Digital Library of India

Has anyone explored the Digital Library of India? I just discovered it tonight while browsing the "India" tags on del.icio.us.

They seem to have digitized quite a number of texts already, though I can't find an exact number on the site. The mission statement is ambitious -- bordering on over-the-top -- though the fact that Etexts at the DLI don't have unique URLs is deeply frustrating. Also (while I'm carping), the site's interface leaves much to be desired. Oh yeah, and the copyright policy is questionable: they will be scanning things printed up to 1990, and only remove them if a publisher or author pays a $200 fee.

But there are plenty of books there, and the fact that the project is state-funded might bode well for its future. In terms of books I've been discussing recently, I found Mother India as well as half a dozen Indian responses to it online -- including the response written by Dhan Gopal Mukherji, which Rani had mentioned (a nice find, as this is a book that might be rather difficult to track down in the U.S.). There is also a good selection of books by earlier Indian authors like Mulk Raj Anand, Rabindranath Tagore, Sarojini Naidu, Toru Dutt, Bankimchandra Chatterjee, and so on, as well as a pretty comprehensive array of writings by political figures. And I was pleasantly surprised to find Edward Thompson's biography of Tagore (another book that isn't so easy to find in the U.S.).

As importantly, they seem to have a strong interest in scanning and posting texts written in Indian languages -- though the dominant language on the site at present seems to be Telegu Telugu (for example, you can read Gora in Telugu, but not in Bangla!). I did notice a Hindi translation of Anand's Coolie, so maybe it's not true across the board. And there are poems of Ghalib's in Urdu... and quite a bit of Persian... Not a whole lot of consistency here.

I'm seriously considering writing them a letter explaining that they should rethink the architecture of the site to make it more usable -- starting with abolishing frames and instituting unique/linkable URLs. (Oh, and they should get rid of this archaic reliance on TIF graphics... use Unicode... or whatever imaging plugin Google Print is using...) If they do all those things, they are well on their way to building a world-class resource.

Incidentally, if anyone finds anything that seems particularly good while browsing the DLI site, I would love to hear about it in the comments below (or on your own blog, if you prefer).

UPDATE: A mirror of the Indian site can be found at Carnegie Mellon University. From my current location, it runs faster (and better) but has a smaller selection than the DLI in Hyderabad.

Links: Urdu Poetry, Blame it on Verdi, and the Desi Frankenstein

Was Boris Karloff, the original cinematic Frankenstein monster, partly Desi? It seems pretty likely he was; Accidental Blogger investigates.

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Amit Verma reaches Peshawar, where he finally feels like he's in a foreign country.

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Western biologists visit a remote region in the Papua province of Indonesia, called the Foja Mountains. Apparently this area has had little or no human presence, though the Post doesn't explain how or why it's remained so pristine. The intrepid biologists hit a mother-lode of previously unknown flora and fauna. (I love reading about scientists having adventures... incidentally, check out the pictures from the expedition at the Post).

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There's a nice HTML edition of a Gutenberg Etext of Hindustani Lyrics, translated by Inayat Khan and Jessie Westbrook (1919). Snatches of verse from Amir, Ghalib, Hali, and many others. The translations aren't especially "useful" without the facing page of the original Urdu, but fans of Urdu Poetry might find this interesting nonetheless. Here's a snippet from Ghalib:

The high ambition of the drop of rain
Is to be merged in the unfettered sea;
My sorrow when it passed all bounds of pain,
Changing, became itself the remedy.

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With an intractable Maoist insurgency problem, Nepal's King Gyanendra is foundering. The Washington Post implies he is in danger of being overthrown by a military coup.

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The Indian Express reports that the government of Delhi is planning to "regularize" illegal construction in residential areas. I don't really know what to make of it. On the one hand, it seems ethical to grant people official rights over land they already effectively own, especially if the government doesn't have the power or the interest to kick them off. But of course this move might well encourage more illegal development, adding to the housing/development chaos. And things simply can't go on the way they are, with millions of people in legal limbo. (But I'll leave it to people who know the housing situation in Delhi better than I to judge this decision...)

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The Literary Saloon finds a damning instance of gender segregation in the assignment of reviews at the New York Times Book Review. Woman-oriented books get women reviewers, while books oriented to politics and war get male reviewers.

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The Literary Saloon also mentions an upcoming African-Asian literary festival to be held in Delhi starting February 14.

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And there's a story in the New York Times by a London local who was impressed by Woody Allen's choice of locales in Match Point.

We saw the film recently in Doylestown, and generally liked the dialogue and the style of the film through the first half. I obviously don't know London as well as a local, but I was challenged by Woody Allen's cultural references, specifically in this case the opera. His use of Italian opera in this case actually directly correlates with where he takes the film's plot (notice the uncanny parallels between the plot of La Traviata and that of Allen's film). Woody Allen's misogynistic streak is also present in much Opera, which gives the film a rather novel exculpatory claim: it can be cruel to its heroine because Verdi was, and how can we fault Verdi? Blame it on Verdi!

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Speaking of London, also check out Amitava Kumar, on Sukhdev Sandhu's ethos of the London street.

Teaching Journal: Katherine Mayo's Mother India (1927)

Mohandas Gandhi had a harsh rejoinder to Katherine Mayo's notorious Mother India, a book that had a huge impact on American and British views of India in the late 1920s:

Gandhi: This book is cleverly and powerfully written. The carefully chosen quotations give it the false appearance of a truthful book. But the impression it leaves on my mind, is that it is the report of a drain inspector sent out with the one purpose of opening and examining the drains of the country to be reported upon, or to give a graphic description of the stench exuded by the opened drains. If Miss. Mayo had confessed that she had come to India merely to open out and examine the drains of India, there would perhaps be little to complain about her compilation. But she declared her abominable and patently wrong conclusion with a certain amount of triumph: 'the drains are India'

For years I essentially bought Gandhi's take on the book, and didn't bother to read the infamous 'drain inspector's report'. It isn't hard to imagine what a polemical critique of the Indian practice of child marriage (which remained on the books until after independence), the mistreatment of widows, and hygiene might look like -- why bother?

But I've been surprised by the book itself, problematic as it undoubtedly is. And the story behind is more interesting than Gandhi probably knew. I taught part of it this week in my 'travel writers' course, and below is some of what I learned about Katherine Mayo in the process. Most of the background information below comes from Mrinalini Sinha, who edited a volume of Selections from Mother India (Michigan, 2000). Sinha's long preface, from which I derive most of the following information, is one I would recommend for anyone interested in the often vexed relationship between Western feminism and anti-colonial nationalism.

Mayo was originally from Ridgeway, Pennsylvania, and had earlier written several books celebrating, of all things, the state's rural police force. Her politics were conservative in the American sense of the time: she was hostile to immigrants, blacks, and Catholics. Even that first book was criticized for portraying an oversimplified view of the Pennsylvania police force, though it obviously also opened doors for her socially and politically. Importantly, Mayo was a supporter of the Asian Exclusion Acts, which were passed beginning in the late 19th century. These were American laws sharply restricting immigration from Asia and Africa. The laws were essentially racist in nature: the government wanted to encourage white European immigrants, and discourage darker-skinned people. Some Asians who had been born in the U.S. had their citizenship stripped from them at this time.

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Katherine Mayo commits one act of outright deception in the opening pages of the book. In the foreword, she states that she is traveling through India and recording her observations without any assistance from any government agency:

For this reason the manuscript of this book has not been submitted to any member of the Government of India, nor to any Briton or Indian connected with official life. It has, however, been reviewed by certain public health officials of international eminence who are familiar with the Indian field.


And she says it again at the beginning of Chapter 1:

It was dissatisfaction with this status that sent me to India, to see what a volunteer unsubsidized, uncommitted, and unattached, could observe of common things in human life.


But the claim to autonomy wasn't true; according to Mrinalini Sinha, Mayo had been in direct contact with the British administration -- in fact, with Central Intelligence Division in India (the officer she was in contact with is named in her letters – J. H. Adams). They had encouraged her to write a book critical of Indian habits and traditional Indian practices, partly as a rejoinder to Gandhi, who was making major strides in building a mass movement to end British rule. The Central Intelligence Division set up meetings with important people for her, and basically paved the way for her to do the exact research that would best support their claim that their rule over India was a benefit to the Indians themselves.

Because of the British role, we can say that Mother India is, quite literally, a work of Imperial propaganda. In light of the effect it had on readers in England, the U.S., and India itself, it was remarkably successful, though it was roundly criticized by the Indians themselves, who would, as everyone knows, continue to agitate for independence through the 1920s and 30s.

While it is essential to always keep in mind that Mayo wrote this book to support the British colonial authority, one needs to keep in mind that nothing about her official contacts was known at the time. The outrage Mother India provoked amongst Indians, and even among some British and American readers, was all based on the assumption that her assessment was sincere -- if slanted.

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What I've been surprised by on reading the actual text of Mayo's book is how many of her statistics on things like child marriage, infant mortality, and venereal disease come directly out of official documents and census reports. And her quotes about the public child marriage debate in 1925 (which involved many Indian politicians) are all a matter of public record: many prominent Hindus did support child marriage. She quotes people like Amar Nath Dutt, who is on record in the Legislative Assembly Debates of 1925 as saying the following:

We have no right to thrust our advanced views upon our less advanced countrymen. Our villages are torn with factions. If the age of consent is raised to 13, rightly or wrongly we will find that there will be inquisitions by the police at the instance of membersof an opposite faction in the village and people will be put to disgrace and trouble . . . I would ask [Government] . . . to withdraw the Bill at once. Coming as I do, Sir, from Bengal, I know what is the opinion of the majority of the people there.

And Mayo has several others making statements along these lines (which bear somewhat of a resemblance to more recent debates over things like the Uniform Civil Code, I would argue).

Of course, quite a number of political reformers and Indian nationalists strongly opposed child marriage, even suggesting earlier reform bills that the British themselves had voted down. As Sinha points out, Mayo doesn't refer to them much if at all. She does, however, mention Gandhi's many condemnations of various kinds of social backwardness, on not just child marriage but also the treatment of widows as well as untouchability. She loves Gandhi, who (unwittingly, of course) gives her ample material by which to tear apart the flaws in Indian society.

Alongside the true observations, there of course are many statements Mayo makes in the book that are either gross exaggerations or outright falsehoods. She piles it on so thick that she almost undoes her own argument about the evils of "Hindu tradition." If morals are in fact so debased, if hygiene is so bad, if girls are so mistreated -- how is it that the Indian population continued to grow at a healthy rate?

On the one hand, Mayo's book can hardly be seen as credible, both because of her involvement with British authorities and because of her errors and exaggerations on points of substance. On the other hand, many of her points are valid, which puts Indian nationalists and Euro-American liberals in an awkward position. We see versions of this still today, in the ongoing debates about "global patriarchy," especially in the recent push by Western feminists against the repression of Muslim women by Muslim men.

(Mayo's book is exactly the kind of thing Spivak is talking about in her various critical engagements with Western feminism, in essays like "Three Women's Texts and a Critique of Imperialism." It's odd that, as far as I know, Spivak never mentions Mayo, emphasizing instead writers who had connections to Empire that were in fact quite arguable -- like Mary Shelley and Charlotte Bronte).

More than fifty books and pamphlets were published in response to Mayo's book. It also led to a Broadway play and almost made it to the movies. Here are some of the titles Sinha lists:

Father India (1927); Sister India (1928); My Mother India (1930); A Son of Mother India Answers (1928); Long Live India: What a Son Has to Say About Mother and Father India (1932); An Englishman Defends Mother India (1932); The Truth About Mother India (1928); Unhappy India (1928); Mother India By Those Who Know Her Better than Miss. K. Mayo (1927); Miss Mayo’s Cruelty to Mother India (no date); Mother India Ka Jawab (The Reply to Mother India) (1928). (The list goes on.)

One of the most important replies to Mother India was by Muthulakshmi Reddi, the first Indian woman legislator. Her reply was, Sinha suggests, probably not published, though it was delivered as a speech in Madras, organized by the Women's Indian Association. Reddi responds to a number of Mayo's arguments, but let's just focus specifically on the question of child marriage:

Reddi: Reformers of to-day do not deny there is the system of early marriage prevalent among the high cast Hindus with all its attendant evils, but Miss Mayo--to be true to facts--instead of condemning the whole nation might have added that it exists only among a certain section of Hindus and a large section of the Non-Brahmins and untouchables are not affected by it. Again for the evils of early marriage she goes for a list which was drawn up some 33 years back by the women surgeons of this country when a bill for raising the age of consent was brought by one of our Hindu brethren in the Assembly. Again in 1925 when the question for further raising the age of consent came before the Assembly there were speakers both for and against such a measure--those for said there was no text in Hindu religion to sanction early marriage and those against affirmed that religion was in danger. Even at that period, the countless women's associations through India held meetings and asked for reform.

Reddi has to concede that Mayo's arguments are based on reality, but only a partial reality. On the specific question of which castes practiced, I'm not actually sure whether Reddi claims that it was limited to Brahmins or Mayo's claims that it was universal is correct. But Reddi makes a good point that Mayo overlooks the broad opposition to child marriage that was felt by Indian reformers.


Craigslist, part trois

It appears my brief radio cameo last week will be spawning a whole hour of radio in the weeks to come.

I don't think I'll be involved; I've offered my soundbite on this topic. But it will be interesting to listen in nonetheless!

Betty Friedan -- a quote, and a brief meditation on her writing style

Betty Friedan died over the weekend, at 85. She was a pioneer of the women's movement, starting with The Feminine Mystique (1963), the National Organization for Women (which she founded), and her ongoing activism on associated causes through the 1970s and 80s. There's a decent profile of Betty Friedan at the Washington Post.

Also, I came across chapter 1 of The Feminine Mystique online at H-Net, in case anyone wants a little review. (India plays an interesting cameo role.)

From that first chapter, I'd like to share four paragraphs that really stand out to me. It's where she introduces the "problem that has no name," namely the malaise of the middle-class suburban housewife:

For over fifteen years women in America found it harder to talk about the problem than about sex. Even the psychoanalysts had no name for it. When a woman went to a psychiatrist for help, as many women did, she would say, "I'm so ashamed," or "I must be hopelessly neurotic." "I don't know what's wrong with women today," a suburban psychiatrist said uneasily. "I only know something is wrong because most of my patients happen to be women. And their problem isn't sexual." Most women with this problem did not go to see a psychoanalyst, however. "There's nothing wrong really," they kept telling themselves, "There isn't any problem."

But on an April morning in 1959, I heard a mother of four, having coffee with four other mothers in a suburban development fifteen miles from New York, say in a tone of quiet desperation, "the problem." And the others knew, without words, that she was not talking about a problem with her husband, or her children, or her home. Suddenly they realized they all shared the same problem, the problem that has no name. They began, hesitantly, to talk about it. Later, after they had picked up their children at nursery school and taken them home to nap, two of the women cried, in sheer relief, just to know they were not alone.

Gradually I came to realize that the problem that has no name was shared by countless women in America. As a magazine writer I often interviewed women about problems with their children, or their marriages, or their houses, or their communities. But after a while I began to recognize the telltale signs of this other problem. I saw the same signs in suburban ranch houses and split-levels on Long Island and in New Jersey and Westchester County; in colonial houses in a small Massachusetts town; on patios in Memphis; in suburban and city apartments; in living rooms in the Midwest. Sometimes I sensed the problem, not as a reporter, but as a suburban housewife, for during this time I was also bringing up my own three children in Rockland County, New York. I heard echoes of the problem in college dormitories and semiprivate maternity wards, at PTA meetings and luncheons of the League of Women Voters, at suburban cocktail parties, in station wagons waiting for trains, and in snatches of conversation overheard at Schrafft's. The groping words I heard from other women, on quiet afternoons when children were at school or on quiet evenings when husbands worked late, I think I understood first as a woman long before I understood their larger social and psychological implications.

Just what was this problem that has no name? What were the words women used when they tried to express it? Sometimes a woman would say "I feel empty somehow . . . incomplete." Or she would say, "I feel as if I don't exist." Sometimes she blotted out the feeling with a tranquilizer. Sometimes she thought the problem was with her husband or her children, or that what she really needed was to redecorate her house, or move to a better neighborhood, or have an affair, or another baby. Sometimes, she went to a doctor with symptoms she could hardly describe: "A tired feeling. . . I get so angry with the children it scares me . . . I feel like crying without any reason." (A Cleveland doctor called it "the housewife's syndrome.") A number of women told me about great bleeding blisters that break out on their hands and arms. "I call it the house wife's blight" said a family doctor in Pennsylvania. "I see it so often lately in these young women with four, five and six children who bury themselves in their dishpans. But it isn't caused by detergent and it isn't cured by cortisone."

These paragraphs are for me the rhetorical equivalent of the "establishing shot": Friedan describes her personal investment in the problem (she herself has raised a family), hints at the methodology by which she's derived her present conclusions, hints strongly at what she thinks causes it, and wraps it up nicely with a memorable tagline ("the problem that has no name"). As social manifestos go, it doesn't get much better.

What I find interesting reading this today is the extent to which Friedan's writing in The Feminine Mystique works a kind of alarmist rhetoric -- why are women getting married younger and younger in the 1950s?!?! why are they suddenly having so many kids?!?! The Feminine Mystique encouraged a generation of women to challenge the expectations and restrictions that were placed on them, but it did so using some very familiar rhetorical conventions.

One could probably argue based on this that the book is no longer relevant. But to me it's actually encouraging because it suggests you don't need to reinvent the wheel to write something that really makes a difference. You just need to do your homework, show conviction, and above all, be right. In The Feminine Mystique, Betty Friedan does all three.

Aparna Sen's 15 Park Avenue: Schizophrenia and Genius


My faith in Indian cinema was restored last night with Aparna Sen's masterful 15 Park Avenue (2005). The film stars Sen's own daughter, Konkona Sen Sharma, as well as Waheeda Rehman, Shabana Azmi, Shefali Shah and Rahul Bose. A brilliant cast, and they all hold up their ends quite well.

The film is largely in English, with brief turns to Hindi and Bangla where one would expect to see them realistically (i.e., when characters speak to strangers on the streets of Calcutta). After dabbling with a somewhat more commercial style in Mr. and Mrs. Iyer, Sen has returned to her serious art-house roots. (See my earlier mini-review of Yugant [1995]). 15 Park Avenue has sophisticated cosmopolitan people, heavy-duty dialogue, and extended discussions of the symptoms and treatment possibilities for schizophrenia, all of which seem to be pretty much medically up-to-date and accurate. The dialogue in this movie is the closest one gets in the Indian context to the cerebral intellectualism of Ingmar Bergman or Woody Allen's early films, and I for one couldn't be happier.

I was actually a little hesitant going into this, partly because there have been many mainstream Indian films focusing on mental illness in one way or another in recent years -- all of which I've hated. Probably the biggest of those was Amitabh Bachchan and Rani Mukherjee's Black last year, but one also thinks of the Salman Khan and Kareena Kapoor in Kyon Ki?, where Salman Khan's illness bears no resemblance to any realistic mental illness I've ever seen; Ajay Devgan in Mein Aisa Hi Hoon, which deals with autism, pretty accurately; and Hrithik Roshan in Koi... Mil Gaya, where Hrithik has a developmental disorder about which almost nothing is known, except perhaps that it's "cute." And there are many, many others, most of which I haven't personally seen (an article by Sudha Rai at the Society for Critical Exchange has a theoretical take on a number of these films). Most of these films play up mental illness for pathos, trying very hard to make their protagonists earn the audience's sympathy. And nearly all of them end up being unserious, because they are bound by a set of conventions (really just clichés) for how to deal with mental illness: all very predictable and safe.

Though there is some sentimental attachment to Konkona Sen Sharma's schizophrenic young woman in 15 Park Avenue, Sen's film breaks most of those conventions. Among other things, the film takes quite seriously the difficulties seriously ill people can trigger for their families -- not a small thing. And the personal dangers Sharma's character confronts (rape) as well as the real damage she causes makes this film anything but safe. This film doesn't aim to pander or tell a heartwarming tale where a person who is "different" gains a measure of social acceptance. Rather, both Konkona Sharma's and Shabana Azmi's characters are doing their best just to survive.

In an interview, Sen has said that this film's story is based on someone close to her and her family. I believe it; there is an unflagging realism and commitment to its subject in 15 Park Avenue that just about everything else I've been seeing lately has lacked.

UPDATE: I just came across Uma's fine review of the film at Indian Writing.

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Incidentally, we saw 15 Park Avenue on BW Cinema, a pay service that allows you to stream (not download) a pretty wide range of Indian films for $3.99 (for 3 days) or $9.99 (for a month of unlimited use).
It worked surprisingly well -- the film looked like a 'DVD print', which was watchable on our TV (through an S-Video cord).

But does anyone know if it's truly 100% legal? The company, I gather, is based in Jackson Heights, NY. I hope they are sending the requisite share of revenue to the Indian studios as royalties...

Academic Freedom, Against Itself

Michael Bérubé has a brilliant post/lecture transcript from a few days ago on academic freedom. Best paragraph:

Not all college professors are liberals, and attacks on academic freedom are dangerous partly because, in some instances, they can undermine the intellectual autonomy of conservative professors. And I don’t believe that this is the same old same old, either. What we’re seeing today is actually unprecedented, for two reasons. One is demographic: college professors have, in the aggregate, become more liberal over the past thirty-five years—though, as I’ll explain later on, most of the studies that have been done on this subject in the past three years are exercises in cooking the data. The other is strategic: for the first time in American history, there is an organized, national campaign to undermine academic freedom by appealing to the ideal of . . . academic freedom.

One of the key examples of this is actually a bill passed in Pennsylvania, though as I understand it, it doesn't apply to professors at private universities.

Another Radio Cameo, Cool Huh

The little post I did on Craigslist on Monday evening got me a quick cameo on Radio Open Source (download the MP3 here; I'm at 34:00). Thanks ROS for having me on again, and Craigslist -- do I get a job now?

Incidentally, I had another encounter with radio mini-fame back in June, as a small part of Chris Lydon's interview with Amitav Ghosh.

Craigslist as a Metaphor For America

Radio Open Source is doing a bit of an anti-State of the Union address show tomorrow night, to coincide with President Bush's annual meaningless (and utterly skippable) applause-fest. They're calling it Blogs of the Union, or BOTU for short.

As more and more of the country moves online, the most popular websites seem a little like mirrors for society as a whole. Ebay, Craigslist, and, in a sense, Google itself, provide an image of the interests, passions, and problems of millions of people, as we coexist in a seemingly endless array of confined socio-cultural bubbles. Most people just look to their relevant catgories, but it's never been easier to see how the other 300 million live than it is right now.

Of the websites I mentioned, I believe it's Craigslist, with its bewildering main page array of activities, jobs, real estate, stuff for sale, and personals, that makes the best metaphor for America's current state of disunion. On Craigslist, you see it all right in front of you, in its amazing, almost unthinkable diversity. 10 million people a month are using it, for 3 billion page loads. And while it's still a relatively modest minority of Americans who are involved (there are still of course large chunks of society who are not online), it gets a little closer to representativeness every year.

You have dog-clubs and tennis-clubs; sperm donors wanted, and sperm donors offering. You see want ads for potential spouses and some for fiddlers (and some that are both at once). People are looking for Scrabble partners, and people are looking for anonymous sex. There are two million dollar summer homes for sale, along with college kids looking for cheap-as-dirt summer sublets.

And here's my favorite find of the evening, an Indian guy who wants someone to teach him to speak with an American accent, for which he will barter (yes, barter) his skills:

I would like to speak English like an American does. I have had my education in British English and brought up in India. As I am working in Philly, I guess my conversation/communication skills is 80% okay with others. But sometimes people find it hard to understand my accent. Would you be interested to teach me the common words, phrases, sentences, lingos, etc ?

I stay near Art museum and any weekday (after 6 PM) is okay with me. Let me know what do you want in return. I don't have any specific thing to offer but here is a list if you are interested:
1. I can fix your computer, software, hardware problem (including Laptop)
2. Give you a Massage (I am a certified therapist for head massage)
3. Prepare food, specially nice indian curries etc
4. May be help you to clean the house or some other work
5. May be a good friend, hangout buddy

I hope someone takes him up on his offer -- and I think the teacher should be bold enough to request that he offer all five services in the course of a single evening: computer repair, massage, cooked dinner, housecleaning, and good friend/hangout buddy. If there is any cure to all the world's my important problems (i.e., loneliness, unhealthy food, general aches and pains, and computer woes), it is represented by this remarkable list of offerings.

It's not beside the point that the guy is offering to barter all of these skills to an anonymous stranger. Indeed, nothing could be more 'Craigslisty' than that. While much of what is on tap at the site involves the exchange of money, what's amazing is that so much of Craigslist is driven by people who trust complete strangers with intimate aspects of their lives, on matters that have nothing to do with money whatsoever. If I didn't know better, I would say that it suggests we still have some kind of civil society in place...

But let's not get carried away by our romantic ideals. They don't really apply to Craigslist, where it's all in the particularities -- there's no end to them, and virtually any generalization about them is going to fail.

Movies Seen Recently, Music I'm Listening To

We did go out and see Capote and Brokeback Mountain over the past few weeks, and while I wasn't enthralled by either film, I prefer Capote over Brokeback. I enjoyed Ang Lee's film -- I thought it was elegant and spare -- but also on the verge of sweepy and hollow. Maybe I remained generally unmoved by the film because it is an image of an era ('the closet') that has passed? Or perhaps because it's simply a romance that never quite gets to full boil. Whatever the case, I thought Brokeback Mountain managed to be impressive without being particularly moving or inspiring.

(The one image that has stayed in my mind is the brief moment of violence that appears at the end of the film, involving Jake Gyllenhal's character... you know the scene I'm thinking of... terrifying)

Capote at least gets into the murky waters of the writer's (inevitable?) exploitation of his subject. I tend to side against Truman Capote: I would rather be a bad writer and a good person, than a good writer who denatures (or destroys) his subject to get the Story. There is a lot to debate here: was Capote really all that great? And: can't he be accused of helping to start the era of the mass-media's sensationalizing of violent crime? Or maybe: he was a great writer and a terrible human being? Or: aren't all great writers pretty much that way?

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And here are some older films I've been watching over the past few weeks:

Side Streets (1998; IMDB). Shashi Kapoor plays a really strange role in this small art movie about working-class ethnic New York. Kapoor plays a huge (in more than one sense) movie star whose brother is an NYC taxi driver married to Shabana Azmi. That alone seems rather unrealistic -- one finds it hard to accept that a huge Bollywood star might have a siblings who drive taxis in New York -- but the rest of the film is gritty and believable. There are also parallel plots involving Russian drug dealers, abject fashion designers, and an Afro-Caribbean couple who bicker at length about permission to drive a car. But the real reason to see the film is the scene at the end, where Shashi Kapoor goes nuts and pulls a Charles Bukowski in a posh hotel room.

Ash Wednesday (2002; IMDB). Another New York indie film, this one directed by Edward "cheekbones" Burns of The Brothers McMullen. Ed Burns is a little like John Cassavetes back in the day -- a commercial actor who makes low-budget independent films with the cash he gets from the forgettable films he does in Hollywood. And while Burns's films lack the searing emotional upheaval of Cassavetes flicks like Opening Night or Faces, there is something interesting going on here. The plot of Ash Wednesday is pretty gripping, though the acting by the Irish gangsters of Hell's Kitchen is at times quite weak. The Catholic themes of sacrifice, rebirth, and redemption are strangely appropriate for a gangster film, and are all at play in the film's climactic scenes.

Mr. Smith Goes To Washington (1939; IMDB). There is nothing to criticize in this film: snappy 1930s dialogue, great plot, and total relevance to politics today (you can substitute Jack Abramoff for the bad guy in the film without any difficulty whatsoever). It also has the distinction of being the only world-class film I've ever seen that portrays a Senate filibuster as a scene of climactic, world-changing action.

Fiddler on the Roof (1971; IMDB). Yeah, I know it's a banal Broadway myth of the Russian Jewish shtetl, but the songs in this movie are just too much fun. And Topol's big lines have great camp value; I'm especially keen on the moments where he shouts "Tradition!" in an accusing way at God, only to wave off after a moment (eh, ok, so much for tradition). I only hope I'm half this entertaining and melodramatic when I'm fifty. Watching this again also reignited my interest in the Yiddish writer Sholom Aleichem, whose works I'm somewhat curious to read.

The First Time (1969; IMDB). This movie was made in 1969, but it feels like 1954. Wow, is it dated -- it has a script that seems to have been written by a rather sleazy fifteen year old boy. Just truly awful dialogue; I don't know how I watched it all the way through. Maybe it had something to do with Jacqueline Bisset? That would probably be a good guess.

Home Delivery (2005). We watched about half of this recent Bollywood film before falling asleep. It felt like a collage of bits from a TV sitcom crudely stitched together to try and form a film. Yawn -- and that, needless to say, pretty much sums up my attitude to most Bollywood flicks that have been coming out lately (except perhaps Bluffmaster and 15 Park Avenue, both of which I want to see).

* * * * *

I've been listening to Matisyahu's Live at Stubb's, The Decemberists' Castaways and Cutouts and Picareseque, and the Bluffmaster CD soundtrack. Both the Decemberists and Bluffmaster rock, though in very different ways.

I'm still trying to decide about Matisyahu, who takes an Orthodox/Hasidic messianic vision and channels it into the lyrical and melodic conventions of roots rock reggae and dub. At times it feels a little like a gimmick, but some of the songs really do click quite nicely. There is some real poetry here, though there is also, on some of the longer "jams," a little smelly Phish. We'll see what they do with the studio album...


The Decemberists have been doing their thing for a few years, but I only just got their new CD a month ago. These are, I think, the best-written lyrics I've come across in recent years. Magnificent -- deserving of a separate post (coming soon, hopefully).

And on the lighter side of things, Bluffmaster is the ultimate Bollywood/Hip Hop fusion, complete with spadefuls of swagger. And with cool baritone vocals on some of the best tracks, Abhishek Bachchan is coming to fill in his father's shoes more and more... I don't know if "Sabse Bada Rupaiyya" is going to be as immortal as "Rang Barse," but at least it's got a nice beat and you can dance to it.

Hindutva In American Schools: Links

Some excellent posts by bloggers on the recent controversy in California over attempts by Hindu groups to have their version of Indian history incorporated into school textbooks (see the Christian Science Monitor). While the California school board initially approved changes earmarked for them by the Vedic Foundation and the Hindu Education Foundation, after a concerted effort by academics the changes have been reversed. See, academic expertise does matter for something.

--The great science-blogger Pharyngula, now from his new site:

Yeah, these aren't fundamentalist Christians, but Hindu nationalists with very strange ideas—still, it's the same old religious nonsense.

(As far as I'm concerned, the fundamentalist Christian ideas are equally strange, but that's a small quibble!)

--Butterflies and Wheels, an equally steadfast advocate of secularist thinking.

--Our new blog-friend, the Accidental Blogger

--And here's Archana.

Suffice it to say, I find the prospect of the incursion of Hindutva ideology into the American school system pretty surreal.

UPDATE: This is just a links post. See my more detailed response to the California controversy here.

Tyeb Mehta -- overhyped? (try Prosenjit Roy)

I posted on Tyeb Mehta a few months ago, after it came out that a painting of his had sold for $1.58 million at Christie's in New York.

Somini Sengupta has a thorough profile of Mehta in the Times this week, which is pretty well worth reading for the insight it gives on what Mehta is after with his myth-based gestural paintings. (Also helpful is Sonia Faleiro's nice profile of him, which appeared in Tehelka in June.)

And I came across a recent first-person testimonial by Mehta in the Times of India, where he talks about his active (if non-devout) relationship to his Shia Islamic heritage.

I know much more about Mehta after reading these pieces -- and he seems like a fascinating person -- but I'm still on the fence as to whether I actually like his paintings or not. The images just seem somehow flat to me (have a look at the Times' slideshow and tell me what you think...)

While the shapes Mehta produces are dramatic, they seem more like drawings than paintings: they are flat and descriptive even when the images involve violence, suffering, or mutilation. (Sengupta mentions the traumatic effect of communal violence on Mehta's thinking...) The monstrous, misshapen bodies in his paintings ought to provoke visceral horror, but that's not what happens for this blogger at least.

Contrast his work to that of another contemporary painter, Prosenjit Roy. Roy has some paintings on Jalsaghar, and more on his own homepage. Alongside whimsical paintings like "The Sleepy Scratch" is the more serious "Artist on a mend," a painting about depression which, I would argue, has a painterly joke in it all the same:


(Do you get the joke? Hint: It's on you.)

But Roy's most ambitious painting might be The Order of Things, which he hasn't posted in full color -- perhaps to protect it from Internet leechers (**blogger coughs nervously**). It looks like a surrealist take on the philosophical arguments of Michel Foucault...

Bengaluru

There is a great -- really great -- piece by Ruchir Joshi on India's addiction to renaming in the Calcutta Telegraph. As many readers will be aware by now, Bangalore will be changing its name to Bengaluru.

Something about the name brought out the schoolboy in all three of us and the holiday was rife with jokes. Was the name-change proposed by a local Bong? If not, why on earth would IT-rich, culturally proud, ’Digas [Kannadigas] want ‘Bengal’ included in the name of their capital city? The second half, ‘luru’, with a couple of letters added or changed, led to all sorts of dormitory-humour, wisecracks unreproducable in a family newspaper such as this, except it suffices to say that the tweaked ‘luru’ could play one way in the Hindi we all spoke, and another in the Bangla with which we were all familiar.

On the flight back, a slightly more serious vein of thought asserted itself. I remember clearly how angry I became when Bombay was officially renamed Mumbai a decade ago, and again, when the same thing happened soon after to Madras and then, finally, to Calcutta. Usually this anger remains contained to a note I add when writing for newspapers and magazines unfamiliar with my preferences, a note which requests everyone to kindly leave alone the city names I use, such as Calcutta, Bombay or Madras. But now, with the imminent adding of Bangalore to this list, the whole issue rekindles itself for me and it’s about far more than just names.

Hm, I think I know the word he's thinking of in Hindi, though not Bangla.

Along the way, Joshi makes some great points about how place-names function in India, across a wide spectrum of languages:

While I am all for changing ‘Road’, ‘Street’ and ‘Avenue’ to Sarani, Marg and Vithi, happy with the exchange of Lansdowne for Sarat Bose and chortlingly happy with the kicking out of Harrington in favour of Ho Chi Minh and the cancelling of Camac to install Shakespeare, (or even ‘Sex Pyaar’ as one signboard notably proclaimed), to my mind the same principle does not apply to city names.

This is because, a city, like a country, is a much larger, a much more complex construct than a lane or a plaza. There is a reason why most people reading this column probably did not pause to think twice about my use of 'India' and 'Indian' in the previous paragraph but one: 'India', much more than 'Hindustan', 'Bharat', or 'Bharatam', is the name that is now truly representative of the country we live in; it is the one agreed name that diverse people from all over the country use regularly and without quarrel, and, since the spread of cricket and television, it is a name that is now freely used across city, small town and even village; also, not unimportantly, now that we see ourselves as deeply connected to the world, it is the name by which the international community knows us and recognizes us.

Similarly, what a ‘Calcutta’ or a ‘Bombay’ signifies is a typically subtle Indian way of eating your cake and having it too. What the old names say, which Mumbai and Kolkata don’t, is: ‘yes, we come from a colonial history, but also, yes, we have overcome that colonial past and are confident enough to keep whatever is useful from that past, whether it be the English language, our railway network, or, indeed, the names of two of our most famous cities. Just as the name India provides a nomenclatural umbrella to awesome diversity, so do the names of these urban leviathans provide each a name-shelter under which all who have contributed to that living city can live and continue to work.’

(First thought: "Sex Pyaar"? Too good.)
Second thought: Yes, exactly, exactly. And there are other good points; go read the whole thing.

Incidentally, if you haven't already, you should check out Sepia Mutiny's parody of the name change here, though commenter Raghu offers a defense of "Bengaluru" that is also worth considering as a counter-point:

Those of us who are objecting probably also need to examine why we're so distressed about the change. After all, law does not change names, it just changes spelling. Theres a sentiment that stirs beneath our rational, political arguments about the adequacy of the status quo and the dangers of linguistic nationalism and tubthumping - its our anxiety at the fact that our precarious culture, not fully Western but certainly not fully Kannadiga, just got pushed onto its back foot. Taking the names entirely on their own accoustic merits, Bengaluru is so soft and mellifluous, but Bangalore shakes off those drooping vowels and is crisper, more anglicized - it sounds like the city we want it to become for our comfort - and that's our linguistic chauvinism.

"Abandoning the Duty of the Painted Bench" (Pamuk charges dropped)

Reuters reports that charges against Turkish writer Orhan Pamuk have been dropped. He was originally accused of insulting "Turkishness" when he referred to the genocide of the Armenians in the 1910s, in an interview with a European reporter.

Under Turkey's Article 301, many writers have been charged and imprisoned over the years for criticizing the government, Turkishness, or the memory of Kemal Ataturk (though there is actually a separate law for that). And besides Pamuk, there are a number of active cases that should still concern us. Amnesty has a long list:

Hrant Dink is a journalist and the editor of the Armenian-language weekly newspaper Agos, which is published in Istanbul. On 7 October 2005, Hrant Dink was given a six-month suspended prison sentence by the Sisli Court of First Instance No. 2 in Istanbul for “denigrating Turkishness” in an article he wrote on Armenian identity. According to the prosecutor in the case, Hrant Dink had written his article with the intention of denigrating Turkish national identity.

Sehmus Ulek is the Vice-President of the Turkish human rights NGO Mazlum Der. On 28 April 2005 the Sanlıurfa Court of First Instance No. 3 started hearing a case against him and Hrant Dink, under Article 159 of the old TPC (now Article 301) for speeches they made during a conference organized by Mazlum Der’s Urfa branch on 14 December 2002 entitled “Global Security, Terror and Human Rights, Multi-culturalism, Minorities and Human Rights”. Sehmus Ulek referred in his speech to the nation-building project of the Turkish Republic as it had affected, in particular, the southeastern area of the country; Hrant Dink discussed his own relationship to official conceptions of Turkish identity. The next hearing of the case will take place on 9 February 2006.

A trial began in May 2005 at the Beyoglu Court of First Instance No. 2 in Istanbul against publisher Ragip Zarakolu for his publication of a Turkish translation of a book by Dora Sakayan entitled Experiences of an Armenian Doctor: Garabet Hacheryan's Izmir Journal (Bir Ermeni Doktorun Yasadıkları: Garabet Haceryan'ın İzmir Guncesi; Istanbul: Belge 2005). Ragip Zarakolu had been charged under Article 159 of the TPC for “denigrating Turkishness and the security forces”, and then under Article 301 after the new TPC came into effect.

Fatih Tas is a 26-year-old student of Communications and Journalism at Istanbul University and the owner of Aram publishing house. He is currently being tried under Article 301 because he published a Turkish translation of a book by the American academic John Tirman, entitled Savas Ganimetleri: Amerikan Silah Ticaretinin Insan Bedeli (Istanbul: Aram, 2005) (The Spoils of War: the Human Cost of America’s Arms Trade), that reportedly includes a map depicting a large section of Turkey as traditionally Kurdish and alleges that the Turkish military perpetrated a number of human rights abuses in the south-east of the country during the 1980s and 1990s.

Murat Pabuc was a lieutenant in the Turkish army who retired on grounds of disability. Whilst still serving, he witnessed the massive earthquake that hit Turkey in August 1999, as well as the institutional corruption that he alleges followed it. He became disillusioned with his military duties, seeing soldiers as being alienated from ordinary people, and began to refuse orders. He eventually began undergoing psychiatric treatment. In June 2005 he published his book Boyalı Bank Nobetini Terk Etmek; the literal translation of this title is "Abandoning the Duty of the Painted Bench." It alludes to a Turkish anecdote which portrays a pastiche of a soldier following orders unquestioningly. He believes that this was the only way for him to express what he had experienced in the army. As a result he is facing a trial for “public denigration of the military” under Article 301.

Birol Duru is a journalist. On 17 November 2005 he was charged with "denigrating the security forces" under Article 301 because he published on the Dicle news agency a press release from the Human Rights Association (IHD) Bingol branch which stated that the security forces were burning forests in Bingol and Tunceli. The president of IHD’s Bingol branch, Rıdvan Kızgın, is also charged under other legislation for the contents of the press release. Rıdvan Kızgın has had over 47 cases opened against him since 2001, and Amnesty International is currently running a web action
for him as part of its ongoing campaigning work on human rights defenders in Turkey and Eurasia. Birol Duru is due to be sentenced on 8 December 2005.(link)


Over at Verbal Privilege, Elizabeth echoes Amnesty, in worrying about all of the active cases, not just Pamuk's:

That said, I'm still worried about the many ongoing cases against other writers, journalists, publishers, and activists that do not receive a fraction of the attention Pamuk's case got. The cases of people like Hrant Dink, Ragip Zarakolu, and Ferhat Tunç are a more crucial barometer of freedom of expression in Turkey--we'll see what happens to persectued writers and artists who do not enjoy the benefit of an international outcry.

Buffalo DNA: Two New Bloggers

I want to welcome Amitava Kumar to blogistan. Amitava is one of the sharpest and most opinionated Indian cultural critics around, and I have no doubt he'll be a very formidable blogger.

A good start is his recent slam of a billboard advertisement used by the newspaper Daily News and Analysis:

Will someone suggest a caption for this photograph? I saw this billboard near a highway in Bombay and understood that it was an ad for a newspaper called DNA. I would describe it as the pavement-level version of a Rushdie novel–self-satisfied metropolitan fiction for consumption by the metropolitans. It is not the buffalo who has decided to carry a reminder on its body that it must work for Bihar; instead, it is some clueless cosmopolitan who is announcing his never-to-be-really-actualized intentions about–what exactly?–social activism. If this individual has recovered from his new year’s hangover by now I’d like him to consider why the geography of a land and its peoples is reducible to a buffalo’s hide. Perhaps I am over-reacting but this is because the rag in question has dung in its DNA.

Go to his blog to see the picture in question. Incidentally, the post also attacks the content of the paper in question, singling out a very bad recent book review of a novel also related to Bihar, Siddharth Chowdhury's Patna Roughcut.

Wow, inspired ranting. My timid gloss on this might be something like: Amitava doesn't like the ad because it takes a very smug potshot at political corruption in Bihar. Even granted that corruption and government waste might well be a problem, it isn't going to be solved by cheap shots from the snide, metropolitan, soi-disant cognoscenti.

* * *
While I'm promoting new blogs, let me encourage people to take a peek at Ruchira Paul's Accidental Blogger. Ruchira is a strong champion for liberal politics, both in the U.S. and in India. A recent post on "Anthropomorphism and Empathy" stood out to me, as did this brief post on the female foeticide problem I was talking about earlier this week.

She's also done interesting some literature-oriented posts. (Do more lit posts, Ruchira!)