Mad & sad about Kolkata

IN ANY relationship, it’s always easy to get so used to its familiarities that when novelty wears off, we forget about the good things that made that relationship work in the first place. I was thinking of this while traveling away from Kolkata this week. I’ve lived in West Bengal’s proud capital city long enough—exactly two years this month—to be accustomed to its nuances and nuisances, but half of the time I still moan and groan about everything that it is and isn’t.

For the record, Kolkata is NOT an easy place. It’s one of India’s four metropolitan centers (the others being Mumbai, New Delhi, and Chennai), but the city formerly known as Calcutta—famous, and infamous, for its ferocious independence of body and soul—seems to perpetually reject the advances towards modernity of those three other cities. It’s impossible to translate in the city the cosmopolitan attitudes seen in Mumbai, the urbane spirit in New Delhi, or the disciplined ways in Chennai. “They can all be the same, but they are them, and we are not them” seems to be the mantra of daily living for the Calcuttans.

However, traveling in Gurgaon, New Delhi, and Ahmedabad in the past four weeks and getting caught in relentless heat, reckless traffic, and ruthless pollution, I found myself actually missing Kolkata, where sun is fun and traffic is slick. The truth is, there are endless things that make me mad and sad about Kolkata. These are my tales of Kolkata, the stuff that fortify my bumpy relationships with the city.

You’ll begin to read about them on this blog.

SIGHTED SITE : IGIA Terminal 1, New Delhi

TO PARAPHRASE the old Broadway song: "Hello, Delhi! It's so nice to have your airport where it belongs: a league of its own!"

I love this newly renovated airport. Officially the Terminal 1 of the Indira Gandhi International Airport, its modernization took a painfully long time, but the long wait is worth it. (It reopened in February this year after two years of renovation work.) I remember having to endure musty odors of the human and damp-ceiling type (but mostly human), long queues with irate and irritating passengers, and no place to sit AND stand at the pre-departure area. The old airport often reminded me of domestic terminals in smaller towns in southern Philippines. The reality of it being the welcome mat to India's capital always puzzled me.

Hyderabad, Bengaluru, and Mumbai have also unveiled their revamped domestic terminals, but Delhi Airport tops them all. Here's why:

1. There is nothing fancy or pretentious about the architectural design. It looks modern yet feels ethnic (watch the huge square pillars at the pre-departure area). It's elegant. It's massive. With such a high ceiling, it tends to be loud, which all modern airports are. It's busy. All these adjectives point to one thing: it's pretty much like the Indian population.


2. The pre-departure area has lots of seating. I call them the "gossip seats". Grouped in diamond shapes, they are perfect for Indians and non-Indians traveling together to face each other and engage in catching up, rumor mongering, character bashing, and, if you're from Gujarat, sharing home-made food.


3. Convenience outlets are everywhere. Very convenient for laptop users and even for those who take the "Sweetheart my phone battery's dying so I gotta go see you next week buh-bye" route.


4. Flight information screens in every corner means you don't have to pester the exceedingly beautiful North Indian female attendants at the information kiosk and make them frown with useless questions like "Why is my flight not delayed?".


5. There are food kiosks at the northern, southern, eastern, and western parts of the pre-departure area. Good news for those who take budget airlines.


6. No one is allowed to go down to the gates unless the public announcer says so.


7. And the jewel in the crown: QUEUE MARKERS! For someone who's lost so much patience and raised so much blood pressure with queue-jumpers in India, Delhi Airport's queue markers are sweet, embraceable vanguards of discipline and order. We've indeed reached the new century in India with Delhi Airport's queue markers.

I now board my plane in bliss.

Queue markers at Delhi Airport

TRAVEL TALES : Deadly in Delhi

TIMES OF India announced yesterday that the Delhi-Gurgaon Highway claims a high rate of road accidents, with almost 100 people getting seriously injured every month. I'll be the first to concur with this, after witnessing a motorcycle accident on the same road in the morning.

The road was sloping up, and traffic was piling ahead of me. Suddenly, a motorcyclist showed up from nowhere, zipping past by me. Then just as suddenly, SCREEECH! The man somersaulted in the air, hurled out of the bike, and landed on the ground a few meters ahead of me. Thud! Then the bike! It fell on top of him like a flat sheet of plywood!

The sight was instantaneous, merciless, spectacular. I decided not to stare, fearing blood and limbs scattered on the gravely wide highway. Besides, even if there weren't blood and limbs, I wouldn't have seen anything, as a crowd quickly formed around him.

I was told later that the man managed to sit up and hold his crash helmet that had been split into two. I assume that the motorcyclist could have accelerated his speed, since the road was sloping up. Upon reaching the curve, he must have tried to decelerate, but the timing was off and he tried to veer away. With that speed, it was too late and too difficult to control the bike.

I hope the man is well. To all readers, please drive with care, caution, and common sense always. And if you're a motorcyclist, please avoid such high-speed roads as expressways and highways. You don't belong there. No, not even if you're an Evel Knievel junkie. Take the arterial roads for your sake and others' sake.

Unless you decide to take the expressway to the afterlife. Even then, don't take others with you!

Amongst India's finest

The Spencer's VM Team

SPENCER'S RETAIL won another accolade tonight: its visual merchandising (VM) is recognized as one of India's best at the Retail Design Awards in Bangalore. It's the first time the company ever received this kind of merit, and that goes to all the men and women pictured above. They're the Spencer's VM team, and I'm thrilled to be their team head!

While we didn't get the top prize (it went to Levi's), being second best is just as good. First, the recognition comes at the end of the VM program's first year in Spencer's, so it's a great motivator for us to do better in the coming years. Second, this marks the first time that the Best VM category is introduced at the Retail Design Awards, so getting shortlisted alone is already a historic achievement. Finally, Spencer's is the only food store amongst the nominees. That alone makes the recognition so reaffirming. Our efforts are paying off.

The slide show below includes images shown at tonight's awards ceremony. It's how we won the merit!

Image source: Paul Ancheta at Flickr

TRAVEL TALES : Filipinos in northern India

Celebration of Independence Day
Image source: Paul Ancheta

I'M ENDING my "blog drought" with this weekend's story. It's about the best two consecutive days I've had since the Regional Bahá’í Conference in Kolkata in November 2008. It deserves to be told.

Last Thursday, with an invitation from the Philippine Embassy in New Delhi, I flew to the Indian capital to help celebrate the 111th anniversary of the Philippine declaration of independence on 12 June (yesterday). I planned to use the visit to renew my passport and register as an overseas absentee voter for the Philippine national elections being held next year.

I also wanted to meet New Delhi Consul Iric Arribas, trade officer Vyke Roaring, and Mumbai Consul General R. Swaminathan in person. We've had phone and e-mail conversations earlier, so it was the right time to finally meet up. Over lunch, we enthused over possibilities of trade links with the company I work with, and shared upbeat stories as Filipinos living in India.

Then came Friday morning. It was Independence Day. I joined over 50 other Filipinos for a flag-raising ceremony at the gardens of the Philippine Embassy. Thoughts of socio-political freedom were farthest from my mind. There was something much more thrilling than those.

I was finally meeting a bona fide Filipino group, for the first time since coming to India in December 2005.

They had remained faceless names in the "Filipinos in India" Yahoo!Group that we shared online. Not anymore. Standing on the embassy gardens, they were smartly attired in Filipino shirts and dresses, the dainty embroideries on pineapple and banana fabrics gently lit by the early midsummer morning sky. Smiles were shared, laughter echoed. And there spilled Tagalog, the beautiful language of my very many years in Manila. "So you're Dante!" "Remember Paul Ancheta, who was speaking in Ilocano? That's him!" "Yes, I remember the message you posted about remittances!"

The Philippine ambassador to India, Mr. Francisco Benedicto, and his lovely wife opened up their home to welcome the community after the flag was hoisted. Their house, elegant and inviting, was spacious enough to fit all of us, seated. It was also the perfect setting for a perfect Filipino breakfast. Sinangag. Lugaw. Maja blanca. Tapa! The last time I had Filipinized spaghetti was during my brother's birthday in Manila in 1998, so that morning's spaghetti lingered a while in my mouth before getting chewed completely.

Later that day, several more Filipinos joined the same group at The Ashok hotel for evening cocktails with members of the Delhi diplomatic corps. Instrumental versions of the Indian and Philippine national anthems opened the evening and set its tone: dignified, familiar, enveloping. I never realized how moving the Indian anthem could get.

Those I met this weekend represent the most diverse Filipino community I've seen in all the places I've lived and worked in. They come from the fields of NGO, hospitality, fashion and product design, retail, urban planning, public works, private service, and family builders (I refer to the housewives of Indians). I was introduced to Monsignor Arnaldo Catalan, the first Filipino appointed as secretary to the Papal Nuncio in India. I met a Filipina working at the Norwegian Embassy, and saw a Filipino married to the lady running Spain's cultural center in India. I also saw the best of both worlds when I met the non-Filipino spouses and their children: those kids should join beauty contests when they're old enough!

With all the familiar Filipino food, fun, and fellowship in Delhi this weekend, it was like being transported back home. It was good. Very good.

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Cheap Shot, Chip Tsao

A HITHERTO unknown Hong Kong-based columnist has given himself 15 minutes of fame by enraging Filipinos this weekend with a tasteless and idiotic allegation that appeared in last Friday's HK Magazine. In what his publisher, Asia City Publishing Group, apologetically calls a "satirical" article, a certain Chip Tsao reproves the Filipinos, who are a "nation of servants", for "(flexing) muscles at your master, from whom you earn most of your bread and butter." This is in reference to the Philippines' long-standing claim to the Spratly Islands, which China believes is theirs and theirs alone.

The Russians sank a Hong Kong freighter last month, killing the seven Chinese seamen on board. We can live with that-Lenin and Stalin were once the ideological mentors of all Chinese people. The Japanese planted a flag on Diàoyú Island. That’s no big problem-we Hong Kong Chinese love Japanese cartoons, Hello Kitty, and shopping in Shinjuku, let alone our round-the-clock obsession with karaoke.

But hold on-even the Filipinos? Manila has just claimed sovereignty over the scattered rocks in the South China Sea called the Spratly Islands, complete with a blatant threat from its congress to send gunboats to the South China Sea to defend the islands from China if necessary. This is beyond reproach. The reason: there are more than 130,000 Filipina maids working as $3,580-a-month cheap labor in Hong Kong. As a nation of servants, you don’t flex your muscles at your master, from whom you earn most of your bread and butter.

As a patriotic Chinese man, the news has made my blood boil. I summoned Louisa, my domestic assistant who holds a degree in international politics from the University of Manila, hung a map on the wall, and gave her a harsh lecture. I sternly warned her that if she wants her wages increased next year, she had better tell every one of her compatriots in Statue Square on Sunday that the entirety of the Spratly Islands belongs to China.

Grimly, I told her that if war breaks out between the Philippines and China, I would have to end her employment and send her straight home, because I would not risk the crime of treason for sponsoring an enemy of the state by paying her to wash my toilet and clean my windows 16 hours a day. With that money, she would pay taxes to her government, and they would fund a navy to invade our motherland and deeply hurt my feelings.

Oh yes. The government of the Philippines would certainly be wrong if they think we Chinese are prepared to swallow their insult and sit back and lose a Falkland Islands War in the Far East. They may have Barack Obama and the hawkish American military behind them, but we have a hostage in each of our homes in the Mid-Levels or higher. Some of my friends told me they have already declared a state of emergency at home. Their maids have been made to shout “China, Madam/Sir” loudly whenever they hear the word “Spratly.” They say the indoctrination is working as wonderfully as when we used to shout, “Long live Chairman Mao!” at the sight of a portrait of our Great Leader during the Cultural Revolution. I’m not sure if that’s going a bit too far, at least for the time being.

Me, I'm more amused than offended that this Chip Tsao has taken all these years to even mention the Spratlys controversy. It's an old, unresolved, unresolvable issue, having been there since my own grade school days way way back in the seventies. I remember how our Social Studies class debated the virtues of oil that the Philippines discovered in disputed territory off Palawan Island.

Perhaps this Chip Tsao is unconsolably livid after realizing that his better-educated Filipino domestic servant did not him teach about the Spratlys while tutoring him on Asian Contemporaneous Events.

At least he's got 15 minutes of fame now.

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The Indian Express on Naw-Rúz

THE INDIAN Express has written about the Bahá’ís of Delhi, in a brilliant article about Naw-Rúz that appeared on last Sunday's print edition. Read about it on "A New Light".

The writer, Shoba, approached me about the writeup--she wrote briefly about my blog earlier this month on "The Expat Blog About Town"--and I passed her onto the external affairs group of the Bahá’ís in New Delhi. It's remarkable how she went out of her way to locate and interview the Bahá’ís in the story. And I love the way that she ended the story with the following sentence:

It is this Tabernacle of Unity that is the essence of the Bahá’í faith, where the waters of disharmony are not permitted to eddy into the peace of mankind.

That, my friends, is the truth. I hope you enjoy reading the rest of Shoba's story!

We won!

SPENCER'S RETAIL has been named the "Most Admired F&G Retailer of the Year" amongst convenience and express formats in India. Given this weekend at the Food Forum India 2009 convention in Mumbai, the award is one of 12 that comprise the Coca Cola Golden Spoon Awards for excellence in food retailing. It's one of the most eagerly anticipated awards in the Indian food industry.

The winners were based on votes from consumers through a national survey and from experts in food and grocery retail. This latest recognition for Spencer's Retail is yet another reason to be proud of the company I work with. It's darn good.

To give you an idea how our larger stores look like, pictured below are displays that we created in relaunching our hypermarket in Gurgaon in northern India.

Image source: Paul Ancheta at Flickr

Happy Naw-Rúz!

Bahá'ís of Kolkata celebrating Naw-Rúz at the Bahá'í Center, 20 March
Image source: Paul Ancheta

TODAY IS the first day of a brand new year for Bahá’ís around the world. Called "Naw-Rúz", which means "New Day" in Persian, it is one of the nine holy days of the year, a joyous celebration that also welcomes the first day of spring.

Traditionally, Nowrūz is the Iránian new year, commemorated particularly by the Zoroastrians and Sufists. It is also celebrated by Muslims throughout the Middle East and Central Asia as Navroz. Abdu'l-Bahá, Son of the Founder of the Bahá'í Faith, has said of Naw-Rúz:

The rising of the sun at the equinox is the symbol of life and the human reality is revivified; our thoughts are transformed and our intelligence is quickened. The sun of truth bestows eternal life, just as the solar sun is the cause of terrestrial life.

Here's wishing all of you the joys and good health that spring brings! May they last through summer, fall, & winter . . . and may the light of His Divine mercy & protection surround you and your loved ones!

Festival of Holi

Holified at last year's Holi party at the office

COLOR AND laughter splash all over India today, as the subcontinent celebrates Holi. It's that day of the year when you get doused in this powdery colorful concoction called abir, and you're supposed to look funny in all those shades of red, yellow, and monstrous green.P>And all for the sake of fun and fellowship. There's no direct religious meaning to Holi, although a friend mentioned yesterday that it had medical connotations in the olden days when cholera was widespread (abir is supposed cool the body). It's possibly the least expensive of all Indian festivals, which ensures its popularity in the present financial climate. All that's needed are abir, pichkari (water gun), old white clothes, and TONS OF HUMOR.

Yup, humor. Who needs to be serious about being thrown hideous green powder in a white Pierre Cardin shirt, when there's nothing much you can do about it anyway? (That, by the way, happened to me last year, despite me cautiously avoiding anyone.)

Happy Holi!

Applying abir on a colleague

EPITAPH : Vicente Samaniego (1930-2009)

MY BROTHER Royce's beeping text message from Manila woke me up yesterday morning and told me about it. Rushing to my PC, I saw Raphael's e-mail: "Tito Paul, Lolo Vic just passed away, around 2am in the Philippines."

Mr. Vicente Samaniego, staunch servant of Bahá'u'lláh, well-loved member of the Asian Bahá'í community, gentle spiritual beacon to my family, and doting father-in-law of my brother Allan, has moved on to the next world after a swift but painful illness. He is now in the company of those he had ever loved in his shining life here on earth.

What a bounty for me to have been touched by you, Tito Vic. I will always remember you and your rich life of service!

The Bahá'í Fast

STARTING TODAY until 20 March, Bahá'ís around the globe rise before the sun does, eat a nourishing breakfast, pray . . . and then take their next meal after the sun sets. It's the annual season of the Fast, and the time has come once again for Bahá'ís to prepare and rejuvenate their spirits for Naw-Rúz, the Bahá'í new year, on 21 March.

My first day of Fast started well, having rehearsed my cook to prepare breakfast at 5:00 AM. This is my ninth year of fasting (I missed last year since I was traveling extensively). It's the only time of the year when I consciously make the truest effort to detach from material passions and desires, as mandated by Bahá’u’lláh, the Prophet-Founder of the Bahá'í Faith. A friend told me recently that the industry I work for—retail industry—is the first to encourage such materialism. So true, and so lucky am I. There will be tests at work in the next 18 days, and I look forward to winning those challenges through the Fast!

RPG Day

RPG Day at Nicco Park, Kolkata
Image source: Paul Ancheta

INDUSTRIALIST RAMA Prasad Goenka, founder and chairman emeritus of RPG Enterprises, celebrated his birthday today. It's been customary for the RPG Enterprises, a 30-year-old industrial conglomerate that includes Spencer's Retail (my employer), to celebrate his birthday with "RPG Day", and today's bash in Kolkata is possibly the most austere one ever. Held tonight at the suburban Nicco Water Park on the eastern fringes of the city, the celebration highlighted the group's corporate social responsibility (CSR) thrusts through a remarkable photographic exhibit. I'm actually impressed, never realizing the extent of the company's CSR endeavors. In these frugal, precarious days, it's superbly reassuring to once again see the buoyancy of RPG Enterprises.

The picture below shows the booth that the visual merchandising team created for the Spencer's private label brands, as part of the product exhibit showcasing RPG's various enterprises. Tonight's entertainment program promised to be fun, but I was so bushed from attending to the day's activities that I had to do a rain check and leave my colleagues to enjoy the promising evening.

Happy birthday, Mr. Goenka. It's an honor working with the group!

Spencer's Retail booths
Image source: Paul Ancheta

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.