Sunday, April 30, 2006

Kaavya Vishwanath and Indrani Aikath-Gyaltsen

A friend called from Chennai and in the course of our conversation (that spanned Lok Parithran, the need for an association for in-house lawyers and random regurgitation of a shared childhood) she spoke about how Kaavya Vishwanath, the Harvard-grad-cum-author who has been accused of plagiarism, is splashed all over the national dailies.

“Damn, now Harvard is going to be doubly cautious about admitting Indian women.” She complained.

The conversation set me thinking. Why would an obviously intelligent woman resort to the morally bankrupt act of plagiarism? Several years ago, I read and immensely enjoyed a book called ‘Crane’s morning’ by an unknown (at least to me) writer called Indrani Aikath-Gyaltsen. Later, I discovered to my disappointment, that the book was almost entirely plagiarized from a British novel published in the 50s. Read details here.

Now, these two women have nothing in common save for an error in judgment that extracted a heavy price from them. Vishwanath paid with public humiliation and Aikath-Gyaltsen with her very life.

Whatever their respective motives, I’m tempted to simplistically wager that insecurity was an enormous component contributing to their downfall.Which makes me wonder. Why does intellect sometimes divorces a strong sense of self?

Friday, April 28, 2006

Breathtaking Issa Kobayashi

What good luck!
Bitten by
This year's mosquitoes too.


medetasa wa kotoshi no ka ni mo kuware keri

-Issa(1816)

Springtime is also mosquito time.

Thursday, April 27, 2006

On Spring and the love of Haiku

at my gate
the artless pigeon too
sings "It's spring!"


waga kado ya gei nashi hato mo haru wo naku

how far across
this deep snow
for a decent spring


ôyuki no do[ko] ga doko made rokuna haru

- Issa Kobayashi

Spring visits Boston again. Magnolias flirt with the nose; sparrows chatter from their hidden posts; winter tweeds are packed away even as bared legs peer with renewed bravado from under flowered skirts. The cafes are always crowded. Duck boats begin their lazy rounds of the water in Boston Common. The Boston marathon is hosted, cheered and taken inspiration from. Much beer is guzzled.

My first ever brush with spring was in Japan. Glimpses of cherry blossoms stolen from speeding shinkansen trains. A blur of pink against a cameo of stark steel buildings.

One either has to be a martian or woefully pollen allergic to not feel uplifted by this season.

Like spring, haiku takes my breath away. There are many websites devoted to haiku (17 syllable despot) rules but who says one has to be an expert chef to relish a signature dish! Suffice it to say that haiku is poetry's Kodak Moment. A crystallized image, dazzling and zen-like in clarity, held up for admiration.

Read more about Issa here.