By Maxwell Pereira
mfjpkamath@gmail.com
Though India does not witness the kind of fervour with which Christmas is celebrated around the world – not necessarily only in the Christian world – be it in the Americas or the Europas, Christian Africa, countries that formed former Russia, or down under in Australia, it nevertheless continues to be among the major festivals celebrated by one and all here irrespective of caste or creed or religious belief.
The word Christmas comes from the words Cristes maesse, or "Christ's Mass." Christmas is the celebration of the birth of Jesus for members of the Christian religion. Most historians peg the first celebration of Christmas to Rome in 336 A.D. To many today, Christmas is only associated with Santa Claus, the Christmas tree and gifts, decorations and goodies! It is also necessary to remember what the day is about, and is observed in commemoration of.
When Emperor Caesar Augustus ruled in Rome, and Israel was governed by King Herod, in the village of Nazareth lived Joseph and Mary. Joseph was a carpenter and Mary was a young virgin who would become his wife. Mary told Joseph of a dream in which she was visited by an angel who told her she had been chosen to bear the Son of God and his name was to be Jesus.
Soon the emperor wanted to impose a new tax, and asked all to register themselves in the towns of their birth. Joseph and Mary left Nazareth for Bethlehem. Mary, who was with child, and close to the birth, rode on a donkey while Joseph walked beside her.
After travelling many days when they reached Bethlehem it was night. They looked for a place to rest but there were no empty rooms when they reached the inn. As they were being turned away Joseph mentioned his wife was with child and close to birth. The inn keeper took pity on them and told them of some caves in the nearby hills where shepherds would stay with their cows and sheep.
So Joseph and Mary went up into the hills and found the caves. Joseph cleaned one that was being used as a stable and made beds of fresh hay. Mary gave birth to a son, and Joseph placed him in a feeding trough in the manger which he used as a crib. They named the child Jesus, as the angel had said.
When the child was born a great star appeared over Bethlehem that could be seen for miles around. In the fields nearby shepherds were tending their flocks. An angel appeared to them surrounded by bright light. The shepherds were frightened and tried to run, but he told them not to fear. "I bring you tidings of great joy,” he said, “For unto you is born this day in Bethlehem – a Saviour who is Christ the Lord." Suddenly the sky was filled with angels, praising God and saying, "Glory to God in the Highest, and on Earth peace, good will toward men." The shepherds set out for Bethlehem, and saw the child wrapped in swaddling clothes inside the stable in the caves.
As the star shined over Bethlehem, in the east three kings would see it. They knew it was a sign and they set off to follow the star. There was Caspar - the young King of Tarsus, Melchior - a long bearded old man and leader of Arabia, and Balthazar - the king from Ethiopia. They travelled on camels for many days over the mountains, and through the deserts, and plains. Always following the bright star. When they finally arrived in Bethlehem they found the child in the manger. The 3 kings bowed to their knees and offered gifts of gold, frankincense, and myrrh. They would stay the night in the cave and the next day returned to their lands to spread the news.
This nativity scene – the star, the manger, the swaddling clothes, the shepherds, the angels, the heavenly host and the wise men - coming from the books Matthew and Luke in the Bible, are replicated in the form of the ‘crib’ in every Christian home at Christmas time.
Christmas is now both a holiday and a holy day – an important day everywhere on the religious calendar. There are two reasons why Christmas is considered a big deal: Christians constitute 2.1 billion of a total of nearly 6.5bn world population, making it the largest religion worldwide. Then like it is before Diwali in India, worldwide the weeks leading up to Christmas are the biggest shopping weeks of the year.
No one knows whether Jesus was really born on December 25. Christian leaders in 336 A.D. set that date in an attempt to eclipse a popular pagan holiday in Rome – Saturnalia, that celebrated the winter solstice. Originally, the celebration of Christmas involved a simple mass, but over time Christmas has replaced a number of other holidays in many other countries, and a large number of traditions have been absorbed into the celebration in the process.
The tradition of gifts seems to have started with the gifts that the wise men (the Magi) brought to Jesus. However, no one was really in the habit of exchanging elaborate gifts until late in the 1800s. The story of Santa Claus combined with an amazing retailing phenomenon that has grown since the turn of the century, has made gift giving a central focus of the Christmas tradition. Greeting with Christmas cards started in London in 1843, in America in 1846. And now cashed in on for its commercial potential extensively, by every card manufacturing company in the world.
Having an evergreen tree in the living room is a German tradition, started as early as in 700 A.D. In the 1800s the tradition of a Christmas tree was widespread in Germany, then moved to England and then to America through Pennsylvanian German immigrants. In Victorian times, people had already started decorating trees with candies and cakes hung with ribbon. Martin Luther, in the 16th century, is credited as being the first person to put candles on a tree. In 1880, Woolworths first sold manufactured Christmas tree ornaments, and they caught on very quickly. The first electrically lighted Christmas tree appeared in 1882. Then in 1923, Calvin Coolidge ceremoniously lit the first outdoor tree at the Presidential White House, starting that long tradition – fake snow and tinsel...
In the west and snowbound countries, holly is invariably draped over the mantel and staircase. This was to replace mistletoe, which apparently was used as a decoration in houses for thousands of years. But mistletoe was also associated with many pagan rituals. And for Scandinavians, the goddess of love (Frigga) is strongly associated with mistletoe. So the church forbade the use of mistletoe in any form, mindful of its idolatrous associations, and suggested holly as a substitute. The sharply pointed leaves were to symbolize the thorns in Christ's crown and the red berries, His drops of blood.
"Yuletide" for "Christmastime" is a term derived from the Yule log, which in olden days was a huge log used as the foundation of the holiday fires. Bringing the Yule log in was, as recently as the 19th century, as much a part of the pre-Christmas festivities as putting up an evergreen tree today. Up until the 19th century, the custom of burning the Yule log flourished in England, France, Germany and among the South Slavs. Out of oak, families carved a heavy, wooden block. They placed it into the floor of their hearth. It glowed throughout the year under the flames of household fires, until gradually it became ash.
The tradition of hanging large oversized stockings originated when the original Saint Nicholas left his very first gifts of gold coins in the stockings of three poor girls who needed the money for their wedding dowries. The girls had hung their stockings by the fire to dry.
Which brings us to the legend of Santa Claus: This lovable old gift-giver with a hearty laugh had his origins in a real person, Nicholas, a saint of the 4th century. He was born in the ancient Lycian seaport of Patara, travelled extensively – to Palestine and Egypt; and became Bishop of Myra after returning to Lycia. Was imprisoned during the Roman emperor Diocletian's persecution of Christians but was released under the rule of Emperor Constantine the Great and attended the first Council (325) of Nicaea. After his death, when Italian sailors stole his remains from Myra where they lay buried in a church… and took them to Bari in Italy, this removal greatly increased the saint’s popularity to soon make Bari a pilgrimage centre. Nicholas’ reputation for generosity and kindness gave rise to legends of miracles he performed for the poor and unhappy; and his fame spread far and wide. But the Nicholas' cult disappeared in all the Protestant countries of Europe except Holland, where his legend persisted as Sinterklaas (a Dutch variant of the name Saint Nicholas). Dutch colonists took this tradition with them to New Amsterdam (now New York City) in the American colonies in the 17th century. Sinterklaas was adopted by the country's English-speaking majority under the name Santa Claus, and his legend of a kindly old man was united with old Nordic folktales of a magician who punished naughty children and rewarded good children with presents.
Poinsettias were attached to Christmas, starting in 1828. In warm climates, the poinsettia grows outdoors as a winter-flowering leggy shrub, and can be grown indoors too as a potted plant. What appear to be petals are actually coloured leaf-like bracts that surround a central cluster of tiny yellow flowers.
Fruitcake is another Christmas embellishment among other goodies. Many people feel that these cakes improve greatly with age. When they are well saturated with alcoholic liquors, which raise the spirits and keep down mold, and are buried in powdered sugar in tightly closed tins, they have been enjoyed as long as 25 years after baking.
Like all Jewish festivals start at sundown (not the calendar midnight) of the previous day - when candles and lanterns get lit, and continue till sundown the next day – Christmas celebrations too commenced on Christmas Eve. Christmas season lasts till Epiphany – the feast of the Three Kings – and hence the 12 Days of Christmas! There was in the past, also the tradition of giving gifts throughout the 12 days, rather than stacking them all up on the morning of December 25.
Finally, the tradition of Carols: In the Middle Ages in England and France, carols were dances accompanied by singing. In the French Midi, the "carol" was a kind of round dance. In time, the word "carol" changed its meaning, referring only to certain kinds of songs. The Anglo-Saxon tradition favoured gathering together small choirs on the village green to sing carols and Christmas songs for the pleasure of passers-by. Though in recent times a variety of new carols have been added, the old traditional ones remained a handful and hence it is estimated that each traditional carol is known to be repeated/ heard at least 700 or more times in a season! The legend of Santa has added to the list of Christmas songs, the likes of Jingle Bells and Rudolf the Red Nose Reindeer too….
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23.12.2005: Copy Right © Maxwell Pereira: 3725 Sector-23, Gurgaon-122002.
Available at – tel no: 0124-4111025; on website www.maxwellpereira.com ; email: mfjpkamath@gmail.com
Friday 23 December 2005
Thursday 29 September 2005
No Dirty Hands, please…. !
By Maxwell Pereira
mfjpkamath@gmail.com
Talk about fads! And of public health awareness! The latest in the line is a survey cum study commissioned by the American Society of Microbiologists (ASM) on people’s behaviour after a visit to washrooms or public toilets. “Most people say they wash their hands after using the bathroom, but many of them are not telling the truth” – the study suggested. More importantly, the survey found that women were more diligent than men: 90 percent washed their hands, compared with only 75 percent of the men.
In a nationwide poll conducted this year in the USA between Aug.19 to Aug.23 by Harris Interactive, 1013 adults were interviewed about their hand washing habits after a visit to the toilet. Then observers were sent into public restrooms to see what actually happened. A female TV anchor presenting this report on the channel I watched, quipped she couldn’t help wondering what exactly the observers were observing, and how, in public toilets!
But coming to the point, ninety-one percent of adults had claimed in the poll that they washed their hands after using a public restroom. But of the 6,336 adults whose behaviour was observed, only 82 percent actually did so. People were not as conscientious as they say they were, the researchers demonstrated, comparing answers given in the telephone poll to observed behaviour.
The study has not been able to explain why though, and what accounted for the difference in male and female behaviour. Why men are so much less likely to wash than women! Probably because people who use urinals do not think they need to wash their hands? Much to the embarrassment of her male co-anchor, the same female TV anchor I watched did not flinch while declaring, “Why should it be so? It is men who have something to hold while using the urinal, not so the women!” Public officials, however, felt that the overall message is that most Americans do wash their hands after using the bathroom; though, “we still have a long way to go!”
Observations for the study were made at restrooms in six different locations. Only 74 percent of baseball fans at Turner Field in Atlanta washed up, an even lower percentage than the 79 percent among commuters at Penn Station in New York. With 88 percent of those using public bathrooms at the local Farmers’ Market, San Franciscans were found more hygienic, but those at Shedd Aquarium in Chicago with 89 percent were found more sanitary.
The telephone poll asked about hand washing habits in other situations as well. Fewer than half the adults said they always washed after touching pets, sneezing, coughing, or handling money. Washing hands after changing a baby’s diaper is also not a universal habit, as the study found only 64 percent of men and 82 percent of women reporting they did so. While most people wash up before handling food, there still were 23 percent of adults who said they regularly handled food without first washing.
While education and income level did have something to do with washing practices, it was not clear exactly what the difference meant. More people in the lesser income level said they washed their hands after handling money, than those with higher incomes who considered money not dirty enough to require washing after touching it. Takes me back to my childhood, when among the many taboos our growing up was saddled with, touching money was one too; for reasons more than one – mainly, because money was touched by lepers and beggars with diseases. A dettol wash was a must for touching money even inadvertently! Perhaps the presence of more money around in adulthood removed this phobia, but to what extent education has affected, I am not sure.
Michael T. Osterholm, chairman of the public health committee of the ASM has been quoted in the media saying, “It’s not about education, it is about hygiene education. We have a problem at hospitals with doctors and nurses who don’t wash their hands after attending to a patient. You can’t get more educated than that!”
Working for an American multi-national as a senior executive with plenty of public dealing, my daughter tells me how paranoid she is at having to shake hands with all and sundry in the course of routine work. No ‘namaste’ would do, as we Indians would want to. A firm man’s handshake it is… And so the anti-germ treatment to the rescue. Every half hour or so, she squeezes a bottle of disinfectant lotion on to her hands, placed conveniently around the work place. “So annoying, but can’t help it,” she confides!
All this makes me wonder, in the Indian context: India is one large public toilet, and what Indians need is toilet-training – someone had wisely observed! To cap it, with a toilet so large and extending through the length and breadth of the country, I wonder what the findings be if ever a similar study is conducted in India. Where would we fare against the 82 percent in America who washed hands after a visit to the toilet? Will the answer, “we wash, they wipe!” do?
A scene from Dev Benegal’s filmi version of Upamanyu Chatterjee’s “English, August” comes to mind: The young IAS officer on his first field posting to rural Madna patiently watches the taluk official he is to call on finish urinating with a healthy shake of his you know what – and understandably hesitates to take the same hand the official extends in greeting him; and worse, soon the official insists on the officer partaking from the cup of tea he so generously offers, with the same hands!
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Copy Right © Maxwell Pereira; Sept 29, 2005.
Available for interaction at: 3725 Sector-23 Gurgaon-122017, National Capital Region – India.
Or on email: mfjpkamath@gmail.com & maxpk@vsnl.com; and website: http://www.maxwellpereira.com
mfjpkamath@gmail.com
Talk about fads! And of public health awareness! The latest in the line is a survey cum study commissioned by the American Society of Microbiologists (ASM) on people’s behaviour after a visit to washrooms or public toilets. “Most people say they wash their hands after using the bathroom, but many of them are not telling the truth” – the study suggested. More importantly, the survey found that women were more diligent than men: 90 percent washed their hands, compared with only 75 percent of the men.
In a nationwide poll conducted this year in the USA between Aug.19 to Aug.23 by Harris Interactive, 1013 adults were interviewed about their hand washing habits after a visit to the toilet. Then observers were sent into public restrooms to see what actually happened. A female TV anchor presenting this report on the channel I watched, quipped she couldn’t help wondering what exactly the observers were observing, and how, in public toilets!
But coming to the point, ninety-one percent of adults had claimed in the poll that they washed their hands after using a public restroom. But of the 6,336 adults whose behaviour was observed, only 82 percent actually did so. People were not as conscientious as they say they were, the researchers demonstrated, comparing answers given in the telephone poll to observed behaviour.
The study has not been able to explain why though, and what accounted for the difference in male and female behaviour. Why men are so much less likely to wash than women! Probably because people who use urinals do not think they need to wash their hands? Much to the embarrassment of her male co-anchor, the same female TV anchor I watched did not flinch while declaring, “Why should it be so? It is men who have something to hold while using the urinal, not so the women!” Public officials, however, felt that the overall message is that most Americans do wash their hands after using the bathroom; though, “we still have a long way to go!”
Observations for the study were made at restrooms in six different locations. Only 74 percent of baseball fans at Turner Field in Atlanta washed up, an even lower percentage than the 79 percent among commuters at Penn Station in New York. With 88 percent of those using public bathrooms at the local Farmers’ Market, San Franciscans were found more hygienic, but those at Shedd Aquarium in Chicago with 89 percent were found more sanitary.
The telephone poll asked about hand washing habits in other situations as well. Fewer than half the adults said they always washed after touching pets, sneezing, coughing, or handling money. Washing hands after changing a baby’s diaper is also not a universal habit, as the study found only 64 percent of men and 82 percent of women reporting they did so. While most people wash up before handling food, there still were 23 percent of adults who said they regularly handled food without first washing.
While education and income level did have something to do with washing practices, it was not clear exactly what the difference meant. More people in the lesser income level said they washed their hands after handling money, than those with higher incomes who considered money not dirty enough to require washing after touching it. Takes me back to my childhood, when among the many taboos our growing up was saddled with, touching money was one too; for reasons more than one – mainly, because money was touched by lepers and beggars with diseases. A dettol wash was a must for touching money even inadvertently! Perhaps the presence of more money around in adulthood removed this phobia, but to what extent education has affected, I am not sure.
Michael T. Osterholm, chairman of the public health committee of the ASM has been quoted in the media saying, “It’s not about education, it is about hygiene education. We have a problem at hospitals with doctors and nurses who don’t wash their hands after attending to a patient. You can’t get more educated than that!”
Working for an American multi-national as a senior executive with plenty of public dealing, my daughter tells me how paranoid she is at having to shake hands with all and sundry in the course of routine work. No ‘namaste’ would do, as we Indians would want to. A firm man’s handshake it is… And so the anti-germ treatment to the rescue. Every half hour or so, she squeezes a bottle of disinfectant lotion on to her hands, placed conveniently around the work place. “So annoying, but can’t help it,” she confides!
All this makes me wonder, in the Indian context: India is one large public toilet, and what Indians need is toilet-training – someone had wisely observed! To cap it, with a toilet so large and extending through the length and breadth of the country, I wonder what the findings be if ever a similar study is conducted in India. Where would we fare against the 82 percent in America who washed hands after a visit to the toilet? Will the answer, “we wash, they wipe!” do?
A scene from Dev Benegal’s filmi version of Upamanyu Chatterjee’s “English, August” comes to mind: The young IAS officer on his first field posting to rural Madna patiently watches the taluk official he is to call on finish urinating with a healthy shake of his you know what – and understandably hesitates to take the same hand the official extends in greeting him; and worse, soon the official insists on the officer partaking from the cup of tea he so generously offers, with the same hands!
---------------------------------------------------------------------
Copy Right © Maxwell Pereira; Sept 29, 2005.
Available for interaction at: 3725 Sector-23 Gurgaon-122017, National Capital Region – India.
Or on email: mfjpkamath@gmail.com & maxpk@vsnl.com; and website: http://www.maxwellpereira.com
Friday 19 August 2005
Crucial Goodwill
By Maxwell Pereira
In my email traffic the other day I had one from this young couple who wanted to adopt a baby. It was the lady who addressed me, but did not elaborate the reason why they preferred to adopt, just said, “…need some help – my husband and I are going ahead with bringing home a baby and give it tender loving care… required adoption papers also include a Police Verification from the SHO - that we do not have a criminal record… the police station when approached told us this will not be done easily, the application has to be submitted to the DCP Office on a stamp paper; from where after some ground work the papers will be sent to our local police station to work on; ….the run around’s been for some time…. no complaint, but an appeal for help; could you please guide…. the adoption papers have to be submitted within a stipulated time… my husband and I hold valid Indian passports, and both work as managers for good organisations”.
I replied and assured the lady she’d done right, the procedure she’d been told was also right – but to expedite, if in her opinion my ‘superannuated’ intervention would help, I’d oblige by speaking to either the SHO or the DCP. I waited not for her response, but rang up the concerned DCP, apprised him of the lady’s plight passing on to him her particulars, arranged for her an appointment, and then rang her back asking her to meet the DCP the next morning at the appointed hour.
Before the sun could set the next day, I was inundated with quite a few emails of thanks and appreciation – starting from the baby-adopting lady herself and from others she had spoken to about her unbelievable experience. She was euphoric with her delight. She with her husband had been to the DCP’s office that morning, who had heard her out patiently, and when she had finished, just presented her the verification certificate she had sought – with the compliments of the police department. Can any one really measure the mountain of goodwill the DCP earned for Delhi Police that day!?
350 words: 19.08.2005: Copyright © Maxwell Pereira:
For interaction, available at: 3725 Sector-23 Gurgaon-122001;
mfjpkamath@gmail.com & http:/www.planetindia.net.maxwell
In my email traffic the other day I had one from this young couple who wanted to adopt a baby. It was the lady who addressed me, but did not elaborate the reason why they preferred to adopt, just said, “…need some help – my husband and I are going ahead with bringing home a baby and give it tender loving care… required adoption papers also include a Police Verification from the SHO - that we do not have a criminal record… the police station when approached told us this will not be done easily, the application has to be submitted to the DCP Office on a stamp paper; from where after some ground work the papers will be sent to our local police station to work on; ….the run around’s been for some time…. no complaint, but an appeal for help; could you please guide…. the adoption papers have to be submitted within a stipulated time… my husband and I hold valid Indian passports, and both work as managers for good organisations”.
I replied and assured the lady she’d done right, the procedure she’d been told was also right – but to expedite, if in her opinion my ‘superannuated’ intervention would help, I’d oblige by speaking to either the SHO or the DCP. I waited not for her response, but rang up the concerned DCP, apprised him of the lady’s plight passing on to him her particulars, arranged for her an appointment, and then rang her back asking her to meet the DCP the next morning at the appointed hour.
Before the sun could set the next day, I was inundated with quite a few emails of thanks and appreciation – starting from the baby-adopting lady herself and from others she had spoken to about her unbelievable experience. She was euphoric with her delight. She with her husband had been to the DCP’s office that morning, who had heard her out patiently, and when she had finished, just presented her the verification certificate she had sought – with the compliments of the police department. Can any one really measure the mountain of goodwill the DCP earned for Delhi Police that day!?
350 words: 19.08.2005: Copyright © Maxwell Pereira:
For interaction, available at: 3725 Sector-23 Gurgaon-122001;
mfjpkamath@gmail.com & http:/www.planetindia.net.maxwell
Saturday 6 August 2005
Survival.... !
TO ALL THE KIDS WHO SURVIVED the 1920's,1930's 40's, 50's, 60's and 70's !!
(and to some of the youngsters, to learn what we dealt with!)
First, we survived being born to mothers who smoked and/or drank while they carried us.
They took aspirin, ate blue cheese dressing, tuna from a can, and didn't get tested for diabetes.
Then after that trauma, our baby cribs were covered with bright colored lead-based paints.
We had no childproof lids on medicine bottles, doors or cabinets and when we rode our bikes, we had no helmets, not to mention, the risks we took hitchhiking.
As children, we would ride in cars with no seat belts or air bags.
Riding in the back of a pick up on a warm day was always a special treat.
We drank water from the garden hose and NOT from a bottle.
We shared one soft drink with four friends, from one bottle and NO ONE actually died from this.
We ate cupcakes, white bread and real butter and drank soda pop with sugar in it, but
we weren't overweight because
WE WERE ALWAYS OUTSIDE PLAYING!
We would leave home in the morning and play all day, as long as we were back when the streetlights came on.
No one was able to reach us all day. And we were O.K.
We would spend hours building our go-carts out of scraps and then ride down the hill, only to find out we forgot the brakes. After running into the bushes a few times, we learned to solve the problem.
We did not have Playstations, Nintendo's, X-boxes, no video games at all, no 99 channels on cable, no video tape movies, no surround sound, no cell phones, no personal computers, no Internet or Internet chat rooms..........WE HAD FRIENDS and we went outside and found them!
We fell out of trees, got cut, broke bones and teeth and there were no lawsuits from these accidents.
We ate worms and mud pies made from dirt, and the worms did not live in us forever.
We were given BB guns for our 10th birthdays, made up games with sticks and tennis balls and although we were told it would happen, we did not put out very many eyes.
We rode bikes or walked to a friend's house and knocked on the door or rang the bell, or just walked in and talked to them!
Little League had tryouts and not everyone made the team. Those who didn't had to learn to deal with disappointment. Imagine that!!
The idea of a parent bailing us out if we broke the law was unheard of. They actually sided with the law!
This generation has produced some of the best risk-takers, problem solvers and inventors ever!
The past 50 years have been an explosion of innovation and new ideas.
We had freedom, failure, success and responsibility, and we learned HOW TO
DEAL WITH IT ALL!
And YOU are one of them! CONGRATULATIONS!
You might want to share this with others who have had the luck to grow up as kids, before the lawyers and the government regulated our lives for our own good.
and while you are at it, forward it to your kids so they will know how brave their parents were.
(and to some of the youngsters, to learn what we dealt with!)
First, we survived being born to mothers who smoked and/or drank while they carried us.
They took aspirin, ate blue cheese dressing, tuna from a can, and didn't get tested for diabetes.
Then after that trauma, our baby cribs were covered with bright colored lead-based paints.
We had no childproof lids on medicine bottles, doors or cabinets and when we rode our bikes, we had no helmets, not to mention, the risks we took hitchhiking.
As children, we would ride in cars with no seat belts or air bags.
Riding in the back of a pick up on a warm day was always a special treat.
We drank water from the garden hose and NOT from a bottle.
We shared one soft drink with four friends, from one bottle and NO ONE actually died from this.
We ate cupcakes, white bread and real butter and drank soda pop with sugar in it, but
we weren't overweight because
WE WERE ALWAYS OUTSIDE PLAYING!
We would leave home in the morning and play all day, as long as we were back when the streetlights came on.
No one was able to reach us all day. And we were O.K.
We would spend hours building our go-carts out of scraps and then ride down the hill, only to find out we forgot the brakes. After running into the bushes a few times, we learned to solve the problem.
We did not have Playstations, Nintendo's, X-boxes, no video games at all, no 99 channels on cable, no video tape movies, no surround sound, no cell phones, no personal computers, no Internet or Internet chat rooms..........WE HAD FRIENDS and we went outside and found them!
We fell out of trees, got cut, broke bones and teeth and there were no lawsuits from these accidents.
We ate worms and mud pies made from dirt, and the worms did not live in us forever.
We were given BB guns for our 10th birthdays, made up games with sticks and tennis balls and although we were told it would happen, we did not put out very many eyes.
We rode bikes or walked to a friend's house and knocked on the door or rang the bell, or just walked in and talked to them!
Little League had tryouts and not everyone made the team. Those who didn't had to learn to deal with disappointment. Imagine that!!
The idea of a parent bailing us out if we broke the law was unheard of. They actually sided with the law!
This generation has produced some of the best risk-takers, problem solvers and inventors ever!
The past 50 years have been an explosion of innovation and new ideas.
We had freedom, failure, success and responsibility, and we learned HOW TO
DEAL WITH IT ALL!
And YOU are one of them! CONGRATULATIONS!
You might want to share this with others who have had the luck to grow up as kids, before the lawyers and the government regulated our lives for our own good.
and while you are at it, forward it to your kids so they will know how brave their parents were.
Thursday 28 July 2005
The Ant - lessons from the tiny one...
One morning I wasted nearly an hour watching a tiny ant carry a huge feather across my back terrace. Several times it was confronted by obstacles in its path and after a momentary pause it would make the necessary detour.
At one point the ant had to negotiate a crack in the concrete about 10mm wide. After brief contemplation the ant laid the feather over the crack, walked across it and picked up the feather on the other side then continued on its way. I was fascinated by the ingenuity of this ant, one of God's smallest creatures. It served to reinforce the miracle of creation. Here was a minute insect, lacking in size yet equipped with a brain to reason, explore, discover and overcome. But this ant, like the two-legged co-residents of this planet, also share human failings.
After some time the ant finally reached its destination - a flower bed at the end of the terrace and a small hole that was the entrance to its underground home. And it was here that the ant finally met its match.
How could that large feather possibly fit down small hole?
Of course it couldn't. so the ant, after all this trouble and execrising great ingenuity, overcoming problems all along the way, just abandoned the feather and went home.
The ant had not thought the problem through before it began its epic journey and in the end the feather was nothing more than a burden. Isn't life like that!
We worry about our family, we worry about money or the lack of it, we worry about work, about where we live, about all sorts of things. These are all burdens - the things we pick up along life's path and lug them around the obstacles and over the crevasses that life will bring, only to find that at the destination they are useless and we can't take them with us...............
At one point the ant had to negotiate a crack in the concrete about 10mm wide. After brief contemplation the ant laid the feather over the crack, walked across it and picked up the feather on the other side then continued on its way. I was fascinated by the ingenuity of this ant, one of God's smallest creatures. It served to reinforce the miracle of creation. Here was a minute insect, lacking in size yet equipped with a brain to reason, explore, discover and overcome. But this ant, like the two-legged co-residents of this planet, also share human failings.
After some time the ant finally reached its destination - a flower bed at the end of the terrace and a small hole that was the entrance to its underground home. And it was here that the ant finally met its match.
How could that large feather possibly fit down small hole?
Of course it couldn't. so the ant, after all this trouble and execrising great ingenuity, overcoming problems all along the way, just abandoned the feather and went home.
The ant had not thought the problem through before it began its epic journey and in the end the feather was nothing more than a burden. Isn't life like that!
We worry about our family, we worry about money or the lack of it, we worry about work, about where we live, about all sorts of things. These are all burdens - the things we pick up along life's path and lug them around the obstacles and over the crevasses that life will bring, only to find that at the destination they are useless and we can't take them with us...............
Tuesday 26 July 2005
Globalisation.... ?
Question: What is Globalization?????
Answer: Princess Diana's death!!!!!!!!!!!!!
An English princess with an Egyptian boyfriend Crashes in a French tunnel, driving a German car with a Dutch engine, driven by a Belgian Who was high on Scottish whiskey, followed closely by Italian Paparazzi, on Japanese motorcycles, treated by an American doctor, using Brazilian medicines!
And
This message is sent to you by an Indian, using American (Bill Gates) technology which he stole from the Japanese. And you are probably reading this on one of the IBM clones that use Taiwanese-made chips, and Korean made monitors, assembled by Bangladeshi workers in a Singapore plant, transported by lorries driven by Pakistanis, hijacked by Indonesians and finally sold to you by Chinese!
Globalization !!!!!
....sent by Marina Rasquinha as a 'forward': 26 July 2005
Answer: Princess Diana's death!!!!!!!!!!!!!
An English princess with an Egyptian boyfriend Crashes in a French tunnel, driving a German car with a Dutch engine, driven by a Belgian Who was high on Scottish whiskey, followed closely by Italian Paparazzi, on Japanese motorcycles, treated by an American doctor, using Brazilian medicines!
And
This message is sent to you by an Indian, using American (Bill Gates) technology which he stole from the Japanese. And you are probably reading this on one of the IBM clones that use Taiwanese-made chips, and Korean made monitors, assembled by Bangladeshi workers in a Singapore plant, transported by lorries driven by Pakistanis, hijacked by Indonesians and finally sold to you by Chinese!
Globalization !!!!!
....sent by Marina Rasquinha as a 'forward': 26 July 2005
Monday 4 July 2005
Muddy Musical Glastonbury!
By Maxwell Pereira
mfjpkamath@gmail.com
Getting away from the heat for a summer vacation has become part of life. For those who can afford, our own local hills and other resorts; exotic haunts of Europe for the super rich. “Come summer,” my daughter’s unabashed refrain: “Oxford Street in London is like Karol Bagh, with more Indians crawling than locals”. For those culturally minded, Europe’s musical scene is an attraction too.
Now that circumstances permit, I myself took off for a southern sojourn in Bangalore, the poor-man’s-Ooty Saklespur in the Western Ghats, then Mangalore, and the ayurvedic resorts in the vast expanse of backwaters in Kerala. For a fish eater, seafood lover, and one who is ecstatic about soothing body care, nothing could be more exotic.
My son in England and his bride too took off around the same time for a weekend break. In their life style they do it ever so often, and so do not make much of these indulgences. Neither are they gushingly eloquent to write home about such. This time though, I was surprised to get a long mail about their holiday. They had been to an Event of Performing Arts and musical extravaganza – the Glastonbury Festival.
Glastonbury Festival of Contemporary Performing Arts – one of the largest music festivals in the world and known to be the mother of all festivals in the UK, is run by Somerset farmer Michael Eavis at Worthy Farm, Pilton - near Glastonbury - since 1970. Normally on the last full weekend of June, with an occasional miss to give both the land (a working farm) and the locals a chance to recover.
My son found the Festival ‘amazing’. The setting on 700 acres in a beautiful valley, the site huge – about a mile and a half across with a perimeter fence about 8 1/2 miles. Everything within the fence – camping and entertainment, with no arena to queue up for and enter each day. Several stages for the music, theatre, circus, cabaret, and acts of performing artistes – a three day festival at which everyone camped in tents. “We got there on Thursday morning, a few friends arriving earlier to cordon off an area for us. We had 10 tents in total around a gazebo, like a little commune!”
What was special? “The festival started on Friday afternoon, but before that there was this biggest thunderstorm in history. It started at around 3 in the morning while we were still in our tents. There was so much lightning that the ground was shaking and the whole tent would light up. Apparently some dipstick decided to go to the toilet in the middle of the whole thing and got struck by lightning, and got thrown three tents away! Also a couple of the festival tents got struck and split in half.”
That was just the start. Most of the 152,000 crowd – over 100000 paid ticket holders, 35000 staff and performers, and in tow the ‘Kidz Field Crew’ – all left covered in mud. 292 people lost their tents when over two inches of rain thrashed the site from 3am to about noon causing heavy floods. “A river of mud and water flowing down the hill sweeping away everything in its way, including people sleeping in tents, the toilet blocks, a parked ice cream truck etc. 100s of people had to be evacuated to a different part of the valley, a lot of them lost everything. We were lucky and were pitched on a slight hill, away from the flood, and were spared the consequences.”
More than 3m litres of water were pumped off the site by the fire service after the torrential thunderstorm left some tents submerged in 8ft of water. Specialist fire service rescue teams checking submerged tents for occupants, found no-one was seriously hurt by the floods – which caused power failures and delayed the start of the programme. Renowned though for the variety and energy-sapping quality of its mud, Glastonbury will remember 2005 as the year of the great flood.
But despite nature playing dirty, the flash floods gave way to brilliant sunshine and Glastonbury danced itself into the muddy ground. “In spite of the chaos, damage and confusion, the festival continued, the people’s mood not dampened. It was so crazy, having to wade through knee deep mud at times trying to get from one place to another, as the flooding had made the valley of farmland just one huge swamp/mud flat. The previous week had been really hot and sunny, so no one had brought Wellingtons. Which meant everyone went down the market area to buy boots and socks. 100,000+ people trying to do this caused everything to sell out in minutes, causing queues that stretched literally for miles. Apparently 33k wellies were sold, just on that Friday!”
“The music was amazing and many fantastic performances. Some of the bands I listened to were: Coldplay, Keane, The Killers, Kaiser Chiefs, Jools Holland, Van Morisson, White Stripes. There were others too, but I can’t remember!”
Information on ways to improve one’s life and the world around, shopping in the vast markets of over 700 stalls with their fantastic variety of clothes, crafts and food; the enlightenment, the mime artists cutting the grass with nail scissors, the mad butler with his tray of drinks, the tea ladies on tour..... just added their bit to make Glastonbury Festival the place to spend the best time of one’s life!
“All were unanimous in their verdict: The secret of Glastonbury’s success… the people! The weekend went really quickly, with BBQs and beers and cider, walking through whacky areas of the festival, with naked people, circus tents and cabaret performances including poetry recitals! All in all it was awesome!”
900 words
04.07.2005: Copyright © Maxwell Pereira:
For interaction: mfjpkamath@gmail.com & http:/www.planetindia.net.maxwell
mfjpkamath@gmail.com
Getting away from the heat for a summer vacation has become part of life. For those who can afford, our own local hills and other resorts; exotic haunts of Europe for the super rich. “Come summer,” my daughter’s unabashed refrain: “Oxford Street in London is like Karol Bagh, with more Indians crawling than locals”. For those culturally minded, Europe’s musical scene is an attraction too.
Now that circumstances permit, I myself took off for a southern sojourn in Bangalore, the poor-man’s-Ooty Saklespur in the Western Ghats, then Mangalore, and the ayurvedic resorts in the vast expanse of backwaters in Kerala. For a fish eater, seafood lover, and one who is ecstatic about soothing body care, nothing could be more exotic.
My son in England and his bride too took off around the same time for a weekend break. In their life style they do it ever so often, and so do not make much of these indulgences. Neither are they gushingly eloquent to write home about such. This time though, I was surprised to get a long mail about their holiday. They had been to an Event of Performing Arts and musical extravaganza – the Glastonbury Festival.
Glastonbury Festival of Contemporary Performing Arts – one of the largest music festivals in the world and known to be the mother of all festivals in the UK, is run by Somerset farmer Michael Eavis at Worthy Farm, Pilton - near Glastonbury - since 1970. Normally on the last full weekend of June, with an occasional miss to give both the land (a working farm) and the locals a chance to recover.
My son found the Festival ‘amazing’. The setting on 700 acres in a beautiful valley, the site huge – about a mile and a half across with a perimeter fence about 8 1/2 miles. Everything within the fence – camping and entertainment, with no arena to queue up for and enter each day. Several stages for the music, theatre, circus, cabaret, and acts of performing artistes – a three day festival at which everyone camped in tents. “We got there on Thursday morning, a few friends arriving earlier to cordon off an area for us. We had 10 tents in total around a gazebo, like a little commune!”
What was special? “The festival started on Friday afternoon, but before that there was this biggest thunderstorm in history. It started at around 3 in the morning while we were still in our tents. There was so much lightning that the ground was shaking and the whole tent would light up. Apparently some dipstick decided to go to the toilet in the middle of the whole thing and got struck by lightning, and got thrown three tents away! Also a couple of the festival tents got struck and split in half.”
That was just the start. Most of the 152,000 crowd – over 100000 paid ticket holders, 35000 staff and performers, and in tow the ‘Kidz Field Crew’ – all left covered in mud. 292 people lost their tents when over two inches of rain thrashed the site from 3am to about noon causing heavy floods. “A river of mud and water flowing down the hill sweeping away everything in its way, including people sleeping in tents, the toilet blocks, a parked ice cream truck etc. 100s of people had to be evacuated to a different part of the valley, a lot of them lost everything. We were lucky and were pitched on a slight hill, away from the flood, and were spared the consequences.”
More than 3m litres of water were pumped off the site by the fire service after the torrential thunderstorm left some tents submerged in 8ft of water. Specialist fire service rescue teams checking submerged tents for occupants, found no-one was seriously hurt by the floods – which caused power failures and delayed the start of the programme. Renowned though for the variety and energy-sapping quality of its mud, Glastonbury will remember 2005 as the year of the great flood.
But despite nature playing dirty, the flash floods gave way to brilliant sunshine and Glastonbury danced itself into the muddy ground. “In spite of the chaos, damage and confusion, the festival continued, the people’s mood not dampened. It was so crazy, having to wade through knee deep mud at times trying to get from one place to another, as the flooding had made the valley of farmland just one huge swamp/mud flat. The previous week had been really hot and sunny, so no one had brought Wellingtons. Which meant everyone went down the market area to buy boots and socks. 100,000+ people trying to do this caused everything to sell out in minutes, causing queues that stretched literally for miles. Apparently 33k wellies were sold, just on that Friday!”
“The music was amazing and many fantastic performances. Some of the bands I listened to were: Coldplay, Keane, The Killers, Kaiser Chiefs, Jools Holland, Van Morisson, White Stripes. There were others too, but I can’t remember!”
Information on ways to improve one’s life and the world around, shopping in the vast markets of over 700 stalls with their fantastic variety of clothes, crafts and food; the enlightenment, the mime artists cutting the grass with nail scissors, the mad butler with his tray of drinks, the tea ladies on tour..... just added their bit to make Glastonbury Festival the place to spend the best time of one’s life!
“All were unanimous in their verdict: The secret of Glastonbury’s success… the people! The weekend went really quickly, with BBQs and beers and cider, walking through whacky areas of the festival, with naked people, circus tents and cabaret performances including poetry recitals! All in all it was awesome!”
900 words
04.07.2005: Copyright © Maxwell Pereira:
For interaction: mfjpkamath@gmail.com & http:/www.planetindia.net.maxwell
Monday 27 June 2005
Fishy Mangalore
By Maxwell Pereira
mfjpkamath@gmail.com
As I am writing this one, I am in Mangalore – the town in which I grew up, went to school and spent my childhood. Most of that period of memory a fifty years in the past, in a family home in Karangalpady-Kodiyalbail when parents were still living in Mangalore, and some more in the boarding at St. Aloysius’ when they moved out bag and baggage to cooler climes in the western ghats and Bangalore. Now on a visit here yet again, I find Mangalore not changed in many ways. One of them, its delightful fish eating ways.
As children, the afternoon meal consisted of a fish menu and the evening one had meat. Staple rice and curry for the mid-day meal. Curry meant fish curry, and fish meant mostly seafood, not from the abounding rivers, rivulets and ponds (a fare not completely ignored either). Each day a different variety of fish, depending on the season and the catch available in the market: Tharle (sardines), Bangude (mackerels), Iswonn (seer), Rounce (Indian salmon), Ssanctter (catfish), Kaane (ladyfish), Sscannakki (kingclip), Yerlio (whitings – some called these silverfish too), Shevto with its gaantt and peri, Sondalle, Pampletan (pomfret), Sungtaan (prawns), Kurlio (crabs), Khube (clams) and a plethora of shell-fish…. Whatever! The variety, unlimited.
And if at the evening table too there had to be fish, then it’d be fried fare – gorgeously fried on a flat pan in shallow oil for a well massala’d crusty cover, with the still soft fibrously brittle and breakable flesh inside moistily dry, and not oily or leathery. How they managed that… well, ask the Managaloreans! Only they manage such incredible fish cuisine feats! And fish it invariably was, when the evening table stuck to staple congee. Chapattis on the menu, then a meat dish inevitably thrown in. Believe me, Mangaloreans were, and are, great meat eaters too!
But what was staple then for most homes was congee in the mornings – at the breakfast table too. Which meant different varieties of fish fare for the day’s first meal – Mangaloreans believed in three square meals a day – whatever else be there or not, in the form of a variety of chutneys for nishthen or side-dish. And to match the sharpness of the chutneys, in fish it had to be attailly-kadi which the Goans called kalchi-kadi – the previous day’s left over fish curry cooked dry to a paste in smoked earthenware handis; and/or kharen (dried shark and a variety of salt-fish) fried. Fresh clam cooked in its own soup thel-piao style was among favourites too, and the occasional fresh garden vegetable cooked in similar thel-piao as a not-too-boring but sobering and stabilizing break now and again.
For so much fishy fare for a whole population of the city and its neighbourhood, fish had to be in plenty. More importantly, one needed to be well versed in the art of buying fish too. Early in life one learnt to sniff and haggle – to develop a sharp sense of smell, and to bargain with fisherwomen who formed the bulk of fish vendors. Or else end up with not just a lighter purse, but also inedible fish gone high in the humid tropical heat.
Unique to Mangalore, perhaps in other coastal markets too, is the system of selling fish by ‘quantities’ and not by weight (by the kg) as elsewhere. By tradition and practice, both the fisherwomen and the consuming public along the coastal belt have developed a keen sense of fixing the rate by merely looking a the ‘lot’ of fish, pre-arranged by size and/or in numbers, the rate variable depending on the fish catch of the day and its quantum availability at a given point in time. So one took no chances. It was only the most experienced and not the novice, to venture a hand at buying fish!
But experience came by education. And education on this came to me as would have to any child in my town, much before we stepped into our age of a double figure. When elders and others more adept in the art were busy perhaps with unavoidable and more important pre-occupations, and it fell to my lot to secure from the market something to make the family table interesting, yours truly used to be packed off with a four-anna or a six-annna jingle in the pocket to the fish market, to return with enough that would not only gladden the family stomachs for the day but also carry over to the next.
Many are the times I have faltered, stumbled, and failed, to face the wrath of those around the table for a lousy job done, for being rooked and cheated into paying more for a measly small lot, or for carrying home stale fish, or the thorny-bony pedi instead of the like looking tharle….At times also the occasional well-earned kudos for an excellent buy that soared the contented family’s feelings high.
I learnt quick, for that was the only opportunity I got to hire a cycle clandestinely, something that faced parental sanctions and taboo for reasons of a youngster’s safety on the road, understandably though the craze of any kid at that age. Not only did I have to return with a bounty that satisfied the family palates and raised no eyebrows on account of quality, quantity of fish or the amount paid, but also with the need to save the half-anna it then cost to hire the junior cycle for the half-hour marketing stint involved. So the need to hone my fish-buying skills, and be good at it!
The family then had puzzled through it all: how did I manage it all in such super fast speed. That remained my secret till now!
900 words
27.06.2005: Copyright © Maxwell Pereira: 3725 Sector-23 HUDA, Gurgaon-122001
Available at: 0124-5111025 /026 /027: at http://www. maxwellpereira.com and mfjpkamath@gmail.com
mfjpkamath@gmail.com
As I am writing this one, I am in Mangalore – the town in which I grew up, went to school and spent my childhood. Most of that period of memory a fifty years in the past, in a family home in Karangalpady-Kodiyalbail when parents were still living in Mangalore, and some more in the boarding at St. Aloysius’ when they moved out bag and baggage to cooler climes in the western ghats and Bangalore. Now on a visit here yet again, I find Mangalore not changed in many ways. One of them, its delightful fish eating ways.
As children, the afternoon meal consisted of a fish menu and the evening one had meat. Staple rice and curry for the mid-day meal. Curry meant fish curry, and fish meant mostly seafood, not from the abounding rivers, rivulets and ponds (a fare not completely ignored either). Each day a different variety of fish, depending on the season and the catch available in the market: Tharle (sardines), Bangude (mackerels), Iswonn (seer), Rounce (Indian salmon), Ssanctter (catfish), Kaane (ladyfish), Sscannakki (kingclip), Yerlio (whitings – some called these silverfish too), Shevto with its gaantt and peri, Sondalle, Pampletan (pomfret), Sungtaan (prawns), Kurlio (crabs), Khube (clams) and a plethora of shell-fish…. Whatever! The variety, unlimited.
And if at the evening table too there had to be fish, then it’d be fried fare – gorgeously fried on a flat pan in shallow oil for a well massala’d crusty cover, with the still soft fibrously brittle and breakable flesh inside moistily dry, and not oily or leathery. How they managed that… well, ask the Managaloreans! Only they manage such incredible fish cuisine feats! And fish it invariably was, when the evening table stuck to staple congee. Chapattis on the menu, then a meat dish inevitably thrown in. Believe me, Mangaloreans were, and are, great meat eaters too!
But what was staple then for most homes was congee in the mornings – at the breakfast table too. Which meant different varieties of fish fare for the day’s first meal – Mangaloreans believed in three square meals a day – whatever else be there or not, in the form of a variety of chutneys for nishthen or side-dish. And to match the sharpness of the chutneys, in fish it had to be attailly-kadi which the Goans called kalchi-kadi – the previous day’s left over fish curry cooked dry to a paste in smoked earthenware handis; and/or kharen (dried shark and a variety of salt-fish) fried. Fresh clam cooked in its own soup thel-piao style was among favourites too, and the occasional fresh garden vegetable cooked in similar thel-piao as a not-too-boring but sobering and stabilizing break now and again.
For so much fishy fare for a whole population of the city and its neighbourhood, fish had to be in plenty. More importantly, one needed to be well versed in the art of buying fish too. Early in life one learnt to sniff and haggle – to develop a sharp sense of smell, and to bargain with fisherwomen who formed the bulk of fish vendors. Or else end up with not just a lighter purse, but also inedible fish gone high in the humid tropical heat.
Unique to Mangalore, perhaps in other coastal markets too, is the system of selling fish by ‘quantities’ and not by weight (by the kg) as elsewhere. By tradition and practice, both the fisherwomen and the consuming public along the coastal belt have developed a keen sense of fixing the rate by merely looking a the ‘lot’ of fish, pre-arranged by size and/or in numbers, the rate variable depending on the fish catch of the day and its quantum availability at a given point in time. So one took no chances. It was only the most experienced and not the novice, to venture a hand at buying fish!
But experience came by education. And education on this came to me as would have to any child in my town, much before we stepped into our age of a double figure. When elders and others more adept in the art were busy perhaps with unavoidable and more important pre-occupations, and it fell to my lot to secure from the market something to make the family table interesting, yours truly used to be packed off with a four-anna or a six-annna jingle in the pocket to the fish market, to return with enough that would not only gladden the family stomachs for the day but also carry over to the next.
Many are the times I have faltered, stumbled, and failed, to face the wrath of those around the table for a lousy job done, for being rooked and cheated into paying more for a measly small lot, or for carrying home stale fish, or the thorny-bony pedi instead of the like looking tharle….At times also the occasional well-earned kudos for an excellent buy that soared the contented family’s feelings high.
I learnt quick, for that was the only opportunity I got to hire a cycle clandestinely, something that faced parental sanctions and taboo for reasons of a youngster’s safety on the road, understandably though the craze of any kid at that age. Not only did I have to return with a bounty that satisfied the family palates and raised no eyebrows on account of quality, quantity of fish or the amount paid, but also with the need to save the half-anna it then cost to hire the junior cycle for the half-hour marketing stint involved. So the need to hone my fish-buying skills, and be good at it!
The family then had puzzled through it all: how did I manage it all in such super fast speed. That remained my secret till now!
900 words
27.06.2005: Copyright © Maxwell Pereira: 3725 Sector-23 HUDA, Gurgaon-122001
Available at: 0124-5111025 /026 /027: at http://www. maxwellpereira.com and mfjpkamath@gmail.com
Tuesday 21 June 2005
Monsoon Facts….
Monsoon Facts….
By Maxwell Pereira
mfjpkamath@gmail.com
The ‘mon-soon’ this year is ‘mon-late’… screamed a headline the other day, describing what’s foremost on the minds of most people ‘midst this blistering season of heat in Delhi and most other parts of north India around this time. As the heat wave sweeps across the land with its mercy-less broom, everyone is waiting in anticipation for the rains to come and cool down the climes, to relieve all from the furnacy climate that makes life a living hell, miserable and scorching.
To escape the rigours of the blistering summer, a minimissal few who can afford head to hill-stations or lands across the seas or mountains. While those who cannot, just suffer and wilt away even while hoping for the desert-ly loo bearing dusty winds to change to moisture laden rain bearing ones, for relief and succour to fauna, flora and the human stock alike.
In actual fact, the much awaited ‘monsoon’ hardly touches Delhi and surrounding parts of north India – unlike it does most of south India or north-eastern India that experience its real impact. For some of us who grew up in the South, monsoon meant the rains and the rainy season, there being only three seasons in a year – the summer, rainy and the winter, to contend with.
Even so, the very term ‘monsoon’ owes its origin, we are told, to the Arabic mausin or mausem which means season (…or the season of winds) - most often applied to the seasonal reversals of the wind direction along the shores of the Indian Ocean, and especially in the Arabian Sea, that blow from the southwest during one half of the year and from the northeast during the other.
Traditionally, the legendary Greek sailor Hippalus was credited to have been the first to use the monsoon to speed across the Indian Ocean, and so the ancient name for the monsoon was also called Hippalus. But perhaps he was simply the first Greek to master the monsoon, since Yemeni sailors were known to be trading with India long before his time.
A monsoon seasonal change is characterized by a variety of physical mechanisms which produce strong seasonal winds, a wet summer and a dry winter. All monsoons share three basic physical mechanisms: differential heating between the land and oceans; Coriolis forces due to the rotation of the Earth; and the role of water which stores and releases energy as it changes from liquid to vapour and back. The combined effect of these three mechanisms produces the monsoon's characteristic reversals of high winds and precipitation.
Scientists have described two key ingredients needed to make a monsoon – a hot land mass and a cooler ocean. Monsoons occur when land heats up and cools down quicker than water. In summer, the land reaches a higher temperature than the ocean, making the air over it to rise – thereby causing an area of low pressure to make winds from areas of high pressure to blow over areas of low pressure. The constant moisture laden wind thus blowing from the ocean causes rainfall when it rises up and gets cooled. Conversely, in winter since the land cools down quickly, the ocean is warmer. Air then rises, causing a low over the ocean. The wind then blows back out over the ocean. Since the temperature difference between the ocean and land is less than in summer, this wind is not as constant.
Along this basic principle, the land mass of the Indian sub-continent absorbs heat faster from the sun than the surrounding Indian Ocean does. Consequently as the air rises, a cooler, moistier, and heavier air from over the ocean replaces it. This damp, cool layer over India is estimated to be up to three miles thick. As the cool air arrives, the winds also shift. During dry season, the winds blow offshore, from land to sea. Then, as the monsoon begins, the winds blow onshore, from sea to land. In the case of the Indian Ocean Monsoon the first and third mechanisms produce more intense effects than in any other place in the world.
Monsoons do occur in other parts of the world too, like in Australia and in the southwest portions of the United States. As monsoons have gradually been understood better, the term has now been broadened to include almost all phenomena associated with the annual weather cycle within the tropical and subtropical continents of Asia, Australia and Africa, and the adjacent seas, and to indicate climatic systems anywhere in which the moisture increases dramatically in the warm season. The Asian monsoon, which affects the Indian subcontinent and southeast part of the Asia, is the most noted of the monsoons.
The more popular south-western summer monsoons occur from June to September. Intense low pressure developed over central Asia, makes the jet stream of south-eastern winds to blow over this area, passing over south-east Asia, which experiences large amounts of rainfall in this period. Meanwhile, the south-west monsoon is drawn towards the Himalayas, creating winds blowing rain clouds towards India, which receive up to 400 or more inches of rain in some areas.
The north-eastern winter monsoons take place from December to early March – when temperatures over central Asia are lower, creating a zone of high pressure there. The resultant jet stream directing north-easterly winds to blow across south Asia create dry air streams that produce clear skies over India from the months of November to May. Meanwhile, a low pressure system develops over northern Australia and winds are directed towards Australia. During the NE winter monsoon, apart from north-eastern India, south-east Asia and Australia too receive large amounts of rainfall.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
copyright © Maxwell Pereira
Available at mfjpkamath@gmail.com ; or +0124-5111025 /…026/…027
Website: www.maxwellpereira.com
By Maxwell Pereira
mfjpkamath@gmail.com
The ‘mon-soon’ this year is ‘mon-late’… screamed a headline the other day, describing what’s foremost on the minds of most people ‘midst this blistering season of heat in Delhi and most other parts of north India around this time. As the heat wave sweeps across the land with its mercy-less broom, everyone is waiting in anticipation for the rains to come and cool down the climes, to relieve all from the furnacy climate that makes life a living hell, miserable and scorching.
To escape the rigours of the blistering summer, a minimissal few who can afford head to hill-stations or lands across the seas or mountains. While those who cannot, just suffer and wilt away even while hoping for the desert-ly loo bearing dusty winds to change to moisture laden rain bearing ones, for relief and succour to fauna, flora and the human stock alike.
In actual fact, the much awaited ‘monsoon’ hardly touches Delhi and surrounding parts of north India – unlike it does most of south India or north-eastern India that experience its real impact. For some of us who grew up in the South, monsoon meant the rains and the rainy season, there being only three seasons in a year – the summer, rainy and the winter, to contend with.
Even so, the very term ‘monsoon’ owes its origin, we are told, to the Arabic mausin or mausem which means season (…or the season of winds) - most often applied to the seasonal reversals of the wind direction along the shores of the Indian Ocean, and especially in the Arabian Sea, that blow from the southwest during one half of the year and from the northeast during the other.
Traditionally, the legendary Greek sailor Hippalus was credited to have been the first to use the monsoon to speed across the Indian Ocean, and so the ancient name for the monsoon was also called Hippalus. But perhaps he was simply the first Greek to master the monsoon, since Yemeni sailors were known to be trading with India long before his time.
A monsoon seasonal change is characterized by a variety of physical mechanisms which produce strong seasonal winds, a wet summer and a dry winter. All monsoons share three basic physical mechanisms: differential heating between the land and oceans; Coriolis forces due to the rotation of the Earth; and the role of water which stores and releases energy as it changes from liquid to vapour and back. The combined effect of these three mechanisms produces the monsoon's characteristic reversals of high winds and precipitation.
Scientists have described two key ingredients needed to make a monsoon – a hot land mass and a cooler ocean. Monsoons occur when land heats up and cools down quicker than water. In summer, the land reaches a higher temperature than the ocean, making the air over it to rise – thereby causing an area of low pressure to make winds from areas of high pressure to blow over areas of low pressure. The constant moisture laden wind thus blowing from the ocean causes rainfall when it rises up and gets cooled. Conversely, in winter since the land cools down quickly, the ocean is warmer. Air then rises, causing a low over the ocean. The wind then blows back out over the ocean. Since the temperature difference between the ocean and land is less than in summer, this wind is not as constant.
Along this basic principle, the land mass of the Indian sub-continent absorbs heat faster from the sun than the surrounding Indian Ocean does. Consequently as the air rises, a cooler, moistier, and heavier air from over the ocean replaces it. This damp, cool layer over India is estimated to be up to three miles thick. As the cool air arrives, the winds also shift. During dry season, the winds blow offshore, from land to sea. Then, as the monsoon begins, the winds blow onshore, from sea to land. In the case of the Indian Ocean Monsoon the first and third mechanisms produce more intense effects than in any other place in the world.
Monsoons do occur in other parts of the world too, like in Australia and in the southwest portions of the United States. As monsoons have gradually been understood better, the term has now been broadened to include almost all phenomena associated with the annual weather cycle within the tropical and subtropical continents of Asia, Australia and Africa, and the adjacent seas, and to indicate climatic systems anywhere in which the moisture increases dramatically in the warm season. The Asian monsoon, which affects the Indian subcontinent and southeast part of the Asia, is the most noted of the monsoons.
The more popular south-western summer monsoons occur from June to September. Intense low pressure developed over central Asia, makes the jet stream of south-eastern winds to blow over this area, passing over south-east Asia, which experiences large amounts of rainfall in this period. Meanwhile, the south-west monsoon is drawn towards the Himalayas, creating winds blowing rain clouds towards India, which receive up to 400 or more inches of rain in some areas.
The north-eastern winter monsoons take place from December to early March – when temperatures over central Asia are lower, creating a zone of high pressure there. The resultant jet stream directing north-easterly winds to blow across south Asia create dry air streams that produce clear skies over India from the months of November to May. Meanwhile, a low pressure system develops over northern Australia and winds are directed towards Australia. During the NE winter monsoon, apart from north-eastern India, south-east Asia and Australia too receive large amounts of rainfall.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
copyright © Maxwell Pereira
Available at mfjpkamath@gmail.com ; or +0124-5111025 /…026/…027
Website: www.maxwellpereira.com
Tuesday 14 June 2005
Staying Alive
http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/
http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/articleshow/1141193.cms
http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/articlelist/-2128669051.cms
Times of India: EDITORIAL
BRIEF CASE:
Staying Alive
By MAXWELL PEREIRA
TUESDAY, JUNE 14, 2005
They say with advancement and development in society, life expectancy is getting longer. Even so, in this day and age it is rare to come across a centenarian, and rarer still is a super-centenarian who has crossed 110. Unlike the time when I grew up, there were many among us Mangaloreans who could then boast of more than one member in the family who had crossed a hundred. Documented in history are around 800 super-centenarians, doubtless a fraction of the number who have really lived, but the majority of claims to this age do not normally have sufficient documentary support to be regarded as valid. Three different types of documentation are used to verify age — birth or baptismal certificate, marriage certificate and census data.
Even though there may have been many more who lived beyond, it is widely believed that Jeanne-Louise Calment was the oldest human being having lived till the age of 122 years and 164 days and died in 1997. The oldest living man recognised by the Guinness Book is Shigechiyo Izumi who lived between 1865 to 1986. And the oldest human alive today is Hendrikie van Andel of Netherlands who was born on June 29, 1890. A social visit to Sterling, Scotland for my son Prashanth has assumed special significance on learning that his great-grand-aunt Lucy D' Abreu lives there. She just happens to be the oldest living human being today in the UK, who turned 113 on May 24. Of ethnic Indian origin and a Mangalorean born in India in 1892, we know of her in the community as the widow of Abundius. And Prashanth's maternal grandmother Joyce who lives in Morpeth, Northumberland is Lucy's niece, her late mother Josephine being Lucy's first cousin. Lucy's age has been authenticated by the Guinness Book of World Records. There are only 11 other people around the world older to her, as per the records maintained by the Gerontology Research Group, affiliated with the UCLA School of Medicine, of the oldest people alive.
The writer is a retired police officer.
http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/articleshow/1141193.cms
http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/articlelist/-2128669051.cms
Times of India: EDITORIAL
BRIEF CASE:
Staying Alive
By MAXWELL PEREIRA
TUESDAY, JUNE 14, 2005
They say with advancement and development in society, life expectancy is getting longer. Even so, in this day and age it is rare to come across a centenarian, and rarer still is a super-centenarian who has crossed 110. Unlike the time when I grew up, there were many among us Mangaloreans who could then boast of more than one member in the family who had crossed a hundred. Documented in history are around 800 super-centenarians, doubtless a fraction of the number who have really lived, but the majority of claims to this age do not normally have sufficient documentary support to be regarded as valid. Three different types of documentation are used to verify age — birth or baptismal certificate, marriage certificate and census data.
Even though there may have been many more who lived beyond, it is widely believed that Jeanne-Louise Calment was the oldest human being having lived till the age of 122 years and 164 days and died in 1997. The oldest living man recognised by the Guinness Book is Shigechiyo Izumi who lived between 1865 to 1986. And the oldest human alive today is Hendrikie van Andel of Netherlands who was born on June 29, 1890. A social visit to Sterling, Scotland for my son Prashanth has assumed special significance on learning that his great-grand-aunt Lucy D' Abreu lives there. She just happens to be the oldest living human being today in the UK, who turned 113 on May 24. Of ethnic Indian origin and a Mangalorean born in India in 1892, we know of her in the community as the widow of Abundius. And Prashanth's maternal grandmother Joyce who lives in Morpeth, Northumberland is Lucy's niece, her late mother Josephine being Lucy's first cousin. Lucy's age has been authenticated by the Guinness Book of World Records. There are only 11 other people around the world older to her, as per the records maintained by the Gerontology Research Group, affiliated with the UCLA School of Medicine, of the oldest people alive.
The writer is a retired police officer.
Thursday 19 May 2005
Grande Dame Lucy
Grande Dame Lucy
By Maxwell Pereira
maxpk@vsnl.com
They say with the advancement and development in society, the life expectancy of us homo sapiens has generally been getting longer. Even so, in this day and age it is rarely that one comes across a centenarian, and more rare is a supercentenarian who has crossed 110. Unlike the time when we grew up, for I remember, there were many among us Mangaloreans who could then boast of more than one member in the family who had crossed a hundred.
Documented in history are around eight hundred supercentenarians, doubtless a fraction of the number who have really lived, but the majority of claims to this age do not normally have sufficient documentary support to be regarded as validated. This is now changing as those born after birth registration was standardized in more countries and parts of countries attain supercentenarian age. Three different types of documentation are used to verify ages – birth or baptismal certificates, marriage certificates and census data.
Even though there may have been many more who lived beyond, we are told the oldest fully authenticated age to which any human has lived is the 122 years and 164 days of Frenchwoman Jeanne-Louise Calment, who died in 1997. The oldest living man recognized by the Guinness Book is Shigechiyo Izumi who lived between 1865 to 1986. And living today the oldest human is Hendrikje van Andel of Netherlands who was born on 29 June 1890.
Now for my son Prashanth, a social visit to Sterling, Scotland has assumed special significance, on learning that his great grand aunt Lucy D’Abreu lives there. She just happens to be the oldest living human being today in the UK, who will turn 113 on May 24. Of ethnic Indian origin and a Mangalorean born in India in 1892, we know of her in the community as the widow of Abundius. And Prashanth’s maternal grandmother Joyce who lives in Morpeth, Northumberland is Lucy’s niece, her late mother Josephine being Lucy’s first cousin.
Lucy’s age has been authenticated by the Guinness Book of world records. There are as on date only 11 other people around the world older to her, per records maintained by the Gerontology Research Group, affiliated with the UCLA School of Medicine, of the oldest people alive.
------------------------------------------------------------
19.05.2005: Copyright © Maxwell Pereira: 23718822; 60 Ashoka Road, New Delhi-110001
Available at mfjpkamath@gmail.com or maxpk@vsnl.com & http:/www.planetindia.net.maxwell
Published in the editorial page of The Times of India...
By Maxwell Pereira
maxpk@vsnl.com
They say with the advancement and development in society, the life expectancy of us homo sapiens has generally been getting longer. Even so, in this day and age it is rarely that one comes across a centenarian, and more rare is a supercentenarian who has crossed 110. Unlike the time when we grew up, for I remember, there were many among us Mangaloreans who could then boast of more than one member in the family who had crossed a hundred.
Documented in history are around eight hundred supercentenarians, doubtless a fraction of the number who have really lived, but the majority of claims to this age do not normally have sufficient documentary support to be regarded as validated. This is now changing as those born after birth registration was standardized in more countries and parts of countries attain supercentenarian age. Three different types of documentation are used to verify ages – birth or baptismal certificates, marriage certificates and census data.
Even though there may have been many more who lived beyond, we are told the oldest fully authenticated age to which any human has lived is the 122 years and 164 days of Frenchwoman Jeanne-Louise Calment, who died in 1997. The oldest living man recognized by the Guinness Book is Shigechiyo Izumi who lived between 1865 to 1986. And living today the oldest human is Hendrikje van Andel of Netherlands who was born on 29 June 1890.
Now for my son Prashanth, a social visit to Sterling, Scotland has assumed special significance, on learning that his great grand aunt Lucy D’Abreu lives there. She just happens to be the oldest living human being today in the UK, who will turn 113 on May 24. Of ethnic Indian origin and a Mangalorean born in India in 1892, we know of her in the community as the widow of Abundius. And Prashanth’s maternal grandmother Joyce who lives in Morpeth, Northumberland is Lucy’s niece, her late mother Josephine being Lucy’s first cousin.
Lucy’s age has been authenticated by the Guinness Book of world records. There are as on date only 11 other people around the world older to her, per records maintained by the Gerontology Research Group, affiliated with the UCLA School of Medicine, of the oldest people alive.
------------------------------------------------------------
19.05.2005: Copyright © Maxwell Pereira: 23718822; 60 Ashoka Road, New Delhi-110001
Available at mfjpkamath@gmail.com or maxpk@vsnl.com & http:/www.planetindia.net.maxwell
Published in the editorial page of The Times of India...
Tuesday 5 April 2005
Karol Josef Wojtyla: Pope John Paul - II
By Maxwell Pereira
Karol Josef Wojtyla (pronounced Voy-tee-wah) was born in Wadowice, Poland on May 18, 1920 to an administrative officer in the Polish army and a former schoolteacher. When young, Karol was athletic, and enjoyed playing soccer as a goalkeeper. As a daredevil swimmer he ventured often to swim in a flooded Swaka River. An excellent student, he served as president of his school sodality too.
He also enjoyed hiking, skiing, backpacking, and kayaking – like most young people, for whom he had a special place in his heart even in later life. Karol’s love of the theatre made him cherish ambitions to study literature and become a professional actor. During Nazi occupation Karol clandestinely pursued his studies and his acting, while working as a stonecutter to support himself and to hold the work permit he needed to avoid deportation or imprisonment. Karol Wojtyla was active in the UNIA, a Christian democratic underground organization. At the cost of endangering personal safety, he helped Jews find refuge from the Nazis.
While convalescing from an accident, Karol considered a religious vocation and by 1942 was studying for the priesthood. He was ordained a priest on November 1, 1946. In 1958 Father Wojtyla was named auxiliary bishop of Krakow and four years later assumed leadership of the diocese with the title of vicar capitular. He was a visible leader, often taking a public stand against communism and government officials. In 1967 Pope Paul VI elevated him to a cardinal. By this time several of his poems and writings had been published including "Easter Vigils and Other Poems".
On October 16, 1978, at age 58, he was elected the Supreme Pontiff of Roman Catholics all over the world, the 261st successor to St Peter in Rome – to succeed Pope John Paul I. Assuming the name John Paul II, he was the first Polish pope and also the first non-Italian pope since Pope Adrian VI in 1522. The new pope continued the tradition started by Pope Paul VI to travel, and in 26 years of his Pontificate covered 100 countries around the Globe, in effect circumnavigating it three times and logging more hours by airplane and Pope-mobile than any one ever before.
A man in the papal chair in an era when the church confronted the real prospect of nuclear war in a world divided between East and West, he preached a culture of peace. But in 1981 after he returned from a visit to the United States, Pope John Paul II was shot in the abdomen and severely injured as he entered St. Peter's Square to address a general audience. But soon after the hospitalisation and full recovery, he went straight to the prison and met with his would-be assassin Mehmet Ali Agca, in true Christian spirit to forgive him for his deed.
Charismatic and full of intellectual vigour and energy, John Paul II amply performed roles also of a philosopher, theologian, rhetorician and writer - and he brought to the papacy a new dimension of conservative authority while reaching beyond religion into human rights and politics. His encyclicals covering a range of vital issues of social and economic justice, mass deprivation, rights of the poor and human dignity – earning him rightly the sobriquet as the ‘millennium pope’ for more reasons than one.
A man of firm convictions, he practised and lived by his convictions; steadfastdly and stubbornly cracking down on emerging influences of liberalism and radical Catholic dissent. Especially in matters of divorce, homosexuality, abortion rights and contraception, ordination of women, and absolute rule of priestly celibacy.
Uncompromising throughout in his views on Catholicism’s bête-noir – Communism, his papacy reigned over the collapse of the USSR and the erosion of communism around the world. Be it the fall of the Berlin Wall or the defeat of communism, for him these would eventually happen by itself. His moral authority is credited to have demolished communism. Even so, he proved no less intolerant of capitalism for its heartlessness and decadence. With courage he spoke against wars, and opposed US intervention in Central America in the 1980s, the 1991 Gulf War, and the 2003 invasion of Iraq.
Always a supporter of the under dog, he advocated on behalf of the peoples of less developed countries in matters of third world debt; and in matters of extreme poverty – what he characterised as “perhaps the most pervasive and paralysing violation of human rights in our world”. And he opened up new vistas of dialogue for positive interactions with peoples of other religions – Jews, Muslims, and even Hindus. The first pope ever to set foot in a synagogue and a mosque. The peace processes between the Arabs and the Israelis, and elsewhere were not denied his touch.
The fast emerging threats of an advancing secular culture in Europe coupled with the growing thrust of Islam everywhere, the twin scourges of AIDS and poverty in Africa, a steady migration of a traditionally Catholic population in parts to Protestantism in Latin America, the crisis created by the scandal of sexual abuse by the clergy in the United States and the grappling with a fast-changing set of moral questions provoked by advances in medicine and genetics, as also the latest debate on euthanasia following the Shiavo case – are all a legacy left behind by a Pope despite his deft and effective handling of the same, with or without the criticism these issues and the church’s reaction/response thereto invariably attracted.
An ardent fan of the Blessed Mother Teresa, and an admirer of Mahatma Gandhi, John Paul II endeared himself to India, to which land and its people he specially devoted two of his visits – the first in 1986, and then again in 1999. His last official act was to sign the order elevating three Indian priests as Bishops.
900 words
05.04.2005: Copyright © Maxwell Pereira – who was privileged to be the Personal Security Officer to His Holiness during the Delhi lap of his 1986 India visit
Available for interaction at http://www. maxwellpereira.com and mfjpkamath@gmail.com
:60 Ashoka Road, New Delhi-110001.
Karol Josef Wojtyla (pronounced Voy-tee-wah) was born in Wadowice, Poland on May 18, 1920 to an administrative officer in the Polish army and a former schoolteacher. When young, Karol was athletic, and enjoyed playing soccer as a goalkeeper. As a daredevil swimmer he ventured often to swim in a flooded Swaka River. An excellent student, he served as president of his school sodality too.
He also enjoyed hiking, skiing, backpacking, and kayaking – like most young people, for whom he had a special place in his heart even in later life. Karol’s love of the theatre made him cherish ambitions to study literature and become a professional actor. During Nazi occupation Karol clandestinely pursued his studies and his acting, while working as a stonecutter to support himself and to hold the work permit he needed to avoid deportation or imprisonment. Karol Wojtyla was active in the UNIA, a Christian democratic underground organization. At the cost of endangering personal safety, he helped Jews find refuge from the Nazis.
While convalescing from an accident, Karol considered a religious vocation and by 1942 was studying for the priesthood. He was ordained a priest on November 1, 1946. In 1958 Father Wojtyla was named auxiliary bishop of Krakow and four years later assumed leadership of the diocese with the title of vicar capitular. He was a visible leader, often taking a public stand against communism and government officials. In 1967 Pope Paul VI elevated him to a cardinal. By this time several of his poems and writings had been published including "Easter Vigils and Other Poems".
On October 16, 1978, at age 58, he was elected the Supreme Pontiff of Roman Catholics all over the world, the 261st successor to St Peter in Rome – to succeed Pope John Paul I. Assuming the name John Paul II, he was the first Polish pope and also the first non-Italian pope since Pope Adrian VI in 1522. The new pope continued the tradition started by Pope Paul VI to travel, and in 26 years of his Pontificate covered 100 countries around the Globe, in effect circumnavigating it three times and logging more hours by airplane and Pope-mobile than any one ever before.
A man in the papal chair in an era when the church confronted the real prospect of nuclear war in a world divided between East and West, he preached a culture of peace. But in 1981 after he returned from a visit to the United States, Pope John Paul II was shot in the abdomen and severely injured as he entered St. Peter's Square to address a general audience. But soon after the hospitalisation and full recovery, he went straight to the prison and met with his would-be assassin Mehmet Ali Agca, in true Christian spirit to forgive him for his deed.
Charismatic and full of intellectual vigour and energy, John Paul II amply performed roles also of a philosopher, theologian, rhetorician and writer - and he brought to the papacy a new dimension of conservative authority while reaching beyond religion into human rights and politics. His encyclicals covering a range of vital issues of social and economic justice, mass deprivation, rights of the poor and human dignity – earning him rightly the sobriquet as the ‘millennium pope’ for more reasons than one.
A man of firm convictions, he practised and lived by his convictions; steadfastdly and stubbornly cracking down on emerging influences of liberalism and radical Catholic dissent. Especially in matters of divorce, homosexuality, abortion rights and contraception, ordination of women, and absolute rule of priestly celibacy.
Uncompromising throughout in his views on Catholicism’s bête-noir – Communism, his papacy reigned over the collapse of the USSR and the erosion of communism around the world. Be it the fall of the Berlin Wall or the defeat of communism, for him these would eventually happen by itself. His moral authority is credited to have demolished communism. Even so, he proved no less intolerant of capitalism for its heartlessness and decadence. With courage he spoke against wars, and opposed US intervention in Central America in the 1980s, the 1991 Gulf War, and the 2003 invasion of Iraq.
Always a supporter of the under dog, he advocated on behalf of the peoples of less developed countries in matters of third world debt; and in matters of extreme poverty – what he characterised as “perhaps the most pervasive and paralysing violation of human rights in our world”. And he opened up new vistas of dialogue for positive interactions with peoples of other religions – Jews, Muslims, and even Hindus. The first pope ever to set foot in a synagogue and a mosque. The peace processes between the Arabs and the Israelis, and elsewhere were not denied his touch.
The fast emerging threats of an advancing secular culture in Europe coupled with the growing thrust of Islam everywhere, the twin scourges of AIDS and poverty in Africa, a steady migration of a traditionally Catholic population in parts to Protestantism in Latin America, the crisis created by the scandal of sexual abuse by the clergy in the United States and the grappling with a fast-changing set of moral questions provoked by advances in medicine and genetics, as also the latest debate on euthanasia following the Shiavo case – are all a legacy left behind by a Pope despite his deft and effective handling of the same, with or without the criticism these issues and the church’s reaction/response thereto invariably attracted.
An ardent fan of the Blessed Mother Teresa, and an admirer of Mahatma Gandhi, John Paul II endeared himself to India, to which land and its people he specially devoted two of his visits – the first in 1986, and then again in 1999. His last official act was to sign the order elevating three Indian priests as Bishops.
900 words
05.04.2005: Copyright © Maxwell Pereira – who was privileged to be the Personal Security Officer to His Holiness during the Delhi lap of his 1986 India visit
Available for interaction at http://www. maxwellpereira.com and mfjpkamath@gmail.com
:60 Ashoka Road, New Delhi-110001.
Tuesday 15 March 2005
Exercising! Dieting… !
By Maxwell Pereira
There was a time, exercising came naturally, effortless. One did not need to be calculating calories of one’s intakes or the calories expended. The day’s routine and connected activities ensured the needful – kept one fit as a fiddle and trim as a tripod, or as a bi-pod if you prefered it that way! And for effect, erect as a ramrod! – though most ramrods one has seen in movies alone, have been used horizontally to ram bastions of castles and forts to gain access or entry – and not vertically as ‘erect’ would normally indicate.
But returning to the subject of discussion, one agrees that exercise is an excellent and necessary tool in the prevention of heart disease – believedly the major killer of mankind – and offers dramatic benefits for heart patients. Exercise can slow or even reverse atherosclerosis, manage or lower (blood pressure), reduce cholesterol levels, help lose weight in a healthier way, reduce stress and depression and make you live a longer and more energetic life.
As one advances in age, one experiences the sands of time though have gradually evolved exercising concepts from the abstract unconscious to the tangible realm of the conscious, when not only is one conscious, but has to make conscious effort to exercise. And direct such exercise to specific targets – be it specific to parts of one’s anatomy or what’s internal to one’s anatomy. Like one’s aches and pains or other ailments, physical or mental.
With this evolution comes also the need for regularity, failing which adverse consequences are round the corner – and with this regularity comes the need to devote time, take time off to exercise.
The more conscious one gets, the needs increase. The ones who never jogged before find the need to jog. The ones who pooh-poohed yoga as mere mumbo-jumbo suddenly find virtues in it, start reading stuff on it, even taking pains to find a teacher to put you through the basics and processes. It is amazing how yoga has taken the western world by storm, for someone told me the other day that the American continent today has more teachers, institutes, research centres and published literature on yoga, than India has ever produced in all of its history over 5000 years!
But here, yoga is just an example. For some it may be yoga, for others it could be other forms of the same stuff being touted by a plethora of fitness gurus – in the form of the exerting physical yoga, elevating spiritual yoga, vipasana, the art of living, or whatever…. For many others, the truly old tried and tested constitutional, the morning walk. And to those who prefer, the evening walk too. And before you know, you have graduated to the Walkers’ Club, even getting passionately addicted to it, to wax eloquent on its virtues at every opportunity that presents itself.
For those bitten by the exercise bug when still young, the need to get a ‘high’ through more vigorous forms of aerobics, power dancing to synchronised dancing and so on, grip the mind. And lately, the young ones swear by Salsa dancing as one of the best forms of exercise for boosting physical endurance and range of motion; for weight loss and muscle gain by burning up to 10 calories a minute without harmful side effects caused by high impact exercises – all while enjoying the latest social trends of the jet-set salsa types.
Conscious exercising drags in with it the thirst for every other form of recommended habit, practices and therapies – be it hydrotherapy or physiotherapy that gradually spreads its tentacles to meander through trodden and un-trodden realms and paths, and into the passions and pleasures of the masseuse’ world. To reach levels of nigh addiction. Massage and especially the therapeutic ayurvedic type gets addictive, as it improves circulation, encourages healing of sports and age related injuries and assists with managing pain, headaches, fatigue and other chronic conditions. It also supports and encourages a more youthful, vibrant appearance, and assists in retaining healthy, supple skin and muscle tone. Massage is a comforting, supportive, soothing and stress reducing way to recover and heal from the demands of our modern busy lives, and enables us to refresh and return to our lives and loved ones with a new sense of calm, peace, composure and security.
And then, most importantly, the realm of diets! Talking of diets, being one of those subjected to regular and strict dozes through childhood to purgatives like castor-oil and Epsom salts, followed by concoctions of bitters from a variety of tree barks to zardaal nutmegs and kiraten herbs, to decoctions or kashayams of pepper and selected spices or a variety of herbals to ward off severe colds and headaches, and some others laced with hing-asafoetida to ward off stomach ailments or remove flatulence – I had thought I had seen it all.
But no! Into adulthood too followed the kashayams and brews to envigorate you periodically, and cleanse you internally by purification of the blood through calculated dozes of unadulterated karela applications, and ‘neem concentrates insisted on by my late mother – God bless her departed soul – to whose foresight and insistence perhaps I owe a fairly strong and sturdy, and a free-of-serious-ailment constitution even at the stage of superannuation from active police service.
Even so, I am afraid, there has now come a time when one finds oneself with a questioning mind, wanting to know “Oh why! Why do I need to punish my body so much?! Is there really no room left for a less rigorous routine, a mellowed doze to caress the senses and the weakening flesh, to a smoother nirvana?”
900 words
15.03.2005: Copyright © Maxwell Pereira: 60 Ashoka Road, New Delhi-110001
You can interact with the author at http://www. maxwellpereira.com and maxpk@vsnl.com ; tel-23718822.
published in the Delhi Mid-Day, Wednesday, March 16...
There was a time, exercising came naturally, effortless. One did not need to be calculating calories of one’s intakes or the calories expended. The day’s routine and connected activities ensured the needful – kept one fit as a fiddle and trim as a tripod, or as a bi-pod if you prefered it that way! And for effect, erect as a ramrod! – though most ramrods one has seen in movies alone, have been used horizontally to ram bastions of castles and forts to gain access or entry – and not vertically as ‘erect’ would normally indicate.
But returning to the subject of discussion, one agrees that exercise is an excellent and necessary tool in the prevention of heart disease – believedly the major killer of mankind – and offers dramatic benefits for heart patients. Exercise can slow or even reverse atherosclerosis, manage or lower (blood pressure), reduce cholesterol levels, help lose weight in a healthier way, reduce stress and depression and make you live a longer and more energetic life.
As one advances in age, one experiences the sands of time though have gradually evolved exercising concepts from the abstract unconscious to the tangible realm of the conscious, when not only is one conscious, but has to make conscious effort to exercise. And direct such exercise to specific targets – be it specific to parts of one’s anatomy or what’s internal to one’s anatomy. Like one’s aches and pains or other ailments, physical or mental.
With this evolution comes also the need for regularity, failing which adverse consequences are round the corner – and with this regularity comes the need to devote time, take time off to exercise.
The more conscious one gets, the needs increase. The ones who never jogged before find the need to jog. The ones who pooh-poohed yoga as mere mumbo-jumbo suddenly find virtues in it, start reading stuff on it, even taking pains to find a teacher to put you through the basics and processes. It is amazing how yoga has taken the western world by storm, for someone told me the other day that the American continent today has more teachers, institutes, research centres and published literature on yoga, than India has ever produced in all of its history over 5000 years!
But here, yoga is just an example. For some it may be yoga, for others it could be other forms of the same stuff being touted by a plethora of fitness gurus – in the form of the exerting physical yoga, elevating spiritual yoga, vipasana, the art of living, or whatever…. For many others, the truly old tried and tested constitutional, the morning walk. And to those who prefer, the evening walk too. And before you know, you have graduated to the Walkers’ Club, even getting passionately addicted to it, to wax eloquent on its virtues at every opportunity that presents itself.
For those bitten by the exercise bug when still young, the need to get a ‘high’ through more vigorous forms of aerobics, power dancing to synchronised dancing and so on, grip the mind. And lately, the young ones swear by Salsa dancing as one of the best forms of exercise for boosting physical endurance and range of motion; for weight loss and muscle gain by burning up to 10 calories a minute without harmful side effects caused by high impact exercises – all while enjoying the latest social trends of the jet-set salsa types.
Conscious exercising drags in with it the thirst for every other form of recommended habit, practices and therapies – be it hydrotherapy or physiotherapy that gradually spreads its tentacles to meander through trodden and un-trodden realms and paths, and into the passions and pleasures of the masseuse’ world. To reach levels of nigh addiction. Massage and especially the therapeutic ayurvedic type gets addictive, as it improves circulation, encourages healing of sports and age related injuries and assists with managing pain, headaches, fatigue and other chronic conditions. It also supports and encourages a more youthful, vibrant appearance, and assists in retaining healthy, supple skin and muscle tone. Massage is a comforting, supportive, soothing and stress reducing way to recover and heal from the demands of our modern busy lives, and enables us to refresh and return to our lives and loved ones with a new sense of calm, peace, composure and security.
And then, most importantly, the realm of diets! Talking of diets, being one of those subjected to regular and strict dozes through childhood to purgatives like castor-oil and Epsom salts, followed by concoctions of bitters from a variety of tree barks to zardaal nutmegs and kiraten herbs, to decoctions or kashayams of pepper and selected spices or a variety of herbals to ward off severe colds and headaches, and some others laced with hing-asafoetida to ward off stomach ailments or remove flatulence – I had thought I had seen it all.
But no! Into adulthood too followed the kashayams and brews to envigorate you periodically, and cleanse you internally by purification of the blood through calculated dozes of unadulterated karela applications, and ‘neem concentrates insisted on by my late mother – God bless her departed soul – to whose foresight and insistence perhaps I owe a fairly strong and sturdy, and a free-of-serious-ailment constitution even at the stage of superannuation from active police service.
Even so, I am afraid, there has now come a time when one finds oneself with a questioning mind, wanting to know “Oh why! Why do I need to punish my body so much?! Is there really no room left for a less rigorous routine, a mellowed doze to caress the senses and the weakening flesh, to a smoother nirvana?”
900 words
15.03.2005: Copyright © Maxwell Pereira: 60 Ashoka Road, New Delhi-110001
You can interact with the author at http://www. maxwellpereira.com and maxpk@vsnl.com ; tel-23718822.
published in the Delhi Mid-Day, Wednesday, March 16...
Monday 7 March 2005
Shakespeare – Indian ?
By Maxwell Pereira
A debate had raged a while ago, regarding the claimed actual origins of the greatest ever play-write, Shakespeare. The controversy was over the belief of some Arabs that the Bard of Avon was indeed their own Arab trader Sheik-Zabir, whose literary legacy the English had usurped! According to them, the worthy while in England on business, had observed the obsession of the locals for theatre, and sought to use this to his advantage. To promote his own trade by catering to their love of the stage, he put up a play titled Othello based on a Mediterranean tragedy he was familiar with. The play was a run-away success, and its writer was motivated into writing more for the stage; which ultimately led to this Arab trader to permanently settle in England.
I had occasion recently to remember this tale, when I encountered an even more intriguing claim that Shakespeare was in fact an Indian, and really a woman. A claim like the Arabs’ Sheik-Zabir, and more, recorded in 1942 in the college magazine of my alma mater St Aloysius’ at Mangalore – through the humorous pen of an alumnus Haridas Purshattam. This interesting piece of writing merited a place in the compilation “On Eagle’s Wings” of tid-bits put together by Prashanth Madtha from across 125 years of the College’s existence.
Dr Aybeesee Ph.D (Physical Director), the worthy informed his fellow college mates – during his recent excavations at Konchadi, had come across a rare inscription to prove that Shakespeare was none other than Tippu’s soldier Sheshappayya. During the Third Mysore War, this soldier was taken prisoner by the British. Cornwallis mistook him for Tippu himself, and took him to England where he was received by Sir Walter Raleigh. By the time Cornwallis realised his blunder and released him, Raleigh had been so deeply impressed by Sheshappaiyya, that he urged him to stay on. Sheshappaiyya gained employment in the Globe Theatre and started writing dramas (plays) and eventually was transformed into Shakespeare.
If this story was not enough, the writer had more – this one from the ‘unearthly’ pot in Bengal that Professor Exwyzed M.Sc. (Moral Science) had unearthed. Here, one Shah Behari who went to England for higher studies, fell in love with a not-so-beautiful lady. He then abandoned not the lady, but the idea of his return to India, and remained with his name changed to Shakespeare. In yet another tale, it was Khan Sahib Prof Hakeem M.D. of Kasaigully who discovered an inscription at Kudroli. Here it was Sheik Byari, a wealthy perfumer and a poet who went to England to become Shakespeare.
The writer in the St. Aloysius’ magazine continued, with another latest discovery by a gentleman who preferred to remain incognito – for only he knew that Shakespeare was a woman! And that was queen Mumtaz mahal, generally known as Shah-ki-Pyari (darling of the Shah). She received English education, wished to go to England to play tennis in slacks at Oxford; where, lo and behold, her name was entered in the Oxford rolls as Shakespeare instead of Shahkipyari.
The legends and myths surrounding Shakespeare are legion. But I am sure none of them would have made the poor play-write turn in his grave as many times as the ones perhaps that link him to his Indian origins – so claimed, in my College Annual of 1942. More, the one that makes him not a he, but a she.
William Shakespeare, the Brits are very sure, was born in England, on 23 April – the date known traditionally; and the register at the Holy Trinity Church at his birthplace Stratford, records his baptism on 26th April. He was one of Mary and John Shakespeares’ five children, of whom two died before William was born, and another was lost when still young. The town Stratford-upon-Avon where he was born in 1564 is located in the centre of England, which has always been, and still is, an important river-crossing settlement and market centre.
William’s father, John, trained as a glove-maker and married Mary Arden, the daughter of Robert Arden, a farmer from the nearby village of Wilmcote. John and Mary set up home in Henley Street, Stratford, in the house now known as Shakespeare's Birthplace. John Shakespeare was a prominent citizen, serving on the town council for many years and becoming Bailiff, or Mayor, in 1568. Besides his craft as a glover, he traded as a wool dealer and was also involved in money-lending.
As the son of a leading townsman, William is said to have studied at Stratford. Some of his ideas for plots and characters probably came from Ovid's tales, the plays of Terence and Plautus, and Roman history. It is not known what Shakespeare did when he left school. At the age of 18, in November 1582, he married Anne Hathaway (26), the daughter of Richard Hathaway, a local farmer. They had three children - Susanna, and twins Hamnet and Judith.
No one knows when or why Shakespeare left Stratford for London, or what he was doing before becoming a professional actor and dramatist in the capital. Among the tales concerning his 'lost years' between 1585 and 1592, is one that tells how he was caught poaching deer in Charlecote Park, near Stratford, and went off to London to avoid prosecution.
Shakespeare's reputation was established in London by 1592; in the year Robert Greene, another dramatist, called him 'an upstart crow' - envious of his success. 1n 1594, Shakespeare joined others in forming a new theatre company, under the patronage of the Lord Chamberlain, and for almost twenty years remained its regular dramatist, producing on average two plays a year.
900 words
07.03.2005: Copyright © Maxwell Pereira: 60 Ashoka Road, New Delhi-110001
The author would love you to interact with him at http://www. maxwellpereira.com
published in the Delhi Mid-Day
A debate had raged a while ago, regarding the claimed actual origins of the greatest ever play-write, Shakespeare. The controversy was over the belief of some Arabs that the Bard of Avon was indeed their own Arab trader Sheik-Zabir, whose literary legacy the English had usurped! According to them, the worthy while in England on business, had observed the obsession of the locals for theatre, and sought to use this to his advantage. To promote his own trade by catering to their love of the stage, he put up a play titled Othello based on a Mediterranean tragedy he was familiar with. The play was a run-away success, and its writer was motivated into writing more for the stage; which ultimately led to this Arab trader to permanently settle in England.
I had occasion recently to remember this tale, when I encountered an even more intriguing claim that Shakespeare was in fact an Indian, and really a woman. A claim like the Arabs’ Sheik-Zabir, and more, recorded in 1942 in the college magazine of my alma mater St Aloysius’ at Mangalore – through the humorous pen of an alumnus Haridas Purshattam. This interesting piece of writing merited a place in the compilation “On Eagle’s Wings” of tid-bits put together by Prashanth Madtha from across 125 years of the College’s existence.
Dr Aybeesee Ph.D (Physical Director), the worthy informed his fellow college mates – during his recent excavations at Konchadi, had come across a rare inscription to prove that Shakespeare was none other than Tippu’s soldier Sheshappayya. During the Third Mysore War, this soldier was taken prisoner by the British. Cornwallis mistook him for Tippu himself, and took him to England where he was received by Sir Walter Raleigh. By the time Cornwallis realised his blunder and released him, Raleigh had been so deeply impressed by Sheshappaiyya, that he urged him to stay on. Sheshappaiyya gained employment in the Globe Theatre and started writing dramas (plays) and eventually was transformed into Shakespeare.
If this story was not enough, the writer had more – this one from the ‘unearthly’ pot in Bengal that Professor Exwyzed M.Sc. (Moral Science) had unearthed. Here, one Shah Behari who went to England for higher studies, fell in love with a not-so-beautiful lady. He then abandoned not the lady, but the idea of his return to India, and remained with his name changed to Shakespeare. In yet another tale, it was Khan Sahib Prof Hakeem M.D. of Kasaigully who discovered an inscription at Kudroli. Here it was Sheik Byari, a wealthy perfumer and a poet who went to England to become Shakespeare.
The writer in the St. Aloysius’ magazine continued, with another latest discovery by a gentleman who preferred to remain incognito – for only he knew that Shakespeare was a woman! And that was queen Mumtaz mahal, generally known as Shah-ki-Pyari (darling of the Shah). She received English education, wished to go to England to play tennis in slacks at Oxford; where, lo and behold, her name was entered in the Oxford rolls as Shakespeare instead of Shahkipyari.
The legends and myths surrounding Shakespeare are legion. But I am sure none of them would have made the poor play-write turn in his grave as many times as the ones perhaps that link him to his Indian origins – so claimed, in my College Annual of 1942. More, the one that makes him not a he, but a she.
William Shakespeare, the Brits are very sure, was born in England, on 23 April – the date known traditionally; and the register at the Holy Trinity Church at his birthplace Stratford, records his baptism on 26th April. He was one of Mary and John Shakespeares’ five children, of whom two died before William was born, and another was lost when still young. The town Stratford-upon-Avon where he was born in 1564 is located in the centre of England, which has always been, and still is, an important river-crossing settlement and market centre.
William’s father, John, trained as a glove-maker and married Mary Arden, the daughter of Robert Arden, a farmer from the nearby village of Wilmcote. John and Mary set up home in Henley Street, Stratford, in the house now known as Shakespeare's Birthplace. John Shakespeare was a prominent citizen, serving on the town council for many years and becoming Bailiff, or Mayor, in 1568. Besides his craft as a glover, he traded as a wool dealer and was also involved in money-lending.
As the son of a leading townsman, William is said to have studied at Stratford. Some of his ideas for plots and characters probably came from Ovid's tales, the plays of Terence and Plautus, and Roman history. It is not known what Shakespeare did when he left school. At the age of 18, in November 1582, he married Anne Hathaway (26), the daughter of Richard Hathaway, a local farmer. They had three children - Susanna, and twins Hamnet and Judith.
No one knows when or why Shakespeare left Stratford for London, or what he was doing before becoming a professional actor and dramatist in the capital. Among the tales concerning his 'lost years' between 1585 and 1592, is one that tells how he was caught poaching deer in Charlecote Park, near Stratford, and went off to London to avoid prosecution.
Shakespeare's reputation was established in London by 1592; in the year Robert Greene, another dramatist, called him 'an upstart crow' - envious of his success. 1n 1594, Shakespeare joined others in forming a new theatre company, under the patronage of the Lord Chamberlain, and for almost twenty years remained its regular dramatist, producing on average two plays a year.
900 words
07.03.2005: Copyright © Maxwell Pereira: 60 Ashoka Road, New Delhi-110001
The author would love you to interact with him at http://www. maxwellpereira.com
published in the Delhi Mid-Day
Friday 4 March 2005
A Faithful Remembers….
By Maxwell Pereira
maxpk@vsnl.com
As millions around the world pray today for the most prominent religious leader in the world, my mind goes back to February 1986. The time when Karol Josef Wojtyla visited India for the first time. Of Polish origin and a survivor of the II-World War ravages, he had opted for priesthood and risen to become the Supreme Pontiff of Roman Catholics all over the world, the 261st successor to St Peter in Rome, who chose the name John Paul II when he was elected Pope in 1978 soon after his predecessor John Paul I died with less than a month in office.
I recall the excitement within me, as just before and in the run up to the impending visit, I was informed I would be the PSO (personal security officer) to the visiting Pontiff during the Delhi lap of his India visit. A job normally assigned to officers from Delhi Police’s Security Unit, and usually at an Assistant Commissioner’s level. Not only was I slightly more senior, not from Security, but handling a normally-not-spared-from ‘District’ charge, as DCP/South.
So I was there at Palam airport on Feb 2, hovering behind the line up of VVIPs there to receive His Holiness as he stepped out of the plane, and waved to those assembled below even as spontaneous shouts and cheers rent the air. President Giani Zail Singh, Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi and other dignitaries waited patiently for the Pontiff to climb down the ladder, but before they could shake his hands in greeting, there was the Pope bending down fully prostrate on the tarmac and kissing the soil of the country of his visit in blessing.
Following the ceremonial reception, the first port of call was to the Sacred Heart Cathedral near Gol dak-khana – and throughout the long drive involved, I found myself in a trance, literally in awe in the virtual presence of the man – The Almighty’s representative on earth. An unbelievable unlikely happenning even in the wildest of my dreams. The hair on my hands was standing, even as I sat on the edge of my seat just in front of the Pontiff sitting in the back seat of the six-door Presidential Mercedes with Delhi’s then Archbishop Angelo Fernandes – fighting my awe-stricken trance for the alertness needed of a security officer guarding a VIP.
There are some unforgettable visages indelibly planted on my mind’s screen of experiences that brought me down to earth to tell me he was still a human: Like when throughout all jouneys in Delhi over the next two days, I was acutely conscious and aware of the Pontiff’s hand placed on my right shoulder, even as he conversed with the Archbishop and took in the sights and sounds of Delhi as we travelled. Like the time when a ‘thunderbox’ portable commode of some old nuns from the neighbouring CJM had to be smuggled into the Cathedral Sacristy for the man to do something no one else could do for him in a church without a toilet – an unpardonable lapse of an unanticipated contigency. Like when I, a Catholic boy brought up with immense reverence to the cassock and the ‘habit’ had to heave and shove the lot of stampeding Bishops from all over the country at the IG Indoor Stadium, eager to hold the Pontiff’s hand, touch his body or even just the tip of his robes! Like when the accompanying tall Swiss guards on sighting a tiny-tot in the gathering would yell out “bambino, bambino” and His Holiness would hold aloft the baby with delight, for all around to view. Like the time during one of the car journeys, he willingly obliged me and blessed the family rosaries and all the gold which I carried in a pouch just for the purpose.
And not the least, a personal audience and blessing he granted me, my wife and three little children, just before departing to the airport for other ports of call elsewhere in India. My delight had known no bounds when weeks later the Vatican Nunciature in Delhi had invited me over for the Papal Nuncio to present me with a parcel of large sized photographs received from Rome, so graciously sent by the Vatican for me and my family to remember our moments with the Pope.
Even as I reminisce and write this, the Vatican and millions of people around the world are bracing themselves for the apparent inevitable. Newsreports everywhere are announcing that Pope John Paul II is edging closer to death, having sufferred multiple organ failure and other complications. In what is likely the last struggle of his 26-year papacy, the 84-year-old pontiff has prayed with aides and doctors as his kidneys faltered, his breathing grew shallow, his heartbeat slowed and his blood pressure plummeted…. the vicar of Vatican City, has told thousands of anxious worshipers gathered in St. Peter's Square, "This evening or tonight, Christ will open the gates to the pope."
maxpk@vsnl.com
As millions around the world pray today for the most prominent religious leader in the world, my mind goes back to February 1986. The time when Karol Josef Wojtyla visited India for the first time. Of Polish origin and a survivor of the II-World War ravages, he had opted for priesthood and risen to become the Supreme Pontiff of Roman Catholics all over the world, the 261st successor to St Peter in Rome, who chose the name John Paul II when he was elected Pope in 1978 soon after his predecessor John Paul I died with less than a month in office.
I recall the excitement within me, as just before and in the run up to the impending visit, I was informed I would be the PSO (personal security officer) to the visiting Pontiff during the Delhi lap of his India visit. A job normally assigned to officers from Delhi Police’s Security Unit, and usually at an Assistant Commissioner’s level. Not only was I slightly more senior, not from Security, but handling a normally-not-spared-from ‘District’ charge, as DCP/South.
So I was there at Palam airport on Feb 2, hovering behind the line up of VVIPs there to receive His Holiness as he stepped out of the plane, and waved to those assembled below even as spontaneous shouts and cheers rent the air. President Giani Zail Singh, Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi and other dignitaries waited patiently for the Pontiff to climb down the ladder, but before they could shake his hands in greeting, there was the Pope bending down fully prostrate on the tarmac and kissing the soil of the country of his visit in blessing.
Following the ceremonial reception, the first port of call was to the Sacred Heart Cathedral near Gol dak-khana – and throughout the long drive involved, I found myself in a trance, literally in awe in the virtual presence of the man – The Almighty’s representative on earth. An unbelievable unlikely happenning even in the wildest of my dreams. The hair on my hands was standing, even as I sat on the edge of my seat just in front of the Pontiff sitting in the back seat of the six-door Presidential Mercedes with Delhi’s then Archbishop Angelo Fernandes – fighting my awe-stricken trance for the alertness needed of a security officer guarding a VIP.
There are some unforgettable visages indelibly planted on my mind’s screen of experiences that brought me down to earth to tell me he was still a human: Like when throughout all jouneys in Delhi over the next two days, I was acutely conscious and aware of the Pontiff’s hand placed on my right shoulder, even as he conversed with the Archbishop and took in the sights and sounds of Delhi as we travelled. Like the time when a ‘thunderbox’ portable commode of some old nuns from the neighbouring CJM had to be smuggled into the Cathedral Sacristy for the man to do something no one else could do for him in a church without a toilet – an unpardonable lapse of an unanticipated contigency. Like when I, a Catholic boy brought up with immense reverence to the cassock and the ‘habit’ had to heave and shove the lot of stampeding Bishops from all over the country at the IG Indoor Stadium, eager to hold the Pontiff’s hand, touch his body or even just the tip of his robes! Like when the accompanying tall Swiss guards on sighting a tiny-tot in the gathering would yell out “bambino, bambino” and His Holiness would hold aloft the baby with delight, for all around to view. Like the time during one of the car journeys, he willingly obliged me and blessed the family rosaries and all the gold which I carried in a pouch just for the purpose.
And not the least, a personal audience and blessing he granted me, my wife and three little children, just before departing to the airport for other ports of call elsewhere in India. My delight had known no bounds when weeks later the Vatican Nunciature in Delhi had invited me over for the Papal Nuncio to present me with a parcel of large sized photographs received from Rome, so graciously sent by the Vatican for me and my family to remember our moments with the Pope.
Even as I reminisce and write this, the Vatican and millions of people around the world are bracing themselves for the apparent inevitable. Newsreports everywhere are announcing that Pope John Paul II is edging closer to death, having sufferred multiple organ failure and other complications. In what is likely the last struggle of his 26-year papacy, the 84-year-old pontiff has prayed with aides and doctors as his kidneys faltered, his breathing grew shallow, his heartbeat slowed and his blood pressure plummeted…. the vicar of Vatican City, has told thousands of anxious worshipers gathered in St. Peter's Square, "This evening or tonight, Christ will open the gates to the pope."
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