A CATHY SUMMER
Upon my return to NY, I was looking at the city and it seemed boring, too busy without being interesting and well I was just so over NY. And then Cathy arrived. Cathy is a friend of a friend. (s she is from Colombia of course because Americans just don’t stay with friends of friends right? They almost don’t even stay with friends…. See just how cross I am about the US right now?

Anyway Cathy is making me see NY through new eyes again. And well its beautiful. I feel like the luckiest person in the world to live in Prospect Heights. I love our coffee shops—both of them are great and if one doesn’t suit the mood Imin the other does. Breuklen and the Glass Shop are both amazing. Francesco can be stand offish at first but you really grow to love his way of relatingto people as he warms up. As for Frank, Jason and Liza.. they are lovely all in different ways. Francesco has the sardine sandwiches! Frank has the organic coffee and grass fed cow milk.

And then there is Prospect Park (it doesn’t hurt that its June.) blue marble ice cream and the park slope coop.

Chavela’s with the nicest owner ever and surely the best Mexican food in Brooklyn.

Our new find Pilar’s up in Bed-Stuy /Clinton Hill—also great people but their food may be even nicer than they are!

The Public Library both on 42nd street and the Brooklyn one a few blocks away next to the park, the sun, the brownstones, getting to ride my bike over Brooklyn bridge to go to work, the highline park, going to see Shakespeare in the Park, music at Lincoln center. the MOMA, biking to Breezy Point to go to the beach and stopping for Uighur food and Russian pastries on the way there.

eating Senegalese, Indian, Jamaican, Veggie Jamaican and cheap Chinese owned Japanese food all on one street right next to your house

Of course Cathy loves it… she keeps comparing NY to Koln where she has lived for the last several years and hearing her makes me realize just how amazing our neighborhood is. I think this is what having a child must be like—getting see everything as new again. I should have guests more often--of course my dissertation suffers—although we did spend a bit of time ar 42nd street library doing research….

H has been less than excited with his work for awhile now. I have always wanted him to go back to get his doctorate—ironic considering how much I love getting mine, right? But we have also been talking about moving for a while.

So H and I have been saying it would be good to put my EU citizenship to use. He is suggesting England I prefer Spain, Italy, France or Austria. Of those I suspect only Spain is viable because of our rather limited linguistic abilities.

Should we go? I love the life we have built here. But I must say this is definitely not what I imagined my life would be at 35 . I have spent my entire adult life not only in the US but in one city—arguably the best city in the world, but it is just one place.

I came to NY to go to college and I have just stayed. I think I need a change. It seems so wasteful though to just let all we have built here go.

A date!
Oh! After so many years… I have three professors and a date, for this semester. Finally I really be ABD. Thank goodness.

The good: It’s fairly soon: April 6th And finally I have at topic that doesn’t scare people.
The bad: the film theory is very, very boring. Do people really still believe in Freud? Apparently so. Is it me? Why don’t I buy Lacan, Kristeva et all. I mean its very beautiful what they do but you sort of have to buy into a lot at the beginning to go with their arguments. I haven’t been around other students in so long that its difficult to know how alone I am in my skepticism.

A few of you have asked about my sister lately... Hermana is in kind of limbo at the moment—too old to continue in her small school and with parents not convinced of what her next step should be. She is to stay in her bucolic day school for a few more months and then—well, then is the question. To which there are some answers and plans but none that I feel sufficiently confident will actually happen.
The subject of my sister is of course a difficult one. Even though I have had several years to adjust to the idea. The reality that her life will be so different from what I might have hope for her is a bitter reality that I doubt any of us have truly faced. There are key times when I am confronted with it and this month may be one of the most difficult. Hermana should be heading off to college at this moment. While it is possible that she would have made the northern migration most of us chose to go to college next September its equally likely that but, she would be attending University at home. She’d be feeling nervous about starting college and relieved that the pressure of choosing her course of study—a rather difficult choice for someone in their last year of high school—was over. I wonder whether she would have succumbed to social pressure and been the first of us to study business or if she would have followed her love of music and followed my brother’s path. I suspect the latter but there is no way to tell really.
Part of me focuses on the fact that she certainly seems happier than the rest of the women in my family. I am not sure why, because when I speak to my parents as well as my aunts and uncles, I don’t get impression that they have lowered expectations or some other chauvinistic conception of the world; however it must be said that all the women in my family have difficulties that our male cousins don’t seem to have had. Hermana is blissfully free of that at least. Her adolescence was a million times happier than mine and I suspect easily happier than all but one of my cousins. My fear should be that she may not always be as happy as she is now. But all my regrets, lately, are of what might have been. Hermana laughing with her friends outside of the university, complaining about the classes she needs to take, despairing that there are no boys worth dating in her class…
The first time this melancholy swept across me was a couple of years ago, I was brushing her hair and I realized we would never have the kind of sisterly relation– a kind of pastiche of Hollywood recreations of sisterhood no doubt—that I had somehow unknowingly absorbed or imagined. So my regrets are largely selfish ones what I won’t see her do, what I won’t hear in telephone conversations, what we won’t share and that is my consolation: the fact that her regrets seem few, that, although I know she wishes she could all the things that other people do, she seems happy and is surrounded by the people she loves or perhaps more remarkably, has learned to love all those who surround her. Would that we all had that talent.

Gabriel Orozco: Samurai Tree Invariants and Karl Jenkin's Concert for Peace

Two ways to pass the time; one making me wish I was safely home working on my dissertation.

These really have nothing in common but I am combining them in one post. On January 18th I went to see Concert for Peace – Celebrating the Spirit of Martin Luther King, Jr. which was comprised of two works by Karl Jenkins. I listened to a couple of minutes of Requiem on YouTube; and since I enjoy chorale music and I am not that picky, it seemed worth attending.

The music itself, I suspect, isn't too bad. But my goodness the videos that accompany it were more awful than I could have ever imagined. I mean truly, truly, amazingly awful. Footage of what looked like carnival and people playing with poi and dressed up as devils for the Dies Irae should have clued me in, but I tend to be hopeful so I braved through film and close ups of Rose windows and stained glass when the choir was singing about Jesus, grateful indeed that I never studied Latin and could close my eyes and just listen to what they were singing without having to understand the doubtfully stupid things that were being said. Then it was time for The Armed Man which was the work I had found reviewed and what I was looking forward too. At first the video seemed a bit better; there was historical footage of soldiers going to war, military parades and people building bombs all sped up or slowed down with to the tempo of the songs-- a bit literal its true but acceptable. But then they added recreations I think the Napoleonic Wars, and maybe the War of Independence intercutting that with images of the S.S. just feels weird. It made me squirm in my seat and look away. I know I should have kept closing my eyes and looking away but the thing is that when there is video its almost impossbile for me to look away no matter how awful I am a bit like my cat Kala when she sees a fly, my eyes keep going back again and again even if I know what I see will torment me. Well, just when I thought it couldn't get worse there were images of the World Trade Center falling down while the choir lifted their arms shook their hands and made some sort AHHHH or Ohhhh sound. The work was composed before 2001, which means that they actually had to decide to add this later. That someone thought this was a good idea actually, gives me hope for my future; although not much for society. Clearly, remarkably stupid people succeed all the time, so why not me?


In direct contrast to this horrible even was last Sunday's visit to the Moma.

We didn't have much time and really only saw some of Orozco's work. I loved Samurai Tree Invariants, at first I just thought it was passingly pretty. A room filled with variations on a theme. But as I looked at it my mind began to try to figure out the rules that were being followed for each change o f the image. All of a sudden I understood how it could be that there are almost an infinite amount of variations in chess. This is something that Nane always refers to but I never could really believe--I mean I knew he wasn't lying but I could get it until I saw this. I walked around figuring out some of the rules used and trying to guess what the next image would look like. When I dold him it made me think of chess, he beamed and said he was thinking hte same thing. It turns out so was Orozco although in a more precise way when we read the description on our way out he said he was influenced by the knight's movement on a chess board. So there you go, nice to know I was on a the same wavelength as the artist but I won't be winning any prizes for originality. The thing is, since the mind loves to to see repetition and discern patterns I suspect that almost anyone would love this work. It would be really fun to take a child to experience it. When I ran a children's program at museum many years ago, this was the kind of piece that you could play lots of games with...

I may be the slowest knitter ever because not only am pretty slow with the actual process, I make lots of mistakes, decide that I am not going to fix them, then change my mind tear out hours of work and fix the mistake; i also get distracted and stop knitting for weeks only to take it up again. At the moment I have a cute vest for a baby boy that I was making for a friend but I forgot to finish it and now am only missing one shoulder (that 's right not even a sleeve, but a shoulder for a six month old--so about 1 hour of work.) of course the baby I was making it for is almost 1 now so it's on hold until I find another child to finish it for.
So, I say all of this because here is a finished object, not only is it finished I actually mailed it off on time for my aunt to take it with her when she goes to see her first grandchild. Andrea Sofia was born yesterday, which coincidentally is the day that I finished her sweater. So here you go littlest cousin! Happy Birthday Andrea Sofia; we are all so excited that you have come into the world and felicitaciones Juan Pablo and Laura se que seran padres maravillosos.

Donate to Send Disaster Kits to Haiti


Enough said. So many of us in NY know people in Haiti or at the very lest people from Haiti but even if you don't you have to acknowledge that this is one tragically unlucky country. Occupied by Spain, the US and France, overrun by dictators and death squads that are of course supported by the US , suffering disproportionately from AIDS and yet largely overlooked when it comes to any kind of significant international aid, Haiti has suffered beyond belief. It starts with the French-who may compete only with the Belgians for absolutely the last people you want colonizing your country (and let's face it that is a tough competition to win) and continues with an earthquake that has caused the death of maybe 200.000 people.

Haiti is consistantly ignored Latin American countries even though this tiny country was one of the first nations to send Simon Bolivar help in fighting the Spanish. In the US, Haitians have a terrible time immigrating and legalizing their status. Even though their situation and history is not too different from EL Salvador's for example they haven't qualified for Temporary Protective Status.

The Earthquake changes this a bit and it looks as if the US may start granting some kind of TPS based on the disaster. That should help. But a more immediate thing you can do is donate to help send disaster kits to Haiti. Each kit has a weather resistant 10 person tent, a cooking stove, crayons for children, and basic tools.

Because it sucks when you don't even have a tent to live in.

If this isn't your thing consider giving money to the Red Cross or Medecins sans frontieres

Is It Weird to Hope You Have Swine Flu?


I am sick. Really sick. My arms and legs hurt, I can't breathe through my nose. I have a light annoying fever that's not high enough to kill anything off. I have of course googled swine flu and flu vs. cold to figure out what I have. I have no idea it could be any of the three. Hoping it's the oink oink flu though because then I'd be inoculated; right?

Anyway it reminds me of when parents sent their children to get the measles and what not from their neighbors, but I am hoping this is the swine flu or at least some kind of flu so that my pain is serving some sort function. I mean I work with immigrants from all around the world everyday right, my building is like a little UN of germs so having one of the flus should be a good thing.

The really awful part? I have gone to work everyday. I know. I went on Monday because I had no choice; but I had enough time to call in sick today but the money I'd lose stopped me. I have done what I can-- using the alcohol hand wash compulsively and trying to breathe on people as little as possible. I don't want to infect my coworkers and I really don't want to infect all of the immigrants because most of them can afford to miss work even less than I can, and they rarely have insurance either. So I feel evil. I'm going to work tomorrow too-- now my excuse is that I 'm on the mend .

What do you do when your actions absolutely don't coincide with that little ethical voice inside you? Apperantly I ignore it compulsively.
Oh yeah and so far ZERO work on the big D this week.

Frustrated, I jump up and down. I move even faster but I can't get the the step right.

There is a short, sporty-looking Japanese woman yelling "Go, go, go. Faster. Go. Now! Lift your legs higher. In the back higher." Even, the soft lilt of her accent cannot make the orders that she fires out any less threatening.

Threatening, because, as anyone who knows me is painfully aware, I am not a dancer. There is no way I can keep up with these bizarre instructions. But this isn't dancing, so I persevere.

Jump, jump, jump, jump left, jump right leg in, jump left leg up, jump right leg out, jump right leg up, jump right.

Did I mention there are hand movements related to all of this?
I live in fear of landing on the springs; or could I somehow land on the trampoline to my right? On top of the woman next to me?

I have been taking this mini trampoline class once a week for a while. The idea was to have lower impact activities in between the days that I jog to give my knees a bit of a rest. I don't actually know that my knees need rest, but since they are sensitive it seemed like something I might try out.

The nice thing is that since it is a class there is no asking myself "Haven't I done enough? Can't I just go home now?" The class starts when it starts and, well, I won't compound my inability to follow even the most basic instructions by being the one who left early.

It certainly gets my heart rate up although whether its out of fear or exertion I cannot say.

So I return the next week. Hoping that I am somehow bouncing my way into better health--and few less inches in a few key places.

But there is something about 40 grown women jumping on tiny trampolines to fast paced horrible music that makes me cringe. It seems so synthetic.

That is of course because it is. Unlike running, something we did before we even human. Biking, a practical invention, is not natural but seems completely reasonable. Ice skating is a smart response to ice, you no longer fall and you're faster.
Trampolining is a bit more suspect. If graceful, like synchronized trampoline (yes its real and an Olympic sport) it's strange but somehow imbued with a kind meaning. but that comparison just makes this class even more depressing, as it's devoid of flips and pirouettes and all takes place on what looks like a kiddie version of a trampoline--and aren't trampolines already for kids. That said I am taking it again this week...

The holidays are over.

Now all that awaits us is two months of bitter cold. I haven't been jogging in ages; I keep telling myself I am going to do so but the cold makes me wimp out. So how have I been wasting my time? Well amazingly I have done some work on my dissertation. Mostly just enough to make me stress out at how much is left to be done.

The farmer's market is depressing. I picked up some mushrooms, potatos and sweet potatos, carrots a couple of greens-but I doubt there will be any next week- and some beef. Couldnt find milk, eggs or chickens.

I have still been making bentos: today's featured dried shitakes,lentils, carrot and kohlrabi salad, miso spinach, spicy pumpkin and a turnip gratin in a muffin cup. Yummy.

Kala Vs. Fred



We have two new electrodomesticos in our household: a vacuum cleaner and a humidifier. Appliances would perhaps be the English equivalent, but I am not sure a humidifier is an appliance. To say that they are electronics makes them sound more technical than they are.

Both are pretty. I have to some extent chosen form over function. But I have been pleasantly surprised that I am not feeling any of the ramifications of the choice. Could it be that form has followed function in this instance?

I can't recommend the vacuum enough. It is always charged, has no cords and no attachments to fiddle with Simple and nice. It's called the Kone-- my only complaint about it is the cutesy spelling of its name. It's the perfect supplement to our roomba as the kone will clean sofas and those places the roomba can't reach.


BUt more fun is Fred, our humidifier. It's easy to see why they gave it a human name it has a sort of anthropomorphic feel even though it looks more like a fifties flying saucer. Our Fred is red, and more importantly has cured me of my painfully dry eyes and itchy skin. One added plus is that Fred entertains our cat Kala.

Merry Christmas

I keep thinking it would be nice to celebrate the solstice. I, like most people, do feel the need for some sort of celebration. But not being religious or coming from a religious family Christmas Hannukah et al seem, well, silly. Don't misunderstand, I love latkes ( I made some lovely ones with sour cream salmon and fennel pollen to take over for Christmas dinner some friends invited us to. It should work perfectly since 1. fired potato is always yummy and smoked salmon is delicious. and 2. we were invited over for Christmas dinner by some Indians, who I am fairly certain are not Christian or committed to a traditional dinner. ) I love Christmas trees, I love eggnog and its Colombian cousin Sabajon, and who doesn't like Christmas gift grab? Only the person who doesn't score the Star Wars lunchbox-that's who.

But I find myself wanting to celebrate something that has somekind of meaning. This is difficult since I am an atheist. So how about Solstice; this is something concrete; it actually happens and we can all be relieved that the days are going to get longer. The thing is its just so sappy most of the time. I can't deal with spirits of the east etc.... I don't know if I condone that kind of descent into hippydome Nonetheless I am thinking about it so if you're in NY don't be surprised if I invite you over for a Spring Equinox party....

The further adventures of Bento

Still enjoying making Bentos. I am having fun making little quiches or mini meantloafs or edamame balls. Wish there was some way to parlay this into a way to make money but have yet to figure it out. A friend says its entirely possible; but I can't make the math work because of course I only like to cook with organic ingredients. So far bentos are made mostly of what I find at the farmer's market with a few extras thrown in; but winter is almost here and everyday there is less and less at the market.

To the right we have rice with red pepper and cherry tomato "sun", lettuce from my garden, open faced mini chicken pot pie, olives, cabbage with caraway seed, spicy carrots from my garden, edamame ball rolled in poppy seeds, pear triangles, kale, and kabocha.

Long Puffy Coat I love you


It's been so cold. I really hate cold weather. I didn't know why? Was it that I was conceived in Panama and spent the first 12 years of my life in places where there was no snow? Was it genetic?

No. Lat year I figured it out. I was wearing the wrong clothes. Last year I bought my first puffy coat. Yes its ugly--but I didn't know that you could be warm in the winter. I didn't understand the difference that long silk underwear knee length leather boots lined with thinsulate and a puffy coat could make.
Do I love winter? Well no. Not yet.
But it is a yet.
Now that I'm warm I find the brownish grey of the tree trunks agianst the pale grey blue of the sky beautiful. I appreciate November light. And snow? Well, does anyone like snow in NYC? I doubt it; before we cn get used to it turns into a gray ice or slush. But I am trying to like it.

Goodbye Fall

This is the last Golden Carrot from my garden. It was a mixed year some things did really well others that i was so successful with last year were no good at all. Great year for peas, cucumbers, carrots, herbs, tomatoes and hot peppers. No luck at all with mild peppers, mustard greens, zucchini and Brussel Sprouts. I got one melon which was small but delicious.
I think all of this isn't to bad for two 6" deep four by four plots on my roof.

Vibram on a Hike

Most of my time has bee taken up thinking about, and trying out, my new shoes.

I needed a new pair of shoes. My old shoes were, well, old-the soles were okay but the velcro straps had lost their velcroiness. Also, they were several years old and I was rather bored of them. I am not sure what to call them: they are a pair of ubiquitous trainers, tennis shoes, sneakers. None of these names seem appropriate for a shoe that I basically wore with jeans on the weekend-not being someone who trains, plays tennis or is sneaky-at least not in a physical sense.

Ah, so that's why the soles were in such good condition.

At any rate a couple of months ago I decided to take up jogging and so the old shoes actually began to be used as they were meant to be. But then, I was told by well meaning people at the gym that no, my shoes were not meant for running, they lacked support especially since I have flat feet. Having a delicate knee and a love of new things I decided to invest in a pair of shoes. This way, I could keep one pair in my locker at the gym and one at home.

Since Nane gets a discount at New Balance, I investigated their shoes first. There are several designs for the flatfooted. How many people have flat feet anyway? Appearantly a lot, since there are so many possibilities out there.

Most people say that to protect your knees and feet you need a thick padded shoe with plenty of arch support. New Balance shoes will protect your feet and slip them into an ideal running position. I was entranced by the all the different possibilities and a good friend swear by them.

But I remembered a friend talking about Vivo shoes a couple of years ago. I looked at them: they were pricey (at the time I was broke) and not really the style I was after. But their philosophy, that you should feel the ground that you are walking on felt right and made me wonder about these cushiony New Balance shoes. Since my flat feet weren't one in a million--it didn't seem right to me that I needed all these fixes to be able to run. I mean there shouldn't be that many of us that will injure ourselves running right? Running should be a natural, easy thing for humans to do.

At the same time, over at the NY Times someone was training to run the NYC marathon. This meant that there were way too many posts about jogging, running and marathon training. And among all of these articles were a few that focused on barefoot running and Vibram Five Fingers shoes. These shoes were the antithesis of New Balance shoes, essentially gloves with an almost puncture proof flexible soul, they promised to let my feet be what they are supposed to be.

Now, the shoes look strange, people stare at them; and not always nicely. People will ask about them and opine freely. I myself went up to someone who was wearing them asked questions about them and then concluded the conversation by pointing out that they do look peculiar... So the shows are not fo rhte timid; however, They may be a good way to make friends.

Anyone who knows me, knows the way this ends. I mean, there was no way I was going to go for the trussed-up unnatural way to run when there was a "natural" way to do it. It's not in me. I don't know that the vibram shoes are better for me; I worry about my knee and hope I am not damaging it futher; but I can't fight against my ideology, New Blance never had a chance.

I have jogged in them (fun), worn them around the city (mixed), to a stony beach (not recommended) and even gone on a light hike with them (wonderful).

All I can say is get them.

I used to see toes socks and think "But I think my toes like to be together" They don't. They ant to be free and individuated you just don't know it yet. The shoes only flaw (besides their appearance which is growing on me) is that if you aren't walking your feet will get cold; toes, it turns out, help keep each other warm just like fingers do in mittens. As long as you are walking even slowly they'll be okay but pop into a restaurant and have a meal on a cold day and your feet will get cold.

Coffee art.

What are skills that are worth learning? Are there things that are too trivial--so that spending time on them becomes irresponsible to your development as a human being? I think I struggle with this question because I am so good at finding these peculiar outlets. I always come back to Adorno's The Culture Industry. Surely these passtimes are the faux-creative outlets that the middle class give itself like home remodeling etc.

How I have whiled my time away today...It started several weeks ago when I was sitting in what may be the most beautiful coffee shop talking with the owner about two new coffee houses that were opening up in the neighborhood. There had been a bit of a virtual feud between either the two coffee shops or fans of the two coffee houses culminating in each of their street creds being questioned. One is owned by someone whose family has owned stores and buildings in the neighborhood for who knows how long and the other by some young newcomers who clearly have the pulse of this gentrifying 'hood. Words have flown and articles have now been published about the two shops. All dancing around one interesting issue which remains unspoken but very much in the air. The newcomers to this previously predominantly Afro-Caribbean, Black-American and African neighborhood are black while the old time-but never resident- member of the community appears to be white.
It puts a different twist on gentrification right? It would be one thing if the old time community member had ever lived in the neighborhood, but he has made it clear that he has never been interested in that.
The final twist is that the old time member is not white --by US standards--although he does pass and seems to actively choose to do so.

Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile

The other day I was reading a NYT article about crazy mothers who spend too much time making bentos for their children and how competitive this gets. But did I say "Oh god poor kids! Poor women,"? NO. Instead, I thought "I should make Bentos!"
So I have for the last two weeks. SO here is my latest not-dissertation activity. This is Hugo's because I didn't take a picture of mine and am too embarrassed to take a photo of it in the coffee shop.
In his bento: whole grain rice with black sesame; pesto stuffed mushrooms (basil from my garden) mini chicken pot pie (use muffin tins to make) lettuce (from garden) with sprouted mix greens and sun-dried tomatoes. Sugar snap peas (probably the last from our garden. Purple cauliflower and I forget what its called broccoli sauteed with mustard seeds and ume salt and grapes.

I watched Brick Lane last night and loved it. I was surprised in that I had expected to watch a few minutes of it and then move on but I was trapped by its beauty and really ended up being involved in the film to the point where internet searches were, for the most part, put on hold and I just leaned back and watched it. I had picked up the book in an airport,or train station, a couple of years ago and had read it fitfully on the plane (train?) so I had not expected to like it so much.
Of course a huge part of it is the sheer beauty of the film, the saris. the scenes of Indian village life, even the fussy interior of Nazneen’s apartment is lit in moody shadowy blue.
But there was so much more; somehow without being able to tap into the character’s mind at ease I was able to relate to them so much more. It’s a rare film that can make you identify with almost every character. It’s no surprise that we are able to feel the claustrophobia caused by Nazneen’s isolation and confusion and the way her life broadens through her awakening with Karim. Shahna’s teenage angst and disgust with her father is portrayed well. In some ways she is as closed off to the viewer as she is to her parents: what she thinks about, who her friends are, what her day is like when she is outside her Brick Lane apartment are a cipher; but with one look she shows us that she can see through her father’s bluster, and its clear that Shahna pities her mother with a mix of condescension and love that only teenager can pull off.
But perhaps the character who elicits the most surprising sympathy is Chanu. In the novel, its harder to sympathize with him even though its clear enough that he is struggling against forces far beyond his control. In the film, Satish Kaushik pulls off an amazing feat; he creates a character who is inherently lovable even as he shows time and time again that he doesn’t view Nazneen as anything other than his wife, someone that is there only to see to him. There is no sense that he feels he has the right to subjugate Nazneen to his will because he doesn’t seem to understand that Nazneen has a will to subjugate.
On the one hand, optimism his love of literature and his desire to improve himself using Hume, and prizing of Bangladeshi culture instead of say The Secret endears him to the reader; on the other hand it’s painful to watch him use this idea of culture as a talisman that will propel him into success and perhaps more to the point what differentiates him from most of the Bangladeshi community and and the working class whites in his neighborhood. Despite the fact that he doesn't seem to be able to use the texts to really make sense of his world; there is a cohesive nature in his understanding of the world My Golden Bengal though butchered by his daughters, informs the speech he gives at the meeting, as does much of what he quotes. While it hasn't made him any more comfortable or secure in his world his reading has given him a lens through which he can understand the world, if he only had the confidence to do so.
From the novel we know that Chanu is fat, unattractively so, but it’s Kaushik who makes this part of his character instead of one more reason for Nazneen to be not be attracted to him. Unlike, the successful fat man whose weight is a symbol of his all he is able to consume, or the jovial fat man who seems to be unconcerned with his weight; Kaushik plays a man who never seems to fit anywhere who acts like he knows he is taking up too space room in a world that has no room for him. His arms seem to flail awkwardly as if they can’t lie flush against his body.
Only when he is playing the tourist does he seem to expand naturally taking up his natural place. It is heartrending, then, to hear him tell the couple who takes their photo that they are from Bangladesh. It clear he wants to imply that they are on holiday soaking up the English sites. It of course begs the viewer to ask why have they never gone to the museums or sites in England if Chanu prizes, or fetishizes, culture so much. It can only be because inside he feels they aren’t supposed to be there; for, the film makes clear that he is not a hypocrite who simply owns the texts of culture but doesn’t read them. He genuinely tries to interact with the great thinkers and artists that he has been taught to admire; but his insecurity is such that he falters and changes the subject when he realizes anyone else is familiar with the texts.
All of this contextualizes his willful blindness of Nazneen's personhood. If he clearly doesn't care about her as an individual. It's because any individual who is that close to him is a threat--someone who might see through him. His subjugation of Nazneen comes not so much from the heavily patriarchal culture bolstering his decisions--although certainly that is what gives his actions a cultural legitimacy that Nazneen doesn't know how to struggle against--as from a terror of being judged and found wanting. He is always using texts to protect himself from the world; as Shahna snottily points out he is never quiet; whether reading from a guidebook, wondering what taste is, or chattering on about whether he should take Proust or Thackery back home he needs to fill every moment just the way his body over fills the apartment. He is so busy defeding himself and protecting himself from the accusation of "you don't belong and you are not good enough" that he erases Nazneen's existance. Even in the end, when Nazneen keeps trying to tell him she won't go back to Bangladesh, he can't hear her, it's too threatening because it means he is not returning for her and that he must return alone.
The character that is drawn least sympathetically in the film is that of Karim. He is charismatic and exciting and handsome and most importantly he sees Nazneen as a person. To be sure he idealizes her, projects his fantasies of both a real Bangladeshi girl uncorrupted by the English culture he knows he has become part of, and clearly sees her as a stand in for a mother he lost too soon. His frequent comparisons of Nazneen with his mother are both tender and deeply disturbing. In the end, he doesn’t understand or know Nazneen, but he still sees her-- knows she is her own entity, someone who has opinions even if he is not terribly concerned with what those opinions might be; something we get the feeling Chanu only realizes at the end. Of course, when Chanu realizes it, he is able to truly see Nazneen something Karim cannot do.
It’s easy enough to understand what changes Karim from a young man who is disenchanted with the English society he knows he’s part of, to one that finds god and joins a Pan-Muslim society. But seeing some of what causes this would help draw us to him. From the beginning we know that he is willing to struggle for a more equitable world, and a world that includes and accepts him. We see his daring spirit when he steals the box of racist flyers that the white supremacists are planning on posting. the things that is one of the only times we see what this Bangladeshi community encounters when they interact with the outside world. While the viewer hears Chanu ranting about the backlash against Muslims this, other than knowledge drawn from outside of the text, is the only real hint we get of just how life changed for Muslims after September 11th. A couple of short scenes, or even one scene that showed the new pressures brought upon Muslim communities in England a post-September 11th world would have gone a long way to creating an emotional instead of purely intellectual understanding of what shifts Karim from Bangladeshi with nationalist predispositions to a man slowly committing to what seems to be a Salafi-like understanding of Islam and one who is interested in the concept of a pan-Muslim community. This silence is less pronounced in the novel; but in the film Karim is the character closest to being a caricature of the angry-Islamized young man. he novel mentions incidents, stabbing of a Bangladeshi youth for example, and we see Karim go from attacking the Bengali gangs roaming the neighborhood to insisting that either they do not exist or that they are mischevious at worst. In the film Karim’s change is largely effected physically, we know he has changed because he is now signifying his religious alliegance not just by wearing the religiously prescribed beard and head covering, but by donning a Salwar Kameez, and choosing a rather universal looking Kameez, (light-colored, long and unadorned it could be worn by a man Cairo just as easily as one in Dhaka) instead of one that reads Bangladeshi.
All in all, this was a very satisfying film. One of its most beautiful aspects is how well it shows that its not until Nazneen can act like an individuated, actualized human being that she can truly love her husband. Her growing independence does not separate her from her husband as much as her husband’s fear of being a failure separates him from his family. Nazneen has come full circle; she has found that she does have something she can give her husband--whether that love and respect would remain intact is irrelevant; her self actualization has made her realize that she is a person who matters and so for the first time it matters whether she cares for Chanu or not. As such we see how patriarchal society has not just hurt Nazneen, her daughters, Razia, and (in the novel her sister) it has hurt Chanu and Karim. Who would Karim be if he could see the real Nazneen? It's impossible to know. But who might have Chanu become if he could have seen the real Nazneen and had one relationship in which he could have been himself instead of pretending to be the "great man" at home...