The Hindu and China

Past posts on this topic have dwelt on Sikhi's deep suspicion of N. Ram's communist leanings. But this post is on a different topic. For a while now there have been atleast one and perhaps two Hindu journalists sending regular despatches from China. The more prominent one is Pallavi Aiyar who has written a lot of articles on a whole bunch of stuff from dining (she has disturbing tales of culinary excess and prestige meals that are the current rage among the well-to-do), the railway to Tibet and Beijing hutongs. I was beginning to get a little irritated with all this stuff when it struck me like a sledgehammer -- of course the Hindu and every other newspaper should be doing this ! We have this country sitting in our backyard that is all set to become perhaps the premier power of this century and we don't know anything about it at all (especially in comparison to our knowledge the west). While we have all manner of correspondents in the West breathlessly reporting to us of "Washington" and "Paris"'s doings and opinions, we know remarkably little about the dragon in our backyard. Let the march east begin !

You can go to hinduonnet.com and search for Pallavi Aiyar and get her articles.
Just for a sample here's something from her writing. This is from Tibet:
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"She's from India," people point at me in loud whispers. "My uncle is in India."
"My brother studied in India." "I love Indian music." "My best friend taught
me to cook Indian food." Everywhere I go, ripples of excitement spread. The
longing with which the people I meet imbue the word "India" is unusual to
me. This is what I imagine Americans must feel like in many parts of the
world.
While eating lunch at the home a peasant family in Hamugu village, just
outside the main town, I am introduced to a boy of six; a novice monk at
the Songzalin Monastery. He wants desperately to travel to India. "Can
you help me get a passport?" he asks. When I gently explain my inability,
he looks disappointed for a second but brightens up a moment later and
suggests we watch an "Indian movie". I concur, expecting Bollywood
masala and am surprised instead to see an opening shot featuring six
Tibetan Buddhist monks in full ceremonial attire blowing mightily
into long horns.
Slowly it dawns that this is a burnt DVD copy of a homemade
film in Dharamsala. We all watch the film for a few minutes in
silence. Then the boy's father asks me where I live. "New Delhi,"
I say. "How far away is that from the capital of India?" he queries
back. I explain that Delhi is in fact the capital. There is a stunned
pause. Finally he replies, "You mean Dharamsala is not the capital?"


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