A game of double bluff

The UK and EU are keeping the poorer nations exactly where they want them: beholden to their patrons


Rejoice! The world is saved! The governments of Europe have agreed that by 2015 they will give 0.7% of their national income in foreign aid. Admittedly, that's 35 years after the target date they first set for themselves, and it's still less than they extract from the poor in debt repayments. But hooray anyway. Though he does not become president of the EU until later this year, Tony Blair can take some of the credit, for his insistence that the G8 summit in July makes poverty history. It's inspiring, until you understand the context.

Everyone who has studied global poverty - including European governments - recognises that aid cannot compensate for unfair terms of trade. If they increased their share of world exports by 5%, developing countries would earn an extra $350bn a year, three times more than they will be given in 2015. Any government that wanted to help developing nations would surely make the terms of trade between rich and poor its priority.This, indeed, is what the UK appears to have done. In March it published the most progressive foreign policy document ever to have escaped from Whitehall. A paper by the departments of trade and international development promised that: "We will not force trade liberalisation on developing countries." It recognised that a policy that insists on equal terms for rich and poor is like pitting a bull mastiff against a chihuahua. Unless a country can first build up its industries behind protectionist barriers, it will be destroyed by free trade. Almost every nation that is rich today, including the UK and the US, used this strategy. But the current rules forbid the poor from following them. The EU, the paper insisted, should, while opening its own markets, allow poor nations "20 years or more" to open theirs.

But two weeks ago the Guardian obtained a leaked letter showing that Peter Mandelson, the European trade commissioner, was undermining the UK's new policies. His most senior official complained that the policy document was "a major and unwelcome shift... Mandelson is taking up our concerns and will press for a revised UK line".

We are being asked to believe, in other words, that a man who owes his entire political career to Tony Blair, and who has repaid him with nauseating sycophancy, was conspiring to destroy his cherished policy. It doesn't look likely, and it doesn't take a great imaginative effort to see a double game being played. Before the election, Blair makes one of his tear-jerking appeals for love, compassion and human fellowship, and gets the anti-poverty movement off his back. After the election he discovers, to his inestimable regret, that love, compassion and human fellowship won't after all be possible, as a result of a ruling by the European commission.

This outcome was predicted by the World Development Movement when the remarkable paper was published in March. "Time will tell if the UK ... will put real political capital into this announcement, or if they will hide behind the European commission and claim inability to affect the negotiations." Nostradamus had nothing on these guys.

The idea that Blair had no more intention of introducing fair terms of trade than I have of becoming a Catholic priest gains credence from the UK's support for the bid by Pascal Lamy, Mandelson's predecessor, to become head of the World Trade Organisation - a post he won on Thursday. Making Lamy head of the WTO is as mad as making, say, Paul Wolfowitz... er, satire doesn't really seem to work any more.

Everyone seems to have forgotten that Lamy was the man who destroyed the world trade talks in Mexico in September 2003. He tried to force through new rules on investment, competition and procurement, which would have allowed corporations to dictate terms to the poor world's governments. He persisted with this policy even when he had lost the support of European governments, and when it became obvious that his position would force the poorer nations to pull out. For cynics like me, it wasn't hard to see why. For the first time in the WTO's history, the poor nations were making effective use of collective bargaining and demanding major concessions from the rich. By destroying the talks, Lamy prevented a fairer trading regime from being introduced. He left the rich countries free to strike individual treaties with their weaker trading partners. And the UK and the rest of Europe hid behind him.

So the poor world is going to need the extra aid, in 2015 and far beyond. This means that it will remain obedient to the demands of countries with an interest in its continued exploitation. Those demands have done more than anything else to hold it down. As the World Bank's own figures show, across the 20 years (1960-80) before it and the IMF started introducing strict conditions on the countries that accepted their loans, median annual growth in developing countries was 2.5%. In the 18 years after (1980-1998), it was 0.0%.
The British government has made its own contribution to the poor world's misery by tying aid disbursements to the privatisation of essential public services. It has been paying the Adam Smith Institute, a rightwing lobby group, up to £9m a year to oversee privatisation programmes in developing countries. Last week Tanzania pulled out of a deal UK government had rigged up for the British company Biwater to privatise water supplies in Dar es Salaam.

Again the government admitted, before the election, that its critics were right. The Department for International Development (DfID) published a long mea culpa in which it promised: "We will not make our aid conditional on specific policy decisions by partner governments, or attempt to impose policy choices on them (including ... privatisation or trade liberalisation)." It looks great, until you read the whole document. On privatisation, DfID admits that there was "concern that in the 1980s and 1990s donors pushed for the introduction of reforms, regardless of whether these were in countries' best interests." The 80s and 90s, eh? What about the privatisation it was demanding in 2004 and early 2005? What about its recent assault on the public services of Tanzania, South Africa, Ghana and the Indian state of Andhra Pradesh? What about the money it is still paying the effing Adam Smith Institute?

DfID goes on to say that it will decide whether to give money to a country by looking "to the IMF to provide an assessment of a country's macroeconomic position". It knows full well that the IMF continues to judge countries by the degree to which they embrace privatisation and liberalisation. Yet again the British government is outsourcing its ethics, using the policy of an international body to make justice history.
While using the right language and flattering their critics, the UK and the EU are keeping the poorer nations where they want them: beholden to their patrons. Suddenly, an increase in aid doesn't look like such good news after all.


With thanks
George Monbiot
www.monbiot.com

Rex Babin, sketching the US goof-ups!
Pic Sam

Why the French said non

French rubbished the referendum, calling for an European constitution, here is a reason why:

- They detest their current government and are reluctant to vote for anything that it proposes

- They are fed up with their entire political class, on both right and left, which they feel is arrogant, self-serving, removed from real life and has refused to listen to their concerns for too long

- They believe the treaty is a blueprint for an ultra-liberal, Anglo-Saxon Europe that will promote unfettered capitalism

- They believe it will degrade French public services and cost French jobs

- They feel that when the president, the government and the mainstream opposition combine to trumpet the merits of something and to implicitly denounce its opponents as half-wits who have understood nothing, it is their moral duty to revolt

- They feel ditto, but even more strongly, when virtually every newspaper, TV and radio commentator more or less explicitly backs the constitution and expresses amazement at the very possibility of a no vote

- They are worried about the expanded (and expanding) union and about its impact on their lives, particularly the arrival in France en masse of the key bogeyman of this debate, the Polish plumber (don't even mention the Turkish taxi-driver)

- They believe the French social model is preferable to any other, is at threat, and is worth defending

- They have finally been asked to give their opinion on a Europe that they feel has been constructed more or less behind their backs, and they're damned well going to give it

- They remember that every time over the past decade that a French politician has had to make a difficult announcement, he has blamed Brussels

- They do not feel that saying no will weaken France's position in Europe, because they think it will trigger a tidal wave of comprehension and support in a great many other countries leading to a "salutary crisis" that will eventually create a better, more social Europe

- They believe the text of the treaty can be renegotiated to take account of France's concerns and objections

- They reject the argument of European institutional chaos, saying the treaty of Nice will continue to apply for as long as necessary until the mess is sorted out

- They feel they are not anti-European, just anti the Europe they perceive as enshrined in this constitution, so voting no is actually a pro-European act

- They recognise that the yes camp ran a rubbish campaign led by a president and a prime minister with zero credibility and a Socialist party that could not make its mind up, and whose sole argument for far too long was to say no to the no

- They realise that from the start, the yes was on the defensive rather than the offensive; it admitted the text was "not perfect" and (on both left and right) was never comfortable handling the fundamental issue (very sensitive in France) of economic liberalism

- They are reacting belatedly to the fact that no French politician has ever dared tell them that France will, in one way or another, have to adapt at some stage to the phenomenon of globalisation, and that it will probably involve some degree of pain

- Their very French instinct (and, up to a point, it's one to be proud of) is: Resist

- They subscribe to the notion that 'le compromis n'est pas français'

- Being French, and not living in a colourless Anglo-Saxon world, they were itching for the mother of all ideological debates, the one that would finally pit the true socialism against wicked liberalism, and the treaty gave them the perfect opportunity because its clauses are open to interpretation (that's the point of them, of course - they are not supposed to be doctrine)

Sameer Bhat

RIP, Mr Dutt

Dutt saab
1929-2005

"Disease and suffering have no religion and no nationality. My work encompasses mankind." Sunil Dutt

I have not watched all his classics. I never met him. I have no idea about the full extent of his charitable work. Yet, I feel sorry that he is no more. Sunil Dutt's genteel face gave it all away. He was many things in that towering six-plus frame -- a thorough gentleman, an iconic movie star, a great human being and a secularist to the core, up until his sudden end. Frankly, Dutt Saab, as he was affectionately called, was one of those virtuous souls, who you wish never die.

What also stood Sunil Dutt in good stead was his heart-in-his-eyes sensitivity which noted filmmakers like Bimal Roy, B R Chopra and Raj Khosla repeatedly drew upon. Dutt capitalised on his abilty to jump genres and expand on his oeuvre at different stages of his career. His willingness to experiment with cinema led him to star in offbeat films like Padosan and Amrapali, be the villain in Geeta Mera Naam, and bankroll films like Yaadein ,a film starring just one man --- himself, Mujhe Jeene Do -- a reformist saga -- and the stark desert epic Reshma Aur Shera.

Dutt's heroic deed on the set of Mother India changed the course of his life. He saved Nargis from a burning film set and later they got married in what is considered one of the great storybook romances of Bollywood history. After making an indelible mark on the filmdom in Bombay and having etched his name in the golden annals of India cinema, Dutt saab took to activism. The death of his wife, Nargis Dutt in 1981, whom he loved intensely, transformed his life. He fought for the rights of the poor. It was Nargis's wish that cancer research be forwarded in India and to that effect Dutt spearheaded the creation of the Nargis Dutt Cancer Foundation.

He became a Member of Parliament and advocated peace. Again he brought a serene dignity to politics, quite unknown of, in recent times. He campaigned for communal harmony, against drug abuse and for better care for cancer and HIV and AIDS patients.

Selfless, tireless and humane, that was Sunil Dutt for those who have know him. For me, he will continue to be among the select few Indians, I admire.

He loved Nargis till lady death kissed him in his sleep. I pray they -- Nargis and Dutt saab -- stroll together, hand in hand, in the gardens of heaven.

Sameer Bhat

Beauty or Bend!

VS Naipaul can be difficult for any soul. His prose is generally terse and philosophical. His metaphors can leave you gasping. I picked up his A Bend in the River because I wanted to read something disparate after Dan's Da vinci code. The novel is set in Africa and Naipaul penned it in 1979. Thirty pages into BR and I gave up. Not that I won't read it. I might, perhaps later. My guess is that one can't read Naipaul leisurely in cabs and buses.
I love to read that way. In a busy work schedule you have no time otherwise.

Naipaul makes you think hard and deep. In the 30 odd pages of BR, I guess he uses the word Africa and Bush 50 times. Boondocks. I was almost transported to the bushes and deep into Africa when I decided I must come back and keep Naipaul for home. Relaxed and on your bed, with an air-conditioner purring, he can be better understood. A book has to be assimilated and doten on!

Naipaul is a great author. I don't agree with his strong, at times banal political views, but I love his prose.

I cannot reflect and do justice with his works in the grinding heat and grime of New Delhi's Auto's and oven-hot roads. Allan Hollinghurst will do. In fact, The Line of Beauty bagged Man Booker last summer.
I am already fimiliar with Nick.

Allan knows his readers!

Sameer bhat

Mount Rushmore on a beautiful sunny-south Dakota day
Pic Sam

Converts

NY times publised a reader's comment on may 19, 2005 which went on like -- Convert all Muslims and make them Cristians, so that they will learn to live in peace.

Convert them to Christianity and let them eat cake. This might well be a solution. Though I suspect that they, like other Christians, would then start squabbling about minor and irrelevant liturgical and theological differences; then the Shiite-christians would say that God told them THEY owned the oil wells, and the Suni-Christians would say, no they do above the Mosul parallel. Then the Texas-Christians would say, no God gave us all the oil, so it's ours, and the Kansas Christians would then begin talking in tongues, or some other form of ungrammatical English, et al... Being Christian, in other words, has nothing to do with peace. Look at Northern Ireland. Look at the history of Christianity. Whistle "National Brotherhood Week" under the shower...

What makes me giggle a little, of course, is that there is a terrific resemblance between the fundamentalist Christians and fundamentalist Moslems these days. All this fire and brimstone for the sake of some religious hallucinations, and at the bottom of it are the old motives: power, money, control.

So I propose: instead of converting the Muslims, let them fight it out, for this seems to be the much touted Armageddon that will bring peace to the planet. Those on the sidelines should always support the losing side (that is why America started selling arms to Iran as well as to Iraq in the 80s, so that the two countries could whack each other into oblivion). Once these two prosyletizing, colonial, power-mad groups have exhausted themselves, the world may finally have the peace and quiet to get on with more important pursuits, such as correcting the environmental problems we have, spreading the wealth a little, instituting universal healthcare, etc... Because most people, I suspect, just want to get on with life, raising their families, doing their work, enjoying some good times between the cradle and the grave, even making whooppee without some blue-nose peering into the gardenshed window. And this, throughout the ages, has been impeded by the constant interference of men with axes to grind, men with power-obsessions, men of extreme greed, men filled with hatred for anyone who is serene. They range from the Bishop of Lyon in the 2nd century AD to George W. Bush. And most, the overwhelming majority, mark my words, have been men.

And who suffers? The women and children and men who have better things to do than run around the planet destroying things, raping, pillaging, acting like unbalanced 10-year-olds.
Each time I read about some GI who has been knocked off in Iraq and is praised as a good family man, I wonder, then, what in earth he was doing on such an adventure. That is immorality itself. But I have digressed from the subject.

Sameer

Truth unveiled

The descecration of a copy of Holy Quran at the hands of US troops in Guantanamo bay has led to a bitter debate about a range of issues. About the veracity of such media reports, about the military ethics of the US and above all the lack of transpiracy in the US administration.

I reproduce here excerpts from the Newyork times edit on 18 may 2005.

A Sudden Taste for Openness

Newsweek is under intense criticism for a report it has now retracted about the American prison in Guantánamo Bay. Since we've weathered a journalistic storm or two, we can only say the best approach is transparency as Newsweek fixes whatever is broken, if anything. There is already a debate about journalistic practices, including the use of anonymous sources, and these things are worth discussing - especially at a time of war, national insecurity and extreme government secrecy, a time when aggressive news reporting is critical. But it is offensive to see the Bush administration use this case for political purposes, and ludicrous for spokesmen for this White House and Defense Department to offer pious declarations about accountability, openness and concern for America's image abroad.

It took Newsweek about two weeks to retract its report. It has been a year since the very real problem behind the article - the systematic abuse and deliberate humiliation of mainly Muslim prisoners - came to light through the Abu Ghraib disaster. And the Bush administration has not come close to either openness or accountability. The White House and the Pentagon have refused to begin any serious examination of the policymaking that led to the abuse, humiliation, torture and even killing of prisoners taken during antiterrorist operations and the invasion of Iraq. Meanwhile, the administration has stonewalled outside efforts to accomplish that task. No senior officer or civilian official has been held accountable for policies that put every American soldier at greater risk. The men who wrote the memos on legalized torture and evading the Geneva Conventions have been promoted.

If the Pentagon is as enthusiastic about accountability in its own house as its spokesman, Lawrence Di Rita, is when it comes to Newsweek, then it should release the Southern Command's report on Guantánamo Bay, on which the magazine report was based. The administration should also release all the other reports on prisoner abuse it has been withholding, including one by the Central Intelligence Agency about its illegal practice of hiding prisoners from the Red Cross. And it should encourage Senator John Warner, chairman of the Senate Armed Services Committee, to conduct a full investigation of the formation of the policy on prisoners, rather than pressuring him to stop.

The serenity of montreux transfixes you! There is plenty of blue sky, lotsa water, crisp air, lofty mountains, swathes of greens and ofcourse the castle!
Pic Sam

This one moment captures the end of an era and the begining of a new world order.
Pic Sam

The Portugese Connection

PEDRO

Internet is a wonderful, wonderful tool. If I were asked to single out one particular invention in the last 100 years, without battling an eyelid, I will mark, Internet. The world-wide-web is a magical realm that catapults us in a new universe, beyond boundaries, where mountains cease to exist, beyond the cacophony and high seas -- a world that is so vast, so informative, so intimate and so loving.

I met a charming 15-year old kid from Portugal in one of the labyrinthine alleys of internet. I wasn't particularly cruising for a friend or an acquaintance and yet I chanced upon one. A class 9 student, Pedro is so full of life. Something of a wonder-kid. He is actually a geek. He loves to play with Mindstorm and Legos and makes the best robots ever.

Pedro loves reading and has already devoured Harry Potter and The Order of The Phoenix... as well as other books... and a book about sex that he feels is very interesting (thats what you call a 15 year naughty brat).

Pedro fascinates me. Away from the serious world of business and finance and my hectic work-schedule, he comes as such a relief. He makes you smile with curious innocence. I'll love to meet him someday in Pardilhó, his hometown, tucked away somewhere in the beautiful coastal city of Aveiro. I haven't been to south-western Europe yet but I feel like as I have already trudged the north-Atlantic sea-front. At least I have a little friend, who loves to swim, ride and watch airplanes take off near the wind swept beaches of his lovely country.

Sameer Bhat

From D-day to VE-Day

The 60th annev of VE

The world is partying in Moscow. Major world leaders are tossing mugs of beer to mark the passing of 6 decades of Europe's most devastating war. VE: Victory in Europe. It has been 60 long years since Adolf Hitler's Third Reich was destroyed by the allied forces on this day. May 8, 1945. The Axis -- as the German-Italo-Japs alliance was called, collapsed in those early summer days in Europe. Victory in Europe didn't come easy. More than 50 million people lost their lives, half of them Russians. Nazi's sent about 6 million Jews to gas chambers and fashioned the biggest holocaust in human history. In June of 1944, western allies invaded German-occupied France, sailing from Great Britian to storm onto the windswept Normandy beaches amid the cracle of gunfire, as Ron Regan once famously put it. That was the begining of the end of what appeared to be greatest power of the time. Adolf Hitler's Nazi movement. During Hitler's dictatorship, "Heil Hitler" had become a more than the paganlike chant at rallies and parades, it was infact the common form of address. On May 8, 1945, final capitulation was signed by Germans in Berlin. The soviet flag fluttered atop Hitler's palace. The Red Army hoisted the Flag of the Soviet Union over the ruins of the Reichstag marking the begining of a new era!

A new begining had already dawned!

The Da Vinci code

A great book that cuts across the barebones of belief and faith

I just finished reading The Da Vinci code. It is an amazing book and an extremely erudite one too. The book in its pre-prologue page states that “All descriptions of artwork, architecture, documents, and secret rituals in this novel are accurate.” And it was one commingle of secrets, codes and intrigue that I came across, as I flipped pages upon pages of this wonderfully-written work. In their quest to unravel the mystery of the keystone -- which has a deep religious significance -- the protagonists race against time and cadasters. I felt like a part of the small team, working my way to find the final magical word, that would unleash the greatest secret in humanity.

To cut a long story short:


While in Paris on business, Harvard symbologist Robert Langdon receives an urgent late-night phone call: the elderly curator of the Louvre has been murdered inside the museum. Near the body, police have found a baffling cipher. Solving the enigmatic riddle, Langdon is stunned to discover it leads to a trail of clues hidden in the works of Da Vinci…clues visible for all to see…and yet ingeniously disguised by the painter. Langdon joins forces with a gifted French cryptologist, Sophie Neveu, and learns the late curator was involved in the Priory of Sion—an actual secret society whose members included Sir Isaac Newton, Botticelli, Victor Hugo, and Da Vinci, among others. The Louvre curator has sacrificed his life to protect the Priory's most sacred trust: the location of a vastly important religious relic, hidden for centuries.

In a breathless race through Paris, London, and beyond, Langdon and Neveu match wits with a faceless powerbroker who appears to work for Opus Dei—a clandestine, Vatican-sanctioned Catholic sect believed to have long plotted to seize the Priory's secret. Unless Langdon and Neveu can decipher the labyrinthine puzzle in time, the Priory's secret—and a stunning historical truth—will be lost forever.

In an exhilarating blend of relentless adventure, scholarly intrigue, and cutting wit, symbologist Robert Langdon -- first introduced in Dan Brown's bestselling Angels & Demons -- is the most original character to appear in years. The da vinci code heralds the arrival of a new breed of lightening-paced, intelligent thriller…surprising at every twist, absorbing at every turn, and in the end, utterly unpredictable…right up to its astonishing conclusion.

Sameer Bhat

The Vitruvain man

Vitruvain man is a Da vinci gem

The Vitruvian Man is a famous drawing with accompanying notes by Leonardo da Vinci made around the year 1490 in one of his journals... It depicts a naked male figure in two superimposed positions with his arms apart and simultaneously inscribed in a circle and square. The drawing and text are sometimes called the Canon of Proportions. The drawing is in pen, ink, and watercolor over metalpoint, and measures 34.3 x 24.5 cm. It is currently part of the collection of the Gallerie dell'Accademia in Venice.

According to Leonardo's notes in the accompanying text, which are mirror writing, it was made as a study of the proportions of the (male) human body as described in a treatise by the Ancient Roman architect Vitruvius, who wrote that in the human body:

• A palm is the width of four fingers
• a foot is the width of four palms
• a cubit is the width of six palms
• a man's height is four cubits (and thus 24 palms)
• a pace is four cubits
• the length of a man's outspread arms is equal to his height
• the distance from the hairline to the bottom of the chin is one-tenth of a man's height
• the distance from the top of the head to the bottom of the chin is one-eighth of a man's height
• the distance from the hairline to the top of the breast is one-seventh of a man's height
• the distance from the top of the head to the nipples is one-fourth of a man's height
• the maximum width of the shoulders is one-fourth of a man's height
• the distance from the elbow to the tip of the hand is one-fifth of a man's height
• the distance from the elbow to the armpit is one-eight of a man's height
• the length of the hand is one-tenth of a man's height
• the distance from the bottom of the chin to the nose is one-third of the length of the face
• the distance from the hairline to the eyebrows is one-third of the length of the face
• the length of the ear is one-third of the length of the face

Leonardo is clearly illustrating Vitruvius De Architectura 3.1.3 which reads: The navel is naturally placed in the centre of the human body, and, if in a man lying with his face upward, and his hands and feet extended, from his navel as the centre, a circle be described, it will touch his fingers and toes. It is not alone by a circle, that the human body is thus circumscribed, as may be seen by placing it within a square. For measuring from the feet to the crown of the head, and then across the arms fully extended, we find the latter measure equal to the former; so that lines at right angles to each other, enclosing the figure, will form a square.

The rediscovery of the mathematical proportions of the human body in the 15th century by Leonardo and others is considered one of the great achievements leading to the Italian Renaissance. Note that Leonardo's drawing combines a careful reading of the ancient text, combined with his own observation of actual human bodies. In drawing the circle and square he correctly observes that the square cannot have the same center as the circle, the navel, but is somewhat lower in the anatomy. This adjustment is the innovative part of Leonardo's drawing and what distinguishes it from earlier illustrations.

The drawing itself is often used as an implied symbol of the essential symmetry of the human body, and by extension, to the universe as a whole.

It may be noticed by examining the drawing that the combination of arm and leg positions actually creates sixteen different poses. The pose with the arms straight out and the feet together is seen to be inscribed in the superimposed square. On the other hand, the "spread-eagle" pose is seen to be inscribed in the superimposed circle. This illustrates the principle that in the shift between the two poses, the apparent center of the figure seems to move, but in reality, the navel of the figure, which is the true center of gravity, remains motionless.

Sameer

Humour in the White house

Laura Bush took over the mike at the media dinner at the White House.

I have some very strong political views and I have no qualms about it. I dislike the American foriegn policy. I abhor the opressive US candour. I completely disagreed with Prez Bush's decision to go to an unjust war in Iraq. I detest the mischief United States is upto, world over. However, I would be compelled to add that I love the people of America, the values they stand for. I admire their spirit of freedom and resilience. I salute their valor. I love Hollywood and their liberal culture. I adore the first lady. Nowhere in the world do we have such an informal arrangement where a first lady so graciously springs forth and draws the assembly into peels of laughter. At the anual media dinner the former librarian spoke so candidly and hilariously that she almost sounded real! And the most powerful person on God's green earth -- Dubya -- could do nothing but smile, I mean laugh!

Wish the world were more jovial and the US policies as frontal!

The complete transcript of Laura Bush's comments from the White House Correspondents' Association dinner, held April 30:

President Bush: Thank you and good evening. I always look forward to these dinners, where I'm supposed to be funny — intentionally. I'm really looking forward to hearing Cedric the Entertainer. I kind of think of myself that way.

Cedric, did you hear that hilarious line I ad-libbed down in Arkansas? A woman in a town meeting told me she was from DeQueen, and I said, 'That's right next to DeKing.' You gotta' admit that's pretty good, Cedric. That's what you call sophisticated re — par — tay.

Then out in Montana, I told a joke about a cattle guard, which, to be honest, didn't get a very big laugh — actually, none. But Cedric, I think you'll appreciate this, and you can use it if you want to. See, there was this city slicker who was driving around lost and he came across this ol' cowboy. And so the city slicker asked the old guy how to get to the nearest town, and —

First Lady Laura Bush: Not that old joke — not again.

Ladies and gentlemen, I've been attending these dinners for years and just quietly sitting there. Well, I've got a few things I want to say for a change. This is going to be fun because he really doesn't have a clue about what I'm gonna' to say next. George always says he's delighted to come to these press dinners. Baloney. He's usually in bed by now. I'm not kidding. I said to him the other day, "George, if you really want to end tyranny in the world, you're going to have to stay up later."

I am married to the president of the United States, and here's our typical evening: Nine o'clock, Mr. Excitement here is sound asleep, and I'm watching Desperate Housewives— with Lynne Cheney. Ladies and gentlemen, I am a desperate housewife. I mean, if those women on that show think they're desperate, they oughta be with George.

One night, after George went to bed, Lynne Cheney, Condi Rice, Karen Hughes and I went to Chippendale's. I wouldn't even mention it except Ruth Ginsberg and Sandra Day O'Connor saw us there. I won't tell you what happened, but Lynne's Secret Service codename is now "Dollar Bill."

But George and I are complete opposites — I'm quiet, he's talkative, I'm introverted, he's extroverted, I can pronounce nuclear —! The amazing thing, however, is that George and I were just meant to be. I was the librarian who speant 12 hours a day in the library, yet somehow I met George. We met, and married, and I became one of the regulars up at Kennebunkport. All the Bushes love Kennebunkport, which is like Crawford, but without the nightlife. People ask me what it's like to be up there with the whole Bush clan. Lemme put it this way: First prize — three-day vacation with the Bush family. Second prize — 10 days.

Speaking of prizes brings me to my mother-in-law. So many mothers today are just not involved in their children's lives — Not a problem with Barbara Bush. People often wonder what my mother-in-law's really like. People think she's a sweet, grandmotherly, Aunt Bea type. She's actually more like, mmm, Don Corleone.
Cedric, am I doing all right? I saw my in-laws down at the ranch over Easter. We like it down there. George didn't know much about ranches when we bought the place. Andover and Yale don't have a real strong ranching program. But I'm proud of George. He's learned a lot about ranching since that first year when he tried to milk the horse. What's worse, it was a male horse.

Now, of course, he spends his days clearing brush, cutting trails, taking down trees, or, as the girls call it, The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. George's answer to any problem at the ranch is to cut it down with a chainsaw — which I think is why he and Cheney and Rumsfeld get along so well. It's always very interesting to see how the ranch air invigorates people when they come down from Washington. Recently, when Vice President Cheney was down, he got up early one morning, he put on his hiking boots, and he went on a brisk, 20- to 30-foot walk.

But actually, in all seriousness, I do love the ranch, and I love the whole Bush family. I was an only child, and when I married into the extended Bush clan, I got brothers and sisters and wonderful in-laws, all of whom opened their arms to me. And included in the package, I got this guy here.

I think when you marry someone, you unconsciously are looking for something in your spouse to help fulfill something in you, and George did that for me. He brought fun and energy into my life and so many other things. George is a very good listener, he's easy to be around, and on top of it all, he's a loving father whose daughters absolutely adore him.

So in the future, when you see me just quietly sitting up here, I want you to know that I'm happy to be here for a reason — I love, and enjoy being with, the man who usually speaks to you on these occasions. So George and I thank you for inviting us, thank you for all of the good work that you and the press do, and thank you for your very kind hospitality this evening.

Repeated references to Cedris the entertainer: "Considered one of the funniest comics in America, Actor/Comedian Cedric ‘The Entertainer’ is best known as one of the headlining stars of the hit feature film, The Original Kings of Comedy, directed by Spike Lee."

The Crusade Cuffer ..... Truly told

Part-I ( In a three part series)

Sir Ridley Scott's dazzling epic of the Crusades has attracted flak from Cristian and Islamic scholars, but will its combination of spiritual devotion and gore draw audiences into the fold?

Set in 1185, it follows Balian (Orlando Bloom looking at his most Christ-like), a blacksmith in rural France, who is claimed as his illegitimate son by a Crusader knight, Godfrey of Ibelin (Liam Neeson) and taken to Jerusalem. Balian has lost his faith after the suicide of his wife, but slowly regains it at the court of saintly Baldwin IV (Edward Norton), the King of Jerusalem, who practices and preaches tolerance between Christians and Muslims. However, zealots on both sides destroy Baldwin's 'kingdom of heaven' and when his power-hungry son-in-law Guy de Lusignan (Marton Csokas) succeeds him, the scene is set for a confrontation with the Saracen General Saladin (Ghassan Massound) which leads to Balian's heroic leadership of the siege of Jerusalem.

The film chooses unambiguously to place the blame for the Crusader-Saracen conflict, which causes the eventual downfall of Baldwin's kingdom, squarely at the door of fundamentalists in both camps, but overall it is the Christian fundamentalists who come off worst of all. At a time when the Catholic church has just elected as its leader a cardinal who has previously described other faiths as 'gravely deficient', Kingdom of Heaven presents a deeply unappealing picture of all those who feel their religious belief is superior to any other. Lusignan, the new king of Jerusalem, is egged on to battle by the Knights Templar, brandishing their crosses and talking of 'killing a Muslim to get to heaven'.

Chronology: Nine crusades - wars over the Holy Land sanctioned by the Pope - took place from the 11th to the 13th century.

1095 First Crusade begins after Pope Urban II urges Christian Europe to reclaim Jerusalem. They succeed in doing so.
1137 Revered Muslim leader Saladin is born in Tikrit.{ Modern day Iraq } By 1169 he is Sultan of Egypt.
1147 Second Crusade begins.
1174 Baldwin, 13, takes throne of Jerusalem. He wants to create a place where all faiths can coexist.
1180 Saladin and King Baldwin sign a truce, but it is broken within a year.
1185-86 Kingdom of Heaven begins in fragile peace. Baldwin dies 1185. Guy de Lusignan succeeds him.
1187 Battle of Hattin. Saladin conquers the Christian army and recaptures Jerusalem.
1189-92 Third Crusade. Richard the Lionheart attempts to retake the city but is forced to abandon plan. Saladin agrees a treaty giving Christian pilgrims special rights.
1193 Saladin dies.

(With thanks The Guardain)

Empror Salah-u-din's grave ( Damascus Syria )
Pic Sam

The symbol of Crusaders {Crusades: The most important battle in history}
Pic Sam

Cat -- 18th Avenue -- Stevens { Yousef Islam.... Watch out for my post on his 'wonderful life'}
Pic Sam

Mom

You were my mother and my friend,
Which was unusual,
Somehow our characters still blend:
Your wisdom and my will.
I Turned, and you were there for me;
I spoke you understood.
I felt cared for, but also free;
You loved, and I was good.
I' m fortunate that I was born
To someone just like you;
I love you still.
Though you are gone,
You live in what I do.

A loving composition I couldn't help adapt!

Nothing to see

Nessa's lovely rendition

I had forgotten the color of your eyes
How bright they are, on nights like this
Don't know how I could've, though
That intensity isn't a normal trait
Or, at least it isn't one I commonly see
They always caught me off guard
Especially in the morning,
when I found them staring at me as I woke up
They say you can read a persons soul through their eyes, did you know?
Maybe it's true, but I hope not.
Why, you ask?
Because, there was nothing to see beyond those bright, bright orbs of yours

Let the world be suffused over with Love and Peace!
Pic Sam

My idea of a weekend
Pic Sam

Atention folks
Pic Sam

God's Rottweiler is Benedict XVI

Conservative Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger is the new Pope

I am a liberal guy. I hate rigid posturing. Extremism always reeks. It also encourages a myopic world order. Hot heads and ultraists often have a propensity to think narrow because they are unable to accomodate conflicting views. There is no room for any debate or a different point of view. Only fake positioning. And, I found them the same everwhere. Across the major faiths -- The Jewish Ultra-orthodox, Hindu fanatics, Muslim hard-nosed clerics and Christian conservatives. All dogmatists of the world squarely fall in this bracket. No dissent please, only sermons!

However I have a word to say for Ratzinger. Infact for all of his ilk. The perception is that Ratzinger is not so interested in diversity, he wants a return to the fundamentals, to what he perceives as the essentials of Catholic teaching. Dubbed 'God's rottweiler' and 'the enforcer', Ratzinger, who turned 78 on April 17, 2005 served more than 20 years under Pope John Paul II as prefect of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith, the office once known as the Holy Inquisition. His hardliner approach to dissidents earned him the tough reputation when it came to enforcing the doctrine of the church. The new Pope is against-- hold your breath -- Abortion, Contaception, Condoms, cloning, homosexuality, euthanasia, masturbation , artificial insemination, music, premarital intercourse. Everything that he thinks is ethically covoluted and morally wrong. Doesn't he sound like any Muslim cleric or any Jewish rabbi?

We have examples of many religious leaders who tend to be flexible. Personally, I think only hardliners and those who toe a consistent line end up being more reverned. 'Radicalsim' excites and here in lies the rub. These chaps -- Ratzy and co -- refuse to bulge and that is exactly what makes them all the more controversial, all the more provocative. And all the more loved. Ratzinger, now Benedict the 16th, happens to be just one of these ardent, hard-nosed fellas. As head of the catholic church he automatically gets catapulted to the supreme position of the most widely followed faith in the world.

It is altogether a different matter if much of what the new Pope believes any sense or not. Science says it doesn't. How can the scrounge of AIDS can be fought in the precarious modern times without the use of preservatives, for instance. Abstinence, says the Church. But no one really abstains because not many have a super faith like Ratzinger. Again, the vision of a brave new world where wealthy elites have access to expensive genetic technologies and the poorer classes do not, has provided much moral ammunition for those who oppose human cloning. Therapeutic cloning, which is often misunderstood as reproductive cloning, is less controversial than the latter as it does not involve the creating of an individual being. Instead, vital stem cells are extracted from human embryos, in order to generate tissues and organs for transplant. The goal of this process is strictly to harvest stem cells, resulting in the creation of 'cloned organs', which can be used to treat heart disease, Alzheimer's, and cancer. And then one thinks of a small matter like Masturbation! Can you people stop fantisizing? I don't think so.

Benedict the sixteenth is not completely apolitical. Ethics and mores apart, the Pope has some strong political views as well. For instance, he opposes Turkey's inclusion into the EU because it is a Muslim country and will dilute the Christian character of an essentially Christian continent. Not bad, PaPa. Again the Pope has had some Swastika connections in the past. Anti-Semitic. Not really, says his aides-- he was in 1941 enrolled against will in Hitler Youth. In 1945 Ratzinger deserted the Nazi army and returned home. He was captured by Americans as the war ended. { God, they didn't even leave the future Pope -- Stupid, how could they know he was so pious} !!! June 19, 1945 Ratzinger was released from US POW camp and he caught the ride home on milk truck. In the winter of 1945 Ratzinger began the study for priesthood in Friesing. Sixty years later on April 19, 2005, he became Benedict XVI.

From Hitler Youth to Papa Ratzi, the new Pope has been called many things. Some nasty. Albeit I don't agree with much of what he believes in, I still respect the guy. I salute him for his strong beliefs and steadfast stances. I roughly have the same view about my own faith-gurus and others who stand morally correct and believe in their values. There is something about the hardliners that endears them to you. I don't understand what. Perhaps a strait-laced no-nonsense attitude. Strong men of infallible faith. And in Ratzinger's case, God's leash also.

I hope Papacy changes the Pope, as it touched his worthy predecessor.

Long Live the Holy Pope.

Your friendly next door dictator

Pakistan Prez Gen Pervez Musharraf visits India; Watches Cricket and talks peace

He has been called many things. Dictator, Chameleon, Coup-leader, Straight-forward military man, Disciplinarian. You can love this man or loathe him but you simply cannot afford to ignore General Musharraf. He is one of the few modern day Pakistani leaders I like. The man, despite all his shortcomings, sounds sincere. I have my own means of assessing people. There is a gentle ring of frankness about this commando that glosses over his many capers. Of all the Pakistani politicains and most of their Indian counterparts, he scores a distinctive edge. Or may be because he is not a dyed-in real politician. And thats works to his sole benefit.

The General, whip smart as he is, discreetly asked India to invite him. Caught on a wrong footing by the Gen's sudden and keen desire to watch an India-Pakistan Cricket match, India promptly sent an invitation. And that was the begining of it -- a media frenzy, security nightmare, logistics challenge and of course the famed sub-continental hospitality. Once dates were worked out for the Gen's visit, Delhi roads got a much needed scrubbing, the railings got fresh double coats of paint and the Kotla groud -- venue of the match -- came up in record time. Delhi never looked any better. Finally the Gen arrived, along with his charming wife, Begum Sebha and guess what, like always he wowed all!

Much has already been said and realms of newsprint spent about what the man-in-those-countless suits did in India. I don't want to tire my tips. I'll scribble what I noticed has missed many experts. The Gen changed his clothes and changed and changed. Tirelessly. I reckon he is a very fashionable man. Upscale, flashy, modern, well-cut suits for all occassions. He got into his Plane in Pakistan in one suit. Came out in Jaipur in a Pathani-dress. Later in the evening at Delhi airport, the General had a new Jacket and matching pants. Impeccable. If Mush wanted to make a fashion statement he sure did. That he dresses a lot better than a host of Indian politicos goes without saying. In India only Montek Singh Ahluwalia, PM's confidant and deputy chairman planning commission, ties his turban with more e'lan.

Musharraf ran his fingers in his greying hairs a hell lot of times. Everytime he came in his hotel foyer or accompanied Dr. Manmohan singh the Gen kept pushing his silky strands abaft towards the rear of his head. This partcular fidgeting perhaps holds him in good stead and reminds him of his old hairy days. Many of his detractors admit that he has a split-hair personality. His admirers can only grin. One of the wittest things that came out the dialogue process he re-started with India was his remark, " I have come with a new heart". You should have read the next day's newspapers to believe the excitement. Heart transplant, screamed one major daily. A completely New Heart...they went on and on. TV echoed in. He is Media's darling, this man.

Out-of-box is another major expression he popularised in India. Now everyone and his mother thinks out-of-the-box. The auto-driver I bargained with in the morning said, " I won't start the meter and won't quote any fare as well, lets strike a deal; you suggest the fare but mind you, magnanimity must come from the passanger". Talk out-of-the-box, simply lifted from the Gen's assertion that the bigger party-- read India -- must condescend. Last heard the Bollywood beauty Rani Mukerji has got an open-ended invitation to visit Pakistan and shoot there from none other than the Pakistani President himself. What better ways to better ties, cultural and informal. Team-Pakistan beat India hollow at the Kotla grounds. Their Prez was scoring on a different pitch.

The India-Pakistan relations are back on track. Thanks to an impulse felt by my fav dictator!

fake apologies

Britian says sorry to suspects for ricin blunder
April 16, 2005

I am not surprised by such abominable news items anymore. The Home Office in London has apologized to 10 men placed under controversial anti-terrorist control orders after it linked them to the ricin plot in London. To me it is a plain case of an about turn after putting ten innocent people through the toughest time in their lives for no sins of theirs. It was on the basis of the ricin scare that US secretary of state, egged on by his British cronies, scared the entire ensemble in the august precincts of the UN, one gloomy day. Iraq was soon invaded. The entire region plunged into deep chaos and a nation was caught up in a deep quag, it is still finding itself difficult to extricate from. Many US troops lost their lives and now lie in the Arlington cemetery. Their young lives cruelly cut short. The headstones call them war hero's. An important question however remains unanswered.

Who's war was this. Not America's. Not the average Iraqi's, for sure. The country is one large badland now. Hundreds of thousands have been maimed since. Many tender Iraqi lives were lost, mercilessly executed on roadsides and countryside. No Arlington's here but how can one define an Iraqi solider dead in his modest grave. Perhaps, a small unsung hero. The burden of heartaches and body bags could have been easily avoided but the neocons had already decided otherwise in Washington. London followed in the tracks. Modern historians will never miss to mention significant three developments. That the Gulf war-II was George Bush's personal agenda, that a certain black once-respectable gentleman Collin Powell, was utterly dishonest in his articulation to build the war tempo and Tony Blair, with his shoddy dossier was, well no guesses, a rank opportunist.

Now to the poison panic again. The British government, under Blair, once described as a typical salesman of a second hand car company, attempted to connect the 10 innocent men - who were detained without charge and trial for more than two years before being released under stringent conditions - to the ricin plot. Ricin can be readily precipitated from the remnants of the castor bean mash. Ricin in its toxic form consists of an "A" and "B" chain. The latter part attaches itself to the cell, and the A segment secretes itself into the ribosome, inhibiting protein synthesis. This results in the death of the cell. Victims of ricin poisoning may experience varying symptoms, including nausea, vomiting, headache, and shock that can lead to death. Ricin is 6,000 times more deadly than cyanide.

Spooky enough to make your hair stand up. So, when you have arrests. A bunch of them masterminding the poison plot, imagine the excitement. The British home department was hopping mad. After an agonizing two years the men were let off and the British government officially admitted having made a 'clerical error' when it said the grounds for the measures was that they 'belonged to and have provided support for a network of north African extremists directly involved in terrorist planning in the UK, including the use of toxic chemicals'. Kamel Bourgass, the only guilty bloke, is expected to spend at least 30 years in prison for the ricin conspiracy and the murder of Detective Constable Stephen Oake. The rest shall suffer quiet indignation and Britain will add another stain to its colorful raiment.

Sameer Bhat

A lil bit of Sam

I'm sharing some of my fantasies, fears and fancies that have shaped my consciousness ever since I was a kid. I've always been very fond of toons. I feel they hone our latent creativity and make us giggle as children. It is a secret, I still follow cartoons.

Tintin with a witty reporter's mind and his ever naughty Snowy prowling about in round circles in the old meadows of Marlinspike. God, the high I used to get as I turned pages under a blanket reading by an old emergency light - or my Dad's big torch -- on cold nights. I would be transported to fictional countries with Tintin and his terrier. We would chase conmen and ruffains together.

How I sent small packets of neat prayers up each time Tintin would be confronted with a hostile situation. I thought it is for real. The good must prevail. Tintin was good. So was Asterix in the Gaulish series. They are probably the most popular French comics in the world, and familiar to people of all ages in most European countries. I read nearly all the English translations. I feel blessed that I did. Much of what I think -- or do -- comes from the strength of character and the selflessness of the comic characters, I have known and treated as friends.

Then one of my worst fears have been the Vikings. Sounds a little strange. European in fear. I guess literature and books annihilate the latitutes as we know them. Vikings were for real. Only that I was afraid of them in the 21st century when these feared creatures existed a good 13 centuries back. They were Norse warriors who raided the coasts of Scandinavia, the British Isles, and other parts of Europe from the late 8th century to the 11th century. This period of European history (generally dated to AD 793 - AD 1066) is often called the Viking Age. The Vikings were fierce blokes and killed at random. They made cups from skulls and wore horned helmets. I would often wonder what Valhalla must be like. It is the name of the Viking heaven. It is Odin's home in heaven for the chosen, fallen Viking warriors.

My home was a long way from Europe. I spent my childhood in Kashmir -- the north of India while the pirates lived in the north of Europe. Somehow I thought they may come on broomsticks and smash my skull. Silly me. I still read the morning strip Hägar the Horrible. Hägar is an overweight Viking warrior who regularly goes off to invade England. The humor of the comic strip comes from his interactions with his longship crew (whose first mate, contrary to depictions of Vikings as big muscled warriors, is a short naïve fellow named Lucky Eddie) and his family (his wife Helga, his son Hamlet, his daughter Honi, his duck Kvack, and his dog Snert).

Sometimes, I think I am still a kid.
I can never let go off some stupid, silly but utterly sweet things in life!

Sam

Birthday Book

Zara Feb 4

Asim Feb12


---

Shanoo March 1
Salah March 1
Zoha March 7
Naveed March 17

---

Samiya Suhail April 13

--


Wasy May 16
Jatin May 24

---

Zoya June 5 

Abid June 9
Hamza June 24

--

Zubair (R cousin): July 2
Ovais July 16
Maheen July 18

--

Shazia: August 26

--

Hadi September 5
Samya Naseer September 9

Showkat (R cousin): Sep 22

Bharat: September 30


--

Kokes October 7
Sandeep October 8
Isra Oct 20
Haider Oct 26 (1996) 


---

Tanseer Nov 1
Rihan Nov 2

Umeed Nov 26

Watch out for my posts and poems on my Valley!
Kashmir...my vale!

A rainy wintry day!

New Delhi, Capital city of a Cacophony called India. Circa 2004, on a cold damp day

The chill is unsettling and touches you in a hundred different place. It leavers you quiet & cold. I feel beautiful in winters. Earlier today, I walked in the drizzle. Such lovely globs of rain fell, all over. I gazed in the open skies. It was overcast & tenderly angry. The rain splashed against my pug nose and ran down my neck. Nature is never unjust. A small street- dog was drenched to the bone, so was an old beggar. Blue drops of rain, so they appeared, danced atop a Mercedes' car as I made my way past a flyover. The drops danced & swayed to a blue tune. People around me looked subdued and hurrying for their homes, to a hot mug of coffee, or a hot hug , perhaps.

The feeling of cosiness in simply surreal about winters. Your long for some heat. A fireplace or a heat blower to warm your spunks. Many a butts are centrally heated in the wilderness of this metropolis. The less privileged huddle on promenades, palms facing the bright fire emanating from a used oil can, stuffed with a little wood, some dry twigs and lots of attempts. Bonfires! Once lit, these crude fires burn for hours -- in gusts & thunder. There is a meaning to this chaos.

A harried sparrow seemed lost in the downpour. A bad, cold world , so full of hatred & a poor little bird.

Summer may bloom the land with flowers & fruits but winter carries romance in its lap. Nature never gets any closer. Rains, winds, lightning & clouds -- the blend doesn't get any better. For every shudder, a warm ring hovers about the soul and for each clatter, some excited hands rub in tandem. Lots of peanuts & butter popcorn.

I'm in my element in this season. Born in relatively cooler climes, I reckon, it comes naturally is me . I can reflect & think, clearer.

The soft rain continued to fall. The world around me went on with its usual pace. Lights, restaurants, new year preparations. A billion resolutions. I walked on.


Here feel we but the
penalty of Adam
the seasons'
difference, as
the icy fang
and churlish chiding
of the winter's wind,
which , when it
bites and blows
upon my body.
Even till I shrink with
cold, I smile & say,
'This is no flattery'.

William Shakespeare
As U like it

Sameer Bhat

Diwali

In the land of a million gods, celebrating the greatest festival that this land knows of !

Some joys spill love loads
on a love lorn world
Touch us in ways unknown
to rekindle our soul
When lights, glows & wicks
Lap the lands , over
Moments which one wished
stay on for ever
Endless stars and sparkles,
dazzle in the night sky
Big bangs rent the air
to million eager claps
Sweets and smiles
Winding lines to the mall
It is Diwali time folks
the entire nation is
on a ball

Sameer Bhat

A cool-look sel
Pic Sam

Innocence!
Pic Sam

God bless us all!

When I am dead

When I am dead, my dearest
sing no sad songs for me
As my souls flees away
dig no crosses for me
When I am lowered, my dearest
hold no hands for me
As my echoes wear out
read no praises for me
When the lights go off, my dearest
lit no candles for me
As my casket shows no more
drop no tears for me
When the gusts go strong, my dearest
breathe no gasps for me
As my being blurs away
leave no sighs for me
When the spring breaks again, my dearest
Watch me in the cowslips, by my grave

Sameer Bhat

Elections 2004

A surprise results bring back Congress to power and stuns a complacent BJP

Congress 220. BJP 189. Politics is a dicey business. No one could have foreseen this outcome. No TV or newspaper exit poll came close. The election results of 2004 in India, surprised all and sundry. As it stunned the joyous BJP and astonished a weary Congress, proving all pollsters horribly wrong, India awoke to a pleasant surprise. The temple-squadders lay badly crushed under the full steam bull dozer of a resurgent Congress with Sonia Gandhi firmly in the drivers seat and a jolly Laloo shouting 'Peep' from the conductors pew. An even pleased comrade Surjeet, the grand old Marxist, worked the red flag from atop the juggernaut. Little birds chripped along the tracks. Kapil sibal, roared in the TV studios occassionaly grinning at the enfeebled BJP also rans.

Congress is at the cusp of history. Ready to mingle with the communists to form the next government. I was a trifle surprised at the rather unexpected results but amused nonetheless. I never believed the India Shining crap. Inspite of the government cronies cheering from the pages of newspapers informing us that the GDP growth rate is phenomenal, unprecedented. That shops are overflowing with consumer goods, government storehouses are overflowing with grain. As a fact just outside this circle of feel-good, the past five years have seen the most violent increase in rural-urban income inequalities since independence. Farmers steeped in debt are committing suicide in hundreds, 40% of the rural population in India has the same foodgrain absorption level as sub-Saharan Arica, and 47% of Indian children under three suffer from malnutrition.

Then there was that dreaded POTA under which you cannot get bail unless you can prove that you are innocent - of a crime that you have not been formally charged with. It would be naive to imagine that Pota is being "misused". It is being used for precisely the reasons it was enacted. This year in the UN, 181 countries voted for increased protection of human rights. Even the US voted in favor. India abstained.

I'm glad that we'll have no more of those stupid yatras, no more saffornization of our texts, no more interference with our top educational institutes, no more state-sponsored pogroms and riots, no more blowing of tax payers money on useless propaganda and no more wait for an eternity to hear a word from the PM.

Wish the darkness is passe'.

Sameer may 14,2004.

A Jamshedpur detour

Of all the big business names in India TATA's is inarguably the most famous. From Tea to IT they own well over 150 companies and have a vast empire spanning an entire landscape. It is marked by more than a century of leadership, loyalty & legacy. The nerve center of TATA estates lies somewhere in a dusty town of south Bihar-- Jamshedpur to be precise.

I visited the TATA football academy in Jamshedpur this fall. The vastness of the place struck me. It smells of steel & sweat of a thousand working hands. The air holds still & almost draws you in by its aura. This township exudes work culture for ages now. The football academy has grassed side walks & trees that lead you to the stands. Early morning, I watched the boys in their maroons, a whole lot of them . They practiced in the lush greens with a hurried pace. The players were youthful, perhaps culled from all over the state, possibly employees with the TATAs . God knows All of them toiled hard at the ball, as if it were a prized possession, a king's emerald. One watched in amusement as they pulled & tugged at each other . The nets went on deep inside the morning till they perspired & wetted their shirts. All through, a middle-aged man with long flowing locks yelled & shouted at them. Coach, someone whispered. His incessant mutterings gave him an air of seniority . A long whistle. Pause followed.

Breakfast time. They retire to the 'academy mess' and instantly perch themselves on the furniture laid. Fruit juice , toasts, milk and jam. They eat but with an immaculate ease. Though tired they look vivacious. Talking rolls on entertainingly, jokes burst and pranks are Boys, I muse. The team bathes itself. A series of showers, all orderly done, makes a unique bathroom. It is an extended one, long and airy. Spick &span, it smells of new soap. The guys are all naked and enjoy their shower, all in a series, all once. A team isn't cumbered, it is free from inhibitions, I guess. A daze of freshness spills over & readies them for a hot day.

I approached and met with the academy management. They are warm and cordial .Very steady in their dealings, the officials go about their work, taking notes, planning schedules. Trophies & feathers won by the TATA team adorn the glassed racks. A pump office bearer was cleaning the panes hard. He shoos away a fly resting on one frame. They fly takes off, circles , returns & settles. The management informs me that their club is the defending champion of almost very major tournament in north India. They speak with a distinct pride that swells their chests. I can notice a commitment writ large on their faces. The feeling is learning as I leave the office. Discipline is our punch line, reads a little card on the exit. It shakes in my mind like a reed in the wind. Only if this were the tenor of our establishment, our society. Yet we cannot live our daily lives in a realm of pure ideas, I know.

I hang around the place. Everything is well managed. Each bar painted, every door numbered. Things get real in this part of the country, no doubt. I understand the reason why TATAs are fabled.

Evening session starts at half past five. The team is divided in two. Whites & yellows. I am told this fosters in - depth bounds. Many a supporters have turned up. There is howling & booing. The entire field gets electrifying. The boys run, skip, & sledge-all in the game. They side the football and toss it like a plumage. The yellows win 1-0. All hug in the end, no hard feelings, all friends. They pack their little bags. Ready for a real game, slated next week. Eager to take over. A legacy to carry forward, they translate inspiration into sheer determination. Specks or innocence mingled with the right touch of confidence.

I return with found memories of the place, the academy and the club. It sits in the corner of my mind. They win the game, I doodle!

Sameer

2 thousand 4

2004. New year came to us beautifully. In an upmarket shopping mall, in a maddening crowd of young revelers. The ambience was surreal. Guys and gals swaying to melodious tunes, confetti raining from the far heavens, crackers adorning the night skies and a lot of laughter. I havn't seen so many nice faces together for a long time. DNKY's, Nike's and Swaroski's blended in an amazing sea of party-hoppers. Bewildered cars blew horns continually struggled for parking space in vain. All on a bitterly cold winter night in a city of ten million souls. All mirthful, all ready to embrace the comming year, forgetful of the little trouble that life is!

Once inside the multiplexes, lights in may varied hues hit us, me and my pals, all over. The crowd was ecstatic. After a protract spell, we shook our legs. The girls too dropped hair. Umpteen number of coffee mugs and countless jokes. I was laughing out loud in the dying moments of 2003. As the countdown for the new year began, a thousand hearts throbbed in unison. The air reeked of a festive spirit and loud cries of joy rented it as the newborn arrived at the stroke of midnite. With aplomb.

Looking back at the last year as it limped into wilderness, I had a few thoughts, I have found and lost hopes . Got some good friends and lost a few silly beliefs . Old bonds grew fonder. Around me... An immoral war, an unjust victory. Scams, deaths and conviction. A strong economy, some just acquittals and peace initiatives. Bush, Saddam and Musharaf haunted better part of the calendar that lies in trash-bin now.

Hope the tousled, ragged images of fallen kings would be spared in the times to come. Hope the economy gallops further. Hope some sense comes to our politicians. Hope we have more of KHNH's. Hope peace basks us for an eternity . Hope love blesses us! No resolutions, only heartfelt wishes.
Welcome Crica 2004

Sameer

Knowledge of Learning

As an ancient civilization, India knew sciences & under stood art eons ago. It could boast of some of the earliest universities and education system, unknown to mankind till that time when much of the world lived in bushes. Some of the finest minds and an array of exceptionally gifted litterateurs were distinctly Indians. Alas! Not now. In the race to a more scientific, learned & logical age, India stood still, moving by small steps when the world at large galloped like spotted gazelles, never to look back. India was left behind in something very cardinal ~ Education.

Motley of factors compound to reason this fallacy. Fundamentally, flaws exist in our school education, our higher education & the way we actually impart education. Government & bureaucracy are equally hand - in - glove.

The super-structure of a great nation is laid on its school benches. The state of Government schools in India, where most of the nation is educated, is simply put abysmal. A paltry pass, percent age of 26. Mere 100 teaching days in a year, poorly trained teachers, overcrowded .classes or classes with no benches at all (to lay foundation of a nation on). These are real stats. The dropout rate is quite high. In India, the schooling levels can get alarmingly low. Parents are dissuaded in sending their wards to school because schools go up to a certain grade & are often run-down. Although elementary education is largely free, hidden costs are many. Students abhor schools because there is no demarcation between punishment & discipline. No matter 35 million children in the age-group 6-10 are not in schools.

Apart from keeping the fees stagnant at 50 cents a month for close to fifty year, Govts in near succession have lacked a clear national educational policy. Red tape is too involved (incidentally their own children study in public schools or aboard & often cites poverty as a hurdle to illiteracy. Not with standing the fact that even the poorest of parents are keen to have their children educated. It is another matter that various barriers keep them at bay. The rot lies in the administrative inefficiency & indifference. For a change, why not grant some efficient professionals a space in our education vast lands. A degree of accountability & hard work coupled with greater results is expected of them.

A recent survey revealed that north Indian parents spend an average of little over 318 Rs/year on education expenses such as fees, basic books, slates et al to send a child to a govt. primary school. This is a major financial burden, especially for poor families with several children of ­ school-going age. The government of land would do its inhabitants a great peace of favor by increasing the level of expenditure on education from approximately 3% of GNP to 8% of GNP. More than the PM's annual musings, India needs concrete steps on the all important education front.

Another problem area is language. The constitution of India recognizes, 15 national languages but there are 227 recognized mother tongues plus dialectical variations. Regional and national language apart, the introduction of English as sort of a neutral national language is need of the hour. We can well expect an increased number of students willing to pursue higher education, as they will be well conversant with the language of science & technology. English long ceased to smack of colonialism; it is a global language now. It merits to be taught from class 1 in government schools.

A major obstacle is the allocation of funds that are available. In the past, institutions of higher learning have been supported, at the expense of primary schools, with the intention of developing homegrown talent. In effect, other countries like US, the UK etc siphon off computer software writers & engineers, leaving India to foot the education bills. Meanwhile primary schools are left wanting & those village schools, which exist, are especially handicapped with infrastructure. It never occurs to the establishment to end the subsidies to the universities, privatize higher education & let the Govt schools flourish, let the tiny classrooms have chalks & benches. Let a great nation be raised.

Sameer Bhat

Hindus and Muslims: The reality!

When the words sound similar
and expressions are familiar
When our food is the same
and we love the identical game
When the air is very akin
and so is the color of our skin
When people always live side by side
and our laughter is so allied
When we share the same fears
and there is no difference in our tears
When our culture is cognate
and celebrations get too ornate
When we are taught the same books
and possess indistinguishable looks
When the hearts beat in unison
and the lips move without reason
It gets difficult for a while
when Shahrukh and Amitab smile
to tell their cognomen
Hey blokes...Love thy countrymen!

sameer

A Snow for Peace

The winter of 2003 sprang its first major snowfall in the picturesque vale of Kashmir today on Feb 17. The shows, a welcome respite from a protract dry spell clung fast onto the dells, so wide. This was in all probability the most awaited of the downpours and albeit it came late, people loved every bit of it. Lovely flakes of snow in their varied shaped danced all the way from the heavens & made their drop all over the beautiful landscape of Kashmir. It snowed almost incessantly & beautifully across the silent mountains, rafted roofs, forlorn pastures and the parched souls of Kashmir. One almost stood enchanted for a while in this incredible confetti of white. I cannot but marvel at the confusing maze of willow branches & wires in the bylanes hugged by barbecues of snow.

The orchards & sods present a most exquisite sight as almost every thing is painted a thick white. Although shivering cold , the spunks are high, one can warm by .

In these extra-ordinary times when everything eludes the Kashmiris, at least the good 'ol snows don't fail them. However in a place where nothing can get right at a given time, a major electricity cut has begun since the clouds opened up & I jot my musings in pitch darkness by my the slender flame of my candle, listening to BBC London on a lone transistor, talking war mongering , courtesy America.
All this while it snows silently outside and in the United states.
Perhaps God 's own way of calling us to have peace upon his Lands ... White signfies peace , as they say!



The whitest of them all
and the softest of the falls
snow, snow beautiful snow.
many flakes & bits of it
Drench the twigs & buds
falls on hands & heads
Rooftops, tree tops & topless rills;
on highways & lowlands
upon the pen & a little nest;
over these mighty mountains
and the tiny eggs in the nestling;
Snows stick to black umbrellas
and the aquiline noses of my people;
Pilling on the moulds & trusses
splashing many faces & tresses
Snow, God has a treasure-trove
Give us more of this love

Sameer Bhat

A war for Kashmir

Amidst a heightened threat of a war betwixt India and Pakistan

A comely piece of earth once grew

Apples, honey and love it brew

spotted gazelles hopped and sprung
Golden maids sang and flung
Elixir were the heavenly wafts
Myraid, its glinting crafts
Alas! evil cast a ghastly spell
that rang the deadmen's knell
Gaints twain locked their horns
Petals blew and left out thorns
Clouds of gloom loom so large
Mirths flee and trolls barge
One hollers, the other haggles
And an army lividly struggles
Bowels and blood, I do puke
Tell me, mate, who do they nuke
Is this a fight for peace
Or a battle for a forbidden land
why do our greys cease
After all, killing ain't that grand!

Sameer shaban

Nukes in a paradise!

God Almighty shall ask one of His many angels to sound the trumpet. Time the fourth dimension, will stand still. Moments later everything would be destroyed, each form to the finest of smithereens. The yonder sun will fell down to an arm's stretch. Waters shall bubble, concrete’s melt and airs flee. Winds of the hell will blow to announce in every cleft that the day of judgement has come. That would be an end of the world. Dooms day!

This is what the religious scriptures have to say about the ultimate fate of our globe, universe per se. Wait!
We have all this horror in the making. Fillip the mirror the other side around. Imagine for a heartbeat’s span.
India, the land of antiquity, tolerance and much more, decides that its patience is at the end of its tether, apparently because of continued terrorism on its soil. In the same vein it refuses to acknowledge that Kashmir, the cause of this entire ruckus, is a dispute, rebuffs it is a problem even. Albeit, contrary to Indian claims, some sixty thousand people have perished in the God’s paradise over the last one decade. Wherein football grounds are graveyards now, a couple of thousand little orphans greet you, tears welled up in their innocent eyes. An infringing stick grenade readies to cripple yet another teenager. All this is certainly not normal; it merits to be called a problem, at least.

Pakistan, the ineluctably naughty neighbor capitalizes on all this, all the while with their political, diplomatic and moral support. Actually it has been more, which is an open secret. President Musharraf, the eloquent smart thing perhaps fancies a little nap off the sheen blue waters of the Dal, in the cool zephyrs of emperor Jehangir’s ‘firdose’, but for the knights on the prowl. They don’t let him, ergo his capers!

Bloated with rage, India attacks Pakistan, one fine day. Pakistan holds back for a while and ardently defends its sovereignty. Given the conventional advantage India enjoys, it makes progressive strides. Jingoism swells. A furious Pakistan retaliates with a 30-kiloton nuclear bomb, one of the many in their insouciant stockpile! What then, Doomsday fast-forward!

The temperatures will touch to ten lakh degrees or equivalent to that in the Sun. A giant mushroom of death. Everything will get blown, our intransigence too, to the oblivion. There shall be confetti of nuclear radiation on the reddened sods, blackened souls and the charred remains. Then it would be a big commingle of gloom.
India would answer in the same coin. Pakistan would be strewn with arms, legs, blood a lot of their arrogance. A trillion decibels of destruction. Sock it to unless it is no more, Jinnah’s dream cut short.

God Almighty must already be feeling terribly complexed. Messieurs Musharraf and Vajpayee doing their dirty rehearsals. Stretching and strafing His wonderful creation. All this dehumanization for a small paradise, down here, that once subsisted. We, if you’ll excuse me the expression, India and Pakistan, haggle about it like the two monkeys for a cake of cheese in those nursery rhymes. We have mowed its backwoods, transgressed its virginity, poisoned its rills and yes…murdered both its innocence and innocents. Last shot dead a sane soul called Lone. A heaven that is now a haven for carbinieries and musketeers. Uniformed and masked. It isn’t a vast minuet now; it long ceased to be one.

One billion and hundred forty million of the mankind across the divide do not want to be blackmailed into a calamitous war. There are a myriad ways to sort out differences. No daisy cutters, only daises and daffodils here, please.

India and Pakistan, we, if you will again excuse me the expression, understand one language, share the same waters, breathe the same airs. One taste, one flavor, the same likes and dislikes, a similar passion. After all we have been one people, surely we don’t need to kill each other.

The suave General said yesternight that he wouldn’t nuke India. Indian premier Vajpayee followed suit, said war is not a priority. Let this tenor prevail! God, we can wait for the judgement day.

I invoke Cicero…
I prefer the most unfair peace to the most righteous war.


Sameer

Lovely rains

On a beautiful rainy August day

The Summer's simmered aggrandize
And the plants withered in size
As the mercury refused to slip
Life longed for a long dip
The sun smiled its way
And the airs lost their day
Then ...God's finger touched a white
Water's poured by His might
It rained a beautiful rain
On the mountains, forests & my lane
An airy feeling crossed us all
The orchads and fruits had had a ball
Spunks warmed and the sods sang
I could smell the earthly tang
Far away...A petite lil gal drenched her mane
Hopping along the hills, somewhere in that rain.

Sameer Bhat Aug 23, 2001

My friend

Think of me sometimes
As the oceans and mountains part us
Hold on to my rhymes
As the flowers hold the truss
You are there and I lay here
Dabbling all alone
Ye are far, yet so near
Mingled in my tune
Had I wings, I would fly
Hover in the land of kings
for you, on the sly
I can hear ye speak with that charm
The affection that keeps hearts so warm ...
Come back now you affable lil swain
But for you, it won't snow and it won't rain.

SAMEER BHAT June 5,2001

My good old chum

An voice came and touched me fine
A loving chum came on the line
Heard him after a long while
Felt the flowers and waters smile
His knock stirred some divine streak
I remembered our 'hide and seek'
I missed the loving times.
Those dulcet school rhymes
The oddity, that love, those paths
I recollected our impish baths
My friend... the same he
Despite his pelf
The same countenance
That real self
My beats flutter, his do throb
Thy sweet memories make me sob
You'll be there, in my thoughts
I pine for the love you exude in lots.

Sameer Bhat

Tryst in the Air

A sweet rendevous, that never materialized

I was all jovial
I don't know why
Someone kept me merry
Don't ask me who
A ferment held me high
Won't tell ye which
A tryst was in the air
Don't enquire where
A slick feeling touched me soft
Cannot explain what
The light didn't reach me
I don't know why

Sameer Bhat Jun 22, 2001

Kashmir....my vale!

My loving vale, what makes you cry
Why do your airs sigh
What ails thee mountains
What cessates ye fountains
How did the blossoms cease
And where is that morning breeze
Who set thy shrines aglow
And why doesn't your Jhelum flow
Aren't my pines lank.
And why did my devotion sank
None of those holidaying crows
And none of the bracing snows
Those joyful sweet songs
Are they replaced by our wrongs
That edifying birdie's chirping
Shadowed by the red's dripping
Our warm nuptial surges
Mellowed by the painful dirges
Shall cool zephyrs kiss ye again
Will groovy buds adorn ye again

Sameer Bhat