The guilt lives on, so does inaction

Sometimes I feel that the guilt from inaction (or rather very late action) by the Allied forces against the fascists, who almost completely exterminated the Jewish population of Europe and blotted the history of mankind with irreparable damage, lives on. Britain decided to enter the war only when it reached its own shore, perhaps the wounds from the first catastrophic war were not yet healed and the country wasn't willing to get into another phase of death and destruction. United Sates also entered the war, only when its own shores (read Pearl Harbor) came under Japanese attack.

Auschwitz Concentration camp

The war ended, United Nations formed and the world promised to never ever let another Holocaust happen. But history repeats itself, and in this case it repeated over and over again as the two world powers fought for hegemony. Genocides happened all over the world, and often we looked the other way.

Abandoned Darfur village

The bloody modern history of Africa is perhaps the most obvious example, as factions fought, governments killed, raped and maimed its own population and democracy replaced by autocracy, the world body looked helplessly. Of course there have been numerous peace keeping missions and I believe that saved many lives from  getting lost, but most of this action was an afterthought, when things were almost out of hand and water was again nearing the head.

Afghanistan

Many such genocides were perhaps never even reported, or just took a small space on the inside pages of the popular newspapers we read. Only a few followed these news, and even fewer perhaps cared. The correction/ proactive action by United States (most likely to meet its own ends) in Afghanistan and Iraq have been severely criticized and have apparently done much less good than originally promised.

Libya

Overthrowing a regime (popular or otherwise) is risky business. As French Air Force pounds Gaddafi's forces, this comes to my mind often. Should we as people sit back and let a government kill its own people (labeled rebels) or get our acts together and take some proactive action (something on the lines of what is going on right now) ? So was the war in Afghanistan too justified? Even if United States had its own agenda, the end was an end of the Taliban era (though not completely) and the so called liberation of people. Should we have done the same in Egypt as well? The list could be endless, and its weird why sometimes we chose to intervene and often chose to ignore.

So what next? Do we keep pounding Libya (and possibly kill some civilians as collateral damage) or the strategy should be different, something more intelligent than air strikes? Have we learnt something in the last six plus decades after the Second World War ended? How does the world move forward?

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Images references:
     www.awesomestories.com
     www.bbc.co.uk
     www.boston.com
     www.guardian.co.uk

Pants down, please!

Ref: www.worldofstock.com

I was expectantly elated when Miss Mona Lisa ordered me to drop my pants, and immediately did the needful. Within a short span of less than three seconds my excessively lustful and pervert mind imagined a set of potentially wonderful possibilities. However, what happened was far from wonderful and I was subjected to the keen eyes of a worried nurse, while my requests for the far more interesting activities consistently fell on deaf ears!

Now, of late the requests to drop my pants (often shorts) has gone up at an alarming rate. Often these people are complete strangers, though not necessarily always. In fact my friends and office colleagues insisted that I do it for them as well and in the office itself, with much cunning persuasion I convinced them that doing at home would be a better idea, and somehow managed to save the modesty of our shared sacred works space.

However, in most cases I am not so lucky and as and when I am ordered to shed my pants, I oblige. Even as I escaped Ahmedabad last week and landed in Chennai, the strange request from strangers did not cease. They still smiled at me and politely request me to drop it all for them. And to top it all, told me the exact time after three days when I should come and drop my pants again for them. As always, grudgingly I smiled and agreed. Such is life!

magnolia woman

Ref: www.judithkmcmillan.com

Woman, oh my wonderful Magnolia woman,

see how you make me cry.

As I lie on your feet,

waiting for you reply.

I long for the kick,

as much as I long for your lick.

I long for your caress,

all the slaps you gave me under duress.

I lay helpless even now,

Shapeless, spineless, ready to be molded like a lump of clay.

Give me a form again,

Let me be something again, let me play.

But I know you are gone forever,

never will I hear from you again.

I shall remain as I am today,

A dead vegetable, a helpless swain.

To my death...

I sit and I cry,
till the tears stop falling and the ones on me are dry.
I close my eyes and fall into the soothing dark,
yet struggle with it when my senses are back.
Its the only friend I ever had, my only confidant,
yet I am scared to confess my sins anymore,
despite the closeness, we have grown too distant.

I still feed myself to you, hoping to be consumed like this,
the darkness, however, only grows even more.
What ecstasy the end would bring me!
but the road to my destruction is hard, so long.

I walk still, into the smoke, into further darkness.
As the black engulfs me with its tight arms, I finally let go.
I have reached my end, with even nothing to give me solace,
with my eyes closed, I stop breathing, and we finally become one.

Staphylococcus aureus/ MSSA/ Golden Cluster Seed

Beauty was the last thing I expected as I got the report from my surgeon. However, as I googled, the beautiful world of Staphylococcus aureus (literally golden cluster seed) opened up to me. Its known and famous for its golden color, something which can also be seen in its colonies.

These beautiful organisms can cause a range of diseases, from a minor skin pimple to life threatening sepsis.

Originally curable by scores of antibodies, now Staph (as it is commonly known) has become resistant to many. Also, originally very rare, its now endemic in most hospitals across the globe.

Somehow now I do not feel so bad to be its carrier; I found another colleague in office and perhaps together we can form SSG aka Staph Support Group!

Have a look at this beauty in the images below.

Ref: www.sciencephoto.com

Ref: www.healthhype.com

Ref: www.sciencephoto.com

Ref: www.sciencephoto.com

Ref: www.wikipedia.com

Ref: Wikipedia, www.acronyms.thefreedictionary.com

I am Firangi, but an Indian at heart. I am an Indian, but an Italian at heart. I am International, totally phoren at heart!

Wrote this for my friend Muzayun a long time back as a guest author on her blog. Recently she decided to clean up her blog to make it more acceptable, and this was first amongst the many things that got dumped. I spent quite sometime writing this, so am publishing it again nevertheless.

"I am an Italian by soul". And I am not the only one who strongly believes in that. Silvi and Helena have reaffirmed my belief by subscribing to this fact, without any provocation. And Sid is a witness to it, check with him if anyone has any doubts. Now there are different theories about what part of Italy do I belong to. My favorite crush Michelangelo (Torino) believes I am from Napoli, and his wonderful curls convince me of that. However, others feel that I am more Milano. Sid is different, he thinks I am from a region called cold Bihar. I hate that.

Personally I also believe that I am Iranian, my family and close relatives tell me so. The fact that I look like one also convinces me of that.

The ghodawala also feels that I am not Indian. When I travel with Sid, people ask him for driving license as proof and me for my passport. But I like it. Though we make for an odd combination, a phoren mem back-packing with a desi bihari. My disastrous luck! Where are you Michelangelo?

When I visit Diu, people look at me and stare. The fools haven't seen many with Multinational personalities like mine. I bask in the glory of my Internationalhood!

But my passport is Indian. So I am making distinct efforts to learn the local lingo, starting with the desi gaalis. Though they sounded disgusting in the past, am getting used to them now. Local and low-level friends like Sid come handy!

My sisters are Indian and pro-India. This statement becomes highly relevant when it comes to my home, which is badly hit by violence and destruction, apart from the fast spreading anti-state sentiment.

My daughter, Snehal, is also very Indian. And her last name is Joshi. We all call it coincidence, rather a nice coincidence. She sings beautifully, and I like whatever she sings. Her songs are distinctly Indian. Now I am thoroughly confused!

Many of my REC friends are based in Europe, but they also hold Indian passport. God I am so so confused now!!! Oh, but Filipe, Helena, Silvi, Jan and many many more are not Indian. Thank god my International credentials are still intact.

And every time I try speaking in the local language (including Kashmiri), people look at me with open mouth and appreciate the efforts I have taken to learn an Indian language, after all not all phoren mems take the effort to mix so nicely with the locals. When I tell them that I was born here, and learned the language in school they are less than impressed.

I ignore all of this. I know who I am - 

"I am Firangi, but an Indian at heart. I am an Indian, but an Italian at heart. I am International, totally phoren at heart!"

To make a Kashmiri smile :)

I make some people smile, that’s already an achievement for me. Rarely people find me funny, unless they are very close to me.  My humour generally fails to take off in groups, or with people I do not know very well. They sneer at the end of my best joke, or at best politely look bewildered and excuse themselves; this is especially true for the members of the opposite sex. To overcome my less than successful social skills, of late 

I have started studying my more successful friends, and often copy their jokes, and stupid one liners and use those to dupe people. So far even this has not worked, but I believe with practice my odd sense of humour will be less notable, and people will flock to me to hear me repeat my copied and oft repeated jokes and smart comments!

In English: 'Kashmiri' strong soda center

But this post isn’t about me. This is about Kashmir, or rather about a Kashmiri. It’s a result of hours of hard work and research, and something that I intend to take forward into a full-fledged thesis. The following lines would bust a few myths about Kashmir and in the process reveal  a few hidden truths about the famed (claimed!) land.

1. Kashmiri women are coy (even TOI thinks so). My extensive experience says absolutely untrue. And in my opinion, it’s the lack of the wild beasts in the state is responsible for this.
2. Kashmiri pulao isn’t sweet! Of course it is sweet, just visit any restaurant or dhabha in the neighbourhood and you shall know the truth.
3. Kashmiri women wear colorful clothes, at times even adorning themselves with flowers. It’s a joke, they like only Black and flowers are an absolute no no (Sharmila Tagore in Kashmir ki Kali was super-fake!).
4. Kashmiri men are bearded gorilla like creatures. On the contrary they are clean shaven, and always have trimmed hair. While I was there I looked like a gorilla, and hence sadly never fitted in.
5. The most famous export from Kashmir is not Pashmina but Kashmiri Soda, at least in Gujarat. It pops into your glass and gives you the coolness, straight from the Himalayas.
6. Kashmiris live in cold climate and hence can live in extreme cold. The truth is sadly different, they can shiver even on the hottest day in June, when the monsoon is already delayed by a week and earth is crying with thirst.
7. They are simple people. They visualize themselves from weird angles, like perched on a fan and attempt sketching that I detail.
8. They are serious people from a serious land. Hahahahaha…I laugh the most in their company, sometimes with disastrous results; especially when there is no joke, but I imagine there to be one!

So what’s the point of writing all this? I am trying to be funny here; you still do not get it??? I told you, it’s an uphill task for me to bring about a smile J