13 September 2009
The balloon man of Shahjahanabad
Not a big demand for balloons last night. We saw him again a few hours later and his glumness - unsuited to his profession - had not lifted.
10 September 2009
Dear leader
A senior politician from Andhra Pradesh died tragically in a helicopter crash last week. In the feverish aftermath media reported (insert bucket of salt) that more than fifty people had been so grief sticken that they committed suicide. More still reportedly died of grief related heart-attacks. The politician in question was - by most accounts - a good fella, but this demonstrates the seriousness with which some people take politics here. Eish.
The roads in Delhi....
.... are made by hand. The use of mechanical road making devices is banned to protect jobs. But they're not bad roads. And if you look closely you can see fingerprints of human toil all over them.
If game theory were a mandatory part of driver training
Driving home tonight, the traffic ground to a halt (again) near the ringroad intersection where all the muth*$&$^&*# drivers try to push in front of eachother - another traffic mess of rubics-cube-esque complexity. The lights were out because it had been raining all day, and the cops were off taking care of more lucrative problems, and so we all just sat there and waited for the mess to sort itself out for an hour. Imagine a hundred children in a playground being given a single knotted piece of string and being told that the one to undo the knot got a lifetime of lollies. Well such was the approach to undoing the traffic knot - a car melee.
I wonder sometimes if the mandatory teaching of game theory in Indian driving schools might help. Everyone would identify this as a collective action problem. All drivers are seeking the payoff of a quick ride home. But they also know that if they can successfully circumvent the traffic order, their payoff will be bigger - they'll get home even earlier. The bit they miss is that if everybody tries to circumvent, everybody loses! No payoff! We all get home later than if everyone patiently let things flow. So, a collective action problem solvable only by the creation of a higher order authority (the absent traffic cop) and enforcable penalties for circumventers (a whack with the long stick some cops carry around).
But I digress. For the time being, the ringroad disaster is my chance to ringfriends.
I wonder sometimes if the mandatory teaching of game theory in Indian driving schools might help. Everyone would identify this as a collective action problem. All drivers are seeking the payoff of a quick ride home. But they also know that if they can successfully circumvent the traffic order, their payoff will be bigger - they'll get home even earlier. The bit they miss is that if everybody tries to circumvent, everybody loses! No payoff! We all get home later than if everyone patiently let things flow. So, a collective action problem solvable only by the creation of a higher order authority (the absent traffic cop) and enforcable penalties for circumventers (a whack with the long stick some cops carry around).
But I digress. For the time being, the ringroad disaster is my chance to ringfriends.
30 August 2009
Dancing, head-banging and santooring in Delhi
I love this big city. Tonight it dished up a heavy metal concert in aid of the environment (bogans for climate change?) and a stunning display of contemporary dance by young Indian choreographers.
I had wondered whether there was room for boundary-pushing forms of dance in a country with such a rich traditional dance heritage and ubiquitous bollywood. But there were no light bulb changing moves tonight. In their place, three contemporary dance pieces which hinted at tradition but were freed from it as well. The soundtracks were sparse, and for long periods silence was the only companion. The dancers were brilliant. Some detail on the performance is at www.gatidance.com.
And as for the metal concert, well that too spoke to an India moving way ahead of the world's perception of it. India, the cultural superpower is coming to a city near you.
Earlier in the week I went to a performance by Pandit Shiv Kumar Sharma, the legendary player of the Santoor, a folk instrument from Kashmir. Words can't describe how beautiful his music was, accompanied by tabla. And the rapturous applause from a large and surprisingly youthful audience spoke to the ongoing popularity of Indian classical music. But I think that nomenclature is somewhat misleading - it's more like jazz than western classical, free and dynamic and full of improvisation. Magic.
I had wondered whether there was room for boundary-pushing forms of dance in a country with such a rich traditional dance heritage and ubiquitous bollywood. But there were no light bulb changing moves tonight. In their place, three contemporary dance pieces which hinted at tradition but were freed from it as well. The soundtracks were sparse, and for long periods silence was the only companion. The dancers were brilliant. Some detail on the performance is at www.gatidance.com.
And as for the metal concert, well that too spoke to an India moving way ahead of the world's perception of it. India, the cultural superpower is coming to a city near you.
Earlier in the week I went to a performance by Pandit Shiv Kumar Sharma, the legendary player of the Santoor, a folk instrument from Kashmir. Words can't describe how beautiful his music was, accompanied by tabla. And the rapturous applause from a large and surprisingly youthful audience spoke to the ongoing popularity of Indian classical music. But I think that nomenclature is somewhat misleading - it's more like jazz than western classical, free and dynamic and full of improvisation. Magic.
29 August 2009
Monsoon II - a colonial construct
A newspaper this week carried an opinion piece arguing that India's famous monsoon was a colonial construct designed by the British to instill a sense of nationhood amongst restive Indians. The notion of a single, benevolent and nation-nourishing cloud was at odds with the reality of India's patchy and inconsistent rainfall - or so he argued. The storm last week in Delhi fitted my mental image of 'the monsoon.' And colonial constructs aside I'd like to maintain that name because it sounds so much more exotic . . . . A bit like 'the outback' or 'the far east' or 'El nino.'
22 August 2009
Ethical fashion sans bono
On Thursday I lined a catwalk in a swanky nightclub to watch India's "First Ever Ethical Fashion Show." Spotlights swirled, cameras flashed, ladies strutted and pouted, and some very serious looking lads with high cheekbones walked in a straight line. Sadly, Bono did not make a live video cross, and there was no mention of whales or rainforests, but the room was chock full of very glamorous and, no doubt, very ethical people. I'm not clear on the technicalities of how quite the garments were ethical, but the peasant farmers/ garment workers in the accompanying video did look unusually cheery. And there was no polyester in sight. Everybody left feeling lighter and more virtuous as their late model Bentleys weaved into the late night Delhi traffic.
Monsoon
It's mid afternoon in monsoonal delhi, and the air is alive. The sky is darkening as the wind gusts teasingly at dust covered trees. Birds of prey ride the wild currents as though they were rollercoasters, soaring high then plumetting to earth. And then it strikes, first as ominously big dollops of water, then as a fountain. Trees bend double and shake with the fury of childish tantrums. The wind and the rain become one as they send unsuspecting shoppers scurrying for cover. Everything and everyone stops and admires the unhinged power of nature. Later, the sky turns grey-green, the rain becomes less penetrating, and to the unaccustomed eye it is as if winter has descended. All is still and magic. The traffic consequences are another story!
16 August 2009
Independence Day
India celebrated it's sixty third independence day yesterday. It seems such a small number for such an ancient and strong country. As the years drift, the british era is joining the many rulers and conquerers who once tried to control the uncontrollable, now mere footnotes in history books. This country is independent to its core.
All through the night the drone of planes taking off and landing at the nearby airport filled my house. It made me think about India's place at the centre of the world, as the hub for India's vast diaspora, as a magnet for tourists who flock here to be spiritualised and to immerse themselves in smells and cultures foreign, as home to one sixth of humanity and half its religions. The drone in the night made me think of all the family reunions and weddings and funerals and festivals that form the core of Indian life, that binds the diaspora together, drawing them back.
And it made me think about the brittle pride people have for their country, their hopes that it will be respected and not typecaste, that it will shape world decisions, not be dictated to. The legacy of foreign rule is a deep sensitivity to anything that might encroach on India's independence or pride. But they need not worry - Independent India is here to stay. Viva.
All through the night the drone of planes taking off and landing at the nearby airport filled my house. It made me think about India's place at the centre of the world, as the hub for India's vast diaspora, as a magnet for tourists who flock here to be spiritualised and to immerse themselves in smells and cultures foreign, as home to one sixth of humanity and half its religions. The drone in the night made me think of all the family reunions and weddings and funerals and festivals that form the core of Indian life, that binds the diaspora together, drawing them back.
And it made me think about the brittle pride people have for their country, their hopes that it will be respected and not typecaste, that it will shape world decisions, not be dictated to. The legacy of foreign rule is a deep sensitivity to anything that might encroach on India's independence or pride. But they need not worry - Independent India is here to stay. Viva.
6 August 2009
3 August 2009
Work in progress
I've been trying for a week to write an update for friends on my life in Delhi. Six months ago when I landed, Indira Gandhi International Airport was shrouded in a thick mist, and now my thoughts are afflicted by the same. The things I know are these:
1)Living in India is deeply humbling. I feel small amidst its people and culture. That which I've learned before coming here feels abstract and foreign. I've crossed over to another world and my old one will never be the same.
2)There is a teeming energy everywhere that defies description, in peoples conversations, in the traffic, in the air. Life is in perpetual motion here, nothing is still.
3)Ancient India and modern India are inseparable. They pull away from eachother but one is nothing without the other - where they meet is a faultline. New forms of creativity are emerging as the ancient morphs into the modern. But there's baggage too.
4)This is a ruthless place, and life is tough for so many. But people don't complain. They just get on with living. I don't want to become immune to the reality of people's lives. I don't want to glorify their struggle either, just admire it, and be thankful for what I have been given.
5)The expat bubble is an occasional comfort, but equally a curse. It must be escaped.
6)There is nowhere I'd rather be right now than India. I feel like I've just begun.
1)Living in India is deeply humbling. I feel small amidst its people and culture. That which I've learned before coming here feels abstract and foreign. I've crossed over to another world and my old one will never be the same.
2)There is a teeming energy everywhere that defies description, in peoples conversations, in the traffic, in the air. Life is in perpetual motion here, nothing is still.
3)Ancient India and modern India are inseparable. They pull away from eachother but one is nothing without the other - where they meet is a faultline. New forms of creativity are emerging as the ancient morphs into the modern. But there's baggage too.
4)This is a ruthless place, and life is tough for so many. But people don't complain. They just get on with living. I don't want to become immune to the reality of people's lives. I don't want to glorify their struggle either, just admire it, and be thankful for what I have been given.
5)The expat bubble is an occasional comfort, but equally a curse. It must be escaped.
6)There is nowhere I'd rather be right now than India. I feel like I've just begun.
The buses of Delhi
The old buses are being phased out of Delhi's fleet, replaced by shiny green machines. This is pretty much universally welcomed as an improvement to the lives of commuters. And given the number of unsuspecting pedestrians and cyclists that the buses mow down, this is probably a win for safety too. But there is something about Delhi that will be gone forever with them - something aesethic about the buses that is both brutal and free. Perhaps it's the open windows that emanate a glow in the early evening traffic, or the steep staircases that challenge each boarding. Perhaps it's the scraped bumpers gesturing to road battles faught and won, or the wide-eyed mania of the men who drive them. I'm not sure how to say this without it sounding like development is a bad thing, but I fear a future where every city in the world has the same sort of perfect bus, and perfect commuters commute to perfect workplaces and perfectly execute their jobs so they can afford the perfect education for their perfect children who repeat the pattern for eternity. Something is lost. Something of character.
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