The Clearing

Spider in the bath tub

2009-10-09T17:44:00.004-04:00

I saw it--a big chunky spider--in the bath tub just before going to bed. Was relieved that I would not have to deal with it till at least the morning by which time it would probably be gone. My subconscious however had other plans, because a few minutes later I found myself having decided that I needed to wash my feet before going to bed. Dealing with the spider was tricky. I didn't want to kill it because would have hated cleaning up the gooey mess it was sure to create. I tried to initially nudge it so that it would walk up the walls of the tub and out, but I think the walls were too slick for a good purchase. Then I just scooped it into a magazine--pushed it up the wall and caught it on the magazine as it fell back off the wall--and dumped it outside the tub. Making sure that it left the apartment would probably have been a smart thing to do but I have become too complacent since I got an actual bed to sleep on--bye bye sleeping on the floor grad school days! But as I was falling asleep I obsessed a bit about where the spider might be. When I left the apartment in the morning, as I turned back to make sure that I'd locked it behind me, I saw the spider on the door mat on its way out--perhaps to a friendlier bath tub.

First garageband experience!

2009-07-25T16:39:00.008-04:00

Baños and related ramblings 2

2009-06-24T13:17:00.012-04:00

Baños is perhaps most famous for the active volcano Tungurahua whose threatening shadow it lives under. The volcano regularly sends out puffs of sulfurous clouds into the atmosphere which make for impressive displays and are best viewed from a smaller adjacent peak. I made the hike to this adjacent peak on my third day in Baños. One of the things I picked up on this trip was learning to deal with territorial unfriendly dogs whom I often encountered while hiking. This lesson came from the Quito couple who biked wherever they traveled and had learnt how to deal with this issue from experience. The trick was--sorry, if this is obvious to anyone who is reading this; it wasn't to me--to prove that between the dog and you, it is you who is the alpha male. The best way to do this is to look fierce(!) and chuck, or at least threaten to chuck, stones in their general vicinity till the dog is convinced of your dominance. They told me that for the over confident ones scoring a direct hit was more effective, and in some cases necessary ("Just nail the ^&**er!" is how they put it.).

Armed, no pun intended (I lie!), with this knowledge I began my uphill hike to see the volcano. Climbing in South America is certainly more adventurous than say in the US. In addition to dogs, there are hikes people advise you to not take any valuables on because of a strong possibility of getting mugged, and often there are trails that are poorly if marked at all. This particular hike also didn't have too many markers. At some point I had to decide between which path of a fork I should take and ended up taking the wrong one. After walking through a boggy insect-infested stretch I found myself on a paved road. It was hot, and I felt silly about hiking up a paved road but didn't have the enthusiasm to retrace my steps and find the trail again. I had been climbing for about close to two hours when a man emerged from the side of the road beckoning me to follow him for desayuno. I was obviously on my guard immediately but decided to follow him to his hut when I decided he was too old , frail and missing too many teeth to be dangerous. Maybe not the best criteria under the circumstances; I guess I was just lucky it turned out okay. He offered me some fruit and also some sopa which was cooking on a fire. I ate the fruit but refused the rest. The vessel looked dirty and besides I was afraid of getting drugged and discovering my kidneys missing on waking up! He was friendly enough though and gave me the charming toothless grin of a host every time the volcano made the ground tremble, almost as if he had organized the activity of the volcano just for me. When I motioned to leave, he asked for money for the fruit. I gave him a little something which he quietly accepted.

A little farther up I had a scary encounter with an Alsatian. I heard some ferocious barking headed my way and soon saw, almost in slow motion, this large Alsatian bounding his way toward me; it was time to put the who-is-the-alpha-male lesson to work. I picked up some good sized rocks and hurled them toward the dog. I didn't really hit the dog but was able to cower him enough to continue on unmolested. Felt quite empowered.

The trail soon became a bit of labyrinth because some of this area was inhabited and many of the paths led to the dwellings of people living there, and it was hard to figure out where exactly to continue. After a few false leads came upon a bunch of tourists picknicking, waiting for the clouds around the volcano to clear and hoping to see a fresh eruption. There was a Dutch couple who had made their way up for the second day in a row and a German guy about my age. The Dutch man showed me some burst clips which he's captured on his handycam the day before, which unfortunately were the only bursts I got to see as it remained cloudy till all of us decided that it was late and time to head back. I decided to come down with the German guy as I was hiked-out after walking up the paved road and was eager it get back to the hostal. He was taking a short cut as he was running late for a meeting he had organized with his friends. We took this really scary, slippery and steep path back which we literally sprinted down, me doing my best to keep up with him. After a couple of falls I tried to convince the German to carry on without me but he was a nice guy and would not desert me. (It was incredible, the number of friendly people I met on this trip!) We did the last quarter slower but not as slow as I would have liked.

Baños and related ramblings 1

2009-05-08T12:13:00.014-04:00

About two weeks into my 2007 trip I found myself in the Southern Ecuador town of Baños which, being located at the foot of the volcano Tungurahua, gets its name from the resultant natural steam baths. Despite the fact that the driving force of the town is tourism, its commercial enterprises seem well blended with the natural charms it has to offer--actually, I'm not completely sure about that claim, maybe I was just in a happy-tourist frame of mind, and would have discovered an ugly underbelly had I stayed longer than the five days I spent there. This was a time when I was allowing myself to be baby-sat by my Lonely Planet guide so this is quite possible. A related image from the day I arrived there, after a short bus ride from Latacunga, is that of walking towards a hostal strongly recommended by LP and actively ignoring the beckonings of proprietors--I was a dead give-away tourist with the backpack--of other hostals which had not made it into LP. Later in the trip, now that I was a more seasoned tourist and more comfortable with the setting, I would strike up conversations with tourists as soon as I landed in a town and get them to recommend places to stay at instead of using LP. That worked out much better as you can't beat up-to-date info. Also, new hostals open pretty frequently in tourist-centric places and offer really competitive prices in the beginning--I was paying $5 a day for one in Cuzco which had been recommended to me by a tourist in an internet cafe. I never regretted any of these recommendations although some of the LP recommendations left me a little cold. In Lima following LP's recommendation I stayed in a place which didn't have any other tourists but was full of lots of office-going locals--I remember feeling quite lonely with my minimal Spanish there, definitely a bit of a low point of my trip.

So where was I? Right, getting back to describing the town, the wide and clean streets of Baños gave the impression that the town did not come up haphazardly, but was planned, and had an efficient local government. There were some interesting cafes, discovered again mostly through the LP, which served a blend of local and international cuisine. One that I was particularly fond of had cosy seating areas with a happy mismatch of furniture, and was tastefully decorated by people with obvious artistic sensibilities. It was spacious with many comfortable nooks and corners, random pieces of art--very international. And a collection of books which is ubiquitous to any place frequented by tourists, and the policy-- also quite common--of only exchanging books as opposed to allowing people to buy them to maintain the volume of the collection. I think the owners were Americans who had visited the town and liked it so much that they had decided to settle down there. The food was quite good though a little more expensive than the less ambitious eateries in town. The larger room of the cafe also had big sized windows which let lots of natural light in.

There was another cafe which was run by a local artist who, as the LP predicted, also used the place as his studio when it was not open. Although it did have a strong odor of turpentine, the food was good authentic unassuming cuisine from Ecuador which had a homemade feel to it. Ecuador was, in general quite friendly to the vegetarian tourist. The locals' diet has a strong presence of vegetables and fruit--some completely new to me--and I really enjoyed the fruits salads I often had while over there. Your average lover of spicy food might however be a little disappointed as I found the food a little on the bland side and would have struggled had every meal not been accompanied with ahi which is a sour and sometimes hot tomato based salsa. I would have come back to this eatery more often if it was not so stifling from the smell. The paintings were just about average and I was glad for the artist that he'd had the sense to start this side business.

A major source of excitement for me was the discovery that a couple who I'd met and liked in Quito were staying in the same hostal as me. In any case, people are very friendly while traveling like you can only be to strangers you don't expect to ever meet again. A second meeting, under the circumstances, is like meeting a childhood friend! It provided such a fine start to my stay in this town. And this was not the only time this happened. There was another couple I shared the bus ride out of Baños with whom I ran into a second time in another one of my favorite places of the trip--Vilcabamba, which is farther South of Baños, not too far from the border with Peru. I was in the town square when I saw some people waving in my direction. My first reaction was to assume that they were waving to some one else but when the waving persisted I realized who it was. They were wearing sun glasses this time and different clothes--inexcusable, how could I have recognized them?! I guess staying on the gringo trail has its advantages.

There's a very pretty river that flows on one end of the town and my first hike here was down to the river bed. It was fairly pleasurable hike till at one point I found the trail blocked off by a large barking dog who was intimidating and threatened to cut my hike short. I spent about half an hour inching my way towards the dog--I would have felt incredibly stupid if I'd turned back--the philosophy being that if I gave it time to get used to my presence it would not find me so threatening. It was nerve-racking nevertheless to be in that situation and I really wouldn't have know what to do if the dog had decided to attack me--somehow the thought of traveler's health insurance was not a particularly comfortable one then. I eventually made my way past the dog, and a small one room structure outside of which a couple who were cooking and were the likely owners of the dog sat not reacting to my friendly and relieved 'hola'. Although probably squatters on public property, they felt comfortable enough there to resent my invasion of their privacy. Another few minutes and I was at the river bed where I sat meditating about my trip and soaking up the sun. This revery was interrupted by this time the barking of not one but two dogs. The original dog had brought along a scarier and braver companion who was leading the charge. I got pretty scared especially when this dog stepped off the trail onto the river bed I was occupying. My strategy of trying to get these dogs used to me was obviously not much of an option now. I made some mock half-hearted threatening gestures when he did that which forced him to get off the bank temporarily. We reached some kind of an impasse (with the dog taking note that I tended to get more aggresive when he stepped on the shore), I was quite unsure about what I should do and just stood there for a bit. After a while the aggressive dog seemed to lose interest in me and wandered off. I used this chance to start back up. I encountered the dogs again soon but was somehow able to use my momentum to carry on. Along the way I made my anger felt--more in tone than in actual words since my Spanish vocabulary was pretty limited at that point--to the couple outside the hut. Once I got back to the hostal I discussed this encounter with the Quito couple who gave me advice that took care of this issue for the rest of the trip.

The End of Manners by Francesca Marciano

2008-11-02T20:33:00.005-05:00

The thing that makes this novel really work is its limited ambition and I don't mean that in a negative sense at all. It describes a photojournalist's trip to Afghanistan to cover a story about women choosing to take their lives rather than being forced to marry men much older than them. The novel covers just this limited period of time spanning the trip and a week or so leading up to it and the few story lines from the past that are included are so uncomplicated that they seamlessly blend in with the present tense. This feature of the novel--that it is uncluttered by too many fancy writing devices like competing subplots or too much jumping around in time or the presence of too many secondary characters--is what makes this book succeed. Although the book is of average length, the feeling I was left with after reading it was that I had just finished reading a short story.

Marciano uses a very sparse and clean writing style which accentuates the book's resemblance to a short story. But clearly, these very things that work so well for this novel can so easily fail if the plot itself is somewhat lacking. In this case, however, it is plausible, and fast paced, and, despite the several novels having been written about the devastation in Afghanistan, also seems very original. And even the people described in the novel, even the ones the author does not give too many paragraphs to, seem drawn--and drawn well--from real life. No effort is made to mask the grim situation in Afghanistan and this honesty only adds to this book's worth. Not a groundbreaking work of fiction, this, but well worth your time.

Eat, Pray, Love by Elizabeth Gilbert

2008-11-02T01:37:00.003-04:00

This is a really terrible book. The first part, about Italy, is still fairly readable although you start to realize very early on that the author doesn't seem to have much of substance to say. Her writing confirms that just because a person decides to write about her emotional life, it doesn't mean that the description is going to be insightful or intelligent or, most importantly, even readable. A lot of the writing is of the personal journal kind--one section that immediately springs to mind is when she writes an analogy about loneliness and anxiety; the analogy reads like something written by a 10 year old child who is trying to explain to herself in baby-talk these emotions in an effort to deal with them--and who is also learning to write at the same time. That was the first time I wanted to stop reading the book.

There is something quite false about her account regarding her improving mental health in the Indian ashram, the subject of the second part of the book. She gives the impression that she is making rapid strides in the spirituality department as if it is some exam she is preparing really well and frantically for. Contrary to her claims, it doesn't sound like she is achieving her goal of becoming a calmer person. Then there are these encounters she has with a Texan at the Ashram. These descriptions really made me cringe: the fact that not only does she admire the kind of intrusive, judgmental, condescending and cliched remarks this guy makes about her--the book is autobiographical and you really have to wonder how intelligent a person our author is to give so much credence to this random guy--but also the way she writes about them as if they're these out-worldly pearls of wisdom she is oh-so-lucky to have received and is eager to share with her hapless readers. I think I decided to finally stop punishing myself by reading this book when she started describing her dreams: some really boring, commonplace dreams which belong only to her journal--to reiterate--and no other place. Please don't waste your time on this book, there are many smarter and more insightful things to read out there.

Machu Pichu.

2008-03-19T16:22:00.014-04:00

By the time I reached Cusco, the big city base closest to Machu Pichu, I was quite saturated from all the traveling. I was clearly not upto, atleast that's what I thought at that point, the frentic activity making a trip to MP would entail. I was quite satisfied to indulge in the many options Cusco offered--like the most beautiful square I've ever seen (see below), all the dining and drinking options including a really cool Irish pub full of friendly tourists, the views afforded by the hilly terrain around the square, and the night clubs that closed only when the last patrons left. At the same time MP was one of the big reasons for coming down to SA--in the last few years of my PhD, when I was inching my way towards what turned out to be the finishing line, my escape fantasies were dominated by visions of MP. So, despite my fatigue, I was keeping my eyes open for inspiration.

It came in the form of a Canadian girl who was staying in the same hostal as me. During one of the later conversations we had she told me that she'd gone ahead and booked with the travel operators located in the hostal itself--the softest option available--she too was too exhausted to shop around as everyone had advised us to do. I followed her example, a decision in no small part aided by the prospect of traveling with a friendly and attractive girl.

We left Cusco in the evening. Following a 2 hour long taxi-ride and a 4 hour train-ride we arrived at Aguas Calientes after midnight. We were so exhausted that we decided against, despite this possibly once in a lifetime opportunity, hiking up early to see the sunrise at Machu Pichu. I think it was the right decision. But, around 3:30 am the hostal came alive with the noises of obviously more determined people, who were too excited to make an effort to be quieter (only in retrospect am I able to put this in such innocuous language). Finding it impossible to sleep through the commotion, the once-in-a-lifetime aspect of being at MP became harder to ignore, and we did decide to hike it for the sunrise (buses started only later, to see the sunrise hiking was the only option). It was still quite dark when we left. The first part of the trail was alongside a very loud Rio Urubamba the energy of whose waters lifted our spirits.

The hike up was hard, we had estimated that we would have to do it fast if we wanted to beat the sunrise. Initially, I was no match for the Canadian (she an experienced hiker and me just out of a very long and sedentary stay in grad school!)--I was wheezing like I was 40 and found myself wondering how much punishment a heart can take before it gives up--yes, it was that bad! The higher we climbed, the lighter it got, the harder we tried. Towards the end my heart had so wholeheartedly, as it were, embraced the activity it had been dragged into that, when after climbing for about 50 minutes we finally reached the gate, I could have easily climbed some more.

But there was no sun to be seen. We were not sure then if it was because of the clouds. There were about 20 disappointed looking people on the steps outside the gate waiting to be let in. The authorities, we learnt, were being strict about not letting people in before the official time. Even if they had it would have been pointless because Machu Pichu was covered with clouds as we discovered some 30 minutes later, when they did eventually allow us in. Our first views of Machu Pichu were therefore dull and disappointing; we could only see brief stretches of the terraces Machu Pichu is famous for. This is how it looked like to start with:
We ran into an Austrian couple we'd sat across from in the train the night before. While traveling anyone you meet a second time is like your best friend, and we reacted accordingly when we saw them. They had taken the bus up which turned out to be a smarter decision although at $6 a person it was way too expensive for Peru. We had an English speaking guide whose delivery was very zen-like. He lingered on many points and took his time. He obviously liked being a guide. In that sleep deprived state, however, I found his labored delivery highly exasperating. I would often space out, miss the important bits and pieces. Ended up getting a somewhat garbled version of the history lesson he gave us. The tour lasted about an hour and a half, I was not getting less impatient with time. We could see other tour guides who had started at around the same time as ours finish much earlier and were envying the tourists in those groups. We were really dead by the time our guide finished and came back out for a much needed breakfast. Something about breakfast changed the tenor of the day. Suddenly, we were all very relaxed, happy to be there, as if finally realizing where we were, and excited about going back in to explore Machu Pichu on our own terms.

We walked around; by now the clouds too had lifted, and it was like Machu Pichu had come alive. We took lots of snaps. I was in unbridled love with the Canadian by now no doubt encouraged by the wonderful example the Austrians were setting. They were on a year long trip around the world and joked that they would marry if they were still able to stand each other's presence at the end of that time. There was a lot of laughter and the conversation really flowed.

Once we'd covered the main parts of Machu Pichu a second time, we decided to hike up Wayna Pichu which was an adjacent peak which afforded spectacular views of Machu Pichu from above. This hike was also a pretty difficult one although it seemed a lot less safe than the previous one.
In toto, we managed to spend, despite being so weary to start with, about 12 hours at Machu Pichu. What made that possible and the day so truly memorable was not merely the location but also the wonderful group of people that surrounded me. To save $6 the Canadian and I actually hiked down too--not too difficult this time as we were on a high from the way the day had shaped up.

A Night of Indie Music. (Not another sterile review!)

2007-09-29T03:10:00.000-04:00

Last night I should have gone to bed at 10 considering how much work I'd put in this week in trying to figure out a fairly complicated code--success in which endeavor will ensure that I have the possibility of continuing with my present temporary position if my job hunt stays unsuccessful--and my level of mostly related sleep-deprivation. Except that I didn't. I was up till 6 in the morning spending most of that time reading a blog I've recently discovered which gives a much-needed vent to...my need to vent, I guess (since this is being written in a public domain, methinks I'll try and not spill all the beans here).

Needless to say, I woke up feeling quite un-proud about myself. Had to put in a few constructive hours before I could feel halfway-good again. Afterwards, while I was headed home to catch up on this ever elusive thing they call sleep, I thought about why I didn't go to bed in time--especially since I'd had such a productive week. The tentative (always!) conclusion I reached was that I had somewhere along the way decided--and this is a trap I keep falling into--that I would feel content (about life?) if I was able to do what I was supposed
to be doing. And this reluctance to go to bed was a protest from my body/mind about being forced to conform to this hypothesis. To remedy this situation I decided that I needed to give myself some more leeway, some more breathing space. Keeping with that theme, I decided to attend a $5 concert of folksy music featuring local artists at the 'new' State Theater theater (now that's awkward!). I tried to round up the usual suspects but no one bit. Ultimately ended up going alone which in itself is a somewhat unusual experience for me.

I can't, for the life of me, remember who the first act was. Okay, before I write about the individual performances, let me first tell you a little bit about the format and the venue. The State Theater has now opened-up for intimate performances a tiny room which they call The Attic, with mostly-floor seating. Today's performances, which were the first that the Attic has seen, consisted of four half an hour acoustic 1-2 person sets by four different local-ish singer-songwriters. The first guy's music sounded quite rich--only a guitar, mind you--and in addition to having good-energy going his music had enough complexity to keep me interested. I think I would give him a fair grade (how meaningless is this without the guy's name, isn't it?). Kudos to him for asking what kind of mood-of-music the audience was feeling like. Though it was a little worrying when he responded to a 'angsty' request from the crowd with 'is that a real word?' (I'm a bit worried here myself as blogger is underlining it!) What kind of a folk-singer are you if you doubt 'angsty'?

The second set was by a two-man group called 'Matthew and the Judes', the lead singer sporting a guitar and his very young looking friend a saxophone (oh, god, I do hope, to prevent unimaginable embarrassment about being wrong, that this was a correct identification on my part!) . The guy was a little nervous considering it was his first performance--he told us this--but managed to deflect his nervousness with some funny self-conscious self-reflective oh-what-a-klutz-I'm kind of remarks. He had a decent voice but needs more polish to become a better performer. I didn't like his song selections which I thought were pretty flat and boring. Hit those high notes dude and give us some emotion for crying out loud! If my Matlab code was able to emote, believe me, I wouldn't be here!

The third act was for me what made the evening really worthwhile (hence the shortness of this paragraph!). Joseph Dabney was in his own world but seemed very sure, justifiably, of the 'product' he was serving-up. He hit his entire range of notes and the contrast between the subdued and unrestrained parts really hit the spot for me. I didn't really catch too many of the lyrics but the performance was almost so full of emotion that I didn't really miss that at all. This guy is a Penn State student who has a strong presence on the popular social networking sites, do check his music out which is available on MySpace.

The fourth guy, a minor celebrity in the local circuit, gave the show its title--'Koji in the Attic'. Koji who had a very laid-back style seemed very popular with the crowd in part due to a clearly amazing rapport he had with it. He even made us do some very iffy (for me personally, people around were chomping it down like Popeye) interactive stuff recalling which gives me the shudders, so will omit. He talked a lot in between songs--told us about how in getting his latest album recorded things got so hectic that he 'almost got depressed'! I think that's when the spell broke for me--is there a difference between almost depressed and depressed and thanks for clarifying that you stayed on the acceptable side of the fence--'phew, man, for a moment there you had me doubting how cool you were!' All this would be forgiven if he had played some more exciting songs. Acoustic doesn't have to mean serene (I'm being generous here)! All his songs were in the lower/middle register which was not at all satisfying.

Bottom-line, check out this Joseph Dabney guy!

On Depression.

2007-09-18T23:10:00.000-04:00

Quoting Anaïs Nin in her diary quoting someone called E. Graham Howe:

The expression which we know as depression can be more clearly understood as coming to those who are not willing to be depressed, i.e.: to fall down according to the falling rhythm, or to let go when the time has come to lose. Depression is characteristically associated with over-conscientiousness, and so it is particularly liable to befall virtuous people. This is because it is their moral duty to hang on to all the good things, fixing them forever against the moving law of time...

Free boogers anybody?

2007-09-07T10:39:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, circumstances led me to a very early dinner. The natural choice was 'Pita Pit' where, as is a common custom at fast food joints in these parts, after having paid for 10 meals I was entitled to a free one. Since, despite having being in this country for a while, I tend to follow meal timings from back home, I usually find the place fairly deserted whenever I go there, and always wonder how they've managed to stay afloat--that it's a front for a drug dealer is one of my favorite chuckle-inducing theories.

So here I was standing for once in a really long snaking line waiting for my usual falafel pita and not loving it! Partly because had lots of time to think about Jeeves' claim that the food here always gave him tummy issues and watching--in a totally unrelated way--the 'healthy' amount of sweat almost dripping off the guy at the grill--obviously, the air conditioning was down. After about a half-hour when I finally reached the counter I discovered that the guy who was about to make my pita was sporting a very noticeable booger in his left nostril. Obviously, I wanted him to do something about it. As I was considering various different phrasings in my head, to my obvious relief, the guy for some reason switched places with another guy. As this new guy was making my pita I suggested he nudge his coworker into a more hygienic state. This guy's initial reaction after giving the coworker a brief sideways glance was a flat-out denial--"no, he doesn't!" was his very emphatic response. When I persisted he did finally convey the observation. The offending party's reaction was to make a very half-hearted ultimately unsuccessful effort at wiping it off on the back of his gloved hands. I left the place with mixed feelings (or alternately I high-tailed it out of there) and tried to keep my mind very blank as I swallowed down my meal. Later as I listened to a cute couple at Webster's sing some at times very pleasing folk music I pondered if a free meal was really worth this kind of stress...

The Moor's Last Sigh by Salman Rushdie

2007-05-12T01:37:00.000-04:00

Reading it on the recommendation of a fan of Rushdie's calling whom a voracious reader would be a vast understatement--a conservative estimate would be to say that the books in her house outweigh all her other possessions by a few factors (perhaps, betraying my experience in reporting research here?). This is the second Rushdie I am reading after Midnight's Children which I read as part of a course almost a decade back curious to see if my opinion would be different reading it outside a classroom so many years after forming my first impression. I am not a big fan of that novel. My main problem with it is the high density of incidents packed into every square inch of every page of the book exacerbated by its, what's got to be, magic-realistic genre. My memories of reading books of the genre can be summarized as ultimately unsuccessful attempts at maintaining my willing suspension of disbelief. The coincidences mount and as the novel progresses the twists seem more and more arbitrary, whimsical, and ultimately nonsensical. In Rushdie's case, as is being confirmed with this novel, I give-in to disbelief somewhat earlier than say a Marquez.

I feel Rushdie would be more successful as a short story writer--I think the next time I read something by him, and if the trend is maintained that should happen sometime in 2017, it'll be one of his short story collections. In fact, even with Moor's Last Sigh I was actually enjoying Rushdie's virtuosity, his humor, his way with words, his depiction of `Hinglish' and the intricate sentences for about the first 30 pages before I experienced my first cringe. His description of the division of a house between the families of two brothers listing out in detail the specific articles that went to each side concluded with a phrase to the effect that the division was so ruthless that even the lizards of the house were divided. For me that phrase did not have its obviously intended effect of being funny. Instead, it felt like a relic from the first draft which should have been removed by the author's own better judgment. It's not my intention to write a review of the novel here. I think people who liked Midnight's Children will probably like this one too and going by my own reaction the converse should also be true. Despite strong hopes I have not become a fan of Rushdie's.

While on the injustice front..

2006-12-19T15:10:00.000-05:00

Some somewhat dated links about possible instances of miscarriage of justice:

Here's a detailed article by Arundhati Roy on the seemingly dubious
death sentence meted out to one Mohammad Afzal for the 2001 attack on the Indian parliament.

Here's a news report about how the charges against some Bulgarian nurses and a Palestinian doctor, of deliberately spreading HIV among their Libyan patients, seem unfounded.

Cure for antisocial elements...

2006-11-17T16:04:00.000-05:00

...make them policemen.

This is a scheme I thought was already being implemented, judging from the tales I have heard from friends and acquaintances about how rude and boorish some of the traffic cops they have encountered can be. The perceptive ones realize that some cops use such encounters to satisfy their primitive sadistic need of having another human being at their mercy. Now I know what career your average schoolyard bully should, when the time comes, choose--a job where he is required to make people experience fear. I don't think I would have written down this seemingly fantastic thought/insight had I not come upon this news report about rioting cop candidates.

Chaurasia Concert.

2006-10-31T15:53:00.000-05:00

Usually, we of State College, consider ourselves lucky if we manage to witness just one performance of Indian classical music a year. So imagine how utterly giddy we must be feeling now that we've had two classical performances within a week of each other (although, admittedly, the first one, Anoushka Shankar and co., wasn't exactly a purely classical one--it was, while on the subject, a somewhat unremarkable attempt at fusion). The second performance which happened over the weekend was by Pt. Hari Prasad Chaurasia.

The local desi graduate student organization did indeed do really well to bring one of the best known HCM artists to SC. The crowd was, expectedly, mostly Indian, and anticipating a larger turnout most people arrived well before time--so much for stereotypes (Indian Standard Time etc.). Though the concert itself did not start on time, mainly due to two speeches, the first introducing the chief guest who is arguably the most famous physicist in Penn State, Dr. Abhay Ashtekar, and the second by Dr. A introducing the artist. The speeches could definitely have been shorter but they were well researched so people didn't mind them so much.

Panditji was accompanied by Pt. Vijay Ghate on the tabla. He opened with Madhuwanti starting with swar-vistar, followed by jor, and finally a bandish in rupak. Unfortunately, Madhuwanti is a raag I'm not too familiar with so I can't really decide how good a job panditji did with that raag specifically. I did get the impression though that, despite the fact that he was obviously enjoying himself and making efforts to keep the audience entertained, age might finally be catching up with him. Firstly, the sound of his blowing was often comparable to the sound of the flute which took some getting used to. I doubt that this was entirely due to the fact that the microphone was placed higher than the mouthpiece of the flute. Another telltale sign, in my opinion, was that when he was playing the flute at a fast tempo the clarity of the individual notes was not enough for an artist if his caliber. I think I also heard him accidentally miss a note or two (all air no note) when he was doing the taans (or whatever they are referred to as in the instrumental setting) though I could be mistaken.

Not only was it the first time I was seeing Pt C in concert but it was also my first time hearing Pt. Ghate live. Pt. G is definitely a very accomplished artist and the clarity of his bols made it a joy listening to him playing the tabla. There was a lot of sawaal-jawab that took place during the Madhuwanti piece which was probably the most crowd-pleasing aspect of the concert. What I did not enjoy all that much about Pt. Ghate is that he's a showman to the extent that getting a reaction from the crowd seems more important than the playing itself to him. A subjective opinion (like any other opinion) as there were some in the audience who really liked him for this very trait and didn't find it vulgar like me.

Pt. C decided to take requests for the second raag. There was a request for Marwa which he turned down on account of it not being the right time for that raag. Then some idiot in the second row requested Yaman. Suddenly Pt. C was gushing at the choice of the raag as apparently it was a right time for Yaman, and that is what he decided to play. I was disappointed by the choice because Yaman is a very common raag with somewhat limited possibilities, I would have appreciated something less common. He played Piya Ki Nazariya, it was well done and quite enjoyable. Another round of requests, this time round people wanted him to play Vande Mataram. He ignored that request and played a Bengali folk tune instead. Again, an unknown tune, mildly enjoyable.

Here we go again, another round of requests for the final piece, now some idiots wanted him to sing the national anthem, imagine that! So when somebody else said Vande Maataram again Pt. C reluctantly agreed, an easy call if his other option was to sing the anthem. His rendition of Vande Maataram was short and cute. On the whole I came away a little disappointed, I think I would have been much happier if his choice of raags had been somewhat different.

Update: Looks like I spaced out towards the end, it has been brought to my attention by discerning readers of my blog that the last piece played by Pt. C was Vaishno Janato and not Vande Mataram. Can I make the excuse that I'm doing a PhD in Physics??

Quick, early-in-the-day, rant.

2006-09-19T11:14:00.000-04:00

After ordering breakfast at Panera this morning, I am asked for my name, as is customary, so that they can announce it when the food is ready. I say, "M O" (after years of name/spelling mangling experiences I have settled on this relatively painless compromise), to which the woman's response is "how do you spell that?". I'm perplexed and tell her that that is how it is spelt.

A few minutes later, guy at the bar makes eye contact and asks "Ahmed?", a charge that I vehemently deny. I think about it a few seconds, go back over to him and ask him to repeat the name. And, lo and behold, it's Ahmed again! With no likely Ahmeds around I'm beginning to put two and two together here. I ask him what is in the bag and he confirms that it is what I had ordered. My irritation shows, he's grinning a little apologetically, I'm saying "Ahmed? How did it become Ahmed? Maybe I look like an Ahmed...". 7 years of trying to improve my enunciation and these guys across the counter still can't understand what I'm saying! I think I'll ask the chap to pick a random name for me next time round.

Trip to Flushing Meadows.

2006-09-14T12:52:00.000-04:00

After asking around, asking dozens of people to come along, it was finally my dear ole sister--whose interest in tennis can be described at best as casual--who took pity on me and decided to accompany me to the US Open. I had decided on Wednesday, the 6th of September, as the men's quarter finals were slated for that day. I arrived at base camp, Princeton, which is where sister is currently based a day earlier, late in the evening. Over dinner we were chattering excitedly about what all we would be taking to the US open, what we would do to avoid getting into the bag line, and other logistic issues when we realized that I had left the tickets back in SC! Major panicking happened on my part and the stoic in me started to make a case for me to drive back to SC and bring the tickets. This would have entailed driving for eight hours through the night and being sleep deprived the next day which would have been, going by experience, detrimental to full enjoyment of this unusual outing.

After we had a few seconds to think about it, common sense prevailed and we decided to call Ticketmaster, the people we had bought our tickets from. In case you haven't heard, Ticketmaster rocks, for apparently this is a fairly common occurrence (duh!) and they have this system of providing replacement tickets at the venue when things like this happen. I didn't drive all night but I still managed to get very little sleep that night--always find it hard to sleep at places away from home when I first get there--yes, an extremely inconvenient trait.

We left around 9:30 aiming to get there a little after the start of the day session at 11. This involved switching trains thrice and a travel time of roughly an hour and a half through parts of New York I had never been before. By 11:30 we were in our nosebleeders high up in Arthur Ashe stadium watching Safin and Haas continue their game from last night which had been stopped due to rain. I had imagined that we would be so high up that it would be difficult to follow the action on the court. Fortunately, having pessimistic bouts has its advantages sometimes, was pleasantly surprised to see how well we could see the action down there. Though after the initial euphoria died down I found myself finding it hard to care about the game much. Some of it was my lack of sleep compounded by having such high seats--yes, they seemed quite far now-- and some of it was the quality of the game which was not very high. I was obviously rooting for Safin, hoping that he would beat Federer in the finals like he did a year ago at the Australian. Shivani had slept better, and about an hour or so into the match she went exploring the rest of the complex. She came back with reasonably good Indian food--a tip we had got from Jon Wertheim's column in the Sports illustrated--the only kind of food I wanted to eat in that sorry sleepy state.

Federer was playing in Armstrong but decided not to relocate as I still had hopes that these two here would elevate the level of their game as the match progressed, besides, Fed was playing a virtual nobody and that match had whitewash written all over it. The Haas-Safin match went to a fifth set tiebreaker but the game remained too error-strewn to become interesting. The stadium itself was only half full, the crowd didn't seem much into the match either, partly also a relic of being such a large stadium that when not filled close to capacity it tends to dissipate any kind of collective involvement from the crowd.

After being resuscitated by the food we decided to take the half-filled state of the stadium to our advantage and moved to a tier below ours to watch the next match which was between Henin and Davenport. The view from there was obviously much better, it also suited my short attention span really well. This match was a better contested one but I left when Davenport got broken late in the first set, she didn't seem like she was going to take a set of Henin.
I had, by this time, been watching uninterrupted tennis for a while and decided that I was now feeling sufficiently non-zombie-ish to venture out of my seat. I left the stadium and went to Armstrong where Nadal was playing Youzhny, the atmosphere here was much more exciting, everybody was closer in and more involved with the match. Youzhny was playing great, hitting absolutely stunning backhands while Nadal was very much on the defensive against his opponent's ferocious attacking game. Though my support for Nadal was just as ferocious I couldn't help but admire how well Youzhny was playing.

After the second set Shivani and I met outside Armstrong and made another, this time more relaxed, trip around the grounds. We went to the really small courts where you can literally touch the players. We saw Jankovic, Safina, Hantuchova, Martina, Bjorkman, and Myirni among the notables. Had some more overpriced borderline palatable food, and then went back to see the completion of the Nadal match. Youzhny was too good, and wrapped it up in 4 sets. We then went back to Ashe to see the end of Blake and Berdych. Berdych was totally off his game and Blake was totally destroying him. By now I was sufficiently in good spirits and really got onto cheering Berdych into making a match of it, it was the third set and it seemed like it was only a matter of time. All this was tinged with a note of desperation as I didn't want to go back yet and this was the last match planned in Ashe for the day session.

I have no idea where I will be next August so I'm really glad that I finally, after being in the US for so many years, made the trip to Flushing meadows. Curses to all my friends for not being tennis fans and not coming along, and thanks to S for being such a sport.

Movie Weekend.

2006-08-29T19:52:00.000-04:00

Despite major reservations, a bunch of us did finally give in to the hype, and decided to watch the best advertised movie in recent times--Snakes on a Plane. In case you haven't heard, it is unadulterated crap. The highpoint for me was waiting for Samuel L. to say m*&^%$#f&^%$# which he did--sorry if I'm killing the suspense here--just twice in the whole movie, with the first one coming when the movie was almost 80% over (almost killing me with anticipation... sitting outside a plane). It was fun nonetheless, like watching a Govinda movie, and admiring and celebrating the incomparable cheesiness of it all. Here's a no-nonsense review (scroll to the very end to read the review for this film).

On Saturday, decided to watch Little Miss Sunshine with friends claiming that it had got good reviews in the NYtimes (which is definitely high praise, after all, when was the last time Stephen Holden actually liked a movie?). This one started off looking like a typically vague and pointless arty movie with strong existential themes (i.e. not my kind of movie): the opening shot is about a woman taking in deep breaths before entering a hospital room to meet her depressed brother who slit his wrists in an unsuccessful bid to end his life. The brother is forced to move into the sister's house and has to share a room with her son who reads Nietzsche and has not spoken a word in the last 9 months in one of those teenage-rebel-without-a-cause deals. Fortunately, the mood of the movie becomes lighter from there on--we are introduced to the father who is trying to make a career out of teaching optimism, a grandfather whose cussing ways would put Samuel J in his Pulp Fiction avatar to shame, and finally the daughter who is a sweet 8 year old whose sole ambition is to win the Little Miss Sunshine which is a beauty pageant for young kids in distant California. The plot of the movie revolves around the family's very eventful and entertaining 600 mile trip to that pageant.

The movie is highly recommended--it's thoughtful and sensitive, along with being one of funniest movies I have recently seen.

Federer loses to a non-Nadal.

2006-08-16T19:19:00.000-04:00

This is great news! I missed most of the match but saw the last two games, and even with Andy Murray serving for the match at 40-0, I was not convinced about his chances of winning it, so larger-than-life is Federer's aura, not to mention his now 62-5 record this year. Andy seemed very calm, contrary to what we have come to expect from him--his tendency to tighten up when closing out matches--and even though Federer was able to save two match points, Andy was able to seal the deal, incredibly, in straight sets, with a sweet backhand passing shot. Federer was not playing his typical flawless game but that is usually irrelevant when this man plays.

Andy is the first person not named Nadal to have defeated Federer this year. Gasquet came pretty close last Sunday in the finals of the Toronto masters, but seemed to have got a bit overwhelmed by the occasion in the third set (funnily enough, the tournament is officially known as Rogers Masters--I guess they forgot the apostrophe!). This is a great build-up for my first trip to the US Open--inexplicable, I know, since I have been in this country for more than 6 years now, and fairly close to Flushing Meadows throughout--Federer is looking mortal for once and I'm beginning to entertain serious fantasies of a final that does not feature Lord Federer.

So is that how it will be?

2006-08-09T13:51:00.000-04:00

Here's a post that puts expectations from married life into perspective. It's from a woman's point of view, but the very honest sounding description of the greyness of the couple's feelings vis-a-vis each other is worth reading about, at the very least for its ability to disturb.

A need for romance.

2006-08-08T16:32:00.000-04:00

I meet this girl, who is attractive to me--an impression, no doubt, created by the fact that she deigns to talk to me (what wonderfully low esteem!). I'm conflicted--at this advanced age (actually, represents attitude fairly accurately, an attempt at humor is not being made here) caution (atleast being aware of the need to be cautious) comes pretty easily, at the same time there's an impatient part of me that wants me to decide really fast what my feelings for the girl are, and take steps towards getting into a relationship, fulfilling physical (don't say a word, I warn you) and emotional needs. The first approach, I know, is the right one, but it's the second one that seems more compelling (no brainer, I guess).

The romance I was constructing around this girl is related to the experience of a very close friend. He's now married (in fact, the ceremony took place only about 2 weeks back) to a Romanian girl he had been dating for about 4 years. There was, atleast in my mind, a very endearing devotional aspect to the relationship from my friend's side from the very beginning--without much prompting from the girlfriend, within weeks of starting to date her, he took it upon himself to teach himself her language. His efforts were diligent and now he's so highly proficient in Romanian that he can easily hold his own in any conversation with his wife's friends or even her relatives back in Romania, for that matter. That's the fantasy I was building involving this girl whose native language, not unlike my friend's case, is different from mine.

Recently, I went out for dinner with these guys and I complimented my friend on his decision to learn the language. Turns out there was more to it than what I was romanticizing it to be--he actually enjoyed learning the language independently of the fact that it was something his girlfriend wanted him to do. When I told my friend what my hopes from this girl were, he went on to add, that no relationship is as perfect as I was imagining his to be (No 'rainbows day after day') and every relationship also comes with its issues that require working out. No new stuff here, really, but it's sometimes necessary to be brought back to Earth. That's enough self-disclosure for the time being, stay tuned.

...turns out to be about My SuperExGirlfriend.

2006-08-03T14:25:00.000-04:00

It's incredible how little I have to write about, so I'll just ramble along a bit. Writing this blog, considering the number of people who view it, is in any case a lot like having a conversation with myself. I do, however, apologize to any readers who might be choosing to keep their identities secret (why, mate?).

I saw My SuperExGirlfriend the other day. It was a last minute, somewhat reluctant, decision to see it, instead of Lady in the Water--ultimately capitulating to the pressure put by the highly unfavorable NYtimes' review of Shymalan's latest, atleast two of us in the group had read. The low expectations worked in our favor, and we ended up really enjoying ourselves. The movie is a bit of a spoof of Superman. Whereas, the comic devices/situations are not all that original (except, perhaps, the shark being thrown into an window of an apartment in a high-rise building?), what really works in the favor of the film is the editing which is very crisp--the director, apparently, does not like to linger, which translates into not making the bad parts of the movie worse. So do watch it if there is not much else to choose from--that is indeed a good recipe for having low expectations from a film, watching a film not for its sake but as an excuse for an outing or a break from research (sorry, too specific there, replace by word that applies better to your case).

Take my word for it.

2006-07-26T14:22:00.000-04:00

Watch Rescue Me on FX: The show, which is about the lives of a NY based firefighting unit, is now into its second season and still continues to stay interesting. The major selling point of the show is its irreverent and irresponsible attitude--alcoholism, drug-use, womanizing, resorting to violence/stonewalling instead of communication (which is so deliciously contrary to the typical pop-psychological answer to resolving conflict, improving relationships, etc.), sleeping with your nephew's irresistible schoolteacher to get her to stop `seeing' the nephew (what a deal!), is all very explicit stuff that one expects to see in films, but not on TV (excluding HBO). There is a purity of purpose to the show--the makers of the show are very clear that the goal of the show is to provide thrills, entertain, and their choice of plotlines and the behavioral traits they choose to highlight in their characters reflects that aim--it is not to delve on the stuff of human existence, which might be very realistic, but has low entertainment value. So Rescue Me, in my opinion, is a show that manages to realize this philosophy better than most other shows. The bottomline is that, whatever I might imagine my reasons for watching the show are, I really do enjoy watching it, I hope I have been able to convey that here.

Reporting a personal happiness.

2006-07-03T17:43:00.000-04:00

Aaroh, the Indian classical music group I am a part of, had its first public music performance on the 29th of June at the Schlow public library courtesy of Global Connections. It was a 50 minute concert that started with a 15 minute recital of Bageshri by Sanghamitra followed by a 15 minute recital of Puriya Dhanasri by me. Mitra, who was accompanied by Murali on the Tabla, sang Kaun Karat Tori Vinati Piyarva, while I was accompanied by Piyush on the Tabla, and sang Payaliya Jhankaar. After the classical pieces each of us sang a light piece with the tabla players exchanged. Sanghamitra sang a Bengali song Dhiton dhiton Bole while I sang a bhajan in Bhairav by Surdas: Khelat Shyam Gwalan Sang. This was followed by a lec-dem by Murali and Piyush on the tablas, they would recite the bol and then play them on the tabla. The conclusion was Dama dam mast kalandar performed by Mitra accompanied mainly by Piyush, Murali and I contributed too-he played the tabla upside down like a ghatam while I provided backup vocals on the refrain--all in an effort to make the concert end on a loud and energetic crescendo.

I think we all did a great job--four weeks of practice really paid off. The four of us came together about a year back and have been meeting fortnightly for informal sessions since. The idea to perform in the World Sounds at Noon was floated by Murali. We were all, I think, a little reluctant--we were not convinced that we had reached a level where we could give a public performance--but did eventually come around. Both Mitra and I have a few ragas each we are really comfortable with. In my case, Puriya Dhansri is a raag I can rely on even when I'm too tired to sing anything else, so it was the inevitable choice. After so much practice we were all quite sick of singing/playing the same pieces over and over again, so it came as a bit of a surprise that we didn't experience that ennui during the performance--I guess performing before a crowd gave the routine a novelty which had been missing the last few times we had rehearsed. I really enjoyed singing the Puriya Dhanasri--the goal, as far as I'm concerned, is to be able to feel the music and I really did. Being an amateur performer the best I can say about the performance is that I was able to do the best I can, and I feel I did--now only if I could feel this sense of complete command with Physics. Ma was able to make the trip down from Princeton for the concert, and her praise after the concert seemed genuine enough to increase the general feel-good factor.

I screwed up a little bit on the Bhairav song, I spent a beat too long a couple of times but was able to adjust as I was keeping track of the rupak by counting on the fingers. It is a bit of a handicap, I must say, to have to count on the fingers to keep track of the beat, but in my defense I have started practicing with a tabla only since we guys formed aaroh. The funny thing is that we didn't even have a name for the group till Merill, the lady who was organizing the event, asked us for one. Really happy about the name, even though, apparently, there is a more famous Pakistani group by the same name--a discovery we made a little late in the day.

The aftermath: we were at the local (NJ) Udipi restaurant the other night, and I was describing loudly the performance to Shivani and her friends when all of a sudden I found my mother talking to an attractive lady at an adjoining table (who was sitting with her equally attractive daughter-in-law). Apparently, the subject of my speech, despite the obnoxious-blowing-your-own-trumpet way it was delivered in, had interested her. Turns out that they are a Pakistani family from Karachi who like to patronize artists (obviously of all levels)--and I ended up with her phone number and an invitation to contact her if the group would ever like to perform in NJ. Now that's one of the coolest things that's ever happened to me--it's like getting invited to a conference to give a talk (sorry, limited imagination). Sigh, the future suddenly seems filled with possibilities... Pragmatism, however, suggests that I return to Earth very soon and figure out why I am not in complete command of my code on strange stars.

Brooke Burke.

2006-06-13T18:28:00.000-04:00

Ma is visiting, she's been around for a little more than three weeks or so now. Before she arrived, I had to, obviously, conduct this massive clean-up/organization operation so that she would not (I have to be careful about how I phrase this as she's one of the two regular readers of this blog!) go into this gung-ho, no-holds-barred, clean-up mode and end up making me feel like an awkward teenager again, which, hold your breath, did nevertheless happen.

Anyway, one of the fine-tuning issues was to decide whether or not to remove the almost-nude Brooke Burke poster in the bedroom. The poster is a hand-me-down which previously belonged to a roommate of a friend Neeraj (a long standing MIA by now) when these guys were relocating. I'd always admired the poster when it was in its original home for its cleverness with regards to being titillating without being tasteless, so when the change of ownership offer was made I accepted. I consider my parents fairly liberal by the standards of average middle class Indian couples of their generation, so I decided that in all probability my mother should be okay with it. And I thought I was in the clear when she did not comment on it upon entering my room for the first time. I now know that feeling triumphant about my assessment of the situation having being proven right was a little premature, for when I got back from school the next day the poster was off (she didn't rip it off, merely put it out of sight). It was amusing. I was thinking about this while in LA, a trip made in the very recent past, and decided that this DOES NOT prove that my mom is not as liberal as I imagine her to be. It's a question of stereotyping--a laissez faire (if that's the right phrase) attitude to semi-nude women might be a sufficient condition to being liberal but certainly not a necessary one.

There, I've done it again, created a post with very little substance!

NBA playoffs - round 2.

2006-05-23T19:28:00.000-04:00

A quick round-up: With three of the four series going the distance, this second round is the finest I've ever been a `witness' to. The most unexpectedly competitive was, undoubtedly, the Pistons-Cavs series--now is as good a time as any to admit that I was wrong (ouch, that hurts!) to dismiss it as a potential waste of time. It was an immensely exciting experience to watch LeBron & co. make the mighty Pistons look falliable who, it must be said, did play sub-par. Although, ultimately, game 7 was a disappointment, the Cavs 'display ensures that they should be a more-or-less regular fixture in the playoffs in the years to come--they acquitted themselves well in their first trip to the playoff in many (being a bit lazy here) years.

The Heat-Nets series was unexpectedly disappointing--they were the number 2 and 3 seeds in the Eastern conference afterall. My prediction for the Eastern conference finals is Heat in seven--atleast that's what I'm hoping for. Two reasons for the suppport (I'm not saying I'm not being true to form here): firstly, gotta support the underdog, and secondly, the boredom factor--need a new Eastern conference champion--Detroit have won it atleast the last three years running.

The Western conference semi-finals were fiercely competetive--what every basketball fan hopes for. Happy to report that both teams I was supporting made it to the finals, really happy for the Mavericks who were finally able to overcome the Spurs. What a finish to game 7 where Nowitski made the big last-minute 3-point play, driving all the way to the hoop, wading through, seemingly, the entire Spurs team, and drawing a foul from the ever-dangerous Ginobli in the process, looks like he is finally ready to embrace his super-star staus. The Phoenix game 7 was a bit of a damp-squib, though the earlier games were indeed very well contested. I was a little conflicted in this series as to who the under-dog was i.e. whom to support. Was it the Clippers who made it to the play-offs after so many years of being the doormat of the other LA team, or was it the Suns who despite being plagued by injuries throughout the season still made it this far--with an MVP I admit, but one who is a David to the typical Goliath-ic MVPs. I'm still not sure whom to support for the next round--the Mavs since they've come away empty-handed in the playoffs the last few years or the Suns who are decidedly the underdogs this time round?