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To begin this album of mystery and intrigue, of murder and deceit, money and melody, I offer two passages from The White Tiger by Aravinda Adiga:

“Balram, play Sting again. It’s the best music for a traffic jam.”

“This driver knows who Sting is?”

“Sure, he knows it’s my favorite CD. Show us the Sting CD, Balram. See—see—he knows Sting!”

I put Sting into the player.

Ten minutes passed, and the cars had not moved an inch. I replaced Sting with Enya; I replaced Enya with Eminem. Vendors came to the car with baskets of oranges, or strawberries in plastic cases, or newspapers, or novels in English. The beggars were on the attack too. One beggar was carrying another on his shoulders and going from car to car; the fellow on his shoulders had no legs below his knees. They went together from car to car, the fellow tapping or scratching on the windows of the car.” (204-205)

If you can get past the indignity towards Ashok’s condescending pride that Balram can recognize Sting, then there is something else waiting: Balram’s musical score.  The soundtrack to Balram’s dreams. While he is instructed to play Sting at first, he then intentionally chooses two more: Enya and Eminem. Significant? We’ll see. Below, we read that right after Balram confirms he is carrying a load of Ashok’s cash and right before he commits the grisly murder of his master, it is he who desires to listen to Sting. Good servant or auditory courage?

The elevator was coming up fast. It was about to reach the eleventh floor.

I turned and ran.

Kicking the door of the fire escape open, hurrying down two flights of dark stairs, I clicked the red bag open.

All at once, the entire stairwell filled up with dazzling light—the kind that only money can give out.

Twenty-five minutes later, when Mr. Ashok came down, punching the buttons on his cell phone, he found the red bag waiting for him on his seat. I held up a shining silver disk as he closed the door.

“Shall I play Sting for you, sir?”

You can hear it in his voice, can’t you? It has lost the innocence and naïveté that defined his speech earlier in the novel. Almost creepy. He wants to not just hear Sting, but hear that one song about the poor man who steals from a wealthy one; about where the imagination can take you when you realize how thin and permeable the membrane between the rich and poor can be:

I’m just a poor boy in a rich man’s car

So I whisper to the engine, flick on the lights

And we drive into the night

Oh the smell of the leather always excited my imagination

And I picture myself in this different situation

I’m a company director, two kids and a wife…

At this point Balram’s vivid imagination would be alive with the dreams and thoughts of ill-gotten wealth. Did Sting influence Balram to not just imagine himself in a new life, but to actually create it?

After Ashok treats Balram like a trained monkey and the Mongoose can’t believe that the village idiot can recognize Sting, Balram moves onto Enya. Here we have two sensible options: 1) the mesmerizing and soothing harmonies of Enya placed Balram in a relaxed and psychologically influential state; 2) the message was furthered in yet more subtle poetry. A few of Enya’s songs could be influential. I offer the following:

I Want Tomorrow

Now you’re here, I can see your light,

This light that I must follow.

You, you may take my life away, so far away.

Now I know I must leave your spell

I want tomorrow.

Balram most certainly does want tomorrow. Today. Just the fact that he has chosen to be a driver indicates that he is not satisfied obeying the traditional protocols of Hindu caste adherence. Otherwise, he would have stayed a chai-walla. He would have sent money home. He would have obeyed his autie’s orders and married. This image of wanting tomorrow spliced with the light metaphor continues:

Once You Had Gold

Now you can see

Spring becomes Autumn,

Leaves become gold

Falling from view.

Ever and always,

Always and ever

No-one can promise a dream come true,

Time gave both darkness and dreams to you.

I know you caught that, but let me repeat it: Time gave both darkness and dreams to you. Being from the Darkness and full of dreams, it almost seems like Aravinda created the psyche of Balram from an Enya song.

Either way—direct message or hypnotic and influential trance—Enya’s music would have made the next CD, Eminem even more potent.

Eminem’s music is full of wanton violence, but his most commercially popular song, Lose Yourself, is about opportunity. It would have spoken directly to the heart of Balram’s entrepreneurial spirit. It begins:

Look, if you had one shot, or one opportunity

To seize everything you ever wanted,

One moment

Would you capture it or just let it slip?

No he wouldn’t let it slip. His morals and obedience to his dharma may slip, but not opportunity.  He knows he has but one moment, one opportunity, and in this moment it is solidifying that he will not let it slip. Later the repeating chorus would echo through Balram’s ears:

You only get one shot, do not miss your chance to blow,

Opportunity comes, once in a lifetime, yo.

And if Ashok’s fate wasn’t sealed by this point, it certainly didn’t get any better:

Too much for me to wanna

Stay in one spot, another day of monotony

Has gotten me to the point, I’m like a snail

I’ve go to formulate a pot or end up in jail or shot

Success is my only mutherfucking option, failure’s not

Mom, I love you, but this trailer’s got to go

I cannot grow old in Salem’s lot

So here is my shot

Feet fail me not ‘cause maybe the only opportunity that I got…

Balram’s plot is formulated, now all he needs is the courage. There is almost a choppy Eminem-esque minced lyrical nature to Balram’s request (dare I say siren song?) for Ashok to join him in the rain. He could call it, Trust me, sir.

There’s a problem, sir.

What is it Balram?

Sir, will you step out, there is a problem.

The wheel, sir. I’ll need your help. It’s stuck in the mud.

It’s raining, Balram. Do you think we should call for help?

Oh, no, sir. Trust me. Come out.

It’s been giving problems ever since that night we went to the hotel in Jangpura.

The one with the big T sign on it. You remember, don’t you, sir? Ever since that night, sir, nothing has been the same with this car.

Come out of the car, sir. Trust me

Come over to this side, sir. The bad tire is on this side.

It’s this one, sir—and be careful, there’s a broken bottle lying on the ground.

Here, let me thrown it away. This is the tire, sir. Please take a look.

It seems fine.

Well, you know more about this car then I do, Balram. Let me take another look.

There is a problem, sir. You should have gotten a replacement a long time ago.

All right, Balram. But I really think we—

Culminating with the shattered bottle of Johnny Walker Black, Balram formulated a plot, took his shot, took the opportunity he got. Over Ashok’s skull, through to his brains, gouging his throat, Balram’s new song begins.

Music may soothe even the savage beast, but in the case of Balram, music woke it up.

hume-woods“I don’t think [the Buddhist] faith offers the kind of forgiveness and redemption that is offered by the Christian faith.” — Fox News talking head Brit Hume, referring to the Buddhist religion and Tiger Woods’ indiscretions

As noted in previous posts, the doctrine of panticca samyupadda states, (and I’ll use Thich Nhat Hahn’s paraphrasing this time): “This is like this, because that is like that.” The arising of everything–from tangible things, to thoughts, to sights, to phenomena–are dependent on something else. So when a news (and I use the term in the lightest, most non-technical sense possible) reporter like Brit Hume makes a glaring verbal gaff like he did in the wake of Tiger Woods’ outed affair, the focus should not be so much on the product, but on the process. Out of all the possible paths that Mr. Hume could have taken, out of all the words that could have been strung together, did he end up there with those?

While it would be easiest to simply judge Mr. Hume, the Buddhist community knows that there is much more at work than merely a media anchor who says too much while knowing too little.  The causes and factors that led to this point are just as (if not more) significant than the event itself. And while I am not a close confidante of Mr. Hume, his public presentation, career path, previous statements, and chosen faith can indicate a few causal factors that have led to his inability to correctly understand and speak about Buddhism.

Raga: Desire. You don’t have to be Buddhist to realize craving fuels much of man’s motivations, wondrous and disastrous. In this case–and historically for most of the Abrahamic religions–there is a strong desire to show how one ideology is superior to another. Mr. Hume is Christian and it is clearly important to him (as it is to many Christians, past and present) to demonstrate how his professed faith can be of greater benefit than another (in this case, Buddhism). I suspect that he genuinely believes his ideology can help Tiger Woods “recover as a person”, “have a relationship with his children” and receive “forgiveness and redemption”. And he may in fact be right. But sadly, he must demonstrate is lack of understanding of Buddhism in order to do so. If we could break Buddhism down to fundamental principles, one of the first would be that when desire is eliminated, so is dis-ease. While Mr. Woods may be granted forgiveness and redemption as a Christian, Mr. Hume would acquire mindful speech and compassionate insight as a Buddhist. There is good reason it is not your neighborhood Buddhist that comes knocking on your door to share the “good news” with you. And it is not for lack of numbers or dedication.

Moha: Delusion. Brit Hume also seems to think that all religious core beliefs are comparable. Prominent to Christianity is the doctrinal belief that mankind is essentially sinful and in need of divine salvation through grace. People tend to, as St. Paul aptly pointed out in his letter to the Romans, “do what they shouldn’t, and what should be done is left undone.” (Romans 7, paraphrased)  To say Buddhism is lacking forgiveness and salvation is like saying airplanes lack sails and anchors. It seems that Brit Hume cannot conceive of another worldview that doesn’t begin with the idea that mankind is in desperate need of heavenly forgiveness. Belief in salvation, grace, and forgiveness is not the delusion. But extending it as a universal truth that other faiths should also feature is delusional. Or ignorant. Take your pick. Either way, adults should not make the Easter Bunny Blunder: mistaking a faith-based belief for a undeniable truth. A believer can allow for exceptions without believing in those exceptions.

Dosa: Aversion and Ill-will. Accusing Brit Hume of aversion and extending ill-will towards Tiger Woods in this situation, in this context, may seem a bit extreme. I wish it were. Sadly, it is simply the modus operandi of the infotainment world. If Brit Hume–or any of the executives at Fox News–actually had any compassion for Tiger’s family or for Tiger himself, the entire situation could have been avoided. It is no small tragedy that personal affairs are now considered breaking news. Mr. Hume is the product of a society that has no qualms about airing a private citizen’s personal affairs simply because he can hit a small white ball into a distant hole. Mr. Hume was simply giving his audience what they will pay for: the dirty laundry of others. Aversion and ill-will are the stuff of news stories, and I am saddened  by this. Such deeply personal stories cannot be publicly aired without disregarding the lives of the people involved and over-valuing the monetary profit generated. This is aversion and ill-will. Like many, Mr. Hume is simply a playing the supply slave to our demand. The real question that must be addressed is how to go about decreasing the demand for stories that, really, are none of anybody’s business.

To his credit, Brit Hume did begin with the “I don’t think…” caveat before continuing to be wrong. But he would do well to also understand that Buddhism does not require or request faith. He immediately goes astray by identifying Buddhism  in the fifth word, faith. In the Kalama Sutta (AN 3.65) it is written, “Don’t go by reports, by legends, by traditions, by scripture, by logical conjecture, by inference, by analogies, by agreement through pondering views, by probability, or by the thought, ‘This contemplative is our teacher.’ When you know for yourselves that, ‘These qualities are skillful; these qualities are blameless; these qualities are praised by the wise; these qualities, when adopted and carried out, lead to the welfare and to happiness–then you should enter and remain in them.” Buddhism stresses the importance of experience and testing, not the things of faith. Compared to Hebrews 11:1 (Now faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.) Buddhism is largely a faith-less religion. In the strictest sense of the word, Buddhism is far more agnostic than faith-based.

(As a quasi-related aside, I relatively recently read The God Delusion by Richard Dawkins (which I plan to write about later). While the book reads like a tourist criticizing a land he knows little about and has never lived in, I wish more religious believers would be as thoughtful as he is about his beliefs. Mr. Dawkins is aware that his title  of “atheist” is not absolute. He must, as a rational, thinking person, acknowledge that he may very well in fact be wrong. Mohammed may be the last prophet; Jesus may have risen from the dead; Shiva may be the destroyer; Buddha may be enlightened; Ra may command the sun; and/or Zeus may hurl thunderbolts. To this extent he is an agnostic. He must allot that he may be wrong; he just doesn’t believe that he is wrong. To understand possible exceptions without believing in them–and clearly understanding the difference–is a lesson that is sadly neglected in many ideologies.)

As a non-practicing Christian and practicing non-Buddhist (I’ll let you figure that one out), I find it interesting that when a supposed Buddhist makes a poor family choice that has been made throughout the ages (think King David, Martin Luther King, Jr., Bill Clinton) by Christians, the conservative Christians find room to point out how the accused’s ideology didn’t manage to restrain them. And yet, when we are abysmally saddened by the Roman Catholic’s pedophilic popes, smug comments about Buddhism’s compassion for all sentient beings and the five precepts (including damaging, harmful sex)  trumping the offenders’ faith are all but absent.

Still, there is every possibility that his comment should not analyzed with any depth. As with the rest of Fox News’ reporting staff, Brit Hume’s rhetoric is meant simply to preach to the Choir of the Right. Infotainment probably should not be considered with academic seriousness, and there is a certain amount of futility in trying to hold it to any objective reporting standard, much less religious awareness. Hume did attempt to smooth things over a bit on Bill O’Reilly’s show, “I was really meaning to say in those comments yesterday more about Christianity than I was about anything else.” I, for one, believe him. After all, his commentary does indicate that he understands more about Christianity… and little about anything else.

I don’t get to read for pleasure much these days. Either I am re-reading perennial novels in preparation for class, reading Baron von Baddie to my sons for the umpteenth time, or pouring through texts, suttas, and journals for my Masters of Buddhist Studies courses. Either way, I would rarely put any of these in the “for pleasure” category. Sure, the first reading of Baron von Baddie was enjoyable (more so for the paper-cut illustrations than the story, but whatever), as are a few of the more accessible Buddhist readings (heavy emphasis on the word few). So when I was able to spend a good hour on the roof, in a hammock, with a Eski full of chilling Coronas, and a novel I was enthralled with… well, I can’t think of too many better ways to spend a balmy Sunday afternoon.

Shantaram, the novel I am currently devouring and is likewise devouring my time, is one of those books that I wish I could bring into class and say, “Students, whatever we are doing can wait. I got a great read here and I know you’ll love it. It has action, romance, thuggery, huggable bears, mysterious Madam Zhou, monsoons, Mumbai slums, a smiley Indian named Prembaker, an escaped convict, mafioso,  and…oh yeah, it’s a true story.” But I can’t. So they will keep reading Lord of the Flies (which is a great novel in its own right) and I will have to hope that Shantaram crosses their paths one day on their own terms.

But to get to the point that fell on my lap today. The author, nicknamed Lin, just spent a hookah hazed conversation with eight Muslims during their monthly discussion night. Black tea is passed around, as is some potent ganga-jamuna, and the honor of selecting the topic goes to Lin:  our suffering is our religion. All the wealthy mob men expound on their bits of wisdom. “I think suffering is a matter of choice” and “…there are at least two kinds of suffering, quite different to each other, one that we feel, and one that we cause others to feel…” Khaderbhai, the highly revered head, puts the last word in, “I think that suffering is the way we test our love. Every act of suffering, no matter how small or agonizingly great, is a test of love in some way.” Of course, all the men around the table are silently in awe of Khader as he expounds on his wisdom and Lin eventually walks back home to his slum, mulling it all over in his head.

When Lin finally reaches his slum Prabu, the first friend he met after landing in Mumbai, is about to depart when Lin directs the timeless question him:

‘Hey, Prabu.’

‘Yes, Lin?’

‘Tell me, what is suffering? What do you think? What does it mean, that people suffer?’

Prabaker glanced along the dark lane of ramshackle huts to the hovering glow-worm of Joseph’s lamp. He looked back at me, only his eyes and his teeth visible, although we were standing quite close together.

“‘You’re feeling okay, Lin?’

‘I’m fine,’ I laughed.

‘Did you drink any daru tonight, like that badly-drinking-Joseph?’

‘No, really, I’m fine. Come on, you’re always defining everything for me. We were talking about suffering tonight, and I’m interested to know, what do you think about it?’

‘Is easy–suffering is hungry, isn’t it? Hungry, for anything, means suffering. Not hungry for something, means, not suffering. But everybody knows that.’

‘Yes, I guess everybody does. Good night, Prabu.’

‘Good night, Lin.’

He walked away, singing, and he knew that none of the people sleeping in the wretched huts around him would mind. He knew that if they woke they would listen for a moment, and then drift back to sleep with a smile because he was singing about love.”

And in this tidy chapter ending, is the reason I enjoy studying Buddhism: because everybody know that. After all the arm-chair-philosophers waxed rhapsodic about their profound views on suffering and each trying to sound smarter than the last, it all comes down to what we already know and what Buddha simply reminds us of: our hunger is the source of our suffering; to cease suffering, cease hungering.

Not that most people will. Not that people will really want to. It is easier to look at all the seemingly uncontrollable things around us and blame them for our discontent. But in the end, it does come back to us and our hunger. Our craving. Our desire. Our clinging. And perhaps all religions do try to snuff these out in their own way. Some seem to get their followers to focus and conform to the external in hopes of bringing about satisfying the hunger of the internal. Others go straight to the internal since this is where the suffering begins and can end. Others try to balance internal and external.

Me, all I know is that you can’t help save someone from quicksand until you have managed to pull your own self out.

But everyone knows that.

We were all thinking it. David Nelson did something about it.

Wouldn’t YouTube be even greater if I didn’t actually have to visit YouTube to listen to music?

David, who I must mention is 15 years old, created a free music service that legally (so far) derives its data base from YouTube’s vast musical library. The sleek and stylish player (think a dark itunes) circumvents actually having to visit YouTube to create playlists, wade through horrid amateur music videos mashrs, and seeing the ubiquitous “Sorry, this video is no longer available” black screen. Want that rare Eric Clapton playing with the Edge jam session in Dublin that only three moderately tipsy Irishmen managed to record? Got it. Before the full implication of this is felt, perhaps watching this may help:

DYK4.O

Did you catch that? 95% of all music downloaded was not paid for.  Now I am not one to start playing a sad and somber song on the world’s tiniest violin for the music corporations; evidently they have found some creative ways to capitalize on that meager 5%. It will also be interesting to watch YouTube’s response. Will they be open to having “their” content accessed without being subject to all the advertisements? And what of all the record labels that have struck deals with YouTube? Every time one of the record labels’ songs is played on YouTube, YouTube pays out. This won’t be the case with Muziic. Last time we saw a teenager try something like this, the record labels screamed bloody murder and swore they were going to die a slow, painful death. Shawn Fanning’s original Napster was subsequently legally killed.

Regardless of Muziic’s future, the significance is, and always will be, still there: People want information, all and any, freely available. Really, when we speak of YouTube, we are speaking of Google. And Google’s motto, one must remember, is: to organize the world’s information and make it universally accessible and useful.

Or do they only mean that if they are the one controlling the information?