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An archive of the blog posts at indiainlondon.com which is no longer maintained. We hope you enjoy delving back into some of our past musings and thoughts.

Saturday, 29 December 2012

Victim of 'gang-rape' dies in Singapore hospital

Delhi rape 2Very, very sad to hear of the death of the 23 year old student, ‘Nirbaya’ (not her real name) of her injuries from the ‘gang-rape’ she suffered in Delhi. She died yesterday in a hospital in Singapore after having had several operations to remove parts of her injured intestines, having been transferred there from a hospital in Delhi (the treatment having been paid for by the Indian government).

The only consolation in this case is that it has brought many people out onto the streets – both men and women – in protest over the initial seeming indifference of the ruling elite and the failure of Indian society to protect women. I hope that the family of Nirbaya will take some comfort that so many in India and all over the world are outraged at such brutality.

To me, the term ‘gang-rape’ does not adequately describe what the 23 year old student went through. Perhaps ‘torture’ is closer. They beat both her and the man she was with with an iron bar, seemingly tortured her with it as well as raping her before throwing them both off the bus when they were unconscious. This is such a level of brutality that makes you wonder where it comes from. Apparently the men originally abused her because she was out at night with a man who wasn’t her husband.

The Telegraph reports that there have been more than 600 reported rape cases in Delhi so far this year. But campaigners believe this represents only 1 in 50 rapes – the rest going unreported as women are afraid of the police, and for being blamed themselves for the attack.

Victim-blaming in rape cases is not new – both in Delhi and around the world. Despite all the campaigning and publicity in the last 30-40 years, this attitude is still entrenched in Western society. In 2005, an ICM commissioned poll by Amnesty found that over 1/3 of the British public surveyed thought that women were sometimes wholly or partly to blame if they were raped, for example by drinking, flirting or dressing outrageously.

More recently, at Caernarfon Crown Court earlier this month, a 49-year-old man was convicted of raping a teenage girl. Jailing the rapist, the judge told him: “She let herself down badly. She consumed far too much alcohol and took drugs, but she also had the misfortune of meeting you”. (Would this same judge blame victims of burglary for owning too many possessions? Of course not).

Again, earlier on this year, during the campaign for the US Presidential election, Todd Akin tried to make a distinction between a ‘legitimate’ rape and, presumably a ‘non-legitimate’ rape, the distinction being that women did not get pregnant from ‘legitimate’ rapes as the body somehow ‘shut down’. Or the Californian judge who claimed that rapes were only ‘technical’ unless the rape victim showed evidence of physical damage.

We cannot be complacent with such attitudes still around in the West, despite some progress made (such as rape within marriage being recognized as a criminal act in the UK in 1991).

In India, as both myself and Susen have argued previously, there are at least 2 Indias. There is the modern, progressive India with its highly educated urban elite, which is existing side-by-side with the India of the villages with entrenched attitudes of the respective roles of men and women. Women are still seen, in the villages, as inferior, who have to obey the will of their fathers and husbands and not be seen on the streets at night.

My thoughts tonight are with the family of Nirbaya and to hope that women in India, and all over the world receive the respect, dignity and equality they deserve.

Friday, 28 December 2012

“Do you celebrate Christmas?”

Christmas TreeI’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve been asked this and other similar questions. Another favourite is to ask if I support England particularly at cricket.

When my surgeon father came to the UK there were relatively few Indians in the country; so any Indian doctor my father met would be invited home to dinner. After a while my mother grew tired of feeding unexpected guests particularly as we often lived in cramped hospital housing. But most of the time my parents’ main contact was with native British doctors, nurses, and their neighbours.

In those days perhaps more than today the local hospital was a hub of the community and Christmas was an important festival. It appeared that present giving between doctors, nurses, and other hospital staff was a very important tradition that had to be maintained. My parents continued this tradition until my father retired as a consultant and I remember my mother wrapping diligently for probably 4-5 evenings in the middle of December. (Sadly the presents were nothing to write home about: inexpensive perfumes and aftershave for women and men respectively, and a very large can of beer for the porters. Shopping for most of these presents took place in the previous January sales). My father would spend a good few evenings writing Christmas cards to colleagues old and new.

Christmas was also celebrated at home; about the only thing we didn’t do was go to church. Large Christmas tree with all the decorations, a full Christmas dinner (we got up early to make pigs in blankets and prepare the Brussel sprouts), Christmas pudding often bought from Fortum and Mason, and a morning spent around the tree opening presents. (My father had a huge volume of presents to open, often whiskey from grateful patients). And of course, trying to find some decent entertainment on TV. We had no relatives’ homes to go to but that apart I suspect our Christmases were not so different to that of most indigenous Brits.

In terms of food generally my brother and I didn’t really eat Indian or Bengali food. We ate “English” food: our favourites would be bacon sandwiches and roast beef. Later we began to eat more continental cuisine like pasta. Were it not for Marks & Spencer’s prepared meals I don’t think I would be eating Indian food at all now. We didn’t frequent the local Indian takeaway, ironically probably run by Bangladeshis. I’ve probably eaten more Indian food since I met Sue than at any other time in my life; her saag paneer has grown on me to such an extent I can eat it just with rice and would look to order it in an Indian restaurant.

When we were growing up there were few Indian / Bengalis around so we had little or no exposure to Indian festivals like Diwali or the Bengali Durga Puja. With more Bengalis in Birmingham festivals, particularly Durga Puja, became more prevalent, but by then we were a lost cause. We had little contact with India – I didn’t go between the ages of 5 and 19 – and few books and little exposure to Indian culture, so by accident rather than design we were wholly English.

With my parents perhaps it was early on they were integrated with the hospital, their English neighbours, there was a lack of Indians / Bengalis around, and with young children. Bengalis are probably more open and keen to integrate and assimilate than many other immigrant groups. In addition, my father was educated by English and Scottish professors at medical school in Calcutta and spoke English perfectly – to call him fluent would be to insult him – one patient actually asked whether he had been brought up in the UK. So they took to the Christmas festivities wholeheartedly.

Just one story will exemplify how English we are, my brother probably more so than me: one year we travelled up to Birmingham from London to buy and decorate a Christmas tree so that my mother would see that when she came home from her travels.

So I hope you might empathise with my annoyance if anyone asks if I celebrate Christmas.

Tuesday, 25 December 2012

Eve-teasing, misogyny....India examines its attitude to women

Last Sunday evening in one of the most shocking incidents of its kind I can recall, a young 23 year old woman, a paramedic student, was gang-raped by a group of men in suburban Delhi. Sadly gang-rapes are nothing new but this crime has convulsed India. Politicians have made statements in Parliament, the female Chief Minister of Delhi has been under siege and Bollywood stars have commented vocally. Some of the statements made by influential men almost hark back to similar statements made in the UK 20 years ago.

The young woman and a male friend got on board a passing unlicensed school bus after spending the evening at a cinema in a mall. Already on board the bus were 6 men who proceeded to rape the woman repeatedly.  They beat both her and the man, who had tried to protect her, with an iron bar. Then the two were dumped nearly naked at the side of the road. The young woman is in a “critical but stable” condition after having part of her intestines removed and lies in Safdarjung Hospital ICU in Delhi. It is reported the victim was taken off a ventilator on Friday after 5 operations. She was visited by Sonia Gandhi, president of the ruling Congress Party.

The Home Secretary R.K. Singh has taken an active interest in the case holding a press conference with the Delhi Police Commissioner to announce 5 arrests and the search for another suspect. Furthermore, he announced a crackdown on any misbehaviour with women. He promised to make Delhi a safer place for women. In addition there was to be strict licensing of all vehicles plying for trade, whether buses, taxis and autos. The police promised swift action in case of any complaints against any driver.

There has been some disquiet about the actions of the police in the aftermath of the rape in tracking down the suspects but the Police Commissioner defended his force. The Home Secretary, however, made an unannounced visit to a police station and found a number of officers “missing”; thereafter the “missing” officers were suspended.

The reaction of Indian personalities has been voluble and persistent. A.R. Rahman, the Bollywood composer said:

“It is doomsday because somebody has done such a big harm to humanity. It is disrespect to humanity. If you don't fix it now, it is shame for the nation.”

Activist and actress Shabana Azmi said:

"What we really need to do is to use this shocking incident as a wake-up call to demand fast-track courts, speedy justice, and a process of investigation that is firm; there has to be the certainty of punishment for the accused."

The elder statesman of Bollywood, Amitabh Bachchan added on Facebook:

“Wanted to say so much of the day.. but so disturbed by the gang rape case in Delhi.. Atrocious and unforgivable!!...The fear of system, of order, of conduct guided by justice, is fast disappearing. Is this the freedom that our elders fought for!!.... even an animal would not behave so...

...Durga, Kali, Lakshmi are goddesses... we pay homage to them, respect them. Women need to be respected, and given pride of place."

Bachchan’s wife Jaya, herself an actress, was very emotional in Parliament demanding that she be heard despite the Speaker attempting to limit her opportunity to speak.
This type of rape appears to be on the increase in India and with social media becoming more important, and the prevalence of camera phones there is more publicity about such horrific crimes with protesters being able to organise effectively and speedily. There are 24 hour news channels in all major languages reporting on such crimes and the reaction to them.

There have been other publicised rape cases recently. The rape and molestation of a young woman in a bar in Gawahati, Assam, was filmed by a TV crew, seen by many others but no- one intervened. It was only when the footage was aired on TV, shared on social media that activists began to protest. In Gurgaon, a business district near Delhi, a call centre worker was raped but the case has still not got to court after 2 years.

'Eve-teasing', the low-level harassment of women, has alas in recent years been a part of Indian life. Such conduct will not be a surprise to women who came of age in the 1960s and 70s in the UK, but it seems harassment akin to wolf-whistling has diminished in recent years in the UK.  Women in India report that gangs of young men make comments or gestures, and anecdotally there has been an increase in reports of unsolicited touching in crowded public places such as buses and trains.

As happened in the UK in the past, some in India suggest that the victim is to blame for any attack; “she is drunk, a prostitute or wearing provocative clothes”. Such comments were often made by judges in the UK as if to mitigate the defendant’s behaviour. We have thankfully moved on in the UK and a man would not now be able to use the victim’s conduct in mitigation. There has also been a focus on the Bollywood portrayal of women as a contributor to the development of male conduct. In many Bollywood films women are shown in short skirts, with exposed cleavages, and being promiscuous. This may encourage men to believe women are available. But despite any “provocation” or films such male attitudes to women are never acceptable.

In these circumstances it is not surprising that India was voted by 370 gender specialists globally to be the worst country in the G20 to be a woman (survey conducted by TrustLaw). This is primarily because of infanticide, child marriage and slavery - all indicative of general attitudes to women.

Some have suggested that India is a potentially violent society; this is exemplified by the fact that drivers have often been attacked after a traffic accident. Drivers now typically make their escape after any incidents. There is also seemingly a lack of respect for fellow citizens: there is no common courtesy, and a lack of civil societal precepts. So, for example, on a number of occasions people have been attacked with no intervention from bystanders. In most Western countries there would be interventions and the police would be called immediately. There is also as I have noticed on my travels a lack of courtesy and civility generally. It’s what might be termed an“ I’m alright, Jack” society meaning if my family, friends and I are well and protected I have no concern for the welfare of others.

There is a perception that some men feel emasculated by the numbers of well-educated, assertive women, and that they could never aspire to their lifestyles and careers.  This may be particularly among those who are socially disadvantaged.  There is also a growing gender imbalance in Indian society - a result of the preference for boys over girls - which may mean fewer marriageable young women. In addition, young men are feted within families perhaps feeding a perception of superiority over women. Furthermore, there has been a large influx of young men into Indian cities from the surrounding regions in particular now without the guidance and supervision of their elders. All of these factors have their part to play in violence against women.

Caste is relevant here as large sections of the Indian population are effectively excluded from the world of BMWs and Mercedes, luxury apartments and malls they see around them. The lifestyles they see would never be attainable because of their caste and education which are related. Young men in particular will see, despite perhaps living in slums, unattainable lifestyles on TV, the Internet, and through social media, and may not accept that their lives can be constrained by a lack of social mobility.

In the long- term India needs to address these issues as there are already two or more nations: the haves and have nots. The middle and upper classes will continue to see their incomes and wealth increase but it may have to be a life lived in gated communities and with armed guards protecting them.

Saturday, 22 December 2012

Sanal Edamaruku and the weeping statue

Freedom of speech is guaranteed under the Indian Constitution, as one of its 6 fundamental rights (which, you might say, is more than the UK had until the Human Rights Act of 1998 incorporated the European Convention on Human Rights into domestic law). Freedom of speech in India, however, is not an absolute right. In addition there is an older law from 1860, one from India’s colonial days which is still operational. Section 295A of the Indian Penal Code from 1860 says that ‘deliberate and malicious intention of enraging the feelings of any class ……or attempts to insult the religion or religious beliefs of that class’ will be punished by imprisonment or a fine or both.

Sanal Edamaruku is the head of the Indian Rationalist Association. He is currently in Europe, having left India for Europe, as he faces arrest if he returns to India – with a possible jail sentence of 3 years. Delhi police have already been to his flat with an arrest warrant for Edamaruku while he was in Europe. He is said to have received death threats in India and has sought residency in Finland.

His alleged crime is to have put forward a rational explanation for a weeping statue of Christ in a Catholic church in Mumbai. Locals were declaring it a miracle, with some collecting the holy water and the church being promoted as a site for pilgrimage. Sanal, however, found that far from a miracle, clogged drainage pipes behind the statue were causing the leaking. Not only not a miracle, but also potentially a public health problem as people were drinking the water hoping it could cure illnesses.

Now Sanal faces charges of blasphemy from the High Court of Mumbai. The New Humanist blog reports that three local Mumbai Catholic groups were behind the complaints, including the Mumbai-based Catholic Secular Forum. Its founder Joseph Dias has said that he will drop the complaint in exchange for an apology from Sanal. But an apology for what, exactly? For seeking a rational explanation in place of the ‘miracle’? Not surprisingly, Sanal has refused to apologise, for he does not see that he has done anything wrong.

Sanal Edamaruku is no stranger to controversy in India. Back in 2008, he was a guest on an Indian TV show debating ‘Tantric power vs science’. Pandit Surender Sharma had boasted that he was able to kill anyone with mantras and tantra within three minutes. Sanal challenged him to try to kill him, on TV. Sharma did his best, with millions of viewers glued to the television – but Sanal lived to tell the tale, reportedly laughing throughout the attempted assassination.

In November, Sanal attended an event in London organized by the Rationalist Association and Index on Censorship, in support of him. Also speaking were the philosopher Professor Richard Sorabji and retired Court of Appeal Judge Stephen Sedley. Sedley pointed out that here in the UK, we should not be complacent. We might no longer have the common law offence of blasphemy, but we now have the Racial and Religion Hatred Act 2006. This makes it a criminal act (punishable by up to 7 years in prison or a fine or both) for using threatening words or behaviour, or written material intending to stir up religious hatred – in a public or private place (although s.29J does at least protect freedom of expression).

India today is at least two countries. Anyone who has been there will know the extent that religion permeates the country – a very stark contrast to the secular West, and the very secular UK. It is the birthplace of four major religions: Hinduism, Buddhism, Sikhism and Jainism. Billionaire business owners and government officials will consult astrologers for auspicious days and good luck. And yet India produces some of the world’s best doctors, scientists and software engineers. There is clearly a tension there, which so far has been largely accommodated within the breadth and pragmatism of India’s religions.

“Explaining these miracles, these holy experiences that people have, is so important for India, to come out of fear,” Sanal explains. “There are two Indias. The modern, progressive India, and the India controlled by holy men, astrologers and tantrics, underpinned by the caste system. The modern India has to win, because an India with a prominent role on the world stage must not be controlled by the forces of reaction. We have to stop it now.” (quoted by New Humanist magazine, Vol.128 Issue 1).

You can support Sanal Edamaruku by signing the online petition:

Petition in support of Sanal Edamaruku

More information and links:

Rationalist International

Sanal Edamaruku blog

Wednesday, 19 December 2012

Christmas diversity in London

candleThis afternoon was the annual carol service at my son’s school. I had missed the past 3 or 4 years, mainly because of work commitments, so it felt a joy to have the time and freedom to go along. Susen came along with me and I was conscious of being the only ‘mixed’ couple there.

Maybe it’s because I used to study sociology, or maybe I am just curious (nosey) but I find myself looking around the room and audience, analysing what is going on. The audience is mixed: perhaps 50/50 white and Asian (mostly Indian). The ethnically English parents all seem slightly ‘hippy-ish’ to me, like they all ought to live in Totnes or somewhere similar – but are stuck in London. No smart suits - except perhaps among the upwardly mobile Indian parents (here on highly skilled migrant visas).

How strange, I think to myself. The Asian parents must be of mostly Hindu or Sikh background, with a minority Muslim. The white parents are probably English in origin, culturally Christian but almost certainly not church-goers or believers. And here we are, altogether, continuing to celebrate the birth of Jesus, allegedly on 25 December. And I am sitting there, watching the children sing carols – some traditional, some modern – almost with tears in my eyes. What is going on?

I figure the Hindu parents are probably either quite secular or otherwise have a broad interpretation of spirituality, fostered by the inclusiveness of Hinduism (at its best). In the Qu’ran, Jesus is seen as a prophet, so Muslims will accept Christianity and Jesus as part of Islam (at its best). For the white English parents, it is probably just cultural – amplified by memories of their childhoods and the Christmas rituals.

The teachers also are from different cultures – again mainly English or Indian. Parents video and photograph their children all the way through, no doubt to send to relatives back in India. As I sit there with Susen, all around us we hear conversations going on in Hindi, and thus inaccessible. No doubt if I joined in, the language would switch to English, but the Hindi forms a slight barrier to joining in.

The carols started and a child (of Asian origin) stood up and narrated that Christmas ‘celebrated the birth of Jesus, the son of God’. Now there is a controversial statement if ever I have heard one. I might have couched it in very circumspect language, ‘Christmas allegedly celebrates the birth of Jesus, said, to believing Christians, to be the son of God’. But maybe my legal background has rubbed off onto me too much.

Susen remarks: It was a joy to see the children singing with such gusto, carols that I remembered well from my childhood. The teachers, also from a myriad of ethnicities, marshalled the children well and encouraged them. Afterwards all the parents mingled over tea and a welcome mince pie. These traditions would have been unknown to my parents but we were encouraged to take part. At the end the headmistress made a short speech congratulating the children on their performances.

Initially I thought that the carols and their significance would be lost on the Indian parents. But I remembered that most of my cousins in India would have been to church schools which are among the best in India. So perhaps to some of parents we saw today those carols would be very familiar.

I find the influence of church / chapel very strong and it is somewhere I go on occasion to light a candle or to go to a service. I find it remarkable that such traditions still have a hold on me despite the fact I do not consider myself religious. It’s the combination of the music, mainly choral, and the atmosphere in church. I feel very much at home.

So strange that we stick to these rituals: for myself because I am not a Christian, although culturally Christian, for Susen because he is culturally Hindu but brought up in a Christian society.

We drank tea and ate mince pies afterwards. I chatted to the father of my son’s best friend (Indian, Hindu, just become a British citizen after being here on a highly skilled migrant’s visa), also the mother of another friend (Jewish, here for many years and local to the area).
And drove home, wiping a slight tear from my eye and so proud of my son.

 

Tuesday, 18 December 2012

Jacintha Saldanha, RIP

It would not be right to have a blog on India in London without acknowledging the sad death of Jacintha Saldanha, whose funeral was held yesterday at her home town of Shirva in India.

As many will know, she worked as a nurse at the private King Edward VII’s hospital in London, where Kate Middleton recently stayed with severe morning sickness in early pregnancy. Here, on 5 December 2012, she unwittingly answered the phone to hoax callers from an Australian radio station pretending to be the Queen and Prince Charles, asking after Kate’s health. She passed the callers on to another nurse, who gave private details of Kate’s condition – subsequently broadcast publically on 2DayFM – the Australian radio station involved.

At the time, this sparked some Facebook interest among my friends and acquaintances. It concerned an area of law we had recently been studying (medical law and confidentiality) which was now demonstrated so vividly. At the time, my immediate response had been to cringe at the phone call and what went on. I really felt sorry for both nurses, who seemed to have been taken in by the hoaxers (however bad they were). Both nurses were just doing their job, trying to look after their patients. My first thought was to hope that neither nurse got into trouble with the hospital for giving out confidential details over the phone. I hoped the hospital would be supportive and look at their systems in place for managing such phone calls, particularly regarding well-known patients instead of blaming anyone.

I was utterly shocked then, when 2 days later it was reported that Jacintha Saldanha, the nurse who had answered the phone initially was found dead – believed to be suicide. Just awful.

Who knows what actually went on, if Jacintha had any other issues in her life going on or whether it was purely as a result of the prank phone call – a call done purely for ratings and publicity without thinking of the consequences.

The fact that her family had come over to the UK in search of a better life seems to compound the tragedy. There are almost echoes of Diana, Princess of Wales’s sudden death as well – seeing Jacintha Saldanha’s 2 teenage children left without their mother so young, seems to mirror Princes William and Harry losing their mother at such a young age.

The world really does seem so much smaller and interconnected now – where Jacintha’s funeral in India seems so close with crowds of mourners touched by her death and with memorial services at both the hospital in London and in Bristol where the family lived. The funeral of a nurse, who had come from India to help care for patients in London – among them a member of the Royal Family. Jacintha Saldanha, rest in peace.

Sunday, 16 December 2012

Eating saag paneer in Delhi

Food is on my mind (again).  I am still full from Sunday lunch today at Gifto's in Southall - the first visit for ages.  I start thinking of other restaurants frequented, and the Hyatt in Delhi came to mind.  This is why my diet never works and I never seem to return to the slim size 12 I was during my 20s.

This was Easter 2011.  I couldn't take much time off work (note to self: never ever do another job with only the minimum 20 days holiday/year - nightmare with a child), so Susen and me planned a short 5 day trip to Delhi.  It was a bit mad to go for just a short time, but enough to meet up with some friends and relatives, stock up on books, magazines and CDs and kurta tops and scarves from Fab India.

For me, I travel basic and light (through both choice and necessity).  The first time I went to India, it was hostels, second and third class rail travel and (very) cheap hotels.  The second time I went slightly up-market with the occasional internal plane trip and 2-3 star hotels.  With Susen, used to the finer comforts in life, it was nothing less than a 5 star, together with car and driver (fortunately arranged via a cousin who worked for the mighty Tata Corporation).

We arrived, jet-lagged late at night.  We needed to eat, so at around 3am Indian time (around 9.30pm UK time) we went to their 24 hour cafe.  Susen ordered the club sandwich and I ordered saag paneer (my favourite) with naan.  The saag paneer turned out, unexpectedly, to be a delight.  It was the creamiest spinach puree with the lightest paneer. Truly (and I don't think I was hallucinating through lack of sleep), it was almost as if you could taste the individual spices in the spinach.  The flavouring was incredibly light, delicate and yet flavourful all at the same time - a far cry from the overpowering chilli spiced offerings at many of the UK's restaurants.  Truly amazing - and to this day I haven't forgotten it (maybe I should get out more).

The breakfasts carried on in the same fashion.  Every type of breakfast catered for, buffet style, as these days you might come to expect from a 5 star - from fresh fruit juices, continental croissants and pastries, English eggs and bacon to South Indian idlis and sambhar with coriander and coconut chutney.

One afternoon, we were still too full up from breakfast for a proper lunch, so opted for a high tea, Delhi style.  This arrived on a traditional English-style 3-tiered stand: the top tier contained the smallest, most perfect samosas you had ever come across: the second tier a savoury lentil cake and the bottom tier sandwiches filled with grilled vegetables.  All accompanied by perfect [English] tea.  Followed by as much cake from their buffet selection as the room in your stomach would allow.  Amazing.

The trouble is now, I was totally spoiled at the Hyatt.  A bit like when I travelled business class from London to Hong Kong.  Suddenly everything else seems a bit of a let down.

So, back to my diet, as best as I can.  And dream of the time (after I win the lottery) of being served food as every bit as good.

Saturday, 15 December 2012

A taste of Kolkata in rural Wales

When I was growing up my father bought a holiday property near Machynlleth, mid-Wales (unfortunately in the news recently because of the abduction of five year old April Jones).  I had only been a couple of times since my father’s passing but last April it felt the perfect time to make a fresh visit with Sue and her son.

We were unsure what supplies would be available locally so stocked up in particular on the essential wine from London to take with us. But we needn’t have worried, the local Co-Op had almost everything we wanted. There was a nearby swimming pool, some golf and other activities to keep us entertained. However, despite all the books and papers (and video games) we brought with us we were at a loose end occasionally.

I remembered that the town hosted a market each Wednesday. We spent too much time and money in local bookshops and bakeries. We were on our way back to our car dodging the wind and rain when I noticed to my surprise a kitchen trailer emblazoned with “A Taste of Kolkata”. We stopped more out of curiosity than anything else and ordered a couple of the house specialities: vegetarian kathi roll.

Initially I was unsure whether the woman cooking had any connection with Kolkata. We engaged in some small talk about the weather and then I told her my parents were from Kolkata. I even managed some words of Bengali to prove my bona fides. I think Sue was quite surprised at my Bengali. It transpired that the chef had grown up in Kolkata the daughter of an Indian father and a German mother. She spoke German, English, Hindi and Bengali. I believe her parents met when her father was studying in Germany.

We had ordered an aloo dum (potato curry) kathi roll together with a paneer roll. Each was delicately spiced and well cooked. The aloo dum consisted of potato, tamarind, lime, and amchoor (mango powder).  Each roti, however, was individually cooked and this took a little time which may be too long for impatient London customers but time is not so relevant in mid-Wales.

Sue was so taken with the kathi roll that she ordered books on Bengali cooking on our return to London and tried to replicate the dishes although she believes her dishes are not as good. I for one will certainly ask my cousins the next time I am in Kolkata where the best kathi rolls are available.

We are already planning our next trip to Wales and we hope the chef with her “Taste of Kolkata” kitchen will be there. Regrettably we did not take her name or contacts. (I thought she could be found on the web. She apparently lives about 6 miles from Machynlleth).  We hope we will find her again on market day in Machynlleth no matter if it’s wet and windy. If you live nearby it’s worth making a special trip. If you know who she is please send us her details in return for Gold Points.

February 2013 update: We found her website today, which can be found at http://urastreetfood.co.uk/.  The chef's name is Shirley Bose - she says she can be found in Machynlleth every Wednesday on market day.  We are planning another visit to Wales in March / April so will certainly visit her street kitchen again.

Thursday, 13 December 2012

Identity and diversity in London 2012

Officially now I am an ethnic minority in London according to the latest UK census statistics released from 2011. That is actually quite a strange thought. In London now, white ethnic Britons (ie. white people of English, Scottish or Welsh heritage) make up only 45% of the population (although all white people, including those not ethnically British are still slightly in the majority).

I don’t want to fill up this article with loads of statistics as there are plenty of other news sites that will do that, but here are some snapshots:

• London’s population is now 8.2 million – an increase of 12% since 2001, making it the fastest growing region across England and Wales

• Hounslow (Borough – where I live) has a population increase of 17.6% since 2001, Tower Hamlets increased 26.4% and Newham is up by 23.5%

• Overall in London, 37% of the population was born outside the UK (this includes those born in other European countries and also to British families living abroad)

• The top source of new migrants to London was India, followed by Poland then Bangladesh.

• Hounslow now has 23.27% of the population who are Asian or Asian British (Newham and Tower Hamlets are both at around 30%)

• The population who describe themselves as ‘mixed race’ has increased by 50% in the last decade in English and Wales as a whole.

Does it matter though? The argument always goes that the UK is made up of various invaders and immigrant populations through the centuries, many of whom have encountered discrimination and opposition when first settling here. These include the Romans, Vikings, Normans, Huguenots, Irish and Jews among many others. The pace and scale of change, though – especially in London - does seem to be something new.

Listening to a radio phone-in this morning, it was interesting to hear callers, who themselves were immigrants back in the 60s and 70s, now objecting to the presence of recent new arrivals – denigrating them in the same way they may have been spoken of when they first arrived. The area of London where I live is certainly very different to the suburb where I was brought up. My son is at a school where the class is probably 1/3 white (of various backgrounds: EU and the UK) and majority Asian (Indian / Pakistani) with some Somali. Among the parents in the playground you will hear a lot of Hindi/Urdu being spoken as well as Polish and Somali. The school has also had to expand to cater for the population increase – for the last 2 years now taking in 2 classes of children per year group, rather than one – housed in new portacabins in the school grounds.

My local Tescos and Asda stock large bags of basmati rice and chapati flour, Indian spices, chick peas, dhals, coriander, paneer – everything you previously would have had to buy from a specialist Indian grocery shop. The Asda has a large halal meat counter and a Polish section. Both Tescos and Asda had counters selling Indian sweets for Diwali. I am conscious sometimes in my local Asda of being one of very few white English people there. Some of the signs at the till are in Hindi.

Among my friends and acquaintances, the majority are probably post-war immigrants to the UK. My own family has also become global – with my 2 brothers living abroad in Asian countries. My wider family, originally from Liverpool, are now scattered around the world in Canada, the USA, New Zealand, Sweden, Alaska, Hong Kong and Thailand.

Personally I have always loved London because of this, because of its openness to new arrivals and cultures, its tolerance and freedom for people to be whoever they want to be. I love that we can at least strive to be a model for the world on upholding human rights, the rule of law and equality of all no matter what our background, ethnicity, religion and so on.

But still, a strange thing happened recently. At my son’s school, they teach about all religions, and mark each of the important days and festivals – Diwali, Eid, Hanukkah, Chinese New Year as well as Christmas and Easter. The assemblies are not therefore particularly Christian, which I was absolutely fine with, not being a believing Christian myself. Then one day I caught the end of ‘Songs of Praise’ on the television and I suddenly felt quite sad that he was not being brought up with the Christian culture that I was brought up with: he wouldn’t know all the hymns that I knew, from singing them every day at school, wouldn’t know the ‘Lord’s Prayer’ that we recited every day, the grace we said before lunch at school or the range of Christmas carols. Nostalgia set in, even though I am an atheist and don’t believe in the theological underpinning of Christianity or go to church.

I can acknowledge that for my parents, and grand parents generation – particularly in London and other cities in the UK – it may be bewildering as their neighbourhoods are changing so fast around them. It may be that the last 10 years have been an exception for the UK, with population growth fuelled by the open door policy to some of the newly acceded EU member states, by the continuing demand for highly skilled workers in the City (particularly in IT) and also by overseas students coming here to study.

For my generation (and the next one now), we have been brought up with the diversity enough to learn to embrace it. It’s probably an art and takes experience and wisdom to know how to preserve our own sense of identity whilst learning from and being open to others. Let’s hope we can continue to do so here in London and the rest of the world.

 

Wednesday, 12 December 2012

Ravi Shankar - The Passing of a Legend

I woke today to the sad news overnight that Ravi Shankar had passed away in California. I saw him perform three times, twice in London, at the Royal Albert Hall, and once at Lichfield Cathedral. Shankar stayed at my Uncle’s house close to the Cathedral and I was asked if I wanted to meet him. I said no, thinking I would have nothing to say to him, and that he would be overwhelmed with visitors. I rather regret that now.

I only learnt today that Shankar was of Bengali heritage; somehow I’d presumed he was from elsewhere in India. But really that is not a surprise as you may know Bengalis consider themselves the most cultured group in India.

Shankar was a limited presence in our household when we were growing up. My father had a couple of his albums – the fusion work with Yehudi Mehudin. To my ears the music was a revelation, a stark contrast to most of the music I had grown up with. Not only was the sound different but the pieces (ragas) were almost orchestral in length – no short songs – requiring complete focus and dedication from the sitarist and the accompanists who did not have the music in front of them. That meant each performance was different, the artists jamming. What I loved was that Shankar would introduce the ragas in some detail when performing describing the scenario. To someone like me, interested in the music but without any introduction that was as important as the music itself.

Shankar was originally a dancer, touring Europe before the Second World War with his family before switching to the sitar at the relatively late age of 18. He spent some 7 years learning his instrument at the feet, literally, of masters of the sitar. Thereafter he built his reputation touring India, and eventually composing and performing for All India Radio (the equivalent of the BBC). Film assignments for both Hindi and Bengali movies, most notably for Satyjit Ray’s (yet another Bengali) Apu trilogy, sealed his reputation within India as its premier sitarist.

Probably Shankar would have stayed unknown in the West were it not for the drug fuelled 60s hippie revolutions. The Beatles came calling, with George Harrison in particular, keen to learn the sitar. Two Beatles songs, Norwegian Wood, and Within You Without You were in large part sitar driven. Shankar played at numerous festivals in the US in the 60s, when he memorably described the audience as “stoned”. For Shankar his music had spiritual overtones and he felt the audiences were not interested in that aspect, more interested in enjoying themselves. Partially for that reason he withdrew from the festival circuit but by then his reputation was made and he toured globally.

I realise that when I saw him 25 years ago at Lichfield Cathedral he was probably at his peak – it was a privilege to see him then. It was for me one of the few connections to India I had; India was seemingly exotic and different, and Shankar exemplified that. Indeed so besotted was I that I asked my mother for a sitar when I was 19; Mum, I’m still waiting!!!

Apart from Shankar’s position as the preeminent sitarist of his era, he has two important legacies. Firstly, the major musicians who count him as a major influence. These include Philip Glass, Yehudi Menuin, The Beatles, and A.R. Rahman, the Bollywood composer, amongst others. His other contributions are his musician children Norah Jones and Anouskha Shankar.

Secondly, he made what is now known as “World Music” accessible. It meant that Peter Gabriel introduced Youssou N’Dour to the world, followed by artists like Baba Maal. Almost at the same time Paul Simon went to Soweto in South Africa to meet with and record with Ladysmith Black Mambazo for his Graceland album. Shankar’s legacy are the world musicians, from India and Africa in particular, who appear at venues like the South Bank every season.

Tuesday, 11 December 2012

Jab Tak Hai Jaan (English: As Long as There is Life)

Seemingly for months now, the Indian film listings at Feltham cineworld have seemed to consist mainly of Tamil action or thriller movies which have never quite appealed. Last Sunday, however, we found Jab Tak Hai Jaan in the line up. Directed by the late Yash Chopra (of Veer Zaara fame), starring Shah Rukh Khan (SRK) and music by A.R.Rahman – it was a must. It had already achieved ‘blockbuster’ fame in the overseas market – opening at no.5 in the US and no.4 in the UK, becoming the highest midweek and weekend grossing Bollywood film ever in both countries.

It was a lengthy 3 hours long, so we settled in for the duration armed with diet cokes and popcorn. It started with a tribute to the director Yash Chopra, who sadly had died only weeks before the release of the film. The tribute was in Hindi, no subtitles, so I was slightly anxious the film would carry on in this way – fortunately (for both me and Susen), English subtitles appeared once the film started.

The first scenes were of SRK, playing Major Samar Anand in the Indian Army, a brave bomb disposal expert who refused to wear body armour whilst disabling the bombs. The location was Kashmir – in Pahalgam. This was sad to see, as I backpacked in Kashmir and stayed in Pahalgam back in 1987 – before any particular threat to Westerners and ongoing violence pretty much made it off limits to tourists. Now, the beautiful landscape was just a backdrop to bomb disposal efforts from terrorism in a Bollywood film.

Jumping back in time: Samar is trying to make his way in London. We see him sweeping snow up outside a church, where he first encounters Meera, the inevitable love object. For once, he has not inherited or made vast wealth (at least not initially) and is sharing a very basic flat with a friend (or possibly relative) from Lahore. A welcome reality check to the lives of most average people in London. His success as a fishmonger, however, earns him a job in a restaurant owned by a customer, at which he excels.

But Meera (played by Katrina Kaif, of Zindagi Na Milegi Dobara recent fame), as befits the beautiful heroine, has just graduated cum laude from university and is about to be set up for life – to marry the eligible Roger, her father’s choice - and continue in her father’s successful business. Until she meets Samar that is. Then an interesting twist on the classic Hindi duty-over-love dilemma occurs – where she feels obliged to marry Roger, who is English, (the safe choice and her father’s choice) as compared to Samar, from India, (the exciting but lower class choice). Here, the story is subverted in that the English man is the ‘safe’ choice, whilst the ethnically similar choice is the risky choice. Hence, class is privileged over ethnicity – an observation I have been making for the best part of two decades now.

But a car crash witnessed by Meera makes her do a deal with God: if his life is saved, then she will have nothing more to do with him (a scene reminiscent of ‘The End of the Affair’ based on Graham Greene’s novel). The ambulance scene is so unbelievable – I am being slightly pedantic here in that he is rolled onto the stretcher into the ambulance, despite having a head injury. I am literally crying out in my head ‘put a neck brace on!’ – to no avail.

He lives – and cut to Kashmir where he is prepared to dice with death every day as a bomb disposal officer in the Indian army. Akira appears (played by Anushka Sharma), to make a documentary of his life for Discovery Channel. This again leads to an unbelievable, cringe-worthy dance sequence of his new potential beau – Akira: doing her hip-thrusts in very short shorts with locals joining in the dance sequences. What a conservative local Muslim population must have made of this stick-thin Bollywood actress in shorts and gyrating hips, goodness only knows. I am assuming they were paid for their time and attention.

The plot winds on, fairly predictably – with echoes of Veer Zaara in the long absence, the love relinquished to become reunited decades later. Inevitably, the setting both in London and India will draw audiences from both India and the diaspora. I found myself recognising London backdrops – from Chiswick Park (near where I used to live), Trafalgar Square, Borough Market and Hay’s Galleria (near where I used to work). Man! – if I had known SRK was filming right outside, I would have been straight down there with my pen and autograph book.

Altogether an entertaining 3 hours, though any good editor could have cut it to 2 hours or under without losing meaning. Music was unfortunately forgettable, despite the promise of A.R.Rahman. Some of the scenes were poignant – most notably when Meera meets her mother and her partner (played by Bollywood stalwarts Neetu Singh and Rishi Kapoor) for the first time in 10 years. SRK was good, professional but slightly predictable. It remains to be seen how credibly SRK will continue to be as a man in his later 40s partnering women in their early and late 20s. Overall a 7/10 I think. My son rated it 4-5/10. This might have been because of the love interest and (forbidden) kissing – a real turn-off for pre-teen boys more into video games. Worthwhile, but come on SRK – we are waiting for the next wow factor.

 

Saturday, 8 December 2012

Gifto's - Southall

Before I met Sue I had perhaps been to Southall 10 times in total. It was almost an object of fascination to be in an environment full of Asian people. You can tell I’ve led a sheltered life. Sue would also take me to her local Tesco where almost for the first time I saw many Indian couples behaving as most couples do - ie. actually talking to each other.

But back to Southall. Sue liked to see another world as I did, and to take a look at clothes, materials, Bollywood DVDs and CDs, and to pick up important herbs and spices; last and not least to buy some forbidden Indian sweets. In truth, the sweets available in Punjabi Southall were better than in Bangladeshi Brick Lane despite my parents proclaiming that Bengalis made the best Indian sweets.

Our trips to Southall invariably coincided with mealtimes and one weekend afternoon we stepped into Gifto's on spec.  Inside it’s rather basic, a bit like an American diner, simply furnished with long tables in the middle and booths seating 4-6 people along one side. Along the other side there is the kitchen with the chefs visibly sweating behind a glass partition. Chefs could be seen working at the grill or the tandoori ovens. We’re generally greeted quickly by one of the waiting staff and assigned to a table. On perhaps 5-6 visits we’ve never had to wait more than 5-10 minutes despite the restaurant being full.

A quick scan of the restaurant shows that Sue is usually the only white person in the room. I have on occasion seen other white people but usually as part of an Asian group. Diners are local couples with young children and buggies and larger families comprising three generations.  The language of the restaurant is not English but Hindi / Urdu. It would be surprising if many had traveled 25 minutes by car as we do.

Generally we’ve not been too adventurous ordering off the menu which is more extensive than the average curry house. Sue’s favourites are the pani puri as a starter (although we have had to return the wafers for being too thin and crumbly).  Mine is the lamb sheesh kebab, and for mains saag paneer and chicken tikka masala (yes, I am predictable).  On one occasion we’ve splashed out on king prawn tandoori. Together with naan and rice those dishes are plentiful for 2 people and we’ve often had to take home a doggy bag. The freshly made juices and lassis are invariably good.  We don’t usually have any desserts as we pass numerous sweet shops on the walk back to our car.

The food is a cut above the average curry house. Gifto's is a safe choice for locals wanting good quality North Indian / Pakistani halal food without the presence of alcohol. Our food has been well-spiced and cooked and I would have no hesitation in recommending it. The downsides are the lack of alcohol, although I understand there would be no objection to bringing one’s own, and the service, which while eager lacks professionalism. In addition, the food may be spicier than than requested - despite asking the food to be 'mild', Sue often ended up struggling with the overall heat of the food. Our total bill for 2 people excluding service has not exceeded £30-35, and Gifto's represents very good value for money.

Friday, 7 December 2012

The Real Namesake?

For those of you who are not aware, 'The Namesake' (by Jhumpa Lahiri) is set in a Bengali family - from a similar background to mine, although the fictional family is in the engineering profession and in the US, while mine are medical and, of course, are in the UK.  Jhumpa Lahiri was actually born in London before her family headed to the East Coast.

The Namesake, both the book and the movie, were a eyeopener for me onto the world of Bengalis, and the Bengali diaspora. Families were tight-knit, in those days sending many letters home each week. They visited Calcutta almost each summer to ensure their children connected with their relatives. Bengalis also believed they were the “chosen ones”, with their emphasis on literature and music, often to the detriment of their economic success. I also learnt about many Bengali traditions - such as the “bhat” (rice) ceremony, the equivalent of a christening.

The scenes in the film where the family visit Calcutta one summer almost exactly mirror my own trip when I was 19. We were shocked by the poverty and the stark differences in lifestyle between our cousins and ourselves.

But the main interest for me in the Namesake was the focus on names. After I read the book I said to friends I should sue Jhumpa Lahiri for stealing my story. To recap, the main character was given the formal name of Gogol, his father’s favourite author. Details of his real formal name had not arrived in time from Calcutta. Teachers at his American kindergarten refuse to accept his revised formal name, and so he is known to his chagrin as Gogol throughout his schooling. But before going to college he finally tires of the teasing and changes his name to Nikhil, shortened for the benefit of Americans to Nik. The rest of the book focuses on the pull of Bengali culture despite his being an American.

My proper name is Susen, chosen I believe by my uncle in Calcutta, but approved by my parents. It’s a name I’ve never been comfortable with; firstly, it’s a name my parents never used (they used my nickname which is so embarrassing I won’t reveal it; but as an example my brother’s nickname is that of Yogi Bear’s friend. More Gold Points for anyone who knows what that name is). So I had no idea how the name is pronounced. A toddler would generally hear their name thousands of times before they went to school whether the name is unusual or not.

Jhumpa Lahiri’s first name is her nickname but is to my mind a rather good name. Lahiri herself remarked about her proper name:

"I always felt so embarrassed by my (proper) name.... You feel like you're causing someone pain just by being who you are (USA Today).

Lahiri’s proper name is Nilanjana Sudeshna.

I have heard of many embarrassing nicknames for women in particular, like Mumpy and Dumpy.

Secondly, the name is a very close relative of a girl’s name in the West. That really did not make for a happy time at school. I thought I had escaped at my last school, a public school, where everyone was referred to by their surname only, but the name leaked out. You might argue that my parents were not aware that Susan was a girl’s name but my father had been in the UK for 3 years before I was born, working as a junior doctor, seeing female patients when Susan was a very popular name. One of their close friends had a daughter named Susan.

In Bengali culture most people have two sets of names: their formal name for documents and work perhaps, and their family nickname. I don’t understand how this works in practice; how would I call someone on the phone when I only know their nickname? Or even worse know only their identification by their position in the family hierarchy; so, for example my father’s eldest brother has a specific designation, and almost everyone else in the family. There are relatives I only know by their designation, not their nickname or proper name. So, for example, my cousin in Seattle has four names: his formal name, nickname, the bastardised form of his formal name as Americans can’t pronounce it (so he’s Bob, which bears no relation to his proper name), and his hierarchical name, which I use. I’ve tried to get in touch with people on Facebook and been asked “who are you?” since they only know me by my nickname. In Western society most people have only one name, and even nicknames are diminutives of their proper names e.g. Susan becomes Sue, or Christine become Chris etc.

I should perhaps have changed my name as the chief protagonist in The Namesake did but it was never the right time and I had too much (misplaced) respect for my parents together with an inability to express my own identity. This was compounded by the fact that I had almost no exposure to Bengali names; what would I change my name to? I knew Uncles as Uncle, had no Bengali friends, and cousins would be referred to by their nicknames. In retrospect a name that works in both Western and Bengali societies would be the best compromise; my nephew is Robin (named after Tagore); other possible names are Nikhil, Krishnan, and I’m told, Josh. A little thought when I was christened would have been welcome.

I guess my parents weren’t aware of the importance of names in Western society; how your name is your brand, your face to the world. Conclusions are reached based on your name: your class, your age. Something that’s easy to understand and pronounce is important too; I’m sure my name has inhibited me, it makes communication difficult when even working in an organisation for 3 years your name is pronounced 3 different ways. I should probably have been more assertive; nowadays I have stopped apologising for it, and cut off anyone who mispronounces it, or asks for me as “Susan”. If I get a call for Susan I put the phone down. I’ve only recently stopped introducing myself as Mr. My mother says the problem is that not enough people know the name; that’s the rub, if there were thousands of Susens that would solve the problem. Yes, some names are ambivalent but they are well-known. I sometimes joke that if I had a son he would be called Leslie Hillary so he might appreciate some of the issues I have had.

While I do appreciate that my parents were immigrants by the time I was born it they should have realised the importance of names in British society, and later it would have been apparent that they’d made a mistake. It is hard enough growing up the child of immigrants, and been differentiated as almost the only brown boy in a particular school, but it doesn’t help if matters are compounded by having a girl’s name. Most parents take great care over their children’s names to ensure they are not a focus for teasing, and the name is reasonably well-known. I don’t want to renounce my Bengali heritage as it is a great part of who I am, and I respect the general naming conventions, but I would have appreciated a simple, bland name.

Cosmopolitan London

The other day I invited my Pakistani friend and her partner over for lunch. It was a delight to see them, as always, and our conversation ranged from schools and education, to politics and Bollywood. There were 4 of us: myself (white British, culturally CofE origin), Susen (Indian Bengali Hindu origin), my friend (Pakistani Muslim origin) and her partner (Irish Catholic origin). All of us living in London and having far more in common than anything that might divide us.

In my family, we have nearly all the major religions represented through marriage, relationships, conversion and children: Hinduism, Islam, Buddhism and Christianity. What a fantastic place London is. Long may it continue.

Thursday, 6 December 2012

Turning up the heat



I love cooking and almost always cook from scratch. Cooking is my relaxation – preferably unhurried, accompanied by the BBC World Service (or sometimes Sunrise Radio if I am in a very Indian mood) and a glass of very chilled white wine. This would seem to put me in a dwindling category as people in the UK and all over the world change and adapt their eating and cooking habits in response to changing lifestyles. I am amazed by the number of people (men and women) who virtually do not cook in the evening after work – or at all, either eating out or buying microwave ready meals – and then probably spend their evenings watching other people cook on the TV.

Perhaps it was because I was vegetarian for many years – at a time when it was not so widespread in the UK – that I had to experiment and cook new things. Or perhaps just natural curiosity to explore the wider world. Indian food was a natural choice for me, not only because of my general interest in South Asia, but also because of the range of vegetarian food available and the ability to take relatively cheap and humble ingredients such as lentils or chick peas and turn them into tasty and nutritious dishes. Susen will still tell the story of the first time he came round to my house and I made him shingaras (samosas) from scratch. Truly, I wasn’t trying to impress! – something made me think about them and then I felt inspired to go and make them.

The trouble is that a lot of Indian food is spicy – sometimes very spicy. Similarly with Thai, Vietnamese, some Chinese and Mexican food – all of which I love experimenting with. And I really can’t eat spicy food, and it’s not for want of trying. I have been in an Indian restaurant with my Pakistani friend and she will be quite happily eating the food, thinking it is quite mild, while I am sitting there with my mouth burning and tears streaming down my face. One memorable occasion was at the Mango Tree (Thai) restaurant with Susen, where I unwittingly bit on a whole piece of chilli. I could not eat or speak for about 20 minutes until my mouth had calmed down a bit from the torture of the chilli heat. Susen will say that he was not brought up in a Bengali way, but more an English way – but still, he can tolerate chilli heat to a far greater extent that I can. Similarly my sister-in-law, who is Indonesian, will put chilli sauce on everything, even the hottest curry, otherwise she complains that it is too mild for her. My sensitivity is actually annoying for me because it means many of the foods I love experimenting with, particularly if eating out, are just out of bounds. Not only that, but chillis are supposed to be good for you, reportedly increasing your metabolic rate and making it easier to lose weight. (Evidence for this is hard to come across, but one small study seemed to indicate that compared with eating no cayenne pepper with the meal, 1g of pepper reduced salty, sweet and fatty food cravings and also increased energy expenditure [1]).

I began to wonder whether tolerance to chillis was genetic. This might explain why I, as a fair skinned Northern European type, brought up on bland food, cannot eat spicy food - whereas my Indian / Pakistani / Indonesian friends and relatives can. If all a nation’s food is spicy, then what do babies and children eat? Can they tolerate chillis as well? If so, it might make it more likely that it is genetic.

My initial research efforts, however, seemed to indicate that tolerance to chillis is not genetic, but acquired. Www.seriouseats.com even has a useful guide on ‘6 ways to build your spicy food tolerance’. In summary, these are:

1. Start small
2. Savour the flavour
3. Increase the spice – slowly
4. Keep it on the side
5. Have coolants on hand
6. Don’t force it.

On this basis, I have tried now for many years to increase my tolerance. I could say it has gone up perhaps 10%, but not much more than that. Maybe I am just not trying hard enough.

Jason Goldman, however, is on my wavelength. He writes that spiciness means pain. The sensation of spiciness is the result of the activation of pain receptors in the tongue [2] . Boy, can I testify to that! Most young children, apparently, even from cultures known for their spicy recipes, do not like capsaicin (capsaicin is the chemical in the chilli that causes the heat - found mainly in the internal membrane, not the seeds as many believe).  According to my sister-in-law, in Indonesia they cook separate, less spicy food for babies and children then gradually transition them onto spicy food.  Adult liking of capsaicin, however, seems to be almost universal, being incorporated into almost every culture (even the bland North European diet now). Furthermore, there doesn’t seem to be that much evidence that desensitisation, or tolerance actually occurs – there doesn’t seem to be a correlation between age and tolerance (which you might expect, from having eaten chillis over a longer period of time). Other researchers have commented that the oral receptors are sending the same message to the brain for both the chilli lover and the chilli hater – so those chilli-loving humans must have learnt to like the pain of the same sensation to which young children, chilli-haters and non-human animals are averse. Goldman likens this to other thrill-seeking behaviour such as rollercoasters or skydiving. Chillis give this same kind of thrill while knowing they will not cause harm. A kind of benign masochism.

So, I don’t hold out too much hope for increasing my chilli tolerance in the near future. But India as a nation of thrill-seekers and benign masochists? Now there’s a thought.

[1] Ludy MJ, Mattes RD. The effects of hedonically acceptable red pepper doses on thermogenesis and appetite. Physiology & Behavior 2011 102; 251-258, cited at http://www.nhs.uk/news/2010/04April/Pages/chilli-peppers-fat-burning-and-appetite.aspx

[2] Jason Goldman, ‘Why do we eat chilli?’ – The Guardian Science Blog, 14 Sept 2010.

 

Sunday, 2 December 2012

Sydney, Athens, Beijing, London, Rio....Delhi?

During this summer’s London 2012 Olympics we happened to be on our annual summer holiday in Turkey. We missed most of the Games but managed to make it back in time to see a third place match for the women’s basketball. Public transportation worked well, we had a great meal inside the O2 venue, and the entertainment was more popular with the child among us than the main event. Luckily we managed to avoid being picked up by the Kiss Cam (a participating spectator sport that is not de rigueur at the IPL cricket).

There were some issues with the staging of the Games, most notably the failure of G4S to provide enough security guards, but the armed services stepped into the breach and the public welcomed them with open arms. The volunteers were a great success entertaining the crowds waiting patiently in queues. The London Games organisers learnt not only from previous games but also other sports events globally including the IPL. Overall the Games were widely reported to be the “Best Games Ever” although it is unclear how one can make such a sweeping generalisation.

Yes, the Games were a great success: Britain nearly met its overall medal targets, and the country was certainly overcome by “Games Fever”. But one forgets the pessimistic notes that were struck well before the Games: public transport would collapse (people were warned to take their summer holidays or work from home), there would be public outcry about the special Olympic traffic lanes, hotel capacity would be insufficient, and the public would fail to turn out. There were comparisons with the farcical opening of the new Terminal 5 at Heathrow Airport. In fact none of these issues really materialised.

So, why did the Games go well? Britain is a highly developed economy capable of organising such a spectacle (although we haven’t done so often), it has a well-developed transport infrastructure (albeit stretched), it has a well-established sporting pedigree in most Olympic events and the public participated in the Olympic spirit.

During our vacation in Turkey we frequently made comparisons between Turkey and India and mused that soon Istanbul would host the Games ahead of Delhi. This was only my second trip to Turkey and I found its level of development surprisingly high. At a seaside resort far from any major centres the streets were clean, there was a model of urban development, clean water and sewerage was available to all. On a trip inland taken on a clean local bus we found fast roads. The economic comparison with India is instructive: Turkish GDP per head is almost 4 times higher, but the total Indian economy is ranked 10th in the world while Turkey is only ranked 15th.

So, why as I learnt while Istanbul is bidding for the 2020 Olympics is there is no bid from India?

India has after all successfully hosted the Asian Games (twice) and the Commonwealth Games in 2010. Hosting the Olympic Games is almost a marker for a country’s arrival as a world power. In 1964 Tokyo hosted the Games seemingly to establish its re-emergence as an industrial power, Mexico in 1968, Moscow in 1980 (although that was to “celebrate” Communist totalitarian power in the midst of the Cold War), Seoul in 1988, Beijing in 2008, and in 2016 another BRIC city Rio de Janeiro, will host the Games.

It is clear that India could be making a bid for the Games to further its prestige, to announce its arrival on the world stage as an economic superpower. It has many other elements in place: increasing clout in international affairs (albeit without the much desired Permanent Membership of the Security Council), a space programme, nuclear weapons, some world class companies (Tata, Infosys amongst others).

Were the political elite haunted by the memories of the Commonwealth Games of 2010? In fact it was not some minor issues but how the organisers reacted to these setbacks. One may recall Commonwealth teams making disparaging noises about standards of cleanliness in the Games village; one of the organisers reportedly said: “Everyone has different standards about cleanliness. The Westerners have different standards, we (Indians) have different standards”; I don’t think one would hear that from a housekeeper at a Taj or Oberoi hotel. Meanwhile a pedestrian bridge near a stadium collapsed; another organizer reportedly said it didn’t matter as the bridge was for “ordinary people”, not athletes. So that’s OK then.

Perhaps it is a fear of being unable to organize a major event but by all accounts the Commonwealth Games, although a much smaller event than the Olympics, went well.

Is it that India has failed in the Olympic Games in recent times? At the London Games India won a total of 6 medals (2 silvers and 4 bronze), a rather disappointing tally for a nation of 1.2 billion and the 10th largest economy in the world. By contrast Russia, with a GDP just slightly higher and ranked 9th, won 82 medals. India placed 55th out of 79 countries for total medals won, below North Korea, and below other BRIC countries. But if the medal tally takes account of population and GDP, India comes last. Not a very good outcome.

There is probably limited support from parents of potential athletes who want their children to be doctors and engineers, and the income inequalities mean few have the general good health needed to become athletes. In short despite a potentially large pool of Olympians there are few that could realistically aspire to such levels. In addition, there are limited sporting facilities in the country. Furthermore, compared to the size of the country there is no political and economic support in developing athletes on an industrial scale.

Some commentators assert that India is a one-sport country: cricket. But most large countries support more than one sport; in the USA it’s baseball, football, basketball, and others such as ice hockey. Perhaps in time more sports will develop in India, and sponsorship will enable new athletes to emerge, but in truth this takes government support in developing basic facilities, and coaches.

Different countries have often found sports at which their populace can excel, but again this takes continuing government support. There are no votes in developing athletes perhaps 10 years before they win medals. African countries have, for example, focused on running events. Perhaps a lack of money is the main barrier.

It is clear that India could organize and host an Olympic Games; let us not forget that Rio is having considerable doubts about its capabilities as many facilities are nowhere near ready, and there are concerns about transport and gang violence. But it would seem an abuse of power and profligacy when so many of the Indian populace live in abject poverty, when rates of literacy are low (it has the largest illiterate population in the world), and there needs to be increased focus on basic public health measures.

Unquestionably India will host the Olympic Games but it needs to be ready industrially, economically, and in terms of sports culture. Indian GDP per head is still far below China’s in 2008. In time India will catch up and pass China. Until the mass of the population participates successfully in the economy India will continue to have to look inward and not on furthering its prestige externally.

Elephants, Lord Ganesha and the Indian Independence Movement

Ganesh Festival, Bombay 1987 I remember it like it was yesterday.  It was 1987 and we had just arrived in Bombay (as it was the...