The Unencumbered Ruminations of an Enfeebled Mind

My sister's ire

2008-12-02T01:00:00.002-05:00

My sister Suparna sent me this email below. I didn't watch much TV through the course of the weekend, relying mostly on the Internet for news updates. But this is clearly a subject that has angered many Indians.
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This is what I've been feeling about the press which I wanted to share. I've sent it to TOI as an opinion piece. Probably will get trashed as cyber junk being anti press but whatever.

The incident in Bombay is heart wrenching. But what is infuriating me today is overdramatised journalism. I am not trying to undermine the plight of the victims or the survivors or even a regular person on the street viewing every object with skepticism. But TV creates instant history and impacts more people than any other media. This is a strength and at the same time a great responsibility. In our urge to fill in 24/7 channels, we are doing what must not be done, intruding. Is it important for me sitting at home to know which window on which floor a person is getting evacuated from, or which door was used by a commado team to enter? Or is this information I want to keep as far away from the terrorists inside as possible?

We all enjoy the freedom of the press, it is something to feel proud about and I won't deny that it is good to know what is going on at every second but there has to be a line drawn. Why should a police man have to tell you to not go beyond a place, or say 'I cannot divulge that information". Are we not insightful enough to realise that without wasting their time??

The second thing I want to point out is that there is anger about politicians and some ministers specifically but is that really the only problem to be addressed. I saw 'We the People' with Barkha Dutt talking about the Mumbai Tragedy. I was extremely unimpressed with the choice of panelists. They consisted in majority of Bollywood celebrities who with all due respect may be great in their field but don't know squat about policy making or social studies, ethnic studies, intelligence or any of the other pertinent issues involved in this discussion on terrorism. Hearing them talk is like having a coffee room discussion with a bunch of friends who get all their information and knowledge from television and know practically nothing about the dirt and grime of the issue. At this moment I as a citizen don't want dramatic statements from Simi Garewal or Kunal Kohli but analytical break down of the problem by social scientists, researchers, policy advisors or people who have devoted their lives to understanding these issues. Please do not fool me with meaningless banter.

I have spent the aftermath of the tragedy waiting for an analysis that was not sensationalized. Vilasrao Deshmukh taking his celebrity son to the venue? Tell me is this an issue at all? Would anyone care if his son was not a Bollywood star? Has anyone asked about the other guy walking behind him? Why are we wasting our time hearing things like this?

I just want to say that a lot of the statements that are being made by people who are clearly not experts are very extreme "Don't pay taxes", "Eradicate camps…even in China", do these people know what they are talking about? A war kills in figures that will make the Mumbai tragedy look like a road accident. Please be careful in who you quote. A right to opinion is part of our democracy but a right to discretion is a right you must exercise for a healthy attitude in the public you influence so easily.

Ramblings

2008-12-02T00:43:00.002-05:00

I heard about it from my friend Reto, just as we were setting out for Greenville, SC, to spend Thanksgiving break at my friend Meha’s home. From then till now, slowly, even painstakingly, but inexorably, layer by layer, my stoicism has been stripped away. It is a common refrain in India, that we know terrorism, that we are used to it. But what happened in Bombay has shaken me to the core; and this when, thankfully, no one I know personally was affected. Only once before have I felt so destitute of hope. And that was 7 years ago. That day it took a while to fully comprehend the nature of the attacks perpetrated. The planning, the preparation, the execution, and the outcome, each only became progressively clearer as the day unfolded. Bombay followed the same pattern, except the realization was even more laborious, the horror even more prolonged.

For 60 hours Bombay burned. For 60 hours Bombay lay hostage to people bent on total destruction. 60 hours during which men, women and children were mercilessly massacred, maimed, and scarred for life. 60 hours that exposed the glaring inadequacies in the way our State handles crises. 60 hours during which heroes were born, even as other heroes laid their lives on the line…and lost them. 60 hours that exposed our media’s opportunism and lack of ethical standards.

60 hours.

Bombs go off in a matter of seconds. They are terrible, but the moment of terror is fleeting. One is confronted by the aftermath almost immediately. But in Bombay, the terror itself was never-ending. What will the aftermath of such a terror be? We are entering uncharted territory.

Yes, there will be changes. Many are warranted—a federal counter-terrorism agency, increased emphasis on intelligence, debates on ethical journalism, debates on our political system and politicians, increased international cooperation, and so on. Other changes such as increased restrictions on urban life and movement have to be resisted on principle, and perhaps only applied after rigorous debate and out of absolute necessity. But when all is said and done, these responses only address the symptoms of a malaise that runs much deeper.

Those 60 hours did not just expose us; they also exposed an enemy that is desperate and utterly pathetic. Islamic fundamentalism, based and operating out of Pakistan/Afghanistan, and likely funded from elsewhere as well. But Islamic fundamentalism does not operate in a vacuum. There are other equally desperate, equally pathetic fundamentalisms. Every religion has a fundamentalist nut-job strand. These fundamentalisms feed off each other. Godhra cannot be separated from the recent spate of blasts, or from Bombay. But fundamentalism cannot defeat fundamentalism. And perhaps even more importantly, fundamentalism is not something that needs to be defeated. It needs to be repudiated, rejected. It has no place in the world we live in today. This is a struggle of the mind and it cannot be fought just with guns.

Bombay will hold its head up, it knows no other way. But when as human beings will we?

Indian Ocean

2008-09-23T01:40:00.000-04:00

We arrive suitably early, or late. Depends on your frame of reference really. We are late for the art gallery opening, but early for the concert. It is hard to get in, the bar isn’t even visible, and I can occasionally espy the corner of a painting. But, barring the problem with the bar, this is actually good. It gives us enough time to wind our way through the throngs, studiously avoiding anything close to a conversation. And lo, we are by the ‘stage,’ or the end of the room where all the instruments have been set out. We relax a bit, and take a look around. I have not seen so many hoity-toity Indians in one room, at least not outside India. And the chatter is immense.

The first one to thread his way through the throng is Amit Kilam. The others soon follow: Rahul Ram, Sushmit Sen and Asheem Chakravarty.

Indian Ocean.

Opening remarks by the gallery head are delivered, mostly over the continuous din, and in spite of repeated efforts to quiet people down. Even taunts of ‘arre o auntyji’on aur uncleji’on, shaant ho jao,” prove fruitless. Finally, formalities out of the way, things can begin.

The next couple of hours are pure joy. After so many years, I finally get to see them live. And it is glorious.

Gansu--I

2007-05-19T05:33:00.000-04:00

[BEIJING-LANZHOU-XIAHE-Lanzhou-Jiayuguan-Dunhuang-Lanzhou-Beijing]

Another break is upon us, this time national labor week. What the world devotes one day to, the Chinese spend one week on. Understandably. This is about the workers of the world, after all. Except that in order to get part of the week off, most Chinese work the weekend, either before or after.

I cannot complain. We are three weeks into the final module at IUP; I have been doing intensive Chinese for 37 weeks. The break is welcome. Lauren and I have decided to hit up the province of Gansu. Gansu lies about 1900 km west of Beijing, and for long marked the beginning of the frontier for successive Chinese empires. It is shaped rather oddly, with two large chunks of land lying roughly along the same latitude, connected by a thin sliver of land known as the Hexi corridor, a ‘landlocked isthmus’ of sorts. This little sliver of land is the homestretch of the famed silk route as it snakes its way between traditional China and Dunhuang, an oasis town on the western borders of Gansu. Dunhaung was the great starting-off point and culmination for caravans that fanned out in multiple directions: India in the south, central Asia and the near East further west.

Our plan, to the extent we have one, is to take the overnight train to Lanzhou, Gansu’s capital. From there we plan to take a bus to Xiahe in southern Gansu, home to the biggest Tibetan Buddhist monastery outside of Tibet. Returning to Lanzhou, we plan to take another overnight train another 800 km west to Jiayuguan, the tiny town that marks the westernmost reaches of the Great wall. From there we plan to hope on another bus and head further westward and southward to the desert oasis of Dunhuang, before flying back to Lanzhou, and catching a train back to Beijing.

Our plan, seemingly good on paper, is contingent on an intangible: we can only buy one-way tickets from Beijing to Lanzhou. All future travels are subject to the availability of tickets, which given that it is Labor week might not be easy. As a constraint on our gallivanting and to provide us with some sort of a marker for the homeward journey, we buy airline tickets from Dunhaung to Lanzhou for the following weekend.

This brings me to a bit of a digression, but it is a subject that has puzzled me: one cannot purchase round trip train tickets in China, and one can only purchase tickets 5-7 days in advance. This means one cannot plan a vacation beyond one’s departure. Things get especially uncertain during the three Chinese national holidays. I have asked a reasonable number of people now, and have yet to get a coherent response. The system is computerized yet you cannot buy a ticket for a train that doesn’t depart from the city in which you are purchasing the ticket, i.e. no return ticket or onward ticket. It is a great tool for controlling population movements, I guess. But seems awfully inefficient from any public good point of view.

As our train pulls out of Beijing West, we stretch back on our upper berth bunks. Our time is well spent since Lauren’s foresight has ensured that we are supplied with interesting little snacks for the ride, including a bottle apiece of Hoegaarden. During the journey, both of us strike up conversations with our fellow passengers, who are almost uniformly impressed at the level of our Chinese.

“Excuse me sir,” a young fellow states, as he proceeds to request some time to practice his English with me. He is 18 years old, a recent high school graduate. He has been in Beijing for about six months, devoting almost all his time to English language training in an attempt to study business and finance in Australia. He is not a fan of the Chinese Gao Kao (Lit: ‘high/tall test;’ the shortened term for the centralized Chinese school leaving exam, the results of which determine which college or university a student can enroll in), noting that it is almost impossible for him to gain admission to a decent university. Not unlike things in India I guess, though admittedly, the Indian system seems much more decentralized (and arguably better, as a result?). Amazing what a shift in perspective affords you.

His friend, a thinner, slightly more self-conscious kid, soon joins in. They are eighteen and nineteen years old, both Gansu natives, on their way home for the holidays. I ask them why Australia. Because it is feasible comes the answer. English is the language of the future, but US visas are hard to get, ergo we have Australia. They seem to have misinformed notions about the US, and no real perception of India at all. But they are not indoctrinated in CCP jargon either. One of them blandly states that in China there is no choice, everything is fixed, alluding to the system of government and its vagaries. I play dumb, ask him what does he mean. He looks over to his friend and barks out in Chinese, “how do you say CCP in English?” I say, “a mingbai le!” I understand. There are also two PhD students in computer science. I espy them reading an NIIT publication; I don’t bring it up but enjoy my own little secret grin. It is also good to challenge a stereotype that most Chinese have about India, which they have come to equate with a very advanced IT industry. I am a student of history, and I am studying their history. This is a subject of much consternation.

All this time Lauren’s been engaged in a conversation first with an elderly man who is of the Tu minority and then with another Gansu native, a neat-looking middle-aged man. The Tu man has seen Americans before, but no Indians. He is part of a large group that is on its way home after their first visit to Beijing. During her conversation, Lauren asks them why one cannot buy return train tickets or book them more than a week in advance. No coherent reason is supplied.

Our train pulls into Lanzhou a little early. We step off the train and into a light drizzle. This is not good. Lanzhou is notorious for the meager rain it gets. And on the very day we arrive, with 4 hours to kill before our bus to Xiahe, it is raining. Undeterred, though somewhat miffed (I am more miffed, Lauren is more undeterred), we head west to the bus station, purchase our tickets, grab some noodle soup (only soup and bread in my case), and decide that the best way to combat the rain is the check out the Gansu provincial museum. It turns out to be an interesting hour or so. I have in general been impressed with the curatorial work I have seen in China’s museums, but am still taken aback at this spanking new museum, in what is otherwise one of China’s poorer provinces. Everything is presented beautifully, but many displays, it is unambiguously clear, are mock-ups: the dark underbelly of China’s attempts at recreating and renovating its heritage.

The rain prevents us getting a look at the contours of Lanzhou. One difference is in the people. There is a noticeable percentage with white caps on, Hui min [peoples], China’s Muslim minority. It is only the men who wear them though. Women are harder to spot.

Back at the bus station we are herded into a minibus. Our driver is a Tibetan. “Namaste,” he says when I respond to his query regarding my origins. The first of a few tiny surprises I have in store for me in Xiahe. We travel south through the low hills. Soon the excellent highway gives way to a single lane road. After being held up by a bus that had driven into the roadside open sewer and nearly upended itself, we arrive in Xiahe in the evening around 7: tired, but glad to finally be here.

Silence.

2007-05-19T05:30:00.000-04:00

After a hiatus characterized by a sudden drying up of the well that words spring from, I am back to pick up the threads. There is little that I can offer in defense of the silence but the posts that I hope shall follow in the next few minutes and days.

Chinese Diwali?

2007-02-19T11:28:00.000-05:00

Rather, Chinese new year. Starting around 11:30 the entire night sky is suddenly incandescent. People emerge from their homes and hutongs and all at once there are rockets, bombs, roman candles, sparklers, etc., everywhere. Awesome. The year of the Pig is here.

In front of me an old man emerges from a hutong door on Jiu Gulou Dajie. He has a long metal pole in his hands and gestures to his grandson who is slowly unpacking the little bombs that are strung together and which go off in quick succession [what the hell do you call those things? I only know their name in Hindi!]. He gestures to his grandson to use the pole, hitch the firecracker to a tree, and make it dangle like a big python. The grandson doesn’t seem all that enthused. He is self-conscious in the way most teens are, wary, even afraid of being made to look un-cool by his evidently out of the loop grand dad.

Further down the street, people are lining up bombs and rockets. Nearby, the Drum and Bell tower are brilliantly lit up. Rockets shoot up from the space between them, reminding us that the tower square has its own contingent of revelers.

Our own supply of firecrackers has already been spent. Sadly, we blew our proverbial wad a tad bit early. Now all we can do is stand back and admire. It is better this way I feel. I am reminded of Diwali back home. I miss it. The Chinese version is different I guess in that the pyrotechnics are concentrated around midnight. But it is a great feeling to be standing up, scanning the skies, ears perked (or should I rather say dulled).

Earlier in the day, we had all gathered at Eveline and Ann's for some New Year's potluck. I was drafted into making some chicken to accompany Ann's risotto. It was going rather well till I added a bit too much tomato sauce. The end result was acceptable, but the midway point had promised so much more. Jason rustled up some greens to round off the main course. We also had dumplings to ensure it felt like new years, and fruit pizza to ensure that a sense of the strange was never very far away. Wine was aplenty, and the view out their 20th floor balcony was quite spectacular.

Back in Houhai, we continue to admire the night sky. After what seems longer, but is only about an hour, the dropping mercury nudges us ever so gently towards Dong An and its warm sofas and chairs. And just as we get comfortable in walks, guess who? Cui Jian! I don’t recognize him, but others do. Strange: new years begins with the sighting of the Grand Old Man of Chinese Rock, who as Lauren has recently discovered is now exploring Reggae as well. He walks by and enters a private little room. We don’t seem him after that. I order myself some Bailey’s coffee as sink lower into the sofa...

Guilin and Yangshuo (or There and Back Again?)-Part III

2007-01-27T09:42:00.000-05:00

Guilin

We arrive back at the Guilin railway station early in the evening. It is already quite dark. Patrick tries to get in touch with LJ, who in the absence of our host, Brad, will let us into his apartment. Brad teaches English at a local school and is on his way back from the US. LJ tells Patrick that Brad is already back. His apartment is on the campus of the Guangxi Normal University. This is where Patrick studied Chinese several years ago so he still has a sense of the place. Brad himself turns out to be a tallish man with a long flowing beard that reaches down to his chest. His hair is tied in a little ponytail. I wonder how long it has taken him to grow that beard.

We dump our stuff, loll around for a bit and then decide to head over to another friend’s place. Adam teaches English as well. I am informed that that is pretty much the only thing a foreigner can do in Guilin; it impossible to get a work visa for anything else. Adam greets us at the door. He has a long goatee and a tuft of rastafari hair that reaches well below his waist. He is wearing what looks like a Stetson and sets about introducing us around. The living room is huge. One wall is entirely taken up by three computers and a TV set with huge accompanying speakers. Two girls and one guy, all Chinese, are deeply involved playing some computer game. They give us a cursory wave. On the couch are a big Englishman and a Chinese girl. Frasier is playing on TV, and they seem rapt. Adam himself, it seems, has been tinkering on his laptop and with four little Nintendo Gameboys. At this point I am confident that this is a large communal house.

We crack open cold ones as Adam distributes the Gameboys. There are four of them and they can communicate via wireless. We select the random games option and begin competing. Before long we are all vying to outdo each other. Another friend soon arrives with his girlfriend. By now I have a better sense of this place. I realize my initial impression was entirely erroneous. Adam and Pianzi, his Chinese wife, live here. Everyone else is a guest for the evening (and perhaps every evening). The Brit also teaches English, as does the latest guest to arrive, who also has a long flowing beard. So far I have met three American men in Guilin, each with a rather long beard. Remarkable.

Patrick informs me such a scene is probably rather common at Adam’s place. He only teaches about 15 hours a week, and spends the rest of his time lazing about, playing computer games, entertaining people, and generally having a ‘good time.’ I get the sense, for a white man (or woman) it is not so hard to coast here in Guilin. Most of these guys have been here several years. Adam himself is probably the most settled and making a life out of it: married, maybe contemplating kids. And yet, all this seems entirely alien to me. Given the extremely driven and focused environment I have almost always been in, I find his lifestyle intriguing and utterly unfathomable.

I discover that the Brit, whose name I must admit I have since forgotten (I want to say Chris, though), played grade cricket in England. We discuss our own little cricketing stories. Provides an interesting side bar to an already interesting evening. As the evening progresses, we get some grub and Adam sets about his hukka. I notice other things that fascinate me. While most of us foreigners can speak decent Chinese, it is not clear how comfortable the Chinese are with English. So very soon, locals and foreigners are speaking almost exclusively amongst themselves. Also, it seems it is only the women who are involved in preparing dinner. There is a division of labor here and I wonder how it has emerged.

The following morning is even colder. The plan is to hike up some Karsts just outside the city. Brad’s bathroom is what appears to me to be a quintessential Chinese bathroom. There is a squat toilet, and the showerhead is literally on top of it. Outside, there is a constant drizzle that threatens to turn into something much worse. We realize that our hope of hiking might just remain that, a hope. LJ joins us and after a lazy but delicious lunch cooked by Brad’s aiyi (maid servant) we decide we should go bowl. Of course, after Karsts, the second thing Guilin is world renowned for are its excellent bowling lanes. It is just that we must have visited one of the more run down establishments. We play four games. Brad wins two, while Patrick and I split the other two.

We proceed to spend much of afternoon and evening walking around Guilin and occasionally stopping at bars. The city, much like Yangshuo, has been heavily touristified, especially the downtown district. Certain streets are pedestrian only. I am again reminded of Europe. As dusk approaches we decide to circumnavigate a large lake downtown. The lake itself is a recent creation, the result of linking the area’s five original lakes. The recently constructed Pagoda that towers over the lake seems to me more kitsch than cultural. Towards the rear there is a bridge section, which includes models of famous bridges from all over the world including the Golden Gate Bridge, and strangely, also the Arc de Triomphe! I am left with the nagging question: is this all Chinese? And if so, to what extent is it Chinese? The five lakes being converted to one is of course evidence of the power of the state to change the landscape.

We pick a Sichuanese restaurant for dinner. The food is nothing exceptional but we are at least no longer hungry. We hit up a German bar which we'd visited earlier and I enjoy some great German wheat beer. Other friends of Brad soon join us, and before long plans are afoot to head to a club! The club turns out to be not much of a club in the conventional sense. There is no dance floor (just as well for me), only tables, and some live karaoke by some rather talented singers. It soon transpires that one of our local friends knows the manager so we end up getting A LOT of free booze. And we are even graced by the presence for a few minutes of one of the karaoke stars.

Partying and drinking late into the night (or should I say morning), we finally stumble out of the club and decide that the time is right for some of Guilin's famed Mifen (rice noodles). So at 3am, our friend Lena leads us to a restaurant that is still open. Patrick and Brad start playing drinking games, and before they can finish their second game a woman from an adjoining table joins us. One game turns to two, two to three, and before long, she is batting her eyelids at Brad. She claims to be nongcun, but prostitute seems more likely. Her ‘pimp’ comes along and angrily asks us to leave. Patrick, completely sloshed by now, declares that we will leave on tomorrow’s train, so what’s the rush? It is left to Lena and I to try and move things along so we can leave the restaurant.

It was a fun evening, particularly because I got a flavor of life outside Beijing, though the entire day was rather unexpected. In all fairness if I had to choose, I'd still probably take the Karsts, but what can you do.

Guilin and Yangshuo (or There and Back Again?)-Part II

2007-01-21T10:12:00.000-05:00

Moon Hill

Our room is still freezing cold. I check my cell phone. It lights up to indicate it is nine in the morning. I laze around in bed. Across the room, Patrick slowly comes to life. Neither of us is too keen to leave the comfort of our warm blankets and step on what we know is an absolutely frigid tiled floor. We lazily discuss plans for the day. Breakfast, rent bikes, cycle through the countryside, hike up some Karsts; basically wing it. Sounds good. With nothing but execution left, we drag ourselves out of our beds. We exercise the right to not shower, wash up, pack our bags and head downstairs to check out.

Leaving our bags at the reception, with my computer strapped neatly and firmly to my back, we walk onto the lane. We decide to hit up the restaurant from last night. I keep an eye out for our new friend but she is nowhere to be seen. Patrick orders an American breakfast. I order an English one. Differences include coffee versus tea, and I get baked beans on my toast. As we eat, I discover my Motorola V66 has finally given up on me. It powers on, but the screen stays blank. This is a bother, but I figure I will worry about it later.

The bikes we rent cost us 10 kuai each, though there is a 200 kuai deposit as well. Made by Giant, they are yellow, and look in decent shape. We go for a short spin, rotate through the gears to make sure they work, and test the brakes. Satisfied, we look at a map and hit the road. We pedal through the streets of Yangshuo and out into the countryside. By now the sun is out, and it is beginning to look like a great day, not that cold after all. Slowly Karsts begin to dominate the horizon, and soon the highway is threading its way through clusters of them. We pass many signs for hotels and caves. We are tempted, but we have decided to check out Moon hill, a large natural arch formation, and remain true to our destination. The countryside is very pretty, and the road is relatively flat. I am enjoying myself.

After riding for the better part of an hour, we arrive at Moon Hill. There are many old women by the entrance looking to sell water, beer, coke, whatever they can. They are surprised at our standard Chinese. We joke with them, bargain over two bottles of water, and purchase our entrance tickets.

We climb. The sky is blue; the air is fresh with the smell of nature, trees, the earth, and the only noise is the quiet rustling of leaves. After six months in Beijing, it is liberating. The reverie is occasionally shattered by blasts in the distance, probably detonations at mines in the vicinity. Industrial China is never very far away. We walk through canopies of green, pass an old woman making shoes out of reed, and arrive at a fork in the path. A moment’s indecision later we decide to explore the one that is evidently less trodden. It ends in a 6-foot high rocky outcrop that overlooks the highway below. We clamber up and admire the view. In the distance are Karsts, an open mine, a tiny village, fields, and also what appear to be military communications towers. The weather is pleasant and we are in no rush. I think about Sung dynasty literati coming here almost 1000 years ago and composing poetry over cups of tea. Ah, the lovely languid lives of the literati.

We return to the main trail. The climb soon gets steep and I huff and puff along. The base of the arch has a large relatively flat area. The views again are great, especially the one through the arch itself. The rock on the underside of the arch has stalactite like features, and is also riddled with holes. Rather distinctive. The lady selling drinks here informs us that there is path leading all the way to the top of the arch. We head off. This climb is a little trickier since it is a real trail, unlike the earlier part of the climb where steps had been cut in the rock or actually been built. As a result it is a lot more fun.

We reach the peak of Moon Hill. A tiny area but it affords absolutely breathtaking views. We loll around, find nice crags to sit on, and just take in the views. There are dozens of Karsts visible in the distance. Most have only been scaled in the past few years. We find a few bolts and screws in the rock near us; Moon Hill has been scaled too. During our time on the peak a British couple and a Chinese woman join us. But evidently they are not as moved by the view as we are, and depart shortly. We stay up there for a while.

On our way back down we decide to check out one of the caves en route. We leave the old women selling knick-knacks at the entrance behind and head towards town. Almost immediately we are confronted by the entrance to a model socialist village. Intrigued we peddle through, but besides some nice views of Moon Hill, we are not sure what is so model or socialist about the village. Particularly since it seems to be full of hotels. The cave we are interested in turns out to be an exhibition on butterflies, or so it seems from what we can tell. The entrance is 45 kuai. It serves as a sufficient deterrent.

We cycle back into town and get some grub. Patrick, staying on his Mexican theme, orders burritos. I get some spaghetti, which turns out to be surprisingly good. After our meal we return our bikes, pick up our bags from the hotel, and head to the bus station. After haggling with the conductor, which includes enquiring if the ticket price is the same for foreigners and for local Chinese, we get on board. The Mummy has just begun on the onboard TV. It keeps me reasonably interested as our bus makes its way back towards Guilin.

Guilin and Yangshuo (or There and Back Again?)-Part I

2007-01-19T04:50:00.000-05:00

Getting to Yangshuo

Last Friday we ended our second 8-week module. And that means one week off. Having considered it as one of many options, options that included hitting up Thailand or Hainan, I finally decide to join Patrick on a little trip to Guilin and Yangshuo in southern China. Patrick spent 6 months in Guilin several years ago, so it’s a bit of a nostalgic trip for him.

After celebrating somewhat late into the night on Friday, we buy soft sleeper tickets (mostly because hard sleepers were sold out) and hop on the 4:16 T5 train.

The soft sleeper is the highest of China’s four-class railway system. There are four berths to a cabin, and the cabin has a sliding door and affords a fair amount of privacy. Unfortunately, buying tickets 3 hours before departure means Patrick and I are in different, though thankfully adjoining, cabins. The interior is quite plush. Each cabin has a large square window so the view is excellent, even if you are not sitting by the window. My companions are a youngish man, and two older men in their sixties. None are Beijingren. Conversation is not at a premium but we are also not the most garrulous of quartets. Over the course of the 22 hours we manage to discuss the price of tickets, Beijing traffic, how other parts of China don’t have as much construction, development in general, India’s IT industry, China and India (particularly their development and population), Guilin as a tourist destination, the weather, and so on. More often than not I am reminded how limited my vocabulary still is.

Over in the next cabin Patrick has a few PLA officers sitting with him. They smoke like chimneys, and he spends a lot of his time out in the hallway, on one of the pull down chairs, reading “Zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance.”

I sleep a lot. Must be really tired from the semester, finishing grad school apps, and all that has been preying on my mind, whether I like to admit it or not. I also put in an hour on my translation for Caijing. Manage to translate the first paragraph or so. It is slow going.

Lying on my upper bunk I wade into Pamuk’s Snow. I have been laboring over it. Partly because it is rather dense at times, but also because I haven’t had the time to really sit down with it. Less than halfway through things really come to a head, and I am drawn in. I find many of the themes that Pamuk juggles also embodied in much of modern Indian literature. Struggles with modernity, the east versus the west, secularism versus religious fundamentalism, inequitable development, the chasm that separates the frontier from the heart of a country, and so on. I wonder what themes predominate in modern Chinese fiction. I am curious, is there as much of a contested understanding or approach to the west, and to notions of secularism and modernity?

We arrive in Guilin mid-afternoon. Outside the station are a slew of buses. Shouts of “Yangshuo, Yangshuo” ring the air. We are herded into a half full minibus. I refuse to put my rucksack in the hold: it has my computer and I am not letting it out of sight. We stop everywhere, as the driver and conductor search out potential passengers, attempting to fill every vacant seat. I eye my big rucksack swaying in the seat next to me. Soon enough it is the last ‘vacant’ seat. But not for long. We pick up one final passenger, and I have to nestle my rucksack on my lap. Having my computer along is an increasing source of tension. We will be trekking around Yangshou and I am not too happy about leaving it at the hotel.

As Yanghou approaches, Karsts start to dominate the landscape. They are interesting structures. Little pillars or out-thrusts of rock, rather un-mountain like. I later find out, from that most unimpeachable of sources that is Wikipedia, that “Karst topography is a three-dimensional landscape shaped by the dissolution of a soluble layer or layers of bedrock, usually carbonate rock such as limestone or dolomite.” Enlightening. Further down I find a slightly easier passage to relate to: “Mature Karst landscapes, where more bedrock has been removed than remains, may result in karst towers or haystack/eggbox landscapes. Beneath the surface, complex underground drainage systems (such as karst aquifers) and extensive caves and cavern systems may form.” This rather aptly describes the terrain we are in. I marvel at the landscape outside my window. My real chance to appreciate them will come tomorrow though.

We arrive in Yangshuo around seven in the evening and walk around. Yangshuo takes me by surprise. I was expecting a little provincial hill-station. It is all that, but also heavily commercialized. The bus-stop exit channels us into a long alley with shops and hotels on either side. Patrick has no recollection of these structures so they must be fairly new. We are harassed as we walk along, but most locals are surprised and impressed at our relatively standard Beijing Putonghua. The accent here is at times hard to decipher. We earn respect wherever we go, though somewhat undeservedly I feel.

After asking at a local tourist agency, we finally locate the Karst Hotel. A double costs us the princely sum of 25 kuai each. It is good to travel during off-season! The room is decent, has attached bath, with running hot water. Sold! We dump our stuff, take quick showers, and step out in search of food. The little alleys, impressively clean, full of restaurants and cafes, advertising mostly European and American fare, render a distinctly European small town feel to this Chinese city. Oddly the Chinese fare on the menu is more expensive than staple ‘western’ items like fish and chips, spaghetti, and even steak and chips. Patrick digs into some fajitas as I order the fish and chips. While Yangshuo doesn’t reflect Guangxi’s poverty, the five tiny pieces that claim to be fish can easily lay claim to an impoverished background. Washing this rather unsatisfactorily meal (Patrick isn’t too impressed with his fajitas either) down with the local Liqun beer, we continue our stroll.

Over dinner I have decided to buy a backpack so that I can lug my laptop around with me the next day. Not the ideal solution, but far better than leaving it at the reception tomorrow. I need the peace of mind. I find something suitable, and haggle the price down from 120 to 55 kuai. I could probably have got it for 30, but I am yet to master this art.

We find a café next to the Karst, which has free internet. We settle in for some beer and French fries. The waitresses are friendly; speak better English than their counterparts in Beijing. One of them, a pretty girl, after establishing I am Indian tells me I look like ‘that Indian’ guy from ‘that American movie.’ A couple of minutes and we are finally able to deduce the movie is Van Wilder and I am being likened to Kal Penn. I am not sure I like this. I get the sense this is lone brown man in yellow land syndrome. A variation on the “all you XXX look alike!” (Replace XXX by whatever skin color catches your fancy.) We hang out at the café late into the night, and as we leave are encouraged to return for breakfast by the same girl who made the Kal Penn comparison. She really is quite cute. I say maybe we will.

After leaving the café we continue our stroll around town. It is quite dark now, and the karsts are hardly visible. Other tourists too are rare. The river right now is more like a stream, though fairly fast moving. I am pinged by Lauren who informs me that Caijing is now looking for a fulltime translator. So that puts paid to that. Suddenly the laptop feels heavier than its already weighty seven pounds. It also gets progressively colder, and we take the executive decision to head back to the hotel.

The temperature continues to drop and our room is freezing. The 25 kuai rate does not include the AC. But once under the covers, things are not too bad. We doze off to the TV screening some premier league game.

First it was DIM and then there was SUM

2006-12-31T23:59:00.000-05:00

Last day of the year 2006. How momentous. Not really. Another year has come. Many things are on the anvil, while others are following their due or undue course.

The day started with Dim Sum at the Golden Tripod Attic, a huge 24-hour restaurant near the Yonghegong Lama temple. Perhaps not the best dim sum in town, especially if you believe my Cantonese roommate Hok-Kwan, but it is affordable, right off the subway, and has rather pleasing décor. From there some of us waddled over to Houhai, second day running that I was walking the hutongs, and found a nice little café. I opened up Orhan Pamuk’s Snow and spent a few pleasant hours reading up on things in the tiny town of Kars on the Turkish border.

In the evening, attended New Year’s revelry at Lauren’s. Was a relatively quiet way to usher in the New Year, and all the better for it.

Beijing Snow

2006-12-30T05:34:00.000-05:00

The first snow of the winter is here. It was supposedly –11 degrees Celsius yesterday, so last night when it finally came down, it stuck. Fearing that it wouldn’t last, I spent much of the afternoon today in Houhai walking the hutongs, enjoying their snowflake-covered splendor. Moments like these accentuate just how lousy a place Wudaokou is. If I end up spending time doing research here in the coming years, I will be sure to avoid the blessed Wu, the scar (admittedly not the only one) that mars Beijing’s face.

Last night also happened to visit the “Beijing CD Jazz Club.” A nice little bar located just south of the agricultural exhibition ground in Chaoyang. They have live Jazz Thursday (or is it Wednesday) through Sunday. Lead by saxophonist Liu Yang, we heard a quartet of drums, cello, sax, and piano, all together three Chinese musicians, and one American. Was absolutely great. I am definitely hitting it up again sometime soon.

Staying on the military theme...

2006-12-24T03:27:00.000-05:00

Last week I tried my hand at translating. I have applied to translate for the Tsinghua Journal Science of International Politics and this was a little test they gave. I am not too confident, especially since I couldn't translate a particular phrase/name. Oh well. The fuits of my recent labors are below.

Original:

攻防理论的一个基本预设是，军事技术攻防优势的变化将自动改变国家的军事战略，但这一预设几乎未得到充分的评估。对此，徐进的《军事技术变化与军事战略转型》要回答的问题是，当军事技术出现攻防优势变化时，军事战略如何进行转型？国家为什么不能及时进行战略转型？通过考察军事史，作者发现，军事战略与军事技术之间经常出现不相符的现象，即军事战略不会自动“跟上”军事技术攻防优势的变化。作者认为，国家不能及时进行战略转型的原因，在于其习惯按照上一场战争的模式来准备下一场战争，无视军事技术的攻防优势在两次战争间隔期可能发生的转换。论文工作得到的启示是，以信息技术为核心的军事高技术群具有进攻优势，在其他条件不变的情况下，世界武器技术的信息化发展趋势将增大中国卷入军事冲突的危险。中国军队在完成机械化和信息化双重历史任务的过程中，要特别注重进攻性武器装备的研制和进攻作战理论的研究。

新现实主义理论认为，国际无政府状态下，面对霸权威胁时，国家趋于制衡霸权，但国际关系中许多国家的行为与沃尔兹的理论预期发生了较大的偏离。韦宗友的《霸权阴影下的战略选择》对这一现象做出了解释。论文认为，面对霸权威胁时，体系内的其他国家可能有制衡、追随和不介入三种政策选择，制衡并非国家的主导战略。影响国家战略选择的因素包括五个，即无政府文化结构、体系格局、国家间的权力对比、地理位置以及决策者观念。通过对战国时期诸侯兼并战争的详细考察，作者指出，正是在上述五个因素的综合作用下，秦国最终才能够歼灭六国，建立起“大一统”的帝国。

Translation:

A fundamental assumption in Defense Theory[1] is that changes in defensive[2] military technology automatically bring about changes in a country’s military strategy. But this assumption still suffers from being inadequately assessed. How do we carry out a transformation in military strategy amid changes in defensive military technology? Why can a country not conduct such transformations in a timely manner? These are the questions Xu Jin addresses in his “Changes in Military Technology and the Transformation of Military Strategy.”[3] In his study of military history Xu discovered that military strategy and military technology often experience non-corresponding developments; military strategy does not of its own accord keep pace with changes in defensive military technology. According to him, the reason a country is unable to carry out a timely transformation in its military strategy stems from the practice of preparing for a future war by studying the patterns of an earlier war, and from the neglect of changes in military technology during the intervening period between the two wars. His principal message is that an information and technology centered military group[4] possesses superiority in attack, and that ceteris paribus, the worldwide spread of weapon’s technology increases the danger of China being drawn into military conflicts. Therefore, during the process of completing the dual historical tasks of mechanization and bringing about an information revolution[5], the Chinese army needs to especially focus on the manufacture of offensive weapons and research the theory of assault warfare.

Neo-realism maintains that in the absence of an international government nations seek to restrain and balance a hegemonic power. However, in international relations the actual behavior of many nations deviates a great deal from that anticipated by such a XXX[6] theory. In “Strategic Choice under Hegemony,” Wei Zongyou attempts an explanation of this phenomenon. Wei states that when faced with a hegemonic threat, restraining or balancing the hegemonic power is by no means the only available strategy. Nations can also choose to align with the hegemonic power, or to stay uninvolved. He proposes five factors that influence a nation’s strategic decision-making, namely, its non-governmental cultural structure[7], its systemic structure[8], its relative power vis-à-vis other nations, its geographic location, as well as the views of its policymakers. Using the Wars of Annexation of the Warring States period as an example, he notes it is precisely by employing a combination of the aforementioned five factors that the Qin were ultimately able to destroy[9] the six countries and establish a united empire.

Notes:
[1] Theory of Defense?
[2] The shortening of: defense superiority.
[3] Are there standard translations for the titles of cited books/essays?
[4] The original “information-centered high technology military group” is awkward.
[5] Is there a standard translation used for the Chinese “信息化”? I have translated it as: bringing about an information/communications revolution? I remain unsure of what might be a suitable one-word translation in the English language.
[6] How does this translate: 沃尔兹?
[7] Better translation? Culture?
[8] Better translation? Political [power] structure?
[9] Better word ‘overcome?’

A trip down military lane

2006-12-24T03:04:00.000-05:00

Braving what is probably the coldest day in Beijing thus far, Hans and I rendezvous outside the 军事博物馆(junshi bowuguan) subway stop. The stop is aptly named since that is precisely what greets us as we step out into the open. The military museum of the People’s Republic is housed in a Soviet style building, imposing and ugly; perhaps a distant and rather stunted child of the main building of the University of Moscow (which from the pictures I have seen does look much more impressive).

But we don’t spend much time discussing whether ours is an apt comparison. We buy our tickets, resist the additional temptation to pay an extra 5 kuai to poke around a little torpedo boat outside, and rush into the relative warmth of the museum. The atrium is plastered with massive pictures of Mao, Deng, as well as the common man, addressing troops, riding in automobiles, storming buildings, and looking important, while doing important things. By now, I am more concerned at how far away the ceiling is and that it really isn’t all that much warmer inside. No matter, for soon even more immediate questions demand my attention. Right, left, or straight ahead? Straight. Perhaps because that’s the only direction we actually espy an exhibit.

Two limousines lie straight ahead. The one to the right, long, black, sleek in spite of its size, is Chairman Mao’s personal vehicle. It sits on a tiny platform, ringed off, so that we can barely touch it. We try peering in but cannot see much. I sense perhaps the inaccessibility is meant to add to the aura of the man. I am not awed, merely disappointed. The passage opens into a giant hall. Three mannequins dressed in the uniforms of the three services stand in attention. Around them are planes, tanks, self-propelled guns, armored personnel carriers, jeeps, and other military hardware. Among the exhibits I find the famous Mig-15 Fagot, which troubled the supposedly superior F-86 Sabre during the Korean War. Next to it is the Mig-19, codenamed Farmer, another famous plane and one that, last I know, was still being produced in China as late as the mid 1990s. Of course, they have Chinese names, and Chinese modifications. A little marvel called reverse engineering. Regardless of how much time I labor over them, my Chinese makes limited sense of the information boards. I retain an air of studied ignorance as I walk around.

To the right is a tiny door that opens into one of the internal courtyards. Outside are more military machines, but these are spoils of war, and include American tanks captured in the Korean War. It is interesting to see a big Sherman tank in China. I keep an eye out for things Indian, but find none.

We escape the cold again and head upstairs. The staircase is very wide, awfully grand, but also very dark. Hans suggests that the building might have been a gift from Stalin. He says there is a similar building in Poland, a gift from Stalin, which the Poles now try to hide as best as they can.

We walk into the exhibit on the War of Resistance against the Japanese. This is important stuff, and still fuels the distrust that many Chinese harbor towards the Japanese. Big maps explaining battle plans and troop movements, individual stories of heroes, exhibits containing clothes, weapons, personal effects, and other tools overwhelm us. The Guomindang or any discussion about them is conspicuously absent, or limited at best. My Chinese fails me again, as does my limited grasp of the detailed events of the 1930s.

Hans and I amble along, admiring collections of rifles and pistols. There are so many that they could probably outfit a full regiment. We explore halls focusing on Qing military affairs, the 19th century wars of humiliation, and the foundation of the PRC. We stop in front of wax figures of Mao, Zhou Enlai, Zhu De, Liu Shiaoqi, et al. They are all smiling, looking out at the visiting tourists, and beyond. Maybe Mao just made a joke. Or perhaps they are just happy to finally be in control of China’s destiny. I prefer the first possibility. The second has too much dark humor attached to it.

By now our spirits are flagging. They are temporarily raised by the amusement offered by the exhibit containing gifts presented by visiting military delegations, or those presented to touring Chinese delegations. I finally find something from India: a sword, rather a scimitar, the Indian Talwar, presented sometime in the 1950s. Not surprisingly, there is nothing since. But gifts from the former Soviet republics abound, as do the ones from former Warsaw pact countries and from African nations. We are amused and intrigued in turn by the gifts and the countries they are from.

I walk out with the impression, albeit circumscribed by my aforementioned studied ignorance, that this museum reinforces notions of Chinese victim-hood. Patriotic flag waving is the staple diet of any military museum, but in China it seems to be informed and, perhaps even overpowered, by an intense sense of victimization. It makes me reflect on how we in India construct our recent history. Oppression is very much a part of recent Indian history. But India’s history appears more contested. Both India and China since the late 1940s have fed on the notions of a glorious past, and the need to achieve it again. In China there appears to be a clearer understanding of what that means perhaps, as well as a sense of inevitability about it. Manifest destiny? Chinese style? As always I walk away with half-baked ideas and notions, but also more to research and ponder over.

Not every story ends well. I catch a cold, and probably something else too. End up sick, coughing, congested, and not a little worse for the week.

Sacrificing Cinematic Immortality at the altar of Linguistic Lunacy

2006-12-04T07:51:00.000-05:00

They are shooting the Kite Runner in Hebei province some 300 kilometers away from Beijing. An ad seeking extras has been placed in thatsbj.com (bj being Beijing, for those of you whose thoughts are often raunchier than their deeds). But for the fact that the shooting is on Wednesday and Thursday, I would most certainly have been off to be a part of big budget cinema. Would I pass as Afghan? Probably not, though I do possess a nose that would not embarrass me. In any case, it is moot, since I don’t think I am going. Ah, the opportunities I squander in my quest to achieve the linguistic competency of a 10 year old.

On a related note, I find it interesting that they chose to film in China and not elsewhere. If Afghanistan is too dangerous, which it very well might be, then what about the other ‘stans? Indeed, what about Pakistan? More realistic terrain, definitely a lot easier to find extras, not to add that it would also probably be a lot cheaper. I am intrigued, and shall investigate.

A sense of the non-sense

2006-11-28T07:05:00.000-05:00

These few days have been a bit of a rollercoaster of dullness as I struggle through flagging spirits, tangled emotions, loss of touch with my femine side (wherever she may be), a cough like a bad relationship that won't end, and a general sense of the non-sense.

On the occasions that I have managed to tear myself away from the riveting effects of the above, I have spent them desultorily reading about about the source, or at least one of them, of Chinese religious beliefs. I am still unpacking the metaphor laden discussion, but it has something to do with people in the Shang dynasty (thats people who allegedly lived in some part of today's China some 3500 years ago) comparing life and the mysteries of creation, change, and destruction with flowers and their constituent parts. Thus, I can now tell you what the pistil of a flower is called, in Chinese no less. I could also tell you what other parts are called, but I'd have to remember them in English first.

Last weekend I did happen to attend, with my budding journalist friends, Lauren and Soren, the Qinghua edition of 70th year celebrations of the Red Army. We marched into the indoor gym on campus, struggled to find the best seats (since so many were emtpy), and proceeded to hear a full orchestra and choir perform songs about the Long March, Mao Zhuxi (Chairman Mao to you), and how he k.o.'ed Jiang Jieshi (aka Chiang Kaishek). It was all very inspiring, except, none of us really understood the songs or the presenters. It was also sobering, it was, for those of us who aspire to some level of competency in this most enduring of languages, there lies a long road ahead.

Not so unencumbered after all...

2006-11-21T06:05:00.000-05:00

After barring blogger for too long, China has reopened its doors. Which means I is back. No vengeance, but back all the same. And hopefully I shall ruminate as well in the near future.

In the meantime, am into the second module at IUP. Its painful, is intensive language. But we beat on...yada yada yada. Also trying to get my applications in on time. Which means generally busy. But managing to eat good food, most recent being Hakka, which is often an effective if short term substitute for all sorts of sins and misfortunes.

More shortly.

Clemency--for the right reasons

2006-10-09T09:24:00.000-04:00

Trust The Hindu to come up with a trenchant analysis of the Afzal death penalty/clemency imbroglio. It quite successfully cuts through to what I agree is the heart of the matter. Rather than sum up the argruments, I am reproducing the entire editorial below. You can also find it at http://www.hindu.com/2006/10/09/stories/2006100901901000.htm

While I agree with the solution proposed in the final paragraph below, I remain skeptical regarding the possibility of such an outcome. Rather I hold true to what I wrote in an earlier post, that short term political expediency will in all likelyhood overwhelm all other concerns. This is tragic, but also what we might call the logic or illogic of Indian politics. Nevertheless, we should continue demanding, as The Hindu does, a nationwide debate on the death penalty. It is long overdue.

_______________________
Clemency — for the right reasons

The issue of exercising presidential clemency and commuting to life imprisonment the death sentence passed on Mohammad Afzal in the December 13, 2001 Parliament attack case — which took a toll of nine lives, not counting the five terrorists killed by the security forces — has proved to be extremely divisive. It has pitted those who favour a hard line on terrorism against those considered soft, and politicians and groups in Kashmir against much of the rest of the nation. Yet if Afzal deserves a life sentence rather than death by hanging, it is because the death penalty is abhorrent under any circumstances. To plead for clemency alleging a flawed trial or pointing to incensed Kashmiri sentiment is to miss the point. First, it is clear that he was convicted after a fair trial, with the judiciary from the trial court through the high court to the Supreme Court concurring on both his guilt and his sentence, even while two others were acquitted. Critics of the Afzal verdict have made it out that he did not have proper legal representation; that the evidence against him was not direct but only circumstantial; and that as he did not actually take part in the attack or mastermind it, he should have been given a lesser sentence. These issues were examined at length by the Supreme Court, which found that he was adequately represented. Even after disregarding his confession to the police, the apex court found enough circumstantial evidence of his being a key conspirator who played an active role in the attack. This role included the purchase of mobile phones for the terrorists; being in contact with them in the minutes before the attack; arranging accommodation for them and staying with them; and purchasing vehicles and explosive material for the attack. As for the nature of the offence, the court found it to be "a terrorist act of gravest severity" and "a spectacle of the rarest of rare cases," warranting the death sentence.
The argument rooted in Kashmiri sentiment also seems to be on shaky ground. It is a measure of the peculiar circumstances in Jammu & Kashmir that even mainstream political parties in the State think nothing of identifying themselves with a convicted terrorist and pleading his cause. Yet going by such considerations would be subversive of the fundamental principles of the rule of law and setting a dangerous precedent. For any group or region could use its collective voice and muscle to bale out anyone convicted by a court.
The Hindu has, for some decades now, been calling for the abolition of the death penalty — and this consistent editorial position will naturally be valid for Afzal's case as well. After surviving a constitutional challenge, the death penalty is now supposed to be applied only in "the rarest of rare cases," as laid down by the Supreme Court. Yet however grave or gruesome the crime, the taking of a human life by the state under the banner of justice dehumanises society as a whole. The judicial system is not immune to mistakes, and there is always the danger of extinguishing a life in error. That this is not hypothetical has been shown occasionally by DNA evidence clearing a convicted criminal on death row. In a 1930 case in Bihar, five persons were sentenced to death on a charge of murder but had to be released because it was discovered just in time that the case had been totally fabricated by a police officer.
The most common argument advanced in favour of capital punishment is that it is qualitatively different from imprisonment and, as all fear death, it is the most effective deterrent. Yet there is little evidence that the death penalty is any more deterrent than imprisonment for life. Indeed, the evidence, if any, supports the opposite conclusion: the period when the death penalty remained suspended in the United States, for instance, did not see any change in the number of `capital offences.' Very often, rather than deterrence, the unstated rationale is retribution and revenge — the taking of a life for a life. In the Afzal case, the Supreme Court comes close to echoing such sentiments when it says: "the collective conscience of the society will only be satisfied if capital punishment is awarded to the offender" and he "is a menace to the society and his life should become extinct." Over the past half century, proposals made on and off for the abolition of capital punishment fell through because of the argument that public opinion and the conditions in the country did not warrant such a radical change. Such a line was taken even by the Law Commission when it examined the issue in detail, but that was in 1967. Now, abolition is becoming more and more the international norm, with the whole of Europe doing without it — as India found when Portugal allowed the extradition of Abu Salem on condition that he would not be awarded the death penalty.
The Government needs to turn the issues thrown up by the latest case into a broader discussion on whether India can retain on its statute book something so abhorrent to human rights as the death penalty — and should move boldly towards its abolition. Meanwhile, in the specific case of Mohammad Afzal, the death sentence must be commuted to imprisonment for life. This is indeed a fit case for the use of presidential clemency — for the right reasons. The pleading by Afzal's wife and seven-year-old son and his background as a surrendered militant who cooperated with the authorities are reasons sound enough to exercise the executive power of clemency, which may be subject to broad judicial scrutiny but still retains a large measure of discretion.
____________________________

Commuting death—a plea, a call to morality, and a threat

2006-10-04T08:37:00.000-04:00

Afzal’s hanging might be deferred, at least for the time being it appears that way. As is often the case in such politically and ideologically charged controversies, a variety of agendas have become intertwined. Perusing the papers I can sense three essentially disjointed elements that have crystallized over the course of these few days.

The first is legalistic. Afzal’s wife and family, with the help of his lawyers, have filed a mercy petition with the President. "He did not get justice, neither in lower courts nor in higher court. All he demands is fair trial," said his wife, adding that she hoped "justice will done by the President.” http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/articleshow/2080356.cms
The family is quick to distance themselves from NGOs who they feel are using Afzal’s misfortune to forward their own anti-death penalty agenda. For the family this is a personal matter and they don’t seem too keen to use the NGOs in ways that the NGOs are using them.

The anti-death penalty agenda then is the second element to this controversy. It is primarily led by NGOs dedicated to eradicating it from the IPC. Their arguments are more universal and based in moral and ideological terms. Needless to say, this is a much larger debate. In India it has not been as vibrant as in other countries, though admittedly it is also not as dormant as in some, most notably China.

The third element is grounded in the logic or illogic of politics. From separatist leaders to the current CM of J&K, Ghulam Nabi Azad, all have voiced concerns regarding the political fallout of the execution. The separatists are using the specter of increased violence as a threat, whereas Azad is speaking in favor of maintaining the ‘peace.’ Added to this are voices from the BJP (as well as more right wing groups) who are looking for an opportunity to criticize the UPA government. And finally, there are the kin of those who died in the parliament attacks. So far, the media has shown little interest in reporting where they stand.

Political expediency is probably what will dominate the government’s decision in the end. But what is politically most expedient remains unclear, as the potential gains or losses in J&K will be weighed against the potential gains or losses across India as a whole. As far as Afzal’s family is concerned, the good news right now is that the entering of a plea automatically defers an execution. So until they hear back from the President, October 20 as such retains little significance.

Also see: http://www.hindu.com/2006/10/04/stories/2006100413910100.htm

Impressions in Stone--Part I

2006-10-02T00:30:00.000-04:00

A few weekends back IUP organized a tour of the great wall for its students. At 8 am on a chilly Saturday morning, about 30-40 students and laoshis squeezed into a bus waiting outside Tsinghua’s East Gate. Our destination was not Badaling or any of the other more famous Great Wall sites that lie within an hours drive of Beijing, but instead a section of the wall from Jinshanling to Simatai renowned for its picturesque beauty and relatively untouched—that is, still authentic—masonry.

Sleepy, not a little bit tired after a strenuous first week, but also somewhat glad to be getting involved in some sort of activity, we set off. Heading in a generally northeast direction we threaded our way through Beijing’s suburbs and soon hit farmland and rolling hills. (On a clear day, a rarity given the city’s pollution, these hills are visible from my flat window in Wudaokou). From a distance most of the crops appeared to be wheat, though every now and then I thought I also spied some corn. Given my generally superior knowledge on this front, I would recommend readers go elsewhere to learn about land use surrounding Beijing.

While most students had opted to bring their study material with them, the initial part of the journey was spent celebrating one of our tongxue’s birthdays. After traveling for about 3 hours, which included a pit stop at a highway rest area, we stopped at a village for lunch. Instead of booking a regular restaurant, IUP had decided to expose us to Chinese countryside (nongcun) cuisine. We all gathered in a relatively large courtyard, about 6-7 to a table, as plates filled with nongcun fan were brought to us. Besides the fattened beef, things seemed decidedly less oily than in a standard Beijing restaurant. That said, it seemed like a lot of the food I’d had earlier, and not entirely distinctive.

Another 30 minutes on the bus brought us to Jinshanling. We had already caught glimpses of the wall from the road, but now we were finally at the wall.

The Jinshanling section of the great wall is located about 140 kilometers to the northeast of Beijing. It is so named as it straddles the Jinshan (shan=mountain) range. Work on the wall was begun with the establishment of the Ming in 1368 and lasted 21 years till 1389. It was subsequently rebuilt, in all likelihood primarily repair work, in the latter half of the 16th century. About eleven kilometers in all, it connects in the east with the Simatai section of the wall. Simatai owes its fame as the most beautiful section of the wall largely to neglect. While sites such as Badaling and Mutianyu have undergone extensive restoration, the Simatai site has lain untouched. It stretches for a total of about 20 kilometer on either of the Simatai reservoir. Simatai has an older history than Jinshanling, with some scholars dating wall construction in the area to as early as the Northern Qi (550-577 C.E.). It first surfaces in Ming dynasty sources in 1382. The section was periodically rebuilt or strengthened during the Ming and also helped repel Mongol raids in the second half of the 16th century.*

Our four-hour hike would take us from Jinshanliang to the reservoir at Simatai.

*The source for the history of Jinshanling and Simatai is the IUP information packet, and most notably the sections by great wall researcher David Spindler (IUP 1989-90).

Bomb blasts and death sentences

2006-10-01T09:30:00.000-04:00

Latest news reports inform us that agencies have reached some major conclusions in their investigation into the July 11 Bombay bomb blasts. The biggest of these is that Pakistan’s intelligence agency, Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI), was the conceptual mastermind of the attacks. Lashkar-e-Taiba (LeT) and Jaish-e-Mohammad, in turn employing the now banned Students Islamic Movement of India (SIMI) and its modules, planned, coordinated, and executed the explosions.

Needless to say, the denials have come thick and fast from across the border. Baseless, fabricated, and intended to derail the peace process Singh and Musharraf have just managed to resurrect at the NAM summit, so goes the counter-claim. The bluster notwithstanding, it does provide a good first test for the recently formed joint anti-terrorism agency. Though, realistically speaking, little progress will be made. Whatever evidence will be shared will be summarily dismissed, and the war of words will continue. And in both countries the common man will continue to doubt the intentions of the other country’s government, while muttering platitudes that it is not the people but governments that have perpetuated this long impasse.

Other information unearthed included the routes taken by the alleged Pakistani militants to reach India: from Nepal in the north, Bangladesh in the east, and from across the Gujarat border. Interestingly, none came across the LoC in Kashmir. What does this mean, especially in the context of cross border terrorism writ large? In the past few years, the Indian government has, in general, accepted that the number of terrorists crossing over from PoK into India has declined. Indeed, that was fundamental to the ‘peace process’ moving forward. Evidently, that is not the only border to worry about, is it?

In other news, as the scheduled execution of Mohammad Afzal Guru, the purported mastermind behind the December 2001 attack on the Indian parliament, approaches, protests and strikes have been called across J&K state. The Prime Minister and the President have both been approached in the hope of clemency.

At issue is not merely the fundamental debate over capital punishment, but also the potential political fallout. It is these concerns that have prompted political leaders such as Ghulam Nabi Azad and Omar Abdullah to ask for clemency. They fear that the carrying out of the sentence would further alienate Kashmiris, and that the timing—we are in the midst of Ramadan—is also inopportune. NGOs claim, “The issue should not be seen from narrow political ends but from a larger perspective. The fact remains that the world over there is a general consensus against hanging." (http://www.hindu.com/2006/10/01/stories/2006100106071300.htm) But given ‘the where’ as well as ‘the who’ of this particular case, it is naive to expect a purely humanitarian solution.

Back in business

2006-09-23T23:03:00.000-04:00

I have been back in Beijing a few weeks now. In certain ways the settling in has been harder the second time round. The reasons are not hard to find.

Break wound down. As is always the case, just about when I began feeling settled with life in Delhi again, it was time to move. While there I ate more than I ought have, food rich in spices and often richer in oil. I still feel sated and perhaps also a little bloated as I write this.

But I am back, and already in the thick of things. IUP is demanding, and getting into the right frame of mind for it has been the story of the forthnight. And it is very much a developing one...

Desh Satthiya gaya...

2006-08-16T04:29:00.000-04:00

Today is India’s 59th independence day. Thus begins independent India's 60th year. Lets us hope the title above does not ring true.

Our flat in Delhi overlooks a little park, which has seen much bonhomie this morning. B-10’s young and old alike gathered to sing, perform, and generally raise some noise to mark the occasion. That much of the singing was off key, and that people were as tolerant of older folks trying to hog the stage as they were of little kids, was not of much importance.

On TV, prime minister Manmohan Singh announced from the ramparts of the Red Fort India’s resolve to fight terrorism, her hopes for future generations, and so on. He does not make much of an inspiring speaker.

I arrived in Delhi yesterday, early in the morning. My flight from Beijing stopped off at Shanghai, where we changed planes, before touching down about 30 minutes before time at IGI airport in Delhi. On the flight I bumped into a group of eight Chinese engineers who were headed to Rajkot in Gujarat to help in highway construction. They were delighted to learn that I could speak a little Chinese. I happened to sit next to one of them from Shanghai to Delhi and we attempted a reasonable conversation, almost entirely in Chinese, since his English could hardly pass muster. I have now been invited to drink baijiu when he is in Beijing next.

It feels great to be back home. Delhi’s skies are definitely bluer than Beijing’s. But Delhi is also much more of a grand mess than Beijing is.

Chance encounters

2006-08-06T05:43:00.000-04:00

I am sitting in the Bookworm, Beijing’s trendy, primarily geared towards foreigners, library-lounge-restaurant on Sanlitun Nanjie. At a table nearby is a gentleman who seems awfully familiar but, for the life of me, I am unable to place him. Moments such as these are irritating. A couple of weeks ago I bumped into Robbie Barnett, who teaches modern Tibet at Columbia. I had just emerged from the Gulou Dajie subway station, heading towards Houhai for a meeting with my friend Jen, when I spotted Robbie. Our eyes met and there was perhaps a faint glint of recognition. As I walked past, the tumblers all fell in place, and the lock sprung open. I introduced myself and the following week a few of us Columbia folks in Beijing got together at the Drum and the Bell, in the shadows of the eponymous Drum and Bell Towers, for some drinks and chatter.

Robbie had some interesting things to tell about his summer in Tibet. He had arrived in China earlier in the summer, leading a group of Columbia graduate students who were to spend the summer in Lhasa learning Tibetan. Upon arriving in Chengdu they were informed that the university they had made arrangements with could no longer provide any training. As the tourism and foreign ministries tried to align their stories, the group was able to slip into Lhasa on tourist permits. In Lhasa, Robbie was able to convince some of the now barred teachers into lecturing, which, on technical grounds one could argue, is not teaching. But the local security bureau got wind of this pretty quickly, and after four or five days, the lectures too abruptly ended. In the end, some students traveled to Kathmandu for their lessons, and those that could not afford the trip, attempted self-study in Lhasa. During his stay in Tibet, Robbie also had public security men detailed to shadow him for a few hours everyday.

The group also stated that even though the Beijing-Lhasa rail is now operational, Lhasa is mostly unprepared for the huge influx of tourists that are now flooding the plateau. From sufficient hotel rooms, to water supply to waste management, Tibet’s administration is apparently already stretched thin. And this is just the beginning...

Sitting in Beijing one can be lulled into thinking that it is a microcosm of China. In addition to the many levels on which this is an obvious fallacy, Robbie and the Columbia crew’s experiences provide a more [politically] specific and geographically localized rebuttal (if one were indeed needed).

Apologizing, Liangliang style

2006-07-25T22:33:00.000-04:00

In yesterday’, China Scene section, where The China Daily picks pieces from widely read local papers, The Qilu Evening News states:

“A high school student in Luxian County, Shandong Province, cut off part of a finger recently to show his regret for cheating his parents of money. Lianliang, 14, asked for extra 400 yuan (US$ 49, INR 2300) from his parents last week, saying that money would be used to pay next term’s tuition fees. However, Liangliang planned to spend the money on playing online games. Finding out the truth from other students, the parents were furious and scolded the boy for his dishonesty. To show how sorry he was, Liangliang grabbed a knife from the table and chopped a part of his little finger.

“The emergency surgery to reattach Liangliang’s finger cost his parents 6,000 yuan (US$740, INR 34,000).”

In any case, I think the boy is ready to be admitted to the Japanese Yakuza. Maybe he should have just asked for 3200 yuan to begin with, and used part of that money to bribe his friends. He might then have gotten entry into just about any mafia worldwide!

The Daily's main op-ed piece is by Mao Rubai, the vice-Chairman of the China Environmental Protection Union. Mao speaks of the dangers of blindly following the ‘extensive growth mode.’ More on that soon.

The Beijing of concrete, steel and glass

2006-07-23T12:05:00.000-04:00

What used to be a low profile skyline dotted with the occasional skyscraper is fast metamorphing into one teeming with recently completed gleaming steel and glass towers as well as many more in various stages of completion. Metal piping has replaced the old-fashioned bamboo scaffolding, and it is just as well, given how high these new towers aspire to reach. New construction is visible everywhere, but nowhere more so than in Chaoyang, Beijing’s business district, which lies to the east of the Forbidden City (still very much the geographic center of Beijing) roughly beyond the third ring road. But even up by Wudaokou, the university part of town, gleaming new apartment buildings greet commuters as they get off the number 13 subway line.

As we drive past the Beijing world trade center, Eric, my French suitemate, cannot help but remark how impressive all this construction looks. Manfred, sitting in front, points to some of the older buildings, their design suggesting a different era and vastly different social and economic priorities or circumstances. Indeed, interspersed among these gleaming new paeans to China’s burgeoning economic growth, and still holding on for dear life it would appear, are the remnants of the older Beijing—the hutongs and the communist era office and apartment blocks.

Hutongs still hold sway in some parts of downtown Beijing such as Houhai, Gulou, Andingmen, and Qianmen Dajie. But for how much longer is unclear. Already billboards and hoardings panel the Qianmen Dajie leading from the Jianlou tower to the Temple of Heaven. They hide from our view hutongs that are scheduled for demolition, while carrying pictures and representations of what will replace them: a new Wangfujing like promenade/shopping street.

Development is always welcome, and especially in country like China, whose people have suffered much in their modern history. But Eric and Manfred’s observations do focus on a salient feature of Beijing’s transformation. For, after all, who is buying these new super expensive residences or office buildings? Rich folk. From what little I have heard and read, Beijing’s older residents are being compensated (relocated) with accommodations on the outskirts. So Beijing’s demography is probably changing not in a dynamic and organic way, but in a process that could be described more as transshipment—a new wealthy group replacing the cities original inhabitants. And as Manfred is quick to point, this process is being facilitated by another huge group of people, who are neither Beijing’s old nor new residents—migrant workers.

This does raise interesting urban policy questions. Is Beijing’s development unique, or part of a more discernable process experienced or being experienced by other mega-cities? I’d imagine, to some extent such changes in the demographic and economic character of a city or parts of a city are to be expected. I need to read more about urban development.

Polluting Heaven and Earth

2006-07-19T11:53:00.000-04:00

The People’s Daily (online edition) carries an article today on China’s increasing soil pollution problem. Citing data gathered by the State Environmental Protection Administration (SEPA) and the Ministry of Land Resources, it states that every year about 12 million tons of grain are polluted by heavy metals, which equates to about 20 Billion yuan (about $2.5 Billion or Rs. 11,000 crore) in losses. Needless to say, public health is a major, and seemingly harder, cost to evaluate at this point. Per an ‘incomplete’ investigation, 10 million hectares of arable land in China is polluted. China’s total arable land is estimated at about 120 million hectares. Thus, almost 8.75% of China’s arable land is already poisoned. Given that in terms of arable land per capita, China is already well below the global average, this is a problem that needs to be addressed at the soonest.

The report goes on to inform us that SEPA and the Ministry of Land Resources are launching a three-year 1 billion yuan ($1.25 million, Rs. 550 crore) survey to ascertain the nature and extent of the problem. A good first step, no doubt.

Agriculture received much attention in the 20th century as people sought to understand China’s recent economic history and developmental challenges. A major contribution to was made by John Lossing Buck (Pearl S. Buck’s husband) in the 1930s. Buck’s meticulous survey provided the first insights into China’s historical agricultural practices, land use patterns, and the like. Another major study is that of Dwight Perkins whose work spanned the 600 years from the Ming (1368 CE) to the start of the Cultural Revolution (well actually 1968). Since then there have been several more localized and focused studies. And I have to admit I am a little ignorant on current agricultural practices and methods in China.

The soil pollution news serves to accentuate the environmental challenges China will increasingly have to face in the coming years. A recent NYT article spoke about the pollution in industrial and coal mining cities. And one look at Beijing’s constant grayscale sky is enough to frighten even the most stoic or nonchalant amongst us.

Stray thoughts

2006-07-17T21:09:00.000-04:00

Warisha, who is in Srinagar, tells me that the 11/7 grenade attacks have prompted a tourist exodus of sorts. To that end I guess the attacks were a success. It is a pity, as whenever there are attempts at limping towards some semblance of recovery, there are setbacks. On the Bombay front, while there has been a lot of progress with the investigation, a resolution remains elusive. On July 12, PTI reported that Narendra Modi beseeched India and her leaders to find a common will against terrorism, which he said was no longer confined to a state or even a country. These are indeed fair points, but coming from Modi, three words keep ringing in my ears: pot, kettle, black.

On a larger level, the attacks do seem to put a damper on whatever bilateral peace process that had been in the works these past couple of years. While few doubt Pakistani complicity at some level in the attacks, the real worry is that Musharraf and his administration have increasingly lost control of the terrorist outfits and their activities. Furthermore, in recent years terrorism in J&K has come to be dominated by LeT and JeM, both of which consist primarily of people from outside J&K. Natives of the region have been increasingly marginalized. This merely serves to complicate negotiations.

The ‘big powers’ are convening in SPB for the G-8 summit. Hu Jintao is there, so is Manmohan Singh. Xinhua reports a trilateral meeting between Hu, Singh and Putin—the first of its kind. The beginning of the formation of new global economic alliances, however tentative and tenuous, it would appear.

Spirit of Mumbai

2006-07-12T06:56:00.001-04:00

More reports are trickling in. Apparently many terror cells have been busted in cities such as Nagpur and Delhi, with several kilos of RDX and many AK-47s seized. Wonder how soon, if at all, definitive information will be available. There was a time when terrorists would jump to claim responsibility for their heinous crimes.

LeT and Jaish-e-Mohammad seem to be the prime suspects, though both have denied culpability. Given the similarity of MOs with Madrid and London, I cannot help but wonder to what extent there are wider links. Of course India has other sources of tension as well—most notably the Naxalite movement. Was just talking with a friend in Delhi who suspects the Shiv Sena instead. While I seriously doubt they have the logistical wherewithal, let alone the gall to gamble so heavily with their political future, her suspicions do highlight how much of a problem India’s Hindu right wing nut jobs are as well. (Matter of fact, in the larger scheme of things it might not be entirely bad if the Shiv Sena and Bal Thackeray were actually involved and fingered for it, because that would effectively end their involvement in Indian politics.)

At moments like this people’s latent xenophobia seems to emerge, often being manipulated and influenced by the more openly xenophobic amongst us. I refer not just to politicians or major public figures, but also to the discourse among common folk. Furthermore, this xenophobia is often at its strongest in Diaspora communities. One of the message boards I often lurk on has seen a hail of vitriol and diatribe directed at Muslims en masse and at our friendly neighbors to the NW. Of particular interest is the fact that most of these self-confessed patriots (read Hindi-Hindutva-Heartland Heroes) reside outside India.

At least in Bombay, and in India as a whole, it seems this divisiveness is not on people’s minds. Last time round, Bombay was wracked by riots (riding as it was on a fairly pivotal event in modern Indian history—the destruction of the Babari Masjid in Ayodhya). I do hope that that experience is not repeated. The memory of 1993 and of Gujarat more recently has left deep scars, and hopefully deeper lessons. Let us hope the ‘spirit of Mumbai,’ as news channels have coined it, prevails over sectarian idiocy.

Serial Blasts

2006-07-11T22:13:00.000-04:00

Have spent much of last night and most of the morning reading about yesterday’s blasts in Bombay and Srinagar. While the explosions in each city were no doubt carefully orchestrated, it remains unclear at this point whether there was also intercity orchestration. The kinds of explosives used—sophisticated RDX in Bombay versus hand grenades in Srinagar—suggests differing MOs and consequently the possibility that different outfits carried them out. But even that is circumstantial and doesn’t preclude two terror groups planning the serial bombings to occur in tandem.

Reminiscent of the recent train bombings in London and Madrid, the carnage in Bombay also evokes memories of the 1993 serial bomb blasts, which left 250 dead and many injured. The death toll has risen through the night and raced past the 150 mark (last I checked, NDTV reported a figure of 172 as of Wednesday morning). Sadly, it will probably continue to rise. Of course, the number of injured and maimed is significantly higher (NDTV reports 439 as off Wednesday morning).

In 1993 Bombay and Mumbaikars showed remarkable fortitude in attempting a return to normalcy with schools, businesses and government all staying open in the immediate aftermath. It was heartening and inspiring. From what I read, the same spirit prevails now as well.

The Srinagar bombings have so far left 8 dead and many more wounded. In their intensity they don’t seem to match the Bombay blasts. The principal targets in Srinagar appear to be tourists. Newspapers state that this is the 6th attack in Kashmir since the tourist season began earlier in the spring/summer. On one level such attacks are indicative of the growing frustration perhaps with the increasing tourist presence in Srinagar.

The last 17 years have been punctuated by many terrorist activities, and in the odd case, by a total breakdown, in certain regions, of India’s civil society. Indeed, what happened in Godhra was probably the saddest indictment of India’s secular claims. For the government and the police to sit back and watch (even participate) in rioting was shameful. While India’s experiences with terrorism are not a recent phenomenon, the rise of a global terrorism anchored in Islamic fundamentalism has made the challenge all the more pressing.

More soon…

Diving queens, bull called Zidane, and football fan[atic]s

2006-07-10T10:55:00.000-04:00

The world cup is over. The ‘diving queens’ won over the ‘lao (old) bleus’ and the best player of his generation saw red, leaving the field in disgrace. The 2006 final was a drab affair, perhaps even on par with 1994 in its ability to bore. Interestingly, Italy was present then as well. Aside from its surprises, this world cup has also seen some great goals and Bastian Schweinsteiger’s brace against Portugal provided a nice finishing flourish for the host nation and the team they support.

Zidane is not the only one to get riled up over the world cup. The China Daily (July 8-9) quoting the Fujian Daily notes: “A fight occurred between a father and son in Fujian Province when their favorite football teams clashed in the World Cup in Germany. The father was a big Argentina fan, while his son supported Germany. After Germany beat Argentina in the quarterfinals, the son commented that Argentine players performed badly during the match, which annoyed his father. The father beat his son on the bottom [emphasis mine], and his son then fought back. Local border guards were called because neighbors, hearing the commotion, thought burglars might have been in the house.” Apparently, both were let off with cautions, though their actions merited red cards.

If only I had the time to mine papers from other countries...

Paths silken but less trodden

2006-07-06T07:45:00.000-04:00

Today, after a gap of 44 years, the Nathu La pass that connects Sikkim to Tibet has been reopened to traffic. There is much bonhomie on either side, reflective perhaps of the increasing degree to which India and China are approaching each other with civility and common sense. The pass had been closed to traffic since the 1962 Sino-Indian war.

My first encounter with Nathu La goes back to Xth grade geography where an overtly pedantic teacher would shave off points if we got the placement of a river or, as in this case, pass wrong by a millimeter. Given that we were both (mis)placing these geographical features on a blank map of India, suffice to say river towns were frequently flooded and mountains routinely brought to their knees.

But Xth grade geography aside, the People's Daily is quick to remind us that the Nathu La pass was one of the main arteries in that most famous of overland trade routes that snaked around much of Asia. And now, that trade can be renewed. While I am sure the opening will do a great deal for Sino-Indian trade, I am more excited at the possibilities this might offer for regional development—of both Sikkim and Tibet.

Most exciting, selfishly speaking, of course, is the prospect—now firmly within the realm of the possible—of actually returning to Delhi via road. Only a few days ago, Beijing officially flagged off the first train to Lhasa. Next summer looks more and more enticing...

Yeh Kya Hua?

2006-07-05T11:09:00.001-04:00

“Yeh kya hua, kaise hua, kab hua, kyon hua, jab hua, tab hua…”

So goes the famous Kishore Kumar song from Amar Prem. Rather apt given Germany’s heartbreaking exit from the WC. Ah well. It was a cracker of a match, the Italians played out of their skins, the Germans managed to trade punch for punch for the most part, but were finally undone during the climactic closing minutes. There is much to look forward to for this German team. They are young (but for the two goalies), play attractive football, and if Klinsmann hangs around, can look forward to some very productive years. Moreover, most of these players will come back older and wiser in four years, and hopefully go all the way.

Lets hope the remaining three games are as entertaining as this one was. Alright, enough lamenting and talking football, for now.

I discovered a great dish the other day. Yu xiang qiezi. Fish flavored/smelling eggplant. I have always been partial to this most regal of vegetables, and this latest discovery only adds to the long list of preparations, each delicious.

And in other news India won a test series in the West Indies after a gap of 35 years. No small achievement that. Yet given the comparative assessments of the teams going into the series I am sure many would feel somewhat cheated by the 1-0 scoreline. But a win is a win is a win.

Don't Cry For Me Argentina...

2006-07-02T09:41:00.000-04:00

Quite a weekend I had. Friday began with meeting up with friends—from Columbia and from Beijing—to celebrate Charlie McAeeter’s birthday. We ended up at a Xinjiang restaurant right across from the Workers Stadium (the Gongren Tiyu Chang). The food was excellent and alcohol flowed like the river Isen once it was un-dammed by the Ents. In particular, some of us decided to make the night a close encounter with local Chinese liquor, or Baijiu, as it is called. At 56% it is stronger than most hard liquor and burns your gullet on its way to damaging your kidneys. It comes in tiny 150 ml bottles and by the time we called an end to dinner, the four of us actually drinking the stuff must have shared a good 7 or 8 bottles of this most acerbic of beverages.

From the restaurant our large group, it had grown to almost 15 people, splintered. Some wanted to go dancing, others wanted to catch the Germany-Argentina QF.

Braving thunderstorms, and balancing all the food and alcohol in our bellies, Jonathan, Janet, Jen, Jeff and I (wow, I just realized I was with J-Crew for much of Friday evening) landed up at a bar in the Sanlitun area. We missed much of the first half but caught the rest of an absolutely absorbing game. Ayala scored a good goal from a well-delivered Riquelme corner. The Germans fought back superbly, and the equalizer, via a Ballack, Borowski and Klose combination, was really quite emphatic. Pekerman did make some odd substitutions in hindsight, and Lehmann was brilliant in goal to send the Argies back. Can’t say the Argentines did themselves any favors in the second half. Definitely wasn’t impressed with all the diving and time wasting the Albiceleste partook in. Still not entirely convinced with Abbondanzieri and his now I am injured and now I am not antics either. And then the melee at the end was really quite ridiculous. I am definitely not crying for Argentina.

What can one say about England? They finally played a match with some spunk and spirit, only to be destroyed by that most enduring of bugbears—a penalty shoot out. Ricardo was quite outstanding for the Portuguese, but to see Lampard and Gerrard hit such weak shots was really disappointing. If there is one lesson to be drawn from all this, it is that people should stop hyping the EPL and its players. As my Newcastle United supporting British friend Rob put it, the EPL might be amongst the most entertaining leagues around, but it is far from the best. And finally, can we please stop elevating Becks to the rarefied fields of soccer greatness—where not only does he not belong, he cannot even pretend to belong. Ironically, the one Pommy who was outstanding throughout the WC plays not in the EPL but in the Bundesliga.

Italy cruised past Ukraine, as expected. Their match-up with Germany now promises to be interesting, though I think the Germans should be able to send them home as well.

And finally, Brazil are on their way home. What an inspired 90 minutes from Zidane! Suddenly a team that looked old and beaten at the start of the tournament can almost taste a second WC win in 8 years! Fat bwoy (as I am now wont to call Ronaldo) looked lost for most the match, and grew increasingly petulant as the buzzer approached. His dives, and there were quite a few, were rather ridiculous. What was amazing about the French performance was how they shutout the Brazilian midfield. Maybe having Ronaldinho playing forward wasn’t the brightest of ideas to begin with. Oh well, cannot complain. I wanted Brazil sent home, and the Les Bleus obliged.

Four teams and a total of four matches left to play. Who will win this all European of tussles?

Coping with summer heat: Chinese ishtyle

2006-06-26T06:08:00.000-04:00

Summer is here and some days it gets hot, humid, and really quite oppressive. Beijing’s gray skies only add to the general feeling of glumness. On such days one can find that many of Beijing’s men, most notably taxi drivers for they spend most of their time outdoors, when lolling about, tend to hike up their shirt to near their breasts, exposing their frequently pudgy bellies to the moisture and pollutants laden air. This does not always, matter of fact never, make for a pleasant sight, but is probably an effective way to cool down. I need to find out if they call this anything in particular in Chinese.

I know in India, and at least in Bengali, the phrase to ‘open’ your tummy and sleep exists. The Chinese variation on a universal theme perchance?

Before 'ze Germans' get here...

2006-06-26T05:45:00.000-04:00

World Cup Fever! Everywhere I go, for dinner, drinks, or just wandering around, all you see is TV screens, small and large, all tuned into CCTV5. The channel seems to have WC coverage monopoly in China. The time between live matches and match highlights is filled by a game show cum variety show cum analysis show. The Chinese participants seem surprisingly becalmed, but that doesn’t stop the hosts—normally one serious looking fellow and two pretty twenty something women—from being a little over the top. I am sure, at least in part, my impression suffers from the lack of being able to comprehend most of what is going on. Nevertheless, it makes for an interesting contrast. Can’t imagine what it would have been like had the Chinese actually been in the WC.

While most restaurants have all their TVs tuned to CCTV5, some of the more ambitious ones have set up huge rear projection screens outdoors. Sanlitun, Beijing’s bar district, is lined with World Cup advertising and paraphernalia as each bar tries to outdo the other in attracting the thirsty and affluent lao wai (literally ‘old foreign,’ the common term for all us non-Chinese). Near the middle of Sanlitun is a recently constructed building which has a huge (I’d say at least 25 feet diagonal, most likely more) screen. In front of the building is a large courtyard type space, which is crowded with restaurant tables, as well as passersby standing or squatting. I caught two of Spain’s 4 goals against Ukraine on this big screen. On a nice balmy night this is really the place to be. I hope to visit again.

In the meantime, ze Germans seem to be doing well. Dismantled Sweden with a fair bit of panache and it was only the spectacular Isakkson who kept the scoreline respectable for the Swedes. Was particularly impressed with Miroslav Klose. He seems to have developed into a really fine player these past four years. Some of his creative work against the Swedes was top drawer. Looking forward to the Argentina-Germany match on Friday now. Needless to say, hope the chants of ‘wir fahren nach Berlin’ continue to ring through the weekend :)

Too bad the Dutch lost. England squeaked by, only as England know how. I hope they either raise their level of play or head home. This WC has seen the return to dominance of the traditional soccer powers. No surprises seem likely in the final 8. My predictions for the remaining four are: Brazil (duh), Ukraine, Spain (bye bye 'les old bleus') and Italy. Only one real surprise there with the Ukrainians. I wouldn’t be upset if there were a couple of others though (esp. the socceroos and the Ghanaians!).

Colossal emptiness

2006-06-17T00:01:00.000-04:00

It rained recently and I took my first tumble in Beijing. Was leaping across large puddles in an effort to get back to my dorm. Inevitably chose a manhole cover to land on, slipped, and made a hash of things. Could’ve been a lot worse: I managed not only to stay dry but also keep my book-bag dry. On the debit side, my left knee is bruised and bleeding. Oh well!

Last weekend finally ventured out in into Beijing. Hopped on bus number 420 (n.b., people from India) and was off to Wang Fu Jing, Beijing’s Fifth Avenue. I have read much of China’s poverty and inequality. Here you definitely don’t witness any poverty, just one end of the extreme that makes things so unequal. Wang Fu Jing is a paved road that runs north south a couple of blocks east of the Forbidden City. On either side are a variety of stores with a variety of signs. No vehicles are allowed, everything is clean and sanitized, and there are only a handful of stalls on the road itself selling drinks and the like. This gives the street a very European feel. Matter of fact, but for the signs and the people, it could very well pass for a shopping area in a German or French city.

With me were Manfred (no, not the Ray Romano voiced wooly mammoth from Ice Age) and Becca. Manfred is also at Columbia, studying contemporary China, and Becca studies Buddhist art of the Song period at Michigan. Both live in my dorm and know way more Chinese than I do.

From Wang Fu Jing the three of us walked down to Tiananmen and the Forbidden City, or Gugong (Imperial Palace Museum) as it is known here. One has to be careful when entering the Forbidden City, not because of Mao’s wary eye, but in order to sidestep the throngs of people getting their photographs taken with the gates and Mao in the background. This has to be one of the most generic photographs taken around the world. We entered through vast doors, still probably of Qing vintage, and walked through a longish hallway and into one of the outer courtyards. Inside we found ticket stalls, some museums along the sides, as well as a small army barracks. I have to find out more about what purpose the outer courtyards served, whether they housed visiting dignitaries/embassies and the like. Walking through we entered another courtyard. At the end of this is the Gugong. The scale of the entrance and walls is quite impressive. The walls themselves are smooth and a shade of red, crowned with impressively carved buildings. The free ride ends at this point: you gots to pay if you wants to play. Given that it was already mid afternoon, we figured we’d play another time.

Several touts approached us while we were in the two courtyards. Trips to the Great Wall at Badaling, and all sorts of other touristy things on offer. I now have some sense of how tourists feel in India. It really can get a little much, all the harrying, that is.

Walking back out we ducked into a pedestrian subway and emerged onto Tiananmen. The largest public square in the world. Doesn’t seem all that much when standing on one corner, but make the effort and walk to the middle. Colossal emptiness. It truly is quite awe-inspiring. I wonder what students of architecture think about it. Everything seems far away, and there is no greenery in sight. Near the center is a huge granite pillar to the unknown/fallen soldier. While standing in front I am approached by a girl. Hello! She’d like to take a snap with me. So off I trot with her, strike a pose in front of the pillar, while her gentleman friend clicks away. Suddenly I am quite the spectacle.

Downs of the Touch- and Settling- kind

2006-06-11T04:03:00.000-04:00

Its been a little over a week since I got here. A time that has been both interesting and daunting. To begin with, arriving on a Friday late in the evening, with a barren weekend to get through, was not the best of ideas. Fortunately, my China savvy friend Meha was already in town so I was able to hang out with her and a friend of hers, Erin, on Saturday for a bit. One of the places we visited was Panjiayuan, one of Beijings few remaining open-air markets, and probably the biggest. It is setup like a huge roofed pavilion with hundreds of little stalls selling Chinese antiques, paintings, scrolls, and the like. Meha wanted to pick up stuff for a wedding in Delhi she was attending later in the week. Erin and I merely made up the numbers; I was quite content to not be entirely lost.

I slept through much of the rest of the weekend. In part, I am sure, because of jet lag, but also in part, I think, because of general tiredness from the end of the semester and the frenetic running around of the past few weeks.

Then of course, Monday arrived, and classes began. The first few days definitely felt like hitting a brick wall. A huge number of new words, a textbook with minimal pinyin accompanying the character text, and the general sense of dislocation that accompanies any move, all combining quite potently to leave me feeling not a little wretched.

Things have eased up a little since, though the workload definitely has not.

One of the first things that struck me about Beijing was that the sky is never (ever) blue. Pollution combined with construction dust results in a constant greyscale, much much worse than anything Delhi has conjured up thus far. Last week’s rain has brought about a pleasant change and some clear blue skies but I wonder how long that will last. Other than that, it is amazing how much like Delhi it feels. Not in the details, but in the broader brush strokes: Wide roads, flyovers, huge urban sprawl, the similar mix of urbanization interspersed with bits of the rural, cars everywhere, and so on. I have to admit though that I have not encountered livestock of any kind anywhere. But that wouldn't be surprising in China. This is, after all, the capital and they are, after all, preparing for the Olympics. In terms of infrastructure development Delhi seems about 5 years behind.

I live in a two-person suite in a dorm right by the language institute. So it is convenient in that sense. The institute itself is in Chaoyang, the business and diplomatic district of Beijing: probably the more uppity part of town (for Delhites: akin perhaps more to Malcha Marg than to Mayapuri). My suitemate, Stephen, is a French guy who works for the French Embassy. He is fluent in Chinese, but speaks in English to me most of the time. Not sure whether that is for the best. My room itself is large, has two beds, and most importantly, central AC that I can control. We’ve also split the Y150/month fee for broadband Internet. No small matter, that.

Right now am waiting for Columbia people to arrive midmonth. Will be some welcome bonhomie. Doing individual classes while great for language pedagogy, I am sure, is rather hard socially. Language study still feels like hitting a brick wall. I have four hour long classes a day, with four different teachers. They are all quite good and friendly. It is just the quantum of work that is daunting in the extreme. I already have about 200 new words to learn (and that means not only their meanings but also how to write them). What is that Hindi saying? Aa bail mujhe maar!

Anticipate this

2006-05-19T17:07:00.000-04:00

Took a trip down to the batting cages at Chelsea Piers last week. Was the first time I was facing a bowling machine. Well, not exactly. It was the second time. The first time had been during a cricket nets session at the HC way back in the darkness that serves for the past. But this time round had baseball bat in hand, and a machine spitting yellow balls at 65 mph from a distance of about 30 feet, with no windup whatsoever to prepare you. Needless to say, my first couple of at-bats, a string of 10 pitches, I swung mightily and missed mightily. Humiliated, and suitably humbled, I set about trying to anticipate the pitch a little more. I changed my stance to imitate Johnny Damon, using my left leg to step into the pitch. A cricket hangover, no doubt, but it helped tremendously. Over time things got better, and I was able to crunch quite a few.

My hands are blistered now. Next time will make sure to wear a glove, and perhaps also not face upwards of 70 pitches.

Now, I want to play cricket.

2006-05-06T13:34:00.000-04:00

Does there exist a universal truth outside of human experience, or can truth only be realized through that experience?

Build up

2006-05-05T22:48:00.000-04:00

End of semester woes. Another week and change to go.

Then perhaps a couple of days of respite, before shutting shop in Manhattan and making the move 12 hours east to the northern capital of the middle country. Beijing. China.

Much to look forward to, and yet much to do before.