tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-98421122024-03-13T07:41:52.961-04:00Ghaat Spaat* Asphyxatus Fortuingum *Aadilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16956012166157921642noreply@blogger.comBlogger35125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9842112.post-87073780340999073002015-10-06T14:24:00.004-04:002015-10-06T16:57:07.171-04:00Breaking News: Mooli parathas under attack!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">An organization called ‘Society
Against Mooli’ (SAM) has indicated plans of attacking stalls selling mooli parathas across the
country. Mr Jaimin Tubar has identified himself as the ringleader of the
grassroots organization. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">“I
hate mooli and we will agitate to ban sale and consumption of mooli in any
form. For too long we have suffered in silence while people around us stuffed
themselves with mooli parathas. Mooli ki sabzi is even worse and an insult to
my taste and nostrils.We will start with paratha stalls and target subzi mandis next.”</span><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">Mr
Tubar said he grew up with an uncle who ate mooli ke parathe every day. “It was
torture to be next to him because you would never know when he would release
another of those noxious farts. Everyone talks about clean air globally. First we demand clean air in the room we are in.” </span><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"> <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">Swami
Kusmitananda has declared his support for the movement. </span><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">“It is clearly written
in the scriptures : </span><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<em><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">‘Mulaka
bhakshati naraya, paayashabde durvaata, </span><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></em><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"><em>maruta
pralubhyati parisara, bandhawaha pranashyati’</em> </span><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<u1:p></u1:p>
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">(Translation : People
eating mooli emit a stench so vile, they will not have any friends after a
while.)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;"></span><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
<u1:p></u1:p>
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri;">There
are already voices within the organization asking to include turnips and
shalgam in the protests. In fact one radical member who asked to remain anonymous said
he would like to ban all vegetables except potatoes since he 'hates eating
ghass phoos'. Asked about his views on other bans in the country, Mr Tubar says
he supports all food bans. “In fact, 'SAM'
plans to unite with ‘Beef Haters Organizational Group' (BHOG) and create a
joint organization. Then we will truly be ”</span><br />
<u1:p></u1:p>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p> </o:p></span></div>
</div>
Aadilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16956012166157921642noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9842112.post-29776601882699516672015-08-19T15:25:00.000-04:002015-08-19T15:25:50.846-04:00Jhini<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
A lissome shimmering cloth so fine,<br />
O who spun this lustrous shine!<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Whose spinning wheel pulled the world,<br />
Into a weave, a soul unfurled<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
My Lord, for nine months hath spun<br />
A fine cloth, a life begun<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
People, priests, gods embodied<br />
Tossed it on and off, sullied<o:p></o:p><br />
<br />
Kabir keeps it shimmering fine,<br />
His soul mirrors the lustrous shine.<o:p></o:p><br />
</div>
Aadilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16956012166157921642noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9842112.post-67124814852819232122014-09-06T21:53:00.001-04:002015-08-19T15:24:01.462-04:00Guru Dutt<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<i>Jaate jaate dikha gaya, logon ki kaisi sagi hain</i><br />
<i>Zinda tha to koi na poocha, mar gaya to line lagi hain.</i></div>
Aadilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16956012166157921642noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9842112.post-31629570845950892052014-02-04T09:20:00.003-05:002014-02-04T09:29:16.482-05:00The debate<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">I’m passionate, you’re combative, he’s a rabid dog.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">I talk facts, you talk propaganda, he’s being ridiculous.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">I give examples, you cherry pick, he should read more.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 11.0pt;">I defend my stand, you ramble on, doesn’t he have a job?</span></span></div>
</div>
Aadilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16956012166157921642noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9842112.post-39052735864694882632014-02-04T09:19:00.001-05:002014-02-04T09:23:39.858-05:00A middle class muse on Bal Thackrey<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">I am very late to all the opinion floatsam on Bal Thackerays death, but the ocean is big and palghar cops have by now discovered that the internet has much more interesting stuff to offer.</span><br />
<br /><span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">So here are 5 points I ponder.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">1. Godwin’s Law states ‘As an online discussion grows longer, the probability of a comparison involving hitler approaches One.’ Bal Thackeray didn’t spend all his waking hours making comments on Hitler. But he did make comments professing his love for hitler's oratory, organization skills, artistry and about how india needs a benevolent dictator. Most have heard similar statements by at least one of our friends or family. But Thackeray is who's under discussion and uncle drinks anyway. So it dosent matter that politically, India has always been driven by personality cults pre and post independence. It dosen't matter that Thackerays influence never extended beyond Mumbai. We can still ring the fascist alarm bells and let reductio ad hitlerum begin.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">2. Do you remember reading The Godfather? What was your dominant feeling after? Awe and respect for the godfather or disgust at the mafias crimes? Compare that to your feelings about Thackeray. Vito Corleone is a much better analogy to Bal Thackeray.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">3. Were you in Mumbai in 1993? If you are reading this, you were either in a muslim stronghold or a hindu stronghold or are incredibly lucky. Who started the riot is a chicken and egg question. Who attacked or protected your neighbourhood is not. If you haven’t seen a truck full of sword bearing men trying to make inroads into your locality and get beaten back by acid bulbs and tubelights, you don’t know what I’m talking about. Yes, it was all wrong. But who watched your back?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">4. Shiv Sena started out as a Congress pawn in the 60s. A hired gun that the Congress used to break the communist party's hold on the trade unions. Some pawns survive to reach the last square and become queens. Unlike chess, they also change colors. Like a Congress backed Bhindranwale who later changed colours. Like the US fed Taliban that turned against their former allies.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">5. The bandh didn’t really matter to me. Neither do the elections. They have never. I am not the slumdweller whose home stands or gets bulldozed if this corporator wins or that. I am not the impoverished immigrant escaping the lawlessness of his hometown. I am not a daily wage worker. I think its an exaggeration if someone says all government job appointments have a backdrop of regional and caste based agendas.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Meritocracy is right. Parochialism is wrong. Two wrongs don't make a right. Or so I believe until I'm wronged. Or righted.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">My problems are of the urban rich. My indignance is well fed. My activism is air conditioned. My empathy is an ego massage. And my vote really just dilutes the votes of people whose lives depend on an election outcome.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: Verdana,sans-serif;">Oo look..India won the test match.... </span><br />
</div>
Aadilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16956012166157921642noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9842112.post-24870931392382204182013-07-16T10:58:00.001-04:002013-07-16T10:58:21.059-04:00Hereafter if we part<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<em><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Hereafter if we part, in dreams shall we meet</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Like a flower, dried in the pages of a book so neat</span></em><br />
<br />
<em><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Amongst the people unfortunate, seek the gem that’s yours</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">A jewel that only, in depths of tragedy shall you meet</span></em><br />
<em><br /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span></em>
<em><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">You are not an angel, nary my love so noble</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Mere humans are we, why the veil when we meet?</span></em><br />
<em><br /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span></em>
<em><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Pour life’s tragedies into the tragedies of love,</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Heady is the glass, where two intoxicants meet</span></em><br />
<em><br /><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"></span></em>
<em><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Neither am I what you see nor are you what you seem,</span></em><br />
<em><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">Like two shadows, in the mirage shall we meet.</span></em><br />
<br />
<em><span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;">~ Ahmed Faraz ('Ab ke hum bichde')</span></em><em></em><br />
<span style="font-family: "Trebuchet MS", sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<em><strike><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"></span></strike></em>Aadilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16956012166157921642noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9842112.post-6992863591984507932011-08-05T15:53:00.006-04:002012-04-11T17:28:03.337-04:00Bacterminator<em>Manu is researching bacteria<br />Her summers been a mad rush,<br />She now stands solemn, with an empty petri dish,<br />"Say a few words, while I flush"<br /><br />'Baco the king', the microscopic vulture,<br />the lord of millions in this bacterial culture,<br />"You cant" he thunders, "flush the drain"<br />"We will come back as a mutant strain..!"<br /><br />Manu stops for a second and starts to think,<br />Do bacteria float or do they sink?<br />Her heart now fills with ominous dread,<br />would it be better to bury them instead?<br /><br />"Haha!", says Baco<br />we will find you Missus,<br />Don’t think you had our company,<br />only for the thesis!<br /><br />Manu boldly flushes and goes for a nap,<br />Baco sends his scouts to look for her tap,<br />Swish swish, they slither back up the drain,<br />with newfound powers as a mutant strain.<br /><br />But manu is awake, with a crafty grin,<br />she tiptpoes to the the kitchen sink<br />Opens the tap, into a platter<br />Baco jumps out, into dough and batter!<br /><br />She kneads him in, till he gets stuffy<br />and makes a pizza, nice and fluffy<br />She gets some beer, calls friends for a feast,<br />and thanks her stars Baco mutated into yeast!</em><br /><em></em><br /><em></em>Aadilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16956012166157921642noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9842112.post-1096278039741312042011-05-13T14:43:00.003-04:002012-03-08T17:58:13.593-05:00Puneri Ogden Nash1.<br />Her husband does the dishesh,<br />tyat kay vishesh?<br />-------------------------------------<br />2.<br />Kadi laav aatli,<br />mi nahi tyaatli<br /><span style="font-size:78%;">(author unknown)</span><br />-------------------------------------Aadilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16956012166157921642noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9842112.post-47264239838325859502010-02-20T12:44:00.000-05:002010-02-20T12:45:40.870-05:00bollywood xkcd<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_dAFYzs_tP_4/S4AftB42gOI/AAAAAAAAFR0/0zEqiym3yio/s1600-h/bollywood_xkcd.JPG"><img style="WIDTH: 320px; HEIGHT: 265px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5440383208325021922" border="0" alt="" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_dAFYzs_tP_4/S4AftB42gOI/AAAAAAAAFR0/0zEqiym3yio/s320/bollywood_xkcd.JPG" /></a><br /><div></div>Aadilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16956012166157921642noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9842112.post-32998567988741246322010-01-14T17:37:00.008-05:002015-09-04T10:31:08.390-04:00Poetry Crassics<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div align="justify">
<br />
I recently read about the missing two lines from Leigh Hunt's poetry classic about the arab who had nightmares. Due to slow email in the eighteenth century (it took hundreds of years), Leigh communicated with his publishers using pigeons. But the pigeons took off before Leigh finished dictating the poem. Pigeons are impatient, that way.<br />
<br />
As I dug deeper, I discovered ending lines to several classical gems.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: courier new;">Abou ben Adhem - Leigh Hunt</span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-family: Courier New;">---------------------------</span><br />
<span style="font-family: courier new;"><i>The Angel wrote, and vanished. The next night</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: courier new;"><i>It came again with a great wakening light,</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: courier new;"><i>And showed the names whom love of God had blessed,</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: courier new;"><i>And, lo! Ben Adhem’s name led all the rest!<br />Which tell us in a way quite lyrical,<br />Angel's prefer to keep names alphabetical.</i>(this is someone else's discovery)</span><br />
<span style="font-family: courier new;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: courier new;"></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: courier new;">Leisure - W H Davies</span><br />
<span style="font-family: courier new;">--------------------</span><br />
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<i><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">What is this life full of care,</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">We have no time to stand and stare,</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">No time to stand beneath the boughs</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">And stare as long as sheep and cows. </span></i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<i><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">Though to stare as long would make people wary,</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">It would look stupid and might be scary.</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">The cows grazing on the grassy felt</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">are destined for a conveyor belt.</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">And sheep prancing in idle hurry,</span></i></div>
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<i><span style="color: #0f243e; font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 10pt;">will soon find themselves in mutton curry.</span></i></div>
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<br />
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-family: courier new;">Two Roads - Robert Frost<br /><i>------------------------</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: courier new;"><i>shall be telling this with a sigh</i></span><span style="font-family: courier new;"><i> </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: courier new;"><i>Somewhere ages and ages hence:</i></span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: courier new;">Two roads diverged in a wood, </span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: courier new;">and I </span><span style="font-family: courier new;">took the one less traveled by,</span></i><span style="font-family: courier new;"><i> </i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: courier new;"><i>And that has made all the difference.<br />Though had I taken a GPS along,<br />that would have made a lot of sense.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: courier new;"><i> </i><br />Daffodils - William Wordsworth<br /><i>------------------------------</i></span></div>
<div align="justify">
<span style="font-family: courier new;"><i>My heart with pleasure fills<br />and dances with the daffodils<br />And basking in this wondrous sight<br />is the earth-mover on my right.</i></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: courier new;">Lady of Shallot - Lord Alfred Tennyson<br /><i>--------------------------------------</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: courier new;"><i>But Lancelot mused a little space ;<br />He said, ‘She has a lovely face ;<br />God in his mercy lend her grace,<br />The Lady of Shalott.’<br />'By Jove' quoth he, pants undone,<br />'It'd have been a lot more fun<br />if she didn’t smell like an onion.<br />The Lady of Shallot.'</i></span><br />
I hereby declare the floor open to other poetic historians to restore classical poetry to its pristine version. </div>
</div>
Aadilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16956012166157921642noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9842112.post-70762333931308970062009-10-09T11:45:00.006-04:002009-10-14T15:03:15.480-04:00World cheers Obama peace prize<div align="justify"><br />The world is unanimously in great spirits and good cheer on the Nobel peace prize awarded to the US President. We interviewed a section of the cheering hordes to gather their reactions.<br /><br />In India, local politicians were ecstatic at <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Obama's</span> victory. "Finally, the world is warming up to India's long standing tradition of rewarding politicians for promises made, rather than results delivered. We welcome the peace prize as an endorsement of success of the Indian political system." A leading party has promised to start a low-cost housing scheme called '<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">Baracks</span> Barracks' to honour the US president.<br /><br />In Tuscaloosa (Alabama), there was a massive rally of foreclosed homeowners cheering for their <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">Prez</span>. "Ye know, that’s the kind of thing we were <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">thinkin</span>' back in 2004. So what if ah <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4">havent</span> done <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_5">nothin</span>' to deserve this half a million dollar condo? <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_6">Mah</span> intent is to provide a lavish lifestyle for <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_7">mah</span> family. The banks were ready to give me a loan despite no credit, Ah would be a damned fool to turn it down!"<br /><br />Top executives of Wall Street companies celebrated with champagne and caviar at the Waldorf-Astoria in midtown Manhattan. "We wholeheartedly support the culture of instant gratification, where short term results get rewarded out of proportion." Ex-President George W Bush who also attended, exhibited surprise and happiness at the announcement. "I <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_8">didn</span>’t think anyone in <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_9">washington</span> would ever get the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_10">nobull</span> prize"<br /><br />Reactions from the United Nations were similarly jubilant. "The prize clearly proves that a motherhood & apple-pie intent to do good is more important than achieving it. Finally people will realize that global organizations such as UN and Nobel prize committees are more than just stuffed suits committed to a lifetime of not rocking the boat."<br /><br />In a related news, the US president will participate in the second session on <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_11">healthcare</span> reform remotely using an earpiece, while simultaneously attending the Nobel awards ceremony in Oslo. "We are really glad to have a president who can truly multi-task.", said the chairman of the <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_12">healthcare</span> reform committee.<br />"Our previous session was held while the President was attending Olympic city selection proceedings in Copenhagen." </div>Aadilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16956012166157921642noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9842112.post-13451442078526460432009-07-17T16:31:00.004-04:002009-07-17T16:39:35.569-04:00The acrostic<div align="justify"><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;">"So does no one have the courage to pick up the <em>beeda</em>?" The queen mother looked derisively at the assembled lords. The sturdy sirdars hung their heads in shame. The betel leaf lay untouched in the plate at the centre, the intact silver warq mocking the assembly. "Maybe we should add some more rooms to the <em>janaan-khaana</em>, so these sirdaars can have a place to stay', she spat into the spitoon.<br /><br />"<em>Hukm!</em>", a voice boomed from the back. The great Khan strode in his seven foot frame to the centre of the darbar and picked up the beeda. "<em>Hum pakad layenge Sivaji ko!</em>", he thundered.<br /><br />---<br /><br />The swami was sleepless. His spy had just come in with the news that the great Khan had picked up the gauntlet. The Swami knew anyone leaving the fortified Adilshahi capital would be followed. He knew the news wouldn’t reach Raigad till the Khan reached the border town of Wai. And then it might be too late.<br />It was in the wee hours of the morning that a <em>kirtan-kar</em> came to seek the swami. He would lead a <em>dindi</em> all the way to Alandi. The pilgrims would walk for seven days, singing and dancing in the name of an 11th century saint. They sought swami's blessings in the morning prayers. The swami had an inspirational <em>owee</em> for them.<br /><br />---<br /><br />Maharaj sought the blessings of the pilgrims assembled at the temple. 'Let the words of the wise bring light', his mother used to say. A kirtan-kar from Bijapur, his nasal singsong tone amply betraying his brahmin origins, started the kirtan.<br /><br /><em>"Vivek karava karya sadhuna,<br />jaanaar nartanu he jaNona,<br />pudheel bhavishyaarthi mana,<br />rahatochi naye.<br /><br />Chalu naye asanmaargee,<br />satyata baanalya angi,<br />raghuveerkrupa te prasangi,<br />daasa-mahatmya vaadhavi.<br /><br />Rajaninath aani dinkar,<br />nitya karati sanchara,<br />ghalitaati yera-saara,<br />laavile bhramana jagadeeshe.<br /><br />Aadimaya mool bhavani,<br />hee sakala brahmandachi swamini,<br />yekanti viveka karoni,<br />ishta yojana karavi."<br /></em><br />---<br /><br />Maharaj smiled, declared a generous donation to the temple and excusing himself from the rest of the ceremony, rode back to Raigad.</span><br /></div>Aadilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16956012166157921642noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9842112.post-88259847587666673882009-06-11T12:16:00.006-04:002009-06-11T12:29:01.877-04:00The Bard<div align="justify"><br />1150 AD<br /><br />Rana made a final dash towards the Ghori invader. An attack, that if successful, would in one sweep of the sword, change the war and the history of the subcontinent. But Ghori was as vigilant as the Rana was valiant. He moved away with speed, back into his cordon of protectors. An Uzbek guard seized the reins of Rana's horse and unseated the mighty Rana.<br /><br />Unfortunately for the chivalrous Rana, Ghori's ideals were decidedly more practical. In one swift decree, he declared himself as the master over all of Ranas dominions and declared Rana as a royal prisoner of war.<br /><br />"Ah, so the great king of Rajputana and Hindustan is now a prisoner of a slave governor from Ghori. This is amusing indeed!", the Sultan was merciless in his taunts. <br />"Lower your eyes when you speak to me Rana, like every other kaafir commoner"<br />"A Rajput's eyes are never lowered, O Ghori. Certainly not to a raiding marauder", the Rana responded with the charactersitic defiance and disregard for prudence.<br />"Very well, burn them then."<br /><br />The bard had accompanied the rana throughout his childhood. He and the Rana grew up together. He would compose poetry and paint, while the Rana learnt political science, economics and martial arts. The bard accompanied Rana to the battles and to the royal prisons.<br /><br />The buzz of the upcoming archery context was all among the slave subedars of the court. Who would win the contest? The prize was bountiful, a hundred thousand gold coins and 'Amir-ul-Mara', the title of freedom. The bard was thoughtful.<br /><br />There is great mirth among the subedars. The blinded kaafir king has entered an archery contest! A gazelle is being swirled around by a rotating post at a distance. The Sultan seats himself on a magnificent throne in the grounds. The show begins.<br /><br />"Well Ranaji, what are you waiting for?"<br /><br />The bard cleared his throat. 'Amir-ul-Mulk, a humble request. The Rana won't accept orders to shoot from anyone but another king. So if you please issue the command to shoot, the rana will shoot the gazelle right in the eye"<br /><br />"Proud as a king, and proud as a slave, eh? Very well, O Bard." And then, with a voice as unctuous as he could manage, the Sultan spoke, "O mighty king, if you could please show your prowess in archery." Rana did not move. <br /><br />"<em>Hukm ki TAMEEL HO!",</em> the Sultan shouted.<br /><br />The Rana lifted the bow and pulled the string taut.<br /><br />And then the bard whispered, ever so softly..<br /><em>' Paanch kos, pachaas gaj, angul ashta pramaan,<br />ta par Sultan hain, chuke mat Chauhan'<br /></em><br />There was a very small indiscernible pause, which went unnoticed by everyone except the bard. Then in a fluid movement, the Rana turned to one side and let the arrow fly.<br /><br />The Sultans expression did not waver. He did not clap. He sat motionless for what seemed like an long time. And then ever so gently, like the swish of the fans behind him, he slumped forward, his head held a little above the knees only by the three foot arrow jutting out of his neck.<br /><br /></div>Aadilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16956012166157921642noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9842112.post-51344977876966052312009-06-05T15:50:00.012-04:002009-06-07T09:09:44.289-04:00Woman at the door<div align="justify"><br />The nights in Vagale match up to your expectations of a Goan village night. A dark summer night devoid of streetlights, croaking flogs, chirping crickets, the ancestral home had it all. A power failure just added to the charm.<br /><br />We settled in the dark living room, with a couple of candles burning on the centre table. In just a day, we had enthusiastically embraced the 'Sushekaat' principle, which every Goan langrously defends. Murmurs of post dinner conversation blended with the waters of Mandovi rippling some distance from the backyard. Cinema flowed into politics into family anecdotes. Befitting a lights out night, the conversation turned to local legends.<br /><br />"Do you know", Mama started, "How the Dempo family became this rich?" Everyone in Goa knew the Dempos. In addition to mining interests, they ran a popular football team. Dempo & Salgaocars were the East Bengal and Mohun Bagan of Goa.<br />"They used to be a poor family, living on the outskirts of this very village. Appa Dempo lived with Tai in a small 2 room house with their five kids", Mama continued.<br />"Those were Portuguese times, and it was hard work filling 7 stomachs with what little Appa made from working as a clerk in the mines. He was neck deep in ancestral debt too. Turns out there was some trouble in the mines and Appa stopped getting his pay. With no money and no credit, it was clear the family was about to starve." Mama paused to let out a contented burp of mandeli and chicken cafreal. <br />We did not miss it.<br /><br />"One evening, they were down to their last handful of rice. No one knew where the next meal was coming from. The family had barely sat together to eat their share of two spoons of boiled rice, when Appa heard someone at the door. He stepped out into the verandah to check. It was a woman, begging for food."<br />"Appa Dempo, what a man", Mama glanced reverently towards the sky, "did not hesitate and gave the entire bowl of rice to the woman. 'Atithi devo bhava' they say. You know, right?" We nodded, agreeing.<br /><br />"The woman took the rice gratefully and looked up at Appa. Tai Dempo had arrived by Appas side by then. The woman's eyes met Tais. Tai turned around and walked back quietly into the house. She ran to the backdoor, into the back yard and jumped into the well. Tai had ended her life."<br /><br />"What ??" We looked at each other. Everyone had a puzzled expression, I felt a chill down my spine.<br /><br />"Meanwhile, the beggar woman came into the house. She walked into the inner room , in measured steps and without uttering a word, locked herself in." Mama paused, we weren't sure if it was for effect or an upcoming burp.<br /><br />"You see", he continued. "The beggar woman at the door was Lakshmi - the goddess of wealth. Pleased with Appa's generosity, she decided to be in their house forever. That is why she locked herself in. And the Dempo family was never poor again. Even now they say, the Dempo mansion is built around that very room, which has never been opened in the last fifty years. Dempo is afraid Lakshmi might leave if the room is opened."<br /><br />"What about Tai Dempo?"<br />"Well, Tai recognized Lakshmi for who she was. You know the woman of the house is the griha-lakshmi. And there can be only one Lakshmi in the house. So Tai knew she had to leave the Earth for the sake of her family. "<br /><br />"They say though, if you are ever hungry and happen to peer into a well,you can see Tai beckoning you in the reflection…."<br /><br />No one wanted to go for a night-walk that night.<br /><br /></div>Aadilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16956012166157921642noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9842112.post-28340198887087237942009-01-09T14:54:00.007-05:002009-01-09T15:06:02.875-05:00Little Pakistan<a href="http://www.rediff.com/news/2009/jan/07mumterror-pakistan-finally-admits-kasab-is-a-pakistani.htm"><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>Pakistan finally admits Kasab is a pakistani</em></span></a><br /><br /><a href="http://www.rediff.com/news/2009/jan/07mumterror-pak-nsa-sacked-for-comments-on-kasab-nationality.htm"><span style="font-size:85%;"><em>Pak Nsa sacked for comments on Kasab nationality</em></span></a><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-family:verdana;font-size:85%;">"So Vicky, is Kasab a pakistani national?"<br /><br />"Yeah but no but yeah but no but yeah but no but yeah but no but yeah but no but yeah....SHAAAAAAP!"</span><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><p><span style="font-size:78%;">© Michelle Fernandes Datey</span></p>Aadilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16956012166157921642noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9842112.post-35047271904911431382008-10-30T14:17:00.006-04:002008-10-30T14:44:39.772-04:00Aji & Derivatives<div align="justify"><br />I don’t understand this hoopla about securitized products. Aji would have agreed with me. She did the same thing, making amba-barfi.<br /><br />She displayed pure genius on the sub-prime front with 'Beri-chya-vadya'. For the ignoramii, 'Beri' is the gunk left at the bottom of the pot after making ghee. Aji scraped off all the tar, insured it with liberal amounts of powdered sugar and cut that into squares. As kids, we were allowed only the junior tranches - the broken-edged, crumbled, CCC rated barfis on the edge of the pan. Guests got the perfect cuts, smoky-sweet squares, fit for all credit & blood-sugar scores!<br /><br />We learnt to hedge early on, trading off a scolding from aai with some pampering from aji and vice versa. Summer vacations & card games were our initiation into the market. Anyone who has held on to a king and a queen in badam-saat because the seven hasn’t been played yet, knows the agony of a market choke-up. We called options too, playing 'paach-teen-don'. If you made more hands than required, you had an option in the next round, to call for a card or a hand from the loser. What happens if it was almost evening? Someone would get up and declare that it was time to play cricket. Options be damned.<br /><br />That’s the beauty of being a Jimmy Cayne or a Dick Fuld. You can get up and go away to play another game.<br /></div>Aadilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16956012166157921642noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9842112.post-42175824752433032112007-01-02T11:16:00.000-05:002007-01-02T11:26:49.168-05:00Party Time'Tis the season to be jolly<br />Some hold their drink, shum are sholly!Aadilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16956012166157921642noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9842112.post-1140061164165699842006-02-15T22:37:00.000-05:002006-02-19T16:27:08.380-05:00The ArtistHe is just a face, in the crowd<br />His walk is thoughtful, he's under a cloud.<br />"Should I just do it? I'm losing time,<br />This is getting worse..but is it a crime?"<br /><br />A scary thought, furrows his brow,<br />"What if I'm seen, by someone I know?"<br />A critical decision, at this juncture<br />"Maybe it'll burst, maybe a puncture!"<br /><br />The time is right, he sneaks to a side<br />Whips it out, to hell with pride.<br />A great relief, he whistles a tune<br />"I'm not a girl, what a great boon!"<br /><br />He walks away, and no one knew<br />He's lost again, in the milieu.<br />His art remains, on the wall<br />A wet parabola, three feet tall.Aadilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16956012166157921642noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9842112.post-1139775523514842642006-02-12T14:54:00.000-05:002006-02-13T15:29:36.820-05:00The Sculptor<div align="justify"><br />He sits by the window, a portly figure<br />the afternoon train hot, sweaty, beleagured.<br /><br />People yawn, doze, mostly resigned,<br />Some hum, daydream, they pass their time.<br />But one man has a purpose, he has a mission,<br />he is about to embark on a sculpting session.<br /><br />He suddenly plunges, a furious spree,<br />Digging, probing, to get it free.<br />Will he get it out? the suspense is mounting,<br />the boy opposite watches, he has been counting.<br /><br />Ahh, its free! The raw material is here,<br />the sculptor looks relieved, now with cheer.<br /><br />The fingers deft, give it a shape,<br />squeezing, flattening, the boy is agape.<br />Fierce concentration, the image takes hold,<br />The boy counts, thats the third one rolled.<br /><br />He watches his creation, a suspicious glance,<br />As if it appeared in his fingers by chance,<br />A thing of beauty, a work of art,<br />a pinch, a flick, its time to part.<br /><br />The sculptor relaxes, his job is done,<br />the difficult part is, picking the right one.<br /><br /></div>Aadilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16956012166157921642noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9842112.post-1121394368600767852005-07-17T00:00:00.000-04:002005-07-17T11:08:42.146-04:00Morning Baba<div align="justify">It was in the 7:55 to Central Terminal that I met him. "You will soon be prosperous, but will lose out on the ebay deal.", a voice pronounced in my ear.<br /><br />A short, stout, saffron robed saint; among the sweaty masses of a damp morning train. Vermilion on the forehead, hair shorn for a Hare Krishna look. The round, chubby face clean shaven, with the second chin wagging to agree with the first when he spoke.<br /><br />"Are you a face reader?", I asked.<br />He made a face reserved for the unknown droplets that fall on you in the tunnels.<br />"No, my son."<br />"A Palmist then? Or perhaps you read from the shape of the head?"<br />"Take it easy son. Palmistry, phrenology, tarot.. all are passe. I've studied this science for a long time, and have developed my method. I operate in the rush hour trains. I smell armpits", he said with a quiet dignity.<br /><br />I brought down my arm from the bar above, and lost my balance. "You what?"<br /><br />"Armpits, son. The fortunes of today are all written in the underarm." He suddenly raised his voice in a sales pitch.<br />"Very convenient for daily commuters. Problems in Love? Job? Money? Sex? All problems guaranteed solution. Come to me! Raise your arms, raise your luck!"<br /><br />"He's good", a guy next to me remarked. "I'm a software engineer. I never had enough time and I never was very good.. but now I get her off in logN time."<br /><br />The sales pitch worked, and people did a slow trapeze to get to the Armpit Baba. Some even gave up their window seats for a consultation. "Soon my skills will be world famous.. my disciples will spread across the globe foretelling future of the entire commuting mankind...", he started his services.<br /><br />"I'm going to get a fortune when my wife dies..", a fat man returned happily to his seat.<br />"Your boss will be out all day after lunch", a bespectacled clerk was told.<br />"You shall soon be sleeping under the stars.", the Baba told a beaded hippie.<br />"You too..", he said to a pretty struggling starlet.<br /><br />I was slowly edged out to the door and onto my platform, thinking about when Armpit Baba's disciples would swarm the rush hour trains.<br /><br />So if you have a problem, and need help, keep an eye out and an arm up for the Armpit Baba.<br /><br />He's out there, and he's sniffing.<br /></div>Aadilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16956012166157921642noreply@blogger.com13tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9842112.post-1120115573426950402005-06-30T03:04:00.000-04:002005-07-16T23:41:42.323-04:00The Highwayman<div align="justify"><br />The highwayman is a social phenomenon. He forms his band at social gatherings.<br /><br />There was a time when people who had nothing better to talk about discussed the weather or the water situation. But what with those topics running dry (ha ha), long hours of a dinner party are now spent discussing Interstate routes. <br /><br />Literature, Art, Cinema, all have taken the backseat due to this rather base topic of discussion. This Pathology has reached such alarming proportions, that people don't dare to talk about anything else lest they be considered wimps. <br /><br />People ignore the bullet holes on your car, or the deer sticking out of the radiator; But they want to know if you came by the fastest route possible. <br /><br />There is one man at the party who has complete knowledge of the nations routes. His wife beats him on the head everyday with a cauliflower, but in this conversation he assumes an air of the invincible.<br /><br />"Oh, you took a long time getting here..", he starts. "I assume you took the turnpike?"<br />"Umm.. yeah..", the innocent man says. <br /><br />The highway man lets out a smirk.<br />"You should have taken the Interstate from exit 64 on the Beltway. 17 South is a much faster way of getting here than the Van Johnson. You can also try the country route 5.."<br /><br />As the conversation proceeds, onlookers form a circle around the innocent man. They jeer and throw bits of pudding on him. The party is a great success.<br /><br />The highway man swaggers, with ladies fawning and children wide-eyed. <br /><br />The party ends. The innocent man slinks away, resolving to memorize the map. The highway man walks out of the door, once again the meek guy living a quiet life of compromise.<br /></div>Aadilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16956012166157921642noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9842112.post-1116344173550264962005-05-17T11:23:00.001-04:002005-05-17T11:36:13.553-04:00A Birthday OdeHey Mihika! Happy Birthday<br />wishes to you I send,<br />I am sorry, I'm not yet<br />rich enough to spend.<br /><br />So I send u lots of love<br />This 21st of May,<br />Go Party! Have lots of fun!<br />on this special day.<br /><br />They'll say,"You aren't a kid anymore,<br />and seriously ought to,<br />be serious, and all grown up"<br />(Heck- Just read Harry Potter!)<br /><br />For the b'day gifts you'll get today,<br />Do thank one and all,<br />For the big ones give many thanks,<br />and fewer for the small.<br /><br />And if u ever wonder how did Dada<br />write this corny rhyme,<br />google helped me; and a drink<br />2 parts vodka, one part lime.<br /><br />- May 21, 2003Aadilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16956012166157921642noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9842112.post-1112829758198996572005-04-06T19:20:00.000-04:002005-04-06T19:35:20.866-04:00Upcoming Talk<a href="http://memory.syr.edu/people/avdatey/images/upcomingtalk.jpg"><br /><img src="http://memory.syr.edu/people/avdatey/images/upcomingtalkt.jpg" border="0"><br /></a>Aadilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16956012166157921642noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9842112.post-1109878308746151232005-03-16T03:00:00.002-05:002008-07-07T12:15:10.435-04:00Je suis Marxiste, tendance groucho.<pre> <div align="justify"><br /><span style="font-family:times new roman;font-size:130%;">* Starring *<br />------------<br />Groucho Marx as Rufus T. Firefly, President of Freedonia<br />Margaret Dumont as Mrs Teasdale, Rich Widow financing the country<br />and<br />Chico Marx as Chicolini, the Spy!<br /><br />(President's office, discussing the threat from Sylvania)<br /><br />Groucho : We need more money to fight Sylvania.<br />Margaret : Oh.. we have spent all of my dead husbands fortune already..<br />Groucho : You couldnt have asked him to work harder, you old nag!<br />Margaret : Maybe we could plunder some treasure from the Incas..<br />Chico : At'sa okay. I got some Incas at home..<br />Groucho : Really?<br />Chico : Some blue inca and some black inca, you tella what you want?<br />Groucho : You know it pains me to see cannibals go hungry while you're around.<br /><br />Groucho : Maybe we should go to the mountains to search for treasure.<br />Chico : No, no ,no. It'sa too dangerous.<br />Groucho : Why is it dangerous? (lifts eyebrow)<br />Chico : Mountain there'sa snow, abyss..<br />Groucho : Golly! thats where the abyssinnians live.<br />Chico : Avalanche..<br />Groucho : Its too early for me.<br />Chico : Avalanche!<br />Groucho : Okay, don't shout. I'll have some lobster.<br />Chico : Oh, you are too shellfish..<br />Groucho : Say, can you eat an electric eel? <sup>1</sup><br />Chico : Only if you ground it.<br /><br />Margaret : (running in) Freedonia has been attacked from air!<br />Groucho : (going over to the telephone) Get me the secretary's underarms. I mean the Under-Secretary of Arms.<br />Groucho : (on the phone) I would like to order five Gnats, ten Mosquitoes and ten Stingers for the airforce. Mash them well, and go easy on the sauce.<br />Margaret : (wringing hands, agitated) The peasants! They are fighting!<br />Groucho : Oh, don't be chicken..<br />Margaret : But the peasants are revolting!<br />Groucho : I agree, and it would do you well to take a bath too. Chicolini, send a scoop of trouts to investigate, the spooner the better.<br /><br />Groucho : (looking out of the window) You know, they have a drink named after the man who conquered that mountain.<br />Margaret : A drink?<br />Groucho : Sherbet Tenzing.<br /><br /></span></div></pre>Aadilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16956012166157921642noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9842112.post-1107796936823697972005-02-28T03:00:00.000-05:002005-02-28T12:38:15.006-05:00A Visit to a Madrassa<div align="justify"><br />Not the one where they teach you to have faith in the goodness of all fellow beings and donate to charity; Mind you, this was a real teach-kids-terror Madarassa.<br /><br />"We have about two hundred and fifty school children here, in various stages of training". My guide started the tour. <br />"Violence has to be inculcated into the little minds right from childhood. Here we do it through books, films and group activities. You see a bird teaches the fledgling to fly right from when it is an egg."<br /><br />That was a new one on me. But the school was named Al-Baidaa, so there had got to be something in that.<br /><br />I passed a group of kids (aged three) watching Tom & Jerry cartoons. A dog was pounding the cat into the meat grinder. "That looks pretty harmless", I ventured. My guide looked at me in a Heh-Heh kind of way. "That is according to the Montessori system."<br /><br />The next group of kids, five years old, were getting to the real training, he said. As I passed, they chanted out,<br />'Piggy on the railway, Picking up stones,<br />Along came an engine And broke poor Piggy's bones.<br />"Oh" said Piggy, "That's not fair"<br />"Oh" said the Engine, "I don't care" '<br /><br />I moved to another group which was practicing killing innocents.<br />"Rock a bye baby on the tree top,<br />When the wind blows the cradle will rock,<br />When the bough breaks the cradle will fall,<br />And down will come baby, cradle and all. "<br /><br />Some kids were into their Play recess. "Ah, it makes your heart glow to see little kids playing.", my guide said. <br />The children started..<br />"Oranges and lemons, Say the bells of St. Clement's...<br />You owe me ten shillings, Say the bells at St. Helen's.<br />When will you pay me? Say the bells at Old Bailey.<br />When I grow rich, Say the bells at Shoreditch....<br />Here comes a candle to light you to bed, <br />And here comes a chopper to chop off your head. "<br /><br />I moved to some older kids reading '1000 Amazing Facts for Children'. <br />'If all arteries, veins and capillaries from the human body were stretched end to end, they would make a path that could go four times around the moon.'<br /><br />'The human brain generates enough electricity to power a electric toothbrush.'<br />I could see some of the kids looking at me with a glint in their eye. I left as fast as I could.<br /><br />The visit to the terror-training school left me shaken. It is chilling to think of young minds growing up saying such fiendish things.<br /><br />Aren't you glad your kids are not exposed to such violent literature?<br /><br /></div>Aadilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16956012166157921642noreply@blogger.com11