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!
Friday, 13 February 2009
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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