Wednesday 31 July 2013

this microcosm is enough for me
what is writ large elsewhere
is here writ fine
and deep
a tattoo on the flesh of the nation
a gang sign
to show all the other nations
'see, i'm just like you'

( Photo: K. Gopinathan)

'If the summer was harsh, the monsoon has been merciless towards the residents of Ejipura housing colony for economically weaker sections, who were forcibly evicted in January this year to make way for a mall and a residential complex. Two elderly women died on consecutive days this week and one toddler died of the cold a month ago.

Neelamma (60), who was running high temperature for over a week, died on Monday evening in her plastic tent that overlooks the site where the construction of the mall is apace. “The tent got flooded every time it rained. We could take it because we were younger, but Amma was too old,” said Neelamma’s son Kumar (38). Neelamma, Kumar and brother Ramesh (42) shared the tiny tent, which is no larger than an average work cubicle. There are at least two dozen similar tents on the footpath opposite the construction site.

A day earlier, on Sunday morning, the Viveknagar police found the body of 70-year-old Maqbool Jehan on the pavement outside the police station. She too was one of the women who had been displaced by the demolition in January. A police official said Jehan died due to cold and hunger.

“Her mentally challenged daughter Salma (25) has been missing since her death,” said Siddharth, a researcher at IIMB who has been helping the displaced people in his individual capacity.

Riju, whose grocery store overlooks the pavement where Ms. Jehan was found dead, told The Hindu, “The night before she was found, it rained heavily.” Shanta Mary (35), another displaced person, said Ms. Jehan was too old to work.

“She relied on alms to feed her daughter and herself,” she said. While other evicted people at least had enough money to set up tents, Ms. Jehan was left with no option but to sleep in the open. “She feared for the safety of her daughter. That is why she used to sleep in front of the police station,” said Ms. Mary.

A few weeks before these deaths, at 4 a.m. on July 11, there was a birth on the same footpath. Nusrath gave birth to a girl out in the open. Her husband, who had been arrested by the local police on robbery charges, was not present. Hearing her cries, the neighbours rang for a government ambulance. “The ambulance driver cut the umbilical cord,” Nusrath told this reporter.

The ambulance then took her to the Primary Health Centre run by the BBMP in Austin town. Here, the mother was in for another shock.

“The nurse demanded a bribe of Rs. 600 to attend to me and give the birth certificate. I had only Rs. 300. She did not care for the Below Poverty Line card [which entitles her to free healthcare]. “The ambulance driver gave me the rest of the money from his own pocket,” she says.

On June 25, Clara, who lives three tents away from Neelamma’s, lost her 18-month-old daughter to the rain and cold. “I didn’t have enough money to treat my baby Adrena,” Ms. Clara said.'

 Read the original article here

Monday 29 July 2013

actually, death is nothing
it's the point after something has ceased
it isn't anything i can fear
or deny
or understand
or welcome
or come to terms with

what i can grasp
what is concrete
is the heartbeat slowing down
the final gasping breaths
the body locking, stretching
in agony

what i can fear or hate or accept is
the poison coursing through the veins
the gunshot wound
the crushing blow
the final cry or whimper

all these are real, they are
events in the world i live in
death is not. it's the absence
of all of that

i will never understand it
never come to terms with it
never experience it
except as a series of absences

that slowly envelope my life

Wednesday 24 July 2013

what does it matter if i'm low
if i'm cranky
if i lash out or drown my
sweet in bitter and my bitter
in fury
if in the balance i run my race
if in the balance i serve my muse
what does it matter if it gladdens me
what does it matter if i am elate
or despond
if i can still unlock the hoard of words
if i can still throw open the storehouse of melody
if i weep these words or sing them piping
like a blithe bird (who is actually warning
his rivals to stay the fuck off his turf)
what does it matter if i do it with a smile
or if i can't turn my frown upside down
i'm a writer a kind of traitor
a malcontent a fly in the soup
not a waiter

Tuesday 23 July 2013

Earlier, I'd listen to Joy Division when it all started getting me down. Now I've discovered that in the right mood, any music can serve as a soundtrack to a grey mood! If it's cheerful, it serves to remind you that you too were, once. If it's aggressive it makes you feel rage along with your self pity. If it's calm, it reminds you you're not. Oh music thou art bountiful.


(parking this here for future use in a story or something)

The natural state of matter is to be inanimate. The atoms that we are built from have spent most of eternity insensate, not-alive.

Life is aberrant, a curse, a humiliation, a torture. In every living thing there is a white-hot core of rage at this imposition.

Every living thing has a death wish; this is not negation, it is an affirmation of the natural state of all things.

Any impulse which gets in the way of closing the circle is only part of the punishment, part of the humiliation that is life.

Friday 19 July 2013

Personally I was born human but whatever

So it seems the nation has to choose between this theistard and Rahul Gandhi, who is just a plain old retard. How did it come to this?