Saturday, December 10, 2005

Cautionary tale

Came across this article last week. Parts of it I completely agree with.

Cautionary tale
By Ayaz Amir

IT takes a good two hours in the morning going through a stack of Pakistani newspapers. It takes about half an hour to go through the leading English dailies that you get in Delhi. I have had to read them — newspaper-reading being a habit that members of the tribe carry with their luggage — these past three or four days (invited to Delhi for one of those seminars...what else?...in which worthy subjects are discussed) — and I can say with confidence that I don't know what's happening in the rest of the world.
You read them and you get to know more than you probably would want to about happenings in the film or fashion industry. But if you want to know a bit about events in the rest of the world you would have to seek some other fountain of knowledge.
You can't blame television for being chatty and entertainment-driven because that's how television sells. But you would expect newspapers to be slightly different. No such luck with Indian papers which, driven by the great forces of the market, have been dumbed down to the point where they are indistinguishable from any other consumer product. Small wonder if they are marketed in the same way and as aggressively as, say, a brand of washing powder or the latest cell phone from Nokia or Samsung.

There's no point in singling any newspaper out. By and large, they all look like tabloids out of Bollywood, devoted primarily not to anything as gross or insulting as national or international issues but to some form of entertainment. After the information revolution and in the age of globalization we were all supposed to be more `empowered'. Is such dumbing down the new road to empowerment?

In Pakistan we are supposed to be overly obsessed with politics. Newspapers are full of political reporting. Columns and articles often sound as if they are one long wail about the national condition. Indeed, we have turned moaning and the pursuit of cynicism into national art forms.

Sounds morbid, doesn't it? Yet comparing it to the Bollywoodization of the Indian media, the conscious pursuit of blandness and mindless entertainment even by such standard-bearers of the Indian press as the Times of India and the Hindustan Times, you wonder which is the more insidious, such over-the-top passion as to be found in Pakistan or the complete loss of passion, at least as mirrored in the press, you see in India?
You have to admit, it's a neat arrangement. The masses are entertained — constant entertainment or a form of it the new opiate of the masses, much more effective than religion in many respects — while the governing class and the great captains of commerce and industry have things their own way at the top.
This principle the later Caesars observed to great effect in Rome where, when the empire started falling on hard times, they saw to it that the Roman rabble and indeed even the more responsible citizens were kept occupied and entertained by never-ending festivals and gladiatorial contests, so that no one thought too hard about the intrigues and power games being played behind palace walls.
Do the mass of American citizens think too hard about what is happening in their country or what their country is doing to the rest of the world? That George Bush and the cabal around him — a more dangerous set of characters than the world has known for some time — could drag their country into a war on the basis of the most transparent lies doesn't say much for the collective intelligence and awareness of the American people or indeed of their chosen representatives in Congress.
The same Roman principle is at work here, the masses stuffed to overflowing on a diet of consumerism and entertainment while the leaders of government go about their business undisturbed. If questions are now being asked about the Iraq war it's not primarily because of a rush of any new-found awareness but because the seriousness of the Iraqi resistance is more than anyone in Washington had bargained for, and because the lies of the Bush administration are finally catching up with it.
I hope I am not stretching the point when I say much the same dynamic can be seen in India where the media has managed to do two things very successfully: (1) brushed some very serious national problems under the carpet, to the point where there is not much national or international awareness about them; and (2) celebrated a story of Indian progress which partly is very real but which also relies heavily on fiction.
Entire regions of India — UP, Bihar, to name only two states — are in the grip of serious lawlessness and there is not much that anyone has been able to do about it. But sitting in Delhi or reading the Indian press you won't get this impression. Only when something out-of-the- ordinary happens, a high profile killing, for instance — although in India's wild east even this is no longer surprising — does it figure in the headlines, otherwise not.
There is a full-fledged insurgency in the northeast — Mizoram, Nagaland, Manipur, etc — but you won't get to know much about it if your sole source of information is the Indian press.
More serious than these two problems is something potentially more dangerous. From the Nepal border in the north right down to Andhra Pradesh in the south, a wide swathe of territory almost cutting through this huge country is in the effective control not of any government, central or state, but the Naxalite movement. This is a mind-boggling circumstance, about 160 districts of the country — the total number of districts in Pakistan being 105 — outside governmental control. But again the Naxalite movement doesn't figure much in Indian discourse.
True, India's stability or integrity is not under threat. India's very size is the biggest shock absorber of all, its capacity to absorb problems of this nature or magnitude commensurate with its bulk. Still, to insist, or convey the impression, that nothing troubles the Indian heartland is to close one's eyes to reality. As already stated, the Indian media performs this pigeon act very successfully.

India is coming of age as an economic power. It is also flexing its muscles as a major military power. We all know the story and the statistics. Indeed, talking to an educated Indian who wears his patriotism on his sleeve (there being no shortage of this kind because being relatively new to high-power status, Indians tend to be touchy about different aspects of their nationhood) one stands in danger of getting an earful of these statistics.
But it is also a fact that the benefits of growth are not evenly spread, roughly 30 per cent of the Indian population enjoying the fruits of progress while 70 per cent is still trapped in different versions of poverty.
While the rich-poor divide is true of most societies, the great success of the Indian media lies in obscuring this distinction. Watching Indian TV or reading Indian papers one could be forgiven for believing that the entire Indian population, one billion strong, is living the high life. This feat the media has achieved by trivializing national discourse. The biggest temple of all in India is dedicated to none of the older gods in the Indian pantheon but to the new god of entertainment.
The cautionary tale is for us as we move forward on the road to democracy (a journey which would be made easier infinitely if Pakistan's ruling general, fourth in a line of patriarchs the country could have done without, is persuaded to shed his fears and his uniform). If we can get democracy without lowering the standard of national discourse or without the pursuit of trivia, that would be a goal worth striving for.

Wednesday, December 07, 2005

Meditate


Meditate
Originally uploaded by kamikazengp.
This tourist has found the best place to meditate in McLeodganj. This small hill town is popular among foreigners who want to seek spiritual solace in Tibetan Buddhism. But it interesting that there are hardly any Indian's there to seek spiritual solace. Most, like me, were there for a couple of days, ogling at what the other were doing all around them. We atleast experimented with the food, going on a culinary tour of the world.

Monday, October 31, 2005

You will live in hell

I can't help but curse... how can someone think of destruction in this scale? Which ideolog can justify such carnage? Which state can have peace watered by the bloods of hundreds of innocents.
What happened in Delhi and has been happening in many other parts of the world over the past few years -- the illogical massacre of people who had no ideologies, no demands and no ill will against anyone -- can only explained as a love for death and destruction... no religion or stream of thought can sanction this carnage...
Are these people so blind to the destruction -- both physical and mental caused by them? I beleive I'm a hardened journalist as far as news goes, but I could help but cry seeing a baby dead on the streets of Saorjini Nagar... what did he/she do to anyone in the world? What about guys... don't you see all this... you might have your own reasons and justifications.... but can ths leave you any better that those whom you consider as your enemies....
I'm helpless, like the millions of others out there left to suffer for the what a few people have started unleasing on humanity.... but i can curse that who ever did this will not escape with a punishment as simple as death... you will live in hell....
Amen

Monday, October 24, 2005

Monday, October 17, 2005

Red as the moon?


Red as the moon?
Originally uploaded by kamikazengp.
Like most of the world, the moon has always fascinated me. An that disc in the sky plays its games with me, once in a while throwing open a pandoras box of visual treats. Here's one such rendezevous with the night sky.

Thursday, October 13, 2005

A pool by the road


A pool by the road
Originally uploaded by kamikazengp.
Seems to have found just the place to cool off, in the middle of the road.

Friday, October 07, 2005

girl


girl
Originally uploaded by ahsup.
A dream of a pic, came across this on flickr... reading the photographer's account, I think he was damn lucky.

Wednesday, October 05, 2005

Table manners


Table manners
Originally uploaded by kamikazengp.
The boy doesn't seem sure what I'm up to with the camera. Most probably mine is the first one he's seen considering the state and location of this village in Orissa. One thing strike you about the state is the how the colour brown dominates.

Friday, September 30, 2005

Frustu


I'm really frustu yaar... but a bit stuck too.
I just don't know what course to take. Lying back and letting things take its own course can be too taxing at the present pace of things.
Moreover, I don't know that I really want. Not that I'm in a hole here on anything, its just that thing have been sort of... well constipated for a long time... and there is no castor oil in sight for a long time too.....
yuck, i should mind my language...

Thursday, September 29, 2005

Is this my holy land?

This is what i wanted to be always. "I'll be a journalist some day," i used to say as a teen. Friends thought i was mad, want's to write... The lazy guy.
But now that i have been there, done that for the past five years... i have started having my doubts..
Was this it... i thought this would be fun...
But you must be getting to write a lot..? naah, that's the last thing i do these says.
Changing someone else's draft, and giving him the credit for it, is another thing.
A veteran of the desk had told this rookie in my first year: "but this is a thankless job?"
Come on can't it be this thankless....
I give so many headlines a day that i can't think of one I like...
Make so many pages that i know what you learnt in class about design and symmetry for the page was a whole lot of B*S*.
But i still like what i do... that's seems to be the only thing that keeps me going... drags me through pages and pages of text and pages and pages of gray...
Maybe sometime i'll get to do what i like... what i thought (and still adamantly believe) was journalism...
Writing to bring a change, a least a smile....

Tuesday, September 27, 2005

We still fly planes

Skies of my land used to blue
Birds from the west were the only one that flew
They had long destinations to reach
Dreaming how they would live and give birth to life
Skies of my land are now all black
Filled with plans on way to attack
They too have destinations to reach
There they will just kill
In my little hamlet by the foothills
We were kept warm with fire chimneys and smoke
Some still spills out from the rubble of my village
Spewing into the skies like souls of dead hope
Me and my friends from across the hills
Used to fly planes made of paper
I now fight my enemies from beyond the hills
We now fly jets and our swords are sharper...

This, like the one below, was written during the Kargil conflict. Not great poetry or even interesting reading, just the ramblings of a 19-year-old who felt disgust at the killings.

Well Fought Peace

Fight for your peace
Sounds strange, doesn’t it?
They call it politics, or was it diplomacy?
No wonder, all bad things have good names.
They show us the Valley
Tell tales of a line
Myths of its movement terrorise our mind
By the border we killed
Or was it just the hills?
Our foes hid in bunkers below
We killed their dreams from above
Soldiers in green, airmen in white
All kill and then die… they had peace in sight
Then the leader will come
Light cigarettes on our pyres

…Peace is back, all is calm
The tourists are back, now money will flow
The border is quiet, the line is still
Thanks to the deterrent… ah, our martyrs too


Written on 1.6.1999

Saturday, September 24, 2005

Moon Shadow


It was days since the moon had made an appearance. Then as the rain slowly dried up and clouds cleared, the silver disc slid up from behind the veil of coconut palms.

Moon Shadow


It was days since the moon had made an appearance. Then as the rain slowly dried up and clouds cleared, the silver disc slid up from behind the veil of coconut palms.

Thursday, September 22, 2005

Calicut Beach


Used to think this was a boring place. Five years away from home and I can clearly see the rose tint of Home Sweet Home.

Monday, August 15, 2005

Freedom



What is freedom for us?
Except for the general realisation that we are no longer answerable to someone
who didn't have the same skin colour as us or didn't eat the same food,
has August 15, 1947 brought us much?
How many of us can list the real freedoms – other than that of free speech and expression, that too often restricted by the government and other extra constitutional authorities – that we have gained after Independence? Things that we couldn't do then, that we are doing now? Consider this a survey of sorts.

Friday, August 12, 2005

IF



If

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on !";

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings - nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run -
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man my son!

Rudyard Kipling

Thursday, July 21, 2005

The forgotten Varma


Nandagopal Rajan

It was around noon when we reached the Lakshmi Narasimha temple in Mangalagiri, a sleepy town famous for its handloom sarees and the twin temples of the Narasimha, an hour's drive from Vijayawada.
Mangalagiri has two temples, one at the foothills dedicated to Lakshmi Narasimha and the other on the Mangalagiri hill dedicated to Pankala Narasimha.
We scampered barefoot on the hot granite towards the temple, empty except for a gaggle of girls playing inside the mandapa. The sanctum sanctorum was quite dark, except for the radiance of the Laxmi-Narasimha deity. It is said only the Laxmi on his lap can neutralise Narasimha.
We were exiting the sanctum sanctorum, our minds set on reaching the hill shrine before the sun became more brutal, when our eyes fell upon a small rusted board in a dark corner besides the main corridor. Maybe it was the Varma in it that caught the attention of us Malayalees. When, on closer inspection, it turned out to be Raja Ravi Varma, we were thrilled.
The thrill, however, turned to despair, as we panned up to see the object that the board was meant to tout. The saffron wall it hung on was in far better shape than this untidily framed masterpiece of the Narasimha tearing into the belly of Hiranyakashipu spiralled out on his thigh.
The picture slanted towards the right. We too bent our necks to see more clearly through the iron bars. The unrelenting heat and over a century of neglect had definitely taken its toll on this forgotten Varma. But there was no doubt about the style. After all, it was these very brush strokes that defined how we Indians visualised our Gods.
The board had more to tell. The now-forgotten painting was 'Painter Prince's' offering to the temple during a visit in the late 1800s. The Raja must have stopped here while hopping princely states completing royal assignments. We were sure the temple touched a chord in him – there is something about the place even now; why else would he put its main deity to canvas with his deft strokes. Or was there more to it? We will never know.
We left the temple thinking more about the discovery we had made than the climb ahead. Did anyone know about this Varma? Shouldn't it be restored and sent to the Shri Chitra Art Gallery, which houses his other works?
But the prince might have differed. Maybe he wanted his humble offering to go unnoticed. You never tell what you offer the Gods.

Wednesday, June 22, 2005

Powerless bed-wetters

NANDAGOPAL Rajan

IT'S RAINING back home. The downpour hasn't stopped this week. Sister calls up to say it's "as dark as dusk at 3 in the afternoon."
"Here, it's as bright as noon at 5 in the morning," I counter. I go back to sleep.
It's a difficult task, since you have to position yourself exactly in front of the cooler – it's more of a blower when its 44 degree C outside – to catch the full draft.
Then it happens. It's the silence that hits you first. It's only later that you realise we are into another power cut. You try to dream about that cool picture of the waves lashing the Mumbai seafront you saw in the newspaper today. No, it doesn't work.
The hot beads of the sweat slowly become a steady flow. Your life juices are slowly being drained. "Good, maybe I'll melt some body fat this summer."
Nice thought. You slowly drift back into slumber. Floating atop a plantain trunk in your village pond. Nice cool green water all around you. It's all wet. "Wake up, you are in a pool of sweat."
So much for the wet dream…maybe it will rain today.

Monday, May 30, 2005

A travel to India’s lost city

Nandagopal Rajan

THE FIELDS spread till the horizon in a hundred hues of black and brown. No sign of habitation for kilometers, just a couple of hamlets and towns…so few and far between. Little would you know that a few miles ahead were the greatest metropolis medieval India had seen. There was a bent in the road, a gateway and towering rock formations hiding from view the fabled city of Hampi, the seat of Vijayanagara, India’s lost empire.
You’ve heard so much that you still don’t know what to expect at Hampi. Fears that the avarice of the soul might lead to disappointment are erased as soon as you see the first signs of stone structures. It’s all stone, most in such a state there’s no way to find out what were used to be, still those pillars and foundations bait you in a way only the mystery of history can.
Driving downhill into the Tungabadra Valley that nestles the Virupaksha Temple one cannot help but wonder the grandeur the city must have held during the time of the great Krishna Devaraya, who made Vijayanagar the greatest empire of the south. Incidentally, the Virupaksha Temple is the only undestroyed structure in whole of Hampi, a stark reminder of the six months of plunder and vandalism that followed the fall of the empire in 1565.
Half a millennia ago, travelers used to compare the city to Rome and Milan and told stories of this city and its riches in distant shores. Now, it’s a ghost haunted by tourist guides, European and Israeli backpackers — thanks to its close proximity to Goa — package tour groups and history buffs.
The nearest town is Hospet, about three hours from Hubli and 350 km from Bangalore, has some reasonable hotels and eating joints.
It’s ideal to get a tourist guide, otherwise the whole exercise could take at least a couple of days — the ruins lie scattered in over 26 sq km. If on a time-strapped tour, it’s better to book a guide for half a day and limit yourself to the more wonderful monuments of what this city of wonders has to offer.
A ghost city? Yes. But, Hampi is an active archaeological site as well. This means you could see a lot of new sites if you come back after a couple of years. In fact half of the city was dug up in the last two decades.
The first point is always the Virupaksha Temple, the 120-feet tower of which is still the tallest in whole of Karnataka. The temple, parts of which are older than Vijayanagar, has some excellent specimens of roof paintings.
The 6.7-m monolith of Ugra Narasimha is one of the more photographed icons of Indian history. Restoration attempts have breathed back some of its mutilated grandeur, but legend has it that the Laxminarasimha of the past was, and maybe still is, unparalleled in Indian art.
Similar are the monolith Mustard Ganesa and the even bigger Kadalekallu Ganesa, that can dwarf even the biggest idols of the elephant god on has set eyes on. The latter for instance was carved out of a single granite stone into its present 4.5-m, though badly mutilated, existence.
The royal residential areas, the three great bazaars, one of which used to trade only in precious stones, and the fort all stand tall even in their marauded forms. The Lotus Mahal, in the water-cooled confines of which the queens used to spent their sultry summers days, and the equally regal Queens Bath have been saved of the vagaries of plundering hoardes due to the Islamic styled of their architecture.
The Vijaya Vittalla Temple, the grandest of the of the metropolis’ structures, was however not that lucky. This temple was and ode in stone to the great victory’s of Krishna Devaraya and his illustrious predecessors. The stone chariot, for instance, is symbol of his victories in Orissa, a small-scale attempt to recreate the chariots at Konark.
But the real wonder lies within the Hall of Musical Pillars. Even with half its roof on the temple floor, each pillar emanates a different note or sound of musical instrument. The carvings on the temple walls are also unique for its eye for detail and craftsmanship.
However, great stone foundations are all that remain of the palaces and darbars, their sandalwood structures long reduced to ashes. It is said that when Vijayanagara burnt, the whole region was filled with the scent of sandalwood, and that too for 45 days.
A round of the city, however short, transports you back into an age when the city and its inhabitants had no counterparts in the realms of power and wealth.
But to put the experience to words is no easy task.
Fernao Nuniz, a Portuguese traveller who set foot on the city when there were still idols in the temples and sandalwood roofs on the palaces had just the words. “But I cease to speak more of this because I should never finish…”. Five violent centuries later, I could not agree more.