Vijayanagara Empire-Beginning of the End

vam:

A fine overview of the years through the fall of #VijaynagrEmpire …
via @ScorpiusMaximus
“All empires fall, eventually… But why ? It’s not for lack of power.
In fact, it seems to be the opposite. Their power lulls them into comfort. They become undisciplined.
Those who had to earn power are replaced by those who have known nothing else. Who have no comprehension of the need to rise above base desires.
~ Max Barry.

Originally posted on History Under Your Feet:

Empires inevitably fall, and when they do, history judges them for the legacies they leave behind.- Noah Feldman.
 
“All empires fall, eventually.”
“But why? It’s not for lack of power. In fact, it seems to be the opposite. Their power lulls them into comfort. They become undisciplined. Those who had to earn power are replaced by those who have known nothing else. Who have no comprehension of the need to rise above base desires- Max Barry.
 
In the great books of India, an empire spoke to us, nothing small or unworthy, but large, serene, consistent, the voice of an old intelligence, which in another age and climate had pondered and thus disposed of the questions that exercise us- Ralph Waldo Emerson.
Somewhere it had to begin, after reaching a zenith, the peak of it’s glory, the mighty Vijayanagara Empire would sooner or later have to face it’s hour…

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Content Within Appearance

I am speaking of this slept over but still unmade bed … sort of reminds me of someone or something that is so removed from any elitist perspective, farthest from being a mere lifestyle matter !

Ah … yes, it reminds me of life and the living, the tower of emotion we each are : akin to tip of iceberg.

Love you Laureen Kae !

A Wonderful Still

There is a well of emotion rising off the pale bright spots in half lit room … but no words or even the inclination to express !

Courtesy : Markovich — The Great Heart … The sobriquet is mine.

Wonder Of A Creation

I regard Camus’ The Fall as the first by far among top three wonders of modern classics. Yet there are reasons, unfathomable for the most part, why it is exceedingly difficult to talk about. For one, it isn’t just that the work can be read at several levels, while interpreting the narrative; there are levels within levels too closely enmeshed to disentangle and reduce it to one or other simple version. Secondly, it is hardly composed to even seem to be a novel, as works of fiction go. The story at the fore has pronounced enough features of Holland and its canals, a former laywer and now a judge-penitent for its loquacious protagonist, in a rather fast-paced conversation with a chance visitor over a few vividly described evenings, largely about his present and past life, highlighting the high and low experiences, judgements of people and sundry events it includes, ending in a climactic anti-climax, followed by adieu.

But there, you might have already guessed : these form just the background over which the most intended aspects behind the creation are pasted on the run, going round and round about the same and similar setting, both in the immediate environment and the point recalled in the autobiographical storyline, leaping across continents in the same paragraph and bounding over epochs in collective history in the next sentence, now sizing up an individual and then summing up entire humanity in the next breath. What do we speak of : the prominent but inconsequential story or the elusive but most important intent the artist has woven in it ?

What moves the author to exercise his craft is man, his destiny and his failures, despite the declared futility of such passion. He creates the frames and their ambience to succintly lay down the fall or failure parallels in individual and collective experience, without losing hope or the sight of stalled but grand journey of man, specifically of Europe. That brings the review part of this essay to end : there’s nothing more to be said, which has not been better narrated in the work itself. Let us turn its leafs…

* * *

“Oh, not the Dutch; they are much less modern… Well, these gentlemen over here live off the labors of those ladies over there. All of them, moreover, both male and female, are very middle-class creatures who have come here, as usual, out of mythomania or stupidity. Through too much or too little imagination, in short. From time to time, these gentlemen indulge in a little knife or revolver play, but don’t get the idea that they’re keen on it. Their role calls for it, that’s all, and they are dying of fright as they shoot it out. Nevertheless, I find them more moral than the others, those who kill in the bosom of the family by attrition. Haven’t you noticed that our society is organized for this kind of liquidation ? You have heard, of course, of those tiny fish in the rivers of Brazil that attack the unwary swimmer by thousands and with swift little nibbles clean him up in a few minutes, leaving only an immaculate skeleton ? Well, that’s what their organization is. “Do you want a good clean life ? Like everybody else ?” You say yes, of course. How can one say no ? “O.K. You’ll be cleaned up. Here’s a job, a family, and organized leisure activities.” And the little teeth attack the flesh, right down to the bone.

“But I am unjust. I shouldn’t say their organization. It is ours, after all: it’s a question of which will clean up the other.”

“… allow me to introduce myself: Jean-Baptiste Clamence, at your service. Pleased to know you. You are in business, no doubt? In a way ? Excellent reply ! Judicious too : in all things we are merely “in a way…: But no matter. Professions interest me less than sects. Allow me to ask you two questions and don’t answer if you consider them indiscreet. Do you have any possessions ? Some ? Good. Have you shared them with the poor ? No ? Then you are what I call a Sadducee. If you are not familiar with the Scriptures, I admit that this won’t help you. But it does help you? So you know the Scriptures ? Decidedly, you interest me.

“As for me … My profession is double, that’s all, like the human being. I have already told you, I am a judge-penitent. Only one thing is simple in my case : I possess nothing. Yes, I was rich. No, I shared nothing with the poor. What does that prove ? That I, too, was a Sadducee …”

“No excuses ever, for anyone; that’s my principle at the outset. I deny the good intention, the respectable mistake… In philosophy as in politics, I am for any theory that [132] refuses to grant man innocence and for any practice that treats him as guilty. You see in me, très cher, an enlightened advocate of slavery. Without slavery, as a matter of fact, there is no definitive solution. I very soon realized that. Once upon a time, I was always talking of freedom. At breakfast I used to spread it on my toast, I used to chew it all day long, and in company my breath was delightfully redolent of freedom. With that key word I would bludgeon whoever contradicted me; I made it serve my desires and my power… I did on occasion make a more disinterested use of freedom and even—just imagine my naïveté—defended it two or three times without of course going so far as to die for it, but nevertheless taking a few risks. I must be forgiven such rash acts; I didn’t know what I was doing. I didn’t know that freedom is not a reward or a decoration that is celebrated with champagne. Nor yet a gift, a box of dainties designed to make you lick your chops. Oh, no ! It’s a chore, on the contrary, and a long-distance race, quite solitary and very exhausting…

“Ah, mon cher, for anyone who is alone, without God and without a master, the weight of days is dreadful. Hence one must choose a master, God being out of style. Besides, that word has lost its meaning; it’s not worth the risk of shocking anyone. Take our moral philosophers, for instance, so serious, loving their neighbor and all the rest—nothing distinguishes them from Christians, except that they don’t preach in churches. What, in your opinion, keeps them from becoming converted ? Respect perhaps, respect for men; yes, human respect. They don’t want to start a scandal, so they keep their feelings to themselves. For example, I knew an atheistic novelist who used to pray every night. That didn’t stop anything : how he gave it to God in his books…

“Ah, the little sneaks, play actors, hypocrites—and yet so touching! Believe me, they all are, even when they set fire to heaven. Whether they are atheists or churchgoers, Muscovites or Bostonians, all Christians from father to son. But it so happens that there is no more father, no more rule ! They are free and hence have to shift for themselves; and since they don’t want freedom or its judgments, they ask to be rapped on the knuckles, they invent dreadful rules, they rush out to build piles of faggots to replace churches. Savonarolas, I tell you. But they believe solely in sin, never in grace. They think of it, to be sure. Grace is what they want — acceptance, surrender, happiness, and maybe, for they are sentimental too, betrothal, the virginal bride, the upright man, the organ music. Take me, for example, and I am not sentimental — do you know what I used to dream of ? A total love of the whole heart and body, day and night, in an uninterrupted embrace, sensual enjoyment and mental excitement — all lasting five years and ending in death. Alas !”

A Fine Memoriam …

A friend I greatly admire surprised me even more with the few words he penned in rememberance of his father, through the event and the wake which followed. The entire rustic prose is exquisitely poised at that threshold, I felt, between the grief that overtakes us upon our parent’s demise, prepared as much we might be, and the alternating surreal snapshots of procedure and interaction snippets that pass into our view. Here are his own words, first published on Facebook.

… QUOTE …

My father decided to call it a day last month.

Yes it was a moment of grief but very soon subdued by the great needs of the worldly and the other worldly arrangements of our faith. The mega 13 day event was a major logistical and protocol issue. It was a gathering of uncles last seen few decades back, and of cousins and their children, some of whom we saw for the first time. Yes they did sympathize with the old man and us but very soon it was overtaken by catch-up talk and exchange of tit-bits. My father decided to call it a day last month.<br />
Yes it was a moment of grief but very soon subdued by the great needs of the worldly and the other worldly arrangements of our faith. The mega 13 day event was a major logistical and protocol issue. It was a gathering of uncles last seen few decades back, and of cousins, and their children some of whom we saw for the first time. Yes they did sympathize with the old man and us but very soon it was overtaken by catch-up talk and exchange of tit-bits.<br />
Everyday had a significance of its own, with rituals followed by scripture reading and prayers and so on. Even there was a major tiff within our extended relations regarding who were the rightful forefathers (or rather their souls) to be invited for the ceremonies considering that my Grandfather was an adopted son and was equally adored by the donor and the recipient families.<br />
Life after death is not an end, in fact it is a long journey requiring all the comforts and needs that sometimes we may have missed in our earthly innings. This realization came after the long drawn haggling with the priest regarding the quantum of grains that would be needed for Dad’s journey beyond and the many other necessities which we forgot to provide for and was promptly converted into the equivalent amount in Rupees and handed over to the priest for arranging the transfer.<br />
The last part was to find out his possible carnation in the afterlife and believe it or not we did get his footprints or markups on the sand bed left covered overnight at the altar. However there is still a dispute whether he is going to be a Flower, a snake or a bird or all of them in some order.<br />
At the end it was all a good doze of socializing and quite a celebration and your SMILE made us all smile.<br />
Dad you missed all that but that would not have been possible with you there. Have a happy and safe journey & RIP when you reach its end.” width=”258″ height=”336″ /><br />
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<p style=Everyday had a significance of its own, with rituals followed by scripture reading and prayers and so on. Even there was a major tiff within our extended relations regarding who were the rightful forefathers (or rather their souls) to be invited for the ceremonies, considering that my Grandfather was an adopted son and was equally adored by the donor and the recipient families.

Life after death is not an end, in fact it is a long journey requiring all the comforts and needs that sometimes we may have missed in our earthly innings. This realization came after the long drawn haggling with the priest regarding the quantum of grains that would be needed for Dad’s journey beyond, many of the other necessities which we forgot to provide for, which was promptly converted into the equivalent amount in Rupees and handed over to the priest for arranging the transfer.

The last part was to find out his possible carnation in the afterlife and believe it or not we did get his footprints or markups on the sand bed left covered overnight at the altar. However there is still a dispute whether he is going to be a flower, a snake or a bird, or all of them in some order.

At the end it was all a good doze of socializing and quite a celebration, and your SMILE made us all smile.

Dad you missed all this but that would not have been possible with you here.

Have a happy and safe journey & RIP when you reach its end.

… UNQUOTE …

The Essence Of Vedas

It is a humble work … now in the making : a free-flow rendering in English of sentiments inspired by Sanskrit hymns Arya masters expressed several millennia ago, when life had resumed in the Indian subcontinent after the most recent Ice Age. The verses released therein are not as pithy as their Vedic hymn yet, though not put to test, are intended to have similar content in terms of felt truth projected in their inspiration uttered then, either sung by river banks, in secluded monasteries, or during public ceremonies and discourses.

Veda texts are now easily available in print and on the web, both as Sanskrit original and their numerous translations, with and without commentaries of authors past and present. What brought me to the task was a personal realisation of the self-integrated sentiment of immense beauty and truth they express. It was not long before I could also fathom how they have been coloured, tainted rather than tinted, by formal hard-etched concepts of religion that burdens the Western mind, on one hand, and by the intellectual rigour to which modern scholars must necessarily subject these alien verses, on the other.

It is impossible even in imagination for an uniniatiated layman like myself to stand with those masters in hoary past, in their setting, hearing their words, singing along as they fluently intone with barely a pause, and keep pace with the etymological and contextual meaning of expressions crafted into the hymns. What I could hear and feel in them today is the same beauty, truth, longing, love and peace, they carry to this day. Unavoidably, their modern presentations also brought to my experience the discordant religious, intellectual or philosophical hues superimposed on them. Hence the need to reduce at least select Vedic texts to their simple, easy-to-read-and-appreciate form. Only you, dear reader, and others over time, would be able to sound back if the attempt succeeds, and if it works enough to add to the reach these texts have hitherto had among common gentry.

I sincerely seek to obtain your first feel of the impression the work leaves with you. Those who would like to associate with it long term, as an editor or reader, are encouraged to write in.

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Alipore Case : A Page From History

vam:

A Chapter From Sri Aurobindo’s Life in prison… humourous, insightful and detached !

Originally posted on Truth Within, Shines Without:

A Chapter From Sri Aurobindo’s Life

The Alipore Bomb Case took place against suspects involved in a bomb attack on April 30, 1908, targeting Magistrate Kingsford at Muzaffarpur in Bihar. The former Chief Magistrate of Calcutta Presidency was known for handing out especially harsh sentences on young political activists who, under his judicial responsibility, were also subjected to harsh corporal humiliation. In consequence, the powerful Englishman was sentenced by a secret trial-in-absence by “Jugantar” hardliners at Aurobindo Ghose’s family home in Manicktala. To execute the judgment, Khudiram Bose and Prafulla Chaki travelled from Calcutta, duly studied Kingsford’s movements and chalked out the plan to assassinate him in the evening of that fateful day, when the target was expected to emerge from the European Club. The hurl landed on the horse carriage but not on the marked man. it killed two British women instead, the wife and daughter of barrister Pringle…

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Journal : Roots And Heritage

Are our roots — historical, cultural and familial — of any consequence ?

Is our concern with our heritage of any value to our present and future ? 

We know some, actually many, would size up the query with impatience, perhaps scorn. Life is anyway immense and apparently more than enough to engage us with its challenges and opportunities. Roots and heritage add nothing to our entrepreneurship or professional capability, for instance, or to our pursuit of money and wealth, for survival and happiness. It does not help us with our income augmentation efforts, with our enjoyment of all that we have, and our reach out for what is on the offer. We, in any case, have our roots in the here and now, with a way of life already upon us, to live up to.

If one is a communist, a leftist of whatever hue, or an atheist irreligious or areligious, a peek into our times in past hardly illuminates the scientific or dialectical catechisms before us. Everything would have to be settled in the light of our respective interests or goals, as it must be led and moved hereon. A treasure of large enough worth or a technological secret that could be unravelled and built upon today would be welcome. But delving into our roots and heritage ?It rarely lead us to such material gain or means to power.

 

I really cannot answer for others. My own roots and heritage mattered to me when I began looking at myself along the timeline I’d traveled since birth and the successive experiences of the community I was part of , which shaped the way of life I felt carrying on my back and that was already about me. I had gone very much far into the ubiquitous modernity on which business and our urban westernised life was found, with emphasis on scientific temperament and reasoned inquiry into all that we experience and all that happened to and with us, when I had to stop and question the values system and life perspective on which my motivation to living and to life itself was founded.

It was then that I learned about the ancients who insisted on keeping our spiritual moorings stronger than the mental drift, than the psychological, survival and material drives; about the towering men who displayed unflinching perseverence to the just stance, persistence with the right way, and courage to lose everything that bind us small and that leave us with our mere posssessions and the breath to live with all that we have lost — our self and our soul. The sound of Vedic hymns from the banks of our rivers rang in my ears, the celestial song of Gita and the fullsome narrative of the grand epics once more brought the tear-filled eyes of my sire to my memory, and the heroes who cared not for their loss or defeat but only of who they represented and what they stood for…

It was only thereafter that I picked my life once again with a doubtless certainty of who I was, what my life was for, and how my path ahead meandered through all the senselessness, meaninglessness and unrelatedness I had found myself in. The awareness of my roots and my heritage saved me from a certain suicidal purposelessness. It gave meaning to the mountains I visited, the people I met and conversed with, the forces I opposed, the views I demolished, the ways of life and thought I came to second and support, and the values that earlier chimed within me without any apparent basis.

Are our roots — historical, cultural and familial — of any consequence ?

Is our concern with our heritage of any value to our present and future ?

But haven’t I answered already !

 

Journal : Weather, Labour, Capital…India

It was cool yesterday, the air comfortably crisp. I shut off the bedside fan but did not opt for the thin cover resting on the backrest of foldable chair. In the morning, even the overhead fan was unnecessary, with the tea cup steaming up its flavours. The problems of an older body had receded from my attention.

Why I do not stand with the communists, socialists and all those stridently on the left, is not as much of a mystery as my open empathy for much of what they call for would suggest. People on the margins, the poor and the weak, need those voices to champion their cause : for them to be heard in corridors of power and wealth, by men who could make a difference by their attitude, priority and decision.

However, for very personal values, I do not stand with the lot releasing those welcome notes : one, high in effect, is my pathological disagreement with making a career out of it, howsoever slight; secondly, far from endorsing their animosity for capital, I actually oppose their lack of appreciation of how businesses serve the very constituency leftists represent. And finally, not only do I find myself incapable of a definitive interpretation of history but am loathe at pre-empting it. History will be what it will be, only after we have put ourselves into its motions today.

I compulsorily oppose transgressions that ride on the power of wealth, emblemised in the american kind, but not the entrepreneurship that is universal, that all men and women have in their spirit to help themselves up at gathering capital, helping and taking the help of others along their way. Everybody appreciates labour and ability, and there’s no way an entrepreneur would not. To grudge the promoter’s disproportionate power and rights to decision-making is a non sequitur.

People who have taken the risk with their own money, who have paid others to engage them at their works where there was none, cannot be deprived of our trust just because they have made good ! I have issues with inheritance but there it is, entrenched and raised tall on laws that grant our freedoms. The issues with the inheritors however are more severe and statistically valid : they strut about more on the power of what they have than on the entrepreneurship which built it all up in the first place.

But, in summary, I am not pulling down anyone or anything except as the law allows. That I will beat upon the doors of politicians with my life, to change those laws, is another matter.

Thanks to democracy as we practise here, in India.

The Nothing that is Everything

vam:

“Nothing big has happened. It’s just a normal field trip kind of day. But the cute girl in braids belongs to me. I am thankful for her teacher. I am thankful her friends call her name in such a silly way and then they hug. I am thankful for the sweet mothers and the dads that could make it. It’s that wonderful feeling. Even the light mist can not dampen this day. It is a day. I am so thankful to have just that. A day.”

Originally posted on Beautiful Life with Cancer:

Packed a days’ bag the night before.  The dreaded alarm sang earlier than usual.  Why?  Oh Why is it so hard for me to get out of bed?!  Oh the cursed pain of those first steps!  But once I am up and going, it is the excitement of the early morning.  Madison gets ready a little faster.  I take a little more time getting ready.  It’s a day.  It’s a field trip day.

Meet everyone at the school.  Madison has a treasure.  She holds the hand of a friend that will ride with us.  I turn down the music so that I can hear them chatting in the car.  Silly silly girls!  Madison has prepared the car with a few goodies for the ride.  Two books and two stuffys.  Second grade loves.  Around the river and up hill, tucked away behind the trees.  It’s a day.  It’s a Nature Center…

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The Separation

A ‪#‎Haqeeqat‬ song that never fails to move me … Never !

It’s about a man then going to war, certain to never come back…

Main yeh soch kar uss ke dar se utha
Ki woh rok legi, manaa legi mujhko …

Hawaon mein lahrata aata tha daaman
Ki daaman pakad ke bitha legi mujhko

Kadam aise andaaz se uth rahen the
Ki awaaz de kar bula legi mujhko …

Magar usne roka, na usne manaya
Na daaman hi pakda, na usne bithaya
Na awaaz hi di, na wapas bulaya

Main aahista, aahista badhta hi aaya
Yahaan tak ki uss se judaa ho gaya main

Judaa ho gaya main, judaa ho gaya main
Judaa ho gaya main …

_________________________________

A free – flow translation would read thus :

I got up, at her place, wishing

She would halt my steps

Reconcile, and stop me…

The loose cloth fluttered with breeze

Came up moving as if she would

Catch hold of it and make me stop…

My feet moved, laden as if

She would give a shout

And call me back…

But she did not stop, did not reconcile

Did not catch hold of the fluttering end

Did not ask me to sit down then

Did not give a shout nor call me back…

So far long … that I kept moving forward and away

Away from her, separated

Separating with each step

Separated by far …

Prime Minister Narendra Modi ! … (2)

#AgreedNationalValues …

It troubles me no end to realise that ” WE The People ” of India cannot cite 10 values we espouse in common, derived from our shared nationhood. What are they, which our nationhood means or assures to each one of us ? We are intelligent people for sure; there are many who will would draw up a list on their own and the rest would be able to choose their lot from a more consolidated form. But what are those 10 things we all agree upon in common, that are a matter of pride and priviledge which our distinct nationhood uniquely bestows upon us, which we in turn accept and grant to each other and to ourselves ?

I am thinking of a short document, corporate like : crisp, clear and unambiguous, in few words and perhaps 10 – 20 bulletted lines. Would it include our historical heritage, the non-ideological corner stones of the Sanatan way — the Ram Rajya ? Language, cultural and literary heritage ? Would it include some of those socialistic values that our Constitution makers definitely had in mind, which our second Prime Minister Lal Bahadur Shastri speaks of ? Wouldn’t it include the universal human rights and fundamental freedoms ? The habitat and environment ? Education, work, food and shelter ? Taxation ceiling ? Heroes ? Our diversity, cultural and anthropological ?

What are our Agreed National Values, Mr Prime Minister, that we would distinguish ourselves at, individually and collectively ?

They must be distinctive enough and unimpeachable. If we do not know, yet, we should be able to notice that crucial all-important gap in our articulated commonness and set about the process to finalising a befitting expression of shared national values. It could be through a referendum or panels drawn from each pillar of our democracy : Judiciary, Executive and Parliament.

For the genesis of the matter, please read on … here.

A Blogful Of Scintillating Pics !

At http://vitpeyr.com/

Prime Minister Narendra Modi !

Allow me to congratulate you on all the right things you have done thus far to raise the mood of optimism within the country and the stock of this nation on global stage. But, as things have since turned, I am reminded of the corporate adage : Success is Failure … reserved for those who celebrate prematurely.

Mr Modi, it will be a mistake on your part to beleive that 1.25 billion Indians are your ‘ fan,’  your ‘bhakta’ as the mainstream media derisively addresses. We are not. We idolise the vision and goals you have set for the country going forward, the quality of governance you have promised. But that does not make us hero-worshippers by any stretch of imagination, as you may soon discover to your Party’s peril. We are waiting for you (and your Government) to deliver on those specific counts that you have shared with us through the electoral campaign, and since. But there are reasons for us to be alarmed, in the way things have begun to lapse…

One : Gandhi may be a Gujarati elder of yours but he is not, I repeat, not the ‘ Father of Our Nation ‘ to most of us. The way you have gone about selling Gandhi to us in India, I see the need for extreme caution. We respect Gandhi for some of the things he has done for the country; but there are many more reasons for us to be critical of : both his conduct and his ideological underpinnings. Far from being a saint, he is not even a man of knowledge in our book. A man of action, yes, but not someone who could be looked upon to set our moral compass. Much of our country’s problems can be traced back to Jawaharlal Nehru, and thence to Gandhi himself.

If you must declare a Father Of The Nation personality, Chanakya — Emperor Chandragupta’s mentor — would better suit the epithet. Or, Sri Ramachandra … Sri Krishna … Choose them, both for their appropriateness and for their wider acceptance.

Two : There is no reason for you to take yourself too seriously. We take the vision and goals you have shared with us seriously enough. They each are a tall order in themselves. We wish you the very best in leading your government’s endeavour to working at realising them for our people, especially the weakest and the most marginalised amongst us. But talking incessantly or prematurely would do liitle to further our effort. As it is, the fans and ‘bhaktas’ do not automatically acquire the necessary qualifications for executing and managing the governance processes. On top of it, the hint of basking in glory at this stage would more likely derail the momentum even before the steam has picked up in the set direction. You have spoken enough for an entire 5 – year term, I would suggest. And there would be occassions of State when you would be called upon to share further or reiterate some of the themes that have already broached from time to time. Which brings up the third matter.

Three : I guess symbolism has a place in a democratic polity. But considering that we have had a surfeit of it during the last 66 years, and nothing else, it would be nice to give it a rest for a decade or two. Symbolism is for paper tigers and propaganda personality build up, for the most part. Is that how you seek to position yourself ? I think not. The advisory then is a reasonable one : Desist from symbolic gestures and mere photo sessions. Because, even if you are not in that mould, your followers would end up using the opportunity for a public relations exercise for themselves.

The ” Clean India ” drive is the need of the hour. The way forward however is to restructure our muncipalities, redesign our infrastructure, and set executive and monitoring processes in place. We all keep our homes clean enough. The pile up happens because the the garbage handling is neither proper, timely, nor appropriately disposed. Poverty alleviation and beauty appreciation courses and enhancement programmes will go a long way in this regard, as will landscaping guidelines in rural and urban management agencies, state-of-the-art equipments, and training of manpower. These are amongst those not-so-easy part of what we have to do to keep India clean.

Mr Prime Minister, I hope this little well-meaning piece is not taken amiss. We all have supported you whole-heartedly and continue to hold heaps of good wishes for you and your government’s success at all those people-centric goals and nation-centred vision you have shared with us. It is because we wish to see you succeed that I am compelled to address this letter to you. For, I have a sense that few will or dare to be seen as kind of a spoilsport.

And, Sir, because the big ticket and well-publicised deeds of yours will mean little to the man in the street if the delivered values he receives from goods and service providers, in both private and public sectors, remain as before … in cost and quality of cereals and vegetables he buys, the house he obtains, the justice he is meted, the water he drinks, the electricity he consumes, the utility gadgets he needs, and the air he breathes. None of which can be improved by mere symbolism.

The need is to establish a convergence and define our agreed social values and to ground an organisation appropriate to each, both executive and regulatory. The processes for each primary, secondary and tertiary deliverables need to be defined and monitored; infrastructure needs to be put in place; equipments and training needs to be provided.

We have all along believed that these are the matters uppermost in your concerns. There would be ample opportunities for public relation exercises, once we have moved some distance along delivering those goals.

Yesterdays …

 by Rose Mary Boehm

On the rim of my haunting

there is a place

where all those I have loved         Ginosko II

merge with someone

I used to be.

I often conjure up your face

and it swims at the edge

of my vision.

As soon as recognition

brightens your features

they melt,

shy of the light.

Quoted from : http://ginoskoliteraryjournal.com/images/ginosko15.pdf

And another … ….

TONIGHT

By Silva Zanoyan Merjanian

Tonight a thousand eyelids will close on beautiful lies
and quivering lips will sleep unkissed
untouched by sultry blue jazz

in the dark tonight …

lust will blister on menopausal gritty tongues
and blind vultures will circle

parameters of a man’s heart ?                                                                                   Ginosko I

tonight middle aged men will look for love in midtown bars
and women selling artificial flavors to the tune of hallelujahs
will sharpen their knives

tonight poets will find the words to color their hell
and dip their pens in wounds that aren’t even theirs
tonight …

somewhere it will rain on wingless birds ?
their love songs mending broken pillows in high notes
tonight …

she will step out with her hair down, in new stilettos
she’ll blow a kiss with naked lips

through the door left ajar tonight …

tonight’s no different than any other night
the walls are thin,

the moon is skinned,

blindfolds handed free.

Read more …

 

Let Us Go Then …

vam:

Time for you and time for me,
And time yet for a hundred indecisions,
And for a hundred visions and revisions,
Before the taking of a toast and tea.

In the room the women come and go
Talking of Michelangelo.

And indeed there will be time
To wonder, “Do I dare?” and, “Do I dare?”
Time to turn back and descend the stair,
With a bald spot in the middle of my hair—
(They will say: “How his hair is growing thin!”)
My morning coat, my collar mounting firmly to the chin,
My necktie rich and modest, but asserted by a simple pin—
(They will say: “But how his arms and legs are thin!”)

Originally posted on Truth Within, Shines Without:

The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

T S Eliot

     Let us go then, you and I,
     When the evening is spread out against the sky
     Like a patient etherized upon a table;
     Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,
     The muttering retreats
     Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels
     And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:
     Streets that follow like a tedious argument
     Of insidious intent
     To lead you to an overwhelming question....
     Oh, do not ask, "What is it?"
     Let us go and make our visit.

     In the room the women come and go
     Talking of Michelangelo.

Michelangelo Buonarroti

 The yellow fog that rubs its back upon the window-panes, The yellow smoke that rubs its muzzle on the window-panes Licked its tongue into the corners of the evening, Lingered upon the pools that stand in drains, Let fall upon its back the soot that falls from chimneys, Slipped by the terrace, made…

View original 981 more words

President Xi, #FreeTibet !

Originally posted on Truth Within, Shines Without:

You, and your clique in the CCP, may not know the Kantian value of every individual human being : It Is Absolute…

Equal to yours, if not more. The reminder becomes necessary because, in your worship at the alter of power, you have forgotten what it is to be a man, even while you act in his name, in his cause.

Why else would kill hundreds of thousands of innocent Tibetan people, as if they were nothing ?

As if they had no purpose of their own …

As if they were not raised by the soft loving touch of their parents on their cheek while they grew …

As if they mean nothing to the children they are raising with tender care …

As if they have no love for the land they tread and nurture and live by …

You presume you know better than the people, whose…

View original 123 more words

President Xi, #FreeTibet !

You, and your clique in the CCP, may not know the Kantian value of every individual human being : It Is Absolute…

Equal to yours, if not more. The reminder becomes necessary because, in your worship at the alter of power, you have forgotten what it is to be a man, even while you act in his name, in his cause.

Why else would kill hundreds of thousands of innocent Tibetan people, as if they were nothing ?

As if they had no purpose of their own …

As if they were not raised by the soft loving touch of their parents on their cheek while they grew …

As if they mean nothing to the children they are raising with tender care …

As if they have no love for the land they tread and nurture and live by …

You presume you know better than the people, whose affairs you rule, when you do not. No one does. Which is why history has consigned all ‘dictatorial’ forms of government to the dustbin and has in its stead fostered democracy … the system in which the rulers must go back to the people and ask to know their will.

You presume, President Xi, and do not know. Or perhaps, you know and do not care. More likely, you know and are afraid to heed, for the wrath of the very people you rule in the name of !

President Xi, Free Tibet today, before it is too late. Before you are chased by the millions and are lynched like ordinary criminals and murderers that your party and your government is.

Free Tibet now !

Free Tibet

Abode Concept : III

You might notice an ” error” between the two perspective views below.

The inconsistency however is deliberate.

NORTH – EAST CORNER PERSPECTIVE, 45 deg DOWN

Abode Concept II

SOUTH – WEST CORNER PERSPECTIVE, 45 deg DOWN

Abode Concept III

Soghomon Tehlirian : The Armenian Avenger

The film 588 Rue Paradis starts with news of the acquittal of Soghomon Tehlirian, who had killed Talaat Pasha in Berlin. The announcement is greeted with elation and everybody is rejoicing because Talaat Pasha, who was the Minister Of Interior and later the de facto Head Of The Turkish Government, had set and overseen the execution of the policy which had made the Armenian dispensable and had resulted in widespread massacres between 1915 and 1921. Soghomon was one of the Armenian survivors of that extreme experience, who was still in citizen of Turkey while living in Germany.

It was a very peculiar trial in which the defendant said he was not guilty because ” his conscience was clear !”

He said, ” I have killed a man but I am not a murderer.” He added that he saw his mother’s corpse, done in by the Turkish Government policies drawn by Talaat Pasha and his clique of Young Turks, which (the corpse) just stood up before him and and told him, “You know Talaat is here and yet you do not seem to be concerned. You are no longer my son.”

The events in the background of that trial were very close and important to people of Armenian origin everywhere.

Soghomon Tehlirian had witnessed the 1915 massacre at his hometown, Erzinga, in Asian Turkey. Thereafter, his well – off family went through the hell of displacement and suffered much privation. At his trial, he reported that there had been a massacre in Erzinga in 1894 as well. Some 40,000 Armenians were massacred in Adana in 1909. So, they all lived in fear of a repeat.

In May 1915, word had spread that all schools were to be closed and that the leaders of the Armenian community and the teachers were to be sent elsewhere in groups. In June early, the people were gathered, stripped of their money and valuables, and marched out. His parents were killed on the first day of march and the soldiers robbed them of whatever was left with them. He had no idea how many days it had gone on. They cracked open the skull of his brother, raped and killed his sister. He was left injured in the leg and a bleeding arm. He escaped and found shelter and care with an old Kurdish woman’s family; but that sanctuary was available to him only untill he had healed.

As a fugitive since then, Soghomon came across news of massacres elsewhere : they had been widespread. Without a hat or shoe, he crossed the mountains into Persia and was arrested by Russian soldiers. In 1916, when the Russians captured Erzinga, he returned to his hometown, only to find that just two Armenian families had survived and both had converted to Moslem faith. Of the 20,000 people in the village, only 20 odd had lived. He dug out 4800 gold pieces the family had hidden in the home, which he found shattered and in ruins. He shifted to another town, learnt Russian language for five months and, in 1919, went to Constantinople, where he placed an advertisement for his lost family members. He moved over to Greece, then to Salonika for curing his nervous disorder, and finally to Paris.

At Constantinople, Soghomon had found out the main culprit behind the massacres, the Armenian genocide. It was Talaat Pasha who, along with Kemal and Erver, had been to sentenced to death by a court martial in the city. Kemal was found and hanged. Living in Paris, Soghomon studied French for a year, then went to Geneva before landing in Berlin, where he hired a tutor to teach him German. It was there that he saw Talaat Pasha and discovered the building in which he lived.

Soghomon too moved over to a building in Charlottenburg, just across from Pasha’s residence. He was still a nervous wreck, who played mandolin, took dancing lessons and, as the indictment declared, was a student of Mechanical Engineering. One day, he saw Pasha come out of his building, with all the gruesome images of the massacre in his mind and the wrenching loss of his parents and his family members in his heart. He pulled out the loaded pistol he’d concealed with his underclothes, followed Pasha from across the street untill he came level, then crossed over and shot Talaat Pasha point blank in the head.

Upon arrest, Soghomon admitted to the act of killing the killer of his parents and the Armenian people.

At the trial, one of the witnesses co-habiting the same building described Soghomon thus : The defendant lived in my building. I have only complimentary things to say about him. He was very well behaved and modest. I have no maid and, therefore, I do all the housework. The defendant always did whatever he could to make my job easier. For example, he used to polish his own shoes. In every respect, he was decent and modest.

In her deposition, the landlady said — He was a kind, modest, quiet, and clean young man. He kept everything in order. On the morning of March 15th, day the incident occurred, the maid came in to tell me that the defendant was in his room crying. A little while later, I thought I would go up to see how he was doing. I was surprised to find him sitting in his room, drinking cognac. Soghomon clarified that he a took a measure of cognac with his tea to overcome his weak physical condition.

At the same trial, one of the female survivor of the genocide spoke of the massacre in these terms : — Only the men were killed this way. When it grew somewhat dark, the gendarmes came and selected the most beautiful women and girls and kept them for themselves. A gendarme came and wanted me as his woman. Those who did not obey were pierced with bayonets and had their legs torn apart. They even crushed the pelvic bones of pregnant women, took out the fetuses and threw them away… They split open my brother’s head. My mother dropped dead upon seeing this. A Turk came toward me and wanted to take me as his woman; because I would not consent, he took my son and killed him.

PRESIDING JUSTICE — Is all this really true ? You are not imagining it ?

WITNESS — What I have said is the truth. In reality, it was much more horrible than it is possible for me to relate.

The complete transcript of the trial proceedings is available here. There are undeniable facts on record here, on the religious and political drives that made an entire Armenian population dispensable in the eyes of the Turkish Governement !

Not much different from what the Jews meant to the Nazis during World War II.

____________________________________________________

The above narration is part of a comprehensive review of the films-duo : Mayrig and 588 Rue Paradis.

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