Eating silkworms

I'm actually really surprised I hadn't had silkworms until this week. I'd seen them on skewers in Beijing but never dared to try them. This despite telling people that I eat anything. Well, there are certain things I don't eat, like dog and cat, but in general, I eat most things that are laid in front of me.

So at the guest house when I was given ingki ok, the Karbi name for this delicacy, I happily ate them. (By the way, ok in Karbi means 'meat', and is found in compound nouns denoting more usual meats, e.g. phak ok 'pork' (lit. 'pig meat') and lang ok 'fish' (lit. 'water meat').

But this was just the 'finished' product on the plate. It wasn't until a few days later that I got to see where the ingki came from. The mum of one of our Karbi friends makes traditional Karbi clothes and bags, and buys (from I don't know where) large quantities of the silk cocoons, as seen below. The silk looks a bit rough, but the threads are very strong I'm told.

The worms come in two colours: green and yellow.

I'm a little glad I got to eat some before I'd seen the live ones wriggling around in a basket. I think it's something about the wriggling motion that sets off my feelings of disgust and revulsion.

In any case, the verdict: I was expecting the little worms to be bitter and mushy inside, but they were firmer and tastier than I expected. I told my friends they tasted like chicken (like most strange 'meats'). I'm not sure if I'd ask for them willingly next time though...

On the importance of writing

In light of this week's post about a certain person who shall remain unnamed (lest he receive any more publicity), I thought I'd mention that when I started this blog last year, I made it a point not to turn it into a personal online venting ground. Rather, it was meant be a way of keeping in touch with people back home while I was in Nepal and NE India. It has since become a place where I share interesting things about the places I visit, the languages I come into contact with, and language in general.

In this blog, I try to be as positive as possible, even after spending 3 hours standing on a train or 10 hours on a bus suppressing the urge to throw up because of food poisoning. My little outburst this week was actually many weeks coming, having read some of the idiotic comments this person had been making on Twitter and in articles featured on The Age. The final straw was when he launched a ludicrously personal attack on a colleague who had written a rather lengthy criticism of him. (While I disagreed with some of the original criticisms, the reply was quite disproportionate.) The comment that this person posted on this blog was also equally idiotic, and never even addressed the discrepancy I had tried to point out.

In fact, his style of argument reminded me of a religious fanatic who, in the absence of any good evidence, has to resort to making assumptions about the personal character of the people they're arguing with to make a point. I suppose I got off easy - if I had been any more vehement in my criticism, no doubt he would have called me a 'chronic under-achiever' (as he did my colleague) or something to that effect.

Now the thing is, why did I even bother addressing this person, when most people would probably just sit back and wait for him to disappear into obscurity. My friend who's working out here in Assam even asked me how and why I was able to devote so much time and energy to maintaining a blog. I said there was a point to all of this, beyond the simple narcissistic pleasure of broadcasting one's thoughts.

Recently, my friend Lauren (who has a personal blog lozguistics and also maintains the linguistics-related blog Superlinguo) attended a writing workshop at the University of Melbourne. The main point of the workshop seemed to be to encourage academics to write for a more general audience. There are a number of reasons to do, including the potential for a career change. I suppose one reason I see the need for this is that, at least in Australia, research at universities is largely funded by the government and taxpayers want to see what their money is getting them. Of course this doesn't mean that all research should, or needs to, have immediate recognisable and tangible benefits - knowledge itself is a worthy pursuit. However, as purse strings tighten in a world dominated by a GFC, it is becoming increasingly important for researchers to be able to 'justify' the value of their research in order to remain being funded, whether it's by producing results or by simply creating interest in the general public.

I certainly don't think my little blog comes anywhere to doing this but it's my small way of sharing the knowledge I have with others. Keeping a blog is also good writing practice for me, since I'm also not a great writer and often struggle to write in a concise and engaging manner.

Finally, returning to he-who-shall-not-be-named, I think part of my frustration with him has also been that there are people in my department who are so much more qualified to comment on the things that he has been talking about. The lesson here is not to wait for people like him to come and 'steal' the limelight with their misinformation (based largely on personal views), but to find ways to engage the public with the knowledge that we do have.
(Incidentally, I was told that if you google 'his' name, my post appears on the first page of results!)

Unhappy with the State Bank of India?

On a completely different topic from my last post, I saw this on the screen at the SBI (State Bank of India ) ATM here in Diphu.

I wonder if there's a person (or people) sitting in front of a computer screen monitoring the number of 'Unhappy' text messages being received every day. Goodness knows what they actually do with such 'information'.

(I'm going to need to find someone willing to text them - I'm hesitant to text them myself for fear of being spammed afterwards.)

A short note on Dean Frenkel and whistling

I wasn't planning on writing anything about Dean Frenkel, whom the Age has described as an "expert speech analyst and vocal instructor" and who has released recently released a book titled Evolution of speech. I'm in a fairly remote place in India, without constant electricity and I've been down with a cold. I don't want to waste my time on the internet on this guy.

But I am angry. I just read Mr Frenkel's reply to a post by Aidan Wilson on Crikey's language blog Fully (sic) that criticises his recent claims and book.

I don't care what Mr Frenkel's qualifications are or what his educational background is. I *really* don't care that he's not a linguist or speech pathologist (I am aware of the hubris of many a linguist). But he writes about topics and make bold claims that even linguists would not have any confidence talking about, and worse, makes claims that can be easily disproved.

For instance, he writes:
It is perfectly reasonable to suggest that whistling as a child helps to train the articulation of ‘W’s for later in life. How does [Wilson] think the fine muscles of the lips are trained?

How is it 'perfectly reasonable' to suggest this?

The 'w' sound in English involves a few things: (1) pulmonic egressive air stream (air coming from the lungs); (2) a vibrating glottis; (3) the back of the tongue moving towards the velum; and (4) rounding of the lips.

Now I've never had problems producing a 'w' sound, which requires the movement of the lips. Incidentally, I've never had trouble producing a 'b' sound, or 'p' sound, which also require the movement of the lips.

But for the life of me, I cannot whistle.

Indian customs

If you thought this post was something about 'traditional Indian customs and practices', stop reading here. It's about my latest experience going through Indian customs at Delhi Airport.

Before I left Singapore, Mum had suggested I take with me some bakkwa, sweetened dried meat (usually pork) from the famous Bee Cheng Hiang franchise in Singapore. They're nicely packaged and would make nice gifts, given that most people I'm staying with are also huge pork eaters.

I didn't think India had any issues with meat imports. Then I saw the customs form. Through the sleepy haze of catching a 2am flight out of Changi Airport, I read at the bottom: Are you carrying any meat / meat products / dairy products ...

Years of travelling to Australia made my hand circle 'Yes' right away. I mean, it's all packaged. I'll show it to them, they'll just wave me through. I'm pretty sure they'd even wave this stuff through in Australia as long as you declare it. Nothing to worry about.

So I went to sleep. I was exhausted. When I woke a few hours later, my mind wandered back to the customs form, a nagging thought at the back of my mind. But it's India.

When I finally got through the immigration queue at Delhi Airport, I noticed that nothing special was written on the little customs slip I had. In Australia, the immigration officer generally asks you what you're declaring and makes a note on the form.

I picked up my luggage and started heading to the Green Channel. A rather bored looking man was going up to every second traveller asking them to put their bags through the X-ray machine next to him. Great. Before he could ask me to put my bags through the machine, I asked him instead where to go to declare things.

- What do you have?
- Some meat. Do I have to declare it?
- If you want to.
- So I don't have to declare it?
- It is better if you declare it.

He pointed me in the direction of three even more bored looking officers sitting on couches behind some empty counters with names like 'Currency Declaration' and 'Goods Declaration'. They didn't bother to get up when they saw me approach. I stood behind a counter and yelled at one of them that I had something to declare, feeling quite ridiculous as I waved the bag of bakkwa in the air.

- What do you have?
- Some meat!
- No meat allowed!
- But it's packaged!
- No meat allowed!
- So what am I supposed to do? Throw it away?

He then waved his hand in some general direction. I turned around but couldn't locate a bin that looked like it was designated for throwing away declared items. When I turned back, I saw the guy was still on the couch and had gone back to his conversation with the other two guys.

I walked towards to the Green Channel. The first guy I had spoken to was busy getting people to put their luggage through the X-ray machine. Just keep going. I headed straight for the door. There were two blank-faced guys there collecting customs slips.

I considered for a moment whipping out a pen and changing my answer to 'No'. Looking at the faces of the two men, I decided to take a gamble. The bag of 'illegal' goods still dangling from my arm, I walked towards the one on the left and thrust the customs slip in his hand..

He took the little piece of paper without so much as a glance. I kept walking. Freedom!

As I walked out, I couldn't help but feel a little glad that $80 worth of bakkwa didn't end up in a bin. I also realised that I would have felt a little guilty if I had just said 'No' on the form and walked out the door. I guess I'm so used to being truthful (or at least semi-truthful) whenever I clear customs in Australia. I usually have trouble lying straight to someone's face.

But it's India.

RIP: Bhupen Hazarika

Today, the news programmes in India are all about one person: Bhupen Hazarika ভূপেন হাজৰিকা. Now, I know a number of people who read this blog are from / based in India, and I must ask your forgiveness for not knowing who he was before today, but something tells me that I'm going to be hearing a lot about him in the coming days.

This great Assamese singer passed away in Mumbai this afternoon. He sang in a number of Indian languages and was beloved all over India and in Bangladesh, but he has a special place in people's hearts here in his homeland of Assam. I'm told that he even sang in Karbi when he used to visit Karbi Anglong.

I was told that he received a doctorate in communication from Columbia University. According to Wikipedia, his thesis was titled "Proposals for Preparing India's Basic Education to Use Audio-Visual Techniques in Adult Education". From the stories I've been told, it seems that he was an advocate for tolerance and equality.

One story in particular, was about how in 1983, when there was massive violence in Assam against illegal immigrants (mainly from Bangladesh) [read more here], Bhupen Hazarika walked across the state from West to East, visiting villages and performing to people wherever he went. He sang a song about the Assamese not being a poor people that he'd written 10 years earlier and said that he had nothing new to tell people, because he'd already said what he wanted to say 10 years before.

I'm not sure how accurate the story was, but it's clear that most people here have been touched by him. I'm pretty sure over the next few days there will be a period of state-wide (if not nation-wide) mourning for him.

The Assamese song 'Buku hum hum kore'


The Hindi version 'Dil hum hum kare'

Where are you from?

That last post reminded me of the oddest and most annoying conversation I've ever had about my origins. It was with a German guy who I met while I was living in Lyon, France. The conversation was in English and went something like this :

- Where are you from?
- Singapore, but I live in Australia.
- No, where are you from originally?
- I was born in Singapore.
- Yes, but where are your parents from?
- They were born in Singapore.
- What about your grandparents?
- My grandmothers are from SE Asia, but my grandfathers were from China.
- Oh, so you're from China!

There was sure no fooling this guy...