How can I understand it if I cannot experience it? How can I explain it if I cannot understand it? How can I control it if I cannot explain it?
Does everything, then, begin with experience? But, is experience not a set of feelings? Or, the result or residue of our feelings? Does everything, then, begin with feelings?
30 May 2007
27 May 2007
The taming of the shoes
You could say it was the midnight run. The bus, one of those modern air-conditioned Volvos, took off at 11 o’clock from Calicut and was on its way to Bangalore. Within the hour, most passengers were comfortable in their seats, and asleep. Some were even heard snoring in subdued tones.
Soon, the bus began its laborious climb up the ghats at Waynad and the hairpin bends had the entire bus – passengers, luggage and all – swinging in their seats and in their racks in slow motion. As if we were all moving in tune with one of those ‘We are the world, we are the children’ sort of songs.
The bus swung this way and that. We all swung that way and this. Except for the discomfort of keeping our balance, I’d say it was a rather moving experience.
On one occasion, as I planted my feet on the ground, I was surprised to find the cold floor, and not my pumps which I had worn for the trip, but had taken off to get comfortable when the journey began. I looked down and saw nothing. A silent panic hit me. These were my favourite Gaitondes, export quality moccasins, picked up several years ago at a heavy price. And now, they were missing.
I sat up, bent down and twisted myself to look for them in the dark. I found them languishing in the aisle, among a dozen other shoes belonging to several passengers traveling with me. Oh, okay. I understood. The swinging of the bus had dislodged the shoes from their proper places at the feet of their owners. And, since my seat was right up-front, I noticed an assortment of them quietly gathering there.
I picked up my Gaitondes from the assortment and placed them beneath my seat. However, I couldn’t sleep. Every fifteen minutes or so, I couldn’t resist an inspection. I looked down and, sure enough, I found the shoes had moved again, falling into the aisle. By this time, the conductor of the bus had discovered several shoes scattered near the driver, and he started pitching them in, back into the aisle.
After several inspections, I was determined to find a solution to this problem. I just had to tame the shoes and not lose them to the mood-swings of the bus. God forbid if I lost them altogether and had to walk around Bangalore in bare feet! No, a solution had to be found.
First, I placed the shoes parallel to my feet in the direction the bus was moving. No, a failed attempt. Next, I kept them perpendicular to the direction of the bus. They stayed in that position longer but, alas, the right shoe betrayed its loyalty and fell back in the aisle with the others. Finally, I found a way to wedge them into a corner, one shoe parallel to the bus and the other, perpendicular. This seemed to work and, several inspections later, I was pleased.
My strategy of taming the shoes was a success. It had kept me awake for two hours, but what the hell, I tamed them in the end, right? Soon, I was asleep with a satisfied smile on my face.
Soon, the bus began its laborious climb up the ghats at Waynad and the hairpin bends had the entire bus – passengers, luggage and all – swinging in their seats and in their racks in slow motion. As if we were all moving in tune with one of those ‘We are the world, we are the children’ sort of songs.
The bus swung this way and that. We all swung that way and this. Except for the discomfort of keeping our balance, I’d say it was a rather moving experience.
On one occasion, as I planted my feet on the ground, I was surprised to find the cold floor, and not my pumps which I had worn for the trip, but had taken off to get comfortable when the journey began. I looked down and saw nothing. A silent panic hit me. These were my favourite Gaitondes, export quality moccasins, picked up several years ago at a heavy price. And now, they were missing.
I sat up, bent down and twisted myself to look for them in the dark. I found them languishing in the aisle, among a dozen other shoes belonging to several passengers traveling with me. Oh, okay. I understood. The swinging of the bus had dislodged the shoes from their proper places at the feet of their owners. And, since my seat was right up-front, I noticed an assortment of them quietly gathering there.
I picked up my Gaitondes from the assortment and placed them beneath my seat. However, I couldn’t sleep. Every fifteen minutes or so, I couldn’t resist an inspection. I looked down and, sure enough, I found the shoes had moved again, falling into the aisle. By this time, the conductor of the bus had discovered several shoes scattered near the driver, and he started pitching them in, back into the aisle.
After several inspections, I was determined to find a solution to this problem. I just had to tame the shoes and not lose them to the mood-swings of the bus. God forbid if I lost them altogether and had to walk around Bangalore in bare feet! No, a solution had to be found.
First, I placed the shoes parallel to my feet in the direction the bus was moving. No, a failed attempt. Next, I kept them perpendicular to the direction of the bus. They stayed in that position longer but, alas, the right shoe betrayed its loyalty and fell back in the aisle with the others. Finally, I found a way to wedge them into a corner, one shoe parallel to the bus and the other, perpendicular. This seemed to work and, several inspections later, I was pleased.
My strategy of taming the shoes was a success. It had kept me awake for two hours, but what the hell, I tamed them in the end, right? Soon, I was asleep with a satisfied smile on my face.
25 May 2007
Before the rains
The meteorology department promised rains last evening. Thundershowers to, officially, bring in the monsoons in Kerala.
What it didn’t promise was the ever-so-familiar profile of the dark leaves of the Bunyan tree trembling against the bright orange westward sky before the rains came down. No, that was a promise only God could keep.
What it didn’t promise was the ever-so-familiar profile of the dark leaves of the Bunyan tree trembling against the bright orange westward sky before the rains came down. No, that was a promise only God could keep.
23 May 2007
Free for all
There was the word; and then, dissent.
There was the word; and then, censorship.
In this struggle for power, the truth was forgotten.
Now we have blogs and the Internet – a total free for all.
There was the word; and then, censorship.
In this struggle for power, the truth was forgotten.
Now we have blogs and the Internet – a total free for all.
22 May 2007
Suprovat, Mr O’Shaunassey
I was 11, a skinny dark-skinned boy with white teeth and a mop of thick black hair, amidst a class of thirty-two freckled white children with grayish-violet teeth (some in braces) and smooth-as-silk hair in a palette ranging from platinum blond to yellow to ginger to red to black. In spite of their colours, I stood out in black and white.
The other children seemed to know each other from their previous class. So, they jostled in groups, talking amongst themselves. One or two glanced in my direction, out of curiosity. No one spoke to me, which was reassuring in a way as I couldn’t speak English properly, let alone their Australian tongue. Naturally, I was nervous.
He welcomed us in, requesting us to take our seats at any available desk. I was the last person in and got an empty seat on the aisle, at the back. He wished us ‘good morning, class’ in a loud gravelly sort of voice and we all wished him back in unison, standing by our seats. He introduced himself as our class teacher, an elderly gentleman with silver hair. We were to address him as Mr O’Shaunassey, he said.
We were all settling down when, out of the blue, he asked me what was the equivalent of the English ‘good morning’ greeting in my language in India. I hesitated. I wasn’t sure. India spoke many languages. Moreover, in India, we normally didn’t greet each other with a ‘good morning’; preferring to use ‘namaste’ or the equivalent of a ‘how are you?’ in our respective mother tongues.
However, in the nick of time, I remembered a word in Bengali, my mother tongue. It was ‘shuprobhaat’, though I wasn’t sure if it was a greeting. Mr O’Shaunassey said it would do and tried several times to pronounce it correctly (the way I did), throwing the class into fits of laughter. Finally, we settled upon ‘su.pro.vat’ (broken down in syllables), and he wrote it in capital letters on the top left corner of the blackboard.
He made a rule, instantly. Every morning he would wish his class ‘good morning’ and they would respond in English. Then he would wish me ‘suprovat’ and I would respond in Bengali.
That wasn’t all. Now and then, Mr O’Shaunassey invited me to the front of the class and asked me questions on India, requesting me to speak to the class about India, encouraging the class to learn from me. He would explain to the class that they were fortunate to have among them someone from another country, another culture, from whom they could learn first-hand. Culture was such a difficult thing to learn, he would say.
Over the next few weeks, Mr O’Shaunassey turned me into ‘an India expert’ for the class, and had the other children asking me questions, sharing stories, interacting with me freely. Soon, I was accepted as one of them. I guess that was a part of Mr O’Shaunassey’s intention.
Life moved on. Mr O’Shaunassey left us to become the Vice Principal of the school and, several months after that, suddenly left us for his heavenly abode. He was 59, I remember. Mrs Wells became our new class teacher, a cranky lady who was fond of using the ruler for discipline. But ‘suprovat’ remained written on the top left corner of the blackboard and the practice of wishing ‘suprovat’ every morning continued with Mrs Wells.
That was a long time ago.
The night before last, while thinking about the Western world’s curiosity about India in the early seventies (in connection with another blog I was writing), I was reminded of my childhood in Australia. And strangely, Mr O’Shaunassey and his ‘suprovat’ greeting suddenly flashed through my mind. Inexplicably, a heavy grief overwhelmed me and I felt unsettled.
It is only now that I am able to put my thoughts down in words.
The other children seemed to know each other from their previous class. So, they jostled in groups, talking amongst themselves. One or two glanced in my direction, out of curiosity. No one spoke to me, which was reassuring in a way as I couldn’t speak English properly, let alone their Australian tongue. Naturally, I was nervous.
He welcomed us in, requesting us to take our seats at any available desk. I was the last person in and got an empty seat on the aisle, at the back. He wished us ‘good morning, class’ in a loud gravelly sort of voice and we all wished him back in unison, standing by our seats. He introduced himself as our class teacher, an elderly gentleman with silver hair. We were to address him as Mr O’Shaunassey, he said.
We were all settling down when, out of the blue, he asked me what was the equivalent of the English ‘good morning’ greeting in my language in India. I hesitated. I wasn’t sure. India spoke many languages. Moreover, in India, we normally didn’t greet each other with a ‘good morning’; preferring to use ‘namaste’ or the equivalent of a ‘how are you?’ in our respective mother tongues.
However, in the nick of time, I remembered a word in Bengali, my mother tongue. It was ‘shuprobhaat’, though I wasn’t sure if it was a greeting. Mr O’Shaunassey said it would do and tried several times to pronounce it correctly (the way I did), throwing the class into fits of laughter. Finally, we settled upon ‘su.pro.vat’ (broken down in syllables), and he wrote it in capital letters on the top left corner of the blackboard.
He made a rule, instantly. Every morning he would wish his class ‘good morning’ and they would respond in English. Then he would wish me ‘suprovat’ and I would respond in Bengali.
That wasn’t all. Now and then, Mr O’Shaunassey invited me to the front of the class and asked me questions on India, requesting me to speak to the class about India, encouraging the class to learn from me. He would explain to the class that they were fortunate to have among them someone from another country, another culture, from whom they could learn first-hand. Culture was such a difficult thing to learn, he would say.
Over the next few weeks, Mr O’Shaunassey turned me into ‘an India expert’ for the class, and had the other children asking me questions, sharing stories, interacting with me freely. Soon, I was accepted as one of them. I guess that was a part of Mr O’Shaunassey’s intention.
Life moved on. Mr O’Shaunassey left us to become the Vice Principal of the school and, several months after that, suddenly left us for his heavenly abode. He was 59, I remember. Mrs Wells became our new class teacher, a cranky lady who was fond of using the ruler for discipline. But ‘suprovat’ remained written on the top left corner of the blackboard and the practice of wishing ‘suprovat’ every morning continued with Mrs Wells.
That was a long time ago.
The night before last, while thinking about the Western world’s curiosity about India in the early seventies (in connection with another blog I was writing), I was reminded of my childhood in Australia. And strangely, Mr O’Shaunassey and his ‘suprovat’ greeting suddenly flashed through my mind. Inexplicably, a heavy grief overwhelmed me and I felt unsettled.
It is only now that I am able to put my thoughts down in words.
21 May 2007
19 May 2007
18 May 2007
‘The Catcher in the Rye’ quote
“What really knocks me out is a book that, when you’re all done reading it, you wish the author that wrote it was a terrific friend of yours and you could call him up on the phone whenever you felt like it. That doesn’t happen much, though.”
– Holden Caulfied in J D Salinger’s ‘The Catcher in the Rye’
– Holden Caulfied in J D Salinger’s ‘The Catcher in the Rye’
16 May 2007
Distress
“Frequent experiences of unfair treatment can produce psychological distress that, in the long term, may influence health,” said lead author Roberto De Vogli, an epidemiologist at University College London – as reported in an LA Times article yesterday.
Huh? You mean we don’t know this already? Science and medicine and research have to actually prove this to us?
Huh? You mean we don’t know this already? Science and medicine and research have to actually prove this to us?
15 May 2007
For your eyes only
“For your eyes only
Only for you
You see what no one else can see
And now I’m breaking free
For your eyes only
Only for you
The passions that collide in me
The wild abandoned side of me
Only for you
For your eyes only.”
While reading an article online on Muslim women and the veil from the latest issue of The Economist, titled ‘The meaning of freedom’, I was somehow reminded of the Sheena Easton song from the 1981 James Bond film ‘For Your Eyes Only’.
I wondered what it would feel to be a Muslim woman spending her days hiding inside a burqa or a niqab, not necessarily on her free will, and taking it off only for her husband.
In most Islamic countries, women are expected to cover themselves in burqas to maintain their modesty in public and in the presence of men. However, I’ve been told, socially, a Muslim woman is allowed to take off her burqa/niqab in the company of other women… and even men who are known and accepted by the family.
[‘For your eyes only’, written by Bill Conti and Michael Leeson, sung by Sheena Easton – reproduced here in part.]
Only for you
You see what no one else can see
And now I’m breaking free
For your eyes only
Only for you
The passions that collide in me
The wild abandoned side of me
Only for you
For your eyes only.”
While reading an article online on Muslim women and the veil from the latest issue of The Economist, titled ‘The meaning of freedom’, I was somehow reminded of the Sheena Easton song from the 1981 James Bond film ‘For Your Eyes Only’.
I wondered what it would feel to be a Muslim woman spending her days hiding inside a burqa or a niqab, not necessarily on her free will, and taking it off only for her husband.
In most Islamic countries, women are expected to cover themselves in burqas to maintain their modesty in public and in the presence of men. However, I’ve been told, socially, a Muslim woman is allowed to take off her burqa/niqab in the company of other women… and even men who are known and accepted by the family.
[‘For your eyes only’, written by Bill Conti and Michael Leeson, sung by Sheena Easton – reproduced here in part.]
13 May 2007
Rational
My mother used to receive regular beatings from my father, a frustrated brute of a man who couldn’t look after, nor love, his family. And yet, when I had suggested that she should seek a divorce, my mother was deeply offended, angry and hurt. She had said, as a Hindu wife, her place was next to her husband.
Sometimes, bitter personal experiences are not enough to make us wise. Then again, wisdom may not be a rational outcome of our experience. Or perhaps, I’m trying to be rational about things which are not.
Sometimes, bitter personal experiences are not enough to make us wise. Then again, wisdom may not be a rational outcome of our experience. Or perhaps, I’m trying to be rational about things which are not.
11 May 2007
Something wonderful happened today
Today, I received a comment on one of my old ‘runawaysun’ blogs dating back to November 2005. At that time, I had been blogging about problems immigrants faced in a new country, and I had referred to Christine Yeh of Columbia University and four coping strategies that she had suggested immigrants can use to adjust to a new culture. The blog post was titled ‘Re-adjustment’.
The comment on that blog post today was from Christine Yeh, modestly explaining that the four types of strategies for acculturation belonged to John Berry, and not her. That, although she does discuss coping in her work on immigrants, she talks more about cultural approaches to coping that “often involve spirituality, using social support networks, family, peers, elders, etc, and methods of indigenous healing.”
Thank you, Christine, for your comments. It was a wonderful surprise. I’m delighted to know that you are continuing your work with ethnically and racially diverse people, and promoting a multicultural world for all of us to live in harmony.
My post on ‘Re-adjustment’ and Christine Yeh’s comment can be found here.
The comment on that blog post today was from Christine Yeh, modestly explaining that the four types of strategies for acculturation belonged to John Berry, and not her. That, although she does discuss coping in her work on immigrants, she talks more about cultural approaches to coping that “often involve spirituality, using social support networks, family, peers, elders, etc, and methods of indigenous healing.”
Thank you, Christine, for your comments. It was a wonderful surprise. I’m delighted to know that you are continuing your work with ethnically and racially diverse people, and promoting a multicultural world for all of us to live in harmony.
My post on ‘Re-adjustment’ and Christine Yeh’s comment can be found here.
09 May 2007
Words, intention
“There are the words themselves, and then, behind or around or beneath the words, there is the intention.”
– J M Coetzee, ‘Slow Man’
– J M Coetzee, ‘Slow Man’
08 May 2007
Novel, film
A novel is different from a film. In a novel, we have to draw on our own experiences to fill in the images.
06 May 2007
First day first show
I admit it was foolish, what with my age and the fact that I hadn’t done something like this for years. But I felt like doing it. So, I did it. I caught a first day first show, leaving aside my work. It was just like I used to do during college, cutting classes, some donkey’s years ago.
It had been a while since I’d seen a film on the big screen, my work keeping me busy and my mind unsettled with all the travelling I had to do between Calicut, Cochin, Mangalore and Bangalore. ‘Blood Diamond’ was probably the last one, sometime in January. So, when I saw the ‘Spider-Man 3’ poster stuck on the walls of Calicut, a secret desire arose to see this film and I kept an eye on its launch. It was on 4 March.
As the days approached, I became more resolute. I just had to see the film. I wanted to be one of the first guys to see the film in Calicut. I checked in which cinema halls it was likely to run and was relieved to find one, ‘Crown’, the only one to run ‘Spider-Man 3’ in Calicut, near my client’s office. I decided on the first day first show. Now, the question was, how do I suddenly break off from work and rush off to see a film without antagonising my client?
Came 3 March, and I announced my intentions to my team in my client’s office. They looked at each other, uncomprehending, thinking it was a joke. They couldn’t imagine a 47-year-old man craving for a film so much so as to want to catch the first day first show, leaving aside his work. On top of that, they had known me to be diligent, putting in long hours everyday, concentrating on my work.
Questions erupted all over: Why, sir? What happened, sir? Why so suddenly, sir? Why this film, sir? Etc. To which I replied that I just felt like doing it.
They all started talking in Malayalam amongst themselves and I couldn’t grasp any of it. Of course, there were bits and pieces like ‘Spider-Man’ and ‘Crown’ and ‘12 noon show’, but most of their conversations were beyond me. However, later that afternoon, to my surprise, they presented me with a ticket, upstairs in the Balcony, first day first show of ‘Spider-Man 3’ in ‘Crown’. They wouldn’t take the money. Said it was a treat.
That evening, I informed my client, the managing director, about not being available at work the next day for 3 hours or so around lunch. But, I needn’t have worried about it. He already knew and hoped that I enjoyed the film.
Next morning at work, everyone checked if I had the ticket ready with me, giving me directions to the cinema hall, telling me how long it would take to travel there. At 11:30, they all stopped work to remind me to shut down my laptop and be on my way. I shouldn’t miss the first 15 minutes, they encouraged. So, off I went, to see ‘Spider-Man 3’, first day first show.
It had been a while since I’d seen a film on the big screen, my work keeping me busy and my mind unsettled with all the travelling I had to do between Calicut, Cochin, Mangalore and Bangalore. ‘Blood Diamond’ was probably the last one, sometime in January. So, when I saw the ‘Spider-Man 3’ poster stuck on the walls of Calicut, a secret desire arose to see this film and I kept an eye on its launch. It was on 4 March.
As the days approached, I became more resolute. I just had to see the film. I wanted to be one of the first guys to see the film in Calicut. I checked in which cinema halls it was likely to run and was relieved to find one, ‘Crown’, the only one to run ‘Spider-Man 3’ in Calicut, near my client’s office. I decided on the first day first show. Now, the question was, how do I suddenly break off from work and rush off to see a film without antagonising my client?
Came 3 March, and I announced my intentions to my team in my client’s office. They looked at each other, uncomprehending, thinking it was a joke. They couldn’t imagine a 47-year-old man craving for a film so much so as to want to catch the first day first show, leaving aside his work. On top of that, they had known me to be diligent, putting in long hours everyday, concentrating on my work.
Questions erupted all over: Why, sir? What happened, sir? Why so suddenly, sir? Why this film, sir? Etc. To which I replied that I just felt like doing it.
They all started talking in Malayalam amongst themselves and I couldn’t grasp any of it. Of course, there were bits and pieces like ‘Spider-Man’ and ‘Crown’ and ‘12 noon show’, but most of their conversations were beyond me. However, later that afternoon, to my surprise, they presented me with a ticket, upstairs in the Balcony, first day first show of ‘Spider-Man 3’ in ‘Crown’. They wouldn’t take the money. Said it was a treat.
That evening, I informed my client, the managing director, about not being available at work the next day for 3 hours or so around lunch. But, I needn’t have worried about it. He already knew and hoped that I enjoyed the film.
Next morning at work, everyone checked if I had the ticket ready with me, giving me directions to the cinema hall, telling me how long it would take to travel there. At 11:30, they all stopped work to remind me to shut down my laptop and be on my way. I shouldn’t miss the first 15 minutes, they encouraged. So, off I went, to see ‘Spider-Man 3’, first day first show.
04 May 2007
Blogging
“Anybody who has good writing skills, access to information and who can come up with an opinion about the world, investigate it, have an interesting idea … can just post it on their blog. This is what the best bloggers are doing. They don’t need the infrastructure of a news organisation to do their job; it’s all about that one solitary individual who has something interesting to say.”
That’s Jimmy Wales (Mr Wikipedia) speaking, in an interview with Matthew Buckland last month which I read on the Net just yesterday.
What Jimmy Wales says makes me feel good because that’s what I believed in when I began blogging two years ago. I believe in it even now. Jimmy Wales’ words endorse what I do as a blogger in ‘sunstruck’, my other blog, which is written in an editorial style expressing my view of the world.
The question is, then, what am I doing with this blog, ‘Unsettled Views’, which is more of a confessional than an editorial? Written like a diarist, recording random thoughts which seem to have some meaning or significance in my life, this blog is not written along the lines “what the best bloggers are doing.”
So….
That’s Jimmy Wales (Mr Wikipedia) speaking, in an interview with Matthew Buckland last month which I read on the Net just yesterday.
What Jimmy Wales says makes me feel good because that’s what I believed in when I began blogging two years ago. I believe in it even now. Jimmy Wales’ words endorse what I do as a blogger in ‘sunstruck’, my other blog, which is written in an editorial style expressing my view of the world.
The question is, then, what am I doing with this blog, ‘Unsettled Views’, which is more of a confessional than an editorial? Written like a diarist, recording random thoughts which seem to have some meaning or significance in my life, this blog is not written along the lines “what the best bloggers are doing.”
So….
01 May 2007
Values Test
The Australian government has decided to introduce a citizenship test for new migrants in Australia. It’s called a ‘Values Test’.
The test will require applicants to have a basic understanding of English and pass a computerised test of their knowledge of the Australian way of life and history. They will also have to sign a commitment to Australia’s values and way of life.
By doing this, the Australian government will achieve something… I don’t quite know what.
The test will require applicants to have a basic understanding of English and pass a computerised test of their knowledge of the Australian way of life and history. They will also have to sign a commitment to Australia’s values and way of life.
By doing this, the Australian government will achieve something… I don’t quite know what.
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