The Indian Soul

An Asian Studies teacher has a lot to deal with. Asia is not a single unit, has hardly any internal coherence, and demands a discipline that is quite different from teaching World (read: European) History. It is misleading to think that we have less content, because from philosophy to the rise of modernity, Asia is all about soul.

When I was starting out, I saw the three content areas this way.

Chinese history appeals to my heart. I am simply in love with the culture, its food, and its movies. My studies there stem from this playful love for the subject matter.

Islamic history appeals to my head. My first encounter with it was during my college days learning Political Science. 9/11 just happened, and hence interest in Islam increased; I was part of that statistic.

But India always appealed to my soul. There is just something so entrancing about the story of the Buddha, so eerie about the Taj Mahal, and for some reason their imperial experience under Britain feels all too familiar. To confront India was always to confront my deepest self, and I could attest to that now that I have actually been there.

The Community Development and Leadership Summit 2009 was really for our students. The teacher chaperone has to do pretty much that – chaperone. “Get them there, and get them out” was pretty much my job description. And yet between the margins I found the time to encounter India in its entirety, though I think it is really impossible to do just that and arrogant to think that that is even possible.

But we sure tried. There were times when some fellow teacher delegates and I excused ourselves from some sessions to steal some time outside the school walls. We affirmed that the Indians do love their tea more than their coffee, that no two saris looks the same (though it can be impossible to tell the Indians themselves apart), and that the colonial experience reaches its way to their comfort rooms – when you enter you can take your pick: toilet or ‘Western’ toilet.

Having taught India from a textbook for the past five years, I was more curious to see whether my readings bore out in reality. Indeed, there were hardly any Buddhists around anymore and so it is no surprise that some have this misconception of Buddhism coming from Thailand or China. I was also sensitive to the caste system, which I had no idea how to bring up. But I had a firsthand experience with a dalit or untouchable.

Though banned in theory, the caste retains deep socio-economic divisions. I had my shoe ‘shined’ inadvertedly; while walking through an underpass in Delhi, a dark skinned man walked up to me and offered a shoe shine. I declined; he insisted. Then he crouched to my shoe to give me no choice; I politely ran away and said I’m being left behind by my companions (which was true). As I exited the underpass, I noticed a light green goo on top of my right shoe. It was monkey poo. I just had an encounter with a con man. I just had an encounter with a man who was trying to make a living.

Back at the school, I asked a sociology teacher how much he could’ve asked a foreigner like me.

“100 rupees?” I guessed. One rupee being almost equal to one peso.

“100? Too much.” The teacher replied. “20 would have been a lot already.”

Twenty rupees for a con job. That’s twenty pesos here. Unbelievable yes, but this was happening every day and in different spots throughout New Delhi.

People speak so easily about change and progress in India. The politicians and economists all talk about a coming Golden Age, and they do have many reasons to be optimistic. What is important is that in their quest for progress, they do not forget the shoe shine guy and many others like him. But thankfully, I am optimistic.

I just have to remember a boy named Mukul.

Throughout the summit, the foreign student delegates were assigned a Modern School student to accompany them and help them through everything they need. We teachers weren’t. But there was Mukul. His small unassuming bespectacled stature betrays his low, deep voice that echoed nothing else but warm, sympathy and concern. He who followed, trailed, and struck a conversation with me whenever he could. At first though, I was a little annoyed since there were moments when I preferred to be alone. And then one night, I received news from Manila that my uncle passed away.

A forum just ended and everyone was heading back to the dormitories. I decided to hang around the auditorium area, use their WiFi, and see how everyone back home was doing. But I couldn’t get a signal and just sat there, frustrated that I couldn’t get in touch. My mother was very concerned about uncle during his last few months, and I was very concerned for my mother whose heart doesn’t easily break but breaks hard when it does. But I only planned to get in touch through the Internet and did not get a local sim for my phone. Now I was regretting it.

Then Mukul arrived. He called on me and asked me to join everyone for dinner back in the dorm. I politely declined and said that I wanted to try the WiFi one last time, so he insisted to stay with me. He then asked if something was wrong; I looked upset, he said.

Not one to just let emotions spill, I assured him that it was nothing I couldn’t deal with. “But enough about me,” I said. “Tell me something about you.” Then we walked back to the dormitories.

During the walk he told me about how he wasn’t accepted as one of the Modern School volunteers for the summit, but will insist that he becomes one just so he can hang around. He found me interesting and funny, like a mentor he could learn a lot from. So as a mentor, I asked him what his dreams were. He said he wanted to be an accountant and he dreamed about earning the big bucks to live a good life. I asked if that was all. “Well, that’s what I can do to help my family.”

As we neared the dorm his phone rang. It was his mother. “I am being summoned home now, sir. It’s my mother.”

“Well, Mukul, if I were you, I’d be a good boy and go home now.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll be on my way then. See you tomorrow, and I hope all will be well.”

* * *

It has been more than two months since I got back from India. Since then my head has been swirling with ideas for my classes and new dreams for myself. I can now speak of India more confidently and more convincingly. I have enough anecdotes to write my own book with.

I readily admit that I haven’t seen everything I would’ve wanted to see in India. I’d like to see Varanasi for myself and witness a burial ritual along the Ganges as other people bathe. But this only gives me reason to return. Maybe then the shoe shine guy won’t be around anymore. And perhaps I’ll drop by Modern School and look for Mukul, just so I can say that all has been well. That evening conversation wasn’t the last I saw of him, but it was then that I realized something I’ve long since known.

India is all about soul.

Mukul and I at a Concept Paper Discussion

Noynoy Aquino hits a new low

Candidates criticized for having no experience — like JFK or Obama — counter this by proving themselves as people with the judgment to be President. Noynoy is facing the same criticism, yet has hardly shown any judgment. His latest ad, while to a lot is just the same cheap gimmickry, is for me the clearest sign of his lack of judgment so far.

His ad shows a lack of judgment for several reasons: it misrepresents who he is, the pandering presentation is not congruent with his call for us to seek our higher selves, and he has resulted to traditional political parlor games, casting him in a light no different — and perhaps even worse — than the most-trapoest-trapo-of-them-all, Villar.

So if I were you, I’d share this video with all those still making up their minds on who to vote for. Help our country by not getting Noynoy Aquino elected in May.

How dare he speak about change after this; the campaign is bringing out the worst in him

1986, Never Again. Say No to Noynoy Aquino.

A Day in the Life of Sir Martin

Dedicated to Batch 2012.

The bell rings.

I wrap up my lecture and bid my class goodbye. I entertain a few questions – this time someone asking me what would happen if the USSR just nuked the Middle East – as I turn off the projector and shut down my laptop. I reply with my characteristic answer — “What do you think would happen?” – as the buzzing of my students steadily stream out of the Seminar Room and into the halls outside.

We finish our conversation – the phrase “World War III” came up several times – and soon it is just me and the timid humming of the LCD projector as it finally cools down and quiets. I coil all the loose cords, replace my laptop and other devices into their respective bags, shut off the airconditioner, and switch off the lights.

Done with my classes for the day, I return to the Faculty Room. But on the way I pass by the Student Services Division to make sure my planned event for February pushes through (it will). Then I drop by the library photocopier lady — “Roxy” as she is affectionately or degradingly called – to check on whether my students have been copying their assigned texts (they are except for one class). Next I pass by the Guidance Office, help myself in, and say “Hi!” to Sir Ed. We catch up on the latest with Batch 2011 (So who asked who from prom?) and I tell him – at least once a week – how much I miss everyone. Then I pass by Ma’am Jeng, the Guidance Counselor of my current batch, and ask whether the kids in my advisory class are all alright (they definitely are).

Halfway back, I pass by the cafeteria. There are hardly any students there at 9am, save for the fortunate few (as they see themselves) who are spared from a Biology class, or the Seniors who fill the lull by catching up on breakfast and other things they need to survive to graduation. I just skip to the cold store and grab myself a bottled ice tea (Real Leaf Lychee being my favorite) for a quick picker up, say “Hi!” to some students along the way, and finally rush back to the Faculty Room.

It is just the 3rd period and so there are hardly any teachers sitting by their desks; often there are just about two or three besides me. One colleague on an afternoon shift arrives early to prepare. I register my cursory surprise at seeing her arrive early as she types away at a keyboard, finalizing her grades and trying to make a dent on the tower of student papers sitting on her desks. Almost always there when I return is Arghs, already checking his e-mail and scratching (more like rubbing) his head over the latest gaffe by Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo. If not he is worshipping at the altar of Conrado de Quiros, or checking out Wikipedia then checks on me if I already have that latest episode of How I Met Your Mother or The Big Bang Theory, handing me his portable hard disc as he does so. I really should charge him for this service.

For the next hour I check on my e-mail and read up on the news. I reply to some university students asking for my input on their thesis survey, and I draft an invitation to a Congressman for a forum we’re having in February. I then do my rounds of The Daily Beast and Politico, following American politics ten times more closely than I do our own. So I can’t help but muse about how far Noynoy really is from Obama, and how Philippine politics is all too similar to American politics in the 1920’s when it was dominated by the mafia.

Then I hit a wall. My reading for the morning is hampered by the school’s White List – I can’t access a site that isn’t pre-approved by the school’s MIS department – and so I shut down my laptop and instead sift through some papers on my desk – student quizzes, office memos, and my random notes from my many meetings and quick readings.

Arghs and I have lunch pretty early as we try to beat his 10:50 class. I don’t mind this at all because at 10:20 the food is still pretty warm and we have a lot more to choose from. Cafeteria food, after all, is best in its first five minutes of existence.

Often joining us is Liz, a young and superbly upbeat teacher whose optimism always gets the best of you. Currently the Batch Adviser of 2013, she and I can talk for hours planning activities and sharing notes on how to deal with students, parents, and the loveable administration.

Lunch is dominated by a wide variety of topics from the TV shows Arghs and I share, to Liz’s questions on whether I plan to go into politics or not. We talk about our students, school policies, and love lives (or the absence thereof). But it is when Liz drills me on how I’ve gone from an idealist to a realist that I wish our lunch hours don’t end. It is something I think most intensely about every now and then.

The hour starting from 11:00 is what I call my dead hour. After lunch, my productivity is at its lowest. This is why I prefer to meet my AKSIS officers at this time, since being around my officers and discussing our projects really kicks me up a notch. But around 11:50 I am at my most zombified state, and so I head for the Faculty’s hidden couch to grab a power nap. I have mastered that art, and can get myself to wake at exactly 12:30, the end of my official time.

On my way out of the Faculty I grab my course’s textbook and some quizzes I have yet to check. I put them all in my bag as I unzip a side pocket to grab my iPod. I scroll to my 60-song playlist and hit shuffle, but really won’t settle for any first song unless it’s something by The Fray.

Home is a good hour away in Paranaque, and I don’t head for it first. Since January 4, I haven’t missed the gym and so I mentally prepare my route from C5 to Makati.

Driving under the noon sun can be quite the test. The blinding glare and the heat make me fall asleep – hence the power nap before I leave – but I’ve discovered that listening to something loud and bassy can really get me up. Sadly, Staind, Drowning Pool, or all the hard rock acts I grew up with don’t work. But Lady Gaga does. Ra Ra Ah Ah Ah, Roma Roma Ma, Gaga Ooh La La. (In my defense, even Chris Daughtry sings her songs.)

I reach my gym in Makati by 1:30. I stow my car in Parksquare, get out of my leather shoes and into my rubber sandals, put on a cap to keep off the sun, and walk to EDSA corner Pasay Road. I spend a full half hour stretching my body and rotating my hips in anticipation of my Tennis Camp from April to May. Then I jog a full kilometer for warm up. Focusing on cardio work for January, I hit the transport machine for a good half hour clocking in three kilometers by the time I’m done.

As I run on the machines I think about how my day went. Actually, this is when I do all my deep thinking. I review the lecture I delivered today, and reflect on the class discussions we’ve had. I think about what to do for my classes next – Middle East Summit perhaps? – and begin mapping out what our last month will be like. I think about that subtitle for our AKSIS event, and draft a text message I’ll send to my officers once I step off the machines.

Then I think about my life and where I’m headed. I try to define what happiness means and rationalize why I didn’t call back that girl I went out with once (and think about what could have happened if I did). I think about how much longer I’ll be teaching in Pisay and plot what my next step should be if indeed I decide to go into politics. But as I near the end of my run I go back to the here and now. I breathe in, breathe out; I feel the tightening of muscles and pat myself on the back for another good work out.

The I finally head home.

I wonder what mom’s dinner surprise will be. I expect to see my dad on the couch, standing guard over Gibo Teodoro’s Facebook page and fending off anti-Gibo comments with his own snarky defenses. Just before dinner my 13 year-old sister arrives from dance class, and my 20 year-old brother won’t be home until later tonight after his orchestra rehearsal. In the closing hours of the day I finally get some work done. I finish checking quizzes and convert handouts to PDF and upload them on the blog. As I do so I respond to student messages in Yahoo! Messenger while going through my shelf to pick a book for tonight.

By 10pm I shut everything down, and flip open a book to the chapter I left behind the previous night. I go through about half a chapter before my eyes fall and I ultimately catch myself sleeping on a page. So I close the book, slide it down my desk, and I slip into my blanket. I turn off my reading light and soon it is just me and the steady buzzing of cicadas outside.

The next sound I hear is my phone’s alarm at 4:50am. But that just starts a new day.

It is when that bell rings again at 7:25 that my life starts again.

Footnote

“You know, folks ask me sometimes why I look so calm. They say, All this stuff coming at you, how come you just seem calm? And I have a confession to make here. There are times where I’m not so calm … There are times when progress seems too slow. There are times when the words that are spoken about me hurt. There are times when the barbs sting. There are times when it feels like all these efforts are for naught, and change is so painfully slow in coming, and I have to confront my own doubts. But let me tell you — during those times, it’s faith that keeps me calm.” – Barack Obama

Cracking my knuckles for the 2010 National Elections

I followed the campaign and election of Barack Obama very closely. I woke up every morning to Wolf Blitzer’s Situation Room, tracked the state-by-state delegate count during the Democratic primaries, and caught up with all the media oddities from Sarah Palin to Joe the Plumber.

Since my university days, I’ve always been mystified by the alchemy of elections. I saw it for the political contest that it was, on one hand, and the confluence of media, human behavior, and faux spirituality it also was, on the other.

Last week I finished reading Richard Wolffe’s Renegade, a journalist’s account of the Obama campaign. I am currently in the middle of The Audacity to Win by David Plouffe, Barack Obama’s campaign manager. And soon I’ll be grabbing my copy of Game Change by journalists John Heilemann and Mark Halperin who promised some very juicy revelations about the campaigns behind the scenes.

Having followed the 2008 elections so closely has taught me so many things. While I don’t discount the multitude of differences we have with American politics, I’ve always considered myself a student of human nature – and politics is just one such human (and thus imperfect) act.

I have a lot to say about our upcoming national elections.

I have absolutely no confidence in Noynoy Aquino. Some people are equating him with Obama and are even trying to take a page from his playbook (for instance reducing the upcoming elections to one about change) but they couldn’t be more misinformed. And misleading!

Manny Villar is not to be trusted. He is doing everything a traditional politician has to do in order to win elections in this country. And he’s doing it very, very well.

You could not have worse fortunes than Gibo Teodoro. All things being equal, he is a promising candidate, deftly intelligent, and has good political touch. However, he is running under the worst circumstances possible having been declared the standard bearer of LAKAS-Kampi-CMD, the party of the much despised incumbent, President Gloria Macapagal-Arroyo. His is the most uphill of uphill climbs, and I worry that he is not doing the moves he has to make to stand a decent – though still farfetched – shot.

Besides the candidates I also hope to talk about more philosophical issues such as how much should we consider winnability in making our choice, or whether we vote someone of character or of competence (why not both).

I really hope to write more on the elections, for whatever purpose it may serve. For sure I have gotten very rusty, and my hands don’t glide over these keys as smoothly as before but I’ll get there.

Cracking my knuckles now.