continued from last post

Today I sat and tore the Delhi Master Plan's Urban Design chapter apart, sitting on a dappled-shade type bench on Victoria Embankment. The masterplan document looks fresh out of J. P. Book Depot in Delhi, plain white with a singular lack of copy design, characteristic of Indian government documents. The bench is old fashioned and English, wooden slats with wrought iron animals for armrests, straight out of the Westminster coat of arms. As if this wasn't incongrous (and, arguably, unpatriotic) enough, I wore cut-off jeans, a flowery blue top that could have come from Tokyo or Madrid, a pink sun hat that was actually from H&M, major Lakme kaajal, African earrings that came from Paris, crazy-short hair, leather sandals and sat unashamedly cross legged chatting on a phone that looks like an i-pod.
I think it's safe to say that they can't truthfully insert most of us into any coherent narrative [except the crappy ones we write for ourselves, like this blog...]
We constantly slip out of the identity constructions built for and around us (Jane M Jacobs, 1996)