sometimes - 2

THE CARNIVAL IS OVER

2011-10-08T23:24:00.000-07:00

GOOD-BYE, SIMON. MAY YOU FIND THE PEACE IN DEATH THAT ELUDED YOU IN LIFE.

A GOAT MAKES A LION SHEEPISH

2010-12-11T22:41:00.000-08:00

For the last few months, my creative endeavours have been mostly concerned with visual arts instead of writing. I’ve been working with Photoshop and gif and, most recently, with Windows Movie Maker. I have also been teaching myself to knit Estonian lace, an accomplishment for those with two usable hands.

My writing has kind of fallen into the bin of things I just don’t make the time for. A couple of dear friends have really been pestering me to write something, anything. Today, there is a heavy rain and I feel like a change, so I will write about an incident on our lovely little farm many, many years ago when life was simple and generally a lot of fun.

I’m not sure I can write this. It’s about the funniest thing that ever happened to me and even thinking about it I can’t stop laughing. It concerns a grumpy, cantankerous nanny goat – they are all grumpy and cantankerous, but this one seemed to have some special chip on her goat shoulders – and a strong, dignified, self-possessed Khalsa lion who was always in control of himself and never let anything discombobulate him.

A lovely Saturday summer’s day on the farm. Mani had decided that I needed a break from my usual routine and that he would milk the goats. I admit I wasn’t too sure that that was a good idea. Mani was a great doctor and very good at doing almost everything, but he was a city boy right down to his cellular structure and the farm was an alien environment to him. I was, of course, raised in the city, but parts of our summers in India had been spent on the family farm, always a welcome relief from the filth of the city. I sort of caught the farming bug then and felt at home on our little farm.

Back to milking the goats. Mani, of course, looked perfect. He had decided to play nihang, I guess, and was wearing a blue chola and a perfectly tied turban. I knew the goats wouldn’t be impressed, but, to be honest, I was. He always – almost always – impressed me. So he took the milking bucket and all 6’ 3” (191 cm) of himself out to the barn.

I sat down in the kitchen to work on my knitting and enjoy a cup of tea and some homemade bread and jam.

For a time all was peaceful. I could hear the happy little birds chirping and the sound of Sandeep and Rosa’s kids playing happily in the back ground when—

Mani came running full speed into the kitchen, screaming as I had never heard him scream before, in a complete panic – (Sorry, I have to stop for a laugh time) – “Shut the door! Shut the door!”

[Freeze frame] Before I continue with the action, I must describe my thoroughly discombobulated husband. His chola had somehow come completely open, his turban was loose and disheveled and goat milk – my wonderful goat milk – my dribbling from his drenched beard. What milk had managed to make it into the bucket was slopping and spilling all over the floor.

I couldn’t move. I couldn’t shut the door. All I could do was laugh helplessly. Normally I am a kind person who wouldn’t just laugh at someone in such panicked distress, but this was my imperturbable Mani, the always calm, always perfect Mani Singh with goat milk dribbling down his beard onto his naked hairy chest.

[Resume action] Immediately behind him ran one very determined nanny goat. Determined to catch him and do God-only-knows-what to him. Needless to say, I could not close the door. I was laughing too hard. I think ROFL had not yet been invented, but I was laughing so hard that I was bent over double, unable even to breathe, and actually fell out of the chair onto the floor. ROFL. So there I was, helplessly laughing on the floor – which by now was slippery with goat milk, my husband first glaring down at me and then at the goat and one nanny goat standing, smiling triumphantly at the whole scene.

“If you can stop laughing long enough, get that damned beast out of our kitchen!” Poor Mani just didn’t see the humour of the situation yet. (He would later, of course.) I struggled to my feet and slid over to the goat while Mani made his way to one of the chairs. He was almost there to safety when he slipped and that whole big body crashed to the floor. He grabbed at the table and managed just to catch the end of the tablecloth, pulling jam and bread and tea onto his prostrate body. I am sure that someday, in some remote corner of hell, I will pay for this, but I couldn’t resist saying, “Lo, how the mighty are fallen,” as I picked myself up. The goat meanwhile had started nibbling at a flower pot on the counter and had pooped on the floor. I managed to get her out of the kitchen and back to the barn. She liked me well enough and I suppose that she was content to return home, having had her triumph.

Still barely in control of myself, I quickly ran back to our house, to the kitchen, hoping to get to a camera before Mani regained his senses. I was too late. He had already run off to the shower. Not before disposing of the goat poop, though.

I started to clean up the mess, leaving him to nurse his wounded pride. After a time, he returned, looking again like Mani, calm, self-possessed and all that, although he was very, very red from blushing embarrassment. Rather sheepishly, he insisted on finishing cleaning up the kitchen, which was very sweet of him. I made another pot of tea and ate my jam and bread and knitted and burst out laughing every time I even glanced at him.

Two things I learned from this:

Bana is not appropriate attire for milking goats.
Goats do not belong in my kitchen.

Mani never offered to milk the goats again.

Picture credits can be found at: Goats Don't Belong In the Kitchen

WORDLESS WEDNESDAY- together they walk the winding roads

2010-09-21T19:58:00.000-07:00

walking down the winding road

Love doesn't make the world go round. Love is what makes the ride worthwhile.
Franklin P. Jones

Photograph: courtesy of Angad Singh
All rights reserved by Angad Singh

Fwd: HAVE YOU EVER BEEN SO TIRED...?

2010-07-17T21:42:00.001-07:00

--
WHY TRY TO FIT IN? YOU WERE BORN TO STAND OUT!

An Animation For Simon

2010-07-11T11:57:00.000-07:00

My husband asked me to create for him a graphic of Money talks, male bovine defecation walks for his blog. I came up with this:

2010-07-09T22:13:00.000-07:00

Deepwater Horizon - What A Lovely Name!

2010-06-30T21:29:00.000-07:00

This is a post I hoped I would never write. As you, my readers, know, I practice the virtue of chardi kala, translated in many different ways, but all having the meaning of eternal optimism and never giving up. I am still practicing, but it is hard.

No doubt by now you have heard about the massive oil spill by British Petroleum in the Gulf of Mexico in the Caribbean Sea, truly a paradise on earth. Or at least it was until 20 April 2010. On that day the Deepwater Horizon oil rig - owned and run by British Petroleum - exploded, caught fire and began gushing massive amounts of crude oil into the pristine waters around it. Eleven were killed and 17 injured. That was tragic, but it is just the beginning.

The amount of oil gushing into the Gulf is estimated at somewhere between 1,475,000 and 4,200,000 gallons per day ( 5,583,432 and 15,828,729 liters/day). No one knows how much oil is in this well, how long it can keep gushing. Years or decades, if it is not somehow stopped. So far nothing has worked. In fact, efforts have actually made it worse.

Here's a nice little thingee to help you calculate.

Those are pretty dry figures for most people, so here's a more graphic look. This is what the spill looks like right now:

I realise that most of my readers really can't relate to southern Louisiana, so here is the spill in other locations where I have readers:

If I happened to miss your locale, go to Ifitwasmyhome to move the spill to wherever you live.

Perhaps you'd like to see it as it happens.

If that's not enough to bring it home to you, here are a few oil-soaked pelicans. I findf this horribly painful to look at.

In addition, massive amounts of methane gas has been released into the water. This may well turn out to be even more dangerous than the oil. The methane depletes the water of oxygen, leaving all the sea life devoid of the element that is necessary to all life on earth. It is feared that the methane will cause a dead zone where nothing can live, possibly for decades. Also, scientists believe that a huge methane bubble is forming under the water. When it bursts, it could release a tsunami of 20-60 ft (6.1-18.3 m), certainly enough to engulf most of the Caribbean islands. For more information on the gas leak, go here:
Gas Leak 3000 Times Worse Than Oil.

And, by the way, with our current technology we have no way to cap or contain the methane.
I guess that's not enough bad news. It is now hurricane season. (For those of you in Asia, those are typhoons.) There will be hurricanes. In fact, the first one is blowing right now. Hurricane Alex did not close to the spill, but there will be another hurricane and another and another.

The next thing to consider is the ocean currents. The Gulf Stream is an ocean river that runs from the Caribbean to Europe.

Eventually this oil and methane and all their problems will reach Europe. They will also travel up the Atlantic coast of North America all the way to Canada and all points north. No one knows how much of the ocean will die. Certainly a large part of the Caribbean Sea will and it will take decades to recover. In the meantime the many people who make their livings along the Gulf, either fishing or in the tourist trade, have lost their means of livelihood. It is even possible that the land they live on will become uninhabitable. Bobby Jindal, the governor of Louisiana has been alerted that a mass evacuation may become necessary, if a hurricane again hits the state. It is likely that once gone, the people will not be allowed to return due to the toxic oil and gas along the coast.

The earth is one big ecosystem, based primarily on our oceans. If a large part of one ocean dies, that will have a cascade effect on the rest of the planet. How far could this go? Worst case scenario: Bye-bye. "Not with a bang, but a whimper." If you don't recognise those lines, they are the conclusion of T. S Eliot's poem, The Hollow Men. Best case scenario: the southern coast of the United States becomes uninhabitable for a period of time and much of the sea life in the Gulf of Mexico dies, with devastating consequences to the people who now live there. As it is impossible that there be no hurricanes in the season, we can be sure that the winds will carry the oil throughout the region, damaging all it touches. That damage cannot be estimated at this time, except to say it will be extensive.

And what caused all this? Of course it was British Petroleum cutting corners on safety to save money and increase profit. It was Pres. Clinton who authorised the deep sea drilling. It was Pres. George W. Bush who so favoured the oil interests and permitted a lack of oversight to allow BP not to follow the safety measures. But it was also all of us who are dependent on petroleum, who refuse to cut back on our usage, we who demand more and more. In the end, if we had not demanded this oil, if we had lost our lust it, BP wouldn't have been able to make the profit that drove them to build this rickety structure upon the rickety structure of our economy. So what now? We have learned why greed is such an evil thing. Whither our good, green beautiful earth.

I keep thinking about the ending of Dr. Strangelove. (A great movie. If you haven't seen it, I highly recommend you see it while you still can.)

Remain in chardi kala, my dear brothers and sisters!

pictures:

the fire - United States Coast Guard (via Wikipedia)
the pelicans - Charlie Riedel (AP)
the earth - courtesy of NASA

Bluestar Massacre 1984 - A Widget

2010-05-30T22:15:00.000-07:00

I have made this widget to commemorate the shaheeds of the Bluestar Massacre.

If you would like to add it to your blog/website, the code can be found at:

http://sites.google.com/site/thanksandchardikala/0-bluestar-massacre-widget

Copy/paste that into your site's html. To put it in the sidebar, add it as a gadget using the Javascript/html.

While you're there, feel free to look through that website. I set it up to thank the people in my life who need thanking. That most certainly includes you, my faithful readers. The pages are meant to be read in order and start at the home page: Thanks, Gurufateh and Chardi Kala.

Buh-bye

2009-12-20T17:58:00.000-08:00

I am having a lot of technical problems with dear old sometimes - 2, and I have decided to bring it to an end.

Not to fear. Every ending is a new beginning, so I refer you to:

sometimes - 3

Please stop by the new location and say, hi.

DAD'S LAST ADVENTURE

2009-11-28T13:02:00.000-08:00

I haven't written about Dad in a while; here's about a strange little story near the end of his earthly life.

As I have written before, my Dad died late in 1982, mercifully missing the horrors of two years later. I had returned to our family home to care for him, as he had become quite testy and had decided that only his only daughter could help care for his still abundant kesh (unshorn hair). Mani and Sandeep had followed, leaving the farm in the very capable hands of Ramona, so we were all together there, in my old rooms.

Shortly before his death, he started acting very strangely. At odd times - and for no particular reason - he would blurt out "Cats!" H e had always liked cats and we had always had at least one in the house, but this was really strange.

(An aside: For some unknown reason, his favourite was Kitty, a very stupid cat; one of the few cats I have ever disliked [a hint of jealousy, perhaps?]. He was very sad when she died shortly after our wedding in 1970. I think he overfed her on wedding feast food and it was too much for the 15 year old fatty.)

After a time, it dawned on me that he was playing "senile" to tease us because except for that and being a bit cantankerous, OK, more than a bit, he was his usual self, clearly in full possession of his senses. But I couldn't figure out what he was trying to accomplish. He never did anything just to be silly. He always had some reason for what he did, even if it made sense only to himself.

Surprisingly, it was Lilly who gave us the answer. Although a good Jain, Lilly loved the theatre as long as the play had no "blue" components and contained (almost) no violence. One day, she came running in with a magazine, all excited. "Mai! Mai! Cats is coming to Broadway!" I gave her a puzzled look. Her grammar was always impeccable. "Cats is" just wasn't Lilly. Seeing the look on my face, she laughed.

"Cats is this most wonderful musical that's been running in London." What Dad had been referring to became crystal clear. He shared Lilly's love of theatre. "I so much wanted to see it, but I thought I'd never get the chance. Now it's coming to Broadway!" Her face fell slightly. "I suppose it's sold out for a long time, though."

"No doubt." I heard Dad's booming basso profundo and realised that he had ambled in unheard. "No doubt. I had to pull a lot of strings to get the tickets. Couldn't get opening night, but only a little while later. Tickets for us and Lilly, too." He was trying his best to look and sound serious, but he was grinning from ear to ear as he pulled an envelope out of his pocket. The envelope held five, third row centre tickets to Cats at the Winter Garden Theater. (Admission: I didn't remember the theatre's name; I had to look it up.) Lilly squealed and Dad looked very pleased with himself. He had not purchased a ticket for her husband Raj, but he hated the theatre and would be happy to be excluded. Besides, he and Dad avoided each other, the irresistible force and the immovable object.

(Another slight aside: Dad liked most people, but there were a few he just couldn't tolerate. Among this group was Lilly's husband, a Hindu (Kshatriya, he would be sure to inform you) named Raj Singh. [Yes, it was a strange marriage, but this is not the time to write about it. They were happy, even if no one else was.] Dad had good reason to dislike him. He had this belief that Sikhs were Hindus with long hair, in fact a part of the military wing of Hinduism, under the command of those of his varna (caste, sort of), of course. And his having the surname Singh only made matters worse. Raj and I have had a long-standing dispute about this, put to rest only at Lilly's death. It was her last request; what else could we do?)

As the season to go approached, Dad was getting weaker and weaker and it became clear to all of us that he was not up to a trip to New York. Still, he so much looked forward to going that none of us had the heart to tell him. One day, just a few days before his death, he had me sit beside him and he said, "Dear daughter, you remember about Cats?" I nodded. "This old body is all used up and it's almost time for me to go home to Satguru. I won't be making any more trips to New York in this frail, old shell." He had been sitting back, relaxed; suddenly, he sat bolt upright. "I made too much effort and spent too much money on those tickets for them to be wasted! I insist that you must go. And you must enjoy yourselves. This body won't be there, but I will. It'll be my last adventure before I go home."

I admit I was holding back tears, but I couldn't let him see that. "Will you be sitting in your seat there with us?"

He burst out laughing. "A disembodied soul need pay no admission and needs no seat." He lowered his voice. "Give my ticket to that bastard Raj, if he'll take it. Tell him it's a gift from the old Sardar who lived a Sikh and died a Sikh and will never be a Hindu, but who is generous even to those who try to dishonour him." The thought was really typical of Dad, who loved the grand gesture, although I had never heard him call anyone a bastard before.

So Dad died. We went to see Cats. All of us, including Raj. We had a grand good time. I still don't know if Dad was there with us, though.
I have a sneaking suspicion that he might have gone straight home to his beloved Guru Ji.

Betty Buckley from the London production of Cats

Back To Normal Life.

2009-11-06T22:58:00.000-08:00

I thank you all for indulging me this last week. My 25 year anniversary remembrance has come to an end.

But please don't forget. Now and then, please think about that unknown Singh in the picture and remember those murdered and those who love them.

Some time ago, when I was thinking of making a new header.my good friend Anonymous, suggested that I am just a little too enamored of lions. Why not a landscape with forests or mountains and maybe a river and/or waterfall? How about some nice (read "vegetarian") animals? Or maybe outer space? I just couldn't decide, so I used all those suggestions. And butterflies, too. Hence this new header.

There's a lot going on here, so I'll put the picture without the title here. To see the big sized picture, just click on it.

I hope you enjoy those big mother ducklings.

And here is a postcard I made for my goofy brothers.

I have also made a few wallpapers on Sikh themes. If anyone expresses an interest, I will post them.

As you can see, I have been doing a lot of graphics type stuff. I started in mspaint, then worked in paint.net, a programme I heartily endorse as a lot of fun and much more versatile than mspaint. Then, last night, a dear friend and brother decided I really need Photoshop and last night we downloaded Photoshop CN 4 (Expanded). Now, I need to learn to use it.

One Dead Singh

2009-10-30T16:37:00.000-07:00

On 31 October 1984, Indira Gandhi, Prime Minister of India, was shot and killed by her Sikh bodyguards reacting to her ordering the Army to storm the Golden Temple (Harmandir Sahib) in Amritsar, killing an unknown number of pilgrims gathered there in honour of the martyrdom day of Guru Arjan Dev Ji.

There followed several days of mayhem directed toward the Sikhs of India, especially in the city of Delhi. Many Sikhs were doused with fire and burned alive. these are my thoughts on one of the dead. (What follows is reprinted from The Road To Khalistan.)

Who is he? Who is this Singh? I have spend countless hours staring at this photograph asking myself questions. Whose son is he? Whose husband, whose dad, whose brother, whose uncle, cousin, friend? Is someone waiting anxiously at home for him, waiting for a footfall that will never come?

Where is he from? Does he live in Delhi or is he just visiting? Where was he born? What is his pind? When was he born? How old is he?

What is his occupation? Is he an engineer, a doctor, a professor? Or is he a taxi driver or a trucker?

What are his politics? Is he an Akali or a member of Congress? Is he a Khalistani or a Bharata Mata lover? Or is he political at all? Is he just trying to live his life and not really concerned about the niceties of the larger world.

Why is he keshdhari? Is it just habit, following family custom? Or is it deeply meaningful to him? Does he pray each day, do naam jap, love Vaheguru? Or are those just incidentals that have fallen by the wayside of his life? Where is his turban? How does he feel as it is ripped from his head and his kesh is exposed?

How does he feel as he realises the mob is coming for him, chasing him down the street or dragging him from his home or his car or from the bus? What goes on in his brain as the petrol is poured on him and set alight? What is he thinking as his body burns? Or is he beyond thought? Is he aware of the laughing jeering mob around him, enjoying watching his final agonising moments of life on this earth?

What is his last awareness as he dies alone, surrounded by merciless thugs?

Questions without answers. Whoever he is, he deserves to be remembered. I doubt he had even a death certificate, so I have made him one.

(Click to enlarge)

There is something so very final about the certificate. And, of course, I realise that all I have written is wrong and must be rewritten to reflect the truth of 25 years later...

Who was he? Who was this Singh? I have spent countless hours staring at this photograph asking myself questions. Whose son was he? Whose husband, whose dad, whose brother, whose uncle, cousin, friend? Was someone waiting anxiously at home for him, waiting for a footfall that never came?

Where was he from? Did he live in Delhi or was he just visiting? Where was he born? What was his pind? When was he born? How old was he?

What was his occupation? Was he an engineer, a doctor, a professor? Or was he a taxi driver or a trucker?

What were his politics? Was he an Akali or a member of Congress? Was he a Khalistani or a Bharata Mata lover? Or was he political at all? Was he just trying to live his life and not really concerned about the niceties of the larger world.

Why was he keshdhari? Was it just habit, following family custom? Or was it deeply meaningful to him? Did he pray each day, do naam jap, love Vaheguru? Or were those just incidentals that had fallen by the wayside of his life? Where was his turban? How did he feel as it was ripped from his head and his kesh was exposed?

How did he feel as he realised the mob was coming for him, chasing him down the street or dragging him from his home or his car or from the bus? What went on in his brain as the petrol was poured on him and set alight? What was he thinking as his body burned? Or was he beyond thought? Was he aware of the laughing jeering mob around him, enjoying watching his final agonising moments of life on this earth?

What was his last awareness as he died alone, surrounded by merciless thugs?

He was our brother and he was one single human being, one Sikh among the thousands murdered during the madness of those days in 1984.

He is our brother and he deserves justice.

One final, unanswered question: When?

Weird stuff from Oregon

2009-10-14T21:53:00.000-07:00

If you'd like the story behind this pictre, please go to Weird Stuff From Everywhere.

Thuki Again

2009-10-03T15:14:00.000-07:00

I was going to skip this one actually, but Thuki won't shut up until I post it here. I tried to explain to her that this is a PG-13 rated site, no explicit acts of procreation, most certainly not interspecies.

However, she keeps pooping in my hair, vowing not to stop until this is posted.

All the while she is squawking that we have not yet gotten her a royal consort. What more is there to say?

OK, here is:

THE PARROT WHO SHAGGED ME:

INNOCENT, 100% INNOCENT

2009-09-22T12:36:00.000-07:00

Finally. At last.

How many times have we heard the argument against the death penalty in the United States: "What if an innocent person was executed?"

Always followed by, "Well, show me one, single example of a person proved innocent executed!"

OK, my dear jios, here it is. Watch this and think deeply.

So how could the Great State of Texas apologise? Here is one suggestion...

Current Events.

2009-08-31T23:55:00.000-07:00

Many thanks to S. S.

Amazing Lions - Funny videos are here

THE EXTRAORDINARY BEARD OF SWARAN SINGH

2009-07-29T17:36:00.000-07:00

You must be wondering if this person Mai ever writes about nonSikh stuff. Yes, she does, occasionally, but not today.

Today she has just finished eating a 7-Layer Burrito (beans, rice, tomato, lettuce, cheese and guacamole all rolled up in a flour tortilla) drenched a Fire Sauce and drinking a liter of half-frozen water.

I am sitting here near Seattle on the hottest day ever recorded here. 104F, 340C. Not all that hot in Amritsar or Las Vegas, but deadly hot to these weak Seattlites. I'm OK, with a fan and a spray bottle of water.

So, for a summer break...

I just came across this Youtube video and want to share it with you.

First, a still from the video:

Then the caption from the video:

Mar. 11 - A Canadian man who has grown a beard that measures over seven feet long is all set to be endorsed in the record books.

Swaran Singh, a music teacher from Canada who is visiting his native Punjab, is the pride of all the Sikhs for sporting a beard that measures over 7 feet long.

He expects it to be endorsed in the Guinness Book of World Records.

As a devout Sikh, Singh wanted to inspire the young members of his community to retain the hair and not crop it.

(SOUNDBITE) (Punjabi) SWARAN SINGH: "God blessed every man with beard, but I have received special blessing from Him. I have done nothing special except caring it (beard). I have never applied any special hair oil on my beard and of course, I haven't done this for the sake of Guinness record."

And, at last, the video itself:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pvnWUftW4uE

Happy summer to all (in the Northern Hemisphere). Happy winter to you in the hemisphere of Oz.

UPDATE! A PETITION!! The Bird of Prayer

2009-07-17T00:55:00.000-07:00

I have added a petition to the end of this post to allow women to do sewa and kirtan at Harimandir Sahib. We're supposed to be the religon of gender equality and this glaring discrimination must be corrected! Please sign. Or Mai will be annoyed. Very annoyed.
****************************************

I wrote this for The Road To Khalistan, and I think it also belongs here. First, for my non Sikh readers, a little vocabulary:

Harimandir Sahib - Golden Temple, Amritsar, East Punjab, India
Amrit Vela - the Ambrosial hours before sunrise, a time for prayer and meditation Darbar Sahib - the Main Hall of a Gurdwara, in this case refers to the Central Building of Harimandir Sahib
Sri Guru Granth Sahib (SGGS) - the Sikh Eternal Guru, the Sikh sacred scriptures.
Kirtan - Sacred song, hymn
Gurdwara - Sikh house of worship

That should be enough to get started. The first line is from Shri Guru Granth Sahib Ji.
*********************************************

THE PRAYER-BIRD

baabeehaa anmrith vaelai boliaa thaan dhar sunee pukaar
The rainbird chirps in the ambrosial hours of the morning before the dawn; its prayers are heard in the Court of the Lord.
SGGS: Page1285 Line 3 Raag Malaar: Guru Amar Das

A few years ago, when I was an absolute newbie on the Internet, I came across a beautiful story about a bird at Harimandir Sahib. Not knowing that I might have trouble finding it again, I didn't bookmark it or copy the URL. Although I have searched and searched, I have not been able to find the website with the story.

I will tell it here as best as I can remember. I do not know if this is a true story or a beautiful image from someone's imagination. It really doesn't matter.

Once, at the beautiful and sacred Harimandir Sahib in Amritsar,

a pair of birds built a nest. Mother bird laid her eggs, and Mother bird and Father birth both cared for them until they hatched into four perfect little baby birds.

The parents took turns giving them the nourishment and care and love they needed to grow and thrive until they were able to care for themselves.

Then all flew away except for one small bird.

For reasons known to none, she stayed and made her home in a niche above the Darbar Sahib. Day after day, perched at the top of the beautiful gurdwara, she listened to the kirtan wafting through the air. From the Ambrosial Hours before dawn until late in the night, she listened and she sang.

She sang as all birds sing until one day, when she began her melodious chirping during amrit vela, a new song emerged from her soul. From that day every day, she joyfully sang the kirtan to Akaal Purakh that she had so often heard. Everyone who heard her was blessed by the thrilling notes given to her by her creator. Was there ever another bird so blessed?

Then, one day, she was heard no more. Her soul had flown to meet the One she had spent her life praising.

That is the end of the story, only I wonder if she might have been just a little sad
that she never heard the voice of a woman raised in joyous kirtan.

IN CASE YOU ARE ASKING, WHAT DID THAT LAST LINE MEAN, HERE IT IS:

Hi,

I wanted to draw your attention to this important petition that I recently signed:

"Allow Women to do Kirtan & Sewa at Harmandir Sahib"
http://www.ipetitions.com/petition/sikhequality?e

I really think this is an important cause, and I'd like to encourage you to add your signature, too. It's free and takes less than a minute of your time.

ELEANOR MEME II

2009-07-14T00:25:00.000-07:00

My friend Eleanor (not to be confused with My Friend Flicka, another thing altogether) has proposed another mosaic meme. Please visit her blog, Notes From Eleanor Bloom. She is a bit Vivian Leigh, a bit Holly Golightly, a bit of a mad Aussie and altogether delightful. Plus, of course, she's my friend, a title not given lightly.

First, what they are supposed to be:

Something that represents beauty for you.
A love.
An addiction.
A favourite album or style of music.
A place you spent your childhood.
An enjoyable pastime.
Your favourite season.
A favourite animal.
Somewhere on the planet you'd like to live or visit.

1. 1 Harimandir Sahib, 2. 2Sant Ji, 3. 3dried-natural-mango, 4. 4 way street, 5. 5India Weather, 6. 6Hike in the forest, 7. 7springtime, 8. 8lioness-and-lion-cub, 9. 9Himalaya Kashmir

BONNE FETE, CANADA

2009-07-01T18:07:00.000-07:00

OK, I cannot do it. I cannot ignore Canada Day. Try though I might, I still harbour deeply patriotic feelings for "our home and native land." With all its faults, Canada is beautiful, somewhat liberal (in spite of the silly Conservative
government and that ridiculous, robotic Stephen Harper.)

Ah, well, I shall further disgust myself.

I rarely use the word "hate" because it is so overused for relatively minor annoyances, but...I HATE the attitude of CBC News toward us Sikhs. Negatively biased to the max!. Still, this old CBC sign off is the most beautiful "O Canada" video I have ever seen. So take a watch and a listen. BTW, "O Canada" is really easy to sing, unlike the national anthem of the Barbarians to the South, which can be handled only by a few professional singers.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=B0jhJA1Hjxk

The words:
(Note: Canada is a bilingual country. Since I was born in French-speaking Quebec, I actually learned the French version before I learned the English.)

(Further note: the meaning of the French words are completely different from the meaning of the English. This is symbolic of the deeper differences between the two groups. BTW, there are very few Sikhs in French Canada.)
Official (English)
O Canada!
Our home and native land!
True patriot love in all thy sons command.
With glowing hearts we see thee rise,
The True North strong and free!
From far and wide, O Canada,
We stand on guard for thee.
God keep our land glorious and free!
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.
O Canada, we stand on guard for thee.

And now, mes amis, this song as I learned it. OK I am indulging in a sort of homesickness I rarely allow myself. I am, after all, almost within walking distance of British Columbia, but it's a long way to Quebec. And a long, long way to Tipparary.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=InoieKVMHbs

Official (French)
Ô Canada!
Terre de nos aïeux,
Ton front est ceint de fleurons glorieux!
Car ton bras sait porter l'épée,
Il sait porter la croix!
Ton histoire est une épopée
Des plus brillants exploits.
Et ta valeur, de foi trempée,
Protégera nos foyers et nos droits
Protégera nos foyers et nos droits.

Inuktitut lyrics
Uu Kanata! nangmini nunavut!
Piqujatii nalattiaqpavut.
Angiglivalliajuti,
Sanngijulutillu.
Nangiqpugu, Uu Kanata,
Mianiripluti.
Uu Kanata! nunatsia!
Nangiqpugu mianiripluti,
Uu Kanata, salagijauquna!

A SHORT MENTION OF MICHAEL JACKSON

2009-06-29T16:13:00.000-07:00

(Note: This is a slightly revised form of a comment I left in Amrit Hallon's blog, Writing Cave.)

This reminds me of the hoopla when Anna Nicole Smith died. There IS a difference, of course. Michael Jackson was a talented performer who actually did something of note with his talents. He has been at least on the periphery of my life since the late 1960s. Someone who had "always" been there is gone. It leaves a blank space.

Love is a strange thing. I have learned, to paraphrase R. A. Heinlein, the more I love, the more I CAN love. Each love teaches me to love a little more.

I care deeply about poor people, hungry people, cold people, sick people, oppressed people, hurting people - but I have learned that if I don't distance myself a bit, I'll go mad. (Some say I already have.) I do what I can, mostly by alerting people online, as I am physically unable to do much and my financial resources are small and dwindling. Then I do just a little more than I can, push myself.

My friends and doctors insist that I cut down on these 16-18 hour days, the world will go on just fine if Mai takes a nap in the park. They are right. Sometimes I wonder if all I try to do has any impact on anyone. Still, love compels me to try.

Was he a pedophile or simply a strange guy who had an innocent interest in children, being childlike himself? Was he an ogre of immorality or merely eccentric? I do not know. It is possible he did all the nasty things he was accused of. It is also possible that those were all false charges from people who wanted to open their wallets to put in large amounts of Michael's cash.

The death of Michael Jackson is just this: He brought music, dancing and joy into the lives of millions. He gave us a lot to talk about with his weirdnesses and eccentricities. He made our lives a little more interesting, a little less mundane. And that, my beloved readers, (as Martha Stewart would say) is a good thing.

Good-bye, Michael! The human heart is big enough to care about you and all suffering humanity at the same time.

In memory of two people who deserve to be remembered, this is my martyred son Sandeep's favourite MJ song. I must admit that there is something endearing about a love song to a (literal) rat!

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aSqo17o2a1w

A Guest Post From My Most Highest Imperial Majesty Queen Gathuku

2009-05-12T14:58:00.000-07:00

Yes, the worst has happened. The worst possible thing in the whole universe has happened. The worst insult to My royal majestic Person has happened. This is impossible! This cannot possibly be happening. My Majesty's worst, very worst nightmare.

These people, Dark Man and Fat Lady, have never obeyed my command to provide My Majesty with a fitting consort, a bird of class and distinction and of great accomplishment. They are most wicked and evil and I poop in their hair, especially Fat Lady. She has this thing about her hair, you know, and they simply cry out to be pooped in. Such disrespect! Such perversion! My Majesty has bitten her - HARD!! - on her arm, even today. That fu---no, wait, such language is beneath My Majesty's great and mighty Dignity! O, yes, they have found a consort for My Majesty.

But not even a bird! Oh, perversion upon perversion! Worse then the man who married a goat! Worse even than the girl who married a dog! But that is closer.

My Majesty cannot even bring My Majesty's self to say it, but My Majesty supposes that My Majesty must just come right out and say it!

SQUAWK!! SQUAWK!! SCREECH-SCREECH-SCREECH!!!!

My Majesty's consort. A DOG!! Perversion within perversion within perversion - it is a she-dog, a bitch! Pooping isn't enough! Not even pooping in Fat Lady's hair is enough! There is no punishment fitting to this insult to MY Majesty. What is to be done.

Here are some pictures of the bitch. Her name is Abby ans she's two years old and, further insult! She is not even a purebread, just a maltese-schnauzer mutt. (But she looks maybe like she's part terrier.) My Majesty is no expert on dogs - My Majesty freely admits that. In fact, I despise dogs as much as any Muslim would. Yes, as bad as a filthy pig!

My Majesty HATES these disgusting humans. Perhaps I shall find a new residence. Yes, that is the answer. You who read this consider how wonderful it would be in your life to be the obedient slave of My Majesty, Queen and Empress, Supreme Parrot of All The Universe, Gathuku of the Earth. Just let My Majesty know and My Majesty will fly anywhere to find a fitting home. I await your enthusiastic response.

My Imperial and Cosmic Beyond Al,l Greatness, etc., etc., etc.,

signed: QUEEN GATHUKU THE MAGNIFICENT!

(PLEASE DISREGARD THUKI'S PLEA FOR A NEW HOME. SHE'LL GET USED TO ABBY IN TIME. I WONDER WHAT YOU GET WHEN YOU CROSS A PARROT AND A LITTLE BLACK DOG? MAI)

HOW TO TELL A SIKH FROM A TALIBAN, ILLUSTRATED

2009-05-07T10:28:00.000-07:00

Before I start, let me say that in writing about the Taliban, I am not indicting the Muslim community, which has many good, upright adherents, some of whom I am honoured to include among my friends. Please do not construct anything I say about Taliban to apply to the millions of Muslims who are peaceful, constructive and valued citizens of countries all over the world.

Do to a certain shallow, outward physical resemblance to some Muslim extremists, our Sikh community has been under attack since the 9/11 terrorist attacks by those who don't know any better. Now events in Pakistan, where the Taliban has attacked the Sikhs of the SWAT Valley, forcing them out of their homes, make a comparison of the two groups mandatory for anyone who really wants to understand world events. (And to stop picking on innocent Sikhs, as well.)

First, what exactly happened in Pakistan? The government there has effectively turned over control of a region in the north of the country, the SWAT Valley, over to the Taliban. In a region of this valley called Orakzai live - or rather lived - a few Sikh families. These were poor Sikh farmers who had lived in peace with their neighbours for generations, who had chosen to stay in Pakistan when most Sikhs left to move to India in the Partition of 1948. These are people with few material resources who clearly love their homes and simple way of life.

These were destroyed when the Taliban demanded that they pay a tax on non
Muslims, called a Jaziya. I have read that jaziya was originally paid by nonMuslims in lieu of military service. I have also read that it was originally a financial inducement to convert to Islam. Whatever the original purpose, in this instance, it is clearly simple extortion, not unlike "protection money" paid by business owners to organised crime to insure that the Mob will leave their businesses alone.

The amount demanded by the Taliban, was beyond the means of the community and when it was not paid, the houses of the Sikhs were razed and Sikh businesses were occupied. The Sikhs, seeing yet another massacre looming, fled with little more than the clothes on their backs and a few meager possessions.

In summary:

Lahore: The Taliban has expelled at least 50 Sikh families from the
Orakzai Agency in the Federally Administered Tribal Areas (FATA) after
they failed to pay 'Jazia'. The Taliban had demanded 12 million rupees ($242,840, GBP 161,271)
as protection money from the Sikhs, who have living in the region from
hundred of years, but they could arrange only 6.7 million rupees.($135,586, GBP 87,355)

Later, it was reported that the extremists occupied houses and shops
of the Sikhs in Qasim Khel and Feroz Khel areas of the Agency and
auctioned their valuables for 0.8 million rupees ( $16,190, GBP 10,750), The Daily Times
reports. Earlier, the Taliban had also demolished houses belonging to
the Sikh community in the region.

The Taliban's Orakzai Agency chief Hakeemullah Mehsud ordered the
demolition of the houses after the Sikhs failed to meet a deadline
fixed for payment.

Having established, I hope, that Sikhs are not Muslim extremists, who then are Sikhs? Briefly, a Sikh is a follower of Sikhi or Sikhism, a panentheistic (look it up!), monotheistic religion that originated in Punjab, in what is now northeastern India and southwestern Pakistan. Rather than summarise the beliefs, which is really beyond the scope of this article, I suggest you go to about.Sikhism and look around. It's interesting and educational.

The religion sprung up and developed at a time when Mughals (Muslims) had imposed a brutal dictatorship on the people of part of what is now called "the Asian subcontinent," that is India and Pakistan. I will now compare some aspects of Taliban and Sikhs.

Since people are generally more visual than verbal, I have included a picture gallery of major differences between the two groups below.

There is a certain superficial physical resemblance. The men of both groups grow beards and wear turbans. The majority of members of both groups are brown. The Taliban, however, are by and large Arabs, with Middle Eastern origins. Although there is a growing number of Sikhs of European and African descent, most Sikhs today are still either Punjabis or descendants of Punjabis.

Taliban discriminate against women in many ways: imposing Muslim dress which completely covers her, denies her education, restricts her movements so she is not allowed to go outside unless accompanied by a male relative. (I wonder what happens to a woman who has no male relatives?)

Sikhi teaches that men and women are equals. In fact, the Sikh Rehat Maryada - the Sikh Code of Conduct - forbids a woman to cover her face.

Here is an example of Sikh music, a sort of hymn called a kirtan. Notice that it has a happy sound and is a joy to hear! Also notice that it is sung by a woman!
.

I cannot give an example of Taliban music, since the Taliban ban music entirely, even to the point of killing songbirds when they controlled Afghanistan.

I cannot give a current example of Sikh government, since the Sikh Empire (1799-1849) governed by Maharaja Ranjit Singh is no longer around. However, two big differences between Sikh rule at that time and Taliban rule now are that capital punishment did not exist in the Sikh Empire, while it is common among the Taliban. And a huge difference, different religions were not only tolerated in the Sikh Empire but were actually respected, while the Taliban not only lack respect or tolerance for other religions, but also condemn all other forms of Islam, their own religion.

But enough of words. I have written enough to tell about the differences, now a few pictures to show the differences.

Note: Should anyone wish to reproduce this post, I will be happy to send you the html to make it easy for you. Just leave your e-mail in a comment or e-mail me at simayanan [at] gmail [dot] com. MHK

FAILED COUP COOKIES, 2nd Ed.

2009-05-02T18:36:00.000-07:00

I don't usually publish recipes here; I put them in "Dis Fud Iz Gud," my recipe blog. However, it is a private, by invitation only blog and this is, in my opinion, close to the perfreccookie recipe. For taste, that is, not nutrition.

So I decided to share it with all my readers. These are not cakey cookies or hard cookies. Properly made, they fall and are rather gooey and chewy and sweet...

FAILED COUP COOKIES, 2nd ED.

The picture? Just what popped up when I googled on failed coup cookies. That is, by chance, however, the failed coup that the title refers to.

My secret recipe for my favourite cookies. Secret no more!

So what makes these 2nd Ed.? These are vegan. Eggs are easily replaced; they're gross anyway. Believe it or not, almost all commercial egg substitutes are made from - EGGS! I kid you not. If you are either a vegan or a non-egg eating vegetarian of another sort - this include most Sikh vegetarians - be careful to use only egg substitutes labeled "vegan."

I will be honest. For taste, nothing will replace butter. Vegan margarine, however, is - to me - an acceptable substitute. Aside from saving the planet and being kind to animals, it doesn't clog the arteries quite as much.

These cookies can be very sweet, almost like candy, depending on goodies used. For less sweet, concentrate on nuts and raisins and eschew the candies. (Still, I am Indian enough to like my sweets very sweet.)

Ingredients (American, metric to follow):
3/4 cup vegan margarine, preferably unsalted (replaces butter)
1 1/4 cup brown sugar
2T. flaxseed, simmered in 1/3+ cup water (replaces 2 eggs), cooled * (See below, if you've never done this before.
1/2 cup liquid, cool - tea, coffee, fruit juice, water

Cream together by hand, if a purist who doesn't want to use any more electricity than absolutely necessary, or in food processer, adding

1 teaspoon baking soda
1 teaspoon salt

Spices - all are better if freshly ground, of course! (vary according to your own taste)
1 Tablespoon ground cardamon
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon black pepper OR 1/2-3/4 teaspoon cayenne
1/2 teaspoon allspice
1/4 teaspoon cloves
1/4 teaspoon nutmeg
(I sometimes add a little powdered ginger)

Add

1 1/2 cups whole wheat flour
1/2 cup oatmeal

In a bowl combine 2 cups of mixed goodies (suggestions follow)

**************************************************

Ingredients (metric):
180 ml vegan margarine, preferably unsalted (replaces butter)
300 ml cup brown sugar
30 ml. flaxseed, simmered in 80 ml water (replaces 2 eggs), cooled * See below if you've never done this before.
120 ml liquid - tea, coffee, fruit juice, water

Cream together by hand or in food processer, adding

5 ml teaspoon baking soda
5 ml teaspoon salt
Spices - all are better if freshly ground, of course! (vary according to your own taste)
15 ml ground cardamon
5 ml cinnamon
5 ml black pepper OR 2-3 ml teaspoon cayenne
2.5 ml allspice
1+ ml cloves
1+ ml nutmeg
(I sometimes add a little powdered ginger)

Add

360 ml whole wheat flour
120 ml cup oatmeal

In a bowl combine 480 ml of mixed goodies (suggestions follow)

*****************************************************************
Combine everything well using whatever method appeals to you; I usually use my hands, slightly moistened with water. Form into small balls for baking (Does anybody ever actually "drop by teaspoons onto ungreased baking sheet"? I wet my hands a bit and use them.) onto ungreased cookie sheet.

Bake about 7 minutes in 400 degree F (200 C) oven, or until bottoms are lightly browned.

Yield (depending on what size you make them, I prefer them rather small) approx. 4-5 dozen)

Goodies suggestions:
mixed baking chips: chocolate, butterscotch, vanilla/whit chocolate, carob
nuts: any kind you like except walnuts (I have a great aversion to walnuts. If you use them, please call these cookies something else, maybe Successful Coup Cookies)
other stuff: any dried fruit in smallish pieces, flaked coconut

(My favourite combination- subject to change, of course:
1/2 cup white chocolate chips (120 ml.)
1/4 cup carob chips (60 ml.)
1/2 cup flaked coconut (120 ml.)
1/2 cup chopped cashew pieces (120 ml.)
1/4 cup dried cranberries (60 ml.)
1/4 cup dried mango) (60 ml.)
OK, that's more than 2 cups (480 ml.), get over it!

****************************************************

Flax seed "eggs" (This works well as a binder. Of course, it doesn't work at all as leavening.)

Per egg: Combine 1 Tablespoon (15ml) flax seed with 3 Tablespoons (45 ml) water. Bring to boil, then turn down the heat and simmer a few minutes until grossly slimy, like raw eggs. No need to take out the seeds; they actually add a little nutrition to whatever.

Wallpapers and Blog Headers - and a Granddaughter

2009-04-29T10:46:00.000-07:00

It has been a while since I have sat down and actually talked to you, my gentle and beloved readers, so today's the day.

My first order of business is my new wallpaper. As many of you know, my dear, sweet husband has a, er, uh, drinking problem. He only drinks beer, but - you know a chain-smoker who lights the next cigarette from the last? That's how he drinks beer, never stopping, except to go to work. Yes, somehow he is a functioning alcoholic; he does work, somehow. Anyway, at home, the beer drinking is unending. Even at night, he wakes up and drinks beer. I am way past complaining about this. He is going to do what he is going to do; there's nothing I can do about it.

The problem is that he has taken to using my computer. Every night he checks the Sitemeter to see who has visited his blog. He goes through each page, scribbling down information about each reader. This is annoying to me for a myriad of reasons. So I have devised a means for getting him away from my compy. A new wallpaper. I thought long and hard about what might work. I thought of the obscene, the blasphemous, the just plain ugly and offensive. There are problems with each of those, the main one being that I would have to look at the darn thing, too. Of course, I don't drink alcohol, but there was a time I did. What would I have been unable to tolerate for even a moment?

Op-art came to mind. I found a classic piece, called Movement in Squares (see below)

Almost, but not quite. I fiddled with it and finally created this:

I call it "Many Squares. I'll let you know if it works. Or not. If you'd like to check it out, use the image above or go to and use the large size from my flickr account. Please let me know if you try this.

My second topic is my header. I have been using Singhni, my beautiful, relaxing lioness, always with some quote I like across her body, for quite a long time. Recently, I tried her on the prowl. I disliked that one because it looked a bit dark and dirty to me. I have revised it and may use it at some time in the future. I had thought about using the picture of me, turbaned, relaxing on a big, male lion, although that does seem just a bit egotistical.

Discussing this with a friend, he thought that maybe it was just a bit too silly. Then he wondered about my fascination with lions (Lionesses, actually). Why not flowers

or stars

or rivers (five of them?) This River, by the way, is the Ohio River photographed by
my good friend and little sister, Lin,

or a nice landscape?

Why not? I may create such a picture with flowers and stars and rivers in a nice landscape. I will not guarantee that there won't be a lady lion in there somewhere though.

And last, did you hear about the grandpa in Orissa, India, who beheaded his nine year old grand-daughter to ensure a bountiful harvest? No joke. No punchline. I have put the story of the beheading in Weird Stuff blog.

OF KHALSA AND SAMURAI

2009-04-24T10:35:00.002-07:00

A few weeks ago, we visited the San Francisco Bay Area, courtesy of one of my husband's nephews. I was the first time I have been to San Francisco, Mani's favourite American city, since the events of 1984. Such memories, it brought back! I can't really share these with anyone here, so I'm sharing them with you, my online friends.

One year, I think it was 1978, but I'm not sure, we decided to celebrate our anniversary/my birthday by taking a holiday in San Francisco. Very unusual for us, we decided to leave Sandeep in the safe hands of the family and set off for nine days and eight nights in The City By The Bay. Family had our hotel number, of course, along with a promise not to phone unless it was a life-altering emergency. No such emergency occurred and we had a wonderful time. OK, I'll fess up. We called home each evening to say hi to our Sikhling.

One of the few things Mani and I could never agree about was our manner of dress. His appearance was very important to him. His clothes were always perfect, his turban beautifully tied, shoes, when he wore them, perfectly shined. He even ironed his jeans! (I refused to do that because I thought it was stupid.) I, on the other hand, insisted only that my clothes be neat and clean and cover me decently. And be comfortable. They must be comfortable. Beyond that, I really didn't much care what I looked like. We did agree on a few important points. No high heels, no dresses, no make-up.

On the farm, my appearance didn't matter all that much. He expected me to be a bit messed up, mucking around with the cows and goats and chickens (kept for fertiliser) and also with our various crops. I usually indulged him in the evenings by showering or lounging in the Jacuzzi for a while and then putting on a Punjabi suit, a salwar kameez. He usually lounged around evenings in kurta pajama. We might not have been a Punjabi couple, but except for his grey eyes and my brown hair and pasty skin, we certainly looked like one.

For our trip to San Francisco, we reached a compromise. During the day, while we were walking, hiking, goofing off, I would wear jeans - ironed by him! - and something colourful and attractive on my top. This was necessary because walking shoes look really stupid with dressy clothes. When we went out in the evenings, I would dress to the nines, looking every inch the proper lady, while he also dressed up - in full bana! He looked really cool in bana - what Sikh doesn't? - and he looked somehow silly in a suit.

We quickly found out that many fine San Francisco restaurants had a dress code that men had to wear jacket and tie. We avoided those. As Mani said, "They probably don't have decent vegetarian food anyway. We had a glorious time, walking from the Embarcadero to the Pacific Ocean - one side of San Francisco to the other, rambling through Golden Gate Park, exploring those strange, little neighbourhood shops that San Francisco seems to be full of. We spent a whole day at Fisherman's Wharf, watching the tourists shiver. Most people don't realise that San Francisco is quite cool most of the time, and so dress inappropriately for the weather. We also went hiking in the Muir Woods amidst the giant redwoods and hiking up Mt. Tamalpais across the Golden Gate Bridge in Marin County.

I really want to write about one particular afternoon and evening. We decided to go see a Toshiro Mifune movie playing in a theatre in Japan Town.

Mani gave me those cow eyes and asked me to dress up, even though it was only afternoon. I said it was too early, if I had to dress up I'd wear bana, too. He grinned at me and agreed. We ended up dressed exactly alike except he had a saffron turban, while I used a chunni. (We should have tied a turban on me, I now realise, but for some reason, we didn't think of it.) And, unlike him, I carried the more usual short kirpan. I admit we made a grand-looking couple, him in a dark blue chola, saffron-coloured gatra containing a full-length kirpan, and, of course, his perfectly tied turban, me similarly clad. Him tall and towering and masculine, the perfect Khalsa warrior, me short and slender, yet with the full figure of a fertility goddess, also the perfect Khalsa warrior, except in a battle, I'd have to ditch the chunni. As he said, "We look goooooood!"

We arrived for the afternoon matinee and, much to our surprise, there were only a very few others attending. I guess weekday afternoons don't bring out the samurai crowd. A very lovely Japanese lady, clad in traditional kimono, not only sold us tickets, but also tended the refreshments counter and acted less like an usher than like a hostess. When we first came in, she looked at Mani shyly, but still with open curiosity and perhaps a bit of apprehension. She was even shorter than I am; he must have seemed a giant to him. "Sir, "she asked in a heavily accented voice, with that high, squeaky voice that Japanese women traditionally affect, "may I ask you a question?" She waited for him to answer, which he did in the affirmative.

I just knew she was going to ask if he were an Arab, but she surprised me. "I see you have a sword. Are you some sort of a samurai among your people?"

We were both startled at that question; I was very curious how he would answer. "We are Sikhs who have been initiated into the Khalsa Knighthood, so I suppose you could consider us a sort of samurai." He went on to explain a bit about Sikhi, which she had never heard of. When he finished, she was grinning broadly, obviously happily impressed.

Then she turned to me and said, "Great lady, you are also this Khalsa?"

Great lady! I could live with that. I smiled at her and replied, "Yes."

Her smile faded briefly as she asked, "Then why do you have such a small sword?" I didn't really have a good answer, so, on the spur of the moment, I came up with the explanation that I was so short that it would drag the ground., Actually, that is close to the truth. The answer seemed to satisfy her and her smile returned. She also wanted to see them both unsheathed; we were happy to oblige.

She was obviously impressed and asked if there was anything she could do to make us comfortable. She clearly wanted to do something, so one of us suggested that some Japanese tea would be nice. I mentioned that we were visiting San Francisco to celebrate our wedding anniversary as well as my birthday. She brightened up immediately. "Then you must have long noodles for long life to celebrate." He explained that we were vegetarians and ate only "Buddhist food." (We had learned that was the easiest way to get correct food in what used to be called Oriental restaurants.)

"No meat. No egg. Tofu is OK?" She asked.

"A bit taken aback, we agreed.

"I be right back. You go sit down, enjoy watching the people stab each other." She disappeared into a back room and we went into the theatre and watched "the people stabbing each other."

After a time, she returned with a large tray of not only with tea and noodles (in miso soup), but also a sumptuous feast of vegetarian sushi, inari sushi, norimaki with vegetable and tofu filling, and small mounds of vinegared rice with various thinly sliced vegetables on top where normally there would be raw fish. And lots of wasabi, ginger and shoyu.

We were both overwhelmed. She ignored our reaction and arranged one tray on the seat to Mani's left and another to my right, dividing the food between us. "Now eat and enjoy while you watch movie." She smiled, bowed and walked away. What could we do? We ate and enjoyed and watched the movie. And wondered what was going on. After the movie, we found out, while eating some vegetable tempura that she brought in.

"I am Shinto," she told us. "I worship Amaterasu-no-Kami, the Sun Goddess, foremother of our Emperor.

"Last night, she sent me a dream that I would meet some great warriors, not Japanese, but worthy to be samurai. I saw you and knew she had blessed me with your holy presence, so I could have the honour of serving you. I am descended from a very old samurai family that was impoverished when the samurai class was outlawed. They took all our swords and melted them down. You know, all our women were also taught martial arts and sword fighting, so we could protect our homes and our honour, if need be. Without our swords, what could we be?"

She was clearly speaking from deep in her heart, speaking as if these things happened recently, instead of in the previous century. I wanted to see your kirpans" - she stumbled over the word - "so I could honour my ancestors." We didn't quite understand that last statement and didn't ask. Somehow asking seemed cold. "There is one more thing, please." She pulled out a small book and handed it to me. (Why not him? I do not know.) This is the Bushido Book, The Code of the Warrior. I think you do not know Japanese, but please accept it as my gift." We were quite overwhelmed. The book was obviously quite old, probably a family heirloom. Still, it was unthinkable to refuse it. We took it and kept it always among our few treasured possessions.

A most important note: As usual most of these pictures are roached from the Internet, compliments of Google Search. Two are not. That strange-looking being on the Golden Gate Bridge is me, as a giant Nihang. Why not?

That very handsome Sardar Ji I have used to illustrate bana is the father of my little sister Kamal Kaur. His name is Sarbjeet Singh Ji and he, like my own Dad, is a Canadian from Punjabi. Notice the twinkle in his eyes and that lovely smile.

Irene (see previous post) pointed out to me that if he is my sister's father, then he must also be my Dad. An interesting idea, as I believe he is somewhat younger than my 57 years! My thanks to these two for letting me use this picture.

I WANT A KAUR!

2009-04-21T19:27:00.000-07:00

After 2.5 years of fuddy-duddying, the government of the great State of Washington at last decided that, as someone 100% disabled, I need not only decent medical care, but also a personal caregiver, called a "medical caregiver," although her duties are all nonmedical. She is, in fact, a sort of cross between a housekeeper and a personal maid. So I am now, sort of, living like a lady of leisure.

I was able to designate any qualified person - except a family member - as my caregiver, with certain restrictions. The most restrictive was that the person had to agree to an exhaustive background check. Would you consent to that? I know I would not! Of course, I wanted a Kaur, but couldn't find a single one both willing and able. So I had to let the agency just send me one.

Because of anti discrimination laws, I could not ask for a person of a particular ethnic background (I don't care about that anyway) or a particular religion (I wanted a Sikh). I was able to specify gender, as the caregiver's job includes personal care of my physical body.

So it was pot luck. They sent me Irene. In most ways, she is great. She is here every day and works hard. She is pleasant and loves my silky hair. OK, she's never here on time and I usually send her home to her kids early, as long as everything is done. I think if I insisted, both of those would be corrected.

But everything in this life has a price. Not only is Irene not a Sikh, she's a Christian, a born-again Christian, filled with the holy spirit and a zeal to share her beliefs with the whole world, actually to convert any nonChristian who crosses her path. It is an integral part of her religion to proselytise anyone and everyone. It is also an integral part of her personality. Every time she opens her mouth to speak, she says something about being filled with the holy spirit and how that makes her sooooooo joyous. In all honesty, she really is joyous and I wouldn't take that away from her. Luckily for her, my religion respects her beliefs, even if her religion doesn't respect mine. Of course, I could ask for another caregiver, but she does her job and is extremely honest. Besides, I like her. I must hasten to add that she is not a "Church Lady," I see no hypocrisy in her.

My Dad, saying we live in a Christian country (Canada, not the USA, and Quebec, at that!) insisted that I study and know the Christian Bible, even after I managed to get myself permanently thrown out of the Catholic Church. (My mother was Catholic and managed to pry a promise from Dad to raise me Catholic. Obviously, that didn't work, but it makes an interesting post. See The Day I Became A Sikh.). The result is that I know the Bible better than most Christians. This includes Irene.

I puzzle her. How can anyone know the Bible as well as I do - and not see that it is obviously the first and last words of absolute truth? How can anyone not believe what is so obviously - to her - the word of God for all people? She has asked me point blank why I don't believe in it. I, wanting to show the utmost respect for her and her beliefs and wanting to show her that Sikhs really don't feel the need to prosletyse, would say only that it doesn't make sense to me. When she pressed me, I told her, truthfully, that my religion precludes me from showing disrespect for her beliefs, and there is no way I could explain without trashing Christianity. She accepted that, I suspect because she really doesn't care why I don't accept her faith.

Once, I asked her, "Do you really want everybody in the world to believe exactly what you believe?"

"Oh, yes, that would be wonderful!" Then, after a pause, "Wouldn't you like to live in a world where everyone was a Sikh?"

Truthfully, I'd love to give that a try, but I answered, "I like you. I'm glad you're part of this world. And you have a religion that brings you great joy, that is the very centre of your being. What kind of person would I be, if I wanted to take that away from you?"

She understood only the surface meaning of that, not realising the hidden message that that was exactly what she was trying to do to me, to take from me the centre of my being, the source of my joy and strength, the source of my chardi kala, among other things.

My approach to violence also baffles her. "You mean you actually killed someone? I could never kill anyone for any reason."

"Not even to protect your children from being murdered?"

After several minutes of thought, "God would not put me in that position."

Maybe not. I don't know.

Or how about this one. "What are you going to say to God when you stand before him to be judged and he asks you why you rejected the gift of his son?"

Not gonna happen, Irene. The truth is, if I were ever to stand before God, how could I face my beloved as a liar and a hypocrite, pretending to belief a lot of - to me - nonsense. I didn't say that, though. Instead, I simply said, "I suppose if it came to that, I would have to tell him (the Christian view of God is definitely masculine) that I used the intelligence he gave me and just couldn't make any sense of that."

She just gasped.

One last comment on this. I told her the Sikh attitude of "If you are a Muslim, be a good Muslim. If you are a Hindu, be a good Hindu," and I extended it a bit, "and if you are a Christian, be a good Christian." She couldn't get her mind around that at all. "But what I believe is TRUE!" At least she had to courtesy and good sense not to add "and what you believe is false."

I admire the depth of her belief and her love of God. If she were a Sikh, her presence would make me happy to the depths of my being. But she isn't.

Back to 1950. Way back before even I was born:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CGkRBprxJvk

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO ME

2009-04-05T18:44:00.000-07:00

This is actually a bit early, my birthday is on Thursday. If it matters (and it does, IT DOES!) I will be 57 years old. Not a very interesting number. It sort of looks like a prime until you realise it can be divided by 3. (Not to worry. In a couple years, I'll be 59 and that is prime. ) Fifty-seven is it's 3 X 19.. So I guess, I'm at the end of the teen years, 3 times over. This has nothing really to do with anything.

What it is really about is that I got my first birthday card; it's from my li'l sis, Lindsey. I share it now with you.

Except - mt dear friend and li'l sis, Lindsay, just sent me a card early. So I will share it with you.

SQUARES - Weird Stuff

2009-03-24T23:09:00.000-07:00

WEIRD STUFF ALERT - Squares

To see what wonderous miracles science is up to, go to Squares, above.

Hair and Hairs

2009-03-16T21:07:00.001-07:00

My husband is again annoyed at all the money I spend on my hair. I think this is normal. Women do tend to spend a lot of money on their hair.

I was discussing this with a friend online. What are the things most women do to their hair? Straightening, I mean, relaxing, perming, weaves, braids, extensions, all kinds of styling and, of course, cuts.

She said that she spends about $100.00 a month at the salon, in addition to home care products, such as shampoo, conditioner, gels, mousse, sprays and a weekly deep conditioner. That can easily add up to another $50.00 per month. Then there are brushes, combs, ties, and ornaments. I am going to disregard them, as I have no way to approximate that.

My expenses are somewhat less. In twenty years of marriage, I have been to a salon - not even one time. Wait, I was in a salon once. I'll tell about that later. I have never used or paid for the services of a salon even once. Well, once...I'll tell that story, too..

Given those figures, the average American woman would have spent about $36,000.00 over twenty years.

My expenses are somewhat less. I buy only three products for my hair: shampoo, conditioner and hair oil. Although I refuse to use that hair garbage from the dollar store - it makes my hair, which is very dry, break off and my scalp itch - I do not use the expensive salon items. I buy what is on sale at the local grocery/drug store. Shampoo and conditioner cost about $7.00 each for a bottle. One bottle will last me about a month. Hair oil, even imported from India is not expensive. The kind I usually use costs about $6.00 a bottle and lasts a couple of months. But let's say, I use a bottle a month. That all adds up to to $20.00 per month. Over twenty years, that adds up to a grand total of $4,800.

That means I have saved us about $31,200 over the twenty years of our marriage. I'd say I'm quite a bargain!

About that trip to the salon. A friend asked me to meet her there. With some misgivings, I agreed. I do not think any keshdhari Sikh could possibly feel comfortable in such a place. (For my nonSikh readers, being keshdhari means following the distinctively Sikh practice of leaving the hair unshorn and in its natural state.)

I am keshdhari. Going to a hair salon felt a little like going to a brothel. Interesting, a bit disgusting, quite daring and very uncomfortable. I was very much out of place, rather like a lioness at a dog show.

I first noticed the smell. A hair salon smells a bit like a chemistry lab without fume hoods. Ammonia seemed to predominate, along with some smells I couldn't identify. Someone had lit some incense, I suppose to cover up the noxious odours. It didn't work. Both my nostrils and my eyes were assaulted and I felt vaguely sick to my stomach.

The sights that met my eyes were a bit shocking. I mean, I know what goes on in these places, but to actually witness it! Here were all these women, all seemingly having a good time, mutilating their hair in various ways with these toxic chemicals. I could almost hear their tortured hairs screaming out in agony. And on the floor lay strands and strings of amputated hairs of all sorts of colours, some natural, most dyed. All dead.

My friend was in another room, but the receptionist recognised her name when I asked her. I left a note asking her to meet me at a near-by coffee shop and got out of that chamber of horrors. That was maybe 15 years ago; I have not been in one since.

I will be honest. Many years ago, while married to Mani, I did go to a hair salon for a service. I took it into my head that I wanted to get my hair professionally conditioned. I think mostly I was curious at exactly what went on in there. I found out.

I explained that I just wanted a deep conditioning. As this was in Montreal, of course it was all in French. I'll spare you and write in English. The young woman who was to serve me had bright blonde hair of an improbable shade puffed around her face to make her head look very round. She approached me. saw my neat bun and reached up to take out my kangha. I let out a yelp and fastened it to a sort of string around my neck. Jeanette - I don't remember her name, but that seems appropriate - loosened my hair which fell and fell and fell. She actually let out a little gasp and said she'd never seen such long hair. There was no approval in her voice; in fact her tone was accusatory. She picked up the ends of it and with several hmm, hmm, hmms, examined them closely "Virgin hair," she murmured.. "You have split ends. I'll have to trim them off before it can be properly conditioned."

"You'll do no such thing. Cut a single hair and I'll have your," I caught my breath and choked back the obscenity that had been on my lips, "cosmetology licence."

"Do you belong to some weird religious cult or something that won't let women cut their hair?"

"Or something," I growled. "And men don't cut their hair either."

"Well, you should break free and become your own woman." She picked up her scissors. "Long hair is really not becoming on you with that long neck. You have such a high forehead, you really need some cute bangs. You really need a sexy new hair style. Let me help you get free from all " - she held up my precious kesh - "this."

I admit that I sprang out of the chair and got out of there fast. I suppose she still thinks that I came from some strange cult and had inadvertently wandered into the Twentieth Century.

After that I conditioned my own hair - or rather Mani and I did each other's hair, which was not only safer, but also a lot more pleasant.

I have one more thought about long hair. I once watched on The Oprah Winfrey Show, an episode that greatly disturbed me. A bunch of women - and one man - with very long hair were to get makeovers. The main point was to cut off that awful, old-fashioned, ugly, long hair. Give these people a modern, "sexy" look. I admit they did look very different, but BETTER? Not in my opinion. I had the same reaction I have when someone suggests I'd look better if I wore make-up. I always respond,"Better? No, just different." The man went from a strong, masculine man with a full beard and mustache, and hair as long as - although not as healthy - as a keshdhari Sikh to a somewhat girlish metrosexual. I did not like at all.

At least the shorn hair was donated to Locks of Love, a charity that makes human hair wigs for children who have lost their hair, usually as the result of cancer treatments. A worthy cause.

Now, in case you are thinking that these Sikhs are a bit daft with this whole hair thing, allow me a brief explanation. We believe that our Creator knew what it was doing when it made us and we couldn't be more perfectly made. We have hair for a reason, in fact, several practical reasons which I am not going into right now. Even if we could find no practical reason for hair, the fact is that Akaal Purakh (God) gave us a gift of our hair and it is for us to gratefully accept and cherish this gift. (Of course, there's more to it than that, but I think that'll be enough for a start, eh?)

If we still seem a bit daft to you, that's OK. We don't mind. Most of us anyway.

WHY TRY TO FIT IN? YOU WERE BORN TO STAND OUT!

Weird Stuff From Saudia Arabia

2009-03-16T17:03:00.000-07:00

WEIRD STUFF ALERT -

An Evil Saudi Arabian Seductress

To read this post in my new Weird Stuff blog, click on the above title.

Chicken Little

2009-03-15T18:08:00.000-07:00

It has occurred to me that I haven't posted a lolcat for ages. We can't have that, now, can we?

So I found this one this very morning in my Goggle Reader, which I had not visited for weeks. It reminds me of the attitude of so many people around me regarding the recession/depression/ economic nastiness the world is currently experiencing. Whatever. I know that losing our collective cool and expecting the worse could become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

So... let us hope for the best, prepare for the worst and remember the immortal words of the great Franklin Delano Roosevelt: "The only thing we have to fear is...fear itself.

Remain in chardi kala!

Music. Real Music.

2009-03-12T20:11:00.000-07:00

Symphonic music was never meant to be only for the hoity-toity upper class. It was written to be heard and enjoyed by everyone. The last movement, based on a poem by Friedrich Schiller has been one of my favourites for many years. I hope that one or two of you, at least, will listen to this. It is worth a few minutes of your time. In my opinion, it is as close the chardi kala as Western music will ever get!

This is the vocal part of Beethoven's final symphony, composed when he was completely deaf. It is conducted by that dear old Nazi, Herbert von Karajan, someone whom I object to on moral grounds. Still, he is the best symphony conductor IMO (not IMHO, my opinions are rarely humble!) of the Twentieth Century This recording has the advantage over most other recordings that I have heard, in that the singers can actually sing.

In my old Deutsche Grammaphon recording, the singers were absolutely dreadful. Liner notes said that "Walter Barry (the bass) was supposed to be an engineer." I could only respond, Yes, he was." Although I have actually known a couple of engineers who were reasonably good singers.

Anyway, I have no idea if my readers ever listen to symphonic music. Please listen to this one. It's fun and rousing. The translation, however, is awful. Time permitting, I will put my own translation in here. (Yes, some of my German is back. A little French. The Punjabi, however, is still a start from scratch project.).

International Women's Day - 2009

2009-03-08T01:24:00.000-08:00

I wrote this for my other, more issue-oriented blog.

On this occasion, it seems to fit here, as well.

Here it is:

I was so very sincerely hoping that this year, I would be able to write a nice cheerful post about how much progress we have made in the last year regarding the most important women's issue in the Punjabi Sikh community. (Here I speak not of the nonPunjabi Sikh community; they have their own problems, fortunately not this particular one.)

I am referring, of course to the murdering of our daughters before they are born, what is called female foeticide. I have named this the Fourth Ghallugharah, and it is still in full swing. SHAME ON US!

No my dear brothers and sisters, I refuse to let up until this horror is ended!

Unfortunately, I can do nothing better than to reproduce my post from International Women's Day of last year, 2008.

Maybe next year...

There is a lovely little nursery rhyme that every child in the UK and Canada knows. I am not so sure about the children of India, so I reproduce it here: (If you'd like to hear the melody go to Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star.)

Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are.
Up above the world so high,
Like a diamond in the sky.
Twinkle, twinkle, little star,
How I wonder what you are!

As long as I have been expressing myself publicly (about 2 years), I
have said that the most dangerous enemy we Sikhs have is not the
Indian government, the Deras or even the Hindus. It is no force from
outside our own community. It is ourselves. We are fast destroying
ourselves through one particular practice. I have here a little poem
I wrote about that. It unites IWD and our self-destructive
tendencies.

Tinkle, tinkle, little boy,
Bring your parents so much joy.
You're their diamond, you're their pearl,
They're so glad you aren't a girl.

Punjab practice straight from hell.
Very soon its evil tell.

You are looking for a wife,
Someone who will share your life.
Not a woman to be found,
Rotting foetus in the ground.

Guru's teaching has been taught,
But its meaning never sought.
Daughter is a gift from God,
Not a dead, decaying clod.

Without woman, there's no life,
No more children, no more wife.
Guru's teachings die off now,
Go and worship sacred cow.

Tinkle, tinkle, little boy,
Bring your parents so much joy.

HAPPY INTERNATIONAL WOMEN'S DAY, ~~2008~~ 2009!!!!

Crossposted from The Road To Khalistan

WHY TRY TO FIT IN?
YOU WERE BORN TO STAND OUT!

The Fighter Still Remains - 2

2009-03-07T17:26:00.000-08:00

I have a dear friend, originally from Occupied Khalistan, who I am trying to teach about Western (as opposed to Eastern not as opposed to Country-Western) popular music. Last night I watched on PBS the concert where Paul Simon was awarded the Gershwin Award for popular music. With a shock, I realised that I had completely overlooked Paul Simon. My bad! My very, very, very bad!

To rectify that, I sent, as his three top songs "The Sounds of Silence,""Bridge Over Troubled Waters" and, of course, "The Boxer." I also sent a bunch of my personal favourites: "Patterns," "El Condor Pasa," "My Little Town" and one other, I forget right now. Any of my readers who are old enough to remember these songs or young enough to have rediscovered them, please let me know of your favourite Paul Simon songs. This means YOU! Especially the intrepid pp and the lovely S. S.

"The Boxer" has this special meaning to me. I assume that when I die my wishes to go as quietly and unnoticed as possible will be ignored and there will be a funeral. If so, I insist, I INSIST that everyone sing together loudly and with great enthusiasm the last verse of "The Boxer," the part starting at "In the clearing stands a boxer..." This is how I want to be remembered, as that crazy lady who often wanted to give up, but never had it in her, so that when she has departed to better things, to be with her Guru, still she remains. Here is one of my favourite renditions, from Joan Baez. I know in this recording, her brilliant soprano has faded a bit, her beautiful long, shiny, black hair has been lightened and bobbed and she's wearing entirely too much make up. Still listening to our Joannie is always a treat, eh?

First, Joannie, as I remember her best (Were we really all so young and innocent once?):

And now, the more current video of an older, bobbed hair, made up Joan

Weird Stuff From Nigeria.

2009-03-02T17:11:00.000-08:00

Another bizarre and heart-wrenching news story, this time about a ten year old boy from Nigeria.

WEIRD STUFF ALERT!! - The Witch Boy of Nigeria

Work Conditions.

2009-02-27T16:24:00.001-08:00

This is a work memo that showed up in my inbox today. I'm not sure exactly what company it's from. It does, however, sound like one or two that I've worked for.

With thanks to an IHRO member:

Mgt technique adopted during economic crisis

*Dear employees,*

*Due to the current economic crisis, Management will implement a new policy of retiring all workers aged 40 or older. This policy will be known as RAPE (Retire Aged People Early).

Persons selected to be RAPED can apply to management to be eligible for the
SHAFT scheme (Special Help After Forced Termination).

Persons who have been RAPED and SHAFTED will be reviewed under the SCREW Program
(Scheme Covering Retired Early Workers).

A person may be RAPED once, SHAFTED twice and SCREWED as many times as Management deems appropriate.

Persons who have been RAPED can only get AIDS (Additional Income for Dependants & Spouse) or

HERPES (Half Earnings for Retired Personnel Early Severance).

Obviously persons who have AIDS or HERPES will not Be SHAFTED or SCREWED any further by Management.

Persons who are not RAPED and are staying on will receive as much SHIT (Special High Intensity Training) as possible. Management has always prided itself on the amount of SHIT it gives employees. Should you feel that you do not receive enough SHIT, please bring that to the attention of your Supervisor. They have been trained to give you all the SHIT you can handle.

More About Weird Stuff

2009-02-26T10:58:00.000-08:00

In case you missed my earlier announcement, I am in the process of moving all my Weird Stuff posts to a new blog, called Weird Stuff From Everywhere. I will continue to put a Weird Stuff alert whenever I put a new post there. There is a lot of weird stuff in our world and I don't want it to completely take over this blog. I'm afraid Ms. Singhni, my blog header lioness, might take a bite out of me. (I am not being disrespectful toward anyone. A singhni is simply a lady lion, that is, a lioness.)

So, here we go again. Again a WEIRD STUFF ALERT - ISRAEL. This one concerns the treatment of Palestinian children and women by Israeli security forces. I warn you it Is an extremely unpleasant article and you might wish to skip it. However, if you have the courage to face the truth of what is going on in our world, please read it and answer my question there.

And lest I be accused of being antiIsrael and, by some very weird extension, antiSemitic, I have updated the story about the Pakistani American man who beheaded his wife in Buffalo, New York, of all places. Please take time to read that before you accuse me of bias.

I will freely admit to this bias: I feel great sympathy and compassion, perhaps even empathy, toward the civilians of Gaza whom I believe, after much thought, consideration and research, are under a genocidal attack by the State of Israel. Feel free to disagree with me. I will continue to "calls 'em as I sees 'em."

WEIRD STUFF - The Next Generation Of Breast Implants

2009-02-22T20:13:00.000-08:00

WEIRD STUFF ALERT - THE NEXT GENERATION OF BREAST IMPLANTS.

Thank you, Lady-Sister S. S.

Sandeep Says A 'Bad' Word - Censored Version

2009-02-18T13:48:00.000-08:00

You may remember that a while ago, I wrote a post entitled "Sandeep Says A 'Bad' Word." Well, some time ago, it was brought to my attention that some people are so offended by the "eff-word" that they cannot read and understand this story because all they see is " eff-word, eff-word, eff-word.".

For those of you who share this disability, in the spirit of the Americans With Disability Act (ADA), I offer you this cleaned-up version. The changes are marked as such: *change enclosed*.

So, here is the revised, expurgated, censored, cleaned-up version for the tender-minded.

I hope the language in this story doesn't offend you. It really is necessary. Remember Sandeep was a very innocent little five year old sometimes city, but more often farm boy. We had always encouraged him to talk to us about what was on his mind. He was never punished or humiliated for asking questions, no matter how outrageous they might seem to us. How else is a child to learn?

One day when he was five years old, Sandeep walked up to his dad and apropos of nothing asked, 'What does *fudge* mean? Why is it a bad word?'

It seems that he had heard the candymaker use that word; then he saw Sandeep there and told him to never, ever use that word. Of course, that piqued his curiosity.

I was in the next room and just had to listen in on this little father-son talk. I could just see his blush under his Kraft caramel coloured skin.

Although he was born and raised in North America, he shared with most Indians a discomfort at the mention of anything even vaguely about *candy making.*

'Well, it means what married people do to make *candy*.. But it's word we don't use.'

'Oh. OK.' Then that innocent, innocent voice. 'Daddy, did you and mommy *make fudge for* me?'

I had to hear this. Forget the light blush. At this he had to look positively sunburned.

My husband was much more traditional about such things that I was, and the thought of him discussing our *candy making* with his 5 year old son was delicious.

'Uh, yes. But that's too private to talk about. And we don't use that word. It's a bad word.'

'Oh. OK. Why is it a bad word?'

A thoughtful silence. 'I really don't know. But it's about the baddest word there is.'

'Oh. OK. Daddy, do chickens *make fudge*? They always have *brown stains* around *their beaks*.'

A bit impatiently and clearly uncomfortably.. 'We don't use that word.'

'Well, do they, uh, whatever the word is?'

'*Make chocolate candy*. The word you want is *make chocolate candy*.' (Remember, he was a physician.)

'Well, do they *make chocolate candy*?'

'Yes, that's how *fudge is* made. People, chickens, goats, fish.' ( I don't think fish *make chocolate candy*, but he was a terribly discombobulated at this point. )

'Sandeep, never use that other word, especially around your mother. It would be very disrespectful.'

And, you know, I don't think he ever did.

"WEIRD STUFF" Finds A New Home.

2009-02-16T23:49:00.000-08:00

My dear Readers,

I have made a discovery. These "Weird Stuff" posts have seemed to take on a life of their own. In, fact, they are threatening to take over this blog. I cannot let that happen!

So...

I will now be posting those in a new blog, WEIRD STUFF FROM ALL OVER, located at http://maiweirdstuff.blogspot.com/.Not to worry. I will announce here when I post a new Weirding. In fact, I think I will announce it thus: WEIRD STUFF ALERT! It will, of course, contain a link to the new post. Here is your first: WEIRD STUFF ALERT! The Queen of Hearts Screams

I will be moving all the WEIRD STUFF posts to the new blog eventually. I am lazy, so I will also leave them here. The new blog is still under construction. I am looking for the perfect header picture. Any suggestions? (Keep it clean and legal, please.)I have actually put together a sort of compilation of stuff for a header pic, but that is just temporary. Suggestions, please!

Now, just because I love you, my faithful readers, I give you a special bonus, with special thanks to KESS (you know who you are!) It's called Paint Your Cat. Go take a look. You won't be disappointed. Grossed out maybe, horrified if you're in PETA, bur definitely not disappointed. By the way, my niece who is a graphic artist and something of a photoshop expert, assures me these pictures are genuine, not fake.

Unweirding A Little Bit, Maybe

2009-02-14T13:57:00.001-08:00

Back in Sept., I posted a story about a 10- year old Yemeni girl who petitioned for and got a divorce. This is a follow-up on that Weird Stuff. I hope this is the harbinger of change for this nonsense of child marriages in that part of the world. We'll see.

Don't laugh too much at me. My first reaction to the picture was typically Sikh: "She shouldn't be plucking her eyebrows!" I betray myself, yet again.
--

Yemen: New law moves to reduce child marriages

Sanaa, 12 Feb. (AKI) - A new law passed in Yemen gives women greater legal protection, in relation to marriage and motherhood. The law raises the minimum age for marriage to 17, and provides for the right to alimony and recognition of the mother as the sole guardian of her children.

Despite penalties for anyone who violates the law, it appears that it will allow some girls under the age of 17 to be married if a judge rules the marriage is "in the best interest of the child".

A Yemeni Islamist deputy said restrictions outlined under the new law were not consistent with Islamic Sharia law.

"It is not possible to clearly define the minimum age for marriage, because it all depends on the level of maturity of the spouse, from a physical and mental point of view," said Zayd al-Shami, quoted by pan-Arab daily al-Quds al Arabi.

"To define marriage age in such a specific manner is in clear contrast to Islamic Sharia law."

According to the English-language Yemen Times, the parliament also passed an amendment concerning women and children in two laws.

The amendments include facilitating pre-marital medical checks to determine genetic faults, dangerous diseases or health risks, as well as restricting polygamy to the husband's ability to support more than one family.

"Fairness is included in all aspects, such as time spent with each wife, housing and logistics," said the Yemen Times.

"The first wife also has to be legally notified of his intention of marrying another to allow them to make future decisions."

Other amendments included a women's right to alimony for her children once a divorce has taken place and the custody of children to be exclusively granted to the mother for the first twelve years of the children's life.

The new amendments also recognise the mother as the sole guardian of orphaned children, providing that is approved by a judge.

Over half the women who marry in Yemen are under 15 years of age, according to a report last year carried out by Yemen's Women and Development Study Centre.

According to the statistics 52 percent of young girls are married as children in Yemen, compared to less than seven percent of boys. In rural areas of Yemen, girls are usually married when they are 12 or 13 years old.

Yemen is one of the poorest countries in the world.

http://www.adnkronos.com/AKI/English/CultureAndMedia/?id=3.0.3009839663

WHY TRY TO FIT IN? YOU WERE BORN TO STAND OUT!

Ever More Weird Stuff From India

2009-02-10T21:52:00.000-08:00

LIFE WITH MR. HANKY

This strange and disturbing story from Delhi. It absolutely horrified me. I suggest you click on the title below to go read the comments and maybe leave one of your own.

From the BBC:

'My life cleaning Delhi's sewers'
I
India may be spending billions on its high tech space programme but its spending on sewers is decidedly low tech and deadly, reports the BBC's Rupa Jha.

I will never forget the sight of that thin short man, wearing nothing but cotton underpants, strapped into a harness arrangement, disappearing down into a dark manhole beneath the streets of my home city.

The diameter of the hole was so small that he bruised himself while slipping down.

Inside was a dark well, full of sewage, with giant cockroaches sticking to the wall.

Before he climbed in I asked him his name. I was really surprised when he answered flamboyantly, "Rewa Ram - Son of Khanjan."

I thought: "He must be educated, seems to speak some English." But when I asked him, he said: "No. I'm a complete illiterate."

When I looked down that hole into the drains of Delhi, the smell was overwhelming. Down below, he was coughing, trying hard to keep breathing.

He was struggling to clear a blockage with his bare hands.

Dizzying smell

All of a sudden, a pipe protruding into the drain above his head started spewing out water and human faeces that poured over his body.

I began to feel dizzy just looking down into this mess.

My nostrils were filled with that obnoxious smell, a bit like of rotten eggs. I wanted to vomit. I felt weak and wanted to run away from the smell.

I was born and brought up in India and for the past 15 years I have lived in Delhi, the capital city of one of the world's most rapidly growing economies. I am a member of the growing, upwardly mobile middle class.

I suppose I represent the "roaring Tiger" India, but I am regularly shocked and surprised when I see the struggle for dignity that so many face here.

Literally beneath the glitter of the big city lies a vast network of these dark drains, where so many Rewa Rams are struggling with toxic gases and human waste. They suffer disease and discrimination in return for cleaning the city's sewage system.

Deadly job

Rewa Ram is just one of thousands of sanitation workers in India who work hard to keep the cities, towns and villages clean.

Most of them come from the community of lower caste Dalits as they are known, or untouchables.

Health experts working in the field told me most of these workers would die before their retirement because of the poor health and safety conditions they work in. Their life expectancy is thought to be around 10 years less than the national average.

Dr Ashish Mittal, an occupational health consultant, did a survey of the working conditions of sewage workers.

He told me most of the workers suffer from chronic diseases, respiratory problems, skin disorders and allergies. He said they are constantly troubled by headaches and eye infections. I am not surprised.

Rewa Ram was pulled out when he started feeling dizzy from the toxic fumes in the manhole.

They were thick with a mixture of methane and hydrogen sulphide, both considered potentially fatal by the health experts.

He needed water to clean himself, just a splash on his face could have made him feel better.

His colleagues started banging on doors of the rich neighbourhood where he was working. Nobody opened their gate.

Ancient sewers

Human rights activists and trade unionists I have talked to ask a simple question. If the government of India can spend billions on its space programme, if Delhi can reach all its targets for the beautification of the city in time for the 2010 Commonwealth Games, including an underground train system, then why can't the sewage system be modernised?

Why does it still rely on sending practically naked men down below the streets to clear the drains with their bare hands, being exposed to noxious gases which could take them to a premature grave?

I put these questions to the authorities.

The reply? "We are trying our best."

It did not really feel good enough after what I had seen.

The law courts have passed several orders banning human beings from going into the sewage system unless it is an emergency.

In Delhi it looks as if every day is an emergency in the sewers.

Smell of death

I asked Rewa Ram, still breathless and covered with the sewage from the drain: "How do you feel about having to do this work?"

With folded arms, he replied: "I am not educated, I come from a very poor family of untouchables. What else can I expect?

"At least I have a government job and I am able to feed my children. I get into this hell everyday but then this is my job.

"I live smelling death, but it is fine."

But is it fine? Why should he expect so little just because he comes from a lower caste and is not educated?

How can our so-called civil society be so indifferent to the millions like him? I, for one, am left feeling guilty.

From Our Own Correspondent was broadcast on Saturday, 7 February, 2009 at 1130 GMT on BBC Radio 4. Please check the programme schedules for World Service transmission times.

Rupa Jha's report on India's sewage cleaners can be heard on the One Planet programme on BBC World Service on Thursday 12 February 2009 to Saturday 14 February. After broadcast you can download the podcast from here.

MORE AND MORE WEIRD STUFF FROM INDIA

2009-02-05T22:34:00.001-08:00

What could I possibly add to this, except to say that a young Hindu boy once told me, seriously, that it is a blessing to step in cow shit.

COW URINE TRADE GOES OFFICIAL
Deccan Chronicle (Hyderbad, India) on 5 Feb 2008

Lucknow, Feb. 5: The Uttarakhand government will now buy and sell 5,000 litres of cow urine every day. The government will purchase cow urine from cow owners and then sell it to Ayurveda pharmacies like Patanjali Yogpeeth and Geeta Bhavan, which have volunteered to buy the product for use in manufacture of Ayurvedic medicines.
The government plans to create a market later where cow owners can interact directly with buyers. According to Uttarakhand minister for animal husbandry Trivendra Rawat, 'We have got an order for 5,000 litres of cow urine per day from Patanjali Yogpeeth pharmacy, owned by Yoga guru Swami Ramdev, and Geeta Bhavan. Swargashram Rishikesh, too, has shown keen interest in buying cow urine for Ayurvedic medicines. We plan to buy cow urine though milk cooperatives at Rs 5 per litre.'
The programme was launched in Kalsi, in Chakrata tehsil of Dehradun, earlier this month. The next phase will begin from Srinagar in Garhwal area later this month. Nearly 1,900 active milk cooperatives will be engaged to collect cow urine which will later be sold to Ayurvedic pharmacies. The urine of 26 species of cows, named Badri, has a richer herbal residue content compared to that of cows found in the plains. 'Badri' urine has a unique quality to treat cancer, claim experts. Ayurvedic chemists vouch for the medicinal properties of distilled cow urine.
'Cow urine has the same potential as Ciplox and Amoxicilin in allopathic medicines to fight diseases,' said Rakesh Bahuguna, an Ayurvedic chemist. The minister said Uttarakhand did not have the facilities to make cow urine concentrate and the government is keen to start a cow research institute. Mr Rawat visited Kanpur recently to study the upkeep of cow sheds being run in Uttar Pradesh. A team of officials also visited Jaipur to evaluate the work being done in Rajasthan. 'We want to collect all information so that we can have an excellent research facility in the proposed cow research institute,' he said.

BODILY FUNCTIONS

2009-01-28T18:54:00.000-08:00

Did you feel a little uncomfortable reading the title of this post? Read on, please.

I recently had a very interesting e-conversation with one of my dearest e-friends about conception, contraception and related matters.

We both commented on how these topics are simply not discussed among those of the Asian subcontinent in general, and Sikhs, in particular. (I must weave in here seamlessly one of my favourite lines on this topic:

I come from a community where sex simply doesn't exist; baby Sikhlings simply appear from nowhere, much to the astonishment of their amazed parents.

The ignorance on this very vital subject is absolutely incredible to me. No wonder there are problem pregnancies and the crazy-wild spread of HIV-AIDS throughout India.

But that's not really what I want to write about.

This is a subject that most people - not just Sikhs - discuss either with snickers (not the candy bar) or with embarrassment. I wonder why this is.

And not just matters sexual. Discussion of almost any of our bodily functions is considered in bad taste, if not vulgar and vaguely obscene. Even my doctor was once grossed out by my graphic description of my diarrhea, one I certainly won't subject you to - all about the undigested peas and corn kernels, all that sort of stuff - but one I would expect a medical doctor to take in stride. I feel a little uneasy writing this myself. Why? What is so disgusting to us about the way our bodies function? Does this picture make you uncomfortable or disgusted? Does it make you wonder why I've lost any good taste I might have once possessed?

I remember one conversation I had once withe The Church Ladies. They were waxing enthusiastic about all the beauties and glories of God's creation when I added my little bit about how wonderfully our bodies and those of the animals function. "Isn't it wonderful the way that God has arranged for us to feed our babies from our own bodies? And how about the way cats give themselves baths even though they absolutely hate water." The response to those innocent questions? (They really were innocent. I have been known to bait The Church Ladies from time to time, but this time I was serious.) Red faces, eyes downcast all the way around and one brave Lady managing to squeak out, "Please, Mai, you're making us sick."

If a stomach rumbles or someone farts, excuse me, passes gas, again the snickers and embarrassment. Why do we real vaguely ill and disgusted at seeing a cat throw up hairballs, when said kitty ate grass just for that purpose? Why is it that "Horses sweat, men perspire, ladies glow"? Going even further, why do, even now, my unshaved Sikh legs and underarms, when seen,(which is rare these days, after all, I'm in my mid fifties) bring such social disapproval?

In short, why do we feel shame instead of pride in this wondrous machine - our body - which we inhabit? Lots of questions. No answers from me, I'm afraid.

Along these same lines, you might enjoy my post about conception, The Winner.

Pampers? Read the comments. And, yes, I notice that all these women and babies are not only Caucasian but "White". Hey, I didn't design the packaging.

WHITHER GOEST THOU, BARACK?

2009-01-28T18:20:00.000-08:00

As the readers of this blog well know, I have been a supporter of Barack Obama for what has been called "the worst job in the world. I am glad he won, not only because the alternative choice completely lost my respect, but also because I think he is a good man with a lot of potential.

He has started out OK, I think. He has ordered an end to torture as a questioning tool (India, are you listening?), he has ordered Gitmo closed within a year (a year is too long) and he now permits states to be tougher on auto pollution than the federal standards (HURRAY! - not allowing this was one of his predecessor's typically stupid acts.)

If he can maintain a modicum of humility and keep his integrity intact, I believe he will be a great leader and one of the greatest presidents. If not, I fear he will become a demagogue and maybe, a dictator.

Time will tell.

MORE WEIRD STUFF FROM INDIA

2009-01-20T19:10:00.000-08:00

Here are two very strange stories from India. The first is funny (I think), the second tragic. From The Times of India. By the way, the frog is from India, rescuing the mouse during a monsoon.

Two minor girls married off to frogs
17 Jan 2009

PUDUCHERRY: In a bizarre ritual, two minor girls, both seven, from the remote Pallipudupet village in Tamil Nadu's Villupuram district were married off to frogs on Friday night. The ceremony, an annual feature during the Pongal (harvest) festival, is conducted "to prevent the outbreak of mysterious diseases in the village''.

The girls, Vigneswari and Masiakanni, dressed up in traditional bridal finery -- gilded sarees and gold jewellery -- married the frog 'princes' in separate, elaborate ceremonies at two different temples in the presence of hundreds of villagers.

Amidst chanting of vedic hymns, the temple priests garlanded the brides and tied the magalsutras on behalf of the frogs pronouncing the two as wives of the amphibians before the sacred fire at the auspicious hour.

The villagers threw themselves into the ceremonies with gusto. While residents living in the western part of the village acted as relatives of the brides and those from the eastern part play-acted as relatives of the grooms. The ceremonies had all the usual elements of a traditional marriage including a sumptuous feast.

However, unlike the fairy tale `Frog Prince', where the ugly toad turns into a handsome prince when the princess kisses it, the Villupuram village belles bid their amphibian grooms goodbye and lead a normal life thereafter. As for the terrified frogs, they are thrown back into the temple ponds after the ceremony.

Earlier the 'relatives' of the brides came in a procession to the grooms' houses in the eastern part of the village to fix the marriage and later went to the temple pond to catch the frogs. The frog princes were tied to long sticks decorated with garlands for the marriage ceremonies.

An elderly woman of the village said the ritual was practised traditionally for several generations to ward off evil spirits and diseases from the village.

Villupuram district collector R Palaniswamy told TOI that he had deputed a team led by the district social welfare officer to visit the village and submit a detailed report. "The district administration proposes to evolve comprehensive schemes to motivate and enlighten the villagers against such evil and ignorant practises," he said. But all these years the strange practice has been going on unchecked.

and then there's this on...

22-yr-old youth rapes 101-yr-old woman
18 Jan 2009

CHANDRAPUR: In an incident that was as shameful as it was repulsive, a 22-year-old youth raped a 101-year-old woman in Salori village under Shegaon police station in Warora tehsil on January 15.

The police have identified the accused as Pundalik Dhok of Salori village. Police sources said that Pundalik, to give vent to his pervert intentions, entered the house of the victim who was his great grandmother’s age, at 11 pm on January 15. The victim was alone when Pundalik overpowered the old woman and fled.

The victim narrated the incident to her son who returned on the following day and accordingly he filed a complaint with the police. The medical examination of the old woman too confirmed of rape, Shegaon police personnel said.

Acting on a complaint filed the victim’s son, cops nabbed Pundalik on Friday evening and was booked under section 376 of IPC. Later on the same evening, Pundalik managed to give cops a slip after he and the victim were taken to the primary health centre for medical examination. Shegaon police told TOI that after the medical examination the accused walked out of small hospital to wash his hands outside the PHC as the accompanying cops waited for him.

On finding that there was no cop present as he washed hands, he fled under the cover of darkness. Additional offence under section 324 has been registered against the accused and have launched a manhunt to nab him.

A BRIEF, er, SHORT HISTORY OF TIME

2009-01-11T19:42:00.000-08:00

Oh, damn! That title is already taken. OK, I cannot compete with Dr. Hawking, nor do I wish to. My approach is less knowledgeable, less scientific than his. Mine is primarily experiential.

First, if I'm to talk about time, a definition might be helpful.
From an online dictionary:

TIME:
1. A nonspatial continuum in which events occur in apparently irreversible succession from the past through the present to the future.

2. An interval separating two points on this continuum; a duration: a long time since the last war; passed the time reading.

3. A number, as of years, days, or minutes, representing such an interval: ran the course in a time just under four minutes.

4. A similar number representing a specific point on this continuum, reckoned in hours and minutes: checked her watch and recorded the time, 6:17 a.m.

5. A system by which such intervals are measured or such numbers are reckoned: solar time.

Is that helpful?

I thought not.

When I was a kid, I used to lie awake at night speculating on what time was. Dad said that would drive me bonkers, no one understands time. He might have been right. I read H. G. Wells science fiction classic, The Time Machine. (As an aside, that opened a lifetime love of the science fiction genre) He called time a dimension.

OK, definition time again.

DIMENSION:

1. A measure of spatial extent, especially width, height, or length.

2. Mathematics The least number of independent coordinates required to specify uniquely the points in a space.

3. The range of such a coordinate.

4. Physics A physical property, such as mass, length, time, or a combination thereof, regarded as a fundamental measure or as one of a set of fundamental measures of a physical quantity: Velocity has the dimensions of length divided by time.

I think the one from physics is most operative here. Now I am in deep waters. You know much more about physics than I do, so please just humour me, dear friend.

After reading The Time Machine, I started picturing time as a line, a number line. Could it possibly gain another dimension and curve on itself, with the intersecting points making present and future, or present and past into a single point? Does it maker any sense at all to reference time in terms of spatial dimension. Or is this a gross misuse of the venerable number line?

Somewhere along the line, I came to think of time as having three dimensions, past, present and future. This set the stage for what I experienced in an altered state of consciousness, which I will refer to as a Spiritual Experience (SE) for lack of a better term

Now, back to the mundane. Look at some object that has three spatial dimensions, say your right hand. It occurs to me that I don't know if you are right-handed or left-handed, so I'll picture both below. When you look at, you see those dimension, length, width and depth, but you do not - cannot! - see them as three separate properties, you see them as one organic whole, the length, width and depth each distinct and yet inseparable. Are you following me so far? Of course you are, we haven't gotten to the difficult part.

Now we get to the difficult part.

You most likely see your hand in only one dimension of time, the present. Now you need to use your imagination. Imagine looking at your hand and seeing it as it was when you were a foetus, a baby, a child, a teenager. Now, return to the present and, in your imagination, travel in the opposite direction, see your hand in ten years, then as an old person. If you have the nerve, see it as dead and decaying.

If you are following me now, we can move on to the really hard part.

Imagine seeing those three dimensions of time as an organic whole, each distinct and yet inseparable, past, present and future all existing together, so when you look at your hand, you are not seeing our usual three dimensional hand, but rather you are seeing a six dimensional hand.

Now imagine seeing the entire spacetime continuum in that way. That is my view of maya - when I am aware of maya at all - during a SE.

I am aware that this must sound science fiction, and I suppose it is. It is also something I have experienced and continue to experience occasionally.

And that is my explanation of the three dimensions of time, as best I can give it right now.

Now as I don't want to disappoint, here are parts of my three favourite time
songs, with links to the complete songs.

A Hazy Shade of Winter: (edited)

On YouTube: A Hazy Shade of Winter

Simon and Garfunkel

Time, time, time, see whats become of me
While I looked around
For my possibilities
I was so hard to please
But look around, leaves are brown
And the sky is a hazy shade of winter

Hang on to your hopes, my friend
That's an easy thing to say, but if your hopes should pass away
Simply pretend
That you can build them again
Look around, the grass is high
The fields are ripe, its the springtime of my life

But look around, leaves are brown now
And the sky is a hazy shade of winter
Look around, leaves are brown
There's a patch of snow on the ground...

TIME IS ON MY SIDE: (edited)

On You Tube: Time Is On My Side

The Rolling Stones (OMG! I remember buying this single - on vinyl, in the 1960s)
(Meade)

Time is on my side, yes it is
Time is on my side, yes it is

You're searching for good times
But just wait and see
You'll come running back (I won't have to worry no more)
You'll come running back (spend the rest of my life with you, baby)
You'll come running back to me

Yes time, time, time is on my side, yes it is
Time, time, time is on my side, yes it is
Oh, time, time, time is on my side, yes it is
I said, time, time, time is on my side, yes it is
Oh, time, time, time is on my side
Yeah, time, time, time is on my side

Time In A Bottle: (edited)

You Tube : Time In A Bottle

Jim Croce

If I could save time in a bottle
The first thing that Id like to do
Is to save every day
Till eternity passes away
Just to spend them with you

If I could make days last forever
If words could make wishes come true
Id save every day like a treasure and then,
Again, I would spend them with you

But there never seems to be enough time
To do the things you want to do
Once you find them
Ive looked around enough to know
That you're the one I want to go
Through time with

Comfort Foods

2009-01-09T17:38:00.001-08:00

This is one of those the-world-is-too-much-with-me posts. I am tired of Gaza, of young women with razor abortions (see previous post), innocent young fathers shot to death by cops (Oscar Grant in Oakland), even relative fights about a abandoned Sikh boy, age 9. I guess I am even tired of losing weight. (No, I came nowhere near my 2008 goal., That's OK, I have 2009 to achieve in!)

Here is a list of American Comfort Foods - those foods that satisfy gastronomical yearnings for the halcyon days of childhood. From About.Com Today
Top 25 American Comfort Foods and Recipes

• Apple Pie - V
• Baked Beans - V
• Banana Pudding - V
• Beef Stew
• Brisket Pot Roast
• Chicken & Dumplings
• Chicken Pot Pie
• Chicken Soup
• Chili - V
• Chocolate Chip Cookies - V
• Corn on the Cob - V
• Fried Chicken
• Gelatin
• Green Bean Casserole - V
• Hot Dogs
• Ice Cream - V
• Macaroni & Cheese - V
• Mashed Potatoes - V
• Meatloaf
• Potato Salad - V
• Pumpkin Pie - V
• Shepherd's Pie - V
• Spaghetti - V
• Tomato Soup - V
• Tuna Casserole

I personally would like to add just a few - not in alphabetical order. I suppose you could call this the Canadian addendum. You can google recipes for these, if you like. I'm not going to do all your homework for you!

Mattar Paneer

Kheer

Basmati Rice

Fruit Salad (apples, papaya, mango, banana, pineapple and oranges and cantaloupe)

and, of course, French Canadian Bean Soup

The ones marked V are either lacto-vegetarian (no dead animals or eggs) or can be easily made so without special ingredients, such as egg substitute or TVP. If you're vegan, you're on your own until someone makes an edible vegan cheese that is sold at a reasonable price. All of my list are either lactovegetarian or vegan.

WEIRD STUFF FROM AFGHANISTAN

2009-01-07T11:26:00.001-08:00

And so my "WEIRD STUFF" series marches on...

These days, I am mostly consumed by concern for the civilians of Gaza - and Israel - and am concentrating me efforts there.

This story from Afghanistan just couldn't pass by without comment. It has occurred to me that most of these "Weird Stuff" posts concern the rights of women and girls. No apology from me for that. Most of the weird stuff in this world really does happen to females of various ages.

Here is the story of a 14 year old rape victim who got pregnant. and the loving care given to her by her mother and brother. What would be an appropriate picture to go with this post? Beware of those Afghan dog bites!

From the BBC:

The family of a 14-year-old Afghan rape victim face prosecution after her foetus was removed without anaesthetic.

The mother and brother of the girl are accused of cutting her open with a razor blade to perform an abortion.

Doctors say the girl is in a critical condition. A man accused of raping her is under arrest, officials say.

Rape victims and their families in Afghanistan often feel ashamed to report what has happened because people may think the victim consented to sex.

Sex outside marriage is illegal in Afghanistan.

'Dog bite'

The governor of Bamiyan Province, Habiba Sarabi, says that action is being taken.

When the girl was five months pregnant it is alleged her mother and brother took her to a stables and cut her open with a razor blade.

They removed the foetus, which they buried, before stitching up her wound, Governor Sarabi said.

The father eventually took the girl to get medical treatment.

Dr Ghulam Mohammad Nader, head of Bamiyan hospital, said the girl is in a critical condition, but that she had been able to explain what had happened to her.

"The girl stayed at home for three or four days in her condition until her father took her to hospital," Dr Nader said.

"He said a dog had bitten her so that people in the area wouldn't know what had really happened."

The provincial governor says the man accused of raping the girl has been arrested and that police are trying to arrest her mother and brother.

The victims of rape and their families in Afghanistan are often afraid to admit what has happened to them because of the stigma and shame attached to the issue.

Sometimes the victims are murdered by their own families.

Critics accuse the authorities of not taking accusations of rape seriously, especially those made by children.

But President Karzai recently called for rapists to be brought to justice and the Afghan Supreme Court suspended three judges who acquitted people accused of rape.

If The Army And The Navy Ever Looked On Heaven's Scenes...

2009-01-01T23:02:00.000-08:00

Perhaps it's just my mood, but this had me in helpless peals of sardonic laughter.

U.S. Marine Corps Hymn (Marine Hymn)

From the Halls of Montezuma
To the Shores of Tripoli;
We fight our country's battles
In the air, on land and sea;
First to fight for right and freedom
And to keep our honor clean;
We are proud to claim the title
of United States Marine.

Our flag's unfurled to every breeze
From dawn to setting sun;
We have fought in ev'ry clime and place
Where we could take a gun;
In the snow of far-off Northern lands
And in sunny tropic scenes;
You will find us always on the job--
The United States Marines.

Here's health to you and to our Corps
Which we are proud to serve
In many a strife we've fought for life
And never lost our nerve;
If the Army and the Navy
Ever look on Heaven's scenes;
They will find the streets are guarded
By United States Marines.

It might look something like this:

Oh dear, this will not do! The right hand portion has been cut. You can't see Hitler and HER. I shall try the medium size instead of the large.

Still too figgin big. OK here's the small size. Better yet, just go to flickr and view it as I made it. There's enough going on that this little picture just doesn't make. For example, can you find KP- Gill?

FYI: SARDONIC

ADJECTIVE:

Scornfully or cynically mocking.

And my beloved husband exclaims in annoyance, "What the hell? Don't you have enough troubles? Now you have to take on the Marines?"

HAPPY NEW YEAR 2009!
--
WHY TRY TO FIT IN? YOU WERE BORN TO STAND OUT!

? Now

A Plea From Gazans

2008-12-30T12:10:00.000-08:00

A Post from IHRO (International Human Rights Organisation) today. (Note: I did change one word in this story because I wanted to remove what may have been a religious/ethnic slur. In my effort to keep my comments even handed, I changed the word to "Israelis" in paragraph one. If that annoys you, I'll be happy to personally tell you what I changed. The format has also been altered in my copy/paste. Otherwise, this is unedited.)

As most of you know that the Muslims of Gaza are being slaughtred. Universities and even Masjids are being bombed. From they air the Muslims are being bombed by the [Israelis] and from the back they are being shot at by the Egyption soldiers

"Palestinian medical sources say at least 345 Gazans have been killed and another 1,450 wounded in three consecutive days of Israeli bombardment in the heavily-populated territory." - [Al-Jazeera]

"The situation here is very difficult. They are shooting at us from everywhere, at all targets - military or not." - [Amin Asfour, Gaza City, doctor]

"Unfortunately the situation is very bad in Gaza city - the Israeli occupation is striking more and more organisations, more houses and the mosque, and my university was hit last night. - [Majed Badra, 23, Gaza City]

IS THE WORLD BLIND?.............WHERE ARE THE HUMAN RIGHTS PEOPLE NOW???
IF THIS AN'T TERRORISM THEN WHAT IS IT???
WHY DON'T PEOPLE SPEAK OUT??????
INNOCENT PEOPLE ARE BEING KILLED – CHILDREN, WOMEN, THE OLD, INNOCENT MEN……….WHY????
WHERE ARE THOSE OF THIS WORLD WHO HAVE PLEDGED TO PROTECT? ARE WE HUMAN OR ARE WE ANIMALS? WHAT ARE WE THINKING? WHERE IS OUR COMPASSION? ISRAEL HAS DENIED, FOR VERY LONG TIME, EVEN BASIC HUMAN NEEDS TO THE PEOPLE OF GAZA BY BLOCKADES...NOTHING COULD GO IN NOR COME OUT!! AND WHEN GAZA RETALIATES AGAINST THIS OUTRIGHT CRIME AGAINST HUMANITY, THEN THIS ATROCITY IS ALLOWD TO GO ON!!

YA ALLAH!! HAVE MERCY!! YA ALLAH!! HELP!!!

FATIMA DONY

Femininity: A Study In Four Goddesses

2008-12-28T15:42:00.001-08:00

"Sugar and spice and everything nice,
That's what little girls are made of." (Nursery rhyme)
"The art of being a woman is knowing when not to be a lady." (Unknown author)

"She can kill with a smile
She can wound with her eyes
She can ruin your faith with her casual lies
And she only reveals what she wants you to see
She hides like a child,
But she's always a woman to me

She can lead you to love
She can take you or leave you
She can ask for the truth
But she'll never believe
And she'll take what you give her, as long as it's free
Yeah, she steals like a thief
But she's always a woman to me

CHORUS:
Oh--she takes care of herself
She can wait if she wants
She's ahead of her time
Oh--and she never gives out
And she never gives in
She just changes her mind

And she'll promise you more
Than the Garden of Eden
Then she'll carelessly cut you
And laugh while you're bleedin'
But she'll bring out the best
And the worst you can be
Blame it all on yourself
Cause she's always a woman to me
--Mhmm--

Bridge

CHORUS:
Oh--she takes care of herself
She can wait if she wants
She's ahead of her time
Oh--and she never gives out
And she never gives in
She just changes her mind

She is frequently kind
And she's suddenly cruel
She can do as she pleases
She's nobody's fool
And she can't be convicted
She's earned her degree
And the most she will do
Is throw shadows at you
But she's always a woman to me
--Mhmm-- " (She's Always A Woman , Billy Joel

From the dictionary:
FEMININITY -
NOUN:
pl. fem·i·nin·i·ties
The quality or condition of being feminine.
A characteristic or trait traditionally held to be female.
Women considered as a group. Effeminacy.

Not much help there. Shall we try the Thesaurus?

Here is FEMININITY from the Thesaurus:

femininity
noun
The quality or condition of being feminine: femaleness, feminineness, womanliness. See gender
Women in general: distaff, muliebrity, womanhood, womankind, womenfolk. See gender
The quality of being effeminate: effeminacy, effeminateness, sissiness, unmanliness, womanishness. See gender

I think I'll stop all this and just write my own thoughts.

A friend of mind - also a sometimes reader of this blog - and I were chatting the other evening about femininity, a subject I have given much thought to.

Lace and satin, high heels and make-up, elaborate hair-dos and plucked eyebrows. Not for this girl.

I have never been a girly girl. All the above have never interested me. That is not to say I have never indulged. I have actually made elaborate lace by tatting

before my stroke. I love the feeling of silk against my skin, especially a silky chunni around my face, trailing behind. I have tried high heeled shoes a time or two, ditto with the make-up thing. I have never had an elaborate hairdo or plucked my eyebrows - horrors! I have never thought those things made me more beautiful or more feminine. They would just change my outward appearance.

As I have always been fascinated by the Greek and Roman mythologies, I am going to relate my thoughts to four major Goddesses, Aphrodite/Venus and Artemis/Diana and Pallas Athena/Minerva and Demeter/Ceres. If you should think you spy the shadows of Edith Hamilton (Mythology). Carl Gustav Jung (Man And His Symbols), and Joseph Campbell (The Power of Myth), that is no accident; I have studied and love them all.

Femininity seems to have a bad name these days. Is it merely her beauty, delicateness, sexuality that defines the feminine? Certainly that is a part of it, the Aphrodite part. She is the Goddess of (Sexual) Love and Beauty. Her symbol - also the symbol of the planet Venus - the handled mirror has, in fact, become the universal symbol for the female.
That vision of woman, though is limited. I think of myself during my wedding night to Mani dropping that silly sari, standing before him clad only in my kakkars. I doubt anyone would have taken me for fragile or delicate, although any heterosexual man would certainly have taken me for my sexual beauty. (No false modesty. I WAS really a very physically attractive young woman.) I was there is the guise of Artemis, the virgin - although not for long in my case - Goddess of the moon and the hunt.

As a young married woman, I thoroughly enjoyed playing the dual roles of Artemis/Aphrodite. I believe that both roles are equally feminine, although in many ways contradictory. Both are aspects of womanhood and, may I posit, both enjoyed by the male of the species?

Soon, I entered into the third aspect of femininity, that of Demeter, the nurturer.

(I know I could also interject Vesta the Hearth Goddess here, but let's keep it simple. Four is the archetypal number of perfection, as I recall.) Interesting, perhaps, to note that we get our word 'cereal' from her name. She is the Goddess of Agriculture, Fertility and the Love a Mother bears toward her child. Of course, she figures prominently into my early life both as mother and farmer. No one, I think, would argue that motherhood is a particularly feminine trait, something that men are - physically, at least, incapable of.

(OMG, I just thought of that pregnant "man" in Oregon.

Do I now need to define what I mean by a woman? Or will you grant me the traditional definition of being born with female - and not male - sexual organs or perhaps a genetic XX structure?

(I have no wish to offend the transsexual community. It is just that I am writing about myself. I am a heterosexual female, both by genitalia and by genetics. If any transsexual or lesbian wishes to write a guest post, I'll consider your offering. But this post is about me!)

OK, I loved being a mother. And a farmer. I never felt more feminine and more attractive (Aphrodite) and more mysterious (Artemis) and more nurturing (Ceres) than when I was nursing our Sikhling, relaxing on a chaise longue in the middle of a vegetable field with irrigation water falling on me as raindrops from the sky.

I am afraid, though, that in my fifties now, I have largely left those roles behind me in the physical sense - and have entered another stage of womanhood, that of Athena/Minerva, the Wisewoman/Hag and the Goddess of War.

What a strange combination! Still there is some logic there. These days I do find younger people often coming to me, asking to share in what I have learned in a rather eventful life. I don't know that I have wisdom; I do know that I have experience and knowledge that I am willing to share. As they say, the best we can give one another is our experience, strength and hope.

This Athena/Minerva side of femininity can be very strong. To me, the ultimate image of this aspect is the great abolitionist and slave, Sojourner Truth. Please take the time to read her timeless speech, best known by the name "Ain't I A Woman?"

Well, children, where there is so much racket there must be something out of kilter. I think that 'twixt the Negroes of the South and the women at the North, all talking about rights, the white men will be in a fix pretty soon. But what's all this here talking about?

That man over there says that women need to be helped into carriages, and lifted over ditches, and to have the best place everywhere. Nobody ever helps me into carriages, or over mud-puddles, or gives me any best place! And ain't I a woman? Look at me! Look at my arm! I have ploughed and planted, and gathered into barns, and no man could head me! And ain't I a woman? I could work as much and eat as much as a man - when I could get it - and bear the lash as well! And ain't I a woman? I have borne thirteen children, and seen most all sold off to slavery, and when I cried out with my mother's grief, none but Jesus heard me! And ain't I a woman?

Then they talk about this thing in the head; what's this they call it? [member of audience whispers, "intellect"] That's it, honey. What's that got to do with women's rights or Negroes' rights? If my cup won't hold but a pint, and yours holds a quart, wouldn't you be mean not to let me have my little half measure full?

Then that little man in black there, he says women can't have as much rights as men, 'cause Christ wasn't a woman! Where did your Christ come from? Where did your Christ come from? From God and a woman! Man had nothing to do with Him.

If the first woman God ever made was strong enough to turn the world upside down all alone, these women together ought to be able to turn it back , and get it right side up again! And now they is asking to do it, the men better let them.

Obliged to you for hearing me, and now old Sojourner ain't got nothing more to say.

From Internet Modern History Sourcebook.

So, in summary, I would point out that all four of these Goddesses is strong, each in her own way. Each is necessary and beautiful. Each is a part of me that I treasure and would refuse to give up.

Do these beings really exist? Are they just an artifact of our evolution? I rather like the old Star Trek explanation of them being extraterrestrials ( "Who Mourns For Adonis?" Episode 33).

No matter. Whoever or whatever they were/are, even if just figments of our collective imagination, they have enriched our lives.

Now for you males out there who find that a woman changes everything in your life, tossing around all your preconceptions of what life is, what life is; about, I present to you yet another Goddess, the Greek/Roman analogue of Ma Kali, my personal favourite Goddess, Eris/Discordia, the Mother of Chaos.

FYI - Top 25 Censored Stories For 2009

2008-12-26T01:43:00.000-08:00

Top 25 Censored Stories for 2009
#1. Over One Million Iraqi Deaths Caused by US Occupation
# 2 Security and Prosperity Partnership: Militarized NAFTA
# 3 InfraGard: The FBI Deputizes Business
# 4 ILEA: Is the US Restarting Dirty Wars in Latin America?
# 5 Seizing War Protesters’ Assets
# 6 The Homegrown Terrorism Prevention Act
# 7 Guest Workers Inc.: Fraud and Human Trafficking
# 8 Executive Orders Can Be Changed Secretly
#9 Iraq and Afghanistan Vets Testify
# 10 APA Complicit in CIA Torture
# 11 El Salvador’s Water Privatization and the Global War on Terror
# 12 Bush Profiteers Collect Billions From No Child Left Behind
# 13 Tracking Billions of Dollars Lost in Iraq
# 14 Mainstreaming Nuclear Waste
# 15 Worldwide Slavery
# 16 Annual Survey on Trade Union Rights
# 17 UN’s Empty Declaration of Indigenous Rights
# 18 Cruelty and Death in Juvenile Detention Centers
# 19 Indigenous Herders and Small Farmers Fight Livestock Extinction
# 20 Marijuana Arrests Set New Record
# 21 NATO Considers “First Strike” Nuclear Option
# 22 CARE Rejects US Food Aid
# 23 FDA Complicit in Pushing Pharmaceutical Drugs
# 24 Japan Questions 9/11 and the Global War on Terror
# 25 Bush’s Real Problem with Eliot Spitzer
http://www.projectcensored.org/top-stories/category/y-2009

And, of course, NOBODY talks about Gaza...

WEIRD STUFF FROM SAUDI ARABIA

2008-12-22T18:17:00.000-08:00

Do you remember a while back another Weird Stuff entry, WEIRD STUFF FROM YEMEN, about the 10 year old girl who was granted a divorce? Leave it to Saudi Arabia to go one better. This little girl was only 8 and sold by her loving father to a man 50 years older than she is. Her price was 5000 pounds ($7398.50)

The punchline: She has NOT been granted a divorce.

Read on, oh, my loyal readers. And why not click on the link and read others' comments and maybe leave a comment of your own.

From Mail OnLine

Saudi court tells girl aged EIGHT she cannot divorce husband who is 50 years her senior

By Mail Foreign Service
Last updated at 9:49 AM on 22nd December 2008

A Saudi court has rejected a plea to divorce an eight-year-old girl married off by her father to a man who is 58, saying the case should wait until the girl reaches puberty.

The divorce plea was filed in August by the girl's divorced mother with a court at Unayzah, 135 miles north of Riyadh just after the marriage contract was signed by the father and the groom.

Lawyer Abdullar Jtili said:"The judge has dismissed the plea, filed by the mother, because she does not have the right to file such a case, and ordered that the plea should be filed by the girl herself when she reaches puberty."

Grooms take part in a mass wedding ceremony in Riyadh in June. Governor of Riyadh Prince Salman and a local group organized a mass wedding for about 1600 couples to help people unable to afford expensive ceremonies

"She doesn't know yet that she has been married," Jtili said then of the girl who was about to begin her fourth year at primary school.

Relatives who did not wish to be named said that the marriage had not yet been consummated, and that the girl continued to live with her mother.

They said that the father had set a verbal condition by which the marriage is not consummated for another 10 years, when the girl turns 18.

The father had agreed to marry off his daughter for an advance dowry of £5,000, as he was apparently facing financial problems, they said.

The father was in court and he remained adamant in favour of the marriage, they added.

Mr Jtili said he was going to appeal the verdict at the court of cassation, the supreme court in the ultra-conservative kingdom which applies Islamic Sharia law in its courts.

Arranged marriages involving pre-adolescents are occasionally reported in the
Arabian Peninsula, including in Saudi Arabia where the strict conservative Wahabi version of Sunni Islam holds sway and polygamy is common.

In Yemen in April, another girl aged eight (I believe this is refering to the girl we reported as 10.) was granted a divorce after her unemployed father forced her to marry a man of 28.

Back To Reality - Shoes And Torture

2008-12-16T21:58:00.001-08:00

Now that we've all had our fun laughing at shoes being thrown at George W. Bush, each of us vicariously enjoying throwing those shoes at him, let us turn our attention to the gentleman who actually did the deed for us! Our hero is not only under arrest, but evidentally has been tortured.

Read on, from al Jazeera Magazine...

"Iraqi reporter al-Zaidi's arm, ribs broken"
16/12/2008 03:10:00 PM GMT

Security agents have broken the arm and ribs of al-Zaidi, a reporter who hurled his shoes at President Bush on Sunday.

Security agents have broken the arm and ribs of al-Zaidi, a reporter who hurled his shoes at Bush during a press conference Sunday in Baghdad.

"He has got a broken arm and ribs, and cuts to his eye and arm," the reporter's brother Durgham told AFP on Tuesday.

"He is being held by forces under the command of Muaffaq al-Rubaie," he added.

According to Durgham, his brother was being held by Iraqi forces in the heavily fortified Green Zone compound in central Baghdad.

His employer, al-Baghdadiya television, also reported that al-Zeidi had been "seriously injured" and called on the government to allow lawyers and Red Crescent representative to visit him.

On Monday, thousands of Iraqis staged a demonstration in Sadr City in Baghdad calling for the release of the journalist. Hundreds of Iraqis demonstrated on Tuesday across the country demanding the release of al-Zaidi.

The 29-year-old Muntadhar al-Zaidi, a correspondent for al-Baghdadiya satellite channel, threw his shoes at the US President George W. Bush during a press conference on Sunday, shouting "This is a goodbye kiss from the Iraqi people, dog!"

Bush inked an interim security agreement with Iraqi Prime Minister Nouri al-Maliki during his farewell visit to Baghdad in a bid to extend the presence of US troops in the war-ravaged country.

© aljazeera.com

Crossposted from The Road To Khalistan

UPDATE! THE GAME! At Last! A Good Use For Shoes

2008-12-15T19:40:00.001-08:00

Here is one of the online games chucking shoes at the still-for-about-a-month Prez:

http://kroma.no/2008/bushgame

I intensely dislike wearing shoes, uncomfortable beasts at best. Here, however, is a good use for them.

I post this just in case there is even one among my readers who hasn't seen it. I heard on TV this morning that Iraqis are divided 50/50 about this incident. Fifty percent believe the "attacker" was correct to throw the shoes; the other 50% believe he was wrong to embarass the Iraqi Prime Minister.

(After that last post, I'm sure we all need something like this.)

IN THE NAME OF HUMANITY, STOP THIS!!

2008-12-14T16:27:00.000-08:00

I CALL ON ISRAEL! I CALL ON EGYPT! I CALL ON ALL THE COUNTRIES OF THE WORLD TO PUT AN END TO THIS ATROCITY!

Frankly, I no longer care who is to blame. We are all responsible!

I have no time to write today, so just look at the pictures. Then write your governmental representatives of your country to put an end to this murder of innocent children! If enough of us insist and don't quit insisting, they will listen. Do it now, this minute! How many will die horribly while you hesitate?

I have come under considerable fire for harping on this horror that is Gaza. No matter. I will continue harping until it is resolved or I am dead!

(Crossposted from The Road To Khalistan)

Finally, My Statement On The Mumbai Terrorist Attack

2008-12-12T17:20:00.000-08:00

My dear friend and brother PP, here you are. This is for you!:

I have not written about the terrorist attack on Mumbai for a very good - to me - reason. Fire has been coming out of my mouth and smoke from my ears, from absolutely furious anger. One aspect of this whole affair seems to have been overlooked, or worse, ignored. This completely galls me. I have not trusted myself to say anything reasonable or lucid. So I have been silent.

Now someone else has written what I would like to say. In fact two people have. First, the Sikhtoon, then the blogpost.

I am a regular reader of Sidhu's blog, I, Me, Myself. He has a incisive political sense (sometimes at odds with my ideas, though), a great sense of humour, and he's a Sikh. And he gave me permission to publish his post here! What more could anyone ask for?

The Post:

A Stark Contrast

This is about two events, A and B, which took place in a country called India. Actually, both comprised a series of events, but these have been considered as single entities here, for the purpose of comparison. A large number of innocent people were killed in both these violent occurrences. That, however, is where the similarity ends. These were different in ways that include the following :

1. While A occurred only a few days ago, B occurred about 24 years ago.

2. While less than 200 people were killed in A, more than 4000 were killed in B.

3. While most of the victims in A were shot dead, in B some were hacked to death, while others were burnt alive after their hands having been tied behind their backs, their bodies drenched with kerosene and burning tyres put around their necks. The women-folk amongst the victims were, in the latter case, forced to watch the male members of their families being killed, including young children, after which they were raped and then killed. Some of the youngest victims were tossed in the air, to be killed by falling on to sharp-edged weapons like spears.

4. The victims of event A mostly included those present in the hotels and the railway station under attack, but during event B, people were dragged out of their own homes to be killed, after which their houses were set on fire.

5. While the police force fought hard against the killers in A, in event B it was either inactive or, in some cases, even assisted the killers by blocking the victims' possible escape routes.

6. While the army was called in within hours of the attacks having begun in the case of event A, it was called in after several days of the commencement of event B, in order to give the killers a free run for that long, even though it acted in an unbiased manner, once it was sent into the affected areas. It is a different matter, however, that there was not much left for it to do.

7. Whereas 9 out of the 10 killers in the case of event A have been shot dead and the remaining one arrested, nearly all of the killers in the case of event B are still at large.

8. While the alleged masterminds of A are said to be located outside India and are sought to be captured at the earliest, even if that involves launching attacks on a neighbouring country, those for B are all present within India and yet none of them have been brought to justice over the past 24 years. As a matter of fact, some of them have been legislators and even cabinet ministers in the government of India during that period.

Some of them, ironically, are protected by the men of the same elite commando force i.e. National Security Guards (NSG), which was sent in to fight against the attackers in A. The political party that these alleged masterminds belong to, won a huge electoral victory in the general election that followed event B, almost as if it was being rewarded by large sections of India's population for its 'good work' that was widely perceived to have included the organisation of the massacre.

9. Following event A, the prime minister of India declared that such events are a threat to pluralistic societies, while the (then) prime minister of India said following event B, "Jab baRaa peyR girtaa hai toh dharti toh hilti hi hai." (When a large tree falls, the earth is bound to shake.).

10. Following event A, there has been a large-scale outpouring of grief by various sections of the general public in the form of demonstrations replete with banners, black arm-bands and plenty of slogan-shouting, in addition to candle-light marches, chain-letters circulated through email, etc., while very little of anything like that was in evidence after event B or for the 24 years that have gone by since then.

11. Whereas politicians are being criticised and even being abused following event A, the politicians perceived as being largely responsible for event B were able to build up a huge fan-following, on account of which, as mentioned above, they were able to win general elections with a huge margin of victory, soon after the violence.

12. One of the most prominent slogans that have been raised after event A is, "Enough (of terrorism) is enough!", but since there have hardly been any protests after event B, over the past 24 years, except by some of those belonging to the same community as the victims, there is no question of any such slogans having been raised. However, soon before event B, one of the slogans raised was, "Khoon ka badlaa khoon se laiNgay!" (We shall avenge blood with blood (of innocents who had nothing to do with the incident sought to be 'avenged')!)

Incidentally, if event A is substituted by any other instance of terrorist violence in India and event B is substituted by any other instance of communal riots in the country, the contrast is likely to remain almost as stark.

The foremost question that arises in my mind, in view of all of the above facts, can be summed up in one word i.e. why?
posted by Sidhusaaheb at 2:08 PM

The Cab Ride

2008-12-11T20:11:00.000-08:00

This story has been sent to me by four different people in the past couple of weeks. I do not believe in signs and omens. I almost never pass on these silly things promising me this or that wonderful miracle if I pass it on or eternity in hell if I don't. Those amuse only. This story, however, is different. I like it and it makes no miraculous promises or dire threats.

I know at least two cab drivers regularly read this blog. Guys, please take a hint! And the taxi driver in the picture is not the one who wrote this, as far as I know. But he looks as if he could be.

The Cab Ride

Twenty years ago, I drove a cab for a living.

One night I took a fare at 2:30 am, when I arrived to collect, the building was dark except for a single light in a ground floor window.

Under these circumstances, many drivers would just honk once or twice, wait a minute, and then drive away. But I had seen too many impoverished people who depended on taxis as their only means of transportation. Unless a situation smelled of danger, I always went to the door. This passenger might be someone who needs my assistance, I reasoned to myself.

So I walked to the door and knocked. "Just a minute" answered a frail, elderly voice. I could hear something being dragged across the floor. After a long pause, the door opened. A small woman in her 80's stood before me.

She was wearing a print dress and a pillbox hat with a veil pinned on it, like somebody out of a 1940s movie.By her side was a small nylon suitcase. The apartment looked as if no one had lived in it for years. All the furniture was covered with sheets. There were no clocks on the walls, no knickknacks or utensils on the counters. In the corner was a cardboard box filled with photos and glassware.

"Would you carry my bag out to the car?" she said. I took the suitcase to the cab, then returned to assist the woman. She took my arm and we walked slowly toward the curb.

She kept thanking me for my kindness. "It's nothing", I told her. "I just try to treat my passengers the way I would want my mother treated". "Oh, you're such a good boy", she said. When we got in the cab, she gave me an address, and then asked, "Could you drive through downtown?"

"It's not the shortest way," I answered quickly. "Oh, I don't mind," she said "I'm in no hurry. I'm on my way to a hospice."

I looked in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were glistening. "I don't have any family left," she continued. "The doctor says I don't have very long." I quietly reached over and shut off the meter. "What route would you like me to take?" I asked. For the next two hours, we drove through the city. She showed me the building where she had once worked as an elevator operator. We drove through the neighborhood where she and her husband had lived when they were newlyweds.

She had me pull up in front of a furniture warehouse that had once been a ballroom where she had gone dancing as a girl.

Sometimes she'd ask me to slow in front of a particular building or corner and would sit staring into the darkness, saying nothing. As the first hint of sun was creasing the horizon, she suddenly said, "I'm tired. Let's go now."

We drove in silence to the address she had given me.It was a low building, like a small convalescent home, with a driveway that passed under a portico. Two orderlies came out to the cab as soon as we pulled up. They were solicitous and intent, watching her every move. They must have been expecting her.

I opened the trunk and took the small suitcase to the door. The woman was already seated in a wheelchair. "How much do I owe you?" she asked, reaching into her purse."Nothing," I said "You have to make a living," she answered. "There are other passengers," I responded. Almost without thinking, I bent and gave her a hug. She held onto me tightly. "You gave an old woman a little moment of joy," she said. "Thank you." I squeezed her hand, and then walked into the dim morning light. Behind me, a door shut. It was the sound of the closing of a life

I didn't pick up any more passengers that shift. I drove aimlessly lost in thought. For the rest of that day, I could hardly talk. What if that woman had gotten an angry driver, or one who was impatient to end his shift? What if I had refused to take the run, or had honked once, then driven away?

On a quick review, I don't think that I have done anything more important in my life. We're conditioned to think that our lives revolve around great moments. But great moments often catch us unaware-beautifully wrapped in what others may consider a small one.

PEOPLE MAY NOT REMEMBER EXACTLY WHAT 'YOU DID, OR WHAT YOU SAID,
~BUT~THEY WILL ALWAYS REMEMBER HOW YOU MADE THEM FEEL.

You won't get any big surprise in 10 days if you send this to ten people. But, you might help make the world a little kinder and more compassionate by sending it on.

Thank you, my friend...

Life may not be the party we hoped for, but while we are here we might as well dance.

More Friday Foolishness

2008-12-05T20:53:00.000-08:00

Perhaps you remember that sometime ago, I published some lolcats, from I CAN HAS CHEEZBURGER, of course, some lolcats who poop rainbows. This one doesn't quite do that, but s/he comes close.

Some Candid Obama Pics

2008-12-05T16:59:00.000-08:00

It's Friday. Nothing heavy. No burning hotels, gruesome sights, pools of blood. Instead some pictures of Barack and family that magically and unsolicited appeared in my inbox. Imagine! A President who just looks like a human being, not a plastic parody! (The last two are my favourites.)

The Fighter Still Remains - BRENDEN FOSTER 1997-2008

2008-11-23T14:23:00.000-08:00

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http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=33ASQhDvfGs

The body of Brenden Foster has died. No longer is this bright, shining soul encased in a shell wracked with leukemia. No longer is he lying in a hospital bed with tubes coming out of his body and oxygen being pumped into his lungs.

I woke up yesterday morning to the news that he is no longer among us. He breathed his last while being held gently in his mother's loving arms. You may notice that I am avoiding saying that he is dead. This is on purpose. I am not in denial; I am not pretending that he is still among us. Sadly, he is gone.

So, for those who may not know, who is Brenden Foster. He is a boy of 11. Until a couple years ago, he was a little boy like many others, running around playing, just being a kid. Then he was diagnosed with leukemia. Since then he was been fighting and fighting, a true, small warrior, an inspiration to us. Is superimposing his face on a supernova a bit over-the-top? I think not.

It is always poignant when a child dies, whether little Zinna Linnick, kidnapped, raped, murdered or Ryan White, who died of AIDS some years ago after a very public battle or Sandeep Singh who achieved shaheedi in Delhi in 1984. Those have names. Equally touching is the death of the nameless child killed by American or Taliban bombs in Afghanistan or the little girl, unwanted, murdered preborn in Punjab (or British Columbia!) or the much-loved child that dies of starvation in his mother's arms or a lonely child crawling slowly toward food and shelter anywhere on earth.

What moves me most about Brenden Foster is the picture I saw of him on CNN. Tears streaming down his chubby cheeks, he was asked, "What makes you sad." He took a breath and responded gently, "When someone gives up." Brenden never gave up. His last wish was to feed homeless people.

He saw a story on TV about homeless people living in tents in Nickelsville, which I have already written about. Unlike me, however, Brenden did more than write and feel bad about it. He inspired others to get together sandwiches to feed these people. Not just peanut butter and jelly, he told workers, but ham and cheese as well, since some people are allergic to peanuts.

Last week, there was a huge local food drive to get people to donate food to the hungry. Brenden was awake and conscious and was able to see his last wish of feeding the homeless realised. Truck after truck was filled with food donated by people inspired by this extraordinary eleven year old child.

And this seemed to have caught on. I have heard about food drives around the country in his honour. This is wonderful. But I know Brenden would say that this is not enough. Feeding people once is good, but it's just not enough.

Here in Seattle recently, a very large, inclusive Food Bank had to shut down for lack of funding. This place not only fed the hungry but also aided immigrants, helped people find jobs and ran a free food bank. In addition, they sold refurbished computers with free Internet access at rock-bottom prices. Yes, this very computer that makes it possible for me to talk to you was bought there. I expect to hear about a Brenden Foster Memorial Fund to aid in such circumstances. If I hear, I'll let you know.

Seattle's professional football team, the Seattle Seahawks has offered to pay for his funeral, relieving his mother, Wendy Foster, of at least one worry.

I have found this website that should give the latest Brenden Foster news.

When I die, I suppose my friends and family will insist on having a funeral. There is a song I have requested be sung there, the last verse of Paul Simon's "The Boxer." It is how I want to be remembered.

It is how I will remember Brenden Foster.

In the clearing stands a boxer and a fighter by his trade,
And he carries the reminders of every glove that laid him down,
Or cut him till he cried out in his anger and his shame,
I am leaving, I am leaving.
But the fighter still remains.

Yes, indeed, the fighter still remains!

My Favourite Succinct Description of W

2008-11-20T23:52:00.000-08:00

I mailed this up here a few days ago and then forgot to publish it.

Now for your purusing pleasure:

The person who is still in charge and who was chiefly responsible for taking the United States from an era of peace, prosperity and budget surpluses to the precipice of endless war, economic devastation and national bankruptcy.

Check it out:

Predictable Disaster of George W. Bush

--
WHY TRY TO FIT IN? YOU WERE BORN TO STAND OUT!

"In Jesus' Name"

2008-11-20T21:15:00.000-08:00

I have written in this blog about many issues. Some are tragic, some funny, some disgusting, some just plain strange. This one is sad, hurtful in yet another way. This story, I suppose, I could put in my Weird Stuff series, but I like the blog title too much to do that. And I've already posted it in the Khaliblog, anyway.

Imagine that you, after proudly tying your dastaar, decide to teach your children the value of selfless service, one of the greatest, most beautiful of Sikh - or any other group's - values. So you and your spouse go to your local community's Union Mission, a place that feeds people too poor to feed themselves. Your intention is to make a donation and to also offer your children's service to help out.

This is a lovely picture of a family wishing to contribute to the welfare of the community, the picture of the kind of citizens we Sikhs should all aspire to be.

Now, imagine that the receptionist, instead of welcoming your service tells you that you are in the United States, so take off your turban! Then further imagine the head of the mission refusing your handshake, telling you to go away, we don't want your donation if you're wearing a turban.

Sounds impossibly rude, eh? Well, rude it most certainly is, but unfortunately, not impossible.

This is the notice I got today from SALDEF:

No Turbans Allowed

Sikh American Expelled from North Carolina Food Bank for Practicing his Faith; SALDEF Urges Interfaith Groups to Support Religious Freedom

Washington, DC, November 20, 2008 – Yesterday, the Sikh American Legal Defense and Education Fund (SALDEF) learned that Mr. Gurnam Singh Khera—a Sikh American—was expelled from a community center in North Carolina because he wore a Dastaar (Sikh turban) in accordance with his faith.

The incident reportedly occurred at the Union Mission facility in Roanoke Rapids, North Carolina. Mr. Khera and his wife went to the facility to make a donation for a Thanksgiving Food Drive and expressed interest in sending their children to the facility during the Thanksgiving holidays to serve food to the needy.

Upon entering the facility, Mr. Khera was told by a receptionist that “this is the United States” and that he needed to remove his Dastaar. When Mr. Khera attempted to explain the religious significance of the Dastaar, the receptionist refused to speak with him. When the Reverend in charge of the facility was summoned, Mr. Khera offered a handshake, but the Reverend reportedly refused to reciprocate and asked Mr. Khera and his wife to leave the facility, saying: “Go donate to some other place; we do not need your donations unless you remove your turban.”

Click here to read the response from Union Mission to SALDEF’s letter.

The reply from: Ron Weeks [mailto: edirector@umrr.org]

Sent: Thursday, November 20, 2008 1:16 PM

RE: SALDEF - Accommendation of Sikh American Donors

We are a Christ-centered ministry that has been serving our communities "in Jesus' Name" from our own private facilities since 1951. We have a long standing policy that is clearly displayed on our lobby door that all males are required to remove their headgear. We feed meals every day and welcome the idea of others doing the same as our communities are certainly in need of more than we are able to do.

Being supported entirely by donations we don't turn them away. Couldn't his donation be used by the local Langar you speak of. I can think of several options; send it by another person, mail or internet...donate to another charity.

Rev. Ronald C. Weeks
Executive Director, Union Mission of Roanoke Rapids, NC, Inc
www.umrr.org

"In Jesus' name"?! I know something of the kind of person Jesus was and I can't believe he would condone such rude, hurtful acts in his name.

This reply is as small-minded and ungracious as I have ever read. And hurtful, as well. Certainly worthy of its own Sikhtoon, I think.

In a way, some might say this is no big deal. No one was assaulted, there are no torn turbans, no bruises, no dead bodies. Only the pain of being disrespected, the attempt to humiliate us. I say "attempt to humiliate us" because this brother and sister were not humiliated; no one can humiliate me without my consent. Now, back to the SALDEF bulletin.

Every Sikh Gurdwara—place of worship—throughout the world has operated the Guru Ka Langar—free community kitchen—for more than five centuries. At each Guru Ka Langar, volunteers of all faiths serve free meals to all visitors, regardless of race, religion, gender, caste, or social standing. In keeping with this tradition, Sikh Americans throughout the United States have routinely partnered with churches and other places of worship to feed the homeless and provide relief to victims of natural disasters.

“We are profoundly offended that a community center would repudiate a Sikh American because of his religion and refuse his Thanksgiving donation,” said Rajbir Singh Datta, National Director of SALDEF. “Religious discrimination has no place in the United States, and we call upon Union Mission to issue a written apology to Mr. Khera and the entire Sikh American community and work with SALDEF on efforts to celebrate religious diversity in the cause of helping the less fortunate.”

SALDEF urges you to contact the Union Mission of Roanoke Rapids to express your disappointment.

We commend Mr. Gurnam Singh Khera for bringing this matter to our attention. If you or your children experience discrimination, harassment, or violence because of your Sikh faith, please notify SALDEF at legal@saldef.org or via phone at (202) 393-2700.

WEIRD STUFF FROM GAZA - Part Two

2008-11-20T18:33:00.000-08:00

My last post talked about the horrors of life in Gaza Strip right now and the expulsion of journalists attempting to report on this gross violation of human rights there.

Before my update, I need to make one statement that I neglected to write into the last post.

Most of Gaza borders land controlled by Israel. The southern border, however is at Egypt. Egypt is a Muslim, Arab state. Why does Egypt not open its border for humanitarian help to its sisters and brothers dying in Gaza? Let me repeat: WHY DOES EGYPT NOT OPEN ITS BORDER FOR HUMANITARIAN HELP TO ITS SISTERS AND BROTHERS DYING IN GAZA!

SHAME ON ISRAEL! SHAME ON EGYPT! SHAME ON US IF WE ARE SILENT!

Now several large media organisations have filed a protest against Israel, asking for reporters to again be admitted to Gaza.

From the Israeli newspaper, Haaretz:

Top media executives protest Israel's ban on journalists' entry to Gaza
By The Associated Press

Leaders of the world's biggest media organizations filed a protest with Israel's prime minister Wednesday criticizing the government's decision to ban journalists from entering the Gaza Strip for the last two weeks.

The protest was the latest in a chorus of international criticism of Israel's Gaza closure, tightened after a five-month truce began unraveling about two weeks ago in a flurry of Israeli airstrikes against militants and Palestinian rocket barrages targeting Israeli towns.

Those signing the letter included Associated Press Chief Executive and President Tom Curley, Reuters Editor-in-Chief David Schlesinger, New York Times Executive Editor Bill Keller, ABC News President David Westin, BBC News Director Helen Boaden and other top executives from CNN, the Canadian TV network CTV, the German broadcaster ZDF, and the French news service Agence France Presse.

"We are gravely concerned about the prolonged and unprecedented denial of access to the Gaza Strip for the international media," they wrote in the letter to Prime Minister Ehud Olmert.

"We would welcome an assurance that access to Gaza for international journalists will be restored immediately in the spirit of Israel's long-standing commitment to a free press," reads the letter.

After a recent upsurge in Palestinian rocket fire, Israel closed off Gaza to all but the most vital supplies. The only people allowed in or out are urgent medical cases and a handful of humanitarian workers.

Mark Regev, a spokesman for Olmert, confirmed that the letter had been received. Journalists were not being singled out, he said, but were affected by a broader decision to close the crossings:

"There is no policy to prevent the media from entering Gaza, and the minute the security situation allows for the normal functioning of the crossings, journalists, like all of the others who have been inconvenienced, will be able to return to using the crossings."

The Israeli government has long banned Israeli journalists from entering Gaza because of fears for their safety, but foreign reporters have been permitted to go in, even during times of heavy fighting. In the past two weeks, coverage in Gaza has been largely left to local Palestinian staffers and a handful of foreign journalists who entered before the closure went into effect, including two AP reporters.

Shlomo Dror, a spokesman for Israel's Defense Ministry, said journalists would be allowed in only once Gaza militants stopped shooting and said Gaza was being adequately covered by reporters already there.

While he said journalists were not being targeted, Dror also said Israel was displeased with international media coverage, which he said inflated Palestinian suffering and did not make clear that Israel's measures were in response to Palestinian violence.

Israel pulled all of its troops and settlers out of Gaza in 2005, a withdrawal that was followed by an increase in rocket fire and a takeover by the Islamic militants of Hamas, a group dedicated to Israel's destruction.

"Where Gaza is concerned, our image will always be bad," Dror said. "When journalists go in it works against us, and when they don't go in it works against us."

Dissatisfaction with coverage would not hold up in court as a reason to bar journalists, said Dalia Dorner, a retired Supreme Court justice who represents Israeli journalists as head of the Israeli Press Council. Only concerns that "grievous harm" could befall state security could provide the legal justification for the Defense Ministry's ban, she said.

Israel's Foreign Press Association, which represents international journalists operating in Israel and the Palestinian territories, also has condemned the ban.

Ghazi Hamad, a Hamas spokesman, said the ban is part of an Israeli policy of isolating Gaza internationally. "This stops outside parties from seeing the crisis taking place in Gaza," Hamad said.

Since violently seizing control of Gaza last year, Hamas sometimes has harassed journalists, in some cases beating reporters, seizing videotapes and raiding news offices.

The Gaza ban is the latest in a line of difficulties foreign journalists have encountered while covering the Israel-Palestinian conflict. International reporters inside Israel generally enjoy broad freedom, but must pass security checks to receive government certification and are subject to a military censor in all matters related to defense.

A number of journalists have been killed or injured by Israeli security forces during clashes in the West Bank and Gaza Strip, and reporters have also been subject to abuse by Palestinian security forces and kidnapped by militants.

The news executives' letter came as international criticism of the closure grew. U.N. chief Ban Ki-moon called Olmert on Tuesday to express concern about a possible humanitarian crisis in Gaza, home to a largely impoverished population of 1.4 million. A group of 21 aid organizations also charged the closure was harming their Gaza operations. The current European Union president, France, issued an unusually strong protest saying the closure was a "disproportionate response" that would "collectively punish" Gaza's civilians.

Gazans are facing a shortage of basic goods and fuel. Restaurants and bakeries across the strip are closing as cooking gas runs out.

WEIRD STUFF IN GAZA

2008-11-18T18:57:00.000-08:00

This is the most outrageous story I have read in some time.

The people of Gaza are being denied the most basic necessities of life, such as food, water and medicine. Israel is also trying to impose a total news blackout on these unfortunate human beings. This reminds me of the lock-down of Punjab in 1984.. The largest difference is that the people of Punjab had food and water.

My dear readers, let us not let these murderers succeed. Let us spread this news to everyone you know; if Israel insists upon committing this atrocity, let us not allow them to do it in silence! Let us shine the light of open knowledge upon this vile deed. Please show this article to everyone. This is not a cheap shot to get readers, this is an impassioned plea from a caring, broken heart. Just make sure this story is known! Don't let these people be destroyed without an outcry. Please.

This reminds me of the way Punjab was sealed off around the time of Massacre BlueStar. In its way, this is worse. The people of Gaza, people very much like you and me, have no access to the necessities of life, such as food, water and medicine. Please make sure all your friends know about this. Remember, the people of Gaza are living. breathing, feeling human beings, for the time being.

This story is not being covered by the mainstream media, as far as I can ascertain. I got this off an IHRO (International Human Rights Organisation) posting.

On Top of Humanitarian Disaster, A News Blackout
by Cherrie Heywood

RAMALLAH, West Bank - Israel has imposed a virtual news blackout on the Gaza Strip. For the last ten days no foreign journalists have been able to enter the besieged territory to report on the escalating humanitarian crisis caused by Israel's complete closure of Gaza's borders for the last two weeks.

A baby in Shifa hospital in Gaza struggles against illness and lack of medicines and electricity. (Credit:Cherrie Heywood)Steve Gutkin, the AP bureau chief in Jerusalem and head of Israel's Foreign Press Association, said that he personally "knows of no foreign journalist that has been allowed into Gaza in the last week."

Gutkin said that "while Israel has barred foreign press from entering Gaza in the past, the length of the current ban makes it unprecedented." He added that he has received no "plausible or acceptable" explanation for the ban from the Israeli government.

AP has relied on reports from two of its journalists who were able to enter Gaza days before the closure began and are currently stuck there.

A delegation of European Union parliamentarians was also prevented from entering Gaza to assess the situation on the ground and to hold talks with Hamas leaders. They subsequently broke the naval siege of Gaza by entering the coast's territorial waters from Cyprus by boat, defying the Israeli navy.

During talks held with Hamas, the EU parliamentarians were able to get a historic commitment from the Islamic organisation to recognise Israel's right to exist within the internationally recognised 1967 borders. Hamas further offered a long-term ceasefire in return for Israel legitimising Palestinian rights.

Israel also prevented 20 European Union consul-generals from entering Gaza on Thursday. On Sunday Israeli border police prevented 15 trucks loaded with medication from entering the Gaza Strip.

EU commissioner for external relations and European neighbourhood policy, Bentita Ferrero-Waldner, has expressed strong reservations. "I am profoundly concerned about the consequences for the Gazan population of the complete closure of all Gaza crossings for deliveries of fuel and basic humanitarian assistance," Ferrero-Waldner said in a statement Friday.

Karen AbuZayd, head of the UN Relief and Welfare Agency (UNRWA) which cares for Palestinian refugees, added that it was unusual for Israel not to let basic food and medicines in. "This has alarmed us more than usual because it's never been quite so long and so bad, and there has never been so much negative response on what we need," she said.

Israel closed the borders following a barrage of rockets fired by Palestinian resistance fighters at Israeli towns bordering the Gaza Strip.

The tit-for-tat violence began on Nov. 4 when the Israeli Defence Forces (IDF) launched a cross-border raid into Gaza, breaking a shaky five-month ceasefire with Hamas. The purpose was ostensibly to destroy a tunnel built by Palestinians allegedly to smuggle captured Israeli soldiers.

More than 20 Palestinians were killed in Israeli raids. Two Israelis were lightly injured in the subsequent rocket attacks.

The timing of Israel's breach of the ceasefire is curious in that hundreds of these smuggling tunnels have existed ever since Hamas took over the strip in June last year. They have been used to smuggle everyday necessities as well as arms because the territory is hermetically sealed by Israel.

John Ging, director of UNRWA in Gaza, who has lived there for the past three years, questioned the alleged security reasoning behind the closure. Since the ceasefire went into place this summer, Ging said, fewer supplies have passed through the crossing than in the beginning of 2006, when the western Negev in Israel suffered incessant rocket fire from Gaza.

At that time the Palestinian Authority (PA), which is supported by Israel and the international community, was ruling Gaza in a unity government with Hamas.

"Last week we were unable to feed 60,000 of Gaza's neediest refugees due to our warehouses running out of food. UNRWA supplies half of Gaza's population of 1.5 million people with emergency rations, and 20,000 people are fed per day when there are adequate supplies," Ging told IPS.

Seventy percent of Gaza experienced electricity blackouts after Israel prevented deliveries of diesel fuel, forcing Gaza's main power plant to close down.

"The Israelis were only allowing 2.2 to 2.5 million litres of fuel in per week prior to the closure, which was the minimum required to operate the power plant. The plant has a capacity for 20 million litres and this would last two months under normal circumstances and tide over emergency periods. But this has all run out," Ging said.

Kan'an Ubeid, deputy chief of the Palestinian Energy Authority, said at a press conference in Gaza that in addition to the shutdown of the diesel-fuelled power plant, the electric network bringing in power from Israel collapsed due to increased pressure on the system.

Gazans also ran out of cooking gas while Gaza's Coastal Municipalities Water Utility (CMWU) was forced to pump tonnes of untreated sewage into the ocean due to fuel shortages and the lack of spare parts for equipment in need of repairs and new parts.

Much of this will flow back into Gaza's underground water table, and the threat of contaminated drinking water spreading diseases has increased.

Meanwhile, the emergency and ambulance services director-general, Mu'awiyya Hassanein, says Gaza's health ministry is short of more than 300 types of necessary medication.

Sammy Hassan, a spokesman from Gaza city's main Shifa hospital said only urgent surgery was being carried out. "We have delayed all non-urgent surgery as our small generator has stopped working, as we can't import a vital spare part.

"We are down to 30,000 litres of fuel left to run the larger generator which is used when electricity is cut. Under the current circumstances with no electricity we require 10,000 litres per day," Hassan told IPS.

Philip Luther, deputy director of Amnesty International's Middle East programme, said that Israel's latest tightening of the blockade had "made an already dire humanitarian situation markedly worse. This is nothing short of collective punishment on Gaza's civilian population, and it must stop immediately."

Following international pressure and protests from the EU, Israel allowed 30 trucks of humanitarian aid to enter the strip Monday. "It will last a matter of days," said UNRWA spokesman Christopher Gunness. "But then what?"

Oxfam's spokesman in Jerusalem Michael Bailey, who coordinates a number of humanitarian projects in Gaza, said this response was entirely inadequate.

"Thirty trucks of aid after a closure of 10 days is insufficient. What we need is a complete revision of the embargo on Gaza. Dialogue with the relevant political leaders is the only way forward," Bailey told IPS.

"Both Israel and Gaza's other neighbours need to put the human rights and essential needs of Gazans above all considerations if there is to be a way out of this quagmire."

© 2008 Inter Press Service

Weird Stuff From Korea

2008-11-13T17:31:00.000-08:00

As half-way promised, here is another Weird Stuff article. I have very mixed feelings about posting this. I do not feel it is right to mock or make fun of mentally ill people. I believe this lady is afflicted with facial dysmorphia, where what she sees in the mirror is not what others see when they look at her.

I do have compassion for her, but something perverse in me insists that this be posted. I expect someone to chasitse me. Please.

From the Telegraph. co.UK

Cosmetic surgery addict injected cooking oil into her own face
A Korean woman addicted to plastic surgery has been left unrecognisable after her obsession led her to inject cooking oil into her face.

Last Updated: 1:16PM GMT 11 Nov 2008

Photo: Saigo-Sinopix / Rex Features
Hang Mioku before cosmetic surgery ruined her appearance Photo: Saigo-Sinopix / Rex Features

Hang Mioku, now 48, had her first plastic surgery procedure when she was 28; hooked from the beginning she moved to Japan where she had further operations - mostly to her face.

Following operation after operation, her face was eventually left enlarged and disfigured, but she would still look at herself in the mirror and think she was beautiful.

Eventually the surgeons she visited refused to carry out any more work on her and one suggested that her obsession could be a sign of a psychological disorder.

When she returned home to Korea the surgery meant Hang's features had changed so much that her own parents didn't recognise her.

After realising that the girl with the grossly swollen face was indeed their daughter her horrified parents took her to a doctor. Once again the possibility that Hang had a mental disorder was raised and she started treatment.

However, this treatment was too expensive for her to keep up and she soon fell back into old ways.

Amazingly, she found a doctor who was willing to give her silicone injects and, what's more, he then gave her a syringe and silicone of her own so she could self-inject.

When her supply of silicone ran out Hang resorted to injecting cooking oil into her face.

Her face became so grotesquely large that she was called "standing fan" by children in her neighbourhood - due to her large face and small body.

As Hang's notoriety spread she was featured on Korean TV. Viewers seeing the report took mercy on her and sent in enough donations to enable her to have surgery to reduce the size of her face.

During the first procedure surgeons removed 60g of foreign substance from Hang's face and 200g from her neck.

After several other sessions her face was left greatly reduced but still scarred and disfigured.

And it would seem that even Hang can now see the damage she has done; she now says that she would simply like her original face back.

Weird Stuff From Tanzania

2008-11-13T17:11:00.000-08:00

This is the latest in what has become my "Weird Stuff In..." Series. Some of these are funny, some tragic and some just plain weird. I think this one is mostly tragic, or at least sad.

These things seem to come in sets. Another Weird Stuff post to follow soon. Probably!

This one is from Tanzania in East Africa, just south of Kenya. It is comprised of Tanganyika and the island of Zanzibar and is pronpounced like Tanganyika, but with the "yika" replaced with "nia." I hope you don't think I'm talking down to you. I have trouble remembering the pronunciation myself.

From the BBC:

Living in fear: Tanzania's albinos
Twenty-five people with albinism have been murdered in Tanzania since March, a BBC investigation has found.

Albinos are targeted for body parts that are used in witchcraft, and killings continue despite government efforts to stamp out the grisly practice, the BBC's Karen Allen says.

Once, albinos used to seek shelter from the sun. Now they have gone into hiding simply to survive, after a series of killings linked to witchcraft.

In Tanzania, 25 albinos have been killed in the past year.

The latest victim was a seven-month-old baby. He was mutilated on the orders of a witchdoctor peddling the belief that potions made from an albino's legs, hair, hands, and blood can make a person rich.

Sorcery and the occult maintain a strong foothold in this part of the world, especially in the remote rural areas around the fishing and mining regions of Mwanza, on the shores of Lake Victoria.

Nobody seems to know why the killings are happening now, but Tanzanian President Jakaya Kikwete is now putting pressure on the police to identify where albinos live and offer them protection.

This is not an easy task when BBC investigations suggest that some police are being "bought off" in order to look away when such appalling crimes are committed.

'We want your legs'

The last adult albino to be murdered - just a few weeks ago - was Nyerere Rutahiro.

He was eating dinner outside in his modest rural compound, when a gang of four strangers burst in, and threatened to arrest him. As his wife Susannah looked on helplessly, the men began to hack at Nyerere's arms and legs with machetes.

"We want your legs," they shouted, "We want your legs," his wife recalls, still deeply traumatised by what she saw.

Nyerere was clearly being targeted for being albino - but in every other respect he was an accepted part of his community. A father of two in his 50s, farming cassava - just like everybody else.

His body was laid to rest in a cement-sealed grave to protect against grave robbers who often steal body parts of the dead to give to witchdoctors. A builder had been hired to do the job.

Looking on as the funeral came to a close, is Nyerere's sister Winifrida. She too is albino.

Terrified, she pulls her six year-old-son closer to her. Though he is black (the gene that causes albinism is a recessive gene), he too is vulnerable.

It is all too clear what is going through Winifrida's mind. Will they come for her next?

Squinting her pale eyes against the midday sun, Winifrida whispers in a barely audible voice: "Please, ask the government to take me away from here, I dare not come out of the house since my brother was killed."

BBC investigation

This is the work of organised gangs, according to Tanzanian police in the commercial capital Dar es Salaam.

When Amina was born my husband and the older two children moved away. They were so ashamed and thought Amina would bring us bad luck... but I am not leaving her
Ashura, mother of nine-year-old albino Amina

Witchdoctors, middlemen and the clients who pay for albino body parts are among the 173 people in custody so far for these macabre killings. None has been prosecuted.

The BBC sought to investigate how sorcerers' tales of albinos are being channelled into gruesome crimes.

An intermediary posing as a "client" with mining and fishing interests seeking to get rich quick, visited a prominent witchdoctor on our behalf at dusk. They were told that albino body parts could be obtained without difficulty, for a price.

The police are now investigating these claims. Since then, a seven-month-old albino baby was killed nearby.

Ostracised

The sad reality is that albinos who can afford it, are now flocking to urban centres where they feel a little more safe.

And nowhere is it considered more safe than at the Ocean Cancer Institute in Dar es Salaam - where so many of them come to get treatment for the skin and eye conditions that albinos often fall prey to.

Away from the wards, under the shade of a mango tree, a black woman sits with her albino daughter. Ashura and Amina, her angelic looking nine-year-old.

They may seem an odd couple at first, but the firm eyes of the mother reveals a woman deeply protective of her child. She is a woman who looks older than her years.

Ashura and Amina now live on their own, ostracised by the rest of their family.

"When Amina was born my husband and the older two children moved away," recounts Ashura.

"They were so ashamed and thought Amina would bring us bad luck... but I am not leaving her... she's my daughter."

Every parent nurturing an albino child has good reason to be frightened in today's Tanzania. The stories of youngsters being snatched from their parents' arms or attacked on the way to school are - quite frankly - horrific.

Albino MP

Albinism affects one in 20,000 people worldwide, but in Tanzania the prevalence appears to be much higher.

The Albino Association of Tanzania says that although just 4,000 albinos are officially registered in the country, they believe the actual number could be as high as 173,000. A census is now under way to try to verify the figures.

Demonised by the ignorant, prized by the superstitious, albinos are now getting organised in urban centres - putting their trust in Tanzania's first albino MP.

Al-Shymaa Kway-Geer is an impressive woman, who was nominated by the Tanzanian president to give the albino community a voice.

Not only is she trying to lobby for subsidies to assist her community for the medical treatment they invariably need as a result of their albinism, but she aims to lead by example.

"When I used to go out, people called me zeru zeru (the derogatory term for albino). They used to chase me, follow me, but now I am someone, they call me honourable, the term we use for politicians," Mrs Kway-Geer says.

Understandably, she is distressed and baffled by the recent spate of albino killings which do not appear to be replicated among Tanzania's neighbours.

But she hopes that by standing up and being counted as possibly the world's first albino lawmaker, the rest of Tanzanian society will start to care.

Story from BBC NEWS:
http://news.bbc.co.uk/go/pr/fr/-/2/hi/africa/7518049.stm

Published: 2008/07/21 18:15:29 GMT

© BBC MMVIII ?blockquote>

THE SUN HAS COME OUT - TONIGHT!

2008-11-04T20:16:00.000-08:00

OOPS!

THE SUN'LL COME OUT TOMORROW...?

2008-11-03T22:34:00.001-08:00

So it's the laughter we will remember,
whenever we remember

THE WAY WE WERE...

THE WAY WE ARE...