China's One Time For All

It's amazing how many visitors I get from China. Thank you. I wonder what exactly are they reading here that could excite them enough to come back and read some more. Maybe visitors here are from Hong Kong or Taiwan or maybe not. I've been to Hong Kong and even stared wistfully at the boat that would have taken me to China. Thank God, I was duly warned by friends of taking such a step: you'll never come back from there; they'll make mince meat out of you; they'll hang you by your toes. Well hanging by the toes is done in India and other places as well, so that would have hardly been unusual. From a distance, China seemed alright; everything does, even husbands, children, marriages!

Anyway, I've been checking about China's one solo uno time zone. Why, is all I ask? The country is as vast as the United States or maybe more, so why have one time zone only? It's got to do with that twerp Mao Zing Zing who made a mess of the country as any good old Communist is likely to do anyway. Beijing goes to work at 8 am and west China has to do the same before crack of dawn, somewhere around 3 am! Only the Hui and Uygurs ignore Beijing and maybe some obdurate travelers who are senile anyway. 

But apparently, Mao was the one who decided one-time-zone-one-united-country! Was that the reason? No economics here just pure political power, something China or rather its politicians are adept at, hardly different from Indian or Pakistanis or Americans or Iraqis or whoever. Just a little note here: not too many succeeded in killing millions and millions like Mao did. Exhausted with all the killing, Mao finally died only to have his wife or concubine and her gang of four get busy with more power. Commies and their penchant for ruthless power! Other than that, Mao Zing Zing didn't do anything; he didn't even brush his teeth! His teeth were black! If he liked bathing, he would have done it but Mao preferred farting! Such are the despicable ways of Dictators.

All said and done, Commies have stuck to their issue of unity for China through One Time Zone For All; people may rot and die for decades but they must remain united! Tiny little specks of countries like Hong Kong and Taiwan have been irritating big guns in China for a while but hopefully calls of freedom will wear the Chinese down. Once free, people find it hard to give it up. That is the most nasty thing about freedom. But the best thing is that people never tire trying to be free. They may not see the process winding its way around but stark reminders of what is possible - can never be ignored. The American Declaration of Independence declares loud and clear Life, Liberty and Pursuit of Happiness for all; what could be better than this.

My Sister-In-Law is Coming!

This has been in planning, not for days or months but years. Finally my Sis-in-Law has decided to take the plunge from the other side of the world to this side. This is not merely a lateral movement; it is a movement across hemispheres; not just East-West but North-South as well. Sis-In-Law will be traveling up North and West. Civilizations have been born, somewhere in north-south direction, upheavals have occurred and what not. She'll be bringing Vegemite with her! This is something that only Aussies understand and it's best left to them. Apparently it is well understood by my husband and hence a couple of jars will arrive as well. Aussie band, Men At Work must have loved it; they immortalized it in a song; trust those pesky artists to sing about Vegemites and chunder! Indian 'Karela' comes closest to the awful nature of Vegemite; for me, bitter the better. 

Men At Work: Down Under; You Tube

Sis-in-law's pending plans have made our quiet presence, fully known to authorities, Australian and American, the latter not very efficient at detecting anyone's entry, leave alone people operating as terrorists and their regular entries and exits; that has been left to the amount of bombs they explode and people they kill, just like Tsarnaev brothers who went back and forth between Boston and Chechnya. Not one American scratched his head; the Russians did but then who is going to listen to them; they seem to do things in the coldest way, not enough to excite American passion even about direct terrorist threats which were snuffed quickly under the weight of politically incorrect nonsense. Not the Russians; they don't suffer from PC illness and they do things because they can!

Anyway, my Sis-in-Law has given me sufficient assurances that they will pick up after them, knowing my angst for kids' penchant of leaving things as they are; if they are lying, leave them there to be picked up by mother, which would be me. As long as there is chaos, people remain occupied and bereft of trouble, something terrorists and sympathizers need to develop full time. Sis-In-Law is also ready to venture on the right side of the road after driving for decades on the left! A few hoots and horns might be heard on an otherwise fairly quiet system of driving on American roads; she and Australian friend are free to travel by themselves; I'll watch from the window! Moving on the right side is a welcome change politically, considering progression in age and wisdom; time to shove those ideals in the closet and get on with real world.

Sis-in-Law is coming with an Australian friend. I'm not sure if I can follow Australian accents too well; maybe I'll just put those men to work! Perhaps I will just pretend and smile and agree to everything, maybe do the quintessential Indian nod, saying yes and no and maybe, all at once. Who knows what those damn Indians are nodding about anyway? There will be a cacophony of sounds: Hindi, Urdu, Bengali, American English, Australian English and Hinglish. There will be partnering: Bengali with Bengali, Hindi with Hindi, English for all, whether understood or not. Some Australian cuisines will be brought to the kitchen and of course the notorious fish eating habits of Bengalis will be revived. My sis-in-law will also resuscitate sluggish American economy with her plans of shopping and all! Hola Sis!

My Father the Warrior: Remembering Him and His Battles With Ghosts!

Peace: Joyce Singha

For many years, my father suffered from a ‘ghost problem’. When he first told me about the nightly battles he'd been having with various creatures, I shuddered, laughed, and quickly shuddered again lest those creatures came upon me as well. Such is the fear of ghosts in the Indian culture! This is what my dad told me. He said those guys wanted to sit on top of his head and did so; he said they were pinching him, he said they were blowing air on him, he said they whistled at him, he also said they were pushing him from his bed. I was shocked that any creature could be so rude as to push a man from his own bed. My Dad threw different things at the creatures: shoes, slippers, pillows, spoons, sticks, mud, water, anything he could lay his hands on.

Nonetheless, it all amounted to a lot of activity so I asked my dad to be less dramatic and a little more reasonable. My Dad said that when they bared their teeth, he had enough and that is the time he whipped out his Bible and whacked the life out of them. Then he did his favorite thing, which is to let out choice curses in Hindi. Believe me, some of the curse words in Hindi can be very scary. On a side note, when my dad used profanity, it was not gentle at all; he could really grind it out good.

It seems with the Bible in one hand, a shoe in the other, and a mouth full of curses my father was successful in scaring those creatures, for a while. Most likely they retreated for a while. My Dad also saw a Maulvi (Muslim priest) who wrote few powerful stanzas on bits of paper, which my father stuck all over his house. Unfortunately, in the ensuing weeks, bits of paper and my father’s curses were not potent enough to keep wily creatures away; they were back to torment my father. I requested my father see his doctor before the situation got completely out of hand.

Dad duly headed for his PCP who happens to be a benign Jewish fellow complete with cap, keys, and threads; jingle-jangle of Doctor’s keys usually informed of his arrival. In the monthly or weekly meetings, my father and doctor usually discussed various political situations and rarely my father’s troubles, which fortunately had remained unchanged and hence no need of changing of the guard. Kind Doctor diagnosed my father’s battles with ghosts as sleep disorder/ anxiety/ depression, and recommended anti-depressants, which my dad refused to take just in case they interfered with his heart medicines. Then the doctor suggested maybe he should see a psychiatrist at which my dad went completely ballistic. When the doctor seemed exasperated, my dad came to his rescue and said he would get some priests to wipe out those night creatures! Medicine and juju somehow never went together.

As rescue-from-ghosts mission began, the group comprised of two priests, one designated priest and another one for added support, my Mum, my Mum's two friends, Dad, Dad's friend, and me. The idea was to present a very formidable group just in case any of those creatures were hiding under the carpet or in the walls or something. The priest soaked the house with holy water and read numerous Bible chapters to banish the creatures to depths of hell. The group lead by the priest made a few rounds of the house making sure all bases had been covered. My father was satisfied, slept peacefully for a few days till a few days later when his troubles started again.

I decided to take matters in my hand, fished out my Homeopathic books and read all the troubling symptoms. Voila I had the right remedy for Dad. He was given Stramonium. Dad became well, slept well and even gave advice to all and sundry about how to tackle ghosts! My Dad also told me about a certain distant relative who had regular sessions of boxing with some local nocturnal creatures as well! My mind began to whirr and I thought could this thing run in the family? Could God be so unkind as to allow generations to be troubled by these restless creatures? Should I get ready with some shoes and slippers? Or should I just keep some Stramonium nearby for myself? May my father rest in peace and those creatures as well; he was a true warrior, fought with ghosts and all.

Notes: Author is a Homeopath; Stramonium is a Homeopathic remedy to ease the mind among other things.

Frenzy of Heavy Metal Music

If there's anything that can drive people in a state of frenzy then it has to be headache-inducing-head-banging-Metal. If you're going for the kill, this is the music that one must hear. Not only will it explode the enemy's head, it will pretty much cause an explosion of your own head as well. In case, you ever had a chance to see live Metal Show, you'll see on stage, the machoest of macho men, the alpha males, the kind every girl dreams of till her ear drums are ready to give up all pretense of sound. Lead guitarists and Bass guitarists, each occupy between three to four feet of horizontal space with their leg-spread, six feet of vertical height, with an additional few feet above to allow for leaping, jumping and landing on stage or off onto the heads or into arms of frenzied fans. Girls wait for such immense weights to fall on them; boys and men don't mind it either; after all Metal is the rite of passage!

So what is Metal? It is as generally described as thick, massive sound characterized by highly amplified distortion and loudness beyond loud. Heavy Metal performance styles are often associated with ultra masculinity, aggression and machismo! Urban Dictionary describes it as a type of music characterized by a cacophonous wall of sound and accelerated tempo achieved through distorted electric guitars playing fast-paced riffs, with the driving drumbeat often utilizing hypersonic double bass rhythms. Other sub genres besides Heavy metal are Death Metal, Thrash Metal, Drone Metal, Post Metal, Sludge Metal, Speed Metal, Glam Metal and other choice Metals.

There is no voice like that of Heavy Metal. If Satan enjoyed or played music, he would do it the Metal way. For music, there is rumble followed by thunder and finally by doom. Yes, it's those Metal Guys belting out sounds straight from the belly of the beast. Those vocal cords have to be made of steel! Drums are hit with all possible might, guitars are played with a vengeance, words or something sounding like words are spat out to the tune of thunder. Leaping, jumping, sliding, clawing, racing on stage on one leg with long wavy hair, clanking chains, smashing heads, shattering drums, and generally breaking things are part and parcel of a Metal Show.

It is difficult to say who feeds off whose energy and madness. Metalheads are just as senile as their heroes, the Metal Men. Just in case, Metal Bands see any signs of dissipating energy in the lunatic world also known as 'crowds', pyrotechnics are there to provide all necessary fire and heat. Smoke bellows out from all corners of the stage and entire bands look ready to explode. The crowd responds, creates a space called the mosh-pit and in that pit they descend like zombies; their participation restricted to pushing, shoving, spitting, flinging themselves, spinning heads, falling, getting trampled, screaming and doing the same again and again. These are pits where youngsters, teenagers, and senile adults  allow themselves to get crushed, mashed and packed into unrecognizable forms.

Nothing but black is worn on stage by Metal Bands; black jackets, black shirts, black shorts, black pants, black bandanas, black socks, black boots and thick black kohl laden eyes and make-up. If they never wore anything, that would suffice as well on account of their bodies being covered in tattoos. Guys without deadly black glasses or big buckle belts or long tongues would be a disgrace to Metal. Chains, steel, multiple rings, nose rings, belly piercings, tattoos, skull heads, snakes, dragons, swords, guns, fierce looking beasts, all stick to Metal like magnets.

This Metal melts metal and human skulls simultaneously. As blinding green lights and red lights explode, Metal Concerts transform into furious sounds and mounds of forms swaying in unison with the inevitable hand gesture of the forefinger and little pinky thrust into darkness.

Is Michelle Obama Selling ObamaCare in China?

Nobody seems to be buying ObamaCare in America, so could selling ObamaCare to the Chinese be one of Michelle Obama's reasons for the China Trip? Flotus is not there for political reasons but maybe she should have. Did it not occur to her that selling ObamaCare with a different name like JiabaoCare would garner more support? With the change in name would come Made in China label along with drastically reduced costs much like other Made in China products? Regarding culture, what exchange could occur between Americans and Chinese where both cultures are poles apart and never the twain shall ever meet? So why exactly is Michelle traveling to China with a large entourage? Expenses for Michelle's China Trip as reported by media watchdogs are costing the country's taxpayers some hefty millions. Obamas' earlier trip to Africa cost the taxpayers a few millions as well! All the country got in return was a Selfie of Obama with the UK PM and Danish PM Helle Thorning-Shcimdt. Michelle is known to spend money freely and lavishly on her other vacations as well. Maybe Michelle could try getting one American, a job, via Chinese connections. White House Pastry Chef was recently let go by Michelle because he refused to replace eggs, butter and cream with some fruit fluff foo. This would be great considering there aren't many jobs available in America these days.

One good thing that could come out of Michelle's China Trip would be a push for new dress designs and hairdos for her fans who follow her keen sense of clothes, hair and other control issues. Michelle is in China with her mother and two daughters, the latter well behaved while the Mother slightly out of control. Mrs Robinson, Michelle Obama's mother has been heard barking orders to the Chinese hotel staff. Imagine misbehaving in a country which is hosting your trip. Unbelievable bad manners even for the Chinese who are not exactly known for good manners or kindness. Maybe the Chinese could convince Mrs Robinson to bark her orders for Barack Obama to shoo out Dalai Lama next time the exiled Tibetan leader visited America (Dalai Lama has been living in India since the 1960s). The Chinese are not very tolerant of dissent and neither are the Obamas, so maybe this trip could be an important point of meeting between the wife-of-one-leader-who-is-no-longer-regarded-as-leader of the world and the wife-of-another-leader-who-is-trying-hard-to-be-the-leader of the world with stiff competition from wife of the Russian leader, Vladimir Putin.

Somebody said that earlier presidents had done the same thing as in sending their wives and children on 'cultural visits' but what this person forgot was that 17 trillion debt amassed under Obama by far surpassed all combined presidents' spending and vacations and what not. Best thing would have been to scrap the visit and use the money to pay down some debt, not that it would have made any difference in Liberal thinking of spending money as long as it was not theirs! Well so far, Michelle Obama has proven that correct and her mother is there to encourage her. What are mothers for?As most Obamas' policies have fallen flat, Michelle could try selling her health diets to the Chinese who supposedly have developed a penchant for American pizzas and hamburgers and are fast traveling on the obesity trail. Incidentally Michelle Obama's health foods for schools in America resulted in school kids going hungry and schools losing business, so this program may have been scrapped for good. The bottom line is, no amount of cultural exchanges between the Obamas and Jiabaos are going to make a dent in relations; it's all about who doles out the cash to whom and how much, something Obamas sorely lack in understanding because under their auspices, America has been essentially sold to China!

Harley Davidson to Moto Guzzi and Men Who Love Both

It’s happening again just like the flu virus which goes around and comes back to infect many men and also my husband. Spring and Summer may not be here yet but the motorcycle season for my husband is here albeit with a difference. My husband is ready to give up his beloved Harley Davidson for the newest Italian buxom known as Moto Guzzi. Mind you, this is no flakey looking bike. It's big, heavy, black. Italians have figured out America's penchant for all things big. Why not, America is a big country with miles and miles of roads to be ridden and traveled. Italians have won over America and the way they did it was by quietly slithering into the name game. It was done through the good old art of flattery; naming their Italian creation by the name of California! Nothing but the golden state for Bikers where Riders are found all year round, with or without shirts, where Liberal values roast and bake in the Sun and people look tanned all year round. 

So, now, because Moto Guzzi happens to be European, videos in all kinds of speeds and languages are being watched. So far, my husband has forced me to watch videos in French, Italian, Greek, German, Finnish, Portuguese, Spanish and other languages unknown to me. He has watched videos with riders going in slow motion, riding into the Sun, riding with the Sun behind them, riding into the mountains, emerging from the mountains; Moto Guzzi on straight roads as well on curvy and treacherous paths, roads merging into riders, lethal looking bike goggles, maddening head-banging-metal trying to keep up with the sheer beauty of the black beast of Moto Guzzi and finally riders-bikes-roads all merging into one entity. Some videos focussed only on Moto Guzzi's engine, others on its calipers, some on its headlight and one video where the camera did not move even for a second from the rider's head and Moto Guzzi's handles while behind them, everything did! 

My husband has sat without blinking looking at many Moto Guzzis and specifically the California 1400, going round and round, moving at dizzying angles, getting loving washes by owners, getting polished over and over again, listening to its sounds, reading slobbering comments by other Moto Guzzi lovers, not batting an eyelid with all the glowing French, Finnish, Portuguese, Spanish, Dutch and Italian accounts of the joys of staring at a Moto Guzzi or merely standing in its shadow or the ultimate of riding a Moto Guzzi. He has also watched other motorcycle maniacs declaring a change in their love from Harley to Moto Guzzi without a hint of guilt. The British actor Evan McGregor played his part in planting my ride, my pride right on top and thus furthering the cause of Moto Guzzi. This is the guy who definitely knows what a ride is; he has ridden on all kinds of Moto Guzzis around the world, many times, has complete sets of travel videos, films and documentaries to prove it and his own faithful twitter followers. I am now wondering, what markets, Harley Davidson, my husband's first love, will have to find. China and Japan come to mind; after all, China owns America and Japanese like anything American. Or maybe North Korea could come to America's aid with its new friend, the ever effervescent Dennis Rodman.

Some More Links: 

http://voices.yahoo.com/harley-mania-men-machines-motorcycles-11751818.html?cat=27

http://allvoices.com/contributed-news/16283845-rodman-and-kim-best-buddies

Stubborn Principles and Bechara Bhala Aadmi

There is one thing that does not change in the world and then there is another thing that does not change as well; to combine both, it would have to be a man of unremitting principles. A principled person stands on a ground that is so solid that nothing can dislodge him. It's not that he is not surrounded by people working hard to dislodge him. In fact, some around may work their entire lives trying to displace people of principles. That is their mission and sometimes they succeed, at other times it's mission impossible. Nonetheless in India and other cultures, a principled man, a man without malice in his heart, is regarded as an object of ridicule, euphemistically known as Bechara Bhala Aadmi and loosely translated as the pitiful good man!

Apparently, goodness hovers in the realm of pity and ones that stick to their morals are quickly rendered as pitiful beings! The world has forgotten the close proximity of pity and piety; goodness is to be honored and good men to be seriously considered heroes for their simplicity of thought and deed. Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication, said Leonardo De Vinci and if the most complex concepts cannot be reduced to simple ones, they deserve to go away quietly. Wise is the man who avoids complicating simple truths and principles. No wonder people are terrified of the principled man; he is what they would be if they could.

Om by Joyce

Could a principled man be akin to a mule, the kind of animal that digs in its heels? Mules are common animals in India and many times are seen standing in the middle of the road, just sniffing air. Nearby the owner is seen going crazy trying to make the animal move. Nothing helps. He is wondering whether to leave the animal there and carry all that load himself and subsequently sink under the weight or take a stick to the animal. Only if he could find the right kind of stick, the kind just appropriate for the occasion. Maybe he could check with society's morality police, the kinds seen in repressive societies. Surely they will have an answer for the size of the stick, its length and breadth, that some cultures and religions encourage to keep their women in check! If women could be kept in check, why not a mule!

Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines principle as a moral rule or belief that helps you know what is right and wrong. Principle is something a person believes in, something that is dear to him, a concept  he is willing to die for.  The truth he holds, is what embodies him. Herein lies a problem; one man's truth may not be another man's truth. Yes, many have successfully argued many facets of truth but truth is truth and viewing it from different angles will not add any more colors to it. Only lies and untruth have as many facets as possible and that too is in a constant state of flux. A principled being perhaps sees things in a clearer light, so clear there are no shades of gray. Is that what makes the principled man so obdurate? Why is it important for some to ruffle a good man, to see him shed his beliefs? Is it a flaw, the inability to sway with the winds of change? Does a principled man's beliefs  mark him an object of pity or is he ultimately the one pitying those who pity him?

Duality of being Indian.

The duality of nature is in the core of an Indian. It's there and not there as the Indian nods his head both for yes and no. We speak like that as well, no? Whatever has to happen will happen and we are the legitimate children of destiny; yet we start collecting even before we are born. Despite the belief, families and parents have already decided the course of life for their children, aided by pundits and horoscopes. Children are born, not knowing if they will be that perfect one or the horror of horrors. It's all Karma yet we continue to kill our baby girls and burn those women on the pyres of piety, honor, and greed. Woe to the world which stays stuck in the many zeros of their debt in trillions; we Indians are different - we marvel at the very concept of zero that one of their own discovered many many centuries ago. We claim many 'firsts' but don't take responsibility for the mayhem and filth in the streets. We worship the Mahatma but continue to wage communal wars in his birth place.

Here is a land that worships the female form but nobody wants girls; it's the boys they are pining for; with the result the female gender will eventually dissipate and boys and men will be forced to turn merry and gay. That's good for the gay community, the world will chime but then Indians are not gay, at least not in the open. Men have wives and children and boy friends on the side. Families of such confused (foolish) men continue with their pilgrimages to Shirdi Maharaj and life in the land of a billion people goes on as long as the status quo is maintained. After all, one son is a doctor and the other son will be an engineer, if he doesn't stray on the gay path. In maintaining its status in the world, India will send its girls to colleges; it may frown upon sleeveless blouses and shirts but will keep its promises to the male gender of providing well-educated girls for their households. The girls needn't bother with the pretense of work; their dowry and fair looks will make sure of that. The darker ones need not bother with marriages; they are used to every prejudice there is.

Continuing with the binary nature of things, the two studies of medicine and engineering from the two institutes of Harvard and Oxford from the two countries of USA and England will lead Indian sons to become doctors and engineers. There are no other known disciplines or professions or educational institutions in India. That is where the prosperous will go; that is what Indian children must aspire to. Heaven forbid if teaching or theater or art or culinary work is mentioned. We don't do that kind of stuff in India; that is only done in the West where incidentally most well off Indian children will head to anyway  to get their masters and doctorates in medicine and engineering, after their parents have railed and ranted about the abominable culture of these countries! Consequently one in every five doctors in America will be Indian, but here he will have to ensure himself against the ire of patients who may not see him as god and when that happens, Indian parents and families will curse that goddamned West.

But just in case an obdurate child who wants to learn cooking (whoever heard of that) parents will ignore that as a passing fancy hoping that eventually that fancy will morph into business and ownership of all the restaurants in the world. In all this limited space of aspirations, the possibility of Shah Rukh Khansama and Meenakshi Khandarni of Bollywood will continue to bring in a silver lining through film mania but then the above two film stars knowing the wheeling and dealing of the film industry will eventually want their children to practice the safe and proven lines of medicine and engineering! There are other opportunities of IAS and IFS but these two are usually connected with politics along with the other activities of maiming and killing your opponents (common activity prior and during elections). Two new opportunities of becoming rich and famous opened up through Kaun Banega Lakhpati and Kaun Banega Crorepati but these are likely to fade because they go against the grain of the duality of Indian nature; you cannot be poor and win and there is no way you can aspire to be what you want to be - unless you want to be a doctor or an engineer of course!  

Chhaang Town Story ...

Chhaang Town is a fairly big Tibetan enclave on the far side of New Delhi or within Delhi, I can't say for sure because nothing is ever permanent in India. Anyway during the 80s this was a popular place to hang out for many, and specially the rebels, activists, and more specifically the Delhi University crowd of hopefuls and idealists, and of course the Tibetans, where they tried to build their own little Tibet and drown their loss of roots in the very potent Chhaang, a drink made from fermented rice. Tibetans have been living in India for decades and India is like home for them. They even managed to get some land, space, and freedom - which unfortunately the Chinese took but in turn spurred the Indians to give them some of what they had lost. The Indian government however didn't give them citizenship. I think, as a thank you, the Tibetans gave Chhaang to the Indian men but didn't disclose its potency.  So while the Tibetans knew how to down bales and bales of Chhaang without going crazy, the non-Tibetans like my husband and his good friends weren't quite aware of this paddy baby or tried not to show it.

The Bullet, of the Royal Enfield motorcycle family, being the preferred mode of transportation for most hot bloodied men in Delhi during the 80s and 90s, was extremely popular with the bad boys, specially for ferrying themselves to and fro from Chhaang Town. Sometimes the boys returned in one piece but at other times the bikes came back in many pieces. The latter incident was one more excuse to drink gallons of tea and other stuff at the mechanic's under the tree. Those were the days when India was free of all cops, and the atmosphere still reeked of the 60s. This is the story of one such incident when my husband Bapi, and his friend Sandy roared into Chhaang Town one morning. By the time afternoon came around, these two were thoroughly soaked in the Tibetan culture and even the natives of Chhaang Town showed concern. In the huts and colors of Chhaang Town it's easy to forget oneself and that Momos (dumplings) are usually eaten when Chhaang is consumed, specially in large quantities. 

Rebels without a cause - Bapi and Sandy.

As events would unfold, the two friends forgot to order momos and the Tibetans forgot to inform. After all, the two looked seasoned enough. It was getting close to the time of tottering out of Chhaang Town but only one could do so. Sandy had to be dragged to the bike. Many came to help and even Bapi-the-veteran needed some assistance in starting the bike but nonetheless joined heartily in the discussion of Chhaang and bikes and the deadly combination of the two. Sandy lay on the dirt in his la-la land as heated discussions flew around him and over him as to what was the best way to deposit him on the bike or whether he was in a position to be picked up at all or whether he should be moved to the huts till somebody sober came to fetch him the next day. Alcohol impairs the ability to walk but boosts the ego tremendously, something the Tibetans have been telling the world to get rid of altogether (the ego). Sandy was immune to the big ego and my husband could feel and taste only ego at that time. So, a string was got, Sandy was put in pillion, and the string used to tie Sandy loosely to Bapi who swaying a bit himself managed to hold Sandy with one hand and the bike with the other - and off the two buddies went riding into the sunset.

All was gentle swaying, occasional swerving, and purring. Sometimes Bapi would see Sandy, then at other times only his hand told him that Sandy was still there. Sandy could move in three directions - backwards, left, and right. At times he would hang backwards precariously defying gravity. At other times he would hang awkwardly to the left or right. But at all times, Sandy and Bapi managed to stay on the bike. There were some moments when even the hand of Bapi could not prevent the butt of Sandy from sliding off the seat. Nonetheless the three of them, Bapi, Sandy, and Ms Bullet kept going. There was no stopping these three. All was going well and the god of spirits was happy, when just half way home, they began to be pursued by a University bus. The bus was full of shrieking college girls. Oblivious to Bapi and Sandy who had been under scrutiny for a while, specially Bapi who was driving with one hand while holding an oscillating specimen with the other - the girls felt a compelling need to intervene. And when college girls get to that, all hell can break loose. Added to that was the passion of seeing such injustice, and boys behaving badly. The moment had to be seized, the downtrodden to be helped, and the helpless to be assisted - or their education would be meaningless in their eyes and the eyes of the world.

The bus driver was threatened, the bus stopped, and the infamous three barely managed to stay upright with all the noise and commotion that confronted them when they were rudely stopped. Sandy of course slid to the ground and lay there, while Bapi went into a state of shock. The girls came out screaming vile stuff at Bapi and the comatose Sandy. Bapi was told he was the most evil man to treat his friend so callously. How could he do it at the peril of the friend's life. The bus driver shrank or ran away, nobody knows. It was close to a blockade. Everybody wanted to help the girls. Most ignored Sandy. But really it was Sandy who had created all this fuss by his swaying and swinging and what not. Nobody saw that. Only if he had sat up straight like Bapi. Not one rickshaw but many rickshaws were stopped. Total confusion reigned. Which rickshaw would be best for loading Sandy into? The Bus driver had smoked his bidi so he was ready to go anywhere. Sandy smiled when he was hauled into the rick by the girls. Even in his inebriated state Bapi managed to stay in his shocked state. The procession started with Bapi and Ms Bullet in the lead, closely followed by the rickshaw with Sandy's hands and legs hanging on either side, and last but not in the least - by some very belligerent but triumphant looking girls in the bus. The best or the worst part of the story was that having 'chhaanged' their pockets completely, our two heroes had no money for the rickshaw and I had to foot the bill. I think those girls in the bus should have picked up the tab or taken Sandy with them in the bus. 

To burqa or not to burqa ...

We are once again struck with controversy about the flying bellows of an absolute odious garment - the burqa. To me it's an issue of what exactly do the men like about it and more so what possibly could the women love about it - if they do? And if the women want to wear the burqa, why do they even bother to shop around in some very fashionable boutiques for some fine, sexy, skimpy lingerie, and more. Gloom and doom should be full while it lasts. If everything has to be covered up in such a severe manner then maybe even a bag or a sack cloth cut to size would serve the purpose. Anything or nothing worn under those burqas would ever make a dent in its existence. Surprisingly vote and support for the burqa is very much present and I don't understand why. Perhaps I will never comprehend this conundrum. Some women say they feel liberated. Others say they feel safe. The only thing I say is that burqa clad women look boring, caged, and pathetic. If they have a form that looks radiant then that form needs to be taken out from under the black pall. What's the point of placing big black sheets on humans unless they are dead? Somehow in our topsy turvy world, even transvestites who love everything about women have firmly rejected donning the burqa. But just in case they would have tried the burqa, they would've had the time of their life confusing the male species. Eyes peeking through the chador would have said come hither while the lifting of the veil would've suggested to the seeker to run thither. It can be a very trying time for the interested men to figure out the essence of beauty through those kohl layered eyes and loads of layers of black - if they can be seen at all. Nonetheless, under the burqa anything goes,  just as well anything can go under the burqa - perhaps one instance of perfect equality in an insane world. 

Just the other day a thought occurred; what if one used some aerodynamic technique inside the burqa, perhaps it could take to flying and take the women along, much to the disconcert of the males. It would be quite a sight to see big black things flying around minus broomsticks of course. NASA steering away from its space exploration program and with its new policy of fostering peace around the world, would be delighted to study the celestial phenomenon and its connection with fundamentalism and radicalism. The flying burqa squads would however be lost forever and what would happen to the men? Who would cook? Who would clean? Who would have their brood? Who would pick up after their shit? Well for the latter part, I could offer a suggestion which would be to develop some form of arthritis by the women, which would make it near impossible to bend and pick. The women with arthritis would truly be at par with men - whatever fell to the floor would lie there and rot its heart out or they could just kick it to the side, really just to get it out of the way for the time being. Perhaps the women could use the power of their burqas to sweep everything off - good and bad, under the guise of 'merely walking around minding my own business'. Somehow the thought of turning the burqa into a lethal weapon of destruction never occurred to the burqa clad women. Some silly men tried it but got so hot that they decided - to hell with the suicide mission, they needed to get out of the damn thing as quickly as possible. But before the suicide mission even got into effect, the burqa clad men also got some unsavory attention from their brothers something to the tune of heaven on earth and worth dying for, when the bomber had been promised otherwise. During such a time, the innovative idea of a double burqa for double protection must have taken place in the brain of the suicide bomber. That patent will forever remain in the pending stage considering when that poor sod may or may not be released from those cells specially designed for bumbling terrorists.

Dance of Shiva by Joyce Singha-Ghosh

                                  
Coming back to the strange commotion this chador has created around the world, the question to ask is, who is really getting affected by it. From all reports and historical data so far, it's clear that it's only some men, in some corners of the world, that have been actually infected by the chador virus. No immunization against this virus has been effective so far. This is also one design that has stayed constant and thus defied the fashion world. For its size - the burqa does appear and disappear at times. Women who love it around their men, suddenly discard it as soon as they are on their own. It's perhaps this inconstancy that has created this ruckus. Some say it's a religious duty others say it's a womanly thing to do; still others drag God into it as if God didn't have enough to do or not do. Perhaps they think the Almighty is lowly enough to create a stink about whether people wore clothes or not and especially something like the abominable burqa which is completely shapeless, formless and tasteless - even for God. Despite these misgivings, I still give full marks to the remarkable oeuvre of the Creator including Darwin and his theories. There is absolutely nothing in creation which comes close to resembling an object as drab as a burqa. The burqa comes with a little slit for the eyes, which is free of course. The slit actually defeats the purpose of total control by the concerned men because it allows the burqa clad women to see. If it was supposed to be a complete cover, then the men who thought of it made some gross errors. But I always thought men were a flawed lot. There is however plenty of time to rectify. They can still give up on this useless invention but then it's also hard to give up on centuries honed skills of shelling out complete bull crap. The burqa thankfully hasn't killed the women, only driven them underground where sure enough they are quietly plotting and scheming to transfer the rights of ownership of the burqa elsewhere, some time, hopefully, in this century.

Half measures never worked. In fact, a paradigm shift is required here. Sweeping changes have to be made for the burqa set up. It should be made mandatory inside and outside the home. No slits or nets should be allowed. As the vision would be severely disrupted, all work inside and outside would have to be performed by the seeing - which is the men. Consequently, burqa women will need to be carried around as the sack like outfit would make it impossible for them to do anything except hobble and shuffle. Eyes would become a fallacy for both the seen and the seeing. If men insisted on looking and imagining, they would have to develop the electro magnetic radiation energy. Perhaps in keeping with the declining economy, women of the same family or even neighborhood could be brought under one burqa just like global economy.  Most of all, as it's the men who seem to be so fond of the burqa, they should make it absolutely essential and compulsory for themselves it. If I were sure of anything in life, it would have to be the day men wore the burqa; that day would be the beginning of the end of the burqa controversy. Nary a speedier outcome could be imagined. Not only would the men outlaw the burqa, they would change the entire history of it ever having existed at all in any age whatsoever. God forbid, if He or religion ever hinted at the burqa, the men would get rid of them both faster than they would do the burqa. Another change I would like if the burqa still survived and the love for it stayed strong - is to see the burqa loving men go battle in this garment. With the new army uniform of burqas in place, I wonder if the enemy will smile at the sight of the bumbling and fumbling burqa clad men. Perhaps like in old times, the enemy would take time off to watch the fools at play, have their shots of whiskey or rum at pleasure somewhere right around the vicinity of the burqas. Now that would be fun and wars could be won through bloodless coups and battles. Peace would return once more. All this would occur over a cup of tea and a burqa.

Indraprastha College Hostel Crazies

IP Hostel Girls with Warden Behenji and Other Staff 

Indraprastha College in New Delhi, India is one of those all women colleges supposedly to keep girls and women safe. It did to a great degree and somehow that translated into it being known as a 'behenji' college by other snooty colleges with no historical significance. Ha! Nonetheless, it has a rich history of being steeped in India's Independence Movement prior to its getting free from the British in 1947. Despite all its associations with independence, the hostel itself was run like an army camp complete with roll call and keeping close scrutiny on girls-in-hostel-campus! 

Recently there was a discussion about a swimming pool. I was there for 3 years but have no memory of a pool ever existing till a lone photograph shattered this misconception. This was also a time when near or in a pool, one had to be fully clothed! Instead of New Delhi, this could have been one of those Middle Eastern countries. Surely there was not much to hide, we all had similar stuff! Other than being the butt of each other's jokes, our virginities and modesties remained dry of all contamination. Nonetheless the glee on some of the faces near the pool reflected contentment and joy in the fanta (orange pop) and chips we all shared. 

IP Pool where being fully clothed was acceptable!

Behenji remained the quintessential warden with a puny little dog and a few chamchas. She probably wished all the boarders would have been of the canine species, so that she could have made pets out of us. But of course that was not to be and she remained the most mimicked human in the hostel. Other than that the entire place was a mad house with girls yelling and shrieking to sort out matters of which there were plenty. If we had the right to carry arms it would have been a bloody battle ground.

I happened to play basketball under the auspices of a complete clown masquerading as a coach. Now this coach was no coach, all he did was yell till he turned blue in the face. We were ready to drag him across the field to Behenji's office if he collapsed. Needless to say not one player ever listened to him. I think we came to practices with cotton stuck in our ears and went the same way for the games as well. The poor man must have cried with exasperation a million times. He must have also been tempted to plead with the opposing team to please let him coach them instead of IP rogues. We happened to get beat by St. Stephens College often. Maybe the male crowd helped those miserable Stephen girls to win or maybe it was our coach himself who may have wished defeat for us rascals. Thanks to this coach, not much came out of these, besides a few of us reaching pre-national championships, primarily a selection process for Team India, minus this coach. 

Vishal, Joyce, Shoma, Chhabi

Regarding the food in the hostel, I thought it was dog food that Behenji fed us but there are others who still drool over what was served. The hostel kitchen and pantry had an all-male staff for a girls' hostel, imagine that and within the strange atmosphere of Indian castes, these men happened to be very cool looking each with his unique swagger, good for mimicking by us girls. But the most popular man on the hostel campus was Premji! He was the man in constant demand by Behenji and us girls for all kinds of troubles mainly electrical troubles and our culprit heaters. There were girls who disappeared in the night and others who said Yes Behenji when the missing girls' names were called. We trained well to be criminals and accomplices. All in all it was a good time, an innocent time, a time of no worries and best of all, a time of no cooking and relishing aloo chaat and gorging on chow mien.