This is what I dreamt last night

Miguel Hidalgo had just arrived in Damascus, from where he was driven to a small building where a printing and dying firm was located. His job was weird, or so he thought. He had to teach some men how to be Latino in the United States of America.

When he entered the class, he got a surprise. Were it not for the uniforms, he wouldn't have been able to say that his class was not what it looked like. Here were 150 guys who looked more Latin American than he did, he thought. The Arab instructor guffawed.
"Mr. Hidalgo, why are you surprised? The Latin Americans, or the Hispanics, as the Americans refer to you, like the Arabs, are a varied race of people. The plastic surgeons who worked on President Hussein's clones found this a triviality, only some superficial changes. You have to teach these men the language, the customs, the behaviour of the Latin Americans in the United States of America."

A year later, 150 men entered America on various Central and South American passports, all within the space of 15 days, from different points in the southern states, happening to be visiting relatives, working for American companies, or just looking after some business interests. They all had something in common; each of them carried equipment that would be used in assembling crude nuclear devices.

Three months later, as the newly elected Iraqi government was being sworn in, 10 nuclear devices went off in 8 major American cities. Downtown Manhattan was decimated, so was the White House and the Pentagon. The command structure had been devastated; there was widespread paranoia and looting. Unofficial sources put the death toll at an estimated 1.3 million.

In not so far away Havana, two old men were reclining in easy chairs, smoking their cigars.
"I said they should have gone for North Korea first, didn't I?" the older man mused.
"You never do your dirty work yourself, do you?" the younger man with a bushy moustache asked.
The old man just chuckled and shrugged. He raised his glass, "Here's to you, Salvatore Hernandez, and to the grand opening of Havana cigars in Miami next month. I hope there isn't going to be a change of plans."
The younger man raised his as well, "Holocaust or no holocaust, a smoker has to smoke?and a ruler has to rule."

They both laughed heartily.

[Please tolerate the joke. It's the pictures that are funny. Click on them to enlarge]

An aircraft is about to crash. There are five passengers on board, but unfortunately only 4 parachutes.
The first passenger says "I'm Shaquille O'Neill, the best NBA basketball player. The Lakers need me; it would be unfair to them if I died". So he takes the first parachute and jumps.

The second passenger, Hillary Clinton, says "I am the wife of the former President of the United States. I am also the most dedicated woman in the world, a Senator in New York and America's potential future President. She takes one of the parachutes and jumps.

The third passenger, George W. Bush, says "I am the President of the United States of America. I have a huge responsibility in world politics. And apart from that, I am the most intelligent President in the history of the country and I have a responsibility to my people not to die". So he takes a parachute and jumps.

The fourth passenger, the Pope, says to the fifth passenger, a ten year Old schoolboy "I am already old. I have already lived my life, as good person and a priest I will give you the last parachute". The boy replies "No problem, there is also a parachute for you. America's most intelligent President has taken my schoolbag..." ;-)

I was watching Contact, when the phone rings.
"Hello?"
"Hello Onkar?" a woman's voice, with the r rolled nicely.
"Yes, Hello, May I know who's speaking", half knowing who it was.
"Valeria!"
"Whoa!" I jumped out of my chair!

It's always good when a good friend calls you up. It's not so good when you don't speak the same language. Trying to simplify sentences over an IDD is not only time consuming, it's a trifle frustrating. But regardless of how meaningful or insightful the conversation is, it is always good to hear from a friend. I've had the opportunity to call some of my friends up when they least expected it, and the surprise in their voice is worth the call.

"Ok, I am going to my work now. Where are you?"
"It is night here. I am at a friend's place."
"Ok, I talk to you later. Bye bye!"
"Ok."
"Buenos dias!"

Back to Jodie Foster in outer space. I hope a certain fellow lives up to his word of delivering the good stuff before his trip to the Eiffel Tower, nahi to....#_#

[rant]

From Sunset to Sunset.

The clime was wet, dark and mysterious;
I had a skimpy dinner of eggs and yoghurt,
Surprisingly content, even full, I trudged
to Cypher's room, relaxed, without effort.
I had whiled away the sultry afternoon
on a Forest Whitaker thriller, 'Phone Booth',
in Anirudh's Hall 6 room, munching chips
with abandon; though, with an eye astute.
Ankit called, he had downloaded a movie
starring Diaz Cameron and Pacino Alfred.
Now, i like them both, for different reasons
though, obviously, so watch it with him I did.
A mama's boy, driven by passion, tried
to make it big in a white man's world;
breaking the rules, facing the rap, to show
that he wasn't just another black stud.
An aging warhorse trying to find his
just place in the fast-changing herd,
A rookie manager, very particular about
what she could and couldn't afford.
By the time the movie ended I had
worked up an appetite and a headache,
A team, nay, gang of eleven uncouth
"heroes" had ruined my night in their wake.
The walk to seven-eleven was uninteresting
at best, eating the same veggie pizza bar
for the umpteenth time, made me angry at
the choices, or the lack thereof, given me so far.
By the time Hall 6 showed up in it's spartan
splendour, my head was split into two in pain.
I vowed on my favourite elephantine god
Ganesha to get some work done, but in vain.
The morning was benevolent, or was it?
I know not, for I slept like a baby till after noon.
My efforts at diplomacy had backlashed;
Maybe I was caustic, maybe I spoke too soon.
There was work to be done, so I worked.
The light of the goddess of Labour, lets call
her Karmani, shone over my head, as I did
the needful, quite a lot of it, but not all.
Tomorrow shall be a better day; more peace
shall be made, I hope, for unless the goddesses
descend from the heavens, we shall languish;
morose, wretched, till they pardon our excesses.

PS: Totally unrelated, but here's the question, anyway. Someone called me racist today; well, what do you know? Is saying "I find it easier to mix with Indians with whom share a cultural bond" being racist? I mean, I know, I am not in line for Mr. Congeniality or anything, but I sincerely believe someone is pulling the wool over my eyes here. What do you say?
I have been called racist thrice in the last two weeks. I'm not! I'm not racist! Ok, maybe I am, just a leetil.
Lekin yaar chamdi ka rang nahi dekhte ham, chai ke mehek bakhub ho to fir race-vace ko maro goli, ama mia, chai piyo, adrak vali.

This post is dedicated to Sukanya. Thanks Suku, for writing about something that made something from the recesses of my mind come to the fore.

How I overcame my fear of crows

As a kid, the crow, and especially the raven; they were the birds I feared the most. I had read a Bohemian tale where a witch had a raven and the raven spied for her, informing her of the hero's whereabouts. So whenever a crow or a raven came near me, I could imagine a witch spying on me from the raven's eye. Needless to say, I used to shoo the birds away. This lasted till one day during my summer vacations, I went to live with my grandparents in Paral.

Nana [my maternal grandfather] is an early riser, and always has been. I used to sleep early, lulled by my Aaji's haripaat'h. She used to sing it before going to bed, and by the time she was done, everyone but she would be asleep, it was that beautiful, and she sang it beautifully. It is something about her that I will never forget. A sunray filtered through the netted window and woke me up. There was a murder outside, circling the balcony, and there my Nana stood, clad in his pyjamas and his zanva with 9 threads, which indicated that he was the head of the family. I had no zanva, which indicated my status as 'kid'. But what I saw made me shrink back in fear.

He was the reason the murder was there; he was feeding them kneaded wheat dough. There was a crow on his arm, and one on his shoulder! I was incredulous. I called out to him, "Nana!" All he did was looked at me and grinned wide. "Are ye ithe, gammat dakhavto tula." He said, beckoning me. I barely inched from my place. I could imagine the evil hag spying on my Nana. He made a small ball of the dough, about the size of a bearing and tossed it up into the air. The crow on his arm lifted off and caught it in his beak! As a kid, any animal that could perform tricks was cool, and so the fear of the crow subsided a little. I took a few more steps closer to him. "Nana, tyala majhya hatavar basva na?" I stuck out my arm, but he shook his head, as if he spoke for them. I looked at the crow on his arm. It was looking at me intently, all right. What it was thinking, I wondered.

He handed me the ball of dough. "Lahan gole karun thev kadevar". I obliged him by making small balls of the dough and keeping them on the parapet. The crows weren't very trusting. One of them danced down the parapet and picked one up, then another. By now, I was enjoying this exercise, but the crow always kept a distance. It used to always be 4 or 5 balls behind me, and appeared to maintain that distance deliberately. So I stopped. So did it. I looked at Nana and chuckled. The crow then pretended that I did not exist there and ate the 4 balls, just like that.

Now that I think of it, the crow wasn't afraid of me, but may be he sensed my fear, and kept his distance lest I act upon my fear and attack him first. If so be the case, the crow would be smarter than a particular person I know who attacks other people impulsively. Not beating around the bush, the crow then looked me straight in the eye and cawed. It knew I had more dough, and it wanted more. So I made a small ball and tossed it in the air. He flew! He actually did a half jump-half flight and caught it. The evil witch had been erased from my mind. I was all for crows now. Alas, it was no use. My mother awoke soon after and scolded Nana for spoiling me and exposing me to wild creatures. He did not argue.

My mom feeds crows polis ever since Aaji passed away, because they say that crows are like the messengers to the other world or something. I never repeated the exercise again, however. Maybe the next time I go to Paral, I will.

And that is why the crow is my favourite bird.

ps: I am so homesick right about now...