Finding Soho

The calm and joyful atmosphere at the banks of the river Main in Frankfurt, where large and small groups of people sat together, chatted, drank beer, ate their picnics, played music and relaxed. The large Hauptbanhof with its constantly shifting flow of passengers, and innumerable small shops selling a large variety of sandwiches and other small eats at very reasonable prices. The large numbers of foreigners hanging out at the train station, with the station serving as a site of both recreation and reception for friends, family and other contacts. The beautiful river Rhine with its ceaseless flow of ferries and cruises, carrying both passengers and cargo up and down the river. The constant rush of trains on the tracks along the river, connecting all the villages and towns in the Rhine Valley. The large numbers of old medieval castles dotting the hills flanking the river. The gorgeous villages of Bacharach and St. Goar in the Rhine Valley, with their old castles and old houses

Published in Peril Learning All my life, English served as the only language that I could read and write reasonably well – the only language that I could express complex thoughts in; the only language through which I could feel deeply; the language that I could argue in; and the language that formed the basis of my critical faculties. My grasp of my two other primary languages was always less than adequate for any of those higher-order tasks. The foundations for this were laid during school.   However, in school, even though English was the medium of instruction and we studied English Literature quite seriously, our learning of the language was flawed. The absence of an organic link between what we read and how we spoke reflected this most markedly. While we read (or were supposed to read) Wordsworth, Dickens, Shakespeare, and all the rest of the “traditional” canon—our curriculum was developed by English classicists in the early twentieth century, and changed very marginally

Published in Southern Crossings American writer Lionel Shriver recently delivered a keynote speech at the Brisbane Writer's Festival where she discussed cultural appropriation, authorial autonomy, social expectations around works of art and a host of other subjects that have arguably been at the forefront of much critical debate in recent times. Her speech provoked a lot of debate, as well as the usual outrage, grandstanding and squabbling on Twitter. I read the speech as well as some responses to it, and also listened to a discussion about it on the radio. I thought the speech raised many valid questions and argued convincingly against certain contemporary trends. In this blog post, using Shriver's speech as a point of departure, I want to discuss four distinct ideas or areas of concern that I think are pertinent to the conversation at hand.  Authorial voice Shriver's speech, at its core, was about authorial autonomy. However, from what I can gather, most people

Living with millennials can be tough. I think I count as a millennial too, but I think my upbringing disabused me of a lot of the sense of entitlement I see underlying millennials' conduct in Australia.  Allow me to generalise.  First, they are quite unreliable when it comes to confirming meetings and timings. I remember receiving texts from a number of people when I was looking for housemates earlier this year - texts confirming meetings with them - only to have no notification (or only last-minute notification) of their intention to cancel. The fact that this inconveniences the person you're supposed to meet - that they, in fact, absolutely need to be told that you can (or intend to) no longer meet them - does not seem to occur to some people.  I suspect this is partly because of the sheer volume of communication that millennials habitually engage in. They are constantly on their phones, texting out hundreds of messages daily, and it does not occur to them that some te

I know that a lot of people have asked this question before but I find myself asking it again: what does the word community mean? I am currently writing a short piece in which I'm using this word liberally and confidently , and yet I'm uncomfortable with its implications. Do I really mean to imply what the word traditionally implies? Or am I using it because it is now the norm to use the word rather indiscriminately? The word community is now used as a substitute for 'demographic' or 'population'; it is a much more pleasing and much less clinical word. It evokes a sense of togetherness and commonality. But therein lies the rub. The word can be misleading. Often the sense of togetherness and commonality that the word suggests is insufficiently found in that which the word is seeking to describe. Community suggests (some degree of) coherence; a defined boundary that encompasses a range of people who really can be understood as 'belonging together'. In

Time to look ahead. Time to take the next step. Time to plan. Time to organise. Transitions have always been very difficult for me. Perhaps I overthink things and make myself more restless and nervous about transitions than I ought to, but I can't help feeling anxious about transitions. And why should this one be any different? Having said that, I know that I have grown and matured considerably over the last few years, and I cannot imagine that I will feel the same as I did the last time. I remember the last big transition very clearly. It was incredibly exciting but also incredibly nerve-wracking. It was also a time of relief, rejuvenation and rediscovery. I was and am today so grateful for it. Over the next few months, I will have to work hard. But just now, I want to take some time to reflect, take stock and express gratitude for everything. The journey ahead will be challenging but it's up to me to give it the best that I can.

After the tragedy, there is sadness. There is sorrow and there is remembrance. But all of it feels completely inadequate. It is so difficult to go on Facebook after atrocities such as this one. The words that people express and the feelings that they share are simultaneously overwhelming and inadequate. It is as if there is a shadow looming over their words. This is the shadow of uncertainty and learned helplessness. The prayers and the sorrow belie the reality of our utter helplessness in the face of violence. There is nothing that can be done about it. There is nothing new that can even be said about it anymore - all that had to be said has already been said. The prayers have been said many times before. The vigils have been held many times before. The sorrow has been expressed many times before. They say that love conquers hate. I don't believe it. I absolutely do not trust that it does. Violence seems unconquerable. Saying and doing nothing after an atrocity such as this seems

Originally published in Peril magazine.  Sometime ago this year, I received a video file in a message from my father. At first glance, it looked like an old black-and-white recording. When I opened the clip, I found it was a British news report capturing the historic moment of the 14th Dalai Lama’s arrival in India after his escape from Tibet in 1959. The year 1959 was a watershed in Tibetan history.  In 1951, the 14th Dalai Lama signed an agreement with the People’s Republic of China granting the Communist Party effective control over Tibet. The introduction of socialist reforms in the Kham and Amdo regions of eastern Tibet from 1951 onwards led to social unrest and ultimately the eruption of armed resistance in 1956. Lhasa, which was granted greater autonomy than these other provinces, was, at least in the early stages, unaffected by the reforms program and the unrest. However, after the rebellion in the eastern region was suppressed and quashed in 1957, and brutal

Dear Nani,  The last two years were a struggle for you, and for the family. Towards the end, the struggles of everyday life and the endeavour to maintain your health took over completely, and perhaps it is with this in mind that we are so blessed that when you left us yesterday you were completely at peace, completely serene. You persevered for so long, and you were loved and looked after in your time of need so well, I could not have been more proud of my parents, aunts and uncles than I am today. But yesterday, as I said goodbye to your spirit, it was not the memories of the last two years that were foremost on my mind. It was the memories of you in your prime, of you as I knew you when we were kids, that flashed before my eyes. I remembered with so much gratitude the love that you had showered on us all all through our childhood. I remembered the long summer and winter holidays with you and Nana. I remembered your bright smile, your joyful face, your laughter.  I remembered your

You know how every once in a while you come across a genuinely talented artiste whose work speaks (sings?) for itself, and who's got no need for any frills and fancies to enhance her impact on the audience? That's Dami Im. Her voice is powerful. She performs beautifully. And her singing is what shines through in her performances - it's solely her voice that carries the performance. I hadn't really heard her music before her Eurovision nomination but having watched her X-factor 2013 performances and the music videos she's produced since, I can say that I really like her! Her singing and the lyrics of her songs cut right through to your heart - the feelings that she conveys through her music are impactful and beautiful. There's that mesmerising mixture of love and pain, movement and stillness, daring and vulnerability (listen to 'Gladiator'). She also comes across as very grounded, humble and personable. Quirky, thoughtful and lovely. Like Adele and Sia,