The lady – and I use this term loosely here – has just confessed that she isn’t all that smart. “Like I really ... I don't remember. I'm not like that smart. I like forget stuff all the time.” Wish she had forgotten, like, she was not a sophomore anymore.
Smart she may not be, but she is a shrewd cookie. As a huge fan of trivia, but not trivialisation, I like to keep track of these ‘events’. So, we must not forget that the first time she was noticed was because of some steamy video she had shot of herself with her lover at the time. This made the rounds of the Net and suddenly she was going around with her Chihuahua tapping on her bosom to signify a fashion statement. What we do not realise is that those who get excited by others’ thrills would get off even if they watched a raunchy video of Attila the Hun.
The least Paris Hilton can do to legitimise the publicity she gets is behave like a star. While I think it is cool to hire an agent just to make you famous for being famous, as she has done, I really wish she’d display some class.
Instead of looking and acting like the heiress she is, she goes around like a tarted-up tramp on social security. It is disgusting to read reports about her being thrown out of a New York nightclub, of her weeping in the street, of her gate-crashing parties, of her not being wanted at some real tony gatherings…
Does she not feel humiliated? And why the need? She has got loads of wealth, she can afford the very best, yet she chooses to make a mess of herself and all that celebrity ought to stand for.
Then there is Hugh Grant. I saw pictures of him at some posh do with Jemima. He looked bored and a goner. Too much has been made of his foppish charm. He really is a caricature of the essential British gentleman and not the real thing.
A while ago one had read about that absolutely sickening act by his ex-girlfriend Elizabeth Hurley at a party – a sit-down dinner at that – where in full public view she had taken his hand and began sucking his finger which led to Jemima walking out in a huff.
It is strange that such behaviour is acceptable and the people continue to be lionised. This is gauche, crude and so very unbecoming.
In this respect I’d give Victoria Beckham some points. She really upped her regal quotient when she dumped the Posh Spice tag to become a fairytale princess of David, prince of the football field. If you see her in her low-slung jeans you might be put off bones forever, but she has managed to elevate her status. A status she does not deserve, but, heck, it works…
24.9.06
Osama cannot die
Osama bin Laden dead? Not a ghost of a chance. Not with George Bush alive. If Osama dies – and that too of typhoid and not because he has been trapped and killed – then the whole Bush cottage industry will crumble to bits. How will it justify its aggressiveness? It tried hard to make Saddam Hussein into a proxy, but it did not work. It cannot.
Osama has never headed any government, has no palaces, does not have an address, and has no specific group of followers. Whatever be anyone’s views, he is a phenomenon beyond any contrived PR exercise. He is Elvis without the crutch of Graceland; he is Michael Jackson without the oxygen mask.
One thing comes out clear: Bush would be in no hurry to feel triumphant. He needs to pretend to find Osama, and he can find him only if he is alive. So, W will try hard to deny that his nemesis is dead. He will imagine a threat from some other country and again the charade of an Osama-like dictator will be touted before the American public and the world.
More patriotism would be whipped up. I can imagine the US President saying, “Gaad, Lard-in cannot just die of tie-fied. It ain’t like a new-monia, y’know? You gotta be kiddin’. The guy’s in a cave in Pack-is-tan. Ah am tryin’ to ged their Prez to send his men in dem caves and ah-ll help him with that Cash-mere prahblem. That ain’t so bad. Been readin’ Camus. It’s all ‘bout outsiders. Darn, these Eendian and Pack-is-tanians jest don’t read books. I haf-ta thank Laura and the Lord…”
Osama has never headed any government, has no palaces, does not have an address, and has no specific group of followers. Whatever be anyone’s views, he is a phenomenon beyond any contrived PR exercise. He is Elvis without the crutch of Graceland; he is Michael Jackson without the oxygen mask.
One thing comes out clear: Bush would be in no hurry to feel triumphant. He needs to pretend to find Osama, and he can find him only if he is alive. So, W will try hard to deny that his nemesis is dead. He will imagine a threat from some other country and again the charade of an Osama-like dictator will be touted before the American public and the world.
More patriotism would be whipped up. I can imagine the US President saying, “Gaad, Lard-in cannot just die of tie-fied. It ain’t like a new-monia, y’know? You gotta be kiddin’. The guy’s in a cave in Pack-is-tan. Ah am tryin’ to ged their Prez to send his men in dem caves and ah-ll help him with that Cash-mere prahblem. That ain’t so bad. Been readin’ Camus. It’s all ‘bout outsiders. Darn, these Eendian and Pack-is-tanians jest don’t read books. I haf-ta thank Laura and the Lord…”
I am one!
Last year on this day when I started this blog, I did not anticipate that I would keep at it. I know I can last long, but to stay the course on a fairly regular basis was not something I thought I would do.
Blogs mean different things to different people and some have their work cut out for them. I admire such single-mindedness; it is not something I can follow. Cross connections is just whatever comes to my mind -- I think modesty is an over-rated virtue because most modest people go around flaunting their modesty. That itself ceases to make it a virtue.
So, this is about me and mine. I muse, I crib, I laugh, I cry, I throw a fit, I walk, I run, I sleep, I shit, I crave, I abstain, I love, I leave, I hit, I hurt, I strip, I cover myself with a gauze sheet…and some of you have journeyed along, sometimes watching with amusement, sometimes with empathy and almost always with decorum. When I recently wrote about a couple of extremely personal moments, I could feel your silence more than your words.
For one who is unashamedly a political animal, I do get surprised when my internal monologues seem to strike a chord. This happened even when I wrote my journal on the website where my political articles appeared. Those who got in touch were brutally honest: “Is this really you?” or, “We cannot agree or even understand your political views, but your logs are…well, they could be about us…”
While a comment like this ought to make me feel good, I should hope people’s lives are certainly not like mine! I suppose there are deep connections that cleave through the bone and reach the marrow.
I have made a few friends and, surprising as it may seem, this group includes academics who have nothing to do with the subcontinent and a desi mind, and very little with my let-my-emotions-hang-on-my-sleeves style. I am too scared to probe the reasons, for often when we try and prod too much and keep poking the soil we end up killing the undergrowth.
From the, “It is after years I have felt something like me and it is frightening” and “I feel so helpless, I can’t even hate you” remarks that reach my mailbox to the person who set up a blog only to post a comment here to mislead me, it has been more than I imagined.
I must thank those who pointed out the flaws in my earlier font, colour, and choice of photograph…
There has been one rather strange but interesting allegation about the current picture: “You are being a tease!” At one level, perhaps. But for me the play of light and shadow is what people are all about…if it seems enigmatic, then so be it.
Some have wanted to know about the ‘very short conversations’ I put up. Are they for real? Indeed, they are. They could be abrupt, sharp, probing or just stream of consciousness, but they have taken place. If at all there is any creative licence I have taken it is probably just to chop off the pauses!
I do hope to enter this new phase with mostly the same old ways. I did try out a few other templates, but then I wanted to change the font colour too – and you know how many entries I have! So, for those who like old wine and old bottles, let us continue to share a drop or two…
Blogs mean different things to different people and some have their work cut out for them. I admire such single-mindedness; it is not something I can follow. Cross connections is just whatever comes to my mind -- I think modesty is an over-rated virtue because most modest people go around flaunting their modesty. That itself ceases to make it a virtue.
So, this is about me and mine. I muse, I crib, I laugh, I cry, I throw a fit, I walk, I run, I sleep, I shit, I crave, I abstain, I love, I leave, I hit, I hurt, I strip, I cover myself with a gauze sheet…and some of you have journeyed along, sometimes watching with amusement, sometimes with empathy and almost always with decorum. When I recently wrote about a couple of extremely personal moments, I could feel your silence more than your words.
For one who is unashamedly a political animal, I do get surprised when my internal monologues seem to strike a chord. This happened even when I wrote my journal on the website where my political articles appeared. Those who got in touch were brutally honest: “Is this really you?” or, “We cannot agree or even understand your political views, but your logs are…well, they could be about us…”
While a comment like this ought to make me feel good, I should hope people’s lives are certainly not like mine! I suppose there are deep connections that cleave through the bone and reach the marrow.
I have made a few friends and, surprising as it may seem, this group includes academics who have nothing to do with the subcontinent and a desi mind, and very little with my let-my-emotions-hang-on-my-sleeves style. I am too scared to probe the reasons, for often when we try and prod too much and keep poking the soil we end up killing the undergrowth.
From the, “It is after years I have felt something like me and it is frightening” and “I feel so helpless, I can’t even hate you” remarks that reach my mailbox to the person who set up a blog only to post a comment here to mislead me, it has been more than I imagined.
I must thank those who pointed out the flaws in my earlier font, colour, and choice of photograph…
There has been one rather strange but interesting allegation about the current picture: “You are being a tease!” At one level, perhaps. But for me the play of light and shadow is what people are all about…if it seems enigmatic, then so be it.
Some have wanted to know about the ‘very short conversations’ I put up. Are they for real? Indeed, they are. They could be abrupt, sharp, probing or just stream of consciousness, but they have taken place. If at all there is any creative licence I have taken it is probably just to chop off the pauses!
I do hope to enter this new phase with mostly the same old ways. I did try out a few other templates, but then I wanted to change the font colour too – and you know how many entries I have! So, for those who like old wine and old bottles, let us continue to share a drop or two…
23.9.06
Ramzan, fasting and hunger
“Will you fast this Ramzan?” asked my friend from Lahore.
“No,” I said. “I don’t.”
“You aren’t religious?”
“Right.”
“So what do you believe in?”
“Myself. It is a self-centred belief but I feel I should be happy; if I am happy I can make others happy and contribute to their lives. If I can think and feel with my conscience, I have found my religion. I do not follow rituals, yet for those who do it serves a symbolic purpose, nothing more, and nothing less.”
“I think I will use this definition next time.”
“But you had once told me you were religious.”
“I must have said something when I was drunk. I think people like us are needed to make others feel they are following god’s word.”
“If it requires bad people to feel good, then they must not be very good to begin with. Such ‘badness’ is often better than their ‘goodness’.”
“I understand, but explain it further…”
“In their tunnel anything that flutters over their heads is a bat and they duck it out of fear. And they fumble in the darkness till they reach the light. Their ‘goodness’ is something from the outside; it is not inherent. They do not have originality of thought or their own emotional resources to find the light. So, when they come out of the tunnel they have to blink because the light hurts the eyes. They foolishly believe this is a miracle. The real miracle would have been if they had fished out a matchbox, lighter or torch and lit the tunnel. Anyone who manages to do that is ‘bad’, according to them. Because blind believers cannot accept self-sufficiency in others since they do not have it in themselves.”
“Are you a Sufi?”
“No, just eternally hungry!”
“No,” I said. “I don’t.”
“You aren’t religious?”
“Right.”
“So what do you believe in?”
“Myself. It is a self-centred belief but I feel I should be happy; if I am happy I can make others happy and contribute to their lives. If I can think and feel with my conscience, I have found my religion. I do not follow rituals, yet for those who do it serves a symbolic purpose, nothing more, and nothing less.”
“I think I will use this definition next time.”
“But you had once told me you were religious.”
“I must have said something when I was drunk. I think people like us are needed to make others feel they are following god’s word.”
“If it requires bad people to feel good, then they must not be very good to begin with. Such ‘badness’ is often better than their ‘goodness’.”
“I understand, but explain it further…”
“In their tunnel anything that flutters over their heads is a bat and they duck it out of fear. And they fumble in the darkness till they reach the light. Their ‘goodness’ is something from the outside; it is not inherent. They do not have originality of thought or their own emotional resources to find the light. So, when they come out of the tunnel they have to blink because the light hurts the eyes. They foolishly believe this is a miracle. The real miracle would have been if they had fished out a matchbox, lighter or torch and lit the tunnel. Anyone who manages to do that is ‘bad’, according to them. Because blind believers cannot accept self-sufficiency in others since they do not have it in themselves.”
“Are you a Sufi?”
“No, just eternally hungry!”
19.9.06
Nun-the-less...
A school in Lucknow was recently the scene of a Jesus controversy. Loretto Convent had what has come to be called an ‘occult session’ where a man claimed to be Christ and some students reportedly fainted. Right-wing Hindutva groups broke into the school, throwing things and damaging property.
The behaviour of the goons is condemnable; the protests were essentially against subjecting students to such things.
I believe an institution that is run by missionaries has every right to choose how it conducts itself. When the parents admit their kids they are well aware of who runs the show and what it might entail.
Being a product of a convent school, I regularly went into a swoon during morning assembly…the reason being I suffer from claustrophobia (yes, I hate being crowded by anything and anyone!). So, there I would be weak-kneed and in a sweat, often seeing stars before my eyes. I believe people use these descriptions for love too.
We would sing hymns and Father Francis from the neighbouring boy’s school would visit us on Saturdays and give us a lecture. It was not about Christianity. There were nice moral lessons delivered with humour and a gleam in the eye. Of course, his being male contributed a great deal to take away the tedium of being surrounded by females for seven hours five times a week. Except when we were in the playground. And that too when we were in the volleyball court.
A small wall separated us from a Chinese restaurant. The chef, cooks, waiters would be in their vests watching us. Their eyes would get smaller and smaller as we lunged higher and higher with our hands poised up in the air. On sports and physical training days it is no wonder we were made to wear bloomers over our undies.
Like most impressionable young people, I too was fascinated by the nuns. As one grew older and began inching towards womanhood, fascination gave place to curiosity. I learnt for the first time that nuns menstruated when I had to go to their quarters to get a sanitary napkin for myself.
I still recall the door being opened and a Sister I did not know went in and brought me one ST and said before handing it to me, “Get it back tomorrow”! Of course, she meant I had to get a fresh one…
Then I began wanting to know if they waxed their legs and arms and several other things.
Once the school decided to have a sex education lecture. The seniors were in the hall as an ‘expert’ drew all kinds of vague things on the blackboard. This sounded like work when we had already begun to realise that our bodies were giving out entirely different and pleasant signals. There was a good deal of giggling and a few nuns who were around tried to shut them up.
I decided to pay no attention to the goings-on and concentrated on day-dreaming, as I did in almost every class.
This paid rich dividends later in life.
So, how would I have reacted to someone saying he was Jesus? It would depend on how he looked. If he came anywhere close to the images we see, I might have believed it for the time he was around. Swooning, as I said earlier, would have happened anyway. And the family? How would they react? I suppose in today’s times where the fissures are deep, there might have been some tut-tuting. In those days, I remember only one occasion when an uncle asked me about morning prayers and whether I took part in them. When I said yes, he told me I didn’t have to. It was not part of our religion.
I recall my mother telling him, “Drinking alcohol is also not a part of our religion, so you stop that too…” Of course, everyone had a good laugh.
Towards the end of my school years we started having secular prayers and morning assembly had stopped, so no more swooning. Over the intercom a few girls would sing, “Hum ko man ki shakti dena”, “Allah tero naam…” or some such.
We were given extra marks if we attended flag hoisting on Independence Day; I decided not to fall prey to such bribery. To prove that my country was free I would spend the morning making boats with the paper flags and releasing them in the small pool of water that would invariably be there in some part of the building.
Next day the good girls and the bad girls were demarcated. We would be given a small lecture about how we should participate and be good citizens. Most of the rambling would not register. I was busy dreaming about the time when I would be prime minister of India.
With all this information, I do not think any of you can fault my convent education. Though I do believe some people think it would have been a huge relief had I chosen to become a nun.
The behaviour of the goons is condemnable; the protests were essentially against subjecting students to such things.
I believe an institution that is run by missionaries has every right to choose how it conducts itself. When the parents admit their kids they are well aware of who runs the show and what it might entail.
Being a product of a convent school, I regularly went into a swoon during morning assembly…the reason being I suffer from claustrophobia (yes, I hate being crowded by anything and anyone!). So, there I would be weak-kneed and in a sweat, often seeing stars before my eyes. I believe people use these descriptions for love too.
We would sing hymns and Father Francis from the neighbouring boy’s school would visit us on Saturdays and give us a lecture. It was not about Christianity. There were nice moral lessons delivered with humour and a gleam in the eye. Of course, his being male contributed a great deal to take away the tedium of being surrounded by females for seven hours five times a week. Except when we were in the playground. And that too when we were in the volleyball court.
A small wall separated us from a Chinese restaurant. The chef, cooks, waiters would be in their vests watching us. Their eyes would get smaller and smaller as we lunged higher and higher with our hands poised up in the air. On sports and physical training days it is no wonder we were made to wear bloomers over our undies.
Like most impressionable young people, I too was fascinated by the nuns. As one grew older and began inching towards womanhood, fascination gave place to curiosity. I learnt for the first time that nuns menstruated when I had to go to their quarters to get a sanitary napkin for myself.
I still recall the door being opened and a Sister I did not know went in and brought me one ST and said before handing it to me, “Get it back tomorrow”! Of course, she meant I had to get a fresh one…
Then I began wanting to know if they waxed their legs and arms and several other things.
Once the school decided to have a sex education lecture. The seniors were in the hall as an ‘expert’ drew all kinds of vague things on the blackboard. This sounded like work when we had already begun to realise that our bodies were giving out entirely different and pleasant signals. There was a good deal of giggling and a few nuns who were around tried to shut them up.
I decided to pay no attention to the goings-on and concentrated on day-dreaming, as I did in almost every class.
This paid rich dividends later in life.
So, how would I have reacted to someone saying he was Jesus? It would depend on how he looked. If he came anywhere close to the images we see, I might have believed it for the time he was around. Swooning, as I said earlier, would have happened anyway. And the family? How would they react? I suppose in today’s times where the fissures are deep, there might have been some tut-tuting. In those days, I remember only one occasion when an uncle asked me about morning prayers and whether I took part in them. When I said yes, he told me I didn’t have to. It was not part of our religion.
I recall my mother telling him, “Drinking alcohol is also not a part of our religion, so you stop that too…” Of course, everyone had a good laugh.
Towards the end of my school years we started having secular prayers and morning assembly had stopped, so no more swooning. Over the intercom a few girls would sing, “Hum ko man ki shakti dena”, “Allah tero naam…” or some such.
We were given extra marks if we attended flag hoisting on Independence Day; I decided not to fall prey to such bribery. To prove that my country was free I would spend the morning making boats with the paper flags and releasing them in the small pool of water that would invariably be there in some part of the building.
Next day the good girls and the bad girls were demarcated. We would be given a small lecture about how we should participate and be good citizens. Most of the rambling would not register. I was busy dreaming about the time when I would be prime minister of India.
With all this information, I do not think any of you can fault my convent education. Though I do believe some people think it would have been a huge relief had I chosen to become a nun.
12.9.06
9/11: Why should I remember this date?
Where were you when the Partition of India happened?
Where were you during the Bangladesh War?
Where were you when Indira Gandhi was assassinated?
Where were you when Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto was executed?
Where were you when the anti-Sikh pogrom took place?
Where were you when Rajiv Gandhi was killed by a suicide bomber?
Where were you when parts of Eastern Europe were
Where were you during the Bangladesh War?
Where were you when Indira Gandhi was assassinated?
Where were you when Zulfiqar Ali Bhutto was executed?
Where were you when the anti-Sikh pogrom took place?
Where were you when Rajiv Gandhi was killed by a suicide bomber?
Where were you when parts of Eastern Europe were
being spliced?
Where were you when the Gujarat earthquake happened?
Where were you when the Bombay riots of 1992-93 took place? Where were you when the Bombay blasts happened soon after? Where were you when Godhra happened?
Where were you when the Gujarat riots were taking place?
Where were you when Iraq and Iran went to war and
Where were you when the Gujarat earthquake happened?
Where were you when the Bombay riots of 1992-93 took place? Where were you when the Bombay blasts happened soon after? Where were you when Godhra happened?
Where were you when the Gujarat riots were taking place?
Where were you when Iraq and Iran went to war and
stayed that way for eight years?
Where were you when the Gulf War happened?
Where were you during Operation Desert Storm?
Where were you when the US started bombing Afghan civilians to look for a man in a cave?
Where were you when America attacked Iraq to look
Where were you when the Gulf War happened?
Where were you during Operation Desert Storm?
Where were you when the US started bombing Afghan civilians to look for a man in a cave?
Where were you when America attacked Iraq to look
for weapons that they have not yet found?
Where were you when Kargil happened?
Where were you when the recent blasts happened in India?
Where were you when Kargil happened?
Where were you when the recent blasts happened in India?
There are so many reasons to know where we were…and these queries are not posed to you. For, even I do not know where I was when most of these disasters/calamities took place. So I do not know where I was when 9/11 happened.
But you are supposed to know. The media in our subcontinent will remind you because they cannot feel left out. People who do not want you to think about other societies would also think this is important enough to recall.
I can understand those who live in the US/Canada having vivid memories; or those who have relatives there being worried, but I do not see why that date should become a part of our local psyche. To be concerned about the new world order, terrorism, religion and politics is of course important, but to deify a date? But then we also remember when Princess Diana met with that fateful accident.
Therefore, I wonder if those living overseas could check with the Americans and the Brits if they recall any of the incidents I have mentioned. Do they know where they were -- do they even know that such places exist?
If we wish to talk about a world where equality must reign, then knowledge of other societies is a great equaliser.
7.9.06
Isn't this abuse of Vande Mataram?
As many in India will today be paying tribute to the national song, perhaps someone should tell us how we can do so when in one of our more developed cities a crime so dehumanising has been committed that one recoils with horror.
A teenager rapes an old woman and later kills her and is later joined by two friends who have sex with the corpse. Vande Mataram?
Will putting these children in a remand home (the excuse will be they were on drugs) help? Will they learn any lessons in that crass cocoon? This report appeared on page 15. The shameful acts get space in the back pages. Car insurance, Mother Teresa’s death anniversary (where a young woman is clicking pictures of the mourning nuns!), Goa going the Las Vegas way with 10 new casinos, a politician’s daughter’s financial assets, and the reason why Zidane went head banging…these make it to the front.
Would you not think we need to fight this war on terror?
- - -
The full report: SHOCK AND SHAME
Youths rape, kill 72-yr-old
Chandigarh Police Say 3 Addicts Had Sex With The Corpse As Well
Chandigarh: It’s been quite a while that people have stopped calling Chandigarh safe. But the city, turning increasingly dangerous lately, was still not prepared for what the UT police announced on Tuesday—the rape and murder of a 72-year-old helpless woman by three youths, one of them just 16.
Even the police recoiled in horror. They said there were indications that the youth may have had intercourse with the dead woman.
Sarla Devi was alone when the trio, all drug addicts, barged into her house on Saturday—she lived alone in her Sector 15 residence—and strangled her to death with the intention of robbing her. But three used condoms at the site of the crime indicated that she had been raped too.
Members of the the Special Investigation Team, which arrested a drug addict involved in the ghastly crime, a 16-year-old, said his revelations sent a chill down their spine.
“One of them first raped her and then they killed her in fear that she may make a noise. And then these perverted youth raped her again,’’ a police officer told TOI. But the law is ambiguous on sex with a dead woman, or if it can fall under the ambit of rape.
One of the accused lived in a house just behind that of the victim and knew in detail about her movements. He also was “sure’’ that she lived alone. In need of money for drugs, he soon hatched a plan to kill his neighbour. It was then that his accomplices, Anil and Aman, both 19, and residents of Naya Gaon, came into the picture.
DSP S S Randhawa, who is also SIT in-charge, said jewellry, fixed deposit certificates and an old ATM card that were stolen from the old woman have been recovered from the youth.
SIT sleuths got the first clues when they recovered a polythene bag containing addictive liquid that they used to inhale. It was clear that the crime was the handiwork of drug addicts and those who knew the victim well. They soon got a whiff of “a teenager who was absconding and had gone to his maternal home in Solan’’. His accomplices were with him initially but went their own ways.
The stunned father of the main accused said his entire locality was shocked. “My son should be given appropriate punishment,’’ he said. “His own grandmother is 60 years old. How could he do such a thing?’’
A teenager rapes an old woman and later kills her and is later joined by two friends who have sex with the corpse. Vande Mataram?
Will putting these children in a remand home (the excuse will be they were on drugs) help? Will they learn any lessons in that crass cocoon? This report appeared on page 15. The shameful acts get space in the back pages. Car insurance, Mother Teresa’s death anniversary (where a young woman is clicking pictures of the mourning nuns!), Goa going the Las Vegas way with 10 new casinos, a politician’s daughter’s financial assets, and the reason why Zidane went head banging…these make it to the front.
Would you not think we need to fight this war on terror?
- - -
The full report: SHOCK AND SHAME
Youths rape, kill 72-yr-old
Chandigarh Police Say 3 Addicts Had Sex With The Corpse As Well
Chandigarh: It’s been quite a while that people have stopped calling Chandigarh safe. But the city, turning increasingly dangerous lately, was still not prepared for what the UT police announced on Tuesday—the rape and murder of a 72-year-old helpless woman by three youths, one of them just 16.
Even the police recoiled in horror. They said there were indications that the youth may have had intercourse with the dead woman.
Sarla Devi was alone when the trio, all drug addicts, barged into her house on Saturday—she lived alone in her Sector 15 residence—and strangled her to death with the intention of robbing her. But three used condoms at the site of the crime indicated that she had been raped too.
Members of the the Special Investigation Team, which arrested a drug addict involved in the ghastly crime, a 16-year-old, said his revelations sent a chill down their spine.
“One of them first raped her and then they killed her in fear that she may make a noise. And then these perverted youth raped her again,’’ a police officer told TOI. But the law is ambiguous on sex with a dead woman, or if it can fall under the ambit of rape.
One of the accused lived in a house just behind that of the victim and knew in detail about her movements. He also was “sure’’ that she lived alone. In need of money for drugs, he soon hatched a plan to kill his neighbour. It was then that his accomplices, Anil and Aman, both 19, and residents of Naya Gaon, came into the picture.
DSP S S Randhawa, who is also SIT in-charge, said jewellry, fixed deposit certificates and an old ATM card that were stolen from the old woman have been recovered from the youth.
SIT sleuths got the first clues when they recovered a polythene bag containing addictive liquid that they used to inhale. It was clear that the crime was the handiwork of drug addicts and those who knew the victim well. They soon got a whiff of “a teenager who was absconding and had gone to his maternal home in Solan’’. His accomplices were with him initially but went their own ways.
The stunned father of the main accused said his entire locality was shocked. “My son should be given appropriate punishment,’’ he said. “His own grandmother is 60 years old. How could he do such a thing?’’
2.9.06
Brave new world?
The room was filled with smoke. I came out of the bathroom and thought I was turning blind. I blinked several times...it was idiotic. In the urgency to try to see, I was not smelling anything. Something was burning. The airconditioning had a major problem, some wires were on fire...
Do we notice what we are supposed to?
The next day the technician said that had I been sleeping in the room I might have choked...choked how, to what extent? The blue-white haze that had enveloped me as I came out fresh-faced smelling of talcum powder made me feel like I was entering a new world...
Do all new worlds choke you, burn you?
- - -
Yeh duniya yeh mehfil
mere kaam ki nahin
kisko sunaoon haal-e-dil beqaraar ka
bujhtaa hua charaag hoon apne mazaar ka
ai kaash bhool jaaoon magar bhoolta nahin
kis dhoom se uthaa tha janaazaa bahaar ka
Yeh duniya yeh mehfil
mere kaam ki nahin
(Kaifi Azmi)
Do we notice what we are supposed to?
The next day the technician said that had I been sleeping in the room I might have choked...choked how, to what extent? The blue-white haze that had enveloped me as I came out fresh-faced smelling of talcum powder made me feel like I was entering a new world...
Do all new worlds choke you, burn you?
- - -
Yeh duniya yeh mehfil
mere kaam ki nahin
kisko sunaoon haal-e-dil beqaraar ka
bujhtaa hua charaag hoon apne mazaar ka
ai kaash bhool jaaoon magar bhoolta nahin
kis dhoom se uthaa tha janaazaa bahaar ka
Yeh duniya yeh mehfil
mere kaam ki nahin
(Kaifi Azmi)
Bashing Bollywood: What are Brit-Pakistanis upto?
Britons of Pakistani origin seem to have got into a tizzy...they are rapping against Bollywood.
I found the stuff they are spewing inspiring enough to pen my own little hip-hop ditty. Here goes...
Hey, stop ranting against video stores
Selling your imaginary whores
Allah isn’t interested in Bollywood
So just chill you boys in the hood
If sex were bad
You wouldn’t fall for the houri fad
Why should people have to choose
Between actors and a godly muse?
Salman is not about Islam
Shahrukh has nothing to do with the Book
Aamir was never a pir
And by swinging your ass in Bradford
You just can’t save the real Jannat...
- - -
The full report:
Brit-Pak Muslims bash B’wood
Chidanand Rajghatta TNN
Bollywood may wear its multi-religious pluralism as a badge of honour, but for the angry young British Muslims of Pakistani denomination, it’s all a sham and therefore a matter of extreme discomfort. As India’s oversized filmdom stampedes across the world winning accolades, a group of British Muslim youth is trashing the Bollywood genre, warning that the “cheesy second-rate imitation of Hollywood...is overrunning Pakistan and brainwashing musalmaans’’.
In a rap-video posted on youtube.com that is being widely circulated in Pakistani circles, the group reserves much of its venom for Bollywood’s reigning stars, many of who happen to be Muslims. “What do you want to give your kids?/Is it Salman Khan or Islam?/Is it Shah Rukh Khan or Allah’s book?/ Is it Bobby Deol or save their souls?/ Is it Amir Khan or imaan?’’ intones a singer, preferring a hip-hop style to convey the message.
Hiphop is an African-American influenced musical and cultural movement that has itself attracted criticism for its language. YouTube is a social networking website that allows users to upload, view and share videoclips and it too has attracted criticism for encouraging violence and copyright infringement.
But for the extremist Brit-Pak brigade, Bollywood bashing comes first. “Everywhere you look/It’s that kufr Bollywood/Video stores selling whores/Semi-gay actors with Muslim sounding names/With Hindu propaganda designed to create chains,’’ goes one rant.
‘It’s a conspiracy to export Hindu culture’
Unnamed British-Pakistani groups that depend heavily on clips and posters from Hindi films to produce their videos allege a conspiracy to allow Hindu culture through the backdoor, as “Bollywood movies are officially banned in Pakistan but are freely available on pirated videos and DVDs’’, they say.
Reports from Pakistan speak of the movie Fanaa being a big hit in the country’s underground circuit. Songs from Fanaa and other new Bollywood blockbusters are played openly in taxis and private transport.
The Pakistani elite and the ruling class lead the ranks of Bollywood aficionados, a fact that seems to rankle the British Pakistani youth who are in the limelight for their extremist views and fondness for madrassas.
“They kill Kashmiris but you still watch Mission Kashmir,’’ they admonish Pakistanis in one passage. Another rap passage wonders: “Bollywood Bollywood what’s the future hold/ As film by film you get ever so bold/ Stories of lesbianism enter the fold/ Now you have to heat it up as it starts going cold/ Topless movies or is it incest next/ All the time it is sex sex sex.’’
I found the stuff they are spewing inspiring enough to pen my own little hip-hop ditty. Here goes...
Hey, stop ranting against video stores
Selling your imaginary whores
Allah isn’t interested in Bollywood
So just chill you boys in the hood
If sex were bad
You wouldn’t fall for the houri fad
Why should people have to choose
Between actors and a godly muse?
Salman is not about Islam
Shahrukh has nothing to do with the Book
Aamir was never a pir
And by swinging your ass in Bradford
You just can’t save the real Jannat...
- - -
The full report:
Brit-Pak Muslims bash B’wood
Chidanand Rajghatta TNN
Bollywood may wear its multi-religious pluralism as a badge of honour, but for the angry young British Muslims of Pakistani denomination, it’s all a sham and therefore a matter of extreme discomfort. As India’s oversized filmdom stampedes across the world winning accolades, a group of British Muslim youth is trashing the Bollywood genre, warning that the “cheesy second-rate imitation of Hollywood...is overrunning Pakistan and brainwashing musalmaans’’.
In a rap-video posted on youtube.com that is being widely circulated in Pakistani circles, the group reserves much of its venom for Bollywood’s reigning stars, many of who happen to be Muslims. “What do you want to give your kids?/Is it Salman Khan or Islam?/Is it Shah Rukh Khan or Allah’s book?/ Is it Bobby Deol or save their souls?/ Is it Amir Khan or imaan?’’ intones a singer, preferring a hip-hop style to convey the message.
Hiphop is an African-American influenced musical and cultural movement that has itself attracted criticism for its language. YouTube is a social networking website that allows users to upload, view and share videoclips and it too has attracted criticism for encouraging violence and copyright infringement.
But for the extremist Brit-Pak brigade, Bollywood bashing comes first. “Everywhere you look/It’s that kufr Bollywood/Video stores selling whores/Semi-gay actors with Muslim sounding names/With Hindu propaganda designed to create chains,’’ goes one rant.
‘It’s a conspiracy to export Hindu culture’
Unnamed British-Pakistani groups that depend heavily on clips and posters from Hindi films to produce their videos allege a conspiracy to allow Hindu culture through the backdoor, as “Bollywood movies are officially banned in Pakistan but are freely available on pirated videos and DVDs’’, they say.
Reports from Pakistan speak of the movie Fanaa being a big hit in the country’s underground circuit. Songs from Fanaa and other new Bollywood blockbusters are played openly in taxis and private transport.
The Pakistani elite and the ruling class lead the ranks of Bollywood aficionados, a fact that seems to rankle the British Pakistani youth who are in the limelight for their extremist views and fondness for madrassas.
“They kill Kashmiris but you still watch Mission Kashmir,’’ they admonish Pakistanis in one passage. Another rap passage wonders: “Bollywood Bollywood what’s the future hold/ As film by film you get ever so bold/ Stories of lesbianism enter the fold/ Now you have to heat it up as it starts going cold/ Topless movies or is it incest next/ All the time it is sex sex sex.’’
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