Immediately after graduating from Boston University’s Science and Medical Journalism program, I joined The Chedd-Angier Production Company as an associate producer on a ten-part documentary series for PBS, Saving the Ocean. Directed by Scientific American Frontiers’ Director John Angier, and hosted by author and marine biologist, Carl Safina, Saving the Ocean, traveled to oceans around the world to bring back good news stories of solutions that work.
Saving the Ocean premiered on PBS in April 2011 with just two pilot programs. Its first full season of ten episodes opened in October 2012.
You can also download the shows on iTunes and Amazon Video.
My name is Anne-Marie and as far back as I can remember, people have asked me why that is. Their question is justified. With black hair, dark skin and South Asian features, I would have been better off with a name straight out of a Bollywood film. Ergo, the answer for this seemingly simple question has always been long and elaborate and the only way to explain is by delving back into my country’s colonial past.
The British ruled India for about 100 years, a significant amount of time considering that we have been independent for only 64. In that while, they brought railroads and Christianity and looted away spices and indigenous sovereignty. But what often does not make it to history textbooks is that they brought thousands of young English soldiers who left their lives and families at a tender age to fight for their country in a foreign land. Those who survived malaria and heat strokes stayed in India long enough to learn the language and figure out its culture. Some of those unfortunate young soldiers even fell in love with Indian women, often forgetting fiancés and wives back home. It was after all the late 19th century and Skype hadn’t yet been invented.
As such unions proliferated, the country was dotted with light-skinned and brown-eyed babies who grew up to form the Anglo-Indian community.
They spoke only English and cursed a lot. The women wore dresses and hats. On Friday evenings, the Anglos (as they are colloquially called) played cards; on Saturdays they danced the Fox Trot and on Sundays they attended mass. They ate rice and kofta curry with spoons, forks and serviettes. They had western names and knew they were pretty. They took pride in their ‘half-bloodedness’ and felt superior as compared to their darker country cousins. They were good musicians and bad students. The men drank too much and the women smoked too much. But they were the community that raised my grandmother, my mother and then me.
My great grandfather was a French soldier in the First World War. He brought his wife and three kids with him to Burma and left them there as he travelled around the Indian subcontinent. He would often visit his sister, a missionary, in India. On one of these visits, he successfully impregnated an Indian lady. His wife back home succumbed to one of the many deadly tropical diseases, and maybe even grief, and he conveniently brought his three children over to his mistress’ house to give them a new mother. My grandmother, Edna St George- white skinned, and dark -haired found herself a place in the bastard Anglo-Indian community and gave up speaking French for English. She loved being French and baptized her four daughters with names rather uncharacteristic to the rest of India- Genevieve, Marcelle, Marie Antoinette and Patricia. The latter three were born with creamy white skin and black hair.
As a child I always struggled with the name Anne-Marie. I grew up in New Delhi, the capital, and despised being introduced to new people. For a long time, one of my neighbours called me ‘animal’, as he truly believed that was my name. While studying grade two arithmetic, my best friend asked me why I had a minus sign in the middle of my name. I had no clue why. Grade three was worse. It was the year my mother revealed to me that I had a middle name too- Patricia. And when you’re Roman Catholic, it doesn’t just end there. I was given my second middle name- Claudelle, during my Confirmation ceremony at the impressionable age of 13.
I did well at school but didn’t like it much. My friends thought that I was a snob when I spoke English with ease and struggled with Hindi. That’s why weekends with Nana were so special. Nana always smelt of perfume and cigarettes, and I loved it. After she turned completely grey, her crimson lipstick was the only speck of colour on her white face. She was beautiful. She would sit me down on her knee and teach me Eenie meenie miney mo- the uncensored version, of course. She also taught me Yankey Doodle and other rhymes which I never learned in school. She made the best pork roast and she taught me how to pray the rosary.
I wish I got to spend more time with my grandmother. When I was five, she left for Australia with my three aunts. They weren’t the only ones, most Anglos have migrated to Canada, Australia and England, and only a handful remain in the homeland. Intermarriage is widely practised so third generation seed, like myself, only bear the fading echo of a once robust community.
As I grew, I soon learnt to laugh at the various mutilations my name went through and the reactions it solicited. At my last job in India, I received a bill in the name of ‘N. Marry’. I preserved it carefully. Here in the US, I am frequently asked for my ‘real name’. On some of these occasions, I give the inquirer what they want to hear- something straight out of a Bollywood film.
Read a related article on the Anglo-Indian Community from The New York Times
Written for an ‘Opinions and Editorials’ class at Boston University with Boston Globe Columnist, Adrian Walker.
It was an unexpectedly cold and snowy October evening in Boston and I was pleasantly surprised that Matei Livianu didn’t call a rain check on our appointment. As I approached our meeting venue, a restaurant in Cambridge, I saw him standing outside wearing his characteristic pin-striped bowling hat and an irritated expression on his face. He arrested his annoyance and courteously smiled when he caught my eye. “They shut an hour early,” he explained pointing to the restaurant, “I hate bad service”. As we crossed the street to find another venue, an oncoming car made a rude turn and scraped my side as it recovered speed. Matei spun around and pranced over to the driver’s side. What passed between him and the driver was drowned out in the snow and noise from honking cars, though I do remember seeing a bird and hearing some French. A few minutes later we settled down in another restaurant. Matei took off his hat, apologized for his outburst and repeated that he hated bad service.
29-year-old Matei Livianu has made it his life’s goal to deliver good service to the people who approach his dance school in Cambridge, MA. Named after the founder, Salsa Matei offers a range of Latin dance lessons including Salsa, Bachata, Cha-cha and special choreographed pieces for performance events. Several dancers at the school are engineers, researchers, computer scientists or are studying to be one of those. That’s not much of a surprise since Salsa Matei is located in Central Square, six steps away from MIT and half a dozen from Harvard.
Matei came to Boston in 2006 after graduating with a Masters in electrical computer engineering from Georgia Tech. His move here was in response to a job offer as a controls engineer from Boston Dynamics, a company that specializes in making biped and quadruped robots that can walk through mud pits or on steep staircases where wheeled robots would fail “It’s all about balance and movement,” said Matei, a statement that could have just as easily described salsa. He was cut short by a phone call from his wife, Hirlley, a certified aircraft mechanic working with the MBTA and a teacher at Salsa Matei. The two met in Boston while dancing at a local Latin dance club.
Matei was born in Montreal into a family of immigrant Romanian engineers. His parents moved to Los Angeles when he was five and enrolled him and his brother into piano and tap dancing lessons. Matei remembers hating tap dancing as a child. “I was a nerd surrounded by ten girls,” he chuckled as he nudged a plate of oysters towards me. In high school he turned down an offer to join a swing dance club, fearing that he was nerdy enough and didn’t need more. Balance, however, seemed to come naturally to Matei as he took to skiing and ice skating like hot knife to butter. His brother grew up to be the sporty one in the family.
Matei was introduced to salsa during his undergrad at Harvey Mudd Technical School when he finally decided to overcome his shyness and joined the ballroom dance club. In the following few years, he speedily progressed to an advanced performer and then a teacher. Engineering helped him dance. He could not have understood balance and weight if he wasn’t an engineer. Dancing, in turn, provided stress relief from studying. Politics between dance directors and judges prevented Matei from entering professional dancing and he stuck to learning and dancing in school. He never had much luck at dance clubs though as “no Latin girl wanted to dance with a scrawny white guy.” Matei’s old-school Romanian mother once told him that if a girl said no, she really meant yes. Those words came back to him in dance clubs as he would shamelessly ask the same girl over and over again till she would give in. Once young Matei had the chance to show off his moves, he never found it hard to find partners to dance the night away.
Matei started dance schools wherever he went, including one at Georgia Tech. He first paying students, however, were a young married couple in Georgia who were struggling to find ways to spend quality time together. One evening Matei had dragged them, along with a few others, onto a makeshift dance floor in a local restaurant and taught them some salsa steps- something he often did when he went out. By the end of the evening the couple begged him to give them formal lessons as they needed to find an activity together to fuel their marriage. Charging a humble fee that paid his gas money, Matei found a new calling- to provide good service as a dance teacher. Today, his school in Cambridge has an average attendance of 90 students and four full time teachers. He responds to every email personally, teaches every dance move professionally and emphasizes his hatred for bad service passionately.
Written for an ‘Opinions and Editorials’ class at Boston University with Boston Globe Columnist, Adrian Walker.
New England lobsters are a delicacy enjoyed by hundreds of thousands of tourists and locals in the area, especially during the brief summer. Lobstering is one of the main occupations here and is often a legacy passed on from one generation to another. Here is a brief glimpse into the life of a lobsterman as told to us by Buddy Poland from Round Pond, Maine.
My childhood days were radiant as the colour white
I skipped around to yankee doodle and sang ‘Molly’ with Doblin might.
I thought not much of my future which was waiting for me in the West
I thought not much of my tongue which was going to be put to the test.
My teenage years dyed my fingers blue with all the ink I spent
Writing yarns and yarns of school work with an English bent.
Today I choose the pentameter to stress my entrenched delight
But I owe allegiance to the land that has paid to have me write
Red was the colour of my jet-lagged eyes when they stared at the horizon’s seam
The day I flew over the Atlantic, to pursue my own American dream.
It’s also the colour of microsoft squiggles which harass my extra ‘u’s
But it’s only one among many in this country of different hues.
The Briton in me could carry on logue but now I’ve learnt to preen
My final thoughts are no surprise to those who know me keen.
Yes, God should bless America and long should live the Queen
But the only three shades that paint my soul are orange, white and green.
I created this fun video along with my classmate, Mary Parker. It was as part of a class assignment and was meant to be a descriptive and impressionist video of Boston. This video is part of a student film project and is not meant for any commercial purpose.
Here you go:
April 16, 2012
April 15, 2013
April 21, 2014
April 20, 2015
April 18, 2016
April 17, 2017
April 16, 2018
April 15, 2019
April 20, 2020
April 19, 2021
April 18, 2022
For all you avid Boston marathoners who have just finished nursing your aching muscles back to health, here is news about the registration process for the 2012 marathon, The fastest marathon in the world is also the most popular and the Boston Atheletic Association has been forced to toughen up the registration process to deal with the vast numbers. According to the BAA the new registration process for the 2012 Boston Marathon is “more systematic and performance-based.”
Registration will begin on Monday, September 12, 2011 and will carry on till Friday, September 23 and will be conducted through a ‘rolling admission’ schedule. According to this, fastest qualifiers will be accommodated first though timings have not changed. On the first day, those who have exceeded their qualifying standards for their specific age and gender group by at least 20 mins will be allowed entry on September 12. On September 14, this time will drop to 10 mins and on the fifth day, i.e. September 16, it will further drop to 5 mins.
Once the registration window is closed, the fastest runners in relation to the qualifying standard to their age/gender will be entered into the race once their times are verified.
Registration Process for the 2012 Boston Marathon
|Date||registration opens for runners with times…|
|September 12, 2011||20 min., 00sec. or more below their qualifying time (based on age/gender)|
|September 14, 2011||10 min., 00 sec. or more below their qualifying time (based on age/gender)|
|September 16, 2011||5 min., 00 sec. or more below their qualifying time (based on age/gender)|
|September 19, 2011||All Qualified Runners|
|September 23, 2011||Registration closes for qualified applicants|
If the field size is not reached after the first week and additional space remains, then registration will open to all qualifiers at the beginning of Week Two (September 19) and those who have met the qualifying standards by any amount of time will be able to apply for entry. The application process will remain open for the entire week, closing on Friday, September 23. At the conclusion of Week Two, those who are the fastest among the pool of applicants in their age and gender will be accepted. All accepted athletes will be notified on September 28.
If space remains available after this two week process, registration will remain open to any qualifier on a first come, first served basis until the maximum field size is reached.
2013 Boston Marathon
Qualifying times for the 2013 Boston Marathon, will be lowered and must be run on or after September 24, 2011. Like the 2012 ‘rolling admission’ registration process, race entrants will be accepted based on qualifying times, with the fastest qualifiers being accepted first until the race is full.
Registration for the 2013 Boston Marathon will begin on Monday, September 10, 2012. The adjusted qualifying times will go into effect on September 24, 2011, and are as follows:
|18-34||3hrs 05min 00sec||3hrs 35min 00sec|
|35-39||3hrs 10min 00sec||3hrs 40min 00sec|
|40-44||3hrs 15min 00sec||3hrs 45min 00sec|
|45-49||3hrs 25min 00sec||3hrs 55min 00sec|
|50-54||3hrs 30min 00sec||4hrs 00min 00sec|
|55-59||3hrs 40min 00sec||4hrs 10min 00sec|
|60-64||3hrs 55min 00sec||4hrs 25min 00sec|
|65-69||4hrs 10min 00sec||4hrs 40min 00sec|
|70-74||4hrs 25min 00sec||4hrs 55min 00sec|
|75-79||4hrs 40min 00sec||5hrs 10min 00sec|
|80 and over||4hrs 55min 00sec||5hrs 25min 00sec|
|*Unlike previous years, an additional 59 seconds will NOT be accepted for each age group time standard.|
Additionally, to recognize and to encourage longtime Boston Marathon entrants, the B.A.A. will allow those who have met the qualifying times and who have finished the last ten consecutive Boston Marathons to enter anytime during the registration period. Currently, there are approximately 500 runners who have run 10 or more consecutive Boston Marathons.