"If you don't stand for something...

Image source: The Best Travel Destinations

... you'll fall for anything" goes the quote. 

I am writing this a few days after India has decided to vote for the resolution against Sri Lanka at the United Nations Human Rights Council (UNHRC) in Geneva. I know I am late but I am glad.

Let me begin with a disclaimer. I cannot claim to be an avid follower of politics. I don’t have the details of Sri Lanka’s ethnic conflict at my finger tips. I am neither a pro-LTTE sympathizer nor a pro-Sri Lankan supporter. Rather I am merely pro-humanism. Just because I hail from Tamilnadu does not mean that I blindly support all the terrorist activities of the LTTE. And I am not supporting the call to justice, just because those affected are Tamils. No. When I see them, I simply see people. Fathers, mothers, husbands, wives, elders, children; just normal people like you and me, with love, hope and dreams all tinged with bitterness and sorrow. Doesn’t matter if they are Tamils or not.

Some people ask what right does India have to talk about human rights, when humans are degraded everyday in her own soil. Doesn’t matter. Yes we do need to work on improving human rights. But that does not in any way take away anything from the fact that the world needs to seek justice from Sri Lanka.

When the LTTE’s leader was shot dead almost 3 years back, I remember that our offices in Chennai closed half-day fearing a backlash of violence. All I was concerned about was reaching home safely before any riots broke out. Sri Lanka's problems, were only a series of newspaper headlines to me. I read about them as I read about umpteen other atrocities that happened every day - many much closer to home. I've always thought, "It is not happening in my country, it's not my problem. Why should I bother about it?" and relegated it to some obscure corner of my mind as I got on with my life.

So why the sudden interest, you ask? I happened to see the critically acclaimed video ‘The Killing Fields Of Sri Lanka’ recently. I am sure that the video has been around for quite a while, but I generally desist from watching such disturbing videos. I don’t know why I watched this one. But I regret it. 

If you haven’t watched it already and would like to, please do so. But I must warn you, that if you have a weak heart, please don’t. You might end up in a flood of tears or rush to the bathroom to throw up. I did both.

The former Prime Minister of Sri Lanka Chandrika Bandaranaike Kumaratunga has said in a speech and I quote, "I shall remember till the end of my days the morning when my 28 year-old son called me, sobbing on the phone to say how ashamed he was to call himself as Sinhalese and a Lankan, after he saw on the UK television a 50 minute documentary called Killing Fields of Sri Lanka which I also had the great misfortune of seeing. My daughter followed suit, saying similar things and expressing shock and horror that our countrymen could indulge in such horrific acts. I was proud of my son and daughter, proud that they cared for the others, proud that they have grown up to be the man and woman their father and mother wanted them to be."

The video is horrific to say the least. It details the war and hate crimes perpetuated by both the LTTE and the Sri Lankan military on innocent civilians. Trapped, with nowhere to hide and caught between two warring factions it is heart-breaking to see the hopelessness and utter despair of these people.

In the video, a father who had to witness the agony of his teenage son, a victim of shelling die a slow and painful death says in a broken voice, “As a father, I could not save my son.” A desperate and defeated statement that no father should ever have to utter.

Another instance shows a man tied to a tree with his throat half slit, blood running down his shirt and tissue hanging out of the slit, still alive and pleading for mercy. Yet another instance, shows soldiers piling up naked bodies of women, dead, tortured and presumably raped. As one man callously drags and throws a woman’s body like a sack of potatoes, he says, “This one had the best figure”.

Why? How? How can humans be so utterly cruel? What turns a man into such a heartless animal? Is it because they suffered pain and loss because of the LTTE? Is that justification enough to become a monster? Is all really fair in love and war? If these men had wives, children and mothers, would those people even bear to look them in the eye knowing about this?  There are no easy answers.

But that does not mean that one should stop asking difficult questions. I also have a small, personal connection with Sri Lanka. My great-grandfather used to do business in Colombo all those years back. My grandmother knows Sinhalese and has travelled extensively throughout Sri Lanka a long time back and I guess we might still have some, distant relatives living there – although I personally have never met anyone and don’t really know anyone. But it makes me wonder - what if my great-grandfather had continued his business there instead of shutting shop and moving out due to inhospitable conditions? Would I be there? Would I also be one of those unfortunate living dead with haunting memories of mindless violence and irreparable loss? Or would I just be one among the many rotting dead bodies, buried in earth stained crimson?

One gains a new respect for the Mahatma in such times. There might a thousand arguments and critiques against Gandhiji and my view might be rather simplistic to the worldly-wise. But finally, isn’t the choice to be non-violent much better than choosing a path of destruction? At the end of a devastating war, really, who is happy? Doesn't an eye war an eye make the whole world blind? Doesn't fighting fire with fire burn down everything in its path? There might be an over-whelming sense of relief that the war is finally over, but peace? Happiness? Will non-violence work today? I honestly don’t know. But can a country founded on so much darkness, hope to have a peaceful and secure future?

Today India is the only Asian country that has voted against Sri Lanka. Never mind that it agreed to it only after making some amendments. Never mind that it was possibly a result of internal politics and pressure from its strategic alliances who might possibly have wanted the vote to further personal gains. Is anything going to happen now because of the resolution? I don't know. 

But in the end, I am proud that India had the guts to stand by the weak, to stand by those who have been oppressed and have no hope, to stand by those whose voices have been silenced, to stand by those who need answers and justice.

Copycats & Smelly Rats

It all started with an innocent tweet

"What a boring weekend...", I thought, while aimlessly surfing the internet yesterday. I had just started getting active on Twitter a couple of weeks back and so was into exploring more about it. Since last week I had started "following" Ameera Al Hakawati, the author of the book Desperate In Dubai, which I had reviewed on this blog earlier this week. She tweeted that her book review was published in one of the leading national newspapers of the UAE, namely Khaleej Times(KT) and I decided to check it out. I started reading the review - and couldn't believe my eyes!! I ran my eyes over it again - and again - but no matter how many times I read it, I still couldn't believe it. What couldn't I believe you ask? The words. They were mine.

Wait a minute! That look familiar!

Was I imagining things? I quickly called my husband and asked him to read both the review on my blog and the one on that newspaper. He did and confirmed my suspicions. The writer had shamelessly lifted half of my review and coolly passed it off as her's! I was so shocked that I immediately replied to Ameera's tweet saying that the review has been copied and she responded saying

AmeeraHakawati 

@annejwrites I noticed that! I thought u two were the same person that's how similar they were! What are u going to do about it?!

Smelling something fishy, I decided to comb the internet for other reviews of the book and voila! What do I find? The writer had cleverly copied a few lines from several other sources - a paragraph from here and a paragraph from there - and there you have it! A full article which you can proudly announce as written by you. I did a quick search on Copyscape for my blog review page and it promptly threw up the other review. Here is a snapshot

 Whatever happened to ethics & standards?

I have heard so much about plagiarism but never thought that I would be a victim of it. Much less, to a well-known national newspaper!! What is worse is that the writer is actually an award winning journalist! I just cannot understand why an award-winning and experienced journalist had to indulge in such deplorable practices. I was not asked permission nor was I given credit, at the least I wasn't even notified. I immediately wrote to both the editor as well as the writer, a Ms.Raziqueh Hussain, but unfortunately neither have bothered to respond, nor has the offensive review been changed or taken down. I too am part of the media industry and I know how much I have sacrificed and struggled to be where I am. Apart from being disappointed with the total lack of journalistic ethics, it is also deeply painful to see my work being misused in such a way.

I did not want anyone accusing me of telling tall stories and spreading false claims and so I took screenshots of the original article as well as the sources from which they have been plagiarized from. Note the lines circled in red - those are the lines that have been specifically copied with a few words possibly changed here and there.

The evidence speaks for itself

The plagiarized article: http://www.khaleejtimes.com/DisplayArticleNew.asp?section=diversions&xfile=data/diversions/2012/february/diversions_february8.xml



The copied introduction:

 A few more copied lines:

    

And finally the major chunk of copied content: 

I know that it is quite difficult to make things out from the above snapshots. So here is a clearer picture:

KT’s Article Extract: At first, the title Desperate in Dubai is quite deceptive. It appears to be one of those yet-another-chick-lit type of book, which it isn’t. Writing under a nom de plume Ameera Al Hakawati’s story is about four women; however it isn’t Sex and the City (which again you might be tempted to think).

Original Lines From: http://bookreviews.bookrack.in/2011/08/review-desperate-in-dubai-by-ameera-al.html

On initial sight, the book’s title is quite deceptive. It appears to be one of those yet-again-another-chick-lit type of book, which it isn’t. Desperate in Dubai, well it is about four women, however it isn’t Sex and the City (which some of you might be tempted to think). 

KT’s Article Extract: The novel is a tale similar in structure to the bestselling novel Girls Of Riyadh. There are four central female characters, chosen “because they represent the kinds of people living in Dubai”.

Original Lines From: http://www.thenational.ae/arts-culture/intriguing-secrets-of-lady-luxe?pageCount=0

The novel is a tale similar in structure to the bestselling novel Girls Of Riyadh. There are four central female characters, chosen "because they represent the kinds of people living in Dubai". 

KT’s Article Extract: The dilemmas of the women are mostly to do with matters of the heart more than anything else — but still this is hardly a romance novel. These four women, seemingly have everything in life, be it money or beauty, and their weaknesses, vulnerabilities as well as their darker sides are exposed.

Somehow you can’t relate to them, even though you might meet some like them. Most of these women spend their time driving flashy cars, flaunting designer clothes and club-hopping, leading extravagant lifestyles, which quite simply, I (and I suspect you too) can’t afford. Having said that, one area that you will find true is when the author speaks of the social hierarchy that exists where the locals are placed above all (understandable, as it’s their country after all), followed by white-skinned people and only then do Asians and the rest of the world come into the picture.

Also, the names of characters are unimpressive. While Leila and Nadia are okay, but Sugar? Who names anyone Sugar, anyway? It sounds more like a candy than a name! Lady Luxe is weird although thankfully, we come to know that it is only a pseudonym.

The book also speaks a lot about the famous locales of Dubai — not from a touristy perspective, but from an insider’s.

Original Lines From: http://abstractadmissions.blogspot.com/2012/02/desperate-in-dubai.html

It was good to read a book which spoke so much about the locales of Dubai – not from a touristy perspective, but from an insider’s. I am not really an expert of Dubai landmarks, but still it was nice to follow the characters around familiar places. Also I liked the observations that the writer has made about general life in Dubai, as I could very well relate to it. For example, she explains how the social hierarchy is structured – Arabs are the all important ones (which is kinda understandable, this being their country and all), followed by white-skinned people and only then do we Indians and the rest of the world including Filipinos and Africans come into the picture. So true! One can almost feel the stigma and this favouritism is quite evident even with employers who specifically state, “Only Western educated candidates will be considered”!

But that is where the similarity ends. My life is in no way similar to any of the main protagonists, who spend their time driving flashy cars, flaunting designer clothes and club-hopping at expensive discs, in short leading a totally extravagant lifestyle, which quite simply, I (and I suspect you too) can’t afford. Having said that, I found the book quite intriguing and the drama involved, pretty racy. The way the author has inter-connected the stories of the four leading ladies and inter-woven their lives is quite appealing. 

The dilemmas of the women, are mostly to do with matters of the heart more than anything else – but still Desperate In Dubai, is hardly a romance novel. It goes into the lives of four women, who seemingly have everything in life, be it money or beauty, and exposes their weaknesses, vulnerabilities as well as the darker side of their characters.

If there was one thing that I wasn’t too impressed with, it is the names of the main characters. While Leila and Nadia are okay, Lady Luxe is weird although thankfully, we come to know that it is only a pseudonym; but Sugar?? Who names anyone Sugar anyway!? It sounds more like an endearment than a name.

The dates in each of the other sources clearly indicate which of these were published first. As a friend told me, Imitation is the best form of flattery and I thank the distinguished Ms.Hussain for flattering me and for making me realize my true worth.  

Quoting a well-known blogger, Shail, "...what makes people not even try to have an opinion, a liking of their own? What’s so great about copying someone else’s work and being praised for it? Even if you aren’t caught by others, doesn’t your own heart know the truth?!"

I don't think I need say more. I rest my  case.


EDITED on 20/02/2012 TO ADD: Good news people! So I finally got a mail from the Editor saying, "...the person in question has been relieved of her services and is no longer with us."
If that is true, then wow! I mean all I expected was them to take down the plagiarized article (which they have done) or give me credit and maybe an apology. Didn't expect someone to lose their job - although I am sure that with her credentials and experience, not to mention the awards, she can easily land a job elsewhere. Anyway so this is how the story ends! 

EDITED on 21/02/2012 TO ADD: This is becoming one never-ending post! Just wanted to say that today the journalist replied to me saying that she had already quit the newspaper and that the article was published by someone else under her name in a bid to tarnish her image. Now, what does one believe!?

Abused For A Living

Domestic help is a blessing for many women. But the quality of life for many immigrant domestic workers in the UAE is simply appalling. Read my guest post at the Women's Web Blog here to find out more.

Image Courtesy: Dreamstime

A Letter….. From a Mother to a Daughter

My dearest chickoo,

Today, our neighbor Swetha delivered a baby girl. Mother and child are doing fine. I had gone to visit them. Seeing that cute little miracle reminded me of the very first day I held you in my hands. Oh you smelt so sweet! The fragrance of pure, unadulterated Innocence.
You clasped my hand with your tiny fingers. Even the most expensive silk, the lightest feather or softest fur could not be compared. Something stirred in the very depths of my heart. Was this what they call ‘Love at first sight?’ I wondered.

With every small step you took, with every teensy inch you grew, with every fussy mouthful you ate, with every wink you slept, with every new word you spoke I fell more and more in Love with you. Your divine face was what I saw every time I was tired or weary. I plodded through my average job in a average day, in the hope of seeing your sunny smile in the evening when I returned home. It helped me bear my superiors’ egos, the crowded buses, the hot afternoon sun, the mornings when my body begged for a few more minutes of blessed sleep, the times when my Vanity wanted to throw away some money on that beautiful sari instead of buying you some sweets or trinkets or dolls and so much more. A lifetime of mediocrity was made brilliant only by your presence.

As days went by, you grew and blossomed into such a beautiful person-both inside and outside. I could see the envy in everyone’s eyes, but you always treated them kindly.

Is that what you found finally unbearable my dear one? To be kind and gentle in such an unkind and harsh world? Could you not bear to see the Beauty inside you rusted and corroded by this unfair Life? Could you not tolerate the destruction of the dreamy, ideal world that you built, by the uncaring people you met?
Could you not find one soul who could help you?
When you were young, you fell down often. You always used to come crying and running to me with a bruised knee. You trusted that I could wipe away your tears and heal your wounds- Could you not have trusted me to at least soothe, if not heal, your broken spirit? Could you not see the one person who would have forgiven you of anything, absolved you of everything and loved you with all her existence no matter what?
Why did you not confide in me my angel? Why did you not pause, one moment, on that beautiful November evening to spare a single thought for your mother?
What were you so afraid of that you had to leave me in eternal agony?
I lived for you-is that why I deserve this cruel punishment?
When your tender leg kicked my womb, I delighted in it; When your rosebud lips spat out food at me I wiped it away without complaining; When you were angry with me childishly, I bore it; When you were ashamed of my hugs in front of your teenaged friends, I just smiled to myself. I only wanted the best for you. Were these my mistakes? Was I a failure as a Mother? Is that why you decided to push me away and desert me forever?

So many questions.
But the only answer I get, no matter how persistently I ask them, is Silence.

When I hear of Mother’s Day and Daughter’s Day and even Valentine’s Day I think of you, my lost Love. When my colleagues’ daughters get married, I am haunted by the dreams I once had dreamt for you. When I see a mother and daughter shopping together or enjoying a movie or sharing a joke over some coffee I miss you. The womb that housed you has shriveled up, the heart that beat for you is aching, the shoulders that you slept on are heavy, the hands that cradled you are limp and the Life that you lit up is now dark and empty.
I never knew why you quit that fateful day and will never know either.

Sweetheart I can no longer cry; all I can do is wonder.

With Love,
Mommy.

Trapped!

The cords are bound tight,
There is no escape.
No more can I fight,
In despair, I am draped.

Tendrils of Love, they seemed to be,
Disguised to deceive.
Stupid, naive and foolish me,
The truth, now I perceive.

Can anyone hear me?! I scream,
No one heeds my cry.
Wishing this was just a bad dream,
I prepare to die.