Aparita

National Post, [11/13/2004]

APARITA BHANDARI

Special to the National Post

It’s 9:30 on a Saturday morning and already the linoleum floor of De Francesca Men’s Hair Stylists is carpeted with hanks of hair. Empty streetcars trundle by, and most of the other shops in the Dundas and Roncesvalles neighbourhood remain shuttered.

But the De Francesca brothers, Palmo and Joe, have been tending to a steady stream of regulars since 8 a.m.

One man, who gives his name only as Arnold, readies himself to go under the razor of elder brother, Palmo. Palmo eases back the red-leather-and-chrome barber chair and tucks a white towel, bibstyle, into Arnold’s shirt collar. Arnold’s face disappears into a hot towel, which Palmo then tosses on to an adjacent chair. From a dispenser he whooshes a dab of shaving cream in his hand and applies it liberally to Arnold’s face, working up a lather with a soft brush.

Then comes the straight razor. Palmo’s face, all smiles and eye-crinkles until now, turns serious. His square jaw sets, lips press into a thin line and raised eyebrows furrow his forehead. He pinches Arnold’s skin with his left hand, stretching it, and smoothes the razor over it with his right. The strokes are deft and precise, first with the grain, then, after a second lathering of shaving cream, against it. He follows this with another hot towel, then a cold one. Then comes a facial and shoulder massage.

“Ahhh,” Arnold sighs. “This is the best way to spend a Saturday morning. A shave and a haircut. Not many barbers do this any more. It’s an art.”

A quick whirr of the cash register, a few clinks of coin and Arnold is out the door. Meanwhile, at another chair, Joe has just finished with his customer.

“It’s an old man’s haircut,” he says with a laugh.

“Well, that’s what I like,” says the customer, who looks to be in his late 30s.

Another whirr of the register and clink of coins.

“Oh, I just tease him,” Joe says. “It’s cut very short. Old men, they don’t make fuss.”

If it’s a $14 haircut and $10 shave you desire, De Francesca is the place to go. Waiting is done on hard-backed chairs. There are no peach- or coconut-scented shampoos or conditioners, but if you stand close to Joe, you can catch a whiff of Proraso Crema all’Olio di Eucalipto, a line of shaving products from Italy. On this morning, Ella Fitzgerald is crooning Fever on 740 AM.

“If you don’t know how to shave, you can’t call yourself a barber,” Palmo says. “La barb, it means shave. We don’t do hair colouring. No pedicure, no spa. It’s a man’s shop.”

(Though it’s not for all men. Palmo says he won’t serve “men with lipstick or plucked eyebrows” in his shop. “I’m an old man, very traditional
Italian.”)

The door opens.

“Antonio.”

“Palmo,” the customer replies. “Can you take some off the top? It was cut too long.”

“I don’t do repair jobs,” Palmo shoots back, a smile on his face.

There’s a minor incident when Antonio jumps the line.

“I didn’t know you kept an appointment book,” grumbles the client in line before Antonio. “I thought it was first-come, first-served.”

Joe placates the man, finishing his haircut in a jiffy. He dusts the spray of hair from his shirt and turns to the next person in line.

“Francesco.”

“Joe.”

The 30-something Francesco’s head is an unruly mop. “I think, a little short on the sides,” Joe advises. Soon, in an unlikely duet, the steady hum from Joe’s electrical clippers can be heard along with the squeak of Palmo’s scissors. Joe works like a painter, standing on his toes, bending slightly, then leaning back, as if surveying a canvas.

Francesco asks for a shave, and the hot-cold towel routine starts again. Joe is careful with Francesco’s elaborate goatee.

“They say only a barber can touch the nose of a king,” Joe says, holding Francesco’s nose to pull back his face.

The two brothers learned their trade in Cosenza, in southern Italy. “Cosenza is a city of artigiane,” Palmo says. “All kinds. Shoemakers, goldsmiths, blacksmiths, furniture makers. And barbers.”

Palmo and Joe started apprenticeships when they were 14 years old. In 1959, when he was 19, Palmo came to Toronto, followed by Joe, in 1961. Both men worked for several years as gentlemen’s hairdressers before purchasing the Dundas-Roncesvalles barbershop.

Today, the only thing missing is the traditional barber pole. The brothers used to have an electrical cylinder on the wall outside the shop, but it was stolen. Now a red-and-white-striped pole is painted on the shop window.

“Before, a barber, he used to pull people’s teeth,” Palmo says. “He was doing surgery. So the red is blood, white, towels, and blue, disinfectant. It’s the same sign in my home country.”

Over the years, people have come and go in the neighbourhood, but the clientele, by and large, has remained the same. The Conville family, for one, discovered the barbershop a decade ago, when they lived in the district. Two years ago, they moved to Brampton, but they still come back every six weeks or so, depending on which one of the Conville men — father Cameron or sons James, 11, and William, 4 — needs a haircut.

“We also like to keep up with the neighbourhood gossip — what’s new, what’s torn down, what politician is doing what, what are the neighbours up to,” Conville says, while James gets his thick brown hair cut like an old-fashioned schoolboy. Palmo uses a razor to finish up at the back.

“Oh, you’re a big boy now. You get the razor,” Conville says. As James scrambles down, Conville gets ready for his own turn in the chair. “Basically, it’s two nice guys who know their stuff,” he says. Illustration: * Black & White Photo: Peter J. Thompson, National Post / Palmo De Francesca, right, chats with his brother, Joe, and Lissette Balawejder while cutting her two-year-old son John’s hair.

Toronto Star, [11/08/2004]

A new initiative has IBM reaching out to Canada’s aboriginal community Is it PR? Tokenism? Or market forces and the tide of history?

APARITA BHANDARI

SPECIAL TO THE STAR

Skip Bird has “a lot of interest in technology.”

Since he was 7, when he got his first Nintendo game, Bird has taken things apart and reassembled them again.

“I loved the game, and I wanted to see how it worked, so I took the control pad apart,” says Bird, 17, in an interview from Edmonton. “I love taking computers apart, and building them up. And building software programs - I want to be a computer games designer. It’s my dream and goal.”

Bird grew up in the Paul First Nation reserve, near Duffield, Alta., and came to Edmonton with his family four and half years ago. Young though he is, Bird is married and has a 4-month-old child, and his life necessarily revolves around going to school and providing for his family. But when a school counsellor told Bird about an IBM Canada Ltd. information session for aboriginal youth in September, Bird was “very interested in going.”

“I thought it would be a great opportunity to go and talk to the IBM people,” he says. “To find out what they do, and what it takes to get up there. And after the session, I think I’m one step closer to achieving my dream.”

The information session was a pilot project, and part of a national strategy announced by IBM to expand its presence in aboriginal communities, increase opportunities for aboriginal-owned businesses and promote greater participation of aboriginals in the Canadian economy.

IBM Canada has also launched initiatives such as becoming a patron of the Seven Generations Campaign, which seeks to boost opportunities for aboriginals, has made donations of technology in the aboriginal community and has a contract with the Ojibway Cultural Foundation to help the Anishnabe of Manitoulin Island market their arts and crafts by Internet.

The workplace scenario today is fast-changing, with diversity initiatives becoming a business strategy. It makes sense when Canada’s visible-minority population, including its population of aboriginals, is increasing. Meanwhile burgeoning trade with markets around the world calls for the global outlook that diverse workforces can provide.

While aboriginal experts appreciate workplace equity programs, they point out the need to improve basic circumstances of aboriginal people - education, housing and family benefits - before larger numbers of people will benefit from real change.

When Bill Pickens saw an internal IBM e-mail asking for volunteers to speak at an information session for aboriginal high school students, he wasted no time signing up. The 50-year-old senior IT specialist at IBM’s Edmonton office saw it as an opportunity to help young aboriginals stay in school and give back to their people, just the way his grandfather did.

“My grandfather had made a tremendous difference in my life,” says Pickens. “He always encouraged me to try something new. Yes, it’s scary at first. But you have to find that internal courage. And you can do anything you want.”

As the last speaker at the IBM information session last month, Pickens told the story of his journey from a small reserve in Saskatchewan to IBM.

When Pickens stepped up to the podium, he greeted the students first in Sioux and then in Cree.
“Their eyes, their eyes,” says Pickens. “I dunno, they just kind of stared at me. Their eyes just got big. They were a great bunch of kids. And very smart ones. And I think we can make a huge difference in some of their lives.”

Growing up on a reserve, Pickens was deeply influenced by his grandfather, Walter Okuté, who was the chief of the Oglala Sioux tribe.

With his grandfather’s traditional stories helping him to deal with challenges and establish goals, Pickens finished Grade 12. After working in the construction industry, he went back to university and got some technology know-how. Then, starting at an oil company, he worked from the ground up.

After “cabling and programming,” he investigated PCs and LANs and moved up further to get management experience.

“I used to install IBM computers,” says Pickens. “I joined IBM about six years ago.
“I feel very fortunate to have had my grandfather as a mentor. He was such a courageous fellow, living in the midst of two cultures. He was able to take the best of both the aboriginal and the white world.”

IBM Canada’s aboriginal initiative continues the work of diversity task forces launched under former IBM chairman Lou Gerstner. The idea was to utilize diverse talent to understand and do better business in the more than 160 countries on the company’s client Rolodex.

The initiative encouraged people to think of IBM as an equal opportunity employer, while making the company attractive to a more diverse clientele.

It changed the face of IBM, as well as impacting its bottom- line.

According to an analysis of various IBM diversity initiatives published in the Harvard Business Review, the work of IBM’s women’s task force and other constituencies led IBM to establish its Market Development organization. A marketing arm targeting diverse small- and medium-sized businesses, it was responsible for $300 million (U.S.) in revenues last year, compared to $10 million in 1998.

Another project, the Minority Report, undertaken in Canada by Canadian Business magazine and OMNI TV, found that diversity is one of the keys to business success. The report looked at close to 450 firms that file reports with Human Resources and Skills Development Canada under the Employment Equity Act.

Passed in 1986, the act calls for elimination of barriers for four identified groups women, persons with disabilities, aboriginal people and members of visible minorities. It also seeks to remedy past discriminations and prevent future barriers. All federally regulated employers with 100 or more employees - such as banking, telecommunication, and international and inter-
provincial transportation - are subject to the act.

For the record, the Minority Report ranked Serco Facilities Management Inc. of Ottawa as best employer for aboriginal workers.

Call-Net Enterprises Inc. (Sprint Canada) ranked first over-all, with visible minorities making up a third of its work force, “with good representation at all levels of the company.”

While major banks lead the way in hiring practices and embracing diversity as a part of daily business strategies, many companies are now training their workers to understand and harness the power of cultural differences in project teams, in research and development and in consumer relations, the report says.

It’s good business sense, says Phani Radhakrishnan, a lecturer of organizational behaviour at University of Toronto.

“People are conscious about socially responsible companies,” she says. “If an environment-friendly company can build its image on that basis, why not diversity. It improves public life. It’s good PR.”
While Canadian companies are making decent progress in diversity initiatives in the lower employee ranks and the technology field, executives and senior management are still pretty monochromatic, says Radhakrishnan.

“Here organizations should have career development programs,” she says. “The government can set goals, but it’s up to the organization to have mentors. Visible minorities face the same barriers that women would not so long ago. They may not know the strategies, some as simple as networking. Going to a hockey game or a football game, where deals are made.

“These initiatives also depend on the charisma and influence of the CEO. You have to follow through, despite economic setbacks, or change in leadership. IBM has been pretty strongly committed. And this (information session with aboriginal school children) fits with the general strategy of IBM. Their diversity task force has identified that in order to recruit aboriginals, you need to develop skills and start young. IBM is being very proactive.”

Some critics might see the initiative as tokenism, but Radhakrishnan does not.

“Not everyone in the company will agree with these ideas, so you have to appeal to their materialistic side, and talk about how having minorities will help the company,” she says. “I don’t see this as wrong, it’s just a persuasion strategy.”

But while diversity task forces and equity acts are fine, there needs to be a reality check, says Ruby Durger, employment manager at Miziwe Biik. A not-for-profit organization, Miziwe Biik helps aboriginal people from across Canada land jobs.

Druger, who is Cree, worked with an international firm in human resources for more than 20 years before joining Miziwe Biik seven years ago.

“Our clients (aboriginals looking for work) come to us for three reasons,” says Druger, 62. “Employment, training or getting back to school. For our clients who come from living at a reserve, Toronto is a culture shock. They are like new immigrants.”

Young aboriginals often have children and limited resources for rent, transportation and babysitters. Since their educational qualifications are usually an issue, Druger helps her clients find work in every occupation from warehouse employment to more skilled jobs. And while her clients may want to upgrade their education, it’s difficult with just a minimum-wage job and a family to support.

Even if a client is skilled, cultural differences can make it hard for aboriginals to do well in job interviews.

“For example, when I tell my clients to make eye contact, they say, ‘but that’s staring.’” She has to make it clear that making eye-contact is desirable. “I have to tell them the difference. They may have good skills, but they would fail at a behavioural interview,” she says.

“Many of our clients want to work. But they believe in this myth that they’re not wanted in the corporate world. That they don’t have the skills. I have to counsel them to build their self-awareness, and show them how skills they are born with can translate into their work.

“It’s great (that) IBM wants more aboriginals. But there need to be more entry-level and mid-level jobs, where (aboriginal employees) can grow and be encouraged to grow.”

Illustration:

John Ulan epic photography for the Toronto Star. Skip Bird, 17, checks out Big Blue’s techy landscape with IBMer Bill Pickens, right, and a Thinkpad. Fears, phobias and disconnects must be overcome by all sides. “It’s scary at first. But you have to find that internal courage,” says Pickens. Then, “you can do anything.” “I’m one step closer to achieving my dream,” says Skip Bird, left, with IBM’s Bill Pickens who is also native Canadian. Workplace equity programs aren’t a magic wand but are pieces in a larger puzzle that also requires better education, housing and family benefits to solve.

The Globe and Mail, [09/27/2004]

Eager fans stake out downtown hotel for glimpse of actor Shah Rukh Khan

APARITA BHANDARI

SPECIAL TO THE GLOBE AND MAIL

Shah Rukh Khan was relaxing before his show. Inside a downtown Toronto hotel, in the presidential suite, the 38-year-old Bollywood star looked tired. He has been on the road since mid-August and is ready to go home.

“This is the longest I have been out of India,” he said. “I had my kids with me for some of the show. But they had to go back because of school. And my wife will join me tomorrow. But it’s been a long tour.”

Outside the hotel, however, there was plenty of energy as dozens of Bollywood fans waited hours for a glimpse of their favourite actor, Mr. Khan, as well as others associated with his show Temptation 2004. They started gathering by early afternoon.

Some women were clutching posters, one was holding a picture of herself getting a peck on the cheek from Mr. Khan, and all of them were holding cameras. As the hours ticked by, the throng grew.

Last night’s show at the Air Canada Centre was sold out. But because of the huge demand, it will be repeated on Wednesday.

“This is just a huge show,” said concert organizer Altaf Kasem. “Never in the history of these shows [has it] been so big.”

Temptation 2004 is more than three hours long and features six of Bollywood’s top stars as six temptations: Shah Rukh Khan (as love), Saif Ali Khan (as envy), Rani Mukherjee (as lust), Arjun Rampal (as power), Priyanka (as greed) and Preity Zinta (as passion). But the one they wanted to see the most was Shah Rukh Khan.

One group in the throng outside Mr. Khan’s hotel, we’ll call them the Patel posse, drove in from Montreal on Saturday morning.

“We just love Shah Rukh Khan,” Urveshi Patel said. “Everything about him. His looks, his acting, the way he talks. Everything. We come from Montreal for every Bollywood show there is. But we had to definitely come for this one because of Shah Rukh.”

Darshna Patel, a mother of two, said that she liked Mr. Khan so much that she named her son after one of his characters.

“I was pregnant with my son when [Mr. Khan’s] movie Duplicate came out,” she said. “And his name in the movie was Raj. Right then I decided to call my son Raj.”

Kasem Patel said people had been begging and pleading, even offering up to $2,000 for backstage passes.

“The fans try and find out when the stars are coming, where they are living, and especially for Shah Rukh Khan.”

It was Sunil Patel’s “connections” that helped in booking rooms at the hotel where the stars are staying.

Hotel security, however, was not letting fans wait inside the lobby for a glimpse of their favourites. So they waited outside, for hours. And they made plans.

“You guys, you just take pictures of me, because I am going to jump Shah Rukh when he comes,” one young woman said.

The sight of a limousine mid-afternoon sent the group into a tizzy. Amid squeals and shouts of “Oh my God,” the mob ran toward the limousine, realizing only too late that the stars were using another entrance. It was enough to discourage some fans, who finally left, but others kept on waiting.

Bobby Ali, director of hotel security said the scene was nothing compared to what would happen in the evening. Mr. Ali has had Bollywood stars coming to his hotel for the past four years.

“At night, the fans will follow the limousines of the stars, or the promoters,” he said. “It’s a riot then. We just try and be patient with the fans.”

This is the first time Mr. Khan has produced a show. He said his goal was to give the audience a great product, although last night’s show started more than two hours late due to technical problems.

“Usually, every town we go into, it’s a different show,” he said. “But this time we wanted to have great production value. This show can compare to any other concert — Madonna or whatever.”
He laughed when asked to describe his comment in an American newspaper of the show being like a Milli Vanilli concert.

“I was trying to explain something to an American reporter who doesn’t know Indian films,” he said.
“I said: Milli Vanilli used to dance and sing to someone else’s songs. But the world didn’t know about it. We do that too, but everyone knows about it.”

Mr. Khan, who wore a grey shirt and jeans with a bright red belt, said he doesn’t dwell on his life and his superstardom.

“It’s only in the last two years that I’ve known I am a superstar,” he said. “For me, the last 14 to 15 years have gone in a blink. It’s only when I look at my 7-year-old son that I realize how life has gone by. I wish he would remain small all the time.”

Student Sonia Butani, 19, flew in from Arizona to see the show. She was planning to go to Los Angeles, but then her cousins convinced her to go to Toronto.

With just half an hour before the show, Ms. Butani lined up to get in the Air Canada Centre with her three cousins and a friend. They were surrounded by Bollywood fans. “I have loved Shah Rukh ever since I saw him Baazigar,” Ms. Butani said. “He’s not really known for his looks. But he’s got this awesome personality, great charisma.

“I’ve been drawn to his acting. He’s like a great role model. I can only hope that I get a younger man like him. Sometimes I wish that I never meet Shah Rukh. I like him as Raj, or Rahul, or whatever million other names he uses [in his movies]. If I meet him, and it distorts my fantasy, I don’t know what I will do.”

The Globe and Mail

The real Little India is in Malton, where Mississauga becomes a Bombay Bazaar

APARITA BHANDARI

SPECIAL TO THE GLOBE AND MAIL

MALTON, ONT. — An Indian soap called Kittie Party plays on a small TV screen in one corner of the “separate ladies’ section” in the inner part of Bharti Beauty Parlour Inc. The business is named after hairstylist Aruna Bassi’s husband, who looks after the other part of this salon that offers “hairstylists for ladies and gents.” Ms. Bassi, her hair tied into a waist-long plait, her mangalsutra (a black-and-gold beaded necklace worn by married Indian women) peeping out of her black beautician’s smock, explains the plot line to her customer as she gets ready to bleach her face.

“That boy is the son of the woman in the pink salwar-kameez,” says Ms. Bassi, 25, pointing to veteran Indian actress Poonam Dhillon’s character. “The woman in the pink is the wife of Kiran Kumar. Everyone thought she was dead, but now she’s come back to life.”

Bharti Beauty Parlour is one of a dozen Indian beauty salons in Malton, a corner of Mississauga at the intersection of Airport and Derry Roads. Malton also boasts Indian grocery and video stores, clothing shops such as Lebas: Fashion of India and jewellery stores such as Nu Ashok Jewellers.

The downtown Toronto neighbourhood of Gerrard Street and Coxwell Avenue is not the only taste of India the Greater Toronto Area has to offer. The real Little India is here in the suburbs, where there is a predominantly South Asian population, plenty of parking, and amenities covering everything from daily household needs to South Asian wedding requirements.

People drive in from Brampton, elsewhere in Mississauga, even Scarborough to stock up on essentials such as wheat flour, turmeric powder and hair oil.

“When you come to Malton, you feel like you’re in Chauda Bazaar, in Ludhiana, Punjab,” says Avatar Uppal, who runs Uppal Video and Travel with his wife. “You feel at home. . . . Malton is a main attraction. Like Gerrard Street was.”

“Before, everyone used to go to Gerrard,” says Hans Raj Sannan, who used to work as a stenographer in Delhi Cloth Mills before he came to Canada in 1990. His son, Ravinder, owns the India Food Market grocery store in Malton. Mr. Sannan says people come to the neighbourhood from long distances on the weekend. “Slowly the stores started opening in Malton. Clothes, jewellery, grocery, food. Now people come here.”

The area is a definite hotbed of activity on weekends. Soundtracks from the latest Bollywood movies or bhangra cassettes play in all the video stores. A steady line of men and women hover at the beauty parlours. Families enjoy a hot cup of tea and a samosa or a piping hot chole-bhature (spicy chick peas and deep fried bread) at the Indian restaurants. Some prefer the Indian-Chinese cuisine, which they refer to as Hakka, offered by restaurants such as Asian Wok and Roll or China Garden.

Uppal Video and Travel carries everything from Bollywood video and audio products to watches, flashlights and even some irons. Mr. Uppal serves his customers in a mixture of Hindi, Punjabi and English. He came to Canada in 1972. A decade later, he bought a house in Malton.

“When I first came to Toronto, I used to live near Queen and Pape,” he says. “There was only one gurudwara [Sikh place of worship] on Pape Avenue. Every Sunday, maybe 60 people came. Now there must be maybe 20 to 25 gurudwaras in Toronto. Nearby here, there are four gurudwaras.”
Open since 1997, the India Food Market grocery store is a relatively new entrant to the Malton store community, which started to grow quickly in 1985.

In the window of the shop, old-fashioned Indian prints stand next to a carrom board (a popular Indian board game). One print depicts Heer and Ranjha, protagonists of the classic Punjabi Romeo and Juliet story. A poster for Mela Teeyan Da, a Punjabi festival in which married women vacation for a few days at their parental homes, is taped on the door.

Inside the store, various essentials of a South Asian home are neatly stacked: incense sticks, camphor squares, Dabur Hajmola (digestive pills), spices, cans of pickles, jars of amle ka murabba (Indian gooseberry preserved in a sugary syrup), papad, dalmot (Indian snacks resembling trail mix), tawa (griddle), chakla-belan (a rolling pin and stand used to make Indian bread), jhadu (an Indian broom), as well as vegetables such as bitter gourd, small eggplants and arbi (colocasia) used in typical South Asian preparations.

There’s never really a quiet day in the neighbourhood, Ms. Bassi says as she gets ready to thread another customer’s eyebrows. She studied to be a beautician in India before she came to Canada five years ago.

“We get people from every community — white, black, Indian, Chinese, Guyanese,” she says. “This is a good location. There is competition, there are many beauty parlours here. But we have our regular clients. They drive from Richmond Hill, Oakville, Burlington.” They come for other things too — like grocery shopping.

“But sometimes,” Ms. Bassi says, “they come just to get their eyebrows threaded. I guess they like the work.”

Rishi Rich Project Headlines 4th Masala! Mehndi! Masti! Festival

Girl you got exactly what I need, I ain’t gonna lie,
With you is where I wanna be,
All up in the club, the finest girl I see,
I know that you want me to come over to you and ta-alk.
I’m just trying keep it real wit’ you,
Are you feelin’ me the way I’m feelin’ you…
Either call your crew ‘n’ I’m'a call my crew…
Cuz Jay and Rishi Rich and Juggy D are comin through

Beware of the boys, ladies. The Rishi Rich Project is coming to Toronto, and they’re looking forward to kick it with you.

The trio from UK will be in town to headline the fourth annual Masala! Mehndi! Masti! festival, performing on the CIBC stage on August 5th. The festival runs from August 4th to 8th, featuring local and international artists, making it the largest of its kind in North America.

Call them the young Turks of British Asian music. Coming after artists such as Panjabi MC, and, if you really want to go old school, Apache Indian, the Rishi Rich Project has repackaged the bhangra beats that were playing on the streets of Southall. With hiphop, R&B and dance hall influences mixed along with straight up bhangra beats, their music is now playing on mainstream UK channels such as Channel U (an urban music channel similar to Much Vibe), artists such as Craig David, Britney Spears and Mary J Blige have chosen to get their music remixed by them, and even Bollywood has asked the group to spice up a soundtrack or two.

For Jay Sean and Juggy D, the trip to Toronto will be their first. Although both have family in Canada, they’ve only heard about the city through their family and friends.

“Well, I haven’t heard much about it, all I know the weather is a bit like the UK,” says Juggy D in a phone interview from England. “I’ve heard it can be really cold, but then it can get really warm.”

Until he was about 10-years-old, Juggy D, would come to Vancouver every year in the summer to visit his family.

“Sometimes, when I came out to Canada, after a couple of weeks, I’d start picking up the accent really quickly,” the 22-year-old laughs. “I’d phone back to London, and I’m talking with a Canadian accent, and they’d be like, what the hell is he doing. It’s only been about three weeks you know.”

“I am really looking forward to coming to Toronto. I’ve heard it’s a kicking city.”

At the moment, Juggy D is getting geared up to release his debut self-titled album. Tracks from the album - completely Punjabi - are getting airtime on Channel U. But Juggy D says it’s about time the music industry caught up with the (South) Asian explosion going on.

“If you look at England, the number one take-out food is Indian curry,” he says. “Then there was Bombay Dreams. So, even our music is getting the same attention. It’s massive right now.”

Across town, 23-year-old Jay Sean is hurrying on the road. It’s been a long day for him. He’s just finished putting the final touches on his soon to be released debut album. He’s on his way to an event, driving his car with his knees, with just time for a quick interview.

“It’s mental right now,” he laughs into the phone. “Absolutely mental. I’ve been in the studio the whole day, just putting bits and bobs on my album. Now, I’m driving to a gig where I’ll perform, and I am talking to a reporter from Canada.

“It’s been great working on the album. For an artist, the best thing is to be able to write your own songs. So all these songs I wrote in my bedroom, I’m now putting in my album. It’s the best thing really. You know, coz I can only sing about what I know.”

The album Me Against Myself will be out in October. The album features tracks “Eyes On You” and “Me Against Myself.” The single “Eyes on You” debuted at number 6 on the British charts.

He hopes to break stereotypes of Asian with his new album, says Jay Sean, who gave up studying medicine to pursue his music career.

“You know, the common stereotype of (South) Asians being very studious type, and making very good doctors, lawyers and engineers and accountants,” he says. “It was very, very rare that Asians were seen in the mainstream in the media. It was only last year that Bombay Dreams came on West End in London, which was a very big deal.

“I like to just bring some irony out of this. We’ve been doing this for so long. You know, the Panjabi MC “Mundian to Bach Ke” song came out five-six years ago. And it’s only now that most people are discovering it. I want to let people know that there’s more we can do. I think people need to be more open-minded.”

Arguably, the man behind getting Jay Sean and Juggy D noticed is their producer Rishi Rich. His passion is to produce original sounding music, says 26-year-old Rishi.

As he heads to his studio in Perivale, about 20 minutes away from his home in Harrow, Rishi stops to get himself a cup of Indian tea, Lucozade and salt-and-vinegar crisps. The studio is in the middle of a quiet industrial area in an outer west London suburb, tucked behind the white art deco Hoover Building.

His journey from his first job, when he was 11, as a runner in a recording studio near his house, to now running his own studio has been a long one. Brought up by a single parent, Rishi trained in classical Indian music as a young child.

“My mum started me with it,” he says. “I learnt to play the harmonium and the tabla. Indian classical music is the hardest thing to learn. If you learnt that, you can play anything really.”

When the owner of the recording studio Rishi used to work for was looking for a keyboard player, Rishi offered his services. Soon, he formed 2 Kool with a friend. By the time he was 15, he’d released his first single “Bombay Jungle,” which was soon followed by the album Love 2 Love.

At the moment, Rishi is working on releasing an album next year featuring artists such as Adnan Sami and Danish rap group Outlandish besides Jay Sean and Juggy D.

“As soon as I get back from seeing you guys in Toronto, I am hibernating,” he says. “I will be working at the studio for six months.”

The proudest moment in his career until now was when he took his mother to the British Asian Music Awards, and picked up three awards, says Rishi.

“My mum had always wanted me to win a producer award,” he says. “Just seeing the look on her face, it was all worth it. This is what it’s all been for.”

His mother’s decision to trust in him, when he was young and decided to quit school to follow a full-time music career, was a hard one.

“It was a risk, you know,” says Rishi. “It was a big risk that my mum took when she decided that I don’t need to study. But because of that risk, I had to make this work. I had nothing else to fall back on.

“It was hard. There wasn’t much money. I’ve been working hard. It’s just this whole year that’s been a bit mad. Before that, it was six years of working hard and no one knowing you. But that’s just the way the music industry is.

“Now I can look after myself, and I’ve been looking after my mum.”

While Rishi finds the fame that comes along with the job a little hard to manage sometimes, his crew mates Jay Sean and Juggy D are enjoying every moment of it. While Rishi relaxes at home with his few close friends, Jay Sean likes to hang out and have fun and enjoy a normal lifestyle, going out for drinks with his friends or playing on Playstation.

“Yeah, Rishi is the serious one,” laughs Jay Sean. “Juggy D and I clown around all the time.

“I absolutely love (the fame). But we don’t focus on it. It’s very surreal, people chasing our car when we leave. The fame and whole thing - me and my boys, Rishi Rich and Juggy D, don’t ever really think about it. We have been kind of lucky. And we don’t get caught up in it. It could all go tomorrow. We kind of laugh about it.

“It’s just that we just love what we do.”

Filmmaker Ali Kazimi takes on two types of project. Personal stories or projects that pay the bills. But he must believe in both.

Continuous Journey, Kazimi’s latest documentary, is a personal project. It screened at the Hot Docs festival, which took place from April 22 to May 1. Besides taking the second place in the audience’s favourite category, the dark documentary also received a Special Jury Prize for Best Direction in the Canadian Spectrum Programme (feature length) category.

The documentary follows the story of Komagata Maru, a Japanese ship chartered by a Sikh entrepreneur Gurdit Singh to ship Indian immigrants to Canada.

According to Kazimi’s website, “On May 23, 1914, the ship arrived in Vancouver Harbour with 376 passengers aboard: 340 Sikhs; 24 Muslims and 12 Hindus. Many of the men on-board were veterans of the British Indian Army and believed it was their right as British subjects to settle anywhere in the Empire they had fought to defend and expand. They were wrong…

“Continuous Journey is an inquiry into the largely ignored history of Canada’s exclusion of the South Asians by a little known immigration policy called the Continuous Journey Regulation of 1908. Unlike the Chinese and the Japanese, people from British India were excluded by a regulation that appeared fair, but in reality, was an effective way of keeping people from India out of Canada until 1948. As a direct result, only a half-mile from Canadian shores, the Komagata Maru was surrounded by immigration boats and the passengers were held in communicado virtual prisoners on the ship. Thus began a dramatic stand-off which would escalate over the course of two months, becoming one of the most infamous incidents in Canadian history.”

Sitting in a café in the Yonge-Bloor area, Kazimi chooses his words carefully. Taking occasional swigs of coffee, he takes time to reflect on his Continuous Journey, a documentary that would take eight years to make and still have him deeply in debt.

“I was, in some senses, trying to locate myself in the Canadian landscape as it were,” he says. “It took me many, many years to figure out that I was (making Continuous Journey), in part, as an exercise to truly claim this country as whole. And I felt I could only really claim it if I was to connect myself with people who’d come before me, from India. In fact, the very first people who came before me.

“But the initial intent was to make (the documentary) because I was angered by the way I was dealt with Canadian immigration literally since the time I landed. At the time, there was a level of - and I think it’s shifted considerably since then - of arrogance and sheer exercise of power, of specifically the immigration officer. And their discretionary power to say yes and no, as to who can come into this country.”

It’s been more than 20 years since Kazimi first came to Canada. He was a film student back then. He already had a BSc from New Delhi’s prestigious St. Stephens College. His first trip to Toronto, as an exchange student at York University, will forever be etched in his memory.

“I was pulled out of the (immigration) line by this middle-aged, white man,” says Kazimi. “He had silver hair. And a kind but patronizing tone. I was taken into a room and questioned for over 20 minutes. The basic gist of the conversation was whether I had bought the visa at some back alley in Delhi, for $10. At the end of it, he told me the only reason I was let go was because I spoke such good English. And because I’d remember him for the rest of my life.”

“This was a stark change from when my brother immigrated 10 years ago, when he welcomed warmly by a similar looking man. My experience was definitely an individual incident. But at the same time, the fact that this individual had the ability and power and lack of accountability to do (what he did) - it fascinated me.”

His first experience with the immigration officer stayed with Kazimi.

The exchange program turned into a four-year scholarship at York University’s film department. And Kazimi found himself looking up the Immigration Act in York University’s law library.

“The Immigration Act gives very wide discretionary (powers) to the immigration officer,” he says. “That got me interested in the history of immigration. And then I was trying to answer a basic question. Why do most people in the world consider that a Canadian is blond and blue eyed?

“In 1968, Canada made a decision, when its traditional source of immigration from the British Isles and Northern Europe was drying up, to open its doors. It was an economic necessity. Today that decision is part of Canada’s mythic narrative. And while I understand how national mythology works, I am not a fan of nationalism, any sort of nationalism.”

While Kazimi wants to question that national mythology, his intent isn’t to blame, he clarifies.

“I didn’t make the film to berate Canadians for being exclusionary,” he says. “It’s not to wag my finger and say, ‘You think you are multicultural but look what you did back then.’ That’s not the purpose. The purpose is that we reflect on history and that we contextualize our presence within a historical framework. It’s important to understand the context within which we live, work and understand the future.”

Although the Komagata Maru is mentioned in “two lines” in Indian history books, Kazimi first came across the story when he came to Canada, when he was trying to understand the demographics of immigration.

“I’d heard about the Chinese head tax and the Japanese internment, but the Continuous Journey Regulation is such as clever piece of regulation that it seems non- exclusionary on paper,” he says. “But it has a far more exclusionary effect. At least with the Chinese head tax and Japanese internment, there was a possibility of coming in. But for South Asians, unless you came on a continuous journey, there was no way you could come into the country, no matter how much money you had. And the numbers back it up. And yet, in the national narrative of Canada, Canada has never excluded South Asians.”

Putting the documentary together was an arduous process on many levels. There was limited archival documentation and no period film footage at all. There wasn’t much funding beyond arts council grants. Broadcasters, who are the primary way of getting funding, weren’t very keen on the story.
“One broadcaster, mainstream, told me, only half jokingly - ‘It’s a terrible, terrible chapter in Canadian history. Do us a favour and blame the British’,” Kazimi recounts.

Minimal research has been done on Komagata Maru, and so experts were hard to come by. Those who do make it on Kazimi’s documentary were people he met by happenstance. But Kazimi wanted to go back to the primary sources.

It was very hard to locate descendants of the original voyagers of the Komagata Maru. Or descendants from that era of Canadian history, who would have stories passed down the family, who would be willing to talk.

“A lot of people just don’t know their history,” says Kazimi. “Nobody wants to talk about it. People find it difficult to articulate. I had a hard time finding old-timers who’d talk about issues of race. People really started to talk about it in the 1970s, when the Komagata Maru started to become discussed in the mainstream. It’s how people deal with trauma and shame, and the desire to fit in.”

With the final edit complete, Continuous Journey is now ready to be showcased. Kazimi hopes the documentary will become one way of remembering the story of the Komagata Maru and its travellers.

“Well, they’re already teaching about Komagata Maru in high schools across Canada,” he says. “So now there’s a whole generation of kids who know about it, while their parents don’t.

“But it’s important that all Canadians remember. The Continuous Journey Regulation wasn’t written just for the Sikhs. It’s a story that affects all of us.”

Toronto Star, [07/03/2004]

Burial place of Nizamuddin open to all religions. Village around mausoleum a hub of Sufi culture

APARITA BHANDARI

SPECIAL TO THE STAR

New Delhi, India — It’s a difficult drive to the Nizamuddin basti or village that grew up around the mausoleum of renowned Indian Sufi Nizamuddin Aulia.

In A.D. 1274, Nizamuddin moved from his birthplace, Badauin, to Delhi, establishing a khanqah (monastery) in the jungle of Ghiyaspur, away from the main city and the politics of the royal courts. At the khanqah, Nizamuddin meditated and taught his disciples.

Over the years, the basti has become the hub of Sufi culture in the city. The annual Urs commemorating the birth and death anniversaries of Nizamuddin and his favourite disciple, poet and musician Amir Khusro, attracts thousands.

It’s fitting that the path to the dargah (shrine) of Nizamuddin isn’t easy, even if the small obstacles are modern constructs. After all, Sufis believe Sufism is covered with a veil, which you can see only through by discipline and persistence.

While colossal forts built during the same era now lie in ruins, the 700-plus-year-old dargah of Nizamuddin is one of the most popular spiritual destinations in India. Irrespective of religious backgrounds, people visit it, sometimes to have their prayers answered, and sometimes seeking inner tranquility.

On the outside, there’s nothing serene about Nizamuddin, especially the immediate surroundings of the dargah.

Touristy paragraphs describing the dargah usually talk about “going through a time-warp into the medieval period of India.” Beggars seek alms, dressed in ragged clothes, sitting along the narrow pathways leading to the centre. Shopkeepers perch on their haunches on their wooden stalls, cocooned in woollen shawls. They ply flower garlands or chadars (cloth) as you go in, and devotional books and music cassettes as you come out. The heavy scent of roses hangs in the air - the same smell of rose attar popular in bygone times.

En route, there’s a baoli (water tank) known as the Chashma-E-Dilkhusha. It’s said Nizamuddin himself started the construction of the baoli, digging with his own hands and blessing the water. His followers believe the water has mystical properties.

Following the alleys, you suddenly come into an open courtyard, and in the middle stands the dargah.
The structure is simple. Paved with marble, the dargah’s veranda has five arched openings on each side. The roof covering the arches has a parapet, topped by a series of small domes. A larger, onion-shaped dome, with alternating stripes of black and white marble, stands on top. Lattice screens and arches surround the actual tomb, forming an inner sanctum. Inside, a wooden canopy inlaid with mother-of-pearl arabesques is covered with the chadars offered to the Sufi.

The dargah is opposite the Jama’t Khana mosque, built by the son of the ruler Ala-ud-din Khilji. It’s also home to the mausoleums of Khusro, and the Mughal princess Jahanara. The mausoleums of famous Mughal ruler Humayun and celebrated poet Ghalib are also at a short distance away from the basti. It’s said that Nizamuddin Aulia was so loved that people wished to be buried near him.

The Sufis’ popularity doesn’t seem to be waning. A steady stream of people visit the dargah, some to offer prayers, others give the garlands or chadars to the Nizamis, who offer them at the dargah. The Nizamis are descendants of Nizamuddin’s sister since he, himself, never married.

A few men sit in front of the dargah. One plays the harmonium, singing a quwwali or mystic song. Another joins in a falsetto.

“Hazrat Nizamuddin was a great spirit,” says a man, in Urdu, who gives his name simply as Irfan. “People come here with their problems, but they take away peace.”

Like the incense man who sits daily at the dargah, Irfan is something of a permanent fixture at the dargah, a sort of a modern-day dervish (monk).

“Everyone remembers God in distress,” says Irfan, paraphrasing an oft-repeated Sufi couplet. “Remember Him in happiness. There will be no sadness. I like it here because we get close to God, we’re close to Nizamuddin.”

Nizamuddin Aulia (1236-1325) was the fourth saint of the Chistiya order, a lineage of Sufi saints. Sufism is passed on from the Sheikh (elder) to the disciple, and the silsila (chain of authorities) is traced back to the Prophet Muhammad.

Sufism’s history is controversial; it depends on which Muslim you talk to, says Tabith Abdullah, associate professor of history at York University.

“Those more favourable towards Sufism say that it started with the dawn of Islam, that the Prophet was a Sufi,” says Abdullah. “Others tend to view Sufism as heresy, as a foreign element that came to Islam.”

All religions have a mystical side, which is juxtaposed with a more legalistic reading of the religion, explains Abdullah. While the branch emphasizing the law specifies the dos and don’ts, the mystical side emphasizes the heart rather than the mind.

“There’s one medieval Sufi saying from Anatolia,” he says. “It says `If you’re searching for God, you won’t find Him in Mecca, you won’t find Him in Jerusalem, you’ll find Him in your heart.’”

Sufism’s heyday was between the 10th and 16th centuries when it was practised in Africa, Anatolia, Central and South Asia. It was heavily influenced by Indian mysticism, as well as the pre-Islamic religion of Iran and Mesopotamia. Recently Sufism has regained popularity, especially through the works of Sufi poets such as Rumi and Rabia.

The Sufis usually convey their beliefs through poetry and parables. Much of Sufi poetry has to do with love. To the uninitiated, the poetry might seem secular with references to the Beloved, as well as states of intoxication by partaking in wine. However, the idea is to see God as the Beloved, and the intoxication is a result of being close to God or to unite with God.

One of the practices of Sufism is zikr, or remembrance. At Nizamuddin’s shrine, zikr is done accompanied with music in the form of qawwali. Other zikr sessions have become known for the whirling dervishes.

Zikr, or for that matter, Sufism, isn’t to be equated with qawwali or the whirling dervishes, says Abdullah.

“Many Sufi brotherhoods have peculiar zikr sessions,” he explains. “The whirling dervishes, for example, developed in Anatolia. The idea is to imitate the movement of the heavenly bodies to get close to the spiritual. Singing, the use of candles, all of this has really to do with local peculiarities. Some brotherhoods just repeat passages from the Qur’an.”

Although such sessions of music and dance often elicit “polemic” from the Sharia-minded Muslims, the tension between Islam and Sufism is articulated by a much more sophisticated argument.

“The Sufis say that the word of God can have esoteric and literal interpretations,” says Abdullah. “The Sharia-minded say this is dangerous. It opens (the Qur’an) to any kind of interpretation that people like, but the truth is that the word of God is exactly what it is, just the literal meaning.”

It’s practically impossible to summarize the beliefs of Sufism once you go beyond the generalities, says Abdullah. Some Sufi saints place great importance on the Sharia, while other Sufis pay no attention to it, and there’s a whole spectrum of Sufis in between.

“Sufis like Nizamuddin taught the people to follow the Sharia, to go to the congregational prayer on Friday,” says Abdullah. “But they also suggested practising zikr, especially on Thursday evening.”

The popularity of Nizamuddin and, by extension, of Sufism in India, has something to do with the mystical aspect of the faith, but also because the Sufis’ views of religion weren’t rigid, says Abdullah.

“(The Sufis) were able to reach out to other religions because there are so many commonalities between the mystical traditions in India,” says Abdullah. “There were some Sufis who even allowed non-Muslims to join their brotherhood.”

Toronto Star

Voters felt excluded from `Laptop politics.’ Technology policy decisive in election

APARITA BHANDARI

SPECIAL TO THE STAR

Hindsight is always 20-20. Unfortunately, Indian cyber minister Chandrababu Naidu’s Vision 2020 - of his state becoming an information-technology superpower by the year 2020 - didn’t have enough foresight.

While the Congress party’s former-economist-turned-politician Manmohan Singh swore in as India’s first Sikh prime minister last week, analysts were still debating what went wrong for Naidu.

He was acknowledged as one the next generation crop of Indian politicians, a man who was known for his laptop politics. For 10 years he was the chief minister of the south-eastern coastal state Andhra Pradesh. He brought an IT revolution to his state, turning Hyderabad, the capital, into Cyberabad.
However, Naidu’s spectacular defeat two weeks ago marked a dramatic conclusion to the Indian elections.

Losing three quarters of the seats in the assembly elections, Naidu’s Telugu Desam Party (TDP) was ousted by the Congress party. And the defeat of the TDP rocked the boat of the National Democratic Alliance (NDA) that was in power at the centre.

The TDP was the second-largest member of the coalition in the centre.

Naidu’s rout rocked another boat - the Sensex stock index in Mumbai fell by over 4 per cent the day his defeat was announced, as overseas investors sold $135 million (U.S.) of Indian stocks.
The eventual 17 per cent drop, when the NDA’s defeat became certain, was the biggest Sensex slump ever.

It’s always hard to analyze the vagaries of Indian politics. But there are two main theories floating around, explaining what went wrong for Naidu.

The popular rebellion of those untouched by the India Shining campaign in Andhra Pradesh is one explanation.

The India Shining campaign had been run by the NDA in the run-up to the elections held from April 20 to May 10. The campaign highlighted the country’s progress under the NDA rule - a booming economy, large foreign exchange reserves largely to an ever-growing IT industry.

However, the campaign didn’t address the poor population of India. In Andhra Pradesh, while Naidu was busy inviting the likes of Microsoft chairman Bill Gates to the Hyderabad, he forgot the rice farmers of his state.

Naidu’s defeat isn’t much of a surprise, says Ananya Mukherjee-Reed, a political science professor at York University.

“Andhra Pradesh is known for its IT industry, but it’s also known as the state where there were a lot of farmer suicides,” she says. “In a sense it reflects what happened in the rest of India with the India Shining campaign. It was a very narrow, urban, highly skilled middle class - which defines the IT sector - who felt the shine.

“If (Naidu) had paid attention to the degree to which the rural economy was suffering, it might’ve been different. That was a basic miscalculation.”

A completely unbalanced economic policy was largely at fault.

“In India, for the last 50 years, we have this classical theory of economic development,” explains Mukherjee-Reed.

“That if you develop a very advanced, modern corporate core, the rest of the economy in the periphery will be pulled by the core into its orbit. It’s the very famous trickle down theory.

“But the trickle down theory doesn’t work until you have very strong redistributive policies.”

The election result was the Andhra Pradesh voters’ revolt, says Mahesh Rangarajan, a political analyst and visiting professor at Cornell University.

“They blamed him for whatever went wrong,” says Rangarajan in a telephone interview from New Delhi. “The TDP was a government presiding over a largely agrarian economy, with the largest number of landless labourers in India. There was a very severe drought for the last two-three years in several parts of the state. In one district alone called Anantapur, at least 2,400 farmers committed suicide between 1997 and 2004. And that’s a conservative government estimate.

“Yes, Naidu had a Vision 2020. But it was never backed by substance. If you take IT, the software exports of Andhra Pradesh are far behind (the states of) Tamil Nadu, Karnataka, or the city of Mumbai, or the township of Noida in Uttar Pradesh.”

The direction of Naidu’s Vision 2020 was wrong, says Rangarajan. “To take advantage of information technology and modernize, a country has to have a wider base of educated people,” he says. “Of the four southern states, Andhra Pradesh continues to be the lowest in terms of life expectancy, literacy, spending on health and education.

“Take the example of China. For its economic reforms, it reformed agriculture. The Chinese farmers got more money. You don’t build a pyramid from the top down; you have to build a strong base first. Mr. Naidu, perhaps, was looking at pyramid upside down.”

Although Naidu enhanced the connectivity of his state - setting up e-bazaars and models of e-governance - he can’t foist the Malaysian model on Andhra Pradesh.

“Malaysia’s per capita income is two-three times higher than India,” says Rangarajan. “In India 47 per cent of children are malnourished. One out of three women is anemic.

In Andhra Pradesh, they have computers in schools where they don’t have electricity. The people are waiting for the electricity to come, so that they can send an e-mail to the chief minister to tell him they have no power.

“IT is great. But we have to recognize its limitations. NASSCOM (the IT and software industry watchdog) says that by 2008 we will have 800,000 people employed by IT. By 2008, we will also have 669 million people not in IT. Now 1 million might be the pride of India, but they’re a very small part of India.”

The flip side of explaining Naidu’s defeat in the elections has nothing to do with IT. It was a strong coalition against the TDP and the rising expectations of the voters that proved to be Naidu’s nemesis, says political analyst Sanjaya Baru.

“I’ve travelled through Andhra Pradesh and you can’t say that the rural people are any worse off than they were five years ago,” says Baru.

“You can’t exaggerate (the suicide villages). The suicides were committed by farmers who had heavily borrowed and couldn’t pay back their loans. India is a free market economy, and agriculture is a free market sector. People make investment decisions and burn their fingers. Just because a group of farmers found themselves bankrupt, that’s not evidence of widespread rural unhappiness.

“Naidu had effective programs for women, children, health and building roads. The problem was that his image focused on IT. And maybe he didn’t do enough in terms of what people expected of him, but you can’t suggest that he hasn’t done anything at all.”

Trying to understand what happened in Andhra Pradesh in terms of IT is a flawed approach, adds Baru.

“I don’t think one should build too many theories in terms of IT in Indian politics,” he says. “Indian politics have lots of factors - caste coalitions, water, which becomes a major issue during summer elections. This obsession of what happened in Andhra Pradesh in terms of IT is utterly politically ill-informed journalism.”

However, both parties of the analytical spectrum do agree that IT will continue to be an integral part of policy making in India.

“The Congress has committed itself to offer a Naidu plus and not Naidu minus,” says Baru. “That is, the good work done in IT, in bio-tech, in institution building, in urban development, plus focus on areas he had neglected like irrigation, agricultural credit and rural infrastructure. It’ll be business as usual. With a more balanced economic policy.”

There’s no reason for the Congress to backtrack, agrees Mukherjee-Reed.

“It’s in nobody’s interest to turn back,” she says. “The hysteria about what will happen to the economic reforms, and IT is a bit overdone. In terms of IT, India has established a global presence. “So it’s in no one’s interest to harm that. And remember that the rural population may be able to turn the vote, but in terms of day to day policy making, it’s the corporate IT sector that can call up the (chief minister) at will.

Toronto Star, [05/10/2004]

His name is Naidu and he lives grafted to an IBM laptop. He promises farmers wireless, Web. Will they vote for him?

APARITA BHANDARI

SPECIAL TO THE STAR

Hyderabad, India — It takes a little more than 30 minutes to arrive at the HITEC City. The autorickshaw driver knows the place well, speeding along the meandering roads, past Hyderabad’s old city, posh enclaves, to finally arrive at Asia’s largest software technology park built on the outskirts of the main city.

The tall Cyber Towers shimmer in the sun. Cyber Towers is the first phase of HITEC City, 5 million square feet of office space designed to serve as a one-stop-shop for the needs for India’s growing IT industry. Cyber Gateway, the second phase is also at full occupancy, and the third phase Cyber Pearl has approximately 60 per cent occupancy. There’s also a residential township adjacent to the office space, which has been beautified with landscaped gardens and natural rock sculptures.

Standing at the reception area of Cyber Towers, you notice the names on the mailboxes - Microsoft, Oracle, Toshiba, GE Capital, HSBC. Clients at Cyber Gateway include Dell Computer India, Microsoft, Oracle, Bose and ING Vysya Ltd.

It’s no wonder then that the city has been monikered Cyberabad. Behind the technological revolution in the city, and the state of Andhra Pradesh is one man - Chandrababu Naidu.
They also call him India’s cyber minister.

At 54, Naidu is one of the country’s youngest chief ministers. He represents a new breed of politicians in India, with new fangled ideas such as positing himself as the CEO of Andhra Pradesh Inc. His IBM Thinkpad has become synonymous with his persona. He’s managed to have the likes of Microsoft Corp. chairman Bill Gates and former U.S. President Bill Clinton endorse Hyderabad as a sound investment destination.

However, Naidu’s reign over the south-eastern coastal state of Andhra Pradesh isn’t without its problems. While the state surges ahead in terms of IT revolution, trying to make Andhra Pradesh one big wireless network, the farmers whose livelihoods depend on paddy fields have often been ignored.

In the current Indian elections, Naidu’s fate may just depend on the “suicide villages.” It was a term coined for villages in Andhra Pradesh where farmers drank pesticide after crops failed following drought. India is in the midst of national elections, which conclude today, and some predictions indicate Naidu may lose.

Naidu came into office in 1995. His father-in-law, the late N. T. Rama Rao, was a movie star turned politician.

In power through the 1980’s into the early 1990’s, Rao’s style of politics was based more on his stardom and populist measures rather than sound economic policies.

As a result, Andhra Pradesh was nearly bankrupt when Naidu wrested power from his father-in-law, becoming the head of the Telugu Desam Party (TDP) founded by Rao.

Once in power, Naidu embarked Andhra Pradesh on several ambitious rural development schemes. The initiatives include Janmabhoomi - a grassroots level program encouraging his constituents to set up local committees and organizations such as a credit group committee (to provide low interest and short term loans), education and water committees.

After receiving training, these self-help groups function as a local administration network dealing with issues such as women and child welfare, population control, literacy and agriculture.

Naidu’s primary interest, however, was to convert his state into a technological superpower.
It used to be that Bangalore, in the adjoining state of Karnataka, was known as the Indian Silicon Valley. By attracting the likes of Bill Gates - Microsoft opened its first research centre outside of the United States in Hyderabad - Naidu has ensured that Hyderabad is a rival to that claim.

Vision 2020 is Naidu’s plan to make Andhra Pradesh an Asian Tiger by the year 2020. Obviously influenced by similar policies in Malaysia and Singapore, Vision 2020’s manifesto includes a detailed portion on information technology.

According to the PDF document available at www.aponline.gov.in “by 2020, Andhra Pradesh will have achieved one of the highest levels of IT literacy in the world.

“IT applications will have changed the day-to-day lives of people; IT will deliver services and information to the people’s doorsteps and be used in every aspect of their lives. The state will have a well-endowed information technology industry, spanning the areas of hardware, software and human resources.”

The technological invasion has already been established in Naidu’s own office.

The Andhra Pradesh secretariat, the apex administration body of the state government, has deployed a product called SmartGov. Developed by Tata Consultancy Services, one of India’s leading IT companies, SmartGov “automates the functions of the executive (government body) at all administrative levels.”

Naidu’s routine of getting up at 6:00 a.m. to log on to his laptop is legendary by now. He uses his Chief Minister’s Integrated Information System (CMIS) to get updates on everything from the water levels to daily crime reports and airline schedules. Naidu conducts videoconferences with cabinet ministers and the administrative officers of the 23 districts.

E-governance is another catchword in Andhra Pradesh. Take the e-seva citizen service. With 44 e-seva service centres, and 400 counters, the one-stop shop offers more than 60 services from paying electricity bills, licensing renewals to issuance of birth and death certificates.

The IT department in a government office used to be considered a punishment posting, says Praveen Prakash, director of the e-governance project at the Andhra Pradesh secretariat.

“But (chief minister’s) ideas of e-governance have made my job very interesting,” he says. “We looked at two models of e-governance - Australia and Singapore. And we’re trying to offer all government-to-consumer services in one place, in real time. We’re the first state in the country to so. It’s a challenging job.”

Similar paeans of Naidu’s vision can be heard from different officials. The former secretary of the IT department Ajay Sawhney talks about “the chief minister being the primary driver for the silent revolution.”

“We already had some projects underway before (Naidu) was elected in 1995,” says Sawhney. “But the pace picked up when he came in the picture. The e-seva counters have become as ubiquitous as McDonalds. In the villages, we’re implementing the Rural Services Delivery Points.

“Hyderabad’s strength is in our human resources. India accounts for a quarter of the IT professional in the US. Andhra Pradesh accounts for 25-30 per cent of the IT professionals there.”

Just so that the digital divide doesn’t alienate the rural population of Andhra Pradesh, initiatives to offer villagers low-cost computers that can double up as TVs and DVD players are being looked into. Prototypes are being tested, and plans are being drawn up to make Andhra Pradesh a connected state, say department officials.

However, for the rural half of the 75 million population state, information technology isn’t the immediate priority.

While various information technology projects have been given sops such as 25 per cent power discounts, investment subsidy, rebate in cost of land as well as expediting of infrastructure such as roads, little has been done for the common Joe on the street.

Andhra Pradesh, which is primarily a rice producing state, has faced droughts in the recent past. Already burdened by loans, poor farmers have committed suicides. As reported in a local news portal, 2,000 farmers from the town of Anantpur alone have killed themselves by swallowing pesticide since 1997.

Even in Hyderabad, the limited reach of information technology’s Midas touch is evident.
An autorickshaw driver who only gives his name as Ashok is all praise for the chief minister and his vision for Andhra Pradesh.

“Look at Hyderabad,” he says, driving through the newer, shinier parts of the city, dripping with affluence. “It’s like any other big city - Delhi, Bombay.”

His own house, however, is nothing more than one bedroom in a small shantytown neighbourhood adjacent to a rich suburb. Ashok, his wife who works as a seamstress, and two children live in the one room.

“This is how we live,” he says. “But we are poor people. I didn’t study beyond high school. My kids, they will go to a good university. They will learn computers. They will be rich.”

They call her their pint-sized wonder. Meet VJ Kim, a.k.a. Komila Jagtiani. She’s one of the senior most VJ’s on Channel V, India’s rival music TV channel to MTV India. As the host of some of Channel V’s most exciting shows - Cool Stop, P.O.V. and Club V - Kim’s pretty much a household name in India.

On a balmy Sunday afternoon, Kim arrives at the Crepe Station, a charming roadside eatery owned by her boyfriend. The Crepe Station is located in Bandra West, a tony neighbourhood in Mumbai housing Bollywood stars such as Salman Khan and Shah Rukh Khan. The small but cozy Crepe Station is filled with smart, young Mumbaikars, scarfing down Belgian waffles or crepes. The Canadian breakfast option - pancakes, fruits and honey - on the menu looks tempting, but doesn’t do much for nostalgia. Maybe if they switched maple syrup for the honey…

Kim’s just a tad late - about 20 minutes - and she hurries as she parks her cute little black car on the curb, flashing a smile to the cabbie who pulls back to let her manoeuvre.

Petite, she wears a camisole top and a frilly skirt that show off her porcelain skin. Her hair drawn back in a tight bun, Kim looks more like a Spanish senorita.

“Have you been waiting,” she asks, immediately contrite. “I used to do that too. I used to arrive on time for all my appointments right on the dot. And then I’d just twiddle my thumbs. Waiting, waiting, waiting. It’s much better to arrive a little late.”

It took Kim some time to learn the Indian ways.

A former Miss India Canada winner - she won in 1999 - Kim was actually born Komila Jagtiani in Mumbai, India. When she was a child, her family moved to Canada and Komila became Kim.

Barely out of her high school, Kim entered the annual Miss India Canada beauty pageant, a contest now known for having jumpstarted the career of now Bollywood celebrity Ruby Bhatia. One of the prizes for winning the contest is a return fare to India. But for many Miss India Canada aspirants, the prize is considered a one-way ticket to Bollywood.

There were no Bollywood aspirations as far as she was concerned, says Kim. All set to start at the University of Toronto, she had no intention of staying back.

But a chance audition with Channel V changed her plans.

“I was just vacationing in India, and somehow Channel V got a hold of my number and got in touch with me,” says Kim. “I’ve no idea how they did that. And they asked me if I’d like to audition for a VJ. I had no idea what a VJ was. They told me it was an anchor. I didn’t even want to go. I was telling them that I’m heading back to Toronto, and that I start university real soon. But my aunt pushed me to try it out.

“It was really weird. They put me in this black miniskirt and fuchsia pink top, put all this make-up on my face. Now, I’m someone who believes in natural beauty. So, I thought I looked horrible. Then they just asked me to talk. So I did. I thought I made a complete fool of myself.”

Turns out the powers-that-be at Channel V liked Kim’s quirky audition and offered her a job.

“I was like, holy sh**,” laughs Kim. “There’s no way I’ll give up my UFT entry. My parents have always been about studies. But then my parents - they’re the coolest - told me that I could give it a shot. I could defer my entrance to UFT. If it didn’t work out, I could come back after a year.

“So, I came to Mumbai.”

A second-generation Canadian returning to India, Kim was in for a bit of a culture shock, amongst other challenges.

“I had no idea how tough it would be,” says Kim. “I had just turned 18, and I knew nothing about India. I didn’t know the culture, I didn’t know the language. I didn’t understand the mentality.

“Work-wise, because I wasn’t from here, it was like someone else coming and taking your job. There was a hidden animosity.”

But Kim had no time to even think, what with her gruelling schedule for the first two years at Channel V. At one time, says Kim, she was hosting six shows - shooting everyday, working double shifts.

“It was weird at first,” says Kim. “Everyone was super nice to me, until I found out they didn’t really mean it. It was just superficial friendliness. In Toronto, people tell you like how it is. The politics took a little getting used to.

“I learnt Hindi from everyone, from the cabwallahs to the autowallahs. Now I can speak pretty decently.”

Now in her fourth year in India and as a Channel V VJ, Kim says she’s loving it.

“I really like my job,” she says. “I can’t tell you how lucky I am. I get to do all this travelling, I get to learn so much. And I get paid for it. I mean it’s pretty hard at times. Like when I had to do the Lakme India Fashion Week. For one week, I was just talking, talking, talking on the mic. But then I also got to travel to Italy because of my job. That was really cool.

“I got to interview Celine Dion; that was my first major interview. And I got to go to Florida for that. I’ve also interviewed Jennifer Love Hewitt.”
Some of Kim’s future plans include theatre and movies. Coming back to Toronto, however, isn’t on her immediate priority list.

“I don’t feel complete in Toronto anymore,” she says. “In Mumbai, once you live here, you get addicted. It’s a city of destiny. I was as Canadian as you could get. But here, I’m absorbing my own culture. Living with my people. I’m finding out more about who I really am. “But I’m also Canadian. That’s also where I am from. There is a constant confusion. But I feel I truly am both. And I think I’m truly lucky to have that. It’s worth the confusion.”