Recent updates…

    As many of you know by now, although I had proposed to Tia in September of 2006, according to our customs/traditions, we have to have a full-on engagement ceremony and celebration in which the guy also gets an engagement ring that he wears until the wedding, when both he and the bride get their wedding bands/rings. Anyway, the ceremony took place on January 6, 2007 in Mumbai (Bombay) in front of approximately 340 of our family’s closest relatives and friends. We returned to the United States on January 11th, and within a couple days, set upon a road trip from Dallas to New York in a 12 ft. yellow Penske truck with all of our belongings. It didn’t help that we were being chased by the storm that hit the South (Texas, Oklahoma, Arkansas, Tennessee) that same weekend. We made the approximately 1,800 mile journey across 8 states in good time arriving into the city on the morning of January 17th. Tia is now here in NYC studying for her Master’s program in TESOL (Teaching English to Speakers of Other Languages).

Note: You can access pics of the engagement by clicking here.

Defeating Terrorism with Words

Picture: Many commuters after the Mumbai train blasts took the bus instead while others continued as normal.
Copyright BBC News

NOTE: This article was published in The Dallas Morning News on Thursday, July 27, 2006

Almost two weeks have passed since the Mumbai train blasts of July 11 killed over 180 people and left hundreds more wounded. According to latest reports, the Mumbai police have arrested four so far in connection with the bombings and more are expected to follow. The day after the blasts, some bloggers and newspapers across India printed a warning-cum-plea-cum-show-of-strength on their front pages and blog sites requesting that terrorists leave the Mumbaikars alone. It started off addressed to “Dear Terrorist” and continued to show how the spirit of Mumbai cannot be harmed by a few blasts so they’d better turn their attention elsewhere. I’ve copied an excerpt below so you can read for yourself:

If you wanted to give us a shock then we are sorry to say that you failed miserably in your ulterior motives. Better look elsewere, not here. We are not Hindus and Muslims or Gujaratis and Marathis or Punjabis and Bengalies. Nor do we distinguish ourselves as owners or workers, govt. employees or private employees. WE ARE MUMBAIKARS (Bombay-ites, if you like). We will not allow you to disrupt our life like this.

The above excerpt is just one example of what traveled up and down the internet wires in the days immediately following the blasts. According to pictures and reactions on news websites and television reports, local Mumbaikars really pulled together by helping the wounded out of the train and passing out water and food to those in need. Now as a Mumbaikar myself, I’m proud of the locals, but how does one assess this letter to the terrorist? I’m not sure terrorists would turn their attention elsewhere simply because the spirit of a city is unchanged and more united than it was before the attacks. Look at New York City after 9/11. Americans’ display of strength and unity didn’t stop the terrorists as the London and Madrid attacks later showed. For terrorists, the death and destruction of one day is not enough. Rather, the payoff for them is what must happen after the attacks. For normal life to really be disrupted, the attacks must embed a deep fear among the surviving population. Terrorism has achieved a crucial part of its mission if every time I board a plane, I worry whether it will be my last journey.

Will a letter really stop the terrorist? It’s definitely a civilized gesture. Just like 9/11, the Mumbai blasts last week were a series of rude wake-up calls for all of us. There is no quick fix to any of this. Many have said that the long-term solution to defeating terrorism once and for all is to win the war of ideas. But what does that mean? And where do we – not just India – go from here? One thing’s clear: The letter will have achieved something of value if it has started an internal dialogue among Mumbai’s population and the larger Indian and world populations. It seems this war of ideas has already begun in India as the government ordered a blockade last week on dozens of blogs after discovering two sites that could have inflamed and caused violence between the nation’s two largest religious groups, Hindus and Muslims. Only after a media outcry over the blockade did the Indian government clarify its position by calling it a “technological error” that would be fixed soon. At the time of this article’s printing, a web search of Indian and international newspapers did not reveal any affirming news that the blockade had been lifted. Censorship, however, is no lasting solution or an effective safety measure, and it’s important for the people to talk to each other, albeit in an unprovoked manner. Sure, terrorism upsets the trust in any community, but that trust can be regained and strengthened only through honest and civilized discussion. It’s not enough anymore if only the government and journalists speak and the public passively listens. So what do you say?

The Double-Edged Sword of Dating According to My Parents

Originally written on Wednesday, July 12, 2006

A couple days ago, D, a close college friend, asked me if he should tell his parents back in Malaysia about his new girlfriend, M. M is not Indian, and from what I gathered, D’s parents are traditional and conservative – read “our son should be a good boy and marry an Indian girl from the same religion and speaks our language.” D asked me this question because I’ve had some experience with this particular issue. As an 18 year-old college boy some years ago, I dated a non-Indian (and non-American) girl. Since my parents as well as hers were a few thousand miles away and this was my first experience being somebody’s significant other, I didn’t tell my parents about her right away. I wanted to enjoy the relationship without being subjected to the Inquisition’s high priests. I figured that if the relationship lasts beyond a couple months and things get serious, I’ll tell my parents on my next trip to India.

Things did get serious and the following summer when I returned to India, I decided to bring up the topic while we sat down in a local restaurant on a bright Sunday afternoon. The rest of the afternoon went as I expected. I had incriminated myself and my parents started a barrage of questions and I braced myself against their onslaught on the witness chair. Who are her parents? What do they do? Will she learn our language? Is she prepared to settle down in India if you return home after your degree? What about your children? What’s her religion?

I answered each question as I honestly could at that time. I had just turned 19 that summer, and I wasn’t sure about my own future, let alone hers! My answers were, therefore, non-commital at best and thus, decidedly unsatisfactory for my parents. They concluded, I think, that I was going to marry this girl without having given any thought to the serious issues. I had, once more, jumped in with both feet without looking forward. They proceeded to tell me how it was essential that if the girl was going to be a part of my family, she should learn Gujarati – my mother-tongue – as language provides inroads into the culture. I tried to see their point, but I could not commit and nod my head at every thing they said. Why not? One, as I said earlier, things were getting serious but it wasn’t like I was two minutes away from proposing to her. Two, I was just nineteen and wanted to be able to date without thinking about trudging through the swamp named “Your Guaranteed Marital Difficulties If You Proceed Any Further”. To give you another example, with my third girlfriend five years later, when I told my parents I was interested in her, they began with the same questions even though I tried explaining to them that it was just one date and we weren’t yet going steady! In short, my parents don’t agree with this whole ‘dating for the sake of dating’ game the current generations play so often. My parents have brought me up with one mindset when it comes to dating – any girlfriend could potentially be The One.

This philosophy of my parents is a double-edged sword because I told D not to tell his parents about his non-Indian girlfriend. They’ve only been dating for three months and he’s not really sure where the relationship is going. So I gave him my opinion: “D, there seems no point in causing your parents and yourself heartache – something my parents and I went through that summer and afterwards until my relationship with my first girlfriend ended a couple years later.”

The other – and more positive – edge of the sword ensured two things: that I treated all my girlfriends with respect, and I always tried to honor the relationship by not taking them for granted as much as possible. I was more successful with the former than the latter. Three relationships later, I found The One about fourteen months ago. Just like with my first girlfriend, the story was essentially the same with two important differences. My fiancee is Indian and our families know each other (the match, however, isn’t arranged and caught both sets of parents off-guard when we finally told them). The rest is similar to the story of my previous girlfriends – she does not share the same religious beliefs, doesn’t speak Gujarati and, unlike me, is not vegetarian. But before I realized that I’d like to spend the rest of my life with this girl, my parents were true to their original form and made sure that I had thought of potential hot issues before going any further.

Now that I’m finally going to settle down in my personal life, I’ve had lots of time to think about the future and discuss it with my fiancee. I’ve told her that when we have kids, they will be brought up the same way I was on issues of dating. Whether boy or girl, I don’t want my children to ever look at another human being as only a means to an end. As I realized eventually, my parents were right all along – any girlfriend could turn out to be The One! And D, good luck to you as you navigate the swamp.

Riding Motorcycles Without Helmets

Originally written on Thursday, June 15, 2006

Today’s front page of The Dallas Morning News reports the revival of yet another debate on personal freedom versus the government’s social responsibilities. This time, the debate is clothed in motorcycle riders who like to ride their bikes without helmets. In 1997, the state legislature allowed all motorcycle riders 21 years of age and older to ride unprotected. According to the Texas Trauma Registry, riders without helmets that suffered severe head injuries in collisions last year spent $15,000 more on average than those who suffered similar injuries but had their helmet on. Although clear monetary and physical risks are cited in the report, many riders still prefer the law preserves the individual’s right to choose. One former state senator (who authored the current law back in 1997) implied in his comments to the DMN that it’s not the legislature’s job to outlaw risky behavior that could end in death. While I don’t have a full argument for or against the this person’s comment, I do wonder what he thinks about the state law requiring car drivers and passengers to wear seatbelts.

An afterthought: The report and those connected to the law’s passage 9 years ago relate its successful ratification then to the Texas Motorocycle Riders Association’s “‘organized and persistent’” efforts. As a now former history teacher, I can appreciate the association’s petitions on what it considered its First Amendment rights.

My Self-Improvement Plan for the Summer

Originally written on Tuesday, June 13, 2006

Yesterday was the first day of my two-month long summer vacation. Now I have some work remaining, such as finishing up some unit plans, transferring data to my supervisor at school as well as my replacement in the classroom, and so on. But other than that, the next two months are all mine! ALL MINE! Wow… it’s been a while since I’ve had so much time to just myself. Last summer I helped out with the summer camp. The summer before that, I went to three conferences around the country and spent the rest of my time developing the IB program for my school.

As I said, it’s been a while since I’ve had a break. Now I’m the kind of guy who likes a plan for everything. I’m plenty spontaneous, but over the years, my impulsive behavior has given way to more long-range thinking. As my favorite cartoon character, Calvin of Calvin & Hobbes, says, “Childhood is short and maturity is forever.” So I’ve been thinking about my summer plans for at least the past two months now. First, on a drive to Houston in March, I saw a plane flying overhead and immediately said to Tia, I know what I want to do – I want to learn how to fly! As one of her friends later said to us, who wouldn’t want a teacher who can also fly?!! Anyway, that idea fizzled because I just can’t seem to concentrate on something for too long unless it’s a passion, and flying a plane should never be taken lightly. So I reconsidered my motivation and decided it wasn’t strong enough…yet.

I finally settled on a handy project – ME. Self-improvement, along the lines of Ben Franklin’s project of moral perfection, would be a worthy endeavor. I’ve always wanted to do a lot of things, but I keep coming up with excuses to not do them. I made a list – the beginning of any great project. I mostly added to it as the days went by and finalized it this past weekend, just in time for the first day of my summer break.

Here it is – THE LIST:
1. Breakfast every morning
2. A small plate of salad with lunch or dinner every day
3. Some kind of fruit(s) in the afternoon
4. Swimming (starting with a few laps for 20-30 minutes)
5. A little bit of writing every morning after breakfast
6. Reading every night before going to bed

As you can see, the list is simple enough. My goal: to make each of the above 6 items a habit by August 15.

This week, I started with #1-3. I plan on adding the others gradually. Check back later for an update! Also, don’t forget to leave a comment on my choices or suggestions of other ones

What Am I Doing Lately? (And Who’s That Chick on the Surfboard??)

Originally written on Monday, June 5, 2006

Since graduation was last Thursday and the last official day of school for students was on Friday, many of my colleagues asked me today if I’m going to goof off the rest of my summer break. One person even said that she doesn’t believe I could ever goof off! Let me assure her (and you) that I can be lazy and frequently am on weekends. In fact, Tia and I sometimes take great pride in doing nothing. I’ve been a part of the rat race since fall 2001 when I got my first real job, and now that I’m leaving it to go back to grad school, it felt appropriate that I should look, dress, and behave like a poor Master’s student. The transition is almost complete (I’ve stopped gelling my hair, wear flip flops frequently, t-shirts, and a relatively baggy pair of jeans). During the day, I dream of meeting some babe on a surfboard (hence the picture above) – oops…I don’t really mean that, by the way To give you an idea of what I mean, one person commented at work today that she’s never seen me in a t-shirt! I’ve worked here for five whole years and she doesn’t remember me in a t-shirt! Whoa… I must have been some serious dude. Anyway, writing this is taking away from my chilling time… so later…

Out of Place, Out of Style

Originally written on Sunday, May 21, 2006

I still remember the first time I became conscious of my ethnic roots, the “Indian-ness” of my being. It was at dinner one fall evening approximately eight years ago. I was still a newcomer to the United States, and had just finished my third month at a boarding school in North Carolina. Now usually a faculty member would sit at the head of the table, and students would rotate out every ten days. That evening, the faculty member wasn’t present, and so a senior took his place.
        
The first couple of months in this new environment had not been very kind to me; I felt awkward at best and mostly out of place. I didn’t make any special effort to integrate into the community’s fabric, especially after a few students had decidedly pronounced my clothes and accent as “funny” and unfashionable. My two left feet and poor hand-to-eye coordination had left me out of the athletic ranks, another preemptive strike at any of my attempts to induct myself into the cool crowd. As a result, I became self-conscious of everything I wore, how I walked, talked, the bag I’d carry to class, and so on. I envied some members of my class who carried themselves with poise and a confidence that I only leapt at but could never grab. So it was that I found myself huddled on my bed in my dorm room every break period from 9:30-10:00 at night while other boys left their rooms to go hang out with the girls in the common room on the first floor of our dormitory. Some students tried to include me in the beginning, but after I said no the first couple of times, they left me alone and probably thought I was a strange kid from India.
        
I’m not sure how many of my peers then actually knew about India, its location, food, people, language. Most immigrants I know have one standard refrain about their American counterparts – “To the American, America is the world.” Here, the assumption is that America stands for the United States and not the other countries that populate the North and South American continents.

…to be continued

Define "American"

NOTE: This article was published in the The Dallas Morning News on Monday, May 9, 2005 in the Viewpoints section.

What is an American? That’s a strange question coming from a non-American, but for the past three years, I have begun my middle school American history class with that question. The common answers – “freedom-loving,” “melting pot” – pour in from all corners of the room. This year, the discussion began with an uncommon one – “a citizen.” I write the response on the whiteboard, but counter, “does one have to be a citizen of the United States to be considered American?” Several hands shoot up, and most say “no,” but we all agree that diplomatically you are American if your passport says so. Okay. And then I ask my favorite question: “Is Mr. Mehta an American?” The question is intriguing because I don’t hold an American passport, and my green card application just got underway a few months ago.

I had barely turned sixteen in August of 1996 when my plane from Mumbai landed in Philadelphia. My uncle and his family live in South Jersey and they greeted me at the airport and took me home. In a few days, I’d be on my way to a boarding school in North Carolina – a school I hadn’t seen in a town with 1/100th the population of my hometown of Mumbai. My mom had been nervous about sending me – her youngest child – 7,873 miles away from her. But I had pleaded, “Mom, please, for my future’s sake, let me go.” I still remember one car ride on the way home with my dad and older brother a couple nights before my departure to the New World. My dad wanted me to sit in the front as he had some important things to say to me. The gist of what he said was, America is the land of temptation – not unlike what Gandhi was told when he first traveled to England to study law. My dad’s advice to me: “Be careful while you’re there. You are our son, and your mom and I love you and trust you. Be proud of where you come from.”

A student looks up from her notes and raises her hand. I call upon her. She says teasingly, “Mr. Mehta, you need to hurry up and get your citizenship. So many parents won’t send their children here because American history is taught by a non-American!”

It’s the end of my junior year at my high school in North Carolina, and there’s a special ceremony to recognize exceptional achievement in different areas. “…And the book prize for academic achievement in American history goes to Nishant Mehta.” A freshman comes up to me later and remarks on the irony that an American didn’t win the prize. I hadn’t thought about it, and it made me wonder how many others had noticed it like he had. Nobody else said a word to me.

My student’s facetious remark sparked my thoughts on the same questions I’ve been asking them so far. What, then, is an American? I frequently tell my students in class, “Perception is often more important than reality.” We believed “all men are created equal” long before women and blacks won fundamental rights. In a country torn asunder by civil war due to slavery, Abraham Lincoln found the optimism to invoke the “better angels of our nature.” And in 1963, Dr. King spoke of the “promissory note” issued by the Constitution and the Declaration of Independence almost two centuries earlier to all white and black men. This country has never stopped and accepted its present condition as a final answer. Our greatest successes have been times when we’ve summoned the courage to modify our reality instead of modifying our beliefs.

So I ask again: Am I an American?

Building a Three-Legged Stool in Iraq

NOTE: This article was published in The Dallas Morning News on Sunday, January 30, 2005.

Rule of Law & Compromise May be Keys to Success, But It Won’t Happen Overnight

I ask a group of 20 middle schoolers: “Are the three branches of the U.S. government like a three-legged stool?” The time is late fall-early winter in Dallas and we’re well into the textbook. The American Revolution is over, the Loyalists and Patriots have fought some mighty debates, passed the Declaration of Independence and discussed its radical claim that a just government “derives its just powers from the consent of the governed.” The next unit? American government.

I’ve been teaching this course for three years now. I’m a citizen of India who arrived in the United States eight years ago as a high school student. As an alien, I’ve studied and come to appreciate the American way of life – politics included – differently than most of my unalienated peers. I don’t remember exactly where I was first introduced to the “three-legged stool” – maybe high school history – but the metaphor has stuck with me ever since. It goes something like this: If one leg falls, the stool falls. If one leg’s shorter than the others, the stool’s unstable and can’t stand upright for too long. Iraq votes for its own three-legged stool this weekend. The question is: What kind of a stool will it turn out to be?

Back to the American system. My students write their paragraphs on the stool’s relevance and raise their hands to read aloud what they’ve written, what they believe about our government. Discussion ensues. What if there are four or five legs? The stool will be even more stable. Will it really? Many hands make light work, or too many cooks spoil the broth? How about two or one? What’s the critical mass of legs for the stool? Thirty minutes later, we move to the next important question – does this system work in theory? Students normally say yes. Each has curbs on its range of powers and specific duties that delineate responsibility neatly. The president is commander-in-chief, but only Congress can declare war. The president appoints cabinet members, but the Senate approves them. And so on. I’m not satisfied, however. I tell my students: The question can be answered in even crisper language. Why does it work? Why is the rest of the world bent on imitating us (while at the same time they disown us)? And why are we pushing other countries, such as Iraq, to adopt a U.S.-like constitution? If all goes well – and that’s asking a lot of that “if” – Iraq will join the expanding list of democracies. But democracies require one fundamental principle to work (and why the U.S. system works), and that principle is the rule of law. Even though the Magna Carta introduced this rule to the world in 1215 A.D., and the U.S. improved upon it in its Constitution in 1787, the majority of the nations are still miles away from this destination. Besides the temptations of power and fickle-minded humans, what’s stopping Iraq from becoming a country that respects the rule of law?

Democracy and rule of law do not establish themselves automatically after an election. I propose the following essentials – education of the masses, a free press, an independent judiciary, compromise, and above all, respect for the system and a willingness to work within it and not outside of it. Shelby Foote, the noted Civil War writer, says in Ken Burns’ documentary on the Civil War that the genius of Americans and our government lies in compromise. Bipartisanship is necessary to achieve success on big-ticket items, whether it’s the No Child Left Behind Act or the president’s proposed plans to reform Social Security and the tax code.

So how do we teach Iraqis to compromise? The danger is that the stool becomes rigid, inflexible, unwieldy like a tree trunk. As a first step, the rebels must be stopped with an unequivocal response from the rest of the population. Perhaps the election will provide that opportunity. Ultimately, time is the decisive factor in the past, present, and future; even our stool has required repairs by able craftsmen over the centuries.

When Disaster Strikes: The Difference Between Nations

Originally written on January 4, 2005

According to one report in the New York Times, an earthquake of the magnitude 7.5 would kill 50,000 people in Los Angeles, while Tehran, Iran’s capital, would lose approximately a million lives! (Revkin, New York Times, Jan. 2, 2005). The difference in this estimate is simple to explain but complex to resolve. It is the difference rooted in the difference between rich and poor, developed and developing countries. Buildings on the west coast of the United States are now designed to move over shifting foundations that give them more flexibility to withstand earthquakes. Even highway overpasses are “no longer stacked like the jaws of a huge horizontal vise” (Revkin). Poorer countries on the other hand cannot match the technological expertise (and costs involved) of the developed countries to strengthen their infrastructure. This “seismic gap” between rich and poor, then, affects the impact of natural disasters as much as trade and commerce.

A more romanticized version of the story might lead us to believe that natural disasters level the playing field and can strike on anybody in any place at any time leaving behind death and destruction unimaginable in most cases. Many poems have romanticized death as well, that it comes to one and all and rich or poor, king or subject, will all succumb in its jaws one day, and “in the dust be equal made” (Shirley, Death the Leveller). However, we can all cite statistics that death comes to many later in life in richer countries than those in poorer countries where access to medical care, nutritious food, and knowledge of diseases is not widely disseminated among the population, especially the rural folks.

I’m not arguing that natural disasters discriminate between the rich and poor (otherwise they wouldn’t be “natural” disasters), and rich or poor, we are all at the mercy of these forces when they strike. Yet inequality exists in just how much damage is caused when disaster strikes, the training of the first responders, resources available (financial and human) to tackle the onset of diseases and reconstruction efforts, quality and quantity of medicines, and availability of food and clean water. Tsunamis have generally occurred in the Pacific Ocean (hence the Japanese origin of the word which combines the characters of “harbor” and “wave”); and since 1946 when a tsunami killed 165 people in Hawaii, the countries in the region have jointly coordinated a tsunami warning system to warn each other in case of impending doom. The Indian Ocean is luckier that such calamities are less frequent in its region than in the Pacific. Consequently, the countries in Southeast Asia do not have a tsunami warning system that could have saved the lives of thousands of people if not more (the actual number cannot be determined for obvious reasons). The Economist (Jan. 1-7, 2005) adds one more reason to this lack of a warning system in the region: The Pacific countries are lucky to count the world’s two most developed and technologically advanced economies – the United States and Japan. Southeast Asia is made up of mainly developing countries that constantly war with one another and remain uneasy about cooperating with ever-changing regimes.

One can hope, as both the New York Times and The Economist articles do, that this catastrophe will appeal to our common humanity and release some of the political and cultural tension in Southeast Asia, and require them to cooperate more and build a reliable warning system similar to the Pacific’s. Even if talks around this issue materialize in the near future, the cost of building such a system and learning to work with one another require sacrifices that few are prepared to pledge at this point. The problem is that when you only have a few dollars to spend, your priorities are restricted to immediate programs rather than the long-term (hence largely unpredictable) future. Perhaps the affected countries this time can ask the others through the United Nations to help them build a warning system (and better buildings if they allow themselves a bit of greed?). Surely recognizing the inequalities and at the same time acknowledging that we could be in their place just as naturally should propel all of us, rich and poor alike, to action – not just responsive, but preventive too.