Skip to main content

Beyond words

Read this to know how bastards we are.

Shooting survivor tells of torture ordeal

Thanks to Feroze for this link.

Comments

Pip Squeak said…
Watch 15 Park Avenue.

The movie was horrible, but it has a similar scene. It would elicit similar posts from you, I imagine....
Very, very disturbing.

Read the Kali Pujo and goat sacrifice post of yours and agree with you on the inhumanity of it all. I also agree that we are carnivores and all the crap about food chain and ecological balance. What I fail to fathom is the gruesome way animals are sacrificed. You do know about the arai pyanch throat slit and how animals are allowed to bleed to death for it to be halal or kosher. And all in the name of God. I read something about factory farming in the US (I even wrote a post on that)which swore me off eating meat in the US altogether. If you think it is not right, then how do you enjoy the meal?
Ghetufool said…
welcome m,
i was moved by the sacrifice thingy.
no, i did not enjoy the meal. i didnt eat it. i told them not to give me any as i was sick (pretended).
as i said earlier, i have no objection against killing, but the only objection is in the cruelty.
these animals are very smart and intelligent with a strong impulse of sixth sense.
and you may laugh, i must say, animals are pretty sentimentals. you love one, you will know. i am not talking about dogs. you love a hen or a cow and you will see the result.
as for arai panch, well, i should not say anything. that's custom. there must have some logic in it.
in fact i know some logic that was pretty convincing.
Pip Squeak said…
Personally, I think that the only 'convincing' logic in customs is when you read between the lines. Namely an excuse to celebrate, adn an excuse to show sense of togetherness.
Ghetufool said…
...or an excuse to exercise owr jungle days, savage way of life.

Popular posts from this blog

Kaun banega karorpati...dwitiya

--Namaste, satsriakaal, aadab, mein amitabh bacchan aapke samne, leke hajir hua hu, phir ek bar, kaun banega karorpati dwitiya.
(audiences in dark start clapping along with a music as if crusader king Richard of England just captured the castle of a jehadi king)
Aaj, mere samne beithe hai Jarshad kakiara…kakku…cuckoo…
(a club-shaped man intervenes, with a child-like smile, “Kakkrakandy”)
Ji haa, kakkara (“kandy”, the man again intervenes with a shy smile)
-Yes, Jarshad kakk…, whatever, aiye aap aur hum khele yeh adbhut game, jiska naam hei …(looks at the club-shaped man)
Jarshad Kakkrakandy, answers “kauun banayega karrorrpatti”

Amitabh shows Jarshad the seat, adjusts the seat for him. Jarshad sits, the chair shrieks.

--aur abhi mere samne baithe hain Jarshad n. k., from Chennai, who is a journalist with reuters, loves reading dilbert, unka favourite movie hai “chandramukhi”. And he is the self-proclaimed ‘king of PJ’.

--Haan to Jarshad saab, aapne likhe hein ke apke naam hei Jarshad n.k. now …

On Mithi

I became a father on 18 November, 2014. At that moment when fatherhood embraced me, perhaps I should have been elated, jumping up and down and doing all sort of activities that new fathers do, at least, that's what most sane people do. But nothing of that sort happened to me. When I heard my baby's voice, first like an angry cat and then a mild wail wafting across the operation theatre to the waiting area where we all were pacing up and down, the first thought that hit me was how was my wife? It was a C-section and she was partially unconscious. I should not have read Internet too much, for I was reading all sorts of horror stories, of mothers not waking up or recovering etc. I was petrified as I was not hearing my wife's voice. The doctors and sisters inside the operation theater must have been very busy with their other procedures. In fact, after bringing out the baby from the womb, they were busy closing the cut, I later got to know.
The realisation of becoming a fathe…

The Sculptor's Tale

(Note to readers ... mainly Ian, who is the only one who reads this blog >> i just finished writing this in office. didn't even re-read it after writing, forget editing. Expect a leaner/fatter and better written version, if my mood permits.)
Keep your hands busy, said my father every time I used to lean against the tree to catch my breath. Keep your hands busy you idiot, keep your hands busy, don’t let your head decide for you. Keep your hands busy, he would coax me to get working. And so I would again start chiselling the chunk of rock, along the lines my father, a master sculptor, had already outlined. But I would still dream with eyes wide open. When the hammer used to fall so gently yet firm on the chisel, I used to dream of the cities and the grand mansions. I was not good in sculpting, yet I wanted to be the greatest sculptor in this world. I wanted to be honoured by my king. I wanted to be the subject for which kings wage wars against each other. I was a dreamer, I …