One of the BEST things I've read in recent times. A MUST READ
5 things you should know before dating a journalist
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Monday, November 15, 2010
How fair is to be 'fair'?
-By Deepa Ranganathan
His identity is defined by the colour of his skin: an unforgettable dark. He can’t get the right job, the right girl or the right confidence owing to the darkness of his skin. His self-esteem and he probably even feels emasculated.
Boom! Then enters the fairness cream, the religious usage of which, for six weeks, will guarantee a fair, glowing skin—the one thing required to get that right job in the office, to impress the ever-annoyed boss, to woo that one elusive girl in his life who suddenly begins to notice him thanks to his “fair” skin (pun intended).
No, this is not a fake, made-up story, but an actual narration of what the advertisements on these fairness creams for men portray in order to sell their product. Forget about the ads and the success level of these products; what is more interesting to note is this sudden growing obsession of men, particularly youths, with fairness cream products.
Whiteness sells
To say that fairness creams never ruled the market would be too naive and simplistic a conclusion. According to trade analysts, men’s fairness products are valued at Rs.30 million and constitutes 35 percent of the market for men’s beauty products. What has now emerged is an increasingly growing popularity among urban youth and the involvement of men in the market of fairness creams—a domain that was once restricted and meant exclusively for women. Traditionally, women have been expected to be physically appealing, which is closely linked to another booming market—marriage—and hence the need for such enhancing products. But gradually the marketing industry is noticing the sale and growth of fairness creams for men as well. According to a recent report, the men’s fairness products market is estimated at Rs.1.75 billion (nearly $40 million) and is growing at the rate of 25 percent annually, while the women’s fairness market is growing at 7 to 8 percent.
This raises some serious questions. Does the earlier notion of “tall, dark and handsome” no longer hold true, as far as “dark” is concerned? Why is there such an obsession with the need to look fair? Why is there an almost instinctive association of positivity and goodness with white and negativity and badness with black? What is this white-black dichotomy and how deep-rooted is it? The question thus raised is not whether such creams are useful or serve the purpose of lightening the colour of the skin, but whether men ought to be using things traditionally seen as feminine and how such products perpetuate colour discrimination.
Ads play on inferiority complex
A strong argument in favour of men using such creams is too obvious to be ignored: that it’s a matter of personal choice, that it complements the lifestyle of what is popularly termed as metrosexual. According to the definition provided by Merriam-Webster, metrosexual is “a usually urban heterosexual male given to enhancing his personal appearance by fastidious grooming, beauty treatments, and fashionable clothes.” But, the fact that the man is using a fairness cream and not just any other moisturizer, sun block or anti-aging cream speaks volumes about the inherent need to look fair, possibly arising out of a deep-rooted inferiority complex.
Coming back to the advertisement of the fairness creams, it is interesting to note that the ads, too, play on this inferiority complex. Going by what they show, the man is unconfident of his looks, talent, his real calibre and worth primarily because of the colour of his skin, which is dark. Thus, consequently, what the ad implies is that fair skin brings with itself not only better looks, but also confidence and success. Isn’t the ad derogatory to people with dark skin, as it categorizes them as a bunch of low, dull, rejected and pitiable souls? And we haven’t even spoken about looks here yet.
The central question that so emerges is: How fair is it to use a fairness cream, more so by a man? India and Sri Lanka have the biggest market when it comes to fairness cream products for men and women. In India alone, this market is worth a whopping Rs.7 billion. It is no wonder that the ads for these creams are coming up with innovative ideas like never before: a bit player getting the role of a lead actor, transformation from a rejected lover to a male heartthrob, getting employed at a top-notch company that chooses its employees by judging their confidence (which is suddenly upped by regularly applying the cream). The list goes on and on, while the obsession seems to be never-ending.
_________________________________________________________________________________
Link to the above article is here
Saturday, November 06, 2010
Of freedom and expression
Following is the assignemnt I wrote for my Law and Ethics class...thought this would be a good platform to share it:
__________________________________________________
Arundhati Roy’s latest public speech has landed her in yet another controversy, with critics accusing her of having committed a crime of sedition, while those supporting her continue to defend her by justifying Freedom of Expression. Article 19(1)(a) of the Indian Constitution clearly states that “all citizens have the right to freedom of speech and expression.” However, this seemingly liberal fundamental right, as guaranteed by the Constitution of India, also has certain limitations as mentioned under Article 19(2) which states that reasonable restrictions can be imposed on freedom of speech and expression in the interest of security of State. Since Ms. Roy has dared to express her opinion on something as controversial as the Kashmir conflict—an issue that has been existent for over six decades now (since independence)—she is being targeted more.
In her speech, Roy has very categorically stated that “Kashmir is not an integral part of India and that is a historical fact.” Historically, this is untrue, though the statement may be justified on the grounds that it is emerging out of a legitimate sentiment, a genuine feeling of ill-treatment towards the people of Kashmir. Roy, in her speech, has also raised a very significant question—“An independent Kashmiri nation may be a flawed entity, but is independent India perfect?” There are two things to be noted here: firstly, this is a rhetoric statement, and, secondly, it is subjective, thus inviting multiple opinions and viewpoints. Since it is a personal opinion, there are bound to be disagreements. However, since the statement is on nation state, there are possibilities of looking at it from Article 19(2) of the Indian Constitution.
In an interview with Tehelka, Roy has made it clear that more than her opinion and/or interpretation of azadi, it is the people of Kashmir whose opinion matters. Roy advocating for Azad Kashmir is no different from the claims and causes of separatists like Geelani. However, it should be noted that Geelani is not the lone man fighting for Kashmir as a separate state. More than anyone else, it is the majority of Kashmiris, particularly the youth, fighting for this cause. For many such people who have been victims of a systematic system of corrupt and inefficient governance and administration in Jammu & Kashmir, Roy is probably a mouthpiece for their frustrated desires, expressed through pelting of stones. While I’m not supporting violence in any form by any one, when one looks at the barbaric and bloody history of Kashmir, one can at least understand the root cause for such a situation prompting the State to impose curfew every single time, with no effect.
Paromita Vohra, in her article published in Mid Day, Mumbai, says that Roy has simply voiced her opinion on a given topic, as “just another citizen of India.” The hullaballoo created in the entire nation over her statement is simply uncalled for. If anyone disagrees with what she has to say (which should be the case in an ideal democratic space, of which India is an ostensible example), there are ways to express discomfort, other than simply cornering, targeting or hurling abusive words at her. As Vohra rightly states: “On your blog, in a letter to the editor, in a Facebook note, in any language…prove her wrong,”
When Roy has made any such statement, the question is not whether she is right or wrong. The question is how well we can take it. Do we create a hullabaloo and advocate strikes and bandhs, burning her effigies (almost our area of specialization after 60 years of democracy)? Or do we listen, understand, form our own argument to counter her (if need be) and express it in as dignified and acceptable form, as she did?
To conclude, it would be best to sum it up with what The Hoot's editorial has to say about this:
" When you raise your voice a little too stridently against injustice in India’s districts you invite charges of sedition."__________________________________________________
__________________________________________________
Arundhati Roy’s latest public speech has landed her in yet another controversy, with critics accusing her of having committed a crime of sedition, while those supporting her continue to defend her by justifying Freedom of Expression. Article 19(1)(a) of the Indian Constitution clearly states that “all citizens have the right to freedom of speech and expression.” However, this seemingly liberal fundamental right, as guaranteed by the Constitution of India, also has certain limitations as mentioned under Article 19(2) which states that reasonable restrictions can be imposed on freedom of speech and expression in the interest of security of State. Since Ms. Roy has dared to express her opinion on something as controversial as the Kashmir conflict—an issue that has been existent for over six decades now (since independence)—she is being targeted more.
In her speech, Roy has very categorically stated that “Kashmir is not an integral part of India and that is a historical fact.” Historically, this is untrue, though the statement may be justified on the grounds that it is emerging out of a legitimate sentiment, a genuine feeling of ill-treatment towards the people of Kashmir. Roy, in her speech, has also raised a very significant question—“An independent Kashmiri nation may be a flawed entity, but is independent India perfect?” There are two things to be noted here: firstly, this is a rhetoric statement, and, secondly, it is subjective, thus inviting multiple opinions and viewpoints. Since it is a personal opinion, there are bound to be disagreements. However, since the statement is on nation state, there are possibilities of looking at it from Article 19(2) of the Indian Constitution.
In an interview with Tehelka, Roy has made it clear that more than her opinion and/or interpretation of azadi, it is the people of Kashmir whose opinion matters. Roy advocating for Azad Kashmir is no different from the claims and causes of separatists like Geelani. However, it should be noted that Geelani is not the lone man fighting for Kashmir as a separate state. More than anyone else, it is the majority of Kashmiris, particularly the youth, fighting for this cause. For many such people who have been victims of a systematic system of corrupt and inefficient governance and administration in Jammu & Kashmir, Roy is probably a mouthpiece for their frustrated desires, expressed through pelting of stones. While I’m not supporting violence in any form by any one, when one looks at the barbaric and bloody history of Kashmir, one can at least understand the root cause for such a situation prompting the State to impose curfew every single time, with no effect.
Paromita Vohra, in her article published in Mid Day, Mumbai, says that Roy has simply voiced her opinion on a given topic, as “just another citizen of India.” The hullaballoo created in the entire nation over her statement is simply uncalled for. If anyone disagrees with what she has to say (which should be the case in an ideal democratic space, of which India is an ostensible example), there are ways to express discomfort, other than simply cornering, targeting or hurling abusive words at her. As Vohra rightly states: “On your blog, in a letter to the editor, in a Facebook note, in any language…prove her wrong,”
When Roy has made any such statement, the question is not whether she is right or wrong. The question is how well we can take it. Do we create a hullabaloo and advocate strikes and bandhs, burning her effigies (almost our area of specialization after 60 years of democracy)? Or do we listen, understand, form our own argument to counter her (if need be) and express it in as dignified and acceptable form, as she did?
To conclude, it would be best to sum it up with what The Hoot's editorial has to say about this:
" When you raise your voice a little too stridently against injustice in India’s districts you invite charges of sedition."__________________________________________________
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Back in Bangalore
As promised earlier, this one's a pictorial post:
On our way to Kollegal...clicked from the bus
Another one...
The deaf and dumb school in Kollegal where we landed on Day 1
Martalli village...we lived amidst those hills
A kid eager to pose for me : )
A rainy day in Martalli. Look at the way the clouds romance with the hills!
Clicked on my way to Sandanapalya, a nearby village
View from our backyard
Kids at Government High School eager to get clicked
Roosters at a village house
Random click
By a random ranter. . . .
Friday, October 29, 2010
DAY 5: Goodbye Martalli
DAY 5
Kollegal
I’m typing this from the same lodge that we started our journey from. Yes, we left Martalli in the evening bidding goodbye to almost all the villagers there. It was amazing to see them all showing their genuine concern and interest regarding the purpose of our visit.
It was a pretty good day today. We visited the High School in Sulvadi to meet the Headmaster there. One should see the sheer look at the face of those hundreds of kids when they look at ‘outsiders’ entering their school. For them, we represent what the city and city life stands for. And, there’s this sense of extreme enthusiasm and eagerness to know more about the place where we come from. When they spotted camera in our hands, all of them lined up together, started posing, laughing, asking and begging us to take their pictures. It was a nice break from regular classes for them. And once the pictures were clicked, it was an amusing thing for them to look at them instantly after being clicked. It was a funny experience...both for them and us.
We then proceeded towards Sandanapalya, another nearby village, to meet Sister Meera to talk about the NGO that she runs. Time passed by like anything and it was time to catch the evening bus back to Kollegal.
We visited Bosco’s house for the last time and took each other’s contact details.
And by 8 pm, we were back in Kollegal.
It’s over...the trip is (almost) over.
We might visit M.M.Hills tomorrow....
But, I feel weird.
Next post will be with pix : )
Kollegal
I’m typing this from the same lodge that we started our journey from. Yes, we left Martalli in the evening bidding goodbye to almost all the villagers there. It was amazing to see them all showing their genuine concern and interest regarding the purpose of our visit.
It was a pretty good day today. We visited the High School in Sulvadi to meet the Headmaster there. One should see the sheer look at the face of those hundreds of kids when they look at ‘outsiders’ entering their school. For them, we represent what the city and city life stands for. And, there’s this sense of extreme enthusiasm and eagerness to know more about the place where we come from. When they spotted camera in our hands, all of them lined up together, started posing, laughing, asking and begging us to take their pictures. It was a nice break from regular classes for them. And once the pictures were clicked, it was an amusing thing for them to look at them instantly after being clicked. It was a funny experience...both for them and us.
We then proceeded towards Sandanapalya, another nearby village, to meet Sister Meera to talk about the NGO that she runs. Time passed by like anything and it was time to catch the evening bus back to Kollegal.
We visited Bosco’s house for the last time and took each other’s contact details.
And by 8 pm, we were back in Kollegal.
It’s over...the trip is (almost) over.
We might visit M.M.Hills tomorrow....
But, I feel weird.
Next post will be with pix : )
Day 5: I'm still alive
DAY 5 in Martalli
Apologies for late update...there were significant factors involved.
Hmmmmm....
So, how do I begin with what happened yesterday? From the beginning? Na...that wouldn’t really be a good idea.
To say the least, I did all of those things I thought I’d never do here...alone. (I din’t do anything illegal...so relax).
Boarded a bus at 8 in the morning for Kollegal only to be told that the information that I need will be available in the District office in Chamarajnagar (another 35 kms from Kollegal Taluk office). This, after having already travelled 65 kms and for roughly 3 hours in a jam-packed bus. And, as I had earlier mentioned in my post...we are all on our own now and not moving in groups anymore.
Too tired and dejected to travel further, I looked for a North Indian restaurant somewhere around. As I found one, my short-lived happiness was soon shown the exit door when the waiter told me that Puri is the only “North Indian” thing available.
Willing to adjust just for the sake of consuming anything “North Indian”, I agreed to order the same. Fifteen minutes later, 3 puris arrived, the size of a large Bhatoora with chutney to go along with it. Ever had coconut chutney (that’s usually consumed with Idli/Dosa) with Puri? That’s North Indian food in South India for you. I gestured the guy to get me some pickle (gestured because there was no Tamil but Kannada here) and that’s how I somehow managed to eat it. And, of course...coffee is my saviour. Anytime. Anywhere.
Interestingly, this wasn’t the case before. Despite being a South India andexpected assumed to be a coffee addict, I never was one and hated tea/coffee. I always preferred milk over anything. I still do. But, of late, I’ve noticed my craving for something as bitter as coffee and that has left me quite surprised. Maybe they make it really well here. Who knows? The other day I consumed 3 cups of caffeine while waiting for Gaurav in Ramapura. It’s not really a good thing. I don’t need any more addictions in my life right now.
So, anyways.
I waited at the Kollegal bus stand for over 45 minutes for a bus to Martalli (via Ramapura). Yesterday was the only day in these 5 days that I wore a pair of jeans and kurta (the reason being that I had run out of suits!) and the kurta was long and ‘decent’ enough, in my opinion (lol). And yet, it guaranteed unwanted stares from men and women alike. With the sun right over my head, a heavy bag, disappointment level at its peak, tired and waiting endlessly for that one goddamn bus, I’m amazed how I survived those 45 minutes there.
After another 3 hours of travel, I got down at Ramapura Police Station. I had already spoken to the Sub-Inspector and the constable with respect to the information I needed. I arrived, soaked in dust, with some hope of getting something out of here only to be told that the constable concerned had left for some remote place in Tamil Nadu and the Sub-Inspector was really busy handling a recently arrived theft case.
Another constable there knew Hindi (IMAGINE!). For the past 5 days, I haven’t had the chance to speak a word in Hindi owing to my location. I was pleasantly surprised at his knowledge of Hindi (heavily accented though it may be). He asked me to write down my contact details so that they could post me the data. Left with no choice, as I wrote my name, address, telephone number, another fellow constable noticed that I had written my name in Tamil. He instantly recognized and pleasantly greeted me in Tamil, asking where I hail from, what’s the purpose of my visit and such like. That’s the power of written language, it seems.
Until I was struggling to talk to the cops in broken Kannada, English, Tamil and even Hindi, I wasn’t given any value. The moment I showed my knowledge of writing a South Indian language, a Tamil-knowing constable (Mr. Murgesh) suddenly emerged out of nowhere and offered to provide me with all the information.
Mr. Murgesh and I, then, spent the next hour compiling all the information that I needed amidst odd glares from constables, lady constables, inspectors and criminals. A possible reason for the same was the fact that I was the only woman among around 50 men in that shady place. Another reason could be the fact that I was conversing in Tamil with Mr. Murgesh,who was helping me out with the compilation (But, I'd rather belive in the former than the latter as it makes much more sense to me tahn anything else)
This is another thing I thought I’d never do in my life....visit a police station and a prison cell, on my own. And, I did just that.
It was raining cats and dogs by the time my work got over. I had to wait till the 5.30 bus that arrived at 5.45, again amidst glaring eyes and doubtful looks.
Do I look like a terrorist?
I reached Martalli at 7, soaked in dust, drenched in rain and dead tired at Bosco’s house. His wife offered me ambrosia in the form of a hot cup of coffee. Yeah, the addiction is soaring now.
I had a long chat with Bosco’s father. He strangely reminds me of a distant (now dead) grandfather.
By 8, all my other group members had also arrived. We then, left for our quarters with packed food and drinks (water, cold-drinks and such like). I was too tired and moody to update my blog in the night...after my varied experience yesterday.
Today could possibly be my last day in Martalli...and I’m already feeling nostalgic about it. It’s rare that you build a connection with people in such a short span of time....
I end this post with a genuine feeling of. . . . *searches for the right word but can’t*
Adios!
Apologies for late update...there were significant factors involved.
Hmmmmm....
So, how do I begin with what happened yesterday? From the beginning? Na...that wouldn’t really be a good idea.
To say the least, I did all of those things I thought I’d never do here...alone. (I din’t do anything illegal...so relax).
Boarded a bus at 8 in the morning for Kollegal only to be told that the information that I need will be available in the District office in Chamarajnagar (another 35 kms from Kollegal Taluk office). This, after having already travelled 65 kms and for roughly 3 hours in a jam-packed bus. And, as I had earlier mentioned in my post...we are all on our own now and not moving in groups anymore.
Too tired and dejected to travel further, I looked for a North Indian restaurant somewhere around. As I found one, my short-lived happiness was soon shown the exit door when the waiter told me that Puri is the only “North Indian” thing available.
Willing to adjust just for the sake of consuming anything “North Indian”, I agreed to order the same. Fifteen minutes later, 3 puris arrived, the size of a large Bhatoora with chutney to go along with it. Ever had coconut chutney (that’s usually consumed with Idli/Dosa) with Puri? That’s North Indian food in South India for you. I gestured the guy to get me some pickle (gestured because there was no Tamil but Kannada here) and that’s how I somehow managed to eat it. And, of course...coffee is my saviour. Anytime. Anywhere.
Interestingly, this wasn’t the case before. Despite being a South India and
So, anyways.
I waited at the Kollegal bus stand for over 45 minutes for a bus to Martalli (via Ramapura). Yesterday was the only day in these 5 days that I wore a pair of jeans and kurta (the reason being that I had run out of suits!) and the kurta was long and ‘decent’ enough, in my opinion (lol). And yet, it guaranteed unwanted stares from men and women alike. With the sun right over my head, a heavy bag, disappointment level at its peak, tired and waiting endlessly for that one goddamn bus, I’m amazed how I survived those 45 minutes there.
After another 3 hours of travel, I got down at Ramapura Police Station. I had already spoken to the Sub-Inspector and the constable with respect to the information I needed. I arrived, soaked in dust, with some hope of getting something out of here only to be told that the constable concerned had left for some remote place in Tamil Nadu and the Sub-Inspector was really busy handling a recently arrived theft case.
Another constable there knew Hindi (IMAGINE!). For the past 5 days, I haven’t had the chance to speak a word in Hindi owing to my location. I was pleasantly surprised at his knowledge of Hindi (heavily accented though it may be). He asked me to write down my contact details so that they could post me the data. Left with no choice, as I wrote my name, address, telephone number, another fellow constable noticed that I had written my name in Tamil. He instantly recognized and pleasantly greeted me in Tamil, asking where I hail from, what’s the purpose of my visit and such like. That’s the power of written language, it seems.
Until I was struggling to talk to the cops in broken Kannada, English, Tamil and even Hindi, I wasn’t given any value. The moment I showed my knowledge of writing a South Indian language, a Tamil-knowing constable (Mr. Murgesh) suddenly emerged out of nowhere and offered to provide me with all the information.
Mr. Murgesh and I, then, spent the next hour compiling all the information that I needed amidst odd glares from constables, lady constables, inspectors and criminals. A possible reason for the same was the fact that I was the only woman among around 50 men in that shady place. Another reason could be the fact that I was conversing in Tamil with Mr. Murgesh,who was helping me out with the compilation (But, I'd rather belive in the former than the latter as it makes much more sense to me tahn anything else)
This is another thing I thought I’d never do in my life....visit a police station and a prison cell, on my own. And, I did just that.
It was raining cats and dogs by the time my work got over. I had to wait till the 5.30 bus that arrived at 5.45, again amidst glaring eyes and doubtful looks.
Do I look like a terrorist?
I reached Martalli at 7, soaked in dust, drenched in rain and dead tired at Bosco’s house. His wife offered me ambrosia in the form of a hot cup of coffee. Yeah, the addiction is soaring now.
I had a long chat with Bosco’s father. He strangely reminds me of a distant (now dead) grandfather.
By 8, all my other group members had also arrived. We then, left for our quarters with packed food and drinks (water, cold-drinks and such like). I was too tired and moody to update my blog in the night...after my varied experience yesterday.
Today could possibly be my last day in Martalli...and I’m already feeling nostalgic about it. It’s rare that you build a connection with people in such a short span of time....
I end this post with a genuine feeling of. . . . *searches for the right word but can’t*
Adios!
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
Day 4: Bus Rides
DAY 4
Martalli, visited Ramapura and Hannur
Not a bad day...but not that great either.
The day started quite early for me. 7 am, to be precise. I was quite energetic and enthusiastic in the morning and decided to go to Ramapura Police Station, the nearest police station from here, to find out about the Crime Record in Martalli and surrounding villages. I boarded an alien bus at 8 am in the morning, after having had coffee at Bosco’s place.
Bosco is one sweetheart that we’ve come across in these few days and he’s one person I’ll remember forever. We had the most awesome supper at his place yesterday. Chapathi, mixed vegetable, chicken curry (which I did not taste owing to my vegetarian vows), hot rasam, hot steamed rice, boiled egg, fresh yogurt and fresh apples for dessert. I swear I’ve never hogged on so much food before at a stranger'splace...and yet it felt like home.
I just couldn’t stop myself looking at the sheer variety of food that was being offered in a platter FREE of cost. Yeah, you can call me a cheap pervert. But, where else do you get a man who’s willing to offer you good, free home-made food to 5 complete strangers who’ve come from as far as Bangalore? To come to think of it, I don’t think a city dweller would have entertained us. That’s where the difference between a city-dweller and villager comes up. I don’t wish to draw any conclusions...but it’s just a general observation I couldn’t help sharing.
Anyways,
I visited the Ramapura Police Station in the morning only to be told that the sub-Inspector will not be available until 11 am. In an alien city, with people speaking less of Tamil and more of Kannada, I was quite lost and clueless as to where to go. I decided (please note that I DECIDED) to proceed to Hannur and contact the Block Education Officer there to get some useful information and statistical data about the education sector. That wasn’t really a flop...we (me and Gaurav) did manage to get some preliminary information. But, as I said earlier, as days are passing by...I’m getting all kinds of information from all kinds of departments making me confused about what to use and where. Every time I meet someone, I get his/her contact details, talk about the problem areas and issues and proceed for the next stop. At this rate, my ‘contact’ list is increasing in an alarming rate...I need to urgently sort that out.
From tomorrow, we start working individually on our Masters’ project. I’m quite looking forward to it (despite being unsure and not-so-confident, which is a case on all my beat days anyways). It’ll be a different experience to now work on our own...
People in my group are coming up with multiple story ideas and discussing them with me, the reason being that I’m the co-ordinator. And since I'm one, I am assumed to be the best person to be contacted for feedback and criticism.
Someone famous once said: Never assume.
For all those reading my blog, make note of these golden words. It will help you all your life...trust me.
Martalli, visited Ramapura and Hannur
Not a bad day...but not that great either.
The day started quite early for me. 7 am, to be precise. I was quite energetic and enthusiastic in the morning and decided to go to Ramapura Police Station, the nearest police station from here, to find out about the Crime Record in Martalli and surrounding villages. I boarded an alien bus at 8 am in the morning, after having had coffee at Bosco’s place.
Bosco is one sweetheart that we’ve come across in these few days and he’s one person I’ll remember forever. We had the most awesome supper at his place yesterday. Chapathi, mixed vegetable, chicken curry (which I did not taste owing to my vegetarian vows), hot rasam, hot steamed rice, boiled egg, fresh yogurt and fresh apples for dessert. I swear I’ve never hogged on so much food before at a stranger'splace...and yet it felt like home.
I just couldn’t stop myself looking at the sheer variety of food that was being offered in a platter FREE of cost. Yeah, you can call me a cheap pervert. But, where else do you get a man who’s willing to offer you good, free home-made food to 5 complete strangers who’ve come from as far as Bangalore? To come to think of it, I don’t think a city dweller would have entertained us. That’s where the difference between a city-dweller and villager comes up. I don’t wish to draw any conclusions...but it’s just a general observation I couldn’t help sharing.
Anyways,
I visited the Ramapura Police Station in the morning only to be told that the sub-Inspector will not be available until 11 am. In an alien city, with people speaking less of Tamil and more of Kannada, I was quite lost and clueless as to where to go. I decided (please note that I DECIDED) to proceed to Hannur and contact the Block Education Officer there to get some useful information and statistical data about the education sector. That wasn’t really a flop...we (me and Gaurav) did manage to get some preliminary information. But, as I said earlier, as days are passing by...I’m getting all kinds of information from all kinds of departments making me confused about what to use and where. Every time I meet someone, I get his/her contact details, talk about the problem areas and issues and proceed for the next stop. At this rate, my ‘contact’ list is increasing in an alarming rate...I need to urgently sort that out.
From tomorrow, we start working individually on our Masters’ project. I’m quite looking forward to it (despite being unsure and not-so-confident, which is a case on all my beat days anyways). It’ll be a different experience to now work on our own...
People in my group are coming up with multiple story ideas and discussing them with me, the reason being that I’m the co-ordinator. And since I'm one, I am assumed to be the best person to be contacted for feedback and criticism.
Someone famous once said: Never assume.
For all those reading my blog, make note of these golden words. It will help you all your life...trust me.
Tuesday, October 26, 2010
Day 3: Clueless and lost
DAY 3
Maratalli
Today can be summed up as one of the most unproductive days, so far, thanks to my indecisive skills and my group-mates who have multiple viewpoints on varied topics of interest.
Till yesterday, I was very confident about me and my Tamil...until I met Mr. Augustan of Otherethothi, a village about 3 kms from Martalli. Apparently, he is a Tamillian too but I could not get a word of what he said. He hails from Metur, Tamil Nadu and I had to listen hard enough to actually find out what language was he speaking—Tamil or Kannada. His Tamil probably had a rural touch that I couldn’t grasp as easily. And on top of that, I’m supposed to be the bloody translator for the group. When the translator himself/herself doesn’t understand the language being spoken, God save the others.
Perhaps I could have made more sense of what he spoke had he spoken a bit more slowly. Also, a lot of words he mentioned were either too raw/rustic or too pure and sophisticated. I’m an expert at neither. A key learning for today was that a single language has multiple dialects. When I was young, I was told that Chennai Tamil is different from Coimbatore Tamil, which is different from Madurai Tamil and so on and so forth. I never bothered to care enough. Today, I’m faced with a kind of Tamil I find extremely hard to relate to. It’s scary to actually listen to your mother tongue and go: Huh? What? Say that again?
And, at the end of the day, you’re not really left with any positive feelings...which is a serious threat for some one like me.
Anyways, we interviewed Mr. Augustan and a Father at the village church there, had a look at the Milk Dairy run by Mr. Augustan who was also a former member of the Martalli Gram Panchayat. We took some bytes and shots...but I’m completely clueless as to the extent of it’s usefulness for the purpose of our visit. And, when the translator herself is at a loss for words and doesn’t exactly know which questions to ask, it’s a failure, to put it simply.
As a journalist, I’m expected to come up with “intelligent questions” (in the words of Professor Kanchan Kaur). And, I had none. What was worse was that my team-mates had none either. We ended up asking such stupid and obvious questions that I was actually feeling ashamed at the end of the interview.
I seriously don’t know what went wrong. How my brain cells stopped working suddenly? Why my pen wasn’t moving when he was talking? Why did I suddenly felt the craving to come back? Why was rural reporting suddenly emerging out to be a not-so-good idea?
Strangely, our day today did not start on such a horribly negative note...
We boarded a bus till some place that starts with V (it’s too un-pronounceable and forgettable to remember it now) as there was no direct bus to Martalli available in the morning. We took an auto from there and trust me, if you want to know what village roads are all about, you got to take this route. For those who love all kinds of rides in those fake amusement parks, I suggest you take village roads as a better option for travelling. You’ll certainly be rewarded of a ‘ride’ that can guarantee a pregnant woman the birth of her child by the time she reaches the destination.
We passed hilly areas, scenic beauty and cool breeze on our way and everything was stereotypically village-like. After having dumped our luggage in the Convent-run hospital (which the sisters had so painstakingly cleaned and made ready for us), we proceeded for Otherethothi. And the rest is history.
After the Otheretotti disaster (which, according to my team-mates isn't really a disaster contrary to my conclusion), we proceeded for Sulvadi, another village that boasts of having the only Government hospital in and around Martalli. We were supposed to meet the doctor there, who, as luck would have it, wasn’t present and had urgently left for a meeting. Disappointed (especially more so because we had again taken the pains to travel on those Om Puri+Pankaj Kapoor-like roads), we decided we’d have to come back again the next morning.
Too dejected and tired to go anywhere else,we I decided that we get back to our place and wait for supper-time when a promised supper with Mr. Bosco was waiting for us.
I have realized that this trip is a real test for complete indecisive people like me. I have no other option but to pass it...and that seems to be a distant possibility right now.
Ok.
To divert my mind (and I seriously need that right now), I’ll rant about the villagers here.
I don’t wish to eulogize anybody nor sound cliched but from what I’ve experienced so far, I have noticed a willingness to share and talk to ‘outsiders’ in all these villagers. Most of them have mobile phones and are readily willing to give their numbers, talk for hours, express their grievances, share anecdotes and also show a genuine interest in where we come from and where our interest lies.
I have already build up so many ‘contacts’. I don’t really know how useful it is going to be in the long run but it’s a great feeling to be the embodiment of the trust of these villagers whose eyes sparkle when they see someone from the media trying to cover and explore the problems faced by these people who are literally dying in neglect and isolation.
To be very frank, they are an everyday reminder of what my responsibilities and duties are as a significant person from the media industry.
I’m quite worried, as of now....due to a lot of reasons. And I’m completely clueless as to how to proceed with my group. I seek help in any form from any one on Planet Earth.
P.S. Too long a rant. I guess that's permissible in accordance with the state of my mind right now.
Maratalli
Today can be summed up as one of the most unproductive days, so far, thanks to my indecisive skills and my group-mates who have multiple viewpoints on varied topics of interest.
Till yesterday, I was very confident about me and my Tamil...until I met Mr. Augustan of Otherethothi, a village about 3 kms from Martalli. Apparently, he is a Tamillian too but I could not get a word of what he said. He hails from Metur, Tamil Nadu and I had to listen hard enough to actually find out what language was he speaking—Tamil or Kannada. His Tamil probably had a rural touch that I couldn’t grasp as easily. And on top of that, I’m supposed to be the bloody translator for the group. When the translator himself/herself doesn’t understand the language being spoken, God save the others.
Perhaps I could have made more sense of what he spoke had he spoken a bit more slowly. Also, a lot of words he mentioned were either too raw/rustic or too pure and sophisticated. I’m an expert at neither. A key learning for today was that a single language has multiple dialects. When I was young, I was told that Chennai Tamil is different from Coimbatore Tamil, which is different from Madurai Tamil and so on and so forth. I never bothered to care enough. Today, I’m faced with a kind of Tamil I find extremely hard to relate to. It’s scary to actually listen to your mother tongue and go: Huh? What? Say that again?
And, at the end of the day, you’re not really left with any positive feelings...which is a serious threat for some one like me.
Anyways, we interviewed Mr. Augustan and a Father at the village church there, had a look at the Milk Dairy run by Mr. Augustan who was also a former member of the Martalli Gram Panchayat. We took some bytes and shots...but I’m completely clueless as to the extent of it’s usefulness for the purpose of our visit. And, when the translator herself is at a loss for words and doesn’t exactly know which questions to ask, it’s a failure, to put it simply.
As a journalist, I’m expected to come up with “intelligent questions” (in the words of Professor Kanchan Kaur). And, I had none. What was worse was that my team-mates had none either. We ended up asking such stupid and obvious questions that I was actually feeling ashamed at the end of the interview.
I seriously don’t know what went wrong. How my brain cells stopped working suddenly? Why my pen wasn’t moving when he was talking? Why did I suddenly felt the craving to come back? Why was rural reporting suddenly emerging out to be a not-so-good idea?
Strangely, our day today did not start on such a horribly negative note...
We boarded a bus till some place that starts with V (it’s too un-pronounceable and forgettable to remember it now) as there was no direct bus to Martalli available in the morning. We took an auto from there and trust me, if you want to know what village roads are all about, you got to take this route. For those who love all kinds of rides in those fake amusement parks, I suggest you take village roads as a better option for travelling. You’ll certainly be rewarded of a ‘ride’ that can guarantee a pregnant woman the birth of her child by the time she reaches the destination.
We passed hilly areas, scenic beauty and cool breeze on our way and everything was stereotypically village-like. After having dumped our luggage in the Convent-run hospital (which the sisters had so painstakingly cleaned and made ready for us), we proceeded for Otherethothi. And the rest is history.
After the Otheretotti disaster (which, according to my team-mates isn't really a disaster contrary to my conclusion), we proceeded for Sulvadi, another village that boasts of having the only Government hospital in and around Martalli. We were supposed to meet the doctor there, who, as luck would have it, wasn’t present and had urgently left for a meeting. Disappointed (especially more so because we had again taken the pains to travel on those Om Puri+Pankaj Kapoor-like roads), we decided we’d have to come back again the next morning.
Too dejected and tired to go anywhere else,
I have realized that this trip is a real test for complete indecisive people like me. I have no other option but to pass it...and that seems to be a distant possibility right now.
Ok.
To divert my mind (and I seriously need that right now), I’ll rant about the villagers here.
I don’t wish to eulogize anybody nor sound cliched but from what I’ve experienced so far, I have noticed a willingness to share and talk to ‘outsiders’ in all these villagers. Most of them have mobile phones and are readily willing to give their numbers, talk for hours, express their grievances, share anecdotes and also show a genuine interest in where we come from and where our interest lies.
I have already build up so many ‘contacts’. I don’t really know how useful it is going to be in the long run but it’s a great feeling to be the embodiment of the trust of these villagers whose eyes sparkle when they see someone from the media trying to cover and explore the problems faced by these people who are literally dying in neglect and isolation.
To be very frank, they are an everyday reminder of what my responsibilities and duties are as a significant person from the media industry.
I’m quite worried, as of now....due to a lot of reasons. And I’m completely clueless as to how to proceed with my group. I seek help in any form from any one on Planet Earth.
P.S. Too long a rant. I guess that's permissible in accordance with the state of my mind right now.
Monday, October 25, 2010
Day 2: First visit to Martalli
DAY 2
Martalli village, Kollegal Taluk, Chamrajnagar district, Karnataka state
We had the real feel of what a 'village' is all about.
Yes. We finally visited Martalli, after travelling for over 3 hours by bus on a road that metaphorically (and literally) resembled Om Puri’s cheeks. Add to that the fact that I was sitting in the back seat of the bus. That’s like a bonus for those who want to jump their way to their destination. Quite literally so.
On our way, I befriended a few fellow passengers in the bus, exchanged numbers and greetings. The first question anybody asks me when they hear me speaking (fluently) in Tamil is-where do I hail from? That’s a tricky question for a person like me who is a Tamillian who’s lived in East India, did her graduation from North India and is now in South India doing her PG. I don’t know whether I should say Jamshedpur (my hometwon), Delhi (my maternal grandparents’ place), Tannirpalli (my mom’s birthplace), Tirunnelveli (my dad’s birthplace) or Bengaluru (my current place). It’s quite a mess, to put it simply. And, on top of that, when they hear me speaking equally fluently in Hindi, they find it hard to believe that I’m truly a Tamillian.
But, there are certain things that I learnt today...and all have reference to my (limited) knowledge of Tamil in some way or the other.
I’ve never felt so thankful/relieved/happy/proud about my Tamil roots...until I came here.
I’ve never before been surrounded by so many Tamil speaking people, particularly in the Kannada speaking state of Karnataka.
I’ve never spoken Tamil at such great length, for such a long period, with complete strangers with such confidence.
I never knew that my mother tongue will actually come to my rescue and put me in an advantageous position when compared to the rest of the people in my group who are still struggling with preliminary words like yenne, yenge, yen and teriyadu.
More importantly, I never ever in my wildest dreams thought that my knowledge of reading Tamil would prove to be useful at some point of my life. And, for this, I should truly thank my mom. It was she who insisted and was literally after me and my sister to learn how to read and write Tamil. Our general argument against her insistence would be that it would never be of any use to learn reading and writing Tamil as we would never be reading any Tamil book/magazine/novel, the reason being the high level Tamil used in them. But, for some reason, she was behind us, particularly during the holidays. Also because she taught us at an age when we were too young to protest strongly enough and an age when you grasp and learn things pretty fast, it worked. I still take about a minute to read a single word...but I somehow manage. And, it’s helping me today.
So, thanks amma.
நன்ட்à®°ி : )
After finalizing a place to stay there (which would be in a room inside a hospital run by a church), we proceeded towards having a long chat with an ex-Panchayat member of the village. We also spoke to the current President of the Gram Panchayat of Martalli and got some useful information. I don’t know how useful it would be....but I guess something is better than nothing.
We had the most awesome lunch today. Rasam, sambhar, aplaam, podalunga curry, oorga and hot steamed rice. We also had omelette. And it all costed Rs. 100/- for 5 people!
Tomorrow, we’ll be shifting from our Kollegal lodge to the village house that we have finalised in the village church on special request from the sisters there. So, the real test actually begins from tomorrow. Apparently, from what we have heard and gathered so far, there are frequent power cuts...and a whole lot of other things that city-people may not be too comfortable with. But, then, that is what this trip is about—to familiarise ourselves with rural way of living.
To come to think about it, rural reporting is fun....as long as you know and understand the local language. Until then, it’s all gotilla!
Looking forward to tomorrow....
Adios!
Martalli village, Kollegal Taluk, Chamrajnagar district, Karnataka state
We had the real feel of what a 'village' is all about.
Yes. We finally visited Martalli, after travelling for over 3 hours by bus on a road that metaphorically (and literally) resembled Om Puri’s cheeks. Add to that the fact that I was sitting in the back seat of the bus. That’s like a bonus for those who want to jump their way to their destination. Quite literally so.
On our way, I befriended a few fellow passengers in the bus, exchanged numbers and greetings. The first question anybody asks me when they hear me speaking (fluently) in Tamil is-where do I hail from? That’s a tricky question for a person like me who is a Tamillian who’s lived in East India, did her graduation from North India and is now in South India doing her PG. I don’t know whether I should say Jamshedpur (my hometwon), Delhi (my maternal grandparents’ place), Tannirpalli (my mom’s birthplace), Tirunnelveli (my dad’s birthplace) or Bengaluru (my current place). It’s quite a mess, to put it simply. And, on top of that, when they hear me speaking equally fluently in Hindi, they find it hard to believe that I’m truly a Tamillian.
But, there are certain things that I learnt today...and all have reference to my (limited) knowledge of Tamil in some way or the other.
I’ve never felt so thankful/relieved/happy/proud about my Tamil roots...until I came here.
I’ve never before been surrounded by so many Tamil speaking people, particularly in the Kannada speaking state of Karnataka.
I’ve never spoken Tamil at such great length, for such a long period, with complete strangers with such confidence.
I never knew that my mother tongue will actually come to my rescue and put me in an advantageous position when compared to the rest of the people in my group who are still struggling with preliminary words like yenne, yenge, yen and teriyadu.
More importantly, I never ever in my wildest dreams thought that my knowledge of reading Tamil would prove to be useful at some point of my life. And, for this, I should truly thank my mom. It was she who insisted and was literally after me and my sister to learn how to read and write Tamil. Our general argument against her insistence would be that it would never be of any use to learn reading and writing Tamil as we would never be reading any Tamil book/magazine/novel, the reason being the high level Tamil used in them. But, for some reason, she was behind us, particularly during the holidays. Also because she taught us at an age when we were too young to protest strongly enough and an age when you grasp and learn things pretty fast, it worked. I still take about a minute to read a single word...but I somehow manage. And, it’s helping me today.
So, thanks amma.
நன்ட்à®°ி : )
After finalizing a place to stay there (which would be in a room inside a hospital run by a church), we proceeded towards having a long chat with an ex-Panchayat member of the village. We also spoke to the current President of the Gram Panchayat of Martalli and got some useful information. I don’t know how useful it would be....but I guess something is better than nothing.
We had the most awesome lunch today. Rasam, sambhar, aplaam, podalunga curry, oorga and hot steamed rice. We also had omelette. And it all costed Rs. 100/- for 5 people!
Tomorrow, we’ll be shifting from our Kollegal lodge to the village house that we have finalised in the village church on special request from the sisters there. So, the real test actually begins from tomorrow. Apparently, from what we have heard and gathered so far, there are frequent power cuts...and a whole lot of other things that city-people may not be too comfortable with. But, then, that is what this trip is about—to familiarise ourselves with rural way of living.
To come to think about it, rural reporting is fun....as long as you know and understand the local language. Until then, it’s all gotilla!
Looking forward to tomorrow....
Adios!
Sunday, October 24, 2010
Day 1: Kollegal
DAY 1
Kollegal, Karnataka
It wasn’t the best of the starts. And yet, I’m alive and sound to re-tell the same. May be I should be an optimist for a change and feel happy about that, if not anything else.
We started at 6am sharp from IIJNM campus to leave for our much-awaited Taluk visists. We boarded the bus at K. R. Market for Kollegal from there. The journey roughly takes 3 hours (depending on the traffic).By the time we reached Kollegal, it was already noon. I had spoken to Mr. Jacob regarding our place of stay overnight in a deaf and dumb school.
Mr. Jacob has been one of the most useful guys I have come across so far in my trip. Perhaps, that’s not really the truth. (if you read what follows, you’ll probably agree too)
My group has been allotted to cover Martalli and surrounding villages. After talking with Mr. Jacob, we were told that the village is about 60 km from Kollegal. My heart sank when I heard that, as I realized the amount of travelling we would have to do each day.
Let me begin from the beginning.
Once we reached the school, me and another of my group-mate, Gaurav, decided to take Mr. Jacob’s bike and pay Hannur, a village that comes in-between Kollegal and Martalli, a visit to figure out where we will stay. But, as I am God’s favourite child, and He loves me the most, He decided to bless us with a flat tyre.
It’s almost impossible to explain what one feels when one is on a bike with someone you would have least expected to be with (no offense to Gaurav but nevertheless) on a strange road with unknown people around and be forced to stop mid-way with nothing but a flat tyre to stare at. A fellow auto-driver helped us out after making us wait for 15 minutes. He dropped us at the nearest puncture shop. The repairing process took around 45 minutes while Gaurav kept puffing away his blues (silently inspiring me to do the same).
We came back, looked for a lodge in Kollegal and have dumped our luggage there, for the time being. I have no idea how tomorrow is going to turn out when I have the glaring fact of having to travel 120 kms EVERYDAY with a bunch of 4 people who have no idea whatsoever about the local language here, as a consequence of which, they are heavily dependent on me. To be very frank, my knowledge of Tamil is limited too. But, I’m surviving. What scares me more is how are they going to survive, when they are banking entirely on me.
One thing is for sure. This trip teaches/or rather forces you to live and move in a group. We are expected to learn and master team-work. Day 1 hasn’t been that great with this respect. But, I am hoping this will change in the days to come.
In a place where I am struggling to get Internet, electricity, food, and clean drinking water, optimism, strangely, is my only way of survival.
I end my post with thoughts of the kids in the school whose sparkling eyes gave me hope and reminded me of the purpose of my visit.
Will keep you posted. . . . . .
Kollegal, Karnataka
It wasn’t the best of the starts. And yet, I’m alive and sound to re-tell the same. May be I should be an optimist for a change and feel happy about that, if not anything else.
We started at 6am sharp from IIJNM campus to leave for our much-awaited Taluk visists. We boarded the bus at K. R. Market for Kollegal from there. The journey roughly takes 3 hours (depending on the traffic).By the time we reached Kollegal, it was already noon. I had spoken to Mr. Jacob regarding our place of stay overnight in a deaf and dumb school.
Mr. Jacob has been one of the most useful guys I have come across so far in my trip. Perhaps, that’s not really the truth. (if you read what follows, you’ll probably agree too)
My group has been allotted to cover Martalli and surrounding villages. After talking with Mr. Jacob, we were told that the village is about 60 km from Kollegal. My heart sank when I heard that, as I realized the amount of travelling we would have to do each day.
Let me begin from the beginning.
Once we reached the school, me and another of my group-mate, Gaurav, decided to take Mr. Jacob’s bike and pay Hannur, a village that comes in-between Kollegal and Martalli, a visit to figure out where we will stay. But, as I am God’s favourite child, and He loves me the most, He decided to bless us with a flat tyre.
It’s almost impossible to explain what one feels when one is on a bike with someone you would have least expected to be with (no offense to Gaurav but nevertheless) on a strange road with unknown people around and be forced to stop mid-way with nothing but a flat tyre to stare at. A fellow auto-driver helped us out after making us wait for 15 minutes. He dropped us at the nearest puncture shop. The repairing process took around 45 minutes while Gaurav kept puffing away his blues (silently inspiring me to do the same).
We came back, looked for a lodge in Kollegal and have dumped our luggage there, for the time being. I have no idea how tomorrow is going to turn out when I have the glaring fact of having to travel 120 kms EVERYDAY with a bunch of 4 people who have no idea whatsoever about the local language here, as a consequence of which, they are heavily dependent on me. To be very frank, my knowledge of Tamil is limited too. But, I’m surviving. What scares me more is how are they going to survive, when they are banking entirely on me.
One thing is for sure. This trip teaches/or rather forces you to live and move in a group. We are expected to learn and master team-work. Day 1 hasn’t been that great with this respect. But, I am hoping this will change in the days to come.
In a place where I am struggling to get Internet, electricity, food, and clean drinking water, optimism, strangely, is my only way of survival.
I end my post with thoughts of the kids in the school whose sparkling eyes gave me hope and reminded me of the purpose of my visit.
Will keep you posted. . . . . .
Thursday, October 21, 2010
Help
Dear All,
This is to inform you that I'll not be in Bangalore from October 24-31, 2010.
As part of our rural trip, I'll be visiting Martalli village, Kollegal taluk, Chamrajnagar district, Karnataka, along with 4 other students of my class in search of our Masters' thesis project, identifying problem areas in the Maratalli and surrounding villages.
Anyone having any information with respect to the above, please reply to this post or mail me at deepa.r@iijnm.org
P.S. I'm yet to figure out a place to stay!
This is to inform you that I'll not be in Bangalore from October 24-31, 2010.
As part of our rural trip, I'll be visiting Martalli village, Kollegal taluk, Chamrajnagar district, Karnataka, along with 4 other students of my class in search of our Masters' thesis project, identifying problem areas in the Maratalli and surrounding villages.
Anyone having any information with respect to the above, please reply to this post or mail me at deepa.r@iijnm.org
P.S. I'm yet to figure out a place to stay!
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
Zjuvi
Sitting on the bed, enjoying the comfort of my pillow, lazing around...it’s a great feeling to type this.
And I waited far too long for this moment.
Yes.
I finally got my laptop.
*does a jig
Not having a laptop had been the dominant reason for not updating my blog often. Confined to the Media Lab that closes at 11 pm sharp, it maddened me to quite a large extent.
Despite being technologically challenged and possessing (almost) zilch knowledge of computers and software, I badly needed a laptop.
And I’ve finally got one now...after a patient wait for almost 4 years.
It’s called Zjuvi, for now.... named after Zjuvia, Spanish for ‘rain’
I’m hoping to have a long innings with her
: )
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