I don't know. I think it's cool. Circle of life and all that.
But it does get repetitive doesn't it? If it gets too annoying I'll stop.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Wednesday, May 6, 2009
Bloody Racist Indians
We were having dinner at a restaurant not too long ago. Might have been after one of my myriad exams... or before. I can't remember properly either way.
What I DO remember is that a very short while into dinner, even before finishing his glass of red wine, my father let out a somewhat uncharacteristic burst of laughter. From that mischievous glint that he gets in his eyes every now and then, I knew he had a story to tell.
The exact words elude me, obviously, but the gist of it is this.
"There is a man in my office, one of my colleagues. Mr. AssWhite. (I forget his name... and you'll try to excuse me) He used to come and talk to me, and gloat."
"Why?" I asked.
"He was very proud of his family, himself, his wife, and his daughters. They are a Punjabi family."
"And?"
" He's very proud of his family, thinks they are very superior bunch... because they are all very beautiful..."
"(WTF?)" I cut in.
"... and all of them have incredibly white skin and it's so rare to have a family that has managed to maintain this in modern times."
The emotion I was feeling cannot represented by a WTF. I felt disgusted, and more than just a little.
I did not understand why my father would even communicate with a person like that.
Then again, sometimes you can't choose the company you get. At others you stay around to satisfy perverse curiosity.
Even stronger was the desire to know why a man such as this would choose to reveal this kind of blatant racism to a colleague. Many are closet racists, many are not proud of it. Even I might have a slight racist streak (Then again, am I not allowed to have my own standard of beauty? From my current one, the ratio of good looking people from various ethnicities is unequal, skewed even, does that not make me intrinsically racist-?)
In any case. That's not the point. When compared to Mr. AssWhite in terms of the bile that is prejudice, I'm practically as 'pure as the driven snow'.
So back to the main point. Why the hell would a racist show his true colours (heh)?
Did he think my father would appreciate it, because he has fair skin?
Man... talk about being 'skin deep'.
On to the second part of the story.
"So Mr. White has sent his eldest daughter to study abroad, so that she could interact and associate with more white people and return even whiter than she'd left, perfectly ripe for marriage."
Just great. I hope Mr. Ass isn't expecting my father to provide a white groom for daughter 2. (Ok I apologize, I know this thought is baseless, petty and unwarranted- and hopelessly narcissistic. But it was one of the many that cycled through my head and I might as well note it down to remember it.)
"Except the daughter's seems to have gotten married already...
... To a Nigger."
"That's racist, Dad."
"So is the father."
Hm. Then came my slightly delayed snort of derision coupled with a hoarse laugh.
"So has Mr. Asswhite put a sock in the racist trash talk these days?"
"Not exactly. He's disowned his daughter now, cut all contact and the like.."
...Wow... just wow, that is single-handedly the most pathetic thing I've heard for a long time.
And this is probably a senior government officer, probably the product of the upper echelons of India's education system.
I find it funny that this country once supported the fight against apartheid in South Africa, when so many people within it are so deeply entrenched in a system tirelessly dividing society along lines of caste, creed, colour... these bloody racist Indians.
What I DO remember is that a very short while into dinner, even before finishing his glass of red wine, my father let out a somewhat uncharacteristic burst of laughter. From that mischievous glint that he gets in his eyes every now and then, I knew he had a story to tell.
The exact words elude me, obviously, but the gist of it is this.
"There is a man in my office, one of my colleagues. Mr. AssWhite. (I forget his name... and you'll try to excuse me) He used to come and talk to me, and gloat."
"Why?" I asked.
"He was very proud of his family, himself, his wife, and his daughters. They are a Punjabi family."
"And?"
" He's very proud of his family, thinks they are very superior bunch... because they are all very beautiful..."
"(WTF?)" I cut in.
"... and all of them have incredibly white skin and it's so rare to have a family that has managed to maintain this in modern times."
The emotion I was feeling cannot represented by a WTF. I felt disgusted, and more than just a little.
I did not understand why my father would even communicate with a person like that.
Then again, sometimes you can't choose the company you get. At others you stay around to satisfy perverse curiosity.
Even stronger was the desire to know why a man such as this would choose to reveal this kind of blatant racism to a colleague. Many are closet racists, many are not proud of it. Even I might have a slight racist streak (Then again, am I not allowed to have my own standard of beauty? From my current one, the ratio of good looking people from various ethnicities is unequal, skewed even, does that not make me intrinsically racist-?)
In any case. That's not the point. When compared to Mr. AssWhite in terms of the bile that is prejudice, I'm practically as 'pure as the driven snow'.
So back to the main point. Why the hell would a racist show his true colours (heh)?
Did he think my father would appreciate it, because he has fair skin?
Man... talk about being 'skin deep'.
On to the second part of the story.
"So Mr. White has sent his eldest daughter to study abroad, so that she could interact and associate with more white people and return even whiter than she'd left, perfectly ripe for marriage."
Just great. I hope Mr. Ass isn't expecting my father to provide a white groom for daughter 2. (Ok I apologize, I know this thought is baseless, petty and unwarranted- and hopelessly narcissistic. But it was one of the many that cycled through my head and I might as well note it down to remember it.)
"Except the daughter's seems to have gotten married already...
... To a Nigger."
"That's racist, Dad."
"So is the father."
Hm. Then came my slightly delayed snort of derision coupled with a hoarse laugh.
"So has Mr. Asswhite put a sock in the racist trash talk these days?"
"Not exactly. He's disowned his daughter now, cut all contact and the like.."
...Wow... just wow, that is single-handedly the most pathetic thing I've heard for a long time.
And this is probably a senior government officer, probably the product of the upper echelons of India's education system.
I find it funny that this country once supported the fight against apartheid in South Africa, when so many people within it are so deeply entrenched in a system tirelessly dividing society along lines of caste, creed, colour... these bloody racist Indians.
Saturday, May 2, 2009
A Long Road to Redemption
On being reminded of the amount of study I still have to do in order to get into a good college, I seem to have hit a writer's block on one of the articles that was in production. In the mean while I'll try to get around it by writing about something I've been thinking a lot about.
It seems that the search for forgiveness... for me, happens... in phases.
At first there is disbelief. We cannot believe that we are responsible for what we've been put through. We fight, we protest, and as we struggle we reopen wounds that should have been allowed to heal.
I can understand this- like Socrates' general philosophy, I do not believe that anyone makes mistakes with the intention to do so. It's hard to take when things turn ugly even though you were trying to stop it. The key here is to keep your head cool, remember what is of true worth and what is not, the sooner you realize this, the sooner will you take the first steps on the long road to redemption.
Acceptance comes slowly... but most of the time we become aware of our faults.
We try to forgive ourselves. Some of us can do it. Some of us can't.
We want to forget, to move on... but rarely is it this simple. Sometimes parties forget rather than forgive, but often the old wound merely festers like a hidden gangrene until brought to the fore at a later date.
Even as you accept your mistakes, your pride stops you from truly asking for forgiveness. I will refrain from calling pride a weakness or obstruction, sometimes it is the only thing that keeps you standing as everything else crashes around you.
You might say that you're sorry, but what you really want to say is that you want to pretend it never happened. You might be forgiven as well, but more often than not, this forgiveness is merely a reciprocation of the desire to try to turn a blind eye to the issue.
But this willingness to reconcile is the first step, not the last.
A conflict between egos is not a blow to shell, but rather the injection of a chronic illness into the system. Resolution is not waiting for the flesh to heal, but working actively to cure the disease.
Even if you feel bad about what you've done, it isn't worth anything, until you work to make it count.
The third step is the longest... the hardest. Walking towards redemption, never knowing if you'll ever achieve it.
If you ever do, you'll have long forgotten the reason you decided to walk a harder path.
Wear your pride as your armour. Use it protect yourself, but don't let it stop you from feeling. I've said this before haven't I? The enemy is fear and not pain. Pain exists to remind you that you are human.
It can be a scary choice... but... maybe it's worth it.
You work for someone else, but you work for yourself.
You might never be forgiven, but you might find something even more important, you will find a reason to forgive yourself. And maybe... just maybe you will achieve something more important than hollow, spoken, forgiveness, and erase your mistake, replace it with something better.
Maybe someday we won't need to hide ourselves, perhaps someday our true selves will gain the strength to stand on their own in the light of this cruel world. Perhaps we shall simply fashion for ourselves a more comfortable suit of armour.
Who knows? Maybe I've gotten it all wrong. Maybe I write merely to justify the decision to tread on a more treacherous path.
Maybe not.
From where I stand I see no end to this road.
It seems that the search for forgiveness... for me, happens... in phases.
At first there is disbelief. We cannot believe that we are responsible for what we've been put through. We fight, we protest, and as we struggle we reopen wounds that should have been allowed to heal.
I can understand this- like Socrates' general philosophy, I do not believe that anyone makes mistakes with the intention to do so. It's hard to take when things turn ugly even though you were trying to stop it. The key here is to keep your head cool, remember what is of true worth and what is not, the sooner you realize this, the sooner will you take the first steps on the long road to redemption.
Acceptance comes slowly... but most of the time we become aware of our faults.
We try to forgive ourselves. Some of us can do it. Some of us can't.
We want to forget, to move on... but rarely is it this simple. Sometimes parties forget rather than forgive, but often the old wound merely festers like a hidden gangrene until brought to the fore at a later date.
Even as you accept your mistakes, your pride stops you from truly asking for forgiveness. I will refrain from calling pride a weakness or obstruction, sometimes it is the only thing that keeps you standing as everything else crashes around you.
You might say that you're sorry, but what you really want to say is that you want to pretend it never happened. You might be forgiven as well, but more often than not, this forgiveness is merely a reciprocation of the desire to try to turn a blind eye to the issue.
But this willingness to reconcile is the first step, not the last.
A conflict between egos is not a blow to shell, but rather the injection of a chronic illness into the system. Resolution is not waiting for the flesh to heal, but working actively to cure the disease.
Even if you feel bad about what you've done, it isn't worth anything, until you work to make it count.
The third step is the longest... the hardest. Walking towards redemption, never knowing if you'll ever achieve it.
If you ever do, you'll have long forgotten the reason you decided to walk a harder path.
Wear your pride as your armour. Use it protect yourself, but don't let it stop you from feeling. I've said this before haven't I? The enemy is fear and not pain. Pain exists to remind you that you are human.
It can be a scary choice... but... maybe it's worth it.
You work for someone else, but you work for yourself.
You might never be forgiven, but you might find something even more important, you will find a reason to forgive yourself. And maybe... just maybe you will achieve something more important than hollow, spoken, forgiveness, and erase your mistake, replace it with something better.
Maybe someday we won't need to hide ourselves, perhaps someday our true selves will gain the strength to stand on their own in the light of this cruel world. Perhaps we shall simply fashion for ourselves a more comfortable suit of armour.
Who knows? Maybe I've gotten it all wrong. Maybe I write merely to justify the decision to tread on a more treacherous path.
Maybe not.
From where I stand I see no end to this road.
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