Thursday, December 19, 2013

Pickled Happy

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"Where is happiness? Maybe it's in the feel of Gillette mach 3 after a recent trauma with disposable razor, maybe it's in witnessing tap water after 3 days of stooping over buckets, maybe it's in mail in the inbox saying "it's fixed", maybe in receiving a rare govt info SMS composed of actual English words, maybe it's in listening to Chris on KBHR, maybe it's in remembering days of shoveling snow from front porch in a far off land..." - Me, 2012.

What does it really take to be happy? Mostly nothing beyond being just human. It's so blatantly simple and boring that we are desperate to manufacture drama. In search of excitement we are, perhaps, less human today than we used to be.

Let's meet Paro. She is Japanese - works at a hospital providing comfort and company to the elderly patients. She does her job well and has been called for duty across continents. Paro holds recognition in the Guinnness Book of World Records for her therapeutic effect on patients. Her secret recipe is in listening, acknowledging and being there. She responds to the patients' grieving, their tiny moments of joy or even an impromptu gesture of affection, and yet she doesn't say much. But she doesn't look away - not out through the window or down at an animated screen or away at a passing stranger - only taking in the waves of humanity through wide caring eyes.

Paro looks a lot like a cuddly pillow and mimics the anatomy of a baby seal. She is a robot - a complex device of sophisticated sensors and artificial intelligence. Paro was created to sprinkle vinegar and brine over human uniqueness that are today failing the test of time. Science and technology is attempting to preserve the core human values while we ourselves fade in compassion, care and our ability to pursue the ultimate happiness in finding true human bonding.


[Photo credit: nytimes.com. More on Paro: http://www.parorobots.com/]

Saturday, October 16, 2010

If dreams are killed, we will help you rebuild

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On “electrified” days I normally drag myself happily to the coffee maker first thing at the start of the day. Then I carry the neatly folded fresh newspaper (the classic version, I don’t own any of the iThings) lying nearby up to my laptop and eventually start a grim inspection of the headlines. I am always looking for something there and when I wake up (not “get up” – it usually takes me about 2 hours to travel from “get up” to “wake up”) to a functional state of mind, everyday I remind myself that the news are not for me and I should only skim through the ads.

I am somehow under the impression that the purpose for a nation to have newspapers in circulation is to disseminate information to citizens – information about things that have impact on their lifestyle and needs. On that note, let me quote all the headlines on today’s(Oct 16 2010) Daily Star front page: “A Death Trap over Turag”, “Khaleda’s House: SC bar for out-of-court settlement”, “Food security faces stiff challenge”, “4 workers killed in wall collapse”, “Bureaucracy never let local bodies rise / Local govt system in disarray”, “6 firearms seized in Rangamati”, “Sirajgonj: 2 killed as train hits microbus”, “Train stopped by ‘pulling chain’”. That was all the progressive news (that perhaps explain the rising numbers of positive thinkers these days?). Interestingly, there’s one pictorial ad too: “Earthquake? If dreams are killed, we will help you rebuild. – Green Delta Insurance Company Ltd.”. This one unfortunately is not the type I plan to skim through; they are generally more positive and talk about things I don’t know yet.

It appears as though the tables have turned. The general public have decided to make the newspaper a platform to disseminate important information to the government so that they can fix up their “to-do” list. “Something bad happened and government not taking appropriate measures? Sure, put it up on the dailies to squeeze their ***s”. But do so in a comforting motion to suggest no direct assault.

So I say not for me and flip on to colorful pictures that tell no story. Like a few smiling people in a grandly decorated room with masts and flags and victorian sofa – caption says it’s a good meeting, I assume the yielding decision and policy outcome is a prolific national secret. Still flipping on to Bollywood weddings, incomprehensible creative endeavors, delicate financial gist protected within bold sports events… so on and so forth with occasional interesting ads and tempting sale offers.

During my flipping spree I missed the “Today’s Event” listing on Oct 11 which mentioned concert and airing of film “Muktir Gaan” at the Public Library Auditorium. Or maybe I didn’t miss it and just flipped through it as it doesn’t sound interesting enough for a trekking adventure from Gulshan to Shahbag at 5-ish on a workday. Non-newspaper sources later gave me the full news – it was a charity program organized for ailing Bipul Bhattachaya –a singer from the actual Muktir Gaan campaigns during ‘71 (came on Oct 13 news). It featured talks by artists and participants from the times and presented a history through Tareque & Catherine Masud’s “Muktir Gaan” based on real 1971 footages taken by U.S. filmmaker Lear Levin. Audience turn up was disappointingly low at the event. Later that night I had the opportunity to speak with Mr. Tareque Masud on phone (through a friend – I don’t know him personally). I blatantly accused him for not advertising the event properly. He blatantly accused me of not following the news properly. So we decided on a ceasefire. He also went on to regret not placing an ad (which was actually suggested by his cook) on the Zee channels where apparently most of his target audience live and breathe.

Our national media heavily inclines to demand attention from the high chairs. In a more intelligent world Noam Chompsky alleges modern media to assume a role for manufacturing public consent. Somewhere in the middle lost is one important purpose: delivering useful information and administrative decisions effecting public lifestyle.

Saturday, September 11, 2010

63

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White man came across the sea
He brought us pain and misery
He killed our tribes, he killed our creed
He took our game for his own need
- (from) Iron Maiden "Run to the Hills"
It’s hard to imagine that 63 years have gone by. Many a times we reminisce a now lost culture we practiced even 20 years back and yet residues from ancient traditions we freed our nation from somehow are left behind as permanent stains.

For about 300 years I hear it used to be a culture of masters and slaves. There used to be white “sahib”s and there used to be brown servants. The servants allegedly endured much injustice and ill treatment – they were made to think they have no possession and live under the favor of their sahibs. “Bakshish” was deviced as a way for the sahibs to buy loyalty and the servants happily lined up for it from time to time with an anticipatory salaam.

It’s been 63 years since we freed this land of the British colony. Still on this day masters and slaves roam about largely amongst us.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

World Economy for Dummies?

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Ah ha! So it's the Arab royals who invest their money in a NY bank who lends it to the rich weapons industry who manufacture and profit by selling their products to country A so that it can go to war with country B and the weapons manufacturer can invest their profit in World Bank so that the World Bank can lend it to country B to recuperate and recover their economy through industrialization at the cost of hefty loans - which - minus some is paid as profit to the weapons industry who minus some pays profit to the NY bank who pays back minus some as interest to the Arab royal who sees it as a good return of investment and puts in more money in the NY bank.

But it ain't cool to be from country B despite having a rich ally like the Arab royals, eh?

Wednesday, February 10, 2010

iMan, Organic Hard Disk and Paper Chase

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...we came in?

The modern man – like you and me – would hardly ever think of communicating using the Egyptian hieroglyphics with each other. It is a thing of the past and we’ve moved forward with great inventions of the writing system forming words from alphabets and sentences with words and so on. We’ve evolved; hieroglyphs can now rest back at the museum. Perhaps one day, as many would agree, the newspaper will find its home next to the obsolete Egyptian writing system when we gradually mature into the eGeneration powered by our iGadgets.

Friday, September 11, 2009

I Own

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I want the plant in my balcony to have pink leaves. No matter what I try, they always come out green. I've tried telling it several times to grow pink leaves; I've torn off all the green ones, sprayed the plant with potassium solution, cut off sunlight for weeks as punishment and even sat by it for days while it churns out a new leaf. It does. Green.

Silly plant! Why wouldn't it give me pink leaves? I own the damn plant!

I don't let go. The plant is mine. I want pink leaves, and I wouldn't have it any other way. Give me pink leaves. NOW!