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February, 2007 @newagebd.com Main Page « Front Page « Metro « Business « International « Sports « National « Editorial « Op-Ed « Home « Timeout « Letters «

LOVER OF LEAVING Three Dawns Rising Gypsy Meye The Belgian Waffle at the Burning Man festival Is there any way I could possibly describe Burning Man with honour? Especially when anyone who knows me just *knew* I would like it, whether they’d been or not. I mean,    how could I possibly resist such a gorgeous meld of beauty, technology, mechanics, architecture, art, music, space, intoxication, light, generosity, environmentalism, community, simplicity of life, and of course, dancing? So, I knew I’d probably dig my three days in the desert, but I didn’t realise how much of an impact it would have on me - one of the most stupendous, transforming experiences of my life.    And I’ll tell you this too - a friend who drove with me to Black Rock City in our white cargo van, came a cynic and left a convert. I remember as we drove past the cryptic poetic signs into the playa, he and I were still arguing about how commerce (or in this case, the absence of it) affects the creation and appreciation of art. Well, now, we’re on the same page. At least about Burning Man.    It took the two of us roughly $1500, a week of planning, two days of shopping for food, water, and costumes, loads of advice and goodies from veteran Burners, eight hours to drive there, 15 hours to get back - all so that we would not only survive the Nevada desert, but enjoy it too.    I think the scale of the celebration affected me most. The playa is miles and miles across, and so you need (lit up) bikes to properly navigate, or your best walking shoes.    Every night, I’d stop, in mid wonder, dust storms whirling, mountains looming, Ansell Adams sky above, fake fur coat wrapped around my tingling body, my brain on fire, and there’d be the after-images of each vision-melting art-car burned into my mind, and the echoes of variously compelling music doppelganging in the wind, and I’d think, there is nothing quite so grand as this moment.    People spend all year crafting their convoluted and crazy camp themes, and then come to the desert to setup, see, and share. In the space of one week, a city of 40,000 people appears, communes, and then disappears. It’s not for everyone, to be sure, but if you’re interested in art, and can deal with a little (ok, a lot) of dust, you should go. And reserve your van now.    One of my favourite installations was the jaw dropping Belgian Waffle: a $1 million, 45-team-members-strong, 3-weeks-long-in-the-building, massively intricate wooden structure that lit up all alien green at night, and which was burned to the ground.    Another gorgeous piece was the giant daisy flower that telescoped several stories over our heads, glowing and pulsing in every shade of the spectrum. At some point, I saw my daisy in the distance, and I left the disorienting DISORIENT dance party and started running to get a closer look, and realised that I was only one of scores of dancers, also running, from all directions, towards the flower, as though we had finally found our god. The one that makes us kneel to beauty.    I have to stop, because what I’ve said, or even photographed, doesn’t come close to the experience of it. But one last thing - the night the ‘Man’ burned was the most spectacular night of all, something out of another world, a lunatic carnival, drums and dancers, fire and light, a dawn of a doom of a dream. Everything roaring, roaring, roaring. I hear you, Misters cummings and Bukowski. SOMEWHERE IN ENGLAND Why is the US like death? Richard J Murphy Oz wore his best turban for the visa interview Because the getting there is hard and painful, but once you’re there it’s just wonderful. Peaceful, calm….if that’s what you want.    I was, as I am often, in the line at an American passport control, waiting to be admitted to the land of the free. The place is not for the faint hearted. Warning signs abound, people aren’t smiling, and as everywhere, persons with relatively unimpressive intellectual qualities are made to feel important because of the power they wield over many innocent people, and of course because they have a uniform, so of course they shout; ‘please’ and ‘thank you’ are not heard. One has a feeling of being suspected, of being made to feel inferior. It’s not nice.    Don’t get me wrong; as readers have commented angrily at my views, I’m an Americanophile. Misguided and ill-led as they are, they’re probably the only hope for the continuation of western democratic principles and freedom. But do they have to be completely gauche?    Anyway, there I was, next in line behind a charming gentleman wearing a long white robe and sandals. He was bearded, as is the custom for these gentlemen.    Maybe you don’t know, but one has to complete a green document for admission to the United States, and it’s a clue to how they think over there. It’s not bad, it’s just somewhat silly. The gentlemen looked at the form, smiled, he had a charming smile, and left it blank. Upon the person in front of him being admitted, he stepped forward to the immigration officer.    ‘Good Morning, I hope you are well,’ my acquaintance said to the immigration officer, ‘here is my passport, may I have a visa please? My name is Osama, but my friends; and if you wish you can be one, call me Oz. How do you do? I’m pleased to meet you!’    The officer looked up, aghast. ‘Hey bub, mah name happens to be Rudi Schitzburger, an’ mah frinds call me Rude, but hey, that don’t matter to you, you ain’t my friend, yore just a faarriner and a’hm here to make you suffer an’ feel bad. Gottit?’    Oz smiled, ‘oh yes, and you’re succeeding admirably old chap, sorry, sir. But could you help me complete this form, I find it confusing. I’m just a simple foreigner, as you might say.’    Rude obviously felt on top of the game, he smiled and took the Green Form, ‘now we know where we stand, ah’m happy to oblige. Now lookee here, Oz you didn’t even put your name in. Oh Jeez, this is gonna be slow. Gimme yore name, Oz.’    ‘bin Laden, Osama bin Laden at your service, sir Rude.’    ‘Bin where? Where’s Lading? Oh ah see, thass yore name. A faarrin name. Ok, ah’ll write that in.’ Rude completed filling Oz’s name and birth date etc.,    ‘Now there’re a few questions we have to answer, Oz, an’ ah guess ah’ll have to anser ‘em fer ya, ‘cos you’re just a simple fourriner. First, Mister Bun, you got any disease, you crazy or you got any deformities, like long toenails or summat? You a junkie?’    Oz smiled, ‘No, my good fellow, can I have a visa now, please?’    ‘Naat yet, Bung, next question; is you is or is you ain’t doin’ bad stuff with drugs? Or is you selling ‘em or is you immoral in some other way? You a Pinko?’    Oz chuckled, ‘well, I do have to earn a living, you know, but I don’t actually do anything myself, my friends in Afghanistan do all the work. I just get the cheques, and no, I’m not a communist.’    ‘Ok, thass a ‘No’. Now, have you ever been a spy, you ever done sabotage, like kicking the neighbour’s car or sumthin’? You better tell me, Ozbing, thass real nasty, kickin’ a car. Did you Oz, did ya?’    ‘I assure you, King Rude, kicking cars is something in which I really don’t indulge. As for the espionage, I pay others to do that. I’m here to meet them, as a matter of fact.’    ‘So far so good, Bungling, just a couple more questions, an’ here’s the first. You lookin’ to work in these here Yoonited States, you ever been deported, or did you ever try to get a visa by cheatin’?’    ‘Oh, Excellency Rude, How could you think such a thing? I’ve never done anything as vulgar as work in my whole life. You shock me! And if I had a false visa, why would I be here? You hurt me, King Rude!’    ‘Ok, ok, hey, I gotta job to do, don’t forget you’re a fourriner. Now, answer me truthfully, did you ever kidnap a child from a US citizen?’    ‘Well, I do believe in indoctrinating, sorry, educating, children as soon as possible, and we do have a youth wing in my organisation, but we have plenty of recruits, so up to now that hasn’t been necessary.’    Rude was getting tired, it was all the thinking and writing, ‘man, why don’t you just say ‘yes’ or ‘no’, it’s getting close to quitting time for me. I don’t wanna go home to Missus Schitzburger tired, we gotta lotta TV to watch tonight. Mah wife don’t like to be kept waiting.’    ‘So sorry sir, it’s just that I’m overawed by standing in front of you. I lose my confidence. Why don’t you treat your wife as you’re treating me, with disdain and contempt?’    ‘Yeah, well I can understand yore admiration for me, I guess Ah am kinda impressive to you, ‘cos yore only a faarriner, but she don’t see it that way. We got sumpthin’ called equality fer wimmin here.’    Oz smiled, ‘yes, I’ve heard about that. It’s an interesting concept, I don’t think it’ll catch on however, I’d find it a trifle inconvenient. May I have a visa now?’    “Oh man, get off mah back, we ain’t got far to go now, then I’ll decide if you get a visa or not. Next question, did you apply fur a visa to these here Yoonited States before, an’ was it refused, or did you have a visa cancelled?’    ‘This is my first time in your wonderful country, your worshipfulness, I’ve never applied for a visa before.’    ‘You ain’t in this wunnerful country yet, Oswald. Last question, ‘Was you ever prosecuted, an’ did you ever get imoonity from prosecution?’    Oz pursed his lips, ‘You might say there are people looking for me, Oh Glorious Rude, but there has been no formal indictment, just a lot of unpleasant comments. It’s quite upsetting really.’    “Look Bing, that ain’t mah problem. Just say no, ok? Now whatchya gonna be doin’ in this wunnerful country? You gonna be workin’, you takin’ a vacation, seein’ frinds, if you got any? What Bling? Then ah kin decide if yoos ok to enter.’    ‘Well Great and Wise Rudeness, I have a number of meetings with ah…acquaintances, and I have to hold a few planning and strategy sessions with colleagues. Then I thought I might take a brief trip looking at your wonderful buildings. I’m in the demolition trade, you know, and there might be a few business opportunities for the future. By the way, thank you for being so graciously patient with me. After all I’m just an ignorant foreigner; you didn’t have to help me at all.’    “Hey, now you talkin’ sense, Bladen, just you remember all I said, an’ have a wunnerful time here, ok? An’ don’t thank me for bein’ good to ya, our boss Condiscenda Splice said we gotta be, it ain’t ‘cos we like ya. Here’s your visa.’ And Oz was in. HELL HATH NO FURY I do? Mashida R Haider Britney proved that you can reverse bad choices

I was reading this book called Chasing the good life: on being single (available at Etcetera. My friend, their PR manager, would be very upset if I didn’t write that). I was reading it at the dentist’s waiting room, furtively hiding the title until I realised that I too have become part of the mindset which suggests being married and procreating is a woman’s only goal in life, and single people are bad, mad, or crazy. So I raised the book higher, and flaunted the title, felt the scathing looks of the two scowlers in the room (poor people, I am vilifying them. Anybody with tooth troubles has a right to scowl), and proceeded to read this compilation of hilarious essays written by single Indian authors.
   From my emotionally cushioned, happily married status, I am in no position to judge, and my first disclaimer is that I am not judging, but merely, shall we say, discussing the finer points of difference between being a twosome and a onesome. Hitting our mid-twenties, the past two years has been all about attending a flurry of weddings, adjusting to our new lives, having a baby or two (they are adorable, and they aren’t mine, which makes them doubly adorable). And while we, the ‘marrieds’ have compared notes, there has been a flurry among the singles to get married. Or rather, their parents have been coming down on them hard to get married.
   The list of demands that parents prepare for prospective brides and grooms are endless, though. The prospective bride/groom has to be tall (believe you me, this is the first criteria) thin, educated, qualified, must hold a responsible job, have a lot of money, and have family that is known from six generations ago to see if the ancestors were from Arakan. A friend’s mother keeps on talking about this dream boy, has rejected twenty five proposals, is still unhappy, and before they know it my friend will hit her thirties and then, wham, she’ll be out of the marriage market because ‘it was all her fault anyway.’ And all because her mother wanted a movie star.
   I was at a wedding a few days ago where a boy was asking a girl to hook him up with someone and the girl was saying she would hook him up if he hooked her up with someone. I wanted to turn around and say, ‘Why don’t you two hook up?’ But, of course, I didn’t, I just sat there and twiddled my thumbs and fake-smiled. Increasingly, my friends are wanting to settle down, live the ‘adult’ life. But traditions are changing, ambitions are changing, wants are changing, so that that exceptional partner is hard to find, to say the least. Obviously, I understand the need, because if you do have the right partner, marriage is nothing short of bliss, and it’s like one big slumber party with your best friend.
   But this whole looking for someone just to marry for the heck of what society will say is something I find ridiculously silly. Because when the marriage doesn’t work out, and you get divorced because your husband is a wife beater, or your wife fancies someone else, or one of you is gay (there, I said it, now everyone can gasp and clutch their throats and say I am a ‘fast gurrl’), or you are simply incompatible, this same ‘society’ will come and be condescending about the way the rate of divorce is rising ‘in our society’. It’s good that the rates are increasing. That’s because the choice now exists: which is a good thing isn’t it? We have a choice to walk away from something that is soul-numbing, something that will makes us so warped that we’ll mess up our children in the process, and then blame them for our unhappinesses. Instead you can just stay single until you find the right person, or build a life of your own and let others be. And I know a lot of people who’ll now click their tongues and say, ‘This girl is too modern.’ I am modern, and I was taught to be this way, so click away.
   There is something to be said to have your own breathing space, your individuality, and following your dreams. And a good partner can let you have all three. But it’s also alright, in this day and age, to be single. Khushwant Singh, in his essay on being single writes that ‘right at the top of my list of the joys of living alone is the freedom to fart without being embarrassed. This is especially so in bed, first thing in the morning. Letting out a large fart not only reduces tension and relaxes you, it reassures you that all is well with your digestive system.’ So farts, or partners? You can have both. Or not.