Sporty Indian cyclist

Don't call cyclists bikers, especially the Indian ones. I made that mistake once and the growl was worth hearing. Separate the bikers and cyclists, be it for any community. I've made it generic.

One Indian cyclist rocked the sidewalk I walked to work today morning. She rode one of those tiny fold-up bikes, an uneasy vehicle but relevant city transport. She creakily navigated through the crowded sidewalk, as if riding a scooter through a crowded street in Madras.

It looked like a Candid Camera trick or some scene for a spoof show, but it was real. I swear she could've banged into anyone at any moment. It annoyed me a bit, but the pedestrians enjoyed the scene, encouraging her with thumbs ups and cheery smiles.

This was after I saw a Buddhist monk standing in a line to get into the SFPD building/courthouse. I'm not saying Buddhist monks aren't capable of crimes, he perhaps jaywalked not knowing where he'd find karma. Or he was on jury duty. It was just an interesting sight, this robed monk standing and praying to god with his beads, sandwiched between women on cellphones. Not an everyday sight.

Interesting morning.

The future of Montenegro?

Serbians seemingly never stop their mischief. Their interference in the referendum fell a tad short of denying Montenegro independence. They only had to import a few more dummy voters from Croatia or Russia on May 21...

Montenegro got about 56% of the vote for independence from Serbia, barely a few % points above the minimum requirement set by the EU.

The new country's premier criticized Serbia meddling around with the referendum. Cool down dude, you *won* the election, so keep it positive. And precaution: don't mess with the Serbs. They can really screw Montenegro at will. Fortunately, the Serbs have recognized the new sovereign nation.

The new nation faces many challenges, Serbia's only one of them. Reporters may misspell the new country and National Geographic may decide not to create a world map for financial reasons -- Montenegro can't do anything.

On a serious note, my thought process would be something like this if I were heading Montenegro:

""

Neighbors are my first first concern. The battle-tested Serbian and Kosovar populations are quite a handful for my peaceful population, so a support system to tackle them would help. Call on the superpowers -- US, EU and Russia. It is a lock that landlocked Serbia will meddle, as they would drool over the ports at the Adriatics and Mediterranean Sea for trade.

Focus more on the West. Lobbying for EU support is the best; it's a quick way to get on the fast-track for EU membership and develop economically. As Serbia also seeks EU membershtip, EU will discourage the Serbs from meddling in Montenegro. U.S. may be good for Coke and Wendy's, but keep them in the background for now.

Stay away from Russia and its dubious reputation. (Russia doesn't expect attention, if they need Montenegro, they will just conquer it.) China.. where is China? Forget Asia for now, focus on the West.

Disconnect Montenegro from other Balkan nations which have a dubious reputation of pride and prejudice (which will never happen. The Balkan Effect will never disappear, given its location. Had it bordered Austria, perhaps yes...) Try to avoid the infiltration of Serbs and Kosovars who will try to leave their lands searching for a better life.

Create an identity promoting Montenegrin nationalism. Draw from the country's past and bury the tumultuous Yugoslav years to create that new identity. The EU should give Montenegrins a reputation where quick business can be conducted.

Become a dictator ummm..... naah, bad idea for now.

""

Is it shameful to be Indian? (part 2 of 2)

(Previously... got chatting with an "Indian"-looking girl in a restaurant about descent. She was Malay of Punjabi descent, but looked very Indian.)

"I am Malaysian of Punjabi descent," G said, with a different accent indicating she wasn't from India.

That is where the trouble started.

Her eyes had some distinct Malay features-- which I didn't notice -- Erin pointed them on the way home.

"Don't get to meet Indians from Malaysia everday," I said. Wrong, wrong. She bristled.

"I am Malay and Punjabi. I don't like to be called Indian. I can't stand people calling me Indian at Bhangra parties," she said, throwing a few bones to analyze her.

She seemed idealistic, so time to set up the chat rules:

1) Don't argue with her..
2) Agree with whatever she says..
3) Ensure she doesn't brainwash me into some crazy religious or cultural thought process.

"Why is that [you hate being called Indian]?" I asked, out of curiosity.

"The only connection with Punjab is through my Mom, and her village was in Pakistan, not India," G said. "Call me Punjabi, I'm happy with that." she said. Her hand loitered in the air and voice got intense.

I got her point. She was Indian as we'd generically identify, but with intense Punjabi history/culture pride. She loved traditional Bhangra music with dholaks, not Talvin Singh's fat beats. She respected Maharaja Ranjit Singh, a great Punjabi ruler who ironically was based in Pakistan.

But *why* was she upset at being tagged an Indian? Punjabis had a remote connection with being "Indian," a simple, unharmful 6 letter word. Right, I'm Gujarati, Jew of the East, but I didn't mind turning into a 'Nepali' to avoid chat with Indian cab drivers. What was so difficult with a simple cultural transformation?

"Historically, Afghanistan and Pakistan were part of the Indian subcontinent," I said, adding a dumb factoid into the intensifying flame.

"Punjab could have been in Pakistan after [Indian] independence, and I would've been a Pakistani, which I am not. I treat India the same way. Malaysia is my country." she said, getting into a groove I felt uncomfortable with.

She simply felt no connection to India. She even referred to Gujaratis as "Jews of the East," not "Jews of India," a rather easier simile I would have preferred to hear. Was she challenging the concept of modern India, a mish-mash of cultures? Continuing a historical argument wouldn't serve a purpose, she was kicking ass in that.

"I know some Punjabis who wouldn't mind being called Indians, like my sister-in-law. I think it's relative to each person," I said.

"Do your Gujarati friends really feel Indian?" G asked somewhat fiercely.

"I don't know where we [Gujaratis] were from, maybe China, Japan or San Francisco, but we're now Indians," I said, garnishing facts about the India/being-Indian concept. "Some feel Indian, perhaps not all. Many don't mind being called Indian for the cultural connection." Maybe I was BS-ing, but it sounded good.

"They [Gujaratis] have their choice," G said, cooling down a bit. "When I use a term, I want to mean it. I've never been to India and I have no connection there, so I don't understand what being Indian is like. I'd like to keep it that way," she said passionately. "Though, I'd like to go to India and my village in Pakistan someday."

Every few seconds G swigged her beer, a sure sign of her Punjabi-ness. She controlled the conversation and my head. Time to bust-a-rhyme and put the topic on hold. G seemingly had a point to prove, so she kept going.

"Being Indian is such a wide term. Do you prefer being called Gujarati or Indian?" G asked.

"Maybe desi is the right word?" I said with my Colgate smile, trying to lighten up the argument. The last thing I wanted was a ruckus in a peaceful restaurant.

G rested her hands on the bar table, looking me straight in the eyes with a beautiful smile.

Erin, monitoring the chat next to me, smelled the one-second silence and asked me to join her for a smoke outside. Twas a surprise, none of us smoked.

"Is everything okay with the two of you?" Erin asked outside.

"Oh yeah, everything's just fine." I said. "Where's the ciggy?"

Is it shameful to be Indian? (part 1 of 2)

Sitting on barstools at Chow by Church and Market, roommate Erin insisted I chat up with an (Indian) girl sitting alone next to me, reading a book. I don't disturb people reading, it's just not me. I don't like being charmed by a random stranger when reading The Onion.

So Plan 1 came to action. Crack loud jokes to try attract her attention. Erin knew my gameplan, so she assisted with fake laughs to anything I said. Her performance was lousy, but it worked.

Indian girl looked toward us for 5-10 seconds and I got my hint -- she was willing to be disturbed. I made my move, nibbling Erin's back indicating I was going for the kill.

"Are you waiting for someone? You are welcome to join us," I told her. In support, Erin flashed her million-dollar smile. Indian girl smiled back, so happy as if she had waited for us for eternity. I wasn't well-groomed that day -- hair was scruffy, beard bore the peace sign. But not a hassle. Indian gal was in the fold.

"Thank you!" Her book shut down.

"You are welcome," I said. Erin got back to her business.

"Cheers!" G said, and the glasses tinkled.

"Are you waiting for someone?" I asked.

"Actually, I'm new to this city and I heard a lot about this place, so I came for a meal."

She opened up many topics to chat about, so I let loose. After 5 minutes, we were chatting about DJs in Sacramento and how they stayed in Indian motels free of cost.

"Asian motels," she corrected me. Well, Gujjus own the motels and Gujjus are Indians, so where did I go wrong? I mulled over it for a second.

"Where are you from?" she asked.

"Boston," I cleared. "And then it's a long story." Atleast I wasn't from Vermont.

"What is your ancestry?" she asked, digging deeper. Thankfully, as a Gujarati, my story didn't reach the motel dead-end.

"Gujarati," I said, proudly. "Dad's supposed to be Mongolian, but we can't prove it." She gave me a strange look. Darn, I should've realized. Presenting my quirky sense of humor a bit too early. "Just kidding actually. We all are Gujaratis."

"Aha, Jews of the East," she crackled, with a huge smile on her face.

"Jews of the East?" I asked. "Serious? Where did you get that from?" Happened so that Erin, who is Jewish, and I were headed out to see a Jewish comedian perform that evening, but didn't find seats. G took centerstage.

"You are the businessmen. The money makers," G said.

"I seriously hope you'd pay for my beer G! I have not a pretty penny in my pocket," I said. Only if I could add us being money hoarders.

"What are you of the East?" I asked her.

"I am Malaysian of Punjabi descent," she said, with a very different accent indicating she wasn't from India. And that is where the trouble started.

(to be continued...)

I hate Dunkin' Donuts

I've been tripping around East Coast over the last 15 days, but finally back.

It's amazing how your love for Dunkin Donuts changes to hate within 15 days. Many observations about Boston, but so many, I can't even fathom.

I'll be writing a two-part version about how this woman changed my views on how to look at Indians. Sorry can't jam it into one piece.

In the meanwhile, monitor Montenegro's possible independence (from Serbia) referendum on May 21. Funnily enough, Serbia-Montenegro is sending a combo team to the soccer World Cup. Tough choice.

Tree-hugger and more communist essays

In university, after a drunken night, a classmate banged her head on a tree to convince me that I belonged to her, only her and nobody else. And I was this skinny, dim-witted dude with a rainforest of unkempt hair wondering how to get the situation under control.

Partly it was my fault -- for some odd reason, I have associated with the most psychotic women on this planet -- but she just took the cake. I told her if she wanted to chop a tree, she'd be better off in the Amazon, and asked a friend to drop her home.

Next day in the class, she didn't remember anything, though a small scar on her forehead from behind her mountain of makeup was worth a million words. Even mascara didn't save her from dropping a small tear about it. Darn, was she a nutcase.

Continuing about university essays from the last entries, I couldn't resist Russia/Eastern Europe in college, so I majored in war journalism. (Had to separate the previous entry from this for the profanity thing..but some more follows)

Anyways, scouring j-school essays, hit upon one on how TV helped knock out communism in East Europe. I read *27 books/articles in one month* to complete it. I now struggle to finish San Francisco Chronicle's sports section.

You may find a treasure trove of information in college essays *you* authored. I found this amazing extract of an essay I wrote on how TV helped trash communism in East Germany, Czechslovakia and Romania. Warning: it's informative, but academic in nature. (Sectional references edited out for readability. For the curious, they are: G. Baines (1990), G. Robinson (1995), C. Sparks & A. Reading (1994), M. Smid (1992), P. Gross (1995), J. Alter (1990), P. Novosel (1995))

“First, we will take Eastern Europe, then the masses of Asia, then we will encircle the United States which will be the last bastion of capitalism. We will not have to attack. It will fall like an overripe grapefruit into our hands”

-Vladimir Ilyich Lenin

REVOLUTION AND TELEVISION

What really surprises most people is that the peaceful fall of communism in Czechslovakia (November 1989), Romania (December 1989) and East Germany (October 1989) went unarmed . How did that happen? According to Baines, television was one of the “key catalysts to change in Eastern Europe”.

Giving a stance of all Eastern European nations would be impossible, so I would like to focus on the three aforementioned nations to help manifest my argument. Please note that in this section, I am just trying to explain the revolutions, and a little description of how the TV system reacted to the revolutions. The judgements and critiques will come in the “Arguments” section.

East Germany

On October 1989, a demonstration was organized on the streets of Leipzig, East Germany, where people demanded “opinion and informational freedom” thus making “media democratization one of the central issues of the campaign." Western TV stations beamed images of these demonstrations to East German homes.

Erich Honecker, feeling threatened by these TV images, ordered the military to stop the next demonstration with the use of force. The next demonstration involved half a million people, forcing Honecker to retract his order to massacre. Half a million lives were saved, and the Berlin wall was broken to form a united, democratic Germany.

All the while, East Germany had uncontrolled access to the next-door West German television signals. The West Germans relentlessly beamed images that acted as a contrast to the propagandist East German TV.

Czechslovakia

On November 17, 1989, a pro-democracy student demonstration was organized in Prague, Czechslovakia where the “communist system was most rigid." Milos Jakes, the Prime Minister, suppressed the protest with the help of the riot police. Images of the suppression were replayed on TV (with the help of a clandestine video) and on “large television screens set up by street corners."

Czechslovak TV was striving to provide images of that event on TV, but Milos Jakes restrained them from doing so. That led to a dispute between Jakes and the TV authorities. On November 25, Czechslovak TV provided live images of a huge pro-democracy demonstration. Jakes resigned, and Vaclav Havel appeared on television for the first time.

The communist system in Czechslovakia and its control on TV was most rigid in all of the Eastern European nations. Non-socialist programs were discouraged and there was one whole channel dedicated to “the rebroadcast of Russian TV."

Romania

Based on the media model prescribed above, the erstwhile Romanian Television had no credibility in the programs it produced. The people got fed up of the propaganda they meted out, and they relied on foreign TV channels for information.

Romanian audiences had free access to foreign TV signals: those who had satellites could view CNN, Sky News et al; those with TV antennae could access the Bulgarian, Hungarian, Yugoslavian and Russian TV channels.

Before December 22 (when communism was ousted from Romania) the revolutions in other Eastern European countries were being beamed into Romanian living rooms, harvesting the seeds of revolution amongst the public. Their images of other nations succeeding in ousting communism gave them hope.

On Dec 21, 1989 Ceausescu’s rally, which had a booing audience, was broadcast live on Romanian Television. When the last bit of his speech was blanked out (censored) by Romanian TV, people moved out onto the streets in confusion of what had transpired. Ceausescu’s regime was ousted the next day, and the communist Romanian TV was restructured a day later.