Mad Women

I finally got around to watching Mad Men on BBC iplayer: The critically-acclaimed American television drama about America in the early 1960s, as seen through lives of the men and women working for an advertising agency in New York. It recently entered its fourth successful season.

As I saw the first three episodes online, I found myself wondering that shouldn’t the show really be called Mad Women? Of course, most of the big-shots at the firm are chain-smoking, chain-philandering sexist men. But it is the women behind them – the wives and secretaries – who are all raging schizophrenic.

Think about it. Yes, they are all extremely ambitious. But all their ambitions must play-out through their husbands’ careers. Yes, they are meek around their husbands and bosses. But they are so passive aggressive. Yes, many have jobs. But none – except one, Peggy Olsen – have careers. Yes, they run immaculate households. But they must pretend that their husbands take the call on important decisions. They are beautiful, smart, intelligent, and opinionated. But they never question their role as the supporting cast in the ups and downs of their husbands' lifestory.

Just watching the show made me feel suffocated. Ambitious or not, meek or not, good housekeepers or not: at least, we are free from pretentions today. So fine, I may have my quibbles with feminist literature, but thank god the movement took place when it did.

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Another reason for watching the show is the gorgeous period detailing - especially the office. The wood panelling, the colours of the upholstery, the clean modernist lines of the furniture and the abstract paintings on the wall - they were such elegant times. And how beautifully everyone dressed up. No one was trying to rebel against their own goodlooks. The show's worth a peek just for that. The last three episodes of Mad Men can be watched here.

America vs Austria

I gave in practically the same documentation to both the Austrian Consulate as I did to the American one.

The same bank statements, the same travel history, a letter from a relative ready to sponsor me, the same residential permits to the UK and Australia. It was my first application to both embassies and I was interviewed by both.

The result – Austria gives me a 6-day visa and America a 10-year one.

Why is it that Austrians are scared that I will abandon my Australian husband, my UK and Australian residencies, and run away to Austria to live as a fugitive but not the Americans?

Osian's - going, going, not gone yet?

Last week I met Aqdas Tatli, who is doing an MA in Art Business from the Sotheby’s Institute of Art in London, and over dosas had a robust debate on whether art is art or is it just another commodity. (If he doing his master’s in art business you can imagine which side of the debate he clearly stood.)

Soon after, I read this great article in Forbes magazine about the woes of Osian’s, the world’s second largest art fund started by Neville Tuli in my humble Mumbai. It is threatening to go belly-up thanks to Tuli’s wild gambles leaving several high-profile investors left moaning. Tatli is making a presentation on Osian’s in his class (and I am hoping to sneak in).

But my point is, yes, art is a commodity. But isn’t it a consumer-durable kind of commodity? You must buy it because you like it, appreciate it, enjoy it and get some pride out of it. You don’t buy it because it will someday make lots of money for you. That said, it does carry a chance with it that someday it might turn vintage, and make a pile for you in the process.

Can we equate art to an investment commodity? The success of both art and financial instruments as an investment depends on some solid predictable indicators interacting with some unpredictable ones. In case of financial instruments such as shares and bonds, the predictable economic and physical indicators such a healthy capital investment, a balance sheet that makes sense, business plans that are clearly based on the prevailing business, political and economic environment are in tension against unpredictable elements such as wild human behaviour, natural disasters, accidents etc. In case of art, the predictable factor such as the marketing machinery behind an artist interplays with unpredictable elements such as current fashions, tastes and the artist’s creativity and ability. But I do think, that in case of the latter, the balance is deeply tilted on the side of the unpredictable indicators.

Which is why, if I ever have any money to buy art I will follow the advice by a wise bald gentleman called Girish Shahane. Yes, invest in art but always buy something that you like. So that if its price doesn’t rise as predicted, at least you are left with something on your walls that you enjoy and appreciate.

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South Asian art is making its presence felt in London at two venues. First, Saatchi Gallery has a huge exhibition on Indian and Pakistani art (paintings, installations, sculptures, you name it) entitled The Empire Strikes Back: Indian Art Today. Second, the Whitechapel Gallery in East London has an extensive exhibition on 150 years of photography in South Asia. There’s your art for a bargain, oh Londoners!

Attending Tony Blair's grilling at the Iraq Inquiry

I went to the QE II Conference Hall on Friday afternoon to watch the questioning of Tony Blair live in the spirit of a political tourist.

Now, I am neither Iraqi nor British. I am Indian, and India cleverly refused to commit any troops to the Iraq War. I don’t know a single British/American/Iraqi who suffered personally in the invasion and its aftermath. My interest in the Iraq War had always been purely political. As the citizen of the world, I had always been appalled that Bush and Blair did what they did and got away with it. And now, I had won a ticket through a nation-wide lottery to attend Blair’s grilling in person, and hell, I was not going to miss the chance.

The sight outside added to my sense of bonhomie – there was a small group of protestors outside screaming “Blair Dies” which I thought was bit extreme but oh well.. he was their ex-prime minister, so who was I to judge. (It was actually “Blair Lies”, but the penny dropped later). Most ticket holders like me looked flushed and pleased with their luck… like me.

It was only when the questioning began that all else faded away, and the seriousness of what I was attending struck me. Here was a nation trying to understand how did it manage to get itself embroiled in a war not of its making, under completely false pretences, and with minimal preparation and are continuing to bleed both money and life into it seven years later? How did all their systems – cabinet, parliament, labyrinthine government departments, military, intelligence, and legal advisors – fail to predict how horribly wrong the Iraq invasion would go?

Tony Blair was of course the architect of Britain’s involvement in the invasion seven years ago. Not only was he the prime minister of Britain at that time, he actively convinced (coerced?) all the offices and advisors around him and the people of Great Britain that it was the right thing to do, the right time to do, and they knew the right way to do it.

Only it didn’t turn out to be the case. And hence, here he was sitting before a panel that made no effort to hide its accusatory tone, in a room full of people who had lost their family to Blair’s ill-gotten war, trying to explain his actions. Or as the Evening Standard later describe, “explain away” his actions. What Blair was at pains to point out that while he took responsibility for the decisions taken, he wasn’t alone in making those decisions. That other people supported him: his cabinet, the parliament, the attorney general, and for what it’s worth, the military generals. Everyone hated him for trying to spread the blame – for not coming out and spitting it, that he was responsible for it all and he was sorry about it.

But that would have been too easy, wouldn’t it? That Tony Blair lied to everyone, that nobody had the means to check his lies, that he manipulated their moral reasoning, that the rest of the cast (and the nation) is simply exonerated.

But if that were the case, what would be the difference between a democracy and a dictatorship, where one man decides for the nation and takes responsibility for the action. I thought democracy gave other arms of the government the power to check the actions of a runaway prime-minister/president. Why didn’t the other arms exercise this power? Why did the attorney general Lord Goldsmith capitulate under pressure? Others had quit their job on the issue, why couldn’t he stand up to his views? Why didn’t the parliament try to conduct their own investigations into the issue instead of just blindly believing everything Blair and party dished out to them? That is what a parliament is there for.

If this inquiry is to be a success, these are the questions it must try to answer. (And, to be fair, that is what it is trying to.)

When I came out of the inquiry, the protest had only gotten bigger. Blair lies, Blair lies – the skies seemed to be screaming. Only, I wasn’t feeling the same bonhomie as before. I wasn’t a political tourist anymore. I was engaged in this debate.

Yes, Blair lied. But how is Britain going to ensure that next time a prime minister lies to its people, they don’t fall for it? And this is question that all democracies around the world – including India – must ponder over.