I get back to politics after a long time. The March 10th events did not move me as much as they did other people. In fact, only yesterday I drove along Tank Bund and looked at the altars on which the statues used to be. There were some with broken noses. It hurt me more to see the inscriptions erased: for one thing, I don’t know which statue was gone; for another, future generations would never know a thing about that person. As we end this story, you will know why that is important to me. In brief, the inscription records history, and even without the statue, it can document history as it is happening around us.
Bammer Potana’s statue was still there, so I had to revise my earlier belief that there was no method in the madness. Actually, before I saw it yesterday (and I have seen it before), I was not sure if they put up the statue in the first place. So well, they did: I mean the aandhrollu did create some space for Potana and Tanisha and Rudrama Devi; if that was not enough there was a less violent and more effective way to get more. But then, Mohandas Gandhi is passé, whatever the Americans have to say.
Anyway I felt let down for a while about Shri Shri’s statue being pulled down: Mahakavi Shri Shri, who always spoke up for the underdogs. I was disappointed with Comrade Vara Vara Rao’s response to the whole operation. But then, it is not the first time that he disappointed passive sympathizers like me; and I know he and his brethren have no use for passive sympathy or passive resistance.
So what is the message of the million March?
Wait until May. After that? Is it going to be as follows?
Arre charminaru medalo, tanku bandu needalo
Bhadram kodako naa kodako andhroda jara...
Gandipeta cheruvulo, musi nadi murikilo
Munchestamro, na koduko andhroda ninnu
Is it possible, with a few thousand people from the hinterland attacking Hyderabad, to sink a population of at least one million adhrollu in Hussain Sagar? Is it so easy to drag real human beings on to Tank Bund and throw them into the lake, as they did with helpless statues?
If Jashua or Shri Shri were standing on top of those pompous altars, they would have sung in chorus: “Guys, don’t sweat. Leave those ropes and stuff. We will walk across and jump, it that is going to liberate you from your shackles.” Sir Aurther Cotton would have taught them engineering tricks to do it more easily, less messily. You know those statues which have just been chipped away? He would have said: “Guys, easy does it. Just whisper into the ears of that old poet out there, he would vanish into thin air.
All that sounds like paranoid talk. And it is. And who created the paranoia? When? It was all on 10th March. Who done it? Your guess is as good as mine.
Quli Qutb Shahi tombs
There is an interesting story about the Quli Qutb Shahi tombs. History tells us that the Sultans got their tombs constructed with care in their own life times. They are all architectural marvels. But there is one, which is unique. It is the one that stands there, half finished. The Sultan was getting it built when Aurangazeb attacked Hyderabad and conquered it: it stands to witness and document history in stone and mortar.
The antique
Let me conclude with a story of Jeffery Archer’s: a woman buys a statuette on her visit to China, which the antique dealer claims to be from the Manchu dynasty. But the stand is broken. So he finds a little stone thingamabob and fixes the statuette on it with fevifast. This woman returns to U.S. or U.K. and a little later she falls on bad times. So she takes this statuette to an antique dealer and offers to sell it.
The antique dealer tells her to come back after a week so that he can get the true worth of it ascertained. When she goes back, he says: Madame, this is an imitation statuette, which is worth nothing more than fifty dollars (or pounds). She is dejected and sets out to go, when the dealer says: But, the stand on which it is fixed, is genuine Manchu stuff. I could offer you 50k for that.
Future generations of Indians (let us hope in the future we will all become Indians) will find as much historical significance in the statues that stand in all their grandeur, the ones with broken noses, and the ones that have been dragged away – which will be known only by the inscriptions on the altars.
Unless another March comes upon us and throws those inscriptions into oblivion.
In the meantime, Andhrans, be happy that they did not drag people on to and off Tank Bund. But beware that time May come.
And brothers and sisters and Vimalakka, if you allow more violence, you are only handing the government a bigger stick. And giving it a longer rope. And the moral of the story is, to repeat the heading: T-state is so much longer away, precisely because of the show put up on March 10th.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
Yes jo halka halka suror hain...
Ye teri nazar ka kasoor hain
Tere pyar ne, tere chah ne
Tere beheki beheki nigaah ne
Mujhe sarfarosh bana diya...
In the room the babes come and go
Talking of the man who came but couldn’t go
Withdrawal sinptoms, or what have you
He wouldn’t or couldn’t just let go
Tere pyar ne, tere chah ne
Mujhe ek sharabi bana diya
In the room men come and go
Secretly thinking of a career as gigollo
Worst fears realized; I am drunk
And talk of the days I had hash…
Withdrawal symptoms, this time the spelling
Seems to be ok, because word did not cry foul
The red wavy line, our life line, our soul
In the beginning was the word and then came MS
Yeh jo halka halka suroor hain
Yeh teri nazar ka kasoor hain
I am not perfect but am absolutely scared
That one day I will get there: god spare me
Oh the green line tells me it is a fragment,
A figment of palmer’s imagination…
It is my dangler and I will dangle it,
As much as I like; bless you
Tere pyar ne, tere chah ne
Tere beheki beheki nigaah ne
Mujhe sarfarosh bana diya...
In the room the babes come and go
Talking of the man who came but couldn’t go
Withdrawal sinptoms, or what have you
He wouldn’t or couldn’t just let go
Tere pyar ne, tere chah ne
Mujhe ek sharabi bana diya
In the room men come and go
Secretly thinking of a career as gigollo
Worst fears realized; I am drunk
And talk of the days I had hash…
Withdrawal symptoms, this time the spelling
Seems to be ok, because word did not cry foul
The red wavy line, our life line, our soul
In the beginning was the word and then came MS
Yeh jo halka halka suroor hain
Yeh teri nazar ka kasoor hain
I am not perfect but am absolutely scared
That one day I will get there: god spare me
Oh the green line tells me it is a fragment,
A figment of palmer’s imagination…
It is my dangler and I will dangle it,
As much as I like; bless you
Saturday, March 19, 2011
In the name of our land, her sons, and the holy progress
so where do i stand now?
In the pantry, looking at rocks getting leveled
the land is getting flattened, for 'development'
if it don't fit their plans, dlf and mantri will change
the shape of the earth to triangular/square
I mean a cube; to make room for more cubicles
aliens space station: maybe they have
a night flight to venus? Maybe.
but surely they will have vendomacs
with mars bars....
hyderabad is going places
as my heart goes to pieces
now don't be such a sissy
so early in the day, don't get dizzy
==
“Our language and our minds are too limited to deal with
anything but a fixed reality, regardless of whether such a thing
exists. The best we can do is to update our delusions to fit the
times. We live in an increasingly rational, science-based society.
The religious metaphors of the past are no longer comforting.
Science is whittling at them from every side.
Humanity needs a metaphor that allows God and science to
coexist, at least in our minds, for the next thousand years.”
===
the dearth (and eventual death) of philosophy,
as I once notified in an earlier blog
began with a bang; with bengalure univ
saying: Depart, Men of philosophy.
and hussain zeeshan ended up in the asylum
the one who declared that what works is reality/science
after d.phils, it is the turn of the pills
if they don't cure, they at least put you to sleep
===
ironically, once you cut the branch of philosophy
from the tree of knowledge
where does that land natural philosophy?
- between a rock and a hard place
i would prefer the rock
but who is asking me?
==
on its bottom,
und so weiter.
--
Thanks and regards,
Sankara Rajanala
Trailing Clouds of data do we come from God
who is our Destiny...
In the pantry, looking at rocks getting leveled
the land is getting flattened, for 'development'
if it don't fit their plans, dlf and mantri will change
the shape of the earth to triangular/square
I mean a cube; to make room for more cubicles
aliens space station: maybe they have
a night flight to venus? Maybe.
but surely they will have vendomacs
with mars bars....
hyderabad is going places
as my heart goes to pieces
now don't be such a sissy
so early in the day, don't get dizzy
==
“Our language and our minds are too limited to deal with
anything but a fixed reality, regardless of whether such a thing
exists. The best we can do is to update our delusions to fit the
times. We live in an increasingly rational, science-based society.
The religious metaphors of the past are no longer comforting.
Science is whittling at them from every side.
Humanity needs a metaphor that allows God and science to
coexist, at least in our minds, for the next thousand years.”
===
the dearth (and eventual death) of philosophy,
as I once notified in an earlier blog
began with a bang; with bengalure univ
saying: Depart, Men of philosophy.
and hussain zeeshan ended up in the asylum
the one who declared that what works is reality/science
after d.phils, it is the turn of the pills
if they don't cure, they at least put you to sleep
===
ironically, once you cut the branch of philosophy
from the tree of knowledge
where does that land natural philosophy?
- between a rock and a hard place
i would prefer the rock
but who is asking me?
==
on its bottom,
und so weiter.
--
Thanks and regards,
Sankara Rajanala
Trailing Clouds of data do we come from God
who is our Destiny...
Saturday, March 5, 2011
worst fears...
worst fears
the cops come calling, saying i said i will kill someone some day,
but i called to say sorry i take back the words; the call wasn't answered
however, i am in the clear
so that is not the worst fear
mom gets upset and cannot sleep
because of the dry heat and i cannot do a damn
she will decide to leave
and there isn't a thing i could do to keep
her happy, gruntled and at peace
with me, with the world at large
but that is not what this piece
is all about; it is not that at all...
if you cared to know about eliot, i.e.
the poet, not the beach in chennai
tabula rasam, thair sadam, and thai chicks
you produced six billion of them!
and for it you deserve to live
long, unhappy, and die suffering and unsung
so what is really really the worst of it all?
the fear is that humanity will go on for eternity
as it knows it; until the extinction of chicks
thai, hunan, male and female, but not human...
god save my mother planet
from inhumans; god save me from humans!
--
Thanks and regards,
Sankara Rajanala
Trailing Clouds of data do we come from God
who is our Home directory...
the cops come calling, saying i said i will kill someone some day,
but i called to say sorry i take back the words; the call wasn't answered
however, i am in the clear
so that is not the worst fear
mom gets upset and cannot sleep
because of the dry heat and i cannot do a damn
she will decide to leave
and there isn't a thing i could do to keep
her happy, gruntled and at peace
with me, with the world at large
but that is not what this piece
is all about; it is not that at all...
if you cared to know about eliot, i.e.
the poet, not the beach in chennai
tabula rasam, thair sadam, and thai chicks
you produced six billion of them!
and for it you deserve to live
long, unhappy, and die suffering and unsung
so what is really really the worst of it all?
the fear is that humanity will go on for eternity
as it knows it; until the extinction of chicks
thai, hunan, male and female, but not human...
god save my mother planet
from inhumans; god save me from humans!
--
Thanks and regards,
Sankara Rajanala
Trailing Clouds of data do we come from God
who is our Home directory...
My mother, the Great Dictator… Saul Bellow’s Herzog
My mother is a fashionista; nobody cares for her diktats, but I have to. Because I am her son. Actually, I am one (the last) of her five sons. The others are married, and my mother leaves the choice of what the other fellers wear to the judgment of their wives, and since I am not married, she takes it upon herself to dictate what I should wear and should not.
Years ago, when I was in Delhi, my parents came by for a couple of weeks: I came back from work and found that my pile of clothes (I did not have a wardrobe, just a cupboard in which I dumped my stuff) depleted considerably. I asked my mother if she gave them for washing or something. My father was sitting there – smiling. I smelt a rat, or a fish. I asked him what happened. He kept quiet.
My mother went into the kitchen and came back with a steel vessel (you know the kind in which you boil milk and all that). She said: This is what I got for your miserable clothes. I really don’t know what all she got rid off: whatever she didn’t like in the pile – old, new, recent, blah – she gave off. And got the vessel.
It is a wonder really because she cannot speak a word of Hindi. My father, who was there all along, when she was giving away the clothes and ‘negotiated’ the deal, never intervened, though he knew Hindi alright. He was amused about the whole thing; my stuff being given away, and a silly steel vessel being gotten in exchange. He was still smiling when I threw a fit and asked my mother what all she gave away: she did not have an idea; I don’t have an idea! I still look for a T-shirt which should be in my ‘collection’ and I know, it was gone in Delhi that fateful day.
There is only one time my mother said – hey, this is a good shirt. It made my day. I still wear it: once in a month, to make it last as long as I can! I cannot think of anything I said or did to make her happy in decades, other than that time she said I got a decent shirt.
The other day I set out to office in one of those ‘slim-fit’ shirts: my mother said you cannot go out of this house in that shirt, not to office. I sat down; said ok, I will not go to office. I will take leave. I will sit in front of you in this shirt the whole day. Then she said, get lost. And promptly, I got out.
Ma tujhe salaam… Amma tujhe salaam…
Ideas to depopulate the world
Saul Bellow, in Herzog, has this line: Ideas to depopulate the world. It is amazing. He doesn’t talk further about it. Just that one line. And in 1996, a website was set up: www.vhemt.org. I came to know of it many years later, maybe in 2000 or later. It is an excellent site – all it says is: “thank you for not breeding”.
Oh, I forgot to mention that the site is promoting the cause of voluntary human extinction movement. That is, let us live long and die out. It is best for all of us on the planet. Us includes other species as well, of course.
There is some argument on whether the movement is valid and blah; that is countered in:
http://www.vhemt.org/aboutvhemt.htm#oppose
Years ago, when I was in Delhi, my parents came by for a couple of weeks: I came back from work and found that my pile of clothes (I did not have a wardrobe, just a cupboard in which I dumped my stuff) depleted considerably. I asked my mother if she gave them for washing or something. My father was sitting there – smiling. I smelt a rat, or a fish. I asked him what happened. He kept quiet.
My mother went into the kitchen and came back with a steel vessel (you know the kind in which you boil milk and all that). She said: This is what I got for your miserable clothes. I really don’t know what all she got rid off: whatever she didn’t like in the pile – old, new, recent, blah – she gave off. And got the vessel.
It is a wonder really because she cannot speak a word of Hindi. My father, who was there all along, when she was giving away the clothes and ‘negotiated’ the deal, never intervened, though he knew Hindi alright. He was amused about the whole thing; my stuff being given away, and a silly steel vessel being gotten in exchange. He was still smiling when I threw a fit and asked my mother what all she gave away: she did not have an idea; I don’t have an idea! I still look for a T-shirt which should be in my ‘collection’ and I know, it was gone in Delhi that fateful day.
There is only one time my mother said – hey, this is a good shirt. It made my day. I still wear it: once in a month, to make it last as long as I can! I cannot think of anything I said or did to make her happy in decades, other than that time she said I got a decent shirt.
The other day I set out to office in one of those ‘slim-fit’ shirts: my mother said you cannot go out of this house in that shirt, not to office. I sat down; said ok, I will not go to office. I will take leave. I will sit in front of you in this shirt the whole day. Then she said, get lost. And promptly, I got out.
Ma tujhe salaam… Amma tujhe salaam…
Ideas to depopulate the world
Saul Bellow, in Herzog, has this line: Ideas to depopulate the world. It is amazing. He doesn’t talk further about it. Just that one line. And in 1996, a website was set up: www.vhemt.org. I came to know of it many years later, maybe in 2000 or later. It is an excellent site – all it says is: “thank you for not breeding”.
Oh, I forgot to mention that the site is promoting the cause of voluntary human extinction movement. That is, let us live long and die out. It is best for all of us on the planet. Us includes other species as well, of course.
There is some argument on whether the movement is valid and blah; that is countered in:
http://www.vhemt.org/aboutvhemt.htm#oppose
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