- Wonderful breakfast at the Marriott.
- The cab driver who got lost.
- Armenian Falafel and Lavash. To die For.
- XX and Dhurram (Goat Cheese and Lavash)
- Giving cab rides to strangers.
- Women taking pictures with me (Kayane and Geghardt)
- Indians who wont talk to you (Hara Barag and Geghardt).
- Riding a horse
- Name ends in yan? You must be Armenian.
- Dining at an Armenians place (Richard Bezjian)
- Getting lost in Yerevan (Girl who escorted me back to the hotel).
- Indians in Armenia (protests, students, Medical Council, restaurant, guy speaking fluent Russian in restaurant, helper from Uttaranchal).
- Marco: Macrobiotic diet.
- Cognac ? Armenian Cognac? Vodka? Russian Vodka? Woman ? You are good for nothing.
- Walking around Yerevan in the morning; strange looks from people.
- Russian Restaurant (Marco, Bob, Narayan, Haniff, Rubina, Richard).
- Jazz Restaurant in Yerevan,
- Seeing off Marco (awake until 3a).
- Our last night in Yerevan (Thursday night).
- You going to Sydney, right ?
- Weird airport security clearance.
- Mad Scramble for Airport fee.
- Bye Bye Armenia. Boohoo!!
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
Trip to Armenia..
I was recently in Armenia (Nov 8 - 17th, 2006) on business, and here are some salient points, including the "landing" experience. This was my first international business trip and I came away with a lot of very "interesting" experiences. I read quite a lot about the country before I went there, and that helped me understand and appreciate some of the things that I saw and experienced.
I have described it as I saw it, and no embellishments or distortions have been inserted. I do talk about some of the things that are not shall we say, very "polite" to write about a country recently visited, but hey, I am not one to lie. To me, it was the whole package that mattered, and the flaws that I point out are in no way a condemnation of the nation or of the people. Armenia is a fascinating place, and I do plan on going back some day. I made some friends, got some insights in to the culture and the history of the place, and ate some of its distinctive foods (as long as they were vegetarian). I experienced diverse emotions: some trying, some euphoric and some funny.
Armenia is a very peaceful land (despite their war with Azerbaijan over Nagorno-Karabakh), and is the first nation in the world to have adopted Christianity as its State Religion (301 AD or something). It also is considered to be one of the holiest places of Christianity; Armenians consider Etchmiadzin the place where Jesus came to the Earth. Clearly a place steeped in history, culture and tradition.
Travel Woes
I left the morning of the 8th of November, and reached there on the night of the 9th). Severly jet-lagged to say the very least. Went through DC, and London, where I had to check in one of my carry-on bags, as they had a strict "1 carry on only" policy. The woman who had the unenviable task of handling me - I get quite belligerent in the face of injustice - was a woman of Pakistani descent, who commented "We are neighbours, yeah. None of that enemy stuff. Full Stop", when I said "I am from the land you guys love to hate". That was an interesting experience; I still had to fork over my luggage though. London airport was very interesting in the amount of South Asians (Indians, Pakistanis, and those looking like those two) I was able to see. "Hordes" just about begins to describe it.
London's Terminal 4 was very interesting. It had an open-air smoking area, right inside the terminal, which means that while smokers have to stay within these smoking "zones", the smoke itself does not have the decency to stay inside. It is all the fault of the smoke, and not of the airport authority or the smokers themselves. Everybody deserves to get cancer after all, straight from the source or not.
My flight was delayed in London, and I walked hither and thither, dozing off at times, while waiting for my flight to Yerevan, which just so happens to be the capital of Armenia. More some, more incessant walking, more hand-wringing, and finally the boarding call. Got on the flight and sat next to a Soccer loving, Robert Baggio fan. What are the odds of that ? I had a very nice flight with David Galaty, who works for USAID, which promotes business opportunities in such far off (read: Godforsaken) places.
Baggage Woes
I finally landed in Yerevan, walked down some stairs onto the tarmac and was escorted to the Immigration area in a bus. The flight had been at least an hour and half late. The bus was filled with Armenians, most of whom were locals, as they whipped out their cell phones and started making phone calls. People it seems, are the same everywhere ;) The arrivals lounge at the Zvartnots airport was absolutely fabulous. People in military looking uniforms (they were just the Customs and Immigration people, I think) were everywhere, and a lot of women wore those uniforms too.
I waited for my baggage to arrive. And what a wait that would turn out to be! I was hopeful until the last few rotations of the baggage carousel, until it stopped completely. I was shocked. Luckily my backpack did, which had some of my stuff. I had squirrelled away 3 pairs of shirts, 2 pairs of pants, and 3 pairs of "clothing that everybody wears", so I was safe. Waiting at the counter was an interesting experience, as I tried to stand in line, while all of the others in my predicament all darted straight to the counter. Hhmmn, this looked vaguely familiar to me! It was my turn finally, and the BMED woman helped me. She said that the system showed my luggage having made it to the flight, but had not been unloaded. That was her best guess. What this meant, was that my luggage was on its way to Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan. My lucky baggage! I still have not received my compensation. :)
Not having baggage has its unfortunate side effects. Because of the recent clampdown on "gels" and like substances (way to go, TSA!), I had put all of these "essentials" in my checked-in baggage. I was going to have to go shopping, but I was not sure if anything would be open at this hour. I would have to wake up and do some shopping tomorrow morning, or beg the hotel for something. What better way to start off a business trip than by begging or shopping?!
Immigration
I only had a tourist visa and was quite worried about getting grilled by the officers, and was very nervous. I was after all entering on business, and was cheating, despite the fact that a tourist visa (US $60) to Armenia cost more than a Business Visa (US $50). The officer took one long look at my face, another one at the Electronic Visa, another look at the passport, stamped it and said "Welcome to Armenia" with a beaming smile. Apparently, those were the only words of English that he spoke. I think I am very affected shall we say, by all my border crossings into the US from Canada, where the border guards revel in their power over those poor Canadians, who make the awful mistake of trying to enter the US.
The FUN begins
I finally came out of the airport, and the first thing I noticed was that there was cigarette smoke everywhere. Now, I am suffer from Bronchitis every winter, and while I don't wheeze and am not severely asthmatic, cigarette smoke upsets me on many a front; chiefly that of "don't take me along with you, you brain-dead bozo". This would be a problem wherever we went in Yerevan, as most facilities were smoking facilities, with absolutely no separation between the two areas. This would be a source of much consternation for my hosts in Armenia, as I constantly b*****ed and moaned about this.
Before I could exit I was "accosted" by this guy asking me if I wanted a cab. there was a guy who spoke some English, who escorted me to a desk, while proclaiming that he was the "City Taxi Service". I (mis?) understood this to be the official cab company appointed by the government so that tourists would not get ripped off. But first I wanted to make sure that nobody from Boomerang had come to get me. There wasn't anybody. This was not wholly unexpected. So, I followed him, much like a lamb to slaughter. He had a key-chain with a Canadian flag, and so I gave him a certain amount of leeway (I am a Canadian citizen after all). It turns out that he has lived in Toronto and Montreal.
He recommended a cab driver to me, and I asked him if he took credit Cards. He did not understand what that means, so I asked him MasterCard? - Blank look. "Visa"? Ha! His eyes lit up. There was hope yet. He then led me to a corner of the airport where there was a cash withdrawal machine, and pointed to the MasterCard logo. I told him that I was not going to take a Cash Advance on my credit card. He did not get this. Language was becoming a problem.
As we stood discussing this, I was the cynosure of all eyes at the airport terminal. I have a "sonorous" voice, and am rather loud when I argue or when I am upset. So, the terminal is getting its kicks from looking at an Indian looking guy having trouble with taxi cab guys. Nobody came to help. I chalked that up to a lack of English. Pardonable offense.
The cabbie who was supposed to take me to the hotel, now came very close to me and started talking agitatedly, as he was unsure of how I was going to pay him. I smelled alcohol in his breath immediately, and told him that I was not going to get into a car driven by him, even if he was the last guy left in Yerevan Airport who could get me to the hotel. He could not believe this! I spotted an "Information" booth, and told a really cute girl (wait till I tell you about Armenian girls, and let us pray my wife is not reading this blog), that I wanted to get to the Marriott, that I was coming from the US, and needed a cab. She gave me the number, but could not give me a phone. There were quite a few cabbies around me now, as they smelled blood - the blood of a newbie.
A guy standing behind me handed me his cellphone. I took this very kindly, and spoke to the night manager at the Marriott, who mentioned that he would send the hotel's cab. I was sure the cab service run by the hotel would be expensive, but I did not want to become a drunk driving statistic on my first night in Armenia (the damage that would do to Armenia's reputation as a tourist haven cannot be underestimated). So, I handed the cell phone back to him, and thanked him. What happened in the next 10 minutes would make me instantly realize where I was.
"10 Dollars for phone call", he said - I was taken aback. I told him I was not paying him $10 for a 2 minute phone call. Apparently not getting what I just said, he replied "Okay. $40; $30 for cab; $10 for phone". I told the information booth girl to tell him I was not going to pay him 5$ a minute in Armenia. That was an outrage! I knew that it could not possibly cost $30 for a 15km cab ride to Downtown Yerevan. (Moral: Always read your tourist brochures).
These guys were trying to rip me off!I asked her if $30 was normal, and she said "Yes, it is the normal rate". This was exactly the moment that I realized where I was. I was in my hometown. I was a stranger here, but the environment here was the same as there! In my jetlag-ged brain something clicked; trust me, it is not often that things click in a jet-lagged brain, and especially mine. When travelling in a country you have to think about expenses in that country's currency and economic strength; for instance a cab ride of 15km in London would cost considerably more than a cab ride of the same length in say, Tashkent. The latter would most certainly be cheaper when convered to US$. I would not be scammed!
I turned, looked at the phone-loaner cabbie in the eye and said "I am not paying you even $1 for that phone call", and walked away. I could not stay in the terminal any longer as it was filled with cigarette smoke anyways, and I was getting really angry. I do have a bit of a short fuse. The phone-loaner cabbie started chasing me out of the Terminal, and right as I got out of the terminal building, he stood in front of me blocking my path, and demanded his money. I refused it and when he became quite insistent I started looking for Police. There were two uniformed men smoking, and I approached them for help, they just shrugged their shoulders and kept on smoking.
One guy walked up to me and said "I am Police", and I said "Can I see some identification?!", to which the gentleman in question hastily walked away. I now walked to the edge of the terminal building, and waited in the cold. The time was now 1.30a. The phone-loaner cabbie, and another guy hung around. One guy came up to me and said "If the hotel taxi does not come, I will take you". I told him I was fine. He seemed nice enough, but who knows what monster he would become once I got to the Marriott?! Bad experiences at the outset of a trip colour your perception of a country wrongly, and I wanted to avoid that.
I waited outside, but there were too much cigarette smoke to hang around there, and it was cold. I made my way back to the terminal, knowing full well that the Marriott cabbie would hold a piece of paper with my name. A lot of people arrived on later flights, and I saw them all leave the airport. It was really quite small, with only one terminal to speak of. Not unlike Madras Airport in the olden days (Pre-1998).
Freedom at Last
Finally around 2p, the cab driver came, and I was finally comfortably seated in a Mercedes-Benz! As the driver pulled out, and the phone-loaner cabbie blocked our way. Our driver - a man in his 50's I think - blasted his horn, while the man stared us down. He finally gave us way, and we were off.
This just feels like Madras
Armenia was very much like Madras. The roads were not in the greatest of shape, and the lights, buildings and infrastructure are certainly not Downtown Seattle-esque, but it was like being in Madras. I loved that. My driver was quite chatty, and he sang "Mera Jootha Hai Japani". It seems like Raj Kapoor was everywhere. He said "Hindi Movie, good movie!". I got a good kick out of that one, as I cannot stand Hindi Movies. I bit my tongue though; no point in telling him that Hindi Movies are mostly junk! "India, Armenia good friends", he said. My Armenian was non-existent, and his English was spotty, so we communicated mostly in sign language. We passed by the French Embassy, and the US Embassy, which was a huge building.
At one point, we came to a red light. We stopped, and after cross-traffic had cleared, we were still on Red. Our driver took one look, and darted clear through the intersection! I was shocked. I asked him if he was not afraid of getting in trouble with police, to which he calmly showed me the sign of "counting money", said they were his friends and that it would get him out of any trouble.
We finally made it out to the hotel. We entered the Public Square in Armenia ("Hara Barag" in Armenian), and it was a grand sight. It was a huge roundabout in the center of the city, with very beautiful buildings set around it. I checked in, my eyes burning, but my head as fresh as a daisy. I begged them for some Toothpaste and a Toothbrush, which they said they would send to my room in the morning. I set a wake up call for 7a. I chatted with my boss and my wife, sent a couple of emails, and then went to bed. Richard of Boomerang Software would come to get me at 8a, and I had to be ready for that.
Pictures are here. Part 2 of Armenia trip to follow. It won't have quite the same level of detail as this entry, but I will try and capture the highlights, of which there were many. I will also point out some of the connection between India and Armenia, of which I was very interested in finding more about.
I have described it as I saw it, and no embellishments or distortions have been inserted. I do talk about some of the things that are not shall we say, very "polite" to write about a country recently visited, but hey, I am not one to lie. To me, it was the whole package that mattered, and the flaws that I point out are in no way a condemnation of the nation or of the people. Armenia is a fascinating place, and I do plan on going back some day. I made some friends, got some insights in to the culture and the history of the place, and ate some of its distinctive foods (as long as they were vegetarian). I experienced diverse emotions: some trying, some euphoric and some funny.
Armenia is a very peaceful land (despite their war with Azerbaijan over Nagorno-Karabakh), and is the first nation in the world to have adopted Christianity as its State Religion (301 AD or something). It also is considered to be one of the holiest places of Christianity; Armenians consider Etchmiadzin the place where Jesus came to the Earth. Clearly a place steeped in history, culture and tradition.
Travel Woes
I left the morning of the 8th of November, and reached there on the night of the 9th). Severly jet-lagged to say the very least. Went through DC, and London, where I had to check in one of my carry-on bags, as they had a strict "1 carry on only" policy. The woman who had the unenviable task of handling me - I get quite belligerent in the face of injustice - was a woman of Pakistani descent, who commented "We are neighbours, yeah. None of that enemy stuff. Full Stop", when I said "I am from the land you guys love to hate". That was an interesting experience; I still had to fork over my luggage though. London airport was very interesting in the amount of South Asians (Indians, Pakistanis, and those looking like those two) I was able to see. "Hordes" just about begins to describe it.
London's Terminal 4 was very interesting. It had an open-air smoking area, right inside the terminal, which means that while smokers have to stay within these smoking "zones", the smoke itself does not have the decency to stay inside. It is all the fault of the smoke, and not of the airport authority or the smokers themselves. Everybody deserves to get cancer after all, straight from the source or not.
My flight was delayed in London, and I walked hither and thither, dozing off at times, while waiting for my flight to Yerevan, which just so happens to be the capital of Armenia. More some, more incessant walking, more hand-wringing, and finally the boarding call. Got on the flight and sat next to a Soccer loving, Robert Baggio fan. What are the odds of that ? I had a very nice flight with David Galaty, who works for USAID, which promotes business opportunities in such far off (read: Godforsaken) places.
Baggage Woes
I finally landed in Yerevan, walked down some stairs onto the tarmac and was escorted to the Immigration area in a bus. The flight had been at least an hour and half late. The bus was filled with Armenians, most of whom were locals, as they whipped out their cell phones and started making phone calls. People it seems, are the same everywhere ;) The arrivals lounge at the Zvartnots airport was absolutely fabulous. People in military looking uniforms (they were just the Customs and Immigration people, I think) were everywhere, and a lot of women wore those uniforms too.
I waited for my baggage to arrive. And what a wait that would turn out to be! I was hopeful until the last few rotations of the baggage carousel, until it stopped completely. I was shocked. Luckily my backpack did, which had some of my stuff. I had squirrelled away 3 pairs of shirts, 2 pairs of pants, and 3 pairs of "clothing that everybody wears", so I was safe. Waiting at the counter was an interesting experience, as I tried to stand in line, while all of the others in my predicament all darted straight to the counter. Hhmmn, this looked vaguely familiar to me! It was my turn finally, and the BMED woman helped me. She said that the system showed my luggage having made it to the flight, but had not been unloaded. That was her best guess. What this meant, was that my luggage was on its way to Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan. My lucky baggage! I still have not received my compensation. :)
Not having baggage has its unfortunate side effects. Because of the recent clampdown on "gels" and like substances (way to go, TSA!), I had put all of these "essentials" in my checked-in baggage. I was going to have to go shopping, but I was not sure if anything would be open at this hour. I would have to wake up and do some shopping tomorrow morning, or beg the hotel for something. What better way to start off a business trip than by begging or shopping?!
Immigration
I only had a tourist visa and was quite worried about getting grilled by the officers, and was very nervous. I was after all entering on business, and was cheating, despite the fact that a tourist visa (US $60) to Armenia cost more than a Business Visa (US $50). The officer took one long look at my face, another one at the Electronic Visa, another look at the passport, stamped it and said "Welcome to Armenia" with a beaming smile. Apparently, those were the only words of English that he spoke. I think I am very affected shall we say, by all my border crossings into the US from Canada, where the border guards revel in their power over those poor Canadians, who make the awful mistake of trying to enter the US.
The FUN begins
I finally came out of the airport, and the first thing I noticed was that there was cigarette smoke everywhere. Now, I am suffer from Bronchitis every winter, and while I don't wheeze and am not severely asthmatic, cigarette smoke upsets me on many a front; chiefly that of "don't take me along with you, you brain-dead bozo". This would be a problem wherever we went in Yerevan, as most facilities were smoking facilities, with absolutely no separation between the two areas. This would be a source of much consternation for my hosts in Armenia, as I constantly b*****ed and moaned about this.
Before I could exit I was "accosted" by this guy asking me if I wanted a cab. there was a guy who spoke some English, who escorted me to a desk, while proclaiming that he was the "City Taxi Service". I (mis?) understood this to be the official cab company appointed by the government so that tourists would not get ripped off. But first I wanted to make sure that nobody from Boomerang had come to get me. There wasn't anybody. This was not wholly unexpected. So, I followed him, much like a lamb to slaughter. He had a key-chain with a Canadian flag, and so I gave him a certain amount of leeway (I am a Canadian citizen after all). It turns out that he has lived in Toronto and Montreal.
He recommended a cab driver to me, and I asked him if he took credit Cards. He did not understand what that means, so I asked him MasterCard? - Blank look. "Visa"? Ha! His eyes lit up. There was hope yet. He then led me to a corner of the airport where there was a cash withdrawal machine, and pointed to the MasterCard logo. I told him that I was not going to take a Cash Advance on my credit card. He did not get this. Language was becoming a problem.
As we stood discussing this, I was the cynosure of all eyes at the airport terminal. I have a "sonorous" voice, and am rather loud when I argue or when I am upset. So, the terminal is getting its kicks from looking at an Indian looking guy having trouble with taxi cab guys. Nobody came to help. I chalked that up to a lack of English. Pardonable offense.
The cabbie who was supposed to take me to the hotel, now came very close to me and started talking agitatedly, as he was unsure of how I was going to pay him. I smelled alcohol in his breath immediately, and told him that I was not going to get into a car driven by him, even if he was the last guy left in Yerevan Airport who could get me to the hotel. He could not believe this! I spotted an "Information" booth, and told a really cute girl (wait till I tell you about Armenian girls, and let us pray my wife is not reading this blog), that I wanted to get to the Marriott, that I was coming from the US, and needed a cab. She gave me the number, but could not give me a phone. There were quite a few cabbies around me now, as they smelled blood - the blood of a newbie.
A guy standing behind me handed me his cellphone. I took this very kindly, and spoke to the night manager at the Marriott, who mentioned that he would send the hotel's cab. I was sure the cab service run by the hotel would be expensive, but I did not want to become a drunk driving statistic on my first night in Armenia (the damage that would do to Armenia's reputation as a tourist haven cannot be underestimated). So, I handed the cell phone back to him, and thanked him. What happened in the next 10 minutes would make me instantly realize where I was.
"10 Dollars for phone call", he said - I was taken aback. I told him I was not paying him $10 for a 2 minute phone call. Apparently not getting what I just said, he replied "Okay. $40; $30 for cab; $10 for phone". I told the information booth girl to tell him I was not going to pay him 5$ a minute in Armenia. That was an outrage! I knew that it could not possibly cost $30 for a 15km cab ride to Downtown Yerevan. (Moral: Always read your tourist brochures).
These guys were trying to rip me off!I asked her if $30 was normal, and she said "Yes, it is the normal rate". This was exactly the moment that I realized where I was. I was in my hometown. I was a stranger here, but the environment here was the same as there! In my jetlag-ged brain something clicked; trust me, it is not often that things click in a jet-lagged brain, and especially mine. When travelling in a country you have to think about expenses in that country's currency and economic strength; for instance a cab ride of 15km in London would cost considerably more than a cab ride of the same length in say, Tashkent. The latter would most certainly be cheaper when convered to US$. I would not be scammed!
I turned, looked at the phone-loaner cabbie in the eye and said "I am not paying you even $1 for that phone call", and walked away. I could not stay in the terminal any longer as it was filled with cigarette smoke anyways, and I was getting really angry. I do have a bit of a short fuse. The phone-loaner cabbie started chasing me out of the Terminal, and right as I got out of the terminal building, he stood in front of me blocking my path, and demanded his money. I refused it and when he became quite insistent I started looking for Police. There were two uniformed men smoking, and I approached them for help, they just shrugged their shoulders and kept on smoking.
One guy walked up to me and said "I am Police", and I said "Can I see some identification?!", to which the gentleman in question hastily walked away. I now walked to the edge of the terminal building, and waited in the cold. The time was now 1.30a. The phone-loaner cabbie, and another guy hung around. One guy came up to me and said "If the hotel taxi does not come, I will take you". I told him I was fine. He seemed nice enough, but who knows what monster he would become once I got to the Marriott?! Bad experiences at the outset of a trip colour your perception of a country wrongly, and I wanted to avoid that.
I waited outside, but there were too much cigarette smoke to hang around there, and it was cold. I made my way back to the terminal, knowing full well that the Marriott cabbie would hold a piece of paper with my name. A lot of people arrived on later flights, and I saw them all leave the airport. It was really quite small, with only one terminal to speak of. Not unlike Madras Airport in the olden days (Pre-1998).
Freedom at Last
Finally around 2p, the cab driver came, and I was finally comfortably seated in a Mercedes-Benz! As the driver pulled out, and the phone-loaner cabbie blocked our way. Our driver - a man in his 50's I think - blasted his horn, while the man stared us down. He finally gave us way, and we were off.
This just feels like Madras
Armenia was very much like Madras. The roads were not in the greatest of shape, and the lights, buildings and infrastructure are certainly not Downtown Seattle-esque, but it was like being in Madras. I loved that. My driver was quite chatty, and he sang "Mera Jootha Hai Japani". It seems like Raj Kapoor was everywhere. He said "Hindi Movie, good movie!". I got a good kick out of that one, as I cannot stand Hindi Movies. I bit my tongue though; no point in telling him that Hindi Movies are mostly junk! "India, Armenia good friends", he said. My Armenian was non-existent, and his English was spotty, so we communicated mostly in sign language. We passed by the French Embassy, and the US Embassy, which was a huge building.
At one point, we came to a red light. We stopped, and after cross-traffic had cleared, we were still on Red. Our driver took one look, and darted clear through the intersection! I was shocked. I asked him if he was not afraid of getting in trouble with police, to which he calmly showed me the sign of "counting money", said they were his friends and that it would get him out of any trouble.
We finally made it out to the hotel. We entered the Public Square in Armenia ("Hara Barag" in Armenian), and it was a grand sight. It was a huge roundabout in the center of the city, with very beautiful buildings set around it. I checked in, my eyes burning, but my head as fresh as a daisy. I begged them for some Toothpaste and a Toothbrush, which they said they would send to my room in the morning. I set a wake up call for 7a. I chatted with my boss and my wife, sent a couple of emails, and then went to bed. Richard of Boomerang Software would come to get me at 8a, and I had to be ready for that.
Pictures are here. Part 2 of Armenia trip to follow. It won't have quite the same level of detail as this entry, but I will try and capture the highlights, of which there were many. I will also point out some of the connection between India and Armenia, of which I was very interested in finding more about.
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
Never judge a book by its awards (The Inheritance of Loss)
I just finished reading "The Inheritance of Loss", by Kiran Desai.
Some books entertain; some books make you think; some books rip your heart out and leave you sobbing; some books have plots with so many twists and turns that you feel like you are travelling on a dozen S-curves a minute at a 100 miles an hour.
This book is not any one of those. Not even close.
Some books meander, take you on a nondescript journey, and leave you wondering what the point is of this whole exercise. This book is certainly one of those.
If the author's goal was to write a book that creates interest in characters, and describe situations, places, and things, she has succeeded admirably. I was struck by the vivid descriptions that so fill the book from cover to cover. The book illustrates India beautifully: the ever present drive in its residents to leave for greener pastures and the incredible guilt that ensues, the yearning for and attachment to foreign-made things, the utter corruption and indifference that permeates the administration, the utter lack of doing the right thing amongst most people, the diversity, the contradiction and the collage that is India. In the end, you are left with neither a positive nor a negative impression, and that I think is what makes it accurate.
However, if there was even a smidgen of an intent to entertain, the book falls flat on its face. It is bereft of a plot. There are very few places that tug at the heart, but an incredible number of places where one has to drink a double shot of Espresso just to continue on. I found myself with an overwhelming need to abandon reading this book; but as a wise man once said, "If you are going through hell, keep going". So, I kept going.
This book won the Man Booker Prize for 2006. I think the selection committee was hooked on crack at decision time. Or was it something a bit more powerful ? They weren't when they picked the Life of Pi in 2002. Must be a recent affliction then ?
My recommendation: Avoid it - If you must read it, keep a capsule of cyanide nearby; you never know when you want an quick end to your misery.
Some books entertain; some books make you think; some books rip your heart out and leave you sobbing; some books have plots with so many twists and turns that you feel like you are travelling on a dozen S-curves a minute at a 100 miles an hour.
This book is not any one of those. Not even close.
Some books meander, take you on a nondescript journey, and leave you wondering what the point is of this whole exercise. This book is certainly one of those.
If the author's goal was to write a book that creates interest in characters, and describe situations, places, and things, she has succeeded admirably. I was struck by the vivid descriptions that so fill the book from cover to cover. The book illustrates India beautifully: the ever present drive in its residents to leave for greener pastures and the incredible guilt that ensues, the yearning for and attachment to foreign-made things, the utter corruption and indifference that permeates the administration, the utter lack of doing the right thing amongst most people, the diversity, the contradiction and the collage that is India. In the end, you are left with neither a positive nor a negative impression, and that I think is what makes it accurate.
However, if there was even a smidgen of an intent to entertain, the book falls flat on its face. It is bereft of a plot. There are very few places that tug at the heart, but an incredible number of places where one has to drink a double shot of Espresso just to continue on. I found myself with an overwhelming need to abandon reading this book; but as a wise man once said, "If you are going through hell, keep going". So, I kept going.
This book won the Man Booker Prize for 2006. I think the selection committee was hooked on crack at decision time. Or was it something a bit more powerful ? They weren't when they picked the Life of Pi in 2002. Must be a recent affliction then ?
My recommendation: Avoid it - If you must read it, keep a capsule of cyanide nearby; you never know when you want an quick end to your misery.
Wednesday, October 11, 2006
You speak Tamil ? You must be a terrorist...
This is the kind of idiocy that makes my blood boil...
http://seattlepi.nwsource.com/local/287261_tamil02ww.html?from=wtnews
A man speaking to his friend on his cell phone about a football (the american kind) , and an off-duty airline employee, thought that was suspicious and called the Police.
What kind of nonsense is this ? Do I have to just speak a foreign language and the idiots amongst us start suspecting me of being a terrorist?
This is shameful, and creates an awful impression of the America that we live in today. A Shame is what it is.
http://seattlepi.nwsource.com/local/287261_tamil02ww.html?from=wtnews
A man speaking to his friend on his cell phone about a football (the american kind) , and an off-duty airline employee, thought that was suspicious and called the Police.
What kind of nonsense is this ? Do I have to just speak a foreign language and the idiots amongst us start suspecting me of being a terrorist?
This is shameful, and creates an awful impression of the America that we live in today. A Shame is what it is.
Saturday, October 07, 2006
Oh god, I love to see the Yankees lose...
It is that time of the year again. Baseball playoffs are on, the Yankees are losing, and every non-Yankee fan is taking considerable pleasure in watching them lose. Count me among one of them. And tonight was great: they got blanked.
Oddly enough, I started off liking the Yankees, even cheering for them when they beat the Braves. But I was turned off by their owner, by their signing away free agents from other smaller market teams, which could not afford the salaries being afforded by the Yankees, driving up salaries and the cost of tickets by their insane spending. The New York media, with its "New York is the center of the world" nonsense, is also a significant factor. The two exceptions are Jeter and Torre, both of whom cannot be hated; the former because he is so "clutch" and the latter for being a tough-as-nails manager (not to mention a cancer survivor). But, all the other Yankees come across as arrogant, highly-paid players, with an attitude to boot. Some teams certainly don't play intimidated, as these Tigers are showing.
Sure, you can sign away the best players in other teams, and never develop your own talent, but you still have to get them to play, for these games are not won on paper. They have to be won on the field, by performing. And, sadly these Yankees have not performed, but it sure is heart-warming to watch them lose, and lose badly. Last year was great, the year before, when they blew a 3-0 lead and lost to the BoSox was greater.
I for one, am waiting for Game 4; if the lowly Tigers sweep the Yankees, there is one household in the Seattle area, that will be partying hard into the night (My wife is a Yankees fan, BTW).
Oddly enough, I started off liking the Yankees, even cheering for them when they beat the Braves. But I was turned off by their owner, by their signing away free agents from other smaller market teams, which could not afford the salaries being afforded by the Yankees, driving up salaries and the cost of tickets by their insane spending. The New York media, with its "New York is the center of the world" nonsense, is also a significant factor. The two exceptions are Jeter and Torre, both of whom cannot be hated; the former because he is so "clutch" and the latter for being a tough-as-nails manager (not to mention a cancer survivor). But, all the other Yankees come across as arrogant, highly-paid players, with an attitude to boot. Some teams certainly don't play intimidated, as these Tigers are showing.
Sure, you can sign away the best players in other teams, and never develop your own talent, but you still have to get them to play, for these games are not won on paper. They have to be won on the field, by performing. And, sadly these Yankees have not performed, but it sure is heart-warming to watch them lose, and lose badly. Last year was great, the year before, when they blew a 3-0 lead and lost to the BoSox was greater.
I for one, am waiting for Game 4; if the lowly Tigers sweep the Yankees, there is one household in the Seattle area, that will be partying hard into the night (My wife is a Yankees fan, BTW).
Thursday, October 05, 2006
Layoffs suck!
A lot of people at my company lost jobs; my own group got cut down by a third, losing 2 people. Both of them were nice guys. Another guy gone in Tech Pubs, also a nice person.
Oh well, this is part and parcel of life, but why does it always have to happen to good people?
Hopefully my position is safe. :)
Oh well, this is part and parcel of life, but why does it always have to happen to good people?
Hopefully my position is safe. :)
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
Book Review: A Fine Balance, by Rohinton Mistry
I just finished reading "A Fine Balance", by Rohinton Mistry. This book was recommended to me by Minu, who I met while I was living in Canada. She was the administrator of the community center of our condo complex, where I was renting at, and she commented that this was a great book that she simply could not put down. I agree with her assessment, but it is certainly one of the most heart-rending books that I have read in my life.
I would like to say that it is one of the best books that I have read in a long time, but it has left me with revelations, conflicted emotions, and a rather considerable dose of reality. Oh, before you go much further, I should warn you that this entry will reveal some details about the book, and discuss some aspects of it. If you haven't read the book yet and are planning to, reading this blog entry would be a very bad thing. You have been warned!
Indians - before we left its shores as expatriates - have long bemoaned the putrid state of the Indian union; the caste system, blind subservience to religion, callousness and unchecked authority of government officials, the plight of the poor, the hold of corruption and land grabbers on the masses, the non-existent infrastructure, the wasted tax revenues, the inept administration, the bulging wallets of politicians even as essential services are affected, the complete apathy of most people to the problems that pervade Indian society today... I could go on and on. During our periodic visits to our friends in Seattle, we held passionate discussions, where ideas were bandied back and forth about what needs to be done to fix India's "problems", if you will. These discussions would go well into the wee hours of the morning, fuelled by passion and lots of Starbucks coffee.
As a child, I heard numerous different accounts about India's "Emergency" period, as my parents and others called it. My impressions of the era were mostly good, with my lower-middle-class parents opining that it was a good thing for the country; things ran like "clockwork" as people were scared of the government. VERY scared. There were also some small problems, like "mass sterilizations" and other minor issues, my parents said - from the comfort of their lower-middle class existence - but for the most part it held the country in its vice like grip, and "improved" the domestic situation. Surely that was a good thing?! Especially in a country bent upon retaining old - and mostly idiotic - ways of doing things; a country driven complacent by the lack of any enforcement. What other way was possibly there to restore integrity than good old-fashioned fear? I thought that "Emergency" and "MISA" were useful tools in the hands of the government to restore some semblance of order and discipline. Anything, it seemed like, to change the status quo.
I held onto this opinion with great passion. India's bad side - that is so much at the fore today - took a backseat at that time under the pressures of a government bent upon imposing its will and vision upon the people, I'd heard. I was 3 years old when "Emergency" started, and was about 5 when it was lifted, so I didn't have a chance to observe and document first hand, but I was around plenty of people, who were able to give me the lower-middle-class and middle-class perspective on it.
In these Seattle discussions, I have long propounded my theory that imposing Emergency on the country would help us commoners deal with the "atrocities" perpetrated against us by the usual suspects: those in the bureaucracy, politicians, goondas, and the high-castes - though I was born into a high-cast myself. A few incidents in my life had helped me arrived to that conclusion. My mother would not have had to pay a portion of her retirement benefits to the very clerks who were tasked with processing her papers. My mother who hadn't received one paisa in bribes was forced to shell out her hard earned money to get what was rightfully hers. One clerk threatened her that "those papers will vanish!", if she didn't pay up. My father needn't have bribed the policeman (Rs. 50) to sign off on the security clearance for our passport applications. The list is endless and it would take all day. Recommended reading however, are India in Slow Motion by Mark Tully, and Everybody loves a good Drought by P. Sainath).
My opinion that strong medicine was needed was bolstered by the numerous accounts of vicious attacks on people who chose to speak their minds against the bad elements of Indian society. Acid would get thrown in their faces, they would commit "suicide" in lockups, become "floaters" in the rivers of the nation, their bodies tortured and mutilated. The Police instead of investigating these crimes would often be the very perpetrators of these gruesome acts. So, there is great reticence among the Indian public to speak out against the iniquities that surround them. As long as it does not affect them, they are content to turn a blind eye. This is pitiful. Unless people question injustices - perceived or otherwise - the perpetrators go scot-free, their acts pardoned by the indifference of a society reluctant to get involved in anything that might involve risk.
I surmised that if there was no fear of retribution, people would speak their minds; and Emergency would provide that. I had no need to worry about being arrested for spouting off my mouth against India's inane, greedy and corrupt politicians, and then become part of the "custodial death" statistics. Accountability would be important and everybody would know right from wrong and do the "right" thing at all times: Politicians, Police, bureaucrats, everybody. I viewed Emergency as the panacea to all of India's ills.
Which brings us - finally! you say - to the reason I am writing this entry. This book completely destroys that vision of "it was a good thing for our country". Utterly, without any resemblance to its former self. The ghastly truths, one half forgotten and another half ignored, are brought to the fore using several powerful and rich characters: Dina Dalal, Ishvar, Om, Narayan, the Beggarmaster and Shankar. No word is wasted, nothing is superfluous. It conveys very elaborately the ills of a government running amuck with power, and how it affected the everyday poor. The poor are the ones who pay the price for the whims and fancies of the people in power, however benevolent their "aims" may have been. It made me realize that the cessation of democracy in our country and the suspension of the fundamental rights of its citizens leads to the same problems that electing corrupt politicians to powers creates. My utopian vision of a honest leader bent on improving the plight of the nation was nothing but that: Utopian. My opinion of Indira Gandhi plummeted to hitherto unexplored depths, as I realized through this work, the magnitude of her abuse of power, and the hare-brained schemes that she unleashed on the public. Her son Sanjay Gandhi was responsible for the mass sterilizations of a lot of people, and it is a well-known fact that some citizens distributed sweets on the streets when he died - rather suspiciously - in a plane crash.
Not limiting itself to painting a picture of the emergency, the book also brilliantly illustrates the perils of the low-castes by showcasing the way they are treated by the upper-castes, by the likes of the "just" Thakur Dharamsi. The way the upper-castes treat the lower-castes was very realistic and a damning portrait of those following untouchability, a moribund tradition of segregating people (and their shadows) based on their caste. I was very ashamed to be born into the higher castes as I was reading this book. I now know why the Dravidian parties in South India want to keep the upper castes under their thumb and not give them much room for progress. If somebody dominated you for thousands of years, and you suddenly came to power, you would do the same thing to your oppressors.
Ishvar and Om suffer in many ways as a result of their caste and their financial status. The poor tailors, who sleep in the streets and signify what most of the urban poor go through, are poster children for the kinds of problems that face such people. They live in a shack (Jhopadpatti) rented from the very person who is tasked to keep the lands clean, and are then chucked out of their accommodation by their landlord. This forces them to sleep on the streets, where they are mistaken for homeless people and taken to a forced labour camp, where they are severely ill-treated, and have to escape using the grace of a Beggarmaster, a local thug who makes them fork over a portion of their pay as compensation for his services. A very fine illustration of the way poor people are used by those in power.
The cast of characters is very rich and captures the wide variety of cultures that one encounters in India. Dina Dalal, the Parsi widow trying to eke out a living - without the auspices of her idiot brother - defines the way the middle-class considers the problems of the poor. She suspects them (the tailors) of trying to cheat her at every turn, and every time they vanish, she starts worrying not about what might have happened to them, but to what might happen to her business. Her insecurity and lack of trust in the poor are traits widespread in India.
Maneck Kohlah, a Parsi arriving at the city to earn an education, and staying as a paying guest at Dina Dalal's little flat is a very refreshing character, not burdened by the ego of a high-caste or possessing a disdain for those less fortunate than he. I found a lot of myself in Maneck Kohlah, though I completely disagree with Mr. Mistry's treatment of Maneck's character at the end. The book completely rips your heart out, but rest assured that the incidents recounted in the book, are highly realistic. One only has to read the daily papers in India to understand the levels to which India's have-nots suffer.
Beggarmaster, the guy who takes perfectly normal children, subjects them to "professional modifications", and then finds spots for them to beg, is one truly macabre illustration of India's vermin. I was riding a bus when I read that line and gasped so loudly that the people next to me looked at me funny. When I was a little kid, my parents kept a constant eye on me, warning me to not wander off or some kidnapper would take me, blind me, cut off my hands, and make me beg for money. So, I completely understood the motivations of this character, though I was constantly dreaming up ways I would kill such a person if I ever encountered one. These people are truly the scum of the earth (Even Republicans don't come close! ;)). A lot of people in India do completely unfathomable things to get ahead and make a living, but the likes of Beggarmaster do not deserve to live.
This book is a very damning account of the period surrounding India's Independence and the problems created by Indira Gandhi's notorious declaration of Emergency in 1975, but it's cast of characters is quite rich. By reading this book, I realized that I had been very naive; I had completely ignored the abuse potential of uncontrolled raw power in the hands of the unscrupulous. India's problems, it looks like, certainly needs something a bit less drastic than Emergency. Its citizens need a strong dose of Integrity.
I would like to say that it is one of the best books that I have read in a long time, but it has left me with revelations, conflicted emotions, and a rather considerable dose of reality. Oh, before you go much further, I should warn you that this entry will reveal some details about the book, and discuss some aspects of it. If you haven't read the book yet and are planning to, reading this blog entry would be a very bad thing. You have been warned!
Indians - before we left its shores as expatriates - have long bemoaned the putrid state of the Indian union; the caste system, blind subservience to religion, callousness and unchecked authority of government officials, the plight of the poor, the hold of corruption and land grabbers on the masses, the non-existent infrastructure, the wasted tax revenues, the inept administration, the bulging wallets of politicians even as essential services are affected, the complete apathy of most people to the problems that pervade Indian society today... I could go on and on. During our periodic visits to our friends in Seattle, we held passionate discussions, where ideas were bandied back and forth about what needs to be done to fix India's "problems", if you will. These discussions would go well into the wee hours of the morning, fuelled by passion and lots of Starbucks coffee.
As a child, I heard numerous different accounts about India's "Emergency" period, as my parents and others called it. My impressions of the era were mostly good, with my lower-middle-class parents opining that it was a good thing for the country; things ran like "clockwork" as people were scared of the government. VERY scared. There were also some small problems, like "mass sterilizations" and other minor issues, my parents said - from the comfort of their lower-middle class existence - but for the most part it held the country in its vice like grip, and "improved" the domestic situation. Surely that was a good thing?! Especially in a country bent upon retaining old - and mostly idiotic - ways of doing things; a country driven complacent by the lack of any enforcement. What other way was possibly there to restore integrity than good old-fashioned fear? I thought that "Emergency" and "MISA" were useful tools in the hands of the government to restore some semblance of order and discipline. Anything, it seemed like, to change the status quo.
I held onto this opinion with great passion. India's bad side - that is so much at the fore today - took a backseat at that time under the pressures of a government bent upon imposing its will and vision upon the people, I'd heard. I was 3 years old when "Emergency" started, and was about 5 when it was lifted, so I didn't have a chance to observe and document first hand, but I was around plenty of people, who were able to give me the lower-middle-class and middle-class perspective on it.
In these Seattle discussions, I have long propounded my theory that imposing Emergency on the country would help us commoners deal with the "atrocities" perpetrated against us by the usual suspects: those in the bureaucracy, politicians, goondas, and the high-castes - though I was born into a high-cast myself. A few incidents in my life had helped me arrived to that conclusion. My mother would not have had to pay a portion of her retirement benefits to the very clerks who were tasked with processing her papers. My mother who hadn't received one paisa in bribes was forced to shell out her hard earned money to get what was rightfully hers. One clerk threatened her that "those papers will vanish!", if she didn't pay up. My father needn't have bribed the policeman (Rs. 50) to sign off on the security clearance for our passport applications. The list is endless and it would take all day. Recommended reading however, are India in Slow Motion by Mark Tully, and Everybody loves a good Drought by P. Sainath).
My opinion that strong medicine was needed was bolstered by the numerous accounts of vicious attacks on people who chose to speak their minds against the bad elements of Indian society. Acid would get thrown in their faces, they would commit "suicide" in lockups, become "floaters" in the rivers of the nation, their bodies tortured and mutilated. The Police instead of investigating these crimes would often be the very perpetrators of these gruesome acts. So, there is great reticence among the Indian public to speak out against the iniquities that surround them. As long as it does not affect them, they are content to turn a blind eye. This is pitiful. Unless people question injustices - perceived or otherwise - the perpetrators go scot-free, their acts pardoned by the indifference of a society reluctant to get involved in anything that might involve risk.
I surmised that if there was no fear of retribution, people would speak their minds; and Emergency would provide that. I had no need to worry about being arrested for spouting off my mouth against India's inane, greedy and corrupt politicians, and then become part of the "custodial death" statistics. Accountability would be important and everybody would know right from wrong and do the "right" thing at all times: Politicians, Police, bureaucrats, everybody. I viewed Emergency as the panacea to all of India's ills.
Which brings us - finally! you say - to the reason I am writing this entry. This book completely destroys that vision of "it was a good thing for our country". Utterly, without any resemblance to its former self. The ghastly truths, one half forgotten and another half ignored, are brought to the fore using several powerful and rich characters: Dina Dalal, Ishvar, Om, Narayan, the Beggarmaster and Shankar. No word is wasted, nothing is superfluous. It conveys very elaborately the ills of a government running amuck with power, and how it affected the everyday poor. The poor are the ones who pay the price for the whims and fancies of the people in power, however benevolent their "aims" may have been. It made me realize that the cessation of democracy in our country and the suspension of the fundamental rights of its citizens leads to the same problems that electing corrupt politicians to powers creates. My utopian vision of a honest leader bent on improving the plight of the nation was nothing but that: Utopian. My opinion of Indira Gandhi plummeted to hitherto unexplored depths, as I realized through this work, the magnitude of her abuse of power, and the hare-brained schemes that she unleashed on the public. Her son Sanjay Gandhi was responsible for the mass sterilizations of a lot of people, and it is a well-known fact that some citizens distributed sweets on the streets when he died - rather suspiciously - in a plane crash.
Not limiting itself to painting a picture of the emergency, the book also brilliantly illustrates the perils of the low-castes by showcasing the way they are treated by the upper-castes, by the likes of the "just" Thakur Dharamsi. The way the upper-castes treat the lower-castes was very realistic and a damning portrait of those following untouchability, a moribund tradition of segregating people (and their shadows) based on their caste. I was very ashamed to be born into the higher castes as I was reading this book. I now know why the Dravidian parties in South India want to keep the upper castes under their thumb and not give them much room for progress. If somebody dominated you for thousands of years, and you suddenly came to power, you would do the same thing to your oppressors.
Ishvar and Om suffer in many ways as a result of their caste and their financial status. The poor tailors, who sleep in the streets and signify what most of the urban poor go through, are poster children for the kinds of problems that face such people. They live in a shack (Jhopadpatti) rented from the very person who is tasked to keep the lands clean, and are then chucked out of their accommodation by their landlord. This forces them to sleep on the streets, where they are mistaken for homeless people and taken to a forced labour camp, where they are severely ill-treated, and have to escape using the grace of a Beggarmaster, a local thug who makes them fork over a portion of their pay as compensation for his services. A very fine illustration of the way poor people are used by those in power.
The cast of characters is very rich and captures the wide variety of cultures that one encounters in India. Dina Dalal, the Parsi widow trying to eke out a living - without the auspices of her idiot brother - defines the way the middle-class considers the problems of the poor. She suspects them (the tailors) of trying to cheat her at every turn, and every time they vanish, she starts worrying not about what might have happened to them, but to what might happen to her business. Her insecurity and lack of trust in the poor are traits widespread in India.
Maneck Kohlah, a Parsi arriving at the city to earn an education, and staying as a paying guest at Dina Dalal's little flat is a very refreshing character, not burdened by the ego of a high-caste or possessing a disdain for those less fortunate than he. I found a lot of myself in Maneck Kohlah, though I completely disagree with Mr. Mistry's treatment of Maneck's character at the end. The book completely rips your heart out, but rest assured that the incidents recounted in the book, are highly realistic. One only has to read the daily papers in India to understand the levels to which India's have-nots suffer.
Beggarmaster, the guy who takes perfectly normal children, subjects them to "professional modifications", and then finds spots for them to beg, is one truly macabre illustration of India's vermin. I was riding a bus when I read that line and gasped so loudly that the people next to me looked at me funny. When I was a little kid, my parents kept a constant eye on me, warning me to not wander off or some kidnapper would take me, blind me, cut off my hands, and make me beg for money. So, I completely understood the motivations of this character, though I was constantly dreaming up ways I would kill such a person if I ever encountered one. These people are truly the scum of the earth (Even Republicans don't come close! ;)). A lot of people in India do completely unfathomable things to get ahead and make a living, but the likes of Beggarmaster do not deserve to live.
This book is a very damning account of the period surrounding India's Independence and the problems created by Indira Gandhi's notorious declaration of Emergency in 1975, but it's cast of characters is quite rich. By reading this book, I realized that I had been very naive; I had completely ignored the abuse potential of uncontrolled raw power in the hands of the unscrupulous. India's problems, it looks like, certainly needs something a bit less drastic than Emergency. Its citizens need a strong dose of Integrity.
Monday, July 10, 2006
Just what the world needs...
... another freak in saffron robes, attempting to lead us into nirvana. India has produced a lot of intellectuals, but the profusion of these religious heads boggles my mind.
This new guy is called "Paramahamsa Nithyananda", and is a new "Swamiji". Run away as fast as you can. One of the people endorsing, nay inspiring him is a "Mataji Kuppammal", a "deeply pious lady". Oh my god. One unknown saviour endorsed by another unknown saviour. I won't even post the URL here. Where do these guys get their inspiration from? What makes them think that they can take people for a ride ? Because a lot of people among us allow ourselves to be led astray by these "Gurus" of philosophy. Arise, awake.
There are too many of these "Swamijis" and their weird "philosophies". Foremost among these quacks stands that much-followed, and much-maligned Puttaparthi Sai Baba, he of the "afro" fame, who produces "lingams" from his mouth and ash from his hands (using stuff stored away in his armpits). Politicians stand in line to meet him, and one erstwhile President of India, prostrated himself at this man's feet. Shameful! I know of plenty of people who get phone calls from the "Swami" himself, helping them in life's decisions! A Swamiji who sends "godly" messages through the phone! Who would have thunk it? And I know people who use these messages as messages from God himself!
Puttaparthi Sai Baba, Premananda, Sivashankara Baba, Yagava Munivar, the list is endless. The latter two even fought on TV over who was the real incarnation of "Kalki".
I am sick of these people and pity these gullible individuals who follow them and allow themselves to be bilked, or worse, physically and mentally abused.
This new guy is called "Paramahamsa Nithyananda", and is a new "Swamiji". Run away as fast as you can. One of the people endorsing, nay inspiring him is a "Mataji Kuppammal", a "deeply pious lady". Oh my god. One unknown saviour endorsed by another unknown saviour. I won't even post the URL here. Where do these guys get their inspiration from? What makes them think that they can take people for a ride ? Because a lot of people among us allow ourselves to be led astray by these "Gurus" of philosophy. Arise, awake.
There are too many of these "Swamijis" and their weird "philosophies". Foremost among these quacks stands that much-followed, and much-maligned Puttaparthi Sai Baba, he of the "afro" fame, who produces "lingams" from his mouth and ash from his hands (using stuff stored away in his armpits). Politicians stand in line to meet him, and one erstwhile President of India, prostrated himself at this man's feet. Shameful! I know of plenty of people who get phone calls from the "Swami" himself, helping them in life's decisions! A Swamiji who sends "godly" messages through the phone! Who would have thunk it? And I know people who use these messages as messages from God himself!
Puttaparthi Sai Baba, Premananda, Sivashankara Baba, Yagava Munivar, the list is endless. The latter two even fought on TV over who was the real incarnation of "Kalki".
I am sick of these people and pity these gullible individuals who follow them and allow themselves to be bilked, or worse, physically and mentally abused.
Friday, June 23, 2006
Is a Car really freedom?
I was sitting on the 522 this morning - after a lung-busting climb up from the Burke-Gilman trail to Lake City way - when I overheard a few conversations a woman had on her cellphone. I wasn't privy to who she was talking with, or even her face, for I never turned back to look at her. And no, I wasn't eavesdropping: the whole bus was privy to her conversation it looked like. It was like a puzzle. The words she spoke were the pieces, and my mind subconsciously attempted to complete the puzzle using the different "pieces" that floated in the air. It was a tad loud, to say the least.
The first conversation was certainly with a woman, I thought. It started off being about our heroine not wearing matching slacks. It was certainly something a woman would be most concerned about, and I wondered why a woman would set out to work while donning less than "ideal" colours? Well, as it turns out, our heroine had gotten her shirt covered in oil! So, she had set out with matching colours. What had changed between the time she set out and the time she had gotten on the bus ? Like a soap-opera fan, I was hooked! I didn't have my usual crossword in hand, or a book, and so I was going to grab whatever little entertainment I could find.
"My car broke down this morning and I had to walk 7 miles to catch a bus!" she anguished to her friend, and that's when I realized what had happened. The woman had encountered some car trouble this morning, and that explained why she was on the bus. Her friend must have commisserated with her, for reasonably long periods of silence followed. "I just paid 3300 dollars for it, and it was supposed to make my life easier", our heroine mused. More silence followed.
I caught little bits here and there about still having a bus pass and stuff like that, so I conjectured that our heroine had been a daily rider of the bus, until she had falled victim to the "Cars are freedom" story, and had gone out and bought a car for a price she could afford, and had gotten the short end of the stick on. Our heroine bid adieu to her buddy, and made another call.
"My car broke down this morning", she said softly into the phone, her voice tinged with disappointment. I could not guess who she was calling, but I would find out soon enough. "I just bought the car a few days ago, and it has broken down already. I paid 3300$ for it, and have only driven it twice!", she ranted into the phone, her voice now clearly not soft, but rather laced with anger and vitriol. I guessed that this was the place (or person) she bought the car from. Then came the final blow.
"I have driven only 11 miles on it. I have left it where it broke down and you can go check the odometer", she said. I felt really sorry for her. This was a woman who had just given up riding the bus and had bought a car to make her life "easier", and now she neither had the comfort nor the money she paid to get that "freedom". 11 miles. I don't know how she will fare, but it seems like $3300 is a lot of money to only go 11 miles. Do cars really make our life "easier", I wonder?! A downpayment, Insurance, car payments, gas expenses, regular maintenance and the agony of sitting in bumper to bumper traffic sure don't sound like they make my life "easier", not to mention the threat of breaking down or driving a "Weapon of Mass Destruction".
Her last call was to her HR department to let them know that she was going to be late to work, because her car had broken down. My bus had arrived at my destination, and I got off, completely satisfied that I do not own a car.
The first conversation was certainly with a woman, I thought. It started off being about our heroine not wearing matching slacks. It was certainly something a woman would be most concerned about, and I wondered why a woman would set out to work while donning less than "ideal" colours? Well, as it turns out, our heroine had gotten her shirt covered in oil! So, she had set out with matching colours. What had changed between the time she set out and the time she had gotten on the bus ? Like a soap-opera fan, I was hooked! I didn't have my usual crossword in hand, or a book, and so I was going to grab whatever little entertainment I could find.
"My car broke down this morning and I had to walk 7 miles to catch a bus!" she anguished to her friend, and that's when I realized what had happened. The woman had encountered some car trouble this morning, and that explained why she was on the bus. Her friend must have commisserated with her, for reasonably long periods of silence followed. "I just paid 3300 dollars for it, and it was supposed to make my life easier", our heroine mused. More silence followed.
I caught little bits here and there about still having a bus pass and stuff like that, so I conjectured that our heroine had been a daily rider of the bus, until she had falled victim to the "Cars are freedom" story, and had gone out and bought a car for a price she could afford, and had gotten the short end of the stick on. Our heroine bid adieu to her buddy, and made another call.
"My car broke down this morning", she said softly into the phone, her voice tinged with disappointment. I could not guess who she was calling, but I would find out soon enough. "I just bought the car a few days ago, and it has broken down already. I paid 3300$ for it, and have only driven it twice!", she ranted into the phone, her voice now clearly not soft, but rather laced with anger and vitriol. I guessed that this was the place (or person) she bought the car from. Then came the final blow.
"I have driven only 11 miles on it. I have left it where it broke down and you can go check the odometer", she said. I felt really sorry for her. This was a woman who had just given up riding the bus and had bought a car to make her life "easier", and now she neither had the comfort nor the money she paid to get that "freedom". 11 miles. I don't know how she will fare, but it seems like $3300 is a lot of money to only go 11 miles. Do cars really make our life "easier", I wonder?! A downpayment, Insurance, car payments, gas expenses, regular maintenance and the agony of sitting in bumper to bumper traffic sure don't sound like they make my life "easier", not to mention the threat of breaking down or driving a "Weapon of Mass Destruction".
Her last call was to her HR department to let them know that she was going to be late to work, because her car had broken down. My bus had arrived at my destination, and I got off, completely satisfied that I do not own a car.
Wednesday, May 03, 2006
The trouble with (a few) bicyclists....
If you are thinking this is going to be a tirade about bicyclists, you thought right.... I am sick and tired of all these cyclists not obeying traffic laws and doing whatever the heck they can. Allow me to explain.
My commute to work is 12.5 miles, and it takes about an hour from our apartment in Bellevue, WA. I work in Seattle, and I witnessed all of the following incidents, during this morning's commute:
One, I was at 2nd and Pike, in Seattle, waiting for the light to turn green, when a cyclist, pulled up alongside me. I thought he would wait for the light, just as I was. No, of course not. After waiting for a couple of seconds, and not even putting his foot down, he took off across the intersection, jumping the red. WHAT is with these idiot cyclists who insist on not stopping at red lights? A Car coming down Pike slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting this cyclist.
Two, I saw a girl riding without a helmet. Like it or not, that is the law, and she was flouting it.
Three, I was sailing through on 1st Ave near the Seattle Space Needle, when a cyclist turned right in front of me, while completely ignoring a stop sign. I didn't have one in my direction of travel, and didn't have to stop, but he made me just slam on the brakes. I could have really hurt him, but without so much as a mumbled apology, he went his merry way.
Four, Just before I got to work, I was almost hit by a cyclist cycling on the sidewalk. You would think, I have experienced it all. No, there was more to come. I saw one girl cycling on the opposite direction of traffic, on the sidewalk. It was almost as though she has the words "kill me" tattooed on her forehead. Very smart.
I should probably also mention here that I have also been hit headlong by a drunk cyclist riding without any lights, in the middle of the night. Surely, all these people have some brains and are interested in self-preservation, you would think, right? Doesn't look like it. From riding without a helmet to barrelling down the road on the wrong side of traffic, some bicyclists do it all. And in doing so, they give all bicyclists a VERY bad name. Bicycle couriers flout all of the above rules and more, and I have not seen a single Seattle cop pull them off and give them a ticket. Couriers seem to get away with it all.
If you have come here thinking I am going to bash bicycling, or the rights of people to bicycle on the road, you thought wrong. Because, I am a cyclist myself. And, I was on a bicycle when I witnessed (endured?) all of the above incidents.
I was and am appalled at how poorly bicyclists act and flout rules. They think that following the rules is for wimps, and do act like they are exempt from that little "obligation". I think these people give cyclists a bad name, and as much as I hate to admit it, there are more cyclists breaking the rules than followinng them. Yes, you heard right. I said it. If we all followed rules, and were courteous, we would face less angst from car drivers.
Seattle drivers seem to be very accomodating of cyclists, and I have had very few incidents where I have had to take evasive action, but it seems like drivers have to do more to avoid hitting us. A few of my non-bicyclist friends have commented about this on more than one occassion.
If we demand equal rights and expect to be treated with respect on the road, we should atleast be visible, follow the rules and ride predicatably. Ride like you are a car, and cars will respect you. Act like jerks, and you will get lunatics yelling in our ears. Please bicycle responsibly. The lives of some bicyclists are riding on your actions.
My commute to work is 12.5 miles, and it takes about an hour from our apartment in Bellevue, WA. I work in Seattle, and I witnessed all of the following incidents, during this morning's commute:
One, I was at 2nd and Pike, in Seattle, waiting for the light to turn green, when a cyclist, pulled up alongside me. I thought he would wait for the light, just as I was. No, of course not. After waiting for a couple of seconds, and not even putting his foot down, he took off across the intersection, jumping the red. WHAT is with these idiot cyclists who insist on not stopping at red lights? A Car coming down Pike slammed on the brakes to avoid hitting this cyclist.
Two, I saw a girl riding without a helmet. Like it or not, that is the law, and she was flouting it.
Three, I was sailing through on 1st Ave near the Seattle Space Needle, when a cyclist turned right in front of me, while completely ignoring a stop sign. I didn't have one in my direction of travel, and didn't have to stop, but he made me just slam on the brakes. I could have really hurt him, but without so much as a mumbled apology, he went his merry way.
Four, Just before I got to work, I was almost hit by a cyclist cycling on the sidewalk. You would think, I have experienced it all. No, there was more to come. I saw one girl cycling on the opposite direction of traffic, on the sidewalk. It was almost as though she has the words "kill me" tattooed on her forehead. Very smart.
I should probably also mention here that I have also been hit headlong by a drunk cyclist riding without any lights, in the middle of the night. Surely, all these people have some brains and are interested in self-preservation, you would think, right? Doesn't look like it. From riding without a helmet to barrelling down the road on the wrong side of traffic, some bicyclists do it all. And in doing so, they give all bicyclists a VERY bad name. Bicycle couriers flout all of the above rules and more, and I have not seen a single Seattle cop pull them off and give them a ticket. Couriers seem to get away with it all.
If you have come here thinking I am going to bash bicycling, or the rights of people to bicycle on the road, you thought wrong. Because, I am a cyclist myself. And, I was on a bicycle when I witnessed (endured?) all of the above incidents.
I was and am appalled at how poorly bicyclists act and flout rules. They think that following the rules is for wimps, and do act like they are exempt from that little "obligation". I think these people give cyclists a bad name, and as much as I hate to admit it, there are more cyclists breaking the rules than followinng them. Yes, you heard right. I said it. If we all followed rules, and were courteous, we would face less angst from car drivers.
Seattle drivers seem to be very accomodating of cyclists, and I have had very few incidents where I have had to take evasive action, but it seems like drivers have to do more to avoid hitting us. A few of my non-bicyclist friends have commented about this on more than one occassion.
If we demand equal rights and expect to be treated with respect on the road, we should atleast be visible, follow the rules and ride predicatably. Ride like you are a car, and cars will respect you. Act like jerks, and you will get lunatics yelling in our ears. Please bicycle responsibly. The lives of some bicyclists are riding on your actions.
Monday, April 10, 2006
Car Free!
After years of wanting to be one, we are finally Car Free! I drove up to Vancouver on Saturday and sold our car off to Carter Honda. The plan is to be Car-ownership-free for as long as possible, using the bus and the bicycle locally, and rent a car if need be. But, we will try to use public transportation as much as possible.
Not owning a car and not having to worry about things is a great relief indeed. Not that I was wimping out and driving to work , but still it is a maintenance nightmare that I am not very good at. So, the car is gone, and I hope it stays gone.
Not owning a car and not having to worry about things is a great relief indeed. Not that I was wimping out and driving to work , but still it is a maintenance nightmare that I am not very good at. So, the car is gone, and I hope it stays gone.
Thursday, January 19, 2006
Nearly roadkill on a mall parking lot.
Would people please please please, look ahead when they are driving? You know, there just might be people there that you might run down and kill ?
I had this most scary incident at Factoria mall (Bellevue, WA), Sunday afternoon.
I had parked our car and was walking across the mall parking lot, to Rite-Aid. I was crossing the final 2-car-length stretch before reaching the sidewalk, when I saw an SUV coming about 15 feet to my right. Now, I distrust car drivers - being a cyclist - and so I looked in that direction to see what the driver was going to do.
She slowed down, and I thought she had seen me, and hence was slowing down. I started to cross that expanse to get to the relative safety of the sidewalk and had barely taken three steps, when the woman rapidly accelarated. Her tires made the rough noise of (almost) losing rubber, and she came straight for me, at about 20-25 miles an hour!
I saw her looking to the left, at the parking spaces, and as I froze momentarily in horror, the car was heading straight for me. I thought I was a dead man! A split second later, I came to my senses and covered the next few paces in a sprint. The woman missed me by about 5 inches, and stopped exactly OVER where I was about a second ago.
I was extremely upset and yelled at her using the oft-used four-letter word. I also proceeded to question the sanity of the person who granted her, her driving license. She however, had the civility of rolling down her window and saying "Sorry!". But, as we all know, Sorry doesn't make dead men come alive. I was pretty peeved, as I walked away, and the woman just drove away. I didn't write down her license plate, as I should have. That would have helped me complain about her to the police.
Listen up all you car drivers: Everyday people walk, bike around, and are NOT in protective cages as you are, so when you run over them, you will KILL them. They are vulnerable, and so please pay attention. Please! Your voice mail, your email, your GPS can wait. Don't shave your face or your legs when you drive and STOP applying your make up. Don't look away from the road when you reach for the Radio or CD player. DONT look at the movie playing in the vehicle in front of you. DONT yak on the cellphone. You are driving a killing machine.
One more thing, that whole bit about your life flashing before your eyes in near-death moments.... ain't true. Or maybe, just maybe I wasn't as close to death as I needed to be to get that experience. ;)
Watch out on the roads, pay attention and and look AHEAD.
I had this most scary incident at Factoria mall (Bellevue, WA), Sunday afternoon.
I had parked our car and was walking across the mall parking lot, to Rite-Aid. I was crossing the final 2-car-length stretch before reaching the sidewalk, when I saw an SUV coming about 15 feet to my right. Now, I distrust car drivers - being a cyclist - and so I looked in that direction to see what the driver was going to do.
She slowed down, and I thought she had seen me, and hence was slowing down. I started to cross that expanse to get to the relative safety of the sidewalk and had barely taken three steps, when the woman rapidly accelarated. Her tires made the rough noise of (almost) losing rubber, and she came straight for me, at about 20-25 miles an hour!
I saw her looking to the left, at the parking spaces, and as I froze momentarily in horror, the car was heading straight for me. I thought I was a dead man! A split second later, I came to my senses and covered the next few paces in a sprint. The woman missed me by about 5 inches, and stopped exactly OVER where I was about a second ago.
I was extremely upset and yelled at her using the oft-used four-letter word. I also proceeded to question the sanity of the person who granted her, her driving license. She however, had the civility of rolling down her window and saying "Sorry!". But, as we all know, Sorry doesn't make dead men come alive. I was pretty peeved, as I walked away, and the woman just drove away. I didn't write down her license plate, as I should have. That would have helped me complain about her to the police.
Listen up all you car drivers: Everyday people walk, bike around, and are NOT in protective cages as you are, so when you run over them, you will KILL them. They are vulnerable, and so please pay attention. Please! Your voice mail, your email, your GPS can wait. Don't shave your face or your legs when you drive and STOP applying your make up. Don't look away from the road when you reach for the Radio or CD player. DONT look at the movie playing in the vehicle in front of you. DONT yak on the cellphone. You are driving a killing machine.
One more thing, that whole bit about your life flashing before your eyes in near-death moments.... ain't true. Or maybe, just maybe I wasn't as close to death as I needed to be to get that experience. ;)
Watch out on the roads, pay attention and and look AHEAD.
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