tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-9471165709024735562024-02-20T07:24:14.541-08:00sometimes - 3THERE IS NOTHING LEFT TO YOU AT THIS MOMENT BUT TO HAVE A GOOD LAUGH! - From the ZenMaihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17093308712240415770noreply@blogger.comBlogger44125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-947116570902473556.post-1153219157799476112012-01-15T12:10:00.000-08:002012-01-15T12:10:12.083-08:00Bodecker<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;">When I was a girl, my real academic education always took place at home with Dad as my teacher, so in a way I was home schooled. I always went to public school, as well, because Dad wanted me to have some social development among all sorts of people.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;">One of my seventh grade teachers turned out to be one of the most influential people in my life. His name was Mr. Bodecker. If I ever knew his given name, it is now long forgotten. He was incredibly intelligent and held some very unpopular political opinions. I had a great deal of respect for him. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;">One day he took me aside. 'Mai, I need to talk to you.<br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;">'You and I are what are called intellectuals. We live by our brain power. And we tend to get above ourselves. I don't want you to make that mistake. I cannot stand the thought of you becoming a snob.'<br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;">He was talking very seriously; clearly this was something important to him. 'We like to think that we are the most important people in society, but we aren't. Not at all. Society could get along without us perfectly well. It wouldn't be as easy or as much fun, but it would be possible. We are not the meat and potatoes of society.<br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247958482533551826" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCkCmZRBBRVqNPNCmag9enHzIG5p3UewMNrFKKZK0qpmTjZ_kDiWBEgGyJo8sxaaCoxwmyW8ljPk3qD5Ob_otExnMVymY5UTFkluw1JXNOFz0GQoOmcH6aGc4qZKgQUEJ0LzNiG9-J9Qjl/s400/01Meat+and+potatoes.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;">We are just the dessert.'</span></div>
<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247971347046786242" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEilmoMXUw9pAn0XGGNIwz6NBt4EUCz_40640-vRJsGKV-jGM-RbtWrBUX2gjwy7GkbaQVjknIAzQYJoV8FIKHquqI91_ricfakhsLRUIGy-f55LRYe_KzdROtbrmhcDLXGn8oad48AKbQcU/s400/cakes.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;">Being thirteen years old, I interrupted. 'We don't eat meat.<br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;">'OK, what do you eat?'<br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;">'Dal and roti and paneer and vegetables and curd. Really good stuff.'</span></div>
<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247958488294268450" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicSR-LY51UzUztv11B6wnb2W6LS0fdDJ9Y1Uhn-px_2HVFsg8NNrSoGIrU2Dq0x7r8MptHByIqVw0FtHFvu7ywEx2MFC70KZA9SWmsao3nsQL7d3Zk846PTU7UvhtvzVy2Is6SbAErDU20/s400/02veggie+indian+food.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;">He laughed. 'We are not the dal and roti and paneer and curd - whatever those are - and vegetables and potatoes of society.'</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247958486563984882" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYuWIxY5Trj2LtsqHtKp99cZM_HHsfcbZ6X_-28GvEUVDfuWRfqqz5oAYligxmuxOoMDFkAVIIBoPJRD3q1fsh0JFxDFOJv8wdaOLFKSn9MyYPj3RCcMZRCkfbqr7TS6T41RFKy47IH9i9/s400/03Farmers%2520Market%25202.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;">'There are, however, people who really are necessary. Mostly they all into roughly three categories.'<br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;">'First are the producers, most importantly those who provide us with food. Farmers. And farm workers of all sorts. Nobody could live without the food they provide, the nourishment necessary to sustain life.'</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247958489703909746" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhGa63KCCMVfzJs0gKCvTL7lnaImj2oBvvyahx9gwwNEK8UlTZrdYUJeF_8323M8eIZ9JH3hHGCLV0_8BT4rxcBU698JqxNq5LvOUZxykYBWBozqx6TMij7yi5ozNnZrmjwVqe9nEG6HBDI/s400/04Sikh+farm+workers.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;">'But that food wouldn't do us any good if it rotted on the farm, so we also need people to get it to us. Truck drivers, loaders, packers, grocers, all the people that get that dal and roti and paneer and vegetables and curd and potatoes to us.'</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247958494509754866" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgS2V8xpTJuhxxjD2F9aeXoyw7N-uaNybsCT5J0JIMGBcAaSG6cvAT7CYBOyT1qGXLYx-BSaD1e9LDsyGHhmPkVlZy42JZEOQ2IprIO0dE2rxc34JIzma_b-52tYcF_yRuFqJocB8yxVhod/s400/05produce+truck.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;">'And then there are those who clean up the mess. These are the least respected, but vitally important. Have you ever thought what it would be like if the garbage collectors refused to pick up your trash?<br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247961367506840066" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxNA4TeqeXzQ88l0b1DsSMj5gNVhv1QQKq-8Sm05L941kJB1o-O5gMtw4bld2D9FnzMhN6zRaT4ig2b_cdGHwrN0pzv9F92tPoC7_lf8W7QtG9Q04GjZd6kIBfvMXsVfw0QTdy7AP47S1c/s400/16Garbage+Collectors.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /><br />
--An aside. In fact, I lived in Las Vegas for a time. Summers there in the desert are very, very hot, temperatures often hovering around 45C (115F) in the summer. I will never forget the summer the garbage collectors went on strike. My garbage was taken care of, though, thanks to Bodecker's teaching - and my own moral sense.--<br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;">'And the sewer workers and the grave diggers' - I didn't interrupt him to tell him we don't bury our dead, the fact is most Westerners do - 'and most women.'</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247977032544437250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0Q9DTZkS2m4ihMQoJfd9aIi29pThtcLnSfuuWXq79KtlThJOQ5mQPqM8pBIWV4ZueG1smtGkC3F2G4C8_ra9gVfyq1yR5uNQLXJTcl19BJE1QDUGSIhTN0mgSSbB8lN5D1va9tKKNnNwY/s400/06housework.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;">That took me up. 'Huh?!'</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;">'Most women spend most of their lives cleaning up after others, keeping homes livable. Think about your own home.'<br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;">I did. In our home, the men/boys did a lot more housework than in the average Sikh home (where, at least at that time, the men did little to nothing around the house), but still the bulk of the cleaning fell to the wives and our housekeeper. I vowed then and there never to be the perfect housekeeper, unlike most of my Sikh sisters, whose homes seem always spotless.<br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana;"><span style="font-size: 130%;">These are people society cannot get along without. Those who produce. Those who distribute. Those who clean up. These are the most important people, the ones most deserving of our respect. The ones who rarely get it.'<br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;">'Most of these people are workers, working class people, not the intellectuals. We are not just the dessert, we aren't the cake, we aren't even the frosting. I think we're those little sugar sprinkles that decorate the top of the cake.<br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247961372901954290" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5j4yHqI31H4eddwRBS9GJK3q9-_FzaaSo6Hzj6PC7PDtqVyGzAa8eFyB5KnvLS9qJZyfhkkIL8G51Q26Oy0d7vvgSNZmSe7RprVUuu9vojejPvXlxi5L9N882p1UFdEzi_fx1hOu1DwgU/s400/07sugar+sprinkles.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;">Maybe we add a little beauty, a little sweetness, but people ought to wash out there mouths after eating those, they form cavities and eating too much makes them fat. My dear young Mai, we have to be careful not to become just a top-heavy burden.'<br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;">'Remember, we make life enjoyable; they make life possible. I suggest you learn to appreciate the workers and always treat them with the highest respect. If you ever start to consider yourself above these people, I promise you, I'll hunt you down and pull you down a few notches.'<br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;">To this day, his words are almost a mantra to me, a sort of poem.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;">Those who produce,<br />
Those who distribute,<br />
Those who clean up the mess.<br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;">Of course, I told Dad about all this. He agreed with what Mr. Bodecker had said; in fact, the two became fast friends.<br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;">These ideas weren't really new to me, however, although this expression of them was. One of our family legends fits in well here.<br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;">Why is it adults get great pleasure asking very young children,'What do you want to be when you grow up, little girl/boy? Do the childish dreams take them back to their own more innocent days, do they like to make fun of children's childishness or...do some of them actually want to know? Whatever the reason, when I was about 6, someone asked me and I fired back, 'I wanna be a Working Class Hero!' I have no idea where I might have picked that up, but it was never forgotten and to this day, when we are together, one of my brothers is sure to start singing - or at least whistling - </span><a href="http://www.okde.org/chanson.htm"><i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;">L'Internationale</span></i></a><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;">. I was never actually a Communist, I have always been somewhat left of centre. I was told I'd outgrow this perversion, but I never have.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247961384137676962" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKMhf8Cf93MAXxdEwZaB1Fz_TJCUinuEaCEIN_3qD5ctWUYsuld_m6Y1JbM6MWp2aItIXnvBYGrH-ijCmTDAP3tBBp6lMC6c6NAOkJlBIp56e_C9DuJn9-lnOK4UGq4WTF1E1eAFTbBaPM/s400/L'internationale.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;">This philosophy of respecting workers has served me well in practical ways.<br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;">When I was, for a short time, playing the role of 'professor,' my colleagues couldn't figure out why, when some work needed done in my office, such as a light changed, it was done at once, while it took days or even weeks for the same service to be given them, or why I couldn't walk across campus without a groundskeeper handing me a flower or two. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247961372884437954" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi14tX6p1XdiNQhaZFD5teVcjRXyaHPZPkqeD82vB413B1I0Tuwo2TtMqMnQqYzHwCid2YbBNtNxVXwgGVvPLEctEgbub166aefW7IIp4qsgBHVAYfqRJ4o_hWqhltxOx1ISHfAuC-jbtDG/s400/08+rose.jpg" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;">As I mentioned above, my garbage collectors came and took mine during the strike, a way of saying thanks for the cold lemonade in the summer and hot coffee in the winter. ( I still provide those to our garbage collectors, by the way. Just a small way of saying thanks.) My 'colleagues' and my neighbours, of course, resented me, but they had never had a Bodecker, I guess, the set them down the correct path. Or seven older brothers to egg them on...</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5247961377624367554" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJc8O0fn0f2tVF8M1T7n4Ef8mhPy5BVPcW-gVtfHAg59G7OMuk6WCfUSAREAXBCeOE6Vj15W-dGMkCxIPVpW7EeSHRnKRyIP80HNO-Z0DNphXNGPGE0Sjb3Uo-nZ3Uj9w8eorJDoAP4rIJ/s400/09Seven+Eggs.bmp" style="display: block; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;" /><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;">Note: The picture of the Sikh farm worker is from the Sacramento Valley in 1912, from a website called, </span><a href="http://www.infoaboutsikhs.com/sikh_immigrants.htm"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;">Sikhs: The Most Visible Yet Most Misunderstood Minority</span></a><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;">. You might like to check it out.</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: 130%;"><i><span style="font-size: x-small;">Reprinted from the Khaliblog </span></i></span></div>
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</div>Simayananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12690050614711171210noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-947116570902473556.post-78093591922233261672011-11-24T21:03:00.001-08:002011-11-24T21:03:50.060-08:00A Smaller Version<div style="text-align: left; padding: 3px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/maisometimes2/6398186839/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm7.staticflickr.com/6035/6398186839_0fda60294a.jpg" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/maisometimes2/6398186839/">A Smaller Version</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/maisometimes2/">HarinderKaur</a>.</span></div><p></p>Maihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17093308712240415770noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-947116570902473556.post-19401921687398724192011-11-20T23:23:00.001-08:002011-11-20T23:32:37.851-08:00From the 99%<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: 'Celtic Bold'; font-size: 12pt;"><br />
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THE PEOPLE UNITED<br />
WILL NEVER BE DEFEATED!</span><br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/BjnR7xET7Uo" width="560"></iframe></div>Simayananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12690050614711171210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-947116570902473556.post-71745225711572180932011-11-03T11:00:00.001-07:002011-11-03T11:04:47.389-07:00ONE DEAD SINGH<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This holocaust did not happen only to the Sikh people, it happened to individual Sikhs. Like me.<br />
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ONE DEAD SINGH</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCrGf_wquzGWAsLuQeQWENSucLLbGPtLJRBn53ghZrdatCC2tzqeMnuq7X56uviWVvljJ32ji2QSZmvyssJMuENSfvNFzN3hnQ-DSqc7mPevnpGaRrBfp7ILk02_siFuoAJuzrjz4u0iE/s1600-h/Burnt+body.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5396740712842094050" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCrGf_wquzGWAsLuQeQWENSucLLbGPtLJRBn53ghZrdatCC2tzqeMnuq7X56uviWVvljJ32ji2QSZmvyssJMuENSfvNFzN3hnQ-DSqc7mPevnpGaRrBfp7ILk02_siFuoAJuzrjz4u0iE/s400/Burnt+body.jpg" style="cursor: pointer; display: block; height: 400px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 257px;" /></a><br />
Who is he? Who is this Singh? I have spent countless hours staring at this photograph asking myself questions. Whose son is he? Whose husband, whose dad, whose brother, whose uncle, cousin, friend? Is someone waiting anxiously at home for him, waiting for a footfall that will never come?<br />
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Where is he from? Does he live in Delhi or is he just visiting? Where was he born? What is his pind? When was he born? How old is he?<br />
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What is his occupation? Is he an engineer, a doctor, a professor? Or is he a taxi driver or a trucker?<br />
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What are his politics? Is he an Akali or a member of Congress? Is he a Khalistani or a Bharata Mata lover? Or is he political at all? Is he just trying to live his life and not really concerned about the niceties of the larger world.<br />
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Why is he keshdhari? Is it just habit, following family custom? Or is it deeply meaningful to him? Does he pray each day, do naam jap, love Vaheguru? Or are those just incidentals that have fallen by the wayside of his life? Where is his turban? How does he feel as it is ripped from his head and his kesh is exposed?<br />
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How does he feel as he realises the mob is coming for him, chasing him down the street or dragging him from his home or his car or from the bus? What goes on in his brain as the petrol is poured on him and set alight? What is he thinking as his body burns? Or is he beyond thought? Is he aware of the laughing jeering mob around him, enjoying watching his final agonising moments of life on this earth?<br />
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What is his last awareness as he dies alone, surrounded by merciless thugs?<br />
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Questions without answers. Whoever he is, he deserves to be remembered. I doubt he had even a death certificate, so I have made him one.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2XELmWWRduUplvkZwyxO87Yo_3ogbt4GYU3CPdHQ-pP3m6J4YL_3cP1c0TyTdCl_g9whGYpC75kaY2wPd5Q0zi9P1ykjDZhwWzOwHNTpEJZQ4GzhUAFZ5KzT5c6t8xzeNQO3DNYZ7u-Y/s1600-h/DEATH+CERTIFICATE+FLICKR.jpg"><img alt="" border="0" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5400164247804616050" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2XELmWWRduUplvkZwyxO87Yo_3ogbt4GYU3CPdHQ-pP3m6J4YL_3cP1c0TyTdCl_g9whGYpC75kaY2wPd5Q0zi9P1ykjDZhwWzOwHNTpEJZQ4GzhUAFZ5KzT5c6t8xzeNQO3DNYZ7u-Y/s400/DEATH+CERTIFICATE+FLICKR.jpg" style="display: block; height: 588px; margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center; width: 400px;" /></a><br />
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<span style="font-size: 85%;">(Click to enlarge)</span></div>
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There is something so very final about the certificate. And, of course, I realise that all I have written is wrong and must be rewritten to reflect the truth of <strike><bold>25</bold></strike><strike> 26</strike> 27 years later.
<br />
Who was he? Who was this Singh? I have spent countless hours staring at this photograph asking myself questions. Whose son was he? Whose husband, whose dad, whose brother, whose uncle, cousin, friend? Was someone waiting anxiously at home for him, waiting for a footfall that never came?<br />
<br />
Where was he from? Did he live in Delhi or was he just visiting? Where was he born? What was his pind? When was he born? How old was he?<br />
<br />
What was his occupation? Was he an engineer, a doctor, a professor? Or was he a taxi driver or a trucker?<br />
<br />
What were his politics? Was he an Akali or a member of Congress? Was he a Khalistani or a Bharata Mata lover? Or was he political at all? Was he just trying to live his life and not really concerned about the niceties of the larger world.<br />
<br />
Why was he keshdhari? Was it just habit, following family custom? Or was it deeply meaningful to him? Did he pray each day, do naam jap, love Vaheguru? Or were those just incidentals that had fallen by the wayside of his life? Where was his turban? How did he feel as it was ripped from his head and his kesh was exposed?<br />
<br />
How did he feel as he realised the mob was coming for him, chasing him down the street or dragging him from his home or his car or from the bus? What went on in his brain as the petrol was poured on him and set alight? What was he thinking as his body burned? Or was he beyond thought? Was he aware of the laughing jeering mob around him, enjoying watching his final agonising moments of life on this earth?<br />
<br />
What was his last awareness as he died alone, surrounded by merciless thugs?<br />
<br />
He was our brother and he was one single human being, one Sikh among the thousands murdered during the madness of those days in 1984.<br />
<br />
He is our brother and he deserves justice.<br />
<br />
One final, unanswered question: When?</div>Simayananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12690050614711171210noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-947116570902473556.post-46249698997653165852011-10-08T23:38:00.000-07:002011-10-08T23:39:20.830-07:00THE CARNIVAL IS OVER<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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GOOD-BYE, SIMON. MAY YOU FIND THE PEACE IN DEATH THAT ELUDED YOU IN LIFE.<br />
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/3uJut75cEAE" width="560"></iframe></div>
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Simayananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12690050614711171210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-947116570902473556.post-67952679193102535792011-09-13T02:54:00.000-07:002011-09-13T03:18:36.874-07:00MORE THOUGHTS ON 911 - T+10 YEARS AND COUNTING<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvXvHxOhlU-_Vr9CvVCS828pd_nwBsRmJxu29YhGW0jjYH69EcKOsrbWeT5_s1WBByYwJ0d6TgJyjT9KGPXrrysb6-2Z2FhlH6joy1fHwnP1uphBtFWu7wH2oOso0-oDJv3_g4twgE_BqN/s1600/World_Trade_Center_attack.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjvXvHxOhlU-_Vr9CvVCS828pd_nwBsRmJxu29YhGW0jjYH69EcKOsrbWeT5_s1WBByYwJ0d6TgJyjT9KGPXrrysb6-2Z2FhlH6joy1fHwnP1uphBtFWu7wH2oOso0-oDJv3_g4twgE_BqN/s400/World_Trade_Center_attack.jpg" width="313" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #000099;"><span style="font-family: comic sans ms,sans-serif;">Can you
imagine 2,819 innocent people killed for no reason except some other
people were filled with hate? What kind of people could do such a
thing?! Surely thousands killed could never be forgotten. And who
could possibly expect the survivors and the families to ever recover?
The old life is gone and the new one difficult and sad. <br />
<br />Don't say that time heals all wounds. Time heals nothing. If the
wounds are not properly treated, they can get infected and cause a slow,
painful death. Recovery is slow and difficult and uncertain, but we
are a resilient species and most are able to go with their lives, live
with that huge, gaping hole that never goes away. It is good that we
are surrounded by compassionate, caring people that are willing to help
with the healing process, that do not advise us to "get over it and move
on." They see that that is simply impossible. Of course, there are
those who are not caring and compassionate, who retard the healing with
their coldness and even hared. They have their own problems. We avoid
them and ignore them as best we can.<br />
<br />What cannot be recovered we learn to live with. We learn to laugh
and enjoy ourselves again, live full, useful lives, contribute to
society, move forward. We work hard and eventually get to the point
that it all becomes a constant presence in the back of the mind, not
something always in front of our eyes. It is a part of us, but not the
only part. We rediscover our humanity, in fact find a deeper humanity
than we had before. <br />
<br />At some wonderful point, we may realise that our beloved dead want
us to be happy, not to spend our lives in gloomy mourning, but to again
enjoy the simple beauty of life, a child being amazed at the glow of a
lightening bug, delighted at the purr of a kitten, swooning at the
deliciousness of chocolate, laughing uncontrollably at old Three Stooges
movies, again sleeping the sleep of the innocent. </span></span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinf-JyxZUYwL26NbsfwO2mouSqghGtT2veJaeeH21Kj-aFseMnWCVG67f1wdITihyVWLWY6HGj3q36skuAMsMkuw3iuXr36l_S6jembjnK6UktB8uZD0N9ZjrsRn_I6NmoeZN0ysspvAjp/s1600/kitten+firefly+500.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinf-JyxZUYwL26NbsfwO2mouSqghGtT2veJaeeH21Kj-aFseMnWCVG67f1wdITihyVWLWY6HGj3q36skuAMsMkuw3iuXr36l_S6jembjnK6UktB8uZD0N9ZjrsRn_I6NmoeZN0ysspvAjp/s400/kitten+firefly+500.png" width="282" /></a></div>
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<span style="color: #000099;"><span style="font-family: comic sans ms,sans-serif;">We may reach that
point. It is not impossible. It is possible. <br />
<br />Not forgetting. Overcoming. This we hope for. This we pray for.
This is my wish for all survivors of whatever tragedy life has brought
them. Please stop a moment and sing along with Pete Seeger and his
many friends.<br />
<br />(Note: Pete Seeger is a great overcomer, but that's a story for a different time.)</span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #000099;"><span style="font-family: comic sans ms,sans-serif;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="345" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/JwDcHLpCT4g" width="420"></iframe> </span></span></div>
<span style="color: #000099;"><span style="font-family: comic sans ms,sans-serif;">
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JwDcHLpCT4g" target="_blank">http://www.youtube.com/watch?<wbr></wbr>v=JwDcHLpCT4g</a><br /><br />******************************<wbr></wbr>******<br />
<br />Number of families who got no remains: 1,717 <br />( this is heart breaking )<br />******************************<wbr></wbr>*****<br /><br />I
cannot imagine how it would be to have no physical remains. Of course,
I lost mine, but I saw the bodies and that is very important. Their
ashes would have been scattered anyway. I vaguely remember some sort of
memorial in Montreal, but everything at the point is foggy-blurry. <br />
<br />We are a strange species. This is so important, to have a body, a
funeral. We pretend it's for the dead, but in fact, they are gone,
beyond our remembrances; they're really for the living. <br /><br />This brings to mind a song I haven't thought of in at least 40 years:</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #000099;"><span style="font-family: comic sans ms,sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #000099;"><span style="font-family: comic sans ms,sans-serif;">
I cannot buy you happiness, I cannot by you years;</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #000099;"><span style="font-family: comic sans ms,sans-serif;">I cannot buy you happiness, in place of all the tears.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #000099;"><span style="font-family: comic sans ms,sans-serif;">But I can buy for you a gravestone, to lay behind your head.</span></span><br />
<span style="color: #000099;"><span style="font-family: comic sans ms,sans-serif;">Gravestones cheer the living, dear, they’re no use to the dead.</span></span></div>
<span style="color: #000099;"><span style="font-family: comic sans ms,sans-serif;">
<br />Here is a 1967 music video of the song, I would guess it would qualify as one of the first music videos. </span></span><br />
<span style="color: #000099;"><span style="font-family: comic sans ms,sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
<span style="color: #000099;"><span style="font-family: comic sans ms,sans-serif;">**************************************</span></span><span style="color: #000099;"><span style="font-family: comic sans ms,sans-serif;"><br /></span></span><br />
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<span style="color: #000099;"><span style="font-family: comic sans ms,sans-serif;">
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<span style="color: #000099;"><span style="font-family: comic sans ms,sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4qhUjixmP28" target="_blank">http://www.youtube.com/watch?<wbr></wbr>v=4qhUjixmP28</a><br /><br />
I seen to be overflowing with meaning and depth today, eh? I have been
given (and developed) a gift of expressing myself and have a compulsion
to use it now and then. I started out thinking about how USAers make
such a big deal of 911 and no compassion toward those in other places
who suffered needlessly at the hands of others. Somehow, it changed, my
thoughts and attitude changed as I wrote. I saw how much I had learned
and how much I have to share with these who suffered personal losses in
911.<br />
<br />After 911, several people got very angry at me that I didn't show
the proper horror of the events of that day. I bought us breakfast at
McDonald's and we bought a pizza to bake for dinner. There was no way
at that time I could express what was in me. I couldn't even allow
myself to feel much of anything. Not only the obvious, but also the
fact that Simon's son had been killed in a car wreck in Kenya (drunk
driving) on June 10 and I was trying to care for a basketcase husband. I
was not yet ready, even in 2001, to look at my own feelings, but
Simon's grief and then airplanes flying into buildings was just too
much. I went numb, which appeared as coldness to others. </span></span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #000099;"><span style="font-family: comic sans ms,sans-serif;">-- </span></span></div>
<span style="color: #000099;"><span style="font-family: comic sans ms,sans-serif;">Note: Should anyone want to see the Three Stooges Pie Fight (which I highly recommend), it is on YouTube at </span></span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a4-spBDcJyk%20">Best Pie Fight Ever!</a><span style="color: #000099;"><span style="font-family: comic sans ms,sans-serif;"></span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="color: #000099;"><span style="font-family: comic sans ms,sans-serif;">--</span></span></div>
<br />
<span style="color: #000099;"><span style="font-family: comic sans ms,sans-serif;">Credits: All pictures are adapted from the public domain except the chocolates which were photographed by </span></span><span style="color: #351c75;">André Karwath </span><br />
<div style="color: #351c75;">
<br /></div>
<div style="color: #351c75;">
<i>I do think I owe a special thanks to Erik Colbourne whose cousin's leg was broken from people running on him at the World Trade Center. Eric ji, whoever you are, you have my love and I hope that leg healed up - and your spirit, as well. </i></div>
<div style="color: #351c75;">
-- </div>
<br /></div>
Simayananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12690050614711171210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-947116570902473556.post-25915262206326779942011-09-10T23:15:00.000-07:002011-09-10T23:16:56.544-07:00ARE THE TERRORISTS WINNING?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ0ihWKfCqK4Y3BjDYp35sZsmYoScp9oCG7xSH4vcb_foejQUPzSbMLNoTEdideuP6ebHUTPQncbHrO6wkz2bNCOD6j-aC_lhprbFq6V0qT352C3eVTQ3uEtw9p4ULHxBxO5kj4vMja98/s1600/twin+towers+blue+light.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhQ0ihWKfCqK4Y3BjDYp35sZsmYoScp9oCG7xSH4vcb_foejQUPzSbMLNoTEdideuP6ebHUTPQncbHrO6wkz2bNCOD6j-aC_lhprbFq6V0qT352C3eVTQ3uEtw9p4ULHxBxO5kj4vMja98/s400/twin+towers+blue+light.jpg" width="265" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Source: US Department of Defence</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
So, it's 11 September 2011, ten years later.<br />
<br />
CBC has been obsessing about this, even outdoing the USA networks.<br />
<br />
These have been a very difficult time for us Sikhs in North America. We have been snubbed, bullied,beaten and murdered in a case of mnistaken identity. I admit that I often think that this is a willing mistake on the part of those who have chosen to hate us. We look different - even worse, we CHOOSE to look different. We choose not to blend in, we choose to stand out.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq1Jej1QXFT9vg5sGeWVWxWvkRJrMPD9xGRCeSUNZ-pIylE9IOgPCrSEGDF5JEAftmHCtC4a81T8UZ1KahTO15FkaEPTdD1ZZoJVK6re0UvvzFqjPF9MlxxaIFY6PjG-wCoGFFX0YbuEE/s1600/balbir.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgq1Jej1QXFT9vg5sGeWVWxWvkRJrMPD9xGRCeSUNZ-pIylE9IOgPCrSEGDF5JEAftmHCtC4a81T8UZ1KahTO15FkaEPTdD1ZZoJVK6re0UvvzFqjPF9MlxxaIFY6PjG-wCoGFFX0YbuEE/s1600/balbir.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Still, I, at least, feel a bit guilty when I explain that I am not a Muslim, a chunni is not a hijab. Am I implying there is something wrong about being a Muslim? No, I am not! But sometimes, it is taken that way, especially by Muslims. I can usually get them to see what I mean by asking, "Would you like to be taken for a Sikh?"<br />
<br />
I heard of a group of Christian girls and women in Kansas City, who, with much publicity, donned hijabs after the attacks with the state motive to make it impossible to look at a woman and know iof she is a Muslim. Look at the picture below. Can you be sure of her religion?<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi809tFvVIGt9ObXYlq1w5eevUxbtGY1pEgXQjyw1CPjmnRsz5UUgWq-PItzlfbvPNtF2vfnttRBClzH03GiUItKOIOc2hZX6nUpeLsCsLX-qTDeE6Zw0WRV6FxVZs5fikVB8eBmhXjek8/s1600/girl-wearing-hijab-md.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi809tFvVIGt9ObXYlq1w5eevUxbtGY1pEgXQjyw1CPjmnRsz5UUgWq-PItzlfbvPNtF2vfnttRBClzH03GiUItKOIOc2hZX6nUpeLsCsLX-qTDeE6Zw0WRV6FxVZs5fikVB8eBmhXjek8/s1600/girl-wearing-hijab-md.png" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">GIRL IN HIJAB </td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
I have no idea how the Muslim community reacted to this, but it
raised an interesting question: How would we react as a community if a
group of non-Sikhs grew kesh and tied turbans to protect us? I'm really
not certain, but it's interesting to think about.<br />
Whatever.<br />
<br />
It has been ten years, ten difficult years for Sikhs in the USA. I will not compare the North American experience with what the Sikhs of India suffered in the last 15-20 years of the Twentieth Century. That is a different situation, and I hope my fellow Diasporan Sikhs draw courage and commitment from those Sikhs. <br />
<br />
I think that this would be a good time to renew our commitment to stand for good for all humanity. Let us live the truth of the words we say at least once every day:<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh3GrTpQxZmJhsvMy2p0LwL2dxms_84TxnJ49YOG_wBWhhzlPMTIdtsMQDh_KhR4XhIMq7W81Vm0w0Rj0sY1CeYXeMNMEHnfiREnHe2bcia32kphN_znlrW9YAiun89fv-Aed1GDRGy3U/s1600/earth+Ardas.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjh3GrTpQxZmJhsvMy2p0LwL2dxms_84TxnJ49YOG_wBWhhzlPMTIdtsMQDh_KhR4XhIMq7W81Vm0w0Rj0sY1CeYXeMNMEHnfiREnHe2bcia32kphN_znlrW9YAiun89fv-Aed1GDRGy3U/s400/earth+Ardas.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: Courtesy NASA</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
To that end, I suggest we join with Pete Seeger, a great USAer and a great humanitarian, singing the great USA song of hope, optimism and commitment, WE SHALL OVERCOME. I'll make it easy for you. This video has on-screen lyrics.</div>
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CREDIT: GIRL IN HIJAB by Mohammed Ibrahim<br />
http://www.clker.com/clipart-girl-wearing-hijab.html</div>
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Simayananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12690050614711171210noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-947116570902473556.post-48390432113993301622011-07-26T20:13:00.000-07:002011-07-26T20:13:14.186-07:00SCREWED<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My comment on what the US government is doing to the people of the USA RE: the budget debt ceiling.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK8z2mS0CELLh4w95IL7BhM8nYGr17vzZf6H0xAhAarMav_i16mWUUwUZiXD8E9_Z-dWS_o_Ss9o4r-P79aCFTAJ_Iht-VI57Qbj_s3oMuchcGyXmUZItN1gKtBlL6w4mSYt8JSHPh_tkZ/s1600/screwed+by+congress.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK8z2mS0CELLh4w95IL7BhM8nYGr17vzZf6H0xAhAarMav_i16mWUUwUZiXD8E9_Z-dWS_o_Ss9o4r-P79aCFTAJ_Iht-VI57Qbj_s3oMuchcGyXmUZItN1gKtBlL6w4mSYt8JSHPh_tkZ/s320/screwed+by+congress.png" width="253" /></a></div>
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Simayananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12690050614711171210noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-947116570902473556.post-59076885575917168822011-06-01T20:14:00.000-07:002011-06-01T20:17:30.455-07:00My Thoughts of the Bluestar Massacre (2011)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have a vision of the sort of life I want to live. This song has been a part of my life since it first came out. Here is my interpretation. Very simple. There are so many pictures I could have posted, fighting unbeatable foes, bearing with unbearable sorrows and all that. I decided just to let the song speak for itself with a minimum of interference by me.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='500' height='333' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwX9noJ8IXnkFG0fukPpEPFD49SeKpsyMkv30iCX-qLc2C_USU8sRx0kdEUiPNoTgk2Y3MIwenenUSFk6NyCQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div>Simayananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12690050614711171210noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-947116570902473556.post-30099767716857421302011-05-07T00:26:00.000-07:002011-05-07T15:19:19.652-07:00Monsters And Brothers - Thoughts on the Death of Osama bin Laden<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
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<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Osama bin Laden is dead.</span><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A simple statement. The new reality. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Osama bin Laden is dead. The boogie man is no more. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Who was Osama bin Laden and how can I react? Was he a monster as so many believe?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There are several sorts of monsters. Some live in the dark. You know the type. They hide in the closet or under your bed – or in the deepest recesses of your mind – until the lights are turned off. Then you must protect yourself by pulling the covers up over your head and lying very, very still. These monsters disappear you pull the covers away and confront them directly and you find they were nothing more than creations of your own mind.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman';"></span></span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Not all monsters are imaginary, though. They are there, obvious, unavoidable, all too visible. They have names like Aurangzeb, Adolf Hitler, Pol Pot. They do their deeds openly, for all to see, apparently without conscience or caring. These are the ones who run roughshod over the values that we as humans treasure, lacking compassion, seemingly finding pleasure tormenting those with whom they share they earth. On a smaller scale, we call them bullies. They torment those who are weaker than they, unable to defend themseves. Their deeds are malicious, finding joy in the suffering of others. They are murderers of the spirits of others and sometimes murderers of the body, as well. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
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</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Then there are the monsters who are invisible, living among us, unseen. Child molesters and rapists not yet caught, undiscovered serial murderers, corrupt and dangerous politicians and cops, more that you can add to the list. These monsters, unlike the first type are real and they know who they are. I do not know whether they choose to be monsters or are forced by some inner compulsion to do their evil deeds.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There is another type of monster, the kind that has no idea that s/he is a monster at all. The next door neighbour who hates Hindus or Christians or Muslims or Sikhs or Jews is a very naive sort of monster. Perhaps the hatred is directed at black people or brown people or yellow people or pink (white) people. (Those called “red” are really brown.) Maybe the prejudice is aimed at girl children and women, or at men. Then, of course, there are the xenophobes, those who hate foreigners or indeed strangers of any sort. For my readers specifically of Indian background, I would include caste prejudice in this unsavoury list. I suspect that more of us are this sort of monster than would care to admit it. Perhaps, even I sometimes am a naive monster. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It is possible for the naive monster to act on her/his prejudices and become a full-blown bigot and a genuine, visible monster.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Then there is the monster who so deeply believes in a cause that s/he will do whatever is necessary to realise that cause. No matter if civilians are killed by accidents (collateral damage) or on purpose (terrorism). No matter the damage done because the cause is all. The end justifies the means. Was Osama bin Laden this sort of monster?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Or was he the worst sort, the most evil who cynically leads others in a cause – perhaps for power and glory – that he himself had ceased to believe in or had never believed in?</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I have no way of knowing which of these monsters he was.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Or perhaps he wasn’t a monster at all. Perhaps he was a soul who got lost in the swirling changing mass of stuff around us that we call the World or Maya. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Whatever he was I am not sorry he is dead. He was a scumbag and I think the world is better off without him. My entire being, however, is repelled at public celebrations of his death. I understand them. I myself felt like celebrating when Indira Gandhi was killed. I did not celebrate, but that might have been simply because circumstances prevented it. I was wrong then, as people celebrating now are wrong now. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">However evil and vile his deeds, are we just mouthing platitudes when we say all people are children of the same Parent, whatever name you personally use for the Creator? I have lost a brother. A brother who did evil deeds, a brother I am glad to be rid of, a brother I did not love, but a brother nevertheless. It is at times like this that I find it necessary to deeply examine my own beliefs and I find myself not without hypocrisy. I know that Indira Gandhi is my sister, but I am not yet ready to feel it. </span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">John Donne’s immortal lines, which I have heard no one quote at this time, come to my mind.</span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">No man is an island entire of itself; every man</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span></span><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">is a piece of the continent, a part of the main;</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">if a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">well as a manor of thy friends or of thine</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">own were; any man's death diminishes me,</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">because I am involved in mankind.</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">And therefore never send to know for whom</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><br />
<span class="apple-style-span">the bell tolls; it tolls for thee.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="apple-style-span"><span style="color: #333333; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I must ask myself how does the death of this man, Osama bin Laden, diminish me. I am not yet able to answer this.<o:p></o:p></span></span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJC3FzrX7GEw2qBRZThpujVm4PxoYKx78ufr0mphJltlgEViJs3qTKdbDf1yQxO0IViu9rf0HIYtCdjbGjIYsQkfK4OnTSwWef80G1qddDu0vUvYD2nR18vaCFb40_aMSaSePLxJl57NE/s1600/osama-bin-laden-1998-thumb.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="221" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJC3FzrX7GEw2qBRZThpujVm4PxoYKx78ufr0mphJltlgEViJs3qTKdbDf1yQxO0IViu9rf0HIYtCdjbGjIYsQkfK4OnTSwWef80G1qddDu0vUvYD2nR18vaCFb40_aMSaSePLxJl57NE/s320/osama-bin-laden-1998-thumb.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">OSAMA BIN LADEN in 1998</td></tr>
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</div></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><i>Repoublished from <a href="http://roadtokhalistan.blogspot.com/">The Road To Khalistan</a></i></span></div></div></div>Simayananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12690050614711171210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-947116570902473556.post-44196652211227931102011-04-06T01:13:00.000-07:002011-04-06T01:13:03.002-07:00HOW TO IDENTIFY CITIES<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="border-collapse: collapse;"></span><br />
<div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><strong><span lang="EN">IDENTIFYING INDIAN, PAKISTANI, BANGLADESHI, NEPALI AND SRI LANKAN CITIES (AND NORTH AMERICA) </span></strong><span lang="EN"></span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">------------ --------- --------- --------- -</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">Scenario 1</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">Two guys are fighting and a third guy comes along, sees them and walks on.</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">That's MUMBAI</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">------------ --------- --------- --------- -</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">Scenario 2</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">Two guys are fighting. Both of them take time out and call their friends on their mobiles.</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">Now 50 guys are fighting.<br />
You are definitely in PUNJAB !!!</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">------------ --------- --------- --------- -</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">Scenario 3</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span lang="EN"><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">Two guys are fighting and a third guy comes along and tries to make peace. The first two get together and beat him up.</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">That's DELHI</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">--------- --------- --------- -</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">Scenario 4</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">Two guys are fighting.<br />
A crowd gathers to watch. A guy comes along and quietly opens a Chai-stall (like lemonade stand)</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">That's AHMEDABAD</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">------------ --------- --------- --------- -</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">Scenario 5</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">Two guys are fighting and a third guy comes.<br />
He writes a software program to stop the fight. But the fight doesn't stop because of a virus in the program.</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">That's BANGALORE</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">--------- --------- --------- -</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">Scenario 6</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">Two guys are fighting. A crowd gathers to watch.<br />
A guy comes along and quietly says that "AMMA" doesn't like all this nonsense. Peace settles in...</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span lang="EN"><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">That's CHENNAI</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">------------ --------- --------- --------- -</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">Scenario 7</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">Two guys are fighting and a third guy comes along, then a fourth and they start arguing about who's right.</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">You are in KOLKATA</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">------------ --------- --------- --------- -</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">Scenario 8</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">Two guys are fighting. Third guy comes from nearby house and says, "don't fight in front of my place, go zumwhere yelse and kyeep fighting". <span> </span></span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN">That's KERALA !</span><br />
<span lang="EN">------------ --------- --------- --------- -</span></span><div style="background-color: white;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">It two guys are courteous to each other and each one wants the other to step into the train first as respect and in that first you, first you, pahlay aap, pahlay aap, the train takes off</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">You are in Lucknow !!!</span></span></div></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">------------ --------- --------- --------- -</span></span></div><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN"></span></span><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">and the best one is ....</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">Scenario 9<br />
Two guys are fighting. Third guy comes along with a carton of beer. All sit together drinking beer and abusing each other and all go home as friends.</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">You are in GOA !!!</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">========================================</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">MEANWHILE, HALFWAY ROUND THE GLOBE...</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white;"><span lang="EN"><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">Scenario 10</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">Two guys are trying to get worked up enough to fight.</span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">A third comes along and suggests that, please, can they they all go get something to drink.</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">They all jog to Starbucks after agreeing to drink only Fair Trade Coffee.</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN">Most definitely that is SEATTLE</span>, my current city.</span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">(A few years back, Seattle was given the title of the USA's most polite city.)</span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">-----------------------------</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">Scenario 11</span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN">Two guys are fighting. </span>One gives the other a bloody nose.</span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">The first apologises and offers to drive him to the emergency room.</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">Then they both drink a Molson's with a third guy who just happens along.</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">You are anywhere in CANADA (except Quebec).</span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">---------------------------------</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">Scenario 12</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">Two guys are fighting. They take a cigarette break while cursing at each other.</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">A third guy walks by and says, "Good morning."</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span lang="EN"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">They beat him up because he spoke English.</span></span></div><div style="background-color: white; color: black; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px;"><span style="color: #000099; font-family: 'comic sans ms', sans-serif; font-size: medium;">Now that's MONTREAL (where I was born.)</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: x-small;">-----------------------------------------------------------</span></span></div></span></div></span></div></div>Simayananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12690050614711171210noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-947116570902473556.post-47206619224758322502011-03-20T19:32:00.001-07:002011-03-20T19:32:00.211-07:00My Tribute to the People of Japan<div style="text-align: left; padding: 3px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/maisometimes2/5544669653/" title="photo sharing"><img src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5093/5544669653_dfb52bbd99.jpg" style="border: solid 2px #000000;" alt="" /></a><br /><span style="font-size: 0.8em; margin-top: 0px;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/maisometimes2/5544669653/">My Tribute to the People of Japan</a>, originally uploaded by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/people/maisometimes2/">Mai1984</a>.</span></div><p>This is my recognition of the spirit, courage and civility of the Japanese people and their response to the recent trisaster.<br /><br />This is a reminder that the Sun is always shining. Sometimes we just can't see her.<br /><br />Below is the the devastation of the earthquake and tsunami, while Fujiyama soars above the tragedy. Above all, the benevolent presence of Amaterasu-no-Kami, the Sun Goddess and chief deity of the Shinto religion, gives her blessing and strength to her people, the people of Japan.<br /><br />(Note: I am neither Shinto nor Japanese. If I have hurt anybody's religious sensibilities, please let me know and I will correct the matter.)<br /><br />With much thanks to Derek Visser. Three of his photos were used to make the Fukushima plant here:<br />www.flickr.com/photos/vizpix/5530864283/<br />www.flickr.com/photos/vizpix/5529845859/<br />www.flickr.com/photos/vizpix/5529038135/<br /><br />To the United States Air Force<br />www.flickr.com/photos/usairforce/5529732202/<br />and<br />the US Pacific Fleet(Navy)<br />www.flickr.com/photos/compacflt/5529922582/<br /><br />I believe all other images used are in the Public Domain.</p>Maihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17093308712240415770noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-947116570902473556.post-69590140626720255382011-02-08T11:00:00.000-08:002011-02-08T11:00:08.932-08:00A Conversation Between Twins<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="MsoNormal"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEvy3fk4bc8-_ZCBAiXtmkFCjpakr1inOyzExlkMg-pZXeODiegOLRdqeVQmm6oDJxw3Pxp29qAGqguFAGMHwfXSX4H0vxYdywVg89y8xs_KIOwVJHyO0CYb7SqOPJ75O4I3-SUoZOj7x5/s1600/twins-in-utero-live-450.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="159" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEvy3fk4bc8-_ZCBAiXtmkFCjpakr1inOyzExlkMg-pZXeODiegOLRdqeVQmm6oDJxw3Pxp29qAGqguFAGMHwfXSX4H0vxYdywVg89y8xs_KIOwVJHyO0CYb7SqOPJ75O4I3-SUoZOj7x5/s320/twins-in-utero-live-450.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: large;"><b>Going out of the Womb</b></span><br />
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"In the belly of a pregnant woman, two babies have a conversation. One of them is a believer and the other is an atheist. (*)<br />
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The atheist: Do you believe in life after birth?<br />
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The believer: Sure. Everyone knows that there is life after birth. We are here to grow and be strong enough and prepared for what awaits us after.<br />
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The atheist: Nonsense! There cannot be any life after birth! Can you imagine how this life would be?<br />
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The believer: I do not know all the details, but I think there is more light, and maybe we'll walk around and we’ll eat there.<br />
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The atheist: Nonsense! It is impossible to walk and eat! Ridiculous! We have the umbilical cord that feeds us. I just want to point out to you that life after birth cannot exist because our life, the cord, is too short.<br />
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The believer: I'm sure it's possible. It will just be a bit different. I can imagine how it will be.<br />
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The atheist: But nobody ever came back from there! Life simply ends due to birth. And frankly, life is a great suffering in the darkness.<br />
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The believer: No, no! I do not know exactly how our life will be after birth, but in any case, we will meet our mother and she will take care of us!<br />
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The atheist: A mother? Do you really think we have a mother? So where is she then? "</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBYtLZ4Xt8_nDPk7Xg1Qco2MlfVY8F8cWyO6gHBKPY94hp_swjrcBp7x-GXz196X7dOVPAuzlElvYxxjiL360SjXQI_BmBR4d-LslcxqCM7PcsLKfItxlPikQWfv8p-HmLD4vwxym5v81g/s1600/pregnant+woman+twins.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBYtLZ4Xt8_nDPk7Xg1Qco2MlfVY8F8cWyO6gHBKPY94hp_swjrcBp7x-GXz196X7dOVPAuzlElvYxxjiL360SjXQI_BmBR4d-LslcxqCM7PcsLKfItxlPikQWfv8p-HmLD4vwxym5v81g/s400/pregnant+woman+twins.png" width="258" /></a></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
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</div>Courtesy Marina Griva & Otilia Torres Brizuela, by way of Harry Rakhraj on Facebook. </div>Simayananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12690050614711171210noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-947116570902473556.post-40052119486535474712011-01-21T20:58:00.000-08:002011-01-21T20:58:41.529-08:00BREATHING WATER<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">A Slideshow of my FishWorld Tanks. Not as elaborate as some; still they're mine!<br />
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And I have never been either to Australia or to Fiji, but they insisted on a location. <br />
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<div style="background: url("http://tripwow.tripadvisor.com/tripwow/ta-00d1-33de-f6ca/e/14d3a61019/bg") no-repeat scroll 0pt 0pt rgb(0, 0, 0); border: medium none; margin: 0pt; padding: 0pt; width: 420px;"><embed allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" base="http://images.travelpod.com/bin/tripwow/flash/" bgcolor="#000000" flashvars="xmlPath=http%3A%2F%2Ftripwow.tripadvisor.com%2Ftripwow%2Fta-00d1-33de-f6ca%2Fapxml%3Fed%3D14d3a61019%26ref%3D" height="272" name="TripWow" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer" quality="high" src="http://images.travelpod.com/bin/tripwow/flash/tripwow.swf" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="420" wmode="opaque"></embed><br />
<div style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 0% rgb(255, 255, 255); border: medium none; color: #999999; font-family: verdana,sans-serif; font-size: 9px; margin: 0pt; padding: 0pt; text-align: justify; width: 420px;"><a href="http://tripwow.tripadvisor.com/tripwow/ta-00d1-33de-f6ca" style="color: #cc6600;">Breathing Water Slideshow</a>: Mai’s trip from <a href="http://www.tripadvisor.com/Tourism-g60878-Seattle_Washington-Vacations.html" style="color: #cc6600;">Seattle</a>, <a href="http://www.tripadvisor.com/Tourism-g28968-Washington-Vacations.html" style="color: #cc6600;">Washington</a>, <a href="http://www.tripadvisor.com/Tourism-g191-United_States-Vacations.html" style="color: #cc6600;">United States</a> to 2 cities Fiji (near <a href="http://www.tripadvisor.com/Tourism-g754102-Matangi_Island-Vacations.html" style="color: #cc6600;">Matangi Island</a>, <a href="http://www.tripadvisor.com/Tourism-g294331-Fiji-Vacations.html" style="color: #cc6600;">Fiji</a>) and Aquarium Passage (near <a href="http://www.tripadvisor.com/Tourism-g1129243-Ascot_Western_Australia-Vacations.html" style="color: #cc6600;">Ascot</a>, <a href="http://www.tripadvisor.com/Tourism-g255101-Western_Australia-Vacations.html" style="color: #cc6600;">Western Australia</a>, <a href="http://www.tripadvisor.com/Tourism-g255055-Australia-Vacations.html" style="color: #cc6600;">Australia</a>) was created by <a href="http://www.tripadvisor.com/" style="color: #cc6600;">TripAdvisor</a>. See another <a href="http://tripwow.tripadvisor.com/slideshow/australia.html" style="color: #cc6600;">Australia slideshow</a>. Take your travel photos and <a href="http://tripwow.tripadvisor.com/" style="color: #cc6600;">make a slideshow</a> for free.</div></div></div>Simayananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12690050614711171210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-947116570902473556.post-86652367389467459992011-01-21T19:40:00.000-08:002011-01-21T19:40:11.340-08:00Squirrel Appreciation Day<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">I did not make this up. Don't get me wrong, I like squirrels. I am not one of those Nazi-types that considers them rats with pretty tails. Where we used to live they actually came into our apartment, climbed up my lrgs and ate peanuts from my hand. Fortunately, none ever bit me because then I would have had to get rabies shots. Anyway, here's the article.<br />
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I suggest you NOT celebrate by eating <a href="http://recipes.epicurean.com/recipe/919/brunswick-stew-%28squirrel-stew%29-for-a-crowd.html">Brunswick stew,</a> although I suppose that is a somewhat perverted way of appreciating these delightful rodents. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjzs240Kf4WCQCZianyuoAgVtexmFjUhfkBN372x5JJhr_C1icHH4bQk2RiZTF4uhs0ARtgPmHgT71TLmotK3wlMBE5PblHdURhpigtCekiERhOmd3C_aKbabmFR4I3_lNkd8tFKWDsat5/s1600/brunswick-stew-008.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjjzs240Kf4WCQCZianyuoAgVtexmFjUhfkBN372x5JJhr_C1icHH4bQk2RiZTF4uhs0ARtgPmHgT71TLmotK3wlMBE5PblHdURhpigtCekiERhOmd3C_aKbabmFR4I3_lNkd8tFKWDsat5/s1600/brunswick-stew-008.jpg" /></a></div><br />
<h4 id="article_title"><a href="http://www.care2.com/causes/animal-welfare/blog/go-nuts-for-squirrel-appreciation-day/">Go Nuts for Squirrel Appreciation Day</a></h4><div class="posted_by">posted by: <a href="http://www.care2.com/causes/author/amgraef/">alicia graef</a> </div><div class="main_image" id="main_image"><img alt="Go Nuts for Squirrel Appreciation Day" id="article_image" src="http://dingo.care2.com/pictures/c2c/share/27/270/032/2703275_431.jpg" /></div><br />
Squirrels are adventurous and bold, smart, adorable in their antics, adapt to wide ranges of fragmented habitat, drive bird feeders crazy with their raids, play a crucial role in balancing insect populations, spread seeds in forests and fields and now, with the changes of global climate, they are helping scientists understand how nature is adapting.<br />
For all this and more, January 21 has been designated Squirrel Appreciation Day, an idea created by wildlife rehabilitator Christy Hargrove in Asheville, North Carolina.<br />
Hargrove <a href="http://christywisty.tripod.com/info.html" target="_blank">points out</a> that you probably won't find any events to attend, but you can celebrate by putting food out, or learning something new about squirrels.<br />
There are more than 300 species of squirrel. In the boreal forests of Canada’s Yukon Territory the red squirrel females are giving their secrets to scientists who are studying females endowing their offspring with genetic changes that may help their species adapt to global warming.<br />
In 2003, a 10-year study found that female red squirrels were giving birth 18 days earlier than their great-grandmothers did, an average of six days earlier in each generation as temperatures in the region have risen about 4 degrees F during the past three decades. The increase has also lead to an abundance of pine cones that prefer drier climate.<br />
Researchers monitored 664 females, including 325 followed throughout their lifetimes and found that natural selection is at work. Babies born earlier, some in the dead of winter as February ends in the Yukon, will be stronger and there will be less competition for territory adults left vacant the previous winter.<br />
The discovery marked the first documentation of genetic changes in a mammal to climate change.<br />
Red squirrels, about half the size of their plump gray squirrel relatives in the east, living in a vast empire from the northern tree line of Alaska and Canada south through the Rocky Mountains and into mountain peaks of Arizona and Midwest and Appalachian forests, squirrels have been given different names such as piney, barking squirrel, mountain boomer and chickaree for their scolding alarm.<br />
When they’re not busy doing their job in nature, they seem to have a mischievous streak when it comes to human beings. Twice, in 1987 and in 1994, squirrels brought down the NASDAQ stock market, a nationwide network of telephones and computers where some 300 million shares are traded each day. In 1987 a playful squirrel in Trumbull, Conn, shut down the national Association of Securities dealers’ automatic quotation service for 82 minutes, keeping about 20 million shares from being traded. Seven years later, in 1994, a squirrel interrupted trading for 34 minutes by chewing through an electric company’s power line and the stock exchange’s backup power system in Trumbull.<br />
Visit the<a href="http://www.nwf.org/News-and-Magazines/National-Wildlife/Outdoors/Archives/2011/Squirrel-Day-Activities.aspx" target="_blank"> National Wildlife Federation</a> for a list of ways you can celebrate squirrels or become a citizen scientist by participating in <a href="http://www.projectsquirrel.org/index.shtml" target="_blank">Project Squirrel</a>. You can also visit <a href="http://www.squirrels.org/" target="_blank">Squirrels.org</a> for a handful of information from building squirrel friendly feeders and rescue to humane squirrel control. <br />
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</div>Simayananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12690050614711171210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-947116570902473556.post-12862718492195936502010-12-28T18:38:00.000-08:002010-12-28T18:38:47.583-08:00Nightmare, With AngelsI made this picture to go with the poem.<br />
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Nightmare, With Angels<br />
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<br />
By Stephen Vincent Benét<br />
An angel came to me and stood by my bedside, <br />
Remarking in a professorial-historical-economic and <br />
irritated voice, <br />
"If the Romans had only invented a decent explosion- <br />
engine! <br />
Not even the best, not even a Ford V-8 <br />
But, say, a Model T or even an early Napier, <br />
They’d have built good enough roads for it (they <br />
knew how to build roads) <br />
From Cape Wrath to Cape St. Vincent, Susa, Babylon <br />
and Moscow, <br />
And the motorized legions never would have fallen, <br />
And peace, in the shape of a giant eagle, would brood <br />
over the entire Western World!" <br />
He changed his expression, looking now like <br />
a combination of Gilbert Murray, Hilaire Belloc and <br />
a dozen other scientists, writers, and prophets, <br />
And continued, in angelic tones, <br />
"If the Greeks had known how to Cooperate, if there'd <br />
never been a Reformation, <br />
If Sparta had not been Sparta, and the Church had been <br />
the Church of the saints, <br />
The Argive peace like a free-blooming olive-tree, the <br />
peace of Christ (who loved peace) like a great, <br />
beautiful vine enwrapping the spinning earth! <br />
Take it nearer home," he said. <br />
"Take these Mayans and their star-clocks, their <br />
carvings and their great cities. <br />
Who sacked them out of their cities, drowned the cities <br />
with a green jungle? <br />
A plague? A change of climate? A queer migration? <br />
Certainly they were skilful, certainly they created. <br />
And, in Tenochtitlan, the dark obsidian knife and the <br />
smoking heart on the stone but a fair city, <br />
And the Incas had it worked out beautifully till Pizarro <br />
smashed them <br />
The collectivist state was there, and the ladies very <br />
agreeable. <br />
They lacked steel, alphabet and gunpowder and they had <br />
to get married when the government said so. <br />
They also lacked unemployment and overproduction. <br />
For that matter," he said, "take the Cro-Magnons, <br />
The fellows with the big skulls, the handsome folk, the <br />
excellent scribers of mammoths, <br />
Physical gods and yet with the sensitive brain (they <br />
drew the running reindeer) . <br />
What stopped them? What kept us all from being Apollos <br />
and Aphrodites <br />
Only with a new taste to the nectar, <br />
The laughing gods, not the cruel, the gods of song, not of <br />
Supposing Aurelius, Confucius, Napoleon, Plato, Gautama, <br />
Alexander-- <br />
Just to take half a dozen-- <br />
Had ever realized and stabilized the full dream? <br />
How long, O Lord God in the highest? How long, what now, <br />
perturbed spirit? " <br />
He turned blue at the wingtips and disappeared as another <br />
angel approached me. - <br />
This one was quietly but appropriately dressed in <br />
cellophane, synthetic rubber and stainless steel, <br />
But his mask was the blind mask of Ares, snouted for <br />
gas-masks. <br />
He was neither soldier, sailor, farmer, dictator nor <br />
munitions-manufacturer. <br />
Nor did he have much conversation, except to say, <br />
"You will not be saved by General Motors or the pre- <br />
fabricated house. <br />
You will not be saved by dialectic materialism or the <br />
Lambeth Conference. <br />
You will not be saved by Vitamin D or the expanding <br />
universe. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDGad3ldIo9T2YUGx4eJUijpKYEjjg5o9bu5hP2PraY7y22oP1R9HvUNIjsYU7_PkH2WkU9W-tXmnq4z3ZZ-ta6e8JZZ4dWAzX-ktduowgl3TSvplpvZ0YebjViENid5cW4sDtoLbDgVEc/s1600/Nightmare%252C+With+Angels+and+D.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgDGad3ldIo9T2YUGx4eJUijpKYEjjg5o9bu5hP2PraY7y22oP1R9HvUNIjsYU7_PkH2WkU9W-tXmnq4z3ZZ-ta6e8JZZ4dWAzX-ktduowgl3TSvplpvZ0YebjViENid5cW4sDtoLbDgVEc/s1600/Nightmare%252C+With+Angels+and+D.png" /></a></div>In fact, you will not be saved." <br />
Then he showed his hand: <br />
In his hand was a woven, wire basket, full of seeds, small <br />
metallic and shining like the seeds of portulaca; <br />
Where he sowed them, the green vine withered, and the smoke <br />
and the armies sprang up. <br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Picture credits: I believe all pictures used in this are in the public domain except for the gas mask, which is one recommended for civilian use by the Israeli army</i>Simayananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12690050614711171210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-947116570902473556.post-69552878515411632942010-12-11T22:43:00.000-08:002010-12-12T16:21:52.013-08:00A GOAT MAKES A LION SHEEPISH<span style="font-size: large;">For the last few months, my creative endeavours have been mostly concerned with visual arts instead of writing. I’ve been working with Photoshop and gif and, most recently, with Windows Movie Maker. I have also been teaching myself to knit Estonian lace, an accomplishment for those with two usable hands. </span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmf1zaxLbT7BqrsFUxS70HSpZBTg4Aau7gpA6Ss4h7sXwGswSRz-gZtVeChGabfHcSAirFQ2L9b9mTgA4RBinFjyIgf-KpBby2NRehsiCV-QS2ZYnhftxnpyXSKE633H4qbe1TuBX4LOo/s1600/Estonian+scarf.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="302" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmf1zaxLbT7BqrsFUxS70HSpZBTg4Aau7gpA6Ss4h7sXwGswSRz-gZtVeChGabfHcSAirFQ2L9b9mTgA4RBinFjyIgf-KpBby2NRehsiCV-QS2ZYnhftxnpyXSKE633H4qbe1TuBX4LOo/s400/Estonian+scarf.png" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">My writing has kind of fallen into the bin of things I just don’t make the time for. A couple of dear friends have really been pestering me to write something, <i>anything. </i>Today, there is a heavy rain and I feel like a change, so I will write about an incident on our lovely little farm many, many years ago when life was simple and generally a lot of fun.</span><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
</span> <span style="font-size: large;">I’m not sure I can write this. It’s about the funniest thing that ever happened to me and even thinking about it I can’t stop laughing. It concerns a grumpy, cantankerous nanny goat – they are all grumpy and cantankerous, but this one seemed to have some special chip on her goat shoulders – and a strong, dignified, self-possessed Khalsa lion who was always in control of himself and never let anything discombobulate him. </span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBXldUG7rH51suQ3rm929VG8RA-xEDw1OrApxRAAiBvp3H-km2Uv0AqryUDA2TZZzg3GUpOrXG0fjCxKKDGxCnKrnALoIu4G6eBk8KMgI60VGks5IG6JruXVbh4Svi9sCxfvbybej2Hkw/s1600/Goat+smiling+flickr.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhBXldUG7rH51suQ3rm929VG8RA-xEDw1OrApxRAAiBvp3H-km2Uv0AqryUDA2TZZzg3GUpOrXG0fjCxKKDGxCnKrnALoIu4G6eBk8KMgI60VGks5IG6JruXVbh4Svi9sCxfvbybej2Hkw/s320/Goat+smiling+flickr.jpg" width="259" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
</span> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: large;">A lovely Saturday summer’s day on the farm. Mani had decided that I needed a break from my usual routine and that he would milk the goats. I admit I wasn’t too sure that that was a good idea. Mani was a great doctor and very good at doing almost everything, but he was a city boy right down to his cellular structure and the farm was an alien environment to him. I was, of course, raised in the city, but parts of our summers in India had been spent on the family farm, always a welcome relief from the filth of the city. I sort of caught the farming bug then and felt at home on our little farm.</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"> </span> <span style="font-size: large;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">Back to milking the goats. Mani, of course, looked perfect. He had decided to play nihang, I guess, and was wearing a blue chola and a perfectly tied turban. I knew the goats wouldn’t be impressed, but, to be honest, I was. He always – almost always – impressed me. So he took the milking bucket and all 6’ 3” (191 cm) of himself out to the barn.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsiJJvjEBM1_jC02of3gXURhbF5qheoOlVQ-VEYvZK3XpleLYD8yM_e5UaaivH7-_LpgdI-F8PmSvyaEi-S7dbAKXW4nY14zWnAEZIfgVBGHLxo-q9TnpBfsq60aVyLvwV1roGehJpGJo/s1600/khalsa+with+milk+bucket+orange.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsiJJvjEBM1_jC02of3gXURhbF5qheoOlVQ-VEYvZK3XpleLYD8yM_e5UaaivH7-_LpgdI-F8PmSvyaEi-S7dbAKXW4nY14zWnAEZIfgVBGHLxo-q9TnpBfsq60aVyLvwV1roGehJpGJo/s400/khalsa+with+milk+bucket+orange.png" width="297" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;"> </span> <span style="font-size: large;"></span></div><span style="font-size: large;">I sat down in the kitchen to work on my knitting and enjoy a cup of tea and some homemade bread and jam.</span><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
</span> <span style="font-size: large;">For a time all was peaceful. I could hear the happy little birds chirping and the sound of Sandeep and Rosa’s kids playing happily in the back ground when—</span><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" class="inlineimg" src="http://www.sikhphilosophy.net/images/smilies/icecreamkaur.gif" /><br />
<br />
</span> <span style="font-size: large;">Mani came running full speed into the kitchen, screaming as I had never heard him scream before, in a complete panic – (Sorry, I have to stop for a laugh time) – “Shut the door! Shut the door!” </span><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
</span> <span style="font-size: large;">[Freeze frame] Before I continue with the action, I must describe my thoroughly discombobulated husband. His chola had somehow come completely open, his turban was loose and disheveled and goat milk – my wonderful goat milk – my dribbling from his drenched beard. What milk had managed to make it into the bucket was slopping and spilling all over the floor.</span><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
</span> <span style="font-size: large;">I couldn’t move. I couldn’t shut the door. All I could do was laugh helplessly. Normally I am a kind person who wouldn’t just laugh at someone in such panicked distress, but this was my imperturbable Mani, the always calm, always perfect Mani Singh with goat milk dribbling down his beard onto his naked hairy chest. </span><span style="font-size: large;"><img border="0" class="inlineimg" src="http://www.sikhphilosophy.net/images/smilies/orangeturban.png" /><br />
<br />
</span> <span style="font-size: large;">[Resume action] Immediately behind him ran one very determined nanny goat. Determined to catch him and do God-only-knows-what to him. Needless to say, I could not close the door. I was laughing too hard. I think ROFL had not yet been invented, but I was laughing so hard that I was bent over double, unable even to breathe, and actually fell out of the chair onto the floor. ROFL. So there I was, helplessly laughing on the floor – which by now was slippery with goat milk, my husband first glaring down at me and then at the goat and one nanny goat standing, smiling triumphantly at the whole scene. </span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"></span><br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/maisometimes2/5253536806/" title="Goats Don't Belong In the Kitchen! by Mai1984, on Flickr"><img alt="Goats Don't Belong In the Kitchen!" height="387" src="http://farm6.static.flickr.com/5205/5253536806_e439392c63.jpg" width="500" /></a><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-size: large;">“If you can stop laughing long enough, get that damned beast out of our kitchen!” Poor Mani just didn’t see the humour of the situation yet. (He would later, of course.) I struggled to my feet and slid over to the goat while Mani made his way to one of the chairs. He was almost there to safety when he slipped and that whole big body crashed to the floor. He grabbed at the table and managed just to catch the end of the tablecloth, pulling jam and bread and tea onto his prostrate body. I am sure that someday, in some remote corner of hell, I will pay for this, but I couldn’t resist saying, “Lo, how the mighty are fallen,” as I picked myself up. The goat meanwhile had started nibbling at a flower pot on the counter and had pooped on the floor. I managed to get her out of the kitchen and back to the barn. She liked me well enough and I suppose that she was content to return home, having had her triumph.</span><span style="font-size: large;"> <img border="0" class="inlineimg" src="http://www.sikhphilosophy.net/images/smilies/sikhsmileys/motherly_love_munda.gif" /><br />
<br />
</span> <span style="font-size: large;">Still barely in control of myself, I quickly ran back to our house, to the kitchen, hoping to get to a camera before Mani regained his senses. I was too late. He had already run off to the shower. Not before disposing of the goat poop, though.</span><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
</span> <span style="font-size: large;">I started to clean up the mess, leaving him to nurse his wounded pride. After a time, he returned, looking again like Mani, calm, self-possessed and all that, although he was very, very red from blushing embarrassment. Rather sheepishly, he insisted on finishing cleaning up the kitchen, which was very sweet of him. I made another pot of tea and ate my jam and bread and knitted and burst out laughing every time I even glanced at him.</span><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
<br />
</span> <span style="font-size: large;">Two things I learned from this: <br />
<br />
</span><br />
<ol style="list-style-type: decimal;"><li><span style="font-size: large;">Bana is not appropriate attire for milking goats. <br />
</span></li>
<li><span style="font-size: large;">Goats do not belong in my kitchen.</span></li>
</ol><span style="font-size: large;"><br />
</span> <span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: large;">Mani never offered to milk the goats again. <img border="0" class="inlineimg" src="http://www.sikhphilosophy.net/images/smilies/sikhsmileys/animated_winking_munda.gif" /><br />
<br />
<img alt="" border="0" class="inlineimg" src="http://www.sikhphilosophy.net/images/smilies/sikhsmileys/coffee_kaur.gif" title="Ginger Tea Sipping Kaur" /></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: large;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: large;"><img alt="" border="0" class="inlineimg" src="http://www.sikhphilosophy.net/images/smilies/sikhsmileys/peacekaur.gif" title="Kaur Peace Sign" /></span> </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: small;">Picture credits can be found at:</span> <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/maisometimes2/5253536806/">Goats Don't Belong In the Kitchen</a>Simayananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12690050614711171210noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-947116570902473556.post-41062440348382353132010-11-09T18:29:00.000-08:002010-11-09T18:29:15.425-08:00A Walk On The BeachPresident Sarkozy and his wife Carla Bruni stroll on the French Riviera. <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcexHJMiqA0gLkwq7FEbgsCYgAxldGjvVbyJ4x0nq9nugFOJ2fXCMEM50KPm116t5RVMadTzUDDurBHbaUSAr7e7PIFNsgsdzHs7WFBpISwTlySSNgsPatOXW5_GS_kD1-cGKgw8N08lk-/s1600/sarkozy-wife-complete.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhcexHJMiqA0gLkwq7FEbgsCYgAxldGjvVbyJ4x0nq9nugFOJ2fXCMEM50KPm116t5RVMadTzUDDurBHbaUSAr7e7PIFNsgsdzHs7WFBpISwTlySSNgsPatOXW5_GS_kD1-cGKgw8N08lk-/s1600/sarkozy-wife-complete.gif" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The real Reason...that the niqab was outlawed in France</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Simayananhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12690050614711171210noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-947116570902473556.post-46463960909111301162010-10-02T20:38:00.000-07:002010-10-02T20:38:19.359-07:00RODENT SANDWICHActually, this was from Buzz earlier today, but I can't find it now.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://miceheight.blogspot.com/">Rodent Sammich,</a> Animated<br />
<br />
Well, if you found yourself as the meat portion of a sandwich, wouldn't you try to get out, too?<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3XqkwukC1Wdx1KdGP8VxAcP4SOe0xSutH-xuI_IHRhN_zHuW2RfZUEzBFmjuYvYYgzW_vpt7qnkovhVdJ1mNH3A-X14kkLk0F7MMivUCq4je1z1AL68wvMALaoZlw5Awlxf-DnAg98jA/s1600/mouse+sammich.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3XqkwukC1Wdx1KdGP8VxAcP4SOe0xSutH-xuI_IHRhN_zHuW2RfZUEzBFmjuYvYYgzW_vpt7qnkovhVdJ1mNH3A-X14kkLk0F7MMivUCq4je1z1AL68wvMALaoZlw5Awlxf-DnAg98jA/s1600/mouse+sammich.gif" /></a></div>Maihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17093308712240415770noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-947116570902473556.post-13620208774417986332010-09-21T20:00:00.000-07:002010-09-21T20:00:58.113-07:00WORDLESS WEDNESDAY - walking down the winding roads<div style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/singhangad/5011744227/"><i>walking down the winding road</i></a></div><span id="goog_1915144426"></span><br />
<span id="goog_1915144417"></span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><br />
<img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHgx0AqEwcvBOFUKK8dECUDFisn7CnFBOSZxajUNKaxce_hKMGB_8Yy-cfgnwWe6OYdTMy5VzE__MVQLmy3uXYV5watPbwH7mzfxjV6qAz5oprr_G-1ndWspBbKt90b4q7oqbYaygCMeI/s400/Walking+down+thewinding+road.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Love doesn't make the world go round. Love is what makes the ride worthwhile.<br />
Franklin P. Jones</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span id="goog_1915144418"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHgx0AqEwcvBOFUKK8dECUDFisn7CnFBOSZxajUNKaxce_hKMGB_8Yy-cfgnwWe6OYdTMy5VzE__MVQLmy3uXYV5watPbwH7mzfxjV6qAz5oprr_G-1ndWspBbKt90b4q7oqbYaygCMeI/s1600/Walking+down+thewinding+road.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a></div><br />
<br />
Photograph: courtesy of <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/singhangad/with/5011744227/">Angad Singh</a><br />
<img alt="Copyright" height="15" src="http://l.yimg.com/g/images/icon_all_rights.png" width="15" /> All rights reserved by Angad Singh<span id="goog_1915144431"></span><span id="goog_1915144432"></span><a href="http://draft.blogger.com/"></a><span id="goog_1915144433"></span><span id="goog_1915144434"></span><a href="http://draft.blogger.com/"></a><span id="goog_1915144435"></span><span id="goog_1915144436"></span><a href="http://draft.blogger.com/"></a><span id="goog_1915144437"></span><span id="goog_1915144438"></span><a href="http://draft.blogger.com/"></a>Maihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17093308712240415770noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-947116570902473556.post-78138103869786774692010-07-22T16:20:00.000-07:002010-07-22T16:20:06.110-07:00Day Lilies and Frogs by Anne NormaThese beautiful photos are by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/29278394@N00/with/4817859313/">Anne Norman</a> who generously publishes under a Creative Commons license. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyFLBmrDeTfhkyJOsHTlhSEV5qj2mGfbeJ5ssR3NdyM2LWWOmWEer3x9Lm5eH8vaGHx5Rua-dsJw9ikxtK8a833-fk4rTxem9ReDIbkCEHsvzolQdeS5uGx7e_s5x5hDycY_rwhnVNego/s1600/Daylily+1+normanack.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyFLBmrDeTfhkyJOsHTlhSEV5qj2mGfbeJ5ssR3NdyM2LWWOmWEer3x9Lm5eH8vaGHx5Rua-dsJw9ikxtK8a833-fk4rTxem9ReDIbkCEHsvzolQdeS5uGx7e_s5x5hDycY_rwhnVNego/s400/Daylily+1+normanack.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUPL6RUCXtaSnkAd9nBfpQg_6-VJkYiEmwk8Xd-I9pypeSVBt57lYwR-xZX0-W-8Ri9a0QapGmO2RWVQ1VWKN_5rWnF-qdAe6WHZIX0gubEmq7GWbSEYy_ShPIO-wEE6zW_WZDetpCKx8/s1600/daylilly+and+frog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUPL6RUCXtaSnkAd9nBfpQg_6-VJkYiEmwk8Xd-I9pypeSVBt57lYwR-xZX0-W-8Ri9a0QapGmO2RWVQ1VWKN_5rWnF-qdAe6WHZIX0gubEmq7GWbSEYy_ShPIO-wEE6zW_WZDetpCKx8/s400/daylilly+and+frog.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFcZnCh1goG0rjusuiDMc2o_n0xnTTNlPZy38hSMQaqc5uB1OSPkHX3XvgB874166VeGd-PCJuNPZquN4OTcdqtZpQSUsXVBYGEYZkVybufaxiyE8oAiGkQPWGqtb2Yuehp1lXoA2o6qs/s1600/daylily+and+brown+frog+1+normanack.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFcZnCh1goG0rjusuiDMc2o_n0xnTTNlPZy38hSMQaqc5uB1OSPkHX3XvgB874166VeGd-PCJuNPZquN4OTcdqtZpQSUsXVBYGEYZkVybufaxiyE8oAiGkQPWGqtb2Yuehp1lXoA2o6qs/s400/daylily+and+brown+frog+1+normanack.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmwC9c7IlK9l2zacq8hbxqSysi5vkom8a-wVqR8WDe6xc4e7gCHp_GExFp4C0AjS8-MAXFxm1sRrNCBLn8GdbEeRmp_cDxdSY9KHwJ1rUQ3NygpEWcPdUiPHMY5fTNROh6Q6OHHxFgOQs/s1600/Daylily+and+white+frog+normanack.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmwC9c7IlK9l2zacq8hbxqSysi5vkom8a-wVqR8WDe6xc4e7gCHp_GExFp4C0AjS8-MAXFxm1sRrNCBLn8GdbEeRmp_cDxdSY9KHwJ1rUQ3NygpEWcPdUiPHMY5fTNROh6Q6OHHxFgOQs/s400/Daylily+and+white+frog+normanack.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Maihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17093308712240415770noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-947116570902473556.post-91723109453660710442010-07-22T15:32:00.000-07:002010-07-22T15:34:22.052-07:00Daylilies and Frogs by Anne NormanThese beautiful photos are by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/29278394@N00/with/4817859313/">Anne Norman</a> who generously publishes under a Creative Commons license. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyFLBmrDeTfhkyJOsHTlhSEV5qj2mGfbeJ5ssR3NdyM2LWWOmWEer3x9Lm5eH8vaGHx5Rua-dsJw9ikxtK8a833-fk4rTxem9ReDIbkCEHsvzolQdeS5uGx7e_s5x5hDycY_rwhnVNego/s1600/Daylily+1+normanack.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyFLBmrDeTfhkyJOsHTlhSEV5qj2mGfbeJ5ssR3NdyM2LWWOmWEer3x9Lm5eH8vaGHx5Rua-dsJw9ikxtK8a833-fk4rTxem9ReDIbkCEHsvzolQdeS5uGx7e_s5x5hDycY_rwhnVNego/s400/Daylily+1+normanack.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUPL6RUCXtaSnkAd9nBfpQg_6-VJkYiEmwk8Xd-I9pypeSVBt57lYwR-xZX0-W-8Ri9a0QapGmO2RWVQ1VWKN_5rWnF-qdAe6WHZIX0gubEmq7GWbSEYy_ShPIO-wEE6zW_WZDetpCKx8/s1600/daylilly+and+frog.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUPL6RUCXtaSnkAd9nBfpQg_6-VJkYiEmwk8Xd-I9pypeSVBt57lYwR-xZX0-W-8Ri9a0QapGmO2RWVQ1VWKN_5rWnF-qdAe6WHZIX0gubEmq7GWbSEYy_ShPIO-wEE6zW_WZDetpCKx8/s400/daylilly+and+frog.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFcZnCh1goG0rjusuiDMc2o_n0xnTTNlPZy38hSMQaqc5uB1OSPkHX3XvgB874166VeGd-PCJuNPZquN4OTcdqtZpQSUsXVBYGEYZkVybufaxiyE8oAiGkQPWGqtb2Yuehp1lXoA2o6qs/s1600/daylily+and+brown+frog+1+normanack.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjFcZnCh1goG0rjusuiDMc2o_n0xnTTNlPZy38hSMQaqc5uB1OSPkHX3XvgB874166VeGd-PCJuNPZquN4OTcdqtZpQSUsXVBYGEYZkVybufaxiyE8oAiGkQPWGqtb2Yuehp1lXoA2o6qs/s400/daylily+and+brown+frog+1+normanack.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmwC9c7IlK9l2zacq8hbxqSysi5vkom8a-wVqR8WDe6xc4e7gCHp_GExFp4C0AjS8-MAXFxm1sRrNCBLn8GdbEeRmp_cDxdSY9KHwJ1rUQ3NygpEWcPdUiPHMY5fTNROh6Q6OHHxFgOQs/s1600/Daylily+and+white+frog+normanack.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmwC9c7IlK9l2zacq8hbxqSysi5vkom8a-wVqR8WDe6xc4e7gCHp_GExFp4C0AjS8-MAXFxm1sRrNCBLn8GdbEeRmp_cDxdSY9KHwJ1rUQ3NygpEWcPdUiPHMY5fTNROh6Q6OHHxFgOQs/s400/Daylily+and+white+frog+normanack.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>Maihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17093308712240415770noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-947116570902473556.post-66104840047552628802010-07-16T16:45:00.000-07:002010-07-16T19:15:55.640-07:00Of Parrots and Ego<span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS; font-size: 12pt;"><br />
<br />
I am annoyed. My ego is bruised. For what reason could I possibly be denied membership in a Yahoo group about...parrots. That's right, a parrot group. I understand that Indian Patriotic Groups might not want me as a member. Certainly, Hinduvta groups wouldn't want and, in America, probably the Teabaggers, as well. No doubt the John Birch Society would look askance at my membership application, as would the Invisible Empire of the Ku Klux Klan. As a raceless mongrel, the National Socialist White Workers' Party (Nazis) would reject me out of hand. Certainly, Christian Identity wants nothing to do with such as I. These all make perfect sense.</span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgloqPrsCqptzg49k1Tq5DBdayZQBXdkEtKlOatFBvSs4q8b2e1ErFwI_kUGUGEi_M8VMT8Jjk4kFruYxY83K90u-rhr54ifl_1VBQBvyhqd3zbad7oj-3YZ4Gyz-4GWn-z-soV4WX07ww/s1600/logos,+etc..gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgloqPrsCqptzg49k1Tq5DBdayZQBXdkEtKlOatFBvSs4q8b2e1ErFwI_kUGUGEi_M8VMT8Jjk4kFruYxY83K90u-rhr54ifl_1VBQBvyhqd3zbad7oj-3YZ4Gyz-4GWn-z-soV4WX07ww/s320/logos,+etc..gif" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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<span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS; font-size: 12pt;">But a group about parrots? I do share my life with a bad-tempered, biting, squawking, megalomaniac spectacled (or white-fronted) Amazon parrot, <i>Amazona albifrons albifrons, </i> I think she is called. Has Thuki herself put in a bad word for me? I know that she is quite resentful that I haven't gotten her a royal consort, but black-balling me from parrot groups seems a bit extreme, even for her.</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDt5tPMfeyk_UkCNvoEt_F1TaXF4M3E1sYbbr2951EDeMthHau9Klj0RtFBtxYslRI75xfzkE6XL1VZ9CJt8UA8_iDw4OsTI5zSlCXBPz44eoaqW1TqcaJ_gbsJoP3SCoJQ8Ua6tAXOck/s1600/Gathuku.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDt5tPMfeyk_UkCNvoEt_F1TaXF4M3E1sYbbr2951EDeMthHau9Klj0RtFBtxYslRI75xfzkE6XL1VZ9CJt8UA8_iDw4OsTI5zSlCXBPz44eoaqW1TqcaJ_gbsJoP3SCoJQ8Ua6tAXOck/s1600/Gathuku.gif" width="320" /></a><br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS; font-size: 12pt;">So what exactly does this rejection notice say. Is there some clue contained therein?</span></div><span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS; font-size: 12pt;"><br />
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Comic Sans MS; font-size: 12pt;"><br />
</span><br />
<blockquote>Dear Mai Harinder Kaur,<br />
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Unfortunately your registration at A fun place for parrot and other bird enthusiasts to learn, chat, and discuss bird care, feeding, behavior, health, ornithology, breeding, and more! did not meet our membership requirements. Therefore your registration was deleted.<br />
<br />
Sorry,</blockquote><br />
Sorry, indeed. I sent back a reply:<br />
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<blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmqEYITgXyYaWalDS0nXhmIcIlyLHioIsxrXcP5ugvBY_ZYDovmPR8cEJaq7nnUB0RGuWASr7PLrGhr3bMl9Ac78I5T6Z-loWXRcpFNtBc6pqhp2qLW1z6oVS_ZKjpRfGF2TzeLxga_PA/s1600/AW,+SHUCKS.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="161" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmqEYITgXyYaWalDS0nXhmIcIlyLHioIsxrXcP5ugvBY_ZYDovmPR8cEJaq7nnUB0RGuWASr7PLrGhr3bMl9Ac78I5T6Z-loWXRcpFNtBc6pqhp2qLW1z6oVS_ZKjpRfGF2TzeLxga_PA/s320/AW,+SHUCKS.png" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div></blockquote><br />
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Oh, well, I suppose I shall dust off my bruised ego, dry my copious tears and move on. Still, I wonder...Maihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17093308712240415770noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-947116570902473556.post-79477500068407726162010-07-15T12:11:00.000-07:002010-07-15T12:13:38.492-07:00RUPEE!<span style="font-size: 12pt; font-family: Comic Sans MS;"><br />
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It took me a while to figure out while this made me laugh so hard. Finally I figured it out.<br />
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This new symbol of the Indian rupee is an "R" without a backbone with an equal sign superimposed on it. I leave it to my reader to discern why that gave me a fit of the giggles. <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho_EnrcXgpNmOIoLtq8Apr6xzX3IYaWOfT8auSAF4BbJ96KE-VjFFhpLSMoVOGl16m5HeztdkHUfNY9d861Bcdc_3iSwFQWJwVZx_yXu5VXwjbLLV3aj8zKvOg0yVPKY00k7ey-jYC9eg/s1600/Rupee+symbol.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEho_EnrcXgpNmOIoLtq8Apr6xzX3IYaWOfT8auSAF4BbJ96KE-VjFFhpLSMoVOGl16m5HeztdkHUfNY9d861Bcdc_3iSwFQWJwVZx_yXu5VXwjbLLV3aj8zKvOg0yVPKY00k7ey-jYC9eg/s200/Rupee+symbol.jpg" width="137" /></a></div><br />
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<blockquote><a href="http://news.outlookindia.com/printitem.aspx?687551">Indian Rupee Gets a Distinct Symbol</a><br />
New Delhi | Jul 15, 2010<br />
The Indian rupee will soon have a unique symbol - a blend of the Devanagri 'Ra' and Roman 'R' - joining elite currencies like the US dollar, euro, British pound and Japanese yen in having a distinct identity. <br />
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The new symbol, designed by Bombay IIT post-graduate D Udaya Kumar, was approved by the cabinet today -- reflecting that the Indian currency, backed by an over-trillion dollar economy, was finally making its presence felt on the international scene.<br />
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"It's a big statement on the Indian currency. The symbol would lend a distinctive character and identity to the currency and further highlight the strength and global face of the Indian economy," Information and Broadcasting Minister Ambika Soni told reporters after the cabinet meeting.<br />
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Though the symbol will not be printed or embossed on currency notes or coins, it would be included in the 'Unicode Standard' and major scripts of the world to ensure that it is easily displayed and printed in the electronic and print media.<br />
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Unicode is an international standard that allows text data to be interchanged globally without conflict. After incorporation in the global and Indian codes, the symbol would be used by all individuals and entities within and outside the country.<br />
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The symbol will be adopted in a span of six months in the country, and within 18 to 24 months globally, Soni said, adding that it will feature on computer keyboards and softwares for worldwide use.<br />
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Planning Commission Deputy Chairman Montek Singh Ahluwalia said that the rupee symbol approved by the Cabinet needs to be incorporated into typewriters and computer keyboards to enable its better day-to-day usage.<br />
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"It's quite a nice symbol. This thing (the rupee symbol) has to be brought into current usage. The most important thing is to make sure that in typewriters the symbol is somewhere there," he said here after a meeting with Finance Minister Pranab Mukherjee.<br />
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Ahluwalia said changes should be made in both hardware and software systems of computers "so that when I want the symbol in, it should be there".<br />
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Among currencies with distinctive identities, only the pound sterling has its symbol printed on the notes.<br />
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Soni said that the symbol, which reflects the Indian ethos and culture, would help distinguish the currency from the rupee or rupiah of other countries like Pakistan, Nepal, Sri Lanka and Indonesia.<br />
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Besides this, state governments would be asked to proactively promote the use of the new symbol, she added.<br />
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Kumar's entry was chosen from 3,000 designs competing for the currency symbol. He will get an award of Rs 2.5 lakh.<br />
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"It is a perfect blend of Indian and Roman letters -- capital 'R' and Devanagri 'Ra' which represents rupaiah, to appeal to international and Indian audiences... My design is based on the tricolour, with two lines at the top and white space in between," a visibly-happy Kumar said.<br />
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The jury, which had sent the five short-listed entries for the cabinet's approval, was headed by a Reserve Bank Deputy Governor.</blockquote></span>Maihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17093308712240415770noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-947116570902473556.post-80945718618215773732010-07-01T11:05:00.000-07:002010-07-01T12:34:44.967-07:00Not With A Bang...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCdB9SLHJBJl4TL56fto1VFDX86Sn33oQEQPwuTJe8kVHYxgWna_cVnwmDZ2E7wsv9p_jdHwL3-oxKwkofT6c16PqCXq9c0jCna606CjDar72iVzh_r43DO5yJ70CvVtDSOCHHR1Y3QVJJ/s1600/BP+-+text.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="506" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCdB9SLHJBJl4TL56fto1VFDX86Sn33oQEQPwuTJe8kVHYxgWna_cVnwmDZ2E7wsv9p_jdHwL3-oxKwkofT6c16PqCXq9c0jCna606CjDar72iVzh_r43DO5yJ70CvVtDSOCHHR1Y3QVJJ/s640/BP+-+text.gif" width="640" /></a></div><br />
This is a post I hoped I would never write. As you, my readers, know, I practice the virtue of chardi kala, translated in many different ways, but all having the meaning of eternal optimism and never giving up. I am still practicing, but it is hard.<br />
<br />
No doubt by now you have heard about the massive oil spill by British Petroleum in the Gulf of Mexico in the Caribbean Sea, truly a paradise on earth. Or at least it was until 20 April 2010. On that day the Deepwater Horizon oil rig - owned and run by British Petroleum - exploded, caught fire and began gushing massive amounts of crude oil into the pristine waters around it. Eleven were killed and 17 injured. That was tragic, but it is just the beginning.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTDN2MCzbqyZKQTiSFlAUi4FHdFb1kfd1yil5wqolglnx48mGiu2i002ylwjiYi8cuIUcMWTyFaPpC0blPdzEkp1a_NojBRQ3A6PcMRCxtxYVZtBDmI56lc10Y0V8tIpMas-zTqQTIFhOs/s1600/Deepwater++++Horizon+explosion.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTDN2MCzbqyZKQTiSFlAUi4FHdFb1kfd1yil5wqolglnx48mGiu2i002ylwjiYi8cuIUcMWTyFaPpC0blPdzEkp1a_NojBRQ3A6PcMRCxtxYVZtBDmI56lc10Y0V8tIpMas-zTqQTIFhOs/s400/Deepwater++++Horizon+explosion.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;">The amount of oil gushing into the Gulf is estimated at somewhere between 1,475,000 and 4,200,000 gallons per day ( 5,583,432 and 15,828,729 liters/day). No one knows how much oil is in this well, how long it can keep gushing. Years or decades, if it is not somehow stopped. So far nothing has worked. In fact, efforts have actually made it worse. </div><br />
Here's a nice little widget to help you calculate.<br />
<div style="text-align: center;"><br />
<iframe frameborder="0" height="300" marginheight="5" marginwidth="5" scrolling="no" src="http://www.pbs.org/newshour/rundown/oil-ticker/" width="310px"></iframe></div><br />
Those are pretty dry figures for most people, so here's a more graphic look. This is what the spill looks like right now (30 June 2010): <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYP0tpRFT_N11TsoyPIFY9SwrefDaUCMplRvnU2JknrwVVfEXeg7w8hfcaKRFv2r2lAwhy-2W9VY0Dup3_WFFxXjF1RzuYiWdFLspxtdM3DjOGe-BtmoBPyUzfG37iuv3iVy35DjCfmsfu/s1600/new+orleans.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="243" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYP0tpRFT_N11TsoyPIFY9SwrefDaUCMplRvnU2JknrwVVfEXeg7w8hfcaKRFv2r2lAwhy-2W9VY0Dup3_WFFxXjF1RzuYiWdFLspxtdM3DjOGe-BtmoBPyUzfG37iuv3iVy35DjCfmsfu/s400/new+orleans.png" width="400" /></a></div>I realise that most of my readers really can't relate to southern Louisiana, so here is the spill in other locations where I have readers:<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-ZWtSXk7_KH4lO9I6v4cNiqjy1SL9qvDHG5vhIvq3TbCq04FnE8HiUAOpuofcvjB0gwiyoGyVKJJydV0E93TgbPq4g5CfBzPjAhtN7P8XsqgfDh6W3-he8iCXTwFNeuOByq53_6zthkLx/s1600/OIL+SPILL+SIZE+SIX.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="361" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-ZWtSXk7_KH4lO9I6v4cNiqjy1SL9qvDHG5vhIvq3TbCq04FnE8HiUAOpuofcvjB0gwiyoGyVKJJydV0E93TgbPq4g5CfBzPjAhtN7P8XsqgfDh6W3-he8iCXTwFNeuOByq53_6zthkLx/s400/OIL+SPILL+SIZE+SIX.png" width="400" /></a></div>If I happened to miss your locale, go to<a href="http://www.ifitwasmyhome.com/#loc=Kansas+City%2C+MO+64118%2C+USA&lat=39.220735&lng=-94.5727598&x=-94.5727598&y=39.220735&z=7"> Ifitwasmyhome</a> to move the spill to wherever you live.<br />
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Perhaps you'd like to see it as it happens.<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe frameborder="0" height="490" marginheight="5" marginwidth="5" scrolling="no" src="http://www.pbs.org/newshour/rundown/oil-ticker/video.html" width="300px"></iframe></div><br />
If that's not enough to bring it home to you, here are a few oil-soaked pelicans. I find this horribly painful to look at.<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyplFOVIhbIqGReO3s8qBA3dPMB8W4jtlpQfai12Wry-uKdRk4efQBYSkou25AbdRxYd0kZAK7EFN3p8fnTFM7XRUixwPglK0UW1rNnaIUawFPp5BU1iV8xWw8KPgZWOYgGXbrGdfAKj14/s1600/oiled+pelicans.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="308" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyplFOVIhbIqGReO3s8qBA3dPMB8W4jtlpQfai12Wry-uKdRk4efQBYSkou25AbdRxYd0kZAK7EFN3p8fnTFM7XRUixwPglK0UW1rNnaIUawFPp5BU1iV8xWw8KPgZWOYgGXbrGdfAKj14/s320/oiled+pelicans.png" width="320" /></a></div><br />
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In addition, massive amounts of methane gas has been released into the water. This may well turn out to be even more dangerous than the oil. The methane depletes the water of oxygen, leaving all the sea life devoid of the element that is necessary to all life on earth. It is feared that the methane will cause a dead zone where nothing can live, possibly for decades. Also, scientists believe that a huge methane bubble is forming under the water. When it bursts, it could release a tsunami of 20-60 ft (6.1-18.3 m), certainly enough to engulf most of the Caribbean islands. For more information on the gas leak, go here: <br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="http://www.rense.com/general90/gasleak.htm">Gas Leak 3000 Times Worse Than Oil</a>. </span><br />
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And, by the way, with our current technology <i>we have no way to cap or contain the methane. </i><br />
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I guess that's not enough bad news. It is now hurricane season. (For those of you in Asia, those are typhoons.) There will be hurricanes. In fact, the first one is blowing right now. Hurricane Alex did not move close to the spill, but there will be another hurricane and another and another. <br />
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The next thing to consider is the ocean currents. The Gulf Stream is an ocean river that runs from the Caribbean to Europe.<br />
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</div><div style="text-align: left;">Eventually this oil and methane and all their problems will reach Europe. They will also travel up the Atlantic coast of North America all the way to Canada and all points north. No one knows how much of the ocean will die. Certainly a large part of the Caribbean Sea will and it will take decades to recover. In the meantime the many people who make their livings along the Gulf, either fishing or in the tourist trade, have lost their means of livelihood. It is even possible that the land they live on will become uninhabitable. Bobby Jindal, the governor of Louisiana has been alerted that a mass evacuation may become necessary, if a hurricane again hits the state. It is likely that once gone, the people will not be allowed to return due to the toxic oil and gas along the coast.</div><div></div><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">The earth is one big ecosystem, based primarily on our oceans. If a large part of one ocean dies, that will have a cascade effect on the rest of the planet. How far could this go? Worst case scenario: Bye-bye. "Not with a bang, but a whimper." If you don't recognise those lines, they are the conclusion of T. S Eliot's poem, <i><a href="http://www.americanpoems.com/poets/tseliot/1076">The Hollow Men</a>. </i>To hear the whimper go to<a href="http://www.facebook.com/powerwithoutpetroleum?akid=1142.505695.89QXPG&rd=1&t=2&v=app_4949752878#"> Power<i> </i>Without Petroleum</a> and listen hard at 0:25. <i> </i><br />
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Best case scenario: the southern coast of the United States becomes uninhabitable for a period of time and much of the sea life in the Gulf of Mexico dies, with devastating consequences to the people who now live there. As it is impossible that there be no hurricanes in the season, we can be sure that the winds will carry the oil throughout the region, damaging all it touches. That damage cannot be estimated at this time, except to say it will be extensive.<br />
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This morning (1 July 2010), going through my inbox, I found this article in the daily UN bulletin: <br />
<div id="main-article-info"><blockquote><h1><a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/environment/2010/jun/30/biologists-find-oil-spill-deadzones"><span style="font-size: small;">Biologists find 'dead zones' around BP oil spill in Gulf</span></a></h1><div class="stand-first-alone" id="stand-first">Methane at 100,000 times normal levels have been creating oxygen-depleted areas devoid of life near BP's Deepwater Horizon spill, according to two independent scientists</div></blockquote><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLs_HyB4g4LV8ga4enVfODKs2hXQ0AlWH0qhU_HpNUO0lXLpqtmrELTYmcg_VqNWFRy04HUts7ucwFvFYq1SxphI6YkajPWNhnR6_ySt8C5wtxKqUleXQnjm5jRfH-UhqixfMC4PRyec4/s1600/oil+dead+fish+sean+gardner+reuters.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLs_HyB4g4LV8ga4enVfODKs2hXQ0AlWH0qhU_HpNUO0lXLpqtmrELTYmcg_VqNWFRy04HUts7ucwFvFYq1SxphI6YkajPWNhnR6_ySt8C5wtxKqUleXQnjm5jRfH-UhqixfMC4PRyec4/s320/oil+dead+fish+sean+gardner+reuters.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="stand-first-alone" id="stand-first"><br />
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</div></div>As long as I can remember, the scientists have been screaming "Wolf!" alerting us to this or that which they claim is going to wipe us out. As I child I grew up with "nuclear annihilation." That was the biggie. There have been others: the hole in the ozone layer, swine flu (twice), bird flu, global climate change and I'm sure others that I have forgotten. And it seems, life causes cancer. There is truth in all these scientific assertions, but there was also something we could do to stop or at least alleviate the disaster. As I see it, this is different because we are helpless to do anything except pray. Of course, I am not a scientist, and the only way I see out of this is divine intervention. Even if the spill can somehow be stopped, we can do nothing about the methane. This is the time more than ever before that we need to dig deep within ourselves and find the high spirits, the chardi kala, that is a part of us. It takes courage to look tragedy in the face and carry on without panic or depression. </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
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<div style="text-align: left;"><i>And what caused all this? Of course it was British Petroleum cutting corners on safety to save money and increase profit. It was Pres. Clinton who authorised the deep sea drilling. It was Pres. George W. Bush who so favoured the oil interests and permitted a lack of oversight to allow BP not to follow the safety measures. It was Pres. Obama who did not immediately step in to correct this corruption from the previous administration. But it was also all of us who are dependent on petroleum, who refuse to cut back on our usage, we who demand more and more. In the end, if we had not demanded this oil, if we had lost our lust it, BP wouldn't have been able to make the profit that drove them to build this rickety structure upon the rickety structure of our economy. So what now? We have learned why greed is such an evil thing. Whither our good, green beautiful earth?</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i><br />
</i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><i>I keep thinking about the ending of Dr. Strangelove. (A great movie. If you haven't seen it, I highly recommend you see it while you still can.)</i></div><i><br />
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Remain in chardi kala, my dear brothers and sisters! <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwURsSJ9-W1aqztXOw8Yu0TezOwD-Ei7EFBDiVd41X5ilzEwmpZvBmjMUoFCEoQC81wkjNweqBj7qvh-BiPVcLZQDOfjN8_coNUWiGktMapVr0UySs-iwcWEjfsjzz8gOOf8Zrd8wqLNX3/s1600/4+smilies+large.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="289" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjwURsSJ9-W1aqztXOw8Yu0TezOwD-Ei7EFBDiVd41X5ilzEwmpZvBmjMUoFCEoQC81wkjNweqBj7qvh-BiPVcLZQDOfjN8_coNUWiGktMapVr0UySs-iwcWEjfsjzz8gOOf8Zrd8wqLNX3/s320/4+smilies+large.png" width="320" /></a></span></div><span style="font-size: small;"><br />
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pictures: <br />
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<a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/File:Deepwater_Horizon_offshore_drilling_unit_on_fire_2010.jpg">the fire - United States Coast Guard </a>(via <i>Wikipedia)</i><br />
<i><a href="http://www.guardian.co.uk/environment/2010/jun/30/biologists-find-oil-spill-deadzones">dead fish - Sean Gardner (Reuters)</a> </i><br />
<a href="http://www.boston.com/bigpicture/2010/06/caught_in_the_oil.html">the pelicans - Charlie Riedel (AP)</a><br />
the earth - courtesy of NASA <br />
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</div>Maihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17093308712240415770noreply@blogger.com0