Here, on the Blank Noise Project blog.
No, I don't have many more details to share - one of those times I want to make it to something without a preconception and expectation.
Sunday, May 28, 2006
Saturday, May 27, 2006
Urb-ania
How do you deal with the extremes of weather in Delhi? In winter and in summer, I tell myself every now and then the worst is yet to come; it's *hot* but will surely get hotter still; this is bearable - survivable - the fabled Delhi summer before which all of us crawl helpless and hapless is still around the corner. Ditto with the cold.
My first Delhi summer with an airconditioner (I'm sitting in my barsaati room with the AC on) makes it easier to pull this stoical wisdom on to you. Not strictly the first, actually - my car has always been airconditioned and so have the offices I've worked in so far. Why do we choose to live in this city with the terrible weather and traffic and noise and safety conditions? What keeps us here over an off-the-beaten-path paradise? Oh, all the reasons we love Delhi and big cities all over the world. Such as some landlords not batting an eyelid when you say you're looking to share a flat with a male friend. How many times have you managed to be "lucky" this way? And how many times have you been tempted to say, "We're married"?
My first Delhi summer with an airconditioner (I'm sitting in my barsaati room with the AC on) makes it easier to pull this stoical wisdom on to you. Not strictly the first, actually - my car has always been airconditioned and so have the offices I've worked in so far. Why do we choose to live in this city with the terrible weather and traffic and noise and safety conditions? What keeps us here over an off-the-beaten-path paradise? Oh, all the reasons we love Delhi and big cities all over the world. Such as some landlords not batting an eyelid when you say you're looking to share a flat with a male friend. How many times have you managed to be "lucky" this way? And how many times have you been tempted to say, "We're married"?
Thursday, May 25, 2006
Now Craigslist Delhi (and Bangalore, Chennai, Hyderabad, Mumbai...)
I'm quite excited about the Delhi Craigslist. C showed it to me the day before - it is a portal featuring free classifieds and forums and is, according to C, used by people in 150+ cities "to manage their whole life, from landing a job to finding a place to adopting pets, selling old crap, etc."
An online Free Ads which is simple to use, intimate, responsive and totally cool. What a blessing for people who have just moved in and are trying to find their feet, or even for those who have been here for years and years! The site does not advertise and will grow into a vibrant urban community only if all of us word-of-mouth it. So go ahead, Dilliwallas - talk about it, use it and bring more simplicity into your life.
(In Wikipedia)
An online Free Ads which is simple to use, intimate, responsive and totally cool. What a blessing for people who have just moved in and are trying to find their feet, or even for those who have been here for years and years! The site does not advertise and will grow into a vibrant urban community only if all of us word-of-mouth it. So go ahead, Dilliwallas - talk about it, use it and bring more simplicity into your life.
(In Wikipedia)
Thursday, April 20, 2006
Delhi: Open Mic at Nigah - 27 April 2006
QUEER CAFÉ
Come join us for an evening of poetry, spoken word, music, singing, stories and performances about our bodies, selves and lives. Share, read, or just sit back and listen at the Queer Café – featuring readings and performances on gender, sexuality and the weather.
To sign up to read/perform, email queercafe@nigahmedia.com. Ditto if you have questions.
27th April, Thursday @ 7 pm
THE ATTIC, 36 Regal Building, CP
(Above The People Tree)
Tel : 2374 6050, 5150 3436
No photography, video or audio taping is permitted without prior permission. Email info@nigahmedia.com for more information.
www.nigahmedia.com
Come join us for an evening of poetry, spoken word, music, singing, stories and performances about our bodies, selves and lives. Share, read, or just sit back and listen at the Queer Café – featuring readings and performances on gender, sexuality and the weather.
To sign up to read/perform, email queercafe@nigahmedia.com. Ditto if you have questions.
27th April, Thursday @ 7 pm
THE ATTIC, 36 Regal Building, CP
(Above The People Tree)
Tel : 2374 6050, 5150 3436
No photography, video or audio taping is permitted without prior permission. Email info@nigahmedia.com for more information.
www.nigahmedia.com
Saturday, April 08, 2006
Artists' Day at Jantar Mantar, New Delhi: The NBA protest
Today was the 23rd day of dharna at Jantar Mantar by the Narmada Bachao Andolan (NBA) against the raising of the height of the Sardar Sarovar Dam by the Narmada Water Authority in contravention of Supreme Court orders.
On April 5, at around 11:30pm, a force of more than 400 police swamped Jantar Mantar, forcefully and roughly attacking the satyagrahis who were peacefully sitting on their 20th day of dharna. Medha Patkar and Jamsingh Nargave, on their 8th day of indefinite fast, were arrested, forcefully lifted and taken in an ambulance to the All India Institute of Medical Sciences. They have both maintained their fast, Medha refusing IV and taking only lime juice. Meanwhile, over fifty Narmada Bachao activists were arrested, dragged, beaten up and taken to the Parliament Street Police Station where they were harassed and detained.
At the dharna space, Bhagwati Patidam today continued on the 11th day of her fast. Other people have joined in on the indefinite hunger strike: Bhama Bhai and Raja Kalla from the valley (6th day of fasting); Mona Das, President JNUSU; Dananjaoi Tripathi, Vice President JNUSU; Avadhesh from All India Students' Association; and JNU Prof Kamal Mitra Chenoy (4th day of fasting) and two others today.
It is heartening to see the support extended to NBA by organizations and individuals from our city and all over the country. Tomorrow, all artists in Delhi are urged to join the NBA protest: painters, filmmakers, singers, dancers, poets, writers -- bring your wares or just show up in solidarity and make this a Day of Protest by Artists.
WHEN: 10 am onwards, April 9, the entire day
WHERE: NBA Dharna Site, Opposite Jantar Mantar, New Delhi
Read Action Updates at narmada.org or sign a petition to be faxed to the Prime Minister and other government authorities.
On April 5, at around 11:30pm, a force of more than 400 police swamped Jantar Mantar, forcefully and roughly attacking the satyagrahis who were peacefully sitting on their 20th day of dharna. Medha Patkar and Jamsingh Nargave, on their 8th day of indefinite fast, were arrested, forcefully lifted and taken in an ambulance to the All India Institute of Medical Sciences. They have both maintained their fast, Medha refusing IV and taking only lime juice. Meanwhile, over fifty Narmada Bachao activists were arrested, dragged, beaten up and taken to the Parliament Street Police Station where they were harassed and detained.
At the dharna space, Bhagwati Patidam today continued on the 11th day of her fast. Other people have joined in on the indefinite hunger strike: Bhama Bhai and Raja Kalla from the valley (6th day of fasting); Mona Das, President JNUSU; Dananjaoi Tripathi, Vice President JNUSU; Avadhesh from All India Students' Association; and JNU Prof Kamal Mitra Chenoy (4th day of fasting) and two others today.
It is heartening to see the support extended to NBA by organizations and individuals from our city and all over the country. Tomorrow, all artists in Delhi are urged to join the NBA protest: painters, filmmakers, singers, dancers, poets, writers -- bring your wares or just show up in solidarity and make this a Day of Protest by Artists.
WHEN: 10 am onwards, April 9, the entire day
WHERE: NBA Dharna Site, Opposite Jantar Mantar, New Delhi
Read Action Updates at narmada.org or sign a petition to be faxed to the Prime Minister and other government authorities.
Friday, March 03, 2006
oil-and-water
She once described herself as "a pessimist, a feminist always, a Black, a quiet egoist, a former Baptist, and an oil-and-water combination of ambition, laziness, insecurity, certainty, and drive." Octavia Butler, black woman science fiction writer, died recently - Tyler Cowen writes an obituary.
Saturday, February 25, 2006
File: "An Intimate History" Show
Re-reading An Intimate History of Humanity by Theodore Zeldin. Came across a show inspired by the book, where "each performance lasts less than 10 minutes and is performed exclusively for an audience of one. It is like being serenaded by your own personal troubadour or experiencing an intensely intimate cabaret. All the attention is embarrassing and pleasurable."
Wednesday, February 22, 2006
Review: Rang De Basanti
[For EGO]
When the film begins, you love “Rang De Basanti” instantaneously. With its young, fun characters swaying inveterately to young, fun music, the film pulls you to itself with unabashed enthusiasm that is so characteristic of confident, urban, Punjabi Delhi.
The actors are good. The five main, male actors – Aamir Khan, Siddharth, Kunal Kapoor, Sharman Joshi and Atul Kulkarni – live and breathe their roles, both as university lads and as legendary revolutionaries. Alice Patten (quite to the surprise of the disdainful native in me) manages to be natural and at ease in hers. Soha Ali Khan is chalti hai, and the other actors, including Kirron Kher and Waheeda Rehman, are competent too.
Music fills each frame of the film and indeed, it is not possible to imagine RDB without the pulsing Paathshala or the haunting refrain of “ziddi…” from Khalbali, or the joyful title track. The AR Rahman and Prasoon Joshi team has given us one of the most gorgeous albums of the year – you can listen to it over and over again.
Here we also have one of the most slick recreations, in sepia, of the militant splinter of the Indian struggle against the colonial rule, represented by Chandrashekhar Azad, Bhagat Singh, Rajguru, Ashfaq and Bismil.
The problem is that the film is so confused.
On the one hand, it is about the restlessness, hope, angst of a generation. The most interesting of the young male characters, also because of what Aamir Khan and Siddharth bring to them, are DJ and Karan. DJ is frozen in a present where his future is always potential, just around the corner, unexplored. Karan wears unrelentingly uber-coolness and a casual cigarette, but something else, a disquiet, shifts underneath. There’s also Aslam, discontent with his family’s increasing insularity, and Pandey, who crosses the line between idealism and hoodlumism running with the Hindutva political party in power.
On the other hand, it sets up a very demanding parallel between a generation of young people let down by the modern state, and a generation of revolutionaries fighting against a colonial state.
Let’s not even get into comparisons between the motivations, the repression, driving the one versus the other. Just in terms of forms of protest available, our generation has a plethora of choices that simply were not there seventy years ago. RDB, in that sense, completely discounts the role of media and technology today. If a candle vigil commemorating whatever outside the India Gate were to be disrupted in so brutal a fashion now as shown, some sections of the media at least would take up the story, interview people on site or at least later. If not of their own accord, through some “connection” or the other. Power and influence are just two and a half degrees away in the real world of the University of Delhi. Further, in the real world, the virtual one – the internet – would be another arena of protest. Liberal/left mailing lists, the blogosphere, are informal spaces that are used, have been used to draw attention where the intervention of the mainstream media has not passed muster.
Neither do I want to paint too rosy a picture, nor do I want to disregard the fact that I am coming from a very particular background: “urban”, “elite” and “educated” in the sense that “we” know how to go about the business of activism. Injustice and brutality happen everyday, much still perpetrated by the state and much going unpunished. But these actors are shown to be students from the Delhi University, an extremely politically aware space. Hence, that they are completely clueless and get drawn into the logic of violence and self-annihilation so easily, is very disturbing.
There is also no conception of non-traditional, non-mainstream ways of expressing political obligation in the film. Join the army, or the police, or politics – but what about working with a voluntary organization? “The young must do something” is a great message. How to get youth involved in social and political affairs of the country is a real issue. But how it should be done, what should be done to tackle youth apathy – the film promises, but does not deliver on a way out. Rather, it leaves you in a web of half-formulated notions. (“We’re not terrorists because we didn’t go into hiding or kill innocent people.”)
Karan, through the film has said, “Nothing is worth giving your life for.” Towards the end, when Sukhi, the fifth friend says, “We’re not killers!” he replies “But they are.” This point, where a bunch of carefree easy-hearted young people turn into self-sacrificing revolutionaries against “them”, has such a knell of despair. That there was not even one end of hope for them to hold on to; that they had to go for the final option and kill someone who may not even be the ‘real obstacle’ but merely a symbol.
This sense of bleakness does not go away when sincere young people from all over the country say on television, this is it, now we must wake up, act. We know the futility and ephemerality of these assertions: they too will die out with the news of the day.
Did the filmmaker think of that? Or was he too busy making a blockbuster that would inspire the young people of India?
Phew! Forgive the rant. This is, after all, Bollywood. If we can take Sue’s no-budget documentary turning out to be a kickass fiction-drama with our customary pinch of salt, we can love RDB for what it’s worth.
When the film begins, you love “Rang De Basanti” instantaneously. With its young, fun characters swaying inveterately to young, fun music, the film pulls you to itself with unabashed enthusiasm that is so characteristic of confident, urban, Punjabi Delhi.
The actors are good. The five main, male actors – Aamir Khan, Siddharth, Kunal Kapoor, Sharman Joshi and Atul Kulkarni – live and breathe their roles, both as university lads and as legendary revolutionaries. Alice Patten (quite to the surprise of the disdainful native in me) manages to be natural and at ease in hers. Soha Ali Khan is chalti hai, and the other actors, including Kirron Kher and Waheeda Rehman, are competent too.
Music fills each frame of the film and indeed, it is not possible to imagine RDB without the pulsing Paathshala or the haunting refrain of “ziddi…” from Khalbali, or the joyful title track. The AR Rahman and Prasoon Joshi team has given us one of the most gorgeous albums of the year – you can listen to it over and over again.
Here we also have one of the most slick recreations, in sepia, of the militant splinter of the Indian struggle against the colonial rule, represented by Chandrashekhar Azad, Bhagat Singh, Rajguru, Ashfaq and Bismil.
The problem is that the film is so confused.
On the one hand, it is about the restlessness, hope, angst of a generation. The most interesting of the young male characters, also because of what Aamir Khan and Siddharth bring to them, are DJ and Karan. DJ is frozen in a present where his future is always potential, just around the corner, unexplored. Karan wears unrelentingly uber-coolness and a casual cigarette, but something else, a disquiet, shifts underneath. There’s also Aslam, discontent with his family’s increasing insularity, and Pandey, who crosses the line between idealism and hoodlumism running with the Hindutva political party in power.
On the other hand, it sets up a very demanding parallel between a generation of young people let down by the modern state, and a generation of revolutionaries fighting against a colonial state.
Let’s not even get into comparisons between the motivations, the repression, driving the one versus the other. Just in terms of forms of protest available, our generation has a plethora of choices that simply were not there seventy years ago. RDB, in that sense, completely discounts the role of media and technology today. If a candle vigil commemorating whatever outside the India Gate were to be disrupted in so brutal a fashion now as shown, some sections of the media at least would take up the story, interview people on site or at least later. If not of their own accord, through some “connection” or the other. Power and influence are just two and a half degrees away in the real world of the University of Delhi. Further, in the real world, the virtual one – the internet – would be another arena of protest. Liberal/left mailing lists, the blogosphere, are informal spaces that are used, have been used to draw attention where the intervention of the mainstream media has not passed muster.
Neither do I want to paint too rosy a picture, nor do I want to disregard the fact that I am coming from a very particular background: “urban”, “elite” and “educated” in the sense that “we” know how to go about the business of activism. Injustice and brutality happen everyday, much still perpetrated by the state and much going unpunished. But these actors are shown to be students from the Delhi University, an extremely politically aware space. Hence, that they are completely clueless and get drawn into the logic of violence and self-annihilation so easily, is very disturbing.
There is also no conception of non-traditional, non-mainstream ways of expressing political obligation in the film. Join the army, or the police, or politics – but what about working with a voluntary organization? “The young must do something” is a great message. How to get youth involved in social and political affairs of the country is a real issue. But how it should be done, what should be done to tackle youth apathy – the film promises, but does not deliver on a way out. Rather, it leaves you in a web of half-formulated notions. (“We’re not terrorists because we didn’t go into hiding or kill innocent people.”)
Karan, through the film has said, “Nothing is worth giving your life for.” Towards the end, when Sukhi, the fifth friend says, “We’re not killers!” he replies “But they are.” This point, where a bunch of carefree easy-hearted young people turn into self-sacrificing revolutionaries against “them”, has such a knell of despair. That there was not even one end of hope for them to hold on to; that they had to go for the final option and kill someone who may not even be the ‘real obstacle’ but merely a symbol.
This sense of bleakness does not go away when sincere young people from all over the country say on television, this is it, now we must wake up, act. We know the futility and ephemerality of these assertions: they too will die out with the news of the day.
Did the filmmaker think of that? Or was he too busy making a blockbuster that would inspire the young people of India?
Phew! Forgive the rant. This is, after all, Bollywood. If we can take Sue’s no-budget documentary turning out to be a kickass fiction-drama with our customary pinch of salt, we can love RDB for what it’s worth.
Sunday, February 05, 2006
There, moving on
Wrench a beat for what isn't there, can't be, can't return.
Or turn back the pages and there's Him and Me - we look up, smile, get back to whatever we're doing. There's our sage-shine cats.
An entire life lived, to be lived, missed, thrown away, all right there.
Or turn back the pages and there's Him and Me - we look up, smile, get back to whatever we're doing. There's our sage-shine cats.
An entire life lived, to be lived, missed, thrown away, all right there.
Tuesday, January 24, 2006
Blogging in the midst of 3CFF
When friendly bloggers like Shivam Vij assure me my not being addicted to blogging is good, I feel somewhat happier and un-guiltied about the sporadic nature of my posting. But I genuinely have been busy for the last few weeks with the TRI Continental Film Festival - which has just finished in Delhi (very successfully!) and is starting in Bombay tomorrow.
Here is the screening schedule:
25-27 Jan: Mumbai
29-31 Jan: Bangalore
1-3 Feb: Chennai
3-6 Feb: Kolkata
Do come for the screenings! I'll be travelling to Bangalore, Chennai and Calcutta.
Meanwhile, The Hindu pressed us for an interview with Rabbi - our chief guest for the Delhi festival - glibly assuring us a great front page coverage of the festival. Here is what she finally delivered. These media people, I tell you.
(If this is not it, Mandira, if there is another story to follow, I promise I'll apologise with the deepest humility.)
Here is the screening schedule:
25-27 Jan: Mumbai
29-31 Jan: Bangalore
1-3 Feb: Chennai
3-6 Feb: Kolkata
Do come for the screenings! I'll be travelling to Bangalore, Chennai and Calcutta.
Meanwhile, The Hindu pressed us for an interview with Rabbi - our chief guest for the Delhi festival - glibly assuring us a great front page coverage of the festival. Here is what she finally delivered. These media people, I tell you.
(If this is not it, Mandira, if there is another story to follow, I promise I'll apologise with the deepest humility.)
Monday, January 09, 2006
the regulars
Delhi really is a small city.
When I lived in Jangpura Extension, I’d meet him at the Moolchand traffic crossing on my way to work. One day, he wasn’t there.
Then things changed in my life. I moved to Defence Colony. This morning, I met him again on my new route to work. We see each other, the light changes, cars move ahead by a few metres. He follows.
“Hello. It’s been a long time since we met.”
“Yes. You stopped coming to Moolchand, didn’t you?”
“They closed that crossing. I’ve been here for 3-4 days now.”
“And before that?”
“L… I live in G…, you know.”
The light changes again. We smile at each other and move on.
And I’m suddenly happy Delhi’s such a tiny city.
When I lived in Jangpura Extension, I’d meet him at the Moolchand traffic crossing on my way to work. One day, he wasn’t there.
Then things changed in my life. I moved to Defence Colony. This morning, I met him again on my new route to work. We see each other, the light changes, cars move ahead by a few metres. He follows.
“Hello. It’s been a long time since we met.”
“Yes. You stopped coming to Moolchand, didn’t you?”
“They closed that crossing. I’ve been here for 3-4 days now.”
“And before that?”
“L… I live in G…, you know.”
The light changes again. We smile at each other and move on.
And I’m suddenly happy Delhi’s such a tiny city.
Sunday, January 08, 2006
Review: NHRC Disability Manual 2005
It is a huge task to try and cater to “lawyers, NGOs, academics, human rights activists and the general public” as the National Human Rights Commission (NHRC) wants to, in its recently published Disability Manual 2005. For a lawyers’ handbook, it may be enough to include legislation and case law, academics may prefer critical analysis, and activists may need practical examples from real life. The Disability Manual works best as the first, with faint swings at the other targets.
The disability rights movement began in the 1970s in the aftermath of the American civil rights and women’s rights movements. Today international norms and legislation duly recognize persons with disabilities as rights holders and enjoin national governments to actively promote the necessary conditions for the disabled to fully realize their rights.
The manual, a sturdy publication with good production values, is divided into six parts. The first explains the historical and conceptual underpinnings of disability jurisprudence. The understanding of disability has changed from medical (disability as individual pathology) to social to the human rights definition in vogue now, with factors as wide-ranging as wars, poverty, natural disasters, crime, occupational disasters, and Structural Adjustment Programmes (SAP) of the World Bank brought under scrutiny. These are looked at briefly and one wishes the language was more lucid and the text more elucidated, especially since this chapter is meant to be foundational to the rest of the manual.
The models that inform law and policy have also shifted, but in the strange way law has of enduring, continue to uneasily coexist. The charity model, the bio-centric model, the functional model and the human rights model are examined in the next chapter with particular regard to their impact on Indian legislation. The final chapter in this section outlines the fundamental right to equality as guaranteed by the Constitution of India, the Directive Principles of State Policy, along with statutes like Persons with Disabilities (Equal Opportunities; Protection of Rights and Full Participation) Act, 1995; Mental Health Act, 1987 and Rehabilitation Council of India Act, 1992.
The four parts following trace international norms and legislation relating to the protection and promotion of social and cultural rights, economic rights, and civil and political rights of the disabled. These are dealt with comprehensively but staidly. There are useful tables that compare international standards with national standards contained in laws and regulations, and also tables comparing general rights with rights specific to the disabled.
The sixth part deals with international mechanisms and procedures that can be deployed to advance the rights of persons with disabilities. The role played by international human rights law and procedures is, here at the end, properly contextualized and attempts to adorn them with a “talismanic quality” are protested. The chapter explicates with hypothetical cases the procedural options available to someone wishing to protest a human rights violation or issue internationally. This is the one place in the book where case studies, albeit hypothetical, are used, and, not peculiarly, they immediately enliven the text.
Eight annexures, beginning from national legislation to international frameworks and principles, make up the tail end of the book.
As suggested earlier, people engaged in the advocacy of disability rights might not find the Disability Manual stimulating since they would be looking for more case studies, more strategies, more hands-on tips and advice on how to challenge rights infringements. They would want to know what lies beyond rights jurisprudence. Law and legal change have proved ineffective in bringing about social change, and the attitudes of pity and discrimination against the disabled so prevalent in society have not yielded to the rights discourse which ends up seeing the disabled subject as single and monolithic.
A discussion of the Ability Fest’05, where disability-themed films were screened for four days and created an air of excitement and debate in Chennai, or the colorful India Gate demonstration which bemused all the passers-by and hangers-on, would have added something extra to the manual.
All said, the manual fills a gap long felt for a comprehensive publication on disability rights in India. It is hopefully the first of many to come.
The disability rights movement began in the 1970s in the aftermath of the American civil rights and women’s rights movements. Today international norms and legislation duly recognize persons with disabilities as rights holders and enjoin national governments to actively promote the necessary conditions for the disabled to fully realize their rights.
The manual, a sturdy publication with good production values, is divided into six parts. The first explains the historical and conceptual underpinnings of disability jurisprudence. The understanding of disability has changed from medical (disability as individual pathology) to social to the human rights definition in vogue now, with factors as wide-ranging as wars, poverty, natural disasters, crime, occupational disasters, and Structural Adjustment Programmes (SAP) of the World Bank brought under scrutiny. These are looked at briefly and one wishes the language was more lucid and the text more elucidated, especially since this chapter is meant to be foundational to the rest of the manual.
The models that inform law and policy have also shifted, but in the strange way law has of enduring, continue to uneasily coexist. The charity model, the bio-centric model, the functional model and the human rights model are examined in the next chapter with particular regard to their impact on Indian legislation. The final chapter in this section outlines the fundamental right to equality as guaranteed by the Constitution of India, the Directive Principles of State Policy, along with statutes like Persons with Disabilities (Equal Opportunities; Protection of Rights and Full Participation) Act, 1995; Mental Health Act, 1987 and Rehabilitation Council of India Act, 1992.
The four parts following trace international norms and legislation relating to the protection and promotion of social and cultural rights, economic rights, and civil and political rights of the disabled. These are dealt with comprehensively but staidly. There are useful tables that compare international standards with national standards contained in laws and regulations, and also tables comparing general rights with rights specific to the disabled.
The sixth part deals with international mechanisms and procedures that can be deployed to advance the rights of persons with disabilities. The role played by international human rights law and procedures is, here at the end, properly contextualized and attempts to adorn them with a “talismanic quality” are protested. The chapter explicates with hypothetical cases the procedural options available to someone wishing to protest a human rights violation or issue internationally. This is the one place in the book where case studies, albeit hypothetical, are used, and, not peculiarly, they immediately enliven the text.
Eight annexures, beginning from national legislation to international frameworks and principles, make up the tail end of the book.
As suggested earlier, people engaged in the advocacy of disability rights might not find the Disability Manual stimulating since they would be looking for more case studies, more strategies, more hands-on tips and advice on how to challenge rights infringements. They would want to know what lies beyond rights jurisprudence. Law and legal change have proved ineffective in bringing about social change, and the attitudes of pity and discrimination against the disabled so prevalent in society have not yielded to the rights discourse which ends up seeing the disabled subject as single and monolithic.
A discussion of the Ability Fest’05, where disability-themed films were screened for four days and created an air of excitement and debate in Chennai, or the colorful India Gate demonstration which bemused all the passers-by and hangers-on, would have added something extra to the manual.
All said, the manual fills a gap long felt for a comprehensive publication on disability rights in India. It is hopefully the first of many to come.
Monday, January 02, 2006
journal (v. intr.):
Let me declare, first, that this post was composed in my journal. Of course, I was sitting then on a train going from Ranchi to New Delhi, laptop ailing in the suitcase and hundreds of miles away from an internet connection, but even if I were at home with everything technical in place, I'd probably write the first draft on paper. It is about the old-fashioned thoughts flowing smoother on paper yada, but it's also about a relationship I share with my journal.
We try to spend some quality time together everyday, my journal and I. Usually in the mornings, but if I'm running late, and can't, by late evening I can sense a kind of pressure growing within me. Some miscreant words and actions involuntarily part my company.
To avoid this lowgrade consternation, journaling has a crucial place in my life. I pour out many emotions on these pages, much I'd rather not share with another soul. I vent without self consciousness, let my pen travel wherever, however it will. I reproach. I whine. I'm petty and nasty. I write first drafts, redrafts, onlyever drafts. I make peace with myself here - and to get the best results I don't censor anything.
Fastforward fifty years. Say I've written and published and become known. Say I die. And all these numerous journals of mine are published unabridged.
What will the readers read? Who will the readers meet? Not, or not just, Monica Mody the known.
The thought's exhilarating yet dreadful. And this is why, after reading Joyce Carol Oates' review of The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath, the journalista in me finds myself obliged to proffer a counter.
For Oates, Plath's journals "present a very mixed aesthetic experience". Is aesthetics the point anyway? Journals are not after all "unrevised, inferior work", they are a space to sift and cleanse the soul. A space where one finds the energy and wisdom to go on living our quotidian and creative lives, where we come to terms with our truths and lies and half-lies.
This -
My opinion may alter radically once I actually read Plath's journals. As of now, I find the designation "piranha voice" for Plath's journal voice a wee bit unjustifiable. You see, I know. I know I can, too, obsess endlessly endlessly about things big and small.
***
This book, borrowed and read in college, was what got me to take my "diaries" seriously.
***
Just finished reading Foxfire: Confessions of a Girl Gang by Joyce Carol Oates and found it truly fabulous.
After ages a book I read at one go not piecemeal five minutes snatched before bed or driving.
We try to spend some quality time together everyday, my journal and I. Usually in the mornings, but if I'm running late, and can't, by late evening I can sense a kind of pressure growing within me. Some miscreant words and actions involuntarily part my company.
To avoid this lowgrade consternation, journaling has a crucial place in my life. I pour out many emotions on these pages, much I'd rather not share with another soul. I vent without self consciousness, let my pen travel wherever, however it will. I reproach. I whine. I'm petty and nasty. I write first drafts, redrafts, onlyever drafts. I make peace with myself here - and to get the best results I don't censor anything.
Fastforward fifty years. Say I've written and published and become known. Say I die. And all these numerous journals of mine are published unabridged.
What will the readers read? Who will the readers meet? Not, or not just, Monica Mody the known.
The thought's exhilarating yet dreadful. And this is why, after reading Joyce Carol Oates' review of The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath, the journalista in me finds myself obliged to proffer a counter.
For Oates, Plath's journals "present a very mixed aesthetic experience". Is aesthetics the point anyway? Journals are not after all "unrevised, inferior work", they are a space to sift and cleanse the soul. A space where one finds the energy and wisdom to go on living our quotidian and creative lives, where we come to terms with our truths and lies and half-lies.
This -
Confronted with a manuscript so uneven in quality as these journals, Plath would certainly have discarded hundreds of pages in preparation for its publication -- lengthy, breathless adolescent speculation about boys, dates, classes, career (''Can I write? Will I write if I practice enough? . . . CAN A SELFISH EGOCENTRIC JEALOUS AND UNIMAGITIVE [sic] FEMALE WRITE A DAMN THING WORTH WHILE?''); sketches and drafts of stories aimed for the lucrative women's magazine market; awkward early poems (''Down the hall comes Mary, bearing sheets / Crisp squares of folded linen / And, dressed in green, she greets me / With a toothless morning grin''); countless reiterations of physical symptoms (''Woke as usual, feeling sick and half-dead, eyes stuck together, a taste of winding sheets on my tongue after a horrible dream''); petty squabbles with Hughes; and the determination to be a good wife -- must not nag (ergo: mention haircuts, washes, nail-filings, future money-making plans, children -- anything Ted doesn't like: this is nagging).'' Plath's ceaseless anxiety over submissions to Ladies' Home Journal, The New Yorker, Harper's Magazine, The Atlantic and other magazines runs through the journals like a demented mantra; the mailman is both the blessing and curse of her existence through the entire span of these journals. Surely such repetition might have been avoided.- I don't agree with. Readers of journals don't, shouldn't, read them expecting to find precision or brevity. They come to them for - or find - all the murk and beauty of the human mind, in its higgledy-piggledyness. This, I hope readers of journals remember, is not the person the journal-writer is: what would an ubermicroscopic examination of the self yield but a distortion? Neither does it detract from the writer's "major"ness or skill.
My opinion may alter radically once I actually read Plath's journals. As of now, I find the designation "piranha voice" for Plath's journal voice a wee bit unjustifiable. You see, I know. I know I can, too, obsess endlessly endlessly about things big and small.
***
This book, borrowed and read in college, was what got me to take my "diaries" seriously.
***
Just finished reading Foxfire: Confessions of a Girl Gang by Joyce Carol Oates and found it truly fabulous.
After ages a book I read at one go not piecemeal five minutes snatched before bed or driving.
Thursday, December 29, 2005
a little respect
Yes, I've done it too - let my perception of "chick flicks" and "chick lit" be faintly colored with disdain. I plead guilty, sistahs, and abjectly beg your pardon. It took this post and then this article for me to realize how the condescension was as oppressive as "universal" feminism snootering black, lesbian, third world women.
Genrization is necessary and inevitable in this age of information & sales. But genres can oppress, and we must, as thinking people, deploy them only after some thought, some questioning.
Fine. Go ahead and snooter works that do not qualify as "great" art, "great" literature. But be aware of that unconscious snigger - it's popular among women, ha! ha!
Equating women with frippery, with the laughable, pinchable, ignorable - they're not central, not "us", so what if they're half of the entire?
Here's the avowal - I'm a feminist. In all its broad, queer, non-postfeminist glory. Thanks, Ratna, for teaching me what can lie beyond the limiting definitions of feminism.
Genrization is necessary and inevitable in this age of information & sales. But genres can oppress, and we must, as thinking people, deploy them only after some thought, some questioning.
Fine. Go ahead and snooter works that do not qualify as "great" art, "great" literature. But be aware of that unconscious snigger - it's popular among women, ha! ha!
Equating women with frippery, with the laughable, pinchable, ignorable - they're not central, not "us", so what if they're half of the entire?
Here's the avowal - I'm a feminist. In all its broad, queer, non-postfeminist glory. Thanks, Ratna, for teaching me what can lie beyond the limiting definitions of feminism.
Friday, December 16, 2005
Never Sufficient
On Wednesday, driving madly from Rajpur Road to IHC, trying to make it for at least ten minutes of Samit's reading/launch, long lines of cars and commotion extending before us and the thought of deadlines whooshing past blaring in my head, I turn to A. and say, "Writers' time is what we need."
Marquez, in an interview, on writers' time: "...a desert island in the morning and a big city at night. In the morning I need silence, and in the evening a few drinks and some good friends to chat to. I need to be in constant contact with people in the street and know what's going on in the world. This all fits in with what William Faulkner meant when he said, 'the perfect place for a writer was a brothel, because it's very quiet in the morning but there's partying every night.'"
A few hours to write and a few to read. A few to be with yourself, thinking or dreaming, and yes, a few to be with friends.
Marquez, in an interview, on writers' time: "...a desert island in the morning and a big city at night. In the morning I need silence, and in the evening a few drinks and some good friends to chat to. I need to be in constant contact with people in the street and know what's going on in the world. This all fits in with what William Faulkner meant when he said, 'the perfect place for a writer was a brothel, because it's very quiet in the morning but there's partying every night.'"
A few hours to write and a few to read. A few to be with yourself, thinking or dreaming, and yes, a few to be with friends.
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Merrily
On the editorial page in The Hindu today, an article exhorting that there be no 'unnecessary "coyness" about celebrating Christmas in a Christian country [Britain].'
The author completely misses the bus. It's not how many Christians there are in Britain or how strong the religious traditions are, but what Christmas stands for that makes it important to claim it from pseudo-secularists. The "spirit of Christmas", which is as pervasive in its good cheer and kindness as, I imagine, the air of Goa. Santa Claus, gifts, secret santa. Trees, decorations, mistletoe. Reds and greens, chocolate or plum cake. Christmas stories, Christmas movies, and above all, universal goodwill and generosity that you cannot but help respond to, get seized by. This is what the British and American kidlit of my kid days told me, and the odds are still is telling to kids everywhere.
Certain myths, like this one, are so beautiful in their innocence that you have to fight to keep them alive.
The author completely misses the bus. It's not how many Christians there are in Britain or how strong the religious traditions are, but what Christmas stands for that makes it important to claim it from pseudo-secularists. The "spirit of Christmas", which is as pervasive in its good cheer and kindness as, I imagine, the air of Goa. Santa Claus, gifts, secret santa. Trees, decorations, mistletoe. Reds and greens, chocolate or plum cake. Christmas stories, Christmas movies, and above all, universal goodwill and generosity that you cannot but help respond to, get seized by. This is what the British and American kidlit of my kid days told me, and the odds are still is telling to kids everywhere.
Certain myths, like this one, are so beautiful in their innocence that you have to fight to keep them alive.
Trade tricks
It must be the oldest trick in a writer's book: when you can't express your displeasure openly, fictionalize them, put them down in your novel.
Without a qualm, I'm thinking of incriminating someones like this in the prose piece I'm writing for the Sarai workshop. You'd cheer if you knew how nervous I was before it --
"For the past couple of years that I have thought of myself as a writer, poetry has come much more easily to me than prose. I like working with its elusiveness and its precision, its ability to transmute experiences into half-familiar, half-forgotten beings and landscapes. Using its devices, I can leave behind straightforward narration or discourse and explore the oblique. More and more I find my poetic voice reflecting undertones of my political engagement with feminism, but not, I believe, in an unsubtle or unpleasing fashion.
Being an avid reader of prose, I know it is possible to attain with it similar effects, right from metaphors and imagery to sound patterning. The form of the prose text does not impose limits on its aesthetics.
The limitation, then, is in my own head and practice. A writer should be able to override the externals of form and structure and I think it would be of great benefit to me to take a deep breath and venture into the territory of imaginative prose.
So then, I want to attend this workshop to counteract in me the anxiety engendered by, and to instill in me the discipline of, prose writing, in a supportive environment with peers..."
I'm quite pleased to have finished two pages to read tomorrow. To be continued. Short, but they're there and not half-bad.
Without a qualm, I'm thinking of incriminating someones like this in the prose piece I'm writing for the Sarai workshop. You'd cheer if you knew how nervous I was before it --
"For the past couple of years that I have thought of myself as a writer, poetry has come much more easily to me than prose. I like working with its elusiveness and its precision, its ability to transmute experiences into half-familiar, half-forgotten beings and landscapes. Using its devices, I can leave behind straightforward narration or discourse and explore the oblique. More and more I find my poetic voice reflecting undertones of my political engagement with feminism, but not, I believe, in an unsubtle or unpleasing fashion.
Being an avid reader of prose, I know it is possible to attain with it similar effects, right from metaphors and imagery to sound patterning. The form of the prose text does not impose limits on its aesthetics.
The limitation, then, is in my own head and practice. A writer should be able to override the externals of form and structure and I think it would be of great benefit to me to take a deep breath and venture into the territory of imaginative prose.
So then, I want to attend this workshop to counteract in me the anxiety engendered by, and to instill in me the discipline of, prose writing, in a supportive environment with peers..."
I'm quite pleased to have finished two pages to read tomorrow. To be continued. Short, but they're there and not half-bad.
Monday, December 12, 2005
A Better Man
Writing poetry in a man's voice is not coming as easy as I thought it would. While I can pull together all the parts of me-woman into vital writing, I seem to have lost that dual eye so necessary for an artist to give detail to the "other".
The men I know well, I know as people I love, and I can't/don't want to take over their voice from them. The men I don't, I don't want to cannibalise to caricature.
Okay, this is sounding a bit feverish. But writing it down might help open some valves!
The men I know well, I know as people I love, and I can't/don't want to take over their voice from them. The men I don't, I don't want to cannibalise to caricature.
Okay, this is sounding a bit feverish. But writing it down might help open some valves!
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