Or Chotu-Motu's Mandarin classes
I know its late and all but had to wait for special day no?
shēng rì kuài lè
PS: BM, I took some liberties with your logon to upload this. Will rectify.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
Friday, March 20, 2009
Encounter with the TV man
Last night just after 8. I managed to catch the 5.52 from W Sussex so had gotten home at a decent time. The buzzer.
"Hello"
"Hello ma'am. I have a letter for you"
Check time again.
"Can you put it through the mailbox and I will pick it up later?"
"No, I need a signature. If not, I would have done this hours ago"
"I will be right down"
He must be a burglar. Do burglars ring the bell? Maybe. Maybe I will open the door a crack and see. What if this guy has a gun or knife or something? Enough paranoia. Go down. Open door.
"Hello"
"Here is your letter ma'am. It says you have not paid your TV license"
"Are you the TV license inspector? I have never met one"
"Yes, so you need to pay your license fees within..."
"But I don't have a TV"
"You don't have a TV?"
"Correct"
"Are you sure?"
"I think so"
"Can I come and check?"
"Now?"
Narrowed eyes. "Yes"
Should I say that I can't let anyone in when partner is not around? Cultural exception. This guy doesn't look like the sort who would buy it.
"Can I see your ID?"
"Sure" Man pulls out ID and hands it to me.
"You are really a TV license inspector!"
"That's what I said ma'am"
"Come on in"
He follows me up the (spiral) stairs.
"These stairs are dangerous. Do you go up and down every day?"
"Don't have a choice. But you get used to it. Here we are"
"I am going to go here and check..."
"That's the kitchen"
"Many people hide TVs in the kitchen"
"Why would I hide my non-existent TV?"
"The detector did not detect anything"
Living room next. Nothing.
"Can I go here?"
"Sure"
Man goes into bedroom. Kneels down and points detector device under the bed.
"Since I did not know you were coming, I wouldn't have hidden it even if I had one"
"You took your time coming down"
"Fair enough. There's a room upstairs. You might want to go up and check"
"Another spiral staircase!"
"Yeah. Sorry about that"
Man goes up and comes back in a second.
"You really don't have a TV"
"I told you that"
"People say that all the time"
"How many times have people told you the truth"
"In my five years in this job, thrice. Including you"
"Ah. That's the first time anyone associated me with being truthful!"
"When did you move here?"
"A couple of months ago"
"How long do you intend to stay here?"
"End of this year for sure"
"Do you intend to buy a TV?"
"No"
"You are really not intending to buy a TV?"
"That's correct"
"Why?"
"We don't watch it"
"What do you do then?"
"Why are you asking me all these questions?"
"The other two people who did not have TVs were crazy. You look like you are fine, even seem to have a proper job"
How does he know I have a proper job? Is he stalking me? He is not a TV inspector after all. No, no, chill, I am still wearing my suit.
"I am very much fine, thank you"
"We might come up again in a couple of months to check"
"You are welcome"
I let him out of the flat and close the door when I hear the sound. Man promptly fell down stairs on his way down. I open my door.
"Tell whoever is coming up next to watch out for the stairs"
***
In totally unrelated news, I was just chatting with the Don and he was telling me that yesterday they announced the MP candidate for Thiruvanthapuram. It's a Sonia boy - name is Shashi Tharoor. People are apparently scratching heads and wondering WTF is going on. (Hey Feanor - Looks like now is the time. Before those papers come through, go file your nomination)
"Hello"
"Hello ma'am. I have a letter for you"
Check time again.
"Can you put it through the mailbox and I will pick it up later?"
"No, I need a signature. If not, I would have done this hours ago"
"I will be right down"
He must be a burglar. Do burglars ring the bell? Maybe. Maybe I will open the door a crack and see. What if this guy has a gun or knife or something? Enough paranoia. Go down. Open door.
"Hello"
"Here is your letter ma'am. It says you have not paid your TV license"
"Are you the TV license inspector? I have never met one"
"Yes, so you need to pay your license fees within..."
"But I don't have a TV"
"You don't have a TV?"
"Correct"
"Are you sure?"
"I think so"
"Can I come and check?"
"Now?"
Narrowed eyes. "Yes"
Should I say that I can't let anyone in when partner is not around? Cultural exception. This guy doesn't look like the sort who would buy it.
"Can I see your ID?"
"Sure" Man pulls out ID and hands it to me.
"You are really a TV license inspector!"
"That's what I said ma'am"
"Come on in"
He follows me up the (spiral) stairs.
"These stairs are dangerous. Do you go up and down every day?"
"Don't have a choice. But you get used to it. Here we are"
"I am going to go here and check..."
"That's the kitchen"
"Many people hide TVs in the kitchen"
"Why would I hide my non-existent TV?"
"The detector did not detect anything"
Living room next. Nothing.
"Can I go here?"
"Sure"
Man goes into bedroom. Kneels down and points detector device under the bed.
"Since I did not know you were coming, I wouldn't have hidden it even if I had one"
"You took your time coming down"
"Fair enough. There's a room upstairs. You might want to go up and check"
"Another spiral staircase!"
"Yeah. Sorry about that"
Man goes up and comes back in a second.
"You really don't have a TV"
"I told you that"
"People say that all the time"
"How many times have people told you the truth"
"In my five years in this job, thrice. Including you"
"Ah. That's the first time anyone associated me with being truthful!"
"When did you move here?"
"A couple of months ago"
"How long do you intend to stay here?"
"End of this year for sure"
"Do you intend to buy a TV?"
"No"
"You are really not intending to buy a TV?"
"That's correct"
"Why?"
"We don't watch it"
"What do you do then?"
"Why are you asking me all these questions?"
"The other two people who did not have TVs were crazy. You look like you are fine, even seem to have a proper job"
How does he know I have a proper job? Is he stalking me? He is not a TV inspector after all. No, no, chill, I am still wearing my suit.
"I am very much fine, thank you"
"We might come up again in a couple of months to check"
"You are welcome"
I let him out of the flat and close the door when I hear the sound. Man promptly fell down stairs on his way down. I open my door.
"Tell whoever is coming up next to watch out for the stairs"
***
In totally unrelated news, I was just chatting with the Don and he was telling me that yesterday they announced the MP candidate for Thiruvanthapuram. It's a Sonia boy - name is Shashi Tharoor. People are apparently scratching heads and wondering WTF is going on. (Hey Feanor - Looks like now is the time. Before those papers come through, go file your nomination)
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Does anyone else get the feeling...
that the Times is secretly (well, not so secretly) enjoying this economic crisis? Almost every article, op-ed, editorial on the topic (esp the ones on struggling corporations) is pouring oil on the fire with barely concealed glee. Once in a while, they decide to be "fair and balanced" which turns out to be even more entertaining - as an example, see this article here. Publish a half-hearted attempt at defending AIG bonus payouts and then sit back and watch the fun. Just in case some unsuspecting soul starts to nod head, wait, the article actually provides you with a number of hints that ensures that you stay on course - for instance, the reference to the auto industry (talk about sacrosanct contracts!) or the random quotes from the exec compensation consultants. Its a riot and the Times is so thoroughly enjoying every moment of it. And writing articles about comments in their own forums.
Friday, March 13, 2009
Telly question
Hey TV-watchers,
Would very much appreciate it if anyone could let me know if there's a better newsman on TV right now. I might end up buying one to watch.
Thanks!
Would very much appreciate it if anyone could let me know if there's a better newsman on TV right now. I might end up buying one to watch.
Thanks!
Sunday, March 08, 2009
I love Bill (sometimes) and Anthony Lane (all the time)
This morning, we start running in opposite directions and decide to meet up halfway somewhere. I follow the script but Bill loses his way (yes, in London). I get back home, shower, eat and get ready to call the cops when man saunters in with a bag full of books. Apparently, he somehow ended up in some second hand bookstore in Camden Lock and forgot all about running and me. In a blatant attempt at self-preservation, he remembers to get me a book. This.
From the Introduction (on the job across the pond):
I was also sprung free from the indignity of the picture byline - a bizarre English addiction, based on the surely unprovable theory that readers of newspapers will be more, not less, likely yo admire a piece of prose when given the chance to inspect the fate of the motheaten specimen who cobbled it together. Not so: any fragile support that I commanded among London moviegoers, for instance, was severly compromised by the fact that my column was topped by what appeared to be an unhappy reject from the Hitler Youth. All that sank beneath the waves as I shifted my allegiance to America, and to a magazine whose more diligent writers would, if stalked by a portrait photographer, take care to climb inside a passing weenie cart and wait till the peril had passed.
...
I knew that litigation was a popular sport in America, but it had never crossed my mind that one might be sued by imaginary characters. If I got Godzilla's name wrong, he could take me to the cleaners, and only the fact checkers could keep me in the clear. .....Needless to say, such mania for accuracy is a long way from the journalistic practice in England, where most newspapers are ideally read as a branch of experimental fiction.
...
What follows here, for a few hundred pages, is hardly a love letter to America; no book which pays such elaborate homage to Eveyln Waugh could in all honestly claim such a distinction. But it is no less ardently meant; think of it, instead, as one of the exit visas which Rick slips under the lid of Sam's piano, in Casablanca, away from the eyes of Captian Renault and his flunkies - just a dumb sheaf of paper, but stamped with the irrevocable permission to seek a world elsewhere. That world, to me as to Victor Laszlo, can only be America; then again, as Rick says to Ilsa on the runway, "We'll always have Paris." But that is another story.
From the Introduction (on the job across the pond):
I was also sprung free from the indignity of the picture byline - a bizarre English addiction, based on the surely unprovable theory that readers of newspapers will be more, not less, likely yo admire a piece of prose when given the chance to inspect the fate of the motheaten specimen who cobbled it together. Not so: any fragile support that I commanded among London moviegoers, for instance, was severly compromised by the fact that my column was topped by what appeared to be an unhappy reject from the Hitler Youth. All that sank beneath the waves as I shifted my allegiance to America, and to a magazine whose more diligent writers would, if stalked by a portrait photographer, take care to climb inside a passing weenie cart and wait till the peril had passed.
...
I knew that litigation was a popular sport in America, but it had never crossed my mind that one might be sued by imaginary characters. If I got Godzilla's name wrong, he could take me to the cleaners, and only the fact checkers could keep me in the clear. .....Needless to say, such mania for accuracy is a long way from the journalistic practice in England, where most newspapers are ideally read as a branch of experimental fiction.
...
What follows here, for a few hundred pages, is hardly a love letter to America; no book which pays such elaborate homage to Eveyln Waugh could in all honestly claim such a distinction. But it is no less ardently meant; think of it, instead, as one of the exit visas which Rick slips under the lid of Sam's piano, in Casablanca, away from the eyes of Captian Renault and his flunkies - just a dumb sheaf of paper, but stamped with the irrevocable permission to seek a world elsewhere. That world, to me as to Victor Laszlo, can only be America; then again, as Rick says to Ilsa on the runway, "We'll always have Paris." But that is another story.
Friday, March 06, 2009
Visa story
8.55 AM: Holborn Viaduct. We discover that we forgot to get a few photocopies. Decide to ask the security chap outside the visa service centre instead of trying to find a photocopy place by ourselves.
8.57 AM: In front of visa centre building. No queue outside. Convinced this is the wrong building. Check door number. No mistake. Go through revolving doors. No security. No X-ray machine. Totall puzzled and about to walk out when we see a sign telling us that we have come to the right place.
8.58 AM: Man at front desk is actually smiling. WTF? We can see the room beyond the desk. Its not the airless basement rooms we are used to. This one is bright, airy, and spacious. There are about 30 people in the room. We ask front desk man about photocopy places. He tells us to go inside and we should find a machine. Fair to say we are a little disoriented at this point.
8.59 AM: Yes, there is a working photocopy machine. Next to a photo booth. On the other side there are a few computers with Internet access. There were a couple of people printing stuff out. Bill gets photocopies while I go grab a comfy seat. We will probably be here forever so might as well make oneself at home types.
9.00 AM: Five counter shutters go up simulataneously. Five numbers get called one after the other. One has a different sequence - this is the passport collection queue.
9.03 AM: Bill is done with the copies. We gets all documents in order. Look around for vending machine. None. Just a water cooler. I whisper to Bill that we are going to starve. He points to Counter number 3. They are calling number 6. I look at our token number. 13. I tell Bill he can't be serious. He points to Counter 4. They are calling token 7.
9.06 AM: I tell Bill that this is the first step. After this, they would send us to the basement where there would be 100 people before us and we would be stuck there forever. He points out that the people who were done with the counter went straight out of the door. I tell him that must be the way to the basement. He looks skeptical.
9.09 AM: 13. We lug our stuff to the counter. This guy is smiling too. I slide in our applications. He asks for photos. I give him the photos followed by our passports. He flips through my application. Flips my passport (the first visa officer to flip the new passport) and within 2 second finds the page he is looking for. This is a record. Writes down a few numbers on the application. Does the same with Bill's. The he asks if we want to pick-up or do this by post. I say pick-up. He takes out a receipt, writes down a date and my phone number and hands it to me.
"You can come back on Tuesday 9..."
"I have these supporting documents"
"I don't need to see them"
"Are you sure? We have air tickets, invitation letter, bank statements, pay slips..."
He laughs. "I don't need to see them"
We say thanks.
9.12 AM: Back in the street. We take a few minutes to recover from this surreal experience before we head our respective ways.
These Chinese bloody scare me sometimes.
8.57 AM: In front of visa centre building. No queue outside. Convinced this is the wrong building. Check door number. No mistake. Go through revolving doors. No security. No X-ray machine. Totall puzzled and about to walk out when we see a sign telling us that we have come to the right place.
8.58 AM: Man at front desk is actually smiling. WTF? We can see the room beyond the desk. Its not the airless basement rooms we are used to. This one is bright, airy, and spacious. There are about 30 people in the room. We ask front desk man about photocopy places. He tells us to go inside and we should find a machine. Fair to say we are a little disoriented at this point.
8.59 AM: Yes, there is a working photocopy machine. Next to a photo booth. On the other side there are a few computers with Internet access. There were a couple of people printing stuff out. Bill gets photocopies while I go grab a comfy seat. We will probably be here forever so might as well make oneself at home types.
9.00 AM: Five counter shutters go up simulataneously. Five numbers get called one after the other. One has a different sequence - this is the passport collection queue.
9.03 AM: Bill is done with the copies. We gets all documents in order. Look around for vending machine. None. Just a water cooler. I whisper to Bill that we are going to starve. He points to Counter number 3. They are calling number 6. I look at our token number. 13. I tell Bill he can't be serious. He points to Counter 4. They are calling token 7.
9.06 AM: I tell Bill that this is the first step. After this, they would send us to the basement where there would be 100 people before us and we would be stuck there forever. He points out that the people who were done with the counter went straight out of the door. I tell him that must be the way to the basement. He looks skeptical.
9.09 AM: 13. We lug our stuff to the counter. This guy is smiling too. I slide in our applications. He asks for photos. I give him the photos followed by our passports. He flips through my application. Flips my passport (the first visa officer to flip the new passport) and within 2 second finds the page he is looking for. This is a record. Writes down a few numbers on the application. Does the same with Bill's. The he asks if we want to pick-up or do this by post. I say pick-up. He takes out a receipt, writes down a date and my phone number and hands it to me.
"You can come back on Tuesday 9..."
"I have these supporting documents"
"I don't need to see them"
"Are you sure? We have air tickets, invitation letter, bank statements, pay slips..."
He laughs. "I don't need to see them"
We say thanks.
9.12 AM: Back in the street. We take a few minutes to recover from this surreal experience before we head our respective ways.
These Chinese bloody scare me sometimes.
Sunday, March 01, 2009
Ray Day
At our neighbourhood DVD place this afternoon. I went and returned DVD and paid and turned back to find Bill intently staring at a shelf. I walk slowly towards him, puzzled. He is beaming for some reason. The shelf says "Top Titles".
"What's up?"
"Look"
"Why are you looking at the Top Titles shelf?"
"Dude, look"
"You have become some popular movie watcher nowadays"
"I said look"
So I looked. Mish mash. Some chick flick (tagline reads "Better than Sex and the City"), Persepolis, Atonement, The Lives of Others, The Kite Runner, and ..wait.
"Dude"
"I know"
"Its a mistake"
"Of course its not"
"Of course it is. I think we should let the counter people know that they have it here by mistake"
"You are evil"
"This is nothing to do with evil. I think its an honest mistake"
"Honest mistake? You mean you don't think that's a top title?"
"Not in this part of the world, it ain't"
"Right"
"I really think we should let the people at the counter know"
"Why?"
"People might rent it by mistake"
"And end up loving it. Moreover, I don't understand why you think its not popular here"
"You can't possibly tell me that one of the top titles in this neighbourhood is Joi Baba Felunath?"
"Why can't it be? Just this Friday, I met this guy in the elevator at the tube station"
"And?"
"He is like the Chief Curator at the National Gallery"
"Right. And he just started talking to you"
"I am not kidding"
"Whatever. What's him got to do with Joi Baba Felunath?
"People like him and our landlady understand art. They live in this neighbourhood. So this is a top title. There is no mistake. The odd person out who lives here is you"
"I see. Actually you know what? I wouldn't mind moving out. You should be able to take care of the rent, I am sure"
"Do you think of anything besides money? Does art mean anything to you?"
"Wrong questions. Should I move out or not?"
"Go away"
***
Bonus scene:
Though you probably have to be Bong or to have grown up with only DD to get the joke.
So this DVD store, its actually pretty cool. They have this whole section which has a good subset of the Artifical Eye titles. Among other directors, they do have a Ray collection so we overdosed on it a bit over the last few days. So this morning, we were watching Charulata with the subtitles turned off [1]. As we got to the song that everyone who grew up in DD times should know by heart, I suddenly realised that this was the first time I am watching this with a Bong in the room. Which meant that I could clear all my doubts.
"Bill"
"Yeah?"
"This is a Tagore song no?"
"Yes"
"Written like way back"
"Yeah"
"But I never knew he was into China and stuff"
"China?"
"And Gobi for that matter"
"Gobi? Dude, I think you have been reading too much about the silk road"
"No, no. This has got nothing to do with that. I always wondered what this song meant"
"This song? What the hell are you talking about?"
"Why does he sing about some woman from Gobi?"
"What?"
"And where does Chini come in? I mean, this was Tagore. Not like he had any special affinity with China. If this was like in the 60s, one could say its all the communist comedy"
"Dude, I have no idea what you are talking about"
"Ok, pause. Now sing the song"
"Why?"
"Sing no?"
"Ami Chini Go Chini tomare O Gobideshini.."
"Chini, Gobideshini. What does it mean?"
Bill laughed for like ever. Then refused to explain.
PS: For the younger generation of non-Bongs who did not grow up on DD, here's the song.
[1] Part of a running bet on whether I understand Bong better or Bill Tam. I should understand Bong better considering that you just change the shs and bs from Hindi but since my Hindi is really bad, it doesn't help. Plus anyway, since we all have watched these movies, one could argue that one is not missing anything by turning subtitles off.
"What's up?"
"Look"
"Why are you looking at the Top Titles shelf?"
"Dude, look"
"You have become some popular movie watcher nowadays"
"I said look"
So I looked. Mish mash. Some chick flick (tagline reads "Better than Sex and the City"), Persepolis, Atonement, The Lives of Others, The Kite Runner, and ..wait.
"Dude"
"I know"
"Its a mistake"
"Of course its not"
"Of course it is. I think we should let the counter people know that they have it here by mistake"
"You are evil"
"This is nothing to do with evil. I think its an honest mistake"
"Honest mistake? You mean you don't think that's a top title?"
"Not in this part of the world, it ain't"
"Right"
"I really think we should let the people at the counter know"
"Why?"
"People might rent it by mistake"
"And end up loving it. Moreover, I don't understand why you think its not popular here"
"You can't possibly tell me that one of the top titles in this neighbourhood is Joi Baba Felunath?"
"Why can't it be? Just this Friday, I met this guy in the elevator at the tube station"
"And?"
"He is like the Chief Curator at the National Gallery"
"Right. And he just started talking to you"
"I am not kidding"
"Whatever. What's him got to do with Joi Baba Felunath?
"People like him and our landlady understand art. They live in this neighbourhood. So this is a top title. There is no mistake. The odd person out who lives here is you"
"I see. Actually you know what? I wouldn't mind moving out. You should be able to take care of the rent, I am sure"
"Do you think of anything besides money? Does art mean anything to you?"
"Wrong questions. Should I move out or not?"
"Go away"
***
Bonus scene:
Though you probably have to be Bong or to have grown up with only DD to get the joke.
So this DVD store, its actually pretty cool. They have this whole section which has a good subset of the Artifical Eye titles. Among other directors, they do have a Ray collection so we overdosed on it a bit over the last few days. So this morning, we were watching Charulata with the subtitles turned off [1]. As we got to the song that everyone who grew up in DD times should know by heart, I suddenly realised that this was the first time I am watching this with a Bong in the room. Which meant that I could clear all my doubts.
"Bill"
"Yeah?"
"This is a Tagore song no?"
"Yes"
"Written like way back"
"Yeah"
"But I never knew he was into China and stuff"
"China?"
"And Gobi for that matter"
"Gobi? Dude, I think you have been reading too much about the silk road"
"No, no. This has got nothing to do with that. I always wondered what this song meant"
"This song? What the hell are you talking about?"
"Why does he sing about some woman from Gobi?"
"What?"
"And where does Chini come in? I mean, this was Tagore. Not like he had any special affinity with China. If this was like in the 60s, one could say its all the communist comedy"
"Dude, I have no idea what you are talking about"
"Ok, pause. Now sing the song"
"Why?"
"Sing no?"
"Ami Chini Go Chini tomare O Gobideshini.."
"Chini, Gobideshini. What does it mean?"
Bill laughed for like ever. Then refused to explain.
PS: For the younger generation of non-Bongs who did not grow up on DD, here's the song.
[1] Part of a running bet on whether I understand Bong better or Bill Tam. I should understand Bong better considering that you just change the shs and bs from Hindi but since my Hindi is really bad, it doesn't help. Plus anyway, since we all have watched these movies, one could argue that one is not missing anything by turning subtitles off.
Saturday, February 28, 2009
The Search
Not usually one for human interest stories but I have followed on and off the search for Raoul Wallenberg and therefore can't resist linking to this fascinating Journal piece on the unending search and the effect on the family.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Back...
in sunny(!) London after a crazy week in the city by the lake. It was supposed to be some silly training but people took this training way too seriously. Midnight every night and plans of shopping and meeting people down the drain. Anyway.
Discoveries:
- Couldn't sleep on the flight back so ended up making long list of things one misses when one is not in the New World. Top two: Trader Joe's and Chipotle Burritos. Mountains and buildings and NPR and people are all there but nowhere close to these two.
- Every single bookstore (both city and airport) that moi went to had big, big books with pictures of President and First Lady on inauguration day. Right next to books on job hunting.
- Missed the boat on the deep discounts. Everything I bought was full price. At 1.34 exchange rate, I might as well have not gone at all.
- Not so bad. Still worth the trip as moi spent 16 hours each day staring at glistening lake. What prettiness!
- I am officially "one of the boys". That was the general conclusion my training team came to after 5 days of working together. One of them apparently went asked women in other teams how they felt being the only woman in the team totally forgetting that moi was in his team. This supposedly is a compliment.
- Babies. Too many of them. Thankfully, every single one of them slept through my visit. Worked all around.
- First day of training I could not understand why the firm hired only stupid people in the States. Then I realised they weren't really stupid, it was just the accent. Strange how here in Britain (true elsewhere too I am assuming), credibility takes a big hit the moment one hears the American accent. The only time moi wants to hear it is when calling a call centre - the rest of the world can do with some of that service.
- Yeah, yeah, Bill. All you Tams out there - anyone remember "No Thangamani, Enjoy!" from Agni Natchathiram? That was Bill's week. If you find the vid anywhere, send me a link.
Discoveries:
- Couldn't sleep on the flight back so ended up making long list of things one misses when one is not in the New World. Top two: Trader Joe's and Chipotle Burritos. Mountains and buildings and NPR and people are all there but nowhere close to these two.
- Every single bookstore (both city and airport) that moi went to had big, big books with pictures of President and First Lady on inauguration day. Right next to books on job hunting.
- Missed the boat on the deep discounts. Everything I bought was full price. At 1.34 exchange rate, I might as well have not gone at all.
- Not so bad. Still worth the trip as moi spent 16 hours each day staring at glistening lake. What prettiness!
- I am officially "one of the boys". That was the general conclusion my training team came to after 5 days of working together. One of them apparently went asked women in other teams how they felt being the only woman in the team totally forgetting that moi was in his team. This supposedly is a compliment.
- Babies. Too many of them. Thankfully, every single one of them slept through my visit. Worked all around.
- First day of training I could not understand why the firm hired only stupid people in the States. Then I realised they weren't really stupid, it was just the accent. Strange how here in Britain (true elsewhere too I am assuming), credibility takes a big hit the moment one hears the American accent. The only time moi wants to hear it is when calling a call centre - the rest of the world can do with some of that service.
- Yeah, yeah, Bill. All you Tams out there - anyone remember "No Thangamani, Enjoy!" from Agni Natchathiram? That was Bill's week. If you find the vid anywhere, send me a link.
Monday, February 16, 2009
Looking for dead people in snowy Paris (Paris Part 2)
Morning in Paris. Chotu steps out of shower all set to conquer whatever it is that he wants to conquer. Motu is playing with remote.
"Its going to snow today"
"It doesn't snow in Paris"
"You said that of London the day before it snowed"
"How do you know its going to snow today?"
"There's thing called TV. A chap inside it tells you about weather forecast"
"You are watching TV nowadays?"
"Yeah, I am beginning to get the hang of it"
"Yeah? Do they have English channels?"
"BBC World but its all boring. I also got sick of the French channels after a while. So not I am watching DW TV"
"DW TV told you it will snow in Paris today?"
"Yes"
"In German?"
"What language do they speak in DW TV?"
"Whatever. Lets go"
"You think I got it wrong?"
"I did not say anything of the sort"
"You think I can't understand German?"
"I know you can't"
"Well, how about this? Right now, they have this programme called Quadriga which is like this debate. They are debating the Vatican and the holocaust denier priest controversy"
"You are making that up"
"You watch it while I get ready and tell me if I am wrong. Make sure you use all that two semesters of German you supposedly learnt"
"Why are trying to pick a fight early in the morning?"
"Me picking a fight? Yeah, my fault trying to keep you informed about the weather. Won't do that anymore"
Chotu Motu were walking up and down back streets of Montmartre (after visiting three Boulangeries) when the flurries started coming down. Chotu ignored the little white thingies and kept walking.
"Hey, look, windmill"
"Moulin, yes"
"Are you now trying to prove that you know as much French as I do German?"
"Do you have an umbrella?"
"I am a Londoner. What did you expect?"
So we put up the umbrella and walked for another half hour in the snow (while not talking about it) until we found another cosy bakery to ride out the snow in. We bought another load of exotic French things and polished them off while watching the (unspeakable) snow fall all around us.
"What a lovely Parisian afternoon!"
Chotu choked on his coffee.
"Chill. Just for effect"
"What next? Oh, what a romantic city!"
"Ask me same time next week and I will say it and mean it" [1]
"Of course. Dude, there's some big cemetery five minutes from here. You think we should go?"
"Who is there?"
"Its Paris na? Bunch of people must be there"
"Like who?"
"I don't know. Sartre. Proust. Degas. Picasso. Camus. Truffaut. Godard"
"I don't think he is dead"
"Oh ok. But they must be all buried here only"
"Hey, isn't Wilde buried in Paris?"
"Along with certain other rock stars, yes"
"Lets go then. We can go and randomly find graves in the snow. What fun!"
"Maybe they will be totally covered by the snow and we have to dig them out. Cool"
"I know. Can you think of anything more interesting to do on a snowy Parisian afternoon?"
"Strange as it may see, no"
So thats the story of how Chotu Motu found themselves at the Cimetière de Montmartre on the one day of the year it snows in Paris. They were the only ones in the cemetery as obviously, Parisians seemed to have other interesting things to do. The guard at the gate looked strangely at Chotu and Motu before giving them a tattered map.
"Dude, wrong graveyard"
"What?"
"Apparently most people are buried in this other cemetery"
"That Pantheon thingy? That I thought was meant for men of the revolution types"
"No, some other place. Pere-Lachiase Cemetery. This has only a few"
"Hello? This sign says there are more than a million people buried here"
"But not many we know"
"Oh. So now we are claiming to know these people"
"Thats there. Then how does it matter whose grave it is? Lets go around and find a few"
"Exactly. There's so many of them that we may know some of them"
"Truffaut. He is here"
"Oh good. Lets go find his grave. Then we can even give SB some story about how we took all pain and came here in the snow to see his grave"
"Does she even like him?"
"Does it matter?"
"I guess not"
"At this point, since that's the only person we know, lets go find the damn thing"
No, we didn't find it despite the map. But we did spend an hour walking up and down other graves.
We ended up liking this idea of visiting random dead people so much that the next day, we ended up at Pere Lachaise cemetery. Where Chotu claimed that we didn't need a map as he had it all memorised. Turned out to be a tragedy as after an hour, he had to go back out and buy a map. Not only that, we had to run all the way from Paris Nord metro teminal through French immigration, UK immigration, and security to make the train. But no worries. Getting lost in a cemetery has its advantages. In addition to rock stars, we found a few interesting graves - Chopin where a group of Polish school kids had a full orchestra going, some PLO types, and just as we were about to leave, this.
[1] So what if its 20 F and one is totally jetlagged? Its still so romantic to see the sun come up over the lake. Even if the lake is barely visible. No silly French city is going to beat my Hog-butcher.
"Its going to snow today"
"It doesn't snow in Paris"
"You said that of London the day before it snowed"
"How do you know its going to snow today?"
"There's thing called TV. A chap inside it tells you about weather forecast"
"You are watching TV nowadays?"
"Yeah, I am beginning to get the hang of it"
"Yeah? Do they have English channels?"
"BBC World but its all boring. I also got sick of the French channels after a while. So not I am watching DW TV"
"DW TV told you it will snow in Paris today?"
"Yes"
"In German?"
"What language do they speak in DW TV?"
"Whatever. Lets go"
"You think I got it wrong?"
"I did not say anything of the sort"
"You think I can't understand German?"
"I know you can't"
"Well, how about this? Right now, they have this programme called Quadriga which is like this debate. They are debating the Vatican and the holocaust denier priest controversy"
"You are making that up"
"You watch it while I get ready and tell me if I am wrong. Make sure you use all that two semesters of German you supposedly learnt"
"Why are trying to pick a fight early in the morning?"
"Me picking a fight? Yeah, my fault trying to keep you informed about the weather. Won't do that anymore"
Chotu Motu were walking up and down back streets of Montmartre (after visiting three Boulangeries) when the flurries started coming down. Chotu ignored the little white thingies and kept walking.
"Hey, look, windmill"
"Moulin, yes"
"Are you now trying to prove that you know as much French as I do German?"
"Do you have an umbrella?"
"I am a Londoner. What did you expect?"
So we put up the umbrella and walked for another half hour in the snow (while not talking about it) until we found another cosy bakery to ride out the snow in. We bought another load of exotic French things and polished them off while watching the (unspeakable) snow fall all around us.
"What a lovely Parisian afternoon!"
Chotu choked on his coffee.
"Chill. Just for effect"
"What next? Oh, what a romantic city!"
"Ask me same time next week and I will say it and mean it" [1]
"Of course. Dude, there's some big cemetery five minutes from here. You think we should go?"
"Who is there?"
"Its Paris na? Bunch of people must be there"
"Like who?"
"I don't know. Sartre. Proust. Degas. Picasso. Camus. Truffaut. Godard"
"I don't think he is dead"
"Oh ok. But they must be all buried here only"
"Hey, isn't Wilde buried in Paris?"
"Along with certain other rock stars, yes"
"Lets go then. We can go and randomly find graves in the snow. What fun!"
"Maybe they will be totally covered by the snow and we have to dig them out. Cool"
"I know. Can you think of anything more interesting to do on a snowy Parisian afternoon?"
"Strange as it may see, no"
So thats the story of how Chotu Motu found themselves at the Cimetière de Montmartre on the one day of the year it snows in Paris. They were the only ones in the cemetery as obviously, Parisians seemed to have other interesting things to do. The guard at the gate looked strangely at Chotu and Motu before giving them a tattered map.
"Dude, wrong graveyard"
"What?"
"Apparently most people are buried in this other cemetery"
"That Pantheon thingy? That I thought was meant for men of the revolution types"
"No, some other place. Pere-Lachiase Cemetery. This has only a few"
"Hello? This sign says there are more than a million people buried here"
"But not many we know"
"Oh. So now we are claiming to know these people"
"Thats there. Then how does it matter whose grave it is? Lets go around and find a few"
"Exactly. There's so many of them that we may know some of them"
"Truffaut. He is here"
"Oh good. Lets go find his grave. Then we can even give SB some story about how we took all pain and came here in the snow to see his grave"
"Does she even like him?"
"Does it matter?"
"I guess not"
"At this point, since that's the only person we know, lets go find the damn thing"
No, we didn't find it despite the map. But we did spend an hour walking up and down other graves.
We ended up liking this idea of visiting random dead people so much that the next day, we ended up at Pere Lachaise cemetery. Where Chotu claimed that we didn't need a map as he had it all memorised. Turned out to be a tragedy as after an hour, he had to go back out and buy a map. Not only that, we had to run all the way from Paris Nord metro teminal through French immigration, UK immigration, and security to make the train. But no worries. Getting lost in a cemetery has its advantages. In addition to rock stars, we found a few interesting graves - Chopin where a group of Polish school kids had a full orchestra going, some PLO types, and just as we were about to leave, this.
[1] So what if its 20 F and one is totally jetlagged? Its still so romantic to see the sun come up over the lake. Even if the lake is barely visible. No silly French city is going to beat my Hog-butcher.
Sunday, February 08, 2009
Chotu Motu in Paris I: At the Pantheon
Chotu Motu walking in Latin Quarter somewhere.
"Oh there you see it"
"What do I see?"
"That dome"
"What about it?"
"We are going there"
"Don't think its on our way"
"Just a few minutes off"
"But its uphill and we are carrying stuff. Can't we do this later?"
"No, I have missed it so many times already. This time I have to go see it. I will carry your bag if you want"
"Are you offering to carrying my backpack?"
"Its not that heavy"
"You are serious!"
"Of course I am. Give na"
"Dude, what is this place?"
"What place?"
"That dome place. Some church type thing no"
"Oh, I see. That explains the indifference. That's the Pantheon"
"Which I thought we saw in Rome like ages ago. Wasn't that when you started crying?"
"What nonsense?"
"I remember this very clearly. You started swearing and crying because you read somewhere that Bernini melted the bronze at the Pantheon for that altar piece at the Vatican"
"The bastards! That still makes my blood boil"
"Bill darling, anything that makes your blood boil is serious entertainment for me. Is there anything similar in this Pantheon? Then we will surely go see"
"Dude, you really don't know"
"Don't know what?"
"About this Paris ka Pantheon"
"I know its like the Abbey where everyone is buried and all. So what? I have no intention of paying good money to see junta ka graves all over the city[1]"
"Who wants to see graves? We are nearly there now. Chal"
"This is slightly scary. I have never seen you so enthu about anything"
"Don't be scared. Come, lets go in"
"Dude, its like some 8 euros. At current exchange rate, that's 8 quid. I don't want to see graves and I have seen way too many basilicas to last me a lifetime. I see a Boulangerie right here. Maybe I will wait here"
"Will you shut up and come up?"
At this point, I was too curious to give up. So I trudged up the stairs to the basilica. Pantheon. Whatever. Chotu bought tickets. This obviously is a totally new experience for me - Chotu buying anything. I was speechless. I followed him inside. He stopped and I promptly bumped into his backpack.
"Can't you like..?" It was evident that he couldn't really hear anything. He was staring at something at the centre of the cathedral. Intently. I stared at him for a moment and then turned to look at what he was looking at.
Dang! Enlightenment! Totally forgotten this thing was at the Pantheon. Anyway, might as well make full capital out of it.
"What is it?"
"Hello?"
"Can you hear me?"
"What is that contraption doing in a cathedral?"
Chotu heard me this time.
"What do you think it is?"
"Its like a giant well, let me think now..."
"Don't go there. Not the time for profanity"
"Profanity? I was going to say pendulum. What's profane about that?"
"The hell you were"
"Of course I was"
"Don't you think its time you shut up?"
"Are you going to wait for an entire hour?"
"Half an hour at the least"
"Okay, I might as well go see some graves"
"I can't believe you don't want to see this"
"Who said I don't want to see it?"
"You are going to see some silly graves you just said"
"But I am seeing this. I will come back and see it on the same plane once the earth rotates around itself for a while. What I don't want is to sit around and worship it"
"Whatever"
So I went off and saw some graves. Funny things they have done - like putting Voltaire and Rousseau right across from each other. After death do us part types. And obviously, first (only?) woman resident.
When I came back from the crypt, Chotu was still sitting there staring at the pendulum.
"We can go now"
"If you want to do puja and all, go ahead"
"Its only a pendulum", Chotu said and walked towards the door.
"I wouldn't have known. For a while, I thought you had gotten religion"
"Come on now"
"Seriously dude. Next I know, you would start reading the book"
"I don't read books where I need Google for every line. Its not like the Name of the Rose or anything"
"I know"
"But this is about middle school physics. This kind of religion is what we need, don't you see?"
"If you say so. Dude, look, Rue laplace!"
"What? Place is a square. There is no rue called la Place"
"Not La Place. Laplace. Rue Laplace. We are in the univ area now"
"Why does that name seem vaguely familiar?"
"Vaguely familiar. The man who just had an orgasm just by looking at Foucault's pendulum is asking me who Laplace is. Do I have to remind you of Fourier and Laplace transforms now?"
"Oh that chap. That's what you EE people do. Not us"
"Right"
"We don't do much with Laplace. Anyway, now that you have proved your geekery...."
"My geekery?! I don't remember anything other than the names. And if I may remind you, I wasn't the one who was worshipping Foucault's Pendulum like a moment ago!"
"You don't understand. This is not about geekery"
"No?"
"No. This is about what you can do with these big places of worship which do not serve any ostensible purpose. Its about how a secular outlook can transform even the most useless of places to be centres of scientific learning. Every kid who goes into that building will have an understanding, a real one, of the world around him. That is cool. Whatever you think of it"
Yes, that's one of the longest Chotu has ever spoken. So I am speechless again for a moment.
"You do realise that what you arguing for and are so happy about is the Revolution?"
"If it takes a revolution, it takes a revolution. I have no issues with that"
Ah. Finally, the Bong speaks. And all I had to do was to get him to Paris.
Bonus picture: Chotu Motu on stilts in Paris. (Feanor: That is NOT romantic, just tall)
[1] Famous last words. That is precisely what we ended up doing. More grave stories coming up soon.
Monday, February 02, 2009
What's the worst possible thing...
one could be doing on a totally snowed under day in London? (Yes, I said London. Looks like London's decided to make me happy by imitating the city by the lake)
A. Sit at home and have hot chocolate while "working from home"
B. Attempt to go to work by going to tube station and then promptly coming back home
C. Get to airport to catch a flight
D. Get to random consulate, then queue wait 45 minutes in the snow only to have a chap come out and say that the visa section is closed as their staff did not turn up
.jpg)
Well, what can I say? Chotu Motu always had a sense of timing. If I ever had any qualms about surrendering my Indian passport, they are gone. Nobody can accuse me of being patriotic now.
For those of you (esp across the pond) wondering what's with all this naatak, trust me, you have no idea how unprepared this city is for adverse weather. You'd think all this obsession with weather would mean that they would do something about it. No way. Its like snow in Austin, TX. They don't even have snow trucks.
Oh, a couple more. One of our backyard, and the other from my office.
.jpg)
And now, let me get home before they suspend the Northern Line. Already most of the London Underground is greyed out.
A. Sit at home and have hot chocolate while "working from home"
B. Attempt to go to work by going to tube station and then promptly coming back home
C. Get to airport to catch a flight
D. Get to random consulate, then queue wait 45 minutes in the snow only to have a chap come out and say that the visa section is closed as their staff did not turn up
.jpg)
Well, what can I say? Chotu Motu always had a sense of timing. If I ever had any qualms about surrendering my Indian passport, they are gone. Nobody can accuse me of being patriotic now.
For those of you (esp across the pond) wondering what's with all this naatak, trust me, you have no idea how unprepared this city is for adverse weather. You'd think all this obsession with weather would mean that they would do something about it. No way. Its like snow in Austin, TX. They don't even have snow trucks.
Oh, a couple more. One of our backyard, and the other from my office.
.jpg)
And now, let me get home before they suspend the Northern Line. Already most of the London Underground is greyed out.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Libel and the Truth Defense
Over coffee and scrambled eggs this morning, Bill looks up from the Guardian and says in an uncharacterstically disdainful voice:
"Your blogosphere is all funny man"
"Its not mine. What did they do now?"
"I was reading some blogs yesterday"
"I thought you read all of 4 blogs"
"There were these links..."
"Right"
"Anyway the point is these bloggers are funny"
"Why?"
"They have taken up some cause now. The cause of free speech!"
"I noticed"
"And you don't find it funny?"
I do. Not surprising but funny. Other than a handful of blogs (most of which Abi links to here, my views are similar to the ones expressed in this post), I have no idea what the rest of them are all protesting. Righteous indignation as usual. It seems like oh, lets all get together and rant against the mainstream media, this is so much fun, isn't it? Not that I have anything against ranting or having a bit of fun; I am sure I'd even agree to join the party if only I could see anything more than Bloggers of the world, Unite but I guess I am a little dim that way. Anyway, that's not the point of this post.
Getting back to story. So Bill and I were talking about this and we got to libel defenses.
"Which country was this where truth was not an absolute defense in a defamation case?"
"I don't think there's any country like that; not any democratic one. India could fall into the category if you interpret the law a certain way but not sure"
"Not India. Indian laws are strange. There is some country, there definitely was. Maybe old British libel law. I remember studying about this in Civics"
"You studied old British law in your Civics class? Dude, you didn't even study in Calcutta. What did your parents do to you? Get you WB history books to rectify gaps in your education?"
"Oh shut up. We studied about all sorts of countries in Civics"
"Yeah and their old laws. Anyway, I don't think there is any country where truth is not an absolute defense"
"There is"
Google and Wikipedia time. I lost the bet. The country is Philippines. In the Philippines, truth is only part of the defense - in addition to showing the statements were true, the defendant will have to prove that matter charged as libelious was made with good motives and justifiable ends. (from here)
More time was duly spent on this (xkcd would approve) and now that I know so much about libel laws (especially media libel laws) in different countries, I have decided it's my duty to enlighten you all. So.
(Info from here and a collection of Wiki articles)
US: America with its First Amendment rights clearly favours the defendant in most libel suits, especially in cases involving public officials and figures. Truth is a complete and unconditional defense, however, if the plaintiff is a public figure, then even if the defendant doesn't have a truth defense, he might still be alright. A public figure plaintiff has to prove negligence or actual malice on the part of the publisher to claim any damages.
In short, you can call George Bush a fool, and the case will be thrown out unless Bush can prove malice or negligence on your part. One could argue that you can easily get off on the truth defense on this one, but proving the truth in an American court of law is no easy task.
A note about fact vs. opinion here: Just because you start the statement with "IMO" doesn't make it an opinion. Most sources claim that this area is gray and very much subject to how the court interprets it.
Britian: If the American laws are defendant-friendly, the British libel laws are very plaintiff-friendly (No surprises why our laws are plaintiff-friendly too, I guess). In fact, the English courts have been accused of being havens for 'libel tourists' by human rights and free speech advocates over the years. The major differences between the US and British laws are:
1. British common law presumes that the the defedant's statements are false unless and until he can prove the contrary
2. Unlike the US law, a public figure plaintiff does not have to prove fault on the part of the defendant. This is why public officials and politicians can sue for libel in Britain but not very easily in the United States
3. In the US, intent matters. If the publisher believed the content to be true when it was published, that provides an exception even if the statement was false. However in Britain, "under common law a publisher is liable for any false statement of fact, even where the publisher honstly believed the statement to be true at the time of publication and acted in accordance with reasonable standards of journalism"
France: I was curious as to what the French libel laws say as they would have to somehow balance freedom of speech and individuals' reputation unlike the US or Britian where (arguably) one can say, one takes precedence over the other. The French have some rules on who can sue (for instance corporations can sue, however if an employee is the real target, then they cannot), and the defendant can use three kinds of defense - truth, good faith and privelege. Good faith is what makes them closer to the Americans that they would like to be, in fact it takes them one step ahead of the Americans as good faith can include things such as "belief in the truth of the statement, deadline pressures, desire to inform the public, the use of the word "allegedly", or that the statement originated from another source".
Germany: Another country where it is arguable whether truth is a complete defense or not. Defenses inlcude: truth, legitimate public interest, and comment and critical opinion. Apparently, the German courts look favorably on defense please where public interest is at stake. And interestingly, Germany's defamation damage awards are much lower than of the US, and the emphasis is more on corrections and apologies than damages. (Needless to say, Bill claims that being Germans, they possess some precise ways of measuring %s of truth and legitimate public interest and other defenses)
That's it for now. Anyone wants to add to this list around libel laws in other countries including our own, please do so in the comments section. Its quite an interesting subject, no?
"Your blogosphere is all funny man"
"Its not mine. What did they do now?"
"I was reading some blogs yesterday"
"I thought you read all of 4 blogs"
"There were these links..."
"Right"
"Anyway the point is these bloggers are funny"
"Why?"
"They have taken up some cause now. The cause of free speech!"
"I noticed"
"And you don't find it funny?"
I do. Not surprising but funny. Other than a handful of blogs (most of which Abi links to here, my views are similar to the ones expressed in this post), I have no idea what the rest of them are all protesting. Righteous indignation as usual. It seems like oh, lets all get together and rant against the mainstream media, this is so much fun, isn't it? Not that I have anything against ranting or having a bit of fun; I am sure I'd even agree to join the party if only I could see anything more than Bloggers of the world, Unite but I guess I am a little dim that way. Anyway, that's not the point of this post.
Getting back to story. So Bill and I were talking about this and we got to libel defenses.
"Which country was this where truth was not an absolute defense in a defamation case?"
"I don't think there's any country like that; not any democratic one. India could fall into the category if you interpret the law a certain way but not sure"
"Not India. Indian laws are strange. There is some country, there definitely was. Maybe old British libel law. I remember studying about this in Civics"
"You studied old British law in your Civics class? Dude, you didn't even study in Calcutta. What did your parents do to you? Get you WB history books to rectify gaps in your education?"
"Oh shut up. We studied about all sorts of countries in Civics"
"Yeah and their old laws. Anyway, I don't think there is any country where truth is not an absolute defense"
"There is"
Google and Wikipedia time. I lost the bet. The country is Philippines. In the Philippines, truth is only part of the defense - in addition to showing the statements were true, the defendant will have to prove that matter charged as libelious was made with good motives and justifiable ends. (from here)
More time was duly spent on this (xkcd would approve) and now that I know so much about libel laws (especially media libel laws) in different countries, I have decided it's my duty to enlighten you all. So.
(Info from here and a collection of Wiki articles)
US: America with its First Amendment rights clearly favours the defendant in most libel suits, especially in cases involving public officials and figures. Truth is a complete and unconditional defense, however, if the plaintiff is a public figure, then even if the defendant doesn't have a truth defense, he might still be alright. A public figure plaintiff has to prove negligence or actual malice on the part of the publisher to claim any damages.
In short, you can call George Bush a fool, and the case will be thrown out unless Bush can prove malice or negligence on your part. One could argue that you can easily get off on the truth defense on this one, but proving the truth in an American court of law is no easy task.
A note about fact vs. opinion here: Just because you start the statement with "IMO" doesn't make it an opinion. Most sources claim that this area is gray and very much subject to how the court interprets it.
Britian: If the American laws are defendant-friendly, the British libel laws are very plaintiff-friendly (No surprises why our laws are plaintiff-friendly too, I guess). In fact, the English courts have been accused of being havens for 'libel tourists' by human rights and free speech advocates over the years. The major differences between the US and British laws are:
1. British common law presumes that the the defedant's statements are false unless and until he can prove the contrary
2. Unlike the US law, a public figure plaintiff does not have to prove fault on the part of the defendant. This is why public officials and politicians can sue for libel in Britain but not very easily in the United States
3. In the US, intent matters. If the publisher believed the content to be true when it was published, that provides an exception even if the statement was false. However in Britain, "under common law a publisher is liable for any false statement of fact, even where the publisher honstly believed the statement to be true at the time of publication and acted in accordance with reasonable standards of journalism"
France: I was curious as to what the French libel laws say as they would have to somehow balance freedom of speech and individuals' reputation unlike the US or Britian where (arguably) one can say, one takes precedence over the other. The French have some rules on who can sue (for instance corporations can sue, however if an employee is the real target, then they cannot), and the defendant can use three kinds of defense - truth, good faith and privelege. Good faith is what makes them closer to the Americans that they would like to be, in fact it takes them one step ahead of the Americans as good faith can include things such as "belief in the truth of the statement, deadline pressures, desire to inform the public, the use of the word "allegedly", or that the statement originated from another source".
Germany: Another country where it is arguable whether truth is a complete defense or not. Defenses inlcude: truth, legitimate public interest, and comment and critical opinion. Apparently, the German courts look favorably on defense please where public interest is at stake. And interestingly, Germany's defamation damage awards are much lower than of the US, and the emphasis is more on corrections and apologies than damages. (Needless to say, Bill claims that being Germans, they possess some precise ways of measuring %s of truth and legitimate public interest and other defenses)
That's it for now. Anyone wants to add to this list around libel laws in other countries including our own, please do so in the comments section. Its quite an interesting subject, no?
Friday, January 30, 2009
Reading readers on the tube
In case you haven't heard, we have moved. As a result, I don't spend most of my commute walking up and down stairs switching tube lines. Instead, now I spend a good 10-15 minutes on one train[1]. This can get quite boring as I cannot read on the tube and it is usually too loud for music / podcasts. So I use my time wisely and conduct groundbreaking research on the reading habits of travellers on the Edgware branch of the Northern Line. I started with people at my station but they didn't meet the diversity requirements[2] and therefore, I expanded the study to all travellers on the line. Not surprisingly, what people read on the Edgware branch of the Northern Line is not very different from what people read on other lines though the distribution of segments vary. As a public service, I thought I would enlighten you all with the results of my totally unscientific study - perhaps commuters on other lines will conduct research of their own and add to this and we might end up having our own segmentation database using which we can save the world or something. Somehow. Anyway.
Oh before we proceed, obviously these are broad classifications and one can break these up into any number of sub segments but considering that I have travelled on this for line for like 10 days, this is all I could do. We will get to granularity later.
Type 1: Green Tabloiders (13%)
Characterised by London Lite, Metro and London Paper in their hands, the most common segment in most tube lines. In the Northern Line - Edgware branch, this segment comprises of about 13% of all travelling readers. The point to note is that the tabloid readers in this line are different from other lines in that they are environmentally conscious. They diligently calculate carbon footprints before they undertake any trip, and they make up for it by recycling anything and everything. What this means is that these people will never take the tabloid from the chaps who keep handing them outside the stations. But the second they see one of the tabloids left behind on the train, they will jump over seats in an urge to find out that Sir Paul is a lost puppy looking for love.
Type 2: FT / Guardian readers (21%)
I know. Technically these should be two very different segments but bear with me for a second. Let me explain. Those of you who know your Northern line know that the South bound train branches again at Euston. One branch goes to via Bank and the other branch goes through Charing Cross before they meet again at Kennington. In the course of a normal week, I have to travel on both the Bank and Charing Cross branches (client location in Bank and home office in Leicester Sq) which has proved very helpful for my research. As every Londoner knows, there are marked differences between the people travelling in each of these branches. My research shows that all these differences can be easily explained by what they read. No surprises. Bank reads FT. Charing Cross reads the Guardian.
Type 3: Kids who restore your faith in humanity (5%)
As strange as it may seem, there are quite a few readers in the tube who read Dostoevsky, Heller, F S Fitzgerald, Conrad, Steinbeck, Pynchon. These are usually the 17-22 year old college students who are travelling up / down to visit their parents who live on this line. This is the segment that gives me hope every time I come across one of them - I can finally believe that the next generation will turn out to be, you know, alright.
Type 4: Carrie Bradshaw wannabes (12%)
If Type 3 lifts my heart, this segment usually brings out the worst in me. Despite my best efforts to be non-judgemental and accepting, I see absolutely no reason why these people should exist in the first place and my first instinct is to throw them out of the train along with their pink Sophie Kinsellas and Candace Bushnells. Thankfully for me, it is not physically possible to throw someone out of the tube. And well, if I am a little honest, I am a little afraid of their stilettos. I have been a victim of these deadly weapons (why the fuck is this thing not on some banned assualt weapon list I don't understand) more than once and I have no intention of going there again.
Type 5: Discover oneself and the world types (15%)
This is a fun segment which means that you can extract a lot of entertainment out of them. There are a number of sub segments, but broadly this segment is into discovering the world and everything it has to offer. They want to learn all about exotic places and people and generally feel one with the world. These are the sort of people who will go to a special screening of Salaam Bombay and feel like they could so relate to the kid in the movie. (No, I have not watched Slumdog yet) They also like to have all sorts of adventures all over the world, the ones that white people tend to have. This group reminds one of the Stuff White People Like blog and their Book is Shantaram. (Which btw has to be the most popular book on the London Underground system though thankfully not on my line)
Type 6: The M club (34%)
This is an interesting group to study - their chief characteristic is that they don't have a set of authors or a genre that they read. They just read this one chap. Not kidding. There is this one guy and all 34% read him. They also look down upon every other segment and will usually hold the book pretty high up to ensure that everyone can see what they are reading. I could see myself warming up to this segment if only they exhibited a little more variety in their reading habits. But don't think that is happening. Don't get me wrong. The man is brilliant, one of the greatest writers living but that's not the point. There is something to be said about a large group of people who will only read one writer and nobody else (on the tube atleast). Ya ya, you all know who I am talking about, its not a big surprise is it? Ladies and Gentlemen, the most widely read author on the Edgware branch of the Northern line is Haruki Murakami. M, I am told, is in.
PS: Feanor, unless you want us all to believe that everyone on the Waterloo and City line reads FT except for this one chap who reads Eurocrime, you better do your own segmentation research and tell us about it.
[1] On some days, I take the main line for hours and hours but then I usually end up working the whole time, so no question of being bored.
[2]For those of you who think its slightly scary that I am (usually) the only non-white person inside my tube station, I'd like to remind you that I used to live in Lincoln Park. This is not half as bad. At least once I step outside, the whole world is around me. There is the Bangladeshi chap who hands out the tabloids right outside the station, and there's the Jamaican news stand guy, and then there's the Algerian falafel vendor, the desi clerks at the grocery store and the Chinese dry cleaners. As I said, the whole world around me.
Oh before we proceed, obviously these are broad classifications and one can break these up into any number of sub segments but considering that I have travelled on this for line for like 10 days, this is all I could do. We will get to granularity later.
Type 1: Green Tabloiders (13%)
Characterised by London Lite, Metro and London Paper in their hands, the most common segment in most tube lines. In the Northern Line - Edgware branch, this segment comprises of about 13% of all travelling readers. The point to note is that the tabloid readers in this line are different from other lines in that they are environmentally conscious. They diligently calculate carbon footprints before they undertake any trip, and they make up for it by recycling anything and everything. What this means is that these people will never take the tabloid from the chaps who keep handing them outside the stations. But the second they see one of the tabloids left behind on the train, they will jump over seats in an urge to find out that Sir Paul is a lost puppy looking for love.
Type 2: FT / Guardian readers (21%)
I know. Technically these should be two very different segments but bear with me for a second. Let me explain. Those of you who know your Northern line know that the South bound train branches again at Euston. One branch goes to via Bank and the other branch goes through Charing Cross before they meet again at Kennington. In the course of a normal week, I have to travel on both the Bank and Charing Cross branches (client location in Bank and home office in Leicester Sq) which has proved very helpful for my research. As every Londoner knows, there are marked differences between the people travelling in each of these branches. My research shows that all these differences can be easily explained by what they read. No surprises. Bank reads FT. Charing Cross reads the Guardian.
Type 3: Kids who restore your faith in humanity (5%)
As strange as it may seem, there are quite a few readers in the tube who read Dostoevsky, Heller, F S Fitzgerald, Conrad, Steinbeck, Pynchon. These are usually the 17-22 year old college students who are travelling up / down to visit their parents who live on this line. This is the segment that gives me hope every time I come across one of them - I can finally believe that the next generation will turn out to be, you know, alright.
Type 4: Carrie Bradshaw wannabes (12%)
If Type 3 lifts my heart, this segment usually brings out the worst in me. Despite my best efforts to be non-judgemental and accepting, I see absolutely no reason why these people should exist in the first place and my first instinct is to throw them out of the train along with their pink Sophie Kinsellas and Candace Bushnells. Thankfully for me, it is not physically possible to throw someone out of the tube. And well, if I am a little honest, I am a little afraid of their stilettos. I have been a victim of these deadly weapons (why the fuck is this thing not on some banned assualt weapon list I don't understand) more than once and I have no intention of going there again.
Type 5: Discover oneself and the world types (15%)
This is a fun segment which means that you can extract a lot of entertainment out of them. There are a number of sub segments, but broadly this segment is into discovering the world and everything it has to offer. They want to learn all about exotic places and people and generally feel one with the world. These are the sort of people who will go to a special screening of Salaam Bombay and feel like they could so relate to the kid in the movie. (No, I have not watched Slumdog yet) They also like to have all sorts of adventures all over the world, the ones that white people tend to have. This group reminds one of the Stuff White People Like blog and their Book is Shantaram. (Which btw has to be the most popular book on the London Underground system though thankfully not on my line)
Type 6: The M club (34%)
This is an interesting group to study - their chief characteristic is that they don't have a set of authors or a genre that they read. They just read this one chap. Not kidding. There is this one guy and all 34% read him. They also look down upon every other segment and will usually hold the book pretty high up to ensure that everyone can see what they are reading. I could see myself warming up to this segment if only they exhibited a little more variety in their reading habits. But don't think that is happening. Don't get me wrong. The man is brilliant, one of the greatest writers living but that's not the point. There is something to be said about a large group of people who will only read one writer and nobody else (on the tube atleast). Ya ya, you all know who I am talking about, its not a big surprise is it? Ladies and Gentlemen, the most widely read author on the Edgware branch of the Northern line is Haruki Murakami. M, I am told, is in.
PS: Feanor, unless you want us all to believe that everyone on the Waterloo and City line reads FT except for this one chap who reads Eurocrime, you better do your own segmentation research and tell us about it.
[1] On some days, I take the main line for hours and hours but then I usually end up working the whole time, so no question of being bored.
[2]For those of you who think its slightly scary that I am (usually) the only non-white person inside my tube station, I'd like to remind you that I used to live in Lincoln Park. This is not half as bad. At least once I step outside, the whole world is around me. There is the Bangladeshi chap who hands out the tabloids right outside the station, and there's the Jamaican news stand guy, and then there's the Algerian falafel vendor, the desi clerks at the grocery store and the Chinese dry cleaners. As I said, the whole world around me.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
This weekend at the Heath
Determined to get lost, I left the main trails and walked in no particular direction for about an hour and a half. The going was slow as the Heath was all slushy from previous night rains. Finally happy when I had no idea where the heck I was and the usually omniscient iMaps apologized for being unable to find my current location.
Except that in about two minutes I saw a small gate with directions to Kenwood House. Figured might as well as go see the artwork while I was in the area and headed down the path. Only to find that they were already closed for the day.
Btw, if you are wondering why this obsession with the Heath, I can assure you that its more than new neighborhood enthusiasm. I am convinced that there is some previous birth connection - the Heath clay can't let me go for some reason. I must be some daughter of the soil types.
BM , BG: remember the time when the Heath pulled me down when you guys were around? Another pair of walking shoes ruined and the GBP to USD exchange rate the way it is, I can't take comfort in the fact that I am due for one of my annual shopping trips soon :(
Except that in about two minutes I saw a small gate with directions to Kenwood House. Figured might as well as go see the artwork while I was in the area and headed down the path. Only to find that they were already closed for the day.
Btw, if you are wondering why this obsession with the Heath, I can assure you that its more than new neighborhood enthusiasm. I am convinced that there is some previous birth connection - the Heath clay can't let me go for some reason. I must be some daughter of the soil types.
BM , BG: remember the time when the Heath pulled me down when you guys were around? Another pair of walking shoes ruined and the GBP to USD exchange rate the way it is, I can't take comfort in the fact that I am due for one of my annual shopping trips soon :(
Saturday, January 24, 2009
I love Bill (sometimes) and Cary Grant
Guess what arrived in the mail yesterday. Proving once again that once in a couple of years, Bill could really prove to be useful.
Bill darling: Thanks etc. but you do realise you aren't going to keep up your resolution of having to pack less number of books and DVD boxes when we move next?
Bill darling: Thanks etc. but you do realise you aren't going to keep up your resolution of having to pack less number of books and DVD boxes when we move next?
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Since I am just catching up on this inauguration thing...
did anyone else find this obsessive coverage of Michelle's wadrobe disgusting?
Here is the Times, for instance. Vigorously stylish!
Time says a bold choice.
So irritating. Reminds me of the primary races when Clinton was around.
Here is the Times, for instance. Vigorously stylish!
Time says a bold choice.
So irritating. Reminds me of the primary races when Clinton was around.
Hope Day One
The good folks at the Daily Show on the speech.
Comment of the day from Jones: "Honestly Jon when Obama says this stuff I don't really think he means it and that gives me hope".
Comment of the day from Jones: "Honestly Jon when Obama says this stuff I don't really think he means it and that gives me hope".
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Three One...
...is not very different from Three Oh except that the man from Chicago gets sworn in. Can't complain I guess.
Note to self: Bill's rum cake has more rum than flour. Stuffing face with it early in the morning just because one has no time for breakfast is "probably" not a good idea. Especially when one is supposed to be in meetings where one is expected to behave.
Note to self: Bill's rum cake has more rum than flour. Stuffing face with it early in the morning just because one has no time for breakfast is "probably" not a good idea. Especially when one is supposed to be in meetings where one is expected to behave.
Sunday, January 18, 2009
It almost makes up for the pain of moving
This on my backyard, that is. Well, okay, not backyard but 7 minutes is not bad you have to admit.
If there is one thing in which this city comes out on top against comparable cities (and take it from me, there is only one thing), it must be the availability of open spaces within reach inside its limits. And the Queen of them all, as much as I love Regents Park, has to be the Heath. If in that city by the lake, my favorite way to spend a Sunday morning was to run to the river to catch a glimpse of the 333 Wacker Dr as the sun comes up over the lake, in London, it has to be to run and get lost in the planned wilderness of the Heath.
I know I have posted this before but some things are worth posting more than once.
"A sprawling North London parkland, composed of oaks, willows and chestnuts, yews and sycamores, the beech and the birch; that encompasses the city's highest point and spreads far beyond it; that is so well planted it feels unplanned; that is not the country but it is no more garden than Yellowstone; that has a shade of green for every possible felicitation of light; that paints itself in russets and ambers in the autumn, canary-yellow in the splashy spring; with tickling bush grass to hide teenage lovers and joint smokers, broad oaks for brave men to kiss against, mown meadows for summer ball games, hills for kites, ponds for hippies, an icy lido for old men with strong constitutions, mean llamas for mean children and for the tourists, a country house, its facade painted white enough for any Hollywood close-up, complete with a tea room, although anything you buy from there should be eaten outside with the grass beneath your toes, sitting under the magnolia tree, letting the white upturned bells of blossoms, blush-pink at their tips, fall all around you. Hampstead Heath! Glory of London! Where Keats walked and Jarman fucked, where Orwell exercised his weakened lungs and Constable never failed to find something holy"
- Zadie Smith, "On Beauty"
PS: SB, happpy now? Got your Heath pictures?
PPS: SB, as I was posting this, Bill asks: "and here I thought the only Heath SB (or BM for that matter) cared about was Ledger"
If there is one thing in which this city comes out on top against comparable cities (and take it from me, there is only one thing), it must be the availability of open spaces within reach inside its limits. And the Queen of them all, as much as I love Regents Park, has to be the Heath. If in that city by the lake, my favorite way to spend a Sunday morning was to run to the river to catch a glimpse of the 333 Wacker Dr as the sun comes up over the lake, in London, it has to be to run and get lost in the planned wilderness of the Heath.
I know I have posted this before but some things are worth posting more than once.
"A sprawling North London parkland, composed of oaks, willows and chestnuts, yews and sycamores, the beech and the birch; that encompasses the city's highest point and spreads far beyond it; that is so well planted it feels unplanned; that is not the country but it is no more garden than Yellowstone; that has a shade of green for every possible felicitation of light; that paints itself in russets and ambers in the autumn, canary-yellow in the splashy spring; with tickling bush grass to hide teenage lovers and joint smokers, broad oaks for brave men to kiss against, mown meadows for summer ball games, hills for kites, ponds for hippies, an icy lido for old men with strong constitutions, mean llamas for mean children and for the tourists, a country house, its facade painted white enough for any Hollywood close-up, complete with a tea room, although anything you buy from there should be eaten outside with the grass beneath your toes, sitting under the magnolia tree, letting the white upturned bells of blossoms, blush-pink at their tips, fall all around you. Hampstead Heath! Glory of London! Where Keats walked and Jarman fucked, where Orwell exercised his weakened lungs and Constable never failed to find something holy"
- Zadie Smith, "On Beauty"
PS: SB, happpy now? Got your Heath pictures?
PPS: SB, as I was posting this, Bill asks: "and here I thought the only Heath SB (or BM for that matter) cared about was Ledger"
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Two days too late...
The one in Thai and the one in Chingam are the only ones one cares about and therefore misses. So photos get sent very diligently. From this year's Thai edition:
And then there are some pictures where you see youself in the picture though you aren't really there. Like this one below. Moi should be chilling on one of the steps supervising what is happening without lifting a finger to help.
Anyway, for those of you who celebrate, hope you had some of that awesome Pongal.
And then there are some pictures where you see youself in the picture though you aren't really there. Like this one below. Moi should be chilling on one of the steps supervising what is happening without lifting a finger to help.
Anyway, for those of you who celebrate, hope you had some of that awesome Pongal.
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
How can one not love this chap?
Astute readers no doubt remember the time Motu went to Prague and nearly caused a diplomatic incident by trespassing in the German Consulate to see the Trabant. Well, guess what? David Černý is back. With the art hoax of the decade called Entropa (the sidebar has a larger slideshow which has all the countries), and such a lovely one at that. Already the diplomatic squabbles have started. This promises to be fun.
Which country do you like the best? I am having a really hard time deciding - especially like Poland and Denmark but the autobahns of Germany (which might or might not be a swastika) is cool as well. And Britain obviously so conspicous by her absence. And a special mention for Ike..I mean, Bamseland.
Read this Times piece. Fatal mistake, it seems, to have hired Černý. Americans! What can I say?
Which country do you like the best? I am having a really hard time deciding - especially like Poland and Denmark but the autobahns of Germany (which might or might not be a swastika) is cool as well. And Britain obviously so conspicous by her absence. And a special mention for Ike..I mean, Bamseland.
Read this Times piece. Fatal mistake, it seems, to have hired Černý. Americans! What can I say?
Thursday, January 08, 2009
Gimmicky it may be..
But what can I say? It doesn't take much to make my day.
On the tube this evening. Must say that for a second I was very tempted to strike off the "probably" but there were too many people in the car. Well, next time.Now for one of the 800 buses with the same message in a bigger font.
In other news, moi has realised that it works in this country if you email the CEO. At least for BT. We moved (yes, finally, more on that soon) and got stuck with Broadband issues which got fixed in record time once an email was dispatched to chap called Ian Livingstone. Comedy, no? Maybe I can make a living as a CEO letter writer.
On the tube this evening. Must say that for a second I was very tempted to strike off the "probably" but there were too many people in the car. Well, next time.Now for one of the 800 buses with the same message in a bigger font.
In other news, moi has realised that it works in this country if you email the CEO. At least for BT. We moved (yes, finally, more on that soon) and got stuck with Broadband issues which got fixed in record time once an email was dispatched to chap called Ian Livingstone. Comedy, no? Maybe I can make a living as a CEO letter writer.
Thursday, January 01, 2009
But even in these times...
One has to thanks the Britons and their chief tabloid (everything except Four) for providing the world with much needed comic relief.
First, let us take a look at the knighthoods that have been awarded this year. In the business and economy honours, one finds this:
Next, look at this headline in the tabloid today:
Banks 'feel remorse' for downturn
Go on, read the whole thing. And the last two paragraphs very carefully please. You won't regret it.
First, let us take a look at the knighthoods that have been awarded this year. In the business and economy honours, one finds this:
Nick Macpherson, permanent secretary to the Treasury, becomes a Knights Commander of the Order of the Bath for his work on the financial crisis.
An official statement spoke of his "extraordinary work in response to the crisis in the financial services industry", including the nationalisations of Northern Rock and Bradford & Bingley.
Whereever Sir Humphrey is, I am sure he would be proud. Bravo!Next, look at this headline in the tabloid today:
Banks 'feel remorse' for downturn
Go on, read the whole thing. And the last two paragraphs very carefully please. You won't regret it.
Sometimes...
I wonder if the times we live in weren't characterised by these warped up ideas of how things should be done, if it would be more efficient just to hire a few people (like Hess) and build a few of those chambers in that 300 sq km strip of land. A knock out blow, a lasting solution, everlasting peace, wouldn't it be? We will never have to worry about them in our backyard again.
Even that little island nation to our South can perhaps learn and do something similar in her Northern provinces.
Even that little island nation to our South can perhaps learn and do something similar in her Northern provinces.
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