Burning Bright?

(Taking the cue from Shom's post)



One of the (many) sobering things about this is, fifteen or even ten years ago such a statistic would have sent a chill up my spine; today, it almost comes across as just another piece of bad news.

Then, I would struggle with basic maths but could name practically each and every one of the designated Project Tiger Reserves. I would reel off "40,000 at the turn of the century, only 1800 in 1972, 4000 today", and not always be met with looks of recognition. I'd stay up late and trade the homework completion hour for watching Land of the Tiger on the BBC (the episodes of which are available online - do watch), or devouring Nirmal Ghosh's Jungle Life of India. There was much inspiration to found in the work of people like Billy Arjan Singh, Valmik Thapar, and Ullas Karanth - I missed a day of school once to attend a seminar conducted by Dr.Karanth. Where has the passion gone?

Several among us might have genuinely cared when we were young (and privileged?) enough to do so. The rat race soon beckoned, and we threw in our respective lots; we found a myriad of reasons to not head off the beaten track, and work towards landing a position from which we might be able to make a difference. Perhaps, as far as Project Tiger is concerned, this is where the plot was lost.

I'd like to believe the situation is redeemable, and this looks like a good place to start.

Of Time Mismanagement and Such

There's this theory about life in graduate school I once read about (I can't recall the source I'm about to paraphrase here - PhD Comics?). Broadly speaking, there are three kinds of activities available to the grad student - working, partying and sleeping; however, the average student has only two degrees of freedom. To put it another way, time and energy constraints ensure that one can only go through grad school doing any two out of those three things.

While this is not absolute, it nevertheless rings true when I think back to my University days. I usually can't do without my eight hours of sleep a day, never mind which hours of the day they may be, and so my student life was largely a combination of stop-start slumber, and hours of work which proved just sufficient to stay afloat academically; any partying I might have hoped for was pretty much sacrificed as a result. The few occasions when grad school would bite me in the bum, were usually because of an untimely deviation from this routine - such as a sudden trip to the movies, or a visit to the bar when work needed to be done. Now, I did have my share of fun at University (even if there may be little photographic evidence of the same on my facebook profile), but not to the extent that it could significantly alter or affect the way things were going. If I had really utilised all that 'wasted' time on work instead, I might have marginally improved my GPA, and little else. In hindsight, I had quite a delicately balanced system in place.

An external condition, however, is all that is needed to upset such a balance. When the time came to turn my attention to a job search, and the preparations it involved, my system was thrown into chaos. If I sleepwalked my way through most of grad school, I ended it crossing a busy street on roller-skates during rush hour. I got my degree, but not the job I had been looking for.

The months of being without full-time work were initially a mixture of anxiety and relaxed resignation, for there's little you can do when the market is running on empty. Slowly, however, I found myself having to divide my time almost exclusively between the job hunt and sleeping; anything else seemed like a luxury, yet all that didn't stop me from indulging in what Krish Ashok aptly calls "focussed inactivity and alternative non-value-adding hobbies". The search, not surprisingly, hasn't ended. And now, back in Bangalore, I've volunteered to work for a startup to give myself something constructive to do on the side - effectively, an external condition.

I wonder how I might have dealt with this long spell of joblessness had it arrived, say, just after I was done with my undergraduate degree. Every move I made back then was somehow calibrated with the intention of not screwing up, which has ironically made me rather inertial now (Comfortably numb, but I'm trying to avoid Pink Floyd references!). Would it have been better to mess up earlier? I doubt I would have been preoccupied with pondering time management issues, at least. Anyway, now for some much needed shut-eye.

So you're an R.I? That don't impress me much..

An oft-recited quip from the Big Joke Book of Desi stereotypes suggests that, the acronym NRI would be more accurate if it were to expand to "Non Returning Indian". By deciding to abort my job hunt in the U.S and return to Bangalore, I have done the unexpected and, it seems, the unthinkable; I'm one of that rare breed, the Returned Indian (R.I for short).

I've said goodbye to campus life as an international student, morning cereal and americano shots, apartment maintenance, credit ratings, impromptu discussions on status and work visas, late-night walks on empty streets, super-fast Internet speeds, online television streaming, access to fifty varieties of beer, on-call drinking buddies, taking complete cleanliness for granted, being complimented on my command over English, and stuffing myself on junk food out of necessity. I say hello once again to filling breakfasts and great coffee, having people in my face all day, my own full-fledged bed (yes), downloading without fear of the authorities, surreptitious drinking and eating-out, the bustle of the streets, impromptu discussions on politics and films (and being expected to have strong opinions on the same), and being rebuked for my appalling Tamil and Hindi.

The reactions of people around me over the last two months have made for some interesting observations. As an RI, that rare being, family members and the extended ones are likely to look upon you as the local zoo management might a white tiger; initially, a lot of fussing over this recent arrival who draws in the eagerly-awaiting crowd, but this soon gives way to puzzlement about how you turned out this way, different from the rest. Recessive gene or not, what went wrong?

Yet, the attitudes of family members (and whatever vested interests they may have in your career path) are much more predictable than those of people who (apparently) have less of a stake in you. When dealing with the 'rest' - close friends, mere acquaintances and assorted hangers-on - you, the RI, can likely expect the following:

1. You will be subjected to intense scrutiny by people who know you well, not least in the way you talk. The slightest change in your accent is all the invitation needed to spark off a confused-desi bashing thread, which is typically kept going in the following way: use a moderately biggish English word and it'll be attributed to the Americanization of you; sprinkle your speech with some colloquial slang, and you'll be accused of trying too hard to fit back in. It's heads-they-win-tails-the-joke's-on-you.

2. Having been abroad and expanded your horizons, that heady citizen-of-the-world feeling will disappear soon; you will be brought down to your home-turf with a resounding thud by those people who are just waiting to pop the question, "So, where do you feel you belong?", and enjoy a knowing smirk at the raw nerve they've touched. Nevertheless, you could rescue the situation by replying "The stretch from Anna Swamy Mudaliar Road up to Wheeler Road extension in Frazer Town, that would be it", showing them that you are not to be outdone in the business of being insular, either.

3. There are several contrasting initial reactions to be had from people meeting you for the first time, and learning of your return. Admiration, for example, typically comes from those who are about to (reluctantly) leave for the US or the UK themselves, and your 'bravery' is just the reassurance they need. There are those who will think you stupid for walking out on your chosen land-of-opportunity, but they'll store your email ID anyway in the hope of soliciting information when it's their turn to depart. You might encounter the odd armchair nationalist, who will reprimand you as soon as he hears the word "America". And, indifference is usually met with when trying to chat up that seemingly attractive someone, who could well be thinking "God please, get back to whereveritis you came from!"

4. The fixation with ordering mineral water "specially for him, he is US-return" wears off soon among people, but with toilet paper - that other great cultural differentiator which gets people inquisitive - it's another thing altogether. If (unlike me, I hasten to add) you're taking your time to acclimatize back to the Indian way, DO NOT let on that you still have rolls stocked up in your bathroom, unless you want to be the subject of much mirth as discussed in points 1 and 2. This being the 21st century, you could be entitled, however, to wonder out loud about an absence of a water-spray/hose-pipe. Just don't call it a health faucet!

It's great to be back.

Big Bend Camping..and More

What do you do when you need respite from twelve crazy months of job hunting, interviewing and introspection? What do you do when you get fed up with turning to music, reading, blogging, TV shows and other forms of mental wankery for stimulation?

You get outdoors and do a load of stuff you've never tried before, that's what.

Around a month back, I joined Bulla, RK, Bakri and Raghu on a visit to Big Bend National Park in Southwest Texas. We were also able to fit in a visit to the McDonald observatory, and some spectacular underground caverns at Sonora.

We often come across lists titled Things to do before you turn thirty and the like, which are designed with a view to providing the reader with a reckoner for basic fulfillment. While the suggestions on 'things to do' may vary quite a bit across different compilations, it's probably fair to say I might have doubled my tally on the pre-thirty count of most lists. Some notable first-time experiences on this visit included:

1. Camping out in the wild. This was a campsite, but nothing more. No facilities. Nada. At the mercy of scorpions and snakes. I must add that it was quite a relief to be able to finish off with taking a dump in the Visitors' Center, and avoid having to do it woodland animal style.

2. Trekking through rugged, bear and lion infested, mountainous terrain. The fact that the beasts elected to stay away was well received (only in hindsight).

3. Swimming in a river; in this case, the Rio Grande. That this was a relatively slow-moving stretch, and that we used life-jackets, can be glossed over. This was great consolation for missing out on the canoeing. And, by swimming across and touching the cliff (to the left of the gorge in the pic), we were in contact with Mexico. After Wagha, this marked the second border I've been to.

4. Cooking in the wild. (As an aside, few things beat chai in the wilderness).

5. Going deeper underground and being among weird and wonderful cave formations.

In addition, there the 'star party' at McDonald, a visit to the old German settlement Fredericksburg, and some spectacular birdlife all around - warblers, bluejays, and the turkey vulture pictured below (who knew they existed?).

By the end of the trip, I had a new-found respect for the state of Texas. Being in the liberal student heartland, it was always tempting to think in terms of an Austin-versus-the-rest-of-the-state divide. The landscape magnificent and varied, and the people we encountered extraordinarily friendly and hospitable, contrary to what outsiders might imagine. If you're ever in Lone Star country, one word; explore.

Current Music: Collective Soul - Shine

Article on my Cricket Blog

There's a new post up on my cricket blog. The only reason I'm linking it here is that it is essentially a follow-up to this old post, written over two years ago. Quite a few readers had opinions to share back then, so I'm hoping this will re-ignite some of those discussions.

I'm also looking at ending the posting drought on this blog very soon, and should have some new material up in the next couple of weeks.

Current Music: Lily Allen - The Fear

So 1995, So What?

Ever find yourself infuriated by certain words or phrases? The kind whose usage in everyday conversation is often enough to trigger an explosion in your head? Lately, I've discovered that putting a contemporary spin or contextual twist on an otherwise innocuous word is sufficient to drive me nuts. Take, for example, the Americanism "sweet" (to be rolled off the tongue "sweeeet", in order to convey vehement approval), as made famous by this scene from Dude Where's my Car?. Then there's "not" - as in the 'not' jokes, suitably parodied in Borat. The effect of such usage is to not merely chip away at your nerves, but also numb your senses to the extent that you find yourself using those very words.

The latest word to get my goat is "so", used in conjunction with a specific period in time, in such a manner as to ascribe datedness to something. Sample: "You still own a discman? That is so 1999, man!" Or, "Multi-cuisine restaurants are so 1994." And even, "Those clothes are so, like, yesterday" ('Like'? The list is growing). Being an unabashed nostalgic and often prone to living in the past, my annoyance at this currently-in-vogue expression isn't all that surprising.

Perhaps I should take a leaf out of Krish Ashok's book - or a line from his blog, at any rate: "Ranting...is so Blogosphere circa 2003".

Current Music: Therapy? - Bad Karma follows you around

Skin deep

During one of my visits to the Bay Area, I chanced upon a copy of the Desi Tribune. As the name suggests, it turned out to be a regional daily catering specifically to California's large Indian population, with an accent on the latest news from back home. It read like an issue of Deccan Chronicle, or the Bangalore Times - poor standards of writing and editing, more information about the lives of b-list celebrities than you'd normally bargain for, and providing some comic relief all the same. That day's issue carried an article about actress Anjana Sukhani, and focused on her statement that she would consider wearing a bikini on screen only if "the role required it". This got me thinking (which is just what you're supposed to do when confronted with material of this sort, right?) about how the bikini has seemingly caused everyone in Bollywood and the audience to re-examine their sensibilities, and has provided so much fodder for the media to fill up print-space and airtime. We've come to the point where actresses, fully aware that displays of bare flesh are likely to have them pigeonholed, must insist that they will be taking up "only serious roles" in the future, if only to reaffirm their acting credentials. It comes with being subject to our society's ultra-high standards.

What has me intrigued, however, is that I seem to remember the likes of Zeenat Aman, Sharmila Tagore, Parveen Babi and Dimple Kapadia (among others) appearing on screen in skimpy swimwear back in the day. How come their credibility doesn't appear to have suffered for it? How come those images have aged gracefully into culthood, as opposed to the notoriety which seems to accompany the ones of today? How come today's heroines have such a big cross to bear, and must resort to the will-wear-if-role-demands-it line when asked about it? Or was it a similar story in the 70s and, belonging to a different era, we'll simply never know about the controversy generated then which might have faded over time? Pop-culture theorists and film junkies, feel free to unleash your greater wisdom on me.

Current Music: Crowded House - Don't dream it's over