A country's politicians are more likely to be corrupt if their concept of the self is narrower, namely limited to their own individual self and maybe their family. Therefore, they are less likely to be corrupt if they conceive of the self as including the electorate that has brought them to power.
Assumption, theory or verifiable fact? I have a hunch this is much more of an assumption or theory and much less of a verifiable fact. However, it's a thought that's been pricking my mind and merits some explanation.
First things first though. Basis a very intelligent friend's argument, I have to point out that politicians should be separated from the rest of society. Therefore a society that is viewed as individualistic can (and does) have politicians for whom the concept of the self includes their vote bank. And a society which is viewed as collectivist can (and does) have politicians who view the self as their own individual self and their family. The vote bank, or the taxpayer doesn't count.
A little too abstract, maybe. Here's an India-U.S. example.
India is a family-and kinship-based society. However, our politicians, when they accept bribes, only do so for the benefit of their own family. For example, hypothetically, if the head of one of our states hoards black money, he makes sure he buys his children homes in affluent neighbourhoods in western countries and also where possible, citizenships in those countries. Just so when the state falls apart under the weight of corruption, his immediate family is safe and warm.
However, when an American politician is pressured by corporate lobbyists, he seems more inclined to make the lobbyist's companies award projects to his state (where his electorate base is). Projects such as establishing headquarters that generate potential employment for that populace.
I see a link to the concept of the self in these actions. I wonder if I am right.
Monday, 10 October 2011
Sunday, 9 October 2011
The Indian need to save
There's always a rainy day in the future. That could be the maxim by which we Indians live. And our solution? To save. Money.
A trait that goes relatively unnoticed when we live amongst our compatriots. But becomes glaringly apparent as soon as we inhabit more foreign environments. Be it a short or long-term job posting or a fellowship outside India, it is almost certain that we will save some of the money we receive. And stash it away for that rainy day.
An Erasmus award holder from Europe once told my sister that it was quite impossible to even subsist in the Nordic countries on the Euro 1500 a month that he received. Surprising then that an Indian who was on the same scholarship in the same country, brought money back home to buy land!
And background or age has nothing to do with this tendency. Recently, I ran into someone who was moving into a two-bedroom flat (apartment in the U.S.) which already had three other occupants. This practice is quite common when young students move to the U.S. to start graduate school and are trying to get by on the teaching assistantship stipend that they receive. In this particular case, the husband of one of the occupants lived with her from time to time and my acquaintance was also planning to host her husband in the same flat for over a month. The maximum number of people would end up being six adults in this two-bedroom place. My acquaintance, however, wasn't a young graduate student. She was a 50-year old academic from a reputed Indian university. And she was receiving an above-average stipend for her six month stint in the U.S. as well as her Indian salary.
Strange indeed. But then I am no stranger to the practice of frugality either. On my first trip to Europe, courtesy my employer, I made every effort to stash away some of my daily allowance. The local supermarket was the go-to eating place instead of the quaint cafes that lined the cobbled streets. Sadly, a cuckoo clock and a little too much sightseeing ensured that I actually owed my employer some cash!
A trait that goes relatively unnoticed when we live amongst our compatriots. But becomes glaringly apparent as soon as we inhabit more foreign environments. Be it a short or long-term job posting or a fellowship outside India, it is almost certain that we will save some of the money we receive. And stash it away for that rainy day.
An Erasmus award holder from Europe once told my sister that it was quite impossible to even subsist in the Nordic countries on the Euro 1500 a month that he received. Surprising then that an Indian who was on the same scholarship in the same country, brought money back home to buy land!
And background or age has nothing to do with this tendency. Recently, I ran into someone who was moving into a two-bedroom flat (apartment in the U.S.) which already had three other occupants. This practice is quite common when young students move to the U.S. to start graduate school and are trying to get by on the teaching assistantship stipend that they receive. In this particular case, the husband of one of the occupants lived with her from time to time and my acquaintance was also planning to host her husband in the same flat for over a month. The maximum number of people would end up being six adults in this two-bedroom place. My acquaintance, however, wasn't a young graduate student. She was a 50-year old academic from a reputed Indian university. And she was receiving an above-average stipend for her six month stint in the U.S. as well as her Indian salary.
Strange indeed. But then I am no stranger to the practice of frugality either. On my first trip to Europe, courtesy my employer, I made every effort to stash away some of my daily allowance. The local supermarket was the go-to eating place instead of the quaint cafes that lined the cobbled streets. Sadly, a cuckoo clock and a little too much sightseeing ensured that I actually owed my employer some cash!
Saturday, 8 October 2011
Problems of plenty
That's just silly. My first reaction to anyone who suggests that I pay $30 (approximately Rs. 1500) to go visit a haunted house. A place where fake ghosts and other scary spectres will pop out at one in varying ways and supposedly (in my case, quite likely) chill one to the bone. Why would anyone want to pay good money to scare oneself?
And surprisingly, as happens many a time, the answer might lie in part in one of my mother's observations. That people and cultures that do not have to fear or be anxious about day to day problems, create and embody abstract notions that they can be afraid of.
Something that fits very well into my list of the problems of plenty, the problems that besiege cultures that largely have a lack of 'want'. Cultures that do not need to worry about whether the electricity is going to go off or that they have to wake up at 4am every day to switch on the water pump or else no water that day. Cultures that can walk down aisle after aisle selling them a wide selection of breakfast cereal. Cultures of plenty.
To those cultures, paying good money to go see creepy fake spectres that scare them makes perfect sense. Incongruous at first glance. But perfectly real. When one does not have to worry about putting food on the table, one decides that the 'insert brand name here' bag that one saw on their last trip to the mall is a must-have. Irrespective of whether they own more bags than they will ever need or have an increasingly alarming figure on their credit card bill. An amount that the government should really step in to help them pay. I mean how can the banks be allowed to be such blood suckers.
Aah the problems of plenty. Somehow, I would any day opt for the water pump at 4am. At least that's real.
And surprisingly, as happens many a time, the answer might lie in part in one of my mother's observations. That people and cultures that do not have to fear or be anxious about day to day problems, create and embody abstract notions that they can be afraid of.
Something that fits very well into my list of the problems of plenty, the problems that besiege cultures that largely have a lack of 'want'. Cultures that do not need to worry about whether the electricity is going to go off or that they have to wake up at 4am every day to switch on the water pump or else no water that day. Cultures that can walk down aisle after aisle selling them a wide selection of breakfast cereal. Cultures of plenty.
To those cultures, paying good money to go see creepy fake spectres that scare them makes perfect sense. Incongruous at first glance. But perfectly real. When one does not have to worry about putting food on the table, one decides that the 'insert brand name here' bag that one saw on their last trip to the mall is a must-have. Irrespective of whether they own more bags than they will ever need or have an increasingly alarming figure on their credit card bill. An amount that the government should really step in to help them pay. I mean how can the banks be allowed to be such blood suckers.
Aah the problems of plenty. Somehow, I would any day opt for the water pump at 4am. At least that's real.
Monotheism and a cultural sense
When people live in or subscribe to a monotheistic religion, do they also subscribe to a particular view of culture? I wonder.
Let me explain. What happens when Americans or people from the western world or for that matter, the followers of Islam who reside in the Islamic nations visit another culture? One that largely subscribes to a polytheistic religion? Do they recognize that the culture they have stepped into, differs from their own?
Taking a step back. Do they even subscribe to a particular kind of culture themselves? For example, most Americans I know tend to support diversity--of the colour of your skin, language, and yes, most importantly, sexual orientation. The typical stance (again amongst people I know) is to say that it doesn't matter to them that non-Caucasians are fast surpassing the Caucasian population in their country. That it is important to acknowledge that not everyone must speak English; Spanish and of course, Chinese are much more commonly spoken global languages. That a person's sexual orientation is their own--no one else has the right to comment on it.
But what happens when they visit another culture? Be it India, where every part of the country has vastly different norms and practices or most Arab lands where it is a sin for most women to even reveal their ankle to any male other than a husband or close relative (kind of ambiguous, that).
I remember a trip to Hampi, the seat of the ancient kingdom of Vijaynagar, a World Heritage Site and still home to some of Hinduism's oldest functioning temples. A town that is frequented by tourists and pilgrims alike. A town where the norm would be to dress modestly (do I sound medieval enough?). A town where American tourists decide that short shorts and noodle strap tops are perfectly acceptable attire. And I wonder why?
Why do Americans think that while different skin colours indicate diversity and bring with it the need to respect the associated cultural mores, their own dress code would be perfectly appropriate for a completely different country?
Not to say that Indians will ever win the award for respecting cultural diversity and the fact that people are different. No, for most communities in India (except maybe for the folks who sang mile sur mera tumhara), culture is all about proving that mine is better than yours. But dig deeper and in that sense of competitiveness (yet another quality that shines like a beacon on our foreheads), is an acknowledgement of the fact that people are different and that different cultures exist.
I am sure there are flaws in this half-baked observation. And I am pretty sure that I can come up with some myself. But it's definitely food for thought. And heck, maybe some kind of ethnographic research :)
Let me explain. What happens when Americans or people from the western world or for that matter, the followers of Islam who reside in the Islamic nations visit another culture? One that largely subscribes to a polytheistic religion? Do they recognize that the culture they have stepped into, differs from their own?
Taking a step back. Do they even subscribe to a particular kind of culture themselves? For example, most Americans I know tend to support diversity--of the colour of your skin, language, and yes, most importantly, sexual orientation. The typical stance (again amongst people I know) is to say that it doesn't matter to them that non-Caucasians are fast surpassing the Caucasian population in their country. That it is important to acknowledge that not everyone must speak English; Spanish and of course, Chinese are much more commonly spoken global languages. That a person's sexual orientation is their own--no one else has the right to comment on it.
But what happens when they visit another culture? Be it India, where every part of the country has vastly different norms and practices or most Arab lands where it is a sin for most women to even reveal their ankle to any male other than a husband or close relative (kind of ambiguous, that).
I remember a trip to Hampi, the seat of the ancient kingdom of Vijaynagar, a World Heritage Site and still home to some of Hinduism's oldest functioning temples. A town that is frequented by tourists and pilgrims alike. A town where the norm would be to dress modestly (do I sound medieval enough?). A town where American tourists decide that short shorts and noodle strap tops are perfectly acceptable attire. And I wonder why?
Why do Americans think that while different skin colours indicate diversity and bring with it the need to respect the associated cultural mores, their own dress code would be perfectly appropriate for a completely different country?
Not to say that Indians will ever win the award for respecting cultural diversity and the fact that people are different. No, for most communities in India (except maybe for the folks who sang mile sur mera tumhara), culture is all about proving that mine is better than yours. But dig deeper and in that sense of competitiveness (yet another quality that shines like a beacon on our foreheads), is an acknowledgement of the fact that people are different and that different cultures exist.
I am sure there are flaws in this half-baked observation. And I am pretty sure that I can come up with some myself. But it's definitely food for thought. And heck, maybe some kind of ethnographic research :)
Thursday, 6 October 2011
Steve Jobs and multiple realities
Steve Jobs died yesterday. And surprisingly, even though I am very anti-Apple and have never ever met the guy, it made me stop and be sad for a while. That sounds strange doesn't it, being sad.
But I was sad--the man, or at least the picture that Apple had posted on every Mac (and their various other product) screen(s), looked frail and very human. Something I didn't really connect with this messiah of the tech community. A design guru who to me, seemed more like a marketing genius who had tapped into the hearts of his audience.
But enough to say, that yes Steve Jobs, I am sad that you, like all other mortals, just disappeared. It's always surprising when mortality hits you in the face, kind of forces you to stumble back.
And then someone mentioned that Jobs' death was definitely the most important news item of the day. Yes, that man was a tech guru. Yes, he had managed to make some crazy number of people i-Crazy. But the most important news item in the world?
Harping on my favourite bone of contention yet again. But a starving child in India or Somalia or any of the other houses of most of the world's population does not give a damn. Because to her/him, Jobs and the magical world of Apple doesn't mean a thing. I am always surprised at how insulated people can be. A lot of us, irrespective of wherever in the world we are from, get sucked into this almost make-believe world where only the digital world either reigns or will soon reign supreme. Forgetting that there is a completely different reality. Or maybe multiple realities that the digital world doesn't even touch.
Realities that should be the 'important' items of news that jar people. Realities that are people, people who will die while you and I keep buying the next i-Item.
A rant but an expression nonetheless. Maybe it is time to rant about wealth distribution and inequality. And while I am at it, the Anna Hazare movement, Stop the Machine or Occupy Wall Street protests. Multiple Arab Springs that need to be analyzed and understood. And connected. Because, whatever it may not be, globalization is a reality. A very harsh non-i-Reality at that.
But I was sad--the man, or at least the picture that Apple had posted on every Mac (and their various other product) screen(s), looked frail and very human. Something I didn't really connect with this messiah of the tech community. A design guru who to me, seemed more like a marketing genius who had tapped into the hearts of his audience.
But enough to say, that yes Steve Jobs, I am sad that you, like all other mortals, just disappeared. It's always surprising when mortality hits you in the face, kind of forces you to stumble back.
And then someone mentioned that Jobs' death was definitely the most important news item of the day. Yes, that man was a tech guru. Yes, he had managed to make some crazy number of people i-Crazy. But the most important news item in the world?
Harping on my favourite bone of contention yet again. But a starving child in India or Somalia or any of the other houses of most of the world's population does not give a damn. Because to her/him, Jobs and the magical world of Apple doesn't mean a thing. I am always surprised at how insulated people can be. A lot of us, irrespective of wherever in the world we are from, get sucked into this almost make-believe world where only the digital world either reigns or will soon reign supreme. Forgetting that there is a completely different reality. Or maybe multiple realities that the digital world doesn't even touch.
Realities that should be the 'important' items of news that jar people. Realities that are people, people who will die while you and I keep buying the next i-Item.
A rant but an expression nonetheless. Maybe it is time to rant about wealth distribution and inequality. And while I am at it, the Anna Hazare movement, Stop the Machine or Occupy Wall Street protests. Multiple Arab Springs that need to be analyzed and understood. And connected. Because, whatever it may not be, globalization is a reality. A very harsh non-i-Reality at that.
Saturday, 30 April 2011
Bihu, elections, Easter and being far away
It's been a long long time since I wrote. But it's good to stare at the whiteboard again. And to write. Though it's tougher too. Another Bihu come and gone. Another year that the festival is spent with some form of the Assamese diaspora. Far away from Assam and most of my family. But this second year in a row, it will also be with the newest part of my Indo-American family--Will. The part that anchors me to the US even as the chapter that led me here, ends. But more about that in another post.
Bihus and maybe all festivals have some common traits wherever you are in the world. You wear dazzling clothes, typically eat everything on display and talk loudly even while the speaker or performer desperately tries to get your attention. The women, for the most part end up looking great. I am still trying to figure out why Indian women look so much better than Indian men. Another thought for another post. And as much as I love cultural colours, the one thing that is boring is the 'cultural function' prelim to each Indian gathering anywhere in the world! And two hours of that--is always fun. And the weirdness of Assamese one-upness. You sit at the same table but wait for the other person to start the conversation. Odd, odd, odd!
Am not going to be disjoint, so just signing off from this post. More in the next one.
Bihus and maybe all festivals have some common traits wherever you are in the world. You wear dazzling clothes, typically eat everything on display and talk loudly even while the speaker or performer desperately tries to get your attention. The women, for the most part end up looking great. I am still trying to figure out why Indian women look so much better than Indian men. Another thought for another post. And as much as I love cultural colours, the one thing that is boring is the 'cultural function' prelim to each Indian gathering anywhere in the world! And two hours of that--is always fun. And the weirdness of Assamese one-upness. You sit at the same table but wait for the other person to start the conversation. Odd, odd, odd!
Am not going to be disjoint, so just signing off from this post. More in the next one.
Sunday, 10 January 2010
An Omani beach
Try thinking of the blue sea, maybe even azure (for the finicky ones out there), light sand and a bright sun. And my mind immediately jumps to images of brightly colored balloons, children running around and swimmers plunging into the sea.
Reality pans in, and I see a retinue of cloaked women and men instead, mostly in distinct same sex groups. This is Oman, one of the most liberal countries in the Middle East. But let me check myself for this is not meant to be a diatribe against the ‘culture’ of that region. No, this is supposed to be a plain old travel journal, from my latest wanderings into the parts of the world where oil sells cheaper than water and human life cheaper still (especially if the said lives are from Asia).
Traditionally, a nation of maritime traders, that had deep links with India, Oman now has over 6000 kilometers of very well constructed and maintained highways that crisscross the length and breadth of the country. The present monarch (Sultan) is credited with the excellent road network as with all else that is good in the country (a characteristic atypical of most active monarchies that one comes in contact with!). But this is hardly cause for complain since these very roads took us across the breathtaking vistas that Oman is home to.
Al-Sawadi
The first destination that we visited during my first weekend in Oman was the Al-Sawadi beach, a popular spot en-route from Muscat, the country capital, to Sohar, one of the country’s biggest ports. As the car swept into the promenade that leads to the beach park, we saw children running around just like their counterparts from across the world. The only difference; these kids wore robes (not the Harry Potter variety) and some of the little girls had headscarves on. As we got out of the car, we attracted stares courtesy of our more Westernized clothing and probably, the lack of headscarves.
Unlike India, the short walk to the shoreline was free of hawker attacks though we did get cornered by one as soon as we settled into a picnic hut. The sales pitch here included the hawker shaking hands with the men in our group (of course!) and then launching into a whole stream of Arabic. Fortunately my cousin understands the language and could decipher that we were being offered a boat ride on the sea. After deliberating on the safety of the short trip minus life jacket style encumbrances, we decided to go for it. A good decision since the rickety boat added to the thrill and brought us back to shore, sun-burnt but alive.
A huge picnic lunch and much walking on the beach sands later, we set out to an Ostrich farm, the second destination of the day. About a thirty minute drive away from the beach, the farm was owned by a rich Omani Sheikh and hosted a variety of animals, from extremely regal Arabian steeds to sleepy camels and the very adorable red butted ostriches (a completely invented and in no way scientific name). The ostriches, the main attraction, and the human visitors seemed to share equal levels of curiosity about each other. Though shaking hands and beaks (?) was a huge temptation, the barbed wire fencing proved to be an effective barrier. While we the humans had to be content with a lot of hellos and hand waving, the ostriches stared (and I suspect grinned) right back at us. Definitely a bonding experience!
The day over, it was time to start planning the next trip. Maybe exploring the Omani sea-life was next. We’ll see.
Reality pans in, and I see a retinue of cloaked women and men instead, mostly in distinct same sex groups. This is Oman, one of the most liberal countries in the Middle East. But let me check myself for this is not meant to be a diatribe against the ‘culture’ of that region. No, this is supposed to be a plain old travel journal, from my latest wanderings into the parts of the world where oil sells cheaper than water and human life cheaper still (especially if the said lives are from Asia).
Traditionally, a nation of maritime traders, that had deep links with India, Oman now has over 6000 kilometers of very well constructed and maintained highways that crisscross the length and breadth of the country. The present monarch (Sultan) is credited with the excellent road network as with all else that is good in the country (a characteristic atypical of most active monarchies that one comes in contact with!). But this is hardly cause for complain since these very roads took us across the breathtaking vistas that Oman is home to.
Al-Sawadi
The first destination that we visited during my first weekend in Oman was the Al-Sawadi beach, a popular spot en-route from Muscat, the country capital, to Sohar, one of the country’s biggest ports. As the car swept into the promenade that leads to the beach park, we saw children running around just like their counterparts from across the world. The only difference; these kids wore robes (not the Harry Potter variety) and some of the little girls had headscarves on. As we got out of the car, we attracted stares courtesy of our more Westernized clothing and probably, the lack of headscarves.
Unlike India, the short walk to the shoreline was free of hawker attacks though we did get cornered by one as soon as we settled into a picnic hut. The sales pitch here included the hawker shaking hands with the men in our group (of course!) and then launching into a whole stream of Arabic. Fortunately my cousin understands the language and could decipher that we were being offered a boat ride on the sea. After deliberating on the safety of the short trip minus life jacket style encumbrances, we decided to go for it. A good decision since the rickety boat added to the thrill and brought us back to shore, sun-burnt but alive.
A huge picnic lunch and much walking on the beach sands later, we set out to an Ostrich farm, the second destination of the day. About a thirty minute drive away from the beach, the farm was owned by a rich Omani Sheikh and hosted a variety of animals, from extremely regal Arabian steeds to sleepy camels and the very adorable red butted ostriches (a completely invented and in no way scientific name). The ostriches, the main attraction, and the human visitors seemed to share equal levels of curiosity about each other. Though shaking hands and beaks (?) was a huge temptation, the barbed wire fencing proved to be an effective barrier. While we the humans had to be content with a lot of hellos and hand waving, the ostriches stared (and I suspect grinned) right back at us. Definitely a bonding experience!
The day over, it was time to start planning the next trip. Maybe exploring the Omani sea-life was next. We’ll see.
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