Public perceptions:
I have a problem with Islamophobes. My problem is that people are unable to distinguish between religion and its people. A wrongful ideology must be condemned. But not its people. A cult and leaders propagating it should be banned and abolished. But its victims must be shown understanding. There is a bigger reason. Not all people who follow a religion are its victims. For many, religion comprises a small part of their daily life, their thoughts, their decisions. Condemning these people for being born a certain way is similar to condemning someone who smokes: The fact that he smokes does not define him completely. There are many other facets to him. Facets that are worth exploring, beneficial to the society and the world. There must be a worthy effort made in separating opinions about an ideology from its people, especially those who inherited the ideology by birth.
Feeding the ideology:
I saw an interesting show on NDTV 24-7 yesterday: Witness this time around presented an extraordinary documentary of how UP leftist politics has brutally exploited the sentiments of an impoverished Muslim community in the state with politicians like Mulayam Singh and Mayawati. Muslim Personal Law, funding the setting up of new madrasas and Urdu schools, providing jobs for 4000 Urdu teachers, protesting Saddam Hussein's hanging and pension scheme for madrasa teachers is just some of the few issues on which the Muslim sentiment and the vote is bought. Unfortunately, none of the issues talk about betterment of women, increasing employment and literacy levels, building schools for children that will provide them an education fit to find a job. The documentary also talked about the increasing number of Urdu language papers in the region: the frontline stories they ran, believe me, could put Ekta Kapoor's writers to shame. in one, a bloodied Muslim man was shown with a background of flames, damaged cars and buildings...clearly a bomb explosion. The cover story was of a Muslim brother who suffered in the Ahmedabad bomb blasts - and look at the irony, on top of that, to blame it on the Indian Mujahideen! The "real culprits", the paper claimed, were the usual suspects: The America-Israel duo. Now, here's a compelling melodrama: garish images -> intrigue -> sympathy for the victim -> anger at making the victim the culprit -> conspiracy -> rage and destruction (raging bull sees RED). It's really sad, and I don't seem to have more energy to dig deeper into it.
Solution
But one must also understand the vastness of a religion with a billion+ followers in multiple countries. It cannot be wished away in a whisp of wind, in an argument or even in an all-out war. One MUST look for more practical solutions. The moderate Muslim leadership must step up. Leadership beyond the clergy level must make its voice felt. The educated and working women, the doctors, cricketers, actors, and the local leaders: let's start talking about development in a common voice. Let's stop with the ridiculing and the appeasing, the victimizing and the demonizing, and really just tackle the problem at hand.
Monday, August 4, 2008
Thursday, July 31, 2008
A hidden gem in the Himalayan foothills
Ramgarh is nestled 
in the foothills of the Himalayas, a little further up from Nainital, in the Kumaon region. Driving up there was a nightmare. I take it back. Actually, the hillroads are in pretty good conditions. Driving through Uttar Pradesh was a nightmare. Major highways broken at infinite number of places, no road signs, narrow roads shared by trucks, rikshaws, buses, cart pullers, and endless number of villages that had sprung up along the way making the roads ever more congested. At a couple of places, the bridge passing over streams was broken which, traffic jams ensued and lasted for hours. Luckily, modest WagonR drives like a maniac and scares the wits out of passers-by taking on trucks 5 times its size. In our "respect-the-might" society, this has worked well so far and I was able to see Bhimtal, the original destination, in a little more than 7 hours from Delhi.
Bhimtal was a bit of a disappointment: its lake-on-the-hills was unkempt and plastic waste was fluttering all over the place. The "resort where Hritik Roshan stayed", Monolith, was a bigger disappointment. While it looked quite picturesque from the outside, one could smell the damp suffocating air and moss and fungus everywhere. The sheets weren't freshly laundered. Not ideal housekeeping for a "resort".
Leaving early the nex
t day wasn't tough. On the way to Ramgarh, there's a Ghantewala temple where the devotees tie their own personal ghantas (bells). The temple is quite a sight. Although it did not hold much spiritual value for me, the bright colors, flamboyant expresions of the godesses, the many devotees and the continual sound of thousands of bells ringing: the entire ambiance did make me quite ecstatic. What wild and wonderful traditions! I did buy a ghanta myself, and thought of tying it in Mata Amba's abode, but then I decided she has more than enough and I need one for my home. It's hanging from a Keralite diya on my verandah and I love it!
On to Ramgarh: the views from the car's windows seemed to be getting better and bett
er with every turn. The "rest stop" was the Ashok Vatika, a Neemrana property. The incessant rain had luckily kept the other tourists away, and the entire 2 suite 2 room villa suddenly became my royal home for the day! Since it was quite early in the day, I showered outside in the rain, ate apples from the orchards, freshly washed by the rains, and danced away - no other human in sight. This must be every urban dweller's dream. I had a strong desire to dance naked in the rain outside- but made-do with the second best, in a flimsy white beach dress picked up for about Rs 200 in Thailand.
The Ashok Vatika, sta
nding at the highest point in Ramgarh, overlooking mountain ranges on all four sides, was a delight and pulled me into another era. It was definitely from the times of the Raj, but the furniture, although it blended in well, seemed to be from recent times. The highpost bed stood in the middle of the room, the suite was designed like a sunroom making the most of the slanting sunshine coming on through the mountains. I stayed up late, staring out the windows, listening to the untroubled breeze, the falling of some ripe apples, and pretended to read my book.
Earlier in the day, I had walked down to the Old Bungalows where the Neemrana office is situated, and grabbed some instrumental Hindustani music. I asked them to bring some boiling tea up to my room. So, a few thousand feet up in the Himalayas, pretending I am the only soul around, I sipped my tea, listened to the soulful sounds of the valley...both from my laptop and through the windows.
Before sunset, I found a trail to walk through the orchard into the village. I tried talking to a few pink-cheeked kids I saw running around. They came up, said hi, giggled, and ran away. I was nowhere as interesting as their games. There was a desolate house somewhere in one of the orc
hards. I took a peek in...with cobwebs, broken windows, it surely had been uninhabited for a few years...perhaps a few decades.
Ramgarh is rightly described as a haven for writers. No wonder an Aurobindo Ashram, a Rabindranath Tagore home and a Mahadevi Varma library are the chief social spots in this tiny hill town. It's easy to see why one would get inspired here: the unpolluted air, the sparse population, the scenic mountain ranges all over, apple orchards and colorful flowers in full bloom. What more could one desire?
in the foothills of the Himalayas, a little further up from Nainital, in the Kumaon region. Driving up there was a nightmare. I take it back. Actually, the hillroads are in pretty good conditions. Driving through Uttar Pradesh was a nightmare. Major highways broken at infinite number of places, no road signs, narrow roads shared by trucks, rikshaws, buses, cart pullers, and endless number of villages that had sprung up along the way making the roads ever more congested. At a couple of places, the bridge passing over streams was broken which, traffic jams ensued and lasted for hours. Luckily, modest WagonR drives like a maniac and scares the wits out of passers-by taking on trucks 5 times its size. In our "respect-the-might" society, this has worked well so far and I was able to see Bhimtal, the original destination, in a little more than 7 hours from Delhi.Bhimtal was a bit of a disappointment: its lake-on-the-hills was unkempt and plastic waste was fluttering all over the place. The "resort where Hritik Roshan stayed", Monolith, was a bigger disappointment. While it looked quite picturesque from the outside, one could smell the damp suffocating air and moss and fungus everywhere. The sheets weren't freshly laundered. Not ideal housekeeping for a "resort".
Leaving early the nex
t day wasn't tough. On the way to Ramgarh, there's a Ghantewala temple where the devotees tie their own personal ghantas (bells). The temple is quite a sight. Although it did not hold much spiritual value for me, the bright colors, flamboyant expresions of the godesses, the many devotees and the continual sound of thousands of bells ringing: the entire ambiance did make me quite ecstatic. What wild and wonderful traditions! I did buy a ghanta myself, and thought of tying it in Mata Amba's abode, but then I decided she has more than enough and I need one for my home. It's hanging from a Keralite diya on my verandah and I love it!On to Ramgarh: the views from the car's windows seemed to be getting better and bett
er with every turn. The "rest stop" was the Ashok Vatika, a Neemrana property. The incessant rain had luckily kept the other tourists away, and the entire 2 suite 2 room villa suddenly became my royal home for the day! Since it was quite early in the day, I showered outside in the rain, ate apples from the orchards, freshly washed by the rains, and danced away - no other human in sight. This must be every urban dweller's dream. I had a strong desire to dance naked in the rain outside- but made-do with the second best, in a flimsy white beach dress picked up for about Rs 200 in Thailand.The Ashok Vatika, sta
nding at the highest point in Ramgarh, overlooking mountain ranges on all four sides, was a delight and pulled me into another era. It was definitely from the times of the Raj, but the furniture, although it blended in well, seemed to be from recent times. The highpost bed stood in the middle of the room, the suite was designed like a sunroom making the most of the slanting sunshine coming on through the mountains. I stayed up late, staring out the windows, listening to the untroubled breeze, the falling of some ripe apples, and pretended to read my book.Earlier in the day, I had walked down to the Old Bungalows where the Neemrana office is situated, and grabbed some instrumental Hindustani music. I asked them to bring some boiling tea up to my room. So, a few thousand feet up in the Himalayas, pretending I am the only soul around, I sipped my tea, listened to the soulful sounds of the valley...both from my laptop and through the windows.
Before sunset, I found a trail to walk through the orchard into the village. I tried talking to a few pink-cheeked kids I saw running around. They came up, said hi, giggled, and ran away. I was nowhere as interesting as their games. There was a desolate house somewhere in one of the orc
hards. I took a peek in...with cobwebs, broken windows, it surely had been uninhabited for a few years...perhaps a few decades.Ramgarh is rightly described as a haven for writers. No wonder an Aurobindo Ashram, a Rabindranath Tagore home and a Mahadevi Varma library are the chief social spots in this tiny hill town. It's easy to see why one would get inspired here: the unpolluted air, the sparse population, the scenic mountain ranges all over, apple orchards and colorful flowers in full bloom. What more could one desire?
another abandoned blog?
Ok, I don't want this to be my fifth abandoned blog. There are so many things I want to blog about: places, books, TV soaps, movies, people, politics...I solemnly vow to put up at least one new post every week. Hope I can keep it up!
Sunday, February 24, 2008
a splash of colors: Cape Town
On the left is the picture of the largest slum in South Africa, in its tourist capital of Cape Town, and houses 200,000 migrants. It quite stands out among the harmony of green fields, blue waters and merging mountains of this beautiful city. Coming from India, these are the cleanest looking shafts I've seen.Cape Town in many ways reminds me of Seattle, in its ability to merge natural surroundings of forests, waters, hills and mountains with city life, and the city life in itself having many facets: the hip urban hangout, the lower economy neighborhoods, the snobbish upper
class neighborhoods; the city is anything but homogeneous.
class neighborhoods; the city is anything but homogeneous. That apartheid is something South Africa carried in its recent past is not lost to an outsider, even on a short visit. I was slightly surprised at how hotly debated the topic of affirmative action is today, and how well the South African split on the topic based on her/his race. Incidentally, the
White South African population accounts for less than 10%, which is not evident in the corporate upper ladder. Above is a picture of my gang hanging out at a club in Cape Town: we were the only racially mixed group at the club.
White South African population accounts for less than 10%, which is not evident in the corporate upper ladder. Above is a picture of my gang hanging out at a club in Cape Town: we were the only racially mixed group at the club. This is the image of Cape Town that I left with: Happy penguins in pristine white sands unperturbed by the amount of eyeballs or camera snaps capturing them. Bring it on!
Thursday, February 21, 2008
my first post
Finally! I have a space to express, feel, rant, complain, opinionate and philosophize. I have a few backlogs to catch up on, and then with the current events...
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
