we are like this only

The other day, on my way to work, I passed a flyover under which there are usually a few poor people clustered, many of whom rush out and start begging as soon as the traffic lights turn red. That day, there was a bigger crowd than usual, several families in fact, men, woman, children and babies. One of the babies, a girl between 7-9 months old was rolling about on the brick floor of the space, howling at the top of her baby voice, loud enough for her voice to pierce through my closed car window. She was crying as if in agony for something, rolling from side to side across that floor. And not one of the many adults clustered around her so much as turned, paused their conversations to even look at her. One of the ladies had a bamboo pole about 10 feet long and used it to nudge the baby farther away from her. The many children under that flyover didn’t blink an eye, didn’t turn to look. No one seemed to have felt an urge to pick up that baby, to hold her close and comfort her, to find ou...

The interesting thing about human beings is that they have the mindspace for the intangibles…like beauty. What an abstract concept, and yet, every day, human beings have the capacity and desire to appreciate beauty in myriad forms – in nature, in other people, in architecture and so much more. I don’t know another species that does so, except in Disney cartoons. So why does the new Dove commercial , which talks about women being more beautiful than they think, bring out mixed emotions? On the minus side: I don’t know whether it was the editing of the ads or the way that the strangers these women interacted with actually used only these terms to describe the women, but the overuse of the word thin had me cringing. Thin chin, thin face, thin this, thin that. Why weren’t more of the descriptions phrases like ‘strong chin’ or ‘smile-creased face’ or ‘intense eyes’, apart from the fact that the strangers may not be Mills and Boon writers in their spare time? Did they not use these types o...

I have always cordially hated the Ramayana, even as a child. My C. Rajagopalachari copy of the Mahabharata is in tatters from frequent reading whereas the Ramayana lies pristine. In light of the recent gangrape in Delhi, and even more, the spate of violence against women which seems to be spiraling upwards, I am increasingly convinced that the Ramayana was a text written to enforce the patriarchy. Rama, the ‘Maryada Purushottam’ whom all men must strive to emulate is either misogynistic, a disrespecter of women or a spineless coward. Beginning with blind obedience of a father’s unjust command, to humiliating Shoorpanakha whose only crime was that she desired him, to killing Vali by foul means because Sugreeva coveted Vali’s wife, to making Sita go through an Agni Pariksha because she had the misfortune of being captured – where was his agni pariksha for having remained sans spouse in the forest, may I ask? – to his final rejection of Sita because of what an uneducated man said, rather ...

Looking back not only at the horrific gangrape in Delhi, but the aftermath – protests by concerned citizens across the various cities of India, protests by the youth, and the outpouring of shock and support for the survivor, the lack of respect that we Indians now have for the politicians, it’s interesting to think about the sociological implications of the changes overtaking India. It’s also important to remember the kind of protests that took place against corruption over the past year or so, with again an outpouring of support from the white-collared workers of India, software engineers, corporate types etc taking to the streets. Similar to this, in Gurgaon there have been several protests by the citizens – CEOs and other corporate types, against the lack of roads, garbage management and other poor civic services provided to us. What’s happening to this country? Have we all become armchair activists? What does it mean for the future? Let’s start by looking at some of the demograp...

The movie starts off explosively – plenty of action, fast pace, fisticuffs in inimitable Salman style. But then in comes a stale Yash Raj plot about a love story and out goes the interest. The plot is full of holes – a spy sent to find out more about a nuclear scientist supposedly selling secrets to Pakistan spends more time ogling his assistant. SPOILER ALERT!! The said assistant has free access to the scientist’s home and computer any day of the week but chooses to get in during a play that she is directing, to download something off his computer. The movie is then all about the love affair between the two spies who have RAW and ISI chasing them through picturesque locales all over the world. The chemistry between Salman and Katrina is practically nil in the first half, which is when the said falling in love part of the story happens. The dialogue is turgid. The pace is so slow you can take a nap, then wake up and find that pretty much nothing new has happened. The second half is ...

Well, not diary, really, since I’m too undisciplined to maintain one, more of a chronicle of our vacation. I had never been to Kashmir and neither had the kids; A on the other hand would keep retailing anecdotes about his trip there in his teens (many, many, many, many moons ago) which had clearly left behind some indelible impressions. As expected, the parents were worried about potential problems though they didn’t try to dissuade us from going. For some weird reason that now escapes me, we had selected to spend the first day commuting, possibly because we felt that to get up early for a flight was not the best way to induce that vacation feeling. (Note to self for next vacation – getting up early and reaching destination early is preferable to spending more than half the day getting there!!!). The Indigo flight was uneventful, apart from the usual nausea experienced by Chubbocks who is not a good traveler…even the Domstal didn’t seem to have worked its trick and he wound up throwi...

I don't know if it's genetically programmed into us Indians to love the rain. Whether it comes from thousands of generations of ancestors being farmers, dependant on the rain for the good things of life. But every time I see a grey sky or get the whiff of rain-soaked earth on a puff of breeze, all my senses come alive. Even when I'm abroad in a London or France, where grey skies and rain are cause for drear not cheer, I just see a grey sky and feel a magical sense of anticipation and excitement. Yesterday, at the end of two weeks of fabuously cool weather in Delhi, which otherwise by 3rd week of April would be excoriatingly hot, we had a thunderstorm, followed by rain. I took myself off to the veranda, where I could sit sheltered from the incredibly cold drops of rain that were falling. Yet I could be a part of it, watching the rain drip down on my plants, watching the graceful neem tree tossing its head about in the cool breeze, like a flirtatious 16 year old, smell the ...