It’s been nearly 100 years since the first Tamil motion capture was done, and since then we have been cutting invisible onions, while driving a bee into our eyes accidentally. Here’s a list of moments in the recent past that made you punch a wall to regain manhood again.
She wakes up everyday in a mire of ignorance. Her tangled hair flutters against everlasting wind that picks up pace as it approaches her: it could be a warning, it could be trying to break her fall. The woman, however, walks ahead, her eyes on the ground, her neck the shape of a sickle: no writer with any shred of dignity could ever describe her endowments, for she is the idol that was never made, a bronx statue that never left the sculptor’s head.
You have two choices: poetic and factual.
The purpose of this post is not to be poetic. It does not dwell in ordinary hearts to heave and throw tantrums via words, as waging wars are in engagement, livelihoods at stake. The purpose of this post is not to be factual, either.
What is terrifying is wolf blanketed as sheep. Rain covering up for sun. Murderous rage for white-bearded sombre faces.
Ever since the dawn of September, the eleventh, several researches were done to understand the root of terrorism, why people believe in weapons to seek domination. Yesterday, Lahore was attacked by religious extremists, with the agenda of driving out Easter-celebrating Pakistanis, at least killing 65 people and wounding 600 other Christians or Muslims or Hindus that may have participated in the event. The message is clear: “If you’re not one among us, we will kill you! If you don’t follow our standards of living, we will kill you!” The attack has deemed clear that there is a part of Pakistan, beyond the control of the Government body, that wants to instill their rules by inflicting slaughter.
“The rights of Every Man are diminished when the rights of One Man are threatened!”
-John F. Kennedy
Only some stories are scary to write–difficult to venture. Like dogs afraid of dark allies. Like wheel-chairs down the escalators. Like fresh socks on wet puddles.
The sun had broken out onto a magnificently grey New Delhi Parliamentary premises amid the wire-donned men wearing their pressed uniforms. The men were standing straight, their back prepared to the scorching sun, their clingy vests to the onset of freshly brewed salty sweating. The car entered the premises–nothing surprising since the industrial revolution of the 18th century, since the crimson-flagged army men planted their feet in the brown sand. With the smell of beach and sand in their boots. Unaware of its cultural ebullience. Like broken egg yolk on a frying pan.
While the protestors outside of a snowy day Wembley Stadium in London, UK, were shouting slogans to show their disappointment of his visit, Prime Minister Narendra Modi promised that in the next 1000 days, he will take on the task of bringing electricity to the 18,000 villages in India which currently aren’t connected to the grid. Debajit Palit of The Hindu later raised concerns over this ambitious project saying, “Is it just electrification of villages or to provide quality and adequate electricity to all households?” In Uttar Pradesh, for instance, three out of four households get electricity for less than 12 hours a day. In Jharkhand, only 2% of electrified households get electricity for 20 or more hours; 81% do not get four or more hours in the evenings, while 60% face three or more days of total blackouts every month. PM Modi seems to have complete faith in the moral obligation that he thinks that he owes to the poor, circumventing the economical costs that India has to suffer in fulfilling his promises. According to ministry of India, a village is electrified, if it meets all of the following requirements: