Singapore tales : Dispelling myths, or How easy it is to model the title of an article after popular cinema

"Spotless roads"

Fib, fib, fib. If anything, these people are just as untidy as we are! In fact, when I hear people rhapsodise on the cleanliness that marks public places in Singapore(or other glamorous tourist destinations, for that matter), combined with imprecations hurled at foreigners for their generally opulent lifestyles, I find it hard to believe that such instances of modern decadence could co-exist with social responsibility. I mean, where is the inevitable crack in the veneer?

It appears it is time to lift the wool off our eyes. The roads are good, hard, straight, level.... but what is that on the sidewalks? Why, the refuse of a generation bred on fast-eats and polythene. In fact, I can see why we return to India under the above quoted delusion. The roads are just too well-maintained, wide, spacious, lined with lush vegetation -- that is something I really appreciate...concrete jungle notwithstanding, empty spaces are promptly pounced upon and grass/bushes/trees soon occupy pride of place, even on large avenues --... no wonder all the trash is barely visible. Ok, the overflowing bins and trash heaps, populated by bipeds, tripeds and quadrupeds alike, are not to be seen. So they have a good disposal system. Up theirs!

And the rumours that hefty fines are imposed on public offenders in this regard, are just those...rumours. Of course, administrative buildings, monuments etc do enforce strict laws...

And the fines! Smoking on elevators carries a penalty of $1000, and within buildings(obviously air-conditioned) or stations...$5000. So, thankfully, the perennial cloud of smoke is not a pemanent fixture at public congregations. Of course, the downside is that to sneak a smoke, people ensconce themselves in toilets, for instance, so that these are thick with the noxious fumes.

"People speak excellent English"

Have I disembarked at the wrong nation, perhaps? Tourist guides proclaim that English is virtually the national language, but I see little evidence of that on display. What with the harsh and 'angular' accents, attributable to the jagged Mandarin tongue, presumably, and the weird intonations, again Mandarin, perhaps, one is frequently at a loss in simple conversations, and the latter quality means half the syllables make their way into the anterior of the speaker's system, rather than without. Hence, imagine having every other word absent, and the remaining accentuated to resemble the undulations of a Scottish landscape.... tough indeed.

Not to sound unbearably haughty, but I find Indians light years better, in this respect. Gone are the unplaceable accents(mostly), and most of the missing prepositions are reinstated too, though perhaps not in their rightful places, but then you can't have everything. Then again, this is just my opinion.

"People are courteous and helpful"

Maybe I'll agree with that by and by, when the claim is modified to read:
"People are courteous and helpful... at the sight of the $ sign".
Now, this is not very unreasonable, but as a tourist hotspot, and a nation that is super-efficient at marketing its few attractions, I would have hoped for more smiles and fewer dour glances. Anyway, taking into account the deafness quotient prevalent among people, and the language barriers, maybe it isn't all that surprising. Also, I learnt that most of those into public services(taxi drivers, shopkeepers) are financially strained as well. Don't blame them. With higher buying power come higher rates as well. But I did notice that even a car mechanic, and the institute plumbers cleaning a clogged drain are very decently dressed. Now is that to imply that we, as a people, are indifferent to our appearances, and consequently, shoddlily attired? Perhaps.

There are exceptions to the courteousness observation. For instance, a very nice old lady at the airport was so helpful as to chart out my entire journey to the institute, reel off a list of places to see and things to do, advise me on the cheapest way to travel around, and flash a warm smile in the end.

"Things are shamefully costly"

That is not true at all. In fact, a round of the supermarket taught me that prices are pretty much comparable to those back home, with minor allowances. For instance, juices and milk tetrapacks are available at 50 cents(~14 rs) which is reasonable. Shampoos are available for SGD 3-3.50(~80-90 Rs), and the usual reputed brands too. Clothes can be purchased at SGD 6-8 for a pair of jeans, which is very reassuring! And to be very honest, a decent meal costs about SGD 1.50-2, which comes to around Rs 40-60. Why, cheap eateries in Chennai work out to about that much too.

The amount of variety on hand is astounding. You could simply stroll around in department stores, ogling at products of myriad shapes, utilities and prices, much as one browses in a book-shop. I have come to enjoy that quite a bit.... :)

Of course, you could splash inordinate quantities of cash around, and not gain much in the way of quality, unlike at home, and maybe those ultra-cheap and impossibly tempting roadside joints scattered all over mana Bharat may not abound here, but I am yet to explore the place fully.

All in all, there have been some delightful discoveries I have made(call them perverse pleasures), such as

• toilets here are not clean enough to eat off, as depicted in movies
• Complexions are not uniformly flawless, clear and radiant. Pimply countenances and melanin-deposits are dime-a-dozen.
• Bus seats do have chewing gum stuck to the seat bottoms
• A dirty rivulet trickles its way through the middle of a busy city centre, right at the entrance to "Little India"
• Having no significant cultural history to trumpet, much ado is made about the daft Merlion, and "heritage spots" like Lord Raffles(a British bloke who signed treaties with Muslim rulers in early 1800s to permit the operations of the East India Company) landing spot, "Chinatown" and of course, "Little India", which might be termed "A Little pinch of India, a dollop of Singapore" for all I care.

and so on...(still discovering)

Getting high...the natural way

Hmmm....it is a wonder I took this long to get around to writing this, something I believe in with all the conviction of the modern thiest (and believe me, it is an astonishing quality) - can any religion boast a turnover anywhere close to that of the religion of the body? - minus the mind-numbing ignorance, of course.

"Physical exercise is the best way to pamper your body"... and it ranks higher on the list than a bag of double- cheese French fries or the creamiest Swiss chocolate, to boot!

So what is so relevatory about the statement? Well, nothing, but if you just popped that question reclining in the cosiest receptacle in sight, with legs propped on the desk and a cushion to relieve the pressure on the small of your back, then you have some serious revelations to make your own.

One of the few regrets of my short life is that I hadn't awakened to the massive benefits and pleasures(yes,pleasures) of exercise earlier, when I could have taken matters commandingly into my hands and sculpted the perfect body(strange words emerging from my mouth....sigh...), and not be saddled with stretch marks that adorn practically every expanse of my skin, which is taking on the semblance of a Bengal Tiger's. The cycle is now familiar to me: sudden weight gain, that desperate resolution to shed that ugly tuck, furious activity in the days to come... and a few more of the blemishes to show for it. And they begin red and angry, each like a huge leech bloated on a diet of blood, clinging stubbornly to the skin. And though they do fade in colour, the ravaged skin bears testimonial to their birth, imaginatively streaked and victim of a million elongations and compressions of varying intensity.

But the culprit in this scenario is undoubtedly the lethargic teenager. In high school, the lack of physical activity took the necessary toll, plus cruel duties, on the form, and I was unrecognisable, struggling to expand in all directions, like a weed straining for sun, given a glimmer of light. 'Rotund' didn't do me justice. I was 'round', 'roly-poly', 'stout', FAT! And dawning apprehensions had long ceased to be much good. The exercise-bike I exhorted my parents to get me lay untended in the corner, after periodic bursts of use, when the trauma of a glance into the mirror would spur me onto accomplish a miracle. Of course, the sporadic efforts punished the skin, which was in two minds: "to stretch, as this kid who overstuffs himself with abandon prompts me to, or bend to corrective measures such as this, which are clearly not here to stay?" The compromise lead to the internal ruptures that characterise 'stretch marks'. The sole bout of typhoid I ever contracted reversed the trend briefly, but caused further complications.

So I grew, in all the wrong and unhealthy ways. My conception(then) of exercise as a means for weight-loss corresponded to the numbers in the exercise manuals. 10 minutes - 300 calories; need to burn 3500 per pound = ..... I sweated a lot even back then. Just that the body couldn't keep up with the distending rate. And immediate results were not forthcoming. So defeated, I resigned myself to the effects of teenage obesity.

Of course, the diet helped in no small measure. Full cream milk, ghee, savouries, the occasional bar of chocolate....I must remark that I am so constructed as to pack on the pounds like magic, when the food's upto it. So, in short, I tipped the scales at a gross 86 kilos when I stepped into IIT.

Now the food at hostel messes is probably geared at long-suffering people such as the self. It is filling, all right, but I never mistook it for Mom's ghar ka khaana. Which is probably for the best. For the temptations effectively out of the way, I decided to avail of the shockingly cheap sporting facilities made available to us. So I joined the gym. Just for laughs. I didn't expect the heavens to open up or anything.

I don't recall pushing myself very much initially, at least till one day I caught sight of myself in the bathroom mirror. The first shock passed, and I realized the body was straying back into the acceptable 'bounds' of shapeliness, finally. There was, as they say, no turning back after that. I never missed gym sessions, and pumped up the intensity(sometimes too drastically), watching the kilos melt away with a deep satisfaction. For the record, my weight at the end of the NCC winter camp was around the 73 kg mark.

Unreasonable?....No harm trying

And it only gets better. With lots of expert advice, backed by my personal experience at sustained jogging, gym, swimming regimes, I have pretty much figured out the optimal means of weight-control. And it feels GREAT! When I see people slogging it out once, twice a week, and then taking bedrest for a month (:)), or doing all the wrong things such as the lazy canter over a million turns at the track, or straining all parts of the frame during crunches, except the crucial one, I happily spread the wisdom to them, while feeling really special every day, post-exercise. And I weigh a trim 68 kgs now!

Now I am aware I may never look like those chiselled physiques that with one inflection set a million visible muscles into smoothly pleasing motion(and I blame that on past neglect, but don't lose my sleep over it), but it is remarkable how much of the journey is well within reach, and enjoyable, eventually. Every body is created to look well-proportioned, with very few, hopeless exceptions. It is just that it needs some upkeep, and in some cases, like mine, a lot of that. Everyone's built differently. But staying fit is fun, and so are remarks such as "You look good", "You've shed some" and "Adonis, ahoy!"...

Ok, so that last one was fabricated....

So is this intended as a morale-boost for those frustrated with weight-loss techniques? Or an enthusiastic recommendation of IITM mess food? Well, finally, we all know the drill "Balanced diet+exercise+commitment", and let me confirm that each is as important as the other, and that it takes a lot of hard work...I very nearly didn't make it, and aches and sprains will torment you like nobody's business, but hey, I feel good, and am not complaining...

A footnote: plagiarism versus originality

Just to clarify my stand, overt influences need to be rightfully acknowledged wherever referenced, which makes perfect sense. Now Kaavya's case itself is rather inconsequential, not just in the larger scheme of things, but also because she has pilfered both style and construction, and not just expanded on the themes that impressed themselves upon her.

However, the ambiguity I was seeking to plumb, and which remains intriguing, is whether the spirit of a book can inspire another, equally worthwhile one. Whether a heavily influenced work(citing the influences faithfully, even) can escape the mantle, or even brand, of "Copy", "uninspired" and the like.

To be absolutely objective, almost everything 'new' or 'original' is necessarily informed by past experience. It is an inevitable axiom of life, and one that is truly irrevocable. Man is, more or less, the sum of his experiences, his life-events, his relationships, the sights, the people, the places, the thoughts, the prejudices that constitute his past. We strive to make sense of that absurd farrago that crowds our perceptions, that vast and impenetrable fog that has moulded us, breathed life into our endeavours, and in some sense, anchors us onto what is familiar and conforms to experience . So, experience merely adds a newer dimension to that canvas, that fashioned by someone or something else, mind you... In essence, man is derivative of everything he has seen and felt.

Now this is a complex and indefinable concept. So everything is in some way or the other, 'borrowed'. What then, may be condemned as a crime, under the circumstances? Maybe Kaavya was genuinely influenced as deeply as she owned she was, by Megan McCafferty's body of work, so much so that in following her example, she unconsciously duplicated her exemplar's traits in her own writing. Who can say?

But the bottomline still is that Kaavya should have known what she was doing and made a note of it. So, budding writers, beware! It doesn't help, either, that in these times, people are better qualified to detect such singularities in art(or whatever passes for it) than display a corresponding degree of virtu in the same.

What is and isn't plagiarism?

This is primarily in response to the Kaavya Viswanathan hornet's nest stirred up recently. I remember the day the news appeared, almost unobtrusively, on the last page of the Hindu. The matter wasn't yet making waves then. So I passed it over, since the tone of the headline wasn't accusing, judgemental or defensive yet. The next day, her photo was on the first page, on the quickies strip, titled "A cloud over Kaavya" or something.


Initially, all the publicity the story was drawing appeared disproportionate to me. After all, we all have our influences, though, admittedly, Kaavya's, here, wasn't exactly Tolstoy or Conrad. In fact, as an aside, I wondered, after gathering the facts, whether it would have made any difference to me, personally(never mind the world: it is a literary wasteland), if the offensive passages had been purloined from a 'classic', or a truly significant work. True, the claim would never have seen the light of day, probably, for what do our influences mean to us anyway? Do we imbibe their true import, make their experiences our own, interpret them in a manner befitting our own perceptions and instincts? Hardly.

Anyway, what if Kaavya had channelised the spirit and beliefs of a true social messiah, with a pen for a voice? Would the crime(as it is) be any less flagrant? Again, it is not very easy to determine what constitutes originality, but I must confess the instances highlighted in magazines and newspapers covering the scandal were very telling. It was obvious Kaavya had been either very neglectful, or very naive, which amount to pretty much the same thing in the arena of the media circus.

There have been accusations in the New York Times as well, as detailed in the wikipedia article, that Kaavya borrowed liberally and indiscriminately from books ranging from Rushdie's Haroun and the Sea of Stories, The Princess Diaries, and other recent books. Now this is a very grave spot she finds herself in, since the passages have entire sentences repeated, without any tactful revisions, even adapting them to the situation(what that may be is not my concern, not having read any of the books under question).




Especially obvious are the McCafferty borrowings, which read like unapologetic clones. Kaavya has tried to make amends by stating that McCafferty's books had had a major impact on her. That I shall not comment on, since it is her own belief, though how titles like "Sloppy Firsts" and "Second Helpings" could serve as the basis for personal inspiration is quite beyond me. But the tone of the limited passages pinpointed by the press strikes me as frivolous and 'sloppy'(excuse me), so she has a lot of explaining to do.

Apparently, there has been movie interest in the book, and that should not flag, what with all the buzz, which is box-office gold. But the grapevine says the movie will be canned. Pity. But McCafferty herself has been remarkably forgiving, which is something, given the initial response to Kaavya's book.

Of course, all the feverish gossip has to lead to an all-out exposé, beginning with how the prodigy Kaavya edited V.S.Naipaul's first book, actually wrote Chapters 1 through 4 of 'God of Small Things'(yep, Roy is the next under the axe...her trial begins in August), her childhood vision of the imminent cataclysm that shall consume the world in the fall of 2006....

Just joking. No such drama here. But the over-anxious relatives chip in with confirmations of her brilliance as a student, writer and all that jazz. After the dispensable flashbacks, it is made clear that Kaavya's books have been recalled, her contract is off, and her tenure at Harvard looks threatened. Hmmm.....a rather grim picture. I can imagine how comprehensively demoralized she must be.

So to return to the topic: is she guilty of plagiarism? Is it all right to quote one's primary influences, say, and develop those themes as one sees fit, and term the effort original? Highly debatable, of course. But especially in these times, when even the most piddly of wannabe writers arms himself with publishers, lawyers, copyrights and what not, it would be artistic suicide to flaunt one's inspirations. Kaavya, unfortunately, fell prey to this temptation(I absolve her of any laziness or ignoble motives). Sounding the death knell for 'promising' writing originating in the subcontinent, in the process.

Poof! Bleak....

Reservations : the homefront perspective

There has been enough brouhaha over the reservation issue not to warrant another addition in the shape of a blog titled "Je ne sais qua". However, I would very much like to record a rather tense encounter I had with close relatives a month back, on the controversy.

Now these people aren't 'close' in the absolute sense of the word. Sure, we have a few laughs together, I land up once in a while at their doorstep, I take the monthly(or so)update on momentous events that escaped my notice, feign the appropriate modicum of interest in happenings mundane and trite, sup, crash and return none the wiser to the hostel. Unfortunately for the indifferent nephew, an aunt with a chronic case of hypochondria can be bad news indeed(believe me). Add to that the fact that she is loquacious to an extreme, and nice in most other ways, and there I am in an awkward dilemma.

To cut the story short, the only way I saw, that lazy afternoon, to channelise nervous energies into more constructive and tolerable channels, was to raise the sensitive issue of the moment....

My friends and I had heatedly scrutinised the issue from all angles worthy of scrutiny and by virtue of instantly appealing arguments, combined with noble impulses, all laid bare by a vastly informed classmate of mine, in his usual blunderbuss fashion(:)), had concluded tentatively that the move was positive. Of course, the fact that it had borne fruit in a stray situation - TamilNadu medical entrance examinations - was the straw we needed to grab at and run with. But again, I am not going to present the details of that debate.... Just that, as I picked up the thread again at home, I was convinced the proposal was a beneficial one.

The jousting began with the now-old chestnut about how we need 'higher portals' of learning to enter confidently onto the international arena. When I gently reminded them that the Government had the say in that, and that if it recognised that our ideals carried over from Independence remained just that, they could seek alternate ways towards 'social equality', in the process alienating several groups. That of course set off the series of 'revelations' : "Corruption runs deep", "The Indian political scenario is too vast for a sudden opinion reversal to make much of an impact", "The Government needs a fundamental makeover", "They must be potty. Why else would they pass an ordinance on Private sector reservations, knowing fully well a repeal would be forced?", "Well, maybe they did vote for increased reservation with overwhelming majority, but the Assembly elections are around the corner, remember, and vote-bank politics rears its ugly head", and such pithy truisms.

Then the discussion veered off on a tangent: "You slogged it out for so long. What if you had been denied your rightful seat?","My son is preparing for so and so, and due to BCs entering through the general quota, he missed out by so and so". Counter--"Isn't that the point of reservation? That eventually people shall get in on the general 'merit' basis? Of course, in TNadu, the situation has already attained saturation and reservation has somewhat served its purpose. But nothing is being done to monitor and compensate for the backlash. In other states, which eschewed the TNadu policy, as things change for the better, a few generations shall suffer, it is inevitable, but surely the end justifies the means?"

Naturally, things had to get personal at this point. I very cautiously touched on the oppressive regime of the Brahmin class over the ages, in usurping positions in education, and consequently relegating BCs to vocations they were practically born into, and saw no way out of. Immediately, I was assailed relentlessly from all sides. "What is the current position of Brahmins? We are a minority. We have no say any longer. In Triplicane, this priest's son is denied entrance into blah blah....". Recently I was sent an unbearably overbearing article that bemoaned the plight Brahmins find themselves in today.

My first reaction was, "We shall pay for our forefathers, till the balance is achieved", but I knew that was too reactionary and callous. But then, what was the explanation for the 'minority'(granted) of Brahmins(mostly well-educated and hopefully, thus, socially responsible) abstaining from casting votes? No logical answer, except the supremely, and despicably evasive "What difference will it make?".....

Onto economic reservations then. The fact that reservation needs to cater to "economic" and not "religious or class" differences has been done to death, exhumed, and done in again and again(something like the prayer "Poverty needs to be eliminated"), and cannot be designated a panacea to the problem. Obviously, the definition of the 'creamy layer' needs review, since my aunt owned that she knew of well-off people who had taken advantage of the reservation system, coupled with the "generally poor occupation of seats in the BC quotas", which was her triumphant justification(sheesh!), again, for the condemnable practice.

Then again, coming to 'innate merit', reasoned(unreasonably) everyone, "without improved primary education, nothing can be accomplished", which I had iterated approximately 63 times previously in the debate, in as many, or more words, with varying degrees of fervour. "So wait till that target is scored, then talk about violating the hallowed turf of higher institutions". I was defeated. If 50 years of identical talk and irresponsible administration had taken us nowhere, was it logical to expect things would see a dramatic turnaround in the near future? No comments, defiant looks and glances towards the blaring television set.

Then came the personal feedback that I consider most significant. "Those people (I regret to say that they used the lamentably derogatory term 'shudra gumbal', which might translate crudely, and euphemistically, to 'the worker-class crowd', but really implies more than that) do not value education. They'd rather have money and blow it away on liquor and gambling." Though this is an unforgivably gross generalisation, I find this to be the general outlook of most upper-middle class Brahmin families. Apparently, efforts to 'educate' children of maidservants, vegetable-mongers or gardeners had been spurned, or disregarded.

My feeling was that when such few opportunities were being made explicitly available to them, when the age-old caste system prevailed at least in the minds of people, defiling the social landscape, rippling the ocean surface, when even the nominal reservations are not implemented, why should these people aspire impossibly high? We, who have the luxury of a quality and wide-ranging education, complete with strong financial backing, are expected to dream big, achieve bigger, and do great things. But what about the dispossessed(in a word)? Sadly, most of the so-called efforts of my brethren were accompanied by that indefinably stuffy air of superiority--"I helped them. They turned the help down. Uruppuda maattaa(They shall not prosper)".

The discussion was losing steam. Not because I was being led to recant my beliefs(again, I do believe that mere reservations are futile: essentials -- grassroot level emancipation of the backward classes, plus a continuously revised reservation system to ensure that once admission through the general quota was representative of the general demographic, reservations should effectively cease), but because I was fighting a dying cause. Personal bias is a deadly thing, even though the parting line of another aunt of mine was admittedly on a lighter note, "I'll be selfish. I want my child to get the best education. I don't want someone less deserving to rank alongside her, and be judged thus. Let there be separate institutions for BCs. Leave the IITs alone. They are a powerful and desirable brand."

And if these self-same(necessarily) expatriates do not contribute to progress? "Do you plan to?", they rejoined. I was cornered there, and broke off for lunch, but not without confirming that it was a bracing thought that people had given all this some thought after all(and this was just after the one statement by Arjun Singh), even if it looked to be a one-way decision.



Meanwhile, petitions galore continue to be signed, and just yesterday, a call inciting students to fast(unto death?...unlikely. Students today are too lily-livered to allow their lukewarm and selfish passions to inconvenience themselves) against the proposal, did the rounds. And I rolled my eyes heavenward for the umpteenth time.

So I guess I have done what I assured you I wouldn't. But for more enlightenment, watch the headlines. This issue is not going to go down very well in history, for a variety of reasons. And we shall learn that blatant ignorance can drown, comprehensively, the voice of compulsive(?) reason, even in a supposedly right-thinking world.

Singapore tales : The ocean on your plate!

I am no stranger to cuisines specialising in non-vegetarian dishes.... by that I mean, India has enough diversity in this respect to cover the entire gamut of culinary experimentation. I myself am a strict vegetarian, technically by upbringing, but more importantly, by choice. There is just something so...I linger for want of a better word...inhuman in the way the incisors rip at flesh and are consequently stained a dirty, ugly red. The sight is nauseating, and immediately prior to my own repast, a definite no-no, retching-wise.

Well, so I have seen people feed ravenously off the flesh of the land(and water), so what else possibly could South-east Asia have to offer that I hadn't already lost my appetite over?

Turns out,...quite a lot. For starters, there is the ridiculous habit of consuming rice morning, evening and night. Now, I can see some sideward glances, since as a South-Indian, I can't be objecting to rice as the primary food item.... But then, we do have diverse breakfast spreads, from the humble idlis to upma, dosai, and what not. But these people live off rice! Put-off number 1.

Typical menus...- as an aside, the system in NTU is termed "pay-buy-eat", with several private caterers at a single canteen, so very graphic picture-boards of an assortment of dishes adorn the hall...unavoidable -
Pork rib soup
Squid chow mein or some such thing
Crab blah blah
Lobster...oyster...and any other crustaceans I may have left out...

As if that wasn't bad enough, one Chinese stall hangs up a huge, bloody carcass every day, presumably of some breed of cattle. It doesn't look like going down any day soon. Now with all these deep-sea delicacies being served up all around me, the atmosphere smells like a school of fish had beached overnight in the cold air....

Vegetarians are hard-pressed for options out here. Even the Indian stalls go the Chinese way, selling prawn and pork alongside chana and sambar. Luckily for me, a couple of Chinese stalls do sell pure Vegetarian food, but the very first day I encountered them, I nearly gagged at the display:

Vegetarian chicken rice, Vegetarian pork chop, Vegetarian fish rajok et al.

Then an amused Indian student passing by clarified that they were composed mainly of tofu, a soya paneer that is meant to simulate the taste of meat. Well, I am a huge fan of paneer, and this seemed like a good chance to experiment with videsi variants. Of course, the curries are not a patch on our own palate-tingling concoctions, but I have settled into a comfortable groove here. No chapathis, parathas, puris and unlimited curries, though(I dig all veggies, and have caused my mother not a little annoyance for polishing off her curries before meals). And coffee is awful!!! Oh, my kingdom for a steaming tumbler of filter coffee....

When I think of how balanced our Indian diet is in comparison to the stuff people live on elsewhere, how sociable(and of course, innately pugnacious) our people are, how unassuming, how modest our ways in relation to places without(though times are changing in these respects as well), and how exciting our sights compared to the bland man-made curiosities in these 'modern' societies, I feel oh! so proud to be an Indian!

Of dying habits, sour grapes and the hypocrisy born of compromise - 3

Sour grapes?

A display of expertise is a social turn-off. Consider the above statement and throw your mind back to the last time you appreciated, with every fibre of your being, something or someone you admired particularly. Note, your sensation should have been untinged with envy, bitterness, or contempt(for whatever reasons). Can't remember? Typical....

Now it is human nature to carp, to cavil when faced with an instance of greatness, as I remarked earlier. Therefore, a scientific theory is quoted with flaws and inconsistencies, a brilliant work of art is traced to its influences, an opinion is criticised for one-dimensionality and prejudice. Thus too, and increasingly prevalent is the insularity to a foreign language.

English is, admittedly, a foreign tongue, but it is of primary importance in our dealings today, especially in a nation such as ours, in a world such as the one we inhabit. A working knowledge of the language is, in most cases, sufficient to carry one through the day.... But there is more to it...

English is a melting pot of sorts, incorporating elements from languages, cultures, races the world over, down the ages, so that what we have today is a complex and humungous entity that communicates on so many different levels. Words are available for occasions of moment and small, to convey shades in meaning that one may not have been aware one intended. And indeed, the limitation of any language is that we are necessarily constrained to express ourselves as it dictates we should. How do I describe an emotion in a word, when a plethora of thoughts flash upon the mind? Even a choice combination barely suffices. What do I feel, for instance, when people evince an extreme paucity of perceptiveness in preferring the mean to the sublime(see Part 2)? Frustration? Not quite... Dejection? Not really... Despair? Too far gone out! But really a deep sorrow informed by the glory of excellence and the vileness of mediocrity.

So then, are efforts to widen the base of a language futile? Is the quest for clarity, for precise and unambiguous self-expression but a fantasy, a wild-goose chase? I would like to believe not. We are constantly evolving to accomodate our newest experiences, to let them inform us and the world around us. So it is reasonable to expect that we shall become only more adept at organizing and channelising our thoughts to bespeak what, and exactly what, we feel. To this end, language will evolve. There will be glorious, joyous redundancies, but they are a necessary adjunct to the process itself.

Meanwhile, I feast upon words, regarding them with a wide-eyed wonder as they induce a remarkable level of sophistication in modern communication. But.... like I observed, people are resistant. "High-flown", sneers one. "Verbose", snarls another. "Show-off...." What is happening? Why are we so averse to self-improvement? I do not claim to be on a social-emancipation-odyssey, but my intentions are heartfelt. If not a wish that everyone strive towards more complete expression, I shall, at least, practise it, refine it, exalt in it.

Some of my best friends feel brevity is the soul of clarity, simplicity the essence of good expression. Yes, when we have a melange of styles of expression, of mastery over the medium. But when differences cease to exist, when we talk man to man, the need for diversification, for ramifications of nuance, of meaning, become imperative. I merely desire that final, unshakeable purity; of course, attendant personal quirks shall serve to make matters all the more interesting!!

So, what was the last word you learnt??

Of dying habits, sour grapes and the hypocrisy born of compromise - 2

Barren landscapes

So, to continue my soul-searching, I picked up Pickwick Papers. And since then, Dickens' former association with 'misery, deprivation, suffering and all things gray' has been rendered void. This is a rambunctious, gleeful and high-spirited book, whose pace never flags, and whose love for the English language is so married to the narrative that I chuckle at the very thought of it. Witticisms, ingenious word-play, delightful verbosities, all combine to create a warm and genial experience. The plot is a series of (mis)adventures of an earnest and knowledgeable gentleman and his troupe of mismatched friends, who proceed on a quest for scientific and human discovery. And the fun begins....

But not everyone is a humanist with a deeply sympathetic social perspective like Dickens was. The times are accomodating writers with non-existent talents and no social-conscience whatsoever. Bestseller lists include self-help books, Barbara Cartland(who was a jolly old dame who churned out romances at the rate of one a fortnight), Tolkien and Marquez alike. A routine thriller(done to death in so many different ways) becomes the talk of the entire world because it spins a deft yarn, and little more. The tales of a bespectacled boy-wizard in playschool enter the list of the 50 best titles of the century. And I rest my case....

Do I need offer further proof of the cultural bankruptcy of my generation, whose profile demonstrates an indefinable angst, a pathological fear of greatness, of clarity, of coherence? I so often hear my friends complain they weren't exposed to books as a personal form of education earlier, but it never is too late, is it? Where is the time,...another wails. I greet him with a mixture of scorn, pity and disbelief. I let it lie. They aren't the worst offenders....

Along comes another to compose a panegyric on the latest easily-consumable doing the rounds. I affect some enthusiasm for the 'convoluted plot', coupled, of course, with kinetic chases, preposterous exposition, obligatory romances....you name it.

There is little I can do. We are beginning to hold true excellence at arm's length, denying its existence, and settling for the substandard, the base, the contrived, giving short shrift to the very purpose of all art, which is in essence, to uncover that elusive kernel of human truth, in the process. But I cling to the hope that maybe not all is lost. We may yet be redeemed. Art may survive, a shadow of its former glory, but maybe we shall learn to appreciate genuine worth and give the pretenders a wide berth.

To be continued...

Of dying habits, sour grapes and the hypocrisy born of compromise - 1

Why book-reading is passé in these times

To be honest, I do not presume to possess the answer to that. Just that... once upon a time, when I was a kid...well, more like a paltry dozen years back, I was convinced that all great, or at least, all worthwhile people could boast refined tastes, a keen sense of discernment in literature, art, conversation, that they spoke confidently, with elan, with a deep-seated interest in the motivations of man, his quirks, his transgressions...

I must say I am eternally grateful to my parents and especially my brother for inculcating the reading habit in me as a boy. True, while other kids grew to be strapping physical specimens, I turned out a sporting zero, sidestepping the playfields in apprehension of the friendly invitation to participate. Of course, I am something of an exercise freak now, but that is a story for a different day.

My brother was a strange and wonderful creature, even all those years ago. Prodigiously intelligent, he would speak authoritatively on sundry subjects that piqued my imagination. His vocabulary was formidable, and his literary exploits unmatched in my experience. While my peers gushed over proponents of literary-harakiri, namely Enid Blyton and obvious successors Crichton, Archer, Sheldon and innumerable other offenders, he would stimulate me to seek out Conrad, Dickens, Tolstoy, Dostoevysky. I confess I would often regard him with incredulity. I recall reading Famous Five on the sly as a primary-schooler, and labouring through Resurrection -- Tolstoy's formidable investigation of one man's lifelong tribulations with guilt -- under his watchful eye....

"Ah, the naivete of effervescent childhood!", I might exclaim, but boy! am I glad I wasn't allowed to run the free paths of vapidity the vagrant mind insinuates itself into.... To cut a long story short, I grew up cherishing images such as Mr.Pickwick's trial, Oskar's recollections of his grandma's voluminous skirts, the various clandestine arrangements of the Aurelianos, the dark recesses of Kurtz's haven.....

For the record, i consider the following three works primary influences in my literary journey towards maturity (no particular order):

At the time, I was easily impressionable, and was struck by how themes of alienation and abnegation ran through all these works, rendering them virtually inseparable in my consciousness. Now, older and wiser, I still enjoy Rushdie, in spite of the overt magic-realist influences, and Marquez's tome still seems alive and vibrant, despite its self-defeating tone. The Tin Drum was a precursor to Midnight's Children, and its influence on Rushdie is unmistakable.

But my most profound reading experience of recent years was

Here was a book both unreadable and impossible to put down. I have time and again expressed my deepest disdain for popular fiction(bestsellers), in whose honour colourful words have been coined such as "page-turner", "edge-of-the-seat-thriller", "unputdownable", "potboiler" and so on. Very amusing. Now here is a book that purports to be about the horrors of WWII, the paranoia, the insidious threat of doom... and I have never felt more threatened soaking up a book's atmosphere. I look forward eagerly to reading it again and again. It just doesn't go away. A million characters flit mysteriously across the page, and I surrender myself to the book's flow. I learn a thing or two... about the evanescence of practically everything, even fear.

To be continued....

Grades, Parallels and despondency

So the much-dreaded/awaited grades are out. And oddly enough, I still top the class(B.Techs at least), notwithstanding the stellar performance of a classmate of mine over the last 2 years! Mixed feelings...I clearly don't deserve this spot. The overall topper, highly deserving, of course, can not turn cog in the wheels of my app-plans.

Complacency, however, is an unwelcome customer at these doors.... Should I thank my stars competition has been so lacklustre, or try to blame it on the grading/raping pattern of the department itself? I tread gingerly. But one thought surfaces over and over.... this should have been my best semester, but higher powers conspired to dispel the fond pipe dream.

I peruse the above lines, and nausea sets in. How I loathe this book-keeping as the semester draws to a close! Point oh four down, point not two up..... the struggle to rise above these petty nothings rages. And yet, there is the noble adage of mine "There is no excuse for poor grades".

To hell with them, with expectations, say I. "If only....." whimpers a small voice from within..."a 10...some semester..." The old yearning makes a return, with added fervour. Time is running out. 2 semesters to go, and not much leeway to realise that fantastic vision...

The tired old resolution... "Next semester is gonna be different. Take no trial lightly.." The deplorable system, where objectivity in performance assessment is sacrosanct....convinces me otherwise. But the hope lingers, and the shadow warrior trudges forth.

And sometimes, when I contemplate how easily priority-reversals cloud our vision, I think of the C&H strip:

and I smile again!

Tennis gets a new boost!

I must be among the few serious tennis aficionados who watched the meteoric rise of Roger Federer with misgivings. Don't get me wrong. The fellow is phenomenally gifted. I absolutely adore his backhand, except when it is misfiring, of course. And no, Henin-Hardenne's doesn't begin to compare to Roger's angles on that backhand, though she strokes it much flatter and cleaner.

It is a curious tendency of mine, and most people for that matter(whether they prefer to own to it or not), to vehemently oppose a dominant figure in sport and cheer for the relative underdogs... I disliked Sampras at the peak of his powers, loathed Graf for her unopposed hegemony, cheered the Williamses sisters to their humiliation of Hingis' lollipop serves, found few redeeming features eventually in the sisters' game, dismissed Agassi's baseline play, derided Navratilova's one-dimensional game(or so I thought)... I wasn't around during Borg's reign, though, so I shall not scandalise his ardent fans....
I thought 2001 Wimbledon was utterly riveting with Ivanisevic's epic march to the trophy, backed Capriati during her brief rise to the top(even though she is completely lacking in imagination), booed Sampras during the 2000 and 2001 US Open finals(yes, crucify me), loved Chang's athleticism.....
Of course, I see each of the above for their true worth now that I appreciate the game so much more. Now Federer is a surefire candidate for the most complete and innovative player ever. Even Sampras lacked his baseline coverage. I love Federer's low-fault game(something I have often grudged the latest breed of tennis players is their error-prone styles), his deceptive serve, his lovely slice...... But there ought to be competition, fcol!
Hence the Nadal ray of sunshine comes as a benediction at this time. Of course, there is the trivial fact that a combination of a lefty with topspin should give anyone headaches, especially a right-hander. But this kid has more than that. His forehand crosscourt is a beast of an altogether different variety from what one is used to. His agility is remarkable. His defence impeccable. And his spirit unquellable. A crackerjacker mixture!!
Is he as good as Federer? No, but he has the all-important psychological edge over the great man. He'll probably win Roland garros this year, but his test will come at Wimbledon and Flushing Meadows. Will his claycourt genius adapt to the low-bounce grass and swift hardcourts? Remember, he has had success against Roger on hard courts as well.
The 2 men are raring to go, and Paris should be a tense watch. Unless Safin finds his range or Nalbandian can prove spoilsport, we should have another Rafa-Roger showdown. And it will demonstrate what exactly Roger meant when he said "I am there. I know what to do to beat him".

Singapore Tales: Automation and the Man

My first blog post, and a kvetch against the aspect of Singapore I find most repugnant.....

Granted, I was highly impressed with the wide, clean roads and the super-efficient MRT system(remember, this is a republic just over half the size of Chennai), and.....wait... that's it??? The people are nauseatingly well-dressed(dressy, more like it). Did I stand out like a sore thumb? Not quite. I like to believe I am decently well-dressed too. Do I care? Not a whit. In fact, this can only mean they are rolling in the green stuff, and consequently, prices are going to be necessarily...punishing! Yikes! And so they are. Am I justified in interconversion between SGDs and INRs? Do I even have to answer that? When even the cheapest means of transport, the bus, charges a minimum of 70cents(~20.1 Rs, for the record), as against, what, 1.25Rs in Madras....

On my very first day, nursing a sore shoulder after lugging around my luggage on trains, buses, taxis, determined not to fall prey to the easy temptation of the frequent taxi, I had to transfer to a certain hostel(termed "hall of residence" in true officious style) on the NTU campus, and decided to hail a taxi. To my horror, it turned out to be a couple of hundred meters distant, and I watched sadly as $2.5 left my pocket-book lighter. Yes, the flagging fare in taxis is $2.40. They are air-conditioned, if that is any measure of consolation. I realized that despite the complicated layout of the campus, it was really quite small, and those sturdy legs would prove invaluable in the next 2 months.

To get to the subject of the post: on the train from Changi, I made an all-important discovery. Most people in Singapore are deaf. On close observation, about 80% of the passengers had the hands-free earphones glued to their ears, and the rest, mostly kids, each with a cellular plaything apiece, mind you, nevertheless, had music to regale them for the space of mmmm....2 minutes!, which is how long the train takes to travel from one station to the next. At the next station....recorded message"Keep away from the doors...mind the gap...et al"...stream of junta exit, another enters... an ominous warning "Doors are closing" and a furious buzz....and on cue, all hands rise to the ears. Quite fascinating, really. Even the most doddering old crone conformed to the ritual. Directions had to wait.

Rush hour snapshot...at the station....crowds flow in, flash a card at an identification screen(the entire island is networked to identify these multipurpose cards everywhere...buses, trains, shops), and without missing a beat, board, enter, isolate, exit.... What was especially creepy was watching kids brandishing these cards expertly at every post. I meanwhile fumbled at a couple of screens before understanding where to point the card exactly, feeling the impatient stares of a hundred people burning my back.

Why, even the buses have television sets, so all you can hear is that sound. It is positively disquieting(!). Ah! For some gossipy chatter, some noisy altercations, some adroit boarding-unboarding strategies...