K. Mathur's Blog, page 3

An Unusual Arrangement - Guest Post At Mashed Musings

I’ve
never had too much patience with convention. If something works for me and the
other parties concerned, if I’m not deliberately hurting or harming anyone,  that’s all that matters.  



It won’t come as a surprise to you then, to
know I have an unusual arrangement with Steve. It might come as a bit of a
surprise to the kids though as this past week, I’ve lost my voice to a sore
throat and have been unable to communicate. 



Everything’s revealed on Amit’s
wonderful blog, “Mashed Musings.”

An Unusual Arrangement - Guest Post on Mashed Musings

I’ve
never had too much patience with convention. If something works for me and the
other parties concerned, if I’m not deliberately hurting or harming anyone,  that’s all that matters.  



It won’t come as a surprise to you then, to
know I have an unusual arrangement with Steve. It might come as a bit of a
surprise to the kids though as this past week, I’ve lost my voice to a sore
throat and have been unable to communicate. 



Everything’s revealed on Amit’s
wonderful blog, “Mashed Musings.”

Why I Wrote "Never Mind Yaar"

When the kids were four and one, I gave up my job, happily,
I might add, to look after them. We were in a new country. Before I knew it the
kids were off to school and kindergarten. I discovered I was bored. How often
can you go out shopping or meet up with friends? And, as is the case with new
immigrants, I missed my life back home. 




That is when I first started writing. It was 1992. I wrote every
day. Time flew. Before I knew it, it was time to stop and get some housework
done before picking up the kids. I wrote about my childhood and teens – a story
where nothing untoward happened except, it brought smiles to my face to recall
the things my siblings and I used to get up to. My husband suggested I write to
get published.



I started researching writing to publish. In those days PCs
were just beginning to make an appearance and here, in NZ, we had excellent
(and free) libraries. I kept dreaming about plots and characters but it was all
nebulous in my mind. From being bored and having time on my hands I was on a
constant adrenaline fix.




I chanced upon a book by William Pfaff about the “Wrath of
Nations”. One thing he said stuck with me. He said people of different nationalities
instinctively felt proud of their own culture. There is no reason or logic to
it. They just do. I’d often thought about and mulled over the Bombay - as it
was then known – riots. For the first time after the riots, I felt I understood
what I’d witnessed. To my mind it had been illogical, yet blinding, hate from
people who we’d dealt with daily and perhaps once or twice even joked with. I
realised it was complex but I felt I understood why some (not all) people
became hardened towards other communities. I felt strangely at peace. 




The riots had to be
part of the book I was planning to write. 




Whenever they spoke of the Indian middle class in the news, it
was always the “huge, burgeoning” Indian middle class. I didn’t like that term.
It made me feel like ordinary Indians were being lumped together as one mass of
humanity. We weren’t individuals. Besides, so many Indian authors wrote about
Indians on the edge of society, extreme poverty, degradation, male chauvinism,
rampant corruption, bribery, superstition, religious extremism and courage in
the face of all the above, that I was determined not to. 




I would write to celebrate and affirm the ordinary,
mainstream, middle-class Indians. The world should see India in all her colours
to get a true picture. I would dare to be different.



I’d write about ordinary Indians.




The plot began taking shape. I also wanted characters who
were idealistic and not jaded by experience. Breezy youngsters, amusing, out to
make a life for themselves – that’s who I planned to write about. Normal,
ordinary kids who weren’t living at the edge of society but who came from
secure homes. 




I’d write about the
carefree and light hearted years of college, friendship and young love.




I completed my novel in 1993. It does have stories from my
childhood but the characters and plot are pure invention. Today, almost twenty
years later, it is published in India. Why it took so long is another story.



One thing I should make clear is that I had no idea when I
wrote the book that some events in the book would actually come to pass. Perhaps
subconsciously we all knew these things were waiting to happen.



My feelings now: I’ve come to know many people through my
blog and through books written by contemporary Indian authors. People who
matter to me haven’t changed. They are exactly as I thought they would be. They
are my connection to the India I left behind. The other kind, the rabble, encouraged
to see so many of their own kind out and about, are crawling out of the
woodwork in ever greater numbers.




The “never mind yaar” attitude, on the other hand, is
definitely changing. I don’t know whether youngsters would accept substandard
fare from the college canteen as most of the college students did at Gyan Shakti
until Bhagu was beaten up. I don’t know whether ordinary Indians would accept a
building coming up, slap bang in their faces – a building that flouts every
regulation about the minimum distance between buildings as Louella’s family did
in the book. I don’t know if a time will come when rape victims and their
families will be able to trust the police and the justice system and speak out
against the rapist. Or will they continue trusting no one, either taking matters
into their own hands or preferring to forget the incident and letting the
perpetrators off scot free?




All I know is that we are beginning to understand once more what we knew during India’s
struggle for independence - the power of getting together to fight in unity. We’d
forgotten and begun to feel completely helpless in the face of coercion, bribes
and politicians ruling through goondas.




There is immense strength and safety in unity and a billion
lone individuals aren’t as effective as a billion-strong force. As long as
cynicism - that nothing will come of it - doesn’t make us apathetic there is
hope. Not defeat.




For free chapters and reviews please go to the “About the Book”
page.

Muslims Afraid to Speak Out Against Jihadis? Not these Muslims

Courtesy "The Daily Telegraph"

We all know how the Middle East is full of people who call themselves jihadis. We all know the word simply means a 'terrorist' to many. When jihadis (to some) or terrorists (to others) attacked shoppers at Nairobi's Westgate mall we heard about the Muslim man who saved many shoppers' lives.



This is what he thinks about those jihadis.



Tariq Ali, another Muslim, a famous writer and film-maker isn't afraid to speak his mind either. He speaks on many issues. Worth reading some of his words at the end of this post by Matheikal.



Why?



Muslims unafraid to speak their minds are worth celebrating. May their tribe increase.

Are Indian Men Sleazy?

To protect people's identities names are fictitious. 





On a lovely summer's day, Yasmin called up out of the blue. I don't know what it is about her but I always feel cheered when I hear her voice. I might even add that she is the glue that holds our group - a disparate lot - together.



After dispensing with the hi-s, hellos and how are yous she wanted to know if we'd like to join the group for a spur of the moment picnic. She and Vijay were bringing the beers, someone else the soft drinks and the rest were bringing eats. The venue was the beach and agreeing it had to be soon, before the unpredictable NZ weather changed, we rang off. The kids, barely in their teens, were super excited as was my husband. The kids packed a frisbie, a ball, towels, their water bottles, wore their rubber chappals and were ready. The hubby packed a picnic blanket to sit on, hats and cream to protect us from the sun's uv rays (as NZ has a hole in its ozone layer), and he was ready. I packed, unpacked and repacked some stuff to eat. Knowing the others would bring delicious fare I finally decided to take along the meal I'd prepared for dinner. Oh, I thought, mustn't forget hot water, milk and teabags. I love a cup of tea after lunch and quickly packing it, rushed to the car. Realising I don't take sugar but some of the others might I jumped out aware that I was dampening the family excitement, and rushed back in to get some sugar. Feeling a bit guilty that I'd kept the rest waiting but satisfied I had packed everything, including Equal (sugar substitute) for Nimmi and Kokila, I hurried back to the car.



We drove up to the beach where the kids ran off to join their friends. We were all meeting after ages and there was a huge melee of greetings. The grown ups spread out the seating but let the goodies remain packed for later. After a lot of catching up, some of us women went off for a long walk on the beach while the men stayed back to keep an eye on the kids and probably to behave like kids themselves while the women were away.



The beach was crowded, mostly with families. Parents were everywhere, helping kids build castles in the sand or splash about in the water, determined to make the most of the lovely weather. We walked idly, chatting and absorbing the sights. There was
much to see, not least the clearest of blue skies and a cobalt blue
sea. A mum sat serenely watching her toddler take a few faltering steps and fall. The little girl's face underwent a rapid change from utter surprise to monumental misery, eyes tightly shut, forehead creased like scrunched paper and lower lip trembling piteously. She looked utterly adorable and we all winced, feeling her pain and waiting for her bottled  breath to explode.



She was seconds away from a fiesty bawl when, "that's all right," said mum mildly, adding brightly, "Up you get." We stood there, watching in suspense. It worked like magic. The little girl forgot to cry, got up, took a few faltering steps, fell again and to our utter surprise this time, smiled at mum.



"Oh, well done, mum," said Yasmin softly to our group, breaking the spell. I couldn't help agreeing.



"Who's coming jogging," said Kokila, turning around to face us, walking backwards. "Might as well build up an apetite." Kokila was a fitness freak and it showed in every inch of her superb, supple body.



"How about a race," said Shahnaaz, a bit plump and out of condition, stepping forward. "Okay," said Koki and in one fluid, graceful movement, turned around and shot off, giving herself a good head start. Shahnaaz yelled out, "back," and bolted in the opposite direction. We all turned, watching her run for dear life, laughing. Koki let out a wail of protest, "you tricked me," but sure she could beat Shahnaz, ran after her. We watched with wicked satisfaction as Shahnaaz reached our group of men a second before her.



We continued our walk. Koki caught up with us, exhilaration and perhaps triumph on her face and pointed to Shahnaz huffing and panting half way between the men and us. We stood around, waiting for her to catch up. We heard the chug-chug of an engine and turned to watch a boat with a man ski-ing expertly behind it. As he became aware of us watching he gave a little twist and a wave leaving a wonderful pattern in his wake. Shahnaaz soon caught up and gamely faced all our ribbing although we did manage to slip in, to Koki's chagrin, that she had definitely won the first round. We continued on our way. Finally, our faces red with the heat of the sun and the fresh sea breeze, we decided to turn back. The slow walk had warmed us up nicely and as one, we walked back at a nice clip with little conversation.



As we reached our group we saw that Vijay had wasted no time handing out a second round of chilled beers. The men looked content, laughing uproariously at some incident one of them was recounting. The kids had wandered back from their games and were sipping cold drinks. One of the men was throwing out brain teasers which some kids were happily trying to solve. Another was whirling one of the kids around. "me, my turn," yelled some of the others. One of the men had rummaged in the bags and discovered savoury stuff to go with their beers. The kids were making inroads into the namkeen. Before they lost their apetites to junk food we decided it was time to eat. One of the men fired up the barby. Soon delicious smells of frying meats and onion assailed us. We laid out quite a spread and everyone tucked in. It was, in true Indian style, a long, varied, chatpat and satisfying meal. We were finally done and cleared away the dishes.



I could tell the ladies were beginning to feel drowsy. The men were huddled together talking in low murmurs. They seemed to be hatching a plan. We watched the kids troop off to have more fun by the water. Suddenly, the men jumped up and whipped off their shirts. They ran in a group towards the sea. Some had paunches and some knobly knees but each and everyone of them wore shorts and a slight, self conscious blush. We sat up, smiles splitting our faces and watched. Then, leaving them to their fun we decided to have tea to help us keep awake.



I felt happy. This particular group of friends were out for a laugh and a good time in the nicest of ways. The men took a lot of ribbing and dished it out as generously. They were friendly and relaxed. Nobody knows what goes on in an individual's mind but this much I can say with certainty.  I enjoyed being with them. Thank goodness they were 'Normal' Indian men unlike those louts who've been in the news for forcing their offensive and unwanted attentions on our women.



Perhaps I'm lucky. Although, hang on a minute. I've come across tons of the other kind. Only, I've never thought of them as men - Indian or otherwise. Even as a young girl of twelve I remember creeps on the road trying to cop a crude feel or stare hungrily, giving me a sense of loathing and revulsion at their unwanted attentions. Walking on the road was stressful to say the least. I learnt to have eyes in the back of my head - to anticipate the moves some of those animals would make so I could side step them. Very often they succeeded, making me feel violated and angry. In those days decent men and women didn't know how to react when faced with this ugly behaviour. We felt helpless and tried not to make a scene, to ignore these louts and wish they would disappear. Unfortunately, that simply made the low lives bolder. Their behaviour worsened.



Most decent Indians now are angry. Enough is enough. With a united action plan, even if the police are hesitant to record rape cases and even if many politicians are made from the same, lewd mould, we are determined not to tolerate this kind of uncivilised behaviour a moment longer. Everyone wants these monsters punished. Where we all differ is the degree of punishemnt. Some advocate capital punishment and others, life imprisonment. Here's one of many such discussions on the issue.



Sadly, nobody
seems to have faith in our justice system - another topic for another
day. Yet we all seem to agree that this problem has to be attacked on many fronts. To my mind the challenge is this. All of a sudden, although we are not the louts and it isn't our fault, the onus is upon us to work at trying to cure something terrible that ails our society. We've definitely started writing about it openly where previously, we preferred to whisper about it angrily.



Wonder if we'll rise to the challenge of hammering out action plans. Whether we'll confront the problem as team players. Wonder if we'll make a determined effort to unite in action to send all this obscene, unbriddled and alarming lewdness permanently underground.



And as for the question - are Indian men sleazy? Try keying in the phrase in your Google search bar and see what it throws up. One of the reasons our men have gained that reputation is because the slimebags on our roads are beginning to outnumber the decent kind. Another, to my mind, is because many of our men have grown up believing that socialising with women isn't right. Hence they lack the skills to behave normally with half the population.



To balance the equation, having travelled extensively and having met a huge variety of men,  I can say with authority that all Indian men aren't sleazes nor are all non Indian men perfect gentlemen.



Photograph courtesy Taranaki Daily News Online

Inspiration from Failure

Two facts about me:


Whenever I'm waiting for something to happen (that is completely out of my hands) I know the best strategy for me is to get involved in feverish activity. The other option is to go quietly crazy as I wait.
I love DIY. I've never really attempted it except to wander around the
isles of a DIY shop lost in wonder, awe and admiration. 

Combining the two, can you guess what I've been up to these past two weeks? I've been waiting for something (completely out of my hands) to happen. I admit I haven't stopped there. I've chewed up all my nails.



And I've made an attempt at DIY. Here's how my effort panned out. It involved a lot of thought, planning and a barrel (or should I say vege container) full of mistakes. But guess what? I've enjoyed the process thoroughly.



Here's how it all began. I spotted these "ends" in the gardening section of our local DIY shop. They are clever little slotting devices to connect planks of wood and make them into containers. With these I thought it would be easy-peasy to make myself a container to grow veggies (spelt 'veges' in NZ) in.




[image error]
Ends





I picked the sunniest spot in our garden. It was covered in lawn but I was happy to sacrifice the lawn for my vege patch. After measuring out the length and breadth I'd require I went to the DIY shop. Feeling secretly thrilled with myself and refusing to let the slightly bored attendant get my spirits down, I had him cut four planks of untreated wood of the thickness that would comfortably slip into the ends.



I thought a single 12" plank
height would do and merrily hammered a plank into the slotted ends.




[image error]


After minor adjustments of the slotted ends on the other three planks my vege container was ready. But our dogs could, and did, jump in. "Nooooooooooo," I yelled which made them think it was a game. They rushed from the muddy container straight into the house leaving muddy paw marks all over the beige carpet.



I decided to increase the height to two planks. That meant emptying the container and starting from scratch. Prying
out the ends from each plank - not easy -
I hammered it in across two.






[image error]
One end across two planks




That seemed like a good height. Only, there was one problem. Whatever I did to the side at right angles to the doubled up planks - joined them together or left them seperate - they ended up with gaps either at the bottom of the container or between planks. Gaps in a container I meant to fill with soil simply wouldn't do.




[image error]







After studying the sample diagram and going crazy wondering how it had no gaps, I realised (finally) that there were slimmer planks (of the same width as the end bits) in between the wider ones. Eureka! I went to our local DIY shop and with a lot of help from the shop assistent (thank you Rodney of Mitre10) bought some the right length, width and thickness.



That didn't work either. The gaps were still there. On close inspection of the sample diagram and after much @#%$^-ing I realised that the planks adjacent to each other needed to be of uneven heights. If I started with a thin one, the one adjacent and at right angles needed to be the thicker one and so on. Finally, I had a container with no gaps. With help (which I reluctantly accepted as I wanted this to be my project) I fixed a trellis behind it for our tomatoes and other climbers.




[image error]
coming right






To complete the job I layered it, for reasons I've explained in a previous post, with cardboard, grass clippings, dried leaves and hay, moistened it and topped it all off with our own home grown compost.






[image error]
Grass layer peeping through the hay


After all that effort, wouldn't you know :), our dogs are still able to jump in. I'm adding a strong net to cover the container, not only to keep birds out but to prevent the
dogs from jumping in. Will let you know if that works.





Half stitched net






Voila, the end product.









My only grouse - making the box was so much easier than filling it and stitching the net. Nearly there on both counts.





Here's a wise cartoon story by J.K.Rowling about the fringe benefits of failure. After completing my vege box I can vouch that the message, besides being thoughtful, courageous, deeply felt and wonderfully honest, is a hundred percent true.



Will my vege harvest be successful? I don't know but I'm willing to give it my best shot. For starters the seedlings have produced healthy little saplings. If I'm successful I'll proudly display photos of the harvest at the end of summer (April in NZ).



The thing I've been trying NOT to think about, which started the whole project off? Hopefully, I won't have long to wait to find out. Will keep you posted.

Good News Comes in Threes

That's how the saying goes. Today I feel it definitely comes in twos.





The US was making noises that sounded distinctly like war drums to me. Obama seemed to be doing a Bush. I had nightmarish, heart sinking feelings of déjà vu. I was worried, felt helpless, scared and angry. I felt sure the Brits were all set to do the US's bidding.



But, "British MPs have voted AGAINST military intervention in Syria", screamed the headlines. Thank goodness. I can't help feeling relieved.



Good on you Brits. I'm so glad you've decided to await the UN report on who used those chemical weapons before deciding on further action. I feel your moral authority, which had suffered tremendously during the past few years has managed to gain back some lost ground.



As for the second piece of good news, it is personal. With over seventy people asking to review ten copies of "Never Mind Yaar" at Goodreads, I've made more available at Blogadda. So HURRY! Claim your copy now.

What Lesson Does Morsi's Egypt Have for India?

A very dear friend of ours gets posted all over the world through his American company. He was posted in Moscow where he and his wife had to learn to speak Russian to get by comfortably. To my untrained ears they sounded pretty fluent. I remember their three year old daughter singing western classical for us. To watch her get lost in it, with her long eyelashes blinking in tune, to watch the parents swell with love and pride at our obvious delight - the stuff of great memories! I remember the kids sliding on their bums down a slide and on reaching the ground, seeing who went furthest because the ground was covered in frictionless ice. I remember the Russian folk dancing show - the men, for once, out performing the women. One day us wives took a break from the kids (leaving them in the capable hands of our husbands) and went off to visit Tetracov gallery to gaze at the wonderful paintings on display. After feasting on the wonderful art we reached home in a slightly exalted state of being.



Similarly, when we were posted in Bangkok they came visiting and the kids had a ball. We next visited them in Scotland. They made a quick trip to visit us in Kuala Lumpur. It was the done thing between us to visit wherever our respective postings were. We enjoyed seeing places we visited through the eyes of someone who was almost local - the best way to immerse ourselves in a new culture.



We were all set to visit them in Cairo and they, to visit us in New Zealand. Unfortunately they've been asked to pack up and return home to the US. As for their visiting NZ, what with the earthquake and hundreds of major after shocks I don't think they are keen right now!



It is sad about Cairo. Not too long ago Egypt was the admiration of the world. They ousted someone they believed was a corrupt dictator through the sheer determination and unity of the people. They were out in huge numbers. They camped out in Tahrir square at great discomfort to themselves for several weeks. They demanded and got free and fair elections. The Muslim brotherhood won the elections fair and square.



Why did the Egyptians rise up against their newly elected leaders? Why was their sense of injustice rattled once more?



According to this site "the application of Islamic ideology in government policy and the victimization of Coptic Christians and secularists by the Islamic fervor following the Brotherhood's rise to power" was responsible. Another article said there were open and increasing sexual attacks on women on the streets. Apparently the Morsi administration had made
a promise to Egyptians - that they would appoint "a female vice president, and a
Coptic Christian deputy." They didn't keep that promise. Khaled Fahmy, the chairman of the history department at the American University in Cairo had this to say:


'We did not risk our lives simply to change the players'


So now, Egypt is once more going through a difficult phase. On the one hand, Morsi supporters are right - he is Egypt's legitimately elected leader, and on the other, the opposition is right - they didn't fight so hard for the Islamisation of their mainly bi-cultural nation nor the replacement of one kind of dictator with another.



Intolerance between communities, as we know in multi-cultural India, is a curse. No one wins. For a country to prosper we need every citizen, irrespective of community, to feel they have the opportunity to be free to prosper. Can't help admiring China for they seem to have woken to the fact (to a degree) that the community of politicians and their goons cannot be the only ones who prosper.

One of the Greatest Strengths of Social Media

We're social animals. We enjoy communicating. The allure of blogging, face-booking, twittering, posting videos or images is our ability to communicate virtually. Is it a complete waste of time?



There is this blogger I know who says he knows how long
each visitor spends on his blog. There are some, says this SEO-savvy cynic, who spend less than 60 seconds on his post. These guests spend the majority of those seconds leaving a
generic comment in the hope that the compliment will be returned with a
comment on their own latest post. What a lot of frantic to-ing and fro-ing for nothing. Surely running around from blog to blog leaving such comments is a waste of their time. Oh, and we mustn't forget comments that try and waste our time-  from our good friend, Anonymous. This aggressive advertiser says "what a nice post" and having dispensed with the niceties goes on to add, "If you want to lose weight / know how to blog better / increase your libido, visit mine." I'm not sure about Wordpress but Blogspot sends comments from Anonymous to the spam folder for which I'm grateful.



I feel most ordinary bloggers do enjoy genuine interaction with people who they would never
otherwise have known. For such people, as long as the virtual world doesn't completely take over their lives, blogging is very rewarding.



Which brings me to what I think one of the main benefits of social media is. It plays a very important role in keeping our news media on their toes.



News media today often doctor news depending on the owner's (or their sponsors') affiliations. Here's an example. In some countries checks and balances for such practices exist only on paper, The doctoring is blatant. Even reputed international news media often use covert tactics to influence public opinion in ingenious ways. How often have we seen them try and prevent someone they believe is against everything they stand for (their values, their tribe, their sponsors) talking perfect sense. That's not how they wish to portray that person to the world so the simple solution, if it is a TV channel, for example, is to voice over what that person is saying. The person is seen to speak but it is the commentator's voice that the listener hears giving us the angle the news channel wishes to portray. So many political leaders from the Middle East, for example, have recently had this unfortunate tactic used on them by TV channels of international repute.



How often have we seen a piece of news that they want forgotten played only once, and something they want us to remember, repeated every hour, on the hour and very often in between? How often did we see Saddam Hussein loading and firing a gun, albeit in
the air, as compared to his saying that Iraq had no weapons of mass
destruction?



Ordinary people telling us what's happening in their nook of the world, even if their views might be completely prejudiced, hold our attention and interest. If they are able to convey things reasonably well, their insider knowledge lends them a certain authenticity. This is what makes newspapers
and TV hesitate to doctor news too quickly or too completely to align it with their own beliefs. What's to prevent them from bribing or threatening such individuals to toe their line? The sheer numbers. How many of those thousands of individuals can they bribe?



In India we've seen newsmakers try and instil fear by marching young things who dare exercise their freedom of speech, to jail. Then there are those cartoon blogs poking fun at people in politics - the especially creative, popular and succinct ones managed in India were removed from cyber world. Such heavy handed tactics have been partially successful. Some bloggers have backed off completely and others have toned down their criticism. Luckily, many bloggers, facebookers and tweeters continue speaking out. With so many speaking out it is difficult for politicians or the platforms they use, like the news media, to clamp down on the public voice. [Obviously, newspapers and TV channels who
claim they don't take sides have nothing to worry about.]



This doctoring of news won't stop. In India our checks and balances for anything lacks determined effort. Instead a determined effort to find ways to subvert rules, regulations, laws or even human decency never lets up. When a hundred bloggers with their own beliefs and affiliations don't hesitate to tell us their own points of view, we come to know, more or less, where the truth lies. In the above example of news doctoring it was a blogger who pointed out that the photo was doctored.



Of course we draw our
own conclusions depending on our own beliefs. Who says we live in a
perfect world? What I do say is, with so many of us blogging the greatest disadvantage is that we'll have to look through a mind boggling mountain of dross before we find the occasional gold. On the whole though, with so many of us blogging and opining - whether daily, weekly or monthly, the greatest advantage has to be that our news media will feel the need to be (relatively:) accountable. 

Pakistani Driver in NZ faces Racist Passenger

What this Pakistani taxi driver faced is worth publicising.



Not to show the passenger up as a stupid racist and an obnoxious bigot. That is obvious. But for other reasons.



People band together for various
reasons - the colour of their skin, the language they speak or the
accent they speak it with, the clothes they wear, what they eat or the customs or
religion they practice. Anyone who looks or behaves different, especially if they are in the minority, finds it difficult to blend in. To that extent racism exists everywhere and within many of us.



Unfortunately, some folks show their prejudice and suspicion of the hateful "others" in the manner of this passenger. That's when the law keeps everyone safe. Let's be honest. We face racist slurs in India and Pakistan too - with depressing regularity. At the same time we know that not everyone in these countries is prejudiced. It is the same over here, in New Zealand.



Have a look at the comments after the Youtube video. About forty percent are for and sixty against the passenger's racist words.



What's commendable is the way the Pakistani driver keeps his cool however hard the passenger tries to get a rise out of him. What worries me is that anyone with a racist attitude, if he is fitter than the passenger in this taxi, could easily let fly his fists along with his racist slurs.



What I'd like New Zealand to discuss is - what do we do to prevent injury to a driver? Putting up the video camera in all taxis is a good idea. But more needs to be done to keep a taxi driver - in fact both, the driver and passenger - safe from the few rotten eggs that are around.



The official tone taken is that of censure to the passenger. I hope this passenger doesn't get away with a mere rap on his knuckles. He says he is sorry - that he was drunk - probably to escape punishment. Perhaps it would be fitting for him to do some community work within the community he despises so much and pay the driver for a day's worth of business apart from whatever else the NZ courts want to fine him.



Here's the video.