Poornima Manco

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Why HOC collapses under its own weight

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*Spoiler alert!* If you haven’t yet seen the 6th season of House of Cards and intend to, DO NOT PROCEED!!

Machiavelli married to Lady Macbeth is how I always viewed House of Cards. The machinations, the manipulations, the sheer genius and evil of this power couple was enough to keep me hooked, season after season. Yes, some of the plot lines were absurd, some so far fetched that it took a huge suspension of disbelief to swallow them, but despite all that, it was a riveting and fascinating insight into politics and power play in the U.S. Capitol.

Kevin Spacey and Robin Wright were the hugely talented duo on which the series revolved. Him, the dark, scheming, scrabbler from the wrong side of the tracks. Her, the icy cool, rich and privileged blonde with ambition and fire to match his. Both unscrupulous, both with their eyes on the ultimate prize: the presidency. Their internal rivalry, their disposal of their external rivals, their scheming, their successes and failures, their attempts to outdo one another, their unpredictability, their compulsions and their respective and combined journeys to the White House, was a thrilling roller coaster ride that allowed the viewer to be hypnotised and scandalised in equal measure.

Spacey’s untimely departure from the series due to the surfacing of past sexual misdemeanours must have come as a massive blow to Netflix. Although season 6 was always meant to be the last season of the show, how could they possibly fill the very large space vacated by one of the principal characters of the show?

Before I go any further with my analysis of what went wrong with the last season, let me address two things. One: Kevin Spacey got what was coming. In dropping him from the show, Netflix did the right and honourable thing. Second: Robin Wright is an incredible actress in her own right, and there was never any doubt in my mind that she would be able to carry the show on her very slim shoulders, very capably.

So, what did go wrong?

The writing is what went horribly wrong. The ghost of Frank Underwood/Kevin Spacey lingered for far too long. His death under suspicious circumstances seemed to take centre stage, then retreat, then return and basically never allowed the series to progress. One step forward, two steps back, seemed to be the subconscious mantra. Claire Underwood had her own share of challenges, none more so than the team of writers who couldn’t make up their minds on how to portray her. No longer the perfect foil to her patently ambitious husband, what was she now? A pseudo feminist, a power grabber, a war mongerer, an earth mother or a cold blooded killer?

Worse still were the new power couple who were meant to be her adversaries. A brother/sister pair that were suddenly presented to us as the ones who had been pulling the strings behind the scenes all along. Not convincing at all. When that meandering storyline seemed to flounder, Underwood’s old buddy, his Chief of Staff, Doug Stamper, was resurrected. Still suffering from slavish devotion to his deceased employer, was he the man that would ultimately bring Claire down?

The eight episodes of the last season were confusing, convoluted and contrived. None of the characters, Claire Underwood included, seemed to be able to hold the audience’s attention or sympathy. Working with material such as this, Robin Wright showed flashes of brilliance, but ultimately the series sank into a morass of its own making, and there was little she could do to rescue it.

A fresher slant, a newer perspective and a team of writers who could have dispensed with the long shadow cast by Spacey over the last season, might have created a fitting end to a series that gave meaning to the old adage, ‘power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely’. Instead, all it showed was that ultimately, a house of cards has to collapse, and this one does under the weight of its own pretensions.

 

 

 

Damage (India Book 2) is here!

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Are damaged people destined to inflict damage?

16 stories that examine the internal and external landscapes of people damaged by birth, upbringing, nature and circumstances. Set primarily in India, they examine the socio-political climate of the country alongside. Dark and disturbing, this collection endeavours to shed light on the duplicity and evil that exists amongst and sometimes, even within us.

Yes, that’s the blurb for my second book of short stories. Considerably longer than my first, this book is the one that I’ve been beavering away at, and hence been suspiciously quiet on the blogging front. The stories are dark but I’ve been told by my previewers that they are impactful. I hope you think so too…

Go buy it, read it and please, please don’t forget to review it. Any kind of feedback is always welcome, but written reviews help an Indie writer far more than you can imagine. They don’t just propel more custom towards the book, but Amazon’s algorithms pick up on the reviews and positively promote a product that seems to be doing well. So, once again, please do review the book on Amazon and Goodreads. It doesn’t have to be more than a couple of lines of your completely honest viewpoint on what you think of the book and my writing. A very BIG thank you in advance!

Links to purchase the books:

UK

US

IN

Also available on Amazon worldwide.

You can review the book after reading at your respective Amazon site. To put a review on Goodreads, follow the link below:

Goodreads

I really hope you enjoy the book. Don’t forget to drop me a line or follow me on Facebook.

Happy reading! 🙂

 

 

In search of K-pop

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Seoul was never even on the radar. The original plan for our vacation getaway had been Mexico or The Dominican Republic. When reports of the various hurricanes heading that way started to filter in, we dumped that idea. On the lookout for another destination, our girls who are completely obsessed with Korean pop, proposed South Korea.

An 11 hour flight to a country that I had no knowledge of, or any previous desire to visit, made me a bit ‘meh’ about the whole plan. However, as I had insisted on going to Cape Town on our last holiday, I felt it was only fair that I let someone else in the family pick out the destination. My only condition was that the entire holiday wouldn’t be spent tracking these pop stars and their whereabouts. We had to get our bit of culture and tourism in too. The girls readily agreed and off we went.

As in any new country, the first day was spent acclimatising and finding our bearings. We explored the area around the hotel and I was amazed to see the contrast of the plush, high end mall our hotel was a part of, coexisting in complete harmony with the hustle and bustle of the cheap street vendors and the everyday goods consumed by the locals. So much like India, I thought, except that courtesy and politeness seemed ingrained in the people.

This was something we would frequently encounter in the next few days. In Seoul, people do not wait for you to ask for help, they volunteer to help you. We travelled a lot by the local Metro and every time we were lost or confused, a good samaritan would step forward and guide us the right way. On one occasion, a gentleman even gave up his position on the train platform to accompany us to ours (20 steps and two platforms away). I was truly taken aback by the warmth, the genuineness and the thoughtfulness of the people. It was as though every South Korean felt that they were the ambassadors of their country and as guests, we were to be made to feel welcome and safe at every turn.

The Koreans are a beautiful people and not just on the inside. Everywhere I turned, I saw such gorgeous young men and women. Beautiful glowing skin, glossy thick hair and slim and fit for the most part, I could only imagine that they are a truly blessed people, genetically. My daughter informed me that genes were only a part of the equation. They take care of themselves. From their famed Korean 12 step skin care routine, to their balanced diets and the everyday fitness that they incorporated into their lives, it was no wonder that they looked as good as they did. I duly went and bought twenty Korean sheet masks in the hope that I would miraculously transform myself into a reasonably well preserved, close to middle age woman. Haha!

As a culture-vulture, I dragged the family to the museums, the palaces, the temples and the shrines. No one complained. There was too much beauty and history to absorb. It was interesting to note that their architecture does not shout. It whispers. There is a subtlety to the grandeur, a self effacement and a Zen-like refinement. As per Confucian principles, the good of the whole always takes precedence over the aggrandisement of the individual. Something that permeates the culture, the art, the people and the architecture of the land.

When the day to trail the K-pop stars dawned, I was loath to leave my historical trail for the more modern phenomenon of the Korean pop star. For those who are unaware of this recent upsurge of K-pop, be warned. You are about to be overtaken by the catchy music, the limber bodies and the entirely incomprehensible lyrics (aside of the odd English words thrown into the mix) of the experience that comprises K-pop. They are not just dominating world music charts, they have been recognised and awarded a few times too. Billboard music awards anyone?

BTS (Bangtan Boys), without doubt, is the largest band to emerge from Korea. This male septet has done sold out tours the world over and has masses of hysterical fans everywhere. In comparison, Black Pink, the girl band, is smaller and not that well known. As each of my girls favoured one or the other, we let them set the itinerary for the day.

We started with Black Pink. First port of call was YG entertainment. This is where the Black Pink group was assembled and trained. As far as I was concerned, it was just another building with a guard posted outside. My daughters insisted on getting their photos taken outside. Oh well. What was more interesting was the group of protestors  holding up placards and shouting. While my girls were having their fan-girl moment, I sidled up to the group, trying to establish what the protest was about. Turns out, it was the inhabitants of the building protesting against the chairman of YG entertainment and his complete disregard of the inconvenience his vehicles and his entourage causes to the day-to-day living of the residents. Well, some things are the same the world over. Wealth and power rarely consider anyone else’s requirements but their own.

We then Metroed over to the Black Pink house. This is where the girl band had spent the formative group years, going from strangers to friends to bandmates. Manufactured sisterhood in the name of profit. A leafy entrance with a pretty, pink door. That was it. Once again, lots of photos taken and we moved on.

My mood, at this point, was of weary resignation. Having never been a groupie or a fan-girl, I could not relate to the sentiments of my daughters who idolised these manufactured pop bands, insisting on buying their merchandise, filling the coffers of callous, dispassionate media companies. Maybe that was just my age and cynicism. Ho-hum!

Having had a hearty breakfast, we trooped over to the next stop, not yet feeling any hunger pangs, but definitely getting quite parched from all the running around. Little did I know that for next hour and a half we would be going around in circles. Min’s cafĂ© where BTS (that big boy band) spent a lot of their pre-fame years was nearly impossible to locate. We had a map and some vague directions from the bemused concierge at the hotel. Having no GPS, we fruitlessly chased our own tails. I remember growling to my husband, “This better be worth it!” Well, it was and it wasn’t.

Tucked into an alley way, this humble little cafĂ© was an ode to BTS. When we finally stumbled upon it, I did wonder what the hoopla was about. Owned by an elderly couple there were all sorts of drinks on the menu – from milkshakes to coffees and teas of various descriptions. We had obviously found ourselves in BTS mecca, as plenty of other young fans were busy clicking photos inside. The walls were lined with posters and album covers, all signed by BTS. Wearily I ordered my apple cinnamon tea, letting the girls do their thing. One sip and I was transformed. Never mind K-pop, the drinks here were to die for! Every warming sip filled my tired, cold bones with heat and energy.

On to Gangnam District then! Remember the song ‘Gangnam style’ by Psy? The catchy lyrics, the energetic, somewhat mad dance? Well, it was all filmed in and around this area. Compared to Beverly Hills in California, the wealth and the upscale living of the area is it’s main call to fame. Aside of that is the K star road.  Lined with Gangnamdols – a composite of ‘Gangnam’, ‘idol’ and ‘doll’, this road has many large ‘dolls’ dedicated to various Korean entertainment celebrities.

All photos duly taken, with a few pit stops at a bakery that a BTS member ordered a cake from (!!), and a side alley with a plaque saying Big Hit entertainment, the record company managing BTS, we finally headed back to the hotel.

The girls were happy, the parents tired. The next day would be spent in buying paraphernalia related to K-pop. I bit my tongue as it was their pocket money, and if they chose to spend it on merchandise (much cheaper here than on Amazon, I was assured), then so be it.

What did I learn from this little exercise of pounding the pavements and hounding at the heels of K-pop? That there is no stopping change. History, culture and tradition, revered as they are in Korea, are just one half of the puzzle. The other half comprises of rapid innovation, of popularity, of youth and of mass marketing.

Adapting to the new, while not forgetting the old, is perhaps the wisest course forward.

 

 

 

 

Blackmail, extortion and guilt

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It was sitting innocuously in my spam box. An email that went something like this:

I’m aware that XXXXXXX is your password.

You don’t know me and you’re thinking why you received this e mail, right?

Well, I actually placed a malware on the porn website and guess what, you visited this web site to have fun (you know what I mean). While you were watching the video, your web browser acted as a RDP (Remote Desktop) and a key logger which provided me access to your display screen and webcam. Right after that, my software gathered all your contacts from your Messenger, Facebook account, and email account.

What exactly did I do?

I made a split-screen video. First part recorded the video you were viewing (you’ve got a fine taste lolol), and next part recorded your webcam (Yep! It’s you doing nasty things!).

What should you do?

Well, I believe, $7000 is a fair price for our little secret. You’ll make the payment via Bitcoin to the below address (if you don’t know this, search “how to buy bitcoin” in Google) .

BTC Address: 1Dvd7Wb72JBTbAcfTrxSJCZZuf4tsT8V72

(It is cAsE sensitive, so copy and paste it)

Important:

You have 24 hours in order to make the payment. (I have an unique pixel within this email message, and right now I know that you have read this email). If I don’t get the payment, I will send your video to all of your contacts including relatives, coworkers, and so forth. Nonetheless, if I do get paid, I will erase the video immidiately. If you want evidence, reply with “Yup!” and I will send your video recording to your 5 friends. This is a non-negotiable offer, so don’t waste my time and yours by replying to this email

Now, I admit that just for a minute or two I was pretty freaked out. I racked my brain about any dodgy sites I might have visited. Had I accessed porn inadvertently? Had I wandered into something or somewhere illegal? I couldn’t think of any.

Then I reread the email and spotted the errors. Luckily, over the years, the company I work for has educated us on how to spot phishing emails. The first giveaway may be the way the email is addressed to you. In my case, it used just my email address. Personal huh? Then came the spelling mistakes. Not huge and not that many which is why they escaped my notice the first time. Then the various links that might take you to sites replete with malware. Avoid! Finally, the threat to expose you if you don’t comply. Again, classic extortion tactics that should be ignored. I promptly deleted the email and carried on with my day. However, it got me thinking….

How may people would fall prey to these scammers? How many people who had no technical knowledge would accept the jargon as gospel? How many would have no idea what phishing is? Enough I’m guessing for these scammers to have various permutations on the themes of extortion.This one is called ‘sextortion’ and a simple Google search would reveal that it’s been doing the rounds for a few months.

Our smart phones are as valuable to us as our homes. I don’t mean in their monetary value. I mean that they are sacrosanct. Just as a burglary of our home would be regarded as a physical and emotional violation of our space, the fact that someone somewhere can threaten that they have the ability to access our contacts, our social media and our cameras is deeply disturbing and tantamount to a similar violation.

Yet, the fact of the matter is that yes, our phones are completely hackable. Our cameras can be turned upon us. We can not just be observed we can be recorded remotely. All those smart devices we’ve voluntarily placed in our homes- our smart televisions, our Alexas are nothing but intruders of our privacy. Year after year we succumb to the lure of newer and smarter technology without comprehending just how much access we are allowing the outside world into our personal sphere.

Obviously one does not want to live in the stone age. Therefore, it is important to educate yourself and make an informed decision on just how much you want to rely on technology. Do you really want the ability to turn on your heating and lock your front door with your phone? Good for you! However, remember, someone somewhere may just love to get their hands on those codes on your phone. Do you have enough firewalls and anti-spyware installed? What’s that? Educate yourself!

Finally, on to the issue of guilt. Each of us has something to hide. Guaranteed. That is, unless you are a monk in a Buddhist monastery and have lived the purest of lives. Blackmailers tap into this guilt. Exposure of our deepest, darkest secrets is a pretty frightening prospect and the majority of us would rather pay the hush money than have ourselves exposed. When it comes to ‘sextortion’, it taps into something even more visceral. After all, our bedroom antics are no one’s business but our own.

So, when one gets an email that purports to have recorded one in a compromising position/expression it is bound to strike terror into the bravest of hearts. Who would like their silly face (read sex face) be sent out to all and sundry?

Think about it for a moment though. What does it matter? If what you are doing is not illegal, not immoral and not causing any harm, why do you care so much? Why does having sex or watching sex become this huge taboo? Sex is a part and parcel of life. It is a biological necessity and Nature’s way to ensure survival. So, why are we so afraid of being exposed as partaking in it?

My point is twofold. Firstly, if you ever receive an email such as the one above, examine it carefully and then examine your own emotions. Chances are it will be fraudulent, in which case it is best ignored. If, despite all precautions, it is not, then perhaps you need to look at whether a knee jerk reaction is the right one? The best way to combat a blackmailer is to challenge them to go through with their threat. If you have nothing to lose, they have nothing to gain. If temporary embarrassment is the only price you have to pay, isn’t it cheaper than being held to ransom indefinitely?

 

 

 

 

 

Scared yet?

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The #Metoo movement has finally hit India. From an actress who unwittingly regurgitated a ten year old case against a senior actor to many more young girls coming forward with their own tales of abuse and harassment, it has been a litany of complaints against rich and powerful men at the top of their game, be it in films, journalism or politics.

It is no surprise that this kind of abuse occurred. After all, in a country like India which is trenchantly patriarchal, women have only ever been seen as secondary to men. To those women who chose to enter films, unless they had their own protection in the guise of a powerful boyfriend or family, they were ripe for the plucking. Besides, these men knew how to use their status and money to intimidate and overpower, much like Harvey Weinstein did in Hollywood.

However, times have changed. Young Indian women are no longer willing to put up and shut up as the previous generations did. It took one lone voice. One girl who challenged the status quo and once again the ball was set rolling. The difference this time was that the climate was conducive to the naming and shaming of these perpetrators. People were willing to listen and people were outraged enough to demand redressal.

Yet, astonishingly, there were also many voices of dissent. Voices that questioned the veracity of the claims. Voices that insinuated that it was a fame game. That these girls wanted the notoriety to be able to get more work or find a foothold in the notoriously fickle film industry. That women who were attacking journalists and politicians had their own agendas of revenge and retribution. Sour grapes and all.

Why, I wondered, was there such a backlash against women who were willing to go through the public mauling of their characters just so these wolves in sheeps clothing could be outed? Why, I wondered, were so many of the fingers pointing at these women belonging to women themselves?

The jokes that abounded were plentiful and tasteless to an extreme. Jokes that showed disclaimers at the start of a film saying ‘No women were harmed in the making of this movie’ just as you would about animal cruelty. Jokes that talked about powerful men quaking in their boots at the thought of false accusations being brought against them. Jokes that talked about marital rape and the grey areas of what constituted consent.

Here’s the thing: suddenly the very foundation of Indian society is being questioned. Men, who have for years taken their position in society for granted are being asked to reassess their own actions and attitudes. Women, who have perhaps put up with their own share of harassment, are unwilling to support these young women for fear of their  hypocrisies and double standards coming to light. Status quo is a very difficult thing to let go of. Status quo protects and hides and allows things to carry on as they were.

The accusers have been denigrated, slapped with injunctions and made fun of. Counter accusations asking why it’s taken them all this time to come forward, have been levelled at them. Why? Would you come forward if all you were met with is opposition, disbelief and a destruction of your career? The fact that it has taken them all this time is indicative that the culture of abuse is widespread and has deep roots.

To those women who have boldly iterated that they would NEVER have put up with any kind of abuse, that they would have slapped the assailant in the face and walked out and that they would not have returned to further abuse, I ask- look back in your past and see how many times you have bowed to patriarchal pressure to be a certain way, act a certain way or follow the dictates of your father, your husband or your in laws and tell me, in all honesty, whether you really had the courage to stand up for yourself?

As for the men who stand against these women, I ask- is it fear that makes you doubt and question? Is it fear that some long forgotten skeleton rattling in your cupboard might fall out? Is it fear of losing the respect of your family and of society, because suddenly, you are being exposed for the predatory monster that you are?

If it is, then be very very afraid. For this movement is catching and gathering momentum. After every #Metoo comes #Timesup. The actions of these brave young women may well destroy their own lives and careers, but they are paving the future for the generations to come. Where all women feel empowered and emboldened enough to stand up for not just themselves but also for their sisterhood. Where they forge ahead in their careers without being subjected to any kind of sexual harassment or power play. Where they stand shoulder to shoulder with the men in their lives and patriarchy becomes a distant, distasteful phenomenon discussed only in the most academic way. Yes, that day will come and it will come on the back of the actions of the brave few who ventured forward with the truth of their experiences.

Are you scared yet?

 

 

Motherhood and what they don’t tell you…

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A young woman pushing a pram looks up and catches my eye. I smile at her and she smiles back shyly then walks on. In that brief glance we have exchanged a multitude of feelings. There is, I hope, compassion and understanding in my glance just as I sense exhaustion and solitude in hers. Motherhood, as I and many other women know, can be the hardest and the loneliest job in the world.

My daughter has just turned eighteen. She is an adult now. She is also my child and will always be an amalgam of baby, toddler, adolescent and teen. No matter how old she gets or how mature, she will always reside as a child in my heart. I cannot explain this to her, just as my mother couldn’t explain it to me. Motherhood has to be experienced, it has to be felt.

When I went through 27 hours of labour and an emergency C section at the end of it, not once did it cross my mind, whether it was worth it or not. One glance at her perfect face and I knew that my life had changed forever. Sleepless nights, colic, worries about cot death, projectile vomiting, explosive diarrhoea, teething, temperatures and tantrums, all became the new normal. My mother had passed by the time I had my daughter and in all the years and the many, many ways I missed her, I never missed her more than at that particular time in my life.

Only a new mother can understand the sheer fatigue and loneliness of taking care of an infant. When the baby wants no one else but you. When the baby cries at the exact moment you take the first bite of your meal. When the restless baby will only sleep if you let her sleep on your chest. ‘My little parasite’ is what I used to call her jokingly. A part of me despaired that I would never have a normal life again. A part of me felt as if my life had been hijacked forever, changed beyond comprehension. Yes, it had, but only in the most wonderful and enriching way.

As a species, we mate and reproduce. That is our biological destiny. As a species capable of producing great art, music and poetry or innovative technology and groundbreaking scientific advances, this simple act of producing another human being remains the most astonishing.

I have been blessed to have a husband who was supportive and understanding at all times. He took on the bulk of parenting when I travelled on work and calmly, efficiently, quietly got the job done. He, no doubt, had his share of lonely moments. Moments where he doubted himself or yearned for a carefree night of putting his feet up and watching Television, instead of having to deal with a fractious child. In so many ways, he has been the better parent, the more stable and dare I say it, less emotional of us two.

When the teenage years began and my daughter and I clashed, I took too much to heart. Each of her actions, designed to hurt, found its mark. Her dismissal and scorn of me, her turning away when I wanted to hug her, her inability to accept my love were scorched into my soul. It was my husband who pointed out that these were ‘phases’, a natural process, a growing up and growing away that was not just inevitable, but also important.

As my daughter is nearing the end of her teens, I find that I am able to go back to a lot of my own pursuits and pleasures. My life, the normal life that I was so afraid I was losing when she clung to me like a limpet, is returning at a faster pace than I had envisioned. Yet, I find, it is I who cling to her now. I, who feel lonely and afraid that she will soon fly the nest, and may only return sporadically, if at all.

Motherhood- what a strange and wonderful journey you are. Now, more than ever, I appreciate the beauty and sadness within you.