And Read All Over..

I've been reading books in the few and extremely fleeting moments that I've had free of late. I've only managed, in turn, to finish 3 of them. I finally succeeded in completing Jose Saramago's "Blindness", and when I needed a smaller, easier book, read "Slaughterhouse Five" (which I'd always felt like somewhat of a traitor never having read.). With nothing to read on last nights security shift, I found "Something Rising ( Light and Swift)" by Haven Kimmel and read that.

"Blindness" while difficult (I'm a fan of punctuation. Sue me.) was ultimately rewarding. He gives you the ending that you seek, but not before you realise that you don't really need it. It was a stunning, and at times horrific book, but you can easily see why it won the Nobel Prize in literature. It's an amazing book, but one of those books that you could never read twice. The devil is in the details, and I think I read too many not to have nightmares.

"Slaughterhouse Five" (while I'm sure everyone has read it except me) was NOTHING like I expected, and therefore a million times more than I hoped for. There was this moderately interesting boy in my highschool who used to carry it around in his back pocket, then his n'er do well loser buddy started doing the same thing (although I have serious and infinite doubts that he actually read it - or was capable of reading at all for that matter) and from that point I swore that I would never read it. I'm not sure if it was the association with those boys that held me back, or the idea that I would somehow end up in their back pocket if I read it... But I finally buckled down and found it a most enjoyable read. If you're holding back for fear of ending up in a loser boys pair of pants - don't.

And a surprisingly good book, "Something Rising (Light and Swift)".. I generally as a rule never read anything with "young girl coming of age" in the description (it conjures up too many thoughts of "Are you there God? It's me, Margaret.") I had nothing to read and so prepared myself for a badly written book about the embarrassment of underarm hair and such. In reality, it's a completely weird story of a girl in Indiana and her completely messed up yet sadly loving family. If there is one word.. it would be tragic. And if there was another? Excellent. I really enjoyed it, and was pleasantly surprised. I've never heard of her, or anything else she's written - but this is a good book, a "coming of age" exception.

So I've got 19 hours of security work this weekend, and intend to read for as many of them as humanly possible. My friend (ahem, you know who you are.... That confirms that I only have one friend.) is supposed to be reading "1984" at the same time as I, to help shed our collective shame over the fact that neither of us have read the purportedly important novel - and yet still feel free to make the cliched comic remarks about "Big Brother". So I'm going to read that, and hopefully some more Kurt Vonnegut. After "Mother Night" I was hooked, and I swallowed "Slaughterhouse Five" whole, so I'm going to go from there. Anyone with any other suggestions, they're welcome. I've got 19 hours to fill. At approx. 3 hours per book.. that's a lot of reading. Here's to the eye cancer.

Worth a Read

I've been mulling over this article for days - so I thought I'd share it with you. Key point, in my books, and as pertains to Canada, is the fifth paragraph.
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Why Tolerate the Hate?
By IRSHAD MANJIPublished: August 9, 2005, New York Times

FOR a European leader, Prime Minister Tony Blair of Britain has done something daring. He has given notice not just to the theocrats of Islam, but also to the theocracy of tolerance.

"Staying here carries with it a duty," Mr. Blair said in referring to foreign-born Muslim clerics who glorify terror on British soil. "That duty is to share and support the values that sustain the British way of life. Those who break that duty and try to incite hatred or engage in violence against our country and its people have no place here."

With that, his government proposed new laws to deport extremist religious leaders, to shut down the mosques that house them and to ban groups with a history of supporting terrorism. The reaction was swift: a prominent human rights advocate described Mr. Blair's measures as "neo-McCarthyite hectoring," warning that they would make the British "less distinguishable from the violent, hateful and unforgiving theocrats, our democracy undermined from within in ways that the suicide bombers could only have dreamed of."

But if these anti-terror measures feel like an overreaction to the London bombings, that's only because Britons, like so many in the West, have been avoiding a vigorous debate about what values are most worth defending in our societies.

As Westerners bow down before multiculturalism, we anesthetize ourselves into believing that anything goes. We see our readiness to accommodate as a strength - even a form of cultural superiority (though few will admit that). Radical Muslims, on the other hand, see our inclusive instincts as a form of corruption that makes us soft and rudderless. They believe the weak deserve to be vanquished.

Paradoxically, then, the more we accommodate to placate, the more their contempt for our "weakness" grows. And ultimate paradox may be that in order to defend our diversity, we'll need to be less tolerant. Or, at the very least, more vigilant. And this vigilance demands more than new antiterror laws. It requires asking: What guiding values can most of us live with? Given the panoply of ideologies and faiths out there, what filter will distill almost everybody's right to free expression?

Neither the watery word "tolerance" nor the slippery phrase "mutual respect" will cut it as a guiding value. Why tolerate violent bigotry? Where's the "mutual" in that version of mutual respect? Amin Maalouf, a French-Arab novelist, nailed this point when he wrote that "traditions deserve respect only insofar as they are respectable - that is, exactly insofar as they themselves respect the fundamental rights of men and women."

Allow me to invoke a real-life example of what can't be tolerated if we're going to maintain freedom of expression for as many people as possible. In 1999, an uproar surrounded the play "Corpus Christi" by Terrence McNally, in which Jesus was depicted as a gay man. Christians protested the show and picketed its European debut in Edinburgh, a reasonable exercise in free expression. But Omar Bakri Muhammad, a Muslim preacher and a judge on the self-appointed Sharia Court of the United Kingdom, went further: he signed a fatwa calling for Mr. McNally to be killed, on the grounds that Jesus is considered a prophet by Muslims. (Compassion overflowed in the clause that stated Mr. McNally "could be buried in a Muslim graveyard" if he repented.) Mr. Bakri then had the fatwa distributed throughout London.

Since then, Mr. Bakri has promoted violent struggle from various London meeting halls. He has even lionized the July 7 bombers as the "fantastic four." He is a counselor of death, and should not have been allowed to remain in Britain. And thanks to Mr. Blair's newfound fortitude, he has reportedly fled England for Lebanon.

The Muslim Council of Britain, a mainstream lobbying group that assailed Mr. Blair's proposed measures, has long claimed that men like Mr. Bakri represent only a slim fraction of the country's nearly two million Muslims. Assuming that's true, British Muslims - indeed, Muslims throughout the West - should rejoice at their departures or deportations, because all forms of Islam that respect the freedom to disbelieve, to go one's own way, will be strengthened.

Which brings me to my vote for a value that could guide Western societies: individuality. When we celebrate individuality, we let people choose who they are, be they members of a religion, free spirits, or something else entirely. I realize that for many Europeans, "individuality" might sound too much like the American ideal of individualism. It doesn't have to. Individualism - "I'm out for myself" - differs from individuality - "I'm myself, and my society benefits from my uniqueness."

Of course, there may be better values than individuality for Muslims and non-Muslims to embrace. Let's have that debate - without fear of being deemed self-haters or racists by those who twist multiculturalism into an orthodoxy. We know the dangers of taking Islam literally. By now we should understand the peril of taking tolerance literally.

Irshad Manji is the author of "The Trouble with Islam Today: A Muslim's Call for Reform in Her Faith."

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I think that she makes an excellent point, that too many people are afraid to make. Ie - Our culture is worth something too. Not just those who immigrate. Maybe in the end I'll have to go to Bulgaria to be appreciated as a Canadian..

Site O' the Day

Kid Rock.. pick a song.. any song...

Honk If You Love India

So we have this new driver, Louise. Not like "Lewis and Clarke", but Louise, with a French accent. Even though he's decidedly Indian. Which is fine, in fact, I like calling him Louise, and he appreciates that I'm the only one that doesn't call him Lewis. He appreciates it so much that every time I get in the car, he regales me in his broken English about how he was in Sri Lanka when the tsunami hit and they laid all the dead people out and the dogs ate them. Right. That will teach me for showing any interest when he first told me. At least his English is improving, albeit only when he tells this story.

Unfortunately, his lack of English in any area except for horrific stories will be his downfall, because ultimately we need a driver that understands when we say "Pull up the car", he doesn't look confused and honk the horn. That, and within the first week he'd already busted the trunk. He slams it so hard that your stomach jumps. I know this is awful.. but he does this thing where he jumps out of the car to open your door.. which I really hate, it makes me feel.. weird and uppity, so I always kind of dodge him and race to a different car door and jump in and close it. I'm sure he thinks I'm mentally challenged, the girl who plays evade the driver and likes to hear tsunami stories. (Which I don't, I swear, but it was the first time he spoke to me, so I tried to be interested.)

So he breaks the car, and has to take it to the Embassy car repair shop. Which he didn't understand, so my mom had to literally lead the way, walking in front of the car, to get him there. And now, the car doesn't start and the horn doesn't work. That's right, we took the car in to get the trunk fixed, and now it doesn't start and the horn doesn't work. If anyone can provide an explanation (other than the mechanic not knowing his trunk from a hole in the ground.. har har har..), it would be more than appreciated. Last I checked Toyotas don't have any connection between their trunks, horns and engines.. but hey, I might be mistaken.

One more thing. This is equal as horrible as having to play evade the driver in the list of reasons to get another new driver.. He looks like a cross between Eddie Murphy dressed up as the dad in "The Nutty Professor" and a Hobbit from "Lord of the Rings". He has all this hair growing out of his ears. Straight out. At a right angle. And a shiny head that makes it look like a bald cap. And I swear. He looks exactly like Eddie Murphy. But Indian.

I don't think Louise is going to be around for too long. Or else we might light a match under his ear hair.

Take Note.. Ahem..

Seoul, South Korea (Reuters) -- A South Korean man who played computer games for 50 hours almost non-stop died of heart failure minutes after finishing his mammoth session in an Internet cafe, authorities said on Tuesday.

The 28-year-old man, identified only by his family name Lee, had been playing online battle simulation games at the cybercafe in the southeastern city of Taegu, police said.

Lee had planted himself in front of a computer monitor to play on-line games on August 3. He only left the spot over the next three days to go to the toilet and take brief naps on a makeshift bed, they said.

"We presume the cause of death was heart failure stemming from exhaustion," a Taegu provincial police official said by telephone.

Lee had recently quit his job to spend more time playing games, the daily JoongAng Ilbo reported after interviewing former work colleagues and staff at the Internet cafe.

After he failed to return home, Lee's mother asked his former colleagues to find him. When they reached the cafe, Lee said he would finish the game and then go home, the paper reported.

He died a few minutes later, it said.

South Korea, one of the most wired countries in the world, has a large and highly developed game industry.

12 Dollar Ham, and The Day Jesus Showed Up on My Dashboard

There are things that you pay a premium for in a Hindu country. Honey cured ham, apparently, is one of them. 12$ for four slices to be exact. Some things are incredibly inexpensive here - waxing for instance. 75$ in Canada. 3$ in India. (there is an abundance of hair here. It's not like they're afraid they're going to run out..) Vegetables. About 30 cents for a pound of carrots. And on the flip side? Toilet paper - 3$ (100 rupees) a roll. Expensive when you think that that would feed a family of 5 a pretty hearty meal on street food. Without pork.. obviously.

And Jesus. You don't get a lot of Jesus here. I mean - down south they have a lot of Dutch Catholic colonies, we have a large Mormon base here in Delhi, in Kerala they even have a (albeit dwindling) Jewish community. But it's not exactly out there in the way that all the Hindu dieties are, you don't see 8 foot Jesus's painted on shops like you do Ganesh.

We're not a religious family. Spriritual - I'd like to think so - but religious.. not quite. So imagine my surprise when I hop into my car on Friday morning to find our new driver has a lovely little Jesus card on the dashboard. (not that a little help in Delhi traffic wouldn't be appreciated, don't get me wrong.) The strange thing about this (obviously Indian) Jesus, is that he appeared to be standing in front of a depiction of the White House.

This place boggles my mind. What will be normal when I leave here? Here's hoping for a pork eating Jesus with an elephant trunk. It'll make it homey. God Bless America.

A Lifetime a Day..

I can't believe that my time here is coming to an end.. I only officially have 22 days left in India before I take off back to Canada. I know that I'll be back here (at Christmas, and probably next summer..) but I don't think I'll ever be back here in quite the same capacity - or for the same length of time. (9 months!). There is irrifutable evidence that once you come to India, you'll never return in the same state as you were - India changes you too much, whether for the good, or the bad. You never fit the same perameters again.

Lately, I've been dwelling on all the things that I haven't had a chance to do while I'm here. (It always seems like there will be so much more time - until time is suddenly at a premium, and I never seem to have enough money to buy more.) So, for my own peace of mind, I've decided to put down, for posterity, (which I think sound too much like posterior, and reminds me I should get to the gym today..) what I have done in this part of the world.

• walked barefoot through the Taj Mahal - twice
• rafted the "Holy River Ganga" in the Himalayan Mountains
• travelled for 8 days, and up 6500 ft into Manali in the Himalayas
• survived a 17 hour bus ride from Manali to New Delhi on an Indian Bus careening through the mountains at mach speed.
• ridden atop an elephant up to an ancient fort
• lived on a boat and recieved my advanced open water diver for scuba diving (in Myanmar/Burma)
• did a 30 minute night dive, dove to 30 metres, and learned underwater navigation..(not all on one dive) (in Myanmar)
• climbed Sigiriya Rock (in Sri Lanaka)
• visited a tea plantation and drank the best cup of tea of my life (in Sri Lanka)
• fed a baby elephant a bottle of milk (in Sri Lanka)
• been to 4 countries - Sri Lanka, Thailand, Myanmar, India (and hopefully Pakistan soon!)
• seen a huge number of World Heritage Sites

When I list them out like that - they just seem like so much less than their worth as a whole - how they've changed me. Of course, the things you learn completeing these adventures are far more valuable.. well, than anything. Like the fact that I now know that I can survive on dahl and chapatis for 8 days. That I can sleep on dirty sheets, not take a shower, and still enjoy travelling. (Me!) And the little things you do in between these things - I've sat on a rock in a Himalayan waterfall, surrounded by Nepalese goat herders and white long haired goats with blue eyes - and knit myself a scarf. I've stopped for chai in the middle of the night to sit with an Israeli, a Briton, a French girl and an Australian and watched Hindi Kung-Foo movies. I learned to tie a sari and dance like an Indian. I can speak a passable ammount of the language.

I'm proud of myself for what I've accomplished here, for the limits I've pressed myself to - for seeing what I do everyday - and keeping my eyes open. Sure - I've got 22 days left here. But in this country? In 22 days, you can live, and learn, a lifetime.

Muggy August Playlist

For your listening pleasure.

1. Four Hours in Washington - M. Ward
2. Dig the Lightening -Robbers on High Street
3. What they Found- Octopus Project
4. Losing Streak - Eels
5. One Day Without -Keren Ann
6. Spit it Out -Brendan Benson
7. She's so Cold -The Golden Republic
8. Radio Campaign - M. Ward
9. My Lady Story -Antony and the Johnsons
10. I'd Rather Dance with You - Kings of Convienience
11. Apply Some Pressure - Maximo Park
12. Just Got Robbed - The Sights
10. Wandering Star -Portishead
11. Karen - The National
12. Different Days -L'altra

I like it. I like it a lot.

Tip your hats to these guys.

What's that you've got there? ...

.. a baby!

But it's not ours. That's why we're smiling.

Damn This Idle Cursor...

But what a benefit it is to you!

Creepy.. Yet Oddly Addictive

"Democratic Media Outlet". Novel. (please take one grain of salt prior to visiting said site.)

So DIY, you'll want her to do it for you!

Keyboard Hysterics. I have no idea where Q is. Ever.

Listen to her. Oh the beauty.

When Booking an Airplane Seat on a Boeing 737-800...

Seat 29E. Remember that number folks.

Only 33 Sleeps

I must have some vestigial seasonal awareness left over from Canada - it feels like fall here, even in 35 degree heat and counting. Suddenly it feels like the days are getting shorter, I'm coming out from work and the shadows are longer and the air has just that hint of coolness, an idea of the season more than the season it self.

I'm in the mood for heavy brown wool sweaters and potato soup and cold noses. There is something so wonderful about warming up by a fire, by a friend, hot chocolate in hand. (Now, I'm not sure about you - but hot chocolate in my mind is always way better than it is in real life. I always end up making it too watery or without enough milk, or too weak and I never have marshmallows. I remember my mum making it in a pot on the stove when I was little - infinitely better than mine. Maybe it's a skill you acquire with motherhood.)

I want to be cold. Not air conditioning cold, not artificially cold - real, cool air, cool wind, cold. I want to wear mittens, and have a reason to knit a scarf again. I want to wear woolly socks and sensible warm shoes (which indicates this might be a passing insanity) , and get out the warm fall jackets and gloves.

Perhaps I'm just craving home - the seasons don't seem to change here, not a smidge, only from hot, to hotter, to wet, to humid. Not exactly a dazzling array of sensations, unless you count varying degrees of sunburn and heat exhaustion. Maybe it's the anticipation of going back to school - the countdown of "how many sleeps" until I'm in school again. (Gosh.. after three years.. has it really been so long? ) Maybe it's because my mom keeps referring to getting "back to school clothes". (I remember in Britain we had to bring an empty paper milk carton with an extra pair of pants stuffed inside in the event that we peed ourselves. Then again, I also remember having to do gym in your underwear if you forgot the appropriate gym clothing. That's the English for you - simultaneously over prepared and underdressed.)

So I suppose until I'm back in Canada (it seems like forever ago that that was "home".. when did India become "home"?) I'll just sit in my over air conditioned room with my toque and my backpack on and close my eyes and pretend that I smell woodsmoke and burning leaves and that wonderful smell of warm pumpkin and candles on Halloween. Oooh fall, here I come!

But I just washed my hands! (of you.)

Mumbai is flooding. 1 metre of rain in 24 hours. And do you know why it’s flooding? Because of the British. Because the sewer and drainage system that was build 100 years ago isn’t quite up to snuff, and what with the no maintenance it’s been given, I don’t see why. Limey bastards. There’s plenty of ditches left to dig yet my friend.. And what, you’re not telling me the independent country of India should have to do it? Saints in Heaven. Deliver us.

Who's the Fairest

I'm always surprised when I look in the mirror these days. I feel like what India has changed inside me.. should somehow be reflected on the outside. I suppose I'm lucky that it doesn't work that way, or else I'm sure I'd have grey hair and leprosy and crossed eyes for what this place does.. But I'm always.. surprised. That I don't have more wrinkles, that what I think isn't written clear across my forehead, that it doesn't look like I've been crying. I know that outwardly, I look exactly the same as I did 8 months ago. And yet somehow.. somehow I feel that inside, all my parts have been rearranged and that they must look older and tired and sad and be decorated with a lot of dirty sequins. It's precocious to tell people "I may look the same, but I'm not.". And yet that's what I think everytime I look in the mirror.

Worth Two in the Bush..

Put down your book in hand.. two new novels are arriving in September! (well.. and countless others.. but two of personal note.) Zadie Smith (White Teeth, The Autograph Man) has a new book "On Beauty" out on September 13th, and Salman Rushdie (Fury, Shame, Midnight's Children) has a new book "Shalimar the Clown" out on September 6th. Save your pennies - from what I've read, these two are worth the hardcover versions.

Who Knew That 1 Less Person in a City of 15 Million Would Make a Difference?

Already I miss Bryan. Delhi feels emptier, lonlier, without him here. There is something about knowing that the person you love is even in your city, that makes you feel better. They don't have to be right beside you, but knowing that they are near, a ten, fifteen minute drive away.. makes it easier.

I went with Bryan to the airport last night, to eke out what few minutes I had left with him. He should be almost in Frankfurt now, and then on to the US. It felt like he'd been leaving for such a long time, that we've been preparing for this - and yet nothing could have gotten me ready to have to walk away from him, to turn around and walk out of the airport. It's one of the hardest things I've had to do in a long, long time.

I've travelled with him, laughed with him, been sick with him - he's been my best friend. And still is. Two and a half months and I'll be in Washington.. It seems like such a very long time. I'm sure it will go quickly, as they say - but for now? Now.. Delhi is just empty.

I'm a friggin' genius..

So our internet isn't working at the house, but luckily it's up and running at work - which doesn't make a spit shine of difference if my new computer won't let me post to my blog. (On my breaks. Of course.)

Luckily I remembered you can use that nifty "post via e-mail" deal - so here I am! It's not going to be pretty, but it will do until I'm connected at home. Sorry for the delay in figuring that out - my synapses just haven't been firing post haste this week. So much so, that I actually have my hair braided today. Braided. Right.

I see Bryan off to the airport today.. Definately not exactly a red letter day. 29 days left in India without my best friend. Great. Who exactly is going to tease me about my dirty feet and my aversion to cooked vegetables and point out my saggy butt jeans? Hunny.. I can't wait to see you in Washington. I'll keep my feet extra dirty just for you.