[This is a review by me of the book by William Dalrymple, "The Last Mughal" posted on Amazon]
Exactly 150 years ago, today the first shot of the revolt of 1857 was fired. Today India celebrates what I grew up learning as “The first war of Indian independence”.
Most of the history taught in Indian schools is written by the 20th century socialist, nationalist historians and that became my frame of reference. I always looked back at the “war” of 1857 with some sense of pride, it was a time we were told - Hindus and Muslims came together to fight off the British yoke, when oppressed poor rose up against the zamindars and money lenders, when nationalism was a common thread that tied the widespread war, where mendicants carried the message of revolution in secret chappatis and women joined the men in the struggle for independence. Overall a romantic nationalist picture painted by secular historians.
This book by Dalrymple shatters the myth I was raised with. He, based upon his meticulous research and conflation from disparate documentation, both native and British, conclusively proves that the outbreak of May 10, 1857 was nothing more than a bloody communal riot.
At least it started like that, except that the wrath of both Hindus and Muslims combine fell on the hapless British men, women and children.
There is no pride whatsoever in what happened on the days of May 10 and May 11.
In fact it should be marked as a day of mourning when the sepoys marched into Delhi and in just first 48 hours massacred all Christians in the capital. Not just killed but chopped into pieces. No one was spared, not even pregnant women. Just a few survived who either escaped just in time or were sheltered by some Delhiwallahs.
In fact on this day started what would be one of the biggest catastrophes to befall on the magnificent capital of Mughal India, from which it has not emerged in many ways till today.
Dalrymple writes this book almost as a war correspondent embedded with troops on both sides. His narrative is full of real life events, hour by hour, as they unfolded in those fateful times. It is a research in history that parallels the deciphering of Brahmi by James Princep. It opens the door to one of the darkest and bloodiest period of Indian history which laid the foundation of an even bloodier event, the partition of 1947.
He also clearly shows that the outbreak which was secular at least from Indian perspective was soon hijacked by a bunch of Jihadis, coloring it with an extremist Islamic color, despite the whole hearted attempts of the King and Princes to retain the united fervor.
The handful fanatics in their myopic vision saw this as a repeat of Jihad/Crusade on Indian soil and it had the unwelcome effect of disenchanting the Hindu majority.
This became one of the turning points in the history of this struggle and later became an excuse for a pogrom of worst kind perpetuated by British against Muslims of Delhi.
If you survive reading the brutality of Indians in the first half of the book you will find it hard to not get deeply disturbed at the unimaginable savagery that the victorious British unleashed on the Indians. More than a hundred thousand people, a majority of them innocent, were ruthlessly killed, war crimes of worst kind committed, women raped (though it was conclusively proved that the mutineers never committed any rape, albeit all the killing), mosques and graves desecrated, property looted, buildings destroyed and all this happened in the backdrop of shameless inducements of Padres quoting the Bible out of context.
While British murderers and looters leached the city of all its people and possessions, what is also insightful is that in their heinous crimes they were aided, in fact surpassed by their “Indian” mercenaries who were predominantly Sikh, Gurkha and Pathan in origin.
It would not be wrong to say that this war was predominantly Hindustanee (confined mostly to Hindi speaking belt) in nature and the “foreign” mercenaries (from other parts of India) had no qualms in squashing it and taking home the booty.
What is most disgraceful is the fact that these British murderers and pillagers not only remained scot-free above the law but were also decorated by the British government. Prize agents who plundered the Indian treasures and shamelessly stole and sold even the paneled walls of many palaces or Red fort, were knighted.
Perhaps nothing is more poignant than the disgusting treatment meted out to the King and Princes on whom the British had no jurisdiction. The whole trial was not only a farce but was completely illegal, even by British view point.
Overall this book is not for the weak hearted, but it is a must read for anyone who wants to learn the true history of that period.
I hope the findings of this incredible work will find their way into history text books in India and dispel the myths that the youth are made to believe in.
Nothing is more dangerous than fiction wrapped in history text books because “if we do not learn from history, we are destined to repeat it”.
Wednesday, May 9, 2007
Friday, April 27, 2007
Mr.Grinch and his nose
I just call him “Grinch”.
Actually, I have never spoken to him or about him to anyone but whenever I see him I think “Grinch”.
Mr. Grinch is a portly Indian gentleman who boards the train from San Francisco and gets down at Union City.
The reason for my dislike for him is twofold. One - he is very loud when he talks to some of his friends (who are tolerable) but Two – and this is a tipping point, he is a seasoned Nasal Archaeologist. Whenever I see him he has his right index finger lodged firmly in his nose only to come out once in a while to inspect his find, rub it off and go to the other nostril in search of God knows what.
I tend to avoid looking at him and busy myself with my laptop or some book that I am reading, but it is something about him that whenever I look up, my gaze floats towards him.
Today something happened that enforced my disgust for him but also brought to light social gimmickry that almost everyone involves in once in a while.
There are seats by the doors of the car which are supposed to be vacated for elderly or disabled. Mr. Grinch firmly established himself in one of those. The train began to get crowded and by the time it reached Oakland it was already packed.
Mr. Grinch pulled out a newspaper and hid himself behind it. (Thankfully for me his nasal quest stopped as he was holding the paper with both hands).
Now I could see his eyes from the corner and whenever people boarded the train he raised the paper high enough to pretend to not see them, should some elderly enter the car. The idea being - “If I haven’t seen anyone then I am ignorant and will keep my heinie rested”
As luck would have it an elderly lady did board the train, she looked around, and Mr. Grinch raised his newspaper as if he was in a sailboat catching the wind. Just then another guy got up and offered the lady a (non-designated) seat. Thankfully, it was another Indian guy.
Mr. Grinch appeared startled, had a clumsy embarrassed look on his face, and looked around from left to right. No one noticed it except me and his eyes met mine. I was about 10 seats away from the incident but I narrowed my gaze and looked down upon him with a frown.
Mr. Grinch instinctively put the news paper down and found his nose with his fat fingers, as an infant sucks on his thumb to soothe himself.
That worked for him, I looked away.
Actually, I have never spoken to him or about him to anyone but whenever I see him I think “Grinch”.
Mr. Grinch is a portly Indian gentleman who boards the train from San Francisco and gets down at Union City.
The reason for my dislike for him is twofold. One - he is very loud when he talks to some of his friends (who are tolerable) but Two – and this is a tipping point, he is a seasoned Nasal Archaeologist. Whenever I see him he has his right index finger lodged firmly in his nose only to come out once in a while to inspect his find, rub it off and go to the other nostril in search of God knows what.
I tend to avoid looking at him and busy myself with my laptop or some book that I am reading, but it is something about him that whenever I look up, my gaze floats towards him.
Today something happened that enforced my disgust for him but also brought to light social gimmickry that almost everyone involves in once in a while.
There are seats by the doors of the car which are supposed to be vacated for elderly or disabled. Mr. Grinch firmly established himself in one of those. The train began to get crowded and by the time it reached Oakland it was already packed.
Mr. Grinch pulled out a newspaper and hid himself behind it. (Thankfully for me his nasal quest stopped as he was holding the paper with both hands).
Now I could see his eyes from the corner and whenever people boarded the train he raised the paper high enough to pretend to not see them, should some elderly enter the car. The idea being - “If I haven’t seen anyone then I am ignorant and will keep my heinie rested”
As luck would have it an elderly lady did board the train, she looked around, and Mr. Grinch raised his newspaper as if he was in a sailboat catching the wind. Just then another guy got up and offered the lady a (non-designated) seat. Thankfully, it was another Indian guy.
Mr. Grinch appeared startled, had a clumsy embarrassed look on his face, and looked around from left to right. No one noticed it except me and his eyes met mine. I was about 10 seats away from the incident but I narrowed my gaze and looked down upon him with a frown.
Mr. Grinch instinctively put the news paper down and found his nose with his fat fingers, as an infant sucks on his thumb to soothe himself.
That worked for him, I looked away.
It is just a peck
Mary confronted me yesterday. – “Hey what is it about this Richard Gere controversy?”
“Huh ..what?” Even though I heard her alright, I bought time scrambling for a reasonable response.
She repeated – “You know the issue about Richard kissing an Indian actress on stage and his arrest warrant and all”
“Oh that. (phooh!) I don’t know what to say, I think it is an issue blown out of proportion by some rabid fundamentalists”
“But isn’t it a court that has issued a warrant” – she pressed on.
“Well. (ahem..) you know there are all kinds of laws in every country, isn’t there is a list of these arcane laws even in US…like “You may not have an ice cream cone in your back pocket at any time.” And “It is illegal to ride a bike in a swimming pool”?
“Sure but they are what you said…arcane, but this is not the same, is it?”
“All I am saying is that if you go to a court, the judge has to uphold the law”
“But what about all the corny Bollywood flicks? Doesn’t the Judge watch those?” – she was getting amusement out of my discomfiture.
“I don’t know about that, I think it is just another case of misplaced sensitivities exploited by a handful fanatics.”
Then I remembered the story she told me sometime back when she went to the subcontinent as part of a Christian outreach and their group was harassed in Bombay.
I wanted to avoid the discussion going there as I was already on my defensive so I said –
“Hey, I have to rush to something; I am sure this is nothing but yet another celebrity scandal and if anything has helped Richard Gere in getting some more limelight”
Then I left in a haste.
“Huh ..what?” Even though I heard her alright, I bought time scrambling for a reasonable response.
She repeated – “You know the issue about Richard kissing an Indian actress on stage and his arrest warrant and all”
“Oh that. (phooh!) I don’t know what to say, I think it is an issue blown out of proportion by some rabid fundamentalists”
“But isn’t it a court that has issued a warrant” – she pressed on.
“Well. (ahem..) you know there are all kinds of laws in every country, isn’t there is a list of these arcane laws even in US…like “You may not have an ice cream cone in your back pocket at any time.” And “It is illegal to ride a bike in a swimming pool”?
“Sure but they are what you said…arcane, but this is not the same, is it?”
“All I am saying is that if you go to a court, the judge has to uphold the law”
“But what about all the corny Bollywood flicks? Doesn’t the Judge watch those?” – she was getting amusement out of my discomfiture.
“I don’t know about that, I think it is just another case of misplaced sensitivities exploited by a handful fanatics.”
Then I remembered the story she told me sometime back when she went to the subcontinent as part of a Christian outreach and their group was harassed in Bombay.
I wanted to avoid the discussion going there as I was already on my defensive so I said –
“Hey, I have to rush to something; I am sure this is nothing but yet another celebrity scandal and if anything has helped Richard Gere in getting some more limelight”
Then I left in a haste.
Thursday, April 12, 2007
Wah! Taj
Millions of people from around the world throng the city of Agra in India to have a glimpse of this wonder. I am sure that there would be very few people in this world who have not seen at least a picture of the Taj Mahal. However, no picture, no movie, no commentary can ever compare to an actual visit to this majestic mausoleum.
It is fitting however that it is a mausoleum. The house of the dead. For in symmetry lies death. It is the symmetry and perfection that humans try to achieve and it is this symmetry and perfection that was achieved by the designers of the Taj. There is perhaps no other building in the world which is more perfect than the Taj, architecturally and aesthetically. The feeling that comes over you when you see the Taj is that of solace, a strange sense of fulfillment and joy. It is a place where life and death come together to salute the marvel of human achievement.
I mentioned that symmetry symbolizes death, if you see around yourself, nature; the creator of life is perfectly asymmetrical. The only symmetrical things around you are man made. Look at the mountains, the clouds, the trees, the meandering river, each one of them are neither having symmetry of shape nor of number.
Even life on earth evolved as a result of asymmetry, earth is not a perfect sphere, the motion of earth around the sun is not a perfect ellipse, earth’s axis is not symmetrical, and there is only one sun , not four or six to brighten the earth uniformly. This asymmetry lead to variations in seasons and to thunderstorms and to lightning which perhaps created the primordial organic matter. It is the diversity as a result of asymmetry that resulted in evolution of life on earth. Uniformity and symmetry would have made this planet uninhabitable.
But what does it have to do with the Taj?
Taj is one of the most perfect human creations and it is also one of the most symmetrical buildings ever made by man. It is therefore fitting that it is a mausoleum. Perhaps this is the message that the architects and designers of the Taj were trying to send out.
I have had the honor of visiting theTaj four times so far, and each time I have felt a strange sense of pride in being human, a sense of completeness, a feeling that life has finally unfolded itself with a purpose.
The first view of the Taj leaves an indelible impression on your mind, a picture cast in your memory to cherish forever.
You walk up the ascent to the outer walls and you have no idea of what is to come next, you walk up through the way where once was an old Bazaar and now are a few curio shops, yet you have no glimpse of what is there in store for you, slowly the suspense thickens, then you see a gate known as darwaza which is the entrance to the courtyard of the Taj. The gate itself is a great piece of art, made of red sandstone it stands about 100 ft high and about 150 feet wide, it is is richly embellished with gemstones inlaid in white marble and decorated with calligraphy. As you enter the gate at a turn you suddenly see the Taj. It looks like a still picture. A picture cast in the frame of the gate, fitting it perfectly. Little would you know that it is a subtle optical illusion, the garden in front of the gate and the walkway to the Taj is about 900 ft, yet the Taj appears very far away, beckoning you step into its sanctum sanctorum.
The gate is also symbolic of a transition from the outer world to a world where everything is perfect.
As you slowly walk towards it you feel a comforting peace that surrounds your being. Every time you look at the Taj as you walk, you feel that it is growing in dimension. It is another optical illusion that comes with extremely thought out work with three dimensional effects of shadows, crests and troughs, solids and voids. The depth is further accentuated by the double arches one over the other and a subtle play of light and shadow in any time of the day. As you walk up to the main building you almost feel it grow as if you are not taking small steps but are flying towards it.
When you reach the pedestal you are filled with feelings of awe and astonishment, yet strangely despite its exalted presence you do not feel small in any way.
You feel the ascent of your spirit with the beauty and grace of the building, you feel that you belong here.
As you walk up the stairs to the 20 ft high pedestal you probably for first time notice how high the base itself is. And then after a flight of stairs suddenly you are face to face with the Taj. You can even touch it !
When you circle around the building you find that there is nothing behind the Taj except river yamuna. This was deliberately done in order to present the beholder the view of Taj with no background but sky. The Taj is made of white makrana marble and it always presents itself as a contrast to the sky behind. This is exactly how you feel, sky behind not sky above. The Taj is known to change colors with each hour of the day and known to shine to blinding white on a full moon night. It is impossible to capture it in words, even in a picture, it is to be seen to be believed. There are a number of legends that surround the Taj, perhaps the most well known is the intensity of love of the emperor for his beloved wife, when after her death his hair turned gray in just one night.
As you explore the Taj further and you actually enter it you feel love all over the place, it is the love of a person for another person, love of a man for his work. As you walk in the majestic galleries and look at the inlaid work and surface detail, the complexity of the creation dawns upon you.I have known many a people to become contemplative and reflective in the many rooms and chambers of the Taj. When you see a decorative motif in the corner of the roof you would be surprised and think why has the craftsman taken all the pain to create that beautiful motif almost hidden from the view?
It took the creativity of nearly 40 architects, engineers and craftsmen to design and supervise the construction of the Taj and it took nearly 20 years and 20 thousand workmen to carry out the task. The Taj was completed in the year 1648 when there were no modern equipment or instruments to help the designers and architects.
One of the few standing wonders of the world, this epicenter of love is a must see and must feel for every living soul.
I am closing this post abruptly and it is the same exact feeling that you have when you leave the Taj. It keeps you yearning for more, you feel that you have been woken up in the middle of a dream, yet there is a strange sense of fulfillment and solace.
It is fitting however that it is a mausoleum. The house of the dead. For in symmetry lies death. It is the symmetry and perfection that humans try to achieve and it is this symmetry and perfection that was achieved by the designers of the Taj. There is perhaps no other building in the world which is more perfect than the Taj, architecturally and aesthetically. The feeling that comes over you when you see the Taj is that of solace, a strange sense of fulfillment and joy. It is a place where life and death come together to salute the marvel of human achievement.
I mentioned that symmetry symbolizes death, if you see around yourself, nature; the creator of life is perfectly asymmetrical. The only symmetrical things around you are man made. Look at the mountains, the clouds, the trees, the meandering river, each one of them are neither having symmetry of shape nor of number.
Even life on earth evolved as a result of asymmetry, earth is not a perfect sphere, the motion of earth around the sun is not a perfect ellipse, earth’s axis is not symmetrical, and there is only one sun , not four or six to brighten the earth uniformly. This asymmetry lead to variations in seasons and to thunderstorms and to lightning which perhaps created the primordial organic matter. It is the diversity as a result of asymmetry that resulted in evolution of life on earth. Uniformity and symmetry would have made this planet uninhabitable.
But what does it have to do with the Taj?
Taj is one of the most perfect human creations and it is also one of the most symmetrical buildings ever made by man. It is therefore fitting that it is a mausoleum. Perhaps this is the message that the architects and designers of the Taj were trying to send out.
I have had the honor of visiting theTaj four times so far, and each time I have felt a strange sense of pride in being human, a sense of completeness, a feeling that life has finally unfolded itself with a purpose.
The first view of the Taj leaves an indelible impression on your mind, a picture cast in your memory to cherish forever.
You walk up the ascent to the outer walls and you have no idea of what is to come next, you walk up through the way where once was an old Bazaar and now are a few curio shops, yet you have no glimpse of what is there in store for you, slowly the suspense thickens, then you see a gate known as darwaza which is the entrance to the courtyard of the Taj. The gate itself is a great piece of art, made of red sandstone it stands about 100 ft high and about 150 feet wide, it is is richly embellished with gemstones inlaid in white marble and decorated with calligraphy. As you enter the gate at a turn you suddenly see the Taj. It looks like a still picture. A picture cast in the frame of the gate, fitting it perfectly. Little would you know that it is a subtle optical illusion, the garden in front of the gate and the walkway to the Taj is about 900 ft, yet the Taj appears very far away, beckoning you step into its sanctum sanctorum.
The gate is also symbolic of a transition from the outer world to a world where everything is perfect.
As you slowly walk towards it you feel a comforting peace that surrounds your being. Every time you look at the Taj as you walk, you feel that it is growing in dimension. It is another optical illusion that comes with extremely thought out work with three dimensional effects of shadows, crests and troughs, solids and voids. The depth is further accentuated by the double arches one over the other and a subtle play of light and shadow in any time of the day. As you walk up to the main building you almost feel it grow as if you are not taking small steps but are flying towards it.
When you reach the pedestal you are filled with feelings of awe and astonishment, yet strangely despite its exalted presence you do not feel small in any way.
You feel the ascent of your spirit with the beauty and grace of the building, you feel that you belong here.
As you walk up the stairs to the 20 ft high pedestal you probably for first time notice how high the base itself is. And then after a flight of stairs suddenly you are face to face with the Taj. You can even touch it !
When you circle around the building you find that there is nothing behind the Taj except river yamuna. This was deliberately done in order to present the beholder the view of Taj with no background but sky. The Taj is made of white makrana marble and it always presents itself as a contrast to the sky behind. This is exactly how you feel, sky behind not sky above. The Taj is known to change colors with each hour of the day and known to shine to blinding white on a full moon night. It is impossible to capture it in words, even in a picture, it is to be seen to be believed. There are a number of legends that surround the Taj, perhaps the most well known is the intensity of love of the emperor for his beloved wife, when after her death his hair turned gray in just one night.
As you explore the Taj further and you actually enter it you feel love all over the place, it is the love of a person for another person, love of a man for his work. As you walk in the majestic galleries and look at the inlaid work and surface detail, the complexity of the creation dawns upon you.I have known many a people to become contemplative and reflective in the many rooms and chambers of the Taj. When you see a decorative motif in the corner of the roof you would be surprised and think why has the craftsman taken all the pain to create that beautiful motif almost hidden from the view?
It took the creativity of nearly 40 architects, engineers and craftsmen to design and supervise the construction of the Taj and it took nearly 20 years and 20 thousand workmen to carry out the task. The Taj was completed in the year 1648 when there were no modern equipment or instruments to help the designers and architects.
One of the few standing wonders of the world, this epicenter of love is a must see and must feel for every living soul.
I am closing this post abruptly and it is the same exact feeling that you have when you leave the Taj. It keeps you yearning for more, you feel that you have been woken up in the middle of a dream, yet there is a strange sense of fulfillment and solace.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
Love Sex and Mangoes
It was definitely heart that I felt the pinch at, deep down a strange tingling sensation, like a flutter. The meaning of the phrase – “I love you so much, it hurts” became very clear to me. I was unmistakably in love. When the world outside was shivering in dry, unforgiving Delhi
There was hardly any time when I was not thinking of her, yet I was not distracted, on the contrary I was sharply in focus and actually quite inspired. The rapturous feeling of contended bliss was more pronounced in the mornings when I woke up to find that my world was still intact and alive like the fresh morning dew on pristine roses.
Nothing beats the energy of youth and the inspiration of love; together they make a potent combination.
Plowing through your years at the IIT can be quite taxing, but here I was cruising through, at least at that time, taking life by its horns.
It’s a pity that I do not remember his real name, but he was affectionately called Laat Sahab. Laat Sahab was a post doctoral student and as research scholars usually are, he was all sagacious and ripe, not just in Applied Mathematics but also in matters of life.
With my other friends I usually had many a night of challenging discussions and hotly contested debates but Laat Sahab, whenever he was around, always elevated the discussion to a whole new level.
“This is the only relationship in which you actually get to choose. All other relatives of yours are decided by fate and you have to live with your siblings, parents or even the ugly uncle. You cannot change any of that, but you can certainly choose whom you are going to spend the rest of your life with. And that my friends, is a decision that you should never let anyone else take for you.” – He said authoritatively waving his index finger. As he said it, I proudly looked around in the room. I was one of the few in our group who was headed in the direction of a love marriage. It was a seal of approval from someone no less than Laat Sahab.
It was hard to find Laat Sahab alone and even harder to find him in a mood where you could get some pearls from him. It was one of those rare moments when I was talking to him all alone and he was lucid, probably enjoying his first cigarette after dinner.
“For us Indians, the phrase ‘love at first sight’ should not be used. It should be ‘love at first opportunity’ “
“What do you mean?” – I asked, puzzled.
“Well, in our society we do not have a free intermixing of sexes, so whenever there is an opportunity of interaction you will find a crush, easily mistaken for love. I have seen ‘lovers’ having an innocuous eye contact one day and the next day the guy would be pining in love and the girl blushing in her dreams”
“I know what you mean; quite often I have seen teenage romances prosper at marriage ceremonies or other occasions, but there sure is true love, right?” – I asked, a little hurt, sensing an insinuation.
He thought for a while, looking at the ceiling as he let out circles of smoke. I had learnt by that time that greater the pause before he said anything, the more colorful the thought.
“Love is like a mango” – He closed his eyes as he said and then paused. His words hung like cloud of smoke in the still air of the room for a while and then he started speaking again, as if catching up with himself.
“A crush is like a raw mango, all innocent and green; you may stand under the tree and admire the freshness and the firmness of it. Most of the time you move on, but occasionally you pluck it. This is like taking the first step, the act of seeking. Then you may start to ripen the mango which requires the right amount of warmth and shade. This is like actually falling in love and working towards a relationship. Getting it to the right level of maturation requires a sense of timing, a few days early and it is still raw, a few days over and it may be overripe. You cannot move too fast or too slow in love, if you wait long enough you may end up smothering the flame for the lack of fuel, a little too fast you may blow it out in your haste. Only when the mango is ripe to the right level with respect to smell, color, texture and taste is when it is consummate. Finding true love may be sheer fate but bringing it to fruition is a work of art” – He opened his eyes with a slight smile.
I smelled a whiff of mangoes even when there were none.
“And where does the arranged mango er… I mean arranged marriage fit in your orchard?”
“Arranged marriage is like mango pickle. A pickle made by your mother and family. They do everything for you, pick the mango, slice and dice it, apply the masala of tradition and oil of culture, keep it in a jar till the right muhurat and only when it is ready, as are the heavens, is it presented to you on the appointed hour, all nicely packaged in a fancy bottle”.
I was still imagining the bride stuck in a bottle like a genie trying to come out, stepping over pieces of mango pickle when he said –
“But make no mistake, pickles last much longer than the fresh mangoes, besides eating mangoes can be messy…pickle is an easy way out”
Several years later in San Francisco
I was talking to Ben and I thought of Laat Sahab and his wisdom when Ben expressed his views on the matters of heart, while we were talking over coffee one evening.
“Love is nothing but a humanized form of the genetic disposition to procreate”
“In other words, you think it is just about sex. I think that is a very narrow view, focusing on just the physical aspects.” – I had heard this argument before and was unwilling to let Ben paint all the beautiful emotions and nuances of romance with a stolid brush of carnal instincts.
“Let me ask you this – before you fall in love with a woman you actually go through the process of liking her, it is like a mental process of approval, only when you approve of her is when you get attracted and then begins the liking process.” – He asked.
“I am not sure if there is a formal process as you describe it, but I know what you are talking about, you definitely get attracted first before anything else begins”
“But you would agree that there are generally agreed upon parameters for beauty that are shared by most men, now I know a lot of it is cultural but I am talking about general traits. Heck, if it wasn’t for this general definition of beauty, there wouldn’t be a Miss Universe or a Miss World contest” – He said.
“At a broad level, yes, there are some characteristics that are commonly possessed by beautiful women in general, what’s your point?” - I asked.
“So let us talk more specifically, good looking facial features, nice smooth skin, fair complexion, well formed firm breasts, slim waist, shapely hips, well proportioned thighs and legs…what else?” – He was counting on fingers as he spoke.
“I agree, not necessarily in that order but yes there are some well established beauty traits, though I would argue that the definition of attractive features in Africa and China would be quiet different from that in Europe or India”
“Sure, but if you leave out the subjective traits like facial structure and racial features like pigment, the more sexual aspects are obviously common across the board. And you know why men like a prominent bosom or a curvaceous behind?” - He continued on answering himself.
“It is all coded in our DNA. Full breasts indicate enough milk holding capacity for your babies, slim waist indicates state of not being pregnant and so available for producing off springs, wide hips tell you that there is enough room to have live births, smooth skin indicates generally healthy, to not only be pregnant but also take care of the babies, nice facial features generally tell you that your off-springs will also look good and so will have a better chance of survival and reproduction. It is all in the genes for women to try to look nice and men to seek them. All the poetry, metaphorical references to love and romance, all the golden evenings spent in thought of your beloved, all the love songs and ballads, all of that is just an intellectual sugar coat over millions of years of evolutionary instinct to replicate. That all there is to it” – As he was talking, he was checking out a blonde as she was paying for her lunch, leaning a little while signing her check.
There was hardly any time when I was not thinking of her, yet I was not distracted, on the contrary I was sharply in focus and actually quite inspired. The rapturous feeling of contended bliss was more pronounced in the mornings when I woke up to find that my world was still intact and alive like the fresh morning dew on pristine roses.
Nothing beats the energy of youth and the inspiration of love; together they make a potent combination.
Plowing through your years at the IIT can be quite taxing, but here I was cruising through, at least at that time, taking life by its horns.
It’s a pity that I do not remember his real name, but he was affectionately called Laat Sahab. Laat Sahab was a post doctoral student and as research scholars usually are, he was all sagacious and ripe, not just in Applied Mathematics but also in matters of life.
With my other friends I usually had many a night of challenging discussions and hotly contested debates but Laat Sahab, whenever he was around, always elevated the discussion to a whole new level.
“This is the only relationship in which you actually get to choose. All other relatives of yours are decided by fate and you have to live with your siblings, parents or even the ugly uncle. You cannot change any of that, but you can certainly choose whom you are going to spend the rest of your life with. And that my friends, is a decision that you should never let anyone else take for you.” – He said authoritatively waving his index finger. As he said it, I proudly looked around in the room. I was one of the few in our group who was headed in the direction of a love marriage. It was a seal of approval from someone no less than Laat Sahab.
It was hard to find Laat Sahab alone and even harder to find him in a mood where you could get some pearls from him. It was one of those rare moments when I was talking to him all alone and he was lucid, probably enjoying his first cigarette after dinner.
“For us Indians, the phrase ‘love at first sight’ should not be used. It should be ‘love at first opportunity’ “
“What do you mean?” – I asked, puzzled.
“Well, in our society we do not have a free intermixing of sexes, so whenever there is an opportunity of interaction you will find a crush, easily mistaken for love. I have seen ‘lovers’ having an innocuous eye contact one day and the next day the guy would be pining in love and the girl blushing in her dreams”
“I know what you mean; quite often I have seen teenage romances prosper at marriage ceremonies or other occasions, but there sure is true love, right?” – I asked, a little hurt, sensing an insinuation.
He thought for a while, looking at the ceiling as he let out circles of smoke. I had learnt by that time that greater the pause before he said anything, the more colorful the thought.
“Love is like a mango” – He closed his eyes as he said and then paused. His words hung like cloud of smoke in the still air of the room for a while and then he started speaking again, as if catching up with himself.
“A crush is like a raw mango, all innocent and green; you may stand under the tree and admire the freshness and the firmness of it. Most of the time you move on, but occasionally you pluck it. This is like taking the first step, the act of seeking. Then you may start to ripen the mango which requires the right amount of warmth and shade. This is like actually falling in love and working towards a relationship. Getting it to the right level of maturation requires a sense of timing, a few days early and it is still raw, a few days over and it may be overripe. You cannot move too fast or too slow in love, if you wait long enough you may end up smothering the flame for the lack of fuel, a little too fast you may blow it out in your haste. Only when the mango is ripe to the right level with respect to smell, color, texture and taste is when it is consummate. Finding true love may be sheer fate but bringing it to fruition is a work of art” – He opened his eyes with a slight smile.
I smelled a whiff of mangoes even when there were none.
“And where does the arranged mango er… I mean arranged marriage fit in your orchard?”
“Arranged marriage is like mango pickle. A pickle made by your mother and family. They do everything for you, pick the mango, slice and dice it, apply the masala of tradition and oil of culture, keep it in a jar till the right muhurat and only when it is ready, as are the heavens, is it presented to you on the appointed hour, all nicely packaged in a fancy bottle”.
I was still imagining the bride stuck in a bottle like a genie trying to come out, stepping over pieces of mango pickle when he said –
“But make no mistake, pickles last much longer than the fresh mangoes, besides eating mangoes can be messy…pickle is an easy way out”
Several years later in San Francisco
I was talking to Ben and I thought of Laat Sahab and his wisdom when Ben expressed his views on the matters of heart, while we were talking over coffee one evening.
“Love is nothing but a humanized form of the genetic disposition to procreate”
“In other words, you think it is just about sex. I think that is a very narrow view, focusing on just the physical aspects.” – I had heard this argument before and was unwilling to let Ben paint all the beautiful emotions and nuances of romance with a stolid brush of carnal instincts.
“Let me ask you this – before you fall in love with a woman you actually go through the process of liking her, it is like a mental process of approval, only when you approve of her is when you get attracted and then begins the liking process.” – He asked.
“I am not sure if there is a formal process as you describe it, but I know what you are talking about, you definitely get attracted first before anything else begins”
“But you would agree that there are generally agreed upon parameters for beauty that are shared by most men, now I know a lot of it is cultural but I am talking about general traits. Heck, if it wasn’t for this general definition of beauty, there wouldn’t be a Miss Universe or a Miss World contest” – He said.
“At a broad level, yes, there are some characteristics that are commonly possessed by beautiful women in general, what’s your point?” - I asked.
“So let us talk more specifically, good looking facial features, nice smooth skin, fair complexion, well formed firm breasts, slim waist, shapely hips, well proportioned thighs and legs…what else?” – He was counting on fingers as he spoke.
“I agree, not necessarily in that order but yes there are some well established beauty traits, though I would argue that the definition of attractive features in Africa and China would be quiet different from that in Europe or India”
“Sure, but if you leave out the subjective traits like facial structure and racial features like pigment, the more sexual aspects are obviously common across the board. And you know why men like a prominent bosom or a curvaceous behind?” - He continued on answering himself.
“It is all coded in our DNA. Full breasts indicate enough milk holding capacity for your babies, slim waist indicates state of not being pregnant and so available for producing off springs, wide hips tell you that there is enough room to have live births, smooth skin indicates generally healthy, to not only be pregnant but also take care of the babies, nice facial features generally tell you that your off-springs will also look good and so will have a better chance of survival and reproduction. It is all in the genes for women to try to look nice and men to seek them. All the poetry, metaphorical references to love and romance, all the golden evenings spent in thought of your beloved, all the love songs and ballads, all of that is just an intellectual sugar coat over millions of years of evolutionary instinct to replicate. That all there is to it” – As he was talking, he was checking out a blonde as she was paying for her lunch, leaning a little while signing her check.
Minorityism
“You people are living in your cocoons” – Kapil proclaimed
“You must shed your inhibitions and try to merge with the mainstream”
“What does it actually mean? Does it mean I have to change my way of life to get acknowledged as an equal?” – MJ asked.
“Well, first of all no body is treating you badly, there is no discrimination. Well hardly any, right?” – Kapil asked.
“Sure, there is no active discrimination but I can see it in the eyes of people. Some people are prejudiced from the get go but thankfully they are not that many, most however treat us differently” – MJ retorted.
“I know what you are talking about. Look, there are two ways to deal with this, you either become insecure and slide deeper into your shell or you try to get over it. The more you act like the majority the less you will be noticed as an oddity. Sometimes asserting ones identity is a good thing, but you must understand that you are a minority and you have to play by their rules”
“But that is my whole point. Why can’t I be accepted for what I am? So what if I am different? Why do I have to shun my religion, my culture, my way of life, to be accepted as an equal?”
“Now don’t get ahead of yourself. No one is asking you to throw away all your traditions and culture. All I am saying is not to stand out, because if you do then you will be ‘noticed’ and the mere fact that you are noticed changes people’s expressions, which you take to be ‘discrimination in their eyes’ ”
“It is not always that subtle. The other day I was at a grocery store and the clerk greeted the customer in front of me with an ear to ear smile, joked about weather and price of commodities, he even offered to help him out with his bag. Then when my turn came he frowned and gave me a cold shoulder, did not even return my greeting. In fact he started to toss my stuff into the bags with discernible contempt.”
“It happens sometimes. Freak grocery clerks are not the best this society has to offer. You have to forget the bad experiences but remember the good ones. That is the only way to keep things in balance and maintain your sanity.” – Kapil moved his both hands in alternating up-down motion, imitating a balance.
“I am not overly perturbed by things like these. That clerk probably earned a tenth of what I do and that could explain his animosity, my point is that I can change my outward behavior but how can I change the color of my skin, or my accent? I think that is what matters most”
“Yes it does to some extent. But to be one of them you have to start speaking about things that they understand, and I do not mean accent. How many times has it happened that you go out on lunch with your colleagues and you drop out of conversation because you lose the thread?”
“Happens all the time. When they speak amongst themselves they talk about arcane TV shows from the past or games I don’t really follow, how do I keep up?” – MJ nodded as he talked.
“And the other thing is food. I don’t really like the food, even though I eat meat I do not enjoy deli style meats. There is nothing like a chicken curry”
I was silently listening in to the interesting conversation between Kapil and MJ. Kapil was fromPunjab and MJ from Andhra, with a difficult name to pronounce even for us, so we went by the acronym MJ. We shared the same apartment complex and had run into each other many a times at the swimming pool and gym. The other thing in common was that we were all from India
Once in a while we got together, like today, over dinner at my place.
“Tell me you guys, how many non-Indian friends do you have?” – I jumped in the middle of their conversation.
“Well, I have several American and Chinese friends” - Kapil smiled
“Acquaintances from work don’t count, you know them because you share the cubicle wall or face them in meetings” – I said.
“Hmmm. Well I do not really have a social circle beyond work and then there are you guys”
“And you MJ?” – I asked.
“Does Pakistani count?”
“No not exactly”
“Then none. What is your point?”
“Nothing, just curious”.
“You must shed your inhibitions and try to merge with the mainstream”
“What does it actually mean? Does it mean I have to change my way of life to get acknowledged as an equal?” – MJ asked.
“Well, first of all no body is treating you badly, there is no discrimination. Well hardly any, right?” – Kapil asked.
“Sure, there is no active discrimination but I can see it in the eyes of people. Some people are prejudiced from the get go but thankfully they are not that many, most however treat us differently” – MJ retorted.
“I know what you are talking about. Look, there are two ways to deal with this, you either become insecure and slide deeper into your shell or you try to get over it. The more you act like the majority the less you will be noticed as an oddity. Sometimes asserting ones identity is a good thing, but you must understand that you are a minority and you have to play by their rules”
“But that is my whole point. Why can’t I be accepted for what I am? So what if I am different? Why do I have to shun my religion, my culture, my way of life, to be accepted as an equal?”
“Now don’t get ahead of yourself. No one is asking you to throw away all your traditions and culture. All I am saying is not to stand out, because if you do then you will be ‘noticed’ and the mere fact that you are noticed changes people’s expressions, which you take to be ‘discrimination in their eyes’ ”
“It is not always that subtle. The other day I was at a grocery store and the clerk greeted the customer in front of me with an ear to ear smile, joked about weather and price of commodities, he even offered to help him out with his bag. Then when my turn came he frowned and gave me a cold shoulder, did not even return my greeting. In fact he started to toss my stuff into the bags with discernible contempt.”
“It happens sometimes. Freak grocery clerks are not the best this society has to offer. You have to forget the bad experiences but remember the good ones. That is the only way to keep things in balance and maintain your sanity.” – Kapil moved his both hands in alternating up-down motion, imitating a balance.
“I am not overly perturbed by things like these. That clerk probably earned a tenth of what I do and that could explain his animosity, my point is that I can change my outward behavior but how can I change the color of my skin, or my accent? I think that is what matters most”
“Yes it does to some extent. But to be one of them you have to start speaking about things that they understand, and I do not mean accent. How many times has it happened that you go out on lunch with your colleagues and you drop out of conversation because you lose the thread?”
“Happens all the time. When they speak amongst themselves they talk about arcane TV shows from the past or games I don’t really follow, how do I keep up?” – MJ nodded as he talked.
“And the other thing is food. I don’t really like the food, even though I eat meat I do not enjoy deli style meats. There is nothing like a chicken curry”
I was silently listening in to the interesting conversation between Kapil and MJ. Kapil was from
Once in a while we got together, like today, over dinner at my place.
“Tell me you guys, how many non-Indian friends do you have?” – I jumped in the middle of their conversation.
“Well, I have several American and Chinese friends” - Kapil smiled
“Acquaintances from work don’t count, you know them because you share the cubicle wall or face them in meetings” – I said.
“Hmmm. Well I do not really have a social circle beyond work and then there are you guys”
“And you MJ?” – I asked.
“Does Pakistani count?”
“No not exactly”
“Then none. What is your point?”
“Nothing, just curious”.
One Lakh Fifty Thousand
Those were the heydays of technology boom, also known as the dot com era. Nasdaq was at its all time highs and new ideas were getting funded at the drop of a hat.
It was circa 1999.
India too felt the reverberations of the boom, perhaps in a more resounding way than even the US India
Indian IT industry caught this wave and the first surfers of this were the H1B visa holders, forming a beeline at the severalUS consulates in India
Anyway, I was one of the several, trying to make hay in the shining sun. Already a lucrative job offer under my belt, I was looking for a backup job driven by my quintessential Indian hoarding mentality.
Luckily my first job was a permanent position in a handsomely paying telecom startup, so for my fallback I was going after just about anything to requite a mental checkbox.
I saw this Ad in the Wednesday’s Ascent and after having called them first, I drove up to this “Software Consultant’s” office for an “interview”. As I was trying to navigate through the crooked by-lanes of Mehrauli slums, I quickly realized that I had made a mistake in responding to this Ad. By then I had already invested 3+ hours in this, including the morning rush hour commute, so I decided to follow through it.
It was a residence-cum-office of a middle aged Sikh gentleman who had setup a body-shopping rig. Mr. Singh was a corpulent thickset person, wearing a buttoned up hand knitted green cardigan and a suit with red tie tucked in his cardigan.
Mr. Singh admitted that he was not technical and so he introduced me to his cohort for a technical interview.
This other gentleman was from Andhra and was probably one of Mr. Singh’s selectee. “All set for a glorious career in the land of opportunity” in the words of Mr. Singh.
He grabbed my resume and ushered me to his office with an air of authority.
I don’t know if it was my IIT background or my bored looks that mellowed him down considerably. He did not ask any “technical” question, all he asked was how many years of experience I had for stuff he nervously read from his checklist – “C? C++? Java? Oracle? HTML?...” and that was it. He then started to talk about what other offers I have, where I want to go in US etc.
Only when I began to get restless and started to look at my watch did he walk out and let Mr. Singh in.
“So I hear you are technically solid” – Mr. Singh said. “You lack experience, but don’t worry you have come to the right place. I have openings in Fortune 500 companies; very soon I can put your career on the fast track”.
“Ahem. OK” – is all I could say.
“So I have an opening with a multinational bank where.....”
“Wait. Did you say bank? Because I am not interested in financial sector” – I interjected.
“No no it is an IT job, you see you will be writing software”
“But it is still a bank, I don’t want to work for a bank”
“You don’t understand you are going to work for us and you are going to write code as you would do anywhere, it doesn’t matter if it is a bank”
“Do you have anything else?”
“Oh don’t worry, I can place you with a credit card company”
My head dropped. Let me get out of here is what I thought – “OK, so what compensation should one expect in that position with my background and experience?”
Mr. Singh smiled then leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head.
“Tell me, what are you getting monthly?”
“Excuse me?”
“I mean what is your monthly salary?”
“Well I make enough, but this is a company inIndia , what does it have to do with a US
“Just tell me.....OK let us assume 40,000 per month, right? Or say 50,000 per month, round figure?”
“Hmmmm” – I could not think of what to say in the situation.
“What if I give you One Lakh Fifty thousand? (150,000)” – Mr. Singh started twiddling his handlebar moustache with a smirk on his face.....perhaps expecting some reaction from me.
I jumped out of my chair – “Wow! I will take it......Wait you mean 150k USD Right?”
It was Mr. Singh’s turn to look astounded. – “NO NO NO” – he violently shook his head leaving his moustache half twisted.
“No I mean 150,000 Rupees” – He said slowly.
“Ah! So this is a job inIndia
“NO NO you don’t understand. Not even the President gets that salary. I meant Rs. 150k per month in US”
On the way back from Mehrauli, I found it hard to drive as my eyes were all tearful from the convulsive laughter I was having.
Now every time I see someone with the handlebar moustache and a paunchy disposition, Mr. Singh’s words echo in my ears -
“What if I give you One Lakh Fifty thousand?”
It was circa 1999.
Indian IT industry caught this wave and the first surfers of this were the H1B visa holders, forming a beeline at the several
Anyway, I was one of the several, trying to make hay in the shining sun. Already a lucrative job offer under my belt, I was looking for a backup job driven by my quintessential Indian hoarding mentality.
Luckily my first job was a permanent position in a handsomely paying telecom startup, so for my fallback I was going after just about anything to requite a mental checkbox.
I saw this Ad in the Wednesday’s Ascent and after having called them first, I drove up to this “Software Consultant’s” office for an “interview”. As I was trying to navigate through the crooked by-lanes of Mehrauli slums, I quickly realized that I had made a mistake in responding to this Ad. By then I had already invested 3+ hours in this, including the morning rush hour commute, so I decided to follow through it.
It was a residence-cum-office of a middle aged Sikh gentleman who had setup a body-shopping rig. Mr. Singh was a corpulent thickset person, wearing a buttoned up hand knitted green cardigan and a suit with red tie tucked in his cardigan.
Mr. Singh admitted that he was not technical and so he introduced me to his cohort for a technical interview.
This other gentleman was from Andhra and was probably one of Mr. Singh’s selectee. “All set for a glorious career in the land of opportunity” in the words of Mr. Singh.
He grabbed my resume and ushered me to his office with an air of authority.
I don’t know if it was my IIT background or my bored looks that mellowed him down considerably. He did not ask any “technical” question, all he asked was how many years of experience I had for stuff he nervously read from his checklist – “C? C++? Java? Oracle? HTML?...” and that was it. He then started to talk about what other offers I have, where I want to go in US etc.
Only when I began to get restless and started to look at my watch did he walk out and let Mr. Singh in.
“So I hear you are technically solid” – Mr. Singh said. “You lack experience, but don’t worry you have come to the right place. I have openings in Fortune 500 companies; very soon I can put your career on the fast track”.
“Ahem. OK” – is all I could say.
“So I have an opening with a multinational bank where.....”
“Wait. Did you say bank? Because I am not interested in financial sector” – I interjected.
“No no it is an IT job, you see you will be writing software”
“But it is still a bank, I don’t want to work for a bank”
“You don’t understand you are going to work for us and you are going to write code as you would do anywhere, it doesn’t matter if it is a bank”
“Do you have anything else?”
“Oh don’t worry, I can place you with a credit card company”
My head dropped. Let me get out of here is what I thought – “OK, so what compensation should one expect in that position with my background and experience?”
Mr. Singh smiled then leaned back in his chair with his hands behind his head.
“Tell me, what are you getting monthly?”
“Excuse me?”
“I mean what is your monthly salary?”
“Well I make enough, but this is a company in
“Just tell me.....OK let us assume 40,000 per month, right? Or say 50,000 per month, round figure?”
“Hmmmm” – I could not think of what to say in the situation.
“What if I give you One Lakh Fifty thousand? (150,000)” – Mr. Singh started twiddling his handlebar moustache with a smirk on his face.....perhaps expecting some reaction from me.
I jumped out of my chair – “Wow! I will take it......Wait you mean 150k USD Right?”
It was Mr. Singh’s turn to look astounded. – “NO NO NO” – he violently shook his head leaving his moustache half twisted.
“No I mean 150,000 Rupees” – He said slowly.
“Ah! So this is a job in
“NO NO you don’t understand. Not even the President gets that salary. I meant Rs. 150k per month in US”
On the way back from Mehrauli, I found it hard to drive as my eyes were all tearful from the convulsive laughter I was having.
Now every time I see someone with the handlebar moustache and a paunchy disposition, Mr. Singh’s words echo in my ears -
“What if I give you One Lakh Fifty thousand?”
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