Laissez Faire -- My Uterus -- That's a Novel Form of Protest!

This picture was seen courtesy Tanya Larkin on Facebook about a protest at the Virginia state capitol for women's rights. Guess its very imaginative. Some of our sloganeers, slogan-writers (and slow-gun Murugans) can imitate this perhaps, considering we are great imitators and plagiarists (ducks the brickbats!).

With protests growing innovative around the world, it's time we did some "out of the box" thinking, too, methinks (oops! typed methings!)!

Nothing, just a getting-old Mallu's grumbling!

I am @johnwriter on Twitter and John.Matthew on Facebook. I blog here.

Limerick for Akhilesh Yadav

There was once a politician named Mulayam

Called a "neta" and an "elephant-killer" by some

Came a day he ran for UP elections

Mulayam won the public's affections

"Not him," they said, "Look the rising star his son Akhilesh has become."

I am @johnwriter on Twitter and John.Matthew on Facebook. I blog here.

Birthday and All, How Facebook Is Playing Such a Huge Role!

It's the birthday and all. Yawn! Growing old isn't a good thing, is it? Got up today, hugged the wife, shook hands with son, dressed casual, as it's birthday. Bought sweets for office colleagues, HR department called, HR manager called, sweet girl who recruited me (Trupti) called. There's an avalanche of messages on Facebook, which I will reply to personally, of course. It's amazing how many people know me, I mean, how many people I came across through Facebook and Twitter. And to top it all I got this message written by Gabriel Garcia Marquez (whose birthday is also today!) through the medium itself. I will brand these words on my forehead right-to-left and read it every time I look at myself in the mirror. He... he... Joking.

"It is not true that people stop pursuing dreams because they grow old, they grow old because they stop pursuing dreams."  

Oh what a message to receive on your birthday when you are despairing about growing old. Absolutely awesome! Yesterday I thought I should give up one thing: the novel, blogging, guitar. I can't go on with all three. Today I get this message and it changed my thinking! The best wish that I have received so far from Facebook is the picture above sent from Madrid by Marisa Riveira Navarro, daughter of the Spanish famous painter by that name. I have friends across the world with whom I am in touch, daily. 

I won't say how old I am except that I am in the mid fifties. Fifties! Man, how time flies. My son keeps constantly reminding me to grow up, probably because when he was young I used to tell him to grow up. The other day when I coloured my hair he said, "You shouldn't do this. You are old now." Guess youth is unkind and youth is brash. Yesterday a boy, probably ten or twelve, not even a teenager, yet, gave me a "hool". You know what is a "hool?" "Hool dena" is feinting as if to hit, in the local parlance. Shows the total lack of respect for age and maturity by the immature boor. This is how it happened.

I was going out of a hotel and the boy was coming in. On seeing me he thought "Let me give 'hool'" and he came towards me as if to strike me. When I was a bit fuddled and preparing to defend myself, he walked away. That's "hool." "Are you giving 'hool' I asked after him, but he turned away. I know he isn't mature enough for a confrontation, a coward, so he walked away. If I was to confront him I would have told him about the kind of people I have given "hool" to in my younger days. You know, I grew up in a tough neighbourhood, which, in those days, was the petri-dish which cultured the tough gangsters who rule the city today. And I know how to handle a "hool" giver. Hm. Don't mess with me! He would have pissed in his pants, I am sure.

Joking again! Don't take any of the above seriously except the Marquez quote, of course. Thanks friends, fellows, comrades, co-conspirators for the messages. Keep them coming. I am going to need it.

I am @johnwriter on Twitter and John.Matthew on Facebook. I blog here.

How $ 28 Billion Disappeared in Bill's and Bono's Health Control Effort

And you thought all these aid and welfare programs funded by the original marauders of intellectual property were spent well? It turns out that not at all. The $ 28 billion fund to fight Aids, malaria and tuberculosis (funded by no less than Bill Gates and Bono) in African nations have been misappropriated through fancy "training programs", improbably "travel vouchers", non-existent "housing" bills, combined with shoddy bookkeeping according to this article in Daily Mail. 

Sounds familiar?

Yeah, you might say. That's nothing, you might add, we have bigger scamsters back home. We are used to it all. We have raised misappropriation into an art. Ask our ministers and a certain bearded gentleman who needs toilet paper worth Rs 400 to clean the poop of Commonwealth Game participants. Is their poop so expensive, just saying. They know the art of swindling. According to lore one man got a grant to dig a well, never dug it, and when the authorities came to check said he had leveled the well due to mosquito problems. Haha! Almost everyman in this country is looking to be a president or chairman of some leader-less ennui-filled society or trust to misappropriate from it. We don't value public property, so we treat it with contempt.

Okay, okay will stop ranting. However, what gets my goat is that in countries such as Djibouti, Mali, Mauritania and Zambia where malnutrition and hunger is such an issue how come such large funds disappeared without a trace.

Better not talk about the Indian programs to controls Aids, turberculosis and malaria.  

Anyone thought about dropping those 28 billion dollars in the most acutely affected areas by helicopter? I think that would be the most viable idea to reach funds to the poor, and some tinpot African despot will read about it on this blog (high hopes!) someday and, implement it, and lo and behold! be called the "Saviour of the people." Hehe. Joking.

I am @johnwriter on Twitter and John.Matthew on Facebook. I blog here.

"Performance Poetry Is Dead" Says Who?

This article poetrysociety by Cornelia Grabner says performance poetry is dead.

Agree? I don't for several reasons. Poetry has always been performed, right from our cave-dwelling days when people gathered after the hunt to swap stories and sing and dance to a few rhymes composed by the local poet laureate. (The Ramayana and Mahabharata were written in verse. The Psalms consists of poems written by King David.) It was only in the hoity-toity fifteenth-sixteenth-seventeenth-eighteenth centuries that poetry was published as books and read with a wooden face sitting facing the study wall. 

Now with a lot of poets taking to performing their poems (I have seen and heard excellent performance poets on the internet, go thither and check) I think performance poetry is once again taking centrestage, literally. 

So, Cornelia, on this basic premise I beg to disagree with you.

I am @johnwriter on Twitter and John.Matthew on Facebook. I blog here.

"Recent Indian Writing Has Been Extremely Timid... with Regard to Form"

Here's Vivek Narayanan in Poetry Foundation being interviewed by Alan Gilbert about poetry in India and much else. One sentence struck me:

"Recent Indian writing has been extremely timid and unadventurous with regard to form; the "innocent, simple writer" is an image that's carefully constructed, duly championed in Indian letters. I'm not saying that a "transparent" narrative form can't be brilliant and profound, you understand, just that it shouldn't be a dogma or an imperative, that there should be more space cleared for plurality and the innovation of literary forms."

Hm. Interesting.

He also says that a lot of cross pollination is happening between the Bhasa poets and English-writing poets. Hope some major trend emerges soon, before these fingers grow cold and wrinkled. Hmmmph. 

I am @johnwriter on Twitter and John.Matthew on Facebook. I blog here.

The Beatnik's Glossary. We Spoke This Language in College, Did You?

We talked this Beat Lingo in college.  We used terms like "cool", "groovy", "bread", "bugged" in those days because, well, it was cool. Teenagers and adults still use it. Do you know the origin? The following words comprise of the Beatniks' Glossary I got through Molly Fisk (thanks Molly) and it brought those days back. After reading "On the Road" by Jack Kerouac I became more interested in their lingo.

 

So it is here for the Beat Generation, the Beat Poets, musicians, collegians, of those days and now THE BEATNIKS' GLOSSARY:

 

BEATNIKS' GLOSSARY

 

Angel = One who pays the bill

Axe = Musical instrument

Beat = Way of life for a select few Thank God!

Beatnik = One who lives like there's no tomorrow

Beatkel =Tourist

Blow the Jets = To become angry

Bread = money

Bugged = bothered

Beatsville, Swinsville = a good place (for beatniks)

Blast the Edison = Turn off the lights

Bent Brummel = Bow Tie

Barrelsville = Las Vegas

Cat = Cool Jazz musician

Cool = Wonderful, he who enjoys without showing emotion

Crazy = good beatnik, accepted

Cube = worse than square, strict conformity

Chick = single girl

Chicken = engaged girl

Plucked chicken = married woman

Cover = lingerie

Make with cover = to get dressed

Cheap creep = freeloader

Cave = office

Can the lip = stop talking

Cyclops = eye glasses

Cool it = slow down

Crazy quilt = new dress

To "Cherry Tree" = to lie

Dad, Daddy O = Term of affection

Dullsville = unpleasant place

Dig = to understand

Dummy up = shut up

The End = the most wonderful

Face = identification

Freebee = freeloader

Flat = analyst's couch

Fuzz = police, federal agents

Fall in = to enter

Fall on = rough an individual up

Fall out = to leave, exit

Flick = motion picture

Goat = beard, goatee

A groove = a thrilling exciting thing to do

A groovie = one who understands the swing of things

A gas = something wonderful

Gone = really with it, swinging

Ginchiest = the greatest

Galaxy = one's circle of friends, group

Germsville = hospital

Cooney roost = library

George change = change for a dollar

Graveyard = deadbeat

Hip = to be with it, to understand

Hipster = best character, musician

Hootenanny = a wild beat party

To feel hairy = to feel good

Handcuffs = parents

Head shrinker = psychoanalyst

To be high = enjoying oneself

Men house = security house

Hustling Hershey = ex

The Horn = the telephone

An Ivy = suit of clothes

Ivy tower = university, college

Iron pile up = getaway

Hot iron = a gun

Icck = a bow tie

Jazz = music, collection of items

Jazzing = to make love

Juice = liquor

Juicehead = one who drinks

Juiceman = bartender

Johns, Long Johns = trousers

Kick sticks = cigarettes

King's jive = English language

Kookie = wild character

Knuckles to the creep = to do physical harm to someone

The Lama = the leader of the group

Later = goodbye

Leathers = shoes

Large charge = double drinks

A mazda = a very hip person

Moo juice = milk

Moo goo = butter

To make = accomplish an action

Moss, moss = etc. etc.

A mickey mouse = a wrist watch

Murgatroid = an outcast, a square, a dope

Money run = very easy, ordinary

Muscle cats = rock and roll-ers

Nadaville = nowhere, dull place

Orbs = eyes

Our St. Beatnik = Santa Claus

Off the wall = very far out, extremely unusual

Pad = apartment

Pick up on = to dig, to understand

Pucker palace = drive in movie

Rags = sportswear

Short trip to Rio = coffee break

Hot or Cool Rod = nice automobile

Fuzz rod = police car

Swinging = one who is with it

Swinging like sixteen = really wild

Shades = sun glasses

Swings in squareville = inferiority complex

Squaresville iron = jail

Squaresville peep = police line up

Stable = garage

Stable the iron = park the car

Solo flight = going stag

Snagged stag = going steady

Shake it = forget it

Soco = social conscience

Slides = photograph records

Squatchel = love making

Turn up the stereo = listen to me

Torniquette = wedding ring

Twin trees = high heels

Thrill pills = benzadene, dexidrine

Tough toenails = very difficult

Tuned in = with it

Vitamin village = grocery store

A Washington = a dollar bill

A words = an attorney

Way out = unusual

Wild = terrific, unusual

To wail = to have a good time, to play a tune well

Whistleburg = Centre where many girls pass by

Wasteland = far away

I am @johnwriter on Twitter and John.Matthew on Facebook. I blog here.

Writers and Activism -- Why Don't We Shed the Mantle of Victims?

Reading this article by the venerable Indra Sinha in Guardian about bringing justice to the Bhopal Gas Tragedy victims my train of thoughts went into a different stream altogether. The question is: Are writers activists? Do they fit in as activists. 

A bit of background is required for those who don't know about the basics of the tragedy. More than 25,000 people were killed when poisonous gases escaped from the Union Carbide factory in Bhopal. The gas was methyl isocyanate, a cynide compound -- a powerful poison -- and deaths were instant. There's more. Some survived and are going through hell, with their bodies weakened by the deadly poison that has been insinuated into their system. The remnants of the chemical have poisoned the groundwater in Bhopal and still cause disabilities to new-born children. What's more horrendous is that the Union Carbide which has been merged to a giant multinational Dow Chemical disowns the tragedy and has failed to compensate the victims. This is the worst industrial catastrophe in history. Chernobyl on the contrary has resulted in the deaths of only 64 people.

Now, it so happens that author Indra Sinha (mentioned above) has written a moving novel "Animal's People" based on the tragedy for which he conducted original research in Bhopal. Since then he has been so overwhelmed that he has been actively seeking support for the Bhopal Gas Tragedy victims, both through the media and by establishing clinics for the affected people. In short he has become an activist for the cause.

I hate to think of writers as just people who create beautiful language and nothing else. Then writing can be termed as origami or Feng Shui (frankly, I don't know what Feng Shui is), ornamental fads. Here's another venerable writer Adil Jussawala on the curious and enigmatic being -- the Indian writer:

The resilience of individual [Indian] writers has helped them survive the worst shocks of history, and there's nothing so bad about the situation in India that will silence its writers permanently. But if Indians who write in English don't normally consider it important to produce novels of social history or write poetry that fully confronts the social and political realities of their time—despite their real admiration for such work from other countries—there must be a reason—perhaps several reasons—and I think it's important to examine them. Some of us, certainly, are going through a crisis which is making us question the validity of our work and our usefulness as agents of social change. Now, more than ever before, we are unsure of ourselves as witnesses. Far from helping to change the course of history, we are finding ourselves its bullied victims. It's as though History had become the Englishman in Victor Anant's novel The Revolving Man, telling the writer, as the Englishman tells the novel's protagonist, "Spin, you Hindu bastard. Spin!" And the bastard goes on spinning. 

So why do we IWE (Indian Writers in English) shy away from the term "agents of social change?" Books written by Valmiki and Vyasa have been adopted as holy books, Gitanjali has been an inspiration for generations of Indians. But why isn't the Indian writer adopting the mantle of activism, except of course Arundhati Roy? Even she hasn't much support. Activists consider her as a writer and writers consider her as an activist. Could there be a platform on which writers can come together and make meaningful dialogue possible? Something like Association of Malayalam Movie Artistes (AMMA) in which all Malayalam actors co-operate despite their differences. Don't laugh at the comparison by I am just conjecturing, as is my wont. Why shouldn't we drop the mantle of victims and take on some activist role?

When the situation demands I have used my pen to bring about changes, more of a local nature. These may sound silly to mention here, but I have brought lighting to unlit streets, made the authorities build roads and paths where none existed, started a postal service in our area in Artist Village, corresponded with the then railway minister Lalloo Yadav to improve the seating arrangement in Bombay's first class compartments, removed an incipient slum in our area, had trenches that were open for four months closed, etc. I take pride in doing such everyday humdrum things because I know I have been given a talent by God to express the grievances of the people.

So why shouldn't I shed my role of victim (As Adil Jussawla says) and see myself as an "agent of social change"? 

I am @johnwriter on Twitter and John.Matthew on Facebook. I blog here.

I Have an Issue with Staring

I have an issue with staring. A lot of it happens in our public places in India. People blankly stare at you without reason. Just a blank stare of no consequence. Seriously this an issue I want to deal with in this post. 

From our cave-living days we have been conscious of being watched. We know it when a wild animal or another of the species is watching us. We [and our ancestors] knew it on hunting expedition when we became the hunted instead of the hunter. For example take this passage from the novel "The Idiot" by Fyodor Dostoevsky which I am reading now:

"Two or three days after they had left, Prince Lyov Vikolayevitch Myshkin arrived by a morning train from Moscow. No one met him at the station, but as he got out of the carriage he suddenly had a vision strange glowing eyes fixed upon him in the crowd that met the train."

He was conscious of someone watching him, as we all are conscious of someone watching us on the train. In Bombay, because of the confined spaces, it is worse. I often find guys staring blankly at my face, and when I look back after avoiding gaze, the f**** is still staring! This is happening in First Class the realm of Indian middle-class reticence and good manners. Here people help each other with their bags and even offer a seat if you say you are feeling giddy. Can you believe it? It's the height of bad manners, but that f**** is still staring at me as if he has nothing better to do. F****!

Some days ago I was sitting on the Wadala platform waiting for my train to Panvel. A girl and her acquaintance (a boy) were seated next to me. A few trains passed and what I observed was this: almost every male standing at the door stared at the girl seated on the platform. It was scary because I was seated next to her and I could feel their eyes staring. Staring! Staring! Staring! Some whistled at her, some made funny sounds, some winked, some sang a few lines of a song, some passed a smart comment. It was as if they were raping the girl with their eyes. Oh God! what atrocious behaviour! It wasn't funny at all, but neither the girl nor the boy budged. They didn't react. They knew it was expected behaviour and didn't bother to react. 

Hm.

What shall I say now? I hate people who stare. If you know me and see me on a train or bus, smile, I will smile back, even shake your hand. But, please, please, please, don't stare.

I am @johnwriter on Twitter and John.Matthew on Facebook. I blog here.

Is Forwarding Emails Wrong? An Ethical Question

I am not against forwards (messages forwarded by email). Some of the best tips for health and well being-have been culled from such forwards. I am grateful to the friends who have forwarded them and I am notorious for forwarding such messages to around 10 google groups in which I am a moderator.

Now the question of whether this is ethical or not. That's an issues writer poet Jerry Pinto raised on Facebook.

This is what I wrote as a comment to Jerry Pinto's post, which you will read in the above link, I am sure:

Welcome to the future. In the days to come we will all be reading and believing what our friends read and forward to us because news today has lost credibility (what with paid news and all). Ideally, the person who forwards such news should first check its verity before sending it to his/her dear friends. If he/she doesn't do that, he will be ignored on the networks. Simple!

I myself am not very sure. What will be the future of news is a big gorilla-like question I would hesitate to grapple with here. However, I must admit that my newspaper has been testing my patience these days in the following manner:

1. One day all the "i"s on the front page of the newspaper has been printed in blue because the advertiser requested that to promote his/her product (isn't that selling out to commercial considerations?).
2. Another day the entire front page was made-up of faux news, written by some 10th failed, grammar-challenged, writer in only minutes of mental masturbation. The results obviously showed.  
3. Another day the "o" in the masthead of the newspaper was changed to a red "0 (zero)" probably showing the level to which editorial sanctity has sunk in the newspaper.
4. The headline in a supplement of the newspapers reads "so-and-so goes house hunting." Now is that news?

If this is the trend, in future, I would only go for news forwards and not touch the newspaper at all.

I am @johnwriter on Twitter and John.Matthew on Facebook. I blog here.