Maybe this Indian dessert will be there! Maybe not!

Every fall, Club Dimensions, a South Asian campus group, throws their annual Guria benefit–it’s full of dancing and food, and it’s fun. To plan for this year’s iteration, they’re joining forces with the CU Culinary Society for a study break featuring “gourmet Indian desserts.”

Stop by the Lerner East Ramp Lounge at 9:00pm to nosh, plan, and learn more about both groups. “this event is blowing my mind,” reads the Facebook event listing.

And there’s also free pizza at the Dance Marathon info session today at 6:30, 568 Lerner.

Photo via Wikimedia.

Looking to get his fill of international conflict, Kashmir Bureau Chief Mark Hay grabbed a chair in the Satow Room last night for “Pakistan-India: What’s Next?”

November 26 will mark a somber anniversary – one year since the coordinated terrorist attacks of the Pakistani group Lashkar-e-Taiba ripped through the Indian city of Mumbai, paralyzing both nations for several days. And just like that, after several years of improved relations – cooperation on anti-terror issues, relaxations on border controls – the India-Pakistan debacle was back in the news. Since the relative silence after the Kargil War of 1999, observers had all hoped that what some had called the most dangerous conflict on earth would just fizzle out and die.

Fat chance, as it turns out. So it was in memory, in fear, and in a tenacious spirit of hope that the Organization of Pakistani Students and the massive pan-South Asian club Zamana convened a panel of experts last night to discuss the vital question of “Pakistan-India: What’s Next?”

The night started strong with a Pakistani narrative of the situation, as Harvard’s Dr. Hassan Abbas rejected the standard spiel of intractable differences, misplaced blame, historical baggage, and the impossibility of solving the vital issue of Kashmir. Rather, Abbas noted the extreme changes in the nations’ relationship as early as four or five years after the Kargil War – a shift incited by the lessening of communications restrictions, the common threat of terror, and the good job Pakistan has done investigating the Mumbai attacks – and suggested that such internal problems and increased understanding of the other side has led to Pakistan’s desire for peace. Ultimately, in Abbas’ view, India can and should trust the new Pakistan.

Columbia’s own Professor Philip Oldenburg then chimed in to agree that the progress of the past decade has driven Pakistan towards a much more conciliatory note, and that perhaps it is mainly the nation’s stale military and Foreign Service apparatuses that distort these gentle and knowing gestures. Oldenburg also noted India’s relative success when compared to Pakistan due in part to its recent alignments with the U.S. over nuclear issues, and wondered whether India had not been put in too dominant a position for peace to be reached.

Next, the venerable Dr. Saeed Shafqat, an adjunct professor at SIPA, mused that perhaps a larger issue to consider is that the subjects relevant to peace negotiations have shifted tremendously – away from Kashmir and the historical background, and towards the more pressing matters of the present day. In particular, Shafqat reflected on the inorganic presence of the U.S. in peace talks, the increasingly troublesome issues of water on the subcontinent, and India’s heightened focus on future conflicts with China as opposed to Pakistan. So regardless of slight variations between their viewpoints, the three men all agreed that Pakistan has undergone a paradigm shift, is trustworthy, and not only needs but also desperately wants peace.

And to this, the final speaker – Manish Thakur, CEO of Hudson Fairfax Group and director of the U.S.-India Institute, a think tank devoted to security and economic relations between the two nations – merely said pishaw. From his Wall Street vantage, Thakur noted foremost that while Pakistan wants to solve border issues with India before commencing trade, India wants to start trading before solving the border issues. Pakistan, however, will probably have to admit defeat here, as its military buildup pushes it ever towards bankruptcy and India appears to be rapidly losing interest.

To Thakur, the question is not one of how do we end animosities so much as how Pakistan will “maintain [its] survival as a country … when [it is] ripping itself apart?” Thakur also pointed out (to much noise from the audience) that as long as Pakistani military commanders draw a line between “good terrorism” and “bad terrorism,” there will be no ground on which Pakistan can settle, and there will certainly be no chance for peace.

As one might have expected from such bold statements, the question and answer portion of the event devolved quickly into a conversation with Thakur (it didn’t hurt that he was clearly the most talented speaker of the night). The audience fired at him primarily for his comments that Pakistan should pursue deals before a full resolution on Kashmir, and for his insistence that India is not instigating violence in Baluchistan, Waziristan, or any other trouble region; one student responded with such a vigorous and prolonged counterattack that the flustered moderator had to figure out how to cut him off, as various wide-eyed organizers at the back of the room made a strange dance of chopping motions. But Thakur responded evenhandedly, saying that he wasn’t suggesting the speaker abandon “your passions,” but instead that “you should not allow one issue to halt the development of your nation wholesale.” The other panelists did get the chance to slip in a comment or two, but it was mostly to offer a soft-footed and vague reiteration of their main points, and possibly to poke at a different vantage just lightly enough so as to avoid the wrath of Thakur.

Perhaps last night did exactly what the first three speakers would have liked – increased the dialogue and understanding between the actual people on both sides, and not just the big cheeses. Perhaps not. Bwog noticed that for the first half of the event, one could distinctly hear the muffled grunts and slams of a martial arts class in practice. The second half was flavored by what sounded like a rather pained and misplaced sing-along wafting through the too thin but aggravatingly impassable wall. It is impossible to tell if anything truly profound and symbolic can be made from that background, but it seemed at the time to summarize the event perfectly – veiled, faint, confusing, but absolutely scintillating.

Academic blathering aside, the event will feature an “Indian/African” dinner – no word on whether this is a hybrid or two seperate cuisines, but run on over and fill your plates.

Free tickets are at the TIC.

 The food will be from Indian Cafe on 108th and Broadway.  CCSC 2011 President Learned Foote helpfully notes that the dinner will be “first come, first serve,” meaning that it’ll probably run out by 6:15.  Hurry!

Photo via mycaricatures.co.uk

Monday

Society, Toleration, and the Jews: Ira Katznelson, professor of political science and history, will discuss toleration “as an alternative to persecution.”  Sounds good to us.  6:15 PM @ Low Rotunda.

Tuesday

Brinkley, Foner, and Stiglitz: Capitalism is in crisis.  How will it affect our politics?  Probably the same way every other economic crisis has: protectionism.  7:30 PM @ 309 Havemeyer.

Indian Chief Justice P.N. Bhagwati: Interpreting the country’s relatively new constitution in favor of broad human rights.  5:00 PM @ 101 Jerome Greene Hall.

Wednesday

New York City at 400: Representations of the island through time; part of a year-long celebration of a really old city.  7:00 PM @ Deutsches Haus 420 W. 116th St

Thursday

Free screening of Defiance: Hosted by Ferris Reel.  7:30 @ Roone Cinema.

Unexpectedly Dancing in Boise: A CC senior’s thesis has gone off-broadway.  TRF, 8:00 PM @ The Producer’s Club Theatres, 44th St. between 8th and 9th Ave.

Friday

Chowdah: Brand new, sexy material.  9:00 PM @ Wien Lounge.

It’s not uncommon to see Columbia’s celebrity economist in the news, but three times in one day? First, “the noted economist” tell the Press Trust of India (India’s AP) that India needs to spend more money stimulating the economy to ensure a quick recovery. Sounds kinda like what a Columbia alum just signed.

Not content to merely be interviewed, Sachs also has his own essay on Fortune‘s website, detailing his plan on how to fix the Big 3 auto companies. “The Big 3 are not just another industry segment,” he writes, “they are world-leading organizations that can reassume that role in technology and markets with an appropriate public-private partnership over the coming decade.”

And because writing isn’t enough, he’s also headlining the launch of a new Earth Institute project, GlobalSoilMap.net, today at Casa Italiana. According to the event description, “this initiative, which will map most of the ice-free land surface of the globe over the next five years, will help scientists and policy makers tackle pressing issues like food security, climate change and water scarcity.”

Next up: leaping tall buildings in a single bound. Hey, it’s easier than saving the Dow.

And, as the product of the class is a delicious, vegetarian, Indian meal, there will naturally be plenty of free food to follow — guests have even been told to “bring tupperware.”  And, in case further motivation is necessary, Bwog has been reminded that “Hare Krishna monks with New Jersey accents never fail to delight.”

In a previous edition of Cooking with Bwog, our high esteem for fried okra was called into question by a number of advocates of bhindi. Bhindi is the Hindi word for okra, but also refers to a particular way of cooking it, using curry, masala and yogurt.

Anyway, it wouldn’t be cooking if we didn’t get to act like imperialists. So I promptly co-opted the Indian tradition and made some bhindi myself. It was pretty damn good, anonymous Bwog commenters, I’ll give you some props. My version of the recipe follows, with instructions and a backstory.

First, it’s necessary to cobble together the necessary ingredients. Hopefully, you have a friend with a spice rack, because you’re going to need (1) curry powder, (2) masala, (3) cumin, (4) turmeric, (5) red chili powder, (6) salt. You also need about 15 pieces of okra (go to West Side), peanut oil (vegetable is OK) and a cup or two of plain yogurt.

Curry and masala are hard to find (although you can probably get them at West Side). I couldn’t find them at my neighborhood supermarket, so I took a nice 90-minute stroll to Jackson Heights and bought them at the Cash and Carry, which is probably the least organized supermarket in New York. But cheap! If you can find curry leaves, use them instead of the powder. I couldn’t lay hands on any, because my Hindi is… not so great. (I only know the word for “okra.” It’s “bhindi.”)

Anyway. Go home and get cooking. First up, chop the okra up into nice rings. Keep the crispy tail end, cut off the stub. Coat it with a pinch of cumin and a generous dollop of curry powder, toss it around. Then, churn up the yogurt in the cup until it’s lumpless, and add 1/2 teaspoon each of the masala, turmeric, salt, and chili powder. (I like the masala a lot, so I use a little more.) Set this aside.

Heat the peanut oil (medium heat); once it gets going, toss the okra in. Cover the skillet up, and let it sit for about 10 minutes, shaking it occasionally. The okra will crisp around the edges, but this only makes it better, so just chill out.

Uncover the pan, turn the heat down to low, and stir in the yogurt mixture. Let it cook on low for 5-10 more minutes, stirring ocasionally. If you’re using generic American yogurt (as I did, thanks, Dannon), you might want to drain some of the watery gunk out periodically.

Extract the dry okra from the pan and serve hot. Rice is I guess recommended. I served it with a little extra yogurt on the side, because I am a real wuss for spicy food. Delicious! Just like Mom never made.

Bigger, better pictures of the cooking process—and the mess that is Bwog’s kitchen—can be found here.

Up until this weekend, my lone experience with south Asia’s IT boomtown was crossing the street between its central bus and train stations. Simple enough in theory—but, owing to the city’s notorious Friday-night traffic and fenced median strips, terrifying in practice. After hopping a couple of barriers and reaching the other side of the median, I found myself stranded with a small group of prospective street-crossers. And although my only words of Kannada are illa (no), and bedda (fuck off), I didn’t need the lingo: their faces communicated “what the fuck?” as well as speech.

Bangalore is one “what the fuck?” after another. Most of them have to do with the fact that, like India itself, Bangalore is both thriving and struggling horribly. The doctor in charge of the NGO where I’m interning lamented that the city’s pollution and uncontrollable growth rate have turned his once-pleasant hometown into a gridlocked basket case—but he added that it has everything you’d expect to find in the nicest parts of most western cities.

The great Bangalorean paradox of simultaneous prosperity and ruin is on display on Commercial Street, one of the city’s major shopping arteries. On the prosperity front, the street’s upscale Indian-style clothing stores attract tourists, expats and upwardly-mobile middle-class Indians. On the ruin front, Commercial Street feels like a place subverted by its own incredible success, and subsequently has almost no character of its own. Bangalore boasts none of India’s architectural wonders (with the possible exception of the spectacular Karnataka state assembly building–although it does have IT, out-of-control growth, consumer decadence, and general aesthetic blight. Jam-packed Commercial Street has elements of all four, although, I did find a pretty delicious “New York Style” chicken dog. While not exactly a dead ringer for Grey’s, the presence of spicy, Indian-style ketchup atop classic American street food gave me heart.

But Bangalore’s problem isn’t that it can’t integrate its Indian and western elements. The Bangalore location of Crossword, a national chain of Borders-style bookstores, is a case in point. At a place obviously inspired by American retail, Indian books and music reigned supreme—it was easier to locate the Karnatic classical music section than it was to find a western CD more recent than a couple years old. This seems like an obvious point (Indian music in India? Holy shit!), but it’s important to understand just how little purchase western popular culture has in most of India. Since the country lacks the deep-seated cultural insecurities of most other places on earth (America, for instance), the death of Rajkumar can spark riots while the arrival of the latest Harry Potter book in a widely English-literate country is a veritable non-event.

But those riots were themselves evidence of a place sucking itself dry: I have a hunch that cars set afire upon Rajkumar’s death were really burned out of longing for what had passed forever–the greener, Kannadiga Bangalore of old that Rajkumar represented–and frustration over the smoggy and decadent abyss ahead.  So western influences haven’t ruined Bangalore. But demography, poor infrastructure, pollution, horrible traffic and the fact that in a city this blighted these influences often operate as escapist, occidental porn for expats and Indians newly rich off of the IT boom, have.

Because for every Crossword and traditional dress shop on Commercial Street, there’s a place like Noir, a nightclub that could have been in the West Village if it weren’t for the flat-screen TVs tuned to highlights from India and England’s ongoing series of 3-day cricket tests.  That’s where I dropped more money than many Bangalorean families make in a month on a drink called the Liit, a glorified rum-and-coke whose menu description read simply, “get smashed.” Though decidedly mediocre, the drink was delicious as metaphor: how typical of Bangalore to teasingly evoke the occidental joys of getting  sloshed, promise a drunken escape, and leave you irritable, exhausted, and quite a bit closer to broke.  

And how typical of Bangalore to make you want to escape in the first place.

Dear New York,

It’s been a month and a half since I last strolled your smooth, shining streets, and I long for them now as I tumble across the Bhutanese countryside in a rickety van known by locals as the “vomit comet.” This letter to you, just like the saccharine beats of The Blow pumping out of my ear buds, is a bit of deliberate escapism from these twisting, pockmarked roads. Six weeks of constant stimulation in the Himalayas, I think, warrants a bit of reflection.

I spent my first month of the semester in Dharamasala, India, a colorful, bustling town of Tibetan refugees tucked at the foothills of the Himalayas. I stayed in a 10 X 12 ft. room with a family of five Tibetans who recently fled China. They were sweet and funny people, and I already miss them. Almost immediately upon my arrival, the kids found out one of my most embarrassing childhood secrets, which led them to refer to me forevermore as “Baby Model.” In the middle of the street or a crowded market they would call out to me in perfect British accents, “Baby model, would you like a piece of candy?” I later learned that self-deprecation is a key part of the Tibetan personality, and that any social blunder (and ensuing teasing) actually worked to my advantage. I learned this one evening after my host mother cooked me a plate of momos — luscious little dumplings that are perhaps God’s greatest gift to the Tibetan people. Like most nights, after eating I hugged my belly and said, in terrible Tibetan, “This food will make me fat!” Finally she told me that instead of saying “gyiakpar,” the work for fat, I had all along been saying, “gyiakar,” the word for shit.

Though it ensnarled me, the language barrier didn’t stop most Tibetan men I encountered from running their game. One highlight: a dishwasher at the restaurant I worked at sliced a potato into a heart and then presented it to me while singing, in a cracking falsetto, “I love you more than words can say.” Another man, incredibly intoxicated from too many bottles of Thunderbolt–India’s piss-like “super-strong” beer—offered me his shirt if I would go out with him. It was a black muscle tee with Avril Lavigne’s face emblazoned on the front.

All of Dharamsala’s idiosyncrasies came out during Losar, the three-day period in February when the entire town ushers in the Tibetan new year with an excess of firecrackers, momos and chagn, traditional barley beer. In my Tibetan language class, the festivities started at 9 a.m. when our ancient teachers started pouring us cups of chagn. After about ten rounds, the class was rollicking and a few of us were teaching the merry old women how to moonwalk. That’s when they announced it was time to take our second big test. They laughed and laughed as we tried to make sense of the enigmatic Tibetan alphabet, which is difficult enough when you’re sober, and nearly impossible after chagn and Michael Jackson.

The rest of the academic curriculum was less jovial, because the story of Tibet is grim. Each day we attended lectures by officials in the Tibetan exile government, visited refugee reception centers, or went to hear talks by protestors and artists. Because the exile community knows that the West’s portrayal of the Tibet question is crucial, the circle of intellectuals and officials who rule it gave us virtually unfettered access for interviews. Engaging with these erudite activists was fantastic, but our interactions with Tibet’s spiritual leaders were most fascinating. We went to see the Dalai Lama teach at his temple, and afterward he walked by us and looked, for the briefest moment, right into my eyes. A smile spread across my face and warmth seeped throughout my body, and it felt just like the time I met Bill Clinton. Only this time my feelings felt normal, not creepy and confusing.

I was sad to leave Dharamsala, and even sadder to board a night train back to dirty Delhi. Compared to a few days in that grimy miasma of a city (where I contracted a mean case of Giardia), the trip to Bhutan was sweet relief. The flight from Katmandu to Paro was really just one long gasp of delight. The Himalayas are so high it looked like we were flying even with Everest.

We’ve only been here a few days, but I’m already falling in love with this tiny kingdom. There are fewer than 700,000 people here and I haven’t seen a single tourist (visas cost $200 a day, but we don’t have to pay because we’re studying). Almost every person dresses traditionally—men wear the gho, a snappy little knee-length kimono that has led us to nickname them the Scots of Asia. So far we’ve had discussions with the Chief Justice and the editor of the biggest newspaper (circulation 16,000!), and drinks with the head of the national television channel (who’s also the country’s biggest movie star). We made quite a scene last night parading through the streets of Thimpu with the Bhutanese equivalent of Brad Pitt and Anderson Cooper.

So although I miss you, dear city (especially your museums, lattes and live music), I’ve having the time of my life. I miss the glam of the city, but this make-up less, mirror-less existence is good for my soul. The program doesn’t end for several months, and after that I’m going to travel in Asia for a bit with some friends from the group. Until then, take care of yourself (and especially that lovely little university in Morningside Heights).

Be merry!

xokate

Bwoggers, lend me your ears.

I write to you in between classes so brevity must be the soul of wit. What brings India and Israel together? According to last night’s discussion lecture “India, America, Israel: Emerging Relations,” it’s the terrorists…and the post-lecture free kosher Indian buffet…but…but mainly the terrorists.

United Nations Development Program specialist Ms. Mandakini Sud began the series by emphasizing the importance of connections amongst common men and the necessity of philanthropy. Her message of good will deteriorated, however, when she later suggested that the Mahatma Gandhi’s philosophy of nonviolence has become obsolete in an age of terror when the enemy utilizes fear and violence without any desire for dialogue. I guess the Mahatma had it easy with British colonial armies.

Former Indian Army major and current SIPA student Probal DasGupta was the most blunt of the speakers when discussing the nature of the Indo-Israeli relations. He celebrated the military assistance Israel has presented to India, whether it be counter-insurgency training, intelligence, or Galil sniper rifles. While it seemed easy to get lost in his long list of arms transactions, he concluded his speech with a series of poignant yet disturbingly false analogies comparing Israel’s conflicts with Palestine, the Arab states, and Iran with India’s own clashes with Pakistan and, to a lesser extent, Saudi Arabia. His suggested justification for a close military partnership between the two countries wasn’t lost on the audience as a close friend wondered aloud afterwards whether he was actually missing MSA’s sponsored event on Islamophobia.

Later, American Jewish Committee’s Director of Special Projects Ms. Rebecca Neuwirth’s discussion of the “cultural commonalities” of Indian and Jewish Americans presented equally dubious ties between the two countries’ domestic situations. Drawing upon “positive” stereotypes, Ms. Neuwirth pointed to the two communities’ shared “reverence” for education, hardwork, creativity, and family values as an impetus for collaboration. Regardless of her subscription to the pernicious model minority myth, Ms. Neuwirth failed to explain how the status and interrelationships of diaspora communities serve as sound foundations for the the foreign or domestic policies of their respective “mother countries.”

Finally, the keynote speaker, Ambassador Raminder Singh Jassal, did not explicitly discuss the two countries’ military relationship to the extent DasGupta had; the message was implicit, however, in the structure of his speech. At several points during his presention, he returned to the question of what factors had led to the formal declaration of good Indo-Israeli relations in 1992. However, after mentions of recent scientific collaboration and some amusing anecdotes, the audience was left with only three possible factors for the alliance: the countries’ historical similarities, democratic governments, and shared “contemporary challenges.” Since the legacy of European exploitation, leftist nationalist pioneers, and early Marxist tendencies form the skeleton of most post-colonial states, the historical similarities the ambassador mentioned are anything but unique.

If you haven’t noticed already, the roundtable discussion strayed from the intended topic of India-Israel bilateral relations and ultimately focused more on the om than the shalom. In any case, having spent the past hour listening to false justifications for collaboration, I left Jerome Greene Hall that night feeling as if I had lost my own sense of of peace.

Monday is the dreariest day of the week, and Israel is generally on the drearier end of frustrating geopolitical issues. Imagine the dual misfortune of another spiritually dehydrating Monday and another discouraging panel discussion on how Israel and the greater Middle East is completely FUBAR, and it would look nothing like last night’s forum on the “emerging” relationship between Israel and India. The discussion, which included representatives from Jewish and Indian organizations as well as the former Indian ambassador to Israel (and current ambassador to the United States), ended with a surfeit of popadoms and potato curry.

For those who haven’t tried it yet, veggie Indian food is the shit. But no foodstuff, no matter how delicious, can allay the piercing skepticism of one who has just been subjected to two mind-erasing hours of Asian Hum. It can only give him the taste for meat…or, in this case, curry powder.

Some explanation: the event, entitled “India, America, Israel: Emerging Relations” explored the strong and somewhat counterintuitive bilateral relationship between India and Israel. According to the evening’s panelists, Israel and India conduct almost $3 billion worth of trade with one another, and cooperate in virtually all areas of security and defense. Ambassador Raminder Singh Jassal provided interesting reason for this: both countries are democracies that face unique social and economic challenges, they share similar strategic interests, particularly regarding security, and they have followed similar historical trajectories.

But the more intriguing, and likely more accurate, explanation for the countries’ close economic, cultural (Jassal says his office issued an average of 36,000 Indian visas a year to Israeli citizens) and strategic ties came from Probal DasGupta, a former major in the Indian Army and a student in the School of International and Public Affairs. DasGupta’s arrestingly simple and almost unimpeachable explanation is that the alliance finds its origins in the universal human desire not to get blown up by terrorists. Israel and India are both in the proverbial “tough neighborhood,” surrounded by countries that want to destroy them and peopled by a significant number of militant insurgent elements. Cooperation on defense, which includes intelligence-sharing, and might go as far as the creation of Israeli-Indian naval bases in the Indian Ocean, has benefited both countries, he notes.

It was gratifying for me to learn that Israel has an apparently strong alliance with a country that will soon pass Japan as the world’s third largest economy, and even more gratifying to know that a country with about half the world’s Jewish population is dealing constructively with a government representing roughly a fifth of the human race. At the same time, the extent to which that constructive relationship relies on military cooperation and strategic calculation made it difficult to tell exactly how deep Indian-Israeli ties run. The evening’s first speaker, Mandakini Sud of the United Nations Development Program, contended that alliances have more to do with prevailing feelings of interpersonal kinship—the “common man” factor—than they do with blowing shit up. I couldn’t agree with her more.

One more hop-worthy note: During the post-forum question-and-answer—at which point I was too busy drooling over the prospect of free Indian food to really be paying much attention to what was going on—a grad student asked a representative from the American Jewish Committee (AJC director David Harris was supposed to sit on the forum but did not attend) why she had dwelt so heavily on the pluralistic nature of Indian and Israeli society when her own organization had published what the questioner characterized as a “blacklist” of anti-Israel American college professors. Intrigued by the possibility that a night dedicated to cooperation between two very different communities had inadvertently exposed a rift within Judaism, I caught up with this person after the event and, in what must be the single least politically correct moment of my journalistic career, asked her, on the record, if she was Jewish.

“I don’t see how that’s pertinent to anything,” she replied. I am not sure whether or not she meant it ironically.

They even care about it in India!

And no, that’s not the ceremony. Bwog is just still confused by the orange theme.