Escaping Flatland

This carbon-based glutinous fragment of the human body - the heart (or, to be neuroscientifically precise, the amygdala) – can’t live with it, can’t live without it.

There are 5-6 traits I look for in a partner. I had a girlfriend. She had almost all of them. Yet, something was missing. Passion. An intangible excitement. The flutter in the heart. After great ambivalence and deliberation, I finally broke off with her 2 weeks ago.

I just met this girl. She has almost none of the traits I want in a partner. But I can’t stop thinking about her. I want to be in her presence. I dream of her and wake up to thoughts of her.

Why can’t life be more rational?

I ate lunch alone today. It was already 12PM, and most people I normally eat lunch with had left.

There are many cliques in office, and I try to spread my time between them. Since there are only 2 Indians in office (and one is the CEO), I don’t have much of an Indian clique to belong to. There’s the WAPS (White Anglo-Saxon Protestant) Manager’s clique, the “cool-people-in-the-trenches” clique, the “nerdy-engineer” clique, the “nose-in-the-air-executive” clique. Other than the executive clique, I go to lunch with most others.

But belonging to so many groups means I belong to none. They can all leave for lunch without me. No commitment. The price of "freedom"...

America is a land of choices. Even buying a sandwich involves more than 7 choices (bread-type, bread-length, patty-type, vegetables, pickles, seasoning, packing)! America is also a land of research (academic research, market research, political polls). It was only a matter of time before someone did research on choices (New York Time article - one-time (free) registration required).

Barry Schwartz presents a provocative proposition - that adding choices actually reduces consumer value, either by “reducing satisfaction”, by confounding the consumer into a non-optimal choice, or simply by paralyzing her into inaction.

Interesting thoughts, but I would be careful drawing meaningful or actionable conclusions from it. First, in my opinion, the utility function for choice (i.e. a graph of choice vs. utility of choice) is a reverse-bathtub curve, not a negative exponential one. In other words, while too much choice may be non-ideal, complete lack of choice is not the alternative. I can see misguided policymakers using this research to justify limiting consumer alternatives. At the extreme, it being used to argue that monopoly is better than a free market. Second, as his examples show, people’s response to increased choice is not consistent – it ranges from “reduction in satisfaction” to complete analysis paralysis. So, it is difficult to create an action plan based upon predictions of behavior. A warning to retail merchandisers, consumer product managers, and social scientists.

[Rating: 9/10] [Note: No plot spoilers] As any student of filmmaking would tell you, a crucial component of a film is its montage - “the fluid integration of the camera's total range of shots, so as to produce the most coherent narrative sequence, the most systematic meaning, and the most effective rhythmic pattern". However, like most post-modernists, Alejandro González (Amores Perros) believes that rules are meant to be broken. Coherency, semantics and rhythm are for the meek. A masterpiece flaunts all and manages to entertain nevertheless.

In 21 grams, he has created a movie that is narrated in chaos. The storyline seems haphazard, the scenes inconsistent, the characters unfathomable. But there is a method to the madness (I always wanted to use that phrase in a review). The story is told in a non-linear fashion - a glimpse at the ending, then a scene from the middle, or was that the beginning? Then another one from after the ending. Then one from… where - I can’t tell yet. Your brain is constantly trying to piece together a jigsaw - except you’re moving scenes around in time, not pieces of the Golden Gate bridge on the coffee table.

The idea of playing with montage to create a new third meaning from combining the meanings of the original two adjacent scenes is not entirely new. Memento told its story running backwards in time in ten minute chunks. Run Lola Run replayed the same scene with many variations, Magnolia intertwined many different stories. Timecode - my favorite - showed four scenes at the same time (they were also shot at the same time, with NO cuts for editing, making it truly exceptional)! 21 grams is different because it breaks all regularity - no repetition, or reverse order. There is no order at all. Which makes it so much harder to tell a tale that keeps the audience’s attention.

I’m a sucker for movies that make me think. There is sense of Immersion, then Disorientation, and then the Aha moment. Such movies take a medium of passive entertainment and turn it very energetic, very personal. Many people are distressed by this, hence the unfortunate unpopularity of these movies.

The story (or rather, stories) he tells are just as gripping as the presentation - their intertwining making them richer.

I shall say no more - go and watch the movie for yourself. Before it disappears from the theatre.

[Rating: 7.5/10] I saw "In America" [IMDB] last week - a movie about an Irish immigrant family eking out a living in New York. It was a simple story line, polished to Hollywood perfection. The hardship of a talented, out-of-work actor working odd jobs. A loving and adjusting wife pregnant with hope and desire. And two adorable young daughters - one young and wise, the other younger and naïve - surviving in heat and Halloween.

Dirty Pretty Things with Audrey Tautou (of Amelie fame), another tale of illegals - this time in the seedy underbelly of London - was too fantastic to believe. The harshness of multiple jobs, sleep deprivation, organ selling, forced sex - all seemed too alien (pun intended) and pitiful. One felt sorry for these folks like one feels sorry for starving Africans - on a humanitarian, yet detached level. In America had characters and situations that were more approachable, more identifiable. In a country peopled mostly by immigrants, this would strike a strong chord.

As a potential immigrant, I realize how easy the current immigration generation has had it compared to previous generations. Coming here on student or work visas, we land cushy jobs (even a ‘low paying’ job is about twice the average US household income), and work our way through Green Cards and Mortgages. None of the segregationist, cultural, and economic issues early Indians had to face. But then, life has improved in all spheres in the past generation - why should this be any different?

A more biased review of the future of Bollywood (and Asian) cinema is presented by Shekhar Kapoor. This visionary interview describes Shekhar Kapoor's viewpoint, that Asian & Indian culture shall define worldwide tastes and attitudes in the coming decades, much like American programming does today - a reverse-cultural-imperialism of sorts. Though I question his monetary projections and blatant self-promotion, his vision is thought-provoking and of course, quite appealing. Combined with recent trends in India related to moving the film industry (production, distribution, screening) and cable programming into the organized sector, this looks like a plausible dream.

The current LA Weekly has an unbiased review of Bollywood cinema, written by David Chute. It provides a history of Bollywood from a western perspective, insight into recent trends, and naive literal translations (Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham - Sometimes Happy Sometimes Sad). My favourite quote: "In America, they plan for years and they shoot for weeks. In India they plan for weeks and shoot for years."

Well, I'm feeling bummed out. And lonely. I know I was the one who called it off, but I still feel down. The sub-zero temperature and overcast skies don't help either. Neither does the fact that my car is down for repairs, so I'm stuck at home for the weekend, with limited distractions to take my mind off her.

Long distance relationships are not easy. They drag over months relationships that were meant for a few weeks. When you meet someone after awhile, it's like you're meeting them afresh. The excitement of physical proximity and novelty of meeting overwhelms minor emotional responses and judgement calls.

You're right. I'm just trying to justify it rationally. I guess I'll walk over to Blockbuster and rent a movie to keep my mind busy.

There is silence between us.

An awkward silence. A gloomy silence. A silence I want to annihilate but don’t have the heart to.

The silence is full of possibilities. A happiness that could have been. A love one hoped for. A stability one longs.

I was torn before. The Path of Heart and the Path of Mind parted, and a storm of ambivalence and hesitation made it hard to see.

Now, a calm. It’s done. But not for her.

Her agony has just begun. But I cannot console her. My consolation would hurt her more. So I sit in silence.

She had seen it coming. There was time to prepare. Storms are visible from afar when one knows the terrain.

But she must endure. When one wishes to enjoy the gentle breeze, one exposes oneself to the capricious storm. So she sits in silence.

We steal a few final moments, picture what could have been, hope & wish, unspoken. We feel, then let go.

Mumbled goodbyes.

~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~ ~~~

There was silence between us.

A coy silence. An enamoured silence. A fleeting silence I would have frozen if I could.

The silence was full of possibilities. The promise of the Future. Of Hope and Dreams. Love and Togetherness. Desire and Passion.

It was visceral.

Like laying on a hammock by the fireside under the full moon at a Hawaiian beach on a breezy summer night.

Or strumming a guitar watching the crimson sunset riding a gondola on a lazy canal in a corner of Venice.

I could live my life in that silence. Breathe it. Smell it. Stick it in a frying pan and eat it. And it would be delicious. So I sat in silence.

Words were unnecessary to express her feelings. A sly glance, a tantalizing gesture, an enticing pheromone. Those were her weapons. So she sat in silence.

We enjoy a few last moments, picture what Is, hope and wish, unspoken. We feel, then grasp firmly.

Reluctant goodbyes.

Who: Single Male heterosexual of Indian origin.

Full name: If you don’t know it already, you’re not getting it. Stalkers are exhausting.

Where: Currently in Midtown Atlanta GA USA.

Dates and places: Hmmm. Born in Old Delhi. Grew up in Roop Nagar, near Delhi University. Stayed home until I was 22, so there goes 1973-95. 1996-97, Lucknow for B School. 1997-98, Bombay, working my ass off. 1999, Delhi, waiting for admission results, then Pittsburgh, off to grad school. 1999-2004, Pittsburgh. 2005, Atlanta.

Birthday: Virgo, 1973.

Bad Habits: Sadly, few. Non-smoker, teetotaler, vegetarian. Not even tea or coffee. The epitome of abstinence. The blue-eyed boy of unclejis and auntyjis.

Favourite things to do: Read…extensively and at length. Photograph. Sit with friends and have long, often meaningless (but oh-so-profound!) conversations, while everyone but me is drunk. Go on long drives at night. But always return.

What I was (and what I am):
I was a resident of Delhi, India (Now I live in Atlanta, Georgia, USA)
I was in a joint family a.k.a. extended family (Now I live alone)
I was an FOB* (Now I’m an NRI).

What I am (and what I want to be) :
I am 31 (aspiring male sex-in-the-city actor)
I am single (almost all my friends are married, with kids to boot)
I am an H1B (the Card is Greener on the other side)

* There ought to be a separate social class for immigrants who “aren’t quite there yet”. We’re not ABCDs (that’s a title conferred by birth only). And we’re not FOBs (after six years in the US, one is not that “fresh”). We’re beyond the ‘I must convert this to rupees before I consider buying it’ stage, but not quite at the ‘I must put more money in my 401K’ stage. Neither camp would fully embrace us.