tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-86724202024-03-15T16:55:51.005+05:30LONG BLACK VEIL and life within itlongblackveilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00544098735304797477noreply@blogger.comBlogger431125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672420.post-64268821898123931592018-02-02T03:14:00.001+05:302018-02-02T03:14:58.255+05:30School Feature in India Today<div xmlns='http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml'><a href='https://www.indiatoday.in/education-today/featurephilia/story/haji-public-school-red-tapes-in-education-in-jammu-kashmir-1112062-2017-12-15'>https://www.indiatoday.in/education-today/featurephilia/story/haji-public-school-red-tapes-in-education-in-jammu-kashmir-1112062-2017-12-15</a><br/><p style='font-size: xx-small' align='right'>posted from <a href='https://market.android.com/details?id=pl.przemelek.android.blogger'>Bloggeroid</a></p></div>longblackveilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00544098735304797477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672420.post-72213643999856963882015-04-26T17:58:00.001+05:302015-04-26T20:40:12.256+05:30Someone asked me a question. Kashmir.<div xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml">
<b>Was asked to answer a few questions for a conflict studies research paper recently. Started off slowly with my school and education in the state, and led into 'the Kashmir issue' and why education was so important esp. here. The final question set me off because it was the same 'why won't Kashmiris just integrate?' based thing.</b></div>
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<b>Q: </b><br />
<b>What do you think are feasible solutions/policies for Kashmiris to feel safe, integrated and not victimised? Education being one of them.(Please include your suggestions for the govt and possibly your reading of the ground requirements that have been long overlooked.)</b><br />
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I'm sorry, I think the entire problem lies in the line of thinking that this question has come from. 'Integration'. You must understand that this idea of forced integration of Kashmiris is in fact one of the biggest problems there is. And it is pushed and repeated at every opportunity, and it does nothing to make Kashmiris want to belong. This has been voiced often enough in popular protests and written about and discussed in online spaces and TV media by Kashmiris before. The resistance to integration just gets stronger every time it is insisted on by the Indian State.<br />
<br />
Let us just step back and look at young Kashmir today. This is a Kashmir that grew up in nineties and we must remember what they grew up with. I didn't even grow up here and I resent what I saw in two months a year when I visited Kashmir for the holidays. My generation of cousins has lived through terrible times, first hand. <br />
Every time someone says Kashmir and its violence, what violence are we talking about here, we need to understand that as well. I doubt you will find too many cases of kids remembering 'terrorists' [we call them militants, and I'd say every Kashmiri family has had a militant from amongst it] ruining their growing years or interfering in their daily lives and entering their homes in a manner that affected them. But you will find innumerable stories of resentment and anger among children growing up in the '90s in Kashmir where they have either been personally at the receiving end of the Army/BSF/CRPF's interrogations, crackdowns etc or have seen the Armed forces entering their homes, beating up their family members [men, women, old, young] in front of them, breaking furniture, turning the house upside down, tearing their - the children's- certificates, books and so on and so forth. Being frisked every few metres in your own neighbourhood. Being called out for crackdowns, adhering to curfews, being on the receiving end of insults and mockery on a daily basis.<br />
<br />
I have maintained in the past and continue to say this: The biggest sore point for an average Kashmiri is the overwhelming presence of armed forces everywhere in their daily lives. The Army and various uniforms in the state are the face of India to a Kashmiri. And to be frank, it is not a pleasant face at all.<br />
The resistance in Kashmiri is very strong even today, and giving it a Pakistani bent or Islamo-terrorist bent is just irritating to the regular Kashmiri. Both cards are played often enough, many kids are swayed by anything anti-India; if that turns them to Pakistan or radical Islam, well, yes, there will be cases like that as well. <br />
Not because these young Kashmiris know India as Indians and regular people [I do for instance, having lived outside J&K most of my life] but because for them India is its uniforms, its forces, its many atrocities that have unfolded in the past two decades. And zero accountability. Continual nationalistic barrage from MSM and politicians and chest-thumping patriots in India, complete disregard for Kashmiri voices through its local media and press and writers and intellectuals.<br />
<br />
In the face of all of this to ask 'what do Kashmiris need to feel safe, integrated and not victimised' - well, that's three different questions.<br />
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1. Safe: I'd say Kashmiris feel perfectly safe in their lives at present, what is there to feel unsafe about? Is anyone seriously under the misapprehension that Kashmiris are fearful for their lives because armed militants are roaming the mountains and valleys and cities and towns, thirsting for blood and violence and jihad? Everyone knows this is not the case.<br />
Yes, when there are protests against serious miscarriages of justice or human right violations and you have common people going out on the streets and armed security forces have a go at them - that is serious cause for concern. When you have AFSPA in place and no accountability. We must remember which is the only side in Kashmir which is armed right now, and it is not the people of Kashmir.<br />
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2.Integrated: Don't want it. Want normal Kashmiri lives.<br />
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3. Victimised: Could it be that when Kashmiris start seeing some justice - overdue for all the many violations of rights and tragedies that have befallen them in the recent past - at the hands of successive governments and especially the armed forces, could it be they stop feeling victimised then?<br />
<br />
All of the above has already been said enough times in the past by Kashmiris far more articulate, knowledgeable and more relevant than myself, but I thought I'd put it out there again.<br />
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longblackveilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00544098735304797477noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672420.post-33567607306680249152013-02-04T19:31:00.002+05:302013-02-04T20:26:26.470+05:30Photo Story - Getting to My Village<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdbisVkEVSB11AslZjYUQh5mm9kkxyE8BCHdMuxvHgeGeb8j5Mrq2m3b27HxbaqLgYS0GefW2oz10ORhs90JLPA2Sb7w0V8sKd-dMUrEXoDc1dtRSpuccMD0HqhYE_-c110Fb_lw/s1600/Mint.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="80" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdbisVkEVSB11AslZjYUQh5mm9kkxyE8BCHdMuxvHgeGeb8j5Mrq2m3b27HxbaqLgYS0GefW2oz10ORhs90JLPA2Sb7w0V8sKd-dMUrEXoDc1dtRSpuccMD0HqhYE_-c110Fb_lw/s400/Mint.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>As it appeared</b></span></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b><a href="http://ow.ly/d/12jY" target="_blank">My Mint travel piece</a>, on reaching the village, has disappeared off the internets.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Here's the full unedited version. </b></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDRiK9yONForuZK5AAW17q626O58arwZgNDuY_5TwjrcZ7KM_m05HCCRujbZZ2afAxtbOhxuhveVxwY040N0ZnDckQLj_UTMibgZMSK0myDP-iw4WPaAk0GrPAdZxpgYSYVmqePw/s1600/DSC_0303.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDRiK9yONForuZK5AAW17q626O58arwZgNDuY_5TwjrcZ7KM_m05HCCRujbZZ2afAxtbOhxuhveVxwY040N0ZnDckQLj_UTMibgZMSK0myDP-iw4WPaAk0GrPAdZxpgYSYVmqePw/s400/DSC_0303.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b>HOME</b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><b>I
have a favourite spot outside our cottage here in the village. It's
in the front garden just off the patio, overlooking the mountains on
the other side of the Chenab River [we're on 'this' side]. It helps
that this spot is always in the sun and intense research on my part
has revealed that it has the fastest 2G mobile internet connectivity
anywhere near the house. So I spend a lot of time here squinting over
my phone, checking emails, tweets and reading up on the web. All the
while gradually turning into a prune because that's what the mountain
sun does to you</b>.</span></span></b><br />
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><b>Cast aside notions of fair, rosy</b></span></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-weight: normal;"><b>-cheeked Kashmiris</b>
<b>with full red lips. In my neck of the woods we are <i>pahari </i>[</b></span></b><span style="font-weight: normal;"><b>mountain] folk, and we are a wrinkled, hardy people with tanned
leather for skin and crows' feet around smiling</b> <b>eyes</b>.</span></span></b><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheLgRzSoYs2f-bRjo-0WU2TR1nJHJ4spqq8PEaGlBEaxTnYVFhyM0FRjikkDArXRLHXnAk9zOwuwbDBv0lZsonjvt7J322SEwfIVVK-At_9TCPRtX5ezuyw8M6SCqE6g5X3knRpw/s1600/DSC_0328.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEheLgRzSoYs2f-bRjo-0WU2TR1nJHJ4spqq8PEaGlBEaxTnYVFhyM0FRjikkDArXRLHXnAk9zOwuwbDBv0lZsonjvt7J322SEwfIVVK-At_9TCPRtX5ezuyw8M6SCqE6g5X3knRpw/s400/DSC_0328.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Daadi Puphi - My father's aunt</b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI1A97r4prIvS4h4fmGqDAisXGkuxqCxQcSzBQO6lUMdLy5pBlzbzvqm9P7QLl1-LPsma_KgaNVOAFWO8ZbqOZ4v74SBUDa7KE5_9AqfMyLFV4LXcHhu5AcvOUvklOT5Q5ZR7s7g/s1600/DSC_0053.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiI1A97r4prIvS4h4fmGqDAisXGkuxqCxQcSzBQO6lUMdLy5pBlzbzvqm9P7QLl1-LPsma_KgaNVOAFWO8ZbqOZ4v74SBUDa7KE5_9AqfMyLFV4LXcHhu5AcvOUvklOT5Q5ZR7s7g/s400/DSC_0053.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">'Our' side of the Chenab. This is about halfway up to my village.</span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-weight: normal;"><b>Let
me take you to my village, Breswana, as typical a hamlet in the
invisible<i> pahari </i></b></span><b><span style="font-weight: normal;"><b>belt of Jammu and Kashmir as you can hope for. I say 'invisible'
because very few people outside the state have an idea of the
terrain, culture and lifestyle we have here. </b></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><b>The </b></span></span></span></b></b></span><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b><b><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-weight: normal;"><b><i>pahari </i></b></span></b></span></b></span></span></span><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><b>region in Jammu and Kashmir is different from the Kashmir Valley,
which is what most people's idea of Kashmir is.</b> <b>No <i>shikaras</i></b></span></span></span><b><span style="color: black;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">,
<b>open green meadows or santoor as running background music. We're all
about mountains, rocks, subsistence farming, livestock and
hardiness</b>. </span></span></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><b>Our
way of life in the mountains is very different from that in the
Valley proper. We speak the same language, i.e. Kashmiri, but our
accent and local slang differs</b>.</span></b></b></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b><span style="font-weight: normal;"><b>My
life today is very different to what I imagined it would be as a
child growing up in Dubai in the eighties. Back then it was all about
'study well, get a good job, make money, kick back and enjoy'. I
stuck to the formula for many years, with college and then a
well-paying, very fun job in Bangalore. In late 2008 everything
changed; I decided I wanted to be with my family and help out back at
home and I upped and left the city suddenly. What I do now is run the
</b></span><span style="color: navy;"><span lang="zxx"><u><a href="http://hajipublicschool.org/"><span style="font-weight: normal;">Haji
Public School</span></a></u></span></span><span style="font-weight: normal;"><b>
with my family – it's a school we set up in our ancestral village
in the mountains of Doda in Jammu and Kashmir. This is Breswana, at
an altitude of approximately 7,100 feet overlooking the Chenab River,
with no motorable roads going all the way up even today, and really,
a most wonderful corner of the world. My great grandfather
established the village in the early 1900's; today, almost every
resident of Breswana is family – by blood or marriage. In every
sense of the word, it is home</b>.</span></b></span></div>
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</b>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFkWkZSNvkfp96uuLVjTQZ_EHroIkzyAmj6DmiWROtcgLWDeyw-f44_A-jlZxEVfoTXU6bFNkRUNxCevCEG68qGbf_-FoVxPRac3Cne74AuoSIUJj46RVc0L1S_ZWO5OOyGjGwpQ/s1600/HPS+longshot.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFkWkZSNvkfp96uuLVjTQZ_EHroIkzyAmj6DmiWROtcgLWDeyw-f44_A-jlZxEVfoTXU6bFNkRUNxCevCEG68qGbf_-FoVxPRac3Cne74AuoSIUJj46RVc0L1S_ZWO5OOyGjGwpQ/s400/HPS+longshot.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">The school and that</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b></b><br /><b></b>
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<b>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><b>My
work has me shuttling between Jammu ['the big city'] and the school
in Breswana throughout the year. It's a whole day's travel, with
mixed measures of driving, walking and horse-riding. Jammu is my town
house, and I head there every time I need to catch up on paperwork,
have official meetings, purchase supplies or access proper internet.
This is at least once a month, if not more often. And it is a
beautiful, if exhausting journey. I haven't tired of it yet and it's
been five years of scampering uphill and down, and driving on the
national highway in all seasons. </b></span><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> </span></span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><b>There
are three legs of the journey from city to village: 1. Jammu to Doda
– 183 km by road, 2. Doda to last motorable stop – again by road,
and 3. Horseback/Trek to Breswana up the mountain- horse trails,
rocks, ravines and forest. [Also a water mill.]</b></span></span></span></b></div>
<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></b>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-dx5iCkHM_pKIQb5naENiTp5fPsYdDwJrR20Bm7qnbvO0DpnF-mO_Ne1im6GhfpAV0p9E7uiF0OtA6VX-aG5j0VWmtBosFtKZEjhAkenacx88msM2Y-gdiCr9v9yRJ0XvLFalgQ/s1600/DSC_0631.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-dx5iCkHM_pKIQb5naENiTp5fPsYdDwJrR20Bm7qnbvO0DpnF-mO_Ne1im6GhfpAV0p9E7uiF0OtA6VX-aG5j0VWmtBosFtKZEjhAkenacx88msM2Y-gdiCr9v9yRJ0XvLFalgQ/s400/DSC_0631.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>Water mill or "gratt'" in Kashmir</b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span></b>
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<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></b>
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<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><b>The
drive from Jammu to Doda takes about five hours provided there are no
traffic hassles. Doda to the final motorable stop is another hour or
so. If, like me, you happen to get car sick on loopy mountain roads,
the best thing to do would be to try and get some shut eye and not
look out too much. Very tough, considering. It is a most scenic
mountainous drive along the NH-1B and with a dramatic U-turn at
Batote (an important transit town en route), we are into Doda
District. </b></span></span><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><b>Somewhere
after Batote you'll spot the River Chenab for the first time, going
the other way; it will accompany you on the left of the highway for
the remaining portion of the journey</b>. </span></span></span></span></b>
</div>
<b>
</b>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA-CmMyUxOyWYX87DOGl8lBvDu-c2bgbnbUp-jDZNUWlHbfGy_xVNBiCFiXWKplmQGRVlWH3dijyd2Xh16cLaiZPgbO-eG33u61iMZMosMzt5sadqDVCoqIoBQJSqOqG2e2gk0Ww/s1600/DSC_0168.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgA-CmMyUxOyWYX87DOGl8lBvDu-c2bgbnbUp-jDZNUWlHbfGy_xVNBiCFiXWKplmQGRVlWH3dijyd2Xh16cLaiZPgbO-eG33u61iMZMosMzt5sadqDVCoqIoBQJSqOqG2e2gk0Ww/s400/DSC_0168.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Bakarwaals on the move</span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">On the highway you will see Gujjars and Bakarwaals moving north in
the summer taking their animals to higher reaches for a season of
grazing. Before the winter you can see them heading down with their
livestock in the thousands. Traffic moves very slowly during these
seasonal migrations in J&K.</span></b></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>
</b></span>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><b>On
the Jammu-Doda stretch, our family has gravitated towards certain
establishments for their good food and quick service: Manhas Dhaba at
Samroli, Prem Sweets at Kud, a </b></span></span></span><span lang="en-US"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><b>chai</b></span></i></span><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">-<b>stall
at a pine-covered corner of Patni-Top [a very popular hill station
about 3 hours out of Jammu], and, most importantly, Sharma Vaishno
Dhaba at Bagar [pronounced like the rude word] for its flawless
victory with</b> </span></span></span><span lang="en-US"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><b>rajma
daal-chawa</b>l</span></i></span><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">
<b>and </b></span></span></span><span lang="en-US"><i><span style="font-weight: normal;"><b>desi
ghee</b></span></i></span><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">. </span></span></span></b></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">My favourite stretch of the journey to the village is the last bit.
On horseback. Nothing compares to riding a good mountain horse on
tough mountain trails. Our family has always had horses, both local
stock as well as Zanskaris [these are really matchless]. Everything
about horses brings out the romantic in me. They're such gorgeous
animals, and it's quite incredible to be able to do our mountains
like they do. </span></b><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4NGmrH6Vnjlk4PxohpRiZOfeb8ge1lBu7Q5eo90Q1B45TmoXqI3h7nLDd-Ym7cxhCfSHU_o43MQTEmqwyxcKev6rowh6gZLejCFN4iYmIPHKgjjY_nYhtaHysyFUoe8NZ_1M8qw/s1600/DSC_0024.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4NGmrH6Vnjlk4PxohpRiZOfeb8ge1lBu7Q5eo90Q1B45TmoXqI3h7nLDd-Ym7cxhCfSHU_o43MQTEmqwyxcKev6rowh6gZLejCFN4iYmIPHKgjjY_nYhtaHysyFUoe8NZ_1M8qw/s400/DSC_0024.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Zanskar se, Mr Balla</span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">With horses and me, it's a case of true love, and I
have my father to thank for showing us the ropes well as kids and
making us comfortable with them. I know of people screwing up their
noses when assailed with horse smells but for me it immediately takes
me to Breswana, to my trips up home.</span></b></div>
<b>
</b>
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<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDufF4cJjS3Nsoh6noD4PNZRHjOkErt1JjniNuVva5X8RtrUiTwq9BW9uraseVgGz7tx2WnqYQoSjxqdMyv1JavXflYBFvzSTAdwCn-RnZZT6WsGRya6QooLful7xF868AMeDwLg/s1600/DSC_0032.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDufF4cJjS3Nsoh6noD4PNZRHjOkErt1JjniNuVva5X8RtrUiTwq9BW9uraseVgGz7tx2WnqYQoSjxqdMyv1JavXflYBFvzSTAdwCn-RnZZT6WsGRya6QooLful7xF868AMeDwLg/s400/DSC_0032.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: small;">Footbridge at Premnagar</span></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b></b>
</div>
<b>
</b>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div lang="en-US" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b>
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">So. The final leg of the journey is when we wave goodbye to the
car/jeep at a small roadside hill town called Premnagar. [The town is
so named only after a gentleman called Premchand and not, as one
hoped, a tragic local love story.] There's a wooden footbridge at
Premnagar we cross over the River Chenab that takes us to 'the other
side'. Where the horses wait. If you look up at this point, you can
spot Breswana on the neck of the mountain towering above the town.
Here onwards, all luggage goes up on carriage animals or on the backs
of men/women. It's a 7km route on very steep, rocky uphills for about
three to four hours. We stop a few times to rest the horses along the
way. Again, we have our preferred spots for resting – shade, wind
and water being the deciding factors.</span></b></div>
<b>
</b>
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<div style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><br /></b>
</div>
<b>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXVKO_t0u8OcLfcDo9uiWbRCzUn_Q3LoEVutls6lU7VVAZsCNAORAvtjQhbSQw5IOTsYroB3nY-Wecw9XKZ8sT0KdUbT7aKldOAd3WKnxmPB_58FZseoCxF_7rpex4BXuXnQ7rOw/s1600/StartingUp.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="265" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXVKO_t0u8OcLfcDo9uiWbRCzUn_Q3LoEVutls6lU7VVAZsCNAORAvtjQhbSQw5IOTsYroB3nY-Wecw9XKZ8sT0KdUbT7aKldOAd3WKnxmPB_58FZseoCxF_7rpex4BXuXnQ7rOw/s400/StartingUp.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Starting uphill, on average 3+ hours</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVu9o62hBXVq3ZyAisvO0vZQtdGHgAN_CoQeDoFwEJnraMU-wGPepM4ZCEyZfpjmhQv4dL7zjpaC0V8uMFQ8tsU2VDMC_rZo0Q1cQ1SCWkpEx70GNwVpDzRMxd-lRLp9B-rfonjQ/s1600/DSC_0127.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVu9o62hBXVq3ZyAisvO0vZQtdGHgAN_CoQeDoFwEJnraMU-wGPepM4ZCEyZfpjmhQv4dL7zjpaC0V8uMFQ8tsU2VDMC_rZo0Q1cQ1SCWkpEx70GNwVpDzRMxd-lRLp9B-rfonjQ/s400/DSC_0127.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Riding Up</b></span><i><b><br /></b></i></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><b>Over
the years, this final ride up home has become a real pleasure for me.
This is where one gets to see the real<span style="font-family: "Courier New",Courier,monospace;"><i> <span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">pahari </span></i></span></b></span></span></span><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><b>J&K,</b> <b>still relatively untouched by the outside world. We pass
through villages, see the people go about their daily lives and work
through different seasons. Things carry on as they used to, farmers
still follow traditional farming methods and all the villages look
more or less as they always have as far back as I can remember.
Everyone knows everything about everyone else in the mountains and
much current information is traded between travellers going up and
down. </b></span></span></span></span></b><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0FLZ-xb8KfLpI-taxfnE1Y50znA7itxVF_liwx8kGDvilA4zJ5qD63wSseiQPSPQP9RC3V8OCGBhRLmJHQlLJjZTomWUKc0zWKj9HZwFoFV_xMYYDurArqxXiht49Xzy8BUX9Dw/s1600/DSC_0433.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0FLZ-xb8KfLpI-taxfnE1Y50znA7itxVF_liwx8kGDvilA4zJ5qD63wSseiQPSPQP9RC3V8OCGBhRLmJHQlLJjZTomWUKc0zWKj9HZwFoFV_xMYYDurArqxXiht49Xzy8BUX9Dw/s400/DSC_0433.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>Sunset</b></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span></b></div>
<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</span></b>
<br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<b><span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><b>I
usually ride into Breswana with the sunset and a nice, hot cup of
</b></span></span></span><span lang="en-US"><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><b><i>noonchai </i>[Kashmiri salt tea] and homemade bread welcomes me. Along with a
fireplace [optional] and all the familiar sights and smells of home.</b></span></span></span></span></b></div>
<b>
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</b></span>
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<div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><b>
It's always a physically demanding trip, this Jammu to Breswana
business. Achy back, sore seat and tired legs. But a day later,
sitting in the favourite spot in front of my cottage, waiting for a
web-page to load on the mobile phone, with school kids chattering in
the distance and the sun warming my back, I find I really cannot
complain. At all. [Just get me some internet up here.]</b></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><b><br /></b></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
longblackveilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00544098735304797477noreply@blogger.com12tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672420.post-10614249673953353272012-09-01T22:10:00.001+05:302012-09-03T01:39:03.364+05:30Barbecue Night...<div><p>...Has been had.<br>
Naan roti, chicken tandoori, tatziki, mint chutney, pasta Arabiatta, lemonade, girlfriends, full moon night, two dogs.<br>
Amazing good.</p>
<br/><img src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLq5K3V8jWINW96Ag1_zqQ7FR1M5wQ-2vAj_scpN4mOWrwG8BLT7FJBbVuY-BwGgWUFecDVsE4UIaBZ4IHEieWF7KzACKqq4P-RVgkq3GOziluP1Byu4GrtWDULrHaAEIUyMWDhQ/' /></div>longblackveilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00544098735304797477noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672420.post-35288442405483835912012-08-17T00:54:00.001+05:302012-08-17T00:54:26.348+05:30It's Been A While<div><p>No internet. No blogging. That is all. </p>
<br/><img src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgjagBSbuIPAVSmaE1TA1-vHVuhG_zdIQGl3lYOIOTa2txJjseCjCLx6jOtfzcupf9HOqcRYTrcr0puqnAlRTHASdhAkEJ8t7qxBdt_CJkrHU1H5s0zXtOUTqAer_vgtoq9CXACjg/' /></div>longblackveilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00544098735304797477noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672420.post-62448353866733823742012-07-06T14:56:00.001+05:302012-07-07T01:05:23.021+05:30Ladies and Gentlemen, The Moslems Are Coming.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
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<span style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: black;">Very kicked to be on 'The Moslems Are Coming' blog tour, and in keeping with Optimum Blog Etiquette, I'm belting out a short, one-glance summary of my thoughts on <a href="https://twitter.com/azadessa" target="_blank">Azad Essa's</a> new book.</b></span></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><b style="background-color: black;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRWVpHq5K9S0uPdNxB1w2lxXNIq3udGivdHkW0GcxnwZ0t0QI3Y8jC5GAmLJuj710EBeluWPckz35eXzLGLK6yrTKKQ6MYww7i7ggw6wvPa9qcd5yJPLFflr3uUJb4p7p8ZsXKqA/s1600/MOSLEMS-SUPER+MOSLEM+BRO.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="297" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgRWVpHq5K9S0uPdNxB1w2lxXNIq3udGivdHkW0GcxnwZ0t0QI3Y8jC5GAmLJuj710EBeluWPckz35eXzLGLK6yrTKKQ6MYww7i7ggw6wvPa9qcd5yJPLFflr3uUJb4p7p8ZsXKqA/s400/MOSLEMS-SUPER+MOSLEM+BRO.jpg" width="400" /></a></b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: black;">'Indian soldiers repeatedly mistook my good looks for that of a local Kashmiri.' Haha.</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: black;">Angry Essa. Such an angry young man. The whole collection of essays in <i>The Moslems</i> reads in a vein of hello-there-irreverent-cynical-almost-rage. As a young Muslim woman, completely wrapped in the cocoon of ideal, romanticised, perfect Islam, and whining about how, 'No, no, this is not what <i>Islam </i>really is,' this read has been a refreshing smack in the jowls.</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: black;">Sure there's a lot I disagree with [tone mostly: "My God, how can he <i>say </i>that?!!"], but really, one needed to step out of the easily-outraged mold one has been cast into. Enough of placing everything on a pedestal; let's talk smack at a lot of things, throw it open to criticism and mockery, as it were.</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: black;">Once I got that into my system, it was smooth reading.</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: black;"><i>The Moslems </i>is a collection of several of Azad's previously published and unpublished works, off his blog and umm, other places [yes, I've researched this really well], and is the Indian edition of his previously published <i>Zuma's Bastards.</i> It covers Azad's experiences with racism, Islamophobia, classism, hypocrisy and other relatively current affairs across the globe [the World Cup in SA, the Arab Spring. As a South African of Indian ethnicity, it was very interesting for me to read his take on Indians in South Africa and the social dynamics within that community, SA Indian Muslims and the diaspora there.</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: black;">All the chapters in the book are not Moslems-Are-Coming!-related, don't worry. That's just a clever trick to get you to buy the book in the first place. [Aside: Love the cover.]</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: black;">There's substantial bits on Africa-specific issues, its politics, its untold or severely under-reported horror, and about South Africa in particular, which I was previously clueless about. But, without getting too heavy to read/understand, Azad takes you on a lite-skim ride of his opinions on all these topics. I was lost amidst all the unfamilar names and places, but no so lost that I had to stop reading. [It was also slightly embarrassing that I had no clue about a very significant part of the world. NO CLUE.] </b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: black;">What I enjoyed especially were Azad's scathing satire pieces, 'Shape without drape: Muslim fashion du jour' [on the burqa ban in France] and 'The brown woman's burden' [on the social dynamics among Indian men and women and the hypocritical racism towards black Africans over and above everything else]. Written in a deadpan tone of reportage, a lot of people actually think Azad's being serious whereas of course, if you have an iota of common sense, you can see what he's doing. [Refer: 'satire'.]</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: black;">The first section of the book jumps right into the Islamophobia theme, and I found myself cringing, nodding my head and sighing along to various passages. In the burqa-ban satire piece, Azad's dislike of the burqa is made clear. Then again, that's not the point. Like he says: 'I don't like the burqa. Europe doesn't like the burqa. But so what?'
</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: black;">I liked the close to the section as well:</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: black;">'In spite of being Muslim, and therefore naturally biased in any non-Muslim's eyes, I should be entitled to scream Islamophobia from the rooftops when I encounter it, and I should be able to talk about it in an open forum without sounding like an evil, brainwashed caricature from a bad movie throwing a jihadist tantrum.' </b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: black;">Saheeh, bro. Just so.</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: black;">And now we jump to my favourite section of the book, that pertaining to Kashmir. Remember, Azad is NOT Kashmiri. He is Indian by ethnicity, but really he's just South African. </b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: black;">'I have no allegiance with a teenager made permanently blind from birdshot in Baramullah any more than I have with the ordinary office worker who gets blown up by a bunch of rabid jihadists while commuting in a packed train in Bombay. Likewise, I don't care for an illiterate father left humiliated in front of his sons as he awaits help to fill up an immigration form on a border crossing with any less intensity than for a half-widow in Anantnag, who must go on living in limbo, unsure if her husband would come back dead or alive, if ever.'</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: black;"> 'India, Pakistan or Azadi?' is really the crux of the Kashmir 'issue' is it not? ~ No, it isn't because in Kashmir there will never be straightforward answers and I can give you three different replies to the same question on three different days. Well, sort of.</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: black;">So, anyway. Azad has, as opposed to a lot of non-Kashmiris writing loud, very certain pieces about Kashmir, actually visited the place and written about some of his first-hand experiences there, and the opinions he has built therefrom. Now, any fella broadcasting the relatively unpalatable truths about Kashmir, so well-brushed-under the Indian mainstream media's rendering of the Kashmir narrative, is a friend of mine. I pat Azad on the back. I thank him. As a Kashmiri, this section of the book reads like the obvious truth all of us living here know, but for some strange, infuriating reason, no one in the outside world cares too much.</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: black;">Azad writes about the questions of Kashmiri identity, how it was growing up there during the 'bad years', state high-handedness, well-documented reports of gross human rights violations, enforced disappearances, legal impunity, and the new generation of Kashmiris that are slowly gearing up to use new media as a tool to open the world's eyes to what Kashmir is all about. He touches upon the Bollywood Kashmir depiction, which all of us [Kashmiris] roll our eyes at. The chapter on cricket bats and Kashmiri willows is interesting, especially seeing as how politics plays a part there as well. Am pretty certain the chapter on Kashmiri Pandits will not go down well with most Indian readers. Okay, the WHOLE section will not go down well in that corner. </b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: black;">[Aside: As a true blue Kashmiri, I was lapping up all experiences from his essays on the Arab Spring, and applying to the situation in Kashmir. * REVOLUTION! PEOPLE POWER!* Because we do shit like that. Everything can be made Kashmir-specific.]</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: black;">I really enjoyed<i> The Moslems Are Coming</i> as a pacy read covering a range of topics that interested me, and that I could relate to: Islam[ophobia], racism, hypocrisy, power politics, Kashmir, India, Palestine-Israel, Bollywood, cricket, the World Cup.</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: black;">Azad's angry, rambling, acerbic style takes getting used to [which, when done by Page 4, makes the rest of the reading easier.] Once I had pinpointed the tone of the book, it was on to enjoying the pieces for their individual merit.</b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: black;">This is not a feel-good book, for rainy afternoons, a quilt and coffee and marshmallows for accompaniment. It makes you uncomfortable, it addresses issues you've all probably thought about more than once, and it certainly makes no bones about highlighting certain things and people and situations as they are. 'Warts and all' is what you'll get. </b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: black;">I took into account Azad's hyperbole and OTT-isms because there's some of that as well. And at times my hands would rush to my blushing cheeks, thinking: "Mein Gott. He uses the f-word! He said 'whore'. And 'penis'. And 'other things! AAAIIEEE!" [Okay, not really. I don't blush while reading.] </b></span></div>
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<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: black;">PS: This post was really not as short as it was meant to be.</b></span><br />
<span style="color: #cccccc; font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><b style="background-color: black;">PPS: Azad, when are you signing my book?</b></span>longblackveilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00544098735304797477noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672420.post-15247056953136516352012-06-06T19:29:00.001+05:302012-06-06T19:52:22.384+05:30<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyBYYymUtaBOmBLGvIyzGBFV1yMWsyNn6Edqv6hTYTuFh81VqZuIRKoiGOIR9rs4rOLZQII5FKWGEkHSbm0Sj8eEDeq_KGSX9i2CkCDP2vZ34G3q2lfjCTOoOY0UWAz72v82FZrg/s1600/calligraphy_ghalib_by_sulfar.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="282" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyBYYymUtaBOmBLGvIyzGBFV1yMWsyNn6Edqv6hTYTuFh81VqZuIRKoiGOIR9rs4rOLZQII5FKWGEkHSbm0Sj8eEDeq_KGSX9i2CkCDP2vZ34G3q2lfjCTOoOY0UWAz72v82FZrg/s400/calligraphy_ghalib_by_sulfar.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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<i><b>Hum ko ma'aloom hai jannat ki haqeeqat lekin</b></i></div>
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<i><b>Dil ke khush rakhne ko Ghalib khayaal achha hai.</b></i></div>longblackveilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00544098735304797477noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672420.post-7043775819504247442012-02-03T04:20:00.004+05:302012-02-07T13:13:05.240+05:30Mehfil E Moseeqi - Koshur Style<b><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Videos from the night, up on livestream: <a href="http://livestre.am/1gudo">HERE</a>. About 2+ hours in all.</span></b><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLCF0bshMCxH285DLrDgCSNNwXT26J1aMY9QdkDRQ5yYgBH5sB8NLdnyrGmTI4pahYCWsVNbFewRxZ2Zo9DDwfmqLGuhBH8gvLY-9YCPTDprVvSv3VWRDP1LdYr4nkCToykBwOHw/s1600/DSC_0073.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiLCF0bshMCxH285DLrDgCSNNwXT26J1aMY9QdkDRQ5yYgBH5sB8NLdnyrGmTI4pahYCWsVNbFewRxZ2Zo9DDwfmqLGuhBH8gvLY-9YCPTDprVvSv3VWRDP1LdYr4nkCToykBwOHw/s400/DSC_0073.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Maamu, and the Tulri</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Had stunning overnight musical <i>mehfil </i>at our place yesterday. My Maamu has artistic friends. ZOMG FRIENDS LIKE NASEEM UL HAQ 'RAJU' BATT [singer-composer from Doda] and GULAB SAIFI SAHAB [poet from Kishtwar].</b></span><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> Whom he requested to please come on over to Jammu to perform in front of our enthusiastic music-poetry-loving family.</b><br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiE3Ovnxl6c43hbYRSNT4wQatSmAO6ryCrgbiRfaV_wCNRwSgUzMJiNZsGkDj_kW62-3PNLirCWMalpO52GiAwJm0dXAjhlb-nzcfGRbGwlt-HPsX6E_c8uTwVvsZJE2XYY7IWRg/s1600/DSC_0051.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br />
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<b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now, these two gentlemen are really outstanding flagbearers of contemporary Kashmiri culture.</b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcOKMbgQ0HRo4J_7479DCKuCFfdTXlqL8lD88MuntjQWhmndkIliiSVMJu74y5qpd1RbdIVMGNGf75u5xVO73Ad3awvAypjoeZXTzZCVKFg0-zaiGOnRO4e9D9knTpJ5DSJSrxBQ/s1600/raju.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcOKMbgQ0HRo4J_7479DCKuCFfdTXlqL8lD88MuntjQWhmndkIliiSVMJu74y5qpd1RbdIVMGNGf75u5xVO73Ad3awvAypjoeZXTzZCVKFg0-zaiGOnRO4e9D9knTpJ5DSJSrxBQ/s320/raju.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Naseem Ul Haq 'Raju' Batt</td></tr>
</tbody></table><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Raju has a beautiful, clean, soft voice - <i>very</i> suited to slow ballads<i> </i>[which basically means most all popular Kashmiri songs]. </b><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggCjtj6oS_3EsEz6epQVsew5ueaIFCfnNW3lKbrlbGy0Zud3RaC5pBbDObyI-dmv7EGNcPzhFQ3P1_jRlKG7_QDguUNM6CAquyjMLgibPiUA1R5J99cbXoMCirwLdlVuqIR1USVw/s1600/gulab.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggCjtj6oS_3EsEz6epQVsew5ueaIFCfnNW3lKbrlbGy0Zud3RaC5pBbDObyI-dmv7EGNcPzhFQ3P1_jRlKG7_QDguUNM6CAquyjMLgibPiUA1R5J99cbXoMCirwLdlVuqIR1USVw/s320/gulab.jpg" width="305" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gulab Saifi, poet, works the brooding look </td></tr>
</tbody></table><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">And Gulab Saifi really impresses with his non-mainstream poetry. He has a unique, #WINNING style of writing, using new words and thoughts in his shaairi. And they have the <i>khanak </i>of spoken Koshur/Kashmiri. </b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Both young artists, still not as popular [possibly because they are Pahari, not Valley based?] as some of the other names we hear in Kashmiri music... but their time has come. In music and <i>shaairi </i>circles, these gents are well-known and respected in their fields. The common Kashmiri hasn't heard of them yet. WE MUST CHANGE THIS! <i>Inquilaab!</i></b></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJTrXjYr9cd5sbRzHdJYbhjT9TdhvQIrh4R-NoUpumo0Y_kd4KjPnFPis9hXcVkYcjWJj-PVL_m-nre512AI-lcfzLoG6RC8Urjw1e0jVt1ExVEiZW7ZcW6NrYcDN0CoUeduE9KA/s1600/DSC_0048.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJTrXjYr9cd5sbRzHdJYbhjT9TdhvQIrh4R-NoUpumo0Y_kd4KjPnFPis9hXcVkYcjWJj-PVL_m-nre512AI-lcfzLoG6RC8Urjw1e0jVt1ExVEiZW7ZcW6NrYcDN0CoUeduE9KA/s400/DSC_0048.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Oh, you know. Just the family. </td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>And so. Minimal planning and prepping, headlined by the famous Maamu Malik. It was agreed that all the family [mashaAllah, there are a lot of us when you put together immediate aunts, uncles, grandparents, cousins, kids] would gather at our place post-dinner on Feb 1 where we'd set up the basics required for best enjoyment of poetry and music. That is: carpets, cushions, blankets and lots of <i>noonchai </i>and <i>kehwa</i>.</b></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiE3Ovnxl6c43hbYRSNT4wQatSmAO6ryCrgbiRfaV_wCNRwSgUzMJiNZsGkDj_kW62-3PNLirCWMalpO52GiAwJm0dXAjhlb-nzcfGRbGwlt-HPsX6E_c8uTwVvsZJE2XYY7IWRg/s1600/DSC_0051.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiE3Ovnxl6c43hbYRSNT4wQatSmAO6ryCrgbiRfaV_wCNRwSgUzMJiNZsGkDj_kW62-3PNLirCWMalpO52GiAwJm0dXAjhlb-nzcfGRbGwlt-HPsX6E_c8uTwVvsZJE2XYY7IWRg/s400/DSC_0051.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ext. left [black jacket] - Gulab Saifi; ext. right [grey jacket] - Raju</td></tr>
</tbody></table><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">This done, circa 11pm, with local sound guys and accompanying musicians in tow [one tablachi, one percussion board guy], Raju Sahab and Gulab Sahab turned on the brilliance. Maamu added much chutzpah to the night's entertainment. Crowd favourite ka khitaab! </b><br />
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<b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I decided to try livestreaming the whole performance and what do you know, it worked. Minor glitches here and there but overall, managed to get a live video of the whole Kashmiri music night deal up live. </b> <br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVS0DBBVm2UxNh9taijqUQ4rVLJvcpOtD5E71HixEABf6UE2Nz7m4OTuS6LUz3hg7TP2hlQNLVsgPX8Yj1E_mv8RmTjT9CymubRLr-tRLplOnkr53y19fNbhct1KuayuCCT-Y0lw/s1600/IMAG0808.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgVS0DBBVm2UxNh9taijqUQ4rVLJvcpOtD5E71HixEABf6UE2Nz7m4OTuS6LUz3hg7TP2hlQNLVsgPX8Yj1E_mv8RmTjT9CymubRLr-tRLplOnkr53y19fNbhct1KuayuCCT-Y0lw/s320/IMAG0808.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Much fun was had with people online from all over, not just Kashmir. We had America, India, Pakistan and I'm not sure where else. Would like to make a special mention of the Twitter gang that put in attendance that night: Shehla, Shahnaz, Rahul, Abhi, Nish, JuneyM, Junaid, Baavri, Mehmal, Yusra, BB,Obaid, Faysal, Sheikh. Nonsense chatting fun. Some trolls of course.</b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><a href="http://livestre.am/1gudo">Please click here to view recordings from the Mehfil E Moseeqi</a> at Chez Haji. Three videos lined up under the main screen. The magic started around 11pm and the last song wound up at 0445hrs. Live broadcast went more or less okay. Unfortunately less than half got recorded online. Will scrounge around from various phones and other cameras for missing segments.</b></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicRLRKkl2fjxqWxIwFjryVCAALh86PIP-FdWVFz1AyweTMqfSwwYPCmViZBRv5iSaRj9Mzq7okj0dd76pj1DRDtTSMUjeQaXJk6BcOvB1Iz3mqp_lQt2uqTGty0sMxIw52deFRBA/s1600/DSC_0063.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEicRLRKkl2fjxqWxIwFjryVCAALh86PIP-FdWVFz1AyweTMqfSwwYPCmViZBRv5iSaRj9Mzq7okj0dd76pj1DRDtTSMUjeQaXJk6BcOvB1Iz3mqp_lQt2uqTGty0sMxIw52deFRBA/s400/DSC_0063.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ma [center], flanked by Khaala [r] and Maami</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Raju performed a lot of new songs, recently written by Gulab Saifi, and then we had a few classics like that fantastic Jaanbaaz composition: 'Zamaanai Pokh Na Humdum'. A couple of Punjabi and Urdu songs as well.</b></span><br />
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</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">You will hear me typing, you will see Maamu enthrall the audience and you will hear embarrassing exchanges in between songs that we as a family, collectively, thought were funny then, but now - not so much. If you understand Kashmiri, forgive us our lameness.</b></div><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><u>Highlights of the night</u>:</b></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgustCHOiYUVw7JWl2muxj4ufnyTE8U_dao3zpx3Zf9HfRXMd_IDP6sZnyqHm0RTbKTofZEAu3FWevzSNzC6am8OA5QG7mc34tc9ec_LbZ-QOetzh9izq-lG7qXQygRSDo3jBAnA/s1600/DSC_0100.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhgustCHOiYUVw7JWl2muxj4ufnyTE8U_dao3zpx3Zf9HfRXMd_IDP6sZnyqHm0RTbKTofZEAu3FWevzSNzC6am8OA5QG7mc34tc9ec_LbZ-QOetzh9izq-lG7qXQygRSDo3jBAnA/s320/DSC_0100.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maamu: KYA BAAT HAI! BOHUT ACCHE!</td></tr>
</tbody></table><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">1. MAAMU - Everyone loves him: Raju, Gulab, the family, the online viewers. Too much masti and enjoyment. The life of the <i>mehfil</i>.</b><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT-VzMlsPct18Gcd5eZOE-OfRrpL-M6BBR7TxzrbpK5oQOE8mgGyUaz7uzD8p4mczgiJ8UtpU8tfLEIuN9pj3qpEmvSmIrZ-tyhtifr8aHqAlBVBUr_6Ekmd7VXJaP0_CrAx_Q-w/s1600/DSC_0118.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgT-VzMlsPct18Gcd5eZOE-OfRrpL-M6BBR7TxzrbpK5oQOE8mgGyUaz7uzD8p4mczgiJ8UtpU8tfLEIuN9pj3qpEmvSmIrZ-tyhtifr8aHqAlBVBUr_6Ekmd7VXJaP0_CrAx_Q-w/s320/DSC_0118.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Raju/Maamu make a funny at Gulab Sb.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">2. Excellent ribbing between the protagonists, i.e. Raju Sb, Gulab Sb and the Maamu. Much laughter and joking to and fro as evidence of their camaraderie.</b><br />
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<b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">3. Chai-kehwa-girday!</b><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo7O2bw_rKzbALU50dCOiepesLBomOa8YOm_br5mYkuJLwcfauAL_2_rEp_OJzhcE1Y3RjVzvrtS-XgcFfBW3XrycAtt4-uR9D7QBm9bzrxXrWIZH_e3zG2SUOr1tZrpeOgVUeOw/s1600/DSC_0084.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjo7O2bw_rKzbALU50dCOiepesLBomOa8YOm_br5mYkuJLwcfauAL_2_rEp_OJzhcE1Y3RjVzvrtS-XgcFfBW3XrycAtt4-uR9D7QBm9bzrxXrWIZH_e3zG2SUOr1tZrpeOgVUeOw/s320/DSC_0084.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">4. Packed house. And pretty laydiesss, as required by any concert.</b><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY145SPDpD1U5ecF8-QcTjphON8hGE3aLRmzJNHltmeSm7IDU9HPKoW2SV-Z9vb_q5lvGVjUWGxsNHGSd4kc1Fu7GdM2V4RCoWfZkkcUiMN1cbu1epkSErs02YTT53E3YPFNjw8Q/s1600/DSC_0129.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiY145SPDpD1U5ecF8-QcTjphON8hGE3aLRmzJNHltmeSm7IDU9HPKoW2SV-Z9vb_q5lvGVjUWGxsNHGSd4kc1Fu7GdM2V4RCoWfZkkcUiMN1cbu1epkSErs02YTT53E3YPFNjw8Q/s320/DSC_0129.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tabalchi Bhai, tak dhin dhin tak</td></tr>
</tbody></table><b style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">5. Much appreciated tabalchi. Bohut aa'la. We all loved you, O Unknown Soldier.</b><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>I mean to work on song videos from the night, with translations and subtitles, and put them up on YouTube some time in the near future. Should be fun. Can do with help on the subbing. Let me know which of you want to do a song or two.</b></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>OKBAIII.</b></span></div>longblackveilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00544098735304797477noreply@blogger.com14tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672420.post-6638884040508314292011-11-09T02:19:00.001+05:302011-11-09T03:07:27.432+05:30From Breswana to Bangalore - for Metallica<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>My <a href="http://www.livemint.com/2011/11/03204946/Oh-my-God-I-rode-the-lightnin.html?h=A3">blog post in Mint Lounge</a> a couple of days after the Metallica concert.</b></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Basically, it was fantastic, and Shro and I were doing silly shit like this before we headed out for the gig that day:</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSI5gOdfFnddG5O6OAyhYYORoqo28gMFaSDBSzCqYxJhXcUoh9_y5-PQGbgMhGX1cqiOCtgp7t2usnNVzGQYCyz-9EyirqS47pzhuOvC_Otp78PRSCuAKOd2psrhGw9Nn6n2af1w/s1600/m.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="191" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSI5gOdfFnddG5O6OAyhYYORoqo28gMFaSDBSzCqYxJhXcUoh9_y5-PQGbgMhGX1cqiOCtgp7t2usnNVzGQYCyz-9EyirqS47pzhuOvC_Otp78PRSCuAKOd2psrhGw9Nn6n2af1w/s320/m.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The complete, unedited, much longer version follows:</span></b></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br />
</span></b></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>It is only fitting that months of planning, excitement, long-distance travels and pre-show jitters came to fruition with a very satisfactory attendance of the Metallica concert followed by temporary deafness in the left ear. Yes. Metallica. I was there.</b></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>The magic of attending any live gig lies mostly in the tremendous buildup to it. What goes down at the concert is only the culmination of everything up to that point – scrambling to get initial information, shrieky high-five <span lang="en-GB">behaviour</span> with other fanbois and fangirls, huddling with friends to plan attendance and logistics, procuring tickets, travelling to concert city, rendezvous, make-up, costume, emotions, excitement, and… BAM! …final body frisk as one walks into the venue.</b></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Anyway. Here is a full personal account of travels on my noble Metallicause [apologies in advance, this sort of word play will be rampant throughout the piece].</b></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>A few days ago, in my village in the mountains of Doda, Jammu and Kashmir, a full day’s travel away from the nearest city, I sheepishly told the parents I had to head down to Bangalore. </b></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>‘Why<i>? </i>It’s very far away.’</b></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>‘I know. Music concert.’</b></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>‘Whose?’</b></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>‘Metallica.’ [*awkward silence followed by quick exit stage right*]</b></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Early next morning, I was packed and ready to leave for the city from the village. Downhill walk for a couple of hours, then on horseback for some time till we got to a motorable road, and finally the highway whence I traveled to Jammu at day’s end. Final packing, more shrieky behaviour and expensive last-minute ticket-booking later, I was ready to begin the final leg of the journey. Overnight on a near-empty train to Delhi – it was Diwali - with phosphoric celebrations in the night sky outside through the lands of Jammu, Punjab and finally, the capital. And the last easy bit - plane hop to Bangalore and its naturally-chilled climes. Two full days of travel concluded, I was here. </b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEYHQq3lvS8WSooi1ePrSgSnJWgKcUjG2UGMp1YCK99ni79fghzKCEETfPi72KwXDmtCc5cVLpqMDfC3X9i8NZWUo-Y6ftGsMwGyt5pf5XHyQsTHrC2Hb0d9pJqpXhWD_mWRujRQ/s1600/Metallica_Logo_by_omenev.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEYHQq3lvS8WSooi1ePrSgSnJWgKcUjG2UGMp1YCK99ni79fghzKCEETfPi72KwXDmtCc5cVLpqMDfC3X9i8NZWUo-Y6ftGsMwGyt5pf5XHyQsTHrC2Hb0d9pJqpXhWD_mWRujRQ/s320/Metallica_Logo_by_omenev.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Preparations for this had begun back in April 2011, when the first vague rumblings of a possible Metallica gig in India were doing the rounds. As soon as a confirmation came in that Metallica [oh, my God, METALLICA!] was playing in India, one knew one would attend somehow, come what may. By the time tickets were up online in July 2011, with dual options of Gurgaon or Bangalore, I had decided on attending the latter gig [fortuitous?]. </b></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Forget about everything else; Bangalore has rock concert vintage. We have had the best of the best here over the years [and we have also had the other sort]. When jokes are made about ‘Bangalore’s knowledgeable crowd,’ it’s not all jokes, let me tell you. More than anything else, Bangalore is known for its rock. From school and college level up, you get a good schooling in indigenous and international rock music. The underground rock scene is booming. Teenagers and their coolth infest garages and makeshift studios across the city. High quality Bangalore bands like Thermal and a Quarter, Galeej Gurus, Kryptos, Synaps have made it big across the country. Let us look proudly on Bangalore’s modern concert history, in no particular order: Mr Big, the Scorpions, Elton John, The Rolling Stones, Aerosmith, Sting, Deep Purple, Uriah Heep, Jethro Tull, Mark Knopfler, Roger Waters, Megadeath, Lamb of God, and IRON MAIDEN for the love of God [phraseology to be noted] – they have all played here. It thusly followed that Metallica would too, and that I would witness the event in my home away from home in ‘Luru. And so, on a hot July afternoon in Jammu, this writer purchased concert tickets for October 30, 2011 at the Palace Grounds, Bangalore.</b></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Cometh the hour, cometh the band. With great trepidation one watched news of the Gurgaon fiasco and Metallica’s cancellation there. Bangalore was on the edge of its seat. We waited. And waited. The gig was still on! Celebrations! By the morning of the 30<sup>th</sup>, the interwebs resounded with many variations of: ‘In Bangalore, Metallican.’ Ha. Ha ha. Precious.</b></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC1IUecfUgDY__q5CCUu5LrvOG1Q8KImWC5RBjeOdJC8ESCobfa0UI8fqJkOKGfWTpweSHR7QEW5buXfezAoDHZn28s097I4AC1Tm-d0dqAcLBD8GWRQqDVdwxbkSg8FEEt7UuEg/s1600/metallica382.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgC1IUecfUgDY__q5CCUu5LrvOG1Q8KImWC5RBjeOdJC8ESCobfa0UI8fqJkOKGfWTpweSHR7QEW5buXfezAoDHZn28s097I4AC1Tm-d0dqAcLBD8GWRQqDVdwxbkSg8FEEt7UuEg/s320/metallica382.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>One knows that good people from all over India [and maybe abroad?] had descended on Bangalore to see the band perform. The most obvious travelling fans were identifiable across the city by their unique appearance – in their grungy tees, dirty jeans, long, greasy hair and a certain look - thronging M G Road, loafing in malls, being sullen in pubs. Complete strangers would glance at one another, exchange a slight nod, or alternatively, show the finger affectionately in a spirit of oneness with Metallica. It was almost spiritual.</b></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>The morning of the 30<sup>th</sup>. Comfortable shoes had been purchased just for the event. Attire selected carefully. Rain predictions in [it <i>would</i> rain], we were prepared. Metallica merchandise and jeans for them as had it, and mostly black for the rest. By noon, we were ready to leave. We had decided we’d watch India’s first F1 race after lunching somewhere and then head to the venue. We zeroed in on The Biere Club, renowned for its, well, <i>beeru</i>, and as for my teetotalling sort, I recommend their fresh lime soda [sweet and salt] also. Heady mixture. The flat screen TVs served our F1-viewing motives and it was a most pleasant interlude. The Biere Club was packed to the rafters with other Metallicans, and smug, knowing looks were being thrown around like it was someone’s coming-out party. It was all quite silly, and quite beautiful.</b></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>By midday on the 30th, well before the gates opened at three, an ocean of black T-shirts, jeans and otherwise comfortable attire was slowly making its way across to the Palace Grounds. ‘No drinks at the venue’ was the weird rule for this heavy metal gig, so enterprising concert-goers planned an early start to the day and tanked up at various watering holes across the city before staggering in to Palace Grounds. All the contraband that need be smuggled in *wink*nudge* was arranged for also, with bags and pouches concealed artfully in hair, inner garments and footwear.</b></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>At five in the evening we pushed out towards the Palace Grounds. Nodding and grinning at all fellow concert goers in other vehicles headed the same way. In a pre-planned maneuver, we parked the car at a friend’s house, quite a ways from the entry at Gayatri Vihar. Hopped an auto and oh-my-God, crazy traffic as we neared the grounds. What a sight. Thousands of black tee shirts inching their way along roads and in vehicles, and streaming in through the gates. We were borderline manic happy. A crush at the beginning where tickets were being checked, and then the final walk towards the stage grounds. </b></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>The high-level security at the entrance has to be mentioned specially, and appreciated, and giggled over. We had the faintest of pat downs, and the lady checking one would ask apologetically<i>, ‘Cigarette toh nahin hai?’</i> [You’re not carrying in cigarettes, right?’] <i>‘Maachis?’</i> [‘Matches?’] All one had to do was shake head in the negative, and they would take our word for it and we’d be politely passed on without so much as a ‘But-wait-let-me-check-properly-anyway’. I suppose the men had it easy as well. Let me tell you, a LOT of stuff got in. *grin*</b></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>There we were. After decades of fandom and adoration, we were going to watch Metallica [oh, my God, Metallica!] live, in front of our eyes. Right there. Ah, but we could have peed our collective pants. Everyone was smiling. Everyone was ready, all tens of thousands of us.</b></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>And so into the crush of bodies, in the rain, trying to home in on the most suitable location to settle down into for the rest of the concert. A few moves and attempts later we found our sweet spot. By this time the opening acts had kicked in. We walked in on Biffy Clyro, a Scottish rock band, warming the crowd up. Apparently two other acts, Guillotine and Inner Sanctum had gone up before, but we missed that lot. It was past 6 now, lightly raining and everything was most enjoyable, even the minor scuffles and shoving that is natural in huge crowds of very drunk, quite stoned people. Biffy Clyro were tight, impressive and did not get booed off stage. That is saying a lot when you’re opening for Metallica.</b></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Then. A lull. Tense moments in between as organizers asked the crowd near the stage to move back a little. ‘We need you to move back so the security can move in.’ ‘Come on, guys, cooperate.’ ‘Safety first.’ What, <i>after</i> the opening acts they realized this needed to be done? I can tell you we were pretty nervous about things turning fugly again. Obviously it took a while, but the knowledgeable Bangalore crowd worked it out in time, much to the chagrin of many people who were hoping for a second cancellation. Ha to you! Ha! </b></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>For almost an hour there was nothing except music playing on the speakers. And amusing incidents with cops chasing down people from the scaffolding and sound towers. We waited. </b></span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyhPBEyBY23QC0I4_Kt2v0C17bD3AJ-Sq5uG7DI_lxMoFXvJsK-yJA2egBodZ6X_56pWl_zx12PT8PVORFk9srabrI_ccuOJfSWWGfzZezBgcCZZCUfHlCRirbti4UGmTintzxOA/s1600/black.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiyhPBEyBY23QC0I4_Kt2v0C17bD3AJ-Sq5uG7DI_lxMoFXvJsK-yJA2egBodZ6X_56pWl_zx12PT8PVORFk9srabrI_ccuOJfSWWGfzZezBgcCZZCUfHlCRirbti4UGmTintzxOA/s320/black.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Black Album or 'Metallica'</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>And just past eight, the lights went out, the crowd roared, drums and a familiar riff screamed through the air… AND METALLICA TOOK THE STAGE! Starting their set with <i>Creeping Death</i> and right through the two plus hours they played, IT-WAS-ON. Hetfield, Ulrich, Hammet and Trujillo [My heroes! My heroes!] blazed through a mix of their best songs from all albums – <i>Fuel, Ride the Lightning, Sanitarium, Sad But True, One, Master of Puppets, The Memory Remains, Cyanide, Nothing Else Matters </i>and the performance of the evening – <i>Enter Sandman </i>– pyrotechnics and all. The encore closed with <i>Battery</i> and<i> Seek and Destroy. </i>The older music definitely took it, especially songs from The Black Album, because people of a certain vintage [like me] know that music better. So the kids enjoyed the newer numbers more, but the classics were for everyone. The opening riff of <i>Enter Sandman</i> caused a near-frenzy, and the crowd sang as one. Roaring, head banging, smoking, drinking – it was a true-blue concert. Great sound on the speakers [though we lost audio on one set for a couple of numbers in the beginning – fixed soon] and enough big screen projectors for those who couldn’t see the stage that well<i>.</i> From just past eight till about ten thirty, Metallica gave us heavy. For me, Hetfield’s clear vocals, Ulrich’s crazy drumming and Hammett’s guitars-from-the-gut always win it. The gig of the year wound up with the band thanking us, us thanking them, them throwing souvenirs into the crowd, emotions running high and overall awesomeness. </b></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>As the band disappeared, we hung around on the grounds taking it all in. Thousands of happy fans – Bangaloreans and guests of Bangalore - with our once-in-a-lifetime experience. Metallica’s first ever gig in India. With the promise of more as they left. All of us were mud-stained, tired and happy. Feet killing us. Many smiles. The throng moved out slowly. There was the long trudge out to the gates, and then the horror of exiting the car park. By the time we worked our way out it was well past midnight. </b></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>As always after a late night, Bangalore headed to the very few restaurant chains it knew would still be open – the most popular being Empire. We headed to the Infantry Road joint and one hears that all the Empires were hit alike. So also those comfortable eats in the heart of Shivajinagar that know how to care for the nocturnals. It was like a spillover from the concert. Hundreds of hungry rock fans laid siege to the restaurant, some eating outside on the street, some seated, some waiting. Everyone was served, the entire black sea of concert goers - it was slightly surreal.</b></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0in; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>That was a special day. A good day. Completely worth the long pilgrimage here from my mountains. As the deafness in my left ear wanes, let me end the narrative with a suitable smarmy something I read online: ‘If you like Metallica, raise your hand. If you don’t, raise your standards.’ Such Metallicads we be. And well done, Bangalore, you do us proud again and again.</b></span></div><br />
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</b></span></div>longblackveilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00544098735304797477noreply@blogger.com18tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672420.post-80765996658196816572011-08-16T00:04:00.001+05:302011-08-16T00:08:47.088+05:30Kashmiri Muzaks<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b><u>Confession</u>: Kashmiri songs used to bore me growing up, because I couldn't understand what them mellow singers were singing. Also, the tunes, lyrics and instruments were very, umm, let's say not exactly world-changing. </b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>Happily my hearing has improved, and my understanding of the language as well. Also have started listening to some fine new talent recently, thanks to an uncle and his musical pals.</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>There's Naseem Ul Haq of Doda, also known as 'Raju', a young singer with a sweet voice and good compositions. I love that the lyrics are so non-typical. Very Gulzar in a Kashmiri setting. [No, really.]</b></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>Mamujaan has just been introduced to Windows MovieMaker, so he's putting up videos of Kashmiri songs- with subtitles. I find subs help.</b></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>Here's one of my favourites - 'Azti Gae' / 'Even Today'.</b></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>Let me work on a translation for this beautiful song. Will post soon.</b></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>In the meanwhile, recommend you subscribe to <a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/zamalik5811">zamalik5811</a> on YouTube. He means to upload truckloads of these. Joy!</b></span><br />
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</b></span>longblackveilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00544098735304797477noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672420.post-80988312816431439042011-06-28T03:20:00.011+05:302011-07-03T15:07:42.347+05:30Ugh.<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><u>Edit</u>: Someone implied to me that <i>maybe </i>Pawan Durani is not the writer of 'that' post. I don't know. How ridiculous all this cloak-and-dagger business is. In any case I am replacing his name, just in case.</span></b><br />
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<b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> If there's anything I find trying, it's a complete misreading of something I've written by people I don't really care to invest time in. But the misinformation is <i>so </i>annoying, it <i>must </i>be set right.</span></b><br />
<div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Last September I wrote an opinion piece in the Hindustan Times <a href="http://goo.gl/WFNt">'Are We Ready To Let Kashmir Be?'</a> which was followed by the usual noise and backlash from trolls or other readers who saw much in the piece that I did not even imply. As happens always, the noise faded after a while, and I even had a few civilised though very opposing responses such as <a href="http://secular-right.blogspot.com/2010/11/kashmir.html">this one</a> by <a href="http://twitter.com/#!/primary_red">Primary Red</a>. One does not have a problem with a different point of view. One even welcomes it provided it is done with a certain amount of reason, sense, civility, absence of silly assumptions, and an impersonal-ness. [I made that last word up.]</span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></b></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCpOZg_IhnCLFeKZhzTFe0nmV4WJ0T1zsDBB0ey8m9f4SzSnMseqNiMLK6pm5qWVYLOXR3tg2R7PdSgTg7v7laPJ-IraqjrGF9qRKuDbhB8zgs4wP25wQe86BNQD4HIacmCC92Bg/s1600/tweeted.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCpOZg_IhnCLFeKZhzTFe0nmV4WJ0T1zsDBB0ey8m9f4SzSnMseqNiMLK6pm5qWVYLOXR3tg2R7PdSgTg7v7laPJ-IraqjrGF9qRKuDbhB8zgs4wP25wQe86BNQD4HIacmCC92Bg/s320/tweeted.jpg" width="244" /></a></div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Anyway. I was linked to <a href="http://twitter.com/#!/pawandurani/status/85311598201286656">a Tweet</a> about my article [but no mention or tag given to me, hmm.] <a href="http://thekashmir.wordpress.com/2011/06/27/are-we-ready-to-let-kashmir-be-yes-we-already-do-only-facts-have-to-be-told/">This post</a> happened yesterday, and it's coming on to almost a year since I wrote the column in 2010, so I was a little surprised at the timing. Soon after, surprise turned to irritation turned to amusement.</span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Just to quickly get back to certain observations made by AnonWriter Ji</span></b><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">, the writer of the piece</span></b><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> ['Ji' implies a lot of respect as I gathered from his blogpost where he has addressed me as Sabah Ji every single time ~ yay! thank you!]. </span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I'm going to keep it short and simple. Here we go. </span></b><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">AnonWriter</span></b><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> Ji's quotes in blue:</span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">1. '<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Sabah Haji starts with why does it justify to be called a Kashmiri for those living in the state of Jammu & Kashmir. </span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>How can a person from say Ladakh , who may not even be able to say “hello” in Kashmiri call himself a Kashmiri ? How can a Dogra from Udhampur , Jammu , Kathu , Samba call himself a Kashmiri when he hardly knows the language or doesn’t even live in . How can a a Gujjar Muslim from Poonch or a Shia from Kargil call himself a Kashmiri , when they speak a different language ?</b></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b><br />
</b></span></span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Errr. Yes, thank you. I never said a Ladakhi or a Dogra should call himself/herself Kashmiri. I was speaking for people like me who live in the Jammu belt but speak the same language. Instead of repeatedly implying that this is a Kashmir Valley-specific movement, please know that there are substantial portions of the Jammu pahari belt that identify with the sentiment. Within Kashmir, I can call myself Pahari. Outside, I take the generic Kashmiri to apply to me. To quote myself [since it was an opinion piece coming from me about what I feel]: 'W</span></span></b><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">e speak Kashmiri. So that's our identity.'</span></b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>2. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">I would be delighted to know how does a 5 or a 6 year old child know what different nations are ? What “Azaadi” means ? Why India should be hated ? Does this not get picked up while watching how the elders behave or act . This is purely a behavior a child from any community in Kashmir or elsewhere is likely to pick up from the parents or elders he/she witnesses each day .</span></b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: 11px; line-height: 19px;"><br />
</span></b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">I would <i>love </i>to delight you, but am at a loss as to how. I tried to do this in simple English in the original post but it seems to have escaped your notice.</span></b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">If you pick up my line immediately after the one you've quoted: '</span></b></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Somewhere between infancy and childhood, I had picked up unwittingly on what most of my family and people felt.'</span></b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>Now, when I <i>say </i>my parents or any of my cousins'/friends' parents or any adult that I know of, did <u>not</u> feed us kids revolutionary mantras or hold daily sessions to tutor us in the art of 'knowing something is wrong', it is quite possible that that is exactly what I meant, and can you believe it, that I was actually stating the truth! You can, of course, imagine that we are some sort of sick 'others' where parents don't even know how to bring up their children without introducing politics and prejudices in their heads, but that's your call. And has nothing to do with what I've written. What you're saying quite simply then is that I'm lying. Errr. Oh-kay... *shrug* Whatevs.</b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b style="background-color: black;"><br />
</b></span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="background-color: black; color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">3. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Sabah Ji has very intelligently tried to balance and clear the issue of exodus and atrocities upon Kashmiri Pandits. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Now isn’t that interesting , nowhere a courage to call spade a spade !</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Instead she goes to extent of even blaming , yes you have read it right , she has ‘blamed’ some Kashmiri pandits of ‘communalising’ the ‘movement’ as well.</span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Ah. My favourite bit. Where you play the famous Muslim versus Pandit card, implying that <i>because </i>I am a Muslim I don't think what happened with the Pandits at the time of their departure was wrong.</span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And slightly hyperbolic outrage that I was blaming some, yes you read it right! blaming some Kashmiri Pandits for events around the time.</span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I am not into the blame-game you and other easily side-lined Kashmiris are so fond of on the Twitters. That Pandits were made to leave is indisputable fact, as is the reason why. That there were Kashmiris - Muslims and Pandits - who worsened the situation, is also indisputable. I am not blaming the entire community for having to leave. I am not stupid, but thank you for attempting to imply that. It amuses me even today.</span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtlhwoYVTQEylMhNNZbAIYtWwz4yelrIVd0JRaj6NbxJXWQOFoAm2qGClE5rG0BXd0y65zf0Jrs5OBHFUoilANj6iLON023QCuYgCjDhbzyQnKzFIa53fo_t6oyHTwT2smA1qxsQ/s1600/wtf.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtlhwoYVTQEylMhNNZbAIYtWwz4yelrIVd0JRaj6NbxJXWQOFoAm2qGClE5rG0BXd0y65zf0Jrs5OBHFUoilANj6iLON023QCuYgCjDhbzyQnKzFIa53fo_t6oyHTwT2smA1qxsQ/s320/wtf.jpg" width="208" /></a></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>4. C<span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">an Sabah Ji pls let us know if Subhas Chander had killed innocents and raped women ? Did Bhagat Singh go out and plunder places of worship of others?</span></b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><b><br />
</b></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><b>Hmm. Let me see... NO! These two heroes of the Indian Independence Movement never did rape women or plunder places of worship that I know of. </b></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 19px;"><b>You really should read your history textbooks closely. It's all mentioned in there. </b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; line-height: 19px;"><b>Now, Bhagat Singh Saheb was in fact hanged for shooting a police officer - I am unable to comment on whether that qualifies as killing an innocent or not. [Also, according to <i>Rang De Basanti</i>, random people were shot by the revolutionaries. Okay, okay, I won't take facts from a movie. But awesome film it was! Have you watched?] </b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Anyway. What these two gentlemen did advocate, </span><i style="line-height: 19px;">which is what I was referencing, d....uh!, </i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">was violent resistance. The same ideology that was the armed resistance in J&K in the '90s. I don't support it, but I find it laughable that people throw this in our face all the time as if India's Movement was something wholly sacrosanct and its leaders never had to resort to violent means to get their point across.</span></b></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Another beauty </span></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">by you </span></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">of </span></b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">course is the </span></b></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">implication that ALL the militants of the time were into killing innocents, raping women, and plundering places of worship. Nicely done! But, mehhh, lame. Not so. Certainly outrages were committed, there were horrible crimes done, and again, this is indisputable fact. I'm not going to ask you to look at the outrages done on the other side because apparently they don't matter. </span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">Am also not into comparing wrongs or pitting numbers against each other. We know how that works.</span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><br />
</span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">What's next, what's next?</span></span></b></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;"><b><br />
</b></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color: #6fa8dc; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b>5. <span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 19px;">As for someone asking “Aap Hindustan se hai ” to people in Kashmir , all I can say is that the argument is a bit to stretched by Sabah Ji . Unlike her, I am from the valley while she is from Doda district .</span></b></span></div><div><br />
</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXQCtZviaS_tkOA5klFI7nzonacIVGUYoiUVgUYef4E_urqr29NqNyWR2c0bnu4JglHn2uiYnE2UlgRklfVr1_LiNT12pXfLI89qUg_AF2zpqEQ-3swkJ9gGdR7tqi_uH7DMfntw/s1600/notagain.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgXQCtZviaS_tkOA5klFI7nzonacIVGUYoiUVgUYef4E_urqr29NqNyWR2c0bnu4JglHn2uiYnE2UlgRklfVr1_LiNT12pXfLI89qUg_AF2zpqEQ-3swkJ9gGdR7tqi_uH7DMfntw/s320/notagain.jpg" width="245" /></a></div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Tsk tsk. </span></b><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">AnonWriter </span></b><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Ji, there you go calling me a liar again. And also all my friends and their families who have told me that their tour guides have asked them this question. Erm... What does my being from Doda district have to do with the simple fact I stated that tourists from India ARE considered as coming from Hindustan, and therefore not Kashmiris? I'm not saying it happens to each and every tourist. I'm saying it happens, and has happened often enough. My point was one of Kashmiri identity. I'm sure the very intelligent and quick-witted tour guides even KNEW the tourists were from Hindustan and therefore asked them. You see? </span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Oh, forget it.</span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This was fun. *insert smiley*</span></b></div>longblackveilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00544098735304797477noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672420.post-2375681551214256662011-06-25T01:56:00.000+05:302011-06-25T01:56:09.654+05:30The Convert - NOT a book review, just a response<div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Deborah Baker’s latest biography ‘The Convert - A Tale of Exile and Extremism<iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=l02bf-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=1555975828&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe>’ chronicles the astounding story of Maryam Jameelah - a ‘prominent female voice for conservative Islam’ [Wikipedia] and a well-published author - her conversion to Islam, her sudden move to Pakistan and her life and work there.<o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The ‘tale’, spanning a period from Jameelah’s childhood in the ‘50s to her ‘hijrah’ or ‘escape’ to Pakistan in 1962, and thereafter her life and work till even as far as 2009, is ‘astounding’ in its very essence. Jameelah was born Margaret Marcus in a Jewish family in post-WWII New York and ‘The Convert’ traces the story of how she gradually came to reject America [and all that the West </span><span lang="EN-IN">symbolised</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">] and embraced Islam as her chosen way of life. It is even more fascinating as we see Jameelah’s story intertwined with that of her mentor and guardian in Pakistan, Maulana Abul A’la Al Maududi. [Maududi was the founder of the Islamic evangelist group and political party Jamaat-E-Islami, but is more famously known as the intellectual founding father of militant Islam.] It is on Maududsi’s invitation that Jameelah eventually moves to Pakistan and renounces her life in the America she grew up in.<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Not knowing anything about either Baker or Maryam Jameelah, and only very little of Maulana Maududi except his renown as an Islamic scholar, I approached the book with no preconceived notions at all. My first impression was based on the cover of course. A fully-veiled Muslim woman, the by-line to the title ‘A Tale of Exile and Extremism’, and a typically dramatic blurb by Fatima Bhutto on the face of the book did not recommend themselves to me and already I was rolling my eyes. Happily, judging the book by its well-marketed cover proved to be premature. Because Baker’s careful biography turns out to be a very interesting, balanced read on a decidedly difficult and intriguing subject spanning many years.<o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>‘The Convert’ was an easy read, start to finish; pacy in portions and lagging sometimes. It is told to us through a series of letters/correspondence between Jameelah, her family and Maulana Maududi, interspersed with Baker’s thoughts at the time of reading and her narration. The correspondence is not always arranged chronologically. My reactions to Maryam Jameelah’s story, with a female Muslim point of view at my core, were as follows.<o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>First and foremost, I do not ‘get’ Maryam Jameelah. In that, despite a detailed observation of her childhood and thoughts growing up [through her correspondence], it is still pretty unbelievable to understand how she [or anyone] could suddenly opt for a complete change of life, religion, culture, geography and situation – with the mere support of an as yet unknown but generous stranger halfway across the world [Maulana Maududi]. It boggles the mind and is unsettling till the very end. This and various other clues and ‘reveals’ throughout the book [tantrums, nervous breakdowns, schizophrenia, stints at various mental institutions], point to a Maryam Jameelah who is not entirely the most reliable narrator of events.<o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>From the beginning we see a maladjusted, intellectually precocious, socially misfit Margaret with contrarian views and a fixed opinion on everything. There are periods of prolific writing and correspondence, and then periods of total silence. We are also told that there is much that Maryam Jameelah does not reveal about herself, and that a significant portion of her correspondence is written much later than the dates shown in them. Which means Maryam wrote the letters retrospectively. Why? We find out towards the end of the book that Maryam continued to show behavioral problems in Pakistan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There are so many oddities like this which leave one with a feeling of skepticism about Maryam Jameelah. She comes across as very eccentric, particularly in the all-too-brief meeting Baker has with her in Pakistan. Baker tells us in her ‘Note on Methodology’ at the end of the book that Maryam’s letters do not appear as she wrote them in the original and are mostly edited, rewritten and condensed by the author. There is no reason to believe the real meaning of the letters was changed, but this fact casts a slight shadow over the reading. Just a bit. Was it the author’s intention to cast a doubt over Maryam’s credibility at the end of the day? Because it certainly comes across as such, though Baker never at any point makes a statement one way or the other. Being the subject of the book, I was expecting complete clarity and a better understanding and appraisal of Maryam’s personality and thought process. Unfortunately I am left disappointed. <o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As to her writing and work as a scholar, there can be no doubt that Maryam Jameelah was lucid, trenchant and very on the ball in this regard. She was scathing in her criticism of the West and all that it signified. She believed that ‘Western civilsation and Islamic </span><span lang="EN-IN">civilsation</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> were implacably opposed’. This coming from an American Jew who had completely rejected her life there was a major attraction in the Islamic world, and the Jamaat naturally encouraged and </span><span lang="EN-IN">patronised</span><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> her. Maryam’s writings have ‘bristling and grandiose titles’ and open denunciations of the West, which appealed to many Muslims. As they still do. Together with Maududi, Maryam rendered the gap between a superior and just Islam and the unjust, overbearing, morally deficient western world as unbridgeable. This goes down very well with a huge population particularly in developing and poor Muslim countries. Again, I cannot understand where the ferocity of her convictions and her distaste for the West spring from, and this is another aspect that makes Maryam’s story so unique.<o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>In her personal capacity, Maryam believed in a very severe form of Islamic living. To her it was an ‘all or nothing’ practical life choice. I may not agree to such a rigorous interpretation [full purdah, complete segregation, women not leaving the house], but I can neither begrudge her those choices nor stand in superior judgment on her. If that is the choice she made for herself, I can disagree on an ideological and intellectual level, but that’s about it. This part of Maryam’s life – her purdah, her being a second wife - is what will irk most people, women especially. I don’t see why. <o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>The book is as much a story about Maulana Maududi as it is of Maryam Jameelah. At the same time as Maryam was discovering herself and Islam, on the other side of the World in Pakistan, Maulana Abul A’ala Al Maududi was already at the helm of a powerful political-Islamic organization called the Jamaat-E-Islami, which aimed at the establishment of an Islamic state as the ideal. <o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>For me, I got a clearer picture of Maududi’s mind and the Jamaat-E-Islami’s history than Jameelah herself through the reading of this book. There were many interesting things I picked up, like excerpts of his writing, and personal details of his home and family which we find out through Maryam’s correspondence with him. Instead of a raving, blood-thirsty fanatic, we see a very reserved, serious, no-nonsense, scholarly, and powerful man, completely dedicated to his cause and beliefs. That he was very set in his convictions, that he thought an Islamic state was the best form of governance for leading a true Muslim life and propagated it is indisputable. I am not familiar with any of his treatises on ‘jihad’ and hence unqualified to comment on whether or not he is truly the ‘father of militant Islam’ and the cause of its more virulent strain that we see rampant today. <o:p></o:p></b></span></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>As a female Muslim reader, there was certainly a lot of food for thought in this book. Because it is presented matter-of-factly and without condescension or that patronizing tone I have come to expect in the context of ‘women in Islam’ and ‘Islamic extremism’, I found it an enjoyable read. It is interesting to note Jameelah’s and Maulana Maududi’s school of thinking. I have the slightest misgiving about the title of the book, ‘A Tale of Exile and Extremism,’ which gives quite a different idea of what to expect in the book and what I find there. </b></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span style="mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>On the whole, Baker’s narration of Jameelah’s life, her relationship with Maududi, her life in Pakistan and her views on Islam are objective and non-judgmental. However, and to me this is the greatest failing of the book, Jameelah comes across as quite unconvincing and non-credible as a person. At the end of reading a biography on her, I wish it wasn’t so.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></b></span><o:p></o:p></span></div>longblackveilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00544098735304797477noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672420.post-80995579394586885632011-06-25T01:47:00.002+05:302011-06-25T01:51:58.143+05:30There is no compulsion in religion.<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><a href="http://www.tehelka.com/story_main50.asp?filename=hub020711Read.asp">Here's an edit</a> of my reflections on reading '<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Convert-Tale-Exile-Extremism/dp/1555975828?ie=UTF8&tag=l02bf-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">The Convert</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=l02bf-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=1555975828" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important; padding: 0px !important;" width="1" />' and '<a href="http://www.amazon.com/Good-Muslim-Novel-Tahmima-Anam/dp/0061478768?ie=UTF8&tag=l02bf-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">The Good Muslim</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=l02bf-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=0061478768" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important; padding: 0px !important;" width="1" />' as published in <a href="http://www.tehelka.com/">Tehelka Mag</a>.</b></span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>And below is my original, lengthier piece.</b></span><br />
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<div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>What is it about burqa-clad/veiled Muslim women that gets so many people’s goats? Such condescension, such disdain! <i>Especially</i> from women, and surprisingly to me, from Muslim women who choose <b><i>not</i></b> to wear the veil. Note: None of condescending/disdainful/disapproving women’s voices come from ladies who actually choose to wear the hijab/burqa. Like myself. Or so many other fantastic Muslimahs [female Muslims] I have interacted with in real life and online. Like regular girls, we like our share of laughs, our silly (oftentimes risqué) jokes, our music, our sports, our books and what have you. The only difference is we have chosen to wear the hijab, others haven’t. I don’t hold it against you that you don’t want to wear something, why must you hold it against us if we do? Or rather, and this is what I’m getting at, what gives anyone the right?<img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=l02bf-20&l=bil&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=0061478768" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important; padding: 0px !important;" width="1" /><o:p></o:p></b></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b> </b></span><br />
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</b></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=l02bf-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=1555975828&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe>I recall the hue and cry from not so long ago regarding France’s ban on the full face veil. The intense debates online, especially on the worst forum for having any debate: the 140-characters-a-time-restricted Twitter. What a waste. To me, the debate was not about man’s gross injustices upon womankind over the ages, nor forcing women to cover up, nor was it about culture-over-religion, nor about a misreading of religious texts [‘It doesn’t say hijab anywhere in the Qur’an!’]. These were beside the point, which was: a matter of choice. Anyway, what happens in France can stay in France. The good thing is it opens up a very interesting subject for discussion.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>One of the most endearing lines of the Qur’an to me, is the beginning of verse 2:256: ‘Let there be no compulsion in religion.’ I read it in the broader sense of ‘I cannot impose my religious will/practices/dictates on you, and you will kindly return the <span lang="EN-IN">favour</span> to me.’ <b>Please note, it works both ways. </b>This verse tells hardliners not to enforce their strict, often unreasonable rules, on others. It also demands that the other extreme not judge and rail against those who choose a certain way of life, dress and conduct. A more conservative way of life, if you will. No compulsion either which way.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=l02bf-20&l=bil&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=0061478768" style="border: none !important; margin: 0px !important; padding: 0px !important;" width="1" /><iframe align="left" frameborder="0" marginheight="0" marginwidth="0" scrolling="no" src="http://rcm.amazon.com/e/cm?t=l02bf-20&o=1&p=8&l=bpl&asins=0061478768&fc1=000000&IS2=1&lt1=_blank&m=amazon&lc1=0000FF&bc1=000000&bg1=FFFFFF&f=ifr" style="align: left; height: 245px; padding-right: 10px; padding-top: 5px; width: 131px;"></iframe>I read two newly published books recently, both with their focus on female Muslim characters and Islam, both primarily set in the Indian [or South Asian] subcontinent. One was a biography by Deborah Baker, <i>The Convert</i>, and the other, a work of fiction by Tahmima Anam, titled <i>The Good Muslim. </i>I am not going to discuss the literary or factual merits of either work. I’ll pick up certain points that struck me in their reading, as a young Muslimah with a decent grasp of my religion.<o:p></o:p></b></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Both works convey a slight puzzlement at conservative Islam. Maryam Jameelah in ‘The Convert’ and Maya’s brother Sohail in ‘The Good Muslim’ are individuals who go the whole hog in terms of Islamic convention. In the former, Maryam opts for complete seclusion, full burqa, no physical contact with the outside world etc. In the novel, Sohail undergoes a transformation beginning with a change to ‘the garb of the faithful’, and eventually he moves to the strictest Islamic lifestyle [or his interpretation of it], and a severance with even his family and friends. In both cases, the author/narrator’s reaction is perplexed. Why this change? HOW can anyone think and choose this voluntarily? This here then is my grouse. While I may not agree with many points of someone else’s religious practices, I must always understand that it is after all their personal choice and I cannot compel them otherwise. Non-religious, liberal voices have a particularly self-righteous way of holding up the faithful to scrutiny. Why? In your minds, are you better than us for the choices we make inside our hijabs and burqas and with our long beards and short trousers? Is it my clothes that bother you, my overt display of my religion? Or does it peg me in your mind as someone that thinks a certain <i>‘dhakyanoosi’</i> way? [I am sorry I cannot come up with a proper English translation for that word – unfashionable, outmoded, backward?] <o:p></o:p></b></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>Again, this works both ways. I might let the extremely conservative be, but will he/she kindly stop asking me to become a better Muslim by covering up, not going out, not doing this, that and the other? To stop haranguing against the ‘kuffaar’ and spreading negativity? Is my mullah going to answer for me on the Day of Judgment? *insert sound of the Last Trumpet* I think not. So, to the religious conservative, kindly pass on your words of wisdom and guidance to me, and then let me do my thing. Unfortunately, it doesn’t work this way in real life. <o:p></o:p></b></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>What is visible in both stories are the kernels of an unsavoury truth that we see all around us – that religion is hijacked by the narrow, often baseless interpretations of a few ‘scholars’ - those ‘deemed’ religious people, who eventually gain huge popularity as stalwarts of Islam versus the evil, decadent West. It is always a case of one-upmanship with these voices – our religion is superior, yours is inferior because of so and so. Unfortunately, this formula seems to be very popular with most. It is also responsible for most of the religious diatribe which taints what is essentially pure. <o:p></o:p></b></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div class="MsoNoSpacing"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b>What is also visible is this other judgmental voice I speak of. The aghast-at-religious-conservatism section which really irritates me. Maya’s character in ‘The Good Muslim’ is clearly outraged at the ‘Islamisation’ of her brother. She despises <i>any</i> show of religiousness [for example a spat she has with a vegetable vendor who replies ‘Allah Hafiz’ instead of ‘Khuda Hafiz’]. In the novel, we see a possible justification for her feeling this way [the horrors of the Bangladesh war for independence are telling], but even so it irks. Other characters are also depicted realistically, always ready to mock religion. This is very common, we see it every day. I see this attitude online in well-read, well-educated people. <o:p></o:p></b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><br />
</b></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><b><span lang="EN-IN">Religious judgement works both ways. The flag-bearers of ‘complete freedom and no rules’ versus the flag-bearers of closeted, narrow religious notions – neither are in the right. At the end of the day, ‘Let there be no compulsion in religion.’ Please.</span></b></span></div>longblackveilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00544098735304797477noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672420.post-7853879710344604232011-06-14T18:12:00.001+05:302011-06-17T15:39:34.667+05:30Cousin Riaz debuts in Tehelka Mag<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">What joy! What kicks! </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">On the last evening of my last trip to the village, Breswana as you all should know by now, I scribbled some information after quickly interviewing young Riaz on the Government's new BPL classification policy. Riaz is one of five brothers, all of whom are the hardest-working, most decent lot of kids I know from the current generation. Like all the rest of my village, he is a sort of cousin to me.</span><br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW62NykfdmPNdJ6SpPDDmOQo-flferQ_73y1UvfBE-VejK6M8hjJtB09BO68ufVOK_SwMaKAc3ltpz0_ILyCWhU0S9wQ2Z_EqM8mRHXrj8jyMUdhpshk7uEzNKQbAb_3dqD3xQqw/s1600/DSC_0147.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="267" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW62NykfdmPNdJ6SpPDDmOQo-flferQ_73y1UvfBE-VejK6M8hjJtB09BO68ufVOK_SwMaKAc3ltpz0_ILyCWhU0S9wQ2Z_EqM8mRHXrj8jyMUdhpshk7uEzNKQbAb_3dqD3xQqw/s400/DSC_0147.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Spot the Riaz: Correct! Sweet fellow on extreme right.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">To my utter delightful delight. Riaz's piece was picked up for a </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.tehelka.com/">Tehelka</a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"> report compiled by lovely </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><a href="http://twitter.com/#!/chasingiamb">Nisha Susan</a></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">, who BTW is a brilliance. I do love her. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Anyway, moving on. I proudly present '<a href="http://www.tehelka.com/story_main49.asp?filename=hub040611FORTUNE.asp">The New Fortune List</a>' in Tehelka mag, featuring the first lad from our area in <i>any </i>publication. </span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">*rabble rousing cheers*</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Instructions to find Riaz:</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">1. Look at the page.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">2. Appreciate the two columns of faces, and their info.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">4. Click on 4th thumbnail in right column. Yes, the one that clearly says 'Riaz Ahmed Batt. 22'</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">5. Enjoy reading about his take on things.</span><br />
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Helvetica Neue', Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Goodbye.</span>longblackveilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00544098735304797477noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672420.post-73880335516307896952011-02-08T05:11:00.003+05:302011-02-08T05:15:04.816+05:30V for Veena and Vastanvi<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">An abbreviated edit of this post appeared in this week's <a href="http://tehelka.com/">Tehelka</a> mag. <a href="http://tehelka.com/story_main48.asp?filename=hub120211WHAT_GHULAM.asp">Here's the online version</a>. Print also available, I believe. [Can someone hold a copy for me, please? :) I'll collect it when back.]</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">So here it is. </span><br />
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<div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">What a fascinating start to the new year. As a young, relatively serious Muslim, I am naturally interested in news stories and opinions pertaining to Islam. More so in today's climate where Islam is, shall we say, not exactly subject to much praise, or even authentic, objective appraisal.</span></div><div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"></div><div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Which is why it is more than a little disheartening to see two recent big news stories doing the rounds in the subcontinent in this regard, that are so inane and yet reflect so well what is wrong with:</span></div><ol><li><div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">the Islamic <i>ummah</i> [community] itself, and</span></div></li>
<li><div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">the perception of Islam as bandied about by mainstream media and lapped up by everyone.</span></div></li>
</ol><div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">I speak of the chart-topping story centred around Pakistan's <a href="http://www.digitaljournal.com/article/302812">Veena Malik, her </a><a href="http://www.digitaljournal.com/article/302812"><i>Bigg Boss</i></a><a href="http://www.digitaljournal.com/article/302812"> stint and the subsequent outrage it unleashed</a>. [But of course we all know this already.] The second case I refer to is that of Maulana Ghulam Mohammad Vastanvi and the controversy surrounding his statements. Exactly. A lot of you are probably thinking, “Who? What?”, and to save you the trouble of Googling said gentleman, let me introduce Vastanvi <i>saheb</i> as the recently appointed 'Mohtamim' or Rector of the <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Darul_Uloom_Deoband">Darul Uloom, Deoband</a>, who has now resigned after a fair bit of noise by 'the good Muslims of India'.</div><div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">[What is ironic here, from a Muslim P.O.V. is that most regular Muslims don't know and certainly don't care who the rector of the Darul Uloom is – it does not affect our daily lives. On the other hand, all of us are pretty much up to speed on Veena Malik and the sordid details of her private life; she would have been the subject of much discussion in most Muslim households. And therein lies the problem.]</span></div><div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2w8ww-EwB1rD4GR4Ez1HfJRk2kluWt1yDp-rqGdNlyzrswUTI2Ph3KBRtpyxEweP6uaWXR9ktC1Xvrm7LOdC80OPg9-EtrKoHbpn3HluQDXjROoeJmazAO7kofNhEAuRDyVA-dg/s1600/veena+malik+big+%25284%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2w8ww-EwB1rD4GR4Ez1HfJRk2kluWt1yDp-rqGdNlyzrswUTI2Ph3KBRtpyxEweP6uaWXR9ktC1Xvrm7LOdC80OPg9-EtrKoHbpn3HluQDXjROoeJmazAO7kofNhEAuRDyVA-dg/s400/veena+malik+big+%25284%2529.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Vaaii? Just because I'm a womaan!!?</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span style="font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Let us take the curious case of Veena Malik first. We all know of the 'slut-shaming' hue and cry Pakistan's media and masses are directing at Veena. We also know of bright, sane voices in Pakistan speaking out against this [MUST READ: <a href="http://sanasaleem.com/2011/01/24/veena-malik-the-fatwa-factory/">Sana Saleem</a>, <a href="http://blog.dawn.com/2010/12/13/is-veena-malik-a-threat-to-islam/">Shyema Sajjad</a>, <a href="http://tribune.com.pk/story/93869/veena-malik-and-the-moral-brigade/">Raza Rumi</a>, <a href="http://www.uroojzia.com/work/?p=794">Urooj Zia</a> etc.] but that's unfortunately not too many in comparison. Here's the thing. The outrage is not limited only to Pakistan. Muslims across the region are taking Veena's behaviour as a personal affront. I can cite examples from my own moderate, well-educated Muslim family and community.</span></span></span></div><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">How does Veena Malik's private participation in an entertainment show make her a representative of either her country or her religion? Why are people going hysterical over her actions when it has nothing to do with them? Where does this intrusive, and frankly, very ridiculous Islamic moral policing get off? </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-style: normal;"><b>One's faith is a very personal thing</b></span><span style="font-family: inherit; font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> and in the context of Islam specifically, you will never be held responsible for something someone else did, so please back off. </span></span><i style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">'Nafsi-nafsi'</span></i><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> as the saying goes. [Or, to use the vernacular: 'Whose father what goes?'] Veena, </span><a href="http://www.pkaffairs.com/Play_Show_Front_Line_21st_January_2011__Veena_Malik__Mufti_Qavi_Go_Head-To-Head_12727" style="font-family: inherit; font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;">in a teary-fiery confrontation with a Mufti Abdul on a recent news show in Pakistan</a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">, was spot on when she said what she did is between her God and her. [The same channel called her back for <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xOG6Vn-GbtU&playnext=1&list=PLE2413B874DE6813D">more public bashing the next day</a>, with Pak </span>veteran<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"> actor/director Syed Noor and Atiqa Odho - and again Veena stood tall. w00t!] Who is anyone else to butt in and stand on judgement? There are far bigger problems with Islam as practised today than what a starlet/cricketer/actor/politician/academic did in his or her personal life. Unfortunately the point is, that for some reason, Muslims mostly tend to get rubbed the wrong way on all inanities. [This happens with other communities and groups as well, but I am speaking of the Muslim </span><i style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">ummah.</span></i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">] First things first. Veena Malik is not an aberration or a shocker, hence need not be made a loud example of. I may not approve of Veena Malik personally but that's my opinion and I cannot foist my judgement on her – more so using the tag of Islam to browbeat her with. I will say this: I now respect her for her courage, for facing up to a most vicious and unfair attack by an unthinking people and for standing up for herself publicly. I thumb my nose at </span></span><i style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">mullahs</span></i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> and all other self-righteous </span></span><i style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">thekedaars</span></i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> of Islam and really, more people need to do so. My simple request to today's Muslim everywhere: look to yourself, mind your own business and do </span></span><i style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">jihad</span></i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> the best way – that is, struggle against your own self. [Before everyone starts panicking, please note: </span></span><i style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">jihad</span></i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> simply means 'struggle' not 'holy war', in the same way that </span></span><i style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="font-weight: normal;">fatwa</span></i><span style="font-family: inherit; font-style: normal;"><span style="font-weight: normal;"> simply means 'opinion' and not 'death sentence'.]</span></span></div><div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1j0y4IbgYXM8RNwlcA2sSiH1elngtNp3wdJAfQoUtqjgV8Fz0LJja7bHaqpZwXT3-HXcK8Ufw8z8ZOcckn0Ol5aBwfHxbKWG1fH1x-oinTaJ1nVzu63QJ2vhLxpW76F3hXMQXnA/s1600/Ghulam+Mohammed+Vastanvi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1j0y4IbgYXM8RNwlcA2sSiH1elngtNp3wdJAfQoUtqjgV8Fz0LJja7bHaqpZwXT3-HXcK8Ufw8z8ZOcckn0Ol5aBwfHxbKWG1fH1x-oinTaJ1nVzu63QJ2vhLxpW76F3hXMQXnA/s320/Ghulam+Mohammed+Vastanvi.jpg" width="230" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Abeyaar, WTF did I do?</td></tr>
</tbody></table><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">And now, on to the next segment: Maulana Vastanvi's predicament. In short, all the Maulana really said was that yes, Guajarat 2002 happened, it is now 2011 and since the state as a whole is doing so bloody well economically, it stands to reason that Muslims in the state are also doing okay, there <i>is</i> development and we should take this positive and move ahead. Nothing wrong as far as I can see. No particular eulogy or praises for Narendra Modi or any reference to his being faultless in the riots and general horror of the time. But no! Offence must be taken, outrage must be had. Hot-headed loonies decided that the Gujarat card was being undermined. “Muslims are the victims! Always the victims!” and how dare this forward-thinking, sensible educationist talk about anything else?</span></div><div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">Now. Frankly speaking, the Darul Uloom and its administration or opinions don't really figure in a common Muslim's day-to-day life. One does not look to the Darul Uloom for daily guidance or direction. It may be India's most historic and renowned seat of Islamic learning - but is more popularly only known as 'that Muslim joint where they hand out unsavoury <i>fatwas</i> from time to time' [a whole different kettle of fish we can leave for later] by the general populace. Which is to say, that unless Vastanvi's tepid remarks in some interview with, who else, the <i>TOI</i> *insert applause* was not played up and given its current tabloidy-political-communal-controversial tint, none of us could have cared less. There is so much outrage because fragmented and choppy edits and reporting can cause such things. Again, the outrage is only on the part of a few people, and possible has some shady political angle to it which I do not care to go into. That's my point. I don't care what some administrator of some religious body said – especially since it was so neutral and non-news- worthy. Somewhere I see ridiculous media shenanigans in raking up another controversy surrounding Islam-Gujarat-<i>mullahs</i>-Modi. Sure the Deobandis are now screaming bloody murder [not really, but you know], Vastanvi has had to step down as Mohtamim and the issue is still getting acreage in publications when it is all such a big yawn. Here's the thing: was all this necessary? Does it affect the common Muslim in any way if Vastanvi says Gujarat HAS developed under Modi? [Well, hasn't it?] Can we all please stop feeling that Mulsims are still being crushed underfoot when in fact they may be not, and that the events of 2002 were a terribly unique occurrence and not the norm? Muslims – please stop playing the victims when not needed, media- stop your silly news-byte worthy shenanigans. The resulting noise is a bit much.</span></div><div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;">A closing thought. I am sure there is a significant number of Muslims today who think along reasonable lines, do not fall for every old provocation in the book, know their religion for what it is and do not need to nod along to everything certain clerics and scholars say just because they appear to know better. It is time to stop being a 'silent majority' [as I hope you are] and come out of your shells.</div><div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">All I can say is, the outrage is outrageous.</span></div><div align="LEFT" style="font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i>Bas, khallaas.</i></span></div><div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><br />
</span></div><div align="LEFT" style="font-style: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><b>PS:</b></span></div><div align="LEFT" style="margin-bottom: 0cm;"><div style="font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;">On a seriously light note, please turn up the volume and watch this hilarious remix tribute video to Veena Malik, created bye DJ Shahrukh. Phrases that we can take away from Veena's epic interview and laugh forever over: A<i style="font-style: normal;">gar-magar?!, jazbaati, </i><i style="font-style: normal;">bos-o-kinaar, husn-o-jamaal, fohosh,</i> and the epic cultness of “<i style="font-style: normal;">Mufti Sahab! Yeh kya baat hui?!!” </i></span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i style="font-style: normal;"></i>Which phrase I and many others have already started using with relish in appropriate situations.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: -webkit-left;"><iframe title="YouTube video player" width="480" height="390" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/03lMNCGlZX0" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div><div style="font-style: normal; font-weight: normal;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: inherit;"><i><br />
</i></span></div></div>longblackveilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00544098735304797477noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672420.post-5325705583195635402011-01-15T12:45:00.001+05:302011-01-26T15:03:38.669+05:30Meanwhile Back Home...<iframe frameborder="0" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/y6HP0OmY6qc?fs=1" width="425"></iframe><br />
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</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;">Kashmir does not rest. The media party has ended, sure. But nothing has really changed since last summer's horror.</span><br />
<div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">Tehelka is possibly the only popular publication that continues to show real interest in Kashmir, after all the hurly burly was done.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span">I recommend subscribing to tehelka.com's </span><a href="http://www.youtube.com/user/TehelkaKashmir" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;">Kashmir Uncut YouTube channel</a><span class="Apple-style-span">, for some real reporting, ugly truths and hopefully, eye-openers. Special series directed by </span><a href="http://twitter.com/mriganayanika" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: medium;">Pragya Tiwari</a><span class="Apple-style-span"> and team.</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px;"><span class="Apple-style-span"><b>Note</b>: Most vids are- well, apart from worth watching - saddening, disturbing or plain infuriating. Keep that in mind before you start.</span></div><div><br />
</div></div>longblackveilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00544098735304797477noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672420.post-29595468145590064482011-01-15T10:45:00.005+05:302011-01-15T11:44:36.953+05:30I've Come To Look For America<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So I finally made it across various seas, a couple of oceans and substantial portions of land to reach the United States of America [Wiki it] on the 30th of December, 2010. I know. That's like <i>so</i> last year, right?</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The adventures began when I left Jammu a week earlier. Idea was to train in, spend a few days in the Dilli, meet old and new friends and then take off for <i>foren. </i>As always, that whole 'the best laid plans of mice and men...' deal happened. Meaning the <i>foren </i>came later rather than sooner. Not that I minded. I love <b>D-D-D-D-Dilli, Dilli. </b>Song follows. Sing along, please.</span><br />
<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><b></b><object height="385" width="480"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/u4NKZqnKh5o?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/u4NKZqnKh5o?fs=1&hl=en_US&rel=0&color1=0x2b405b&color2=0x6b8ab6" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="480" height="385"></embed></object> </span><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5AMYLYwqLCFLeNHFaSTWWUk4Qo2bNvBY0R7_mb1HzeYa-riY7Mm7noNXmkjjLSoDo4tpp-Mw2gzLYM3JpO1sL1uxVDzhAVX1m0skE1aKaWhvImwjmEkNNnc97gIT8g8VGDok1hA/s1600/Picture+007.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5AMYLYwqLCFLeNHFaSTWWUk4Qo2bNvBY0R7_mb1HzeYa-riY7Mm7noNXmkjjLSoDo4tpp-Mw2gzLYM3JpO1sL1uxVDzhAVX1m0skE1aKaWhvImwjmEkNNnc97gIT8g8VGDok1hA/s320/Picture+007.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Now, things started off as planned. Reached Dilli okay, met new Twitter fraands [to wit: <a href="http://twitter.com/St_Hill">St_Hill</a>, <a href="http://twitter.com/Mah_Ima">Mah_Ima</a>, <a href="http://twitter.com/fakehaa">Fakeha</a>, <a href="http://twitter.com/as1fk">as1fk</a>, <a href="http://www.blogger.com/">s_purba</a>, <a href="http://twitter.com/reshii">Marryam</a>, <a href="http://www.blogger.com/">mriganayanika</a>] and regular old fraands. Metro'ed as much as I could from Ghaziabad abode to all ends of the city. I <i>do </i>like the Dilli Metro, in spite of occasional <i>'yatra seva mein vilambhs'</i>. Clean convenient and most wonderfully, 'ladies only' coach at the front of every ride.</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Finally visited posh Hauz Khas market on Christmas day for lunch with <a href="http://twitter.com/avehimenon">the Avegiii</a> which we had planned at that place called 'Gunpowder'.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Avegiii took me through some winding, shady alleys of Hauz Khas, and since I trust her so much, I didn't panic. Turns out my trust and friendship were not misplaced. We reached lakeside and there was the Gunpowder signage. Up three flights like giggly gals we went, only to realise at the very end, that the place was closed for Christmas. Sigh. There had been a sign at the ground floor, which we totally ignored in our chatty-laughy climb upwards. <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAMsjE0dfiDQbtOKVXbWj2TvSFLjnxHvKsvbPGguMLt3eul6t8SK5hLHnh-k3fBfCL3HbHJHfLNE7CzlntGOaC1x_2JFJheVr7hGVocSYkO4id9KLlME5gjBxd2sk4Wc03tuYE-g/s1600/Picture+035.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAMsjE0dfiDQbtOKVXbWj2TvSFLjnxHvKsvbPGguMLt3eul6t8SK5hLHnh-k3fBfCL3HbHJHfLNE7CzlntGOaC1x_2JFJheVr7hGVocSYkO4id9KLlME5gjBxd2sk4Wc03tuYE-g/s320/Picture+035.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Anyway. Nice facepalm walk downstairs it was. Where we saw the Junglist Movement, saluted etc.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">[BTW, verrr interesting kitschy film poster stores which I will visit on return journey.]</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Lunched at 'Naivedyam' eventually, for okay-to-above-average South Indian <i>khaana.</i> Had nice filter kaapi after ever so long. Also met the fantastic foodie Marryam Reshii and her adorable Kashmiri husband. </span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Dilli days were made up of sight-seeing. Street-walking in Puraani Dilli, which I love returning to. Visited Balli Maaran and the utterly uncared for Ghalib Memorial in Gali Qasim Jaan. Very heartbreaking to see the nonsense state of Ghalib's last abode. 'Ghalib-e-khaasta ke baghair kaunse kaam band hain? Ro'iye zaar-zaar kya, kijiye haaye haaye kyun?' :(</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Prayed at Jama Masjid, and unlike last visit where I was completely pissed off with the peeps inside making noise and having a picnic of sorts, this time around it was quieter, and more masjid-like. [Also, w00t! w00t! Running hot water at the wodhu nooks, which was very lovely in the Dilli winter.]</span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOvI0lmSG0UVoXNwkoBMs545zZ7aEDbSVJkC_3O1t020-2SZ6-qKdWMjr0MBaSkAcoXdgQRiNekBXtCy_cPZ1r7TQe8dJfuTV90m9NvRkVvaSXf4v7V5MPkwb53XcXpM1jRbrteg/s1600/Picture+095.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOvI0lmSG0UVoXNwkoBMs545zZ7aEDbSVJkC_3O1t020-2SZ6-qKdWMjr0MBaSkAcoXdgQRiNekBXtCy_cPZ1r7TQe8dJfuTV90m9NvRkVvaSXf4v7V5MPkwb53XcXpM1jRbrteg/s320/Picture+095.jpg" width="320" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Did book shopping [Urdu poetry, Islamic books] at one sweet uncle's carpeted bookshop. 'Please remove shoes and all' deal it was. Spent a pleasant hour there, shoeless.</span><br />
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</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Now, right opposite Jama Masji'd maingate, was this deadly sweet-laden cart. Delish matka firni, doodhi halwa, gajar halwa etc. for ridiculously awesome price of INR 12/- or something. Please to try. </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTRllW2v1kZjtILmDO3dUwAN6OSixH7BZ0gcv-F4ev5YrowB_0VGGL-VKzYtT-zBMGipqhqAWQprRinzWzrirMbdFc6kTgcLlUjYZhLhqMWahKC1FZw9KnJ-UcbWzZwtcD47anww/s320/Picture+096.jpg" width="320" /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="-webkit-text-decorations-in-effect: none; color: black; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So far, so good.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Then it started snow-blizzard-ing in Dilli [or at least fogging up verrr bad] and all flights went for a toss. Which is when the exciting phase of my travels began - the Dilli Layover in Swank Hotels, or as I like to call it - DilLiSH. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYAnjwDzRP4cvo9UtWluax0r1kKeMaROYqfigpHpBFKPzWFwe5s7sR5l7V75oWjLl6haCI_SqmFTKZbl0oVTFfHyqM2V3Z-2_nZ8t61daSQJOk3gND88Of563_wwNsapjddIAAKQ/s1600/Picture+106.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYAnjwDzRP4cvo9UtWluax0r1kKeMaROYqfigpHpBFKPzWFwe5s7sR5l7V75oWjLl6haCI_SqmFTKZbl0oVTFfHyqM2V3Z-2_nZ8t61daSQJOk3gND88Of563_wwNsapjddIAAKQ/s320/Picture+106.jpg" style="cursor: move;" width="320" /></a></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The first night my flight was cancelled, I was pretty kicked. Air France [nice enough airlines, <i>tres </i>sucky ground staff at IGI Airport] put us stranded passengers up at the Ramada in Gurgaon. I got a swank double room with a view all to myself, see-through bathroom, TV, Wi-fi, the works. Plus I became pals with one cute Bong-boy-kid traveller and it was a pleasant stay for two days. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Managed to go sight-see at Humayun's Tomb with two lovely ladies, so that's one more item crossed off my To-Do-In-Dilli list . </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpyK4KMCCbIt5K2mPwQQ-mXe46FaqsJG0oy85OLO3XRV5Y3OlKBpv9Cvs7xq9v1cTZdItsXgAW8hhmJg64bhwTk_8yKxgsicsH3OfWherhHt0f2dZgX1Nvga25u0wMW36p3_sLLA/s1600/Picture+185.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjpyK4KMCCbIt5K2mPwQQ-mXe46FaqsJG0oy85OLO3XRV5Y3OlKBpv9Cvs7xq9v1cTZdItsXgAW8hhmJg64bhwTk_8yKxgsicsH3OfWherhHt0f2dZgX1Nvga25u0wMW36p3_sLLA/s320/Picture+185.jpg" width="214" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Am pretty sure you've all seen Humayun's Tomb [if not, Google Image it], so I'll show you something you might not have seen in relation to it.</span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">This would be Imran Khan and Kat Kaif doing a song shoot at said location on the very day </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Fakehaa, Mah_Ima &</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> I were there. Coincidence? I think not. [Stalkers...]</span></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></span></div><div style="margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">The next flight delay/cancellation was sordid, tiring, unbelievable. Horrendous night at <i>hawaai adda</i>. Was ready to crash and burn by 0400 hours. After very Kafka-esque experiences, finally found self with room at The Park, CP. Well, well, well! I know, right?</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_c2MyEp7eBa2ux1CBu4s4X5j1HZsvctZHX9BcdrBGXh3Wbtl7fiZ8tRRcRj7LQ9kxX0RkMq1wliUMUqg_TMmFanrnLYLgrmrrUxOwGssUxiBiK73UB5z3qGQwYfeOClKG1vn-8w/s1600/Picture+244.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_c2MyEp7eBa2ux1CBu4s4X5j1HZsvctZHX9BcdrBGXh3Wbtl7fiZ8tRRcRj7LQ9kxX0RkMq1wliUMUqg_TMmFanrnLYLgrmrrUxOwGssUxiBiK73UB5z3qGQwYfeOClKG1vn-8w/s400/Picture+244.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Extra colourful rooms at The Park</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Anyway. I liked Ramada Inn better because of cosy feel, and, this is most important, it had a bidet in the toilet. I HATE HATE HATE this concept of waterless bathrooms. It may be right up the foreigners' alley, but I need a tap and lots of water in my loo because I was born and brought up the</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>desi </i></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">way. Steeuuupid swanksters. I had mineral water bottle to keep me company but marble bathroom with telly in it did not impress.</span></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvaCR8aBxDb2kj3GDV3Cu11_JHDsT-PW0HqcxPtxL_-8YqY-Jr6m_Q6mWd-Niiz1SHflJKDuLgL-ikmDkTCRx4ap7x7utit4SU_9wjDJB0Ak849zmK_7mll0twG9u18rUbK8OUdg/s1600/Picture+248.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgvaCR8aBxDb2kj3GDV3Cu11_JHDsT-PW0HqcxPtxL_-8YqY-Jr6m_Q6mWd-Niiz1SHflJKDuLgL-ikmDkTCRx4ap7x7utit4SU_9wjDJB0Ak849zmK_7mll0twG9u18rUbK8OUdg/s320/Picture+248.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Marble-sharble, Tv-sheevee theek hai, get bidet.</td></tr>
</tbody></table><div class="" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Bedroom and bed were fine, no complaints. I slept off immediately. </span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_y67k-y511VmI_5PliITcWw5qrWuy2PHd8KaqzV0xJLRNRgXdz2OpNJzYT13EBHkVEje_FOGM7wWKcFql_1p6EKqGSgtQRys_AG-AZ4DjEW-786DzousPQGTxwf5gg9JeLGK6sQ/s1600/Picture+246.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_y67k-y511VmI_5PliITcWw5qrWuy2PHd8KaqzV0xJLRNRgXdz2OpNJzYT13EBHkVEje_FOGM7wWKcFql_1p6EKqGSgtQRys_AG-AZ4DjEW-786DzousPQGTxwf5gg9JeLGK6sQ/s320/Picture+246.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And may I just say what a fantastic spread for lunch. Am regretting having slept through breakfast. The hotel staff is most definitely not. I mean, I went all out. Cleaned out the buffet. *flashback*</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><i>Allors. </i>Flight to Paris was nice, what with sudden barrage of French by everyone on board, and very <i>Francais </i>accented <i>Anglais</i>, just like the movies. I was having giggle fit listening to it. To make matters worse, was seated next to lovey-dovey French couple, and well, you know... *blush*</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="clear: right; float: right; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Reached Charles de Gaulle <i>hawaai adda</i>, negotiated through various terminals and metros and security checks in a daze, thinking, "ZOMG! I am actually in Paris. ZOMG!" Also having visuals from various postcards and <i>Paris, Je T'aime.</i></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="clear: right; float: right; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="clear: left; float: left; font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="214" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-TywtRDIC7leMstTYTYYD63fB5XBdOFJFVpEJ5Vw4np-3ZjM5IPMb8Dp1-Y3jCZYbc3PAc0YmjS7AsThFWiDe5z7gqZT8x8Ky2B2h5zpFHZidMZ1q8Vb6QtIIzOTGo99Zhx2QWg/s320/Picture+254.jpg" width="320" /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I must confess that I deliberately went over and spoke to many peeps in the airport just to practise my basic French. Cheap thrills. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">After reaching departure lounge, I learnt that my flight was 'retarded'. [See pic.]</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Also, some issue with <i>mon billet</i>, so had verrrry awesome time listening to to hot French men discuss my situation and how to get me on the flight. As I was twirling my tresses [underneath scarf] and smiling suggestively, they sorted out the mess and that was the end of that dream sequence. Sigh... Very Joseph Fiennes one of them was, and with a French beard to boot.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"></span></div><div style="font-family: 'Times New Roman'; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-top: 0px; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">And then a few hours later I reached, can you believe it, the US of A. Sweet immigration guy; had a lovely chat with him although was very miffed he did not know about Kashmir. I mean, WTH??!! Still, he was polite and smiley, I was polite and smiley, we made small talk, I got a quick stamp on passport and here I am, in the wintry Mid-West.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">So far Umreeka has been pleasant and quiet, and polite and internet is really fast. Also, I am in love. Crazy love. Check out how crazy:</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Zizou, the nephew</td></tr>
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</span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">It has snowed beautifully in the past few days. </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">I love it [because I don't have to go out and shovel the driveway].</span><br />
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</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Here, this is me and boyfriend.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;"><br />
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</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">Final notes on initial thoughts on Umreeka:</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">1. Clean, quiet, polite, peeps follow rules - Yayyyy!</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">2. Huge servings of everything. Unbelievably huge produce. Like gigantic fruits and vegetables. It's scary.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">3. Too much availability/use/waste of energy and resources. Too much. Disturbingly much. In that I am constantly disturbed by comparing to the way things are back home. Non-CFL lights, power sockets without ON/OFF switch so gadgets are in stand-by mode forever, dishwashers, big fuel-guzzling cars, central heating, instant hot water... Sure it's comfortable but... it's <i>l'excessive, non?</i> Anyway. I feel bad about it.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Georgia, 'Times New Roman', serif;">4. Great community care by Govt - libraries, Recreation Centres, facilities for each town/community. How nice for families and kids especially. There should be no crime at this rate what with all the perks you get with being an American. Hmmph. </span></div>longblackveilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00544098735304797477noreply@blogger.com19tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672420.post-67711645478294161852010-11-22T14:23:00.004+05:302010-11-22T16:14:19.256+05:30Of Weddings in a VillageMade a slap-dash trip to Breswana recently to attend a family double-wedding. Photo-story follows [click on pics to magnify]:<br />
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Started with road trip from Jammu towards Kishtwar on NH-1B; disembarked 8 hours later at small roadside town of Prem Nagar. Where one crosses a footbridge to get to the mountains on the other side. At this time of the year, the Chenab has shrunk considerably because the source waters in the mountains are now freezing etc. Do the geography yourself.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi813w_sKByKM34-JOw9MQHE-DJpnwg70ScOcTi7tCMWFoITkML7TS3L3zJXyJ9IFWP43vJsSzJKV-EuB-wkWi4gGJuzLFiNJTOS-gnmttntQW2DqHrxKrmERtbNW7x2qpR3JMDHg/s1600/IMG_0625.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi813w_sKByKM34-JOw9MQHE-DJpnwg70ScOcTi7tCMWFoITkML7TS3L3zJXyJ9IFWP43vJsSzJKV-EuB-wkWi4gGJuzLFiNJTOS-gnmttntQW2DqHrxKrmERtbNW7x2qpR3JMDHg/s320/IMG_0625.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Here is the bridge we cross and the other half of Prem Nagar built into the facing mountains. It's about a hundred metres max, if that, though when I was little I distinctly remember it being about 5 kms longer. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaRu6WrQZmw0y0o-akhZ7e58ptmCVv98PcH5aextaR4aQIZw9SnmofJQU6Z4MNwbHS11MhlG9pbGeN9NHgX_LRo2alv4850IC6mqF6yQgHSmlugjwPL12SkidUhEdjYjNcb7ukCg/s1600/IMG_0626.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiaRu6WrQZmw0y0o-akhZ7e58ptmCVv98PcH5aextaR4aQIZw9SnmofJQU6Z4MNwbHS11MhlG9pbGeN9NHgX_LRo2alv4850IC6mqF6yQgHSmlugjwPL12SkidUhEdjYjNcb7ukCg/s320/IMG_0626.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Once at Prem Nagar, the horses await, and we start our upward ride: 3 to 4 hours at a comfortable amble. Pits stops and refreshments are to be had as you like it.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsb8LHS-O7XoQdZlsTo-Jgzh2YR1zVxajyu2K-9TAwHHlHpxcvwx3joGxO_OqvHfEjwWTbprAH8hKq6_ZLO-V00OVyLgLNw0LoBmsl-rZw4a1c6mopWRwlEaN_xM3C7PFNnNjr6g/s1600/IMG_0629.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsb8LHS-O7XoQdZlsTo-Jgzh2YR1zVxajyu2K-9TAwHHlHpxcvwx3joGxO_OqvHfEjwWTbprAH8hKq6_ZLO-V00OVyLgLNw0LoBmsl-rZw4a1c6mopWRwlEaN_xM3C7PFNnNjr6g/s320/IMG_0629.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> Ahem. By the way, this is my new gorgeous black mare. So far I call her Black Mare, which is #FAIL.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhksg9xIuatklZVhi_fRIe7_Nx60cxNRlM5mHjMOFZXMHE-OVEN0Gs8sJj3GLObcohSM3fo1UNIOYPFjspW-lpn8781pkUNm9qPKH-WJm3VVJ7FnM3TE2Yjq-7nooGRu3OrTHnHQQ/s1600/IMG_0638.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhksg9xIuatklZVhi_fRIe7_Nx60cxNRlM5mHjMOFZXMHE-OVEN0Gs8sJj3GLObcohSM3fo1UNIOYPFjspW-lpn8781pkUNm9qPKH-WJm3VVJ7FnM3TE2Yjq-7nooGRu3OrTHnHQQ/s320/IMG_0638.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Finally reached my home in the hills after sunset, and it was c-c-c-cold, but aha! What's this I spy in my room? Verily it is a blazing fire. Zzzzzzz.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyScHIWvwWgyUiVGwQpSlYpnJTnw8f_GM7ajwZqQVuKqB1Mm0EOC0yEVryzRGtwoRhkpiOIYRMalacbHMQ9jJV5ulZ5nBD_cpgJHVWmGjUVfzvzIwVgc2YYa5H-zwYBEnB4qnQWQ/s1600/IMG_0652.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhyScHIWvwWgyUiVGwQpSlYpnJTnw8f_GM7ajwZqQVuKqB1Mm0EOC0yEVryzRGtwoRhkpiOIYRMalacbHMQ9jJV5ulZ5nBD_cpgJHVWmGjUVfzvzIwVgc2YYa5H-zwYBEnB4qnQWQ/s320/IMG_0652.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>After a great overnight rest, which was preceded by fresh warm buffalo milk and a good hot water foot bath, I awoke the next morning to play with the pups and a few village shrimps. Boy on left is our in-house Gujjar kid, Hashim Din. Boy on right is young Irfan, who has some sort of mental disability and is still stuck at an infant's level of mental development. He's great with animals. :)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZX2Stpu_6UcFNbca98YE7XUsYAh7vOKI2RuYgpFwI7UjJasNZub5IK7sIOTq1mALP9TS_2Bhn26xa3Bta7whxWEiPMrinaxyxUogKyJypUYKTqoDBHIHiampuNSGHl4H6h0jxxw/s1600/IMG_0653.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgZX2Stpu_6UcFNbca98YE7XUsYAh7vOKI2RuYgpFwI7UjJasNZub5IK7sIOTq1mALP9TS_2Bhn26xa3Bta7whxWEiPMrinaxyxUogKyJypUYKTqoDBHIHiampuNSGHl4H6h0jxxw/s320/IMG_0653.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Close up of baby cocky spangrel [Cocker Spaniel+mongrel mix], Motu, at his favourite spot, under the dahlias in the sunny front yard.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpjimevv4au95JREJ5zfVQXvjU4aYO4wxCVSHZQ1ztD2KzkYs8ztSv5EyqMCvIS49alzFpGnjmfTjzQYuL05IvuuBFAd9rKY00MoZWgFW5XAaxDZXMckCoiMT9v37RpuY2wXCyZw/s1600/IMG_0666.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpjimevv4au95JREJ5zfVQXvjU4aYO4wxCVSHZQ1ztD2KzkYs8ztSv5EyqMCvIS49alzFpGnjmfTjzQYuL05IvuuBFAd9rKY00MoZWgFW5XAaxDZXMckCoiMT9v37RpuY2wXCyZw/s320/IMG_0666.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Anyway... Wedding time, and we head to the next village where Shahida and her brother Nisar were both getting married on the same day. Shahida to leave for her new home, and Nisar to bring his new wife in.So this is the path we take.On foot and horseback, as the road allows.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguQtzrtp4cttsyVJkDECAtq1e6rr3p_Vn8kpMQR6aoBygKoEP-lrFwXPlDdkWcKGCajIm-_GtfAAxf9TGz_yQ8cWl93HsQ5f8BEi5Ou5mMHSw8ETVg_0T7bvUj-IU0kdknbj6iug/s1600/noah-2010+219.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEguQtzrtp4cttsyVJkDECAtq1e6rr3p_Vn8kpMQR6aoBygKoEP-lrFwXPlDdkWcKGCajIm-_GtfAAxf9TGz_yQ8cWl93HsQ5f8BEi5Ou5mMHSw8ETVg_0T7bvUj-IU0kdknbj6iug/s320/noah-2010+219.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>Now, a village wedding in my <i>ilaaka </i>is of monstrous proportions for the very simple reason that everyone in a village is related to everyone else in the village... and very often the adjoining few villages as well. So a general invite to the whole world and its family is sent out, and since weddings are fun times and provide a rare reprieve from their daily lives to our hardy village peeps, everyone takes advantage of these occasions to come out in numbers. Huge numbers.<br />
What makes a village wedding doable, for even the poorest of people, is the fact that everyone pitches in. <i>Every single family </i>offers something to the wedding preparations. People will either bring milk, curd, ghee, livestock, rice, wheat or whatever they have to help the host families do their thing. This is apart from the cash gifts they give to the bride and groom. <br />
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This particular wedding I was at was expected to host 700 peeps at each meal. And so cooking preparations were awesome to witness. The Culinary Department at such dos is the biggest deal. An outdoor cooking camp is set up, with logs, gigantic vessels and impressive manpower at work the whole day. They are in charge of providing chais, rotis, main meals and other special requests for special guests from time to time.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">At meal times, the guests are called in batches to the eating tent. Catering units form a human chain and after the hand-washing routine [in Kashmir, hosts go from guest to guest, after they are seated for a meal, carrying the<i> 'tash-nerr'</i> (which means receptacle and kettle respectively) for them to wash their hands in], the preserved plates are brought in piping hot from the cooking area. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGU0TmzwI9hnr5r3pnQVmWtsnlSrUBcTZnCVjhdxOJQGkmGF9A5MnJZAAIxZUnqCxviqWKz4ALtnaFmIQgVQy5k4hrzq5PISYu6Fpw7LN4iBLSwkmDQzS_h2nnJJriDkMWSkph2g/s1600/IMG_0753.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiGU0TmzwI9hnr5r3pnQVmWtsnlSrUBcTZnCVjhdxOJQGkmGF9A5MnJZAAIxZUnqCxviqWKz4ALtnaFmIQgVQy5k4hrzq5PISYu6Fpw7LN4iBLSwkmDQzS_h2nnJJriDkMWSkph2g/s320/IMG_0753.JPG" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">The pre-served plate will normally have a bed of rice, some chutney and a few pieces of meat from the various dishes on the menu. Then one by one, a line of servers start making rounds carrying huge buckets serving various curries or topping up plates and refilling rice as the case may be. Water bearers do their thing simultaneously. It is most wonderful to watch a well-oiled meal service in action. [Please note, this is not a Waazwan. This is a most simple wedding meal practised in the poor mountain areas of our district. Waazwan happens in proper Kashmir, i.e. the Valley.] </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">Here is the young team of Caterers at Shahida and Nisar's wedding.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrmonW4Dv1TkK6cXMvBvQEy_m2R18Fn6CJ98XQILkZDR2My2bhHRdnPfdXAxqXxhB5cNcSaR_cS9UCn4hRoL_7DBLb2vB_C8KfzdHacTZjXb0WWBHEaazept4o_QPEly2Zvh9LAw/s1600/IMG_0769.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgrmonW4Dv1TkK6cXMvBvQEy_m2R18Fn6CJ98XQILkZDR2My2bhHRdnPfdXAxqXxhB5cNcSaR_cS9UCn4hRoL_7DBLb2vB_C8KfzdHacTZjXb0WWBHEaazept4o_QPEly2Zvh9LAw/s320/IMG_0769.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Inside the wedding house, the aim of the game apparently is to cramp as many human bodies as possible within the smallest confines, then sit and talk loudly or sing folk songs as the mood sets on you. :) The ladies and kids come decked up in their finest, they sit, chat, meet long-lost relatives, gossip and in general make for a very noisy and entertaining scene. For people who don't like crowds [guilty] it is a bit much, and I found myself standing outdoors, in the shamianas or secluded in a separate room with no intruders. Still, most interesting to watch.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJDoRMSAbOk-e5qeTCLgnca0P6nAYH7gBH-WEtlBzsRdf8DKTDoTMnwuca-_o14ZSICzCKWe0c4JcV3XKWcaXLKEsJ-ZF6-qjGAOp15vtyvxGFL5GJZSXpq9kFtT3uWr_YLgo8xQ/s1600/IMG_0766.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJDoRMSAbOk-e5qeTCLgnca0P6nAYH7gBH-WEtlBzsRdf8DKTDoTMnwuca-_o14ZSICzCKWe0c4JcV3XKWcaXLKEsJ-ZF6-qjGAOp15vtyvxGFL5GJZSXpq9kFtT3uWr_YLgo8xQ/s320/IMG_0766.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> The men and women sit separately, with most of the men involved in the actual running around and wedding work. The ladies just have it easy.<br />
And so, Day 1 of the Wedding, which was <i>Mehndi Raat</i>. Shahida's girlfriend from college in Doda came up to the village to do her <i>mehndi </i>and makeup.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLqW7Tgij8Vx_Hc8WhYuLcf9FefQWcvYFDXRDl8HA60RZXRzmA6JkN6NRYPMMCokTa0etsTX3E_5q0kAvDIc1bNGBg1UQUMoJhjwRMxqUC5ZT_mgy_86LjroqQToW8h11ibKFNig/s1600/IMG_0781.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLqW7Tgij8Vx_Hc8WhYuLcf9FefQWcvYFDXRDl8HA60RZXRzmA6JkN6NRYPMMCokTa0etsTX3E_5q0kAvDIc1bNGBg1UQUMoJhjwRMxqUC5ZT_mgy_86LjroqQToW8h11ibKFNig/s320/IMG_0781.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Cute decorations for the next day, when the two brides would be seated side-by-side: One, the new incoming bride and the other, the bride to leave for her new home. [Check out the heart garland. #WIN!]<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtaQ0IyVaEu2OajdWWaBdnP177x2gHNPNQ5je0Qu31F3Lk-L_HaNpDikor6weagMJkCDoB9QL-NxEkv9Jc_Pvct_FXzfUlH8QQbTMCVzklAWwU0zfS3ao2yfQRLBlvkoKPx9LcKQ/s1600/IMG_0834.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtaQ0IyVaEu2OajdWWaBdnP177x2gHNPNQ5je0Qu31F3Lk-L_HaNpDikor6weagMJkCDoB9QL-NxEkv9Jc_Pvct_FXzfUlH8QQbTMCVzklAWwU0zfS3ao2yfQRLBlvkoKPx9LcKQ/s320/IMG_0834.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> New bride arrived in a <i>paalki</i>. Her village was about two and a half hours away, <i>on mountain roads</i>- which means uphills and downhills! Most impressive of the <i>paalki-wallahs. </i><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyTA5-_XzOML2RrVXJmNnU_WCHg9jCM__nTWtJrnfYc4CeueF9xnaqyBcYMqWFVWpNtMxXJZO-WiSK2iJ7BL0BOxe87uCfeiuUkPrBjoljGxrXbmxhRXLR1HVEHjgI9m1Upz52Bw/s1600/IMG_0892.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyTA5-_XzOML2RrVXJmNnU_WCHg9jCM__nTWtJrnfYc4CeueF9xnaqyBcYMqWFVWpNtMxXJZO-WiSK2iJ7BL0BOxe87uCfeiuUkPrBjoljGxrXbmxhRXLR1HVEHjgI9m1Upz52Bw/s320/IMG_0892.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> And soon after, Shahida's groom arrived. [On one of our horses. :]<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijC3DeNoCh_WYNxZJgRjSfAArLIjg0PtljlV3-bmDK1BGM_MBOruSMT1KkuZ12nKudNCSXJ8k1Tpj8RDqagxFRnmuH-C3yTeYzD3dRQ2FGLYl5r9mv6FImEbVX8BlMn9scFVMrhA/s1600/IMG_0909.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijC3DeNoCh_WYNxZJgRjSfAArLIjg0PtljlV3-bmDK1BGM_MBOruSMT1KkuZ12nKudNCSXJ8k1Tpj8RDqagxFRnmuH-C3yTeYzD3dRQ2FGLYl5r9mv6FImEbVX8BlMn9scFVMrhA/s320/IMG_0909.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> Here are the two lovely ladies. Shahida, screen left, and new bride, screen right.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD3k8xbfp5iCuYzbcfp71P1JDgQY8q3f1hEX_6tFgcWgS4up0m7x_T_9_cWSELRHuaxte7wjsiEANHSdRFNPmBnHetsr7MO4N7_JEK5-jx1Ojx1J41KbCzFzrCzSBs-zt9PaH7qg/s1600/IMG_0914.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjD3k8xbfp5iCuYzbcfp71P1JDgQY8q3f1hEX_6tFgcWgS4up0m7x_T_9_cWSELRHuaxte7wjsiEANHSdRFNPmBnHetsr7MO4N7_JEK5-jx1Ojx1J41KbCzFzrCzSBs-zt9PaH7qg/s320/IMG_0914.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Cash garlands are a very big deal here, as in UP and Mayawati. Except these are believable sums, and ten rupee notes. <br />
Another funny tradition: After the <i>baraatis</i>/groom come to the bride's house, a select group of close lady relatives from the girl's side, gets to come to his room and stare at him for a while. After many awkward moments, and a heavy silence, suddenly every one of them thrusts cash gifts at his loyal companion, who accepts these token as part of his duties. Scene ends.<br />
Here is Zaana Auntie, Shahida's Ma, seated near the groom [but not talking to him: shy]. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiap5jKCzXPBDH8txd-Dd7hHMSB6SnIzSZ0zlJ8STdUqVl-7DaNeByHkcBlnt92WtnMN_qCGD1-iczmTWpTyh9zD245d7kzRVckIuODawPZu-OHnUQ6TeYzc7aJo3vZcUBZHag1Jg/s1600/IMG_0934.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiap5jKCzXPBDH8txd-Dd7hHMSB6SnIzSZ0zlJ8STdUqVl-7DaNeByHkcBlnt92WtnMN_qCGD1-iczmTWpTyh9zD245d7kzRVckIuODawPZu-OHnUQ6TeYzc7aJo3vZcUBZHag1Jg/s320/IMG_0934.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> Here is the dashing groom Nisar, happy to have brought home a blushing bride.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhafINHBaqBfde2FJhIXIidiqvp7YqT8ipcujUTO2F3NGqHS52FLYZIbPOXsOhxi2ICN4TskPJFMXcpJb7GRRM0cMEBR9nrlYmmpaXM3idsR4NZPlrxzet9mApKDvv8rxxVD-Dnww/s1600/IMG_0970.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhafINHBaqBfde2FJhIXIidiqvp7YqT8ipcujUTO2F3NGqHS52FLYZIbPOXsOhxi2ICN4TskPJFMXcpJb7GRRM0cMEBR9nrlYmmpaXM3idsR4NZPlrxzet9mApKDvv8rxxVD-Dnww/s320/IMG_0970.JPG" width="240" /></a></div> And that was that. A most eventful wedding happened. Masses met and good wishes passed along for the next generation. There were no fights which is surprising for such big gatherings. Much chai was had, many songs were sung. One pretty girl left and another took her place. Lots of animals gave their lives for a good cause. Burp.<br />
<br />
Back at the Haji homestead, on the morning of my departure, was hanging with our horses in the fields.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidDCB-eqP-23YuyV1OzNGmRvRI8FTEevg4xpRIoz_oGRi707k1fDKSvacPbhpdK9PeqXvEUDbauP58-e2Jv1ZbgMPb5ywdDwo0khN-FhwWCpWJ2xMtiYy0s9hDn3s9kB9c0VIzLA/s1600/IMG_0994.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEidDCB-eqP-23YuyV1OzNGmRvRI8FTEevg4xpRIoz_oGRi707k1fDKSvacPbhpdK9PeqXvEUDbauP58-e2Jv1ZbgMPb5ywdDwo0khN-FhwWCpWJ2xMtiYy0s9hDn3s9kB9c0VIzLA/s320/IMG_0994.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Groomed Black Mare for a bit and she was like, "WTF?" Zanskari horses are not namby-pamby and she was really irritated as I brushed her coat. Tee hee.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Xwll3pBJsTkfBjKNQyQe8APFiWFKDZIGWnHgvc4cLkapADPnefZPT56Vpb83plBcaVt_hJ8UCuE6L3JAtfiAhhonYrrPkkOLppSwQqD71ej1SKOJAlYoxZEPXuOwpuPCf5eWLA/s1600/IMG_1012.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_Xwll3pBJsTkfBjKNQyQe8APFiWFKDZIGWnHgvc4cLkapADPnefZPT56Vpb83plBcaVt_hJ8UCuE6L3JAtfiAhhonYrrPkkOLppSwQqD71ej1SKOJAlYoxZEPXuOwpuPCf5eWLA/s320/IMG_1012.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Quick stop at the <a href="http://hajipublicschool.org/">school</a> before rushing out. It was the first day of <a href="http://facebook.com/hajipublicschool/">HPS's annual examination</a> for the year 2010. Kids praying hard at assembly just before the event. :)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-1ANq9VmQDeRdL2EW31wepwNoFkH5ODezWThsNwCo-YmR_l1xFop16OQiFmoXPfK7bcnErzeIJHDTU-_HXlh5mDs6d-QEyFaW38IFI2L4-pVRnr-Y8w7onBjedSkI8JHsk3H6cA/s1600/IMG_1021.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh-1ANq9VmQDeRdL2EW31wepwNoFkH5ODezWThsNwCo-YmR_l1xFop16OQiFmoXPfK7bcnErzeIJHDTU-_HXlh5mDs6d-QEyFaW38IFI2L4-pVRnr-Y8w7onBjedSkI8JHsk3H6cA/s320/IMG_1021.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Examination hall was created outside in the winter sun because it was chilly inside the classrooms and most magical outdoors.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga3EjLax5JR2E1682OCvOsNd87xrr7WF-4LPauIrVzssmLWpTCQVZiUAY8v9YN_Az7mErcdisMWmpJ1RQxEj5w7ypo69gkxMBCq_pZlWrG40Fb54BiuX2131SU2KVjYMPyqEny_g/s1600/IMG_1029.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEga3EjLax5JR2E1682OCvOsNd87xrr7WF-4LPauIrVzssmLWpTCQVZiUAY8v9YN_Az7mErcdisMWmpJ1RQxEj5w7ypo69gkxMBCq_pZlWrG40Fb54BiuX2131SU2KVjYMPyqEny_g/s320/IMG_1029.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> Hehehe. Check out little Rubina applying herself as she works out an answer.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-mUAAxykP1jhwdpwMMlORlbdeHVp4xkeSOd7-RTOZE-UJkfCdZ38-KicTbJ1XMPm0198cRZ2UiAi1VWJuOx2B1N0N76eGzSPJIROQ0pH6aME0CnP6KR_ByrI7K5Nfufx7qnprkw/s1600/IMG_1041.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-mUAAxykP1jhwdpwMMlORlbdeHVp4xkeSOd7-RTOZE-UJkfCdZ38-KicTbJ1XMPm0198cRZ2UiAi1VWJuOx2B1N0N76eGzSPJIROQ0pH6aME0CnP6KR_ByrI7K5Nfufx7qnprkw/s320/IMG_1041.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> Back home to say bye to the two pup faces: Motu and ThinSo. [ThinSo is stray boy we picked up from the streets in Jammu. He's a nutcase.]<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOORewXKFJhHduISFaejFkWd1dMSSIzqMHeRcLSNia82ke-mnqadVAfx2Il5rgvhWN8rHw5j1gINxsEFlJvqm-R8SwuVdtcwD5-yhyphenhypheneElYWknmFrPCZAXfm5Rp5KzvrahyT9CC-g/s1600/IMG_1047.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOORewXKFJhHduISFaejFkWd1dMSSIzqMHeRcLSNia82ke-mnqadVAfx2Il5rgvhWN8rHw5j1gINxsEFlJvqm-R8SwuVdtcwD5-yhyphenhypheneElYWknmFrPCZAXfm5Rp5KzvrahyT9CC-g/s320/IMG_1047.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> Farewell shot of the school as I left for Jammu.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieUvDFA63z5F8ofa4IgLpvYj-Usb8JZ7vafWic4okjT0qe7dOqA5fyKQUCL61VV3hNGywvIYPSDcfOnwFdJM3kILzt1_l26Db1dMZV-MlsT7cJ1CtrwdF0NPowXP_6sRDcgpe4-A/s1600/IMG_1050.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEieUvDFA63z5F8ofa4IgLpvYj-Usb8JZ7vafWic4okjT0qe7dOqA5fyKQUCL61VV3hNGywvIYPSDcfOnwFdJM3kILzt1_l26Db1dMZV-MlsT7cJ1CtrwdF0NPowXP_6sRDcgpe4-A/s320/IMG_1050.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>Downhill is about 3+ hours of walking. We don't take horses going down because of the steep descent, big boulders and generally unnecessary leg-breakage-risk. In this pic, you can see my poor Abba limping along heroically with his cane for support. He had hurt his feet something terrible earlier and they were not healed yet. Toenails falling off, bleeding etc. But he did the trip and did it well. Hero!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHZEyE93HvevJRYx3PgkZohQ-UZfXLmmtCeq5ry_SkJ1bl2MaB_Z0HyclrC8Riv77iAAEVQ8kRLF1n3QdtIRznoSaIdGxhj-hRApUnsRsWr9d5OQAbBKcoVgIApmS0kb2aPPsn6Q/s1600/IMG_1052.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHZEyE93HvevJRYx3PgkZohQ-UZfXLmmtCeq5ry_SkJ1bl2MaB_Z0HyclrC8Riv77iAAEVQ8kRLF1n3QdtIRznoSaIdGxhj-hRApUnsRsWr9d5OQAbBKcoVgIApmS0kb2aPPsn6Q/s320/IMG_1052.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> Here we are resting about halfway down. You can see the bridge at Prem Nagar at the bottom.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRq-QKm-ZgPIk8RRnk7FUcgCVjrt3erBeqWDN0i7eLsWsKd-vHLv6k9tFMdsFHfcWPCB0QHl-63tQmkvAOm6IPSG4SzzEso71Kxrf_6JHcOxA4SagSOPRBs_clhzrCcLku0SahVw/s1600/IMG_1054.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRq-QKm-ZgPIk8RRnk7FUcgCVjrt3erBeqWDN0i7eLsWsKd-vHLv6k9tFMdsFHfcWPCB0QHl-63tQmkvAOm6IPSG4SzzEso71Kxrf_6JHcOxA4SagSOPRBs_clhzrCcLku0SahVw/s320/IMG_1054.JPG" width="320" /></a></div> Quick stop at our Doda digs and the office of the <a href="http://aminatrust.org/">Amina Trust</a>.<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ-KpbZ55VEnxu8lshz-96Yu1gW0evpw3qPvDe31V9aa-FIKoydh9V7AXnlF2c-o2t3kOB3Z7ED-l40sO3jQFjXSPBztM0epV85nOmNdFl08j7Oteq2Ul8gNG6o_g-mRND3OzSoQ/s1600/IMG_1076.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQ-KpbZ55VEnxu8lshz-96Yu1gW0evpw3qPvDe31V9aa-FIKoydh9V7AXnlF2c-o2t3kOB3Z7ED-l40sO3jQFjXSPBztM0epV85nOmNdFl08j7Oteq2Ul8gNG6o_g-mRND3OzSoQ/s320/IMG_1076.JPG" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And another quick stop at Kishtwar, my mother's hometown, for a family visit. Here was the highlight of the Kishtwar trip, my bouncy baby cousin Sa'ad, a blonde bonmbshell and most clever kid who I have marked out for greater things in the future.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOmm25ql_cwf89FOZ5hjDzO20IXFZTW1qfyeiFxnt0MfND6Y9Itvx0d6PgbLTCsZ1NvRs2Pfc_7yRvgVeDgO3RtSCc9-kYJStbLZCIPagurmfWXuEPBELinkbTq9R3PPpqXHJrpA/s1600/IMG_1081.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgOmm25ql_cwf89FOZ5hjDzO20IXFZTW1qfyeiFxnt0MfND6Y9Itvx0d6PgbLTCsZ1NvRs2Pfc_7yRvgVeDgO3RtSCc9-kYJStbLZCIPagurmfWXuEPBELinkbTq9R3PPpqXHJrpA/s320/IMG_1081.JPG" width="320" /> </a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">This concludes the present broadcast. Please leave comments and questions below. Also, point out typos to me. There is no way I'm rereading the entire post. :)</div>longblackveilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00544098735304797477noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672420.post-4508972231008718372010-11-11T21:51:00.000+05:302010-11-11T21:51:32.934+05:30Yes, yes, contrary to what you think, I do not write only about Arundhati Roy. [Oh, look, I did it again.]<br />
Anyway, am back from quick trip to Breswana and the <a href="http://facebook.com/hajipublicschool">school</a>. Attended a couple of weddings, and a couple of funerals. Most disturbing.<br />
Pics soon. Here's a sample, from happy times in Breswana:<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioqkpAtZw-aDs22hgQMe1oKaA9U4N0uRstBsNEtKhvy-nkSpdut73NHB9J2wpp8E4-Igsk_y9-GUtJkH7fRF2NTojWyqsA-B3wbWDYStRoq8MuZKyswl5q7-1NPOSKGc3HK9tbQg/s1600/IMG_1009.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEioqkpAtZw-aDs22hgQMe1oKaA9U4N0uRstBsNEtKhvy-nkSpdut73NHB9J2wpp8E4-Igsk_y9-GUtJkH7fRF2NTojWyqsA-B3wbWDYStRoq8MuZKyswl5q7-1NPOSKGc3HK9tbQg/s400/IMG_1009.JPG" width="400" /></a></div><br />
This here is my new puppy face. So far have not named him because he has not yet developed an animality. Based on looks alone, we call him Motu. Sometimes we call him Fatty. (He does't respond to either.) He responds very well to food.<br />
He's very adorable, okay? Okay.longblackveilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00544098735304797477noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672420.post-8719582361532629392010-11-01T00:57:00.001+05:302010-11-01T00:58:37.695+05:30Happy Halloween, Ms Roy - XOXO<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz96Cq3N8lmVleZxVq1zxcCkhALxu4WqdupUWqZbFOeskcCm6Hrtn9D0hehpdKTVTEzgHB-L-wzDVqgHUsES38aR0VPzZR9nZz6aOgO1zjGLDZABd2S7_OQhnF__9WWi_dDrfSzw/s1600/arundhati_roy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgz96Cq3N8lmVleZxVq1zxcCkhALxu4WqdupUWqZbFOeskcCm6Hrtn9D0hehpdKTVTEzgHB-L-wzDVqgHUsES38aR0VPzZR9nZz6aOgO1zjGLDZABd2S7_OQhnF__9WWi_dDrfSzw/s1600/arundhati_roy.jpg" /></a></div>From <a href="http://harikunzru.com/archive/mob-attacks-arundhati-roys-house-oct-31st-2010">Hari Kunzru's blog</a>, direct C&P here:<br />
[This message from Arundhati Roy arrived in my inbox this morning. The allegation that the news media is colluding with those orchestrating the violence is extremely serious and requires a response.]<br />
<br />
<div><b>SOMETHING FOR THE MEDIA TO THINK ABOUT</b></div><div> A mob of about a hundred people arrived at my house at 11 this morning (Sunday October 31<sup>st</sup> 2010.) They broke through the gate and vandalized property. They shouted slogans against me for my views on Kashmir, and threatened to teach me a lesson. The OB Vans of NDTV, Times Now and News 24 were already in place ostensibly to cover the event live. TV reports say that the mob consisted largely of members of the BJP’s Mahila Morcha (Women’s wing). After they left, the police advised us to let them know if in future we saw any OB vans hanging around the neighborhood because they said that was an indication that a mob was on its way. In June this year, after a false report in the papers by Press Trust of India (PTI) two men on motorcycles tried to stone the windows of my home. They too were accompanied by TV cameramen.</div><div><br />
<br />
What is the nature of the agreement between these sections of the media and mobs and criminals in search of spectacle? Does the media which positions itself at the ‘scene’ in advance have a guarantee that the attacks and demonstrations will be non-violent? What happens if there is criminal trespass (as there was today) or even something worse? Does the media then become accessory to the crime? This question is important, given that some TV channels and newspapers are in the process of brazenly inciting mob anger against me. In the race for sensationalism the line between reporting news and manufacturing news is becoming blurred. So what if a few people have to be sacrificed at the altar of TRP ratings? The Government has indicated that it does not intend to go ahead with the charges of sedition against me and the other speakers at a recent seminar on Azadi for Kashmir. So the task of punishing me for my views seems to have been taken on by right wing storm troopers. The Bajrang Dal and the RSS have openly announced that they are going to “fix” me with all the means at their disposal including filing cases against me all over the country. The whole country has seen what they are capable of doing, the extent to which they are capable of going. So, while the Government is showing a degree of maturity, are sections of the media and the infrastructure of democracy being rented out to those who believe in mob justice? I can understand that the BJP's Mahila Morcha is using me to distract attention the from the senior RSS activist Indresh Kumar who has recently been named in the CBI charge-sheet for the bomb blast in Ajmer Sharif in which several people were killed and many injured. But why are sections of the mainstream media doing the same? Is a writer with unpopular views more dangerous than a suspect in a bomb blast? Or is it a question of ideological alignment?</div><div><br />
<br />
Arundhati Roy</div><div>October 31<sup>st</sup> 2010</div>longblackveilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00544098735304797477noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672420.post-53849838701059840112010-10-26T21:24:00.000+05:302010-10-26T21:24:56.694+05:30Arundhati Roy re possible sedition charge - Oct 26th 2010<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz6MmVj2pXxbaoJN0cWC8fwHI0EAz0IdgAGYXNFEAiDSShDipAv0Jq4Hk9Qy3786RMplJfyDn-CAVgc9ME_HjeZSKgiQizqXCy7zFA80Abzy_Wi8ifD56ViZn35PhTknJeDDYZww/s1600/roy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhz6MmVj2pXxbaoJN0cWC8fwHI0EAz0IdgAGYXNFEAiDSShDipAv0Jq4Hk9Qy3786RMplJfyDn-CAVgc9ME_HjeZSKgiQizqXCy7zFA80Abzy_Wi8ifD56ViZn35PhTknJeDDYZww/s320/roy.jpg" width="243" /></a></div>Dear all of you,<br />
I am sending this from Srinagar. This is my statement in response to the news that I may be arrested soon on charges of sedition. It would be lovely if the whole statement is carried— which is why I am not sending it to the wire services.<br />
All the best<br />
Arundhati<br />
<br />
STATEMENT BY ARUNDHATI ROY<br />
<br />
I write this from Srinagar, Kashmir. This morning’s papers say that I may be arrested on charges of sedition for what I have said at recent public meetings on Kashmir. I said what millions of people here say every day. I said what I, as well as other commentators have written and said for years. Anybody who cares to read the transcripts of my speeches will see that they were fundamentally a call for justice. I spoke about justice for the people of Kashmir who live under one of the most brutal military occupations in the world; for Kashmiri Pandits who live out the tragedy of having been driven out of their homeland; for Dalit soldiers killed in Kashmir whose graves I visited on garbage heaps in their villages in Cuddalore; for the Indian poor who pay the price of this occupation in material ways and who are now learning to live in the terror of what is becoming a police state.<br />
<br />
Yesterday I traveled to Shopian, the apple-town in South Kashmir which had remained closed for 47 days last year in protest against the brutal rape and murder of Asiya and Nilofer, the young women whose bodies were found in a shallow stream near their homes and whose murderers have still not been brought to justice. I met Shakeel, who is Nilofer’s husband and Asiya’s brother. We sat in a circle of people crazed with grief and anger who had lost hope that they would ever get ‘insaf’—justice—from India, and now believed that Azadi—freedom— was their only hope. I met young stone pelters who had been shot through their eyes. I traveled with a young man who told me how three of his friends, teenagers in Anantnag district, had been taken into custody and had their finger-nails pulled out as punishment for throwing stones.<br />
<br />
In the papers some have accused me of giving ‘hate-speeches’, of wanting India to break up. On the contrary, what I say comes from love and pride. It comes from not wanting people to be killed, raped, imprisoned or have their finger-nails pulled out in order to force them to say they are Indians. It comes from wanting to live in a society that is striving to be a just one. Pity the nation that has to silence its writers for speaking their minds. Pity the nation that needs to jail those who ask for justice, while communal killers, mass murderers, corporate scamsters, looters, rapists, and those who prey on the poorest of the poor, roam free.<br />
<br />
Arundhati Roy<br />
<br />
October 26 2010longblackveilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00544098735304797477noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672420.post-1799851762293153562010-10-13T16:45:00.000+05:302010-10-13T16:45:46.390+05:30Glory DaysIndia's thrilling, tear-inducing, goose-bumping gold medal win at the CWG 2010's 4x400m Women's Relay event. <br />
<object width="640" height="385"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/kezboiU3l-w?fs=1&hl=en_US"></param><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"></param><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"></param><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/kezboiU3l-w?fs=1&hl=en_US" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="640" height="385"></embed></object><br />
<br />
Utter fantasticness. Wooo hooo! You know the result before-hand, but does that take away from the adrenaline rush? :) Nope.<br />
<br />
Well done, Manjeet Kaur, Sini Jose, Ashwini Chidananda Akkunji and Mandeep Kaur. These lovely ladies finished the race in 3:27.77 seconds, bringing in India's first ever track gold for women at the Games. Way back in 1958, the 'Flying Sikh' Milkha Singh took the gold in the men's 400m at the Cardiff Games. There has been no other track gold for India at the Games.longblackveilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00544098735304797477noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672420.post-69405460330419301112010-10-12T16:34:00.000+05:302010-10-12T16:34:31.201+05:30Tripping on Arabic PopThat's what I've been doing these past few days.<br />
Primary reason being my unhealthy love for the language that is Arabic, with its depth, poetry, romance, and heavy throatiness.<br />
The other being, it is good music. I don't listen to popular <i>Angrezi </i>music much because that often inspires me to attempt to kill myself, but Arabic pop is fun, fun, fun.<br />
But I am a dilettante fan. Have no real knowledge of real great Arab greats. A cursory Google search lands me the usual suspects: <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Greatest-Hits-2010/dp/B0037DQRWC?ie=UTF8&tag=l02bf-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Amr Diab</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=l02bf-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B0037DQRWC" style="border: medium none ! important; margin: 0px ! important; padding: 0px ! important;" width="1" />, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Best-Of-Nancy-Ajram/dp/B003J2SRYW?ie=UTF8&tag=l02bf-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Nancy Ajram</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=l02bf-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B003J2SRYW" style="border: medium none ! important; margin: 0px ! important; padding: 0px ! important;" width="1" />, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Tesada-Bemeen-Elissa/dp/B00362F0DQ?ie=UTF8&tag=l02bf-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Elissa</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=l02bf-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B00362F0DQ" style="border: medium none ! important; margin: 0px ! important; padding: 0px ! important;" width="1" />, <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Libert%C3%A9-Khaled/dp/B002HWUU7M?ie=UTF8&tag=l02bf-20&link_code=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969" target="_blank">Khaled</a><img alt="" border="0" height="1" src="http://www.assoc-amazon.com/e/ir?t=l02bf-20&l=btl&camp=213689&creative=392969&o=1&a=B002HWUU7M" style="border: medium none ! important; margin: 0px ! important; padding: 0px ! important;" width="1" />, Ramsy etc. Amr Diab of course seems to be the ishtaar of the lot, and has been since my school days.<br />
In any case, that's my trip currently. And a few important observations after YouTubing Arabic music videos:<br />
1. These modern vids are classy, shot very nicely.<br />
2. The women are gorgeous.<br />
3. The men are gorgeous.<br />
<br />
<br />
Here's Nancy Ajram with 'Enta Eih'. English subs for your viewing pleasure. <br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzGc1O3RH6S8Kb1hbP9-unTkdSVPwFueSBv_KrgvZeCsEBuzUBmiB7AFWX1_VmL3w0APWEnM8HNXLE' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Enjoy.longblackveilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00544098735304797477noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672420.post-6727946561752714432010-10-12T16:08:00.001+05:302010-10-12T16:09:26.318+05:30Missing the School<div style="margin: 0px auto 10px; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqTOecWgnd7mFC9rgLcmidzwB8AYc57Crc5dl8xgbw2iil3Cz8dZU5HXRSMIErrqT93WGrvQeG2JPyRhJfWKIweTTzJ9Gs_Cm5uZVXtbOFqeT0Q6JDUg9Xvmtio-IkIwjOFs8lNQ/s1600/IMG_0369.JPG"><img alt="" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqTOecWgnd7mFC9rgLcmidzwB8AYc57Crc5dl8xgbw2iil3Cz8dZU5HXRSMIErrqT93WGrvQeG2JPyRhJfWKIweTTzJ9Gs_Cm5uZVXtbOFqeT0Q6JDUg9Xvmtio-IkIwjOFs8lNQ/s400/IMG_0369.JPG" /></a> </div><br />
It's been almost a month since I was at HPS Breswana. Miss these imps.<br />
Here they are, demonstrating the hilarity of the word 'Akimbo'. :)<br />
<div style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="http://picasa.google.com/blogger/" target="ext"><img align="middle" alt="Posted by Picasa" border="0" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/pbp.gif" style="background: none repeat scroll 0% 50% transparent; border: 0px none; padding: 0px;" /></a></div>longblackveilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00544098735304797477noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8672420.post-91362093570597124422010-09-15T11:45:00.002+05:302010-09-15T16:03:22.942+05:30I, Kashmiri<i>Hindustan Times </i>kindly asked me to write a personal opinion piece on Kashmir. It was published on Sunday, September 11 (!!!), 2010. <br />
Most of you've read it. <a href="http://www.hindustantimes.com/Are-we-ready-to-let-Kashmir-be/Article1-599030.aspx">Here's the link</a> for the rest.<br />
<br />
[Awesome comments of course. :) Like 'leave Kashmir' suggestion. Read for amusement.]<br />
<br />
<b>PS</b>: This is not the personal blog post on Kashmir I had talked about earlier ['Kashmir, Let's Talk']. That's going to be much lengthier, more detailed and with no real structure as such. I'll try and address all comments as well. Coming up...longblackveilhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00544098735304797477noreply@blogger.com11