A thought disturbs me.
Mussolini in 1943, was under immense pressure to sign a peace treaty with the Allies, who were poised to invade Italy after having captured Sicily. He refused to abandon Hitler, and was deposed by the King and disowned by his party.
Hitler, although fighting a desperate battle on the eastern front, needing every man he could get to resist the Russian advance, rushed troops into Italy via the Brenner pass, fought bitterly and kept the Allies from taking italy, and killing Mussolini, for a year and a half.
A thought disturbs me.
Even before the war was over, Stalin suspected Churchill of postponing the attack on Germany so that the USSR would be brought to its knees. The British while advancing aginst the Germans a few months later, wanted to rush ahead so that Berlin would not fall to the Russians.
The thought disturbs me. Should we be learning friendship or loyalty from- from the Wrong sources ? the Bad guys ? Because Mussolini, the power-hungry, somewhat stupid opportunist, lost his position rather than betray his ally, and Hitler, the ruthless, communist-hater, whose ultimate goal in life was Germany winning wars and being Great, took troops out of his armies combatting the selfsame Commies, his last hope for salvaging any pride, and sent them to the aid of his bumbling, stumbling ally, whose cause was pretty much already lost.
It's all wrong.
Or I really don't know life at all.
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Thursday, March 5, 2009
Winter afternoon, phone call, and setting off, down one road and up another.
And finally, in the greyish shadows of a grey building, he would be waiting- skinny, with a toothy grin and bright eyes.
And we would run around and around the sunlight-spotted building, very fast. He was faster, but I was older.
Around the paved driveway, and leaved side-paths, and the dry pond-space at the back with the pebbled circles in it which were the only way you could cross- step out and you're out.
And we'd play.
Enacting future scenes of video-games, and each part of the place would be a different land, or a different level.
Same thing, actually.
And the pesky little brother, who wailed a lot and nasally, and complained he was being left out, was always the villain- or the victim to be rescued, whom we'd conveniently forget to rescue.
And there would be different rules for each part of the outdoors, which we'd follow because the competitor could be watching from the side-door, to joyfully yell- 'Cheater!' And then we'd have to start all over again.
And sometimes Pineapple Punnappa would join us. And he'd pronounce the name deliberately, with a huge grin on his face. Neverfailing joke.
And once, with a grin even wider, and with eyes maybe brighter, he told me that one day he was going to be Rich. And I grinned too.
We ice-skated, round and round a rink, coolly swooshing past all the others who were huffily hobbling along and falling a lot. And raced go-karts.
And played Sonic and Knuckles, laughing at Tails, Sonic's fox- sidekick who flew clumsily by revolving his tail (the clumsiness was me, while he got Sonic to Hyper-Sonic stage, where the hair goes all silver, and you have hyper-speed and can fly without eating those coin things.)
I, on more than one occasion, suspended the little brother by his ankles for being extra annoying, while we both laughed because it was so cartoony, and the little guy wailed some more.
He tried teaching me how to skateboard, but I couldn't, and so he took the skateboard and I got the scooty and we tried going down the ramp on them, but weren't very good, so we just ran.
And when he, and his cousin brothers, and I were showing off our special fight positions in a mirror, I heard aunty say- 'She gets along with the boys so well, ya, they usually don't like girls', and I glowed with pride.
And he never fibbed, and looked faintly puzzled when the adults asked him one of those questions that they wink to. And shrugged, and came back to where the three of us were watching Jungle Book 3.
And, later, we watched 300 together and thought it was cool. The fight scenes, the fight scenes. Some of it was gross, but still.
And at the senti bits, we looked at each other and grinned uneasily.
He couldn't do hindi either, and we made fun of hindi sir together.
And jumped and kicked and yowled and gave chase and wrestled, even when we were in classes eleven and nine, and pretty big.
Once, we walked right round the second floor of the house, on the outside ledge, when everyone was sleeping, even though someone might have seen us. And we might have fallen off.
And though I don't remember what we talked about, there always was enough.
'Bright boy at the carriage window,
Waving to me calling,
But I've loved you all these years and looked for you everywhere,
...Returning always to the forest's silence,
To watch the windows of some passing train... '
But now a deep voice, and few words.
But still a rough statement that he’s not the kind to lie.
But he’s a guy now. Gone away and grown.
And finally, in the greyish shadows of a grey building, he would be waiting- skinny, with a toothy grin and bright eyes.
And we would run around and around the sunlight-spotted building, very fast. He was faster, but I was older.
Around the paved driveway, and leaved side-paths, and the dry pond-space at the back with the pebbled circles in it which were the only way you could cross- step out and you're out.
And we'd play.
Enacting future scenes of video-games, and each part of the place would be a different land, or a different level.
Same thing, actually.
And the pesky little brother, who wailed a lot and nasally, and complained he was being left out, was always the villain- or the victim to be rescued, whom we'd conveniently forget to rescue.
And there would be different rules for each part of the outdoors, which we'd follow because the competitor could be watching from the side-door, to joyfully yell- 'Cheater!' And then we'd have to start all over again.
And sometimes Pineapple Punnappa would join us. And he'd pronounce the name deliberately, with a huge grin on his face. Neverfailing joke.
And once, with a grin even wider, and with eyes maybe brighter, he told me that one day he was going to be Rich. And I grinned too.
We ice-skated, round and round a rink, coolly swooshing past all the others who were huffily hobbling along and falling a lot. And raced go-karts.
And played Sonic and Knuckles, laughing at Tails, Sonic's fox- sidekick who flew clumsily by revolving his tail (the clumsiness was me, while he got Sonic to Hyper-Sonic stage, where the hair goes all silver, and you have hyper-speed and can fly without eating those coin things.)
I, on more than one occasion, suspended the little brother by his ankles for being extra annoying, while we both laughed because it was so cartoony, and the little guy wailed some more.
He tried teaching me how to skateboard, but I couldn't, and so he took the skateboard and I got the scooty and we tried going down the ramp on them, but weren't very good, so we just ran.
And when he, and his cousin brothers, and I were showing off our special fight positions in a mirror, I heard aunty say- 'She gets along with the boys so well, ya, they usually don't like girls', and I glowed with pride.
And he never fibbed, and looked faintly puzzled when the adults asked him one of those questions that they wink to. And shrugged, and came back to where the three of us were watching Jungle Book 3.
And, later, we watched 300 together and thought it was cool. The fight scenes, the fight scenes. Some of it was gross, but still.
And at the senti bits, we looked at each other and grinned uneasily.
He couldn't do hindi either, and we made fun of hindi sir together.
And jumped and kicked and yowled and gave chase and wrestled, even when we were in classes eleven and nine, and pretty big.
Once, we walked right round the second floor of the house, on the outside ledge, when everyone was sleeping, even though someone might have seen us. And we might have fallen off.
And though I don't remember what we talked about, there always was enough.
'Bright boy at the carriage window,
Waving to me calling,
But I've loved you all these years and looked for you everywhere,
...Returning always to the forest's silence,
To watch the windows of some passing train... '
But now a deep voice, and few words.
But still a rough statement that he’s not the kind to lie.
But he’s a guy now. Gone away and grown.
Another one about polyps
Musk deer and the one-horned rhinoceros and the European corn borer I know about now. But what I have found out that really interests me is that coral polyps can be nasty. It seems when they're competing over the prime spot to leave their shells, some turn horrid and poison others. But you know, it shouldn't surprise me. That weak, soft, shelless things should be so mean. I mean, that's even known to be the popular method of murder among the weak- poison.
And it is the weakest who are mean. The others don't have a reason to be, but they do. They have nothing else to hide them, protect them. No sting. No vast and towering appearance, like the harmless-ish whales. They're just pretty tiny, and useless, and fleshy, and grey, and they're going to die. The only thing they get to decide about their lives is where their bodies will lie when they're gone. Not even the manner of their death, but something as inconsequential to living as the grave spot. And since they have only something so miserable to fight about, it must be vicious. Like that Murphy's Law which states that the precise reason why college politics is so vicious is that there is so little at stake.
So I'm not horrified. I'm not asking what this world is coming to if small little simple creatures like coral polyps are turning to murder. It's the big ones I'm concerned with. So, as long as blue whales aren't developing a determination to avenge themselves for all the hoop skirts and whale blubber, I'm ok. Probably because the whales could actually cause me some damage. But possibly because I've got perspective. Let the little polyps have their bitter squabbles, I say magnanimously. Then, quaking in my boots a little, But please, please let the whales go on being nice.
And it is the weakest who are mean. The others don't have a reason to be, but they do. They have nothing else to hide them, protect them. No sting. No vast and towering appearance, like the harmless-ish whales. They're just pretty tiny, and useless, and fleshy, and grey, and they're going to die. The only thing they get to decide about their lives is where their bodies will lie when they're gone. Not even the manner of their death, but something as inconsequential to living as the grave spot. And since they have only something so miserable to fight about, it must be vicious. Like that Murphy's Law which states that the precise reason why college politics is so vicious is that there is so little at stake.
So I'm not horrified. I'm not asking what this world is coming to if small little simple creatures like coral polyps are turning to murder. It's the big ones I'm concerned with. So, as long as blue whales aren't developing a determination to avenge themselves for all the hoop skirts and whale blubber, I'm ok. Probably because the whales could actually cause me some damage. But possibly because I've got perspective. Let the little polyps have their bitter squabbles, I say magnanimously. Then, quaking in my boots a little, But please, please let the whales go on being nice.
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