High flyers, wailing birds I'm so far out to sea Ships are passing every night Oh, all my boyish dreams
And your every melody With the sea tides tossing free Never, never holding back Rock and rollers drift by
Turn to summer, goes so fast Seems I'll never see you One weekend and a photograph Oh, all my boyish dreams
-- UFO, High Flyers
A song from eons ago and ages lost. There's almost nothing you cannot find on youtube. Everytime I hear the words "rock and rollers drift by", I can see boats rocking on the waves and I can smell the sea. Daft, maybe. But so there.
In my college days, I used to take the train from Bangalore to Calcutta to go spend time with my family during the hols. There was this beggar-man who I have seen at least three or four times on these trips. He used to get on the train somewhere near Bhubaneshwar and he used to sing for coins. Some of us used to give him money, and he used to get off the train a few stops later.
He was either blind or had the most mangled normal eyes that I've ever seen. He used to be on the arm of a little kid who led him through the crowded train. Whether the kid was his own, I don't know. The man always sang this one song. It was in Oriya. The romantic in me likes to think he came up with it himself, but it was probably lifted from some movie. Oriya is close enough to Bangla that I understood what he was saying. I can even put down the original words here, but I'm afraid that I'll mangle them rather badly.
Briefly, what he was saying is this.
Lord, you are cruel for having done this to me. If you look inside my sad heart, you will see my pain.
He had a beautiful voice, and he sang this in a refrain. It wasn't boring. It was mesmerizing somehow; at least to me. And then afterwards, he finished the song with a few lines which said, essentially:
But Lord, you are good and merciful. I know that you look over me and will look after me. And for this, I love you and I worship you.
Sorry for the poor translation, but that is close enough.
Some things stay with you. That song has stayed with me because I was simultaneously haunted and puzzled by that song. To be precise, I was puzzled by the words. My then young mind couldn't grasp the meaning of that song. (And I still can't grasp the meaning; maybe someone can explain it.) Here was someone who had a crippling (and how!) disadvantage. And in his mind, he had identified his god as the cause of his condition. He said so in as many words. He lamented this fact, at length, in a song, and then basically concluded that his god is really, secretly, verily, a nice guy. So what if this god has quite plainly screwed him over for life? Mere detail.
And oh by the way, that song is not unique in its sentiment. As I have lived and learned, I have heard this same idea expressed in poetry, music, and literature. And I wonder. Are we the only animals that do this? Are we the only species that identifies something that is causing us pain and then proceed to love that cause. Isn't that the dictionary definition of masochism?
I don't think a single other kind of animal does this. Even the puniest animal does something, ANYTHING when faced with a vastly more powerful one. It kicks, scratches, it tries to bite back. It reacts somehow, someway. Even at the most passive, it cowers and whimpers in fear. What it DOES NOT DO is stand in the corner and sing praises of its tormentor.
But humans do this frequently. Why?
And don't you think that a god, if he were around, would be amused by this a little? I mean, if there indeed existed a god and we were indeed his charge, then I can almost see him sitting in a comfortable chair somewhere, munching on a big divine bowl of nachos, nudging his beer buddies and going: "Get a load of this guys. I kick them in the shins, I pull their wings off and then push them with my finger to see how far they'll crawl...and they gulp it all down and still call me in the morning. Man, these men are stupid! And to think that they think that the other animals I put on that planet are dumb!! What a hoot."
That is why I take a different tack of course. See, here's what I think. I think that in a universe created by a benevolent god (or even by a neutral but competent god), no one should be required to stumble barefoot through a dirty train singing to keep body and soul together. Something doesn't smell right here. So it follows naturally that if there is a single architect of this world, then that gentleman is either glaringly incompetent or an irredeemable rancid cunt. There is no third conclusion. So cussing him out is the thing to do, really. It is what every believer should do, nevermind us atheists. Maybe that way, the prick will be stung enough to pay attention. So don't spoil him with praise, people. That way you are making him the exact opposite of what you want him to be. Now doesn't that make a lot more sense than what the men in frocks have told you?
Think about it. And have a good and drunken Fourth of July.
I don't right remember where I met her first. I think it was at the pool hall where I go to practise billiards. She was in the corner and seemed to be playing by herself. But oh of course she was with somebody! A gorgeous thing like her never roams the streets free. I don't think men ALLOW a gorgeous thing like her to roam the streets free. Not in this country.
I also don't quite remember how I got to know her better. I think I just walked up and introduced myself to her one day. We became friends. At first.
She has mixed ancestry, like most things American. All her parents and grandparents originally came from different parts of Europe, like most things American. And did I mention that she is gorgeous? Well she is. Head-turning, heart-aching, drop-dead gorgeous. Big hazel eyes; golden hair. Absolutely stunning.
We are very close now. It certainly seems that way unless I am reading all the signs wrong. We have eaten together a few times and I have seen past the looks. I now know that she has a golden nature to go along with that golden hair. A gentler soul I have not seen.
She is younger than me though. Almost embarassingly younger. I always knew that but I didn't know exactly how old she was until recently. It was of course impossible to get her to tell me, so I asked someone else. And just as I suspected, the difference is big. I mean, I'm not some creepy old guy, but by god, she is young. But you know what...it doesn't seem to bother her, so why should I mention it? She doesn't even seem to be aware of the difference, so why should I be?
We are very close now. There is just something about the way she looks at me with those big melting eyes that makes me just want to reach out and touch her. Everytime. And I do. I run my fingers through her hair when we think that no one is looking and that always makes her snuggle a little closer to me. The other day, she rubbed her cute nose against my face, shyly but playfully. A nose-kiss, if you will. And in front of everybody. Now if that isn't an open declaration of love and bonding, then I don't know what is. I hope she does that again soon.
We are very happy when we are with each other. But...there is just one thing that bugs me about all this. See, I don't think I quite love her. I mean, it's close, but it's not love. I just know it. Oh, I know that *she* is in love. Without a doubt. I see that in her eyes everytime she looks at me. But I can't return the favour completely.
Why? What is wrong with me? Makes me question myself sometimes. Why can't I love that bitch? The bitch loves me, practically dotes on me; so why can't I? Why can't I give my heart, completely and unconditionally, to that bitch.
Why? Why? Oh why?
Oh, and for those who like to keep track of these things, I think that she is part golden retriever and part collie. At least according to the owner.
And no, you cannot have the last ten minutes of your life back.
This song keeps getting played on the radio station I listen to during my rather long commute. I like it very much.
We never plagiarize, we are just "influenced."
We also know that some people are more influenced than others. An example would be, say, that tool called Anu Malik. Now that is some seriously rampant influence at work.
I don't quite know what it is about that Anu Malik guy, but everytime I see his mug on TV, I feel like smashing his fat, smug, lying, content face in with nothing but my blunt stiff dick. And then pissing on the result. I feel like turning off the TV.
I think there is a name for this particular disorder. I must look it up.
Sometimes though we take a work to be original for a long time till we find different. No prizes for guessing which Hindi song was "influenced" by this number called Return To The Alamo, originally played by The Shadows. I can't find the original on Youtube. If someone does, please let me know.
But whatever...it's great music, in whichever language.
No matter how jaded I get, I'll never hate music. A friend introduced me to this song and told me that I was out of touch.
The original is from a Punjabi Sufi poet, Bulleh Shah. The words are wonderful.
Not an Arab, nor Lahori Neither Hindi, nor Nagauri Hindu, Turk, nor Peshawari Nor do I live in Nadaun
Bulleh! to me, I am not known
Secrets of religion, I have not known From Adam and Eve, I am not born I am not the name I assume Not in stillness, nor on the move
Bulleh! to me, I am not known
I am the first, I am the last None other, have I ever known I am the wisest of them all Bulleh! do I stand alone?
Bulleh! to me, I am not known
It is the song of the nowhere man.
[The translated lyrics are courtesy of this web site.]
In Jean-Jacques Goldman's song Aicha, a man woos a woman and promises her everything: pearls, gold, treasures, fruits and honey, poems, the music of the skies, the rays of the sun...even his life and breath, to which she makes a simple but fitting reply.
As if I don't exist
She was passing by me
With no regard, the Queen of Sheba
I said, Aisha, take this, all of it is for you.
Comme si je n'existais pas
Elle est passee a cote de moi,
Sans un regard, reine de Saba
J'ai dit: Aicha, prends tout est pour toi
Here, the pearls, the jewels,
also the gold around your neck
The fruits, well ripe with the taste of honey
And my life, Aisha if you love me!
Voici, les perles, les bijoux
Aussi l'or autour de ton cou
Les fruits bien murs au gout de miel
Ma vie, Aicha, si tu m'aimes.
I will go where your breath leads me,
In countries of ivory and ebony
I will erase your tears, your sorrows
Nothing is too beautiful for a girl so beautiful.
J'irai ou ton souffle nous mene,
dans les pays d'ivoire et d'ebene
J'effacerai tes larmes, tes peines,
rien n'est trop beau pour une si belle
Aisha, Aisha, listen to me
Aisha, Aisha, don't go
Aisha, Aisha, look at me
Aisha, Aisha, answer me
Aicha, Aicha, ecoute moi
Aicha, Aicha, t'en vas pas
Aicha, Aicha, regarde moi
Aicha, Aicha, reponds moi
Aicha replies:
"Keep your treasures
I'm worth more than all that
A cage is a cage, even if it's made of gold
I want the same rights as you
And respect for each day
I don't want anything but love."
Elle a dit: Garde tous tes tresors
Moi, je vaus mieux que tout ca
Des barreaux sont des barreaux memes en or,
Je veux les memes droits que toi
Du respect pour chaque jour
Moi, je ne veux que de l'amour
And the Germans killed the Jews
And the Jews killed the Arabs
And the Arabs killed the hostages
And that is the news.
What is bliss? Have you wondered? Wonder no more, my preciouses. I'll tell you. In fact, I'll paint you a picture.
A Saturday morning. I am sitting on the carpet in my jammies and watching a movie called Alien Apocalypse on cable. The plot is very gripping. Something about someone or the other coming back to earth from somewhere in space and finding humans being ruled by giant bugs.
No, it's not a documentary about George W. Bush. It is a sci-fi flick.
The acting is Oscar material of course. And the bugs look very realistic. In fact, they look exactly like a bunch of underpaid actors in giant plastic shells. You can't get any more realistic than that.
After watching for some time, I've figured out that there are two important differences between the humans and bugs which have allowed all this planet-taking-over business.
Why do some people express suprise that Modi was elected in a landslide in Gujarat after the Godhra riots? I understand expressions of horror, but why fucking surprise? Why say stuff like, "I still can't believe Modi was elected...".
What's not to believe? Barely two months after thousands of Sikhs were butchered like animals on the streets of a major world capital, the WHOLE OF INDIA voted Rajiv Gandhi into office with the largest majority that the Indian Parliament has known. A parliament that holds office in that same city. Read that again carefully: the whole of fucking India.
Gujarat is a part of India. The part simply displayed a property of the whole. What's not to believe?
Thanks to the recent credit crisis in the United States, I am learning a lot about financial markets. But larnin' is hard, so I have come up with a rough but handy glossary to stop me from getting confused every three seconds. Here is what I have so far.
Structured Investment Vehicles : Crappy Loans.
Alt-A Mortgages: Basically giving away sometimes your money without your permission, and not to charity.
Our portfolio of structured investment vehicles has softened due to the situation in the credit markets: You own stock in our company? Ha, ha, you poor fool.
We are taking a writedown this quarter: Some (insanely wealthy) numbnuts is getting handed the pink slip at our company for making a bunch of crappy loans, but boy, you should see the severance package.
We are taking a writedown this quarter, but it is less than we expected: We got into the crappy-loanmaking game late.
In the languages that I speak, there is no taxonomy of the obvious. We do not name default positions. That is why "bald" (not the usual condition) is a word, but there is no word like "hairheaded" or "hairful". "One-armed" is a word, but I have never heard the word "two-armed" used to describe somebody, since well...it would be sorta redundant.
We name the deviations from the norm, but we don't usually have words for the norm.
That is why it is my unswerving opinion that any society that has the word "feminist" in currency stinks to high heaven because something is terribly wrong with that society. In an enlightened society, the word would be a meaningless default.
I believe that at some point in time, identifying yourself as an abolitionist had the side-effect of identifying your surroundings as fucked up beyond belief. I don't see how identifying yourself as a feminist is any different.
Subhash Bose is a much debated figure. Was he a hero, or was he an opportunist who teamed up with Fascists?
I get asked about Bose.
It is assumed that since I am a Bengali, I am an automatic expert on Bose. I am not. My knowledge of Bose is approximately equal to my knowledge of Bal Gangadhar Tilak or Chandrasekhar Azad. But I do know some.
The concerns expressed are:
1. Why did he ally with Imperial Japan and seek the help of Nazi Germany? That would make him an imperialist Fascist.
I have a couple of close friends who are Americans, Indophiles, and history buffs. This question comes mostly from them, and there is an undertone of horror. He was a Nazi! The horror! There is rich irony here, because that sort of logic also leads to the inescapable conclusion that the United States is, at this point in time, a military dictatorship. Don't get it? Well, the United States collaborates with Pakistan, and if Pakistan is a military dictatorship, then...
I do not know if Subhash Bose was a Fascist. I don't think so, but I may be wrong. I do not know if his political views would have aligned with mine. Or even, clearly, what his political views were. I have a vague idea that he admired authoritarian forms of government like in Soviet Union and Germany. I think that he was a military leader first. He did not get a chance to become a political leader. My belief is that India would not be a democracy (for what that's worth) if Subhash Bose had kicked out the English and then taken control of independent India. I think he would have been dictator. Whether he would have been an enlightened one, we'll never know.
2. Wouldn't the Japanese have grabbed India if the British were defeated by the alliance of the Japanese and INA? How was Bose planning to deal with the Japanese in the long term?
I don't know. My belief is that history would have run this course. If Subhash Bose had won, either he (or the Japanese) would have taken control. After the defeat of Japan by the Allied forces, Britain would have attacked India to regain control, possibly with covert American support. This would have been very similar to the French attack on Vietnam after World War II, with possibly similar results.
We'll never know the true course of history for sure of course, but I am almost sure that were I alive then, I would have joined the army. Just to see the sumbitch J. Nehru in fatigues and actually doing something useful for the country for a change. I would risk life and limb to see that.
I would also have liked to see Mohandas Gandhi faced with this delicate choice: Either stick to non-violence in the face of British attack and, in effect, advocate a reversion of free India to British rule, OR take up arms and renounce his cherished notion of non-violence under all conditions. What would he have chosen to become? A violent patriot, or a non-violent traitor? An interesting choice indeed.
In my meanderings across the interwebs, I came across the meaning of the name "Sophia". It means "wisdom".
I love these moments. The moments when you see something in a new light. With new eyes. It's like falling in love with a longstanding, familiar friend. I have heard that name a million times. On people, on places. But something fell into place with a click when I read what it means. It makes sense: sophisticated, sophistry, philosophy...Sophia.
Everything is interconnected. We just have to find the connections.
Always follow your instincts, even if some of the time they lead you down gangbang alley.
Always.
If you live, you will live better.
The fine print, for legal purposes:
1. The author assumes that users of the above product and/or advice have an understanding of the risks of the product and/or advice. The user acknowledges all liability shall be excluded from all forward-looking statements of benefit made by the author.
2. As in: Your mileage will fukkin vary. If you burn, tough cookies.
3. The user acknowledges that it shall be unreasonable to hold the author liable for any damages arising from the use of the product and/or advice.
4. The product is sold as-is and without any warranty, express or implied.
5. The management reserves the right to withdraw the product and all aftermarket support at any time and without notice.
6. Nyah.
7. The user agrees to not reproduce, duplicate, copy, sell, resell, modify, or otherwise exploit the product for a commercial purpose, without the author's express written consent. Because there shall be consequences.
8. Unless the user does it vewy vewy quietly while the author is watching Law and Order.
9. The author wishes to make it clear and beyond legal doubt that the above advice to follow instincts and suchlike does not apply to certified morons. They should not follow anything. If you are in the situation of being an unmitigated moron and have the creds to prove it, your best bet would be to sit very still and not make any sudden moves. In fact, your goal should be to get through life with a minimum of activity to least do damage to yourself and others.
10. The author has a nagging feeling that the above clause might limit his own use of the product somewhat. The author will ponder this feeling deeply (meaning with the help of tequila mojitos) this weekend.
11. If the ads for this product fool you, it may not necessarily be that the ads are clever; they might just be taking advantage of a pre-existing condition.
12. But your mother still loves you.
13. Like she has a choice.
14. The author will readily exchange all rights and royalties associated with this product for those truffles with the crunchy bits inside.
Large and organized religions can sometimes be a very sweet deal for men, aye, but I hold that women have been routinely shortchanged by religion. A fundamental wisdom of large religions has been that women are either auction-ready chattel or are to be avoided. Hardly a flattering assessment.
I am fairly certain that women have only a passing tolerance for loud religion-mongering. All the philosophical dickwaving about whose god has the bigger biceps leaves them cold. Religion is far more personal to women than it is to men; they might nod and smile at their husbands or boyfriends out of patient consideration, but I suspect that they mostly go along to get along.
I further suspect that they are faintly amused when they see the reflecting on deep cosmic questions by someone who on any given day cannot reliably locate his laundry.
There is a reason why there is little empowerment of women in deeply religious societies. Otherwise it would be a huge problem for the men there. Because then, when we start going on about global Jihad or bringing the light of Christ to the world or banning Orkut for its anti-Hindu messages, they would tell us to shut the fuck up and take the eight o'clock to work.
Most religion is, to put it simply, anti-women, and I think that quite a few women have the smarts to instinctively latch on to this truth.
This is why I am amazed when I see the occasional woman come down violently on the side of Allah, or the laws of Manu, or whatever-the-fuck. I am amazed because I find it hard to reconcile myself to the sort of denial and obtuseness that this requires.
A woman coming out and marching for religion is like fattened beef-cattle handing out flyers for Outback Steakhouse.
But I ramble on so.
To repeat, I feel bad for Firdous Ashriya. Indeed, I feel bad for all women who put up with the shite that we put out in the name of our respective sky-genies.