Something completely different...

So, I’ve started going on 6am runs along the north shore of the island. It’s hard to stay in shape here, believe it or not. So, beach running at dawn for me. It could be worse, I could be in the city that I was born in. I think it’s pretty easy being Indian these days. It’s rare that I see myself caricatured on a syndicated comedy, and, so long as they completely ignore their heritage, brown men and women can become governor of states that I would never deign to live in. Anyway, I was born in India, Alwar, actually. Western Rajasthan, my dad worked for the accounting department of a synthetics manufacturer in the early eighties. When he got the chance to come to America, he made his boss promise to keep his job available for a year, in case he couldn’t find work in the USA. About five years ago my dad’s old boss came to the States on a business trip and asked my dad if he still wanted his old job. So, you know, American dream and whatnot.

I love India. It’s great, things are improving, they really, really are. One thing that always bothered me, and still does, is how Indians ignore each other. Specifically, the haves ignoring the have-nots. I know it’s easy for an American to wonder how you could walk past skinny children, bones sticking out, empty eyes, shoe-less, and walk right past them at the train station. Indeed, if I walked past kids like that at Grand Central, I’d probably stop, at least I like to think I would.

I have some rules about giving to beggars. A development blogger (Blood and Milk, recommended, by the way) described them. Set a budget for how much you can donate per week, never give to kids (they should be in school), and a few other ones.

Two theories, I think. The first being the system of caste hierarchies that first developed about 5000 years back. I’ll spare this discussion to a possible future post. The second theory: there is so much fucked up poverty in India…it’s probably easier to just ignore it. Otherwise, how could you possibly be okay with yourself as a person? They do that at my families’ houses. Servants sit on the floor, little cousins won’t associate with little poor kids. India is getting better, and so are these situations. They really really are.

My family is from a small, small village. Camels, women in burqas, probably doesn’t look much more different than a similar sized village in Afghanistan. My house was built in 1982 on land that my great grandfather purchased from a Muslim family who moved to Pakistan during partition. The Masjid is behind my house, since we technically live on the border of the “Muslim side” of town. I always that it was weird that Hindus and Muslims live side by side just fine in my town, but inter-caste relationships still have some improving to do. By the way, Caste, that’s a white man’s word. It’s Jaathi, which means birth. What were you born to do? When my dad was a teenager he worked for the Indian Census one year and had to go to the leatherworker section of town. They messed with him, offered him tea, because they knew that he would say no. Anyway, just some stuff I wanted to write about, thanks for reading, I know pictures are more fun.

I am tired and I need to be up in 5 hours to get my jogging on.

The article that got me going today: http://www.csmonitor.com/World/Global-Issues/2008/0611/one-mans-mission-to-rid-india-of-its-dirtiest-job

Finally, FUCK THE BRITS, FUCK EM IN THE QUEEN.

p.s. I didn't edit this post at all, like, it's a free write so, please excuse the likely numerous spelling, grammatical, and structural errors.