Cry. Heal. Repeat.

I am not a parent. I am not an American. I am not a shooter. I'm simply a person across several time zones from Connecticut right now who witnessed what the world did. A massacre. Brutality. Let's face the facts. It happens all the time in many countries. On a daily basis. It will happen again. Now turn around and go get a cup of tea, sigh, cry a little, feel better, have a second cup of tea and go shopping for tonight's dinner. The next time, you'll be the one in the supermarket being shot at, with that bottle of wine dripping on the floor, mixing with your own blood. Because it will happen. It's not an if. It's a when. 

Through the entire tragedy of Sandy Hook, there are three clear things that have surfaced and I'm stating them in absolute terms, with no exceptions, zero apology for profanity or emphasis and plenty of evidence. 

1) The NRA are fucking criminal bastards. 

2) This is not a mental health issue; it's a gun availability issue.

3) You are already too fucking late. 

It's no longer a question of debate; in fact it hasn't been one for years. Death and taxes don't include the phrase death by murder. When you ensure, as a nation, that bullets and candy are available less than a mile apart, you're ensuring a million Virginia Techs, a million Sandy Hooks and the inevitable destruction of an actual population who will one day see no value in having a child. This isn't just about the USA being lackadaisical, nay, criminally stupid in its gun control legislation and clearly President Obama, while shedding a tear on international television still didn't have the gumption to come prepared with actionable words. Like everything else, it's about the profitability of keeping it so. Some other White House idiot said today isn't the time to discuss policy. That's right you moron. It isn't. That time has long since passed you by. The time to grieve isn't mutually exclusive to the time for action, to redress, to rectify, to change. Bloomberg, for all his nonsense, was right when he said 'This must end today.' 

But will it? America is so fond of telling the world what to do and how to do it. Doesn't look so easy now, does it? A friend of mine, an American, said today: shame, shame, shame on my country. I'd go a step further. Shame, shame, shame on all human beings. Someone should have stopped at monkeys. 

The Colour of Money

In the movie 'The Color of Money' Paul Newman's character, Eddie Felson has a great line. 'It's even but it ain't settled. Let's settle it.' 

India needs a bit of Paul Newman's chutzpah. As a common person on the street- well, not so common that I'm spitting anywhere- I'm a little intrigued and a little confused. Complex economic theories are all fine study material on most days but when there's a country of over 2 billion people who count among the world's youngest work force, there are bound to be a few questions under the banner of 'This just doesn't make sense to us!' 

Fact: India's current GDP has expanded 5.3% in the first quarter of 2012. Expanded. 

Confusion: Fitch downgrades India from stable to negative.

Common Man: Does that mean I'm doing well or am I being bollocked? 

Fact: India's total debt currently stands at  $316.9 billion. 

Confusion: Who do we owe so much money to? The World Bank? Other countries? 

Common Man: How am I going to end up paying for this? And when? 

Fact: India gives $ 10 billion in aid to the Eurozone

Confusion: Where is this money coming from? Don't we need it for ourselves? 

Common Man: Why am I helping people when I myself don't have enough to eat? 

The latest headlines have raised not just money for the ailing Eurozone (I can hear my Czech friends saying gleefully: we told you it was a bad bad idea!) but also many questions in the minds of the average Indian who prays to a thousand unanswering gods before heading off to work. 

Did my country just loan 10 billion dollars to people who enjoy a better lifestyle on average than we do? 

Did my country ask my permission to distribute my money to people who don't exactly treat me with respect when I visit them? 

Does anyone wonder why it still costs 70 rupees to purchase 1 euro? Or 56 rupees to purchase 1 US dollar? Or 88 rupees to purchase 1 British pound?

Does anyone question why it takes so much money and time for Indians to obtain visas to all these countries that claim they have no money and need ours? 

If they have no money and we have plenty, how come we're still the developing world and they're the developed world? Do they have the money to turn on all the lights they've strung up on every street? 

I see, hear, read and smell all these questions on every Indian's lips, whether he's a janitor at an airport or a fat corporate cat planning his next acquisition and most especially on the lips of all those Indians in between - the me and you and all our friends who just don't understand why it still isn't settled yet.

The Miseducation of Miss Kamal

Yes I've attended colleges and universities and have some sheets of papers that have some names of degrees printed on them, gathering dust somewhere in some cupboard that defies a kingdom of termites out of sheer fear of my mother.

But I'm not talking about that education. I'm talking about my miseducation. The one that I could have almost missed. The one that's cleverly hidden away until we look in the unlikeliest of places. It's really like finding a lion in a teacup.

Miseducation Number 1.

Theatre. Had I not been involved with it since an early age, I wouldn't have understood words the way I continue to. I would have been literate but not truly educated. Thank you script, stage, sound, lights and costume. You have been my toys and my weapons and I owe you much.

Miseducation Number 2.

Manooghi Hi. Music is looked upon as entertainment. As a hobby. As a passion. Rarely a job. Never a miseducation. But this band is miseducation at its best. It seduced me, in the last few years to re-examine old theories, concepts, even distorted words, corrupted ideas, birthed sound with a screech that left me cross-eyed between desire and disgust. This band of crazy, wonderful, miraculous, hopeful losers, taught me things about my own job, my beliefs and then rattled every part of my brain into unlearning it. I don't know how and why they do it and how the hell they find the strength and drive that allows them not just to be fabulous musicians but to really educate, teach, impart and colour the world they touch, in the most brilliant paroxysms of sound and word. Thank you Mehnaz, Todd, Ava, Hollis, Jimmy, Jarrod, Kent. You are the actual spelling of Hope and Joy.

Miseducation Number 3.

Teaching India. From a tiny volunteering teaching job to being a guest lecturer at the National Institute of Fashion Technology in Hyderabad, teaching is the biggest miseducation of all. We know nothing is a phrase that pops out in particular. The youth, the biggest know-it-all group in the world is a hungry predator and if you're not practising the kill, they'll chew you up and spit you out with their thousands of questions and why nots. I owe them all a debt of gratitude for re-educating me about education and teaching and the courage, discipline and fun that are prerequisites. Degrees are for sale. Those are not. Thank you, Nishrin and all the students. Even the ones who dozed in class or texted behind a book. Yup, I knew. I just need to teach better.

Miseducation Number 4.

Kristin Pedroja. Yes, that's right. One person. When we met. 2003. Number of times we've met since then. Zero. Number of times we've collaborated on ideas, taught, critiqued, cajoled, helped, exposed, trashed, praised and assisted in nothing less than a PhD in 'The Thankless Pains Of Writing.' 987,654,321. A tiny woman who's so tall, it's hard for me to imagine not walking with that shadow by my side as I toil over each sentence, punctuation and character. She is proof that no publisher, no literary agent, no appointed editor can do for your writing what a writer who really loves to write, read and selflessly share her brain, can. Thank you, Kristin. You're really one of my Tall Women.

And thus continues the Miseducation of Miss Kamal for which she's truly grateful. These are not paper degrees nor are they merit badges. They are simply what allow me to find and refine my unique expression. And then try to find a word that's not as un-unique as unique.

Like or Unlike

This is the first posting in 2012 and it's strange that I'd opt for a topic related to technology rather than the things I love - books, art, music. But I observe that the things I love are somewhat reluctant hostages to technology in many ways and so I find myself unable to live in a world where the two are separated. Coming from a generation that was truly transitionary - we went from the rotary dial telephone to the mobile communication devices we use today- it's been a wild ride from simplicity to sleek sophistication. In other words, user friendly gadgets designed to make our lives easier and faster. 

Frankly I'm a bit of a luddite and a bit lost. I know how to use a telephone, a television and a computer. I know the various brand names and the various formats and the various uses. I know I know I know. Do I care? I apparently don't. Sure, this blog wouldn't be happening if someone named Gates or Wozniak or Jobs hadn't done what they did and I'm probably grateful to them in some sort of begrudging way. But did they put the thoughts into my head? I'd like to shout out a resounding NO. We've learned to do everything faster and in more colours than we can pronounce, but haven't learnt how to be more creative, more thoughtful, more patient, more kind or more responsible. We've just learned how to spin the wheels faster and change them every nine and a half days. Upgrades we call them. But we upgrade things. Not ourselves. Updates we call them. But we update things, Not our deeds. 

I'm not against technology, certainly. In fact, I do embrace it. I like my fancy new phone and my fancy new iPad and what have you. I like I like I like. I even like the Like button. But I keep circling back to the same thought in my uncomputerised brain. What about me? What about you? What about the people I interact with or hate or love? What about them? There seems to be an inverse ratio between technological upgradation and human upgradation. The more buttons we play with, the less human we seem to become. 

In the last year, there have been incredible upheavals of man and nature. The humanity of man has seen a sharp and direct drop just as technological advancement has reached new peaks. Isn't there something wrong with this picture? I would rather have one less version of Apple or BlackBerry or Android or whatever and one more version of charity, kindness, justice and peace. Would you?

The race towards the smallest chip, the thinnest computer, the fastest car and the biggest building is unstoppable. But in the midst of all this demonic speed, our humanity is still wrapped somewhere around the cord of the rotary dial telephone. 

Q & A

Since May, an odd number of questions have surfaced again, in the international context as well as the Indian one. They're not all related but perhaps they are and somehow we- the hoi polloi, the great unwashed, the plebeians- have failed to hone in on the connection. Perhaps, because we're unaware of the intricacy it takes for a foraging eagle to swoop under the surface of murky waters and snatch the fish. 

There are a few questions that bear thinking about.


1) Why is Europe bankrupt and continues to be so? Do they really have less money so they're forced to eat stale food? Or does it just look like the governments are shuffling around the money from table to table and don't actually understand the simple formula of Earn 10 quid, Spend 8  quid, Save 2 quid in the bank (or under the mattress really, these days)
Answer: Umm, yes, they are rather broke. But not that broke that they can't have fancy meetings in Switzerland and Belgium over cases of Cristal to talk about how broke they are. And no, they can't spend 8 quid because it takes 10 quid to make 10 quid. Rubbish old-fashioned theory really.

2) Why are the Asian economies flourishing? Or are they really? Don't they have beggars and dirt and injustice and homelessness anymore?
Answer: The GNP and GDP are up. The complicated figures on complicated charts are showing upward trends. The markets and media are all terribly excited and talk all at once. The postman has a BlackBerry. But the beggars on the street, the dowry deaths and the squalor that causes fatal malaria, are still there to remind us that we're in Asia.

3) Why is the man, who's been in jail after the deadly 2008 terror attacks in Bombay, still in jail? Why isn't he dead? How much more evidence do you need?
Answer: Umm, yeah, it's sub-judice. The law takes its course. Meanwhile, you can keep paying the government taxes to build an ultimate security prison for this chap, while he laughs his head off at India.

4) Why is Rupert Murdoch suddenly a villain? What's the big deal about phone-hacking and why did News of the World have to shut down?
Answer: Rupert Murdoch is evil, of course. Phone hacking is wrong, of course. The media is overstepping its limits and must pay of course; hence the closure of NOTW and the arrest of Rebekah Brooks. Everything that isn't done with the express or implied permission of a holier-than-thou government is wrong and illegal. Got it?

5) And what happened to the intelligence machinery in Bombay? Why were there three bomb blasts across the city again in July 2011?
Answer: That's not an intelligence failure, really. More like absence. More like complacency. More like internal corruption. More like a cancer that's metastasized. Don't worry, we've got listless, overworked coppers patrolling random streets and even though they look completely inept at fighting crime, you should feel reassured.

6) Is all the crime and misery in the world inter-connected somehow?
Answer: Yup. When you join the dots, let me know what it looks like.

And now, I'm going to that grand bastion of all crimes, misdemeanours and torts. The supermarket.

The Devil is Dead

Or is he? I must confess the title of this blog comes from my cousin who aptly captured what we all surely feel upon hearing of the death of Bin Laden. This should indeed be a day of rejoicing. Except that I have a small problem. I usually have troubling believing governments. Any government. Especially one that blatantly lied about so many things and so many wars. It was wonderful to watch Obama as he proudly declared that Osama bin Laden had been captured. I experienced a small hiccup when I heard he was 'buried at sea.' Sleeping with the fishes? Really? I wondered idly, at first, then rather vehemently, why this man, hated by one and all, hailed as the Unholy Grail of all captures, would be buried without any of us, the common public, being given a chance to rejoice at the fall of Lucifer. I remember Saddam's capture. His humiliation and his death. Every detail captured on camera for posterity. A dance of victory by the Allies so to speak. And here we are. An enemy that shook the world. It's just announced to us, he's dead. Captured in a military compound in Pakistan. Dead. Buried at sea. Why weren't we given the satisfaction of seeing the remains? Of blood and gore which for once would be a great feeling of victory to watch? To perhaps test for DNA? You can call this a conspiracy theory if you like but can you state with certainty, that you absolutely believe he's dead? Should I believe a government that has a fantastic history of lying? And Pakistan has been strangely quiet. Are they embarrassed? Worried that now the world will surely know they harbour terrorists like old women hoard plastic bags? I see no proud statements coming forth from them, about how they helped the US intelligence forces to capture the modern day Satan.

I mean it IS 2011. It IS a modern age with technology and ability and supercommunication. Really, was it that hard to perhaps document a little proof that he really is dead and that the brave, heroic men who brought him to his final end have done the world the biggest favour since the man who photographed Hitler's remains?

Just asking, you know.

Ten Similarities between London and Bombay

There are probably more than ten similarities but these are the ones I find excruciatingly funny and probably ironic and no, you can't argue with me about it. 

1) Everyone has a bloody pet name. Mostly an irritating one that's not remotely connected to their real name. And since it seems there are more Asians on the streets of London than white folk, statistically speaking, you know I'm right

2) The weather sucks. For various reasons but suck it does, at such a level that one immediately wants to one's their knickers and run up and down the street exclaiming 'it's the end of the world!'

3) Curry pervades. It doesn't matter what colour or intensity or flavour. Curry is omnipresent, whether at an Indian store or a fancy restaurant or the stain on your shirt you're trying to hide. Curry curry, everywhere. And no, I do not care for it. 

4) Politicians will make long speeches, clever speeches, democratic speeches and then do bugger all about it while the common man lights candles and marches about for whatever latest cause there is.

5) The much-touted heart of either country has very little heart and a very troubled soul and you will be pickpocketed at the most inconvenient time. 

6) There is always some 'breaking news' that often ends up being about someone's skirt blowing in the wind a la Marilyn Monroe or some really rich bastard who inaugurates yet another Louis Vuitton store. 

7) Everybody has a scheme. Get rich, get laid, get elected, get back, get out, get more, get get get. No giving. You, with the self-righteous conscience, shut up. 

8) Everyone's looking over their shoulder. Whether it's a fundamentalist mob, teenage punks, rapists, terrorists or spycams, people carry their fears around like a bad odour. 

9)  Bankers, lawyers and doctors are always rich and always out to get richer at your expense. Even the good ones. 

10) Everyone dreams of their 15 minutes of fame and a lot of them achieve it by being nothing but famous for being famous. And people are still fascinated by the ultimate fame- the monarchy.

I know this should make me smile and feel more at home in either city and it does, in many ways. It just makes me realise rather sharply that no matter what, it's not people who shape a city. It's a city that shapes people.