We don't need no ejukayshun

Oliver Goldsmith, the poet chap
Wrote this poem about the village schoolmaster
And all of us kids in middle school had to mug it up …
There was something about the people in the village wondering how such a small head could carry all he knew.

The village schoolmasters in Bihar [and also in some other states of the country I believe] have the people in the villages wondering whether they exist at all!!

As late as the 1960s, the village education system in Bihar was pretty good, because the schools were managed by a committee of villagers. Okay, there may not have been as many school sites [notice I have not said school buildings] as there are there today, and it may be that there was no great inclination to cram every child into the classroom, but teaching actually took place because the teacher was accountable to the village headman or the family who donated the school house or whoever.

Then the Government stepped in and ownership was taken away from the village or the Panchayat and the government began appointing teachers, transferring them around at will, and generally made them accountable to the State education department.
The ‘free’ education and ‘free’ service on the one hand, and the fact that the teacher was no longer accountable to the villagers , but to a ‘higher’ power made them snooty. Education was no longer a service but a ‘privilege’, a ‘free gift’ a ‘hand-out’ and since neither the parents nor the village authorities had any jurisdiction over the non-resident town based teacher, very soon teaching and learning activity dwindled….

In the 1990’s the Bihar Education Project, prodded by the Unicef and funded from various foreign governments came up with the ‘education for all’ slogan and tried to get the schools back in the hands of the villagers….

However, fifteen years later … there’s still a long way to go…

Shit

As convenor of Abhivyakti 2006 the video festival
at Ravi Bharati .. I get to watch all the films before everyone else
Absolutely amazed at a documentary called SHIT
by a tamil alternative film maker called Amudhan KP
a somewhat disturbing film
because you are forced to literally watch human excreta as you accomapny
a woman municipal worker on her daily rounds
of scooping the stuff off lanes around a public toilet somewhere in Chennai
....
and scavenging - carrying human excreta - is supposedly prohibited in India?

In Memoriam

Yesterday, through the incredible internet
A long lost Aunt and Uncle contacted me from the land of Oz
It’s amazing what those ‘family tree’ web pages can do.

I had been out of touch for more than half a century …

And then, just today
Through the self-same internet
I learnt that my Aunt Myrtle had passed away on the 8th of April
At the Prince Charles hospital in Brisbane
The funeral was on the 11th at the Nudgee Cemetry

And this post is in memoriam of one of my favourite Aunts
Aunt Dorothy … who graduated from this life summa cum laude
Last year – and I didn’t even know.

Such is the pace of modern existence
Of deadlines
Travelling schedules
Misplaced visiting cards
Too many changes of addresses
Strange isn’t it
With all the wonderful progress made in communication
So fast, so easy, so instantly accessible

Words don’t come easy
Words are left unsaid

We keep putting off writing that letter
Buying that stamp
Sending that letter by snail mail
To the ones who helped us grow up
And who haven’t got comfortable with pounding the keyboard
On a new-fangled computer



Now all that can be said
Is requiscat in pace
Rest in Peace ……

Spinnin' as usual

Every morning, unfailingly at seven, the voices of two Bangaloreans break into my reverie just as the cock crows – and you bet it does, literally, loud and clear at 100 watts of RMS.
That’s the time I listen to Spin, a radio station that has grown on me ever since I invested in a Worldspace Radio receiver as a special New year gift all for myself.

The two culprits are Anjana and Hari who generally seem to be on air for the sole purpose of stumbling through the morning with their cups of coffee.
The music is good and recognizable, a morning mocktail of the classics and the new stuff. However, one wishes that the Big Bang had a small request slot worked into it, maybe from about 8 to 8:30 where messages and dedications could be worked into the patter.
Of course, Spin does have the occasional special show where listeners are contacted and actually get their requests aired in their own voices, but that’s very few and far between, the last one being on Valentine’s Day.
Anyhow, here’s wishing Happy Birthday to Spin … which completed one year on the 15th of April... and best wishes to all thepeople behind the shows like Spin Gold, and the Sunday Morning Show

Cheers to radio … someone still loves you!!

morning musings

What's in a name?
In a face?
In an ethnicity, or nationality?
African, Afro-american, Austrailain aboriginal ..
Adivasi? Santhal? Oraon? Munda?
West? East? North? South?

Put on an American flag bandana
Stare into the camera with confidence
who can say whether you are from the east
or the west

Here is Amrit Toppo from Bodh Gaya
clowning for my camera
looking like one of those BOYZ in the HOOD ....

words

Sometimes words don't come easy
they just refuse to spring up
locked in impotency... unejaculated, unformed
as if encased in this condom that prevents
the union of feelings and expression
thoughts thwarted, unformed,unable to reach even foetal stage
until this writer's block dissolves
it's going to be a period without passion
without stimulation
without release.....

"Description"

George said, "God is short and fat."
Nick said, "No, He's tall and lean."
Len said, "With a long white beard."
"No," said John, "He's shaven clean."
Will said, "He's black," Bob said, "He's white."
Rhonda Rose said, "He's a She."
I smiled but never showed 'em all
The autographed photograph God sent to me.

-- Shel Silverstein

The technique of using children as mouthpieces to examine philosophical questions is by no means unique to Silverstein, but it is a technique he wields very well, and it makes his poems both a pleasure to read and a source of reflection.

Resurrection….

The Easter vigil. Night –time. Candles alight, these people walk into church while the Exultet is sung… Rejoice now, all you heavenly choirs of angels, rejoice all creatures around His throne, for the mighty King is victorious….

Every year, this ritualistic renewal of the faith… the reaffirming of baptismal vows. Do you reject Satan? And is he a man in a long beard that looks like Osama Bin Laden? Or is he furrowed fore headed and shifty eyed like George Bush?

Let us proclaim the Mystery of Faith, the celebrant intones at the head of the altar, as the congregation duly sings out ‘Christ is dead, Christ is risen, Christ will come again.’

Christ dies everyday.
Christ dies every time a Christian turns against his neighbour.
Christ dies whenever the Church encourages discrimination against women, against gays, lesbians and transgender people.
Christ dies every time a sanctimonious pastor demeans others , the non-Christians, the un-baptized.
Christ dies every time some idiot seeks to defend him and pays disrespect to other people, their religions and cultures.
Christ dies everyday in Jharkhand, in Orissa, in Gujarat, in Kashmir, in Palestine, in Uganda … he dies every time there is violence born out of ignorance, hatred, and greed.

Christ is risen everyday.
Christ is risen whenever we speak out in favour of justice, speak out against discrimination for the marginalised and the vulnerable.. the poorest of the poor.
Christ is risen in the voices united against the displacement of the people by the Narbada Project.
Christ is risen in the heroic deed of a teenager who saved children from the burning fires in Meerut, even at the cost of his own life.

Christ will come again.

Every child that is born carries a promise of that second coming. Every child, no matter whether male or female, black, yellow, white or brown, comes to this earth with the potential to make a change, to create something wonderful and lasting. Every one of the young people on this planet - Hindu, Christian, Jew, Muslim, Athiest, Buddhist, Jain, animist, humanist, - has the option and the capacity to change the place around him or her for the better. To bring in brotherhood, plurality and true peace… for that is what the kingdom of God is all about.

Alleluia. Happy Easter!

Holy Week….

Palm Sunday at Bodh Gaya at Jeevan Sangam chapel
A small community - mainly Adivasi Tribals
Fresh-cut palm leaves welcoming the Lord to Jerusalem
Simple songs… community sharing and warm handshakes after Mass

Maundy Thursday in the Ursuline Church near my flat in Patna
Rather loud and officious ... why do they need a sound system that can be heard half-way down the street? – what about the sanctity of the environment?
This is where the rising middle class comes to worship – make up, costume jewellery
A pecking order for the congregation chairs and benches
– pillars of the church adding to the pomp, acting as ushers, Mass conductors, reading from lists to make sure that the priest has the designated ’12 men’ up there for the symbolic washing of the feet – a long-winded sanctimonious sermon in the ‘correct traditional spirit’ …

And through it all… we forget that Christ was human
An unmarried male of thirty years …
with the same limitations, urges, and temptations
that any male has in a largely homo-affectionalist society
his bonding with John the evangelist
his friendship with the sex-worker Mary Magdalene
his close ties with Mary and Martha
and there was Lazarus, his close friend whom he raised from the dead …
Jesus Christ did have his temptation in the desert…
And it was not entirely about bread, obedience, or the kingdom!

illusions of childhood

A fifteen year old girl lies in a dark corner of a railway yard
passed out... from sniffing 'solution' the streetkid slang for industrial glue
and she is happily raped by about 15 people
males
aged between 12 and 19
.... many of who have been raped themselves
but who fail to recognise it as such...
I sit there as these boys of the railway station
share their intimate experiioences with me
...part of an HIV/AIDs prevention programme ...
they have gained my trust enough to open up about themselves...
first penetrative sexual experience at the age of seven? eight? ten?
usually as the one penetrated
... the harsh realities of life on the street...
and now I have to deal with the trauma
of having to find out what happened to the girl
as i tell them firmly and gently that any act of penetration
against a person's will is a croime... and must be punished...
and they smile sweetly and say...
oh but this girl was available anyway... so what does it matter if she was sleeping??
so i say... what does it matter if you are sleeping and somebody buggers you??
and they shrug...
no big deal... it happens all the time....

and hypocritical middle class, fundamentalist Indians
insist that Indians are not like that... they don't bugger, they aren't buggered, they never have sex outside their marriage...
but again... these midle class Indians
don't count these kids as human beings .....

in-lightened

Today, while I was sitting on the hard ground
in an unfinished stadium in Bodh Gaya
watching a group of half-naked kids do a play centered around their lives
and vulnerability
I noticed two tiny speckled eggs in a small nest in the ground
so very vulnerable and fragile
so exposed to the elements
to predators
to the stray wheel of a bicycle bouncing along
and I thought... how like these chldren
were those two eggs, so tiny, so fragile,
and yet, with what faith had their mother placed them there
wonder... will they ever survive the night?
Will these children ever survive the hardships
will they grow into tall strong human beings
or will they just be nobody's children...
blown away like chaff in the wind.....

Enlightenment in Bodh Gaya

I'm in the place where Siddartha took his first baby steps towards nirvana
and that's not the name of a rock band.
I have been doing an HIV/AIDs and street play programme with
the unseen children who inhabit the railway platforms
and I am humbled, stunned, and at times shell-shocked
at how all of us are responsible for the loss of childhood in these kids
There is so much to share....
and yet, somehow, these fingers of mine hesitate to strike the pads on the
keyboard....
I'll keep it touch later....
bye....