Dress Code (Update 1)

According to Shashwati, three Indian universities are considering imposing a dress code on their students. Of course, this dress code applies only to their female students.  Bombay University says the dress code will protect women from violent crime, according to the age old Indian principle of  “she was asking for it”:

Bombay University plans to ban women from wearing mini skirts, tight tops and shorts, saying this will help prevent rape. Officials at the university say they would prefer to see women students in a traditional salwar-kameez with no deep neckline. [cite]

Officials at Bombay University also claim that this will benefit the men on campus:

“An attire should be such that it should not be offensive or cause distraction to fellow students and lecturers,” Vice Chancellor Vijay Khole told reporters.  [cite]

At Delhi University, the discussion took on an ethnic dimension. Perhaps it is more acceptable to impose a dress code if you can blame it on ‘outsiders’:

A furious debate is going on among the students of Delhi University ever since Kirori Mal College vice principal Virender Kumar’s remarks that “revealing dresses” allegedly worn by girls from India’s northeast triggered angry responses. Although a chastened Kumar has apologised, girl students, particularly those from the northeast, are still furious. [cite]

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How to make Karanjees via WaPo

karanjee.jpg I feel like typing “Happy Ganesh Utsav“, but I’m 99.9% certain that’s incorrect, inapposite and just plain inane. Surely I will suffer a beat-down for my cheekiness; I implore you to bear in mind (while you are paddling me) that I’m just a simple Christian girl from Coconut land/God’s own country who has no idea what this snack even IS. 😉

It’s well-established that I’m reading whenever I’m on the metro and half the time I’m doing that, I’m actually scanning the articles for sepia-tinted stories which I can bring you here. 🙂 Normally, I find brown down ’round the front page; yesterday, I was slightly surprised to see that my “local” paper’s Food section was where the mutiny was at. Et voila, an article by Priya Phadke to coincide with a certain deity’s partay. I’ve seen hundreds of recipes in WaPo, but this is the first desi one that I’ve noticed.

Priya is the assistant art director for The Post’s Sunday Source, a.k.a. the section I love most and thus save for Georgetown, Dean and Deluca and cappuccino-soaked Sunday afternoons. Here’s what our dear artiste had to say about what you guys are going to be making (and then sending to North Dakota, please. Thanks!):

In the three years since I moved to the United States from Mumbai, as Bombay is now called, I get most homesick during festive seasons. My maternal grandmother nani would make comfort food, and her karanjees are what I miss most.
Karenjees are dough stuffed with soft, shredded coconut that is flavored with cardamom, saffron, sugar and Gulkand, a rose petal jam that lends a distinctive flavor and fragrance and sets my nani’s karanjees apart from all others.

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I coulda been a contendah

I offer you a roundup of the ovation vocation. Zadie Smith’s On Beauty made the Booker shortlist; she’s a Booker virgin (thanks, Neha). It’s out next Tuesday, but you might find it shelved stealthily in the fiction section as early as Saturday.

Zadie Smith’s On Beauty, an homage to EM Forster’s Howards End, has received mixed reviews from critics. [Link]
Rushdie’s Shalimar the Clown succumbed to snark and failed to make the short cut. After winning the Booker of Bookers, it’s ok to let someone else have a shot:
Zadie Smith, On Beauty*
Julian Barnes, Arthur and George*
Kazuo Ishiguro, Never Let Me Go
Sebastian Barry, A Long Long Way
John Banville, The Sea
Ali Smith, The Accidental [Link]
The George in Julian Barnes’ title was a Parsi (via Punjabi Boy):
It is a story about Sherlock Holmes’s creator, Sir Arthur Conan Doyle… The George in the title is George Edalji, a Birmingham solicitor and the son of a country vicar from Bombay who was a converted Parsee… in 1903, Edalji was convicted of maiming horses in his father’s parish of Great Wyrley in Staffordshire. The ‘Great Wyrley Outrages’, as they were known, became a cause célèbre when Doyle took up the cudgels in order to correct what he regarded as legal injustice and racism. Doyle became to Edalji what Emile Zola was to Dreyfus. [Link]

M.I.A. lost the Mercury Music Prize to Antony and the Johnsons (thanks, PB). Gayest thing ever recorded? Nuh-uh. It’s gotta be ‘Carolyn’s Fingers’ by the Cocteau Twins. Gayest thing ever recorded? ‘Carolyn’s Fingers’ by the Cocteau TwinsAnything by an artist who’s actually gay is too obvious (sorry, ‘YMCA’).

“It’s like a contest between an orange and a space ship and a potted plant and a spoon.” … His voice has been likened to Nina Simone and gay magazine Attitude described his album as “the gayest thing ever recorded”… [Link]

The drama of defining second gen continues apace. Come on, yaar, it’s a simple vada pav test. If he doesn’t know marmite, fish and chips, bangers and mash, he’s not a true deshi:

Although he holds a British passport… Hegarty, 34, has spent most of his life in America after his parents relocated to California when he was 12. Earlier this month, Kaiser Chiefs accused Hegarty of sneaking on to the shortlist through a “technicality”. “He’s an American, really,” said Nick Hodgson of Kaiser Chiefs, who hail from the rather less exotic Leeds. “It’s a good album, but it’s daft he’s got in on a technicality.” [Link]

Previous posts: one, two, three, four, five, six

* Sepia-fied

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More proof that Starbucks is evil? ;)

foamy rules.jpg I must have something to read near me at all times. On those rare occasions when I have “free time”, before I leave the house, I make sure I have at least a magazine (and my moleskine, and my camera andÂ…) with me, so that IÂ’ll be able to read. Life insists on making us pause unexpectedly when weÂ’d rather be achieving, mischief-making or just crossing another item off of our to-do lists; the only reason hyperactive me doesnÂ’t mind this immutable fact is because it means I get to read.

When I was a child, if I couldnÂ’t find the newspaper, IÂ’d read the back (or side) of the cereal box while crunching away on Rice Krispies. I still do this. IÂ’ll read anything, if IÂ’m desperate enough. When I found a job in a building that sits on top of a metro stop, I was overjoyed. The Washington Post got a phone call and I got a subscription to read during my 16-minute commute, each way. Sometimes, I canÂ’t help myself, I start reading the minute IÂ’m out my front door, on the block-and-a-half walk to the subway (yes, I am aware of how lucky I am to live next to and work on top of public transportationÂ…if you want to gnash your teeth even harder out of envy, know this: home and work are on the SAME metro line. No transferring for me, no siree Babu).

Speaking of having to pause when I’d rather be “achieving”, Wednesdays are for staff meetings. Over the last few weeks, it’s become a tradition to get overpriced yuppie beverages in preparation for such events. Unfortunately for indie-coffee shop lovinÂ’ me, there are no less than four Starbucks within a half-mile radius, combined with three Cosi and not one damned other choice in sight. While I go out of my way to avoid the mer-mascotted former, the latter (RIP: x and o) isnÂ’t even worth that effort, since their coffee tastes like punishment for wasting money.

Truthfully, some of the best coffee IÂ’ve had on the right coast came from my old bodega in midtown, on 8th avenue in the theater district. IÂ’d be tickled to the point of swooning right now if I could still hand the smiling, wordless Korean guy who owned the place (and whom I adored) a single dollar for a cup that would magically never spill though it was placed in a humble little paper bag vs in one of those fancy, carefully molded egg-carton-y drink holders. That freshly brewed, unpretentious elixir was brightened with my choice of parmalat milks (which were nestled in the ice of the salad bar) and sweetened with an open pot of sugar (which offered a communal spoon); there were no sleek nissan flasks or individual packets of white dust which give lab rats cancer, nor were there little shakers for cinnamon, nutmeg and pixiedust. THAT coffee tasted like love, and it was served in an iconic container which became even more famous when SJP caressed it during every other ep of SATC. IÂ’m 225 miles from THAT perfection, hours away from a city that doesn’t frown at me when I insist on ordering with quaint adjectives like small, medium, large. Sigh. Continue reading

Oh Oh. It’s a Patel wedding

One of my closest friends is getting married this Thanksgiving.  We went to the same high school in Maryland and were roommates at the University of Michigan.  I know his lovely fiancé as well (she coincidentally has the same last name).  With two months to go I was starting to look for a present for them.  Then, both FOBish and Neha sent in this tip.  In Neha’s words “Kaliyug  is upon us for sure.”  The Telegraph reports:

Young Patels getting married in Britain apparently expect the most expensive wedding gifts from their guests, according to research conducted by John Lewis, the Oxford Street department store.

On their “wish list” are items such as plasma television screens — they alone cost £5,000 each — Royal Doulton crockery, champagne stoppers and top-of-the-range fridge-freezers.

John Lewis picked four of the most common surnames in Britain by consulting the Office of National Statistics — Patel, Jones, Smith and Cohen — and compared their wedding gift lists.

Ha!  Patel is the new Jones.  I’m a bit skeptical of the so-called “research” cited in this article though.  To be fair, my friend and his fiance are not at all like the couples described in this article.  If they secretly are then they are going to be sorely disappointed by their broke-ass friends.

research done by John Lewis reveals that Indians are becoming as shameless as the English. Young Patel couples come into the store before the wedding and draw up their ideal list by choosing from the 500,000 goodies that are available. They think nothing of sticking the priciest gifts on their list…

Mr and Mrs Jones tend to ask for cheaper gifts such as hammocks, champagne buckets and coffee makers, with a £500 barbecue the most expensive item asked for.

Mr and Mrs Smith go for sofas, board games and microwave equipment for the kitchen. Although John Lewis would not dream of saying so, they seem even duller than the Jones.

Mr and Mrs Cohen request items such as fondue sets, Le Creuset pans and egg poachers from their wedding guests. Again, their taste leaves much to be desired.

I’m sorry but I’m with the Patels on this one.  If someone brings me a board game or a fondue set then they are dead to me.  Here is the take-away message:

McCulloch said: “Our latest research has highlighted some fascinating insights into wedding list preference, including the fact that couples with the same surnames are more likely to have similar wedding gifts. If you are after the ultimate and most opulent wedding lists, full of luxury goods and sensational extravagances, then it’s keeping up with the Patels that really counts.”

The Kali Yuga is upon us all.

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‘Curry’ in no hurry

Vikram Chatwal’s One Dollar Curry finally posts a trailer and makes its lumpy appearance in London Sep. 23rd, a full year after its Paris debut (via AiM). Nip-slip dictates that we pixelate, you pervs.

Chowhounds take note — the concoction this character vends is true Punjabi-style curry. The plot is a Paris-based, cooking-centric takeoff on The Guru, the trailer features ‘Kamasutra’ body oil nestled in a leopard-print bikini, the site uses a cloying, annoying faux-Indic font, and Chatwal seems to have both a cross and ‘waheguru‘ tattooed to his right arm.

Despite these less-than-stellar atmospherics, the soundtrack is catchy, and the movie doesn’t seem as bad as it so richly deserves to be given the hackneyed plot and inexperienced cast. It’s got an adorable, Ganesh-painted three-wheeler, the incantation of a six-degrees family tree is dead on, and Gabriella Wright is surely one of the cutest English-Irish-Portuguese-Mauritians out there.

Watch the trailer or listen to the soundtrack. Here’s the official site. Previous post here.

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The Next Apprentice?

The Romans pioneered today’s victory and ticker tape parades in their Triumph ceremony.  Post-war, a long procession of captured loot, slaves, musicians, and, of course, the Legion in its finest regalia marched through the city for all citizens to lavish their praise.  The victorious General followed this procession in a priceless chariot waving to the audience like the beauty queen of his day.  Ever cognizant of human nature, the Roman council enlisted a slave who stood by the side of the general whispering the reminder that “all glory is fleeting”.  

Perennial SM television favorite Raj Bakhta may have to hang up his golden leaf crown as he confronts the newer, younger model this fall.   The latest season of the Apprentice will unveil the newest Desi reality-TV star, Ms Toral Mehta

Toral, 29, currently a Vice President in the Capital Markets group of a major investment bank in New York City, is among the handful of officer level women in her group responsible for originating, structuring, negotiating and closing multi-million dollar business deals. Fluent in French, Hindi and English, Toral has traveled to more than 15 foreign countries over the course of her career, working with top business leaders in both the public and private sectors. A graduate of the Wharton School at the University of Pennsylvania, Toral has worked for some of the country’s leading financial institutions including Goldman Sachs and American Express. In addition, Toral is a skilled day trader and self-made multi-millionaire. Her recent investments include luxury real estate and upscale restaurant projects in Manhattan and Brooklyn. Born and raised in Philadelphia, Toral now resides in New York City, and likes to spend her free time at her homes in Miami Beach and London.

A few Penn alums who know her mentioned that Toral has the chops to give Omarosa a run for the money in the drama and tension category.   Delicious.   Her interview Q&A certainly reveals she’s a PC-be-damned type –

When will you consider yourself “a success”?
I already do.

Have any previous Apprentice winners motivated or inspired you? If so, who and why? If not, what did you think of the winners?
No, and I don’t think about them.

Would you rather be stranded on a desert island with Donald, George, or Carolyn, and why?
I would take my chances floating at sea.

Heh.   She sounds charming.   Unlike Raj, for whom charm appeared to be just about the only thing in the show he had going, Toral’s victories sound rather less fleeting.  Let history and the history about to be made be the final judge whilst the denizens of Sepia Mutiny lavish ratings.

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Kakutani complains of crufty ‘Clown’

The acid-tongued, Yale-educated purveyor of limn places Shalimar the Clown above Rushdie’s ineffectual Fury but below his earlier works (thanks, Rani):

Although the novel is considerably more substantial than his perfunctory 2001 book, “Fury,” it lacks the fecund narrative magic, ebullient language and intimate historical emotion found in “Midnight’s Children” and “The Moor’s Last Sigh.” [Link]

She doesn’t buy the fundamental, near-magical-realism conceit of the protagonist, and without that buy-in the rest of the novel is colored:

Worse, “Shalimar the Clown” is hobbled by Mr. Rushdie’s determination to graft huge political and cultural issues onto a flimsy soap opera plot… But his clumsy suggestion that the title character becomes involved with a group of terrorists inspired by Al Qaeda because he has been jilted by his wife feels farcical in the extreme – unbelievable in terms of the actual story…

The main problem with this novel, however, is its title character, Shalimar… who emerges as a thoroughly implausible, cartoonish figure: an ardent lover turned murderous avenger, a clownish performer transformed into a cold-eyed terrorist. Whereas the other characters’ motives are complex and conflicted, Shalimar is depicted in diagrammatic, black-and-white terms. Indeed, he often seems like a reincarnation of the cardboardy Solanka from “Fury”… These are the sort of words spoken by mustache-twirling, snake-eyed villains in old cartoons…

Rushdie is ‘all about the extended, witty aside, the original, snarky insight,’ which she doesn’t seem to dig:

But others are thoroughly gratuitous asides, included, it seems, simply for the sake of emptying out the author’s archive of recorded and imagined images, and they weigh down the story, diminishing its focus and its momentum.

I’m left wondering whether this review is more a criticism of the genre and Rushdie’s fundamental style than the individual tome. We’ll know soon — the book is officially out tomorrow, though you may have nabbed a copy this weekend.

Previous posts: one, two, three, four, five, six

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A new comic book hero

The late American astronaut Kalpana Chawla is the subject of the newest comic book (or graphic novel) in the Amar Chitra Katha series (thanks for the tip Cecilia).  The BBC reports:

The life and achievements of an Indian-American astronaut who died in the Columbia space shuttle disaster in 2003 has now been illustrated in comic form.

An Indian publishing house has released the comic book based on Kalpana Chawla, the first American female astronaut of Indian origin to have gone on a National Aeronautics Space Administration (NASA) mission…

“If Kalpana Chawla inspires even two more students to go out there and achieve what they are dreaming for, well, then that’s our job done really,” she said.

About 437 titles have been released under the comic series and 90 million copies sold.

That should be an interesting read.  I am curious as to how much fiction might be added into her real story to play to the young Indian audience that is most likely to pick up this book.  Likewise, I want to see how much nationalism might be displayed by the comic book character.  Bottom line though is whatever gets young kids interested in space and science is good to see.

Fifteen-year old Meghna Pithadia says her ambition is to become an astronaut.

She says a comic on Chawla’s life is a great way of introducing her to small children.

“They can come to know about her, what was her life, what was her history. It’s a good thing, they can learn from her.”

Nine-year old Sakina Machiswalla said she read a little of the comic book and realised that girls can do everything that boys can do.

“She wanted to become an astronaut and she went out there and became one. If boys can do it then so can girls. Now I have a goal that I must do something big in life.”

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The price of drama

You only need to read this post only if you use a blog reader. We’ve made a few changes to reduce our bandwidth costs:

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    Our feeds no longer include comments. Depending on your predilection for drama, this will either sadden or elate you.

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