Everything Worth Writing About

Who defines your family?

2011-07-14T16:14:00.004-04:00

Hurray! Same-sex marriage got its New York seal of approval!

This is good news. For gays and lesbians, and probably our consumer-oriented wedding industry and corporation-sponsored health insurance industry.

However, people like me, with families like mine, are still left out in the cold.

By all likelihoods, this should not be the case--I'm straight and single with no existing conditions and able to work. It shouldn't be too hard for me to find work that lets me support myself and get enough health coverage.

But that's assuming that being single means you have no responsibilities to anyone. Which is not the case for me.

Let me explain. I like my family of origin. Really, they're quite lovely people. I have better conversations with them than I do with most people, and whatever issues we may have with each other, I don't doubt that my parents and brother love me unconditionally.

So, while I support gay rights and am proud that New York finally caught up with Iowa, I find it curious that the state is more willing (along with people who like to police co-dependency in the world) to say I have a family if I marry a woman and adopt a child than if I try to claim either of my parents or brother as my family. True, they are not dependents, but neither are working spouses. Yet a sexual relationship seems to warrant a tax break, while a loving, familial relationship for 34 years does not.

It appears that progeny is the defining trait of family, according to a recent ABC news report. But what if I don't want children? What if I've decided against bringing new people into the world to suffer? (I know, it's not all that bad, and I've made peace with life and its difficulties, but really, I don't see any reason to recruit.)

Can I get a population-reduction credit? Like how corporations get a carbon credits?

It all seems so arbitrary at this point. My first job at McGraw-Hill had a nice system allowing employees to choose "self+one" health coverage, allowing single parents and gay couples in domestic partnerships to get covered without too many questions. It seems that we should all be able to do at least that. In an ideal world, maybe we could elect to pay higher premiums according to the number of people on our insurance, not conditions or dependency status.

But the debate goes beyond health insurance. Even salaries are less negotiable if you're single. But why shouldn't I be able to demand a salary that lets me contribute to the well-being of the people I'm related to? Yes, I'm not the sole bread winner. But they are still my first priority and responsibility after myself.

At one recent interview, I asked about work-life balance and the interviewer and I enthusiastically agreed that it's very important. The interviewer then asked, "Do you have family?"

My response: "Yes. Not in the traditional American way. But I have family."

The Complete and Utter Boredom of Being Chased

2011-06-13T16:45:00.003-04:00

I hated playing tag as a kid. I couldn't understand running around in circles, pretending that your friend was a threat. Worse was having to chase other people--I found it annoying to run after them only to be evaded or start up again if I caught them.

I'm starting to wonder if this is why I hate dating so much. I know how to get guys to chase me (full disclosure: it took me longer than the average American woman to figure this out). It's not that hard--mainly you just need to be aloof. But it's so incredibly boring. I mean really, what a ridiculous waste of energy that could be better spend building something with that person.

I can see how some women may like the ego-boost inherent in this game, i.e., the one who cares less has more power. But power isn't love. It isn't even close. It's eventually toxic, like too many Flintstone vitamins (I nearly OD'd on Spider-Man vitamins as a kid, perhaps another reason I'm not intoxicated by this game--I know the downside of too much artificial boosting.)

Am I alone in this, dear readers? Is there some appeal to this whole game of dating that I'm missing?

I think not. Which means I'm doomed to die alone in a house with 9 cats. But I suppose I'd have to chase after them, too.

Indian Work Ethic

2011-06-07T17:47:00.000-04:00

Ever wonder why jobs are getting exported to India? These two videos explain why.

In (reluctant) Defense of Kate Middleton

2011-05-01T19:09:00.003-04:00

Occasionally, I like to boycott major television events, like the Super Bowl and the Oscars. I find it keeps me saner and more benevolent (neurosis and envy being my two big character flaws). But I couldn't pull it off for William and Kate's wedding. My mother woke me up at 6am to watch it live, and even The Economist ran a homepage story titled "Who made it on to the Westminster Abbey invite list, and who didn't."

There is a thrill in watching such an event--an adrenaline rush that can make our hearts soar. It feels good, like love or admiration.

The problem is that it's not. At least not for me. I've come to realize that that particular thrill, the one that also makes me rehearse my Oscar acceptance speech in the shower, is the seduction of envy. After all, I wouldn't be envious if it felt bad from the start. Envy sneaks in disguised as admiration and attraction. I don't want to be the other person, I just want what they have. I blame the seduction of envy for my many relationships with white men. I didn't want to be them, but oh, to be close to that life of relative ease. Imagine--a name everyone could pronounce, a demographic everyone catered to, from politicians to reality TV. (I should also admit that this insight has not diminished my attraction to white men.)

I knew envy was creeping in when I was trolling the Web on Friday for some feminist critique of the wedding, especially Kate. And some writers made some good points, like Kate's lack of career focus. Or so I thought. Until I thought some more.

What is so wrong with Kate choosing a conservative lifestyle? Is it really so antithetical to feminism? I agree that feminism should knock down the barriers to equal pay, but does that mean every woman must work (or every man)? I agree that feminism should end the misogyny that lets men treat women like property. But if William is protective of Kate because he loves, not because he thinks he (or the royal family) thinks he (they) own her, is that so bad?

Is it so wrong that a woman chose to marry for love, is gentle in nature, and chooses to be a supportive stateswoman of a wife? Granted, I would have loved to have seen William marry a woman more likely to be a Queen like Draupadi, or even the Buddha's wife, Yashodra, but I don't think the Royal family wouldn't have looked kindly on a brown woman, even if she was of royal birth.

And therein lies the real rub. I'm not envious of Kate's dress, or wedding, or even her great pick of a husband. It's the life of relative ease. and that only seems accessible to rich (and mostly white) people, that I envy. Sure, the paparazzi will hound her. But to be raised in comfort, to go to one of the best universities, to know that one illness or accident will not knock out your savings account, to meet the love of your life in your 20s, and to know that he's got your back--it's a privilege and fortune that turns me green. I can't help thinking it's all worth an occasional embarrassing photo. The pettier side of me wants to say she's a bad feminist role model and the whole event is "atavistic." But that's a cop out. Not simply because I have a soft spot for the return of monarchies. (Unlike the Corporate democracy we have now, a monarchy would let us hold someone squarely responsible if, say, the economy tanked.) But because my criticisms--she lacks focus, she's timid, it's an antiquated event--are all hollow. A lack of focus, timidity, and maintaining conservative rituals are not moral ills to society. They're just not a privilege I get to have.

And that's Kate's big "sin"-- she gets the good fortune of happiness, while the rest of us imagine it. At least for now. There's still Prince Harry...

Why You Should Stop Donating -- And Volunteering -- Now

2011-04-08T12:40:00.010-04:00

A journalist friend of mine recently posted a great video by Good Intentions that brilliantly highlights why we should all stop donating our used clothes to international charities.

I love this video mainly because it does what I try to do every day: turn complex issues into compelling messages that stick and spread like wildfire.

But I also loved this video because it speaks to me as a writer and journalist. It's becoming increasingly difficult for people who are skilled and talented at their craft to make a living wage off their years of hardwork. Not that anyone goes into writing with the expectation of being a billionaire, but the plethora of "citizen journalists" and Craiglist writers willing to write for $15/hour is forcing those of us with years in the trade to justify rates that would allow us to eat, keep a roof over our heads and pay for vital necessities like healthcare and retirement plans.

It's only with the advent of social entrepreneurship that people have begun to believe that, perhaps, we can have an economy that rewards people for doing good--isn't that the best way to get more people to do good, afterall? But writers and journalists seem to be excluded from this social enterprise movement, even though we provide a vital function, especially my non-fiction breathren.

As a writer, it's important to me and my conscience that I write about things that matter in a way that respects readers. But this year, I've been forced to write for a company that markets products through lifestyle articles (with no mention of their advertorial nature) just to pay the bills. Every day it eats away at me, but every time I pitch nonprofits AND social enterprises, for that matter, I'm asked if I'll work for free like the rest of their volunteers (i.e., slave writing labor).

Wouldn't it be nice if all writers stood in solidarity and simply refused to write for free anymore? Would you join me?

MyLARC Update: The Approach

2011-01-27T18:29:00.006-05:00

So I was talking to a friend about my experiences with online dating, and strangely enough, I found myself saying, "I actually do want to learn how to write that first message to someone you meet online. It's definitely an art form, and as a writer, I'm just interested in knowing how to do it."

Now, I never consciously thought of writing an introductory message on an online dating site as an art form, but here's why it is:

*Unlike a business introduction, it MUST be short. Anything more than 3 sentences is a monologue that makes you come off as a self-important bore

*It must be breezy but not stupid. So less formal than an Jane Austen letter, but with the appropriate use of capital letters, i.e., do not write "i'm really impressed w/ ur profile"

*It must not be lame or stalker-like. And while this is relatively easy for me to avoid in real-life, it's actually quite hard online. Mainly because a person's profile can give you a lot of clues and info about a person, but it's still stalker-like to open cold with what you read about them. And personally, I try not to be witty in e-mails to people I've never met--if they don't know the cadence of my voice, there's a high chance they'll misinterpret what I'm saying.

Perhaps you'd like some examples of failed approaches I've received:

TOO FORMAL AND TOO INFORMAL:
"sorry for bothering you. I am new to this so wanted to give it a try. I came across your profile so thought to message you.
I am tall white good looking from doctor from Pakistan currently here for my interviews in different hospitals. I was bored so thought to explore few things here. If you are interested kindly reply"
Also, I personally think that calling yourself white when you're from Pakistan is a possible sign of some serious self-hate.

TOO LONG AND TOO FLIPPANT:
"...think you're absolutely adorable. And I'd like to
get to know you better.

Who am I?

Hmm....I was born in England, have lived in
Brooklyn, Queens, Long Island, Los Angeles and now
NYC. I work in NYC as well.

After discovering the cure for cancer, I climbed Mt.
Everest (without supplemental oxygen), studied with
the Dalai Lama, and dated (briefly) Cindy Crawford.

My career as a Yankees third baseman was going
nowhere, and rather than accept the grant from the
Salk Institute, I went to work at a television
network in New York.

And you?

Please write back because it would put a smile on my face."

TOO OBVIOUS:
"how are you? so, did you find anyone interesting here yet? "
AND
"So how is this whole okcupid thing working out for you?"
It's a bit like asking a girl at a bar, "So how do you like the single's scene?" Best not bring attention to the elephant in the room just yet. Maybe after 2 dates.

If any of these have made you gringe, then I need your help! Clearly, there's a need for someone to market-test how to effectively approach guys online. Send me your opening lines, and I'll test the top 3 on some of the hottest guys on the site to see what kind of a response they get overall.

Just add your best opening lines to the comments box below.

My Life As a Romantic Comedy (MLARC) update

2011-01-11T10:18:00.003-05:00

So I had a blind date last night. I thought it went well enough (meaning, I wasn't completely repulsed by the idea of kissing him but wasn't so inclined to do so either).

We decided to meet at Ayza. Funnily enough, my co-worker told me just before leaving that she was heading there to meet a friend. We decided it would be best to act like we didn't know about each other's plans if we saw each other. So when I got there and settled down at the bar, she didn't say anything when she saw me, assuming maybe I was pretending I didn't see her. In all honesty, I didn't.

So I talked to blind date guy for about an hour, and had to cut it a bit short because I had an important meeting today to prep for. We end the night by putting on our coats and he asks where I'm headed. He says he's headed in the other direction, and that he's just going to go to the restroom before taking off. Which is fine by me. I'm a big girl and don't need him to walk me to the bus stop. So I take off.

But then this morning, I come in to work and my co-worker starts giving me crap for not seeing her. THEN she says, "Yeah, he stayed for about an hour talking to another girl at the bar."

Which makes me laugh out loud. Cuz honestly, I never thought of placing spies at a date spot, but now see the strategic importance of it. After all, a modern woman has to know how to do good reconnaissance.

My Life as a Romantic Comedy

2011-01-10T10:23:00.007-05:00

I recently signed up for OKCupid, mainly because I heard about it on NPR, and while I hate dating, I was encouraged by the idea of meeting other people who actually listen to NPR. That being said, I'm really hoping I don't meet anyone promising, as it would disallow me to use the site as a source of comic fodder. And let me tell you, it's rich with comedy. I only filled out my profile 48 hours ago, and here are some gems I've already received:

"How are you? I just saw your page and thought I'd say hi. My wife and I were hoping to meet someone cool on here and thought you were really attractive. How is your weekend going? Up to... anything fun? Anyway, hope all is well!"

What I really appreciate about this is it's breezy tone. As if trolling for a threesome partner is the most normal thing a married couple would do on a Sunday afternoon.

And then last night I missed an IM that simple said: "I will see you in my dream..."

I wish there was an emoticon for being creeped out. But I take comfort that Carrie Fisher (aka Princess Leia) once had a fan tell her that he thought about her every day from age 12 to 22. She asked, "Really? Every day?" And he said, "Well, 4 times a day."

(I should also note that I heard this bit when watching Fisher's one-woman show "Wishful Drinking" on HBO with my dad and had to then explain to him what that joke meant.)

And here's one that just confused me:
"hey there pather panchali, [I think he meant "panther" but I don't know why] you should answer more okc questions because your comments there are cracking me up :) Very straightforward with your opinions, arent you; its refreshing and i guess i'm the same way.
we could have some great fights :) despite being a 91% match so far. I'll bet the "3% enemy" part is a doosey ;)... You're relatively young (I think i'm looking for late 30s to be honest) but I feel like you could crush a man with your words and well I just wanted to give you some props. :) Good luck out there; and if you ever want a good argument or fight, game on as you say ;)"

Why would I want to meet someone to fight with? And when have I ever said "game on"?

Now I don't attribtue this to the Y chromosomes--my male friends have told me the ladies are just as likely to write weird stuff. So keep that in mind when you're laughing your head off at the tragic-comedy story of my love life.

The Madonna/Mother Teresa Paradox

2010-09-17T13:21:00.002-04:00

As some of you know, I spend a lot of time trying to figure out life, despite knowing that this is probably an exercise in futility. I think about things like fate and suffering and the difference between cultures while riding the bus or looking out on the water from the ferry. This makes me piss poor at small talk, a fact proven once again last Friday night when someone in a bar challenged me to make small talk for the duration of one beer. After 5 minutes, I lost interest in the conversation and wanted to go home.

Before my bar/bored experience, I was in Borders and flipping through an interesting book I spotted, Backwards in High Heels. It's basically a manual for any woman confused about life (which I assume a large majority of us are) but decidedly anti-self-help, which makes it actually useful. As the authors (whose names I forget) brazenly state, self-help is a lie. We don't all get what we deserve, and no matter how many affirmations, or how open you are to the Universe or Abundance or whatever, it's unlikely you'll win the Nobel Peace Prize or write a Pulitzer-Prize novel or whatever fantasy we all harbor about life. But we can cheer up a friend, be kind to our co-workers and strangers, and maybe help the PTA raise some money.

A few weeks before picking up said book, I saw Men Who Stare At Goats, and they also riff on this theme of dreams v. reality. George Clooney basically tells Ewan McGregor that we all have a destiny, but it may not be what we want. Little Anne Frank wants to go to prom? Too bad. But she can write a book that moves millions for generations to come.

Most "spiritual" people (and yes, in this instance, I am using that in a derogatory manner) like to preach that "all things are possible with God" or something like that. But it occurs to me that Mother Teresa could never have been a supermodel, no matter how tight she was with the Holy One.

The realists and cynics in the world say it's all about who you know and how many resources (i.e. how much money) you have at your disposal. But poor Madonna, Queen of Material Girls, sits in her castle with all the money, power, and influence at her disposal and will probably never get nominated for an Oscar.

Which brings me to my question: How does one tell the difference between fantasy and one's true calling?

These two women have irrevocably changed the face of our planet in their own unique ways, causing worldwide movements in charity and sexual attitudes. Yet they too are limited by something--is it fate? Circumstances? Talent? Purpose?

Most of us are not meant for either sacrificial poverty or decadent wealth; the large majority of us fall within a spectrum of middle-classedness. But what if the idea of owning a home and raising kids and fundraising through a bake sale makes you shudder and want to run screaming to a far off country just so you can feel somewhat alive? What if your biggest nightmare is that you're Pam from "The Office" and the biggest event at your place of work will be your wedding? What if you really want to help humanity without living in a hut in a war zone? What if you'd rather enter into a married partnership where your focus is each others' career goals and inner callings, not raising new people to be hurt and harmed by the world?

How does one have a dream that's outside the box but not outside reality?

Why Archie Panjabi's Emmy Win Makes My Heart Sing

2010-09-06T19:36:00.005-04:00

The first chapter of Zadie Smith's most recent book "Changing My Mind" is an eloquent essay on Zora Neale Hurston's masterpiece Their Eyes Were Watching God. (The line that opens chapter three is probably one of the most memorable in literature -- "There are years that ask questions and years that answer." But I digress.)

Smith discusses how she was hesitant to read it when her mother presented her with a copy at fourteen:
"You'll like it," her mother said.
"Why? Because she's black?"
"No, because it's really good writing."

And it is, by Smith's account (and my own). But then Smith says something more profound:
"At fourteen, I couldn't find words (or words I liked) for the marvelous feeling of recognition that came with these characters who had my hair, my eyes, my skin, even the ancestors of the rhythm of my speech. These forms of identification are so natural to white readers -- (Of course Rabbit Angstrom is like me! Of course Madame Bovary is like me!) -- that they believe themselves above personal identification, or at least believe that they are identifying only at the highest, existential levels (His soul is like my soul. He is human; I am human). White readers often believe they are colorblind."

But in reality, as Smith points out, they are just more characters written in their image, allowing them to harbor the illusion that their "like" or "dislike" of a novel is based on more esoteric factors, such as writing style, theme, or plot. They also have the benefit of white privilege, where every ethnic story is made relate-able to them (i.e., the rampant use of the word vermilion in South Asian fiction, a word I did not even know until I read it in a "New Yorker-approved" South Asian American book).

Smith then goes on to explain how Hurston creates such a complex, layered character in Janie Crawford in Their Eyes that it leaves her speechless. The book "allows me to say things I wouldn't normally," Smith writes. "Things like 'She is my sister and I love her.'"

Which is exactly what my heart sang when Archie Panjabi won the Emmy for her role in The Good Wife.

It's probably not fair to draw any parallels between a television drama, no matter how good, and canonical American literature. I admit this is somewhat pretentious on my part. But Archie Panjabi speaks so eloquently backstage after her win about the true value of being able to play a character that is proud of her heritage without being defined by it.

When people say "you can do anything you put your mind to" or believe, or whatever New Age slogan is en vogue at the time, I often want to roll my eyes and say "if you're white." As Archie Panjabi and co-star in Bend It Like Beckham, Parminder Nagra, know, the brown girl doesn't get cast in Pirates of the Caribbean or Pride and Prejudice, like their co-star Keira Knightley did, no matter how good an actress you are. So it's refreshing to see a South Asian get to play a character that's as complex and layered as Elizabeth Bennett, albeit on the small screen. I am left without words to express the marvelous feeling of recognition that bubbles up inside me when a woman with my hair and eyes and skin plays it tough and guarded, but with wit and grace. All I can say is "She is my sister and I love her."

VINTAGE POSTS: Technology Toolkit

2010-08-13T18:33:00.002-04:00

An oldy but goody, here's my post on Wild Apricot on The Essential Technology Toolkit for Start-Up Nonprofits (Part One with a link to Part Two)

Nostalgia for intensity

2010-05-25T16:53:00.007-04:00

Many of my friends know about my visceral dislike of Sex and the City. I mean, when did easy become synonymous with feminism? But I don't want to beat a dead horse (I'll simply refer you all to two of the best commentaries on the new SATC movie here and here.)

Instead, let me discuss the real culture-changing movie for those of us in our 30s: Pretty in Pink. OK, really I'm referring to any John Hughes movie. The whole Brat Pack series were pretty life-changing for anyone who wore a dress with puffed sleeves or Z Cavarichi pants (the latter may have been a Staten Island phenomenon). But Pretty in Pink was on VH1 this week, which left me nostalgic for intensity.

For those of you living under a rock and unfamiliar with the plot, here it is in a nutshell: Nice girl (Andie) is part of counter-culture element at public high school, ruled by rich, popular kids (demarcated by their choice of pastel shirts and white blazers). Rich, cool jackass (Steff) likes her. She turns him down. Rich, cool nice guy (Blane) likes her. She goes out with Blane. They have a bad first date, redeemed only when Blane asks her to the prom. They kiss. Andie shares excitement with father and says she thinks she's in love. Did you catch that--she thinks she's in love after ONE kiss!! Blane flakes out after Steff poisons his mind. Trouble. Andie makes her own prom dress and goes to prom solo. Blane apologizes. Tells her he loves her. Always. They kiss again. The End.

Now, perhaps I used movies as my handbook for negotiating American culture a little too much in my youth, but I'm still struck by how OK it was to fall in love after one kiss. If they'd try to make this movie with today's Millennial Generation, it would take months for the main characters to even admit to dating. Then someone would admit to commitment issues. Which begs the question, why would anyone have commitment issues in high school? What are you afraid of? Turning into your divorced parents? (OK, that may be legit). But still. The complete thrill of Pretty in Pink is the character's intensity. Nowadays, Andie would be the crazy girlfriend and Blane would be the sane, rational guy, appropriately afraid of committing to anyone he met in high school. And Andie would probably end up trying to adjust her needs to the desires of such men. Which I believe, would turn her into Carrie.

Crap, I think I just understood Carrie on a deeper level. I really didn't think she could have one.

Nevertheless, I still sympathize and root for Andie 25 years later. I get butterflies when Blane looks at her. I am vicariously thrilled at the whole sewing montage when she makes her own prom dress--it's like the A-Team's DIY montage for girls. Hell, every girl wants to be that fashion designer--the one that can create a new look that allows her to triumph over school bullies and insecurity. Not the fashionista that simply knew which name brands are the most hot. Puh-lease. Where's the triumph over adversity? Where's the counter-culture rebellion that ever teen identifies with? And most of all, where's the intensity?

When did being intense become undesirable? Was is around the same time that being easy became synonymous with feminism?

You, Inc.

2010-04-29T06:59:00.002-04:00

A timely discussion on branding yourself, not only for job hunting or entrepreneurial purposes, but also so that you stay focused in life.

Bouncing Back: The Challenges of Being a Woman Business Owner

2010-04-25T17:42:00.003-04:00

The guest was a little late calling in, so Sky and Candace ended up interviewing me a bit about my decision to leave MediaGlobal. Unfortunate circumstance but good life lesson.

A nice complement to the last Tears to Triumph show

2010-04-17T15:36:00.003-04:00

NPR seems to be on the same train of thought that Tears to Triumph was last week. Listen to On the Media and their recent coverage of the paltry number of women at NPR and in other news outlets.

Women Leadership in Business: Sage Advice and Resources

2010-04-14T21:47:00.001-04:00

My contribution begins around minute 16:45

Cyber-stalking: A cautionary tale and tips to keep you safe

2010-04-07T19:25:00.003-04:00

Today's show featured Milani Rose, a model and incredible woman who has fought hard to defend her name and image from a cyber-stalker. Milani discusses her ordeal, which is also featured in the upcoming book Souls of My Young Sisters (out in June, pre-order now), while Dr. Elisa gives sound counsel and I offer some tips on how young women can stay safe.

Women, the media, and depression

2010-03-31T19:04:00.004-04:00

I had the opportunity of being a guest on Tears to Triumph on blog talk radio as a media consultant discussing images of women in the media and depression, thanks to Candace Sandy of Souls of My Sisters. Have a listen and share your thoughts.

How to Date a Feminist (Redux)

2010-03-28T18:37:00.003-04:00

I recently read an eHow article titled "How to Date a Feminist" and I have to say, it's probably the worst How-to article I've ever read, mainly because I wouldn't follow their steps to date a feminist and I am one! So here's my suggested How-to guide to dating a feminist:

1. Don't assume that because she's a feminist she either hates men or is trying to be like one. Instead, ask her what that term means to her. You'll get to know her and she'll think you're smart for asking.

2. On the first date, avoid misogynistic humor. This usually entails not repeating anything from a Vince Vaughn movie. Or your ideas for a Vince Vaughn movie. Don't worry--eventually you can probably get her to watch Wedding Crashers with you (although I can't guarantee she'll enjoy it), but don't expect that to win her over on the first date.

3. If she mentions working for women's rights in any way, do not disparage her efforts. Be open to seeing her perspective, even if you respectfully disagree. The key word here is respectfully. While you may think that date rape statistics are inflated, commenting that she works with liars if she's a rape crisis counselor is not respectful (this is a true story that happened to me).

4. Read an article about women's issues. Just one. Really, one is enough to open your eyes. It can be about anything, and chances are, there's probably some way women's issues combines with your profession, even if you're in finance or construction. Plus, by reading one article, it'll give you good date talk, which might then lead to good pillow talk.

5. While I wouldn't expect any guy to read the entire syllabus from a women's studies course (even I skipped out on some of those readings), it may behoove you to think about what you would put on a men studies course. The greatest shame in college campuses nowadays is that women are challenged to think about their roles in the world and how to break out of stereotypes while men are not. Tell her that and it might get you laid.

6. Support her career aspirations. No wise woman is going to be all about her career. Most of them just want to enjoy family and career the way men have been for years. But being a supportive man who thinks about her career strategically and gives her sound counsel makes you a true catch and can also lead to some really great intellectual foreplay.

7. Support her personal growth. This is just sound relationship advice and not specific to feminists, or women for that matter. The key is not to be self-absorbed and to understand that there are just as many women as men aspiring for greatness--help her be the better version of yourself and she'll probably help you do the same.

Now the only trick in all this is paying the bill. I still have no idea what the rules are on that one, and even my own preferences change. I always offer because I don't think men should always pay, but I also think more highly of the guy who argues a bit to pay for me, not out of some antiquated notion of gender roles, but just out of kindness, the way my friend Jenna and I argued about the bill today. But that's me. I know other feminists differ on this. The one thing I do know is that a feminist is unlikely to be the type of woman who puts out on the third date simply because you paid for 3 dinners--you're going to have to work a bit harder than that.

Your thoughts?

My 15 seconds (and 2 sentences!) of fame

2010-03-07T09:39:00.002-05:00

Apparently, I'm the "old" worker in this piece, which I find hilarious.

Watch CBS News Videos Online

"The little dictator"

2010-03-04T07:49:00.004-05:00

In 2007, I attended a conference where Shirin Ebadi, the 2003 Nobel peace prize winner and human rights lawyer from Iran, was supposed to speak. Unfortunately, her visa got held up and she couldn't make.

Last night, after two and a half years of following Dr. Ebadi's activities and reading her compelling autobiography, I finally got to see her speak at Asia Society. Jody Williams, the Nobel peace laureate from the US, once described Dr. Ebadi as "the little dictator," a reference to both her short stature and impassioned way of speaking, and I can now confirm it's an accurate description. Despite the use of a translator (which always dilutes one's speech), anyone privileged to see Dr. Ebadi speak will know she speaks with every fiber of her being (the only other person I've seen come close is Elizabeth Warren, head of the TARP oversight, on consumer protection).

Because I didn't go in my professional capacity as a member of the press and didn't record the event or take notes, I don't want to reiterate what Dr. Ebadi said last night lest I get my facts wrong. But since I also didn't get to thank her, I would like to do so here and share with readers my favorite story about her that I read in her autobiography, Iran Awakening.

When one of Dr. Ebadi's friends decided to flee Iran (some years after the Revolution), Dr. Ebadi went to her friend's apartment. The friend was trying to sell her things and had placed price tags on much of her furniture. Dr. Ebadi went around pulling the price tags off just as her friend was putting them on, trying to convince her friend to stay in Iran. She explains, 'if everyone goes, who will be left?'

This may seem like an innocuous story, but I always remember it on the days when I'm tired or frustrated with the lack of progress in some area. Clearly, that's how much you have to love a country and a culture and your cause to stay and fight against all odds. And how can I ever be tired when Dr. Ebadi is fighting so tirelessly at an age when most people are contented to retire in an easy chair and play with their grandchildren?

So thank you, Dr. Ebadi. The world needs more dictators like you.

Corollary conversation

2009-11-05T10:21:00.006-05:00

After a career detour into the dark world of clinical psych, I'm back at doing what I love most--writing! No more meaningless Rorschachs! No more compassionless professors! Just words, words, words. And maybe some time for daydreaming and thoughtfulness.

So what's worth writing about now? Well, the recession seems to be a favorite topic, but after reading multiple articles and talking to multiple sources, it appears that no one has a good gauge of what exactly is going--not even a rudimentary understanding of whether things are getting better or worse. (OK, I admit the degree in psych has made me a bit more savvy about how little research goes into media claims about, well, anything.)

If there's one thing I've learned from literature, it's that the microcosm can be just as telling as the the macrocosm. So, there's no use focusing on imaginary statistics about employment and unemployment when our own lives can tell us more about what's working and what's not. For me, the job hunt has not been working well. Occasional doses of anti-depressants have. I've learned how to eat and live on $15 a day. I've also come to hate the Law of Attraction. And idiot notions of karma.

Now, let me preface this with a caveat that I believe wholeheartedly in being respectful towards any one's beliefs, no matter how much I disagree. But there's a place for discussion and clarification that I hope this post provides. And that discussion centers around the incorrect belief in corollaries.

That's right corollaries. Remember them from 10th-grade geometry? All squares are parallelograms. Does that mean all parallelograms are squares? (Hint: only if all vegetarians are Indian.)

What's this got to do with the Law of Attraction and idiot notions of karma in popular culture? A lot. We like to belief in a just world, so we go along telling people that there circumstances are a result of either their thoughts or their past karma (this life or past ones). But that's simply an incorrect corollary to a valid truth: Your approach (thoughts and actions) to your present circumstances CAN change your future circumstances. However, that does not mean that the corollary--that your present circumstances are the result of your past thoughts/actions--is true in the slightest.

In the epic words of Hugh Laurie (yes, I'm quoting from House), "You get what you get."

Now what?

Coming Home and Signing Off

2007-09-09T18:59:00.000-04:00

After a few days at my parents' place on Staten Island, I'm back home in New York City, jet-lagging but grateful for a wonderful trip. Not solely because I got to see and do some pretty cool things, but because writing to all of you made traveling alone a lot more fun and interesting. Actually, it made it feel like I wasn't traveling alone. So thank you.

Some people deserve individual shout outs. Madhuri, Jenna, Emily, Sherif, Sona, and Janet come to mind, for their quick replies to emails when panic set in and I feared becoming a social pariah. Devoted readers Dharshan and Corey (and Amaya) also deserve mentioning. My family in India and Clive and Margaret in South Africa, for being gracious hosts. The friends who either entertained or rescued me: Braian, Jony, Arno, Fatima, B.J., Manmeet, and Anu, to name a few. And of course, most importantly, my most devoted readers and cheering squad, my parents, for making this possible and for not freaking out.

I will be sending some of you links to photos as soon as I can (I think I might have left the CD at my parents' after a photos, beer, and Mom's food binge on Friday night). And I promise to stay in touch better than before, even though school is starting and my books are plotting to take me hostage.

With much love,
Minal/Minny

Taxonomy of Leering

2007-09-07T04:58:00.001-04:00

I'm back in New York and wide awake at 4am with either jet lag or insomnia (one never knows), so I figured posting here would be a good idea. After traveling the world, I feel qualified to say that lecherous men are omnipresent, like Oprah and schizophrenia, and their predatory nature is in need of an international classification handbook. This is by no means a taxonomy of men worldwide (I met wonderful ones along the way as well), but of a particular breed or species, so to speak. So, here it is:

Argentina: Overt staring, even if eye contact is made, but coupled with mute behavior. Occasionally staring may be followed by a suggestive raising of eyebrows.

South Africa: By far the sketchiest interaction, whereby a man stood behind our tour guide to simple stare at me. When the tour guide turned around and asked what he wanted, he smoothly replied a cigarette, and then continued to stand there and smoke it while staring at me.

Dubai: Judgmental staring by every man from Kerala with a mustache and a smattering of Emirates. I know from a reliable source than it is not simple staring or ogling, but a quick survey of character and judgment that is passed as to whether the prey (woman) is chaste or easy. I do not know which one is more desired by said predators.

India: Baseline ogling, much like New York, where men check out all women that walk by in direct proportion to how fair they are. However, unlike Argentina, they will look away if you make eye contact, thereby making offense the best defense (i.e., they can't leer at you if you're actively checking out every man). However, occasional Dubai breed also found here.

Kuala Lumpur: Unaware of being ogled at, but I was only there for 7 hours. More field research required.

Bali: Most lecherous of oglers, especially towards Indian women, all of whom are a poor man's substitute for Aishwarya Rai. Physically nonthreatening due to short stature and malnourishment, but somehow I felt most disgusted by being prey to this particular brand of leering. International tourists and ex-pats may also engage in leering due to beach culture previously noted.

Hong Kong: As international as New York, therefore having a wide variety of both lecherous and non-lecherous men. For example, group of Indian boys that sat on a bench while I walked into a store in order to extend their predatory time. Hong Kong native with no social skills asked for my number in the middle of the subway. Middle eastern guy spotted with nice eyes, but traveling in a pack, which therefore made him more threatening. American guy that apologized when he bumped into me, and who I later leered at while pretending to shop. Like I said, like New York.

Well, there you have it. But, this is by no means exhaustive and/or authoritative, so please feel free to add and amend as you see fit. Like a Wikipedia for single women worldwide.

PS- Shout outs are due for people who supported and encouraged me this whole time, and so I will make one more entry about coming home in the next day or two.

Hot Hong Kong Nights

2007-09-04T00:02:00.000-04:00

Hong Kong is hot. Hot and humid like New York, where the asphalt radiates heat like coals and the exhaust fumes from passing buses sticks to your skin. It's bright and busy and open 24 hours. Basically, New York in Chinese with English subtitles. And it's good to be back in a city, After Bali, I've realized I'm not that into beach culture. Funnily enough, I picked up a copy of the International Herald Tribune on the plane yesterday, and the NY Times columnist David Brooks had already satirized beach culture in his column mcuh better than I ever could (you can find it at http://select.nytimes.com/2007/08/31/opinion/31brooks.html. For my friends that don't have access, email me and I'll send you my ID and password).

I've also realized that there are good things to be said for cultural imperialism and globalization. Now I know Jenna and Madhuri and possibly a few others of you will shower me with tirades about vanishing cultures and individuality, and I would probably agree with all your very salient points. But, after a long flight, there is a sense of relief and gratitude one feels when one sees a Starbucks, knowing that a cup of tea (with milk) is to be found and caffeine can be safely ingested so as to avoid getting lost, ripped off, or pickpocketed on the way from the airport to the hotel. There is childlike joy in eating gelato while waiting in 90-degree weather to see Hong Kong's famous light show. And, given that my stomach is like a Manhattan apartment (there is only room for the things I need and like), and I'm not the biggest fan of East Asian food, there is comfort in finding Pizza Express with it's margherita pizzas and penne al pomodoro.

In case you should start to think that I've become a predictable American tourist, I did do some very Hong Kong-y things yesterday, like visit the Temple Street night market that is open from 4pm to midnight, and spontaneously bought a chess set that has intricately carved Asian figures as chess pieces (I have no idea how I'm going to fit this thing into my suitcase, but I've been wanting a nice chess set ever since I had to learn how to play chess last year in order to treat one of my verbally-challenged patients). I also went to a temple this morning where you supposedly get what you wish for. If you have any doubts, there are fortune tellers lining the walls, waiting to read your palm.

Of course, no visit would be complete for me without a forced interaction with a sketchy man. So, anecdote du jour: I got on the subway, and this man started peering at me from behind someone so intently, I was convinced I had a button open or doing something wrong. Perhaps it's rude in China to lean across somone to hold onto the strap as to avoid falling over in the train. He then gets up and starts the oddest conversation:
Him: Are you Helen?
Me: Sorry?
Him: Are you Helen?
Me: No. Sorry.
Him: Oh. My friend introduced me to a woman named Helen.
Me: Sorry. I'm not Helen.
Him: Are you Indian or Pakistani?
Me: Yes, but I live in New York.
Him: Oh. I want to go to New York to study there. Are you a citizen?
Me: No.
Him: Oh. You're not a citizen. But you live in New York. Can I have your phone number?
Me: No.
Him: Oh... (pause) no?
Me: No.

Here's how that conversation should have gone:
Him: Are you Helen?
Me: Of Troy?
Him: Sorry?
Me: No, I'm not Helen. Are you Bill?
Him: Pardon?
Me: I don't speak English.

If only I was as witty in real life as I am in my head.

What would you do?

2007-09-01T22:16:00.000-04:00

In a moment of confusion, I ended up giving my cylcing tour guide in Ubud my email address (I was making plans for other trips and I thought he needed it to book a trip). Here's the email I got two days ago:

Hi Friend, can I sharing bad new to you.I loss my mother on August 27 2007 on 9.30 pm.She is very old, 79 years old. She is not sick, but the problem only old, with nine children and 23 grandchild's.On august 28 2007 we carried it to cemetery for buried and then on August 2008 will be cremation ceremony.Followed our rules in my village.Sorry I am late to tell you.I am sad and was crying but now I must return to work for my family and try to find more money for cremation ceremony.Thanks for your attention.Are you still in Bali, please reply...Best regard
W#####+family

How would you respond? Would you respond?

And Jenna, the circumstances are not anything like those in the book you gave me. Quite the opposite.

Religious musings

2007-08-31T21:45:00.000-04:00

For those of you who don't know, Bali is a Hindu island within Muslim-dominated Indonesia. Hinduism was brought here sometime in the 11th century (I think), making Balinese Hinduism a very different version of what I know.

The three gods, Shiva, Visnu, and Brahma, dominate here, but are said to be the gods of wind, water, and fire, respectively. Black and white gingham cloth is omnipresent on the island, supposedly representing the balance of good and evil. They have imported the caste system, although it seems than anyone can make an offering at the temple. However, they have also imported that favorite misogynistic practice: not allowing women in the temples if they are menstruating. Now, out of respect for another culture, I don't mind being asked to observe that practice, but every male Balinese tour guide takes it upon himself to ask every female tourist if she has her period instead of just stating the rules. (The first time I was asked this, I was initially shocked until I figured out why they were most likely asking; for someone unacquainted with Hinduism, I assume it's quite intrusive.)

Combined with importing my least favorite practices of Hinduism, the Balinese also make animal sacrifices at their temples of cow, pig, and chicken. They even have cock fighting. It's been odd witnessing all this; I can't help but think that their religion is mainly superstition and that must be how Westerners view India (although even Vivekananda said most of India is practicing superstition). And though they have artistic depictions of the Ramayana and Mahabharata, I have not heard one mention of the Gita, Vedas, or Upanishads. It seems that Indians forgot to export the best part of Hinduism.

On a slightly different note, I've also been thinking of a book I read on Tenzin Palmo where another Buddhist nun said that the emphasis on renouncing desire and selfishness is a spirituality more geared for men, and that for women, the challenge is more in renouncing comfort. We women need, she said. I was skeptical when I first read this months ago, but after my sojourn in crappy hotel accommodations, I'm inclined to agree. But fear not friends; just as no one would expect a 30-year-old man with no intention of becoming a monk to give up sex, I have no inclincation to give up my comforts just yet.

On the Move

2007-08-30T22:22:00.000-04:00

I'm leaving Candidasa tomorrow morning.

After one day, I decided that there is no way I can get peace in this town. Although the town is idyllic and beautiful, every man is either leering at me or trying to rip me off. Here are the highlights:

1. Though I have a budget hotel room, it has a beautiful canopy bed and outdoor bath, which I quite liked. Until I pulled back the sheets and saw, though clean sheets had been laid, the mattress padding had a palm-sized faded blood stain in the middle of the bed. Now, the thought that a woman might have been menstruating and slept here didn't bother me. It was the other thought--that a woman was in pain because some fool didn't know what he was doing--that disturbed me. The next day, they changed the mattress padding and sheets and left a hibiscus in the middle of the bed, which I thought was sweet until I picked it up and noticed it was covering up a small hole in the sheet. I don't know whether to applaud their cleverness or distrust their chalu-ness. Is it too much to ask for clean towels and sheets for $30/night? I think the Rough Guide and backpackers the world over have made traveling into an experience for students or the super wealthy. What happened to clean, safe, budget travel?

2. My first night here, I received a flyer for happy hour and dinner at a local restaurant with legong, or traditional Balinese dancers. After a comical dance lesson in Ubud, I thought it would be good to see what legong actually looks like, and since I had just arrived, it was an easy decision for dinner. The restaurant had 5 dancers perform, the first one being 9 1/2 years old and increasing in age. After each performance, the children/teens would come to each table to "shake hands" (i.e.- see if you will give them money). When I asked the first one if she's in school, the waiter says yes, but she dances every night. So when does she study? In the morning, from 7am to 12pm. Homework time? Well, her mother and father don't work, ever since the bombings in Bali. This information then confused me since the socially conscious tourist in me is against encouraging children to make money over going to school, but the trauma psychologist in me want to support a family trying to recover.
But then, the last performer (who was a young woman) began dancing, and was technically quite good, until she randomly picked up a scarf to drape around an old Australian man's neck and bring him up to the stage, for some combination of Balinese and belly dancing. Let me back up and explain that legong is a dance akin to bharatnatyam and is performed in the temples for auspicious occasions. At no point is it supposed to be cheap, tawdry affair to satisfy tourists who want a Polynesian temptress. Until now.

3. The hotel had arranged for a tour yesterday of the surrounding area, which included the oldest village in Bali, water palaces made by the former king, and a temple on the top of the tallest mountain. In all fairness, these were beautiful places. But the tour guides conspired to irritate me as much as possible. I don't mind if they asked for a fixed price for giving a tour, but they don't and then ask you for more money no matter how much you give them, saying, "Thank you, now I can buy my children rice tonight." Cha-lu. Not to mention that when I get back from one of the tours, my driver is talking with a throng of other drivers, and they all unabashedly stare at me in the most lecherous way possible. When I asked the driver, "Can you tell them not to stare?," he just laughs. Which makes me think that he was party to a frat-like conversation about me. (I admit that this thought is a bit paranoid, but that doesn't mean I'm wrong.)

4. Although it cost 35,000 Rupiah to get a taxi from Ubud to Candidasa, and the hotel in Kuta tells me it will cost 50,000 Rupiah for a taxi from Kuta to the airport, the hotel manager here tells me it will cost 300,000 Rupiah for a taxi from Cnadidasa to Kuta tomorrow. Now, 300,000 Rupiah is about U.S.$30, which is not bad, but how can a trip that takes 2 hours cost six times as much as one that takes 1 hour. Then the manager and his sidekick tell me I can go find a taxi elsewhere. But here's the problem when you travel alone as a woman: there seems to be no regulation of taxis here (people who have vehicles offer a ride) and is it really advisable for me to get in a car with a strange man? So, I will suck it up and pay the exorbitant fair, though I bargained them down to 250,000 Rupiah. (I've found that saying I'm Indian helps in haggling since they then know that I'm not a clueless Westerner only thinking in dollars. I also heard that it's better to think of it as hiring a driver rather than catching a cab.)

Now, I admit, I should probably be more open-minded about my experiences here. Perhaps good service is not culturally expected here, just like yelling isn't really yelling in India, or how in Mongolia, people don't wait in lines but just rush to get what they want in throngs. Perhaps, using your children to emotionally manipulate tourists into forking over money is considered a good business tactic. Perhaps, leering at women and offering coconut massages is a compliment. But, my friends, I have hit my limit of cultural understanding. So I will go to Kuta and be surrounded by Australians and surfers. At least I'll know when to be offended and when not to over there.

PS- For my non-Hindi-speaking friends, chalu can most closely be translated at guileful, but encompasses a measure of manipulation and cleverness that no English word possesses.

Traveling in Bali

2007-08-29T05:09:00.000-04:00

I've moved from Ubud in central Bali to Candidasa, a small town on the coast. After traveling for 5 weeks, I thought this would be a simple transfer of hotels, but Bali is conspiring to try my patience. For the first time last night I had mosquitoes in my room, biting me all night. I think this was because I turned off the AC since all of Bali is the perfect room temperature for me. Then, this morning, I thought I had an tour of an NGO that is trying to preserve ancient Balinese dyeing and cloth-making techniques (at least that's what the receptionist told me). At 9am the place wasn't open, and at 10am, the clerk told me that there are no tours today of the shop. Then, I waited in the usual spot for the hotel shuttle to come pick me up. The 11:20 shuttle didn't show, and an hour later, neither did the 12:20. I finally haggled a taxi driver into driving me back, and found out that, starting yesterday, the hotel has changed their drop off and pick-up point in town. They've notified people taking the shuttle into town. Except, I took a taxi early in the morning for my nonexistant tour. Humph. Inefficiency. The one thing that always makes me impatient and cranky (most likely the reason I am always annoyed at Fordham).

After an hour-long drive, I've reached Candidasa, and settled into a nice but much more budget hotel. All is going well, except that I'm in desperate need of cash and a bikini wax. The receptionist tells me that the ATM is 30 minutes away and that one of the staff members will take me on his vespa. The spa is closer, so he takes me there first, only to find out that apparently all of Bali is unaware of the concept of waxing (this was a problem in the hotel in Ubud, too). I think it may be because the Balinese don't seem to have hair. But they are obsessed with Hindi films, so you would think they could accomodate a Punjabi girl. No go. So we head off for the ATM. Without helmets. Which makes me a bit nervous, until I remember how many times my parents fell off scooters in India. Thankfully, my father has taught me how to stay on a motorbike without holding onto anyone, because guy who drove me had a scent that made me want to keep my distance unless my life depended on it. And even then, I may take a minute to deliberate.

To top it off, being Indian here is a bit like being blonde in America. I attribute my newfound pseudo-celebrity status to Bollywood films. Normally I would rejoice in the advancement of Indians, except that it is leading to comments from leacherous men. The most offensive being an offer from an old man for a coconut massage; the most comical being that I look like Aishwaria Rai's younger sister and questions as to why I'm living in New York and not an actress in India. If only they could see my cousins and my girls back home in New York.

Kuala Lumpur and Bali

2007-08-27T08:17:00.000-04:00

Photos from Kuala Lumpur...

The Kuala Lumpur Twin Towers. Not a postcard shot, but it proves I was there.

Little India in KL.

My desperate attempt to evade the lingering scent of bird poop with mogra.

Rescued by my new favorite hairdresser.

As for Bali, it is too beautiful for words...

Thinking of my mom, who would like the flower, but reprimand me for not wearing earrings.

The Resort at which I am staying, located on a hillside. The huts seen here are private cabanas for spa treatments.

One of the stops on my cycling tour of Ubud, next to the cave temple pictured below.

Balinese girls coming home from school. Today was a festival because of the full moon, which is why they are in traditional Balinese dress. The locals here are incredibly friendly, running out of their yards to say hello and kids holding out their hands for you as you ride by.

Lotus flowers.

Cooking class. I think I'm rolling a spring roll. I doubt I will ever do this again.

Cycling tour across rice paddies of Ubud.

Cave temple in Ubud. I think the guy insisted on being in the photo.

The scented oil and rose petal bath I got to take tonight. I've decided that every woman should know what it's like to have rose petals cling to you as you come out of a bath.

More tomorrow. Miss you all immensely.

Lay-overs and beauty tips

2007-08-25T10:11:00.000-04:00

So, I've mainly been writing about countries I've spent more than a day in, which makes sense, I suppose, but leaves out some cool excursions in Dubai and Kuala Lumpur. Between South Africa and India, I was laid over (that always sounds so vulgar) in Dubai for 12 hours, so I left the airport to take a tour and have a facial (which, by the way, was the single best idea I've had while in transit-- it was 100 times more relaxing and refreshing than any other facial I've had). Anyway, my digital camera was dead, so my photos of Dubai are all on a disposable camera. However, the old city of Dubai is beautiful-- stone fortresses and colorful river boats. Most of the city has been developed in the past 15 years, so there's a lot of skyscrapers, but really the old city and spice market are the best parts.

In contrast, Kuala Lumpur has a nice mix of old and new, and even their Twin Towers are more aesthetic than skyscrapers anywhere else I've seen. It's a bit like the difference between a Trump tower and a building designed by Frank Lloyd Wright: they're both expensive and impressive, but only one is actually pretty.

I have photos that I will try to upload sometime soon, but in keeping with my Dubai beauty ingenuity, I decided to get my hair washed and blown out in KL (after seeing the major sights, of course). This is mainly because while waiting in line to enter the airport in Bangalore, a bird shit on my head. My mother and some Italians standing in line behind me told me this is good luck, but funny, I don't remember learning that when I studied in Italy. I used as much soap as I could in the Bangalore airport to scrub it out, but still fell gross (I think more so because it was brown, not white like pigeon poop). I was able to buy jasmine wreaths in an attempt to cover the scent I was convinced was following me in little India in KL (apparently India's biggest export is people and I keep finding them on this trip- I forgot to mention all the Kerala men with mustaches that were staring at me in Dubai). But then, serendipitously, in the main train station (akin to Grand Central) I found a salon. Now, I admit I had my doubts; concerns about lice and bleached highlights ran through my head. But the receptionist was a transvestite named Diva, and I am willing to bet on the talent and taste of tranies the world over. So, my friends, my hair is sleek and shiny and my advice to you is this: lay-overs are the best time to get pampered and beautified. It may also lead to other lay-overs.

My India

2007-08-24T05:54:00.000-04:00

It's been 4 years since I've been in India, and I'm not sure whether it has changed a lot or if I have. I don't think I could have managed taking auto-rickshaws everywhere a few years ago (granted Bangalore is much easier to get by in using English than anywhere else). And although I still think you can't know India until you know it's smells and noises, I know the smells bothered me a lot more as a child, and now the noises do. But, overall, it's nice to finally have an India of my own...

Lalbagh Botanical Gardens:

Kodagu

2007-08-21T00:04:00.000-04:00

Some of you know that I am from Coorg (officially Kodagu). Well, half of me, at least. Some of you couldn't find Coorg on the map. So, after a brief visit yesterday, here's are some pictures and a brief tutorial.

Coorg is in Karnataka, about a 5 hour drive south of Bangalore. Wikipedia has a decent explanation of the countryside and history at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Coorg
And my aunt and uncle have a gorgeous bed and breakfast there that I think you should all visit: http://www.berry-lane.com/

But without further ado, here are the photos...

Out of Africa

2007-08-15T23:23:00.000-04:00

Although I didn't get to see any lions of leopards, photos at last...

Sunset

Rhinos

Sunrise and our campsite

Me with rhinos in the background

Winter lilies

Giraffes

Elephants in the mist

Elephant

Monkey

Peacock

Cast of Characters

2007-08-13T15:07:00.000-04:00

It's still going to be a day or two until I can post photos from the safari trip, but here's the cast of characters that accompanied me to Kruger National Park:
Storm: White, blonde South African driver to Kruger. Seriously, his name was Storm. When he told me, I nearly burst out laughing, it was so cliche, but then thought I should stay on the good side of a man who could leave me abandoned in the wild.
MJ: Girl in car with Storm. Most likely, girlfriend. Possibly racist, along with Storm.
Emily: Appeared to be normal American girl who stayed at the same hotel. Young 20s and still looking to impress the world with her intelligence. Reminded me of how annoying I must have been at that age. Reaction to subtle racist comments by Storm and MJ: "I think that's par for the course, here."
TJ: Big, white South African tour guide. Imagine Hurly from Lost with blonde dreadlocks. Blatantly declares that he does not smile. Has been camping and sleeping in a tin trailer for 3 1/2 years.
Suze: 40-something divorcee with 5 kids between 8 and 23. Lots of fun after six pack of beer and 1/2 bottle of wine each night. Possibly heard her purging after breakfast, but circumspect.
Derek and Lee: British-Irish engaged couple. Little known since they were in blissful coupledom, although that may also be because they were both accountants. However, Derek was useful, having memorized the conversion table from metric to English measurement.
Me: Was newly resolved to move out of the US after I get my degree. Now reconsidering.

Women's Day

2007-08-09T11:13:00.000-04:00

I have arrived (safely) in South Africa on a national holiday, Women's Day, which I thought was a rather good sign for me, the occasional rabid feminist. From what I could gather from the cab driver, it appears that Women's Day is the South African version of Mother's Day where husbands and children should take care of the women they know and buy them stuff. The day also turns out to be loaded with irony; I unexpectedly got my period as soon as I landed, and will be camping in Kruger Park for the next two nights. Plus, thought the hostel I'm staying in is nice, they don't provide towels, which was a surprise to me for reasons that seem rather presumptuous now. So, Women's Day became a trip to the mall, just like Mother's Day in the U.S., with the hope that some store is open. Thankfully, some fancy linen store was, and I have paid more for a towel here than I ever would back home. And then impulsively bought other items, like an alarm clock, back-up disposable camera (the battery has been dying inconveniently in mine), and of course, a book (by J. M. Coetzee).

I don't think I'll have much Internet access over the next 2-3 days, so I might have to wait until I get to India to upload photos. But thank you all for reading. It's a bit weird writing without knowing exactly who is reading this (other than my parents, who are consistent beyond measure), so thanks to everyone who has been posting and emailing me, as well.

Fleeting thoughts before leaving Beunos Aires

2007-08-08T11:07:00.001-04:00

My flight to South Africa is later tonight, but here are some final photos and thoughts before leaving BA.
1. When you order coffee or tea, they give you a shot of soda water with it. I don´t know why this idea hasn't caught on in Europe or the States yet.
2. If you click on Emily's blog on the left, she has a nice analysis of the pros and cons of the seated throne versus the squat toilet. I think the bidet deserves an equally eloquent ode, especially since a crudely exposed tap and plastic pitcher await me in India.
3. The men in Argentina have no shame is staring at a woman, and it's unlike anything I've ever experienced. I mean, the men in New York will, usually, try to be discreet, and in Italy they'll tease you, but the men here simply stare. Occasionally, it's flattering, but often I want to channel the drill Sargent from An Officer and a Gentleman and shout, "Why are you eyeballing me, boy?"
4. After meeting a bunch of really nice and really beautiful women, I have decided that we all have the same problems with men and most of us are under-appreciated.
5. To be fair to men, I've also so met some really kind and generous ones who have showed me the city and given me some of the best compliments. My favorite was when one suddenly grabbed my hand and said "you're such a nice girl!" No one in New York ever compliments anyone on being nice or kind. Beautiful, yes. Smart, maybe. But never nice. Which is a shame; it's really my favorite one.

The patio at my hotel.

El Caminato in La Boca.

La Boca.

Eating Indian food at Bangalore, which was oddly designed like an English pub.

Ashrama

2007-08-06T11:14:00.000-04:00

It turns out that there´s a Ramakrishna Center in Buenos Aires. Of course, I had to go check it out since I can´t think of any other instance where I would hear bajans sung in Spanish and see Vivekananda´s Karma Yoga written in Spanish. The center (they call it the Ashrama) is located about an hour and half (by train) outside of the main city, so it´s a beautiful sprawling property. (Unfortunately my camera battery died Saturday night, so I don´t have any pictures.) I think I was somewhat of a novelty there since the Argentinian devotees were really excite to meet a real-life Indian. (By the way, one of the things I haven´t written about is how in Spanish, Indiano is actually a really pejorative term for Native Americans, and so Indians have to refer to themselves as Hindu; I´m not sure what an Indian Muslim would do).

Anyway, it was a really interesting and fun experience to hear readings and Sanskrit words in Spanish. Plus, their songs are much more fun than the songs at the center in New York. They´re also much more laid back and Latin American about the whole affair, starting whenever they please and kissing everyone hello. I´m sure Swami Adishwarananda in New York would have a fit. There´s also an Argentinian swami who´s much too good looking to be a swami; if he starts taking on disciples, they´re going to jump off of cliffs like lemmings for him.

LNA to make my friends and brother proud

2007-08-05T21:00:00.000-04:00

Pictures speak louder than words...

In love again

2007-08-04T17:13:00.000-04:00

The sun shone today for the first time since I arrived on Monday, and I am in love with Buenos Aires again. It may have helped that I had a tango lesson this morning, and am now addicted. Or that I have wonderful friends at home, who quickly responded to my advice-seeking email with reassurances that I am not a social pariah. Or, my Spatalian is getting better (one shopkeeper told me I spoke Spanish like a Brazilian, which, despite my limited knowledge of Brazil, flattered me since there´s nothing worse than sounding like an American).

I´ve finally figured out how to post photos from my camera, so here´s a few- just random street scenes. Thank you all for your posts and reading this blog; it´s made traveling solo much more fun.

What to do on a rainy day?

2007-08-03T21:47:00.001-04:00

So, it´s official, if you´re going to do Buenos Aires, do it in the summer. It rained all day today, and it´s so cold, even the tourists don´t want to go out.

That being said, it´s also perfect museum weather. I went to the MALBA, the big modern art museum here, akin to MOMA (Funny how modern art museums like their abbreviations). Like most modern art museums, somethings were nice, but others were just weird. Just because it´s art doesn´t mean it´s good.

However, lunch in the museum cafe was spiced up with the arrival of a French/Luxembourg man who spoke English! (Yes, I have become an obnoxious American tourist who demands everyone speak English to me. If the British made my ancestors accommodate them, I figure the rest of the world should accommodate me. By the way, does anyone know what people from Luxembourg are called?). He then steered me towards the Museum of Fine Arts, which was amazing. It had collections on top of collections of the European masters, from Monet to Pissaro to Renoir to Picasso. There was a Van Gogh painting there that I had never seen in any art history book of mine.

I was too cold and tired to go out after returning from the museum treks, so I ordered in, which turned out to be a great idea since I got to eat dinner with one of the staff members and his girlfriend, Martin and Barbara. It´s much easier to learn about a country by eating dinner with locals than by reading guidebooks or going out to bars. And more enjoyable, in my opinion. Plus, I´m feeling sick and need to save up my energy for tango lessons tomorrow!

One last thing, for my dad: Yes, the toilets do flush clockwise. I checked three different bowls.

Around the town

2007-08-01T21:54:00.000-04:00

Dear Sherif,
You have a black tongue like my grandfather and I hate you for it.
Love,
Minal

It´s freakin´ cold here. There´s no way for me to romanticize it and make this sound like a charming travel log. I had to buy a wool hat and polartec gloves, which I think I will be sleeping in if the nice buzz I got from wine at dinner tonight wears off.

But, despite that, I got to see most of the city today. BA has a city greeter program much like NYC, and my guide, Mauricio, took me all around the city in his warm car to show me the touristy and not-so-touristy places. Granted, some of the places you had to imagine in the summer, like the park planted with at least 100 different types of rose bushes. Before any of you start getting ideas, Mauricio is about 70 with grandkids. But, he is also a practicing psychologist (Argentina has the highest number of psychoanalysts per capita) who set me up with tango lessons this weekend with his friend´s son. And incredibly kind and eager to show anyone BA for free.

For some reason, Buenos Aires seems to remind me of Florence. That may be because that was the last time I was traveling alone for an extended period of time, or because it looks like Italy with its green "farmacia" signs every 2 blocks, cobblestone streets, and 1970s pre-fab structures rudely interrupting a row of stone facades. It smells like Florence, too- a mixture of wood burning stoves and exhaust fumes, I think.

Fortunately or unfortunately, globalization makes an authentic Argentine experience hard to come by. The Simpsons movie is being heavily promoted here, as is Harry Potter and Ocean´s 13. McDonald´s is not as ubiquitous as it is in India and France, but present nonetheless. I think I saw a "Big and Tall" store on the way home tonight, and know I saw HSBC, Citibank, and ads for Yoga classes. I guess America is America, even if it´s South America.

My private BA

2007-07-31T19:36:00.000-04:00

It´s winter in Buenos Aires, and my mother and Jenna somehow convinced me not to bring my winter coat, which seems to have absolutely no effect on how much I am loving BA. It´s a sleepy town, and I´m not sure if that´s because it´s the low season for tourism or if that´s just how it is. But it´s a perfect retreat from the noise and demands of New York living. Plus, I´m staying in the most charming Bed and Breakfast, where my room looks like a whitewashed version of a Van Gogh painting. I can´t remember the name, but it´s the painting of the room with one of everything--one bed, one desk, one chair, one lamp, one window, one pitcher, one glass, one mirror. Imagine that in all white, and somehow, less depressing, possibly because the window looks out upon an enclosed garden and patio. The only things in multiples are two framed drawings and a number of books on the bookshelf, including The Unbearable Lightness of Being and The Kite Runner. The minute I entered the room, I had a fleeting idea to retire here next year to write my dissertation.

Since I only arrived today, it´s been a slow day of walking around and trying to get my bearings. And trying to remember my Spanish and not answer in Italian. I don´t know how my friends (you know who you are) could remind me to bring q-tips and condoms, but not my Spanish phrasebook, the latter of which would have been infinitely more useful. Honestly. When the taxi driver asked for the address of the hotel, for 1779, I said "uno, sette, sette, noche" or "1-7-7-night." Excellent.

But, I was able to order wine in a cafe and sit and read Borges for 2 hours, uninterrupted, which seems to be what I would want to do even if I was fluent in Spanish. I know my mother is reading this and appalled by my solitary scholarly pursuits, but fear not, Mother! I have a tour guide taking me around the city tomorrow. And I will be buying a coat to make up for the one you and Jenna confiscated.

Itinerary

2007-07-23T19:01:00.000-04:00

Hi everyone!
So although I'm flying solo this trip, I'm determined to make this blog interesting enough to make you want to join me. For those of you spontaneous enough to buy a last minute ticket, here's a brief version of my itinerary:
30 July-8 Aug: Buenos Aires
9 Aug-13 Aug: South Africa (Johannesburg)
14 Aug-25 Aug: India (Bangalore & Coorg)
26 Aug-3 Sept: Bali, Indonesia
4 Sept-6 Sept: San Francisco
6 Sept: NYC
See you all soon!