Alchol Pain Behind Ears

Brahmin inhuman communist cinema


One of the last days spent in Kerala, Prem takes me to visit the greatest living poet in Malayalam. 82 years old and lives near his house.
In his life he wrote long poems in verse, but is not widely known outside of Kerala.
With us is a friend of Prem. At the beginning are a bit 'embarrassed, because I do not know who he is, what he has written what he wrote, what he did and he does not speak English very well, do not always understand.
After a while, 'but the ice melts and begins to talk about his militancy in the days of Gandhi during the struggle for independence, the stories that I like. He says that he left school to join the movement and then, after independence, he played the Communist Party, had a very still strong in Kerala and the government in this state. Is defined as halfway between Gandhi, the spiritual aspect, and the Communists, for the aspects of equality and social justice. A Gandhian communist. I do not see anything strange, indeed is a figure that can only be nice to myself.
What seems strange to me is rather different: it is a Brahmin. Brahmins are born, and here there is little to do. But he is not just born Brahmin, Brahmin continues to behave as: wearing a lanyard, which sanctions the caste, naturally takes a bow at his feet of his friend Prem, which reaches up to touch his feet with his head.
Brahmins have the full privileges of caste, are above all. How can a communist accept the caste wear the symbols, accept the bows that are due by virtue of his position of superiority?
Communism has degenerated in many countries and has often done the opposite of what he said. Those who called themselves communists often abuse their privileges. So there is nothing strange, the whole world is country.
However, there is nothing to be done, despite the strong sympathy that inspires me this old writer, a Brahmin communist I had never heard. And I can not help but think that there is something strange. While their perfettaemnte is normal.

How To Build A Rabbit Cage On Wheels

Cinema is an essential part of Indian life.
One of the most frequently asked questions that make me the kids is what I have seen Indian films. Mean Hindi films, the Bolliwood. It is no coincidence that Mumbai is the capital of Hindi cinema in India.
Akanksha also organizes the outputs to the movies. Rarely, but sometimes a little 'entertainment you need.
The boys make me a list of movies that I see. In practice, I've only seen Monsoon Wedding (not really regarded as Indian export product) and Lagaan (more 'accepted as Indian).
a few movies that I have advised the guys I bought the DVDs in a library, but I have yet to see them.
Then one night in Kerala go to the cinema to see a film in Malayalam (the language of Kerala). In addition to production in Hindi there is' a vast production in all languages \u200b\u200bof the Indian states. But first let's talk about the film: it looks like an abandoned warehouse. We could be home to a large area. Many turn on the ceiling fans. They are almost all men, if there are women with husbands and children are not alone and not among women.
The film is called Surya (sun), the name of the protagonist. We are told that the average this is a film series C. But I expected much worse. I expected ballets and songs to no end. Instead there is 'a pattern also quite complicated (a little' unlikely, but there is), many violent acts in which Surya hits and kills everyone. The ballets are a few also enjoyable. Obviously no kissing or outpourings love. Thanks for the translation of Bindu, Prem's wife, I can also follow enough.

You notice one thing: their standard of beauty, especially for men. The protagonist is a hero type stocky, mustachioed blacks with thick hair, and blacks face is not too late. For us, a monster ... for a fairly large cool ...
And then the values \u200b\u200bof the film: Revenge (forgiveness is not allowed ever) and family (the family is untouchable).

and certainly not 'the best movie I've ever seen, but surely and' experience was also this ...

Sunbeam Le Chef Food Processsor

hands

Abstract: this post is macabre and creepy. I do not recommend reading to people sincerely emotional. I got pictures in my mind that they persecuted all the time, I have not spoken before to emphasize, preferring to speak of the moments of hope. But now it is time to pull them out. Who knows, telling frees ...

These pictures are from the hands.
first image that comes from reading a newspaper article made with the guys in the center of the colonial school. A man without a hand, right, and lying. Instead of holding a bandage approximately bloody bandages. Suffering face but happy. The paper reports the story of this man, a loyal devotee of some goddess (I forget which) on the edge of fanaticism. Indeed, beyond fanaticism: to offer a gift to the goddess has succeeded in cutting off a hand with an ax and give it a sacrifice to the goddess. Supreme act of devotion and set aside, according to him. Act of folly, in our view (and here we are not "western people" as I often use, but "we, children, Akanksha volunteers and teachers who read the article").

Another picture. A man who asks me for alms, the station, while I'm waiting for the train. In one hand he has a shot for the money, the other holds it next to the glass and in practice does not start from the wrist, but by half 'of the arm. I mean 'has a more arms' short, but not 'this and' the hand hanging, 'cause there's no' the bone inside. And it 'full of bubbles. The keep in sight next to the glass of almsgiving: it is asking for her money. Third

image on television one night obsessively repeating the same footage of a complaint against the police. You see a man with his arms raised and one of the two hands completely mangled and bleeding, as if a bomb exploded in his hand. Then the police's shooting at you. It 's a witness and accused the police of brutality, capable of firing at a man and disarming with his hands (the hand) raised. I do not understand what happened because they speak in Hindi, but this image of man with their arms up with one hand destroyed is repeated continuously.

All these hands are missing or torn impress me and haunt me.
And since then I started looking at the hands of the people of Mumbai. We are all well-kept hands, ingioellate, ringed. Some of the designs with henna, some with enamel on the nails. Others are the opposite: missing fingers, hands full of sores, hands that have become the balls with some protuberances like fingers. One child Akanksha has 6 fingers, two inches. There are people instead of a hand that is completely lacking: we see quite often people without an arm, especially older men.

I never thought the good fortune to have two hands. As I write I touch your fingers to the keyboard with one another, we are all, beat the keys fast, safe, healthy. The

Digital Playground's Blog

60 years

August 15 is the anniversary of India's independence.
was August 15, 1947 when it was proclaimed the nation and the British left the Indian subcontinent. So I'm 60 years old, round number. It 'an opportunity to reflect on where it came to India today, what won and what there is to be done. Institute of the Blind, there was a program of preparation for the Independence Day, which started months before my arrival. Each week the children have studied a state in India (a bit 'as we were studying in elementary Italian regions) highlighting the positive aspects. Then
many lessons on the "freedom fight" against the British, against the injustices that the British implement in India. In the end, between the Indian flags waving, the children sing the anthem of India.
not nationalism, at least it seemed. My impression is the opposite. This continued to repeat that we must be proud to be Indian (proud to be Indian) hides in my opinion a sense of inferiority which still lives among the Indians. Prem told me that the first time we had to accommodate in India four years ago, was very nervous for fear of not being up against foreigners, certainly better than him because they are foreign.
And then is repeated too often, "proud to be Indian." One who is so proud not need to remember it every 5 minutes.
But it is right that we face. And it is right this reflection: What have we done in these 60 years? In the newspapers there's a bit 'of everything from "the world's largest democracy" to the atomic bomb, directed by the tribal people to challenge the software industry, lack of potable water to the opening of the Coca Cola factory. In fact in India there is this.
Perhaps they are unaware of all this, the children who sing out of tune anthem of India, with the top of Akanksha (their currency) with the words "Be the change" (the famous words of Gandhi: be the change you wish to see in the world). Or maybe I am much more than me, but do not count knowing and living on the margins of society. And it is they who should devote this day is to them that India should think of the atomic bomb.

Oovoo Not Recognizing My Isight

hierarchies

If the first few days it seemed that the children of Akanksha were the last of the earth, gradually I understood that they are already 'lucky. Surely the fact that they are lucky to have been included in the program of education and that, even if the evening return to the squalor of the slums, the day they are in decent facilities and are followed by people who hold them. They have hope. That 's definitely a testimony that what made the teachers and volunteers Akaknsha work.
But there are other realities'. And there 'a whole hierarchy of despair: even among the poor there' who is who is better and worse. In There are various types of slum shacks, which correspond to a hierarchy of wealth and poverty '. The more 'fortunate have a concrete shack, perhaps with the tin roof, but at least it's' something solid. Then there 'who has the plate in all respects. And there are also various types of sheet metal, most 'new or more' rusty, one-piece or more 'pieces. After the sheet there 'the cloth. Even here, with a hierarchy of sheets: more 'or less impermeable, more' or less off the ground, more 'or less. Beneath the cloth then, there 'who has more' and those who have less, who has the stove for cooking and who's not. There 'are also those who only have roof decks. A man close to my hotel living under a bridge, brought them 'and a couch and' made an outdoor seating area.
And then there 'who sleeps under bridges, but has nothing. Compare these
also Akanksha children are lucky. And "we" then?

Men's 70's Short Shorts

day and night, men and dogs

Mumbai appearance change from day to night. Just the colonial Mumbai, do not say that of the slum, where at night and 'better not to enter.
There are areas that appear to be quiet during the day, not too poor. But brush up at night, everything changes.
Sidewalks are special. By day there are street vendors, "stalls" that sell all kinds of food, busy people walking fast to catch the train. At night, all these things disappear and sidewalks become the dormitories. Especially those covered, under porches, under elevated roads, under bridges: in times of monsoon and 'better to be covered.
There are hundreds of people lying side by side, sleeping directly on the asphalt, or on a few sheets of newspaper. Some of the rags on which they rest. Mothers hug the children, some toddlers, a few months. Many sleep embraced, yet there is no 'need to warm up, you die by the heat at night. These people then disappear during the day. Many DO NOT OWN nothing more 'than a bundle with four rags inside. Do not even have a sheet metal shack in the slum.
I know that we are people sleeping on the street. But what is striking here, and 'the amount': integer There is a sidewalk, a row of which no end in sight.
some sleep between the parked cars. I have seen huge rats somewhere between the sleepers. And there is' full of dogs. Mangy dogs, skinny, cencioci. Even the dogs lie down and sleep on them like men ', beside them, looking for companionship. It seems that it is so ': they are the dogs lie down like men and not vice versa, in this reverse order of humanity' abandoned.
On the other hand, until recently, the dogs could go into the Hindu temples' and no untouchables.
I saw a boy who was sleeping on the sidewalk that goes from the station to my hotel. Besides a mother embracing a child, two children were sleeping in pairs. A father hugged a kid. He, perhaps having no other, hugging a dog.