Journalist at her best - Mika Brezinski

In this case, the video is self-explanatory - Kudos to her, and Amit thank you for posting this on your blog.

A 15 yr old surgeon and his crazy parents

I thought fat farms in Africa, and women only beaches in Italy were rather interesting news items, until I read this article. Will miracles never cease? I guess not, as long as idiots like them exist in the world, we will always witness these 'miracles' of pure unadultered stupidity and mindless idiocy.

In this piece of very refreshing and mind-numbing lunacy, we find a 15 year old boy in Tamil Nadu, South India, performing a C-section under the very watchful eyes of his parents, who are both physicians (see image on the left). The reason for this bit of lunacy, well, which parent can resist the though that their son could possibly enter the Guiness Book of World Records.

Alas, the poor souls never imagined that they would end up in prison for such a noble thought. Idiots.

Another article, on the same issue, ends with a quote from a spokesperson at Guiness Records:

Guinness does not endorse such attempts because they encourage "bad medicine."

Finally, someone makes sense, in a remote indirect way, but this is better than letting a 15 year old practise C-sections on poor, unsuspecting women!

Oh, and for those anxious to know the fate of the baby (see the attached image of the mother Nyla, 27 with her child), apparently the child was born with a lump on the spinal cord, but the birth defect had nothing to do with the surgery.

Oh Joy!

A stretch of Beach, only for women....

I think this is probably one of the more innovative ideas I've heard to lure guests into a resort, especially women. Who can resist the idea of a stretch of beach, especially along the Italian seaside, without the intrusive presence of men? Woohoo..:)

I think, I rather prefer going to Marina Beach in Madras with my entire family, cousins, parents, aunts and a whole lot of men, women and children :) . I hate chauvinism, similarly I find this idea a little lame. However, I can understand the 'irresistable' attraction that of such a beach, to men (Amit, thanks for the enlightenment) :-)

Of course, I couldn't resist ending tonight's blog, without the following quote by Mr. Fausto Ravaglia, the owner of the beach:

"The lifeguard must be a man. Clearly, to save a woman you need a man. It's a question of muscles."

How sweet, how funny, and how very chauvinistic...

Fat is beautiful..but do we need 'fat-farms'??

I've always known that beauty is in the eye of the beholder and so on. However, I've also seen people take their concern for beauty to some pretty weird extremes. This article, on BBC, caught my eye today and I couldn't believe the tripe I was reading.

Apparently, in this African country, fat women are considered beautiful, and so they force-feed their children - girls as young as 7 years old are force-fed so that they become fat and beautiful. Fatematou, a lady who runs a fat-farm in Mauritania, had this to say about force-feeding the girls:

"I make them eat and eat and eat. And then drink lots and lots of water," she explained. "I make them do this all morning. Then they have a rest. In the afternoon we start again. We do this three times a day - the morning, the afternoon and the evening."

Fatematou said that it was rare for a girl to refuse to eat, and that if they did, she was helped by the child's parents. "They punish the girls and in the end the girls eat," she said. "If a girl refuses we start nicely, saying 'come on, come on' sweetly, until she agrees to eat." Fatematou admitted that sometimes the girls cried at the treatment. "Of course they cry - they scream," she said. "We grab them and we force them to eat. If they cry a lot we leave them sometimes for a day or two and then we come back to start again. "They get used to it in the end."

In the present day's context, especially in North America, where we witness anorexia, bulimia and other eating disorders, it's not astonishing to notice something this idiotic in another part of the world. However, I am astounded by this kind of idiocy, moral hypocrisy and the cultural value we accord to outdated traditions and physical appearances. How can parents be willing to abuse their children to such extremes. On the similar vein, I have neve understood how parents in North America can accept their 13 - 16 year daughters getting breast implants, botox injections and so on. I guess, I'm not someone who believes in following 'generally accepted ideas/outlooks'. Oh well, woe betide me! :)

I'll end today's tirade with Fatematou's very 'wise' words:

"Once they are fat and beautiful they can serve their men well, once they are fat they can be married."

What bulls***!

Connected words..

An amateur built an ark that survived a flood while a large group of professionals built the Titanic. - Bill Swanson

Words have always fascinated me. How they reflect our thoughts, our dark imaginings and our hopes and desires. The unimaginable becomes describable only through words..However, I love words for their simple ability to make me think, imagine, write, laugh and cry. The words in the quote above made me laugh, so I decided to add this note to my blog tonight..

Imagination...

A long time ago, I read a book where the protagonist lived in a swamp. At that time, above the couch in our living room, we had a large wall poster of a forest path lined with trees. I was always fascinated about where the path would end. For some reason, after that book, this path would remind me of the description of the New Orleans swamps in that book. Dark skies, heavy trees, soggy soil and beauty in its midst. It was a leap and I guess that’s the best part of being imaginative. You can connect dots, or at least imagine connecting dots, that never existed. In this case, the path became a swamp, and the swamp became the root of a story. We can never understand how children go missing in life. What if a child went missing in the swamp? Of all the dreary and dark places, to die, what if a little girl died in the swamp? What if it was purely an accident and her parents never find out? The only witnesses to the accident are the trees around her, and if one day a tree could tell the story, it would be:

The Swamp

The mist curls off the swamp
The dark locks float along lifeless
The dark night carries a distinct stamp
The odour of death leaves me breathless…

The black shoe peeping from the water
Reminds me of a little girl lost
Wandering through the mist she totters
She slips and falls into her midnight grave forever…

Her lifeless tresses, her peeping shoes
They call to me like a beacon in the darkness
I can’t seem to stop my shaking knees
From moving unyieldingly towards the ghastly sight.

The pink crane, immobile on a log
Beauty in the midst of unimaginable horrors…
The sky darkens smoothly like wheels turned by a cog
It magnifies the mood of anguish and sorrow.

Green, brown and black
The colours of the swamp, sadness and the dead girl
One by one, feelings of mine I stack
Guilt, tears, anguish and horror.

Light drifts through the swamp
In spots like freckles on a child
It tries to seep through the a ground forever damp
From my never-ending tears for a lost child.

By,
Angela Archana Vincent.

Salman Rushdie's Knighthood

I am rather ignorant of some of the more mainstream news items, and Salman Rushdie's knighthood was a very tiny blip on my radar..Until I read this satire by Sanjay Sipahimalini. In fact, when I started reading Sanjay's blog, I thought it was true - Naive me.

Anyway, Sanjay's blog focuses on ridiculing people who use stupidity as an excuse for their various moral causes. Here is an excerpt from his blog:

“Rushdie has discriminated against all of us,” said the President of the association. “His novel Midnight’s Children is a deliberate and wilful act of provocation that has hurt the feelings of those who were born at other times of the day.”All copies of Rushdie’s novel, the statement said, ought to be pulped and the remains mixed with glue to create papier-mâché toys for the children of the association’s members. This, said the statement, will help soothe sentiments.“Rushdie himself was not born at midnight,” said one of the members at a press conference called to announce the protest. “He is full of self-hate and has crossed over to the other side to belittle all of us. There is no doubt in anyone’s mind that the only reason he wrote the novel was to poke fun at people born during the day”. Cutting a large chocolate cake, he went on, “I myself was born at 4.15 p.m. and as a matter of fact today is my birthday, so all of you can leave your presents in the large box beside the exit”.

I still can't stop laughing. Sanjay, thank you for starting my weekend off with laughter!

Words are never enough..

When I followed the link from Amit Varma's blog to this collection of images that changed the world, I could not ignore them. I felt the need to reclaim those moments of horror and achievements..

The picture shows three dead American soldiers on the beach of P. N. Guinea during WWII. It ends with the tagline..'we need pictures, because words are never enough'....

My Desiderata

No matter what my day brings forth..this poem always cheers me up.

Desiderata by Max Ehrmann

Go placidly amid the noise and haste,
and remember what peace there may be in silence.
As far as possible without surrender
be on good terms with all persons.
Speak your truth quietly and clearly;
and listen to others,
even the dull and the ignorant;
they too have their story.
Avoid loud and aggressive persons,
they are vexations to the spirit.
If you compare yourself with others,
you may become vain and bitter;
for always there will be greater and
lesser persons than yourself.

Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans.
Keep interested in your own career,
however humble;it is a real possession
in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs;
for the world is full of trickery.
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is;
many persons strive for high ideals;
and everywhere life is full of heroism.
Be yourself.
Especially, do not feign affection.
Neither be cynical about love;
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment
it is as perennial as the grass.
Take kindly the counsel of the years,
gracefully surrendering the things of youth.
Nurture strength of spirit
to shield you in sudden misfortune.
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings.
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.
Beyond a wholesome discipline,
be gentle with yourself.
You are a child of the universe,
no less than the trees and the stars;
you have a right to be here.
And whether or not it is clear to you,
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God,
whatever you conceive Him to be,
and whatever your labors and aspirations,
in the noisy confusion of life
keep peace with your soul.
With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams,
it is still a beautiful world.
Be cheerful.
Strive to be happy.

Midnite Ravings

You probably heard of midnight rampages, but my blogs always feel like midnight ravings. My words pour out when it's dark and drowsy and the rest of the world's peacefully sleeping. :)

Today, the Toronto subway system came to a standstill in the morning. Why? Some poor soul apparently decided to end his/her miserable existence today and jumped onto the path of an oncoming train. Idiots! I sympathize with the sorrow he/she might have faced to bring them to such a decision, but it is the most ignorant and stupid thing to do.

Others might agree or disagree. But this is my world view - fight when you least expect to, surrender when you want to, and love - do it your own way, everyone else can go to hell. Death however should be natural, suicide is not about strength, no matter what rubbish people say. People who intend suicide should be kicked in the a**. Maybe that will teach them a lesson.

Anyway I will end this raving, with soothing words....

Love and life

Love a little, give a little
For life is anything but simple
Draw a petal, drop a kettle
For life is like a star with a twinkle.

Lose a bit, gain a bit
For life is like a game of poker
Awhile you frolick, awhile you sit
For life is to be enjoyed like a joker.

By,
Angela Archana Vincent.

Children...

In January 2003, a baby girl was abandoned by her mother hours after the birth. Somebody found the newborn baby and called 911. the baby was rushed to the hospital, and was treated. She was perfect, the way newborns usually are, and was eventually names Mira – short for Miracle. The whole city of Toronto considered her to be a miracle baby, and thus her name. She was later adopted by a couple. Her birth mother was found and she received treatment/therapy (unsure what exactly was wrong with her). This poem was a reaction to Mira’s wails for her mother and for all the other abandoned babies in Third World countries, who never stand a chance.

A child

To the eye that cannot see
A dark cloud on the far horizon
To the ear that cannot hear
The threatening rumble of summer rain

To the skin that prickles
With the premonition of something dangerous
To the hackles that raise
In response to the shiver of wariness

To the shudder that races through
The gloom of descending darkness
To the scream that pierces through
The scent of the suffocating blindness

To the howl from the baying hound
An echo to the arrival of doom
To the whinny of the frightened horses
A response to its blinding nearness

To the wind that wails
Through the leafless trees in the forest
To the cries of a motherless child
Hanging alone…in a basket…in the middle of nowhere

Born in world which can see, hear, sense and feel
Be it clouds, thunder, gloom or fear
A child alone, without its shelter
Impervious to everything but its cries for a mother.

By,
Angela Archana Vincent.