Eureka Express

4 Days To Christmas - Noel

2011-12-24T17:11:00.001+03:00

In another two years time, the world will mark the centenary of the First World War or The Great War as it was then called till Hitler rolled his wagon into Poland and ignited the second.

It's rather ironic that the war waged under the naive assumption that it would be 'the war to end all wars' began at the beginning of the bloodiest century in human history.

However, in the midst of the savagery of this war that saw the death of millions of young men on the battlefield, there is also a story of hope and peace.

I find it so inspiring that I repeated it last year, and don't mind repeating it again as long as I continue writing these Christmas countdown posts.

It's an unusual story and comes across as almost unreal and yet it's true. Somehow the most inspiring real life events are a bit like that - you can't believe it could be possible but then again you can't deny it.

I won't say much about it except leave you to read the lyrics below which explains what really happened that Christmas eve many years ago.

What I really like about it is that it sums up what Christmas is all about or should be - peace and reconciliation with a bit of joyous festivity thrown in for good measure.

My name is Francis Tolliver, I come from Liverpool,
Two years ago the war was waiting for me after school.
To Belgium and to Flanders to Germany to here
I fought for King and country I love dear.
'Twas Christmas in the trenches where the frost so bitter hung,
The frozen fields of France were still, no Christmas song was sung,
Our families back in England were toasting us that day,
Their brave and glorious lads so far away.

I was lying with my messmate on the cold and rocky ground
When across the lines of battle came a most peculiar sound
Says I, "Now listen up, me boys!" each soldier strained to hear
As one young German voice sang out so clear.
"He's singing bloody well, you know!" my partner says to me
Soon one by one each German voice joined in in
harmony
The cannons rested silent, the gas clouds rolled no more
As Christmas brought us respite from the war.

As soon as they were finished and a reverent pause was spent
"God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" struck up some lads from Kent
The next they sang was "Stille Nacht," "Tis 'Silent Night'," says I
And in two tongues one song filled up that sky.
"There's someone coming towards us!" the front line sentry cried
All sights were fixed on one lone figure coming from their side
His truce flag, like a Christmas star, shone on that plain so bright
As he bravely strode unarmed into the night.

Soon one by one on either side walked into No Man's land
With neither gun nor bayonet we met there hand to hand
We shared some secret brandy and we wished each other well
And in a flare-lit soccer game we gave 'em hell.
We traded chocolates, cigarettes, and photographs from home
These sons and fathers far away from families of their own
Young Sanders played his squeeze box and they had a violin
This curious and unlikely band of men.

Soon daylight stole upon us and France was France once more
With sad farewells we each began to settle back to war
But the question haunted every heart that lived that wondrous night
"Whose family have I fixed within my sights?"
'Twas Christmas in the trenches, where the frost so bitter hung
The frozen fields of France were warmed as songs of peace were sung
For the walls they'd kept between us to exact the work of war
Had been crumbled and were gone for evermore.

My name is Francis Tolliver, in Liverpool I dwell
Each Christmas come since World War I I've learned its lessons well
That the ones who call the shots won't be among the dead and lame
And on each end of the rifle we're the same.

©1984 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)

5 Days To Christmas - Fellowship

2011-12-24T07:26:00.001+03:00

We are supposed to be social animals, gregarious entities who find pleasure in the company of one another.

We were created that way, too.

Our entire being is meant to belong and not stay in isolation. Not as islands cast adrift in an ocean of apathy but as as an archipelago that finds its identity in being recognised as part of something bigger than itself.

However, loneliness is a reality for many people in this day and age. To them being part of the collective is a desirable reality that does not correspond with the painful reality they experience day in and day out.

Our modern lifestyle hasn't helped matters much either. The human touch is often the most neglected component in most communications, and technology has made it possible to engage without actually being in touch.

In such a scenario, the unconnected individual loses his or her bearing and finds it impossible to find connections.

In earlier societies where the community was everything, the search for connections was irrelevant because the community helped in establishing those connections.

And now left to the individual, the same process becomes a tiresome journey involving many pitfalls of pain, frustration and disappointment.

It just isn't the same to do it all by yourself when once it took a village to accomplish everything.

This spectre of loneliness is so pervasive that it is often reflected in songs and in much of our art and films. There is a sense that being alone and lonely is the state of every man and woman in the 21st Century, and that everyone must deal with it as best as one can.

Trouble is, not many can - or want to - deal with it. They see their loneliness as an aberration and not as something typical of this day and age.

Christmas is a time when their loneliness becomes even more acute. This is so because the overall emphasis on families and loved ones getting together for a christmas meal is a rude reminder of what their life truly lacks.

In such a context, it would be necessary to reflect on the first Christmas that announced the birth of Immanuel - God with us. This idea of God being near and not far away or remote from the pressures of modern life is a comforting and soul strengthening thought.

But while we do so, it would be equally helpful to remember what the Apostle John wrote about Christ - He came to that which was his own but his own received him not.

In other words, sharing not just our humanity but also the loneliness we experience after being rejected.

6 Days To Christmas - Light

2011-12-21T16:18:00.001+03:00

I am a little behind schedule with my posts because I was not well but let me see how best I can speed up.

The ability of light to dispel darkness is, perhaps, one of those powerful metaphors that suffers from being overused.

It's sad, really.

The imagery is just right to make a point: a tiny flicker of a candle devouring darkness by its mere glow and revealing what was once hidden.

However, what happens with such overused metaphors is that one loses sight of its significance and it becomes nothing more than a tired cliche.

But it doesn't in any way alter the truth behind what the imagery suggests.

Like serendipity, it becomes a moment of discovery, of new insights suddenly becoming more relevant, of ideas moving away from theoretical notions into something real and tangible.

The Christmas story is also about light entering the world, to bring hope to a people perplexed by their inner darkness, and to reveal that hamartia need no longer be the defining feature of humanity.

The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned.

The words of prophet Isaiah written a few centuries before the birth of Christ gives a sense of the Messiah's mission.

The words bring a sense of comfort and a sense of belonging especially in knowing that the divine light is not remote or beyond our reach but has chosen to inhabit our soul provided we allow Him to.

However, Christ also said 'let your light shine that people may see your good works...'

Hence, being a repository of light can also be a challenge because one is not expected to glow for oneself but to reflect God's goodness in our world.

There's so much of darkness in the world - the gap between the rich and the poor is increasing, healthcare is not accessible to everyone, the language of violence appears to define political discourse, hunger and lack of education has reduced some people groups into abject poverty, and in some countries corruption appears to be the 'normal' state of affairs for all business transactions.

This is just the tip of the iceberg but the challenge remains - what are we doing about it? Will we bring our light into these areas of darkness? Will we reveal the evil for what it really is or remain silent? Or will we follow the example of the cross by pursuing truth and righteousness no matter the cost?

And that's the challenge.

7 Days To Christmas - Love

2011-12-18T17:02:00.001+03:00

We are creatures of love but we also happen to be the most unloving race on this planet.

It's a weird paradox and one that defies all sense of logic. On the one hand, we demonstrate such extreme emotions of love that finds expression in works of art, literature, architecture and acts that warms our heart and soothes our soul.

And then, on the other hand, we commit acts of extreme cruelty, develop weapons that inflict the most severe pain, oppose people on the basis of superficial factors like colour or ethnicity and applaud policies that bleed rather than heal the poor.

And we claim to do all this in the name of love or its many variants.

Love can be quite tricky that way. It expects us to rise above ourselves, think of the other as more deserving of the best we can give, and disturbingly enough, touches the very heart of God because God is love.

The trouble is, human imperfection or hamartia as the writers of the New Testament put it, comes in the way and warps our expressions of love into something totally unrecognisable from its original intent.

Hamartia - or tragic flaw - describes the state of humanity as one that has missed the mark in becoming what God has intended humanity to be - creatures made in the image of God, reflecting His love through acts of kindness that breathe life into an aching world.

The tragedy is that, we've paid more
attention to our baser instincts, insisting on its invincibility and believing in the 'virtue' of selfishness rather than to the selflessness God expects.

The result is a world torn apart by anger and hatred, where creeds like 'unto thine own self be true' are used as excuses to avoid caring for the socially disadvantaged, and where narrow and parochial world views are made to seem more important than the command to love our neighbour as ourselves.

In such a world, the Christmas story is not just a pretty picture on our cards. It is also a divine promise that all is not lost -- that Love finds a way to redeem humanity and undo the curse of hamartia.

It is the story of a Messiah who came to love the unlovable, give them His all, and provide an example of selflessness that can be emulated.

The problem is, this call for love remains but a cry in the wilderness... will we take up the challenge or continue giving hatred and cruel indifference the pride of place in our hearts?

8 Days To Christmas - Joy

2011-12-18T13:08:00.001+03:00

Joy is an exclamation mark!

There's no other way one can best describe a word such as joy. It's not as blunt, curt and to-the-point like a period. Or somewhat diffident and cautious but with an impulsive sprint in its foot like a comma.

Joy cannot be whispered in hush tones or stated matter of factly. That would be too polite and would seem a little bit like a stuck up courtier behaving with decorum. It has to be shouted and screamed with the kind of delirium that some might mistake for insanity.

Joy does that. Or at least, it's supposed to do so.

Being joyous must involve being lost for words. If one can explain it in a perfectly formed and grammatically sound sentence, then, perhaps one hasn't got it as yet. It's not a rule as such but as indicators go, it'd be a sign.

There are moments in our life when joy can be the only valid response. Anything else can hardly match the leaps our heart would be taking when we're struck by joy.

Christmas is meant to be a season of joy. It's in the carols we sing. It's in the family get-togethers where memories are made. It's in the warm hugs and kisses we share with those we love and care.

And it's also in the news of the Christ child born in an insignificant Palestinian town of Bethlehem - a birth that would herald freedom to those shackled by sin's clutches, peace to those tormented by the inner demons of anxiety, and a group of social nobodies out in the hillside tending to their sheep given the privilege of being the first to hear this news.

But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people. Today in the town of David a Saviour has been born to you; he is the Messiah, the Lord.

9 Days To Christmas - Peace

2011-12-17T08:17:00.001+03:00

Peace is a song, a chant, a cry, a reason to protest or an excuse for some sort of action. For many people, peace can be one or two or all of these things. And for still others, it's an idea worth preserving and fighting for.

Whichever way one looks at it, peace invariably finds itself on the top of everyone's agenda. One can't go wrong if peace remains the core rationale for any activity. It sounds great on paper and makes the ones talking about it feel and look good. Sometimes the most outrageous military exercise can be undertaken in the name of peace, and that somehow, is often used as a means to toast themselves as saints.

In fact, some of the most tyrannical dictatorships that have been known for exporting terrorism claim to do so in the name of peace. Or at least, their atrocity projected as a necessity to bring about peace.

Peace, in this context, is often viewed as a combination of a ceasefire and cessation of violence. Or as a resumption of trade ties and establishment of economic partnership. In other words, transforming adversaries into economic allies.

It is assumed that this change in equation will silence the guns forever because of a shared stake in economic gain. And it makes sense because war and violence do not produce the right environment for boosting the retail and tourism trade, for instance.

But there is another peace that no trade or political agreement can ever help achieve. It is to do with the war that burns in the hearts of men and women everywhere -- the fear and anxiety that makes being alive a living hell for some people, the agonising insecurity that drives others to uncontrollable fits of rage and jealousy, and the aching loneliness that renders their very existence to be totally meaningless.

Peace, for many people, is not a brownie point to be gained the way governmental bodies negotiate treaties. It is the very water that the hot burning sands of the desert crave during the summer months. It is a need as urgent as the air one breathes, the water that quenches our thirst, and the food that strengthens and nourishes us.

Peace is also something that ties in very well with the Christmas narrative. It is something that we need to remind ourselves in between the many distractions that can shift our minds elsewhere during the season.

Christmas marks the birth of the Messiah who was also known as the Prince of Peace. In fact, the angelic choir burst out in the night sky and announced to the shepherds: Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace on whom His favour rests.'

It was, as if, a declaration was made that peace need no longer inhabit the realm of wishful thinking but has now become possible for those who seek it.

However, it is vital to note that to give to the world the 'peace that passes all understanding', the Messiah had to walk a road of pain and grief or as Prophet Isaiah put it:

But he was pierced for our transgressions,

he was crushed for our iniquities;

the punishment that brought us peace was on him,

and by his wounds we are healed.

10 Days to Christmas - Hope

2011-12-16T16:38:00.001+03:00

Hope can be electric.

It can fire up passion, stir emotions, breathe optimism into the most dismal situation and even encourage the faint hearted to do the most extraordinary things.

What hope really does is remind us that the present is transient, and that the misery and the anxiety we undergo day in and day out is not meant to last forever. It's that silver lining we are expected to see but rarely notice or even bother. It's that light at the end of the tunnel we dismiss as fantasy or a joke but deep inside wish it wasn't so.

Hope, by its very nature, looks ahead at the future more positively. It is confident that the drudgery of our daily experiences, the tyranny of the ones that make us worry, the weaknesses that threaten to destroy everything we ever stood for, and the fear that paralyses us into inaction come with an expiry date.

It makes us see our world the way it is meant to be, and not in the way our worries want us to see.

Our world today is full of people with hope in their eyes and in their hearts -- hope for the economy to rebound, hope for jobs, hope for peace and security, hope for justice, hope for an equal society, hope for a dialogue with those who don't even listen...

In first century Palestine, for instance, hope was not just an idea but a person. The Jews hoped that the Messiah would come soon and rescue them from the yoke of imperial Rome. They hoped that the Messiah would turn them into an independent nation, make them masters of their own fate, and am sure, turn them into a power similar to Rome.

However, the Messiah did come but not as a king the world might recognise but as a baby whose frail humanity was wrapped in unseen divinity. Hope did not match expectation, and the loud cries of 'hosannas' were turned into the angrier chants of 'crucify him'. Hope still did not die. Easter happened three days later to breathe life into a dying world, and humanity got a chance to look beyond the dreary present.

Question is, do we miss out on what we hope for because it comes in a packaging we least expect?

11 Days To Christmas - Faith

2011-12-14T17:24:00.001+03:00

Faith is an uneasy word for most people because it assumes a certainty that's not quite there. At least, not yet.

It somehow expects adherents to believe that the 'here and now' is not the only valid worldview that one can subscribe to. And that something needn't necessarily be tangible or immediate for it to be grasped as a companion of reality.

The writer to Hebrews, for instance, described faith simply as the confidence in what one hopes for and assurance of that which one does not see.

In other words, the invisible no longer remains a mysterious entity that we should be wary of, but as something that beats with anticipation like a palpitating heart. Alive like an unborn child, a cry of joy just waiting to be heard.

Faith cannot be compared to wishful thinking because the latter is sustained by presumption and is not necessarily guided by anything concrete -- just a wish nothing more, nothing less. And in the same vein, it's certainly not a leap into the dark because its outcome is a foregone conclusion where the future is not hazy but somewhat well defined. The only difference being that future is yet to come or happen, as it were.

The events of the first Christmas night brings faith into another dimension altogether. Not as an idea or a thought one could wrestle with, argue over or even make sense of, it was a defiance of everything that was considered acceptable and challenged some accepted notions of propriety.

Mary and Joseph had to place faith in the words of the angels who spoke of the Messiah being born through virgin birth. A situation so unbelievable that no explanation was enough to discourage murmuring tongues from casting slurs. And yet they kept faith.

The shepherds had to place faith in the choirs of angels telling them - of all people - the news of the Messiah's birth. Who would ever think of making such a huge announcement to a bunch of social nobodies? Why should they even believe that they would be worthy of such an honor? And yet they kept faith.

The wise men from the east placed faith in a star that led them to the little town of Bethlehem and into the company of a lowly carpenter and his wife. The birth of the Messiah, they discovered, took place not in a palace in Jerusalem but in a manger. Not in an imperial household but in that of a carpenter and his young wife. And yet they kept faith.

They were the first to see the Messiah -- not as the One who turned water into wine, walked on water, healed the sick, made the lame walk, feed the five thousand or even rise from the dead after being brutally crucified. They saw Him as a little baby - frail and vulnerable in its humanity but with the promise of divinity shining bright nevertheless.

And their faith was made strong.

12 Days To Christmas - Beginnings

2011-12-13T23:27:00.001+03:00

I was in two minds about it.

Should I continue with this Christmas tradition of mine? Or shall I just skip it this year altogether?

After all, I haven't done much blogging this year, and so - I felt - it wouldn't make much difference whether or not I write something.

For two years, I've done my 12 days to Christmas series and must admit that there's always that little thought nagging me -- does it really make any difference what I write? Is the world out there really waiting for my voice to be heard again? Do I have something to say that needs to be said and cannot be silenced any longer?

Now that's the thing. Most of us will never ever know what impact our little actions or words will have in the eternal scheme of things. We are so saturated with the short term that for many the long term view of things appears strange, mysterious, foreign and unnecessary. It's so far away that we don't feel the need to include it in our daily reckonings of things that matter.

But whichever way we look at it, we cannot escape the fact that words like actions have consequences, and it doesn't matter if those consequences are in the short term or in the long term. There are consequences and it's up to us to measure the steps we take, the words we utter, the thoughts we think and ensure that a delicious residue remains as a gentle reminder of our presence.

In a way it's the same with writing, I guess. We may never know if the stories and poems we write have any impact whatsoever. I'm sure there are people who might differ since they are very sure about their objectives but that's not everyone. For most of us it's catharsis that provides the inspiration and the entree process becomes a sort of a voyage of discovery.

Or at least it's supposed to be.

The point I am making is that it doesn't really matter if I have a clearer assessment of the impact words have on people who are not in my circle of friends. One must write because one has to. The most genuine writing usually emerges from such a process -- the writers and the artists produce works of lasting quality by being crazily absorbed in producing it.

In a strange and twisted way, this ties in very well with the Christmas story as well.

The Jewish people waited for the Messiah to come and free them from imperial Rome's clutches. But when the Messiah did come, He was unwelcome because He came as a baby in a manger and His message of salvation was not political but personal redemption. In other words, the consequences of the birth of the Christ child in Bethelehem was not fantastic when you look at the birth by itself and ignore the bigger picture of Christ's soul transforming work.

What the Christmas story really tells us is... never ignore the bigness of small beginnings.

Istanbul Diaries

2011-07-15T12:18:00.000+03:00

This is my second visit to Istanbul, and one thing I've learnt so far is that deja vu is not quite a reliable guide as one would like it to be. On one hand, it can trigger memories of places your hands rested, streets you once walked, sites you once saw or things you had done. However, it is not sufficiently useful in helping us make sense of the things we see before us even if we've seen them before.

There is always that little thing called 'context' that changes everything: it gives us a prism through which what we see acquires new perspectives, colours and dimensions. Sometimes these are not new and could have been there all along but somehow missed our attention.

My last trip to Istanbul was not that great. It's true that I was fascinated by the sights (who wouldn't) but I had a miserable experience at the airport: didnt get picked up by the hotel and so after four hours I managed to reach the hotel on my own, got conned by a south Asian, and something went wrong with my handycam.

Well, that was then.

This time I decided to put all the miserable experience that took place back behind me and once again take a plunge into the streets of Istanbul -- and in the process, discover what I may have missed out during my last visit.

I suppose, things did begin on a bad note and so my perceptions got blurred. Thankfully, this time I ensured the airport transfer was in order and as soon as I came out of the customs I saw a young man holding a card with my name on it. It turned out he was extremely pleasant and talkative but - as he explained - his Arabic was a lot better than his English. His company assumed that I was an Arab since I was travelling from Bahrain.

It was a rather long drive from the airport to Sultanahmet and the heavy traffic didn't help matters at all. In between, my temporary guide told me that the Asian side is a lot greener than the European side. "Lots of buildings buildings in European side," he told me. It seemed like a never ending stream of traffic but it enabled me to see a bit of what I was going to experience in the next few days.

If one has to categorise the main differences between last time and now, I guess, technology will be one of them. Last time the camera I used had to be loaded with a film and so I had to carefully ration what I wanted to photograph and what best to avoid. Hence, the handycam was useful to 'shoot' the rest of the scenes. Digital photography has changed everything, and once you combine that with Photoshop... a tourist is definitely in a much safer landscape as far as photography or 'capturing memories on film' is concerned.

Istiklal Avenue was another pleasant surprise. It was colourful and vibrant back then, and I do remember getting warmly excited about the place but nothing prepared me for what I saw this time. There was incredible energy all around, the kind one can find in parties or get togethers. Music on the streets, colourful graffiti, artshows, outdoor cafes, shops with huge discounts, bookshops... it was a little like being in London's Leiceister Square but with a mild orientalist twist.

I would have to say 'mild' because there's a heady mixture of both the Oriental and the Occidental that one could see co-existing on the streets. Women in hejab walking next to couples who are cuddling or in some cases girls in hejab holding hands of their male partners. This would be a scene that would be quite normal in other western capitals but to see it here was a bit of a surprise.

And yes, surprise would be a wrong word to use because Istanbul sits on the edge between Europe and Asia... not just geographically but culturally and politically as well.

I was told that the festive feel of Istiklal Avenue was a conscious decision taken around five or six years ago when Istabul vied to be declared Europe's culture capital, and apparently, got that designation. However, preparing the road for that designation took a lot of planning and preparation, and the final result is a street that one must not avoid whenever one visits Istanbul.

Apparently, this move has been good for the tourists because it has become extremely tourist friendly... in other words, opened up means to explore the city on one's own if one wants or take up guided tours if one chooses (you can either book for a group or hire a guide if you are on your own). You'll see these licensed guides walking around with their license as a badge.

Obviously, tourist friendly also means the possibility of being taken for a ride and I suppose there are risks aplenty. If one asks for a place that serves a decent kebab, the hotel receptionist is more likely to suggest a friend's restaurant than ask you to check the most authentic. However, there are ways to skip this route: one is, of course, the tried and 'tasted' route of going all out and entering any place that one likes or, better still, take hold of a backpackers guidebook... and you'll be in for a pleasant surprise. I discovered the most amazing Jewish Armenian restaurant off Istiklal Avenue using this route.

Then, of course, there are some restaurants that one has to visit because of where they are located: the Galata Tower restaurant should not be missed because of the great view of Istanbul, and ofcourse, the cafe in Topkapi offers the best view of Istanbul. In fact, the cafe is situated close to where the Sultan would sit to admire the Bosphorus.

Eating in the Topkapi cafe gives us a view of the Asian side, and just the thought of the history and the wars and the conflicts that took place here are enough to get any history buff interested.

The other thing that I noticed this time around was the ease of transportation. Earlier I used the taxi and since I was there for only two days or so, it didnt matter much. But because this time I was on an extended stay, I found out that the public transport is quite helpful in many ways. There's the metro that has very limited stops but the tramway is excellent since it meanders through some of the most 'necessary' stops in Istanbul.

One has to buy a card for 6 TL and then top it up as one goes. You can use the card in the trams, metros and if I'm not mistaken buses as well. In a way it's best to combine all modes of transport together to really enjoy oneself.

The best mode is, of course, walking. It will give you a better feel of the place than just sitting in a tram or a taxi. However, make sure you got good walking shoes and lot of energy especially if you are doing a bit of history in Sultanahmet and the Old City. Apparently, Istanbul is a hilly city -- seven hills or so, am told, but need to check. Now what this means is that there are lots of slopes and the roads are all cobbled up -- great for horses, perhaps, great for photography, great to look at, but quite exhausting if one has to walk up and down the cobbled streets.

Of course, there's always the great Turkish cuisine to make up for lost energy.

And finally, I found most people quite friendly, hospitable and warm... this was something I missed out last time because, I suppose, I wasnt paying attention. And this, in my opinion, was the biggest thing that I missed.

Christmas Countdown: Christmas Day

2010-12-26T00:37:00.000+03:00

So the day came and went, or at least, it will do so in a few minutes time. And then, it will recede into memory and become another day shared with friends and family. Like always. Each year we go through the same cycle and each time we experience the same varied emotions: anticipation, excitement, relief, and finally, nostalgia.

Sometimes the unexpected can creep in, and disappointments can ruin an otherwise festive mood. But those are exceptions that we are not prepared for, and are not expected to do so anyway. None of us are ever prepared for the type of unusual that brings sadness or exasperation because it is not in our nature to include such possibilities.

Seven years ago, no one quite expected the tsunami to wreak havoc on any post-Christmas celebrations planned. It took everyone by surprise, brought untold tragedy to millions, and now has become something of a metaphor for large scale devastation. Whenever a tragedy becomes a metaphor, it is on its way to be forgotten. Everyone ends up remembering the scale of the horror, and end up focusing on the feelings evoked and the sensations experienced when they heard the news. The painful process and hard work involved in organising relief efforts and creating much needed awareness lasts as long as the tragedy remains in the news, and gets forgotten as soon as the next big tragedy captures everyone's attention.

And the cycle continues.

It is also the end of my Christmas countdown for this year, and it should be another year before I commence my next installment. A year is too far away unless you're talking about 2010 which came and went very fast. Or so I felt this year, and many of my friends felt the same way.

I was quite encouraged by the response, satisfied by the support, inspired to be more regular in my blogging. Christmas is a time when so many moods, thoughts, ideas, feelings come together that one has to sit down and work those thoughts out, examine them closely and try to make sense of them.

I'm not quite sure if I succeeded but the countdown was a small effort in that direction.

A Merry Christmas to all of you, and a blessed new year as well!!!

Christmas Countdown: 1 Day to Go

2010-12-25T02:24:00.000+03:00

I still remember that night very clearly as if it was only yesterday.

I was doing my college in Bombay and staying in a hostel that was attached to this college. The Christmas holidays had begun and I was looking at the possibility of another Christmas away from home. I was already a three year veteran in 'spending Christmas away from home' and it never felt good. It's not supposed to anyway. Christmas like most festivals are best celebrated with one's parents in one's house in one's hometown.

It was Christmas eve and I knew I had to do something.

While sipping tea with a hostel mate, I thought, why not go out of the city and visit my brother who was studying/ staying in a college town that was six hours from Bombay. At first I dismissed the idea as too fanciful but the more I thought of it the more it became appealing.

However, the only problem was that I didn't make a train reservation, which would make it hard for me to get a seat. I could get a direct bus but I hated (and still do) overnight bus journeys, and so the only option was to take the only available train at midnight. It was a slow train that will take more than 6 hours to reach the neighbouring city of Poona that ordinarily takes around 3 hours by a fast train. My plan was to take the train to Poona and then undertake a 2 hour bus journey that will take me to my brother's college town.

I bought the ticket on this slow train and boarded it with my limited luggage. As expected there was no seat available since almost all of the seats were taken and most people had to manage by sitting on the floor or in the aisle or wherever they found space to park themselves. I didn't choose my spot but found myself - quite accidentally - sitting outside the loo.

It was nauseating to say the least, and the claustrophobia one experienced was way too horrid beyond words. The train was jam packed and even where I was seated, I had to recline at an angle so as not to touch others and stay comfortable. And if this wasn't enough, a group of men entered the train and started singing some vulgar songs to amuse themselves.

It was probably my worst Christmas eve, and as I sat there I imagined what my parents might be doing, and what my church in Bahrain will be up to. And then it occured to me that, perhaps, far from being my worst Christmas eve, it was perhaps one of the most beautiful experiences ever. great things to come out of the course.

Yes, I was uncomfortable at having to spend my Christmas eve at such a horrible place, and I could only think of my family and friends who would be celebrating their Christmas in church or at their home. And then, as I sat there, a thought occured to me that, perhaps, I was getting a glimpse of the first Christmas.

Mary gave birth to the baby Jesus in an even worse place, and had cattle and oxen as room mates. It's not possible that Mary and Joseph must have enjoyed the idea of a delivery in a stable. They were both told by the angel that the Child was special, and so I'm sure, they must have expected a slightly better service.

As my train crawled slowly to Poona afer a tiresome all night journey, I had to run to catch a bus. After all, three hours is a lot better to reach my destination unlike the other train that leaves at mightnight or thereabouts.

I did reach my brother's hostel and had to dress up quickly and join him on his Christmas plans. It was one get-together after another that lasted the entire day and a little bit of the next night as well.

But I can't forget that Christmas eve because it gave me a glimpse of what Mary and Joseph may have gone through. And this alone, transformed the trip into an awesome experience.

Christmas Countdown: 2 Days to Go

2010-12-25T01:31:00.000+03:00

His mercy extends to those who fear him,
from generation to generation.
He has performed mighty deeds with his arm;
he has scattered those who are proud in their inmost thoughts.
He has brought down rulers from their thrones
but has lifted up the humble.
He has filled the hungry with good things
but has sent the rich away empty.

Luke 1: 50-53

For many people, Christmas like most other festivities is all about food, and in many ways it is. Most of our favourite Christmas memories revolve around the things we eat and drink in the company of people we love. It is these memories that stay with us for a long time, and provide a template for the way we choose our celebrations.

Every country and culture that celebrates Christmas has its own food tradition. Anywhere you go, there are bound to be sweets and savouries that define the season. For many people, a Christmas meal would be incomplete without a stuffed turkey or mommy's biryani. It is these little things that bring warmth to Christmas festivities, and bring with it all the cherished memories that bring a smile to our face.

While Christmas does revolve around food, we need to step back and look at another world that's out there. This world lurks quietly behind all the familiar landscapes that dot our cherished memories. It is necessary for us to remember that this world comprises the anonymous millions for whom Christmas Day will be another hungry day in the sun.

When I read these words of the Magnificat that Mary uttered, I couldn't help thinking that unlike some TV commentators who think of social concern as a great evil, the Bible on the other hand, disagrees with this viewpoint. In Mary's prophetic utterance, the plight of the hungry is not dismissed as inconsequential and equated with radical politics, but brings the assurance that 'they will be satisfied with good things' and - horror of horrors - the 'rich will be sent away empty.'

It's not that there is anything wrong with being rich, but apparently severe judgement is reserved for the self-centred, self-satisfying, arrogant and full of themselves 'rich'. Any justification for selfish behaviour will meet a sorry end since it will not meet with divine approval. The late Mother Theresa said it best when she described her work with the 'poorest of the poor' as something beautiful for God.

I felt it was necessary to look at some of the data collected from the United Nations World Food Programme. It gives us an overview of the current statistics on world hunger that we can use to understand the situation better. It provides a horrid picture of how miserable the things are at the moment.

925 million people do not have enough to eat - more than the populations of USA, Canada and the European Union;
(Source: FAO news release, 14 September 2010)

98 percent of the world's hungry live in developing countries;
(Source: FAO news release, 2010)

More than 70 percent of the world's 146 million underweight children under age five years live in just 10 countries, with more than 50 per cent located in South Asia alone;
(Source: Progress for Children: A Report Card on Nutrition, UNICEF, 2006)

10.9 million children under five die in developing countries each year. Malnutrition and hunger-related diseases cause 60 percent of the deaths;
(Source: The State of the World's Children, UNICEF, 2007)

The cost of undernutrition to national economic development is estimated at US$20-30 billion per annum;
(Source: Progress for Children: A Report Card on Nutrition, UNICEF, 2006)

t is estimated that 684,000 child deaths worldwide could be prevented by increasing access to vitamin A and zinc
(Source: WFP Annual Report 2007)

Undernutrition contributes to 53 percent of the 9.7 million deaths of children under five each year in developing countries.
(Source: Under five deaths by cause, UNICEF, 2006)

Christmas Countdown: 3 Days to Go

2010-12-24T19:03:00.000+03:00

But Mary treasured up all these things and pondered them in her heart.

Luke 2:19

Christmas is all about memories.

It's what gives the season its festive significance: the company of family and friends gathered over a traditional Christmas meal, the unwrapping of presents, the singing of carols on a winters night, the sharing of sweets and goodies, the joy and laughter that punctuates the air, and the love and warmth that one experiences throughout the month.

If we try hard enough, it's quite possible for us to recall in detail how we spent our Christmas-es through the past ten, twenty, whatever number of years. This is not only because Christmas Day occurs only once a year but more so because the celebrations are intrinsically linked to the memories we have of some of our deepest relationships.

For many people in the world today, however, these memories are not necessarily pleasant. It can be a cruel reminder of the days before the divorce, of days when one or both parents were together, of days when they had friends who loved and cared, of days when they had a job or a business or a sizeable income, of days when they were rarely alone.

For them, there's nothing merry or happy about Christmas but a sad reminder of how their life hasn't really matched their expectations. It's a depressing time since everywhere they go the festive decorations in shops, malls and restaurants are all about being together with loved ones. The very things they wish to avoid and want to forget.

Sometimes the kind of childhood we've had can have a huge bearing on our celebrations. If it was a happy childhood where we were the centre of our family's love and affection, then, we are most likely to want to replicate a little bit of that which we experienced a long time ago. It can also work the same way if our childhood memories are sad and bitter, making us want to make up for all that we feel we have lost.

However, Christmas is not only about the memories we've had, but it's also about the Christ Child who was born in a little town of Bethlehem a long time ago. He came to 'heal the broken hearted and bring freedom to the captives.' It is with these words that He began His work and preached His message of love. These words got the attention of people who were outside the religious establishment and gave them hope. It made them see their life a little bigger than what it was and made them dream big.

For Mary, the memories of that first Christmas remained etched forever in her mind, and it is said that she pondered them in her heart. As she stood at the cross watching Christ suffer, I wonder if she remembered all the events of that first christmas: the long trek to Bethlehem, the birth in a manger, the surprise visit by the shepherds and the wise men, and the words of the angel that she would be part of one of the biggest miracles.

Those memories must have given her hope that all was, probably, not lost when she saw Christ suffer on the cross. It's the memories that must have helped her and the memories that, perhaps, gave her strength.

Question is, what are our memories? And what are we doing them?

Christmas Countdown: 4 Days to Go

2010-12-24T15:27:00.000+03:00

Do unto others as you would have them do to you

Luke 6:31

We like to consider ourselves as a tolerant bunch of people.

It's something we believe in so strongly without even thinking that, perhaps, our actions may not exactly match the rhetoric. And yet, we persist in the assumption that tolerance is what guides our interactions with people outside our family, ethnic, social and cultural circles. We believe that by being tolerant the way we are, our actions are doing their bit to help civilisation be the force for good that it's supposed to be, that we are part of the solution and not the problem.

And yet, just a cursory glance over the last 20-30 years will reveal a completely different picture. We can't help but notice a remarkable increase in attitudes and viewpoints that are not just harshly intolerant of 'other' viewpoints or lifestyles, but have crossed the threshold of decent disagreement and turned violent.

This is odd because we are supposed to live in an enlightened age, that somehow we have reached intellectual superiority that differentiates us from other species, and that a combination of education, technology and culture has made us rise above and conquer our primal instincts. And yet, the beast within finds a way to assert itself and leave claw marks all over.

We find a way to make rash generalisations about people groups without even thinking that it is such an intellectually flimsy exercise. I don't wish to give any examples of these generalisations because it would be pointless doing so since every generation has come up with its own bogeymen. Besides, the point of this piece is not to provide a laundry list of generalisations or reiterate something that's common knowledge.

Hence, it makes one curious to see the feeble efforts that some people make in addressing the problems of intolerance. Political correctness is one of those actions being undertaken by those who believe centuries of misunderstandings can be resolved by using different words altogether. It's as if tolerance and open-mindedness is made possible by making a switch in one's vocabulary.

Now it's not as if I dislike political correctness because, in some ways, I do like what is being done in some areas. In some instances, it provides the simplest remedy to correct sexism and other assumptions based on gender. However, when the word Christmas is boycotted to avoid not hurting other minority groups, it is political correctness gone too far and gone absurd.

It is the mark of a civilised society that every people group and cultural entity must feel included in the community that they are part of. They must never feel excluded or threatened in any way because that would undermine the progressive nature of society that we all believe we live in.

But I'm not sure if removing Christ from Christmas and calling it Winterval or Happy Holidays or Festive Season will necessarily do the trick. Christmas is, after all, a celebration of Christ's birth in Bethlehem, and calling it something else would simply negate the 'reason for the season' as it were.

And being someone who lives in a Muslim country, I know for sure that not many people here are offended by "Christmas", and are in fact, amused by what the politically correct denizens are trying to do.

If the main issue is to allow minority groups to feel 'accepted' and develop a sense of belonging, then, one has to do lot more than just 'boycotting' the word Christmas. There has to be substantive work that involves communication, interaction, involvement and acceptance. It doesnt mean one has to sacrifice what one believes in or dump what one holds sacred just to be more accommodating, it just means allowing the other group the space to be what they are and to do what they must.

It also means making no racial assumptions and recognising other ethnic and cultural groups for what they are... as real people!

In the final analysis, being accommodative simply means giving space without losing one's convictions. And also involves doing something that Jesus recommended: Do unto others as you would have them do to you

Christmas Countdown: 5 Days to Go

2010-12-23T23:28:00.000+03:00

So they hurried off and found Mary and Joseph, and the baby, who was lying in the manger. When they had seen him, they spread the word concerning what had been told them about this child, and all who heard it were amazed at what the shepherds said to them.

Luke 2:16-18

We are living in an information hungry world.

There is no dearth of outlets for accessing all types of information - the type we must know, the type we have to know, the type we needn't know, the type we can do without, the type that's really unnecessary, and the type that no one really bother.

At the click of a mouse or the touch of a remote, we can be assured of immediate enlightenment, and can just get up and kiss ignorance goodbye. Or at least, that's the promise.

At a certain level, we can agree with the Chinese blessing that we are living in interesting times, and there's no denying that we are.

The ancient Egyptians had the library in Alexandria which was supposed to be the storehouse of all the accumulated knowledge of the time. Today, we don't have to travel too far to read about things we know nothing about or have to search through libraries to gain knowledge about a subject. All we need is a search button, key in our query and get to read all that there is to know whether it be in the form of a text, video or audio.

Wikileaks has shown that even the once inaccessible is no longer taboo and can be available whenever we want. Of course, whether or not this information is really necessary for our consumption is another matter altogether. But the fact of the matter is, the information is there.

Never in the history of civilisation was so much information so easily available for the entire human race. This alone places us in a very peculiar position because we can no longer blame some elitist group for monopolising all the information channels and conspiring to leave the masses ignorant. This argument no longer applies since even the mighty Massachusetts Institute of Technology has made its course syllabus available to everyone.

The trouble with the abundance of information is that looking for wisdom and knowledge in all of this is like searching for a needle in a haystack. The question is, what are we really doing with the information we receive? Are we doing our bit to transform that information into knowledge? Are we becoming any wiser or staying perpetually ignorant?

TS Eliot expressed these ideas quite eloquently in The Rock where he pointed out

The endless cycle of idea and action,
Endless invention, endless experiment,
Brings knowledge of motion, but not of stillness;
Knowledge of speech, but not of silence;
Knowledge of words, and ignorance of the Word.
All our knowledge brings us nearer to our ignorance,
All our ignorance brings us nearer to death,
But nearness to death no nearer to GOD.
Where is the Life we have lost in living?
Where is the wisdom we have lost in knowledge?
Where is the knowledge we have lost in information?

The shepherds received the news about the Christ Child's birth, and they went ahead to see for themselves what had taken place in a manger. They saw, they believed and told others about it. They didn't just use the information for their consumption but went ahead a step further by telling others about it.

They applied it to their lives, gained knowledge about the Messiah's birth, and became wiser as a result. They could have kept the news to themselves because, after all, they were mere shepherds and not expected to be conversant in such matters.

As I said before, we are living in an information rich world. We have available at our finger tips everything that we need to know about most things. What are we doing about it?

Are we using this information to strengthen our knowledge about people groups, diverse cultures and other countries/ nationalities? Or are we using information to perpetuate stereotypes, reinforce our prejudices, and solidify our biases?

If that be so, we run the risk of turning these interesting times into an absolute tragedy.

Christmas Countdown: 7 Days to Go

2010-12-23T19:03:00.000+03:00

The Spirit of the Sovereign LORD is on me,
because the LORD has anointed me
to preach good news to the poor.
He has sent me to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim freedom for the captives
and release from darkness for the prisoners

Isaiah 61: 1

Loneliness appears to be a peculiarly modern phenomenon. In many ways, the very word seems to capture the spirit of the age we are in: inspiring songs, providing material for books and movies, and acting as a muse to countless artists.

It's not as if people never felt lonely in previous centuries, but it's just that the theme never really dominated the cultural landscape as much as it does today. Although one must admit that it was Shelley who said it better when he wrote, 'our sweetest songs are those that speak of our saddest thoughts.'

However, the nineteenth century when Shelley wrote those words was a different era altogether when the private and the personal were not placed under the microscope with the same unequivocal passion with which it's done today. Sadness and sad thoughts were meant for either quiet contemplation, and shared only with near and dear ones. Most importantly, the community (in all its various forms) acted as a great cushion against the pressures individuals may have faced through isolation.

Of course, there have been people who complained about the excesses of the community, of having to live under its dictates and suffering its consequences, expressed frustration of having to lose one's individuality under the strong identity that the community gave. And there are many such stories of the individual struggle against the community whether it was the nation state, organised religion, the head of the family, gender stereotypes and what have you.

However, it was only after the mid-twentieth century that we began to see a gradual but steady dismantling of the community's hold over people's lives. The cultural, political and economic forces that were unleashed around this time further strengthened this drift towards autonomy and independence.

Now this particular drift towards autonomy and independence has been a good thing especially in the political sphere, and more so, in allowing people to be less tethered to restrictive social norms and conventions. It has enabled people to be themselves, to be free to act on what they believe, and make decisions based on their convictions. At least, that's the broad idea but the reality is a different matter and can be taken up for another discussion.

But then, again, taken at its extreme, this drift has also given rise to a 'me-first' mentality that values the individual above everything else. As long as my needs, my desires, my feelings, my this, my that is taken care of, then that's all that matters. Me first, others later, much, much later.

Technology has further helped in speeding up this development, and the 'i' in the iPod, for instance, clearly shows who takes pride of place in this universe.

Now if we multiply this mentality many times over, then, we get an idea of the kind of mindset that defines the popular mood. It's the kind of mood that believes in the primacy of one's own need above all. It has also driven consumerism to be the powerful force that it is, and fueled the economic crisis into the devastating tragedy that it became for many people. Satisfaction of one's need NOW even if it means living on borrowed money and even if it involves inability to pay for it.

In such an environment, the individual remains adrift in the social sphere and John Donne's 'no man is an island' remains nothing more than an idea than a fact. Set adrift like a plank of wood on an ocean, individuals begin looking for connections that can bind them and lead them to the mainland. And if 'me-first' is a priority for the majority, then the search for the mainland remains an eternal quest.

It is basically a return to the primal need for community, to belong to a group, to be part of something that's larger than themselves. Urbanisation fueled large scale migration from the country side into cities where being a stranger and living anonymous lives became a norm and not an exception. Technology made physical contact with other individuals almost redundant and unnecessary.

As a result, loneliness became a natural outcome of this process, and began defining the mental and cultural landscape of the contemporary world in which we exist. The only way this trend can be reversed is when we put an end to putting ourselves first, and start looking at others for a change.

It is possible and may require a nudge or two, but the question is, will we do it? Or are we going to spoil it by asking, what's in it for me?

Christmas Countdown: 8 Days to Go

2010-12-22T05:40:00.000+03:00

"... the shepherds said to one another, “Let’s go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened, which the Lord has told us about.”

Luke 2:15

The search for authenticity is a quest that will never really go out of fashion. There’s something magical about it. Bringing together the drama and excitement one associates with pirates out on a treasure hunt or knights on some mystical expedition, this pursuit becomes – for many – an adventure that takes them into their very soul.

Or at least that's what it's supposed to do.

We like the authentic for what it represents. We like the way it remind us of how things ought to be, and in the way it gently nudges us away from scrambling after things that are fake. What the authentic essentially does is to demonstrate the futility of the counterfeit, the lie that masquerades as truth, and the falsehood that acts as the pretender to the throne.

It is, perhaps, indicative of the times that we live in that the real has in many ways become a novelty. There are so many substitutes that seem so much like the real thing but is not. And yet, we get fascinated by the fake not only because its affordable but because it is available.

Its amazing how for many people the pursuit for the authentic becomes something less of a serious effort because there is no need for it. If the substitutes can do it, why go for the original? Or for that matter, if it's inconvenient to get hold of the real experience, why bother?

Hence, we have fake products that are sold for a lot less than what we would pay for the original. We use artificial ingredients to give the flavour of the original without having to taste the real thing. We go for the virtual tour and the virtual anything because it spares us the trouble of getting up from our feet.

However, all these things can be justified in some way or the other because health reasons and financial situations may sometimes force such adjustments in our life. The biggest danger lies when the fake becomes part of our identity, starts defining our existence, and makes it hard for us to recognise who or what we really are.

I've often wondered what the shepherds were thinking when they went to the manger in Bethlehem. They were told by choirs of angels that the promised Messiah was born that night and they went ahead to check for themselves. What were they thinking? Was this really the promised Messiah that they saw wrapped in swaddling cloth? Was this the real deal? Was this frail infant that they saw going to be the most authentic experience of the divine they would ever get to see on the dusty plains of Palestine?

And yet, despite the many questions that they may have had... they went ahead to find out for themselves if this message was truly authentic or another wild goose chase. The scriptures record they were pleased with what they saw and spread the news all around.

However, the great thing about the shepherds was that they took the time to explore and make the discovery for themselves. Question is, how many of us take the trouble to find out things for ourselves instead of being spoon-fed? How many of us take that first step and resist holding back? How many of us side step the authentic and remain satisfied with the fake?

Christmas Countdown: 9 Days to Go

2010-12-19T23:15:00.000+03:00

At that time the Roman emperor, Augustus, decreed that a census should be taken throughout the Roman Empire. (This was the first census taken when Quirinius was governor of Syria.) All returned to their own ancestral towns to register for this census. And because Joseph was a descendant of King David, he had to go to Bethlehem in Judea, David’s ancient home. He traveled there from the village of Nazareth in Galilee. He took with him Mary, his fiancée, who was now obviously pregnant.

Luke 2: 1-5

It looks like I've already missed a day, and now I got some serious catching up to do. Oh well, c'est le vie!!!

In any case, I wish I'd written this post yesterday because of the fact that the United Nations have declared December 18 as the International Migrants Day. It would have been so apt considering the day and also on how relevant it would have been with the chosen topic.

It was in 1990 that the UN General Assembly officially adopted the international convention on the protection of the rights of migrant workers and members of their families. It is a day that provides intergovernmental and non-governmental organisations to rally together to disseminate information on human rights and fundamental freedom of migrants, share experiences, and undertake action to ensure the protection of migrants.

The day is also seen as an opportunity to recognise the contributions made by migrants to both their host countries as well as to their home countries.

In many ways this is widely seen as a contemporary problem even though history is full of stories of migrations of all kinds. It's just that in recent years, the issue has become an urgent matter because of large scale human rights violations, stories of abuse and exploitation, and perhaps, a greater awareness of the problem as it exists and the need to limit it.

It's not as if migrants weren't treated unfairly in earlier centuries because that would be an unfair assumption. We are, perhaps, living in one of history's most 'well informed era', and that alone, perhaps, accounts for a greater awareness of the situation. And perhaps, much more than that, the need to address it in ways that would protect the rights of the vulnerable.

Migrants are viewed differently by various sections of both their host and home countries. Some view them as parasites that come in hordes to take away jobs and livelihood of the 'sons of the soil' while others view them as exploitation material since they are most likely to do any job that's available. There are few who view them in a positive light by recognising the potential to contribute positively to the good of the community.

If in earlier centuries, migration was an option that only the adventurous and the desperate would pursue, it is not so today. Globalisation has broadened employment opportunities, and extended the marketplace beyond the limits of one's geographical territory. There is a greater interaction between people of all nationalities and cultures, and has necessitated a greater mingling for work, residence and recreation.

And on top of that, we also have economic, political and ideological migrants who choose to leave (or flee, in some cases) to other countries because what they believe or stand for places them at a greater risk. Leaving the comfort of their home, hence, becomes a necessity.

Joseph and Mary were migrants of a different sort. They had to go to Bethlehem for the census and it appears that they had to stay there for a lot longer duration. And then, when they had to flee to Egypt because of the threat to the baby Jesus' life, their stay in Egypt placed them under the same category as countless refugees who do the very same thing in equally horrid situations.

Now the Christmas story is also about another migration, and that of Christ's decision to come and live on earth as a man. In both cases, it was a journey that had to be undertaken even though there was considerable inconvenience on the way.

It is easy to categorise the Christmas story as another example of migration, and as discussed above, it certainly is. I remember John Hubers, the pastor of my church in Bahrain once preached on Christ as the ultimate expatriate, and the message certainly shed light on the 'otherness' that He may have experienced on earth.

However, any discussion on migrants and comparisons to the Christmas story would be meaningless unless it teaches us to be more sensitive to the 'others' who come to work and live in our communities. Xenophobia is not the exclusive privilege of only a few ethnic communities but - if news reports are to be believed - affects almost all people groups around the world.

There are always 'reasons' given to complain about people coming in, turning respectable streets into slums, transforming entire neighbourhoods into a dump. It is easy to complain but the challenge lies in showing empathy, being understanding, and doing work that would help and not hinder integration.

It would, perhaps, be one of the best Christmas gifts we can give to the community, and one that can actually bring about a positive transformation. But for that to happen, we need to get out of the shackles of 'what's in it for me' and experience the freedom of 'what's in it for everyone.'

Christmas Countdown: 10 Days to Go

2010-12-19T11:27:00.000+03:00

"He was in the world, and though the world was made through him, the world did not recognise him. He came to that which was his own, but his own did not receive him...."

John 1: 10, 11

Alienation is an uncomfortable experience.

Its impact cannot be easily measured and neither can one quantify the depth of pain one can go through upon feeling alienated. It affects people at the most fundamental level, and that is, make them feel less belonged, unwanted and invisible.

Gregarious beings that we are, alienation becomes a denial of what characterises us as individuals and as a species. Sociologists have long described us as social animals, and it is this very essence of being social animals that gets tarnished as a result of being alienated from others.

In other words, it disproves what John Donne said in his poem that 'no man is an island' because through alienation we become nothing more than archipelagoes floating in a friendless ocean.

Maybe that's a bit too harsh but when one looks at alienation as a wider phenomenon, one can understand why it is also one of the most defining features of contemporary life.

Today there is a greater technological convergence that has made long distance communication easier, cultural interaction made more feasible, and great distances bridged through faster airline connections. However, despite such progress, loneliness, isolation and alienation haven't disappeared altogether but have increased considerably.

Intolerance of the 'other' (whoever or whatever that may be) has pushed people to seek and embrace homogenity. The worldwide web and satellite tv haven't exactly made people learn more about other cultures despite all the information easily available. It has, instead, made people tune in to information and entertainment channels that they are in agreement with. While easier airline connections may have increased the tourism industry, one look at some of the travel brochures will indicate that the itineraries are planned to ensure that the tourists enjoy the 'familiar' in the 'food and accommodation' arrangements.

This is just one aspect of the issue that I'm talking about, and perhaps, one that has given a rational twist or even justification to the existence of archipelagoes. After all, people are more comfortable in the company of individuals with whom they share some sort of cultural and intellectual affinity. Hence, they should never be faulted if they choose to isolate those who are different because they'll have nothing to talk about, nothing to contribute, nothing to strengthen relationships.

Hence, the alienation that they go through should be accepted not only as 'normal' but as something that's good for them. Or so the reasoning goes while insisting that it's nothing personal. It's natural, we're told, and asked to accept the conditions as they are.

When one looks at the Christmas story in this context, one gets a better understanding of why Christ was ultimately 'despised and rejected' by people He called His own. God in flesh was alienated by people He created and made to suffer the agony of the cross. And in that singular moment, He was able to identify with millions of people who are alienated by others on account of factors they have no control over.

The Christmas story is essentially that of reconciliation between God and humanity, the perfect making a connection with the imperfect, the righteous with the unrighteous.

The question is, what does this teach us about our responsibilities? What should our response be to the 'others' in our midst? Will we choose to continue alienating 'others' who are different? Or will we forget about our 'selves' for a moment and actively reach out to those who have been made to feel isolated and lonely in the world we live in?

Our response and our action will determine whether or not it will be a merry christmas for them or just another lonely day in December.

Christmas Countdown: 11 Days to Go

2010-12-16T11:23:00.000+03:00

For to us a child is born, to us a son is given, and the government will be on his shoulders. And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

Isaiah 9:6

You can't go wrong with a peace pledge. It's everyone's favourite cause even though the exact specifics of what that peace involves is often not made very clear. Inter-governmental bodies, however, are quite sure that - at the very least - it must involve cessation of armed hostilities. And one must agree that it's a reasonable enough condition for peace, and one that fully and rightly deserves the attention of all the diplomatic corps put together.

And then, there are those for whom peace is not only a song and a poetry but it is their muse -- inspiring, challenging, nudging them. It does have a nice ring to it. 'Give peace a chance' does make sense whichever way you look at it, and for protesters with flowers in their head it can be - and very often is -- their calling.

However, having a desire is one thing and seeing concrete results is another beast altogether. Humanity as a race or a species (whichever way you may want to see it) hasn't had much of a success in achieving peace. It has remained an elusive dream almost like a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. Countless committees have been formed, myriad summit meetings have been held, thousands of emergency sessions have been organised but nothing of substance has been achieved.

The 'war to end all wars' (1914 - 1918)that took place nearly a hundred years ago provoked governments to action and tentative steps were taken to put humanity's bloody past behind once and for all. Casualties in the range of 15,000,000 and some say the loss of an entire generation in western Europe became reason enough to want to do something.

However, the League of Nations became a toothless tiger and whatever efforts were made were not sincere enough and soon in a matter of two decades, the Second World War with its 63,000,000 deaths became another reminder of how incorrigible we as humans really were.

Further statistics on this page provides additional body count of deaths through wars in the post-war era. Fact of the matter is, the numbers do speak a different story than what the chants for peace would like to hear.

While there has been tremendous progress in the post-war era to look at conflict resolution in creative and non-violent ways but the real battlefield -- the heart -- hasn't been sufficiently addressed. This is because peace is as much of a moral and spiritual issue as much as it is a matter for governments to be concerned about. And for most parts, these issues cannot be tackled merely by signatures on a document or a rubber-stamp on a declaration.

What needs to be done is to rise above the shackles of self interest and desire for self gratification, and move into determined paths to calm the raging storm within. As much as we like to do so, the hurdle, most often, is what this journey will ultimately unravel. Self discoveries have a way of doing that because mirrors, for most part, provide a stark reflection of what we really are than we want to be.

St. Paul talked about hamartia being one of the primary obstacles in our quest to achieve the fullness of life that we were created to enjoy as well as to experience lasting inner peace. Hamartia is a Greek word that can be understood on two levels. One, that deals with the tragic flaw in a heroic character that ultimately leads to his/her downfall, and two, that of an archer missing the mark and losing the laurels as a result.

It would be no exaggeration to say that we were created for great things, that we as a species were bestowed with intellectual greatness that brings with it tremendous responsibilities. What we have done - as history would attest - is squander it all away and scarred the world we are living in. Hamartia has taken over and messed up our ability to achieve that fullness we desire and bring that peace we seek.

In this tumultuous world, the birth of the Prince of Peace in an obscure little town of Bethlehem, and His words of love shine like a flickering candle in a raging tempest. However, His command to deny ourselves and take up our crosses each day to become the vessels of love and righteousness can be a bit inconvenient for most of us.

We like our transformations to be painless, scar free and without any setbacks to our comfort zone. But peace comes with our price, and like all noble things worth fighting for, it demands 'our life and our all'.

Question is, do we think it's worth it?

Christmas Countdown: 12 Days to Go.

2010-12-15T13:46:00.000+03:00

I don't know if I'll succeed this year but I'm going to try anyway.

Last year, and I think, even the year before, I started this "christmas countdown' series that was loosely inspired by that silly Christmas song: the twelve days of Christmas. I felt the urge to highlight contemporary issues that are somehow related to the Christmas story, and what better way than to tie it all in a countdown, of sorts.

I was reviewing the series I wrote last year, and realised that I was late by a day in starting the series last year. Looks like I'm doing the same again this year. Some things really don't change, do they? Anyway, better late than never at all as the wise men would say.

Christmas is really a strange combination of events. On the one hand there is the spiritual dimension that is celebrated across churches all around the world - that of God becoming flesh and coming to earth as a baby, but there is also the commercial and economic dimension one cannot ignore. This is the season that retailers, mall owners, restaurants, tv networks, entertainment gurus are all waiting for.

'tis the season of giving, we are told, and retailers are only too glad to assist us in the giving provided our our purchasing power and credit card limits match our generosity. And if there are any limits, then, businesses are only too glad and ready to provide solutions in the form of easy installments.

Most Christians that I know are uncomfortable with this excessive commercialisation of this sacred event. If you've read my blog last year and the year before, you would have noticed that I myself wasn't too enthusiastic about it either. Now it's not that I've had a change of heart since then, but I wonder if there is possibly a common ground somewhere even though God and mammon are polar opposites.

It would be a stretch, I know, to bring together the extremes of consumerism (that finds its peak during this season) with the piety and solemnity one associates with the birth of the Christ Child in a lowly manger in an obscure little town of Bethlehem.

The original Christmas story is the exact antithesis of everything that's being done in the name of Christmas in recent years. Poverty, depravity, abandonment, homelessness, rejection, oppression as well as celebration of meekness have been an intrinsic part of the gospel narrative. One simply can't get away from this aspect of the Christmas story because it not only gives us a better understanding of Christ's work on earth but helps us understand the meaning of His sacrifice.

Now words like sacrifice are not the first thing that come to our mind this season. This is the time we like to indulge in the best of food, the best of 'drinks', the best in fashion, the best in entertainment... it's a time to satisfy our desires with the best that the world has to offer, and create memories of the good times that will, hopefully, last forever.

However, the cross and the sufferings at Calvary cannot be wished away no matter how hard we try. Christ's journey on earth may have begun in Bethlehem but it's purpose was death on the cross and the eventual resurrection. So there was a bit of a tragic element even though the 'meek and mild' Christ Child was to rise again from the dead.

Now the question is, how can these spiritual elements find their common ground in what has essentially become a hedonistic fiesta?

I may not have all the right answers that could satisfy everyone because it will really be difficult and some would say, quite unnecessary. The twain can rarely meet because the focus behind both are different.

'Tis the season of giving, after all. And I think, perhaps, one way to honour Christ would be to emulate the way He gave of himself, and to be more 'giving' even during our moments of indulgence. Instead of turning this into a 'me and mine' feast, we could perhaps look beyond our limited circle and consider for a moment those groups that are lacking in the things we take for granted.

We could, of course, make the retailers happy as well by making purchases that could be turned into investments in other people's lives and in making them happy.

In other words, we can use this time to look for needs that we can meet, happiness that we can bring, joy that we can share, love that we can spread to all those around.

In doing this, we might just bridge the two Christmas-es together, and perhaps, make a small difference in the lives of people who might be waiting for a miracle.

Little baby doll

2010-12-14T15:37:00.001+03:00

There was something really dry about her. The wavy strands of her uncombed hair tucked carelessly in her scarf looked like dry twigs reaching hungrily for the sky. Her face like a parched mud wall looked somewhat forlorn as her eyes began to scan the floor of the massive food court where she sat all by herself like a forsaken island.

It wasn’t as if she was alone. She definitely had company or so it would seem to anyone casting a curious glance towards her. She was certainly surrounded by people all around her. There was laughter, there was cheering, there was movement of hands waving, and also, the delightful sight of children boisterously running around in between tables and chairs.

She watched all this activity with the indifference of one merely tolerated. She sat aloof from the rest of the group not because she wanted to but because she felt it was the right thing to do. Sometimes it’s best not to impose oneself, she thought to herself, even though words people use may give the impression that one is longed for and wanted every moment of the day.

She had learned long ago not to get fooled by impressions. People may joke with you and laugh with you or even hug and kiss you but that does not necessarily imply intimacy of any kind. It could just be a formality to mask the inability to say anything substantial or to hide that sense of not wanting to get too close and simply satisfying oneself with mere appearances.

She wished she had known all this when she had first come to the house to live and work nearly two or three years ago. It would have certainly saved her from many disappointments in those first few months. She smiled at the memory of those days when she was so naive that she would believe anything anyone would say. And they did. It was like a joke for everyone but she learned her lesson well and soon withdrew into herself. It wasn’t as if the teasing stopped but only that she became harder within and stopped caring what people said.

Her mistress got up and gave her a packet of French fries because – as she told everyone at the table – the fries were way too fattening and she didn’t want to run the risk of losing her figure. After all, some sacrifices had to be made to keep husband dear on the leash. All the women at the table laughed wholeheartedly at this joke while the men simply sniggered and tried to change the subject.

She took the packet and thanked her mistress as she always did and was expected to do. She took a small bite and couldn’t help wondering why something fattening was bad for her mistress but was supposed to be OK for her. Whoever gave them this ridiculous idea that girls in her position were not keen on looking good and had serious reservations about eating anything available?

It was not just politeness and fear of losing her job that made her not refuse the fries but it was hunger. She was watching them eat all sorts of delicious food and it was making her hungry. Everyone seemed so absorbed in their conversations and enjoying each others company that it didn't seem to matter to them that, perhaps, here was someone sitting in a corner who might actually appreciate good food.

But then, again, it would be hard to blame them since her presence there was merely accidental. Her job was to keep the children in check and ensure that the baby in the pram didn't cry. The children were somewhat out of control since they were in the mall but the baby was her primary responsibility. And these days, the baby was so unpredictable and would wake up and cry at anytime. This was one of the reasons why her mistress wanted her to come along since it would enable her to give attention to her friends and not get distracted by the baby.

It wasn't as if she didn't like her job. She was always fond of babies and little children ever since she was young. Being the oldest sister of three mischievious brothers gave her considerable head start. She smiled when she remembered the old days: getting hugs and kisses from her dad and uncle, the surprise sweets from her aunts, the bike rides with her older cousins, and the great difficulty with which they taught her how to ride a bike reminded her of a time when she was treated like a youngster that she always was.

"No matter what happens and no matter how big you become in life," her oldest cousin once told her during a family gathering, "you will always be our little baby doll."

A single tear drop fell on a single potato stick and she hurriedly wiped her eyes with her arms. She was glad no one noticed but even if anyone did she was sure no one would have bothered. She was just a hired helper and not someone special that her family was absolutely sure she was.

Her mistress' husband once told her that she was special and it made her smile. He told her that it made her look good and for a moment she felt a sense of belonging to this new household. She thanked him as clumsily as she could and hoped he would notice how grateful she was for this compliment.

But then he touched her in a way only a man should but mustn't. He had crept in her room late at night and said he wanted to see her smile. She knew something was wrong and it wasn't just because of the strong smell but in the way he looked at her. She tried to smile but couldn't and began to cry. He pushed her against the wall and forced himself on her while his hands grabbed every piece of her flesh. She wanted to scream but no voice came out of her mouth just silent gasps while her body shivered with fright.

After he had finished, he warned her not to tell anyone about this and that if she ever opened her mouth he would kill her. She believed him. She felt helpless and unclean, and wondered if somehow she was responsible for making him do this with her. It had to be me and no one else, she thought to herself, after all, why would a man like him want to touch someone like her?

Tears began to flow from her eyes again as she looked at everyone else in the table enjoying themselves. She took another bite of her french fries and thought of her family far away. She knew what they'd be doing that evening and it made her want to cry even more. They would be celebrating her 15th birthday and wishing she was there with them.

The baby in the pram made some noise and when she turned to look, the baby began to giggle excitedly upon seeing her face. It made her smile and she wanted to give the baby a big kiss. However, just as she tried to pick the baby up she felt a strong urge to throw up and wanted to run to the nearest restroom.

She turned her face away but it was too late.

The floor was a mess and as she looked around and saw what she did, she lost all her balance, collapsed to the ground, and began to sob uncontrollably.

Fact Bahrain

2010-08-28T18:38:00.002+03:00

Talk about surprises. And pleasant ones at that.

I picked up the August issue of Fact Bahrain, a local magazine that focuses on fashion, art, culture and technology, and while leafing through the pages I saw something strangely familiar in the technology section.

"Bahrain's Top Bloggers" provided a list of eight bloggers from Bahrain who, according to the editors, 'are an outspoken bunch, voicing their opinions on anything from politics to music.' It was indeed quite encouraging to notice that this blog was included in that list, and quite humbling to see it included amongst the other stalwarts in Bahrain's blogging community. Thank you very much for the honour.

One thing for sure, it means that I have to be far more regular with my updates, and keep this space alive and kicking.

Anyway, here are the other blogs that are in the Fact list. I would encourage you to visit these sites, and leave behind your comments. Us bloggers do love that a lot : )

Mahmood's Den

Cool Red's Rant

Ohh! Crapp

Hasan Hujairi

White Girl... Arab world

Ammaro.com

Quiet Reflections & Deafening Observations

A Matter of Perspective

2010-08-28T13:52:00.002+03:00

Perspectives are supposed to make sense.

They add nuance to every argument, offer another dimension to a discussion, and present a level of diversity that enable one to arrive at an opinion that's more broad based and comprehensive. One can’t really dispute with the merits of this statement because, after all, who can argue against it? Common sense suggests it to be true, and experience tells us that it’s quite possibly the most rational approach one can ever take.

Having said all this, sometimes I wonder if we are giving it too much importance than is really necessary.

While on the one hand, it's great to bring in some perspective whenever opinions are being shared, discussed and debated because it can prevent obstinate loud mouths from monopolising any discussion. However, the more I think about it, the more I feel that this emperor may not have any clothes at all. Sometimes it may just happen that the need to hold a perspective might actually camouflage an inability to either take a stand or might just suggest lack of passion or conviction in a viewpoint.

Maybe I'm being too harsh here, and maybe a bit irrational in arguing against what is essentially the most sensible thing to do. I don't mind conceding that perhaps I may have got it wrong, and managed to miss the possibility of a sensible point somewhere. However, I have to confess that no matter how hard I try and no matter how logical it may all seem I just can't help being tad sceptical about the whole thing.

Having a perspective sounds like a fine idea, but frankly, what's the use of bringing in a perspective when one is confronted with some uncomfortable facts that demand a response? Why do we think that it’s absolutely necessary not to be or even appear to be judgemental just because it might make us appear intolerant? What’s the big deal behind the need to appear balanced when taking a side is equivalent to making a moral choice?

I know it's a tricky terrain one has to navigate in, and it gets even more complicated because the answers don't come in formulas or in easily digestible sound bites. We discover that a well thought out response to the above queries is possible only if we bring in a variety of perspectives. And in a sense, we go back to square one. If perspectives aren't supposed to make sense, then, why on earth do we need them to make a point? It invalidates the entire argument so to speak.

The real issue, if you ask me, is the notion that we need to be moderate at all times if we want to preserve some sort of sanity and equilibrium. There is this assumption that we must look at life in a more balanced perspective, that we need to avoid being rigid about anything, that somehow this approach will lead to a more convivial atmosphere. And this is the problem: not the convivial atmosphere bit but the assumption that it is possible only through being moderate.

Now I don't want to dump the baby with the bath water, and junk the need for perspectives or moderation (for that matter) altogether. It's just that - of late - I'm beginning to get a bit wary about the whole thing, and can't seem to agree that holding a variety of perspectives is the way to go. It might work in certain circumstances such as, when one is processing an idea, arriving at some conclusion or finalising an opinion.

But to regard 'being moderate' as wise or having variety of perspectives as sensible does not sit well with me. At least, not any longer with the same fervour it once gripped me.

Actually, it's a bit odd that I would say all this because there was a time when I was an unabashed moderate and proud centrist in my political and economic views. It just seemed to be the normal thing to do especially when confronted with the orthodoxy of right or left extremism. There were advantages in taking a more balanced approach because of the more obvious reasons like being able to see the other point of view, to understand where the other side is coming from, and to negotiate a common ground for reaching an agreement.

The trouble with the business of negotiating a common ground is that one should first and foremost accept the reality of the grounds that need to be negotiated. If one is unable to do so, then, it might seem like an endless exercise that will lead to absolutely nowhere.

In an ideal world this approach works just fine. In an ideal world, intelligent discourse is appreciated for what it is: the ability to rationally and objectively examine opposing viewpoints, respect the right of individuals to hold opinions contrary to ours, and allow the freedom of free and unfettered exchange of ideas.

However, we aren't living in some idyllic paradise, but in a world whose contours are marred by some pretty ugly realities: exploitation of the weak and vulnerable, social and economic injustice, senseless deprivation of the essentials, conflicts for power and domination, rape, mutilation, murder, poverty and a litany of other gruesome facts that make singing 'what a wonderful world' a bit strange.

I know I'm dangerously close to sounding tad pessimistic but let me assure you - despite what I've written above - I'm not.

My contention is that we can't remain neutral when faced with these ugly realities of life. We need to have the courage and conviction to call a spade a spade and not get wishy washy about it. Sitting on a fence involves not taking a side, and sometimes the side we choose determines where we stand morally and spiritually. In such cases, having a perspective doesn't help because in many cases it is far too late to do so. Let me give you some examples to explain what I mean:

More than 700,000 to 4 million women and children are trafficked around the world for pruposes of forced prostitution , labour and other forms of exploitation every year. Trafficking is estimated to be a $7 billion annual business.

A young girl’s nose is slashed by the Taliban because she doesn’t subscribe to their idea of a morally upright individual. And in another instance, a seven year old boy is hanged by the same Taliban group for being a spy.

There are roughly more than 1.02 billion hungry people in the world today. Majority of them are in Asia and Pacific (642 million) and sub-Saharan African (265 million) countries but the so-called developed countries are not immune to this scourge and has an estimated 15 million hungry people.

According to the most recent Unesco Institute for Statistics data, there are an estimated 774 million illiterate adults in the world, about 64% of whom are women.

I could continue with more statistics but that's not the point here. The singing of statistics can go on endlessly and we'll still have more songs to sing. The thing is, what is our response when we come across these numbers, read these stories, get to grip with the facts? Do we applaud when we hear stories like these where the poor aren't given a lifeline even when commanded to do so?

In cases like these, having a perspective doesn't help but a conviction is necessary: do we accept a miserable situation to linger because it exists? Or do we have the guts to declare something is evil and speak out against it? The choice is ours to make.

What have you chosen?

A little after three in the afternoon

2010-07-03T16:37:00.001+03:00

He crossed the road at the traffic light slowly and cautiously till he stopped at the divider and caught his breath. It was uncomfortably hot as afternoons in July usually are, and the metallic rod that held the traffic lights was hot and proved too painful for his palms to hold for support for too long. He removed his hands very quickly and began rubbing his palms on the tip of his calf as if doing so might soothe him. It did but only for a short while and he took out a soiled handkerchief from his pocket to wipe the sweat from the back of his neck and his face.

The traffic on the other lane wasn't moving and so he decided to take his chance to dash across quickly to the other side. However, the moment he took a few steps, the light turned green and the cars began to move. He turned back quickly and almost stumbled before getting back again and returning to the divider. Some of the cars honked at him angrily, and one or two drivers even rolled down their windows to hurl abuse at him. One even showed him the finger and threatened to get him arrested or worse.

He didn't seem to have the time to care what they were saying. He just seemed relieved that he was able to reach safely to the divider without getting hit by any of the cars. He was so used to getting slighted that he couldn't even remember when was the last time he was genuinely offended by someone's obnoxious behaviour. It was a luxury he couldn't afford since all that mattered to him was to save his skin and not his pride.

He grinned at the thought of pride, and wondered if he ever had the time or the inclination to ever develop a sense of pride in the things he did and the person he was. The acidity began to bother him and he spat on the divider's concrete slab leaving a yellowish translucent saliva stain that bothered one of the drivers who didn't like the sight of a man spitting. The driver honked and he flashed another embarrassed smile as thoughts of pride disappeared once again.

The traffic didn't seem to stop and he could see the drivers on the other side were getting increasingly impatient. Unlike the drivers, he didn't seem to mind this delay at all. The longer he stood at the divider, the longer he would get to enjoy standing out in the open and not having anyone else invade his space. He hated crowds and hated being in crowded places and that's why he chose to walk to his labour accommodation instead of taking the company transport.

It took him almost forty-five minutes to reach the cramped quarters where he and 200 other workers stayed. The company transport would take him just fifteen minutes but there was always the inconvenience of being shoved in an open pick-up or packed in a van with forty or fifty that could be squeezed into the vehicle. The management reasoned that it was more cost-effective to pack the workers in a vehicle instead of making multiple trips just because some of the workers thought it was uncomfortable and unsafe.

He didn't want to argue with his managers or get into a long discussion on how this was against government rules because at the end of the day he didn't want to lose his job. He wanted to save as much money as possible, return home to his family and to the farm that he lost and now wanted to recover with his meagre savings.

There was also this delicate matter of his daughter's wedding, which was likely to drain some more of his savings since the boy's family insisted on a dowry and it was a matter of honour that he gave more than what they asked. And he wanted his son to study, be an engineer like one of his managers, and make enough money so he won't have to struggle in a foreign country to make ends meet. But recently he had learnt that his son was spending more time with his friends than with his books and was concerned about the consequences.

The walk helped him to clear his thoughts and also reminisce about the days when he had the farm and the family. There was something about wide open spaces that brought back memories he didn't want to let go or even forget even though at times it seemed totally futile. The walk did tend to get tiring and exhausting especially during the summer months but he didn't seem to mind. He enjoyed looking at the cars and the people inside with their happy and prosperous lives: all of them seemed so involved in what they were doing, so focused about where they wanted to go, and so fulfilled in their lives.

He imagined that even the people in the cars might have regrets of their own and wondered if he would ever get the chance to learn what those regrets were. Will they want to talk with him? Or would they find him repulsive because he didn't dress or smell like them?

The light turned amber as the few cars that were there began to slow and stopped when it turned red. He took small steps to cross to the other side and this time he wanted to make absolutely sure that he didn't stumble. It was a matter of a few yards and a quick dash and he would be safe on the other side.

He heard a faint sound that grew louder and louder, and at the very moment he turned he saw the sportscar was getting closer and not willing to stop. He knew the car had to stop because of the signal but the driver was waving at him to move aside. He just stood there in a state of panic before the car hit him, stopped and seeing what had happened drove away as fast as it could.

The next day, the newspapers said it was a 'hit-and-run' accident, and his managers told the police that he repeatedly ignored their advice to take company transport and so they were not to be blamed for the accident. The police later found out that he was not on the company's visa and so their lawyers found a way to avoid the company having to pay any compensation.

When his body reached his village, it came with few of his meagre belongings that his room-mates managed to pack and some money that they and some charitable organisation managed to collect and send along with the coffin. The total amount wasn't enough to recover the farm nor help in meeting the expenses for his daughter's wedding.

His wife stared into vacant space unsure about the future as she looked at her son and wondered if he would do what he must or choose to wander aimlessly as he had begun doing.

What's In Your Backpack?

2010-04-06T17:27:00.006+03:00

The launch of the iPad reminded me of something a friend commented over lunch a week or so ago. We had gone in a large group to the food court in the massive Bahrain City Centre, and she remembered a line from the George Clooney movie “Up in the Air” that ‘spoke’ to her – “what’s in your backpack?”

It basically led to an interesting discussion on all that we pack into our lives, the things that consume and weigh us down, and also what actually populates that huge backpack we like to label: ‘our personal and professional life’.

I made a rather flippant remark on the need to, perhaps, increase the size of our backpack, and soon realised this flippancy itself has its roots in most modern discourse on adjusting to life in the fast lane. Sometimes it is felt that the best way to deal with some of the core issues that one can’t handle is to change the packaging, give a new label to the problem or get technology to increase legroom.

In other words, to cite an example, it would be rare to find anyone question the rationale behind the really fast lifestyle that we all lead but you’ll find numerous technological and other solutions to optimise that very same lifestyle, make it productive, and squeeze the profit quotient into every micro-millisecond of that hurried lifestyle. The core issue, as always, is conveniently brushed under the carpet and only the externals are adjusted on the assumption that those are the only things that matter.

Exactly like what the iPad does: makes information consumption an enjoyable experience but does not check whether all that information has resulted in knowledge acquisition or simply fallen by the wayside. Of course, that is not the purpose of the iPad or other technologies we use and it would be pointless to expect that.

However, the core issue remains unchanged. The race to find meaning and significance in every activity that we pursue becomes, as a result, a mad rush for something truly profound – a need to determine that our life is not really a waste of time but that there’s a greater purpose in what we do.

However, as we try to explore this thought further, we find out that it’s not as easy as one would imagine it to be because doing so requires questioning the very things we do. Taken to its logical conclusion, this thought process can even alter our perceptions, force a paradigm shift in our thinking, and compel us to undergo a “metanoia” (new mind) experience.

If we look at our life through the prism of the big picture, and allow eternity to be the yardstick for our actions, then, it’s quite likely that we’ll discover that some of the emergencies of today will no longer appear urgent in the eternal scheme of things. They lose their importance because their value decreases. Their value decreases because we realise they don’t last forever, and hence, do not require to be taken seriously.

And yet - despite all this - we pursue them because we can’t imagine our life to be any different without them. Our backpack, we believe, has to be stuffed with them. In fact, so stuffed that there shouldn’t be any breathing space available. Heavier the better because it’d help us to brag better or so we think.

These things could be anything at all – from work related issues to personal goals or just about anything that adds meaning to our life. I wish I could provide details but I feel that will only obscure an appreciation of the bigger picture. An extra focus on details runs the danger of inviting a tangent in the discussion.

But then, it so happens that something unexpected takes place.

Our backpack soon gets heavier and heavier, and we realise that we like it and want it that way. Ambling through life under the weight of a heavy backpack suggests that we are leading a busy and purposeful life. And in an image conscious society we are in, appearances are not only important but also necessary. They enhance the image we want to convey, and leave us hungry for greater enhancements.

Satisfaction becomes elusive as our entire being taps into feeding that restless appetite to acquire more, want more, yearn more. Soon we want nothing less than making more space in our backpack for all those things we desperately want to accumulate.

The trouble is, in all this excitement, the words of Christ can prove to be a bit uncomfortable: What does it profit a man if he gains the whole world but loses his soul?

These words are a complete anti-thesis to the way we are programmed to live because the priorities they espouse aren't something we want to pursue. The immediate is what we cherish because it fits perfectly well within our world view. Our hands can easily glide along its smooth circumference and clasp it close to our comfort zones. Now it’s not that we dislike the long-term completely, but it’s just that waiting for the outcome can take a real long time. Besides, our backpack can only accommodate the compactness of the immediate, and so choosing it becomes a no-brainer really.

The real battle, therefore, if one has to put it that way, shifts to the choices we make about what inputs we want: what takes priority in our life? What do we want to burden ourselves with? What excites us? What makes us want to dance? What do we do that we don’t mind if it weighs us down? What – in the final analysis – is in our backpack?

Relationships weigh us down. Ryan Bingham, George Clooney’s character in the movie was very clear about not including relationships in his backpack. It was a choice he made, and had to live with the consequences of this and other choices his character made.

Relationships can be demanding, inconvenient, challenging. They are not meant to be easy because people - and we ourselves - are complicated beings. However, that is exactly what makes relationships so vital for our growth and maturity, and consequently, a must-have for our backpack. They make us learn where we fit in the wider context, that we belong to a community, and that even we have a part to play in making a difference to the world at large.

As is to be expected, towards the end of the film, Bingham realises the error of his ways and makes amends. Maybe not a complete turnaround, but close enough for him to build bridges and begin re-connecting with those who mattered in his world. A little late in life for him but a beginning has to be made. Better late than never.

Obviously this once again raises some pertinent questions about choices. Why do we often exclude that which is necessary? Why do we embrace the trivial and forsake the vital? Why do we avoid the narrow road? Why are we so comfortable in postponing metanoia?

What have we removed from our backpack?

If we are honest, we'll know the answer to this question, but most of us have turned evasiveness into such a fine art that it usually takes a crisis for us to articulate the truth. And till then, we can journey from airport to airport looking for experiences, moments, insights that we can stuff into our backpack and assume that we have cracked the code when, in fact, we are still far away from home.

Far, far away.

Myth of Happiness

2010-03-29T10:43:00.002+03:00

I wonder if happiness is really all that it's cut out to be.

I know everyone wants to be happy. It's not rocket science, after all, to figure out why the idea of happiness sounds incredibly appealing and necessary. We like what it offers, the sensation it gives and the pleasure it brings.

It's as if happiness holds the key to everything we aspire and cherish. No wonder, everyone works hard for a little bit of happiness in their lives. There are some who even regard the pursuit of happiness as a legitimate and constitutionally mandated goal. The idea that happiness goes hand in hand with the good life appears to be undisputed and unchallenged, and for many, it's just what the doctor ordered.

But is it the real thing? I mean, is it really what we need in life? Does it hold meaning and significance to all that we do, all that we are, and all that we want to be?

The more I think about it, I am increasingly compelled to say, no.

It's not that I don't like being happy or that I am against happiness per se, but it's just that I feel having happiness as our sole focus in life can be dangerously misleading. It offers so much and yet when it comes to the crunch it fails to deliver. It comes across as something truly desirable but on closer observation one realises it cannot, by itself, satisfy our inner most urge to find meaning and purpose to our life and to our existence.

Happiness is morally and ethically neutral. It is the result of a certain emotional and intellectual process. It is a by-product of our efforts to create a certain state of affairs and a consequence of favourable courses of action that we sometimes undertake. Mother Theresa may have found happiness in caring for the poorest of the poor but, by the same token, a serial killer's idea of happiness might involve a few badly disfigured corpses.

But do you get the picture?

Happiness alone cannot be our ultimate goal because it would be plain impossible to do so. The focus has to be on the process, the motivations and the emotional drivers that create a feeling of happiness in our hearts. Christ has said somewhere, 'out of the abundance of a man's heart, the mouth speaks'. Assuming one's mouth is the gateway for articulating all that the heart wants to express, including, perhaps, happiness, then, it's reasonable to assume that the spotlight has to be aimed at the nature of that abundance in a person's heart.

So the real battleground is the heart or, in other words, that place in our consciousness, which we like to regard as the nerve centre of all our motivations. It is there where we get a peek into our self and to all that it desires. In other words, what motivates us to be happy says a lot about who or what we are. It holds a mirror to our soul and reveals our self for what it is. We may like what we see or we may not like to accept it, but that which makes us happy gives a clue as to where the inner compass is pointed at.

However, we live in an incredibly superficial culture where externals are of greater significance than issues that grip the soul. Let's face it. We are entertainment driven, satiated by sensations, tickled by things that give us pleasure, and challenged by sound bites. In such an environment, happiness matters a lot because the emphasis is more on the sensation that it gives than on the forces that act as motivators.

Happiness for happiness sake, thus, becomes the new mantra, and determines the direction we want our desires to take. Or at least to make it THE desire. The trouble with this focus is not that it holds the possibility of leaving millions of people with a perma-glee look on their faces – what a horrid thought – but that it generally and invariably leaves millions of people less interested in soul searching, and ending up as pleasure minded robots who have lost the ability to think, to rationalise, to argue, and to really and truly, understand themselves.

Of course, this is just the worst case scenario. And, maybe I'm being way too harsh than required, and, perhaps, some would say, there is no need to go so deep and analytical about happiness. But I beg to differ. We can't take something as important as happiness very lightly, and dismiss it as inconsequential. Anything that gives a peek into a person's motivations has to be taken seriously. It's a barometer for more important things and holds the possibility of unravelling the mysteries of the human heart.

Or, at least, that's what I think it's supposed to do.

Having said all this, let me clarify that I do believe that being happy is a state that we all need to be in because the alternative is not very promising. We must aim to be cheerful at all times since a smile and a sense of humour can work wonders in steering us away from being dull and lifeless.

Am I contradicting myself? Not really. While the importance of happiness cannot be underestimated, nevertheless, the underlying motivations must always be on the forefront because they hold the power of transforming a neutral emotional state into one that is full of meaning and purpose. It makes us go beyond clamouring for happiness for happiness sake and instead prompting us to look under the skin of that which gladdens our heart.

Ask yourself then, what makes you truly happy? Is your happiness prompted by things that are temporal or by things that are eternal? Does looking after the interests of others inspire happiness, or are you happy taking care of yourself? Are you happy living as an island, or is your happiness found in recognising yourself as part of the mainland? What are those things that drive you to pursue happiness?

These are questions that only you can answer truthfully to yourself. Question is, are you satisfied by your response? Are you happy with what makes you happy?

Your answer will determine whether or not happiness is all that it's cut out to be.

Christmas Day

2009-12-25T22:46:00.001+03:00

Well, I've come to an end of my 12 part Christmas series. I didn't realise I would actually finish it but thankfully I did. There were couple of issues that I felt I had to address, and Christmas seemed to be the right time to do so. Sometimes one gets an itch that needs to be scratched, and I think, ideas are like that... they need to be articulated, thought out, explained as a kind of scratching because anything less will leave us restless.

In a way, I feel there's still more I need to share, which is why I need to blog more often. Blogging will help curb the silence, and allow conversation to take place. My excuse for not being regular in blogging was work, and that is something I really have no control over but it's all a matter of finding time.

In the meantime, I like to wish all of you a very Merry Christmas and a blessed new year. I thought that the best way to end this series would be to share one of my most favourite T S Eliot poems, The Journey of the Magi:

'A cold coming we had of it,
Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.'
And the camels galled, sore-footed,
refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the
terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.

Then the camel men cursing and
grumbling
And running away, and wanting their
liquor and women,
And the night-fires going out, and the
lack of shelters,
And the cities hostile and the towns
unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high
prices:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all
night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears,
saying
That this was all folly.

Then at dawn we came down to a
temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of
vegetation;
With a running stream and a water-mill
beating the darkness,
And three trees on the low sky,
And an old white horse galloped in
away in the meadow.
Then we came to a tavern with
vine-leaves over the lintel,
Six hands at an open door dicing for
pieces of silver,
And feet kicking the empty wine-skins.
But there was no imformation, and so
we continued
And arrived at evening, not a moment
too soon
Finding the place; it was (you may say)
satisfactory.

All this was a long time ago, I
remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth,
certainly,
We had evidence and no doubt. I had
seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different;
this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like
Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these
Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old
dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their
gods.
I should be glad of another death.

Night Before Christmas

2009-12-24T19:02:00.013+03:00

She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.
(Luke 2: 6)

Away in a manger,
No crib for His bed
The little Lord Jesus
Laid down His sweet head

(Unknown author)

The first time I saw the homeless was in Bombay. It was my first time in that city, and the sight of people living on the streets was shocking. I couldn't imagine how people could actually live under the street lights, raise their families next to busy roads and impatient traffic. It didn't seem normal. It wasn't natural, I told someone who responded that it was something I'd get used to. I don't think I ever did nor do I ever want to.

Years later, I saw the homeless again. This time it was in Chicago and in Washington DC and in London and other cities in the world that I visited as a tourist. The cultures and ethnicity of the homeless may have been different, but the hardness in their faces, the vacant look in their eyes, the shabbiness of their attire, the uncombed strands in their thick hair combined with their unkempt demeanor possessed a sad uniformity. Whether it was cooking on the roadside or pushing a trolley filled with their life's entire possessions, the homeless in each of these countries seemed to roam the invisible spaces of the cities they were part of, but not considered integral.

Homelessness, as I soon discovered, is not merely and solely a third world problem but a human tragedy. It is a failure at a systemic level of humanity's inability to create utopia on earth. A tangible hamartia, as it were. Also, an indication that economic systems - however GDP friendly they might be - are unable to provide that basic of basic needs: a roof above a person's head. This inability has ended up reducing man into a stray animal sharing kinship with dogs and cats that scavenge our streets for food and space. Maybe that's too harsh a thing to say, but I can't think of any other way to describe the horridness of homelessness.

According to the United Nations Commission on Human Rights, it is estimated that 100 million people worldwide are homeless today. That's a staggering figure and comes quite close to matching the total population of Mexico (106,350,434).

The next best thing would be to examine the statistics on a country-by-country basis, but I feel that doing so would miss the point altogether. It would only draw comparisons, and the focus will only lead to which of the country scores high on the homeless sweepstakes and which one scores way below the mark. The point here is not about creating heroes or demons amongst the countries, but to place the spotlight on homelessness as a global problem.

However, before doing so, one needs to pause and take a look at one uncomfortable fact. Not all of the 100 million people in the homeless category are there because they are helpless victims of the socio-economic system. Some of them are there as a consequence of wrong choices they've made in their life. Drug addiction, alcoholism and a life of crime that have pushed them to the streets. And then there are those who have been brought to cities under the patronage of political parties who expect votes in return.

As a result, one would be right to ask: why should we help such people? Why must we part with our hard earned money to support such freeloaders?

The thing is, logical as it may sound, doing nothing in response is also not the answer. It could also be like throwing the baby with the bath water. This is because there exist many genuine reasons for homelessness as well. The current economic crisis, for instance, has thrown many people out into the streets because of their inability to pay their mortgages on time and their inability to get a job that will enable them to pay their expenses.

On the other hand, there are those who have been pushed to the streets due to circumstances beyond their control. Lack of jobs and economic development in their rural community are key factors behind large scale migration to urban centres where low wages make it impossible for them to get decent housing.

The promise of prosperity and well being is what drives them to seek new pastures, but the reality can be disappointing and they soon learn that they have to make do with what they can get and make it work. In this case, they'd be just like Joseph who had to settle for a manger when there was no room in the inn or anywhere else. This was a situation beyond Joseph's control, and resulted in Jesus being born in a place where midwives dare not go.

The Christmas story, thus, provides a lesson on homelessness. Jesus as God incarnate could have chosen a luxurious venue for His birth on earth. However, the choice of manger as opposed to a decent and a properly ventilated room enabled Him to share a one-ness with the millions of homeless in our world today. He became homeless when He came on earth, and chose depravity over royalty. His birth showed His heart for the poor and for the unprivileged as people who matter.

It was His way to show that He is mindful of those who travel in the invisible spaces, the ones we ignore and rarely notice, the ones He chose to identify with to shame us who think we are above them all.

In such circumstances, those of us who call ourselves His followers have a choice to make. We can either rationalise the situation of the homeless as one that doesnt concern us, and continue with our comfortable lives doing all the comfortable things we usually do. Or we can engage ourselves in the debate, do something practical about it, look for a solution that is possible within our grasp, and do something that mitigates in some way the horror.

The approach we take can have myriad forms but Christ's parable on the sheep and goats provides some directions we can take:

"When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, he will sit on his throne in heavenly glory. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate the people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats. He will put the sheep on his right and the goats on his left.

"Then the King will say to those on his right, 'Come, you who are blessed by my Father; take your inheritance, the kingdom prepared for you since the creation of the world. For I was hungry and you gave me something to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you invited me in, I needed clothes and you clothed me, I was sick and you looked after me, I was in prison and you came to visit me.'

"Then the righteous will answer him, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry and feed you, or thirsty and give you something to drink? When did we see you a stranger and invite you in, or needing clothes and clothe you? When did we see you sick or in prison and go to visit you?'

"The King will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did for one of the least of these brothers of mine, you did for me.'

"Then he will say to those on his left, 'Depart from me, you who are cursed, into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels. For I was hungry and you gave me nothing to eat, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, I was a stranger and you did not invite me in, I needed clothes and you did not clothe me, I was sick and in prison and you did not look after me.'

"They also will answer, 'Lord, when did we see you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or needing clothes or sick or in prison, and did not help you?'

"He will reply, 'I tell you the truth, whatever you did not do for one of the least of these, you did not do for me.'

"Then they will go away to eternal punishment, but the righteous to eternal life."

2 Days to Christmas

2009-12-23T21:26:00.007+03:00

Most of my favourite Christmas memories have to do with food. This fact may not seem so obvious if you meet me in person, but then again, you’ll agree that first impressions have never been a reliable indicator for anything. Thing is, I have always regarded Christmas at home to be mostly a celebration of good food and great company while remembering the Babe in Bethlehem.

I suppose it’s the nature of the festivities that have made food such an important component in the way we celebrate. Hospitality is incomplete without something to munch. And memories are made that much more precious when we can share them with friends and family over an array of delicious snacks.

As far as I remember, my mother’s donuts and chaklis have been something of a standard along with homemade cakes, cookies and assorted salties. Christmas Day lunch was always with friends who were away from loved ones, and included pulao or biryani. And on Christmas Eve, there was either roasted duck or turkey or whatever game meat was available at the supermarket. There have been slight variations over the years, but by and large, good food has remained centre-stage during the season.

While I do enjoy eating and find great delight in cooking, but for some reason, I have managed to steer clear from obesity. I suppose it has a lot to do with being fussy than disciplined, but frankly, it could be anything at all.

I was browsing the web the other day and was checking a few statistics, and I was reminded of my fussy eating habits. I realised I could be fussy because I can afford to be so. Not only me, but others who share my socio-economic status as well. We are privileged even without realising just how, and yet we are the ones who complain the most when the meat is not cooked properly or the presentation is not to our liking.

And while we make a fuss over what we eat or drink, there will be people in the world who won’t have the same advantage this Christmas. For them, it will be just another day with nothing to eat. For them, complaining of excess salt or sugar will be a luxury they can never dream about or even afford. For them, even a sugar cube would do to dampen the hunger pangs.

Maybe I’m being too harsh on myself and my peers, and maybe, I need to look at the entire situation with some perspective or even squeeze in some context. I wonder if that’s even possible when the following statistics aren’t something we can smile about.

• 1.02 billion people do not have enough to eat - more than the populations of USA, Canada and the European Union;

• The number of undernourished people in the world increased by 75 million in 2007 and 40 million in 2008, largely due to higher food prices;

• Asia and the Pacific region is home to over half the world’s population and nearly two thirds of the world’s hungry people;

• More than 60 percent of chronically hungry people are women;

• 65 percent of the world's hungry live in only seven countries: India, China, the Democratic Republic of Congo, Bangladesh, Indonesia, Pakistan and Ethiopia.

• Every six seconds a child dies because of hunger and related causes;

• More than 70 percent of the world's 146 million underweight children under age five years live in just 10 countries, with more than 50 per cent located in South Asia alone;

• 10.9 million children under five die in developing countries each year. Malnutrition and hunger-related diseases cause 60 percent of the deaths;

• The cost of undernutrition to national economic development is estimated at US$20-30 billion per annum;

• One out of four children - roughly 146 million - in developing countries are underweight.

(Source: World Food Programme)

Since context is what is required in understanding the extent of world hunger, I want to add another nasty angle to this equation to make us understand the perspective in a much broader framework. Now I don’t know if the following statistic will shed light on the problem or offer some sort of a solution, but I would like to be deliberately naive in assuming that it might just demonstrate potential solution to the problem.

It won’t take a rocket scientist to figure out that the global military expenditure is unbelievably gargantuan, and it’s unlikely that budgetary cuts will be introduced to feed the hungry millions worldwide. It would be idealistic to imagine a sudden change of heart in the powers that be.

Of course, the explanation for such a huge military budget is that we are living in a dangerously world with terrorists and rogue countries waiting to strike at a moments notice. While I don’t completely disagree with this opinion, nevertheless, I see something else, too.

When a budget runs in millions and trillion, then, it doesn’t necessarily indicate that we are facing a huge problem that only an equally huge budget will help solve. It simply means that military solutions have acquired an economic life of their own, that they are sustainable, have become an industry and like all good industry, committed to ambitious growth plans.

Summarising below some key details from chapter 5 of the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute (SIPRI)’s 2009 Year Book on Armaments, Disarmament and International Security for 2008:

• World military expenditure in 2008 is estimated to have reached $1.464 trillion in current dollars (just over $1.2 trillion in 2005 constant dollars, as per above graph);

• This represents a 4 per cent increase in real terms since 2007 and a 45 per cent increase over the 10-year period since 1999;

• This corresponds to 2.4 per cent of world gross domestic product (GDP), or $217 for each person in the world;

• The USA with its massive spending budget, is the principal determinant of the current world trend, and its military expenditure now accounts for just under half of the world total, at 41.5% of the world total;

SIPRI has commented in the past on the increasing concentration of military expenditure, i.e. that a small number of countries spend the largest sums. This trend carries on into 2008 spending. For example,

• The 15 countries with the highest spending account for over 81% of the total;

• The USA is responsible for 41.5 per cent of the world total, distantly followed by the China (5.8% of world share), France (4.5%), UK (4.5%), and Russia (4%):

(Source: Global Issues)

At the end of the day, it's a matter of perspective but more than anything else, it's a question of priority. What we choose determines what we regard as more important, and will define what we regard to be the most urgent problem. The words of Christ are relevant in such a context: Where your treasure is, there your heart will be also.

Question is, where is our heart? What is our treasure?

3 Days to Christmas

2009-12-23T15:06:00.003+03:00

Joy is the flavour of the Christmas season, and yet for many people around the world this year, it will be marked with a sense of despondency, frustration, and to some degree, disappointment. The global economic crisis has been particularly hard on the middle-class that form a substantial chunk of white collar workers who have been one of its biggest casualties. Life will probably not be the same for many as adjustments will have to be made to their lifestyles, and the old pattern will recede into a distant memory.

For those who have lost their jobs, it won’t be a ‘merry’ Christmas but instead the season will be plagued with uncertainty and tinged with a faint hope that the New Year will be happier. For those companies that have been closed down, it’s the loss of their credibility combined with a sense of shame that will make their owners long for, at least, a morsel of success in the year ahead. However, for that to happen, it all depends on how quickly the recovery takes place, and how soon the boom times, if at all, make their appearance.

Some historians talk about déjà vu in reference to the crisis, and say we’ve been here before 70 or 80 years ago.

Such information is of little use to those who aren’t sure how to pay their bills next month, pay their children’s school fees, pay their mortgage and avoid defaulting on their assorted loans and credit card bills. Or worse still, how to handle sudden illness in the family if they don’t have health insurance for medical emergencies.

Dire situations like these rarely occurred in the lives of most middle-class/ white collar workers, and the humiliation of having to experience poverty of this nature has been rather disheartening. However, the biggest question in most people’s minds is, how on earth did we land in such a big soup? Who is responsible for messing about so many lives and so many industries? What were they thinking?

While some would like to blame capitalism and the culture of free market reforms, there are those who feel that the banking and the real estate industry are responsible for much of the mess. Then, of course, there are still those who feel the real culprit ought to be the champions of deregulation and laissez faire business practise. Obviously, someone has finally discovered that freedom and anarchy are not bedfellows after all.

Alan Greenspan probably got it right when he told the BBC that we the economic crisis will happen again but it will be different.

“They are all different but they have one fundamental source. That is the unquenchable capability of human beings when confronted with long periods of prosperity to presume that it will continue."

He goes on to add that this behaviour is human nature, and “unless somebody can find a way to change human nature, we will have more crises and none of them will look like this because no two crises have anything in common, except human nature."

I don’t know if Greenspan is talking about ‘hamartia’, but it definitely appears that he is without saying so explicitly.

Back in the 80s, ‘greed is good’ was a popular credo and its principal proponent was the tragic figure of Gorden Gecko played by Michael Douglas in Oliver Stone’s Wall Street. He seemed to have it all, and though the film looked at the finance industry with Stone’s characteristic scepticism, nevertheless, the culture of the 80s was such that it made him an attractive figure.

However, looking at Gecko and others like him with perceptions gained through the intervening years, we realise how phoney it was. Greed might have seemed good on paper, but it certainly had its limits and the economic crisis demonstrated the hollowness of this dream. Ideas like actions have consequences, too. Gecko might have probably retired on a fat bonus but Gecko’s ideological children ended up with their credibility torn to shreds and their reputation ruined forever. Or at least, till the next big news event.

The trouble with ‘morality by hindsight’ is that it is usually preceded by a bitter lesson that forces a change in one’s path. We need to be dragged by our ears to learn something, and have it drilled in our minds and our souls. We are slow learners, if we learn at all. But a crisis can be a good starting point for a new moral direction, and if the present global economic crisis will end up being that teacher, then so be it.

However, for that to happen, we need to undergo a ‘meta-noia’ (new mind) moment because nothing else will really work. The question is, are we prepared to do just that or will we dither, and allow historians to talk about déjà vu the way they are doing now?

Christ once said, where your treasure is, there your heart will be also. Let’s ask ourselves: what is that treasure ruling our hearts? The answer to that question will determine how joyful we want to be, and how joyful we want our world to be.

It may not cure depression or mitigate despondency, but it will be a start.

4 Days to Christmas

2009-12-22T21:59:00.002+03:00

Two thousand years ago, Christ was born in Bethlehem, a city that was occupied by Rome the big imperial power of the day. Jewish zealots were known to have maintained a stiff resistance to the Roman presence, and the Judaean-Palestinian province wasn't considered to be one of the most idyllic corners of the empire.

Today, the situation may not be altogether different from the time of Jesus because 'foreign occupation' is still a defining characteristic of life in modern Bethlehem. There is resistance on two levels: the modern day 'zealots' who see their struggle as more than just a fight for political space, and the moderate voice who are engaged in diplomatic and political negotiations. I'm sure there was a parallel to this situation in first century Palestine as well, and let's face it, the tussle between extremists and moderates is an ancient one and not peculiar to the Israeli-Palestinian situation alone. That, of course, deserves another essay altogether but for now, let's just focus on Bethlehem.

Officially, at least, Bethlehem is part of the autonomous Palestinian National Authority, and is included in the internationally recognised territory of the future Palestinian state (that is, all Palestinian land that was annexed by Israel after the 1967 war). However, there is a huge gulf between what is 'official' and what is 'real', and much of the problem has been in reconciling the two.

It should have been a very simple process. A peace treaty was signed in 1993 by two warring parties and a decision was taken to make it a 'peace of the brave'. But somewhere down the line, it became obvious that peace cannot be established on mere rhetoric and photo-opps, and more substantive measures needed to be adopted.

For instance, there is still continuing construction of Jewish colonies (or 'settlements') in Palestinian territory despite explicit commitment not to do so, Israeli checkpoints and roadblocks that prevent Palestinians to lead normal life, relentless provocative gestures from fanatical settlers whose obnoxious behaviour is politely ignored by world media and the frustrated response is given headline hogging coverage, regular curfews, house demolitions, civilian deaths, and constant humiliations have been a fact of life for Palestinian residents of Bethlehem and other Palestinian cities. And to add insult to injury, the Separation Wall, or to call it what it really is - the Berlin Wall of the Middle East, the Israeli occupation authorities are unilaterally deciding the borders between the two 'states', and most significantly, rupturing the political, economic and social life of ordinary civilians.

Now if Joseph and Mary had to travel to modern Bethlehem, I'm sure, the situation wouldn't have seemed altogether different. Perhaps differences, if any, would be in nuance but the essential brutality that characterises any foreign occupation would, undoubtedly, give them a sense of deja vu. Joseph would be eyed with suspicion and humiliated, Mary might be forced to give birth to the Christ Child at one of the checkpoints like this Palestinian woman from Jerusalem. Of course, as examples go, she was in a much better position than this woman who died because of delays at the checkpoint.

It was a cruel world in which Jesus was born, and in the two thousand years since His time on Earth not much has changed. I'm not sure if things have worsened, but it's safe to say that cruelty has become technologically more sophisticated and brutality more subtle.

And in such a world, one wonders, how does one talk about the love that this Prince of Peace talked about? What words, language, gestures can be employed? Or maybe one can just ponder over the failures of things as they stand, and seriously consider peace not as a piece of rhetoric but as a serious option... one that we need as desperately as a dying and injured man needs blood.

O little town of Bethlehem,
How still we see thee lie;
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep
The silent stars go by;
Yet in thy dark streets shineth
The everlasting light.
The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee tonight.

5 Days to Christmas

2009-12-21T22:53:00.002+03:00

Scrooge might smile when he hears what I have to say.

Why is there such an abundance of happiness during the Christmas season? Why do people suddenly turn on their charm and put on their best possible behaviour? Why is everyone so good this season?

Go anywhere, and all you see are smiling faces whenever the word “Christmas” pops up in conversation. Go to a mall, and you see children giggling and squealing with joy when they see Santa Claus. Go to parties, and you see everyone either a little tipsy or plain delirious after exchanging presents. Go to restaurants or concerts or other public events, and there’s a palpable sense of camaraderie in the air as if bosom buddies have got together after a long, long time.

Or try switching on any of the TV channels, and the Christmas specials are all about mushy stuff like love, family and music. Or it is about hardened souls melting after a little child gives them a Christmas present. Or it is about singles finding true love after a lifetime of waiting for some frog to turn into royalty. Or it is about news anchors smiling and showing a little more enthusiasm when it comes to human interest stories.

Go anywhere in the world, and Christmas immediately makes people turn to their good side, and if that’s not enough, it makes them want to spread this feeling of goodness all around.

Now don’t get me wrong. It’s not as if I dislike this excessive goodness that one sees this season. I think it’s great that people are able to shed their normal cynicism and grouchy side, and behave more kindly with friends and strangers alike. It’s a real pleasure for humanity to be more amiable, decent and to walk around as if a halo was a natural part of their body.

The trouble is, this all-smiling, all-friendly, all-generous side rarely lasts beyond the season and gradually disappears into thin air after the New Year. Almost like a comet: shines for a while and soon disappears into the back alleys only to return later.

The thing is, this type of ‘cheerfulness’ seems to be a seasonal trait and hasn’t managed to be second nature. It would make the world a lot less stressful and an enjoyable place to live in. And no, I’m not suggesting that everyone wears some sort of a ‘perma-grin,’ smile all the time, and behave like they were mini-Santa Claus or something. The world would be an absolutely terrifying place if that were the case.

All I’m saying is, if it’s possible to be nice (at least, superficially) for a month or so, then, what’s the big deal behind the general nastiness, silly one-upmanship, bitchiness and backstabbing that punctuates life in general? Why isn’t it possible for cheerfulness, generosity and goodness to be a habit instead of being so occasional? I mean, why?

Maybe what we see this month is only a possibility of goodness that some tragic flaw within prevents from expressing itself more fully. Maybe the virus of hamartia is strongly ingrained after all, and all we can do is simply rise above the surface for a month or so, and gasp for air like the way flying fish do.

Whatever it is, all I can say is, enjoy it while it lasts, and if it’s not possible, then I can only repeat what Scrooge would say, Bah humbug!!!

6 Days to Christmas

2009-12-21T17:23:00.002+03:00

Christmas used to be a lot colder in Bahrain. Not so anymore. Today, it's quite possible to wear a t-shirt without having to make a doctor's appointment. It's not as if winters are warmer these days but a plain jacket or cardigan can save the day if a rather cold breeze decides to blow your way. Of course, you can still find people in t-shirts walking around as if it was the most natural thing to do, and that's the big difference.

The thing about winters in the 70s was the many layers of clothing one had to wear just to stay warm. We had no choice. The shamal (or the north wind) would literally send a chill through the bones, and if it rained around the same time, it would get unbearably cold. I remember my mother used to complain that the flour would get frozen when she used to mix it with water for making donuts.

We used to enjoy sitting really close to the heaters, drink cocoa and munch Christmas goodies while watching the holiday specials on Aramco TV (or Channel 3 Television or HZ 22 TV). They used to have some really entertaining programmes in the month of December leading up to Christmas and would revert to regular programming after New Year. Actually Aramco TV deserves a separate essay altogether because that TV station has played a key role in shaping and cultivating our cultural and entertainment taste buds during our growing up years. It may seem a tall claim but

Since we were school kids, our parents would also ensure that we were sent off to school like Christmas presents: on top of thermals, there would be sweater, and on top of sweater, there would be a jacket plus gloves, scarf and monkey cap to protect our ears. I hated the monkey caps because I thought I looked silly in them, but there was nothing much I could do about it.

Christmas eve used to be the coldest or, maybe, we just thought it was so because it was one of the few times in the year when we used to get a chance to step outside around midnight. The midnight candlelight service involved a tradition that was stopped in the late 70s because it was no longer feasible. At quarter to twelve, candles would be lit and the entire congregation would step out into the car park. The ones in the balcony would form a cross while rest would stand around them in a large circle. Holding candles in our hands, we would shiver while singing a carol that I haven't heard for a long time: the light of the world is Jesus'.

I don't know when the winters started to lose their chill but I do remember it has been a gradual process, and today, the winter season lacks that consistency of being cold. Two years ago, it was cold like the old days after a long, long time, but in the following years it went back to not-so-cold winters.

Now I don't know if global warming has anything to do with this change in Bahrain's weather pattern, but I do know that a change has taken place and it hasn't been altogether pleasant. Lack of consistent rainfall has increased the temperature levels, and the intermittent cold wave has had an effect on every one's health. If this kind of radical change was limited to Bahrain, it wouldn't have been much of a botheration but meteorologists are talking about a global trend.

The Copenhagen Summit was supposed to address this problem but it has only succeeded in minor agreements while tough decisions have been postponed for another year. This has always been the case with climate issues. Kyoto Protocol sought to reduce noxious fumes from entering the atmosphere, but some countries refused to sign the dotted line since, they felt, it was not in the best interest of industries.

The economy seems to be at the centre of the argument, and is most likely going to be the key factor in unifying opinion makers and decision makers from around the world onto a common platform. Developing nations would like better funding for introducing ecofriendly industries and infrastructure while the developed nations are not excited about giving aid.

I do believe that the climate issue is not an economic issue alone, but is a spiritual and moral problem. If we believe in the existence of God and that He is involved in our lives, then, taking care of the world He created ought to be a natural response. Somewhere in the Bible, it talks about the concept of stewardship of all the Earth's resources and that human beings have been given authority over the entire flora and fauna. Question is, what have we done about this stewardship?

Currently, there are two sets of views on the subject: one that believe the science is all flawed and the other puts the blame at the entire human race for being negligent. The arguments seem to be nothing more than face-saving than anything else. Hence, teh ready-made answer is to blame the 'other' instead of admitting that a mistake was made. I am reminded of the Genesis story where Adam after biting the fruit denies responsibility for his disobedience and puts the blame on his wife for making him eat what he was not supposed to.

I wonder if the current climate debate is a repeat of that story: man is not at fault for global warming because it's nature that is responsible for the mess, not us, it has never been us... nature made us do it, right... hence, we must be left alone to strengthen the economy by building factories that spew fumes. Who cares about the future since we wont be there to see what happens? It's today that we need to worry about!

Copenhagen has not come to an agreement that will be legally binding on all the signatories, and that's the real tragedy at the moment. Final decisions have been postponed for another year when world leaders meet in Mexico. Kyoto should have been the venue for an agreement but due to various circumstances, everyone expected Copenhagen to deliver instead. Frankly, it seems to me like nothing less than passing the buck and not taking a decision.

The sad thing is, while the rest of the world dithers, countries like Tuvalu, Maldives and most likely even Bahrain, will end up suffering when the sea levels rise and create havoc. So while there is a bit of nostalgia for cold and wintry Christmas-es, I do long for them to return and remain a regular feature of Bahrain's winter because their presence would, perhaps, indicate a pleasant change in the atmosphere.

Or better still, it will enable countries like Maldives and Tuvalu to have a truly merry Christmas 50 or even 100 years from now.

7 Days to Christmas

2009-12-19T23:47:00.003+03:00

The Christmas story began on a very discourteous note. The angelic hosts bypassed the high officials, the political leaders, the bourgeois who's who, the business magnates, and instead, chose some lowly shepherds to proclaim the news of the Messiah's birth. If I was a big cheese in Palestine, I would have been seriously offended that such important information was not conveyed to me first but, instead, was given to the riff raff. I would have considered it to be a personal affront, a breach of protocol and would have demanded nothing less than a written apology.

The thing about Christmas is that it has always been, somewhat, offensive. The virgin birth, for instance, was not something that would have earned Christ any brownie points from religious fundamentalists and moral watchdogs of any generation. Even his choice of an obscure little town like Bethlehem in Palestine for his birth and not any of the big cities in any of the civilisational hotspots like Rome, China, India or Greece was a bit odd, to say the least. Not a great PR move if world revolution was on his agenda.

Even today, Christmas has maintained its capacity to offend, and now it is the turn of the pundits of political correctness to see red whenever Christmas cruises into their radar. Some want to ban any explicit expressions of Christmas' Christian background, and re-brand the festivities into something else. Or at least they tried and it didn't work. Some want to either dilute or sideline it completely so that it doesn't exclude people of other faiths from the festivities and that no offense is caused to their religious sensibilities. Controversies surrounding Christmas festivities have been around for a long time, and are not likely to go away anytime soon.

But this little discussion on the Red Cross' ban on Christmas nativity decorations reveals how the response has evoked some mixed reactions, and opposition to the ban has come even from non-Christians.

And this is the very point some people are making - if the word "Christmas" has to be banned because it would offend non-Christians, and if it so happens that non-Christians are not offended, then what?

Now I live in Bahrain, a bona fide Islamic country, and here Christmas decorations are not banned and, instead, there is open acknowledgment of Christmas in shops, malls, hotels, supermarkets as well as the media. In fact, for the past six or seven years or so, the Manama based Hussaini Drawing Society for Islamic Arts has been organising a major arts festival and competition to mark the birth of Jesus Christ. Fact that a Muslim group would do such a thing totally contradicts popular assumptions, and is a fine example of religious tolerance and building bridges between communities.

Now the idea of not offending people of other faiths is very noble and, let me add, commendable; but I'm not sure if 'banning' the word Christmas is going to achieve this objective. Such attempts are, at best, cosmetic and are a little bit like throwing the baby with the bath water.

Of course, the root cause of this controversy lies in whether or not to honour and celebrate the birth of Christ. The assumption being that Christ is the one that will offend, and so it's best to delete His name from the celebrations. It's rather tricky. On one hand, everyone knows that Christ was not born on 25th December since the gospel accounts do not mention any dates. After Christianity traveled to the west and became part of the establishment there, earlier pagan celebrations of the winter solstice were given a Christian colour and "Christmas" soon substituted earlier festivities.

Hence, there have been persistent Christian opposition to "Christmas" celebrations as well and, most notably, during Oliver Cromwell's Puritan regime. But the thing is, over the centuries, Christmas has been celebrated in honour of Christ's birth and the pagan origins of 25th December have not remained the main highlight of these celebrations.

Now what should be done about it?

If there are those who wish to remove Christ from the "Christmas" celebrations, they have already made their choice. And I have no qualms about how they want to celebrate 25th December. But if there are those of us who wish to honour Christ's birth on this date, then, I don't see any reason why anyone should protest. If there is freedom to believe or disbelieve, then, there ought to be freedom to celebrate or not to celebrate.

Of course, there is, also, the question of not offending non-Christians, and in my opinion, the best way to do so is by examining other sensitive spots that are routinely ignored. I can think of unnecessary wars of aggression, the ambiguities surrounding the war on terror, occupation of lands and construction of illegal settlements as well as publication of senseless cartoons depicting revered figures as a good place to start as far as snuffing out offensive spots is concerned.

It will definitely be less cosmetic than what is currently offered. It will be more substantial, and hopefully, more long-lasting. And isn't that what we need to do to create 'peace on earth and goodwill towards men'?

8 Days to Christmas

2009-12-19T15:36:00.006+03:00

Since peace was my topic yesterday, I thought, I should repeat the thought for one more day. Peace can always do with a repeat. At least, in this day and age when peace seems to be so elusive.

This song is not only about peace, but about its possibility in the midst of war. The First World War was one of the most brutal wars of the last century, and was billed to be 'the war to end all wars.' It didn't quite end up that way, and the 20th Century ultimately became one of the bloodiest periods in human history. Peace, as we know, needs more than just signatures on papers but a change in the heart for it to be effective and long lasting.

This story is deeply inspiring and poignant at the same time. It was also made into a movie -- Joyeux Noel, which was nominated for the Best Foreign Language Film at the Oscars. While the film captured other elements and weaved various other subplots, the song, on the other hand, focuses solely on what actually took place on that Christmas eve.

In a few years time, we will mark the 100th anniversary of the First World War, and it should make us ponder on how badly we have squandered the sacrifices of those many young men who fought that 'war to end ALL wars'. The armed forces all over the world comprises some of the bravest, patriotic and self-less men and women, and even though I am a pacifist, I believe they deserve our respect and honour. Their commitment demands not just their obedience but life as well.

This story - and the song - shows their human side, which we should never forget. I do wish, however, that civilian political leaderships would ponder long and hard over the sacrifices these soldiers have to make, and not simply rush to declare war to demonstrate misplaced machismo or even score brownie points at some negotiating table. The soldiers deserve better.

My name is Francis Tolliver, I come from Liverpool,
Two years ago the war was waiting for me after school.
To Belgium and to Flanders to Germany to here
I fought for King and country I love dear.
'Twas Christmas in the trenches where the frost so bitter hung,
The frozen fields of France were still, no Christmas song was sung,
Our families back in England were toasting us that day,
Their brave and glorious lads so far away.

I was lying with my messmate on the cold and rocky ground
When across the lines of battle came a most peculiar sound
Says I, "Now listen up, me boys!" each soldier strained to hear
As one young German voice sang out so clear.
"He's singing bloody well, you know!" my partner says to me
Soon one by one each German voice joined in in
harmony
The cannons rested silent, the gas clouds rolled no more
As Christmas brought us respite from the war.

As soon as they were finished and a reverent pause was spent
"God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen" struck up some lads from Kent
The next they sang was "Stille Nacht," "Tis 'Silent Night'," says I
And in two tongues one song filled up that sky.
"There's someone coming towards us!" the front line sentry cried
All sights were fixed on one lone figure coming from their side
His truce flag, like a Christmas star, shone on that plain so bright
As he bravely strode unarmed into the night.

Soon one by one on either side walked into No Man's land
With neither gun nor bayonet we met there hand to hand
We shared some secret brandy and we wished each other well
And in a flare-lit soccer game we gave 'em hell.
We traded chocolates, cigarettes, and photographs from home
These sons and fathers far away from families of their own
Young Sanders played his squeeze box and they had a violin
This curious and unlikely band of men.

Soon daylight stole upon us and France was France once more
With sad farewells we each began to settle back to war
But the question haunted every heart that lived that wondrous night
"Whose family have I fixed within my sights?"
'Twas Christmas in the trenches, where the frost so bitter hung
The frozen fields of France were warmed as songs of peace were sung
For the walls they'd kept between us to exact the work of war
Had been crumbled and were gone for evermore.

My name is Francis Tolliver, in Liverpool I dwell
Each Christmas come since World War I I've learned its lessons well
That the ones who call the shots won't be among the dead and lame
And on each end of the rifle we're the same.

©1984 John McCutcheon/Appalsongs (ASCAP)

9 Days to Christmas

2009-12-17T23:07:00.005+03:00

And He will be called Prince of Peace...

Peace ought to get governments excited but instead it is often seen as a negotiating tactic. Like silence between words, peace ends up being nothing more than a pause between wars, a photo-opp for politicians or, at best, a simple yet ceremonial act of laying down of arms.

The heart, of course, tells another story.

For the lonely, the distressed, the heartbroken and the rejected, peace is not some sort of a deal for scoring brownie points. Peace is the answer to life's burning questions. It is what they seek to silence their souls and quieten the storms that keeps raging within and without.

Peace may imply different things to different people but the idea remains the same. It is a desire for some sort of an equilibrium that would restore a degree of normality or, at least, what they believe to be normal. This equilibrium, many believe, involves reconciliation in those relationships that are falling apart or broken beyond repair. The return of laughter in their lives is seen as a clinching evidence that peace has returned where strife once ruled.

However, for many more, the heartrending cry for peace does not involve others but themselves. Their search for inner peace is all about restoring the broken walls of self-esteem and a desire to finally be what they could be or would like to be. This disappointment becomes a constant reminder of how less a human they are, and how much more they need to do in order to come close to that ideal.

For to us a child is born,
to us a son is given,
and the government will be on his shoulders...
Of the increase of his government and peace
there will be no end.

The Christmas story brings this search for peace into a more accessible and yet unfamiliar terrain. A little baby born in an obscure village seems an unlikely personality to be the 'prince of peace', and yet it is this very oddity that makes everything fall into place. Conventional ideas for securing normality no longer proved tenable, and so a radical message like the 'beautitudes' had to be introduced. And the cross, from being an object of shame, had to be turned into a symbol of hope.

What we learn is that peace can never be gained from treaties alone because they rarely address the core issues. Peace involves a change in the mindset of men and women who demand it in their lives. Peace is not about appearances but involves a surgery of the will. Peace is not only about laying down of arms but a recognition that arms are not the answer. Peace is not about signing papers but turning those words into action and making peace a habit.

True peace involves dying to self because the ego can be a huge obstacle. Its the ego that comes in between. It's ego that needs to go... or better still, the ego needs a new command structure.

The people walking in darkness
have seen a great light;
on those living in the land of the shadow of death
a light has dawned.

10 Days to Christmas

2009-12-17T11:49:00.003+03:00

I was at the mall last night. I went to see a movie with a friend, stopped by at a Turkish restaurant, checked some of the window displays and made mental notes of what I must purchase when I make my next visit. Discounts were being offered and great bargains were being dangled as carrots to a hound. Christmas shopping couldn't be more attractive with the kind of attractive rates that would delight anyone desperate for some serious retail therapy.

Christmas has become a celebration of consumerism, and the little Babe born in the dirty manger has been relegated to an afterthought. Or as a quaint decoration to add that religious touch. Materialism appears triumphant even though Christ talked about the meek inheriting the Earth. Possessions and the ability to acquire possessions have become more important than the need to cultivate character and integrity. While shopping is necessary in life, it does seem to be 'the reason for the season', and malls have become the heartland for all of this feverish excitement.

I couldn't help thinking of "Immanuel" as I was walking around the mall last night. Immanuel is the other name for Christ and it means "God with us." The name implies that we will never be alone and that God will be with us no matter where we are, where we go and what we do. If that be the case, then, it certainly means that His presence will be with me as I walk around the mall.

I wondered what would be His thoughts when He accompanies me, and notices things I rarely do. What do you think His response would be to what he sees there...

Will He admire the fancy designer labels that were, most probably, made in a sweat shop in some Asian country?

Will He approve of the huge posters advertising different products in language that appears to encourage covetousness?

Will He think highly of the fashion shops that appear to promote an impossible idea of beauty, and in the process induce young girls to suffer from anorexia and bulimia?

Will He be delighted to see men and women trying to attract each other by focusing solely on their sexuality and not their innate personalities?

Will He be happy to see underpaid shop attendants struggling to make a living while trying to be friendly with their customers?

Will He notice the cleaners and parking attendants whose existence no one cares about or even bothers?

Will He be pleased to know that the malls have put to death many pop-and-mom stores, small retail outlets and old shopping districts?

Will he observe the many lonely people sitting by themselves in coffee-shops, sipping cappuccino, staring into their laptops and pretending to be busy?

Will He sense the emptiness in people's hearts as they try and fill their souls with purchases that eat into their credit card balance?

Will we listen to Him as He asks us to adopt His standards and be a salt and light in such an environment? Or will we just nod our heads, think it's a great idea and do nothing at all?

11 Days to Christmas

2009-12-16T16:22:00.004+03:00

It's the candles I remember. It would always be four of them. Faith. Joy. Love. Peace. One by one, they'd be lit each week on the four Sundays preceding Christmas. It wasn't some elaborate ritual involving smells, bells and incense.

Someone would walk up the aisle -- either alone or with their family -- light one candle, read a passage from the Bible, say something about the theme for the week and pray. The service would then continue as normal except for the carols that were always a December highlight.

This was how my church would celebrate Advent, the period just before Christmas. The candles were a reminder of Christ being the light of the world, and the four themes emphasised the Christmas message.

The candlelighting tradition during Advent may not have stood the test of time in my church, and may not have been practised in other churches I have attended.

However, the simple ceremony has had a huge impact on me, and in my understanding of things divine. Faith, joy, peace and love no longer remained words that I needed to abide by but as things I ought to do or better still, integrate them in my worldview.

Faith. Joy. Love. Peace.

The certitudes of childhood, however, have a strange way of coming full circle. We run away from them as we try to demonstrate their irrelevance. We falter on the way not because we are hesitant about taking that path but we discover their necessity, and our own inability to follow.

We soon find out that faith, hope love, joy or peace are not that hard to attain but that we just don't try hard enough. Something always stops. Something prevents. Something holds us back. Something that makes us less of who we are and what we want to be.

St. Paul uses the word 'hamartia' to describe that state of missing the mark of being what we ought to be, the tragic flaw that prevents human beings from being the civilising force they were meant to be.

It becomes clear that what may seem like an individual struggle is not really a battle we wage alone. It is a pain we share with the rest of the world and the debris of that struggle is a reality we wish we could avoid at any cost.

No wonder, the birth of that little baby in an obscure town of Bethlehem becomes a cause for hope, reason for joy, rationale for faith and inspiration for love. The only problem is, that road leads to the cross, to pain and to sacrifice.

There may have been resurrection somewhere in the story, but death always precedes resurrection. We'd rather skip the messy bits but we realise it's a package deal and we can't have one without the other.

The advent candles might be missing in my church this year, but that doesn't really matter. What does matter is whether or not faith, hope, joy, love or peace are burning in our hearts.

12 Days to Christmas

2009-12-15T21:03:00.004+03:00

It will be 12 days to Christmas. Well, almost. If I had posted this note yesterday, I would have been able to say so with much more confidence. However, since I've been gloriously not-so-prompt with my blog postings, I guess, it would be very much in character to be slightly late.

The number 12 has been rather significant biblically speaking: the ancient tribes of Israel and the apostles were all 12 in number. I'm not sure if this number figures elsewhere in the Book, but it does offer a springboard for this new series of blog posts I'll be working on. The real inspiration, however, came from an unlikely source. I was listening to that silly old Christmas song, Twelve Days of Christmas and thought, why not start blogging again?

Of course, the idea of a countdown proved to be not only appealing but also downright irresitible.

Just to set the record straight, I am not into numbers in the way some people are obsessed with the cosmic significance that numbers may -- or may not -- have. To me, numbers are just numbers: a simple methodology to quantify the world around us in a measurable form. At the same time, one cannot totally dismiss the idea that numbers can be profoundly symbolic, too. They can set structures for abstract notions, provide framework for understanding depth and help us in making sense of the collective.

So what has all this got to do with that silly Christmas song?

Well, I've done this before. A couple of years ago, the song was the inspiration for a 12 part series on social, political and economic issues that have a bearing on the Christmas story. This year makes a re-examination of those issues much more necessary and even urgent because the global economic crisis has become a sad reality for people across countries and across economic groups.

Christ's birth in a lowly manger in an obscure town of Bethlehem ought to mean something in such an environment. And I dont mean, the cute images that Hallmark produces or the delightful nativity scenes that little children enjoy to their hearts content. I'm more interested in looking at the stinking stable in which He was born, an insignificant town of Bethlehem that He chose for His birth, the unconventional method He picked for His family life, the social outcasts He selected as His disciples, and the radical message that turned the world upside down with its promise of deliverance and freedom.

Of course, this message does not sit well with current perceptions of what Christmas is all about. Consumerism, capitalism and materialism have set the tone for the season, and the truth of the manger is pushed to the sidelines. After all, Christ may have reached out to the marginalised millions and shown that God finds His home amongst the lowly and the obscure, but to the world at large, the marginalised will always be pushed to the invisible spaces, and remain marginalised.

However, the thing about the 'marginalised' is that they are rarely easy to categorise. They could be rich or poor, suave or artless, wise or foolish, busy or lazy. They are simply those who are not wanted and thus kept away. The reasons for them being marginalised may differ but the pain they experience remains the same. The resultant despair and rejection becomes the narrative for the ones who are not wanted, so they slip away aching and looking for some sort of redemption.

Into this world, Christ came, suffered the same fate and was 'despised and rejected by men' prior to His triumphant resurrection. Hence, the focus for our Christmas celebration, too, can involve imitating Christ's journey to an obscure landscape where hope was given to a broken-hearted world. Salvation became a gift as a result of sacrifice. And brokenness paved the way towards reconciliation.

The only problem is, this journey also involves denying of our 'selves', which is something that our consumerist societies find hard to swallow.

A Boy is Born

2009-07-29T12:30:00.003+03:00

It could have been a day of celebration but it wasn’t.

A boy was born. A new life had joined the legacy of men. The continuation of the blood line was assured.

His father could have danced with joy at the news and dragged his friends, his brothers and his cousins in the merriment. Perhaps his mother would have liked the baby to rest in his grandfather’s arms and to see the old man touch the baby’s tiny fingers to trace any familiar imprint. Or maybe both the parents would have liked to hold the baby close and wait for his face to wrinkle into a smile. Maybe they would have searched for resemblances in the tiny form that was looking at them.

Is the baby’s dimple a little bit like his wife’s cheeks when he kisses her unawares? Or those eyes narrowed into an almost-frown, don’t they remind her of the way her husband devours the newspaper at night?

Maybe.

It could have been a possible narrative but that’s not how the story eventually unravelled.

There must have been some celebration and of that we have no doubt. The mother must have smiled with joy when the mid-wife showed her the living breathing crying form that emerged from her. One of the nurses must have uttered ‘congratulations’ and in an unguarded moment she must have been elated at what took place.

It’s clear the father was not present when it happened. Or if he was, it’s likely that for one whole minute or maybe two or three, he must have felt proud of having fathered a son. He must have looked in the mirror and felt confident that his lineage wouldn’t disappear. Maybe it was only later in the night when she phoned him to discuss the matter, celebration must have turned into panic.

How could they be proud of a bundle of shame? How could they hold this evidence of a love that shouldn’t have crossed a certain line in the first place? Who among their own kinsfolk will ever dote on the little child when he makes a fuss like babies usually do? Won’t he always be a cruel reminder of the parent’s folly and their loss of honour in the town where they lived?

So when they finally took the decision, she knew that this was the last time she would ever hold this baby like the mother she was to him. He bought her the pink blanket even though she asked him to choose a different colour. It would solve the problem, he told her and she was too tired to argue.

She gave him a bath and resisted the urge to feel involved when she saw that he enjoyed playing with water despite crying out loudly. Then she decided to feed him herself, and had to look away when she noticed the baby was feeling comfortable in her arms. She was too vulnerable at this stage and could change her decision at any moment but knew they had made an agreement and it was done for love. Love. Their love for each other. After all, that’s what mattered at this moment for her, and for him, too, she thought.

He didn’t want to upset her any further and decided to drive to the mosque himself. He told her that he’ll do so quietly and ensure that he won’t attract any attention. She asked him not to trouble her with details but just do what they agreed since she felt that any additional information will only crumble her resolve and show him how weak she really was. It was too late for debates and discussion, she told him, it is time for action. She didn’t agree but thought that was what he wanted to hear.

That night she couldn’t sleep and wondered what might have happened. She didn’t have to wait for too long because the very next day, the front page of every newspaper carried the story. It was no longer their dirty secret. It was out in the open now except that no one knew the names of the culprits. She soon found out that the news had hurt an entire nation and many wondered how someone in their midst could do such a thing.

She wasn’t sure whether to be glad at this news or just continue regretting what she should have – naturally – done in the first place

The only thought troubling her was that from now on, for her son, she would be the very definition of his idea of abandonment. And that hurt. Badly.

Expat Kids

2009-07-16T16:22:00.003+03:00

It happened again.

I was at a party where a group of expats were talking about the hollowness of expat life, which was fine because it’s an opinion that sounds fascinating only in the telling and not necessarily due to any intrinsic merit. It’s the kind of topic that can be lovingly embellished with all the sarcasm one can find and still gasp for more.

And at a party, what else do you need?

I don’t want to reveal the nationalities of these expats since it would be quite pointless doing so. It’d only reinforce some generalisations and that’s something I don’t want to do. Generalisations are a useful crutch for the intellectually lazy but it can be cruel when it becomes the sole prop for knowing, understanding... and even defining people groups. Now that is a topic for a separate blog-post altogether since it also happens to be one of my pet peeves.

Generalisations never fail to agitate me and, more so, when it is spouted by people who are educated, articulate and well-travelled.

Maybe it was for this reason a certain generalisation that evening got me seriously annoyed. It’s not that I made a scene at the party and knocked some sense into everyone’s head. I simply stayed silent and listened. I wanted to know what kind of embellishments will be given to this particular generalisation and what new nugget of information was I going to learn this time.

One of the expats in the group exclaimed that expat kids – or rather, ones who grew up here in Bahrain – have led a rather privileged and 'deprived' life and then went on to say that children in his home country lead more exciting lives. He described his own childhood to be full of rich experiences that expat kids only read about or get to watch only on their TV screens. Suddenly everyone seemed to be in agreement and began adding their comments, insights, what have you.

It’s not the first time I’ve heard anyone make these remarks before and it isn’t the first time that I haven’t heard anything ‘new’ spoken on the subject.

Now I happen to be an ‘expat kid’ myself and so, for me, anything that was said had to be taken personally. The only difference being that since I happen to be in my 40s the others in the group thought I would not only get what they were saying but also agree with them.

Somehow everyone expects that the fortysomethings have already sorted out their existential and identity issues and can be counted upon to give a more experienced argument or a more nuanced tongue lashing against all what ‘expat kids’ stand for. A weird assumption that the confusion expat kids go through lasts only till they are 25 or 27and that when they approach their 30s or get married, somehow by magic, it all goes away and they immediately take on the characteristics, absorb the world view and imbibe the experiences of adults from their home countries. And heaven help an expat-kid in his or her 30s or 40s who dares say this is not so, and speaks candidly of the confusion and identity crisis that’s natural for an expat.

Now I have to say that my life as an expat kid hasn’t been that fantastic and many of my peers would agree with me that being an expat kid is not necessarily very rosy. Our sense of belonging is more conceptual than local since we can’t claim ‘ownership’ over familiar geographical contexts. Our cultural moorings lack any regional or provincial dimension but are a mish-mash of things picked up in our global wanderings. We are always regarded as outsiders no matter where we are because our sense of belonging seems more negotiable than definite. It is for this reason, for example, we can’t apply for any scholarships, fellowships or awards, and in those instances where we do qualify,the fees are on the higher side because it is assumed 'we are floating in oil'.

We have to struggle for everything and work hard to achieve all that we dream about and aspire to reach. We can't claim any concessions or seek some privileges on ethnic grounds. We have to work hard and achieve success or suffer failure on our own steam. We are the default outsider and, hence, the default expendable component in any environment. And since, this has defined our worldview, the pressure to work harder is so much more intense and the need to exceed one's potential and excel is that much more urgent.

Having said this, does it still make us deprived?

Maybe those of us who grew up in Bahrain never had the pleasure of climbing trees, hiking through dense forests on weekends, going to the river for a swim, drinking fresh milk direct from the udder, knowing the names of the different colours one can see in nature or getting wet in the rain... in comparison, our adventures would seem rather mundane: watching TV, listening to 96.5 FM, reading books from the (now closed) British Council Library, cycling through the streets of Manama, hunting for the best shawarma or samboosa, eating hamburger and pizza with friends, playing acrobatics on the bannister, mall cruising and for the present generation... surfing the web in the comforts of one's home.

I suppose , on a purely superficial level, our life does appear rather dull, uninteresting and, yes, 'deprived' in comparison to what children in other countries have to face. Their adventures seem to be far more energetic than the mostly indoors fun that we seem to have grown up with.

But I disagree.

I believe that the wonders of childhood cannot be measured merely by what one has done as a child but by how those experiences end up shaping, informing and influencing the thought patterns and mental make up of one's adult life. And on that score, I think, our life as 'expat-kids' in Bahrain have been a true blessing.

In Bahrain, we have grown up with and have had close interactions with people of various nationalities and cultures, and so, a global world view is not a foreign concept to us. It's what has shaped our social circle since our childhood. Access to entertainment and information from various international sources have enriched our tastes and made us aware of diversity of experiences. It has broadened our cultural contexts and made us aware of a 'different' point of view. Even the so-called negative of not having a place we can call our own is a blessing in disguise because it has protected us from xenophobia, parochialism and narrow loyalties to one's ethnic background.

Now it's not that we've grown up without a sense of our own culture, or some sort of pride in our nation of origin or lacked knowledge of our country's heroes, founding fathers or heart throbs. It's just that we've realised the greatness of our countries does not immediately give them the right to be the centre of the universe. Yes, we do love our countries but we've been made aware that their uniqueness is not an excuse for arrogance but for a humble realisation that this uniquness forms a crucial thread in the vast tapestry of nations that constitute this planet we are part of.

More than anything, a global mindset is one of the biggest blessings any expat-kid can have, and this has been one of the most defining feature of our childhood and adult years.

I must admit that in recent years there has been a negative trend. Many expats have chosen to ghetto themselves in their own ethnic group. A few of them do not mingle with the 'other' and base their opinion on some preconceived notion that they've brought with them from their home country. Generalisations have become the favourite tool in cultural understanding and are robbing the expat population of the dynamism that it is capable of.

But this is just an aberration and cannot be considered a defining feature. At the end of the day, it all depends on individuals and how they see themselves, how they want their children to be, and what is the source of their pride. If they want to enrich themselves with the diversity that's all around, then, they'll be that much more richer and broadened in their mental make up. But if they want to shelter themselves only with people of their colour, race, language and ethnic background, then, they will be the losers.

So are we - expat kids - still leading deprived lives, as the party folks suggested?

Not a chance!!!

The Michael Jackson Persona

2009-07-04T13:37:00.005+03:00

A week ago Michael Jackson died and the world hasn't been the same.

On one hand tributes are being poured to mourn the loss of one of 20th Century's greatest entertainers and on the other hand there are serious discussions on the phenomenon that Michael was. Nothing surprising about all this since every celebrity death brings out this curious mixture of obituaries and amnesia. It's not that everyone has suddenly forgotten 'wacko jacko' or the oxygen tank or the pet chimp or the possible paedophile or the weird things he did but, somehow, all that is suddenly being explained with a certain degree of nuance. The context is amplified to condone the weirdness as if to say, it was quite normal except for... so and so reasons.

Now I don't expect the media to start lynching the late Michael Jackson so soon after his death but it makes me wonder... why was there so much of silence when he was still alive? If he was truly such a huge phenomenon whose quirks could be explained away, then, why wasn't it done when he was fighting a court case and fighting for his reputation?

I didn't exactly buy the paedophile argument because, somehow, he just came across -- at least, to me -- as a sad and immature and perpetually juvenile case. More weird than criminal. More insane than callous. More of a boy than a man. Thankfully, I haven't had a non-childhood like Michael Jackson and am sure neither did majority of people who disapproved of his lifestyle and the choices he made in life. Hence, we can't even begin to understand what it really means to live in a fish bowl since childhood, being under the glare of the media since the age of ten, being made aware of one's genius throughout one's life and to be constantly surrounded by people who delighted in taking advantage of you.

In some interview, he did comment that he preferred the company of children because they didn't 'see' him as the money making phenomenon that he was and accepted him just the way he was. And just the way he was didn't seem to be quite a pretty sight. The plastic surgeries augmenting some of the flaws he was reminded of. The elaborate wardrobe that seemed to hide the insecure child taught to suppress the boyhood glee. The grown up man unsure of his place in the company of his peers.

Now this is in no way a justification for some of the accusations or even a rationale to what Michael said about it being okay to sleep with little boys. I certainly don't think it's a good thing for any man to do whatever his or mental state may be.

It's just that the more I think of Michael Jackson as a human being, he seems like a truly tragic case. A sad spectacle of a man who was unable to live a full life despite having the resources to do so. Of course, his would be a perfect example of money's inability to buy happiness.

But then, again, if I really think deep into the issue... the obvious fact is, I really don't know Michael Jackson and, for that matter, neither does any of the scribes who have written loud commentaries on his life, his career, his legacy. What I know of him is what the media presented to me and to the rest of the world. We were given an image that we enjoyed and made it part of our lives. And now it is the loss of that image we mourn.

And for that matter, even the criminal Michael Jackson is an image that the media created and presented to us in ways that left many in no doubt about the man's leanings. Two images that were created, nurtured and sustained by a ruthless and insensitive media who saw a goldmine in Michael's rise, success, weaknesses and eventual tragedy.

The entire Michael Jackson phenonmenon -- the good and the bad -- was a media creation that we bought, believed in and made it an integral part of our consciousness. The image was manufactured and so was our response. We played into the hands of a cruel media monster who nurtured this phenomenon and then got bored of him and sought our help in bringing him down.

Unlike other similar casualties of media's cruelty, Michael Jackson had one thing going for him: he was incredibly talented. His music, his dance moves, the concerts and the videos provided a cultural and musical context to much of the 80s and the 90s. He was a one man music industry who was responsible for an album as unique as "Thriller". I'm not sure if any original album has - as yet - been able to surpass the magic of "Thriller" or any performer in recent times who can be such a powerful cultural and musical influence the way Elvis and the Beatles were.

But all that again is just one side of Michael Jackson. The only sad thing is that it is coming under greater scrutiny after his death when it is a little bit too late.

Better late than never, I guess.

How 'The Day the Earth Stood Still' Made My Weekend

2009-05-08T18:56:00.002+03:00

Remakes of popular classics are, by definition, one of the worst possible encroachments on our treasured memories.

The recent Indiana Jones is a perfect example of how a good idea can be ruined by a need to be topical, with-it and savvy. The same goes for the Avengers movie, which shouldn't have been produced in the first place, as well as Bewitched, Starsky and Hutch and, yes, Charlies Angels, too.

The unbelievable Star Wars prequel trilogy (must find a suitable title for those three movies) was another sad instance of an attempt to revive a franchise and ending up with something else altogether. I'm sure the jury is still out on that one and while it can be said that Anakin's transformation into Darth Vader was shown as a tragedy in the classical sense nevertheless one couldn't help asking, but why on earth? I've yet to see the new Star Trek movie and since it's about Kirk and Spock's early years... one can only hope that the obvious need to extend this franchise is done in more subtle ways.

Having made my distaste for re-makes quite clear, I need to point out that there can be a few exceptions, too.

It's really not possible to satisfy anyone with remakes because the original usually is so much part of a certain era's cultural landscape that a remake just doesn't succeed in reconnecting that past. Some would say that's not the idea of remakes in the first place and the only purpose is to show that the 'story' or 'plot' is relevant across generations, and still has the capability of registering profits for studios. This could be right in a way because Charlies Angels the movie is so far removed from Charlies Angels the tv show. Those of us who grew up watching the show found it a bit hard to relate with the fast-paced, sexually charged, campy look of the movie even though the show had all these elements but not in such obvious ways. Maybe we were just too fixated on Kate Jackson, Farrah Fawcett, Jaclyn Smith and Cheryl Ladd... and somehow however attractive the new Angels were, they were no match for the original threesome. Alright, I'm just being biased, that's all.

And this brings me to last week's DVD that I rented and inspired this post.

"The Day the Earth Stood Still" comes with two discs -- the original 1951 version and the new Keanu Reeves version. I didn't grow up with the original and so there were no cultural or emotional milestones that connected me with the original. To me it was just another black and white movie produced long before I was born or even thought of. The new version is lot closer to my cultural experience and should resonate with what I'm expected to appreciate.

What I did, however, was to watch both movies back-to-back to get a sense of how a plot could be 'adapted' and 're-made' for a new generation that has no 'link' with what people in the 50s experienced. And it would be no exagerration to say that it was quite an eye-opener and one of the most delightful experiences I've had for a long, long time. It has to be added that this 'delightful experience' had nothing to do with the merits of both the movies and more to do with the similarities and dissimilarities that I noticed between the two.

The film is essentially about a flying saucer that lands on Earth and an alien named Klaatu walks out of the saucer alongwith a robot named Gort. Klaatu comes in peace but gets shot by an overenthusiastic military personnel and is promptly hospitalised. The 'government machinery' is suspicious of his intentions and has him apprehended but Klaatu escapes and a manhunt ensues. He warns of an impending apocalyptic scenario unless people of the earth change their ways and it is left up to ordinary citizens to show him that the Earth is not such a bad place, and we earthlings should be given a chance. In both versions, he prefers relaying his message not to one nation but to all nations that represent the planet, and this suggestion is not appreciated by the powers-that-be that are in contact with him.

It's amazing how we have this love-hate relationship with alien beings. Sometimes we like to show them as ferocious and how alien savagery initiates the process of bringing earthlings together. And then we have these other bewildered aliens who come in peace but are hunted down by angry and paranoid humans. In both cases, it is always the disunity amongst humans that gives these 'alien' plots their driving force... almost as if we're trying to figure out why we hate each other so much and how only an 'outside' force is required to unite us or to tell us that we've lost our way.

The original 1951 movie was made right after the Second World War and has a strong anti-nuclear message. Klaatu says that as long as Earthlings fought amongst each other it was not a problem to other alien beings in the universe. However nuclear energy used for destructive purposes had the possibility of unleashing violence beyond the earth's atmosphere and this was something that the aliens will not tolerate and unless governments on earth promise to eliminate these weapons earth will be safe... if they don't destroy these weapons, then, the aliens will destroy earth before earth becomes a destructive force for other planets.

The new version doesnt use a nuclear holocaust as the 'danger' but the environment becomes the villain and once again a warning is issued that unless earthlings shape up the earth will be destroyed. However, in the current version, the decision is already made and Gort has a more important role in the matter than in the original. While in the earlier version, Gort was subject to Klaatu's commands, nothing much changes in the command structure in the new version except that in the new version Gort is more autonomous and is pre-programmed and Klaatu has to travel through a storm to 'change' the command.

What I found more interesting is that the story's essential premise of the earth gone haywire and its imminent destruction is as relevant today as it was five decades ago. Nuclear holocaust is still very much a threat but the environment, too, reveals some dangers due to humanity's irresponsible tinkering. In that sense, the film was easily able to 'update' itself without losing the essential plot. I'm sure even if the story is given another makeover fifty years from now there will be some 'new' danger that will require alien scolding. This is a really curious phenomenon: is it hubris or something else that makes us, as a species, so self destructive?

Ideally, education and technology should have eliminated the savage instinct and made us more responsible, cultured, and humane but that hasn't happened. We seem to be technologically more sophisticated in our destructiveness and education hasn't really done much to build cohesiveness or a sense of unity. If anything, it has given us better explanations for perpetuating our prejudices and our violences because we are not a peaceful race and it would require a major shift in our basic thought processes to make it possible. The greek word for repentance is 'metanoia' or 'new mind', and perhaps, that's what is required: a complete rebooting of the mental framework.

In the 1951 version, the saucer lands in Washington DC but this time it lands in Central Park, New York because this time Klaatu apparently is well informed that the United Nations, the official representative of a majority of countries is located in this city. I was wondering what subtle message was being conveyed by making an alien spacecraft land in Washington DC and not anywhere else. I'm sure many would contest that the message was not subtle at all but a bold statement on US power, supremacy and supposed hegemony. It is understandable since the cold war was at its paranoid heights, and each bloc wanted to emphasise its own moral superiority. While these compulsions may have been there, I do think it was quite bold for the film to take a neutral and an almost 'non-aligned' position because eventually the government machinery is not shown in a favourable light as much as Moscow is shown to be obstinate.

Another glaring difference between the two version was the near absence of any 'black faces' in the original... there were only few in the crowd but nowhere else and this could be more to do with the era being less politically correct and shot many years before the civil rights agitation began in earnest. Hence, the newer version made appropriate changes keeping in mind the changes to the demographics. If the earlier version had a single white woman and her white son as Klaatu's friends, the newer version also has a single white woman but in this case she has a black stepson. This would have been impossible in the earlier version because it would have implied that a white woman actually married a black man, and was willing to adopt his son as her own.

The tension between the woman and the boy was less to do with race and more to do with relational problems that any step parent has to face. I think this has been a welcome change because it shows that race is no longer an 'issue' worth bothering about and the real tension in relationships is of 'individual' nature. In fact, that should be the case in all circumstances but is rarely so and we use 'race and ethnicities' as our favourite excuses for any breakdown.

Another big difference between the two movies is technological. While the earlier version was focused on the story, the newer version used a lot of special effects to massage it further to spice up the narrative. In the same vein, the newer version brought in a lot more complex details into the film such as, doing away with the linear narrative of the 1950s version and introducing other elements, too. Hence, we have a Klaatu lookalike making a discovery of a sphere in the Himalayas in the 1920s that seems to suggest the aliens have been visiting our planet for many years now. Or having him meet an old Chinese man who happens to be an alien spy left on earth for many years. His task was to give a report on the planet and recommends earth's destruction because it fails to meet the grade. However he refuses to leave the planet along with Klaatu because he loves it here and finds the planet a pleasant world despite its various contradictions.

So in a sense the film is worth watching but only if you view both versions back to back. I wouldnt recommend the newer version by itself because, for all its technology and special effects, it is not engaging enough and many of the plots seem rather forced. But if you compare both films together, it can be a very interesting socio-cultural and anthropological study. I'm not sure if that falls in your idea of entertainment, and if it is, then the films will be worth viewing. However, if cool effects is all what you're looking for, then, 'The Day the Earth Stood Still' wont disappoint.

But what I really need to find out is: how does this film match up to those who grew up on the previous version? Their answer will be far more interesting than anything we may have to say.

The End

2009-04-28T07:52:00.001+03:00

The end of any relationship never comes as a surprise. The signs are always there. The only problem is that we lack the courage to pay attention. We are way too focused on trying to patch up the cracks, looking for that magic antidote, hoping against hope that the silence is just a pause and that we would soon witness the rapid palpitation of life once again.

However, optimism is a strange animal that refuses to be satiated even when fed with cold hard facts. It finds an explanation for every slight, a convincing argument for every rebuff and a rationale for every rude remark spoken. It has that sunny disposition that cynics find absolutely irritating while the hopeful see in it the very breath of life itself.

Some would call it 'denial' but that would be too simplistic an assessment to make. Maybe it's just the survival instinct attempting a last stand. Or a feeble effort at trying to see something normal even when there isn't any trace of it.

I couldn't help thinking along these lines when I met this friend who told me that a relationship had ended. She seemed relieved, elated and acted as if a weight had gone off her shoulders. I wasn't surprised but I didn't say so because it would have seemed a tad inappropriate. My only thought was, why did it take so long?

I wish there were easier explanations but there aren't any. My friend's reaction, for instance, was not that unusual even though her apparent inaction seemed rather exasperating and, at times, quite annoying. It was exasperating because we couldn't imagine how anyone could be blind to some of the most outrageous behaviour. How could anyone be unaware of what was really going on? How can anyone not be rational about this?

But the cold hard fact of life is that people do not like to be rational about such things. The obvious is rarely palatable, and that's what the rational approach does – shows us a situation for what it really is and confronts us with its truth in all its gory details.

However, most people like to believe in the possibility of a happy ending. They may agree with the facts presented but they won't see it as the complete picture but only as part of the process. Excuses will be offered for any apparent deviation so that the 'perpetrator' is not seen as some sort of a villainous character. The nastiness will be brushed aside as a minor quirk, that's all.

It's part of this elaborate process to avoid disappointment even if it involves being in denial. It is not a conscious act of being untruthful even though it may appear to be so. I suppose it's one way of making it appear that one has not made a mistake, that somehow one was not made a fool of, and one's rational, cool-headed side is still quite intact.

No one likes to be considered a fool or, at least, as someone whose trust was betrayed because it suggests that one is capable of being betrayed and made a fool of. It exposes weakness at a very fundamental level and one that we don't like to admit. We like to project strength, rationality, common sense and a with-it-ness. Anything that's less would make us look stupid and weak.

Hence, when I asked my friend, 'why do you seek out wounds', she didn't reply because she wasn't ready to peer closer and inward and discover the answer for herself. Some answers do not just fall from the sky, they need to be sought with a mountaineer's determination to reach the peak. And even then, a satisfactory answer is not a guarantee. Truth rarely is. And that's the cold hard fact of life: it is not pat answers to questions that we need but truth that will set us free.

Question is, are we prepared to listen to that truth? And therein lies the crunch.

Mama Earth

2009-04-22T15:01:00.001+03:00

Today is Earth Day. Officially speaking, it means that we're all supposed to go all-gooey about mama earth, kiss the soil and declare undying love for this planet we call home. At least, that's the image one gets when one reads about how governments and corporations and media outlets go about honouring this day.

Now don't get me wrong. I think it's a great idea because, at least, it celebrates something that's a little bigger than ourselves. All other events – including national days, birthdays, valentines day – have a narrow or a parochial agenda. They're all about celebrating one's little corner but the Earth Day forces one to expand that outlook and see the bigger picture.

But the trouble with Earth Day celebrations is that the hype rarely matches the action, and the ground reality is never the same as one that's screamed from posters, concerts, podiums and pamphlets. There's an odd disconnect between what should be and what really is. And so, I often find myself squirming when I see an Earth Day poster because, I wonder, how serious are these intentions. Are they as urgent as the words imply?

A look at the history of the Earth Day would indicate that, at least, the intentions were sincere. After witnessing the huge numbers galvanised by the anti-Vietnam protests, US Senator Gaylord Nelson felt a similar movement must be created to establish a strong grassroots demonstration on the environment. In many ways, April 22 1970 is widely seen as the birth of the modern environmental movement.

So in other words that's almost 40 years of a sustained campaign on a variety of environmental issues, from global warming, deforestation, ozone hole depletion, CFC emission, population growth, extinction of wild animals, toxic dumps and what have you. 40 years is a long time. 40 years is as old as some of us who have crossed the 4-oh mark. 40 years is as old as a man or a woman approaching middle age. 40 years is not youthful but decidedly mature.

All that's fine but what do we have to show for a movement that's as old as some of us. Have we seen a better world order? Have governments taken initiative to stop population explosion? Have industries taken the lead to protect the environment instead of looking after their own balance sheet? Are we seeing lesser number of animals entering the extinction hall of fame? Or are we still waiting for that magic moment that will change everything?

I know I sound terribly cynical here but governmental and industrial track record has not been very encouraging. It's true that some governments are very proactive in these matters and some industries are spending millions of dollars in turning their processes more environmentally friendly. But that's just a few and it's not a mass movement yet. For some odd reason, people who talk about green issues are still considered a bit odd and hippy-like. And for many people, even a simple thing like using a jute bag instead of a plastic bag in the supermarket is a big thing. Not because they cant afford but they don't feel the urgency or the need. As I said before, these actions are still considered weird and good for 'others' and not for 'us'.

But if the Earth Day has to have any meaning or substance, then, this is the battleground because all the other issues like legislation, picketing outside factories and the like are just minor. The day everyone starts believing that environmental issues are as necessary as brushing our teeth, eating healthy food and wearing sun glasses in summer... that's the day when Earth Day will have acquired its meaning and will fulfil its purpose.

Until then, we need to keep on trying.

Re-wind

2009-04-22T10:14:00.001+03:00

It's funny in a weird sort of way that my return to blogging has to do with an election story. The last time I wrote anything with any degree of passion and interest was during the American election circus: Palin's bloopers, Obama's eloquence, McCain's blunders and Hillary's desperation were too good to resist. It was like Survival and Bold & Beautiful rolled into one.

Well, a lot of water has flowed under the bridge since my last post, and the world has seen a lot many changes. Some of these changes nearly got commented on this blog but due to this facility called 'incomplete posts', most of those comments are still at the drawing board. Life has a way of intervening and postponing even the most serious commentary on life.

Obama was elected and is now the most powerful person in the supposedly free world. Thanks to the current economic recession, the idea of a 'free world' does need some serious re-definition. For too long, the western world sold the idea of a free world where customers are kings, market forces are the great levellers and governments not being the ones to decide how one lives one's life. With rising debt, defaults and possible liquidation of large corporations, this 'free world' appears neither 'free' nor charming anymore.

It's not that there's an alternative out there somewhere and that's the bummer because one cannot imagine the present system to continue with the same laissez faire approach as before. Communism was tried and tested but failed to make the grade and reached its end twenty years ago this year. So that option is ruled out and one has to only watch and wait how things unravel in the months to come.

However, on the plus side, Obama has been using the right rhetoric so far, and one can only hope that the man combines style with substance and delivers the goods.

And this brings us to the election story. India will soon elect its prime minister and the world's largest democracy will either have a new leader or the same faces will return to Parliament House in New Delhi. These are not ordinary times for the elections because the global economic crisis has spread its tentacles far and wide, and India is not immune to these events. If the western markets experience a slow down and consumers buy less, it will have an impact on exports and delivery of services at the backend offices.

So in other words, if we celebrated the virtues of globalisation for the past two decades or so, now we are all looking at its downside. Or rather, the globalisation of a collective mess. Whoever comes to power in New Delhi has to address this issue as a priority and ensure that the downturn doesn't impair productivity, jobs and economic momentum.

India and China have, so far, been touted as the next big economic superpowers and it would be interesting to see how leaders from both countries address the current crisis. The actions they take – or do not take – will have an impact on the kind of role the two countries will have in the next fifty years. If this is supposed to be the Indian or the Chinese century, then, the quality of that century will be determined by the policies and programmes enacted by the respective leaders of the two countries.

For this to be clearly articulated, the next prime minister whether it will continue to be Dr. Manmohan Singh of the Congress led UPA coalition or L. K. Advani of the BJP led NDA will need to move beyond petty brinkmanship, narrow populist postures and be more proactive in declaring the kind of leadership they want India to have in the coming decades.

However, another issue that the next prime minister must address is terrorism and Pakistan. While both issues are not necessarily inter-related but the Mumbai terrorist attack last year made it clear that while the Pakistani government may not have been directly involved in the attacks, there are forces within Pakistan that are determined in unleashing violence and mayhem. This cannot be ignored nor wished away.
And as the recent events in Swat Valley have shown, the Pakistani political establishment is also facing its own existential threat with a resurgent Taliban and appears helpless and impotent in addressing this crisis. The Pakistani Talibans want nothing more than a takeover of the entire country and would like to overthrow the current political establishment.

If that happens, then, it will be a bigger crisis for India than anything the country has experienced before. Not only because the ragtag militants will have access to nuclear weapons or they'd be zealous about unleashing havoc on the infidel regime next door, there will also be social and political unrest throughout Pakistan resulting in influx of refugees and possible violence, too.

The Taliban are as much a threat to Pakistan as they are to India, and so it would be in India's best interests to stop the 'blame game' for any acts of violence and instead work alongside Pakistan's political establishment in curbing this threat. Not doing so will be disastrous in the long term even though talking tough to Pakistan right now might, in the short term, gain the political parties some brownie points amongst the vote bank.

It will be necessary to take decisive action with the terrorists but vital to be conciliatory towards elements within the Pakistani establishment that agree with the terrorist threat.

Whoever will be the next prime minister will not have an easy job because the conditions worldwide are not as simplistic as before. It requires someone with a progressive mindset, who understands the bigger picture at stake here, who knows what India's role ought to be and, finally, should be someone who is recognised as working for the benefit of Indians – rich or poor, Hindu or Muslim or Christian, rural or urban.

Maybe what India needs is another Obama like figure who can restore hope and confidence amongst its citizens. Sadly, neither Dr Singh nor Mr Advani fit the bill because so far they haven't captured the imagination of the young or the idealists (not necessarily one and the same, by the way). And that Obama space is still vacant.

It's not that Indians didn't have an Obama type experience before. It happened more than 20 years ago when Rajiv Gandhi became prime minister and brought a youthful vigour to the political order. But sadly the Indian Camelot didn't last long, he lost the subsequent elections and could have possibly emerged as a better prime minister in his second outing but a suicide bomber put an end to that dream.
Let's only hope that the next government will not spend its energy on dreams and hopes but on policies and programmes that deliver the goods... for the short term but most importantly for the long term.

Empress' New Clothes

2008-11-01T15:14:00.002+03:00

If Sarah Palin gets elected as the next Vice-President of the United States, then, it will certainly be a triumph of style over substance. Her election (if at all it does happen) to this second highest position in the US will underline the incredible power that a well-oiled PR machinery can generate. It will, basically, show that one can achieve absolutely anything with the help of a good hype generator.

I'm sure she has incredible talent and political skills that have moulded her to be what she is. Fact that she is a governor of a state and managed to defeat the incumbent from her own party does indicate that she does possess that certain something that ambitious politicians usually possess.

However, getting ahead of the game can be great politics, but it may not be sufficient for someone aspiring to be a leader of the most powerful country in the world. After all, in the worst case scenario that something should happen to McCain, she'd be just a heart-beat away from the Oval office.

So far her only powerful performance was at the Republican convention where she managed to electrify the base. I'm being generous when I say 'powerful' because her speech lacked wit, eloquence and depth. It was clever alright and full of smart one-liners but wasn't deep enough to convince the unconverted. Her subsequent speeches, debate performance and interviews were an embarrassment, and it's amazing how a respected political party could even select a person with such a shallow world view.

The US is going through one of the biggest economic crisis in its recent history, and for her to berate Joe Biden for even suggesting that paying taxes is the patriotic thing to do is the most absurd thing I've ever heard. Patriotism is not about one-liners alone but it's about sacrifices, and sacrifices are not the monopoly of the armed forces alone but must involve everyone who considers themselves to be citizens.

And then there's the question of presidential qualities that a person needs before even aspiring to be a political leader and potential statesman. It needs a broader world-view, an intellectual insight into contemporary issues and concerns, the wisdom to make the right judgments, and the ability to understand that gaining foreign policy know how is not just a matter of looking out of the window.

I was amazed at how Katie Couric and Charlie Gibson both managed to keep a straight face at the interview although I could detect a trace of a half formed smile on Couric's face while interviewing Palin. Her mumbled response to the economic crisis is something to be worried about - considering the situation we all are in - and if she does manage to become something that most people - surprisingly even a few Republicans - do not want her to be.

Now if Palin was somebody else, then, I'm sure she would have been skewered by people like Hannity and others from Fox News. But somehow she has been turned into a heroine, of sorts: hockey mom with lipstick. Her every fault has been 'justified' and 'excused' and her detractors are called 'sexist' or worse. Even basic questions like, asking why rape victims in her state were made to pay for rape kits or why did she toy with censorship as mayor of the town of Wasilla are not even considered worthy to be included in any analysis.

Somehow her supporters are trying to create this enormous myth around her - as an ordinary housewife thrown in extraordinary circumstances, and one who is blessed with the common touch enabling her to readily understand the situation everyone faces.

Perhaps it may have worked for a while, but am not sure if this hype has managed to retain its staying power. If Colin Powell and Lawrence Eagleburger's disenchantment is any indication, then, the Empress has certainly showed that she has no clothes. The GOP certainly gave this metaphorical state a more real dimension by paying a staggering $150,000 to dress her like a diva and not the ornery housewife that she must be to connect with the base.

But something in me feels that the Republican Party can't be that stupid to choose someone like her to be the vice-presidential nominee... its either a reckless decision by the maverick in chief or the party decided to set her up as the fall guy so that none of the establishment figures could be blamed if and when the party loses the elections.

But that's assuming that the party does lose the elections, and till then, the hype machine will be working overtime to ensure that she is propped up to be what she is not.

A Week From Now

2008-10-30T18:32:00.005+03:00

In a week from now, the circus aka the US Elections will have ended and the tragi-comedy will once again begin its four year march to the next denouement.

It has been a very exciting journey so far even though - at times - it bordered on the near ludicrous. In fact, it even felt like watching an episode of Survivor: The White House, and at other times, a little bit like watching a really corny soap opera with its parade of stock characters.

But in a week from now, it will all be over and the debate will focus on the more pertinent question: what next? The ongoing economic crisis, the Iraq imbroglio and the Iranian nuclear puzzle will provide enough material for the president-elect to chew over, ponder and even look for real answers, if any.

So far, if the polls are any indication, it does look like Barack Obama will be the next occupant of the White House. But then, again, people talk of the Bradley effect, laziness of some Democrat supporters, and other 'surprises' that may sway the votes towards the McCain-Palin camp. So one should keep one's fingers crossed and hope for the best.

And therein lies the rub... who is the best after all? Or should we even bother measuring the candidates on some vague bestometer? This search for the best whatever has taken the discussion to some absurd levels.

For instance, the word 'elite' became such a bad word that suddenly ignorance, lack of education, absence of well-cultivated manners were seen as right qualifications for one of the world's toughest jobs. Joe the Plumber (who incidentally was not a plumber) and Hockey Moms became the ultimate brainiacs who are in 'touch' with the real world, and graduates from Ivy League were dismissed as irrelevant to the concerns of the common man.

Now at a certain level, there might be some truth to this railing against the elite but dismissing the elites as spent force and a disqualifier does come across as totally idiotic... and even scary. If lack of education and culture is seen as something to be proud of, then, its logical conclusion endorses a future society akin to this one.

And then, there is this over-excitement over polls.

Quite frankly, the only polls that matter are the ones on November 4th, but opinion polls have acquired a life of their own and no media pundit will be without one. We are told that polls indicate that Obama is leading but at the same time we are cautioned about the Bradley effect, which in retrospect, implies we need to take these polls with a pinch of salt. Of course, this begs the question: if one has to take it with a pinch of salt, then, why on earth are we discussing it in the first place.

But I guess they do indicate the pulse of the moment, and that seems to be beating to the tune of Obama.

All said and done, this is a historic election... and not just for the obvious reasons like either the first non-white President or the first female vice-president... the historicity of this election will also be a big burden on the next president who will have to juggle between being FDR and JFK. The economic crisis requires urgent attention to prevent a repetition of the Great Depression and some sort of a 'new deal' has to be created if the economic 'world' order is to be preserved. And then, again, the new President has to possess the kind of charisma that would inspire and engage everyone to work together for the common good and be filled with hope.

Now that's a tall order for anyone, but these are not ordinary times and the demand is such that nothing less will do. It's not just the US that awaits the outcome with bated breath, but the world at large, is desperate for a different kind of US leadership that does not follow the formulations of the last eight years but takes a chance at a much brighter vision.

Of course, the bigger question for those of us in the Middle East remains the same. Will the new leadership take concrete steps towards ensuring that the region is more peaceful, less war-torn and economically vibrant? Or will we see a return to deja vu?

Word Map

2008-09-29T16:43:00.009+03:00

I don't know how far this image is a true indication of words I mostly use in my blog, but hey, that's the claim Wordle seems to be making. Having seen it in Sabbah's blog, I thought of trying it out and seeing for myself what it will uncover.

I guess I ought to be surprised at some of the words that appear in this 'map' because it never occurred to me earlier that these words had a significant presence in my writing. I wonder how many of us realise what words and, consequently, what thought processes actually guide our mental framework. It does provide a peek into the way we think and in what we think about... or as Christ put it: 'out of the abundance of the heart, the mouth speaks.'

This image is made possible by a java applet developed by Jonathan Feinberg of Wordle.net. It has been licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 United States License.

Explaining silence

2008-07-27T07:01:00.000+03:00

It's been a while since I blogged, and it's not because I had nothing to say. In fact, I got a dozen or more unfinished posts just waiting for my finishing touch. So basically there have been stuff that I've been wanting to post but, for some reason or the other, I did not do so.

Interestingly, a few months ago I said exactly the same thing after a similarly long spell of blog-silence. I wonder if this post will, once again, precede another long spell of blog-silence. I don't know which way my blogging will go, but one thing is certain... I'm not quitting. Once a blogger, always a blogger. Once you're in it, you can't get out. OK. That was being a little dramatic but you know what I mean.

But then there is such a thing as 'real life' with its many demands like deadlines and deadlines and more deadlines. So what does one do after a few sleepless nights writing a brochure or a corporate film? No points for guessing... the zzzzz song, of course.

On the other hand, there are times when one wonders if blogging stuff achieves anything of value. Does it make any difference to anyone what one writes here? Is it a colossal waste of time disguised as 'making a difference'?

I wish I have some answers to these questions, and frankly, I don't.

However, these questions apply not only to blogging but to other forms of writing as well. Journalism - that self appointed doyen of responsible writing, suffers from this malady (or rather, is supposed to be). Similar questions are raised about poetry, short stories, essays and novels as well. There are people who'd insist that enthusiasm over an iambic pentameter is just way too frivolous and elitist and that people are better off pondering over water filtration devices instead.

So it all boils down to... value, and the struggle to define what constitutes a value added activity and what should be clearly regarded as a glorified waste of time. The eternal battle between the idealists and the pragmatists. The battle for space that no one wants to abdicate that easily.

Frankly, I don't know whether blogging accomplishes anything or for that matter I don't know even know if any of these words will touch a soul and move a mountain. But as a writer I realise that's not for me to worry about. My responsibility ends the moment I finish writing and then whatever I write assumes a life all its own. Readers - if there be such entities - will respond the way they wish to. They may love it, hate it, be inspired by it, be repulsed by it or be totally indifferent to the point of not caring what's written. That should not be my problem.

What I should do is, simply, write when I feel the urge to say something. Silence is never an option when a thought requires articulation. The choice is mine. Either I listen to my inner muse and write or I just throttle that urge and silence the storm.

Question is, will I do what I must or just continue doing things the way they are?

What makes a good 'abuse'?

2008-05-11T23:48:00.005+03:00

Now that's a question I never thought I'd actually try and answer in my blog. It's not as if the question never crossed my mind before, but hey, there are certain things that make us chuckle, we leave it at that and then think of something else.

It would have been left at that if not for a very interesting post on Shakespeare & Company (S&C), a writers group on ryze.com, a business network.

The post was something of a writing exercise and the subject header was titled 'inventing new abuses' and asked S&C members to come up with a range of strong (but NOT obscene and NOT to do with an act - which, let's face it - is reproductive in nature and has the capacity to be sublime) abuses which are gender-specific, but from a woman's perspective?

I thought that was a very interesting topic for a discussion on a writers group, of all places. A good abuse, if one can call it that, usually brings out the very best in metaphors, similes and oxymorons, which have always been - let's face it - the sole preserve of writers. Those who abuse on a daily basis hardly spend time admiring the linguistic and stylistic richness of what they utter. To them these are words that need to be flung at, and if the words achieve their objective, fine, and if not, oh well, there are always other words that could be unleashed.

As a warm up, take a look at this video that sheds an entirely new perspective on the "F" word. It's quite funny because it shows how the "F" word can be used in a variety of ways while still managing to retain its punch. And yet, something about the video makes us smile because it rings a bell. A connection is established because we can identify with what's being said. Our irreverent side is immediately tickled and we find something familiar and accessible in the profane.

Now let's hold on to that thought for a while. The "F" word, as we all know, denotes a sexual act but when we use the word we don't usually think about that... do we?

I find it incredibly intriguing that in almost all cultures... please note 'almost all' and not 'all'... abuses tend to have sexual overtones and undertones as far as their favourite choicest phrases are concerned. It's like sex is fair game for a phrase or a noun or a verb. I often wonder why the entire realm of sexuality is seen to be easy picking for 'bad words'.

Maybe this is where the word 'abuse' comes into play... the wrong or incorrect usage that transforms a 'use' into 'abuse'. But it still raises the question: why sex of all things?

Most choice words revolve around suggestions of incest, illegitimacy, and a few organs (that's how subtle I'm going to get here) ... these words in themselves should rightfully invoke pity or nothing at all, but in most languages (or at least the ones I'm familiar with), they are so spiced up that they no longer retain their original meaning but acquire a naughtier edge.

In patriarchal cultures, abusive words are used against those who violate a woman's honour and consequently, the 'family honour', as if the two go together. A man can do anything sexually but the family honour is never taken into consideration, but that's another topic altogether.

I suppose, it is for this reason that in such societies and cultures the most common 'abuses' are coined with a totally male perspective because it is 'man' who is supposed to use them. Women are simply expected to continue being a bunch of helpless creatures eternally grateful for the protection they receive from male members of their society. But to even suggest giving these abuses a neutral perspective would be tantamount to emasculating a gun. Now which hardy male from a ruggedly patriarchal society will allow that to happen?

In a way, it would be interesting to see how the same dynamics could be pulled out from their male template, turned around, and given a feminine slant. Will it work? Will it be effective enough? Will it carry a punch? Or will it serve no other purpose apart from providing fuel to ones creative glands?

One would assume - going by the rules of patriarchy - that women won't be able to come up with abuses because they are expected to be more 'motherly' and have a 'nurturing' spirit within them. Men, on the other hand, are the cavemen who 'shoot first and talk later'. Hence, the ground rules have already been laid out. Men are the attack machines and women are the ones who sing the lullabys.

Of course, reality is something else.

As Shakespeare said, 'hell hath no fury like a woman scorned'... so going by that dictum, one would speculate that part of this fury would involve 'language' and 'phrases', and yes, 'strong' ones at that. After all, the tongue is a mightier weapon than a fist and phrases provide necessary ammunition for any verbal blitzkreig.

So perhaps, if women are such furious creatures then it's safe to assume that they always had in them to come up with creative and STRONG 'abuses' but patriarchy chose to sideline women, push them into a corner, and silence them so that no one could ever hear their 'scream'. I suppose there is also an element of convenience since allowing women the freedom and the space to use language so creatively and colourfully would basically force men to recognise women as their equals in the machismo sweepstakes and compel them to surrender their dominance. The solution to this problem was quite simple. All that had to be done was to honour women as symbols of purity and goodness. It was necessary to deify them as the first step in silencing their scream because 'saints' are not expected to lash out.

But while this may be the case with the gender equation (or lack of it), I'm equally intrigued to know why sex finds itself comfortably placed in the abuse vocabulary... what is it about sex that makes it so easy for both men and women to find in it a rich reservoir of inspiration for all of their 'abusing' needs?

Is it fear of what sex is all about that compels people to use phrases borrowed from 'sexual acts' or 'conditions' or 'consequences'? Or is there a deeper issue here that needs careful analysis?

Most fundamentalists, for instance, pick on sex as their pet peeve while coolly ignoring other fundamentals of their faith - theological issues, caring for the poor, etc. It's almost as if 'sex' can only be included in public discourse either as an abuse or as a moral offence, but never for itself.

I'm not sure if patriarchy alone is the problem, but it's more to do with 'denial', I think. We are 'gregarious creatures' who are 'made to live within communities', which means, we are not meant to be alone. Modern culture has been pushing people inwards and making it increasingly hard for physical contact to take place. Taken at its extreme, one can live comfortably without being in close physical proximity to anyone... you could even order food and grocery over the net!

Modern culture also worships 'self made individuals' and a myth is gradually built around empowering people with 'a sense of autonomy' so that they are brain washed into thinking that being 'self made' is all that it takes to be a success.

Hence, sex comes up as a completely contradictory force to the prevailing ideology because sex, by its very definition and act, involves the inclusion of another person into our physical space. It rejects the notion that one can depend on oneself alone for the experience of pure pleasure. Sex involves another person to make it complete. Masturbation is not the answer because it is a deception since it only attempts to replicate something that is basically meant to be enjoyed by two people.

I don't know if there is a certain fear involved in letting people in to our physical space, or if there is some deep seated revulsion towards this very idea... I don't know if this very act of denying the existence of this fear makes people go the other extreme. That is, to articulate the same ideas but in the form of abuses... hoping that it would demonstrate that one is not actually ignoring the topic but is able to blurt out without any 'hangups'.

Abuses with a sexual slant, hence, are a way of saying things without actually saying them.

Maybe it is this act of being cool while being in denial at the same time which is responsible for pushing abuses into a whole different realm.

So are they purely male oriented? As long as men have the sole monopoly over the cultural narrative, yes, it will remain male oriented; but am sure, even if women take their rightful space, the focus will remain just the same.

This is because the denial that I'm talking about is not a male problem or a woman problem, but it is a human epidemic that has been going on for years and years. We are not going to address it ever because doing so will force us to confront our deepest fears and that is something no one will ever do. We are never going to entertain the idea of, or even, the possibility of being 'chronically untouched' and that modern life and modern technology could be responsible for it. Sex, we are told, is the magic potion that could rectify this anomaly and yet we avoid any serious discussion because it might just open up our vulnerabilities for the world to see.

So what's our standard response?

Well, most of us simply smile it off, and if that's not possible, then, we just say, 'just f*** it'.

The Austrian Horror

2008-05-05T06:23:00.006+03:00

It's a while since I blogged and though I wanted to write about so many issues, but for some reason, I didn't. I won't get into all those reasons now but perhaps I'll do so in some other post. However, after pondering over what this Austrian man did to his children I felt that I just had to blurt out something that would make sense... maybe not to the world at large but, at least, to myself. What a shame it took such a horrible event to pull me out of my blog-limbo.

I've always been against 'capital punishment' because I am 'pro-life' all the way, but when I read this story I just wanted to say, go hang him or send him to Abu Ghraib or wherever and let him rot.

I just can't seem to understand what must have driven him to do all that he did. I know it makes no sense to try and find a rationale because there just can't be one. Crazy example, I know, but even serial killers have a pathetic background that drives them to a life of senseless rampage. Not that I'm justifying serial killers, but yes, I'm trying hard.

But where this man is concerned, all I feel is utter disgust and my dark side would be only too glad to get a little 'expressive'. All I see in him is utter evil and the smug look on his face only heightens the horror and revulsion I feel towards him. How could a 'dad' be such a bastard?

I guess, such people challenge our deepest beliefs and faith systems. I do believe in the power of the cross to forgive the most hardened sinners and bring them to repentance. So if I believe that to be the gospel truth, then going by that statement, logically, it should certainly include this Austrian man, too... but can he repent? and if he does, then, shouldn't I overlook his offence and be more merciful? Personally, I'd like to see him hanged but that would defeat the very purpose for my not wanting people to get hanged... it would prevent the possibility of a change of heart in this man.

Then there is the question of his children, why did they have to go through all this?

I suppose there aren't any easy answers available, but let's face it, the more we read about this story, we are faced with many more questions than answers.

Where were the neighbours? Didn't they notice something odd was going on in this house? Were they so indifferent that they didn't care about the scars and the frequent pregnancies? How come no one bothered to check with the social service? And what about the mother? What was she doing when this was going on? Why did she just accept his word blindly? Wasn't she curious to know how - and from where - her husband was getting these babies into the house? Or did she know about it and was too embarassed and ashamed to admit that her husband and the father of her own daughter could do such a thing?

Curiosity is often considered a liability in social interactions, but I wish at least in this case, people had tried to be more curious and nosey. Maybe it would have lessened the horror. Maybe it would have stopped things from going the way they did. Maybe the story would have had a different ending.

Who knows?

the late Arthur C Clarke

2008-03-19T23:55:00.000+03:00

through his words, space became an odyssey,
through his deeds, satellites began to communicate

remembering the late great arthur c. clarke
who died in the land of serendip, a comma of an island
in an ocean of turmoil

will monoliths still puzzle us now?
will computers still terrify our journeys?
will apes learn new techniques of warfare?

the answers will have to wait
because the questioner has finally

been silenced.

The Mythical Thali

2008-01-05T22:28:00.000+03:00

In my last post, I touched upon the subject of myths and how the media plays a role in preserving and perpetuating them. Of course, I was talking about it specifically in the Indian context, or rather, in the variety of impressions and perceptions that I am gathering as an expat Indian visitor making a trip to the country after a long time. I am classifying some of these impressions as part of a gigantic myth and, in the process, attempting to understand why various forces within the country find myths useful to perpetuate their pet ideas, and basically, to make sense of everything that was swirling around me during the trip.

So in that sense there is a very narrow perspective involved here even though the subject of myths itself requires a much broader discussion. And that’s where the crunch lies and the challenge for any writer, therefore, is quite simple: how to elevate this specific matter into something that’s wider and more general?

I'm trying to be cautious even though I needn’t be so because India’s economic resurgence is neither mythical nor unreal. I should know. Last month my investment manager at Zurich International told me that I lost nearly $ 20,000 for not transferring my funds to the more active Brazil-China-India funds when he had asked me to nearly two years ago. For some odd reason I remained faithful to the North American funds and, well, less said the better.

Before defining the term "mythology" one needs to define the meaning of the word "myth". The word itself comes from the Greek "mythos" which originally meant "speech" or "discourse" but which later came to mean "fable" or "legend"... For our purposes the word mythology has two related meanings. Firstly it refers to a collection of myths that together form a mythological system. Thus one can speak of "Egyptian Mythology", "Indian Mythology", "Maori Mythology" or "Greek Mythology". In this sense one is describing a system of myths, which were used by a particular society at some particular time in human history. It is also possible to group mythologies in other ways. For example one can group them geographically and then speak of "Oceanic Mythology", "Oriental Mythology" and "African Mythology"... Broadly speaking myths and mythologies seek to rationalize and explain the universe and all that is in it. Thus, they have a similar function to science, theology, religion and history in modern societies. Systems of myths have provided a cosmological and historical framework for societies that have lacked the more sophisticated knowledge provided by modern science and historical investigation.

(Source: http://www.pantheon.org/articles/m/mythology.html)

I am using this definition as a kind of reference point for our discussion. There are many other definitions, too, but incorporating most of them here is beyond the scope of this essay. Maybe someday when and if I decide to expand this essay into something bigger I might do just that but not now. Myths, as this writer says, enable us to rationalise and explain the universe and all that is in it, and that the word is derived from the Greek "mythos" meaning "speech" or "discourse." Interesting points to consider when one realises that myths can work as effective templates in understanding reality and in providing some sort of context to what we see and experience all around us. In fact, they are regarded as necessary tools in influencing and manipulating public opinion in some way or the other.

Throughout history, words, images and sound (music, song or the ululating cries of tribal folks) have played a central role in the development of different myths. Some religions have used icons rather creatively to define their worldview (in the here and hereafter) whereas religions that are iconoclastic in nature have substituted images with words to do the very same thing.

Religion is not the only preserve of myths because, to cite one example, if one looks closely at the 'great American dream', it is a myth that has drawn thousands of immigrants to that great nation and still draws many to its shores. It would be interesting to examine the role of Hollywood, corporate America and that of different American authors in defining and adding colour to this myth. As a result, America is more than just a country with defined political and geographic borders, but an idea that attracts some and repulses others. People respond to that idea of what the nation represents and not necessarily to the reality of the country. This, in short, is the power of myths because it sets the agenda for our perceptions and decides how we are going to examine an entity.

The Great Indian Myth is not any different. However, there is not one all-encompassing myth that would define India but there are multitude of myths that jostle together for our attention in order to occupy our mental space. The amazing thing is that despite being so many they do not contradict themselves even though, at a certain level, they may appear as a bunch of paradoxes clubbed together. Perhaps it would be a mistake to assume that a single idea could easily explain a multi-lingual, multi-cultural, multi-religious and multi-national country like India. Maybe it's not in the answer we get but in the question we ask that some sort of explanation might trickle in.

Let's look at the city of Bombay as an example. It has one of the world's most expensive real estate markets. It has some of the world's richest people living and working here. It has Bollywood, one of the world's most successful film industries. It is one of the most cosmopolitan Indian cities where you can find people from all over the country. It is the preferred city for multinationals and blue chip companies who enjoy the buzz the city gives. It has some of the swankiest malls, expensive restaurants, pricey five star hotels, and is a paradise for consumers from all income backgrounds. If there is any city that would define the new India, then, Bombay would be up there in that list.

Now going back to the subject of myths, Bombay provides the tools to define a more progressive, prosperous and successful India. In fact, for all of the reasons above, Bombay has been a magnet to people from all over the country because of the idea that one can become rich in this city if one simply works hard enough. In this sense, it closely parallels the 'great American dream' because it draws upon the same aspirational values that are constantly fed by the media and sustained by anecdotes shared by its residents.

While this myth of Bombay as some sort of an El Dorado might hold true because of the examples given above, the opposite scenario is true as well. Bombay has Asia's largest slum where people live in horrible conditions. It has some of the world's poorest people trying to eke out a living and finding it hard to do so. It is the headquarters of Shiv Sena, one of India's most regressive, xenophobic and fundamentalist political parties that does not recognise and appreciate Bombay's cosmopolitan nature. It is a city that has survived religious and communal riots that have, often, threatened to unravel its delicate social structure. It is, also, a city that has bred some of the most dangerous underworld goons whose reach extends beyond India.

This is the other Bombay that provides the template to view India as a third world nation infested with crime, disease, poverty and illiteracy. For those fed on the myth of a poor India, these images offer a necessary rationale for their perception, and the available evidence will only serve to make a compelling argument.

Now which perception is the true one? Bombay as a rich city with rich people that could pass off as a first world city, or the other Bombay that is poor, dirty, messy and full of illiterate people? Of course, both are true and yet either of the two can't be passed off as a definitive reality. This paradox is not a contradiction but expresses the complex nature of a city and a country that accommodates a billion people with that many preferences, predilections and perceptions.

This rich tapestry of contrasting images helps in constructing the Great Indian Myth: that of a nation of contradictions, diversity, want, despair and opportunities. But when it comes to actual definitions and depictions, this Myth is imagined according to individual preferences and through goals one has set for the future. Thus, those who have a stake in India as a future economic superpower will preserve and perpetuate the myth of a resurgent economy and focus only on its technological strengths, applaud all of its technocrats, salute unbridled consumerism and praise its business leaders. The media will, of course, lend a helping hand by tilting images in its news and entertainment programmes that suggest this perception to be the real one. The same will be done by those who see only the other India, and will use whatever myth making tools available at their disposal to project this myth.

Of course, in this competitive battleground the casualty is always the truth. No one wants to get hold of a well-rounded image that captures the essential reality because the stakes are very high to preserve the perceptions they hold dear. The challenge is to go beyond the myths and images and perceptions, and get a view-point that is not acquired from different sources but experienced first-hand. This would involve walking the streets, riding the trains, talking to real people and listening to their heart-beat. This is where the real India lies, and this India is hidden behind the myths propped up by different stake holders.

Question is, will we take the trouble to dirty the soles of our shoes and find out for ourselves, or will we just allow others to inform us what the country is all about?

Thali: The word essentially means a plate but in many Indian restaurants it is often understood to be a lunch or dinner platter. Vegetarian restaurants offer a variety of dishes in their thali or platter, and it's quite popular.

Happy New Year

2007-12-31T17:45:00.000+03:00

I can't believe that 2008 is round the corner. It just seems like only yesterday when I celebrated 2007's arrival. If I'm not mistaken, I remember expressing the same thoughts last year, the year before and the one before that. It appears that each year passes so quickly that even before we are able to catch our breath... another new year celebration is round the corner.

So a very happy new year to all of you who read my blog, and many blessings to all of you in the coming year.

May the year ahead be filled with peace on earth, happiness at a deeper level, desires fulfilled, goals achieved and dreams realised... may you have wonderful relationships with people you interact with, and may you find time to be a blessing to those you meet.

And let me end my new year greeting with these words of St.Paul that helped and inspired me in the year that has gone by. These words provided me with an incentive to love people like I've never loved before, and to do so with a different set of paradigm that proved to be life affirming and empowering experience. Besides with the kind of terrorism rampant in the world today, insane war mongering that goes on and senseless assasinations of political leaders, I felt that this passage is that much more relevant and necessary in the context of current news and events.

If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or a clanging cymbal. If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing. If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.

Love never fails

Not sure if love is the answer for 2008, but hey, it could be the necessary first step.

Chewing the couch potato

2007-12-31T17:44:00.001+03:00

Back to my series of India essays. Just three-four more to go.

My five-year old nephew made a profound statement.

I was watching this news channel that will not be named because I'm in a good mood but let me just drop a hint: it is part of a global media conglomerate. How foxy can I get?

I had the remote in my hands and was busy zapping away, and then stopped at this particular news channel that I'm talking about and was watching it for a while. There was some totally insignificant event that was receiving the 'breaking news' treatment and I was aghast at this celebration of the trivial, so to speak. I shouldn't have been surprised because this channel is available in the Gulf through the Pehla platform and I've never had the kindest words to say about it.

My complaint has been that this news channel never tackles anything serious or substantive, and instead, gives importance to news events that are of tabloid-y nature. And just as I was watching one such insignificant 'news' (for want of a better word) and chuckling at the serious expression on the anchor's face that my nephew suddenly blurted out, 'they show cartoons on this news channel.'

I burst out laughing at my nephew's statement because, unknowingly, the youngster managed to get to the very heart of this issue. Of course, his interest was in the fact that he 'discovered' another channel that shows cartoons and was excited about telling me that, but I realised there was much more to what he said than just that whopeee comment.

Now why am I making such a big deal out of this?

Well, while in India, I've been watching a few of the news channels as well as some of the other entertainment channels, and one of my favourite presumptions have been shattered. Let me rewind a little. Back in the 80s when I was in Bombay for my higher studies, there was only Doordarshan, the government owned and managed television channel that broadcast entertainment programmes at a specific time in the evening, showed news that always favoured the political party in power and had a whole load of public service programmes that were badly produced. The channel was so boring that almost everyone that I knew hoped that television would one day pass into private hands so that the audience would, at least, be spared propaganda masquerading as news.

Now that was my presumption, too. I always thought that - and in a sense I still do - governments should not be involved in being gatekeepers to 'information'. There is a decidedly totalitarian ring to it that should have died with the Soviet Union but somehow still lingers in various guises even today. Alright. I'm going off tangent here and, maybe, I need to cover this topic in a separate post altogether. But that's the point. Like many others, even I felt that competition and diversity in channels might be the answer everyone is looking for.

In fact, at the recently held Arab Strategies for the Global Era - Fikr6 Conference, organised by the Arab Thought Foundation at the Ritz Carlton Bahrain from 1st to 3rd December 2007, most of the panelists at the media seminar were quite clear about the need to abolish the ministry of information in Arab countries. The reasoning was that such a ministry was irrelevant in this day and age, and that it should be revamped to serve today's needs.

However, a cursory glance at some of the Indian news channels made me wonder if this is really the answer to the problem. I'm not sure if detaching the ministry of information's hold on television in general and news, in particular, is really the sole solution. Apparently, if available evidence is any indicator, then, privatising the news hasn't really addressed the core issues as it should have. The solution, as it were, isn't really in who owns the news channels but rather in uncovering what really drives the editorial department of these news channels. It is in understanding these drivers will we manage to make sense of the situation, and provide the necessary explanation, as it were.

It is quite vital that we understand this focus especially in the context of India's possible emergence as an economic superpower in the 21st Century and to understand why major global media players are making a beeline to the country. Context is an apt word to consider in such a discussion because it helps in comparing the former scenario where only one government owned network ruled the roost and to see it in line with today's television scenario where multiple players are involved in seducing the viewer's eyeballs.

If we rewind a little, then, we'll see that not much has really changed. If in the earlier dispensation the government owned network pandered to the whims and fancies of the political party in power, then, today's private networks pander to the dubious monster of the market forces. In short, both pander and both do so to an amorphous entity whose chief duty in life is to be the network's prime source of financing.

The trivial approach to news that existed when television was Doordarshan revolved around the need to preserve an avenue for propaganda and ensure that a more agreeable and party-friendly perspective was broadcast to helpless viewers. Of course, truth was, often, a casualty in this kind of editorial approach and viewers missed out on views from the opposition benches as well as debates on really uncomfortable issues like poverty, inequality and injustice. These were not touched upon because such views would show the political party in power to be a weak and ineffective force, and hence only a rosy world view was shown as news.

The same approach is followed by the news channels that I talked about... their compulsions are different from that of the government media because their raison d'etre lies in ensuring that the channel remains advertiser friendly and manages to secure maximum viewers possible. Hence, the trivial news that left me exasperated was just another step in ensuring that the channel's TRP ratings remain high. It is assumed that sensationalism, dumbing down, sting journalism and celebrity worship are the easiest tickets to maximise viewers and, most importantly, maximise revenue as well.

So in a sense, not much has really changed if one goes only by what is avoided and not merely by what is tackled. Hard news that tackles uncomfortable realities are not given the platform they deserve because they raise questions that no one wants to answer. And in the unlikely scenario that these realities do get a platform, then, it is done so with a dose of sensationalism, sound bites, visual bites and all the razzmatazz possible.

At the end of the day, it is all about preserving myths. If the government owned Doordarshan managed - rather clumsily - to preserve the myth of the ruling party's success, then, the private networks that survive on the advertiser's purse strings adopt slick methods to preserve what constitutes their own favourite myths. Hence, issues like farmer suicides, rich-poor divide, dalit problems, ill-effects of consumerism in rural India (and for that matter in urban India as well) are not given the importance they deserve because undue focus on these issues would simply sully the myth of an economically resurgent India.

Now let me add that when I'm using the word 'myth' I'm not using it as a 'fairy-tale' or some such thing, but in its other definition of being 'an exaggerated or idealised conception of a person or a thing.' In this context, it is necessary to clarify that I'm not casting any doubts on the Indian economic success story but raising concern that in the rush to praise this success, other realities are not seriously looked into. It is important that they are examined because not doing so - or doing so half heartedly - will have negative repercusions in years to come.

It is rather sad that private news channels that possess the means to do something about it are not doing enough. There are talented journalists who can do the necessary reporting, and there are scoop worthy stories waiting to be written and broadcast... so why the hesitancy?

I've already answered that question, and so I won't bother repeating myself. It's just tragic that even someone as young as my nephew managed to discover that there is no news in these news channels.

The late Benazir Bhutto

2007-12-27T22:25:00.000+03:00

Benazir Bhutto is dead. A suicide bomber decided to blow himself up, and in the process, kill this young and dynamic political leader and weaken the democratic movement in Pakistan. It is a tragedy at many levels. On a more basic level, a wife, a mother, a daughter has lost her life but on a more broader scale, it has added a degree of uncertainty not just to the elections but, also, to the possibility of democracy returning to the country.

It is still not sure who the assassins were, and it could be anyone at all. Some have placed the blame on President Musharaff and his supporters in the military, but I find that hard to believe. I don't think anyone in an official position would be so brazen about his distaste for an opposition leader and come up with a 'final solution'. Of course, this is not always the case because Benazir's own father was 'hanged' by the legal courts of the late Zia ul Haq and though I was a youngster back then I do remember reading in the papers that no one quite believed in the verdict.

But all said and done, Benazir's death seems far more tragic than that of her father's. At least, Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto lived longer, made mistakes, had time to reflect on them and even pass on his legacy to someone else. Benazir was not given this opportunity. Perhaps her years in exile gave her enough time to reflect on the corruption charges and other mistakes that she made, but now we wouldn't know. If she was elected, she could have been a much better and more effective prime minister and maybe, even toned down her stridency and softened her shrill rhetoric but that, again, is left to conjecture.

This is, exactly, why suicide bombers and assassins irritate me the most. They rob a person's potential to be what they could be, and instead punish them for deeds that may or may not have been repented of, and even, deliberately erased from the person's moral landscape. These assassinations operate on a premise that the assassin exists on a high moral ground and has the sole prerogative to decide that the targeted person is unworthy of second chances.

Benazir Bhutto was young. If she had lived longer, she could have been a better politician than before and, maybe, even a more successful prime minister. But we'll never know, and that's the real tragedy. And till then, it is Pakistan that will suffer the most and the assassination will provide greater incentive for the military to remain in power and delay any possibilities of real democracy being firmly established in the political landscape. Emergency might be re-imposed for the greater good, and who knows, even martial law might be introduced to preserve peace and harmony or some such thing.

It's just that it is so easy to expect the worst, and let's pray that it won't be so. After all, when such crisis occurs, it is not the ruling elite who suffer the most, but it is always the ordinary people who battle each day to make ends meet. These Pakistanis deserve better, and let's pray that they do.

Merry Christmas... and some peace, too

2007-12-25T07:35:00.000+03:00

Let me give a Christmas break to my India essays because, well, it is Christmas after all... and soulful pondering over larger issues that matter can wait for a day or two.

Christmas celebrates the birth of Jesus Christ in Bethlehem, a city that was occupied back then as it is now even two thousand years later. More things change more they remain the same? It is amazing that Christ - the Prince of Peace - was born in a place that was torn by violence, and the current history of his place of birth is no different. Violence seems to have taken over the narrative and peace-mongers are deemed unfashionable by numerous people.

It is in this context that Christmas seems so relevant - and yet strangely out of sync with current trends. Christ's message of love, peace, forgiveness, mercy find no takers and those with the loudest voices seem to be screaming words of hate, revenge and war in the highest decibel possible. In many ways, their message appears to make sense because they appeal to those whose world-view is limited to the immediate. However, we need to question this premise and ask... is this all there is to it?

Christ has said, 'those who live by the sword die by the sword', and our news provides ample evidence of this to be true. Those who initiate war and terrorism may appear strong and fierce, but it's a hollow triumph they celebrate because they are caught up in a vicious cycle of violence. And they do not even seem eager to think differently because they are victims of their own lopsided and violent paradigms.

Now just to give you some context as to why this war mongering makes no sense, let me just list some statistics here and you can make your decision.

The global military expenditure has been $1,100 billion (rest of the world: $500 billion, US: 623 billion, China: $65 billion, Russia: $50 billion, France: $45 billion, UK: $ 42.8).

Now I'm not interested in finger-pointing at individual countries and asking why they are so obsessed with their military expenditure because I'm sure strategic compulsions are the driving force behind this budget. However, let's try and look at other statistics, too, and see if money could have been spent better elsewhere.

Here are some facts on hunger that should make interesting reading:

+ 854 million people across the world are hungry, up from 852 million a year ago.
+ Every day, almost 16,000 children die from hunger-related causes--one child every five seconds
+ Today our world houses 6.55 billion people.
+ In 2004, almost 1 billion people lived below the international poverty line, earning less than $1 per day.
+ In the developing world, 27 percent of children under 5 are moderately to severely underweight. 10 percent are severely underweight. 10 percent of children under 5 are moderately to severely wasted, or seriously below weight for one’s height, and an overwhelming 31 percent are moderately to severely stunted, or seriously below normal height for one’s age.
+ In 2006, 4.3 million people become infected with HIV and 2.9 million people died of AIDS.

Now we are often told that poverty breeds terrorism, or rather, those who live deprived lives find it easier to resort to terrorism of any kind... just to better their lives. Obviously, I don't agree with this premise, but I do feel that if $1,001 billion are available for military expenses... suppose even a fraction of that amount was diverted towards health care, education, food production and distribution and other poverty eradication methods... would it make any difference?

On that note, let me wish you all a very merry Christmas... and may the Prince of Peace rule the hearts of policy makers and decision makers so that we can, together with the angels sing: peace on earth and goodwill to all

Cafe Déjà vu

2007-12-23T10:07:00.000+03:00

One of my favourite spots in Bahrain is the little corner at The Coffee Bean in Juffair where I take my little Macbook, browse the net, do some work, read some magazines, meet friends or... simply sit back and enjoy their wide selection of tea, coffee and muffins or biscoti. It has to be either of the two because, well, dunked biscotis taste yum, and muffins are muffins after all.

Costas in the new Seef mall extension or the one in Adliya are other favourites and Starbucks in Juffair comes a close third, but since the place is usually very noisy I don't mind giving it a miss whenever I can. But all said and done, I enjoy these places for the sanctuary they provide in the midst of the hurly burly of life aka the average working week.

Hence, during my trip to Bombay and Poona, I had to seek out some of the local variations since none of my favourites have opened their outlets in India as yet. There is a talk of Starbucks making a presence in the near future but I've no idea as to when it will be, or if at all. In any case, I'll be curious to know if Starbucks' entry manages to upset the coffee-shop applecart, which seems to be currently dominated by either Barista or Cafe Coffee Day.

And so, one Sunday night, when I realised that a particularly urgent assignment required my attention, I decided that the Cafe Coffee Day outlet near Ferguson College in Poona would provide the necessary ambience. After all, the previous night that I was in Bombay I had gone to Barista for a late night cuppa with a friend and I wasn't disappointed. There is nothing more comforting than sinking into a plush coffee shop type sofa and get absorbed in one's work.

And it was then that it occurred to me. Just like that. Right there in the coffee-shop while I was sipping my Assam tea and typing away my assignment. My eureka moment without the need to streak.

I realised that the reason why I felt a familiar tug while sitting in Cafe Coffee Day, or for that matter, in Barista, was because these outlets reminded me of Coffee Day, Costas and Starbucks. This sense of déjà vu was made possible because there was the same manufactured comfortable ambience, same type of desserts and drinks, same type of attendants with their well rehearsed glee, and even the same type of fashionable looking crowd sitting around as if they own the place.

Of course, this was not an original epiphany.

It was in Edinburgh, while sitting in a mall not far from Princes Street, that the idea first occurred to me. The mall had the same design elements that one sees in malls the world over, and even the retail outlets included the usual suspects one finds in high end malls anywhere at all. I realised that I could be in a mall in Bahrain, Dubai, Hong Kong, US or even... Bombay or Poona, and not necessarily, in Edinburgh itself.

Delhi based writer and consultant Anita Vasudeva described this phenomenon quite accurately when she called it a 'global samedom' in an article posted on Caferati. This sameness, one must agree, provides a template for the sense of déjà vu one experiences while dining, shopping and travelling anywhere in the world. For some people, it is a good thing because it introduces the familiar in strange lands. But on the other hand, despite the merits of retaining a homogeneous sheen to the urban landscape, it also takes away a sense of individuality and uniqueness that would, otherwise, characterise any city.

Maybe I'm being unnecessarily critical of these 'sameness-es' because, after all, there is a marketing rationale behind it, and this 'sameness' helps in maintaining a singular message in corporate communication vehicles and, also, in strengthening brand properties globally. Consumers benefit from this approach because it helps them identify their favoured brand and speed up their purchasing decision. So far so good. But does it really happen that way? Are people actually given more choices? Or are they limited by a few brands that simply possess the resources to have that massive reach? What about smaller brands that might be high on quality but lack the means to go global? Should they die on the altar of sameness while we explain their demise on the old Darwinian dictum: 'survival of the fittest'?

I'm not sure what would be the most convenient answers to these questions, but I couldn't help having mixed feelings while travelling around Bombay and Poona. An Indian in Bahrain had told me a few months ago, 'oh you could everything there now', and everything meant all the big brands that we are familiar with. My first reaction was, does that mean there is progress? It is true that Indians in India have embraced consumerism in a big way, and their shopping basket includes much of the same brands that people the world over purchase. I suppose the Indian in me would love to see more Indian brands making a huge splash and possessing the same popular appeal like, say, Toyota, Sony or even Coke? Perhaps that day will have its moment of glory and, maybe, Tata's deal with Land Rover and Jaguar might pave the way for Indian companies to go global more aggressively... who knows?

However, all said and done, will it be possible to retain some individuality in the process, at least, in customer service? Why should attendants in Cafe Coffee Day resemble their counterparts in Starbucks or Coffee Bean? Why should diversity create more of the same?

Only time will tell, and till then, let's enjoy the latte.

Bombay goes dark

2007-12-15T09:08:00.000+03:00

Just when one got overwhelmed by all the noise, grime and the frenetic pace of life here in Bombay, here's a ray of hope that somehow restores faith in humanity.

Tonight, from 7:30 pm to 8:30 pm, a group of people have initiated a 'movement' to increase awareness on global warming. What they have planned to do or, rather, what they hope to achieve is to get all the Bombayites to switch off their lights for one hour.

Apparently, HBO and Channel [V] have, also, agreed to go off air during the entire duration of this hour. Let me just copy paste some information from the website because it would explain things a lot better than I can.

Batti Bandh is an entirely voluntary event taking place on the 15th of December between 7:30 & 8:30 p.m. This event is aimed at requesting all of Mumbai to stand up for a cause that is greater than all of us. All you need to do is switch off lights and appliances in your home, shop, office, school, college or anywhere you are for 1 hour to take a stand against global warming. Just 1 hour.

What will this 1 hour do? This 1 hour for just 1 day is not our only aim. This 1 hour is to set an example to the world, to every person who witnesses it, to show that together we can make a difference. This 1 hour will save a lot of electricity as well as pollution and if done regularly can go a long way in reducing pollution that is released by electricity plants as well.

We were inspired by a similar event recently held in Sydney, Australia, called Earth Hour. In Sydney, 2.2 million people participated. Their one hour of lights out meant that 24.86 tons of carbon dioxide were not released into the air - the equivalent of taking 48,613 cars off the road. We are a city of more than 20 million people. Let this number be motivation enough to show that we can make a difference. Unplug Mumbai. Do this for every child who otherwise will never have the opportunity to witness snow capped Himalayas or the glorious tigers and lions or the sun kissed beaches of Goa. Because if we dont unplug from our ways now, nothing will remain the same. Batti Bandh.

For those who are unfamiliar with Hindi, batti bandh means 'lights off' (batti: bulb, bandh: close)

Indian impressions

2007-12-11T18:38:00.000+03:00

I am visiting India after three years, but it seems like a completely different place than what I remember in 2004. There is an enormous energy resonating all across, and the enthusiasm is almost palpable wherever you go. Alright, now that sounds like a superlative but so far I've only been to Bombay and Poona and I've felt the same excitement in both the places.

Obviously, it doesn't make sense to draw conclusions about a country by a mere visit to two cities, but these cities did give me a peek into what the country is all about these days, and its future direction as well.

My last visit to Poona was in 1990 or thereabouts, and though it was a big city back then, it still had a somewhat laidback look about it. Lot of bicycles, motorcycles, few cars, lots of greenery, but now there were very few bicycles and so many cars jostling for space and traffic jams that were causing bottlenecks almost at every major traffic signal.

Bombay is no different to this situation as it has been a big and prominent city for a far longer duration, and most Indian cities appear to hold 'Bombay' as their benchmark. Whether or not that is a wise thing to do is a matter of conjecture for urban development professionals because, for better or for worse, most cities seem to imbibe the worst of Bombay and forget to imitate the city's positive aspects, namely, the self reliance and the entrepreneur zeal that does not seek government patronage for anything.

Another interesting thing I have learned is that salaries have shot up sky high in the past few years, and there is a lot of wealth and purchasing power in the hands of the middle-class. The prevalence of major brands and swanky malls is another clear indicator that the new religion of consumerism has managed to set up its massive temples here as well.

As a lifelong expat Indian, these observations make one think twice about a lot of things. It is clear that India is headed towards greater economic strength, and when that happens, where does that place us -- that is, Indians who have lived in the Gulf all their lives -- in this present scenario.

Do we still stay here in Bahrain and other countries in the Gulf with meagre salaries, and watch our compatriots earn lot more in India? Do we miss out on the excitement that's surely ours in an economy that is headed towards the ionosphere? Do we sacrifice promised vibrancy for safety, however, dubious it may seem?

I have found myself asking these questions while wandering the streets of both the cities, and I have to admit that it has made me question many of my favourite rationales. Many of my friends have reached heights of success and carved out names for themselves in ways that wouldnt have been possible if they were in Bahrain. Yes. That is certainly an enviable situation and one that would make anyone question everything.

However, when all the points and counter-points are considered and re-considered, one thing is clear. If making money was the only reason why we were here in Bahrain and the Gulf, then, surely, we would take the first flight to India like many US based professionals are doing at the moment.

But for us who have lived in Bahrain and the Gulf our entire lives, the Gulf is not just a place where we earn our bread and butter, it is 'home' in a very vague sense of the term. I dare say 'vague' because the countries where we reside in can never be 'home' in the true sense of the term because we are not nationals. And on the other hand, India can not be truly 'home' because we havent lived there our entire lives, and hence, the emotional bonding we have is a feeling acquired from our parents and from the cultural underpinnings that have defined our mental makeup all these years.

Obviously, the sense of belonging we feel towards Bahrain and other Gulf countries we have grown up in, is partly because, we have seen these countries transform into modern metropolises right before our very eyes. We do feel a sense of pride when we look at these changes, and it is, without doubt, a very natural response.

But is this sense of pride the same thing as calling something 'home'?

I still dont have the answer to that question because, even today, I'm still wrestling with it. I do have a 'hometown' listed in my passport, a hometown that I left when I was four years old, a hometown where most of the people I was close to are now in the cemetry, a hometown that only gives me a sense of identity and nothing else.

But is that the same as 'home'?

Home is where the 'heart' belongs, or so the cliche goes... and where does the expat's heart resonate? Does the expat have a heart in the first place, as some people here ponder derisively. Or are there layers in the heart that the expat - or for that matter, the human mind - has still not able to clearly fathom?

Obviously, I haven't cracked the code as far as these questions are concerned, and am not sure if I ever will or even would want to. Somehow I'm satisfied with this vague sense of belonging I've been accustomed to since childhood. If I'm suddenly thrust into making a choice would be really hard because I'd finally have to decide on something or the other.

But one thing I do know, and that is, Miraj (my official hometown) will definitely have a place in my heart because this is where my parents and grandparents lived, However, Bahrain will always be 'home' even if I leave the country and settle somewhere else in the future. Miraj might be the town where I was born, but Bahrain was the place where I grew up, did my schooling, had my first crush, suffered my first heartbreak, learned to appreciate art and writing, made lifelong friends, acquired a sense of identity and purpose, and became a man.

So where do I belong? Do I need to belong anywhere? Is there any need to?

Questions that do not have easy answers, however, hard we may try to analyse them.

Waiting Room

2007-12-07T17:43:00.000+03:00

There was a time – not so long ago – when a waiting room was meant to be just that, a place where one waits. It was never made clear as to what one is waiting for or how long one must wait. All one had to do was to park oneself on any of the uncomfortable benches arranged symmetrically in the room, pick some outdated magazines and read them if one is bored, or stare at a TV screen tuned to a channel that no one ever watches.

In such a situation, waiting seemed to be the most sensible thing to do, or rather, the only thing to do.

It was a situation that, undoubtedly and I’m sure accidentally, produced scholars and philosophers who would never have found their life’s purpose if it wasn’t for these waiting rooms.

Imagine being confined to a room that demands nothing from you except that you wait… for whatever it is you are supposed to wait for. I’m sure it summoned up strengths that one never imagined one possessed because, well, what else can one do? Ideas, thoughts, theories were just darting across the room like flies and all one had to do was tap into them, that’s all.

Of course, no one likes to wait because human nature wants quick and easy resolution. Or rather, that’s what we imagine human nature wants since that is how our world-view is shaped by the sultans of the rat race.

The persistently impatient, however, have no time for philosophising on the merits of the waiting game. This group, of which I happen to be a member, believes that point A must leap-frog to point B, point C, point D and so on and so forth. There has to be logic and symmetry to ever cause and reaction.

Things have to move in a progressive order, and preferably, in a linear fashion. Lateral progressions, or even ones that take a circuitous route are cute, and worth talking about over cups of coffee any day. But to see that approach bulldoze its way into our life-decisions is something most of us like to avoid. It is not comfortable. It is not easy. It is just beyond the paradigms we are familiar with. It just demands us to sit and… think.

Now that’s a road most of us pay lip service to because we don’t like to imagine what might transpire when we actually sit down and think. Suppose we come eyeball to eyeball with our worst fears? Suppose we are forced to deal with issues that have scarred our mental make-up? Suppose we are made to remember the things we like to forget?

Questions that somehow make their presence felt, and it takes either nerves of steel or mustard-seed type of faith to stare into this whirlwind and emerge with some answers, of sorts. It’s hard, but necessary, and like all things essential… crucial to our eventual growth.

But for that to happen, one has to wait, wait and wait.

It is not a coincidence that this piece was written in Sharjah International Airport where I was waiting six hours for my connecting flight to Mumbai. I have to add that this philosophical pondering were forced upon because there is no proper seating arrangement and absolutely no Internet facility in this ‘international’ airport… none whatsoever. I will rant about this in some other post, but let me say this on record: “Sharjah Airport, please get serious.” That feels a whole lot better.

Vantage Points

2007-11-24T19:26:00.000+03:00

I am sitting here in this coffee shop like I always do these days. I could be here for the ambience, but that would seem grossly exagerrated. Coffee shops dont thrive on ambience alone. They are frightfully homogenous and that includes the comfortable chair I am sitting on and the pretty picture I'm staring at.

Or could it be the hot chocolate and Earl Grey that I like to order along with a biscotti and a chocolate chip cookie. But there is nothing fundamentally different about these drinks and the goodies I eat. I could be in Starbucks or Costas or Coffee Bean, and eating/ drinking the same darn thing. The hard work they put in to make it seem 'home-made' is laughable if one was generally cynical, but one ignores these minor flaws.

We just eat and drink and appreciate the not so perfectly round cookies because they seem homely, and the baristas appear cheerful whenever they see us. Of course, we like to think that its because of 'us' and not because of what we bring to the establishment.

However, of late, I've developed a wicked interest in these coffee shops. And no, it has nothing to do with fondness for coffee, and true as it may be, it has nothing to do with the faulty Internet service I've been receiving from my erstwhile ISP.

Of course, the poor service is my 'official' reason for being here, but that's not really true. I am here, also, because I want to be here. I like being here. I enjoy being here because of the shameless 'people-watching' that I can do here. I kid you not... it's an anthropological goldmine!

Just the other day, I saw a gigolo-ish kind of man being wooed by three attractive middle-aged and, rather, wealthy Filipinas. It was a sad sight. Here was this smart dude trying to comment on these women's looks and making some silly jokes. And these ladies were laughing at these jokes as if they had just heard the funniest joke of the century.

Then there was this couple who were engrossed in their own world even though they were sitting together. It's amazing how a space of few inches can seem a mile apart when lack of affection forces a distance.

And that day when I went to this obscure coffee shop in a mall located downtown, I couldn't understand what was going on between this young teenaged boy and a middle aged man who seemed to be doting on him. There was something decidedly unnatural about their interaction and though I suspected the worst, I was alarmed at my own sense of imagining it to be so.

But what I like most are families. They are always such a wonderful sight. Parents and children joking and teasing each other. Father and mother exchanging appreciative glances, and the sense of belonging that all of them share with each other. One cant help smiling when the little ones are let loose and they come and tap a chair near where I am. The parents expect me to smile at their little one's antics, and I dont like to disappoint them.

I imagine there is a story that is waiting to emerge from these observations. I can almost feel the inspiration pushing me to do something 'creative'. I imagine a series of short stories that could come out of these inspirations because every living being that I see here appears to be in a universe of his/ her own.

If coffee is the thread that binds them together, it is the epic nature of their existence (or so I believe), which gives them their power and sense of uniqueness. It gives me this vast canvas on which I see stories unfolding and tales just waiting to be told.

Question is, will I follow the muse or will I just sip my Earl Grey and continue doing nothing about it?

It took a junta...

2007-10-07T22:41:00.000+03:00

It's not like I had stopped blogging altogether but life intervened and there was nothing I could do about it. Priorities came in different shapes and sizes and lay claim on my time and made urgent demands. And on top of that, some major life changes had a somewhat seismic effect forcing me to go blog-less for more than two months.

It wasn't a conscious decision to disappear altogether from the blog scene because during this period I must have scored quite a record in coming up with nmerous 'unfinished posts.' I would start on a topic, stop for a while, and then forget all about it. Well, almost and not completely. The ideas would still hover like some uncontrollable itch and I'd ponder long and hard over all the underlying issues and sub-issues. So much for ideas. So much for the love of writing. So much for... well, the urge to speak out, as I keep telling people all the time whenever they ask me about the raison d'etre of blogging.

But then as it so happens, life (in the bigger sense of the word) has a way of pshing away even this convenient lethargy, and I found myself back to the drawing board and back to blog land. I guess sometimes one has to understand that there are bigger concerns out there in the world, and there are issues that are much bigger than the oyster we call 'our' life.

And yes it took a bunch of stupid, arrogant and obstinate military officials in Burma to make me realise that 'silence' is not, necessarily, the best option at all times. Sometimes we need to use the power of our words to express not only our resentment but also our opposition to their despotic rule. As a pacifist, I strongly believe that words have power and possess a degree of purity that guns and bombs do not, and hence writers and bloggers must use this alphabetic weapon to bring about change where it's required.

It's heartening to see that not just bloggers but activists and politicians world wide have finally woken up to the situation in Burma. Let's hope that this is not just another 'trend' that will die out till the next big politically cataclysmic event makes a huge splash. The Burmese people have suffered long enough and do not deserve to be treated as a trend. They need to experience freedom like everyone else. They need to go through the democratic circus like all other countries. They just need to live lives like everyone else because... well, why not?

Free Burma

2007-10-04T08:32:00.000+03:00

A certain something between lovers

2007-07-26T23:31:00.001+03:00

I saw them again last night. They were pushing a trolley near the frozen food section at Megamart in Juffair. She had an animated expression on her face as her fingers scrutinised the ice-cream containers while he looked on at her with sunken eyes and a wide grin that spoke volumes about his intentions than anything else.

Two days ago, I had spotted them walking near Pizza Hut, his hand resting on her buttocks while she clasped his belt and made feeble attempts to pull him closer. I was struck by how oblivious she was to the world around as her gaze remained fixed lovingly on his impassive eyes that scanned the road for potential voyeurs he could glare at.

It was the way they interacted that intrigued me, and so when I saw them again last night I was amused to see that not much had changed. He still had that detached look about him, which she didn't seem to notice or even care. It was, as if, her entire world was standing next to her, and nothing else mattered as long as she was held by this man who, she believed, would care for her till she was old and decrepit.

There was that particular glow on her face which I've seen in countless women who are absolutely sure about the man they are deeply in love with. A glow that in the company of a right man has the potential of making a woman feel really alive. But the same glow in the company of an uncaring and insensitive man often leaves a woman shattered to the very core of who she is, and crippling her natural instincts to love.

But looking at him, I couldn't see the same level of interest or even passion. He seemed delighted in her company, and this was quite clear with the way he squeezed her arms, played with her hair and pinched her nose and ears now and then. But his self-consciousness was, also, evident since he couldn't help himself from checking out if anyone was watching them. I just couldn't figure out why he was acting so wary, and giving his woman his undivided attention didn't seem as important as checking the reaction of people in the vicinity.

I'm sure there was more to this couple than meets the eye. One can never really know. The life of strangers is a story we can only assume and concoct with impunity. A story in whose outcome we have absolutely no emotional stakes, and therein lies the freedom to weave the plot in whatever direction. Be that as it may, I would still, nevertheless, be interested to know how this particular 'love story' eventually develops.

I'd be curious to know if the girl still retains her wide-eyed adulation for her man in the months to come, and ALSO, for men and relationships, in general, in the years to come. On the face of it, there are already so many clear indicators of a possible heart-break in the future, and yet it appears painfully clear that the only person who would be most devastated by a break-up has actually chosen to take that risk.

Of course, if one goes, once again, merely by face value, most people will have ready explanations as to why the two of them are together. Perhaps it's not love but a sense of resignation that pulls them together. Perhaps both of them thought of each other as the best possible 'catch' they could ever get in their lives and that it would be stupidity to allow something like common sense to ruin the formation of this match.

Perhaps it was the first time her heart was stirred by a man who was the very image of what, she thought, real men ought to be and was thrilled that such a man would choose to be with her. Perhaps he was relieved that he could still make someone so young and so nubile want to wake up with him each morning. Perhaps it was something as simple as an impulsive gesture where no thought was given to consequences but only satisfaction.

And by the way, did I mention that she was in her early 20s, oriental looking, very casually dressed, and if she was employed, didn't appear to be white collar? And him? He was a white caucasian male in his fifties, still handsome though slightly fading in that department, and yes, he was very much white-collar all the way.

Definitely a cliche couple. Definitely a couple with a sad ending just waiting to happen. An ending with potential of turning into a tragedy if she loses trust in love altogether -- even when someone sincere comes along, and is willing to shatter himself just to piece together her brokenness.

But will the story end that way?

Weird Tag

2007-07-24T10:29:00.000+03:00

In all my years of blogging (which is not that long anyway but it's great to begin a paragraph this way), I've never been tagged by anyone before, and neither have I tried tagging any unsuspecting soul. But then, it finally happened and the person responsible was none other than Manju, my good friend and fellow batchmate from Indian School Bahrain. She was doing science while I was in the Commerce section, and it was in 1984 that we said goodbye to school-life. It was partly her initiative that brought the old gang together she and Jayant, her classmate in the science section, created a YahooGroup for our batch and we all began to re-connect once again. All of us scattered all over the world, and yet united by memories of wonderful times shared in school.

Coming back to the tag, for some strange reason, Manju, wants me to list six of the weirdest things about me. I find this a very difficult exercise because I'm sure there are more than six weird things, and am positive my friends can come up with many more.

Anyway, Manju, just for you, here are the six of the weirdest things (not in any particular order, ok)

1. If I'm drinking Pepsi, I like to use a red straw and if I'm drinking Coke I prefer a blue straw because I like a little bit of colour co-ordination.

2. I enjoy crushing dead leaves and enjoy the crunchy sound that follows.

3. Sometimes I like to mute the audio while watching news on television and play western classical music on the radio or wherever. Effect is usually cinematic.

4. I love to check all the free-to-air channels one by one... usually when I'm alone, obviously.

5. I don't throw plastic bags for environmental reasons, but have no clue what to do with them now that I've collected stacks of 'em.

6. And finally, as some friends would agree I tend to over-do certain things... won't elaborate more, but that will do on a public forum like this one ;)

There you go. Those are my Top Six (and not in any particular order), and yes, there are a lot more but I just don't remember them at the moment. And so, I guess, they aren't important enough... or weird enough.

Aesthetics of loneliness

2007-07-23T18:43:00.001+03:00

I can't find the article on the web, and so I can't post the hyperlink here. It is a very inspiring article on 'The Spectacles of American Isolation' written by Mark Feeney and was reprinted in the Gulf News' Weekend Review. It's not included in the Review's web edition, and I guess, it could be partly because it's a syndicated article from the New York Times News Service.

The main focus of the article is an examination of Edward Hopper's paintings, and how he could be considered to be the Great American Artist. Fenney writes, 'the sources of his popular appeal are obvious enough: immediate accessibility; a subtle yet vivid colour sense; familiar, but not too familiar, subject matter; a fondness for picturesque settings such as New York, Maine and Cape Cod; even a whiff of prurience.'

However, he goes on to describe what he feels to be a "Hoppersque" quality, and calls it loneliness.

"That loneliness is both what is most and least American about Hopper. It is least so because loneliness is not exactly a selling word. In a society that proclaims all men are created equal, the individual's apartness indicts society. "America is a vast conspiracy to make you happy," John Updike once wrote. Loneliness foils the conspiracy.

"Of course, a nation that prides itself on rugged individualism has to keep a place of honour for solitude... what Hopper reflects is something quite different, the unheroic loneliness of everyday people, people like you and me: ushers, secretaries and apartment dwellers. The Hemingway hero, another paragon of American individualism, is in control of his apartness. Hopper's people are not. It is imposed on them by the circumstances of life. Their plight reminds us that individualism without ruggedness simply means being alone -- alone even when, as in Hopper's Room in New York someone else is there."

It would be easy to dismiss Fenney's observation and Hopper's paintings of lonely people as a purely American phenomenon, and Fenney does make his point rather persuasively especially when he states that "always, he locates his people in space (an unmistakably American space)... His friend, the artist Guy Pene du Bois, described Hopper's New York as "a noiseless architectural world." Rather than teem and roar, his city seems on the verge of evacuation."

From a purely Asian or even Middle-eastern perspective, such descriptions would lend credence to the more popular indictments we have about the west as a place that lacks familial relationships, and where individuals are left to fend for themselves without parental or any other support. Isolation as a cultural motif and not an exception to the general rule of social decorum.

However, Fenney's article made me wonder if this loneliness that he talks about -- so evident in Hopper's paintings -- is it purely an American (or western) phenomenon or is it global in anyway. Or to be precise, does it touch a familiar chord to those of us here?

It would be almost blasphemous to suggest that loneliness is a familiar pattern in our societies because we've been trained to acknowledge the supportive presence of family, tribe and community. Togetherness is, what we believe, to be the natural state of people in our communities, and individuals, if there be any, exist only in relation to someone else. Individuals cannot exist on their own, and if they do, then, there is something decidedly wrong with them. Wrong as in, morally wrong.

But the fact of the matter is, lonely people do exist in our societies, and their loneliness is made even more acute because no one expects them to be. Perhaps parallel could be drawn between Hopper's portraits because just like the supposed incongruity of those images neither does anyone expects painful isolation to be part of our social landscape.

I am not familiar with any artist from South Asia or Middle East who has managed to capture the loneliness that some people experience in our societies. I suppose, if examples are to be drawn, then, perhaps, Amitabh Bachchan's 'angry young man' could be one such character -- a loner whose isolation is a result of flaws in a supposedly paternalistic social structure, and who vents against a system that is supposed to protect but, instead, shuns the likes of him. It would be an interesting study to see why such a persona has achieved immense popularity throughout Asia, and why it has spawned countless poor imitations. Is it because we like to see him as an exception and comfort ourselves into thinking that such characters exist only in fiction? Is it because we find an emotional connection with the character because he expresses the frustrations that we find hard to verbalise? I am just guessing.

I wonder to what degree has present day consumerist culture and information technology has played a role in shaping a lonely landscape. Consumerism empowers individuals with the ability to acquire 'things', and these 'things', in turn, feed an assumption that one's self worth requires gadgets and goods for its justification. It is often a lonely road as the individual struggles to acquire these 'things', and I wonder, if this quest isolates him from his neighbour and friends.

Technology, too, has made social interaction redundant for those who choose not to meet any human beings. Instead of going to restaurants one can order a takeaway. Instead of going to the cinema with friends, one can watch films on a plasma screen enveloped by 5.1 surround sound. Instead of meeting people in clubs or at their homes, a webcam and an instant messenger or a Facebook account can take care of one's social life.

These are extreme examples, but these are not beyond the realm of the possible. And our Asian and Middle-eastern lives have been impacted by these forces. And one has to only take a walk in our streets to observe the social debris of these phenomena. I am tempted to give examples but I'll resist the urge to do so. Perhaps I'll save it for another post. It's not that I dont want to give examples, but I believe there are so many and it'd be hard to select the best of the lot.

But what puzzles me most is, what is so enchanting about loneliness that poets, artists, photographers, film-makers and writers have managed to create an impressive body of work on the subject? Why does painful isolation of certain individuals become so inspirational that it has steered discussions on the social condition of the human race?

But I'm sure there is more to it than meets the eye, and underneath all this philosophical jugglery lies a simple desire to make sense of a crazy world that does not operate the way we expect it to. Maybe it is this exception to the general rule of how we want our world to be that makes us aware of anomalies, and makes us equally determined to state that they are anomalies.

Maybe, but then, again, one never knows. It'd be best to find out, but question is, where do we begin, and how?

Death in slo-mo

2007-06-29T22:43:00.000+03:00

What does one do with a degree in pharmacy?

The obvious answer would be, to wear a lab coat, stand behind a counter and dispense medicines that have unpronounceable names. And of course, being able to figure out a doctor’s scribble for the ‘words of wisdom’ they are supposed to be.

But let’s think out of the box, shall we? Is it absolutely necessary that a degree in pharmacy should logically lead to a job in a pharmacy? I mean, is it really a must? Why can’t there be an exception to this rule?

Why can’t a pharmacist do something else?

Why can’t he lift bricks at a construction site, do some masonry work on a villa, or generally help out in gardening, if possible? I mean, why limit one's options to just pharmacy...

There are, after all, wide choices available if one only decides to go ‘lateral’ with career progression. Take Rao (not his real name), for instance. A friend of a friend met him at a construction site last week, and saw how Rao managed to go lateral and proved to be an exception to this rule.

Rao had come to Bahrain as a qualified pharmacist but he came on a construction worker visa, and his sponsor refused to give him a release unless Rao pays him a huge amount for 'services rendered' or some such bull crap. Rao had taken huge loans to purchase this visa and as a result had no extra money for the 'release'... and so what does he do? What else? Keep his pharmaceutical dreams on hold, and ends up working as a mason even though his professional skills were meant for some other job.

It would be easy to blame the 'free-visa' and 'sponsorship' system for Rao's predicament, but I guess, the problem is a lot more complicated than that. Of course, it goes without saying that if Rao was not so dependent on his 'sponsor' and if he was not a victim of the insane 'free-visa' system, his professional life might have taken a different turn, and Bahrain wouldn't have lost a pharmacist to the construction industry. That's one way of looking at things.

But it still doesn't answer why a pharmacist - of all people - have to go and do construction work?! Why does he have to lift bricks instead of dealing with paracetomols and panadols? Why does he have to be in a position where any job will do to help provide for his family? Why does he have to live in near penury when he is well qualified not to be?

I suppose there aren't any easy answers, and the blame game - if one has to take that route - has to be distributed widely. I may not be an expert in coming up with brilliant answers to this query, but one thing I do understand is that Rao's story certainly places our own work related problems in a better perspective. I mean, after hearing of Rao's situation, it makes my office problems something of a damp squib in comparison.

But that still doesn't alter the slow-motion death of Rao's dreams and desires.

Twenty years

2007-06-27T11:22:00.000+03:00

The 'search button' in Yahoo Mail can uncover a lot of treasure. I was on the lookout for some email exchange from last year, and stumbled upon this 'email' that I sent to a few friends from school in 2004. I left school in 1984 and felt twenty-years was a milestone in our lives and wrote this reflective piece about what it felt to look back on the past two decades. Since then, I've got in touch with numerous other batchmates, and in fact, two-weeks ago, we had a mini-reunion of sorts at Shada when Gayatri and her two kids visited Bahrain from Philadelphia. And Rajesh, who currently lives in Dubai, phoned me today to say that he is here in Bahrain till Saturday.

There's something about meeting classmates from school that is so different from any other meeting. One can actually be oneself in their company, and no artifice or diplomacy is required. I suppose one cannot because most of them have seen us at our most formative state and have witnessed some of those crucial events: first moustache, first crush, first heartbreak, first exam, first attempt at sports, first everything really.

Twenty years. It has been exactly twenty years since we left school. And what incredible years these have been. A leap from immaturity and brash post-adolescence to creeping middle age. Not a pleasant thought if your memory of those school days is still fresh and vivid, as if it all happened only yesterday.

Those years seem like relics now, a reminder of what we were and can never be again. Our youth in full bloom was eager to take on the whole world and sought more challenges than we could even handle. We were still school kids and we could dream. We lived with our parents and so bread and butter issues were not a priority. Dreams and desires lay before us like goats before a hungry tiger. And we honestly believed that we could realise all that we desired. Reality had not yet crept into our radar screens.

Twenty years ago, we did not mourn saying goodbye to school. We were glad we were getting out of those restrictions and getting rid of the so-called narrow mindedness of some teachers that made some of our lives uncomfortable. Of course, there were some of us who were sad about leaving school – it was the only educational institution that we ever knew. Saying goodbye to all that meant adjusting to a whole new educational environment. It wasn’t that we weren’t sure if we could. We were just not sure if we wanted to.

And, yes, we were sad and pathos coloured the farewell reception the XI standard gave us. As our friends sang, "may God be with you till we meet again", we realised that some of us may never meet each other again. This was the final goodbye. The end. The last opportunity to ever see each other in the flesh. This broke our heart and crushed our spirits because it became painfully clear that lifelong friendships will soon suffer separation. Best friends, tennis partners, football team mates, bum chums, sweethearts, possible spouses, cheating partners, fellow conspirators, bus companions. All of them would soon disappear from our physical space and enter the elusive arena of aerogrammes.

We are now in danger of becoming like our parents and other elders who talk fondly of the "good old days". Strangely, we now understand and fully empathise with our elders’ fondness for nostalgia. Whereas earlier we simply frowned at their stories we now find a kind of kinship in those narratives. We empathise because we understand. We understand because even we do that a lot. And constantly, compare present circumstances with past events and irritate the hell out of those who don’t share our perspective.

We lived in a different world, too. Back then, the "evil empire" still ruled with iron fisted ferocity and the US was the so-called benign alternative.

Today’s unipolar world has forced its own dynamism. Black and white has disappeared into the greys of moral ambiguity and we have nothing to say to the young. Our words do not have the same force as before. We are less passionate and so less convincing. Our passion is gone because we are more realistic now. We call ourselves ‘pragmatic’ because that’s what grown-ups are supposed to be. And today, we are those grown ups.

Some of us have families, some are single, some separated. Some are employed, some have their own business, some doing higher studies, while some are still searching. And some may have also moved on to the Higher Place. . .

We are altogether different creatures than what we were, totally unrecognisable from our earlier persona. But if we look closely enough, we will realise that we are still the same. We haven’t really warped into something else, into something hideously different. We are now nothing but a culmination of what we were: a sum total of all our experiences, circumstances and events. The past is not a mere fossil or a useless footnote for nostalgia buffs. The past is the crucial DNA that has shaped our present. The motivator for what we are now.

Twenty years ago, we left school and a life of relative comfort and ease. But those years haven’t altogether disappeared, they find their echo in the person we have become. They have not only made us what we are, they have defined us. They have shaped our character and given individuality to our personalities.

And the fact that I am able to write to you is proof that our relationships haven’t disappeared into the misty past. We are still able to keep in touch with each other. That alone is the most important thing.

I am not sure how many of us would be around in the next twenty years. To imagine what we would be doing at that point of time is hard to fathom. But I am confident that the foundations that were laid in the past would continue to shape us in the years and years to come.

God be with you till we meet again. Till then, let’s continue keeping in touch.

Regards,
Ashish

As the crow flies...

2007-06-03T14:27:00.000+03:00

This story could read like a fable, but it is not. It is simply dressed like one, and might even give the impression of one of those quaint moral tales with deep underlying meaning, but it is nothing like that. It is simply an account of a bizarre experience in our garden, which may or may not have moral implications but we could take a chance.

On Tuesday, a baby crow fell off a tree in our garden... maybe, that’s not the right way to begin this story, and so let me try again... once upon a time, a baby crow fell off a tree and landed on the soft blades of grass that covered the Gordes’ garden in Juffair. Upon hearing the soft thud on the lawn, Tequila, my dear little mongrel, ran towards the little bird and began to bark as loudly as she possibly she could. She was clearly surprised to see a life-form fall from the sky, and called my brother to check it out.

If the story had ended here, I suppose, some convenient moral could have been drawn... two creatures interacting with each other, a dog calling out to a human to assist a dying bird, a human intervention that saved the day... sadly, the story took a different turn.

As soon as my brother knelt to take a closer look at the bird, two crows suddenly swooped down at him and tried to attack him. Taken by surprise, my brother looked up at the crows, and they came back and attacked him again. Meanwhile, my dog had already scurried inside and my brother followed soon after... it was pointless standing there and watching the re-enactment of Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds in one’s very own garden.

The next day, the day after and since then, the crows have been relentless in their attack. As soon as any member of our family steps out of the house, they fly down and perch themselves on a lower branch, call out to each other with their loud crowing and then fly close to our heads and flap their wings on our hair.

Two days ago, they followed my father all the way to the cold store, and only stopped when the neighbour’s dogs started barking. And yesterday, as I went for my evening walk, the birds followed me by jumping from one pole to the other, and that freaked me out, but thankfully, they didn’t follow me all the way.

I was told that this is quite normal. Apparently, crows do get very protective about their babies (what are baby crows called anyway?), and do not tolerate anyone coming close to the nests. And if a baby crow dies in a fall, then, they start pecking and clawing at anyone who might be standing close by or even jogging, as this poor soul in London discovered to his horror. This site gives detailed information about all that crows are capable of doing, and provides some assurance that what we are going through is not unique but a normal pattern of behaviour as far as crows are concerned.

It may be normal for crows, but it is definitely uncomfortable for us. It is, after all, our house. A place where we stay, eat, drink, sleep, entertain and relax. A place that we call 'home', and yet we are being cornered by these birds who are not even registered residents of this compound. Obviously, I'm exaggerating but that's because I want to twist this account into a fable, a morality tale or even - shudder shudder - a political statement.

Without going into detail, I suppose, there are many parallels to be drawn into the politics of victimhood that's so popular amongst some quarters, occupation, aggression and retaliation. The crows might be thinking that we are, in some ways, responsible for their little one's death and might be seeking revenge (I know this sounds crazy but it sounds good for the fable bit), and so, flying close to our heads, following us, and freaking us out could be the only weapons at their disposal.

As far as 'we' are concerned, it is apparent that our superior biology hasn't helped matters much, and when we finally decide to do something about it, then, it will involve solutions that are drastic. And yes, if this goes on for a few more days, then, we'll have to come up with some final solution, however, ominous and loaded that sounds.

But all said and done, every day when I step outside the door and stare at the crows, it is not politics or sociology or ecosystem that comes to my mind... I get this miserable feeling that I am part of a Seinfeld episode.

She Bop

2007-05-21T18:10:00.000+03:00

Nostalgia usually comes with background music, and for many of us who grew up in the 70s and 80s, Radio Bahrain 96.5 FM played a significant role in making that happen. Long before MTV, Channel [V] and other music channels, it was Radio Bahrain and it's army of DJs that energised our musical universe. Who can forget Tim Manns' Breakfast Show, Mark Morrell's Mid-Morning Show or Bob McCready's Afternoon Delight? It wasn't just the music, it was also the competitions and the sense of community one experienced by listening to the same songs at the same time.

Most teenagers and 20-somethings today will be surprised to know that in those days we hardly 'saw' any of the pop idols on TV except for those occasional James Last StarParade, Dionne Warwick's Solid Gold (on Aramco) and... Top of the Pops videos that we'd rent from the video shop and share with our friends. Those memories amuse me now especially how the latest TOTP video was usually such a big event that we'd clamour to get hold of one.

Sometimes there'd be some TV channel that would show some 'real' music videos and they were quite a treat since there were quite a few gems though not many. The 80's may have been great musicwise but they definitely spawned bad fashion and corny videos... ahhh well, it didn't seem so bad back then though.

It's funny how Boy George seemed such an outrageous performer those days even though he seems so tame in comparison to others today. And who can forget Relax by Frankie Goes to Hollywood? It was banned by the BBC but Radio Bahrain didn't think it was bad enough, and so we felt extra privileged to be able to listen to it, and figure out for ourselves what the fuss was all about.

Cyndi Lauper -- wonder what she's upto these days? -- was one of those singers who wowed us for her effervescent charm, energetic sound and powerful vocals. Her colourful hairdo was so 80s, but it seemed so sexy back then that it feels embarassing to even think that we found it attractive. "Girls wanna have fun" may have earned her some degree of notoriety for all the wrong reasons but one has to admit the song was extremely catchy. However, the Cyndi Lauper song that I really like has always been "Time after time". I like its brooding quality and the way her voice cracks while she belts out the vocals.

Of course, "She Bop" is a song that I like for reasons that I cant put my finger on, but it does bring back some very pleasant memories from the 80s. I dont know if it's because of those memories that I like this song, or is it because of the rock n roll sound that I like it, but frankly, I don't care. However, one thing I do have to admit that it's one song that never fails to put a smile on my face, set my foot tapping and my body swaying... and make me go wistful at the same time because it reminds me of those innocent teenage years that will never return.

Blog block

2007-05-14T09:24:00.000+03:00

I've been trying to blog for the past three-four weeks, but somehow am unable to do so. It's getting frightfully impossible to get the right words together and form meaningful sentences and paragraphs. It's not like I have nothing to say. In fact, there's so much I want to talk about, to rant and rave, to complain, to get cheesed off with, and just let off steam.

But at the same time, there's a part of me that wants to just throw my hands up in the air and say, what's the point anyway? And it's this sense of futility that worries me.

I don't see the ranting and raving as a problem. At a certain level, I guess, it is simply a knee jerk reaction to the things that irk us, an almost instinctual response to irksome things. As human beings, it is part of our nature to react, and it begins from the moment we are born and continues till we reach that singular moment when we breathe our last. We react either on the emotional or the physical realm, but we react all the same... and in some cases, we use words when we wish to react to those irksome things.

But then, sometimes, in more reflective times it is natural for us to wonder whether or not there is any point to all this. Is it worthwhile to use words as a medium for our reactions? Do our words make any difference? Does our tongue-lashing actually shift the earth from its axis and bring about changes to the eternal scheme of things? Do we really have to say something anyway? Or is silence preferable to the cacophony of words that, sometimes, disguises itself in the garb of 'meaningful conversations'?

I suppose there are no quick and easy answers to these questions. If there are answers to be found to these questions, then, they are most likely to be found in some existential quarry from where fundamental issues could be unearthed and examined. But that may not always explain why certain things bother us while others don't register even a pipsqueak in our mental radar. The quarry will only give us a broader picture, and skip the micro-view that is, often, the one that matters. The irksome things are found there in tiny dust fragments that grow larger and larger with the importance we give to it.

And here's the problem. Ignorance might stunt its growth, but will not altogether eliminate it altogether from the scene. It will remain there as a reminder of things that are bothersome. It will remain there to force some sort of reaction. So the choice is, rather, limited. If we give it the importance that, we feel, it deserves it will turn into a crisis of global proportions and swallow us up, but if we ignore it altogether it will not disappear but will seep under the surface and grow slowly but surely.

So the only thing we can do is just speak up, and leave it at that. Adding emotional inputs will only aggravate matters, and so it's best to avoid them altogether. It's best to go back to our instincts, and to the basic responses that rise from our guts. It may not be easy to keep emotions out of the picture, but sometimes, it's the only thing we can ever do... the only necessary thing we can ever do if we wish to preserve our sanity... the only possible thing that will produce the response we so earnestly desire.

So what has this got to do with my blog? Will I now start reacting to things that irk me left right and centre? Or will I use this point to justify a new reactionary 'me'?

I dont know... only time will tell. All I can do right now is to simply admit that I need to write and not remain silent. It may not make a difference. It may not change anyone. It may not alter anything. But at least, I would have done my part. I would have said something, that's all.

Anna's tragedy

2007-04-19T11:54:00.001+03:00

So the results are finally out. Larry is the dad, and the other five can now go home and contemplate whether or not the month-long media circus was well worth it. Now I'm not sure if they're satisfied with the results, but am positive that, at least, we are finally going to be spared this 'virility contest' that was getting increasingly tiresome and boring.

However, much as I express my sympathy on her passing, I find it rather puzzling as to why Anna Nicole Smith's death should garner such huge publicity. It's not as if she was hugely talented or even drop dead gorgeous. Alright. The jury might still be out on that one, and I concede that a sizeable chunk of the male population are going to miss her terribly.

But I'm still hard pressed to find out what really made Anna Nicole Smith so famous that even two months after her death, Entertainment Tonight on Showtime keeps featuring the same subject over and over again. I can understand blanket coverage for the first two days, but even now? Two months later? Puzzling, to say the least.

It was, probably, her drug overdose that heightened the sympathy factor. Maybe. Drugs, drinks and fast living have had a hand in the death of many showbiz geniuses in the past, and Anna Nicole Smith has just joined this illustrious list that has included Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix, Kurt Cobain, Elvis Presley, Marilyn Monroe, John Lennon, James Dean and others.

However, it does seem rather worrying that Anna Nicole Smith was even considered worthy to be included in this list, and that comparisons were drawn between her and Marilyn Monroe. I agree that most of these great dead celebrities were, somewhat, unhinged at a certain level, but it has to be made clear that not everyone in the celebrity circuit who is unhinged is a genius. Sometimes the person is just... unhinged.

Marilyn Monroe, for instance, was not just a sexy bombshell, she was, also, an extremely talented and skilled actress, and has a portfolio of work to demonstrate this fact. It's true that much attention has been given to her affairs and to her sexy allure, but all said and done, if she is still remembered for her allure even almost half a century after her death, then, it is safe to assume that she must have something in her that deserved such remembrances. There were others who were sexier but they aren't remembered with the same 'candle in the wind' fervour.

Hence, it does seem rather tad premature to compare Anna Nicole Smith with Marilyn Monroe because, for one, Anna does not have a substantial body of work that would stand the test of time. It would be silly to use her performance in the Naked Gun movies and the reality tv specials as worthy examples because they just aren't in the same league as the body of work of other dead celebrities. And two, her claim to fame, apart from being Playboy's Playmate of the Month, was her marriage to J. Howard Marshall II, the octogenarian oil tycoon who and the subsequent fight over inheritance claim with Marshall's son. So, in a sense, she has been famous for being famous like many others who populate People magazine and Hello.

So why this sudden urge to elevate Anna to such super-human status?

Now let me pause here, and say that I do feel sad that Anna had to die young and die in such a sad state. The paternity dispute over her baby, in particular, was a sorry spectacle, and no person - living or dead - should have to go through such an insult. Perhaps if she had lived longer one would have had the chance to see her in a more positive light, and perhaps, her potential would have been realised. But that was not to be, and therein lies the tragedy of Anna Nicole Smith.

But still, it does not explain the blanket coverage given to her death by news organisations and entertainment/celebrity journals. I may have to hazard a guess though, and assume that this blanket coverage said a lot about news organisations and news consumers in general than it did about Anna Nicole Smith. It clearly amplified
a craving for a heroic figure to mourn over than an actual feeling of loss over her passing. It, also, showed that in the 'newsmaker' circuit there was, hardly, anyone worth emulating and so, an almost-celebrity like Anna Nicole Smith was chosen for such 'greatness to be thrust upon her'.

Or was the reason too deeper? And was her death that much needed distraction that people needed after the continuing violence and cynicism and deception that has followed the current war in Iraq, the uncertainty over Iran's nuclear ambitions, the taliban's resurgence in Afghanistan, the doomsday scenarios of global warming unraveling itself?

It could be any reason at all, and I hope, it isn't what I suspect because, no matter who it is, no one should be mourned out of a need for distraction. Anna Nicole Smith may have been a non-entity as far as her talent goes, but she was a human being first and foremost, and because of this fact alone she deserved better. She needed to be treated as a person who died and not as a media event that had to be milked for all its worth.

In a few months time, the media will have forgotten her, but her loved ones will remember her and miss her for a long, long time. But the media won't care how they cope with this loss because the media will have gone searching for the next big sorry victim to gloss over.

This is the way it goes, and it's a pity that there will be many more Anna Nicole Smiths for us to read about, talk about, feel sorry for, and agonise over. Ad infinitum ad nauseum

Fencing off suicide

2007-04-18T12:59:00.000+03:00

Is it possible to suicide-proof a bridge?

City councillors are faced with this dilemma after two people jumped off a footbridge in downtown Manama in a space of just three months. They are concerned because this footbridge is in the very heart of Manama’s business district, and close to the upcoming Bahrain Financial Harbour, and right over the King Faisal Highway that takes you to the Seef district, Muharraq, and the Diplomatic Area.

So it is quite understandable that they wouldn’t want such a high profile area to acquire this level of notoriety. It wouldn’t make sound business sense to work next to or even purchase property next to a popular ‘suicide point.’ Hence, the suggestion going around is that some sort of fence be erected around the bridge, or if possible, even spikes are put around the railings to prevent anyone from jumping off the bridge.

On the face of it, the suggestions couldn’t have come at a better time, and the two suicides have shed light on safety issues and the need to make buildings and bridges as much suicide-proof as possible.

However, I’m bothered by a few of these suggestions. I find it ridiculous to assume that just by erecting a fence around THIS bridge, we’re going to prevent people from jumping to their deaths. If suicides can be prevented merely by incorporating thoughtful architectural touches like fences or spikes, then, we’d be looking at a decidedly stress-free world.

But we know that reality presents a completely different picture. Those who want to kill themselves will find a way to do so no matter what hurdles are placed in their way. If this bridge is fenced, then, they might find another bridge or the nearest tall building, or walk in front of a car or even hang themselves in their room. They’ll kill themselves anyway, and won’t be bothered with niceties like, will my death spoil the image of the neighbourhood?

Obviously, 41 year old Indian painter Ashokan Vamoora and 47 year old Indian salesman didn’t think about the market value of downtown Manama when they plunged to their deaths. We don’t know what was the underlying problem that forced them to take their own lives. We can only make assumptions, and arrive at conclusions that will only scratch the surface of this problem.

They are not the first Asian workers to kill themselves, and probably, wont be the last. Soon they’ll be part of a statistic that aid workers will use to justify some theory or the other.

Point is, fences or spikes are not going to stop this trail of death because they can never do so. The problems are much deeper, and solutions, if at all, require something much more substantial than these cosmetic treatments to structures. Perhaps, better working and living conditions could be a start, maybe putting an end to the exploitative free-visa system, maybe enforcing minimum wage to everyone across the board irrespective of nationality, maybe debt counseling would help, maybe… well, there are so many ‘maybes’ that can be considered and even contemplated, but it’d be a start, I think.

Actually, debt counseling would be a good place to start because most of these workers have accumulated huge debts just to land themselves here in Bahrain and the Gulf, and it takes them a lifetime just to pay back their debts because the salaries are miniscule, to say the least.

And most importantly, ‘hope’ must be restored in their lives because that’s what they sorely lack and that’s what makes them regard life with such pessimism. It may not solve all their problems, but it’d be a start, I think.

In fact, hope will be the best place to start… and a much more effective suicide-deterrent than any fence or spike.

Spring cleaning

2007-04-10T09:18:00.000+03:00

I've been rather busy with work for the past few weeks, and today, I finally sat down to clean up the mess accummulated in my bedroom. For some reason, bedrooms are usually the place that suck in books, magazines, notepads and other sundry written materials, and somehow, in the process, I discovered this poem I'd written last year. I dont know why I wrote it but I thought it was such a coincidence that the poem talked about the very thing that I was doing this evening.

let me clean the wardrobe today
and retrieve the lost innocence
of my boyhood days:
the t-shirts and jeans
that saw my youth fade
like the fabric itself
and the jacket
that made a man
out of me.

The Smile

2007-03-29T14:59:00.001+03:00

He smiled at me, and I smiled back. It seemed to be the most polite thing to do. I couldn’t just ignore a smile and walk away. No one ignores a smile. Smiles are meant to be acknowledged or, at least, given a nod. That’s how things are meant to be. And therefore I smiled back…

I don’t remember seeing him before though I may have passed by him on numerous occasions. I’m sure if I’d some vague memory of a previous meeting I would have given him a broader smile. But there was nothing about him that suggested any such encounter. And so, for all accounts and purposes, he was a mere stranger smiling at me.

But for some odd reason I knew that wasn’t the case. It’s not that I remembered him, but it was the way he smiled. It was as if he knew who I was and was simply doing the polite thing by acknowledging my presence. He must have noticed my blank expression but his face didn’t reveal any disappointment in my not remembering him. He just shook his head, smiled and continued doing what he was doing while I walked away.

I turned back and looked. He was busy in his work, and he looked guiltily at me when he saw that I was looking at him. I don’t know what must have crossed his mind, but I waved back to assure him there was no problem. He looked somewhat relieved and wore a more confident smile this time. I was happy, too, because I wouldn’t have liked the man to suffer unnecessary tension because of my second glance.

I was only trying to jog my memory and not trying to find fault with him. But he had no way of knowing that because people in his position are rarely given the benefit of doubt. Or their innocence taken for granted. They are just there to be treated with utter indifference. And whose presence is acknowledged only when things go wrong.

After all, he was only an ordinary gardener tending the lawns while I was the man in suit taking a walk to clear my head. And your guess is good as mine as to who is taken more seriously in this lopsided world in which we live and have our being.

Citi-rant

2007-03-08T08:53:00.000+03:00

Someone's gotta say it, and it better be me.

Something must be done about the queue in Citibank's Manama branch. It's not the standing in line that bothers me or the lack of proper space that aggravates me though these two factors do rankle a bit. But there's something else that's really and positively annoying.

I don't know how to put it more gently, but let me try anyway. I can't understand why some people just enjoy standing right behind anyone who's withdrawing cash, peering at their screen and then nonchalantly asking, if everything's ok.

Now if everything was not ok, I would do the rightful thing by contacting support or holler at the security guy and tell him the machine is not working. But do I really need 'help' from someone who's only interest in life is to check my 'available balance'?

If this had happened once or twice, I could understand if you think I'm over-reacting, but this seems to happen regularly especially when there is a long queue... now I don't know if some people believe surreptitiously checking someone's available balance is a fine way of killing time and boredom while standing in line, but hey, I don't like it.

The other day while withdrawing cash I had this man standing right behind me looking very curious, and I had to tell him to back off... he simply stared at me very blankly, smiled like a toad and walked away. Alright, let me clarify. I wasn't very blunt while asking him to back-off but I tried to be cheeky and asked him if the ATM booth was an amusement centre. I don't know if he got the sarcasm but thankfully he did back off.

Anyway, I just had to let off steam here, and I feel a lot better now. Excuse me while I go and withdraw some cash... :-)))

Second-hand virgin

2007-03-07T12:05:00.000+03:00

I don’t know if this qualifies for a heroic deed on my part, but it happened a few years ago and I’m still mulling over the underlying issues that were raised that day. It was an argument with a former colleague, and like all arguments it was quite silly to begin with and quite pointless, too.

My former colleague... well, let’s give him a name, shall we?... perhaps, Rudolph would sound better because that way no one will be able to guess his real identity. Anyway, Rudy and I were talking about long-term relationships and marriage because he thought he needed to talk about these issues with me since I happen to be single and he happens to be married, and well, he thought, I needed to do something to change my single status.

Why my single-status should be a source of concern to a colleague at work is something that I’ll never understand, but hey, that’s a digression.

Anyway, I told Ruddy that I don’t plan on remaining single forever but will only marry if and when I meet someone I want to grow old with, and someone with whom I can talk and not get bored. I thought that was a reasonably good explanation even if it’s me saying so, but Ruddy had to ask another question.

“Will you marry a girl who is not a virgin,” he asked, “or will you even consider a woman who had a serious boyfriend in the past?”

I didn’t think of this as a serious issue, and so I told him, “a woman’s past really doesn’t bother me unless she is still pining for her lost love, but if she is not, then, it shouldn’t matter.”

Ruddy couldn’t believe his ears. He thought I had lost it completely, and he became increasingly aggressive as I explained my position. And finally he questioned my manhood because I refused to take a firm stand against women with previous relationships.

I felt this argument was getting to be quite pointless, and wanted to look for an escape hatch and leave my colleague alone with his regressive views. But no, it didn’t end up that way at all because he had to explain his position and that made matters even worse.

He told me that a wife has to be a virgin because a real man must marry a woman who is untainted either physically or emotionally. And if any man does marry a woman with a past it’ll be like purchasing second-hand goods.

It took me a while to digest what he said and then, I told him that it was a load of bollocks. Not a good move because it only made him more furious. My point was, if it’s ok for a man to have relationships before marriage, then, why should such a big deal be made about women? His answer was that women are different because once they lose it they lose it forever, but then, I asked him, doesn’t the same apply to a man because once he’s done it, then, he can never do it for the first time ever again.

What really made me mad was this assumption that women were some kind of a product that must be acquired in its pristine form only. And that this product (for want of a better word) must be seen as a baby-making machine because, according to Ruddy, that’s the purpose of marriage anyway.

I felt sad for Ruddy not because he missed the whole point of marriage, which is lifelong companionship with someone you love, but more so, because he failed to recognize that women are, after all, people with feelings, emotional experiences and their own unique perspectives on life. What a sad life, I thought, if one has to live an entire lifetime without being able to relate with women as the human beings that they are.

But the really sad thing is. . . Ruddy is not alone. There are many more Ruddy’s out there who think along the same lines. It is these Ruddy’s who have given ‘men’ a bad name in the eyes of women everywhere. It is these Ruddy’s who seem to define gender equations… and I think it’s about time we say, ENOUGH!!!

Blank Noise Project

2007-03-05T11:51:00.000+03:00

Blank Noise Project is an initiative by a group of Indian bloggers to highlight sexual harassment against women through a blogathon (of sorts). The idea is to get bloggers everywhere to talk about issues related to gender discrimination, sexual harassment and the like. And to ensure that everyone posts their piece on March 8, and send an email confirmation to the Blank Noise project people at their email address. This way, you are extending support to the cause and doing something about it, namely, writing about it

Last year the project was an incredible success because it saw both men and women talking and sharing their experiences. It was an eye-opener to see what women go through, and it was a revelation to find out that cities that were once considered 'safe' were, in fact, not.

This year, the theme is on "Action Heroes", and instead of me explaining what it's all about, I think, I'll post the email I received from them. And I hope many of you will participate -- I certainly will -- and let's do our bit to make our community gender safe.

Blank Noise invites you to participate in an online event-" BLANK NOISE ACTION HEROES"

On March 8 last year (Women's Day), we had a blog-a-thon of stories of street sexual harassment. The blog-a-thon was picked up by bloggers across India, and all over the world. We shared stories we had never shared before, stories we thought we had long forgotten, stories that we had often wanted to bury. We read each other, we linked to each other and we linked back to the Blank Noise Project blog. We were touched by each other's stories, and drew strength and sustenance from the the long, cross-cultural chain of shared experiences.

This year for Women's Day we're asking you to share experiences of times when you were an ACTION HERO and fought back against harassment. Blog about your experience, and let us know so we can link to you on our blog.

When did you flip a situation so you could resist, when did you give back as hard as you got? How did you choose to confront the situation? When did you become an Action Hero?

We hope that this response helps us understand the different strategies women (across age groups, cultures, and countries) have instinctively created to deal with street sexual harassment.

(If you're a male blogger, ask your female friends and relatives about their experiences.)

Here's how to participate:

1. blog your story (as soon as possible, and definitely before March 8!)

2. email the link to your blog post to blurtblanknoise@gmail.com with a subject titled "Action Heroes Online"

3. we will link to you right away!

And don't forget your non-blogging friends and family members -- we'd love to hear stories from your mothers, aunties and grandmothers!

If you're not a blogger, please feel free to email the action testimonials instead. We will upload them on a new blogsite. (WWW.BLANKNOISEACTIONHEROES.BLOGSPOT.COM)

Questions? Email us at blurtblanknoise AT gmail.com.

Look forward to hearing from you,

Sincerely,

Sujata, on behalf of Blank Noise

PS: PLEASE CIRCULATE WIDELY. THANK YOU.

The day I became a 'babe'

2007-02-10T15:19:00.000+03:00

The other day I felt what it was like to be a woman, and I didn't like it.

A total stranger messaged me on Yahoo, and expected me to respond. I ignored, but the man wouldn't take no for an answer. He persisted with his entreaties and then, finally, asked, 'what's up with you, babe?'

This was the straw that broke the camel's back.

I was angry and furious. So far I kept refusing him with a polite 'no' but this had gone too far. How dare he calls me a 'babe'? How did he simply assume that I was a woman? Or that I like being called a 'babe' if I was a woman? Who gave him the right to talk to me like that?

I blocked him but he kept finding a way of coming back and pestering me or - to be precise - hitting on me. I don't know what gave him the idea that I was some sort of a femme fatale, or that femme fatales enjoy such insane levels of attention. But he was relentless, and I felt.. humiliated.

And then, I realised that many women go through the same - or worse - humiliation on a daily basis. If I felt bad about this man's virtual invasion of my personal space, then, what about all those women who have to endure the leering and catcalls of strange men on a daily basis? Why strange men alone, but aren't there many in offices and social circles who feel it is their divine right to analyse a woman's anatomy in great detail and then fornicate with their gaze?

I know many women who feel uncomfortable walking the streets alone because of the way some men stare at them or hit on them. And there are others who hate going to their offices because of the way some colleagues give them the looks. It's rather sad that women have to go through this kind of ordeal almost daily, and I'm amazed at how some of them have managed to control their fury and not give in to the violent response, which these men deserve.

Obviously, the problem has more to do with upbringing than cultural factors that are usually blamed for such behaviour. Culture is easy to blame if it's the 'other' at fault because it leaves our culture safe from any accusation. Now I don't deny that there are certain cultures that have a deeply ingrained male chauvinism at a very foundational level but that's a whole different can of worms that I'd like to get into at some later day. However, whatever be the culture, I'm sure, good parenting is a more effective method in teaching young boys how to treat girls with respect. It starts young. If children are taught the value of respecting each other, then, they'll grow up with a more wholesome value system when they are adults. They are unlikely to think of women as objects to humiliate but as people to honour and respect. At least, that's what one hopes, but that'd be a worthy goal to pursue.

As for me, I could only look for ways to 'ignore' this pest and he, being a virtual creature, I knew there was a degree of safety because I knew that he wouldn't be able to attack me in real life. But for many women, this kind of horror is not a virtual experience... it is for real. And if my experience is any indication, then, I'd hate to be in their shoes because it's truly scary.

But it doesn't have to be this way.

The End?

2007-02-07T23:35:00.000+03:00

How do you delete names from your address book?

The obvious answer would be to highlight each of the names and delete them one by one with well calculated precision. But what do you do with names of people - close friends, in fact - who are no more? Is it equally easy to eliminate their names from, perhaps, the last bastion of their remembered presence? Would it be a very cruel gesture that borders on disrespect to their memory?

I never thought I'd ever have to face such a dilemma, but today while sorting out my Yahoo Address Book, I realised I needed to arrive at some decision. It wasn't as if the issue had not crossed my mind earlier, but each time I postponed the matter for the next time because I simply didn't want to press the delete button on some people who mattered a lot while they were alive.

However, today, I could see that my Yahoo Address Book was rather bloated and needed to be trimmed and whipped into shape. It was getting unmanageably and humongously huge and some urgent measures had to be looked into so that it'd be easier for me to have ready access to all the 'important and necessary' addresses and get rid of those that were not in use.

Now it was easy to delete the names of some people whose friendship did not stand the test of time - for whatever reasons - and getting rid of their names did not require a herculean task. It was a piece of cake, really, and more so because there were not many in that list anyway. However, it was only when my cursor moved around the names of those who were deceased that I stopped.

Logically I ought to delete their names from the list because I do not email them or message them and it's unlikely that I'll ever do so again for the rest of my life. But I didn't want to simply delete their names as if they were just names on a list that needed to go because the list needed updating. It just didn't seem right to do that. It seemed rather cruel and heartless and... merciless.

The four people in my address book who have passed away were very special because they made a qualitative difference to my life. George Ninan was a spiritual mentor who showed me that faith could be integrated in one's professional life without making us look either super-religious or super-crazy. Lina was a friend who knew how to encourage and was someone we could easily depend upon. Raju, my cousin, was one of the very few relatives that I enjoyed meeting whenever I visited Bombay (which was not often) because of his ability to remain in good humour and to express brotherly concern. Samir, a close friend who died in the horrific dhow disaster last year, was always ready whenever a party, movie or a picnic was planned and will always be remembered for being able to strike a balance between being fun loving and upright.

These were people, who in their own way, influenced me to be a little better than what I could be. Their ability to be there no matter what cannot be forgotten that easily. They were friends in the true sense of the term, and their death is a loss I feel even today. These were people who cannot be replaced, and all I can do now is to be a friend to others the way they were to me.

In the meantime, I think, I'll postpone updating my address book because deleting their names would signify the end of something valuable from my life, and I do not wish to do that at this moment. All I have now are memories and the address book, in many ways, was the last communication link I had with them. If I cut that, then, I'll be cutting a lot more than I want to... so I have to wait till I'm ready. And till then, all I can do is wait and wait and wait.

A Place Called Lamsheh

2007-02-06T11:35:00.000+03:00

Last night I remembered Lamsheh.

It was a country that I'd created when I was six years old, but reality intervened and soon I abandoned it in search of more plausible pastures. I shouldn't have, but I did so anyway because it seemed to be the most appropriate thing to do at the time. And like most appropriate things in life, it was, I must say, a very half-hearted gesture because, for some reason or the other, I just couldn't take Lamsheh out of my mind. It just remained there like a persistent mole.

Lamsheh was an island because it had to be one. It couldn't be anything else. And I didn't want it to be anything else. An island has individuality unlike those countries that are attached to the mainland. An island floats on its own and its borders are not marred by the groveling demands of neighbouring landmasses. Hence, Lamsheh became an island out of sheer necessity because it couldn't be grouped with any other land formation. It just was and became... Lamsheh, a world of its own.

The flexibility of the country's cartography, on the other hand, made it easier to mould its landscape any which way I wanted. A mountain range could be flattened into a beach resort, or a desert could be sprouted with a deep forest cover. Or a river could be forced into the terrain like the way blood vessels rush through one's veins. Anything was possible, and it all depended upon my mood or on whatever it was that tickled my fancy at that point of time. It was exciting as only a sculptor would know while chiseling out a man from a stone.

However, I chose a more tangible canvas for which my toys became my brush. Two of my construction sets became the building blocks of a city that began to take shape from one end of the carpet to the other. I named my capital city Hamilton for reasons I still cannot fathom. My matchbox cars and GI Joe trucks provided vehicular movement through the city while I supplied the sound-effects. Hamilton, also, had an airport and my toy planes - Concorde, KLM and a helicopter - kept it busy and occupied.

Obviously, a country like Lamsheh needs citizens, and I emptied my brother's chess set for this purpose and had all the pawns, bishops and knights moving around the city and interacting with each other like some type of super intelligent lab rats. I made up stories and plots, created conflicts and battles, and engaged all my toys in this epic story-telling that became part history-in-the-making, part fable, and part war zone where I could push the events into more action-packed scenarios.

I was so much into Lamsheh those days that, I remember, I used to be busy writing and planning each and every tiny detail of how I wanted the country to be. Sad to say I've forgotten quite a bit but I do remember one thing, and that is, I intended Lamsheh to be the only country in the world which was to have cartoons on all the television channels 24/7. There was to be no grown-up programmes on the telly, and certainly, no lovey-dovey stuff where men and women go yucky with each other. Sigh. How times change.

I don't why I remembered Lamsheh the other night. I know I can never ever bring back Lamsheh that once existed in my mental geography. That Lamsheh has disappeared with my childhood and has taken with it the naive innocence that once punctuated my world view. If I make a new Lamsheh now it won't be the same because it would be a grown-up world with grown-up issues and grown-up concerns and grown-up stories that frown upon happy endings.

And that was what Lamsheh was all about. Happy endings all the time. Even the worst conflict could be resolved without batting an eyelid. Nothing was too complicated in Lamsheh land, but today, everything seems to be a challenge and a hurdle.

Maybe I need to go back to Lamsheh after all.

Maybe all of us need a little Lamsheh in our lives.

Maybe a Lamsheh could still be created out of what we have today.

Maybe it's possible. Maybe, and I mean, just maybe.