Identity Crisis

My maternal grandparents hailed from Karachi and my mother and all her siblings were born there. They had to flee Karachi in the wake of the partition in 1947, leaving behind a comfortable existence and had to start a new life, struggling to make ends meet in a new place amongst strangers. My mother was just entering her teenage years during that time and her memories of her childhood and those years is vivid and I have heard a lot of stories about those times from her. My father was working in Karachi at that time as well and he too had to leave Karachi and find his fortunes elsewhere. The tales that my parents have told me over the years have made Karachi hold a special place in my heart.

I stumbled onto Karachiwali's blog a couple of days back. Her posts about the Mumbai incident and the comments by her and her fellow bloggers were painful to read. I left a comment for her requesting her to revisit what she had written earlier and to her credit, as of now she has taken down all Mumbai related posts and comments off the blog.

Yesterday I watched Bhowani Junction on the telly which talks about the identity crisis of the Anglo-Indians and realised that the Muslims of our subcontinent are facing a similar identity crisis. Sooner or later they will have to decide who they are and where they belong. Are they expatriate Arabs, Iranis, Turks, Afghans or Mongols, living in a land conquered by their forefathers? Or are they the sons and daughters of the soil of this subcontinent? Do they wish to regain the lost glory of their ancestors and rule over the infidels, or do they want to be citizens of a modern nation having a stake in the stability and prosperity of this area? Most Muslims can trace their ancestry back to a Hindu ancestor even if they tend to hide it and glorify their Arab or Middle Eastern origins. They have to accept their origins and dispose of their victim mentality. Because the Muslims too have a hand in the mess that the subcontinent is in today. Taali kabhi ek haathse nahin bajti.

Edit: I think it is more of an identity confusion than an identity crisis.

Dev D. review

I know, I know. I am quite late in coming up with this review, but I just got to watch this movie and this is one of those movies which need to be taken note of.

Anurag Kashyap has not reinvented the wheel, but he surely has redesigned it. This is the dark story of a young man who wanders through life hell bent on self destruction. Who doesn't recognize A Good Thing (TM) when he sees it, one who believes that the world exists for his gratification and one who just believes in enjoying his perceived rights without giving any thought to his responsibilities.

Now this story has been told many times on the silver screen by different people with different takes. Most of them have romanticized the hero, what Anurag Kashyap has done is presented him in the raw, the way he is. And left it up to you to decide whether you sympathize with him or not. Most of us in real life come across people who have the characteristics of Dev in varying degrees. I sure have and I remember them for the damage and the heartburn they have caused in their wake.

Abhay is good but Mahi and Kalki are even better and they have done complete justice to what the director and the script required. This film tackles many taboos head on and is a path breaker in many respects. The sexual content and dialog might be offensive to some but it is in tune with the times we live in. This is the story of Devdas as it would have happened in this age.

The music is good. The only gripe I have is about the length of the movie. With tighter editing, the movie could have been brought down to around 120-130 minutes and then it would have been a pleasant experience.

Definitely a must watch and perhaps another watch again.

Log kya kahenge........

This story was forwarded to me in an email. You might have read or heard it earlier, but it still is good for a laugh every time you come across it!

There was this village pastor who entered his donkey in a race and it won..

The local paper read: PASTOR'S ASS OUT FRONT.

The Bishop was so upset with this kind of publicity that he ordered the Pastor not to enter the donkey in another race.

The next day, the local paper headline read:BISHOP SCRATCHES PASTOR'S ASS.

This was too much for the bishop, so he ordered the pastor to get rid of the donkey.

The pastor decided to give it to a nun in a nearby convent. The local paper carried this headline the next day: NUN HAS BEST ASS IN TOWN.

The bishop upon reading this fainted. He informed the nun that she would have to get rid of the donkey, so she sold it to a farmer for $10.

The next day the paper read:NUN SELLS ASS FOR $10.

This caused the bishop a minor heart attack. He ordered the nun to buy back the donkey and lead it to the plains where it could run wild.

The next day the headlines read: NUN ANNOUNCES HER ASS IS WILD AND FREE.

The bishop was buried the next day.

The moral of the story is . .. Being overly concerned about public opinion can bring you untold grief and misery!

Provocation.........

Indian Home Maker has written a thought provoking post on provocative dressing here. And Nimmy has written a post in reply here.

Universally, society sets the norms for acceptable behavior. All the individual can do is try to raise awareness and contribute towards changing how a society deals with issues. Even in the west, emancipation and equal rights for any underprivileged section of society, whether women or blacks, has been won one small step at a time.

Here is a story from today's Saudi Gazette. A 23-year-old unmarried, gang-raped woman was awarded a one-year prison term and 100 lashes for committing adultery, getting pregnant and trying to abort the foetus. The judge was considerate enough to postpone the lashes to be administered after the child is born.

I have read somewhere that a society is judged by the way it treats its weakest members. And I guess this society has a long way to go before it can be called compassionate or just or civilized.

The Lure of the Gulf

Visit any Gulf country and you will see Indians laboring away industriously in all types of jobs, from the menial jobs that no local would want to do, to the highly sophisticated ones which require professional qualifications. Most of these migrant workers are from South India and a great percentage of them are from Kerala. This has led to the saying that most people from Kerala are more familiar with Dubai than they are with their own Trivandrum.

Southern India has enjoyed a historic trade relationship with the Arab world with Arab settlements in almost all notable coastal cities and ports of Kerala. The current outflux of workers to the Gulf began in the seventies with the price of oil skyrocketing and the Gulf economies starting to enjoy an economic boom. Most of those workers migrate on bachelor status, leaving their families behind. They live in cramped accommodations, segregated from any interaction with the opposite sex for long periods of time. This results in a host of social and psychological problems both among the migrant population and the population left behind in the home country.

Most of those migrant workers work hard and long hours and remit their savings back home for their families to enjoy a comparatively good standard of living. This influx of Gulf money has proved unhealthy for Kerala. Because it has not generated any lasting development back home. Instead, it has made the local economy even more dependent on exporting its human capital for the purpose of earning remittances.

But things are changing. It is not only monetary considerations these days which come into play when a highly qualified professional decides to migrate to the Gulf. Nowadays for the Muslim professional from the subcontinent, migrating with his family to the Gulf is a chance to enjoy the best of both worlds. Because they get all the material benefits and the infrastructure of the first world, while living in an Islamic state and retaining their own cultural heritage and identity. So they get to live in the West, but without its decadence. Plus they are close enough to the home country to be able to frequently travel and visit their relatives back home. While for other non-Muslim migrants looking for a better life and looking to escape the madness that is the subcontinent, the Gulf is the first step in their trajectory of ultimately migrating to the West.

In the arms of another woman

A popular motivational speaker was invited to give a speech to a sales team. And he was very good at his craft. He was trying to explain to them the importance of grabbing the client's attention, even if that meant using unconventional methods. The audience was getting bored and started fidgeting in their seats and whispering amongst themselves.

In the middle of his speech, sensing the audience's lack of interest, the speaker declared: "I have spent the best years of my life in the arms of a woman who wasn't my wife!"

There was pindrop silence in the hall and the speaker had everyones eyes and ears glued on him.

And then he casually added: "And that woman was my mother!"

Laughter and applause. The sales team really appreciated what the speaker demonstrated with his powerful example.

A week later, a salesman who had attended this training session tried to crack this very same joke at home. He was slightly inebriated after a couple of drinks.

He said loudly to his wife, "The best times of my life were spent in the arms of another woman."

The wife went purple in shock and rage and turned her full blinding glare on her husband.

The salesman fidgeted for half a minute under her stare and grew nervous trying to recall the punch line.

"Well.............." the wife prodded.

The salesman finally blurted out "... and I can't remember who she was!"


Moral of the story: Don't start what you can't finish!!!

The Attack of the Killer Rabbit

It was a long time back, but I first heard the story of the killer rabbit attack on President Carter in 1979 or 1980, and how he fought the rabbit back. I found it hilarious then because I, and everyone else believed rabbits can't swim and that rabbits do not attack people. I always thought that this incident was a figment of his imagination. That was that and I did not read much about that story later. But the connection in my mind had been made. Talk about Carter and in my mind the story of the killer rabbit attack would resurface. He was either the peanut-lover or the rabbit-attacked in my memory.

Well, it turns out that one particular species of the rabbit can swim. The swamp rabbit is a skilled swimmer. And that this particular incident had been photographed. But this photo was not published until the Reagan presidency. This is the photograph which is in the public domain now, courtesy of the Jimmy Carter Library

You can see the rabbit swimming away on the far right.

The moral of the story is that one should take care in dismissing anything out of hand. We evaluate things according to the information available to us at the time and that truth is sometimes stranger than fiction.

The 'Uttam' face of Indian Health care

The existing public health care system is not viewed favorably by its potential users in India. There are a number of reasons for that, quality and availability being the foremost. In both urban and rural areas, people prefer to pay and seek personalized services provided by private physicians, with a human touch, rather than use free treatment at public health centers. Simply because they lack faith in the system and the way it deals with them and if capable, would rather pay for availing health care.

This is where the R.M.P.'s step in. Registered Medical Practitioners outnumber certified medical doctors, especially in small towns and villages, where qualified doctors are loathe to set up practice. And it is easy to get registered. So easy in fact, that Uttam, who could barely read or write, got his registration and started his practice, with all of us, his friends, chipping in to get him started.

Uttam's house was on the same street as ours. His father had died while he was still a toddler and his mother had single-handedly raised him. But even she departed while he was entering his teens. Uttam had dropped out of primary school and had been through several odd jobs until he finally landed a job at a doctor's clinic and learned a few tricks of that trade.

To make a long story short, in a few years, Uttam managed to register himself as an R.M.P. and started his practice in a neighboring village. He would commute daily on his lucky bike, the same one which he rode for his baraat, but that is a tale for another day. He was very good at interpersonal skills and his practice grew quickly. He used to steer clear of trouble by dispensing innocuous medicines and referring complicated cases to qualified doctors, mostly using the placebo effect to cure his patients and build up his reputation.

But all good things come to an end. A couple of years later, he had an aged lady die in his clinic while waiting for her turn to be seen. And although it was not his fault, his dispensary was ransacked and his bike was mangled up and he himself was badly beaten up by the relatives.

This incident shook up Uttam so badly that his next couple of years were again spent doing odd jobs till he finally mustered up enough courage to set up shop once again, but in town this time and only specializing in skin related ailments. Because, he reasoned, no one dies of skin diseases.

He has done nicely ever since. He built a large house for his growing family and a few years back, his daughter graduated from dental college and is now a practicing dentist.

By the way Happy Diwali to one and all!