Desicritics Author: Harold Bergsma

Hindustani and Urdu Treasures - Anachronisms or Treasures

Harold Bergsma — Thu, 11 Feb 2010 00:00:44 EST

The last time I heard a proverb being spoken by an American was in Tucson, Arizona twenty years ago. It was spoken by my father who loved to read Proverbs in the Old Testament. He read, Surely in vain the net is spread in the sight of any bird. Prov.1 vs .17. He loved to expound upon such things and talked about how clever the hunters were in Taxila who caught the elusive batera, the beautiful brown quail that scurried away at the slightest footfall. These birds were brought to our home in a basket and sold for a few annas. They were shiny eyed little things, now terrified as they crouched in the basket. One by one they were brought out and given to the cook who immediately dispatched them with a slice of a knife on the neck; to appear that very evening as roasted treats on a platter.

“How did you catch them?” I asked. The seller smiled. “In a net that they never saw. I strung it up in the dark on a moonlit night. The net is longer than this porch. Then during the day six of us formed a circle around that part of the jungle and pounded on pans and the quail ran in front of us and then flew into the net and got tangled. We caught thirteen today!” Oh, the old childhood memories came back in a rush.

But of course all of this did not tell us what my father had intended to teach us, the real meaning of the proverb, not to get involved with people who try to snare others for ill gotten gain; when you see the web of evil they are planning, keep away from them. In recent years I see snares/webs and nets on the web site, many from Nigeria wanting me to deposit huge sums into my checking account, anyway, I am sure you all have received these snares.

Many cultures use proverbs regularly to emphasize a point, to insert a bit of humor, to short-circuit communication, to elaborate on a subtlety, to say one thing and mean something else, to insert a comment that creates social control, to paint common speech with a wise statement; oh there are so many ways that proverbs are used. To those who use them, it is often not necessary to say the entire proverb, just a word or two will suffice. Some proverbs include puns, but that is a whole other subject to discuss.

Hindustani and Urdu proverbs and clever sayings abound in literature and in the speech of kahani story tellers and people like my father who wished to open the doors of communication to his children. The most recent proverb I read in a novel was yesterday in Trespassing, by Uzma Aslam Khan from Lahore, Pakistan. With homes on the riverbank, those who die of thirst die of their own making. I had a hard time understanding her use of this proverb. The Indus has begun to drop and whole stretches of the once flowing river are now sand banks, fresh water fish are dying because the sea tides inundate what were fresh water lakes.

In 1983 I was given an English/ Hindustani dictionary by David Paul, a Christian Pakistani who was my Urdu teacher. I could read and use it because it was written in Roman Hindustani with English translations. To this day I have not been able to find where it was published or who edited this wonderful volume. All I know is that it was published in 1937 and used by the pukkah gora sahibs who were part of the old British Raj. My friend David said he found it in an old book store in the bazaar and he gave it to me as well an old Urdu Bible, Kitab I Muqaddas, Purana aur Naya ‘Ahd-Nama, 1878, London, B&FBS. While using the dictionary I noticed that certain pages had been removed, either to roll a cigarette or because what was written by the editor as meanings of words was considered to be blaspheme by the reader. All the Z words are missing, as well as pages 321-324 in the H section, you know, hades, heaven, hell, hate, harlot. But what a treasure to receive such a gift! I have cross-checked so many Hindustani words and expressions using these lovely old books that had no covers except for a pasted on sheet of faded and worn brown wrapping paper cleverly fashioned by the book seller.

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During the last four years I have collected a few score of Hindustani and Urdu proverbs and wonder if these sayings are still part of the orthography and common speech of the people of India and Pakistan. Below are a few selected from many others that illicit memory.

Khubsurat chiz se hamesha khushi hoti hai.
From beautiful things always comes joy.

Unfortunately, the beautiful quail with their exquisite feather patterns and beautiful high pitched voices became culinary joy. My teen age friends used to rag me when I would sigh over a beautiful sunset or the shining glory of a girls long black hair. “Write a sonnet, Bergsma!” Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Saudae husn lete hain ankhon ki ankh par.… anyway, thanks Shakespeare..

Bansi ka khilari, lane tora, khane bahut.
The fish one catches is small, yet the appetite remains big.

I paid a laborer who carried goods for me exactly what we had agreed to in the morning. He looked at the silver rupee in his hand that evening and wagged his head from side to side, looked up at me and told me he had six children ‘khane bahut.’

Phuion phuion kar-ke talab bharta hai.
Drop by drop the tank gets filled.

I love the onomatopoetic phuion, the sound when a pebble drops into a well or a drop of water in a talab. It was forbidden for children to climb to the top of the water tank in Ludhiana, but when we got there, Patrus had pebbles in his pocket and we dropped them one by one, phuion- phuion into the water of the tank. My high school Latin teacher in Mussoorie, Miss Vera Marley, despaired of me but would always hold out hope that drop by drop I would be able to conjugate verbs. Amo, Amas, Amat, Amamus, Amatis, Amant. Phuion.

Vo aisa nachta hai jaise gur ke matke me makkhi.
He dances around like a fly in a pot of sticky molasses.

Hisa kitab, the weekly accounts were being reviewed. The cook tried to remember what he had spent for what, when and where. First he remembered the meat, then the vegetables and finally he still was short by about forty rupees. He stammered, then thought of another item and then finally kept quiet for a moment and said, “I put all the money in the same purse. I must have spent it thinking it was my own.”

Taza ehsan taze phul, basi ehsan basi phul.
Fresh flowers are like fresh ideas; wilted flowers, worn out ideas.

Oh, when the elections are about to happen and the pictures of various things are shown to illiterates to catch their votes, the radio blares, the television sets show the political hopefuls talking and making promises. Somehow the speeches sound so very familiar, basi phul, but the symbols are important, The Elephant, Lotus, Hammer, Sickle and Star, Full Sun with Rays, (Bahujan Samaj Party, Bharatiya Janata Party, and Praja Rajyam Party). A few wonderful new thoughts as well as many wilted political flowers.

Sasti bher ki tang utha, utha-ke dekhte hain…Sasta sayda soch-ke lo.
Think twice if you think you are going to get something really cheap.

The shikara brought fresh fruit to our house boat in Dal Lake. “Cheap, cheap. Look. Hold it. Best mangoes. Very cheap.” A large basket was in fact about half the price as in Srinagar bazaar. We paid; the boat sales person paddled away to the other side of the lake. Only two layers were perfect. All the rest were half rotten. The cook shook his head, “Sahib ji, soch-ke lo.”

Gol mez pe jagah ki takrar nahin hai.
At a round table there is no dispute about who has the place of honor.

There were five gorgeous peacocks in the Lahore zoo, all in full and brilliant display, their tails reflecting blues and greens around the ‘eyes’, and one peahen was in the center pecking at the ground, totally ignoring them. They strutted and grunted; each one as lovely as the other, but not one was given the seat of honor.

Thanda loha garam lohe ko katta hai.
Cold steel slices through red hot iron.

Watch the blacksmith in the bazaar fashion objects, red hot objects with a cold hammer that flattens them, or a heavy chisel that cuts through a glowing rod. As a child I watched and was in awe of the process. Then one day I saw red hot metal flowing like soft fudge into a mold made of mud and wax and watched as an urn was removed when it had cooled. During hot arguments among my kids, I heard the phrase, “Cool it!” and other cutting remarks.

Gosht ki jan khun hai.
The life of the flesh is in the blood.

Sounds Biblical or Koranic to me. Rituals to insure the meat is hallal are still part of many culture’s food processing methods. Perhaps the proverb is used in speech to give blood to the meaning intended, the essence of the utterance.

Roti bahut dhari rahne se bus jati hai.
Leave out the bread too long and it gets moldy.

This expression is rather old hat. I have not heard it used for a very long time, in fact five years ago I wrote an article and then did not send it in to be published, it lay around for a month or more and when I read it again it got tossed, the ideas were now already historically passé, moldy.

Ek ek par kar ke battakh nuch jati hai.
The duck gets plucked only one feather at a time.

I was once a hunter and shot a brace of mallard ducks. It was my job to prepare them for the oven. Forget it. After a thousand feathers had been plucked there still remained hundreds of tiny ones and new ones emerging. Even boiling water did not help much.

The proverb enjoined me to be more patient, take my time, enjoy the view while I tended to the detail. Patience makes perfect.

Permit me to jot down a few others without my comment but hopefully these will elicit comments by my readers or spice up the dinner table conversations.

Rupea ko rupaya kamata hai.
Money has a way of making more money.

Mohabbat hai yaksan, nahin manhasar. Yeh rang pe, ho gora yal kalabashar.
Love dwells in all similarly, with no distinction between white and black.

Behtar benaneki koshish me ham aksar acheche ko bura kar dete hain.
While trying to do better we often get things fouled up or make them worse.

Sada aql se josh dabta nahin.
Passion is seldom controlled by reason.

Nikah ek tala (beri) hai.
Wedlock is a padlock. (This is one of my favorites)

Laddu kahne se munh nahin mitha hota.
By saying “fudge” doesn’t bring that sweet taste into your mouth. (A laddu by any other name is still a laddu.)

Ghada pite ghora nahin hota.
A half breed donkey will never be a horse. (I heard this in Peshawar)

Kutte se khabar-dar raho. Jo apni izat se na dare usse dare.
Beware of the dog; and more of him who does not care about his own reputation.

Garmi me dudh phat jata hai.
Hot weather sours the milk, (Lavina said to me.) See: Lalla and Lavina, Tales of Indian Women, Authorhouse, 2007 by this author.

Jon jon ubhre bandra won won punchh dikhae.
The higher the monkey climbs the more he shows off his bare rear end.

Sharabi ki jumma, botal.
A drunkard’s only savings were in the bottle.

Thali aur munh dono band rakkho.
Keep both your mouth and your wallet closed.

Shad ke niche, zahr.
The bait hides a sharp hook.

Hauke se zyadah bura kya? Afimi.
What could be worse than discontent? Opium. See: The Opium Eaters, 2009 by this author.

Badla mita hai.
How sweet revenge is.

Such karva hai.
Truth is bitter.

I gave my old stamp collection of India Free States to my daughter years ago. She now has an eye for any stamp that she has not collected. I decided that collecting proverbs was easier and there was no storage problem, or gluing on the hinges, just jotting down on the computer and hitting Save. This is no longer work but a hobby. Apne kam ko tu chala, na kam tujh ko chalae. You should drive your work, not let it drive you. So if you are driven to share a proverb, I am all ears.

The Splendour of Tibet

Harold Bergsma — Thu, 31 Dec 2009 14:47:16 EST

The game we played was simple but really an exercise in the development of travel plans that 'may never happen.' "So, Harold where would you really like to travel to if you had the money, time and opportunity?"

I had an answer already well developed because of some strange yearning for adventure and to see parts of the world that really seemed like the impossible dream. "I would like to take a trip down the Amazon from one of its sources all the way to the ocean. Of course that would mean first hiking across Peru's mountains starting at Cusco and having a boat outfitted at Mache de Dios and then down to the Amazon to Porto Velho, Manaus, Santarem and Macapa and finally to the ocean itself. This would probably take a small fortune to outfit the expedition and really young and strong companions, one of whom would have to be a medical doctor who could treat emergencies as well as know about tropical medicine, another a botanist/biologist, you know like Darwin, and a really fantastic photographer and me. The trip would take at least a year."

"Sounds like a great idea. I only have one problem. What would you contribute to the group?" She smiled with a challenge written all over her face. "This sounds sort of like a Survivor movie in which there are two guys and two women who have to develop a team approach."

"I would take notes, record stuff and later write a book about it, plus, of course talking Spanish and organizing stuff. You know, like getting the boat and motor and guides." I smiled happily.

"Where in the world would you find four people who could afford to take off a year from their jobs, people who were cut out for hardship, mosquitoes, fever, loneliness and filth, you know like..." she paused, "like Livingston or Schweitzer?"

"Let me finish my second choice before you tear apart my expedition. My second dream has always been to hike, ride, drive, swim, fly over and even write a book about Tibet, you know the vast Tibetan plateau and take pictures of a Tibetan Wild Ass and a Takin.."

"So who would you take along on this trip? It sounds a bit more challenging and a lot more fun since you added ride and drive and fly over." She smiled broadly, waiting me to ask her what skills she would add to the expedition. "Mosquitoes and black water fever would not be a problem."

We were four internationalist graduate students, all sitting around a table in an eating joint in East Lansing near MSU, sharing food and wine, and the evening took off. The year was 1967.

Each of us after completing our doctoral program ended up at desks, at least initially. Mary R. who spoke fluent Spanish got a job with the State Department in D.C. Tom G. who had worked for six years in the American International School in Delhi got an administrative job with Peace Corps, Robert M. got a job with IIR in Washington and I ended up developing a new teacher education program in northern Michigan at the end of the world in a place called Sault Ste. Marie which was buried in 120 inches of snow during the first year I worked there.

But, I got to go to across the Tibetan Plateau after all at the tender age, where dreams usually remain dreams, at 77! One of the authors of a wonderful book, Dr. Robert L. Fleming Jnr. sent me a copy of Across the Tibetan Plateau; Ecosystems, Wildlife and Conservation, published by Norton in 2007. (His famous father taught me biology sixty years ago.)

After three days of reading I finished my 'journey to Tibet', and it was a wonderful trip. This book takes you across the roof of the world and with well chosen words, carefully documented scientific data, introduces you to an area of the world that very few will ever see.

I began my journey by trying to introduce myself to the authors and those that contributed to this magnificent volume. As I frequently do, I started at the back of the book and reviewed the 'acknowledgments' and 'A Word of Special Recognition'. Then I went through the Index, and finally turned to the front of the volume and was pleasantly surprised to read a 'Foreword' by Jimmy Carter, from Plains Georgia. The 'Contents' gave me an excellent overview of the journey I would take for the next couple of days. The marvel of all of this armchair travel is imbedded in the words written by the author/s. "Two decades of field time were invested. Thousands of kilometers were traveled to every prefecture in the Tibet Autonomous Region." Having traveled in many countries myself, and as a youngster in Nepal in 1950, those words are mind boggling. Here I thought a one year trip down the Amazon would be an accomplishment. But those who gathered the information for this magnificent volume, the photographs which sparkle from its pages, the calm and understandable prose dealing with scientific information, are to be highly praised for this magnum opus. Two decades of field time! Imagine what that meant. The organizers or coordinator of this book, Daniel Taylor and Traci Hickson are to be complimented on putting the data, the photos and the prose together in a way that allows the reader to travel and experience Tibet.

It was news to me that..."In fifteen years Tibet has moved from a situation where wild animals and forests were protected in only 1 percent of its land area to becoming one of the world's leaders in conservation thinking and implementation." And..."Tibet had more than 40 percent of its land are under conservation..." and..."At the core of Tibetan beliefs is the enlightened idea of a balanced, harmonious use of the environment, a tradition that gives Tibet tremendous scope and leverage to implement conservation."

It was obvious to me as I took my journey through Tibet for the last couple of days, that the writers and planners of this important volume had developed 'optimal relationships' with each other and their Tibetan hosts, both the people who lived in remote areas as well as leaders in the government. Translation needed? Optimal relationships refer to becoming friends. Any volume that leaves one feeling new friendship toward another people, new admiration for their country, such as this book, is in itself a cultural ambassador. Dr. Robert Fleming Jnr. is a professor of equity and empowerment. This book and the Herculean labor taken to write and produce, bespeak friendship, equity and empowerment for the people of the Tibetan Plateau and awe for its natural wonders.

Cultural Translators: A Step Toward Waging Peace

Harold Bergsma — Mon, 7 Dec 2009 09:51:00 EST

"I don't understand why he got angry." "Why wouldn't she shake my hand?" "It seems that they shout at each other instead of talking." "He agreed to send it, in fact he agreed to everything, with a big smile." "Taking shoes off at the portal is a real pain." "So, what's so bad about putting my feet on the foot stool while talking to him?" "Bowing low to Japanese royalty is a bit much, don't you think?"

They don't even recognize that they are in culture shock. And the beat goes on. The list could fill the entire page. When one person from a given culture meets a social situation that is foreign to her/him, the only way that person can cope is to translate what is said, seen, felt and conveyed through appropriate verbal codes and body language by using the cultural tools available, that is personal understandings and habits gleaned during a lifetime in the home culture. A common term used by many who travel to other countries is culture shock. It is very hard to not compare one country to the other, one people's habits to your own. Eating habits feature large in culture shock as does personal space. So, travelers should be explorers and recognize that other people act, think, and believe differently.

We have all heard the expressions, "Ugly American" used to describe tourists from America who are visiting another country and doing all the things that make locals shake their heads in disbelief. The term so widely used now has become part of our commonly used expressions. It has its roots in a political novel The Ugly American published in 1958. by Eugene Burdock and William Lederer. It was a best seller. One of the characters in this fictional work is a journalist from Burma. He says, "For some reason, the people (Americans) I meet in my country are not the same as the ones I knew in the United States. A mysterious change seems to come over Americans when they go to a foreign land. They isolate themselves socially. They live pretentiously. They're loud and ostentatious."

What I have observed frequently are the following. Talking too loud. Shouting to be understood in English when the native speaker doesn't understand. Butting in. Displaying wealth. Displaying body parts. Being insensitive to local norms of dress. Becoming angry and making a scene. Flirting in public. Again, the list can go on and on. But why single out Americans? Why not the British? Why not French? Why not Spanish? Or for that matter, why not Indians? Particularly when it comes to the matter of isolating themselves socially. But that is another matter, since most people tend to cluster with those with whom they can communicate and who are like themselves.

One of the ugliest social/cultural situations that exist is how people behave during war. Listen to 'them' talk about the Kashmir conflicts. Listen to the invective that pours forth when American drones bomb border towns in Pakistan. Listen. "Death to America!" When one faces an enemy the most important thing to posses is superior strength in arms and superior technology to deliver the killing blows. A man with a bow and arrow facing a soldier with an AK47 has little chance of survival. War situations are clear cut, kill or be killed. Or are they? Sometimes it's hard to find the enemy. Many times we are our own worst enemies when it comes to communication and translating the meanings of other cultures, especially when we carry the heavy weapons, or have very deep pockets.

War against terrorism can be translated in a variety of ways. War against those who harbor terrorists, war against supporters of known terrorism, war against those in a country that holds political positions against those they perceive to be the aggressor. The definition of war is morphing rapidly. In the past the enemy was known, the lines were drawn and bombs away. Now the question is where are they? Who are they? Where is bin Laden anyway? 'Certainly you must know'. Among any given crowd walking in a bazaar there could be hundreds of Taliban. They look just like everybody else.

This all translates into international frustration and the only way to deal with it is to 'augment the number of troops in the Afghanistan'. Translation needed. That is the key. Foreign policy is really just a matter of translating one country's ambitions, need, and goals in regards to another country in a way that is both understandable and hopefully agreeable to the other country. Translation is however, a real political problem.

Alissa J. Rubin writing for the New York Times News Service and quoted in The San Diego Union Tribune, Nov.21, 2009, in a meaningful article entitled, "Cultural translator has general's ear; British woman uses knowledge of area." What leaped out in the print of the page was this statement written by the 'cultural translator', Emma Sky working with the U.S. forces in Iraq. "When you drop a bomb from the air and it lands on a village and kills all those people, and your turn around and say, 'Oh, we didn't mean to kill the civilians,' well, who did you think was living in the village."

Unfortunately, when an entire village of Muslim civilians is blown to shreds that translates into a cultural mandate, jihad, and deep hatred for the bomb throwers. Many writers have stated that such acts translate into recruitment efforts for Al Queada and new supporters for the Taliban, which at one time were on America's side in the war against Russian occupation in Afghanistan. Leslie H. Gelb writes in Time, July, 2009. "Robert McNamara Learning from a Great Manager's Tragedy" was a fine tribute to a brilliant man, a smart guy. But it is not just how smart we are, she points out, wars like Vietnam (and Iraq) are an 'open ended statement'. Our long and costly war against terrorism, our war in Afghanistan and the 'drone' wars over the Northwest Frontier Province of Pakistan are also open ended. As long as we make such wars, on other's soil, they will make their response, jihad! Gelb say, "We can help, but it must be theirs." Yes, help implies being asked to give assistance, which we have done, even to the Taliban when Russia was our problem in Afghanistan. But Gelb is spot on when she says, "...nationalist wars, civil wars, tribal and religious wars--they can never be won by Americans."

The Pushtun cultural ethical code of the people who live on the Pakistan border and across the border in a large part of Afghanistan is defined by the words Zar, Zan, Zamin which says it all. At all costs preserve the privacy and sanctity of the zennanah (harem), Zan, or your personal pocket book (wealth), Zar and Zamin, the very sacred earth of home under your feet. These are their 'pursuit of happiness."

When a military general is accompanied by a person who is sensitive to the local people, and who speaks their language, who hears the gossip and reads the cultural signals, then a totally new direction in military warfare may emerge. If more cultural translators had more general's ears to talk to there might be some hope for the development of policy that results in a reversal of the 'Vietnam like' situation now existing in Afghanistan, which was the major theme of The Ugly American. Such generals talk to those who command them, including the commander in chief.

Personal communication is difficult enough and often ends up in frustration and anger simply because both parties do not speak the same emotional and cultural language. "Oh, that is just because of cultural difference." Precisely! Acknowledging that such differences exist in a multicultural world and that no group has all the answers for the rest of the world is a huge step forward in foreign policy and strangely, in the way warfare is carried out. I have always liked the term, 'cultural relativism', because it is so beautifully descriptive of the realities of interaction between people of different cultures. Translation required! Have you ever tried to put together a swing set using the instruction sheet that is written in Chinese?

To be effective, cultural translators should be in tune with both cultures they are translating for or they end up with costly goofs. Without such cultural translation, those that carry out policy and those that make it may turn a blind eye toward the problems related to war, or should I say a deaf ear. Language fluency is key in cultural translation and more important, a respect and love of the people who speak the language. Allisa Rubin's work with the general is "One giant step for mankind." When more army generals have cultural translators at their sides perhaps there will be hope for waging peace.

Persian Inspired Paradise Gardens

Harold Bergsma — Sun, 22 Nov 2009 12:55:25 EST

Kashmir! “If there is pairidaeza on earth, this is it, this is it!”

Mogul Emperor Jahangir

The Persian definition of ‘paradise’ may surprise you. It means an enclosed area; an area set aside that has boundaries or walls around it. Now come to think of it, that makes sense. Paradise, heaven as it is spoken of in the holy books, the Bible, the Koran, is a place set aside that is circumscribed, guarded, a special place for the few chosen ones, the faithful.

I love the Biblical descriptions of paradise with its pearly gates, with its rivers that flow through it, its glories described in terms of a variety precious stones. “… the holy Jerusalem, descending out of heaven from God, having the glory of God: and her light was like unto a stone most precious, even like a jasper stone, clear as crystal; and had a wall great and high and had twelve gates, and at the gates twelve angels.”

But where did such ideas come from that ended up in Revelation, in the holy writs? And what was the need for high walls and gate keepers? The Glorious Koran speaks of paradise in many ways, including the idea of a special place in which there is a garden. “Surah VII, 40 Lo, they who deny Our revelations and scorn them, for them the gates of Paradise will not be opened nor will they enter the garden until the camel goeth through the needle’s eye. Thus do we requite the guilty.” Let’s see, that was first mentioned long, long before by a man named Mathew, a Jew, who wrote a gospel. “….It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle, than for a rich man to enter heaven.” Math. 19: 24. Yes, people, even prophets do borrow sayings and ideas across cultures and time. I think that is called poetic license.

The authors’ of various of the now held-to-be sacred books, got their inspiration and ideas from the reality of their dry habitat and cultural settings, from the history of their own nations’ growth and other nations around them, from the writings of the wise ones who shared their greatest joys in Persian manuscripts with ‘hues of the green of trees and flowers set in gardens’ painted on the margins. Simply put, cultural borrowing was going on then as it goes on today. In a desert area like San Diego, Balboa Park is our garden; it’s paradise. People have always borrowed ideas from other people. Cultural borrowing of ‘heavenly ideas’ for some becomes the reality for others, with flowers and flowing water fountains in which paisas, annas, pennies and dimes are thrown. ‘Three coins in a fountain.’

Let me put this in a more sequential historical perspective. A long time ago, that is around 5th. Century B.C. Persia ruled over a vast kingdom. I mentioned this to our tour guide in Turkey two weeks ago and he had never heard of Persian domination over the area that is now Turkey. It included what today would be Armenia, Iran, Iraq, Jordan, Syria, Bulgaria, Turkey, Palestine, Lebanon, Caucasia, some parts of Greece and even as far as what is now Pakistan. Along with their wonderful poetic language were many other of their cultural contributions to these areas of their vast kingdom, one of which was their gardens of ‘paradise’ enclosed by walls or boundaries. That was a new idea to many in those ancient days because gardens were usually utilitarian in nature where crops grew and the only boundaries were those necessary to demarcate property ownership, or fences to keep out goats. The Archmenid idea, that is of having an earthly paradise, became adopted by other peoples and cultures, and what a grand idea it was.

In a publication called, ‘Notes on Iran’, put on the web in May of 2008, as posted by ‘Barry’ there is a discussion about the gardens of paradise that Persia initiated. “The first writer to make reference to a Persian garden using the word ‘paradise’ was the Greek narrator Xenophon. The word appears in Avestan text only in the form of Pairadaeza.” For more than three thousand years, says Barry, quoted above, “…the Persian garden has been the focus of Iranian imagination, influencing the country’s art as well as literature. The lavish use of flowers in such gardens inspired the weaving of floral designs into what are known as garden-carpets.” All around the world garden traditions flourished and they influenced holy writings, literature, architecture and philosophy. Some gardens even hung around, the Hanging Gardens for instance.

Some of these gardens enclosed palaces, pleasure areas for people to stroll, some were private and some were opened to the public during Persian celebrations. Five centuries later this idea of a paradise, of course patterned on the earthly examples set by the Persians, was adopted by the writers of the Old Testament and later on even by the New Testament authors, including the man called St. John the Divine the author of Revelation. Heaven became paradise, or should I say, paradise became heaven. It does not take a great search to find the first references to the garden of paradise, Eden, in the Bible, and it sounded like a great place, surrounded by rivers, fruit trees, happy and un-aggressive animals, flowers, and even a talking serpent. (But that is another story.) Later, paradise as heaven was included in the Glorious Koran many times, with specific references to Eden. In the New Testament there are many statements about paradise and heaven, again, thank you Persia. Do you recognize the words spoken by Jesus on the cross? “This day shalt thou be in paradise with me.”

I just looked at a picture of the Taj Mahal in my bathroom and smiled to myself at the wonderful memories of strolling in that garden around that wonderful marble tomb which brought to mind two Shalimar Gardens, and a variety of other baghs I have visited in Pakistan and India. Kashmir boasts a host of places that are heavenly. The Royal Spring Garden, Chashme Shahi Garden which is dedicated to the Mogul Emperor Shah Jahan is a really lovely place, but it is but a sister garden to two others there in Kashmir, the Shalimar Gardens and Nishat Gardens that I visited, and Nasim Bagh where we put up our tent. The former, Cashme Shahi gets its name from the great female saint of Kashimir, Rupa Bhawani whose name included the family name Sahib, thus Cashme Sahibi. It has been many decades since I have wandered through these gardens, but they were in fact pairidaeza enclosures which would in English make one cry out, Wow! or in Urdu Wah! This is heavenly.

In the March 28, 2008, “Lahore Nama”, there is a wonderful piece that caught my mind and heart, because I used to wander with friend and family in a huge garden in Lahore. It begins, ‘I am homesick so I am posting an old piece on the Majestic Lawrence Gardens of Lahore. …. The writer of the “Lahore Nama” piece then ends this lovely article with words that I could not improve upon, for the emotion they bring or the memories they instill in me. “On a personal note, I have walked for years in the Lawrence Gardens–in solitude and with people. My fondest memories of Lahore are in one way or another linked to this splendid place. Often, my soul wanders there to experience the solace and reconnection that the human spirit yearns for.” (Emphasis mine) Whenever I have wanted to hear the sound of trees, in Lahore or in Landour, I have not been disappointed. Have you ever heard a whispering pine? The bulbuls also love gardens and seem to feature in so many Persian, Urdu and Hindustani poetry.

I am sure my readers will want to add their own gardens to the few I have mentioned. Paradise on earth is thus a mirrored hope for paradise ‘above’. The story goes that Adam and Eve were driven out so they could not partake of the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, but their descendents must have inherited the spiritual memories of that ‘first’ garden paradise with them. It may have been in their genes. After all the Ur of the Chaldeas was the home of Abraham, and we could conjecture that he must have known of the Tigris and Euphrates Rivers and the stories of Eden. The Chaldeans settled in that area in about 900 B.C. and Ur is an ancient city of the Sumerian civilization, and thus the country of Abraham the father of the Hebrews, whose writings reflect their Persian Empire past. Ur’s ruins are still there today between Baghdad, Iraq and the Persian Gulf.

So, the Hebrews are linked to Persia in a very real way through their spiritual father Abraham. Genesis stories and memories of home, of heavenly gardens, of how all of world began were part of the origin myths that were carried into the subsequent religious texts, including the Old Testament documents and became part of the writings in the world’s great mono-theistic religions. Ah, pairidaeza may be the whispering pine or quaking aspen reconnections that the human spirit longs for, asman, new and glorious heavenly green gardens with fruit trees and high walls made of jasper and twelve pearly gates for us, we, the desert folk from dry and thirsty lands of the Northwest Frontier Province of what was then India, now Pakistan, or parched southern California. Kew Gardens anyone?

Dying Rivers: Global Thirst

Harold Bergsma — Fri, 21 Aug 2009 12:36:50 EDT

Imagine a river that runs from the world's highest mountains to the sea in an fairly straight line. Let us call it the Indus. This river, one of the most vital and vibrant in the world flowed through India (and later Pakistan) to the coastal areas near Karachi and created a huge delta with the deposits of sand, silt and rich earth. Here, in ancient times, various dwellers reaped its bounty, red rice grew in profusion, tamarisk forests were harvested by the Jat people who made charcoal, but upon the slow decline of the river they turned to catching shrimp and fish, plying the shallow and earth colored waters with their small shallow fishing dhows, crude crafts made of logs or stitched together, made of teak planks; a verdant area with animals of every kind which lived in, on, under and above the Indus waters that flowed to the Arabian Sea.

It was my unusual job as consultant with the On Farm Water Management Project of Pakistan's Department of Agriculture, during 1984-1986 that gave me the opportunity to travel the river systems of Pakistan, and the Indus in particular. The vast irrigation system of Pakistan, one of the largest in the world with hundreds of thousands of miles of canals and irrigation ditches that were built, attached to the rivers in that part of the Punjab which sustained the country. My work took me from the Tarbela Reservoir all the way to the Kalri Lake just above the mouth of the Indus; the Ravi River to see the irrigation systems fed by the Upper Bari Doab, to the Sutlej to meet with the farmers' water user associations of the Sirhind, to the Ravi and the Sidhnai, the Chenab and its Upper Chenab Canal, the Ravi and the Lower Bari Doab, Swat and its Upper Swat Canal and the Indus at Sukkur with its vast barrage canal system, my favorite place, the locus of my novel, One Way to Pakistan; the Thal Canal, the Kotri Barrage project, and on the Indus the Taunsa Barrage and the Guddu Barrage Project of the lower Indus. These canals were the life-blood support system to farmers; but these canals became the destruction of the lower Indus River. The earliest of the canals, the Upper Bari Doab was built in 1859, and one of the most recent, the Guddy Barrage Project on the Indus, was constructed in 1962.

Arif Hasan, in 1992, published a fine review in "India Environmental Portal: Knowledge for Change" entitled, Death of the Indus delta. He says, "Starved of fresh water and no longer able to withstand the encroaching Arabian Sea, the Indus is dying a slow death. The channels of this mighty and historic river are running dry, while salt water is destroying the lush tamarisk forests which once lined the river, the estuarine timmar, or mangrove swamps, and the red rice paddies."

'Where has all the water gone, one time passing?' Where have so many people come from?

The Indus is the lifeblood of the agricultural system in Pakistan. Its barrages and canals have bled the river dry, but have nourished a new civilization that is expanding at an ever increasing rate. (Pakistan has one of the highest birth rates in the world) The human condition, overpopulation and need for ever- increasing resources are taxing the systems of support severely, but though the Indus is dying as a river that flows to the sea its annual renewal system flows instead to the 'veins' of the people through irrigated crops of sugar cane, millet, rice and mustard seed. The evolution of mankind is such that in its inexorable growth, it taxes natural systems that once seemed inexhaustible.

So long ago, so far away! So here I sit in San Diego and read in the San Diego Union Tribune that we must all conserve water, that we are facing a crisis unless we can change our civilization with its myriad needs for water. The San Diego River is a mere trickle through a swamp and our ground water supply is getting brackish. But, thank Allah or other powers that be; we have a distant river that is our constant transfusion by canals that bring the water, but the signs of extreme water scarcity already exist. I sit here and read about the water needs of Mumbai, which are short supply; some 100 million liters short daily and I feel better, misery loves company. They even turn off the water in Mumbai for hours on end. Oh dear! Quick, build a dam, divert water. At least San Diego will never have water rationing. I am crossing my fingers.

The Colorado River is the life-blood of western United States. But water shortage in California where I live in San Diego, is at a critical stage. State and municipal regulations now limit the water that can be applied to our parks, our lush green lawns and huge golf courses, to the hundreds of thousands of swimming pools which need filling, so that people can live the good life in this desert area. But the water in the river must first run the gauntlet of Las Vegas, literally floating that city's needs so it can maintain the vitally important gambling and showbiz industry which enervates that state. The mighty Colorado River struggles to flow to the ocean because it is being bled dry by the voracious needs of the seven states through which it flows toward Mexico and Tijuana to the south near to where I live. At its very end live Indians, (the non-Asian type) the Cucapa fishermen, who have traditionally fished corvine in the rich waters near the coast, but who now face restrictions and regulations that threaten their livelihood. These few, a handful, a couple of hundred people, are clinging to an area that is fresh water starved. Once, perhaps a hundred years ago, large "... thirty ton steamboats made their way up the mouth of the Colorado. Now, at low tide, there is no longer enough water flowing downriver to float the Cucapa's 20-foot-long pangas and their cargo. ...they ended the day mired in the nearly dry riverbed, a mile short of ... destination." (In: Colorado River Delta, waters--and prospects - are drying up), by Frank Clifford, May 25, 2008, Special to the Times) The waters now reaching the Mexican border have traversed seven of the most arid of these United States which rely on it, in large part, water from the Colorado River. International treaties allow Mexico ten percent of its flow, which seems to diminish at the border.

Water, the lifeblood of nations is being squandered. In California, citizens go on with their lives and life styles and waste precious water on precious projects which support industry, their recreational and domestic needs. Even water to the bread basket of the nation, the vast Imperial Valley area where vegetables and fruits are grown for the nation, water is being rationed so that ten million toilets can be flushed daily, more lawns watered, a million cars cleaned in car washes. Water use is part of the social life and is now a political issue. We are massive consumers of earth's resources and waste water outrageously. But it takes an outrageous amount of water to keep an economy vibrant, to restart the economic engine so that we move out of a recession.

Oh yes, the Mumbai water problem. But that is far away from me now. I am more preoccupied about the water for our daily use, that now we can only water our lawns on certain days for a short period of time and that the water costs to consumers have risen dramatically. Of course I do my share of being more 'green' and now catch the water when I shower in a large bucket so it can be reused, you know where. We try to remember to flush only when absolutely necessary.

On Farm Water Management is an on-going issue in Pakistan where salt residues are building up in the soils because of inadequate drainage and over watering. Water management globally may become a bigger issue than oil-use management. Dying rivers wherever they are located indicate something as ominous as global warming; global drying, global overpopulation. (We, the consumers of more than two thirds of the world's natural resources to keep this American civilization going avoid talking about the over population issue which seems all but impossible to control, particularly in those developing countries) Global thirst, may yet outdo the global need for oil. Ask any who live in the Sindh, the Sahara or southern California. A small, half pint bottle of drinking water only costs me $1.50. Let me see what is the exchange rate for that in Pakistan? PR 120 = $1.45, which is about their average daily wage. So what would a 44 gallon barrel of drinking water cost me at that rate? Do you remember the time when it was predicted that drinking water would be more costly than crude oil? I need a drink.

How I Love Zoos - Zoo Diligo or Zoo Contemno

Harold Bergsma — Sat, 11 Jul 2009 00:50:52 EDT

The other day I saw a wild animal trying to get into the San Diego Zoo.

But zoos are constructed to keep in, house once wild animals safely, humanely, and they have restraints of various kinds to achieve their purpose; bars, wire fences, moats, glass windows, double doors and one-way-view glass. To house means that the creatures inside are penned up, not a nice concept. ‘Penned up’ gives one the feeling of imprisoned or incarcerated. But what I saw the other day happens in most zoos, some creatures actually like to get into the cages of the zoos for a closer look, or simply fall in as some people do.

The sparrow was just big enough to fit through the tiny openings in the wire mesh that surrounds the San Diego Zoo Aviary. It squeezed through, looked around and flew directly to the feeder on which a number of wiggly worms and grubs were writhing, picked up a juicy grub and flew back, squeezed through and flew in a beeline to its nest where it fed its not terribly hungry babies, actually sated offspring. Not long ago I saw wild ducks fly into the flamingo pond, have a snack, mate, take a nap and then on some impulse fly off again. But wait, not only birds get into the zoo, mammals as well. Ready? Rats and mice thrive, if left alone and not fed poison contained in cute little feeders hidden from sight. Squirrels in San Diego Park were so successful in breeding that they became a menace to the tourists and, yes, now I feel it, guilt, they were quietly poisoned.

Yes, I have a love-hate relationship with zoos. In fact my family will attest to this, that in most major cities where we have traveled, I have made a point of visiting at the local zoo; London, Amsterdam, Central Park Zoo and even Lahore. But now, having mentioned Lahore, we have embarked on an entirely different idea, a dislike for zoos instead of a lover of zoos. Sorry, the Lahore Zoo that I visited frequently during my 1984-85 stay in Pakistan had a few problems, which I am sure must now have been all corrected. But as late as 2004 there have been a number of reports about this particular zoo that makes it hard to love. Just ‘google’ Lahore Zoo and you will see what I mean. “Zebra kicks giraffe to death” and “tiger dies from eating tainted antelope meat” and “antelope dies from insect bite poisoning” and pictures of bars, small cages and penned animals. During mid-eighties it was not a very pleasant place to go. There were neurotic animals that paced behind the bars that incarcerated them, back and forth, stepping in the exact same places with their feet; some staring at the wall with backs to the bars trying to ignore the taunts of the kids throwing channa at them. The inhabitants used their pens as ‘restrooms’ which made the visit odoriferous until the goo wallah got a chance to clean it up later on with a hose, or a shovel in the elephant enclosure. What alternative did they have? When I see animals abused because of the way they are confined, the way they are removed from their natural habitat, I have a feeling of real sadness and frustration.

I recognize that in the last twenty years that much has been done to improve the Lahore Zoo. But, ("Lahore Zoo still needs a lot of improvement": Pakistan National News Desk). Attempts have been made to purchase more property, to give the animals bigger cages and monitor the sanitation situation better. Zoos cost lots of money to maintain and where budgets are low, optimal care and attractive facilities are usually lacking. The zookeepas may lack appropriate training. At least they have a better title than those who maintain the museums, the ajibkhana wallahs.

There are some zoos that are the cats’ meow!

Aaman Lamba found such a place. In his “Travel Review: Mysore Zoo” June 13, 2009, he presents a zoo diligo report, with color pictures that are stunning! Just reading the article was a treat since I could get a vicarious trip rather cheaply to Mysore and see lovely, well fed and happy animals, all except for the stork that looked half crocked. (I must refrain from anthropomorphism, happy?) Aaman’s travel review struck a chord with me about zoos in general in spite of my loving to visit them. Guilt again!

When I was a youngster my father took me to a high security prison where he knew the chief Warden, who personally showed us around. We walked past row upon row of cells and in spite of my fear of all those prisoners behind bars I did notice that they all looked very well fed, but there were a few who looked like the stork, half crocked, bored and frustrated. (You see even the pelicans in Aaman’s article had wing feathers clipped on one wing which made it impossible for them to fly away), and the prisoners I saw all looked like they had had their wings clipped as well. But I heard the warden describe the crimes committed by the men behind bars, rapists, murderers, and heaven forbid, even swindlers who cheated those who had invested with them. I did not feel guilt, only fear and a resolve that I would never get caught dead…, no; never commit a crime which would put me in such a dismal place. Good going dad.

This memory of prison always comes back to me when I visit a Zoo, even the world’s “most wonderful zoo” the famous San Diego Zoo. Aaman pulled out a wonderful quotation from the New York Times when it addressed concerns in an article about a snow leopard exhibit in the Central Park Zoo. “…one of the dominant impulses in the contemporary zoo is a guilty conscience…” The implication was that the reason zoos are being improved and made attractive is because of past guilt because of how animals were confined.

The San Diego Zoo as well as the Mysore Zoo both tries to address the old problems of small cages and prison-like environments for animals. They have changed the environments of the animals to look like natural habitats, trees, streams, rocks, green grass, places for privacy and even flowers! In many instances the animals seem to be free, roaming around ‘happily’ and the people are the ones behind the bars. The smells sometimes linger in places like the camel exhibit, but the zoos are clean.

Still guilt? Yes. Modern attractive zoos are possible because of the large donations of many wealthy people and with ticket sales amounting to millions. But with that money wild animals have been captured and put in relatively limited enclosures. Some zoos such as The San Diego Wild Animal Park has gone the extra mile and provides an ‘African safari’ tour and drives ticket purchasers among the animals in a few acres of territory, but the animals’ space is miniscule compared to the environments in the natural state from which the animals came. And I thought Kruger Park was small! So guilt remains.

What are the good reasons for zoos? Why did M. Jackson create a small zoo? Why did many Indian rajahs have their own private zoos?

Perhaps the answer is that those who created zoos did so to attract the public to a ‘circus’, to see the bizarre, the unusual, rare animals of the world that they otherwise would never be able to see. Were their motives were highly altruistic? Perhaps the rajahs made their own zoos for the same reason that people keep pets in the confinement of their own small apartments, or have gold fish swimming endlessly in round glass jars. “Don’t forget to feed the fish, honey.”

I have been doing some soul searching as I write. Why did I, during my lifetime, keep chickens, turkeys, pigeons, ducks, geese, fish, a pet antelope, sheep, two Arabian horses, a python, a donkey, rhino beetles, a wild cuckoo and even pet lizards? Why did my wife become upset when I wanted to raise ostriches or adopt wild horses? Why? I find the question hard to answer. Obviously, I love animals, I love to watch them, I love to see the newborn which are so cute, I love it that they are all dependent on me and that they come for a handout, for a pat and a pet on the head. I loved the attention others gave me and my menagerie. It certainly gave us all something to talk about. Or was it that I was just lonely?

Or that I made animals a hobby like some make stamp collecting a hobby? Oh dear, I collected stamps and butterflies as well.

Now put the same question to the director of any major zoo and you may get different answers. ‘Oh, they provide a place where endangered species are nurtured and precious gene pools are preserved.’ ‘There are many animals now in zoos that no longer roam, crawl or fly naturally in the world. Zoos provide a wonderful place to educate the public about the diversity of life forms, the amazing life styles of creatures, and how animals from various habitats have adapted.’ ‘Zoos collect and freeze dry reproductive material of a huge variety of animals so that future generations will be able to see animals that become extinct.’ ‘Zoos act as stud farms, and maintain pedigree records to enhance breeding of rare animals.’ ‘Ever
since I got my doctorate in zoology I have directed zoos. Zoos are my science experiment.’ ‘Zoos are beautiful and perform a public service. Zoos educate, entertain and provide places for tourists to visit and entertain themselves for a while. ” I get the message.

The word endangered shows up on lots of signs in many zoos. Slightly endangered, endangered, highly endangered, and even, extinct in the wild. Now I understand.

Every now and then a story is published about the very last living creature of a given species which died in a zoo and the tragic of loss of such a life form. Do you remember Passenger Pigeons? Yes, as the New York Times article said, “…nature here is a stage set, portraying something we want to see and something we believe animals want to see.” Now when I go to the San Diego Zoo, I look at the props, the fake rocks, (heated?) the water falls and even the ersatz trees and appreciate how well staged the exhibits are, world class staging! I become upset when the ‘actors’ decide

to sleep, hidden away from view. Now when I go to see animal trainers put on shows with all sorts of animals on stage I appreciate what zoos are all about.

A place where human animals can meet other animals. I still love them, zoo diligo. Today there were hundreds of animals lined up to buy tickets to the local zoo, waiting to get in for a day of fun, wonder and ‘Mom, what are those Bonobo chimps doing to each other?’ Snap, snap. Oh, there are now small grey lizards that have found a new food source in the San Diego Zoo aviary. Look carefully and you will see them scurry into the enclosure, pick up a grub and do push-ups on the warm fake rocks.

Why Balu Loves Bees

Harold Bergsma — Fri, 19 Jun 2009 14:04:50 EDT

The Scripps National Spelling Bee had its origin in 1925. A boy of Indian descent, Balu Natarajan won the spelling bee contest in 1985. (He is now a doctor in sports medicine.) But his victory in 1985 was a honey of an event as it opened up not only spelling contests because of 'his sweet taste of success' but focused the consciousness of the nation and the world to a small, but amazingly strikingly successful small minority within the American culture (about 1,645,000) of Asian-Indian Americans, people of color. In 1985, when Balu stood up and spelled his way to victory, his brown face stood out as special, unusual among all the other children competing. Jump forward to 2009 and look at the smiling face of Kavya Shivashankar, of Olathe, Kansas when she won! Her beaming face, her dancing motions, and her delight reflected back on her family, her friends and to all the other contestants in past years. What a great name, Shiva plus Shankar, a goddess and 'she who gives happiness'! Stick with me for a moment! In 2008 Sameer Mishra won the Scripps National Spelling Bee. In 2005 the winner was Anarug Kashyap a senior in Rancho Bernado Seconday School in San Diego who smiled happily at the cameras. In 2003 Sai R. Gunturi won. In 2002 Pratyush Buddiga was the Bee champion. In 1999 Nupurr Lala won. (She is now at MIT working in the Department of Brain and Cognitive Science.) Since I have gone this far let me conclude the ethnic list. 1992 Amanda Goad, (attorney) 1988 Rageshree Ramachandran (M.D. Ph.D. Pathology), 1985 Balu Natarajan was the spelling champion, as mentioned above.

Nerds! Bookworms! Out of touch, get real! Hardly. Indians have one of the highest levels of earned doctorates of all ethnic groups in this country. Look up the demographics of this highly successful small minority and you will be amazed.

Have you noticed, of late, that many of the faces you see on TV are people of color, even a nominee for the Supreme Court, Sonia Sotomajor? Now it is has become commonplace to see black, brown and tan faces being interviewed by panelists on the television screen. Which medical doctor's face is seen most on CNN? Is it a Gupta? So what attributions am I suggesting? It is obvious. We have a very active and bright President, Obama, whose visage is world known and respected, who has influenced world opinion about ethnic pride. But Balu Natarajan, a boy with great motivation, with good and persistent counseling and advice from his parents was 'elected' to a group of youngsters, not because of politics but because of his spelling talents and skills which represents something that is very, very special. Balu the ambassador of Bees.

Permit me to list a few of the correlates of learning and knowing how to spell well. Literacy, wordsmithing, logic, very hard work, patience, exactitude, mental agility, social cohesion, an appreciation for cultural pluralism, persistence, multicultural awareness, an appreciation for language and culture, and the 'beat goes on'. This sounds like the qualifications of the current American president. All these attributes and skills are those required of a student to become an adept and talented speller. Imagine this; having the energy and patience to review and learn hundreds of thousands of words, their origins, and the anomalies of their spelling. That takes a very special talent, one that few of us possess. I invite you to read the book, Eyes Before Ease, The Unsolved Mysteries and Secret History of Spelling, by Larry Beason, 2006, which reviews the key values of learning to spell. He asks the question, "Do spelling bees pollinate?" The answer is a resounding, yes! Of course there is only one winner in a contest, but each and every contestant is a winner.

The accomplishments of all the youngsters who compete for the annual spelling bees are amazing. Each of them, including the winners should have our admiration for their willingness to compete, to prepare for competition and then to attend the spelling bees. The unsung heroes of all these children are their parents, people from all sorts of backgrounds who have invested in their children and have thus provided them with a gift that is an endowment for life. The parents gave them more than their genetics.

You may ask why I have decided to point out the phenomena listed above. The answer is obvious. Pride! It may be thought to be gosh or improper to brag about your own family, your country of origin or the accomplishments of a given in-group. But as a gora (non-Indian) I seek bragging immunity. There must be some reason for so many kids from Indian descent to excel in this unusual academic and intellectual pursuit. Were they all inspired by Balu's win twenty five years ago? Psychologists refer to this as modeling behavior. If this is an example of modeling, then it may apply to other talents as well. There are phenomena of disparate ethnic group members who excel in unusual activities. In athletics which group of young people excels in the Olympics in swimming competition, in long distance running, (can you see those long Ethiopian legs?), ping pong or basketball? The Japanese talents for baseball are truly astounding. Why? I would hazard a theory: modeling and pride in the accomplishments of a few who excelled during a given time in history which inspired others to 'follow the leader'. Perhaps, among my readers there are those who will take it upon themselves to research the history of the unique accomplishments of different ethnic groups whose youth have excelled far beyond their statistical representation in society, and do it with pride.

The sweetness of excelling is like honey in the mouth. The tasting of it represents the pride of one's people, one's parents, one's self. Balu, not the one in Dickens's Jungle Book, is of Indian descent and that was his reality and joy as an American boy. He and other children of Indian descent inspire us, as do the examples of all who excel at some special thing, some special talent. We may have come of age in this country and are now able to recognize and talk about the joy of being a member of an ethnic group. My grandfather was one. He was a Dutch-Frisian boy who immigrated to this country at a time when the white majority of this country carefully weighed and doled out labels to Spicks, Mics and Clumpers (those Dutchmen who wore wooden shoes). Have you read David Guterson's book, Snow Falling on Cedars? He writes about a time during the war with Japan. The label Japs precipitated unbelievable cruelty and hostility to Japanese Americans by other white Americans. Before that there was a time when property could not be owned in this country by those of Japanese descent, and now they beat us on the baseball diamond in our own game. Our American brothers and sisters of African descent have borne a huge burden of prejudice in this society because of slavery and their skin color, ever since the birth of this great nation.

We may have come of age if we recognize that almost all of us who are Americans are ethnic immigrants and that is what makes American what it is, a great melting pot. Sorry, I misspoke: that was a slip. We are not a melting pot which produces an amalgam which makes the fused components unrecognizable. That was the old idea, blend in. My grandfather tried to do just that and it was fairly easy for him because he was not a person of color. In reality we are a great, colorful and spicy tossed salad with honey-mustard dressing. I must remember to do an English spell check just in case Balu or Kavya Shivashankar is peeking.

Indian Flag Design: Fresh Insights From Old and New Sources

Harold Bergsma — Fri, 5 Jun 2009 22:32:45 EDT

The Tiranga has a lovely sound to it! Three colors, and such pleasing ones, green, saffron and white! The Wheel, Chakra; what about Ashoka’s Chakra? It inspires wonder and gives the flag dynamism and motion. Though a design of an Indian flag was made by Pingali Venkayya in mid 1947, it did not become the national symbol until July 22nd “…twenty four days prior to independence from the British, which took place on the 15th of August 1947." during an ad hoc meeting of the Constituent Assembly of the then newly fashioning India before Partition. Ad hoc? Yes indeed, and the Indian flag’s history was enlivened by informal conversation.

Fresh historical insights reveal that though the flag was adopted at that time it was not yet a ‘done deal’. Four days later another ad hoc meeting occurred that may have changed the adopted flag. This account was told by Chia-Luen Lo, Ambassador of the Republic of China to India and later published in Biographical Literature, Taiwan, Vol.1, no. 4, September 1962. These are the words from his article about the creation of the national flag of India, as translated from the Chinese by his daughter, Jui-Fong Lo on May 31, 2009.

The morning of July 26 (1947), I received a call from Mrs. V. L. Pandit (Nehru’s younger sister), accepting my invitation to a dinner party on the 30th, which I had planned as a send-off for her prior to her departure for Moscow as India’s ambassador. That afternoon I met her and Nehru at another occasion, and Nehru asked if he could also bring his daughter (Indira) and son-in-law to the party. I told him that of course they were welcome, as they would add a family touch to the politically-charged conversations at such gatherings. On the 28th, I invited Mr. Shariar, premier of the Indonesian rebel (anti-Dutch) government on a diplomatic mission to India, to the Chinese embassy for afternoon tea, in order to discuss the on-going violence against ethnic Chinese in Indonesia perpetrated by the rebel soldiers. When I learned that Mr. Shariar was a personal friend of Nehru and was staying at his residence, I also invited him to the party on the 30th. So the guests that night included Mrs. Pandit and one of her daughters, Nehru and his daughter Indira (his son-in-law was unable to attend), Mr. Shiva Rao, president of the World Affairs Council/ Council of International Affairs, Mr. K. D. Pannikkar (later appointed ambassador to China), Mr. Shariar, and other important members of the Congress Party. Nehru and several guests apologized profusely when they arrived late due to the long afternoon meeting in Parliament, but the dinner proceeded nonetheless in a relaxed atmosphere.

When I heard that the discussions during their meeting included the design of the new national flag, I was curious about the decision they had made. They answered that no final agreement had yet been reached, but most likely the choice would be the flag used by Gandhi during the period of non-cooperation with the British: three horizontal stripes of green, white and orange, with Gandhi’s spinning wheel in the center. (This design was first explained by Gandhi in a 1921 article in the magazine Young India: orange was for the Hindhus, green for the Muslims, and white for all the other religious groups, arranged horizontally to represent unity, and the spinning wheel was a symbol of his life’s dedication as well as an indispensable tool for all Indian women.) I was rather amused by what I heard, but knew that it would be sacrilegious to offer a different view during this heightened period of the “deification” of Gandhi.

At the same time, I also felt that I would be disloyal to my new friends if I did not voice my reaction. So after some hesitation, I began: “As an emissary from China, I don’t think it would be appropriate for me to comment on this important decision regarding your new national flag.” To my surprise, the guests insisted upon hearing my opinion. Hence I complied:

“In my view, it would be best if the design of the flag chosen by the new government can be easily understood and accurately duplicated in every part of your great and populous nation. Although Gandhiji’s spinning wheel is a simple machine, it is made up of many different parts. When it is copied onto flags in the diverse regions, it might be difficult to maintain uniformity in its shape and dimensions, and the lack of standardization can cause problems.

Moreover, although I understand the historic significance of Gandhiji’s nativism (nationalistic) movement against the importation of British textiles, I also firmly believe that for India to become a modern nation, she cannot long remain in the era of the spinning wheel. Frankly speaking, its usefulness has at best been limited, so why choose it as the emblem of a resurgent India?”

At this point, many guests were nodding in agreement. So I thought of a third argument. As the country was imminently splitting into India and Pakistan, I had sensed that most of its enlightened and patriotic citizens were not only reluctant to face the reality of partition, but also holding out the hope of ultimate unification. So I continued:

“Although I am a student of history, my understanding of Indian history is very limited. But based on my limited knowledge, I realize that prior to the British conquest India had never been a completely unified nation. The only time when national unity was close at hand was during the reign of the famous Emperor Ashoka. Now that my Indian friends are facing the prospect of partition, but also hoping for eventual unification (this view was once expressed to me by Nehru during one of our conversations), won’t it be a good idea to place the famed “Ashoka’s wheel” in the middle of the flag instead? It is true that this wheel has many spokes in its center, but its geometric design makes it easy to reproduce from models readily available all over the country. A national flag with Ashoka’s wheel in the middle would be rich in aesthetic and political symbolism and meaningful for people all over India. While I have often heard my Indian friends speak of the spinning wheel with genuine emotional attachment, may I play the devil’s advocate and ask: “Wouldn’t the historical Ashoka’s wheel be a more enduring symbol than the mundane spinning machine? “

Many of the guests burst out in laughter and nodded approvingly, saying that they would bring the suggestion to the next meeting. I was also observing Nehru’s reaction while I was speaking, and noticed that when Ashoka was mentioned, he first appeared pensive, then nodded approvingly. Then Pannikkar suddenly raised a question: “What shall we do with the three lion heads on Ashoka’s pillar?” To this I smiled and replied: “With your erudition, you will surely find ways to use them, perhaps as the Indian emblem of state on the gates of government buildings or on official stationary, like the lion and unicorn on the British coat of arms?” “That’s exactly what was on my mind, too!” he said, and we both laughed heartily. This lion head design has since been adopted and used as India’s national emblem. As for the national flag, the colors have been rearranged with the green stripe… and the orange (saffron) stripe…, while the wheel at the center of the white stripe stands out in sharp relief.

This flag is a tricolour, (Tiranga) a rich symbolism of freedom. “The late Prime Minister Pandit Nehru called it a flag not only of freedom for ourselves, but a symbol of freedom for all people.” The wheel in the center of the white stripe, a wheel colored navy blue, is a dynamic form that presents motion and dynamism to the viewer. Dr. S. Radhakrishan explained the symbolism this way.

“Bhagwa or the saffron colour denotes renunciation of disinterestedness. Our leaders must be indifferent to the material gains and dedicate themselves to their work. The white in the center is light, the path of truth to guide our conduct. The green shows our relation to the soil, our relation to plant life here (on earth) on which all other life depends. The Ashoka Wheel in the center of the white is the wheel of the law of dharma. Truth or satya, dharma or virtue ought to be the controlling principles of those who work under this flag. Again, the wheel denotes motion. There is death in stagnation. … The wheel represents dynamism of a peaceful change.” (iloveindia.com, referenced above)

The dynamic Indian flag flies over the largest democracy in the world proudly. Its design symbolizes well the spirit of a great nation. The wheel, suggested in informal conversation by Chia-Luen Lo during a dinner party with Indian dignitaries, still enhances the center of the Indian flag and speaks symbolically of the Dharma Chakra, the wheel of law in the ‘Sarnath Lion Capital’ and also a Buddhist symbol that dates to the life of the Lord Buddha, according to Kota Nityananda Sastra in his book ‘Age of Lord Buddha’ which he estimates to be between 1887 -1807 B.C.

This symbol has been termed dharmachankra and according to some it refers to ‘the wheel of law’ Thus, from many sources, formal and informal, ancient and modern, the design, use and meaning of the flag, has been enhanced by the inputs, insights and the planning of many and flies proudly over India. Naveen Jindal, a Member of Parliament flew the flag over his company building which was a non-governmental site. He was taken to court for violating the use of the flag, however he won his case on January 6th. 2002, so now this flag that inspires so many, flies over a free India, where desi folk hoist it joyfully over palatial residences in Delhi, a humble hovel in a Mussoorie dhobi ghat or from a short mast on the clock tower of the Christian Medical College in Ludhiana.

About Co-author and Historian Jiu-Fon Lo: A student of modern Chinese history and Asian politics and culture, she has contributed articles in English to The Discoverers- an Encyclopedia of Explorers and Exploration, McGraw-Hill, 1980 and to The Encyclopedia of World History, Vol. V, Facts on File, 2008. She has published many studies in Chinese including a biography about her parents and is editing two books about her father to be published by the institute of Modern History, Academia Sinica, Taipei and Baihua Literature and Art Publishing House, Tianjin in 2009.

Supersized Kids - Don't Do What America Does

Harold Bergsma — Sun, 11 Jan 2009 05:45:45 EST

I watched a group of school kids being shepherded by their teachers on a cultural outing to the San Diego Zoo. There were two children who were lean and athletic. Twenty others were, shall I say, fat! Many carried bottles of Coke or bags of chips as they walked by. Supersized kids abound. We are looking at a ticking time bomb regarding future health issues in this county. This time bomb is ticking for many other countries as well that imitate the American life style. It was not always this way.

Twenty years ago, one could travel to Chingmai, Bombay, Kandy, Pokhara or Karachi and be struck with the unique cultural identity of the inhabitants by observing their clothing, their head dress and what they ate. The streets used to be filled with vendors, small shops, and specialized market areas where only pots and pans were sold, where sweet merchants shoed the bees away from their displays of jalabees, where cloth merchants occupied small stalls filled with bolts of cloth that even a rajah would covet. The streets were filled with skinny people, muscular workers, slender women dressed in traditional costumes which did not reveal their curves. And the children ran here and there; ran, not waddled here and there. Traditional modes of transportation were available including horse drawn carriages, rickshaws, dandis, wildly decorated lorries, bikes and it seemed all the rest were walking on two feet.

Of course I am being nostalgic for the ‘good old days’ where what was ‘cool’ was what was Nepali or Thai. Are those days gone forever? We now see replicas of downtown Chicago or New York in Karachi and Mumbai? Must we see clothing that only was worn in Los Angeles in December now in January on the backs of practically every young man wandering the streets; blue jeans, T shirts, and those god-awful visor caps worn backwards just like in El Paso, all duly emblazoned with slogans that were rejects in San Diego? What has happened to the Burmese wrap around ‘longee’, to the elegant sari, to the loose fitting pajama pants and kamiz? “Where have all the chaplis gone, long time passing?”

In my childhood dormitory room there were twelve youngsters who slept together in the Woodstock hostel in Mussoorie. Eleven of us were skinny, always hungry, beanpoles. The twelfth was an unfortunate young man from Delhi, from a very wealthy family who sent him sweets, candies and biscuits every week. His nick-name was Motu, and he was a fat little guy who had a box under his bed with a lock on it. In it he hoarded his candy bars which he sneaked when we were all fast asleep. It was where he kept his shiny silver rupees which he used on Saturday to buy cakes from the box wallah. We coveted his stash, but, unfortunately gave him a hard time on the running track, on the basketball court or when football teams were selected; he was the last one chosen. He was there for a year and did not return. Children back then were cruel.

On the June 23rd. Time Magazine cover there is a picture of what could be Motu’s younger American brother. The cover shouts, OUR SUPER SIZED KIDS. “It’s not just genetics and diet. An in-depth look at how our lifestyle is creating a juvenile obesity epidemic – and the scoop on how to cure it.” The American way, (you know the WAY that the rest of the world copies so slavishly), has produced a generation of people who are overweight, fat, to use the forbidden three letter word. Not just the kids, adults, particularly those from poorer families, families that don’t read books, that get food stamps to survive, families that have marginal incomes, it is among these that the problem of being overweight is most severe. But young people from families of both the rich and the poor are suffering from the same problem, obesity. It is the American way. Fast, unhealthy foods.

I was on Newport Beach last week and did a survey of preteen kids that walked by our beach-house. Many were fat; most were eating or carrying food in their hands. Time’s report was correct; we have a real problem here! Supersized kids, super-fed kids.

We brought a variety of things to the beach house to share with the other four families that were together, you know, potluck. We brought whole grain cereals, and fruit, strawberries and lots of mangoes and peaches. Guess what? We seemed to be the only ones who ate them. The other food, the American stuff was more delicious. Chips, dips, cheeses, breads, deserts, hot dogs, Kentucky fried chicken, you name it we had it. (Ice cream cones were only consumed when we walked along the board walk.)

American children who are overweight are setting themselves up for a lifetime of problems, diabetes, high cholesterol, arthritis, heart problems and a host of other diseases related to adiposity. It is a national problem. Certainly, this aspect of our way of life should not be coveted, mimicked or adopted in ‘developing’ countries. Interestingly, the highest rates of obesity among adults and children are among those with high rates of poverty and even ‘hunger’. Poorer people, Mexican laborers, migrant workers, maids, are frequently people who live close to a financial margin that is, just getting by. Obesity and hunger go hand in hand in America the land of opportunity. Why? In America, prepared foods are the most easily available and very cheap. A greasy, double meat, and double cheese bacon burger fills a hungry stomach cheaply. But where is the subzi? Vegetables, if you see them are tossed salads, if you are lucky. White flour, grease, sugar makes things taste very good and these are the culprits. Where are the fibers and fruits? Most Americans love to drink. No, I don’t mean water. But with their meals a beer sounds good as does a Coke, Pepsi or Orange Juice. Small containers of sugared, fruit-flavored water are the first choice for most school children. Pure carbohydrates which give a quick lift and a fast let down. Fast foods, fast life, slow kids.

I read a very nice study by Stephanie Schulze, a Student Participant from North High School, Iowa entitled, “Education for Poverty: Information against Hunger and Obesity in India.” I was struck by the title, the topic and the research this student did about India, half way around the world. “Hunger and obesity can coexist because of a lack of nutritious food and a lack of education about healthy lifestyles. Hunger is prevalent in many countries, including India.” Her point of view is that education will be the answer to better living, better nutrition and less obesity in India.

The National Institute of Nutrition in Hyderabad, India, has published studies that show that the “…primary deficiencies in the diet of people in India are mainly whole grain calories, vitamins and minerals.” Stephanie’s study goes on to say that one-fifth of the population in India is undernourished (21%) in spite of the food distribution programs that exist. The kinds of foods that are frequently distributed are high calorie foods, white rice and flour, sugars, and animal fats or hydrogenated vegetable fats. Not only is there a growing obesity problem among poorer Indians but among women. Studies show that Indian women are genetically more predisposed to gain weight around the middle and their posteriors. I didn’t notice that among the Bollywood dancers. Are they a different race?

It is not just the poor that are getting fat in India. “India is facing an obesity crisis among its newly wealthy middle class as millions of its rural poor still struggle for enough to eat. As the country becomes richer, many people are becoming fatter and, like Westerners, they are seeking medical help” (See Amelia Gentleman in Mumbia, “Observer”, Dec.4, 2005, “India’s newly rich battle with obesity.” Not only are Indians wearing blue jeans, they are getting gastric bypass operations that restricts the amount of food absorbed. Even men are …concerned about the male breast area and love handles.”

For the wealthy, Indian foods have always been heavy and rich. (silver covered) Stews, curries, ghee cooked breads and sweets are favorites. The newly affluent are concerned, like the Westerners in an epidemic weight gain problem. Now diet pills sell like hot cakes, and cosmetic surgeons are doing a good business in Mumbai.

But there is a vast divide between the newly affluent and the millions who struggle to feed themselves. A World Bank study said that 45 % of Indian children under five suffer from malnutrition; while a McDonald’s branch in Delhi is selling Chicken Maharajah Macs to the newly middle class. A beefless burger?

Amelia’s article reveals that an estimated 25 million Indians have diabetes and the numbers are growing. The medical profession and medical journalists need to become assertive in their statements to those who make laws, those who teach, and those who lead. Diseases like TB, malaria and dysentery can be treated with pills. Those who become fat, particularly our children face a lifetime of problems, the hardest of which is loosing the fat and eating more healthy diets. Motu, I wonder if you are still with us.

Stingers: Sores That Hardly Heal

Harold Bergsma — Fri, 15 Aug 2008 00:29:45 EDT

The pain was almost intolerable. Burning, searing fire that ran down the side of my face onto my neck made me shout and scrabble about like a mad man. I had been picking oranges from a tree in our central Nigerian compound when I disturbed a nest of wasps that had taken residence in that tree, not more than two feet above my head. Six of these warriors descended on me and began to sting, each one multiple times. Wasps do not commit suicide when they attack, they use their stingers again. Years later, in 1985 I was reading on the verandah of our Model Town home in Lahore and a bee landed on my neck. I brushed it aside, but not quick enough and got stung. It was not as painful as the wasps had been but there was one difference. It left its stinger behind, and in doing so had committed suicide, tearing out its guts as it was brushed aside. Pindi, my cook pulled the stinger out with a tweezers, warning me not to leave it in as it would create a bad sore and become infected. I had to hear the terrible stories of children in his village that had been stung and had suffered terribly because the parents did not know enough to get rid of the deadly stingers and not to leave them embedded.

I had been reading the Pakistan newspaper, Dawn, at the time and news about the very beginning of the defeats and withdrawals of the Soviet military forces from Afghanistan because of such effective rebel fighting, like “persistent wasps”. This withdrawal eventually culminated in 1989, supported by the many small victories of the Mujahideen in their fight against the cursed invaders, and the support given by the Americans to this effort of the guerrillas during Operation Cyclone, support by the supply of arms and weapons to the freedom fighters. Stingers! Yes, these were supplied by the CIA in the hundreds to the forces fighting the Soviets. Some sources say as many as two thousand stingers were given to the Mujahideen. After the withdrawal of the Russians there was a concern that the Taliban now had many of these weapons, Stingers, which, with their heat seeking devices had been lethal against Soviet helicopters and low-flying aircraft. Now American forces could become targets of these very weapons.

But, allied experts said, the battery systems which operated these weapons became useless after a few years. (But the technology to repair and put in new battery systems existed; in fact Pakistan now has its own version of the old Stinger) I love the title of the article by Ken Silverstein in the State Oct.2, 2001, “Stinger, Stingers, Who’s Got the Stingers?” In that article he reviews the Reagan administration’s programs to arm the Mujahideen with Stingers to battle Soviet aircraft, he says that the Taliban now possess many of these weapons as do others to whom they were sold who ‘reverse-engineered’ these and made their own. Many worried about this because Islamic fundamentalist who loathed the West, about as much as they hated the Soviets, could possibly share these wonderful high tech weapons with, and think of this, with terrorist groups.

In 1986, Congress had approved the deal and CIA then shipped 300 Stingers to the rebels and the next year 700 more. The Stingers were now embedded, not only among the rebel forces, but according to some sources, Pakistan stock piled the Stingers it got, and some say, sold a few to the Chinese for sums unknown, who were clever and reverse-engineered them and produced their own, and since there was a hot market for these, reverse sold these to the ones who first had them. According to Silverstein’s article these weapons now were dispersed by the rebels to Tajikistan, Chechnya and Algeria. And, he says that the Pentagon approved the sale of Stingers to at least 21 countries, mostly NATO of course, such as Israel, Egypt, Saudi Arabia and South Korea. ( I love the word mostly. The selling of American weapons by Americans is a really big business, and this does not just include little Stingers, it includes weapons of pretty ‘mass destruction’ in the form of high tech aircraft and their missile systems. You know, keep the economy going.) The Soviets stole the design and made their own SAM-14 Gremlin, a virtual copy of the Stinger. Oh my! What a hornet’s nest!

The CIA later, in its $65 million program, (It is as if they gave each Afghan citizen $2) offered $150,000 to $200,000 to the very ones they had supported by giving them these amazing weapons. This was more than production cost, but cheaper than having their planes shot down. This buy-back program resulted in the return of very few of the Stingers and the authorities were concerned that the Taliban, who later waged a bloody insurgency, had stockpiled these weapons. In fact, the coalition authorities had no idea where most of these lethal Stingers were. These were a hidden threat and are still a threat today, imbedded, festering Stingers. This was a sore spot. The buy-back flopped, by and large. If the Americans thought that Stingers were worth about Rupees 1,200,000 each, these must be pretty good things to keep around, just in case. And it is a well know fact that in bargain situations, when one party seems a bit desperate to buy something, it may be a good strategy to hold back a bit and wait and see if the buy back price will rise. Imagine getting the Stingers free and then later selling them back at highly inflated prices to the donor and making a few dealers rich in the process. Riches buys land, good land for growing poppies.

These embedded Stingers may still be around. India claimed that in a 1999 attack Muslim rebels in Kashmir used a Stinger to down a military aircraft.

Kathy Gannon’s book I is for Infidel: From the Holy War to Holy Terror: 18 Years Inside Afghanistan, 2005, Perseus Book Group, speaks about the war in Afghanistan as being “yesterday’s war”. “The wider world had done the most dangerous of things. It had stuffed this tiny country with massive amounts of weapons, including the precious Stingers, turned over the countryside to the volatile discordant mix of mujahadeen factions—and then walked away.”

In 2001, following the Sept.11 attack the U.S. launched “Operation Enduring Freedom”, a military campaign to destroy the Al-Qaeda terrorist camps inside Afghanistan, the very ones with whom they had had a common cause, you know, the Afghan Mujahideen and who now said thanks for the free Stingers. The Stingers were not like those of the wasps, burning, searing, but temporary. They were like those of bees, which left imbedded, make their way deep into the flesh while pumping venom all the while and leaving a festering sore that hardly heals.

In the 2008 political campaigns new political solutions are being suggested about Afghanistan, new efforts that will need to be made to subdue the rebels in their mountain dens in Afghanistan and along the border of Pakistan and hopefully get the really bad guy, bin Laden in the process. What a holy terror our soldiers will face once again when ‘Yesterday’s War’, thanks Kathy, becomes Today’s Military Operation in which, on their turf, using our weapons, our Stingers, they, the bad guys, face off against us, defending their holy land with religious Islamic zeal, cursing oaths of vengeance.

Not to worry folks. Dear Wikipedia gives us the answers, “The US inventory contains 13,400 missiles. The total cost of the program is $7,281,000,000.” Let’s see, if we divided this by the population of Afghanistan which is about 33 million people it could set up the entire population with a nest egg for small business development that would put it on its economic feet, peacefully. Imagine what that money could do to build schools for Afghani boys and girls. I forgot; inventory means that the money has already been spent by U.S. tax payers to engineer and manufacture these arms which now exist and are waiting for new batteries and need to be used.

That is a lot of bees to contend with, a pretty big hive. Let the Taliban be warned, our hive is bigger than yours. The pain will be intolerable, a real pain in the neck! But for whom?