No Birds This Winter
Once upon a time, in times such as these, migratory birds used to come to this city. You could see them everywhere: around the marshes and ponds, the grassy fields where kids used to play football, atop the branches of the trees struggling to breath in these confused, confused spaces of mud, grime, and concrete, fleeing from the harsh winters of the north.
The birds have stopped coming to Kolkata city once these spaces have disappeared. And in the few places that are left; the birds have stopped coming.
Yesterday, I was at the National Library, and after few hours of reading, I decided to visit the Zoo all of a sudden. There were the usual crowds, the hawkers selling badaam, the monkeys crying for attention, the tigers and lions sulking in their dark cages. The last time I visited the zoo was in winter, years and years ago. Now, Bengalees in stiff-necked sweaters and jackets, a pleasant wind from the north, mufflers on kids running around with balloons, reminded me that winter was 'officially' here. I watched a few couples smooching on the benches; I walked past a few old men who had wandered into the zoo like me, aimless and undecided about what to do next. But I missed the birds of my childhood memories: free uncaged birds from distant lands who once came to this city and the zoo to revisit life. What is it about, what is in the air that makes me feel so nostalgic? Everything around me now seemed to wear a melancholy look: and there were no free birds about this winter. Or perhaps, I had failed to spot them...
The birds have stopped coming to Kolkata city once these spaces have disappeared. And in the few places that are left; the birds have stopped coming.
Yesterday, I was at the National Library, and after few hours of reading, I decided to visit the Zoo all of a sudden. There were the usual crowds, the hawkers selling badaam, the monkeys crying for attention, the tigers and lions sulking in their dark cages. The last time I visited the zoo was in winter, years and years ago. Now, Bengalees in stiff-necked sweaters and jackets, a pleasant wind from the north, mufflers on kids running around with balloons, reminded me that winter was 'officially' here. I watched a few couples smooching on the benches; I walked past a few old men who had wandered into the zoo like me, aimless and undecided about what to do next. But I missed the birds of my childhood memories: free uncaged birds from distant lands who once came to this city and the zoo to revisit life. What is it about, what is in the air that makes me feel so nostalgic? Everything around me now seemed to wear a melancholy look: and there were no free birds about this winter. Or perhaps, I had failed to spot them...
Time to remember Johnny Sokko and his flying robot
We came into this world when all the old and serious ideologies were either dead or had transformed themselves into churches with their own fine-combed distinctions. We were to learn it later. We came into the world of a post-liberalisation India long before when Remo Fernandes and Juhi Chawla danced their hats off and told us to stick bottles of Lehar Pepsi up our butts, and forget everything. The TV was then a blue tube enclosed in shutters and standing on wobbly legs: the thunder cats quivered on the screen as a light breeze shook the antennae on the terrace. But smart and feisty Johnny Sokko ruled our world, fighting monsters, godzillas, and evil scientists with a violence that always seems to attract children.
"Robot, robot", I used to whisper earnestly to the invisible matchbox tied to my wrist with a string. It was always the Johhny Sokko watch. "Grrrr" went the robot and "Swisssh!" he fired a missile off his gingerly fingers. He always used to grow new fingers. And then there was me playing the robot. And me was not alone. It was we who played the robot.
I did not know then it was a Japanese TV series of the sixties run twenty years later in a country that was "closed", and where the children were getting used to a society that did not know where the hell it was going. It still doesn't know. Neither do we know what happened to that confused childhood that was severely constrained in space and time by aliens of the bad planet of the adults. But as I write these lines, I know that in a way it is that which keeps us going. We're all tied to our times, but there's always a magic watch summoning us through the hazes and mists of the knowledgeable world, through serious and complex analyses, to a time when imagination represented what we are, and what we will be...
Ah, I'm stoopid philosophising again.
"Robot, robot", I used to whisper earnestly to the invisible matchbox tied to my wrist with a string. It was always the Johhny Sokko watch. "Grrrr" went the robot and "Swisssh!" he fired a missile off his gingerly fingers. He always used to grow new fingers. And then there was me playing the robot. And me was not alone. It was we who played the robot.
I did not know then it was a Japanese TV series of the sixties run twenty years later in a country that was "closed", and where the children were getting used to a society that did not know where the hell it was going. It still doesn't know. Neither do we know what happened to that confused childhood that was severely constrained in space and time by aliens of the bad planet of the adults. But as I write these lines, I know that in a way it is that which keeps us going. We're all tied to our times, but there's always a magic watch summoning us through the hazes and mists of the knowledgeable world, through serious and complex analyses, to a time when imagination represented what we are, and what we will be...
Ah, I'm stoopid philosophising again.
Rough Notes on Nandigram
This is an incomplete graphic narrative I was working on in 2007, when peasants were being killed at Nandigram by the West Bengal government. I had planned a narrative, in the comics format, as how land acquisition takes place in India, and the realities of corporate globalisation. I stopped working on it after a few pages were done, and could never return to it.
Looking at it now, I feel it's rather text-heavy, and has a lot of glitches which I feel like correcting. However, and because it records a disturbing time, I've left things as they are: born in the moment where we think we ought to have done something!
Rough Notes on Nandigram
Looking at it now, I feel it's rather text-heavy, and has a lot of glitches which I feel like correcting. However, and because it records a disturbing time, I've left things as they are: born in the moment where we think we ought to have done something!
Rough Notes on Nandigram
Vague traces
Vague traces of childhood return to haunt. You feel miserable and low.
You sit for hours looking at the blank pulse of the electronic screen, addicted to shifting words and misshapen soundscapes. Images watched with red, listless eyes. You know there's no changing the past. The past decayed, and then melted away. The present is an empty waiting for the correct words to form. And no matter what old Althu said, even the future doesn't seem to last forever.
You realise that 'justice' you'd learned about in school and the academy has nothing to do with right or wrong. It is just used to justify the arrogance of power. Once you kept asking yourself why. Now you don't. The same goes with 'freedom'. No one learns freedom by rote and you cannot do a thing. Just watch the whole thing happen, just stand there firm, bleeding deep inside. If someone asks, tell them freedom cannot be had through rations.
It's just like you to find a spot like this. Here you've already failed your own dreams once. You won't probably qualify for other dreams the next year either. Your skepticism will be construed as conspiratorial. You'll just provide them with some information and emotions they can never process. And you'll be back here in two years' time saying "Yes, I'm fine, thank you..." to someone or the other, when you didn't mean that at all.
But you'll never forget. Like stale tea from inside a thermos, believe me, you'll be okay.
If someone is still listening to this rambling talk, here's an old favourite song of mine, sung before it got famous, and the singer was still nineteen.
The oldest game
Choronzon: "I am anti-life, the beast of judgement. I am the dark at the end of everything. The end of universes, gods, worlds … of everything. And what will you be then, Dreamlord?"
Dream: "I am hope."
-Choronzon and Dream, playing the oldest game, in A Hope in Hell (Sandman #4).
Constructions of History
"The constructions of history are comparable to military orders that discipline the true life and confine it to barracks. On the other hand: the street insurgence of the anecdote. The anecdote brings things near to us spatially, lets them enter our life. It represents the strict antithesis to the sort of history which demands 'empathy,' which makes everything abstract."
- Walter Benjamin [The Archades Project]
The best way to organise ebooks, notes, & references for your PhD
Surely, I do not mean "the" best way. The best way is for you to find out, one and/or the combinations that suits you the most.
Here, I share the best way that works for me- a technological noob on the humanities' side, who doesn't know and doesn't have time to work and think over complex codes that make your work really easy. I'm a lazy bug who for some strange reasons has to complete a humanities thesis in the space of a year. (If you're only looking for the best software to manage your ebooks, close your eyes, and download Calibre. Though with it, as with any other, you have to spend hours attaching tags to the books and files you once stored in different folders. And if you really do have the time to systematise your study, I suggest you can use the quotation manager TextCite, and make a good use of its category functions to organise your reading notes.)
My intention here is different. I am disorganised to the extent that the effort and time that goes into my attempted writing of a PhD dissertation makes it impossible for wander beyond my writing, for the time being, or to systematically organise my ebooks for purposes other than that of writing. So what I tell you here might come of help if you're working against a deadline, and your technological capabilities like mine doesn't go beyond a little typing skills in MS Word.
The sublime object of Bibliography
For some time I have been looking for a way to refer to my modest collection of about 10 GB of ebooks in pdf, html, djvu and other formats; about 5GB of journal articles and randomly scribbled notes in MS Word. And I've been trying to access these for the last two weeks to write a chapter of about 20,000 words, and the footnote entries stand as of now at 178, with a book or an article to cite for most. I had to do this following one of the the humanities styles listed by the Chicago Manual of Style, and I found the manual entering of citations is really a pain in the ass, especially when you've to concentrate on the writing, and at the same time, look for the obscure useless book stored somewhere in your hard drive that you've read and which exists for no worthy purposes beyond the cursory citation. This made me look for two things: a organiser of ebooks and articles that is (and importantly) a bibliographic citation manager. Like an idiot, the first thing I turned to was EndNote.
Managing Citations and the complex world of Citation Managers
After playing with EndNote for a week, I realised this was not for me. It's expensive: from where does a third world 'researcher' procure $ 300, and pay additional shipping charges, apart from the why of it? And perhaps with the reasons to do with its price, EndNote's interface is confusing for the uninitiated (read someone whose university doesn't have a commercial tie-up with the company). Another of my objections is that EndNote created more problems in terms of storage, unless you constantly upgraded your stuff. Even without upgrading, EndNote sucks. For example, if you've a desktop running on Windows XP with Word2003 installed, and a laptop with Windows 7 with Word2007 installed, and use a USB stick between the two for small file transfers, there's no simple way to migrate your bibliographic data, insert and cite (their 'Cite While You Write' function) from the same EndNote file in which you've once stored your citations. And after an endless session of scanning their tutorial videos, their forums, and googling solutions as how to get rid of the "invalid class string" message that appears every time I try to insert a citation from EndNote to Word, I decided that I had enough.
I tried Zotero for a few days, the free and open source add-on for the Firefox browser. While it worked good for synchronising notes taken from the web, there was no going beyond the proverbial Firefox way of crashing. I usually take a long smoking break when my favourite Firefox crashes, but this was a bit more. Zotero crashed everytime I tried to append a pdf ebook to it from my hard discs, and a number of times, without any provocation. I almost got lung cancer!
And for a day and two after that, I tried using Mendeley. As an offline and web-based hybrid citation manager, Mendeley too was free and excellent in terms of its management of books, articles, and citations, and the way it effortlessly scanned my library and fetched names, etc. off the files, and also made the insertion of citations in Word very easy. If you're planning a shorter work (let's say a journal article), Mendeley should be the obvious choice. For longer works though, I'm skeptical about Mendeley on two counts. One, synchronization between the offline version and the online Mendeley account of yours takes hours, especially if you live on slow internet connections in the southern hemisphere. Two, its free online storage capability is only 500 MB (you've to pay to "upgrade" your storage), which plays one of the older tricks of proprietary software industry's money-making.
It was at this point, I was on the verge of frustration, and almost decided to go back to the manual entry process in MS Word. I was and am wary of open source: who doesn't know that what the geeks call "really simple", really requires hours and hours of unfruitful scripting for the technologically incompetent such as me? But I thought I would try at least one. And I'm happy that I did, I found one that didn't make me look back.
I found JabRef . And my ecstatic advice to you: If you're looking for one that makes your work easy, try JabRef- the best bibliography manager for the present. The best thing for JabRef is that it easy for the first-time user and uncomplicated. It takes at the most 10-15 minutes to learn. Moreover, it is consistent than EndNote, or the word citation manager that comes default in MS Word 2007; it is so because the techies say JabRef is based on BibTeX. And finally it always free to try, and improve on (if you are into coding), because it is open source.
How JabRef works
Once you download and install it, you open JabRef, create a database, and click the green (+) sign for a new entry. (BTW, you have to have Java installed on your computer. If you don't have it, get it from here).
Once done, you can integrate JabRef with MS Word to seamlessly insert your citations in your manuscript, and to look up ebooks, articles, and links inside the same window. It really saves time; believe me!
Here, I share the best way that works for me- a technological noob on the humanities' side, who doesn't know and doesn't have time to work and think over complex codes that make your work really easy. I'm a lazy bug who for some strange reasons has to complete a humanities thesis in the space of a year. (If you're only looking for the best software to manage your ebooks, close your eyes, and download Calibre. Though with it, as with any other, you have to spend hours attaching tags to the books and files you once stored in different folders. And if you really do have the time to systematise your study, I suggest you can use the quotation manager TextCite, and make a good use of its category functions to organise your reading notes.)
My intention here is different. I am disorganised to the extent that the effort and time that goes into my attempted writing of a PhD dissertation makes it impossible for wander beyond my writing, for the time being, or to systematically organise my ebooks for purposes other than that of writing. So what I tell you here might come of help if you're working against a deadline, and your technological capabilities like mine doesn't go beyond a little typing skills in MS Word.
The sublime object of Bibliography
For some time I have been looking for a way to refer to my modest collection of about 10 GB of ebooks in pdf, html, djvu and other formats; about 5GB of journal articles and randomly scribbled notes in MS Word. And I've been trying to access these for the last two weeks to write a chapter of about 20,000 words, and the footnote entries stand as of now at 178, with a book or an article to cite for most. I had to do this following one of the the humanities styles listed by the Chicago Manual of Style, and I found the manual entering of citations is really a pain in the ass, especially when you've to concentrate on the writing, and at the same time, look for the obscure useless book stored somewhere in your hard drive that you've read and which exists for no worthy purposes beyond the cursory citation. This made me look for two things: a organiser of ebooks and articles that is (and importantly) a bibliographic citation manager. Like an idiot, the first thing I turned to was EndNote.
Managing Citations and the complex world of Citation Managers
After playing with EndNote for a week, I realised this was not for me. It's expensive: from where does a third world 'researcher' procure $ 300, and pay additional shipping charges, apart from the why of it? And perhaps with the reasons to do with its price, EndNote's interface is confusing for the uninitiated (read someone whose university doesn't have a commercial tie-up with the company). Another of my objections is that EndNote created more problems in terms of storage, unless you constantly upgraded your stuff. Even without upgrading, EndNote sucks. For example, if you've a desktop running on Windows XP with Word2003 installed, and a laptop with Windows 7 with Word2007 installed, and use a USB stick between the two for small file transfers, there's no simple way to migrate your bibliographic data, insert and cite (their 'Cite While You Write' function) from the same EndNote file in which you've once stored your citations. And after an endless session of scanning their tutorial videos, their forums, and googling solutions as how to get rid of the "invalid class string" message that appears every time I try to insert a citation from EndNote to Word, I decided that I had enough.
I tried Zotero for a few days, the free and open source add-on for the Firefox browser. While it worked good for synchronising notes taken from the web, there was no going beyond the proverbial Firefox way of crashing. I usually take a long smoking break when my favourite Firefox crashes, but this was a bit more. Zotero crashed everytime I tried to append a pdf ebook to it from my hard discs, and a number of times, without any provocation. I almost got lung cancer!
And for a day and two after that, I tried using Mendeley. As an offline and web-based hybrid citation manager, Mendeley too was free and excellent in terms of its management of books, articles, and citations, and the way it effortlessly scanned my library and fetched names, etc. off the files, and also made the insertion of citations in Word very easy. If you're planning a shorter work (let's say a journal article), Mendeley should be the obvious choice. For longer works though, I'm skeptical about Mendeley on two counts. One, synchronization between the offline version and the online Mendeley account of yours takes hours, especially if you live on slow internet connections in the southern hemisphere. Two, its free online storage capability is only 500 MB (you've to pay to "upgrade" your storage), which plays one of the older tricks of proprietary software industry's money-making.
It was at this point, I was on the verge of frustration, and almost decided to go back to the manual entry process in MS Word. I was and am wary of open source: who doesn't know that what the geeks call "really simple", really requires hours and hours of unfruitful scripting for the technologically incompetent such as me? But I thought I would try at least one. And I'm happy that I did, I found one that didn't make me look back.
I found JabRef . And my ecstatic advice to you: If you're looking for one that makes your work easy, try JabRef- the best bibliography manager for the present. The best thing for JabRef is that it easy for the first-time user and uncomplicated. It takes at the most 10-15 minutes to learn. Moreover, it is consistent than EndNote, or the word citation manager that comes default in MS Word 2007; it is so because the techies say JabRef is based on BibTeX. And finally it always free to try, and improve on (if you are into coding), because it is open source.
How JabRef works
Once you download and install it, you open JabRef, create a database, and click the green (+) sign for a new entry. (BTW, you have to have Java installed on your computer. If you don't have it, get it from here).
There appear simple fields to insert your bibliographical data and linking facilities to either files in your computer or on the web. It's really that simple! And this YouTube video below explains most of the rest:
I found out that I can easily customise on the input fields for the bibliographic entry. And if you require more variations on the Chicago style using JabRef, they don't come by default with the JabRef software. But you can easily download an excellent plug-in (developed by Juan Jose Baldrich) called "Chicago Manual of Style export filters" (check here for the English version). Download the plug-in and install it in the following steps:
I found out that I can easily customise on the input fields for the bibliographic entry. And if you require more variations on the Chicago style using JabRef, they don't come by default with the JabRef software. But you can easily download an excellent plug-in (developed by Juan Jose Baldrich) called "Chicago Manual of Style export filters" (check here for the English version). Download the plug-in and install it in the following steps:
JabRef>Plugins> Plugin Manager> Install PluginOnce you've installed the plug-in, you can export your entire bibliography (or select entries) in a rich text format (.rtf) file that opens in MS Word with your citations arranged according to your preference following the Chicago manual.
Also if you're lazy like me to desire a set of insert buttons in MS Word that automatically insert a citation, or create a bibliography on the document in which you are working, you can do that with JabRef. For that, you just have to install two other pieces of free software: the basic version of a word-processing package called MikTeX (available here) and the Word-integration software called Bibtex4Word (available here). The developer of Bibtex4Word has put up a very comprehensible step-by-step installation instruction here, and you can refer to it if you have problems installing. (As I've found out, with JabRef running, Bibtex4Word works perfectly with Word 2003 and Word 2007). Again the chicago style doesn't come by default, but you can download it (and numerous other sytles) off the MikTeX site by going through the following steps and choosing:
Your Computer's Start Menu>All Programs> MikTeX>Maintenance>Package Manager> chicago or chicago-annote (you find these by scrolling down the entries on the left side of your screen). Select chicago-annote and click the install (+) button.
Once done, you can integrate JabRef with MS Word to seamlessly insert your citations in your manuscript, and to look up ebooks, articles, and links inside the same window. It really saves time; believe me!
Eternity, Bathroom, Smoke and Spiders
"Men always represent eternity as an incomprehensible idea, as a something immense- immense! But why should this necessarily be the case? Imagine, on the contrary, a small room- a bathroom, if you will- blackened by smoke, with spiders in every corner."
-Arcadius Ivanovitch in Crime and Punishment.
Being Caliban
'Why do you read Western theory and literature?" he asked disapprovingly, looking at the books on my bookshelf. I was shocked: this was the first time I had come across such reverse Orientalism; albeit a politically-correct one.
We were having a rather irritating debate on 'continuity' and 'rupture' two days after that.
This young French anthropologist was trying to say the more things change, the more things remain the same. Yes, I said, but it depends on the position in time, space, and culture that you belong to, or assume. To an epithelial and alien anthropologist watching earth over an alien telescope for ten thousand years, it's the continuation of a species over numerous insignificant events. To Foucault, the Islamic 'Revolution' of 1978 in Iran was a rupture.
We differed sharply on the question of 'choice'.
He said: The middle classes largely control what is called 'culture'. They are to blame for consciously choosing on every point on shopping malls, consumerism, cars, and everything that goes with the logic of the market: they consciously choose that everyday, every moment, when they share small bits of power against the relatively powerless.
I said: The middle classes, at least here, are now primarily shaped by social conditions that make them devoid of 'history' in the older sense. Apart from those rooted to older ways of tradition (those disappearing ones who still preserve the classical educationist's vision of, say, listening to Mozart and speaking the Queen's English measure meticulously on a Nesfield grammar book), most ape and synthesize according to local customs and cultural moorings (for aping is also an act of synthesis) the products spawned by what Adorno and Horkheimer had simplistically tried to pin as the "culture industry".
The question of blame be better left to those higher-up in the fields of concentrated power —those running, funding and controlling the globalised networked shows of power and domination. An individual belonging to the middle classes can only be criticised when he is aware of the range of possibilities that constitute his 'choice'. I don't blame a person for buying a branded jeans from a supermarket; I criticize him for not knowing that jeans is the fruit of sweatshop slave trade. And I, specifically blame him when, for example, he pretends to ignore that the person sitting next to him has fallen sick and needs taken to a hospital. That is, he can be explicitly blamed only when he's aware of the choice he is to make as an individual, and then choose the ethically wrong one... I was going on to speak of Max Stirner's view on the topic, but then I stopped talking all of a sudden.
I found out that I was rather rude when debating with him, and I wondered why was it so. I'm usually not that rude, and I've been a patient debater in other situations, more disconcerting and hostile. What was it that had unsettled me? And then I remembered his question.
'Why do you read Western theory and literature?" he had asked.
The question was sickening. And I couldn't answer him without being angry; angry at him for being a white man with a not-so-innocuous question. A long time back in the university, a professor had told us: 'There's a Caliban somewhere deep inside you. You'll always find him when time comes."
You can't answer the question without being Caliban. Prospero's spirits hear you and yet you need must curse!
We were having a rather irritating debate on 'continuity' and 'rupture' two days after that.
This young French anthropologist was trying to say the more things change, the more things remain the same. Yes, I said, but it depends on the position in time, space, and culture that you belong to, or assume. To an epithelial and alien anthropologist watching earth over an alien telescope for ten thousand years, it's the continuation of a species over numerous insignificant events. To Foucault, the Islamic 'Revolution' of 1978 in Iran was a rupture.
We differed sharply on the question of 'choice'.
He said: The middle classes largely control what is called 'culture'. They are to blame for consciously choosing on every point on shopping malls, consumerism, cars, and everything that goes with the logic of the market: they consciously choose that everyday, every moment, when they share small bits of power against the relatively powerless.
I said: The middle classes, at least here, are now primarily shaped by social conditions that make them devoid of 'history' in the older sense. Apart from those rooted to older ways of tradition (those disappearing ones who still preserve the classical educationist's vision of, say, listening to Mozart and speaking the Queen's English measure meticulously on a Nesfield grammar book), most ape and synthesize according to local customs and cultural moorings (for aping is also an act of synthesis) the products spawned by what Adorno and Horkheimer had simplistically tried to pin as the "culture industry".
The question of blame be better left to those higher-up in the fields of concentrated power —those running, funding and controlling the globalised networked shows of power and domination. An individual belonging to the middle classes can only be criticised when he is aware of the range of possibilities that constitute his 'choice'. I don't blame a person for buying a branded jeans from a supermarket; I criticize him for not knowing that jeans is the fruit of sweatshop slave trade. And I, specifically blame him when, for example, he pretends to ignore that the person sitting next to him has fallen sick and needs taken to a hospital. That is, he can be explicitly blamed only when he's aware of the choice he is to make as an individual, and then choose the ethically wrong one... I was going on to speak of Max Stirner's view on the topic, but then I stopped talking all of a sudden.
I found out that I was rather rude when debating with him, and I wondered why was it so. I'm usually not that rude, and I've been a patient debater in other situations, more disconcerting and hostile. What was it that had unsettled me? And then I remembered his question.
'Why do you read Western theory and literature?" he had asked.
The question was sickening. And I couldn't answer him without being angry; angry at him for being a white man with a not-so-innocuous question. A long time back in the university, a professor had told us: 'There's a Caliban somewhere deep inside you. You'll always find him when time comes."
You can't answer the question without being Caliban. Prospero's spirits hear you and yet you need must curse!
I pay out my line
"The only way you can write the truth is to assume that what you set down will never be read. Not by any other person, and not even by yourself at some later date. Otherwise you begin excusing yourself. You must see the writing as emerging like a scroll of ink from the index finger of your right hand, you must see your left hand erasing it.
Impossible of course.
I pay out my line, I say out my line, this black thread I'm spinning across the page."
- Margaret Atwood, The Blind Assassin, 2000.
Impossible of course.
I pay out my line, I say out my line, this black thread I'm spinning across the page."
- Margaret Atwood, The Blind Assassin, 2000.
Youth
A young couple pose for a photo in front of
Jinshui Bridge in Tian'anmen Square, Beijing, on March 23, 2009.
Student protestors struggle with soldiers from the Chinese Army,
the PLA, at Tian'anmen Square, on June 3, 1989.
Both the pictures share two common features: youth and Tian'anmen Square.
No points for guessing the difference.
Incidentally, this month marked the 20th anniversary of the Tian'anmen Square Protests.
Mourn. Celebrate. Remember.
(Pix Credits: The first is from The China Daily, a showcase of photographs by 100 photographers, part of the 'Chinese Revolution's 60 years celebration that is coming soon. The second is from the Asian history section of About.com which records the butchering of student protesters by the PLA. )
'Any Where Out of This World!'
"This life is a hospital in which each sick man is possessed by a desire to change beds. One would prefer to suffer by the stove. Another believes he would recover if he sat by the window."
- Baudelaire, 'Any Where Out of This World!'
- Baudelaire, 'Any Where Out of This World!'
"Remember When"- Sharing is Caring
In this world of webs, deceptions, and sickening credit-carded entertainments, and where strangers walk the nights of the ether in their wakeful solitude, it's rather strange that the act of sharing survives. It's made up of one of the oldest and noble human sentiments that made us humans, and it's still the only act that makes you feel alive, at least on the net.
Sharing. An act of courage and extreme gentleness that survives the hostility of governments, and other rabid censors of free expression.
Imagine a world without the silent uploader, her pirate eyes alight with the warmth of the incandescent cathode ray screen, spending sleepless nights to share a movie, an album, a book she knows you're sure to appreciate.
Imagine a world without the patient seeders on the portals who seed and seed for years, risking their systems to known armadas and unknown hostilities, and planting new trees of hope in every island of a recalcitrant computer connecting to this nether regions.
Or imagine a world without trees.
Yes, trees and photosynthetic life forms and images that survive and blossom inspite of a million leeches who've never bothered to put a decent "thank you" comment on a post. They nod in silence, share light and oxygen, lifting their branches and leaves up into the ultramarine sky and breathe life everywhere, and right now, as you're reading this, they weave life in all its varieties.
Listen carefully. Let me whisper it once more in your ears. "Sharing is caring."
And gentle reader, remember it well.
What follows is a Not-Copyright Comics on the "piracy" issue by Dylan Horrocks, a wonderful artist from New Zealand:
(Click on the image for a better view)
Sharing. An act of courage and extreme gentleness that survives the hostility of governments, and other rabid censors of free expression.
Imagine a world without the silent uploader, her pirate eyes alight with the warmth of the incandescent cathode ray screen, spending sleepless nights to share a movie, an album, a book she knows you're sure to appreciate.
Imagine a world without the patient seeders on the portals who seed and seed for years, risking their systems to known armadas and unknown hostilities, and planting new trees of hope in every island of a recalcitrant computer connecting to this nether regions.
Or imagine a world without trees.
Yes, trees and photosynthetic life forms and images that survive and blossom inspite of a million leeches who've never bothered to put a decent "thank you" comment on a post. They nod in silence, share light and oxygen, lifting their branches and leaves up into the ultramarine sky and breathe life everywhere, and right now, as you're reading this, they weave life in all its varieties.
Listen carefully. Let me whisper it once more in your ears. "Sharing is caring."
And gentle reader, remember it well.
What follows is a Not-Copyright Comics on the "piracy" issue by Dylan Horrocks, a wonderful artist from New Zealand:
(Click on the image for a better view)
Miraculous and sacred stoopidity
Growl! I received that mail for the umpteenth time! Earlier I had it from MBAs, corporate executives, NGO scions, smart-ass journalists, and from postgraduate people whose CVs exhibit a dose of 'liberal humanistic education' comprising Aristotle, Hume, Kant, Marx, Foucault, and also all that post-colonial shit.
After a never-ending list of people it is forwarded to, you get to see a picture of a grim-faced deity (I guess of Tamil origin) and a message drafted and highlighted in red and blue by someone who hadn't learnt elementary grammar in primary school.
After a never-ending list of people it is forwarded to, you get to see a picture of a grim-faced deity (I guess of Tamil origin) and a message drafted and highlighted in red and blue by someone who hadn't learnt elementary grammar in primary school.
Class 1 Officer of Indian government received this picture and called it 'junk mail', 8 days later his husband died. A man received this picture and immediately sent out copies...his surprise was winning the 10 crore rupees & promotion in jobMy usual response had been:
T. Ratan received this picture, gave it to his secretary to make copies but they forgot to distribute: she lost her job and he lost his family.
This picture is miraculous and sacred, don't forget to forward this within 1 days to at least 20 people. Do Not Forget to forward and you will receive a huge surprise!!
I happen to be an atheist, and I don't believe in luck.Or sometimes I had come out sarcastic:
Please refrain in sending me these kinds of stoopid messages in the future, or you might make your goddess really angry. Thanks :)
I had lost my brand new Nataraj pencil last week. A Persian god and a Scandanavian god appeared in my dream, and asked me to send it to you and ten other stoopid people who believe that they'll have a box of crayons soon by forwarding this mail.But these deeply religious and mortally afraid people have refused to relent. I wish I could send something materially hard (like a bamboo with nails sticking out of it) to the original sender of this mail, without hurting his religious sentiment, so that the person could shove it up his ass, and stay put in religious serenity. Things like that are not possible in a secular state of things, I know. But the wish grows stronger by the day.
Don't ignore this mail, or the wrath of 10, 000 Tibetan and Malaysian gods will fall on you. Amen.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)