Initially, I was slightly disgusted that the IS was going to take over a place called Palmyra in Syria, and the only quote the newspaper reported was from the UNESCO. Then I saw the pictures.

My Grist with Western Formals

• It's the first step by Corporations at homogenising people, throttling overt displays of individuality.
• A kurta clad, jhola toting individual does not have to be a rabble-rousing commie. So don't give me shaky logic about reflecting 'professionalism'. (Also, anybody who believes that it's the first step by Corporations at homogenising people, does not have to be a rabble-rousing commie)
• They are shit expensive
• They are really not suited to the Indian body type. At least to not a person with an Indian body type with curves thrown in at exactly the wrong spots.
• Related to the previous point, they have a way of making a person with an Indian body type (with curves thrown in at exactly the wrong spots) feel really bad about herself. A Fabindia Medium can barely squeeze into a Van Heusen Extra Large.
• There is not enough choice for women. (If someone with access to all the brands that post-1991 India has to offer, says this, he/she is definitely not a rabble-rousing commie).

“My servant hasn’t come today”, Mira mashi wailed on the phone.

“Domestic help.” I could see Asha mashi’s eyebrows twitch as she mentally corrected her sister.

“I will have to cook, clean all on my own, that too on a Sunday…”

Asha mashi rolled her eyes, then looked apologetically at me. I pretended I hadn’t seen her disinterest, getting up to drink water from the bottle kept at her bedside table.

Mashi , my mother’s first cousin, was my local guardian in Delhi. To my misfortune, she was also a senior Professor in the Department I had chosen to do my PhD. Luckily though, I had avoided her being my Supervisor as well (though I did not realise the lucky part until I spoke to Sourav, her graduate student/personal indentured labourer).

As a kid, I loved her. She had a large, pretty home, and had the fanciest delicacies served, when we visited her. That would usually be enough as a mark of character. But I also loved the way she dressed-cotton kurtas and lots of big, ethnic jewellery. Her salt and pepper hair, cut extremely short gave her gravity, as well as warmth. Also as little as I like to admit my absolute lack of depth, I loved the way she spoke English. It was fluent, but most importantly free of the embarrassingly heavy Bengali accent that saddled my parents’ diction.

What led to my grown up self not particularly liking her, was what has historically been responsible for drawing a wedge in even the most tightly knit of families: close contact.

It is difficult to avoid that, given that we spend the better part of the day in the same building. But I make sure that every visit I make to her place is punctuated by a gap of at least three months. This time it hadn’t been so bad. She had just discovered blogging. So we talked about that.

“It’s really lovely, isn’t it?, she said.

“ It really allows me to interact with people from all walks of life -other academics, enlightened journalists, social workers. No other forum provides such a democratic space for free discussions and debate. And it’s becoming quite a necessity in the increasingly censored non-virtual world, no?”

I agreed absent-mindedly as I stared at her blog counter. The number of hits she had gotten in two weeks had exceeded the number I had managed in over ten months.

Her first post had been an impassioned argument against a rabid communal leader, emerging as the Prime Ministerial candidate of a right-wing party. That had received a rousing reception from the readers. Her latest post was a chilling account of how the film industry and a best-selling author were conspiring to turn popular opinion in the leader’s favour.  The first few comments awaiting moderation, showed that there were others who agreed with the view.

“The dumbed down easy version of history that the film offered will be lapped up by the ignorant and consumerist masses of the country”, a journalist from an Eminent Newspaper wrote.

I didn’t take kindly to being called ignorant. And my stipend didn’t allow me to be consumerist. So I felt happy seeing an Indian Warrior, defending my ilk. Unfortunately, his argument, that I speed-read while Asha mashi was busy tuning her sister out, was less than convincing.

 “how can you pseudos ignore 59 innocents killed in the train…your arguments are not only dishonest, but downright treacherous. You people should just go to China. They will shoot you in the head there if you write such things and you would bloody well deserve that…”, he had written.

It never got published.

                                                                       ***

Monday morning, a mail from mashi sat in my inbox. It had her recent academic paper in the attachment. She invited everyone from the Department to give feedback. Apparently an anonymous referee had said the paper made sweeping generalisations, and that certain sections were devoid of research. The same day, Sourav had his research methodology torn apart. I deleted the mail in solidarity with him. Plus I was already being compelled to do the same kind of work for my Supervisor, Prof Abhimanyu. I was certainly not going to voluntarily do more.

Actually I don’t know what I hate more. The pointless vacillations that Mashi’s papers are, or the equally useless, complicated mathematical edifices that my professor constructs. Of course, he gets more respect in the Department, as in the profession in general. Some of the older professors practically dote on him, their star ex-student, who went on to get a PhD from Harvard, but returned after years of teaching there, to give back to his alma-mater.

“It’s an exciting time for India, isn’t it?, he said when I asked him what made him come back.

I would like him more, I think were it not for his budding friendship with Asha mashi. More sources of close contact, I rued, when I saw them having tea from the coffee-house. Apparently, they had bonded since the last Departmental meeting (which Sourav had attended by virtue of being a TA).

Some of the professors had wanted to drop Mashi’s subject. In a department dominated by Game theorists and Econometricians, it was seen as soft.  The matronly Head of the Department had offered her the chance to teach economic history instead. Mashi had been shocked. Nobel prize winning economists had been in the vanguard of her subject. Economic history was the preserve of historians, she had argued. Abhimanyu had backed her up then. He and Prof Qureshi. The three of them had been inseparable since. And not just on campus. I once spotted them at Habitat, where I had gone to meet a friend. I deduced they were there for a Sufi Music Recital. Prof Qureshi was nowhere around though.                                                                               
                                                                                           ***

In the afternoon, Prof Abhimanyu called me to his office to discuss my dissertation. I had asked for an appointment two weeks back and he could finally accommodate me. He looked busy when I entered, evidently going through the document I had sent him. He found a fault in my work, and tilted the computer screen in my direction, so that I could explain myself. My stuttering was interrupted by his intercom ringing. The HOD wanted to see him. He told me to think while I waited for him to come back. I obediently decided to google my way through the problem. Apparently the Professor was going through a blog before I had entered. The post was by an Indian Warrior. The post revealed how the mainstream media’s coverage was biased towards the ruling pseudo secular party. How it was mechanically spreading canards about the only alternative, a dynamic leader, slowly emerging as the most viable candidate to lead the country into a new, bright future. A half written, yet-unsubmitted comment by a TruePatriot47 sat in the comment form.

“You have nailed it!  The youth want development. Which he CAN deliver. And which these sickular commies refuse to acknowledge”, the message said.

My Taxonomy of Academic Writing (in Economics)

I am currently reading a paper, firmly ensconced in the intersection of B, D and E (see below). Which motivated this.

A.      Vishal Bharadwaj cinema^*- Our microeconomics professor encourages students to write short answers in exams. He cites the example of Kenneth Arrow, who was notorious for his short papers (most of which, went on to span complete branches of economics). I haven’t read much of Arrow, but I have certainly read other economists who decide to infuse meaning into every word they construct. You blink. And you miss the most important plot point. These economists enjoy sneaking in a harmless looking line in the introduction, or worse, a footnote- the one line that holds the key to all the mind numbing (unsolved) differential equations that you are so impatient to get to, in later sections.

B.      Ekta Kapoor Soaps- These authors lie on the other extreme end of the continuum. They absolutely must give us a recap of every section of the paper at the end of the section, as well as at the beginning of the subsequent section. And in the introduction. And in the recommendations. And in the concluding remarks. You get the idea. (And then almost start missing the algebra).

C.      Farhan Akhtar/ Abbas-Mustan projects- While the Vishal Bharadwajs are theoretical economists (in the vanguard of academia), empirical economists (especially if you skip the methodology bits to power on to the results and discussion) are more accessible. That’s not to deny their capability of employing stunning gadgetry on the way to the climax. When done well, the results are sublime. When not…umm I trust you have seen Race.

D.      Rohit Shetty filums- unambitious and unpretentious. But (happily) not very taxing on the brain. These benign authors decide that they must make life easy for students, and spend most of their paper presenting a simplified version of the papers written by Exhibit A and C. Just as fancy cars hurtling in the air are a regular fixture in Shetty’s films, the penultimate section of these papers too must invariably involve critiquing the papers they discuss, and sometimes an extension.

E.       The ensemble film (in the tradition of Aaja Nachle, Chak de India)- Chak de India straddled regional chauvinism, national unity, religious persecution, sexism, the pathologies of Indian sport, all in a three hour narrative. The academic equivalents may not give such gripping results, but they do manage to flog a single mathematical model into providing amenable results on a variety of points the author wishes to prove. Sometimes this is not limited to a lone paper. Several careers have often hinged upon one model, one idea. Sometimes so much so that all the loving self referencing pushes it into Yashraj Films territory (who remind us at every chance they get, that Aditya Chopra made DDLJ).

^* Yes I compare academic papers to Bollywood films and Hindi television. Sue me.

Random Observations Aboard (and about) the Delhi Metro

1) The Metro signage is a sight for sore eyes to a woman in Delhi, especially at the end of a frantic, solitary walk through desolate roads on a dark, wintry evening.

2) Women can be vicious. And I am not just talking about the pushing and shoving to get inside and out. Last week I heard a middle aged woman call a college student besharam for holding hands with her boyfriend. The woman’s friend concurred. According to her boys can’t help fall in love. “Aur phir ladkiyan bolti hai rape ho gaya, rape ho gaya”.

3) People listening to music forget they are in a public place and start singing along. Loudly.

4) An advertisement in the Coach exhorts people to join the Navy- calling it a profession with honour. It also helpfully has a picture of a war zone, promising potential recruits a video-game like experience. Their words.

The front page of the Hindu reported on 22 August 2012  that the Government (and most other parties were in agreement) was mulling the need to amend the Constitution in order to enable states to provide reservations for Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes in job promotions. Earlier attempts by states like U.P to usher in such a provision had been struck down by the Supreme Court. The report quoted the Prime Minister, saying, "You may be aware that the government had always been committed to protecting the interests of the Scheduled Castes and Scheduled Tribes and on certain occasions did not hesitate even to bring constitutional amendments".

The back page of the same newspaper reported that the Supreme Court had accused the Government of being "not serious" in putting an end to manual scavenging, practised primarily (as Satyemav Jayate informed us) by the lowest castes. This was in response to the Additional Solicitor General vacillating about when the Government would introduce a Bill to amend the Employment of Manual Scavengers and Construction of Dry Latrines (Prohibition) Act, currently a largely loose law since it does not address manual cleaning of septic tanks. The government has been promising to introduce the required Bill for the past six months, the article said.

Just saying.