~

“Cabrón! Entrar en su jaula de mierda!” [“You bastard! Enter your f****** cage!”]

Whack.

“Lo que son demonios hacer con nosotros?” [“What are you demons doing to us?”]

Whack.

“What’s he saying?”

“He’s one of them stronger folks lootenant. He’s been at it throughout the f****** voyage!”

“I asked what is he saying sergeant!”

“ Usted debe ser un oficial. Vamos a salir de esta locura!” [“You must be an officer. Let us out of this madness!”]

“Bichos ¡Cállate! Él no entiende español. [Shut up vermin! He doesn't understand Spanish.] Sir, he’s been wanting to know where we’re taking him, and what we’re gonna do.”

“Thank you sergeant. Now translate this for me. We’re at Los Angeles. Heard of that place? You must know what it means… ‘The angels’ in your stupid language, isn’t it? We’re bringing you here to sell you to people, who will then eat you. Comprehendo amigo?”

“That would be comprendo sir!”

“Whatever crap sergeant. Now translate that.”

E’re en Los Ángeles. Ecos de ese lugar? Usted debe saber lo que significa … The sergeant started saying with a gleeful expression, whilst the captain stalked away chuckling. Somebody banged a baton onto my head and I lost consciousness again. Thus passed my pioneering admittance into the United States of America. Estados Unidos de América.

Somebody had pushed me into the cage. That intimidating crate. But its door was hanging open? The rock and lull of sailing had ceased. We were on land. Somebody was calling out names.

“Chael, Abantiades”

That sounded like an Americanised version of my name..

“Chael, Abantiades?!”

The voice seemed to be losing patience.

“Aqui. Mi nombre es Abantiades Chael.” [“Here. My name is Abantiades Chael.”]

I knew English. But a mask of ignorance might be wise. Or so I thought then.

“No entiendo espaniyol. Now get in that truck.”

A translator standing next to the army officer began muttering illegibly. Excellent. From the cage to a truck.

After a few more of us had been pushed into the dirty and smelly truck, bringing the total inhabitants of that dingy space to maybe around two hundred, the doors were closed, barring out the light. We heard the clicks of locks and the roar of an engine. Soon, we were vibrating in tune to the hum of the truck’s engine. Squished like octopus tentacles in pickle, some fainted, some began vomiting, and amongst this snarl, some began to chant verses from la Biblia…

Ten days back from then, I think, I remember la policia came and forced us into a truck, apparently for questioning, from the slums in Chihuahua. I remember they came in combat uniform, and rounded up all the inhabitants of that place… Between seven and ten thousand people. No one can say how many truly live in these barrios. The others must also have been bundled into ships with awaiting cages. The others were wondering why, constantly chattering and making conspiracy theories. But I knew.. I knew.. I knew that I knew, but I couldn’t bring myself to know..

A strange feeling pressed me more than that knowledge. A strange feeling for my lovely Paola… my wife.. And my children.. And my home.. My church.. My knowledge of my looming fate had made me thrust my face against the bars of the cage, in a futile attempt to push the ship homeward. The bars had left red press-marks on my cheeks, to add on to the angry pink blots which had popped up on all our bodies in the last few years. Existence was bitter. Like the stem of the jalapeño, the bigotry of the world made me even more bitter.

The truck stopped. I heard the doors open and slam shut. Somebody talking in accented English. And suddenly, light poured in, hurting my eyes.

“Salir a todos!” [“Get out you all!”]

And we were bundled out, and through a cordon of armed guards, into a dark room. The room smelled of something horrible. Like a mixture of decay, sweat, and blood. And all of a sudden, water was splashed on us. Powerful jets of cold, chemical-smelling water. After our ‘shower’, we were made to wait.

Most of them were ignorant of what we were waiting for. I knew. And it weighed me down. We didn’t have to wait long to find out. As many walked around the room, trying to find a weak spot where they could dig to escape, the door opened and a few Americans walked in.

“The next batch eh.” One of them said.

“Yup. The Mexican top boss ain’t that bad… Good stock this is, yes.”

“Oh of course their president can’t keep us waiting can they.” He chuckled.

“Not after we’ve got a few nukes poking right up their a**. Heh heh heh.”

“Well anyway.. Lets get a couple of them chickens out and let people see, shall we?”

They dragged away two unconscious prisoners. In a while, we heard a weird machine hum. Machines… Machines had changed our worlds hadn’t they. A couple of decades back, in 2078, they made that global network of machines. I remember protesting against that along with other students from my university. But who would then bother to listen to a few upstart intellect addicts.. It was disappointing how the governments ignored the movements around the world and gave way to the free market’s desires… The environment needed it, they said. We needed less machines, and for that, the machines had to be networked, they said. Instead, we ended up with even more machines. The concept of labour had changed since then. Two global wars had not made the pig-heads change…

From the other side of the wall, we heard a bell, quite like the bell in a store. So we were in a shop.

Muted voices.

“Hey. I heard you got more supply.”

“Good morning. Yes, that we have. How much would you want?”

“A couple of kilos?”

“I need your ration card, and your Amex.”

Shuffling of feet. Scraping of metal against metal. Cling of a weighing scale. An unfamiliar beep. A few button clicks. The sound of ruffling plastic.

“Thanks Bill. See ya later.”

Estamos en una tienda. Hubo algunas personas que entraron y compraron algo…Those English literate amongst us were rapidly explaining the exchange to the others…

¿Eso significa que estamos en una tienda?[“Does that mean we are in a shop?”]
¿Qué diablos significa eso? [“What the hell does that mean?”]
¿Por qué estamos aquí? [“Why are we here?”]
Quiero casa. [“I want to go home”]

The last was from a squeaky voice. A boy. Not older than fifteen. My heart bled for him. For I wanted very much the same thing.

I want to go home..

Home.. Where my wife and children also in some shop, truck or ship? Or were they safe, mourning the loss of their husband, father… Or were they running across the arid desert, to flee.. If they were fleeing, how would they survive.. How would they find food?

Food… We had been quite well-fed throughout the kidnap. Bread, hamburgers and other American bland stuff of course..

“I could do with a nice tortilla with some salsa..” Muttered an unknown in Spanish. He was unusually tall for a Mexican. Lean-figured and athletic, he had long hair, and sported a beard, very much like a Chinese-beard.

“I don’t care about food any more.” Said I.

“Ah I know what you mean.. But these Americans seem to differ, eh?”

“Apt of you to make a joke of times like this.”

A third voice interrupted. “What do you mean?”

The store bell rang again.

“Momma, momma, I don’t like this place. Why do we come here so often!” A little girl’s voice.

“We need to buy food honey.” Obviously the ‘momma’. It made my thoughts drift to the momma of my own children.. Sweet Paola..

“Good morning ma’am. May I have your ration card please?”

“Do you have more food?”

“Yes ma’am. We got a fresh supply of good healthy Mexicans just today.”

“Good. We’ll have five kilos then.”

“Momma, are we having Mexicans for dinner then? We had Chinese yesterday! How crude.”

¿qué están diciendo? What are they saying? Persisted my companions to those few who knew English. But those few were looking at one another with horror scribed on their faces. Tears, rage, and insane laughter broke about the room. Nos están comiendo. Estamos alimentos. They’re eating us. We are food. Chocked one, amidst hysterical laughter and tears. As other voices joined in and helped the translation of the ghastly news, more hysterical laughter and screams were to be heard. I knew.. I had known..

“Momma! What’s that sound!”

“Its just the Mexicans having fun to be more tasty for us, darling.”

“Yeah, that’s right kid. Whaddya know, they get tastier as they laugh!”

“Hey Jim, what say we show lil kiddo here how its done?”

“Oh yeah, that should be quite a treat, eh kid?”

“Um.. Are you sure its appropriate to show her all that blood?” The concerned mother’s voice.

“’Course ma’am. Kids love it. And they do have a right to know what they eat, yes they do. After all that genetically modified food crap giving people that red thingabobs on their faces and killing people, everyone has the right to know what they eat. Right Reg?”

“Yup. I’ll get one of them out now.”

“Oh oh oh… This is going to get terribly interesting now…” Said my Chinese-bearded friend.

The iron door opened. ‘Reg’ came in with a couple of guards.

“Right. Which of you creeps want to be a children’s media star? How ’bout this one ‘ere?”

The guards assaulted a rather plump little man standing at one of the corners of the room.

“No. No. No. Yo no. Por favor!” [“No. No. No. Not me. Please!”]

They whacked him on the head and dragged him out. The door slammed shut. We heard him moaning as they dragged him across the store.

“So as the Americans run out of food, because of the genetically modified grains and animals polluting all of nature, they start eating humans! How ingenuous!” Commented my friend.

“You knew this from before?” I asked.

“That I did.”

“So I was not the only one..”

“Ooh look momma.. He looks like Santa Claus! But.. but.. Momma, why do we eat Mexicans?”

“Because, honey, their president is a good friend of our president, and he said that we have to support each other in times of need, right. So he said he’d give us a few of them, so that we can have good food here.”

“Thats right kid. And y’know what, you know that this world has like 30 billion folks now right. Y’all learn that at school right? This is a great way to cut down that number. They’re doing this all over the place now. All eating each other.”

“Its Darwin in his true sense.. Survival of the fittest..” The Chinese-beard.

And God blessed them, and God said unto them, Be fruitful, and multiply, and replenish the earth, and subdue it: and have dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of the air, and over every living thing that moveth upon the earth. And we ate them. We ate them all. And we raped them. Now we rape and eat ourselves. After all, humans are also “that moveth upon the earth”.

“No. No. ¿Qué locura es ésta?” [“No. No. What madness is this!”] Shrieking Santa Claus.

“Look Momma, they’re putting him on that machine… Ewww! What is that red thing all over there?”

“Thats blood kiddo. This machine is what does the cutting trick. You put them in here-” (No! No! Parada! [stop!]) Weird machine hum. (No! N- aaaaaa!!!!) “-and you get them all fresh and cut over here, minus all hair and intestines! There goes Santa! Cool eh?”

One could scoop and make a soup out of the silence which hung in the adjoining room. No one dared to talk. All looked at each other, their eyes screaming their raw fear. I didn’t care any more. I knew. I had known.

‘Darling’ and ‘Momma’ left the store. Remember, the inner thigh tastes the best, especially when cooked rare, Bob had said, as they left. The silence still hung thick. Chinese-beard wrestled a razor from a man trying to kill himself. I coaxed it from him, and ran my finger over the blade checking its sharpness. It was sharp. I put it on one end of my arm, and dug it in. Blood. Pain. I slowly dragged it, pressing hard, digging deep, all the way till my wrist. Blood seeped out like melting ice finding its way down a mountain. Pain. It helped.

“Some try to kill, others abuse their own bodies. Why my friend?”

“We are all going to get butchered anyway. Right now, the pain helps. It helps me forget that I am away from everyone I love as I die. Its like.. Its like a drug. Let me use my body before they do.”

“I’m puzzled by what the world is going to be.. They now send nuclear bombs killing millions for want of water. They do not learn from the lessons of the decades before. In a way, I don’t mind dying now.”

“No. Neither I. Not because the world seems like at an end. Because I don’t find meaning in any of this. All I found meaning in was my family. Away from them, away from my land, I have no meaning. The world has no meaning.”

The door clanged open. In came Bob, Reg and the two guards.

“How many ‘ll we take?”

“Oh, lets say a couple?”

“K Bob. How ’bout that weird looking guy there and the one next to him?”

“That’s us Abantiades.”

“You know my name?”

“Yes. I know your name.”

“How?”

They started dragging pushing us forward.

“Hey! No protest from these ones Bob. Nice eh?”

“Chattering like crazy though. Idiots. Like everything’s normal. No wonder they deserve to be cooked. Like f****** chickens these lot are!”

“How do you know my name?”

“I know Abantiades. The world is, sadly, small.”

“Who are you?”

“Who are we..”

They walked us into a white room, coated with blood all around. It had a sinister looking machine poised on a pedestal in the centre. Adjacent was a door, probably leading to a much more neater display area.

“Adios cerdos Mehicos!” [“Bye Mexican pigs!”]

They shoved my unknown yet known friend into the machine.

“Adios Amantiades. Tranquilidad.” [“Bye Amantiades. Peace.”]

“Tranquilidad amigo.”

A roar of the machine. And voila, my Chinese-bearded friend was a neat pile of fresh cut human meat ready for consumption by inhuman pigs. The fact that I was next gave me a sense of eerie peace.

“Lo proximo.” [“You next.”]

Next change.

~

Thanks for perusing through that story! First, I would like to acknowledge and thank Google Translate, the experience given by two Guatemalan friends, and my Sri Lankan buddy for the Spanish. On the same note, I would like to apologise to all Spanish speakers, if its bad Spanish. For my part, no entiende espaniol! Lo sentimos.

Secondly, this story is completely fictional, not based on fact whatsoever. If you anyone finds any similarities to people, events etc., they are co-incidental, and definitely not intended. Apologies for the stereotyping of USA and Mexico, and apologies for the racism. Also apologies for the language used – I was trying to create a necessary verisimilitude.

Thirdly, despite my claim that the story is completely fictional, it has been inspired by real going-ons in the world. Phenomenon like climate change, greed, materialism, racism etc.; topics which I believe I need not delve deeply into for its obviousness.

Fourthly, this is the catharsis of some sort of existential angst. And thus the bitterness. I believe I’m usually a more positive hearted person.

And finally, I deem this work (however stupid and lame it might seem) devoid of copyright. Go ahead and do whatever you want to do with it, if you would want to. Though it might be nice if you could cite me.

I sit now in a place,
So peaceful, quiet, and charming,
Two years back, the beauty here would be a dream.
A small stream juggles through a shallow ravine created by its flow, next to a beautifully uneven spread of green. I can see the dim, cloudy sunlight refracted and reflected in its waters. It juggles out into a fjord to my right. I sit on a bench, in this seeming paradise. Birds tweet, sing, and quip around me. One little lady hops out on to the ground in front, looking for food probably, and in a quick jump of success or disappointment, flutters away across me.

Its a little cold. My hands are almost freezing. I think I’m also hungry. Haven’t eaten anything but a banana till now. I have no idea of the time. Maybe somewhere around seven?

A couple comes, hand in hand, says a hi, breathes, takes in the view, and walk back. A boat paddles across my sight-frame of the fjord, created by jutting rocks. A small pine forest in dark and light greens to my right.

Mmmm..

I knew you had to leave one day.
The thought was always sad.
But now… almost too soon…
In a world where time is but false, and
ends are but beginnings;
I smile for You, my Love.
I know Love will take you on your Way,
as She will with me.

In ways You do not know, will never know,
Will never understand,
You made me who I am. Thank you, my friend.

In probably my last dedication to You, my friend, A, Salut!

I will watch for your crow.

mṛtyormā amṛtam gamaya

I will always love You.

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…

humanity – n. redif. the quality of being capable of, and displaying, insane amounts of stupidity

I imagined that humanity was going through a dark phase, a phase of no knowledge, also known in Vedic mythology as kaliyug, after reading and seeing more of the global warming debates. But this latest bit by Mr Pat Robertson has proved that yon ancient sages who wrote the Vedas really knew their stuff (its also probably got Jesus hitting the panic button somewhere…)

http://www.cnn.com/2010/US/01/13/haiti.pat.robertson/index.html

Needless to say, my response to Mr Rev Pat has already been articulated by davegkb at The Guardian. I do not agree with him when he says earthquakes are not created by God, by I do believe that the general sentiment of his comment is well worthy of the context. Quoted below:

Pat Robertson is gonna be dissappointed when he dies and goes into the carbon cycle rather than heaven.

I am glad you are not here today,you would have been pretty screwed cause some father is so perverted.

Interesting and intriguing.

Context : Gearing for some (personal?) vengeance, a Father of the esteemed sacred reverend University, as mentioned earlier in this blog, and one which we all know, ordered the tearing down of 100+ posters in campus because it had the highly unsacred unesteemed unreverend and “cheap” grafitti of a heart, next to the word love. He (the capitalisation of the alphabet here not because of respect, but purely because proper grammar demands it) did not take into consideration that the poster was simply advocating love, as in humanly love, love love love, and not what is referred to by his kind as the ‘unsacred’ and ‘uncultured’ love between two individuals of the opposite sex, or even (gasp! heaven forbid!) between two individuals of the same sex. (not that I wouldn’t advocate this so called ‘uncultured love’, but you know what I mean…)

Oh, missing link… I designed the poster…

Coming back to the context, the line next to which the heart appeared was advocating (wait for it…) the love between (hem hem) a human and (*drumroll* please)…..

A plant.

Yes.

The so called betrayal of the <let me not use the Lord’s name in vain here> University Culture (yes, its a proper noun now) happened to be a peach grafitti heart, termed as cute and attractive by many a person, almost 1/3rd an inch big, in an A3 size paper (12 inches by 18 inches).

And why was it offending? The answer led to one of those long paradoxical and philosophical bureaucratic answers of no return, with no seeming logic, path, or reason. “Management policies.”

!!! I don’t believe this! I’ve heard that the Chinese (no offense my Chinese friends, just a compliment here!) plan for everything, right down to the emergency plan for an earthquake during something as small as a birthday party, but I’m willing to bet that even they wouldn’t have planned on what to do in a university in a student happened to design a poster with a minsicule peach heart on it (lets just assume that whoever faced with such a situation becomes as less-than-a-nut brained), and incidently got it approved by higher authorities and put it up on campus. Come on yo dude-in-white, show me the rule book which looks like

<The Lord’s name shall not be used in vain!> University Campus Regulation Policies Handbook 2009

3.2 In case a student happens to design a poster with an almost invisible peach heart, and got it approved by higher authorities, and put it up in and around campus (‘campus’ here defined as in the definition given in Section 1.1 in Rulebook 2008), then

et cetera et cetera…

Dude! Get a heart! Oops, did I just say that! Sorry… Slip of my tongue. Or fingers (on a vaio keyboard – I’m used to a Compaq).

But anyway, lets go away from these minute formalities of expression, and look at the ‘higher’ picture. The officially-unsaid, yet informally-said, reason is that the ‘Father’ (REPEAT : (the capitalisation of the alphabet here not because of respect, but purely because proper grammar demands it) concerned deems that the deemed univerisity’s campus should have no such instances of ‘cheap love’.

Tch tch tch. Sad… Especially looking at “Core Value” #3 of the ‘University

(Love of Fellow Beings)

Blow me down! Did fellow beings, then, mean martians, stalactites, and stalagmites?

Going on a slightly more spiritual note, during a conversation with M recently, we happened to discuss the goings on in the world, and this ‘University’ concerned. He did make some prophetic statements.

In a gist, he lamented on what was happening in the name of the Lord. This ‘University’, which (without permission, I might add) borrowed, or rather used, the name of the Lord, to carry forth their seemingly ‘holy’ pursuits, punctured tastefuly for a few (or rather, a lot of) ‘unholy’ pursuits, is crossing the line a bit too many times in recent ages.

Me belonging to a different belief system altogether had almost no knowledge of the Lord that M talked about, but since all religions spoke of the same basic things, we could say that we believed in the same things, though not the same Lord (and in my case, no Lord, just God, for I believe that God wouldn’t lord over others…).

M went on to say that this Lord was a very powerful Lord. But He was also merciful. Quite merciful. But at some point of time, after a bit too many toes out of line, and bit too many heads out of honesty, the mercy ends, and overt exhibitions of power begins.

And this message, I throw at you, dear men-in-white… Beware.

There endeth the lesson.

What’s wrong with the world mama?
People living like aint got no mamas
I think the whole worlds addicted to the drama
Only attracted to the things that bring you trauma
Overseas yeah we tryin to stop terrorism
But we still got terrorists here livin
In the USA the big CIA the Bloodz and the Crips and the KKK
But if you only have love for your own race
Then you only leave space to discriminate
And to discriminate only generates hate
And if you hatin you’re bound to get irate
Yeah madness is what you demonstrate
And that’s exactly how anger works and operates
You gotta have love just to set it straight
Take control of your mind and meditate
Let your soul gravitate to the love y’all

People killing people dying
Children hurtin you hear them crying
Can you practice what you preach
Would you turn the other cheek?
Father Father Father help us
Send some guidance from above
Cause people got me got me questioning
Where is the love?(where is the lovex3)(the love2x)

It just ain’t the same all ways have changed
New days are strange is the world the insane?
If love and peace so strong
Why are there pieces of love that don’t belong
Nations dropping bombs
Chemical gases filling lungs of little ones
With ongoing suffering
As the youth die young
So ask yourself is the loving really strong?
So I can ask myself really what is going wrong
With this world that we living in
People keep on giving in
Makin wrong decisions
Only visions of them livin and
Not respecting each other
Deny thy brother
The wars’ going on but the reasons’ undercover
The truth is kept secret
Swept under the rug
If you never know truth
Then you never know love
Where’s the love y’all?(I don’t know)
Where’s the truth y’all?(I don’t know)
Where’s the love y’all?

People killing people dying
Children hurtin you hear them crying
Can practice what you preach
Would you turn the other cheek?
Father father father help us
Send some guidance from above
Cause people got me got me questioning
Where is the love?(where is the lovex3)(the lovex2)

I feel the weight of the world on my shoulder
As I’m getting older y’all people get colder
Most of us only care about money makin
Selfishness got us followin the wrong direction
Wrong information always shown by the media
Negative images is the main criteria
Infecting their young minds faster than bacteria
Kids wanna act like what the see in the cinema
Whatever happened to the values of humanity
Whatever happened to the fairness and equality
Instead of spreading love, we’re spreading anomosity
Lack of understanding, leading us away from unity
That’s the reason why sometimes I’m feeling under
That’s the reason why sometimes I’m feeling down
It’s no wonder why sometimes I’m feeling under
I gotta keep my faith alive, until love is found

People killing people dying
Children hurtin you hear them crying
Can you practice what you preach
Would you turn the other cheek?
Father Father Father help us
Send some guidance from above
Cause people got me got me questioning
Where is the love?(fade)

Where is the love by Black Eyed Peas

Another chanced to be in the midst of yon neighbouring street. He glanced. He saw. He stared. He pounced into the eyes, and eyes and eyes, they met.

He was hit. Hit with a stare. A bullet. He was hit.

He looked away, and then, he looked again. Head straight, eyes wide, lethally narrow. Cold hatred flowing. Hate, post forgivance, darting. The white and dark brown, raging with cold agonate force.

He was hit again. With a bullet. His hand had started to raise a third, but it never reached its most potential state. It crumbled. Whilst his mind, it caught fire. He was in agony. He was dying. No. He was realising. The nescience, the ignorance, burnt off by the bullets. The looks.

He looked forward, and walked on. His immediate vices in his selfish thoughts.

He stood there, frozen in time. And to him, he shall always stand there. As a memory. A memory of what can be done, to undo what could be done that had been done.

The padawan frolicked away, unknowing of the butterfly wings. Oh dear child, oh love, it’ll hit you. Some day, some place. And I hope you have the courage, the love, and the faith.

He climbed the stairs. Used the key. Sat down. And started typing.

In my search to find the innate goodness, and purpose, and hidden direction, in people’s lives, I’ve been left horribly of-the-mark, when I read, when I sit on a chair, with my laptop in front of me, and with nothing more than a spot of thunder, and the heat, to bother me, and read, about things happening in Sri Lanka.

The Government is firing into declared ‘No-Fire’ zones. The Government is shelling its own people. Killing tens of thousands. I feel disgusted for typing that last sentence. Dismissing the number so casually, yup, around a few ten thousand…

I have not commented on the Sri Lanka issue so far. All this while, I was wondering, why add to the endless stream of noise already out there. But I can no longer remain silent. It had passed all measures of horribility a long time back.

I believe that Tamils, or anyone for that matter, should have equal rights and representation in Sri Lanka. At the same time, I wholeheartedly condemn the outfit called LTTE for their idiotic, stupid, and violent approach.

Et cetera, et cetera. But what on Earth is happening right now! The Government killing their own people? I’m kind of lost here… Why? You think killing is fun? Or is the artillery not working properly? Incorrect mathematics? Or do you think that there are LTTE terrorists hiding amongst the fleeing civilians? If yes, dear Government of Sri Lanka, why don’t you just fricking let them flee? Ever heard of forgiveness?

Among the countless other articles written, I chanced across a news release by Human Rights Watch, published on the 5th of May. It recounted a few stories by refugees. Here are a few quotes from that article -

“We were living in such fear. There was constant shelling. On April 5 or 6, our neighbors were injured in the shelling. A shell landed inside the bunker. Ten people were injured, and of them, five died. There was no anesthesia. The doctors had to cut off a girl’s hand without any anesthesia. My small daughter was crying and scared. I decided then that we had to leave. I would take a bucket to clean up the mess and bury it in the sand”
S Indra Kumar

“One day, I was waiting in queue for food and there was suddenly shelling. I ran away, but later heard that 40 people had died.”
“Many people have died. Whenever they heard there were bodies, they would collect for burial. Two months ago, my father went missing. I went to the hospital to look for my father. I found his body. The entire back of his head was missing. Only his face was there. We asked the doctor to do something to his head so we could bury him, but they said we should just be grateful that we had a body to bury.”

Sivadasa Jagdeshwaran

“We were drinking salt water. One by one, the people started dying. First it was the children. My brother’s little daughter died.”
S Indra Meenan

Jagdeshwaran, the mason, told Human Rights Watch about the journey by boat that included his wife and two children and his wife’s relatives: “My son died on April 24, four days after getting on the boat. He was 4 years old. We had no water, no food on the boat. Then her father died. Her two brothers jumped into the sea. My wife was in shock. She was weak and not even able to move. That morning, April 29, she asked for some water. We gave her seawater. She vomited and then she passed away.”

Their 8-month-old son, having been fed on breast milk until his mother’s death, survived.

“These accounts must be multiplied tens of thousands of times to capture the full horror of those who remain trapped by the Tamil Tigers and shelled by government forces.”
Meenakshi Ganguly, senior Asia researcher at Human Rights Watch

Here is a video, capturing the essence of the article.

Why Sri Lanka, why? Why don’t you, atleast now, forgive the Tamil Elem. Agreed, the horrific things they did. But be different from them, and forgive them. They are fleeing now anyway, why does it matter? Why do you have to endanger your own people?

And you rascals in pinstripes who call yourselves the leaders and representatives at United Nations, and the United Nations Human Rights Council, and the United Nations Security Council, and the hundred zillion other Councils and Funds and Programmes that start with the acronym UN, art thou blind? Do you possess atleast an iota of the feeling and passion possessed by your grassroot activists, workers, and peacemakers? If yes, why UN, why?

import java.io.*

class AgentM {

public static void main (String args[])
{

            boolean clothes = true;
            boolean belt = true;
            boolean shoes = true;
            boolean watch = true;
            boolean ring = true;
            boolean pen = true;
            boolean wallet = true;
            boolean phone = true;
            boolean bag = true;
            boolean ipod = true;
            boolean book = true;
            boolean housekey = true;
            boolean bankcards = true;
            boolean visitingcards = true; 

            boolean THIEF = true;

             if (THIEF==true)
            {
                        phone = false;
            }

            if (clothes==true && belt==true && shoes==true && watch==true && ring==true && pen==true && wallet==true && phone==true && bag==true && ipod==true && book==true && housekey==true && bankcards==true && visitingcards==true)
            {
                        System.out.println(“Agent M is rocking on ”);
            }
            else
            {
                        int cent = 100;
                        int sigh = 0;
                        int aaaaa = cent / sigh; 

                        System.out.println(aaaaa);
            }

}
}

Sigh… Yet another blow to my belief in humanity, and trust, and love…

Forgive… Forget… Love…

And look at the positive side… I can still code Java… (even after 2 years of BA ‘education’? wow!)

# 1.1
Why didn’t I inform her/him that I knew what they were up to? So much for openess

# 2
Why do you fail to hear the alarm when you ‘lie down’ for ten minutes?

# 3
Why do your roommates have to welcome a friend for combined study when you’re trying to beat your head over some earth-shaking post-colonial literary theory?

# 4
Why does your roommate have to act gay right in the morning, try to feel you up, and piss you off?

# 5
Why does there have to be fog, when its not cold?

# 6
Why does your water heating cord have to make sounds like a Suzuki motorbike?

# 7
Why am I typing this when my exam is in another four hours, and I have portions worth two months to study?

And there I was, a blooming idiot who made three huge mistakes, just like that idiot in that idiotic book! Yup. The three mistakes of life… (just before a Psychology exam)

As I returned yet again from my hometown, ol’ Dusty was waiting for me… (Dusty = B’lore) Fresh as a withered onion, I got to work. I swore I would start studying for today’s exam atleast by 11AM yesterday. I cut a 1 off the 11, and changed the A into P. I started at one in the afternoon. I finished off one module of the five. This one also happened to be the shortest, and one which had already been extensively probed in the mid semesters.

In joyful exaltation that I had broken tradition and actually studied, for the next few hours, I concentrated my energies in setting up an Ad Hoc wifi connection within the house, so that we could save Rs 1800 on a second hand wireless router. Mistake number one… I should never have turned on my laptop…

Then, voila, realisation struck. Four modules to go. I was extremely tired. It was 7 pm. Cannot sit up late in the night. I had a coffee, and pressed that small red button labelled PANIC. ‘Help’ was at hand though. One of my ‘sisters’ (yes I have a few many) called up, and requested that I find out from her former boyfriend what to study. Her former boyfriend apparently was very good in the subject concerned. Of course, there was a catch involved. She was trying to tutor one of her friends on the topic, but she being in a different year, was facing problems. So she wanted to know what exactly were the portions, so that she could effectively tutor her pupil.

Anyway, I haplessly ended up subscribing to Mr N, my ‘sister’s former boyfriend. Mr N informed me that he was going to tutor some girl who was weak in the subject, and extended an invitation for me to join. As I had been earlier recommended by my ‘sister’ to accept any opportunity to study with Mr N, I accepted.

As I packed my books, one of my roommate looked, and sneered. Hmmmm…

Mistake number two… I should never have accepted the group study invite.

So what happened? Mr Only-One-Module-Down-Four-More-Tough-Ones-To-Go-me met up with the two of them at a coffee shop in a neighbouring mall. Since the girl concerned, lets call her Ms V, didn’t have a clue of what was what, we decided to start from the first module, which I had already done. As the cosy session continued, somehow I got the feeling that either Mr N was acting his worst, or I was an infinitely better teacher than the supposed Mr N. To keep up my spirits, and myself, I had a few cups of coffee. One cold coffee. One double shot extra strong expresso doppio.

Mistake number three… I never should have had those coffees!

We started at 8. We finished the first module and had a dinner break at 10.20. After dinner, we realised that we simply couldn’t go on. So we split, Mr N and Ms V making plans to meet up early today morning, before the exam. How interesting…

4 modules to go… 3 hours wasted… Tired… Sleepy… Psychology… 1… 2… 3…

The three mistakes of my life.

So I gather my spirits, wash my face, browse the net for tips to stay awake, strip to a bath robe, get a bucket of cold water, put my legs in it, and start studying.

Using all the psychology I could muster, I coaxed and motivated myself into finishing off 3 modules, taking short breaks to wash my face or take a shower, to keep myself awake. I thought I was sleepy. It was 4.10AM. I felt really really sleepy. I was reading the same paragraph over and over again. I had a splitting head ache – perhaps due to the excess caffeine. No use of sitting up. So I hit the sack, setting alarms to wake up at seven.

Surprise surprise. I couldn’t sleep. I was not in the slightest bit sleepy. My eyes were paining and watering. My body was screaming in protest.  But eluding me with a malignant sneer, was sleep. I closed my eyes, and pretended to sleep. Soon, I drifted off into a stage beyond consciousness, but nowhere near sleep. I was able to wake up at seven thirty, owing to the fact that I never slept.

I still had that splitting headache. A sour taste in the mouth. To make things worse, I had some weird feeing in the stomach. I had a hangover on caffeine!!!! Not to mention the lack of sleep for the past two days.

Somehow, I managed to rush through the last module. A quick bath later, I was in college, exactly 2 minutes after the bell. Got the paper. It looked easy. Ha! Whom was I kidding! There was so much to write that I could cover Mount Olympus with sheets! And I had a reputation for being slower than a decision by the Indian Supreme Court in writing. As usual, I ended up running through 30 marks worth questions in the last ten minutes.

Hmmm….

Still have the hangover…

I promise -

1. Never to experiment with Ad Hoc wifi networking for Internet Sharing when I have 4 more modules to go
2. Never to agree for group study
3. Never to underestimate caffeine

The three mistakes of my life… (just before the Psycho exam)

UPDATE : 3 months and 2 weeks after this fateful exam. Believe it or not, I got an 80% for it…