A.D.

Hearts will never be made practical until they are made unbreakable.
The Wizard of Oz

nov 4th

In retrospect, at least for the Democratic primary candidates, it seems inevitable that the political juggernaut of the Obama campaign, of the man, and the machine that brought him in unprecedented ways, to the attention of voters and those who had never voted before, would rise to the top. No candidate, including McCain, has run a better campaign. And no candidate was more unexpected, in every which way. For those who had planned Clinton’s campaign starting on the Wednesday after the election in 2004, - this was in every way, an eventuality that was totally unplanned for. And the weight of the expectations are massive, should Obama become President. (And survives in office.)

But more than that, I think that the past two years, which has led up to this moment, has shown even the most hardened cynic that politics matter, that government can make a difference, for better or for worse, that people can change, and are looking for hope, that the best in us can be brought out, rather than the worst in us. Whatever happens tonight, whether this is confirmed or not, the journey of the past two years, in this country, from small steel towns in Pennsylvania, to the carworkers in Detroit, to the mansions of Orange County, has given everyone pause, and a moment in which they have realized their commonality. And the mantra of hope amidst despair?

It reminds me of a quote from Camus: In the depths of winter, I finally learned that there was in me an invincible summer.

proof

Proof

That I did always love,
I bring thee proof:
That till I loved
I did not love enough.\

That I shall love
always,
offer thee
That love is life,
And life hath
immortality.

This, dost thou doubt,
sweet?
Then have I
Nothing to show
But Calvary.

-Emily Dickinson

From: Poems by Emily Dickinson Series One
Edited by two of her friends
Mabel Loomis Todd and T.W. Higginson

today

Sometimes as I sit here, typing away at these offices in New York as an anonymous cubicle rat, looking for example, at the implications of the subprime crisis on microfinance markets, I can’t believe I used to have another life, as short as just 3 months ago, and then another life 2 years before that, and then another life 2 years before that. From the days of London where everything seemed touched in gold, with not a worry in the world, to Sri Lanka and feeling alive in a way that has never been matched, to school and the luxury of ivory towers to New York and a sense of transition, everything seems as though it has happened to someone else, and I feel as though I am suspended outside myself, waiting in chrysalis for the next, and hopefully final, transformation.

news

What a terrible news day. I am seriously considering adding chocolate as a major food group. First, the news from Sri Lanka is awful, and it seems as though there is finally going to be a conquering, with the Tamil Tigers about to be decisively wiped out. What will happen to Tamil civilians, Tamil IDPs is yet to be known. Only the vanquished remember history, someone said. Then news that the bailout was rejected and the Dow fell 5% in a day, in A DAY! If the bailout doesn’t succeed (and the problem does not seem to be the version of the bailout, but the principle of it, as many members of Congress seem ideologically opposed to it on both sides of the aisle), then the country, and the world is in for a serious, serious recession, approaching Depression-like proportions. And I don’t use the D word lightly. And what else? McCain seems to be up in the polls post-debate, and my personal life is also blowing up.

autun

It's been a busy few weeks in New York. The weather is changing too, with surprising rainstorms that bring the hint of autumn in the air. The city is waiting for the first nip in the air that signals fall, and certain trees in Central Park are already changing colour, heralding fall. Autumn is my favourite season of all, the kiss before dying (I am currently enamoured of that phrase).

Today I saw a trailer for Revolutionary Road, by Sam Mendes, with DiCaprio and Winslet, and it was set to my all-time favourite song, a spooky, ghostful rendition of Wild is The Wind by Nina Simone and it was the first time i've ever seen that song featured in any commercial movie, ad, tv serial whatever. I'm sad, because I thought it was all mine and now everyone is going to be downloading it off iTunes.

eat, pray, love

“People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that’s what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that is holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life. A true soul mate is probably the most important person you’ll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake. But to live with a soul mate forever? Nah. Too painful. Soul mates, they come into your life just to reveal another layer of yourself to you, and then they leave. His purpose was to shake you up, show you your obstacles and addictions, break your heart open so new light could get in, make you so desperate and out of control that you had to transform your life.”

Eat, Pray, Love.

Again and Again

Again and Again

Again and again, however we know the landscape of love
and the little churchyard there, with its sorrowing names,
and the frighteningly silent abyss into which the others
fall; again and again the two of us walk out together
under the ancient trees, lie down again and again
among the flowers, face to face with the sky.

- Rainer Maria Rilke

Mr. and Mrs. Iyer

I watched Mr. and Mrs. Iyer last night, a Hindi-Tamil-Bengali movie directed by Aparna Sen, about a young Tamil Brahmin girl who falls in love with a young Muslim man during a bus ride through communal riots between Hindus and Muslims. Although it was slow at parts and the cinematography absolutely abysmal, it was absolutely moving, poignant and sad. Rahul Bose, where have you been all my life? This is the kind of movie I want to make, with actors that know how to act, and with a subject matter that deserves wide exposure, and that needs to be treated sensitively and analytically. More than the issue of religious intolerance, the poignancy arose from the forbidden affair between a married Tamil woman and a Muslim man, who shows her how beautiful life can be.

election

I vowed that I wouldn't blog about politics in Election 2008, as opposed to 2004, as faithful readers of my blog will no doubt remember (in fact I remember persuading one faithful reader to hold a sign in an election rally in Paris for Kerry-Edward). Because it's just futile and emotional and utterly useless.

But. The entry of Sarah Palin in the race is just so bloody infuriating, especially now that the Democrats have a real chance of losing. As Tom Friedman says in today's article: If John McCain can win after 8 years of Bush, and a terrible economy; then the Democrats deserve to lose. But I'm also tired of this logic: that somehow the election was Gore's to lose in 2000, Kerry's to lose in 2004 and Hillary's to lose in 2008. Guess what? THEY ALL FUCKING LOST. And what chance does a black man have against a redneck crowd?

I cannot imagine, but am terribly fearful, that it's real, that the Republicans are going to win for another 8 years. Another 8 years of the same kind of policies. (And for anyone who thinks that McCain is different from Bush, I have got an earful for you.). Jesus.


We're holding an Election Night party up here in Harlem. Time will tell if there're going to be tears of joy or sorrow, but there're definitely going to be tears.

random

I enrolled at the Digital Film Academy yesterday, for a sixteen week evening film making program, including some basic lessons in sound, lighting, cinematography and camera work, as well as working with some real actors (albeit struggling waiters). I have to conceptualize a ten minute work, so am looking for ideas, and if you have any, send them over! Am thinking about a five minute music video (set to Bollywood music of course), and a five minute public service announcement type of thing.... but we shall see.

Am also thinking of joining a writer's room, but it occurs to me, that I only have a finite amount of time in the next four months, and there is a limit to its elasticity. Other than that, have been traipsing about, discovering the new neighbourhood of Hell's Kitchen, (very nice), and of the Upper West Side. Very soon, I shall be reduced to blogging solely about my consumer experiences and nothing else.

Last night was a rousing night spent throwing popcorn at the television with my room mate, as we watched John McCain deliver his acceptance speech at the Republican National Convention. Everytime we saw a black man or woman, or an Indian man or woman cheering, we'd say "Traitor!! Shut up and sit down!". But I have to say that Obama is soon going to have to face a decision over whether he is going to go into the gutter with them, or if he can win without it.

back

Back from London, where the rain and the wind blew into my hair, sent leaves scattering through the side streets of Notting Hill, and into the pews of empty churches. Flew into New York with a terrible cold chasing me, put myself promptly into bed, trying not to obsess about the events of the past week. And now there is no escape from the real world, from this future that awaits.

My new roommate is a journo, who's had a book out, and got into a furious discussion on Judith Miller (of Valerie Plame fame), who she termed as a "Thin Chick with a Serious Wardrobe" (room mate is also a Thin Chick, but without a Serious Wardrobe) and other discussions on what is age-appropriate dating. She's also dating a guy who's having an affair with someone in his office, and who's getting a divorce that's going to trial because his wife is having an affair with her Brazilian personal trainer. Welcome to New York.

festina lente

(hurry slowly)

Well, I have now moved to New York, and the city has swallowed me whole in the past four days, which were an uncharacteristic whirlwind of activity. How I long for the peaceful days of Cambridge, for red brick, spires and earnestness.

Freed

Today was marked by a lot of writing on Sri Lanka. It was exhausting. And I read How Reading Proust Can Change Your Life by Alain de Botton, a hilarious account of Proust's life, in a parody of a self-help version. I was laughing out loud, which I think to date, only Bill Bryson has made me do. (Then again, it doesn't take much to make me bark.)

Had a random lunch with a group of philosophy doctoral students, which of course, over lunch turned into an argument over free will and determinism, and the philosophy of action. It recalled the many discussions of political philosophy we used to have in the LSE corridors. My own view is one that more or less hews to St. Augustine's Christian platonic vision, although it does fudge the debate somewhat in that, individuals, who are fallen, do not possess true knowledge. Therefore, as far as they are concerned, they act with agency, freedom and direct their own life. Crucially, this gives them the capacity to choose between good and evil. God, on the other hand, is all-knowing, omniscient and has full knowledge of the entire life of every individual. He however, is not directive.

The philosophy of action though, which looks at what gives individuals the motive and intent to act, (or particularly, to act in causing harm to others.). This however is where I draw the line at philosophy.

play-ing

We watched the Importance of Being Earnest today by the Harvard Radcliffe Repertory Theatre, and I must admit, for an entirely student-run production, it was startlingly good, with a diverse cast, (except for some rather affected British accents; why is it that putting on an English accent represents the height of thespian power for American actors?!). It reminded me of the sheer hard work that goes into any production, of the technical aspects of lighting, story telling, directing etc. I have a friend who graduated from the Yale School of Drama who's premiering his play this weekend off-off-off Broadway (and it's called Finding Ways To Prove You're Not an al-Qaeda Terrorist When You're Brown), a one man brown act , which I think is going to be hilarious! After all, graduating from the school that bore such actors as Meryl Streep can hardly be a disadvantage. This young man also has the singular acquisition of the playrights to Shyam Selvadurai's Funny Boy, the story of a young, gay Sri Lankan Tamil boy growing up in a society that is fracturing. Oh, art and all its possibilities.

a true story

In 2006, the municipal president of Neza, a tough area of two million people on the eastern edge of Mexico City, decided that the members of his police force needed to become "better citizens." He decided that they should be given a reading list, on which could be found Don Quixote, Juan Rulfo's beautiful novella Pedro Paramo, Octavio Paz' essay on Mexican culture The Labyrinth of Solitude, Garcia Marquez's One Hundred Years of Solitude,and works by Carlos Fuentes, Antoine de Saint-Exupery, Agatha Christie and Edgar Allen Poe.

Neza's Chief of Police, Jorge Amador, believes that reading fiction will enrich his officers in at least three ways. First, by allowing them to acquire a wider vocabulary. Next, by granting officers the opportunity to acquire experience by proxy. "A police officer must be worldy, and books enrich people's experience, indirectly." Finally, Amador claims, there is an ethical benefit. "Risking your life to save other people's lives and property requires deep convictions. Literature can enhance those deep convictions by allowing readers to discover lives lived with similar commitment. We hope that contact with literature will make our police officers more committed to the values they have pledged to defend.

"Words on The Street" by Angel Gurria-Quintana, in Financial Times, March 3, 2006, as quoted in How Fiction Works.

How Fiction Works

After a rough couple of days in which it was spectacularly apparent to me again that I have completely no clue what to do with my life, a small shining light was revealed in this fabric of night, and I received an email from the local bookstore, saying that the book that I had ordered had arrived.

I doubletimed it to the bookstore, handed in my order number and waited expectantly. The assistant came over to me, his eyes shining. Look at this, he said. it's so well done. The cover is straight out of the 20s, the font of the prose with its myriad footnoting is done in early nineteenth-century style, like Flaubert. I was holding a first edition, hardcover, in hot pink of How Fiction Works by James Wood, a Harvard professor of literature.

I'm halfway through, and I can't stop reading and at the same time I am pacing the reading, not too much at any one time, because I can't remember the last time I encountered such a dry, engaging, contemplative, passionate-about-good-literature, voice. And anyone who can reference Madame Bovary, Mr. Biswas and Robert Fisk at the same time has got my allegiance.

In reading it, I was also reminded of the fact that literary theory is often hijacked by dry academics who seek to impose rather developed discussions of philosophy, historicism and the old saws of culture and identity on a tract about human interaction. Wood's form of literary theory, is more basic, and truly exploratory, focusing on questions like What is a character? and acknowledging his own limitations on interpretativeness. While he is afflicted with a rather quaint adoration for Stendhal, James and Flaubert, and a well-appointed distaste for the postmodern (yay! another person who thinks Updike is a toolshed!), his observations are insightful, erudite and truly eye-opening.

It is an excellent, well-reviewed book (from The Economist no less, as well as the New York Times and I can't wait to continue reading it.

the dark knight.

So after having waited FOREVER to watch The Dark Knight, I have to say that it was a trifle incoherent, and though Bale was quite serviceable in the role, he spent most of the movie in that suit, with an obscured voice. It would take a magician to be able to overcome the stultifying effects of that suit. While the movie was chock-a-block with plot developments, action sequences, and a lot of expensive skulduggery, it lacked some grace, a melody, a duality really. I hate to say this because I am indifferent to Michael Keaton, but Tim Burton's Batman and especially Batman Returns with the unforgettable Michelle Pfeiffer as Catwoman, had a crazy camp horror to it which this rather serious-minded, supposedly 'dark' version lacks. The one redeeming part though was the end, when Batman is being chased, forever on the run. Maggie Gyllenhaal however, lightened and smartened what was otherwise, a rather clunky movie. Sigh. And now one has to wait for the abomination of Terminator. Oh Christian Bale of the Art Film, wherefore art thou?

samantha power

OMG! Drama alert!

Samantha Power (Pulitzer award winning journalist and Harvard Kennedy School professor, and former foreign policy advisor to Barack Obama), got married to Cass Sunstein on July 4th who she met on Obama's campaign in January! (Yes, that's seven months of dating and subsequent marriage). Power is 39. Sunstein is 54. And the real goss; he used to be the partner of Martha Nussbaum!!!!

Okay, I gotta figure out what this (pretty unimposing) guy (- check out the Wikipedia mugshot) had that he seduced two of my all time favourite journalists and nonfiction writers. Man. I gotta get some of that.

wow

Wow. Saying goodbye to 2 best friends in 2 weeks, with a few tears at the airport for both of them really blows.

On other news, I have become a day trader!!! MUAHAHAHAHAHA. The plan is to invest my meagre savings in the next penny stock that's going to make 300% in six months, and then I might never have to work a job again (at least for 2 months. so do the math).

I am going to watch The Dark Knight tonight, so get prepared for the usual Bale-ful drooling.