growing up the son of dogman

My father has a gift when it comes to dogs. Over the course of his childhood in Punjab, he had no fewer than fourteen different dogs. Somehow dogs always seem to sense this, even though he hasn't had a dog since moving to Canada in 1972. I've always been envious of the way dogs are drawn to my father, and have always been amazed at the way they soften to his petting. In recent years, I've taken to referring to him as 'the dogman' when I tell people about his canine talent.

One unfortunate consequence of growing up in full knowledge of my father's former life with the dogs was that my brother, sister and I grew up with the constant (unfulfilled) hope that a new puppy was imminent. My mother has always been opposed to the idea of having a dog. She worried about the smell, the cleaning, and most of all that she'd grow too attached and lose the dog at some point. This typically ended any episode of dog-seeking on our part. Still, I can't count the number of times we convinced ourselves that it would happen. We'd visit the pet store and pick out a particular puppy we really liked. Following this, we'd have our father try to convince our mother while the three of us would have conversations that usually ended in phrases like "yeah, an electric fence is definitely the way to go", or "I'll do the walking, and you can handle the bathing." My parents always led us to the brink of belief; I think they believed it would happen too; but always, near the end, Mom would come in and call the plan off, and we'd all abandon hope. Until the next time. I think my father shared accutely in the sense of disappointment my brother, sister and I shared.

My father's dogman powers sometimes seem supernatural. When we walk down the street, I can almost see the way dogs are physically drawn to him. I have seen him subdue all manner of dogs, from German Sheppards to Labradors to Saint Bernards. All pant excitedly upon seeing him. Particularly telling is how my father interacts with my cousin's dog Buddy. Buddy is a strong, vicious, angry black guard dog in Panchkula. This is an animal that growls, barks and tugs its chain at the sight of most anybody but his owner. His name notwithstanding, Buddy is not a friendly dog. Within five minutes of setting foot in their house, my father was playfighting with Buddy, and a few minutes later, Buddy was anxiously lying on his back while my father pet his stomach. Everybody was amazed. Over the next few weeks, Buddy would bark happily at the sight of my father, and my father was always on hand to entertain.

When I arrived at the house a couple of weeks later, the dog growled at me ominously. Still, a few hours later, he semed quiet. I cautiously approached Buddy, hoping to convert his quietness into perhaps a nice pet on the head. I remember thinking "I'm the son of dogman, I'm meant for this", as I got closer and closer to Buddy. After all, my father had tamed Buddy, and I am very much my father's son. Surely, Buddy's sixth animal sense could tell that I was no ordinary stranger. His silence proved it! Suffice it to say, Buddy's mood abruptly changed and I jumped three feet back to avoid a sharp bite on my leg by only inches. I heard his teeth smack hard. I guess there's only room enough in this family for one dogman.

goodbye solo

*** warning. if you intend to see this movie, and do not want any plot details revealed, please do not read this post. ***
Last night at the Angelika, I saw a beautiful film called Goodbye Solo. The movie follows a short-lived relationship between a taxi driver named Solo, and a man named William who has decided to take his own life (trailer here). For those of you considering the film, I highly recommend it.

When I stepped out of the theatre, I struggled over whether I thought the movie was uplifting or depressing. What I realized (with the help of some friends), is that the story is defined most of all by its realness, and that the quiet sense of the inevitable resolution and the inescapable motion of life make these “uplifting / depressing” dichotomies untenable. Solo was unable to change William’s mind, but should we take that to mean that no meaningful connection was forged between the two? On the contrary, I’m left with reinforcement of the notion that we don’t need to agree to coexist. Accepting other points of view and notions of personal circumstance is paramount. I think Solo ultimately came to the conclusion that conceding defeat in changing William’s mind was a way of respecting his humanity.

Again, I think what is most moving is the realism of the plot and the characters. The filmmaker, Ramin Bahrani, takes pains to steer clear of clichéd sentimentalism and presents layered, believable characters. Solo avoids falling prey to the “jolly African man” stereotype. While his relentless optimism is magnetic and profoundly lightening, there is pathos in seeing that he cannot always smile at the myriad ways that his life has failed him. In this respect, the extent to which Solo and William share similar circumstances but completely different ways of addressing them is illuminated. The dialogue, the problems, the interactions, all of this felt genuine and believable.

The cinematography was stunning as well. A friend compared the film to No Country For Old Men, and while I initially failed to see the connection, the aesthetic similarities have become more apparent to me. The slow, wide shots of landscape ground the film in the physical North Carolina terrain. I have little analysis to offer here, except to note that it was very beautiful to watch.

One aspect of the film that I find striking is the absence of a soundtrack. Here as well, the aesthetic is similar to that of No Country For Old Men, where (wonderfully mastered) sounds take a prominent role in developing atmosphere. The only music we hear in Goodbye Solo comes from the radio in the taxi and from the bar where William and Solo spend time. The decision not to include a score hearkens back to the idea that the movie is dedicated to realism, and that Bahrani clearly has an interest in avoiding formulaic or trite constructions; his is an approach that places a premium on authenticity. Music is used heavily in most films to guide the emotions of the viewer and create tension. Paradoxically, the absence of a score is tremendously effective in building tension in Goodbye Solo. As William and Solo confront mortality, we are left alone with the people, the issues and the sounds in their life: breathing, the engine of the car, a cell phone ringing. Rather than be comfortably guided into knowing how to feel about the scene at hand, we are forced to confront the issues and in their real complication. Aesthetically, perhaps the closest thing to a score is the sound of wind in the beautiful and moving penultimate scene where Solo stands at the cliff. The camera, shaky with the wind, its microphone completely distorted by the strong gusts of wind, perfectly captures the moment.

I think perhaps I would have liked to have learned more about William’s back story. While the interactions between him and Solo are telling and powerful in terms of thematic development, I was left with the feeling that his was potentially an interesting character about which I knew very little. I suppose this was part of the point—as an audience member, I could feel Solo’s frustration at being unable to crack William’s reclusive, resigned outer shell. Still, the fleeting glimpses into his notebook towards the end of the film made me think that we could have known more about him without detracting from the other elements of the film.

At the end of the film, I was inexplicably perplexed, and a little bit lost in my thoughts about what I’d just seen. Still, I was left with a very strong sense of beauty, and the more I’ve thought about it since, the more this has grown.

like two dories

Dory. I've had a hard time getting this song out of my head lately. Grizzly Bear has a very distinctive, unique sound, and this track is no exception. What I like is that the song is musically adventurous and simultaneously an extremely listen. Remember to listen a few times :)

gentrification

A friend pointed me to a nice piece in the Times recently entitled Strangers On His Street by Fort Greene resident Nelson George. This is a short, conversational article discussing his experiences with the gentrification of the neighborhood. There are some evocative bits about parts of Fort Greene serving as an enclave for young, black artists, and the writing is authentic without trite sentimenalism or nostalgia.

I moved to Fort Greene almost a year ago, and have completely fallen in love with the neighborhood. As a recent migrant to the area, I've been thinking about the issue of gentrification, and more specifically, about my role in the process. The term gentrification itself is poorly understood, I think, and I refer to the broader popular understanding of the word rather than a formal definition.

My sentiments are marked by ambivalence. One of the concerns often raised in this discussion is that gentrification can cause a neighborhood to lose its character. I've been resistant to conceptions of culture that view it as artefact; as something static. While there is value in passing tradition, the notion that culture is some historically enshrined collection of songs, dances, etiquette, clothing etc is one that I've bristled again. We define culture, and it constantly evolves as do our individual and societal circumstances. My point is that my views on neighborhood identity are analagous. Why should we expect that a neighborhood will stagnate and fail to change over time? It seems a kind of head-in-the-sand-romanticism to expect that things will always stay as they have been in a neighborhood. From this perspective, it seems natural and uncontroversial that a neighborhood's identity and characteristics will change over time.

On the other hand, George observes with rightful concern that "there seems to be surprisingly little interplay between the new white Fort Greene and the old-school black community." Viewed through this lens, the process begins to look less like evolution and more like plain and simple displacement. For a minority group that has been so extremely and systematically discriminated against, feared and mistreated by the majority, having strong physical communities (neighborhoods) is invaluable. Conversations about gentrification highlight how segregated North America remains, particularly outside of the professional realm (see Eric Holder).

As a new inhabitant to an established neighborhood, then, do I have an obligation to engage with the local community? I've certainly made efforts to be of the neighborhood, rather than simply in the neighborhood. I'm still thinking through the question of obligation, but from a personal perspective, there is no question that I want to be an engaged member of the Fort Greene community. I use local businesses often, have gotten to know some of my neighbors, and have been trying to attend local events. I could do more, without question. Still, I hope that my contribution to the neighborhood is mostly a positive one.

Oh, and I'm always on the lookout for new local friends...

different worlds

I spent the past few days in the bay area, and had a really nice time. In an unusual turn, I showed up in San Francisco without having done any research ahead of the trip; not so much as a quick Google search to identify points of interest. In retrospect, given the atmosphere of the trip and the area, this seems appropriate. At the end of the day, I spent quality time with friends and family, and am fairly refreshed after the fact.

As an (undeveloped) aside, I was struck by how very different the place felt from what I am used to. Sometimes I forget the vast array of experiences that people live through. At times it seemed like the sun was drawn from a different palate of colours than I am used to, and the air felt and smelled differently. Top it off with different architecture, a different terrain, and a distinct aesthetic sensibility among the people, and I really got to thinking that this was a different world than I'd come from.

Of course I realize that from a global perspective, New York and the Bay Area are remarkably similar. This, I think, heightens the reminder that there is a great deal of human experience that is not shared.

a room of one's own

I've had a great deal of trouble finding a roommate over the past few weeks. This morning, as I made myself breakfast in the morning peace, I thought about living alone. The quiet was nice.

Until I spent the first eight months of 2007 living alone in London, and since, I have always lived in groups. At home, I had siblings; at sixteen, I moved to boarding school; and I've always lived with roommates in college and in New York. I really like living with people, and the prospect of living alone has generally not appealed to me.

Still, I was reminded this morning that living alone, too, can be a positive experience. Certainly, I think it can mean more time spent on personal reflection, and I think this leads to meaningful growth. Furthemore, there is a sort of personal resilience that allows one to be free of social dependence on others, and this is forcibly developed when living alone. I've learned in recent years that it is a valuable skill to be alone without being lonely.

Living alone can also make things easier from a practical perspective. There are no arguments about standards of cleanliness, use of common space, or acceptable volumes at which to play music, for example. One can live how one wishes to, absolutely. On the other hand, to fall back on this as an argument strikes me as a little self indulgent. Shouldn't we be comfortable with the idea of compromise, and accustomed to living with rules that we can't set autonomously? When viewed this way, living alone could seem to prevent invaluable development in interpersonal skills.

Of course, much of this is cultural as well. Friends from Toronto are often surprised to hear that I still live 'with roomates', and am not on my own, so many years out of school. In New York, it is assumed that most people will live with roommates, out of necessity. In more traditional south Asian households (as an example), people can easily go their entire lives without living alone. Many people will live with their parents until they are married. Personally, as much as I love to have people around, I am really glad to have lived at least semi-autonomously (read: not with my parents).

My only point is that there is a spectrum of expectations and experiences, and how we judge them comes down in large part to our individual biases and preferences. I think I'd get used to living alone, and may even enjoy it. Still, at this point, I really just enjoy being around people too much to make that leap.