tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-73504035200247657842024-03-05T09:59:54.480-08:00bluubyrdOver the green rolling mountains_
She wings her way to unseen lands, dripping music from her beaks as she flies...
And over the mountains she flew, merging into the blue of the skies...George Manjooranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12242283486919040852noreply@blogger.comBlogger10125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7350403520024765784.post-72866114415394610562012-04-15T05:49:00.002-07:002012-04-15T06:03:06.257-07:00Titanic Revisited<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on"><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">Today the world commemorates the 100<sup>th</sup> year of the sinking of the Titanic, the ocean liner that set sail from Southampton in England bound for New York across the Atlantic. Boasted by its makers as unsinkable, Titanic steamed across the Atlantic in its maiden journey with 2223 people onboard. The rest is history or historical tragedy, a stuff worthy of Greek tragedies telling the story of man’s hubris and the resultant fall. It is a story as old as the story of man finding its parallel in the Garden of Eden and littered in its wake across the journey of man up to be present day.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">I too have my yesterdays to revisit and remember of years back about quarter of a century when i thought i too was unsinkable and unstrikeable, a thought as foolish in Titanic proportions as my follies. Foundered and lying thousands of leagues beneath the sunlight, i recollect the days when i used to make paperboats and set them asail in the monsoon poodles in front of my house.</div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal">On this day of the 100th anniversary of the sinking of the Titanic, i am sharing here a poem named The Sunken Ships which i had written nearly quarter of a century ago, which i thought would be apt to see the light of the day today<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="line-height: 17px;">.</span></span></div><div class="MsoNormal"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br />
</o:p></div><div class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></div><h1><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> <span style="font-weight: normal;">The Sunken Ships</span> </span></h1><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt;">Deep beneath the raging waves,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt;">Far beyond the silent depths,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt;">All along the ages through_<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt;">Sleeps the sunken ships.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt;">Once roamed the oceans five,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt;">Centuries and millenniums past<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt;">But at last to their unmarked graves<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt;">Being dug on the ocean bed.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108.0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt;">No sunny light would wake them up,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt;">Or any sailors’ hand would steer them afloat<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt;">Nor an albatross dare guide them to land,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt;">Or an astrolabe to guide by stars.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108.0pt;"><br />
</div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt;">The mighty Bismarck and Titanic,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt;">A few among the unnumbered<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt;">The castles built on ocean floor<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt;">Haunted by our morbid thoughts.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt;">Battle ships and peaceful ones<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt;">Once a time when sea went rough_<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt;">Thus runs the stories tough<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt;">Tempests wild with anguished cries_<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt;">Like a stone dropped in waters still<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt;">Swayed deep into the mighty blue.<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt;">Sailors gay, many a youthful ones,<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt;">Hope we, live in mermaids’ zone<o:p></o:p></span></div><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 108.0pt;"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: 14pt;">From a bubbling death to bubbling life_<o:p></o:p></span></div><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: 'Times New Roman', serif; font-size: 14pt;"> All along the sunken ships.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="line-height: 17px;"><br />
</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: xx-small;"><span style="line-height: 17px;"><br />
</span></span></div>George Manjooranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12242283486919040852noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7350403520024765784.post-3619416188918211382010-12-06T22:40:00.000-08:002010-12-12T05:01:52.232-08:00The Mouse that Belled the Cats!!!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Strange are the ways of the paradise, but stranger are the ways of the Internet hackers. Oftentimes they break into the privacy of Internet users and disappear with the booty without trace. But Julian Assange has a different story to tell. In the process of becoming a full-blown whistle blower from his erstwhile status of an Internet hacker, Assange has broken into the sanctum sanctorum of international diplomacy and is exposing its true color and character to the public to scrutinize.</div><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;"><img border="0" height="320" ox="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOpzeRkmCmC-79VxnOD05-fpNE9e6cgk2unAp4Qc2HGMf4dFWqypmMiOCYs1Ooa0wHiF6JWHlb6KyS6Lkr8oKq3uF1gnGo2ehieDUxa8z05PmJ2NxHLyzdkqHgg5YtLE_qScfbkluRLcs/s320/Assange.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;" width="241" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Julian Assange</td></tr>
</tbody></table>Yes, the WikiLeaks is taking the newsstands by storm around the world. It’s a new breed of investigative journalism that is destined to change the face of journalism once and for all. In the aftermath of the deluge of stinking classified documents that are open for public to gaze and scrutinize, the world of diplomacy and duplicity are at a loss as to what to do with WikiLeaks and its director Julian Assange for bringing the skeleton in the closet out into the limelight. It’s a graveyard of diplomacy. Yes, it’s a graveyard of whitewashed gravestones of diplomacy the inside of which is filling the world with stench.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1lh9L5JmZ0bnpsd35_t4qXP0CsbSlsw23lorzQUHzUfc4VNBUd_l7e8thJpr6DXtKWFpyBUKfbJrWqEK50eZE4AkMjuC_2TbGZdy9V-EKROfSR-_QfnAJVJY6ilZ2-BIsKhPRZGH27yg/s1600/Wikileaks+mouse.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="238" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1lh9L5JmZ0bnpsd35_t4qXP0CsbSlsw23lorzQUHzUfc4VNBUd_l7e8thJpr6DXtKWFpyBUKfbJrWqEK50eZE4AkMjuC_2TbGZdy9V-EKROfSR-_QfnAJVJY6ilZ2-BIsKhPRZGH27yg/s320/Wikileaks+mouse.jpg" width="320" /></a><img border="0" height="320" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJlLxU9USAHruHjRhGAIFVcxUHyVeMbcqtJTR8AUYbIlDtWsoyMthEh-mMSUMTyoFbecrnZ8plxoPYE7ObHKZmMLMRkCImL7mz-BpG2ZInlQabAaRkVfPvEWjWev2rBjPgNRjgb9JOQrM/s320/DTN_NE%257E1.JPG" width="320" /></div> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJlLxU9USAHruHjRhGAIFVcxUHyVeMbcqtJTR8AUYbIlDtWsoyMthEh-mMSUMTyoFbecrnZ8plxoPYE7ObHKZmMLMRkCImL7mz-BpG2ZInlQabAaRkVfPvEWjWev2rBjPgNRjgb9JOQrM/s1600/DTN_NE%257E1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Its certainly a time for introspection. It is a time for the civilized people of the world to take stock of what their elected leaders are doing, performing behind the scenes. In the meantime, the affected are licking their wounds and waiting for the great flood to subside. The positive outcome of the whole affair is that the Fourth Estate has send out a clear cut signal to the world leaders that however high you may fly we are watching over you.</div><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjJlLxU9USAHruHjRhGAIFVcxUHyVeMbcqtJTR8AUYbIlDtWsoyMthEh-mMSUMTyoFbecrnZ8plxoPYE7ObHKZmMLMRkCImL7mz-BpG2ZInlQabAaRkVfPvEWjWev2rBjPgNRjgb9JOQrM/s1600/DTN_NE%257E1.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOpzeRkmCmC-79VxnOD05-fpNE9e6cgk2unAp4Qc2HGMf4dFWqypmMiOCYs1Ooa0wHiF6JWHlb6KyS6Lkr8oKq3uF1gnGo2ehieDUxa8z05PmJ2NxHLyzdkqHgg5YtLE_qScfbkluRLcs/s1600/Assange.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOpzeRkmCmC-79VxnOD05-fpNE9e6cgk2unAp4Qc2HGMf4dFWqypmMiOCYs1Ooa0wHiF6JWHlb6KyS6Lkr8oKq3uF1gnGo2ehieDUxa8z05PmJ2NxHLyzdkqHgg5YtLE_qScfbkluRLcs/s1600/Assange.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><img border="0" height="319" n4="true" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiVmiJJ0WGgBHtr6xTmPcJTCV-2iyypFNFUUXkdSPYdwQfiEu0tkvGmNQKspPUe41xI1cUXw2ExuTeYz6Q7ecHqGmzKud49YIw-QbclyuqESV6K4N1GBLoKgrsEaMeSF_Sr1Nu2f446kJA/s320/67704578-hillary-the-plumber.jpg" width="320" /></div>George Manjooranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12242283486919040852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7350403520024765784.post-52279272816414606972009-12-24T05:34:00.000-08:002009-12-24T05:39:25.804-08:00Christmas Eve; A Cool December<div style="text-align: center;">Feel the Christmas slip between the fingers,<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">In this cool starry night of a December,<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">While Jim Reeves plays the oldies in a whisper,<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Bringing the gift of memories in its train.<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Where are the joys and the busy labors,<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Built around Bethlehem of a little crib?<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Where are the little hands and nimble limbs,<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">That once prepared the manger for Mary’s child?<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Full grown are they into a pair of tentacles,<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Choking my two-year-old past by Herod’s orders.<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Where can I hide of shame and of mortal pain,<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">For I hear God calling from the skies of Eden.<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I passed a beggar hungry upon the street,<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Unable to put up a smile upon this redeeming night,<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">But nevertheless I turned a priestly slip_<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">As once upon a time in the Jericho street.<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">I climbed upon the Christmas tree to kindle the star,<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">But the three magi would be lost upon their way.<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">Who will offer gold, frankincense, and myrrh_<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;">To the infant Jesus who is to be born upon this night.<br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div style="text-align: center;"> George Manjooran.<br />
</div>George Manjooranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12242283486919040852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7350403520024765784.post-76100504571710405192009-11-15T23:59:00.000-08:002009-11-22T04:53:58.590-08:00Faces In The Traffic<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf5eEqIRdD4ryUNIm7GTssRvq3AnYIWhfIVCXdm_t6U8L5fyPSM2NdeiZa3jhxJdf9PUXmcji5iVorCeQUjx3nV9vGF9wRa2VgVlC7_O8WIsS11SzxoEFquWlznk-gXK7KL6vG5BkHGa4/s1600/1910Ford-T.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf5eEqIRdD4ryUNIm7GTssRvq3AnYIWhfIVCXdm_t6U8L5fyPSM2NdeiZa3jhxJdf9PUXmcji5iVorCeQUjx3nV9vGF9wRa2VgVlC7_O8WIsS11SzxoEFquWlznk-gXK7KL6vG5BkHGa4/s320/1910Ford-T.jpg" yr="true" /></a>In the beginning was the Model T: a jukebox of a machine activated by a hand-operated lever carried along by the proud owner of the car. Self-igniting engines were not yet invented. Those were the time of the Victorian euphoria. The spirit of the English nation was ever than never high in spite of an occasional sinking of a Titanic or the burning down of a Crystal Palace by an inadvertent short circuit. However, inventions struggled to keep abreast of the spirit of well being and general prosperity.<br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">While the conservatives still clung to the horsepower of the carriages, the neo-rich resorted to the new fangled automotives that spat out smoke like a dragon and raved like a male rhino. These were serious accusations indeed, but nevertheless, the automakers were determined to conquer the roads by a concerted effort. Sooner of later, filters and mufflers prevented the excess smoke and noise from polluting the surroundings. Those were the days that saw many a design classic roll out of the assembly line that could stand comparison to the handsomest coaches. From then on the carts went before the horses and the horses retired to the paddocks.<br />
</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB0cgYdmO5kljdwjYRNHgl-nw5Zp5Qfc7owMMpzJMmeBqSGP_l7Fm7gXb3c-hsZiSL9pqlLMiXPtPaYs_WGY4zDUFjEza9ncQ3l3OwvA2srTI4U0VB9rseY47aefI3vduEPD3gmP135QY/s1600/Ferrari_166MM_Barchetta.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhB0cgYdmO5kljdwjYRNHgl-nw5Zp5Qfc7owMMpzJMmeBqSGP_l7Fm7gXb3c-hsZiSL9pqlLMiXPtPaYs_WGY4zDUFjEza9ncQ3l3OwvA2srTI4U0VB9rseY47aefI3vduEPD3gmP135QY/s320/Ferrari_166MM_Barchetta.jpg" yr="true" /></a>By the end of the first quarter of the twentieth century, the automakers had more or less consolidated their positions. Many major innovations were also brought about and now what is known as the vintage cars were ready to make history. They were, in a way, bizarre creatures with their headlights projecting like the head and the roof of a tortoise. As to their colour, they came in a wide spectrum to choose from instead of with the earlier mandatory Henry Ford tag of “as long as it’s black”. When these new breed of cars came out of the factories in flying colours people began to flock to them as children to a toy shop.<br />
<br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">While a few were tugged along by the rear view of the car the majority were captivated as a result of a head-on collision with the front view of these cars. Reading the popular imagination, the car designers were quick to respond. From then on much time and effort were expended to improve the “face value” of the cars. Accordingly, the slat space or the outline of the grills was carefully positioned. Headlights were placed in such a manner that along with two dots in the center they looked upon as two eyes or even more sensuous or sensual suggestions, depending upon the humour of the onlooker. As a whole, the relative harmony between the grills, the headlights, and the bumper gave an impression of being alive with expression.<br />
</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5ywBfIlhi9TaruU8iv5CDdBlaatddnEodn1hOCTKxvX85H0e-FmwWYryOCljTm2uTY6Pj-z5OBJnjFxleGzAq2Ro6B2Vpa5wsk8_-jOTFGzUMszCSMBkDHJC0d6OlxxbZXwRdV03hV3g/s1600/Austin+Healey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg5ywBfIlhi9TaruU8iv5CDdBlaatddnEodn1hOCTKxvX85H0e-FmwWYryOCljTm2uTY6Pj-z5OBJnjFxleGzAq2Ro6B2Vpa5wsk8_-jOTFGzUMszCSMBkDHJC0d6OlxxbZXwRdV03hV3g/s320/Austin+Healey.jpg" yr="true" /></a> <br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Those were the times when an automobile was considered more than a mere vehicle of conveyance. There was something “domestic” about them that endeared them to the people. And not surprisingly they were subjected to regular care such as servicing and shampooed pamperings. Almost like a pet they seemed to compete with dogs and cats for the affection of the household. It is now interesting to note that some even came to admit their cars to then numerous “car clinics”. In the annals of motoring many a heart was broken when a car met with an accident that resulted in the bruising of paint and the denting of body with the sound of a bone breaking.<br />
</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">But these are the reminiscences from the album of an auld lang syne. Time has wrought much change today to the mould of a car and has transformed them into objects of utility and luxury. They no more possess the warmth of expression and puckish grins of their forebears that had once welcomed them into the intimacy of their proud owners. Instead, one comes across only sophisticated boxes on wheels in the form of a car.<br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvsqWG64_LXsP5CbD5YFCTgWGQXW2wEkHPbGRkfcdkeh64qAB56CTgNxRqwtyypVoMsnSEt9knfwlGAGOY4gXszF1UYudwuv81hHb9c8kbiBZJ7I4t6vzAaw5n9CSEBMWf3RX_RDlWy34/s1600/super_cars_00.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvsqWG64_LXsP5CbD5YFCTgWGQXW2wEkHPbGRkfcdkeh64qAB56CTgNxRqwtyypVoMsnSEt9knfwlGAGOY4gXszF1UYudwuv81hHb9c8kbiBZJ7I4t6vzAaw5n9CSEBMWf3RX_RDlWy34/s320/super_cars_00.jpg" yr="true" /></a>They may be masterpieces of craftsmanship to adorn a showcase but sadly there is no more a face behind the mask, which gives life to a metal and a character to a vehicle. What meteor fell from the sky! or what asteroid struck the world causing the rapid extinction of such a species of vehicles that had inspired men to emotions! While roaming deep into the countryside, one might still come across a few old timers, like faces in the traffic, still serving their masters. But, who knows, for them, it might be a relief to die than live like Tithonus amidst a species who is on the brink of cloning their own genes along an assembly line.<br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> George Manjooran.<br />
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</div>George Manjooranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12242283486919040852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7350403520024765784.post-11256564436769566842009-10-25T09:51:00.000-07:002009-11-07T21:56:52.263-08:00The Great Indian Jungle<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The Big Bang caused by the Swiss Banking Association 2008 report in recent days is showing signs of dying out. It sounds like just yet another sound and fury of "the Great Indian Circus" which signifies nothing but gaga and bla bla of the newspapers and the television media. But should that commotion be allowed to die down or shouldn’t the flames of it be fanned up high and wide and let the conflagration put an end to the death-like complacency of "We The People" (to borrow the phrase of the Indian Constitution which majestically guarantees protection to the person, property, and liberty of its citizens under its wings).<br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I am recapitulating here what the reader would have time and again read in other sources. To begin with, the report states that Indians have $1891 billions stashed away in various Swiss banks. Here are some figures and the enormity of which is startling.<br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: right;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8e8Z21vEtTBkxwpb5BUEHuM5GxwEejPvTAsW1FVmPL0JBNU1-S44Pl64O8UTzUXuxd8_04DbQ1g_9bkxfrZEoTpQgzj8rFfxkDV4enlhZavLopre2-p1Tb2cV9ni0MuLZoMMV9y-BH6I/s1600-h/UBS2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8e8Z21vEtTBkxwpb5BUEHuM5GxwEejPvTAsW1FVmPL0JBNU1-S44Pl64O8UTzUXuxd8_04DbQ1g_9bkxfrZEoTpQgzj8rFfxkDV4enlhZavLopre2-p1Tb2cV9ni0MuLZoMMV9y-BH6I/s200/UBS2.jpg" vr="true" /></a>Top 5 Depositors<br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: right;">India---- $1891 billion<br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: right;">Russia----- $610 billion<br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: right;">China------ $213 billion<br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;">UK-------- $210 billion<br />
</div><div style="text-align: right;">Ukraine ----------- $140 billion<br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; text-align: right;">Rest of the world ----$300 billion<br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">When it gets down to brass tacks the fact is that out of the 180 or so community of nations in the world, India clearly comes out as the "black money champion" of the world. A title which should make every upright Indian's head be lowered down in shame. And that too, India is not an ordinary champion in the sense that when the grand total of the rest of the countries, i.e. $1473, is pitted against India’s $1891 it does not even come near to equalizing in the near future.<br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">There are many mind-boggling facts associated with this Swiss Bank kumbakonam:<br />
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<ul><li> The amount of $1891 is more money than all the money in all the banks in India put together.</li>
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</div><ul><li style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> The amount is 13 times larger than the country’s foreign debt.</li>
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<ul><li style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"> The amount left after paying the foreign debt if invested in earning interest the resulting interest would be more than the national budget.</li>
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<ul><li> Or, if the $1891 is distributed amount the 45 crores of poor people in the country (based on World Bank basis of those earning less than $1.25 per day) each person would get Rs.100,000.</li>
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKQJTpJM9XjLeVRvXIt3L8Hc2o46k2YFDyt4uLYBFLmbLiYQFvAHwRuIbQ_XCiyDKTChAh-eTYydNMKiESAE8OwyjpfwDF65rjwJeB4L8ngTBim45_MGLqOBT4vKLfKSvU_PXlEzmj8I4/s1600-h/corruption2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKQJTpJM9XjLeVRvXIt3L8Hc2o46k2YFDyt4uLYBFLmbLiYQFvAHwRuIbQ_XCiyDKTChAh-eTYydNMKiESAE8OwyjpfwDF65rjwJeB4L8ngTBim45_MGLqOBT4vKLfKSvU_PXlEzmj8I4/s320/corruption2.jpg" vr="true" /></a>So who is to blame for the plight of the nation? Just imagine how much more black money would be hidden away in other 70 or so called tax havens across the globe like Liechtenstein, St Kitts, Antigua, Bahamas, Isle of Man, etc., and how many fold more would be circulating through various financial institutions inside the country itself. In a country like India where crores of its people are unable to earn even Rs. 30 per day for their day-to-day livelihood, these facts would justify the case of even the meekest proponents of revolutions which had temporarily cleaned the dirty stables in other countries along the ages.<br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">There are also talks about the Swiss bank authorities informing the Indian government that they would agree to handover the whereabouts of this astronomic money in its lockers provided the government requests through the proper channels. There are other dimensions to the Swiss authorities reluctance to handing over the required documents to the Government of India. Secrecy has been a byword with the Swiss banks for decades. If the bank has to do an exception to that rule the Government of India will have to do much spade work before approaching the bank for “name-fishing expedition”. And the bank had more than once warned the government to desist from “name-fishing expedition” without doing the required homework.<br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx5vSPUjX7WlNM_MBbDKZMxwr6zQqSWMt6dNsHZCrZaMMgQVVvvntJojOsc6p2bReREhMRNdEr6PmM2I8b-q4l_fl9QIjBocSYSlycUX4FWTMhXgqxIhbW2YglFzdOwmh-chKBVUmmagU/s1600-h/swiss-bank-secrecy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgx5vSPUjX7WlNM_MBbDKZMxwr6zQqSWMt6dNsHZCrZaMMgQVVvvntJojOsc6p2bReREhMRNdEr6PmM2I8b-q4l_fl9QIjBocSYSlycUX4FWTMhXgqxIhbW2YglFzdOwmh-chKBVUmmagU/s320/swiss-bank-secrecy.jpg" vr="true" /></a><br />
</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">India government will have to painstakingly collect details and proofs of the whereabouts of the suspicious names that are associated with the Swiss banks depositing. Recently, the Swiss bank UBS agreed to hand over details of 4,450 secret accounts of US citizens to US Internal Revenue Service, but only after receiving solid proofs from the IRS. It is worthwhile to remember that earlier in this year, US government and IRS were pressing forward with criminal charges against UBS for conniving to defraud the US government. But before the charges could be moved further USB agreed to pay the U.S. government $780 million and admitted that it had conspired to defraud the United States by abetting Americans to hide money from the IRS.<br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">On the other hand, a similar Indian Government request pertaining to an account of Hassan Ali Khan was turned down by UBS AG following submittal of forged documents. The case involved Hassan Ali Khan, the Pune based real estate consultant and stud farm owner who is accused by Mumbai income tax department of money laundering to the tune of $8 billions (39,120 crores) and depositing it in UBS AG.<br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">In a shocking revelation by Transparency International India, Governement of India is in the dock for not showing enthusiasm to German governemnt's positive overture of offering to provide information free of cost about billions of dollars of unaccounted money which are held by people of India which is lying in Liechtenstein, which is a small German county. Whereas other countries like USA, Finland, Norway, Sweden, Canada, Italy, U.K and Ireland whose nationals are also included in the same list are seriously collecting the information about their citizens.<br />
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</div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIFF4QMUTM9_JMGLB584LZQyJ9lmXuMYvarojKdt2Q_IDV_YVfjAajkWGMiLcVhUDIZepD_dzMWkRJhxSSAGuxgQ_e5bM1ub3gkt5PbbXTQBhg47UMG3DfLYEYFtgpcH3doFNqBKXRYR0/s1600-h/black+money+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhIFF4QMUTM9_JMGLB584LZQyJ9lmXuMYvarojKdt2Q_IDV_YVfjAajkWGMiLcVhUDIZepD_dzMWkRJhxSSAGuxgQ_e5bM1ub3gkt5PbbXTQBhg47UMG3DfLYEYFtgpcH3doFNqBKXRYR0/s200/black+money+2.jpg" vr="true" /></a>But why is the government lackadaisical about taking such a step. One obvious reason for the lukewarm response of both the government and the opposition parties is the fact that corrupt politicians have found berths in all parties. Who would be foolhardy enough to stir the hornet’s nest upon which he is sitting comfortably or who would be suicidal enough the cut thread of the sword that is hanging over his head or in other words which politician would be a bumpkin enough to kill a milch cow for its meat.<br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Thus far for the technicalities of bringing the culprits to the book. But who is to blame for the sordid state of our nation where corruption continues to be the main evil among many others evils that plagues it. Who is bleeding India white? Is it the politicians or is it the fraudulent industrialists or is it the bureaucracy?<br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">When the Brits were there in India all blame was shouldered upon them for the famines and every sort of maladies that occured in the country. Yes they were responsible to a certain extend. But now even after 60 years of independence who is to blame for not eradicating poverty. It is a question which every educated Indian ought to ask. It is high time that "We The People" do some serious introspection and take necessary steps to root out the evil of corruption from our soil.<br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><ul><li><a href="http://www.transparencyindia.org/Slush_Parks.pdf">http://www.transparencyindia.org/Slush_Parks.pdf</a></li>
<li><a href="http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/08/19/AR2009081901395.html">http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2009/08/19/AR2009081901395.html</a></li>
<li><a href="http://www.thehindu.com/2009/05/08/stories/2009050855521300.htm">http://www.thehindu.com/2009/05/08/stories/2009050855521300.htm</a></li>
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</div>George Manjooranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12242283486919040852noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7350403520024765784.post-13724044237942258412009-10-09T06:03:00.000-07:002009-11-07T21:57:58.072-08:00The Compassionate Prince<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk2tHy8KnvqHnvy4ak8W-9CVo37RNMYkAtpFnv5N6uYrjNglhJL1EVnuqxUNQp1S0fXOqqlZJfPZ0SbgcrQZQujH-gJ_sEE0iVkCQO0GsokpDeVXnaotd_BJVzO5thsOUE6dBHweHCarE/s1600-h/buddha7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img $r="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgk2tHy8KnvqHnvy4ak8W-9CVo37RNMYkAtpFnv5N6uYrjNglhJL1EVnuqxUNQp1S0fXOqqlZJfPZ0SbgcrQZQujH-gJ_sEE0iVkCQO0GsokpDeVXnaotd_BJVzO5thsOUE6dBHweHCarE/s200/buddha7.jpg" /></a>Lord Buddha continues to fascinate the imagination and thoughts of men across the globe even after nearly 2600 years of his death. His appeal cuts across religions, races, continents, castes, creeds, etc.<br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">One of the finest aspects of Buddhism that has interested me, other than its noble tenets, is its unusual peaceful coexistance with the other faiths. One could hardly hear Buddhists getting embroiled in religious polemics whether doctrinal or other airy claims over the souls of men. This is a poem about Lord Buddha that I had penned during my college days, torn off and pasted here…<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The Compassionate Prince</span><br />
</div></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Show me a star,<br />
</div></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I will follow it to its grave.<br />
</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">And I will scatter my days in the wind<br />
</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">To get a millennium of ecstasy in his company.<br />
</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">The state of nirvana is akin to death,<br />
</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">A comma yearning for a full stop.<br />
</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">A stony statue beneath the Bo tree_<br />
</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Insensible to the sparrow at its benumbed hand.<br />
</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">But the days of struggle were steep and full,<br />
</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Each moment charged with zeal and passion<br />
</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">And endless treasures of compassion<br />
</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Of love, not blind as of a bouncing calf<br />
</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">But an all-seeing and all-embracing might.<br />
</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">An old man, a sick man, and a corpse<br />
</div></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Are the triumvirs that shook your world<br />
</div></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">A court scandalized_<br />
</div></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">And a family of wife and child left behind.<br />
</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Why for Siddhartha did you disown your world<br />
</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">To wipe our tears<br />
</div></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">For we have nothing else to drink _<br />
</div></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">In this parched up world.<br />
</div></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">But whenever the chariot of Ashoka<br />
</div></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Goes brandishing past the Kalinga grounds<br />
</div></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I hear your silent dharma at work from up the skies<br />
</div></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Turning the wheel in a missionary zeal.<br />
<br />
George Manjooran<br />
<br />
</div></div></div>George Manjooranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12242283486919040852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7350403520024765784.post-82467835551227847032009-10-06T11:08:00.000-07:002009-11-02T21:39:24.670-08:00The Crooked Roads<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br />
</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHS82r3PDG1U34JnAbXoWBb3YVjGFgP0kXK2y9LpTbMR83wiBHgWt95Ktxfl5gjOks8AYHL3NIb73AAy1AtRdAubDlXObRwWg5j9IfhEJoa7oZR2LdRKBQmqol7kyxL1rHPKiceayWzDk/s1600-h/Country+Road+Autumn+wallpaper.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img $r="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiHS82r3PDG1U34JnAbXoWBb3YVjGFgP0kXK2y9LpTbMR83wiBHgWt95Ktxfl5gjOks8AYHL3NIb73AAy1AtRdAubDlXObRwWg5j9IfhEJoa7oZR2LdRKBQmqol7kyxL1rHPKiceayWzDk/s320/Country+Road+Autumn+wallpaper.png" /></a><br />
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<a name='more'></a><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">My fascination to the crooked roads began somewhere from a photograph that I had once stuck to the wall of my room. It had a riddle that haunted my vacant moods. The photograph had captured a road in the process of negotiating a crooked turn through a dense jungle. Strewn against the tarred background of the road were freshly fallen flowers remaining untrodden by any human traffic. One could almost reach out and pick a few of those fallen petals and feel the fragrance of a bygone spring.<br />
</div></div><br />
<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">But alas! I could never get a glance of what lies beyond the bend. So I fancy. I fancy all sorts of places sprawling with proud mountains and eloquent streams. An ancient cottage untouched by the ravages of time and termites has a quiet existence. There amidst the lap of this visionary valley is the road threading its course and abruptly disappearing at the ridge of two mountains.<br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">But, such a naïve fancying does not suffice as an apology for the concept of a crooked road. On the other hand there is a thick layer of historical validity in keeping the roads upright, and the notion of a straight road is one of the cardinal tenets of the town planners and of the civilized world whom they represent. Undeniably, there is a certain amount of dignity and grandeur to the straight roads. Ever since the Roman times, the course of a road is to run stiff and not to meander like a stream lost in the shadow of the forests, carrying along their coolness.<br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">To swerve, for the Roman, was a sign of the infirmity of the will. Hence the highways were mercilessly stretched and the legions marched and marched with the iron purpose of conquest. They did conquer and it could be said that about 80,000 kilometers of roads ruled the empire. Like the ebb and flow of a river, the fortunes of the empire were reversed. The very roads that facilitated the legions in their world conquest in turn welcomed new warriors and conquerors in its turn. For all the uprightness of the Roman roads they lacked the touch of the land and the soil through which they passed through.<br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Yet, the town planners are diehard against letting the roads run their natural course. Straight roads are still their abracadabra for speedy progress. The uprightness of the roads is still their pet policy and insists that the crooked roads are to be punished into straight lines. For this, they burrow the mountains and fill up the valleys, and what remains is a matter-of-fact thoroughfare stretching forth far out of sight. After all these vanity of a human endeavor, the traveler is reminded of his growing alienation from the elements of nature all around him.<br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4QrNud3Z_014w1QWmMUzlkEAA7tnrV5ZRYr7w0KKuv4uZ3TTaJ9oNonT1mw00f59ZWRvVwUn6QSmwOxgjG8HrVm3n5iwgiaE4nWIdDPyLv4wRnUkiUMxE3D4mHKE0BaAWjOjlo3tqOiM/s1600-h/elf+land.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; cssfloat: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img $r="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4QrNud3Z_014w1QWmMUzlkEAA7tnrV5ZRYr7w0KKuv4uZ3TTaJ9oNonT1mw00f59ZWRvVwUn6QSmwOxgjG8HrVm3n5iwgiaE4nWIdDPyLv4wRnUkiUMxE3D4mHKE0BaAWjOjlo3tqOiM/s320/elf+land.jpg" /></a>He misses the once familiar landmarks of identity that used to reassure him of his destination. Instead, the only thing that engages the mind is an endless regiment of milestones meticulously arranged to tease him out of his wits. It seems a premature rush into the future__a race against time__where the trees and lampposts are hurled back into the past with the fury of a comet. Amidst this whirl of reality and the vertex of the wheels the driver is left glued to the wheel like a dummy without the least motion expected of him. There are no deviations to digress the mind or an anticipation of the fork by the river, instead, a bridge is all of a sudden flung across the waters and the river is at once lost sight of as soon as the vehicle crosses the bridge.<br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">But the story of the country roads has a different plot and setting. Their tale is inexorably intertwined with the lores and legends of the place. They are, as John Denver sang “Older than the trees and younger than the mountain”. They have an antiquity which mocks the historian of his memory. For instance, some of the oldest roads in the New World have their seminal origin from the trail of the mastodons through the forests. Then came the bison through, being followed by the Red Indians as their hunters, and at last the white man who macadamized and later petrified them with tar. Thus goes the story of the famed trails like the Oregon, the Santa Fe, etc.<br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">To set at naught the wisdom of such a path is the proud folly of the modern man. Fled is then the charm of the unseen beyond the curve. But, providentially, the village roads continue to run their age-old course along the brooks and negotiate a gentle bow around Jack the farmer’s barnyard. By the side of the proud mountain they glide as if watching the grandeur of the sight. They are very much a part of the milieu as if sprung out as a fulfillment of the natural expression of things. One never loses the wonder of beholding the cliffs all of a sudden turning by the old farmer’s farmyard. Every drive is a travel back and forth into the time subjecting oneself into the time-honored instincts of the milieu accumulated along the ages.<br />
</div></div></div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><br />
</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">Such idyllic pleasures of motoring are ending up as vicarious photographs stuck within the four walls, as the one in my room. It is a pining for what was and is not. No longer is trailblazing deemed an inspired vocation as that of the pioneers who made inroads into the hinterlands. Instead, remote villages are waking up to the grind and closing in of the machine.<br />
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</div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><div class="separator" style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none; clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWZIJqhqY2FezFlJ_wJFotqt-D910P-jSlvBYPVV9GJtcuIjWAor_tvoH93Zu-J6uMKFwunUfEZVkf2qkiTozztliBmWq5ojY0lWxhNEPgtya3vGWxXm0z6h8HviKDCYtLv10f0hHrwMo/s1600-h/An+old+Roman+road+in+Britain++photo+via+Historic+UK..jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: right; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img $r="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWZIJqhqY2FezFlJ_wJFotqt-D910P-jSlvBYPVV9GJtcuIjWAor_tvoH93Zu-J6uMKFwunUfEZVkf2qkiTozztliBmWq5ojY0lWxhNEPgtya3vGWxXm0z6h8HviKDCYtLv10f0hHrwMo/s320/An+old+Roman+road+in+Britain++photo+via+Historic+UK..jpg" /><br />
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</a><br />
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<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">There are a troop of planners to dictate the terms of the surrender. This entails the building of a direct road to the capitol along with the straightening of the existing ones. The gray beards are apprehensive but the planners are of course infallible and already the bulldozers are rolling in, their arms flexing.<br />
George Manjooran<br />
</div></div></div>George Manjooranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12242283486919040852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7350403520024765784.post-45102875660665246122009-09-29T08:35:00.000-07:002009-11-22T04:49:10.604-08:00Eggy Poems<div align="center">This is a triology of poems that revolves around the subject of an egg. The poems may sound nonsensical or rather whimsical but i am sure it will tickle some portion of the soul. I laid them some time ago, to be exact while i was a collegian. It had gathered dust over the years but not rotten i hope. SOOO here i present them to the reader to brood over...<br />
</div><div align="center"><br />
<span style="color: #996633;">LAYING AN EGG<br />
<br />
Upon the castling cloud<br />
laid the bird<br />
an egg.<br />
<br />
Down went the shell swishing and swishing<br />
through the branchless skies,<br />
until finally a thud and a splash.<br />
<br />
The great Newton rubbed his eyes,<br />
Waking up from his brown study,<br />
Set out to probe the levity of the bird_<br />
wasting her egg on his head.</span> <br />
</div><div align="center"> <br />
<span style="color: orange;"> </span><span style="color: #b45f06;">George Manjooran</span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #3333ff;"></span><br />
<br />
<span style="color: #993300;">HATCHING AN EGG </span><br />
</div><div align="center"><span style="color: #993300;"><br />
</span><br />
<div align="center"><span style="color: #993300;">I saw a pregnant hen clucking around<br />
a hospital to deliver<br />
Where no stealthy hand would_<br />
snatch away the issue for a price.<br />
<br />
But often the ducklings follow_<br />
the foster mother hen,<br />
And the koel disowns her egg_<br />
in the nest of the maternal crow.<br />
<br />
Everywhere, everywhere I see_<br />
cartons of eggs being mislaid,<br />
and peopling the land with_<br />
hens crowing at the nightfall, the sundown,<br />
And ducks oblivious of their birthright_</span><br />
<span style="color: #993300;">to swim.</span><br />
<span style="color: #993300;"> </span><br />
<span style="color: #993300;"> </span><span style="color: #b45f06;">George Manjooran</span><br />
</div><span style="color: #33ff33;"></span><br />
<div align="center"><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: #b45f06;">EATING AN EGG<br />
<br />
Each time when eating an egg<br />
I fear might chew upon a_<br />
baby hen.<br />
<br />
So I try to feel the little beaks,<br />
legs and unfledged wings.<br />
And when cleared of the_<br />
biological doubt<br />
I gulp the might-have-been-bird<br />
along the gut.<br />
<br />
Yet I feel the recapitulation of an_<br />
abortive sin,<br />
rising up to a sour_<br />
heartburn.</span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06;"> </span><br />
<span style="color: #b45f06;"> </span><span style="color: #b45f06;">George Manjooran</span><br />
<br />
</div><span style="color: #3333ff;"></span><strong></strong><strong></strong><br />
</div>George Manjooranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12242283486919040852noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7350403520024765784.post-8480838660094540082009-09-25T01:57:00.000-07:002009-10-08T05:28:56.281-07:00remembering Clint...<div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0SZqUuKEtTeqgXq44CEJT1G10lNVkdUD2ZfpMEmZwEIGCw1AIae_l3XKNpnVRYgarougxBeqr_JpcE3rR6QQM3ZZJxpowpYu17-4SAx_EPI_oxyEVCClL71dW9fFiukTW7Ks1HIxIUBg/s1600-h/Edmund+Thomas+Clint+2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; cssfloat: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img $r="true" border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0SZqUuKEtTeqgXq44CEJT1G10lNVkdUD2ZfpMEmZwEIGCw1AIae_l3XKNpnVRYgarougxBeqr_JpcE3rR6QQM3ZZJxpowpYu17-4SAx_EPI_oxyEVCClL71dW9fFiukTW7Ks1HIxIUBg/s200/Edmund+Thomas+Clint+2.jpg" /></a> <br />
</div><div></div><div><div style="border-bottom: medium none; border-left: medium none; border-right: medium none; border-top: medium none;">I remember how on the morning of April 16, 1983 this part of our world paused for many agonizing moments when we came to read in the morning papers about the <br />
</div></div><div>death of the child prodigy, Edmund Thomas Clint, <br />
</div><div>barely 7 years of age.<br />
</div><div></div><div></div><div><br />
The lone son of his parents, MT Joseph and Chinnamma Joseph, Clint left behind 25,000 paintings, most of them imbued with strokes of precocity far advanced to that of his age. By any standards it was a tremendous achievement for a child after a short sojourn of hardly 7 years in this world.<br />
</div><div></div><div><br />
While trying in vain to come into terms with the death of the little master artist, one stumbles over the seemingly comforting proverb of Solomon viz: “Being perfected in a short time,they (he) fulfilled long years”… Solomon (4:13).<br />
</div><div></div><div><br />
Our memories of this wonderful child and his paintings conjures up both the colors of rainbow that would never fade away from the sky and also the brooding shadow of Death that hangs heavy over our lives as if it could snatch anyone, anywhere, anytime...<br />
</div><div></div><div></div>George Manjooranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12242283486919040852noreply@blogger.com16tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7350403520024765784.post-63971632777576019002009-09-23T11:00:00.000-07:002009-09-25T02:57:55.273-07:00Red Coffins on Wheels<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8mDgpR9WfdhqjxDRsfmYu70LK9BQ1TtViTJx-k7inbMK_QrX6BbbP9p6qesurBnCBEUFi4bJYw4BPf1_HwvbqeUdynjTMZSgbHbNk0rr-uMfkdGNYj3AEQd36XYsWmeV96Kg4BVB_XBo/s1600-h/private+bus.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385342060697908610" style="FLOAT: left; MARGIN: 0px 10px 10px 0px; WIDTH: 320px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 208px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8mDgpR9WfdhqjxDRsfmYu70LK9BQ1TtViTJx-k7inbMK_QrX6BbbP9p6qesurBnCBEUFi4bJYw4BPf1_HwvbqeUdynjTMZSgbHbNk0rr-uMfkdGNYj3AEQd36XYsWmeV96Kg4BVB_XBo/s320/private+bus.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><div>The private buses of cochin are more and more becoming a menace to the cochinites by their rash driving and lack of concern for the traffic rules. Driven by teenagers or just-passed-teenage drivers(who are actually handpicked by the bus operators for their rush of adrenaline and young impulsive blood) the buses continue to take the lives of countless fellow road travelers.<br /><br />Its high time for the cochinites to wake up from their callous slumber and put an end to this freewheeling goondaism on the roads and hold a tight rein over these red coffins on wheels. Let their rightful indignation rage high and burn down the nexus between the bus operators and the traffic police.<br /><br />Stricter law enforcement is the need of the hour or if need be implement new drastic laws that would require the bus operators to employ only those drivers who are over 35 or 40 years of age, which would inevitably tame down the speed and rashness of the private buses and thereby avert the deaths that are awaiting to happen.</div>George Manjooranhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12242283486919040852noreply@blogger.com4