Yo Sabía poco sobre Ernesto Guevara, antes de que viera la película. sabía sobre él, revolucionario, en Suramérica. él tenía una inclinación izquierdista, y pertenecido a la era de Castro.
Como siempre, pienso a ser este poste como todo menos reseña de película, pero temo que termine encima de hacer el exacto la misma cosa, como siempre. Era fácil leer los subtítulos que cambiaron rápidamente, para mí, como sé poco español de Suramérica, gracias a la señora de la Reina sesions. Puede ser que no esté tan para ti, tendrás que tan presionar el botón de pausa a veces.
Pero aunque no, sabrías qué se está encendiendo. Sabrías lo que el fabricante de la película, Walter Salles, quisiera que supiéramos. No qué entra la fabricación de una revolución, pero en la fabricación de un revolucionario, ningún menos.
Su divertido, "Rang de Basanti" se ha convertido mi estándar, de cómo es influyente una película puede estar, para mí. Y pienso "Diarios de Motocicleta" comparativamente, es muy bueno.
No sé mucho sobre él, pero ciertamente saber más que, estupida joven gente, quiénes usan su retrato en sus camisetas, como si era mal arte. Aprenderé más sobre él.
AM I EXHAUSTED OR WHAT. A LOT OF MY SPANISH NOTES AND GOOGLE TRANSLATION HAS GONE INTO IT. GOSH I WOULD HAVE GOTTEN AN A+ HAD I WRITTEN SOMETHIN LIKE THIS IN MY EXAMS. .....I ACTUALLY GOT A 'C'
August 31, 2006
Diarios de Motocicleta
I knew little about Ernesto Guevara, before I saw the movie. I had a faint idea of him as the revolutionary somewhere in South America, who had a leftist inclination and belongs to the same era as Castro.
Like always, i intend to this post to be anything but a movie review, but i fear i will end up doing the exact same thing, as always. It was easy for me to grapple with fast changing sub-titles as i have a hang of south American Spanish, thanks to Reina ma'am's 10 sessions with us in the 2nd trim. It might not be so for you, so you will have to hit the pause button sometimes, just to read the subtitles.
But even if u didn't, you'd know whats going on. You'd know what the film maker, Walter Salles, wants us to know. Not what goes into the making of a revolution, but into the making of a revolutionary, no less. It really is a brilliant work. Beautiful.
It's funny how, since a long time now, "Rang De Basanti" has become my benchmark of how moving or influential a movie can be for me. And i think 'The Motorcycle Diaries' measures up, rather good.
I do not know alot about him, but certainly more about those stupid ****s, products of the new indian bourgeois, who'd wear his portrait on their t-shirts, as if it were kitsch. And more, i will learn about him.
suddenly, i want to write this post in Spanish.
Tell me if i do it correctly. :-)
Like always, i intend to this post to be anything but a movie review, but i fear i will end up doing the exact same thing, as always. It was easy for me to grapple with fast changing sub-titles as i have a hang of south American Spanish, thanks to Reina ma'am's 10 sessions with us in the 2nd trim. It might not be so for you, so you will have to hit the pause button sometimes, just to read the subtitles.
But even if u didn't, you'd know whats going on. You'd know what the film maker, Walter Salles, wants us to know. Not what goes into the making of a revolution, but into the making of a revolutionary, no less. It really is a brilliant work. Beautiful.
It's funny how, since a long time now, "Rang De Basanti" has become my benchmark of how moving or influential a movie can be for me. And i think 'The Motorcycle Diaries' measures up, rather good.
I do not know alot about him, but certainly more about those stupid ****s, products of the new indian bourgeois, who'd wear his portrait on their t-shirts, as if it were kitsch. And more, i will learn about him.
suddenly, i want to write this post in Spanish.
Tell me if i do it correctly. :-)
August 28, 2006
5th trim
One had to give choice of subjects for the next trim abhi. so these are the subjects i have chosen. and a funny thing which i noted after i had submitted the form is, that i have taken up a subject from all streams except Systems, this trim. Check it out.
Marketing
1. Quantitative Models in Marketing 1 (Essential)
2. Media Marketing (Choice)
3. Integrated Marketing Communications & Client Agency relationship (Choice)
---
Finance
4. Personal Financial Planning (Free Choice)
---
HR
5. Compensation and Benefits (Non-Credit)
---
IB
6. International Trade operations (Choice)
---
IB+Ops
7. International Logistics & Supply Chain Management
---
8. Corporate Strategy II - ( Strategic Alliances, Mergers and Acquistions) (Core subject)
Marketing
1. Quantitative Models in Marketing 1 (Essential)
2. Media Marketing (Choice)
3. Integrated Marketing Communications & Client Agency relationship (Choice)
---
Finance
4. Personal Financial Planning (Free Choice)
---
HR
5. Compensation and Benefits (Non-Credit)
---
IB
6. International Trade operations (Choice)
---
IB+Ops
7. International Logistics & Supply Chain Management
---
8. Corporate Strategy II - ( Strategic Alliances, Mergers and Acquistions) (Core subject)
4th trim
4th trim is almost over, I think i chose rather good subjects. (that i am not really studying, is another matter).
Vaise, for the uninitiated, I am majoring in Marketing and my minors is International Business, (zyada fight nahi hogi ;)) and the subjects i chose are:
1. Marketing Research (Essential)
2. Sales Management (Essential)
3. Product Management (Essential)
4. Brand Building (Choice) - The most interesting and fun subject. *i think moreso coz PAT is takin it :)*
5. Business Law (Core)
6. Retail Management (Non-credit)
----
International Business
7. International Marketing (Choice)
8. Global marketing of Services (Choice)
Vaise, for the uninitiated, I am majoring in Marketing and my minors is International Business, (zyada fight nahi hogi ;)) and the subjects i chose are:
1. Marketing Research (Essential)
2. Sales Management (Essential)
3. Product Management (Essential)
4. Brand Building (Choice) - The most interesting and fun subject. *i think moreso coz PAT is takin it :)*
5. Business Law (Core)
6. Retail Management (Non-credit)
----
International Business
7. International Marketing (Choice)
8. Global marketing of Services (Choice)
when you love some one
When you love someone - you'll do anything
You'll do all the crazy things that you cant explain
You'll shoot the moon - put out the sun
When you love someone
You'll deny the truth - believe a lie
There'll be times that you'll believe you can really fly
But your lonely nights - have just begun
When you love someone
When you love someone - you'll feel it deep inside
And nothin else can ever change your mind
When you want someone - when you need someone
When you love someone...
When you love someone - you'll sacrifice
You'd give it everything you got and you wont think twice
You'd risk it all - no matter what may come
When you love someone
You'll shoot the moon - put out the sun
When you love someone....
I don't know if i love *someone* yet. But may be, some day, she'd be there. May be, when I love *someone*.
(What a hopeless romantic i would have made, had it not been for Bryan Adams and Jagjit Singh :) )
August 22, 2006
yeh jo des hai mera
I am back after a hiatus.
In the mean while, i have been to Delhi once more AND then went on a Rural Marketing workshop sponsored by CII. And this post is about that experience.
It was a two day thing and we left bombay at 7 in the morning. The first stop was a village called 'Otoor' in Pune distt. It was a 5 hour journey, but the road to the place was really scenic and had mountainous slopes, i last saw on my trip to Manali last year.
In Otoor village we interacted with the retailers to gain information about the spending habits of the locals and also the distribution scene. We were in some luck too as it was also the day for the weekly market in the village. We saw the kind of goods that were on sale, but of all the shops, one which i found really interestin was one selling Audio and Video CDs of Bollywood AND Hollywood movies. His speaker blaring the latest Himesh Song.
When i asked him why he had so many CDs and very few Audio Cassettes on sale, the response was an eye-opener. He said, that 90% of the homes in the village had CD players.
Among other things of note were:
Next we headed to vineyards which were just accross the highway, and honestly it was pretty unlike the glamorous image of them everybody would have. It was pretty much like any other farm with funny contraptions lying everywhere, which we were later told, were for 'drip irrigation' resulting in juicier grapes.
And as if the vineyards weren't enough, we were taken to the brewery and yes, we did get to taste a variety of wines and champagne, but mazaa nahi aaya. Most of 'em were so coarse, us se acchi to apni Napolean's No. 7 port wine hoti hai.
This was the last stop for the day and then we headed to Pune on a 5 hour drive and reached our hotel at 11 in the night.
The next day began early for most, as people were supposed to head to a local mandi to witness auctioning of farm products and the transactions between farmers and traders. I said for most, coz i dint go as i was lazy as always and did not want to trade precious sleep for more time in loud and messy marketplaces.
After a heavy breakfast we left our night shelter at 11 in the morning and stopped at a highway hamlet 200 kms from solapur. I dont remember the name of the place but it was supposedly the trading point, servicing all villages in the radius of 20-25 kms. It was a routine exercise here too, wherein we intreracted with the local retailers and got info about the distribution practices, the margins on which they operated, the buying habits of the locals. What was important was, that this particular village had the most number of outlets selling all types of white goods. So not just the kirana store, we also understood the psyche of the rural buyer when he set out to purchase a refrigerator or a new Plasma Screen TV.
The final destination was 'Mandgaon Pharaata' and without a doubt i can say, that of all the villages and places we visited on the trip, this was the place i would like to call 'the middle of nowhere'.
90 minutes after we got off the last motorable road, we reached this village. And this is where we witnessed a meeting of farmers, and a roadshow organised by an Agri products company. The language of use was heavy duty rural marathi, but i think i did get a hang of what was being said....about using the company's fertilizers and pesticides for better production and khushhaali and unnati and everything else.
And in the mean while i managed to sneak away to catch some amazing shots around the landscape. get those at http://flickr.com/photos/achan
To top it all, there was this funny incident at the fag end of it all, when we were about to leave. About 5 minutes before we left the village, i was sitting in the Bus and waiting for others to board, when i saw a group of village children playing near my bus. As i was looking outside the window, it seems one of them saw a sardar for the first time and he gave me the only surd name he might have heard and started shouting "HARBHAJAN!! HARBHAJAN!!" very much to the amusement of my colleagues and my embarassment. And it didn't stop there, the crowd of children just got bigger, as kids went and fetched their friends so that they wouldn't miss the rare sighting of 'Harbhajan'. The group followed our bus for quite a distance, shouting 'bye Harbhajan, bye Harbhajan'
All in all, the week was full of travel, first to Dilli and then this 2 day trip, and i guess both were rather enjoyable. The Rural excursion moreso because it was the baptism of sorts fpr my camera.
all those who've been through the images i clicked have praised them and i too am satisfied with the results.
bas, finis.
next post mein main apne is trim and next trim ke subjects ki choice discuss karoonga.
ok tata.
In the mean while, i have been to Delhi once more AND then went on a Rural Marketing workshop sponsored by CII. And this post is about that experience.
It was a two day thing and we left bombay at 7 in the morning. The first stop was a village called 'Otoor' in Pune distt. It was a 5 hour journey, but the road to the place was really scenic and had mountainous slopes, i last saw on my trip to Manali last year.
In Otoor village we interacted with the retailers to gain information about the spending habits of the locals and also the distribution scene. We were in some luck too as it was also the day for the weekly market in the village. We saw the kind of goods that were on sale, but of all the shops, one which i found really interestin was one selling Audio and Video CDs of Bollywood AND Hollywood movies. His speaker blaring the latest Himesh Song.
When i asked him why he had so many CDs and very few Audio Cassettes on sale, the response was an eye-opener. He said, that 90% of the homes in the village had CD players.
Among other things of note were:
- Most shops in the market were mobile. i.e. the back of a tempo or a Jeep is the shop where the owner sits and sells his wares, and after the business hours, packs up and drives away to another village in the same vehicle to participate in the weekly market in another village.
- As far as clothing is concerned, people want to wear newer and flashier designs, and quality is damned. The 'cheap and best' formula is slightly different for this market
- All families are primarily occupied with farming but still have a decent standard of living.
An hour later, it was time for us to move to our next destination, which was a green house farm. This was a farm which grew different varieties of flowers and it was amazing to see a greenhouse function. till now one had seen such things in text books and images only. The Farmer was quite unlike the typical image of a farmer. We are told that he is one of the progressive ones in the business and it was a risk he took some years back which is now paying off.
Next we headed to vineyards which were just accross the highway, and honestly it was pretty unlike the glamorous image of them everybody would have. It was pretty much like any other farm with funny contraptions lying everywhere, which we were later told, were for 'drip irrigation' resulting in juicier grapes.
And as if the vineyards weren't enough, we were taken to the brewery and yes, we did get to taste a variety of wines and champagne, but mazaa nahi aaya. Most of 'em were so coarse, us se acchi to apni Napolean's No. 7 port wine hoti hai.
This was the last stop for the day and then we headed to Pune on a 5 hour drive and reached our hotel at 11 in the night.
The next day began early for most, as people were supposed to head to a local mandi to witness auctioning of farm products and the transactions between farmers and traders. I said for most, coz i dint go as i was lazy as always and did not want to trade precious sleep for more time in loud and messy marketplaces.
After a heavy breakfast we left our night shelter at 11 in the morning and stopped at a highway hamlet 200 kms from solapur. I dont remember the name of the place but it was supposedly the trading point, servicing all villages in the radius of 20-25 kms. It was a routine exercise here too, wherein we intreracted with the local retailers and got info about the distribution practices, the margins on which they operated, the buying habits of the locals. What was important was, that this particular village had the most number of outlets selling all types of white goods. So not just the kirana store, we also understood the psyche of the rural buyer when he set out to purchase a refrigerator or a new Plasma Screen TV.
The final destination was 'Mandgaon Pharaata' and without a doubt i can say, that of all the villages and places we visited on the trip, this was the place i would like to call 'the middle of nowhere'.
90 minutes after we got off the last motorable road, we reached this village. And this is where we witnessed a meeting of farmers, and a roadshow organised by an Agri products company. The language of use was heavy duty rural marathi, but i think i did get a hang of what was being said....about using the company's fertilizers and pesticides for better production and khushhaali and unnati and everything else.
And in the mean while i managed to sneak away to catch some amazing shots around the landscape. get those at http://flickr.com/photos/achan
To top it all, there was this funny incident at the fag end of it all, when we were about to leave. About 5 minutes before we left the village, i was sitting in the Bus and waiting for others to board, when i saw a group of village children playing near my bus. As i was looking outside the window, it seems one of them saw a sardar for the first time and he gave me the only surd name he might have heard and started shouting "HARBHAJAN!! HARBHAJAN!!" very much to the amusement of my colleagues and my embarassment. And it didn't stop there, the crowd of children just got bigger, as kids went and fetched their friends so that they wouldn't miss the rare sighting of 'Harbhajan'. The group followed our bus for quite a distance, shouting 'bye Harbhajan, bye Harbhajan'
All in all, the week was full of travel, first to Dilli and then this 2 day trip, and i guess both were rather enjoyable. The Rural excursion moreso because it was the baptism of sorts fpr my camera.
all those who've been through the images i clicked have praised them and i too am satisfied with the results.
bas, finis.
next post mein main apne is trim and next trim ke subjects ki choice discuss karoonga.
ok tata.
August 2, 2006
you'd like to read this.
Barkha Dutt
Managing Editor, NDTV 24x7
Saturday, June 24, 2006:
One of the most awkward - and yet, strangely compelling - things about journalism is that sometimes your work makes you hold a mirror to your own life.
This past week, a quiet, but determined 16-year-old became an unexpected reflection of my education.
I have always believed that my school and college years were the first architects of my personality; like every middle-class Indian, I take pride in where I studied and what I was taught. And yet, the gentle idealism of this young girl made me pause to wonder: Had my public-school education been shamefully elitist?
At first, the story seemed straightforward enough. Garima Godara, a CBSE topper, with an astonishing 97.6 per cent had taken the entrance exam for the Delhi
Public School (Dwarka), the school closest to her village.
The daughter of a police constable who earned less than Rs 6,000 a month, the school's fees would have been a problem. But the family was undeterred; perhaps there would be a scholarship or a loan; surely the school would be keen to admit the girl who had topped the national capital's merit list.
Garima's proud father had spent months battling the entrenched patriarchy of his peers, fending off nosy neighbours who gossiped about why she didn't spend enough time in the kitchen. Now, he was even more determined to give his daughter the best education her marks could buy.
This could have been the story of New India and its emerging, self-made middle class; a proud milestone for a country that dares to dream.
Instead, here's what happened: DPS turned her down. Her results were good, it conceded. But marks aren't everything, said the school principal to NDTV, and
besides, her English was poor, and just didn't cut the grade.
Later, listening to Garima in the studio, it was hard not to feel both angry and moved. Angry because of the obvious injustice: not only was she as bright as her results indicated; there was nothing about her spoken English that suggested that she would have been unable to keep pace with the syllabus.
Yes, she spoke with a regional accent that some would consider insufficiently sophisticated. But there was no doubt that she could not only follow a complex argument, she could also make herself understood to any English speaker.
But it was her calm that was almost heart breaking; a quiet courage that belied her teen years. It was almost as if we were more outraged and indignant than she was. During the course of the programme, a principal from a well-known school in Dehradun called in, offering her admission and a scholarship; others promised to
get DPS to change its mind.
But betraying only the slightest sense of hurt, she said firmly that her aim now was to show DPS that she would do better than any of its students. She had already got herself admitted to another school, and DPS could quite simply, take a walk.
As she spoke, viewers clearly shared my anger. The online poll showed that 90 per cent of viewers believed that the English language exerted a disproportionate influence over the education system.
Yet, were we all being hypocritical and dishonest? This time it was DPS under the microscope, but were any of us any different?
Let's say she continued to do outstandingly well in school. The next stage would be college. I pictured her trying to take the entrance interview at my old college, Delhi's St Stephen's. Would she get in? And even if she made the cut, how would other students react to her presence? Would they admire her for her academic brilliance? Or would they snigger at her accent, titter each time she made a grammatical error and then, melt away, leaving her alone to find her own friends?
Garima's story is a metaphor for India's twisted tryst with the future. I learnt after the programme was over - and it is significant that neither she nor her parents brought this up themselves - that she is an OBC.
For some months now, as the debate over reservation has raged, opponents of the quotas have made the same point again and again: we should be a society where merit matters. It's a compelling argument, and one that I have personally supported.
But what do the anti-quota street fighters have to say now? Here's a girl who competed in the mainstream, her own Hindi medium DAV pitched against the trendier, richer, big names. But her merit was swallowed up by prejudice.
Is it any wonder then that supporters of reservation believe that the system is stacked against them, and that merit is a con-word used by upper-caste tricksters?
Her story is also a scathing comment on the class divide in India. It is fashionable for marketeers and economists to talk about the burgeoning middle class. Each day a new figure is conjured up to demonstrate the size of the Indian market, and the clout of the new middle class; is it 250 million this week or has it already reached 300 million?
We embrace these statistics, because we like the idea of India as this century's favourite financial destination. We feel flattered when Time magazine puts our country on its cover, and we talk glibly, especially to foreigners, of social mobility and how the gap between the rich and poor is closing; we argue that India's tomorrow is being built by its industrious and enterprising middle class, and we feel like the future is unfolding, right here and right now.
But here's what we never admit. We're just the worst sorts of snobs.
The social mobility of the last decade has meant that the new middle class does not consist of people like us. Instead, it is made up of people like Garima, who we still find excuses to exclude; we sneer at their lack of Westernized sophistication; make fun of their accents, and we try and ensure that our children have nothing to
do with theirs.
Finally, Garima's story exposes India's paradoxical relationship with the English-language. Nobody in the world speaks English like us. We have our own idioms, our own words and our own accents.
We pretend to love our own English and brag about how it is India's great selling point; the reason we dominate the global outsourcing business. But of course deep down we know that our English is not the English that the West really wants. And so, each time we talk to Britons or Americans, we subtly alter our diction and
inflection.
When we set up our call centers, we drop the subtlety entirely and start accent classes to teach our young people to abandon the speech patterns of our own society
and to migrate to a virtual, linguistic middle America, where they become impersonators of people they will never meet and never know.
But within India, we still treat our own English as the great social decider. We laugh at regional accents, smirk at those who make grammatical errors and feel most at home with those who talk like us.
Everyone else belongs on the other side of the English divide. And as it turns out, the other side of the class and caste divide as well.
Maybe we cling so tightly to this tiny community because secretly we are just insecure. Outside of our little bubble, India is changing. Every major institution in recent times - Parliament, the bureaucracy, the military, our colleges and schools - is being forced to re-write the rules.
A new breed of Indians who no longer look towards the West for self-affirmation, is making its presence felt. We like to call this a decline in quality. But actually, it's the rest of India waiting to get in.
How long are we going to keep the gates shut?
Managing Editor, NDTV 24x7
Saturday, June 24, 2006:
One of the most awkward - and yet, strangely compelling - things about journalism is that sometimes your work makes you hold a mirror to your own life.
This past week, a quiet, but determined 16-year-old became an unexpected reflection of my education.
I have always believed that my school and college years were the first architects of my personality; like every middle-class Indian, I take pride in where I studied and what I was taught. And yet, the gentle idealism of this young girl made me pause to wonder: Had my public-school education been shamefully elitist?
At first, the story seemed straightforward enough. Garima Godara, a CBSE topper, with an astonishing 97.6 per cent had taken the entrance exam for the Delhi
Public School (Dwarka), the school closest to her village.
The daughter of a police constable who earned less than Rs 6,000 a month, the school's fees would have been a problem. But the family was undeterred; perhaps there would be a scholarship or a loan; surely the school would be keen to admit the girl who had topped the national capital's merit list.
Garima's proud father had spent months battling the entrenched patriarchy of his peers, fending off nosy neighbours who gossiped about why she didn't spend enough time in the kitchen. Now, he was even more determined to give his daughter the best education her marks could buy.
This could have been the story of New India and its emerging, self-made middle class; a proud milestone for a country that dares to dream.
Instead, here's what happened: DPS turned her down. Her results were good, it conceded. But marks aren't everything, said the school principal to NDTV, and
besides, her English was poor, and just didn't cut the grade.
Later, listening to Garima in the studio, it was hard not to feel both angry and moved. Angry because of the obvious injustice: not only was she as bright as her results indicated; there was nothing about her spoken English that suggested that she would have been unable to keep pace with the syllabus.
Yes, she spoke with a regional accent that some would consider insufficiently sophisticated. But there was no doubt that she could not only follow a complex argument, she could also make herself understood to any English speaker.
But it was her calm that was almost heart breaking; a quiet courage that belied her teen years. It was almost as if we were more outraged and indignant than she was. During the course of the programme, a principal from a well-known school in Dehradun called in, offering her admission and a scholarship; others promised to
get DPS to change its mind.
But betraying only the slightest sense of hurt, she said firmly that her aim now was to show DPS that she would do better than any of its students. She had already got herself admitted to another school, and DPS could quite simply, take a walk.
As she spoke, viewers clearly shared my anger. The online poll showed that 90 per cent of viewers believed that the English language exerted a disproportionate influence over the education system.
Yet, were we all being hypocritical and dishonest? This time it was DPS under the microscope, but were any of us any different?
Let's say she continued to do outstandingly well in school. The next stage would be college. I pictured her trying to take the entrance interview at my old college, Delhi's St Stephen's. Would she get in? And even if she made the cut, how would other students react to her presence? Would they admire her for her academic brilliance? Or would they snigger at her accent, titter each time she made a grammatical error and then, melt away, leaving her alone to find her own friends?
Garima's story is a metaphor for India's twisted tryst with the future. I learnt after the programme was over - and it is significant that neither she nor her parents brought this up themselves - that she is an OBC.
For some months now, as the debate over reservation has raged, opponents of the quotas have made the same point again and again: we should be a society where merit matters. It's a compelling argument, and one that I have personally supported.
But what do the anti-quota street fighters have to say now? Here's a girl who competed in the mainstream, her own Hindi medium DAV pitched against the trendier, richer, big names. But her merit was swallowed up by prejudice.
Is it any wonder then that supporters of reservation believe that the system is stacked against them, and that merit is a con-word used by upper-caste tricksters?
Her story is also a scathing comment on the class divide in India. It is fashionable for marketeers and economists to talk about the burgeoning middle class. Each day a new figure is conjured up to demonstrate the size of the Indian market, and the clout of the new middle class; is it 250 million this week or has it already reached 300 million?
We embrace these statistics, because we like the idea of India as this century's favourite financial destination. We feel flattered when Time magazine puts our country on its cover, and we talk glibly, especially to foreigners, of social mobility and how the gap between the rich and poor is closing; we argue that India's tomorrow is being built by its industrious and enterprising middle class, and we feel like the future is unfolding, right here and right now.
But here's what we never admit. We're just the worst sorts of snobs.
The social mobility of the last decade has meant that the new middle class does not consist of people like us. Instead, it is made up of people like Garima, who we still find excuses to exclude; we sneer at their lack of Westernized sophistication; make fun of their accents, and we try and ensure that our children have nothing to
do with theirs.
Finally, Garima's story exposes India's paradoxical relationship with the English-language. Nobody in the world speaks English like us. We have our own idioms, our own words and our own accents.
We pretend to love our own English and brag about how it is India's great selling point; the reason we dominate the global outsourcing business. But of course deep down we know that our English is not the English that the West really wants. And so, each time we talk to Britons or Americans, we subtly alter our diction and
inflection.
When we set up our call centers, we drop the subtlety entirely and start accent classes to teach our young people to abandon the speech patterns of our own society
and to migrate to a virtual, linguistic middle America, where they become impersonators of people they will never meet and never know.
But within India, we still treat our own English as the great social decider. We laugh at regional accents, smirk at those who make grammatical errors and feel most at home with those who talk like us.
Everyone else belongs on the other side of the English divide. And as it turns out, the other side of the class and caste divide as well.
Maybe we cling so tightly to this tiny community because secretly we are just insecure. Outside of our little bubble, India is changing. Every major institution in recent times - Parliament, the bureaucracy, the military, our colleges and schools - is being forced to re-write the rules.
A new breed of Indians who no longer look towards the West for self-affirmation, is making its presence felt. We like to call this a decline in quality. But actually, it's the rest of India waiting to get in.
How long are we going to keep the gates shut?
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