Indian Ocean

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

[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.

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?

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

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

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

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

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

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...

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

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

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

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...

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

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

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

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

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

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...

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.