Photo of the day: "Bootham" in rural Tamil Nadu

At crossroads? On the mat? But, no "going to the mattresses"

Notice the board about "fine mat weavers" ...?

The mats woven from a local reed/grass is a local specialty.  A traditional handicraft that has been recognized in many ways by many people.

Apparently (I am told,) for Elizabeth's coronation as the queen, in 1953, one of the official gifts from India was a Pattamadai mat.

I am not sure for how much longer this unique local tradition will survive.  Get your mats before the artisans are all gone.  Yes, you can customize it, too, which makes a mat all the more unique.

There is also a religion aspect to this art: The mat weavers are Muslims.  I understand that all of them are Muslims.  Or, at least, most of the leading ones are.  Maybe some day in the future, I will spend some time understanding how this mat-Muslim connection happened.  Perhaps a community of mat weavers converted to Islam quite a few decades ago is my hypothesis.

Measuring unemployment, according to Abbot and Costello. Damn economists!!

The "real" rate of unemployment in the US is ...?  Why "real" you ask?  Here is an Abbot and Costello-style explanation at Greg Mankiw's blog.  (He thanks "U Chicago's Allen Sanderson for sending this along" The grammatical errors bother me; should I complain to Sanderson or Mankiw? ... hehe!)

COSTELLO: I want to talk about the unemployment rate in America.

ABBOTT: Good "subject". Terrible "times". It's about 9%.

COSTELLO: That many people are out of work?

ABBOTT: No, that's 16%.

COSTELLO: You just said 9%.

ABBOTT: 9% Unemployed.

COSTELLO: Right 9% out of work.

ABBOTT: No, that's 16%.

COSTELLO: Okay, so it's 16% unemployed.

ABBOTT: No, that's 9%...

COSTELLO: WAIT A MINUTE. Is it 9% or 16%?

ABBOTT: 9% are unemployed. 16% are out of work.

COSTELLO: If you are out of work you are unemployed.

ABBOTT: No, you can't count the "Out of Work" as the unemployed.  You have to look for work to be unemployed.

COSTELLO: But ... they are out of work!

ABBOTT: No, you miss my point.

COSTELLO: What point?

ABBOTT: Someone who doesn't look for work, can't be counted with those who look for work. It wouldn't be fair.

COSTELLO: To who?

ABBOTT: The unemployed.

COSTELLO: But they are ALL out of work.

ABBOTT: No, the unemployed are actively looking for work...Those who are out of work stopped looking. They gave up. And, if you give up, you are no longer in the ranks of the unemployed.

COSTELLO: So if you're off the unemployment roles, that would count as less unemployment?

ABBOTT: Unemployment would go down. Absolutely!

COSTELLO: The unemployment just goes down because you don't look for work?

ABBOTT: Absolutely it goes down. That's how you get to 9%. Otherwise it would be 16%.  You don't want to read about 16% unemployment do ya?

COSTELLO: That would be frightening.

ABBOTT: Absolutely.

COSTELLO: Wait, I got a question for you. That means they're two ways to bring down the unemployment number?

ABBOTT: Two ways is correct.

COSTELLO: Unemployment can go down if someone gets a job?

ABBOTT: Correct.

COSTELLO: And unemployment can also go down if you stop looking for a job?

ABBOTT: Bingo.

COSTELLO: So there are two ways to bring unemployment down, and the easier of the two is to just stop looking for work.

ABBOTT: Now you're thinking like an economist.

COSTELLO: I don't even know what the hell I just said!

Graffiti even on plants, because of the old palm-leaf-writing gene in us? WTF!

It was a remote temple, far away from even a small town.  This temple was at a "settlement" of a few shacks and a couple of sturdier structures. 

The settlement itself is located at the base of a range of hills, which was mostly boulders, with a few trees, and a whole lot of desert-vegetation kind of greenery.  (Yes, I am botanically challenged, too!)

While walking around the temple under a blazing sun, I saw graffiti of names of people--kids and youth, I would think. 

The most bizarre aspect of this graffiti was that the scribbles were on the leaves of a real, live, plant.  Yes, you read that correctly--on the plant leaves.  Like the one to the right here.

Whatever prompts such an act!

Here is another "etching" on this live plant:

Even more odd: there was no etching, as far as I noticed, that was in the language local to the area--Tamizh.  Almost every one of those was in English, and I kind of sort of recall a scrawl that was perhaps in Urdu.  So, is it the local kids displaying their knowledge of English, or the visitors leaving their mark behind?  or ...?

A white guy from Gujarat takes photos from a moving train :)

So many of my interests coming together in this: trains, mountains, setting sun, ...

An older guy standing near the door of the train coach that I was in kept looking at me, perhaps wondering why I was so keen on taking photos from the moving train.  Or, perhaps, he too was wondering whether I was a "white guy from Gujarat" :)

The British Raj and I: a love-hate relationship, even at Srivaikuntam

Despite all the traveling I have done over the years, I have never been to the UK.  Not even a stopover at London.  The logistics of transport is one important reason, of course.  A major reason that was.

A minor reason is that I am yet to develop any passion to visit the UK. 

This level of neutrality is a long way from my teenage anger at the imperial masters who sucked India dry.  Those were the young and rebellious years, as opposed to the contemporary old and rebellious years:) 

In this middle-age of mine, I suppose if I had money to spare, I would not be opposed to the idea of visiting London and the UK for a few days.

Traveling around in India always reminds me of my old hate-relationship that has metamorphosed into "meh" feeling about the UK.  The railways, old university and administrative buildings, road names, ... the reminders are everywhere I look.

The strangest reminder was at Srivaikuntam.  Yes, at this sleepy small town way deep down, near the peninsular tip of India. 

A narrow bridge over the Tamrabarani River links to the town to the other side of the riverbank.  One evening, well before the sun set, I walked the mile from my aunt's home to the bridge.  A plaque at the end caught my attention. 

A remnant of the British Raj!

The anicut (river flow regulator) was designed way back in 1853, by a Royal Engineer.  And then a few years to implement the design and construct the anicut, which was completed in 1873.  Back in 1873!

This will yet another example for me to add to the list that I usually provide in classes when I remark that I am thankful it was the British who colonized India, and not the Dutch or the Germans or the French.  If one's fate was to be ruled by a colonial overlord, well, it was better to be under the British because they at least established universities, built anicuts, bridges, and the railways, ...

This anicut/bridge from 1873 serves as a reminder for yet another reason: how much an independent India has failed to build up the infrastructure. 

This narrow bridge has handled people, carts, motorized transport all these years.  As the transport volume grew, there was nothing done to support the much higher traffic. 

Finally, 65 years after independence, a second bridge has been constructed--well, it is nearly complete, and nobody has any idea on when it will be "fully complete" enough for buses and cars to be diverted there.

Perhaps all the more the reason why the hateful attitude towards the British Raj has vaporized over the years, and I am now far more critical of India's government and politics.

If I live long enough to settle into retirement, perhaps then I will even begin to love the UK, eh!

Two student emails reassure me that I am doing ok

Ed Koch, when he was the mayor of New York City, famously walked around asking people, "how am I doing?"  Almost every class, I pretty much ask myself the same question.  Sometimes, I venture to ask students, too.

The formal institution-level evaluation and feedback process is notoriously meaningless at practically every university.  Ours is no exception, which is why I pay only the barely needed bureaucratic attention to it.  Instead, I truly watch out for, and value, the spontaneous feedback I get from students.

Two emails from students this term are even more meaningful because I am on sabbatical and not even on campus.  The following email is from "W," who was in one of my classes a year ago, where one of the readings I had for them was about the Applie iPhone and Foxconn, which has been in the news a lot recently.  "W" writes:

I was in your global trade class last spring and that Foxconn article reminded me of our many discussions -- thought you might be interested. ... It has been fascinating to see all the articles in the news recently -- and empowering to actually have an informed opinion.

Pretty neat, to get such a feedback.  Education is about knowing more about the world around us and then to develop informed opinions.  Mission accomplished with this student, at least.

In a lengthy email from "T" were the following sentences:

if you wanted to teach ****** again in the next four terms you should let me know so I can take your class! You are a favorite in our nerdy community and I know others would surely want to join as well and I think you get a lot of liberty with the curriculum so if you wanted to teach a class that let you'd have some freedom it'd be great.

"T" and "W" have provided answers to the question I always have in mind: "how am I doing?"  I am all set for another year, at least.  Thanks to them.

"I thought he was a Gujarati." "Hey, a white man is coming". Me they're talking about?

One of the most profound questions in Hindu philosophy is "who am I?"  The "mahavakyas" provide the path to understanding that question.  (An atheist quoting these is quite an interesting mix, eh!)

It is a good thing that I am not trying to answer that question based on how I am sometimes described by others.

An older gentleman a few years younger than my father came in and conversed with the people there.  A few minutes into the conversation, dad directed his attention to me and said "this is my son. He has come from America."

The gentleman's response was very different from anything I could have expected.  "Oh, really?  I thought he was some Gujarati visiting."

Seriously?

And then it struck me: perhaps he also sees in my face a resemblance to "the one from Gujarat who shall not be named" and, therefore, he thought I was a Gujarati?  I hope not.

A couple of days after this incident, I was, again, off on my own, to explore the nearby areas.  I told the cab driver that once were done with my agenda, he was to take me back home via interesting places. 

As we were driving, he stopped the car by the roadside.  We were looking down a gradient.  "Do you see the sea, sir, at the end"?  I did see a lot of blue at the end of the slope.  In fact, the sea seemed to be at a higher level than somewhere at the middle of the slope.

"When the tsunami came, this is why all these areas got damaged so much, sir.  A lot of people live in this low-lying area, and they were swept away."

What a catastrophe it was!

We then drove over to a nearby beachfront.  Mostly rocky it was, like off the Oregon coast.  Absolutely gorgeous, but miserably hot though.  

The driver stopped at the parking place, and I got off the vehicle.

I was appropriately equipped for the hot and humid conditions: cargo shorts, t-shirt, sunglasses, a hat over my head, and a camera in hand.

As I started descending towards the beach, I spotted a group of young men/boys.  About 25 or 30 of them. 

They could easily be high school students, I thought to myself.  Thirty high school boys all by themselves, in an isolated beach, and me walking there by myself dressed in cargo shorts, t-shirt, sunglasses, a hat, well, I knew this would not go well.

So, I paused by a big boulder's shadow, and quickly came up with a couple of different responses to heckles or comments or even worse.  And then I resumed walking towards the beach.

I suppose they, too, saw me.  I heard one guy yell out to his buddies, "ஏய், வெள்ளைக்காரன் வரான்டா" (Hey, a white man is coming.)

I was glad I had paused to draft a couple of responses, including to this comment.  Pretty sharp, I complimented myself :)

I didn't stop walking even though I saw a group of about ten running towards me. 

"Take photo, sir?" said one, while the other said "group photo sir."

"வேணாம் பா. நான் தமிழ் தான்" (No guys. I am a Tamil) I told them. 

Understandably, they were shocked.  They were confident they were rushing towards a white guy, perhaps to hassle him and get something off him, and now they had to re-calibrate everything.

I kept walking, and could hear them sniggering in the background but couldn't make out the words.

A minute or so later, I came across the last set of boys.  One said, "welcome to India."  I smiled at him and replied "நான் சென்னை பா. தமிழ் ஆளு தான்" (I am from Chennai. I am a Tamil.)  This guy simply froze.  He was way beyond shocked into silence.

I reached a gazebo kind of a structure for shade and some cooler winds.  Obviously, the sabbatical has not clarified for me who I am and what I want do with the rest of my life; apparently I need to first figure out whether I am an American, or a Tamil-Indian, or a Gujarati-Indian, or a white guy.  Philosophy, shmilosophy can wait :)

Photo of the day: birthday cake for a 100-year old. Yes, one hundred!

How often in life do we get to say "happy birthday" to a hundred year old, eh!  A very, very rare event in one's life, I would imagine. I did, earlier this evening ....

Now, this alone is worth a sabbatical, right?

A hermit and his penis. Monkey sex. At a temple :)

The temple at Srivaikuntam is at least 1,100 years old.  But then, it could be older, too.

To the local population, the age of the temple is immaterial--to them, it has always been there.  But, to an insanely curious person like me, this is a simple question for which detailed answers ought to be there on display boards, in printed materials, ... Could this temple be 1,500 years old? 2,000?  You see what I mean?

Of course, as a confirmed atheist, my interest in this is simply for a better understanding of the world around me and not for any religious salvation. Therefore, it is all the more an irony that here I am as an atheist trying to get the simplest of questions answered, while the true believers don't seem to be interested at all.

I was blown away by the complexity of the engineering and art at the temple.  I am one hell of a moron when it comes to anything related to the arts, and even more so when we talk art history.  Yet, yes, mind-blowing!

Lengthy corridors supported by stone columns, each from a single piece. Delicate carving of the stone to produce finely detailed sculptures.

All these done so many years ago.

The temple sculptures have a lot of secular art too--not mere religious ones.

I loved the piece below, which appears to depict a hunter who has returned with a heck of a prize, and perhaps an annoying thorn in the sole of his foot, which the woman is removing.  How neat, right? Simply beautiful.

And then there were art pieces that would make middle school students giggle, and people like me wish that somebody would explain the significance of such wonderful art from so many centuries ago.

In the carving on the left here, there is no doubt about the intention of the bearded male (no, not me!) who seems to be a hermit (no, not me!)

If Pinocchio's nose grew because of lying, well, this hermit's penis appears to reflect his thoughts of sex.

The fingers of the woman's left hand are also strategically placed.

I so wish I had taken art history!

There was a lot more to see, and there is a limit to how much I can take photos too.  If only I had been informed and alert about such fantastic art at temples even when I was way younger :(

It seemed that there has been extensive damage to quite a bit of the art in the areas exposed to the harshness that the sun, wind, and rain over the thousand-plus years.  One piece, up on the rim of a wall caught my attention:

I zoomed in to make sure I wasn't imagining what I thought I saw; you make the call:

One interpretation is that depiction of sex in the art in the outer areas of the temple was to remind the believers to leave their dirty thoughts outside, and enter the holy areas with a mind that was focused only on god.  Maybe.

Another interpretation is that temples were also the local art exhibits where the sculptors displayed their talents. Maybe.

Fascinating fodder for curious minds on sabbaticals :)

What to do when a husband beats up a wife, with the entire street watching?

A little after the sun set and the lights came on, I heard a whole lot of noise.  Yelling and screaming. And some strange "thud" sounds.

Curiosity being my middle name, I stepped out in a territory that is completely alien to me.  Alien in terms of a place that is all new; a culture that I no longer instinctively relate to; and even dialects of Tamil that force me to listen in order to understand. 

But then, it is after all the same curiosity that took me to Ecuador, where I was even more an alien.

So, I did step out and, to use an American idiom, walked half-a-block to figure out what was going on.

Quite a few people were there even before me.  Women carrying infants, topless men, and old women without teeth.  I mean, an entire cross section of the neighborhood, except children.

Turns out that it was one ugly fight between a husband and a wife.  They were cussin' and screamin' and throwing things.

Throughout, the husband was routinely whacking the wife on the back and on her shoulder.

It was just bizarre a sight.  The way the other watchers behaved, I felt as if they had seen such things before, and perhaps even between this very couple.  And that they stepped out because the television shows they were watching were far less interesting.

I had no place in this.  I retreated to my own safe quarters: nobody would beat me, nor would I assault one. 

The question though was whether I had not done the right thing by retreating. 

Maybe I ought to bring this up at "M's" class when I guest-lecture there next term, and have the students worry over it as much as, or even more than, what I am doing now?

A sari-clad Gujarati with a cowgirl hat in Nagerkoil? Not your grandfather's India!

We stepped out through the Padmanabhapuram Palace gates and stopped for tender coconut, when a young couple--perhaps in their late twenties--stood next to me and started what seemed to be a verbal fight.  The man barely said five words for every hundred from the woman.  Her voice kept getting louder.

All these didn't fascinate me as much as the language they were speaking: it was not Tamil or Malayalam, which are the local languages, nor English or Hindi. 

I thought I heard a couple of Bengali words or at least that tone.  Or, was it Oriya, I wondered.

I had to ask them to get this cleared.

But, their fight seemed to be getting more and more intense, but I didn't care. 

"What language are you fighting in?" I asked them. 

Nah!  That is the question I wanted to ask them.  Instead, I was polite.  "What language are you two talking in" I asked them.

The woman glared at me.  I mean, if her eyes were lasers, I would have been annihilated right there.  End of blogging!  Perhaps she was having one heck of an interesting fight, and I butted in.  Worse than coitus interruptus, perhaps, is an interruption in a heated argument :)

The man said, "Bengali."  I thanked them and walked away before the woman could launch any assaults directed at me.

This Bengali-fighting-speaking couple fits the trend that I have been noting throughout this strange secular pilgrimage of mine--Indian tourists are everywhere, far away from the lands of their languages. Unrecognizable sounds all over.  Bengali at practically the southern tip of India is, therefore, not a surprise at all.

What was surprising, however, was to see this woman, in the photo on the right. Let me back up a tad, in order to explain ...

There were tourists by the busloads at this palace.  These tourists from all parts of India often seemed to hurry past, so much so that all I had to do was wait a couple of seconds and then have the exhibit all to myself.

There was one group that was majority-female, all middle-aged and seemingly from Gujarat and Rajasthan.  At least, that is my guess based on their saris.

As I was nearing the exit gate, I spotted this woman wearing a sari, sitting with a whole bunch of women, and wearing this cowgirl hat.  In India!  Off Nagercoil!

Times they are a changin ...