The usual suspects

Last night as I was trying to sleep, and I guess was almost asleep, some barking brought me back to my senses. Actually, it was not the barking as such. It was the feeling that this barking of dogs was not usual, and like the reflex action of trying to fathom the unusual, I was wide awake, till I was sure it were the next door dogs, doing something in the corridors.

It just made me realize how the usual things become unusual after a while.

The usual sounds of the night almost always included some random dog barking somewhere, the comforting, secure drone of the ceiling fan humming, the TV or radio playing from the apartment downstairs, with some seasonal sounds thrown in (the birds [chokh gyalo] and the insects).

Probably that is why, in this last five and a half years, I've never been able to relate to afternoons over here. They just do not feel like afternoons. Not in the sense I felt them becoming back home....hard-earned, draining, slowly descending and soothing and uniquely remnant of the day that just was....like the whiz that stays in your head after you've talked all day. Afternoons here, that is, the time period around 3 pm--6pm almost feels like 11 am back home. Even so on days you didn't spend reading a book and didn't get out at all from the bed; even when you have been working in an office from 8 am. Yes, I did ache to get a break from work and get home, but the feeling was almost like you felt at 11 am...that you could work more, and the time wasn't hard-earned...you didn't feel it pass you by, though you have certainly seen it pass you by.

The absence of the usual....could be because of the sounds and the air....and certainly the things that hold the moments of afternoon or night or even morning, are inestimable and justifiably so. Recognizing something or acknowledging it, depends so much on the premise of familiarity; which is wholesome, good and pretty comforting and all that. The only downside being the feeling of the usual remains so frustratingly specific and bounded to certain tempo-spatial constraints.

Wish it were so with certain persons. Even though there is no such thing as forever. Even though you might have loved a certain movie and feel somewhat guilty when you don't like it later,.... years after when that loyalty to acknowledge a thing, a being, fades out or is just lost. Just like that.

Conversely, the phrase 'carving a niche' questions this process whereby something doesn't need to replace other things. It could just be. Space needn't come out of replacement, although it's usually the case that all relatively unfamiliar things takes a while to settle down, takes a while to be recognized and then predictably, everything falls into the all-encapsulating habit and fits snug into their captured places.
Like the vanilla-mint flavoured toothpaste that I first used this morning. Almost felt like a dessert and it was unsettling to brush with it, to say the least. But I know that I will get used to it, although it can never possibly be representative of what a toothpaste usually should be.

Like the afternoons. And the nights. And moving around in the city. Like being on your own.

Pain is my new friend.

This sentence expressed above got a whole new meaning in the past few days. Previously, when I heard all the trainers and especially Aamir Khan's *Ghajini* trainer Satyajit Chaurasia say this I thought I knew what they were saying (especially with all that working out). Armed with all that pain, I was but happy, with my endurance increasing steadily. This pain, who is supposed to be a friend, was like sweet nothings spoken by a lover --transient, fleeting, lifting, diverting but in the end, doing you good. I was getting stronger. I realized that the pain which doesn't kill you, makes you stronger, and stranger.......only in a pleasant way, to your friends and family.

But now I think I know what being in pain is. It's different from the previously mentioned hand-in-hand friendship. This one truly gets into your skin and of course goes beyond skin-deep. I can feel it as I write this, as I'm able to do this with the help of another .................friend or enemy I knoweth not--the painkiller. Simple tasks that never engaged my mental faculties and challenged the physical ones, are making me pause.......in pain and realize that being someone normal and healthy is truly a blessing. Even though I had broken a wrist and toe before, this realization is recent.

Anyway, as I was saying, I thought I'd rather accept this and make the best out of it. Therefore, I made this condition another ingredient for my procrastination and was looking up journals with the keywords "pain and health"; thereby, abiding by one of the survival tenets of grad school--that nothing can be out of your reach....or research.

So! I find there are nice and wonderful articles up there. One among them got my attention like a red flag. However, it was due to a different reason than the keyword. The journal article didn't have anything to do with pain, but it reminded me of the pain and angst--of any usual grad student in their second year of Ph.d--of trying to find an innovating research topic (i.e. one that no one else in this whole wide and new world has ever thought of laying their hands on). Basically, this entails finding an intellectually virgin topic, which nonetheless leaves nobody a virgin (screws everybody).

Looking at this research topic, I'm just amazed at the lack of courage and imagination in ourselves. I mean, how on earth can we miss doing research on this? How? how? how? how? how?

[I know over-emphasizing isn't a child of repetition but I can't help it]

Here goes the title of the paper:

"Paan and Gutka Use in the United States: A Pilot Study in Bangladeshi and Indian-Gujarati Immigrants in New York City"


Uptill this, I felt like Tom Hanks in "Catch me if you Can".

Then, I read the abstract:


Abstract:

Smokeless tobacco & areca nut are popular with South Asians & South Asian immigrants, most commonly used as paan & gutka. Their regular use leads to oral cancer. The South Asian community in the U.S. is rapidly growing, where paan & gutka are readily available. The study was the first exploration of the migration of the paan & gutka habits, & their use in the U.S. A 108-item questionnaire on paan & gutka usage & beliefs was administered to 138 first-generation Bangladeshi & Indian-Gujarati immigrant adults at community sites in the New York metropolitan area. Forty-five percent Indian-Gujaratis reported ever-regular paan use; of which 5% are current users. Thirty-one percent reported ever-regular gutka use; of which 77% are current users. Thirty-five percent Bangladeshis reported ever-regular paan use; of which 70% are current users. Nine percent reported ever-regular gutka use; of which 67% are current users. Bangladeshis are more likely to identify paan as causing oral cancer. Indian-Gujaratis are more likely to identify gutka as causing oral cancer. Between the two communities, there were significant differences in paan & gutka usage, migration effects, & oral cancer risk perception. There is a need for comprehensive migration studies on the determinants of usage, & for community-specific interventions for these carcinogenic products.


Herein, I was totally floored, with the very pessimistic face of Tom Hanks. The object/objective couldn't possibly have been captured by the likes of us.
Apparently, you can churn out a whole study and publish on a topic that's overwhelmingly startling and innovative, based on just what the subjects "identify" as causes of cancer.

And when I come to think of it, I've always loved Paan-Parag, and made sure I always got a share whenever someone was going around with it.

That's what I call cutting-edge research, (pun intended) leading to more cringing pain among peers and would be peers . And no, this is not pain from heartburn but from failing to look closer. No wonder "bhabo na" and "jatona" were related so well by Tagore.

At the end of it, the headline is the punchline here. Pain is, after all, my friend, since it actually made my heart, head and nerves all nod in congruence with each other. For the first time in my life, I'm not in confusion.

It's only words, and words are all I have

Frankly speaking, sometimes I feel it's all words and nothing else. I mean, especially when I'm writing a paper bordering on theoretical insanity (positively interpreted as "abstraction"). And I'm almost tempted to supply a footnote saying "words, words and words and not a meaning to fathom". However, I refrain to do this even with the best and honest intentions based on a stark realization: that I'm no Kalidasa to hurt my own foot with an axe or to put the aforementioned foot in my mouth.

Hence I patiently and painstakingly, repeatedly correct people when the name "Koyel" is interpreted as male as they read my CV (Yes, I plan to graduate someday).

Following which, begin to think amidst one of my many exasperated moments, that if Rachel can be female, why can't Koyel can be female too? Rachel is married, and so am I. But irrespective of their own weight, certain words need to be supported with more words. Some words achieve meaning only in conjunction or conversely, by conspicuous absence of some word, or even worse, by some letters even. To clarify, Kyle and Koyel has only a difference of O-ne letter, and so, to compensate for that difference, I would have to follow up each job application (when they get back to me with a "Mr ....", that is) with "I'm a female" rebuttal.

The power of words is obviously like the movie Roshomon--multi-interpretable. After all, it's how you see it that makes all the darned differences in everything in this world. When I first came to Canada, and was about to get off the plane, I saw a very cute kid. And I was tempted to just pat him in the cheek. Thwarting my attempts, however, one wise Indian gentleman standing beside me, told me not to do it, here and there, as "these things" (again, open to multiple interpretations) could be seen as child abuse!

Ain't no feeling high enough?

So, today I read another piece of such news that had multiple interpretations killing its original intentions. Much alike what happens to me most of the time.

Link and then the excerpt follows:

http://ca.news.yahoo.com/s/capress/090408/koddities/oddity_tofu_snafu

News:

"DENVER - One Colorado woman's love for tofu has been judged X-rated by state officials.

Kelly Coffman-Lee wanted to tell the world about her fondness for bean curd by picking certain letters for her SUV's licence plate. Her suggestion for the plate: "ILVTOFU."

But the Division of Motor Vehicles blocked her plan because they thought the combination of letters could be interpreted as profane.

Says Department of Revenue spokesman Mark Couch: "We don't allow 'FU' because some people could read that as street language for sex."

Officials meet periodically to ensure state plates stay free of letters that abbreviate gang slang, drug terms or obscene phrases.

The 38-year-old Coffman-Lee says tofu is a staple of her family's diet because they are vegan and that the DMV misinterpreted her message."

Just one more addendum to saying all about words. You should always read the ones written in fine print. Normally, apart from teaching expensive lessons, they cost you more than money can buy.

Example:

Like everything, what the world learns today, Bengal told it, years back!

Proof of the above is in listening and enjoying the following video.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Mdzp3imZwAg

creme de la creme

It's already known that all our behavioural patterns could be traced to either the genetic make-up or the environment in which we grew up. If you didn't know this, ask any student of Sociology 101 and s/he will be happy to help you with a healthy serving of an agonizingly boring essay of "heredity vs. environment". My point is not with Sociology being boring or in asking why a common-sensical topic must be boring, but that, I hate apples and I know how to trace this hatred to. You see, when I was small, I was given a boiled egg, an apple and a sandesh everyday for "tiffin". The familiarity with the apple was too much to take after 2-3 years, which also was the same for sandesh, though I still love eggs, to death, still now. But later, I did ask my parents and also my grandparents (with whom I had spent my childhood) on why the affinity with the apple? And yes, the answer had been rather simple--an apple a day and yadi yadi ya...

Which always made me wonder--how come protectors of health are always so unhealthy?

I mean the doctors.

Leave aside the lovely book by Eric Segal, (I love "Barney"), but have you ever seen a handsome doctor? Okay, maybe one. Probably you oversaw (in the manner of overhear), by a friend of a friend who happened to sprain her ankle and saw an intern bandaging her's and so on. Now for those politically correct and picky people who might come forward to question the equation: handsome = healthy, let me ask you in converse: have you ever seen an unhealthy looking but handsome person? Male/Female? Someone whom you do not love and is not related to you (that is, after shedding off your love-filters).

Come to face it, anybody who is healthy, at least looks cheerful; and though the definition of "good looking" or handsome might be dubious and differing for people, one should be healthy in one's best interest--it's economical, it looks better (fat never looked good), and it makes sure that you are there for the people you love. And more often than not, it is in one's own hands. It is possible to let yourself slip away for a year or two or even three or four but it's never impossible to get back on track, banish fat and be healthy.

Appreciatively, Indians and specifically Bengalis, believe in the least input and whatever output. Which translated into activities, means getting an apple to invest in less medical bills, finding the "common questions and suggestions" before each examination, bringing taste into food by deep frying almost everything and killing all nutrients, and of course, not investing in any kind of exercise after 7:30 am. Make no mistake, Bengalis do become involved in some form of physical activity. You'll find 90% of all Bengalis, especially in their middle ages doing the "morning walk". Females generally do the "evening walk" as it ensures they receive the daily staple of community events through a single activity.

In recent years, there has been laughing clubs, where ladies go and do like this, and laugh, in an attempt to come out of blood pressure and arthiritis which caught up on them since they were 35.

In fact, this is accepted like Himesh Reshamiyya was. People knew he was nasal (and nasal-nasal..in a bad way), yet people loved him and embraced him in the name of music. Nobody would refuse to accept his brand of music as "music". Same goes for our genetical brothers/sisters. They accept that with 35 or with 40, there would be diabetes, blood pressure, cholestorol, gout and what not crouching into their lives, following dollops of fat and the happily growing mid-section ever after. The women picturized in this recent photo published in ABP are all in their middle ages, and we might find a mother, an aunt in them.

And we call Americans "obese".

If we just remove the familiarity filter for a while, we could see that rarely do we see an ideal or close to a healthy body in India or Calcutta (for that matter) these days. Men are thin, with a potbelly (that is, they are skinny fat) and women are .....already described. The only exception would be the village men and women, who might not have a lot of lean mass, but who will most certainly not have such high body fat percentage.

Like accepting this hideous figure of Rituparna Sengupta, with 45% body fat and 15% lean mass (do you even see a calf muscle definition? leave alone other parts....) as an apt one to be in showbiz, whenever we see people or crowd or anybody in their 35s and above, we expect and accept them to be nurturing a lot of moving, soft, floury, fat. Just pick any picture of a crowd in India, any group of people in India, (barring the village people) and you will know what I mean.










This is more so when we see the economical elite or even the occupational elite like doctors, lawyers and oh yes, the police!


Imagine these men in a pair of jeans and a normal T-shirt.









When the average population of a country is out-of-shape and lead an unhealthy lifestyle (which is manifest in South Asians being the toppers in dying from heart disease and diabetes), looks unhealthy and aged than their actual age, we find comfort in the degree of obesity of first world countries. What about the frequency of obesity in us?
And can anybody please tell me: why should an ethnic group accept this bodily image of bloated faces and potbellied bodies as indicators of affluence?

And yet, though we obviously do not think about it, at least as regards ourselves, we do talk about it. Visit your neighbourhood or old friends after a gap of some period of time (1 year, 6 months or so) and the second sentence would be "You've gained weight!!" (spoken in a tone which reads as if you invited all the weight so that your eyes would sparkle in glee when you hear this comment)

The other alternative is: "You've lost weight!!(-->this being followed by how will you get married and why did you lose it and that you should eat butter!!)

If you manage to stay the same, they will comment "You are just the same!! Why haven't you gained weight?"

So that you do not end up as an outlier and remain more clustered towards the mean weight (mean = measure of central tendency, I mean, not the attitude...).

In fact, secretly, people wish that everybody remains the same. This is also reflected in our culture-vulture. Your gym-going habit will obviously be scorned at in Bengali Band songs, and in movies, the "bilet-ferot" weird character will almost be shown to be going for a jog in the morning, amidst dingy gullies and smoky chullahs. When the rest of the world is trying to survive (which is, feeding the stomach), it is almost a sin to look after yourself.

More so, if you are placed high up in the occupational hierarchy. Affluence in wealth must speak in affluence in cream, disregarding the "health is wealth" adage and turning a blind eye towards how Indians are perceived and represented in cartoons such as Mowgli, (yeah, even...), Tintin and the usual soap-s where the chief bahu protagonist aims to gain a stronghold among the in-laws by throwing around her weight,..... both metaphorically and realistically.

So.... till we gain our vision and do something, enjoy these random pics (None of them was taken by me).

And by the way, I've no idea whether this is due to heredity or due to environment. Food for thought and also for some research proposals.