Whither Feminism? or Wither Feminism?

The Indian cricket team lost a game to Bangladesh. Then it went on to lose a game to Sri Lanka. In between they won a game against another team from another country - Bermuda? Bahamas? Barbados? So the Indian cricket team did not earn the right to participate in the next round of the cricket world cup -a “World Cup” consisting of teams from a dozen (or is it two?) or so countries where cricket is played at all. (A football world cup is a real World Cup since football is played in practically every country!)

Not a tragedy. I minor piece of news. But one newspaper called the first loss, “Disaster Strikes India”. Oh, get real!

Then there were protests or incidents across India. Protests against what? Whom? That was a bit of a tragedy. It only shows the immaturity of some people, apparently jobless or at least senseless – hopefully temporary. What is worse is that some newspapers and some TV channels made it the “main course” in what they dished out whereas what they “dished out” hardly deserved to be even hors d'oeuvre.

One of the newspapers showed a picture of some women (girls?) protesters from (Lucknow or was it Kanpur, really does not matter confirmed later to be Patna) ‘heaping insults’ on an extremely talented and apparently committed Indian cricketer Sachin Tendulkar, definitely past his youth and perhaps prime too. The form of protest? A poster of his, blackened in places and the girls are (posing for the benefit of the press photographers, obviously) making the Sachin in that poster wear bangles – a classic, abominable Indian method of insulting a man.

That is a tragedy.

Does it mean that those who wear bangles – women – are … what? Useless? Incapable? Weak? Unskilled? Unable to win? Or what? Why do these women have such a negative opinion of themselves?

Where is Feminism in India going? Whither Feminism? Or is it Feminism withered?

Self respecting women should protest against those women and also against the paper that published it, I think.

Shortcuts

Listen to any cricket talk and you hear the same phrases again and again. Whether it is the commentator or the winning captain or the man of the match.

It feels good to be “among the runs”. The pitch was “doing a bit”. “The boys”, it is always the boys. We needed “a partnership”. We have to “stick to the basics”. Go out and play my (his) natural game. I “concentrate on line and length”. The ball was “coming on to the bat” nicely. He was going through “a bad patch”. All he needs is one good innings. No footwork. Head not steady.

The list is quite long.

This gives me an idea. The ICC should publish a numbered list of such phrases. The post match interviewer would then ask his questions in numbers. The interviewee would reply in numbers too.

The players, tired after a hard struggle, would surely welcome this shortcut.

The newspapers will translate these numbers into words since you can’t expect all of us to have a copy of the ICC handbook.

We can even envisage a day when the newspapers will claim that so-and-so said such-and-such and that so-and-so will claim that he was misquoted or quoted out of context. He actually said fifteen and the journalist mistook it to be fifty. Or that a particularly inefficient journalist was in fact referring to an earlier edition of the handbook where as the interviewee was referring to the later edition.

Howzzat?

Not Quite Cricket

The cricket world cup is on and things connected with it look more and more bizarre. The cricket itself is normal but what happens off it is surreal. Yes, “Minnows” Bangladesh and Ireland defeating India and Pakistan is normal. Remember? “The glorious uncertainties of the game?”

India loses to Bangladesh and the effigies of the players are burnt and their houses attacked, even if it is ‘under construction’ like Dhoni’s.

Shift the scene. Anand wins a tournament and will be rated number one when the world standings are announced on the first of April. “Anand who?” did I hear?

If you heard that too, you have proved my point.

Can we find a reason or reasons or the public frenzy about India’s loss to Bangladesh and the violence that followed it? Part of the blame, perhaps the greater part of the blame goes to the media - both print and electronic. “Disaster strikes India”, proclaims one headline. Oh! Really?

The interminable and innumerable panel discussions on TV keep repeating themselves with inanities like “We are sports crazy nation”. Is that so? How many world champions have you produced? One. Exactly. And he answers to the name of Vishwanathan Anand. If he goes shopping in Bangalore, perhaps he will not be recognised. (Madras, ayyo, I mean Chennai, may be a different story. Being a ‘local’ international hero he is sure to be mobbed.)

The other point is about the word crazy. If we are, indeed, “crazy” about sports we should at least tone it down and not repeat it endlessly and reinforce it. Shouldn’t we?

There was this advertisement for matrimonial agency on the TV. It starts with Sports = Cricket. Do you agree? Hope not. But that is how ‘India’ acts. When I jog in the morning, I do not know the results of the previous night’s cricket match in which India had featured. I start my jog before the day’s newspapers are delivered. But I get the news as I jog because all the other walkers, joggers and the park bench occupants are talking of this. Age and sex no bar. The last time around I heard an old lady tell her fellow walker, “We should not have played thaaat badly”. I knew that “India had lost”. I mean the Indian cricket team had lost!

(I appreciate the old lady’s commitment to her morning walk though. She had apparently watched the match late into the night and had the conviction or will, not to miss her daily walk. Great!)

Now the latest thing on one channel is a tarot card reader! The Media is now strengthening pure superstition apart from whipping up frenzy about cricket. The tarot card reader is a master (or mistress) of obfuscation. She proclaimed earlier on that India might have a difficult day against Bangladesh. She of course did not say how difficult. Difficult enough to lose? She would not commit herself, would she? And the gullible (and incidentally pretty) hostess tells the tarot card reader that she was in fact right! Gimme a break!

Now you can understand the frenzy. Passion without reason.

Now before the match against another ‘minnow’ (who might make mincemeat of the Indian cricket team on the cricket field) the tarot card reader says that it is time for India to stop brooding over the last loss and concentrate on the next match. You do not need tarot cards say that, do you. The tarot card reader seems to know more about cricket than Mandira Bedi.

So my crystal ball says that (;--) ) for the next series Mandira would be dropped and this card reader would be on the panel!

JoGaLoNg

I jog in Lal Bagh – in Bangalore. I live a kilometre away from one of its gates. Perfect distance for a warm up walk and as soon as I enter the gate I start jogging. Perfect.

I run on the trail that goes around park, most of the distance next to the wall, inside the park, that goes around it. I think it is about 3.3 kms. It is a great trail. Within that distance, there are different 'climates'. Some parts are far more humid than the rest. One stretch skirts the lake and is more open. A part of the humid stretch is perfumed with eucalyptus. I feel elated when I enter that stretch. Any serious jogger who jogs for enjoyment must do this at least once.

Even if you are not lucky enough to live close by, you should put in the extra effort to run on this trail. You will not regret it.

Last week, I had been to Mysore and I walked (I walk and jog on alternate days. It was my 'walk day' when I was there. Next time, I will make sure that it is my 'jog day') on the trail around the Kukkarahalli lake. It is a different experience altogether! I recommend this very highly. Even if you live in Bangalore (and enjoy jogging in a 'good' place), Thou shalt not miss this one!

The great thing about this track is that it is almost perfectly flat! The bund runs in a straight line and then you descend a few meters to go on the track that goes around the lake. Waterfowl and many different species of small birds provide you music. If you are the kind who runs with headphones, be kind to yourself and dispense with them just this once. You will not regret it.

Some who know me as a "chronic Mysorean" (almost terminal) may think that they have to take my words, on this matter, with a pinch of salt. This once, you have no need for the pinch of salt.

When I lived in Mysore – (for 40 years or so) – this track was not ‘developed’. Most of the time, I am wary of 'development'. I happily make an exception this time.

Happy joGgIn'!

PS (I added the map of my run courtesy Google Map! My guesses about distances turned out to be pretty good 'guesstimates'. The tail of the mouse is 1.1 km and the body of the mouse is 3.3 km. So, my walk is 5.5 km. My run, during which I repeat a part of the mouse, is 2 km more than that, i.e. 7.5 kms. [Click on the image to get a bigger view])

Please

"Movies" below is my first attempt at fiction - a short story.

So, please do say something good about it.

Bernard Shaw was given some stories to read. The young author asked Shaw for his opinion with, "Should I put more fire into my stories, Mr. Shaw?"

"No, my dear man, vice sersa", said Shaw.

If you are like Shaw, don't tell me that! ;--)

F-1 and Indians

I had a flash of insight!

Now I know why Indians don’t make F-1 drivers.

No Indian can ever drive a car without a horn!

Talking to a Ghost

Hey! You look younger! When did you dye?

Do I look dead to you?

No no! When did you dye your hair?

Ah!

Come Again?

My friend's mother was at the gate of her house with her dog - a Labrador Retriever. A couple of young men passing by enquired: "Is that a "Lab" aunty?"

She said: "No, it is a residence". She thought that the young men were enquiring if the house she was in front of was a pathological laboratory!

So much for short forms.

Astrological Irony

A few months ago, there was a conference of astrologers in a place called H N Kalakshetra. The irony is that H Narasimhaiah, after whom the auditorium is named, fought all his life against superstition, astrology inclusive. He once famously said that even a watch that is not working will show the correct time twice a day. That was his counter argument for the argument that astrological predictions come true - sometimes .

When I saw the banner declaring this incongruous confluence of HN and astrology I had a wish.

How lovely it will be to read the headline in a paper: "Astrologers conference postponed due to unforeseen circumstances". Wow! Lovely

Of Darshini Hanuman and Security Ganapaty

I am an atheist.

Hanuman and Ganapaty are my favourite gods.

Contradiction? None at all. I was born in an Indian Hindu family and that is sufficient to be on such familiar terms with the innumerable gods – and have a few favourites among them. The fact that I was raised as an atheist has no influence on this.

Because of all this, when these or any other gods are treated callously I feel ANGRY.

There is a famous Anjaneya temple in a small village called Muttatti. A colleague wanted to know where the place is. I wondered why he was so interested. The answer was “because he gives whatever you ask for very fast”. That got my goat alright. It sounded like a description of the famous Darshini phenomenon of Bangalore. These are fast food restaurants, called “something-or-the-other Darshini” that serve South Indian fast food. You pay, get a coupon, present it at the serving counter and, Hey Presto!, the food appears in front of you. You stand at a solar plexus high table, eat the stuff and get out.

Ask the Hanuman and he gives it to you very fast. Very nice and convenient. Thank you.

We should not do this to him.

Now, to the Security Guard Ganapaty; There is a superstition that the house at the junction of three roads, at a T – junction, facing the vertical arm of the T directly, is inauspicious. They even go cheap on the market. So, the owner builds a niche in the compound wall and installs an idol of Ganesha there. To assuage his guilt at having reduced Ganesha to that status or whatever, he makes it a well lit, ornate niche too. The lovable God in the form of the idol is too tempting a target for a thief or miscreant. So he gets incarcerated behind a sturdy steel door and padlock. He has to sit there and watch over the house of the man who jailed him. Earlier he was Maha Ganapaty, Shakti Ganapaty, Vidya Ganapaty but poor lovable Ganapaty is now Guard Ganapaty. Alas.

We should not do this to him.

When I told these thoughts to some friends, they tell me that there is even a Visa Venkateswara too! God forbid! (Fat chance of course). In the age of super specialities even gods have gone super special. This lord of the seven hills residing in some temple specialises in getting you the much coveted and hard to come by US visa. They tell me that another colleague applied for a visa, did not get in the first attempt, prayed to this Visa Venkateswara (and offered him some incentive, I guess) and promptly got the visa.

We should not do this to him.

We Hindus treat our gods very callously ourselves but let anyone else do or say anything that is remotely disrespectful to them, we are up in arms. Not we really but the self appointed guardians of Hinduism - against all comers.

So much so that the mighty Ganga with the power to wash away the sins of all sinning mortals is herself subjected to the humiliation of being cleansed because Musharaff visited her banks.

We should not do this to her.

It makes me mighty angry.

I dread to see the day ‘we’ take it upon ourselves to purify the all-consuming Agni (Fire god for the unknowing) for some misdemeanour by sprinkling holy water on him!

This shouldn’t happen to a god*.


* (With due apologies to James Herriot who wrote “This Shouldn’t Happen to a Vet”)

Mr. or Mrs. or Ms. or

What do you do when you have to write a mail and you do not know if the person is a man or a woman? Years ago someone innovative solved the problem by addressing my friend as "Dear Gentle Person". Hmmm... very innovative.

The related problem about the marital status of a lady (female in modern parlance) was solved long ago with Ms. Male chauvinism got a, deserved, beating there.

Companies declare their unbiased employment policy with "An equal opportunity employer M/F/H" - for Male/ Female/Handicapped (Hermaphrodite - a wag once said) - even in their product advertisements.

Now put all this together and how do you address a person whose sex is not known to you?

Dear Hs. Xyzwcu? Hs. standing for Homo Sapien Sapien? Or should it be Hss. ? Sounds more like a specimen of the species Naja Naja.

Or, should it be Hb. Xyzwcu? Hb. Standing for the less academic “human being”?

Not bad!

Dear Hb. Anil Jagalur....

Yes please?

Bismillah Khan

Bismillah Khan

So, an era comes to an end. A cliché but no one can complain, I think, in this case.

So much has been said about him that I wonder if I can say anything at all, let alone something new. I will say two things; one I read and one that I saw.

Someone asked the maestro why he played small tunes and did not even mind if All India Radio used his pieces as “bridge music” – the music played in the few minutes between programmes. The gentle soul said something like “why should I mind? Who am I to complain if my music reaches a few more people this way? If it gives a few moments of peace and happiness to some man why should I deny it?” Sounds unreal. But those who have known him, even through the legends about him, will know that this is true.

About 15 years ago he played in Mysore under the aegis of SPIC-MACAY in an engineering college – SJCE. He stopped in the middle of a glorious rendering of a raga (Maru Behag? I do not remember) and asked the young spellbound audience – what religion is this?

The lec-dem was held in an auditorium that was decorated with wood-inlayed panels of the symbols of many religions of the world. And he told the confused audience "Music has no religion. We make an issue of religion. But music must unite us all. We have to live peacefully – people of all the religions", he said and continued to play the divine music as very few can and on the Shehnai as only he could.

Everyday Excellence

I read an article by Rohit Brijnath about the everyday enormity of what sportsmen do. He describes what a Brett Lee ball can do to one of us non-cricketers if we do the foolhardy act of facing it. He also describes how he once faced Ramesh Krishnan and Paes and before his brain had reacted, let alone his body, the ball had passed him!

Krishnan was so 'slow' that McEnroe claimed that he fell asleep waiting for his serve to reach him.

This reminded me of my high school experience. Mysore, August 1969. The Mysore Tennis Club's inauguration and there was a tournament. We schoolboys gate crashed and were standing behind the service line to watch the matches. There were 'big' names of Indian tennis laying there. We were repeatedly requested by the chair umpire to move away so that the players could have more space. We did not budge. The matches continued.

Then came a stylish (read long haired and wearing short shorts) player, not very tall. We did not know him. He was Shashi Menon. Studying in the US and being coached there. If there were rankings in those days he did not figure in the list, perhaps. His serve was so fast that we saw the throw, the swing of the racket and then only heard the thwack behind us on the bamboo matting! We scampered away for dear life.

What the umpire’s repeated pleas could not do, one serve did. Unforgettable. Confirms what Rohit wrote.

........ Phir Bhi Dil Hai Hindustani

Two famous (great?) Indians. Both live outside India. Both travel a lot. They have been doing it for years. One is an artist and the other a scientist. It would be convenient for both to have 'western' passports. Both retain their Indian passports.

The reason they do so are so different, perhaps, defined by their chosen fields. One feels that his Indian-ness defines him. The other says that it is because he wants to criticise India – in a constructive way. He wants to participate in the debate and feels that if he does not retain his passport he loses his right to do so. The reasons are as different as their fields. To make an artificial distinction, one's decision is from the heart and the other the head.

They are Zubin Mehta and Amartya Sen. (Economics is a science too, even though an inexact one. Of course, with Quantum Theory even the exact science of Physics became inexact, a long time ago.)

Kudos - to both of them! May their tribe increase!

The other side of the coin

There was a news item: The number of new mobile connections in India crosses a million. Did it say a million? Not too sure. Assume that it is a million.

Sometimes our minds go off on tangents.

In this case I wondered what it meant in other terms.

It meant:

A million cardboard boxes (how many trees would that mean?)
A million instruction manuals (in a dozen languages) that would never be read (in even one language)
A million plastic covers that would be thrown away, unfortunately, never to rot
A Million conversations a day more (Not bad by itself but many of them would add more chaos to the already chaotic traffic?)

I must be feeling particularly pessimistic today

Celebrate

Please see my post Bhagat Singh is Dead.

We the people shall celebrate the anniverseries of these momentous events, which occur in 2007. What the governments seem to be ignoring, we shall celebrate in our own way.

Please copy the image above and put it in your own blog, along with this request.

Acknowledgements: My son, Maitreya, took a lot of trouble and made this banner.

Thanks!

One More painting

Here is another painting of mine.

For those who might be interested in the details:

Mysore - Lingambudhi Kere
The Hills in the background are Chamundi Hills
The tree is a rain tree

Superstitions?

When something negative happens, we talk about it. It catches our attention and everyone else’s. We talk about it. When things go right no one talks about it.

This phenomenon makes superstitions grow. If someone makes a wild prediction and it comes true all those who heard it, talk about it. If it does not, no one talks about it.

We form opinions based on such phenomenon. We do not consider many of our own opinions to be superstitions but they often are. Some such ‘superstitions’ are: “all auto drivers are cheats” or “the police are heartless” or “government officials are inefficient and don’t take initiatives”, and many others.

Here are some of my experiences that contradict these superstitions.

Auto drivers:

About twelve years ago, when my sons were still very young, my wife and I took them out in the evening. We came back home in an auto. After the auto was paid off and had left we realised that we had left one of our handbags in the auto. My wife was very upset. The bag did not have anything of great value but a loss always upsets. For whatever it was worth, I went and complained to the police. The officer did not think that there was a need to register a complaint as I admitted that it was my mistake. (As a sidelight, the officer was none other than Shakeel Ahmed, who was later ambushed and killed by the dreaded Veerappan.)

I returned home and told my wife that I felt that the auto driver would come back and return the bag. She asked me how I knew but I refused to reveal it. I was disappointed that that night the auto did not come back. However, early the next morning, the auto came and stopped in front of my house and out came the driver holding our “given up as a lost case” bag. I was so happy! Not because the return of the prodigal bag but of the auto driver who was contrary to the superstition.

His explanation was: He had a couple of more fares after us the previous night. After that he went home and parked the auto. When he was cleaning the auto that morning he found the bag in the back of the passenger seat. He recalled that we were the only ones with children in our arms and deduced that the bag must belong to us and promptly came home to restore it.

When I tried to give him some money, he refused. I had to convince him that I was not paying him for his good deed but just for the cost of the drive from his home to mine and back. Only then did he accept the ‘fare’.

Now, how did I ‘know’ that he would come back? I had observed the previous evening that there was an inscription on the back of the driver’s seat, which declared: “half fare for pregnant women on their way to the hospital for delivery and for very old and feeble people”. It does not take a genius to hope that he would be back, would it?

Once an auto driver did not have change for a hundred when the meter read 55 and he was ready to forego the 5 and gave me a 50! Once a meter showed 67, whereas the normal fare for the same trip was around 55. When I mentioned it to the driver he quickly said, if you do this trip regularly, give me just 55. I will have my meter checked!

The police story:

I once received a notice from the traffic police. My offence? Carrying two on the pillion of my scooter. It was obviously wrong, as I have never ever done that in my life.

So, I went to the police station and found the officer in charge was a sub-inspector (SI). He looked as if he did not know any English. So I spoke to him in chaste Kannada, hoping that I would not put him off by talking to him in English, and told him my side story. He listened carefully and thought for a moment and said, in impeccable English let me add, “I see. I am ready to take your story at its face value. But, once the complaint has been registered and the notice has been sent to you, I am powerless. The only officer allowed to withdraw it is a deputy commissioner (DCP). You could meet him, if you want”.

I was deflated but decided to meet DCP. In fact it would have been easier and cheaper for me to pay the fine and be done with it. Something in me refused. So for the next few days, I went to the DCP’s office in the evenings, after work, but never found him there. He was always busy on his rounds - after working hours.

I decided to go and meet the SI and tell him of my plight. When I did go there, to my luck, the DCP was there. As per police protocol the DCP was sitting in the SI’s chair. I decided to wait patiently. However the DCP saw me and asked the SI who I was and what I was doing there. He apprised the DCP of my story. Then the DCP called me inside, offered me a seat and listened to my story. He too told me that he believed me but wondered if it was right to let me off without any further proof.

Then I revealed my trump card.

What had happened was that on one of my visits to the police station, the SI was away and the constable with whom I made enquiries tried to dismiss me. “What do you mean – ‘I did not do it’? It was I who booked you, look here.” He showed me his notebook. It showed my vehicle number and in brackets ‘Yezdi motorbike’ – triple riding. I had not said anything to him then.

I told the DCP, “If you assure me that you will not take action on anyone I will give you the proof”. With an amused smile he agreed. Then I told him about the constable, his notebook and the entry therein. And then I showed him my Bajaj Super scooter parked in front of the police station. He immediately let me go.

He said, “OK, I will write on the notice that you have been warned and let off”. I protested that since I had not erred it would be unfair. He was very indulgent and said “Alright. You don’t know what I am writing on this. OK? You can go”!

That was the end of the matter and I had had a long interaction with the police and each one of them had behaved in an exemplary fashion.

The Bank Manager:

Recently I had to pay some fees at what is known as the treasury branch of the State Bank of Mysore. As I expected that there would be many people at the bank for this very purpose, I went there an hour earlier than the banking time. Apparently many others had had the same idea and there was already a queue of about ten people. Within fifteen minutes the queue had swelled to more than fifty.

The manager of the bank arrived and saw the crowd. He immediately swung into action and organised three counters to be opened and with some colleagues who had come in early, arranged for the fees to be collected and receipts issued. He manned one of the counters himself. He was not very familiar with this operation but learnt it from one of the juniors and the queue almost disappeared by the time the bank’s official opening time approached.

The Electricity Bill

Due to some errors by me and thorough goof up by the electricity provider, I had to resolve some issues with them concerning my bills. I went to their office at 9:30 in the morning only to learn that it opened only at 10:30. As I was leaving, the manager walked in. Looking at my crestfallen face, asked me what I wanted. I asked him if it was OK to take his time when the office was not even officially open. He told me that he always came to the office as early as possible so that he could help people solve their problems before they went to work!

He proceeded to listen to all I had to tell him, agreed with me that the department had goofed up and asked me to return in a few days, for him to sort out the problems. When I returned after a few days, I found that he had been as good as his word and had left instructions as to how to resolve the issue and my problem was solved without further ado.

A very refreshing experience, to say the least!

What do all these stories mean? Many things to many people, I am sure. One thing it does mean to me is that we need not look at the world with jaundiced eyes. It does not mean that we should look at the world with rose tinted glasses either. Keep your mind and eye open. They work best that way, like a parachute, to borrow a phrase!

Black and Beautiful

My childhood hero, in the sixties, was a medical student from the Mysore Medical College. He was a consummate athlete, strong and handsome. He won every event he competed in, during the annual Dasara sports competitions. Or at least that is what I felt. He played football and perhaps played all positions himself except the goalkeeper’s. He had a dazzling smile and when he flashed it his brilliant white teeth sparkled. He did not play cricket and I did not even like cricket anyway. His name was Olufemi Akande. He was Nigerian. He was black. Very black.

Then as time went on there were other heroes, people who fascinated me and many of them were black.

Patrice Lumumba, for instance. I do not know much about him except that there was an international peace university in his name atop Lenin Hill and that he was assassinated by Moise Tshombe. Childish memories but, but they definitely caught my imagination. Tshombe was a man I loved to hate.

Arthur Ashe, the quintessential gentleman in a gentleman’s game. How can one forget the description that appeared in The Hindu about the match between him and Connors which Ashe won in style. “Ashe played the matador to Connors’ bull to perfection. A cut here a, nick there and he bled him to death.” I heard the running commentary on the radio and was thrilled. Recently, I saw the match on the TV and it was all that and more.

Then there was Sidney Poitier. I devoured his movies. “Guess Who is Coming to Dinner”, “To Sir, With Love”, “The Last Man”, “They call me Mr. Tibbs”…… He is perhaps the handsomest man I have ever seen.

Then there is Nelson Mandela, a most extraordinary man. Einstein’s comment about Gandhi applies, to some degree at least, to this living legend. “Generations to come will scarce believe that such a man as this walked this earth in flesh and blood.”

Before him was, of course, Martin Luther King Jr. So promising a life, cut short by an assassin’s bullets. But in the brief time he was around he effected a change in this world that many are reluctant to accept.

Then there was a model featured on the cover of the magazine Span (published by the USIS). Beverly Johnson. Undoubtedly one of the most beautiful faces I have ever seen.

There were others too, Paul Robeson the singer, Washington Carver the botanist, Booker T Washington the educator, Muhammed Ali (“floats like a butterfly but stings like a bee” and “I ain’t got nothing against the Vietcong” and more importantly a conscientious abstainer from the Vietnam war), Wilt Chamberlain (called Wilt the stilt!), Pele, Viv Richards (and practically the whole WI cricket team) Karim Abdul-Jabbar, Angela Davis. Duke Ellington, Ella Fitzgerald,

And in more recent times Jordan, Magic Johnson, Eddy Murphy, Florence Fishbourn (Morpheus of Matrix), Naomi Campbell, Denzel Washington….

I have always wondered if I was fascinated by all these people because they were black or in spite of their blackness? Suffice to say that it added some colour to it? I do believe that all these people have achieved something and quite often something great and have shown great character. Their achievements are inspiring. They have done what they have done overcoming what could have been a drawback – their colour.

I have always been impressed by the fact that the greatest of Indian epic heroes turned Gods, Rama and Krishna were dark skinned. (Alas! Calendar artists have painted them blue! Quite often a very sick blue!) So, Indian aesthetics, apparently, found black beautiful. These two were not great and handsome ‘in spite of being dark’, they were handsome because they were black.

One of my favourite movie sequences is from the movie “Gods must be crazy”. The protagonist, an African tribesman, comes across a Caucasian woman for the first time in his life. He stares her with such great pity. (Consummate acting) He wonders, “Why have the Gods been so unkind to her? Hair like cobwebs (a platinum blonde, straight hair) and skin so devoid of colour!”

Almost all of the people in the above list look good to me, even those who were not in the looks business.

And then there was Fair and Lovely. And now there is Fair and Handsome. I just do not understand it.

In a lighter vein (not by colour of course), whatever happened to the dark and handsome heroes concept popularised by Mills and Boone and their ilk anyway?

What has colour got to do with good looks? Beats me.

Look at the picture and decide.

A stray incident I once witnessed: An ‘black’ African came to a petrol bunk in Mysore and asked for some petrol, in Kannada. As the customer left, the petrol bunk assistant said to another “Did you see? The blackie speaks Kannada!” (“nODdyEnlaa? kariya kannaDdall_maataadtavne?”). The interesting thing was that the petrol bunk assistant was darker than the ‘blackie’!

Why did I write all this? Because, this is one of my pet peeves. I have seen dark and good looking and good people having a complex about their colour. I have seen them waste money and time trying to acquire a lighter skin and looking, somehow, a little silly in the bargain. If they had put in the same effort in developing their character, they would have been better people, happier and as a consequence, even looked good, I am sure.

Look at the name of my blog. Safet(y)valve. I had to get this out of my system.

Football Envy

I read an article 'Football Envy at the UN' by Kofi Annan, in The Hindu, originally published in The Guardian.

Touching, to say the least.

Here is a man who is in such close proximity to the world's problems. He knows how difficult it is to mobilise, organise and motivate people to solve them, get the required funds, draw the attention of all those who can make a difference....

.......and he sees that Football achieves all that - apparently without effort! Alas only for football.