CURIOUS CATS

So who let the cat out? The kid who just can't stop asking "Why" till you want to hit him on the head; the pesky neighbour who wants to know who enters your house, why, what your family quirks are; the cousin who empties your wardrobe to check whether you have anything hidden there that'll give her enough fodder for gossip...?

Whatever it is, the curiosity machine certainly sems to be whirring. I can almost feel multicoloured bulbs light up in the brains of those who've just chanced upon juicy bits of information. Their eyes do light up, at least!

Here's where it comes from: There's something called the reticular arousal system in the brain, which has to do the most with alertness or intensity of attention (and thus curiosity). It is a column of nerve cells extending through the lower brain.

And hey, a little bit of the curious stuff can be good for you too. Researcher Dr Sonia Cavigelli's found, in her study of 80 female rats from birth to death, that the curious ones survived breast and pituitary tumors and lived, on an average, 25 percent longer than the cautious ones.
http://www.scienceagogo.com/news/20050209000020data_trunc_sys.shtml
Curiosity has been identified as a trait that predicts adjustment and success. It's also a "reproductive trait", one that is looked for in a mate. A positive relationship between curiosity and creativity has also been found (Vidler, 1977).
A study by psychologists at the University at Buffalo says the degree to which people are curious influences their personal growth opportunities and the level of intimacy that develops when they meet someone new -- the first study to examine how curiosity affects the genesis of intimacy.
http://www.acsu.buffalo.edu/~kashdan
Curiosity has also been identified as a major motivation for great accomplishments. http://www.csun.edu/~vcpsy00h/students/curious.htm

There's also the opposite effect, of course. One that extends beyond just obnoxious intrusive behaviour. Studies have shown that curiosity is a primary motive for dangerous activities and drug use.
There's an awesome link on the subject, for those who're -- well, curious:
http://www.educationoasis.com/resources/Articles/fosteringcuriosity.html

WE RESPECT OUR ELDERS. or do we?

I don't know what great Indian culture we love to flaunt. Read with horror in The Hindustan Times on Thursday, how a 75-year-old paralytic lady was thrown -- by her daughter and grandchildren -- into a garbage bin in Tamil Nadu. Follows another story about this guy who left his mother to die in a car in Navi Mumbai.

Are these guys human beings or what? Throwing senior citizens out into the street or into an old-age home, or even tossing them from home to home isn't uncommon; but throwing someone into a garbage bin, for Chrissake? How dehumanising can it get? And do it to a grandmother? The most adorable, cuddlesome and compassionate of all living creatures?

US V/S THEM

After years of trying to figure out Indian curiosity -- where relatives/co-passengers scan you from top to bottom, ask questions beginning with the innocuous, "Where are you getting off" to the more cutting, "Are you divorced? Why don't you have kids?", I'm beginning to wonder if it's an attempt to include you in a wider community -- no offence meant at all.

Even if this argument appears a little stretched -- I'm sure curiosity has its uses, apart from just forming a connection -- there must be something more to the Indian method of communication than meets the eye. It's true that we're not very "friendly" when it comes to greeting/smiling at people we meet on the street, but I've seen perfect strangers bond on trains, share food and part with heavy hearts, like they've known each other for a lifetime. In the course of a routine conversation, we often go into intimate details of families, contacts and so on, taking in every detail of the person we're talking to -- facial expressions, dialogue, props and all.

US researchers have studied communication patterns among the Americans and Asians for long, and point to this "individualistic" versus "inclusive" method of communication between the cultures. The methods may be different when it comes to us Indians, but the attempt, I think, is primarily to put "you" before "I".

Here's a sampling of the research:
A study by University of Michigan researchers led by Hannah-Faye Chua and Richard Nisbett (2005) found that when shown a photograph, North American students of European background paid more attention to the object in the foreground of a scene, while students from China spent more time studying the background and taking in the whole scene.
The July issue of Psychological Science carries the results of a study that suggests "rugged American individualism could hinder their ability to understand other peoples' point of view." In contrast, the Chinese are more skilled at understanding other people's perspectives, perhaps because they live in a more "collectivist" society.
LiveScience quotes study co-author and cognitive psychologist Boaz Keysar of the University of Chicago as saying, "This cultural difference affects the way we communicate. That strong, egocentric communication of Westerners was nonexistent when we looked at Chinese. The Chinese were very much able to put themselves in the shoes of another when they were communicating."
Psychologists at Hokkaido University in Japan have found that the Japanese gaze at the shape of a person's eyes, while Americans focus on the mouth. When people from the two cultures interact, these crisscrossed sightlines can even lead to miscommunication!

WHAT IS BEAUTY?

"It's a beauty", my dad would exclaim, when he'd see a flick of the wrist and a shot that went across the boundary. That was about the time I was studying the Harappa and Mohenjo Daro civilisations in school, and 'beauty' would conjure up images of the caption below a picture of a young girl's statue discovered among the Indus Valley ruins.

An age of difference here, but the connection's not as tenuous as it appears. Essentially, beauty is what hits the eye -- or the other senses -- and gets lodged in our sub-conscious over time, through repitition.
All our overtly expressed notions of beauty relate to concepts of immediate recall: nature, women, music and so on... It's primal, if it relates to the senses, and quite possible that images and concepts of beauty are stored in our collective unconscious as a human race.

A study recently released in the journal Psychological Science showed that what we think is attractive or beautiful is whatever requires the least amount of effort.
A lot like watching television: A soporific for the mind. There's an entire generation out there that's picking up its concept of beauty (read attractiveness) from Paris Hilton and Victoria Spice. Imagine that.

It's no surprise, then, that advertising relies heavily on these very concepts of 'beauty' to peddle products -- from two-wheelers to cosmetics to even homes. A favourite hunting ground for feminists. Naomi Wolf argues, in her 1991 best-seller, The Beauty Myth, that the old myth that women were fulfilled as housewives and mothers was gradually replaced by advertisers with what she calls "the beauty myth." To be accepted in the world of the liberated and independent “new woman,” she says, one has to meet rigid standards of slimness, beauty and fashion.
Interesting, how she puts it: "How to make sure that busy, stimulated working women would keep consuming at the levels they had done when they had all day to do so and little else of interest to occupy them? A new ideology was necessary that would compel the same insecure consumerism; that ideology must be, unlike that of the Feminine Mystique (Betty Friedan's “feminine mystique” -- advertisers consciously manipulate their portrayals of women to ensure they serve as good consumers), a briefcase-sized neurosis that the working woman could take with her to the office..."

Feminine mystique or not, feminist movement or not, one thing's for sure: In an increasingly consumerist, appearance-obsessed world such as the one we live in, we constantly get "constructed", interpreted images of skin-deep beauty. Maya, perhaps? A grand illusion? In all this clutter, you wonder: What IS true beauty?
And what kind of beauty gives you happiness?

'Beauty is truth, truth beauty — that is all ye know on earth, and all ye need to know,' said John Keats. My criteria come pretty close: Compassion, above all. An all-encompassing love, irrespective of prejudices. Plus honesty, confidence (a certain self-assuredness), and tonnes of creative energy.

GLOWING IN THE DARK

Graveyard shift ain't never dead. We got to work when people go to bed.
We got a tremendous work overload. The boss don't care about the dress code.
So if your hair's messed up, come on in. Nobody don't care 3 o'clock in the morning.
I'm fantasizin' about a six four, broke as hell moppin' the floor.
Graveyard Shift by AFROMAN

Okay, okay, I don't really do the graveyard shift, in the strictest sense of the term. But I'm half-way into the grave all the same... With my odd hours of sleeping, I have eyes that look like a racoon's. My back hurts like hell, blinking at a computer screen all evening (and the early part of the night). Acid's burnt its way through my stomach lining, by now, I'm sure... Par for the course for us "swing shifters" -- people worse off than I am, I'm sure, who work in hospitals or the armed forces.

Researchers say the graveyard shift causes ischaemic heart disease, cluster headaches, disturbs circadian sleep rhythms, and leads to poor mental health. All of which is no doubt exacerbated by lousy dietary habits like munching on fried snacks and guzzling cup after cup of overboiled tea through the shift.

The upshot? Power, perhaps? Creativity? The sense of doing something different? Contributing to the world around us? And of course, not having to travel during peak hours! Well, who in this world DOES work 9 to 5 all the time? There are also those who work better at night -- students, for instance, who can only absorb complex theorems at night, when all's quiet.

Besides, someone has to be the vigilant, street-smart dog. Criminal to let breaking news slip past the precious forty winks.

CHALTA HAI, YAAR

A relative told me, when I shifted to my new home, "You'll find one new thing falling apart each day." That wasn't very encouraging, as far as welcome lines go, but it couldn't be further from the truth.

Keeping my home dust-and-cobweb-proof is one thing, as I was soon to discover, but insulating it from shoddy, unprofessional work by builders/contractors/electricians, sundry others from whom I'd bought appliances, insensitive neighbours who chucked things out of their homes, quite another. From then on, till date, I am victim to a syndrome psychologists haven't yet discovered: Household Stress. And worse, here's something mum never told me, or perhaps Harvard would never think of teaching you: Your first lesson in ruthless street savvy begins at home.

Mine begins at my doorstep. The high-tech door lock I bought barely a year ago from a reputed consumer durables firm, is faulty. I have to struggle for a good five minutes with my key before I enter.

From here on, allow me to take you through a guided tour of disaster zone. Walk into my house, and find the walls wet with seepage from shoddy waterproofing in the building. Worse still, wade through ankle-deep water on a particularly bad day. No fault of mine, of course. It's just that every time someone's appointed to do the building waterproofing and repair, there are people who'll find fault with the process, and that's pretty much end of story.

So what does this land animal who doesn't find a flooded drawing room her idea of a weekend by the poolside, do? Pick up phone to call the guys responsible for this, of course. Not so fast, dearie, the damn phone's dead. Call them from your cellphone. Guy who's probably been warming that seat for God-knows-how-long in this cushy government job he knows will never be taken away from him asks you your number. Hangs up. It's that simple.

Walk into my kitchen. Try fixing myself a smoothie. Plug the food processor into the socket, and draw a blank. Call the guys. Ask them to come Monday morning, and they land up next Saturday afternoon. Act like they're doing you a grand favour.

Try playing my satellite radio for some peace. I've renewed my subscription a week before it's due to expire, but the darned thing won't work for reasons best known to them. I don't even bother calling.

Try switching on my computer. Recoil after I get this nerve-splitting electric shock. Sure-fire cure for the insanity all this has left me with, I guess. Run out, call the electrician. The guy says there's no earthing, and the wires fixed by the builder are of poor quality. Proceeds to correct the flaw, but the darned comp still gives you the rude jerks.

Try taking a shower, just to cool off. The geyser blows a fuse. Hey, at least you're not alone. Call the electrician back, and he gives you the same old spiel.

Look out the window. Find the place littered with bits of paper, deep red paan stains and packets of that great bane of modern civilisation -- gutkha. Ever tried living in a zoo, where the keeper's lost and the shit hits the fan? Welcome to my home.

Moral of the story: Don't ever try getting your house fixed in this wonderful country where consumer is truly king. Or at least, thinks he is. Hello, aren't they all talking about the great Indian middle-class that everyone in the world worth his bottomline is chasing? Anyone heard of courtesy, professionalism, ethics, follow-up service that go with courting business? Sab chalta hai, boss. We're Indians, and we live with half-baked jobs, half-truths, and general half-heartedness. Discipline, professionalism and courtesy are alien to this great civilisation.

If you thought you could get your way by being this polite, well-brought-up "convent educated" girl who never so much as swore or cussed, you've got many nasty surprises coming your way. Grow up, or be left plodding for answers in ankle-deep water and muck from someone else's backyard.

FLOWER SELLERS

It's a lazy Sunday afternoon on a VT local. Business isn't exactly booming, but there's plenty of room for fun 'n' games.

MY MONSOON WISHLIST

Must-Haves:
1. Slush-cum-garbage protection attachment on shoes
2. My very own winged chariot from which I can look down with glee at traffic queues
3. The weather bureau turned into a museum, and bird calls used for predictions
4. REAL traffic cops out on streets, not everyone and his uncle pretending to be one
5. Cardamom tea stalls every 50 metres
6. A changing room at Marine Drive for those who love the rain washing over...
7. Telepathic communicator to beat clogged networks
8. Waterproof dryer for rain-soaked clothes
9. Aerial filter that cleans up rainwater for those who love to drink straight from the clouds
10. Leather that repels fungus


And some things I NEVER want changed:
1. Kids looking thoroughly bewildered in their oversized raincoats
2. Guys out on the streets, floating and frolicking with tyres, hanging on to the back of buses and trucks... Having a ball when it rains, what else
3. Chivalrous men reaching out to women on flooded tracks and carrying them to safety
4. People struggling with upturned umbrellas
5. The fashion statements: Girls in colourful salwar-kameezes and jeans rolled up to their knees, hair dripping wet...
6. Steaming corn-on-cobs
7. The mist over the few remaining hills
8. Puppies shaking off the water from their bodies
9. The smell of raw earth, the song of the rain and the ultimate rain dance
10. Marine Drive

IT POURS WHEN...

Okay, it's pouring like crazy in Mumbai. Trains have stopped, there's knee-deep water everywhere. But that's not news any more.

Feels like I'm walking through rush hour at Churchgate station: It's horribly suffocating; the lady next to me gives me a jerk here, a nudge there, even flattens my toes under her stilettos, but I'll give her the look and run on. It's that mechanical.

Extremes of weather? When has that ever been more than a nuisance? Endless digging that leaves huge craters on streets, a municipality that raises the middle finger in your face and keeps passing the buck as monsoon after monsoon wreaks havoc? Oh shut up.

You're sounding like my bai -- every year, she has a story to tell. This time, she told me how her neighbour didn't let her kids get off the cot in their little hut, with a mini-flood in there. Or how all their food got spoilt, and they couldn't afford to restock. I didn't so much as flinch. Soggy, soppy stuff.

By the way, we now have a name for all this: 26/7. A lousy memory. It just flashes past, like the lady who works at the sales tax office in Churchgate.

USUAL SUSPECTS

Chanced upon a PTI story today that says Lalu Yadav's
b-i-l "demanded" a first class coach on the Rajdhani saying he "was the Parliament". You read that right. Only in Bihar. Who's to stop our slimy politicians? And in this case, their genes are crook-configured too...
Enjoy:

Patna, Jul 1 (PTI)
Railway Minister Lalu Prasad's high-profile brother-in-law and RJD MP Subhash Yadav, who was in the news for "ordering" authorities to stop a train at the platform of his choice, allegedly demanded a berth for himself and his aides in the AC first class coach of the Rajdhani Express.
"I am the Parliament.. I am the Parliament," Yadav shouted at the top of his voice and ordered making arrangement for a berth for him in AC first class coach of the Patna-New Delhi Rajdhani Express instead of in the AC second class, in which he was booked, last night.
Yadav claimed to have applied for reservation in the AC first class coach and occupied a seat in the AC first class compartment against the alloted berth, eyewitnesses said.
The train was delayed by nearly 20 minutes, triggering protests from other passengers.
Yadav was recently in the news for allegedly ordering the Patna junction station authorities to stop Rajdhani Express on platform number one for his comfort instead of on the assigned platform number four. The officials at Patna junction, including the station manager and deputy general manager (commercial), however, remained tight lipped over the episode but confirmed that the train left the station 20 minutes behind schedule....
Prasad's father-in-law was recently fined for travelling in AC first class coach in Samapark Kranti Express from Hajipur to Gopalganj without a valid ticket.