2009 February « In A Nut Shell

He comes bearing gifts for a nation-Jai Ho!

February 26, 2009 at 5:45 pm | In A.R. Rahman, IBN, Oscar, Slumdog Millionaire, internship diary | Leave a Comment

I thought they were going to kill him. As I was pushed toward the gate of his house and a Headlines Today microphone jammed into my face, I thought they were going to kill the two-time Oscar winner.

I was standing outside A.R. Rahman’s house at 2 a.m. along with a mob of media persons, musicians, and crazy fans. Drums echoed beats of Jai Ho and the crowd moshed in response as we all waited excitedly for the maestro to return home from L.A.

I only have two days left at my internship so the bureau chief had asked me earlier yesterday afternoon if I would be interested being “part of the coverage” of Rahman’s return home to Chennai. I was thrilled and I agreed immediately.

Around midnight we set off for Rahman’s house. When I got there the first thing I noticed was that the crowd consisted primarily of men. I walked up closer to where the action was and heard music blaring from the speakers: Jai Ho….over and over again of course. At this point it was just a matter of waiting around until Rahman arrived outside his gate, to be greeted by welcome-home party. His flight wasn’t even supposed to land until 1:15. So we waited….

My hair stuck flat to my head from the sweat and my kurta top was already drenched with moisture. We were all standing one next to the other with no room to move, with the reporters and police officers closest to the gate.

By the sudden surge of excitement–movement, camera flashes and crescendo of music and drum roll, I could tell that Rahman’s SUV must have pulled up. And after that it all turned surreal….

Hands went everywhere. The Headlines Today microphone rammed into my mouth and immediately I tasted salt on my throbbing lip. I was jolted toward and through the gate with such a force that suddenly, I didn’t care anymore about whose hands felt where, but only that I somehow got out of the crowd uninjured, or at the very least, alive.

And then my eye caught him. He was wearing a black sports coat–I think–and was being pushed, pushed from all sides with such pressure that I thought he would crumble under the weight of everyone huddling around him. His lips were tightly shut but in a half smile, as if to say, “Well, yep, I guess I’m definitely back in India.” But what struck me is that he wasn’t angry. He didn’t yell back at anyone to stop pushing. He didn’t threaten to have anyone arrested. He didn’t shoo away the one-track-minded reporters who kept snapping away shots and protruding mics in his face. He literally just ploughed through the crowd to the safety of his home, where, still, reporters followed him regardless (including my very own bureau chief). And then all I could think of was how Rahman had just traveled from the other side of the world, two Oscars in hand, and was not even given the chance to just come home and sleep peacefully. For a moment, I actually felt sorry for him.

Twenty minutes later, my bureau chief stumbled out of Rahman’s house saying he got the first interview. But we couldn’t head back to the office to edit the tape, lest we get killed by the mob of rabid fans still outside the gate. So we waited some more…

Finally, at around 3:30, Rahman himself braved the throng to step JUST outside his gate to say he was humbled by the warm welcome and that he would still be there for anyone to visit him at another time. With that, he bade everyone good night and told them to please go home. What a guy, I thought. Although he had won two Oscars in L.A., he had come back to Chennai as the same humble Rahman we all know and love.

Around 4 a.m. my bureau chief and I got back into the car to finally call it a night. I was worn. My bureau chief turned his head to the back seat:

“So, now you got a taste of Indian journalism, eh? Good. Now you know what we deal with all the time,” he said.

All I could reply with was, “Yes sir, I can now say I definitely got a feel for what journalism is in India.”

What’s love?

February 13, 2009 at 9:17 am | In Valentine's Day, ego, love, marriage, pride, romance | 1 Comment

My grandmother got married when she was 15. This year, when she lost my grandfather, she told me, “I have known nothing else since my teen years. I have always taken care of him. And now? What am I supposed to do with all my time?”

She had spent all her time giving, taking care of him, never complaining. She told me he wasn’t one who believed in romance. She wouldn’t describe their relationship as romantic. At the same time, it must be noted: there wasn’t a single day my grandfather didn’t have her at his side. They traveled the world together, he took her everywhere. Even in old age, within the house, he always had to know her whereabouts, because he couldn’t stand to be away from her too long.

That’s love.

My dad does not buy my mother flowers, write her poems, kiss her in public, or hold her hand. But he does go with her every other week to Jacksonville where she teaches dance to give her company and moral support. He’s always in the front row with his camera to take pictures of her and video tape when she puts on dance or music performances. He comes home every day for lunch to eat with her, whether she asks for it or not. Instead of taking her out on cutesy dates, he is a family man, so caring that he takes his daughters and son-in-law along on vacations.

That’s love.

These are the images of love that I’ve grown up with, and to me, they are great examples of consideration, affection and steadfast commitment.

I don’t believe in mind games, cheating, jealousy or “Girls’/Guys’ Nights Out.” The more I notice couple dynamics among people I know, the more I see that it’s one’s ego, pride, and selfishness that get in the way of giving oneself completely to another. These days, in an attempt to save face, seem strong and independent, too many people put up walls as defense mechanisms. It’s led to a culture of people who, in an attempt to avoid being labeled “whipped,” make it a point to have a night out with single friends of the same sex, regardless of the influence (cough, cough, threat) these single friends may possibly pose to the current steadfast relationship with their significant other.

It’s led to a culture of people who regard only the superficial actions as “sweet” or “romantic,” but the truly sweet or selfless acts as “clingy,” “needy,” or as indicative of “not having a life.”

Someone once told me that relationships are never equal, that one person always “wears the pants,” has the power, and the other party is the one who is “whipped,” so in love that he or she loses all self-respect or sense of self. He told me one person always loves the other person more.

I can’t agree with that. Yes, many (too many) relationships do fall under this category, but can you really consider those relationships worth holding on to? Love isn’t a contest to see who gives in first, or who loves the other more. Nor does it automatically make the person who loves more “weaker.”

Sure, perhaps some people may consider it unwise to grow too dependent on someone else in this day and age (chance of divorce over 50%….). But the most successful relationships I’ve seen are actually the ones where both parties give unconditionally, without letting their pride get in the way of giving everything they possibly can.

So this Valentine’s Day let’s drop the roses, the candles, the hearts and cheesy poems. Instead, let’s not hold back. Let’s love unconditionally without fearing the other person may gain the upper hand. For once, let’s not let our egos get in the way of something good.

Third eye (not) blind

February 8, 2009 at 1:23 pm | In Tamil, bindi, culture, difference | 1 Comment

I’ve always thought since I was young that my bindi sort of “marked” me, that perhaps it is the reason why strangers remember my face, why guys don’t approach me at frat parties, or why even desis think, upon first glance, that I’m ultra conservative. People have always watched from a distance, wary of what my third eye represented.

So I figured these few months in India at least, I’d blend right into the brown.

Instead, my accent, gait, tone have given me away. The fact that I wear a salwar kameez when I go out on the street is not enough. If I’m not wearing a dupatta I can command the attention of every male street vendor, auto driver, college student and IT executive within seconds.

Until this year I thought I could speak Tamil pretty well. Close relatives would tell me how my sister always could speak better, but for the most part they could understand me and were even impressed that for growing up in the States, I could speak conversationally. But my ego has taken a blow now that I have been laughed at repeatedly because of my accent…. because I don’t know the local terms. Some of the news reporters will sometimes choose other interns over me to talk to local people because I “talk differently.” They actually mock my American accent: the muted constants and stretched vowels.

I’m puzzled at how, somehow, I have managed to be the oddball, yet again. It’s funny: as Americans, we think the world looks up to us, strives to be like us, so much so that I am ashamed at how pompously I approached this experience at first. As a Tamil-speaking, vegetarian, Bharatanatyam dancer who volunteered herself to spend a few month in India, I figured I’d get a few extra points, a pat on the back, a reaction of pleasant surprise at how very Indian and Hindu I was. But instead, it’s been a humbling experience actually seeing how condescending (or even disgusted) some of them can get by our cockiness, our complaints, and at the most basic level, our differences.

Well I still think it’s immature. People of different cultures will obviously have a different accent. As long as communication is still possible, why should it matter?

I finally reached the height of my tolerance to their intolerance when one of the reporters started dumbing things down for me and questioning my intelligence just because I am a desi. I finally responded, “I, too, am human. I was born with a brain.” I think she finally took the hint.

I for one am glad that my third eye can at least see past our differences.

At IBN: excerpts from my internship diary

February 6, 2009 at 12:17 pm | In Cyberknife, IBN, cancer, cure, internship diary, treatment, tumor | Leave a Comment

Today we joined the features reporter to a press conference at Apollo hospital. The hospital has just procured Cyberknife technology which will help it treat cancer with unrivaled precision and efficiency.

Although the press conference dragged on for too long, I was definitely impressed with the Cyberknife device. The non-invasive robotic machine uses smaller, high-dose radiation beams to literally “paint” a tumor with radiation. There’s no anesthesia, scalpel or recovery time involved. Doctors sad it would allow a patient to come in during his or her lunch break for a session (less than one hour) and leave the same day. With just 4 or 5 sessions, even the hardest tumors in the spine, pancreas, brain, lungs, and prostate can be treated without damaging healthy tissue.

A cancer treatment this easy, effective, and comfortable for the patient? It sounds like magic, but it really made me marvel at all that technology has to offer in the field of medicine, and how far we’ve come.

At IBN: excerpts from my internship diary

February 6, 2009 at 4:31 am | In IBN, human rights, internship diary, lesbian helpine | Leave a Comment

I had brunch and headed out from my house at around 10:30 yesterday. I started to get nervous because I knew the features reporter had scheduled the lesbian helpline shoot for around 11 or 11:30, and I didn’t want her to leave the office without me (nervousness). But when I called her from the car she said she was already out shooting. “Oh no!” I thought (shit! I missed it). “How could she leave without me?” (anger) But then she told me she was at some other shoot (relief) so I felt better …..until I realized that meant she’d be coming back too late and would probably have to cancel or postpone my lesbian helpline shoot. (now disappointment). And yes, I felt all of these emotions within the span of two whole minutes.

I got to the office and there were several computers available. I starting surfing the web for ideas and came up with a few good ones. The news reporter came out of her cubicle and said she was going to get some reactions from people on the street about the state-wide strike (which basically no one followed, so businesses were still up and running anyway).

We went to City Center and found a few people, asking them how the strike was affecting them. Everyone said the same thing– it didn’t feel like a strike at all and that life was normal. Walking out on the street it seemed like any other day. We got back to the office and the features reporter still wasn’t back yet. I started to get worried that my story about the lesbian helpline wouldn’t happen.

Around 1:45 one of the other interns was hungry so we went into the break room. She is more of a quiet type, but lunch today was nice because I really got a chance to talk to her and I realized how sweet she was. She told me about how it’s been hard staying in the hostel because she doesn’t speak Tamil properly, and even her English is only ok. It’s why she’s also reluctant to speak in office. She can obviously write just fine. In the hostel, she says “she is the Queen” when it comes to English, because everyone else speaks Tamil.

The features reporter came back! She had her lunch and told me the lesbian helpline shoot had been moved to 3:00. Phew.

At 2:30 we headed out. It was kind of a long drive and I let my mind wander and eyelids droop until suddenly we arrived and a gay man greeted us with a very effeminate wave of his hand.

When we got there we spoke first to the president of the Indian Community Welfare Organization. We got some shots of one of the volunteers answering the telephone and to a lesbian caller. After this there was only one lesbian willing to be interviewed. We went out to a park nearby and took some shots of her sitting on a park bench with another woman (actually a commercial sex worker…not a lesbian ) and walking,etc. I talked to the sex worker for a bit. I didn’t get her name for obvious reasons. She was really sweet, must have been in her forties or fifties. But she was actually Telegu, so she had an accent when she spoke Tamil and told us how people can always tell she’s not from here. That must be why she didn’t laugh when I spoke Tamil back — and at the end of the day, that was great feeling.

The story got filed the next day. View the story and spot here.

Slumdog Millionaire not one in a million

February 1, 2009 at 5:40 am | In Slumdog Millionaire, culture, desi, movie review | Leave a Comment

Four Golden Globe awards, a sweep at the Screen Actors Guild Awards and 10 Oscar nominations….that was it — I couldn’t handle the suspense any longer. I had to find out for myself just what the hullabaloo was all about. My verdict: average.

The rags to riches fairy tale is one that I’ve seen time and time again. So what’s the fuss about? It certainly isn’t the implausible story. An uneducated boy who happens to pull from his past experiences in the slums, answers every question right on a game show to win Rs. 20 million and reunites with his childhood sweetheart. Give me a break. As the story progressed I kept waiting….waiting for the earth-shattering scene that was really going to mark this movie’s greatness–it never happened.

Indians for the most part are definitely thrilled about the recognition A.R.Rahman has received as music director for this film. But even his score is not one to marvel over. Sure it’s good, I’m not saying I won’t play the soundtrack on “repeat” once I buy it (as I do with all the cd’s I buy). However, Rahman has produced even better music for films like Dil Se or his patriotic release Vande Maataram….so I’m still puzzled by the recognition he received for his work on this film, after over 10 years of producing unrivaled music.

Is it the foreign director? the artistic cinematography? the talented young actors or the slovenly state of Mumbai slums that’s captivating so many? Regardless, I still didn’t find any one aspect worth all the ridiculous hype this film is receiving.

The West is raving and the Indians are scathing. So where do the desis stand? Personally (and I have a feeling my view reflects those of many other desis), I think both sides are being ridiculous. We know there are many more deserving movies, but at the same time, I think the Indians need to stop being so sensitive to the portrayal of slum scenes or take offense to the realities of India. I’m in no way saying this is all India has to offer. Of course India is a land of rich culture and wealth. But it IS a facet which shouldn’t be ignored. As for those Indians who have written countless letters to newspaper editors, or those Bollywood actors who feel this is the West’s way to Indians as savage as India strengthens as a world power….give it a rest. There are several films made by Americans revealing the horrors of life in the ghettos and such. Moreover, your insecurities only make the West stronger, so take pride in India’s rich culture and history, and fix what ought to be fixed.