tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-216122682024-03-07T11:25:15.539-08:00shamanwritesA.R.Malikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07730096265453916468noreply@blogger.comBlogger41125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21612268.post-4966552446840792302007-08-29T07:23:00.000-07:002007-08-29T07:27:07.262-07:00Pratchett on Chaos Theory"<span style="" lang="X-NONE">The Quantum Weather Butterfly (Papilio tempestae) is an undistinguished yellow colour, although the mandelbrot patterns on the wings are of considerable interest. Its outstanding feature is its ability to create weather.<o:p></o:p></span> <p class="MsoNormal" style=""><span style="" lang="X-NONE"><o:p> </o:p><br /><span style=""> </span> This presumably began as a survival trait, since even an extremely hungry bird would find itself inconvenienced by a nasty localized tornado. From there it possibly became a secondary sexual characteristic, like the plumage of birds or the throat sacs of certain frogs. Look at me, the male says, flapping his wings lazily in the canopy of the rain forest. I may be an undistinguished yellow colour but in a fortnight's tone, a thousand miles away, Freak Gales Cause Road Chaos."</span></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style=""></p>(<span style="font-style: italic;">Interesting Times, </span>Terry Pratchett<span style="font-style: italic;">)</span>A.R.Malikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07730096265453916468noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21612268.post-63115445532543903412007-08-17T14:43:00.005-07:002007-08-17T15:02:23.762-07:00A different take on theology -II1) There are billions of gods in the world. they swarm as thick as herring roe. Most of them are too small to see and never get worshiped, at least by anything bigger than bacteria, who never say their prayers and don't demand much in the way of miracles. They're the Small Gods- the spirits of places where 2 ant trails cross, the gods of micro-climates down between the grass roots. And most of them stay that way... because what they lack is belief.<br /><br />...what gods need is belief, and what humans want is gods.<br /><br />______________________________________________________________<br /><br />2) "... I never did thundering. demarcation, see. Bloody I've-got-a-big-hammer Blind Io up on Nob Hill does all the thundering."<br /><br />"You said there were thousands of thunder gods."<br /><br />"Yeah. And he's all of them. Rationalization. A couple of tribes join up; they've got thunder gods, right? And the gods kinda run together- you know how amebas split? Well, its like that, only the other way."<br /><br />"I still don't see how one god can be a hundred thunder gods. They all look different..."<br /><br />"False noses. And different voices. I happen to know Io's got 70 different hammers. Not common knowledge, that. And its just the same with mother goddesses. there's only one of them. She's just got a lot of wigs and of course, its amazing what you can do with a padded bra."<br />________________________________________________________________<br /><br />3) People said there had to be a Supreme Being because otherwise how could the universe exist, eh? And of course there clearly had to, said Koomi, a Supreme Being. But since the universe was a bit of a mess, it was obvious that the Supreme Being hadn't in fact, made it. If he'd made it, he would, being Supreme, have made a much better job of it, with far better thought being given, taking an example at random, to things like the human nostril.<br />Or, to put it another way, the existence of a badly put-together watch proved the existence of a blind watchmaker. You only had to look around and see that there was room for improvement practically everywhere.<br /><br />This suggested that the universe had probably been put together in a bit of a rush by an underling while the Supreme Being wasn't looking...<br /><br />So, reasoned Koomi, it wasn't a good idea to address any prayers to a Supreme Being. It'd only attract his attention and might cause trouble.<br /><br />Koomi's theory was largely based on the good ol' Gnostic heresy, which tends to turn up all over the multiverse whenever men get up off their knees and start thinking for 2 minutes together, although the shock of the sudden altitude means that the thinking's a little whacked. But it upsets priests, who tend to vent their displeasure in traditional ways.<br /><br /><br />-Terry Pratchett (<span style="font-style: italic;">Small Gods)</span>A.R.Malikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07730096265453916468noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21612268.post-53485185917654770692007-08-17T14:27:00.000-07:002007-08-17T14:35:20.864-07:00What/who are you when you're floating protoplasm?"Imagine y'self floating alone in the ocean, abandoned.<br /><br />What assets do you have?<br /><br />You have your mind, your brain. Your mind's stored information on survival situations, shipwreck situations, and your ability to swim.<br />Your brain functions as a product of your experiences and training. Inside your mind are your decision-making and problem-solving faculties; the machinery to help you decide whether to swim for land, or to float for as long as possible in the hope of being picked up. Your mind's synonymous with your heart, reflecting the levels of toughness, determination and emotional control that you bring to the situation.<br /><br />The state of your body might be critical. Is it fit? have you eaten recently? Are you hydrated?<br /><br />What's your level of hope?<br /><br />Do you have friends or family who'll definitely be searching for you?<br /><br />Are you feeling lucky?<br /><br />Do you believe in God?<br /><br />How long you survive will likely be decided by the answers to these questions. Reduced to floating protoplasm, we have an excellent opportunity to look at ourselves. What do you have to live for? Have you pretty much done and seen it all? do you feel your life mission's complete?"<br /><br />Mark Bender (<span style="font-style: italic;">Operation Excellence)</span>A.R.Malikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07730096265453916468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21612268.post-84365971042138879482007-07-30T12:04:00.000-07:002007-07-30T12:19:37.159-07:00A different take on theology"... Suppose the neutral angels were able to talk Yahweh and Lucifer into settling out of court. How would they divide the assets of their earthly kingdom?<br /><br />Would God be satisfied to take loaves and fishes and itty-bitty thimbles of Communion wine, while allowing Satan to have the red-eye gravy, 18-ounce New York steaks, and buckets of chilled champagne? Would God really accept twice-a-month lovemaking for procreative purposes and give Satan the all-night, no-holds-barred, nastry "can't-get-enough-of-you" hot-as-hell fucks?<br /><br />Would Satan get New Orleans, Bangkok and the French Riviera, and God get Salt Lake City? Satan get ice hockey, God get horseshoes? God get Bingo; Satan stud poker? Satan get LSD; God, Prozac? God get Neil Simon; Satan, Oscar Wilde?<br /><br />Can anyone see Satan taking pirate radio stations, and God being happy with the likes of CBS? God getting twin beds; Satan waterbeds? God-Minnie Mouse, John Wayne and Shirley Temple; Satan- Betty Boop, Peter Lorre, Mae West? God- Billy Graham; Satan- the Dalai Lama? Would Satan get Harley bikes; God Honda golf carts? Satan get blue jeans and fishnet stockings; God polyster suits and pantyhose? Satan get electric guitars; God, pipe organs? Satan-Andy Warhol and James Joyce; God- Andrew Wyeth and James Michener?<br /><br />God- the 700 club; Satan- the C.R.A.F.T. Club?<br /><br />Satan-oriental rugs; God, shag carpeting?<br /><br />Would God take cash and let Satan leave town with Mr. Plastic?<br /><br />Would Satan mambo and God waltz?<br /><br /> Would Almighty God be that dorky? Or would he rather see quickly that Satan was making off with most of the really interesting stuff? More than likely, he would. More than likely, he'd holler, "Whoa! Wait just a minute here, Lucifer. I'll take the pool halls and juke joints, you take the church basements and Boy Scout jamborees. You handle content for a change, apl. I'm going to take- <span style="font-style: italic;">style</span> !"<br /><br /><br />(Fierce invalids home from hot climates, Tom Robbins)A.R.Malikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07730096265453916468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21612268.post-46824801693166855922007-02-22T11:02:00.000-08:002007-02-22T11:03:48.314-08:00Tom Robbins’s riff on colors<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">“She moved to the acrylic department…She chanted the names of the colors as she dropped them into her basket.<o:p><br /></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Indian red, Mars red, Venetian red, cadmium red, vermilion and rose madder. There was alizarin crimson, magenta, and that thorn in the backside of the sinful, sister terra <st1:givenname st="on">rosa</st1:GivenName>. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">There was cobalt blue, cerulean blue, Prussian blue, ultramarine blue, and with just a soupcon of garlic, french ultramarine blue. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Hansa yellow (patron saint of jaundiced piano players). Zinc yellow, lemon yellow, yellow ocher, mars yellow, naples yellow and brilliant orange. Thio violet, prism violet, mars violet, cobalt violet, dioxazine purple.<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Next those nightmares of newlywed homemakers, raw sienna and burnt sienna. (He likes his medium-rare, boo hoo.) Raw umber and burnt umber (There, there, dear, we’ll send out for pizza), Vandyke brown, brown madder, thalo copper, silver, gold oxide, and <st1:sn st="on">payne</st1:Sn>’s gray. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Viridian, o viridian! Green earth, cadmium green, hooker’s green (protectress of novice prostitutes). Sap green (patron saint of voters who believe all irish-American politicians are honest).<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">O sing mars black, lamp black, ivory black, and titanium white (blessed are the Caucasians who went down with the ship)…<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">What did she forget? Lily white, basic black, snow white, black beauty, white Christmas, black Friday, white supremacy, black power, the color purple, people-eater purple, the color of money, long green, lawn green, lone green, Lohengrin, the color of your parachute, the color of my true lover’s hair, puce, mars puce, mars chartreuse, mars bars, little-boy blue, blue bayou, blues in the night, paint-the-town red, do-it-up brown, james brown, dorian gray, red skelton, red October, tom Clancy red, better-dead-than red, better-ill-than teal, Greenberg, Goldberg, long-john silver, mellow yellow, electrical banana, yellow peril, yellow fever, mayonnaise yellow, mustard, relish, and onions.”<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i style=""><span style="font-family: Arial;">(Skinny legs and all)</span></i><span style="font-family: Arial;"> <o:p></o:p></span></p>A.R.Malikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07730096265453916468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21612268.post-29684381292009455042007-02-04T16:04:00.000-08:002007-02-04T16:05:40.635-08:00Rupert Sheldrake<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">One of the reasons I feel a special affection for <st2:personname st="on"><st1:givenname st="on">Rupert</st1:GivenName> <st1:sn st="on">Sheldrake</st1:Sn></st2:PersonName> is that he’s worked in India (Principal Plant Physiologist at ICRISAT, Hyderabad) for a while. The other reasons have to do, of course, with his thoughts and ideas. From studying natural sciences at Cambridge and philosophy at Harvard, to getting his PhD in Biochemistry and holding posts like Director of Studies (at Cambridge again), to eventually postulating theories of formative causation, and morphogenetic fields, makes for a man with diverse interests. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">Additional endorsement- Science (the publication) called for burning his <i style="">A New Science of Life</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">On his work:<o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><span style=""> </span>“</span>The theory of formative causation is concerned with how things take up their forms, or patterns, or organization. So it covers the formation of galaxies, atoms, crystals, molecules, plants, animals, cells, societies. It covers all kinds of things that have forms, patterns, structures, or self organizing properties…what my theory is concerned with is self-organizing natural systems, and it deals with the cause of form. And the cause of all these forms I take to be organizing fields, form-shaping fields, which I call <a href="http://www.mavericksofthemind.com/mavericks/glossary.htm#Morphic%20Field">morphic fields</a>, from the Greek word for form. The original feature of what I'm saying is that the forms of societies, ideas, crystals and molecules depend on the way that previous ones of that kind have been organized. There's a kind of built-in memory in the morphic fields of each kind of thing. So the regularities of nature I think of as more like habits, than as things governed by eternal mathematical laws that somehow exist outside nature.”<span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;"><o:p> </o:p></span></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: Arial;">A good explanatory interview can be found at <a href="http://www.mavericksofthemind.com/shel-int.htm">http://www.mavericksofthemind.com/shel-int.htm</a><o:p></o:p></span></p>A.R.Malikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07730096265453916468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21612268.post-31273478306948619372007-01-28T11:28:00.000-08:002007-01-28T11:34:13.246-08:00Timbuktu UIn "Half asleep in frog pajamas", Tom Robbins mentions the fictitious "faculty of Timbuktu U", a list of fringe-science/counterculture gurus. The list included Robert Anton Wilson, Terence McKenna, Diane de Prima, John C. Lilly, Timothy Leary, carlos Castaneda, Andrei Codrescu, Ted Joans, Rupert Sheldrake, R D Laing and Fritjof Capra.<br /><br />Reads like the actual "visiting lecturers" at the Esalen Institute at Big Sur.<br /><br />I'll be writing about each of these guys over the next few days.A.R.Malikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07730096265453916468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21612268.post-1163033596592837442006-11-08T16:49:00.000-08:002006-11-08T16:53:16.616-08:00Masters of War1. <span style="font-style: italic;">(from <span style="font-weight: bold;">Lucky Strike </span>by Kim Stanley Robinson)</span> <p class="MsoNormal">…A thug. In peacetime, <st1:sn st="on">Fitch</st1:Sn> would be hanging around a pool table, giving cops trouble. He was perfect for war. …Moving past Haddock, January stopped to stare at the group of men in the navigation cabin. They joked, drank coffee. They were all a bit like Fitch: young toughs, capable and thoughtless. They were having a good time, an adventure. That was January’s dominant impression of his companions in the 509<sup>th</sup>; despite all the bitching and occasional moments of overmastering fear, they were having a good time. His mind spun forward and he saw what these young men would grow up to be like as clearly as if they stood before him in businessmen’s’ suits, prosperous and balding. They’d be tough and capable and thoughtless, and as the years passed and the great war receded in time they’d look back on it with ever-increasing nostalgia, for they would be the survivors and not the dead. Every year of the war would feel like ten in their memories, so that the war would always remain the central experience of their lives- a time when history lay palpable in their hands, when each of their daily acts affected it, when moral issues were simple, and others told them what to do- so that as more years passed and the survivors aged, bodies falling apart, lives in one rut or the other, they’d unconsciously push harder and harder to thrust the world into war again, thinking somewhere inside themselves that if they could only return to world war then they would magically again be as they were in the last one- young and free, and happy. And by that time, they’d hold positions of power, they would be capable of doing it. </p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><span style=""> </span>So there would be more wars, January saw. He heard it in <st1:givenname st="on">Matthew</st1:GivenName>’s eyes, saw it in their excited eyes. … He saw more planes, more young crews like this one, flying to Moscow, no doubt, or wherever, fireballs in every capital, why not? And to what end? To what end? So the old men could hope to become magically young again. Nothing more sane than that.</p><br /><p class="MsoNormal">2. (<span style="font-weight: bold;">Masters of war</span> <span style="font-style: italic;">by Bob Dylan)</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family:Courier, Courier New;"> Come you masters of war<br />You that build all the guns<br />You that build the death planes<br />You that build the big bombs<br />You that hide behind walls<br />You that hide behind desks<br />I just want you to know<br />I can see through your masks<br /><br />You that never done nothin'<br />But build to destroy<br />You play with my world<br />Like it's your little toy<br />You put a gun in my hand<br />And you hide from my eyes<br />And you turn and run farther<br />When the fast bullets fly<br /><br />Like Judas of old<br />You lie and deceive<br />A world war can be won<br />You want me to believe<br />But I see through your eyes<br />And I see through your brain<br />Like I see through the water<br />That runs down my drain<br /><br />You fasten the triggers<br />For the others to fire<br />Then you set back and watch<br />When the death count gets higher<br />You hide in your mansion<br />As young people's blood<br />Flows out of their bodies<br />And is buried in the mud<br /><br />You've thrown the worst fear<br />That can ever be hurled<br />Fear to bring children<br />Into the world<br />For threatening my baby<br />Unborn and unnamed<br />You ain't worth the blood<br />That runs in your veins<br /><br />How much do I know<br />To talk out of turn<br />You might say that I'm young<br />You might say I'm unlearned<br />But there's one thing I know<br />Though I'm younger than you<br />Even Jesus would never<br />Forgive what you do<br /><br />Let me ask you one question<br />Is your money that good<br />Will it buy you forgiveness<br />Do you think that it could<br />I think you will find<br />When your death takes its toll<br />All the money you made<br />Will never buy back your soul<br /><br />And I hope that you die<br />And your death'll come soon<br />I will follow your casket<br />In the pale afternoon<br />And I'll watch while you're lowered<br />Down to your deathbed<br />And I'll stand o'er your grave<br />'Til I'm sure that you're dead.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-style: italic;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>A.R.Malikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07730096265453916468noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21612268.post-1162573830500824942006-11-03T08:57:00.000-08:002006-11-03T16:58:27.560-08:00Protest against human rights abusesA friend sent me a mail asking as many people as possible to sign in to a particular website (http://www.rsf.org) during certain time windows, to protest human rights abuses in countries with documented records of such abuses. <a href="http://www.rsf.org">The website</a> in question supposedly belonged to a worldwide coalition of journalists. Their rationale for inviting visitors to click on at their site was to collect electronic signatures in a kind of virtual petition to the regimes of the offending countries.<br /><br /> Now, I know this is an utterly defeatist attitude, especially coming from someone who's going to build a career in public health, which by definition means working against hopeless odds.... but I have serious doubts about the efficacy of gestures like the kind of campaign these journos suggested.<br /><br /> Regimes who use torture as State policy, and execute their own citizens in football stadia, are unlikely to pay attention to a bunch of bleeding heart idiots clicking on internet buttons. And they sure as hell aren't going to feel any "moral pressure".<br /><br /> Shashi Tharoor, in one of his books, argued that Gandhian non-violence as a pressure tactic could work only against an establishment that was vulnerable to "moral" issues, and took international opinion into consideration. Hence, while by using <span style="font-style: italic;">satyagraha</span> as a tool of resistance, Gandhi managed to drive the British Empire out of India, the same tactics wouldn't have done much for Jews in nazi Germany.<br /><br /> And lastly, when the West- the so-called paragon of human rights and democracy, refuses to take its citizens' feelings into consideration while making a profoundly immoral decision (Bush and Blair ignored the largest street protests in the history of mankind to go ahead and invade Iraq), does anyone actually expect banana republics to toe the line because a group of educated liberals spread out all over the world click on internet buttons from their comfortable living rooms?<br /><br />I think not.A.R.Malikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07730096265453916468noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21612268.post-1162368496370807082006-11-01T00:06:00.000-08:002006-11-01T04:11:45.583-08:00Emily Dickenson<p style="font-weight: bold;" class="MsoNormal">I measure every grief I meet</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>I measure every grief I meet<br />With analytic eyes;<br />I wonder if it weighs like mine,<br />Or has an easier size.<br /><br />I wonder if they bore it long,<br />Or did it just begin?<br />I could not tell the date of mine,<br />It feels so old a pain - to die.<br /><br />I wonder if it hurts to live -<br />And if they have to try -<br />And whether - could they choose between -<br />It would not be - to die -<br /><br />I note that Some - gone patient long-<br />At length - renew their smile-<br />An imitation of a Light<br />That has so little Oil-<br /><br />I wonder if when the years have piled-<br />Some Thousands - on the harm-<br />That hurt them early - such a<span style=""> </span>lapse<br />Could give them any Balm-<br /><br />Or would they go on aching still<br />Through centuries of Nerve-<br />Enlightened to a larger pain-<br />In contrast with the Love-<br /><br />The Grieved - are many-I am told<br />There is the various Cause-<br />Death - is but one- and comes but once-<br />And only<span style=""> </span>nails the eyes-<br /><br />There's Grief of Want- and grief of Cold-<br />A sort they call "despair"-<br />There's Banishment from native Eyes-<br />In sight of Native Air-<br /><br />And though I may not guess the kind<br />correctly-yet to me<br />A piercing comfort it affords<br />in passing Calvary.<br /><br />To note the fashions - of the Cross-<br />And how they're mostly worn-<br />Still fascinated to presume<br />That Some - are like my own.<br /><br />- Emily Dickenson<br /><br /><br /><br /><span style="font-weight: bold;">Good Morning Midnight</span><br /><br />Good Morning - Midnight-<br />I'm coming Home-<br />Day - got tired of Me-<br />How could I - of him?</p><p class="MsoNormal">Sunshine was a sweet place-<br />I liked to stay - But Morn<br />didn't want me - now -<br />So-Goodnight - day!<br /><br />I can look - can't I-<br />when the East is red?<br />The hills - have a way - then-<br />That puts the heart - aboard<br /><br />You are not- so fair -midnight<br />I chose - day<br />But please - take a little girl<br />He turned away!<br /><br />- Emily Dickenson<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>A.R.Malikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07730096265453916468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21612268.post-1159217485904643612006-09-25T13:21:00.000-07:002006-09-25T13:51:25.926-07:00Funeral BluesI was talking to a friend and the movie "4 Weddings and a funeral" came up. This is the poem by WH Auden that was read out as the eulogy in the funeral scene.<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> I</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> Silence the pianos and with muffled drum</span><br /><span style="font-style: italic;"> Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.</span><br /> <p style="font-style: italic;"> Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead<br /> Scribbling on the sky the message He Is Dead,<br /> Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public<br /> doves,<br /> Let the traffic policemen wear black cotton gloves.<br /> </p><p style="font-style: italic;"> He was my North, my South, my East and West,<br /> My working week and my Sunday rest,<br /> My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song;<br /> I thought that love would last for ever: I was wrong.<br /> </p><p style="font-style: italic;"> The stars are not wanted now: put out every one;<br /> Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun;<br /> Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood.<br /> For nothing now can ever come to any good.<br /> </p>A.R.Malikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07730096265453916468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21612268.post-1158729723473264052006-09-19T22:16:00.000-07:002006-09-19T22:22:03.493-07:00<div align="center"><u>TS Eliot</u></div><div align="center"><u></u> </div><div align="left">1. </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">Let us go then, you and I,</div><div align="left">When the evening is spread out against the sky</div><div align="left">Like a patient etherized upon a table;</div><div align="left">Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets,</div><div align="left">The muttering retreats</div><div align="left">Of restless nights in one-night cheap hotels</div><div align="left">And sawdust restaurants with oyster-shells:</div><div align="left">Streets that follow like a tedious argument</div><div align="left">Of insidious intent...</div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">There will be time, there will be time</div><div align="left">To prepare a face to meet the faces that you meet</div><div align="left">There will be time to murder and create,</div><div align="left">And time for all the works and days of hands</div><div align="left">That lift and drop a question on your plate;</div><div align="left">Time for you and time for me,</div><div align="left">And time yet for a hundred indecisions,</div><div align="left">And for a hundred visions and revisions,</div><div align="left">Before the taking of a toast and tea. </div><div align="left"> </div><div align="left">Do I dareDisturb the universe?</div><div align="left">In a minute there is time</div><div align="left">For decisions and revisions which a minute will reverse. </div><div align="left"><br />For I have known them all already, known them all:</div><div align="left">Have known the evenings, mornings, afternoons,</div><div align="left">I have measured out my life with coffee spoons;</div><div align="left">I know the voices dying with a dying fall</div><div align="left">Beneath the music from a farther room. </div><div align="left"> So how should I presume? </div><div align="left"><br />And I have known the eyes already, known them all--</div><div align="left">The eyes that fix you in a formulated phrase,</div><div align="left">And when I am formulated, sprawling on a pin,</div><div align="left">When I am pinned and wriggling on the wall,</div><div align="left">Then how should I begin</div><div align="left">To spit out all the butt-ends of my days and ways? </div><div align="left"> And how should I presume? </div><div align="left"> </div>A.R.Malikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07730096265453916468noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21612268.post-1148469400227123182006-05-24T04:14:00.000-07:002006-05-24T04:16:40.240-07:00All right. Long lay off but I'm back. I'll be starting the posts again today onwards, with the 1st one summarizing the events of the last few weeks, in which I've been pretty much offline. Adios.A.R.Malikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07730096265453916468noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21612268.post-1143799167860733992006-03-31T01:50:00.000-08:002006-03-31T01:59:27.876-08:00<strong> ONE ART</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><br /><div align="center"><em>The art of losing isn't hard to master;</em></div><div align="center"><em>So many things seem filled with the intent </em></div><div align="center"><em>To be lost that their loss is no disaster.</em></div><div align="center"><em></em> </div><div align="center"><em>Lose something everyday. Accept the fluster</em></div><div align="center"><em>of lost door keys, the hour badly spent</em></div><div align="center"><em>the art of losing isn't hard to master.</em></div><div align="center"><em></em> </div><div align="center"><em>Then practice fuerther, losing faster;</em></div><div align="center"><em>places, and names, and where it was you meant</em></div><div align="center"><em>To travel. None of these will bring disaster.</em></div><div align="center"><em></em> </div><div align="center"><em>I lost my mother's watch. And look! my last,</em></div><div align="center"><em>or next-to-last of three loved houses went.</em></div><div align="center"><em>The art of losing isn't hard to master.</em></div><div align="center"><em></em> </div><div align="center"><em>I lost two cities, lovely ones. And, vaster,</em></div><div align="center"><em>some realms I owned, two rivers, a continent.</em></div><div align="center"><em>I miss them, but it wasn't a disaster.</em></div><div align="center"><em></em> </div><div align="center"><em>-Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture I love)</em></div><div align="center"><em>I shan't have lied. It evident</em></div><div align="center"><em>the art of losing is not hard to master</em></div><div align="center"><em>though it may look like ... like disaster.</em></div><em></em><br /><div align="right"><em><strong>(Elizabeth Bishop)</strong></em></div>A.R.Malikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07730096265453916468noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21612268.post-1143112028177993842006-03-23T02:44:00.000-08:002006-03-23T22:19:18.530-08:00Dylan Thomas(Written as his father lay dying of cancer. He, himself, went out at 35, gloriously drunk-one helluva grand exit)<br /><br /> <strong><u>DO NOT GO GENTLE</u></strong><br /><strong><u></u></strong><br /><em>Do not go gentle into the good night</em><br /><em>Old age should burn and rave at the close of day,</em><br /><em>Rage, rage against the dying of light.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Though wise men at their end know dark is right,</em><br /><em>because their words had forked no lightning they</em><br /><em>do not go gentle into the good night.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright,</em><br /><em>Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,</em><br /><em>Rage, rage, against the dying of the light.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Wild men who caught and sung the sun in its flight,</em><br /><em>And learn too late, they grieved it on its way,</em><br /><em>Do not go gentle into the good night.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>Grave men near death, who see with blinding sight,</em><br /><em>Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,</em><br /><em>Rage, rage against the dying of the light.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>And you, my father, there on the sad height,</em><br /><em>Curse, bless me, now, with your fierce tears, I pray,</em><br /><em>Do not go gentle into the good night,</em><br /><em>Rage, rage against the dying of the light.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em></em><br /><em> ......</em><br /><em> </em><strong><u>I HAVE LONGED TO MOVE AWAY</u></strong><br /><strong><u></u></strong><br /><em>I have longed to move away</em><br /><em>From the hissing of the serpent lie</em><br /><em>And the old terrors' continual cry</em><br /><em>Growing more terrible as the day </em><br /><em>Goes over into the deep sea;</em><br /><em>I have longed to move away</em><br /><em>From the repitition of salutes</em><br /><em>For there are ghosts in the air</em><br /><em>And ghostly echoes on paper,</em><br /><em>And the thunder of calls and notes.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>I have longed to move away but am afraid;</em><br /><em>Some life, yet unspent, might explode</em><br /><em>Out of the old lie burning on the ground,</em><br /><em>And, crackling into the air, leave me half-blind.</em><br /><em>neither by night's ancient fear,</em><br /><em>The parting of hat from hair,</em><br /><em>Pursed lips at the receiver,</em><br /><em>Shall I fall to death's feather.</em><br /><em>By these I would not care to die,</em><br /><em>Half convention and half lie.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em></em><br /><em></em>A.R.Malikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07730096265453916468noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21612268.post-1143022053114870772006-03-22T01:58:00.000-08:002006-03-22T02:07:33.143-08:00Comes The Dawn<strong> COMES THE DAWN </strong><br /><strong> </strong><em>(Anonymous)</em><br /><em></em><br /><em></em><br /><em>After a while, you learn the subtle difference </em><br /><em>Between holding a hand and chaining a soul</em><br /><em>And you learn love doesn't mean leaning</em><br /><em>And company doesn't mean security</em><br /><em>And kisses aren't contracts</em><br /><em>And presents don't mean promises</em><br /><em>And you begin to accept your defeats </em><br /><em>With your head held high & your eyes open</em><br /><em>With the grace of a woman- and not the grief of a child.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>And you learn to build all your roads on today</em><br /><em>Because tomorrow's ground is too uncertain for plans</em><br /><em>And futures have a way of falling down in midflight</em><br /><em>After a while you learn even sunshine...</em><br /><em>Burns if you get too much.</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>So you plant your own garden</em><br /><em>And you decorate your own soul</em><br /><em>Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers</em><br /><em>And you learn you really can endure</em><br /><em>That you really have worth</em><br /><em>And you learn and learn...</em><br /><em></em><br /><em>With every goodbye, </em><br /><em>You learn.</em><br /><em></em>A.R.Malikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07730096265453916468noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21612268.post-1142575907253086142006-03-16T22:02:00.002-08:002006-03-16T22:38:27.446-08:00Life without numbersHi. I'm starting a new topic. Still putting off the REAL hard work- the "coming attractions" bits about my own experiences. Meantime, here's something to set you thinking. And it does vindicate my lifelong animosity to the math curricula I struggled with all through school. One CAN live without bloody algebra, geometry, trignometry and cal-fuckin'-culus.<br /><br /><br /><br />Life without numbers<br />By STEPHEN STRAUSSFriday, August 20, 2004 - Page A3<br /><br />1+1=2. Mathematics doesn't get any more basic than this, but even 1+1 would stump the brightest minds among the Piraha tribe of the Amazon.A study appearing today in the journal Science reports that the hunter-gatherers seem to be the only group of humans known to have no concept of numbering and counting. Not only that, but adult Piraha apparently can't learn to count orunderstand the concept of numbers or numerals, even when they asked anthropologists to teach them and have been given basic math lessons for months at a time.<br /><br />Their lack of enumeration skills is just one of the mental and cultural traits that has led scientists who have visited the 300members of the tribe to describe the Piraha as "something from Mars."Daniel Everett, an American linguistic anthropologist, has been studying and living with Piraha for 27 years. Besides living a numberless life, he reports in a separate study prepared for publication, the Piraha are the only people known to have no distinct words for colours. They have no written language, and no collective memory going backmore than two generations. They don't sleep for more than two hours at a time during the night or day. Even when food is available, they frequently starve themselves and their children, Prof. Everett reports. They communicate almost as much by singing, whistling and humming as by normal speech. They frequently change their names, because they believe spirits regularly take them over and intrinsically change who they are. They do not believe that outsiders understand their language even after they have just carried on conversations with them.They have no creation myths, tell no fictional stories and have no art. All of their pronouns appear to be borrowed from a neighbouring language.<br /><br />Their lack of numbering terms and skills is highlighted in a report by Columbia University cognitive psychologist Peter Gordon that appears today in Science. Intrigued by anecdotal reports that Prof. Everett and his wife Keren had presented about the mathlessness of Piraha life, Prof. Gordon conducted a number of experiments over a three-year period. He found that a group of male tribe members -- women and children were not involved because of certain cultural taboos -- could not perform the most elementary mathematical operations. When faced with a line of batteries and asked to duplicate the number they saw, the men could not get beyond two or three before starting to make mistakes. They had difficulty drawing straight lines to copy a number of lines they were presented with. They couldn't remember which of two boxes had more or less fish symbols on it, even when they were about to be rewarded for their knowledge. A significant part of the difficulty related to their number-impoverished vocabulary.Although they would say one word to indicate a single thing and another for two things, those words didn't necessarily mean one or two in any usual sense. "It is more like oneish and twoish," Prof. Gordon said in an interview.<br /><br />Prof. Everett, who now teaches at the University of Manchester in England and who unlike Prof. Gordon is a fluent Piraha-speaker, takes issue even with the "ishness" of the Piraha numbers. "The word he [Gordon] translates as 'one' means just a relatively small amount, the word for 'two' means a relatively bigger amount," he said in an interview from Brazil. Prof. Everett points out that when the Piraha are talking and use the "oneish" word to talk about something such as fish, you can't tell whether they are describing a single fish, a small fish, or one or two fish.<br /><br />Linguists and anthropologists who have seen both the Everett and Gordon studies are flabbergasted by the tribe's strangeness, particularly since the Piraha have not lived in total isolation. The tribe, which lives on a tributary river to the Amazon, has been in contact with other Brazilians for 200 years and regularly sells nuts to, and shares their women with, Brazilian traders who stop by."Why they have been resistant to adopting Western number systems is beyond me," Ray Jackendoff of Brandeis University, a past president of the Linguistic Society of America, said in an interview.<br /><br />Prof. Gordon said the findings are perhaps the strongest evidence for a once largely discredited linguistic theory.More than 60 years ago, amateur linguist Benjamin Lee Whorf argued that learning a specific language determined the nature and content of how you think. That theory fell into intellectual disrepute after linguist Noam Chomsky's notions of a universal human grammar and Harvard University professor Steven Pinker's idea of a universal language instinct becamewidely accepted."The question is, is there any case where not having words for something doesn't allow you to think about it?" Prof. Gordon asked about the Piraha and the Whorfian thesis. "I think this is a case for just that." Prof. Everett argues that what the Piraha case demonstrates is a fundamental cultural principle working itself out in language and behaviour.The principle is that the Piraha see themselves as intrinsically different from, and better than, the people around them; everything they do is to prevent them from being like anyone else or being absorbed into the wider world. One of the ways they do this is by not abstracting anything: numbers, colours, or future events."This is the reason why the Piraha have survived as Piraha while tribes around them have been absorbed into Brazilian culture," Prof. Everett said.<br /><br />Nevertheless, the Piraha's lives and lifestyles are so strange that other anthropologists have raised the question of whether inbreeding -- their lack of number skills apparently makes it difficult for the Piraha to identify kin -- has resulted in a tribe of intellectually handicapped people. Both Prof. Everett and Prof. Gordon say that they have seen no examples of this and that the Pirahas' fishing, hunting and even joking skills seem equal to those of people elsewhere.A.R.Malikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07730096265453916468noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21612268.post-1142506997953958542006-03-16T03:01:00.000-08:002006-03-16T03:03:17.966-08:00Hi. I'm back. More later.A.R.Malikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07730096265453916468noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21612268.post-1141899620909438332006-03-09T02:06:00.000-08:002006-03-12T07:43:15.853-08:00Off for a few days<span style="font-family:georgia;"></span><br />I'm taking leave from work to spend a couple of days in Delhi and then a couple of days in hisar. I'll be returning on Holi evening and may or may not access the net in this time. And ya, i can see exactly how world-shattering my absence is gonna be, judging by the reponses here. Bloody turds, you lot.<br /><br /> But with the stated <span style="font-family:lucida grande;">mission</span> of spreading sweetness and light to this undeserving crowd, I'm <strong><u>STILL</u> </strong>going to leave with something worthwhile, again a direct lift-off from Rob Brezsny.<br /><br /><br /><em><strong>"Write a letter to the person you’ll be one year from today. Tell this Future You that you’ve taken a vow to accomplish three feats by then. Say why these feats are more important to you than anything else. Describe them. Brainstorm about what you’ll do to make them happen. Draw pictures or make collages that capture your excitement about them</strong></em>."<br /><br /><br />Naturally I've drawn up my list already, and obviously am not going to post it out here till I get 15 comments. Jeez, Scott Adams was right about the "badgering people to read" bit about blogs. And as I leave this page and its undeserving recipients, here's the image to go with it- think Guru Dutt scorning the philistines with "yeh duniya mil bhi jaaye to kya hai..."A.R.Malikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07730096265453916468noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21612268.post-1141808316495709872006-03-08T00:56:00.000-08:002006-03-08T00:58:36.506-08:00Today's posting is a c&p job from Rob brezsny:<br /><br />The ancient Greeks had words for love that transcend our usual notions, writes Lindsay Swope in her review of Richard Idemon's book Through the Looking Glass. Epithemia is the basic need to touch and be touched. Our closest approximation is "horniness," though epithemia is not so much a sexual feeling as a sensual one. Philia is friendship. It includes the need to admire and respect your friends as a reflection of yourself--like in high school, where you want to hang out with the cool kids because that means you're cool too. Eros isn't sexual in the way we usually think, but is more about the emotional gratification that comes from merging souls. Agape is a mature, utterly free expression of love that has no possessiveness. It means wanting the best for another person even if it doesn't advance one's self-interest.A.R.Malikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07730096265453916468noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21612268.post-1141727060484961162006-03-07T02:15:00.000-08:002006-03-07T03:30:43.306-08:00TR- Excerpts<span style="font-family: lucida grande;font-family:verdana;font-size:100%;" > (Fierce Invalids Home from Hot Climates)</span><span style="font-family: lucida grande;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: lucida grande;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: lucida grande;font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >1. "Do u know why boom-boom movies are so popular? Why young males, especially, love, simply love to see things blown apart? Its freedom...freedom from the material world. Subconsciously, people feel trapped by our culture's confining buildings and it's relentless avalanche of consumer goods. So when they watch all this shit being demolished in a totally irreverent and devil-may-care fashion, they experience the kind of release the greeks used to get from their tragedies. The ecstasy of psychic liberation...On a symbolic level, it (boom-boom cinema) annihilates their inanimate wardens and blows away the walls of their various traps."</span><span style="font-family: lucida grande;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: lucida grande;font-size:100%;" ><br /></span><span style="font-family: lucida grande;font-family:Verdana;font-size:100%;" >...<strong><em>Islamic terrorist groups were successful in attracting volunteer martyrs because the young men got to strap explosives on themselves and blast valuable public property to smithereens. Exhilerating boom-boom power! If they were required to martyr themselves by being dragged behind a bus or sticking a wet finger in a light socket, volunteers would be few and far between."</em></strong></span>A.R.Malikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07730096265453916468noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21612268.post-1141553746826313842006-03-05T01:15:00.000-08:002006-03-05T02:15:46.846-08:00Help for heartbreakA friend's friend is going through a lousy phase- an affair that went awry where neither party was at fault, but they had to split permanently. She's depressed and obsessed with her loss and the endless thought-loop of what-ifs.<br /><br /> I can empathize, being a past master at being unceremoniously dumped. The thing about heartbreak- its an extreme pain lke no other; absolutely no one else can help you with it, no matter how often and how freely you "let it all out" and "share" with Understanding Friends. Absolutely innocuous remarks made in everyday conversation suddenly stab at you because some random phrase or word or idea was associated in your psyche with the lost partner- something you'd laughed about together or made plans of doing or whatever. Its the associations which kill you.<br /><br /> And here's the thing- in the very first few days, the worst aspect of it all is the utter conviction that the ONLY person perfect for you is lost forever, and you're NEVER EVER going to meet anyone who could even begin to measure up to Mr/Ms Perfect-Though-Recently-Departed. That fact alone is enough to make you absolutely inconsolable. And yeah, I could go on and on about the endless number of ways we devise to torture ourselves when we're going through that phase, but I'll just skip to the crux of what my take on the whole thing is.<br /><br /> Firstly, you WILL survive. Guaranteed. You will move on, even though it seems impossible right now. Time WILL heal- they're right, y'know. The bad news is: you have to deal with it and let it take its course. Rebound relationships and self-destructive behaviors and self-recriminations are all different forms of indulgences and you have to steer clear of them.<br /><br /> My personal barometer for quantifying the state of recovey was how long it took for the 1st thought about Ms. Ex floated in, after getting outta bed. In the early days, you stay up tossing and turning in bed thinking of them, and the first thought when you re-emerge into consciousness is that of loss. If you're especially emotionally fragile, and the gods are chortling at your expense, you may even dream about him/her; making it a all a non-stop excruciating exercise. But by and by, you do learn to set your priorities right.<br /><br /> <u> <strong>Life Lesson #1:</strong></u> Well, technically, it oughta have been a different post, 1 dedicated solely to the things 1's learnt the hard way and anyway this particular epiphany was somewhat lower down the rankings, but wat the hell....here it is....<br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>"The partner you attract depends on your own stage of personal evolution".</strong><br /><strong></strong><br />There.<br /><br /> So, it begins with making a conscious choice to cut your losses and stop moping over what was not meant to be. And ya, you do have to make a deliberate choice and repeat it to yourself several dozen times everyday. The self-pity circuits would have already made deep grooves in your mind and you have to erase them in favor of your new state of being. Instead of languishing in misery, you have to choose to haul yourself out of the pit you find yourself in.<br /><br /> It all begins with your making a choice. And believe it or not, you can start the healing process today, here and now, no matter how unreal the prospect of your ever forgetting the person seems.<br /><br /> My favourite story from the Castaneda books- I must've related it about a dozen times each to my inner circle and may possibly be considered a source of rectal discomfort on the issue (if so, apologies in advance, junta)- is the 1 which I used to help me get through what was a very bleak time for me.<br />__________________________________________________________________<br />"Once, there was a band of warriors living on a hilltop. Whenever any one of them contravened any of the rules they'd agreed to live by, a council was called to decide his fate. The warrior had to explain his reasons for having done what he did. His comrades had to sit and listen to him; and they either disbanded because they found his reason convincing, or they lined up their weapons ready to execute him because his reason was unacceptable.<br /><br /> After saying goodbye to his comrades, the condemned warrior had to walk down the slope. His comrades aimed at him. If no one shot, he was free. The warrior's personal power affected his comrades. he had to walk calmly, unaffected. His steps had to be sure and firm, his eyes looking straight ahead, peacefully. He had to go down without stumbling, without turning back and above all, without running.<br /><br /> Thus you must wait without looking back, without expecting rewards. Your only chance is your impeccability... You must wait like the warrior's walk in the story. The only difference is in who's aiming at you. You must wait to fulfil your warrior's task without looking back & without expecting rewards; and you must aim all your personal power at fulfilling your tasks. If you don't act impeccably, if you fret and get impatient and desperate, you'll be cut down by the merciless sharpshooters of the unknown."<br />____________________________________________________________________<br /><br /> Enough said?A.R.Malikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07730096265453916468noreply@blogger.com15tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21612268.post-1141549999056496592006-03-04T23:26:00.001-08:002006-03-05T01:13:19.060-08:00Doctors and managersThis is basically a rant that's been building up for a long time. The precipitating event for me to vent it out now was my discovery that this raw rookie of a girl- she must be all of 22-23- is drawing twice as much pay as me. She's an MBA (I think...she's in HR anyway) and I'm an MBBS with 7 yrs. experience.<br /><br />In the early days of my using the net, when I still had time to visit chatrooms, I ran into Preeti, who'd just flunked her 2nd attaempt at getting into medicine. I was preparing for UPSC exams while doing my internship, and told her she ought to thank her lucky stars she's been spared the drudgery that constitutes a life in medicine. Sure enough, she changed tracks, switched to Psychology, swept all the medals her univ had to offer, and promptly went onto the MBA track, and has recently bagged the best campus placement- even before her last semester's over. (Incidentally, this stranger I met on the web turned out to be the cousin of a friend from school- but these weird coincidences will be the stuff of a different entry). And while its taken me 7 yrs to breach the 20 k barrier, she's starting out at thrice my pay.<br /><br />Obviously, I have nothing against Preeti herself. I'm sort of proud of her and even have a hint of vicarious thrill in her achievement. My issue is with the status of doctors vs managers.<br /><br />After passing out from college, I was clueless about what I wanted to do, but I was pretty certain that clinical practice wan't for me. More to please my dad than anything else, seeing as how his face lit up when I casually mentioned the civil services as a possible career option, I decided I'd take the UPSC exam and see how it goes. If nothing else, it gave me the means to pick up the basics of 2 subjects I'd wanted to learn more about- I chose Psychology and Anthropology as my electives. While I did the mandatory rotations in the General Hospital, Hisar as an intern, I was reading stuff completely different from what my fellow interns were reading- the average intern's life consists of back-breaking labor, interspersed with studying as much as (s)he can for the upcoming PG entrance exams.<br /><br />I'm told the average attempts for any MBBS to get a PG seat is 3. For 3 years, a doctor is either working at a pittance as "resident medical officer" at some private clinic or the other, and slogging his/her bum off to prepare for an examination, the syllabus for which includes biochemistry- absurd and irrelevant to an iny doctor not geared towards research- and believe me, most aren't. I have a friemd who's just flunked his 4th attempt- he's now resigned to life as a lowly MBBS, condemning him to low wages and unspoken contempt from his peers.<br /><br />As for my IAS aspirations, I wasn't particularly driven to a lifetime of babu-dom; and 6 mnths before the prelim exams, my maternal uncle gifted me with a PC, thereby introducing me to cyberia. The exam preparations went for a toss, and I greedily discovered the joys of free information delivered to one's chair, even in a place like Hisar. Obviously, I flunked the UPSC exam, having quit the idea of persuing that line. But pertinently, every single doctor I spoke to while I was supposedly abandoning the medical line, was fervently in favor of my decision. All of them unanimously agreed that being a doctor is pretty pathetic- the rewards are disproportionately miniscule, relative to one's input. Well, there were detractors- my parents' social circle, consisting of other medicos in Hisar who'd built their nursing homes and were all grooming their sons to take over the mantle. Their query, like a stuck record, was repeated at every occasion for interaction- "Beta, yeh jo hospital papa ne banaaya hai, iska kya hoga?" Their mindsets precluded any other lifeplan for me- the very concept that I might not want to take up an established nursing home, and one of the oldest and most respected ones in the town at that, was beyond their mental horizons. And I have to admit that there'd be hordes of young medicos who'd give anything to trade places with me.<br /><br />While still wondering what to do with the rest of my life, I tagged along with my folks to a guided package tour of Europe. Something or the other- probably the sight of Asians doing the menial jobs everywhere- subconsciously triggered a decision that I ought not to waste a degree that was hard-earned. So... I decided I'd revert to the mainstream, and duly started preparing for the PG exam which was 3 months away. Knowing the scene, there was no hope in hell of my getting through- I was competing with junta who'd been at it for 2-3 yrs. full-time- I nevertheless, gave it a shot.<br /><br />On the eve of the exam, a TV channel broke news that the paper had been leaked and the perpetrators (at least 2 of innumerable others) had been apprehended, but the exam was conducted as scheduled. Among the candidates, there was major babbling- the exam would be declared null, it'd be rescheduled, there was another chance. Yippee! When nothing of the kind happend, and results were declared- and shown to be blatantly skewed- 6 of the top 10 positions were from one college- there was another angry uproar. They made online forums, asked for donations to fund a court case, demanded an enquiry and so forth. An enquiry WAS held- the then health minister, a certain C.P. Thakur, held a closed doors meeting with the people who'd set the paper (the AIIMS faculty) and after 45 mts., announced to the press that no evidence of wrongdoing had been found. Allocation of seats would proceed as planned. The unspoken fact stared everyone in the face- sue us, see if we care!<br /><br />That was it as far as I was concerned. Even though I held very little stakes, having invested just 3 months compared to people's years upon years, I was disenchanted enough to abandon the idea. Finally, I latched on to what Hari and Kitty had been prompting me to do for ages- go abroad and find my lifetime's work among the endless options offered in the West. Y'all know how the rest happened- I cleared GRE and set out to create a CV reflecting a commitment to public health, which is how I've spent the last 4 years.<br /><br />Compare that to a scenario that unfolded a couple of years back- the CAT exam paper was leaked as well, and discovered to be so. The media ensured front-page coverage for a week; the exam was promptly cancelled, rescheduled, and the 2nd time around, extra efforts were in place to ensure that nothing untoward happened. Incidentally, Preeti cleared that exam both times and is now just about wrapping up her final semester, with as assured job in her pocket already, with hazaar perks thrown in.<br /><br />I've "done time" treating people I have utter contempt for, on account of their ignorance, their sheer bloody-mindedness and bigotry, in extreme climates, with less than basic amenities, for ridiculously low salaries. And yeah, I'm actually quite priveleged, in that, anytime I wanted, I could chuck it all and return home to do the conventional thing and simply take over dad's established practice. I had the luxuary of CHOICE.<br /><br />This ought to reveal starkly exactly where the establishment's interests lie. The notion of medicine as a noble profession is downright risible, for which both medicos and the Others are equally to blame. But by God, let anything taint the sarcosanct IIMs' sacred-cow status, and the nation's parliament starts frothing at the collective mouth.<br /><br />So, what are our priorities- we can go along with anything-&-everything-and-screw-quality-control-notions when we hand over our lives to professionals supposedly qualified to heal and save lives; but boy, better not tamper with the system churning out people who're going to spend their lives selling bottled water and potato chips.<br /><br />I know this sounds obnoxiously self-righteous, but hey, this is what's happening, and I find it unacceptable. But then, I'm blessed enough to have an escape route (Inshallah!).A.R.Malikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07730096265453916468noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21612268.post-1141123826765672742006-02-28T02:31:00.000-08:002006-02-28T02:50:26.776-08:00G'bye February, Hello March<span style="font-family:arial;font-size:130%;">2 months of 2006 gone already. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;"> I'd thrown a challenge to my employers about my position in the company a few days back, making certain demands. The verdict came in today: I'm not leaving although I as well as the fat-cats have had to meet each other halfway in a compromise. </span><br /><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;"> 2 trains of thought are launched by this. Remind me to rant about the position & relative importance of doctors vs managers as perceived nowadays, and I'll happily froth at the mouth for a while, citing examples from Preeti's experience and mine. </span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;"> Secondly, a gentleman has been complimenting me profusely on the inspirational value of the plagiarised lyrics/rhymes {<em>Desiderata</em>, <em>Time</em> etc.} that I've been pasting in lieu of churning out my own prose. So, by popular demand of one solitary citizen, here's some more uplifting poetry. Hope it brightens up everybody's day, makes the world a better place, and all in all, bring sweetness and light to this benighted planet.</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;"> "There was a young man from Stamboul,</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;"> who soliloquized thus to his tool:</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;"> 'You took all my wealth</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;"> and you ruined my health,</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;"> and now you won't pee, you old fool.' "</span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;"></span><br /><span style="font-family:Arial;font-size:130%;">-<em>Kurt Vonnegut (Slaughterhouse 5)</em></span>A.R.Malikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07730096265453916468noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21612268.post-1140860037032919822006-02-25T01:23:00.000-08:002006-02-26T04:19:04.330-08:00Mystic Mountains<p class="MsoNormal">One of the major items on my to-do itinerary is exploring the <st1:place>Himalayas</st1:place>. Exploring- as in trekking, climbing and camping for extended stretches in the higher mountains. So far, have only made it to a riverside beach beyond Rishikesh where 4 of us went for river-rafting on the Ganges a couple of years back (except some places in the Sahyadris, and half a day spent in a guided tour at Jungfraujoch in the Swiss Alps- so called rooftop of Europe… tourist spots don’t count). These were only the foothills, and yet the magic was palpable. I’ve been hearing tales of power from Vikrant for more than a decade now. His brother and a bunch of their pals are regular trekkers, and Vikrant had promised me a sponsored introductory camping trip which hasn’t materialized in 15 years. And since the bastard has gone and gotten himself married last year, is unlikely to happen ever.<br />Mountains, forests, deserts, rivers- untamed nature- are necessary experiences for a life to be even approach anything near completion.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><br />The following are excerpts from a book called “I Was Carlos Castaneda” by Martin Goodman. The author isn’t associated with the major commercial industry which sprang up around Castaneda’s legend, and claims he’d only ever read one of the 9 CC books in his youth and wasn’t particularly impressed. I haven’t read anything else about or by this guy. About the only credentials he had for a meeting with CC’s shade was his expedition into the Amazon where he participated in an Ayahuasca ceremony with a bona fide shaman as guide. Then, while living alone in the French Pyrenees, he’s visited by a presence who claims to be Carlos Castaneda- 5 yrs. After the latter’s recorded death from liver cancer. Excerpts-<br /><br />1. “You know what paying attention does? It makes you God! It’s the power of creation; the power of giving life. Fail to notice something and its no longer there. It fades from existence. Be a man. Find the quality in what surrounds you. Hen you’ll see how reciprocal life is. Then, you’ll no longer be half-dead, for the qualities in you will come to life. Be that kind of man, then be a Writer.”<br /><br />2. “Where do our myths start? The Garden of Eden, a place where 4 mighty rivers find their source, therefore obviously located up a mountain? Or after the flood where Noah leads man and beast down the slopes of Ararat? Does Judaism hail from the moment Moses receives the 10 Commandments on <st1:place><st1:placetype>Mt.</st1:placetype> <st1:placename>Sinai</st1:placename></st1:place>? Or maybe it’s when Abraham’s spared the slaughter of his son Isaac on the summit of <st1:place><st1:placetype>Mt.</st1:placetype> <st1:placename>Moriah</st1:placename></st1:place> when the lord of thatmountain promises to secure the future of Judaism through Abraham’s descendents. When the new Messiah arrives, of course he must make his appearance on <st1:place><st1:placetype>Mt.</st1:placetype> <st1:placename>Zion</st1:placename></st1:place> andhonor the prophecies that herald him. Jesus is born on the heights of Bethelham. The devil leads him to a mountain-top for the last of his trials in the desert, and on suchhomeground, Jesus had the power to resist. His disciples learn his worth after climbing with him to witness his transformation on the summit of <st1:place><st1:placetype>Mt.</st1:placetype> <st1:placename>Tabor</st1:placename></st1:place>, his face flushed with light as Moses appears to him there and God speaks out of the clouds. He’s crucified on a hilltop, on <st1:place>Calvary</st1:place>, and after his resurrection, appears to his disciples on a mountain side in Galilea.Centuries pass and the Archangel Gabriel arrives to a man sitting in a cave in the side of <st1:place><st1:placetype>Mt.</st1:placetype> <st1:placename>Hira</st1:placename></st1:place>. The man is Mohammed, and its in this mountainside that he first hears the words of the Quran. From the summit of Mt. Moriah, where Abraham was pledged to obedience, Mohammed is later whisked on a night journey to the heavens.Jews, hristians, Muslims, they struggle through the centuries, slay each other in thousands, for the right to lay claim to the heights of Jerusalem. In the name of God, Jews & Arabs, Christians & Muslims, Catholics & Protestants, regularly slaughter each other. Our planet stinks of religious massacres.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>1 thing to know before giving your heart to mountains. They’re powerfully jealous of each other. Pledge loyalty to one and it expects you to be faithful. Followers of religion think they’re following the One God. They’re wrong. History says they’re wrong, the Bible tells them that they’re wrong, but they’re slaves to their partial understanding and believe what they want to believe.<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Devotees of religions worship the Lord of a mountain. They’re the mountain’s cohorts and will battle the world to proclaim his domination over the earth. They’re all mountain religions. Don’t think mountains have let people go. Never think that. They’ve roused us with their prophets, stirred us with their myths, hidden themselves in our religions, the way they hide themselves in cloud. They divide the people of the world among each other and set them at each others’ throats.”</p> <p class="MsoNormal"> “Buddhism?”<br />“The 1 religion without a god. You’re right. The Buddha found his enlightenment under a tree. That doesn’t mean mountains haven’t done their best to take Buddhism over. Mountains of the far East and <st1:country-region><st1:place>Tibet</st1:place></st1:country-region> are dotted with Buddhist shrines.…….until the new American churches based around Ayahuasca, no religion ever came out of a jungle. You can’t separate jungle religions from their trees.”<br /><br />3. “It doesn’t matter whether you live for a day or 120 yrs. In eternity, length doesn’t matter. We’re all immortal. What’s unique is the opportunity to watch ourselves blaze and die. Do you think God is dead? Never. He’s incapable of it. Appreciation of death is unique to human life. There’s no need to pay attention in eternity. What goes around comes around. Miss it once and the opportunity will come round again. Such is limbo, such is hell.In life, no moment repeats itself. Understand that, and you see the moment’s value. Life is finite, thus each moment has eternity wrapped in it. Seeing that is enlightenment. Bringing awareness to the passage of life, that is enlightenment. Seeing the end within the beginning of everything, caring for that fragility of the life we all share, this is the way to eternal life. And eternal life isn’t a hell of repetition but a life filled with awareness & appreciation.”<o:p></o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">_________________________________________________________________<o:p></o:p></p> Now was that a new take on religion or what! How come no one noticed this in all this time? <st1:place><st1:placetype>Mt.</st1:placetype> <st1:placename>meru</st1:placename></st1:place>, <st1:place><st1:placetype>Mt.</st1:placetype> <st1:placename>Kailash</st1:placename></st1:place>, <st1:place><st1:placetype>Mt.</st1:placetype> <st1:placename>Olympus</st1:placename></st1:place>, besides the Religions of the Book- they're central to all our myths. <p align="left"> </p><p align="left"> </p><p align="left"> </p>A.R.Malikhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07730096265453916468noreply@blogger.com3