Three Victims.....

"Three victims" is how the Bsihop of Rouen described the incident in the catholic church. It made me cry but most of all it made me write this blog, especaily after I was upset that the church would make a statement only when one catholic priest gets killed. Yes, the church did have to make a statement but I would want the church to also make statements when ther are other calamities, when something happens in Nice or in Mogadishu. Or maybe the church did make a statement but the media does not carry it. But all this was clouded for me by the statement that the Bishop of Rouen made - three victims he said...three victims Wow, what a wonderful way to explain the plight of those who are oppresssed, who have no voices or who are hardly heard.

It is only with the lens of a forgiving heart can one say that there were three vicitms. Or may be more, incluidng the families of those killed and those who attended mass that day or those who belong to that parish. I am no IS sympathiser, for that matter I dont sympathise with anyone who uses violence, be it the police or the army or any person. Death is death it does not matter on which side it occurs. But to know that the motive that drives people is a motive that is encouraged by the system is what we need to turn our attention to.

Have you ever have had to......

Carry your own feces in your hands.... this could sound gross.... but almost every day we touch our feces either directly while washing ourselves or with paper when we wipe ourselves. All that is ok, but recently I recalled an incident that happened to me a couple of years ago when I was in a village in Rameswaram. the house where we were staying did not have a toilet and I was ok with it, in fact I even joked that I enjoyed the luxury of open defecation... the space and the freedom that came with it. The arrangement was such that we had to wake up early in the morning before sum rise and go near the train tracks and squat somewhere and finish the job. The first two days morning march was fine but on the third day when I woke up and went for my early morning nature (call) march.... nothing came... my system was not ready, at least not yet.

I had a good breakfast and about 10am my stomach started churning, where do I go? It was a bright and beautiful day and every one was up and about. I told myself that I could control it but no, I  couldnt. The yummy red chutney that I devoured was playing up (down). I had to go. I ran to the tracks and saw people almost everywhere, standing and talking to each other, men smoking...what in the morning was a shit house was now a socializing place. I ran back to the house... I was too shy to ask any one... but by now I knew it was emergency if I waited longer it was going to be a catastrophe. My mind worked very fast.... plastic bag.... the little bathing enclosure that we also used as a urination point was the best bet. I looked for a plastic bag but could find none. I saw some newspaper...shit.... newspaper is not water proof. I had no other choice, I took two days newspaper (some 40 pages) and ran.. hoping no one will see me. I went into the enclosure laid the news papers in all its thickness and eased myself... it was a lot and it was not so solid... pardon my explaining my shit in detail but I am doing this to help you understand the intensity of it. I had to move away from the paper wash myself then wrap the paper... folding it well so that nothing slips out. Now the challenge was in getting the package out and desposing it. I carried it in my hands... the warm of my own shit ran through my viens right into me.... making me feel miserable... not just for myself but for the million of scavengers in India carrying human feces over their heads. I ran back to the tracks... of course the people were still there. I walked along the tracks with the warmth in my hands until I hoped no one could see me. I am sure everyone was watching me wondering what I was doing with a parcel in my hand.. most would have mistaken it for a packet of food. I am glad there were no dogs around then. I gently laid it to rest near the track and ran for my life.

My shit sitting there in a neatly wrapped newspaper probably kindling the curiosity of a by-passer and giving enough courage to a beggar or a street dog or the rats on the tracks to explore it. Later the beggar disgusted upon knowing the truth that someone would actually wrap their shit, cursing me for what I did. For I am sure that in a few hours the mystery was unwrapped and scattered everywhere to the dismay of the morning marchers and the passengers on the train who looked down upon it.

My soul hurts to know that this may still be the case in many villages where women (and men) suffer day after day with no place to shit in peace.

Hand in hand

"Take my hand," she said, and simply slide her arms into mine. "Hold my hand," he said and stretched out his arm for me to grab. All this in the slippery roads of Bishkek, where care and concern supersedes personal space and awkwardness. It snowed non stop for 24 hours and the next day it rained and then next it froze... see this means ice. Growing up in Chennai the closest I got to ice was when i dung deep into my freezer for a cube of ice for my water, much to the yelling of my mother "you will catch a cold". The kindness of the people of Bishkek stood out for me... more so because it was spontaneous.

Back to blogging

What a waste of time

An auto reply on google group which read something like “ I will be in London from .. this day to … this day “ triggered off a series of responses. The first person says “why should I know about this” the second person “ why me” the third person was embarrassed that the person responsible was not doing anything about it. I was embarrassed too but more about the kind of responses to one simple auto reply. In these times of technological advancements we have lost the ability to be tolerate with simple mistakes, or was it ego because the other person was going to London and I was sitting tight at home? What ever, I think that it is mighty waste of time and energy by some of the most important person working in the field of humanities.

The National Anthem

After the media carried news on the Sri Lankan government calling for one National Anthem in Sinhala I did some research on National Anthems. The Indian National Anthem is neither in Hindi nor in English, it is in Bengali and nobody seems to mind it although each of us sing it in our accents in the most awful way. When I asked my South African friend of Indian origin about their National Anthem which is sung in five languages, she said that it was no problem and that all people sang it, but she added "except the whites". My Belgian friend wrote back and told me that in the Flemish part it is sung in Flemish and in the French part in French and when the two groups are together they sing it in their own language which is total cacophony. Canadians sing it in both languages, when it comes to the French part the English mumble the words and when it is the English part the French mumble. Apparently there is also a Tamil translation sung at Tamil gatherings. The Swiss have their National Anthem translated into four languages and sing it in their own language.

What is important I think is the spirit of it all. What made Brinda unpopular was his emotionless attention while the Indian National Anthem was played after he received the Olympic gold medal. National Anthems are more about the emotions they evoke than the language it is sung in.

When I saw young boys on wheel chairs I wanted to cry. They were victims of land mines. I tried to compose myself and putting on my best face went to say Hello to them. As professional as I could be I shook at with three of them and turned around to shake hands with the last guy who was standing and so I assumed was a volunteer. I met not with a hand to shake but a stump.

These are boys and girls from the post conflict situation in Cambodia. I fear for my people on their return to Sri Lanka. Land mine awareness should go on in the post war situation, untrod paths are always there where there might be a land mine.

Please pass on this message to as many as possible.