(Inter) National Brotherhood(/Sisterhood) Week

This is a song by the USA's master parodist, Tom Lehrer. This song needs an introduction by me, as well as Tom's intro.

First let me pontificate a bit, then listen to the song.

National Brotherhood Week is now National Brotherhood/Sisterhood Week to reflect, I suppose, the changing social climate.  I think National Siblinghood Week would be better, saving a total of three syllables that could be used more profitably elsewhere.    According the Wikipedia, the authoritative source of just about everything except for school papers, it is held on the third week of February.  (February, of course, is Black History Month.)  I guess it came and went without much, if any, notice this year.

I sort of wonder what the people behind it, National Conference for Community and Justice, expect to accomplish?  Of course, they want us all to realise that we are sisters and brothers (or brothers and sisters) and end all our prejudices based on race, colour, creed, socioeconomic class and country of national origin.  I think the prejudice based on gender, disability and sexual orientation must have been added in recent years.  If India had such a week, caste would have to be included.  Although my high caste friends assure me that caste is no longer relevant in India, my friends who are not high caste assure me otherwise.  Who should I believe?  I won't get into such oddities as manual scavenging here;  I don't want to make you uncomfortable, now, do I?

I think very little is accomplished by it personally.  Those who consider themselves unprejudiced will give each other  self-congratulatory slaps on the back, not understanding or not willing to admit or not caring  that we all have nasty prejudices lurking in us and rooting them out would be more profitable than denying them.  The bigots will remain bigots and, I suspect, ignore the whole thing, as it seems the entire country (USA) does every year except, I suspect a few kids in liberal and Montessori Schools.

My prejudices?  I was hoping you wouldn't ask.  I find racial and ethnic differences more interesting than distasteful.  I tend to be more prejudiced against those on top than those on the bottom, you know, the 1%, but that's socially acceptable, so I suppose it doesn't count.  Stupid people.  I find them insufferable.  I know they can't help being stupid, but I dislike them and I know that isn't very nice.

A bit of explanation for my readers from countries outside of North America and those too young to remember what these references are.

Sheriff Clark was Sheriff Jim Clark of Selma, Alabama, the quintessential segregationist, [Racial segregation, also called Jim Crow,  was the USA form of apartheid enshrined in the laws of the South.  The Northerners were less honest and pretended that they believed in equality of the races, ignoring the squalid ghettoes of the Northern cities. All segregation laws have either been repealed or declared unconstitutional by the Supreme Court.]   Sheriff Clark died, unrepentant,  in 2007.
Lena Horne was a great Black (now African American) singer, actress. dancer and activist, among other things.  She died in 2010.

I think everyone should be able to follow the rest of the song.

For those of you in other countries (mostly India, among my readers), feel free to replace Mr. Lehrer's words with your own local prejudices in place of the U S of A ones as written.

Tom Lehrer's Introduction:

One week of every year is designated National Brotherhood Week. This is just one of many such weeks honoring various worthy causes...During National Brotherhood Week various special events are arranged to drive home the message of brotherhood. This year, for example, on the first day of the week Malcolm X was killed which gives you an idea of how effective the whole thing is. I'm sure we all agree that we ought to love one another and I know there are people in the world that do not love their fellow human beings and I hate people like that. Here's a song about National Brotherhood Week.

THE SONG:
Oh, the white folks hate the black folks,
And the black folks hate the white folks.
To hate all but the right folks
Is an old established rule.

But during National Brotherhood Week, National Brotherhood Week,
Lena Horne and Sheriff Clarke are dancing cheek to cheek.
It's fun to eulogize
The people you despise,
As long as you don't let 'em in your school.

Oh, the poor folks hate the rich folks,
And the rich folks hate the poor folks.
All of my folks hate all of your folks,
It's American as apple pie.

But during National Brotherhood Week, National Brotherhood Week,
New Yorkers love the Puerto Ricans 'cause it's very chic.
Step up and shake the hand
Of someone you can't stand.
You can tolerate him if you try.

Oh, the Protestants hate the Catholics,
And the Catholics hate the Protestants,
And the Hindus hate the Moslems,
And everybody hates the Jews.

But during National Brotherhood Week, National Brotherhood Week,
It's National Everyone-smile-at-one-another-hood Week.
Be nice to people who
Are inferior to you.
It's only for a week, so have no fear.
Be grateful that it doesn't last all year!
***********************************************************************************




http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OAOwYDlEQXo&feature=related

References


Sheriff Jim Clark:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jim_Clark_%28sheriff%29

Lena Horne:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lena_Horne

Tom Lehrer:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tom_Lehrer

Segregation:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Racial_segregation_in_the_United_States

 National Conference for Community and Justice:  http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/National_Conference_for_Community_and_Justice

I AM GRIZABELLA

Some time ago, I promised my friend, Harry, that I would tell him the story of me as Grizabella.  With my usual humility, I am thinking that my other reader might like to hear the story, as well.

It is well-known to everyone who knows me that I cannot sing.  I do not use the word "cannot" lightly.  I have tried.  I nearly drove 3 voice teachers to suicide with my attempts before I decided to give the music world a break, and took up playing the guitar while others sang.

When a small group of us decided we wanted to do the musical, Cats, there were some difficulties,  the first being that this was in 1983 and Cats  was relatively new, which caused two problems.

1. There was no script available to us
2. The copyright was jealously guarded

The first wasn't too difficult.  Since it was all sung, we simply got the original Broadway  recording which - HALLELUJAH! - included all the lyrics.   The second simply couldn't be overcome, so we did what any good Jellicle cats would do and became what today would be called "pirates."   No big deal, really, as we intended only a single private performance.

Those two difficulties overcome, we next turned to casting.  I assumed I would work on props and run around as a stray extra Jellicle cat.  [To learn about Jellicle cats, go here.  Or if you prefer the German version, here]  After all, almost all of the spoken lines are sung.   And I couldn't carry a tune if the fate of the universe hung on my doing so.

Mais non!   It was almost unanimously (I abstained) decided that I absolutely must be Grizabella.  I pointed out that the climax of the whole play was when Grizabella sings - emphasize SINGS - Memory , then  demonstrated by "singing" the opening bars...

Memory

All alone in the moooooonlight

After the company removed their hands from their ears, they still insisted we'd have to find a way.  I refused lip-synching, that is more dishonest than pirating.  Anyway, that would be funny and this is a very serious, moving moment, one of the most poignant scenes in all of theatre.  

We did sort of work it out.  It was decided that I would recite the words with the instrumental version playing in the background.  As a compromise, not to let our audience down, we would do an encore of Memory sung by the whole cast, while I pantomimed Grizabella's part.  I suppose that I should have steadfastly refused a part I was clearly incompetent to play, but this was Grizabella in Cats, the leading role in a Broadway smash hit.  Our production was a bit off-Broadway, of course, and only a chosen few would ever even know it was ever done, but still, how could I possibly find the necessary humility to turn it down?  I really didn't try too hard.  I had my own ideas about Grizabella and grabbed the opportunity to try them out.

  This is how Grizabella was played in London and on Broadway. 

“Like a flower as the dawn is breaking

The memory is fading.”

Grizabella has fallen to the ground, seemingly defeated; she struggles to her feet, stands up, and sings the final lines of Memory :

 Touch me

It's so easy to leave me

All alone with the memory of my days in the sun.

If you touch me, you'll understand what happiness is

Look, a new day has begun 

 

Grizabella belts out "Touch me" with everything she can muster, then considers her present situation and makes a promise to the other cats. For her and perhaps for all the Jellicles, it's a new day.

Then she extends her arm behind her, not daring to look at the other cats, desperately hoping that at least one of them will overcome their distaste and actually touch her. Of course, one of them does, then another and another, and she is welcomed back into the Jellicle community, sort of. She is then chosen by the Patriarch of the Jellicles to be reborn and “come back to a different Jellicle life.” All cheer as she rises up past the Heaviside layer. It has always been unclear to me whether the other cats are happy that she has another chance or are just relieved to be rid of her.

Now the stage has been set and we get to the meat of the story.

During rehearsals, I more or less portrayed her the usual way, but I had my own idea about how I thought she ought to be played, which I saved as a surprise to all, including my fellow thespians. I performed exactly as we had rehearsed until it came time to humbly extend my hand behind me. Instead, I turned and glared directly at the other cats and extended my hand for a handshake. The other cats were all in total confusion and I waited until the one who was supposed to gingerly touch me slowly and with great hesitation approached me. When she was almost there, I saw the lightbulb go on in her eyes. She understood exactly what I was doing, who my Grizabella represented.   She stuck out her hand, and we heartily shook hands.   Except for Old Deuteronomy, the other cats, still a bit mystified, approached me rather gingerly – and only after shaking Grizabella's (my) hand did they understand what happiness is.   At the end Old Deuteronomy, played by my husband, approached me and when I held out my hand to him, fell  at my feet. Now there's a man who knows what happiness is.   Of course, me being me, I made a kicking motion at him and he scrambled to his feet. Old Deuteronomy (him) put his arm around Grizabella (me) and led her to the place where she could go up, up, up to be reborn.  (Of course, my  Grizabella - and all the Jellicles along with her - had already been reborn without any mystical nonsense, but even so, the show must go on.)     

 

****************************************************************
[The first video won't play in "my country," so I am adding in this performance by a group of high school actors.  They don't have the fancy props and all, so they need to rely only on talent and preparation.   They do one helluva good job.]
****************************************************************





Not a dry eye in the house, including his and mine.

Of course, we didn't have a huge tire or a crane to lift me up. He led me to a ladder draped with silk chunnis and nicely decorated with glitter stars and encouraged me to climb it. At that point, it was unclear to both of us whether it was Grizabella and Old Deuteronomy , or my husband and myself. I managed to climb it and stand triumphant at the top, looking less like a cat and more like a statue of Nike the goddess of victory. At least that is how I felt.

The Goddess of Victory

The mystical divinity of unashamed felinity
Round the cathedral rang 'Vivat'
Life to the everlasting cat

GRIZABELLA and THE DEATH OF A SHAHEED

(He would have been 41 today.)

Brilliant!  Brilliant!  Brilliant!!  I have read many comparisons and opinions about Elaine Paige's interpretation of Grizabella  and that of Betty Buckley as Grizabella.

First, please listen to Ms. Paige's performance.


Elaine's Grizabella is sad, bedraggled, defeated, completely down and out.  I feel pity for her and her plight.  Her singing is exquisite and moving in its beauty. I cannot but feel very sorry for her pathetic Grizabella, the poor, down-trodden former glamour cat.   I am happy to see her lifted out of her tragic existence and chosen to be reborn.  It is a stellar performance.

Now, please listen to Betty Buckley as Grizabella the Glamour Cat.




Betty  Buckley's Grizabella, the second performance you just listened to,  inevitably moves me to tears. She is feeling, living, every emotion, all the pain, the despair that she refuses to give in to, clinging to that last hope, that last bit of dignity. I feel no pity for her Grizabella.  Compassion, perhaps, or empathy.  This Grizabella is down about as low as it is possible to go and yet she retains her pride and dignity as a cat must; she is not defeated. I don't know who is the better singer, but this performance is Grizabella to me.  This is the embodiment of artistic integrity.

 I have known a very few people like this in my days as a social activist.  These are the people I most respect and admire, the ones who have every logical reason to give up, to accept whatever crap life hands them, to lose all hope and curl up in a sad, little, pathetic ball and die...but are somehow able to reach inside and pull out that strength and dignity  to demand - not beg -

"Touch me!"

You can turn away if you choose, but there is a promise here that is often overlooked or misunderstood:

"If you touch me, you'll understand what happiness is."

I have expressed my admiration of the potential greatness of our species many times.  I don't get that admiration from looking at the easy, showy, obvious achievements that others seem to so much admire.  Yes, the big buildings and spaceships and the superhighways are all impressive, but that is not where our true greatness lies.

Our true greatness comes from overcoming adversity, refusing to accept others' negative judgments of us, having the strength and courage  to stand up and scream to the whole social structure:

"Go to bloody hell, you cannot keep me down.  

You can kill me, but you cannot defeat me. "

My admiration is of these generally unsung, unknown valiant souls who keep their integrity and their dignity in the face of all adversity and mistreatment.  Not humiliation.  Such people cannot be humiliated, since only those who consent can be humiliated.  These will never consent. I pray that I am someday found worthy to be included in their number. They are my examples.  They are my heroes.  They are my teachers.

People who know me and know of my life have often asked me  where I got the strength and inspiration to keep going after the horrendous things that I have been through.  Now you know.

"Look!  A new day has begun..."

In Which I Out Stubborn A Cat

This might be a stupid story, but I am telling it by special request, so don't criticize, OK?

************************************************************************

"Never try to out stubborn a cat"  Lazarus Long in R. A. Heinlein, Time Enough For Love

I did not follow the above advice.  I out stubborned a cat.  I'll follow my friend Harry's advice and leave out all the extra stuff.

Kitty was sitting where I wanted to sit.  I stared at her until she jumped down.  

That's the story without any unnecessary words, just getting down to business. 

That's what happened.   Not very interesting, I think, but if you are satisfied, go do something else while I tell the story.
 
When I was a kid, we used to have a cat named "Kitty."  I did not name that cat, obviously.  I love cats, but Kitty and I had issues, and neither of us liked the other.  In fact, to my eternal shame, I had been quite rough with her and was forbidden to touch her.  

Kitty, sort of

I went to the family room where she had taken up permanent residence in my favorite chair.  She looked up at me with that superior smirk seen only on cats' faces.  She knew I was not supposed to touch her, I'm sure she did.  Stupid cat!

I am not one to give up so I just stood and stared at her.  She stated back for a while.  Then she laid down and tucked her head between her front legs.

I stared.

She quit pretending to sleep and sat up.

We both stared.

She decided it was time to take a bath, a common displacement activity of cats.

 
I stared.


 
She continued bathing.

By this time, a couple of other family members had come in and were watching our duel.

She finished her bath and lay down, making one of those low-pitched mrow sound that cats make.  

I stared.





 



"Give it up!"  I was ordered.

I stared.

Kitty abruptly stood up, hissed at me menacingly and

 
 















...And jumped down.

And stalked off as cats do.

 That is how I out stubborned a cat.  I was about 10 or 11, I think.  I have no idea how old Kitty was.

Illustrations:  All adapted from Public Domain. 

My Saddest Blogpost Yet

IN THIS BLOG, i WILL NOT MAKE IT A HABIT OF REPRINTING OTHERS' ARTICLES.  THIS, HOWEVER IS SO IMPORTANT THAT IT MUST BE PRINTED.  EVERYONE IN THE USA NEEDS TO UNDERSTAND THE RAMIFICATIONS OF THE NDAA, AS SIGNED INTO LAW BY BARACK OBAMA ON THE LAST DAY OF 2011, THE DEATH DAY OF THE USA BILL OF RIGHTS.

Barack Obama has betrayed the American people.  I hope I am not picked up and detained indefinitely because I write that.  The days of our being able to speak freely and without fear of are of the past.  Now anybody can be detained indefinitely without being charged with anything.  I feel sick, but I will not shut up.   My political philosophy has not changed.  I remain a Progressive.  I am now a betrayed Progressive. 

I hold some controversial opinions.  I will continue to hold these openly.  A few of these are:

1. I support the establishment of an independent Sikh homeland

2. I oppose USA (and Canadian) military intervention in the affairs of other nations unless said nation is directly attacked by that other nation

3. I support the right of private citizens to own and use firearms and ammunition.

4. I support the right of any two consenting adults to marry.

5.  I support the legalization of marijuana.

6. I support the right of the people to rise up against an oppressive government and to change it by any means necessary. 

7. I support the USA Bill of Rights and the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms in their entirety.   I suggest the reader print out a copy of each and hide it away somewhere because they may soon be either completely ditched or altered beyond recognition.  I do not support the Constitution of the Republic of India which denies my existence as a Sikh.

8. I support my right to write whatever I damned well please as long as it is neither fraudulent nor libelous, with truth being an absolute defense against libel.  

   

     I suppose that's enough jellybeans in the machinery for now. 

   *******************************************************************

   From now on … Our Biggest Mistake is Believing We Are Free

Monday, 02 January 2012 21:40 Bob Alexander

On December 17, 2007 Senator Christopher Dodd spoke on the Senate floor against George W. Bush’s warrantless eavesdropping and telecom company amnesty compromise, “Clear, first-hand whistleblower documentary evidence [states] that for year on end every e-mail, every text message, and every phone call … hundreds of millions of private, domestic communications … have been copied in their entirety by AT&T and knowingly diverted wholesale … into a secret room controlled exclusively by the NSA.”

Then Senator Barack Obama announced he supported the amnesty "compromise" saying, “So I support the compromise, but do so with a firm pledge that as President, I will carefully monitor the program, review the report by the Inspectors General, and work with the Congress to take any additional steps I deem necessary to protect the lives -- and the liberty -- of the American people.”

I didn’t want George W. Bush, Barack Obama, or any future president of the United States to “carefully monitor the program.” I wanted a president who would stop the wiretapping program, restore the Fourth Amendment, and protect the Constitution of the United States. That’s his goddamned job. But that’s not the president I got for Christmas in 2008. The eavesdropping on every call, text, fax or email hasn’t stopped. It’s just being “carefully monitored.”

Fast forward to December 31, 2011 when Reader Supported News editor Marc Ash wrote, “President Obama today signed the highly controversial Defense Spending Bill. The National Defense Authorization Act (NDAA), with its so-called Homeland Battlefield provisions, allows, according to many legal scholars, the indefinite detention of US citizens by the US military. What is most striking is a lengthy signing statement by Obama, in which he maintains his reservations about the Homeland Battlefield provisions, saying, 'I have signed this bill despite having serious reservations with certain provisions that regulate the detention, interrogation, and prosecution of suspected terrorists.' His defense of civil liberties in the signing statement was passionate. Nonetheless, at the same moment, he signed the bill into law.”

So as of now … anyone … anywhere … can be detained indefinitely by order of the President of the United States. Obama said. “I want to clarify that my Administration will not authorize the indefinite military detention without trial of American citizens.” But what he just signed says he can. We just have to trust him … and all future presidents from now on. Florida Democratic representative Debbie Wasserman Schultz says she’ll be working with other Democrats to repeal the Homeland Battlefield provisions as soon as Congress reconvenes. Good luck with that one. What are the chances a Republican controlled house will repeal provisions it had already passed in a 283 to 136 vote?

If the provisions are not repealed, or if the president changes his mind and decides to use the law he signed … then any of us could end up like Al-Jazeera journalist Sami Al-Hajj. He was arrested in Pakistan on December 15, 2001 and detained at Guantánamo for over 6 years. According to documents published by Wikileaks, the government wanted Al-Hajj “to provide information on the al-Jazeera News Network's training program, telecommunications equipment, and newsgathering operations.” He was beaten, sexually assaulted… and released without charge on May 1, 2008.

We are all now officially … small prey animals. We have the same rights a field mouse has against a hawk. Prey animals can’t get a lawyer or a trial. Prey animals get eaten.

So let’s kick off The New Year with what we know about Late Great The United States.

War criminals are immune from prosecution.

The president can declare martial law by declaring a public emergency and this public emergency can be anything he says it is.

The president can scoop up U.S. citizens and detain them forever if he wants to because Habeas Corpus is now a memory.

This government doesn’t mind backsliding into slavery. One of Project Censored’s top stories from 2008 was about how our government used slave labor to build the U.S. Embassy in Iraq. “Thousands of citizens from countries that banned travel or work in Iraq were tricked and smuggled into brutal and inhumane labor camps and subjected to months of forced servitude ... all in the middle of the US-controlled Green Zone.”

The borders of closing … or in some cases … closed.

From the CODEPINK website, “In October 2007 Ann Wright, retired U.S. army colonel and former diplomat who quit in opposition to the Iraq war, and Medea Benjamin, co-founder of CODEPINK were on their way to Toronto at the invitation of the Toronto Stop the War Coalition but were denied entry into Canada.”  The border was closed to them.

Our email and phone conversations are monitored by the government.

Is my phone tapped? Is yours? We don’t know. Was this email read by some government stooge? We don’t know. How many U.S. citizens will disappear? We don’t know. Somebody goes out for a loaf of bread and a pack of cigarettes some night and  then … poof … vanishes. Did he run away from his life; or is she in a secret prison somewhere? We’ll never know.

How bad is it? How bad could it get? When is it too late?

What exactly are we waiting for? What incident, what sign, what great shocking event has to happen to make us realize The American Dream is over, dead, and done with?

Naomi Wolf, author of The End of America, has said that she will stop speaking out when someone she knows has disappeared. I suppose it is a natural delusion to think that someone else will be disappeared first. I guess Ms. Wolf believes that people are renditioned in alphabetical order.

I did not expect Barack Obama to be this nation’s savior. But I did not think he could turn out to be as bad, or worse, than George W. Bush and Dick Cheney. In 2008 Obama gave us the Audacity of Hope. Less than four years later the only hope we have is the desperate hope that it’s not as bad as it seems.

The President wants us to believe what he says … not what he signed into law.

On December 31st 2011 the “Lesser of Two Evils” argument finally, completely, and utterly collapsed. Any liberal who tries to put a positive spin on this steaming pile is as delusional or corrupt as the  rightwing lunatic gasbags on Fox. By signing this perversion, Constitutional professor Barack Obama has put himself above the Constitution. From now on the President of the United States is a king. We have to depend upon his noblesse oblige to keep us out of the gulag. Jesus Christ I’m starting to agree with Sarah “I’ve Lost My Goddamned Mind” Palin. This hopey, changey thing turned into a Dick Cheney wet dream.

The next time some liberal zombie tells me to vote Democratic because these freakin’ Republicans are out to destroy the country I’ll subtly disagree by throwing up on his shoes.

Published under under the GNU/GPL License.

PHOTOSHOP CS 5.1 and the HIPPIES

I really was having trouble describing what I was doing, so I put it in this video.  The techniques really have nothing to do with hippies or Scott Mackenzie or even 1968, but the brushes fit well into that very strange era.

I was not a hippie.  My life at that time was filled with weightier matters and I was far too political to be a hippie.  Nonetheless, I really liked the hippies.  I didn't much like their drugs and the refusal of some of them to bathe, and their sexual antics frankly embarrassed me, but they seemed to be the embodiment of a kind of freedom that has always attracted me, a sort of benevolent anarchy overflowing with chardi kala.  (OK, I know the reality was not quite that pretty, but it was 44 years ago and time has blurred the edges, as time should.) 

And the music!  I may have turned away from the sex and drugs (at least in the literal sense), but the rock 'n' roll was irresistible.  Even today, decades later, the music remains.  

Not A Word of English

A few years ago, I became good friends with a pretty typical North American Sikh family.  You know them.  A husband and wife, a couple of kids and the husband's widowed mother brought over from Punjab.  A nice family, nothing unusual.

A nice Sikh family,
although NOT the one in this story

I was friendly with the wife, a woman of my generation who had run a small in-home daycare for quite a few years.  Her husband was a hard-working businessman, sort of successful, but not getting rich.  The kids, a girl and her younger brother, were in high school and middle school respectively.  They did well in school, even though the young son was almost totally deaf.

Now we get to Dadi ji, the one this post is really about.

Like the rest of the family, there was nothing unusual about her.  She was amritdhari and quite vocal in her opposition to her son's monaness, which she blamed on the wife, who had cropped hair and shaved legs.  Strangely enough the two kids kept kesh of their own accord.  She really was quite a pain in the behind.  She was constantly complaining about something, most often about her bad back.  I don't think she meant to be malicious, but she had a negative effect on the whole household.

She was a typical old lady from a tiny village that no one had ever heard of, unsophisticated, unschooled, ignorant and somewhat uncouth..   A pendu that the whole family was just a bit ashamed of, not too bright.  She spent her days helping the mother with her daycare.  While with the young kids, she was a very different person, laughing, playing, happily jabbering with them.  Every day she relaxed with a magazine while they watched Sesame Street.  The magazine, of course, was one with lots of pictures because she was completely illiterate.  Of course, although she had been in the USA for many years, she spoke not one word of English.

One day, I noticed something rather strange.  Her eyes as she looked at the magazine, supposedly studying a picture of something, were moving back and forth in a very regular manner.  She appeared to be reading except, of course, she couldn't read and even if she could, the magazine was in English, a language she didn't understand at all.

Several times more I noticed this phenomena.  I said nothing and waited for one of those rare moments when she and I were alone in the house.  I approached her and said without warning in English, "Dadi ji, you understand English perfectly well and you can read it, too."

Startled, she looked up with a sly smile.  "Haanji (Yes.)"  She went on in Punjabi.  "Please don't tell them, though.  I learn so much when think think I'm just a stupid, silly, old woman that has no idea what they're saying."  It was true.  Whenever they wanted to talk about something that they didn't want her to hear, they would speak English.  It never occurred to them that she might be able to understand.    I suggested that since she knew English, she should speak to me in that language.  She couldn't though very well because, although she could understand, she had no idea how to actually make the correct sounds and anyway, she didn't want to risk being heard.  Likewise, although she could read English perfectly well, she couldn't write it because she had never had the opportunity to learn writing.

So how was this miracle accomplished?  Sesame Street, of course.

Muppets of Sesame Street

She had been watching it with the kids for years and had learned the alphabet and the numbers and simple words and concepts from that. As time went on, she learned more from other television programs, both for children and for adults.  She said her favorite English channel was PBS which aired Sesame Street, but she liked Spike quite a lot, too.  Go figure.  She really liked watching with her grandson best because he always had to have the closed-captioning (subtitles) turned on.

One thing really bothered her.  Although her literacy skills in English were good, she was still illiterate in Punjabi.  There was really no surreptitious way she could learn that.

I had an idea.

All the kids were from Sikh families and perhaps the parents would like them to learn their Gurmukhi letters.    Maybe the daughter, who really enjoyed sewa, would be willing to teach them as she had been taught.  The parents were quite enthusiastic.  It took some time to put together, but finally, when they were ready to begin, I had a suggestion, "Since you're going to be teaching it, maybe Dadi ji would like to learn, too."

The idea was immediately nixed by them all, when the old lady piped up, "Haanji.  I want to learn."  The strength and determination in her voice startled them all.  "I have always wanted to learn to read Guru ji Maharaj and also the Punjabi newspaper."  They all looked at her in disbelief.

Her son, a bit shame-faced, said, "You could have learned along with our kids years ago.  Why didn't you say anything?"

"You never asked me."

So she learned to read and write Gurmukhi and I am happy to report that her disposition brightened as the family's respect for her increased.  She had, however, extracted a promise from me that I would never tell them about her English.  I have kept my promise even today, which is why there are no names in this story.

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Words.  I am told that some people are mystified by some of my words, so I will explain.

A keshdhari Sikh is a Sikh who keeps all hairs on the body intact without shaving or cutting any of them.  The unshorn hair, especially that on the head is called kes(h).

A mona Sikh is one who does not keep kesh.  Occasionally, the term moni is used for such a woman, but this is rare.

An Amritdhari Sikh is one who has been initiated into the Khalsa Brotherhood by partaking of Amrit, a sacred beverage.  Sometimes called a baptised Sikh.


Gurmukhi is the alphabet that Punjabi and Sikh religious writings are written in.

Sewa is selfless service.

Dadi means paternal grandmother.  Ji at the end is an honourific indicating respect.

I sincerely hope I am never called on to write a dictionary.
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About the family picture:  This is NOT the family in this story.  I got it off the "Net and think they look like really nice people and there is not a mona among them. The Dadi ji was added from another picture.  Oh, the wonders of Photoshop.

The First Amendment

Somebody somewhere has declared Thursday, 15. December 2011 as First Amendment Day.  The refers to the First Amendment to the Constitution of the USA.  I often rightfully bash the US of A.  That country has become a big bully, the biggest bully in the world.  I can go on and on about what is wrong in the USA. This is about what the USA has gotten right.  These are arguably the most powerful 45 words ever written.

Congress shall make no law respecting an establishment of religion, or prohibiting the free exercise thereof; or abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press; or the right of the people peaceably to assemble, and to petition the Government for a redress of grievances.

I live in and write from the USA.  Respect for these words is what permits me to freely express my sometimes unusual and/or radical beliefs, so I give due where due is merited.  I pray that I will be able to write the same next year at this time.

  

RADICAL FREE SPEECH

Radical free speech

WHAT did she say?

I believe in the concept of radical free speech. 

I am in favour of minimal control,  only disallowing overt threats to life and limb and certain types of slander, with truth being an absolute defence against charges of slander.  I am opposed to any curb on people expressing themselves on issues, however obnoxious I consider their opinions. Yes, I would allow hate speech, as long as it did not contain threats to life and limb. I have a strong belief in radical free speech that is not shared even by my Canadian compatriots. I do not believe that suppressing ideas stops them; it only makes them invisible, underground, hard to spot and even more dangerous.

This non-control pertains only to governmental control. Individual sites and groups have the right to set their own TOS (Terms of Service). For example FB has the right to ban porn and hate speech if they choose. I will continue - as an individual - to report sites I find hateful to the FB administration, but I will not report them to any government. This dovetails with the law (USA), which mandates the government not to infringe on free speech, but I am still free to control what is said in my home. A religious house is free to kick out a proselytizer from another religion. An atheist group has the right to ban proreligion speech within their own group.; they are not free to silence me in the public arena.  Voltaire summed up my stand perfectly:

"Je ne suis pas d'accord avec ce que vous dites, mais je me battrai jusqu'à la mort pour que vous ayez le droit de le dire."

[I do not agree with what you are saying, but I will defend to the death your right to say it."]

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[Note: I had earlier listed child pornography in the exceptions because, while I completely 100% believe it should be outlawed, it is a different issue, not speech.]

Lt. Pike

My participation in the "Pepper-Spraying-Cop meme.  Lt. John Pike...Well, take a look:

That is the short version of what actually happened.Lest I am acused of bias, here is one report of the long vision:

Police pepper spraying and arresting students at UC Davis from Mary K. Johnson on Vimeo.

OK. The meme consists of Lt. Pike

pepper spraying unlikely people and other living things and sometimes inanimate objects.  My contributions: 

Pike Sprays Pike

Lt. Pike sprays my profile guy

Even Happy Cat isn't safe!

I often go off on a tangent, but I don't expect a faceful of pepper spray