So many of my friends have birthdays on 9th January! Happy Birthday to all of you :)
I got some bad news today... a friend (acquaintance) that I used to know at Princeton was diagnosed with leukemia. Right after graduation in May 2011, just as she was beginning a new life, she fell ill. The doctors ran a few tests and she received the diagnosis. I remember her as an incredibly pretty, petite Tunisian girl (one of the few at Princeton) and she helped me with some Arabic exercises one afternoon at Cafe Viv...
You can't ever take anything for granted and I guess it's a reminder that each and every living moment, we need to be grateful for all that we have...
SJ, you may not remember me, but I'm adding my voice to everyone else who's praying for you...
This blogger describes my feelings perfectly: http://www.indianfoodforever.com/desserts/gulab-jamun.html
How do you describe the sensation when something just melts in your mouth and while it travels down your oesophagus, it leaves a feeling of such warmth and coziness... as if you are the most special person in the world?
How do write or even portray that soft fluffiness of the jamuns oozing with that delicious sweetness? As one of my Princeton friend's once said: "It's like a sugar explosion!!"
Back in college, I used to order these online: http://www.amazon.com/Haldirams-Classic-Indian-Gulab-Jamun/dp/B004XTCLU6/ref=sr_1_5?ie=UTF8&qid=1324466178&sr=8-5
I'd anxiously track my order until the big day arrived. I'd take out a single gulab jamun and put it in a bowl, top it with lots of syrup and microwave it. Then I'd savor the smell and finally take a bite and go to heaven :)
I was a member of the Religious Life Council at Princeton... Monday evening dinner, spring retreats, events at the chapel and Opening Exercises = good times :)
Here's an article by Dean Paul Raushenbush,
Religion evokes intense responses because it plays an essential role in our lives. Our beliefs reflect who we are, what we care about, our purpose -- what Tillich would call our "ultimate concerns." I serve as the Associate Dean of Religious Life and the Chapel at Princeton University. Much of my work involves encouraging interfaith dialogue between students of different religious traditions, including a group of 30 students called the Religious Life Council who have committed themselves to being part of a community of diverse faith traditions and beliefs (including atheists and agnostics) that acknowledges difference while maintaining respect and friendship. This stretches the students as Muslims and Jews, Hindus and Sikhs, Christians and Buddhists articulate their disagreements on questions of the existence of God, how society should be structured, the relation between religion and international politics and the nature of salvation. When speaking to someone from a different faith, we start out with the basic understanding that we will and should disagree, but we can sit down and have some tea and talk together.
Editor's note: These remarks are from Amazon CEO Jeff Bezos commencement speech toPrinceton's Class of 2010, delivered on May 30, 2010.
As a kid, I spent my summers with my grandparents on their ranch in Texas. I helped fix windmills, vaccinate cattle, and do other chores. We also watched soap operas every afternoon, especially "Days of our Lives." My grandparents belonged to a Caravan Club, a group of Airstream trailer owners who travel together around the U.S. and Canada. And every few summers, we'd join the caravan. We'd hitch up the Airstream trailer to my grandfather's car, and off we'd go, in a line with 300 other Airstream adventurers. I loved and worshipped my grandparents and I really looked forward to these trips. On one particular trip, I was about 10 years old. I was rolling around in the big bench seat in the back of the car. My grandfather was driving. And my grandmother had the passenger seat. She smoked throughout these trips, and I hated the smell.
At that age, I'd take any excuse to make estimates and do minor arithmetic. I'd calculate our gas mileage -- figure out useless statistics on things like grocery spending. I'd been hearing an ad campaign about smoking. I can't remember the details, but basically the ad said, every puff of a cigarette takes some number of minutes off of your life: I think it might have been two minutes per puff. At any rate, I decided to do the math for my grandmother. I estimated the number of cigarettes per days, estimated the number of puffs per cigarette and so on. When I was satisfied that I'd come up with a reasonable number, I poked my head into the front of the car, tapped my grandmother on the shoulder, and proudly proclaimed, "At two minutes per puff, you've taken nine years off your life!"
I have a vivid memory of what happened, and it was not what I expected. I expected to be applauded for my cleverness and arithmetic skills. "Jeff, you're so smart. You had to have made some tricky estimates, figure out the number of minutes in a year and do some division." That's not what happened. Instead, my grandmother burst into tears. I sat in the backseat and did not know what to do. While my grandmother sat crying, my grandfather, who had been driving in silence, pulled over onto the shoulder of the highway. He got out of the car and came around and opened my door and waited for me to follow. Was I in trouble? My grandfather was a highly intelligent, quiet man. He had never said a harsh word to me, and maybe this was to be the first time? Or maybe he would ask that I get back in the car and apologize to my grandmother. I had no experience in this realm with my grandparents and no way to gauge what the consequences might be. We stopped beside the trailer.
My grandfather looked at me, and after a bit of silence, he gently and calmly said, "Jeff, one day you'll understand that it's harder to be kind than clever."
What I want to talk to you about today is the difference between gifts and choices. Cleverness is a gift, kindness is a choice. Gifts are easy -- they're given after all. Choices can be hard. You can seduce yourself with your gifts if you're not careful, and if you do, it'll probably be to the detriment of your choices.
This is a group with many gifts. I'm sure one of your gifts is the gift of a smart and capable brain. I'm confident that's the case because admission is competitive and if there weren't some signs that you're clever, the dean of admission wouldn't have let you in.
Your smarts will come in handy because you will travel in a land of marvels. We humans -- plodding as we are -- will astonish ourselves. We'll invent ways to generate clean energy and a lot of it. Atom by atom, we'll assemble tiny machines that will enter cell walls and make repairs. This month comes the extraordinary but also inevitable news that we've synthesized life. In the coming years, we'll not only synthesize it, but we'll engineer it to specifications. I believe you'll even see us understand the human brain. Jules Verne, Mark Twain, Galileo, Newton -- all the curious from the ages would have wanted to be alive most of all right now. As a civilization, we will have so many gifts, just as you as individuals have so many individual gifts as you sit before me.
How will you use these gifts? And will you take pride in your gifts or pride in your choices?
I got the idea to start Amazon 16 years ago. I came across the fact that Web usage was growing at 2,300 percent per year. I'd never seen or heard of anything that grew that fast, and the idea of building an online bookstore with millions of titles -- something that simply couldn't exist in the physical world -- was very exciting to me. I had just turned 30 years old, and I'd been married for a year. I told my wife MacKenzie that I wanted to quit my job and go do this crazy thing that probably wouldn't work since most startups don't, and I wasn't sure what would happen after that. MacKenzie (also a Princeton grad and sitting here in the second row) told me I should go for it. As a young boy, I'd been a garage inventor. I'd invented an automatic gate closer out of cement-filled tires, a solar cooker that didn't work very well out of an umbrella and tinfoil, baking-pan alarms to entrap my siblings. I'd always wanted to be an inventor, and she wanted me to follow my passion.
I was working at a financial firm in New York City with a bunch of very smart people, and I had a brilliant boss that I much admired. I went to my boss and told him I wanted to start a company selling books on the Internet. He took me on a long walk in Central Park, listened carefully to me, and finally said, "That sounds like a really good idea, but it would be an even better idea for someone who didn't already have a good job." That logic made some sense to me, and he convinced me to think about it for 48 hours before making a final decision. Seen in that light, it really was a difficult choice, but ultimately, I decided I had to give it a shot. I didn't think I'd regret trying and failing. And I suspected I would always be haunted by a decision to not try at all. After much consideration, I took the less safe path to follow my passion, and I'm proud of that choice.
Tomorrow, in a very real sense, your life -- the life you author from scratch on your own -- begins.
How will you use your gifts? What choices will you make?
Will inertia be your guide, or will you follow your passions?
Will you follow dogma, or will you be original?
Will you choose a life of ease, or a life of service and adventure?
Will you wilt under criticism, or will you follow your convictions?
Will you bluff it out when you're wrong, or will you apologize?
Will you guard your heart against rejection, or will you act when you fall in love?
Will you play it safe, or will you be a little bit swashbuckling?
When it's tough, will you give up, or will you be relentless?
Will you be a cynic, or will you be a builder?
Will you be clever at the expense of others, or will you be kind?
I will hazard a prediction. When you are 80 years old, and in a quiet moment of reflection narrating for only yourself the most personal version of your life story, the telling that will be most compact and meaningful will be the series of choices you have made. In the end, we are our choices. Build yourself a great story. Thank you and good luck!
Last day at work before I leave for my official "shaadi break" (inshalah). I think the general cheesiness is rubbing off on me :P
The girls took me to Chatterbox for lunch... sweet :) It's nice being pampered and baby sis gave me a soothing back massage since Apa dear couldn't sleep... Mom and Dad are pretty stressed... I think they need the pampering more than I do...
Mr. F's gone to Lahore to finalize arrangements... he's so stressed out, I actually feel sorry for him...
I'm hoping and praying it doesn't rain on the wedding day and everything goes smoothly inshalah with minimal stress for my mom. And I hope Mr. F starts being nice to my parents :=(
Thoughts on singlehood (singledom?):
- I loved my life :) traveling, studying abroad, earning, spending and saving my own money, eating what I wanted, sleeping when I felt like and wearing what I was comfortable in...
- I loved the fact that I wasn't answerable to anyone except the daily phone call to my parents
I got a chance to visit the State Department in DC for one of my policy task forces and found this interesting. Notice that the American (bald) eagle is holding a branch in one talon and arrows in the other. In times of peace, the eagle's face is turned towards the branch and in times of war, its face is turned towards the arrows.
And so, Ramadan 2009 begins today! I feel like it came upon us really suddenly this year... Hopefully, we'll settle into the routine pretty quickly.
When I was a kid, Ramadan was a huge deal. My mom would wake me an hour before Fajr (around 4:30 am), force-feed me parathas and make me drink 6 glasses of water so I wouldn't become dehydrated. School would start early and end early too so students could go home and sleep until Iftar. My brother and I would watch Ramadan programs on tv while our mom cooked yummy iftar food (pakoras, samosas and dahi baray oh my!). My dad would make fruit chaat with each piece of fruit perfectly sliced, diced and cubed. We'd send food to our neighbors in a platter covered with an embroidered napkin and they'd send us food in return.
I never really "felt" Ramadan in college... It's no fun waking up for a solitary sehri when you've barely slept 4 hours all night :( but my friends were wonderfully supportive and we'd have dinner together. Usually, I'd grab a bearclaw pastry from Panera on my way back from class and eat in my room while watching Full House on youtube before starting a paper or finishing homework :p.
Anyway, these days I'm unemployed and basically home all day... it actually feels good!
I just saw the movie and according to a friend who accompanied me it was "cringe worthy". But, I have to say it was better than I expected... (or maybe my expectations were really low).
Megan's role was basically geared towards the dreams of hormonal males; luscious lips, cutaway shorts, bouncy ummm assets and all... Shia LaBeouf did a blah job of being a Princeton freshman and saving the world :P The Transformers made too much noise... I zoned out after a while.
The glimpses of campus were pretty cool though and I liked the shots in Petra and Egypt :)
My Islam is foremost about reason. It is about harnessing one's capacity to understand the complexities of this world and beyond. The mind and the pursuit of knowledge are central to comprehending, to the extent that is possible, what is the divine. One also cannot make conscious decisions about right or wrong without exercising his own judgment. Blindly following the edicts of scholars, is not choosing a path except one that is not your own. When I refrain from consuming alcohol, it is not because I am backward, or uncultured. I refuse drugs because they hinder our judgment and our ability to reason, the trait that God endowed us with that distinguishes humankind from all other beings.
My Islam is about the equality of women, where paradise as the Prophet said (the Prophet whose first convert was a woman, who was his wife but also his employer), is found at the feet of our mothers. Islam is the faith that gave women legal status, the right to divorce, and the path to financial independence. Inspiration is found in the women leaders of the three most populous Muslim countries of Bangladesh, Pakistan and Indonesia, who found their way into the modern political space long before their counterparts in North America. This Islam is about the strong, independent Muslim women, some who wear hijabs, and others who do not, who balance the needs of families with their rights to be full and equal participants in all aspects of society.
My Islam is about tolerance. It is about a religion that told its adherents that all persons performing good deeds can find a just place in the hereafter. For Muslims, believers of other faiths should be respected and protected. I believe in the traditions of Fatimid Egypt, Andalusia, and the Ottoman Empire, which gave sanctuary to Jews fleeing from the West. In my faith, discrimination and prejudice along race or ethnicity is an abomination, while equality is a requirement. It is a religion that sees all peoples living in mutual respect, working towards the common good.
My Islam is about compassion. Empathy is not a virtue but an attitude that permeates every aspect of my life. The condition of your neighbor or a stranger is a reflection of you. The mosque is the center not for organizing people for bombastic shouting sessions of anti-Americanism but rather for mobilizing persons of faith to serve their communities to develop an ethos of compassion for all. My Qur'an exhorts in countless verses that spending on the less fortunate is the true measure of an individual.
My Islam is about humility. It is an Islam that means submission to something greater than oneself, and forces the recognition of our smallness in the face of the wider world and beyond. It is about co-existence with all creation that surrounds us be they our compatriots or persons living in a distant land. It is about sustainable stewardship of the resources that God has endowed this world with.
I do not naively believe that what I see as Islam is the status quo in every Muslim country or family. Nor do I consider my vision as a monopoly on what is right, for true religion is about the ability of each follower to forge his or her own path. Yet, the next time someone remarks that Islam is irrational, violent, and hateful, know that there are countless millions whose practice and beliefs of Islam prove otherwise.
How do you get to Carnegie Hall? Practice, practice, practice. That's a major point Malcolm Gladwell makes in his book "Outliers." He writes that to truly master something, you need to spend at least 10-thousand hours doing it. Take Bill Gates, for example. He dropped out of Harvard and he still became Bill Gates...by devoting his every waking moment to building and understanding computer codes. The Beatles might have seemed like an overnight sensation, but they played together more than a thousand times before that famous appearance on the Ed Sullivan Show in 1964. For them, it really was a hard day's night...night after night after night...for four years!
I'm no Beatle or Bill Gates, but I've learned the importance of hard work, as well. I was a desk assistant at ABC News in Washington where my major responsibilities were Xeroxing (hey, it was the dark ages!) and making coffee. When I moved to what my network colleagues referred to as Chicken Noodle News in 1980, I finally got a chance to do some reporting...and the President of CNN said he never wanted to see me on air again. It could have been demoralizing; instead I found it motivating! And rather than let the turkeys get me down... I just kept practicing. And I actually got better.
Next, don't be a hater. Princeton has taught you to think critically, to approach things with a healthy dose of skepticism...and that's a good thing, as Martha Stewart would say. But you really must guard against the cynicism and nastiness that are so pervasive today, particularly on the internet. It can be a wonderful, powerful and equalizing tool, but it's also populated by haters and trolls. People think they can say or do anything online under the cloak of anonymity. Don't get sucked in...In his book, entitled "Snark", David Denby writes, "Snark often functions as an enforcer of mediocrity and conformity. In its cozy knowingness, snark flatters you in assuming that you get the contemptuous joke. You've been admitted or re-admitted to a club, but it may be a club of the second rate."
Third, I have a message particularly for all you young women here today...or as Beyonce might say, all the single ladies. John Lennon, once wrote "Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans."
I'm sure you are all graduating with big career goals. You may also have a dream of being married and having a family, and at some point the career may take a backseat. There is no more challenging, rewarding or important job than being a mom. I just want to say this--sometimes dreams of domestic bliss are interrupted by reality. People get divorced. People die. You need to protect yourself. I was very happily married to a wonderful man. He was diagnosed with colon cancer and nine months later, he was gone. I was a single mom with two very young children. This was not part of the plan. Luckily, I had a career and therefore the financial independence to support my children. Many women in my situation are not nearly as fortunate. And while I don't mean to be a Debbie Downer, I want you all to be prepared for the unexpected and approach some of the big life decisions you'll be making with your eyes wide open.
And another thing you probably need to realize: It's not all about you. As you venture out into this big bad world, I hope you each find a way to make it better. As anchor of the Evening News, I've been to Iraq and Afghanistan. I was there for a matter of days...not months or years. No matter what your opinion may be about the wars this nation is fighting, the men and women of the military are making sacrifices every day...and deserve our respect and support when they're deployed...and when they come home.
Never underestimate the contribution you can make. Its been said: "If you think you are too small to be effective, you have never been in bed with a mosquito."
So give something back. After all, you're graduating from Princeton! You are so lucky. And do me a favor...thank your parents or whoever helped you achieve this goal. Then, transform your gratitude into action...and give back to a world that has already given you so much.
When President Obama announced he was choosing Sonia Sotomayor for the Supreme Court it was a reminder that the American Dream is alive and well...that a young Puerto Rican girl who grew up in a housing project in the Bronx could earn a seat in the highest court in the land. She congratulated the single mother who raised her to be a judge and her brother to be a doctor. Parents, your children, too, can achieve anything because you gave them strong shoulders to stand on and the tools they'll need to succeed. Remind yourselves of this when they ask if they can come home and live with you while they look for work! We can finally burn the bumper sticker that says: "he who dies with the most toys wins." The truth is closer to the old Italian Proverb that says: "At the end of the game, the king and the pawn go back in the same box." What really matters in the end is how you've played the game of life...that you've lived it with honor, integrity and character... old fashioned qualities that never go out of style...whether you're a fan of Ella Fitzgerald or Lady Gaga.
Finally, take some chances. Get out of your comfort zone, even if that's extremely uncomfortable.
Mark Twain once wrote, "Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn't do than by the ones you did do."
When I left the safe confines of NBC News, a friend wrote me a note that said, "Boats are always safe in the harbor. But that's not what boats are built for." So sail away, even if the waters are choppy and the territory uncharted...you'll be amazed at what you learn about the world and about yourself...and through it all, cherish the handful of people you can always depend on to throw you a life preserver when you need it the most. And don't forget to wear sunscreen.
I can't believe it's been a whole year and I've come a long way... from an idealistic fresh graduate to reluctant adult.
I want to be here right now. See all my friends, roommates and professors, cheer at P-rade, watch the class of 2009 graduate, eat Bent Spoon sorbet and relive college life for a few precious days. Thanks for some of the best years of my life :)
Quigley (or Bear) as J liked to call him was our bunny. Ok, so he was J's bunny but we all loved him to bits and baby-sat him on weekends when J was away. J adopted Quigley from an animal shelter after Gutsy died. Gutsy was the first bunny. He died in J's arms when his stomach burst after filling up with too much gas...
In our dorms, we weren't allowed to have pets, but since the fine was only $25 if he was discovered, we decided to risk it. Quigley had a large cage under J's bed (when the bedcover was down, the cage was completely hidden from view). We lined the floor with newspaper so it wouldn't creak when Quigley moved and we attached a pipe to his water container so it would fill up gradually without making a mess.
At night, we'd let him out to frolic and play in the common room while we did homework or watched Ugly Betty or The Bachelor. He'd bounce around and sniff at whatever caught his fancy. He liked chewing up computer cords and if it was cold, he'd curl up into a bread loaf with his ears down flat... When we were sad or stressed, petting Quigley was therapeutic- he was a cuddly bunny :)
Being cozy :)
Quigley liked Frist pizza
Quigley nibbles a green apple- notice his shiny coat :)
Quigley was with us for almost two years. After graduation, he flew to Texas to be with J's parents while the rest of us moved away. My roommate A was visiting last month and we bought Annie's bunny grahams to commemorate :)
Truly, our world is shrinking. This past weekend, I met a person from New Delhi who went to college in Texas with one of my close friends from high school. The same evening, one of my co-workers from Palestine met a friend who was with him in elementary school and it turned out that the same person was at college with me and we'd taken six classes together!
It was great catching up, chatting about mutual friends and comparing our experiences in Abu Dhabi since graduation. My friend works for a major consulting firm, travels four days a week and spends weekends in Abu Dhabi. His belongings are stored in hotel locker rooms in four cities (Beirut, Damam, Dubai and Abu Dhabi), he routinely stays at work until midnight, carries two cellphones and a blackberry and eats out every day with a regular meal costing around $100. He seemed tired, a little stressed out, but happy. However, I think I made the right decision when I chose a relatively balanced lifestyle over a stint at a consulting firm last year- consulting isn't for everyone and there are major sacrifices involved.
Our time at college was a transformational experience and I get a warm and fuzzy feeling, knowing that the bonds established in classrooms, hallways, dining halls and idyllic spots around campus and through shared values of integrity, honor, respect and trust have withstood the test of time and distance.
I was going through my "Assignments" folder (containing papers and projects for classes in college). I realize some of them are gibberish. Horse Latitudes was required reading for one of my classes in college... it never really made sense to me. I wrote a comparative analysis of Blackwater Fort and Badli-ke-Serai examining the political innuendos in both... A classic example of bs-ing by a stressed out college student :P.
Blackwater Fort
As I had held Carlotta close
that night we watched some Xenophon
embedded with the 5th Marines
in the old Sunni triangle
make a half-assed attempt to untangle
the ghastly from the price of gasoline.
There was a distant fanfaron
in the Nashville sky where the wind
had now drawn itself up and pinned
on her breast a Texaco star.
"Why," Carlotta wondered, "the House of Tar?
Might it have to do with the gross
imports of crude oil Bush will come clean on
only when the Tigris comes clean?"
Badli-ke-Serai
Pork-barrels. Pork-butts. The Widescreen
Surround Sound of a massed attack
upon the thin red cellulose
by those dust- or fust- or must-cells
that cause the tears to well and well and well.
At which I see him turning up his nose
as if he'd bitten on a powder-pack
like yet another sad Sepoy
who won't fall for the British ploy
of greasing with ham the hammer
or smoothing over Carlotta's grammar:
"On which; On which Bush will come clean."
Her grandfather a man who sees no lack
of manhood in the lachrymose.
For any poor student/poetry aficionado out there struggling to make sense of the above, here's what I wrote:
“Politics” in Blackwater Fort and Badli-ke-Serai
By 1590, the English controlled much of Ireland. Ulster was the only fertile province waiting to be colonized. Hugh O’Neill, a prominent member of the Tyrone O’Neill clan was banished from Ulster after his father was killed. He was taken care of by an English settler’s family and although he was Catholic, Hugh seemingly grew up more an English Lord than an Irish clan leader[1]and in 1587, Queen Elizabeth I granted him the title Earl of Tyrone.
The Nine Years War, also known as the Tyrone Rebellion, started in 1592 when an Irish clan leader Red Hugh O’Donnell chased Captain Willis away from Tyrconnel. In 1593 Captain Willis tried to capture Fermanagh (Irish territory), but was hindered by Hugh Maguire (another clan leader) and Red Hugh O’Donnell.
Since Hugh O’Neill had defeated Hugh Maguire the same year, he was given command of an army of 600 men by Queen Elizabeth. However, Hugh dealt this favor in a unique manner. Once the first 600 soldiers had completed their training, he discharged them and engaged another 600 men to train. In all around 6000 men were trained in the following two years at the expense of the Crown[2].
Meanwhile, O’Donnell and Maguire were carrying out hit-and-run attacks on the English. Hugh O’Neill took no action against these isolated rebellions despite several requests but managed to escape detention. He returned to Ulster and in 1595, his well-trained forces joined the forces of O’Donnell and Maguire in a massive attack on Blackwater Fort[3]. Ironically, the English had created, trained and financed their enemy.
The title of the poem, “Blackwater Fort” implies that a similar irony is at play in the current war in Iraq. Imports of crude oil from the Middle East and Saudi Arabia in particular are financing wealthy oil companies such as Texaco in the United States and the “ghastly” in the price of oil which ordinary citizens have to pay is in fact due to the continuing war in Iraq. Every day more and more Americans and Iraqis are being killed in gruesome incidents in Iraq. The narrator of the poem is watching the media coverage of the war with his lover Carlotta and commenting upon the war and its ironies.
Xenophon represents the modern reporter traveling with army units in Iraq and reporting ineptly on the “ghastly” occurrences in the Sunni Triangle, a densely populated area northwest of Baghdad inhabited primarily by Sunni Muslims. Xenophon was a Greek soldier and mercenary and is known for his historical writings of his time. He is often cited as being the original “horse whisperer”[4], having advocated sympathetic horsemanship in his book, “On Horsemanship”[5]. By the use of multiple hidden meanings embedded in every word and the use of interwoven similes, Mr. Muldoon employs reflexivity, leaving it up to the reader to interpret the poem at his or her discretion.
Reflexivity is an act of self-reference where examination of action “bends back on”, refers to and affects the identity instigating the examination and describes the circular relationship between cause and effect[6]. The observations of the observers affect the very situation that they are observing and the observations are not independent of the participation of the observer. Thus Mr. Muldoon implies that the narrator, watching the media coverage has the power to influence the events that are occurring.
Mr. Muldoon’s writing style also emphasizes his use of reflexivity. For example, the “clean on” in the penultimate line rhymes with fanfaron, and with Xenophon, as do triangle and untangle, wind and pinned and star and tar. This circular motion of image and rhythm coupled with the sharp juxtaposition of the past and the present is characteristic of the poems in Horse Latitudes[7].
The distant “fanfaron” in the Nashville sky refers to a swaggering bully, a coward who blows his own trumpet[8] and to fanfare about an end that is vague (the outcome of the war in Iraq). The reference to a “Texaco star” may also be a reference to the idea that the war in Iraq is motivated by oil and that the Bush administration, by creating unnecessary fanfare is not being completely open and honest with the American public and the world at large about its reasons for declaring war on Iraq.
The “House of Tar” may be an allusion to the practice of tarring and feathering; a physical punishment used to enforce formal justice, mostly as a type of mob vengeance. In a typical tar and feathers attack, the subject of a crowd’s anger would be stripped to the waist. Hot tar was either poured or painted on the person when he was immobilized and he was rolled around in feathers that stuck to the tar and paraded around town. Since tar was difficult to remove, the person’s degradation was obvious and continued for some days. Mr. Muldoon suggests that “tarring and feathering” the Bush may be an appropriate punishment or form of vengeance for intentionally misleading the public when “the Tigris comes clean” or when the war in Iraq comes to an end. Several of the above mentioned themes and ideas emerge in a later poem, “Badli-ke-Serai.”
Badli-ke-Serai describes the experiences of the Hindu and Muslim soldiers in the army of the British East India Company during the colonial era, referring specifically to the events of the First Indian War of Independence in 1857. The rebellion or war of independence had diverse political, economic, military, religious and social causes but an oft-cited cause is the introduction in 1857 of the new Pattern 1853 Enfield rifle. To load the rifle, the Indian soldiers were expected to bite the cartridge open with their teeth. It was believed that the cartridges were greased with lard (pork fat) which was impure and forbidden for Muslims and tallow (beef fat) which was sacred and forbidden to Hindus and therefore offended the native Indian soldiers making them feel that they were going against their religion.
Mr. Muldoon describes the plight of an Indian Sepoy bound by the pork-barrel government of the British; a form of government in which government spending is intended to benefit only certain constituents of a politician in return for political support. While the benefits are concentrated in a particular area, the costs are spread among all tax-payers. Butt is an archaic word for barrel or cask. In pre-refrigeration days, pork shoulders were salted and packed for storage or shipping in barrels known as "butts." Thus, etymologically, a pork butt is no more than a pork barrel but the use of synonymous words reinforces the central idea in the beginning of the poem. The word “pork” is also italicized to highlight the role of pork in the war which seems trivial but Mr. Muldoon uses the same approach by italicizing “on which” in the third last line. By doing this, he attempts to shift the focus from the larger themes such as politics and war to details such as a grammatical error perhaps to demonstrate that people in general become bogged down in the minutiae and therefore fail to observe more important events.
The idea of a Pork-barrel government is carried over from a previous poem, “Blackwater Fort” and it appears that American imperialism is not very different from British colonialism a century ago. The people who would benefit most from the war in Iraq are the wealthy elites who finance Bush’s election campaigns and have huge financial investments in the oil industry while ordinary American citizens are expected to finance the war with taxes and pay an increased price for gasoline. The American citizens are therefore financing their “enemy” by financing the Bush administration and like the Indian soldier, they too are bound by a pork-barrel government because the taxes that they pay and the increased price of gasoline fattens the coffers of the oil moguls who provide support for the Bush administration.
The idea that the Sepoys are being exploited by the British is shown by the analogy of cancer cells attacking connective tissue. Dust cells are found in the sputum of those who inhale coal dust. They are alveolar epithelial cells which have phagocyted the minute particles of coal dust, which are constantly inspired in a smoky atmosphere. An attack by “dust- or fust- or must-cells” on the thin red cellulose may refer to Carlotta’s cancer. Smoke inhibits and damages the normal cleaning process by which the lungs get rid of foreign particles (phagocytosis)[9]. The harmful carcinogens in smoke are able to remain lodged in the mucus and develop into cancer tumors which attack connective tissue. Similarly, the culture and identity of the Sepoys is under attack when they are expected to commit the cardinal crime of biting the cartridge.
It appears that one Sepoy or Indian soldier is scorning his contemporaries who have been tricked by the British into chewing upon the cartridges greased with animal fat. And while the act causes them anguish, causing tears of anger or frustration to “well and well and well,” they are bound by the Pork-barrel government.
An interesting connection between Blackwater Fort and Badli-ke-Serai are the lines, “Bush will come clean on…” in Blackwater Fort and “On which… on which Bush will come clean.” Mr. Muldoon ignores the seemingly larger theme, the war in Iraq, oil politics etc. and carries forward to the next poem, only the most trivial aspect; that of correcting a grammatical flaw. The reflexive pattern is repeated here: Sepoy rhymes with ploy, and hammer with grammar. Carlotta’s grandfather appears to be mocking the cause of the war, “greasing with ham the hammer” by comparing it with something as inconsequential as “smoothing over Carlotta’s grammar” as if by correcting her grammar, all the larger problems will be solved.
Mr. Muldoon effectively employs historical, philosophical and linguistic tools, seemingly arbitrary but ingeniously logical to state his message. But instead of sounding pedantic, his reflexive style encourages the reader to interpret for him or her-self the ideas conveyed in his poems which makes the journey more exciting. Going backwards, from Badli-ke-Serai to Blackwater Fort, but going forward in time, from 1857 to the present, Mr. Muldoon demonstrates that the state of affairs is rather similar, drawing parallels between British and American imperialism and the pork-barrel government designed to curry favor with political constituents. And just as Carlotta’s grandfather attempts to sweep the larger issue under the rug by fixing on a triviality, so it appears that people today are turning a blind eye on the situation in Iraq.
[4] A horse whisperer is a horse trainer who adopts a sympathetic view of the motives, needs, and desires of the horse, based on modern equine psychology. The term goes back to the early nineteenth century when an Irish horseman, Daniel Sullivan, made a name for himself in England by rehabilitating horses that had become vicious and intractable due to abuse or accidental trauma.
"Behold, my friends, the spring is come; the earth has gladly received the embraces of the sun, and we shall soon see the results of their love!"(Sitting Bull)
Coming from Karachi where the weather is perpetually sunny, Spring in Princeton never ceased to amaze me, especially after the long, dreary winter. In eager anticipation, I'd wait for the creamy-pink magnolias to bloom near Dinky station and enjoy the heavy fragrance :)
I vividly remember my first day at Pton. Mom, dad, little bro and sis had all come to drop me off and my lovely cousin N had come down from Boston to help me settle in. It was a beautiful, halcyon summer day... clear blue sky, fluffy white clouds and the perfect amount of sunshine.
We walked around campus with the map... it seemed so big at the time and I remember being tired and grumpy and secretly a little scared. I'd wanted this for so long but now that the moment of reckoning had finally arrived I was terrified! I didn't want to be left alone in a new country in an environment that was completely different from home. Plus, I knew I was going to miss my family terribly...
That first evening ISAP held pre-orientation for international students at Alexander Beach. Now Alexander Beach isn't really a beach; it's a patch of grass in front of Richardson Hall and after searching in vain for signs that read "Alexander Beach" I finally asked someone where it was and got there in time for the barbecue. I sat between Keno and Arti- Keno is Nigerian but grew up in Kuwait (later, she became captain of the lacrosse team), Arti was from Bangalore (majored in Comp Sci. and now an investment banker in NYC). I also tasted my first veggie burger- almost gagged but manfully continued chewing and swallowing because I didn't want to appear impolite :P.
Our first icebreaker was "passing the orange". Someone came up with the brilliant idea of passing around an orange from one person to another without using their hands or feet. Everyone sat in a ring and the game began. A guy placed the orange in the crevice between the chin and collarbone and transferred the orange to the girl sitting next to him by. I don't know about others but I am not overly fond of passing an orange from neck to neck with a group of sweaty people I don't know very well especially when it involved members of the opposite sex :P So when it was close to my turn I pretended I had a phone call and moved to the corner to talk... sneaky me :P!
I have a lot to give thanks for this year... My wonderful family, friends and colleagues, health, freedom, independence, small blessings and best of all, no worries :) Alhamdulillah.
My last four Thanksgiving holidays were spent in the United States. Just to give a little background, Thanksgiving in the US is celebrated on the fourth Thursday of the month of November and signals the beginning of the holiday season (the malls usually start playing Christmas carols, hallmark stocks up on Christmas cards and people put up their holiday decorations soon after). It is more of a family holiday, not restricted to any particular religious tradition and less commercial than other holidays (not counting Black Friday).
Freshman year, everyone who lived nearby went home for the holidays. Home being too far away for a three-day visit, I stayed on campus along with most of the international students. As Forbes emptied out, I got ready to spend the holiday catching up on sleep and homework but my awesome RA invited me and my hall-mate to her house to experience a "real" American Thanksgiving.
Thursday morning, we went over to Mir's house. The house was full (family, friends, a dog and two cats) but her mom and dad made me feel very welcome, and surprisingly, I didn't feel shy or awkward! Her mom had made turkey with cornbread stuffing, gravy, cranberry sauce, mashed potatoes, string bean casserole and vegetarian spaghetti specially for me because Mir had told them I was vegetarian. Mir and her sister were put finishing touches on the apple and pumpkin pies and her dad passed around the appetizers while the guests sat around and talked and babies bawled in the background...very homey :)
When it was time to eat, Mir's dad (a cultural Jew) said grace, then we all sat and ate until we could barely move... Later, the guys watched NFL football and the ladies chatted over second and third helpings of pie with whipped cream and coffee... delicious :-)
Contrary to my expectations (for a country famous for illicit sex, broken homes, and one of the highest divorce rates in the world), I learned that Americans do come together to enjoy family, food and football on Thanksgiving Day.
I'm feeling more than a little homesick for Princeton today... my home for the four best years of my life :) November was usually a little dreary; the sun was nowhere to be seen for weeks at a time, it rained constantly and winter was fast approaching but I loved watching the leaves turn color. Newly laundered, the leaves glowed like polished jewels; crimson, gold and every shade in between.
I'd be running to class attempting to avoid the puddles and the rivulets while trying unsuccessfully to hold open my umbrella in the wind. Finally I'd abandon the attempt, pull the hood of my trench coat over my head and continue speed-walking with the rain streaming down my face...
Usually, I'd make it to class with a couple of minutes to spare. I loved the seminars (and the precepts if I'd done the reading) and the one-on-one chats with my professors. My freshman seminar, "A Biography of Energy" was taught by Prof. Richard Golden. The first day, we went around and introduced ourselves.. When it was my turn, he commented on my accent and correctly guessed that I was from Karachi.
Professors at Princeton were genuinely interested in what we had to say. They treated us as equals, not as precocious undergrads and pretty soon we were on first-name basis. At first, it seemed strange to call my 80-year old professor, "Dick" since I'd grown up in an environment where the teacher was to be accorded the utmost respect but I gradually got used to it, just as I got used to saying "trash can" instead of "dustbin" and asking for pizza "to-go" instead of "parcel" or "take-away" :)
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