Category Archives: Photos

Tufteing the subcontinent

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Map of the world with each country scaled by population size

Above is a map of world populations: “the larger the country, the bigger its population. Each grid square represents a million people.” [Link]

When you eyeball the map, a few things leap out at you in a way that they don’t when presented with a table of numbers:

  • India has 1 billion people, or roughly 1/6th of the world’s population
  • Pakistan and Bangladesh together have slightly more people that the US. If there was still a “United Pakistan” it would displace the US as the world’s third largest country.
  • There are more people living on the subcontinent than there are on most other continents. More South Asians than Europeans, Africans, North Americans or South Americans. As a matter of fact, there are more Indians than people in these other continents.

The same website also presents similar maps of past and future population levels of the world from 100,000 years ago, 2,000 years ago, 350 years ago (1650), 100 years ago (1900), and even a projection of the world’s population 150 years from now in 2150. [via BoingBoing]

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Lurid scapulæ

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East Village denizen Anil Gupta is one of the best tattoo artists in the U.S. (thanks, Ennis). He’s known for his miniature reproductions of fine art. Here’s Seurat and a quarter. It’s sly, painting pointillism at the pinprick end of a tattoo pen:

Gupta draws a straight line from gaudy to Gaudí, from Bollyboards to nipple art:

“So how did you end up reducing the world’s greatest masterpieces into miniatures?” … He explained that as the son of a man who illustrated giant movie posters for Bollywood, he used to paint eyes that were two stories high. “Maybe,” he said with a deep-throated chuckle, “inventing the miniature was my form of rebellion…” [Link]

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Pakistan quake vigil

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Candlelight vigils for the Pakistan earthquake were held in 25 cities worldwide tonight. In NYC’s Union Square, chic midtown suits sold fundraising bracelets, listening somberly and flirting subtly. One white paramedic who volunteered in the relief effort spoke of doing amputations in the open air without anesthesia, of villagers hoisting near-dead relatives upon their backs and hauling them seven hours down the mountains to the paramedic camp. After the speeches, Nusrat sang quietly in the background.

A buddy of mine, Monis Rahman, penned this first-person account of volunteering in the mountains:

Two weeks earlier, a Sungi volunteer named Tariq took a helicopter filled with relief supplies to one of the mountain villages. The villagers rushed the helicopter, which was hovering slightly above the ground… Amidst the chaos, one fell to the ground. As Tariq reached to help him up, the rear rotor blade of the helicopter struck his head. He died instantly…

… we saw smoke coming out from a distant peak. Yasir casually asked Farooq if it was a volcano erupting. Our village guides immediately stopped, clearly terrified by the possibility of another catastrophe. There had been rumors in these areas that a volcano would erupt to further punish the villagers for their sins. Most of them believed that something they did as a community was responsible for the devastation they faced… I quickly pointed out that it was just a man-made fire… [Link]

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Krishna for Christmas

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ABC Home is a Jagannath of a furnishings store which fills an entire New York City block. Here’s their sidewalk display for the holidays. They hawk Lakshmi with leather gloves, Buddha with bath beads. Reindeers game at Krishna’s feet, Ganesh sits blue by Christmas trees. Three white women, expensively dressed with close-cropped hair, chatted by the display: ‘And then the Buddhists get annoyed…’

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It’s syncretic, it’s pretty, it’s callow. I don’t see Jesus and Mary lounging among the loofahs, I don’t see Moses parting the Listerine. But you can buy ‘spicebodhi,’ capsaicin enlightenment in a bar. Symbols my parents revere become interior design props. Mild, tolerant, ‘cardamom-scented‘ Hinduism and Buddhism are gussied up and vended. We gave you Manhattan, you give us beads.

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