Desicritics Author: temporal

Rastafarians, Talibans and Hijabis: Charsis, Afeemis and Purdah-nashins

temporal — Mon, 14 Jul 2008 03:59:25 EDT

These are not digressions on Dar ul Harb and Dar ul Islam. LINK

Talibans have it to their credit that when they controlled Afghanistan they came down hard on opium growing. From supplying nearly 4 tons (nearly 75% of the world supply) to almost zero was one big achievement.

But they also have it to their discredit that when were driven out of power they used opium to finance their movement. Colonel North of Iran-Contra infamy has not been contacted by any media for comments. Even his patron these days Faux News has been silent over this. My contacts in ISI are not returning my SMS messages.

The annual US government estimate for Afghan opium poppy cultivation shows that approximately 172,600 hectares (426,503 acres) of poppy were cultivated throughout the country this year, an increase of 61 percent over 2005, the White House Office of National Drug Control Policy said Friday. Two southern Afghan provinces -- Helmand and Oruzgan where the Taliban has been the most active -- are responsible for the bulk of the increase. Poppy planting there was up 132 percent from last year, compared to an 18-percent increase in the remaining 31 provinces. LINK

Hijab is banned in France. Other western countries are also succumbing slowly to Islamophobia and consider measures to check what they deem threat of Islamic encroachment in their backyards. Yesterday a hijabi woman was denied citizenship in France.

France's ban on religious symbols and apparel in public schools took effect Sept. 2, 2004. The ban includes all overtly religious dress and signs (including Muslim headscarves, Sikh turbans, Jewish skullcaps and large Christian crosses). However, the furor over the ban has focused mainly on the banning of Muslim headscarves or hijabs.

There are about five million Muslims in France – five to 10 per cent of the population – the largest Muslim population in Europe. LINK

Enters former Emperor Haile Selassi of Ethiopia, a god incarnate and the Rastafarians (The name Rastafari comes from Ras (literally "Head," an Ethiopian title equivalent to Duke), and Tafari Makonnen, the pre-coronation name of Haile Selassie I.) LINK

Who Are Rastafarians?

Last year Italy's Court of Cassation said cultivating even a single cannabis plant was a 'punishable offense'. And yesterday the Court ruled that Rastafarians can use cannabis.

Rastafarians have always regarded Ethiopia as the promised land, but Italy could rank a close second after its Supreme Court ruled that smoking or possessing cannabis is not a criminal offence but a religious act when the person doing it is a Rastafarian.

Italy's Court of Cassation has said Rastafarians use marijuana "not only as a medical but also as a meditative herb. And, as such [it is] a possible bearer of the psychophysical state to contemplation and prayer". LINK

We love Bob Marley. And Jamaica has beautiful beaches also in Negril and Ocho Rios. About Hijabis and Talibans we know less. And here, if ever, less is surely more. And if you have a clear MY on the scrabble board, with these seven letter D C I T O H O you can score big.

Poetry: Grains - of Truth, Sand and Biofuel

temporal — Sat, 12 Jul 2008 12:57:17 EDT

Photograph: Charlie Neibergall/AP

in our wakeful moments
we're legends, walking time
but when mother time wins
we'd be grains of sand
on the spacious shoreline
of the sea of history

with six billion plus
demanding more and more
the planet's patience
not inexhaustible
the poor feel the pinch
with increasing pain

oil, non renewable
we look for alternatives
and bio-fuel lures
grains get diverted
making a few relieved
but the plenty
go hungry and riot

unprepared, unable
to solve their leaders
entrench and buy more arms
the hungry millions
up in arms, without
can only whimper, die

the gleeful arms merchants
seeing profits in grain
smile obliviously
less is more, they think

***

biofuel
secret report

Poetry: Sky or Skies?

temporal — Thu, 10 Jul 2008 00:50:28 EDT

clear, cloudless, ethereal light
a hovering cap over earth
jet-exhaust in stratosphere
making sharp, diffusing patterns

under the peepul on the charpoy
the child would gaze at the stars
in those less polluted times
trying to catch falling stars
before he succumbs to the skies

skies sustaining laden clouds
sun playing game of hide and seek
cool breeze flirting with the crops
just before the heavens open up
and farmers sigh thankfully

skies, growling, rumbling, roaring
reminding how noah might have felt
raining death and destruction
upon refuge-less creatures

lovers in quivering embrace
oblivious of skies and earth
only wish time to stand still

sky or skies? scholars, stern and grim
exchange words, first mild, then acerbic
and ignoring the might of pen
they unleash swords to settle
inconclusive debates, in vain

il'm hay kaisa
ho jo mohtaj
zor e taigh ka*

at the day's end the sun succeeds
in robbing the sky of azureness
the glow of city's radiance
no match for the sun's glitter
but it is a short-lived reprieve
the battle eternal continues

sky or skies?

******

* what is learning
why is it dependent
on the sword's sharpness

Born Confused: Hi Dad...er...Mom

temporal — Fri, 4 Jul 2008 01:50:40 EDT

Poor baby!

The two word opening is not condescending.

Can you imagine the little baby being utterly confused between mom and dad. Thank you mom….er……dad….er…..not you mom, dad…

34 year old Thomas Beattie, former pageant queen Tracy LaGondino of Hawaii, lately of Oregon has given birth to a baby girl, ABC News has reported.

He told People magazine he decided to get pregnant after wife of five years Nancy had a hysterectomy.

So to answer the question: how can a man be pregnant? Well, Beatie actually used to be a woman, then decided he wanted to be a man, and then decided he wanted to have a baby. When he had surgery to become a man, he had his breasts removed and was given testosterone to make him look and sound like a man, but he chose to keep his female reproductive organs. So Beatie is really a man/woman hybrid. Call him a freak, if you like.

Baby incubating aside, renting a womb aside, switching roles aside, I found this very interesting. Beattie has a penchant for coining words. Look at this play on maternity clothes:

'Unfortunately, they don't make man-ternity clothes,' he remarked recently.

Is it progress? Tides run - time does not remain still. But what is this? Will pigs fly next? Will democracy take root in Iraq? Or Pakistan? Will Bal Thackeray come out of the closet? Will Modi waltz with Mullah Omar?

What will the kid do when the school wants her to bring her dad with her next PTA meeting?

Now there will be no solace in beer drinking. A beer belly can be mistaken for pregnancy.

And did you read about the one year old baby carrying another fetus? No, not another miracle, I assure you. It is a medical condition called FiF. Fetus-in-Fetus.

So to the All India Eunuch Association Chairperson and the Von Siffers: hold your peace. We are not there yet.

Dormant Poets Everywhere

temporal — Tue, 1 Jul 2008 15:06:09 EDT

We were going to the other end of town. There was chaos on the roads. Even though both of us had to be there on time there was no movement in sight. I suggested to the driver to pull over by a roadside shack and ordered some tea.

He was born in Karachi, Pakistan and his parents were from Swabi, in the North West.

Are you a reporter, he asked me. How do you conclude that? He pointed at my cameras and notebook. I told him I wrote poetry.

This shack was some distance from the road that locals called a highway. Even though it was supposed to be winter, the heat was piercing and made worse by the pollutants and dust covering us in a haze. The flies were oblivious to the pollution and went about their business with zeal. There was this big fly that circled the driver every two seconds and then came to rest on his cup. He ignored it. I kept waiving them away, and they would fly away and settle on the hair, ear, even the back of hand - audacious little things. The ever present cacophonous noise pollution was present also. Some drivers actually believe horns assist in braking. And the rickshaws have no silencers. People get used to talking as if in a crowd. You tend to notice these things.

I could never write a poem.

The traffic was not moving as far as I could see. Even the two-wheelers that tried to maneuver through the cars and trucks had come to a halt. I called the person I was visiting to apprise of the situation. She told me to have faith. I told her I had misplaced it decades earlier.

Yes you could. Anyone can write a poem.

'Nahin saab, mazaaq mut karo.'

Have you ever made pottery? Made? Created? There are Picassos and Michaelangelos and there are Ramus and Dittas. Am seeing in my mind the clay toys from Harappa and Moen jo Daro. The line between an artist and artisan has a common beginning. Was Picasso not a craftsman par excellence? Where is the boundary? Is there a boundary between craft and art?

Are you married? No.
Did you love someone? No.
Why this smile? Yo can be honest with me.
Saab....saab...the last place I worked... I liked the chothi memsahib.
Tell me about her, I told him and opened my notebook.

I was the second driver. My duties were driving the memsaab and chotimemsaab around. Her laughter still rings in my ears. She had a dimple when she smiled. He body smiled. She smelled fresh, innocent. She would not talk with others, but she talked a lot with me. I am unread. She was attending University. We poor cannot even dream. Even in dream I could not touch her. But I liked her and her smile always hovered in my thoughts. This is written in my destiny.

I am poor and unread
but that stops me not
from thinking about her
dimpled smile, fragrance
I cannot stop this thinking
but I cannot dream of her
I cannot dream about her
this is written in my destiny

I read back this to him. He shook his head and said, 'Saab you wrote this, I did not.'

Poetry: Bajan Claire Collins

temporal — Mon, 30 Jun 2008 11:18:33 EDT

bajan claire collins, lithe
smiling eyes, pouted lips
assured, single parent
in T.O. by way of
the st. lawrence gap,
island of barbados
mother of ashley
now six and my colleague

ashley was cuddly, cute
with a short afro and
infectious dimpled smile
everyone loved him

ten years later

a dark wintry night returning late from work
walking towards home saw some dark shadows lurking
around the corner variety store ahead
baggy pants, white joggers, over-sized tops with hoods
instinctively i crossed the street and kept walking
past the store i heard foot steps approaching me
i ran a mental checklist to ward off trouble

'hello uncle t, how are you?' said ashley
relieved i inquired about him and claire

*names changed

Poetry: Into The Arms of Morpheus and Other Poems

temporal — Mon, 23 Jun 2008 12:45:41 EDT

into the arms of morpheus...

adrift, anchorless
a thought appeared
over the horizon

captured it
on my laptop
and floated away
to other dreamlands
....next morning
saved on word
i found those words...

dreams

some sleep
is so real
the wet pillow
reassures

irony

spooning
nightly
dreaming
of you

bila unwaan

zindagi kay yeh moR
chaal t'ri, taubah
woh khum, kamar ka
zeh'n per, dil per
sab't ho gaya thaa
ab jo her shubb
baahouN maiN haiN aap
phir kyuN poochtay haiN
itni saada-dili say aap
'kyuN her dum youN
muskurahtay rehtay ho'

poetry: against an azure sky and the dieffenbachia

temporal — Tue, 17 Jun 2008 05:55:07 EDT

credit ike186

against an azure sky

the hobo disheveled
unwashed and smelly
had a spark in his eyes

once

the jaded and wrinkled
woman of the shadows
had zest in her smile

once

but the impervious
king of mountains
majestic and aloof
tolerated no smiles
just silent indifference

the dieffenbachia in the corner

the dumb cane, eight foot tall
bathed in the glow of spotlights
and beside it on the wall to the left
three golden frames of exotic plants
- an interior decorator's cruel joke

Poetry: wrinkles and other poems

temporal — Mon, 16 Jun 2008 05:03:31 EDT

photo credit Cigajr

junior league final
the young one, crushed
over missing a goal
being consoled
by an old man
who'd made a career
over missing goals
in his wrinkled times

wrinkles
nature abhors
permanence
who'd inform
everest

sober alcoholic at king and yonge
in the corner window
the same mannequin
dressed seasonally
her pursed lip, smile
luring and inviting
all passersby
except me

Poetry: jibal al tariq/ gibraltar

temporal — Fri, 6 Jun 2008 09:39:08 EDT

credit AnnaSwanSong

if the brain impulses ossify, what then
if the grounded oar-less soul-boats burn down, what then

abandoning the pursuit of shadows, what then
if not possible to escape all umbras, what then

if the mirages desert us in quick-sand, what then
we destroyed some, the chase of umbrage killed some, what then

***

dimagh ki rahaiN jO maflooj hON, tO kya
rooh ki kashtiaN jala bhee daiN, tO kya

tamam um'r sa'yON ka peecha karaiN, tO kya
mumkin nahiN saayouN say farar, tO kya

sa'yON kay bhaNwar maiN gar doobay, tO kya
fana kya, kuch fana hu'aye, tO kya