UPDATE 2: war on mumbai
Of all the idiotic nonsense to come out of the last 24 hours, all this talk about this attack being 'India's 9/11' has to come pretty much on top of the list. What does that mean anyway? If we absolutely have to compare these attacks to something else, surely a more appropriate comparison would be the FLN attacks in Algeria (combination shootings / bombings targeted at popular sites in affluent neighborhoods with a high proportion of foreigners) or the Munich attack (armed assailants attack a high visibility complex, take foreigners hostage) rather than 9/11?
Which is not to suggest that today's attack has anything to do with Black September or that the Deccan Mujahideen have anything in common with the Algerian Freedom movement, but rather that drawing random and inexplicable parallels between one act of terrorism and another is a futile and ridiculous exercise, especially when it's done purely for the sake of a sound-bite. Every major terrorist strike is an act by itself and must be understood on its own terms. Comparisons are not merely silly, they may also be misleading, because they create the illusion of understanding without helping us achieve any.
That said, if we are going to be saddled with this stupid India's 9/11 nonsense, we may as well draw what lessons we can from the analogy. In particular, we should draw the lesson that we must be suspicious of any and all claims that ascribe these attacks to foreign influence, that we must demand strong evidence for every alleged link to an outside terrorist group, that we must not allow ourselves to be fobbed off with poorly specified conspiracy theories, or be blinded to government incompetence by the bluster of their subsequent response. But most of all, that we must not allow ourselves to be taken over by the lethal combination of outrage and ignorance, must not allow our terror over today's events (and we should be afraid, very afraid) to translate into self-righteousness, prejudice, violence and the surrender of our principles and freedoms. Even if today's attack really is India's 9/11 (whatever that means) we must make sure that India's next seven years are not the US from 2001-2008.
And finally, can someone please explain to me where all this talk about these attacks being so sophisticated and well-coordinated is coming from? Arms sourcing aside, what's so hard about today's attack? You recruit a bunch of raw youths, give them, say, a week of basic training, hand them their weapons, tell them what building to hit and at roughly what time. What's the big deal? Every small-time dabbawalla in Bombay (what? you think Suketu Mehta is the only one who can come up with irrelevant local color?) handles greater coordination challenges on a daily basis.
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Saturday, November 29, 2008
media frenzy
UPDATE 1: war on mumbai
Given all the comments and incoming links to this post, I wanted to clarify that the primary point of this post was NOT to heap blame on the media. The key takeaway from the events of the last 24 hours for me is the desperate need to have better, more comprehensive plans, procedures and protocols to invoke in emergencies like this.
It would be nice, of course, if the media were to behave more responsibly. And it would be wonderful if some dynamic, hyper-competent leader were to take charge of the law enforcement response, thinking through all the angles in real-time. But expecting that either will automatically happen is unreasonable. Which is why we need to be better prepared for such eventualities in the future.
Look, television reporters have their own pressures and incentives. With the multiplicity of channels covering these events, responsibility is necessarily diffuse, and voluntary restraint would require a level of disinterested collaboration that is always going to be fragile. Even if n-1 channels self-censored, there would always be the 1 channel that would broadcast sensitive information just to get its ratings up. This doesn't excuse the media's behavior, doesn't make them less responsible for any and all negative consequences of their reporting; but it does mean that the media response we're seeing is predictable and unsurprising, and should have been planned for in advance.
By the same token, it's not surprising that spontaneous leadership in a crisis like this one is poor and spotty. You can't seriously expect someone caught up in the rush of events, overwhelmed by both information and emotion, to think of everything (or even of most things). Nor is it easy to actually implement a communication shut down unless there's a previously defined protocol to do so. To take just one example, assuming whoever's in charge of the government response realized that they need to black out all cellphone communication in the affected area. How would he go about doing that?
And it's not simply a question of whether live feeds have finally been disabled, or television input to the hotel eventually been cut. It's not even really a question of how much the information given out by the media helped the attackers this time around. The real question - to me, at least - is: if the government needed to clamp down on the media and cut communication channels in an emergency, could it do so quickly, efficiently and comprehensively? The answer, based on what we're currently seeing, is a frightening no. That's a vulnerability that future terrorist groups - groups far more sophisticated in their manipulation of information than the ones currently attacking Mumbai - could exploit to devastating advantage.
The point is - it would be a pity if our response to today's events was limited to a lot of hand-wringing about how the media are a bunch of sensation-addicted scavengers, or a lot of poorly informed speculation about the motives and backgrounds of the attackers (it doesn't really matter, does it? Today it's one cause, tomorrow it'll be another; terrorism is not a novel phenomenon, it's a standard manifestation of socio-political unrest). The questions we really need to be asking are: what can we do to be better prepared to respond to terrorist attacks like this one? How have other countries (Israel springs to mind) prepared for such situations? What can we learn from them? For that to happen, though, we're going to need to look carefully and objectively at today's response and study what we could have done differently, and do so without pointing fingers or getting angry or trying to ascribe blame. Because you can be certain that somewhere out there there's a group of criminals who are doing exactly that in preparation for their next assault.
Given all the comments and incoming links to this post, I wanted to clarify that the primary point of this post was NOT to heap blame on the media. The key takeaway from the events of the last 24 hours for me is the desperate need to have better, more comprehensive plans, procedures and protocols to invoke in emergencies like this.
It would be nice, of course, if the media were to behave more responsibly. And it would be wonderful if some dynamic, hyper-competent leader were to take charge of the law enforcement response, thinking through all the angles in real-time. But expecting that either will automatically happen is unreasonable. Which is why we need to be better prepared for such eventualities in the future.
Look, television reporters have their own pressures and incentives. With the multiplicity of channels covering these events, responsibility is necessarily diffuse, and voluntary restraint would require a level of disinterested collaboration that is always going to be fragile. Even if n-1 channels self-censored, there would always be the 1 channel that would broadcast sensitive information just to get its ratings up. This doesn't excuse the media's behavior, doesn't make them less responsible for any and all negative consequences of their reporting; but it does mean that the media response we're seeing is predictable and unsurprising, and should have been planned for in advance.
By the same token, it's not surprising that spontaneous leadership in a crisis like this one is poor and spotty. You can't seriously expect someone caught up in the rush of events, overwhelmed by both information and emotion, to think of everything (or even of most things). Nor is it easy to actually implement a communication shut down unless there's a previously defined protocol to do so. To take just one example, assuming whoever's in charge of the government response realized that they need to black out all cellphone communication in the affected area. How would he go about doing that?
And it's not simply a question of whether live feeds have finally been disabled, or television input to the hotel eventually been cut. It's not even really a question of how much the information given out by the media helped the attackers this time around. The real question - to me, at least - is: if the government needed to clamp down on the media and cut communication channels in an emergency, could it do so quickly, efficiently and comprehensively? The answer, based on what we're currently seeing, is a frightening no. That's a vulnerability that future terrorist groups - groups far more sophisticated in their manipulation of information than the ones currently attacking Mumbai - could exploit to devastating advantage.
The point is - it would be a pity if our response to today's events was limited to a lot of hand-wringing about how the media are a bunch of sensation-addicted scavengers, or a lot of poorly informed speculation about the motives and backgrounds of the attackers (it doesn't really matter, does it? Today it's one cause, tomorrow it'll be another; terrorism is not a novel phenomenon, it's a standard manifestation of socio-political unrest). The questions we really need to be asking are: what can we do to be better prepared to respond to terrorist attacks like this one? How have other countries (Israel springs to mind) prepared for such situations? What can we learn from them? For that to happen, though, we're going to need to look carefully and objectively at today's response and study what we could have done differently, and do so without pointing fingers or getting angry or trying to ascribe blame. Because you can be certain that somewhere out there there's a group of criminals who are doing exactly that in preparation for their next assault.
Thursday, November 27, 2008
war on mumbai
First, I hope you're okay, as is everyone you know.
Watching the coverage online for hours now, it strikes me that what we need more than anything else is the ability to respond to crises like this in an intelligent and organized way. With all these news reports of people having conversations with guests trapped inside the hotels coming in, I can't help wondering why no one seems to have thought of blocking communication in and out of the attack sites. If guests hiding in their rooms can call people on the outside, then presumably so can the attackers, which means they have both ready access to all information being publicly broadcast and the ability to coordinate with their fellow criminals in and around the city. It also means they have an unparalleled ability to spread disinformation (how do we know, for instance, that some of the reports coming in are not from the terrorists themselves?). I have to think this is a bad idea.
It's a particularly bad idea because it seems to me that most media channels are too busy trying to sensationalize the news to bother thinking through the consequences of what they're saying. It's not just that much of the coverage seems to be designed to amplify the general hysteria and panic, it's also that watching journalists describe what the police are doing or report on who is still trapped inside the hotels, I find myself wondering whether anyone's considered that at least some of that information might be helping the attackers.
Look, criminal acts like today's attacks are not going to go away. No matter what party is in power (and today's events probably made it more likely that will be the BJP - a pity), no matter how many civil liberties we suspend or how close to a police state we move, no matter how many arbitrary security procedures we put in place, this will happen again. What we can, and should, do is be better prepared for the next time it happens, so we can respond to it intelligently, instead of adopting what, from my admittedly distant perspective, looks suspiciously like the headless chicken approach.
Watching the coverage online for hours now, it strikes me that what we need more than anything else is the ability to respond to crises like this in an intelligent and organized way. With all these news reports of people having conversations with guests trapped inside the hotels coming in, I can't help wondering why no one seems to have thought of blocking communication in and out of the attack sites. If guests hiding in their rooms can call people on the outside, then presumably so can the attackers, which means they have both ready access to all information being publicly broadcast and the ability to coordinate with their fellow criminals in and around the city. It also means they have an unparalleled ability to spread disinformation (how do we know, for instance, that some of the reports coming in are not from the terrorists themselves?). I have to think this is a bad idea.
It's a particularly bad idea because it seems to me that most media channels are too busy trying to sensationalize the news to bother thinking through the consequences of what they're saying. It's not just that much of the coverage seems to be designed to amplify the general hysteria and panic, it's also that watching journalists describe what the police are doing or report on who is still trapped inside the hotels, I find myself wondering whether anyone's considered that at least some of that information might be helping the attackers.
Look, criminal acts like today's attacks are not going to go away. No matter what party is in power (and today's events probably made it more likely that will be the BJP - a pity), no matter how many civil liberties we suspend or how close to a police state we move, no matter how many arbitrary security procedures we put in place, this will happen again. What we can, and should, do is be better prepared for the next time it happens, so we can respond to it intelligently, instead of adopting what, from my admittedly distant perspective, looks suspiciously like the headless chicken approach.
Thursday, October 09, 2008
waiting
It's been so long that the clocks have rusted. Shreds of time stuck between the cogwheel's teeth.
Spiders trace and retrace their paths across the doorway, as though unable to believe no one has returned.
A stone comes through the window, lies on the floor. Like a throat waiting to say something.
The dead man hangs from the rafters. His clothes rot and fall away, his flesh too. At some point, the bees discover the empty hangar of his skull and build inside it. The tip of the hive hangs down to his chest like a beard.
Slow armies of moss overrun the carpet. The couch is lost to a bombardment of mushrooms. Wallpaper countries peel from their maps.
Now that the window is filmed with dust, the light enters like a ghost, touching first one thing then another, leaving no impression.
Spiders trace and retrace their paths across the doorway, as though unable to believe no one has returned.
A stone comes through the window, lies on the floor. Like a throat waiting to say something.
The dead man hangs from the rafters. His clothes rot and fall away, his flesh too. At some point, the bees discover the empty hangar of his skull and build inside it. The tip of the hive hangs down to his chest like a beard.
Slow armies of moss overrun the carpet. The couch is lost to a bombardment of mushrooms. Wallpaper countries peel from their maps.
Now that the window is filmed with dust, the light enters like a ghost, touching first one thing then another, leaving no impression.
Thursday, September 04, 2008
oddstaff and the banquet
I never did get around to blogging about my Chennai trip, did I? A place so different and yet so unique that i love visiting :-) One of the more fun parts of the trip (and unusual - given that I'm NOT a foodie) was the unrelenting focus on food, with the Area being converted into my own personal smorgasbord. Quite the culinary voyage.....
***
Saravana Bhavan, ******akkam, Madras.
7.00 pm.
Oddstaff and Z arrive. Listlessly eye invading hordes at the door.
7.05 pm.
Z: Well, I've put our name down for a table.
O: Did he say how long it would take?
Z: Fifteen minutes.
O: Dude, no way. Look at that waiting area. There must be a thousand people ahead of us.
Z: Don't exaggerate, there are only 994.
O: Ya, but two of them are pregnant.
Z: Look, he said 15 minutes. Let's just wait and see and if we don't get a table then we can always go elsewhere.
O: Sigh. Okay.
7.25 pm
O: It's half past seven.
Z: Ya, I know. I guess he was wrong about the 15 minutes.
O: I told you so. Can we go now?
Z: What, after we've waited twenty minutes? Of course not.
O: But, but...you said.
Z: Look, I'm sure we'll get a table any moment now.
O: How? That line in the waiting area hasn't moved.
Z: Well, don't look at me, you're the one who wanted to come here.
O: Me?
Z: Sure. You asked for this place.
O: I did not. You asked me if I was okay with South Indian and I said "Sure, why not"
Z: See - exactly.
7.40 pm
Z: Hmmm...this is getting ridiculous. It isn't normally this crowded you know.
O: *wounded silence*
Z: Maybe we should get it to go.
O: We can get it to go? Really? Why didn't we do that straight away?
Z: Because we were going to get a table.
O: Wha...Why?
Z: Well, I thought you might want to see what the place is like. You know, check out the ambiance.
O: What ambiance? The place is more crowded than Dadar station at rush hour.
Z: Well, you're the one who's always saying you miss Bombay.
O: Oh, never mind, let's just go order.
7.45 pm
[Bloody but unbowed, O & Z arrive at the counter, having hacked their way through a tropical rainforest of arms and legs]
Z: ...and we'll have one plate of X as well*
Uncle-ji at counter: X? You sure you want X? Why not have Y instead? Very tasty. Absolutely fresh.
Z: Okay, one plate of Y then. How long will it take?
Uncle-ji: Oh, ten minutes.
7.50 pm
[O & Z reduced to mere flotsam in sea of humanity, trying desperately to get the last molecules of remaining oxygen in the place into their lungs. O makes a break for it and goes stands in the parking lot. It's good to be back in the First World.]
8.15 pm
Z: How long is that order going to take?
Uncle-ji: It's almost done.
Z: You said ten minutes. It's been half an hour.
Uncle-ji: Yes, I know. It's that Y you ordered. We'd run out so we're having to make a new batch.
Z: But you told me to take Y. You said it was absolutely fresh.
Uncle-ji: And it will be. When it's ready.
Z: *grits teeth. tries not to swear* What about the rest of our order?
Uncle-ji: Oh, that's right here. It's been ready for twenty minutes.
Z: Right, forget the Y then. We're going.
8:20 pm
O: So, did the guy ever call our table?
Z: No. I asked him about that on the way out.
O: What did he say?
Z: He said it would be just fifteen minutes.
***
*Sorry, I don't actually remember what we ordered. The food was that unmemorable.
***
Saravana Bhavan, ******akkam, Madras.
7.00 pm.
Oddstaff and Z arrive. Listlessly eye invading hordes at the door.
7.05 pm.
Z: Well, I've put our name down for a table.
O: Did he say how long it would take?
Z: Fifteen minutes.
O: Dude, no way. Look at that waiting area. There must be a thousand people ahead of us.
Z: Don't exaggerate, there are only 994.
O: Ya, but two of them are pregnant.
Z: Look, he said 15 minutes. Let's just wait and see and if we don't get a table then we can always go elsewhere.
O: Sigh. Okay.
7.25 pm
O: It's half past seven.
Z: Ya, I know. I guess he was wrong about the 15 minutes.
O: I told you so. Can we go now?
Z: What, after we've waited twenty minutes? Of course not.
O: But, but...you said.
Z: Look, I'm sure we'll get a table any moment now.
O: How? That line in the waiting area hasn't moved.
Z: Well, don't look at me, you're the one who wanted to come here.
O: Me?
Z: Sure. You asked for this place.
O: I did not. You asked me if I was okay with South Indian and I said "Sure, why not"
Z: See - exactly.
7.40 pm
Z: Hmmm...this is getting ridiculous. It isn't normally this crowded you know.
O: *wounded silence*
Z: Maybe we should get it to go.
O: We can get it to go? Really? Why didn't we do that straight away?
Z: Because we were going to get a table.
O: Wha...Why?
Z: Well, I thought you might want to see what the place is like. You know, check out the ambiance.
O: What ambiance? The place is more crowded than Dadar station at rush hour.
Z: Well, you're the one who's always saying you miss Bombay.
O: Oh, never mind, let's just go order.
7.45 pm
[Bloody but unbowed, O & Z arrive at the counter, having hacked their way through a tropical rainforest of arms and legs]
Z: ...and we'll have one plate of X as well*
Uncle-ji at counter: X? You sure you want X? Why not have Y instead? Very tasty. Absolutely fresh.
Z: Okay, one plate of Y then. How long will it take?
Uncle-ji: Oh, ten minutes.
7.50 pm
[O & Z reduced to mere flotsam in sea of humanity, trying desperately to get the last molecules of remaining oxygen in the place into their lungs. O makes a break for it and goes stands in the parking lot. It's good to be back in the First World.]
8.15 pm
Z: How long is that order going to take?
Uncle-ji: It's almost done.
Z: You said ten minutes. It's been half an hour.
Uncle-ji: Yes, I know. It's that Y you ordered. We'd run out so we're having to make a new batch.
Z: But you told me to take Y. You said it was absolutely fresh.
Uncle-ji: And it will be. When it's ready.
Z: *grits teeth. tries not to swear* What about the rest of our order?
Uncle-ji: Oh, that's right here. It's been ready for twenty minutes.
Z: Right, forget the Y then. We're going.
8:20 pm
O: So, did the guy ever call our table?
Z: No. I asked him about that on the way out.
O: What did he say?
Z: He said it would be just fifteen minutes.
***
*Sorry, I don't actually remember what we ordered. The food was that unmemorable.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
abandoned umbrella
She has been lying there, folded into herself, ignoring these autumn days that bring light, but no comfort.Then, today, the downpour. The people running by clutching newspapers. Do they not see her? Do they assume she belongs to someone else? As the wind howls, the folds of the umbrella lift and fall, like wings.
Friday, May 16, 2008
secret n victoria ??
He had almost finished putting his clothes in the wash when he saw them. They weren't hard to spot, lying there in the middle of the floor; he was amazed it had taken him so long to notice. A pair of red silk panties. No, not red, crimson, perhaps even scarlet. Like some exotic bird lying there dead, or a mouth opening in the middle of the floor. The diaphanous material leering up at him.
He realised he had been staring. Quickly, guiltily he looked away, looked around to see if anyone had been watching, ashamed of his thoughts. There was a young woman putting her clothes in the dryer on the other side of the laundry room. Could they be hers? Should he ask? But what if they weren't hers - wouldn't it seem obscene then- like some sleazy come on? Had she seen him staring at them? She looked across at him and smiled fleetingly. He smiled back, felt himself turning red, suddenly aware of the thick taste of his own tongue in his mouth. He looked down hastily, went back to arranging his clothes in the wash.
By the time he'd slid the last coin home and heard the slow rumble of the machine as it started, the young woman was gone. The panties were still there, though. So presumably they weren't hers. He went over to look at them again. He couldn't help it. In some obscure way, he felt as though the universe had challenged him, was trying to seduce him. This is crazy, he thought, I'm twenty seven years old, I'm way past the age when I can get this excited about women's underwear. Yet there was something deeply sensual about this pair, something achingly intimate about the way they just lay there, like a pair of lips barely parted. You couldn't help imagining the curve of the thigh that must have filled them, the softness of the flesh straining against them. He had a sudden urge to touch them. He considered picking them up. Then a mental picture of someone, perhaps the owner, walking in just as he was holding them in his hands came to him, and he turned away resolutely, headed back to his room.
As he sat in his room, waiting for the twenty minute wash cycle to complete, leafing through a magazine, he couldn't get the panties out of his head. Who could they belong to, he wondered? He tried to picture her, as though the panties were some sort of DNA from which he could construct a whole woman. He felt like one of those detectives you see in TV shows, the ones who build psychological profiles of criminals and are always being made fun of by old-time cops until it turns out they were right in the end. Let's see. What could he tell about her? She was sensual, of course, the panties made that clear, and passionate (that colour). And confident, yes, perhaps even a little aggressive, the kind of woman who's not afraid to indulge herself, to spend money on expensive lingerie. (Or perhaps they were a gift from a boyfriend? No, no boyfriends, she was too independent for that, she had to be). Probably impulsive, not the kind of person who's ashamed of her appetites, not the kind of person who looks back. But also (let's face it) a little scatterbrained, a trifle careless. Always in a hurry to move on to the next thing and the next. The kind of woman who'll break your heart and not even notice.
Or perhaps she left them there deliberately, perhaps they were a gift from a boyfriend she doesn't care for anymore and she just threw them on the ground and stomped on them. Headstrong. Even haughty. Or maybe it was just that she was studying really late and was so tired by the time she did the laundry that she didn't notice. A hard-working girl. But only in subjects she's interested in. Or maybe she left them there for a laugh, some kind of trick? It would be just like her to think of something like that.
He wonders if he should do something to see that she gets them back. But how? If it were anything else, he would just have picked it up and taken it with him and put up a notice asking whoever it belonged to to come collect it. But panties! He tries to imagine putting up a notice: "Found: A pair of panties in the basement laundry room. Red silk, size (whatever). Owner please contact Room Number: ". No, no. He'd sound like a sex fiend. But how to find her otherwise. He can't exactly go door to door waving a pair of red panties like a flag, asking if they belong to anyone.
But wait! Why is he assuming it's a her? What if it's a guy who secretly wears women's underwear? What if he'd hidden the panties away with all the other stuff and they dropped out and now he's too embarassed to go pick them up in case someone saw him and figured out his secret? He tries to imagine a man wearing those panties. It's not a picture he cares for.
It's time to go put the clothes in the dryer. The first thing he looks for when he enters the laundry room is whether the panties are still there. They are. He feels a great sense of relief, coupled with a strange, outlandish excitement. It almost feels as though he's achieved something. There are more people in the laundry room now. He must be careful. He must not be caught looking at it. He transfers his clothes from the wash to dryer in slow handfuls, somehow managing to step over the panties without looking at them. As if he hadn't noticed them at all, and his feet just happened to miss them every time he passed. In a minute or two he realises that the other men in the room have seen them too, that they too are avoiding looking at them. They are like wary planets, circling a sun too bright to be looked at directly.
After he's set the dryer spinning he lingers a while, reluctant to leave. What if she were to come back for them right now? He would finally get to see her, meet her. Not that he plans to stand around waiting, like some hunter watching over a kill, no, no, that would be sick. But what if he just happened to be here when she came. He imagines her bending down to pick them off the floor, then looking up suddenly, feeling his eyes on her. He imagines the quick blush on her face, coupled with something defiant, her level gaze challenging him to make something of it. He will say something lighthearted and witty to set them both at ease. She will smile, say something back. They will stand there for a moment or two, two people met by accident in a churning, roaring world. He will introduce himself, ask for her name. She will turn out to be in his class, in his department, supporting the same charity, reading the same book, attending the same concert, from the same home town - something, anything. They will agree to meet for coffee, they will date, they will get together. Months later, on that inevitable night when he takes her skirt off (yes, she will wear skirts, long flowing ones, with a slit down the side) to find these same panties staring back at him, he will not be able to resist making a joke about it, something winsome and tender. She will smile mischeviously down at him, ruffle his hair with her small hands. As he heads back to the elevator, back to his room, the picture of that moment stays with him.
When he goes down to get the clothes out of the dryer, the panties are gone. Their absence strikes him like a blow, like a betrayal. Did she come back and take them, he wonders, or did someone else, some sex-crazed degenerate pick them up and slip them into his pocket when no one else was looking? As he heads back to his room, the bag filled with his laundry seems unusually heavy, as though the weight of something more than clothes were weighing down on him. It dawns on him that he will never get to meet her now, that she is lost to him forever, this mysterious woman with the sensual underpants. The thought makes him want to cry.
He realised he had been staring. Quickly, guiltily he looked away, looked around to see if anyone had been watching, ashamed of his thoughts. There was a young woman putting her clothes in the dryer on the other side of the laundry room. Could they be hers? Should he ask? But what if they weren't hers - wouldn't it seem obscene then- like some sleazy come on? Had she seen him staring at them? She looked across at him and smiled fleetingly. He smiled back, felt himself turning red, suddenly aware of the thick taste of his own tongue in his mouth. He looked down hastily, went back to arranging his clothes in the wash.
By the time he'd slid the last coin home and heard the slow rumble of the machine as it started, the young woman was gone. The panties were still there, though. So presumably they weren't hers. He went over to look at them again. He couldn't help it. In some obscure way, he felt as though the universe had challenged him, was trying to seduce him. This is crazy, he thought, I'm twenty seven years old, I'm way past the age when I can get this excited about women's underwear. Yet there was something deeply sensual about this pair, something achingly intimate about the way they just lay there, like a pair of lips barely parted. You couldn't help imagining the curve of the thigh that must have filled them, the softness of the flesh straining against them. He had a sudden urge to touch them. He considered picking them up. Then a mental picture of someone, perhaps the owner, walking in just as he was holding them in his hands came to him, and he turned away resolutely, headed back to his room.
As he sat in his room, waiting for the twenty minute wash cycle to complete, leafing through a magazine, he couldn't get the panties out of his head. Who could they belong to, he wondered? He tried to picture her, as though the panties were some sort of DNA from which he could construct a whole woman. He felt like one of those detectives you see in TV shows, the ones who build psychological profiles of criminals and are always being made fun of by old-time cops until it turns out they were right in the end. Let's see. What could he tell about her? She was sensual, of course, the panties made that clear, and passionate (that colour). And confident, yes, perhaps even a little aggressive, the kind of woman who's not afraid to indulge herself, to spend money on expensive lingerie. (Or perhaps they were a gift from a boyfriend? No, no boyfriends, she was too independent for that, she had to be). Probably impulsive, not the kind of person who's ashamed of her appetites, not the kind of person who looks back. But also (let's face it) a little scatterbrained, a trifle careless. Always in a hurry to move on to the next thing and the next. The kind of woman who'll break your heart and not even notice.
Or perhaps she left them there deliberately, perhaps they were a gift from a boyfriend she doesn't care for anymore and she just threw them on the ground and stomped on them. Headstrong. Even haughty. Or maybe it was just that she was studying really late and was so tired by the time she did the laundry that she didn't notice. A hard-working girl. But only in subjects she's interested in. Or maybe she left them there for a laugh, some kind of trick? It would be just like her to think of something like that.
He wonders if he should do something to see that she gets them back. But how? If it were anything else, he would just have picked it up and taken it with him and put up a notice asking whoever it belonged to to come collect it. But panties! He tries to imagine putting up a notice: "Found: A pair of panties in the basement laundry room. Red silk, size (whatever). Owner please contact Room Number: ". No, no. He'd sound like a sex fiend. But how to find her otherwise. He can't exactly go door to door waving a pair of red panties like a flag, asking if they belong to anyone.
But wait! Why is he assuming it's a her? What if it's a guy who secretly wears women's underwear? What if he'd hidden the panties away with all the other stuff and they dropped out and now he's too embarassed to go pick them up in case someone saw him and figured out his secret? He tries to imagine a man wearing those panties. It's not a picture he cares for.
It's time to go put the clothes in the dryer. The first thing he looks for when he enters the laundry room is whether the panties are still there. They are. He feels a great sense of relief, coupled with a strange, outlandish excitement. It almost feels as though he's achieved something. There are more people in the laundry room now. He must be careful. He must not be caught looking at it. He transfers his clothes from the wash to dryer in slow handfuls, somehow managing to step over the panties without looking at them. As if he hadn't noticed them at all, and his feet just happened to miss them every time he passed. In a minute or two he realises that the other men in the room have seen them too, that they too are avoiding looking at them. They are like wary planets, circling a sun too bright to be looked at directly.
After he's set the dryer spinning he lingers a while, reluctant to leave. What if she were to come back for them right now? He would finally get to see her, meet her. Not that he plans to stand around waiting, like some hunter watching over a kill, no, no, that would be sick. But what if he just happened to be here when she came. He imagines her bending down to pick them off the floor, then looking up suddenly, feeling his eyes on her. He imagines the quick blush on her face, coupled with something defiant, her level gaze challenging him to make something of it. He will say something lighthearted and witty to set them both at ease. She will smile, say something back. They will stand there for a moment or two, two people met by accident in a churning, roaring world. He will introduce himself, ask for her name. She will turn out to be in his class, in his department, supporting the same charity, reading the same book, attending the same concert, from the same home town - something, anything. They will agree to meet for coffee, they will date, they will get together. Months later, on that inevitable night when he takes her skirt off (yes, she will wear skirts, long flowing ones, with a slit down the side) to find these same panties staring back at him, he will not be able to resist making a joke about it, something winsome and tender. She will smile mischeviously down at him, ruffle his hair with her small hands. As he heads back to the elevator, back to his room, the picture of that moment stays with him.
When he goes down to get the clothes out of the dryer, the panties are gone. Their absence strikes him like a blow, like a betrayal. Did she come back and take them, he wonders, or did someone else, some sex-crazed degenerate pick them up and slip them into his pocket when no one else was looking? As he heads back to his room, the bag filled with his laundry seems unusually heavy, as though the weight of something more than clothes were weighing down on him. It dawns on him that he will never get to meet her now, that she is lost to him forever, this mysterious woman with the sensual underpants. The thought makes him want to cry.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
Isn't it romantic?
You didn't seriously think I was going to let Valentine's day go by without saying something suitably cynical about it, did you?
The trouble I have with Valentine's day is with the idea of 'romance' and the way it gets used. To me, the word romantic has very specific connotations - it denotes something that is imaginative and extravagant (in the sense of being impractical and / or spontaneous, i.e. absent calculation) and is inspired by a passionate devotion to some ideal. Romanticism is thus an aesthetic philosophy, a belief, to paraphrase Keats, in the beauty of truth and the necessity of excess. The fact that your boyfriend bought you a bouquet of crummy flowers may be sweet or thoughtful or caring, but it IS NOT romantic. I have nothing against people enjoying things that are cliched - I'm all for socio-cultural nostalgia - just as long as they understand that romance comes from a burning desire to break free of convention and create something new and beautiful and then surrender to it entirely. These rituals of affection are important, but the warm glow you get from them is the exact opposite of the true romantic impulse - it is the security of demonstrable love, not the restless creative urge of true Romance. There is nothing in Romance that suggests happiness (if anything, the greatest Romantic figures are often tragic ones - just try reading Shelley's Alastor; or think about Prometheus, whose stunning depiction by Rubens is the painting at the start of this post).Don't misunderstand me - I'm not one of those people who go around complaining about how Valentine's day has turned into such a cliche, how it's become so commercialised, so stereotypical. As though their boyfriends or husbands were actually capable of a more authentic romantic gesture than buying flowers or booking a table at an expensive restaurant (or had the inclination to). As if the only thing that stood between them and the immortal odes they would have written in praise of their beloved was the presence of Hallmark cards. Let's face it people - the average guy out there couldn't come up with something truly romantic to do if his life depended on it. And the average woman wouldn't know a truly romantic gesture if it jumped out of a heart-shaped candy box and bit her. The truth is, these people aren't looking for the innovative or the unique, they're looking for a signal that will affirm their faith in their relationship. As Eliot put it, they're looking for "Some way indescribably light and deft / Some way we both should understand / Simple and faithless as a smile and shake of hand".
I mean if you're genuinely concerned about feeling being eclipsed by cliche, why not start by objecting to marriage - which, after all, is the biggest cliche of all? Why not start with all these definitions of boyfriend and girlfriend, of date and significant other, friend and lover, which are all, at the end of the day, just stereotypes? Why not start with the word love itself, which covers such a wide range of emotions in our modern usage that it has almost no meaning at all? If you're willing to accept all those institutions (and most people you here bemoaning the commercialisation of Valentine's day fall into that category) why not accept this additional institution of Valentine's day as well? Understand, I'm not saying that one should reject all institutions (though that would, of course, be the truly Romantic way), I'm simply saying that it's inconsistent to accept some and then rail against others. I'm all for couples doing the whole Valentine's day thing to the hilt, just as long as they don't go around claiming it's romantic and don't try to pretend that their actions are somehow unique or special in themselves - it's precisely because they're stereotypes that they're getting any pleasure out of them.
I mean if you're genuinely concerned about feeling being eclipsed by cliche, why not start by objecting to marriage - which, after all, is the biggest cliche of all? Why not start with all these definitions of boyfriend and girlfriend, of date and significant other, friend and lover, which are all, at the end of the day, just stereotypes? Why not start with the word love itself, which covers such a wide range of emotions in our modern usage that it has almost no meaning at all? If you're willing to accept all those institutions (and most people you here bemoaning the commercialisation of Valentine's day fall into that category) why not accept this additional institution of Valentine's day as well? Understand, I'm not saying that one should reject all institutions (though that would, of course, be the truly Romantic way), I'm simply saying that it's inconsistent to accept some and then rail against others. I'm all for couples doing the whole Valentine's day thing to the hilt, just as long as they don't go around claiming it's romantic and don't try to pretend that their actions are somehow unique or special in themselves - it's precisely because they're stereotypes that they're getting any pleasure out of them.
The other people who really irritate me on Valentine's day are the older swadeshi types who will blather on about traditions and how western commercialism is destroying our ancient values. I mean, first of all, most of the 'traditions' that these people are talking about (especially when it comes to man-woman relationships) are narrow-minded and chauvinistic practices that were blatantly disrespectful to women and that, consequently, we can happily do without, thank you. But what really gets to me is the hypocrisy of accusing the West of commercialising relationships in a land where most weddings are long drawn out and garish exercises in out and out ostentation. So apparently it's okay to spend millions of rupees on some tinsel celebration that the two people most intimately concerned probably won't even enjoy, but it's 'commercial' for a couple to do something intimate together? Cretins.
Personally, the thing I most object to is the romanticisation of what is essentially a commercial transaction between two individuals. I say we take Valentine's day back from all these soppy people who keep getting starry-eyed about 'romance' when they don't even know what the word means. Let's do away with all these empty trappings of emotion and focus on what Valentine's day is really about - expensive gifts as indicators of financial security. Negotiations between men and women to enter into long-term child rearing contracts. Shorter-term exchanges for the fulfillment of sexual and emotional needs in what is, regrettably, still a barter economy in that it relies entirely on that most elusive of transactions: a double coincidence of wants. No more rhyming 'flowers' with 'bowers' and 'love' with 'stars above' (at least the fact that V-day is in February spares us the 'moon' and 'june' bit) - let's have greeting cards that come in plain black writing and say what we really mean - if I went to all the trouble of buying you these (entirely useless) flowers, the least you can do is have sex with me, or listen sympathetically while I whine about my boss at work.
Tuesday, January 29, 2008
strategy consulting
I have always been a big fan of quotes - A good quote invariably has a message - which has the power to transform you. I always wonder how simple 2 lines can have such meaningful reflection on ones life. Who says internet is a trash-can??
These are some of the Chanakya's Quotes - the original strategist; one of my all time idols - Worth reading a million times - a CCP stuff for me to revisit them again and again - all other benefits are add-ons :-)
*************************************************
"A person should not be too honest.
Straight trees are cut first
and Honest people are victimised first."
*************************************************
"Even if a snake is not poisonous,
it should pretend to be venomous."
*************************************************
"The biggest guru-mantra is: Never share your secrets with anybody. ! It will destroy you."
*************************************************
"There is some self-interest behind every friendship.
There is no Friendship without self-interests.
This is a bitter truth."
*************************************************
"Before you start some work, always ask yourself three questions - Why am I doing it, What the results might be and Will I be successful. Only when you think deeply
and find satisfactory answers to these questions, go ahead."
*************************************************
"As soon as the fear approaches near, attack and destroy it."
*************************************************
"Once you start a working on something,
don't be afraid of failure and
don't abandon it.
People who work sincerely are the happiest."
*************************************************
"The fragrance of flowers spreads
only in the direction of the wind.
But the goodness of a person spreads in all direction."
*************************************************
"A man is great by deeds, not by birth."
*************************************************
"Treat your kid like a darling for the first five years.
For the next five years, scold them.
By the time they turn sixteen, treat them like a friend.
Your grown up children are your best friends."
*************************************************
"Books are as useful to a stupid person
as a mirror is useful to a blind person."
*************************************************
"Education is the best friend.
An educated person is respected everywhere.
Education beats the beauty and the youth."
*************************************************
Chanakya quotes (Indian politician, strategist and writer, 350 BC-275BC)
These are some of the Chanakya's Quotes - the original strategist; one of my all time idols - Worth reading a million times - a CCP stuff for me to revisit them again and again - all other benefits are add-ons :-)
*************************************************
"A person should not be too honest.
Straight trees are cut first
and Honest people are victimised first."
*************************************************
"Even if a snake is not poisonous,
it should pretend to be venomous."
*************************************************
"The biggest guru-mantra is: Never share your secrets with anybody. ! It will destroy you."
*************************************************
"There is some self-interest behind every friendship.
There is no Friendship without self-interests.
This is a bitter truth."
*************************************************
"Before you start some work, always ask yourself three questions - Why am I doing it, What the results might be and Will I be successful. Only when you think deeply
and find satisfactory answers to these questions, go ahead."
*************************************************
"As soon as the fear approaches near, attack and destroy it."
*************************************************
"Once you start a working on something,
don't be afraid of failure and
don't abandon it.
People who work sincerely are the happiest."
*************************************************
"The fragrance of flowers spreads
only in the direction of the wind.
But the goodness of a person spreads in all direction."
*************************************************
"A man is great by deeds, not by birth."
*************************************************
"Treat your kid like a darling for the first five years.
For the next five years, scold them.
By the time they turn sixteen, treat them like a friend.
Your grown up children are your best friends."
*************************************************
"Books are as useful to a stupid person
as a mirror is useful to a blind person."
*************************************************
"Education is the best friend.
An educated person is respected everywhere.
Education beats the beauty and the youth."
*************************************************
Chanakya quotes (Indian politician, strategist and writer, 350 BC-275BC)
Friday, January 18, 2008
bird flew
From my childhood; i always wondered - how a shop keeper resists the temptation to eat what he sells?? -especially when its ready-to- eat stuff. I do agree that he has a business and if he eats and all that blah-blah, but afterall he is also a human being with a stomach, eye and tongue and in any case he cant eat out the entire shop, can he? then where is the business loss?
You would say - he would be eating the stuff regularly at home and hence doesn't have the instinctive apetite for the same at shop. But that's exactly my question how he supresses his desire in shop? Or in other words, what makes us to purchase the same stuff again from his shop; are we the only ravenous beings - we being the non - shopkeepers? or doesn't the tribe of shopkeeper belong to mankind?? - On the contrary we need to be avaricious to the highest degree; atleast marginally greater than the shopkeeper's to fight against the universal human tendency to be stingy - and in such cases; more often than not win.
You would argue that he would be sick seeing/ eating the same in his shop to the extent that now he loves to sell but hates to eat. Let's question the veracity of this premise before gassing further. Consider the case when he gets the same stuff free from some other source - by chance and doesnt have to pay - have you ever seen the expression on his face??
This is exactly what happened today morning when i went to a nearby road side tea-stall for morning tea.
Scene:
8:00 AM morning. Fog settling down.
Mutton shop few shops after the tea-stall - of goat.
The shop keeper of this mutton shop puts things in order expecting another big day in life - bird flu being an unexpected shot in his arm. One truck carrying birds - chicken passes by; on the road. One bird from one of the cubes of the truck flies. The bird run helter-skelter but can't avoid the attention of this shopkeeper. This shopkeeper runs like a poor urchin - runs as if his life depends on the bird. The frigid weather being another dampner- ensuring that the new found freedom is not for long. The shop-keeper does all the acrobatics he knows - leaving his shop runs and finally manages to catch the hen. When he completes his senatorial run, he finds himself on the other side of the road. He scuttled towards his nearby house hiding the hen under his arms as if none had seen. His joy knows no bounds - he smirks, blushes, laughs as if he was chosen by God today to be the most lucky one. I must admit i was lucky myself to see the best of the juxtaposed human emotions- natural joy, brazen shamelessness and childlike innocence - and all original.
Given a chance to relive my life - I would love to be one unconventional shop -keeper :)
You would say - he would be eating the stuff regularly at home and hence doesn't have the instinctive apetite for the same at shop. But that's exactly my question how he supresses his desire in shop? Or in other words, what makes us to purchase the same stuff again from his shop; are we the only ravenous beings - we being the non - shopkeepers? or doesn't the tribe of shopkeeper belong to mankind?? - On the contrary we need to be avaricious to the highest degree; atleast marginally greater than the shopkeeper's to fight against the universal human tendency to be stingy - and in such cases; more often than not win.
You would argue that he would be sick seeing/ eating the same in his shop to the extent that now he loves to sell but hates to eat. Let's question the veracity of this premise before gassing further. Consider the case when he gets the same stuff free from some other source - by chance and doesnt have to pay - have you ever seen the expression on his face??
This is exactly what happened today morning when i went to a nearby road side tea-stall for morning tea.
Scene:
8:00 AM morning. Fog settling down.
Mutton shop few shops after the tea-stall - of goat.
The shop keeper of this mutton shop puts things in order expecting another big day in life - bird flu being an unexpected shot in his arm. One truck carrying birds - chicken passes by; on the road. One bird from one of the cubes of the truck flies. The bird run helter-skelter but can't avoid the attention of this shopkeeper. This shopkeeper runs like a poor urchin - runs as if his life depends on the bird. The frigid weather being another dampner- ensuring that the new found freedom is not for long. The shop-keeper does all the acrobatics he knows - leaving his shop runs and finally manages to catch the hen. When he completes his senatorial run, he finds himself on the other side of the road. He scuttled towards his nearby house hiding the hen under his arms as if none had seen. His joy knows no bounds - he smirks, blushes, laughs as if he was chosen by God today to be the most lucky one. I must admit i was lucky myself to see the best of the juxtaposed human emotions- natural joy, brazen shamelessness and childlike innocence - and all original.
Given a chance to relive my life - I would love to be one unconventional shop -keeper :)
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
the treadmill
One of my freinds gtalk-status message read - freinds go, homes go, money goes, love goes, body remains - lets pump up!!
And i decided its high time lets get back to the den. The den of gents!!! One place where i am what i am - Gym. After a long hiatus i started to work-out again - this time in my state-of the art gym at my office.
Not that i was getting disproportionate, I was not at peace with myself all these days, with so many things flying around and very less time to react and people said - Be proactive. It was getting too much for me - the fights - internally, externally, the recrimination.
Finally i am in. i land on the treadmill, press the button and start moving. Rocking music, steel sound, the tiger tastes blood. Next minute i started cruising. i knew i was going nowhere. But i pretended as i am running, running hard and i can escape, escape up - up and away.
While returning a freind asks me - you stay so thin and fit - i had no words - I politely smile.
May the peace prevail.
And i decided its high time lets get back to the den. The den of gents!!! One place where i am what i am - Gym. After a long hiatus i started to work-out again - this time in my state-of the art gym at my office.
Not that i was getting disproportionate, I was not at peace with myself all these days, with so many things flying around and very less time to react and people said - Be proactive. It was getting too much for me - the fights - internally, externally, the recrimination.
Finally i am in. i land on the treadmill, press the button and start moving. Rocking music, steel sound, the tiger tastes blood. Next minute i started cruising. i knew i was going nowhere. But i pretended as i am running, running hard and i can escape, escape up - up and away.
While returning a freind asks me - you stay so thin and fit - i had no words - I politely smile.
May the peace prevail.
Tuesday, January 01, 2008
sad old year
Cliche n. 1: a trite phrase or expression; also : the idea expressed by it; 2 : a hackneyed theme, characterization, or situation; 3 : something (as a menu item) that has become overly familiar or commonplace
The trouble i have with New Year - infact the trouble i have with all the festivals etc. - is that it's a cliche. Every year I make a sort of New Year pre-resolution - I resolve that I shall actually try to take this whole celebrating New Year thing seriously, I resolve that I shall make resolutions, shall shout Happy New Year loudly into the telephone everytime someone calls - even if it's a wrong number. Every year I promise myself that this is the year I'm not going to be my usual curmudgeonly self.
Like any good New Year resolution, this one usually lasts till about 10 in the morning on the 1st of January. By that time the tiresome repetition of the old formula has begun to get to me. I've got to the point where my instinctive reaction to people wishing me a "Happy and Prosperous New Year" is: "Why do you think that will happen? Where's the empirical evidence?"
Holiday celebrations are not just cliched - which would imply merely creative exhaustion - they are actively anti-creative, that is to say they are built on the premise that traditions and formulas deserve to be celebrated. My problem with such Pavlovian glee is that it always seems to me to be a negation of the reasoning self, an insult to human intellect. We couldn't possibly find the imagination or intelligence to connect to those around us in a meaningful way, every trite doggerel that rhymes 'health' with 'wealth' seems to say to me, we are not conscious beings in control of our own destiny, capable of making choices, we are merely conditioned systems of stimulus and response. This may very well be true, of course, but that's no reason to flaunt or celebrate it.
People will tell you that the New Year's and other such frivolous occassions are a great time to reconnect with people you've lost touch of. I'm all for that - it's just that I don't see how calling someone once a year and shouting Happy New Year at them and having them shout it back to you constitutes staying in touch with an actual person. I mean, my answering machine could do as much.
So if you really must, you and your disgustingly trite family go and have a happy and prosperous new year full of health, wealth and everything you can think of - just don't tell me about it.
The trouble i have with New Year - infact the trouble i have with all the festivals etc. - is that it's a cliche. Every year I make a sort of New Year pre-resolution - I resolve that I shall actually try to take this whole celebrating New Year thing seriously, I resolve that I shall make resolutions, shall shout Happy New Year loudly into the telephone everytime someone calls - even if it's a wrong number. Every year I promise myself that this is the year I'm not going to be my usual curmudgeonly self.
Like any good New Year resolution, this one usually lasts till about 10 in the morning on the 1st of January. By that time the tiresome repetition of the old formula has begun to get to me. I've got to the point where my instinctive reaction to people wishing me a "Happy and Prosperous New Year" is: "Why do you think that will happen? Where's the empirical evidence?"
Holiday celebrations are not just cliched - which would imply merely creative exhaustion - they are actively anti-creative, that is to say they are built on the premise that traditions and formulas deserve to be celebrated. My problem with such Pavlovian glee is that it always seems to me to be a negation of the reasoning self, an insult to human intellect. We couldn't possibly find the imagination or intelligence to connect to those around us in a meaningful way, every trite doggerel that rhymes 'health' with 'wealth' seems to say to me, we are not conscious beings in control of our own destiny, capable of making choices, we are merely conditioned systems of stimulus and response. This may very well be true, of course, but that's no reason to flaunt or celebrate it.
People will tell you that the New Year's and other such frivolous occassions are a great time to reconnect with people you've lost touch of. I'm all for that - it's just that I don't see how calling someone once a year and shouting Happy New Year at them and having them shout it back to you constitutes staying in touch with an actual person. I mean, my answering machine could do as much.
So if you really must, you and your disgustingly trite family go and have a happy and prosperous new year full of health, wealth and everything you can think of - just don't tell me about it.
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