August 2014 by India Currents

Two Daddies by Sujatha Ramprasad

Heavenly Kailash Mansarovar by Anita Kainthla

A Bag of Ashes by Ravibala Shenoy

INDIA CURRENTS

Bollywood ies, Literary Knots

august 2014 • vol. 28 , no . 5 • www. indiacurrents.com

A conversation between two authors, Manil Suri and A.X. Ahmad, on Bollywood and literature.

Edited by Jeanne E. Fredriksen

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I confess. I am guilty of the same careless rhetoric that has marked many conversations post an India vacation. “Clogged roads, smoggy skies, packed malls and dirty, filthy streets,” I could be heard postulating. “Nothing’s changed and nothing ever will,” I continued, in an attempt to further amplify the differences in my past and present. Nods of assent immediately followed my assessment. In the days since my return, however, I’ve been considering what I had, maybe unconsciously, left out of these explanations. There is no doubt that what I had expounded was the truth. But it wasn’t the only truth. The bridge between one truth and the other occurred on a hot sweltering day in Delhi. We decide to visit a local market to pick up trinkets for friends and family back home. After a robust round of haggling, pleased with our purchases we make our way back and spy a group of women sitting on a ledge peddling mehendi (henna) applications. After a quick series of negotiations, allowing myself to be cajoled into parting with more money than is seemly, my eighteen-year old twins and I sit down on the ledge. A few minutes later, a young boy, barely 10 years old, arrives with a shoeshine kit. He is barefoot, his face is grimy and his clothes are threadbare, but he sports an unmistake-

able twinkle in his eyes. I am struck. He approaches us and demands to polish our moccasins, sandals and flip-flops. We laugh at his gall. Encouraged he does a jig and then proceeds to enumerate all the English words he knows: “No, yes, come, go, cheap ...” he says. The mehendi ladies scold him and tell him to be off. He imitates them and then he stares at the deft way they use their cone applicator before proceeding to give them advice. One woman swats at him, and he moves back pretending to fall. It’s all an act, I tell myself, but I cannot help be charmed. Once we finish, I pull out some money and hand it to him. He takes it with an impish grin. We have just started walking away, when he comes running and stops us. Now what? I think. He kneels down and proceeds to tie my daughter’s laces. As he stands up I meet his ink black eyes and in that moment, I see the paradox that is India. A land where it is possible for a shoeshine boy to make money despite the fact that none of his customers are wearing polishable shoes. It is not the conditions of India that define the country. It is its people. Jaya Padmanabhan

Graphic Designer: Nghia Vuong On the cover: A.X. Ahmad, Manil Suri WASHINGTON, D.C. BUREAU (Managed by IC New Ventures, LLC) 910 17th Street, NW, Ste# 215 Washington, D.C. 20006 Phone: (202) 709-7010 Fax: (240) 407-4470 Associate Publisher: Asif Ismail publisher-dc@indiacurrents.com (202) 709-7010 Sales Associate: Sam Kumar Sales-dc@indiacurrents.com Cover Design: Nghia Vuong INDIA CURRENTS® (ISSN 0896-095X) is published monthly (except Dec/Jan, which is a combined issue) for $19.95 per year by India Currents, 1885 Lundy Ave., Ste 220, San Jose, CA 95131. Periodicals postage paid at San Jose, CA, and at additional mailing offices. POSTMASTER: Send address changes to INDIA CURRENTS, 1885 LUNDY AVE, STE. 220, SAN JOSE, CA 95131 Information provided is accurate as of the date of going to press; India Currents is not responsible for errors or omissions. Opinions expressed are those of individual authors. Advertising copy, logos, and artwork are the sole responsibility of individual advertisers, not of India Currents. Copyright © 2014 by India Currents All rights reserved. Fully indexed by Ethnic Newswatch

August 2014 | www.indiacurrents.com | 1

INDIA CURRENTS August 2014 • vol 28 • no 5

PERSPECTIVES 1 | EDITORIAL The Heart of India By Jaya Padmanabhan

Southern California Edition

LIFESTYLE

www.indiacurrents.com

28 | FINANCE Capital Flows By Rahul Varshneya

Find us on

30 | MUSIC Matt on Matt By Priya Bhatt

6 | FORUM Should Marijuana Be Legalized? By Rameysh Ramdas, Mani Subramani

34 | BOOKS Reviews of City of Devi and The Last Taxi Ride By Jeanne Fredriksen,

7 | A THOUSAND WORDS Rehearsing Return By Ragini Tharoor Srinivasan 8 | COMMENTARY Blind By Gayatri Subramaniam 16 | VIEWPOINT Matchmakers and Meat Eaters By Mak Akhtar 21 | POLITICS Not Enough to Like Facebook By Shashi Tharoor 22 | PROFILE Poetic Alchemy By P. Mahadevan 38 | PERSPECTIVE The Making of a Movie By Parveen Maheshwari 60 | PARENTING Two Daddies By Sujatha Ramprasad 64 | THE LAST WORD Otranto—An Italian Poem By Sarita Sarvate

2 | INDIA CURRENTS | August 2014

42 | RECIPE Street Food Entertainment By Jagruti Vedamati

10 | Bollywood Ties, Literary Knots Authors Manil Suri and A.X. Ahmad discuss Bollywood and its influence on their work Edited By Jeanne Fredriksen

18 | Fiction A Bag of Ashes By Ravibala Shenoy

44 | RELATIONSHIP DIVA Is My Friend’s Girlfriend Cheating on Him? By Jasbina Ahluwalia 50 | REFLECTIONS Medical School Memoirs By Amrithavarshini Muralikrishnan 54 | HEALTHY LIFE Save Our Children By Ronesh Sinha 63 | DEAR DOCTOR Consequence of Careless Words By Alzak Amlani

36 | Films

DEPARTMENTS

Reviews of Bobby Jasoos and Ek Villain

4 | Voices 3 | Popular Articles

By Aniruddh Chawda

26 | Ask a Lawyer 27 | Visa Dates

56 | Travel

59 | Classifieds 62 | Viewfinder

Heavenly Kailash Mansarovar

WHAT’S CURRENT

By Anita Kainthla

46 | Cultural Calendar 49 | Spiritual Calendar

India Currents is now available on the Kindle: http://www.amazon.com/IndiaCurrents/dp/B005LRAXNG Follow us at twitter.com/indiacurrents on facebook.com/IndiaCurrents Most Popular Articles Online July 2014 1) Frenzy on the Maidan Kalpana Mohan 2) Hazards of Toxic Spills and Leaks Jayshree Chander 3) An Ode to My Mac Air Vibha Akkaraju 4) Blood and Guts Vidya Pradhan 5) Motherhood Above All Dilnavaz Bamboat 6) Naredra Modi 2.0? Shashi Tharoor 7) Counter Valley Thinking Part 11 Ragini Tharoor Srinivasan 8) Pickling Mangoes Sahana Rangarajan 9) A Migratory Bird Flies West Geetika Pathania Jain 10) Women’s Rights and Modi Government Krishan Jeyarajasingham

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voices A Wake-Up Call

I am writing to thank you for publishing the cover story by Jayshree Chander (Hazards of Toxic Spills and Leaks, India Currents, July 2014) about the 1984 Union Carbide Gas Disaster in Bhopal, India and the chemical leak by Freedom Industries earlier this year in West Virginia. Chander’s article is an important “wakeup” call to citizens and government regulators alike. Thank you to Jayshree Chander for the well-written article, and thank you to India Currents for having the courage to print such an important story. David Strayer, Los Angeles, California

Reasonable Hindus

Gopi Kallayil’s article (How to Float to the Top, India Currents, July 2014) is a fine piece of literature. Life in this world is full of troubles. How to remain peaceful in a strifetorn world is the question on every mind. Gopi rightly says “Yoga is the answer.” Internet may cost money, but the inner-net costs nothing. Connecting to self is connecting to God. A googler has become a bugler who blows his bugle in praise of yoga. This article is like a bottle of healthy tonic offered free of cost to an agitated mind. When you write, “... most reasonable Hindus. They may not care for the ultra-nationalism and minorityabusing that some Hindutva leaders did, but they do care about their religion, their nation and their place in the world,” you speak for the balanced nationalists who care about India and that goes for many people of Indian origin all over the world. T.S Krishnamurthi, San Ramon, CA

Want Miracles?

Why are we allowing the Congress to be condescending to Mr. Modi and his achievements in the article by Minister of Parliament Shashi Tharoor (Narendra Modi 2.0?, India Currents, July 2014)? Modi is the first Prime Minister since Independence who is attempting to do good for the country and make it secular and at the same time safe for the Hindus, and we want miracles. There was little to nothing accomplished in the 67 years prior, except divide and rule, and now we want a successful, rich, progressive India in a 100 days or less. If only we were as critical with the past, we won’t be in such a sorry state now. Three cheers to Modi. Usha Kris, India

Teacher Evaluations

Regarding the editorial (Teachers—The Best of Us?, India Currents, July 2012) I

4 | INDIA CURRENTS | August 2014

think most of us recognize the complexity of teaching and the cognitive demands it makes. We can also agree that there is a small percentage of mediocre teachers with tenure. Mediocre teachers need coaching and mentoring as in any other profession. Firing them will certainly not help the looming crisis—a 1.2M teacher shortage over the next couple of years. The escalating fight against teacher tenure has less to do with firing bad teachers (frankly, if they were awful teachers, they should not have been granted tenure in the first place) and more to do with school boards and city governments manipulating and stonewalling to gain some advantage over teacher hiring to minimize their bottom line. As in most situations, “follow the money” to the source of the real issue. I agree with Jaya Padmanabhan—Why join the conflict? Why not propose solutions toward effective professional development and fair evaluation processes? And if all else fails, then by all means, dismiss teachers through a peer review that guarantees due process. After all, tenure does not guarantee employment for life, it only enforces due process dismissal over employment-at-will. Chandana Reddy-Sinha, Los Altos Hill, CA The ruling by a California Superior court judge, Rolf M.Treu, declaring that teacher tenure protection in California schools is unconstitutional brings to mind a folk story from India in which a grandpa got upset when his visiting grandchildren complained that they were scared at night hearing mice in the attic of the house scratching on the wood frame. Grandpa chose the obvious remedy: he burned the house down to kill all the mice. Jaya Padmanabhan points out in her editorial that job guarantee is one important incentive to attract and retain good teachers. The learned judge struck that down first. The much maligned teaching profession is still the only group to whom we entrust our greatest asset, our children, during the most impressionable years of their early life. It is very possible that the nine students who filed the complaint with the court are just a front for the ideologically motivated backers to push their anti-union crusade against the teaching profession. Perhaps these students have good teachers even now. They maybe too distracted to notice the difference. To be fair, I admit that a two year evaluation is inadequate to sort out the good from the bad teachers before granting tenure. P. Mahadevan, Fullerton, CA

Motherhood, Change and Love

Several articles in your July 2014 issue resonated with me: Ragini Tharoor Srinivasan on the value of “change,” Dilnavaz

Bamboat on the value of “motherhood,” and Vibha Akkaraju who clearly loves her Mac Air and her domesticity. All are beautifully written and make us stretch ourselves. They are curiously, connected. Change being inevitable, be it babies, bodies, businesses, the issue actually is: how do we assimilate the new and/or let go of the old? Cultivating “motherly love” or “maatru bhava” helps. It requires of us a host of paradoxical qualities: devotion and dispassion, empathy and discipline, nurturance and sacrifice. We need both Eros and Logos qualities to grow life’s network, to keep it flowing, to keep it trim, to “see” value. We can sense the presence or absence of this love-quality—be it a family, a website, a book, a business, a person. And of course, it need not be “tethered” to a uterus. Mala Setty, Long Beach, CA

Contributing to America?

The article by V.V. Sundaram (The Journey to Citizenship, India Currents, July 2012) is great on paper but are the majority of the people immigrating to the United States doing this for their own selfish motives or just because it suits them and their children? How many are paying taxes on their world wide income and abiding by the laws of this country or even acclimatizing to the American way. There are so many immigrants who are using this for convenience of travel and to receive social benefits. Definitely NOT because they love this great land or for doing volunteer work for numerous organizations and helping others. Path to Citizenship should not be this easy for this category who are mostly retired people. Majority of us are hard working tax paying American citizens and struggle to make a living each and every day. We are exhausting our resources by sponsoring people who are not going to really contribute to America but only be a burden on the system. How long will future generations keep paying for this? The children who sponsor them should be responsible for paying for their medical, not the states who are broke and cannot even take care of their tax abiding citizens. Jessica, NY

SPEAK YOUR MIND!

Have a thought or opinion to share? Send us an original letter of up to 300 words, and include your name, address, and phone number. Letters are edited for clarity and brevity. Write India Currents Letters, 1885 Lundy Ave. Suite 220, San Jose 95131 or email letters@indiacurrents.com.

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forum

Should Marijuana Be Legalized?

No, the cost is too high

Yes, it should be legalized

By Rameysh Ramdas

By Mani Subramani

Rameysh Ramdas, an S.F. Bay Area professional, writes as a hobby.

Mani Subramani works in the semi-conductor industry in Silicon Valley.

ny impediment to a harmful substance is a good thing. Keeping marijuana illegal keeps consumption lower than if it was legal, and puts barriers to the sale and access to this drug for teenagers. In support of legalization, the libertarian view is that individuals should be allowed to put whatever they want in their bodies and the liberal view is that the war on drugs has failed and that it has disproportionately impacted minorities. Either is not a sufficient argument to legalize a substance for recreational use that seriously impairs one’s judgment and health. According to Drugfreeworld.org, “Marijuana smoke contains 50% to 70% more cancer-causing substances than tobacco smoke. One major research study reported that a single cannabis joint could cause as much damage to the lungs as up to five regular cigarettes smoked one after another. Long-time joint smokers often suffer from bronchitis, an inflammation of the respiratory tract.” Per a recent study by the International Journal of Drug Policy, “Marijuana use among United States high school students is likely to increase as the drug increasingly becomes more legally available.” Similarly, a Colorado State University study estimated that the legalization of pot in Colorado would add over 640,000 recreational users, not counting “marijuana ... is not a sufficient argutourists.” The American ment to legalize a subAcademy of Child and Adolescent Psychiatry (AAstance for recreational CAP) warns that legalization would increase access use that seriously imto adolescents. Researchers pairs one’s judgment and at Columbia University found that drugs are playhealth. ing an increasing role in fatal auto accidents—28% of those in 2010, with marijuana specifically contributing to 12% of that number, up from only 4% in 1999. Some who advocate legalization have a misperception that our prisons are filled with pot offenders—a Caulkins and Sevigny study found that the percentage in prison for marijuana related offenses was a miniscule 1-2 percent of the population. Obviously, we want those intercepted to be offered treatment and rehabilitation, rather than incarceration. President Carter got it correct when he said—“I do not favor legalization. We must do everything we can to discourage marijuana use, as we do now with tobacco. “We have to prevent making marijuana smoking from becoming attractive to young people, which is, I’m sure, what the producers of marijuana ... are going to try and do.” While some states like Colorado and Washington are starting a trend of legalizing marijuana hoping to use it as a cash cow to raise tax revenues, the greater good of society and future generations are sacrificed in the process. There is not a libertarian, conservative or liberal reason to support the legalization of marijuana. n

6 | INDIA CURRENTS | August 2014

Gallup Poll in late 2013 revealed that a majority of Americans (58%) are now in favor of legalizing marijuana. 23 states and DC have enacted laws to legalize marijuana, most recently, Maryland, Minnesota and New York and there are efforts in place to decriminalize the drug. Marijuana use is not as harmful as it is made out to be. In fact tetrahydrocannabinol or THC contained in marijuana has been shown to have significant health benefits. CNN’s Chief Medical Correspondent, Sanjay Gupta, wrote in an article titled Why I Changed My Mind on Weed: “Medical marijuana is not new, and the medical community has been writing about it for a long time. There were in fact hundreds of journal articles, mostly documenting the benefits. Most of those papers, however, were written between the years 1840 and 1930. The papers described the use of medical marijuana to treat ‘neuralgia, convulsive disorders, emaciation,’ among other things.” Certain formulations have been known to be one of the most effective cures for seizures. Medical marijuana helps as a sleep aid; helps combat nausea due to chemotherapy; and helps with muscle tension, spasms and chronic pain. Further, marijuana is shown to be much less addictive than cigarettes or tobacco. A 2010 study by The Lancet indicated that marijuana In fact tetrahydrocannabiis less harmful than alnol or THC contained in cohol, heroin, crack cocaine, methamphetamine, marijuana has been shown cocaine, tobacco and amphetamine. If alcohol and to have significant health tobacco are legal, then benefits. why shouldn’t marijuana be legal, given that it is less lethal, and less addictive? Indeed, there have been no deaths reported of marijuana overdose. These factors have encouraged several states to legalize this drug. As the understanding of this drug expands the more harmful strains can be discouraged in favor of the less harmful or even beneficial strains. This can occur only if it is legalized and controlled. The status quo is beneficial to drug traffickers and illegal growers. These illegal drugs find their way into the American market and poison our young. According to a recent report on NPR conservative estimates of illegal marijuana trafficking from Mexico run in the billions and account for over 20% of the overall illegal drug money that are going to Mexican warlords. Illicit growers in the country at a minimum are a severe drain on resources like water, energy, and take up a significant portion of the crime fighting resources of counties and cities. On occasion heat lamps used for illegal growing have known to cause forest fires. For all these reasons legalization of marijuana at a minimum can reduce illegal cross border trafficking, reduce illicit pot farms and create a more effective and regulated market for meeting the obvious demand for this drug. n

a thousand words

Rehearsing Return By Ragini Tharoor Srinivasan

his month, my mother and brother are making the annual pilgrimage to India, with essential visits to grandmothers, a routine trip to the bank to request ATM pin re-activation, the hasty organization of forgotten stitching and repair work in the days before departure, and a weekend in a tea estate or at the beach, so that they can feel, against all evidence to the contrary, like they’re on vacation. My mother, who left India in 1979, still insists on traveling “home” with a Ziploc full of stopped watches, a Samsonite with a broken handle (“the mochi will fix it”), and clothes for alteration (a day’s work for the roadside tailor). This, like her well-meaning purchase of chocolates and cologne to distribute amongst bemused relations, is a relic of a different time, when not “everything” (capital speaks the language of inflation) was available for purchase in India, but cheap services were. In our suburban home, a basket of crumpled clothes sits in the laundry room, unironed, awaiting the day that airlines will increase our baggage allowance, and we can schlep the wrinkled kurtas to our favorite press-wala, with his intuitive grasp of creases and pleats. I’m not going to India this year. It’s the first time in over a decade I’m not making the trip. And, since I live across the country from my parents, I didn’t help pack my mother’s suitcases, either. I didn’t wrap wine bottles in socks, tape shut containers of perfume, label bags with mints and children’s art supplies for their intended recipients, match jewelry and petticoats to saris and shoes for whatever functions we’re planning to attend. I didn’t inventory the family members we’d be seeing (new brides, babies, their ages) and their respective milestones (housewarming, graduation), for which we will congratulate them with gifts of golden raisins, almonds and pistachios, and California wine. In my family, packing for India is almost as much a production as the trip itself. My mother rushes out the night before we are to leave to pick up one more box of Almond Roca or another body spray. I stamp my feet and tell her that “nobody in India wants these things,” that her gestures are futile, that everyone will laugh at her self-conscious performance of the plenitude of diasporic return. But she ignores me. And year after year, my mother returns to India with suitcases full of gifts for an ever-growing extended family of cousins and second cousins and nieces once removed, all of whom, her overweight luggage seems to say, she feels she has in some way left behind. I’m not going to India this year because I am moving house, which will take enough time, and because I am finishing my doctoral dissertation, which will take even more. If it were just a matter of flying to India for ten days, I would suffer the days-long journey and go, because I miss and love my grandmothers and it would make them happy (even if, from the moment of my arrival, they’d be consumed by the thought of the inevitable goodbye). But now I have my own child, who is barely fifteen months old, and does not know that she is the inheritor of my filial piety. Frankly, I don’t want to deal with her jet lag, sleep regression, possible allergies, and her (ok, my) life’s disruption. I took Mrinalini to India when she was six months old, and it was a remarkable trip. But I am not yet pre-

I wasn’t born in India. I never left. Return to India isn’t my calling, but, as Amit Chaudhuri has written of his childhood trips to Calcutta, I’ve “been rehearsing that journey for years.” pared to make a yearly commitment to return to India on her behalf. “Return” is the diasporic subject’s imperative, the cross you bear when you leave your community and move to the other side of the world—if, that is, you have a robust sense of familial obligation and the resources (time, money) with which to travel. My parents took my brother and me to India approximately every other year when we were growing up—on the off years, my grandparents would come to us—and somewhere along the way I embraced and internalized the imperative of return as my own. But I didn’t leave India. I’m not the one who has to return with suitcases brimming with all-American sundries. So why do I feel so bad about not going back? One of things I work on in my research is the relationship between narratives of arrival and return. The story of diaspora has always been about the competing attachments of a subject between homes, one who returns again and again to an (imagined) origin, whether by pen or by plane. The pull of home, as it has often been remarked, is only matched by the impossibility of ever really going home. Of course, every diaspora has its own story with its own dynamics, whether that is the exclusivist politics of the right of return to Israel, or the slave routes that have had to stand-in for the roots of so many around the world. Return might be chosen, but it is also compelled; deportation is another version of this story. Return to India (Asia more generally) is lately being described as “economically motivated,” but that’s only one face of the beast. Bound up in every assertion that “the East is the new West” are the ambivalent attachments and preoccupations borne of having left the first place that you called home. I wasn’t born in India. I never left. Return to India isn’t my calling, but, as Amit Chaudhuri has written of his childhood trips to Calcutta, I’ve “been rehearsing that journey for years.” The packing, the arrival, the reunion, the parting: performances that are as much a part of my muscle memory as the first day of school and Christmas morning. Not going to India feels like not brushing my teeth before leaving the house. Something is not quite right. Later, it will come to me—the knowledge of the thing undone, and the resolve to make amends. Until then, everything will feel just a little bit off. n Ragini Tharoor Srinivasan is a Ph.D. candidate in Rhetoric at UC Berkeley.

August 2014 | www.indiacurrents.com | 7

commentary

Blind How do we deal with cultural insensitivity? By Gayatri Subramaniam

ast week, I was at a Notary Public office, getting some papers signed to send to my mother in India. I had taken a couple of witnesses with me—my friend Prema and my husband. A woman came into the office and engaged in some banter with the notary for a few minutes. They appeared to be friends or sisters and the exchange had an argumentative edge to it. The banter subsided as the notary started to work with me, and the woman decided to make small talk with my introverted husband, starting by complimenting his clothes. I could see she’d crossed a boundary with him and invaded his space, but it was not my priority at the moment. As I was explaining to the notary that I was re-doing the paperwork because the Indian bureaucracy had not approved of some small detail, her friend chimed in that we should have put in $20 in an envelope if it was for India, and that would have solved everything. A bribe, in other words. I continued to focus on the notary, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw my husband whip around and say to her, “That is quite offensive.” I flinched slightly, but I could see his point. The woman responded with a surprising, “Yes, it is.” (In retrospect, I think she thought the idea of having to pay a bribe was offensive, not her comment!) Then the conversation became white noise in the background as I focused on the paperwork and said my goodbyes to the two women. As we walked out, my husband said, “I cannot believe you were so nice to that woman! I wanted to cut off all conversation with her and there you were, happily saying goodbye as if nothing had happened.” Apparently, I’d missed the part where the woman had gone on to say, “This is a huge problem over there (in India). We do things differently here. They really need to fix it.” My husband couldn’t believe that she could call an entire country of people corrupt, when there were two Indians in the room who were not. And there was something about the distancing and dismissive “they” who needed to fix things unlike “us” who are seemingly perfect here, that really irked him. I’ve been thinking about this conversation all week. Did my husband overreact? 8 | INDIA CURRENTS | August 2014

A Creative Commons Image Did I underreact? The thing is … although there are times when I might be offended and simply do not find the nerve to speak up, this was not one of them. No doubt I thought it was the truth. After all, if another Indian had said it to me, we would’ve ruefully shaken our heads together about the palm-greasing that moves things in India. Even the Broadway hit (Avenue Q) pays a playful tribute with the song, “Everyone’s A Little Bit Racist:” Ethnic jokes might be uncouth, But you laugh because they’re based on truth. Don’t take them as personal attacks. Everyone enjoys them—So relax! Perhaps I was trying to allow her that gaffe, given that I felt bad for largely ignoring her while I was working with the notary, even though the woman had been rude in the first place to interject herself into a business conversation that did not concern her. Whatever my reason maybe I was supposed to have been as offended as my husband was. Oh, did I mention that my husband is not Indian? A few years ago, I took a class with a professor who went to great lengths to explain white privilege. As a white man, he continues to struggle with it and he is very focused on teaching people to recognize the subtleties of privilege imbued in the dominant culture. At the time, I argued with him that I had seldom, in my 30 years in this country, felt the ugly glare of discrimination.

My experiences were in graduate school and the Silicon Valley workforce—not your typical place to call out my race or country of origin. I have Indian friends who would disagree. However, I told him, when I think someone is being unpleasant to me, I simply attribute the attitude to their having a bad day and it having nothing to do with me. Or maybe growing up in India as part of the dominant culture (with the privilege of education, and an unspoken understanding of what an upper caste assignment entails), gives me a certain immunity even when transplanted into another culture. The professor did not say much, but I’m fairly sure he thought I was being blind or passive. I have not felt the need to defend India or my Indianness to anyone (except other Indians who accuse me of not being Indian enough because I don’t love the spiciest of spicy foods or wrapping six yards of sari around my small frame). And yet, my husband seems to see things and stand up for things I do not feel the need to defend. I suspect subtle racism is there all the time. I don’t necessarily mean overt acts of hostility, but stereotyping, and assumptions, based on one’s life experiences, are par for the course. When my daughter was a toddler, she was at Macy’s with my husband, laughingly pushing her stroller up against his legs as he paid at the counter. The saleswoman snapped, “Ugh, wonder where the child’s mother is! I’m so sorry.” My husband replied that it was all right, and he was the child’s father. The woman responded, “No, you’re not.” Granted, my genes won in this case and there is not a trace of German in that beautiful little being I call my child, but my husband, shocked, and not knowing whether to laugh or be insulted, repeated that he was the dad. The woman retreated quickly with, “Oh, she just looks so exotic …” Nice save, lady, but not enough. Calling my child exotic did not negate all the insinuations of the previous five minutes. I say this now, 15 years after the event. And yet … I was absent at the time, but I know that if I had been there, I would not have reacted to that situation either. I might’ve cringed internally at her tone, but I would not have taken it into the broader

realm of the distinctions between “us” and “them” that was probably the undercurrent of that conversation. No, I would’ve smiled and said “thanks.” So what is my point? The event last week made me look again at the delicacy of the boundaries of what is acceptable to say and by whom. I don’t often see discriminatory behavior until someone points it out to me. I wonder if I have thicker skin than most or if it is my reluctance to confront anyone because I don’t want to be thought of as hypersensitive or having a chip on my shoulder. Or is it that piece of middle-class educated India that taught me that dignity meant being polite, brushing off insults and holding my head up high? I believe earnestly in what Kofi Annan had to say on the subject—“Our mission … is to confront ignorance with knowledge, bigotry with tolerance, and isolation with the outstretched hand of generosity.” There is nothing there about being offended and reacting with anger. Still, encounters like the one we had last week nag at me as I get older, and it is unsettling. It’s not that I have suddenly discovered the existence of subtle insults; it’s deciphering my responsibility when I am faced with them. I now carry that dubious label of “mature with life experience” so it might be my lot to educate, as my husband attempted to do. Then there is role modeling to consider, as I wonder if my kids view my conciliatory ways as classy and dignified, or lacking in assertiveness. Unlike my old self of 20 years ago, I could not even be annoyed with my husband last week for what I would have called “making a scene” in public. Age, wisdom, and my children’s experiences growing up as first generation Americans have made me zoom in on nuances I used to miss. I need bifocals these days, and yet, in another sense, it’s as if a little windshield wiper went across my eyes and brought some things startlingly close. Blindness, clouded vision, or passivity—call it what you will, it was a comfortable and comforting place to be. But tendrils of discomfort and irritation are curling around me, because when I am forced to look at the subtle yet complex nature of cultural and racial denigration, I have to make choices about how to deal with it. It’s like having had a cataract operation I did not want. Ironic … since my husband is an optometrist! n Gayatri Subramaniam is a San Jose-based instructional designer and writer. She is an ardent tennis fan who believes that if she had only been taller, stronger, faster, and blessed with more talent, she would’ve been a Grand Slam champion.

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cover

Bollywood Ties, Literary Knots In conversation with authors A.X. Ahmad and Manil Suri Edited By Jeanne Fredriksen

Manil Suri

A.X. Ahmad

Manil Suri, author of Death of Vishnu, The Age of Shiva, and City of Devi and A.X. Ahmad, author of The Caretaker (IC, September 2013) and the recently-released The Last Taxi Ride—books one and two of the Ranjit Singh Trilogy, first met at one of Suri’s evening readings. They chatted politely despite being famished. When both confessed their hunger, they ended up becoming friends over dinner. This conversation of literary minds took place at Suri’s home, where they sat at his dining table and transported themselves to India via their conversation about Bollywood’s influence on society, their lives, and their writing. AX: When did Hindi movies become “Bollywood?” We used to call them “Hindi movies” in childhood. MS: I don’t know, I think for me there was a gap. I left India in 1979, and they were called “Hindi movies.” Then I didn’t see Hindi movies while I was here in the States. By the time I went back to India and started seeing them again, they had become “Bollywood.” Things changed somewhere along the way. I think even in the 70s once in a while you would see the term “Bollywood” used in film magazines like Stardust. I confess I used to read it. AX: My grandmother used to get Stardust! It was the most glamorous magazine around. So 10 | INDIA CURRENTS | August 2014

was your first interest in the movies through Stardust, or did you get interested in the movies and then read Stardust? MS: I was interested in the movies for a long time, and that led me to Stardust and all the other magazines—Filmfare, Star & Style, Film World. We used to borrow them from the local circulating library, which would rent out each magazine for 25 paise. AX: So, what are your earliest memories of Bollywood and your favorite movies? MS: I’m trying to remember the first movie I ever saw. I remember I was dragged to some old black-and-white movie with Mala Sinha, and I started crying. That was a horrible experience! After that, I remember

some of the older movies like Sangam. I remember that was a big one. I saw it five times! Also, Shammi Kapoor’s movies kind of stick in my mind, especially Junglee. What about you? AX: Pakeezah sticks in my mind. I think that was the early 70s, and I must have been about five or six. My grandmother was a big movie fan, and we lived in Park Circus in Calcutta which had these so-called “movie houses.” They were really run down, and the same movies would play forever. People would just go and watch them over and over. I remember watching Pakeezah and seeing Meena Kumari dancing. It made a big impact on me, and I ended up mentioning that movie in my new novel, The Last Taxi Ride.

Meena Kumari in Pakeezah

MS: I remember Pakeezah became big once Meena Kumari died just after it was released. That’s when it started getting the “house full” signs. Sholay, of course, was destined to be this huge movie. Before that, the other movie that comes to mind was Mera Naam Joker, which was a big flop. Some rival producers were trying to make it a flop by buying up tickets and then selling them for one rupee! The next one was Bobby. My mother actually stood in line for about eight hours at Metro Cinema in Bombay for the advance booking so we could get tickets for the first week. AX: The same Metro Cinema which you blew up in your latest novel, City of Devi? MS: Yes! That’s right! AX: You have a great description of the blownup movie theater in your novel—the front of it destroyed so that one could see all the seats inside. It had become an amphitheater, like a coliseum! MS: It was strange because I started City of Devi in the year 2000, and at that time, Metro was still just one theater. By the time I was midway through, it became a Cineplex, so I had to make a little change in the novel. AX: You have the Metro Cinema in your book, and I have the Eros Theater in Mumbai in my book. Those art-deco movie halls from the 30s were beautiful—huge and gorgeous. I have this movie star called Shabana Shah who has a small role in a movie. She goes incognito with the director to Eros Theater to watch the first showing and to see how the crowd reacts. They boo the main heroine, but they really like Shabana. So Shabana and the director go across the road to wait in a chai shop. They know that if the audience, especially the young guys, like the movies, they are going to go back and see it again. In my book, all the young guys go and pee against the walls, buy their one cigarette, and go back and buy tickets. Shabana’s first movie is a hit! MS: I remember I used to stand in line every Monday. I used to come back from school at 4:30, and then we would take a bus and stand in line, usually at this small theater called Lotus in Worli. It’s closed down now, but it was a nondescript place, and you could easily get tickets. I think we watched English movies once in a while, but we used to watch Hindi movies much more often. I think by the time I got to college, it had started switching. English movies had become much more interesting by then, and Hindi movies had started abating. AX: Because Hindi movies were so formulaic? MS: Probably. I had just watched a lot of them and started thinking, “OK, I’m above this somehow.” I was in college and wanted to show that I was cool.

AX: I think that says something about India in the 70s. There was this big divide between homegrown versus foreign. All the Hindi movies were homegrown and easily available. The foreign movies, the English movies, came two or three years after they were released in the West. I thought they were very glamorous, especially something like the latest James Bond. That was an incredible escape into another world. MS: I think back then we were always looking to the West for what was really good, and there was this tendency to look down upon desi stuff. Now that’s not so much the case. AX: I went to boarding school in Dehradun in the 1970s, and we had to watch movies on Saturday nights. It was called “Compulsory Entertainment,” so my memory of Hindi movies is sitting out in an amphitheater. They’d put up a sheet and screen the movies. I was a small kid then, and for some of the movies, I would fall asleep in the middle. I would wake up half an hour later, but I still knew what was happening because the plot was so predictable. We watched Sholay, and everybody at school could recite the dialogues from Sholay. MS: I think the one thing we didn’t say about Bollywood is that the term started as a funny thing. It was not serious. Then it just seemed to gain more respectability, but there was always something disreputable about it, a little bit self-deprecating. Something that implied that the movies were over the top, that they were not completely serious. But even now, do you think it is a straight term?

it has some Bollywood elements. I read in an interview on the book blog “Bookslut” that you said your father was connected to Bollywood as a music director. MS: He was an assistant music director who worked with Madan Mohan and then with Laxmikant-Pyarelal. He helped them do mostly recordings, so I would go to the recording studio called “Famous Labs.” That was interesting, but the more interesting thing was seeing some of these movies in previews before they were released. The one I remember the most was Caravan. AX: Did you think your dad had a glamorous job? MS: Not really. It was more technical. Once in a while, Lata Mangeshkar or Asha Bhosle would be downstairs, and my father would talk to them from the balcony about the next day’s recording. The glamorous one in my family was actually my aunt who was an actress. She came to Bombay and became an actress. Her father had to come from Lahore to take her back, but meanwhile she had

AX: I think it’s become a straight term, an unironic term. I did a reading at a book festival recently with an American crowd. I asked, “Do people know what Bollywood is?” The only guy in the room who didn’t know it was in his eighties. Everyone else said, “Oh yeah, Bollywood, we know what it is!” I think a lot of it has come through the film Slumdog Millionaire because August 2014 | www.indiacurrents.com | 11

Paris from 1967. You don’t just see Paris, you see everything. You see Lebanon, Beirut, Switzerland. In one scene, they are in Paris, then someone says, “OK, meet me at Mt. Rushmore tomorrow,” and they end up at Mt. Rushmore in the United States, and they have their final climactic fight there! AX: People weren’t critical of it because they really wanted to travel through the movies. For some reason Switzerland was big. You’d always see the Alps. MS: The snow!

already acted in two films! This was in the 40s, just before Partition. One of her movies Safar, was a big hit in 1946; the other one wasn’t. She was an actual heroine. Her screen name was Shobha. So your grandfather also wanted to be in the movies? AX: My grandfather’s is not such a glamorous story because he had a tea and jute business that he inherited from his father. But he knew all of the latest Hindi film songs, and he would sing them. He had a big gold ring, and he would go shh shh, and make sounds with his ring as he sang. It’s actually quite sad because my grandfather was completely unsuited for business. In fact, he ended up going bankrupt and then died of a heart attack. Many years later, my uncle was cleaning his house out and said, “Nana has all this stuff. I don’t know what to do with it.” I saw that my grandfather had ten or fifteen notebooks—those exercise books. He had composed his own songs and written them in the books. I still have those notebooks of his. MS: There are a lot of people who came to Bombay with dreams about Bollywood. One of my cousins’ daughters came to Mumbai to see if she could become a film actress. She had won beauty contests and all, but the casting couch is still very much in evidence. The lecherous, leering producers would say, “Well, come and meet me at 2 a.m.” It was so awful, she fled back to London. I think that’s why so many of the actors you see are children of established actors. They don’t have to go through this. AX: Did Bollywood influence our imaginations? For me, at least, my first glimpse of abroad was through Hindi movies. It would be a big deal if there were a scene shot in Switzerland. MS: Absolutely. Who used to go abroad in the 60s? I remember seeing Love in Tokyo in 1966. That was one of the big ones. The one that really stands out is An Evening in 12 | INDIA CURRENTS | August 2014

AX: And people singing songs and running through the Alpine meadows! I remember at one point there was also a craze in South Indian restaurants: one entire wall would be a wallpaper of the Alps. MS: The movies at that time were very escapist. Even now, you still see the same thing. It’s just a little more integrated into the plot. I just saw Queen. That’s about this woman who gets jilted on her marriage date, and she decides to go on her honeymoon anyway, so she ends up in France and Amsterdam. AX: So why do you think the Bollywood formula has such a hold on the Indian imagination? MS: If you look at the history, at the beginning, Bollywood movies were similar to Hollywood musicals. AX: Like Elvis Presley in Jailhouse Rock. MS: Somehow the musical persisted in India, this escapist masala idea. In Hollywood, it died down. Also, things in India advanced much slower. If you look at the 50s through the early 80s, things remained the same, whereas in America, things were changing more rapidly. India never had the hippie culture of the 60s and all those waves of different influences because it was much more protected. It makes sense that the entertainment, too, would stay the same. AX: There’s been so much of an overlap between my childhood and my parents’ childhood. It was pretty much the same. The same books. The same kind of things. Even the cars remained the same for years: Ambassador, Fiat, and a few Standard Heralds. For years those were the only cars on the road. I would go back from the States, and years would pass, but it would feel exactly the same. MS: Bollywood has changed so much in the last few years, and that makes sense because there’s so much influence now from the outside. It’s become so much more international. AX: Here’s a follow-up question: Is Bollywood the most important binding element among

Indians and why? MS: I think that when I was growing up in the 60s and 70s, it was definitely the most binding element for all of Indian society. Someone on the street would know the names of the famous actors, and the wealthiest person would as well. That’s still true. If you go to India, and you see newspapers like Times of India with its Bombay Times insert, out of eight pages, at least five or six are devoted to Bollywood. Just photographs of these people, articles on these stars. Then, for expatriate Indians, there’s a question of nostalgia and trying to keep up your cultural connections. Bollywood is one of the easiest ways that you can plug back into India, especially in this country. If you go and see a Bollywood movie in a theater on a Friday night with an Indian audience, you can almost imagine you’re back in India. What’s interesting is that Indian-Americans who grew up here are also plugged into it. AX: Bollywood is fun. It’s sexy. MS: And people who didn’t grow up in that culture in India also see Bollywood movies. These are kids who are born here— who are going to let’s call them white American schools—they see these movies at home, which maybe their parents were watching on video, and they are so addictive that they get hooked. I know some people who grew up here and are avid Bollywood moviegoers. So yes, there is something to the statement that Bollywood is really one of the more important elements that binds Indians together. AX: Let’s talk about Bollywood and our writing. I really enjoyed your latest novel, City of Devi. There is a Bollywood movie in your book that has a devastating effect on the country and leads to a situation where the whole city of Mumbai could be wiped out. MS: City of Devi has this make-believe movie called Superdevi. In it is this child from the slums who has superpowers. I wanted to

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still alive. Her life is glamorous, like a Bollywood movie, and that’s juxtaposed with this other New York cab driver world which is grim. The cab drivers eat bad food, live in basement apartments, and spend all their time driving. I used some Bollywood masala storytelling, but you have really taken it to the next level in your novel. MS: I was trying to be more tongue-incheek. I’m trying to play with the Bollywood genre.

An iconic scene from the movie Sholay with Sanjeev Kumar and Amjad Khan

play on the Jai Santoshi Maa phenomenon where the movie of that name just took over the country. It was about a previously almost-unknown goddess who people made very popular. The same things happen with Superdevi. People start thinking she’s real. I also wanted to play with the phenomenon of the television series, Ramayana, which was shown on TV all over India, because that show had a political component. Some people say that it helped the BJP come to power. Everyone watched it, there was a resurgence of religious feeling in the country, and the country turned towards the right. I wanted to show that aspect, too, so in my novel, Superdevi results in the country turning toward the right, riots breaking out, and minorities coming under fire. AX: I believe this could happen. You just took reality one step farther. MS: Essentially, what I’m trying to say in jest is that Bollywood is going to destroy the world! Superdevi is its dark side! The book is made to reflect on some of the largerthan-life aspects of Bollywood movies. The Superdevi herself arrives in one scene, she’s made up like a Bollywood star, and there are special effects and all of that. Once I got into this, the whole book became immersed in this Bollywood imagery. AX: And Bollywood story-telling, too. MS: Yes. It was a deliberate playing with the genre. My book is about the end of the world seen through the eyes of Bollywood, and that was something I liked because it gave the novel the right flair. You don’t want the end of the world to be depressing! If you’re going to go out, go out in Bollywood style! AX: Did you extrapolate apocalyptic scenarios 14 | INDIA CURRENTS | August 2014

from television series like the Ramayana? Or did you start out writing a post-apocalyptic novel? MS: I never knew whether there would be an apocalypse or not, but it was definitely a pre-apocalypse! There’s definitely this danger of the apocalypse possibly occurring. Then I had to explain where it came from, so I made Bollywood the culprit. So tell me how you use Bollywood in your new novel, The Last Taxi Ride. AX: For me, the Bollywood connection came from real life. I was having lunch in a cab driver restaurant, Curry in a Hurry, in Murray Hill in New York City. A lot of cab drivers go there to eat, and these two desi cabbies were sitting next to me. One kept insisting that he had given a ride to film star Shabana Azmi in his cab, and the other guy said, “No, Shabana is not in New York City, you’re making this stuff up, you’re crazy.” I listened to them argue for half an hour while eating their lunch. I never thought of Bollywood film stars being in New York, so I created a fictional Bollywood film star, a beautiful woman who has come to New York because her career is over. She’s made some bad moves; her movies were financed by the Mumbai mafia, and once that was revealed, her career was over. So now she’s living in New York and trying to restart her life. MS: This really happens in Mumbai. The film world and the mob are connected! AX: Anupama Chopra has written a great book on Bollywood. I used some of the real-world incidents she describes and extrapolated them into fiction. So the movie star in my novel—Shabana Shah—is now in New York, and she gets murdered. I tell her entire life story, from the time she was a young girl, in flashbacks that are interspersed throughout the book. Her life has a very Bollywood arc because she has a lover who disappears, and she doesn’t know if he’s dead or

AX: So what book should be made into a Bollywood movie but hasn’t? MS: I think in terms of a Bollywood movie, City Of Devi is ready! I also keep thinking of my first novel, Death of Vishnu, which I would love to see as a Bollywood musical. AX: Wow! Death of Vishnu is a very realistic novel. It’s about a man who is dying, and he lives on the landing of an apartment building in Mumbai. MS: Vishnu is fantasizing, and there are many dream sequences. The reason I started thinking about a musical is because there is so much information in that novel that could be passed on through song. That would be an easy way of immersing people in what’s going on. Have the songs as part of the storytelling! AX: If City of Devi was made into a Bollywood movie, you’d lose the irony. It would be made straight up. Could you do it ironically? MS: I think all Bollywood films are sort of ironic. They always have a tinge of irony or self-referential humor, but I think that most people don’t get irony anyway. AX: My novel, The Last Taxi Ride. I could see it as a cool indie-type Bollywood movie. MS: It’s set in New York, which is great for Bollywood, too. AX: Unlike you, I lack the ability to create the Bollywood fantasy element. I tend to write depressing stuff. MS: Just throw in a few songs! The taxi driver could be driving his car and singing along! AX: That’s a great idea! Now hopefully someone will read this interview and make our books into Bollywood movies! Thanks, Manil. This was a great conversation. n For reviews of The Last Taxi Ride and City of Devi, see the Book Review column. Jeanne E. Fredriksen lives in Wake Forest, North Carolina, where she freelances in advertising and public relations. Between assignments, she writes fiction, enjoys wine, and heads to the beach as often as she can.

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viewpoint

Matchmakers and Meat Eaters An arranged marriage encounter By Mak Akhtar

henever I call my best friend in Pakistan, her mum always prods in the background asking for “good news.” Good news, meaning I’m finally … drumroll please … getting married. As an unmarried 26-year-old Pakistani-American woman, I’m considered by many desi aunties as a bridal ship that has nearly sailed. It may have begun when my father’s old friend said at my grandmother’s funeral: “Betaa (child), my wife loved you for our son, but unfortunately he is younger than you.” Baffled and enraged, when I sounded off to my father, he responded, “Uncle’s comment might have sounded untimely, but believe me, theirs is an amazing family and to be a part of it would have been very precious for us all.” Or the time in a small town in California when an “aunty” whom I met about 56.2 minutes previously came to me with her ducklings trailing her: her three sons. It seemed like the scene in Mulan where they line up to get assessed as honorable brides. But let’s move on to my favorite story. I was blessed enough (read: condemned) that my grandmother (rest her hilarious soul) had a matchmaker cousin in Pakistan. Yes, in the 21st century. Can you sense my excitement?! Keep in mind that the old dame was in her 70s, and apparently an expert at binding young men and women for life. Let me explain: I simply do not have any interest in marriage at the moment. I can’t imagine my life fusing with another’s forever until I’ve sorted mine out. I believe holy matrimony is holier when done later in the game; we change so much in our 20s that if you get married early and can’t handle one another’s transformations—big surprise—it is likely to end in divorce. Stats and stories— we all know. Of course, there are exceptions. At my mother’s urging and the promise that they would leave me alone after this one attempt, I caved in. The matchmaker’s son (my mother’s second cousin), told me that he’s the reason my parents married and hopefully he would be the reason for my own marriage. I bit my tongue so hard I nearly tasted blood. The matchmaker barely talked to me— she asked my mother where I work, my age, and some other totally irrelevant questions. She confirmed that I have a “blue passport” 16 | INDIA CURRENTS | August 2014

(American citizenship—this makes me super hot). My mother ensured that it was known that I was a vegetarian and that I was not likely to change. Immediate concern was expressed about whether I would cook meat for my husband. I politely (forcefully) smiled and desperately kept my mouth shut. But seriously, I can’t even cook vegetables for myself, let alone meat for anyone else. Days later, a match! The matchmaker’s neighbor’s son was in town and of age! He was getting a Ph.D. in public policy in Atlanta. However, he did not have a “blue passport” and would like to stay in the United States. I was already wary: I told my mother jokingly that I’d marry him and set him free in the Land of the Free, but it’ll cost him big American bucks. She told me to shut up. The boy and his mother planned to meet us at my uncle’s home where we were staying. I was not pleased—my uncle has a beautiful home, and they were going to want me based on my citizenship and my uncle’s wealth. The day arrived. I rebelled in small ways and refused to dress up or wear my standard makeup for the initial meeting. I didn’t wear sleeves; they needed to know of my right to bare arms as a “modern girl.” My mum greeted them and shortly after told my cousin to “bring me.” My cousin “escorted” me into the room and there they were: a lady and her scrawny, lanky son sitting at a perfect angle so all I could see was the giant mole on his face. Two words came to mind: Austin Powers. I swear I’m not usually a terrible person, but my pessimism about this whole set up only served to spotlight everything negative. I was forced to serve them tea and snacks. I did my best to avoid conversation, and my poor mother tried to break all the long, awkward silences. She asked about his hobbies, and His Lankiness responded with rock climbing. I stifled a guffaw. “Do you actually rock climb or use the rock wall at the gym?” I asked as politely as possible. He misunderstood me entirely and told me he works out several times a week at the gym and rock climbs sometimes. I continued to hold my tongue for the sake of my family’s honor. My mum mentioned I love ice hockey and took a class in college. Mean-

while, my cousin was blatantly nudging me about wanting “alone” time with him, and I was whispering to her that I’d kill her if she suggested it aloud. Eventually, this hellish, unnatural evening came to an end. The matchmaker called a day later, upset that we hadn’t updated her instantly. It turned out that we had won their hearts and they wanted round two. We had to inform the matchmaker that the sentiment was not shared. Sorry folks, not every story can have a fairytale ending and matching blue passports. The matchmaker then tried to set me up with another guy who, you guessed it, also wanted to live in Amreeka, as we call it. Annoyed, my mother said she would consider it. Guess what the matchmaker had the nerve to say? “Look, Farah, your daughter … she’s nothing extraordinary. She’s pretty ordinary. And before she gets fat, I suggest you marry her off!” My mother, out of respect, laughed nonchalantly. I warned my mother to not let this woman come within twenty feet of me. And that’s how the West was won. As a decent-looking, independent, bicultural, open-minded woman, a Stanford employee, a person with an incredible and diverse circle of friends, a high sense of morality and not too many daddy issues—dare I be too bold to state that I’m a catch? It doesn’t really matter that my clock is ticking: I’m grateful to be able to focus on my own needs. The point is, no matter where you are in life, regardless of your background, you’ll be prodded about the next step in your life. You’re in college, when will you graduate? Graduated—when will you get a job? Job— when will you get married? Married—when will you produce a child? A child—when will you have another because, Heaven knows, that child will be lonely! Do whatever you want, kids. Stick it to the man. Or rather, stick it to the aunty. n Originally published in the UNDERenlightened; www.theunderenlightened.com Mak Akhtar is an UNDERenlightened contributing writer and immerses herself in service, ice hockey, eclectic music, sustainability and the eternal quest for the greatest peace of mind and piece of cake.

August 2014 | www.indiacurrents.com | 17

fiction

A Bag of Ashes Katha Fiction Contest 2014 • Second Place By Ravibala Shenoy

er father had fallen and needed stitches on his forehead, Leela’s sister, Meera said over the phone from London. She was filling her in about her recent visit to Mumbai. He is okay, she added, still Leela had immediately taken the next available flight out of Chicago. Her mother warmed her hands around the teacup. Outside, the sky was grey. Leela was wide awake, even though she had only arrived a little after midnight. “You like cats, don’t you?” Meera had adopted a stray cat during her stay. Her mother continued, “Meera found this half-starved cat on the streets. She was feeding it. She said, ‘Ma, Leela will take care of it after I leave.’” “Meera expects me to look after this cat?” Leela asked. “Typical!” That morning Leela accompanied her father on his walk. They emerged from the colony and walked along an uneven road edged with piles of gravel from the multi-towered apartment complexes that were coming up. Despite the early hour, Leela observed, there were trucks laden with cement braking noisily, auto-rickshaws idling, cars passing and buses rumbling by. Maids walked briskly, talking into their cell phones. To Leela, each visit to Mumbai seemed like a shoe falling. How many more trips, before one of her parents died? She wondered. How much time before there was no longer any need to visit? Returning to the colony, a burly man in a white pajama kurta came towards them. Shankar Kaka had been a former pilot. “Inbound or outbound?” he asked when he saw Leela. “Inbound,” Leela grinned. “I just arrived early this morning.” “What! No jet lag?” “Not yet. I don’t get jet lag when I am here.” “You are in good health.” He flourished his arms up and down, and then brought them together in a namaste. He asked, “Do you know why we do namaskar?” Bringing his hands together again, he said, “Let me give you the secret of a long life.” 18 | INDIA CURRENTS | August 2014

A Creative Commons Image Her father interrupted him. Vasanthi, the fishwife, was doing her rounds, calling out the names of the different varieties of fish in the basket on her assistant’s head. Her voice rang like a buzzer. “Not now, I have to buy fish,” he said. Arriving home, Leela observed Vasanthi’s assistant lifting the basket from his head as he prepared to sit on his haunches in the front courtyard. Cats had appeared miraculously, writhing with desire. Her father was telling Vasanthi, “Our daughter’s here, give us the best fish.” Protesting that she only sold the best fish, Vasanthi brought her cleaver down with a thud on the wooden slab, filleting kingfish, gutting roe, and beheading shrimp. There were heavy nose studs on each of Vasanthi’s nostrils and Leela could see the paving of the front yard through the holes in Vasanthi’s ear lobes. “There’s our cat,” Leela’s mother pointed to a cat with a satiny, sable-colored coat, elegant as a mannequin, with eyes like Audrey Hepburn. She must have been a Burmese or at least the poor cousin of one, a princess fallen on hard times. A Siamese tom, another stray, timidly snuck behind her. These cats would be prized in the States. Here they are strays, Leela thought. The cook was telling Leela’s mother about the commotion at the sea front, the previous night. When it was dark, young lovers used the rocks against the sea wall as a

trysting place. A young Parsi couple had been sitting on the rocks; they were to be married in a few weeks. The man’s fiancée had dropped her wallet into the dark water. He tried to retrieve it, but must have slipped and hit his head against a rock because he never came up. All night long, the coastguard vessels plied the waters looking for his body, their lights dim as matchsticks. It was almost new moon. The cook described the anguish of the young man’s parents, an elderly Parsi couple: the blind father tapping with his cane the ground of the causeway, the mother breaking into sobs as she pleaded with the coastguards, “Please find my son.” There had been only fifty rupees in the fiancée’s wallet. Such is life, the cook said. There was fish for lunch, both fried and in a coconut curry. Burmese Princess was making a ruckus on the window sill. She sprang from the terrace, clattering down the corrugated iron roof of the shed and had now landed on the sill. After everyone had eaten, her mother carefully gathered all the leftover fish heads, fish skins and bones and put them in a Formica dish. She unlatched the dining room door leading to a slightly damp passage where dripping clothes hung on a clothesline during the rainy season. Shuffling slowly, she entered the tiny backyard crowded with a coconut palm and a nutmeg tree that gave no fruit, and lowered the dish on the uneven ground. Supporting herself against the outer wall, she slowly raised herself up and turned back. The tomcat lingered behind Burmese Princess (BP). The pair reminded Leela of Vasanthi and her assistant. BP sent the tomcat packing, then finished eating, making a mess around the plate, before scampering away. “Go clean the mess,” her father said. Leela refused. She refused to touch the Formica dish or the mess in the backyard. Finally, it was her mother who cleaned up. By this time it was raining hard. Her mother rinsed the Formica dish in the rainwater that cascaded from the overhang. Every day her mother performed this

new task of collecting all the fish skins and bones and putting them in BP’s dish and calling out to her. “Yaww! Come!” Her voice echoed in the backyard. “Don’t you have a name for her?” Leela asked. “No, we just call her cat. We don’t want to get too attached.” **** Two weeks passed since Leela’s arrival. Burmese Princess had not shown up for some time. At first, her parents were glad; then they wondered what had happened to her. Leela and her father were on their usual evening walk. The courtyard of the Devi Temple resounded with the cries of boys playing cricket. A couple of cats were prowling around. “What’s happened to our cat?” Furrowing his eyebrows her father said, “She must have been raped by the tomcats.” They walked around the colony, Leela chatted about her life in Chicago: her sons, her husband, her job, painting a positive, glowing picture. Her father spoke about the neighbors and passersby. Some of the older residents, who first arrived when this colony had been built some forty years ago, were still around, but younger families with infants and toddlers, even teenagers, now occupied many of the houses. Her father pointed to a salmon-colored bungalow. “Salvi there, lost his wife to cancer,” he said. They passed the home of someone with a son in California, the parents had just returned after visiting him. Leela had given up asking her parents to visit Chicago. She knew what the answer would be. Once her father had told her plainly, “Our age is such that the end could come at any time, so it is important for us to be near our roots.” They saw Shankar Kaka walking towards them. “Inbound or outbound” he asked Leela. Leela blinked, uncertainly. He beamed at her. “Do you know why we do namaste? This is an ancient recipe for long life.” “Yes, yes, you already told me,” she said. On their return journey, Leela and her father walked through the park. From the nagchampa tree came a sound: Plink! Plink! “What was that?” Leela asked. “A bird,” her father said. “But, what kind of bird?” Leela asked, looking up at something hidden in the tall branches. “If you had the Internet, I could tell you.” “You can get that from the Internet?” her father asked. “Yes.” Encouraged, Leela said, “And if you had the Internet, I could email you.” “Not interested. I have no interest in learning anything new now.”

Her parents seemed frailer every year. She shuddered remembering a recent scene: her father wobbling as he flung a bucket of water to clean up the mess made by the cat in the backyard. Rain pelted the ground just as thunder rolled and lightning flashed. *** Her mother had been going blind for forty years. Her eyesight had started failing at forty. After breakfast, Leela’s job was to put a drop of the juice of onions and ginger in each eye—an ayurvedic remedy. “Does this work? She asked her mother. “Very much! You don’t know how much my eyes have improved.” Her mother insisted on making breakfast. There had been some leftover clam cakes in the fridge. Her mother thought they were boiled potatoes and added them to the beaten rice poha. Those who ate the dish were none the wiser. When her mother stuck her head in the fridge, groping for the clam cakes for lunch, she could not find them. “Who could have taken them?” she wondered. Only later did she realize that the clams had been added to the poha. At such moments she would admit, “I really can’t see anything, Leela.” Around 4:00 pm, her mother sometimes joined the other women who sat on the stone benches around the swing in the park. It was the usual group of elderly ladies and an occasional elderly gentleman. Gubbi who had been a teacher, was the senior most, and presided over them all. Leela thought about her sister’s hour-long phone call from London regaling her with tidbits from her last visit to Mumbai, “…One day—can you believe it?—a monkey, about four feet tall, popped up from behind that stand of bamboos. He sat on the swing next to the stone benches where these ladies sat. They were terrified! He was rocking himself coolly back and forth. Gubbi stood up. Staring over the rims of her glasses in a school-mistressy way, she shook her head at the monkey. “Go away, Baba”, she said, raising her umbrella, “Go away. You should not be sitting here.” The monkey bared his teeth and snarled. Gubbi leapt backwards. All the other women sat rigidly, avoiding the monkey’s gaze. When the monkey left, Gubbi turned on them angrily. “None of you stood by me and helped. You just kept staring into your laps.” “What could we do?” They protested. “He would have attacked us!” “Monkey?” her mother said, “I thought a man was sitting there. I cannot see anything. Don’t you know?” The sisters had laughed then, but later Leela had been concerned. *** Despite her poor vision, her mother watched the cooking channel and four soaps

on TV regularly, pulling her chair close, leaning forward and peering into the screen. On the cooking show, today, they were talking about tofu pizza. Her mother memorized all the ingredients. “I won’t eat that. I am telling you right now,” Leela’s father announced as he came slowly down the stairs, his slippers slapping against the concrete of the steps. Her father came down to watch their favorite soap about a joint family where everyone was at war with everyone else. On this episode, the hero announced that he was going to take sanyas, renounce the world. When it ended, her father said. “That is what I should do now. Take sanyas.” “You can’t have your whisky if you take sanyas.” Her mother reminded him. “And you won’t get dosas for breakfast.” “I would find it difficult to do without those,” he admitted. At dinner, Leela said. “Do you realize how much coconut there is in this fish curry? Do you know how high in cholesterol this is?” “Have we not lived this long?” Her father said. Leela had read that in Oregon, a doughnut place had begun offering doughnuts to senior citizens after 11:00am. Seniors could eat all the doughnuts they wanted for free. There was a letter in the paper complaining. Doughnuts had fats the letter said; they were full of carbs and were bad for health. The doughnut shop stopped offering free doughnuts to seniors. The seniors were furious; they picketed the store with placards, shout

Katha 2014 Results

award $300): FIRST PLACE (cash A PRADHAN DY VI Blood and Guts by Fremont, California sh award $200): SECOND PLACE (ca BALA VI RA A Bag of Ashes by nois Illi e, vill per Na SHENOY award $100): THIRD PLACE (cash MARWAH, TU RI Rivers of Time by Cupertino, California ION: HONORABLE MENT ANI SH RO by Memory Metric Georgia h, ug no Do Mc I, CHOKSH ION: HONORABLE MENT MPRASAD RA A TH JA Kindness by SU San Jose, California August 2014 | www.indiacurrents.com | 19

ing: “We want our doughnuts!” “We want to have our cake and eat it too.” “Who are you to tell us what to eat?” Her father would have approved. “If only I had my sight.” Her mother said one afternoon. “Then everything would be alright.” “Can you see nothing then Ma?” Leela asked. “I can just see an outline. It’s a blur. But my eyesight has improved so much. All the blackness around the edges has gone. Ever since I started doing the acupressure and pranayama ... It’s just the glasses.” Her mother’s mouth twisted. “This pair gives me a headache. If only I could get the correct prescription! I need someone to take me to a doctor who can give me the correct pair of glasses. It’s very hard for your father to travel that far and cross roads.” “I’m here. I can take you.” Leela said to her mother. “Do you think I would not have taken her?” Her father said before turning to go up the stairs. Addressing Leela sotto voce, he said, “She does not have any lenses in her eyes.” “Let’s make an appointment, then.” Leela said turning to her mother. “It’s far.” Her mother said doubtfully. “We’ll take a cab.” The expression on her mother’s face was unreadable. “Let’s at least try. What the name of that specialist?” “Kama Atya sang the praises of Sardesai.” “Kama Atya!” That was Leela’s father’s older sister who had passed away four years ago at the age of eighty-nine. “Your father will take me.” “I’ll make an appointment. Right now!” “Yes, but,” her mother stalled, “It is not that easy to get an appointment. It takes months to see these specialists. In a few days you will be in Chicago. What can you do? *** One afternoon, Leela tried to organize the kitchen. Some drawers were empty, some spoons were missing. The storage containers were empty. There were stainless steel pots and pans that looked untouched. “What are you saving these for?” She wondered. “I’ll go to the store and get you an immersion heater,” she told her father, “so you don’t have to heat water on the gas stove, every morning”. Her father was offended. “Can’t we get it ourselves?” he asked. “Do you think we are incapable of looking after ourselves? That we are so backward and you have come and teach us? And what will happen after you leave?” That evening when they went for their walk, her father pointed out to Leela a house along the way. He told her how years ago 20 | INDIA CURRENTS | August 2014

when he was on his customary walk, an old woman who used to live there ran to the balcony and called out, “Good you came. Have you brought your pistol? Do dham! Finish off that daughter-in-law of mine.” He could not remember the old woman’s name who was by now long deceased. Next day, her father confided that sleep had eluded him because he could not remember the old woman’s name, “But when I asked your mother,” he said admiringly, “from the depths of sleep she said, ‘Mrs. Godbole!’” *** Leela was returning from the dhobi at the edge of the park with a load of freshly ironed clothes wrapped in a newspaper when the sky suddenly turned dark. From a distance she saw Shankar Kaka crossing the park. He appeared to stumble and fall. By the time Leela reached the spot, a knot of had gathered and were carrying Shankar Kaka away. Apparently, he’d tripped over an exposed tree root. Later, she heard the ambulance. The rain was drumming on the roof. Her mother lay on the downstairs divan, saying her prayers, seeing Leela, she remarked, “In just another week, you’ll be off. We keep waiting and waiting for your arrival, and before you know it, it’s time to go.” Leela appeared preoccupied. “Ma, are you afraid of dying?” She asked. “No, not at all!” She had asked her father the same question when he lay on his bed after completing his Sudoku puzzle. It was one of the difficult ones and it had taken him nearly four hours, but he had completed it, he noted with satisfaction. “I’ll tell you later, hunh! I’ll have my nap first.” The next evening a circular came around that Shankar Kaka had died in the hospital. How could that be? Leela thought. She had just met him the day before and he had commented on her health. A few days after Shankar Kaka’s cremation, her father attended the memorial at his house. Returning home, he murmured to himself, “In the end what it comes down to is—a bag of ashes.” Leela and her mother were seated at the dining table. Her mother was chopping onions; the cook’s bangles jingled as she rolled out chapattis for dinner. She was telling them how a couple days ago, in one of the high rises, a servant’s child had been clowning on the ledge of the servants’ quarter balcony. The girl lost her footing and hurtled down four stories. She was rushed to the government hospital, “But,” the cook added, with a smile that showed her paan-stained snaggle teeth, “She survived!” “Now you’ve said something good.” Leela’s mother said. “Your news that day

about the Parsi youth was very depressing.” “Yes, that twit of a girl has a good destiny,” the cook admitted. They heard a familiar meowing from the boundary wall. It sounded like Burmese Princess. “She’s alive!” Her father said entering the house. His face shone with joy. Has the cat replaced me in my parents’ affections? Leela wondered. Even she felt hopeful. She picked up a bowl, carefully pouring a stream of milk into it, and opened the door. “Look!” Her mother exclaimed, “Leela’s feeding the cat!” n Ravibala (Ravi) Shenoy lives in Naperville, IL. She won the first prize in the 2007 Katha contest for her short story, The Sacrifice. She has been published in Sugar Mule, The Copperfield Review, The Chicago Tribune and VOYA: Voice of Youth Advocates. A retired librarian, she has been a reviewer for a well-known professional reviewing journal since 2007 and is a book review editor for Jaggery. The judges were Indu Sundaresan and A.X. Ahmad. Indu Sundaresan: “A Bag of Ashes touches upon a very real fear among the Indian diaspora—aging parents and a chasm of miles separating them from their grown children. The story is a keen examination of a moment of time measured in two short weeks and a complete picture of the lives of the protagonists, their pasts and their present.” A.X. Ahmad: “A very quiet, literary short story that is an exploration of an issue faced by so many Indian Americans: the plight of our parents, who are growing old back in India. Beautifully written, and I enjoyed the character of the former pilot, who creates a narrative arc for the story, and the use of the cat to show the protagonist’s transformation.” Indu Sundaresan was born and brought up in India and came to the United States for graduate school. She’s the author of five novels and a collection of short stories. The Twentieth Wife (book #1 of the Taj trilogy) won the Washington State Book Award. Her latest novel, The Mountain of Light, is based on the Kohinoor diamond and its last Indian owners. More at:www.indusundaresan.com A.X. Ahmad is the author of The Caretaker, the first in a trilogy featuring ex-Indian Army Captain Ranjit Singh. His second book, The Last Taxi Ride, will be published in June 2014. A former international architect, he lives in Washington, D.C. and teaches writing. www. axahmad.com

politics

Not Enough To Like Facebook By Shashi Tharoor

very once in a while a story slips through the media net that might have received more attention at a different time. A week before Finance Minister Arun Jaitley presented this year’s budget to the Lok Sabha, Prime Minister Modi met Facebook Chief Operating Officer Sheryl Sandberg in Delhi. The fact that he thus became probably the first Prime Minister anywhere to devote time to a social media executive should not surprise us—he has, for some time now, shown his considerable penchant for 21st century methods of mass communication. That he asked her, in his own words, “about ways through which a platform such as Facebook can be used for governance and better interaction between the people and governments” is fascinating too, and I can’t wait to see what new methods of government-citizen interaction emerge from their conversation. But what I found most striking was the news that the key issue Modi asked Sandberg to help India with was sanitation. Public hygiene was, of course, one of the topics that candidate Narendra Modi had raised in his election speeches, and it featured among the issues mentioned by Prime Minister-elect in his first public address in Varanasi after his victory. Many will recall the backlash he received from his usual supporters on the Hindu right when he declared some months ago that toilets were more important to him than temples. Still, it seems an odd topic to raise with a Facebook executive. The Economic Times reported that when asked by Sandberg how her company could help the Prime Minister achieve his objectives, he mentioned sanitation. “India has vast tourism potential but poor cleanliness standards hold it back,” the paper reports Modi as telling the Facebook COO. On the face of it, it’s an odd request. But the Prime Minister confirmed it was raised, in his own Facebook post: India intends, he declared, “to commemorate Mahatma Gandhi’s 150th birth anniversary year (2019) with a special focus on cleanliness and I spoke to Ms. Sandberg on how Facebook can assist us in this endeavour.” How exactly will Facebook do that? It is quite common these days for technoenthusiasts to turn to social media for pretty much everything ... but cleaner streets? Better waste disposal? More and cleaner public toilets? Surely matters like open defecation are far too tangibly physical to lend them-

Surely matters like open defecation are far too tangibly physical to lend themselves to “virtual” solutions? selves to “virtual” solutions? The call of nature, after all, doesn’t occur in cyberspace, but in the real and limited public space we all live in, and for too many of our fellow Indians, in open fields, against walls, and on our roadsides. There isn’t much detail on offer from Sandberg herself. Sure enough, she publicized the meeting on Facebook. The Indian Prime Minister “believes that direct communication with people all over the world is critical to effective governance and he plans to continue using Facebook and other social media to communicate with the people of India and the world,” Sandberg revealed. No surprises there. But sanitation didn’t feature big in her post. “The prime minister asked us to develop local content and reach out to more languages,” Sandberg declared (Facebook is currently available in nine Indian languages). So can we look forward to multilingual versions of that quaint wall-sign, “Make No Nuisance?” Jokes apart, how exactly would Facebook “assist the government in all its endeavours,” as Sandberg is believed to have assured Modi? More precisely, how would Facebook help India address its vexed, visible and smelly problems of public hygiene? No clue. Apparently when Communications and IT Minister Ravi Shankar Prasad asked Sandberg about the areas in which Facebook could assist the Indian government, she replied by proposing “cooperation in the fields of health and education, referring to her experience as a World Bank research assistant in Madhya Pradesh in 1991,” according to the Economic Times again, the only publication that seems to have taken an interest in the content of the meeting. What little we know officially about the entire episode, in other words, raises more questions than it answers. One obvious use of social media outlets like Facebook is in putting out information about what the government is doing and seeking public participation, suggestions and feedback as inputs into the process. Doing this for a campaign on sanitation would not only raise public

awareness—the usual “agenda setting” function of any media, including social media —but also promote civic engagement. Since Facebook has 100 million users in India, a number that keeps growing, it could serve as the catalyst for a major national effort to engage the Indian public in the cause of improving public hygiene. (And, since Modi is nothing if not a shrewd politician, add to his support base of followers and fans, and expand his multi-million strong list of potential backers in the next election.) But—there is a “but.” The sanitation problem is neither caused by, nor affects the basic existence of, the 100 million Indians who are educated enough to use Facebook. It’s a nuisance and an inconvenience to have around us, but India’s internet users are unlikely to live in homes without toilets, or have to take a lota to the fields in the morning, or seek to perform our ablutions when it’s too dark to be observed. The challenge of addressing public sanitation in our country is to reach those who suffer those privations. So Facebook can serve as a springboard, but not as an exclusive platform. It can at best help kick-start the process of constructing a virtual community to mount a campaign on cleanliness. But to reach and help the people most affected, the government will need grassroots engagement, and Facebook can’t provide that by itself. It will take a concerted effort by central and state governments, political workers, the best brains in the advertising community, the most committed activists in the non-profit sector, and sanitation specialists like Sulabh International, to come together in a massive public education effort that actually mobilizes people to transform our culture of public hygiene. And even that won’t be enough. Awareness is half the battle, but only half. Then the government will actually have to go out and build the toilets, install the dustbins, improve the drainage facilities, create waste management systems and improve public sanitation. You can’t do that on Facebook, Modiji. But getting the denizens of social media to spend more time on toilets than trolling would be a good place to start. n Shashi Tharoor, MP from Thiruvananthapuram and the Union Minister of State for Human Resource Development, is the author of 14 books, including, most recently, Pax Indica: India and the World of the 21st Century. This article was first published on NDTV. August 2014 | www.indiacurrents.com | 21

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Poetic Alchemy Vijay Seshadri wins the Pulitzer! By P. Mahadevan

t seems that a rare confluence of stars propelled Vijay Seshadri to win the prestigious Pulitzer Prize for English Poetry in 2014. The star, however, is Vijay Seshadri himself. The citation by the selection committee “for a compelling collection of poems that examine human consciousness from birth to dementia” is titled 3 Sections. Seshadri established at least three scholastic records with the award. He is the first Asian American and Indian American to win the honor for English poetry. He is the fifth Indian American to be so recognized. The previous four of Indian origin are: Gobind Behari Lal (1937), Jhumpa Lahiri (2000), Geetha Anand (2003) and Sidharth Mukerjee (2011). As with many among the Indian diaspora Vijay, at age five, arrived with his parents from Bangalore and settled in Columbus, Ohio. “It’s really an incredible thing to get it (the Pulitzer) as a poet,” Seshadri told Desi Talk, a newspaper published in New York. He celebrated his achievement by taking his wife, Suzanne Khuri, to Battersby, an upscale restaurant in Brooklyn. “We rarely go there, but the occasion demanded it,” he said. He grew up in Columbus where his father taught chemistry at Ohio State University. His undergraduate education started at Oberlin College, Ohio, a four year liberal arts institution and music conservatory. “I started at Oberlin in mathematics—the school in fact has a distinguished science curriculum—and slowly drifted into philosphy.” From there he went on to Columbia University in New York where he graduated with a Master in Fine Arts (MFA) degree. Seshadri thus diverged from the stereotypical Indian American immigrant pathway towards science, engineering or finance. In between colleges, Seshadri also worked as a lumberjack in the Pacific Northwest region of the United States and as a crewman in a salmon fishing trawler in the choppy waters of the Bering Sea. Both of these called for intense physical labor and may have fleshed out his propensity for introspection and deliberation. He has been on the faculty at Sarah Lawrence College, Bronxville, close to New York, 22 | INDIA CURRENTS | August 2014

Lee C. Bollinger, President of Columbia University (left), presents the 2014 Poetry Prize to Vijay Seshadri. Photo Credit: Pulitzer.org

since 1998 and currently occupies the Myers Professor in Writing Chair. He teaches 20th century non-fiction writing and has given, inter alia, one special course in rhetoric which nobody else has given there. Seshadri reads plenty of fiction, but has not written any as yet. In a phone conversation, he revealed that he knows Jhumpa Lahiri, but has not kept up with other Indian or Indian-American writers. He is currently writing his memoir, which is likely to be published next year. Seshadri has a son who just graduated from college and is not considering writing as a profession. Seshadri claims a three-B association: born in Bangalore, works at Bronxville, and resides at Brooklyn. The 3 Sections compendium consists of his newest poetic works under 32 different titles, an essay detailing his arduous work with the salmon fishing industry in the Bering Sea and a personal essay, which could variously be described as a day dreamer’s soliloquy, a delirium, comments under inebriation, hallucination or even dementia.

His poetic compositions in the compendium, which earned him the Pulitzer are thought provoking and explorative. Reviewers have characterized his effort as philosophical meditation, rare adventure in consciousness and a self scrutinizing effort. Though, when I asked Seshadri about the philosophy behind the elegant comparison in the first poem of 3 Sections that the “soul is an impossibility that has its uses,” he responded saying that “It’s, of course, poetry, not philosophy.” The first poem under the title “Imaginary Number,” is as follows: The mountain that remains when the universe is destroyed Is not big and is not small Big and small are Comparative categories and to what Could the mountain that remains when the universe is destroyed be compared? Consciousness observes and is appeased The soul scrambles across the screes, The soul, like the square root of minus 1 Is an impossibility that has its uses.

There is an elegant mathematical analogy in this short poem and this is my annotation of the lyrics: When the Universe is destroyed, one mountain still remains. We cannot say whether it is big or small because there is nothing to compare it with. Our consciousness (ability to estimate dimensions, length, width and height), is able to do it but not in empty space. It needs a housing, the Soul. In turn, it evaluates the debris around the mountain. But the Soul is as unreal and illusory as the square root of minus one. Just as the square root can help solve equations, the soul can assist consciousness to size the mountain. They are linked. If the conscious becomes the unconscious as with anesthesia, where is the soul? If consciousness returns, will the Soul reconnect? A few more excerpts, selected at random from other titles follow, for purposes of comparison. “Urdu Poems. Momin Khan Momin:” I don’t know why she still keeps my heart As useless to her as an unpaired sandal. “The Dream I didn’t have: I felt along my length his long riverine incision. Outside, it was Chicago.

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“Yet Another Scandal:” I opened my offshore accounts to scrutiny. I turned my wife in. “Appreciative readers of Seshadri’s poems can recognize his expert assimilation of American poetry from Frost to Lowell, Bishop, and Ashbery, their tutelary spirits resplendently alive in a tradition he himself is significantly shaping with his own alchemical brand of poetic magic,” the New Yorker said in praise of his contributions to the literary cannon. “Were you surprised at receiving the Pulitzer?” I asked Seshadri. “I knew the book was a good one, and I imagined it would gain some sort of recognition, but the Pulitzer was definitely a happy surprise,” he responded. Let us join in a salute to Pulitzer laureate Vijay Seshadri. n P. Mahadevan is a retired scientist with a Ph.D. in Atomic Physics from the University of London, England. His professional work includes basic and applied research and program management for the Dept. of Defense. He taught Physics at the Univ. of Kerala, at Thiruvananthapuram. He does very little now, very slowly.

August 2014 | www.indiacurrents.com | 23

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August 2014 | www.indiacurrents.com | 25

ask a lawyer

Permanent Spousal Support By Madan Ahluwalia

What is permanent spousal support or long-term support?

Permanent spousal support is payment from one spouse to the supported spouse. Temporary alimony is paid to the supported spouse during the divorce. Permanent alimony is granted in order to place the supported spouse at or near the same financial standard of living established during the marriage after the divorce. The criterion is known as Marital Standard of Living or MSOL for short. MSOL is very complicated and complex criteria and requires a deep analysis of party’s incomes (mostly determined by tax returns), various life factors (vacations taken, etc.), debt load and other life situations. However, the martial standard of living is the base reference point from which the court analyzes the California Family Code 4320 in determining the amount and duration of spousal support. Family Code section 4320 outlines several factors and some of them are listed below:

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i) the marketable skills of the supported spouse; the job market for those skills; the time and expense required for the supported spouse to acquire the appropriate education or training to develop those skills; and the possible need for retraining or education to acquire more marketable skills or employment ii) the extent to which the supported spouse’s earning capacity is impaired by periods of unemployment incurred during the marriage to permit the supported spouse to devote time to domestic duties iii) the extent to which the supported spouse contributed to the paying spouse’s attainment of an education, training, career, or license iv) the paying spouse’s ability to pay alimony (taking into account the paying spouse’s earning capacity, earned and unearned income, assets, and standard of living) v) both spouses’ financial needs based on the marital standard of living vi) both spouses’ obligations (debts) and assets, including separate property vii) the length of the marriage

viii) the supported spouse’s ability to work outside the home without excessively interfering with the interests of any dependent children in his or her custody ix) the age and health of the spouses Despite the suggestion of the word “permanent,” permanent support does not last permanently. Typically, the support amount is put in place until the other party becomes self-supporting. In short-term marriages (less than ten years), it usually lasts half of the time of the length of the marriage. In longterm marriages (presumably over ten years), it can last much longer. The marital settlement agreement terms on permanent support dictate how long the support would last and whether it can be modified or not. Needless to say, one needs an experienced attorney and team of other professionals to help a party make a decision. So make sure to work with such experienced professionals. n Madan Ahluwalia, Esq is a California lawyer, based on San Jose, CA. His website is www. ahluwalia-law.com

legal visa dates Important Note: U.S. travelers seeking visas to India will now need to obtain them through Cox & Kings Global Services Pvt. Ltd. Call 1-866-978-0055, email enquiriesusa@ckgs.com or visit www.in.ckgs.us for more information.

August 2014

his column carries priority dates and other transitional information as taken from the U.S. State Department’s Visa Bulletin. The information below is from the Visa Bulletin for August 2014. In the tables below, the listing of a date for any class indicates that the class is oversubscribed. “Current” means that numbers are available for all qualified applicants. “Unavailable” means no numbers are available.

FAMILY PREFERENCE VISA DATES Preference Dates for India 1st Apr 22, 2007 2A May 01, 2012 2B Jul 01, 2007 3rd Nov 15, 2003 4th Jan 01, 2002 NOTE: F2A numbers subject to percountry limit are available to applicants with priority dates beginning Mar 15, 2011 and earlier than May 01, 2012.

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finance

Capital Flows Understanding effects on exchange rates, the economy and policy By Rahul Varshneya

apital has always been intertwined in our history. In ancient times, humans used to trade precious stones and metals in exchange for food, drink and services. By the time the United States drafted the Declaration of Independence, precious metals had given way to payment in the form of gold and silver. Fast forward to the 20th century, gold had been replaced by different currencies, connected to one another through supply and demand driven exchange rates. Gold and silver was used solely to back the credit-worthiness of this currency. In 1944, representatives of 44 nations converged at the Bretton Woods conference and agreed to tie all currencies to the US dollar. They further allowed the convertibility of the US dollar to gold at $35/oz. However, with the increased popularity of currency usage, the Bretton Woods model began showing cracks. The supply of US dollars was increasing exponentially due to international trade, while the gold reserves stayed the same. The increased supply of dollars put pressure on the $35 conversion price and could could no longer be supported by the unchanged gold reserves. In 1971, the United States decided to end the Bretton Woods model and abandoned the usage of gold in backing currency. This decision led to the adoption of the US dollar as the world’s reserve currency. This action also led to many countries transitioning to a free floating currency and creating the modern day concept of exchange rates.

Currency Movement

Even with drastic changes on the world economic stage, the US dollar continues to be the world’s reserve currency. Currency popularity is determined by its spread—the difference between how much you can buy and sell that currency. Less popular currencies have bigger spreads due to the inherent risk—you have to pay more to get them and receive less for selling them. In contrast, the US dollar has the smallest spread of any currency as it is the most active. Demand for currency is determined by two factors—the number of transactions in that currency and the country’s eco-

28 | INDIA CURRENTS | August 2014

nomic conditions. The majority of international transactions are conducted in dollars, pounds, yuan or euros making them the most in demand.

Economic Impacts of Currency

Currency appreciation and devaluation directly affects a country’s purchasing power and therefore its economy. Countries invest a significant effort to ensure their currency remains stable and strong. China has circumvented the supply and demand effects completely by pegging its currency to the US dollar. Pegging a currency to another reduces devaluation and volatility. China had pegged its currency at 8.62 Yuan to 1 dollar for many years. This peg is the main reason why China has accumulated such a trade surplus (sales minus purchases) against the United States. By not allowing its currency to devalue, China’s purchasing power stayed strong allowing it to sell expensive goods and import goods for less.

Currency and Government Policy

On the other end of the spectrum, the recession has played havoc with the US dollar and its economy. With the recession affecting all sectors of the economy, the Federal Reserve was forced to reduce interest rates to increase the money supply. Looking through the lens of macroeconomics, with increased supply of the currency, its value will go down. Due to lower interest rates, investors began pulling their money out of the US dollar in order to pursue higher yield environments—creating lower demand for the dollar. These two effects working together ensured a significant devaluation in the US dollar. With the US dollar devaluing, the United States federal deficit ballooned to $1.27 trillion in 2011. At the time, experts had no idea when the recession would end and had to adjust its policy accordingly. The two biggest drains on the United States budget were defense and healthcare —with a combined expenditure of about $900B. The government was forced to make cuts in defense—fewer fighter planes and

ships, reduced benefits for veterans and reduced spending for Homeland Security etc. While reduced weapon spending doesn’t affect citizens domestically, everyone can appreciate the fact that programs like the Transportation Security Authority (TSA) does a lot of good for the country—fewer resources at their disposal could have disastrous results. Similarly, reduced spending for social security programs and Medicare had an immediate impact on United States citizens.

Our Impact

A question often posed in our lives is why paper currency is so valuable when it is just paper. At a micro level, currency represents the promise of a nation. Gross domestic product (GDP) is the revenue generated by a country for all of its goods and services in a year. Each dollar that is spent is contributing to the GDP, the proxy for a country’s economic power. The reason why the US dollar is the reserve currency is that the United States is the most powerful economic entity on earth. It’s for this reason that the United States can perpetually defer its interest payments on the immense debt it has racked up. There is an accepted truth that the United States isn’t going anywhere, which is why every country is confident that they will eventually get paid. We might not personally be affected from this phenomenon but with every dollar we invest, we get it back in social programs such as school funding, infrastructure improvement and defense, not to mention maintaining United States relevance on the world stage—something we can all be proud of. n This article is the opinion of the author and is not shared by India Currents or any of its staff. All investors should conduct their independent analysis before taking any actions and should not make any decisions on the information provided in this article alone. Rahul Varshneya graduated from the Leavey School of Business at Santa Clara University with a degree in finance and is working in the technology industry as a financial analyst.

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music

Matt On Matt By Priya Das

n artistic temperament is conventionally associated with eccentricity and attitude. What is not commonly seen is the other, good side of the said temperament, the one that drives artists to stay true to their art and foster an environment that nurtures its growth. The Californian band Ancient Future led by Matthew Montfort, is an excellent example of this. Formed in 1978, Ancient Future is the world’s first and longest running ensemble dedicated exclusively to the mission of creating and producing world fusion music. The group’s “Yearning for the Wind” was released in July 2014. It presents Montfort’s composition on the scalloped fretboard guitar, harnessing raag Kalyan in a nine beat cycle, accompanied by Vishal Nagar, the upcoming tabla virtuoso. The piece is part of a larger repertoire, called, “The Archive of Future Ancient Recordings” (AFAR), which is a series of collaborative-music recordings entirely funded by music-lovers. It is a work in progress and already features artists such as Abbos Kosimov (Uzbeki percussion), Bui Huu Nhut (dan bau), Pandit Habib Khan (sitar), Paul McCandless (Grammy winning reed player of the group Oregon), and Ancient Future alumni Benjy Wertheimer (tabla), Doug McKeehan (keyboards), Ian Dogole (percussion), Kash Killion (bass), and Mariah Parker (santur, piano). Excerpts from an interview with Mont-

Album Cover: Yearning 30 | INDIA CURRENTS | August 2014

informed the audience and me that “matt” means “don’t” (in Hindi) and so matta tal means “don’t play this taal.” That is why it is so rare! It is a very difficult rhythmic cycle to master improvising in.

Matthew Montfort and Vishal Nagar

fort: IC: Why raag Kalyan? Is there a story behind the selection of this raag? MM: It was the first raag I studied with Ali Akbar Khan. My childhood friend Benjy Wertheimer and I had moved to California together in 1977 to study at the Ali Akbar College of Music. I was very excited to practice the music Ali Akbar Khan gave me that raag, and I awoke early one morning to start my enthusiastic practice. It felt great, so I just had to convince Benjy to play it with me on tabla. This didn’t go so well and we had our first fight as roommates. Then, when we went to the college that afternoon, Ali Akbar Khan told the class not to play raag Kalyan in the morning. “This is an evening raga. If you play it in the morning, you will have a fight in your family,” he said. Oops! IC: A nine beat taal (rhythm) is rather unusual, what made you set the piece to it? MM: I just wrote the piece. The really interesting thing is after I created the main melody, I went to write it down and my heart sank as I realized it was in a nine beat cycle. I didn’t know of a nine beat taal and I wanted to be able to play this piece with Indian musicians. So I went online and found matta taal. The amazing thing is that the version of the taal, with two fast three’s (beats) at the end, fit perfectly with my melody! When Vishal and I performed this for the first time in public, and shared the story, he

IC: Where can our readers experience Ancient-Future live? MM: Ancient Future is playing with Aditya Kalyanpur at the Stone Soup Festival in Grover Beach near San Luis Obispo on August 23 at 4 pm. I’ve written another piece in raag Kalyan that I want to record for the AFAR. That one is in teen-taal and the melody is really evocative. I guess I have an affinity for this raag! IC: Speaking of AFAR, how did you come up with the idea? MM: For Planet Passion (released in 2010), we had an investor plan, but it didn’t work out because the music business collapsed because of the tech industry disruption. It become almost impossible to pay for recording through record sales. So, I had the idea to just ask people to support the music in advance. Then I had the idea for creating an archive that supporters could access as we recorded the project. Given that the name of the band is Ancient Future I decided to turn that around, hence the name. IC: What is next for AFAR? MM: We have already rehearsed tracks with Shenshen Zhang (Chinese pipa). And when we raise more money we have a lot of musicians that we want to work with, but I shouldn’t name them until the time is right. I would love for India Currents readers to support the cause and suggest whom we should be working with next! (For more on AFAR and to contact Montfort, please visit www.ancient-future.com). n “Yearning for the Wind” is available on iTunes, $1.29. Priya Das is an enthusiastic follower of world music and avidly tracks intersecting points between folk, classical, jazz, and other genres.

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Shakti Dance Camps through the Decade Sunday, August 31, 2014. 4 pm

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books

Love Is in the Aril by Jeanne E. Fredriksen

CITY OF DEVI by Manil Suri. W.W. Norton & Company, Inc. New York. February 2013. wwnorton.com manilsuri.com Available in hardcover, paperback, digital book, MP3 CD, or Audible book.

hat if a Bollywood film was the genesis for what threatens to be the end of the world? Manil Suri’s third novel, City of Devi, explores that possibility with romantic passion, humanitarian distress, and twisted humor. He has a keen eye, a sharp wit, and a blazing pen with which he delivers the tale of a goddess, three lovers, and the impending annihilation of the world as they—and we—know it. Following the Bollywood/Hollywood box-office super-duper hit Superdevi, religion in India meant “Hindus only.” The country took a harder turn to the religio-political right than ever before, manifested in gigantic Mumbaidevi statues all over the film capital, including areas strategically meant to irritate Muslims and Christians. Now nicknamed “City of Devi,” Mumbai had its own Devi logo which was required to be displayed by every establishment and place of worship, Hindu or not. Entrepreneurs jumped into the capitalistic fray, cashing in on Superdevi’s success with offerings like McDonald’s movie tie-in action figures; Pizza Hut’s Devi mouse pad giveaway; plus Superdevi and religious location tours. So began the current that incited riots, grew into war, and threatened nuclear destruction courtesy of Pakistan, China, and India. Mumbai is in ruins, bombed and shattered. Most residents have fled, gangs have flourished, food is scarce. As a young, educated, and patient wife, Sarita needs two things in Earth’s four remaining days: a pomegranate and to find Karun, her scientist husband who vanished a fortnight before. As a symbol of their delicate movement toward the consummation of their marriage, the fruit is an imperative when they reunite. Meanwhile, Jaz, a flip, confident hipster who is always on the hunt for his next conquest, needs to find the one who got away, the man with whom he has fallen hopelessly in love. Sarita and Jaz first meet in a bomb shelter and again on a train that derails on its way to Bandra, where their respective journeys should end. But Sarita is a Hindu, and Jaz — Ijaz—is a Muslim. That’s a dangerous combi34 | INDIA CURRENTS | August 2014

nation, and teaming up turns out to be a necessary evil in order to survive crossing through unfriendly religious territories in the search for their loved one. What they find when they reach their destination is not what either expected. The story is beautifully told as an allencompassing romance and present-day end time saga via alternating sections of Sarita’s and Jaz’s chronicles. Moreover, their stories internally alternate between past and present until there is nowhere to go but to move forward together. The constant theme of the trinity, the triangle, the trimurti swirls throughout the story, engulfing Sarita, Jaz, and Karun with triangular satellites orbiting around them. Likewise, City of Devi itself forms the trinity of Suri’s novel—The Death of Vishnu, The Age of Shiva, and now Devi, the debated alternate third in place of Brahma. This lusciously-told tale scandalizes, criticizes, and fantasizes, and why not when the end is near? As Suri says in his conversation with A.X. Ahmad, “You don’t want the end of the world to be depressing! If you’re going to go out, go out in Bollywood style!” Everything required of a Bollywood extravaganza can be found in the novel: action, drama, comedy; politics, religion; rag-toriches; suspense, magic; sex, a romantic triangle; and crowds of worshippers that clamor for a glimpse of the Devi. There is, however, a serious side to the novel. Suri takes a sobering look at grave issues including religious warring/gang mentality; the dark side of religion and power; and how much we, as humans, can endure and how resourceful we can be when faced with the suggestion of our own mortality. He easily covers so much ground that to say the novel is multi-layered is being conservative. Extremism rears its ugly head more than once. In one scene, while Sarita is in the bomb shelter, we are treated to an explanation that, “... the new coalition government’s edict to mollify their loony right fringe [was that] all cartoon characters must now have traditional Hindu names. Bugs Bunny has become ‘Khatmal Khargosh’ ...” Shortly thereafter in the shelter, a man is accused of being a Muslim. He is beaten, about to be lynched, but then discovered to be Hindu.

Oh well, so sorry, have a cigarette. One example is tongue-in-cheek regarding homogenization, the other frighteningly close to a possible reality. Like a pomegranate, City of Devi is overflowing with arils, seeds that are covered with a fleshy outer layer. For some, a pomegranate is sweet, while for others, tart. So it is with City of Devi. Nearly all religions have used the pomegranate as a symbol of many of mankind’s fundamental desires—life/death, birth/ eternal life, fertility/marriage, abundance/ prosperity. In City of Devi, these human desires are plentiful, Bollywood flamboyance included.

uri, a professor of mathematics and affiliate professor of Asian studies at the University of Maryland, Baltimore County, is working on his next book. “It’s called The Godfather of Numbers, about a mysterious entity that controls not only mathematics but also the universe,” he explained. Then he added, “In case readers are worried about the math aspect, fear not. It’s especially geared towards non-mathematicians.” n

When Worlds Collide THE LAST TAXI RIDE by A.X. Ahmad. St. Martin’s Publishing Group, Minotaur Books: New York. June 2014. $24.99. 368 pages. minotaurbooks.com axahmad.com

uckle your seat belts and hang on tight! Ranjit Singh (The Caretaker, Review published in India Currents September 2013) is in trouble again in A. X. Ahmad’s second novel, The Last Taxi Ride. Following the incidents on Martha’s Vineyard, Ranjit relocated to New York City and has been working as a cab driver and moonlighting as security for a company that imports human hair from India. A chance fare by famed-but-fading Bollywood actress Shabana Shah and an unscheduled reunion with an old army buddy at the famous Dakota, where the actress lives, set Ranjit’s newly-quiet life on an unwanted trajectory. Implicated the next morning in Shabana’s grisly murder, a stunned Ranjit has ten days to clear his name. The problem is that the only person who can vouch for him has disappeared. Plus the deeper he looks, the closer he gets to the new arm of the Mumbai mob now working in New York. This time around, it’s not men in overcoats and SUVs hunting for Ranjit. Instead, Ranjit becomes the shikari, searching for Shabana’s killer and the evidence that will prove his innocence. His logic-based search takes him all over New York from the diner where cabbies eat to the teeming world of immigrants in Little Guyana and Jackson Heights to the famed Dakota apartments, all the while contrasting the scrimp-and-save lives of cabbies with the designer lives of the rich and famous. As per character, his detective work lands him in harm’s way more than once. Ranjit, ever the staid warrior he was trained to be, always looks to do the right thing, even when warned off by those who know better. However, sometimes he—with proper regret—makes the decision to employ unconventional methods in order to fulfill promises made along the way. He can’t do it alone, so as needed, he enlists the help of the colorful Ali, a fellow cab driver; Kikiben,

a worker at Nataraj Imports owned by the shady Jay Patel; and Leela, a young mixed Guyanese woman who works at a night club catering to nameless clientele, including select members of the Mumbai mob. The book is filled with “Don’t Do It!” moments for both Ranjit and Shabana. The intensity in The Last Taxi Ride differs from that in The Caretaker because the storytelling alternates between Shabana’s life over the decades and Ranjit’s real-time immediacy. As a result of this duality, there is double the suspense as if both parties were scaling different faces of Mt. Everest in a race to meet at the summit. Shabana’s struggles with her manager, who is her twin, and her association with the mob and mob-funded films belie the sparkling, confident woman on the screen. Her story reads like the gentle-grown-gossipy retrospective of one actress’s life straight out of the pages of Stardust or Filmfare magazine: her humble beginnings, a fortuitous screen test, constant pressures to produce box-office

hits, the tethering to the mob, her supernova career, and a rapid plummet into dusty history books. Her story is a peek into the grim side of Mumbai’s star factories in contrast to the glitz and glamour that the audience sees. She is part victim, part diva, and the more dependent she becomes on those who control her, the more she longs to break free. When she does, there is tragedy worthy of a Bollywood film. As Ahmad mentions in his conversation with Manil Suri, the seed for Ranjit’s new occupation and the notion of a Bollywood actress in New York City came from a real life experience. As for the connection between Bollywood and the Mumbai mob, he gleaned information from Anupama Chopra’s King of Bollywood (India Currents, September 2007) to add that extra touch of realism. That realism is as much a part of The Last Taxi Ride as is the star-studded hopes and dreams of the silver screen. In fact, Ahmad’s realism is so strong that there is often the sense of a thin, unobserved layer of dust that permeates the surfaces of places haunted by the working poor and those who wish to remain anonymous, the places where it’s never truly spotless, literally or figuratively, a distressing reminder of one’s station in life or morals. For Shabana, her anguish is so palpable that she is easily pitied despite her many faults and transgressions. The Last Taxi Ride can be read as a standalone book, which was a smart move on Ahmad’s part. One needn’t have read The Caretaker to enjoy its sequel, but certainly, having read the second, the uninitiated reader will be prompted to read the first. For those who are keeping up with Ranjit Singh’s thrills and chills, fear not! The third book is in progress with a working title of The Hundred Days. n Jeanne E. Fredriksen lives in Wake Forest, North Carolina, where she freelances in advertising and public relations. Between assignments, she writes fiction, enjoys wine, and heads to the beach as often as she can. August 2014 | www.indiacurrents.com | 35

films

Biryani and Gumshoe By Aniruddh Chawda BOBBY JASOOS. Director: Samar Shaikh. Players: Vidya Balan, Ali Fazal, Kiran Kumar, Rajendra Gupta, Supriya Pathak, Tanvi Azmi, Zarina Wahab, Arjan Bawja. Music: Shantanu Moitra. Hindi with Eng. Sub-tit. Theatrical release (Reliance).

irector Shaikh got his technician chops working in the background of such hits as Dhoom (2004), Bunty Aur Babli (2005) and Dhoom 3 (2013). Transitioning from technician to calling the shots with his directorial debut in Bobby Jasoos, this much is certain. While Bobby Jasoos may not go to garner any huge following, it does employ a script gimmick or two and breaks from convention long enough to give Shaikh’s film a worthy pause. Bumbling, meandering and sometimes anemic, Bobby Jasoos is nevertheless an acceptable detective-comic drama that works mostly because of Balan’s presence. Bilqees Ahmed, aka Bobby (Balan) is smugly unsure of only two things. One, she is not sure if she is interested in romance, men or even kissing. Two, as an aspiring self-trained p-eye, private detective for those not in the know, she is equally unsure if it’s only a matter of time before she stumbles on to a Big Case that will change her fortunes. Whittling away her time spying on cheating spouses and digging up dirt to throw wouldbe arranged marital alliances into disarray— all for a fee, Bobby’s life indeed takes a turn for the unknown when a mysterious benefactor (Kiran Kumar) hires Bobby to trace down a number of missing individuals. Bobby’s home life—a father (Gupta) not supportive of his oldest daughter dallying in non-feminine detective pursuits, a supportive mom (Pathak) and an always-questioning step mom (Azmi)—overlaps Bobby’s socalled circle of clients, all of whom exist not so peacefully in a working class Hyderabad inner-city neighborhood. Helping a dashing budding TV star (Fazal) fend off unwanted suitors may be one thing. How one of her sister’s relationships with the thuggish Lala (Bawja) may be connected to Bobby’s new mysterious client may be a whole another matter. Balan is one of few performers that can 36 | INDIA CURRENTS | August 2014

inject a pseudo-real street credibility by going from homebody to streetwise sassiness with the same ease that Bachchan could go from suit and tie to t-shirts and bellbottoms. In pursuit of her prey, er, cases, Balan’s Bobby drags up various disguises—everything from a burqa, a buxom uppity auntie, a butch cart attendant hawking bangles at the corner bazaar, a beggar and an idiotic astrologer with buck teeth. Witnessing Balan’s Bobby disappear into no less than five different masculine characters is as much a testament to Balan’s versatility as it is fun to watch. The Muslim social was a distinct subgenre in the age of romantic Hindi movies. At their height in the 1960s, this genre tapped into a rich vein of delicately constructed melodramas such as Mere Mehboob (1963), Ghazal (1964), Mere Huzoor (1965) and Mehboob Ki Mehndi (1970). As late as 2000, there was Fiza that featured principal characters who were incidentally Muslim. Bobby Jasoos is a nice nod to a genre that, after 9/11, had all but disappeared. While not in the same class of romantic trappings captured in the titles from the 1960s, it is refreshing to catch a neutral-perspective snap-

shot of middle class Muslim life in a secular country such as India. As a frothy urban backdrop, Shaikh captures Hyderabad’s crowded bazaars beautifully. On a side mission to track down a certain biryani house where a specific catering order was delivered from, Bobby and her kin must sample every biryani house within shouting distance. The resulting tour of the city’s biryani houses offers stops at a mouthwatering array of post-card worthy biryani joints. Bobby’s detective agency name might as well be Biryani and Gumshoe! Assamese singer Papon does absolute wonders with Shreya Ghosal on the gorgeous duet “Teri Mera Afsana.” Richly overlaid with qawwali-like contours, Moitra’s composition is an ear-worthy tune. Just as he did with the “Piyu Bole” number from Balan’s debut in Parineeta (2005), Moitra displays a polished style. While Balan’s role is not as weighty as what she assailed in Kahaani (2012) or No One Killed Jessica (2011), Bobby Jasoos still ends up in the plus column for her. n EQ: B

Primary Colors EK VILLAIN. Director: Mohit Suri. Players: Siddharth Malhotra, Riteish Deshmukh, Shraddha Kapoor, Shaad Randhawa, Remo Fernandez. Music: Ankit Tiwari, Mithoon. Hindi with Eng. Sub-tit. Theatrical release (Balaji Films).

ohit Suri’s success with the sequels Raaz: The Mystery Continues (2009), Murder 2 (2011) and especially with the blockbuster Aashique 2 (2013) helped raise the young director’s profile into phenom filmmaker. In the wake of that success and aided by Suri’s affiliation with Mahesh Bhatt and Mukesh Bhatt (Suri is their nephew), Suri landed the muchanticipated Ek Villain. Bringing to fore the fast-climbing Malhotra (Student of the Year, Hasee To Phasee) and Kapoor (Aashique 2), Ek Villain, while shiny in its production delivery occasionally trips on its own tensionbuilding tripwires to emerge merely as a lukewarm suspense thriller. The script, co-written by Tushar Hiranandani and Milap Zaveri, is clever enough in drawing two overtly grey-shaded characters. Guru (Malhotra) is a strong-arming detective with a violent past. When a serial killer’s brutal killing spree grips a city, Guru and his team come under tremendous pressure to catch the killer. It is only with a stroke of luck that the cops eventually tie the killings to the otherwise non-descript desk-jockey Rakesh Mahadkar (Deshmukh), a meek working-class nobody by day and a homicidal maniac by night. But wait, that is only half the story. The other half involves Aisha Verma (Kapoor), a social worker who draws the stoic Guru out of self-imposed hard shell long enough to fall in love in him. Guru and Aisha’s lives take a swift and unexpected turn as the serial killer sets his eyes on Aisha. A deadly cat and mouse game sets in as Guru tries to snare Mahadkar into an evertightening and violent loop. Even though the narrative unfolds through numerous flashbacks that recount the lives of more than one of the killer’s victims, the sub-plots get on the exact parallel groove in a surprisingly seamless fashion. The crux of the action, however, doesn’t get truly going until Mahadkar shows up. Profiling the killer’s mind and motivations provide enough leads and misleads, including suspicion that Guru’s former underworld handler Caesar (Fernandez) may be involved.

The story is passable, even though it bears more than a passing resemblance to the 2010 Korean thriller I Saw the Devil. Kapoor’s Aisha strikes the right balance between her social worker outreaches and keeping her love life in check. As protagonist and antagonist, respectively, Malhotra and Deshmukh are roped into roles that are not their career primary colors. Malhotra is the dashing newcomer previously only found in edgy romantic roles and not edgy violent roles. Deshmukh’s forte has been comedy where he is group-cast in slapstick matinee entries (Humshakals, Housefull) often as a mere prop. So what’s missing? Actually, it’s the sense that it is all too convenient. The pieces fall into place way too smugly for the story to gel—but not the movie. The unspooling of various plot elements—affairs, friendships, careers—that emerge unfulfilled leave behind a void that has more to do with the delivery than how the story ends. The mother-daughter team of Shobha Kapoor and Ekta Kapoor—they are wife and daughter, respectively, of popular veteran actor Jeetendra—have created a noteworthy mini-kingdom in Hindi movies. The Kapoors, (no relation to Shraddha Kapoor), under their Balaji Films label, are easily the most powerful behind-the-camera women in Hindi movies currently. Their signature on some of the most popular Hindi language TV soaps and movies (Once Upon A Time In Mumbaai, Once Upon A Time in Mumbaai Dobara, The Dirty Picture, Ek Thi Daayan and Lootera) has increased their reach even farther.

Plot connivances and storyline smugness aside, Tiwari and Mithoon’s soundtrack has raced up the charts. Mohd Irfan’s “Banjaraa” and Mustafa Zahid’s “Zaroorat” are lush ballads held together by simple melodies. For their part, the Kapoors are marketing aces. Their bankrolling of Ek Villain, heavily boosted by pre-selling of the hit musical score, has garnered Ek Villain the biggest opening and one of the biggest overall box office takes in 2014. It all proves that smart selling and smart music still can outsell an overall lacking movie. n EQ: B Globe trekker, aesthete, photographer, ski bum, film buff, and commentator, Aniruddh Chawda writes from Milwaukee.

L ATA’S

FLICK PICKS

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August 2014 | www.indiacurrents.com | 37

perspective

The Making of a Movie By Parveen Maheshwari

Lead actors Pankaj Dubey and Zoe Winter

e are connected to films in different ways. My journey started in 2004 when I took my first film production class. It took many years of hits and misses before I had the opportunity to co-produce a 32-minute film called Heart Has Reasons. The story was based on the increased risk of heart disease afflicting South Asians. Upon completion of the film, Kiran Harpanhalli, who edited and provided the background music score, proposed that the team focus on a full length feature as our next project. So began the journey of Love Pyar Whatever. I managed to get funding only because of my day job as an accountant. Several of my clients were happy to invest because it was their “childhood dream to make a movie.” I had a six-figure budget and managed to get 12 investors.

Vijay Rajvaidya and Shalini Chaudhuri

When the concept for the movie was being developed, we wanted to capture the dreams of professionals and students from India who come to the United States every year and the reality of the cultural and communication differences, including dating issues, they have to face once they arrive in their new country. For our Indie film to compete with high budget Bollywood films, we agreed that the plot must be a romantic love story with a tinge of raunchiness. The story of Love Pyar Whatever is about a young Indian student who travels to the United States in search of his true love. After a series of mishaps, he finally meets the girl of his dreams. Will his inexperience cost him the girl or will he finally find what has been missing from his entire life—everlasting and true love?

Francisco film scene, agreed to be our director and took up the tedious task of writing the screenplay. He was intrigued by our suggestion that the movie have Hindi Bollywood style songs. We met several times to go over the screenplay and fine tune it until it had the right balance of American and Indian sensibilities. Pankaj Dubey, an accomplished dancer and actor, was selected to play the lead role of the young Indian student coming from India. Zoë Winter, the lead actress, came with several years of experience and she delivered a performance that is emotionally charged. One of the critical functions was that of the the 2nd Assistant Director, Natteri Varadarajan, who was instrumental in organizing and scheduling actors and crew. This was a monumental task since this project had multiple locations and many actors. The movie’s cast of over 45 actors is a blend of professionals from both Indian and American backgrounds. There were 121 scenes to be shot and over 15 locations to be negotiated. There were instances when we could not get volunteers to show up for critical scenes. One was the airplane scence. We had rented an aircraft for four hours and sent out word for volunteers to show up. At the appointed time, very few people came and we had to scramble to convince our close relatives to drop everything and be a part of the production. At a shoot at the Ohlone College (when the campus was closed), we needed students as part of the scene and the only way we could persuade them was to offer them a $20 remuneration. I remember walking around campus with a wad of notes and distributing it to students who came to the sets.

The Right Director and Cast

The Movie Has Legs

The Plot

Carlos Mora, a filmmaker of Latin American descent and very active in the San 38 | INDIA CURRENTS | August 2014

In one of the classes I attended on filmmaking shorts in San Francisco, I was told

Karina Lamar and Pankaj Dubey

that every good movie has to have three “Oh My God” scenes and one “Oh Fucking Shit” scene in order to be successful. When I think back to Love Pyar Whatever, I can easily identify the one enactment that fits the latter prototype. It is a beautiful portrayal where the hero helps the heroine drape a sari around herself. The scene is tasteful and sensual. The movie making business is a hard nut to crack. First we must be convinced that our movie has legs, only then can we sell the movie to theaters. Even if we have a good movie, there are distribution hurdles to cross. In August 2013, I went to India with a rough cut of the full film. We met with many film industry producers and distributors, without making much headway. We screened the film at Eros Cinema in Mumbai and invited college students to serve as a focus group. They compared the movie to the commerical blockbuster Chennai Express and gave us feedback that we took heed of. I believe distribution will happen if the movie works. And I am convinced that the movie will work.

Looking Back

My journey started when I was asked to create my “tombstone” story or “How will you like to be remembered?” pitch at an event I attended 10 years ago. In that soul-searching process I came to realize that my obituary would read a little lacklustre. While I had a few professional degrees to my credit, there was nothing in my resume and accomplishments that struck me as “remember-worthy.” So I began to think about what I would really like to do and stumbled upon movie production. The rest, I hope, is history. n

Parveen Maheshwari is the producer of Love Pyar Whatever

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recipes

Street Food Entertainment By Jagruti Vedamati

Kathak

occasions, like birthdays. Speaking of birthdays, they have always been extraspecial for me, filled with the honor of being treated as a special person for one entire day. These days, it has become a reason to get together with friends and family to celebrate the year gone by while welcoming the new one. With distinctive memories of our birthdays, my husband and I wanted to make our guests feel special by making them a home-cooked meal for my birthday. Aloo Tikki Chaat in the north and Aloo GuAfter going through scores and scores of ghuni Chaat in the east and it is as tasty in all Kathak Kala Academy recipes, Ragda Patties was finalized (based its numerous versions. n on the ease of preparation and www.mykathak.com its mass appeal factor). Jagruti Vedamati writes from Los Angeles and Famous in most parts of the country, is currently juggling a hectic Ph.D. life with food this Indian street food has different names in blogging. You can find her recipes at turmerickdifferent regions—Ragda Patties in the west, itchen.blogspot.com.

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Ragda Patties This strikingly colorful, savory Indian street food is a delightful combination of aromatic potato patties served with a dollop of spicy yellow pea curry. Generous sprinklings of assorted chutneys, crispy sev (fried chickpea noodles) and chopped onions add the extra sparkle to this dish.

and the chopped pitted dates. Cook till it boils gently and the dates look softer (~ 3-4 mins). iii. Then add in the rest of the ingredients and adjust the sweetness with jaggery according to your taste. Switch off the stove once the mixture looks glossy (~ 2 mins more after adding the rest of the ingredients).

Ragda/Gughuni (Yellow Peas Curry) Ingredients: 2 cups whole yellow/ white peas (Soaked over night) ½ tsp turmeric powder ¼ cup oil 4 medium sized tomatoes— chopped 3 tbsps tomato ketchup 1 tbsp sambhar powder 1 tsp chili powder ¼ tsp sugar Salt to taste 1 tsp amchur (dried mango) powder. Method: i. In 1 cup of water make a paste with tomato ketchup, sambhar powder, chili powder, sugar, salt and amchur powder ii. Boil the peas with salt and turmeric powder till just done. Set aside. I use a pressure cooker for quick results. iii. In a deep pan, add in the oil and once the oil heats up, add in the chopped tomatoes and let it cook till soft and mushy (~ 2-3 mins). iv. Add in the paste one spoon at a time and wait till the masala mixture is dry. Continue till you finish all of it and the oil floats to the top. v. Now add in the boiled peas and cook over medium low heat till soft and mushy (~ 5 mins). vi. Adjust for salt and amchur powder. Potato Patties: Ingredients: 4-5 medium sized boiled potatoes 1 cup finely chopped mint ½ tsp dry ginger powder powder 1 tsp cumin powder

2-3 finely chopped green chilies ½ tsp garam masala powder 2 tbsp rice flour or corn flour ½ tsp chaat masala a pinch of sugar salt to taste 1 cup bread crumbs Oil to fry. Method: 1. Mash the boiled potatoes along with all the other ingredients. 2. Divide the dough equally into palm sized rounds. Now flatten the mashed potato rounds, roll them in bread crumbs (for the crunch!) and shallow fry till golden brown. Tamarind Date Chutney: Sweet and slightly tangy, this delectable date chutney is a must have for this street delicacy. Ingredients 8-10 pitted whole dates 1 cup water 1½ tsp tamarind extract 1 tbsp jaggery ½ tsp dry ginger powder ½ tsp cumin powder A pinch of black salt ¼ tsp chili powder (Optional) Method i. Soak the tamarind separately in lukewarm water for about 10 minutes till both are soft. Squeeze out the tamarind pulp from the soaked tamarind. ii. In a pan over medium heat, add water

Green Chutney: Spicy and savory, this coconut and cilantro chutney adds that much needed peppery hint. 2 cups cilantro leaves ½ cups frozen shredded coconut ½ tbsp chopped Green Chilies ¼ tsp sugar ¼ tsp rock salt (Optional) Salt to taste ½ tsp lemon juice Grind the cilantro leaves to a paste, along with the green chilies, coconut and a little bit of water, if required. Mix in sugar, salt, lemon juice and adjust according to taste. This chutney should not be very watery, so avoid using too much water. Assembly: Place the patties on a plate Pour a dollop of the yellow pea curry. Drizzle it with tamarind date chutney and green chutney. Sprinkle chopped onions, sev and chaat masala. Savor it with all your senses! Some useful notes: • Soak the peas overnight and boil the next day. Store it in the refrigerator for the day of the event. • You can prepare the patties the day before the event and refrigerate it. Fry it just before the party begins. That way the patties hold together much better leaving you with little work to do on the day of the party. • You can even prepare all the chutneys beforehand and refrigerate. • After you are done frying the patties, cover the dish with aluminum foil and keep it hot in the oven (250 degrees fahrenheight) till the guests arrive. n

August 2014 | www.indiacurrents.com | 43

relationship diva

Is My Friend’s Girlfriend Cheating On Him? By Jasbina Ahluwalia

My best friend’s been dating his girlfriend for about 8 months, and in the last couple of days he’s confided to me that he’s begun to suspect she may not be faithful. He’s a pretty private guy like me, and I’m pretty sure I’m the only one he’s confided to. He’s always been there for me, and I hate to think there’s even a possibility his girlfriend isn’t showing him the loyalty he deserves. Any suggestions?

Trust is one of the most important aspects of a relationship, and being confident of his girlfriend’s faithfulness is crucial to the success of your friend’s growing relationship. While context is important, and the below signs are certainly not blackand-white, here are four signs to share with him (a continuation of last month’s column): (i) She has become more interested in her appearance: Caring about her health and desiring an attractive appearance is normal. However, if all of a sudden your friend’s girlfriend becomes obsessed with her appear-

ance, wants to make drastic changes, begins buying an excessive amount of new clothes, obsessively tries to lose weight or suddenly changes her hair color, this could be a sign of infidelity. (ii) She refuses to make solid long-term plans: If your friend’s girlfriend is cheating or thinking of cheating, she will likely be hesitant to make any long-term plans. For example, if she isn’t interested in where your friend should go on vacation this year, or she doesn’t want to talk about plans for holidays, or she just doesn’t seem interested in discussing anything to do with the relationship’s future, this could be a sign that she is cheating. (iii) She flirts with other men in front of him: If she has no problem batting her eyes and throwing herself on other men in front of your friend, he has to ask himself what she does when he isn’t around. If she doesn’t respect him and their relationship enough to refrain from flirting, that doesn’t speak well of their relationship.

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(iv) She starts hinting that she is unhappy in her relationship: If his girlfriend begins speaking to him about how unhappy she is with various aspects of their relationship, she may be getting ready to tell him that she has found someone else with whom she is happier. As mentioned last month, the signs listed above can potentially all be clues that his girlfriend is cheating. Importantly, however, all of them can be attributed to other factors as well. Your friend is lucky to have such a caring friend. n

Jasbina is the founder and president of Intersections Match, the only personalized matchmaking and dating coaching firm serving singles of South Asian descent in the United States. She is also the host of Intersections Talk Radio. Jasbina@intersectionsmatch.com.

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44 | INDIA CURRENTS | August 2014

INDIA CURRENTS Celebrating 27 Years of Excellence

CALL (408) 324-0488 . (714) 523-8788 Fax: (408) 324-0477 Email: ads@indiacurrents.com www.indiacurrents.com Write: 1885 Lundy Ave ste 220 San Jose, CA 95131 Deadline: 20th of every month

August 2014 | www.indiacurrents.com | 45

events

California’s Best Guide to Indian Events Edited by: Mona Shah List your event for FREE! SEPTEMBER issue deadline: Wednesday, August 20 To list your event in the Calendar, go to www.indiacurrents.com and fill out the Web form

Check us out on

special dates Raksha Bandhan

August 10

Indian Independence Day

August 15

Krishna Janamashtami

August 17

Ganesh Chaturthi

August 29

Labor Day

September 1

Onam

September 7

CULTURAL CALENDER August

10 Sunday

Arijit Singh Live in Concert. Orga-

nized by Pratham LA Charity. 6 p.m. The Orpheum Theater, 842 S. Broadway, Los Angeles. $39-$150. (909) 910-9700. www. prathamusa.org.

August

15 Friday

Music Concert. Featuring Vikesh Ka-

poor, a folk singer/songwriter in the populist tradition. He opens for Joe Driscoll and Sekou Kouyate, who perform Afro-blues, hip-hop, folk, and reggae. Organized by Grand Performances. 8-10:30 p.m. California

Strings and Rhythm, featuring Kumar Bose and Suman Laha, August 23

Plaza, 350 S. Grand Ave, Los Angeles. Free. (213) 687-2190. info@grandperformances.org. www.grandperformances.org/events/joe-driscollsekou-kouyate-vikesh-kapoor/, www.grandperformances.org/visit/, www.grandperformances.org/ visit/map-directions/.

August

17 Sunday

Mika Singh and Sunny Leone Live in Concert. Organized by Mike Sethi,

Rashmi Shah, Rakesh Patel. 7 p.m. Anaheim Convention Center, 800 W Katella Ave., Anaheim. $39-$199. (310) 753-8990.

August

23 Saturday

Strings and Rhythm. a musical concert featuring Suman Laha on sarode and Kumar Bose on tabla. Organized by Kalanjali. 7 p.m. Chinmaya Rameshwaram, 14451 Franklin Ave., Tustin . General $25, members: Free. (714) 508-7744, (714) 469-6268. lupinchatterjee@yahoo.com. www.chinmayala.org.

August

31 Sunday

Shreya Ghosal Live in Concert. Char46 | INDIA CURRENTS | August 2014

ity fundraising concert to create a clinic to take care of the disadvantaged and to promote health education. Organized by Association of Los Angeles Physicians of Indian Origin (Alapio). 6 p.m. Pasedena Civic Auditorium, 300 Green St., Pasedena. $46-$147. (213) 422-2472.

September

12 Friday

India Jazz Suites: Fastest Feet in Rhythm Featuring Pandit Chitresh Das

and Jason Samuels Smith, is an explosive collaboration between one of India’s foremost kathak masters and one of the world’s fastest, Emmy-award winning tap dancers. The result is high entertainment which crosses all boundaries of age, race and culture. Organized by Grand Performances. 8-10:30 p.m. California Plaza, 350 S. Grand Ave, Los Angeles . Free. (213) 687-2190. info@grandperformances.org. www.grandperformances.org/events/india-jazz-suites-fastestfeet-in-rhythm/, www.grandperformances.org/ visit/, www.grandperformances.org/visit/mapdirections/. © Copyright 2014 India Currents. All rights reserved. Reproduction for commercial use strictly prohibited.

recommends

Independence Day celebrations Shyamal Randeria-Leonard

he 68th Indian Independence Day celebrations will be celebrated across Southern California spiking local pride while remembering India’s freedom from British colonial rule. The annual remembrance of the national holiday in India will be marked with private parties as well as public patriotic memorials, plenty of food and cultural events. India won its status as a sovereign nation on August 15, 1947 following an independence movement which called for non-violent resistance and civil disobedience by the Indian National Congress. Much of the frenzied nation stayed awake to witness the unfurling of British dominance and listen to the famous midnight speech, “Tryst with Destiny,” by India’s first freely elected Prime Minister, Jawaharlal Nehru acknowledging the transfer of power. In the United States, the lighting of a symbolic ghee lamp by local political digni- A Creative Commons image taries, a flag salute, the singing of patriotic songs and the national anthems of India and Saturday, August 16. Federation of Indians the United States are performed to mark the in America of Southern California hosts Inoccasion. dia Independence Day celebration. Cultural program, kid’s carnival. 5-10 p.m. Artesia Below is a list of local celebrations in SouthPark at 18750 Clarkdale Ave., Artesia. Free. ern California. For information contact: Ishwar Deedwania (562) 882-9922.

Los Angeles County:

Friday, August 15. Radio5 events presents Indiafest 2014 and the 6th annual India Independence Bash with Mumbai celebrity DJ Nasha, fashion show, Bollywood electronic dance music and bhangra music. Cashmere Nightclub 6757 Hollywood Blvd., Hollywood. General admission: $15 includes free India flagstick and India temporary tattoos. For more information: http://www.radio5events.com.

Saturday, August 16. India Association of Los Angeles (IALA) hosts celebrations with cultural programs inclusive of heath fair. 3-10 p.m. Granada Hill Charter High School, 10535 Zelzah Ave., Granada Hills. Free. Contact: Raman Chadha (818) 458-5595 or (818) 335-8454.

Orange County:

Friday, August 15. Hosted by Federation of

Indian Communities of Southern California and Lions Club of Little India. FICSC Chairman-Ajay Khetani, President-Raj Walia, Lion’s Club-Chairman-Dilip Butani. 5 p.m. Tickets $25 per person or $250 for a table of 10. Amaya Restaurant, 7850 Beach Boulevard, Buena Park. (714)523-8880. Saturday, Aug 23. United Federation of Indo-Americans of California (UFICA) hosts a celebration. Entertainment inclusive of singer Preetysha and a fashion show. 1 p.m. with cultural program beginning at 5 p.m. Sanatan Dharma Mandir, 15311 Pioneer Blvd., Norwalk. Free. Chairperson Vasu Pawar (909) 389-8262.

San Diego County: Sunday, August 24. The San Diego chapter of Federation of Indians in America (FIA) will hold celebrations inclusive of local artists performing Indian song and dance. 2:30 p.m. Escondido Performing Arts Theater, 340 N Escondido Blvd., Escondido. Tickets $10; $5 for children 12 and under. Tuesday, August 26. FIA hosts India Day. Pregame activities include a demonstration cricket game on the infield. 5:30 p.m. Padres Baseball Stadium, Petco Park, 100 Park Boulevard, San Diego. Saturday, August 30. FIA hosts a flag hoisting ceremony followed by short performances. 10 a.m. Organ Pavilion in Balboa Park. Enter from President’s Way off Park Blvd., 1549 El Prado # 10 San Diego. . Tickets and information: Madhao Saste (858)4819702, Kulbirsingh Ghai (858) 3491111.

Share your stories on health with India Currents readers! We are accepting original submissions that focus on health and wellness. Send your 600-800-word essay on disease prevention, exercise, ayurvedic cooking, or any other health-related topic to Mona Shah at events@indiacurrents.com. August 2014 | www.indiacurrents.com | 47

48 | INDIA CURRENTS | August 2014

SPIRITUALITY & HEALTH

August

3 Sunday

Self-Realization Fellowship World Convocation. A week of spiritual renewal, including group meditations, kirtans and classes on the yoga meditation teachings of Paramahansa Yogananda. Ends Aug. 9. Organized by Self-Realization Fellowship. Westin Bonaventure Hotel, 404 S Figueroa St., Los Angeles. (323) 225-2471. www.yogananda-srf. org.

Sunday Lectures at the Vedanta Society of Southern California. 11 a.m.

Hollywood Temple. 1946 Vedanta Place Hollywood. (323) 465-7114. Santa Barbara Temple. 927 Ladera Lane, Santa Barbara. (805) 969-290. Ramakrishna Monastery. 19961 Live Oak Canyon Road, P.O. Box 408, Trabuco Canyon. (949) 858-0342. http:// vedanta.org.

How to Develop True Intution. Sun-

day Service. Lake Shrine Temple and Retreat, 17190 Sunset Blvd., Pacific Palisades. (310) 454-4114. Hollywood Temple, 4860 Sunset Blvd., Hollywood. (323) 661-8006. Glendale Temple, 2146 East Chevy Chase Drive, Glendale. (818) 543-0800. Fullerton Temple, 142 East Chapman Ave., Fullerton. (714) 5251291. Encinitas Temple, 939 Second Street, Encinitas. (760) 436-7220. San Diego Temple, 3072 First Avenue, San Diego. (619) 2950170. Call temples for times. Organized by Self Realization Fellowship. www.yogananda-srf.org.

August

9 Saturday

Shri Krishna Leela. Based on the Bhagwad Gita, with lights, sound depicting all the leela’s of Lord Krishna. 6 p.m. Reseda High School. 18230 Kittridge St, Los Angeles. (818) 968-9980, (559) 250-3310 bollywoodusa@yahoo.com.

August

10 Sunday

Who Made God? Sunday Service. Lake

Shrine Temple and Retreat, 17190 Sunset Blvd., Pacific Palisades. (310) 454-4114. Hollywood Temple, 4860 Sunset Blvd., Hollywood. (323) 661-8006. Glendale Temple, 2146 East Chevy Chase Drive, Glendale. (818) 5430800. Fullerton Temple, 142 East Chapman Ave., Fullerton. (714) 525-1291. Encinitas

Temple, 939 Second Street, Encinitas. (760) 436-7220. San Diego Temple, 3072 First Avenue, San Diego. (619) 295-0170. Call temples for times. Organized by Self Realization Fellowship. www.yogananda-srf.org.

August

17 Sunday

Miracles:The working of Higher Lives. Sunday Service. Lake Shrine Temple

and Retreat, 17190 Sunset Blvd., Pacific Palisades. (310) 454-4114. Hollywood Temple, 4860 Sunset Blvd., Hollywood. (323) 6618006. Glendale Temple, 2146 East Chevy Chase Drive, Glendale. (818) 543-0800. Fullerton Temple, 142 East Chapman Ave., Fullerton. (714) 525-1291. Encinitas Temple, 939 Second Street, Encinitas. (760) 436-7220. San Diego Temple, 3072 First Avenue, San Diego. (619) Self-Realization Fellowship World Convoca295-0170. Call temples for times. Organized by Self Realization Fellowship. www.yogananda-srf. tion, classes on yoga based on the teachings of Paramahansa Yogananda, Aug 3-9. org.

August

24 Sunday

The Battle Between Good and Evil.

Sunday Service. Lake Shrine Temple and Retreat, 17190 Sunset Blvd., Pacific Palisades. (310) 454-4114. Hollywood Temple, 4860 Sunset Blvd., Hollywood. (323) 661-8006. Glendale Temple, 2146 East Chevy Chase Drive, Glendale. (818) 543-0800. Fullerton Temple, 142 East Chapman Ave., Fullerton. (714) 5251291. Encinitas Temple, 939 Second Street, Encinitas. (760) 436-7220. San Diego Temple, 3072 First Avenue, San Diego. (619) 2950170. Call temples for times. Organized by Self Realization Fellowship. www.yogananda-srf.org.

August

31 Sunday

Meditation: Direct Perception of God. Sunday Service. Lake Shrine Temple

and Retreat, 17190 Sunset Blvd., Pacific Palisades. (310) 454-4114. Hollywood Temple, 4860 Sunset Blvd., Hollywood. (323) 6618006. Glendale Temple, 2146 East Chevy Chase Drive, Glendale. (818) 543-0800. Fullerton Temple, 142 East Chapman Ave., Fullerton. (714) 525-1291. Encinitas Temple, 939 Second Street, Encinitas. (760) 436-7220. San Diego Temple, 3072 First Avenue, San Diego. (619) 295-0170. Call temples for times. Organized by Self Realization Fellowship. www.yogananda-srf. org.

September

7 Sunday

How to Spiritualize Business. Sunday Service. Lake Shrine Temple and Retreat, 17190 Sunset Blvd., Pacific Palisades. (310) 454-4114. Hollywood Temple, 4860 Sunset Blvd., Hollywood. (323) 661-8006. Glendale Temple, 2146 East Chevy Chase Drive, Glendale. (818) 543-0800. Fullerton Temple, 142 East Chapman Ave., Fullerton. (714) 5251291. Encinitas Temple, 939 Second Street, Encinitas. (760) 436-7220. San Diego Temple, 3072 First Avenue, San Diego. (619) 2950170. Call temples for times. Organized by Self Realization Fellowship. www.yogananda-srf.org.

September

14 Sunday

The Unlimited Power of the Mind.

Sunday Service. Lake Shrine Temple and Retreat, 17190 Sunset Blvd., Pacific Palisades. (310) 454-4114. Hollywood Temple, 4860 Sunset Blvd., Hollywood. (323) 661-8006. Glendale Temple, 2146 East Chevy Chase Drive, Glendale. (818) 543-0800. Fullerton Temple, 142 East Chapman Ave., Fullerton. (714) 525-1291. Encinitas Temple, 939 Second Street, Encinitas. (760) 436-7220. San Diego Temple, 3072 First Avenue, San Diego. (619) 295-0170. Call temples for times. Organized by Self Realization Fellowship. www.yoganandasrf.org. © Copyright 2014 India Currents. All rights reserved. Reproduction for commercial use strictly prohibited. August 2014 | www.indiacurrents.com | 49

reflections

Medical School Memoirs By Amrithavarshini Muralikrishnan

hen asked to write about a true life adventure, I’m sure many people think about the wild nights that turned into days, hot summer nights on the beach with your best friends, hiking through raw terrain…Uh, none of that ringing a bell? You are not alone my friend, I was right there with you a couple years ago. I traveled to the beautiful and historic land of India when I was 18. Now I wasn’t traveling to visit my grandparents and become the next Shreya Goshal; I traveled in search of knowledge and inner peace. I went to spend the next five years of my life in a girl’s hostel at NRI Medical College located in the beautiful and serene city of Vijaywada, India. Looking back, I can say that my stay in India to have metamorphosed type my spiritual soul. I went as a fragile girl; mentally, physically, spiritually unaware of the world outside my suburban Los Angeles home, and came back five years later a woman with a strong sense of identity and self-empowerment. To be completely honest, my journey to India and medical school would have to be by far the biggest life adventure. Living in a completely new environment, learning a new language, meeting so many different people, traveling to different states within the country, and most of all graduating from medical school? Sounds like one epic adventure! It wasn’t easy fun and games though. We all want to hear and be present for the happy ending. However how many people actually know the real story that happened along the way? When I see my medical degree hanging in that glass frame in my room now, it’s much more than just a piece of paper. It represents the endless days of introspection, sleepless nights in isolation longing for anything or anyone familiar, the confusion and frustration of having no one understand a word of the language you are speaking, scared that electricity and water could be cut off at any time of the day, mortified at the

50 | INDIA CURRENTS | August 2014

thought that one meal could cause a week of gastroenteritis, hours and hours spent conceptualizing material and medical conditions despite going through your own emotional and mental turmoil. But at what point do you say enough is enough and take control of your life and emotions again? For me, it was the end of my second year of medical school when my life literally changed forever. At 10 p.m. one night I boarded an AC bus headed for Hyderabad, as I was on vacation. A friend and I decided to sit in the front row of the bus instead of our designated seats, as we would have more legroom. Since no one else was sitting on these seats, the bus conductor gave clearance and we were en route to Hyderabad. About two hours into the journey, the bus stopped at a local bus stop, which it usually does not stop at. An elderly couple boarded the bus and to my surprise insisted that we return to our assigned seats instead of sitting on their assigned seats. My friend and I pleaded with the couple to just let us be as our seat was simply the ones behind. But the couple put up quite the arguement and eventually we gave in to their request. So now that

everyone was situated, the bus continued to Hyderabad and slowly the lights dimmed and everyone began falling asleep. At around 4 a.m. in the morning, I remember a loud crash like a wave crashing in the water and frantic screaming. It felt like a dream but as I was vigorously shaken out of my sleep, I knew this was far from a dream. My body was thrown out of my seat and my head was jammed underneath my seat. As I began to realize what was going on, I kept hearing screaming, and saw chards of glass everywhere. I finally pulled myself from under the seat to see chaos and mayhem. An oil tanker had crashed into our bus! “What?! Is this really happening?! Please, God, just let this be a horrible dream!” That’s all I could keep telling myself over and over again. But very quickly I realized this was far from a dream. I finally stood up and realized my friend and I needed to get off this bus immediately. I grabbed two random slippers that I found on the ground only to find a shard of glass stuck in my foot. Knowing my only option was to pull it out, I closed my eyes pulled it out, grabbed my things and rushed out of the bus. As I was leaving I saw the elderly couple seated in the first row. The old man

was literally crushed into the bus as metal penetrated through his chest. The elderly woman had flown out of her seat into the windshield, and was bleeding from head to toe. I tried to coax the elderly woman to come with me, but she refused to leave her suffering husband. She told me to get out of the bus as fast as I could. Scared for dear life I left, crying, weeping, and devastated at how drastically my reality had changed. My friend and I were able to hitch a ride on a bus that was passing by and thanks to a gracious swami who stopped the bus, we were able to make it Hyderabad. Days, weeks, months have passed and I cannot forget the image of the elderly couple who literally saved my life. What could have been a case of serious post-traumatic stress shone a very different view of life in my eyes. Life is precious and short. We should be thankful for every breath we take, every moment we live, and make the best of every situation. Before that couple’s reality changed, they were laughing with one another, joking, talking about their youth. What if they didn’t board that bus, or if they didn’t insist on switching seats with us, how different both our lives would have been? They saved the life of my friend and me, the lives of two medical doctors who will go on to cure and save the lives of many others. And that’s when my perspective of everything in

life changed from negative to positive. Be good, do good, live happy literally became my life mantra. Before I knew it, conceptualizing medical conditions wasn’t a task anymore, but an interesting puzzle to complete. The nights of isolation soon became nights of introspection and musical composition, the language barrier soon became a way to approach more people to help master yet another puzzle and make new friends. My entire life had flipped upside down and there is not a day where I live with regret nor a day that passes by without me saying a prayer to those two angels in heaven who protected me on this earth. This is just one of many of the life changing events that took place during my stay in India. I have learned so many important life lessons, gained such perceptual insight, made some amazing friends, met inspiring people, learned the importance of self-discipline and endurance. I have acquired wisdom as a person, gained medical knowledge, and grown from a teenager to being in my mid twenties. Those five years in India were a huge stepping-stone to everything that I further proceeded to do with my life and future. It was also a platform for much musical inspiration and depth as an individual. What is a journey? It is a voyage seeking truth and knowledge. We must eventually leave behind everything familiar. Be open to

everything and anything positive or negative. Everything we experience on this journey is a clue leading us to the truth we seek, every individual or guru teachs a lesson that will make sense later on, but most importantly, this voyage or journey is a testament to ones self. We can never find ourselves, unless we’ve been completely lost. In that, together my friends, we experience comfort, joy, sorrow, victories, failure, anger, love, confusion, betrayal, happiness; but what happens after all this? Are we left to feel numb to everything or an influx of everything? Maybe neither, maybe both. To me, as with most of you, my journey of truth and knowledge still continues.n Dr. Amrithavarshini Muralikrishnan is a recent medical graduate currently studying for her boards. A singer and keyboardist she has performed her style of global sounds in several prestigious venues such as Carnegie Hall and Walt Disney Concert Hall. Coming from a musical family, she learned classical Karnatik singing under the tutelage of her mother Rose Muralikrishnan and keyboard and veena from her father NMK Muralkrishnan. Varshini hopes to integrate her passion of both Music and Medicine to bring about forward movement and enhance the science of music and the art of medicine.

August 2014 | www.indiacurrents.com | 51

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healthy life

Save Our Children By Ronesh Sinha

sat in my medical clinic reviewing lab results I had just received for an Indian patient with abnormal cholesterol and prediabetes. It was the typical pattern of high triglycerides (a type of cholesterol), low HDL (healthy cholesterol), and elevated blood sugar that I was used to seeing in my adult South Asian consult practice. Interestingly the pediatrician sitting next to me was also reviewing lab results which she happened to share with me. An identical pattern of lab abnormalities appeared in both our patients with only one striking difference. My patient was 37 years old and her patient was only 8. As a community of highly motivated Indian parents, we often push our children to start acting like adults from an early age. We want them to speak, write, learn and behave like adults, and in an effort to do this we enroll them in all types of extracurricular activities to advance them beyond their age. Free playtime is often perceived as a waste of time, sleep is compromised so kids can finish their school work and extracurricular work, and meals and snacks have become fast, processed, nutrient deficient choices so kids can be quickly shuttled to school, piano practice, soccer, math enrichment, etc. In a frenetic effort to get children to behave like adults and perform academically far beyond their years, we are neglecting the fact that our kids are also being metabolically and medically accelerated into adulthood by developing conditions like Type 2 (adult onset) Diabetes and high cholesterol. Most pediatricians were never thoroughly trained to treat conditions like Type 2 Diabetes, abnormal 54 | INDIA CURRENTS | August 2014

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cholesterol, and fatty liver because these diseases are not supposed to appear in children. Thirty years ago in the United States there was not a single documented case of Type 2 Diabetes in adolescents. Today there are nearly 60,000 adolescents with Type 2 diabetes. By 2050, it is estimated that 1 in 3 Americans will be diabetic. These statistics are even more dire for Indians who have a significantly higher prevalence of diabetes and heart disease than most other ethnic groups. So how do we prevent today’s youth from leading an even longer life of chronic illness and disease than any generation before them? Often the first seeds for insulin resistance, the process leading to most diabetes and heart disease, are planted during an unhealthy pregnancy. South Asian women have a staggeringly high incidence of gestational diabetes (diabetes during pregnancy) due to extremely unhealthy pregnancies characterized by inactivity and a very high carbohydrate, nutrient-deficient diet. This typically results in a low birth weight baby, a very common occurrence in South Asians. When parents see their babies fall below what they

consider to be a normal growth pattern, they panic and overfeed their children to “catch up.” Unfortunately overfeeding infants and children rapidly is a major risk factor for insulin resistance, often perpetuated not just by parents, but extended family members and caretakers who think chubby children are healthier children. I still recall our first trip to India with our twin sons with certain relatives commenting on how they looked malnourished despite them growing perfectly fine according to all standard measures. Comments like these are often interpreted as a case of failed parenting, often forcing parents to overfeed their children. Be sure to ignore this type of pressure from family members who may impart distorted perceptions of what is healthy for your children. Stick to interpreting growth curves accurately with the help of your pediatrician and responding with appropriate dietary and lifestyle changes to ensure children follow a normal growth pattern. Unfortunately not only is overfeeding a problem, but the foods used to over feed South Asian children tend to lack sufficient vegetables, nutritious protein sources and healthy fat. Nutrient deficiencies, including low vitamin D, iron and B12, further contribute to impaired growth and are possibly related to insulin resistance. There is a dearth of diversity in the diet of today’s South Asian kids who are typically fed empty calories in the form of chapatis and rice, or quick and convenient fast foods, restaurant foods, processed foods and snacks. Parents succumb too easily to the dietary demands of children, who have no insight into the impact of foods on their health later in life. Parents must be in charge of what

their children eat, just like they take charge in other areas of their life. How many of you who are currently struggling with obesity, diabetes, or heart disease would have wanted your parents to insist on a healthier diet and lifestyle that may have prevented you from developing these same conditions? Why wouldn’t you do the same for your own kids, especially armed now with the knowledge that most of our parents and grandparents never had? Today with all of the available resources on nutrition and so many healthy food choices, we, as parents, have no excuse for not creating healthier lifestyles for our children. tart with one meal like breakfast. Breakfast cereals or frozen waffles may be convenient, but they provide excess sugar and no substantial nutrition. Can you incorporate more egg-based breakfasts or yogurt with nuts and berries or can you add a handful of nuts and berries to a breakfast cereal with the least amount of sugar? Every time you choose or prepare a meal or snack for your child, have zero tolerance for sugar and trans-fats and choose foods that are a mix of protein, fiber and healthy fats. Introduce vegetables as early as possible to children and don’t give up if they reject them. A specific vegetable often needs to be re-in-

troduced several times before a child develops a taste for it. Keep in mind that it is virtually impossible to get children to like vegetables if they are consuming excess sugar. Taste buds adapted to sweetened foods and beverages often don’t find vegetables appealing. n addition to poor eating habits, inactivity has become the norm. Sedentary behavior is a problem in kids from all ethnic backgrounds, but unfortunately South Asian children are leading the pack. A study done in the United Kingdom by the British Heart Foundation found that South Asian children were the least physically active out of all ethnic groups. Schoolwork, academic enrichment, and recreation primarily in the form of video games are some of the key culprits. Participating in periodic sports like recreational soccer, basketball, or tennis does not make up for the type of baseline daily physical activity that used to define childhood. Children were meant to play frequently in neighborhoods, parks, playgrounds and school yards rather than on tablets, TVs and smart phones. Unfortunately much of this behavior is modeled after exceedingly sedentary parents. Active efforts must be made to incorporate regular physical activity and play into the

lives of children. Physicians have started prescribing activity monitors like pedometers and Fitbits, recommending adults and children walk 10,000 steps daily. Family activities also need to re-focus on physical activities (hiking, sports, etc.) and spending time outdoors rather than being confined to restaurants, movies and other sedentary events. The current collective health of our children is in crisis mode. I fear the implications of a new generation of teenagers and young adults increasingly burdened by chronic disease. As parents we do everything possible to ensure a safe and comfortable living environment for our children. Parents often say that they would like to give their children opportunities that they lacked during their own childhood. The ability to be a healthy child who has the greatest chance of being disease-free in adulthood must be one of those opportunities. n Ronesh Sinha, M.D. is the author of “The South Asian Health Solution,” a culturally tailored book on health for South Asians. He is a physician for the Palo Alto Medical Foundation who sees high risk South Asian patients, he blogs at southasianhealthsolution.org, and co-hosts a South Asian radio show on health.

August 2014 | www.indiacurrents.com | 55

travel

Heavenly Kailash Mansarovar Dipping in Mansarovar and trekking to Kailash By Anita Kainthla

Trekking to Kailash

Pilgrims taking a dip in the holy Manasarovar Lake

56 | INDIA CURRENTS | August 2014

ailash Manasarovar—two words, two names, one pilgrimage—and means more than a name, more than even a pilgrimage for followers of five of the world’s major religions—Hinduism, Buddhism, Jainism, Sikhism and Bon. The Hindus believe that Lord Shiva is the creator of the universe and Mount Kailash is his abode. According to the Jainist belief, Lord Rishabha traveled to Mount Kailash to engage in a spiritual quest and he gained liberation in front of Kailash. Guru Nanak Dev—the founder of Sikhism and first in the line of the ten illustrious Sikh Gurus—met and had an extensive dialogue with the Siddhas (ascetics) there. This dialogue has been compiled into a text called the Siddh Gosht. The indigenous Tibetan Swastika Bon religion propounds that Mount Kailash and Manasarovar are the holy lands, which were consecrated by its founder Thonpa Shenrab Miwo who lived, taught and disseminated the religion from this location. For Buddhists, Mount Kailash is known as “Mt Meru,” the mythical image of the King of Mountains, positioned at the center of the universe. My pilgrimage began when I became a member of the Isha Yoga foundation in Coimbatore, India. Sadhguru Jaggi Vasudev, the spiritual master and founder of this organization was the inspiration and sole reason for me to undertake this journey. I boarded the Mumbai-Kathmandu flight, dizzy with a sense of a deeper spiritual yearning and sheer excitement. At the Solatee Crowne Plaza Hotel in Kathmandu the entire Isha group traveling to Kailash Manasarovar got together—a 120 strong contingent. After the introductions, some from the group ventured into the city, visiting ancient temples or shopping at the Thamel market. I preferred to sleep off a headache. The hotel is considered one of the best in Kathmandu. It’s tranquil gardens made it seem like a haven among the hustle and bustle of the city, though the interior fur-

nishings could have done with some uplift. The next day began with a visit to the Pashupatinath temple, the ancient Shiva (Pashupathi is a manifestation of Shiva, meaning Lord of Animals) temple on the banks of the river Bagmati, about a few miles northwest of Kathmandu. The temple is barred to nonHindus. It is a square pagoda temple with ornate doors. The inner sanctum features a linga with four faces. From the temple it was a short ride to the ancient town of Patan. Patan is filled with traditional carvings, hand crafted statues and ornate temples. It is one of three royal cities in the Kathmandu valley. Early the next morning we left Kathmandu in buses headed to Zhangmu (in China), via the Nepalese border hamlet of Kodari. On the way my bus partner and I compared notes about how preprepared we were for the yatra (pilgrimage) ahead. A couple of months prior to the actual journey, the organizers had emailed extensive instructions on the whys and hows of physically preparing for our adventure: yogic practices, brisk walking and jogging were recommended for two months leading to the actual pilgrimage. Immersed in such conversations and entertained by the meandering and roaring River Kosi, we barely realized that Kodari was already at hand. Scenic, would be insufficient to describe this locale. Located at an altitude of 8,251 feet, the panoramic view of the Himalayas at Kodari is breathtaking. From Kodari in Nepal, to enter into Chinese territory, a “friendship bridge” must be crossed on foot. After passing through passport scrutiny at the bridge, by both Nepalese and Chinese army men and successfully clearing immigration, we crossed over into the Southern Chinese town of Zhangmu. Standing at about 2,300m (7,546ft.), Zhangmu enjoys a subtropical mild and humid climate, unlike the cold and arid one in the rest of Tibet. Zhangmu, across from Bhote Koshi River, was a night halt for us. Independent travelers should be prewarned—the Zhangmu PSB won’t give you an Alien Travel Permit to head north into Tibet unless you have a guide, a driver and the mysterious Tibetan Tourism Bureau (TTB) permit! At Zhangmu, we were joined by our Sherpas, who collected our duffle bags and prepared lunch for the group. For the remainer of our pilgrimage the Sherpas would not only be our luggage carriers but our chefs, waiters, high altitude advisers and friends. Early the next morning, ably assisted by our “friendly neighborhood” Sherpas, we boarded Chinese tourist buses. It was going to be a long ride, made longer by the

winding roads and increasing altitude. We traveled through Saga County, a military town standing at over 16,000 feet and stretching across from the Brahmaputra, which begins its journey from the Jima Yangzong glacier near Mount Kailash. Saga made us slow down, it made us gasp, it made us feel its altitude. The Patan, Nepal —One of the three royal cities in Kathmandu; that is a center for fine arts, Buddhist and Hindu culture. decreasing air pressure on account of its altitude, made breathing a little harder, but at the hotel our team of dedicated doctors wouldn’t let Saga do us in. Mandatory medical checkups, warm food, cozy rooms, made us realize that Saga might be cold and uncomfortable, but we were well tended. At Saga is where acclimatization occurs. So we broke journey here for two nights. During this time we shopped for essentials. This was Monks, mostly women, at Pashupatinath Temple the last stop before water lake, 90 km (55 miles) in length and we began our climb and hence the last place stands at an altitude of almost 15,000 ft. to shop for the journey ahead. Our guides Geological survey confirms Manasarovar to instructed us to walk with slow small steps, be a fragment of the ancient Tethys Sea take our daily doses of Diamox, a medicaand of having a mineral density of 400 miltion used to fight high altitude sickness and ligrams per liter. persist with our yogic practices. Somewhere around lunch time, ManasaThe next morning at 6 a.m. it appeared rovar loomed into sight and its limpid blue unusually dark, the reason being the Chinese waters caught our already weak breaths in time zone was situated a long distance off a cumulative gasp. Chinese disallow private at Beijing. This causes a major discrepancy buses to go right up to the lake, but there is between the sun’s position and the time; our a well structured tourist center from where watch might say 6 a.m. but it was actually the buses transport the travelers to the lake. 4 a.m. according to the position of the sun! The blue of the lake took on many other In this confused state of time we left Saga in hues even as we stood before it in silence complete darkness and a dripping sky. and awe. Crying, joining hands in reverBetween Saga and Manasarovar lie 450 ence, prostrating and photographing—there Kms (279 miles) and even despite the earwas intense activity among our group. And ly hour, the challenging altitude, the wet among all this there was the camp site. The weather and the cold, the collective anticipaSherpas had done it again! They had pitched tion of the group was so thick that it seemed tents for our two night stay on the banks of to have an identity of its own. Thus we the mystical Manasarovar and prepared a hot began the bus ride—Sherpas, duffle bags, meal for us even before we had reached our backpacks, et al. site. There were the toilet tents, the Manasarovar is the world’s highest freshAugust 2014 | www.indiacurrents.com | 57

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58 | INDIA CURRENTS | August 2014

22,000 ft, making it one of the highest points of the Himalayan Range. All around The formidable Kailash in full view this magnificent mystical mountain, the landscape cannot be captured by any device—verbal, written or photographic. One parikrama or circumambulation around the mountain is 52 km (32.31 miles) long and takes about three days. Our trek had to be shortened, since the previous night it had snowed at Deraphuk. It was considered safe to trek only about 17 kms (10.5 miles) to the north face of Kailash. But no one complained. Along the way, the makeup of the group shifted and changed. Some trekkers needed medical attention, medical screening, the emergency, the dining mostly due to difficulty in and the sleeping tents, all numbered for our breathing. There were many doctors with convenience. And as if this wasn’t enough, us and so were oxygen supplies and medicasuddenly there he materialized—Sadhguru tions. It took about six hours for the entire Jaggi Vasudev—my spiritual master, mentor, group to reach Deraphuk, with some reachguide, friend and more. He had just returned ing in under four hours and some in over from Kailash with another group of Isha eight hours. However, despite all the physimeditators. cal complexities that we had endured, the The rest of the morning, the master fact that we had caught a brief glimpse of was with us, initiating us, talking to us and Kailash on the way was all that we chattered answering our innumerable queries. For a about. Most of us managed to capture that while, time lost its grip. Dinner that night transitory view using our cameras and there was a quiet, reverential affair. was an excited sharing of images at the dinThe next morning we prayed for the ner tent. rain to yield and the sun to appear so that The “Kailash Hotel” was a two storied we could complete our pilgrimage to Mabarrack styled affair—with no bathrooms nasarovar with a dip in its waters. Even as or toilets. We had been warned about this. we sat on the banks of the lake on the cold, It was cold, dark and overcast when we dreary, drizzly morning, there was a miracureached the hotel, but the rooms had warm, lous retraction of cloud cover. The sunlight cozy beds and the Sherpas had a hot meal spread itself in a weak haze, enough for us to ready for us, as usual. Among the excited scramble out of our heavy woolens and into chattering in the dinner tent, there was a the cold waters of the Manasarovar. Manasarsudden squeal followed by silence and then ovar resounded with cries of “Shiv Shambo.” noise. And then someone explained, “KaiWe had been strictly instructed not to remain lash. North Face. Clear view.” In a matter of in the icy waters beyond ten minutes and we seconds the tent was empty and the entire did not need more. assemblage was out in the cold, dark night, That night the tents were fervent with prostrating, crying, joining hands—Kailash packing just enough for a two-day stay at stood unbelievably close, strangely sacred Kailash; the rest of our belongings would and incredibly majestic. reach us later on our way back. From ManaThat night as I crept into bed, the Kaisarovar, we boarded the government buses lash clearly visible from my window. There that took us to Yam Dwar via the town of was a feeling of having reached—not a place, Darchen. Securing our walking sticks, ponies not a mountain—just an inner destination. n and porters we began our trek from Yam Dwar to Deraphuk. As instructed we began Anita Kainthla is a published writer and poet. with small steps, guided by a chant of “Shiv She has been nominated for the Pushcart award. Shambho” to match our strides. She writes features, travel articles and short stoThe mighty Kailash stands at almost ries for national and international magazines.

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parent principle

Two Daddies An airplane ride leads to questions and considerations By Sujatha Ramprasad

was headed east from California on a red-eye flight. As soon as I boarded the plane I buckled up, covered myself with my very own red blanket and tried to fall asleep. I have heard some pretty colorful stories about the way in which the airline blankets are cleaned so I always remember to bring my own. The usual chatter was going on in the P.A. system asking folks to bring their larger carry-on items to the front of the plane for a “courtesy check-in.” I closed my eyes and prepared to sleep. Moments later I heard shuffling in the seats next to me. Then an infant began to cry loudly. I shut my eyes tighter. For some very strange reason my brain seems to believe that shutting the eyes tightly will magically close the ears. Well, it didn’t help. Not only did I clearly hear the infant crying, a second sound track of a toddler wailing wafted by. I opened my eyes and took stock of the situation. My neighbors were two men. Seated immediately next to me was a tall, well built gentleman with a brown t-shirt (we’ll call him Mr. Brown). Settled on his lap was the chubby toddler boy about twenty months old. Next, to him was Mr. White (you guessed right—he was wearing a white shirt) holding a most adorable, blue-eyed little baby girl. The whole situation was quite unusual. Being an observant person (read nosy) I could not pass up on the opportunity to learn more about the couple. So, I decided to bag my sleep and put it in the over-head bin or beneath the seat in front of me. My eyes raced to their fingers. Both of them were wearing identical wedding bands. Mr. White was wearing a thick, leather bracelet as an accessory on his wrist. Googling would reveal its name—a “mangle.” GQ magazine had listed it as a men’s fashion statement. Mr. White was busy rummaging through a diaper bag. The bag was dark brown, quite manly and well designed. It had nice little compartments for bottles, diapers and wipes. The main well of the bag was filled with clothes, towels and other sundry items. He managed to pull out a bottle of Benadryl, sucked the medicine into the filler and deftly squeezed it into the children’s mouths. I was surprised. I remember the times when I trav60 | INDIA CURRENTS | August 2014

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eled with my little daughter—I always made sure no one else watched when I gave the sleeping doses. I didn’t want to be judged as a bad mom. On long flights, I knew that Benadryl must be given to the children on the sly—in absolute secrecy. This gentleman had just broken that untold mommy law. I have not interacted with gay parents before. Gay couples—yes, but never gay parents. My mind was ballooning with questions. Do you both work or does one of you stay behind and look after the kids? Do the kids go to day-care? Are one or both of you biological parents? Or, are both the children adopted? Was a surrogate mother involved? Did money exchange hands? Was it the same surrogate mother for both the children? Is the mother someone whom you folks know closely? Who does the dishes? Do you have diaper duties? Shushhhh I told myself, clearly all this is none of my business. The baby started to whimper. She was wearing white coveralls with blue elephant print—the blue matched the color of her eyes, perfectly. The material of the coverall looked soft and comfortable. The baby had chubby cheeks and a round, bald head. She looked so tiny on her dad’s broad shoulders. Her tiny legs covered with the overalls started kicking her dad’s chest. What had began as a whimper rose into a full-blown wail. Mr. White patted her bottom. “She needs a diaper change,” he declared. He artfully removed the seat belt with one hand and picked up the diaper bag with the same hand before heading towards the bathroom. A few minutes later, the much happier baby, and dad headed back to their seats. Mr. White handed the baby over to Mr. Brown saying he wanted to use the restroom himself. Mr. Brown now held the baby in his left hand and the boy in his right. He kissed their heads fondly. The baby was gurgling and was ready to fall asleep. The toddler was still fussing. Mr. Brown told the little boy that he would buy him a large hat when they got to the beach. They must be heading somewhere warm for a vacation I thought, as I pulled my blanket closer. The boy whined and said, “I am hungry. Can I have something to eat?” Mr. Brown placed the boy on his lap and moved his hand. I presumed that he was go-

How will it be for the little girl to grow up in a household with two male parents, I thought—especially during her teenage years? ing to press the call button and ask the flight attendant for a glass of milk but instead he pulled a Styrofoam take-out box from his bag and gave the kid a handful of fries. Unconventional? Yes. But, it did the trick. The boy fell asleep after munching a couple of them. Mr. White came back to his seat and took back the sleeping baby. The family of four dozed off, looking perfectly serene. The baby smiled blissfully in her sleep. Her smile melted my heart. How will it be for the little girl to grow up in a household with two male parents, I thought—especially during her teenage years? Would she be comfortable discussing the changes in her body with her dad(s)? I hope she would be able to talk to her grandmother or her aunt during her adolescence. The only girl that I know, who was raised by two dads is Rachel from Glee. She grows up to be a totally driven and competitive teenager with a single-minded goal of becoming a performer on Broadway. Rachel’s dads stand by her, every step of the way. She

revels in the affection showered by her dads, but this does not prevent her from trying to get in touch with her biological mother. Rachel is, however, disappointed when she meets her mother. She realizes that they could never connect at the mother-daughter level. Rachel, otherwise, is portrayed, as a normal girl who falls in love, suffers through breakups and goes through life like any average girl. But Rachel, I told myself, is only a fictitious character, a figment of a writer’s imagination. How would a real life teenage girl feel? Later, I would ask a teenage girl how she would have felt if two dads raised her. Her reply came back like a dart. “It surely beats being raised in an abusive or a broken family.” Unlike Rachel, I hoped that the little girl in the plane would never pine for her biological mom. Mr. Brown’s breaths morphed into a mild snore. I was fully awake and watched the kids intently. Would the little girl and boy marry within the same gender? It did occur to me that two or three generations down the line there might be a little girl who grows up with two dads and four grandfathers. Another hypothetical scene ran through my mind. A scene set in a society where same-sex marriage becomes the new normal. In that society would procreation just be a business dealing with a member of the other sex? The practice of producing an offspring outside of marriage, in cases where the couple could not have children of their own seems to have been accepted in puranic times. In fact, this practice called Niyoga features several times in Mahabharata. When Vichithravirya dies without an heir to the throne his mother Sathyavati calls Vyasa to help save the lineage by performing Niyoga with the widows Ambika and Ambalika. Similarly, when Pandu is cursed to die if he became intimate with any woman, his wives Kunti and Madri have children through Niyoga. According to Niyoga the paternity of the child lies with the husband and wife and the person performing Niyoga is forbidden from having any attachment to the child. Would the laws set in the Puranic times be applicable today, I wondered. While I had cheered on heartily when Blaine proposed to Kurt, in Glee’s Season 5 premiere, I considered only the fate of two people in love and not the destiny of the their offspring. The P.A. system came alive and the captain warned us about the upcoming bumpy ride. I tightened my seat belt and prepared for the tumultuous times ahead. The baby girl opened her eyes and smiled at me. n Sujatha Ramprasad loves to read poetry and philosophy. She is an ardent fan of Harry Potter. August 2014 | www.indiacurrents.com | 61

viewfinder

Naturally Indian By Susmita Khan

r winne

ast year, we visited the City of Ten Thousand Buddhas—an enormous Buddhist center of worship, monasticism and education, and the first of its kind in the Western Hemisphere— in Ukiah, California. Perhaps to reinforce the spiritual atmosphere of the community, live peacocks festooned the City of Ten Thousand Buddhas. They pranced their way amongst the surroundings, crossing pathways and blocking doors with impunity. This photograph

highlights the surreal combination of the old-fashioned, wooden doorway and the peacock’s regal plumage, decked in full splendor. n Susmita Khan is a full-time parent. With a daughter in college and son in high school, she is a partial empty-nester and spends time on reading, photography, and traveling.

India Currents invites readers to submit to this column. Send us a picture with caption and we’ll pick the best entry every month. There will be a cash prize awarded to the lucky entrant. Entries will be judged on the originality and creativity of the visual and the clarity and storytelling of the caption. So pick up that camera and click away. Send the picture as a jpeg image to editor@indiacurrents.com with Subject: A Picture That Tells a Story. Deadline for entries: 10th of every month. 62 | INDIA CURRENTS | August 2014

dear doctor

Consequence of Careless Words By Alzak Amlani

I recently had a difficult encounter with a friend that I have known for about two years. We work in the same company and have worked on projects together and spent time going out to lunch and on walks. We have shared a lot about our personal lives and been quite vulnerable with each other. In some ways, I’ve also put her on a bit of a pedestal. Recently, I said some things about her family and she got very angry and has pulled away from me. She felt misunderstood and offended, she informed me. At first it was difficult for me to understand what I did that was so offensive. After thinking about it and talking to other people, I can see how I was a bit judgmental. I feel awful about my blunder. I find myself crying about it, feeling guilty, anxious and worrying that she won’t ever be my friend again. I keep going over the conversation and critiquing myself, but it just makes me feel worse. I don’t think she wants to talk about it. I don’t know how to go forward and resolve this situation. Can you advise?

Sounds like you feel trapped in this dilemma. Often when we feel closer to someone, something big like this can

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happen. Sometimes the intensity and vulnerability of the closeness is scary and people need to break the contact in order to protect themselves. This is often unconscious. Whenever we share our deeper selves with another, there is the possibility of hurt feelings. It is a risk to expose ourselves because we don’t know how it will be received and what triggers a person has that we will step on. There seems to be genuine care between the two of you. If that is so, take a few moments to actually remember and recognize that reality. Let it steep in your body and feelings for a bit. Sounds like you are starting to be very hard on yourself. We all make blunders. It is valuable to inquire into what you were feeling when you said the things to your friend that she found hurtful. Was there aggression, fear, jealousy or other emotions there? If so, look more deeply into them and it can be an opportunity to learn about yourself and grow. Close friendships can bring up a lot of our own family issues, especially with siblings. See if your friend reminds you of anyone from your family or experiences from

your past. When we hit a very challenging place with someone, it often has baggage from previous significant relationships, especially from the family of origin. See if you can cultivate the ground of self-compassion by realizing that you are human and that means you have been hurt in life and are conditioned and flawed, and therefore, will from time to time hurt another person. How you feel about that and how you are willing to change, makes all the difference. Owning your limitations, speaking them and forgiving yourself will help you move on. This will also make room for a healing dialogue if your friend is ready. If she chooses to stay away, then you can, from a distance, send positive thoughts of well being and care. This will free you from negative worrying and soothe the hurt and fear. n Alzak Amlani, Ph.D., is a counseling psychologist of Indian descent in the Bay Area. 650-325-8393. Visit www. wholenesstherapy.com

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the last word

Otranto—An Italian Poem By Sarita Sarvate

hen I applied to a writers’ residency in Otranto, Italy, I did not even know where the town was. I filled out the paperwork half-heartedly, not sure if I wanted to go. So, when I got the letter of acceptance, I reviewed a map and located the place, a tiny dot on the southern tip of Italy’s Adriatic coast. I decided to let myself be surprised. After all, a web search had produced only a scant description, leading me to imagine Otranto as a rustic backwater, windswept and rural, with perhaps only a shop or two to boast of. Riding the train from Rome, I watch rolling hills covered with vineyards. Hay bales are arranged in a geometrical pattern in farms stretching for miles. This is an agricultural country, a producer of some of the best wines, cheeses, olives, olive oils, and sausages. I note that the fruit here taste the way fruit once tasted in California, not like cardboard, but with a flavor that winds its way deep into your soul. When the landscape slowly gives way to pale ochre earth cradling pink lantana blossoms and acacia trees reminiscent of my native India, I am pleasantly surprised. Then the train begins to hug the blue Adriatic along a flat peninsula and my excitement mounts. Arriving in Otranto, I discover a place I straight out of an Italian film; cobblestone alleys twisting and turning around yelsit on the low and white buildings; windows with blue and brown wooden shutterrace in the ters; cast iron balconies overflowmorning sipping the ing with flowers. The old town is Red Label tea I have encased inside a fortress complete with a moat, creating a scene brought with straight out of Game of Thrones, a fantasy kingdom protected from me and admire the invasions by sea or by land. In my apartment, which I view. All of life’s share with two roommates, I walk traumas melt out on to the terrace overlooking the finger of land jutting out to the away, dissolve blue sea in an arc, with a tiny, white lighthouse at the end, and my breath into the sea stops. breeze. Before the advent of jet travel, the Adriatic was a gateway to the East. You can see the mountains of Albania from here and a ferry will take you to Greece. An ancient Greek community still survives here in small pockets, its dialect far removed from its parent country, its music rustic and haunting. There are Messapi ruins here, left by the aborigine inhabitants of the peninsula that date back to the eighth century BC. Paola, the program’s founder, takes us on a walk to some pre-historic ruins at sunset on June 21, the summer solstice, which also happens to be my older son Ravi’s birthday. We enter a long tunnel, and as the clouds lift, a shaft of sunlight enters underground, and reflected by the strategically placed walls, illuminates the prehistoric burial chamber in a golden light. In the 1400s, a Turkish invasion killed eight hundred men of Otranto. The town’s cathedral still keeps their bones on display in glass cases. It was only in 2013 that Pope Francis canonized these martyrs. This fact troubles me; I recall George W. Bush invoking the crusades in a speech justifying the invasion of Iraq. Can’t bygones be bygones, I wonder. Or should we display the bones of those killed in the Jallianwallah Bagh massacre in a temple somewhere too? But then again, Catholics think nothing of preserving body parts of their saints; I still 64 | INDIA CURRENTS | August 2014

recall my shock and revulsion at the sight of Saint Theresa’s finger in a jar in a church in Avila, Spain; Hindus on the other hand, would find such an act too macabre. Notwithstanding its bloody history, Otranto is one of the most peaceful and friendly places on earth. Passers-by greet you with a Buona Sera or just Sera, and strangers give you a hand with your bags. Maybe it is the siesta everyone has every afternoon during la pausa, the break, that keeps people so mellow. Or maybe it is the pleasant sea breeze that lulls you into a feeling of harmony. Whatever the reason, one is unable to rush around here. Every meal is served slowly and with care, and educated Italians like Giuseppe Conoci, who owns a local publishing company for music and books, sit in cafes, discussing philosophy. The shallow bay is calm and warm to swim in the summertime and Italian children are in evidence everywhere; American tourists have luckily not discovered this place yet. Riding around the countryside in an elegantly decorated auto-rickshaw locals call the appetino, I see olive groves stretching as far as the eye can see. When I dip a piece of fresh bread—which goes hard in a day indicating a lack of preservatives—into the oil and take a bite, my throat tingles. It is the oil’s anti-inflammatory property that causes the itch, my roommate Sophie says. And sure enough, within days, the sore throat and congestion I have had for months in drought-ridden California is gone. Vegetarians would have no trouble surviving here; pasta and sauces are of course ubiquitous like everywhere in Italy, but beans and nuts are in abundance too; chick-pea pasta is a local specialty and so is breaded, fried zucchini, marinated or grilled eggplant, a kind of fava bean paste which is served like a soup, and tarelli, a spiral bread stick. Ordering the vegetarian antipasti—appetizers— of the house in a restaurant with my fellow writers, I stuff myself so that I can hardly touch the pasta and there are two more courses to go. I sit on the terrace in the morning sipping the Red Label tea I have brought with me and admire the view. All of life’s traumas melt away, dissolve into the sea breeze. I have come here to write, but words seem to fail here so I am glad I have taken up watercolor painting lately; I sit on the terrace painting the scene. It is the art in the day to day things that takes my breath away, not the statues and paintings stored in museums. On my last evening, I persuade my young roommate Sophie, who is a lithe dancer and an artist, to walk with me along the coast toward the other lighthouse. The cliffs, the fields marked by medieval stone walls, the fresh sea breeze, the blue, blue waters, mesmerize us. And I marvel that only a month or two before, I had not even heard of Otranto. At the residency show, I share my paintings and my writing. As I read aloud my essay about my solo travels, I begin to shake, my voice fails, I am on the verge of tears. Otranto has made me vulnerable, raw, brittle. It is the most wonderful feeling on earth, as if all restraints have been removed. And I am free. n Sarita Sarvate (www.saritasarvate.com) has published commentaries for New America Media, KQED FM, San Jose Mercury News, the Oakland Tribune, and many nationwide publications.

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