A Narration of Melancholic Elation

Amy Goodman

Originally uploaded by gelund.

When I lived in the Bay Area, I would begin my day by listening to Democracy Now!, awakening my consciousness daily with a serious dose of poignant investigative reporting.

Amy Goodman’s political criticism is ubiquitous, which makes her razor-sharp news both important and paradoxical. How does she and/or her listeners remain objectively critical, but remain idealistic in the real world? (Is idealism in the real world an oxymoron?) Simply, how do we stay hopeful for change when our cynicism constantly overpowers our optimism? I was lucky enough to have dinner with Ms. Goodman and attend a live viewing of Democracy Now! a couple weeks ago.

The dinner was at a French restaurant in Chelsea. She walked in a bit late and dishovelled from working late on the following days stories. This helped break the ice, as Claire and I sat there with our three new friends from Albequerque.

Ms. Goodman arrived a bit tardy and dishovelled. Of course, her reasoning was more than acceptable.
It became immediately obvious that this woman was zealous about her work, like a missionary about proselytizing. She quickly broke into the latest news regarding Ken Burns’ new documentary on World War II and how he was taking heat for completely excluding the role of 500,000 Latino soldiers in the war.

She ordered lamb sausage, much to my delight and surprise. You know how most of these staunch lefties can be, right?

Her stories were fascinating - like she had probably told them hundreds of times, mastering the impersonations of the figures in the story - yet, so warm and genuine in the most personable way imaginable. Presenting her thesis project, almost being executed in East Timor, meeting but not knowing Michael Stipe, and disrupting the Reebok Human Rights Awards.

Meeting Amy Goodman made me admire the woman more. She definitely rocks.

Empathy is simply the ability to step into someone else’s shoes and understand circumstances from their point of view. This trait is one of the most important to possess if humans wish to fathom the varied states of nature and emotion. Within life’s daily interactions empathy can be the necessary tool to cope with a situation and quell a negative reaction. And in cases of dire events, it causes pain at the very thought of the tragedy. When someone else makes a sloppy driving mistake on the road, I recall my instances of incompetence, and when death occurs I shudder at the thought of that piercing my heart close to home.

I heard that a friend of a good friend had been charged with a murder he did not commit a couple months ago. Over that span of time, I’ve come to understand the fine details of the case and I believe that Tennesse native Eric Volz is innocent of murdering Doris Jimenez in San Juan, Nicaragua on Nov. 21, 2006. As he awaits his appeal in maximum-security Modelo prison beginning his 30-year sentence, I know that his plight and ordeal could have happened to me.

Eric’s case finally gained some national press attention here in the United States on Monday, when the Wall Street Journal published a front page article titled “Romance, a Murder And an American in Nicaraguan Jail”.

The article does not give Eric the complete benefit of the doubt, but it is somewhat holistic and nuanced in its presentation. Toward the end of the article the points are given that prove Eric’s innocence including:

1) Eric had seven eye-witnesses during the time of the murder, as well as cell phone records showing his location.

2) Eric was charged with rape, though the autopsy later showed that this did not occur.

3) There was no blood, hair, or other physical evidence that the prosecution provided to link Eric to the crime.

I’m just trying to bring some further awareness to this man’s situation. Here’s how you can help:

-Read more on his case at his family’s website and write to your congressman.
-Become his friend on myspace and get your friends to as well.

Just imagine if that were you:

Also check the new youtube of Eric Volz’s case.

Stimulation is everywhere, a season is in full form, note-worthy happenings occurring - these are all due to my change in location - Brooklyn, New York.
Specifically, I’m living Downtown in between the areas of Fort Greene and DUMBO (Down Under the Manhattan and Brooklyn Bridge Overpasses). It’s exciting and I’ve romanticized New York City to the maximum, only to allow myself to comprehend and see Gotham - the darkness and dreary place that is lurking nearby. In your face at Union Sqaure, in the alley of Morningside Heights, walking home from Jay Street. It’s a feeling that people carry around. It’s the anxiety and the rage of travelling under close proximity to other humans. It’s the struggle that so many have to endure in order to survive here. It’s that insecure and uncertain eye-contact you receive in subterranea or on the sidewalk. Sometimes people give it twice, just for that reassurance. And you can only hope you are responding with a look of confidence and support.

But I’m digging the vibe and multi-culturalism of the NYC. This blog wil now focus on occurrences here, the ever-burgeoning “and what-nots”, live music, reviews on incredible records due this year (The National, Wilco, Stars, DNTEL, Deltron3030, need I say more?), politics (US-Latin America focused), food, and anything else that comes up.

Whether personally or globally, I think the word that best describes 2005 is tumultous. In retrospect, it was rocky in both arenas, but I think it’s important to reflect on the catastrophic or negative and to gain a lesson. Let’s understand how to change and work to be better. Be happy with today. And optimistic for tomorrow.

A brief list of negatives for the year could be startling: Tsunami. Katrina. Bombay Floods. Pakistani Earthquake. London Bombings. Alberto Gonzalez. Samuel Alito. Pat Robertson. Sudan Genocide. Fractured Kyoto Protocol. Iraq War. Tookie’s Execution. French Riots.

My folks went to a group meditation for New Years and the “gurus” predicted that 2006 would be a good one. The world might seem to be in dire shape, but our overall global consciousness is rising each year they said. Are things getting better in some ways? Brian McCartan’s recent article in the CS Monitor, “War and disasters aside, 2005 brought world progress,” says we have reason to keep our flame of optimism lit.

It was a year I now recall somewhat fondly, contemplate happily, & bask in the thought that the last couple months have been stunning. India was intense and rich. The summer was tragic unlike anything I’ve experienced. Autumn was neither mediocre nor excellent, but I felt the stable wheels of routine roll back into my life. And during this rainy, wintry December I feel excited each day and happy to see and interact with all people. I’m just letting things happen and not worrying about the future so much anymore.

“It was a very good year,” to quote a Sinatra song, in the realm of music. It was the year of many phone conversations with Oso regarding our latest faves and in the process of these weekly talks I realized something: Hearing my friends’ opinions, reading reviews (esp. by Pitchfork) was clouding my personal judgement before even experiencing a work firsthand. At times, before even listening to a new album, I had built a preconceived notion and established an opinion. This was bullshit. Yeah, I respect many of my friends and I know what they like and understand. Yeah, I dig reading reviews and I love how writers/critics can convey the intracacies and insides in their complex language. But damn, I just want to hear the record first before thinking I know what it’s going to be like.

It was a year in which people became myspace whores. Will that trend fade out this year or become the medium of online communication?

It was the year I realized how much I need an i-pod. I’m so sick of burning cds, scratching them, sorting through them, all of it. It’s time to organize them on an external hardrive and pick up that much needed mp3 player. We’ve accumulated so much music through downloading, ripping, burning, and buying. Anyone who is complaining that there aren’t any good bands out right now is just not looking hard enough. Because this was the year that Reuel and I laughed when we asked each other, “Have you heard of so and so?” And the other would reply with, “Yeah, I have it but haven’t listened to it yet.” Why? Because there’s too much music to listen to right now.

Or maybe I’m wasting my time. Maybe I wasted a lot of time this year listening to music. How many times did I stare up at ceiling fans with my headphones on and eat an hour? A couple hundred I’m sure. But I don’t regret a minute of those times that I was thinking, decompressing, writing, or trying to get amped up to start my day. I want to thank everyone I know who exchanges music and musical thoughts with me. I love it just too much. Without further blabber:

Best Music of 2005 - Artists and Albums and Tracks - My Favorites

12. The Album Leaf - In a Safe Place [2004]
(genre: post-rock/instrumental)
Jimmy LaValle left sunny SoCal for inspiration in Iceland. It’s more electronic than Sigur Ros, but with many similarities. It was my anthem as I ventured from one Indian state to another. Alot of mellow instrumentals all recorded at Sigur’s Icelandic studio.

11. Casiotone for the Painfully Alone [2003]
(genre: lo-fi electronic)
I ask Nate what he’s listening to and I get it.
Owen Ashworth plays 14 Casio keyboard tracks with lyrics that sound like they are very personal stories written for different women in his life. But he says this is not the case. I would say that CTFTPA sounds like a very raw sounding Postal Service.

10. Atmosphere - You Can’t imagine How Much Fun We’re Having [2005]
(genre: indie hip-hop)
10. Death Cab for Cutie - Plans [2005]
(genre: introspective indie rock)
[This was written after I saw Death Cab play a month ago]:

It’s so much cooler when you are of the few that know. “I’m showing you something fresh, increasing my originality.” Then two years later you say, “I had that album before anyone knew them and before they were mainstream and soldout.” I guess it’s one of the definitive features and qualities that the counter culture spirit must embrace. Whether it be a cult film, a hip clothing style, or the latest indie band - if it strides toward the “Zona Popular”, it’s a somber and dissapointing day.

I have felt my enthusiasm drop and dwindle after seeing a nieve high schooler bobbing their heads to “my melodies!” But shouldn’t I be happy that more people are listening to an artist I respect?

We’ve all been discouraged with musicians who change their sound purely for popular recognition, control by their record label, and/or capital gain. But we’ve all also decided to dislike an artist solely because a frat boy, our siblings’ friend, MTV, or a car commercial now dug and supported “our discovery!”

It’s important to recognize the difference.

When I look at bands like Death Cab for Cutie and Atmosphere, I see that I have rolled my eyes at their rise, increased promotional efforts, and new/younger fans. But now I understand that Death Cab & Atmopshere are both groups who have stayed true to their essence and have grown, transcended, and evolved beautifully over ten years and five albums. One indie rock, the other underground hip-hop, though both are pretty well-known after being in the spotlight for a while now.

Ben Gibbard (Death Cab) and Sean “Slug” Daley (Atmosphere) are two of the best lyricists I’ve ever heard. Their songs of heartbreak, incredible one liners, and beautiful metaphors allow them to speak directly to the listener who can completely relate their own memories with the music. Even if we haven’t experienced their precise & detailed personal story… we wish we had or we wished we had conceived such an intelligent idea. But we do relate to the emotion they are expressing, be it frustration, anger, lost love, or melancholy.

I wouldn’t be able to count how many brilliant stanzas Slug has rhymed and caused Oatey and I and other friends to recite line for line, back and forth to each other. The more I read about the guy, the more I respect him. In the 10 year anniversary of Alarm magazine, Slug talks about turning down major labels like Interscope and Sony:

The major labels were all met with a polite, “Thanks, but no thanks,” which turned quite a few label execs red in the face and set the indie media circuits ablaze with talk of how Atmosphere turned down the majors. The decision came down to Slug: “The reason I said no to majors was never because I didn’t want the money, it was becuase of all the extra baggage. I didn’t want to be that new posterboy.”

In the process, of staying independent he’s also turned down many other product endorsements like sneakers.

With the latest Atmosphere album, ole’ Sluggo still whips out clever rhymes like on “Say Hey There” and “Get Fly”:

“She still makes time to hate me
but basically I’m overbooked no emotional vacancy”

“Society becomes jealousy
intimacy becomes intensity
say it with a smile like it’s meant to be
and all of a sudden BOOM American family”

8. Doves - Some Cities [2005]
(genre: Britpop)
I picked this album up from a record store in Bangalore. It sounded like disc two to their 2002 release, “The Last Broadcast.” Did they use the same recipe or what because some songs sounded way too familar? Maybe so, but they do a pretty good job and are one of the better British rock bands out there.

7. Sufjan Stevens - Illinois [2005]
(genre: indie rock/progressive folk)
A superb orchestration of melodies, choruses, and Sufjan’s personal stories are really something. He says he will make an album dedicated to each state in the union. I say rock it. It is evident that his Christianity is one with him, but the irony is present and he does not proselytize.

6. Sigur Ros - Takk [2005]
(genre: post-rock)
Sigur Ros’ 4th album might be their best (right Reuel?) because of more complexity in sound and deeper crescendos. And I guess they are finally singing in Icelandic though how many can actually notice the difference from their gibberish called Hopelandic.

5. Boards of Canada - The Campfire Headphase [2005]
(genre: ambient electronic)
Just like Sigur, this is possibly their best album yet. These Scotsmen added guitars to their electronic sound without tainting their style. They are definitley my favorite band to write to and it’s a bummer I couldn’t make space for them on the latest Sedatives.

4. Broken Social Scene - self-titled [2005]
(genre: indie rock/experimental)
Well, they were the best live performance I saw this year. Timmy might disagree, as he caught them at the Henry Fonda in L.A. and said, “Bro, five guitarists on stage, it’s a little ridiculous.”
Well, he might be right, but they’re doing their thing and creating a sound unlike anything I’ve heard before.

3. The Decemberists - Picaresque [2005]
(genre: introspective indie rock)
Colin Meloy has to be one of the most brilliant and original songwriters in the game today. A degree in creative writing can’t be a bad thing for any singer and I’m damn curious to catch dude doing his current solo thing/tour next month.
I finally snagged The Decemberists’ first album (Castaways & Cutouts) as I departed West Hollywood, Timmy, and Alex in mid-September and drove home. The 8 minute ballad titled “California One” immediately caught my ear and I held on tight through all of the song and its swift transitions.
It isn’t that The Decemberists have three flawless albums that are smooth from start to finish. But there are 5-6 gems that I get addicted to for a month straight. The lovely acoustic tunes along with Colin’s fantastic storytelling and medieval vocabulary. I can’t believe I missed them at live The Fillmore this year.

2. Stars - Set Yourself on Fire [2005]
(genre: indie pop)

Torq Campbell & Amy Millan (& the rest of the band) create excellent melodies and harmonize on everything they do. Call it electropop if you must, but their lyrics are nostalgic & meaningful for anyone ages 17-37. “Your Ex-lover is dead” was my favorite song this year with good reason.

God that was strange to see you again. Introduced by the friend of a friend. Smiled and said ‘Yes, I think we’ve met before.’ In that instant it started to pour. Captured a taxi despite all the rain. We drove in silence across Pont Champlain. And all of that time you thought I was sad. I was trying to remember your name.

1. Ulrich Schnauss - A Strangely Isolated Place
(genre: ambient electronic)
In my darkest, most introspective, or epiphanous (haha, I know funny) moments this year, this German gentleman was both “cause and effect. Pause for respect.” One of the keys to music in general, but especially when it comes to ambient/electronic is progression. Without lyrics, it is purely up to the instrumental to capture a listener and keep them enchanted. When a musician like Ulrich can do that for 6-8 minute tracks, you know the guy understands his trade. For more info on his album, you can read this previous post. His first album, “Faraway Trains Passing By” was re-released this year and is also definitely worth checking out.

Older albums that I grew much greater appreciation for this year:
Pavement - Crooked Rain, Crooked Rain [1994]
The Flaming Lips - Yoshimi Battles the Pink Robots [2002]
DNTEL - Life is Full of Possibilities [2002]
The Decemberists - Castaways and Cutouts [2002]
Broken Social Scene - Feel Good Lost [2001]
Broken Social Scene - You Forgot it in People [2002]

And here is the mix I have compiled:
An Opiate for the Cathartic
(Sedatives for 2005)

1. Zion I - The Bay
2. Amadou & Mariam - Mbife (Balafon)
3. Nortec Collective - Olvidela Compa
4. Stars - One More Night
5. Doves - One of These Days
6. Broken Social Scene - Swimmers
7. Casiotone for the Painfully Alone - Half Ghost
8. Death Cab for Cutie - What Sarah Said
9. Stars - Your Ex-Lover is Dead
10. The Decemberists - On the Bus Mall
11. Sufjan Stevens - Casimir Pulaski Day
12. Pinback - Loro
13. Broken Social Scene - I Slept with the Bonhomme at the CBC
14. The Album Leaf - Another Day (Revisited)
15. Ulrich Schnauss - Gone Forever
16. Sigur Ros - Se Lest

Tracks that shoulda but didn’t make the cut due to lack of space:
Murs & Slug - Morris Day
Atmosphere - Say Hey There
Blackalicious - My Pen & Pad
My Morning Jacket - My Heart Beats 4 u
Boards of Canada - Peacock Trail
M.I.A. - Sunshowers
The National - All the Wine
Clap Your Hands Say Yeah! - The Skin of My Yellow Country Teeth

Albums from 2005 that are sounding excellent but that I’m yet to really “disect, digest, diagnose” and have a solid opinion about :

-Okkervil River - The Black Sheep Boy
-The New Pornographers - Twin Cinema
-Sun Kil Moon - Ghosts of the Great Highway
-Vashti Bunyan - Lookaftering
-LCD Soundsystem - self-titled
-Amadou et Mariam - Dimanche a Bamako
-Blackalicious - The Craft
-Edan - Beauty and the Beat
- Wolf Parade - Apologies to the Queen Mary

The album that I didn’t know what to think of but that has grown on me more and more:

-My Morning Jacket - Z

The disappointments and/or albums I just wasn’t feeling as much as everyone else (I’m truly sorry):
Clap Your Hands Say Yeah!: self-titled
Bloc Party - Silent Alarm
Coldplay - X & Y

That’s it. I would love to hear what you’ve been digging. Cheers to 2005 and I look forward to more visine for our ears and sedatives for our minds with 2006.

On multiple occasions today, I ‘ve acknowledged my surprisingly superb feeling. It has caused me to question what has spawned this buzzing sensation that I have felt throughout my long work day. I’ve been more focused, felt more at ease, and more confident of handling situations. Was it that hot cup of Yerba Matte that I drank early on? Maybe it was that cough medication that I purchased before driving to Oakland. Whatever the cause… I was receptive in knowing how I could generate this feeling on a regular basis.

Since I began this era called “Twenty-something”, I’d like to think that I’ve become more aware and attune with my body’s needs and reactions. I know that during this chilly season, when the weather starts to creep in from all sorts of venues - I am wiser to drink my green tea rather than coffee. If I receive a call to “get wild”, drink cold beers, and live debaucherously - I am better off staying in. Unfortunately, endurance is something that normally lacks as the “winter” treads on . During the last two weeks, I’ve done pretty well. Only when old friends come from outta town can I validate a late night and some beverages. I see this overall process of detoxification to be quite a benefit for both mind & body purification. All I really know is I feel absolutely stellar right now.

It might have something to do with the fact that my ears are still ringing. My drums still beating & humming after being completely toasted by one of the most stupendous live music experiences I have yet witnessed. Broken Social Scene live at the Grand in San Francisco. Leslie Feist (also a BSS member) opened. Feist looked exceptionally beautiful, wearing a white blouse and tight white pants to cover her porcelain skin. Long bangs covered her eyes in a sexy manner as her cute ponytail hung the rest of her brunette hair. I haven’t been a huge fan of her album - It’s just a bit boring I guess, being very acoustic and simple. But she really rocked live and I now feel more inspired to throw “Let it Die” back in the deck (I hesitatingly admit that I haven’t even played it all the way through even once as of present).

Using mainly an electric guitar, but switching to her “Little” acoustic guitar just enough, Feist won the audience over easily. Her use of crowd control, casual laughter, and improvisation all made me really dig Feist, not only musically, but personally. For one track, she invited a freestyle artist from the crowd to come on-stage. Despite this person’s terrible flow, causing detriment to a beautiful instrumental, Feist made sure the crowd gave the young lady an enthusiastic response. I’d say that was a very kind gesture. Feist displayed true elegance to complement her lovely voice and I grew a new found love when hearing familiar tracks like “Gatekeeper”, “Mushaboom”, and of course the title track to her latest album “Let it Die”, where she sings:

The saddest part of a broken heart, isn’t the ending, so much as the start. The tragedy starts from the very first spark. Losing your mind for the sake of your heart.

Broken Social Scene took stage at 10:30 pm. The smell of freshly burned herbs and little bellows of smoke inhabited the room simultaneously, causing personal nostalgia to spark as well. 6 bandmembers strolled on-stage with horns in their hands - 5 trumpets and a saxaphone. They each blew their pieces into microphones and together blarred harmoniously, causing a brilliant soothing sound. We knew the show had begun. Thereafter, the main architects of the group, Brendan Canning & Kevin Drew, walked on stage with the rest of the crew, and immediately broke into the fantastic and familiar “KC Accidental“.

Broken Social Scene is based out of Toronto and now consists of a total of 17 members. Some are from other Canadian indie bands like Stars, Metric, Do Make Say Think, and Apostle of Hustle. As far as touring goes, there are normally 10-12 of them on hand. I counted 13: 4 guitarists, 1 bassist, 1 violinist, 5 with brass in hand, and 1 drummer (2 at times, when a trumpeter decided to catch his breath).

The beautiful thing about BSS is they are everchanging. There are no boundaries, structures, certainties, confines. Musicians walk on and off stage during songs, suddenly strumming, blowing, singing or disappearing. They are experimental, psychadelic, soft and mellow at times, loud and fuzzy almost always, melodic yet noisy overall.
Drums beat furiously and crash against a melange of orchestration
and their definitive sound finds its way somewhere between majestical and cacophonous. Kevin Drew described the latest album to Nic Harcourt as, “A big beautiful mess, which represents the idea of who we are.”

Plenty of songs were played off of their 2002 release, You Forgot It in People. When the song “Stars and Sons” came into effect, the crowd immediately knew when to begin the steady-quick clap that breaks its way in a quarter through the track. Other songs performed off that album, included “Anthems for a Seventeen year-old girl”, which hit me pleasantly by surprise, sung by Lisa Lobsinger. “Cause=Time” was absolutely brilliant and really had me bobbing my head and wanting to move around.

And they all want to love the cause. ‘Cause they all need to be the cause. They all want to fuck the cause.

Feist came back for the latter half of the show and performed the new songs along with the 13 others. These included “Bandwitch”, “Ibi dreams of Pavement (A Better Day)”, “7/4 (Shoreline)”, and “Major Label Debut”. These tracks truly rocked with her reappearance, hypnotic voice, and enlivening energy.

After briefly introducing all present members (and fill-ins), Kevin tells the crowd that he wants to make this into a dance party. He’s had a vision in his head that San Francisco could pull this off at an indie rock show. To paraphrase, he says “Just lose yourself for 3 minutes, 52 seconds and then you can go back to whatever it is that’s holding you back.” Suddenly, Madonna’s “Ray of Light” kicks into it’s techno beat, catching a sea of hipsters by surprise, as Kevin is semi-grooving to this commercial beat on-stage. Thirty seconds later, Kevin stops, everyone laughs, and Justin Peroff (drummer) kicks a fresh beat, followed by a dopely, recognizable baseline, and everyone knew it was track 9 (”Hotel”) from the new album. The sea of bodies gently sway and move their bodies to the beat. The sound has instigated the crowd to move about in oscillation - not enough to leave the world of self-consciousness, but just enough to not feel so rigid for such an unscrupulous rock group.

As my homie Mario pointed out, the end of the show dragged a bit and the finale was a bit disappointing. But Kevin and Feist did a sensational job performing the Jeff Buckley-esque song “Lover’s Spit”, and engaging in a nice, slow dance as pure instrumentation extended the track further. All in all, a fantastic show. It can be a dissapointment when a group is tragic performing live. But it’s an incredible experience, when they can provoke the listener/viewer to understand their concept further, appreciate the magnitude of their ability, and like them for the people they are.

For a quieter, softer, and shorter version of Broken Social Scene check out their latest Morning Becomes Eclectic appearance.

And to listen to their phenomenal post-rock debut Feel Good Lost, check here.

All these people drinking lover’s spit
They sit around and clean their face with it
And they listen to teeth to learn how to quit
tied to a night they never met

[Listening to Death Cab for Cutie - The Stability EP]

On a weekly basis, I hop on the highway 24 to escape the mundane, bland, commercial suburban culture. Even after all these years, there’s a point in the journey that doesn’t cease to lose it’s thrill, awe, and impressiveness. It’s the titillation generated by wondering what the visibility will be like after passing through Caldecott Tunnel. The Caldecott connects Contra Costa County to Oakland and it’s also the route taken to reach San Francisco from the greater East Bay Area.

There’s definitely places and states that receive a further degree of extremity in regards to annual weather. I know mid-western states like Iowa move from below-zero (minus 50 to 70 with wind) snow-bound conditions to sultry humid temperatures during the course of the year.

But I don’t think there are many places we can speak of, where the current temperature can drastically differentiate with a twenty minute drive. I’m talking about a mere twenty mile expanse within the San Francisco Bay Area. “The City” as all Bay Area dwellers know San Francisco has a very mild summertime warmth compared with the rest of United States. It even gets quite chilly on numerous occassions from June to August and rarely is there an evening where a second layer isn’t necessary. I think we’ve all heard that Mark Twain quote a hundred times.
In a letter, he also wrote:

San Francisco is a city of startling events. Happy is the man whose destiny it is to gather them up and record them in a daily newspaper! That sense of conferring benefit, profit and innocent pleasure upon one’s fellow-creatures which is so cheering, so calmly blissful to the plodding pilgrim here below, is his, every day in the year. When he gets up in the morning he can do as old Franklin did, and say, “This day, and all days, shall be unselfishly devoted to the good of my fellow-creatures–to the amelioration of their condition–to the conferring of happiness upon them–to the storing of their minds with wisdom which shall fit them for their struggle with the hard world, here, and for the enjoyment of a glad eternity hereafter. And thus striving, so shall I be blessed!”

My hometown suburb of Walnut Creek rests twenty to thirty minutes directly east of the city. It’s fascinated me that even this short distance provides such a radical difference in living. When a heat wave brings scorching temperatures exceeding 100 degrees, the city stays at a lovely, moderate 75-80.

In a letter I recently wrote to my Uncle Samir( a mentor and part of the last breed of hand-written letter scribblers):

I would like to think that I live for the moment, but the truth is that I’m constantly looking at the horizon ahead, and not enjoying the place where my feet are currently planted. From the East Bay Area, where the swelter has been igniting. From this suburb called Walnut Creek, where corporate-burnt Starbucks Coffee, yuppified couples in SUVs, million dollar homes without any character, and upscale/useless retail stores reign supreme. It’s on the outskirts, that I sit atop the hills of Berkeley, gazing at the 2 bridges - Bay & Golden Gate. The Pyramid Building, Coit Tower, Alcatraz island all brilliantly distinguishable. I know the independent cafes (all with their own creative motif) in the Little Italy of North Beach, the countless enclaves of culture interspersed within the Mission District, and the numerous other communities of beauty in San Francisco. A city stretched only seven miles in length, but with more culture, diversity, political awareness, and depth than any other city in the States. Not because of the weather, but for the culture and people I need to be in this city. Since Walnut Creek has alwasy been predominantly Caucasian and middle to upper class, it doesn’t seem like gentrication has much room to navigate - the bourgeousie and corporations are simply in a process of further “beautification” - using the worker’s for a little more elbow grease (to give the town more shine and pretentiousness).

Vikrum and I were at Cafe Coffee Day in Bandra in early June, the day before I left to Singapore. Of course, like any two normal human beings we acknowledged our mutual envy for our situations. I was jealous that Vikrum was staying in Bombay for such a long time, learning Hindi and working. And he was jealous that I was going home to California’s progressive women and liberal society. We were discussing what I was looking forward to upon arrival and Vikrum asked, “Aren’t you looking forward to driving fast on the highway with your music on full blast?”

Indeed. I think that many can testify to the enjoyment of driving a vehicle with the tunes at high decibels and the windows resting below the elbows. I can’t help but feel sorrow for those with the a/c cranked up and the stereo cranked down.

Upon exit from the Caldecott, one is surrounded on the left and right by the hills of Berkeley and the palatial houses rebuilt after their previous lives were incinerated in the Oakland Hills Fire. With a curvacious decline, one’s car just glides along the turns. It’s exhilarating to think of the copious options to choose from after the tunnel: cruising past the Claremont Hotel onto Ashby Avenue, taking Telegraph or College Ave. into Downtown Berkeley , swinging around the 13 into Piedmont, or continuing on towards the impressive Bay Bridge.

The exhilaration caused by wondering what brilliant pocket of culture to explore today. It’s why I love the Bay baby.

In the start of my incline towards social ineptitude, I left San Diego and hit the I5 around noon. It was a blissful Saturday and I felt almost irate that I wasn’t flocking to the sand with 90% of Southern California that afternoon. But rather than add any more shades to my brown skin, beers to my belly, and superficiality to my mentality, I would find an alternative method to enjoy the cystal clear skies, beaming sunshine, and altogether flawless day. It would be because of a German musician named Ulrich Schnauss.

After possessing only three tracks, but loving their continual introspective exhilaration, I finally got the album (A Strangely Isolated Place) in it’s entirety from my homie Alex. I think the album title speaks for itself, for it is to be listened, disected, diagnosed, and digested by the solo being. And even better, by the “solo-wandering-traveler-being.”

Nothing is as mind numbing as I5- straight, flat, boring!

The i5 is a freeway that runs from the US/Mexico border in San Diego, through California, Oregon, and Washington, and ends at the US/Canadian border. Many would attest this freeway as being incredibly boring with nothing but flat farmland for the eyes to gaze upon. I would normally agree with this observation, too.

But not on this auspiciously-felt day. With the windows down & wind blowing in my face, Ulrich “singing”, golden hills radiating in the distance, light blue stretched across into the horizon, and an abundance of thoughts to sift through - What was the cause of unhappiness during this trip to SoCal? Why was I having so much trouble interacting? What were my next steps going to be in my future? As the hours rolled by, I spotted the family of windmills that inhabit the fields near the 580 interchange. They are truly a magnificent site because of their aesthetic quality and because they mean that less than an hour remains in before I pull up home to my driveway in Walnut Creek.

I just came across this music map - People who listen to Ulrich Schnauss also listen to blank.

Ryan Potts of Pop Matter’s writes:

The eight tracks present on Isolated are each swathed in elated soundscapes that are also grounded with a dynamic use of rhythm and percussion, as well as an ardent sense of melodic finesse.

Chris Shaffer of RainyDawg writes:

When people wake up in the morning, especially after long periods of confusion, dysphoria, and general melancholy, they typically need something to get them back in line. Something to show them that it’s okay, and that people out there still give a shit.

It seems like people need to compare an emerging artist with another one. Possibly it’s an older, influential band or an artist of the same genre with a copycat style. I guess we do it with everything - food, film, friends, places. I dislike it in a way, but it helps to create an idea about something unknown, in relativity, to something/someone already established in our mind. We have to relate this to a past experience. I have read a dozen reviews of Decemberists being compared with Neutral Milk Hotel. I think it’s a fair comparison to say, but they’re really so different.

Critics like comparing Ulrich to Brian Eno, Boards of Canada, My Bloody Valentine. But even the man himself admits to the latter in an interview with the Montreal Mirror:

“I think [My Bloody Valentine guitarist/producer] Kevin Shields is basically the last person in popular music history so far to have really changed the sound of music. I mean, every music genre in the last 10 years, if you look very closely, has something in it that you could trace back to My Bloody Valentine. I don’t think there’s any other musician on the planet of whom that can be said.”

My homie Gabe told me recently that he isn’t into too much new stuff. He’s gone back to the likes of Pavement, Neutral Milk Hotel, and My Bloody Valentine - bands that brand what he likes to refer to as the “lo-fi aesthetic.” I’m working on trying to capture the beauty of these bands.

Aaron Rietz, of Prefix magazine writes:

Schnauss’s best moments brandish an epiphanous flair, a feeling akin to Platonic revelation, escaping the limiting and familiar confines of the cave.

I think it’s the anecdote to a feeling of disgruntled disenchantment, causing an intertwining of melancholy gaze and perennial happiness.

So get in your car, drive off into the day or night, and into a stangely isolated place.

Written sometime in June/July

I’ve been fighting the devils lately: apathy, depression, sleep, the anti-social, negative vibe. The station changes from Sigur Ros to Radiohead to Decemberists to Elliott Smith. It’s too bad the skies are not gray & dismal so that the world could be one with my emotions. My sister is in a similar transitional phase and she has kept the subtle smile and hint of motivation in my life. Everyone’s been here I know. But I haven’t been here before and the drought has never lasted this long. I know I’ll look back on this time with a cackle and nod, but right now I’m struggling. It’s not culture shock, just me feeling more lost than ever.

I’ve been back in the states 8 weeks now, but as far as being back in a preferable state of mind, I’d say I’m definitely not. I have 23 dollars in my bank account, no job, I’m butting heads with my parents, and I’m not enjoying the company of 90% of my friends.

I returned June 5th and immediately met my homie Mike who had just returned from a year in Brighton, England and China. He had a nice scruff going on and looked like he was still backpacking through Europe when I saw him in the Mission District. We grabbed a few beers, shared travel photos & stories, caught a terrible Giants game, and dug through some books stores on Haight Street.

That weekend, I headed with my folks down to Santa Barbara for my sister’s graduation. I’ve been quick to snap and fire words and my patience for incomptence seemed to have been completely doused during my first week back home…so I wasn’t really looking forward to the 5 hour drive. My headphones basically stayed glued to my head for the most part and I felt like a little kid hating a road trip with the rents.

My ability to interact has been at a lock. Whether meeting strangers or old friends, I’m feeling awkward. My mental struggle is strongly felt and people can easily tell that I’m fighting right now. Something doesn’t seem right I know. I know what you’re going through, yeah I know you do, or maybe you just think you do. I get myself off easy by blaming the crowd - These people are wack, our interests clash, they are superficial, they are in a different state/place from when I used to chill with them. That’s not right though I know. It’s me not them. My social capabilities are stagnant and I’m not interested in them, their happenings, or doings. “Mentally lost, socially inept, economically strapped” - that’s the trend that has to end.

My homie Alex showed me a damn good time in West Hollywood. I don’t know LA for shite and I had hopes of getting to know a few spots. He showed me the Berkeley/Hillcrest-esque side known as Los Feliz, near the area of Silverlake. There is this huge super cool espresso cafe called Bourgeois Pig - very dimly lit, comfortable velvet sofas, and abstract art. There are some exceptional restaurants, a magazine stand, and an excellent used bookstore (I picked up Anna Karenina & Steppenwolf and Alex grabbed Nausea by Sartre for just a few bucks each).

Julia came up on my second evening in LA and we saw Doves perform at the Wiltern. Doves are one of my favorite British bands - Very Coldplay-esque, chill but rockin’, and a good mix of electric & acoustic guitars, with a dash of electronic. I picked up their latest album “Some Cities” while I was in Bangalore (April). It immediately grabbed me, but I questioned if the tracks had listening longetivity. It’s very similar to their previous product, “The Last Broadcast” and some of the riffs sounds almost identical. Another drawback is that it is lyrically lacking and this a similar criticism that I have for Coldplay’s latest “X & Y.”

I checked out the Getty museum and I’m so happy I finally did. The tremendous view of The City of Angels, the fantastic Rembrandt exhibit, and the astounding architecture.

The best part of my trip had to have been the 8 hour drive home from San Diego back home to the Bay Area. The Interstate 5 (through central California) has a terrible reputation for being one of the most boring, mundane, & flat driving experiences possible. I’ve done the drive over a couple dozen times and my sentiments of “The Five” are no different, and that’s why I usually do the journey late night. But this time was different. I left around noon from Mission Hills and picked up a few things that I had come to retrieve - a yoga mat, some old poli sci books, and a few cds.

(This was written in a sporadic, scattered fashion. What else is new?)

[Listening to Ulrich Schnauss]

Back to catnaps, cockroaches, ceiling fans, handkerchiefs, luke warm drinking water, clean boxer briefs, and humidity. If that makes even the slightest coherent sense, then cool.

Saying that the weather in Calcutta is scorching, sweltering, & sultry doesn’t really do it justice. I take three “cold” showers a day - cold in quotations because the pipes don’t give you the option to actually receive anything cold enough to give the body a jolt from the chilled sensation. Then as soon as I step out of the shower, beads of sweat have already started to form, and I’m not sure what purpose my towel is playing as I attempt to dry off.

When I walk down Chowingee, I usually have to kick myself for forgetting my handkerchief. I mean, I normally never need (woah triple n!) one but since my face is dripping for a better part of the afternoon here, its can be quite annoying to not have something to dry off with. I guess I should just pay another 10 rupees for a new one right? At times I don’t even know that I’m perspiring profusely (it really just brings a grin to my face because it’s so unbelievable… but I go to scratch my face, and wind up wiping it instead. Or I look in the mirror and go “Woah, what happened!?!?” The two interesting things I noticed about humidity:

1) For the first time in my life I don’t need chapstick. It’s bizarre.

2) After a while, my sweat is no longer salty… I guess it just loses the concentration of salt that normal sweat has.

I just returned back to Calcutta, after going to Darjeeling and Sikkim for about 10 days. It was quite refreshing to get struck by fog instead of humidity. Ice cold water out of taps that leaves your body in a state of shock. And hot water showers felt worthy for the first time in months. But I was desperately in need of a shower when I got back to Esplanade station, Calcutta - after a 60 hour hiatus. You best believe I was bringing the funk Oatey.

I visited my pops old school, St. Pauls, in Darjeeling. Class of 1966 baby. It’s a beautiful place perched high atop the hills and winding roads. I saw the tea plantations at Happy Valley, grubbed many momos, drank too much tea, and had some beers with some travellers at Joey’s pub.

I left for Gangtok, Sikkim after a few days. I’ve seen cities & villages like its nobody’s business in India, and I was dying to see some natural beauty in the form of mountains, lakes, & rivers. It was pretty cloudy with sporadic hits of rain in Gangtok, so I tried to just relax, add some chowmein to my momos, & figure out some plans for leaving Gangtok.

In the process I met 4 ladies from Iceland and got to know one of them pretty well. She’s been working in Baroda, Gujarat for the past year with another Icelander and they are now both travelling for a bit with their other friends who came to India. I was less than certain that they were speaking German when I started some conversation up with, “Where in Germany are y’all from?” “No, we’re from Iceland.” Damnit, I just lost my citizen of the world status…I should be able to tell German from Icelandic, right?

My knowledge of Iceland is far from good. Hmmm, puffins tend to get lost in the winter, and they have some good music coming from there: Bjork, Sigur Ros, & Mum.
Turns out Bjork wasn’t famous in Iceland until her international stardom and then she became “Our Bjork” after people back home realized her status.
“People from Iceland are cocky and we think that we are the best at everything.”
They all agreed & felt happy that Iceland had not joined the European Union. It was keeping its independence from the Europeanization of the continent.
“It’s good in many respects but bad in others. Some feel that we are missing out on trade opportunities and that we’ll be left behind. Another negative is that we have to pay higher tuition prices to go to college anywhere outside Iceland in Europe.”

Although Iceland has kept its “independence” from the EU, its interesting that their only army is a US military base. You can bet this is a divisive issue over there - “Are we better off without them here? Does that make us a target or is it beneficial to have them on our side?”

That one Baroda-Icelandic girl is currently applying for masters programs in Globalization/Development & Politics around the United Kingdom. She’s lived in England, Guatemala, Norway, and now India for extensive periods of time. I thought her experience in Guatemala for 1 year when she was 18 was quite touching. She came back home to Iceland after the one year expecting to hug, kiss, and be affectionate with her family and friends…but forgot that Nordic culture is not analagous with that of Latinos.

We enjoyed some great, playful banter over some beers and a fellow from New York teased them like crazy about being from Iceland, butchering the pronunciations of Bjork & Leaf Erickson. Definitely not pronounced LEAF as became obvious from the mouths of the Icelandic ones. The New Yorker, my fellow “Yanqui”, definitely wasn’t helping me try and kill the American stereotype.

From Gangtok I headed to western Sikkim, but I’ll have more on that adventure in another post.

I think we people need time away from the grind, turmoil, & monotony that life can throw us into. I was only in Calcutta for a couple weeks, but felt myself getting into kind of a rut/routine, especially being here in the thick of the heat and at my Grandparent’s place. But after going up North for a while, I feel a new sense of happiness, awareness, & satisfaction for being back in CAL. I’m ready for the hagglers, shop keepers, passerbys, humidity. I’m here with a renewed sense of love for people. I think workers of the world need to take more weekend trips & breaks - come back home to work feeling refreshed & ready to take on the task at hand

As I walked around town this evening and headed down Lindsay Street, cut through to Suddar, and then on to Free School Street, I was saying to myself, “Damn, the market is popping right now.” It was 7 o’clock and street vendors were calling out their prices to folk bustling down the street. It was crowded as hell and bustling with life & excitement. Ohhh, it’s Saturday! People looking to consume anything if the price is right and others looking to slang something if the price is decent. Dare I try this Kati roll or Sikh kebab off the street? After 4 1/2 months my stomach might struggle a bit, but my boldness & confidence won’t hesitate as much. Ohhh, it’s good to be back & caught in the grip of yet another city.

In the tourist circuit of Rajisthan, backpackers can be seen gathered in the evenings at the rooftop cafe of their hotels. Conversations usually go from, “How long are you in India?” to “So what are people in Ireland like?” to “How do Germans feel about Bush?” to talking about other travel experiences, gripes with India, and the beautiful aspects too.

Generalizations & stereotypes cram their way into as many comments as possible. They can be note-worthy and helpful, confusing because they contradicted a previous notion, or complete bullshit because from experience, you know they are wrong.

[Even recently, my own opinion from experience backfired on me. My new friend Vikrum Sequeira asked me for my thoughts on Goa..I told him about my experience…the good things, but I also told him that I wasn’t that impressed by the number of women, and that there were a high number of Indian men in groups on the prowl for some loving. Vikrum had the complete opposite experience - many single women & not many Indian dudes on the hunt. I was happy that he doused my perspective with the alternate.]

I met so many people during my three week run there (Rajisthan), but it was extremely difficult to tell when a connection is made. You could meet someone once for ten minutes or see them a few times and have several conversations - but it’s hard to separate the interesting from the mundane at times, and when have we reached the mutual point of thinking “Yeah cool, I actually want to stay in touch with you and exchange email addresses”? It makes me appreciate the solid friendships I have back home and the few amazing connection I’ve had from brief encounters & interactions while in India.

One evening in Mt. Abu, the only hill station in the state of Rajisthan, I was chillin’ on the rooftop of my hotel with a bunch of travellers, mostly from the U.K. A couple of them had indulged in some bung lassi, and so they were off talking about Pet Shop Boys, London, and other topics. I wasn’t really into the convo that much so I turned to a group sitting next to us and introduced myself. Instantly, one of the fellas in this bunch drew me into his thoughts with brutal honesty:

“I hate India. I hate the food, the people, everything. People here do everything half-ass, nothing is done “the best.” I have no respect for Indians. An Indian would sell his mother for one rupee. But you…you are not Indian, you are American. You are completely American.”

“I guess,” I shrugged, “but I am Indian.”

“Really?” he replied. “Do you speak Hindi?”

“No,” I said.

“Are you religious?”

“Nope.”

“Then what makes you Indian??” He asked this with a cheeky red face and a slight grin passing through the flush.
Wow, this Israeli fella had me completely stumped. “What makes me Indian?” And better yet, his follow up question was, “What is Indian?” “Because anything that’s nice & well-constructed is of British production.”
He was sitting there with 3 other Israelis. Traditionally, after finishing their two year term in the army, Israelis come to travel in India. They go to places like Pushkar, Vagator in Goa, and a few others, and can live lavishly on the rupee, although most are on a strict budget - just like most young travellers here.
He had read V.S. Naipaul and felt that his eyes were being cheated from what he had envisioned through reading.
Well, I tried my best to avoid his question and address my concern with his strong disgust for the country.

“Well, how long have you been travelling in India?” I asked him.

“Less than two weeks, just here in Rajisthan.”

“Well, Rajisthan is a rough place to get an all-encompassing view of India from. People here are like vultures and want everything they can possible from the many tourists coming here.”

He answers, “Yeah, they have their Ganesh on the wall and are willing to rip me off for 10 rupees (25 cents). That’s the height of religious hypocrisy!”

“Yeah, that’s something I wonder about.”

A British guy chimed in, “Yeah, but you gotta do what you gotta do to survive. And even though 10 rupees doesn’t sound like much to you, it is to him. And it can add up from all the people he pulls it from.”

I then asked him, “So what’s your beef with the food?” (I surely didn’t phrase it like that, but I might as well have).

“Well, the food is terrible. I only eat to survive another day. This Thali stuff is crap…I love my meat and am missing it like crazy.”

“Yeah, I feel you on that. I mean thali can get a bit monotonous after a while. But have you ever had Tandoori Chicken? Mutton Biryani? Sikh Kebab?

“Uhh, no, vhat’s that?”

“See come on now. You can’t generalize Indian food by the vegetarian food in Rajisthan. It’s completely different from the veg in the South and carnivorous grub throughout.”

I felt bad for the guy. He still had a few months left of travelling in the subcontinent and he was set on his feelings and not looking forward to the rest of his adventure. He also hated Coelho’s The Alchemist and Kundera’s Unbearable Lightness of Being. Definitely not an optimist. He would not respect an Indian and when I asked him, “So do you respect ‘An American’?” He retorted with a “No. He is selfish and only looking for personal gain.” Extreme views he had many, generalizations he had them, too. But there was something about him that intigued me and I wanted to know his views on even more things. I hope I can find his email and see how his trip has progressed.

I know that nationalism is created by having a shared historical experience(s) and since I’ve obviously not grown up here, I have no Indian national identity. It’s gotta be something more than the color of my skin and the fact that “I like the food.”

I didn’t get to answering his question although I felt like answering his question with a question: “What makes you Israeli?”
If I learn Hindi and become religious, then am I suddenly Indian. By this time next year, I could be Indian, yes!

“India is both heaven and hell,” a Dutch man tells me on the train from Bangalore to Madras (Chennai). And this is so damn true. It can be a brutally difficult place for travellers with the language barrier, the scorch, “vultures”, etc. It is a rough place for the native as well, but even after travelling outside of his home the Indian national knows that there is something that keeps him on the soil of the subcontinent. Even if he/she had the money to move to the States he wouldn’t (Yes, I’m generalizing now - there are plenty of Indians wanting to come and make it in the States). They know the mentality, the rat race, the social norms, the people. There’s something that causes him to kiss the street when he returns home from abroad.

Generalizations can be helpful but many of the ones I’ve heard can now be squashed. It’s like when Mister Muckerjee asked me, “So what are American girls like.” I could tell him that they’re pretty superficial, blonde, dumb, etc. But come on!!, I don’t know what the prototype of an American woman is. I feel like I know some very intelligent, ambitious, beautiful, and progressive females so that completely annhilates any stereotype that can be made regarding American women.

Back to India being both heaven and hell. It’s those hellacious facets that make the heavenly ones that much more intense & awesome. Unfortunately, we human beings tend to remember/accentuate/emphasize the negative qualities & experiences. I feel like I might do that as well in conversation, but I try not to.

It kills me when women (particularly foreign travellers) tell me about the harassment they receive in India. It causes me to feel ill, shame, and contempt for the Indian male. One of the Icelandic girls in Gangtok told me that of Latin America, Africa, and India - India was by far the worst sexual harrassment she’d experienced. That’s terrible and causes me to take a completely opposite & chill approach during my social interactions with females - meaning I try to act like I don’t ven notice that they are there. India seems to be in multiple transitions, especially in the social realm. Men are not used to women wearing skirts & tanktops so they don’t know how to react. But wait!!..isn’t the entire mid-section shown when a sari is worn!!Can you say double-standard? Or is there just that universal myth that foreign women are “easy.” It’s ridiculous that guys here will get a cheap thrill from brushing up against a woman. Then what? Does he go up to his buddies and say, “Hey, I came within 5 inches of her boob man (accent included).

Vikrum talks about a “vivacious” Londoner he met he Palolem Beach, Goa. She tells him:

“I was in Rajastan during Holi. It was not easy. Holi seems to be an excuse for Indian men to molest women. One man ran up to me, threw rang in my face, grabbed my face, and then moved his hands down and groped my breasts. Another guy ran up to me, threw color in my face, and grabbed my crotch. I punched both of them afterwards.
In Calcutta people would walk up to me and say, ‘Are you married? No? Do you want to have sex with me?’ But I slapped those guys as well.”

My point from all this is that it’s quite unfortunate when a foreigner goes back home, forgets the phenomenal aspects of their experience in India, and only conveys/reiterates/expresses the negative - like male groping. I’m even sure that when I return could and rattle off my peeves that I have to my friends… but I hope I can balance it out with the other end of the spectrum. I also hope that the Indian man can evolve and be calm with the progress & liberation of women in India.

Nationalism is an infantile disease. It is the measles of mankind.” ~Albert Einstein

[Listening to DNTEL]

“It’s a very nostalgic place”, a guy on a bus ride from Poona to Bangalore tells me. He grew up here and each time he returns he’s thrown back into his childhood. “Bombay is much like New York. Maybe even a bit like San Francisco. But Calcutta is more like Berlin or Milan.”

When people ask me, “Where in India are you from?” I tell them that my family is from Calcutta. Since I haven’t been here for twelve years, I was excited tofinally see it with older, wiser eyes, and now to be able and compare it with the many big Indian cities I’ve now seen: Bombay, Delhi, Jaipur, Johdpur, Surat, Poona, Bangalore.

177 Lenin Sarani, where my grandparents live, is a a 5 story building in Central Calcutta. On the ground floor is Temple Bar, second floor is Saqi Restaurant - both established by Cavas Ardesher, my great-great Grandfather in 1871. During the second world war, it was the place that sailors first headed to when they got into Calcutta: a place to drown yourself in away from sea and surely get lucky for a low fee. It’s now a seedy spot, quite popular with the hard working, scruffy male crowd. On the third floor is an office space for secretaries, fourth floor residence, and fifth floor terrace/office/garden.

My first morning in Calcutta I wake up and decide to head out and walk around the city. I had heard of an old cafe (though newly rennovated and looking like a Tiffany’s gift shop) called Flury’s, on the popular Park Street, so I duck down five flights, and hit the street. Woah, cultural shock after 3 and a half months in India! I get this feeling like I’ve just stepped into Eastern Europe or Cuba. The old Ambassador classic vehicles, the crumbling buildings, the hammer & sickle graffitied on walls (The Communist party has maintained rule in the state of West Bengal for the last 26 odd years). Most of the days have been quite muggy, so maybe that’s a another cause to feeling like I’m in a city living in the cold war. It’s a beautiful, interesting place and I see the positives & negatives, though not through any sort of crystal clear lens just yet.

As I walk down Chowringee Street (previously called Jawalal Nehru Road), my eyes feel the need to move rapidly around the 180 degree scope set before me. Stores are lined on one end of the sidewalk while street vendors inhabit the other end of the same sidewalk. These street slangers are selling hundreds of items (boxers, belts, behl puri, books..and everything else that starts with the letter B) along this “sidewalk” filled with potholes, as people walk in both directions. I have to make sure I don’t trip in a pothole, so I have to constantly keep an eye floating down to scan my path, as I manuveur my way around & past people, while trying to get a glimpse of all the items for sale, along with all the interactions taking place, and all the different faces saying something through facial expression without opening their mouth.

In India people don’t give a flying you know what. They are the most curious bastards I’ve seen and there is no shame in the amount they express. Strangers passing by will give you a 10 second look-over/stare down without the least discretion. Since you are in a public space, people feel like you are on display, and can be observed & scrutinized as need be. There’s times where I just want to say, “What the bloody hell are you looking at man? I’ve had a long day bro, back the bleep off.” This means that if you are a women or a white foreigner, you are going to get it 100 times worse. More about this gripe and others later.

It’s a fascinating stroll: The reminance of British rule & architecture. The look & feel of a city woven with patches of Marxism…but the threads slowly coming undone as captitalist enterprise sews some shiny new material to an old cotton quilt.

I had tea on Thursday with an old friend of my father’s Samir, his wife Anita, and a famous Indian author, Amit Chauduri. Samir was stricken with polio 45 years a go, so at home is where he spends his days, writing articles for The Telegraph, and reading fine literature. These folk along with my Grandmother & many others, like to fondly reminisce on the days of the British in Calcutta. Much of our conversations during the evening dreamt off to over fifty years a go.

“This isn’t the days of the British,” Samir says with a sigh and a look of reflection. “Today, you can’t even walk on the sidewalk, due to the potholes. The education system can’t even compare.” He speaks with this pleasant British accent and his vocabulary is astounding.
“There’s no sophistication these days. People spit, defecate on the streets, litter without regard for anything.”
In an article written for “The Telegraph” of Calcutta starts off:

Their ways were impeccable, their manners elegant. Samir Mukerjee recalls individuals shaped by days of the Raj-

Westernized indians have become an extinct species now and with them gone, an entire way of life has been obliterated. During British rule, the sun shone on them and they never put a foot wrong as far as their own values were concerned.

My mother’s friend Sudhira Bhagat, better known as Cissy Bhagat, was one such extraordinary example of a smart, elegant, soigné and sophisticated lady who left an indelible imprint on the minds of those who had the good fortune of knowing her.

I admire Samir and enjoy hearing his stories, reading his articles, and analyzing his theories/generalizations. But part of me dislikes these snooty Western admirers who are living in the past and detesting the present; people who are so stuck in the past, knowing they’ve lived in the best of times. I’ll be meeting him a few more times before I leave CAL, so I’ll get a clearer picture of his beliefs I’m sure. As for Amit Chauduri, I’m reading his book “A New World” and its a damn good depiction of people in Calcutta.

[Written during the first week of April, just a few days before reaching Dandi, Gujarat]

I decided not to walk today with the Yatris because I wanted to get to the city of Navsari as early as possible. This place has much historical relevance as far as Parsi history goes. The Parsis first landed in the city of Sanjan, just south of Navsari, in the 6th century. Navsari became the first place that they resided in. Today 3-4,000 Parsis live here, an old library with old manuscripts and literature related to Zoroastrianism/Parsis, a Parsi hospital, a college, and one of the holiest fire temples. I got a ride with Sudhir and Rupalee of the Mahatma Gandhi Foundation and we entered the small city around 9:00 a.m. I felt quite excited for a day of exploring and learning more about my Parsi heritage and seeing old relics.

(If you would like to check out an excellent photographic essay on Parsis, click HERE. Her “brief history on Parsis” is really consise & well-done)

After grubbing a samosa and sipping a couple cups of chai, I found the nearest rickshaw and asked him to take me to Atash Behram in Taeota Bazaar. As we veered around the corner I saw the Igari (Fire temple), its impressive stature, and I realized that I was more nervous than excited. Parsis are much lighter skinned than typical Indians because of their Iranian roots. My father and his side of the family are distinctly Parsi, whereas I am not. I knew that they would not allow me inside this sacred fire temple if I was not Parsi and that I would have to prove myself, which might be difficult.

I walked up to the gate where 4 Parsi men were sitting with their topees (similar to a Yamaka) on their heads. I told them that I was a Parsi-Indian-American participating in the Salt March, and wanted to go inside the temple. There were two guys (let’s call them bitter old man A and B).

A: Can you identify youself as a Parsi?

Me: Well, I don’t wear the Sudreh (sacred shirt made of pure white muslin) and Kusti (72 woven threads of lamb’s wool). But my name is Revaz Farok Ar-de-sher ( I then presented my California ID and recited 15 words of the prayer. Ardesher is a very Parsi name so that’s why I stressed my name)

A: You are not Parsi. Anyone can study the prayers. And you could have changed your name to the one on this ID card. People will do anything to satisfy their curiousity of Parsis.

Me: Anyone can buy a Sudreh and Kusti. If I wear a sudreh and kusti tomorrow am I more Parsi then?

A: I’m sorry, you are not Parsi. People are born Parsi, Christian, or Jewish. You cannot change who you are. A Parsi parent would insist that their children wear the Sudreh and kusti. Why do you not wear it?

Me: I had my Navjote when I was 7, but wearing a sudreh and kusti is not socially or culturally acceptable in the U.S. If a Parsi woman were wearing a dress or skirt, how can she have a thread hanging down her leg? Even in Bombay, most kids I’ve met don’t wear sudreh & kusti.

A: No, women can still wear a saree with sudreh & kusti and I’m sure more than 90% of the Parsi youth in Bombay are wearing it.

B: Do you know the prayer?

Me: (I recited the prayer again)

B: Nope, still don’t believe you.

Me: Then why the hell did you just ask me??

A: There are a couple questions we ask people before entering and you are not a Parsi.

I felt so sad and dejected that my head hung lower than it has in a long time. My feet dragged as I walked along the perimeter of the temple and I felt the whispers of people nearby as they asked the men what I wanted. I hopped back in the rickshaw and I felt my sadness turn to anger. The classic end to a negative episode for me: I think of things I should have said and it fuels the blood in veins to boil for a while. I wanted to tell the richshaw driver to turn around. I wanted to write a letter to the Zorastrian Association or someone.
This would be like a Jew not being allowed into a synagogue because they are not wearing a yamaka (maybe they aren’t allowed to, I don’t know. But they shouldn’t be told that they are not Jewish because of it) or a Christian not allowed entry into a church because they don’t have a cross around their neck.
I might not be a pious Parsi, but I should still be considered as one and allowed to enter its holy sites right? I was pretty heated and upset about this incident for many days. I talked about it with people and there were mixed reactions. In some ways, I now feel that maybe they were doing the right thing. Wearing the Sudreh & Kusti is the most important ritual in the Zoroastrian religion and if I don’t partake in that daily routine, then I shoudn’t be considered as one. Right? I’m still trying sift through my current feelings of Paris culture. With only 100,000 worldwide, they are dying as quickly as any other endangered species. Marrying outside is occurring more & more. Are they an elitist social group that considers themselves valuable? They are a rare item and many, especially in the States, have done quite well economically. But many of the ones I have observed in the SF Bay Area are overly snobbish, status driven, Lexus driving pricks, to generalize rudely. Most of my cousins and Parsi friends I’ve met in India are daily prayer sayers and feel it is important for them to marry a Parsi. It’s sad that the community is dying, and they’re working to keep it a live a little longer.

“Even if I didn’t marry a Parsi, I would still want my children to be Zoroastrian. And that would probably cause problems with a woman of different religious orientation. I will rebel against everything else, as far as my parents go. But I feel it is my greatest duty for them, that I marry a Parsi.” - my cousin Rayomond from Poona (Pune)

As I roll through India, trying to grasp hold of my “Indianess”, its been synonamous with my “Parsi-ness”. I do feel it is a beautiful religion. When people used to ask my father about the religion, he would just tell them, “Good thoughts, good words, good deeds.” I think that is a pretty good, simple philosophy to be carried through one’s life.

Even before my experience in Navsari, I have caught myself saying the Parsi prayer in my head from time to time. It was really strange when I first realized I was doing this, but I think I’ve been doing it for years without knowing it. Being in difficult spots during my travels has caused me to seek outside help and being aware of this has caused me to think…..Wow, am i really a believer?? I would have said I was agnostic as the last few years have gone by (after hearing a guy recently say, “Well, I’m agnostic ya know?” with that SoCal surfer accent, I don’t think I’m ever going to say that again), but this isn’t true.

I have been confronted with my Parsi dilemma. I’ve felt like I want to be accepted more by these people, and I only can if I wear the correct attire, speak Gujarati, and marry inside the clan. It’s quite analagous to wanting to be accepted by Indians - knowing hindi, living in here, and marrying an Indian.

Just some thoughts to munch on later I guess. I think I just have to make sure that I do things in life for the right reasons - for myself and not for the acceptance of another group.

A poem my sister Rochelle wrote a few weeks ago…

Inner Peace
A Response to Octavio Paz’s “The Other”

Shanti, Shanti
The Truth is: WE ARE ONE.
Connected by space,
Dispersed through time.

Oh distant brother,
One day we shall meet
And vague memories of familial ties
Will coincide with the life not destined for me.
To unite childhood impressions
Perpetually persisting,
Absorbed by loose tea leaves brewed to perfection
Only to quench another rejection.
They built me a dam, and you but a bridge,
Creating a nest for a fertilized creation.

Oh Shanti my friend,
It is through foreign lenses,
That I vicariously experience what should be innate
Patience is a virtue so I sit here and wait…
and wait…
For I was created and shipped to the West
And it’s here I reside: a label consumed on the back of your neck.

Face to face
Dear Shanti, you’ll see
A universal minority
Navigates through this majority.
Striving to be seen as someone other than merely “exotic.”
So squint your eyes f u r t h e r than ever before
And you’ll see that Truth is far greater
Than what lies at the seams.

I know of your ruins,
The tongue of your mother,
The depth of your roots,
The pain of your land.
But until you embody the here and the now,
You continue to view an imaginative me.
And me unto you,
I reciprocate such a decree,
Determined to release some intangible dream,
To belong to a world so different from me.

Shanti, Shanti
The Truth is: WE ARE ONE.
Inventing a space
Waiting for time.

April 18, 2005

“Life’s hard, life’s easy, life’s everything in between, life’s peachy like James and the Giant…”- Aesop Rock

I left Mt Abu on March 9th, arrived in Ahmedabad by evening, and took a rickshaw to the Gandhi Ashram. Noone in India has known about this 75th anniversary of the Dandi march, and as the bus rode & entered Rajisthan from Gujarat… only then did I finally see billboards advertising the event.
In 1930, Gandhi and 78 folks set out from Ahmedabad to Dandi - 241 miles - an act of civil disobedience, to protest the Britishs’ recent monopoly on the production and selling of salt. Salt was basically free prior, so for the government to increase its price by many times with a monopoly was an outrage.
The irony in this 75th anniversary, is that the government in Gujarat is currently seeking to increase the tax on salt.
The purpose of this reenactment is to promote peace, justice, and freedom. Unfortunately, politics decided to become greatly involved in the process. The government of Gujarat is a “dry” (alcohol is illegal) state. It is the only one of twenty-four in India with this policy. But of course, people say that this state is the number one consumer of liquor amongst them all. Hmmmmmm. interesting
Let me break it down: Mad liquor is smuggled here. Since it comes in untaxed, it’s dirt cheap. A beer in Bombay is 60 rupees. In Rajisthan 100. Gujarat 40. Gandhi believed alcohol to be detrimental to the mind, body, and soul, so Gujarat (being Gandhi’s home state)) has had prohibition since Independence. With such a volatile political situation here, due to religious animosity and state sponsored terrrorism over the past few years… it’s no wonder that the politics of prohibition are the center of debate.
This is what Parhad and Uncle Rustom both said:
“Prohibition here is silly. Regardless of Gandhi’s ideology, why should Gujarat be the one state to suffer? People will still get the liquor and the government is the biggest loser because they are not collecting on the taxes. And the patrolling to try and control the illegal smuggling is costing them even more money. ”

So I arrived in Ahmedabad, Gujarat with three big things on my to do list:

1) Go to the Sabarmati Ashram and check in with Tushar Gandhi (Gandhi’s great-grandson who is the honcho) regarding specificities on the march.

2) Meet Uncle Rustom and the Postwalla family for the first time.

3) Meet up with Orsi and Kata (the Hungarian girls I met in Goa) again.

So I went to the Gandhi Asshram and talked with Tushar and some fellow foreign participants before walking out front to meet Uncle Rustom’s son, who was picking me up. Prahad rolled up in his skooter, I hopped on with my bags, and we left for the house. Their household is quite amazing: A truly traditional Parsee home- Self-made entrepreneeurs, prayer twice a day, pictures of Zarathushtra everywhere, typical Parsee food…Parhad (age 28) and his Parsee wife both live in the home with their adorable twin daughters, and Hanooz (age 24), Parhad’s younger brother will marry a Parsee and also live in the home and work in the family bussiness.
After spending 3 nights with the Postwalla family (typical Parsee name because it’ss derived from an ancestor’s profession- Postman. Other Parsee popular Parsee last names are Engineer, Contractor, etc.)
It was excellent meeting family for the first tim and I’m gladd to have established this connection with people my age, my religious background, and in a bustling city like Ahmedabad.
It was also super to meet Orsi and Kata again. During my travels thus far, I have made few meaningful connections. People come and they go. Decent conversations happen with daily interactions. Email addresses are exchanged. And that’s usually that. But the five times we have met, enjoyed each other’s company, and conversated… it’s been tremendous. We talk about our lives thus far, our experiences in India, in Hungary, in the States, our past, and future… and especially what Orsi was mentioning - “Our previous conceptions” - in the short 2 months that we’ve been in India our conceptions and previous perceptions have altered. Our expectations have been exceeded. And the most beautiful thing - The meaning of coming and being in India has changed.

So since I tried to spend as much possible time with Parhad, Hanooz, Uncle Rustum, and Orsi & Kata, I neglected my initial obligations of the Dandi March. I was supposed to report and be at the Ashram on March 10th, until the commencement on the morning of the 12th. Instead, I went on the evening of the 11th to get my identification card and get information on the itinerary for the 12th. I was told to be there at 5 a.m., Sonia Gandhi (India Congress President, no relation to Mahatma) would speak at 6:15, andd we would depart by 7.

I got there at 5… and the security was tight as hell… I got into the entrance, with my ID, but wasn’t allowed up front, because it was already full of participants and press. So I sat in the section behind… with all 3 pieces of my luggage. A medium sized backpack, a duffle bag, and a small little carry sack. The luggage was to be carried by a truck for all the participants, but I had no idea where the truck was or who to ask. So I sat anxiously, waiting. All of a sudden, Sonia Gandhi finished and an old Goan man told me “It’s starting, we must go!” I grabbed all my bags and tried to push my way towards to direction of the exit. Swarms of people were doing the same thing, but the police weren’t allowing a budge…but the participants in the front were all making their way out with ease. I was thinking, “Damnit, they are all leaving and I have no idea where the luggage truck is.”
They finally allowed people through an it was chaotic. The street was blocked off and crowds of children in school uniforms were on each side of the street, chanting “Mantrum!!….Gandhi!!”
Large groups were running to make their way to the front. Their are about 400 registered participants, but thousands of Indians are walking in the commencement… and then coming for the end of it.
So here I am…in my Kurta, sandals, and about 50 kilos of weight on my back….walking amongst the crowd and chatting with another NRI (Non-resident Indians) from Pennsylvania. I can hear people cracking up at me everywhere and some asking me, “What are you doing with all that? Don’t you know that there is a vehicle to carry your stuff? Are you going all the way to Dandi like that?”
Finally after a few miles, the India Youth Congress President found me, “You don’t need to carry all that. Give me your duffle bag.” So he gives me his card, hands the bag to a youth volunteer, and I go to grab my backpack from an old man (now my Kaka (uncle), new best friend, and mentor) who was helping me out.
The first day was intense with cheer, chanting, and thousands of people. Media were everywhere - journalists, local news, and many filming documentaries. People were lined up from Ahmedabad to twenty kilometers south…where we camped the first night. I’ll write about the conversations in the next post.

Started 2/24/05 in Pushker & completed 3/8/05 in Mt. Abu

I’m sitting in a rooftop cafe in Pushker, where Israeli people, cuisine, and trance music captivate the ambiance. Well, ambiance is probably not the right word. This little town of Pushker, with its 15,000 people, 1000 temples, and many tourists (90% of which are Israelis). The stereotype is that the Israelis here are rude and that they are rift builders - They boss waiters around and they don’t want to speak English to Indians and other foreigners. I think that’s all bs and I’m going to try to break through that stereo. I mean the women are far too beautiful to not give it a shot.

This trance is killing my train of thought, but I’ve always thought it to be rude to put headphones on at someone else’s cafe. If I were working and was providing some listening pleasures for my customers, I would see at as a little rude. But I think I’m going to do it anyway. They just turned the volume up three notches as American Analog Set hopes to drown out the awfulness. It’s track two of the album “Promise of Love”. Been diggin’ it.

My stomach is currently in its second round of gymnastics. Or is it swimming. Maybe figure skating. Three flips, a cart wheel, a somersault, and a triple-toe loop in the past two days. The first round came in Karachi and it was parallel to the aftermath of drinking 10 shots of tequila - you might puke some substance out a few times, but after a while its just dry heaving. Sorry, just being honest…

The last ten days I have been on the move with Suresh at my disposal. He is far more than a driver. He is an advisor, a truth giver, and now a friend.

“It’s touristy…”
It’s seems like everywhere you go and whenever talking to travellers and asking their advice on particular areas… many times their reply begins with, “Well, it’s really touristy…”
I admit to falling into this category as well, but I’m working on changing it. I see it as a given to many places but that it shouldn’t take away from its beauty. Rajisthan is a tourist circuit - there are 6 cities that almost everyone goes to - I’ve bumped into a dozen people in more than one city in Rajisthan. The tourism shouldn’t subtract the genuine historical and cultural aesthetics. There’s a reason it’s touristy. People have come to see and experience something that they have heard or read about on multiple occassions.
For me, the tourists are predominantly European - 75% UK, 10% German, 5% Australian, 10% other Western European & Canadian… I’ve met less than 5 Americans in the 6 weeks that I’ve been here. So i don’t mind conversating with all these fellow backpackers and learning more about England, Ireland, Germany, Australia, etc… It’s excellent… And some of them are happy that I break their American stereotype for them.

“I’m Canadian…”
Since anti-American sentiment has blossomed around the world in the last 4+ years, many American travellers say that they are Canadian to avoid any hostility. “It’s more diplomatic,” said a woman from New Mexico. I’ve been amused when people have responded to the overused universal conversation starter with “I’m Canadian.” I give them the eye brow raise and sly grin before telling them I’m from San Francisco and what many American shave been saying when travelling over the past few years. Unfortunately, many have actually been Canadian. I have a few theories as to why so few Americans are to be found here…or is there one simple answer?

Agra & Fatehpur Sikhri - February 18-19
So based on my previous “It’s so touristy” attitude/notion, I had low expectations for the Taj Mahal. I thought I could roll in and out in less than one hour…but no. It took me over 2. I was more than pleasantly surprised, as I slowly paced my way around and inside: Inspecting all the angles and analyzing this masterpiece that took 22 years and 20,000 pairs of hands to build. The entrance fee is 20 rupees (50 cents) for Indians and 750 (15 dollars) for foreigners… I was told that the guards scrutinize everyone so I shouldn’t try to enter as a resident… But since the Taj I have managed to pay Indian prices…much to my delight. When I paid 10 rupees to enter Keoladeo Ghana National Park ( a bird sanctuary) and cruised in on bicycle, just after a guard realized that I was not a national, and I peddled away laughing… Ahhh man, it was classic. I felt like Peter Cellars in the “Return of the Pink Panther,” when he is entering the castle on his bicycle, disguised as a doctor, with a mission to save Professor Fastbender…

It’s interesting to think of what qualities we look for when choosing our friends. I have been thinking about it lately and I asked myself what the single most important entity is in