My Ba (grandmother) is my biggest fan. Our connection is as strong as sugar and candy; I am a hybrid incarnation of her. I am her and she is me. You would think that our spiritual connection would manifest in us living in proximity. I live in Florida and my Ba lives in Baroda (India). She lives alone, alone in a grand two story house that I bet my Dada (grandfather) dreamt would be filled the laughter of his grandchildren. I never lived in that house.
The unfortunate consequence of being a modern nomad is that you must sacrifice family ties and since family is the core of most cultures; you must sacrifice culture. Is that too high a price to pay? I think it is.
The cornerstone of human success as a thriving specie is the family structure. Generations living together meant distribution of work, increased productivity in finding food and most important of all companionship. My grandmother never finished elementary school; she got married and spent her life raising her family. And her reward for her life long labor, she gets to live alone. Dreams should never go unfinished, because Dreams have ghosts too. Raising a family is like no other job, your hard work does not get rewarded with a salary increase, but I think you should be able to at the least enjoy their company.
In my pursuit of my Dreams I have made myself a nomad, Diwali could have been filled with the smells of my Ba’s cooking, this year I spent it talking to my mother on the phone. In pursuit of my dreams I have killed my Ba’s Dreams, I am a Dream killer and their ghosts haunt me.
- Paayal Patel
Monday, December 26, 2005
Thursday, December 15, 2005
nationmaster
A massive central data source and a handy way to graphically compare nations. NationMaster is a vast compilation of data from such sources as the CIA World Factbook, UN, and OECD. Using the form above, you can generate maps and graphs on all kinds of statistics with ease.
Loverly... It's seems like its a pretty decent stat site. The really cool bit though is you can get a firefox search plugin to search anything on the site. Right from you little browser there.
<link>
Monday, December 05, 2005
Surely there is better poetry out there
Patient and steady with all he must bear,
Ready to meet every challenge with care,
Easy in manner, yet solid as steel,
Strong in his faith, refreshingly real.
Isn't afraid to propose what is bold,
Doesn't conform to the usual mould,
Eyes that have foresight, for hindsight won't do,
Never backs down when he sees what is true,
Tells it all straight, and means it all too.
Going forward and knowing he's right,
Even when doubted for why he would fight,
Over and over he makes his case clear,
Reaching to touch the ones who won't hear.
Growing in strength he won't be unnerved,
Ever assuring he'll stand by his word.
Wanting the world to join his firm stand,
Bracing for war, but praying for peace,
Using his power so evil will cease,
So much a leader and worthy of trust,
Here stands a man who will do what he must.
Pakistan deletes 'pro-Bush' poem
Ready to meet every challenge with care,
Easy in manner, yet solid as steel,
Strong in his faith, refreshingly real.
Isn't afraid to propose what is bold,
Doesn't conform to the usual mould,
Eyes that have foresight, for hindsight won't do,
Never backs down when he sees what is true,
Tells it all straight, and means it all too.
Going forward and knowing he's right,
Even when doubted for why he would fight,
Over and over he makes his case clear,
Reaching to touch the ones who won't hear.
Growing in strength he won't be unnerved,
Ever assuring he'll stand by his word.
Wanting the world to join his firm stand,
Bracing for war, but praying for peace,
Using his power so evil will cease,
So much a leader and worthy of trust,
Here stands a man who will do what he must.
Pakistan deletes 'pro-Bush' poem
Friday, December 02, 2005
An Ideal Boy
There's a certain way good desi boys should act. An ideal boy is an illustrated guide to teach you exactly how you should behave. <link>
Monday, November 28, 2005
Whatever sells Ms. Dixit
"The hip gyrations have gotten so ridiculous that I sometimes feel like we are frustrated animals desperately trying to discover sex"
-Film legend and top dancer (right up there with Sri Devi), Madhuri Dixit on todays Indian filmi dance numbers (quote from 90's)
Bollywood stars in kiss dispute
Have we not learned anything from 20+ years of having musical sex through wet translucent clothes in the rain outside our basti's?
http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/south_asia/4102459.stm
Sunday, November 27, 2005
Brian Lara: A tribute to 15 years of fine cricket
Pakistan won the cricket World cup in 1992. Up till then I didn’t give a damn about cricket, I barely even knew the rules. But all that changed when England was bowled out for 227 in Melbourne and Imran Khan held that Waterford crystal trophy over his head. I vividly remember watching the match live at my grandparents’ house in Quetta. There was a young kid by the name of Inzamam who refused to wear a helmet and would chew gum while batting. “How unorthodox and improper” I’m sure most cricket purists at the time thought. I was simply impressed by his ballsy stroke play and his ability to rack on those precious runs. All of a sudden, I was really into cricket!2 years earlier in Lahore, Brian Lara was making his test debut. The mighty West Indies had gone a decade without losing a single test series during the 80’s and had won 2 of the 4 cricket world cups held up till then. They had the likes of Vivian Richards, Curtly Ambrose and Courtney Walsh on their side. Not only did they have strong batting and bowling. I remember thinking what amazing fielders they were. Only they at the time were able to collect balls mid-flight while still running (I also remember thinking this was unfair to other teams since they didn’t have as long arms as the West Indians, who were the only black cricket team at the time). As it turned out, a steady fall from the top was in the cards for the Windies. And yet, over this same time, Brian Lara was to become one of the World’s premier batsmen. His rise happened to coincide with my new interest in cricket. I almost feel like I grew up having Brian Lara around because I’ve been watching him play since I was 12. And what a spectacular player he has proved to be! Every time he came to the crease against Pakistan, I would pray for an early dismissal because I knew his potential. A good Lara inning could change the outcome of a match, sometimes single-handedly. Yesterday en route to his knock of 226 off 298 balls against World No. 1 Australia, Lara broke the all-time record for highest test run scorer, adding to his other all-time records for highest test score (400 not out) and first-class score (501). Hell, he now has 8 double centuries in test cricket, that might be an all-time record in itself (OK, I checked. He is second after Donald Bradman). Congratulations Brian and well done! I’m going to continue to be a Windies fan as long as you play cricket!
Thursday, November 24, 2005
This collection of essays, memoirs, poems, stories, and artwork looks at globalization as a worldwide exchange of art and ideas. Writing the World focuses on the cultural realities of globalism -- the opportunities it provides to learn from other cultures. This knowledge, argue David Rothenberg and Wandee Pryor in their introduction, can be power: "When all of us learn enough about our differences to respect the diversity that exists, we will be unable to pretend we are the same. We will never accept the old innocence and ignorance bred by oppression and exploitation." For the contributors to Writing the World, to dream of the global village is to see the world not as a vast market but as a place of shared values and linked wonder.
Sunday, November 20, 2005
Looking for Comedy in the Muslim World
This has the potential of being really bad... but it seemed interesting.
The hilarious story of what happens when the U.S. Government sends comedian Albert Brooks to India and Pakistan to find out what makes the over 300 million Muslims in the region laugh. Brooks, accompanied by two state department handlers and his trusted assistant, goes on a journey that takes him from a concert stage in New Delhi, to the Taj Mahal, to a secret location in the mountains of Pakistan.
<trailer>
Anish Kapoor
Anish Kapoor is a world renowned sculptor and artist. I've run across his work before, except I didn't know who the sculptor was. It's the what I call the metal jelly bean in Chicago's Mellenium Park. Anyhow, check out his stuff... It's brill. It reminds me of the time when I found out that Bose was a desi guy.
There's a tendency for me to think that there isn't a lot of modern art being done by any of the desi community (Bose, though an innovator, is really more a engineer than a designer). Even as a designer myself I seem to discount a lot of south asian work because little has really moved me. Too much of it pulls the foreign card to make itself heard and therefore seems like a bastardization of the culture to create quaint crafty art. Kapoor is different. He is frankly amazing on a global scale. His work stands with the best of them. Sometimes I think you need to prove yourself at that level before you should be allowed to represent your culture. God, If I see another art project on desi weddings.
What other great desi artists and designers are out there that we don't know about?
<tate collection>
<wikipedia entry>
Saturday, November 19, 2005
Khan Saab
WSIS Tunis. It’s been four years since the issue of how the internet should be run, and by whom, became an official United Nations topic.
And yet despite hundreds of hours of talks, three preparatory meetings and a world summit, there is only one thing that the world’s governments can agree on: Masood Khan, Pakistan’s ambassador.
If a certain US senator and a certain EU commissioner are to be believed, the internet is five days away from total collapse as governments are finally forced into a corner and told to agree on a framework for future Internet governance.
<whole article>
And yet despite hundreds of hours of talks, three preparatory meetings and a world summit, there is only one thing that the world’s governments can agree on: Masood Khan, Pakistan’s ambassador.
If a certain US senator and a certain EU commissioner are to be believed, the internet is five days away from total collapse as governments are finally forced into a corner and told to agree on a framework for future Internet governance.
<whole article>
Friday, November 18, 2005
The US has continued to maintain that it has done nothing wrong by firing weapons with white phosphorous in Iraq.
The story has shown the limits of the mainstream media and the commitment of the blogger. Paul Mason reports.
here's a link to an amazing news report on the BBC about the power of independent news services and bloggers on mainstream media.
<video>
The story has shown the limits of the mainstream media and the commitment of the blogger. Paul Mason reports.
here's a link to an amazing news report on the BBC about the power of independent news services and bloggers on mainstream media.
<video>
How much we are worth...
My blog is worth $1,129.08.
How much is your blog worth?
Just in case anybody was wondering... technorati seems to think we are worth something. God knows what that really means or how they get their numbers. $_$
My blog is worth $10,033,569.42.
How much is your blog worth?
That's how much BoingBoing is worth just to put things into a little bit of perspective. ^_^
Thursday, November 17, 2005
Demons
My moleskin never gets the blue screen of death. Nor does it ever till me I have an incompatiable pen.
Wednesday, November 16, 2005
Phil-Ams
When the last US ships sailed out of Subic Bay in 1992, the US Navy was not just leaving behind its biggest base anywhere in the world.
Some of the children live rough
American servicemen returning to their old lives in the US also abandoned thousands of Filipina girlfriends and children, often to lives of terrible poverty.
Now the black, Hispanic and Caucasian-looking boys and girls they left behind have grown up.
Few of the so-called Phil-Ams in Olongapo have much hope of a future. In the Philippines it is hard for them to fit in because of their foreign blood. Many never recovered from the devastating childhood blow of being abandoned by their fathers.
After a decade or more of wondering, hundreds of Phil-Am teenagers who can summon up the courage to use address-finding search engines have been able to locate their fathers, sometimes within a few minutes of sitting down at a computer terminal.
The results of such quests have rarely been happy.
<link>
Some of the children live rough
American servicemen returning to their old lives in the US also abandoned thousands of Filipina girlfriends and children, often to lives of terrible poverty.
Now the black, Hispanic and Caucasian-looking boys and girls they left behind have grown up.
Few of the so-called Phil-Ams in Olongapo have much hope of a future. In the Philippines it is hard for them to fit in because of their foreign blood. Many never recovered from the devastating childhood blow of being abandoned by their fathers.
After a decade or more of wondering, hundreds of Phil-Am teenagers who can summon up the courage to use address-finding search engines have been able to locate their fathers, sometimes within a few minutes of sitting down at a computer terminal.
The results of such quests have rarely been happy.
<link>
Digital Bridges
Annan calls for digital bridges
Senegal stand during the World Summit on the Internet Society
Africa countries like Senegal are appealing for more funds
The UN secretary general has called on the world to do more to narrow the technology gap between rich and poor.
Opening the World Summit on the Information Society, Kofi Annan said nations had to show the political will to bridge the digital divide.
The Tunis summit had been threatened by a row over US control of the net.
A last minute deal left the US in overall technical control, with an international forum being set up to discuss internet issues.
The UN has also had to contend with criticism from human rights groups at the choice of Tunisia as host country.
<link to the beeb>
Senegal stand during the World Summit on the Internet Society
Africa countries like Senegal are appealing for more funds
The UN secretary general has called on the world to do more to narrow the technology gap between rich and poor.
Opening the World Summit on the Information Society, Kofi Annan said nations had to show the political will to bridge the digital divide.
The Tunis summit had been threatened by a row over US control of the net.
A last minute deal left the US in overall technical control, with an international forum being set up to discuss internet issues.
The UN has also had to contend with criticism from human rights groups at the choice of Tunisia as host country.
<link to the beeb>
Eiffel
I dug my hands deeper in my pockets cursing my lack of gloves as I stood there watching the view from the Eiffel tower. If you squinted you could see the Triumphal Arch in the distance, looking like an overgrown grey Lego block almost lost in the visual cacophony of buildings.
“So did anything happen?” asked my host, leaning over the railing with me. Continuing the conversation we were having before.
“Did anything happen?”
“I mean I heard stories… saw things on the news… after nine eleven.”
“Oh,” I knew what he was referring to now. It was a standard Pakistani Uncle question whenever I traveled outside of the US.
Things did happen. Our local mosque was burnt down. I knew people, who knew people that were beaten. Girls in hijab had to be escorted home so no one tried harassing them. There were seminars on how all Muslims are not terrorists, and how Islam is peaceful. Some of which seemed only to say we aren’t like them. It wasn’t us, it was them. Us and Them. Them, Us. See the difference? I wonder how many did. So many sides and all these people hastily jumping from one to another as a line was hastily drawn in the sand. Being carted away in buses for special registration, media frenzy for the war on terror, and the big silence as Americans got together and united to do whatever was required. It was certainly a time when the means justified the ends. And no one really blamed them for it. Not I. Not right after. No one dared. Like a school teacher that’s just turned around, radiating violence, after the kids have been throwing chock at the board. You keep your head down and don’t make eye contact. The world held its breath and lowered its gaze.
“No nothing really happened. At least, I didn’t see anything. Of course I heard stories, but I don’t know... To be honest I didn’t even see the towers crashing down till a couple of days later. It was my freshman year at art school and I didn’t have a TV. I did have this neighbor though, she yelled at me as I was walking up to my house one day. “Why do you all hate us?” I tried to explain to her that ‘we’ didn’t. It’s kinda funny now. I don’t know really. Nothing happened to me or anyone I knew. We had ‘talks’ at the college explaining Islam.” Every things fine, we’re all okay. The standard answer.
And to be honest, that really was it. Nothing really happened. Not in my little world. Not to the people close to me or the people around me. Not to the people I cared about. Nothing at all, except that Muslims went from being just another minority to a topic of great discussion. And during that time it just wasn’t enough not to know about stuff anymore. It was like having your eyed violently wrenched open. You had to form an opinion. You had to take side. You went from being a welcome, a promising student bringing ethnic diversity to really not being all that welcome after all. Instead you were tolerated and people were watchful. But more than anything else what was frightening was silent acceptance of everything that government did. You had to be very careful about what you said not to slow down the machine. But then, all this wasn’t any different than where I had grown up. The United States had just turned into noisier version of Saudi Arabia. Yay! It was just like being back home again. Where foreigners had hardly any rights and you just didn’t say anything against the government, if you didn’t want to just disappear. Of course it wasn’t as bad (and Saudi isn’t that bad either), but there was a time they came pretty damn close. If it wasn’t an American opinion, it didn’t really count. Quietly, the ugly head of Xenophobia arose. It’ll take a while to knock it down again. I hope one day it will. Because, United States (like Saudi) deserves a better fate than blind ignorance that worldview provides. My hopefulness is almost a curse really, but I hope one day the entire world has their eyes wretched open and are forced to form opinions and take sides. Because even not taking a side is a side.
“This war they are building up for, do you think it’ll ever happen?”
“No, I’m sure the American people won’t bother with it, they have bigger fish to fry. They haven’t even caught Osama bin Laden yet. I’m sure there’s more focused on that. The UN seems to be think there are no weapons of mass destruction. They should let the UN inspectors finish. If Bush wants to get reelected he won’t send hundreds of people of die like that. Not without being sure.”
But of course I was wrong. There’s this image I remember seeing after the first few weeks of the Iraq war. It was in a TIME magazine, quarter of the way in, it covered the whole page. An image of a blown up body. A third of the body was just a mess of rags and blood. But that didn’t bother me so much. It was the caption that read ‘Revenge’. Just the single word, nothing else. The Iraq War had used up 9/11 for this? It was the first time I felt sick looking at a caption.
A few months later Tareq died. A casualty of hate crimes against Middle Eastern people in Australia. So I was wrong about everything really. A lot had happened. I’m sorry my friend. I feel I let you down, somehow. Living ‘our’ dream while you’re not around anymore. But I have learned something from all of this. That I will not let people use the death of a loved one to persuade me to hate. What higher form of disrespect could there be than that. Neither will I let death blind me with anger or numb me with sorrow. I will not look to blame others for the world around me. Not to pick sides and to speak up for injustices.
“So did anything happen?” asked my host, leaning over the railing with me. Continuing the conversation we were having before.
“Did anything happen?”
“I mean I heard stories… saw things on the news… after nine eleven.”
“Oh,” I knew what he was referring to now. It was a standard Pakistani Uncle question whenever I traveled outside of the US.
Things did happen. Our local mosque was burnt down. I knew people, who knew people that were beaten. Girls in hijab had to be escorted home so no one tried harassing them. There were seminars on how all Muslims are not terrorists, and how Islam is peaceful. Some of which seemed only to say we aren’t like them. It wasn’t us, it was them. Us and Them. Them, Us. See the difference? I wonder how many did. So many sides and all these people hastily jumping from one to another as a line was hastily drawn in the sand. Being carted away in buses for special registration, media frenzy for the war on terror, and the big silence as Americans got together and united to do whatever was required. It was certainly a time when the means justified the ends. And no one really blamed them for it. Not I. Not right after. No one dared. Like a school teacher that’s just turned around, radiating violence, after the kids have been throwing chock at the board. You keep your head down and don’t make eye contact. The world held its breath and lowered its gaze.
“No nothing really happened. At least, I didn’t see anything. Of course I heard stories, but I don’t know... To be honest I didn’t even see the towers crashing down till a couple of days later. It was my freshman year at art school and I didn’t have a TV. I did have this neighbor though, she yelled at me as I was walking up to my house one day. “Why do you all hate us?” I tried to explain to her that ‘we’ didn’t. It’s kinda funny now. I don’t know really. Nothing happened to me or anyone I knew. We had ‘talks’ at the college explaining Islam.” Every things fine, we’re all okay. The standard answer.
And to be honest, that really was it. Nothing really happened. Not in my little world. Not to the people close to me or the people around me. Not to the people I cared about. Nothing at all, except that Muslims went from being just another minority to a topic of great discussion. And during that time it just wasn’t enough not to know about stuff anymore. It was like having your eyed violently wrenched open. You had to form an opinion. You had to take side. You went from being a welcome, a promising student bringing ethnic diversity to really not being all that welcome after all. Instead you were tolerated and people were watchful. But more than anything else what was frightening was silent acceptance of everything that government did. You had to be very careful about what you said not to slow down the machine. But then, all this wasn’t any different than where I had grown up. The United States had just turned into noisier version of Saudi Arabia. Yay! It was just like being back home again. Where foreigners had hardly any rights and you just didn’t say anything against the government, if you didn’t want to just disappear. Of course it wasn’t as bad (and Saudi isn’t that bad either), but there was a time they came pretty damn close. If it wasn’t an American opinion, it didn’t really count. Quietly, the ugly head of Xenophobia arose. It’ll take a while to knock it down again. I hope one day it will. Because, United States (like Saudi) deserves a better fate than blind ignorance that worldview provides. My hopefulness is almost a curse really, but I hope one day the entire world has their eyes wretched open and are forced to form opinions and take sides. Because even not taking a side is a side.
“This war they are building up for, do you think it’ll ever happen?”
“No, I’m sure the American people won’t bother with it, they have bigger fish to fry. They haven’t even caught Osama bin Laden yet. I’m sure there’s more focused on that. The UN seems to be think there are no weapons of mass destruction. They should let the UN inspectors finish. If Bush wants to get reelected he won’t send hundreds of people of die like that. Not without being sure.”
But of course I was wrong. There’s this image I remember seeing after the first few weeks of the Iraq war. It was in a TIME magazine, quarter of the way in, it covered the whole page. An image of a blown up body. A third of the body was just a mess of rags and blood. But that didn’t bother me so much. It was the caption that read ‘Revenge’. Just the single word, nothing else. The Iraq War had used up 9/11 for this? It was the first time I felt sick looking at a caption.
A few months later Tareq died. A casualty of hate crimes against Middle Eastern people in Australia. So I was wrong about everything really. A lot had happened. I’m sorry my friend. I feel I let you down, somehow. Living ‘our’ dream while you’re not around anymore. But I have learned something from all of this. That I will not let people use the death of a loved one to persuade me to hate. What higher form of disrespect could there be than that. Neither will I let death blind me with anger or numb me with sorrow. I will not look to blame others for the world around me. Not to pick sides and to speak up for injustices.
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
World Summit on the Information Society (WSIS)
World leaders, technology leaders and campaigners are in Tunisia for a UN summit intended to help poorer nations benefit from the digital revolution.
About 10,000 participants are at expected at the three-day World Summit on the Information Society (WSIS).
The event is being eclipsed by a row over how the net is run and fears over freedom of expression in Tunisia.
Many developing nations say it is time control moved from the incumbent US body to a more accountable global one.
A UN-sponsored group has spent the last two years working on various proposals, without reaching agreement.
Last minute negotiations have been under way in Tunis, aimed at settling differences between the US and countries seeking a change.
The EU has been mediating between the Americans and a group of countries including China and Iran, which have been pushing for international control.
"We're two-thirds of our way to a good compromise," said EU spokesman Martin Selmayr.
<read on...>
About 10,000 participants are at expected at the three-day World Summit on the Information Society (WSIS).
The event is being eclipsed by a row over how the net is run and fears over freedom of expression in Tunisia.
Many developing nations say it is time control moved from the incumbent US body to a more accountable global one.
A UN-sponsored group has spent the last two years working on various proposals, without reaching agreement.
Last minute negotiations have been under way in Tunis, aimed at settling differences between the US and countries seeking a change.
The EU has been mediating between the Americans and a group of countries including China and Iran, which have been pushing for international control.
"We're two-thirds of our way to a good compromise," said EU spokesman Martin Selmayr.
<read on...>
Sunday, November 13, 2005
Thank you, Mr President
Thank you, great leader George W. Bush.
Thank you for showing everyone what a danger Saddam Hussein represents. Many of us might otherwise have forgotten that he had used chemical weapons against his own people, against the Kurds and against the Iranians. Hussein is a bloodthirsty dictator and one of the clearest expressions of evil in today's world.
But this is not my only reason for thanking you. During the first months of 2003, you have shown the world a great many other important things and, therefore, deserve my gratitude.
So, remembering a poem I learned as a child, I want to say thank you.
Thank you for showing everyone that the Turkish people and their Parliament are not for sale, not even for 26 billion dollars.
Thank you for revealing to the world the gulf that exists between the decisions made by those in power and the wishes of the people. Thank you for making it clear that neither José María Aznar nor Tony Blair give the slightest weight to or show the slightest respect for the votes they received. Aznar is perfectly capable of ignoring the fact that 90 percent of Spaniards are against the war, and Blair is unmoved by the largest public demonstration to take place in England in the last 30 years.
Thank you for making it necessary for Tony Blair to go to the British Parliament with a fabricated dossier written by a student ten years ago, and present this as `damning evidence collected by the British Secret Service'.
Thank you for allowing Colin Powell to make a complete fool of himself by showing the UN Security Council photos which, one week later, were publicly challenged by Hans Blix, the Inspector responsible for disarming Iraq.
Thank you for adopting your current position and thus ensuring that, at the plenary session, the French Foreign Minister, Dominique de Villepin's anti-war speech was greeted with applause—something, as far as I know, that has only happened once before in the history of the UN, following a speech by Nelson Mandela.
Thank you too, because, after all your efforts to promote war, the normally divided Arab nations, at their meeting in Cairo during the last week in February, were, for the first time, unanimous in their condemnation of any invasion.
Thank you for your rhetoric stating that "the UN now has a chance to demonstrate its relevance", a statement which made even the most reluctant countries take up a position opposing any attack on Iraq.
Thank you for your foreign policy which provoked the British Foreign Secretary, Jack Straw, into declaring that in the 21st century, "a war can have a moral justification", thus causing him to lose all credibility.
Thank you for trying to divide a Europe that is currently struggling for unification; this was a warning that will not go unheeded.
Thank you for having achieved something that very few have so far managed to do in this century: the bringing together of millions of people on all continents to fight for the same idea, even though that idea is opposed to yours.
Thank you for making us feel once more that though our words may not be heard, they are at least spoken—this will make us stronger in the future.
Thank you for ignoring us, for marginalizing all those who oppose your decision, because the future of the Earth belongs to the excluded.
Thank you, because, without you, we would not have realized our own ability to mobilize. It may serve no purpose this time, but it will doubtless be useful later on.
Now that there seems no way of silencing the drums of war, I would like to say, as an ancient European king said to an invader: "May your morning be a beautiful one, may the sun shine on your soldiers' armor, for in the afternoon, I will defeat you."
Thank you for allowing us—an army of anonymous people filling the streets in an attempt to stop a process that is already underway—to know what it feels like to be powerless and to learn to grapple with that feeling and transform it. So, enjoy your morning and whatever glory it may yet bring you.
Thank you for not listening to us and not taking us seriously, but know that we are listening to you and that we will not forget your words.
Thank you, great leader George W. Bush.
Thank you very much.
~Paulo Coelho
Thank you for showing everyone what a danger Saddam Hussein represents. Many of us might otherwise have forgotten that he had used chemical weapons against his own people, against the Kurds and against the Iranians. Hussein is a bloodthirsty dictator and one of the clearest expressions of evil in today's world.
But this is not my only reason for thanking you. During the first months of 2003, you have shown the world a great many other important things and, therefore, deserve my gratitude.
So, remembering a poem I learned as a child, I want to say thank you.
Thank you for showing everyone that the Turkish people and their Parliament are not for sale, not even for 26 billion dollars.
Thank you for revealing to the world the gulf that exists between the decisions made by those in power and the wishes of the people. Thank you for making it clear that neither José María Aznar nor Tony Blair give the slightest weight to or show the slightest respect for the votes they received. Aznar is perfectly capable of ignoring the fact that 90 percent of Spaniards are against the war, and Blair is unmoved by the largest public demonstration to take place in England in the last 30 years.
Thank you for making it necessary for Tony Blair to go to the British Parliament with a fabricated dossier written by a student ten years ago, and present this as `damning evidence collected by the British Secret Service'.
Thank you for allowing Colin Powell to make a complete fool of himself by showing the UN Security Council photos which, one week later, were publicly challenged by Hans Blix, the Inspector responsible for disarming Iraq.
Thank you for adopting your current position and thus ensuring that, at the plenary session, the French Foreign Minister, Dominique de Villepin's anti-war speech was greeted with applause—something, as far as I know, that has only happened once before in the history of the UN, following a speech by Nelson Mandela.
Thank you too, because, after all your efforts to promote war, the normally divided Arab nations, at their meeting in Cairo during the last week in February, were, for the first time, unanimous in their condemnation of any invasion.
Thank you for your rhetoric stating that "the UN now has a chance to demonstrate its relevance", a statement which made even the most reluctant countries take up a position opposing any attack on Iraq.
Thank you for your foreign policy which provoked the British Foreign Secretary, Jack Straw, into declaring that in the 21st century, "a war can have a moral justification", thus causing him to lose all credibility.
Thank you for trying to divide a Europe that is currently struggling for unification; this was a warning that will not go unheeded.
Thank you for having achieved something that very few have so far managed to do in this century: the bringing together of millions of people on all continents to fight for the same idea, even though that idea is opposed to yours.
Thank you for making us feel once more that though our words may not be heard, they are at least spoken—this will make us stronger in the future.
Thank you for ignoring us, for marginalizing all those who oppose your decision, because the future of the Earth belongs to the excluded.
Thank you, because, without you, we would not have realized our own ability to mobilize. It may serve no purpose this time, but it will doubtless be useful later on.
Now that there seems no way of silencing the drums of war, I would like to say, as an ancient European king said to an invader: "May your morning be a beautiful one, may the sun shine on your soldiers' armor, for in the afternoon, I will defeat you."
Thank you for allowing us—an army of anonymous people filling the streets in an attempt to stop a process that is already underway—to know what it feels like to be powerless and to learn to grapple with that feeling and transform it. So, enjoy your morning and whatever glory it may yet bring you.
Thank you for not listening to us and not taking us seriously, but know that we are listening to you and that we will not forget your words.
Thank you, great leader George W. Bush.
Thank you very much.
~Paulo Coelho
Friday, November 11, 2005
Next Billion
nextbillion.net
Our goal is to identify and discuss sustainable business models that address the needs of the world's poorest citizens. Linking the pursuit of profit with the goal of economic development creates a new lens through which traditional business and development models can be viewed. Through this lens, we explore the “next billion” ― the next billion to rise from poverty as empowered consumers, and the next billion in profits for private firms to earn by selling to underserved markets.
NextBillion.net emerges from the successes of “Eradicating Poverty Through Profit: Making Business Work for the Poor,” a conference held
Our goal is to create a new forum for the discussion of best practices, new research, and on-the-ground activities related to business engagement with low-income communities, and private sector-led development. It is a place where development professionals, business leaders, social entrepreneurs, NGOs, policy makers, academics, activists, and practitioners - from both North and South - can convene every day to create connections, and build on their own, and others’, work.
Leapfrogging
"Leapfrogging" is the notion that areas which have poorly-developed technology or economic bases can move themselves forward rapidly through the adoption of modern systems without going through intermediary steps. We see this happening all around us: you don't need a 20th century industrial base to build a 21st century bio/nano/information economy.
Rather than following the already-developed nations in the same course of "progress," leapfrogging means that developing regions can experiment with emerging tools, models and ideas for building their societies. Leapfrogging can happen accidentally (such as when the only systems around for adoption are better than legacy systems elsewhere), situationally (such as the adoption of decentralized communication for a sprawling, rural countryside), or intentionally (such as policies promoting the installation of WiFi and free computers in poor urban areas).
The best-known example of leapfrogging is the adoption of mobile phones in the developing world. It's easier and faster to put in cellular towers in rural and remote areas than to put in land lines, and as a result, cellular use is exploding. As we've noted, mobile phone use already exceeds land line use in India, and by 2007, 150 million out of the 200 million phone lines there will be cellular. There are similar examples from all over the world.
<read on...>
~ Jamais Cascio
No "BPL Oye!" for Iran
"All the songs and dances from your films have to be chopped out. So on Iranian television Bollywood films last for 45 minutes from start to finish."
- Iranian director, Minoo Farshchi, on Hindi films being shown in Iran
- Iranian director, Minoo Farshchi, on Hindi films being shown in Iran
If I were Prez...
"Every Sri Lankan home will be gifted with a high milk-yielding cow from Kerala which could be expected to yield 10 liters to 16 liters of milk every day. Even families who live in flats, who could make suitable arrangements to look after a cow, will receive a gift of cow."
- Sri Lankan presidential candidate, Victor Hettigoda, on what the people of Sri Lanka can expect if they vote for him
- Sri Lankan presidential candidate, Victor Hettigoda, on what the people of Sri Lanka can expect if they vote for him
Thursday, November 10, 2005
Story and Metaphor
This talk about the metaphors reminds me of a story a friend of mine told me once (and what are stories but metaphors with proper clothes on).
A friend of mine graduated with a computer science degree and ended up starting an internet café in Lahore, Pakistan. So he’s running this café one day when an old lady walks into the shop and walks up to him and tells him she wants to write a letter to her son who lives in some other country (let’s say Papa New Guinea for conveniences sake).
So my friend agrees to write the email for her and send it of to her son. So he sits her down next to a computer and she starts dictating to him. And when he thinks she’s done he clicks on send and mails it off.
Suddenly, the old lady gets all angry and starts asking him where the letter is gone, she wants to add something, say a proper goodbye. “Didn’t your family teach you how to end letters”, she insists. So my friend offers to send of another email adding the stuff she wants to but she won’t have any of it. She insists that he can run up to the roof and grab the email before it fly’s off. My friend, with his computer science degree, starts explaining to her that email is instantaneous, and it’s already been converted into bits and packets and those are irrecoverable. Angry, the old lady storms off leaving my poor friend sitting at the computer.
Now I understand that the mental model the old lady had in her head was that email was like regular mail with except faster and cheaper. From her point of view what you had to deal with was someone to ‘send’ it that was different than the postman but essentially did the same job. The message itself wasn’t any different because in her perception the medium had not changed. Now what my friend should have said was, like a mailbox once you drop the letter in, you can’t take it out unless you have the key. And that he didn’t have the key. “It’s somewhere in Amreeka” (America in urdu). ; ) …
So I smiled at my friends amazement that the old lady couldn’t appreciate the complexity technology while thinking he couldn’t appreciate the simplicity of metaphor.
A friend of mine graduated with a computer science degree and ended up starting an internet café in Lahore, Pakistan. So he’s running this café one day when an old lady walks into the shop and walks up to him and tells him she wants to write a letter to her son who lives in some other country (let’s say Papa New Guinea for conveniences sake).
So my friend agrees to write the email for her and send it of to her son. So he sits her down next to a computer and she starts dictating to him. And when he thinks she’s done he clicks on send and mails it off.
Suddenly, the old lady gets all angry and starts asking him where the letter is gone, she wants to add something, say a proper goodbye. “Didn’t your family teach you how to end letters”, she insists. So my friend offers to send of another email adding the stuff she wants to but she won’t have any of it. She insists that he can run up to the roof and grab the email before it fly’s off. My friend, with his computer science degree, starts explaining to her that email is instantaneous, and it’s already been converted into bits and packets and those are irrecoverable. Angry, the old lady storms off leaving my poor friend sitting at the computer.
Now I understand that the mental model the old lady had in her head was that email was like regular mail with except faster and cheaper. From her point of view what you had to deal with was someone to ‘send’ it that was different than the postman but essentially did the same job. The message itself wasn’t any different because in her perception the medium had not changed. Now what my friend should have said was, like a mailbox once you drop the letter in, you can’t take it out unless you have the key. And that he didn’t have the key. “It’s somewhere in Amreeka” (America in urdu). ; ) …
So I smiled at my friends amazement that the old lady couldn’t appreciate the complexity technology while thinking he couldn’t appreciate the simplicity of metaphor.
Mapping Migration
A map of the migration of Kiatrina victims shows a good visualization of paths and decisions people took after a disaster.
Beaver and Steve
This comic always makes me happy.
<beaver and steve> (opens only in ie for me, i don't know if it's just my computer)
Wednesday, November 09, 2005
Poster Child
The first time I met the poster girl for national geographic was when I in my teens. I saw her looking out at me from a magazine rack, flaming eyes shocking all the magazines into the background. She looked Afragni, which in my mind at that time meant she was Pakistani. We had some kinds of connection. But there it was an image of a life so different than mine. Living in the dull luxury of Saudi Arabia I couldn’t begin to understand how the both of us could have any similarities what so ever, let enough a strong bond. I can’t recall whether I picked up the magazine or not. I probably didn’t. I didn’t forget her though. Something about those eyes stuck.
The next time I saw her was after I have moved to the United States. It was a time she seemed to pop up everywhere. Apparently, she was the image of National Geographic’s exoticism. In her flaming eyes they saw passion and energy she needed to live through harsh conditions. Smiling, I looked into her eyes, again, and understood how misunderstood she really was.
This is thing. If there’s anything she’s saying its that she’s Pissed! Those aren’t the eyes of hunger. Those are the “You better not be pointing that camera at me, you tourist”. It amuses me to no end that that particular look has become such an icon. It also amazes me that there is a bond between us after all. And it’s stronger than the connection other people have with her. That much I know, but the extent and exact nature of this connection I’m still unsure about. All I really know is I know that ‘look’. I know it means move on before I get someone to hurt you. It’s not a pleasant look. It’s certainly intense.
So how did it get so misunderstood. Somewhere between Kabul and California it went from an angry-plea-not-to-invade-ones-privacy to hot-diamond-in-the-rough-sultry-model look. How often does stuff like this happen (how many mountains are named after native for ‘what the hell are you saying white man?’) and if we are truly to become internationalists how can we avoid such cultural misunderstandings?
~ r
<how they found her>
I am scattered
I am scattered, never having been in a comfortable center.
All the people enjoy themselves, as if they are at the festival of the great sacrifice,
Or climbing the Spring Platform.
I alone remain, not yet having shown myself.
Like an infant who has not yet laughed.
Weary, like one despairing of no home to return to.
All the people enjoy extra
While I have left everything behind.
I am ignorant of the minds of others.
So dull!
While average people are clear and bright, I alone am obscure.
Average people know everything.
To me alone all seems covered.
So flat!
Like the ocean.
Blowing around!
It seems there is no place to rest.
Everybody has a goal in mind.
I alone am as ignorant as a bumpkin.
I alone differ from people
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
Placemats
Strangers are great. There’s something that happens when I meet someone new. You smile and make good conversation. The type that’s about absolutely everything, and yet about nothing at all. Light bulbs turn on. Soon though, as people try to place me, the conversation turns to where I’m from.
“Do you go to school here?”
“No, I went to school in Georgia.”
‘Click’, a light bulb turns off. I say Georgia but they hear “the south”.
“Oh, so you’re from Georgia then?”
“No actually, I’m from Pakistan.”
‘Click’, another light bulb turns off. Pakistan, India’s unexotic evil twin.
“No, but where did you grow up?”
“Well, I grew up in Saudi Arabia.”
‘Click’, another light bulb turns off. I really should learn to say the Middle East, but I haven’t the heart.
“You’re English is very Good.”
“Why yes it is. Thank you.”
Meeting new people is super and given the chance I’m quick to turn those light bulbs back on. But sometimes it occurs to me that I’m from all the wrong places. I leave an empty spot in the minds of people I meet and it's up to me to fill the picture.
“Do you go to school here?”
“No, I went to school in Georgia.”
‘Click’, a light bulb turns off. I say Georgia but they hear “the south”.
“Oh, so you’re from Georgia then?”
“No actually, I’m from Pakistan.”
‘Click’, another light bulb turns off. Pakistan, India’s unexotic evil twin.
“No, but where did you grow up?”
“Well, I grew up in Saudi Arabia.”
‘Click’, another light bulb turns off. I really should learn to say the Middle East, but I haven’t the heart.
“You’re English is very Good.”
“Why yes it is. Thank you.”
Meeting new people is super and given the chance I’m quick to turn those light bulbs back on. But sometimes it occurs to me that I’m from all the wrong places. I leave an empty spot in the minds of people I meet and it's up to me to fill the picture.
Monday, November 07, 2005
Where's my Chicken and Rice?
Late at night in NYC when the city is sound asleep (yes, not only is New York not The City that Never Sleeps, but it snores as well) inside your tummy something rumbles. And you know, if you’re middle eastern, south asian or a taxi driver there is only one place that you can go. It’s Chicken and Rice time.
Chicken and rice for those of you not in the ‘know’ is a set of stalls that serves grilled chicken and middle eastern rice with ‘sauce’. Watch out for the sauce. It’ll burn your intestines from the inside out. Do ask for it. Otherwise you can taste the chicken. You don’t want to do that.
Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that that it’s not good. It’s great in fact. It’s just that it does… umm… damage. But you’ll never stop craving it. Stall food that’s available late into the night. It’s a place where everyone congregates, where you meet friends you haven’t seen in a couple of months. It’s better than good, it’s the only place that’s open.
Savannah had Parkers, Lahore had Bahaiya ke Kababs, I’m still looking for what Berkeley has. During the day the food here is great. There’s a decent shawerma place a block from my house. An amazing one four blocks away. There’s this place called Cheeseboard that is phenomenal. But late at night, rumbling tum and all I can think of is where’s my chicken and rice?
Chicken and rice for those of you not in the ‘know’ is a set of stalls that serves grilled chicken and middle eastern rice with ‘sauce’. Watch out for the sauce. It’ll burn your intestines from the inside out. Do ask for it. Otherwise you can taste the chicken. You don’t want to do that.
Don’t get me wrong. It’s not that that it’s not good. It’s great in fact. It’s just that it does… umm… damage. But you’ll never stop craving it. Stall food that’s available late into the night. It’s a place where everyone congregates, where you meet friends you haven’t seen in a couple of months. It’s better than good, it’s the only place that’s open.
Savannah had Parkers, Lahore had Bahaiya ke Kababs, I’m still looking for what Berkeley has. During the day the food here is great. There’s a decent shawerma place a block from my house. An amazing one four blocks away. There’s this place called Cheeseboard that is phenomenal. But late at night, rumbling tum and all I can think of is where’s my chicken and rice?
Beget Me
My father always asked for my opinion, even when I was too young to have one. My grandfather did great things but died before I got to know him any. My other grandfather lived up on the roof of the house with the pigeons. He rarely came down or talked to anyone but when he did come down he brought candy, so that was okay. I vaguely remember walking down the small narrow streets with my dad to meet my grandmother. My Dad didn’t see her till he was twenty four, but when he did he brought money, so that was okay. My other grandmother lives in a quarter of a mansion that, with the television, is her whole world. My mother, she shared with me, even things I was too young to have shared with me.
I guess that’s why I am the way I am.
~ r
I guess that’s why I am the way I am.
~ r
When I am King
The awesomely amazingly excellent 'When I am King' by the equally super Demian 5. I just reread it again after a number of years and it's still as fresh and disturbing as it was the first time around. Truly, a unique and amazingly simple yet innovative use of the web. The lack of any speech reminds me that story and humor can surpass language. What other stories are out there that don't require knowledge of a particular language to understand?
<link>
Sunday, November 06, 2005
Urban Ninja Shoes
Urban ninja shoes make me feel like I can take on any mountain, climb the sides of buildings, or walk on water. Never leave home without them. It's like wearing socks with spikes on them. There's mean, yet soft and cuddly at the same time. It's really odd. But I've really become attached to my urban ninja shoes. They remind me that I'm a pedestrian now and that cars are just large hunking beast of an outmoded form of transportation system. Score one for never having to drive to the gym again.
Accented
I used to have a best friend in second grade. Deepa Asarpota. We loved each other so much that I had to have what she had and she had to have what I had. We had the same stationery, shoes and ribbons. We even made sure that we had similar sandwiches wedged inside similar Cinderella lunch boxes. So when Deepa asked me to lend her my 'pancil', it was only natural that I began to refer to all my writing apparatus as 'pancils'. I had color pancils, mechanical pancils and fancy pancils that were better than normal pancils because they glittered. My dad however, had enough of it all. After about 2 weeks of writing 'P-E-N-C-I-L' a thousand times on his legal pad while saying it out loud, all was righted and my pancils were pencils again.
But the more peer I interacted with, the more muddled the rest of my words got, because no two people said the same word the same way. I didnt think I could trust Deepa, or Treena (who inspired me to pronounce 'gave' like 'have'), my parents, or for that matter, my English teachers- who changed every year, forcing me to adapt to a new system of impressing each one.
English words toting three alternative pronunciations were doing party jigs in my head and American television did a whole lot of nothing to help. So no one understood why I danced with joy when Homer Simpson on Star TV started saying "Marge, Marge, ye dekho Bart ne kya kiya."
I went on to study at a convent in Abudhabi. Everything was formal and completely different, and so very structured. Soon my 'yeah' became a 'yes', my 'naah' became a 'no', and I became my worst nightmare. My vocabulary was a mixture of casual Hindi, more casual Tamil and extremely formal English. My brain was spilling out sentences composed of self inflicted verbal confusions and random cultural dialects. To add to it all, I took to saying 'Insha Allah' after sentences, for some reason preferred saying 'donkey' in Arabic.
On a fateful day in March, I was sent to a family friend's place for a kids lunch thing which consisted of a bunch of her son's friends and me. More to escape another of her son's morbid discussions about his developing biceps femoris, I sidled away to the bedroom to peruse their generous video library. And when I heard the words 'gym', 'punch' and 'lift' being used loudly in the same sentence from the living room, I decided I wasn't missing much, and popped 'Pride and
Prejudice'- the series featuring Colin Firth in the VCR. For three hours I was engrossed, amazed and captivated by the polite and perfectly desirable British. I went home dazed, and practiced saying 'Why-yes-that-would-be-perfectly-delightful-thank-you.' a jazillion times in the bathroom mirror. I had found my linguistic niche, it was British, and I was going to adopt it...Until I heard about Ramadurai.
Ramadurai was a good friend's cousin who had been in the United States for barely a semester before he decided to visit back home.
Within that semester he had begun to roll his 'r's, and say 'wanna', 'gotta' and 'gonna' to the general Indian public.
Sure enough, the boy was teased till he cracked and started crunching his 'r's again and saying 'want to', 'got to' and 'going to'. He had tried to adapt to the United States to clear some of his own linguistic confusions. And look where that got him.
It was a bit rich, I thought, that the same people that swore by Raybans, jumped into Lee jeans, and wore lime green muscle shirts that said 'Gap' on them would tease Ramadurai for trying to be American.
I had realized a long time ago that American movies are the devil's spawn. They're the pied-pipers of the world. Before people actually live in the US, they desperately want to live in the US. They want to live the life portrayed in romantic comedies, dress like the white protagonist, and talk like him or her, because thats what being cool and hip was all about. So markets started hosting products with Amercian brand names slapped onto them, and it worked. So why, was everyone after the poor kid with the artificial accent? Everyone adopts American cultural commercialism, and this was Ramadurai's way of doing it. But all that being said, I had no desire to dig myself a Ramadurai-esque grave in the popularity charts. So I ignored the Colin Firth in my head, and stopped wielding the British. .
The idea of going to college in India felt so liberating, because I thought no one cared about how you spoke English. Everyone had their linguistic flaws, so I assumed that no one cared about the other's pronunciation mistakes.
I had assumed too much.
Indian people noticed and mocked different Indian accents in English, without realizing that their own English was extremely accented too.
The Hindi speakers mocked Tamil or Malayalee English- "You said dezicion instead of decision, Ha-ha." The Tamilians got defensive and tried mocking them back with something equally dry. The idea was- if you're wrong, find about 20 people that are wrong with you, so together everyone can be right.
When even a country whose majority spoke broken English as a second language judged it, what would a country like the United States do? I thought terrified, when I received my student visa to study here.
Maybe I could find British friends, practice Colin- Firthiness again, and maybe all would be well.
I stepped on to American soil terrified of saying anything lest i be mocked and ridiculed. I met Indians and stuck to them. After all, I had learned to handle their comments all my life. 4 more years wouldn't kill me.
Around my second week there, I decided to stop converting currency and treat myself to a sandwich from a place called Subway.
The black lady at the counter ambled to the front and called me a "Weeowaa."
"Huh?" I said.
"weeee-o-waaa" she said, slower this time, like that made the world of difference.
"I...what?" I said, looking back at the long line of lunch-time customers waiting for me to get it.
"you wan wee brey or waa brey?" she said, shifting her weight to the other foot.
"I'm really sorry ..." I said.
She sighed and went into the kitchen.
When she came back, I let out a long 'Oh,' of realization. She held wheat bread on one hand, white bread on the other, cocked an eyebrow, and repeated- "wee or waa."
I walked back home with a sandwich that didn't turn out the way I wanted it to because 'weeowaa' was just the beginning in a long series of trick questions. I resolved to do something about the language barrier, and slowly started braving interaction in classes. My accent started out being the normally muddled British Indian, but slowly, very slowly, it began to change face without my knowledge. As much as I hated it, I began to sound like the Gujarati guy I worked for when I waited tables to pay for school. He chose certain words to twang with an accent, leaving the others in their half baked, very Gujarati state. It was ridiculous. So I decided to twang all my words.
I became a linguistic chameleon. I was all about twanging with Americans, I got all British with my friend from New Zealand, and reverted back to my desiness with Indians and Pakistanis. And all this was completely effortless. I never even tried. It was like I had all the versatility lodged in somewhere and had unleashed a monster.
Fortunately, I have not been faced with an Indian, an American and a Brit at the same time. Yet. Thank God.
One would say that I lacked the self esteem to stick to the way I spoke, to be confident enough to stand by my own accent's side. One would possibly be right. I don't know. But I do not think that mistakes in pronunciation should be accepted as a part of culture and defended. The truth was, I wasn't confident enough to stand by my English-Indianness. More than social acceptance, it was a barrier that somewhat diminished my expression. I couldn't pull off my favorite American phrases without sounding like Devang Patel saying 'vanna go for a ride'.
'Vanna go for a ride'....Most Indian languages have a 'V', but never a 'W'. And I have spoken some of these Indian languages all my life and as a result don't have a 'W' in my spoken vocabulary. I have tried feigning a 'W' with some success, but still dread the day when once again I will wear my favorite birthday present and someone will ask me an unnecessary question like "what's that you're wearing?", and make me struggle with "woven woolen vest"
I don't know why I do it at the end. Maybe I want to fit in. Maybe I think it's cool. Maybe it's wrong. But maybe I can find 20 of us that do it , so together we can be right.
~Aruna Rangarajan
But the more peer I interacted with, the more muddled the rest of my words got, because no two people said the same word the same way. I didnt think I could trust Deepa, or Treena (who inspired me to pronounce 'gave' like 'have'), my parents, or for that matter, my English teachers- who changed every year, forcing me to adapt to a new system of impressing each one.
English words toting three alternative pronunciations were doing party jigs in my head and American television did a whole lot of nothing to help. So no one understood why I danced with joy when Homer Simpson on Star TV started saying "Marge, Marge, ye dekho Bart ne kya kiya."
I went on to study at a convent in Abudhabi. Everything was formal and completely different, and so very structured. Soon my 'yeah' became a 'yes', my 'naah' became a 'no', and I became my worst nightmare. My vocabulary was a mixture of casual Hindi, more casual Tamil and extremely formal English. My brain was spilling out sentences composed of self inflicted verbal confusions and random cultural dialects. To add to it all, I took to saying 'Insha Allah' after sentences, for some reason preferred saying 'donkey' in Arabic.
On a fateful day in March, I was sent to a family friend's place for a kids lunch thing which consisted of a bunch of her son's friends and me. More to escape another of her son's morbid discussions about his developing biceps femoris, I sidled away to the bedroom to peruse their generous video library. And when I heard the words 'gym', 'punch' and 'lift' being used loudly in the same sentence from the living room, I decided I wasn't missing much, and popped 'Pride and
Prejudice'- the series featuring Colin Firth in the VCR. For three hours I was engrossed, amazed and captivated by the polite and perfectly desirable British. I went home dazed, and practiced saying 'Why-yes-that-would-be-perfectly-delightful-thank-you.' a jazillion times in the bathroom mirror. I had found my linguistic niche, it was British, and I was going to adopt it...Until I heard about Ramadurai.
Ramadurai was a good friend's cousin who had been in the United States for barely a semester before he decided to visit back home.
Within that semester he had begun to roll his 'r's, and say 'wanna', 'gotta' and 'gonna' to the general Indian public.
Sure enough, the boy was teased till he cracked and started crunching his 'r's again and saying 'want to', 'got to' and 'going to'. He had tried to adapt to the United States to clear some of his own linguistic confusions. And look where that got him.
It was a bit rich, I thought, that the same people that swore by Raybans, jumped into Lee jeans, and wore lime green muscle shirts that said 'Gap' on them would tease Ramadurai for trying to be American.
I had realized a long time ago that American movies are the devil's spawn. They're the pied-pipers of the world. Before people actually live in the US, they desperately want to live in the US. They want to live the life portrayed in romantic comedies, dress like the white protagonist, and talk like him or her, because thats what being cool and hip was all about. So markets started hosting products with Amercian brand names slapped onto them, and it worked. So why, was everyone after the poor kid with the artificial accent? Everyone adopts American cultural commercialism, and this was Ramadurai's way of doing it. But all that being said, I had no desire to dig myself a Ramadurai-esque grave in the popularity charts. So I ignored the Colin Firth in my head, and stopped wielding the British. .
The idea of going to college in India felt so liberating, because I thought no one cared about how you spoke English. Everyone had their linguistic flaws, so I assumed that no one cared about the other's pronunciation mistakes.
I had assumed too much.
Indian people noticed and mocked different Indian accents in English, without realizing that their own English was extremely accented too.
The Hindi speakers mocked Tamil or Malayalee English- "You said dezicion instead of decision, Ha-ha." The Tamilians got defensive and tried mocking them back with something equally dry. The idea was- if you're wrong, find about 20 people that are wrong with you, so together everyone can be right.
When even a country whose majority spoke broken English as a second language judged it, what would a country like the United States do? I thought terrified, when I received my student visa to study here.
Maybe I could find British friends, practice Colin- Firthiness again, and maybe all would be well.
I stepped on to American soil terrified of saying anything lest i be mocked and ridiculed. I met Indians and stuck to them. After all, I had learned to handle their comments all my life. 4 more years wouldn't kill me.
Around my second week there, I decided to stop converting currency and treat myself to a sandwich from a place called Subway.
The black lady at the counter ambled to the front and called me a "Weeowaa."
"Huh?" I said.
"weeee-o-waaa" she said, slower this time, like that made the world of difference.
"I...what?" I said, looking back at the long line of lunch-time customers waiting for me to get it.
"you wan wee brey or waa brey?" she said, shifting her weight to the other foot.
"I'm really sorry ..." I said.
She sighed and went into the kitchen.
When she came back, I let out a long 'Oh,' of realization. She held wheat bread on one hand, white bread on the other, cocked an eyebrow, and repeated- "wee or waa."
I walked back home with a sandwich that didn't turn out the way I wanted it to because 'weeowaa' was just the beginning in a long series of trick questions. I resolved to do something about the language barrier, and slowly started braving interaction in classes. My accent started out being the normally muddled British Indian, but slowly, very slowly, it began to change face without my knowledge. As much as I hated it, I began to sound like the Gujarati guy I worked for when I waited tables to pay for school. He chose certain words to twang with an accent, leaving the others in their half baked, very Gujarati state. It was ridiculous. So I decided to twang all my words.
I became a linguistic chameleon. I was all about twanging with Americans, I got all British with my friend from New Zealand, and reverted back to my desiness with Indians and Pakistanis. And all this was completely effortless. I never even tried. It was like I had all the versatility lodged in somewhere and had unleashed a monster.
Fortunately, I have not been faced with an Indian, an American and a Brit at the same time. Yet. Thank God.
One would say that I lacked the self esteem to stick to the way I spoke, to be confident enough to stand by my own accent's side. One would possibly be right. I don't know. But I do not think that mistakes in pronunciation should be accepted as a part of culture and defended. The truth was, I wasn't confident enough to stand by my English-Indianness. More than social acceptance, it was a barrier that somewhat diminished my expression. I couldn't pull off my favorite American phrases without sounding like Devang Patel saying 'vanna go for a ride'.
'Vanna go for a ride'....Most Indian languages have a 'V', but never a 'W'. And I have spoken some of these Indian languages all my life and as a result don't have a 'W' in my spoken vocabulary. I have tried feigning a 'W' with some success, but still dread the day when once again I will wear my favorite birthday present and someone will ask me an unnecessary question like "what's that you're wearing?", and make me struggle with "woven woolen vest"
I don't know why I do it at the end. Maybe I want to fit in. Maybe I think it's cool. Maybe it's wrong. But maybe I can find 20 of us that do it , so together we can be right.
~Aruna Rangarajan
yongfook.com
Japanese snack food reviews is what you'll find over at yongfook.com.Ottotto is a snack from days gone by which remains vaguely popular today with people like me who are attracted to its bright coloured packaging and simple retro-chic charm and also to the fact that these chips come in a box. Japan seems to have only 2 main types of snack food vessel, one being the ordinary pull-open foil packet, and the other being a box which like this one opens on one entire side and can be found as packaging to all sorts of things such as individually wrapped chocolates, tiny individually wrapped cakes and digestive biscuits (also, infuriatingly, individually wrapped).
Oh god I’ve done it.
I…the raging beast within…
GRAAARHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HULK HATE FACT THAT JAPAN INDIVIDUALLY WRAP EVERYTHING. HULK WANT EAT MANY BISCUITS. HULK DON’T WANT EAT ONE BISCUIT, UNWRAP ANOTHER, EAT BISCUIT, UNWRAP ANOTHER. HULK NOT SQUIRREL EATING FUCKING NUT. HULK HULK. WHEN HULK RULE JAPAN HULK SMASH THIS KIND OF EATING CULTURE WITH GIANT METAPHORICAL FIST.
Back to Ottotto. Featuring a bright blue and red whale on the front wearing a sailors hat, the snack itself comes in a variety of fish shapes and has chosen to create confusion amongst the consumer who still has a vague grip on reality by not being fish flavoured in any way whatsoever. Thus with its 9 shapes such as whale, cuttlefish, starfish and octopus coupled with its very lightly salted flavour, it really becomes a kind of pandemonium of non sequiturs, laughing silently at whoever is dumb enough to be eating it.
<yamalicous link>$100 Laptop Update
Nicholas Negroponte gave a talk on the $100 laptop he is making in Portland. PORTLAND! That's the same side of the country as me. I could have gone. Now that opportunity is lost for ever (i would have sat in the front, he would have seen me, I would have waved... sigh). For those that don't know Negroponte is a personal hero of mine. The author of Being Digital, head of the MIT Media Lab, and founder of Wired magazine,Negroponte is now taking on a project very similar to my senior studio project creating a $100 laptop for emerging markets. Makes me want to move to Boston and offer to make the interface with him. Interaction design for emerging markets for social responsibility. Sounds like my cup of tea. It's right up there with being the first industrial designer hired by the UN.The Story
Over twenty years ago, Steve Jobs gave Seymour Papert and Negroponte some computers - Apple IIs - and put they put them into a lab in Senegal. The lab wasn’t sustainable and didn’t survive, but a later lab in Costa Rica did, primarily because a local foundation was formed to support it. Nicholas sees a connection - if not a cause - between this success and the fact that Costa Rica’s main export is microchips.
Negroponte has been involved with a number of rural connectivity efforts in Kashmir, Cambodia and elsewhere. By giving laptop computers to Cambodian schools, Negroponte became enamored with the idea of having laptops in developing world schools… and homes, where they’re often the brightest light sources.
So Negroponte became engaged in the idea of building a $100 laptop, which he says is not so difficult to do. 50-60% of your laptop cost is marketing, distribution and profit. The remainder - a quarter of the total price - is the cost of the display. The remaining quarter is processor, disk and everything else. How do you get those costs down as low as possible? <read on>
Being Nicholas
MIT
Wikipedia
Wired Columns
Other People Involved
Joseph Jacobson - Directory of E-ink
Seymour Papert - Theorist in Child Learning
<world changing article>
<homepage>
<images of mockup>
<other projects>
Saturday, November 05, 2005
berkeley activism
As I walk the streets of Berkeley everyday I can't help noticing a lot of activism. So I've decided to make up some of my own.
- Drivers for Better Wayfinding in Northern California (DBWNC)
- Confused Muslims for Religious Tolerence (CMRT)
- Angry Pacifists
- Designers Against the Ugly
- I'm just Indignant about Stuff Society (IJISS)
The religious Policeman
So he hasn't been locked up after all.
The religious policeman is a blog in true guerilla style. From somewhere in Saudi Arabia, using a satalite uplink, lies a rare insight into Saudi society. In a world where free speech can be synonymous with being locked up, the religious Policeman disappeared for a while, but now is back in full force. It's a must read for anyone looking for a real internal critique of the K. S. of A.
<burka blog>
Thursday, November 03, 2005
Flight Patterns
Air traffic as seen by the FAA.
The following flight pattern visualizations are the result of experiments leading to the project Celestial Mechanics by Scott Hessels and Gabriel Dunne. FAA data was parsed and plotted using the Processing programming environment. The frames were composited with Adobe After Effects and/or Maya and the final piece was highlighted at SIGGRAPH 2005 in the NVIDIA Immersive Dome Experience.
Wednesday, November 02, 2005
Roadtrippin
I finally uploaded my road trip photographs on flickr. There is a lot of cloud pictures, but then again with clouds like these I couldn't help myself. Maybe if someone is kind enough to 'gift' me a flickr pro account i can make a whole new set with just sky (ehem ehem hint hint nudge nudge). Keep in mind though, photography while driving at sixty-five isn't the most precise or safe activities.
<enjoi>
Momma T in Da House
We the unwilling,
led by the unknowing,
are doing the impossible
for the ungrateful.
We have done so much for so long with so little
We are now qualified to do anything with nothing
- Mother Teresa
led by the unknowing,
are doing the impossible
for the ungrateful.
We have done so much for so long with so little
We are now qualified to do anything with nothing
- Mother Teresa
Tuesday, November 01, 2005
Coke and the World
some photographs I took at the coke museum back in Atlanta. Kinda funny and creepy at the same time.
computerless
So I got a iPOD video for my birthday... and this is what it did to my computer. Thank god my moleskin still turns on. Siiiigh.... took me hours to get it working again and she's still not feeling well.
Nationless Rule #43 : Don't ever let technology drag you down with it.
Computers have sucidical personalities. Don't expect them to outlive you.
Never depend on anything not to break, get lost, or stolen. Being nationless means being able to draw on napkins with ketchup if you have to. If put inside a locked empty room with white walls, draw with your mind (or get the gaurd to smuggle you a crayon). ^_^
Monday, October 31, 2005
Einstien's was Nationless
"My passionate sense of social justice and social responsibility has always contrasted oddly with my pronounced lack of need for direct contact with other human beings and human communities. I am truly a 'lone traveler' and have never belonged to my country, my home, my friends, or even my immediate family, with my whole heart; in the face of all these ties, I have never lost a sense of distance and a need for solitude..."
~ Albert Einstien
<Einstien's Essay on Life>
~ Albert Einstien
<Einstien's Essay on Life>
Friday, October 28, 2005
Inaction is a weapon of mass destruction
Whether long range weapon or suicide bomber
Wicked mind is a weapon of mass destruction
Whether you're soar away sun or BBC 1
Misinformation is a weapon of mass destruc
You could a Caucasian or a poor Asian
Racism is a weapon of mass destruction
Whether inflation or globalization
Fear is a weapon of mass destruction
My dad came into my room holding his hat
I knew he was leaving,
he sat on my bed told me some facts, son.
I have a duty, calling on me
You and your sister be brave my little soldier
And don't forget all I told ya
Your the mister of the house now remember this
And when you wake up in the morning give ya momma a kiss
Then I had to say goodbye
In the morning woke momma with a kiss on each eyelid,
Even though I'm only a kid
Certain things can't be hid
Momma grabbed me
Held me like I was made of gold
But left her inner stories untold
I said, momma it will be alright
When daddy comes home, tonight
[CHORUS]
Whether long range weapon or suicide bomber
Wicked mind is a weapon of mass destruction
Whether you're soar away sun or BBC 1
Misinformation is a weapon of mass destruc
You could a Caucasian or a poor Asian
Racism is a weapon of mass destruction
Whether inflation or globalization
Fear is a weapon of mass destruction
Whether Halliburton or Enron or anyone
Greed is a weapon of mass destruction
We need to find courage, overcome
Inaction is a weapon of mass destruction
Inaction is a weapon of mass destruction
Inaction is a weapon of mass destruction
The skin under my chin
is exploding, again.
I'm getting stress from some other children.
I'm holding it in, we taking sides, like a politian
an if I get friction we get to fightin.
I defend my dad he's the best of all men
an whatever he's doin he's doin the right thing.
Its frightenin but it makes me mad, why do all
of these people seem to hate my dad?
an if that ain't enough, now I've got these spots.
I go to sleep every night with my stomach in knots.
and whats more I can hear Mama next door
explore the radio for reports of war.
and all we ever seem to do is hide the tears,
seems Daddy been gone for years.
But he was right, now I'm geared up for the fight
an he would be proud of me if Daddy came home tonight.
[CHORUS]
My story stops here, lets be clear
This scenario is happening everywhere
And you ain't going to nirvana or farvana
You're coming right back here to live out your karma
With even more drama than previously, seriously
Just how many centuries have we been
waiting for someone else to make us free
And we refuse to see
That people overseas suffer just like we
Bad leadership and ego's unfettered and free
Who feed on the people they're supposed to lead
I don't need good people to pray and wait
For the lord to make it all straight
There's only now, do it right.
Cos I don't want your daddy, leaving home tonight
Wicked mind is a weapon of mass destruction
Whether you're soar away sun or BBC 1
Misinformation is a weapon of mass destruc
You could a Caucasian or a poor Asian
Racism is a weapon of mass destruction
Whether inflation or globalization
Fear is a weapon of mass destruction
My dad came into my room holding his hat
I knew he was leaving,
he sat on my bed told me some facts, son.
I have a duty, calling on me
You and your sister be brave my little soldier
And don't forget all I told ya
Your the mister of the house now remember this
And when you wake up in the morning give ya momma a kiss
Then I had to say goodbye
In the morning woke momma with a kiss on each eyelid,
Even though I'm only a kid
Certain things can't be hid
Momma grabbed me
Held me like I was made of gold
But left her inner stories untold
I said, momma it will be alright
When daddy comes home, tonight
[CHORUS]
Whether long range weapon or suicide bomber
Wicked mind is a weapon of mass destruction
Whether you're soar away sun or BBC 1
Misinformation is a weapon of mass destruc
You could a Caucasian or a poor Asian
Racism is a weapon of mass destruction
Whether inflation or globalization
Fear is a weapon of mass destruction
Whether Halliburton or Enron or anyone
Greed is a weapon of mass destruction
We need to find courage, overcome
Inaction is a weapon of mass destruction
Inaction is a weapon of mass destruction
Inaction is a weapon of mass destruction
The skin under my chin
is exploding, again.
I'm getting stress from some other children.
I'm holding it in, we taking sides, like a politian
an if I get friction we get to fightin.
I defend my dad he's the best of all men
an whatever he's doin he's doin the right thing.
Its frightenin but it makes me mad, why do all
of these people seem to hate my dad?
an if that ain't enough, now I've got these spots.
I go to sleep every night with my stomach in knots.
and whats more I can hear Mama next door
explore the radio for reports of war.
and all we ever seem to do is hide the tears,
seems Daddy been gone for years.
But he was right, now I'm geared up for the fight
an he would be proud of me if Daddy came home tonight.
[CHORUS]
My story stops here, lets be clear
This scenario is happening everywhere
And you ain't going to nirvana or farvana
You're coming right back here to live out your karma
With even more drama than previously, seriously
Just how many centuries have we been
waiting for someone else to make us free
And we refuse to see
That people overseas suffer just like we
Bad leadership and ego's unfettered and free
Who feed on the people they're supposed to lead
I don't need good people to pray and wait
For the lord to make it all straight
There's only now, do it right.
Cos I don't want your daddy, leaving home tonight
~ 'Mass Destruction' by Faithless
<the video>
Thursday, October 27, 2005
InterestMap, A Cultural Fabric of Identities & Interests
Over recent years, social network communities (e.g. inter alia, friendster, contact lists, weblog communities, newsgroups) have been steadily building up in the online world. There is now sufficient critical mass of such infrastructure to postulate things about identity and the Self, as reflected in the social fabric of the online world.
How might we sense identity from the online social fabric? Semiotician Jacques Lacan has argued that words and concepts carry meaning primarily by what they signify. Roland Barthes proposed that the particular mappings between signifier and signified originate in cultural systems of semiology. Such cultural systems of signs have grown in importance as mass consumption has replaced subjective culture as the dominant contemporary cultural paradigm. Because the signifying value of possessions associated with the Self serves an important social function in signalling identity, it is possible to view identity and the Self as a collection of consumption decisions (cf. Social Constructionist Theory of Identity).
InterestMap mines online social network communities to create a rich influence network of interests and subcultures. Some of the interests represented in the network are, inter alia, television and films, foods, geographies, music, sports, hobbies, activities, objects, and people. The strength of connections between interests are learned from the digestion of on the order of one hundred thousand user profiles from online social networks. For example, a person who likes X may also mention Y as an interest on her homepage. Identity and tastes emerge as patterns of intersection on InterestMap.
by Hugo Lui and Pattie Maes
fourteen years
So I turned twenty-five the other day and the sudden realization came to me that I only have five more years left to take over the world. No, wait, you don’t understand. I’ve been trying since I was eleven and now time is really running out. Cause, frankly, if you don’t achieve world domination by thirty you might as well give up. In fact, right about now I’m getting pretty desperate. I’d even settle for partial world domination. Perhaps even a single continent would suffice.
You see, its not that I’m being arrogant or anything. It’s a matter of childhood dreams. When I was young I always imagined being something truly exceptional at a global level. It seemed clear that I deserved world recognition and all I had to do was do something amazing to start people noticing. So the evident thing to do was to get into the Guinness Book of World Records. Many an evening was filled trying to stuff as many gobstoppers in my mouth as possible, or standing on my head for hours (or minutes – logic says minutes but my memory says hours). But I never did becoming a ninja, or a robot. No radioactive spiders ever bit me. My great novel remained unspellchecked and unfinished (I had a tendency, even then, to make up words and write without looking at the screen). But I knew, as I know now, all these things were merely setbacks. My Wiley E. Coyote mind still kept the heart of the idea beating. The roadrunner could be, nay would be, caught. Inside the eleven year old inside me stands still in a lit doorway all ashadowed. One day… One day my lovelies. All your bases shall be mine.
~ riaz
plotting...
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
Inside the British Indian Mind
Faulty Multi-Culturalism
As I entered the Barbershop at Brudenell Road at Headingley on a quiet Sunday morning, the last thing I wanted was anything or anyone to disturb my piece of mind. Things went as per plan and my hairdresser was about to finish his job when a group of young men entered the shop wanting to get done what I was just about to finish. My barber was chatting nineteen to the dozen with me and I was constantly reminding him that I didn’t have much to say as I was only three months old in England. The conversation revolved around his curiosity to know if I was enjoying my stay in the UK. <read on...>
- submitted by Nirali
As I entered the Barbershop at Brudenell Road at Headingley on a quiet Sunday morning, the last thing I wanted was anything or anyone to disturb my piece of mind. Things went as per plan and my hairdresser was about to finish his job when a group of young men entered the shop wanting to get done what I was just about to finish. My barber was chatting nineteen to the dozen with me and I was constantly reminding him that I didn’t have much to say as I was only three months old in England. The conversation revolved around his curiosity to know if I was enjoying my stay in the UK. <read on...>
- submitted by Nirali
Chris Jordan
Chris Jordan likes to take photographs of garbage dumps.
It often ends up looking like art though. ; )
<dirty link>
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Post Secret
PostSecret is an ongoing community art project where people mail-in their secrets anonymously on one side of a homemade postcard.
Chowk Attack
Our very own miss Aruna Rangarajan has published something over at chowk.
<go over and check it out>
~r
<go over and check it out>
~r
Belonging
Someone not to long ago asked me to define my sense of belonging. In that case, perhaps, purely in regard to why I didn’t belong to them. But regardless it is a subject I often end up thinking about. So here are some thoughts.
It is my belief now (after thinking and evolving this in my head for a number of years) that belonging can be thought of in two different ways. Both of which are slightly more complicated that the simple nationalistic model.
The first, less complicated one, is that you belong where family is. Family, of course, extending beyond your immediate family to a closely nit set of friends. Essentially, people that are going to look out for you no matter what happens. People with whom it doesn’t matter how much you mess up. They will still be there and be involved. They may not like you much, or make your life any easier. But they will always be there. Home is a fortress of people to protect you and give you solace from the world outside. You belong to the area around your family protecting that fortress of core people inside.
The second idea of belonging I have is the concept that the change or impact you have on a particular culture makes you part of that culture and societies structure. Becoming part of a culture is a direct result of the effect you have on that culture. Conversely, someone who has no effect on a culture, that they are part of, do not, in perspective of the culture, really exist.
My last thought has to do with ‘wandering’ between these different forms of belonging, societies, cultures and subcultures. I think that it is not only acceptable but desirable because then you become a bridge or a beckon. Both very important faces for any society to have.
InstaOffice
I love that $2.35 and a cup of coffee and I have an instant office. Wireless access and a semi-comfortable chair and it’s so much better than any cubicle, regardless of how many cute plush animals you nail to the soft cushiony walls. Even better, my ever roaming office sprouts around wherever and whenever I need it in various different locations. Email, Instant Message and a couple of equally caffeinated friends and we have a team, a network, and a filing system.
It’s not the paperless office, or the home office that that I really desire. After all, the immediacy provided by paper is invaluable, and I really like the idea of having a distinction between work time and home time. I desire an ever roaming, always connected, coffee driven (or lemonade $1.90) office that lets me access and do work anywhere and anytime I desire.
Imagine, if you will, a chain of coffee shops where you can walk in twenty-two hours a day (two hours to clean up and restart – forced nap time for the workers). You walk inside and pick up some sheets from a stack of paper and a pen from the donated library area. You also pick up a copy of Ultimate Style : Rules to Writing someone left behind. You then order a double shot café mocha and sit down on your small red desk. The table has more than enough plug points and a hook underneath it to hang your bag. From there you can get print outs at the counter or you can photocopies made. You can take phone calls on your cell phone. Drop my mail at the mailbox outside when you are about to leave. You can have all the amenities that help you work and maybe more. A critique wall where you can get a critical analysis of your work. A discussion sofa where you can absorb and share new thoughts and ideas.
Then again, perhaps a simple quiet coffee shop, a cup of mint tea, classical music, strangers sitting next to me and friends across is enough. Much like this place right here, right now.
Monday, October 24, 2005
moving troubles...
some of you may have noticed (all 3 of you infact)... that nationless has been kinda sick lately. I think its something Ragav gave to the site (dirty ragsboy). But regardless, its all well now. More streamlined and sexier. Play responsibly kids. ;)
~riaz
~riaz
It's called football silly
Can soccer save the world?
This document looks into the cross-cultural meaning soccer holds, it's value above and beyond sportsmanship, and how it affects people.
My first memories of the game are of the startling awakenings I experienced due to my mother's screams coming from the other room: a missed opportunity for a goal. Her pleas to the television were so full of frustration and grief, it seemed impossible for me to resist the drama unfolding on the field, even if it was just on TV.
What is it about soccer that can produce such excitement and delight around the world? Soccer is often referred to as the world's game because of its popularity among so many nations. It has also been known as the people's game for its popularity among the working class and poor. It seems that the more oppressed a a country, the more soccer seems to matter. Soccer means so much to people, for many the possibility of a better life. For others, a chance to forget about their problems and suffering, if only for just a second.
<pdf document>
This document looks into the cross-cultural meaning soccer holds, it's value above and beyond sportsmanship, and how it affects people.
My first memories of the game are of the startling awakenings I experienced due to my mother's screams coming from the other room: a missed opportunity for a goal. Her pleas to the television were so full of frustration and grief, it seemed impossible for me to resist the drama unfolding on the field, even if it was just on TV.
What is it about soccer that can produce such excitement and delight around the world? Soccer is often referred to as the world's game because of its popularity among so many nations. It has also been known as the people's game for its popularity among the working class and poor. It seems that the more oppressed a a country, the more soccer seems to matter. Soccer means so much to people, for many the possibility of a better life. For others, a chance to forget about their problems and suffering, if only for just a second.
<pdf document>
Thursday, October 20, 2005
Curry Rock
For many Indians, getting a visa is a dream come true. But living and working in the US can be harder than expected and a group of Indian-born engineers has put the H-1B experience to music.
It all started, as these things often do, at a party. It was a house-warming party in the Washington DC area to be precise.
An Indian computer engineer with a yen for Jethro Tull was throwing the shindig. Among the guests were a couple of other Indian hi-tech workers with musical backgrounds.
Wednesday, October 05, 2005
when driving coast to coast....
... you see a lot of this
and sometimes some of this...
But mostly a lot of this...
..... its like the sky is trying to entertain
..... its like the sky is trying to entertain
Tuesday, October 04, 2005
Design Continuum and MIT Media Lab -- $100 Laptop
Massachusetts based multidisciplinary design consultancy Design Continuum in conjunction with the Massachusetts Institute of Technology Media Lab present the design and configuration of the $100 laptop intended to revolutionize education for children all over the world. Regardless of national wealth, a goal has been set to reach as many children worldwide, distributing the laptops just like textbooks. In order to prevent the laptops from being hoarded, stolen, or sold in poor countries, the distribution is planned to be well organized and extremely wide-spread with the design being so distinctive that it would be easily spotted in the wrong hands.
These remarkably light, slim and portable laptops are powered by an AC adapter that also acts as a carrying strap. When electricity is not available, an integrated hand crank provides sufficient energy to power the machine. The laptops are extremely durable with a tough rubber outer casing, expected to withstand a plethora of unfavorable conditions. The proposed devices will be 500MHz, 1 GB, 1 Megapixel and Linux-based with a generous full-color screen, plentiful USB ports and WiFi and phone capabilities. The laptop is extremely flexible thanks to a rotating hinge that enables usage as a normal laptop, writing pad, drawing tablet, and presentation screen. The $100 laptops are projected to ship by the end of 2006 or early 2007.
<link>
Wednesday, September 28, 2005
Tin Tin Babu
The exploits of the cartoon character, Belgian boy-reporter Tintin, have delighted people the world over for 75 years now.
And Tintin comic books and DVDs in English have been imported and sold in India for many years.
But now for the first time, DVDs and Video CDs (VCDs) of "Adventures of Tintin" have been launched in Hindi too.
The comic character's enduring charm is not the only reason why Tintin has learnt Hindi.
Saibal Chatterjee, a media critic, says the move is driven by pure commercial sense.
"When you do something in English, you're only reaching out to a certain number of people, a certain percentage of the audience," he says.
"That is why most English programmes today are dubbed, even Hollywood films are dubbed into Indian languages.
"When you translate Tintin into local languages, you're only expanding the base of consumers," he says.
<read on>
Tuesday, September 27, 2005
Jinnah
"You are free, you are free to go to your temples, you are free to go to your mosques or to any other place of worship in this state of Pakistan. You may belong to any religion or caste or creed that has nothing to do with the (fundamental principle that we are all citizens and equal citizens) of the State."
-- M. A. Jinnah
-- M. A. Jinnah
Silicon Valley Stories
Silicon Valley USA tells the stories of the area in a year when the place went through its own agony, the bursting of the dot-com bubble. Thousands lost their jobs. "But", says Peter Day, "It's amazing how the dot com bust has not shattered the confidence of so many of the people who've been severely dented by it. They're now looking for the next technology revolution..and their own chance to rebuild their fortunes."
And, almost everywhere, an extraordinary confidence...even from the man who's been living rough for five years. He's not just out of work : he's an "advocate for the homeless" who stands for Palo Alto council in the local elections.
<stories>
And, almost everywhere, an extraordinary confidence...even from the man who's been living rough for five years. He's not just out of work : he's an "advocate for the homeless" who stands for Palo Alto council in the local elections.
<stories>
Corporate Ethics
But mass production is going to become a mug's game in the 21st century, as the rise of India and China reduces much production in the west to zero profitability.
It is time for a new sort of capitalism; Western companies will have to find ways of reinventing themselves as they have never had to before.
They will have to take their customers more seriously than they have ever dreamed possible.
And their customers are going to become much more demanding, and want much more information.
<read on>
Sunday, September 25, 2005
Who's in charge of this mess anyways?
A great collection of articles and audio files over at the beeb. The range from something as odd as the relationship between a dominatrix and her charge to a critique on the power and influence the united nations has on the world.
<please be checking>
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