Kansas City:
It's another rainy day here. Hey! We're back in Kansas City just a while ago.
There's a lot that I take home from my stay in Columbia, the education hub of Missouri. One, a quick crash course in journalism. Two, new friends. Three, fond memories of spending a great time in this small buy lovely town that has some of the most fabulous food joints. Four, I could catch some sleep, with no ringing mobile, though new food did in my tummy. Thank God! I'm carrying lots of Pudin Hara tablets!
But what's more important is that I could overcome the initial nervousness that had taken over me as a journalist. Confidence, that's what I gained in two weeks. That I'm better prepared for my five-month assignment ahead at Sen Sentinel, Florida.
Just to recapitulate on what we did at Columbia, and why, I feel, the two weeks of orientation seminar is an important new feature to Alfred Friendly Press Fellowship program.
We spent much of the first week in the class going back to basics: The why, where, how, when and what next of journalism, basically reporting. We got an opportunity of interacting with faculty members and former journalists at MU School of Journalism, though I must confess, not all of that is of use back home. Some of it is.
We had our evening readings, which I, frankly, could never complete since I was still to overcome my jet-lag. And no one really objective to that.
The second week focused on some practical aspects. We spent time in the newsroom of Missourian, the newspaper that caters to Columbia community but is brought out by the student reporters and faculty editors.
The Missourian, we learnt through the last ten days, is one of the most interesting places of media experimentation. It's a laboratory, you may say.
It has a print edition, five days a week, a good web-edition that is updated almost every hour, a convergence website and so many other features, bringing together the audio-visual forms of news on the web. We could participate in the business meetings at the newsroom: scheduled at 11 am every day.
Students come and go through the semesters; work their stories the way they want, but in a conversational tone and enjoy their stuff. Evenings, they cross the road, go to a joint called Tin Can and enjoy beer with their friends and editors.
By the way we did get to enjoy our evenings with the guys out there, which convinced me that journalists are the same everywhere. Here though, the topic that remains the pulse of the moment is job market. "What happens when we graduate out of the school; who takes us in? What happens? Who's hiring? Who's firing?" Students are shit scared but hopefully be in the game within a year's time. I pray, they land the jobs.
Some of us got an opportunity to do stories and get published. As I wrote in my previous post, I got a byline this past Sunday. So much relief! For almost three weeks now, I missed getting my name in black and white from the day I left India. Back in India, the action continues as political parties struggle it out in the soaring Sun. Honestly, it's an event that is a training in itself for journalists. And I sorely miss that to a large extent, though the training here would make me a better and more thorough journalist, hopefully, when I get back to my home paper.
Anyways, we spent the last two days wrapping up our sessions and meeting people we worked with for past three weeks.
As we bade good-bye to the school staff this afternoon, it was an emotional moment.
We had nice lunch, distribution of certificates and souvenirs in Upper Crust, another lovely joint in Columbia.
Next three days we'll spend time discussing day-to-day affairs; banking, dealing with American culture, budgeting etc, and meeting our mentors from host newspapers who are arriving here in just about a day. Sunday, we fly to our respective places from Kansas City. I'll to South Florida. That's when the action begins.
Three weeks into our stay here though, we are feeling a bit settled with the systems in the Distant Land. We've travelled some distance after all!
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Sunday, April 26, 2009
GLIMPSES OF FARMERS MARKET!!!
Moments at the Columbia Farmers Market - people look happy while amidst the greens than at Walmart!
FIRST STORY IN THE DISTANT LAND
Columbia, MO:
They say, bylines are to journalists what Marijuana is to addicts. So very true.
Here's my first story at the Missourian:
http://www.columbiamissourian.com/stories/2009/04/25/farmers-market-reaches-out-low-income-neighbors/
Doing it though was more challenging. John Schneller, my editor at the Missourian, gave me a handout about farmers market celebrating Neighbor Appreciation Day. It was not a story but a handout - actually an email between two of his students.
I explored the story in the given time limit. Found it quite interesting. It's very heartening to learn that the farmers are trying to reach out to their black low-income neighbors. Will it happen in India? No guesses!
Our mandis or farmers' markets are pretty secular to a large extent. They do not restrict or discriminate buyers on class or caste lines.
Consumers in India are more aware of fresh food, though packaged food is catching up with yuppies and elites in big cities. Here there's a reverse trend.
Fresh and locally grown organic food is now emerging as the first choice for well-to-do Americans waking up to the health disasters scripted by their fast food joints. A journalist -- I forget his name -- has written an astonishing book called Fast Food Nation. It's a very well researched treatise of the fast food's contribution to health problems in America. An eye opener of what people eat when they eat this junk!
Farmers markets are making a come back every where in the US. What's heartening though if that they are aware about who's coming and who's not to shop with them. It is not from the commercial stand point, but from the health perspective that they want more and more people to eat what they grow in the neighborhoods.
I enjoyed doing the story; it was kind of exploration. When you connect with people, you open avenues of future dialogue. You make friends. Any amount of technology and gadgets won't teach you that in journalism. That's the beauty.
At the core, ultimately, is the understanding of human race and mind. And as my Chinese counterpart Zhiming "Diego" Xin puts it, "We haven't done a good job with it -- understanding of human psychology and sentiment in writing stories."
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
TREK DOWN THE HILL...TO CAPEN PARK
Columbia, Missouri:
I kept walking on the four-lane College Avenue that connects the Stadium Avenue and then winds down the hill to stretch beyond.
From my hotel, it would take 20 minutes to reach the location that I wanted to be at, John Schneller, my course coordinator at the MU school of journalism told me.
The event was at 6:30 pm. So I should have started by 6 at the most. I decided to start at 5, just to be on the safer side.
My decision to start early turned out to be good as I walked past some of the exotic bungalows on the College Avenue. But the park did not seem in sight. Capen Park. No one knew about it on a seemingly endless walk down the avenue.
The road kept stretching as cold winds flowed.
Then I saw the road wind down a steep hill that hit a big structure at the corner. Finally, I thought, I'm here.
"Keep walking and you shall find your place," a young man in cream-yellow shirt, perhaps on his way back home, told me when I reached the building.
And I kept walking again.
From a distance, it seemed like one big forest down the sandy road.
The arrow showed me to the "dead end" that looked like a window into a big forest. No. It was a park. Capen Park. That's what I was looking for. Capen Park.
A 40ish man in his blue denims and with a pony hair-do smiled at me as I greeted him.
"Participant?" I asked him.
"Yes," he said. Finally we were two on the same pursuit.
"I hope," he said, "this one's the place we are looking for. If ain't one, it's a nice walk anyways!"
"Yeah, it's a pleasant walk," I conferred.
Finally, a few more souls seated on the chairs and brick benches in the middle of nowhere surrounded by thick bushes and trees gave us a heartening feeling.
This was the Capen Park Mulch Site we were seeking to reach. We had arrived!
A bespectacled man in his early sixties with blue denim jacket greeted us with a warm welcome. "I am Steve," he said shaking hands, and giving us a few handbills that he had kept ready for the people who were to join him that evening.
Steve Callis, I learnt, had retired as a computer programmer only a few days ago and had joined the Columbia Public Works Department as a volunteer.
The following 45 minutes I spent listening to Steve, who did not seem to be a master of his job. A few smiles here and there later, he took us around a few demo-sites.
That's that. The event was over. Thank you very much.
People went back to their vehicles, zoomed past and disappeared from my vision.
Back to myself at that lonely spot, I gave one hard look at the road that curled up the hill before joining the Stadium Avenue and then the College Avenue before winding up back to my hotel: The Regency!
I spit my fatigue and harked on the journey back. The Sun had almost set.
Curiosity and inquisitiveness could take you places for weird things at times and futile at other, if you are a journalist in that frame.
But Tuesday evening trek did give me a small, well interesting, story if you will!
It was actually a workshop organised by the Columbia Public Works Department to teach people on how to make compost from their yard and kitchen waste.
Most participants - old and young alike - had the issue of household waste and they were curious how you actually make it work for you, or your garden if you want. They were excited to know that it doesn't tax the purse a buck.
The catch: It saves the department costs of collecting and transporting the wastes to make compost. A Senate Bill excludes yard wastes from landfills.
Most participants did find the thing interesting as they bought bins at concessional price from a department volunteer.
Steve told them of what to fill and what not to, so that the magic works.
Most of them had heard of compost, but had never done it themselves. Steve's job as a volunteer was to teach them ways to do compost.
He said he did mushroom farming for five years in between and conducted workshops on more than a few occasions how to compost.
"It's good for soul," a soft-spoken Steve said of his new job! "I've been doing it for some years now." Well micro-organisms had been doing it for ages!
Steve was more than happy to learn that an international journalist from India had walked all his way down to Capen Park Mulch Site from downtown Columbia to see him demonstrate easy ways to compost and his fellow Americans learn the tricks.
"It's good to compost than bag it," one of the participants said with a grin. It's green too! That's another fad here. Go green! At least on the earth day!
Steve told them about the easy ways to compost! Gosh! Three steps to get it done! That was nasty!
Man, we have been doing that for ages, at least in rural India. You don't have to do anything. Worms do.
Compost happens! Pile it up! Let it rot!
I kept walking on the four-lane College Avenue that connects the Stadium Avenue and then winds down the hill to stretch beyond.
From my hotel, it would take 20 minutes to reach the location that I wanted to be at, John Schneller, my course coordinator at the MU school of journalism told me.
The event was at 6:30 pm. So I should have started by 6 at the most. I decided to start at 5, just to be on the safer side.
My decision to start early turned out to be good as I walked past some of the exotic bungalows on the College Avenue. But the park did not seem in sight. Capen Park. No one knew about it on a seemingly endless walk down the avenue.
The road kept stretching as cold winds flowed.
Then I saw the road wind down a steep hill that hit a big structure at the corner. Finally, I thought, I'm here.
"Keep walking and you shall find your place," a young man in cream-yellow shirt, perhaps on his way back home, told me when I reached the building.
And I kept walking again.
From a distance, it seemed like one big forest down the sandy road.
The arrow showed me to the "dead end" that looked like a window into a big forest. No. It was a park. Capen Park. That's what I was looking for. Capen Park.
A 40ish man in his blue denims and with a pony hair-do smiled at me as I greeted him.
"Participant?" I asked him.
"Yes," he said. Finally we were two on the same pursuit.
"I hope," he said, "this one's the place we are looking for. If ain't one, it's a nice walk anyways!"
"Yeah, it's a pleasant walk," I conferred.
Finally, a few more souls seated on the chairs and brick benches in the middle of nowhere surrounded by thick bushes and trees gave us a heartening feeling.
This was the Capen Park Mulch Site we were seeking to reach. We had arrived!
A bespectacled man in his early sixties with blue denim jacket greeted us with a warm welcome. "I am Steve," he said shaking hands, and giving us a few handbills that he had kept ready for the people who were to join him that evening.
Steve Callis, I learnt, had retired as a computer programmer only a few days ago and had joined the Columbia Public Works Department as a volunteer.
The following 45 minutes I spent listening to Steve, who did not seem to be a master of his job. A few smiles here and there later, he took us around a few demo-sites.
That's that. The event was over. Thank you very much.
People went back to their vehicles, zoomed past and disappeared from my vision.
Back to myself at that lonely spot, I gave one hard look at the road that curled up the hill before joining the Stadium Avenue and then the College Avenue before winding up back to my hotel: The Regency!
I spit my fatigue and harked on the journey back. The Sun had almost set.
Curiosity and inquisitiveness could take you places for weird things at times and futile at other, if you are a journalist in that frame.
But Tuesday evening trek did give me a small, well interesting, story if you will!
It was actually a workshop organised by the Columbia Public Works Department to teach people on how to make compost from their yard and kitchen waste.
Most participants - old and young alike - had the issue of household waste and they were curious how you actually make it work for you, or your garden if you want. They were excited to know that it doesn't tax the purse a buck.
The catch: It saves the department costs of collecting and transporting the wastes to make compost. A Senate Bill excludes yard wastes from landfills.
Most participants did find the thing interesting as they bought bins at concessional price from a department volunteer.
Steve told them of what to fill and what not to, so that the magic works.
Most of them had heard of compost, but had never done it themselves. Steve's job as a volunteer was to teach them ways to do compost.
He said he did mushroom farming for five years in between and conducted workshops on more than a few occasions how to compost.
"It's good for soul," a soft-spoken Steve said of his new job! "I've been doing it for some years now." Well micro-organisms had been doing it for ages!
Steve was more than happy to learn that an international journalist from India had walked all his way down to Capen Park Mulch Site from downtown Columbia to see him demonstrate easy ways to compost and his fellow Americans learn the tricks.
"It's good to compost than bag it," one of the participants said with a grin. It's green too! That's another fad here. Go green! At least on the earth day!
Steve told them about the easy ways to compost! Gosh! Three steps to get it done! That was nasty!
Man, we have been doing that for ages, at least in rural India. You don't have to do anything. Worms do.
Compost happens! Pile it up! Let it rot!
Sunday, April 19, 2009
JOURNALISM, THE LANGUAGE OF SPECIFICITY
Columbia (Missouri)
"How do you know about it?" and "what do you mean by that?"
These are first questions any journalist needs to ask to his source. We've been discussing that here in the school of journalism, University of Missouri, Columbia, the whole of past week. Journalism, as our course coordinator John Schneller keeps reiterating, is the language of specificity. Accuracy is paramount.
Classroom theories could be idealistic at times especially in the context of journalism that we practise today out in the field; but they are basics. And it was indeed rereshing to go back to the basics in the first week of the Orientation Seminar at the school before and do some fact-checking. There were a couple of talks by guest speakers - Charles Davis of the National Freedom of Information Coalition, who's at the forefront of Freedom of Information Movement here in the US, and Pulitzer award-winning journalist Jacqui Banaszynski, who holds the Knight Chair in Journalism. We also had Associate Professor Michael Grinfield talking to us about coflict and war reporting, trying to decode the ethical dimensions attached to it.
The coming week we'll spend at the Missourian, Columbia's only community newspaper that is professionally run by the School of Journalism and where the students work through the semesters as journalists training in various departments as reporters, desk editors, graphic designers and what all.
It's one of the best newsrooms I've ever seen other than my own at DNA, which still remains, for me, the best. We participated in their business meetings for a couple of days to find the process very exciting.
Students brainstorm their story ideas with the editors, and also reflect upon the published stories and the space they got or deserved. Not many newspapers around the world have this tradition of brainstorming the story ideas or reflect critically upon the already published stories. It came as a good lesson. Indian journalism schools lack in the practical training that is so very critical.
The topics we are exposed to range from media ethics to reporting practises and tools in the US newsrooms. The weekends are off, which means you are free to do anything. I chose to roam around and get the feel of this beautiful university town.
Saturday morning, I spent some time at the farmers' market, which are making a come back all over the US, as the consumers get more and more inclined to locally grown fresh food. It was heartening to see farmers are the same here as they are in India; willing to share and give. More of that, I'll share some other time.
Afternoon, we went to see an American Football match at the university. Like our IPL, this game means big money here. I couldn't figure out the game. So kept my focus on the lovely cheergirls. That was cool! Guess what: for what seemed like a trivial intra-varsity practise match, the turn out was 20,000, or more may be! The Americans are mad at their football, and they spare no opportunity to back their men. In this case, the University team is known as Tigers. Missourian Tigers. More the madness, better it is for business: sale of souvenirs, apparels etc. I couldn't find any trace of recession or meltdown at the store that sold this stuff. There was one complete page of coverage of this match in the Missourian. Find it weird!
Coming back to journalism: It's interesting that while the newspapers are folding up or firing people mercilessly in the US in the time of recession, Hollywood is celebrating the idealistic journalist. The newly released movie, the State of Play, another Russel Crowe classic, goes on to celebrate the essense of journalism in the time of down turn. It's pulling the crowds, which means the subject is doing the business at the box office. We watched it at a movie theatre on the outskirts of the town and I liked the film. Preaches at times, but okay.
Must watch for journalists, especially the budding ones.
The story line is simple (won't tell it here) but the journalist asks the basic question to his first source when he gets the info: How do you know about it? And he goes on to investigate the next question: What did he mean by that? But the film raises the ethical issues about the conflict of interests and answers the question.
As we learn here: Truth is incredibly elusive. As journalists we could do our best to get as close to it as possible, and explain the abstract through the facts that are the glue that holds the story together. After all journalism is the story telling of meaning. Question is how many of us are doing that today.
"How do you know about it?" and "what do you mean by that?"
These are first questions any journalist needs to ask to his source. We've been discussing that here in the school of journalism, University of Missouri, Columbia, the whole of past week. Journalism, as our course coordinator John Schneller keeps reiterating, is the language of specificity. Accuracy is paramount.
Classroom theories could be idealistic at times especially in the context of journalism that we practise today out in the field; but they are basics. And it was indeed rereshing to go back to the basics in the first week of the Orientation Seminar at the school before and do some fact-checking. There were a couple of talks by guest speakers - Charles Davis of the National Freedom of Information Coalition, who's at the forefront of Freedom of Information Movement here in the US, and Pulitzer award-winning journalist Jacqui Banaszynski, who holds the Knight Chair in Journalism. We also had Associate Professor Michael Grinfield talking to us about coflict and war reporting, trying to decode the ethical dimensions attached to it.
The coming week we'll spend at the Missourian, Columbia's only community newspaper that is professionally run by the School of Journalism and where the students work through the semesters as journalists training in various departments as reporters, desk editors, graphic designers and what all.
It's one of the best newsrooms I've ever seen other than my own at DNA, which still remains, for me, the best. We participated in their business meetings for a couple of days to find the process very exciting.
Students brainstorm their story ideas with the editors, and also reflect upon the published stories and the space they got or deserved. Not many newspapers around the world have this tradition of brainstorming the story ideas or reflect critically upon the already published stories. It came as a good lesson. Indian journalism schools lack in the practical training that is so very critical.
The topics we are exposed to range from media ethics to reporting practises and tools in the US newsrooms. The weekends are off, which means you are free to do anything. I chose to roam around and get the feel of this beautiful university town.
Saturday morning, I spent some time at the farmers' market, which are making a come back all over the US, as the consumers get more and more inclined to locally grown fresh food. It was heartening to see farmers are the same here as they are in India; willing to share and give. More of that, I'll share some other time.
Afternoon, we went to see an American Football match at the university. Like our IPL, this game means big money here. I couldn't figure out the game. So kept my focus on the lovely cheergirls. That was cool! Guess what: for what seemed like a trivial intra-varsity practise match, the turn out was 20,000, or more may be! The Americans are mad at their football, and they spare no opportunity to back their men. In this case, the University team is known as Tigers. Missourian Tigers. More the madness, better it is for business: sale of souvenirs, apparels etc. I couldn't find any trace of recession or meltdown at the store that sold this stuff. There was one complete page of coverage of this match in the Missourian. Find it weird!
Coming back to journalism: It's interesting that while the newspapers are folding up or firing people mercilessly in the US in the time of recession, Hollywood is celebrating the idealistic journalist. The newly released movie, the State of Play, another Russel Crowe classic, goes on to celebrate the essense of journalism in the time of down turn. It's pulling the crowds, which means the subject is doing the business at the box office. We watched it at a movie theatre on the outskirts of the town and I liked the film. Preaches at times, but okay.
Must watch for journalists, especially the budding ones.
The story line is simple (won't tell it here) but the journalist asks the basic question to his first source when he gets the info: How do you know about it? And he goes on to investigate the next question: What did he mean by that? But the film raises the ethical issues about the conflict of interests and answers the question.
As we learn here: Truth is incredibly elusive. As journalists we could do our best to get as close to it as possible, and explain the abstract through the facts that are the glue that holds the story together. After all journalism is the story telling of meaning. Question is how many of us are doing that today.
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
BO IN THE WHITE HOUSE
Columbia, Missouri:
The world's Super Power Nation has finally got its new first dog.
Tuesday, the Obamas made public Bo, their six-month Portuguese water dog (a gift from Senator Ted Kennedy and his wife Victoria) to the scampering media persons in the White House.
"He's a star - he's got star quality," USA Today quoted Obama as saying. "He doesn't know how to swim," his daughter Sasha was quoted as saying.
There are a whole bunch of CEOs ready with their advice for the President: The ten things your dog will love; the do's and dont's of having a pet; how to keep your pet off the common allergies and sickness; tips for raising a pet, if you will!
For all the cute reasons, Bo's the front page stuff! The Portuguese can smile! Of all the breeds, he's the chosen one!
The overzealous curiousity is only natural, since, apparently, the White House sans a pet was a national concern that has been settled.
"Bo may have even outdrawn the queen -- Queen Elizabeth II, that is, who got a big media welcome on the White House lawn when she visited President Bush in 2007," USA Today said. Mr Bush is retired to his ranch in Texas, to the relief of the world. I understand he might as well have a pet there to play with.
Meanwhile, CNN interviewed "dog whisperer" Cesar Millan live on how best to handle a Portuguese water dog like Bo.
The President has already imposed some limits on where he'll sleep. "Not in my bed," he was quoted by the national dailies as saying. More of him (it) is awaited.
Sounds weird for a nation that has its hands full of, and with, just about everything: Iraq; Afghanistan; global recession and unprecedented job cuts, among many other things. Bo's going to have a tough time in the White House, it seems.
There's much to it though than what appears from a 30,000 feet view.
Americans love their pets beyond madness. It's crazy, but that's the way it is. There can be issues about humans, but Americans don't like to mess around with pets.
Pets are an integral part of their lifestyle. A family could spend heaven pampering its pet (family budget factors in this expense very much) and tending to it.
So it was an issue that the Obamas did not have one until recently. Bo's here now and the first family may smile.
There are stringent regulations for the pet owners and stern punishments for those who meet out cruelty to them. No two questions about that.
For the Asians, and particularly the Indians, if that's lifestyle, it's your take! The new government in New Delhi might as well convene an emergency cabinet meeting as soon as it's installed in May and ponder why there wasn't any Indian breed on Obama's list of choices! Afterall, we've not had a change in our foreign policy for nothing. Hawks and lobbysts, you got to do a better job.
Jokes apart, common and hard-working Americans find in their pets relaxation. There is some one to connect to on a different plane. In the life filled with taxes, pets bring some solace; peace, and happiness. Pets become family members.
Conversations may begin with cats and end up on dogs. There are a whole bunch of organisations, which, as their campaigns suggest, "put pets with people."
Pet clinics; pet food; pet clothes; pet shows - it's a big market too!
Contrast that with what one of my fellow-journalists from Vietnam, an Alfred Friendly fellow and also a pet-lover who has a cat back her home, had to say. In the run up to our programme, she was worried about her cat and where to keep it for six months while she's in the US. "So, how's your cat," I enquired. "Tasty," she joked.
The world's Super Power Nation has finally got its new first dog.
Tuesday, the Obamas made public Bo, their six-month Portuguese water dog (a gift from Senator Ted Kennedy and his wife Victoria) to the scampering media persons in the White House.
"He's a star - he's got star quality," USA Today quoted Obama as saying. "He doesn't know how to swim," his daughter Sasha was quoted as saying.
There are a whole bunch of CEOs ready with their advice for the President: The ten things your dog will love; the do's and dont's of having a pet; how to keep your pet off the common allergies and sickness; tips for raising a pet, if you will!
For all the cute reasons, Bo's the front page stuff! The Portuguese can smile! Of all the breeds, he's the chosen one!
The overzealous curiousity is only natural, since, apparently, the White House sans a pet was a national concern that has been settled.
"Bo may have even outdrawn the queen -- Queen Elizabeth II, that is, who got a big media welcome on the White House lawn when she visited President Bush in 2007," USA Today said. Mr Bush is retired to his ranch in Texas, to the relief of the world. I understand he might as well have a pet there to play with.
Meanwhile, CNN interviewed "dog whisperer" Cesar Millan live on how best to handle a Portuguese water dog like Bo.
The President has already imposed some limits on where he'll sleep. "Not in my bed," he was quoted by the national dailies as saying. More of him (it) is awaited.
Sounds weird for a nation that has its hands full of, and with, just about everything: Iraq; Afghanistan; global recession and unprecedented job cuts, among many other things. Bo's going to have a tough time in the White House, it seems.
There's much to it though than what appears from a 30,000 feet view.
Americans love their pets beyond madness. It's crazy, but that's the way it is. There can be issues about humans, but Americans don't like to mess around with pets.
Pets are an integral part of their lifestyle. A family could spend heaven pampering its pet (family budget factors in this expense very much) and tending to it.
So it was an issue that the Obamas did not have one until recently. Bo's here now and the first family may smile.
There are stringent regulations for the pet owners and stern punishments for those who meet out cruelty to them. No two questions about that.
For the Asians, and particularly the Indians, if that's lifestyle, it's your take! The new government in New Delhi might as well convene an emergency cabinet meeting as soon as it's installed in May and ponder why there wasn't any Indian breed on Obama's list of choices! Afterall, we've not had a change in our foreign policy for nothing. Hawks and lobbysts, you got to do a better job.
Jokes apart, common and hard-working Americans find in their pets relaxation. There is some one to connect to on a different plane. In the life filled with taxes, pets bring some solace; peace, and happiness. Pets become family members.
Conversations may begin with cats and end up on dogs. There are a whole bunch of organisations, which, as their campaigns suggest, "put pets with people."
Pet clinics; pet food; pet clothes; pet shows - it's a big market too!
Contrast that with what one of my fellow-journalists from Vietnam, an Alfred Friendly fellow and also a pet-lover who has a cat back her home, had to say. In the run up to our programme, she was worried about her cat and where to keep it for six months while she's in the US. "So, how's your cat," I enquired. "Tasty," she joked.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
CAMPUS TOUR
Columbia, Missouri:
When it comes to selling their brand, Americans are no match! Just kidding.
But seriously, I've never seen or heard of this - a campus tour! The universities do have the tours of their campuses here for the prospective students and educators. And the one that we went through in the University of Missouri, Columbia, was a brisk but refreshing odessey into the memory lanes of the abode of education.
But first, the update (since I'd been kinda cut off from the net for two days): Sunday we arrived in the University of Missouri, Columbia, after a freezing two-hour drive from the Kansas city Missouri, only to find ourselves in the lap of one of the most beautiful towns I've ever seen so far. This is where we are taking our classes at a two-week orientation seminar. The School of Journalism, our host, is the oldest journalism institutions in the world, instituted by Walter Williams in 1908.
The temperature: 4-5-6 degrees celsius. By the way, it's the beginning of the spring! And if that's not enough, the days were misty for the first couple of days. We could see the Sun smiling on us for the first time late Tuesday afternoon. That, however, is not to say there's any respite from the cold. No way.
Coming back to the walking tour of the campus: It's a professional service that some of the under-graduate and graduate students offer to the prospective high school students considering to take a course in this university, or visitors like us.
The University has about 60 students on the tour-guides team, a petite-looking but enterprising Ashley McDonald, one of our guides, said. She along with the other guide Anthony Jackson took us around the campus to introduce us to the exquisitely built structures and the history of each of the departments.
Interestingly enough, the bust of Governor David R Francis, installed outside the administrative building of the University, has a story attached to it. Students believe that rubbing the nose of the bust yields 'A' grades, and so it's almost a ritual for the students to rub its nose before the examinations.
"That," chuckled our guide Anthony, "is the reason for its nose to turn yellow." The opinion is divided though. While Ashley has got the A-grades always, Anthony hasn't.
The job, for which the university pays them, requires of these student tour-guides to research diligently and use enterprising ways to introduce their campus to the visitors. "Each one of us has his or her way of conducting tours," Ashley said.
Ashley and Anthony walked backwards (facing us while walking backwards, I mean) all the way through the sprawling campus of the university. "That's what we prefer; it's our way to conduct a tour," the two said as they narrated the story, or stories, around the several buildings on the campus of the university.
Ashley said: "I'm proud to be a Mizzou (student of the University of Missourian) and its heritage." Well, as we realise, we too have become a part of it in a small way.
When it comes to selling their brand, Americans are no match! Just kidding.
But seriously, I've never seen or heard of this - a campus tour! The universities do have the tours of their campuses here for the prospective students and educators. And the one that we went through in the University of Missouri, Columbia, was a brisk but refreshing odessey into the memory lanes of the abode of education.
But first, the update (since I'd been kinda cut off from the net for two days): Sunday we arrived in the University of Missouri, Columbia, after a freezing two-hour drive from the Kansas city Missouri, only to find ourselves in the lap of one of the most beautiful towns I've ever seen so far. This is where we are taking our classes at a two-week orientation seminar. The School of Journalism, our host, is the oldest journalism institutions in the world, instituted by Walter Williams in 1908.
The temperature: 4-5-6 degrees celsius. By the way, it's the beginning of the spring! And if that's not enough, the days were misty for the first couple of days. We could see the Sun smiling on us for the first time late Tuesday afternoon. That, however, is not to say there's any respite from the cold. No way.
Coming back to the walking tour of the campus: It's a professional service that some of the under-graduate and graduate students offer to the prospective high school students considering to take a course in this university, or visitors like us.
The University has about 60 students on the tour-guides team, a petite-looking but enterprising Ashley McDonald, one of our guides, said. She along with the other guide Anthony Jackson took us around the campus to introduce us to the exquisitely built structures and the history of each of the departments.
Interestingly enough, the bust of Governor David R Francis, installed outside the administrative building of the University, has a story attached to it. Students believe that rubbing the nose of the bust yields 'A' grades, and so it's almost a ritual for the students to rub its nose before the examinations.
"That," chuckled our guide Anthony, "is the reason for its nose to turn yellow." The opinion is divided though. While Ashley has got the A-grades always, Anthony hasn't.
The job, for which the university pays them, requires of these student tour-guides to research diligently and use enterprising ways to introduce their campus to the visitors. "Each one of us has his or her way of conducting tours," Ashley said.
Ashley and Anthony walked backwards (facing us while walking backwards, I mean) all the way through the sprawling campus of the university. "That's what we prefer; it's our way to conduct a tour," the two said as they narrated the story, or stories, around the several buildings on the campus of the university.
Ashley said: "I'm proud to be a Mizzou (student of the University of Missourian) and its heritage." Well, as we realise, we too have become a part of it in a small way.
Sunday, April 12, 2009
THE JOURNEY HAS BEGUN...
Kansas City, Missouri:
It's a beautiful time of the year here in Kansas city, Missouri - the spring. And Easter vigils have begun every where. The weather's chilly, at least for me. When I left Nagpur, the mercury had crossed 40 (and that's O celsius). When I landed here in Kansas, the town modelled after Spanish town of Sevile by an architect about a hundred years ago, it was 40 O Farenheit. Freezing cold for us the Vidarbhites, but enjoyable.
The Tulips (which are new to me) are popping up every where, the illuminated streets are a sight of envy and there are fountains all over the bustling area of plaza. When the Europeans began their journey westwards and into the hinterland, Kansas was the gateway. The fountains that we see today dotting the city line were actually the water-holes created by the explorers for their horses. The transformation of those water holes into fountains is today Kansas city's landmark, and trademark too.
Read more on wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kansas_City_Missouri
Meanwhile our programme began Saturday, April 11, with formal introduction of fellows followed by a warm welcome party at the house of one of the AFPF's board members, Mr Patrick Stueve, a leading attorney here in Kansas. We had a peep inside a beautiful American house - a century old structure in the historic society. Each of us was overwhelmed by the welcome extended to us by this close-knit family.
But I could never fathom that introductions could ever get interesting as they did with us Saturday. Especially when you have interesting names around you, and each one has different perceptions and preconceived notions about countries.
Coming back to names though: There are funny ways people draw their names from, or are named in, across the planet. Chinese way of naming a child could differ radically from that of the Vietnamese, or Ugandan, or Indian. Rodrigo, in Brazilian, is actually pronounced as Hodarigu, my co-fellow corrected us smilingly. I guess, he'll have to keep repeating that till the time he's in America. For these guys here have their own ways of pronunciations. Brazilian guy has a task cut out.
I think amongst us, the easiest name to pronounce is that of Marc (won't go into his complete name, for it's as long as a train). Not even my name, Jaideep, I found, was an easy pronunciation for most of the fellows and fellow Americans. "Nam mein kya rakha hai!" one would say. But from whom and what would you inherit depends much on your name, whether it's in India or in China or in Uganda.
The lighter aspects end here. Serious issues beckon me ahead as we move on to the University of Missouri, Columbia - a two-hour drive from Kansas City Missouri, where we'll spend two weeks going back to basics of journalism, understanding the American newsroom and spending some time together understanding each other, in what would be our preparation to take on a five-month practical assigment with the newspapers here (I am going to Sun Sentinel newspaper at Fort Lauderdale, South Florida.
But my discussion with Pat over lunch yesterday gave me the first insights into the nation in transition; economic and to be followed by social.
Farmers and farming, my first and foremost focus, have suffered equally here as in India, with just a handful of few companies ruling the roost. But there are ominous signs of traditional farmers' markets springing up in the US, something that will be worth studying. Pat said young consumers here are becoming more aware of organically grown food and food products from the neighbouring small farm in the counties.
The consumers here are slowly realising that the fresh pasturised milk that you get in the nice packaged plastic glass, may after all not be that fresh. May be, there's a chance for small neighbourhood markets to make a come back in the US.
If we care to learn, there's a lesson for us. After all, the corporate giants have landed with farm fresh there as well, in big numbers, luring both, the producers and end buyers. As is the experience here what you are buying as fresh there may be a prelude to what's happened here through the years: private profits, public peril.
It's a beautiful time of the year here in Kansas city, Missouri - the spring. And Easter vigils have begun every where. The weather's chilly, at least for me. When I left Nagpur, the mercury had crossed 40 (and that's O celsius). When I landed here in Kansas, the town modelled after Spanish town of Sevile by an architect about a hundred years ago, it was 40 O Farenheit. Freezing cold for us the Vidarbhites, but enjoyable.
The Tulips (which are new to me) are popping up every where, the illuminated streets are a sight of envy and there are fountains all over the bustling area of plaza. When the Europeans began their journey westwards and into the hinterland, Kansas was the gateway. The fountains that we see today dotting the city line were actually the water-holes created by the explorers for their horses. The transformation of those water holes into fountains is today Kansas city's landmark, and trademark too.
Read more on wikipedia: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kansas_City_Missouri
Meanwhile our programme began Saturday, April 11, with formal introduction of fellows followed by a warm welcome party at the house of one of the AFPF's board members, Mr Patrick Stueve, a leading attorney here in Kansas. We had a peep inside a beautiful American house - a century old structure in the historic society. Each of us was overwhelmed by the welcome extended to us by this close-knit family.
But I could never fathom that introductions could ever get interesting as they did with us Saturday. Especially when you have interesting names around you, and each one has different perceptions and preconceived notions about countries.
Coming back to names though: There are funny ways people draw their names from, or are named in, across the planet. Chinese way of naming a child could differ radically from that of the Vietnamese, or Ugandan, or Indian. Rodrigo, in Brazilian, is actually pronounced as Hodarigu, my co-fellow corrected us smilingly. I guess, he'll have to keep repeating that till the time he's in America. For these guys here have their own ways of pronunciations. Brazilian guy has a task cut out.
I think amongst us, the easiest name to pronounce is that of Marc (won't go into his complete name, for it's as long as a train). Not even my name, Jaideep, I found, was an easy pronunciation for most of the fellows and fellow Americans. "Nam mein kya rakha hai!" one would say. But from whom and what would you inherit depends much on your name, whether it's in India or in China or in Uganda.
The lighter aspects end here. Serious issues beckon me ahead as we move on to the University of Missouri, Columbia - a two-hour drive from Kansas City Missouri, where we'll spend two weeks going back to basics of journalism, understanding the American newsroom and spending some time together understanding each other, in what would be our preparation to take on a five-month practical assigment with the newspapers here (I am going to Sun Sentinel newspaper at Fort Lauderdale, South Florida.
But my discussion with Pat over lunch yesterday gave me the first insights into the nation in transition; economic and to be followed by social.
Farmers and farming, my first and foremost focus, have suffered equally here as in India, with just a handful of few companies ruling the roost. But there are ominous signs of traditional farmers' markets springing up in the US, something that will be worth studying. Pat said young consumers here are becoming more aware of organically grown food and food products from the neighbouring small farm in the counties.
The consumers here are slowly realising that the fresh pasturised milk that you get in the nice packaged plastic glass, may after all not be that fresh. May be, there's a chance for small neighbourhood markets to make a come back in the US.
If we care to learn, there's a lesson for us. After all, the corporate giants have landed with farm fresh there as well, in big numbers, luring both, the producers and end buyers. As is the experience here what you are buying as fresh there may be a prelude to what's happened here through the years: private profits, public peril.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
WATER, WATER!
Sheraton Suites Country Club Plaza,
Kansas City (MO):
Indians don't know the value of water, a co-traveller told me in the flight to Washington from Doha, where I bought two bottles of water worth six dollars (make no rupee conversion, or the feeling of remorse will only get worse), and sat in a corner comforting myself with every sip of it. Sadly though, I threw the bottles that I should have treasured for the days to come. I saw, many others did retain the empty bottles in their baggage. My mom had said, carry one, and I'd rejected her idea as a trash. Now I know! I'm discovering what the fellow traveller meant when he said we don't value our water; but take that, with a pinch of salt and pepper (or paper, if you are in a plush American toilet). You'll crave! Oh mom! Water my water!
It's just been a day that I arrived in Kansas City, Missouri, for our orientation seminar ahead of the five-month assignment with the US newspapers, and I'm already a trifle nostalgic about leaving behind my Orange city, the cotton county that I love and behold, my parents who have all their life let me be my own, and my lovely wife, who doesn't always complain about my travelling legs. I'm losing the great IPL, no not the pervert lavish cricket circus, but the crucial 2009 Indian Parliamentary League, the Indian general elections, but I'm certainly about to learn many a new thing here on the fellowship programme. Among all, the world, as it stands today.
We are nine fellows, selected from all parts of the world - Brazil, Egypt, Pakistan, South Korea, Malaysia, China, Pakistan, Uganda and India (myself).
Figure it out, almost every country we represent at the 2009 Alfred Friendly Press Fellowship is in transition (some are through bloody transitions), and we are in a land that has just begun to feel the heat of the Meltdown.
As my new friend, Randy Smith, one of the most senior journalists at the Kansas City Star, told me over lunch Friday afternoon, it's only getting worse.
It's some experience to be here in the mad, mad times! For, it has terrible bearing on us back in India. The layoff saga is unfolding there as well, pretext or no pretext. Friends are losing jobs in the newsrooms there as well.
Farmers have been dying in their thousands. Now, the migrants are losing livelihoods. And there are linkages with what's happening here in the US of A.
On the more materialistic vein, well... I've never pampered myself to such a luxury before. The plush hotel rooms, the cushy seats of cars that I'd never heard of; the continental menu that I am only learning to hear, eat and digest; and the eye-catching beauty of Kansas city and her neighbourhoods.
It's already making me nervous: What if it becomes a habit? May be, it's just a thought, and it'll pass by once I get to the newsroom of Sun Sentinel, South Florida when I move to Fort Lauder dale on the east shores next month after out three-week orientation seminar here in Missouri, the central state of America.
Drop the mind here before you go, my father had advised me before I started for the US of A. Made sense. For, I'm here to make new friends, understand a new way of life, meet new people, taste new things and study newer systems, good or bad. And more importantly study how the US farm and trade policy impacts our farmers home.
Yet I must say, India is India. We may not value our water, as my fellow traveller so believed, but we do care for the thirsty.
And we don't use our paper like this (you know what I mean)!
Ah! Where's my water!
Kansas City (MO):
Indians don't know the value of water, a co-traveller told me in the flight to Washington from Doha, where I bought two bottles of water worth six dollars (make no rupee conversion, or the feeling of remorse will only get worse), and sat in a corner comforting myself with every sip of it. Sadly though, I threw the bottles that I should have treasured for the days to come. I saw, many others did retain the empty bottles in their baggage. My mom had said, carry one, and I'd rejected her idea as a trash. Now I know! I'm discovering what the fellow traveller meant when he said we don't value our water; but take that, with a pinch of salt and pepper (or paper, if you are in a plush American toilet). You'll crave! Oh mom! Water my water!
It's just been a day that I arrived in Kansas City, Missouri, for our orientation seminar ahead of the five-month assignment with the US newspapers, and I'm already a trifle nostalgic about leaving behind my Orange city, the cotton county that I love and behold, my parents who have all their life let me be my own, and my lovely wife, who doesn't always complain about my travelling legs. I'm losing the great IPL, no not the pervert lavish cricket circus, but the crucial 2009 Indian Parliamentary League, the Indian general elections, but I'm certainly about to learn many a new thing here on the fellowship programme. Among all, the world, as it stands today.
We are nine fellows, selected from all parts of the world - Brazil, Egypt, Pakistan, South Korea, Malaysia, China, Pakistan, Uganda and India (myself).
Figure it out, almost every country we represent at the 2009 Alfred Friendly Press Fellowship is in transition (some are through bloody transitions), and we are in a land that has just begun to feel the heat of the Meltdown.
As my new friend, Randy Smith, one of the most senior journalists at the Kansas City Star, told me over lunch Friday afternoon, it's only getting worse.
It's some experience to be here in the mad, mad times! For, it has terrible bearing on us back in India. The layoff saga is unfolding there as well, pretext or no pretext. Friends are losing jobs in the newsrooms there as well.
Farmers have been dying in their thousands. Now, the migrants are losing livelihoods. And there are linkages with what's happening here in the US of A.
On the more materialistic vein, well... I've never pampered myself to such a luxury before. The plush hotel rooms, the cushy seats of cars that I'd never heard of; the continental menu that I am only learning to hear, eat and digest; and the eye-catching beauty of Kansas city and her neighbourhoods.
It's already making me nervous: What if it becomes a habit? May be, it's just a thought, and it'll pass by once I get to the newsroom of Sun Sentinel, South Florida when I move to Fort Lauder dale on the east shores next month after out three-week orientation seminar here in Missouri, the central state of America.
Drop the mind here before you go, my father had advised me before I started for the US of A. Made sense. For, I'm here to make new friends, understand a new way of life, meet new people, taste new things and study newer systems, good or bad. And more importantly study how the US farm and trade policy impacts our farmers home.
Yet I must say, India is India. We may not value our water, as my fellow traveller so believed, but we do care for the thirsty.
And we don't use our paper like this (you know what I mean)!
Ah! Where's my water!
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)