Wednesday, May 21, 2008
witches
Given its sensual charms…modern writings are finally bursting the myths, quite unfortunately. The tales of the witches and the fairies, where the old hag almost always kidnapped the kids to burn them in a pot of boiling waters or maybe inject poison in the apples needs to be probed further.
Sorcery, folk magic, and witchcraft have a very long history. Most folk magic seems to have evolved from ‘sympathetic’ magic. Such ideas often overlapped with folk medicine or more widely known as the ‘old wives’ tales. Often these were used for curing purposes…for example it was long believed that for curing warts one needed to rub it with a toad to transfer that offending disease into that creature and then drowning it into the pond! However these harmless folk beliefs were later to become enmeshed with more dangerous and forcefully implemented system of beliefs about witches, which emerged in the witchcraft persecutions of 15th century Europe! Between 1500 and 1550 sharp changes occurred in the economic social political life of Europe! Series of Wars famines and climatic changes that hampered the lives of the people needed a scapegoat to blame. There were undue rise of population that needed a channel to control. And most importantly it was the women who came under the subjugation of men with increasing focus on the ‘sexual crimes’ that rose during the time under the Puritan improvisations.
At the end of the day witch history remains still an enigma in the common hearts although modern times takes witchcraft away from the myth of the malevolent hag or the devil-worshipping housewife. Its still a fantastic art full of legends and power in the hands of ordinary men and women, where the search for a personal god or inner spirituality takes over the long established religions of the world. However it will probably take time for Wicca to get rid of its evil twinkle!
Friday, May 16, 2008
the sociobiology of bitch
I use the word regularly being unabashedly fond of it. Infact so enamored I am by this word that I have seldom shirked to advertise myself as one, and have used the label lovingly for my near and dear ones. (Except my parents of course, lines have to be drawn somewhere isn’t it?) bitch for me means everything in general and nothing in particular, if you would ask me to define a bitch, id be rather tautological and contend that a bitch is a bitch is a bitch !!!! But then again what is a bitch and why do I use the word when I love something that someone has done, when it’s nasty and exciting, or when I hate something and its equally nasty and exciting? Why do I use the word to denote a person, an act or simply as a full throated exclamation BITCH!!!! A loud thump of a noise is created from my mouth with my tiny eyes bulging out of its socket and I feel like it’s a job well done, I breathe easy and I feel lighter as if the pressure of the word against my chest has been eased, like I have excreted what refused to metabolize inside me and was desperate to come out and declare itself. Yes bitch is such a word, a word that’s powerful and finds itself being uttered in the most inappropriate situations without any precision of meaning. We all use it, most of us don’t know why we use it and are rather vague about what it means, and to put it philosophically it bridges important gaps between thought and speech.
What made me think so profoundly about this commonplace word??? Well let me narrate an incident that transpired in our beloved orkut, a rather favorite friend of mine, who got married recently and was honeymooning with her spouse had chosen to forget my existence on earth( mind you the debate that prancing around in the arms of a lover in the Swiss alps is heaven achieved doesn’t console me much). Much to my dismay she refused to answer my scraps for sometime which resulted in a large fonted entry in her scrapbook with the ever elusive word BITCH!!!! To which she still didn’t bother to respond, such is the power of newfound love and sex. To add to my woes her hubby saw the scrap, didn’t take it kindly and it culminated into their first fight, wherein the hubby insisted that no friend of hers had the RIGHT to call her wife a bitch, particularly someone who goes by the name witch in orkut!!!!( and is a man). Guess it pricked him at all the wrong places and I was asked to abstain from addressing my beloved friend in the same loving manner again. At a loss of my favorite word bitch I felt grossly inadequate; it took me less than a nanosecond to label the hubby himself a bitch!!!!
The word literally means a she dog. On googling the word I came upon an interesting site which provides clear cut distinctions between the male and female dogs. Male dogs are affectionate, exuberant, food motivated, attentive and aggressive. Cut to the human scene, men are affectionate too (of others wives), exuberant (in displaying their powers and prowess) food motivated (yes food for the stomach n libido!) attentive (to work and female anatomy no doubt) and aggressive (hyperactive balls!). Analogies like this fit well, and are ignored or taken for granted. The problem arises when we consider the bitch. Bitches are independent, stubborn, and territorial, reserved and have mood swings. Clearly in a patriarchal system such qualities have to be suppressed, rendered unnatural for being a woman entails being submissive, pliable, allowing men to treat them as their property, caring and displaying melodramatic emotions, (name it and they feel it). Thus a woman cannot and should not be a bitch. Lo behold if she ends up being one its bad news!!! No wonder the word bitch has been generously used alongside words like ‘slut’ ‘whore’ ‘easy lay’. Society commended that the women bitches had to be condemned. Not surprisingly today’s bitches were yesteryear’s witches and they met with terrible fates, burnt for being perverse for trying to create a place for themselves other than their man’s sacrosanct feet.
Clearly then when it came to the question of finding a voice and an identity in this unequal world, women especially the bra burning, chest thumping brigade decided to elevate the status of the bitch, they embraced the identity, they reveled in it, they united through it. Finally bitching and gossiping received it due status in the scheme of affairs. Obviously there are the puritans who still regard a bitch- woman as a bitch-dog and that is understood as not a very nice thing to aspire for.
Palpably bitch and bitching were emerging as female hegemonic traits challenging the hegemonic masculinity and its consort, the emphasized femininity. Obviously men had to save their balls, had to penetrate (the desire doesn’t expire till death) and encroach by subverting the power that was being associated with the feminist acceptance of the word bitch. What did they do? They gave birth to the male bitch, gay, effete and rather low in the masculine hierarchy, it all began in prisons, where prison bitch were men who were passive recipients (polite way of saying they were sodomised) of the desire of the more powerful or senior inmates, men are horny by nature, if they don’t get women, men of certain kinds would suffice, so carpe diem it was. So men didn’t even allow a women to be a bitch peacefully, such tyrannical usurpers of identity were never born. Even this did not satiate them so then emerged the trend of male gossip reputed to be as pernicious as its female counterpart and clearly the word bitch lost its sexual exclusivity, and since then the word has taken a plethora of meanings and can be used for everything and anything under the sun. so now there are male bitches , female bitches, sexy bitches, gay bitches, lovable bitches, sweet bitches, bitchy bitches, bitch bitches ( I mean the she dog) infact even life has become a bitch !!!! It’s fascinating, the uniqueness and adaptability this word is capable of, I won’t be surprised if a new bitch cult emerged worshipping the word bitch.
Well I think I have bitched enough, wagged my tail enough its time I bitch off!!!!
But before I do that id love to raise a toast or let’s just say a tail to all the self confessed bitches of the world. Stay a bitch and keep bitching!!!!!!
BY
ZAID AL BASET
© 2008 by Zaid
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Carpets, Bhadohi and a Good Samaritan
There is no protection for my head
It was through my friend Altamash Ansari that i heard of the carpet town of Bhadohi in Uttar Pradesh, India. one of those charming mufassil towns of hindustan where the perso-islamic and indian cultural world melange so inextricably that you cannot easily distinguish where one ends and the other begins.
like the threads of the carpet which give Bhadohi its glory in the world.
carpets are by common consent considered to be a central asian innovation. they were a necessity in the cold steppes where wandering shepherds after a days work needed warmth in the night. the floors in the tents would be too cold without a carpet, whether to offer prayers or sleep. hence arose, perhaps around the 6th c BC, the first carpets, jewelled dreams radiating heat. and a legend began that would soon spread across central asia, turkey, the balkans, persia, northern africa, india, spain, arabia. and from the time of the crusades, to the West.
the carpets of Bhadohi offer a microcosm of this splendid history. the hues and fields of spring dreamt by scythians and iranis. the geometric world of eternal forms that passed on from Plato to Islamic philosophy, creating a passion for arabesques, interlocking lines and webs and rings that mirrored the seamless unity of God and his Word rendered in calligraphy and galicha, rather than mere copies of human or animal flesh. the indian penchant for curves and ornamentation, for making fabrics into rippling sculptures of air that made her cotton and silk fabrics famed in Rome and Baghdad and China, as the poem goes.
Cosmoses, whole world of thought flowed into each other, of which, alas, we know still too little. my friend's surname is Ansari, according to him, a common surname adopted by new indian converts to islam from the weaving profession to honor the Arabian Ansaris who had helped protect the Prophet Muhammad during his flight from mecca to medina.
was adopting the name a marker of social mobility? what was the interaction zone of indian weavers with islamic identities? what are the forms of their community organization? did it differ from the earlier caste-occupation nexus?
personally, i found the indo-islamic world of qasbahs and muhallas too fascinating for words. the collective spirit of brotherhood that permeates them, the celebrations, the sense of bhaichara and qawm as they say in north india. how does it reflect in weaving patterns. in the main profession of Bhadohiyas? are special carpets for example woven for Muharram or Eid? are there folk songs associated with the process of weaving? what are the gender relations inscribed into all this?
i would be really greatful if someone illumined me on any of these aspects i am ashamed to know nothing about.
meanwhile, Altu or Jaq ( you have read his poem in this blog before) tells me that the carpet industry in bhadohi is declining in the face of stiff competition from other countries, and inability to adopt to new capital intensive technologies. the poor artisans suffer especially, though the rich too are not exempt. Good samaritan that he is, he is trying to both mobilize people to market Bhadohi carpets better, and at the same time plans to start an educational initiative that will help the poor students of the town to get cheap education and thus lessen their dependence on the carpet manufacturing sector. we wish him best of luck and God's grace.
for further information, here is Altamash's orkut profile
http://www.orkut.com/Profile.aspx?uid=634026514532527442
and here the website of Bhadohi carpets
http://www.bhadohiinfo.com/
~~Scio Amo.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
BAND OF WARRIORS ~~
they'll run for their lifes,
till the end they'll pay for their lies,
again theres a battle to fight,
gathered for the sound and the might
now we'll fight for our freedom
fight for the kingdom,
the fights with steel ,
kill all of them the blood is our seal,
fight till the last enemy is dead,
their blood that we have gladly shed,
to no man i shall kneel ,
for their blood is on my steel ,
running from the blood to our soul,
to the might in our lore ,
i swear by the brothers who stand before me,
we'll win this and be free !!!!!
Rules rules vicious rules
Much as we wouldn't like to confine you in a cellar, and wait all sooty and grimy for Prince Charmant, there are some rules you really must follow. or else...........:P
now who gets prince charming, huh?
1. please label your posts. (this applies even to those pomo queens who hate to be categorized). and as far as possible, try to place your posts within the existing categories, instead of inventing new ones. to prevent the no. of posts to rise to jonah's whale proportions.
2. those using the bohemian id, sign with your personal id.
3. use lots and lots of pics in your posts. most humans have attention spans shorter than a mayfly's life, so........big graphics, big anatomical parts, u know the routine to catch your dumb pretty mate's attention.
4. post a lot on scandals. humans love to hear about vices even more than to practise them. so if u did something really bad, u know u can confess to big daddy... :D
mea culpa, mea culpa, whip me momma, mea maxima culpa
5. i cant think of anything else. if u think up need for any more rules, do tell me, i'll add them.
6. blog authors are encouraged to spank each other if anyone infringes these rules.
7. this post will be regularly updated.
~~Scio amo.
Demons, nightmares and St Anthony
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Afterthoughts of an Erstwhile Collegian
Random thoughts on the part of this ambler were never entertained by the republican university. What they hoot for is method…to succeed…or to elude success…no cynicism.
Fragments of muffled thoughts, philistine parchments of prosaic paranoia (like this one); a multi-womb woman jutting out of a carnival of colors…all these were essential components of Dali’s creation. And he entertained and provoked simultaneously.
And Bohemian Rhapsody was indeed the cynical confession of a murderer, who might have had his wife infected with AIDS. The theme to all the disparaged teachnicians’ collective biopic.
What do all these add up to? The question mark as in De La Mare’s Listener? Or the tridentical drawing along the Nazcan hills? Maybe a little bit of frustration over some clichéd midnight coffee. The perfect Bohemian setting marred by a glimmer of despair. A welcome to the next experience. Journey of the sojourner has just began, a pause does not really mean a thing. The piper has to be ready at the gates of dawn, in duty clothes, with a pen and a paean.
No pun, no fun.