geneva

so i wouldhave liked my first post about geneva to be about the snow, or the food, or the st bernards (but i have not seen any yet)
instead it is about an argument that consumed my saturday night. about quotas and reservations. though i had promised myself that after lsr i would stop having these.

it was a v long conversation with another indian girl, mediated by an excitable italian boy. who kept the conversation civil by interjecting when either of us got snippy.

it was about about caste, identity politics, reservation and education. i think economists should be put in reserved areas and not allowed to make policy decisions. they should do research and allow other people to decide how the world is run

it is impossible to convince someone who tihnks otherwise that the benefits of quotas and reservations outweigh negatives caused by the potential for misuse
and that saying that the govt 'should' do more by investing in education instead of having quotas is pointless as there are many things the govt should do but that having protective legislation makes the govt obliged to do some things.
increasing the number of things it has to do as opposed to making a wish list of shoulds.
which is really pointless as unless you are exceptionally placed the system is beyond repair for one or a group of 20,000 individuals
but economists live in a bubble. it is composed of the terms growth rate and development. and this is v problematic. they should be made to visit the real world. i dont understand why we keep studying the model of perfect competition. as we have all decided that it is never going to happen. we study not the perverions of the system; instead we keep thinking about what happens when it is perfect. it will never be perfect. it is pointless to keep thinking of what should happen.
but then perhaps it is no less utopian to imagine a less unfair world, than a perfect one.
it ended inconclusively.

movies

Kynodontas (2009), is not for the squeamish. And that's about all I can say about it without some sort of spoiler. It gave me the creeps but I would recommend it to those strong of stomach. If you saw The Ballad of Jack and Rose- this is about three times more disturbing.

Other things I watched this month include

1. The Accidental Husband- thoroughly avoidable.

2. Serenity- not as much fun as as Firefly. And highly disappointing in terms of which characters Joss Whedon chose to kill and which he chose to keep alive at the end.

3. Firefly- which I loved. Though I think its a bit incongruous that 500 years into the future we will have spaceships, advanced medical technology and yet be dressed as if in the 19th century. Not a major problem for me though; didn't detract from my glee at the whole series. Though I do think the story arc could have been written out a little more crisply. Or something. More twists. More plot.

4. Coraline- which was ok. Excellent black cartoon cat and lovely music. But I shan't be watching that again.

5. P.S. I love You- bah. Though it was nice to see Hilary Swank in pretty clothes this is not enough to make me watch a whole movie.

who said

i've just had a week of involved discussions about singing the national anthem, patriotism and why politicians should be shot on sight. now in a house like ours, where all of us are rather opinionated the degree of peace is relative to how many people are in the room. i resent being made to stand up and sing the national anthem when i go to the movies in ahmedabad. i don't at all resent getting up early and racing out at nine in the morning to find a flag to sing at on independence day. i think republic day is a bit of a fraud, though i do recognise that the constitution is quite important and all that. but singing the anthem is a gesture, and i feel like there's more drama attached to the day independence was acknowledged.

what i did today was go out and buy a pair of sunglasses. which is makes it no different from what i might have done on any other day. except that there was less traffic today.

i do find though that i am more open to reading poetry on state holidays- in general. so i spent the afternoon with agha shahid ali, cups of tea and home made cookies. and am spending part of my evening with k satchidanandan. here- have a poem. after this though i am going off to watch firefly.


Who Said?

Who said
that waiting is a
railway station in North Malabar?
That a dawn in uniform
will arrive there in a coffin?

Who said
that memory is a fragrant window
opening on ripe cornfields?
That our bodies grow cold
as light grows dim there?

Who said
that trees have ceased to follow
wind’s language?
That we must conceal
from lilies and rabbits
the news of the death of love?

Who said
that now noons will be
heavy like a drunkard’s head?
That evenings will have sick hearts
like a lover’s whispered songs?

Who said that we are running barefoot
over red hot iron
with a fistful of childhood rain?
That we will, at the end,
hand over our keys
to the same rain?

Who said that men once dead grow younger
and then they enter another Time?
That all the birds that vanished
at sunrise will return
when the world ends?

Who said
that we would understand everything
with no one saying anything,
but will still not share
anything with anyone?

© K. Satchidanandan
From: Vikku
Publisher: DC Books, Kottayam, 2002
ISBN: 81-264-0465-5



© Translation: 2002, K. Satchidanandan
From: At Home in the World:
Publisher: Full Circle, Delhi, 2002

http://india.poetryinternationalweb.org/piw_cms/cms/cms_module/index.php?obj_id=2865

Dr who

Dear David Tennant,
I miss you. I know you ran off to America to make a new series but they will not get how funny and cool you are without some guidance. Neither Russell T Davies nor Steven Moffat has gone with you. Nor has some other clever fellow found and schooled by the BBC.
So basically. Yes. Come back. Even of just for the Easter special, or New year special. Or whatever hoaxy special.
Ok.
Bye for now.


http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WxB1gB6K-2A

vaguery in the field

It has rained in Ahmedabad for nearly a whole day, withonly a one hour gap in the middle. It has been most lovely. Splooshed about all morning and slept all afternoon. Drove across the waterlogged city in the evening and returned to Doctor Who at night. Now that I am no longer alone at home I can watch these at night (otherwise too spooky).

Meanwhile I am debating the wisdom of having my hair rebonded. I invite comments from any of you who have had this done- or considered it.

Additionally I wish to complain about the rigours of having to manage a large household (3 people) on my own. This means buying food and water, instructing the cook about what to cook when, and dealing with grocers, laundry women, gardeners and a whole host of other people who float in and float out. The thing about living inside an institutes campus is that nearly everything comes pre-organised. There are minions to help with everything, and helpful aunties to call when in doubt. And despite how easy everything should be its driving me mad.

One more week of planning menus and I shall be climbing the walls. I need to leave before I totally forget what it is like to go to work everyday. To have to make deadlines instead of thinking about how the vegetables are rubbery during the rains and that its not a good time to eat palak.

irritation

i do not like being asked about when i plan to get narried. it annoys me further i am asked about my age. and it is intolerable when i am told that at 24 i have become 'pakki' in my ways- too old and hardened to be fashioned into the sort of person that a husband might want. i do not think that i was compliant at any age- but i absolutely refuse to be told off for the years stacking up. i defy you to find me one person who has grown younger as time passes,

and so being in ahmedabad drives me mad slowly.

so i am 24 and not possessed of child or husband. and this does not mean that my life is empty. now shoo. go away.

and what have i been reading?

Loretta Chase: Miss Wonderful.

I enjoyed this book a great deal. And I look forward to reading more by Loretta Chase. Maybe it just happened at a needy moment- when more susceptible than ever to books that end pleasantly predictably. Or maybe it just was a book with interesting people and a hint of a story.

Not that the book was anything like what the link to follow talks of. Nothing that had you sniggering at it.

http://www.smartbitchestrashybooks.com/index.php/weblog/comments/random-thoughts-from-anonymous-reader-on-men-of-danger/

updates of a general nature

fresh from a trip to turkey (so beautiful- but iffy about some of the food- why were so many things served cold?) and dubai (iffy about the place but oh- the food!).

and what have i been reading?

Moonraker's Bride by Madeleine Brent (Peter O'Donnell)
Was sure that i had read this before- but forgotten the story. All very predictable and very fun.

Master's Of Illusion: The World Banka and the Poverty of Nations by Catherine Caufield.
I haven't finished this yet, but I will, once my mother returns it. I allow myself to read no more than 50 pages a day because any more will cause an attack of some sort. caused by total horror.

ancic- recap

ancic will be playing at queen's.

i will be scouring the sports channels in the hope of seeing him play, if only in the opening rounds. i miss him, i really do. watchingtennis used to be more fun, somehow, than it is now, without the ancics and ivanesevics around.

Reviews. More

Ishq and Mushq- Priya Basil
I like books like this one. About people who live in places other than those accorded to them at borth. About women who have difficult relationships with other women. About food. With speciific references to Indian food.
There was a lot of cooking in the book. Though it felt like Basil had read Like Waster from Chocolate and thought, thats nice, I'll have my heroine cry into the food andmake it salty too. Other than for this it was much more palatable that most of the other stuff being churned out about diasporas.

Solo- Rana Dasgupta
The blurb had nothing to do what was in the book. There was a stray mention of a parrot, and no one gypsy- not tribe whowse lost language we pursued in the story. Despite the disappointing lack of parrots it was fun. Yet another person who read Amitov Ghosh and thought- ha.

new house-new cat

so. it seems like the last few phases of my life have, thus far, been punctuated by different and distinctive feline presences.

in the first year at the ma there was the cat that snuck into my room every night and curled up on my pillow next to my head. then she had babies; one of whom had a preference for chocolate biscuits.

in the second year of the me, the orange, non chocolate consuming kit of the pillow-friendly cat moved with me to the next block. and was christened garfield (no i did not call him that to begin with, but he took to the name, and refused to respond to anything else). garfield liked to lurk at one end of the corridor, and race towards people as they stepped out of their rooms, then zig zag between their legs as they moved forwards, having to zig zag to avoid being stepped on. he also liked legs to stand still so he could rub against them. and was very selective about his food. he did not like to be fed fresh stuff, not even milk. it had to lie there, preferably in one of the hostel's many dustbins, before he would deign to look at it. to be able to allow my feet to pet him i set aside a pair of garfield socks, that i wore before letting him touch my feet. his bed was in the corridor distbin, and nothing could persuade him otherwise.

then there was a large black dat. who lived in a house with four other people, so was quitw spoilt. if you sat down for too long she would come and drape herself on you, and claw you for thinking abut shifting. i have often thought about her tail (most beautiful) wistfully, and want one just like it. would be so useful to use as a scarf, or fold up into a pillow.

andn ow i live ina house with a squashed faced patchwork black and orange cat. i donot know if it is a he or a she. and i don't think i'll get close enough to find out. he/she also sneaks in, but sleeps on the rug. and leaves as soon as i wake up. then returns when it thinks i should be asleep.

i wonder if this one will agree to being my friend

Alice in Wonderland and Jemima Khan

The dancing bit of the movie was just weird.

Am in new found love with Avril Lavigne (had to google the song at the end, without which I would never have figured it was her).

And is it mad that I'm really glad I found Jemima Khan on Twitter- she seems so lovely.

The Dollhouse

Because I work crazy shifts my weekends don't always arrive on Saturdays and Sundays. Like this week- Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. Which turned into the weekend from hell. And the only thing that made it better was an internet connection fast enough to allow me to watch the entire second season of The Dollhouse . I never was much of Buffy person though I do enjoy the Buffy-Spike fanfic. And I never understood the attraction of Angel. However i am very sad about the untimely demise of The Dollhouse. Though I do not see how they could resurrect the story should some cable network choose to revive it.

What I like about the Dollhouse is that it didn't compromise on vocabulary (maybe many Americans just didn't understand what was being said- and this is why it is going off air). A character in it said soupcon (now I know how to pronounce this).
I truly and utterly loved some characters. Like I used to love those on That 70's Show, which was very deeply, but also very long ago. Think starry eyed teenager love.

The casting was very very good. Olivia Williams being the most lovely woman I've seen in a long time. And I thought the guys who played Topher Brink and Alpha were most competent. This is the second thing I've seen Alan Tudyk in (the first being the hilarious Death at Funeral) and I shall be looking out for him.

Meanwhile I also saw Lucky You. Which was .. bleh. Though one would think the beauty of Eric Bana should be able to make all things better a lot depends on the right hair cut. And after the perfect coiffures of everyone on the Dollhouse this really was a let down.

All this while being down with the flu. Now my weekend has gone and I have not done anything but meld with my couch. And tomorrow work begins again. Sigh.

The Harmony Silk Factory

I can see this being made into one of those really lovely glossy world war two movies. With the Malaysian version of Keira Knightley playing Snow. It would be the sort that might be Oscar nominated for cinematography, costume, music and supporting actor. It would be the sort of movie with one really involved sex scene and long pauses in conversation, during which characters exchange meaningful glances while sitting around a breakfast table while servants shuffle in the background. You know the kind I mean.

I liked the first third of the book. When it seemed to be like the boy was in search of his mother. I liked the second part of the book when the father was established as not so much of a monster after all. But I got got a bit tired of the third narrator's voice, when it became clear that it was still a story about a boy hunting for his father (another one- yawn). I am tired of books about boys hunting for fathers. I am tired of boys who are hunting for their fathers. Mothers are important too. More boys should be hunting for their mothers.

Also, while I got the whole, pastel-watercolour approach to detail that Aw seemed to be doing I would have liked a little more explanation for why people do things. For example- this is a really wealthy family. It wasn't ok for them to allow their daughter out with just anyone. Now that she's married they send her off on a trip, in a boat with no servants, with no chaperone or maid, to an island retreat with no constructed shelter on it? Where they have to go hunting for food and cook it on their own- two Englishmen, one Japanese spy and two of the richest locals in this little Malaysian outpost. Sounds very fishy.

Aside from the obvious logical loopholes, of which there was more than one, I felt like the book was an anaemic version of a better draft, that must be lying around somewhere. If only in Tash Aw's head. It also seemed to draw a lot from the work of Amitav Ghosh, and tryig to be magical in the same way. It comes sniffingly close.

More books

And then after that I read

1. The Guardian of the Dawn, by Richard Zimler
Which, set in early 17th century Goa, claimed to be ' a riveting historical mystery', 'impeccably reasearched' and ' a powerful reinterpretation of Othello'. It was none of these things. It was, in the beginning, a detailed description of Jewish customs four hundred years ago, nof of a way of life that Jews on the west coast of India might have had come centuries ago. And later it was a whine about the persecution of Jews during the Inquisition, and not in any way an examination of a set of historical factors, actions and circumstances. A large part of it was a justification for religious intolerance (as Tiago's impossibly intolerant father is the moral centre of the book).

And no, just because Tiago got to sleep with a Hindu that does not make it all better. That only happened because the author cleverly manages to have the Hindu girl convinced of how Hanuman is a character from a Judaic tale. No recognition of her seperate religious identity. She needs to be assimilated. And the Muslims of course are evil and must die. Even addressing the issue of self-loathing and guilt, as the book tried to do in the end couldn't salvage it for me. By about half way through I'd had it with the irritating family, and was completely unsympathetic to all but the Christian wife of the converted uncle (who the book was intolerant of). Anyhoo. I finished it. And I will not be buying Richard Zimler again.

2. Brilliant- Marne Davis Kellogg
This was not published by Penguin. And it had no pretensions to historical accuracy, 'spark of genius'(yes I'm still quoting the cover of the Zimler book) or profound exposrations of human nature. It was a fast and funny flighty little book about crooks who are past their twenties and still attractive. I haven't read all those many books with middle aged heroines, who like their food, sex and beautiful jewellery. I wouldn't read it again, but I would recommend it to someone who had to spend all day in bed with a cold, or recovering from a nasty ex boyfriend.

And now i am part way through The Harmony Silk Factory. I shall wait until I am atleast one third in to form an opinion.

new house

so i finally have a place of my own. which is making me really happy. even when i get back at 10 at night and there isn't anyone else who might have kept dinner for me. once the weirdness of having only myself for company wears off i think i shall begin to like it.
and- this is no small announcement- i have discovered what is, in my opinion, the best chicken tikka roll in delhi, right down the road from the house. well- down the road and left. it was perfect. not too spicy, with onions and cabbage in a salad (not just reeking of onions), and with a really yummy green sauce, wrapped in the lightest rumali roti, that refused to turn into a stretchy rubbery mess, even after an hour ( i kept a bit- just to check).
most yum
and in two pieces, with 3 tikkas each, for a hundred rupees. not bad at all i thought.
joy

So this is what I have been reading

1. Black Swan Green- by david Mitchell.
I loved Cloud Atlas, despite tiring a bit at the end, and not caring enough about the last story. All the other bits were great. I must read everything else by this man. And according to wikipedia he looks pretty nice too.

Black Swan Green I enjoyed a lot too.


2. The Memory Keeper's Daughter.

Did not like this much. Am now suspicious of things that have an Oprah's Book Club sticker on them. The last few have turned out to sentimental American pap.