I'm sick of the innumerable emails and text messages asking me to join the war against corruption. The reason I’m presented with is "growing awareness". Not so long ago my six year old neighbor asked me if I "paid" off a traffic policeman. That’s the level of awareness that’s already present in this country. While we are all for ending corruption, the stir caused by Anna and gang seems to be unnecessary and makes one wonder if this is a plot for fame and publicity.
The central idea which many ppl don’t see is,
What makes the Lokpal version of Anna and gang the best version?
Yes we all want corruption and the mayhem driving this country to be brought to focus. Why not take suggestions from the NCPRI version? The government version of the bill has some amazing issues highlighted. What is happening here is not an expression of freedom of expression, its a demand for ransom. The existence of overwhelming corruption in India is due to the increasing complexities of the bureaucracy. There are way too many rules, complexities and ambiguities. Addition of another layer which is to be extremely powerful is only making the maze more complex. The more complex the process the more the incentive for corruption.
Are people aware of constitutional bodies like the CVC, CBI, CAG which already exist to identify the problems in the system. How is Lokpal going to be any different from these? If they were all undermined by politicians and corrupt bureaucrats how is it possible for Lokpal to remain above the clutches of this level of corruption.
Lets look at this logically. Is it even possible for a "Civil body" to be independent and hire thousands of "honest" people to fight the war against corruption? People in India suffer more from grass root level corruption than worrying about the inclusion of the Prime Minister under the Lokpal.
Where is the compromise? The government maybe going at it all wrong to meet the demands of the people, but still they are the elected government body. We need to remember that, there is a sense of order established for a reason. Reports of people pouring in and joining the protest maybe good for the TRP, but tell me this how many of you bothered to read the highlights of the different versions of the Lokpal.
What Anna and gang propose may have started as a stepping stone towards bettering the corrupt system, but personally they have a deep sense of arrogance to say " I have the exclusive right towards fighting corruption and my way is the only way."
Before you join the Anna bandwagon, consider and examine the different proposal, the alternatives and then answer this question for me,
In a war to bring integrity and honesty into the system don’t you think fighting with the blackmail of eminent death a road to anarchy?
Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Saturday, July 30, 2011
Yeah.. am a peter.. so what?
Let’s start this post by stating I am somewhat of a snob. I frown upon roadside food, prefer English movies, shop at metro for my shoes, talk to the majority of my friends in English, loathe tamizh soap operas and absolutely detest it when someone talks bad English. This makes me a "peter" or should I say "mary". I admit it makes my life a lot frustrating specially when am with some friends and family who insist on making fun of the same. Although what they don’t understand is that there are levels of "peter".
You have the absolute peters. The ones who hate everything Indian made. The ones who say i only shop at Gucci, drink only lattes and say " oh what a lame language Taamil is", pretend to have not heard of Thiruvalluvar. I have quite a few friends in this category.
The you have the total opposites. The ones who detest “Peters”. The ones who are the cynics. The ones who "try" hard to be one with the mass. The ones, who insist on travelling by bus when it’s easier to take an auto, contend that you carry out a conversation in tamizh, refuse to pay the auto man another five bucks and insist on buying a ten rupee movie ticket when clearly we can clearly afford something more. I wonder if we can give the folks in this category a name. What is the opposite of Peter? “Tamizhselvan?”.
And then there are the intermediate "peters" like me. Yes we like a certain standard of things, we cannot stand 10 rupee tickets, rarely converse in tamizh except to immediate family. But we love shopping on the platform , while at the same time enjoy a good kuthu paatu.
But you know what? We have the best of both worlds. I am much better at articulating myself in English rather than Tamizh. So it stands to reason i talk to some of my best friends or sometimes even my family in a language I am comfortable in. This in no way means I don’t know Tamizh or dislike it or my city. I love Madras. There is this conflict here between the invasions of the modern society and those steeped in the traditions of the place.
In the whole circle of people who accuse me of being a "Peter", I wonder if anyone has even read a single Tamizh novel. For the record I enjoy a good story, language hardly matters. We earn good money why not let those who cannot afford to use the Rs 10 tickets.
As for the friends on the other end of the spectrum, trust me nothing beats the Nair Kada Tea. You enjoy way more than what you would with your Rs. 80 Capuccino.
Let’s not put labels guys. Live together die alone right :).. You can still end up being friends even if you’re on opposite ends.
You have the absolute peters. The ones who hate everything Indian made. The ones who say i only shop at Gucci, drink only lattes and say " oh what a lame language Taamil is", pretend to have not heard of Thiruvalluvar. I have quite a few friends in this category.
The you have the total opposites. The ones who detest “Peters”. The ones who are the cynics. The ones who "try" hard to be one with the mass. The ones, who insist on travelling by bus when it’s easier to take an auto, contend that you carry out a conversation in tamizh, refuse to pay the auto man another five bucks and insist on buying a ten rupee movie ticket when clearly we can clearly afford something more. I wonder if we can give the folks in this category a name. What is the opposite of Peter? “Tamizhselvan?”.
And then there are the intermediate "peters" like me. Yes we like a certain standard of things, we cannot stand 10 rupee tickets, rarely converse in tamizh except to immediate family. But we love shopping on the platform , while at the same time enjoy a good kuthu paatu.
But you know what? We have the best of both worlds. I am much better at articulating myself in English rather than Tamizh. So it stands to reason i talk to some of my best friends or sometimes even my family in a language I am comfortable in. This in no way means I don’t know Tamizh or dislike it or my city. I love Madras. There is this conflict here between the invasions of the modern society and those steeped in the traditions of the place.
In the whole circle of people who accuse me of being a "Peter", I wonder if anyone has even read a single Tamizh novel. For the record I enjoy a good story, language hardly matters. We earn good money why not let those who cannot afford to use the Rs 10 tickets.
As for the friends on the other end of the spectrum, trust me nothing beats the Nair Kada Tea. You enjoy way more than what you would with your Rs. 80 Capuccino.
Let’s not put labels guys. Live together die alone right :).. You can still end up being friends even if you’re on opposite ends.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Dear Mr. Hazare,
While scores of Indians support you, offer their pledge to you I am pretty sure they don’t want to be you. What you are attempting is a not putting out small kitchen embers it is more along the lines of a roaring forest rampage. We as a group commend your effort; we applaud your attempt to curb the ever rising monster of “corruption”. However we do have some queries, have some worries with your growing approach to this matter.
First things first I’d fire whoever is your PR manager. They seem to be operating under the notion that all press is good press. There are rumors going around that you were a freedom fighter. It would have been quite an impressive feat, considering the fact you would have been 6 or 7 years old.
We as a nation are trained to become cynics. We don’t expect miracles. When Jayalalitha came to power we hoped she would change the current state of affairs with regard to Wine shops in the city we don’t expect crime rate to drop or auto rickshaws to magically start using “meters”. When you went on fast, we were genuinely excited. We hoped that the public would have some say in the Lokpal. What we did not expect was a complete eradication of corruption in the country. What you expect from Lokpal is as farfetched as India winning the football world cup. If you just “wikied” corruption in India you can see that it dates back decades. Did you think one movement is going to change it all?
Your movement created an impact. It made scores of Indians acknowledge the problem of corruption. It resulted in the UPA agreeing to draft a joint committee for the Lokpal. This would have improved the rate of corruption control in India. We would have won a battle, inspired the scores of Indian to wage a war. Isn’t it how we start?
A lot of people look up to you, you give people hope but your continued actions are taking away this hope. Please change your approach. Your demands on the members of the so called “civil society” being chosen on the basis of “honesty” is ridiculous. Honest according to whom? It is a relative term. Do you not know how the bureaucracy in this country works? They can dig up dirt on anyone, including you. There needs to be a set system of implementation on how the people are represented in the Lokpal. The whole idea is that this committee is to be “of the people” a society chosen by you does not represent the whole of India.
It cannot be all your way. You need to give and take. Gandhiji went on Satyagraha because he believed that the British government will not listen to his demands. But even he compromised keeping in mind the bigger picture. Times are changing, a step by step approach may work; we just need some patience. We need to start at the grass root level. If a 24 year old girl like me can understand that it should be much more apparent to someone of your experience. After all Mr. Hazare Rome was not built in a day.
First things first I’d fire whoever is your PR manager. They seem to be operating under the notion that all press is good press. There are rumors going around that you were a freedom fighter. It would have been quite an impressive feat, considering the fact you would have been 6 or 7 years old.
We as a nation are trained to become cynics. We don’t expect miracles. When Jayalalitha came to power we hoped she would change the current state of affairs with regard to Wine shops in the city we don’t expect crime rate to drop or auto rickshaws to magically start using “meters”. When you went on fast, we were genuinely excited. We hoped that the public would have some say in the Lokpal. What we did not expect was a complete eradication of corruption in the country. What you expect from Lokpal is as farfetched as India winning the football world cup. If you just “wikied” corruption in India you can see that it dates back decades. Did you think one movement is going to change it all?
Your movement created an impact. It made scores of Indians acknowledge the problem of corruption. It resulted in the UPA agreeing to draft a joint committee for the Lokpal. This would have improved the rate of corruption control in India. We would have won a battle, inspired the scores of Indian to wage a war. Isn’t it how we start?
A lot of people look up to you, you give people hope but your continued actions are taking away this hope. Please change your approach. Your demands on the members of the so called “civil society” being chosen on the basis of “honesty” is ridiculous. Honest according to whom? It is a relative term. Do you not know how the bureaucracy in this country works? They can dig up dirt on anyone, including you. There needs to be a set system of implementation on how the people are represented in the Lokpal. The whole idea is that this committee is to be “of the people” a society chosen by you does not represent the whole of India.
It cannot be all your way. You need to give and take. Gandhiji went on Satyagraha because he believed that the British government will not listen to his demands. But even he compromised keeping in mind the bigger picture. Times are changing, a step by step approach may work; we just need some patience. We need to start at the grass root level. If a 24 year old girl like me can understand that it should be much more apparent to someone of your experience. After all Mr. Hazare Rome was not built in a day.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Being Mediocre
I’ve been in SMC for the last seven years and have written for this newspaper for the last six. Looking back id say the social construct of this institution demands that you fit in; it treated you well to fit in and in its own way took care of you if it fit in. Some say it is time to step up and make the change. I say it is in not easy to change the mindset of an entire institution, after all Rome wasn’t built in a day.
This isn’t the view of the college or the paper, it is a personal manifesto. A plea from someone who always “thought” of herself as mediocre and could never really be who she wanted to. It’s about a choice and it is about your life. This choice doesn’t require you to try hard to buck the system, though it challenges you to rethink your position in this institution. I have learnt one important lesson over the years, there is nothing wrong in being mediocre. There is not much of a difference between being a genius and being mediocre.
A genius in the outside world is one with an IQ of over 150, one who probably has an eidetic memory or one who probably wins the Nobel Prize. However in here a genius is one who has exceptional abilities and insights to find the not so obvious solutions to the problems every student faces in this institution, “How to get accepted and still be me?”
What defined the genius? Were geniuses only those who created what was perceived as the beautiful or the shocking, those who formed some piece of work that delivered a visceral punch? In painting, in music, in academia, in literature or theater? If so, did that make the rest of the 4000 odd students nothing more than the audience? Passive observers whose only contribution was applause or criticism? Think of it this way, what became of the geniuses without the “mediocre” audience?
No one in a genius all the time. Albert Einstein had trouble finding his own house when he returned home early every day. Alexander Graham bell forgot his own telephone number. But all of us are geniuses sometimes. The tragedy is that this society keeps drumming the genius part out. The problem is that we seem to have entered a Faustian bargain as a group. We trade our genius and artistry for possible stability.
I agree it is very difficult to find security in mediocrity. You can work only so many hours, fret only so much. Being a slightly better at academics or a slightly better artist can be taxing. You’re always looking over your shoulder, always trying to be a little less mediocre than the girl next to you. It wears you out. It’s impossible to do the work at the same time you’re in pain. The moment to moment insecurity of so many things classes, labs, sports, culturals, robs you of the confidence you need to do great work.
I leave you with this thought, think of what you do as an art. Your art is what you do and no one can tell you exactly how to do it. Your art is the act of taking personal responsibilities, challenging the status quo which at the end of the day changes people. You don’t need to be a “genius” to do that, plain simple “mediocrity” would do
This isn’t the view of the college or the paper, it is a personal manifesto. A plea from someone who always “thought” of herself as mediocre and could never really be who she wanted to. It’s about a choice and it is about your life. This choice doesn’t require you to try hard to buck the system, though it challenges you to rethink your position in this institution. I have learnt one important lesson over the years, there is nothing wrong in being mediocre. There is not much of a difference between being a genius and being mediocre.
A genius in the outside world is one with an IQ of over 150, one who probably has an eidetic memory or one who probably wins the Nobel Prize. However in here a genius is one who has exceptional abilities and insights to find the not so obvious solutions to the problems every student faces in this institution, “How to get accepted and still be me?”
What defined the genius? Were geniuses only those who created what was perceived as the beautiful or the shocking, those who formed some piece of work that delivered a visceral punch? In painting, in music, in academia, in literature or theater? If so, did that make the rest of the 4000 odd students nothing more than the audience? Passive observers whose only contribution was applause or criticism? Think of it this way, what became of the geniuses without the “mediocre” audience?
No one in a genius all the time. Albert Einstein had trouble finding his own house when he returned home early every day. Alexander Graham bell forgot his own telephone number. But all of us are geniuses sometimes. The tragedy is that this society keeps drumming the genius part out. The problem is that we seem to have entered a Faustian bargain as a group. We trade our genius and artistry for possible stability.
I agree it is very difficult to find security in mediocrity. You can work only so many hours, fret only so much. Being a slightly better at academics or a slightly better artist can be taxing. You’re always looking over your shoulder, always trying to be a little less mediocre than the girl next to you. It wears you out. It’s impossible to do the work at the same time you’re in pain. The moment to moment insecurity of so many things classes, labs, sports, culturals, robs you of the confidence you need to do great work.
I leave you with this thought, think of what you do as an art. Your art is what you do and no one can tell you exactly how to do it. Your art is the act of taking personal responsibilities, challenging the status quo which at the end of the day changes people. You don’t need to be a “genius” to do that, plain simple “mediocrity” would do
Monday, May 3, 2010
Mr. Daredevil and me
I have a very active imagination. While most people dream of random mundane stuff, my dreams are always of flying monkeys, circus polar bears on rampage, man eating spiders and so on. So during me not-so-brief stay on this planet there have been quite a few terrifying characters I have made up/watched on the television. However none of them can even compare to Mr. Daredevil.
I was helping H move into his new house and little did I know I was being watched. Watched by someone who knew every nook and corner of the house that I didn’t know existed…until of course he disappeared into them! After a day of heavy lifting and cleaning H offered to go get us some food while I unearthed some kitchenware from the yet to be opened boxes. As I was wrestling with the packing paper to find some usable plates, the power went off. I rummaged through the boxes to find some candles to light and that’s when I felt his presence.
I feel a chill go up my spine when I hear a scuffling sound near the cupboard. I try to scream as loud as I can to ward off the evil that lurks but no words come out. That is when I see him. He stands there proudly smirking knowingly at me. His thousand eyes marking his target while he begins to calmly move towards me trying to figure out the best way to take me down. As I watched in mounting horror he undid his hidden wings and prepared to take flight. He leaps into the air and hits me. I flail my arms around and my body writhes in terror. He flies straight at me…wings beating, altitude rising and falling most unpredictably. Seconds before impact I freeze, hold my ground and simply raise my hands feebly and turn my head away so I don’t see into those eyes before he strikes.
I tried to defend myself. What I did not know was that this flying critter was the ace of fly school. He was top gun material, probably the captain of the fleet. He anticipated my swing, dove, twisted and did a roll before climbing vertically upwards and disappeared into one of those fore mentioned nooks which only he knew exist!!! I stood there, stunned and speechless at what had just happened knowing fully well that he had won the battle wings down and the worst was yet to come.
I try to make my way out of the house before he shows up again. I started hard when the click of the door knob resounded. Shit. Can he open doors now? Why me? I thought. It wasn't fair. Someone touched my arm and I scream. Thank god it’s H. He is startled and turns me around. “What’s wrong he asks?” At this point my skin is clammy and my complexion is white. He looks troubled and insists on knowing what’s wrong. I point a shaky finger towards the bedroom. As H prepares to go and investigate I stop him saying its useless to go unarmed.
Armed with a cricket bat H slowly entered the room. He hits Mr.D in a swift sideswipe and made him spin across the floor…he came to a stop after hitting a chair leg and lay there a while with his precious wings strewn clumsily about, but almost as soon as he stopped he righted his wares, twitched his antennae and ran off at 160km/h towards some unseen haven he knew of. He turns, gives us one last look which plainly says “You may have won the battle but not the war.”
H turns to me with an unbelievable look on his face “A fricking cockroach? You made me think it was something much worse.”
I hear H ran into him another day and tried to take him out with a spray of mortein but I assume Mr.D didn’t get hit right because he dove into the sink (probably washed the stinging bug-spray off himself) and reappeared a few days later after his “sick leave” in the bathroom.
Mr. D is living proof that roaches were here before us, will live amongst us, and will survive after we nuke each other. H for one has given up on trying to get rid of him. He swears that after he stopped trying to kill him Mr.D stopped pulling those maverick-fly-boy moves. Mr.D now even has the decency to hide when H has guests.
I have a very active imagination. While most people dream of random mundane stuff, my dreams are always of flying monkeys, circus polar bears on rampage, man eating spiders and so on. So during me not-so-brief stay on this planet there have been quite a few terrifying characters I have made up/watched on the television. However none of them can even compare to Mr. Daredevil.
I was helping H move into his new house and little did I know I was being watched. Watched by someone who knew every nook and corner of the house that I didn’t know existed…until of course he disappeared into them! After a day of heavy lifting and cleaning H offered to go get us some food while I unearthed some kitchenware from the yet to be opened boxes. As I was wrestling with the packing paper to find some usable plates, the power went off. I rummaged through the boxes to find some candles to light and that’s when I felt his presence.
I feel a chill go up my spine when I hear a scuffling sound near the cupboard. I try to scream as loud as I can to ward off the evil that lurks but no words come out. That is when I see him. He stands there proudly smirking knowingly at me. His thousand eyes marking his target while he begins to calmly move towards me trying to figure out the best way to take me down. As I watched in mounting horror he undid his hidden wings and prepared to take flight. He leaps into the air and hits me. I flail my arms around and my body writhes in terror. He flies straight at me…wings beating, altitude rising and falling most unpredictably. Seconds before impact I freeze, hold my ground and simply raise my hands feebly and turn my head away so I don’t see into those eyes before he strikes.
I tried to defend myself. What I did not know was that this flying critter was the ace of fly school. He was top gun material, probably the captain of the fleet. He anticipated my swing, dove, twisted and did a roll before climbing vertically upwards and disappeared into one of those fore mentioned nooks which only he knew exist!!! I stood there, stunned and speechless at what had just happened knowing fully well that he had won the battle wings down and the worst was yet to come.
I try to make my way out of the house before he shows up again. I started hard when the click of the door knob resounded. Shit. Can he open doors now? Why me? I thought. It wasn't fair. Someone touched my arm and I scream. Thank god it’s H. He is startled and turns me around. “What’s wrong he asks?” At this point my skin is clammy and my complexion is white. He looks troubled and insists on knowing what’s wrong. I point a shaky finger towards the bedroom. As H prepares to go and investigate I stop him saying its useless to go unarmed.
Armed with a cricket bat H slowly entered the room. He hits Mr.D in a swift sideswipe and made him spin across the floor…he came to a stop after hitting a chair leg and lay there a while with his precious wings strewn clumsily about, but almost as soon as he stopped he righted his wares, twitched his antennae and ran off at 160km/h towards some unseen haven he knew of. He turns, gives us one last look which plainly says “You may have won the battle but not the war.”
H turns to me with an unbelievable look on his face “A fricking cockroach? You made me think it was something much worse.”
I hear H ran into him another day and tried to take him out with a spray of mortein but I assume Mr.D didn’t get hit right because he dove into the sink (probably washed the stinging bug-spray off himself) and reappeared a few days later after his “sick leave” in the bathroom.
Mr. D is living proof that roaches were here before us, will live amongst us, and will survive after we nuke each other. H for one has given up on trying to get rid of him. He swears that after he stopped trying to kill him Mr.D stopped pulling those maverick-fly-boy moves. Mr.D now even has the decency to hide when H has guests.
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Sprucing up!
I was up last night unable to sleep mindlessly surfing through the TV when I saw a re-run of the much talked of ‘Evolution’ ad of Dove. It shows a plain, geeky woman walking up and seating herself in front of the camera and then being transformed by hair, light, and make-up into a glamour diva. The message conveyed of course was that it’s all doable—those flawless complexions, perfect features that seem to drive terror and cause self doubt amongst women all over via all visual media, are not so scary and impossible anymore.
The optional message is that it’s all fake—which means that the rest of us, too, can look like the million bucks it will cost us, for happiness is merely beauty at a price.
Like most introverts I grew up with my nose in a book, and so somehow entirely missed the process that socializes people to take some care with their appearance. While this saved me much of the heartache and self-doubt during school life, it also ensured that the real world came as a rude shock. I was forced to amend my quite genuine belief that looks don’t matter, to the indignant position that they shouldn’t matter.
I for one experienced this horror when I went for an interview last week, where I ran into a classmate of mine who was there for the same interview. Did I have better grades? Yes. Did I do better on my written tests and my tech rounds? Yes. Did I have more experience than the other applicant? Yes. Was I better looking than her? No. Don’t get me wrong here. I was well dressed, well mannered. But I wasn’t wearing make up or dint take as much effort with how I presented myself as the other applicant. However I got an email saying I wasn’t what they were looking for while the other applicant was hired. Of course there is always the possibility that she was better qualified than me and maybe I am just crying over spilt milk.
It’s too tedious to cite all the studies that show that the earth’s very axis is tilted albeit slightly in favour of better-looking people, who despite the fact of having been assumed to have fewer brains( which is definitely not always true), get hired more easily, make more money, live easier lives, and have more fun.
Most people would prefer to believe that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but evolutionary psychology tells a different story. In reality, everyone is likely to gravitate toward certain physical characteristics that make some people more desirable than others.
These preferences exist for one basic reason: biological reproduction. It is a well established fact that male preferences are biologically and evolutionarily programmed to find signs of youth and health attractive, so as to seek females that are best suited to carry on their genes.
Ever since the first cave woman held a bit of shiny stuff against her skin, ever since an Egyptian noblewoman smeared green mineral paste on her eyelids and bathed in donkey’s milk, we’ve been using brain to spruce up ways to make oneself look better, raising the beauty stakes ever higher and forcing the less attractive to play ever-more frantic games of catch up.
We are now at a watershed moment in the history of human hotness. Things are evening out. Between makeup, makeovers and surgery, the ugly and/or insecure have never had it so good, which is nice, because their ranks are swelling with every new magazine issue, television show and movie that comes out. Once upon a time it was kajal in the eye , flowers in the hair and today it’s liposuction and Botox. Who knows, facial transplantation surgery—now used only in the most extreme medical need—may one day become as casual as a haircut.
I haven’t yet worked out how I feel about all this (though I should be appalled). We should know better than to fall for it, but frankly, as long as the world continues to reward style over substance ( in many cases) , getting the odd lock highlighted or your eyebrows shaped might not be such a bad option to flinging yourself off a bridge.
The optional message is that it’s all fake—which means that the rest of us, too, can look like the million bucks it will cost us, for happiness is merely beauty at a price.
Like most introverts I grew up with my nose in a book, and so somehow entirely missed the process that socializes people to take some care with their appearance. While this saved me much of the heartache and self-doubt during school life, it also ensured that the real world came as a rude shock. I was forced to amend my quite genuine belief that looks don’t matter, to the indignant position that they shouldn’t matter.
I for one experienced this horror when I went for an interview last week, where I ran into a classmate of mine who was there for the same interview. Did I have better grades? Yes. Did I do better on my written tests and my tech rounds? Yes. Did I have more experience than the other applicant? Yes. Was I better looking than her? No. Don’t get me wrong here. I was well dressed, well mannered. But I wasn’t wearing make up or dint take as much effort with how I presented myself as the other applicant. However I got an email saying I wasn’t what they were looking for while the other applicant was hired. Of course there is always the possibility that she was better qualified than me and maybe I am just crying over spilt milk.
It’s too tedious to cite all the studies that show that the earth’s very axis is tilted albeit slightly in favour of better-looking people, who despite the fact of having been assumed to have fewer brains( which is definitely not always true), get hired more easily, make more money, live easier lives, and have more fun.
Most people would prefer to believe that beauty is in the eye of the beholder, but evolutionary psychology tells a different story. In reality, everyone is likely to gravitate toward certain physical characteristics that make some people more desirable than others.
These preferences exist for one basic reason: biological reproduction. It is a well established fact that male preferences are biologically and evolutionarily programmed to find signs of youth and health attractive, so as to seek females that are best suited to carry on their genes.
Ever since the first cave woman held a bit of shiny stuff against her skin, ever since an Egyptian noblewoman smeared green mineral paste on her eyelids and bathed in donkey’s milk, we’ve been using brain to spruce up ways to make oneself look better, raising the beauty stakes ever higher and forcing the less attractive to play ever-more frantic games of catch up.
We are now at a watershed moment in the history of human hotness. Things are evening out. Between makeup, makeovers and surgery, the ugly and/or insecure have never had it so good, which is nice, because their ranks are swelling with every new magazine issue, television show and movie that comes out. Once upon a time it was kajal in the eye , flowers in the hair and today it’s liposuction and Botox. Who knows, facial transplantation surgery—now used only in the most extreme medical need—may one day become as casual as a haircut.
I haven’t yet worked out how I feel about all this (though I should be appalled). We should know better than to fall for it, but frankly, as long as the world continues to reward style over substance ( in many cases) , getting the odd lock highlighted or your eyebrows shaped might not be such a bad option to flinging yourself off a bridge.
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Salaaaary
I have started hating family functions. I guess its the only way one meets their cousins, aunts, uncles, nieces, nephews etc etc. What i don't like is people pestering me about what i do.
Q1: What do you do now?
Q2: how much does it pay?
Excuse me random daugher of a third cousin of my dad, its none of your business.
What is it with us people? Whats the obsession that we have about education, job qualification?
I think we should blame the previous generation. When i was a kid i remember parents waiting at the school gates to pick up their kids yapping about random non important things like "My daughter is the first in class. My son has finished all levels of the Hindi exams. My daughter has started preparing for iit from std IX."At that time i used to think we would be better. We would be much better than our parents at least in this respect. However i find we are even worse.
I remember the time when people asked "Where do you work? Have you got your promotion? When will you become a manager?" But now its "Why arent you working for an MNC? Dont apply to that US university its not even in the top 50. Oh you studied in that college, oh they never have campus interview"
The problem why asking for personal information is bad is because, people tend to transalate that into other unconnected fields.They tend to think bad either of your education or your upbringing.
Most of the time when people ask how much you earn, it is for a wrong reason. The parents, some close friends may ask for a good reason. But they are the minority. The main reason why people ask is that they want to assume for a fleeting moment that their lives are somehow better than the other person. The salary quoted provides them with the scope to demarcate themselves. It also allows them to indirectly advertise their salary, even though no one even asked them and make comments like "Oh you poor thing.Have you considered changing careers?".
Oh am not saying i dont want to earn lots of money. Of course i do. But that doesnt mean you get to give your " five mins psych eval". Why do people judge you based on a factor that is decided by completely unrelated parameters?
Please dont harp on things related to job/education/marriage all the time. There are nMillion other things to talk about.
Q1: What do you do now?
Q2: how much does it pay?
Excuse me random daugher of a third cousin of my dad, its none of your business.
What is it with us people? Whats the obsession that we have about education, job qualification?
I think we should blame the previous generation. When i was a kid i remember parents waiting at the school gates to pick up their kids yapping about random non important things like "My daughter is the first in class. My son has finished all levels of the Hindi exams. My daughter has started preparing for iit from std IX."At that time i used to think we would be better. We would be much better than our parents at least in this respect. However i find we are even worse.
I remember the time when people asked "Where do you work? Have you got your promotion? When will you become a manager?" But now its "Why arent you working for an MNC? Dont apply to that US university its not even in the top 50. Oh you studied in that college, oh they never have campus interview"
The problem why asking for personal information is bad is because, people tend to transalate that into other unconnected fields.They tend to think bad either of your education or your upbringing.
Most of the time when people ask how much you earn, it is for a wrong reason. The parents, some close friends may ask for a good reason. But they are the minority. The main reason why people ask is that they want to assume for a fleeting moment that their lives are somehow better than the other person. The salary quoted provides them with the scope to demarcate themselves. It also allows them to indirectly advertise their salary, even though no one even asked them and make comments like "Oh you poor thing.Have you considered changing careers?".
Oh am not saying i dont want to earn lots of money. Of course i do. But that doesnt mean you get to give your " five mins psych eval". Why do people judge you based on a factor that is decided by completely unrelated parameters?
Please dont harp on things related to job/education/marriage all the time. There are nMillion other things to talk about.
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