On milk and moustaches...

Despite my best efforts to truly understand the collective psyche of northern Indians, there are still two obsessions I cannot comprehend: milk and moustaches. Let's consider the latter first. Evidence would suggest that I am not adverse to facial hair, and indeed, I am not. There was even a dark month during my first year at university when I sported a soup-strainer. And even then, I knew it looked horrible. That was, in fact, the point: moustaches are funny. If you agree with this last statement, prepare to split your sides in India. My informal polling suggests that, at least in northern India, 20% of adult men are bearded (mostly Muslims and Sikhs), 45% clean-shaven, and a miraculous 35% have moustaches. That’s a whole lot of potential cops.

For centuries, Rajasthan has been known for its absurd moustache arrangements. The moustache waxing performed by the Rajput warriors, a hallmark of India’s chivalric aesthetic, would have made Hercule Poirot seem an awfully unkempt git. The great Mughal Emperor Akbar, known for his free-thinking tendencies regarding culture and religion, adopted this Rajput custom when he subdued the region in the latter half of the 16^th century. Shearing off the traditional Muslim beard of his forefathers (and progeny), Akbar took on the handle-bar moustache look. The only other man to ever successfully pull off the handle-bar moustache was not born for another four centuries in England. His name was Lemmy Kilmister and he played bass for Hawkwind and Motorhead, but that is something else entirely.

(One of these guys was India's greatest ruler. The other once penned a song called "Love Me Like a Reptile." Can you guess which is which?)

While moustaches have shrunk in the interceding centuries, they still remain wildly popular for reasons unknown. I’m not just talking about popular amongst certain groups. Think of an American film star with a moustache… difficult, no? In South Asia, many of the most popular actors have them, including Rajinikanth, the highest paid actor in India, who recently set a record for highest salary ever for an actor in an Indian film ($4 million for Sivaji, see picture below). Still a leading man at age 57, it is said Tamil women (notoriously starstruck according to Delhi sources) publicly swoon at the sight of his moustache. This all just goes to show that there’s no accounting for taste.

Speaking of tastes, northern Indian people love milk… a lot. No weather is too hot, nor illness too vomit-inducing to temper the passion for bovine lactation. Even in my bourgeois neighborhood, cows frequent the streets. They often just lay there blocking traffic. Many of us have seen California’s “happy cows” campaign to market the state’s dairy products; cows in Delhi are not too happy. For sacred animals, their owners sure let them get rather thin and dirty. When I wake up early enough, I usually don’t, I see children milking them. This begs questions about homogenization and pasteurization which are probably best left unanswered. One of the few shops in my neighborhood is a sort of outdoor “milk bar” (about as far from the Clockwork Orange version as one could possibly get) or one-stop dairy vendor. They sell dairy products exclusively, milk, cheese, ice cream, if you need lactase to digest it, they have it. Servants queue at a gleaming steel machine every morning with large jugs into which the household’s daily milk consignment flows, after the Rupees have been inserted.

I don’t get it. Aren’t these people supposed to be lactose intolerant? I have been led to believe that only northern European-descended folks (Jews usually excepted) continue to produce lactase throughout their lives. What the hell is going on here?

Also, who decided any dish could be improved by adding a tablespoon of fresh cream? Vegans, run for the hills, you are about to be deveganized whether you know it or not. There’s no point trying to explain that you don’t want a heavy dairy product with your lentils, it’s easier to explain to the Chinese that shredded meat is still meat (I don’t recommend trying this if it can possibly be avoided). Fortunately, vegan I am not and I cope.

Now, I’m afraid I must make a confession which forever prevents me from accepting/receiving acceptance in Indian society. Paneer (I’ve heard it called cottage cheese. Imagine if tofu was made from milk) is gross. That’s right, I said it. I’ve tried, Krishna knows how I’ve tried, to acquire a taste for paneer. It’s in so many dishes where one would not expect to find it. Maybe it won’t be disgusting if I mash it up. What if I only eat it mixed with palak (spinach)? It feels kind of like tofu, it can’t be that bad. I’ll just close my eyes. No, paneer is irredeemable. Americans, get this: you know murg makhani aka butter chicken? It’s rather a favorite northern Indian (Mughlai) dish served at your local Indian eatery. Over here, they have butter paneer. Just to be totally clear, that is paneer (cottage cheese) cooked in a sauce consisting mostly of butter and cream. I don’t know how anyone can eat that. I’ve eaten some weird stuff and Indian food is great, but I now have to draw the line at paneer. The days of “it’s not so bad” are over. Get that crap off my plate.

“Sir, would you like me to add paneer to that dish to make it extra delicious?” No, no I bloody well would not.

Now playing: "Killed by Death" by Motorhead. Here is Lemmy Kilmister in what is quite possibly the greatest music video ever imagined. Unfortunately, Akbar did not make any music videos because he preferred to keep it real.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=gV6noHEd6XE

Romila Thapar: Total Ripper

Back for the attack, as promised. Unfortunately, this entry is proving extremely tedious because I am writing about meeting one of the all-time most brilliant historians of India and cannot help but feel completely inadequate even discussing her. Nevertheless, one must persevere.

So, last week my family here in Delhi (yes, even white people can have brown relatives) invited me to dinner and casually mentioned Romila Thapar would be in attendance. Romila Thapar is to the History of Ancient India what Stephen Hawking is to physics or Eddie Van Halen is to the guitar. She did not invent it, but she reinvented it and made it much more intense than any of her predecessors. I have also read a number of her articles and her career-capping book for my classes, so I knew for myself that her reputation was deserved. There was no way I was missing the chance to break roti with Romila.

Then came the damned illness, but I was determined to get there even if it was in a litter. Thankfully, it didn’t come to that and, queasy though I was, I managed to make the trip up to central Delhi without attendants. Romila arrived last, but after she got there, the whole room gravitated towards her for the rest of the evening (except for when my “aunt” got into an alarmingly loud argument with her sister about the legal system). She may be 75, but she is sharp as a razorblade taco. Her manner is confidence incarnate, but without the arrogance one usually finds in such eminent persons.

Although I would have preferred the topics of conversation to involve more of Ancient South Asia and less of the relative merits of different whiskeys, I was one of only three people able to discuss the former, whereas everyone but me enjoyed weighing in on the latter. I have grown accustomed to this type of thing, but when you are dining with the world’s most knowledgeable historian on Ancient South Asia, is asking her what she thinks of bourbon really a useful question? Either way, I actually said very little even after this topic had been extinguished because what would have been the point? I can listen to myself anytime.

(Ok, this is one of many instances of Gandhi being sketchy. Isn't he basically saying women should try to cause their own deaths rather than survive rape? I guess he's just the NOT SO maHOTma Gandhi.)

As I sat there, I began thinking about how much history Romila Thapar had actually seen with her own eyes. She was born in 1931, during the height of the independence movement. She was not born in India. She was born in British India. In 1947, she was attending school in Britain and because she was the only Indian prefect, they made her raise the Indian flag and give a speech on August 15. That must have felt kind of awesome, to be one of the first people to declare that your countrymen had thrown off 190 years of oppressive rule.

The conversation dwelt on Indian politics for much of the evening and Romila explained how she had abandoned Congress after Nehru died because she thoroughly distrusted Indira and thought the Congress Party hypocritical and only superficially dedicated to secularism. Throughout Romila Thapar’s professional career and personal politics, secularism has been the guiding force. She watched with disappointment as Nehru’s dreams of religious harmony died during the 1970s and hit a nadir in 1984 during the anti-Sikh riots which followed Indira’s assassination. I had not previously known how pervasive the riots were in Delhi. Usually in India, such conflicts do not erupt into the wealthier areas of town. She said this changed in 1984 as Hindus and Muslims mobbed together in an effort to wipe out Sikhs all over India. Thousands and thousands died in all manner of horrible ways. The police often helped. Romila had to hide Sikh friends in various places throughout her house as the crowds scoured her upper-middle class suburb. Trying to understand India is not possible without reflecting on the horror of having to hide your close friends from lynch mobs. This is a much more regular occurrence here than one would care to imagine. Apparently, those riots are the reason the wealthier neighborhoods have tall gates now.

In addition to opposing communalism, Romila has also encouraged archaeological preservation efforts, a woman after my own heart. I conclude with her anecdote about what I dub the anti-Yanni campaign.

A few years ago, Yanni decided he wanted to have a concert on the banks of the Yamuna river right next to the Taj Mahal. (Editorial comment: Yanni is a total dick.) Although the government had enacted strict rules banning basically all activity in a 300-meter radius around the structure, local officials completely ignored it because of all the money they hoped to make, both over and under the table. About 10 prominent and concerned citizens including Romila go to the Supreme Court in Delhi to file a “cease and desist” motion. When they get to court, however, the judge asks about the actual measurements and they admit with embarrassment that they have not taken any measurements. The judge tells them that he is giving them two days to get measurements or he will dismiss the case.

Every other plaintiff bails on going to Agra due to some malingering that could not be moved except Romila. She calls up an architect friend and they grab a measuring tape and catch the dawn train to Agra the next day. They discover that not only is the facility the local government is constructing for the concert in violation of the zone (only a few meters from the base of the structure), but so is the access road they are building to the site. Armed with precise measurements, they return to Delhi that night and appear at court the next morning. Romila informs the clerk they are returning as instructed with all the information and the clerk replies that the judge has already dismissed the case. Yanni played his damned concert. I hope the food here made him really ill. That story sums up India rather well I think.

To review, Romila Thapar is sick. She also eats very neatly.

Now playing: A bunch of drum solos by Neil Peart of RUSH. Here’s one of many that hurt my brain when I try to comprehend them. I've heard it said that Neil Peart is God. This may be true, but if so, may I suggest that he is a Hindu god with many arms.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=kJRF0hD5TPQ

Picking a pocket or two (I hear you've got to)

Caucasian folks (even ones who look kind of Kashmiri but not quite even though they’ve been trying) have it rather easy worldwide. Let’s face facts, “globalization” is basically a euphemism for pervasive, white people mercantilism. So, while I have no grounds or desire to complain, one must observe that my pigmentation puts me at a disadvantage here in one major way: I am a marked man.

A few weeks ago I was walking down a major street in Delhi and maybe 50 meters ahead I saw a woman sitting on a curb grab her two half-dressed children (neither older than 5) and point at me. Suddenly they raced towards me and began tugging at my clothes, “Sir, please, sir. Hungry, sir. Very hungry.” They motioned towards their stomachs and mouths in case the message hadn’t come across, or I was French. As usual, I kept walking with my eyes straight ahead, but swiftly glancing downward every so often. I saw them look towards their mother as we passed her and she pointed at me again, more vigorously this time. At that point they stood right in front of me and stopped so that I almost tripped over them. I changed direction and they ran ahead and nearly tripped me again. This carried on for another minute or so until their mother released them from this familial obligation.

The tenacity exhibited by the juvenile mendicants made this instance notable, even in India, but in Delhi, people still have lives. Beggars, grifters, taxiwallahs, lawyers etc. usually give up without doing anything too outrageous. You aren’t worth all that much time to them. There are other fools and other ways of acquiring Rupees. They may be hungry, but they aren’t THAT hungry… most of the time. In Agra, this is not the case.

Delhi is a metropolis, though I wouldn’t call it thriving whereas Agra is a small town that happens to have a population of 1.5 million. The impoverished in Delhi are more desperate than people I’ve seen anywhere else in the world, Agra’s poor exceed them. People may be fewer in Agra, but the opportunities are fewer still it seems. Agra has two major industries of which to speak, plus the ubiquitous subsistence agriculture, tourism and chemical manufacture. For some reason, however, the latter seems to negatively affect the former, so growth in that sector has stalled in the last two decades. The end result is that the existence of most people in Agra is directly linked to how well they can part tourists from their money. And yes, in such a situation, things get ugly. It’s the kind of environment that destroys one’s rationality. A young man standing at the end of a block saw me reject 10 of his comrades selling identical whips (what would I do with a whip? I was told by one it would make a nice gift for my wife. Dear Allah.) without pausing, yet he still thought I might go for his pitch. This is desperation.

My surrogate parents, the Kapoors, told me that even when they go to Agra, brown skin and all, they face similar hounding. Apparently this only affects well-dressed Indians for the most part. I had hoped dressing down might take some of the pressure off. After all, nothing says, “I’ve no money to spend and wouldn’t spend it if I did,” like used, cut-off camouflage shorts and a denim vest with 6 weeks’ worth of India staining it. I did not find any of it made an appreciable difference.

The hustle starts before one even emerges from the train station. Over 20 taxi and rickshaw drivers surrounded me on all sides as I attempted to walk out, each assuring me his vehicle was the only reliable way to travel. Think about that. A whole train unloads, and there are 20 drivers pursuing me alone. I mean, I know I look good, but certainly not good enough to explain that.

Any street one turns down in central Agra leads to dozens more shop owners and restauranteurs (and their progeny) who all insist you really should discard your money at their establishments. Even worse are the guerilla salesboys who bring their decrepit merchandise to you.

Then you finally reach a monument. There is an entry fee. “At last,” you think, “free of the grift.” Wrong again. Sitting right by the entrance are a great many “licensed” guides who really don’t think you’ll know a floor from a ceiling if they don’t explain it to you. I tell them straight up that I’m a historian, but they are ready and reply that they know, “the history of the heart.” Perfect, that sounds just like something I can do without. Due to the inadequacies of the Archaeological Survey of India which I discussed in an earlier post, the functions of most parts of most of India’s historical sites are unknown, so “guides” usually make it up as they go. These fellows don’t find it lucrative to perch at the less popular sites, but don’t worry, security guards will happily show you down the only corridor in the building (which you can see), tell you the name of the monument (which you already know), and request a dollar for their invaluable insight. The most annoying of the guide scams is that many just start guiding you unasked and when you say you don’t need a guide, they either insist they are provided free with the ticket (they aren’t, and they demand payment when they have finished) or ignore you and keep trying to follow you hoping you will just give up and allow them to explain things. As with many scammers here, they tell you that you can pay them “whatever you want. You decide fair price.” Your initial payment, no matter how much, is not a fair price and they will decide to either badger you for cheating them (the audacity is incredible) or tell you about the eight or nine children they have to feed.

I’ve saved the best for last. The most successful grift of all is that of the tourist “emporium.” These shops look very official and the prices appear to be set. This is not the case. First of all, you’ve done something stupid to end up here. Either you booked a tour (never a good idea) or you allowed a taxi or rickshaw to take you there on the way to somewhere else, “10 minutes only, not for buying, just for looking.” The system of kickbacks for whoever brings you to the shop is well-established. The doorman writes down the driver’s number and he is paid a couple times a year. The remuneration for each extra person increases and they toss in some of their stock that hasn’t attracted tourists’ attentions. Once inside, the clerks are slicker and calmer than the street vendors. They exert pressure with much more subtlety. It is very easy for them to take things out to show you, but after they’ve started doing it, they begin to act as if it has been quite a laborious hassle and it would be rude not to make a purchase. These places sell all manner of garbage, but a lot of it is big-ticket garbage. Although they actually sell things, they are in many ways the biggest thieves of all because when one buys something like a rug or sculpture, even after bargaining, they ensure their profit margin is absurdly large.

It’s enough to make one sick… or it would be if we had any right to be sickened by it. How many of us are capable of passing judgement on Agra’s poor for trying to make a living, no matter how dishonestly. It is often said that manners cost nothing, but unfortunately the polite street vendor in India will never make a sale with all his colleagues rushing out to hustle each comer. There simply are not enough tourism-dollars to support everyone trying to earn their living that way. While I would agree that price gouging is no different from bag snatching, I would not blame the bag snatcher either. Although few of us have ever been truly hungry or without shelter, I’ve read they are powerful incentives to do just about anything. That does not mean we should allow ourselves to be treated unfairly, but we should also not meet such attempts with anger. Not only is it inappropriate; it is not productive. Also, we must realize when bargaining that the sticking point is often over a dollar or less in U.S. currency and that whomever we dealing with needs that sum more than we do. Vanity should not be allowed to drive us to absurdity. So, when you’re amongst people a poor as poor Indians and their ploys offend you, think about how grim their lives must be that this is their best option. That said, I have a lot less sympathy for the middle-class folks working the more upscale emporia. I know that in a capitalist system, there will always people willing to do that crap for enough money, but I’m not going to forgive the people who make that decision. They swindle for profit rather than subsistence. The line is rarely clear, but it is still important.

Despite my less than flattering description, I must say Agra has many fascinating and attractive sites. Check out the photos in this entry. I would’ve taken more pictures of the poverty, but that feels grotesque. A poverty tourist I will never be because voyeurism is just not my scene. Still, I wish I could show you all the things I have been describing.

One note about the Taj Mahal. Everyone talks about how great it is, so I naturally assumed it was not so hot. Surely, people resort to hyperbole to mask disappointment. Not so, not so. That place is sick. I take it all back. This is a good place to end this entry because it will bridge into tomorrow’s entry on dinner with Romila Thapar. I WILL actually post it tomorrow. It’s the least I can do after my week of digital inactivity. Oh, by the way, thanks to anti-biotics, youtube, some strange photos I was sent, and animal sacrifices I have largely recovered from my illness.

Now playing: “Kill the King” – Rainbow. Ritchie Blackmore on guitar and Ronnie James Dio (yea, Dio as the Latin for God, right on) soaring to mountainous heights of vocal intensity. Fact: I know a guy from Athens, OH who takes a lot of hallucinogens and his only goal in life is to get Blackmore, Dio, and Tony Iommi on the same stage for one night to play Rainbow and Sabbath songs. Cool idea, but I would feel totally ripped off if I had spent that much money on shrooms just to come up with that.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=HOVK4Q4jMhg

Apologies, comrades.

My Agra related entry has not been completed because of my 103 F temperature. On the plus side, the heat here means no blankets or supplementary clothing is required here to stave off the fever chills. I aim to be back with you tomorrow evening reporting on Agra and my meeting with Romila Thapar, as well as a bunch of photos. Trust me, you would prefer not to read the Lovecraftian character this illness has given my writing.

A final question: How amateur-hour is it to ask a respected historian in your field to take a photo with you?

Now playing: Wasting illnesses, though slight, truly belong to the Gothic. In this vein, I offer you Mercyful Fate at 1983's Dynamo Festival. The elegy is aptly titled, "Curse of the Pharaohs." Given voice by the unfadeable King Diamond, a treat for your ears and your immune systems; I feel better already: http://youtube.com/watch?v=nwvKIOUCEeI&mode=related&search=

Breaking news on British Imperialism...

So, I am about to make myself a liar. This post is not about South Asia. It is, however, about Britain's most recent attempt at world domination. The connection to India is there for all to see. So, from our "Where are they now?" bin of world empires, here's the latest bulletin from the BBC on the British conquest of southern Iraq:

British blamed for Basra badgers

The badgers appeared near the British base in Basra British forces have denied rumours that they released a plague of ferocious badgers into the Iraqi city of Basra. Word spread among the populace that UK troops had introduced strange man-eating, bear-like beasts into the area to sow panic. But several of the creatures, caught and killed by local farmers, have been identified by experts as honey badgers. The rumours spread because the animals had appeared near the British base at Basra airport. UK military spokesman Major Mike Shearer said: "We can categorically state that we have not released man-eating badgers into the area. It is the size of a dog but his head is like a monkey Housewife Suad Hassan "We have been told these are indigenous nocturnal carnivores that don't attack humans unless cornered." The director of Basra's veterinary hospital, Mushtaq Abdul-Mahdi, has inspected several of the animals' corpses. He told the AFP news agency: "These appeared before the fall of the regime in 1986. They are known locally as Al-Girta. "Talk that this animal was brought by the British forces is incorrect and unscientific." THE HONEY BADGER Also known as a ratel, it is a large, sharp-clawed mammal At around 100cm (39in) long it is slightly bigger than its British woodland cousin Capable of taking on a cobra, the animal weighs up to 14kg (30lb) Its Latin name is melivora capensis, and it is indigenous to Africa and the Middle East Dr Ghazi Yaqub Azzam, deputy dean of Basra's veterinary college, speculated that the badgers were being driven towards the city because of flooding in marshland north of Basra. But the assurances did little to convince some members of the public. One housewife, Suad Hassan, 30, claimed she had been attacked by one of the badgers as she slept. "My husband hurried to shoot it but it was as swift as a deer," she said. "It is the size of a dog but his head is like a monkey," she told AFP.

Rob says: We see a dramatic change in tactics from the British Empire in this match. Originally, they tried to impose hegemony in Iraq as they had in India, by introducing cricket. Unfortunately for the Queen's men, it failed to catch on because of the ease with which a cricket ball can be substituted for a hand grenade. These badgers seem rather a desperate, last-gasp effort to this imperial commentator. That said, fortune favors the bold and there isn't anything much bolder than loosing trained, monkey-headed killers on a civilian populace.

Oh, one more thing. A nagging friend has insisted on getting what I believe is known as a "shout out" on this blog and since she, as an Iraqi, is a victim of these vicious badgers as much as anyone, Fitnah, consider this my tribute.

Now playing: "Unchained" - Van Halen. Check out this classic show from 1981 with the wisest man in the universe at the mic, "Diamond" David Lee Roth, a gentleman and a scholar who once said, "The perfect woman has an IQ of 400, wants to make love until 4:00 AM, and then turns into a pizza.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=LfYjgcOaIUU

A candle flickers in the darkness of the Kali Yuga...

In case reading the news during the last century has not brought this point home to you, brothers and sisters, you are living in a dark age. That's right, nine out of 10 gurus agree that we are 5109 years into the Kali Yuga. Kali, not to be confused with Kali the sometimes blood goddess also known as Durga consort of Shiva (the destroyer), is actually a dark manifestation of Vishnu (the preserver).

During the Kali yuga, which, I'm sorry to say, is to last another 426,891 revolutions around the sun, humans are farthest from God. Kali aka Vishnu, the apocalypse demon, will reign over the increasingly degraded people of this planet. It is said that we will see many signs of evil. Unjust rulers will sow terror, rape the land, and tax the people into oblivion. Itinerant bands ever in search of grain will roam the Earth. Lust will be socially sanctioned and young girls will become pregnant. Does any of this sound familiar? Damn, maybe the Hindus have been right all along. That's a scary thought, huh?

I only mention this because despite my poor attempts at levity, this blog tends to paint rather a bleak landscape of India. This may all be true, but nothing, not even darkness, can be absolute. Surely there is some hope, perhaps trapped in a jar of chutney, somewhere in this scarred and sacred country. Today I wanted to seek out this grail of pickled salvation and present it to you. I may, indeed, have found it.

Life is simpler in India. No, I would never in a Kali Yuga romanticize the poverty and look longingly on the "uncomplicated" lives of street children. Nor do I mean that globalization does not threaten to carry India down the Ganges, it does. And yet, in the midst of all the sufferring and consumption (both the Walmart and TB varieties) and nuclear testing, some good things about life here remain the same as they have for millenia.

In the morning, I wake up to the unintelligible cries of the fruitwallah peddling his cart down the street. If I open the window, which I usually don't because I just want to go back to sleep, I see a bustle of brightly-clad women searching for the perfect mango. Walking toward the entrance to the neighborhood, I often pass youths sitting on the side of the road milking cows and trying to hide the fact they are staring at me and whispering. If I am at a place of business at 9:00 AM, I likely will have to wait some time before anyone arrives to show me inside. Cruise the busy streets of Delhi around lunch time (1:30) and you'll see legions of workers queueing at the food carts. With a thali plate, they will lean against a tree and relax while using their right hands to scoop roti (bread) and dal (lentils) into their mouths. Closing time depends on a proprietor's mood. One day, she goes home an hour early, the next she stays open late while customers lounge about. At night, people take walks just for the hell of it and the spit when the urge arises. They stop in to see their neighbors unannounced. Old men sit outside having a smoke and laughing about things I am far too caucasian to comprehend.

Hey, it may not be for all of us, but it sounds like an intriguing change of pace. My friendly hosts the Kapoors run an online shop and have visited dozens of countries... and they don't have any credit cards. Yes, you read that correctly. If they need money, they go to the bank, to the inside I mean, not the drive-in which does not exist. Is there a downside to all this? Yes, ov kovrz. The Kapoors live with their son and his family. Do I even need to start in on how much that would suck for their son? Some days, the people at the archives decide to pack up early, turn off the lights, and then ask if I wouldn't mind leaving. That's annoying. Stray dogs approach me menacingly at night and I always wonder if this is the night I get rabies.

Also, globalization pervades this idyllic hamlet of which I speak. Wireless-internet criss-crosses the neighborhood and BMWs run one off the road. Always, underneath though, the poverty, poverty, poverty. India is changing, not so quickly as China, but sooner or later it will probably seem a lot like New Jersey. For now though, force of habit is keeping Fenriz at bay (talk about mixing apocalyptic metaphors) and Kali has not quite managed to put his odious footprint on every mat. In a great many ways, I would not mind coming home to a country less like the one I know and more like India... but there had better be heavy metal and DDT.

The mailbag is light this week, so I'll take care of that now as well. We have three questions this week and, once again, no e-humiliation.

1) Rob, what animals have you encountered?

Rob says: Well, if you don't count the Australian backpackers... haha, no please, enough. There are the local cattle I mentioned earlier. My mother would be thrilled to learn there are no squirrels here, but they do have a chipmunk-like mammal with a yellow stripe down its back and a longer tail than our chipmunks. There are also a number of avian species. One of the most common is a slightly larger than a cardinal, shiny black bird with a bright golden streaks on either side of its head and a beak to match. The other one of note is a bit bigger still and has crayola green plumage, very appealing if one is so inclined. There are also the rabid dogs and ugly cats one would expect. I'd rather not mention the insects and arachnids, but there are plenty to kill. Oh, and there are decently beefy 20-30 cm lizards that hang out where they can. Add to that the sheep, goats, horses, and donkeys that pursued me around Tugluqhabad.

Aye, and how could I forget, the urban-monkeys. So, they appear in the least expected places, but tend to favor open pits of garbage. Funny story, actually, I was walking by Air Force Command over the weekend, right in the middle of the city, and three monkeys came walking out through the gate in nearly a single-file line. It was too funny and too true.

2) Rob, can you talk a little more about the Gandhi family scumbaggery?

Rob says: Nothing would please me more. I could go on way too long on this one, so really will keep it brief. First, what do I mean by the Gandhi family? Perhaps it would be more appropriate to call them the Nehru-Gandhi Dynasty. They have no relation to Mohandas K. Gandhi, of Ben Kingsley fame. Motilal Nehru, born of a wealthy Kashmiri pandit (priest type figure of the brahmin caste), became one of the earliest Indian leaders to seriously agitate for independence. He served as President of the infamous Congress Party twice, and in 1929 handed over the presidency (with the formality of an election of course) to his son, Jawaharlal. This is the handsome, charming, non-aligned Nehru you all know and, presumably, love. After "doing it" repeatedly with Edwina Mountbatten, the wife of the last British Viceroy, Lord Mountbatten, the British basically gifted him the Prime Ministership in 1947. He ruled until 1964 when he died after the third in a series of strokes. Father and son were both long-time colleagues and sometimes-friends of Gandhi.

Then in the 1960s, the Nehru family had a brilliant rebranding. Jawaharlal's daughter Indira had decided to marry a man who coincidentally happened to be named Gandhi. Naturally she took his name, because it was the only one with more clout than her own. So, Nehru dies in May 1964 and Congress basically provides a series of 3 caretaker ministers who wait for Indira to assume power in early 1966. Indira remains in power until 1977 when she is unceremoniously ousted in the first national elections Congress had ever lost since independence, more on why below. She wasn't done yet though, and in 1980 made her triumphant return at the head of a ridiculously large parliamentary majority. Things were going well until 1984, when she was sprayed with machine-gun fire by two of her bodyguards. The same day, her son, Rajiv Gandhi became PM. Congress lost elections again in 1989 and, less than two years later, Rajiv exploded when a Tamil woman with a bomb strapped to her abdomen exploded next to him. For those of you who are counting, in the first 42 years of India's democracy, a member of the Nehru-Gandhi family ruled for 37 of them.

Now, ask me who is the head of the Congress Party today and has been since 1998. Oh, right, that would be Sonia Gandhi. Sonia, is that an Indian name? No, she is Rajiv's Italian widow who became a naturalized citizen of India in 1983. She turned down the post of PM when it came her way a few years ago, but they all know she runs the show. That's right, the people who fought for 190 years not to listen to white people would rather have an Italian running their country than someone not related to Jawaharal Nehru. Go figure.

Lord, this hasn't been short at all. Ok, so on the scum-baggery, Motilal had the cleanest hands and they just got dirtier from there.

-Jawaharlal had an affair with Edwina Mountbatten and used his influence to get a bunch of concessions from the British which precipitated the 1947 war with Pakistan. He basically forced Jinnah to accept partition and then made it look like Jinnah's fault when it was actually Nehru who categorically refused to protect the minority rights of Muslims. As PM, he did all sorts of shady dealings and fought Pakistan some more. A large and corrupt bureaucracy grew up under his parentage and Congress officials got away with far worse things than the British had ever imagined.

-Indira was a real piece of work. She was far slimier than her father. She led India to go nuclear in 1974. In 1975 a high court declared her election invalid because of widespread tampering and she was banned from running for public office for some years, I forget how many. Rather than step down, she decided to order the President (who is a figure head) to declare a national emergency and grant Indira authoritarain powers. Free speech was suppressed and journalists and opposition politicians thrown into jail and tortured. Her Caligulaesque son Sanjay acted with impugnity and carried out forced sterilization campaigns among the urban poor while simultaneously burning down and knocking over poor areas of the major cities, often with the residents still at home. And India still re-elected her in 1980, amazing, eh? Then she blundered by playing various communal groups off against each other which led to some Sikh militants talking about a breakaway republic of Khalistan. So, naturally, she sent the army to storm the holiest shrine of Sikhism and blew up major sections of it while gunning down Sikhs left and right for a few days in Operation Blue Star. This is why the Sikh bodyguards shot her a year later in 1984.

-Rajiv was slightly better than his mother, but still corrupt as hell and more incompetent than anything. His scandals tended towards financial malfeasance. Unfortunately he also played the communal politics game and after building up Tamil rebel forces in Sri Lanka, and then selling them out to the Sri Lankan government, an Indian Tamil woman atomized him.

-Sonia Gandhi is Italian.

(That crystal sheet with the rose on top is where Indira bit the dust)

3) Rob, how many bugs do you think you eat when you fall asleep (rough estimate acceptable)?

Rob says: I'd really rather not think about this. I used to have a kind of green zone within a radius of 5 feet around my bed. Bugs could their business outside this range, but if they stepped inside, they got owned by my shoe, a book, a bottle of water, or anything I could turn into a weapon. After the crawling in my mouth at night thought occurred to me, this policy changed. Now, I go all around the room destroying anything moving that isn't me before I go to sleep every night. I like to think this helps. It probably doesn't. I'm going to go with wishful thinking and guess 0. Let's stick with that. You all remember that scene in Temple of Doom, right? No joke.

So, there we go friends. As usual, I've gone on too long and it's past time I was sleeping. Before signing off, now playing: "Cindy's on Methadone" by Screeching Weasel. "...sounds so much better but it's just another high." Cold turkey or no turkey at all.

http://youtube.com/watch?v=42w5j_dnUYs

Revisiting the colonial myth of "the effeminate Bengali babu"

Also known as, "Gender and Sexuality in South Asia." Welcome back and asalaam alaykum, comrades. If you've stopped to read Rob's unqualified assertions, continued reading. If not, turn back while you've the time.

So, who exactly is "the effeminate Bengali babu"? Well, he is the racist characterization the British created for the Indian natives who served them in Bengal. The British have long been obsessed with taxonomy and categorization. That is why the spent years measuring people’s noses and heads in South Asia in an effort to explain their genetic inferiority. Time well spent I’m sure.

Oddly enough, the British, never considered particularly masculine stateside, liked to go around calling Indians fairies for being so easily conquered. This was most often expressed in terms of how much less masculine the Indians were than the British. In Bengal, where the heart of British power lay, genetics and malnutrition conspired to make the populace extremely short. Searching for explanations as to how British dominance could possibly have happened in so little time, the rulers maturely pointed out that not only was the European intellect superior, but the physique as well.

Being subtle scholars, however, the British recognized that clearly not ALL Indian men were created equal. They were all inferior in different ways of course. They grudgingly conceded that men from the Punjab tended to be fairly well-constructed all things considered. The white sahibs also pulled concepts out of thin air that Muslims were a different and physically superior race to Hindus and more suited to martial occupations. They ignored the fact that Bengal was mostly Muslim… so much for academic integrity.

Now of course, we all think this is total bollocks. Neither Muslims nor Hindus can claim physical superiority. No, Indians are not weak and ill-adapted to demanding tasks. I mean, just check out their mean cricketing skills. The British were just a bunch of macho, arrogant liars… or were they…

Clearly, I don’t countenance the racist colonial discourse on Indian masculinity. That said, many, if not most, stereotypes have a basis in reality, no matter how obscure or easily explained. For the comparatively short stature of most Indians, malnutrition is a major culprit. Other observations I have made here are less easily explained, or explained away. Now, I do not imply that they necessarily require an answer. It’s not that the American way is the correct way and theirs is a perversion. I merely note differences from my own culture that strike me.

Now that the warnings have been made, let me say, Indian men generally seem much more effeminate based on U.S. heteronormative standards than their American, European, and Chinese counterparts. What do you mean by “effeminate,” Rob? Ok, this is a valid question, but we all know what I mean. I refer to behaviors stereotypically regarded as feminine in the U.S. Whether or not they actually are doesn’t matter. I’m evaluating by general U.S. standards, not my own. What do you base this on, Rob? Nothing scientific, I assure you. A few observations perhaps…

-Young Indian men tend to wear designer (almost always designer bootleg) clothing that would turn some curious heads in Columbus, Ohio. I don’t refer to the poorest people, but even lower-income gentlemen seem to lay their hands on some flamboyant apparel.

-Many men here seem to have a penchant for public dancing and singing which would be frowned upon in the U.S.

-Mannerisms both physically and in speech in this part of the country give the impression of uncertainty and indecision. I refer especially to the side-to-side nod which accompanies most answers, be they positive or negative. More generally, even, posture and the way one holds one’s arms seems to lack masculine certitude.

-Hairstyles requiring much oil and often fastidious grooming add to the overall impression I have received.

-We have all seen young women hold hands in public at some point, right? We don’t usually make any assumptions on their sexuality based on that, but if we saw two dudes walking down the street hand-in-hand, we would probably assume they were homosexual or bisexual. Well in India, guys are holding hands all the time, and they aren’t gay… not even a little bit. I see it with every age and class of male (though less among older, upper-class men). It was really odd for me to see that at first as I can’t really imagine doing that. I would just never think to hold hands with a male friend, or even a female friend. Men also sit closer together here and touch each other more than one would find in the U.S.

Of course there are a million exceptions and plenty of Delhi’s laborers could give the crustiest NYC construction worker a lesson about what it means to be a “dude.” Nevertheless, I stand behind my observations on general tendencies that differ here. As I said before, one could make many reasonable explanations such as, “lack of space has lowered certain physical inhibitions that we still have in the U.S.” To that I would have to answer, though, what about China? Chinese men may not be known for their stature, but I found most of them to be very masculine, overly masculine in fact. “Ok, Rob, but dancing is an integral part of traditional Indian cultures and dance prowess is considered masculine in India.” Sure, I agree, so what’s my point? I don’t have a hidden agenda. I simply think it’s all very interesting. One begins to see how the British formed their misimpressions, though still not going along with them. Ideas of properly male behavior differ in each society. They merely differ less from Britain to the U.S. than from the U.S. to India.

Before signing off, I have two more comments about gender and sexuality ‘round ‘ere. For those of you who are (bi)curious (I am kidding of course), the LGBT scene here is way underground. Alternative sexualities are not publicly acceptable and homosexuality is still illegal in many areas. Sexuality is repressed in general, but homosexuality especially so. There must be Indians who are out, but I sure don’t know who they are, and their parents probably don’t either. People don’t really like to talk about it either judging by the suitably oblique inquiries I have made.

Despite public aversion to sexual matters, there is one sexually idiosyncratic feature of Indian society that is very well known. Research indicates that about 1 in 100 children are born having ambiguous sex, neither fully male, nor female. In India, historically, such newborns could expect infanticide at worse and to be abandoned on a good day. They existed outside the caste system as non-persons in many regards. Often, these people banded together in itinerant groups finding work where they could. Many such bands became involved with traveling theatre.

When rumor spread that a sexually ambiguous child had been born, a nearby group often showed up at the house and demanded the parents give them the child to raise so that he/she would not be victimized or killed in the natal village. More often than not, ashamed parents were just as happy to part with such a child.

Bollywood has popularized these sexually-ambiguous people as jester-type characters and they are depicted as having masculine features, including facial stubble, but wearing garish female clothing and make up. They often speak in high voices and are generally figures of fun. Last weekend, I saw three people at a market who perfectly fit the Bollywood stereotype. It was like a scene from a movie actually. They were tall, taller than most Indian men and had 5:00 shadows for all to see. Their lips displayed a red lipstick so bright it hurt the eyes. Their long hair was tucked under veils and they wore neon green and saffron saris. I wanted to take a picture for you all because it was such a sight, but soon realized how completely messed up that would be. I guess you can take the boy out of Ohio, but… etc.

As a result of this missed photographic opportunity, I’m just including varied shots today. All the tacky garbage belonged to Indira Gandhi. See if you can guess which countries gave her the plates?

So, that about wraps it up. This entry is somewhat unfocused because I’m just sharing some intriguing bits I’ve picked up here and there. Hopefully someone finds it stimulating. Let me tell you, it’s no small task to put together an entry on this topic in a country where kissing is prohibited in movies.

Now playing: "Welcome to the Terrordome" - Public Enemy. Unfortunately, there's no good link for this, so here's "Fight the Power" instead: http://youtube.com/watch?v=CuTi9UZtPbw&mode=related&search=

Birth of some nations...

Greetings, once again, comrades. It may be July 4^th, but the only fireworks one is likely to see today in India are shells exploding somewhere over Kashmir. I had originally composed a much longer invective to mark this absurd occasion, but upon rereading it, I just felt really down as opposed to indignant or contemplative. Instead of some jargon-filled argument about “bourgeois constructs” and “imagined communities,” I will speak a bit from the conscience and then note some particular features of national consciousness as I have observed it amongst South Asians.

Nation-states are ahistorical and fictitious, yet we go to war over them again and again. Personally, I dig “ahimsa” (non-violence in the Gandhian lexicon), but at the same time, I can’t help feeling that people willing to die for a flag deserve what comes to them. To put a piece of cloth, and that arbitrary set of borders for which it stands, above human life (including one’s own) is the pinnacle of folly.

Nation-states teach us to think of people outside our own nation as less human. We devalue the lives of, in the case of the U.S., non-Americans. What made Americans more upset, the September 11 attacks or the genocide in Darfur? And, not to quantify human suffering, but we all know what’s going on in Darfur to be the more heinous.

Rob, you explicitly said this blog was all about South Asia. And so it is, friends, so it is. Would it surprise you to learn that in the months surrounding the August 14/15, 1947 partition of British India more than 2 million Indians died violently in riots and massacres directly related to the partition? (If you are new to this region, “partition” refers to the division of British India into India and Pakistan, which at the time included contemporary Pakistan as West Pakistan and Bangladesh as East Pakistan. All three countries went to war again in 1971 to detach Bangladesh) I am guessing most of us were unaware that a 1/3 Holocaust occurred, if you will. Think about that, 2 million dead by violence in under a year and we never even heard about it. It would be like wiping out Cleveland, which may sound like a good idea, but we must be reasonable. Looking to my previous point, our ignorance of this matter shows what value white America places on Indian lives. Moving on, why? Why 2 million dead? What was it all for? I defy you to find an answer I can understand.

Here’s what went wrong: there should not have been a partition. Despite occasional violent outbursts between religious and ethnic communities, Muslims, Hindus, Sikhs, Christians, Punjabis, Maharashtrans, Tamils, Bengalis etc. lived peacefully together for thousands of years in the Indian subcontinent. Sure, there were wars aplenty, but these pitted expansionist warlords against each other and rarely took on a religious or ethnic character. And yet, in 1947, some seedy politicians suddenly decided it could not work and lines must be drawn to separate India’s peoples, particularly Muslims and Hindus. Placing the violent outbreaks of that year in their own twisted narrative, they said the violence proved Hindus and Muslims had always been two separate nations that could not coexist. Few thought about the fact that it was the decision to partition that fuelled much of the violence.

Do Punjabis in India have more in common with Punjabis in Pakistan or with Tamils in southern India? Few would argue the latter. A few weeks ago, I watched “Around the World in 80 Days with Michael Palin” and when traveling from Mumbai to Kolkata by train, he asks the woman sitting next to him what makes India a nation? What unites Indians? She, rather astutely, answers, that the only thing she can think of is the independence struggle. Funny that South Asians let the British, the very people they were fighting, decide what made them Indian. “We are Indian because we fight the British.” Furthermore, it was British historians who first introduced the idea that eternal enmity existed between Muslims and Hindus as a justification for why the British had to keep the peace. These ideas have continued to define South Asia ever since, with bloody results. So, as ridiculous as I might find any nation-state, the system in South Asia has been taken to 11. People who share thousands of years of history, common languages, cultures, customs, etc. begin killing each other in nationalist struggles as soon as, and even before, new borders are drawn. Why do Bengali farmers start killing each other over such an issue? Their lives will continue as always, in poverty and frustration, ignored by any government in power. Yet such stories occur over and over again.

Where 61 years ago, one could walk (and a miserable walk it would have been, but still) from Karachi to Dacca, two international frontiers would have to be crossed now, one of which is the world’s most heavily fortified. So few young South Asians today ever consider this. Pakistanis grow up without the concept that their shell of a nation once formed a much larger whole. Many Indians don't even realize that Hindi and Urdu are essentially the same language. A union between Pakistan and India sounds as insane today as a partition did a few decades ago. I find it amusing to note how the media here chronically defines India as not Pakistan. Pakistan is the evil other, always scheming and threatening India’s beautiful secularism with its own fundamentalism. I can laugh this off, but people here receive this indoctrination from birth and today, what is an Indian if not, not a Pakistani? Once the divisions are in place and a new generation is born knowing no other reality, the damage is irreparable. After a nation-state is formed, no matter how haphazardly it happened, it becomes something for which we are willing to fight and die simply because it is our nation and we are patriotic, are we not? The struggle is legitimate because it is for the nation… even though the nation didn’t exist until last week. And yet, Indians and Pakistanis still bootleg the same crappy Bollywood DVDs (not that all Bollywood is crappy, but almost all of it is, just like Hollywood. In fairness though, I’ve never seen a Bollywood movie as bad as “Kingdom of Heaven”).

So tonight, my friends, while you watch the fireworks, think about what they commemorate. Ask yourself if you have more in common with Jeb, the Klansman from Indiana than Raj in Bangalore who answers the DELL help-line and is just trying to get by. When you read the news tomorrow morning, ask yourself why you care more about the local homicide than the African genocide. India and Pakistan (and Pakistan and Bangladesh) have already shown us where such thinking leads.

Today, I find myself nodding at the national holiday by listening to EXODUS playing “The Scar Spangled Banner.” What they lack in subtlety, they (over)compensate for with sincerity. “America! The violent, the indifferent, God shit his grace on thee. America! The arrogant, the belligerent, will live in infamy.”

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7vyFSVD0Cr4

URGENT ADDENDUM: I ALMOST FORGOT. PLEASE POST YOUR REVIEWS OF "TRANSFORMERS" HERE. NO SPOILERS PLEASE. IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN IT, GO OUT AND DO SO RIGHT NOW, THEN GO HOME AND POST A COMMENT ABOUT IT FOR ME.

NO LOVE FOR DECEPTICON THUGS!

The Mailbag: Installment One

Welcome to the Delhi FAQ as presented by Rob Szykowny. We have four questions this week I believe and though one of them got close, we’ll have no public shamings. Let the fun begin. (Live roommate update: An ant just plunged from the ceiling onto my keyboard. The fall didn’t get him, but I think the 2-liter bottle of water might have played a part.)

1. Rob, you are posting your theories and experiences on the internet but you won't engage in arguments in the comments section because that steps over the line of virtual communication?

Rob says: This question has nothing to do with South Asia or my experiences it. It is irrelevant.

2. Rob, what's the Indian metal scene like?

Rob says: Ok, this is more like it, a very penetrating question. The only way I meet anyone overseas is by going to metal shows, metal records stores, metal clubs etc. I know no one in India. This gives you an idea.

Metal is about as popular here as “al Qaeda” T-Shirts in lower Manhattan. Cities with larger tech communities such as Mumbai and Bangalore have more bands and a couple stores, but very few show spaces. Basically every metalhead in India with the means made the pilgrimage to see Maiden in Bangalore in March. The only other western metal band that has played here in the last few years is a one-off show Enslaved did at some festival. Actually, the band that opened for Iron Maiden, Parikrama, parlayed that outing into a spot at the Donnington Festival. They are more Indian-folk inspired rock though and as we all know, rock is not metal.

I have made a few local contacts via e-mail who don’t share my pessimistic appraisal of the situation. They think it’s even worse. Here is Vineet Modi, a local metal distributor, on the subject:

The metal scene in Delhi is dead, and so in the entire country! I hate to say this, but there have been hardly any metal gigs in the past 4 months. There are a few extreme metal bands from Delhi - Narsil (Death Metal), 3rd Sovereign (Death Metal), Acrid Semblance (Power metal with Harsh Vox) etc. There are other Heavy metal bands, but they are not worth mentioning. I find them poserish and fake. There are tonns of Nu-metal bands, but I assume by "metal" bands you mean real metal, and not the Slipknot or Korn types. Though the fan base for metal is on a rise as more and more people are getting into extreme metal, but the live scene is very bad for the time-being. (Bold added by Ed.)

The closest thing I have seen to metal so far is a guy playing a sitar in a restaurant the other night started played a few bars of "Fade to Black" by Metallica between songs. That said, everywhere I go I manage to come back with at least one good record from the area, I don’t plan to let India break my streak.

3. Rob, did you take the blog photos yourself?

Rob says: Yes. If I had not done them myself, the shooter would have met a quick death. My arm is only so long I fear, which accounts for the somewhat central position of my skull. I am currently accepting applications for a personal photographer. Must be willing to travel at own expense. When I get to the Taj, I'll probably be forced to enlist help, but until then, it's DIY.

4. Rob, the CCP (Chinese Communist Party - Ed.) does not approve of your new method for free speech and the dispensation of information (blogspot is blocked here). Can you email me choice excerpts?

Rob says: Sure, John. 没有什么问题。No problem.

That's it for questions this week. I can handle much more in terms of volume (this is a challenge). I leave you with one final picture, the blood stained sari Indira was wearing the day two of her body guards gave her lead poisoning. The stains didn't come out too well in this picture, but trust me, it's a mess. Unfortunately, I didn't get any shots of the 3 cloth scraps and scorched Converse that remained of Rajiv Gandhi when he exploded. I wouldn't jest if the family were not all a bunch of criminal scumbags with blood all over their hands.

Now playing: "Victim of Changes" - Judas Priest. Fact: The experience of hearing this song live back-to-back with "Exciter" was once described by NWOBHM (New Wave of British Heavy Metal) aficionado Robert Drewry as, "...the most aurally stimulating 15 minutes of my life."

http://youtube.com/watch?v=YUcnmYXjktQ