WINDMILLS OF GODS

Perhaps the forty windmills, technically supported by the multinational power major Suzlon, have helped mitigate the acute electricity shortages that have pestered the verdant hills of Attappati for long. The gigantic blades, visible from many points of the tribal region, have redefined its pristine skyscape. The transmission towers of six mobile phone operators spot the sky too, giving finishing touches to the new vista.
The new source of energy has unintentionally breathed a fresh lease of life to moribund gods. Something like a theological lifeline!! The new meandering roads to the hilltops where these machines are located have driven many tribal groups into panic. They have seen it before. Masters clad in impeccable clothes landing en masse, throwing promises around, and poaching whatever possible. New roads mean the loss of more land, something the lot clings on to these days. Realty is flourishing and to own land simply means one can marry daughters off better, and conversely bargain for more dowries when it is the turn of sons.
There is no official platform to resist. The company sells the locally generated power to the state owned electricity board which redistributes it at subsidized rates and free in the case of agriculture, not to say anything about the rampant power theft and fraudulent meters. The woes thus have manifested in a different form. Many a god has been resurrected from the valley of oblivion. They were condemned to the Netherlands of belief by two principal agencies. One was those people who believe adivaasis are Hindus and their gods were nothing but the corrupted or deteriorated forms of real gods like Vishnu, Siva and Parvathy. Non-vegetarianism, penchant for alcohol and gory looks were the result of alienation from the epicenter of Hindiuism which they identified with the brahminical gods and goddesses. The other group was missionaries who saw the pantheon of gods as devils themselves and to be demolished to establish any chance of attained heaven.
As if to compete with the new machines, the old gods have been installed atop hills. They are simple, rude and quite undemanding as their followers. Perhaps these gods are afraid of changes and will resist them to the hilt. They are not overtly hungry, never obstinate, unassuming and do not need a cozy sanctum sanctorum to sleep in, unlike sought-after gods at Guruvayoor and many churches. Poor people, poor gods. Anthropomorphism at its best, one may say. They body forth the fear of a people branded as backward and exploited like anything. From this hilltop you can see a double storied building painted read and just empty. It is an old age home built by the government for the aging tribal population. Somehow the brains behind the plan forgot for a senile adivaasi nothing was dearer and more important that remain in the village he was born into and brought up. Life is more collective and to look after an old man is not a big deal for them unlike their educated and enlightened city counterparts.

TALE TOLD BY VINOD RAPHAEL

Thus spake Vinod in a tiny room stifled with pungent odors:

“This event took place in a nearby college of fame and repute. Postgraduate students of chemistry, with the active assistance of a teacher, manufactured the lethal poison potassium cyanide. Since guinea pigs were not available, they settled for a guinea dog. A wandering mongrel was baited and kept ready. They kneaded the poison with rice and fed the dog. Last Lunch, a student said. Cocksure of the instant death, they counted seconds. To everyone’s surprise, the dog only squirmed a bit and bolted. That is possible, you know. Chemicals react differently in animals and humans. Still there is no doubt of death as the poison is too powerful, assured the teacher stroking his aspiring goatee. The dog must have retreated to the nearby woods to breath its last in peace. Such things have occurred before, you know. Perhaps we will have to confirm its death by the stench in a few days. Well, to cut a long story short, a strange sight greeted their sulfuric eyes next noon. The dog was back, grinning from ear to ear, in the pink of health. It was furiously waging its tail to thank yesterday’s food and asked with the impeccable manners of a college lecturer: “Would you mind you give me one more meal?”

(The photo of the dog is given above)

ANTICHRIST

The greatest trouble with Antichrist, as a widely popular and often accepted theological construct, is that it presupposes a benevolent Christ, the Anointed. Though most current narratives put down the title exclusively to Jesus, a man believed to have lived and preached two millennia ago, the concept is much more universal and problematic. Saviors pop up here and there with promises of emancipation are a normal part and process of social ventilation. The claims staked by, attributed to or imposed upon the putative figure of Jesus are amazing and intriguing because the age had produced many an aspiring messiah—from the largely forgotten Appolonius to Simon Magus, who was worthy of a reference in the Bible. Unlike his predecessors, successors and rivals, Jesus seems sort of a riddle wrapped in a mystery inside an enigma. This has translated into controversies and endless deliberations over his ‘true’ nature among clergy: is he human, divine or a blend? Is it proper to call Mary the mother of god? The argument continues. His feelings, gestures, actions and cryptic words have consumed reams, and these days bytes.

He was a pioneering economist who stressed poverty eradication (feeding five thousand with a few loaves of bread), a dedicated doctor who specialized in the most dreaded disease of the day (successfully curing leprosy), an effective psychoanalyst (driving out spirits from the possessed)l, a maverick bold enough to question institution (storming the temple and driving off the traders), a researcher capable of bring the dead back (Lazarus in back) and above all an exemplary martyr we are on constant lookout for. A versatile genius, all rolled into one. Couched in ambiguous words and deeds, he seems to be a character like Hamlet or Macbeth. Perhaps that accounts for his enduring charm. Perhaps that is why Richard Hollowoway, the former Bishop of Edinburgh, goes to the extent of playing down his historical existence while highlighting the tremendous influence he has exerted on the course of history since his times. (http://www.thehindu.com/2006/12/25/stories/2006122502400900.htm006/12/25/stories/2006122502400900.htm).
The perfection of Christ is present in the Antichrist in plunging humanity into destruction and death. Prophet Mohammed, Martin Luther, Napolean and Hitler have been named as the antichrist from time to time. Is the Lars von Trier movie Antichrist to be read as a foil to the Jesus discourse? Does it require a Christian background at all? I don’t know. But who then is to say no? It was a pleasure to watch Willem Dafoe play the mentally tormented Jesus with the pangs of angst written all over him in the Martin Scorsese movie The Last Temptation of Christ in 1988. We have the same man as the nameless He in Antichrist. ("He comes to us as one unknown, without a name." said Albert Schweitzer. From the last citation). The signs of torment, doubt and fear are too clear to miss. But everything seems to be in the reverse, chronologically and structurally. He and She returns to Eden, the mythical space of ‘delight’, from where Adam and Eve were expelled by an irascible god for knowing things. Unlike the Biblical abode of innocence and tranquility, what await the couple are grief, pain, chaos, despair and gynocide. To worsen things, the place is soaked with sex and harbors disquieting secrets waiting to be discovered and covered. The parody of the idyllic paradise, however, has no Satan sneaking around with the promises of superior knowledge but is stuffed and stifled with dark mental caves where anything is possible. Maybe the Prince of Darkness is within us. It is a physical unconscious with much to explore: ferns, foxholes, attics and more. A deer giving birth to a dead calf, a fox disemboweling itself while uttering the ominous words “chaos reigns” and a crow refuses to be killed are there portending more uncanny sights and visions.

Unlike Adam and Eva, He and She come back to the Eden after losing the fruit of knowledge: a toddling son. He is a therapist with rather strong convictions: he knows traditional medications are not going to cure She. His attempts to save her soul take a different direction and attain new dimensions in the Eden. Instead of letting others kill him and thus purify mankind, He walks away strangling his own wife/patient who becomes sure that women are inherently evil and that she is directly and inexorably responsible for the death of their son. She masturbates the unconscious He to have an ejaculation of blood and cuts her clitoris using a pair of scissors. Before limping out of the place, He cremates her as if she were a vampire. Jesus was crucified and I can’t help imaging the iron nails piercing his flesh as the stakes driven through the vampire or the vampired. There are no returns. hopefully.

A movie that deserves mention is the 1972/3 Bernardo Bertolucci piece The Last Tango in Paris. Exactly as in Antichrist, here we have Paul and Jeanne, without knowing other’s name, hiding and drowning grief and losses through wild sex and masturbation before the woman shoots him in the apartment— “little old but full of memories.” The tiny room and behavior happily detached from the sociocultural norms, unfortunately, are too good to last.

Alfred Hitcock, is a natural reference to the film: “In a full color handout given to press and potential buyers at some Cannes screenings, opposite a few uniquely blank excerpts from a Danish Film Institute interview with the director there’s a photo of him . . . that seems to directly reference, down to the three-quarter profile with the smug facial expression, the famous publicity shot of Alfred Hitchcock, turned to face a live crow perched on his shoulder, that was distributed to promote the film of his that most directly drew lines between female sexuality and the unpredictable horrors of nature, The Birds. Von Trier alters the image a little bit: in his shot, the crow lies at his feet, dead. In other words, this time, nature’s not going to get away with it.” (http://blog.spout.com/2009/05/20/antichrist-review/ ). As a psychological thriller Antichrist pictures a tiled bathroom, resembling the one in which the heroine is stabbed to death in Psycho. Again, the reversed postures are notable.

(It is said that Gandhi developed aversion to sex because he was making love when his father was breathing the last. Nothing was more fitting than watching Antichrist on his birthday, October 2)

HOW TO KILL A BUFFALO?

Television has been with us for fifty years, that is technically. Just like the platitude Indians are equal and are secular. Even today, in a shining India where MNCs throng, television density remains depressingly low. As in many other social indices, Kerala stands apart. The higher penetration rate has heavily impacted on our social habits and outlooks too. Evenings are for soap operas or reality shows. Women huddle in front of the glimmering screen, invariably their eyes riveted to it, ready to weep for the pangs of characters. By the half of last decade, private channels had almost replaced the staid state owned television and redefined our visual sensibility. An average Malayalee knows the world through television. What he sees on it true. In other words, the infallibility once attributed to print media has become the privilege of television. The factoid ‘camera does not lie’ is the plank on which the faith rests. Never ever have our channels dithered in taking advantage of this trust. We have seen how often the self-appointed wholesale dealers of truth whip up passion and frenzy on graft and sex, only to declare later that the whole affair was a bogus report concocted by a rival channel.

Arguably the Prudential World Cup in 1983 and the assassination of Indira Gandhi the following year were watersheds in the history of television. To own a television set became a new status symbol. In the 1990s, with the advent of cable networks, our living rooms were literally flooded with news and music. Channels vied with each other to bring in the latest and the intriguing. And often they infringed upon traditional media ethics. In the early 1990s Asianet, the first private player in Kerala, televised a documentary on the ruthless and unhygienic slaughtering of cattle in an abattoir in Trivandrum with the warning ‘carrying women and the weak-minded are advised to abstain from watching.’ In hindsight the gory scenes that splashed the screen and the minds seem to have been the curtain raiser of many a visual extravaganza to follow. Later Asianet and archrival Surya set new standards by repeatedly telecasting the visuals of a nut whacking a government employ to death.

It is during the same period that sting operations and exposés sparked off heated discussions and debates. To be fair, the startling revelation that sleaze had soaked bureaucracy was a jolt to the public and would play a major role in forming public perceptions about politics and politicians. In Kerala it was a documentary on the lives of bootleggers and contract killers by Asianet that set new senses and sensibilities on roll. The televisual debut into the murky lives and allies of the homegrown felons featured youngsters shuffling down with daggers slinging from their waists. The electrifying program remains fresh in memory. Now, after all these years, if a channel films the den of some goons, won’t they be shooting a bloodbath, with a lot of risk on their lives? Or will they tread the path of Edward Armstead in The Almighty in scripting and creating events to be reported? The hype over the murder of the young businessman Paul M. George and the ongoing investigation of Sr. Abhaya murder case raise chilling possibilities and eerie doubts.

Some days back, a weird action of a cop triggered much controversy. He was bold or outrageous enough to shoot parts of his colleagues grilling a petty actress arrested on charge of prostitution. He would not stop there. Rather mysteriously the picture found its way to the internet. Who was the prostitute here?

Questions and fears never end at the moment when we celebrate the golden jubilee of television.
(www.hksanthosh.blogspot.com)

GODS AND TROUSERS

From The Economist (September 12-18, 2009)

A Bolivian religious fanatic briefly hijacked a Mexican airliner, ordering it to circle Mexico City. He told the crew he had three accomplices, whom he later identified to police as “the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.” Read more http://www.msnbc.msn.com/id/32761994/ns/world_news-americas/

A Sudanese woman, Lubna Hussein, was found guilty of wearing trousers, a practice said by the authorities to be indecent. Her case has sparked an international furore. She was freed from prison after journalists paid a fine of $200 (against her wishes). She also faced up to 40 lashes if convicted, but that punishment was not imposed.

ARMAGEDDON (INDIA) INC.

We are in trouble, nosedeep.

Don’t think for a moment the threat is from terrorists and politicians. Not even reality show anchors. This time culprits are those who flare up real quick and slap punishment on others: judges. By legitimizing homosexuality, the sentinels of law have (names don’t matter) sealed up our fate and sped up our picnic to doom. Now sit crossing your fingers, figuring out the ways retribution visits and what floor of the hell awaits you. (I don’t know if we can choose the floor or room in hell; heaven has that option)

At least this is what one has to infer from the sermons of the Westboro Baptist Church, a fire and brimstone cult located in Kansas. For them America is simply doomed. Every disaster, whether natural or manmade, is nothing but a grim (in fact to go by the might of god, mild) remainder: the country is so rotten and stinky that nothing can stop it from falling headlong into the burning pits of hell. Forget the chances of a pardon. God is hell-bent on having his way this time. Here are some instances of divine intervention-cum-punishment (all the points arte taken from http://www.godhatesamerica.com/ ):
1. 11 September 11: The towers fell as punishment for your sins, America! Only WBC has the heart and the love for our fellow man to tell you that truth. Those events came at the hand of an angry God, or do you think He was on vacation that day and couldn't put a stop to it if He so desired? . . . . refused to humble yourselves, in fact, you flipped off God by making a militant fag and his "wife", er, male sex partner, ambassadors to Romania ONE WEEK after God dealt you this terrible blow. How fitting that Europe sees you as a fag country.
2. Columbia Shuttle crash: February 2003, God killed the seven shuttle crew members. God struck down the shuttle – a symbol of America’s power and might. In the same fiery manner, the Lord will destroy this nation – the shuttle crash is a warning.
3. Hurricane Katrina: On August 28, 2005 more than 1,800 people were killed and more then $81 billion in damages took place. This was the wrath of God revealed from heaven to this debauched, degenerate nation and instead of humbling yourselves under the mighty hand of God you did the complete opposite. God controls the whirlwind.
4. Hurricane Rita – September 24, 2005 Hurricane Rita hit Texas. This storm followed close behind Hurricane Katrina.
5. Sago Mine Disaster: January 2006, God killed a dozen miners in His wrath. God mocked you – you languished to hear a report of how the trapped miners were doing and it was first reported that 12 survived and only one died, only to quickly learn the opposite was true. God mocked you, you violent reprobates for whose sake the toothbrush isn’t called a toothbrush.
6.Virginia Tech Massacre: On April 16, 2007, on the campus of Virginia Polytechnic Institute and State University in Blacksburg, VA, 32 people were shot and killed; then the shooter committed suicide.
7. I-35W Bridge Collapse: August 2007 the I-35W Michigan Bridge collapsed over the Mississippi River killing 5 and injuring 70. This resulted in a flurry of action for us to try and make all our bridges in America nice and secure.
8. Swine Flu: God has cursed America, along with the rest of this evil world, with the Swine Flu, which has now killed off 211 Americans! Yay ^_^ the LORD will snatch many forth into Hell with this pestilence, my beloved, I do believe!”
9. Stock Market Crash: Within a year of this nation attempting to destroy the Church of Jesus Christ by spoiling goods she didn’t even have, America’s economy is in the toilet!
10. Iraq/Afghanistan war: America was duped into the Iraq/Afghanistan war! Thank God for dead soldiers! Hell has room for all of your soldiers, America! George Bush has been suckered into a bloody, senseless war that he can’t win by a God determined to execute vengeful justice on a disobedient nation. Now Obama is going to continue that trend!

God struck them down and 9/11 was a warning
And whatever might have displeaed god invited his fabled wrath in such measures? Simple. America is crawling with homosexuals (the church often uses more informal expressions like fag and dyke). Presidents, movie stars, politicians, sportsmen—no walk of life has resisted, let alone fought, the sin.
Shirley Lynn (woman in the first picture), the daughter of Phelp , and who has been running the day to day affairs of the charge for a few years, “If you see a nation or a people who have risen up with one voice to say it’s ok to be gay, you are looking at a doomed people.” (From 'The Most Hated Family in America' by Louis Theroux; BBC, July 2009). In the website the have the very same idea told with a lot of sound and fury: “It’s the fags, stupid! When a society determines to set the abominable sin of sodomy (Lev. 18:22) up on a pedestal, such that they seek to criminalize preaching against it from the Bible, they have gone the way of Sodom. Sodom’s sin wasn’t that the entire population of that thriving 5 city metropolis were practicing fags, their sin was that they all condoned it, to the point of trying to force everyone else, even angels, to love it (Gen. 19). When you’ve done that, you can only expect the same punishment Sodom received – destruction by fire.”

ACQUITTALS
The first accused to go scot-free in the judgments passed by the church is Islamic Terrorism: “Forget all this pablum about crazy Muslims. That’s what you might call a red herring. You want someone to blame besides yourselves. Face it, america, God is your Terror, and He is your terrorist. He used those planes like the javelin of Phinehas (Num. 25:7) to punish you for your sins. This is just a small sampling; expect worse and more to come America!” In the view of the church psychopaths are not deranged but blessed weapons in the hands of god in inflicting crippling blows to a pervert America. Negligent mine owners are innocent boys and corporate shots who inflated the market are dolts handpicked by the seething god.

ANTICHRIST
Westboro Baptist Church believes, based upon the signs of these times, that Barack Obama is the Antichrist, also referred to as the Beast. His mother was an atheist tramp, his father was a Muslim deadbeat and he is a lying murderer! He blasphemes God continually. He uses the Sermon on the Mount as a support for murdering millions of babies & supporting the abominable sin of sodomy (vowing to be a “fierce advocate” for the fags).Read more about Antichrist Obama at http://www.beastobama.com/

COMMON FALLACIES ABOUT GOD (ACCORDING TO W.B.C.)
1. “God loves everyone”
This is found nowhere in the Bible. As a matter of fact here are just a few samples of the complete opposite of that saying:
Romans 9:13 As it is written, Jacob have I loved, but Esau have I hated.
Psalm 5:5-6 The foolish shall not stand in thy sight: thou hatest all workers of iniquity.Thou shalt destroy them that speak leasing: the LORD will abhor the bloody and deceitful man.
Zechariah 11:8 Three shepherds also I cut off in one month; and my soul lothed them, and their soul also abhorred me.
2.“Judge not lest ye be judged”
Let’s start off by correctly quoting this verse, Matthew 7:1 Judge not, that ye be not judged.
Humans make judgments everyday, so what does this verse mean? Well, we will gladly tell you. It means you don’t judge according to what your evil black heart is telling you. It means you judge according to God’s standard. You judge between right and wrong, you take forth the precious from the vile you DISCERN between good and evil. Here’s a verse that brings this whole concept into light.
John 7:24 Judge not according to the appearance, but judge righteous judgment.
3. “For God so loved the world”
Let us quote the whole verse: John 3:16 For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life.
If you are proud of your sins and if you don’t even think you are sinning then you don’t believe in Jesus Christ. He is the word, He is the truth and when you turn aside to chase after your lusts and to heed every evil thought that comes to mind you will NEVER believe in Jesus Christ. Therefore, you will perish because you are NOT given the gift of repentance because the Lord has NOT given you a heart of understanding to even SEE that you are sinning.
Also remember that the word world NEVER means the whole world when referred to in scripture. It’s what you call a microcosm. That’s the end of that matter!
4.“Love the sinner, hate the sin”
This is found NOWHERE in the Bible. The man who coined that phrase is none other than that Hindu bimbo Ghandi.
Just as you can not separate the crime from the criminal, you CAN NOT separate the sin from the sinner.
“Do unto others as you would have them do unto you”
You brutish Americans try to create your own standards (http://www.godhatesamerica.com/falsereligion.htmltml)
"God duped you into starting a war so he could punish you; and any preacher preaching in any other way is a lying, hell-bound false prophet."



Fred Phelps, Patriarch of the W.B.C.

Now look back and see the signs god has sent us. I mean Indians. What does the recent death of A.P. chief minister augur? Of all the chief ministers, a Christian was burnt alive, like god struck down the twin towers on 9/11. The event was not caused by technical snags, poor weather or careless flying. Reddy, the Lamb, thus deserves no mercy or condolences!!
Another thing rushes to memory. Was not there an Indian in the American space shuttle that god brought down in 2003? In fact there have glaring instances of interventions before. Don’t you remember how parts of North India suffered after the murder of the Australian missionary Stein 1999?

The Armageddon is at hand. We are on a cart moving to the Seventh Ring of Hell earmarked for sodomites and are usurers.

GODS Vs. GOURMETS

“I will buy with you, sell with you, talk with you,walk with you, and so following, but I will not eatwith you, drink with you, nor pray with you.” (Shylock, The Merchant of Venice)

Of course Shylock was grandstanding. We see him push off to “feed upon the prodigal Christian.” Perhaps he would stuff himself with the bread paid for by his hostile clients, to deplete their wealth. Little drops of water make the mighty ocean.

This evening we ate almost like Shylock. An informal get together of teachers (with or without family) and staffers. A few students, too. Patterned along the lines of the Islamic breaking of the daylong fast, it took off the moment the resonating voice of an unknown muezzin hit our ears. (George Berkeley should have present to tell us if the sound was caused by the ear or vice versa!). We gulped down lemonade and tasted some grapes and melons. We waited in patience while five or six practicing Muslims performed namaz on the stage. Of course we weren’t sitting bolt upright contemplating a secular India: fragrance hanging in the air vetted appetite and made us think of more serious things. Some blended into groups and animatedly discussed the ways to make chapathi and pathiri while many members of the fair sex indulged in the favorite pastime of gossip. That is, the systematic and comprehensive interdisciplinary assessment of persons and positions. Many teachers had not made it and were easy prey. A handful stood in dark remote corners puffing cigars and stroking philosophical beards.

No sooner had the namaz ended than someone blew a mental whistle. Perhaps everyone had the same whistle tied around their necks or some other body part. The beaux espirits sprung into action. Just like that! Dishes were filled in and thrown around, at times soiling and staining the soigné disseminators of knowledge. No problem. Surf Excel will fight teeth and nail the Monster Dirt and make your shirt impeccable. In frightening silence we gorged on chicken, stew, tea, parottas, chappathis and noolputtus. Fine show. (You win an eating contest and receive a prize. Will you show your parents the medal for more encouragement?!)

We were relieved too. No glib talks and eloquent waxes. The Come, Eat and Go was soothing and simple. No announcements, speeches and platitudes. A colleague is an authority in announcements. Prick up your ears and you are bound to break out in goosepimples before he is through. “Let the waves and vapors of delicacies dancing down to our nostrils spread to the corners of the world and herald to everyone how sublime and silogias were the bygone days commemorated and relived through the flowery emancipatory abstractions of Chritmas”—he is reputed to have announced while faithfully discharging the duties of an anchor. I don’t believe a college teacher would ever be such a dolt. He is a unique impresario and must have made others green with envy. OK?

Occurring as it is in a society pigeon-holed into castes and communities, such parties often prove to be fertile grounds of image builders. For many it is surefire chance to display their secular credentials. Often there would people who never for a moment forget that the root cause of our troubles are the internal enemies (Christians, Muslims and communists) and the best to way salvage the sinking Bharat is to have a pogrom. An Indian holocaust—the final solution. Cloaking their hues, they would scamper here and there, grinning from ear to ear, playing the perfect guest and pleased host at the same time. You can see their faces glowing with Tolerance. Their smiles and words may strain warmth and credibility but the sopped up mood drowns everything. The avalanche of fruit and food would bury lies seething and boiling with hatred. Growing uneasiness with existing social norms and diabolical plots are put into hibernation. That is, till the right moment arrives. The rollicking jollity overwhelms you. The button-downed world gets inspired to be liberal, you feel cocksure.

Thankfully, no one even attempted to wear the greasepaint of the Liberal and to shower praises on religions. Our greatest nightmare, however, was different. A whiff of such a party would prod local media bashers to rush to the scene and wonder whether the event can be made into a headline . UNITY AND RELIGIOUS HARMONY: COLLEGE TEACHERS SET MODEL. Something like that. The picture of a VHP man in tight embrace with a Jamaat-e-Islami man would be the frosting on the cake

(One tribe in Kerala never eats with us. Reason: what could be worse than sharing food with people who poop right in their house, perhaps in a cloister next to the kitchen wall!!)

BROWN BOY IN THE RING. . . . . . .

The diminutive Father Brown is a spiritual sleuth with razor sharp memory and incisive wit tucked away unobtrusively in the folds of his shadowy habit. With a single look he penetrates into the furtive criminal pachyderms lurking in the wilderness; a second suffices to produce a detailed map spotted with lawbreaker’s motives and actions. In a jiffy he figures out who is who and what is what. With uncanny insight be advises and averts impasses and morasses. The modest parish priest excels even Sherlock Holmes and his illustrious predecessor Auguste Dupin in intellectual games. While the early masters would lead reclusive lives, poring on tomes in flickering candle lights or playing violin at odd hours, the priest has his feet firmly on the earth and keeps a handle on reality. But then he has not been impressed by the hairsplitting ratiocination flaunts and intriguing inferential demonstrations of the Baker Street resident, though the former criminal Flambeau plays the credulous foil, just like agape Dr. Watson takes part in and later narrated the breathtaking exploits of Holmes.
There is much more than meets the eye in Brown’s aversion to the dry deductive process hailed by Dupin and Holmes. By distancing himself from the mechanical logic of the preceding age which witnessed the nadir of Christianity, the priest is offering a juicy scheme of criminal investigation where everything is at play: it is a cosmos where a benevolent god, pricks of conscience, fruits of confession and perceptions into theology work in harmony to spot and destroy/reform/prevent/explain criminals and their deeds, for the general good of the society. In other words, Father Brown is what the Catholic Church wants to project itself as these days. Exorcising itself from the pestering specters of inquisitions (Joan of Arc, Galleleo, John Frampton and all those nameless ‘witches’), from the days when the Pope awarded padroado to the Kings of Spain and Portugal and from the haunting memories of Darwinism (and many), the Holy Church has wriggled into the garb of humanism and liberalism. At least of sorts.
Father Brown is a seller of dreams which know no contradictions. With the dexterity of a magician, he puts cats and mice in the same cage and makes them discuss Original Sin, Aquinas and Papal Infallibility over spoonfuls of mousse. And we believe him. You see the rigorous vows of poverty, chastity and obedience churn out a rationalist; he sniffs and scorns “bad theology” because it “attacked reason”: for him miracles and oracles are as improbable as thousand feet anacondas: he is wise and bold enough to declare “there is one mark of all genuine religions: materialism [and] devil-worship is a perfectly genuine religion” ; for him many mysterious phenomena are explainable in terms of human psychology; he is a fountainhead of the ‘milk of human kindness’, denouncing “superstition” and taking digs at the narrow-mindedness of modern science and society in the same breath. For him the stay on earth might well be a sojourn on the way to heaven but not a mere stopover.
In fact every fictional detective has tried to frown on and make fun of his predecessor. For Holmes, Dupin was an inferior logician; for Hercule Poirot, the detective poking around with a magnifying glass is a ridiculous figure, though he actually did visit crime sites and gleaned shreds of evidence glossed over by the official police. But the investigative matrix that Brown creates has a marked difference. For him cracking crimes is essentially an exercise in identifying with the criminal brain and seeing things from that end. Material evidence and reasoning are secondary. For him being a detective is like being a good shepherd. That is why while the denouements of Holmes are notable for their moral insipidity, homilies spice, if not saturate, Brownian expositions.
Little Brown is a Big Ambassador.

SILENCE OF THE LAMBS

I pity them. Maybe you should do the same. If you believe in a god reclining on a chaise lounge with a Dell laptop on chest, smugly browsing the integrated data base of humans and eagerly intervening in our mundane affairs (like bumping of your enemy, paralyzing your smart colleague, making the world dowry-averse while your daughter gets married and producing social-scientists clamoring for dowry when it is your son’s turn, and so on), go to the nearby church, burn a few votive candles, kneel and pray. It is doubtful gods are going to take heed and act. You know, they have their own troubles. Many are irascible and fickle when women—yes, the seed of sin and temptation is everywhere—appear on the arena. Singing, dancing, coquetting. Many rishis in India have experienced, to their disbelief and embarrassment, the presence of a sticky thick liquid on their inner garments on seeing these unholy creatures. Of course, it is a moot point whether gods and sages wore briefs. Lawrence Ferlinghetti writes “The Pope wears underwear I hope.”(Watch it on www.youtube.com/watch?v=k8KnMigLGZc). Hopefully we will have an answer in the form of a doctoral thesis like ‘A Priori Self Kenosis: Hyper fragmentation and intertextual (de)politicization of intimate sartorial materials’, spewed forth by a research scholar in English language and literature, most probably from the University of Calicut.

With gods minding their own numerous affairs we have left with little choice and leeway. Look at them. Pudgy and crusty, wrapped in well-pressed uniforms, riding in college buses, hanging identity cards, standing near the Principal shaking and shivering like an autumn leaf when he wills to browbeat, defer to the ‘superior’ knowledge of teachers even though you are damned sure they are little better than chumps. Never mind. In five years you are engineers and doctors though your chances of paying back the heavy donations dear dads with long pockets to get you admitted to these colleges are bleak. Some pretentious intellectuals argue you are a cankerous cancer to the society as you are going to be sought-after professionals simply because of the financial muscles your dads (and moms, at times) were able to flex. They are truculent and need to be dealt with. Such arguments and allegations, we know, are perfectly preposterous, groundless, unfounded and unjustified. By rolling out wads of currency to secure admission to professional colleges, you have actually stimulated the local economy to unprecedented peaks and the future would be indebted to you. Who knows how yet-to-come-and-go generations will remember you?

In fact despite the craps bleated out by our bearded intellectuals, you are our blue-eyed sons, daughters, nephews and nieces. We love you. If common men are not alive to the fact, our student organizations are. The emerging leaders make sure strikes and demonstrations are kept at bay in such a college. You have paid and if you don’t get the right to learn, what is the point in our continuing to call ourselves politicians? But remember all you can aspire is to land some jobs in an MNC. And all the MNCs are crumbling down, you know, like the W.T.O. did in 2001. So there is no threat of western capital finding a way into the fabric of our society and demolishing our culture. Then there is no harm in your sitting tight, mugging things up, scoring high grades, performing well in a GD and even getting a job. All these things are fruits of temptations strewn by the MNC Satan—just like our great forebears were talked into sin by the diabolical creature years and years ago—to lure us. That is why we make sure you are immune to strikes. To make sure the human resource pool of all big shots consist exclusively of young men and women hatched from self-financing colleges, we vigilantly watch students from other institutes and keep them on track. So we interrupt classes in government colleges and schools, at least once a week. If managements are willing, we make sure there are no classes in aided institutes too. We admit some colleges have remained closed for weeks and though rarely for months. But comrades, never forget, the path to equality is tough like the narrow path to the heaven where Urvasi and Rambha twist and turn their bodies in front of our vacillating sadhus!

THE SERPENT AND THE ROPE

At times arguments become short on facts and long on speculations. This is inevitable in social sciences and literary studies, and to a great extent in physical sciences. However, speculations are neither figments of imagination nor blunt statements of faith. They are intelligent guesses made on available facts and figures: projections or reconstructions of what may happen or has happened in the absence of means and machines to exactly predict and locate the actual events.
What is a Ph.D. dissertation expected to do with speculations? Is it proper to stuff a dissertation with hearsays and rumors? Are there stringent criteria to comply with in the process of becoming a doctor? Does methodology have anything to do with in research? Before answering, read the following.


A few days ago the open defense of a doctoral dissertation took place at our college. Since refreshments were a sure bet, I made sure of my physical presence and with awe heard the arguments and got enlightened. A few to get a feel of the affair:
1. Snakes are categorized into Brahmins, Kshatriyas, Vaishyas and Sudras
2. Those who bite humans are cruel snakes and do not bite are sublime snakes
3. Nagaas have two heads while regular snakes have one head
4. Cobra, python and sea snakes are found in Kerala
5. The frequency of the earth and that of the voices produced during a kalamethuzhu pattu are identical
6. The kalam used in such functions has the shape of a pyramid; this shape has wonderful abilities.






Is this a Naga?!!!

There were questions on the part of the scholarly audience too:
1.You mentioned there are four varnas among snakes. Are there snakes belonging to schedule castes, schedule tribes and other backward communities?
2.What is the scientific basis and logic of dividing snakes into cruel and sublime?
3.Is there a photograph, or a similar document, to prove the existence of two-headed snakes?
4.How can we say that sea snakes are found in Kerala, a land?
5.What is the instrument with which you determined the frequencies of the earth and that of the ritual? What is the theory you based the experiment and inference on?
6.What are the wonderful abilities of a pyramid?

Though some of the questions triggered ripples of laughter, the scholar was undaunted and defended his arguments.
1.I have not come across SC/ST/OBC snakes so far. When the thesis is published as a book, the matter will be attended to.
2.Such questions deserve no answer
3.I have a guru in Ernakulam. He said about the existence of such snakes. You need not and should not distrust the words of elders. If you want I can give his mobile number and you can ring him up any time.
4.This question shows once again your ignorance of science
5.It is the obstinate nature of some people that prompt such foolish questions.
6. Some time back a friend of mine visited a pyramid and placed a rusty blade inside the structure. After a few hours, the blade was found to have reached its original state, clean and shining. Moreover, the mummies remain intact for centuries because of the shape. It converges energy into one point and works wonders.

Once he “successfully defended” the thesis, chairman of the committee (slightly embarrassed and ruffled by the uncouth and unscientific behavior of the spectators) stated he would recommend the official body concerned at the university to award him the degree of Ph.D. So within a month or so, one more doctor will be born in the academic dungeons of Kerala. Happy birthday in advance!!

(Tailpiece: One teacher expressed the hope of listening to the same arguments in a refresher course soon. Let snakes grant his desire)

THE GOLDEN GOOSE

You remember Atahuallpa?
Perhaps not. The amnesia is perfectly understandable. The last sovereign of the Inca Empire died at 36, quite young for a king, at the hands of the Spanish conquistadors in 1533. Niall Ferguson in The Ascent of Money (2009) summarizes the situation thus:
“Five hundred years ago, the most sophisticated society in South America, the Inca Empire, was . . . moneyless. The Incas appreciated the aesthetic qualities of rare metals. Gold was the ‘sweat of the sun’, silver the ‘tears of the moon’. Labor was the unit of value in the Inca Empire, just as it was later supposed to be in a Communist society. And, as under Communism, the economy depended on often harsh central planning and forced labor. In 1532, however, the Inca Empire was brought low by a man who, like Christopher Columbus, had come to the New World expressly to search for and monetize precious metal.
The illegitimate son of a Spanish colonel, Francisco Pizarro had crossed the Atlantic to seek his fortune in 1502. One of the first Europeans to traverse the isthmus of Panama to the Pacific, he led the first of three expeditions into Peru in 1524. The terrain was harsh, food scarce and the first indigenous people they encountered hostile. However, the welcome their second expedition received in the Tumbes region, where the inhabitants hailed them as the ‘children of the sun’, convinced Pizarro and his confederates to persist. Having returned to Spain to obtain royal approval for his plan ‘to extend the empire of Castile’ as ‘Governor of Peru’, Pizarro raised a force of three ships, twenty-seven horses and one hundred and eighty men, equipped with the latest European weaponry: guns and mechanical crossbows. This third expedition set sail from Panama on 27 December 1530. It took the would-be conquerors just under two years to achieve their objective: a confrontation with Atahuallpa, one of the two feuding sons of the recently deceased Incan emperor Huayna Capac. Having declined Friar Vincent Valverd’s proposal that he submit to Christian rule, contemptuously throwing his Bible to the ground, Atahuallpa could only watch as the Spaniards, relying mainly on the terror inspired by their horses (animals unknown to the Incas), annihilated his army. Given how outnumbered they were, it was a truly astonishing coup. Atahuallpa soon came to understand what Pizarro was after, and sought to buy his freedom by offering to fill the room where he was being held with gold (once) and silver (twice). In all, in the subsequent months the Incas collected 13,420 pounds of 22 carat gold and 26,000 pounds of pure silver. Pizarro nevertheless determined to execute their prisoner, who was publicly garroted in August 1533. With the fall of the city of Cuzco, the Inca Empire was torn apart in an orgy of Spanish plundering. Despite a revolt led by the supposedly puppet Inca Manco Caopac in 1536, Spanish rule was unshakeably established and symbolized by the construction of a new capital, Lima. The empire was formally dissolved in 1572.” (London: Penguin, 2009. pp 20-21).

While most books and sites consider the execution of the man cruel and indefensible, a telling symbol of colonial invasion and obliteration of indigenous cultures, the Holy Catholic Church strikes a different note:
“On the evening of the 16th of November, 1532, Atau-hauallpa entered the squared of Caxamarca with a great retinue of men carrying their weapons concealed. They packed the court densely. Pizarro had placed on the roof of the building his artillery (two pedereros) that could not be pointed except horizontally. When the Indians thronged into the square, a Dominican friar, Fray Vicente Valverde, was sent by Pizarro to inform Atau-huallpa, through an interpreter, of the motives of the Spaniard's appearance in the country. This embassy was received with scorn, and the friar, seeing the Indians ready to begin hostilities, warned Pizarro. His action has been unjustly criticized; Valverde did what was his imperative duty under the circumstances. Then, not waiting for the Indians to attack the Spaniards [took] to the offensive. The sound of cannon and musketry, and the sight of the horses frightened the Indians so that they fled in dismay, leaving Atau-huallpa a prisoner in the hands of Pizarro, who treated him with proper regard. The stories of a terrible slaughter of the Indians are inordinate exaggerations. While a prisoner, Atau-huallpa caused the greater portion of the gold and silver at Cuzco to be turned over to the Spaniards and having them massacred. When this was discovered Pizarro had him executed, on the 9th of August, 1633. The execution was not unjustifiable. Atau-huallpa, at the time of his death, was about thirty years of age.” Bandelier, A.F. (1907). Atahuallpa. In The Catholic Encyclopedia. New York: Robert Appleton Company. New Advent: http://www.newadvent.org/cathen/02032a.htm )
Did Pizarro go to South America equipped with padroado, just like Vasco de Gamma hit the shores of Kerala in 1498? Seems to be so. Stephen Neill in A History of Christianity in India: The Beginnings to AD 1707 (2004) observes:

“The fullest statement of the rights and duties of the kings under the ‘patronage’ is to be found in the bull Universalis Ecclesiae, put forth at the request of Castile.
By this bull the pope practically handed over to the king of Spain the government of and responsibility for the Church in America (and later in the Philippines). In effect the king possessed all the powers which do not require the sacerdotal character. . . It is not too much to say that, by the rights conferred on him and the services he is to render, he holds in his hands the entire life of the new church. (R. Ricard in Fliche et Martin, Historie de léglise, vol. XIII, ‘Léglise et la renaissance’. 1951, page 125).
Someone is reputed to have said “You cannot serve both God and Money.” Rings a bell?

Coeternal 9/11

How will 9/11 go down in history? Will it be registered as a postmodern crusade between America and Islamic powers? (In one of the commemoratory albums doing rounds on Youtube, the wreckage of the erstwhile WTO buildings look like a garlanded cross). Or as the first edition of battles in the postcoldwar era where frontiers are blurred and immaterial? Or as a watershed in the American centered discursive formations of power? Will posterity hail it as the herald of a new anti-imperial struggle? Or will it remain a gruesome reminder of the incidence and intensity of terrorism? A memorial to the world with strata percolated with venom? For an event that unveiled and demonstrated, in no unclear terms, the intricate intermingling of politics, religion and economics, future interpretations come dime a dozen.

Whatever be the future of that fateful day, it seems indisputable that 9/11 has already transcended and crucibled different opinions and entrenched itself as an eloquent and immortal billboard of the Transnational. It was a mental global village that the twin towers tumbled into, not a space with spatial and temporal constraints. This precisely is why any question as to the nationality of the deceased—including that of the nine “terrorists”—becomes irrelevant, if not irreverent. People were panicking not over the collapse of a skyscraper in a far off land but in the very next street. The premature demise of a building in the strongest nation on the earth was emblematic of the strongest incentive that prods the current world--trade. What could be better than fall of the World Trade Center then!

In the aftermath of the death of the towers, there emanated from the U.S. itself a few arguments that questioned the veracity of the bugbear of Islamic terrorism. In fact there were quite a good number of well-researched articles and features that sought to show the extent to which the federal government colluded and connived in orchestrating the heinous act, with the intention of bringing about political-religious consolidation. Revealingly, none of them gained currency outside the country. The offbeat responses that refused to swallow theories stuffed with “conventional wisdom” were largely shrugged off or played down altogether overseas (India was brilliant here!). Even the celebrity status of Noam Chomsky would not suffice to drill the shell of belief in official American explanations!! Chomsky is correct in linguistics, maybe so in other issues, but not here!! Why? The theory and praxis of the battle waged by the U.S. and its allies are not bounded to, located in or controlled by the physical/geographical space of any nation but takes place in a mental domain marked out by a strong sense of internationalism. We just don’t care about and think in terms of the bright cartographical contours but would rather get into the shoes of an international warrior. It is only after 9/11 that the term ‘terrorist’ (the terrorist of one nation is the patriot of the other, you know) assumes international signifying potential and terrorism becomes a meticulously planned activity, masterminded by a highly centralized, exclusive and esoteric coterie headquartered somewhere in the Middle East. There are explosions and suicide attacks anywhere; but if you look through the magnifying glass of Sherlock Holmes, you can’t miss the common hologram ‘Made in Iraq.’ (Just like products for the world market are owned by American firms, designed in India and manufactured in China!!!). The same period witnesses certain names, sartorial habits and appearances become objects of fear and suspicion in milling international airports and bustling railway terminals. If Hollywood heroes flexed their muscles and single-handedly annihilated creepy extra terrestrials in the preceding decades, the currents ones fight against terrorism—come hell or high water—and keep the country intact. Not to be outdone, Bollywood has fared better by interspersing cinematic texts with tall, bearded terrorists swaggering in and out or waiting with the patience of a python in the quest to grind Shining India into pieces.
To be sure, the shockwaves sent out by 9/11 have not been lost in art and literature either. Arguably, nothing betrays the traces of the new international conscience and its multiple manifestations more emphatically than the film 11'09"01 September 11 (2002). What weaves these short visuals, triggered by the panic of the event, into a coherent whole is a host of universal concerns, fears and anxieties. The not-so-good individual narratives by directors like Samira Makhmalbaf, Mira Nair, Claude Lelouch and Youssef Chahine have nothing in themselves to stake the claim of a movie.

Wait a minute. Stop and look inward. See how the blog universe swells by the minute. Is it such a long a shot to say 9/11 has catalyzed the growth of a universal writer/reader community, wrenched from local colors, cultural ethos and personal concerns clubbed with the urge for self expression? Is an Indian, for that matter any national, crouching behind an IP address an Indian in the traditional sense of the word? He is in a fluffy virtual space that could be literally everywhere. Still better to say he is a fluffy space impossible to locate and penetrate.
(Translation of 9/11. www.hksanthosh.blogspot.com)

THE POLICEMAN ALWAYS RINGS TWICE

For a cop nothing is more expected than the unexpected. So it must not have been that weird for the wheels of a police jeep to squeal in the verdant campus of our college twice the same day: first transporting an enlightened passenger, an angel carrying the torch of decorum and etiquette, ready to throw fatherly advice around for the unsuspecting, gullible students, huddled together in rusty chairs and ramshackle desks. Then, within hours, he is metamorphosed into the boot of law witnessing the collapse of the order he had tried to build. If you had deluded yourself to be a beacon, condescendingly shedding blazing rays of culture and civilization in the first avatar, the second coming is depressingly bereft of soothing illusions. You stand in the shades, hands thrust into your not-so-frequently-washed-trousers, trying to look solemn and fuming with moral indignation, even if you are shaking and sweating. The Constitution of India offers (with life-time spot warranty) the complete, absolute, unconditional and inalienable right to curse yourself through grinding teeth and marvel at the students who within hours of having been edified successfully managed to single out a docile guy and beat him blue and black. You may get livid over the fact. You may think the little thugs are gagging democracy. Alas! Nothing could be far from reality. The thrashing one receives at the hands of students who study to struggle and struggle to study with the sole intention of ushering in Freedom, Democracy and Socialism is a gentle reminder of a painful reality. My dear friend, despite you blue bla bla you are not mature to enjoy the fruits of Freedom, Democracy and Socialism. Look, you are little better than a fool. You don’t know how to run a government. You are blissfully ignorant of the intricate dialectical materialism that governs the universe. What do you know about the theoretical crutches to interpret the world? Telling the truth may be painful, but you know, truth always comes at a cost. So, my dear friends, your color is blue and try to watch blue. It will erect you, like Ujala Stiff and Shine revives wrinkled clothes. You will forget bloody mechanisms of rules in no time. Leave the pains of success and power to us.

GONE WITH THE WIND

In the media celebrations following the senile death of Panakkad Shihab Ali Tahngal, the public were bombarded with the word Secularism. Television channels and newspapers were vying with each other in eulogizing the deceased as the Knight of Secularism, who almost single-handedly prevented his co-religionists from jumping into the nascent bandwagon of extremism. The enticement offered by men (who had stormed out the outfit with a few followers in tow, grunted disdainfully, spat out venom and argued truculently) with thicker beards and luring voices, he knew, would lead the lambs to the wrong path of terrorism. People looked eager to buy the new philosophy hand over fist. For Thangal it was nothing short of a disease that snatched thousands in a blink. The thought of lurking dangers threw him into a tailspin. More than anyone he knew the new adversaries would derive satisfaction from rubbing on his failure to uphold their religion—specially endorsed by god as the latest, best, most scientific and comprehensive. He found himself in a tight spot with no wriggle room at all. It was obvious that the people had not been taken to his position of clinging to power with a party which had silently let the mosque fall into pieces. To be fair, he was very much in two minds whether to sulk and quit. But he also knew with nothing to wet their beaks around the number of grumpy deserters would only escalate. To ward off unfortunate events, he would keep wide awake to the urgency of the situation. With the rank and file bitterly disappointed and wildly distraught, it was natural events were gathering mass and momentum like a huge snowball rolling down a steep slope. He met followers to brainstorm, to knock the manners of governance into them. He knew he was going to walk on a tightrope over a very deep precipice. He admitted their feelings and even empathized with them. He understood their having gone haywire and floated out proposals to bring back normalcy. Freeze your anger now and slide it aside, he exhorted in a mellowed and velvety voice. The leader made sure the youngsters would chicken out before trekking the arduous road of firebrand identity politics.
And eventually he did win in keeping the party in one piece as a communal outfit, pulling it back from becoming a terrorist gang. His secular message “Please allow us remain secular communalists or we will turn secular terrorists” was well taken heed of by the secular leaders of the secular parties in the secular Kerala.
(The Muslim League is the only honest political party in Kerala. They have never tried to hide their colors by cosmetic labels like Bharatiya, Janata, Kerala, Congress, Socialist, Revolutionary, Indian, National, Democratic, etc.)

PILGRIM’S PROGRESS

Over the regular quota of steaming tea and crisp biscuits, Prakashan was telling a tale, stroking his sparse beard and grinning.
Years and years ago when time was unshackled by clocks and watches, a team of fifty skinny men went on a pilgrimage to find Truth and reach Equality York. Midway the journey, when the group halted for a few pieces of black bread and boiled water, two of them sneaked out to have a puff and indulge in a bit of gossip. Nobody knows what happened next. The buzz is that like a brisk Hitchcockian cameo, they were sucked from the culvert they had been sitting on. Other pilgrims, worn-out from incessant toils and vicissitudes of life as they were, would not let a single stone unturned—literally. Forgetting their own troubles, they procured a few torches and somehow roped in the help of local residents. Behind every fence, beneath every boulder, inside every shanty did reach their probing eyes and flickering wickers. The frenzied search, however, was eating into their weak bodies and weaker minds. Reluctantly, with watery eyes and bleeding hearts, they abandoned the search and continued the journey. The bushes were ugly, dark and deep but they had promises to keep; and miles to go before they slept. The meandrous road to Equality York stretched itself indefinitely before them, like the way to heaven: narrow and thorny.
The two pilgrims, in reality, had not met with a gruesome fate. While reclining, they saw a Cadillac swishes by with two sexy figures doing something inside and experienced enlightenment in silence. In a spilt second, they realized the hollowness of the troubles that had been pestering and nagging them for long. Land, labor, production, agriculture. They waved down a Ford and hitchhiked a backseat ride to Equality York, all the way crooning “The way she came into the place, I knew right then. . .” They knew better than any one it was the duty of a comrade to stand for the destitute and the downtrodden, whether they are blacks, Hispanics or dalits.
On reaching Equality York, one grabbed a big microphone and announced smugly: “Your attention please. Forty-eight members of a Equality York bound bus are found missing. Please report to the mike point and understand you need the constant guidance of persons like me in long journeys like this. You are also reminded that it is impossible to revise the schedule we have set and reactions would be best if sobered up with obedience.” And the awed forty-eight realized it is not the duo but they who had grossly violated the rules of the journey and thus betrayed the great cause.

NAME OF THE ROSE

Cinders of frustration and disillusion have burned the CPI (M) to the bone. So say the media sharks. That the water canons of discipline are not going to douse the lingering flames anytime soon remains their favorite refrain. Virtually every day we read the party is going to come at seams tomorrow, probably by the same evening. All of them, who have always harbored entrenched anti-communist and socialist sentiments to the marrow, are now busy with shedding tears over the deterioration in communist values!! Of course there are issues. When past stalks you like a cunning cop, you can’t help being monomaniac and paranoiac, fussing and fretting, always in desperate bids to flee the specter. Floating in a space unstrung from time is the most cherished of dreams. Perhaps Henry Ford’s famous remark “We want to live in the present and the only history that is worth a tinker’s damn is the history that we make today” best suits the legatees of vibrant past and hallowed traditions, who find themselves hunchbacked with the scary memories of a meaningful past and fruitful existence. Nothing is more welcome than a space where you don’t get stuffed into the ideologies of production line and scientific socialism. But with a name that constantly evokes memories, the task is outright impossible. All you need is this: rechristen the party. Words like communism, Marxism, socialism, egalitarianism and the stuff are kept at bay. Hey presto, the whole vexing trouble is over in a jiffy. You will have broken out in goose pimples!! Then like the Congress and Socialist parties you can split, transmute, transfigure and reunite in a state of flux—indefinitely. More importantly you the get the absolute, unconditional and lifelong license to wallow in corruption. All these for a few spelling changes!! Nobody gives a damn when a glib television anchor overwhelms a panicky guest by rattling off a string of facts and figures related to the socialist eruptions in India: JP, V.P., Chandrasekhar, Lalu, Gujral, Gowda, Veeru. Does any one think of DICK while effusively discussing the fate of K. Muraledharan and the fall of his dear dad? Who dares to chronicle the exploits veterans from Brigadier K.M. Mani to Lieutenant P.C. Thomas have performed? Plotting, kidnapping, sabotage, camouflage, flying, diving, retreats, fortification and ambush have redefined and refined the party/parties. Every faction is flourishing and at any given point of time can boast of at least one ministerial berth. We did nothing but laughed uproariously to hear Colonel P.J. Joseph molesting a cow and milking a woman. We were moved to tears when the Prodigal son Major T.M. Jacob returned to his home giving up General (Retd) Karunakaran’s camp. (“And bring the fattened calf and kill it, and let us eat and celebrate. For this my son was dead, and is alive again; he was lost, and is found.’) Who cares son? Why should the political nomenclature come in the way of the CPI (M) from buying and frying bigger fish?