Category Archives: Musings

Too close for comfort

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I don’t know how I missed this article in the NYTimes when it came out a couple of weeks ago. Thankfully, a writer at Slate cited the article and how, with his wife tied to his hip, they duplicated this couple’s lifestyle for a single day. First, an excerpt from the original article:

TEN years ago, Michael Roach and Christie McNally, Buddhist teachers with a growing following in the United States and abroad, took vows never to separate, night or day.

By “never part,” they did not mean only their hearts or spirits. They meant their bodies as well. And they gave themselves a range of about 15 feet.

If they cannot be seated near each other on a plane, they do not get on. When she uses an airport restroom, he stands outside the door. And when they are here at home in their yurt in the Arizona desert, which has neither running water nor electricity, and he is inspired by an idea in the middle of the night, she rises from their bed and follows him to their office 100 yards down the road, so he can work.

Their partnership, they say, is celibate. [Link]

Admitedly I am terrified by the institution of marriage, even though I do hope to be married some day. I have Siddhartha-esque anxieties about the possibility that I may want to walk off into the woods some day. I emailed this story to four of my married-couple friends and three of the four responded with mild revulsion. “No freakin’ way,” to paraphrase. One of my friends responded that she had, due to circumstances, simulated this type of experience for stretches of days at a time, more than once since she’s been married (they travel a lot together). She also described it as soul-sucking to some degree. Even the Dalai Lama is a bit turned-off by the idea and wouldn’t allow it to be promoted in India:

… their practice — which even they admit is radical by the standards of the religious community whose ideas they aim to further — has sent shock waves through the Tibetan Buddhist community as far as the Dalai Lama himself, whose office indicated its disapproval of the living arrangement by rebuffing Mr. Roach’s attempt to teach at Dharamsala, India, in 2006. (In a letter, the office said his “unconventional behavior does not accord with His Holiness’s teachings and practices.”)… [Link]
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Exxxxxxxxtreeeeeeeeeeeeeeeme Yoga!

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Hello mutineers! I’ve been holed up in my east-coast satellite bunker for a while now, perfecting my Gleeson Grip, watching test cricket and savagely turning my back on a lacto-vegetarian upbringing.

I have been trying to keep up, however, and came upon this little gem of an article via our newstab (thanks Brij), relating the life of a peculiar kind of Yogi–one who may be tempted by “Extreme” branded potato chips.

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Don’t let your desi mom read this post

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Especially if you are a smart, attractive, single desi woman. Seriously. This isn’t about desi women in particular but you’ll see how this information could be used for evil especially by desi parents. I know some of you forward posts to your parents but don’t do it with this one. You’ve been warned. NSFP=Not Safe for Parents.

Ok, now that I’ve cleared my conscience let’s get to the article at hand shall we? Slate.com recently published, The Eligible-Bachelor Paradox, which makes use of game theory to explain why the best women often end up single and alone if they wait “too long” to get married. We’ll save judgement for the end:

The shortage of appealing men is a century-plus-old commonplace of the society melodrama. The shortage–or–more exactly, the perception of a shortage–becomes evident as you hit your late 20s and more acute as you wander into the 30s. Some men explain their social fortune by believing they’ve become more attractive with age; many women prefer the far likelier explanation that male faults have become easier to overlook.

The problem of the eligible bachelor is one of the great riddles of social life. Shouldn’t there be about as many highly eligible and appealing men as there are attractive, eligible women?…

Actually, no–and here’s why. Consider the classic version of the marriage proposal: A woman makes it known that she is open to a proposal, the man proposes, and the woman chooses to say yes or no. The structure of the proposal is not, “I choose you.” It is, “Will you choose me?” A woman chooses to receive the question and chooses again once the question is asked. [Link]

So what have we learned so far? Despite the fact that men usually propose, it is the woman that typically dictates if and when a marriage will occur. In a free and modern society (meaning no forced or pressured marriages) the real power rests with the woman. Let’s go on then:

You can think of this traditional concept of the search for marriage partners as a kind of an auction. In this auction, some women will be more confident of their prospects, others less so.In game-theory terms, you would call the first group “strong bidders” and the second “weak bidders.” Your first thought might be that the “strong bidders”–women who (whether because of looks, social ability, or any other reason) are conventionally deemed more of a catch–would consistently win this kind of auction.

But this is not true. In fact, game theory predicts, and empirical studies of auctions bear out, that auctions will often be won by “weak” bidders, who know that they can be outbid and so bid more aggressively, while the “strong” bidders will hold out for a really great deal. [Link]

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Art Without a Frame

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The Pulitzer Prizes were announced today. The book I previously gushed over won the fiction prize. A Pakistan-born photojournalist named Adrees Latif of Reuters won for his picture of a journalist shot and killed by the military in Myanmar. What moved me deeply however, was reading the article that won the “Feature Writing” award. I need to provide some background before we get into that.

Normally I wouldn’t blog about a story that was one year old and has no explicit desi angle. Many of you probably already read it. However, there is something universal about the…incident…chronicled in this article. One of the things I have come to appreciate about a blogging community like SM is that we (bloggers and commenters) get to share our appreciation (or criticism) of art with each other. Whether it is via the comment section of a book review or in the form of a heads-up about some upcoming event, blogs make great forums to share thoughts which may be incongruous with the rest of our days. Regardless of why you visit SM in particular, I think the bloggers here feel pretty honored that you would “waste” part of your day on our site, reading what we produce (even if you know you could do much better). Just this morning I was visiting Unclutterer to figure out how to waste less time during the day and to streamline my chaotic life. Sitting here typing this now (instead of packing for a business trip tomorrow) I’ve changed my mind. We should stop and waste time during the day if it so moves us.

And that brings me to the year old article from the Washington Post that won a Pulitzer today. You can’t read it yet, however. First you have to play this audio file. Once you start listening to it you can move on to the next line.

It’s an old epistemological debate, older, actually, than the koan about the tree in the forest. Plato weighed in on it, and philosophers for two millennia afterward: What is beauty? Is it a measurable fact (Gottfried Leibniz), or merely an opinion (David Hume), or is it a little of each, colored by the immediate state of mind of the observer (Immanuel Kant)?… [Link]

Writer Gene Weingarten helped orchestrate a brilliant “stunt” on commuters passing through L’Enfant Plaza last January in order to take a stab at settling the debate above. He took one of the most gifted violin players in the world, dressed him up as a humble busker in jeans, and asked him to play his 3.5 million dollar violin on the metro platform. Who would recognize brilliance? Who would even stop?

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The Aunt Also Rises

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I take my duties as an aunt very seriously. Ever since I became a massi a year ago, I’ve started reflecting more and more on the important role that my aunts and aunties (the female family friends and mothers of friends) played in my life, both when I was a kid and in many cases, now. aunts.jpg

So, I’m not exaggerating when I say that one of my life goals is to be the best massi ever. I can’t help it that I want to be adored and worshiped by my nephew in the same way that I adored and worshiped my aunts (the sisters of my mom and dad who I called tata-French for aunt–or simply by their first names, as in Dipika or Poupee) and aunties (I can never forget the glamorous Auntie Veena in Ghana who baked cheese sticks for our picnic at the Tesano Sports Club in Accra when I was 10) throughout my childhood.

Which is why when I first heard about the UK bestselling tribute to the institution of aunty-dom, The Complete Book of Aunts, by Rupert Christiansen with Beth Brophy, I couldn’t wait to get my hands on it. It even includes “ten golden rules for aunts”! From the book jacket:

Of all our blood relations, an aunt offers the most potential for uncomplicated friendship. THE COMPLETE BOOK OF AUNTS is an entertaining and touching exploration of aunts in all their guises and varieties, culled from real-life, literary and historical sources.

The book was inspired by a kid’s question to the author: “Why are there aunts?” In response, Christiansen takes a thorough look at the etymology of the word aunt, the many words for it that exist in world languages, and great aunts in (mostly Victorian) literature. He also highlights various aunt types: Bargain Aunts, Mothering Aunts, Damned Bad Aunts, X-Rated Aunts, and Honorary Aunties (think of all the older desi ladies you call ‘auntie’). Continue reading →

It isn’t even April 1st yet!

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I love wearing saris. Trouble is, the more unique a sari is, the more memorable it will be. If you wore this to a wedding in May, people will still remember it in June. For those of us who are 3,ooo miles from home and Mama’s saris, that doesn’t leave us with many options, especially if shopping at ISP in Murrland isn’t a palatable idea.

Since I haven’t been back to the pind since 1989 (insert cringe here), and I feel like I’m getting massively ripped off if I buy something on Devon or University Avenue, that only leaves me with one way to get my pleats on; every year, some relative returns from Kerala with a few gifts which my much-adored Chinamma chose for me. She knows that I favor Kanjeevaram…and that her older sister, my Moms, is very conservative. [See: my blouse sleeves, for proof.] Chinamma always sends me something beautiful, and because of her, I haven’t needed to purchase something silky or slinky online. And that, dear mutineers, is why I didn’t see this (click, to enlarge…if you dare):

are you kidding me.jpg
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Doing the Texas two-step

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It’s been a long 48 hours for me here in the heart of Texas. Monday night I went to check out Barack Obama for myself at one of his stops in Houston. The crowd was about six thousand or so strong and was composed mostly of people of color (probably an 85-15 split) including quite a few South Asian Americans. I’d never been to a political rally and figured this would be my chance to witness one first hand. I would have loved to have gone to a Clinton rally as well but my schedule (and hers) didn’t permit it. My observations from the rally were many, but here are a few:

1) There are a lot of sheep who will bay at just about anything

2) People seem to go crazy when free stuff is being handed out. When free Obama placards were being handed out (to wave around at the rally) I felt like I was in the middle of a disbursement of flour in the Gaza strip, given the way people started acting

3) The vast majority of people want to believe in someone other than themselves

4) Gas prices seem to be the most important thing to the group of people I was with

I realized that a rally just doesn’t do anything for me. I am a policy wonk and find it more satisfying when I feel the candidate is talking directly to me rather than simply trying to inspire me.

I early voted in the primary but I also caucused after the polls closed at 7 p.m. CST tonight (Tuesday). This dual primary-caucus system is unique to Texas and is often described as the Texas Two-Step. At 7:15p.m. you sign in and declare which candidate you are caucusing for. You have to caucus for a candidate in the same party as the person who you voted for earlier in the primary. However, there is nothing preventing you from splitting your “two votes” among two candidates if you choose to.

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Hotness, thy Name is Thara

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What do you get when you combine a half-Black, half-Irish Mom with a Guyanese-Indian Dad? A lovely Pinay woman named Thara, with an even lovelier voice, that’s what. 😉

Blogger Cherez (thanks!) helpfully left a tip on our News Tab which inspired much googling and listening after my very late dinner. I had no expectations as I surfed and contemplated a possible post, but then I was pleasantly surprised by what I heard; this girl can sing. In fact, she can sing well enough that I’ve finally listened* to a Jay Sean joint! The duo collaborated on the single “Murder”.

The second time I hit play on the video above, for Thara’s “Jump on”, I focused on her voice vs. the video. I did that for two reasons:

1) The video doesn’t do the song justice

2) She really does look like one of those Sigma Omicron Pi princesses who inspired all the boys (Filipino or not) to go to MGA Kapatid meetings at Davis.

Hence my “pinay” joke. 🙂 I know. She’s a quarter white, a quarter black and half-brown, but to me, she looks Asian. In fact, the first time I watched “Jump on”, I nearly jumped, because I swear I used to race this girl (and her white, ’92 GSR) to the last covered parking space across from Freeborn Hall at Davis, every other day. Couldn’t be Thara, though…she was six back in 1993. 😉

If Thara, whose full name is Thara Natalie Prashad, looks familiar, here’s why: Continue reading →

What’s God Got To Do (Got To Do) With It?

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lankafood.jpg

First off, a belated thanks to the Mutiny for letting me stay a month longer. I’m excited to be here, and even more excited that my topics now know no bounds. Brace yourselves. Huddle in the bunker.

You all know I love to write about food. And I love Sri Lanka. So what would make me sadder than anything? (Subtract conflict in Sri Lanka from consideration.) This piece about a Sri Lankan restaurant, from the Village Voice.

My friend K sent me this. (Thanks, K!) There’s so much wrong with it that I hardly know where to begin. But what struck me most was something I’ve been seeing more and more in coverage of Sri Lanka: gratuitous inclusion or overemphasis on religion. There’s enough carnage in Sri Lanka that I suppose people feel compelled to cover or mention the country. At the same time, they feel that they ought to smush news or writing about it into the Religion v. Religion WWE format currently favored by those discussing 9/11 and its aftermath. Continue reading →

Happy Walentine’s Day

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I have been saving and saving and saving this post, since it seemed to me most appropriate for Walentine’s Day.

Cheap V- and W-switching jokes aside, as you may remember, I was recently in Singapore. Along with Preston Merchant, photographer extraordinaire, I made my way out to the Sri Senpaga Vinayagar Temple, on Ceylon Road in Katong. This temple, which just may be my favorite temple in the world, is gorgeous. It’s beautifully painted, clean, and welcoming. It’s got a huge collection of different Ganeshas, and all the priests are from Sri Lanka. Ceylon Tamils in Singapore built the temple over a century ago, but now Hindus of all backgrounds worship there. ceylontemple.jpg

There are rules for worship on the wall that detail the kind of clothing to be worn, and the temple pamphlet specifies an order of worship. But the reality of the temple did not hew to the rules as they were written—indeed, no temple I know really does. Women came in dressed for work, toting children; live musicians played nathaswaram; priests served warm paiassam; people worshipped in the order that pleased them (or, at least, I did). They let Preston take pictures. I paid for prayers in my family’s name. The chief kurrukkal loaded me down with books about the temple and gave me a tiny statue of Ganesha, gratis. It didn’t feel like a place with many rules—just a lot of warmth.

The temple also has a store. I purchased many things there: a few Ganesha pendants, a five-faced Ganesha statue, Ganesha keychains, and some books. Among the books: guidelines to funeral rites for Saivite Hindus—and guidelines to marriage for Saivite Hindus.

I pointed at the display case on the wall and told the volunteer running the store that I wanted both.

“Both?”

“I’m preparing for my whole life here,” I said. “Who knows when I’ll come back to Singapore?” Continue reading →