do not follow the Presidential elections happening south of the border, however, I cannot resist some interesting instances or debates.
I was rather keen on watching the CNN debate where the candidates had to talk about their health care policy; and more recently I loved Obama's speech right after McCain won the Republican nomination..(can't remember where he was at...but that was the speech when Clinton won the local primary)...anyway, today I heard about this little debacle where Hillary Clinton apparently suggested that Barack Obama should be the vice-presidential candidate if she won the Democratic nomination...(please ignore my loud rumbling laughter..lol..)..here is Obama's response, the first 3 minutes of this video are absolutely fantastic..another excellent moment in American Presidential election history...
I was rather keen on watching the CNN debate where the candidates had to talk about their health care policy; and more recently I loved Obama's speech right after McCain won the Republican nomination..(can't remember where he was at...but that was the speech when Clinton won the local primary)...anyway, today I heard about this little debacle where Hillary Clinton apparently suggested that Barack Obama should be the vice-presidential candidate if she won the Democratic nomination...(please ignore my loud rumbling laughter..lol..)..here is Obama's response, the first 3 minutes of this video are absolutely fantastic..another excellent moment in American Presidential election history...
Monday, March 10, 2008
snowed in...
This winter, it feels like we have a snow storm perpetually every other day..Now being in Canada, I know we have no right to complain (paradoxical statement, since I consider the ability to complain/whine mankind's right and duty..lol)..anyyway..apparently Canadians should not complain about the snow, since its a fact of life..bah humbug..but this year, I am really looking forward to spring and summer..beautiful flowers, spring weather, bright summery skies, long evening walks, yucky sticky subway rides, but overall the feeling of not being snowed in...
What? You don't believe me...well here's a sample of my view on Saturday afternoon...
oh..nd tomorrow is my dad's birthday..so I (ahem...) we cut the cake early tonight, since we all have such conflicting schedules tomorrow..it had nothing to do with the chocolate cake (beauty eh!)..:) :) :)
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Disastrous conversations...
Have you ever had the feeling, that you are saying something, and the other person is hearing something totally different?
I usually don't have those weird conversations, but today just seems like every conversation I am involved in is headed towards disaster...lol.. :) Oh well, life's like that, I guess...
I usually don't have those weird conversations, but today just seems like every conversation I am involved in is headed towards disaster...lol.. :) Oh well, life's like that, I guess...
Monday, February 4, 2008
bad day at work? probably not as bad as this..
This is such a funny video..To be honest, I've never had a day at work quite like this..:) :) :)..hahahhahaha..I'm still laughing after viewing this video..hope you like it too.....
Friday, February 1, 2008
Indian business men and their evolving images..
Growing up in India, and later growing up within the framework of Indian culture, my vision of traditional heroes was limited to our freedom fighters or the movie stars. Yes, Nehru, Gandhi, Bhagat Singh, SRK, Amitabh Bachan and Salman Khan played a predominant role in my image of Indian heroes. As I grew older, and moved to Canada and noted other individuals like Bono, Lance Armstrong, Warren Buffet, Michael Dell, Bill and Melinda Gates, Oprah and so many more, I always noticed a lack of prominent Indians.
Again, let me be very clear, I am not desperate for prominent Indians on the international scene (refer back to my previous article about patriotism and Indians), rather I was seeking the presence of Indian media, businessmen or artists (who thrived on social, political, economic or business challenges) on the local/Indian stage.
Today, I found this article quite interesting, and felt the need to share it. Someone who recognizes the changing trend/need for an evolution in the image of the modern Indian businessman. Obviously, we are no longer satisfied by dreaming/idolizing movie stars or our cultural history. Rather, we look at upcoming, smart, and savvy businessman as India's future. Excellent!
Here is a brief quote from the article (love the way Amit writes!):
"Consider that earlier this year, Ratan Tata, the successor to J.R.D. Tata's empire and the chief of Tata Motors, unveiled the Nano -- a car expected to retail for approximately $2,500. Some complained about the increase in pollution that it might cause, and other worried that it would add to traffic congestion in big cities. But most of India applauded. Mr. Tata's ingenuity and vision will bring vehicle ownership within reach of millions of people who could otherwise have never dreamed of it, and it demonstrates what business does best -- improve the lives of people, and help them fulfill their dreams, all in the quest of that "dirty word," profit.
The heroes of the old India were film stars, cricket players and, perhaps, freedom fighters and politicians. The heroes of the new India include businessmen. In 2003, when MTV India held a poll among its predominantly young viewers to pick the Icon of the Year, Anil Ambani won. The people he beat included filmstar Shah Rukh Khan and cricket hero Sachin Tendulkar.
India's successful businessmen, even as they enter lists such as the one compiled by Forbes, embody the hopes of their country more than their elected government possibly can. India is finally beginning to give them their due. "
Again, let me be very clear, I am not desperate for prominent Indians on the international scene (refer back to my previous article about patriotism and Indians), rather I was seeking the presence of Indian media, businessmen or artists (who thrived on social, political, economic or business challenges) on the local/Indian stage.
Today, I found this article quite interesting, and felt the need to share it. Someone who recognizes the changing trend/need for an evolution in the image of the modern Indian businessman. Obviously, we are no longer satisfied by dreaming/idolizing movie stars or our cultural history. Rather, we look at upcoming, smart, and savvy businessman as India's future. Excellent!
Here is a brief quote from the article (love the way Amit writes!):
"Consider that earlier this year, Ratan Tata, the successor to J.R.D. Tata's empire and the chief of Tata Motors, unveiled the Nano -- a car expected to retail for approximately $2,500. Some complained about the increase in pollution that it might cause, and other worried that it would add to traffic congestion in big cities. But most of India applauded. Mr. Tata's ingenuity and vision will bring vehicle ownership within reach of millions of people who could otherwise have never dreamed of it, and it demonstrates what business does best -- improve the lives of people, and help them fulfill their dreams, all in the quest of that "dirty word," profit.
The heroes of the old India were film stars, cricket players and, perhaps, freedom fighters and politicians. The heroes of the new India include businessmen. In 2003, when MTV India held a poll among its predominantly young viewers to pick the Icon of the Year, Anil Ambani won. The people he beat included filmstar Shah Rukh Khan and cricket hero Sachin Tendulkar.
India's successful businessmen, even as they enter lists such as the one compiled by Forbes, embody the hopes of their country more than their elected government possibly can. India is finally beginning to give them their due. "
Sunday, January 27, 2008
The many faces of Patriotism
Many people, specifically Indians, may not like the fact that I love this article by Amit Varma. His article emphasizes, underlines and reiterates my feelings about India and Patriotism. This article is a must-read for everyone who screams about being Indian and patriotic..I am not being negative about India or patriotism, rather I detest people who force their view on others, and this article should be a mandatory read for those people.
Here is an excerpt from the article, they struck a chord when I read them, so I had to reproduce them here:
The other kind of patriotism involves loving certain things about one’s country. This is a personal love, different in each individual’s case, and patriots of this sort will enjoy their patriotism without demanding that others share it.
If we were to be flippant about such grave matters, we could call these kinds of patriotism Mera Bharat Mahaan and Mera Bharat Mujhe Pasand.
I see myself as the second kind of patriot. When I think of the things I love about India, I think of concrete things in the real world, such as its food, its music, the languages that I’m fortunate to know. These don’t blind me from the many things wrong with the country - nor do I have any desire to impose my preferences on others.
The Mera Bharat Mahaan kind of patriot, on the other hand, is involved with a narrative of greatness. A key part of his identity is his Indianness. For this reason, he needs to believe that India is a great country, superior to others.
Symbols like the flag and the anthem are, thus, important to him. They represent his nationalistic fervour. Equally, a display like the Republic Day parade makes him feel proud. Its purpose is validation.
Pride
This need for validation was understandable in our early years as an independent country. We’d just gained independence after decades of being humiliatingly colonised. It was a mini-miracle that we existed, bridging such linguistic, religious and cultural divides. We needed to believe in ourselves as a nation.
And, let’s face it, there was a bit of a collective inferiority complex running through the country.
Sadly, even after 60 years of independence, that craving for validation remains. Why else do we make such a hue and cry every year about India’s entry to the Oscars, and ignore our own national awards? Why else do we rush to claim any foreign achiever with an Indian background as a national hero? (Sunita Williams, born in Ohio and raised in America, has been awarded the Padma Bhushan this year.) Why else do we go gaga with excitement when we hear of Madonna practising yoga or Gwen Stefani putting a Bindi on her head? Why else do we celebrate when Shilpa Shetty wins Big Brother, and ignore poor Rahul Roy, who won the desi version?
India has advanced leaps and bounds in the last couple of decades, but we still haven’t acquired the self-confidence that a mature democracy should have. Too many of us are still sensitive about symbols of our nationhood, and that’s a pity. We are proud, I believe, of entirely the wrong things.
As a nation that won its independence with such difficulty, if there is one thing we should be proud of, and should continue to aspire towards, it is freedom. Not just the freedom to vote, but freedom in every social and economic sense. As long as we don’t infringe on the freedom of others, we should be free to express our sexual preferences, to trade with others, to watch the films we want, to read the books we want, to say what we want. And yes, free to disrespect a flag or refuse to stand up when the anthem is played.
What’s the point of being a free country otherwise?
I tend to identify myself as Canadian, and most NRI's in North America, and Indians elsewhere are offended by it. In fact, it's commonplace to tease Indo-Canadian and Indo-American children as ABCD's or CBCD's. I do not understand the need for such pettiness.
Why is it important for everyone to screech from the roofs that they are Indian? Is it not sufficient if a child understands and honors their cultural value? Why should we prove it to others? Who should we prove it to? The people who left India and came out here to seek a 'better life' yet denounce the country they migrate to? Or those people who live in India and yearn to live elsewhere? I would call either groups of people hypocrites. The third group, would constitute people who live in India, value their culture and honor it. The third group would never force their ideas on others. Do you know why? Because one of the major tenets of Indian culture/history has been tolerance..tolerance of religion, of sexes, of sexuality and everything in between. Unfortunately, some traditionalists refuse to accept change, and others..well others are just hell-bent on being the first kind of patriots..Something, I find quite distasteful..
Oh well, to cap my ravings tonight, I believe Nationality is something a person should chose, whether I am Canadian, American, Indian or Nigerian, is something I chose to be. If it's forced upon me, it loses its value. However, my culture, that is something my parents taught me. My Indian culture is what my mom and dad taught me..being able to read, write and speak 3 regional languages; to cook a multitude of Indian dishes; appreciate the songs, the movies, the diaspora, that is what makes me proud of my culture...
Here is an excerpt from the article, they struck a chord when I read them, so I had to reproduce them here:
In my view, there are two kinds of patriotism. The first kind involves feeling that your country is, in some way or the other, greater than others. Often, self-esteem is involved. Patriots of this kind will want others to share their feelings about their country. They might feel offended if someone suggests that their country is not all they imagine it to be.
The other kind of patriotism involves loving certain things about one’s country. This is a personal love, different in each individual’s case, and patriots of this sort will enjoy their patriotism without demanding that others share it.
If we were to be flippant about such grave matters, we could call these kinds of patriotism Mera Bharat Mahaan and Mera Bharat Mujhe Pasand.
I see myself as the second kind of patriot. When I think of the things I love about India, I think of concrete things in the real world, such as its food, its music, the languages that I’m fortunate to know. These don’t blind me from the many things wrong with the country - nor do I have any desire to impose my preferences on others.
The Mera Bharat Mahaan kind of patriot, on the other hand, is involved with a narrative of greatness. A key part of his identity is his Indianness. For this reason, he needs to believe that India is a great country, superior to others.
Symbols like the flag and the anthem are, thus, important to him. They represent his nationalistic fervour. Equally, a display like the Republic Day parade makes him feel proud. Its purpose is validation.
Pride
This need for validation was understandable in our early years as an independent country. We’d just gained independence after decades of being humiliatingly colonised. It was a mini-miracle that we existed, bridging such linguistic, religious and cultural divides. We needed to believe in ourselves as a nation.
And, let’s face it, there was a bit of a collective inferiority complex running through the country.
Sadly, even after 60 years of independence, that craving for validation remains. Why else do we make such a hue and cry every year about India’s entry to the Oscars, and ignore our own national awards? Why else do we rush to claim any foreign achiever with an Indian background as a national hero? (Sunita Williams, born in Ohio and raised in America, has been awarded the Padma Bhushan this year.) Why else do we go gaga with excitement when we hear of Madonna practising yoga or Gwen Stefani putting a Bindi on her head? Why else do we celebrate when Shilpa Shetty wins Big Brother, and ignore poor Rahul Roy, who won the desi version?
India has advanced leaps and bounds in the last couple of decades, but we still haven’t acquired the self-confidence that a mature democracy should have. Too many of us are still sensitive about symbols of our nationhood, and that’s a pity. We are proud, I believe, of entirely the wrong things.
As a nation that won its independence with such difficulty, if there is one thing we should be proud of, and should continue to aspire towards, it is freedom. Not just the freedom to vote, but freedom in every social and economic sense. As long as we don’t infringe on the freedom of others, we should be free to express our sexual preferences, to trade with others, to watch the films we want, to read the books we want, to say what we want. And yes, free to disrespect a flag or refuse to stand up when the anthem is played.
What’s the point of being a free country otherwise?
I tend to identify myself as Canadian, and most NRI's in North America, and Indians elsewhere are offended by it. In fact, it's commonplace to tease Indo-Canadian and Indo-American children as ABCD's or CBCD's. I do not understand the need for such pettiness.
Why is it important for everyone to screech from the roofs that they are Indian? Is it not sufficient if a child understands and honors their cultural value? Why should we prove it to others? Who should we prove it to? The people who left India and came out here to seek a 'better life' yet denounce the country they migrate to? Or those people who live in India and yearn to live elsewhere? I would call either groups of people hypocrites. The third group, would constitute people who live in India, value their culture and honor it. The third group would never force their ideas on others. Do you know why? Because one of the major tenets of Indian culture/history has been tolerance..tolerance of religion, of sexes, of sexuality and everything in between. Unfortunately, some traditionalists refuse to accept change, and others..well others are just hell-bent on being the first kind of patriots..Something, I find quite distasteful..
Oh well, to cap my ravings tonight, I believe Nationality is something a person should chose, whether I am Canadian, American, Indian or Nigerian, is something I chose to be. If it's forced upon me, it loses its value. However, my culture, that is something my parents taught me. My Indian culture is what my mom and dad taught me..being able to read, write and speak 3 regional languages; to cook a multitude of Indian dishes; appreciate the songs, the movies, the diaspora, that is what makes me proud of my culture...
Lest we forget...
Yesterday, my dad and I went to see Rambo 4 (I think), and in the movie we were taken to Burma, the civil war there, and how the army ambushes villagers, kidnaps their children, kill the men and rape the women. The movie is full of blood and gore, unsuitable for young children, but thought provoking if we question certain aspects of the movie.
I know abductions, rape, child soldiers and honor killings are a fact of life..an unpleasant fact, which most North Americans pretend to ignore. But that movie yesterday, fictional maybe, but it brought forth something important to me..Remembering those who suffer.
Today, my dad and I watched a BBC documentary on Auschwitz, and how 1.3M people were sent to that camp in 4.5 years and 1.1M were killed. Of them about 200,000 were children. A survivor was almost in tears as she recognized her aunt and 4 cousins in a photograph taken minutes before they were sent to the crematorium. The children ranged from 2 - 10.....Remembering those who are brutalized.
A few minutes ago, I read this, an article about child soldiers in Uganda, Rwanda, Columbia and other war ridden countries. The author uses a byline "Lest we forget"....something I feel is very important in counteracting these acts of crime, war, terror and inhumane brutalization.
In our busy lives, we juggle work, families, friends, colleagues, our kids schedules, our finances, and so much more, and we think our lives are hard. Maybe our life is hard, for us, in this little world we can view. But if we look at the bigger picture, rather if we consider the gargantuan struggles faced by these individuals, children and adults alike, we look and sound like morons. Yet, what do we do when we hear about 15 year old girls abducted from their homes, raped repeatedly, forced to bear children and then fight in a civil war? We feel terribly burdened, maybe for a few hours, we feel indignant and angry, and then we go back to our normal and sane lives. In short, we do nothing. Sometimes, it's rather burdensome to even consider that you and I, ordinary people, can do something about it. Maybe we can..I am doing what seemed like an idea to me..Lest we forget...
I find that the most inhumane thing which could happen to these survivors, is being forgotten. Nothing hurts as much as being forgotten. Their struggles, their strength, their unbroken spirit, their stories - when we forget the events, their cries for help, and their courage, we are no better than the insipid idiots who were responsible for these war crimes...Lest we forget.
Tonight, I cannot forget and refuse to do so..In my own tiny way, this is my homage to those warriors who were forced to survive, and to those who gave up their lives, so that others may survive....children, men, women, jews, gypsies, asians, africans, native americans, mexicans, columbians, indians, army, navy and airforces, abused women and children, gang war victims, and everyone else I did not mention...I remember..
Lest we forget....
I know abductions, rape, child soldiers and honor killings are a fact of life..an unpleasant fact, which most North Americans pretend to ignore. But that movie yesterday, fictional maybe, but it brought forth something important to me..Remembering those who suffer.
Today, my dad and I watched a BBC documentary on Auschwitz, and how 1.3M people were sent to that camp in 4.5 years and 1.1M were killed. Of them about 200,000 were children. A survivor was almost in tears as she recognized her aunt and 4 cousins in a photograph taken minutes before they were sent to the crematorium. The children ranged from 2 - 10.....Remembering those who are brutalized.
A few minutes ago, I read this, an article about child soldiers in Uganda, Rwanda, Columbia and other war ridden countries. The author uses a byline "Lest we forget"....something I feel is very important in counteracting these acts of crime, war, terror and inhumane brutalization.
In our busy lives, we juggle work, families, friends, colleagues, our kids schedules, our finances, and so much more, and we think our lives are hard. Maybe our life is hard, for us, in this little world we can view. But if we look at the bigger picture, rather if we consider the gargantuan struggles faced by these individuals, children and adults alike, we look and sound like morons. Yet, what do we do when we hear about 15 year old girls abducted from their homes, raped repeatedly, forced to bear children and then fight in a civil war? We feel terribly burdened, maybe for a few hours, we feel indignant and angry, and then we go back to our normal and sane lives. In short, we do nothing. Sometimes, it's rather burdensome to even consider that you and I, ordinary people, can do something about it. Maybe we can..I am doing what seemed like an idea to me..Lest we forget...
I find that the most inhumane thing which could happen to these survivors, is being forgotten. Nothing hurts as much as being forgotten. Their struggles, their strength, their unbroken spirit, their stories - when we forget the events, their cries for help, and their courage, we are no better than the insipid idiots who were responsible for these war crimes...Lest we forget.
Tonight, I cannot forget and refuse to do so..In my own tiny way, this is my homage to those warriors who were forced to survive, and to those who gave up their lives, so that others may survive....children, men, women, jews, gypsies, asians, africans, native americans, mexicans, columbians, indians, army, navy and airforces, abused women and children, gang war victims, and everyone else I did not mention...I remember..
Lest we forget....
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