Poor Ol' Me and Politics of Correctness

We finished with the British Council course today. By the end of it, I was told that I am nothing like a true Saggitarian, whatever that is, and I didn't really mind that. I've never really fit under any stereotype, not much anyway.

Another thing they said was that I'm too politically correct. I see where they are coming from but I still tend to disagree. When, in my defense, I claimed that I was just a nice person, I was given an answer which was amusing and probably even true: "Saying that you are nice is just a politically correct way of saying that you are politically correct."

So much for all my niceties over the past two months! (See, see, I'm being mean now, I'm not politically correct.)

Keeping The Flame Alive

"You know, it's like the difference between a sonnet and blank verse. Marriage gives my life structure, and this way it's always two people on my side."

It's an interesting take on marriage, reproduced from here on Meenkashi Reddy Madhavan's blog. The words belong to Shakti Bhatt, an editor who worked at Random House India, Brackett Books and more, and died suddenly on 31st March 2007, an untimely death at 27, a shock to all her friends and acquaintances alike.

I came to know of her just today because the inaugural Shakti Bhatt First Book Prize shortlist for debut novels is out. A blog created and run remembrance has continued since her demise, and though sporadically now, it is still active. In the aftermath of the tragedy, the blog, and her dreams, witness a contribution, directly or indirectly, from a major part of the publishing industry and it is heartening to see that. I didn't know her then, I was just getting to know the publishing world in early 2007, but I might have met her briefly had luck wanted it, but I didn't know of her existence till today.

Yet, what's important and what's comforting is that friends remember and acknowledge her, that a project (the First Book prize) that was conceived has seen the light of day and that the passion, the vigour has not diminished with the passage of time.

I will not go into what a great person she was, for one, because I knew her not, and secondly because the others have done a much better job of it on this blog. Go read.

History to Astronomy/Astrology?

When one drives from Dhaula Kuan towards the IGI Airport, on the right hand side, there's used to be a Maharana Pratap Dwar, one of the entrances to Delhi Cantt. It was a mildly imposing gate and looked good.

Of late, its name has been changed to Taurus, Gate 3, in big, golden, stencilled letters. I'm not sure, but I think even the structure has changed a bit from the top. It looks bad.

I'm no part of the brigade fighting to save Hindi (though I support the sentiment), but this just doesn't make any sense. If nothing else, aesthetically, it looks and sounds much worse. Wouldn't their (whoever's doing it all) time be better utilized thinking over and changing something that would actually make a difference?

Compassionate Delhi?

Today when most eateries, food joints and restaurants strictly prohibit outside eatables within their premises, it came as a pleasant surprise when I could easily sit on a (plastic, Neelkamal, to be precise) chair in an open restaurant at Bhikaji Cama Place and eat the food my mom packed for me without being asked to leave. I was a little apprehensive initially that they'd ask me to move away even though I had ordered two soft drinks, so I pulled a chair in a corner and sat with my lunch. As for the plastic chairs, to their credit, all the chairs they had were plastic, and the same quality, so no discrimination there either.

What was surprising, and pleasing, was that three different waiters came to me within the duration of 15 minutes that I sat there, offering me a glass of water, while two came and asked me to sit at a proper table for four and eat my meal in peace. I declined their offer for I felt guilty of robbing them of a place for genuine customers, but just the gesture was so endearing. The owners, a Sikh father-son duo, were equally accommodating. It was the best part of my otherwise terrible day.

Wasn't Delhi supposed to be rude and mean and heartless? What happened suddenly? It reaffirms my faith that stereotypes are exaggerated and more often than not, not applicable. Also, there's more good in people than we like to believe. One just has to give them enough time to show it, or give oneself enough time to see it.