Desicritics Author: Kush Tandon

Little Gypsy Girl

Kush Tandon — Thu, 15 Jun 2006 08:14:24 EDT

It was around 6:30-7:00 PM, near the railway station in Roorkee (India). I spotted this little gypsy girl in a crowded street. She was standing outside her tent. When I took her picture, she smiled at me. I guess she had sensed the attention she got. We did not talk.

Me, Me, Me (55 Word Fiction)

Kush Tandon — Sun, 30 Apr 2006 12:24:29 EDT

At Bhatia ka dhaba outside IIT Roorkee, 6 AM January.

Hari: "Hey Dablo, double bun omelet. Satish, you're GRE?"
Satish: "750, 790, 790"
Hari: "Man, Harvard and Kaavya. Isn't she your gotra?"

Dablo is quietly wiping my table clean.
Me: "Do you even go to school?"
Dablo smiles: "Kismet"
Bhatia: "Hey Dablo, Jaldi. Hazaar customers."

Inspiration: The Mercy Edition @ Sepia Mutiny

55 Word Nano Fiction - Ms. Rita's Starbucks in Ratanpur

Kush Tandon — Sun, 26 Mar 2006 06:21:56 EST

Ms. Rita's Starbucks in Ratanpur

Ms. Rita, a fair and lovely coed from Cornell, originally from Ratanpur meets our Dablo at a dhaba. Dablo, a 10 year old waiter is a hopeless flirt.

Rita: Low-fat frappuccino, please. Grande.
Dablo: Madame, no frappuccino. Mother dairy chai, here.
Rita: Whatever.
Dablo: Apun ka chai, Amitabh Bachchan loves. Are you Miss India? Very pretty.

Inspiration: Sepia Mutiny

***********************************************************

Who is Ms. Rita Chandraswamy?

More about Ms. Rita. Ms. Rita is a 100% fictional character in my writings. She is a young pretty Indian-American who was born in Ratanpur, India (a small village in North India) and spent her first 5 years there. Her parents immigrated to US both as medical doctors. Her father is Tamil (South Indian) and her mother is Punjabi (North Indian). Her extended family still lives in Delhi and she visits India very often. Through her, I sometimes highlight cultural contrasts between India and America, and the tight-rope walk for Asian-Americans for emotional cues. Currently (Spring 2006), she is around 20 years old and is a junior at Cornell University.

Her past adventure.

She is more relaxed than Jhumpa Lahiri. Then she has been center of attention always and therefore, she flaunts her Indian looks in America as an unique value added to her stock. Sometimes, she does act totally confused, funny, and retarded too. Who doesn't? Also, she is quite fluent in English, Spanish, German, Hindi, Punjabi, and Tamil. She does love Bollywood.

I will continue to write about her adventures and misadventures. I may even draw her - After all she is my creation.

Eyes Wide Shut

Kush Tandon — Thu, 2 Mar 2006 02:54:36 EST

Prologue: Yesterday was March 1st, Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent. Mardi Gras epitomizes the spirit of South Louisiana and New Orleans to the core - Throw me something, Mister. I got an email from an old friend of mine who used to live in New Orleans and went back last week for Mardi Gras. He said, "I am really glad we went". Immediately, after Hurricane Katrina, I had written the following piece for Asian Writing Club. Here is my original write-up:

On a starry night in 1997, I was walking with two female friends (Martine and Pam) down the French Quarter in New Orleans, and a young smiling African-American came to me and said, "If you go 20 steps in this direction, there is House of Blues, and if you go in this direction...." Rightfully so, he expected a tip, but I was a poor graduate student then, and I had no money in my pocket. He got flustered that I did not even tip him a dollar. A few minutes later, he saw me and the friends I was with, and he shouted in jest, "Ladies, dump this Chinese guy, he is no good." I am not Chinese but Indian in ethnicity. We all laughed.

I do not know whether he survived the grinding poverty of New Orleans and Hurricane Katrina. We remember him fondly even today and my friend Martine reminds me of the incident quite often, but was he just a comic or a real human being to us?

Another starry night in 1993. I sat on the floor at the feet of some of the greatest Jazz musicians at the Preservation Hall in the French Quarter. Between playing jazz, they would talk to all of us in thick N'Awlins accent seasoned with age that I barely understood. Sitting at somebody's feet in Asian culture is a mark of respect.

However, no matter the respect I showed or laughed with the African-Americans I met in New Orleans for a brief moment - I failed, I failed miserably. When I walked past a project in New Orleans countless times, I never stopped and thought about how they were dancing with death, mired in poverty, violence, and dreams laid waste. Amongst all this, there is also a little, happy kid running with his pet dog who wants to be an astronaut.

After Hurricane Katrina, I better learn to keep my eyes and heart open. This time, I have seen their pain.

Epilogue: Maybe, people in Kashmir affected by the earthquake or hit by the Boxing Day tsunami could find some kinship with N'Awlins. Let me present 55 Flash Fiction I wrote for Sepia Mutiny in November.

In French Quarter, Saint Louis Hotel Bar, New Orleans.
"Hey, that woman is really striking, Martine."
"She is a man, Kush."
"How do you know?"
"Adams Apple. Only a man looks as pretty as Pretty Woman. You better keep that in mind; otherwise, it is going to be Crying Game."
"Only in N'Awlins. Ms. Martine."

and end with a quote from Rick Bragg of the Washington Post.

"But I have seen these people dance, laughing, to the edge of a grave.
I believe that, now, they will dance back from it."

I am a Middle-Class Indian and I Can't Help Freaking Out!

Kush Tandon — Tue, 28 Feb 2006 03:21:15 EST

Sometime ago, I had written some flash fiction for Sepia Mutiny. These are 55 word-flash fiction - a small story that carries its essence in exactly 55 words.

I am bundling three of them together as a collection of 55s under the title "I am a middle-class Indian and my obsession is - I just can't help freaking out". Enjoy. Help.

Number 1 55 Flash Fiction: First, can we stop loving India ever?
Amsterdam to Delhi flight, 2001
Gurdeep: "Can I please sit next to you? Those bhai sahibs over there would not let me drink."
Me: "Where from? How often to India?"
Gurdeep: "A Canadian through political asylum. Every six months."
Me: "Shouldn't you shun India?"
Gurdeep: "Were no jobs in Punjab. Had to."
We both laughed.

Number 2 55 Flash Fiction: But only in English.
Overheard at Delhi National Airport, while waiting for a flight.
Mrs. Mehta, a top executive at McKinsey telling her daughter over the mobile phone, "Now Pinky darling listen, tell Ayah Ma (nanny), if she speaks in her Hindi again to you, we will deduct 10 rupees each time from her salary. Our house, always English."

Number 3 55 Flash Fiction: So long as I go to my own restroom (toilet) rather than one in Chandni Chowk.
June in Delhi. Sweltering heat in Chandni Chowk.
"Bhai Saheb, is there a public lavatory nearby?"
"This way, Sir. Twenty steps next to the paan shop."
"Shukriya ji."
Half running, half walking. What the hell is this? Why didn't I think when I left home?
"Scooter Rickshaw, Janpath Road, please."
"No meter. 200 Rupees."
"Yes."

Do you guys see the big picture? Nobody Home.

Earthquake Building Code For South Asia

Kush Tandon — Mon, 6 Feb 2006 01:10:27 EST

From The Telegraph of India:

Quake code

New Delhi, Feb. 3 (PTI): The Centre today informed the Supreme Court that it is planning to implement a national building code to ensure safety of structures from earthquakes in urban areas. [Link]

Let's keep our fingers crossed. Keep an eye on those corrupt contractors and enforcement officials. Neglect of this code puts every kid of South Asia in peril. Keep the pressure on. Link the Telegraph article wherever you can. If you live in Pakistan and Nepal, ask your government to enforce building codes for earthquake risk.

Millions of South Asians (in India, Nepal, and Pakistan) live under the constant threat of a Himalayan blunder - another major earthquake. The Himalayas have not released the pent-up strain and major earthquakes are overdue.

Act now !!! Inquire whether your child's school in northern South Asia (The Himalayas and Himalayan foothills - for example, Lahore, Delhi, Kathmandu, Lucknow) has been retrofitted for earthquake risk. At least blogging should be worth something - make noise. Rules without enforcement mean little. Afghanis, Bangladeshis, Indians, Pakistanis, Nepalis - everyone.

Schools are an excellent place to start.

Cross-posted at my blog, Being Creative, Ek Dhum

Pirates of the Middle East - The Curse Of The Black Gold

Kush Tandon — Sun, 5 Feb 2006 01:24:54 EST

From Pirates of the Caribbean, The Curse of the Black Gold

Jack Sparrow: Worry about your own fortunes gentlemen. The deepest circle of hell is reserved for betrayers and mutineers.
[pirate grabs Jack's throat to reveal a skeleton arm]
Jack Sparrow: So, there is a curse? That's interesting.
Koehler: You know nothing of hell.
Jack Sparrow: That's VERY interesting

The deepest circle of hell is reserved for betrayers and mutineers. - that is the politics of oil and natural gas.

Fact 1: But do we know the hell of oil intrigue. President Bush promises US to wean-off of Middle East by 2025. Let's see what Factcheck.org has to say:

The President voiced a "goal" of replacing more than three-quarters "of our oil imports from the Middle East" by the year 2025. He did not mention that the US has grown more dependent on imported oil and petroleum products since he took office.
According to most recent figures from the Energy Information Administration, the US imported 60 percent of its oil and petroleum products during the first 11 months of last year, up from just under 53 percent in President Clinton's last year in office. Last year, of all the oil and petroleum products consumed in the US, 11.2 percent came from Persian Gulf countries, according to the EIA. That is actually down somewhat from Clinton's last year, when the Persian Gulf countries supplied 12.6 percent.
Whether imports from the Middle East can ever be "a thing of the past" is open to question. It is true that the US currently imports nearly as much oil from nearby Canada (2.1 million barrels per day last year) as it does from all Persian Gulf countries combined (2.3 million barrels per day), but that's still a lot of oil to do without.

Fact 2: On the other hand, it seems Middle East's role in energy equation will become more significant with time. Using EIA, Department of Energy analysis:

It is generally agreed that the location of proven world crude oil reserves is far more concentrated in OPEC countries than current world oil production. Note that estimates of reserves vary; EIA does not assess oil reserves, but does list several independent estimates here. According to one independent estimate (Oil and Gas Journal), of the world's 1.28 trillion barrels of proven reserves, 885 billion barrels (69 percent) are held by OPEC, as of January 2005. The non-OPEC reserves include Canadian non-conventional reserves. Not including Canada, according to this estimate the world's proven oil reserves are about 1.1 trillion barrels, of which OPEC holds 84 percent. In the future, the inclusion of non-conventional oil reserves for other countries may also significantly impact OPEC member Venezuela, as well as non-OPEC countries such as Australia. Non-conventional reserves are generally more expensive to produce than conventional crude oil reserves and may require special facilities and technologies. Because non-OPEC countries' smaller reserves are being depleted more rapidly than OPEC reserves, their overall reserves-to-production ratio -- an indicator of how long proven reserves would last at current production rates -- is much lower (about 26 years for non-OPEC and 83 years for OPEC, based on 2004 crude oil production rates). This implies increased OPEC production as a proportion of world production over the long term.
Oh!, Iran.

Fact 3: In the mix, India and China are the new players in the game of energy cloak and dagger with some added complication. From IHT article, you get the picture:

According to Worldwatch Institute, a research group based in Washington, if every Chinese and Indian consumer in 2030 were to use the resources that each Japanese consumer uses today, the two countries would need the entire planet for themselves. Since 1990, carbon emissions by India have risen 88 percent and by China 67 percent, compared with a 19 percent rise in the United States. China has 16 of the world's 20 most polluted cities. Time for sustainable development?

Getting along: In the end, China and India need each another, despite their rivalries. This month they signed on to a joint approach to securing energy supplies, which could create a hefty rival to U.S. energy diplomacy. A road link could be next.

So, there is a curse? That's interesting.

India and China - traditional rivals or friends or betrayers. Should they even listen to USA on energy issues?

My Question to you is:

Are American politicians being candid enough?

Also, do Indian and Chinese leaders have a long-term picture in mind or are just running around with a shot-gun approach.

Or as Jack Sparrow would say, That's VERY interesting.

Cross-posted at my blog, Being Creative, Ek Dhum

Ms. Rita Goes To India - A Short Vignette

Kush Tandon — Sat, 28 Jan 2006 10:11:11 EST

Ms. Rita Chandraswamy is a junior at Cornell as a pre-med major.

She is an Indian-American and is right now at her ancestor's home in Delhi, India for Christmas break. She is a pretty, petite girl but sometimes whines more than the situation demands - deep down she is quite empathic and a sweetheart.

Also, she has a love-hate relationship with India that gets more pronounced every two years when she visits India to be with her extended family and grandparents. She is a little freaked out right now. She is culture-shocked, jet-lagged, and misses her WASP (White Anglo-Saxon Protestant) boyfriend Harry.

Harry is a jock, a Physical Ed major at Ithaca College. They say he is quite a sensitive guy and promises to accompany her to India next time. Deep down, there is also a lingering doubt that they may break-up and the separation due to the India trip might act as a catalyst - this is adding to her anxiety of being in India. Nevertheless, this is has not damped her shopping spree in different malls in Delhi and passion for buying different sarees. A brief conversation between her and her grandmother (दादि मा):

Delhi, December 31, 2005 , 8:00 PM

दादि मा: बैठि, य खा लो । (Grandmother: Daughter, Eat this.)

Rita: Man, India is too hot, the food is too hot, too dirty. Do I have to wash my hair everyday? Next time, I come here, you better have a western-style toilet seat. Harry will freak out. Tonight, I am going to Hotel Siddhartha for New Year's party so I need to get ready. Granny, later. Dadi Ma, don't worry.

दादि मा: हा, अब खा लो । (Grandmother: Yes, Now please eat this.)

Still, the real cause for anxiety is not heat, spice, toilet - it is that damn Harry. What is he doing on New Year's Eve?

Cross-posted @ my blog, Being Creative, Ek Dhum

"Will I Become Fairer Like Her, If I Go To Amrika?" - Discovering India

Kush Tandon — Sat, 28 Jan 2006 00:08:33 EST

There are scooter-rickshaws ("took-took"), rocketing through the streets. It is October 2004; I am in Hyderabad for a scientific conference for a week. I am in my home country, India that I try to visit every year from the United States. There are hundreds of scientists for the conference from far and wide, many of whom have never been immersed in anything this overwhelming - India. You encounter beauty within the utter chaos, get lost in the multitude of crowds shoulder to shoulder, and be covered by the dust, sweat and smells by noon. Being on the road is an act of faith. One minute, there is total serenity and joy, colorful intoxicating spices, and the next - utter helplessness, and deep shock. You end up passionately loving and hating India, both at the same time.

The first day during the breakfast at Hotel Baseera, Hugh, a New Zealander notices, "Even the ones who are struggling quite hard in life here don't seem angry. Their eyes are sparkling." Many years ago, a friend of mine in graduate school had a similar observation of Cambodia and Vietnam.

I think I am a deft negotiator with scooter-rickshaw drivers. I am also a willing guide for any attendee at one in the morning.

The fifth day into the meeting, a Canadian named Michel and I decide to visit Charminar that afternoon. The Charminar, built more than 400 years ago by Quli Qutub Shah, is an arch with four minarets. You immediately realize this is the heartbeat of the old city. Surrounding the Charminar is a bazaar; in all four directions thousands of people are selling and buying. Some are selling fake Prada bags, saris, bangles, incenses, spices, nuts, and stalls filled with fresh orange, yellow, green fruits and vegetables. Bollywood songs are blaring out of from loud speakers, from radios, and from TV shops. Layers of merchants, permanent shops, mobile-stalls, and hawkers in the middle of the road are everywhere.

On the corner of one of the minarets of Charminar, sits a small Hindu shrine with fresh flowers as offerings, temporarily built. I do not know the history of this temple. However, it is next to a symbol of Islamic cultural glory. Somehow, all seems harmoniously blended. Close by is Mecca Masjid, one of the largest mosques in the world. As we get off the scooter-rickshaw, a small girl approaches us to sell a religious text from Islam.

"Do you want to buy this book?" She is about 8-9 years old, bright eyed, pretty, a thin girl wearing a clean, whitish salwar-kameez. I smile back, and say "No." She steps forward, looks straight into my eyes and retorts, "Why not?" I laugh, "Ok, I do not want the book but take this 10 Rupees." She smiles back and runs away. Michel does not know Hindi. Michel has a daughter of around the same age and understands. We didn't ask her name. Do you inquire somebody's name when they eagerly want to sell something to you on the street? Michel has to pay 100 Rupees, and me, only 5 Rupees to get up the Charminar. We are escorted and bypass the huge line to go up the minaret. Michel is embarrassed. "We could have honored the line. In North America, people already in line would get really upset."

I briefly notice the girl once again, happily eating an ice cream with some friends. When Michel and I are ready to leave an hour later on a scooter-rickshaw, she shows up out of nowhere with another young girl. "My friend would like to have an ice cream too." I give her friend a few rupees but I pretend that I am not pleased with her second request. As she disappears, I try to lecture her, "Are you doing your homework regularly?" Meanwhile, I am also making sure that the scooter-rickshaw wallah knows where we are going next. Even if they have no clue, they never say to no to business.

On the last day late in the afternoon, I am again at the Charminar this time with Steven and Marta. Steven is from Germany and Marta from Hungary. We have been there for a while; we are now up on the Charminar. The girl and I run into each other, she is wearing a different colored salwar-kameez. She has the look, "You again." Marta and Steven are amused too, "How does he know this little girl and why are they talking as if they have known each other?" Very soon, she is figuring out that whatever she tells me in Hindi, I translate back to Marta and Steven in English. It is quite amusing to all of us, herself included. She keeps walking with us, asking questions, offering her insights now and then. Steven and Marta are young visitors to India, eager to soak up any experience.

"Is she a Hindu?" she asks, pointing to the bindi on Marta's forehead. I turn to Marta, "Are you a Hindu?" She laughs, "No." I pass it on in to her, "No, she is not." Stepping down the minaret staircases, I turn back to Marta, "She is enamored by you."

"No, she is enamored by the way you are talking."

The girl is curious about Marta - her sunglasses, attire, and demeanor. Marta is a pretty lady too. She is not paying any special attention to Steven. For the next 30 minutes, she is with us. We walk past another temple. Steven: "Who is this Goddess?" Marta: "Saraswati" and me: "No, Lakshmi." This week is Durga puja and Dassera, and the temples are full with women in silken saris and jewelry.

Dozens of hawkers approach us. Some teenage boys are with us too for a brief moment. "Which country is the lady from?", a teenager inquires looking at Marta. "Hungary, Now be gone." They all have now disappeared.

"Will I become fairer like her, if I go to Amrika (Hindi or Urdu for America)?", the little girl inquires. I just smile and tell Marta about her query.

"Look at the all the colors and smells. A temple with all the offerings," said Marta pointing to all the mobile-stalls and the shrine within the Charminar. Steven is curious about the gold embroidered Islamic calligraphy on black silk being sold. It is the month of Ramadan, the sunset is round the corner, and the girl has sensed that we are about to leave soon. I have a flight to New Delhi quite soon in the evening. She pulls my T-shirt and, "You know the daily roza is going to be over soon, could you please let me buy some sweets?" The aroma of barfi is all over the bazaar. Also, there is the sound of frying jalebi from the halwai shops and stalls.

She is neither pleading nor begging.

Would it have mattered to her had she known that I am a Hindu (even not an observant one)? No. As we are stepping into a scooter-rickshaw, I give her a few rupees, "Do you even go to a school? You know you should be at home, studying right now." She smiles back, "I go to a Madarssa and I have already completed my homework for today." Marta steps forward and gives her few rupees and says, "I am from Hungary." Steven does the same too, "I am from Germany." We had never told her where we are from. We forget to ask her name even now.

She is going to buy her ice cream as the roza ends.

Cross-posted on kushtandon.squarespace.com