Friday, November 16, 2007

Ga-Dha

Aami Tritiyo aar Shoshthom Shurer Songom. Aami Ga-Dha. Aar Aami Sa Re Ma Pa Ni. Shob E Gaan. Shob E Shur. Aar ei gaan aar shurer ashor, amar jibon. Nachte Ichhe Kore. Dhei Dhei kore. Aami nachbo. Ga-Dha-r Shure.

Wednesday, March 21, 2007

Strong Minds, Strong Men

Tangier’s Old Town in Morocco is a difficult place for a foreigner. Everything seems strange: the souks, or markets, crowded with men in hoods and dresses, the narrow streets, youngsters offering everything from ancient treasures to hashish.

My buddy and I were new to North Africa and our first reaction was paranoia. Were we going to be robbed at knife-point? Poisoned? Kidnapped? We rented a room for a few dirhams and went off nervously to find something to eat in the Souko Chiko, the little souk. After a few days, both of us were really uncomfortable: people either treated us as potential sources of income or ignored us completely.

Quite by accident we discovered the Almohad Coffee Shop. Its entrance was a single door in a white wall with a small sign above it. I stuck my head inside and was delighted to find a square, open courtyard surrounded by cool verandas. Men sat around the tables drinking Turkish coffee, at near-mud consistency, or glasses of sweet mint tea.

All conversation faded as we entered, but soon buzzed back to life. We were emboldened to sit down and order some tea. At almost every table the customers were playing Ludo.

Over the next few weeks the Almohad became our refuge. Admittedly nobody spoke to us, but after a while nobody peered at us from hooded eyes either. And the mint tea was delicious.

Then one memorable morning a large man marched up to our table and babbled something in Arabic. Was this the moment of attack? I called the waiter over to translate. "He has challenged you to a game of Parcheesi."

"What’s that?" I asked, imagining a duel with matching pistols.

"That game", he said, pointing at a ludo board.

I must confess I’d been silently contemptuous of all these grown men playing a child’s board game. Ludo, in case you don’t know, consists of a board with four "dens" in which you place four coloured counters. It takes a dice throw of six to get a counter out, after which you chase your counter round the board until you get to "home" in the middle. The first person with all four counters home, wins. As board games go, it’s rather silly.

The size of the man, however, did not seem to brook refusal. I nodded. As my buddy and I stood up so did the entire coffee shop, as if by pre-arranged signal. We were ushered into seats opposite each other; Moroccans filled the other two seats. The waiter informed us that parcheesi was played in teams, so we had to home all eight of our counters in order to win. It was the best of three games.

The rest of the customers arranged themselves silently around the table, some standing on chairs to get a view of the board. There was something very odd going on, but I couldn’t figure out what it was.

To cut the first two games to a sentence, we won the first and they won the second. In the third, decisive game, when they looked set to win, I sent one of their counters back to its den and the player couldn’t seem to get a six. He eventually did, but by that time both his buddy and mine were home. I was in the home slot and he was gaining fast.

I ended up one place from home and the tension in the coffee shop was electric. Every time I rolled the dice the entire audience yelled the Arabic equivalent of "three!" It was a smart call, because a three bounced me out of home, requiring that I throw either a one or a two to win.

After I got four threes in a row my buddy and I suddenly realized why all these grown men played ludo. It had nothing to do with sending counters home. It was about controlling our minds and influencing the dice. This was more than a test of psychic power: we were playing for our very souls.

I threw 17 threes in succession. Each time, the room yelled "three!" and we yelled "one" or "two". By then the hair on the back of my neck was stiff with fright. All logic and statistical probability flew out of the courtyard.

Our opponent was one throw away from home. I tossed the dice and my buddy and I yelled "one". It spun on its corner for an indecently long time and landed with one facing up.

The room erupted. We were carried shoulder high round the coffee shop, then outside into the souk. Everyone was yelling, but the only word I caught was parcheesi.

We spent another month in Tangier. Strangers invited us to meals and kids in the streets waggled their thumbs in the air and shouted parcheesi.

It appeared we’d trounced the local psi-wrestlers. A comment by the waiter at the Almohad Coffee Shop seemed to clear it up:" We Arabs like people with strong minds. The dice told us you were not just tourists."

"What would have happened if we’d lost?" I asked.

His reply was a masterpiece of Arabic inscrutability:" Maybe you would then not have been able to ask that question."


Don Pinnock

Wednesday, February 21, 2007

Love. Peace. Empathy.

K.P.S. Gill touched a womans posterior and landed in Trouble. Newspapers. Court. Jail(Almost).
My friend fell in love with a woman. Then fell Out. Then fell in. Then fell out. And then Fell in. Again.
God, Nature, I dont know which, must have made a mistake. And where, I dont know. Maybe I dont have the guts to know. But I am sure of me thing. That We are not meant to be together... men and women. We are totally different species altogether. Theres not enough space in this World for us both. But fate has entwined us so, that we keep crossing each other paths and we keep encroaching on each others space.We both would have been happier. We both would have been ourselves. The way we wanted to be. The way we were meant to be. Some great philosopoher had the brains (and the guts) to drop the slight innuendo, enough for the understanding intellectuals. "Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus" said he. Maybe we are. Maybe we should never have left.
Women perenially complain that men dont understand them. Men dont. For the fear that Women might overhear them. They are even afraid to think. Maybe we should just go back to where we belong. Both of us. And just be ourselves.And till then, we meekly obey the laws of nature. Mould ourselves in each others casts till the other one is happy. Then we decide to be happy because we did the (almost impossible) task of changing ourselves against our (martian) wishes and in keeping with our(earthly) desires.
And we will live " Happily Ever After". Till we figure out how we came here, and find means of reversing the process.So that we can go through it all over again.
Because, when all is said and done, Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus.
Because, when all is said and done, Earth is where we belong.

Tuesday, February 20, 2007

COMPASSION

Compassion is the poison of our society. Poverty Feeds on compassion. We say "aww, i feel so sorry for this guy", and shell out some coins to give to the "poor" guy. But stop. And think. Are we doing it for him? No. Its just a selfish move... we are all buying our way to heaven. We, sick, selfish people are trying to buy our way to heaven... screwing up an already screwed up life. Unfeelingy feeling, passionately dispassionate, dying everyday so that that we may live in peace once we die. Compassion is the poison of our society... the most potent one. It kills both the person showing it, and the one who receives it. Painfully. Slowly. Painfully Slowly.
I am not against the showing of compassion. But to the rightful recipients. A child, maybe. Somehow, the concept of compassion got warped, misinterpreted. U think a blind man should receive alms as tokens of our compassion? I saw one who used to sell peanuts in trains. Just one. Why cant the others? As long as we go on showing "compassion" towards those who dont, they wont. True compassion is when, no matter how much you feel the urge to reach into your pocket and give the "poor guy" some alms, you hold back. So that he tries. To earn what he used to get as alms. Theres nothing called a free lunch. If we want to change the way our society is, to make this world a better place, we have to change ourselves. And then, little by little, this bleak present painting will fade into a vivid, colorful landscape.