Monday, June 29, 2015

Deciding Who They Would Marry




  My friend Kalpana, a newspaper columnist in Mumbai, told me once about a speech she had given to a group of students at a women's college. She's been asked to talk to them about the ways women's lives were changing in India and instead found herself talking about all the things that have stayed the same. Kalpana asked the students to biggest issue in their lives; they all said marriage. Then she asked for show of hands from those who would be responsible for deciding who they would marry, and none of the women stirred. When she asked how many wanted to be able to make that decision, all the hands flew into the air. The experience stuck with her.

  "It's a terribly frustrating time for young women," she said. "they're allowed to make all kinds of choices that previous generations of women couldn't make in India——what they will study, where they will work, where they will live. And yet, when it comes to the most important decision of their lives, their parents don't trust them with it. It's like they're only partly allowed to enter the real world."

Sideways on A Scooter, Life and Love in India, P133
Miranda Kennedy
ISBN 978-1-4000-6786-2




Saturday, June 27, 2015

By Taste and Smell




  Parvati had little in common with Rahda other than her preference for traditional home-cooked vegetarian food. She and Vijay would happily "take whiskey" at the Delhi Press Club, but rarely would they eat there, because they considered restaurant food inferior in quality and cleanliness. Parvati went to extremes to keep globalization out of her kitchen. Like Radha, she shunned store-bought and packaged ingredients. She made her own yogurt out of fresh milk, and chapati out of wheat she bought in bulk; vegetables she prepared were all fresh and locally grown. Her kitchen was a low-tech and traditional as Radha's: She cooked exclusively out of three tin pots and no electric mixers or processors.

  Parvati was also particular about doing the cooking herself——she only occasionally outsourced sous-chef duties to her part-time maid. She never used a cookbook; she'd memorized dishes by watching her mother as a child. And yet each of the North Indian dishes she made——lentil dals, bean dishes, vegetable curries——required half a dozen spices to achieve a subtle complexity of flavors. Even though she used the same spices night after night, somehow each dish tasted different from each other. She'd begin by roasting them in a pan, then grind them with a mortar and pestle; she'd fry them in specific order to achieve right blend of flavors. Parvati measured in pinches, handfuls, and lidfuls and seasoned the dishes instinctively, by taste and smell.

  ……

Sideways on A Scooter, Life and Love in India, P93~94
Miranda Kennedy
ISBN 978-1-4000-6786-2




Sunday, June 21, 2015

Delhi Press Club




  The Delhi Press Club, Vijay's favored drinking joint, attracts a rather less exclusive crowd: Indian journalists, almost all of them male and as hard-drinking, chain-smoking, and cuss-mouthed as American newspapermen of the 1950s. They throng the bar in crumpled button-downs, tossing back whiskeys and handfuls of spicy fried Bombay mix, and trying to best one another with tales of political scandal. The place is windowless, run-down, and raucous, with TV sets blaring Hindi news channels. When I walked in, a half-beat of silence fell across the smoky room as a number of the men paused to take note of the unlikely sight of a feringhee girl in their midst. I was worth just that——a glance——before they returned to their stories.

  I wandered outside to the patio and Vijay in the falling dusk. He was with the only other woman in the bar, whom I took to be Parvati. She was wearing a white salwar kameez, a wool shawl pulled around her shoulders against the late October chill. Her makeup was the traditional kind that Geeta disdained for Western-style colored eye shadow and lip gloss. For centuries, Indian women have lined their eyes with dramatic black kohl and painted a black or red bindi dot on their foreheads——women from upper-caste maharanis to 1930s Bollywood heroines. Parvati was dressed like a pious virgin, and yet, lined up on the table in front of her were a pack of Gold Flakes cigarettes, a bottle of soda water, and a shot of amber-colored whiskey.

  Vijay introduced her with a grand sweep of his hand. She was one of Delhi's best political reporters and one of the few women who's been asked to join the press club, he boasted, then added, "She also really cares about issues, which is unusual among most of the journalist choots you see in here." Vijay's words slurred together boozily, and his English was peppered with Hindi profanities that he must have restrained himself from using during our interview; I soon learned that Hindi curses are an essential accessory among the Delhi Press Club set.

  ……

Sideways on A Scooter, Life and Love in India, P75~76
Miranda Kennedy
ISBN 978-1-4000-6786-2




Wednesday, June 17, 2015

Language Imperialism




  Although Parvati's father had learned English in high school, her mother's education had ended in the fifth grade, when she was expected to prepare for marriage by mastering domestic skills. You wouldn't know it from educated middle-class circles in Delhi and Mumbai, but fewer than a third of Indians speak English. There are twenty-one other official languages in India, not to mentioned 844 officially recognized dialects and thousands of other unofficial ones.

  English was, of course, the language of the British colonialists, but Indians English words to communicate with foreign traders as far back as seventeenth century. They spoke a pidgin dialect known as Firangi, which was the same root as feringhee. During the independence movement, Mahatma Gandhi called the English language a symbol of colonialism, even going so far as to say, "To give millions a knowledge of English is to enslave them." But when India's leaders proposed Hindi as an alternative, South India politicians denounced that, too, as "language imperialism". Because Hindi has never been spoken in South India, choosing India's official language was the single greatest controversy in the writing of the Indian constitution. Since no single tongue could satisfy India's heterogeneity, Hindi was named the "official language of the union" with English to be used for "official purposes of the union."

  Today, English is spoken in the courts and financial markets. It is much more than bureaucratic babu-speak, though; it is the language of those who aspire to a better life. Like many lower-middle-class Indians, Parvati had spoken her local dialect at home and learned Hindi at school. English was her third language, and it was only with persistence that she became fluent. For many Indians, the effect of the fractured language policy is that they end up speaking multiple dialects badly.

  Judging people's speech is a quick way to take a measure of their class and caste in India. If you can't tell their upbringing from their clothes or occupations, you can tell from how strongly accented their Hindi or English is. Both Radha and Maneesh spoke vernacular Hindi speckled with only the occasional word of English, though they both longed to be familiar with the tongue that they associated with well-paid jobs in the private sector. Of course, neither of my maids could afford to send their children to private schools, so they had resigned their children to the limits of the Hindi language.

  The Hindi speaker's world may be one of smaller job horizons, but it is far from restrictive when it comes to culture: It's the tongue of politics, Bollywood, cricket, and religion. Parvati's mother lived a full life inside the language, avidly consuming Hindi news shows, magazines, and books. She was closed off from fully half of her daughter's experience, though, because Parvati worked for an English-language paper and spoke the sassy urban patois of Hinglish——delivering most of the information in English and the punch lines and curses in Hindi.

  ……

Sideways on A Scooter, Life and Love in India, P65
Miranda Kennedy
ISBN 978-1-4000-6786-2




Sunday, June 14, 2015

Bollywood stayed Bollywood




  In India, the movies mean Bollywood, the film industry whose name conflates Hollywood with Bombay, where the first Hindi-language film was made. Even after Bombay was renamed Mumbai in an effort to free the city of its colonial legacy, Bollywood stayed Bollywood. It churns out at least two hundred films a year, each costing less than a million dollars——a sixth of the average price tag of a Hollywood film. Profilic, popular, song-filled, and sentimental, Bollywood films almost always swoon over the three-hour mark. As a result, they all have intermissions, during which theater concession stands rake it in selling spicy veggie burgers, samosas, and "American snacks" such as caramel popcorn.

  Movie soundtracks are Bollywood's best promotional tool. In the weeks before a bid studio release, music videos of the songs take over TV channels. The songs are recorded by army unseen "play back singers" but associated in perpetuity with the actors who have lip-synched them. I'd hear Geeta humming a new film tune, and later that day, Joginder's cell phone would announce itself with the same song. India's star culture is even more obsessive than our own. Hollywood has the celebrity website TMZ, but in India, Bollywood gossip isn't relegated to the niche media: it is often a top story on the nightly news. Many movie stars have actual, real-life shrines erected to them, and when they are not literally being worshiped, their faces everywhere, from well-produced TV ads for toothpaste to hand-painted movie billboards on rural unpaved roads.

  Bollywood's biggest romantic hero, Shah Rukh Khan, is best known as "King Khan", though Geeta preferred to refer to him by the less obsequious nickname "SRK". He's produced a stunning five dozen films over his career of almost twenty years. When he was named one of Newsweek's fifty most powerful people in the world, the Indian media treated it like a national accomplishment; when he was invited to present a Golden Globe Award, Indian announcers said it spoke to the country's growing might; when he was detained at Newark airport in 2009, presumably because of his Muslim last name, the TV channels called it a "national humiliation".

  ……

Sideways on A Scooter, Life and Love in India, P52~53
Miranda Kennedy
ISBN 978-1-4000-6786-2




Saturday, June 13, 2015

梦想



完美的梦想永远无法实现

梦想开飞机,跟狂风赛跑,
在云堆里穿梭,飞越彩虹,
追逐夕阳,在天上看星星,
环绕地球一百零一圈……

但千万不要真的让我开飞机喔,
那样我就不能再拥有如此美好的梦想了。


≪我不是完美小孩≫ 77页
几米 作品
ISBN 978-7-5110-1956-1






又笨又蠢的人



完美的资讯用过即丢

我头上装了六个雷达接收器,
每天接受大量的垃圾讯息,
结果我变得愈来愈笨。
科学家说,没办法,
信息愈发达,人类愈痴呆,
科学愈近步,世界愈愚蠢。
又笨又蠢的人,
每天更要努力吸收新知识和新讯息。


≪我不是完美小孩≫ 99页
几米 作品
ISBN 978-7-5110-1956-1






Saturday, June 6, 2015

爸爸妈妈害的啦……



完美的遗传好的坏的一起来

我认识的朋友全都没资格当海盗,
他们坐船会吐,
淋雨会感冒,晒太阳会中暑,
在沙滩玩耍时担心海啸来袭,
在海里游泳时幻想鲨鱼攻击。

他们都是胆小鬼,胆小是一种遗传,
所以全都是爸爸妈妈害的啦……


≪我不是完美小孩≫ 88页
几米 作品
ISBN 978-7-5110-1956-1






我的想象力满身大汗



完美的假期说走就走

想去滑雪。可是现在是夏天,
大家都去游泳,根本没人滑雪——
就是因为这样,我才更想去滑雪。
我戴上雪帽穿上雪衣,
我滑了出去,转了个弯,
跌倒了,滚成一个大雪球……
我的想象力满身大汗。


≪我不是完美小孩≫ 99页
几米 作品
ISBN 978-7-5110-1956-1