Music I don't want to listen to on the bus - My letter to the MBTA

I am a graduate student at Northeastern University and I take the number 66 to Brigham Circle every single day. Depending on what time I get on the bus, it is generally quite crowded. And again, depending on what time I get on the bus it is quite packed with, shall we say, loud people.I don't mind loud people, actually I quite like them. At times, I am told that I am a "loud" person. What I do mind though, is when those people are hampering my quality study time, or my "me" time. I'm not asking for pin drop silence, and I'm not asking for arms length space either. All I'm asking for is a little less belligerence and little more courtesy.

Public transit is public space right? So, why the reluctance to put in place some courtesy inducing rules? I mean, do I really need to listen a guy singing along to music which goes on about how some _____ (enter racist, denigrating term starting with the letter "n" here) are about to be raping ______ (enter sexist denigrating term starting with the letter "b" here)? I didn't pay for that music, and so, as much as it pains me to, I would like to forgo enjoying it. Thanks.

Not only do these "loud" people not become more courteous when you politely ask them thrice, and then ask them again, adding for effect, that you find their music "offensive", but not one person will speak up to support you in a bus packed with people, with at least 20 people within earshot of the one-sided exchange. So at the end of this one-sided exchange which took about 5 minutes of your time, you feel like you did something wrong.

Honestly, the world of Boston buses is just too much for me to handle. Maybe I have thin skin, or maybe we Canadians *are* too polite. Or maybe the rules enforced by the transit in the city I come from has forced people to be just a tad bit more courteous, but what's the big deal about making a rule? Is it really that big of a "freedom" hampering thing? Why can't you just say, "NO LOUD MUSIC" and actually enforce it? What is with the non-existent, non-helpful "campaign" about courtesy?

নস্যির কৌটো

কদিন ধরে আমার বেশ কজন চেনাশোনা বন্ধুরা বাংলায়  ব্লগাব্লগি করছে। অভিষেক দা তো বরাবরই দারুণ  সুন্দর করে বাংলায় গল্প বলে, সেদিন দেখি কৌশিক দাও ইংরিজি বিশ্ব জয় করে বাংলায় কীবোর্ড চালু করেছে। কুন্তু দি ও অসাধারণ লেখে। একটা ব্লগ খুলেছে, কিন্তু সেটাতে আমারই মত বেশ ল্যাদ খায়। গত কাল দেখলাম সীমন্তিনী ও কিছু কম যায় না! কি ভালো লিখল!

যদিও আমার বাংলা লেখা নিঃসন্দেহে গোল্লায় গেছে আমিও উৎসাহিত হয়ে পড়লাম। কালকে আমার ইকোনমিক্স ক্লাস এ বসে, খসখস করে বেশ কয়েক পাতা জুড়ে আমার ছোটবেলার একটা  মজার স্মৃতি লিখে ফেললাম। আসলে, আমার আর এক দল বন্ধুদের সঙ্গে ছোটবেলার গল্প বলতে বলতে মাথায় এই বুদ্ধি (দুর্বুদ্ধি) টা প্রবেশ করলো। দেখা যাক কি হয়!

আমার ভাই (রণ) আর আমি বয়সে বেশ কাছাকাছি: আমার যখন ৩ বছর ৯ মাস বয়স, রণ মায়ের কোল আলো করে দেখা দিল। যদিও প্রথমপ্রথম "ওকে বাজারে ফেরৎ দিয়ে এসো, আমার sister চাইইই" বলে বায়না ধরতাম, বছর কয়েক সময় নিয়ে ভাবটা বেশ ভালই জমে উঠেছিলো।

আমার যখন ৬ আর ভাইএর ২।৫ তখন আমরা টরন্টো থেকে কলকাতা ফিরে যাই। "ফিরে যাই" এর থেকে বোধ হয় "চলে যাই" টাই বেশি প্রযোজ্য। যাই হোক, আমরা কলকাতা চলে যাই। চলে যাবার পর ছোট ছোট বহু বেশ মজার ঘটনা ঘটে, যে গুলো নিয়ে আমার বিয়ের সময়ও অনেক চর্চা হয়েছে। দেয়ালে টিকটিকি দেখে আমার চিৎকার, "Alligator coming to eat meeeeee!" মামারবাড়ীত়ে পুরনো বাথরুম এর দরজার ফাঁক দিয়ে আরশোলা দেখে "bug bug!" বলে যেই কেঁদে উঠেছি, দিদা কোমরে হাত দিয়ে বকে দিয়েছেন, "উফফ !! মাকে একটু শান্তিতে বসতে দেবে না! ইয়ার্কি পেয়েছ? শহরের মধ্যে বাঘ দেখছ? বাঘ?!" তারপর, বড়মামির সঙ্গে আলাপ হবার পর মায়ের গলা জড়িয়ে রণ র চিল চিৎকার, "না !!!! আমার একটাই Mummy !!!!!"

এইরকম বহু traumatising experience একলাইন দুলাইন করে বলা যায়। কিন্তু একটা ঘটনা এইরকম করে বললে ঠিক বলা হবে না তাই এই গল্প।

আমার বাবার ছোটকাকা হলেন আমাদের কাকাদাদু। বিয়ে থা করেননি। আমরা দেশে চলে যাবার পর কাকাদাদু আমাদের সঙ্গেই থাকতেন। লুঙ্গি পরতেন - আর এইটা নিয়ে মায়ের বেশ ঘোরতর আপত্তি ছিল। সেই কারণেই রণ আজকাল মতিভ্রম হলেই বাড়িতে লুঙ্গি পরে ঘুরে বেড়ায়। মাকে একটু জ্বালিয়ে কি শান্তি পায় কে জানে। যাই হোক, কাকাদাদু নস্যি নিতেন। মনে হয় ওই habit টাকে "নস্যি নেওয়া" ই বলে। ওই যে দু আঙ্গুলে চিমটি করে নস্যিটা নিয়ে, একদিকের নাক আঙ্গুল দিয়ে চেপে, অন্য দিকের নাক দিয়ে টেনে নেয়? এই নস্যি র কারণে কাকাদাদুর কাছে ছোট ছোট রূপোর নস্যির কৌটো থাকত। জানিনা কি করে আমাদের বাচ্চাবেলার বুদ্ধিতে আমরা ঠিক বুঝে নিয়েছিলাম, যে ওই কৌটো গুলো কাকাদাদুর কাছে খুব important। আমরা সুযোগ পেলেই ওগুলোকে "vanish " করে দিতাম। কাকাদাদু ঘুমনোর সময় লুঙ্গির কোঁচা থেকে নস্যির কৌটোতা যেই বার করে জানলার সিলে রাখতেন আমরা তক্কেতক্কে থাকতাম। চোখ বুঝলেই, শকুনের মতন ঐটাকে ছো (জানি চন্দ্রবিন্দু হবে কিন্তু কিছুতেই বসাতে পারছি না) মেরে হাপিস করে দিতাম।

এই কাকাদাদু  হঠাৎ কোথায় জানি উধাও হয়ে যান। বহু বছর পর আমরা খবর পাই যে উনি মারা গেছেন। কি ভাবে জানা যায়, কে খবর দিয়েছিল, কী ঘটনা সেরকম কিছুই আমরা জানিনা। ছোট ছিলাম বলে হয়ত আমাদের কিছু বলা হয়নি।

এরপর বহু বছর পর বর্ষাকাল। কলকাতায় প্রচন্ড ঝড় বৃষ্টি। হঠাৎ হলো কি .....দাঁড়াও। আমাকে আগে অন্য কথা বলতে হবে।

আমাদের যাদবপুরের ছোট বাড়ীতে  একটা ছাদ ছিল। সেই ছাদে ছিল আমাদের যত্ত দৌরাত্তিপনা। ছাদের সাথে লাগোয়া একটা চিলেকোঠা, আর চিলেকোঠার মাথায় ন্যাঁড়া ছাদ। ন্যাঁড়া ছাদে ওঠা বারণ ছিল, কিন্তু সেই বারণ আমরা শুনব কেন? টরন্টো থেকে ফেরার সময় বাবামা বেশ শখ করে একটা বড় bathtub নিয়ে যায় । কিন্তু সেটা বসানোর মতন জায়গা বা প্রয়োজন হয়নি হয়ত, তাই ঐটা ছাদেই পড়ে থাকত। পরে সেটা জবা গাছের টবে পরিণত হয়। কিন্তু তার আগে, সেই bathtub ছাদে, চিলেকোঠার গায়ে, উল্টো করে হেলান দেওয়া  থাকত। রণ ঠিক ছাদের পাঁচিলে উঠে, bathtub এর মাথায় চড়ে চিলেকোঠার ন্যাঁড়া ছাদে উঠে যেত।

বহু বছর পর বর্ষাকাল। প্রচন্ড বৃষ্টি হচ্ছে। বাবা খেয়াল করলো যে চিলেকোঠার ভেতরে দেয়াল গড়িয়ে বেশ জল পড়ছে, চুয়ে চুয়ে। বোঝা গেল যে এর মানে হলো চিলেকোঠার ছাদে জল জমছে। বেশ চিন্তার ব্যাপার। জল তো জমার কথা নয়, কারণ, চিলেকোঠার ছাদে তো পাইপ দিয়ে একটা নল করা আছে। কিন্তু বাবা দেখল যে সেই নল দিয়ে জল তো পড়ছে না! তার মানে নিশ্চই ওই নলে কিছু আটকে আছে।

বাবা অনেক কষ্ট করে, কোনো রকমে, বৃষ্টির মধ্যে, চিলেকোঠার ছাদে উঠলো। বেশ খানিকক্ষণ পর, চুপচুপে ভিজে ভেতরে ফিরল।প্রচন্ড রাগে  মূখটা থমথমে, কিন্তু আবার বেশ confused । কী হলো? বাবা কিছু না বলে, হাতের মুঠোটা খুললো - দেখা গেল সারি দিয়ে ৫টা রূপোর নস্যির কৌটো।

Iqbal Masih and Malala Yousafzai - Pakistan's hope.

Iqbal Masih, a child labourer spoke out against abuses that were committed against him and his peers in a factory in Pakistan. His mother sold him off into child labour at the age of 4 to pay off a $12 debt. He was quickly put to good use in a carpet factory - for his small hands were swift in the loom and his tiny fingers made tight, intricate knots which in turn wove beautiful carpets. Iqbal and his friends were fed little food, since it was against the master's interest to let them grow bigger - their hands would not remain so small. After a few failed attempts  Iqbal was able to run away at the age of 10 from his bonded servitude and join the Pakistan Bonded Labour Liberation Front. He made impassioned speeches about child labour around the world and helped numerous kids flee their lives of servitude. After his trip to America and Sweden, Iqbal returned to Pakistan where he was shot dead at the age of 13.

Malala Yousafzai, born to an educational activist father who runs a school in Pakistan was named after a Pashto warrior woman who is also known as the Afghani Joan of Arc. She definitely lives up to the courage of her namesake by speaking out against the voices of suppression and those who dare to take away her right to education. She is egged on by her father who by all reports loves and encourages his daughter's spunk and thirst for knowledge. She wants to be a politician and have her own political party so she can vocalize the need for education from a public platform in all four provinces in Pakistan. She vehemently claims that which is her right - education. She wants to give a voice to those who are denied one. She is the face of the people in Pakistan who yearn for the fresh air of progress and the light of education.

Iqbal and Malala represent the spirit which refuses to be suppressed. They are the ones who dare to speak out against the denial of their rights, they are the ones who dare to challenge the norm, the slipping further into the abyss of darkness. They dare to dream of a brighter future when they will see an end to all the injustices which plague them, their nation and the children of their motherland. This is why they need to be silenced. Because, to allow those dreams to fester would mean an end to the darkness in which the Taliban live and their ideas and views thrive. They are silenced because those cowards are afraid of being challenged by children - by their innocent, fearless, and vociferous rebellion.

Iqbal died in 1995 - his voice was silenced but not forgotten. Malala came along in 1998 and now fights for her life. Their spirit lives on through children who dare to dream and have the courage to question - that will never be snuffed out. Pakistanis must come together to stop those who aim to trample on them. Silence those voices of darkness and decline - come together and give Malala a voice while she fights for hers.

Humanizing Mitt Romney

Ann Romney's speech at the Republican Convention made me cringe. Not just because of its contents, but also because of the idea. A week before the convention, news media from everywhere on the political spectrum claimed, it's her job to humanize Mitt Romney. 

Errrrrr.... Ummmm... The very notion of a successful politician is one who is relatable, with whom the public can identify, and see a streak of humanity within. Mitt Romney is unable to "humanize" himself in spite of the 24 hour newscycle which follows him to Home Depot or the Grocery Store where he buys "stuff". So, the Romneys tell us in a very hard hitting interview that Ann Romney shops at Costco. In case you wanted to know, she says the trick is to shop around the outside starting at the back of the store. Also, Mitt loves him some Kirkland shirts - the world of which Ann has recently opened up to him. And it still ain't working. People aren't buying the fact that Mitt is human. 

Anyway, there's the convention. And Ann Romney has to make America like Mitt. She has to present him to the American public as someone they can identify with, as someone they can see as President, as a common man, as someone they can see in their own shoes. But here's the flaw in the plan. 

He's not a common man. He's not relatable to most Americans and most Americans don't think Mitt Romney can survive one day in their own shoes. 

This "please like me" syndrome is nothing new. Everyone does it - its part of politics. Being like-able is the first page of the politicians handbook. If you can't get people to like you, you better give up. Or, you better have amazing policy ideas, which will completely bowl people over and tell them that you ARE the person to do the job right. However in this case Mitt Romney has done neither. And since he hasn't - its everybody else's job to make people like him. 

Ann Romney's Convention speech and the CNN special on Sunday was like an ode to the man that is Mitt Romney. Ann started off with telling us a story about love. How they met at a school dance [which is apparently not true according to wikipedia {yes, I know I'm quoting wikipedia}] and how they immediately fell in love. He loves to humour people with his jokes (which is totally NOT believable from his squirmy nervous laughter that followed). Then she skipped over the part where she was actually contemplating not being with him and got to the part where they got married and moved into a basement apartment. She told us how they lived so poorly on pasta and tuna, and how Mitt was going to Business and Law School all at once, and how she was pregnant and how life was oh so tough. 

So, this is where they are clearly out of touch. I'm not even going to go into the part where they were living off Romney Senior's stocks and loans. The real American family-man can not even imagine going to Business School and Law School at the same time. ITS SIMPLY NOT POSSIBLE unless you were born with a diamond encrusted golden spoon in their mouth. Then, to have a baby with more on the way - without having to worry about what you will feed them, what you will use to clothe them in, where you can find space in your basement apartment for a baby that comes with all these amazing needs - is a luxury many hard-working new families would like to have. I digress but it's only because I suffer from the same sort of angst right now.

Ann actually started this love story of theirs on the CNN get-to-meet-the-Romneys-fest.  And she told us about their love again at the convention.Then she told us about women, how women are amazing, and how women are the ones to know what its like to be worried about rising costs, sick children and the education of their children - Women bear the brunt of society. And she's right - Women DO bear the brunt of society. Its the women who have to watch their hungry children living in poverty, women have to figure out novel ways to stretch a monthly budget, and women are the ones who work through their children's education struggles. 

However, I do not expect Ann Romney has ever had to worry about rising gas prices, sky rocketing education and sports costs, grocery costs, clothing costs. I don't expect that Ann Romney knows what it feels like to go hungry just so that she can put her children to sleep with full stomachs. And, here's the thing claims that she knows what that feels like are simply platitudes. Because to be the wife of a man who has as much money (frankly I don't even know how much money because I can not even wrap my head around a measly million dollars) and still claim to shop at Costco isn't particularly heartwarming in my book. Clearly the Romneys don't even understand that to even shop at Costco is a luxury many people don't have, because in order to be able to go to a store and buy bulk, you have to have a certain solvency - You have to have money in order to save money. This is not the case with most Americans. 

Anyway, my point is if Ann Romney claims to know what it feels like to be cash strapped like most Americans, either she's lying, or she married an extraordinarily cheap man - a man, who didn't provide for his family, alleviate their money stresses, a man who took his money and shipped it off to an island somewhere to accumulate interest. If the 5 Romney boys claim to know what its like to take a loan and go through the kind of post-secondary education most other Americans have to go through (with loads and loads of debt) then again Mitt isn't as open-hearted, loving and generous as they all claim he is.

So which one is it? Is Mitt Romney simply a rich man with no heart? Or are the Romneys not common?

Ann Romney also spoke at some length about her illnesses. She is clearly a woman of amazing strength to go through diseases like Breast Cancer and MS. However, I am left to wonder a few things. I would imagine that when a family goes through two such major diseases they would have a lot more empathy for the common man. I wonder if the experience of Ann Romney's illnesses is what led Mitt Romney down the path of Healthcare reform in Massachusetts. If it did - all the power to them. However, if it did why not own up to it? Why not be a man, and tell the American people that, watching his wife go through the kind of struggle she did, looking at those medical bills, money be spent like pouring water down a drain led him to realise that poor people, middle class America doesn't have it easy at all. That if a common American got sick with those diseases, there is no way a family without the kind of resources I had could remain unaffected. 

So which one is it? Is Romney a rich man incapable of empathy? Or are the Romneys not common?

Its not the first time an un-common American has run as a politician. Many of them have even gotten elected to office. What the Romneys and the Republican party need to do is not humanize Mitt - they need to empathize. Fake platitudes don't portray empathy. People aren't stupid. So, instead of spewing this nonsense, why don't they come out with some REAL policies that will alleviate the hardships (that they claim to so understand) for the common American?

Bengali - a Groovy Kind of Love.

The other day I was talking to fellow blogger Ovshake (although I'm using the term "blogger" loosely in an effort to explain what I do here) and we were both trying to figure out what it is that is in the Bengali language that is so magnetic. Magnetic isn't even the right word to use here. In fact, I think we will be hard-pressed to explain in any number of words the "taan" (the pull) that the language has on its people. Abhishek da asked, "Well, what is it?" and I have been thinking about that ever since. 

You can say that I have two primary languages. I was born in Canada, which meant I was exposed to the English language right away, my mother-tongue is still Bangla and my Dad was frightfully strict about never hearing me speak in anything other than Bangla at home. I lived in Toronto until age 6, when we went back to Kolkata, where I attended school until I was 19. Possibly due to my upbringing I speak English and Bengali as if they are both my native tongues (both accents are unaffected mostly - ie when I converse in English it is with a Canadian accent while my Bengali accent remains untouched by my Canadian-ness). I grew up reading, writing and speaking both languages. The purpose of going into this detail about my life is to establish the fact that my exposure to both languages has been of equal depth - if not more in favour of the English language because I have unfortunately and shamefully not been able to read a lot of Bengali since I came back to North America.

However, I seldom shed a tear when I read English fiction. English rarely ever makes it hard to swallow (unless in rare occurrences when the book is set in India or is about Indian sensibilities). On the other hand when I read anything in Bengali, I can paint a clear picture in my head, I can smell the food, hear the sounds - I can feel Bengal. For a minute I think perhaps it is because I can remember things from my childhood and I have an emotional connection to those things - but then I stop and I realise that some pictures are painted in my head, which have nothing to do with my childhood. It's like reading Tagore's Chhelebela (Childhood) - there's no way I can know what it was like to live in Jorashanko but somehow I can see all of it it. His words paint a picture for me. Same can be said for Ha Ja Ba Ra La - it isn't real, but Sukumar Ray's words make the whole thing turn into a parallel universe. (Ha Ja Ba Ra La is a lot better and deeper than Alice in Wonderland by the way). Rabindrasangeet, Nazrulgeeti, Dijendrageeti, old Bengali Songs have a way of tugging at my heartstrings that I have never experienced with an English song (except for maybe Lennon's Imagine, the Black Eyed Peas' Where is the Love, MJ's We are the World - but then I attribute that to my overall angst about the human race and all its issues). Some Hindi songs do the same thing - but then I don't really pay attention to Hindi lyrics (Hindi is truly a 3rd Language for me) I generally just soak in the tunes and the music. 

What is in a bengali piece of writing that can leave me sobbing (yes, I mean sobbing, not just crying) with tears of joy? When I recently read the Protidin e-zine on Debabrata Biswas - that was painful. And again, it was the words - oh the words - that drew me in and made me mourn the loss of the golden days of bengali music - which if I may add, I had not really experienced. How is it that I can listen to "Dole Dodul Dole Jhulona" and imagine Manabendra and Shyamal singing it and reminisce those "good ol' days" (again which I wasn't around for) when both of them refused to sing the song in solo performances out of respect to the other singer (my father tells me). Why is it that all of a sudden I have begun longing for a copy of Rajkahini (Abanindranath Tagore) and Chhelebela (Rabindranath Tagore)? I still try to remember the name of the book of short stories that we had to read for our ICSE exams just so that I can acquire a copy of it and read the story, "Mahesh" to experience that gut-wrenching ending.  I can spend hours just reading poetry and songs by Kazi Naztrul Islam, and feel a sort of pain and angst about how he was not understood during his life-time, eclipsed by Tagore and neglected forever after. So much so that I went off and did some research about him and am tormented by the fact that I have not been able to disseminate what I have learnt. 

The funny thing is that I have met a few non-bengalis, non-Indians really who feel the same kind of tug from the Bengali language. I have met Willian Radice who has dedicated his life to taking Tagore to a worldwide audience translating so many of Tagore's works. It is simply unfathomable to me that he learnt Bengali as a second language and wrote his PhD thesis on Michael Madhusudan Dutta (someone I have a really hard time understanding without a lot of help). I have been very close to two of my professors Dr. Joseph O'Connell and Dr. Kathy O'Connell who have dedicated their lives to the Bengali cause. They have worked tirelessly to bring Bengali to the University of Toronto and managed to bring a bust of Tagore to the campus. Until his recent passing Joe Kaku had worked on translating Tagore's works. Both him and his wife, Kathy Mashi have been regular fixtures in the Toronto Bengali community - always looking for new ways to broaden the Bengali audience. 

Here's the thing - I can't even claim to be a real Bengali fanatic. I haven't read most Bengali books. I haven't finished Bankimchandra, Saratchandra, Rabindranath or Nazrul. I can't recognise quotes from random stories, poems or movies and there's no way I could win a bout of Gaaner Lorai (Although I think here I could hold my own). But, I do know that Bengali touches me in a way that no other language possibly can, and I really have no clue why. Its inexplicable. Sort of like being in love, not knowing why  - just that it simply is a groovy kind of love. 

Forget the "Other" to know your Own.

I woke up on Sunday morning to a furious rage - my heart sank to the pit of my stomach as I watched the tragedy unfold on CNN. Even though I am not religious, I can understand a person's need to find religion, to find peace with something that is untouched by the world, its ugliness, immorality and instability. I can understand a Diaspora's need to find culture and a sense of their home at a place of worship - the need to find refuge in the confines of the known and the familiar. So, answer this - how does a soldier who was dishonorably discharged from the army who was known to be a skinhead  legally buy a semi automatic pistol in your country? How does a man purchase military issued bullet proof attire, 4 different guns and 600 rounds of ammunition on a website in your country and not get flagged? But then, this isn't about gun control or access to firearms. I digress. I'm not one to trample on one's right to bear arms.

Let's get this straight - the shooting at the Gurdwara on Sunday, wasn't a case of "mistaken identity", and no it can't be remedied by educating Americans about Sikhs, why they wear turbans and when their faith started. This is a case of orientalism, racism, xenophobia, white supremacy and a general lack of awareness, culture and open-mindedness.

The fact of the matter is if you're going to continue to open your doors to people from other countries, you should be changing your societal rubric from a melting pot to a salad bowl. If you force your own culture onto those who are new, your people will not  learn to appreciate the foreign, learn from them and about them - you have to open your minds, you have to welcome the new, and accept the other with an open heart and mind.

When the rhetoric is choke-full of hate for "immigrants" it will only fuel the fire that is in the mind of crazy, deranged people like the shooter - especially when the country doesn't know how to take care of mental disease effectively.

When your politicians sit in office and speak into microphones about "terror babies" and "anchor babies", about "immigrants taking jobs away from Americans" you create the problem.

When you talk about "American Values" and "American Customs" And "America the Land of the Free", as if America's values are the only ethical and moral ones and no other country in the world has freedom or democracy - you do a great disservice to your people - because you consciously or subconsciously appeal to those Americans who think that America is only for the visible majority of Christian faith.

There exists in your America a palpable fear and distrust of people who look different, speak a different language, go to a different house of worship instead of a church. If America were so inclusive how come CNN, the go to source for news (for the sane) in America does not have a single person of Indian origin who was able to clear the facts about Sikhs (this I'm assuming, because CNN"s initial coverage was probably the most uneducated reporting I have ever seen in North America). When Sikhs woke up to a horrific nightmare which reminded them of a past that they dare not dredge up how come they had to sit through that appalling thing they call "coverage"? How come - what I would assume to be - hundreds and thousands of Indians stared in disbelief at the TV set when they repeatedly mixed up Hindus and Sikhs or just took the safe route and called them "Hindu Sikhs",  and kept calling the Gurdwara a "church"? How come they repeatedly insinuated that perhaps this was a misdirected attack on Muslims since Sikhism is a peaceful religion - as if they were making the statement that if this were a Mosque it would have been okay? How come the first official message read out on air was from the Indian embassy, and not from the American President? How did it not occur to them, that these Sikhs were mostly Americans, who have given up their Indian passports to sing your National Anthem, and hoist your National Flag?  NBC didnt even bother to look away from the Olympics for a minute to inform their viewers of this horrible tragedy, and Fox covered it for a while, before they went back to their usual Democrat bashing.

At least we should appreciate CNN's full day coverage of the event, its ensuing investigation and the opportunity it took for a much needed Sikhism 101 lesson. But, the very fact that this needs appreciation is kind of sad and disheartening. I won't even bring up the almost absolute lack of coverage about the mosque being burnt down in Missouri a day later.

Perhaps just as the shooter killed the other on Sunday, You, America should kill the idea of the "Other". Believe that it is the "Other" that enriches your culture, opens your eyes and weaves a beautiful cultural tapestry for you. Make the "Other" not so different, know them as your "Own". Perhaps America should learn that yours is not the only culture, religion and lifestyle that is desirable - that you are in fact not the greatest country in the world (that's a pretty sweeping statement to make when you have so many issues giving rise to so many problems - but that's another blog post on another day) and that there exist other people on this earth - their religion just as desirable as yours, their lives just as valuable as yours, and their country just as great as you.

(Image originally found here.)

Dawkins, Religion and Good.

Although I haven't really read everything that Richard Dawkins has written or published, and I haven't watched nearly every video that features him, I have to say that recently Ive been quite taken by this man and what he says.

If anyone knows anything about Richard Dawkins, they probably know that he is a self-proclaimed atheist, one who believes that Science is behind everything and that everything to be explained by Science. The vociferousness and passion with which he argues this is quite intriguing. I'm not sure that I'm convinced by him completely but he has at least led me to think about this a lot.

I am agnostic. I know that that's a cop-out state of mind to take, because it ensures in the case of a debate, I frankly say, I just dont know, and I dont think I can know for sure. Dawkins isn't even satisfied by the Agnostic side of things...but oh well, Im not aiming to please him.

Back to my agnosticism, I dont understand Science enough to say vehemently, like Richard Dawkins, that Science can explain everything. I am a little ashamed to say, Science doesn't even intrigue me that much. At the same time, Religion fails to impress me. Organized religion has been the reason, and is still the reason that fanatics prop up for an overwhelming majority of conflicts around the world. In my mind, religion begets discrimination of such massive proportions that whatever hope, faith and communal feelings it may nurture are overshadowed and obliterated. However I am unable to completely discount the possibility that there is or may be something Supernatural above and beyond the "earth-y" existence (for lack of a better word) .

In one way Dawkins is right. Why do we need religion to know what is wrong or right? Why do we need the idea of an all pervading, omnipresent being to force us to be good? Why do we need some decrepit, out of touch, ancient book which tells us what we should do today in the 21st century? This is kind of the reason why I feel Hinduism to be one of the most practical applications of religion. Albeit, it wasn't really started by someone, with one book, and one purpose...but the fact that Hinduism is more of a way of life than a religion, makes me want to dislike it a little less. And, as I am not a practicing "Hindu" because I do eat beef and do not go to the temple, I am not saying this out of some particular bias.

The idea of being a good human being needs to be given more credence. I don't know about anyone else, but doing good makes me feel good. And I do believe in the idea that good karma is spread very quickly. I believe that if I give up my seat on the subway to an elderly gentleman or a pregnant woman, the feeling of good that I pass onto him or her, is passed on just as easily by them to someone else. And I feel that feeling is a million times stronger than any feeling of good I could get by visiting a place of worship.

For further elaboration Id like to present a certain advertisement. I remember watching this ad a long time ago, but couldn't remember what it was called, so I typed "Good Karma Ad" and the first search result turned out to be the exact same ad I was looking for. Liberty Mutual ran two ads on television with the running theme that doing good is contagious.

The argument that religion is required to keep morality in society is bogus. Its religion which teaches us the idea of "us" and "them". At the same time religion is not required to teach your kids about what is right and wrong, and how to just be good human beings. Why is religion required to teach us good from bad and right from wrong? Does the existence of God really matter, specially when He/She never lets us know they are there or lets us feel their presence? Whose voice is it that chides us when we do something wrong or hurtful when we are growing up? God or our parents? Is it God who teaches us to have piety, love and empathy for those who are less fortunate? Is it God who teaches us by example in our most formative years?

At the end of the day whether God exists or not is immaterial. There is no effect on our daily lives by the solving of this question. If we learn how to live as Good human beings, the whole world will change. One by one by doing good onto others, people will pass that good around. We will learn how to live together, how to practice communal harmony, and live as global citizens. Is that an indubitable fact about religion? I don't think so.