Thursday, July 31, 2008
Prakash and Mandakini Amte for the Ramon Magsaysay Award for 2008
The original citation is found here
Scattered through time: Memories of Varanasi
I wonder if the photos below do justice to my immediate falling in love with Varanasi?
Monday, July 28, 2008
The Other Indian Side
Check out two reports at
http://www.indiatogether.org/2008/jul/psa-finebal.htm
http://www.indiatogether.org/2008/jul/psa-mumbai.htm
http://www.indiatogether.org/2008/jul/psa-finebal.htm
http://www.indiatogether.org/2008/jul/psa-mumbai.htm
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Encountering Courage
A few days back, a prominent social activist A.D. Babu from Bangalore was brutally assassinated with swords and knives, in broad daylight, on a national highway, in full view of his companions. The murderers got away and have remained at large despite eye witnesses providing full information and being willing to identify the culprits.
Mr. Babu was fighting, amongst other matters, the prominent liquor lobby that operates and funds most political parties, and hence wields extraordinary influence within corrupted government and police. He was on his way to address an anti-liquor rally just outside Bangalore when the incidence took place.
Mr. Babu had been threatened many a times, the latest call being on the night before his murder.
So what drives some people so? What makes them invincible, fearless, secure both about their survival and also about their chosen path? Is it that they have become blind in their zeal to save the world, or at least the poor, downtrodden, and the non-accounted?
I remember now a conversation that I had had long back with Medha Patkar when she had said that she and the other activists were exactly the same as the rest of us -they desired the same comforts, happiness, peace, and had the same doubts, uncertainties, fears.
At the condolence and protest meeting for Mr. Babu, this fear was palpable- as was a calm resolve - to not let this incidence go unnoticed, become another statistic. It was clear that this was a rare breed of people, who would not bow down to its fears. I was facing an extraordinary courage, of a people who had little to lose, or rather, who recognised that they lost more if their fears won. So they lived and continued their struggle despite their fears. Their courage was raw, bold, blatant-as blatant as Babu's response to the threats -"If my life is taken, there will be ten other Babus to take my place". At that meeting, I realised that what he said was true..several people there were capable and keen to take his place and have the movement be pushed forward. They had realised a path, that I could merely talk about-the path of duty, righteousness, the Geeta path.
It was my good fortune to be amongst them, even for so short a time.
Mr. Babu was fighting, amongst other matters, the prominent liquor lobby that operates and funds most political parties, and hence wields extraordinary influence within corrupted government and police. He was on his way to address an anti-liquor rally just outside Bangalore when the incidence took place.
Mr. Babu had been threatened many a times, the latest call being on the night before his murder.
So what drives some people so? What makes them invincible, fearless, secure both about their survival and also about their chosen path? Is it that they have become blind in their zeal to save the world, or at least the poor, downtrodden, and the non-accounted?
I remember now a conversation that I had had long back with Medha Patkar when she had said that she and the other activists were exactly the same as the rest of us -they desired the same comforts, happiness, peace, and had the same doubts, uncertainties, fears.
At the condolence and protest meeting for Mr. Babu, this fear was palpable- as was a calm resolve - to not let this incidence go unnoticed, become another statistic. It was clear that this was a rare breed of people, who would not bow down to its fears. I was facing an extraordinary courage, of a people who had little to lose, or rather, who recognised that they lost more if their fears won. So they lived and continued their struggle despite their fears. Their courage was raw, bold, blatant-as blatant as Babu's response to the threats -"If my life is taken, there will be ten other Babus to take my place". At that meeting, I realised that what he said was true..several people there were capable and keen to take his place and have the movement be pushed forward. They had realised a path, that I could merely talk about-the path of duty, righteousness, the Geeta path.
It was my good fortune to be amongst them, even for so short a time.
Trading Science
Last night, a senior scientist was overheard advising a junior colleague "Don't sell yourself short", in a discussion on scientific exchanges, research funding, and generally you-scratch-my-back and I'll-scratch-yours. I lost the rest of the conversation, since I was struck that neither paused on the part "don't sell yourself"-it was "selling short" that was the issue. The message was clear, SELL- but not for less. Optimize profits, evaluate personal gains, learn the ropes, climb the ladder. We are a nation of the free now, free to choose our bidders with care, scout the market, hunt.
Most scientific research, at least in academic institutions, here and abroad, is based largely on finding funding- funding for equipment, facilities, conferences, travel, student support and sundry - this is just how the game is played. In a climate of application based research, industrial alliances, scientific research is dictated by need, the need of the providers-so, the goal is to become a part of a market driven, fashionable funded, operation. Market is driven by profits, usually profits for those that have enough funding to invest in future prospects of further profits with research projects, proposals, swaying and setting trends in entire communities of scientists, thinkers. Higher thought is now guided by who is paying our elite to think, not about relevance of this thought for the benefit of society as a whole, or even driven by a curiosity to know more. Now, don't get me wrong, I am not propounding that all work have social relevance, or even higher moralistic goals-in fact, I firmly believe that there is space for diversity, of people, desires, and dreams. However, diversity is no longer the call of the day-markets choose mono-trends, drive mono-dreams, sold enmass in media through identical advertisements in all the multitudes of television channels. And it is this consumerism driven happiness-dream that drives most searches for funding - supplementing salary, affording happiness luxuries, traveling abroad - a sign of status symbol.
And then, when times are good, like now, the researchers run out enough man power, people, students, to assist with larger scale output, fuelled by a need/greed for more and more funding. This then sets off an entire other chain reaction, of how to attract more students, publish more papers, have more office/lab space...again a repetition of the more, more, more mantra by our most elite.
But what does all this really achieve, for us as a people? Will there be less bomb blasts, fewer communal riots, cleaner water to drink, fresher air to breathe, further dissemination of the scientific thought and process to strata lower down, a trickling down of our profits to those who are also part of us, our 'democracy'? Who will think, when all thought is already sold-and not short?
Most scientific research, at least in academic institutions, here and abroad, is based largely on finding funding- funding for equipment, facilities, conferences, travel, student support and sundry - this is just how the game is played. In a climate of application based research, industrial alliances, scientific research is dictated by need, the need of the providers-so, the goal is to become a part of a market driven, fashionable funded, operation. Market is driven by profits, usually profits for those that have enough funding to invest in future prospects of further profits with research projects, proposals, swaying and setting trends in entire communities of scientists, thinkers. Higher thought is now guided by who is paying our elite to think, not about relevance of this thought for the benefit of society as a whole, or even driven by a curiosity to know more. Now, don't get me wrong, I am not propounding that all work have social relevance, or even higher moralistic goals-in fact, I firmly believe that there is space for diversity, of people, desires, and dreams. However, diversity is no longer the call of the day-markets choose mono-trends, drive mono-dreams, sold enmass in media through identical advertisements in all the multitudes of television channels. And it is this consumerism driven happiness-dream that drives most searches for funding - supplementing salary, affording happiness luxuries, traveling abroad - a sign of status symbol.
And then, when times are good, like now, the researchers run out enough man power, people, students, to assist with larger scale output, fuelled by a need/greed for more and more funding. This then sets off an entire other chain reaction, of how to attract more students, publish more papers, have more office/lab space...again a repetition of the more, more, more mantra by our most elite.
But what does all this really achieve, for us as a people? Will there be less bomb blasts, fewer communal riots, cleaner water to drink, fresher air to breathe, further dissemination of the scientific thought and process to strata lower down, a trickling down of our profits to those who are also part of us, our 'democracy'? Who will think, when all thought is already sold-and not short?
Friday, July 25, 2008
Coorg Diary: A Trek to Nandi Betta
In my wildest imaginations, I dream of wandering wild places, untouched or scantily touched by human presence-unspoilt, virgin landscapes of dry, golden, desert sands, dense, dark forests, high hills with round views from pinnacle, oceans turquoise to deep navy, extending to infinity.
All Coorg imaginations were green and blue, of shrouded cobalt hills, rolling lilac mists, green wet, growth, at the underfoot, besides me, around me, in my eyes, nostrils, moistness on my skin. I wanted to experience a Coorg that was non-peopled, where elephant herds roamed, wildcats ruled, a land of beasts and birds, butterflies and moths, an abundance of insect world-I wanted a forest trek.
We walked in a single file, through a narrow, beaten, barely visible path, a line of mostly strangers and I-walking a fast pace, brushing past overgrown bush, trees, ferns, stone jumping creeks, balancing logs stretched across bogs, fast, focussed, attentively moving. This was not what I had imagined, but this was real, more real, as were the leeches reaching out towards us from blades of grass, leaves, an occasional branch, ever present, ready, in their bid for survival, to grab warm blood, to suck, to live and propagate. We walked in a voiceless file, with brushes made of a particular tree bark, to flick away the suckers at every rock surface we stepped on;pausing anywhere else was out of question. And, we climbed as we walked, in short steep stretches, slippery in a wet, shiny, clayey way till the trees thinned out to tall grass and flowers, only blue-purple flowers on round bushes, all around, everywhere the eye fell. The ceiling had changed from overhanging many tiered trees and was now a dark, leaded sky-a feeling of space, our smallness, till we were at the edge-of the world. A ledge looking into a blanket, a blankness of being the sky-rolling fluff around, colorless, moist on us, and soft series of gray beyond...we were on Nandi Betta.
First things first, immediately unlacing the shoes, removing the socks, checking if the suckers had got to our insides-most of us had escaped unharmed. Tentative exploring the ledge, the edge, peering to view the beyond. A small fire to the rain gods, for the rains have been less, or should be more, to help the farmers. Huddling around, soft conversation, quiet bantering, some snacks. Then the clouds clear-we view Eden across - steep mountains, thickly forested-Brahmagiri National Park. Silver vertical lines glitter unbelievably, three waterfalls.A white river snakes below in a deep ravine, viewed in bits and pieces between torn clouds, for a glimpse, now there, now gone, of paradise lost.
All Coorg imaginations were green and blue, of shrouded cobalt hills, rolling lilac mists, green wet, growth, at the underfoot, besides me, around me, in my eyes, nostrils, moistness on my skin. I wanted to experience a Coorg that was non-peopled, where elephant herds roamed, wildcats ruled, a land of beasts and birds, butterflies and moths, an abundance of insect world-I wanted a forest trek.
We walked in a single file, through a narrow, beaten, barely visible path, a line of mostly strangers and I-walking a fast pace, brushing past overgrown bush, trees, ferns, stone jumping creeks, balancing logs stretched across bogs, fast, focussed, attentively moving. This was not what I had imagined, but this was real, more real, as were the leeches reaching out towards us from blades of grass, leaves, an occasional branch, ever present, ready, in their bid for survival, to grab warm blood, to suck, to live and propagate. We walked in a voiceless file, with brushes made of a particular tree bark, to flick away the suckers at every rock surface we stepped on;pausing anywhere else was out of question. And, we climbed as we walked, in short steep stretches, slippery in a wet, shiny, clayey way till the trees thinned out to tall grass and flowers, only blue-purple flowers on round bushes, all around, everywhere the eye fell. The ceiling had changed from overhanging many tiered trees and was now a dark, leaded sky-a feeling of space, our smallness, till we were at the edge-of the world. A ledge looking into a blanket, a blankness of being the sky-rolling fluff around, colorless, moist on us, and soft series of gray beyond...we were on Nandi Betta.
First things first, immediately unlacing the shoes, removing the socks, checking if the suckers had got to our insides-most of us had escaped unharmed. Tentative exploring the ledge, the edge, peering to view the beyond. A small fire to the rain gods, for the rains have been less, or should be more, to help the farmers. Huddling around, soft conversation, quiet bantering, some snacks. Then the clouds clear-we view Eden across - steep mountains, thickly forested-Brahmagiri National Park. Silver vertical lines glitter unbelievably, three waterfalls.A white river snakes below in a deep ravine, viewed in bits and pieces between torn clouds, for a glimpse, now there, now gone, of paradise lost.
Monday, July 21, 2008
A Week in Coorg: Diary Entries
The Homestead
I spent last week in Coorg. I spent it with friends from Bangalore, my hosts, in a small traditional home, within a coffee estate, embedded in a grove of tall rosewoods. The home was a comfortable urban dwelling and yet there was a simple, rural charm, with red oxide floors, hanging brass lamp and hurricane lanterns for those long hours without power, and a small veranda to stare out into the forest. Coffee dried on large tarps, saplings were stacked ready for planting, an orchid tumbled from a plastic mug - a gift. Three dogs bounded to greet us when we arrived, appearing from no where-and stayed with us while we remained.
The day started early for my hosts, with work to be organized, labor to be planned. I stayed in bed, enjoying the quietness, leisure of being a guest. Days flew by in conversation, long long walks with frequently forgotten details of which cousin owned which share of property, propriety and impropriety of the affair etc. What was memorable was the land-rolling hills, green, dense cover of trees, garlanded with pepper vines, and coffee bushes under. The valley floors were fertile, flooded with neon green patches of freshly sown rice; and all of this intermingled with cardamom, bananas, jackfruits, citruses of several varieties, wild flowers and a hundred different ferns still squeezed through the remaining space-dense, opulent, land of plenty...
An Evening at an Estate
That evening, I felt I had stepped back in time. A time that I only knew from old English writings - a world with chivalrous men, gracious ladies, large estate bunglows of wood and glass, shiny red floors, portraits of family and ancestors, gleaming brass, sparkling crystals; bunglows with sprawling gardens, jumbled with flowers, small islands of refinement and taste, carved out in jungles deep and dark, where cicadas chorused at deafening volume; evenings at long, deep verandas sipping that scotch to a sunset; dinner served on long wooden tables with good china, relaxed conversation about - only nothing in particular, always pleasant, non controversial, charming.I played a role..attentive guest, interested, well behaved-mimicking graciousness, only to be defeated by an uncontrolled laughter, a slurried Bacardi-song, a non-rehearsed comment that escaped, unheeded, to my need to blend in, observe, study this strange world unobtrusively, not influencing their old world charm, faith, lifestyle, where men were men, accepted lords over feminine, whom they protect, cherish, at their will...
Bylakuppe, Kushalnagara
In the Mysore district of Karnataka, extending below the foothills of Coorg, lie Bylakuppe, and Kushalnagara, the second largest Tibetan settlement in India, outside Dharmashala. We knew we had arrived when the homes sported colourful fluttering flags offering prayers to the winds, shop fronts carried knick-knacks of a different world, restaurants advertised momos and thugpa, and lamas wandered streets in maroon robes or sped by on motorcycles. The agricultural patterns changed from small disorganised growing with human and cattle labor , to large holdings with mechanised farming, rotating sprinkler systems, a lush denseness to growth that only prosperity can bring-blessed again by tall poles carrying prayers. The community by its hard work and adaptability has achieved a level of economic success and stability rarely seen or matched in this nation-the Golden Temple complex at Bylakuppe is an outstanding testimony to this success. Seen from far and wide, across green fields and prayer flags, in a unsettling setting of tropical lushness, the temple stands tall, gleaming, blinding, unbearably colourful, attracting visitors from near and far. Done with patience, and love, only experienced by a threatened culture, each detail of their faith is remembered with ardor and reproduced with painstaking care. The giant doors are red and gilded, the walls frescoed with stories from life of Buddha, the fight of evil versus good, temptations of flesh, and finally at the alter, the enlightened being, Buddha himself with other Bodhidharma avataras on either side-enlightened and at peace, beyond the grasp of Maya.
We were in time for the afternoon prayers where a few hundred novices of boyish ages ran to their positions at the floor benches and then chanted in deep, sonorous voices, prayers which salved a heart, stilled a restless mind...
We were in time for the afternoon prayers where a few hundred novices of boyish ages ran to their positions at the floor benches and then chanted in deep, sonorous voices, prayers which salved a heart, stilled a restless mind...
Thursday, July 10, 2008
I Vote Non-Nuclear
India is on the verge of committing to a US alliance to meet its ever growing energy needs with nuclear power. I have been loosely following the very active and acrimonious public debate between the left and the center about both the value of nuclear energy in the Indian context, and also the US dependence that is necessary to push the deal forward.
I have wondered, at the same time, about my personal stance, if any, on the subject.
As has frequently happened to me in the past, yesterday, I encountered a real life situation, that
resolved my position on the much wider nuclear issue-at least in the Indian context. I was returning home after a long overdue visit to my farm. The day at the farm had been particularly satisfying-as usual, Muniamma's averseness to active labor had ensured that the farm was once again an Eden of weeds-butterflies danced, birds swung on tall grasses, tiny flowers played hide and seek-of course the mango, chikoo, jamun, gooseberry saplings were also choked with weeds which had to be cleared. The day was hot, bright, and very quiet-also very clean-no sight of plastics, garbage, filth, that are routine parts of our daily urban life.
I reached IISc. (Indian Institute of Science), a premier science institute of national importance, where I reside-happy again to be in its green environment and relative quietness, after a messy, long commute on public transport. There I once again encountered a sight that is a common part of our life here. A rag picker was going through the large garbage collection station, near the engineering departments, scavenging for things of value that could be sold outside. She was old, bent, and was going through the waste with her bare hands. Instead of moving on, as usual, I stopped this time-the garbage that she was going through were not the usual plastic wrappers, cartons, thermocols, but brown glass bottles of chemicals, glass specimen disks and, by and large,
lab wastage that had been disposed with regular garbage. Some of the glass containers were broken, liquid spilt in a mess that she was walking through-no footwear. I passed through, as did hoardes of faculty, staff, students...we have all learnt to turn a blind eye-to our own filth. I mentioned this incidence to my husband-he told me he knew the woman I was speaking of by sight-he had even stopped once and given her a pair of gloves.
What I encountered, is not about individual incidence, a solitary small act of kindness - but endemic to the society as a whole - we the people, refuse to acknowledge our waste, let alone deal with it. Maybe, the evil fingers of entrenched class and caste distinction percolate to our present day, developed, educated, psyche to silently accept barbaric practices of letting the 'non-people' handle our waste-human, plastic, toxic, hazardous.
There are far wider consequences to this common place incidence from yesterday-if a premier, scientific, community like IISc cannot, or will not, appropriately handle its chemical and possibly toxic waste-how can we as a nation of loose laws, and looser enforcements, rampant corruption,
expect to handle, safely, by products of nuclear energy. We have absolutely no credibility, historically, for ever dealing with issues of either safe guarding our environment, or our people,
from wastages of our speedy rush towards development. The regulations that safeguard the individual and national interests of the developed nations are missing- entirely - in India. In fact, we have proved, to be non-discriminatory towards our own self interest-we import hazardous wastes, by ship loads, from the same developed worlds that want to safe guard personal interests, and are now offering alliance for our energy needs, future progress.
So, as an individual citizen, who must hold a considered opinion, voice a viewpoint, maintain an individual claim to a side - I side with no-nuclear, for the energy future of India.
I have wondered, at the same time, about my personal stance, if any, on the subject.
As has frequently happened to me in the past, yesterday, I encountered a real life situation, that
resolved my position on the much wider nuclear issue-at least in the Indian context. I was returning home after a long overdue visit to my farm. The day at the farm had been particularly satisfying-as usual, Muniamma's averseness to active labor had ensured that the farm was once again an Eden of weeds-butterflies danced, birds swung on tall grasses, tiny flowers played hide and seek-of course the mango, chikoo, jamun, gooseberry saplings were also choked with weeds which had to be cleared. The day was hot, bright, and very quiet-also very clean-no sight of plastics, garbage, filth, that are routine parts of our daily urban life.
I reached IISc. (Indian Institute of Science), a premier science institute of national importance, where I reside-happy again to be in its green environment and relative quietness, after a messy, long commute on public transport. There I once again encountered a sight that is a common part of our life here. A rag picker was going through the large garbage collection station, near the engineering departments, scavenging for things of value that could be sold outside. She was old, bent, and was going through the waste with her bare hands. Instead of moving on, as usual, I stopped this time-the garbage that she was going through were not the usual plastic wrappers, cartons, thermocols, but brown glass bottles of chemicals, glass specimen disks and, by and large,
lab wastage that had been disposed with regular garbage. Some of the glass containers were broken, liquid spilt in a mess that she was walking through-no footwear. I passed through, as did hoardes of faculty, staff, students...we have all learnt to turn a blind eye-to our own filth. I mentioned this incidence to my husband-he told me he knew the woman I was speaking of by sight-he had even stopped once and given her a pair of gloves.
What I encountered, is not about individual incidence, a solitary small act of kindness - but endemic to the society as a whole - we the people, refuse to acknowledge our waste, let alone deal with it. Maybe, the evil fingers of entrenched class and caste distinction percolate to our present day, developed, educated, psyche to silently accept barbaric practices of letting the 'non-people' handle our waste-human, plastic, toxic, hazardous.
There are far wider consequences to this common place incidence from yesterday-if a premier, scientific, community like IISc cannot, or will not, appropriately handle its chemical and possibly toxic waste-how can we as a nation of loose laws, and looser enforcements, rampant corruption,
expect to handle, safely, by products of nuclear energy. We have absolutely no credibility, historically, for ever dealing with issues of either safe guarding our environment, or our people,
from wastages of our speedy rush towards development. The regulations that safeguard the individual and national interests of the developed nations are missing- entirely - in India. In fact, we have proved, to be non-discriminatory towards our own self interest-we import hazardous wastes, by ship loads, from the same developed worlds that want to safe guard personal interests, and are now offering alliance for our energy needs, future progress.
So, as an individual citizen, who must hold a considered opinion, voice a viewpoint, maintain an individual claim to a side - I side with no-nuclear, for the energy future of India.
Sunday, July 6, 2008
Economics of Education
It is a prevalent belief in certain circles, that education is a panacea for all social evils...I belonged to that club. The belief is founded on a myth, that education gives you a choice, a determination of livelihood, if not of life itself. Granted, if education gives you awareness, ability to think, assess, critically analyse, have an opinion...then those are all steps in the right direction. But, one usually takes a more particular stance of education removing global hunger, poverty, environmental crises, class disparities. Somehow, even within the educated class, providing education to the poor, is seen as a solution, that by providing economic security, resolves all other individual and social manifestation of poverty.
I have recently been thinking...questioning the premise...if all 6 billion of us were educated, capable of making a choice, would there still be choice?Would the world turn into a Lenon-ish Imagine-able utopia? or would the 'choice' still remain select, finite, now drawing from a much larger pool of wannabe capables? would not the global, market driven systems, then quickly short change the now redundant educated masses, for a rarer species of say, garbage collectors?
Probing, further, into shakier economic grounds, it appears that education cannot create wealth. Education leads (most frequently) to white collar jobs and allows flourishing of service sectors that help redistribute wealth. But can the entire global population become service providers-to the top percent of the truly wealthy, individuals, corporations, governments -the ones with wealth and capacity/power to generate wealth? What creates wealth? or more pertinently, who creates wealth? And can this wealth be created without the support (willing or abused) of global people, global resources. Is wealth, not just commodity - necessary or desirable?monetary currency just a facilitator of the earliest barter system for exchanges of goods? Then, how can education, generate wealth, prosperity, and ultimately peace? Are we chasing a pipe dream - or deliberately keeping our eyes closed, that we can dream a dream, not fully black?
Or...I am thinking completely wrong about this, and someone will tell me how- to let me dream a dream.
I have recently been thinking...questioning the premise...if all 6 billion of us were educated, capable of making a choice, would there still be choice?Would the world turn into a Lenon-ish Imagine-able utopia? or would the 'choice' still remain select, finite, now drawing from a much larger pool of wannabe capables? would not the global, market driven systems, then quickly short change the now redundant educated masses, for a rarer species of say, garbage collectors?
Probing, further, into shakier economic grounds, it appears that education cannot create wealth. Education leads (most frequently) to white collar jobs and allows flourishing of service sectors that help redistribute wealth. But can the entire global population become service providers-to the top percent of the truly wealthy, individuals, corporations, governments -the ones with wealth and capacity/power to generate wealth? What creates wealth? or more pertinently, who creates wealth? And can this wealth be created without the support (willing or abused) of global people, global resources. Is wealth, not just commodity - necessary or desirable?monetary currency just a facilitator of the earliest barter system for exchanges of goods? Then, how can education, generate wealth, prosperity, and ultimately peace? Are we chasing a pipe dream - or deliberately keeping our eyes closed, that we can dream a dream, not fully black?
Or...I am thinking completely wrong about this, and someone will tell me how- to let me dream a dream.
Friday, July 4, 2008
Small is Beautiful
World is being divided along lines of class, race, gender, resources-and water is foremost amongst the disappearing resource over which next set of battles will be fought. In this climate, there are still lighthouses, beacons that shine in dark, hopes pinned on individual beams of light-here is an example of small individual action, with potential for enormous, wide scale tranformation-and a hope to avert wars.
Grass Roots Impotence
Yesterday, CONCERN- a student organisation of IISc. campus, screened two highly disturbing documentaries related to globalisation, and development focusing on the "other side" of the great progress in free India - the victims who pay the cost.
"Development Flows from the Barrel of a Gun" documented the demonic, vengeful operations by our police force to suppress any local resistance to large development projects ranging from big dams and mining, to world bank supported forestry projects in the tribal areas within the country. With organised and ruthless use of state sanctioned power, the police in each instance resorted to the use of force and firearms to silence protesters, imprisoning many and causing several fatalities.
On a more optimistic note "The Bitter Drink" documented the people's protest in Plachimada against the Coca Cola plant that caused drastic scarcity of potable water in the area, and the subsequent closing down of the unit.
In the active discussion that followed the screening, the foremost concern that stood out was, " I care, but what can I do....???" There was amongst the younger generation, empathy for the plight of the victims in these struggles, but also a great feeling of helplessness, impotence about an individual's role in our so called democracy where the political will, social drive, corruption, ineffective judicial system all conspired to silence the voices of those most adversely affected by India's rush towards development.
So what can one do? What can I do? Can a country really be called free, democratic, when its progress is geared towards blind consumerism, for the already consuming- more malls, more cars, more roads, more airports, more , more, more....when the elitist institutes like IISc. parrot the popular middle class mantra of 'more'- more fundings, more buildings, and aspire only for higher international standards, better international facilities, agressive international competitiveness...when we fail to include , locally, socially, ethically, individual, personal, environmental, and national needs-and are proud at our own 'exclusiveness' what message are we sending out to the younger generation? Is it a message of any value, to all of us? of equity and equality? when did we stop pondering about all of this? who else will think about this, can think about this? except the well fed , free thinkers of our sabotaged society? You!
"Development Flows from the Barrel of a Gun" documented the demonic, vengeful operations by our police force to suppress any local resistance to large development projects ranging from big dams and mining, to world bank supported forestry projects in the tribal areas within the country. With organised and ruthless use of state sanctioned power, the police in each instance resorted to the use of force and firearms to silence protesters, imprisoning many and causing several fatalities.
On a more optimistic note "The Bitter Drink" documented the people's protest in Plachimada against the Coca Cola plant that caused drastic scarcity of potable water in the area, and the subsequent closing down of the unit.
In the active discussion that followed the screening, the foremost concern that stood out was, " I care, but what can I do....???" There was amongst the younger generation, empathy for the plight of the victims in these struggles, but also a great feeling of helplessness, impotence about an individual's role in our so called democracy where the political will, social drive, corruption, ineffective judicial system all conspired to silence the voices of those most adversely affected by India's rush towards development.
So what can one do? What can I do? Can a country really be called free, democratic, when its progress is geared towards blind consumerism, for the already consuming- more malls, more cars, more roads, more airports, more , more, more....when the elitist institutes like IISc. parrot the popular middle class mantra of 'more'- more fundings, more buildings, and aspire only for higher international standards, better international facilities, agressive international competitiveness...when we fail to include , locally, socially, ethically, individual, personal, environmental, and national needs-and are proud at our own 'exclusiveness' what message are we sending out to the younger generation? Is it a message of any value, to all of us? of equity and equality? when did we stop pondering about all of this? who else will think about this, can think about this? except the well fed , free thinkers of our sabotaged society? You!
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Capturing Infinity
Last week, I decided to capture Infinity. I went in search of a bait to lure her. I had to walk far and wide till I came across a drying pond, full of black sticky clay, dark water, large jade leaves with suspended water crystals, and blossoms of thousand petaled lotus. I saw that the large blue Infinity overhead had been curious, and had visited this rare sight, only to be captured. She must have struggled hard-and finally escaped; bits of her still clung on to this tired, aging pond. I had found my bait.
I gathered bits of the jades, the pinks, and sticky clay to hold her down. I went home and found a large pot, gold and gray, a container for grains, and now water. I filled it up and set the trap carefully-the jades floated again, the pinks beckoned with a thousand waves, crystals clambered up the new surfaces, glinting in the sun. I saw Infinity approach, peek, and then settle in. She now has another home- she plays hide and seek with the rolling crystal drops, changes her colors, moods - she sometimes invites clouds and stars, sunrises and sunsets here. She comes and goes as she pleases, but at least for now- she is amused with her new home, and has decided to stay.
I gathered bits of the jades, the pinks, and sticky clay to hold her down. I went home and found a large pot, gold and gray, a container for grains, and now water. I filled it up and set the trap carefully-the jades floated again, the pinks beckoned with a thousand waves, crystals clambered up the new surfaces, glinting in the sun. I saw Infinity approach, peek, and then settle in. She now has another home- she plays hide and seek with the rolling crystal drops, changes her colors, moods - she sometimes invites clouds and stars, sunrises and sunsets here. She comes and goes as she pleases, but at least for now- she is amused with her new home, and has decided to stay.
Tuesday, July 1, 2008
Colour me Pink...
or purple, maroon or yellow, sap green or Caribbean blue, raven black or silver white, earthy red or monsoon gray....I colour me in colours as diverse as an artist's palette, seeking ranges beyond those in nature, and yet, I run out of colours that express me-in totality. I clothe myself in tradition, to fit in, or sophisticated sarees with silver accessories, or bell-bottoms left over from the hippy era to minuscule shorts for a day-I clothe me Indian, Thai, Chinese, western, in sarees, sarongs, skirts, shorts, pants, dresses, kurtas, yukatas; clothes - carefree, young, irresponsible,or in sombre swathes of aged respectability, laughing, playful, at the mirror, in my new role..to choose, what I shall be...today.
Warrior Princess
Long ago, I remember arguing with a male colleague when I declared that I wanted a daughter-and a fighter! Gods were listening in on the sly that day, winked at each other, and made my wish come true!
I remember watching the little ones grow up-my son, quiet, engrossed, my daughter - rebellious, a fighter. One day, my son was bullied by an older kid into giving up his favorite toy-I resisted interfering, knowing that he had to learn to fight his own battles. However, my little, chubby two year old ran to the rescue of her older brother, grabbing the much bigger boy by his shirt and lisping "give it back..."; the older child tried to shake her off, run away, all to no avail..she got dragged around, still hanging on to his shirt, till he finally gave up the toy and escaped.
Recently, my daughter has entered her teens...and I have started thinking of her as my warrior princess. Not that anyone would suspect so...she looks young, sweet, innocent, her hair in two pigtails, teeth in braces, her beautiful eyes behind nerdish glasses. Yet, this veneer hides a determined will, a resolve strong, a single mindedness of purpose and focus that has both my surprise and a hidden, deep admiration.
I am an observer now to a transformation that she has determined for herself-from the privileged, protected, non-formal education and environment that we had chosen for her, she has chosen to break away and be a part of what a friend recently called warehouse schooling for the masses...large classes, tons of books, heavy load of homework-little time for either creativity, or play! My husband and I watch her with concern-did we do wrong by her, before? are we watching her make a big mistake now? Yet...what must be, will be...or so we say to comfort ourselves. She is mostly amused and sometimes aghast at this assembly line approach to education, at the rascally behavior of her class mates-coming back home with umpteen stories to tell. It is her approach to her work that reveals her warrior self - she takes her new academic load as a challenge, a battle .We watch our young princess surrounded by her army of books, pressured and yet confident-she shall not surrender!
I remember watching the little ones grow up-my son, quiet, engrossed, my daughter - rebellious, a fighter. One day, my son was bullied by an older kid into giving up his favorite toy-I resisted interfering, knowing that he had to learn to fight his own battles. However, my little, chubby two year old ran to the rescue of her older brother, grabbing the much bigger boy by his shirt and lisping "give it back..."; the older child tried to shake her off, run away, all to no avail..she got dragged around, still hanging on to his shirt, till he finally gave up the toy and escaped.
Recently, my daughter has entered her teens...and I have started thinking of her as my warrior princess. Not that anyone would suspect so...she looks young, sweet, innocent, her hair in two pigtails, teeth in braces, her beautiful eyes behind nerdish glasses. Yet, this veneer hides a determined will, a resolve strong, a single mindedness of purpose and focus that has both my surprise and a hidden, deep admiration.
I am an observer now to a transformation that she has determined for herself-from the privileged, protected, non-formal education and environment that we had chosen for her, she has chosen to break away and be a part of what a friend recently called warehouse schooling for the masses...large classes, tons of books, heavy load of homework-little time for either creativity, or play! My husband and I watch her with concern-did we do wrong by her, before? are we watching her make a big mistake now? Yet...what must be, will be...or so we say to comfort ourselves. She is mostly amused and sometimes aghast at this assembly line approach to education, at the rascally behavior of her class mates-coming back home with umpteen stories to tell. It is her approach to her work that reveals her warrior self - she takes her new academic load as a challenge, a battle .We watch our young princess surrounded by her army of books, pressured and yet confident-she shall not surrender!
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