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yes Gods are crazy

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hogwash?

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What are the odds that the whole swine-flu hysteria has been set-off by some nerd at some univ because some girl rejected him using the golden words, “Only when pigs fly…”?

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Written by kowsik

May 5, 2009 at 13:58

Posted in life

Sutra

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3 months back:

Here I was, locked up in my room, trying to motivate myself to get started on the dreaded WENO-schemes, and what do I hear: a girl screaming from the TV in the living room. My illustrious room-mate has been making his mom watch some Tam movie, while finishing-off some argument with some friend over the phone. Anyway the screams had been going on so long that I giveup on suppressing the curiosity on how many girls must’ve been killed off by then. On the TV, of course. Sticking to the Wilde-dictum, I yield– and guess what, no blood! That incompetent goon on screen was only demanding some girl to answer him about some inconsequential thing while he had grabbed her hand!!!!!!!!!!!

If anything, girls on TV make girls outside look sober! Sanity followed once I went back to the lines of a wise man:

The Female of the Species

WHEN the Himalayan peasant meets the he-bear in his pride,
He shouts to scare the monster, who will often turn aside.
But the she-bear thus accosted rends the peasant tooth and nail.
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

When Nag the basking cobra hears the careless foot of man,
He will sometimes wriggle sideways and avoid it if he can.
But his mate makes no such motion where she camps beside the trail.
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

When the early Jesuit fathers preached to Hurons and Choctaws,
They prayed to be delivered from the vengeance of the squaws.
‘Twas the women, not the warriors, turned those stark enthusiasts pale.
For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

Man’s timid heart is bursting with the things he must not say,
For the Woman that God gave him isn’t his to give away;
But when hunter meets with husbands, each confirms the other’s tale—
The female of the species is more deadly than the male.

Man, a bear in most relations—worm and savage otherwise,—
Man propounds negotiations, Man accepts the compromise.
Very rarely will he squarely push the logic of a fact
To its ultimate conclusion in unmitigated act.

Fear, or foolishness, impels him, ere he lay the wicked low,
To concede some form of trial even to his fiercest foe.
Mirth obscene diverts his anger—Doubt and Pity oft perplex
Him in dealing with an issue—to the scandal of The Sex!

But the Woman that God gave him, every fibre of her frame
Proves her launched for one sole issue, armed and engined for the same;
And to serve that single issue, lest the generations fail,
The female of the species must be deadlier than the male.

She who faces Death by torture for each life beneath her breast
May not deal in doubt or pity—must not swerve for fact or jest.
These be purely male diversions—not in these her honour dwells—
She the Other Law we live by, is that Law and nothing else.

She can bring no more to living than the powers that make her great
As the Mother of the Infant and the Mistress of the Mate.
And when Babe and Man are lacking and she strides unclaimed to claim
Her right as femme (and baron), her equipment is the same.

She is wedded to convictions—in default of grosser ties;
Her contentions are her children, Heaven help him who denies!—
He will meet no suave discussion, but the instant, white-hot, wild,
Wakened female of the species warring as for spouse and child.

Unprovoked and awful charges—even so the she-bear fights,
Speech that drips, corrodes, and poisons—even so the cobra bites,
Scientific vivisection of one nerve till it is raw
And the victim writhes in anguish—like the Jesuit with the squaw!

So it comes that Man, the coward, when he gathers to confer
With his fellow-braves in council, dare not leave a place for her
Where, at war with Life and Conscience, he uplifts his erring hands
To some God of Abstract Justice—which no woman understands.

And Man knows it! Knows, moreover, that the Woman that God gave him
Must command but may not govern—shall enthral but not enslave him.
And She knows, because She warns him, and Her instincts never fail,
That the Female of Her Species is more deadly than the Male.

by Rudyard Kipling

Now:

WENO be damned, the whole idea was a wrong thread that consumed 3 months of work with nothing to show. A plot of GIGO is not exactly the sort of thing that the DoE is interested in funding! So, in the process of writing an outline for my thesis, I ended up navigating deep in to a comment thread debating stuff at best tangential to yet another post on yet another blog about the same old depressing depravity of us humans and, unlike with that thread with WENO, have come out with a link from Bhetti. It is a poem by Chinua Achebe, the author of a particularly depressing short story, back from my school reading material, titled “Dead Men’s Path“, that I can’t seem to  forget till date. Here’s the poem:

Vultures

In the greyness
and drizzle of one despondent
dawn unstirred by harbingers
of sunbreak a vulture
perching high on broken
bone of a dead tree
nestled close to his
mate his smooth
bashed-in head, a pebble
on a stem rooted in
a dump of gross
feathers, inclined affectionately
to hers. Yesterday they picked
the eyes of a swollen
corpse in a water-logged
trench and ate the things in its bowel. Full
gorged they chose their roost
keeping the hollowed remnant
in easy range of cold
telescopic eyes …
Strange
indeed how love in other
ways so particular
will pick a corner
in that charnel-house^
tidy it and coil up there, perhaps
even fall asleep – her face
turned to the wall!
… Thus the Commandant at Belsen^
Camp going home for
the day with fumes of
human roast clinging
rebelliously to his hairy
nostrils will stop
at the wayside sweet-shop
and pick up a chocolate
for his tender offspring
waiting at home for Daddy’s return …
Praise bounteous
providence if you will
that grants even an ogre
a tiny glow-worm
tenderness encapsulated
in icy caverns of a cruel
heart or else despair
for in every germ
of that kindred love is
lodged the perpetuity
of evil.

Dostoevsky would have approved.

——-

^ From the BBC page on this poem:

charnel-house A vault where dead bodies or bones are piled.
Belsen Camp Bergen-Belsen was one of the most notorious concentration camps of the Second World War. It became a camp for those who were too weak or sick to work and many people died because of the terrible conditions. Anne Frank was interned there and died of typhus in 1945. The camp was liberated in 1945.

Written by kowsik

May 2, 2009 at 15:19

Posted in life