And the Oscar goes to . . .

AR Rahman's Oscar 2009 speech
Link reference: YouTube.com

AR RAHMAN, "Slumdog Millionaire"! I've been watching the Oscars for a long time now, and tonight, while watching this year's show, it felt strange to hear that familiar Hindi accent being spoken on the Oscar stage. Tonight, we got it twice (for Best Song and Best Original Score). And that's courtesy of the talented Mr Rahman (and to a wide measure, the director Danny Boyle for bringing the British-Indian film to Western exposure).

My first full acquaintance with AR Rahman's music was through the highly enjoyable soundtrack to the movie "Rang de Basanti" back in 2006. The sound was a big diversion from the Bollywood music that I always knew: it was melodious with its rhythms, youthful in its beats, and it wasn't music to romp with around the trees or on a wide street with dozens of dancers. I thought the music had a strong chance at the Oscars that year, after reading that it was sent in for Best Song nomination. It didn't even get nominated. A big bummer, I think, considering how original the music was in the context of contemporary Indian film music. In fact, I think "Rang de Basanti" and "Delhi 6", which I'm listening to right now, are superior to "Slumdog Millionare". But I leave that to another post.

Congratulations, Mr Rahman! You have made India--and lovers of world music everywhere--so very proud!

Manila in the dark

TIM KINDSETH wrote in Time magazine this week about Manila Through the Eyes of F. Sionil José. The visual reference is the sweeping Rosales Saga, written by the most widely-read of contemporary Filipino novelists. I'm glad that Mr. Sionil José gets deserving space in Time Magazine. Unfortunately, Mr. Kindseth saw Manila most unkindly, sweeping one of Southeast Asia's most cosmopolitan cities ungraciously away, failing to realize how Western colonialism led to the decay that he avidly describes, and certainly failing to see it the way Mr. Sionil José did in his novels.

Manila's redeeming virtues were the centerpiece of Mr. Sionil José's five-volume opus. Instead, Mr. Kindseth decided to revisit the physical spaces described in the novels, and bring the modernized version into front row (on the magazine's print edition, the story was on full page). Hence, he talks excessively about sunsets rimmed in "diesel pollution", "vulgar light & sound shows", and "starched luxury malls". He fails to understand the redemption that lies beyond these modern elements, introduced into Asia by interactions with the West and so ubiquitous, if not grander in scale, in most of Asia's megacities. Had he gone beyond the façade offered by Manila's pockets of rancid smell and decadent sight, he would have celebrated a vital mass of warm humanity that is unique in Southeast Asia and increasingly difficult to experience elsewhere in this age of materialism and Web 2.0-driven fanaticism.

I'm not sure how to classify Mr. Kindseth's essay. He refers to it as "sense of space". It is neither travel writing nor architectural exposé. Either way, it is senseless and a waste of space.

Traveling in a coffin

THAT'S HOW I felt in a "sleeper coach" that took me overnight from Trichy in Tamil Nadu to Bangalore in Karnataka down south last week. The passenger bus contained around 20 beds, and I had the misfortune of getting an upper-deck bed.

Bed? Coffin, actually. It was six feet long, four feet high, and two feet wide. Effectively, it meant that my 5'11" frame, along with my backpack and carry-on luggage, could stretch out without being able to move any body part at all. Which is probably how it is in a coffin. On top of a bumpy bus. For eight hours. Overnight.

I survived the journey with 15 minutes of nocturnal slumber. I will never take these "sleeper coaches" in India again.

(I couldn't take photos to regale you with this story, for obvious reasons.)

Chinese New Year

Year of the Ox
Image source: Bernard Oh

CHINESE EVERYWHERE have ushered in the new Year of the Ox. The 15-day festival, which starts today, celebrates the attributes of the ox: tenacity, hard work, modesty, and a self-sacrificing nature with an active mind. Those born in the year of the ox are not extravagant, shrinking from all the "wheeling and dealing" of the competitive world.

Hmm. With all those values of fortitude and honesty, it sounds like the Chinese are indeed preparing us for the dreary prospects of the new year!

San nin faai lok (Happy new year)! Kung hei fat choy (Congratulations and be prosperous)!

Slumdog slam

“Jai Ho”
Link reference: YouTube.com

INDIANS, AND lovers of India, have another great reason to be ecstatic: the international recognition made by the ten—get it, TEN!--Oscar nominations on the British-Indian film "Slumdog Millionare". This is fabulous vindication for a movie that almost went straight to DVD, has two virtual unknowns on lead roles, and apparently tackles the gritty realities of Mumbai's once-world-famous slums without the drecky, cheesy manners of Bollywood. It's been premiered here in India; I must see it AND listen to AR Rahman's soundtrack. (Mr Rahman alone accounted for three of those ten noms. Whew. 'Atta man.)

Girl talk

THE FORMER US president's daughters have written the new US president's daughters an open letter with advice on how to live their lives in the White House. CNN calls this unprecedented, which is pretty much like everything that's been going on lately around that house.

It's fun to read what Jenna and Barbara Bush had to tell Malia and Sasha Obama about what they call "such a magical place to live and play." Sliding down a banister? Trick-or-treating in the airplane dressed in Halloween costume? Playing hide-and-seek behind the huge curtains? And they've especially mentioned Ramsey, Buddy, and Smiley, ushers who heaped hugs, football talks, and smiles on the girls, and generally made their lives sunnier. Those three men must still be beaming.

Thankfully, the Bush twins, known for their partying ways, spared the Obama girls tips on how to get drunk. But the letter touched on a poignant truth: "Although it's an honor and full of so many extraordinary opportunities, it isn't always easy being a member of the club you are about to join. Our dad, like yours, is a man of great integrity and love; a man who always put us first. We still see him now as we did when we were 7: as our loving daddy. So here is our most important piece of advice: Remember who your dad really is."

Awww, sweet. That's one of the loveliest things I've read this week.

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I'm sure it's edible

SHOT IN Uttar Pradesh, India, the burglar bugger bargar burger must have been flown in by a certain masseur Mashur from Mumbai. But what has that got to do with this?

FOCAL POINT : Paul Kriwaczek, “In Search of Zarathustra”

LONG BEFORE Bahá'u'lláh, the Prophet Muhammad, the Christ, and Moses, there was Zoroaster. His message revolutionized the ideas of good versus evil, introduced to us the unwavering truth of one God, and stayed with us through thousands of years of constant human evolution. Who was he? Where did he teach? Most importantly, what was his covenant, and what is his religion all about?

Former BBC producer Paul Kriwaczek's "In Search of Zarathustra: Across Iran and Central Asia to Find the World's First Prophet" (Vintage Books, 2002) brings us to a journey of 3,000 years of human achievement across Europe, the Near East, the Indian subcontinent, and then Central Asia, to help with the answers. Written more in the tone of a travelogue than that of a scholarly treatise, the book explores the relationship between Zoroaster's religion and those of the prophets and messengers that followed him. Mr Kriwaczek's attention to historical detail is fascinating: his descriptions of sacred personages, Biblical cliffs, fifth-century Visigoth castles, and glorious temple sites in France, Britain, and Persia are so vivid I often felt like being there myself.

Some of Mr Kriwaczek's assertions are refutable—he calls Zoroaster the first prophet and Muhammad the last—but he succeeds in showcasing the rejuvenating role of divine messengers and prophets in history's ever-changing social and spiritual conditions. I recommend "In Search of Zarathustra" to those who seek to further understand religious truth.

See more about "In Search of Zarathustra.
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Congratulations, AR Rahman!

AR Rahman winning the Golden Globe
Link reference: YouTube.com

AR RAHMAN won earlier today the Golden Globe award for Best Original Music Score for "Slumdog Millionaire", the first Indian to win a Golden Globe. Visibly surprised, the winner thanked the "billion people of India" on stage. Hey, that includes me! You're welcome, Mr Rahman!

It's a fabulous birthday gift for Mr Rahman, who celebrated his 43rd birthday last week. He's one of India's most prolific and most celebrated writers of film music, amongst others. If ever he gets tired of writing for Bollywood, he can always find a job in Manila: Filipinos will love his mushy, gushing love songs.

I watched the delayed telecast of the show tonight, and I still can't figure out what David Duchovny said about Mr Rahman's name, correcting, incorrectly, the pronunciation as "Rooman". If it was a joke, I didn't get it: it's terribly flat. Mr Duchnovy, it's "Rehman". Were you feeling sore for losing to the fabulous Alec Baldwin in one of the Best Actor categories?

Congratulations, AR Rahman . . . and congratulations, India, for this new victory!

As 2009 rolls in

I HOPE you all had a good start in 2009, better than how we ended the year. While we saw a huge difference in the US elections, we also saw a lot of bad moves around us, and the results continue to impact us today in a big way.

May you all have a year of good decisions in a year that needs tough decisions! Carpe annum!

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The night before Christmas

AS A Catholic child growing up in Manila in the seventies, magic meant three things to me: (1) my birthday, when the best gift invariably came from my eldest sister, (2) someone's wedding, where I marched as a ring or coin bearer in church and then gorged on fried chicken at the reception, and (3) Christmas Eve, the only time of the year when my siblings and I, all kids, stayed up late without getting sleepy.

Christmas Eve was always more charming than Christmas Day itself. By this time, school was over for the holidays. We had already regaled Papa's company party with a dance of endlessly repeated steps (right step, back step, arms up, arms down) choreographed by our older sisters. We had performed the same number in the annual family reunion a few days earlier, where our cousins always outdid us with loud James Last numbers. I was often too sleepy to remember what they actually did, although I remember them going home with big cash envelopes from aunts and uncles who must have loved whatever they were doing. We had already collected our colorfully-wrapped gifts from unsmiling godparents, a task completed through Mama's direct intervention. And by now we had decorated the small Christmas tree in the living room with all those gifts, with stern warnings from Mama not to open the gifts until Christmas Day itself.

Oh, that Christmas tree. We kept the same one year after year. It was a three-foot affair, made of wire cone covered in sheets of absorbent cotton. I had a lot of fun helping build it: under the cotton came the blinking Christmas lights contained in 1-inch breakable shapes, on top of it came red tinsel foil and sequin-filled balls. A bristly golden star sat on top, and it was always askew. Every night, the lights were plugged; every night, I would stare mesmerized at this blinking, glistening cotton-filled cone called Christmas tree.

On the early morning of Christmas Eve, we were roused from sleep to attend the last of nine consecutive dawn masses. I never attended the previous masses, called simbang gabi or misa de gallo, but this morning's edition would be mandatory for all of us. The rest of the day was quiet, as the older folks were doing last-minute groceries, usually at Nepa Q Mart or Queen's Supermarket. Towards the evening, we'd fuss over the brand-new shirts and jeans that we'd wear for yet another mass. With nothing but hot Milo chocolate drink to keep our tummies from growling impolitely during this late night mass, we filed into the church pews according to age. Afterwards, we trekked into the chilly night, walking home briskly to attend the most fabulous activity of all.

This was the noche buena or Christmas dinner. Those expensive, untouchable Noritake dinnerware displayed in cupboards now filled the table with the biggest servings of pancit (egg noodles), lumpia (spring rolls), estofado (pork stew), queso de bola (cheese), and, best of all, fried chicken. Mama and her sisters took turns cutting up the jamonado (smoked ham) and heaping our plates with ample slices. Even for a large extended family like ours, there was always food left on the table (and there was always food recooked for the next several days!). The house that night was filled with the aroma of boiled salabat (ginger ale) and orange peel, the music of Mitch Miller singing carols from the turntable, and reflections of lights from that cotton Christmas tree. It was always magical.

Later, when it was time for bed, my brothers and I would hang socks from the windows with hopes that we'd catch Santa Claus sneaking in. I never managed to see him: I was often the first to plunk to sleep . . . and the first to greet everyone the next morning with “Merry Christmas”.

Here’s wishing you all a “Merry Christmas” on this happy Christmas Eve of 2008!

TRAVEL TALES : A quiet place in Lucknow

DRIVING THROUGH Lucknow on this chilly winter weekend, I noticed that this northern city has some of the cleanest and straightest roads in India. This is my fourth visit to the capital of Uttar Pradesh, but I never really paid much attention to the roads before. That is, until now. Perhaps I’ve been too impervious to the roads of Kolkata that Lucknow suddenly offers me a complete change of scenery. (I wanted to be a bit more descriptive about Kolkata, but that would make my Bengali friends dislike me a lot!)

Two years ago, when I first visited Lucknow, the city was being positioned as “The Next Fashion Destination”. Back then, I didn’t understand this positioning since there was nothing that impressed me in Saharaganj, the city’s most modern shopping center at that time. I couldn’t grasp the personality of the catchment as well. A weekend ocular analysis around Saharaganj revealed nothing. There was little vehicular traffic and even less pedestrian movement in the shopping center. I honestly thought back then that the entire buying population was busy staying indoors on a late Saturday afternoon and hoping that the mall would come to them!

This weekend, having had the chance to move around the city, I realize that Lucknow oozes with old-world charm, not of the British colonial variety, but closer to its Muslim heritage. While traversing a wide, almost endless avenue that connected me from the airport to the city, I saw sandstone sidewalks that are actually being used by pedestrians (most city sidewalks in India are used by peddlers), tree-lined side streets, marble domed buildings with wide gardens, and small Islamic monuments dotting the road.

I realize that the gentle, laid-back character remains. In fact, it’s what makes Lucknow pretty. At Fun Republic—now the largest mall in town with several designer boutiques—footfalls were low, and they came from twenty-something youth strolling hand-in-hand. They included men holding hands, which I decided might be an Islamic social custom. I didn’t see much of an older audience, but the few senior couples I saw were tagging along what could be their grandchildren.

Dressed in unobtrusive winter wear, the crowd I saw did not look and feel cosmopolitan. Perhaps “Next Fashion Destination” refers less to their sense of clothing and more to their sense of style: the Lucknowites may lack the glitz of their fellow northerners in Delhi, but they do carry themselves with the quiet air of good breeding.

People, people who kiss (and honor) people

George Bush and Barbra Streisand share an awkward kiss
Link reference: YouTube.com

WHEN KENNEDY Center announced in September that Barbra Streisand was one of this year's Kennedy Center Honorees for exemplary lifetime achievement in the performing arts, two things came to my mind. One was, "How will she behave with Bush?" We all know that Miss Streisand, a long-time Democrat, is the entertainment world's most mercilessly vociferous critic of the George W. Bush administration. And Kennedy Center tradition dictates that the President hosts the honorees in a glitzy dinner at the White House and then graces the star-studded gala, seated in the same dais as the honorees and joining the ovation. In this case, the dinner and the gala were held last Sunday evening.

So how did Miss Streisand and President Bush survive each other on Sunday? As it turned out, there was no collision at all. At the White House, President Bush shook Miss Streisand's hand, bent over . . . and gave her a buss on the cheek! Check the Internet: it's now filled with scattered pictures of the kiss they left behind.

And there's more: during the gala, Miss Streisand and the President threw winks and air kisses at each other. Can it be that it was all so simple that night? Or has time rewritten whatever nasty thoughts they had in mind?

The singer-actress-director-writer-composer-citizen-feminist-activist has since said: "Art transcends politics.” Such graciousness! Such class! I'm impressed! Read what else she had to say about that night (from her blog):

Last weekend, I was in Washington DC to accept the Kennedy Center Honors, and I noticed that the kiss between me and the "soon to be former" President Bush created quite a stir. The Today Show even proclaimed that it was a sign of the apocalypse. The timing is ironic. After eight years of President Clinton and on the cusp of at least four years of President Obama, I get selected to receive this prestigious award . . . during the Bush Administration. I have never met George W. Bush, but for the past eight years I have been blogging about him and his administration on my web site. I have relayed my frustration at the direction he has taken our country in no uncertain terms. So it was just as surprising to me as it apparently was to the press that upon meeting President Bush and extending my hand to him, he said to me, "Aw c'mon, gimme a hug and a kiss," and then he proceeded to embrace me. I must say, I found him very warm and completely disarming . . . even though I think perhaps he was kissing me hello as I was kissing him goodbye . . .

During the White House ceremony, the President described each honorees attributes. After he listed mine, he added, "She's also been known to speak her mind," to which the audience first laughed and then applauded. I genuinely thought he was very funny and very gracious.

During the Kennedy Center Honors, President Bush gave me his signature wink (which he must have passed on to Sarah Palin) and mouthed, "We showed ‘em." I guess in some small way, he and I proved that we could agree to disagree, and, for that weekend, art transcended politics.

See? They got nothin' to be guilty of!

As for the second thought that came to my mind: "Why is she being honored only now?” In her 46-year trailblazing, record-breaking career, Barbra Streisand must have won every single performance accolade available for public consumption, possibly more than any other entertainer in her generation. It really seems bizarre that it took the Kennedy Center 31 years to recognize her achievement. But never mind: her latest bestowal further cements what everyone knows about this Diva of Divas being an indelible work in progress. Oh, and by the way, did anyone ever mention that she's also the first female director to be selected for the Kennedy Center award?

Congratulations to Barbra Streisand on her latest win . . . and to President Bush on his magnanimity!

FOCAL POINT : Devon Gundry, “Armed”

Devon Gundry, “Armed”
Link reference: Justin Baldoni on >Vimeo.

THE SIEGE in Mumbai is over. For the past two days, I've stopped reading the news and watching TV: the images and the stories are just too devastating to experience, considering how much I loved this city, the city that hosted my very first, lengthy stay in India, a city that never ceased to laugh and listen and love and live. Family and friends have filled my mobile phone, Outlook, and Facebook with messages of concern: an ironic but deeply moving way to remain physically connected at a time of spiritual disconnection.

On these rueful moments, I seek solace in the power of faith. From the sacred Bahá’í writings come these timely words:

“Armed with the power of Thy name nothing can ever hurt me, and with Thy love in my heart all the world’s afflictions can in no wise alarm me.”

—Bahá’u'lláh, “Prayers and Meditations by Bahá’u'lláh”, p. 208

The musician Devon Gundry has recently translated this universal truth into a song called “Armed”. I'm sharing the video with you, wherever you are, in hopes that you'll also find strength in the power of the love of God . . . amidst “all the world's afflictions”.

Terror in Mumbai

I'M SAFE in Kolkata, and so are friends and colleagues in Mumbai. The senseless prejudice surrounding the terror of the past 24 hours still shocks those who have known Mumbai as the one true cosmopolitan city of India.

This is yet another indication that the old world order is now crashing, its dross being purged. That we need to move forward with the new world order is clear, no matter how perilous the path we take to get there.

Regional Bahá’í Conference in Kolkata: The morning after

THE KOLKATA Regional Bahá’í Conference ended last night in what is possibly the largest, most zealous gathering of friends ever held in this part of the world. There were over 1,500 of them, exceeding the expected figure of 800, coming from Bangladesh, Bhutan, and the entire East India. If the figures were remarkable, the goals committed by the group were even more stunning.

This morning, the morning after, I can still feel the energy of these two historic days: raw, palpable, undeniable in its love for the Bahá’í Faith and its desire for meeting the goals of the current Five Year Plan. And the people, draped in such colorful tribal costumes of the northeastern heights and swaying to grand musical instruments of this grand musical corner of India. I never knew the Indian subcontinent could be this, THIS diverse, and I'm only talking about the eastern frontier!

This weekend, we came as guests of the Universal House of Justice, finding new friends and reaffirming old ties along the way. This weekend, we all stood up for Bahá’u’lláh.

Watch this space for photos from the event, once I get to process all 764 of them!

Regional Bahá’í Conference in Bangalore: First in India, fifth in the world

Bahá'ís in attendance
Image source: Bahai.org

THE FIRST of three Regional Bahá'í Conferences in India kicked off in Bangalore last weekend, with over 1,500 Bahá'ís from south India and Sri Lanka in attendance. The conference is the fifth of 41 conferences being held around the world from November 2008 to March 2009. This series of events is called by the Universal House of Justice, the supreme governing institution of the Bahá'í Faith, to celebrate the achievements of the international Five Year Plan (2006-2011) for the growth and development of Bahá'í communities, and to deliberate on the next actions required for the plan.

New Delhi and Kolkata will host the other two conferences this weekend. Watch this space for stories on the Kolkata event.

You can view images from the Bangalore conference on Praveen's Picasa folders.

Hazy days in Delhi

From my apartment in Gurgaon

SMOG GREETED me in Delhi this week, and it's bad. At 10:30 AM, the new expressway from the Indira Gandhi International Airport to the satellite city of Gurgaon is barely visible. This afternoon, I was sneezing the entire hour that I was at the Dilli Haat crafts market in central New Delhi. And as I type this post in the airport, the PAs are blaring delayed schedules of flight departures due to poor ramp visibilities.

It’s no surprise that today’s Hindustan Times (HT) announces the dubious honor that New Delhi has just received as one of Asia’s 13 top polluting cities. HT refers to a just-released report from the United Nations Environment Programme (UNEP) that while “atmospheric brown cloud” (a layer of burning fossil fuel mixed with noxious soot, fumes, and other air pollutants) is a global phenomenon, Asia’s levels are quite higher because of its highly diversified climate. In Delhi, the air pollution comes from the lack of an efficient public transport system that curbs the increase in the number road vehicles.

By the way, Mumbai and Kolkata also figure in the UNEP list. Manila doesn't. Read the report on the UNEP site.

Birth of Bahá’u’lláh

The Shrine of Bahá’u’lláh, 'Akká, Israel.
Image source: Media.Bahai.org

BAHA'IS WORLDWIDE celebrate today an important holy day: the birth of Bahá'u'lláh. The Prophet-Founder of the Bahá'í Faith was born Mirza Husayn Ali at dawn of 12 November 1817 into one of Persia's most noble families. He descended from the Divine Messenger Zoroaster, thus fulfilling the belief that the great Redeemer of Mankind would be a pure Persian.

“This is the changeless Faith of God, eternal in the past, eternal in the future”
—Bahá'u'lláhBahá'u'lláh, which means “the glory of God” in Arabic, became a follower of the Báb's and was jailed in underground prison after the Báb's martyrdom in 1844. During His incarceration, Bahá'u'lláh received a vision of God in the form of a maiden who revealed to Him His earthly mission as successor to the progressive cycle of Divine Educators, each of whom has founded a great religion. These Messengers include Abraham, Krishna, Zoroaster, Moses, Buddha, the Christ, and the Prophet Muhammad.

This singular event has similarities to the descent of the Holy Ghost as a dove unto the Christ, the apparition of Archangel Gabriel to the Prophet Muhammad at Mount Hira, and the the enlightenment of the Buddha under the bo tree at Bodh Gaya. For Bahá'ís, it marks the advent of the Bahá'í revelation with the message it brings of the oneness of religion and the oneness of mankind.

Bahá'u'lláh's earthly remains have been laid to rest in 'Akká, Israel in a room within the grounds of a old mansion called Bahjí. It is the holiest Bahá'í place on earth.

America elects its leader

Flowers on the Terraces of the Shrine of the Báb
Photographer: Edit Kalman
Image source: Bahá'í Media Bank

HE IS a black man, born of a Muslim father from East Africa and raised by Christian grandparents in the South Pacific. And today he becomes the first black president of the world's most powerful country, up there in North America.

That this is now happening—unthinkable in the earlier years of my generation—is only inevitable in light of America's spiritual destiny. This belief is evident in many talks delivered by 'Abdu'l-Bahá, Son of the Founder of the Bahá'í Faith, while traveling in America and Canada in 1912. In May that year, He told a gathering of Bahá'ís in Cleveland:

"This is a beautiful city; the climate is pleasant; the views are charming. All the cities of America seem to be large and beautiful, and the people appear prosperous. The American continent gives signs and evidences of very great advancement; its future is even more promising, for its influence and illumination are far-reaching, and it will lead all nations spiritually. The flag of freedom and banner of liberty have been unfurled here, but the prosperity and advancement of a city, the happiness and greatness of a country depend upon its hearing and obeying the call of God. The light of reality must shine therein and divine civilization be founded; then the radiance of the Kingdom will be diffused and heavenly influences surround. Material civilization is likened to the body, whereas divine civilization is the spirit in that body. A body not manifesting the spirit is dead; a fruitless tree is worthless. Jesus declares that there is spiritual capacity in some people, for all are not submerged in the sea of materialism. They seek the Divine Spirit; they turn to God; they long for the Kingdom. It is my hope that these revered people present may attain both material and spiritual progress. As they have advanced wonderfully in material degrees, so may they, likewise, advance in spiritual development until the body shall become refined and beautiful through the wealth of spiritual potentiality and efficiency."

Source: "The Promulgation of Universal Peace", page 104

'Abdu'l-Bahá's saw in America "powers and capacities" so unique in this world. He praised the achievements that Americans had made toward creating racial equality, working for world peace, driving women empowerment, and developing its material civilization. His vision: ". . .it will lead all nations spiritually."

To become that spiritual leader, America must itself develop its spiritual capacities. Only then can it become the true leader of nations. Today's event exposes the possibility of racial and religious equality. It shows us another view of the road, possibly rocky but ultimately navigable, to that divine destiny.

Explosive times

DIWALI, THE most important national festival in India, ended this week with murderous blasts in the northeastern state of Assam. The explosions follow a series of terrorist attacks that have rocked India since 2005. This year, they are particularly unabated and more precise and intense than ever. Even more appalling is that the recent attacks have occurred in places—Ahmadabad, Delhi, Malegaon, Surat, now Assam—where ethnic conflicts exist. The perpetrators are obviously inciting sectarian violence amongst the townsfolk, whose leaders have failed to extinguish enmities. Worst, the tragedies come at these troubled financial times, when the least privileged members of society are the first to bear the bitter brunt of political instability.

What troubled times indeed. I'm reminded of what Shoghi Effendi, the Guardian of the Bahá'í Faith, wrote in 1941 in his landmark book, "The Promised Day is Come". Here he analyzes what happens with the world's refusal to accept the message of Bahá’u’lláh, Founder of the Bahá'í Faith. What he writes on page 16 is disturbing, as it seems to accurately describe the world that we NOW live in.

A world convulsed by the agonies of contending systems, races and nations, entangled in the mesh of its accumulated falsities, receding farther and farther from Him Who is the sole author of its destinies, and sinking deeper and deeper into a suicidal carnage which its neglect and persecution of Him Who is its Redeemer have precipitated . . .

A world spiritually destitute, morally bankrupt, politically disrupted, socially convulsed, economically paralyzed, writhing, bleeding and breaking up beneath the avenging rod of God . . .

We are indeed living in an age which, if we would correctly appraise it, should be regarded as one which is witnessing a dual phenomenon. The first signalizes the death pangs of an order, effete and godless, that has stubbornly refused, despite the signs and portents of a century-old Revelation, to attune its processes to the precepts and ideals which that Heaven-sent Faith proffered it. The second proclaims the birth pangs of an Order, divine and redemptive, that will inevitably supplant the former, and within Whose administrative structure an embryonic civilization, incomparable and world-embracing, is imperceptibly maturing. The one is being rolled up, and is crashing in oppression, bloodshed, and ruin. The other opens up vistas of a justice, a unity, a peace, a culture, such as no age has ever seen. The former has spent its force, demonstrated its falsity and barrenness, lost irretrievably its opportunity, and is hurrying to its doom. The latter, virile and unconquerable, is plucking asunder its chains, and is vindicating its title to be the one refuge within which a sore-tried humanity, purged from its dross, can attain its destiny.

Let's dance!

"Unbelievable McCain Vs. Obama Dance-Off"
Link reference: Minimovie.com

AMIDST THE ongoing fear-flaying, smear-slugging political dramatics in the US presidential campaign, this very entertaining video comes as a fun break. Minimovie.com says: "There's only one place that the election should be decided ... the dance floor! America: IT'S ON."

Let's see Obama and McCain face the music and dance!

Baited on debate

“Second 2008 US Presidential Debate”
Link reference: YouTube.com

AFTER WRITING him that I was watching the second US presidential debate in Bangkok, my colleague Giri joked that I was a “pretty expensive debate viewer” for having to watch it all the way from a hotel room in Thailand. Seriously, since the debate was airing loud and clear on early morning TV, I thought I should go ahead and watch the event, as I've never observed any US presidential debate before. And that, too, at this troubling financial times in America. After all, if the U.S. of A. sneezes, sooner or later the rest of the world will get the chills. European banks and Asian markets have already reacted, plunging with all-time lows even after the Fed's theatrically bitterly-fought $700 billion bailout to the financial industry.

How will the future leader of the world's sole superpower handle the contagious flu?

TRAVEL TALES : Pell-mell malls in Gurgaon

“Gurgaon Shopping Centers”
Link reference: YouTube.com

SHOPPING CENTERS in most modern cities turn commercial districts into well-balanced hubs of urban community life. But not in Gurgaon, up north in the National Capital Region of India. While this bustling city is witnessing an unprecedented explosion of malls, there also seems to exist a never-ending competition for The Most Chaotic Shopping Space Award.

“In Gurgaon, window displays on a brand-infested building resemble acne on a makeup-drenched face.”Thirty months ago, when I first visited Gurgaon, massive construction began on shopping centers, office buildings, residential facilities, flyovers, and the extended Delhi Metro transit system. I remembered Manila's Ortigas Center in 1991-92, when the three lords of Philippine retail—Robinsons, Rustan's, and SM—simultaneously built what were then their largest retail spaces amidst burgeoning skyscrapers and flyovers. In today's Gurgaon, I've lost count of the number and location of malls dotting the cityscape. They multiply endlessly, grandiosely, confusingly. Car parks exist only as a footnote in property development, morphing public sidewalks and side streets into traffic-jammed parking lots. Mounds of dusty construction debris remain at the property perimeter, creating no-entry fences between adjacent malls and encouraging competitive neurosis. Giant posters on the façade overwhelm the names of the shopping centers, turning the buildings into nameless billboard Rubik’s Cubes. Let's not even talk of window displays: visual merchandisers in this city seem to have given up on designing truly compelling displays, perhaps knowing that they'll be lost anyway in the distorted cacophony of posters. In Gurgaon, window displays on a brand-infested building resemble acne on a makeup-drenched face. They profit no one.

In 2010, Delhi Metro will finally open right smack in the middle of Gurgaon's shopping complexes. Expect urban chaos to reign over pedestrians and motorists fighting for footfall and parking space supremacy. Today is the right time to form the right habits. My suggestions:

1. The city government must now look into legalizing the use of parking areas, traffic discipline in the side streets, and strategic drop-off points along the main MG Road for the commuting public.

2. Developers must seriously consider investing in car park buildings.

3. They must shun the paranoia of creating pedestrian barriers between malls, and collaborate instead with each other on creating skyways that will seamlessly bridge every mall and every Delhi Metro station to create one true, massive commercial complex.

4. Mall operators must standardize the advertising space that they sell on their buildings to ensure retail branding integrity and visual appeal.

5. Window display artists must train under me for a stratospheric fee. Just kidding. Seriously, mall operators must look at show windows more as highly differentiated investment facilities than as tediously designed showcases for the words “SALE” and “50% DISCOUNT”.

Bangkok, Hong Kong, and Manila have been effectively using such tools to manage traffic and convenience around their sprawling shopping centers. Look how modern, environment-friendly, and consumer-centrist their cityscapes are.

After all, if shopping centers are in Gurgaon to stay, they might as well be mollifying rather than be pell-mell. And if they are to remain competitive and profitable, then replace The Most Chaotic Shopping Space Award with The Shopping Space Model of India Award.

SIGHTED SITE : Lace House, Kolkata

WHY ARE there no shirt buttons in Kolkata?

Actually, there are—but only if you look and ask hard enough. I spent three weeks moving around Kolkata and visiting tailoring shops, dress boutiques, and the labyrinths of the sprawling Chandney Chowk bazaar. None of them carried shirt buttons. Yesterday, one of the tailors I met directed me to New Market on Lindsay Street, where I finally found buttons at the basement of the facility's new wing.

The shop is called Lace House. It does have lots of ribbons and lace on display, but it's far from looking like a house. Located across the main staircase, the shop contains one long glass cabinet and drawers on the wall that stock up on such tailoring essentials as threads, needles . . . and buttons. There's enough buttons here to make one happy, particularly if one spent three frustrating weeks searching for the right stuff.

The shopkeeper and his assistant, possibly in their early sixties, were affable. They didn't seem to mind having to open all those drawers and lay out boxes and boxes of buttons, as I labored over inspecting and getting the closest match to my shirts. It took quite time, and I ended up with the buttons I need, albeit not in the right colors that I wanted. I marveled at their patience.

And why, you ask, was I looking for these fasteners? Six of my favorite colorful shirts lost some of their equally colorful buttons. Since no tailor or dressmaker was willing or able to do the repairs for me (not even Raymond's, the boutique known all over India for its sartorial expertise), I was ready to sew them myself. I just needed the stuff. So not only could I not find shirt buttons, I could not even get someone to sew them for me. And don't even ask about matching the colors.

It's been almost a year since I moved to Kolkata, and I'm still surprised to discover what amenities the city lacks and what pleasures it can offer. For all commonplace intents, Lace House is a pleasurable discovery.

Lace House
North Basement, 102 New Market
Lindsay Street
Kolkata 700 087, India
Telephone +91 98304 58609

New Market. Lace House is at the basement of the new wing (pictured at the farthest left of the image above)

On your mark, get set . . .

Image source: Official Web site of the Beijing 2008 Olympic Games

IN FIVE days, the Games of the XXIX Olympiad will begin in Beijing, China. This time around, more than 10,000 athletes from 200-plus countries will participate in 302 events in 28 sports. I'm still not sure if Iraq is finally joining the lineup. I've not been able to keep track of the usual controversies around the Olympiad, since there's a bit too much of them this year, mainly in protest of China's poor human rights records. On that note, censoring Internet access for journalists does not help assuage the issues at all.

Nevertheless, watching the games, especially the opening ceremony, is reason enough to believe in the power of human achievement and of unity in diversity. This year, over a hundred indigenous dancers from Taiwan will perform on Chinese land—perhaps the first time that this much of them would do so. Catch them, along with Celine Dion, Jay Chou, and others, at the opening ceremony of the Beijing 2008 Summer Olympic Games on 8 August, 8:08:08 p.m. China Standard Time (UTC+8). (Don't even think of peeking at those previews secretly filmed and posted on YouTube.)

And while waiting for the games to roll, why don't you check this free official screensaver from the International Olympic Committee? It offers several images showcasing Pekingese culture and includes an RSS feed of Olympic news. Funky way to get your officemates gawk at the beautiful infant pictured above, and to stay on track of the events in Beijing.

OD'ing on OED

THIS WEEK, Mr. Nicholson Baker of the New York Times reviewed “Reading the OED,” Amon Shea's account of his one-year attempt to read all 20 volumes and 59 million consecutive words of the Oxford English Dictionary. Mr. Baker gives Mr. Shea the full thumbs-up for this feat. Oh, the things writers do for their craft.

In his review, Mr. Baker uses words that Mr. Shea discovered in OED. Because I'm generous and deeply concerned with the decline of civilized conversations in this SMS-infused generation, I must share some of these words with you.

1. The acnestis is the part of an animal’s back which is unreachable for the animal to scratch. Proper usage: “I scratch your acnestis, you scratch mine.”

2. To bespawl is to splatter with saliva. In the Philippines, we call this social phenomenon “talsik-laway,” which is one of those Tagalog words that are ever so hard to translate to English . . . until now.

3. To have deipnophobia is to fear dinner parties. Fantastic alibi for staying home and staying sane.

4. A hypergelast is a person who won’t stop laughing. Now you know what to call that cousin of yours everytime she sees you with a new hairstyle.

5. To lant is to add urine to ale to boost its taste. Are you now bespawling after realizing that you tried the exotic-sounding “lanted beer” at the bar last Friday? Ha!

6. A kankedort refers to an awkward situation. Generally occurs when your boss' wife (whom you barely know and meet for the first time) asks you about the problems of Turkey and Grease, and your reply reflects your ability to cook greaseless turkey. Having said that, I can write a thick book on all the kankedorts I've experienced. In fact, I just realized how kankedorty I actually am.

7. Obmutescence is speechlessness done willfully. Proper usage: “It's best to be obmutescent when standing or seated next to the new company president.”

8. Petrichor is that familiar loamy smell rising from the ground after a rain. What you smell after Kolkata's rains is not petrichor: it's a rickshaw driver soaked in the floods.

9. To ploiter is to work with little purpose. Proper usage: “I am ploitering because next month, my filthy rich wife will die mysteriously I shall retire.”

10. And finally, something repertitious is something found by accident. Like these words I found in the Net.

There. With these words, I hope I've helped you become less obmutescent in deipnophobic kankedorts. I'll grab and absorb the book, and I'll share its vocabulary with you.

By book I mean Mr. Shea's opus. Not the OED, you bespawling fool.

iPhone calls

FINALLY, THE most manic-driven phone of the year is out. Apple's iPhone3G debuted last Friday in Apple and AT&T stores around the world (except India and the Philippines), where overnight queues have been reported. Chances are, the shiny black gizmo is sold out.

Don't expect me to queue up when iPhone3G lands in India later this year, although I may get a launch preview from being a customer of Bharti Airtel (one of iPhone's two service providers in India). As a long-time Ericssonite—my first cell phone was the chunky NH237 back in 1996—I'm not sure I can shift my loyalties easily. Moreover, despite Apple's claim that iPhone works better with work programs, I'm perfectly happy with BlackBerry's Microsoft Exchange integration through my P1i, Sony Ericsson's most powerful smartphone yet. In fact, I plan to upgrade the phone to Xperia X1, when Sony Ericsson launches it in India around the time that iPhone rings in.

Xperia will run on 3.5G cellular network, bringing the Internet faster than iPhone3G can. In fact, speed can be an iPhone downside: the 3G speed happens only if you're in one of AT&T’s 3G network areas—and there's a few of them around the world.

Let's see how iPhone3G roars in India, a steadily advancing market for mobile phone technology.

Turning 43

If 45 is the middle age, then 43 is the dark age  TURNING A year older and being quiet about it is impossible within our high school batch, thanks to the very modern, very interactive, and very proactive Yahoo!Group Web site linking most of us around the globe. Expect a bang of birthday announcements immediately after someone posts a thoughtful "Happy Birthday Joey" message. Last month was monumental: the enterprising Leah Morris-dela Rosa collated the names of all June celebrants (“celebrators” in our batch lingo), and Richelle Joson-Ligot, the resident muse of poetry, song, and dance, decoded each one's name into witty birthday greetings (“Sana o-Kaye na o-Kaye Inductivo ang bertdey mo!&rdquo). Noise ensued.

In Yahoo!Groups, it doesn't really matter if the whole world makes noise about our age. Hey, we survived the age-defying adolescent years together, so what's the big bazooka about aging publicly? We all know how old we are. Besides, greeting each other is a big-heart gesture. Arim Fermin wrote, “the fact that people actually greet each other during birthdays over the e-group(s) . . . proves that the batch is a solid, friendly, and caring organization, with lots of good organisms.”

Personally, I don't mind noisy birthday celebrations. Dinner parties, SMS greetings, and singing Tagalog birthday songs in Ybanag delight me. And I don’t care if Anchie Casareo calls me “kuya” for being born a few months ahead of him. He looks younger, anyway. (He must still be using Eskinol Master for Men. I want to maim him right now.)

What gets my goat this year is that I'm much closer to being middle-aged than I've ever been before. According to Richie Rosales-Parr, middle age begins at 45—and that's two years away. I'm not sure if I'm ready to be called middle-aged, especially after living all these years of riotous singlehood. I wrote Chiqui Tolentino-Desphy this week:

Oh my, are we now middle-aged? Pero sige na nga, I'll accept the fact that I'm about to gray, my knees will shake and my lungs will scream when I climb the fourth floor of my flat building, my teeth will fall, and my buttocks will sag.

I'm not being vain. I'm moaning about health issues that come with aging, and I'm not sure I'm ready to cope with losing the agility of mind and body. I happened to be in bed surrounded by bosomy women the day I hit 43. A hospital bed, that is, trying to battle gastroenteritis with a squad of big (bosomy) Bengali nurses injecting my about-to-sag buttocks with antibiotics. Antibiotics on my birthday. What irony.

And take this: last Monday, the New York Times reported that a new research conducted by French scientists revealed that men in their forties may face serious fertility problems. It suggested that couples trying to conceive a baby when a man is over 40 years old have more difficulties than those families in which a man is younger. So much for the joys of bachelorhood. Down, boy.

Uh-uh, Four-Three, that witless figure, a number with no claim to fame beyond its resemblance to the Philippine president's height. It's a nuisance, an annoying figure that sounds like the equally annoying Punjabi money-lending scheme in the Philippines called Five-Six. And if 45 is the middle age, then 43 is the dark age.

Hmm. Say that again: I'm in the Dark Ages! ¡Qué horror! ¡Madre mia curdapia! ¡Dónde está cleofe cabel!

On that note, I look forward to the Middle Ages.

Related Stories: Turning 41 | Turning 42

Pluto turns 2

Lounging around

PLUTO IS now two years old. In human years, my Persian cat is 24, making him a full-fledged adult. I took the picture above while he was indulging this morning in his two all-time favorite hobbies: lounging around and essentially doing nothing else. From a cat's point of view, once a child, always a child. Make that, once a kitten, always a kitten.

Speaking of adult cats, did you know that the jaguar is said to be the longest-lived cat on earth? And did you know that the Jaguar is now owned by India's Tata Motors?

Catty trivia for you on Pluto's birthday.