Talk about Town

I had attended Arundhati Virmani’s book launch at the IIC, and now she and her husband, Jean Boutier, are back in Delhi. Jean is a visiting professor at JNU’s Institute of Advanced Studies, and he will be in Delhi till August end; alas too short a time.

They are now doing a talk on “Undressing political icons: Europe and India compared” at the Attic in CP.

The readers of this blog are cordially invited to this talk. The exact time and venue will be confirmed, but if you want more details do leave an e-mail on the blog site, and I will revert back to you.






Arundhati Virmani was Reader in History at Delhi University until 1992, when she moved to France. Today she teaches at the Ecole des Hautes Etudes en Sciences Sociales Marseille. Her publications include an essay in Past and Present, as well as two books: ‘India 1900–1947. Un Britannique au cœur du Raj’ (Paris, Autrement, 2002), and ‘Inde. Une Puissance en mutation’ Her latest book is ‘A National Flag for India. Rituals, Nationalism and the Politics of Sentiment’ was published by Permanent Black last year.

Jean Boutier is a Professor of European History at the Ecole des Hautes Etudes en Sciences Sociales. Former fellow of the Ecole Francaise de Rome and the European University Institute in Florence he has worked on a comparative history of European societies in the early modern period. His focus is on the cultural patterns of European aristocracies. His recent works include: ‘Un tour de Framce royal 156-1567’ ‘Passe Recompose’’ Les Plans de Paris des origines a 1800’, ‘Florence et la Toscane, X1Ve-X1X siecles’, ‘Les dynamiques d’un Etat Italien’, Les mileux intellectuals Italiens, Naples, Rome, Florence, 17e-18e siecles’.

Raining Cats and Fishes

I managed to finish two Haurki Murakami books this month- Kafka on the Shore and What I talk about when I talk about running- and they could not be more far apart. Running.. is a long, boring, ramble about his reminiscences of, what else but, running, which the author has been indulging in for the last decade or so. Incidentally this guy is a superman. He runs marathons, ultra marathons – eleven (!!!) hours of running, and makes me feel much more unfit than I am. But why this would interest anybody is a mystery. There are some interesting quotes or philosophical statements thrown in now and then, but those do not captivate you . In short, it is a book you wish the writer had not written.

On the other hand, Kafka on the Shore, is a delight. The master stylist is at work here, producing perhaps one of best works of art of our times. His philosophical style finds full range in this fantasy, with story line matching, step for step, the twists and turns of modern man’s dilemmas. An outwardly flimsy story line grabs you as the plot develops, and although one can see it as a guise for author’s thoughts and viewpoints of life, it does not lag.

A story of a boy, Kafka Tamura, and an old, feeble minded man Nakata, but who can talk to cats, follow independent paths to a grand finale, where the two paths cross, and yet not. Kafka runs away from home, thinks he has murdered his father, apprehensive that he will fulfil his father’s dark prophecy, and stumbles onto a library, where he finds his love, and is able to come to terms with his devils. Helping him in this quest is Nakata, who metaphysically, is an enabler, a mentor or a counsellor, if you will. He makes things happen, almost magically, and is able to help more than one person, in coming to terms with the contradictions and anxieties of modern life. Murakami makes a strong case against violence in modern society as evidenced by - Best way to stab someone with a bayonet.

“Well, first you stab your bayonet deep into his belly, then you twist it sideways. That rips the guts to ribbons. Then the guy dies a horrible, slow, painful death. But if you just stab without twisting, then your enemy can jump up and rip your guts to shreds. That is the kind of world we were( are!!!- my comments) in”.

What interest me more than the mechanics of bayonet stabbing, is the observation, that if you do not do it, then somebody will do it to you. This to me, is the dark, unfortunate truth of modern man.

A word of warning - this is not a book for the squeamish. Be prepared to be shocked and upset with the man’s morals and values. Keep your homely virtuous principles in a locker if you pick up this book.

Odds and Ends

Books and digital divide

I am sure everybody has heard of the digital divide; the idea that societies who do not keep pace with computer technology will be at a disadvantage. I recently discovered how true this statement is. While pottering away at websites offering free material, I discovered that all the textbooks in my area of expertise are available on the net. If one does not worry too much about not paying for these (anybody who has not pirated, please raise your hand), then one is not at any disadvantage compared to a person in a developed society. Universities offer free video lectures on subjects of your choice on their websites too. So, if you have the lectures, and the material to study, then all you are missing are the exams. That is not much of a loss. This means that a person in sub-Sahara Africa, thousands of miles away from any modern civilisation offering education, will be able to pick up the skills in a subject of his choice with a cheap computer and an internet connection. The digital divide can be a much bigger thing than it is made out to be.

Delhi Chronicles

It has been a slow fortnight in the Capital. We have had monsoons playing truant. Omens of a drought are intermittently drenched with a shower. Just when you think one should start storing away water for the next six months, the rain gods open up, and vanquish the thought. The MCD has been busy cleaning up the storm water sewers, but their (in) efficiency is still to be proven. The umbrellas have been bought, but still await their baptism. The drains have been cleaned and the gargoyles tested, but, so far, the rain has not tested their full potential. One has taken the trouble to get that free monsoon check up for the car, but changing the wiper blades has not yet proven useful. But one lives in eternal hope.

Some excitement has come from the metro guys who are building train lines on pillars of dodgy credentials. I mean if you see a crack in a pillar which is holding up hundreds of tons of concrete, not to speak of trains packed full of people, you do not fool around guessing the strength of the pillar with mirrors. You just tear it down and build another one. To top it all, I find it difficult to imagine that somebody cannot calculate the number of cranes it takes to lift an iron girder, and then build in some safety factor. To have three cranes breaking down catastrophically and the images transmitted all around the world, does not leave me, an Indian engineer, any prouder of our capabilities.

Mathematicians and Fishing.

Fermat’s Last Theorm by Simone Singh was an entertaining read, as he was able to simplify maths enough to integrate it with a suspense novel. Reading the book still requires grade seven maths understanding, which is not a problem. The book revolves around a 300 years old maths puzzle, with a price on it’s solution. The puzzle is simple enough and the fact that the prize was left unclaimed over such a long time is interesting. Simon Singh brings vibrancy to the “dull” life of a mathematician, and is able to capture and retain the reader’s attention for the entire duration of this short book. Science writing has its fans, but alas, all too few. A highly recommended read for anybody interested in mathematics.

I also managed to breeze through Paul Torday’s Salmon fishing in Yemen. I like the book for three reasons: a) It is written by an engineer b) Paul has spent considerable time in Oman, where I worked for, alas, too short a time, and c) The book treats people in the Middle East with respect and understanding. A very entertaining read, and a quick book to read through in a couple of sittings. I could appreciate the message in the book, which although vey simple, was relevant for me, a middle aged person. The crisis in the middle aged of marriage and profession was well related with no loose strings. I would recommend for a nothing else to do, rainy day read.



Odds and ends

The race for the oxford professor of poetry turned nasty, what with the favourite candidate , Derek Walcott, withdrawing after allegations of sexual harassment were made anonymously. This now turned into a two horse race with Ruthe Padel winning easily. A few days later she is accused of tipping off journalists on the allegations against Walcott. And then she resigns.

Now what happens? Does the remaining candidate, Arvind Mehrotra, professor at Allahabad University automatically take up the post? Oxford is silent, living up to the highest traditions of English traditions- when in trouble be discreet. Be very discreet.

Anyway Arvind’s poetry is nothing to be scoffed at. Here is

Canticle for My Son

The dog barks and the cat mews,
The moon comes out in the sky,
The birds are mostly settled.
I envy your twelve hours
Of uninterrupted dreaming.

I take your small palms in mine
And don’t know what
To do with them. Beware, my son,
Of those old clear-headed women

Who never miss a funeral



Delhi Chronicles

Now that the Indian cricket team is safely out of the T20 world cup, a lot of my friends are catching up on their sleep. The IPL and the T20 matches at night kept some of them awake till late hours, with consequences the next day. Fogginess to be dispelled by cups of coffee and tea were the order of the day, besides the hours lost in discussing the details of last night’s match. Too much T.V cricket is not a good idea for an alert mind. Pakistan winning the cup was consolation of sorts; at least the cup is in the general neighbourhood.

This summer has been horrible. The temperature stayed above 40C for days, touching 44 C frequently, and with the electricity and water playing truant, Delhi turned obnoxious. The met is promising rains in the first week of July, but I have no faith in that government body. I do not think they know anything about predicting weather, although they get paid to say they do.

Poet Laureate

Carol Ann Duffy is nominated as the next poet laureate, the first woman to be so, and she stands in honourable company, along with Wordsworth and Tennyson. I discovered this poet in my ramblings in the British Council Library, and in fact had picked up her 1985 T.S. Elliot prize winner “Rapture”, a book of related love poems. Carol writes beautifully and with insight only a poet can pen down. Reading poetry is much different than prose. One can let prose wash over you, and one’s engagement with the book can vary over the course of reading the book. Not so with poetry. Either one is fully into it, or not. I cannot read poetry casually; I need to concentrate and let the poem seep into my soul; else it is like chewing gum. One champs around without getting any sustenance. I quote from the movie “Dead Poets Society”- One does not write poetry to make a living, one lives to write poetry. My favourite poem from the book is reproduced below:

Cuba

No getting up from the bed in this grand hotel
and getting dressed, like a work of art
rubbing itself out. No lifting the red rose
from the room service tray when you leave
as though you might walk to the lip of a grave
and toss it down. No glass of champagne, left
to go flat in the glow of a bedside lamp,
the frantic bubbles swimming for the light. No white towel
strewn, like a shroud, on the bathroom floor.
No brief steam on the mirror there for a finger
to smudge in a heart, an arrow, a name. No soft soap
rubbed between four hands. No flannel. No future plans.
No black cab, sad hearse, on the rank. No queue there.
No getting away from this. No goodnight kiss. No Cuba.


Odds and ends

I have been reading the poetry workshop every month on the guardian books website, and the last poetry workshop was special for me. I finally had the courage to submit an entry. I do not know if there are any bathroom poets like me, but this is one opportunity for you to submit a poem anonymously like I did. If it gets mentioned in the honours, hey! you may be in business. Go ahead, and try out the one this month – the subject is night.


Delhi Chronicles

Delhi’s summer seems to be settling down well. There are days of hot weather with the temperature touching 44 C, but with squalls on most evenings. This weather pattern had been lost for quite some time, and goes down well with me. During my childhood I remember this pattern coming in at least twice a week, sometimes everyday. The pattern seems to have been lost for a decade or so, but I am not complaining if it comes back. The mango season is not going quite as well. The safeda mango is not as sweet as in other years. For course, the price at Rs 35 per kilo is not helping matters. We persuaded a guy coming in from Ambala over the weekend, to bring in some 15 kilos which we will consume in the office in a “Mango” party. Apparently in Muscat this is done every year on a day where the Ambassador of India inaugurates the affair.

The Geek Dad

I just finished two books by Issac Asimov- The Currents of Space and Cleon Emperor. For a change both were good fast reads, and I enjoyed them thoroughly. After reading a ton of literary fiction it is a delight to go back to my childhood novels. I remember I was mesmerised by the Foundation Trilogy, and then by Arthur C. Clarke’s Space Odyssey and the Rama series. So, when I am trawling the bookshops, I find a SF novel I have not read, I will invariably pick it up. Maybe, because I am a SF fan, I decided to stick to engineering, rather than change to Finance or Marketing and make obscene amounts of money.

Although Asimov is not a great writer, the sheer originality of his ideas catches one’s imagination. To dream of a galaxy wide empire, and then flesh out the details is laudable. The ability to fire one’s fantasies through sheer power of the ideas is the essence of SF writing. One is not looking for subtleties of literary fiction, but the ability of the writer to think of future (but realistic!) scenarios is much appreciated. Asimov is the original master of this art, and I would recommend the Foundation series for any kid.

Which is exactly what my kid does not want. I tried my best to get her interested in sciences, and Physics in particular by referring her to this excellent course – Physics for Future Presidents. My daughter took one look at it and dismissed it. When I tried to urge her to at least have a look, I was labelled as a geek- an old one- but a geek nevertheless. I have to re-examine my life now. I am sure I did not start off as a geek, but became one over the years. Question- Can geeks be fifty years old?

Odds and Ends

Watching Aamir Khan on TV urging people to vote is really pissing me off. Now he is using kids to sell his idea, and I find that disgusting. We are suckers for kids pedalling anything; from cell phones to health drinks. I think using kids to sell ANYTHING is despicable, because the kids are not endorsing; it is just their parents who are making a quick buck. As a skeptic, I insist on finding out the truth- not that it is easy to find. So, if Aamir Khan wants to figure out the best candidate in my constituency, he would have a job on his hands. If we sieve out the uneducated, the history sheeters, the schemers, the manipulators, the power brokers, the free loaders, and the extremists, there is nothing left. So, all I have to say about this is – Won’t.

Delhi Chronicles

Now that the humble shoe has been declared a weapon of mass destruction, it has captured people’s imagination in ways unforeseen. Laid-off workers are promising retribution, disgusted voters are threatening action, and fringe elements are contemplating protests. This is not without risks as the original show thrower got jailed for three years. But the risks are dropping as the FM’s assaulter got away with a warning. And not all people getting shoes thrown at are unhappy. I noticed that the FM gave a smug smile after the the incident. After all, joining the club of people who have had the “shoe thrown at”, is pretty impressive. In fact celebrity seekers may be disappointed if nothing comes their way, and may decide that paying for this service is worth while. So, a new career shows up on the horizon – The Shoe Thrower- which will teach a student the right methods and attitude to throw a shoe. The shoe manufacturers are rubbing their hands with glee, as they envisage the profits to be made by this great advertising opportunity. So, we can have branded shoes sponsored by companies selling soaps and potato chips, thrown by disgruntled elements wearing T- shirts, also sponsored by companies selling soaps and T-shirts at celebrities who are endorsed by companies selling soaps and T-shirts. I shudder to think where this form of protest will go.

Á Different Invite

Unlike most wedding cards we receive, this one was different. It included a book of poetry compiled by relatives of the bride. So, for the first time I actually read a wedding card. This duty is normally done by my wife who is promptly blamed for forgetting the wedding day or the venue. I could never forget those trivial but important dates now. I also could not forget Van Morrison’s song included in the invite. I was pleasantly reintroduced to Van Morrison through this device, and I reproduce the song below for your enjoyment.

Days like this

When its not always raining therell be days like this
When theres no one complaining therell be days like this
When everything falls into place like the flick of a switch
Well my mama told me therell be days like this

When you dont need to worry therell be days like this
When no ones in a hurry therell be days like this
When you dont get betrayed by that old judas kiss
Oh my mama told me therell be days like this

When you dont need an answer therell be days like this
When you dont meet a chancer therell be days like this
When all the parts of the puzzle start to look like they f it
Then I must remember therell be days like this

When everyone is up front and theyre not playing tricks
When you dont have no freeloaders out to get their kicks
When its nobodys business the way that you wanna live
I just have to remember therell be days like this

When no one steps on my dreams therell be days like this
When people understand what I mean therell be days like this
When you ring out the changes of how everything is
Well my mama told me therell be days like this

Odds and Ends

Have you noticed the lack of any rancour and adrenalin pumping in-your-face aggression in the current India-New Zealand? I credit this to Daniel Vettori and his team mates, who have refused to be drawn in Aussie-like into alpha-male contests or as they justify- psychological warfare. I always thought Aussie on field behaviour was more to do with being bad losers, rather than any scientific approach to overawing competition. So, all credit to the black caps for keeping the contest clean, and to the men in blue for reciprocating. Let cricket win at the end of the day.

Delhi Chronicles

The spring is here, and so are exam times for the kids. The X and XII class kids are taking their exams, and everyone is freaked out. When the kid has an exam, the whole family accompanies the kid to the exam centre and wait for three hours outside, worrying and fretting. In fact when I refused to accompany my kid to the exam centre on grounds of “When I took the exams I went on a DTC bus, and my parents were barely aware of this momentous event in my life” , I was properly castigated for being a delinquent dad. Examples were thrown at me, on how so-and-so’s dad stood in the sun for the entire three hour duration of the exam. I ignored all such exhortations on the grounds sheer madness – there is no way standing in the sun will help your kid get more marks. Of course, when the results are in, everyone in the extended family and circle of friends want to know the marks, and the parents can be squirming if the results are not in the 90s.

The other effect we note is that the child is now hugely dependent on approval ratings of parents which may be based on system generated numbers. This dependency can, and does, become a handicap when the child has to take control of his destiny- choosing a career or life partner. A middle aged man living with his parents is quite common in India, which may have its positives as far as looking after the aged is concerned, but is it suffocating the man-child? I think we can do better if we let the child decide his future and stop worrying about the system-oriented marking scheme. Unless the child is passionate about the subject he picks up as a life long study, I doubt the child can sustain in his career.

Anger in Mumbai

This is dedicated to Sabina Saigal Sakia, who I knew briefly while in college, and have since followed her career with interest.

Anger in Mumbai
Once there was a girl who loved writing,
meeting people, talking
endlessely on things immaterial,
fascinating others around her.

She went to a party and
talked the editor into hiring her
for a job she always wanted,
to write about food and things on

So her books came out
year after year,
telling people where to eat
drink and make merry.

She went to party,
came back early to bed
to find death
instead of rest

He came uninvited
and violated the silence,
to shoot, kill mindlessly
in the name of god

And the old men watched
And prayed And talked
And condemned And promised

And did nothing.


Odds and Ends

I have been corresponding to people in some charming parts of the world like Siberia. It is quite a change from writing to people in US, Canada or India. While asking about the weather is polite noise in other parts of the world, in Siberia it is a big deal. I have been told that the temperature is -15 C… on a warm day. For a warm bloodied mammal like me, such lows are inconceivable. For instance I do know that good old steel is a material I can use down to -29C, which becomes useless material of construction in Siberia. I wonder what do they use for everyday living- Stainless Steel? Other innocuous topic of conversation like “ Would you like a drink?” is a meaningless question out there. If one does not have Vodka to serve up immediately, it is would considered quite an affront. Although the climate may not suit me, I wonder if they run tours up down to that part of the world? It would be nice to pay DJ my respects in person.

Delhi Chronicles

Modern Monuments

After the initial euphoria of the Delhi Metro and its promise to solve Delhi’s horrendous traffic jams is over, the truth is now coming home to roost. The Metro’s ubiquitous reach is after all, now, not so ubiquitous. The trains are well packed, now requiring Japanese style people minders to pack the travellers in. They promised to get rid of the cars and scooters packing the roads under them. Have they? Look for yourself. Now we have considerable part of Delhi’s humanity travelling thirty meters from the ground, while at the bottom an equal number of frustrated commuters struggle with their vehicles negotiating the traffic below. The pillars and the elevated structures made of concrete are now not looking like so good. In fact they are an eye sore. Miles of pillars looking like behemoths supporting the roads on which toy trains run look extremely ugly. The skyline, or whatever remains of it after the buildings obliterate swathes of the sky, is now uglier than ever. So while the progress in mass transport is commendable, all I have to say about the Metro is NMB- Not in my backyard.