The Last of the Timurids..

A translation of the Baburnama, abridged and edited by Dilip Hiro, lies open in front of me. Over a dozen tabs are open on Opera (my trusted, if slightly unreliable, web browser) and till a few minutes ago I was trying to discern the exact difference between a Mughal and a Timuri Turk. It’s a complicated and daunting task and one I would have been better off not undertaking. But me being me, I couldn’t help it. But I digress. During the process of my as yet incomplete ‘research’ I stumbled upon this picture.

That old man, dear readers, is Abu Zafar Sirajuddin Muhammad Bahadur Shah Zafar, probably better known as Bahadur Shah Zafar II. And that photograph, is quite possibly the only one ever taken of a Timurid ruler. For a while I just kept staring at the picture. That old, tired, pathetic looking man, propped up against a mountain of cushions, was royalty. The last Mughal Emperor. Or perhaps more significantly, the last of the Timurid Dynasty. The last of a 500 year old royal family which claimed to have descended from Genghis Khan. The Mongols of Genghis Khan conquered the world and carved an empire bigger than Alexander’s. Timur himself forged an empire that rivaled his supposed ancestor Genghis’, in terms of size. And then there was Zahir Uddin Mohammad Babur Mirza, or simply Babur, Timur Beg’s descendant and ruler of Ferghana who later conquered Hindustan and established the Mughal Empire. Ironically, he never considered himself Mughal and had nothing but contempt for them. ‘Only mischief and devastation can be expected from the Mughal horde…’ he wrote in the Baburnama. But I digress yet again. That picture saddens me. His sunken eyes seem lifeless and devoid of any hope. Of course, that picture was taken in 1858 and he was already in his 80s by then and it would be foolish to expect someone that old to be full of vitality and rigor. Regardless, to see the descendant of such powerful, world changing rulers reduced to a puppet ruler [and I say that in the strongest sense of the term] and then to an exiled prisoner, fills my heart with sadness. I must admit to partiality here. I have a fascination for the Mongols and their descendants and a soft spot for Babur. Melancholy, as this makes me, I cannot even begin to imagine how it must have been for the man, to watch helplessly, the steady decay and disintegration of a centuries old empire, and the decline of one of the greatest dynasties ever.

A forefather of that broken man conquered the world.

I don’t know why I wrote this and I have no clue why I’m inflicting this upon others by posting this. That picture lingers. It made me want to write.

Currently listening to : Jan Garbarek – In Praise Of Dreams

Midnight Ice-cream

Not my best piece but I think I’ll post it anyway.

”Shiiiiine on… you crrrrazy diamond…”

I sang along with the MP3 player plugged into my ears. It was just aswell that it was midnight and hardly anyone within earshot was awake to listen to my hoarse, off key croaking. Not that I would have cared. Lazing around on the balcony, admiring the view, I was content. Down below on the road, two ice-cream vendors stood side by side. The fluorescent glow of the tubelights on their carts was the only illumination on the road. Like two shining beacons of light in the middle of a sea of darkness. The street lights were perenially out of order. I thought it strange that anyone should be selling ice-cream, of all things, in the middle fo the night. Who buys ice cream at midnight? I could’t recall seeing them there before. But it is entirely possible that I overlooked them on earlier occasions. Left with nothing else to do, I observed them for a while. I couldn’t see much due to the distance but trying to guess their conversation was an interesting way to pass the time.I wondered, were they friends? Did they get along well? Or did they treat each other with animosity, seeing as both of them worked for rival brands? I couldn’t imagine any two people being standing on the same place, night after night with no one else for company, being cold to each other. It seemed torturous to me.

A sudden desire to have ice-cream caught hold of me. It was absurd but my will power is a joke. I sneaked out of the house and climbed down the stairs. I avoid lifts, they make me claustrophobic. The lobby of the apartment building was empty save the liftman perched upon his stool, sleeping soundly. Somewhere, a dog howled. And then another. Then a third dog joined in. Then a fourth howl, this one much closer than the others. It woke up the lift man. He rubbed his face hurriedly, a sheepish look passed over his features when he saw me. He wasn’t supposed to sleep during the shift. The gate guard looked at me curiously as I walked out. It was not a particularly hot night, by April standards anyway. But it seemed hotter than it was because of the utter stillness of the air. It hung heavily, warm and stuffy. Trees rose up around me. Their silhouettes conjured up images of demons standing with their arms wide apart, just waiting to swoop down and consume you. The place where the vendors stood was a few minutes’ walk from the gate and I started to feel a little edgy as I walked all alone, everything around me shrouded by darkness. I was somewhat disappointed by the reaction of the vendors to my appearance. There was none. Somewhere in my mind, I had expected them to light up at the sight of a customer.

“One chocobar.” I said to one of them. The man was tall and lean. His adam’s apple protruded out like a steep mountain. His face was disproportionately wide, with beady eyes and bushy, dark eyebrows. The moustache adorning his face was long overdue for a trimming. The man opened the metal lid on the top of the cart and began digging into it, unearthing carton after carton of ice-creams. Finally he emerged from the depths of the storage, one hand triumphantly holding a chocobar packet. Money and ice-cream changed hands swiftly and I quickly tore the packet open and took a bite. It was much too cold but the chocolate coating mixed with the vanilla ice-cream inside, mellowing it and adding a bittersweet twist to the whole deal. It was perfect. Dwarfed everything I’d eaten before.

“Do you stand here every night?” I asked the man.

He nodded. “Every night.”

“Till when?” I continued.

“Around dawn.”

“Don’t you get bored? Do you get many customers?”

“Very few customers.” he replied. “But what can I do? The people high-up decide everything, people like me have no say in it.”
He seemed a bit hesitant. I suppose most people are when conversing with strangers at 1 in the morning.

I glanced at the other vendor. Somehow he seemed uneasy, impatient. It was almost as if he wanted me gone. Or maybe he was angry at having lost a customer. I licked the last of the ice-cream off the stick and threw it aside. My tastebuds satisfied, I went back home.

Back on the balcony, I could still see them. A third man joined them soon. And then a fourth. More customers, I guessed. Suddenly the lights on both carts went out. I could barely make out their shadowy forms now. One of the carts began moving sometime later, pushed by the vendor. The other cart, the one I had bought the ice cream from, stood where it was. The other two men seemed gone too. I stifled a yawn and ambled off to bed.

* * * * * *

It was all over the news the next day.

Ice-cream vendor brutally murdered and stuffed into his own cart. Body found miles away from his usual place of business.

I saw a picture of the victim. Death does strange things to one’s appearance. Beady, sunken eyes stared back at me lifelessly, almost accusingly. The wide face had acquired a sickly pale shade. Death is ugly. Death is infinitely ugly. The disbelief that I felt transcends words. It took a while for sadness to make itself felt. Sadness, which I was surprised to discover. One does not feel such sadness for a stranger’s death. Not in this age. Man has been rendered immune to sorrow unless it hits close to home. But then, a chocobar connected the two of us.

Currently listening to: U2 – The Electric Co.

When In Rome…

Since every blogger seems to be doing this tag nowadays, I guess I will too. God knows my blog needs an update. Oh, and this has been poached from Ish and Vasudha.

1. Put your iPod (or other source of music) on shuffle mode.
2. For each question, press the next button to get your answer.
3. You must write the name of the song no matter what. No cheating!

“If someone says ‘Is this okay?’, you say?”

Beautiful – Moby

I’m the encouraging sort. ^_^

“What would best describe your personality?”

Zombie – The Cranberries

Yes, I’m the undead. I wasn’t going to tell you people just yet but what the heck. Be scared. Be very scared.

“What do you like in a guy/girl?”

Positive Vibration – Bob Marley

That’s right. You’ve gotta have them vibes. It’s all about the vibes.

“How do you feel today?”

Animals – Nickelback

I feel like a draught animal who had to plough the length and breadth of the country in a day.

“What is your life’s purpose?”

Breaking Out – Santana

Breaking out of the mental institution or prison that I am eventually going to land up in.

“What is your motto?”

Bargain – The Who

Jaago grahak, jaago.

“What do your friends think of you?”

Moonlight Drive – The Doors

They wish I’d go on a moonlight drive and bump into a truck or something. Saves them the trouble of having to tolerate me.

“What do you think of your parents?”

Pretty Child – Indus Creed

Er… ahem, ulta ho gaya.

“What do you think about very often?”

Trinity – Santana feat. Kirk Hammett

Trinity, the Christian concept of God as three persons
Trinity Sunday in Christian liturgy
Trimurti, the Hindu concept of God as three deities
Ayyavazhi Trinity, Ayya Vaikundar, the triune God.
Shinto trinity
Triple Goddess, a neo-pagan / Wiccan trinity
Ahura, the Zoroastrian trinity

Source: Ye Olde Wikipedia

Actually, I am kind of interested in this stuff. *shrugs*

“What is 2+2?”

Square One – Coldplay

Ah well, close enough.

“What do you think of your best friend?”

Biding My Time – Pink Floyd

Oh yeah, as soon as his guard goes down…*STAB* *STAB* *DIE!!*

“What do you think of the person you like?”

A Spanish Piece – Pink Floyd

Ooh, latina.

Hola, senorita. [I have a feeling that's Mexican. Ah well, screw it.]

“What is your life story?”

Et Si Cetait La Fin (As If It Were The End) – Pat Metheny

Oooh apt! My life isn’t over yet, it just began 17 years ago.

“What do you want to be when you grow up?”

The Daffodil And The Eagle – Shakti

Shapeshifting rocks, people.

“What do you think when you see the person you like?”

Albela Sajan – Kailash Kher

“What do your parents think of you?”

Dazed And Confused – Led Zeppelin

Yeah, they’re dazed and confused. They can’t figure out how any kid can be this insane and messed up.

“What will you dance to at your wedding?”

Lady Godiva’s Operation – The Velvet Underground

Yes, I’ll dance to an avant-garde rock song about a sex-change operation which turns into a fatal lobotomy instead.

“What will they play at your funeral?”

Knockin’ On Heaven’s Doors – Guns N’ Roses

I’m not going to hell!? All those evil deeds for nothing!? :O Man, what a rip-off….

“What is your hobby/interest?”

Veracruz – Santana

Whenever I’m bored, I just pop over to Mexico.

“What is your biggest secret?”

I’m The Only Gay Eskimo – Tenacious D

O_o

No comments.

“What do you think of your friends?”

Free Bird – Lynyrd Skynyrd

Hardly have any friends. Mesa free bird.

“What should you post this as?”

Money – Pink Floyd

This isn’t going to earn me squat.

Old Wooden Swing

A whoop and a cry of delight
Forward and backward she swayed
Perched upon that wooden swing
Revelling in the beating wind
Revelling in that sensation
Of flying high among
Cooing doves and cawing ravens
Her laughter rang out like
The eternal song of Joy
Echoing across the sunkissed vale
Ancient Banyan tree
Old as time and wise
Woody limbs spread wide
Holding the valley in temperate shadow
Swaying around a gnarled old branch
The creaking wooden swing
Up it went and paused
To come crashing down again
Up and down it goes
Like the dance of Life itself

Wrote this months ago. Yes, I know I said I won’t any more poetry or prose or art on the main blog. I changed my mind. You know why? Because I can.

And I hate the new WordPress Dashboard.

I’ve often wondered….

Why haven’t fairness cream adverts been banned? If you think about it, they’re sexist, racist and shallow. The basic idea of a cream to make your skin fairer and thus beautiful signifies that dark skinned people are not beautiful.The advertisements generally show dark skinned women who are either unable to procure employment or are unable to get married. And it is implied that this is because of their skin tone. The model begins using [insert product name] fairness cream and voila! Her skin turns fair and she is flooded with job opportunities and marriage proposals. So basically, women do not get employed on the basis of their qualification but on the basis of their colour? And the marriage advertisments piss me off even more because I’ve seen people like that in real life. And each time my only instinct was to plant a hatchet wound on their faces. Skin tone, is that all there is to a person?

These advertisments imply that the degree of your success, if any, in various spheres of life depends upon the colour of your skin and not upon your capability.

Is it just me or is that really fucked up?

The first time I saw the Fair & Handsome advertisment it amused me. I think this was about 5-6 years ago. Even back then I realised it was pretty dumb.

Why do men need a different fairness cream in the first place? Will they grow a pair of mammary glands overnight or something if they use a fairness cream meant for women? The advertisment shows/showed a man applying a fairness cream in hiding then his friend/acquaitance/manlover or whatever comes along and berates him for using a fairness cream meant for women and then gives him one meant for men instead. Even thinking of the advertisement makes me want to puke. This is the kind of dumb insecurity which ensures that racism remains prevalent in the world. Any person who uses fairness cream should be ashamed of himself/herself irrespective of the brand and it’s target demographic. It is a way of acknowledging that dark skin is a blemish, that it is something ugly and undesirable. And I refuse to accept that.

What’s even worse is that tons of celebrities endorse these products. The same people who go on and on about being good human beings and participate in highly publicised charity events. What kind of two-faced, greedy, dipshit lumps are these people?

I wonder why I’ve never heard anyone say anything about this. Maybe it’s too insignificant a matter for people to bother with. I don’t think that is the case though, considering how this bullshit is all over the televison all the time and the huge amounts of people who actually buy this stuff.

Currently listening to: Raghu Dixit Project – Ambar