No... its not because we actually found and ate Iraqi food on a whim

No... nor because we got out of the theater and saw swiftly passing clouds, with a full moon... overlooking midtown and thought... "hey... lets go watch Sweeney Todd"

No... not even because we only had to walk for about 10 minutes before hitting a theater and actually found a show that was playing 10 minutes later.  And, side note:  the movie was brilliant!  Although, for one of my readers afraid of the sight of blood... you might want to stay away... :)

No... I love New York because as I was walking back home, on an unusually warm winter evening, with my chicken kabob leftovers in tow... after watching a movie that had all of the trimmings of a Shakespearean tragedy, but music that somehow put you in a weirdly good mood... I went to the subway... and was waiting for my train.  Someone started strumming on a guitar.  I turned around to see 3 kids, around 15 years old, strumming amateurishly on a guitar.  I started to move away, not wanting them to sing badly and ruin the tunes in my head.  Then, I realized they were simply borrowing the guitar and returned it to its rightful owner.  A black subway singer.  He started lightly strumming, and then started with a rendition of "My Girl".  Soon, an Asian flautist joined him.  A couple of Latino girls sitting on the benches starting clapping and singing along.   Two couples from Kazakhstan that were talking about Ali G and Borat started swaying gently and taking photos.  A couple of Jewish kids with yamakas and NY Giants jerseys started clapping and singing along.  Tired parents, with even more tired babies in strollers... happily singing.  And, it wasn't a weird, tacky, Christmasy, United Colors of Benetton thing at all... it was just people... with all the familiarity of being at a family reunion... singing... and rejoicing. 

And, just like that... all was well with the world. 

No... this isn't going to be an epic rant or something hilarious done by my family (although both of them are entirely possible)... its just a simple story.

My mom has, since I was a baby, always told me about this story of when I was young.  Apparently, when I was about 5, and she was pregnant with my sister, I used to bring her these Fefol tablets.  I have no recollection of this, of course, as it seems that most of my memory was constructed after the age of 5.  Which would explain why I also have no recollection of an apparently amazing trip to Darjeeling, replete with magical sunrises, an uncle who gave me too much candy and my first visions of snow... but, that's another story for another time.  Anyway, so my mom always uses the Fefol example to remind me, and most of the times to my embarrassment, other company of my kind and caring nature. 

Well... a couple of days ago, I got a care package from the parents.  The idea of my parents sending a care package is very new.  To both of us.  I think its something they've learned from their friends in the U.S.  But, since we haven't been here long enough, it has, what I can only describe as, as very Sampat family feel to it. 

The care package contained:

- 4 ziplocked bags of sukha bhel (I had asked for this)
- 2 ziplock bags of sev
- 2 bars of Nestle Crunch
- 1 opened bar of half eaten European Milk chocolate (no doubt got from here... the BEST thing to happen to Skokie since Pita Inn)
- 1 ziplock bag of gud

This is a big step up from when they used to actually mail me cereal.  Except, they would take it out of the box to reduce shipping costs, so I would just get the plastic bag of cereal with no box, which is really annoying, by the way... along with some ziplocked bags of M&Ms.  The chocolates, in this package, were probably my dad's idea.  Both of us share a fascination for all things chocolate.  The half-opened bar and the tacky Nestle Crunch were probably my mom's idea/what was left in the fridge.  But, no matter... I enjoyed all of it...

But, the purpose of this whole story is that one ziplocked bag of gud.  That one little bag of crumbs of gud instantly brought back flashes of childhood, summers, monsoons, Bombay, crows, and hanging out with my mom.  It was such a simple thing.  Whenever my mom was at home, and I could spend time with her, she was always making us something to eat.  In hindsight, I think she felt guilty for not being home as much as the other moms who didn't work.  Since her whole family has a huge sweet tooth, there was always something sweet being made.  But, my absolute favourite thing would be to get up on my tippy toes, reach up to the back of the orange formica cabinet in the kitchen while she was cooking, and pull out the little rectangular white plastic box with the red top that had my treasure... my gud.  Some people find solace in washing dishes, ironing, meditating, cleaning up... mine was in that gooey mess at the bottom of that dubba.  I can still smell my mom... still in her night gown, usually on a Sunday morning... it was the only time in the week that the house wasn't in a mad dash... with cups of milk, Complan and bits of breakfast flying around.  It was the only time we could, as a family, relax... in a city and lifestyle that didn't allow us the luxury of being able to relax.  And, I remember... she would initially tell me not to get my hands in the gud... but, I knew she didn't mind.  I would only eat a little nibble at a time (a very annoying characteristic of mine, as my sister will attest)... and we would talk... about school, about her work... and I would help make her pooris, or rotis or parathas... and sometimes her favourite crow would come by the window sill and she would give it some roti scraps.  Other times, my dad would come in and be silly and see if he could help out (he couldn't)...

Things changed... we moved to a new land... a land where windows rarely opened.  Fresh air was unnecessary and often unavailable... everything was centrally controlled, anyway.  I started college... my sister got busy with school and new friends... my mom took on unfamiliar roles at new jobs and tried to fight stereotypes of being an educated, English speaking, brown woman trying to explain to people where India was and why some of us actually spoke English.  Dad, in the meantime, tried not to feel humiliated at being turned down for jobs that people 15 years his junior would have scoffed at back home...

And yet... like most immigrants... albeit privileged, educated immigrants... we made it through.  And, the family meals, though less frequent... still occurred.  And this thing known as a microwave gained a new importance in our lives.  And, my sister would scour through the fridge and eat everything and anything in sight.  And, the little plastic box of gud was replaced by a steel can... and it was no longer gooey... because it was no longer hot and humid... but, I still got up on my tip toes to reach for it... still well-hidden... in the back of the wood cabinet...

I've always had a fascination with languages.  Ironically, coming from a multi-lingual country to the U.S. has only made me appreciate language that much more.  There's a comfort in one's own language that, for me, English has never been able to provide.  Sure... its the language I use to communicate complex thought because that was my medium of instruction growing up, and I never bothered honing my Hindi skills to that extent.

But, really what got me thinking about this was today.  Today was, by all accounts, a really shitty day.  I welcomed the Winter Solstice by sleeping in most of the day.  My lack of enthusiasm for life combined with my not eating well for the last few days resulted in a lethargy that I haven't felt in a really long time.  And then I spoke with a couple of my friends and it was just routine conversations - one about being at an airport, and another about a job interview.  And, we were just speaking in our usual Hindi/Urdu/English mix.  And, for no reason, it lifted my spirits.  Made me feel alive again.  Made me realize how much I miss being back home (in India and Chicago) and being silly.  And, weirdly enough, made me miss Maryland.  My desi roommates.

I tend to be a bit of movie snob.  Most of my friends know it.  I refuse to watch crappy Bollywood or Hollywood movies and end up looking like a fool when mainstream movies are brought up in conversation.

However, over the last couple of weeks, I have seen (over and over and over) ads for this new movie "Chuck and Larry" starring everybody's favourite Adam Sandler and Kevin James.  The premise is simple and homophobic.  Two straight, white men decide to become domestic partners in order to exploit the few, alleged privileges now available to same sex couples. 

I know its not even worth my energy trying to critique this movie.  It would be like trying to critique the mess that is the US foreign policy.  Its just too simple. 

What bothers me more is the fact that this movie is rated PG.  PG??? You mean a 7 year old kid can learn how to be homophobic from a really young age??  Great!  That's just great.  Why don't we have a movie with tons of Asian/Black/Latino stereotypes, insult transgender folks, demean women, and make fun of people who are disabled...

Oh wait... never mind...

They say that alcohol brings out the truth in you... stumbled my way home and all the while... all I can think about is her... despite everything... despite how good I looked... how I got stares... despite it all... all I can think of is coming back home and wondering how much better this would have been... how much...

And then I check the blog... and, of course, I see an entry about me... of course... I'm not over her... we still have the connection... how the hell do I get over her??

Listening to Paki Mix #1 and Matti mein mil jayenge (pronounced just like it is in Kutchi) and Ranjish hi sahi... how the fuck do you forget all of it???  years of this... years of connections that everyone seeks in relationships that was so easy... so effortless... no... there were troubles... it wasn't paradise... but, despite it all... there was something else... it wasn't love... love sells itself at street corners... no, it was more... it was much more... i don't even know the word for it...

I told her I would always be there and always be a friend... but, its so easy to relapse and start thinking of days gone by...

I wish I believed in some sort of God... maybe there would be a way out of this then...

A long time ago a friend of mine told me that dreams were like poetry... they were only interesting to the person actually reciting them since both tended to be so personal.

Although I saw my friend's point, I couldn't disagree more.  Like a lot of people, I have a kind of strange fascination with dreams.  I think its mostly because they remind me of my dad's storytelling days when instead of reading to us, he would make up these stories in our cramped little 2 bedroom apartment about these two engines called Raju (a steam engine) and Kaju (an electric engine).  The stories were accompanied with hand gestures, sounds, and since we were in bed, I would usually look at the shadows on the ceiling of the traffic on the street and pretend that the car shadows were, in fact, Raju and Kaju.  And, ultimately, aren't dreams merely an adult version of that innate desire to be a child again and escape and be carefree?

So, valiant readers... here is my dream that I had in a very brief 2 hour nap today:

I was in a car with my grandma.  She was driving and I was in the passenger seat.  It was an American car, because it was a left-hand drive.  My grandma, of course, was still Indian and not used to driving on the right side of the road.  She was wearing this scarf around her head, tied kinda like Audrey Hepburn from one of those old 60s movies, with a knot just below the chin (this was a direct result, I'm sure of watching "Wait Until Dark" in Bryant Park last night).  In the back seat was a couple.  They switched from being K & J (friends from Chicago) to M & A (friends from DC).  Both the couples are very similar in that they're very "safe".  You know... the sort that would put on their seat belts even though they're sitting in the back seat.  Anyway, my grandma was driving pretty rashly... which is kinda funny, because she's got only one good eye left, really... though she claims it does the work of two.  Anyway, we're driving up to a bridge and she's kinda swerving all over the place (onto oncoming traffic) and then back to the right side of the road and the couple in the back are freaking out.  I'm kinda freaking out, but in more of a fun, roller coaster rideish sort of way... which is funny, 'cos I'm not the biggest fan of roller coasters... maybe the thrill of this being real... at least in the dream... was more interesting to me.  So... we're driving in this mad dash and I start to tell her to slow down and she gets angry at me and tells me that I can get out of the car if I'm gonna talk down to her... then she does one of those screeching halts and I realize we're at a video store... and the whole reason for rushing was that we had to return this DVD on time...

Anyway... I woke up out of this dream with a smile on my face.  Mostly because I dreamt of my grandma who I haven't talked to in a while.  Keep in mind that this is the same grandma that got me to cross the tracks at Andheri station and then argued with the ticket collector when he wanted to throw both of us in jail and tried to use her age to her advantage.  This is also the grandma that learned to drive a Ford Model T in the 1940s when women weren't even seen much on the streets of Bombay, let alone driving a car.  And, yes... this is also the grandma that gave me an appreciation of spicy food when my mom's side of the family was heavily invested in developing my sweet tooth.  And, this is the grandma that would pickle raw mangoes for hours and lay them out on newspapers in our living room floor during the summer months, only to have us pick through them and eat them while squeezing our eyes shut at the tartness.  And, I still see her face whenever I yawn at a dinner table, because she used to smack me and would say that I was insulting the food by yawning at the dinner table.  And, she was the same tomboy who used to swing off of banyan tree branches in her village in Adoni until she was married off at the age of 13.

I've heard she hasn't been the nicest mother-in-law, and she's stubborn and she's not the best with her finances. 

But, to me... she's always my one-eyed, 90 year old grandma with the heart of 12 year old.  She's my Motu and my Kastur and I know that when I see her again, I'm going to still enjoy watching her entire stomach jiggle when she emits her loud, full-hearted laughter.

I guess you could say that I've led a pretty sheltered life, in that I haven't had to say too many painful goodbyes in my (nearly) 30 years that I've lived on this earth.  I mean, sure... it was hard to move from India, from Chicago, from NY and now from Maryland.  But, I guess I've never really had a whole ton of friends, which in a strange way makes it kind of easier.  I won't lie... saying goodbye to S. was one of the hardest things I've ever done... knowing we were done was a much more painful journey that took a lot longer...

Today, our higher ed cohort met for a final dinner in DC and there were about 15 of us including spouses etc.  I thought of it as yet another social engagement... not realizing that it would really affect me later.  I am still not sure about why it affected me... after all, I hadn't seen some of these people in nearly 5 months!  I think the reason is because, after a long time, I've made some solid friends and it was very effortless.  I came to MD thinking I would be here for 2 years and take a job and move on, which is exactly what I'm doing... but, along the way, I had a ready-made group of friends that I hung out with and socialized with (some more so than others)... that was just gravy.  And, they helped, each in their own way, to make suburbia a little more tolerable. 

For the first time, I'm thinking that NY may not be all that its made out to be... at my core, I think I'm just tired.  Tired of moving.  Tired of making new friends.  Tired of goodbyes.  Tired of explaining myself and my history to new people and talking about the same shit.  I just need people to understand.  And, I need to settle.  Maybe NY will be it.  It needs to be it.  Its been 30 bloody years... I deserve to get a little rest.  And, find someone... maybe...

The worst part of all this is that I haven't even said my toughest goodbye yet... fortunately, its going to be a much softer landing... at least until August... because my roommate A. will be visiting his gf in NY... but, I know... I just know... come August... when all the initial charm of being back in NY has worn off, A's visits (and calls) will decrease, family will have come and gone, friends will have visited and we will have shared meals... after all that... I know exactly the feeling I'll have.  Its the same feeling I get when I come back from India and wake up to my first American morning... and look for my niece bouncing up and down on my bed... look for the parathas with the aam ras... look for the hubbub and activity that I'm used to in Bombay... and realize... i'm back in the US.... yes... it will be exactly that feeling.

Maybe this is why the Hindi word for "goodbye" is actually phir milenge or "we'll see each other again"

For a long time, I've been fascinated by full moons.  They hold so many different memories...

A full moon is when you celebrate Id and have that yummy sevaiyan from Kader's house downstairs

A full moon is when women break their fast of karva chauth

A full moon is the night when Ani took me to watch godawful Superman to get my mind off things and we had a long talk after

A full moon was August 4th

A full moon is the night when Matt yelled at me from Irving Park and had me run downstairs because the moon was hanging low and was enormous

A full moon through the window of the passenger seat on a warm evening with a slight breeze...

A full moon through the hazy, smog filled skies of Bombay and through the suburban window of my room is still one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen

Well... its been a while since I posted and there have been a lot of things going on.  I went to Orlando and Chicago, but most importantly I met S.  We haven't really talked since I met her over a week ago, but it was a very interesting encounter to say the least.  We spent well over 4 hours together, and even though it was never awkward, it was definitely weird.  I was happy to see her, but the encounter also made me realize everything I already knew.  She's married -- its never going to change.  I still have feelings for her -- its never going to change.  She is never going to leave him -- its never going to change.  The last idea nearly shattered me... not so much that night, but later.  But, not so much selfishly anymore.  I just want her to be happy.  I don't know what will happen with us.  But, I just want her to be happy.  Or, at least content.  This past Friday when I was sitting out on the porch in 40 degree weather smoking sheesha with Alecia, I made a comment that "I could die right now and I'd be happy'... she kind of laughed it off... but, it was true.  It was a feeling of peace that I had got after a very long time... in no small part, I'm sure, due to the tobacco... we smoked... just the two of us... for damn near three hours. 
S, if you're reading this -- watch Dor please.  Don't let it just sit idly by.  Its a great movie.  I'm sure you'll sit up and put your hands under your chin and watch it.  Take it with you to Miami.  I really want you watch it soon.  As dreamily idealistic as it is, it uses Bollywood cliches in such a gut-wrenchingly sweet way that its hard not to just smile... even at the hardest moments. 

In other news... I still haven't gotten around to my papers, but at least I've started applying to jobs.  There's a very small, insignificant little light at the end of my abyss-like tunnel. 

Sent by my roommate... Pending legislation, San Francisco might become the first U.S. city to ban plastic bags... read here

It reminds me of when I was in Bombay in 2005 and went to get some potatoes from the local street grocer.  He weighed out a kilo and asked me for a bag.  I looked at him quizzically and asked him why he didn't have one.  He told me it was now illegal for them to use plastic bags, but looked around and snuck one out and told me to quickly leave.  I realized later that there was a law in Bombay that thin plastic non-biodegradable bags were now not only illegal, but anyone seen with one would be charged Rs. 1200 (about $30) and so would the vendor.  This is a hell of a lot of money, considering your bag would never hold more than Rs. 100 worth of groceries.  I was so excited by this ban that I could hardly believe it!  I mean, if this could even remotely be enforced in a city with a population of 13 million that is set to become the world's most populous city by 2020, it could work anywhere!  My roommate was excited as well, and on his last trip to India, he brought back cloth bags that we could keep in our cars to use at the grocery store.  It didn't matter that the bags were too small 'cos they were meant for Indian size groceries, because we still use them and feel a little better about not slowly killing our future generations. 

Good to see a small glimmer of hope...

How exactly does one let go??  How does that happen?  Time? Therapist? Distractions? Other life changing decisions to make you realize that there are other priorities?  I don't know...

All I know is that the thought of letting go makes me want to hurl.  SImple innocuous words pierce my heart.  Assumptions mess with my head in a very new and foreign way.  And yet, I sometimes feel that I have to let go... because not letting go is not going to change the situation.  But I can't... I just fuckin' can't.  Its not fair.  I should be able to.  I don't even know where to begin.  And, its consuming me.  Completely. 

I need things to improve soon.  The weather, school, my impending and soon-to-be-delayed graduation, my dad, my mom, my sister, my love, my friend, my relationships, my health, my finances, my location... all of it.  The whole lot. 

Or, everything should go to hell so I can finally completely lose it and stop projecting a facade. 

I don't know what I'm doing
I don't know what I'm saying
I don't know why I'm watching all these white people dancing

I don't know where I'm going
But I do know that I'm walking
Where?
I don't know
Just away from this love affair

I can't say that I'm cruisin'
Not that I don't like cruisin'
Just that I'm bruisin from you

I can't say that I'm waltzin'
Not that I don't like waltzing
Would rather be waltzin' with you

So I guess that I'm going
I guess that I am walking
Where?
I don't know
Just away from this love affair

 -- Rufus Wainwright

So, i'm slowly realizing that I'm being left in the dust here... its gradually dawning on me that almost every single friend that I have that used to be single is now either monogomously coupled or married or soon to be married.  It reminds me of my last visit to India...

My uncle, who is not known for his subtlety, said something along the lines of "Why aren't you married yet?  You should be married soon... otherwise, you're going to be like that son of my friend who kept being really picky and didn't end up getting married and now just sits at the side looking dopish at parties while all the couples are having fun".  Even if I temporarily forget the fact that there's always a son of a friend who seems to be my nemisis in every situation dealing with an aunty or uncle, or the fact that said "son of friend" is, I think, almost definitely gay, or the all to painfully obvious fact that "son of friend" and my life are not the same at all and therefore this comparison is not valid, or that the other coupled in the party are really having "fun".. his comment still stuck with me.  I don't know if it was the guilt trip or the fact that I automatically zone out when talk of marriage comes along and for some reason didn't when he was talking, or something else altogether... but, his comment really hit home. 

I often think of my uncle and his comment when I see people around me in their relationships.  I don't really care about the fact that they're married... its more of what often comes with the marriage that bothers me.  The "we" mentality, the inability to make decisions independently of one another, the constant need to hang out in pairs with their single friends... no, I'm done with that!  Of course, I've been lucky in that not all of my friends are like that, and I have to admit that I do feel jealous at times of them and their relationships.  To top it off, almost every friend of mine who is single is looking to be in exactly this same "we" type of relationship... if not literally... at least emotionally... but its got me thinking... should I start to look for someone to manacle myself to?

I will be going to India again this year... ironically, probably to coincide with my friend's wedding...  I always look forward to my trips to India, but never to the constant asking fo questions and people trying to set me up.  Its never bothered me before... but, i've been forced to spend an increasingly larger amount of time on it lately...

Sorry... this post has been mostly me venting... but, i had to get it out. 

For the longest time now... I have had most of my epiphanies about small and big things in the shower.  The shower has been my fortress of solitude, if you will... my place to think of the rest of the day and to allow thoughts that I may normally suppress otherwise to surface.  Of course, allowing thoughts to resurface means that other, much older thoughts also get dug up and before you know it, there's an avalanche going on inside my head.

But, that's not all showers.  Some showers are actually peaceful and relaxing. 

The one today got me thinking about relationships.  I have been lucky enough to be in love a couple of times, but only once have I had it reciprocated back equally.  I have been lucky that that love lasted 3 glorious years.  And then, it slipped away... just like that... and its a fuckin' bitch.  I hate it. 

2006 was an awful year for me and most people I knew.  People passed on, people got sick, family got sick, good relationships ended, bad ones started, good ones that started in 2006 turned out to be crappy. 

I couldn't wait for 2006 to be done with.  Despite all the stuff going on with her, suttonhoo's flickr site kept me going in those really tough moments when I craved to see some beauty in this world.  And, of course, reconnecting with S. after a long hiatus brought on by me helped things tremendously. 

But, today... all of it seemed a bit futile.  After all, what good is a 3 year relationship that didn't end on either party's terms and that you still think fondly of??  Does it really help you in times of need to know that you once had a great thing, or does it just pour salt on the wounds??  Time, of course, doesn't heal anything.  It only helps in sporadically distracting you from harping too much.  I know the inevitable will happen as much as I might will it not to.  We will move on with our lives.  We'll never lose that which we had, but our memories will become cocooned and hidden away somewhere.  Little things will remind us of each other... but, ultimately, we will move on.  Have kids, have families, be alone, live through births and deaths in our families without the other person being there...

In the meantime, Ms. McRae and Ms. Carter will keep me going... at least for a while...

S. and I always used to have these discussions about God.  Even though she wasn't uber-religious, she did believe in the existence of a God.  And, I in all of my brilliant wisdom, would always think of God as more of a pupetteer who people seemed to believe had all of this power, but couldn't really prove anything about....

Anyway... this show Malcolm in the Middle... this show that had a pretty decent run on Fox, had this character Dewey (the youngest of three brothers) talk to his Sunday school teacher about the idea of God.  I've always found this to be brilliant... specially since its spoken about so frankly by a 5 year old.  You can read below, or see it on the joy that is Youtube here:

Dewey (to his Sunday school teacher): I don't like this church... ever since I came here all I do is think about stuff!  What kind of God makes children think when they're not even in school! 

Teacher:  Well, that is a torment, but I'm sure he has his reasons!

Dewey (shrugs shoulders):  Yeah... like Pastor Roy said... God's so much bigger and wiser than us that trying to see what he's thinking is like an ant trying to see what I'm thinking.

Sunday school teacher:  Yes... exactly.  But we can trust in his wisdom and have faith that he is watching over us.

Dewey:  Like me with the anthill in my backyard.  I spent days watching the ants trying to figure out which ones were good and which ones were bad, but they all just looked like ants.  So, I started smiting all of them.  I was smiting them with the garden hose and with lighter fluid and with the lawn mower and to be perfectly honest, I think I went a little crazy with the shovel.  Those ants could have been praying to me all day... I wouldn't have heard 'em.  There was nothing they could do about it. 

Teacher:  Buuuutt... I don't think...

Dewey:  And really, its the same with us.  There's nothing we can do about anything either... so why worry about it?  Hey!  This is making me feel better. 

Teacher:  Oh... well, that's good, but...

Dewey:  I guess all we can do is live our lives with as much kindness and decency as possible and try not to dwell on God standing over us with that giant shovel.  Bye!

        --  From Malcolm in the Middle

Amen, my friend.  Amen.

I really missed my S. yesterday... ironically at this very random time of the day... when we were looking for someone to call to ask about public transportation (we were looking for a bus schedule)...its a long story...  and it made me kind of sad that I couldn't call her just randomly anymore... or rather that she wasn't the first person I immediately thought of...

I guess that's one of the signs that you've moved from being together to being friends... you don't just automatically think of calling them... that part of you that makes that second nature slowly wears off... i miss the second nature part...

Ever since S. mentioned this to me a long time ago and has brought up in conversations since, I have often thought of the similarities between India and the U.S.

Having lived in both countries, I can definitely see some similarities in "country culture" if you will.  Neither India nor the U.S. really teaches its kids about the neighbouring countries that surround it.  For example, we never learned in India about Pakistan, Bangladesh, Nepal, Bhutan, Burma or Sri Lanka.  Never.  I knew what the chief export of Malaysia was (rubber), but I didn't know that Bangladesh had a major war with Pakistan in 1971 when over 3 million people died.  I could probably still mark the Danube river and the Atlas mountains on a blank map, but I didn't know the names of the 4 provinces of Pakistan.  If it wasn't for the LTTE being in the news all the time and my dad talking of the Naxalite movement growing up in Calcutta, I probably would have never known anything about Sri Lanka either.  Bhutan, Burma and Nepal were maybe mentioned once in class.  And, I was fortunate enough to go to one of the better schools in Bombay!

Even though I only did a year of high school in the U.S. I don't ever recall reading or hearing anything about Canada.  I found out, through random articles in newspapers and through a couple of trips there that Canada is actually a pretty amazing place.  Aside from Mr. Moore's documentary that talked about Canadians not locking their doors, Canada in a lot of ways practices what the U.S. tends to preach.  Mexico, of course, is a fascinating place with a myriad of cultures that I doubt is ever taught in classes here.  Let alone going further south into Central America. 

My point in all of this being... it does seem to be that if a region has a large country in its midst, that that country does seem to draw attention and keep attention.  I have very rarely, for example, had to explain where India is to anyone.  They usually know approximately where it is.  A lot of people even know Bombay.  I doubt I would have been as successful if I was from Thimphu or Dhaka or Rangoon. 

On a somewhat related entry... watch the movie Khamosh Paani aka "Silent Water" if you haven't already. 

I think this is because of the classic majority phenomenon.  Any time that there is a majority... whether its in terms of size, population, religion or ideology, it consumes everything around it.  Its been a very humbling experience for me to go from being a majority (Hindu) to a hyphenated life of being an "Indian-American" despite the fact that I've moved from a India to the U.S.  Maybe that's why I'm able to recognize and accept flaws in judgment and thinking that stems simply from being bigger. 

So... the burning question on everyone's minds was finally resolved today as Khalid Sheikh Mohammed finally confessed to everything.  I love the fact that even though the majority of this world will see this and possibly laugh, its actually viewed as serious by the government.  Are you fucking kidding me??  If you trap anyone in a jail cell with no freedoms for over 6 years, they will eventually confess to killing their own grandmother.

But, what is far more troubling is the fact that there is absolutely nothing being done on college campuses about the war.  In fact, we even read that conservatism is on the rise on college campuses.  Colleges, which have historically been the hotbed for activism and catalysts for reform have just gone limp and numb like every other segment of society.  Of course, this is not to say that there haven't been any efforts... but, I just feel like there hasn't been one voice...

In the meantime, there's this... ugh...

Apparently, you can find out what Firefly character you are closest to by going here

Here was my character... hahaha... gotta love Inara!