Of Racism and Racists

A series of ugly, racially motivated (the Australian government prefers to call it opportunistic) attacks directed against Indians in Australia has generated widespread anger and outrage all over the world. The stabbing of a student, Sravan Kumar Theerthala has focused attention on the racism rampant in Australia. Thousands of students have raised their voices in strident protest in the hope that the government will take a stand against the wave of hate crimes that are rocking the nation.
Humanity has been confronted with the spectre of racism yet again and as in the past there seems to be very little anyone can do. This monster like the mythical Hydra is impossible to destroy and every time a head is chopped off, it is replaced by an uglier one. And unfortunately, there is a serious dearth of Hercules – type heroes in the world we occupy.
I am outraged by what happened to Sravan but the media frenzy in India over this affair has provided some food for thought. Journos have been so busy crucifying the Aussies they have all but forgotten the high priests of hatred and intolerance who infest our country like a virus. Suddenly, Indians have adopted a sickening holier – than – thou attitude conveniently forgetting the fact that Indians are abused in India as well. Today’s paper reported how three Dalits were hacked to death in Tirunelveli District. There are thousand incidents like this which are reported on a daily basis in India. How can we whine about Racism when we are racists ourselves? For shame!
In all fairness Indians are not alone in their collective hypocrisy. Sure, the Blacks have been persecuted over the ages on account of their skin color, but I doubt they are nicer in their attitude and treatment of the the Jews or Chinese. Similarly, the descendants of the Holocaust victims do terrific Nazi impersonations when it comes to their own ‘interactions’ with Palestinians. Don’t even get me started on the racist activities of the Russians, Chinese, Americans, French, British, etc. etc. etc.
Isn’t it a dismal state of affairs? Like a particularly insidious canker, racism has spread all over the world. The rot has set in and there is not much we can do short of giving ourselves a complete mental transplant. Until then, all we can do is wait for Hercules. And if the hope of the world rests with that muscle – bound moron, then God save us all.

Impending Nuptials: Archie and Veronica???

I love Archie comics. They are silly, mushy, and lots of fun even if they make you cringe occasionally. The good ol gang are practically a part of my life. Which is why I nearly had a myocardial infarction (Ok, I'll admit it pollysyllabic pyrotechnics can be annoying as hell, so lets call it a heart attack) when I read that issue # 600 will feature Archie's big proposal to snobbish Veronica. Can you imagine the nerve of those editors! After stringing you along for seven decades and making you believe that this triangle is eternal, they bust it up.

What kind of storyline can we expect after this colossal catastrophe? Perhaps Betty will start chasing Moose and form an unlikely triangle with him and the flirty Midge. Jughead and Reggie may go after the jilted blonde and try to entice her with burger breath and hot air respectively. Or we can expect the comic to take a dark turn a la Harry Potter with Archie having an adulterous affair with Betty. Eternal youth and innocence be damned, didn't Peter Pan grow up? Heaven forbid! What if this is the end of the road for Archie and the gang particularly since the imbecile editors have decided to sacrifice the main hold - your - breath twist?

Perhaps like Betty, we can only hope that it is a publicity - stunt gone hopelessly awry. I remember that Scott Adams once attempted to increase readership by bumping off corporate bumpkin Dilbert. He claimed it was an ineffective ploy and like him one can only hope that the head honchos at Archie comics Inc. (or whatever) come to their senses quickly. But the most likely scenario may be that i am overeacting (It is known to happen, ask my husband). After all the title says "Archie marries Veronica, Part 1: The Proposal". In retrospect, I don't think that sounds very conclusive. In the meantime let us keep our fingers crossed for our fave love triangle and also - rans the world over.

Just Play the Game

I watched Game 1 of the Western Conference Finals between the Lakers and Nuggets the other day. Actually I watched the last 4 minutes as it is common knowledge that the fourth quarter or to be more specific the last two minutes of the fourth quarter is the only part worth watching. It was a close game with Kobe Bryant getting really hot to help his team rally and take a 105 - 103 win. It should have been an adrenaline - packed viewing experience but as the last 4 minutes dragged on towards eternity (it felt like that to me, although it was closer to a half hour) I found myself headed for snooze city.

How is it that one of the most high - octane games on the planet has been reduced to this pitiable state? It is supposed to be the NBA where "the amazing happens", but the only amazing thing about it nowadays is the number of timeouts that can be squeezed into the final two - minutes. Sometimes they have as many as nine timeouts in less than six minutes which is more than the points that are likely to be scored in the same duration!

I hate timeouts for many reasons. The obvious reason is that it is such a buzz kill! There you are sitting at the edge of your seat wondering if LeBron is going to pick up where MJ left off and consolidate his position on the NBA equivalent of Mount Olympus when you find yourself watching some odious anti - dandruff shampoo commercial or worse , a close - up of some beady - eyed, puffed - up - with - self - importance coach.

Second it is such a cop - out. Players call timeouts when they are in a tight situation and rather than rise to the task (as MJ would certainly have done) they chicken out and go running to coachie (wonder what Freud would have said about the coach complex). Similarly coaches ask for time when the other team is in the process of soundly thrashing their boys' backsides. Personally I think it is a classic
example of how terrible sportsmanship and crass commercialism can ruin a fine sport beyond redemption.

Other sports suffer from similar deficits particularly cricket but Basketball is the worst. Thankfully the F1 drivers have not started abandoning their cars in the middle of the race to go huddle with their mechanics and Tennis stalwart, Roger Federer flies solo having passed up the chance to have someone hold his hand when Nadal is in the mood to savage him. Anyways to get back to the topic at hand, I have a suggestion for the NBA - Do the sport a favor, just play the game and ban the timeout. Coaches can plan strategy during practice sessions and as for the mandatory commercials which I understand are the lifeblood of every sport, air them at halftime and when the NBA bad boys get vicious, as is their wont drawing fouls by the dozen. This way the fans can have fun watching the final two minutes on TV instead of reading about it on MSN which as the situation now stands is the prefered choice for many. Are you reading this Mr. David Stern or is that a stupid question? :)

Formula 1 : Rise of the Machines

India is suffering from IPL fever. I am also running a slight temperature. Have been following the fortunes of the Chennai Super Kings despite the superhuman effort needed to wrest the remote from hubby who has nothing but disdain for India’s new religion. My warning that he will be burnt at the stake as a heretic have fallen on deaf ears. But even as I watch the men in yellow slug it out on foreign shores, I find my thoughts wandering to F1, that Mt. Everest of auto racing.

The sport is practically unrecognizable with the new rules that have been implemented. Unlike the autosexuals who constitute F1’s rabid fan following, for me auto racing is all about the drivers. Those fellas race at speeds of up to 360 km/h! I feel like the car is spinning wildly out of control when I am doing a feeble 20. Dad once said I have three speed levels – slow, slower, slowest (Sigh, the truth hurts). And as for the gears, and clutch, and the other complicated gizmos, they represent differential calculus, algebra, geometry, men, and the million other things I find incomprehensible. So for someone who has taken the the term “lousy driver”, to new depths these guys are Gods.

The current season however has witnessed the fall of the Gods as the drivers have diminished in stature even as the cars have grown omnipotent. Former champs like Kimi Raikkonen and Lewis Hamilton remind me of myself behind the wheel. Of course the rubbish cars they are driving are to blame for their hopeless bumbling. And Jensen Button is the same driver he always has been and owes his newfound dominance to the sexy Brawn GP. Guess the drivers are just along for the ride and the cars are the real stars. May as well put those amazing hunks of metal on the podium. Hate to admit it, but the autosexuals may have had it right all along. And perhaps I could undergo a magical transformation and turn into a fantastic driver if only I could get my hands on a Brawn GP or a Red Bull!!!!

The Ice Man and His Ice Cream

It must be hard to be Kimi Raikkonen these days. It was bad enough that he did an abysmal job defending his world championship title last year, but his performance this year is simply too painful for words. He seems to be having this insanely dysfunctional relationship with his car and his team. Sometimes his lacklustre attitude reminds me of a snow man. Whatever happened to the cool dude with the nerves of steel who gave Schumi a run for his money?

Kimi's problems have been further compounded by the introduction of the Kinetic Energy Recovery Systems(KERS). The inclusion of this system adds about 30 kilograms to the car making it hard for the meachanics to distribute ballast around the car. Therefore many teams have asked their drivers to shape up (read eat with the appetite of a sparrow) if they want to perform like sleek cheetahs as opposed to rampaging hippos.
Kimi, unfortunately seems to have trouble sticking to his diet. It is being muttered that his generous proportions are seriously weighing down his chances of winning this year. His prediliction for chocolate ice cream is not helping either. This little tidbit has given commentators like Steve Slater the fodder needed to poke fun at the "chubby chappie". He is constantly being informed that "... a moment on the lips is a lifetime on the hips!" Sheesh!

Recently, at the Malaysian grand prix he was caught on camera with his lips wrapped around an ice cream when the race was called off due to rain. The other drivers were twiddling their thumbs or cosying up to the pushy press types, but apparently Kimi was at fault for choosing to chill instead.A big hue and cry was raised regarding his motivation issues. But what was he supposed to do anyway? Beg the rain to go away?
As a soldier destined to fight the battle of the bulge for a lifetime, my sympathies are with the Ice man (as Kimi is fondly called) and his sweet tooth. Guys like Slater remind me of my mom and sis who are forever berating me for my midnight trips to the fridge and its Aladdin's cave of treasures for the true foodie. Seriously, Sheesh!
Enjoy your ice cream Kimi. Then go get em Tiger! Show em who is the true champ! Ice cream lovers and chocoholics all over the world are rooting for you.

Desperately Seeking Sushi

I dragged my husband to a Sushi restaurant recently in a desperate bid to wean him off the junk food they serve at those ubiquitous American fast - food chains. We stepped into the charming little place and tried not to look too startled when all the waiters and waitresses screamed Irashaimasee in unison. Pretty sure it means "Welcome" in Japanese. In fact I'll bet on it.

However, in today's world there is no escaping fast food it appears, as the two of us were confronted by a shiny, metallic conveyor belt hawking an endless procession of the different kinds of sushi. Here was Japan's answer to American fast food. I did not have too much time to ponder over it, as a waitress expertly manoeuvred us away from the conveyor belt and to a table tucked away in a cosy corner and handed us menu cards with colourful pictorial depictions of the fare. Perhaps we had 'sushi virgins' written all over our faces!

My husband ordered the chicken nuggets and ignored the condescending look the waitress shot him. She turned that severe gaze towards me, and I swallowed before dutifully ordering the Unagi (eel)and Prawn tempura. The harridan wanted me to try the octopus (malicious creature) but I declined as I kept getting reccurrent visions of long tentacles grappling with my tonsils in the inner recesses of my throat.

The food arrived and I grabbed the chopsticks ignoring the pungent odour of raw fish that assailed my nostrils. The prawn tempura looked appetising and I found it quite palatable after drowning it in soy sauce. Wish I could say the same for the eel! It was ghastly and no amount of Soy sauce or wasabi (green horseradish) could make a difference. The egg custard and watery noodles offered little comfort. But atleast, I had mastered the use of my chopsticks to an extent unlike my hubby, who did not even bother to try and demanded a fork instead. We washed our meal down with 'cultured milk'. My better half loved it till he discovered that it contained over a thousand different strains of carefully cutivated bacteria. Both of us left looking slightly green. And I could not even open my mouth to scream a retaliatory Arigato, lest something far less pleasant came out.
I may not have had the best first encounter with sushi, but I was looking forward to more. Besides, everyone says it gets better after the first time.

Indians Abused Abroad

The great Indian dream is a beautiful one – ditch the country and take off abroad as quickly as possible. It is the hope of most Indians that they will find a suitable situation in Singapore, Malaysia, The United States of America, London, Paris, Milan… anywhere but India. This way they can rake in the dollars, pounds, or yen, enjoy exotic cuisine, travel, and truly partake of the good things in life. Like I said it is a beautiful dream and there are millions fortunate enough to be able to live it. And yet there is every indication that the picture is not as rosy as it appears. Scratch the surface and there are traces of a nightmarish existence filled with abuse, discrimination, and extreme hardship.
The Hindu reported a sordid tale about the plight of carpet weavers and their terrible suffering in Malaysis before they were rescued by social workers. The weavers had been suckered in with promises of a lucrative job offer and then overworked, deprived of pay, and subjected to verbal abuse and physical torture. But at least their story had a reasonably happy ending. One shudders to think of those who are trapped in similar situations without any means of escape. The complaints about the abuse of Indians in Malaysia keep trickling in. Children are abused in schools because of their Indian origin; adults are persecuted and even imprisoned. The happenings in Malaysia are not isolated incidents. Covert bullying resulted in the murder of a South Indian teenager Reena Virk in Canada. She was tricked into meeting her peers near a grocery store where she was beaten and drowned. She was accused of stealing a friend’s diary and calling all the boys listed on it. Last year a survey conducted by Britain’s National Health Service (NHS) found that a majority of Indian doctors are among the victims of verbal and physical abuse encountered in the course of their professional duties. There are also horror stories being told about skilled and semi – skilled labourers being mercilessly exploited. Sometimes trained professionals are forced to do menial labour. There are numerous problems being faced by Indian workers abroad and for some strange reason they are usually brushed under the carpet.
Spurred by the hope of making a fortune, many Indians are anxious to get their papers in order and begin their new life of prosperity. Individuals sell their ancestral lands, their jewels, and other assets in order to procure their visas and other necessary documents. The proceedings are laborious and painstakingly slow with the result that many illegal employment agencies offer their services to speed up the process in return for a fat fee. Consequently wannabe migrants are cheated and tricked into accepting menial jobs, positions that pay a lot less than was originally promised, inhumane living and working conditions as well as other forms of abuse. They are ruined both financially and mentally. The laws in the host countries offer little hope as they were framed for the welfare of their own citizens not immigrants. Thus, these poor victims are consigned to a life of abject misery and robbed of their hopes and dreams.
It is high time the government got into the act to protect the rights of its citizens employed abroad. Laws addressing the question of Indians working abroad must be framed and strictly enforced. The issue also needs to be addressed in the UN. Finally, it must be remembered by the dreamers that the grass may always be greener on the other side but one needs to be very careful when going off in search of greener pastures.