Time to Eat the Dog...

...has, funnily enough, become a topic of debate. Following this article in The Times of India, my friend Roshni wrote:

An article titled “Your dog’s carbon footprint is twice that of SUV” (Oct 28), has me appalled not only at the literal implications of the suggestion that we should eat dogs, but also the politics behind comparing the carbon footprint of dogs with SUVs. It is nothing but a blatant defense of consumerism and a convenient way of taking away the responsibility of humans for the ecological crisis. It ratifies destructive consumerism by showing that we are not the only sources of carbon emissions in the biological world. When the developed countries are not ready to even acknowledge the climate threat, this provides an excuse to further ignore it. Why are we forgetting that it is not the dog that creates imbalance in the ecosystem and lives out of harmony with nature? We have no right to take away its right to exist for a problem that we humans have created ourselves. The dog does what it does to simply survive. Are the writers of this book (same title, by New Zealand architects, Brenda and Robert Vale, researchers from Wellington's Victoria University) implying that life is secondary to material luxuries? By their own logic, if the solution is to eat the dog to reduce its carbon footprint, shouldn’t humans be subject to the same? If we shouldn't keep pets (they even compared the carbon footprint of a goldfish to 2 cellphones!!), what right do we have to have children?

I find this article a motivation to believe literally what Swift suggested in his "Modest Proposal" - eat children to reduce poverty. He might have been bitterly sarcastic, but times show we are coming to a point when it might not be so. We will not stop our greed even if we have to eat every single edible thing on this planet. 

In other "discussions", opinions vary. I found some worth mentioning:
From here: "So if you want to save the environment, skip the Prius and just eat Fido for dinner." (Sensitive, eh?)

"This is less about mulling over Fidoburgers, than having you feel better about your gas-guzzler."

And a very interesting discussion thread running here. Snippets:

Person 1: "Dogs are very cool. Some meathead in a designer hummer is not."

Person 2: "The point is they want one and you don't or they can afford one and you can't."

Person 1: "Any of you SUV rocket scientists read the article? The same ecological impact as driving 10,000 km (6,213 miles) a year in a 4.6 liter Land Cruiser.

A) 6,000 miles isn't diddly on the average SUV

B) BUILDING the unnecessary SUV puts the carbon footprint up there with all the dogs in new jersey.

C) for whoever it was back there, I could easily afford an SUV, nice big, new one as a matter of fact, but I drive the 93 Camry that I bought new used and intend to put a good 200,000 miles on it before it gives up the ghost. 

I have no problem with SUVs for a decent reason. you need to drive a big Suburban because you are contractor, makes perfect sense. you want to be one of these Escalade driving accountants I see around town, who can't even parallel park the thing, stop running the planet into the ground for your ego and stop clogging up the highway with your lousy driving in a big machine.

Show me a farmer in a beat up Ford Ranger, hey I salute him. Show me some moron downtown at the bar in his immaculate Navigator with out a scratch on it, I don't give a damn how much its sales manager "wants" it, its an eco-crime.

Person 3: See, that used to be the beauty of the USA...you can have your opinion...hell, you can even express your opinion. But, if *I* wanted to buy what *I* wanted to buy...so fricking what?! 

Person 1: "Yep, its true. Any idiot who wants to can crap up the planet here."

Gee, this thread has potential. Go read it for yourself. And do share your views too.

To You, With Love

Ten thirty at night, and my moping was interrupted by the shrill sound of the telephone. I knew before it was answered that it was the call I'd been waiting for. She sounded sleepy, having just woken up--it was one o' clock in Durham, still, late by her standards--and didn't show the birthday enthusiasm yet. It would kick in soon, I was sure. I sat down cross-legged on the bed and settled myself comfortably for a long chat. Not that it had been long, not since we last talked (only yesterday), but it had been long in so many other ways. It's not everyday that you wish your best-friend-for-fifteen-years (or since "the beginning of time", as she put it) a happy twentieth, after all.

We dug up every memory we could find. And I was still thinking long after we'd hung up. From the first day we'd met when I walked into class I-A, the new girl, and was slightly intimidated by the intelligent, short-haired girl in the row next to me who could spell "shampoo" with ease, to the day we got to know we'd be going to the same college. I remembered our excited plans to become dancers when we grew up (something she accomplished, I might add) and go running off to the mountains to visit my grandparents. Our western music classes with Mr. Brown in the basement, when we'd cheerily sing anything from the Titanic soundtrack to Billy Boy. Our batik classes and the time she fooled the teacher into believing we were sisters so I wouldn't get into trouble. Our belief that making a wish on an eyelash would come true, and how we pulled out eyelashes to make more wishes. Our Barbie craze and our Harry Potter craze and our vampire craze. Birthday parties and frilly frocks and party hats. Hide and seek and chase. Hot chocolate fudge and Pizza Hut. Cupboard rummaging and glares. Weird photographs. Albums of memories. Walks in the college lawns and talks on the benches. Homework and notes and practical files. Gifts from every holiday. Farewells and sleepovers and long long conversations.

Some journey.

PS- Happy birthday, again, and many more to come! <3

Travel Tales

I guess the day had to come when I'd finally be traveling alone. All alone. I just didn't think it would come this soon. But it did, and has just passed me by, leaving me feeling very different...older, somehow. It's always pleasant to find out that you really don't mind your own company!

So I traveled down south, Manipal being the exact destination, but having seen a few places--well, airports, really--along the way. The flight to Bangalore was pretty uneventful, the only interesting thing being the conversation between the little boy and his mum sitting next to me ("I know how planes fly!"..."where does all our luggage go?"..."can I open the window?"..."why is it always night in space?"). Aw.

Whizzing to Bangalore in a taxi, I was accompanied by my thoughts and a lot of phone calls. The pleasant weather made my spirit soar, and I could feel a tinge of adventure in the air. Of course, my juvenile sense of humor didn't abandon me, as I waited excitedly for a sign of the Palace Grounds (mainly to send my brother an evil message, this being a sore point with him) and wondering how the Bangalore traffic police manages to feel dignified in their strange uniforms.

Image from here.

The evening was quite a blur, with new friends and cups of tea and random conversations and phone calls and Calvin and Hobbes. An early dinner later, I found myself in a bus with my "new friends", sitting next to a very fat human specimen who took up half my seat (no offense, but I was rather miffed). I gave up trying to sleep through his snores after a while, and we made some adjustments that left me sitting by the window, a lot happier despite my poor numbingly-aching legs. Our excited late night repartee about every book imaginable finally culminated when a co-passenger was awoken by the same and proceeded to rudely shush us. Sleep was impossible with the amount of jumping we did at regular intervals (yes, calling the road "bumpy" is definitely an understatement). We finally arrived at our destination around 7 a.m. and awaited the motorcycles.

One thing that I learnt on this trip is how deeply I can sleep. I slept through:
1. Very loud drumming, knocking and banging on my door.
2. About fifteen phone calls. While the phone was vibrating right underneath my head.
3. Seven successive alarms intended to wake the deepest of sleepers (read: my sister).

But I did wake up every single morning that I had to get to the conference all by myself and a little earlier than necessary. Fishy, huh?

A Week in the Life

I confess, I do miss blogging like I once used to. But it’s lost its charm somewhat, mostly because all the people who read and commented on my blog seem to have vaporized (hint hint). But anyhow, I doubt that the self-importance-inducing pleasure that blogging gives will ever completely die out; so here I am again, two weeks (and several books and movies and a consolation prize in a photography competition) later. Miss me?

Yeah, rhetorical question, if you must.

Last weekend, we had our Diwali Mela (yes it’s always a month earlier, please don’t ask why) (because I don’t know) (well, I suppose it’s because the holidays interfere…but you could’ve figured that for yourself, no?) and it was very very hot. In addition I was bullied into purchasing two ridiculous articles of clothing from a friend’s stall (I NEVER do that, I should tell you, so that just tells you how hot it really was). I’m pathetic when it comes to shopping, mostly because it’s always exhausting for me. I always end up getting stuck on two things and having the yes-no-yes-no debate. Gah.
But still, the blueberry yoghurt, pasta and chocolate-dripping waffles were quite a high point. Not to mention my friends’ excitement over getting their palms “read” by a woman who I can swear was saying practically the same thing to everyone. And charging Rs. 60. What a rip off.

The department journal troubles are also far from over. After the disconcerting yet satisfying (who says it’s a man’s world?) trips to dodgy printer shops last month, I could have sworn the worst was over. Except yesterday saw me doing the same again, though it was a little more eventful this time. There we were, walking purposefully through the throng trying to accost us with cries of “software” and papers being thrust under our chins, when there was a loud “bang”. No, not diwali being celebrated very early by some industrious vagabond, but a real fire from an electric wire (ooh, I rhy…okay too old for that). Right above our destination, too. And people were being particularly stupid, crowding around it for a bit as thought they’d never seen fire before, and then just pretending it didn’t exist and walking up and down just the same as usual. Our conversation went something like:

G- Ah, the complacency of Indians. *sigh*
K- Ooh omg they’re actually laughing! And what is that pink shirt staring at?! *gape*
A- I did NOT mean it when I said I was going to be obituarised in our journal! *sniffle*

Ah well, all in a day’s work.

And to end on a musical note—have you ever noticed that when you sing songs without actually concentrating, you subconsciously pervert the lyrics? I sure do =/

For instance, this song became:

I’ll be your flying soldier
I’ll be your suicide…

Hmm, not very flattering now, is that?

But don’t mind me, go listen to the real thing, it’s beautiful.

Enchanté

Browsing Flickr for inspiration is always a good idea. Sometimes, of course, it leaves you with utter disillusionment at your own modest (in)abilities, but more often than not you end up staring open-mouthed at the screen in awe.

Something that happened when I saw this image by Gale Franey:


And this is only the beginning.

For more of her amazing work, visit her photostream or her website.

Till later!

Booked

Following a disturbing discussion in German class on how the internet is dulling creativity, critical thinking and reading habits, I marched into the Delhi Book fair at Pragati Maidan with immense vigor. The long walk in the sun till we got to Hall 12A was not as much of a dampener as it could have been, and the sudden gust of cool AC breeze at the entrance only reassured me further. Inside was a gargantuan red-carpeted paradise for book lovers, though with its share of a rather uncouth crowd. I was a little disarmed to see that a huge square space in the middle of the hall was being used as a picnic spot with families sitting cross-legged with tiffins and all. Not that I minded it particularly (there were enough books to make up for it all) but the aroma of an amalgam of pickles pervaded the whole experience. Ah well.

I went with two particular books in mind—a graphic Bible recommended by Babbitty on Friday, and an English translation of the Quran recommended by my German teacher an hour previously. For the rest I intended to be surprised. Imagine my reaction when I found the Qoran sitting happily in one of the first stalls I visited—and priced at a meager twenty five rupees! The first purchase was made.

Then followed a long long row of stalls that had nothing at all to do with books (where me and dad did buy a couple of things nonetheless, including the most adorable visiting card holder in pink! Not that I have any cards to put in it, but who cares). I also saw a very long line of people crowding a particular counter so I curiously went to see what the fuss was all about. They were trying out a pencil.

Just as I was beginning to be disillusioned by the sudden paucity of books, along came salvation—rows upon rows upon rows of books being sold off at the flat price of a hundred bucks. Obviously this is where I spent most of my time, ending with a stack of books taller than me that I was impatiently ordered to select from. Grim task, that, but I managed it, ending with a German book on India that I might be able to read in a few hundred years, a book on the Stasis that I’m extremely thrilled about, and something resembling a chick-read that I suspect will be very useful in days to come.

Along came Penguin. We went, we saw, we did not conquer buy. Off to hall 11 then, we thought, finding no decent place to rest or grab a bite. The graphic Bible sustained me. Munching on my brownie, I decided that I admittedly did not have the energy to roam the hall anymore, and a phone call informed me that I was in the wrong hall anyway. We elbowed our way back to 12A, to Penguin once again, to the table in the center that I had confidently informed dad earlier would have nothing worth buying. It took mere seconds to locate the hallowed book, several dozen minutes to pay and then it was finally over.

Jeez, no wonder I’m tired.

Where the Colors Don't Go

Today I took my first holiday in twenty-one days and I couldn't be more cranky.

And trying to figure out why is so not helping.

Someone once said that life is a contest between what's urgent and what's important, and Urgent always wins. So true. Waking up early, getting through classes and free periods and humidity and notes and assignments and presentations and interviews and outings and faces, oh, so many faces. And feeling alone through it all. It takes its toll. On the one holiday, on the one day you thought you'd just forget it all and sleep. Because that one day, you have time to think. To connect with yourself and figure out exactly why your world is so messed up.

Thinking isn't very nice.

And at the end of it all you come back to all the notes you missed and all the catching up you have to do and all the faces you don't want to see but have to yet again.