Reaching out!!!

Needing someone is like needing a parachute. If he isn't there the first time you need him, chances are you won't be needing him again.


Samy

Horsing around

Lets horse around and run wild in the snows!

samy

A very Special Drink

There was something about the drink
it felt lemony as it sank
Billions of sparkles on my cheek
it was tingling as it rose

It was little but it was sharp
it felt bitter-sweet within
I don't always plim like this
but couldn't resist the yank

Samy

My fav economist!

There are a great variety of identities to which we simultaneously belong. I can be, at the same time, an Asian, an Indian citizen, a Bengali with Bangladeshi ancestry, an American or British resident, an economist, a dabbler in philosophy, an author, a Sanskritist, a strong believer in secularism and democracy, a man, a feminist, a heterosexual, a defender of gay and lesbian rights, with a non-religious lifestyle; from a Hindu background, a non-Brahmin, and a non-believer in after-life.

Dr Amartya Sen, speaking in New Delhi on Tuesday March 28, 2006.

Amartya Sen teaches Economics and Philosophy at the Harvard university. He bagged the Nobel Prize in Economics in 98 for his phenomenal work on human development theory, welfare economics, and the underlying mechanisms of poverty.

Ps- I am currently reading his latest book 'The Argumentative Indian'.

Wanna hold my hand here!

Mon ami...Je sais que je ne peut pas vous avoir mais je suis béni vous avoir aimé

Samy

Why we miss??

Why does one miss? What is that makes us miss someone? How do we miss some and not all? Frankly, the very thought befuddles me. The idea is confusing, I understand.

We miss even when we are physically surrounded. Not many can make out that these are the drab moments of absense that tickle us in our sub-conciousness. The hard pangs. When we miss like hell. Sometimes, when one person is missing, the whole world seems depopulated.

All of us miss. The strong and the enfeebled. I guess we miss because we care. And because we love. It is such a exquisite human trait. I face it. That deep lump in my throat. Heart skipping doubly fast. The bizarre feeling of desperation. Of helplessness. Of trying to obliterate the distances. Efface what's between us. Can't. Strange worldly affairs. Norms. Decorum. These notions have been strifling human desires for ages.

There are times when I just want to break free. I trust Søren Kierkegaard, the maverick 19th century Danish existentialist when he says, 'It belongs to the imperfection of everything human that man can only attain his desire by passing through its opposite.' Life throws these hard snowballs at me. I hope I have the courage to hold forth and duck and throw bigger balls back at her.

Last night, my eyes turned torpid reading a book. I remember, the last lines I read...If I never met you, I wouldn't like you. If I didn't like you, I wouldn't love you. If I didn't love you, I wouldn't miss you. But I did, I do, and I will.

I vegged out soon after. A lost smile swimming in my thoughts. Only I know its destination!

Samy

Knock-Knock

Everytime the door bell rang
It is you, my sloppy heart sang
And...
Everytime the phone beeped
It is you, my thoughts leaped

Samy

When do I think of you?

I think of you amidst a crowd and the chorus of city sounds
for that is my song, and you are the music
You are my first thought of each new day
and the last image I glimpse,
as my eyes are closed upon a feathered pillow.
In that secret place called sleep, it is you that I search for,
through shades of darkness and clouds of cotton.
And, when the final sleep does come
and if there is thought... it will be of you.

Sponging: Joe

Samy

To wear or not to wear

The Western world is caught up in a flux. In london, the law lords today overturned a previous court ruling that Muslim teenager Shabina's human rights were violated when she was banned from wearing a Jilbab -- a full gown -- at her school. The French have an open ban against wearing the Hijab. Belgium and Germany are considering doing the same. The Dutch recently introduced strident measures for probable immigrants, failing which they cannot live in The Netherlands.

The European motivation for the ban is draped in references to their secular tradition. Public schools -- they argue -- form a privileged closed universe which emphasizes the values of male-female equality and mutual respect. So no overt symbols of religosity, please! No head-scarves. No body-covering. Point taken, monsieurs.

I think there is something profoundly hypocritical in banning religious symbols in the name of secularism and gender equality -- while the French government continues to subsidize private education for the globally influential misogynist religion -- the Catholic Church -- at a higher rate per pupil than public schools. Wearing the hijab is "a sort of aggression" Jacques Chiraq, the lank French Prez says. An aggression by choice, I surmise.

The choice to don a scarf or wear a beard or put on a cross should be the sole liberty and right of an individual. I -- for instance -- won't like my girl friend to wear a scarf. However, if she wants to wear one, either out of religious reasons or as a matter of choice, I would not mind. I reckon modern states must have no business telling school-children how not to dress. If the Dutch do not feel intimidated by a topless girl walking out of a beach -- I would sure enjoy that -- do they really need to fret at a frail girl covering her hair. The mere comparisons are outrageous.

It is about cultures. Hijab is to many muslims what a turban is to a religious sikh. Take a hat away from a cowboy. Take a yarmukle off a jewish head. Take a kimono from a Jap. Baloney! Globalisation was supposed to blur these distinctions. So we see western tunics being worn in public schools in my homeland India and elsewhere. If wearing denims is okey and I believe it is, so must be the Hijab. We can't claim to be liberal while go about banning cultural symbols.

It is about race. The Europeans have practiced it. The Brits, the French especially. When the français needed their erstwhile subjects to lay train roads or dig tunnels for them back in the 1940's and 50's they got them to work like mules. The immigrants significantly contributed towards french nation building*. Only when their second generation grows up in Paris suburbs and starts attending schools, you go cold in your feet. It smacks of racism.

The Europeans practice an absurd, extreme form of secularism which has indeed come to rubbish everything that secularism stands for. We seem to be at such a point in history where we care too much about the rights of birds, beatles, trans-sexuals and squirrels. When governments enmasse abolish something that is central to the belief of so many people, the cherished human rights go up in flames. Like Jeanne d'Arc. That was 1431. This is 2006.

sameer bhat

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------
* As the major colonial power after Britain, France could call on a potential workforce from what is called the Maghreb (North-West Africa: Algeria, Morocco, Tunisia), certain countries in Sub-Saharan Africa (Senegal), Indochina (South-East Asia: Vietnam, Cambodia, Laos) and the DOM-TOM (Départements d'outre-mer and Térritoires d'outre-mer) like Guadeloupe, Martinique and French Guyana (in the Caribbean) and Reunion Island (in the Indian Ocean).
The vast majority of these were from Algeria, the jewel in the crown of the French colonial empire. (Source: The University of Sunderland)

Former President Jimmy Carter builds a home in Africa.

Dreamz

I think we dream so we don't have to be apart so long. If we're in each others dreams, we can be together all the time.
Thomas Hobbes (1588–1679)
English philosopher and anthropologist.

I dreamt a tiny dream
I stood in a bright vale
Someone crept by my side
I kept looking at the sky

I tugged at the figure
It was standing very quiet
I shouted at the wilderness
The eyes never turned to me

I threw water at the swan
The drops resembled a teardrop
When cobs and pens swing
my whooper swan shall fly

We ran with eyes shut
on a vast emerald field
Wind blew on my face
God! Let this dream go on

Samy -- after a dream!

I am unwell!

There are times when the self becomes too much with you. When you want to lie down and just laze around. When you flip through the TV remote and cruise endless channels. The sameness of TV. Tonelessness. Someone truly called it an idiot box. The incessant commercials. The reruns, the resays, the reshows. You want to read something. Water your grey cells. You don't. You feel sick in your tummy. A moth lifts from your heart, takes a full cricle and sits plumply back again. You think something. Impish, naughty meanderings. You long for solace. It doesn't come.

Many people will never understand you in life. You may be good. In your heart. In your thoughts. It happens often, whenever you want to hear someone, the voices go dim. Whenever you want to express yourself, the feelings don't come. Whenever you want to hug, the distances grow long like shadows towards evening. I guess, we must learn to striddle life as it comes. And it never comes easy!

You love and feel stupid. You don't love and feel empty. You yearn and feel wretched. You don't yearn and feel listless. You miss someone and go bonkers in your head. You don't miss and accuse being called heartless. Strange ways of a sloppy world!

I know I am being Socratic today. He was an ancient Athenian philosopher and teacher to Plato and Xenophon. I am a student of life.

Generally I am not like this.
Just one of those days.

Samy

Love is.....!

love is not a color
love is not a game
love is just a feeling
love is really lame

love will make u smile
love will make u cry
love will make u confused
love will make u ask why

love is really stupid
love makes me wana die
love will come to an end
love will then make u cry

samy

Love is a Force of Nature

I watched the much awaited flick Brokeback Mountain. It is an unusual movie. It talks about forbidden emotions. It rips open closeted taboos. It blurs that thin rubicon between what is acceptable and what should be unacceptable. The film dwells upon the little secrets that make life worthwhile. Secrets that often go to the grave as we die. Impossible love!

We often lead straight, normal, regular lives. Acceptable and loved. Maverick director Ang Lee touches upon a very sensitive topic -- at a time of extreme rightwingism -- and comes out with amazing results. The film is a powerhouse of emotions. Highly anticipated and told with stunning truthfulness. One word: Intense.

My guess is that the film won't do brisk business in India. It is not your usual hollywood fare. Huge heros. Black hawks. Dazzle. Imagery. Nothing of that sort. The film borders on the offbeat genre. It is European art-house in its overall feel. The silences speak. Audiences in India generally require a big dose of everything. Emotions, melodrama, action -- whatever! Brokeback has subdued, real emotions but nothing appears loud. It is all very very aesthetic. There is nothing for the pedestrian. I reckon, apart from our liberal intellectuals, queer activists and may be a limited brainy lot like it.

Set against the sweeping vistas of Wyoming and Texas, Brokeback Mountain is the story of two handsome young men Ennis del Mar -- quiet and lot of airs -- played by Heath Ledger and Jack Twist -- naughty and optimistic -- played by Jake Gyllenhaal.They meet on a shepherding job on the Brokeback Mountain in Wyoming. The year is 1963. The world which Ennis and jack have been born into is at once changing rapidly and yet scarcely evolving. Both young men seem certain of their set places in the heartland - obtaining steady work, marrying and raising a family - and yet hunger for something beyond what they can articulate. When Aguirre dispatches them to work as shepherds up on the majestic Brokeback Mountain, they gravitate towards camaraderie and then a deeper intimacy. The film beautifully documents their complex and emotional relationship over the next twenty years.

Jack Twist: [looking over at Ennis in the firelight; he has laid back and is looking up at the stars, smiling] Anything interesting up there in heaven?
Ennis Del Mar: [for the first time in a long time, content] I was just sending up a prayer of thanks.
Jack Twist: For what?
Ennis Del Mar: [with a wink and a smile] For you forgettin' to bring that harmonica. I'm enjoyin' the peace and quiet.

I won't spoil the party for those who are yet to catch it.

It is indeed an epic American love story. Career defining performances. Marvellous cinematography. Romantic. 130 minutes of emotive trek. Ridden with obstacles. Alone, private moments. Far from the maddening crowds. Love can be impossible!

The original story ' Brokeback Mountain' has gotten the coverted Pulitzer Prize, the highest prize in literature in the US. At the 78th Academy Awards, the movie bagged the Best Director - Ang Lee, Best Adapted Screenplay (Larry McMurtry and Diana Ossana) and Best Original Score - (Gustavo Santaolalla). They didn't give it the best film trophy. Love, as they say, isn't so easy!

Whats more ...the film's already grabbed 50 different awards, chiefly:

59th BAFTA Award
Directors Guild of America Award
European Film Award
63rd Golden Globe Award
Independent Spirit Award
Producer's Guild Award
62nd Venice International Film Festival: "Golden Lion" for Best Film
Writers Guild of America Award

sameer bhat

A date with the Left

Wednesday morning rush hour. My mate, Wassy was taking his usual trot to office when he spotted one of India's most sought after and powerful couples.

Prakash and Brinda Karat.

A quick word and the lovely couple graced Wassy's leather dairy with their famous autographs. They say outside of the establishment only the Karat family is taken seriously.

Prakash Karat is a leading intellectual and the chief of Indian commies. Smart, well-educated and fiery, Prakash is an almuni of the prestigeous University of Edinburgh where he was rusticated for anti-apartheid protests but taken back on good behaviour. Low-profile, articulate and widely respected for his sustained work for the under-priviledged.

Brinda Karat is the ultimate activitist. A rajya sabha member of parl, she is the first woman to be a member of the CPI(M) Politburo. Her father Sooraj Das was the head of the British engineering firm Stuarts and Llyods based in Calcutta. Brinda was educated at the elite Welham Girl's School in Dehradun and is a rank-holder from the illustrious Miranda House, Delhi. While working for Air-India in London, she campaigned against the mandatory wearing of skirts in the airlines. When she came back to India, Brinda worked for the people. Beautiful, savvy and a raspy voice!

(With thanks to Wassy for allowing me to reproduce the auto-graphs)
sam

Nature, I love thee!

Shall we gather at the river
Where bright angel feet have trod;
With its crystal tide forever
Flowing by the throne of God?

Samy

Deconstructing Dubya

They misunderestimated me — George Bush, Bentonville, Arkansas, 6 November 2000
One of Dubya's countless Bushisms

You may hate him or love him but you cannot afford to ignore George W. Bush. He is the world's most powerful man and singularly responsible for much of world's present mayhem.

Frankly, I don't like him. I have a bagful of reasons to despise Bush. He sounds arrogant and stupid. Many Indian diplomats I spoke to seemed mighty pleased with Bush's charm but that can only pass as the presidential hangover. Aren't we bowled over by almost every foreign dignitary who comes visiting. Remember Clinton.

First things first. This straight-talking cowboy misled the entire world into believing that Iraq possessed deadly weapons of mass destruction, when there were actually none. He soon turned into a war-monger -- thanks to his hawk-team -- and invaded two sovereign nations -- one after another -- in his first presidential term. Innumerable innocent people lost their lives in Bush's unjust wars. He continues to recklessly fiddle with the world order.

Bush thrives on controversy. He began with controversy. The Florida recount issue -- that brought him into power back in 2000 -- was invalid because it violated the equal protection clause of the 14th Amendment in the US constitution -- as different counties used different methods for determining voter intent. Bush had infact lost Florida by at least several hundred verifiable, legal votes. In a 5-4 decision, the U. S. Supreme Court put an end to the recounting of presidential votes in Florida, handing over the presidency to George on a platter.

He continued with controversy. 9/11 gave him a pretext to go marauding. He used every dirty trick to do that. There were attempts to impeach him in the US for misleading the nation. His blokes in the White house got indicted on felony counts for lying. He junked the Kyoto protocol, rubbished the International Court of Justice and often considers UN irrelevant. Intellectuals of the free world have no love lost for him. Chomsky to Finkelstein. Arundhati Roy to Harold Pinter.

He is -- however -- the golden boy of the right-wing club. He has a conservative mind and thinks like any Ayatollah of Iran.

However, despite himself, there is something about this man that calls for attention, if not admiration. True, he might lack the aura of Bill Clinton or the intellectual breadth of Al-Gore, Bush is no simpleton. I am sure, his policies and legacy will have a profound impact on the modern world. Politics to Economics.

Reverberations that may be difficult to snuff out very soon!

The man may appear bluffing to the world or to his beloved US but again he is always true to himself. He sticks his neck out everytime there is a crisis and stands by what he says. No wonder he often means business. That is one reason he appeals to many.

I am happy Bush gave India the best gift -- the civilian nuclear pact -- we could have ever anticipated. The move is likely to raise tempers back home in the US but as they say -- the man, lives off controversy! Loves it.

Thank you, mate!

sameer bhat

They knew it!

They knew it was in the coming. The strife in Iraq. The killings. The reprisal attacks. The civil war. The ghastly face of terrorism. As Bush warms upto India -- its newest friend in a unilateral world -- reports that U.S. intelligence agencies repeatedly warned the White House, starting in 2003, 'that the insurgency in Iraq had deep local roots, was likely to worsen and could lead to civil war'.

Sponging: But the term 'civil war', chillingly familiar from Lebanon in the 1970s or Algeria in the 1990s, is too neat: Iraq is embroiled in a war of all against all, supercharged mayhem in which Shia militias fight each other; the Kurds have a fully-fledged army; al-Qaida and foreign fighters work with Ba'athists and armed criminals run rackets. The road ahead leads to warlordism and anarchy, as The Guardian puts it.

Wayne White, a veteran State Department intelligence analyst, wrote recently that when it became clear that the 2003 report would forecast grim prospects for tamping down the insurgency, a senior official exclaimed rhetorically, 'How can I take this upstairs -- to CIA Director George Tenet?'

Was the caveat deliberately ignored? Was it another blip?

There were lives at stake. Poor Iraqi's at each other's thoats now and ofcourse the US military who find themsleves deeply sucked in the Iraq ruckus. How could such a significant report be overlooked?

Meanwhile, Bush rejoices in India. Dick perfects his bad shots. Rummy is busy addressing anti-commie speeches in true Truman-era style. No one seems to notice the small news-report that -- had it been acted upon -- might have saved the world a little more innocent blood.

sameer bhat

Lakeside Sentinel

Alone I dream of you,
Alone I hope and pray,
to God who is oh so merciful and powerful
to let me find my way.

Bush Baby Go Home

Here, an interesting write-up by Arundhati Roy in The Guardian, London

(Thats my fav Newspaper and fav writer)

Arundhati Roy
Wednesday March 1, 2006
The Guardian

On his triumphalist tour of this part of the world, where he hopes to wave imperiously at people he considers potential subjects, President Bush's itinerary is getting curiouser and curiouser. For his March 2 pit stop in New Delhi, the Indian government tried very hard to have him address our Parliament. A not inconsequential number of MPs threatened to heckle him, so Plan One was hastily shelved. Plan Two was that he address the masses from the ramparts of the magnificent Red Fort where the Indian prime minister traditionally delivers his Independence Day address. But the Red Fort, surrounded as it is by the predominantly Muslim population of Old Delhi, was considered a security nightmare. So now we're into Plan Three: President George Bush speaks from Purana Qila, the Old Fort.

Ironic, isn't it, that the only safe public space for a man who has recently been so enthusiastic about India's modernity should be a crumbling medieval fort?Since the Purana Qila also houses the Delhi zoo - George Bush's audience will be a few hundred caged animals and an approved list of caged human beings who in India go under the category of "eminent persons". They're mostly rich folk who live in our poor country like captive animals, incarcerated by their own wealth, locked and barred in their gilded cages, protecting themselves from the threat of the vulgar and unruly multitudes whom they have systematically dispossessed over the centuries.

So what's going to happen to George W Bush? Will the gorillas cheer him on? Will the gibbons curl their lips? Will the brow-antlered deer sneer? Will the chimps make rude noises? Will the owls hoot? Will the lions yawn and the giraffes bat their beautiful eyelashes? Will the crocs recognise a kindred soul? Will the quails give thanks that Bush isn't travelling with Dick Cheney, his hunting partner with the notoriously bad aim? Will the CEOs agree?

Oh, and on March 2 Bush will be taken to visit Gandhi's memorial in Rajghat. He's by no means the only war criminal who has been invited by the Indian government to lay flowers at Rajghat. (Only recently we had the Burmese dictator General Than Shwe, no shrinking violet himself.) But when George Bush places flowers on that famous slab of highly polished stone, millions of Indians will wince. It will be as though he has poured a pint of blood on the memory of Gandhi.
We really would prefer that he didn't.

It is not in our power stop Bush's visit. It is in our power to protest it, and we will. The government, the police and the corporate press will do everything they can to minimise the extent of our outrage. Nothing the Happy-news Papers say can change the fact that all over India, from the biggest cities to the smallest villages, in public places and private homes, George W Bush, incumbent president of the United States of America, world nightmare incarnate, is just not welcome.

(With Thanks, The Guardian)

Fall in Kashmir

Walk with me sometimes
upon nature's carpet of gold
Hum with me old rhymes
till we both grow old

Let's hear the leaves fall
on a lonely stretch of God
where the trees stand tall
upon a reddened sod

What if we hold hands
to look in the distance
we come across free lands
people lost in some trance

As we walk towards bliss
Would you latch onto me
No step do we ever miss
on land or upon a blue sea

samy

Extinguished Young

We may be one of the World's largest -- and the fastest -- growing economy. In Feb 2006, the benchmark Sensex index of the Bombay Stock Exchange breached the 10,000 mark for the first time since its launch in 1986, propelling us in a select list of bourses which trade above the magic figure of ten grands. We recently renamed our national airlines --to Indian from Indian Airlines-- signifying our growing confidence. Our growth rate is well above expectations -- at 8% -- and second only to China. The Indian government allowed IIMs to set up foreign campuses. At the World Economic Forum in Davos Switzerland, arguably the globe’s most important gathering of corporate elites -- this year -- the omnipresent slogan was: India is “the world’s fastest growing free-market democracy.” Achievements that do every Indian proud.

It is however in small, nondescript parts of the country -- outside of the glare of media flash-lights, neon glitz and the Ac-ed comfort -- that India fails miserably. It flunks to understand its rapidly growing global stature. And the institution that brings in this completely unwanted shame is perhaps the most revered. The Indian Army. Quietly in a remote Kashmiri hamlet of Handwara, army troopers -- in a state of battle readiness -- kill 4 kids last week. In cold blood. The kids, as late reports pour in, were playing a friendly game that is at the heart of every Indian -- Cricket. Ages 8 to 9. Plucked unripe. Perhaps too young. A promising future cut short in a barrage of death-beans. Software engineers, Sachin's. Who knows? Nothing now!

There was a furore in the valley for one day. A shut-down. An army spokesperson -- expectedly -- rebuffed the reports. Sonia Gandhi -- India's real power centre -- issued a statement saying sorry.

The news appeared on inside pages in major media outlets. The front page is too crammed up these days explaining in finer details how Prez Bush will alight from Air Force one. Hand around hip with Laura, the librarian. A good wife. Meantime, lesser mortals like mom's of the slain children cry silently at the fresh graves. One mother, I learn't, put a cricket bat near her son's eternal resting space. Trying to seek some shy solace. The newspaper's won't tell you that, stupid. They are busy checking what the visiting Texican shall have for breakfast on March 1.

Why do we forget the respect for humanity? Why do we deliberately hurt? Why do we appear so heartless? How can we pump bullets in 7-year olds, playing in their school ground? Ruthless, ain't it? Incidents such as these must shame us all!

As we continue to grow, we forget many things that come assocaited with power. Accountibility is just one of them.

Sameer

Mixed Messages

Compare this:
First week of Feb, 2006:
European news-media harps on Freedom of Expression.
Contention: Prophet Muhammad's cartoons.

Third week of Feb, 2006:
European news-media has mixed reactions.
Contention: Historian, David Irving jailed for denying the Holocaust

The leitmotiv is 'Freedom of Expression'. Europeans seem to hold it like the holy Grail. High, Hallowed and Holy. They go about bruising emotions as they use the trite theme. It is repeated often enough. Last year, a rightwing European newspaper commissioned cartoonists to lampoon Prophet Muhammad. The nutty caricaturists drew the prophet in bad mood. Bombs on head. That Kind of stuff. Twelve poorly etched lines hurt a billion and five hundred million believers. No matter. Freedom of Expression. Invoke Voltaire. Throw it at their face. Media has the final say, everyone was unanimous. Paper after paper re-published the tacky toons. Still crushing beliefs. Across Europe. An Italian minister had the cartoons printed on his Tee and wore them to office. He got the axe, next day. Freedom of expession, the war-cry roared.

The same Freedom of Expression fizzes out in a fortnight. David Irving is a noted historian. His detractors call him a charlatan amongst other names. Despite himself the man is a holocaust revisionist. He does not believe that 6 million jewry were summarily executed by the Nazis in WW-II. Austria -- this week -- send him to prison for three years for voicing his diametric opinions more than a decade ago. European news-sheets shamelessly defend the decision. Many chose to be luke-warm. My fav, The Guardian included. Anything against the holy cow is dangerous. David's extreme views are a threat to the European fabric. How dare he? Freedom of expression, one asks them? Selective usage, the eerie silence suggets.

What mixed messages we send out. We may publish cartoons which any sensible person knows are grossly offensive to followers of a major faith and do so under cover of 'freedom of speech' yet we send a man to prison for claiming the Holocaust never happened when we have more than adequate proof that it did. Does he not have the right to 'free speech'? Is it the western world's lack of understanding of Islam. Or perhaps a deep-rooted racial bais. Or double-standards. Or simply their gulit-ridden consciences. The answers haunt!

True, Holocaust is religiously cronicled but we can't shut voices trying to dispel such a notion. If we believe in the God given freedom of expression, why use it scrupulously?

I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it. This line was used by hundreds of newspapers when the cartoons were re-appearing like bugs all over the enlightened European continent. Though attributed to Voltaire -- who never said it -- the expression was first used by Evelyn Beatrice Hall, writing under the pseudonym of Stephen G Tallentyre in his work The Friends of Voltaire (1906), as a summation of Voltaire's beliefs on freedom of thought and expression.

Voltaire must be turning in his grave!
A little unjust, Voltaire. Ain't it? Both the mis-quote and theatrics!

Sameer Bhat

oh God

I am a soul whose intentions are good
Please don't let me be misunderstood

I don't know

I don't now why you so gloomy
on a summer's beautiful date
All the world is so bloomy -> ->
Don't feel sad, old mate

Wish I knew the secret of glee
to tickle you in a hundred spots
as your troubles would flee
and joy blest you in lots

Laugh: Perk up a dull day
Bring back the beauteous cheer
Like the sun's luminescent ray
fill-in the gaps without any fear

Life is but a travail
but we live it jolly strong
There are times when we fail
when things go really wrong

But...
We fall to rise again
we weep to laugh again
we stumble to dance again
we part to meet again

We loose to gain again
We holler to sing again
We toil to rest again
We envy to love again

Cheer up, mate!

Samy

An officer and a gentleman

The fear of death follows from the fear of life. A man who lives fully is prepared to die at any time. 
~Mark Twain

Feb 16, 2005 Lt Col Muhammad Sayed lost his lone battle with life. I am sure, he must have kicked the bucket laughing. That is what Colonel uncle always did. Laugh at life's myriad complexities. With an incredible bounce for life, Col Sayed, as locals would lovingly call him, walked straight in a place where people often stoop very low. He was a decorated solider, a gallant officer and a spunky gentleman. One of the very few people who served in the Indian army -- that too at an officer rank -- from Sopore, a tiny Kashmir township famed for its excellent fish and fierce separatist sentiment. To exist -- as an army vetern -- in such a place at the height of insurgency was in itself quite an achievement.

I don't know how old Colonel uncle was. Must have been in his late sixties. With a balding head and a daily-shaven face -- an army hangover perhaps -- he didn't look a day older than fifty and a half. He would joke with me in a palsy manner and his pat on the back was more friendly than avuncular. Colonel uncle talked to me in English -- again an oddity in Sopore -- and I had to follow suit. 'Hey, young man!' he would holler. The words still reverberate in my eardrums. 'Hey there, Colonel,' my standard response, I recall. No plebian sensibilities. Simply informal -- man to man. Army style.

I reckon he helped a lot of people with his connections in the military. Often enough during the difficult militancy years when one or the other army units world apprehend innocent young boys, on suspicion of being involved in militancy, it would eventually fall upon Colonel uncle to have the fellows released. He would do it -- being a neighbour I know it for a fact -- again and again. Like a guardian angel. On cold nights and wintry mornings. Colonel uncle once told me he had a gun -- M4 US Carbine -- which I sadly never had the chance to see.

Two years back, Uncle was given charge of arranging a tea and cake function -- for 100 people -- at a neighbour's home in which a death had taken place. At night he realised that all things done, the Waza had not ordered milk for the tea. Now -- in the Subcontinent -- milk is the most important thing in your tea. The party was supposed to begin at the crack of dawn since people were expected to arrive after attending the morning namaz in the local mosque.

Uncle called the Waza. The poor boy was shivering. Everyone was quiet. It was like a court martial. Colonel began, I remember vividly 'You bloody civilian',  'What is a tea-party without milk?' And then added in his wry humour, 'It is like my M4 Carbine without bullets, which I would have gladly pumped into your stupid arse right now'. The milk was arranged pre-dawn, thanks to Uncle's ingenuity. The Waza's rear was saved!

I hope he fires his gun at pheasants in the Paradise. And misses all the shots.

Lt Colonel Muhammad Sayed Yosufi
My neighbourhood uncle,
And a very fine gentleman

God speed, officer.

Sam

Cheer up!

May you always have work for your hands to do.
May your pockets hold always a coin or two.
May the sun shine bright on your windowpane.
May the rainbow be certain to follow each rain.
May the hand of a friend always be near you.
And may God fill your heart with gladness to cheer you.

samy

Valentine's day

Or lover's day for short. Time for chocolate aroma, rose fragrances and a sweet, sensous sparkle in the eye { and mobile texts too}. No one knows for sure how it all began. The first recorded association of St. Valentine's Day with romantic love was in England and France in the 14th century, where February 14 was traditionally the day on which birds paired off to mate. Legend has it that a saint called Valentine, who was the bishop of Interamna (modern Terni, Italy) started it all. Historians rubbish the fact. Whatever it was, God bless the loving guy, if he ever walked upon the face of earth.

There are times in your life when myths and legends tango in the heart. What does it take to believe in something -- purely -- because it makes our boring lives a little perky? This is one such day. Valentine's day is often symbolised by a small angel, holding a bow. In Roman mythology, the cherubic naked boy with wings and a bow and arrow is called Cupid. He is the god of erotic love. He is equated with the Greek God Eros and one of his Latin names is Eros. He is also called Amor, Latin for love. It is often said that if he fires an arrow at you, you are love-struck. May he shoot his entire quiver at the world {one dart at Bush's butt coz he needs it the most} !

Loving someone is an utterly beautiful feeling. All of us may not find love all the time. One may bump across love on a lonely evening or take an entire age to find it. If we are unable to find love, I'm sure, love may look around and find us. Eventually, all of us end up loving someone in our life. It may be anyone ~~ a gal, a guy, a parent, a friend, a sibling or God. It can either be platonic or amorous. Love does not depend upon the attributes of the lovable but a person's ability to love. Grief and tragedy and hatred are only for a time. Love has no end. It defies a standard definition.

I forgot BrokeBack. I am content with the surreal looks and surprise hugs I took this special day!

Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs.
Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers' eyes.
Being vexed, a sea nourished with lovers' tears.
What is it else?
A madness most discreet,
a choking gall and a preserving sweet.~ William Shakespeare

Samy

Water-colors

There was air, water, greens, children, colors and then there was ~~ Samy 

Our Tom

On a beautiful, Sunday mornin-out.
Wasy, lets a feeble smile out.

Lazying in the Lushs

Navvy stretches for a very different take!

Green effect

Turn your head, chap.
You are in nature's lap.

Lean machine

Posing against a scarlet sage beauty. Our car is parked a few vehicles away!

Boy in the Buff

Wasy, splashing it in the spring sun! 

Joy-ride

Into the skies they went flying!!!

Ace shooters

Raj and Wasy try their hands at the shot-gun. No baloon was left intact on the firing wall.

Marks-men, as they say in the US.

JNU activism:
India's intellectual hub wants Prez Bush to go back, much before Air Force One cranks up for Destination-India.

A sneak-peak of the JNU campus

The world's my Oyster!!!

Beware:
He is Stupid
He is Amorous
He is Mystical
He is Weird








Click on the image for a bigger impact

Raj, at 6 ft 4 does all cameramen a lot
of good by agreeing to sit while being shot!

Enjoying the Lushes! 

Love is the enchanted dawn of every heart 

An idyllic romantic deep blue sky.
Isn't that beauty?

Samy 

The ranches of Wyoming. Lots of white sheep.
In a way it symbolises we the people.
We the people represent the sheep,
Lord is the shepherd! 

This love

Words don't have wings but they travel much faster than the swiftest of birds. I wrote a generic piece yesterday. Albeit jotted with much honesty and meant to be a frank assessment of the general state of affairs, it ended up offending some. I apologise for the hurt but I guess it was never intended as a take on anyone. What confusion, God! Frost, my fav American poet says, I'm not confused, I'm just well mixed.

I hate a couple of things about me. I can be terribly boring at times. Too engrossed with my books to notice people around. Like an empty chair in an ante-room. I can be fanatically choosy too. I have a select number of people on my friends-list. I love them. I can be either too dependent on them or shut myself up completely outside of this charmed circle. I think that's not something I should be proud of.

I love expressing myself and I like to be candid in my postings. There are moments when I reckon, I don't quite belong here. I can't align myself to the plebian sensibilities of people around. I never want to sound arrogant. I never deliberately hurt people. I can be angry and often feel hurt when I am. The short fuse is anchored somewhere in my genes and so are the gentle touches of generosity.

I have this terrible bug in me that asks me to laugh at the world. Most of us look for beauty day-in and day-out and yet find her elusive. What humbugs we are, who pretend to live for beauty, and never see the Dawn! There is so much beauty in it. I find beauty in the most secluded and senile of places. Call me a romantic. I can't resist loving the blue-tint of a spring sky. I love wyoming mountains. With lots of white sheep and a lonely shepherd to tend his flock. One of my greatest dream is to amble across old alleys and touch history with my index!

There is so much beauty still left in the world!

Sameer bhat

Love: What love?

God, I wish I knew how to quit you!
Jack Twist in Brokeback Mountain

We live in a simmering cauldron called earth. These are times when religion is pitted against reason. Sparks of hatred fling by. Emotions have reached a flash-point. Global events are meshed with homemade outrage. Ordinary blokes -- on ranches and farms, in the countryside and city perimeters, upon mountains and deserts -- look stupefied and flabbergasted. There is killing and there is misery. Lots of it. People work frenetically as if there is no tommorrow. Stress: What is that? Global warming and Cold-age waltz to an indifferent age. US is the biggest power and it is arrogant. Vain glory. A stupid president flanked by neo-cons. It doesn't get any worse.

There is no love. It is all lost. Splattered. Killed by forces of the market. Overrun by lust. Emotions: What is that? Heart has gone fishing. Mind rules. Money only matters, not unadultered feelings. Bourses are on fire. Pockets are full. Banks are filled. Tummies are bloating. There is no wind. That is taken care of by air-conditioning units. Fake smiles. Fictitious promises. No place for sanity. No one cares for the hungry.

I have loved cartoons since childhood. Tintin and Asterixs still come in my dreams. Snowny wags at me on solitary evenings. The whole world is fighting over toons now. The clerics blame the Danes. A puffed up Condy blames the Iranians. The French invoke Voltaire. Those who can make you believe absurdities can make you commit atrocities, the great frenchman once quipped. There is no love lost between the warring factions. To my mind, one can't take sides in a round world.

You can't find love these days. It is rare. Near-extinct. Endangered. It has long been commodified. No one understands you. You wish to draw back. Can't. You are one of them -- you think -- but still unlike them. Your heart is not taken by the silly spectacle around you. You continue to be innocent.

Samy

VS

With no companion to my mood,
Against the wind as it should be,
I walk, but in my solitude
Bow to the wind that buffets me.

The Ruski Groom

Tanu was home recently for his wedding. A glimpse of his usual colorful life

Is that the way we go to office! In-formally yours: Tanseer

Tip: Never stare directly in the camera

Chevrolet Corvette: Ain't that classy and comely

Lost samy

Islands packed with people
Meadows full of flowers
Trees laden with fruits

Birds that glide in air
Ducks that swim in ponds
Songs that make us glad

Eyes that drop me dead
Hands that touch my head
Lips that swell me crimson

Touches that do me good
Tugs that leave me soft
Hugs that halt the clock

A world of endless attempts
A city of countless stems
One big maze of neural systems

Am I lost in 'em?

samy

Miracles and Marvels

There are times when the heart takes precedence over mind. Generally rationale, I was stumped to read a news-story in Guardian, Feb 2, 2006. Now Guardian is one of the world's best newspapers and my fav news-sheet.

I never believe chain e-mails. I'd have perhaps not trusted a religious website on this.
For once, it humbles me.

Here,
http://www.guardian.co.uk/uk_news/story/0,,1700465,00.html

Samy

Adduce of the day

“Nature has made us frivolous to console us for our miseries”
Voltaire (French Philosopher and Writer. One of the greatest of all French authors, 1694-1778)