When?

This afternoon, while my sister and I kept my mother company in the kitchen, the talk turned to Aishwarya's new found environmentalism. (What can I say? She's my sister. It was bound to happen.)

She was very disturbed by certain statistics she had learnt in school regarding the disposal of plastic materials (the exact values of which prove elusive at the moment). A very large percentage of plastic wastes in India are simply discarded on its roads by the careless and are left to accumulate in a wayside gutter until they clog our drainage systems and result in the overflowing of sewage water. (At this point, I would like to point out that the mushy garbage mulch that is the drainage river outside Ranka Colony on Bannerghatta Road originated in the very same way.) Moreover, that very afternoon, she had seen the campus sweepers cutting down a couple of the campus trees, which are supposedly government protected, for firewood.

I believe her exact words were,

"Mommy, I mean, like, how could anyone even do that! That sucks!"

That does suck.

In any case, she wanted to make a difference and galvanize people to a new environmental consciousness. She wanted our mother to help her get people to start recycling and stop cutting down trees.

I had never been prouder of her.

Inspite of my pride and my agreement with her sentiments, I found myself telling her that her plan would never work. The sweepers have to survive somehow. They haven't the money for a gas stove nor can they afford to buy firewood. IIM is the only place where they can cut down trees for free and get away with it. Secondly, India is too set in its ways to ever change. The very school children who hold fairs on recycling awareness, casually discard chocolate wrappers from the windows of their school bus. The whole cause, is useless, said I.

I was shocked at myself. When did I, who always believed in the environmentalist cause, who believed in teaching by example, become so cynical? Was it when I tried and failed to get IIM to circumvent their construction plans around invaluable, forty-odd-year old trees? Was it when I tried and failed in the ninth standard to get the primary school to plant trees on the school campus in honour of World Environment Day? Was it the during the last four years, when I had repeatedly tried and failed to convince my siblings not to burst firecrackers on Diwali and not to use synthetic colours a.k.a. poisonous chemicals on Holi?

Where did my belief that the world could change leave me? When did the hope that a greener India was possible desert me?

Our Conversations

Me: Hiya
All: Hiii!
Vasudha: So in this Veytriyada Villaiada...
Me: So I was thinking....maybe we should try an eco-friendly diwali this year. No crackers, just lights...
Tara: Ai what this Arundhati is saying ya?
Aditi: Arundhati, we can't do all this Americaana things, OK? We are from India, not India-anna.
Tara: We are...1,2,3
Tara, Vasudha, Aditi: L-O-K-K-A-L!
Me: (weakly) OK...but let's just try and see..

(completely ignored)

Aditi: This Aishwarya Rai and Abhishek Bacchan have gotten off engaged you know?
Tara: Ya ya. Cha!

(enter Hema)

All: Hahi!
Tara: Wassup? Ai these Americaanas are here.
Hema: Boys suck.
All: ......
Hema: I have come to the conclusion that guys are just the worst creatures ever to have crawled out of the oceans.
Me: OK. Why?
Hema: They just do.

NOTE: Tara, Vasudha, Aditi, please excuse my abysmal tamil spellings.

After a Hard Four Months

I finally finished all my college applications!

I was about to delete all the essays I have so painstakingly (pain being the key word) written over the last four months before it occured to me that they would be an absolute waste if no one ever got to read them. So I've selected the best of them and posted them below. It might also give future college applicants from India an idea of what a typical college essay is like.

Cheers!

Write a book report on a book you recently read.

Feasting, Fasting

By Anita Desai

Anita Desai is one of the new generation of contemporary Indian writers who convey their stories in English. Born of an Indian father and German Mother, she conversed in German at home and in Hindi with friends and neighbors. She first learnt to write in English, and therefore, identifies it as “the language of books.” After graduating as a BA in English from Delhi University, Desai went on to become one of the world’s most celebrated authors.

Desai’s writing deals mostly with the feelings and intricacies of human relations rather than physical occurrences. She aims to reveal “the truth that is nine-tenths of the iceberg that lies submerged beneath the one-tenth visible portion we call ‘reality’.” Her largely feminist writings portray to perfection the hybridization of the west and east in India and western countries. Feasting, Fasting, nominated for the Booker Prize in 1999 has been written in the same vein.

Set in a small provincial town in mid-twentieth century North India, Feasting, Fasting follows the lives of Uma and her family. Middle-aged and bound to her parents in servitude by two marriages put to farce, Uma is no better than a servant in her own home. Blessed with the desire to learn and obey, but lacking in the capacity to perform, Uma is seen as a burden on the household. A failure in school, and later in the most important job of a woman, to make a good marriage, Uma lives her life chained to her family by spinsterhood, despised by her parents.

In stark contrast to Uma, her sister Aruna is gifted with brains, beauty and a good marriage to a fabulously handsome, rich and successful man. She thus fulfills her ambition and moves to Bombay, leaving her small town roots behind her.

“MamaPappa”, different in body but singular in thought and action, rule their little domestic kingdom with somnolent routine. Desai aptly demonstrates the relationship between a man and his household through Papa’s character. Papa is an established dictator. He controls his family with unquestioned and for the most part, unreasonable authority which stems from an all-consuming need to assert himself. This need for superiority pervades not only his domestic but his professional life as well. Mama, in her capacity as consort and mother of his son, performs her daily rituals of serving Papa tea and agrees with his every thought and action.

Arun, Papa’s asthmatic son and heir, is everything that Papa wished against in a son. Abhorrent of weakness in any form, Arun’s frailty and vegetarianism never fail to irk him. Nonetheless, Papa sets about to educate his son with the most rigorous of schedules and the best schools and tutors that money can buy. In effect, from the moment he is born, Arun’s life is chalked out for him by his expectant father. Oppressed by his family’s expectations, Arun longs for anonymity. Ultimately, he is pushed into the University of Massachusetts for further studies where he finally finds what he seeks.

During the summer break, when dorms are closed, Arun goes to live with the sister of a missionary’s wife from his home town. Desai here sheds light on the plight of women in the west and its startling similarities to that of their eastern sisters. Mrs. Patton, Arun’s kind host, trapped in the conformations of middle-class suburbia, finds relief in her friendship with Arun. In him, she finds an excuse to indulge in vegetarianism and escape from her family’s penchant for meat. Mr. Patton’s character can be identified as a western hybrid of Papa’s character. Mrs. Patton’s compliance with her husband’s ritual of making steak is reminiscent of Mama’s observance of Papa’s daily rites. Arun discovers, during his time with the Pattons, their daughter Melanie’s anorexia, a fact of which Mrs. Patton remains oblivious till the end of the summer.

Through Feasting, Fasting, Desai brings out the most disturbing aspects of female existence in feminist India; their lack of freedom and status as independent individuals. Uma, bound to her parents, Anamika, the brilliant cousin, broken in spirit and burnt to death by her cruel in-laws and even Mama, the embodiment of the Indian matron, all serve as illustrations of the plight of women in the east. Desai deals, in Arun’s character, with the pressure of Indian society on the male child to excel. Cornered by expectation on all sides, Arun turns into a recluse of sorts, shunning any semblance of intimacy. Through Papa’s character, Desai portrays to perfection, the mid-twentieth century upper-middle class man’s need to affirm his authority over his women-folk. To him, his home was his castle, his daughter’s were objects to be disposed of with inordinate sums of money in dowry and his sons, vehicles for the attainment of unfulfilled dreams. Desai sheds light on the similarities between the restrictions society places on women in the east and west in Mrs. Patton’s compliance with her husband’s habit of eating meat. She also brings out the prevalence of the problem of anorexia in the west through Melanie’s character. Disturbingly revealing, Feasting, Fasting can be compared in style and substance with period novels like Anna Karenina.

If you could pose for a formal oil portrait in the style of Hans Holbein's The Ambassadors, what possessions would surround you and why?

If I were to pose for a formal oil portrait in the style of The Ambassadors, I would use the shelf to depict my present anchors and future aspirations. Therefore, the lower shelf would carry pictures of my friends, my school basketball jersey, my computer, displaying the first page of my blog (of which I am ridiculously proud) and perhaps a microscope (symbolizing my favorite haunt; the biology laboratory). On the lower shelf, I would display a stethoscope, an electron microscope and most definitely, the northwestern emblem.

What fictional character would you choose as your college roommate and why?

I think Sir Galahad Threepwood; the debonair, old youth from the Blandings series by P.G. Wodehouse would make an interesting roommate. He is unconventional, well-traveled and a gifted raconteur. I think he would be fun to spend time with. At the same time, I would be able to count on his help in a bind.

People tend to accept traditions blindly. Examine a commonly accepted tradition you think needs updating or changing. Why should it be changed and how would you change it?

Men are equal; it is not birth but virtue that makes the difference.

- Voltaire

India has long been a country of startling socio-economic imbalances. On August 15th, 1947, India ceased to be a jewel in the British crown and became a nation in its own right. India’s leaders then swore that they would remove the wide imbalances in different sections of society and provide equal opportunities to the downtrodden; the women, scheduled castes and scheduled tribes (the lowest of castes). Thus, the reservation policy or “quota” in public education and government jobs was born. It was to be a temporary measure to level the differences in education between different societal strata.

Sixty years on, the “quota” still persists, transformed from a remedial policy to an unshakeable tradition. Despite widespread protests and demonstrations, the federal government is now working on a bill requiring all National Universities to reserve close to fifty percent of their seats for people from scheduled castes, scheduled tribes and other designated backward classes, regardless of their financial or economic status. In India, admission into a reputed university depends on one’s rank in nation-wide entrance tests conducted for that university. The competition is stiff and selection cut-offs are extremely high. A fifty percent reservation means that the cut-off for candidates in the general (non-reserved) quota will become steeper, and the chances of a meritorious student receiving admission that he or she deserves will decrease significantly. Indeed, by implication, half of the nation’s best universities will be filled with “lesser-qualified” students, who gained entrance by virtue of their birth.

I am all for the upliftment of the backward classes. However, I don’t think that reservation at the university level, particularly a fifty percent reservation, is the way to achieve it. The reality is that most of the candidates who qualify as scheduled castes and scheduled tribes, are under-prepared for a university education due to a lack of a solid foundation at the primary school level. Even if reservation helped them gain admission, they often find themselves struggling in the classroom. To me, it would make more sense to implement the same reservation in the best schools, at the primary and secondary school level. That way, by the age of eighteen, they would be as competent as their general counterparts.

Moreover, the reservation quota has led to the formation of a scheduled elite; mainly rich politicians, whose children already have access to the best facilities India has to offer. Thus, its effect is neutralized as its benefits are availed by those who don’t need it. If the quota were to be modified so it was applicable only to those families whose yearly earnings lay below a certain income-level, it would, perhaps, serve its purpose.

India is a developing country, and at present, it needs a large pool of highly-qualified college graduates to help it along the road to development. Reservation in its best universities would simply push the nation into an era of reverse Darwinism.

In his book Having Everything Right: Essays of Place, Kim Stafford describes the Kwakiutl tribe of British Columbia assigning place-names based on the natural characteristics of a location, the events that took place there, or the feelings that the site instilled. "Where Salmon Gather," "Sound of Dripping Water," and "Where Dzo'noq!wa Cried Out Oh," were among the names the Kwakiutl people assigned to their surroundings. He'lade, translating to "Place Having Everything Right," was of particular meaning, as it was the name universally given to exceptional locations. What is your he'lade?

I held him as he died. My vision blurred as I tenderly pushed a fallen lock of hair out of his eyes. The music reached a crescendo and the curtain fell on scene two.

I love the theatre. I have never been educated in the theory behind the placement of actors or the interjection of color and light, but I love it nevertheless. Whether I fill the role of spectator or actor, the quick interplay of movement, dialogue and sound never fails to delight me. A well performed production is as graceful as a play in basketball. The guard screens the wing, the centre’s eyes dart left as she accelerates to the right and cross- passes to a streak of red racing towards the ring through a sea of green. To the beat of pounding shoes and a roaring crowd, the ball traverses a gentle arc and falls through the net with a ‘swish’. Curtain falls.
I love taking a story and converting prose to conversation, metaphor to music and imagery to movement. This year, I made my first foray into the abstract art of body theatre. Body theatre is a form of enactment that uses no props or costumes, and makes use of verse rather than conventional dialogue. The actors themselves serve as props. I wrote, directed and acted in such a play that revolves around a girl’s struggles with anorexia. What, as a story, might have been plebeian, or even boring, as a play can be spiced, diced and made interesting. Each scene, with the addition of such subtleties as the right music, lighting and collective movement, can be transformed into a single wave of emotion, which after gathering momentum, hits the audience with formidable force. As it was so aptly put by Eugene Ionesco, a well-known playwright, “Drama lies in extreme exaggeration of the feelings, an exaggeration that dislocates flat everyday reality.” The theatre is my he’lade.
For a while, when I stand before a crowd in the red sari of a milkmaid from Gujarat or the silken robes of a king, time stands still. For a time, I am truly a different person, someone who is never at a loss for words, who acts exactly how she feels and makes the entire crowd feel her pain, her joy and her laughter. After the cast has taken its bows and the curtain falls for the last time, the return to everyday reality comes as rather a shock. It seems a little like the world has suddenly changed from technicolor to black and white.
I have experienced exhilaration in many different contexts; the intense emotion of winning a championship game and the elation that comes with solving a complex sum in calculus. Nothing, however, can compare to the rush of adrenalin that knocks me into a different world when I’m standing on a stage in someone else’s shoes.

The remarkable citizens and numerous pathbreaking scholars who have been a part of our community – such as abolitionist Frederick Douglas, women’s rights activist Susan B. Anthony, and philanthropist Joseph C. Wilson – lead us to appreciate the importance of bringing together students from diverse backgrounds and origins. Describe aspects of your personal history that help you understand and appreciate diversity.

I was born a first generation American of Indian parentage in Baton Rouge, right on the edge of Cajun country. Raised on gumbo and the American public school gifted program, I saw myself as American and proud to be one. On an uncharacteristically cold day in fall, when our backyard was thickly carpeted with fallen pine cones, my parents informed me that our family would be moving to India at the end of the academic year.

I was from an ethnically diverse class in the US. Since pre-school, my class typically had a smattering of Asians amidst students of other races. My friends were people who inadvertently taught me world culture through everyday interactions. Six years later, my circle of friends remains as diverse as it ever was. Tara, Vasudha and Aditi together constitute the saambar (a popular tamil rice gravy) mafia. Though they live in Bangalore, their roots lie in Madras, the heart of Tamil country. Tamil phrases and euphemisms weave in and out of their conversation as melodiously as the crass cacophony of the crows that plague Madras. Pranav, Raghav, Avinash and Srinivas are the class’s resident Digs. They make it a matter of honour never to make a joke in any language but Kannada. Their staple diet is oopma (the deliciously spicy South Indian version of….grits!!) from the school canteen. Aishwarya, known otherwise as Lolakutti, hails from the beaches of Kerala. She was the one who introduced Kerala boat-racing music to me. All of my friends and classmates, who come from different states in India, each with a very distinctive culture, add their own unique flavor to our classroom, though they remain, without exception, jacketed in a thin layer of cosmopolitan suave.

I would be lying if I said that before moving to India I had never been exposed to Indian culture. My family made weekly visits to the temple and we had dinner parties with our other Indian friends. However, it was not until I came to Bangalore that I realized that what I had experienced was just a poor imitation of desi culture; a mere shadow of the original, cast against a backdrop of Americanism. More importantly, I realized that the Indian way of life in itself is infinitely more diverse than the Punjabi pop culture that it is largely perceived to be. Experiencing India first hand gave me the desire to learn more about different people and world culture.

I have, since my junior year, run a basketball camp for underprivileged children. I volunteered with Vikasana (a student-run social service organization), with the intention of teaching these children the skills that I was fortunate enough to have learnt. I ended up learning more from them than they could from me; lessons that extended well beyond the boundaries of the basketball court.

For the first time, I understood what a life of poverty in a third-world country is like. It doesn’t simply imply fewer meals and second-hand clothes. It means back-breaking manual labor at the age of ten to support one’s family. It means receiving an education at one of the government’s poorly run state board schools, provided one is not married off by one’s parents at a young age. It means living with ten other people in a ramshackle house in the city slums. The experience helped me gain perspective of my life. I realized how fortunate I was to have been born to educated parents and to have been provided with numerous opportunities to develop as an individual, many of which the children in my camp would never get. It taught me to stop taking things for granted and to make the most of the opportunities that present themselves.


Not only has my move from America to India exposed me to demographic diversity, but to a widely different approach to study. The American approach to learning is, I feel, more flexible. It gives one room for creativity. For example, in America, after reading Macbeth in class, an American teacher might assign an essay like this; “You are planning to murder the captain of your school’s football team. Explain why you chose to do so and how you would go about the deed with reference to the play you have read.” An Indian teacher would probably assign an essay like this; “Explain why and how Macbeth murdered Duncan.”

The Indian approach is rigid; answers must be written in the same format as taught in class. Any deviation in thought or expression is awarded no marks. Moreover, instead of the periodic quizzes I was used to in the US, the Indian system throws a great deal of information at you in a short period of time, on which you are tested at the end of the term. Therefore, students learn how to manage their time and study effectively; eliminating everything but the essential elements of their syllabi.

Exposure to both of these educational systems gave me useful skills. On the one hand, my years in an American school gave me my foundation in writing and taught me how to think out of the box. On the other, India taught me how to manage my time, and study efficiently.

I see myself as an amalgam of two widely different cultural elements. If their properties were to be plotted on an x-y-graph, then the x-axis would represent creativity, uniqueness and extra-curricular achievement and the y-axis, academic rigor, and ethnic diversity and understanding. In my opinion, an outstanding Indian student would lie at a point, say, (40,100) while an outstanding American student would lie at a point say (100,40). I would lie at the point (80,70); a balance between extra-curricular achievement and academics, a synthesis of the east and west.