Archive for the 'Scandinavian Escapades' Category

"I have that now."

“Mohan.. Do you know what is diabetes? I have that now.” Words from the ten-year-old’s innocent and delicately pink lips  ripped my heart.

I was taken aback for a few seconds. I composed myself quickly. But I’m sure he must have noticed. He saw me in the capacity of teacher, I shouldn’t be a person who discourages or make things difficult for him.

After all, how much strength must it have taken to say it. Something which must be tearing his life topsy-turvy.  Said in such a composed manner. But I could hear those strained notes, for all his composition. He wanted to share. He wanted some comfort. Not pity.

Why was I taken aback? Yes, he was one of my favourites in the class. And having diabetes just means another way of life. A way of life which could be seen as difficult, or as just another way of life. Was it those strained chords? Or was it because I had received an answer for my concern about his deteriorating health? Was it because it hurt to see a little ten-year-old hand handling a pen-syringe every four hours on himself to pump in insulin? Was it because we had something in common (knowing by a simple genetic equation done a few years back that I would almost certainly get diabetes)?

“Ah. Hmmm. I’m sorry. But its just another way of life. You just need to take a little more care of your body.” I said, with a smile. An encouraging one, I hoped. But I’m sure it reflected the sadness within.

It still tears at my heart to remember him saying those few words…

Warm Snow, Dark Lights, and the Coffee Machine

 

glimpses
BUT NOW CALLED


Warm Snow, Dark Lights, and the Coffee Machine

Like Snakes over icing water
They glide,
North-easterly winds their master
(Just for the way, master have they none),
Over the ocean hat created them,
Without Who they shall not be.
Snakes.

*

Eye in the sky
Behold the majesty afront
Vast big life mirror of Love.
Sheen ice beaches like pearls.
Pride rock, humble ocean.
Warning lights. Human hazard. Slam, sash.
Beauty again. She’s back =)
Dragons, suddenly for company. Crap.

*

People bustle.
An aptly named airport in Hell.
Sjokolade behind moi, artificial addiction.
Red seats, large windows.
Warm. Cold white snow in the out.
“Its all warm, not a thing to fear.”
Nothing beyond us
Psychologic brain wash.
Hiss. There’s a long sleek bridge,
Snow melting trudging a ladder into the snow on ice river below.

*

Yellow lonely swing amidst all white/gray/dark,
Innocence in hostility.
The universal story of Love against tide.

*

Sickness. Human viruses eating beauty.
Creepy crawly mankind.
Ugliness.

*

Canoeing water in the ice.
Crowning majesty with all Her trees
Rise genially. Air of grandeur.
Red house. Green trees. White snow.
Lone traveller’s single light slides.

*

Trees announce Her Mother’s stread
Princess stream jovially meanders by.
Humble.

*

Sleep. He hands on my eyelids.
Like weights on a pendulum -
hangs me down.
!
Spot on!
African inspired, West influenced East Indian music shoots up the metabolic barometer.
Car lights on the cliff wall.
Artsy, spooky.
Is Nature minus humankind ever scary?

*

Retardation. Snow sculptures on
free floating little ice glaciers.
Sigh. Influenced poetry.

*

Trees with iced necks.
Bowing. Albino giraffes!
Ravines. Deep breath;
Cold dark deep mystifying ruts on the ground.

*

Blueness. Slow darkness.
Thoughts, ideas.
Child, running, free.
Not for long;
society caught him, dragged him, raped him.
Artificiality smiled at him.
The beginning, And then,
The beginning of the end.

*

Python carrier swaying elephant like.
Gently rocking us, her babies, to a beautiful tour.
Santa clumps on dry Christmas trees.
Light in a sole-house window.
Where’s your soul?

an experiment by neo garfield, whilst on a train from Trondheim (Norway) to Östersund (Sweden). Thank you NSB/Veolia Transport. Dedicated to Mother Earth (Amma), and someone who has her birthday today.

On Bibles and Harry Potter

“We will have have a priest taking the first hour today. So you can join the fifth graders and see that the children are keeping quiet.” She said, as she zipped the Peugeot past little snow-covered hillocks. The sun was battling with its own rise as much as I do every day with my alarm clock. “They get Bibles, you see. Its a part of the kommune. And the priest will tell them how to read the Bible.” <kommune = local community governance, like a city corporation> Interesting, I thought, how the Norwegian state desperately tries to cling on to the last bits of its state-religion. Seeding ideologies to the young is indeed a good way of making sure that the community survives.

I have to say that I was a little disappointed. It was my last week of internship at the children’s school as a teaching assistant, and after five weeks of pestering, I had finally given in to the music teacher to handle a class with some ‘Indian’ content. I was prepared with a nursery rhyme in my native language, which I had painstakingly translated to Norwegian the previous night. Though my connection to music, outside listening, go as far as George Bush(Junior)’s love for Osama Bin Laden, I was looking forward to the class I had prepared for. This unexpected ‘heavenly’ intervention would be robbing me of that class. But I consoled myself, because it would indeed be an interesting experience of an outside observance of an intra-communal religious brainwash attempt.


Priest… Human belonging to the male sex. Very ‘manly’. Tall. White or brown robes. Old, little hair. Wise. Peaceful. Thin, but active and energetic. Smiling. These were the expectations unconsciously and automatically produced. So, half an hour later, when a plump, frowning, rushed, tired-looking woman wearing a black t-shirt and a black casual pajama pants walked hurriedly into the staff room, I had reason to suspect her as yet another mother who was carrying her ward’s lunch-box, which she/he had forgotten to carry. The early intervention of another teacher saved me from a possibly embarrassing scene, which would have involved the ever-helpful me volunteering to track down her kid and pass on the lunch-box. The priest was here.


The class began, and there was first the initiation ritual: distributing of Bibles to the children. The kids happily cast their newly gotten gifts on to their tables, and started restlessly flipping through the pages or using it as a fan. Some emerging musicians were trying to experiment with sounds made when the more-than-thousand-page book hit the wooden table. Coming from a different culture where we believe in the presence of the Divine in every one and every thing, especially books, and very much in holy books like the Bible, it was quite an unsettling experience for me to see how the children were treating the Bibles they had just received. It has always been uncomfortable to be in the presence of people handling books in Norway…  So I decided to take it easy on myself, and settle to the back of the class. I took for support an English-Norwegian School Dictionary which lay on the bookshelf.

That dictionary, incidentally, was one of my survival secrets during boring classes. I would immerse myself into a concentrated reading of the book when the goings got tough. Teachers admired my perseverance at learning Norwegian, and craving to understand what was happening in class. The children loathed a person who was a perfect example of perseverance. But what made me chuckle at these interpretational behaviour was something which I knew, and they did not know. That little dictionary had, in random pages, strips of Calvin and Hobbes.


The class was beginning, and I was soon lost in an episode of transmorgification. But suddenly, something shook me out of the smiles and giggles which I was mentally experiencing after perusing through a strip where Calvin resembled a pygmy Hobbes. That something was something along the lines of ‘Harry Potter’.

Naaa. Can’t be. But wait. Yes! It is! It was! And there it is again! The priest was using Harry Potter to describe the Bible!

“Do you know how many books are there in the Harry Potter series? Now, the Bible has more than ten times all of them put together. Do you know how many chapters are there in the Bible? Its more than all the chapters in all the seven Harry Potter books put together.”

Um… What happened to Witch Hunts of the sixteen hundreds…

“If someone says a particular page where something happens, we can turn to the page in Harry Potter, right? But we cannot do that in the Bible, because there are two sections which are numbered from the beginning – the Old Testament, and the New Testament…”


If theorists opine that Christianity has liberalised itself, and turn to popular culture to reach out effectively, they definitely wouldn’t have thought of extents of liberalisation and turns to popular culture as I was witnessing right now. A priest evangelising ten-year olds, using Harry Potter as medium and example to explain how to read the Bible… Harry Potter – a rendition of most things detested by the Church, and a product of pure consumerist utilisation and branding exercises. Wow. What a combination! Next thing I know, Osama could be brought down all the way from the mountain caves in Paksitan for guest-lectures on Islam in schools!


The priest ploughed on relentlessly, unwavering even when facing the boredom, restlessness, and disinterest  so obviously apparent on her audience’s faces and behaviour. Harry Potter this, Bible that, Moses, Jesus Christ, magic wand, the seventh book… I am not too partial to Christianity. Nor am I, I believe and I hope, to any religion, save perhaps Buddhism. But this, I thought, was quite an insult. Comparing Harry Potter and the Bible is like… Ouch. I don’t think any religion would ever be bad enough to rate a comparison of its holy scripture to Harry Potter… (save perhaps Scientology, but then that’s a different debate…)

What were these children being unconsciously exposed to? That Harry Potter is more important than the Bible? That your every day whims and fantasies are to be placed above everything else? That to fit in to today’s society, you need to know a little bit about the Bible, but more importantly, must read Harry Potter, and be proficient enough with it to use it as an example? Calvin and Hobbes was long lost. This was way too disturbingly intriguing.

It was also intriguing to note stereotypical notions of what appeals to Norwegian children. It is interesting how Harry Potter, a work from Britain, in English, plays such an important role in that stereotype in a country with a different language, which is Western more in an American than British way.


I asked her later if she was ever uncomfortable with the way the children treated the Bibles. “As long as they know how to read it, that is what’s important…” She replied. But despite her drawing from Harry Potter, I don’t think those kids saved any of what was discussed in that class. It was just another one of those formalities for them… Another one of those exasperating, boring classes, which are not really required, but are part of school any way. Most classes in the children’s school start an active discussion, debate, or activity among the kids during break times. I never heard either the Bible, or Harry Potter, being mentioned.


Harry Potter Church anyone?

Mmmmm

Its amazingly funny how things in you can change, and you never realise it. Its just been three weeks in Norway, and I’ve picked up the habit of saying “mmm” for the most life threatning to the most trivial things.

Its not a simple mmm. Its an mmmmm which comes from deep inside – from the very bottom of my lungs. It comes out very deep, like the end three quarters of ‘Om’.

Today, I commented on a dear friend’s blog, and though I loved the post so much, and was very moved by it, all I could say was “Mmmmm”.

And I’m so very comfortable doing it. The first few times I did it, it was like I always wanted to do it. It was like finding a friend who was I was so close to in a past life of mine.

Wow. How things can change… And how it escapes you… Ironically ridiculous, when I think that just three weeks back, my every prayer, and my every hope yearned that I am in control of my change.

I’ve started letting go. Of so many things. Things which I would have held on to, dearer than life, if  were a few thousand miles away, in that place I call home. I find peace by connecting to the Self. I almost don’t cry anymore. I give a hug to myself, console my self, counsel my self, forgive my self… Its a whole sociosystem right inside me – so many people running around…

I’ve been trying extremely hard to give space to others. Because often, I’ve found myself way too dominating. Should have been more careful. Because now, I find that I cannot make that space for my self myself; I have to be offered. How pathetic.

I don’t talk anymore. I cannot talk if I’m not being genuine. And I can’t be genuine if I don’t talk.

The things going on right now would have bowled me over, a few weeks back. But its so easy here, to get bowled over again and again deep inside, and not let a single soul outside know an iota about it.

And after all this, oommmmmmmmmm, and everything’s alright. Everything is in the picture. Everything I see, is the way, because thats the only way it can be. Peace.

As the water and the clouds play hide and seek

When you’re drowning in misery, and then suddenly someone brings in front of you a platter with a note saying “Ikke Egg”.

When you’re on an island connected by a shallow sea bed, and you go like “Is it just me, or is the tide rising?”, and then when everyone runs acorss the shallow, racing against the quickly rising, grinning, malignant tide. And then She proves her might, and wettens your feet.

When you are on the fjord shore, breathing in the powerful rays of the Sun smiling on the water, and mountains, miles in front, and the cold wind caresses you, and you pray.

When you slowly enter the sea, and freeze, and reach a stage of numbness – comfortably unconscious.

When those beautiful chubby ladies, who, invisible to most others work so hard to make you so comfortable, smile at you every morning, and teaches you a thing or two, and give small motherly advices.

When your otherwise wisely silent roommate comes in alcoholised at 3.00AM, and engages you in a gripping conversation about scientology, aethism, fundamentals of religion, and tells you about his religion which worships Bacon (according to which all life arose from bacon trees (mistakenly known to us mortals as pigs)).

When your fingers subtly, carefully, precariously, caressingly applies pressure on to the button, praying, hoping, willing, and you hear a click, and you see that perfect image which you wanted to see.

When you lose yourself in soul-drifting, natural, music played by powerful musicians, whose story will, some day be narrated by grandparents to grandchildren.

When you see the drop of water inside you, which came from the ocean.

..

For a moment, for a second, for a unit of time.

You find peace.

You lose your self to your Self.

You find love.

The drop connects to the ocean.

The weights which were weighing your heart down lifts.

Indifference becomes the love it truly is. Love becomes beyond explanation. Missing becomes energy. Dislikes, those ameobas, attain the size of an ameoba.

Wheat grains stand contrast against the dull yellow fields, and displays the sun as its own.

..

For a moment, for a second, for a unit of time.



Lingual Support by India Fascinates