The sun set with slow but steady rhythm and cast a net of darkness over the city, a net that grew in size as the pale globe of the moon took over. It was surreal even for a dream, an entire city bathed in silver as I patrolled its streets with a shotgun in my hands. There wasn’t a soul in sight and the only sounds I could hear were my footsteps. The skyscrapers around me reached out to the black sky, till they too disappeared into the darkness of the night.
I looked down and felt a strange satisfaction to see I was dressed in black. The attire seemed appropriate for the gothic tone of the dream. The road on which I was walking stretched ahead for a while before merging into a labyrinth of lanes and alleys. I walking pretty fast, like I knew where I was going.
The cool wind, or something that seemed like it, brushed past my face. The effect was more soothing than I expected, like I was somewhere near a beach. I thought I even heard rushing waves, but I could be wrong.
The lights flashed with startling abruptness and disappeared the same way - they came from the end of the road. I felt my feet raise the pace at which I was moving. Arms tightening their grip over the shotgun, I sprinted as fast as I could. The lights weren’t normal ones, like lightning or flame. They had a bluish tinge to them. They were the unmistakably reptilian eyes of the thing I was stalking. I didn’t stop running till I came to the corner of the road, gun leveled ready and my finger at the trigger. But there was nothing there.
“Looking for something Nilan?” hearing its grating voice behind me, I swiveled around and pulled the trigger. The gun roared and sent me staggering back. It took a chunk off the wall ahead of me and raised a cloud of dust. By the time it cleared a few seconds later, I got the strange feeling I was alone again. There was no sign of the reptilian eyes or the taunting voice. Only the massive buildings and the eerily silver moonlight remained.
Then, my alarm-clock screamed and woke me up. Shit! Six nights in a row and I still can’t kill the damn thing.
Sunday 22 February 2009
Wednesday 18 February 2009
My Diaspora Migraine
*Note: Whenever I mention “Diaspora”, I don’t mean every Tamil who lives abroad. The radical ones that I’m ranting about here are just a minority, but they’ve been pissing me off the last few days and I’m just trying to flush my annoyance with them out of my system by writing this.*
What is it about some people living away from their country that makes them so irrational when they consider its problems? I get group invitations on Facebook almost every week from many relatives and friends, Lankan Tamils making a living in some developed nation, asking me to join online communities that call for the Sri Lankan army to stop its campaign of “genocide” in the North Eastern regions of the country. One glance at these groups would tell you (if you’re the type that cares about objectivity) their only interest is in pinning the blame on the government, thus providing them wonderful discussion fodder thousands of miles away. I am waiting for the day I get invited to join a community, created by the wealthy and influential Lankan Tamil Diaspora, which has the courage to hold the LTTE and many Tamils living abroad just as culpable for the humanitarian crisis in the country as the Sri Lankan government. I doubt that day will ever come. The Diaspora of our people, like every prosperous Diaspora in the world, is interested only in ideas that make it comfortable.
My answer to these online invitations (on the rare occasions that I trouble myself with one) is invariably the same - none of you can change what the Sri Lankan Army is doing with your chest-beating Tamil Patriotism or your large pots of cash. Not as long as you continue to live in denial and members of your community continue to supply the Tigers with weapons and money. The outrage that follows is also the same - “You’re a traitor who doesn’t care about Tamils. You should be ashamed of yourself for supporting the enemy.” These boorish comments don’t have the intended effect of guilt-tripping me; they only add to my extreme irritation with this lot.
The ethnic conflict in Sri Lanka was sparked by legitimate injustices done to the Tamils, by successive governments competing with each other on who could give the largest minority of the country a worse deal. It was frustration among the Sinhalese who were disproportionately unemployed (which was itself a product of the country’s colonial legacy) and later the Tamils who saw their futures being snatched away, that nourished the friction between both communities. It is no secret that the pogrom of 1983, which killed thousands of Tamils and ruined tens of thousands, was supported by the government. It is no secret that the government has taken a particularly vicious stand in recent years, with irresponsible air-strikes and civilians disappearing on a daily basis. The situation has escalated to a point now where it is possibly the largest human rights disaster of the sub-continent and something needs to be done. My agreement with Tamils living abroad ends there. The claims many of them make further, that it’s only the Sri Lankan government that has to be blamed for the events and that the LTTE fights for the Tamil cause, only show their inability to admit history as it really is.
Does anybody know the record of organised violence against Tamils by the Sri Lankan army before the LTTE took up its “armed struggle” (a heroic pseudonym for terrorism) in the 1970s? It was the LTTE that, after murdering its competitors, took the civil war to a level where it swallowed the entire country. It was the LTTE that, armed and financed by the ultra-conservatives of the Diaspora, made it dangerous to be a Tamil. And it is the LTTE that, with the noisy antics of the same people, is currently using pockets of trapped Tamils as shields from the ruthlessness of the army. Those who lived in Tamil areas administered by the LTTE have plenty of stories to tell about how they were chased out of their homes and not allowed to conduct business transactions without the permission of and a commission for, the LTTE. But they get little attention, because the stories in fashion now are those involving the government’s atrocities (there are plenty of those around too).
There is nothing original in my contempt. It is well known in most communities that have a Diaspora that the ones living abroad tow a much harder line than those in the affected country. The Tamil Diaspora tends to take its cultural identity very seriously (you only have to compare the proportion of middle-class Tamils in Europe or Canada or Australia with their sub-continental counterparts in “Bhajan” attendance and temple participation to see what I mean, the difference can be staggering). While this is generally harmless, even good to a certain extent, there are people who go overboard with it and develop the chest-beating patriotism I mentioned earlier. There are then some who suffer from the guilt of abandoning their country and creating a better life for themselves in another part of the world, making them need some outlet where they can sooth their conscience (the outlet usually turns out to be loud noises blaming the government for the plight of Lankan Tamils). The most dangerous ones are those who worry that a stable Sri Lanka might lead to them being asked to return and thus help continue the civil war by supplying arms and money (all of us know such people exist, however small in number they might be). Regardless of which group the sympathisers belong to, one thing is certain – they live far away in relative comfort, while the victims suffering from their hypocrisy are stuck in the battlefield.
A cease-fire was offered by the LTTE yesterday. The government responded that it would accept it only if the LTTE lay down their arms. If you’re familiar with the uproar created over this demand, you will know why my irritation came to a point where I had to write about this and cleanse it out of my mind. The LTTE sympathisers now demand that the government must (wait for it) disarm along with the LTTE! What madness is this? There is a very clear distinction between a national army and a terrorist outfit. The illogical claim that the army of a nation must demilitarize itself before negotiating with terrorists is itself a very strong signal that the intentions of the LTTE are not what they seem. This isn’t very promising stuff for an organisation that has entered cease-fire agreements in the past for no reason other than to rearm and regroup.
If only these people would just listen to reason. If only they stopped funding terrorists because of tribal patriotism. If only they stopped donating to bodies that are fronts for arms purchases. If only they stopped housing people in their homes and helping these outfits conduct their meetings in the security of middle-class suburbs. If only they stopped living in denial.
If only this migraine they created in my head would go away.
*Note: Feel a little better already. I repeat, I am NOT referring to the whole lot of Tamils living outside Sri Lanka (after all, Im one myself). Many of them are involved in a lot of good work that brings international attention to the crisis in the country. This was a purely selfish action on my part to make myself feel better.*
What is it about some people living away from their country that makes them so irrational when they consider its problems? I get group invitations on Facebook almost every week from many relatives and friends, Lankan Tamils making a living in some developed nation, asking me to join online communities that call for the Sri Lankan army to stop its campaign of “genocide” in the North Eastern regions of the country. One glance at these groups would tell you (if you’re the type that cares about objectivity) their only interest is in pinning the blame on the government, thus providing them wonderful discussion fodder thousands of miles away. I am waiting for the day I get invited to join a community, created by the wealthy and influential Lankan Tamil Diaspora, which has the courage to hold the LTTE and many Tamils living abroad just as culpable for the humanitarian crisis in the country as the Sri Lankan government. I doubt that day will ever come. The Diaspora of our people, like every prosperous Diaspora in the world, is interested only in ideas that make it comfortable.
My answer to these online invitations (on the rare occasions that I trouble myself with one) is invariably the same - none of you can change what the Sri Lankan Army is doing with your chest-beating Tamil Patriotism or your large pots of cash. Not as long as you continue to live in denial and members of your community continue to supply the Tigers with weapons and money. The outrage that follows is also the same - “You’re a traitor who doesn’t care about Tamils. You should be ashamed of yourself for supporting the enemy.” These boorish comments don’t have the intended effect of guilt-tripping me; they only add to my extreme irritation with this lot.
The ethnic conflict in Sri Lanka was sparked by legitimate injustices done to the Tamils, by successive governments competing with each other on who could give the largest minority of the country a worse deal. It was frustration among the Sinhalese who were disproportionately unemployed (which was itself a product of the country’s colonial legacy) and later the Tamils who saw their futures being snatched away, that nourished the friction between both communities. It is no secret that the pogrom of 1983, which killed thousands of Tamils and ruined tens of thousands, was supported by the government. It is no secret that the government has taken a particularly vicious stand in recent years, with irresponsible air-strikes and civilians disappearing on a daily basis. The situation has escalated to a point now where it is possibly the largest human rights disaster of the sub-continent and something needs to be done. My agreement with Tamils living abroad ends there. The claims many of them make further, that it’s only the Sri Lankan government that has to be blamed for the events and that the LTTE fights for the Tamil cause, only show their inability to admit history as it really is.
Does anybody know the record of organised violence against Tamils by the Sri Lankan army before the LTTE took up its “armed struggle” (a heroic pseudonym for terrorism) in the 1970s? It was the LTTE that, after murdering its competitors, took the civil war to a level where it swallowed the entire country. It was the LTTE that, armed and financed by the ultra-conservatives of the Diaspora, made it dangerous to be a Tamil. And it is the LTTE that, with the noisy antics of the same people, is currently using pockets of trapped Tamils as shields from the ruthlessness of the army. Those who lived in Tamil areas administered by the LTTE have plenty of stories to tell about how they were chased out of their homes and not allowed to conduct business transactions without the permission of and a commission for, the LTTE. But they get little attention, because the stories in fashion now are those involving the government’s atrocities (there are plenty of those around too).
There is nothing original in my contempt. It is well known in most communities that have a Diaspora that the ones living abroad tow a much harder line than those in the affected country. The Tamil Diaspora tends to take its cultural identity very seriously (you only have to compare the proportion of middle-class Tamils in Europe or Canada or Australia with their sub-continental counterparts in “Bhajan” attendance and temple participation to see what I mean, the difference can be staggering). While this is generally harmless, even good to a certain extent, there are people who go overboard with it and develop the chest-beating patriotism I mentioned earlier. There are then some who suffer from the guilt of abandoning their country and creating a better life for themselves in another part of the world, making them need some outlet where they can sooth their conscience (the outlet usually turns out to be loud noises blaming the government for the plight of Lankan Tamils). The most dangerous ones are those who worry that a stable Sri Lanka might lead to them being asked to return and thus help continue the civil war by supplying arms and money (all of us know such people exist, however small in number they might be). Regardless of which group the sympathisers belong to, one thing is certain – they live far away in relative comfort, while the victims suffering from their hypocrisy are stuck in the battlefield.
A cease-fire was offered by the LTTE yesterday. The government responded that it would accept it only if the LTTE lay down their arms. If you’re familiar with the uproar created over this demand, you will know why my irritation came to a point where I had to write about this and cleanse it out of my mind. The LTTE sympathisers now demand that the government must (wait for it) disarm along with the LTTE! What madness is this? There is a very clear distinction between a national army and a terrorist outfit. The illogical claim that the army of a nation must demilitarize itself before negotiating with terrorists is itself a very strong signal that the intentions of the LTTE are not what they seem. This isn’t very promising stuff for an organisation that has entered cease-fire agreements in the past for no reason other than to rearm and regroup.
If only these people would just listen to reason. If only they stopped funding terrorists because of tribal patriotism. If only they stopped donating to bodies that are fronts for arms purchases. If only they stopped housing people in their homes and helping these outfits conduct their meetings in the security of middle-class suburbs. If only they stopped living in denial.
If only this migraine they created in my head would go away.
*Note: Feel a little better already. I repeat, I am NOT referring to the whole lot of Tamils living outside Sri Lanka (after all, Im one myself). Many of them are involved in a lot of good work that brings international attention to the crisis in the country. This was a purely selfish action on my part to make myself feel better.*
Friday 13 February 2009
Come on down to South Park and meet some friends of mine...
I just went through my old blog and the only thing I found disturbing about it was how serious things had gotten. There was stuff about hate speech, hunting, religion, politics, homophobia and even ghosts, but the overlying tone was too sober to reflect the kind of person I often am. It’s no wonder I lost interest in it after a while. I do have my serious moments but for the most part, I can be a pretty ‘fun’ person, despite what you might’ve heard. So instead of contemplating philosophy or discussing politics, here I am with a tribute. And it is for what I see as one of the great shows of our generation...South Park!
Crude, vulgar and featuring eight year old protagonists, South Park isn’t a show that would give you an indication of what it’s really like unless you watch a few episodes. In fact, many people I know were either under the impression that it was a show for kids or dismissed it as twenty minute compilations of toilet humour. This just isn’t true.
Behind all that swearing and low brow humour is an intelligence that defies normal television shows and a political edge that is likely to remain unmatched anywhere. All that controversy about the pot-shots they take at celebrities, politicians, activists and religious leaders didn’t spark from just-for-laughs gags (though we get plenty of those too), it sparked from people realising the pot-shots had legitimate views behind them.
Ater all, the central theme of the show has always been the rarity of common sense. The adults of the town constantly lose control of their lives as they go overboard with the latest trends and at the heart of these events are the boys who relentlessly try to make them see the logical side of things.
I've always had a special liking for South Park, not just because I swear as regularly as Cartman, but also because I can sympathize with the predicament of the boys. The burden of being the only logic-valuing person in a group of superstitious, emotional and (sometimes) very intolerant people is a weight well known to me, and watching the boys get the message across to a town full of idiots gives me a certain satisfaction.
But if it was all messages and no jokes, the show would have never worked. The misadventures of Stan (the main hero of the show), Kyle (the second hero of the show), Kenny (who used to die in almost every episode only to return the next week) and Cartman (evil genius, racist, sexist, narrow minded, cruel, selfish, one of the greatest animated characters of all time) are just as hilarious as they are provocative. Crude and cheap humour it may be, but it’s more effective than almost anything else on television and has more memorable episodes than most shows have episodes in total.
People who dismiss it without having seen more than a single episode aren’t being fair to the show or to themselves. You can ignore the show if you want to, but the loss would primarily be yours. I know many people who once thought the same way, who are big fans of the show now. If you’re looking for a crude show with jokes about farting, swearing and disgusting behaviour in general, this show is for you. If you’re looking for an intelligent show that addresses social issues and does so with a masterfully satirical knife, this show is for you too.
I wouldn’t go far enough to say that the show has often been my moral guide or that it’s the funniest thing television has ever produced. But I’m certainly tempted to.
Crude, vulgar and featuring eight year old protagonists, South Park isn’t a show that would give you an indication of what it’s really like unless you watch a few episodes. In fact, many people I know were either under the impression that it was a show for kids or dismissed it as twenty minute compilations of toilet humour. This just isn’t true.
Behind all that swearing and low brow humour is an intelligence that defies normal television shows and a political edge that is likely to remain unmatched anywhere. All that controversy about the pot-shots they take at celebrities, politicians, activists and religious leaders didn’t spark from just-for-laughs gags (though we get plenty of those too), it sparked from people realising the pot-shots had legitimate views behind them.
Ater all, the central theme of the show has always been the rarity of common sense. The adults of the town constantly lose control of their lives as they go overboard with the latest trends and at the heart of these events are the boys who relentlessly try to make them see the logical side of things.
I've always had a special liking for South Park, not just because I swear as regularly as Cartman, but also because I can sympathize with the predicament of the boys. The burden of being the only logic-valuing person in a group of superstitious, emotional and (sometimes) very intolerant people is a weight well known to me, and watching the boys get the message across to a town full of idiots gives me a certain satisfaction.
But if it was all messages and no jokes, the show would have never worked. The misadventures of Stan (the main hero of the show), Kyle (the second hero of the show), Kenny (who used to die in almost every episode only to return the next week) and Cartman (evil genius, racist, sexist, narrow minded, cruel, selfish, one of the greatest animated characters of all time) are just as hilarious as they are provocative. Crude and cheap humour it may be, but it’s more effective than almost anything else on television and has more memorable episodes than most shows have episodes in total.
People who dismiss it without having seen more than a single episode aren’t being fair to the show or to themselves. You can ignore the show if you want to, but the loss would primarily be yours. I know many people who once thought the same way, who are big fans of the show now. If you’re looking for a crude show with jokes about farting, swearing and disgusting behaviour in general, this show is for you. If you’re looking for an intelligent show that addresses social issues and does so with a masterfully satirical knife, this show is for you too.
I wouldn’t go far enough to say that the show has often been my moral guide or that it’s the funniest thing television has ever produced. But I’m certainly tempted to.
War
The waving flags and the marching band,
They send us out to fight.
Our finest hour is close at hand,
They cannot match our might.
Never forget this ancient war,
Never grant them peace.
Exploit their every flaw,
Bring them to their knees.
Our tempers short and our hatred deep,
They will burn before my eyes.
I will see their leader cringe and weep,
He shall suffer before he dies.
Our armies sweep this untamed land,
This is the final night.
Bury them in the sweat soaked sand,
For a truly beautiful sight.
The heathens broke our sacred law,
Doing what they please.
Break every head and every jaw,
Their kingdoms we shall seize.
The women they raped and the king they hung,
Our strength they wished to test.
But we shall trap them,the priestess has sung,
Like rats in a serpent's nest.
Let our elephants charge and horses leap,
Be as heartless as you are wise.
Let no man in this kingdom sleep,
They shall pay for all their lies!
They send us out to fight.
Our finest hour is close at hand,
They cannot match our might.
Never forget this ancient war,
Never grant them peace.
Exploit their every flaw,
Bring them to their knees.
Our tempers short and our hatred deep,
They will burn before my eyes.
I will see their leader cringe and weep,
He shall suffer before he dies.
Our armies sweep this untamed land,
This is the final night.
Bury them in the sweat soaked sand,
For a truly beautiful sight.
The heathens broke our sacred law,
Doing what they please.
Break every head and every jaw,
Their kingdoms we shall seize.
The women they raped and the king they hung,
Our strength they wished to test.
But we shall trap them,the priestess has sung,
Like rats in a serpent's nest.
Let our elephants charge and horses leap,
Be as heartless as you are wise.
Let no man in this kingdom sleep,
They shall pay for all their lies!
The King
I know nothing of money and power,
I was born under an open sky.
Beaten like an animal in the prison tower,
Thrown into a dungeon to die.
The angels laughed and the demons wailed,
I fought my way through hell.
Rivers of fire and oceans of hate I sailed,
Eyes dancing as Satan fell.
I was a great king once and was loved by all,
Flowers and gold at my feet.
But now they mourn and await my fall,
For they have no foe to beat.
The blade of the dagger, the poisoned wine,
I dream of nothing but pain.
The priest chants with his arcane sign,
But his efforts die in vain.
With gods I dined and dragons I fought,
My valor knew no bounds.
With heroes I trained and by sages was taught,
To guard the blood soaked grounds.
I have lost my strength and am past my prime,
The days of glory gone.
I sit on my throne and bide my time,
For death to blow his horn.
But come for me and you come for a fight,
See my broadsword sing!
Fail and this is your final night,
For I am still your king!
I was born under an open sky.
Beaten like an animal in the prison tower,
Thrown into a dungeon to die.
The angels laughed and the demons wailed,
I fought my way through hell.
Rivers of fire and oceans of hate I sailed,
Eyes dancing as Satan fell.
I was a great king once and was loved by all,
Flowers and gold at my feet.
But now they mourn and await my fall,
For they have no foe to beat.
The blade of the dagger, the poisoned wine,
I dream of nothing but pain.
The priest chants with his arcane sign,
But his efforts die in vain.
With gods I dined and dragons I fought,
My valor knew no bounds.
With heroes I trained and by sages was taught,
To guard the blood soaked grounds.
I have lost my strength and am past my prime,
The days of glory gone.
I sit on my throne and bide my time,
For death to blow his horn.
But come for me and you come for a fight,
See my broadsword sing!
Fail and this is your final night,
For I am still your king!
Wednesday 11 February 2009
Mr.Bin Laden
*Note: This is random rubbish that was floating in my head. I might refine it and use it for something else later. Pardon how pointless it is. It could also be inaccurate as the whole thing is from vauge memories of what I've read over the years.*
Mr.Bin Laden was originally a multi-millionaire Saudi playboy, his family wealthy enough to know the Royal House of Saud on a personal level. Despite attending an eite secular school, his upbringing in an orthodox Wahhabi house brought him close to Islam in his days as a university student. By the time he was won over by not only fundamental Islam but also by maverick theories that women and children can be killed in Jihad, his faith was so powerful that he abandoned the best luxuries money could buy to go fight for his religion. Convinced his mission in life was to do Allah's bidding, it was during the Soviet-Afghan war that Mr Bin Laden rose to fame when, trained and armed by the CIA, he played an instrumental role in the Mujahideen movement that drove the Soviet Army out of the country.
Not many heard from him once the Soviets retreated and he returned to Saudi Arabia (hailed by the press as a national hero). But in 1991, Kuwait was invaded by Saddam Hussein and sent the Saudi royal family into panic. When they invited the Americans to their soil (thus providing a military base in the region for the USA and absolute security for the Saudis), Mr.Laden pleaded with the House of Saud not to let the "infidels" enter the holy land. He offered his services as a replacement but was rejected outright. Furious that the USA was being allowed to establish a military presence in the region, Bin Laden declared "jihad" on Saudi Arabia and fled to Sudan via Pakistan.
The Sudanese were glad to have a folk-hero like Mr.Laden on their soil. But reunited with his notorious friend Al-Zawahiri, he joined the Egyptian Islamic Jihad organisation, leading to his participation in 1995 in the failed attempt to assassinate Hosni Mubarak, the Egyptian President. Embarassed by the incident and put under immense pressure by the international community, the Sudanese administration had no choice but to make Bin Laden leave, especially after the horrifying bombing of the Al-Shifa pharmaceutical plant (executed by the Clinton administration and resulting in an unprecedented catastrophe for the country).
Moving to Afghanistan this time, Mr.Laden and Mr.Zawahiri became fast friends with the new Taliban government under Mullah Omar. The two even murdered Omar's nemesis Shah Massoud by sending suicide bombers to meet him disguised as Belgian journalists. Though grateful, Mullah Omar soon discovered that the act of generosity was a subtle trap from Bin Laden. Two days later, the World Trade Centre went down. Bound by the favour done for him by Zawahiri and Laden, the Taliban leader was unable to ask them to leave.
And the story from there, as anybody who watches TV or reads the papers would know, is history. Moral of the story: Even when someone kills your arch-enemy with suicide bombers, save your ass before saving his.
Mr.Bin Laden was originally a multi-millionaire Saudi playboy, his family wealthy enough to know the Royal House of Saud on a personal level. Despite attending an eite secular school, his upbringing in an orthodox Wahhabi house brought him close to Islam in his days as a university student. By the time he was won over by not only fundamental Islam but also by maverick theories that women and children can be killed in Jihad, his faith was so powerful that he abandoned the best luxuries money could buy to go fight for his religion. Convinced his mission in life was to do Allah's bidding, it was during the Soviet-Afghan war that Mr Bin Laden rose to fame when, trained and armed by the CIA, he played an instrumental role in the Mujahideen movement that drove the Soviet Army out of the country.
Not many heard from him once the Soviets retreated and he returned to Saudi Arabia (hailed by the press as a national hero). But in 1991, Kuwait was invaded by Saddam Hussein and sent the Saudi royal family into panic. When they invited the Americans to their soil (thus providing a military base in the region for the USA and absolute security for the Saudis), Mr.Laden pleaded with the House of Saud not to let the "infidels" enter the holy land. He offered his services as a replacement but was rejected outright. Furious that the USA was being allowed to establish a military presence in the region, Bin Laden declared "jihad" on Saudi Arabia and fled to Sudan via Pakistan.
The Sudanese were glad to have a folk-hero like Mr.Laden on their soil. But reunited with his notorious friend Al-Zawahiri, he joined the Egyptian Islamic Jihad organisation, leading to his participation in 1995 in the failed attempt to assassinate Hosni Mubarak, the Egyptian President. Embarassed by the incident and put under immense pressure by the international community, the Sudanese administration had no choice but to make Bin Laden leave, especially after the horrifying bombing of the Al-Shifa pharmaceutical plant (executed by the Clinton administration and resulting in an unprecedented catastrophe for the country).
Moving to Afghanistan this time, Mr.Laden and Mr.Zawahiri became fast friends with the new Taliban government under Mullah Omar. The two even murdered Omar's nemesis Shah Massoud by sending suicide bombers to meet him disguised as Belgian journalists. Though grateful, Mullah Omar soon discovered that the act of generosity was a subtle trap from Bin Laden. Two days later, the World Trade Centre went down. Bound by the favour done for him by Zawahiri and Laden, the Taliban leader was unable to ask them to leave.
And the story from there, as anybody who watches TV or reads the papers would know, is history. Moral of the story: Even when someone kills your arch-enemy with suicide bombers, save your ass before saving his.
The Bus
The bus crawled along the busy road, bullying its way through motorcycles, autos and cars. The driver was clearly aware it overflowed with passengers; he could see some of his braver countrymen hanging from the windows. It tilted to one side like a leaning tower, an extra rider or two enough to topple it. Yet, neither the driver nor the conductor made any effort to lighten their load. Students, workers and housewives jostled for place inside; there were only a fifth as many seats as there were passengers. Elbows, knees, fists and ferocious glares were just some of the weapons employed as they clung on to their hard fought positions. There was barely enough space to breathe. Bodies rubbed against each other and sweat intermingled; the nausea was almost tangible. Public transport in India is not for the weak of heart or the claustrophobic.
The Market
To call it a fish market would somehow seem inaccurate, like calling an oozing, ruined banana a fruit. The bargaining and abuse had risen to deafening heights, it was impossible to hold a normal conversation over the din. Sellers had gathered under the shade of the trees, hundreds of them with tubs full of crabs, fish and prawns. They were primarily fishermen or their spouses, not famous for their sense of hygiene. Crow-shit from above splattered down with surprising uniformity. If some fell on a dead fish, it was immediately thrown into a bucket of murky water, rinsed and placed back on a damp slab with its deceased companions. Mongrels lingered close by, looking for the chance to grab a meal. Puddles of mud had gathered from the previous night’s shower. With crow and human shit strewn around casually, with hundreds of dead (some rotting) prawns and fish up for sale, with mud and garbage everywhere else, it was hard to determine which the main source of the overpowering stench was. It was the sort of stench that, if one was in its presence for more then a few minutes, would stick to one’s clothes and skin for weeks. Millions of flies buzzed around, like black raindrops in a downpour.
The Lecturer
He is a scrawny old man; one whom you might expect would be well-advised to stay indoors during the windy season. A constant shower of saliva baptizes the front row as he reels a list of cases and laws for us to remember. His reedy arms are a blur from the moment the lecture commences to the instant the bell brings him back to reality. There is very little of the presentable teacher in him – his clothes wrinkled, his hair badly combed and his sandals torn. Even his teeth, which he flashes us after every joke, have almost certainly seen better times. But we love him - that is the simple truth. His lectures make us remember why we once loved the subject. Between being put to sleep by some of our lecturers and maddened by the others, he is the dose of adrenaline that keeps many of us going. I think I know what his secret is. He is not a lecturer; he is a stand-up comedian with an encyclopaedic knowledge of the law. It is after all his ability to make us laugh and think at the same time that makes us pay attention. His mastery of timing and gauging the interest of his audience keeps us mesmerized.
Tribal Identity
22/06/1987
"I come from a people who see themselves as victims of history, as a community being unjustly punished. I try not to share that sense of persecution, but I am finding it increasingly impossible. They are certainly a people against whom hundreds, if not thousands, of atrocities are committed everyday. It is hard to ignore it, despite how good I am at turning away.
People criticise me, but I pretend not to care. I try to hide the pain and masquerade as someone oblivious to their plight, whose pursuits offer him richer rewards than political freedom and the right to cherish tradition. I hide it because I am afraid of what I might be asked to do if I join the cause, afraid of what might happen to me. But it is still hard to ignore it, despite how good I am at turning away.
If it were not for my sense of global history, for my sense of multiculturalism, for my sense of the bigger picture, I would no doubt revert to my tribal identity – that of a Jaffna Tamil. My love for cinema, my love for literature, my love for knowledge; they have revealed themselves to me as a means of escape from this narrow society I live in. They are my way of slipping through the shackles my ethnicity places on me. My “passion for anything Un-Tamil”, as is said by my tormentors, is my getaway from the woes of my people.”
- Diary of Nilanthan, deceased Sri Lankan journalist (1957-2007)
"I come from a people who see themselves as victims of history, as a community being unjustly punished. I try not to share that sense of persecution, but I am finding it increasingly impossible. They are certainly a people against whom hundreds, if not thousands, of atrocities are committed everyday. It is hard to ignore it, despite how good I am at turning away.
People criticise me, but I pretend not to care. I try to hide the pain and masquerade as someone oblivious to their plight, whose pursuits offer him richer rewards than political freedom and the right to cherish tradition. I hide it because I am afraid of what I might be asked to do if I join the cause, afraid of what might happen to me. But it is still hard to ignore it, despite how good I am at turning away.
If it were not for my sense of global history, for my sense of multiculturalism, for my sense of the bigger picture, I would no doubt revert to my tribal identity – that of a Jaffna Tamil. My love for cinema, my love for literature, my love for knowledge; they have revealed themselves to me as a means of escape from this narrow society I live in. They are my way of slipping through the shackles my ethnicity places on me. My “passion for anything Un-Tamil”, as is said by my tormentors, is my getaway from the woes of my people.”
- Diary of Nilanthan, deceased Sri Lankan journalist (1957-2007)
25 Random Things About Me
1.I have wanted to master the flute for many years now but have only recently gathered the courage to buy one and start playing.
2.The more people force me to exercise and preach about the dangers of an unhealthy diet, the more determined I am to retain my flabby physique.
3.Though I am not one, I have to constantly tell people I am an atheist, since they have no idea what a deist is.
4.To the horror of many friends, I am an ardent devotee of Rajnikanth.
5.My writing ability, in my judgement, is good enough to make me a living. Most see this evaluation as ridiculous.
6.I have nothing but contempt for Indians who pride themselves on being able to understand only English.
7.I am a near-absolute carnivore.
8.That the best period of my life was in Malaysia, where I neither learnt nor achieved anything, worries me sometimes.
9.I grow tired of people very easily and live in constant dread that they are growing tired of me too.
10.My favourite bird is the hawk only because both my favourite wrestler and my favourite G.I.Joe character have the same name.
11.I have recurring fantasies of hosting BBC Hardtalk and impressing the female audience of the show with my tough questions.
12.If I could direct films, I would make a string of black-and-white biopics.
13.I think the worst way to die is to be eaten alive by tiny insects.
14.My career ambitions range from novelist to diplomat to journalist to lawyer, making me terribly paranoid about the future.
15.I constantly overrate myself and pay heavy prices for it.
16.I get irritated when people say rap is not “real” music.
17.My favourite superpower as a child was super-strength, but I am now growing fonder of mind-control.
18.I hope to travel to and write from, at the very least, about seventy countries before I die.
19.I can’t decide who my favourite writer is between Christopher Hitchens and V S Naipaul.
20.I don’t fear death nearly as much as I fear the ways in which I might die.
21.I am considerably proud of my sense of humour, though several friends don’t believe I have one.
22.My ideal home is a luxury apartment in one of the world’s mega-cities. No mansions for Nilan.
23.I am prepared to spend a significant portion of my life defending the idea that South Park is the greatest television show of all time.
24.I suffer from an identity crisis. Being a Sri Lankan citizen who spent his whole life thinking of himself as an Indian isn’t easy.
25.I am glad this list is over.
2.The more people force me to exercise and preach about the dangers of an unhealthy diet, the more determined I am to retain my flabby physique.
3.Though I am not one, I have to constantly tell people I am an atheist, since they have no idea what a deist is.
4.To the horror of many friends, I am an ardent devotee of Rajnikanth.
5.My writing ability, in my judgement, is good enough to make me a living. Most see this evaluation as ridiculous.
6.I have nothing but contempt for Indians who pride themselves on being able to understand only English.
7.I am a near-absolute carnivore.
8.That the best period of my life was in Malaysia, where I neither learnt nor achieved anything, worries me sometimes.
9.I grow tired of people very easily and live in constant dread that they are growing tired of me too.
10.My favourite bird is the hawk only because both my favourite wrestler and my favourite G.I.Joe character have the same name.
11.I have recurring fantasies of hosting BBC Hardtalk and impressing the female audience of the show with my tough questions.
12.If I could direct films, I would make a string of black-and-white biopics.
13.I think the worst way to die is to be eaten alive by tiny insects.
14.My career ambitions range from novelist to diplomat to journalist to lawyer, making me terribly paranoid about the future.
15.I constantly overrate myself and pay heavy prices for it.
16.I get irritated when people say rap is not “real” music.
17.My favourite superpower as a child was super-strength, but I am now growing fonder of mind-control.
18.I hope to travel to and write from, at the very least, about seventy countries before I die.
19.I can’t decide who my favourite writer is between Christopher Hitchens and V S Naipaul.
20.I don’t fear death nearly as much as I fear the ways in which I might die.
21.I am considerably proud of my sense of humour, though several friends don’t believe I have one.
22.My ideal home is a luxury apartment in one of the world’s mega-cities. No mansions for Nilan.
23.I am prepared to spend a significant portion of my life defending the idea that South Park is the greatest television show of all time.
24.I suffer from an identity crisis. Being a Sri Lankan citizen who spent his whole life thinking of himself as an Indian isn’t easy.
25.I am glad this list is over.
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