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Showing posts from November, 2010

Introspection, ants, spiders

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"Tell me what you think the artist is trying to say" Inmaculada had asked me. She and I were looking at a painting, and I could not think of any opening lines.. but she did. Inmaculada..  giving me the look with the eyes and the half smile which says that it would be nice if I  answer or maybe there would be no more conversations.. So I did my spiel.. talking about the colours , and the lines and  so on which reflect confusion and sadness and .. and she then said .. "Ah..  you have just told me about you.. , not about the artist" Me and the Surrealists Inmaculada's challenging smile is in my head when I decide to go and take a look at the surrealist paintings by my Facebook friend  Surrealist and Abstract drawings by Dominique Hunter . I have this image of bearded white men with wild eyes and manic tempers who paint up these bizarre images with cut open bodies and so on.. the one time I saw Ms Hunter - she struck me as the kind of girl who would do well a

To give or not to give .. sewa

I was angry, really angry at a guy for whom I have the greatest respect . I had spent a lot of hours working at this computer centre and had hoped it would have turned into this active place from which dynamic and fantastic things would happen. Instead, there was dust all over, the server had not been used for some time. There were reasons for the closing of the centre, but I was still angry when I saw the dust and the unused place. Self less service. The Bhagvad Gita talks about selfless service.. about giving freely without wanting anything in return and of offering help when asked. I used to tell people that I liberated myself from feelings of inferiority to Caucasian races by putting a pound coin in the hand of a white beggar in the UK.. . Now I feel bad for the reason for giving that pound coin to show that I was superior and could help a white man. There is a tradition of sharing the wonderful stories of philanthropy, and some people position themselves so that they are s

Blazing fires and diya flames

The woman asked me if I was tired. She was outraged at the appointment of the doctor at GPHC despite his conviction as a sex offender. She was also trying to channel her anger into action.. and it seemed that part of her anger was that people, like me, were not doing anything big.  I realised she was doing to me, what I had probably done to other people. The anger and passion which drives the need for justice could also drive people away who are preoccupied with other things. The barely repressed anger from the woman was turning to taunts at people she considered allies. I am glad that I could ignore those.. I know another woman whose principles are consistent but who hits out at those closest when there is no response to the kind of madness like the Government hiring a doctor whose license had been revoked. My own rage has collateral damage in that some of the relationships I have with people tend to be strained when I feel that they do not see the things the way I see them, or as

A good cup of tea..

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This afternoon, I made a cup of tea and sat on the back step and drank it. I made a big coffee cup of it, it took a while to drink down.. I was mellow, after doing a yoga routine.. and needing to chill out a bit after a confusing day of child protection issues, gay rights, fixing websites, sorting out money, market.. When I was growing up, I thought tea was for ladies and sissies.. and the coffee was a man's drink.. so as a child, I  looked forward to my first cup of coffee like I did to shaving. Louis L'amour cowboys drank coffee not tea. Red Rose Tea was in the house and I started drinking tea every now and then. Tea bags were not known and it was a pain to 'draw the tea'. I associated this with my grandmothers.. not sure why, this big pot with the tea floating in it and my naanee keeping tea in the flask.. I think she drank more tea than water. So I end up in the UK to study, and tea is cheap and for about three years, I probably only had three cups of coffee.

boobs, ice cream and God...

The intelligent, dynamic twenty something year old woman asked me if I wanted to see her boobs. We were having ice cream at Edy's in Albert Street, sitting outside. We talked about many things including whether I should eat more ice cream. She is a devout Christian, studying , though not sure yet that she wants to be a Pastor. We talked work stuff and about children and the country. We then talked about God a bit and spirituality and differences in opinion and how she ends up being friends with the people she least likely thought she would end up being with. I wanted more ice cream but she said she will not be an enabler. She had read the blog and told me that losing the breasts is no big thing. She went for treatment for breast reduction and the doctors recommended a mastectomy instead of a breast reduction mammoplasty. She had removed both her breasts. I was stunned, and of course did the thing to look down to see what really did she have there. She saw me glance down and sh

Peace and goodwill

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(Picture from Sherlina Nageer) Motorcade 'Ker yuh po$$$ey" - the woman shouted to the other woman, just after the Diwali Motorcade had passed, the night before Diwali. An hour or so later, 18 year old Dwayne Durant was stabbed on the seawall. There were lots of bombs and squibs on the seawall, and the people selling and throwing the bombs, they are not interested in celebration. The bombs were there to terrify and make noise.  I accidentally brushed into someone coming home, and there was this .. aye aye Mistuh, watch wheh you going. Alcohol, meat .. were on sale alongside the floats passing chanting the maha mantras and the bhajans. A woman , amazing singer, I met her on the seawall and asked what was happening at home, realising something was wrong, but did not realise that things were so wrong.  And the story was unravelled.. the cursing up at home, the constant arguments, humiliation .. she is now in her thirties and it is now getting to her. My friend is ke

Hanging on by a thread..

There were hundreds of people watching. The elastic on my bukta failed me and my bukta was slipping down. It was after the Diwali Motorcade. I was walking in a hurry and doing the itching thing to pretend I had an itch while trying to pull up the damned bukta from outside and from the pockets of the short pants .. Dear reader, have you ever had that experience with the waist of your underwear hanging low.. how on earth do them guys wear their jeans hanging down half way? Elastic fails you sometimes. It is not the elastic fault, it was giving the signs of stretching. But this was a nice set of white bukta with green stripes which I had bought years ago, and the colour is still nice and cheerful. I stupidly forgot what happens when you walk fast.. I know the elastic was going and I should not have worn these, but.. it stood out there, in the drawer and wanted to be worn. This is what lust does to you, it blinds you to the faults of the loved thing. So, I hope that the elastic would l

the tears and the hope..

This morning, I held the cup of coffee between my hands, and cried. The tears came from somewhere.. and I just held the warm cup in my hands. Earlier, I was doing the surya namaskar and my knee was feeling weird. The breathing was good and my mind was going through things.. I had to cease walking for exercise. By the last round, I just collapsed on the floor thinking that all of this was futile. Diabetes is to be managed with Diet and Exercise and it seems that so far, my plans for exercise are going down the drain. So after the  tears, not sure why I was crying but i do not think it mattered. I think the deep breathing helps with cleansing perhaps. I felt like sitting down and not moving much.. had a piece of bitter alas. But, things to be done and I fought the urge to sit down. I met one of the bright young women I know who told me that she finds that Guyana is now intellectually boring.. I gave her the spiel about Guyana's dysfunction is a good place to try ideas and to work