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.

Little Dress And Big Problems

I doubted we were ever going to get summer this year despite all the warnings about global warnings. It has been a litany of cold; long, drawn out winters, hardly any spring and barely a few days of simmering heat. What was I going to do with my short dresses and shorts? So far, my husband had not panicked about my short shorts (I don't know what else they could be if not short). He's used to that. What a husband! But he did become alarmed about a dress I was going to wear for a party. Basically, the length of the dress caused the alarm; it was not like the Duchess of England's knee high length dresses. Being petite, I cannot wear and should not wear long dresses. I would disappear completely so the only solution to this height problem would be to give the world an impression of height with a short dress. Yes, it's important the world sees women preferably with some added height.

Along with the dress, I had to contend with additional heels as well. I don't know if the dress was bought for the heels or heels were bought for the dress. Basically both had to go together, one without the other would not have done it. If I did not wear this dress on this particular day, an opportune moment would have slipped by, my friends would have left for Texas and I would have been left with a dress and heels still waiting to be outed. 

Anyway this is how it all played out between the little dress, little ol' me and husband:

Husband: Is that what you are going to wear?
Me: Yes, what's the problem?
Husband: Oh nothing, only ...
Me: Yes?
Husband: How will you sit?
Me: Primary reaction, no words - open mouth, wide eyes, hands on hips
        Secondary reaction, no words, mouth still open, hands holding head
Husband: You can't sit down!
Me: Should I just hang around the door?
Husband: Do whatever you want.

I don't know if my husband realized that this was going to be a small party where people sat, stood and sipped. I doubt any people would have been lying around on the floor with drinks or kabobs in their hands; it's not possible to interact in that state! Did my husband think that if I stood, everybody else would stand up and stare? Or did he expect that as soon as I sat down everybody else would go one step further and immediately fall to the ground and that's when the viewing would change! He was worried I might forget I had a dress and for no apparent reason would end up doing somersaults. He worried immensely about me in a little dress. So his solution: Do Not Sit!

But sit I did. Standing is the worst position for me. I invariably look for a place to settle in including the floor. With a dress on, floor was not a possibility. We are talking about eye level conversation here; we are talking about little dresses riding up a bit but hands being able to pull it down to a discreet level; we are talking about decent people sitting and having a conversation; we are talking about women having the freedom to wear shorts and dresses without having their throats slit and being accused of infidelity by the moral police; we are talking about husbands going cuckoo over sitting and standing in innocent-little-not-quite-white-dresses!

Prisoner Exchange: Obama Style

There is a new order in the world for conducting prisoner exchange; it's called Obama Style. Obama just conducted one for Bowe Bergdahl for the terrible Taliban five, very dangerous terrorists held in Gitmo for years. As reports continue to emerge, Bowe Bergdahl is not the man Obama made him out to be much like Obama is not the man, America thought he was or was going to be. Bergdahl is a deserter who in earlier times would have been shot dead according to protocol. Not in Obama Times where deserters are honored, exchanged, brought home, their homecoming celebrated in the Rose Bowl of America's White House. In this brave new world, deserters get honored while soldiers who put their lives on the line are dissed by White House spokespeople like Marie Harf, a woman who may have never seen what war is, much like Gwyneth Paltrow, both women lucky to enjoy the privileges of living in a world made free by the sacrifice of soldiers, most of them honorable men and women.  

Now, America has effectively set a precedent of how to get your soldiers back, no questions asked. Whether people like Bergdahl collaborated with the enemy is regardless in this new enterprise. The country is 17 Trillion in debt but Obama also considered paying up to 5 million dollars to get Bergdahl back. The Taliban must have scoffed at the paltry amount. Obama obviously hadn't seen free flowing money from the Saudis for jihad! Anyway, Obama has begun to move the country in a direction of easy give and take and new definition of what honorable service is. It's this non-recognition of honor that lets Obama ignore a genuine and honorable Marine, holed up in Mexico for some weird reason. However, Marine Tahmooressi can be brought back from Mexico by exchanging any number of drug cartel members in USA or other criminals eating away taxpayers money, right here in the USA.  Surely, Mexico would be delighted at the offer, more so if a few millions are dangled as well. Currently, Cartel members/Gang members are being fed and provided with attorneys and lawyers (working feverishly for the rights of criminal offenders) and when things go their way, which happens many times, criminals and drug cartels are allowed to stay on in the country as well; their families get the invite as well. All this could be achieved with Obama's prisoner exchange program.

There are other exchanges that can be done by Obama while he still has 2 more years remaining in office, good enough time to wreck some more damage to the country, make a mockery of protecting Americans, reduce terrorism to some euphemistic noble words and actions, and still claim victory! There are many ambitious terrorists sitting pretty in Gitmo and others jailed in America's high security prisons. Obama needs to move quick before his 2 years are over. There are killers, all kinds, with steel claws, pirate gear, ZZ Top style bearded men, angry men, hate spewing men, all declaring death and destruction to non-Muslims in Satanic lands especially where Christianity is still present. No, Al-Qaeda is NOT on the run and neither are its myriad affiliates! Obama can easily exchange these people with Americans rotting in foreign lands. It is truly an amazing opportunity for a full scale prisoner exchange. A quick release of hardened criminals and terrorists as per Obama's liberally chaotic world, would be wonderful especially if it is done without knowledge of Congress and American people.

In Obama Land of Lies, Deception and Dementia, there is no war on terrorists. In fact, there are no terrorists and if there are, they have legitimate grievances which Obama administration will do everything in its power to rectify; after all America needs to be cut down to size. Obama has been made president of America to redress America's wrongs and set it right with the world in every which way possible! With his prisoner exchange program, Obama will re-set world order to a state of utopia, extend the olive branch to all intent on destroying the free world. Obama's Style of exchange will bring peace, prosperity and goodwill among all. This is Obama Style and unfortunately many Americans upheld it as well. This is what Liberals and Democrats wanted to see in Obama; this is what Obama wanted to do since he donned the presidential cape and quickly mistook it for a King's cape and crown. And just as he goes about his presidential business with complete disregard for laws and the constitution, he continues to become more and more enamored with his useless ideas. Long Live King Obama, cry his loyal subjects!

Grandma's Pet Bird

Over eating and obesity are human frailties; it's not supposed to happen to birds and animals but I suppose in some places it does. So here was Grandma with her pet bird who had been a pet for many years and didn't know any other existence. Nonetheless, even Grandmas need a break every now and then, so off this Grandma went leaving behind her pet bird to be taken care of by none other than her favorite 20 year old Grandson. Lo and behold, Grandson became attached to the bird and gave the bird freedom of every kind, the kinds that only wild creatures can imagine. 

When Grandson and company drank, Bird hung around the glasses and bottles and bottle caps. When Grandson played ball in the house, Bird witnessed the wreckage; when Grandson slept, Bird slept as well and naturally when Grandson smoked pot, the bird sat longingly around as well. As things played out in Grandma's absence, Grandson invited a few friends to say hullo to the Bird and experience some whiffs of pot as well. I don't know if all assembled smoked but Grandson certainly did. Weed washes everything in the humane light and so everybody was let in for a mellow evening unlike evenings of carnage that usually and invariably accompany alcohol. 

So pet Bird sat around with the boys; when they smoked, the Bird did too. Well, Bird didn't really pick up a pipe and all that, only sniffed and inhaled the good stuff. As lovely fumes of weed gently wafted down the room, they flowed from the pipe and directly filled little Bird's lungs. Heavenly pot  lifted Bird's worries about Grandma as Bird felt her wings soar around the room. Good stuff, that weed! Before long, Bird was thoroughly soaked with weed. Like many politicians, Bird too did not inhale! Second hand smoke from weed and pot was the culprit, which those pesky Liberals never warned you about; in fact they wanted to make those freedoms available to all without discrimination.

Transformation quickly occurred  as Bird become a one-time-pot-head and soon turned into a glutton as well. A free bird, not in its cage, happily hanging around pot smoking grandsons, is bound to get into trouble. So, high on weed and wind beneath its wings, off went the bird to find its food and find in plenty it did. That big 10 pound bird food was all hers.

   

Pet Bird went for it 

 forgot to blink 

   forgot to drink; 

    to the surprise of all
 ate it, got bloated

   turned into a ball

Bird ate so much that it became incapacitated and passed out very close to Grandson who thought Bird was just tired and needed some sleep. Grandson threw my son's jacket over the bird for some peace and quiet and let Bird rest all night. There the Bird lay, all night, without moving, without breathing.

Now, Grandson has to answer Grandma what happened to her pet Bird. My son has to wipe down his jacket with warm water, lemon and some vinegar because this jacket cannot be washed or dry cleaned. Grandson's friends will speculate as to why was Grandson so sad; after all it was just a bird and maybe Grandson had a soft heart and worried about other things besides weed. All friends will have to collectively figure out what to do with the dead bird, whether to cremate it or bury it before Grandma gets back from her vacation. 

NBA Basketball of Punks and Dunks

Soccer or Football is the world's most popular sport but surely American Basketball is equally popular with its towering men and their knee length shorts, certainly not designed for men under 6 feet; anything under this number easily qualifies for a dwarf on the field.  Regular people sometimes feel a sense of relief when they see some players hovering around their normal height but that is very rare and soon people feel sorry to see such 'tiny' players having to make do in a court of giants. Then too, the 'tiny' ones seem to be specially adept at moving the ball swiftly, especially through the legs of the bigger players. Big players like Shaquille O'Neal made it an art form to fall and remain fallen till most of both teams regardless of rivalry, helped him stand up again. 

It's the sheer beauty of flight and an equal ferocity of beastly play that sets American basketball apart from any other in the world. Two to three feet off the ground is the least a fan can get to see, which in itself is a fanciful flight perfected by none other than the world's most famous athlete, the great Michael Jordan. Hang time came to be affiliated with Jordan because he seemed to stay in the air for an unholy and unbelievably long time. Nonetheless the Jordan era was also one of full time punks like Dennis Rodman and those pesky Detroit Pistons who played basketball like a series of wrestling matches. For lack of anything else to do, Rodman now keeps company with ruthless dictators and killers like Kim Jong-Un and then wonders in his pretty pink scarf why the world is so upset and subsequently has on-air meltdowns as well!

Unfortunately, like other things in America, NBA too has come under the knife of political correctness where a good old hard foul has been elevated to choices of flagrant 1 and 2 and of course off court theatrics! It's a wonder PC thought police hasn't yet objected to all the garbage talk and thoughts by players especially with the heavy handed dealing of Donald Sterling, owner of NBA Team LA Clippers! Somehow Clippers thought of protesting by throwing their jerseys down but still continuing to be on Sterling's pay roll of millions of dollars; taking Sterling's tainted money was ok!  Head butting, poke in the eye, goring another player are no longer tolerated. Subsequently, fans can no longer see a basketball brawl, so to speak. Half of the pleasure in watching international soccer games lay in watching droves of traveling half-crazed fans across borders who insist on having their own matches of fists, slurs and horns in the stands. 

Michael Jordan's Hang Time

Still, NBA attracts new blood each year hungry for the ring and title but of course the average age of an NBA champion is 27 years! There is Russell Westbrook with his blazing guns and of course the freight train Lebron James but none come close to being punks.  To stop Lebron James is to do it at the peril of your life and so when he comes down thundering towards the basket, it's best to move out of the way and pretend to tie your shoe laces. Everybody would understand those shoe laces were never undone! When Tiago tried to dunk on Lebron, well the sheer audacity of it went viral because the Spaniard never went anywhere. It's one thing to move out of the way but it's another to dare do it on Lebron!

NBA still has some passion, bits of controlled anger, some frustration, but plenty of beauty in the beasts of play. It's fascinating to see the ball sail down the net with a sweet swish, one smooth action, no crutch of the board is seen as in European basketball and so when it happens to be a rare air ball, one collective gasp from the crowd becomes a unique sound. But nothing to beat the absolute awesomeness of NBA basketball when players go for their dunks. Which brings me to the quintessential nature of American NBA dunks.  This beauty is truly a beast. The ball gets slammed down with such savagery that it is a miracle the ball survives as well as the net and of course the board as well. This art of slamming the ball through the net has yet to be mastered by other nations.

Drink Drank Drunk: Joys and Perils

You Tube: Compilation of Drunk People

Nothing is funnier than seeing drunkards talk or walk because they can’t do either. They open their mouth, they tip over. Was it the weight of the words? They raise their hand, they tip over, they raise their leg to walk, the leg crumbles under them. They sing and dance and accept all kinds of dares even to their heads, which are mush anyway. They insist on riding bikes without wheels or with the wheel turned around permanently; they go round and round till they can do it no more; they fold over with the bike over them or under, the bike does not care and they are too drunk to care either.  They can crawl through the tightest spots, slide through barbed wires or slide on to barbs; squeeze throats, their own or others and then wonder what their hands were doing around throats; they choke themselves, punch their own faces, and do other such foolish stuff.

People have been warned: do not drink and walk but that’s what precisely drunk men and women like to do. People have been warned, do not drink and drive but that’s another human frailty. People have been warned, do not drink but who listens. If there is anyone who cannot walk, it’s the ones who’ve been drinking all day and all night long. Suddenly they remember they need to get home and so their foray into getting-home-by-themselves begins! They start off by walking backwards and graduate to doing it diagonally; they stumble on the dark road and the road leads them back to where they began. What happened to the road? They tumble through a house, whose house is that anyway? They find their way to the door and are surprised by the door opening on them; they fall outside the house just near the door; that’s where they crumple and lie until further notice.

They were the bravest people when they started off just before they consumed that alcohol, loads of it. Then they got caught into accepting challenges, fancy ones too. They jumped off stairways, balconies, across ditches, into walls; they threw themselves into doors, windows, tables, bicycles, cars, anything that was standing or moving. Nothing is safe from a drunken man hurtling towards them. They can do everything and they are fiercely independent. It’s that evil alcohol that made them do things they were adamantly opposed to. Hollywood needs to hire drunkards for all their stunts, even though those successful stunts would have only been one-time affairs. Mostly it is men who are a sight to watch as long as those men are not related to you; then it’s not funny. The entire world thinks drunkards have a problem except the drunkards themselves. For them, it’s the world that has a problem or maybe the bottle has a problem!

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.