Perhaps I’ll Stay with the Mountains

I struggled greatly with this sixth and final blog entry. It seems—to no surprise of mine—that my area of authority scarcely borders on music of any type, Indian music perhaps least of all. I find myself trekking uncharted territory. Coincidentally—should that be taken in a literal sense—it would put me quite at home. However, trapped in the realms of the figurative, I probe with all the grace of a blind man trying to summit one of the peaks whose coarse and rocky faces are all but memorized by me. I suppose we all started somewhere.

It’s odd how difficult it seems to be to describe the effects of something that inherently should evoke emotion. Perhaps the issue lay not in the evoking but rather in the describing, but I doubt it. For if I was asked to convey my ponderings and considerations when I stood, alone, atop some barren and snowy crag, the only sounds the whipping wind and my pounding heart, my thoughts would brim and spill out as words onto paper. Here; however, I am left to ramble: so distant off topic that I couldn’t be found with a map. Meanwhile the nine odd minutes of classical Indian instrumental I have chosen plays on repeat in the background, if only to remind me that I am nine minutes nearer the deadline.

A sombre, haunting flute dominates. Drums—seemingly struck only by hand—provide a continual background presence that speed and slow at the request of the flute. Occasionally it is supplemented by the delicate plucking of a stringed instrument that’s name I do not know and likely could not pronounce if I did. It’s something like what I imagine might be played at base camp before an attempt at Kangchenjunga, arguably the most difficult summit anywhere on Earth.

I chose this piece, I suppose, because its instrumental nature permitted me to focus—however futile my focus was—on what it was trying to convey, while not having to consider the aspects of both vocal and instrumental contribution. With the video only displaying the occasional still of the revered musician who played this piece, my mind is left to concentrate on the music without diluted attention. My thoughts again diverge, pausing on images of fluttering prayer flags and blowing snow. Between the wind gusts, the bustle of anxious preparation and a dozen strange languages sound off. Meanwhile an Indian guide, his face aged by the unending wind and the frying of high altitude sun, completes his morning prayers and plays his flute in the hopes that The Five Treasures of the High Snow will pardon his intrusion and spare his life once more in the coming days.

The Music

Hiding in Plain Sight: The Billionaires of India

In a country where the average per capita income is just $1209, over a hundred individuals each possess more than one million times that. Truthfully, India: a country marred by widespread and extreme poverty, houses the sixth largest number of billionaires of any nation. Effectively, these individuals each could give every man, woman and child in India a crisp greenback and still have more money than most of us could ever fathom. This is the reality of a massive wealth disparity, not good, nor bad, but invariably and undeniably true.

Whereas the existence of billionaires in India may not be particularly surprising—let’s face it, where there is money to be made there will be someone who makes it—the origin and distribution of these individuals is certainly thought provoking. Standing out sharply against world-wide trends, the majority of Indian billionaires are both self-made and residing in India (60% and 95%, respectively). It seems—even if an impression is merely that—that billionaires in India are more likely to be what one might call ‘truly Indian’.
In an exclusive club that sees most of its members moving swiftly to places with sunny beaches and lax (if sometimes shady) tax laws, India has built a culture of super-rich that are more inclined to remain with their roots. This comments broadly on the connection and loyalty that Indian citizens feel to their country, and perhaps—depending on your degree of cynicism—on the ease of having tax workers make typos on their assessments. Regardless, something more than a desire to create an empire in India is keeping those who do firmly planted. As the socio-cultural factors that influence this are likely far more intricately complex than a first year bio-sci is willing to speculate on, I will suggest only that a billion dollars could make even Svalbard a pleasant place to live.

That being stated, India, to these individuals is home. Be that choice strategic, personal or a matter of convenience it is true. In the grand scheme of all things, they will breeze, in this home, under the radar: little attention paid because little attention is needed. They will ultimately go unnoticed by the world, and I will venture a guess that such an oversight need not concern them at all.

Article in Question

The Devil is in the Details

In ­­­­­Mira Nair’s movie, Monsoon Wedding, the viewer is carefully guided in the hopes that they may be given some fleeting insight into Indian culture and in doing so left hopefully better such that, as they learn of others, they may learn too of themselves. Where on some notes the film strikes its mark and inferred intentions are realized, in a few other aspects it falls short and the viewer is left feeling that a greater potential exists than that which was reached.

As the story progresses, thematic elements and motifs become quickly apparent. We are left to follow a large Indian family where Aditi, a young bride-to-be, and her fiancé Hemant are in the days immediately preceding their arranged marriage. The father of the bride, Lalit, bears a great deal of mental and fiscal stress as he works with a dishevelled event organizer Parabatlal Kanhaiyalal 'P.K.' Dubey to assure the festivities go as planned. Meanwhile, a number of love interests (some more scandalous than others) kindle. Ideas of love: its inception and its management, in addition to those of Americanization, globalization and the domestic concerns of a rapidly budding economy give the story enough material beyond the romantic notions immediately assumed to keep most audiences interested. Here the film undoubtedly succeeds, inspiring critical thought and worthwhile discussion.

However, with the family of both bride and groom arriving from around the world, the scenes soon become awash of names and faces, the relationships between whom are often only briefly mentioned. Here develops what I found to be a significant issue in the film: the large number of individuals which are key to the understanding of the many subplots are introduced at a rate and in a manner that often leaves the viewer uncertain of their relations. This becomes troubling, as in order to understand—and thusly appreciate—the actions and motivations that exist within these subplots, one must take extreme care to mentally catalogue who each individual is and how this implicates their involvement. This is unfortunate, as the quality of the material that encompasses these subplots is sufficiently well written, something that may escape the audience if they are unsure of the predicate material.

Consequently, Monsoon Wedding is destined to be a movie confined to English classrooms and the shelves of those with greater than average patience. Whereas quality material exists within the script, and the acting is par, critical errors in presentation leave a movie that will likely get better with each viewing, but most will not bother to watch again.

We Do Not Live in Norway

Intelligence is not dependent on a university degree, nor is a university degree dependent on intelligence—but very nearly so.

There are innumerable routes in attaining success, many of which do not necessitate one ever stepping foot on a university campus or writing a midterm. Many of these routes, however, do not implicitly depend on what one might consider classical intelligence: the abilities to systematically retain information, to apply logic in the solving of problems, and to fluidly communicate these ideas through written word and other mediums. That is, one may succeed without possessing the fundamental characteristics that inspires third grade teachers to remark among themselves how successful little Johnny will be.

That being known, one must consider, if they do not possess such characteristics, if there is perhaps a means of reaching success better suited to them than university. What many seem not to realize is that the university cares no more that you cannot remember facts and figures to save your life than the Scantron machine cares when it reads an 8 out of 30 on your biology final. We have reached an age where it is now largely up to us to determine what is in our best interest and how we act upon it. Costs must be considered, and options carefully weighed. Taking the path—more or less traveled—will make all the difference.

At stake is so much more than success: we wager our youth, our happiness, our money—and that of others. We wager our future. Yet so many place a bet without considering their odds. When the cards come down some hands will pay, others will not and taxpayers will pay for them both. Every time an ill prepared student drops out of university, tens of thousands of dollars of taxpayer money has been wasted. The thousands of dollars per annum a student pays is but a fraction of the cost of their university education, the rest is quietly covered by money taken from all of us for the purpose of accomplishing something. If nothing is accomplished, money that could have been better allocated was placed on a resource that squandered it—if but only by means of ignorance.

We do not live in Norway. Our education system is not running on an open ended budget. Cuts are an everyday, everywhere reality. We cannot afford office phones. We most certainly cannot afford to fund the post-secondary dabbling of those for which post-secondary education may not be a rational option. That is reality, and to think otherwise is bordering on delusional.

The Needs of the Many

In our democratic nation we are blanketed under a great number of rights and freedoms, recorded in long words on expensive paper. This is our equality—for when all else is shaved away, who we were and who we may become, we all still rest under the same umbrella of ink signed into law in April of 1982. In theory, this should resolve any legal dispute, any governmental grievance, and any accusation of offence with perfect clarity and simple reason. But what of when our rights conflict with each other?

Today this is the case in Quebec, where the recent passing of Bill 94 has created significant rifts in the opinions of Canadians everywhere. The law, tabled and passed by Quebec’s provincial government, requires anyone wearing a face covering to remove it when doing business with government officials, attending a governmentally funded institution or working for the Quebec government. Predominantly affected are Muslim women who regularly wear a niqab: a full-body veil that leaves a slit only for one’s eyes. The bill cites security concerns and an impaired ability to communicate when executing governmental business as primary instigating factors.

It appears that in this case the Quebec government has arrived at a legal impasse. Boiled down, it comes to the needs of the many versus the needs of the few. Where all Canadians are guaranteed the right to security and safety of person—a right that is arguably compromised when government officials are not able to identify individuals as a result of their choice of attire—those same individuals who choose to wear a niqab on religious grounds are equally guaranteed the freedom of religious expression. But whose right is greater?

Ultimately that is for the local, provincial and, almost inevitably, supreme court to determine. We will soon see the complexities of a superficially very simple request, if not in the dimensions of their arguments undoubtedly in the hit to our tax dollars. If there is a certain to the days and months ahead, it is in that a number of lawyers will make a large sum of money and CBC will have a field day.

To address the issue at hand, that is, should Alberta adopt such a policy, I first considered the information above. The arguments in Alberta are much the same as they are in Quebec—for both sides of this touchy issue. In an ideal world—and this is not one—some terms of reasonable accommodation might be reached and all parties would be happy. But, knowing the challenges that a wide spectrum of opinions creates, many will inevitably be dissatisfied with the solution. In a democracy, those feelings of malcontent will come to light in human rights commissions, newspaper editorials and all manner of general complaining—all of which will cost money. For now at least, I would bid we pause and wait on the legal ruling that is bound to come out of Quebec. For the needs of the few are vocal and expensive, and the many need not pay for it now.

India and Introspect

Racking my brain, I scan and collect the entirety of my knowledge of the Indian subcontinent. Even after nearly half an hour of jotting scribbled points on a piece of a paper that now sits in the periphery of my vision, I have scarcely enough to construct a pair of desultory paragraphs I would hesitate to lay any claim to—so my focus shifts. It has become quickly apparent I know little of the vastness that is India, but why is this?

If anything truly came straight to mind when posed with the question of this blog entry, it was the sheer size of India. Not in terms of geography (perhaps living in Canada has skewed my perception of what qualifies as a big country), nor in terms of its influence for of that I know not, but in terms of people. A single country that hosts a population roughly a seventh of that of our planet—as much as that of North America and Europe combined—is known far less than either.

So when presented with the topic my first instinct, as I’m sure was the case for many, was to pull up Google and sift through the plethora of information in the hopes of dredging enough to scrape the impression that I know about something I don’t. Perhaps this is the product of years in the public school system, where the focus has always been on presenting information in a way that would score a ninety so another week could be spent with sparse thought of what I had learned. Seldom did I ask why I had learned something or how it might contribute to my greater understanding. A lack of factual information had always been addressed with a quest to find it—if merely for the grade—and little concern to the reason for the lack of knowledge was ever proceeded upon.

I suppose that that is the difference between knowledge and information. Information is abundant in our society: more readily available and accessible than ever before. Knowledge, however, only seems to have expanded marginally with many, and the yearning to improve it is arguably declining—especially in youth. The inherent assumptions of knowledge, a desire to learn and a consequential learning experience, seem to have ebbed in an education system that puts more emphasis on test scores and funding dollars than on how they shape the student. I think that is what I hope English 123 might provide for me. If I can be driven beyond the desire for information into the realms of the pursuit of knowledge and in doing so learn something—however small—about myself I will have succeeded irrespective of my grade.

For now it seems that I know little about India, time and effort may change that—and conceivably me as well.