Lip Service: The Smile Train

Originally published 5/2/08 in Desicritics
I have only watched the reconstruction surgery for a cleft palate and cleft lip twice, and it remains in my memory as if these occurred just yesterday. During my first time to watch I stood quietly, in awe, with some trepidation, observing my father do reconstructive surgery in the hospital in Taxila, India. I was 7 years old. The year was 1939. My father, Dr. Stuart Bergsma, a surgeon, performed the operation on a lad, about my own age, whose teeth appeared between incomplete upper lips. The surgeon's knife, as it parted the flesh was almost more than I could bear to watch. In an hour or less, the boy's lips were pulled together with sutures and his swollen flesh looked to me like a grotesque Halloween mask. I tried not to look away. He came to see my father two months later and brought some marigold flowers and said thank you. His lips were united, his smile, a mile wide, one of toothsome happiness!

It was a clear day in the Himalayas. White clouds scudded across the sky. The Kali Gandak Valley of Nepal was a marvel to behold, the river water, from where I stood, looked like a silver band of mercury pouring down between black rocks. I stood next to a rock wall as another surgeon prepared to operate. This was the second time I saw this same operation. I was older, and this time I assisted with the operation in a limited way, having scrubbed, by handing the instruments to the doctor as required. The surgeon was Dr. Carl Taylor, a medical missionary of the Presbyterian Church. The operating table; a rough rock wall, suited the purpose well because of its height. A mat had been placed on it and the patient was lying on his back looking up. Villagers crowded nearby to see this amazing event. There was much talking and singing, but when the doctor picked up the scalpel to make the first incision the crown became silent. The town was called Tatopani, a small Himalayan village between Tansing and the border of Nepal near Tibet.

In order to receive the services of Dr. Taylor, the youth, about my own age of eighteen, had hiked with us for six days, as Dr. Taylor and other members of the National Geographic Ornithological Expedition hunted for rare birds. On Sunday, our day of rest, Dr. Taylor performed surgery and held a day-clinic for others who had hiked along behind us.
It is hard to imagine what such an operation does to the life of those who were handicapped with such a noticeable birth defect, what it did for their future employment, education and even prospects of marriage. Many birth defects are fairly well hidden, particularly those which are the result of our genes, height, a tendency to get diabetes, obesity, heart problems and tone deafness. With such problems we face the world, literally. Our face sees other faces and immediate responses are made on the basis of what we observe. Blonde hair, dark skin, long nose, high cheek bones, big ears, baldness, all telegraph messages. A cleft lip, on the other hand, telegraphs messages from the viewer, of abhorrence, sorrow, distaste, even among some viewers, that of the hand of providence, to others of the process of re-birth; the afflicted person bears the stamp of the pain or shame of another life lived less gloriously before.

This is where The Smile Train, India, comes in. In their latest 2008 bulletin on the web this is what they wrote.

"Every year, 35,000 children in India are born with clefts - a gap in the upper lip and/or palate. Though completely treatable, less than half get the treatment they desperately need - only because they are too poor.Without corrective surgery, these children are condemned to a lifetime of isolation and suffering. Taunted and tormented for their disfigurement, they cannot attend school, hold a regular job or get married. Many are even abandoned or killed at birth.
The irony is that a cleft can be completely corrected with a simple surgical procedure that could take as little as 45 minutes and cost as little as Rs. 8,000.That's where The Smile Train comes in. We are the world's largest cleft lip and palate charity. Our overriding goal is make safe and quality treatment of cleft lip and palate accessible to the millions who cannot afford it.
Since 2000, The Smile Train has sponsored over 110,000 safe, quality surgeries across India, totally free of cost."

Think about that, over one hundred thousand children have undergone surgery for cleft lips and palate, free. Compared to the billion people who live in India this may sound like a small number, but in reality it is a huge service to humanity, to the lives of youngsters who would be doomed to a life of torment. Children with such birth defects come from very rich families, very famous families, very, very poor families, all kinds of families. Nature is no respecter of persons. But the Smile Train does not do lip service to this problem; it reaches out with its service in a way that is inspiring. I am sure all of us have dropped a few coins into the hands of some beggars, trying not to see their misery and bent bodies, looking away in pity, or is it abhorrence, as the coin drops. But few of us have done what these Indian surgeons have done to bring life's blessings to so many.

The Smile Train Partner of the Month is a man who for 42 years has helped children who had no place else to turn. A man who could be described as selfless and his name is Doctor Hirji Adenwalla from Kerala, India. For 42 years this surgeon has salvaged lives and has performed 7000 surgeries to help children with cleft lip and cleft palate. He performed these surgeries, this lip service, himself, free of charge. His record of service is truly remarkable. At a recent press conference for Smile Train he said, "The lessons that we learn from human misery are to love...To never forget and to never, never, look away."

Line up all the smiles that are the result of this man's surgery and truly, there is a Smile Train a mile long.

Drag Queens - Political Bellwethers of Pakistan?

Originally published on Desicritics on Feb. 29th 2008

Almost twenty years ago while traveling through Swat Valley, I stopped in a bazaar and two women approached me, tall women with heavy make up. They stood in front of me and asked where I was from in broken English. I replied in Urdu which set them off with high squeals and sexy wiggles. A crowd gathered. There is always a crowd when there is a tamasha. What a show this was, an American dressed in shalwar kameez, wearing a Pashtun hat, speaking Urdu, driving a Japanese car, talking to two six feet tall ‘women’ who were flirting like crazy and reaching out to feel blonde hair.

“Do you take female hormones,” I asked. It was a fair question because they had asked me if I thought they were beautiful as they puffed out their bosoms. I nodded and rolled my eyes. Wah! The crowd laughed.

“Yes. Yes. I do, but my friend Sheila here does not. She has not been a nar, male since he was castrated as a child. She is a eunuch.” I looked at Sheila and my gaze embarrassed her; she turned away shyly, but then returned my gaze and lifted her eyebrows in a question mark. The crowd of children echoed the word eunuch, hirja.

“Do you sing and perform?” I asked.

“Yes. Yes almost every night. We have even performed in the famous Nishtar Hall in Peshawar when we were younger. We were very famous!”

In the Northwest Frontier Province where I spent my childhood, I had seen many, many men dressed as women, in drag as we say in the States. But not really in drag. My parents always looked away and did not answer our questions about tall women in drag. Cross dressing implied ‘functional’ men dressed as women. I was informed later by my father that most of the men who dressed like women, were eunuchs, and if not, were effeminate, and often homosexual. He was comfortable about this reminding me of the ‘eunuch of Ethiopia’ who was forced to carry Jesus’ cross.

Already my readers are squirming. Drag, eunuch, homosexual, effeminate, cross dressing… these are only mentioned in whispers by the men in parties or away from the family. Such are not discussed within family, within ear-shot of wives and children, particularly the word homosexual; that term had a special taboo, it was unthinkable. But in Pakistan, since its inception in 1947 and in the NWFP where I grew up, many men had a penchant for young boys, and beautiful men as they had throughout history. Check your history books about the Emperors of ancient India, who their favorite entertainers were. Oh, heaven forbid another term, pedophilia in India!

“In a society that strictly segregates women and men, these transgender musicians perform for male audiences—at weddings and other social occasions, swinging their hips in suggestive gyrations.” Dancers Cheer Islamist Defeat in Pakistan Vote, by Yaroslav Trofimov, The Wall Street Journal, Feb. 26. 2008.

This article suggests that the new election results in the NWFP of Pakistan are harbingers of change for cross-dressers and entertainers who had in recent years been prohibited, that a new era of more liberal thought and attitude toward dancers will now become a reality because the people in Swat have voted against Islamic militants who banned music, bombed and burned stores that sold video tapes, prohibited suggestive signs advertising with sexual overtones, and worst of all prohibiting the sale of those suggestive very evil Indian Bollywood movies and videos in which young women dance with faces exposed and hips and breasts moving suggestively.

The Wall Street Journal article suggests that there may be a return to ‘normalcy’ so that the featured entertainer, Adel, will be able once again to perform in Peshawar’s Nishtar Hall; a great step forward toward normalization of social activity.

Does the irony of all this leap out at you as it does for me? Normalization of social activity? So what is normal? Concealing women within society to the point that the normal urge for heterosexual interaction must be satisfied with men acting as women singing in falsetto voices and wiggling their hips and breasts to satisfy the prurient needs of a sexually repressed society? Even more, the ‘dancers cheer’ is a bellwether of political-social change. What an irony.

A bellwether is any entity in a given arena that serves to create or influence trends or to presage future happenings. The term is derived from the Middle English bellewether and refers to the practice of placing a bell around the neck of a castrated ram (a wether) in order that this animal might lead its flock of sheep.

Now the bells are around the ankles of Pakistani eunuch ‘cross dressers’; castrated rams that lead the flock of sheep toward political change. What a beautiful image. But in the same newspaper the headline shouts, PAKISTAN LULL IS SHATTERED, and reports that insurgents are receiving renewed attention in the assassination of Lt. General Mushtaq Baig, an eye surgeon who headed the Army Medical Corps. Insurgents; such a convenient term for cowards who hide behind religious convention and dogma to exert control, even to the extent of assassination and heaven forbid, the closing down of YouTube and repression of cross-dressing dancers.

Dancing bellwethers! Long may they gyrate and presage future happenings, leading out the sheep in the repressed frontier along the Afghanistan border.

Mother Teresa's Prayer

Originally published on Desicritics on Feb. 4, 2008

Puja, worship, invocation, prayer, namaz, dua, salvat, bhajan, meditation, praise, astute; the words are not synonymous. Each person involved in such acts brings with him or her personal understanding, personal cultural experience and personal interpretation of the reason for such acts. Each mind and heart experiences worship differently through the interactions stemming from experience and existence, dare I use the word, existentially. Each worshipper has a cognitive set, emotional baggage, cultural learning. Even the artifacts which surround the one performing namaz are totally different. How utterly different is the Badshahi Mosque from the Indian temple mandira, such as the Gopuram of South India! The motive for the prayers may vary as well. Some pray for a special blessing, some for forgiveness, some for physical health, and some even for wealth. A few pray to praise, repeating over and over how wonderful and powerful God is; are they hoping He will hear their praises and recognize their obeisance for… Others mutilate, flagellate themselves hoping that will show their devotion and thus garner something from Allah.

For one, with eyes open staring at a lingam, the statue, the bringing of flowers, the pouring of oil, the bowing and chanting may represent hope, a wish that a power greater than self will look with favor and grant the supplicant’s mundane yet heartfelt desire; to bear a child, to overcome an illness, to feed a family. To another who kneels in the cathedral with eyes closed to shut out earthly and physical surroundings, prayer may be a means to commune with God almighty on a one-to-one basis, to request forgiveness for sins, to give thanks to a personal God who attends, listens to; such a one prays for answers, gives praise, extols, and murmurs in the ear of the Almighty, hallelujah. Among hundreds gathered together in Lahore to perform namaz, to prostate themselves and intone holy words is to carry out the meaning of islam, subjugation of self before the one god, Allah and commune with other faithful and extol the attributes of the Almighty, the Merciful. Others in Ludhiana may sit together and sing, hum, play drums and musical instruments and make a joyful noise to khuda and feel the fervor of worship in bhajan, become invigorated with the eternal rhythms.

Mother Teresa’s personal letters published after her death reveal yet another meaning of prayer and worship. She expressed joy in 1931 when she took her first vows as a nun and wrote to a friend, “If you could know how happy I am, as Jesus’ little bride.” Those words evoke strong physical meaning, as does the act of prostration on the floor, arms and legs akimbo in the act of complete spiritual surrender to the bridegroom, Jesus, or walking into the church wearing bridal clothing. Some nuns wear a wedding ring.

Teresa perceives a dialogue with the almighty.

JESUS) Wilt thou refuse to do this for me?...You have become my Spouse for my love—you have come to India for Me. The thirst you had for souls brought you so far—Are you afraid to take one more step for Your Spouse—for me—for souls? Is your generosity grown cold? Am I second to you?

Teresa) Jesus, my own Jesus—I am only Thine—I am so stupid—I do not know what to say but do with me whatever you wish…” Time, September 3, 2007, page 39As a teacher in Calcutta with the Loreto Sisters on the way to Darjeeling she reported that Christ again spoke personally to her to work with people in the slums of the Calcutta with the poor, the sick the dying. “Come be my light.”

She embarks on her mission after 1948 but soon thereafter she experiences abandonment. “Lord, God, who am I that You should forsake me? The Child of your love—and now become as the most hated one—the one—You have thrown away as unwanted—unloved. I call, I cling I want—and there is no One to answer—no One on whom I can cling--.”

Teresa’s faith takes on a desperation stemming from unbelief, disbelief, emptiness because her prayers rebounded back to her. She felt totally cut off from God. She doubted the existence of her Lord. Yet she continued to do her work, continued to serve the needy, continued to hold her rosary and move the beads through her fingers.

Now, in retrospect the armchair religious analysts make their interpretations, those who find divine purpose in the fact ‘that Teresa’s spiritual spigot went dry’; that she may have experienced abandonment by God by imposing it on herself; that she may have had a huge amount of cognitive dissonance, or that through all her struggles with faith that she “reveals herself as holier than anyone knew.”

She fought against pride in her entire life of service, fought against her own unbelief and perception of darkness and emptiness when she tried to pray, when she sought One to cling to. But she did her work; her ‘prayer’ was her service, her giving, not vast sums to build a cathedral or support a religious cause, but in her poverty, her penury she gives what she has, herself, to the service of the untouchables. Her salvat, her mukt was her consistent fight against self pride. She perceived an absence of God, yet found salvation in service and dedicating herself to her work to the end through giving.

Teresa had asked that her private letters and notes be kept secret after her death. They were not, nor were her requests carried out, the church over-ruled. Why? “Her Agony” in the Religion section of Time, written by David van Biema got lots of attention. It put her picture on the cover of this world class magazine to be read by tens of millions. It exposed her belief or lack of it, her secrets. Why? Her secret letters became tabloid stuff. (Who wants to read about quiet belief, joy, and peace?) What sells is trauma, agony, voyeuristic peeking into another’s struggle, and agony with faith. What could have been the church’s motivation to release her secret letters? They must answer.

Teresa’s life itself was a dua, a prayer, a dedication to her fellow men, to alleviate the suffering around her, to extend a helping, healing hand to those who suffered. She had no money to give to charity, she gave herself. Whatever her inner spiritual, philosophical struggle was, it was hers and should have remained hers, as words spoken by a ‘sinner’ in the confessional should remain hidden. Though she received Nobel accolades for peace on earth, her greatest achievement resides in the lives of those she touched; it is a prayer through giving. We are not known for what we receive, what we get, what we obtain. We are really only what we have given. It is not her agony that should be celebrated or remembered, rather her gifts to humanity, her love for others. She was a little light burning in a tiny clay dish.

An Oath of Vengeance: Blood Demands Blood

Originally published on Desicritics on Jan 31, 2008

“Life for a life, eye for an eye, nose for a nose, ear for an ear, tooth for a tooth, and wounds equal for equal. But whoso forgoeth it (in the way of charity) it shall be expiation for him.” Koran, Surah 5, vs.45

To live under the first part of this declaration, to believe it and to enact it in one’s life places the individual in a position which leaves little room for forgiveness, little consideration for peaceful negotiation and instills the need to keep score. Certainly the idea of “turning the other cheek” as taught by Jesus can not be considered. However, Jesus was a Jew and the teachings of the Old Testament were almost identical to those taught in Surah 5. The idea of an eye for and eye persists yet today in the minds of those who negotiate settlements never solved by Arafat, never solved by present day Israeli leaders. The life for a life belief, and I say belief, not philosophy, makes for self justification and the drawing of hard lines in the sand.

On an individual scale, those who live and breathe this belief, carry their jambiya sheathed, ready for use against any who violate or step across that line. I remember traveling in Yemen Arab Republic and talking to men who carried their curved dagger at the waist, would never consider walking the street without it, they would feel undressed. So, I asked, when have you used your dagger? Why? Different men responded in different ways. One told me that if the dagger was drawn from the sheath to pay another back in kind, one who blasphemed, it must draw blood. Another said that if another’s dagger drew blood, then he would make an oath of vengeance and the aggressor would surely have his blood drawn.

I lived in Northern Nigeria for twelve years. Almost daily I heard the Hausa words, ‘make an oath’, yi rantsuwa. Men, thus protected by the aura of such belief go about relaxed in their passive aggressive stance, knowing that others around them think the same way. I also lived in Pakistan for a number of years and listened to iman se, saugand which was spoken so frequently that it lost its sting.

I was amazed when George Bush used the words crusade when speaking of the actions which would be taken against the Islamic terrorists after 911. Those too were similar words, ‘eye for an eye’ words. Those words drew a line in the sand. George said America would never rest until we got him, Bin Laden that is. They got Saddam but the misplaced vengeance continues in Iraq. The bad press Bush got about using the word crusade changed his language but not his actions. His immediate response was a telling one.

Not long ago Bin Laden said, “Stop spilling our blood so we can stop spilling your blood.” Diane Christian said in her article, Blood Spilling, “Osama bin Laden released a taped message offering to stop his jihad against European nations if they will stop ‘onslaughts against Muslims and interference in their affairs as part of the big American conspiracy against the Islamic world.’ It’s a noteworthy vengeance text, with a new peace-making twist. Bin Laden first claims his war is not terrorism but righteous revenge for brutality against his people and sacred places. He rejects the label of terrorist and returns it: By describing us and our actions as terrorism, you are necessarily describing yourself and your action…Our actions are reactions to your actions that destroy and kill our people in Afghanistan, Iraq and Palestine.”

One religious cause against another; Israel and Palestine, or the United States against fundamental radical Islamists wherever they are, in Pakistan, Iraq or Palestine. But how is the common man on the street in Baluchistan or Kabul going to view the common man on the street in Chicago or Dallas? Will all Americans be thought of as aggressors against Islam? How is the average American getting on the sub-way in New York or the next plane to Seattle going to differentiate between those who are Muslim believers, peaceful believers who do not carry oaths of vengeance as part of their costume? Truly we are in a disturbing era in world history. War is being waged against unseen ‘enemies’, particularly those considered to be the ‘most dangerous kind’, those who carry their jambiya sheathed but ready to draw blood, or carrying hidden bombs strapped to their waists; and they can not be recognized on a Bombay railway station.

Our family first left India in 1944, boarding a freighter in Bombay and making our way south all the way to Australia and then on to Los Angeles. During the War! By 1947 we had settled into an American home but each of us carried our ‘Indian’ selves with us. As a school child I learned quickly not to constantly provide answers about India, not to talk about India too much; even though the teachers’ smiles were patient with these new strangers. Now I carry with me my ‘desi’ self, carry it quietly and have for many decades. Does one ever lose the sense of what home meant? The point I am making is that each individual carries with him, her or his social-ethnic and emotional costume. But then Partition came!

Our Indian homes had been in Taxila, Ludhiana and Sialkot. Partition came and as a child, I heard with disbelief the reports of horror and carnage at the new international border, brothers killing brothers and making solemn oaths of vengeance against those who slaughtered their loved ones. But how could the Indian child differentiate between the man getting on the Bombay train or the Lahore PIA flight to Quetta? There were a million wounds, much blood and memories which span generations. Even using the word Partition makes the listeners’ faces in Lahore or Lucknow, harden.

The reaction over the years that followed 911 or 1947 are similar; hardening of the categories, solidifying the rationale for the barriers, giving credence to the arms build up and the need for nuclear weapons, justification for preemptive actions, except now the jambiya that are carried are no longer personal but national and the oaths are based on strange alliances and threats. “Leaders perform their bizarre public ballets making friendship over hatred and common terrorist enemy, ignoring their serious disagreements over the Iraq invasion.” (See Diane Christian’s new book, Blood Sacrifice, available from Amazon.com, Feb. 2008).

Righteous violence and vengeance is the mask that is worn, like the phantom of the opera, it both hides and reveals the wearer; it makes the identity of the wearer grotesque. Look at the faces of shop keepers in Murree, Pakistan, when the Kashmir problem is mentioned. Mouths turn down and harden, eyes become fierce as India’s guilt is considered. The Vale of Kashmir considered to be a ‘heaven on earth’ has become the basis for hatred, revenge and oaths of vengeance keep flying back and forth.

I do not mean to preach, but why have the lessons of peaceful living been forgotten? Why are the noble ideals of ‘turn the other cheek’ forgotten; why is the teaching of serenity, peace and enlightenment of Siddhartha Gautama forgotten? Where is the belief of acceptance of all religions of Hinduism, promotion of non violence, the welcoming of all faiths, where has it gone? Where are these noble ideas and ideals? I think they are with us. But there is a second part to the verse. “But whoso forgoeth it (in the way of charity) it shall be expiation for him.” Vs.45b.

Is there charity? Is there hope? Vivekananda: May he who is the Brahman of the Hindu, the Ahura Mazda of Zoroastrians, the Buddha of the Buddhists, the Jehovah of Jew, the Father in Heaven of Christians give strength to you to carry out your noble ideas. J.H. Barrows, In the World’s Parliament of Religions, (Ed.), Vol. II. Chicago, 1893, p.98

Benazir's One Way To Pakistan

Originally published December 28, 2007 on Desicritics

Benazir seemed to have a premonition. “When I first got elected they said, ‘A woman has usurped a man’s place, she should be killed. She should be assassinated, she has committed heresy.” Heresy! Ah, such a convenient fall-back for the accusations made by self-righteous cowards. How does anyone counter the shouts of heresy from the fundamentalists, the radical Islamists who control through ‘irrefutable dogma’? Yes, she had a strong premonition, and according to many, also a strong sense of predestination concerning her life and death.

“If you believe in something, go for it, but know that when you go for it there is a price to be paid. Be ready to pay the price and you can contribute to the welfare of society and society will acknowledge you and respect you for it.”

Her return to Pakistan, her one way return from exile was performed with the knowledge of the grave danger she faced. Already the Taliban had called for her execution, yet in the face of danger she returned, made her way back. She had a strong belief that she could contribute to the welfare of Pakistani society. In her past record there were achievements of note; she worked hard for the welfare of women, the common women in Pakistani society, trying to improve their health, their family life through learning about reproductive choices. “I have always done my best to allow women to succeed.” But overshadowing all her efforts to create positive social change there hung the cloud of that terrible word, corruption, the arrest of her husband Asif Zardari and his long imprisonment and her own exile. Yet she returned and made her way back to Pakistan.

She was a highly privileged person from any point of view. Imagine, being able to gain entry to Harvard at the age of sixteen! Imagine her home life, vast estates, huge houses, multitudes of servants; truly a person who came from a lineage of ‘feudal lords’, who as they moved about the country from village to village were met by common folk who sank to their knees and lowered their heads to the feet of Bhutto’s family members. Yet, in spite of this she had a deep love for her people, her country, and from what she often stated publicly, a belief that she could make a difference politically and socially.

Her one way return to Pakistan was shadowed. “I put my life in danger and came here because I felt this country is in danger.” How true that statement was. She was a person with close ties to the United States, a person with a fine secular education, a person with an international life style, a modern woman in many ways, yet one who kept to her beliefs, her religion and faith to the very end.

“In the end, Bhutto’s secular credentials in a Muslim dominated Pakistan and her close ties to the U.S. could have been her downfall. Al-Qaeda and Taliban hated her close ties to Americans and her support for the war on terrorism.” (NPR.org, Dec.27, 2007)

Don’t be afraid, she had said. I just re-read the text of her interview with the Academy of Achievement, Oct.27th. 2000. It was a worthwhile exercise for me. Her words spoke her own eulogy eloquently.

Book Review: One Way to Pakistan

A very nice book review by Deepti Lamba originally published on Desicritics on 10/30/07

Although the central theme of the book One Way To Pakistan is about the expatriate experience and the existence of sex slavery in Pakistan, but the demons of Islamic zealotries and political fascism that plague and paralyze the characters' lives in the post 9/11 scenario have been woven into the story quite well. The lack of freedom suffered by both men and women is brought to the forefront by the author, whether they are rich or poor; each fears the long arm of the law and suffers under its brutal tactics that begins with the ominous ‘First Information Report for police files for not following the law’.

To some, the Pakistani way of life may seem fraught with insecurity and religious intolerance, but in Harold’s book, while depicting such conditions he also shows that though a culture may be capable of following certain barbaric practices yet the spirit of human kindness continues to kindle in the hearts of those who are seemingly unimportant.

The characters in his book are complex people - some in position of power are predatory, some are social climbers and others just leading lives of petty crime like evading taxes, stealing electricity or tucking away a sex slave in a remote ancestral home. In the complex scenario, seething with repressed sexual tension entwined with religious prohibitions, Harold explores the concept of innocence, whether of the expatriate women like Gretchen or Celia who believe in basic human goodness in men and land up getting roughed up and mauled, or of the sex slaves like Ankh or Leila, sold into slavery or abducted, who continue to be more humane in their simple lives and try to survive even in the worst of situations and also of young unemployed men like Dost who teeter at the brink of cynicism and hopelessness.

In some ways this story could just as well have been set in India. While the urban centers are progressive and secular, the underbelly of our country is equally horrific where the rights of the vulnerable are easily trampled upon and rarely reported. Women and children frequently go missing from rural areas and are rarely reported. The recent report of the gang rape of a Dalit woman and the apathy of the political machinery shamed us into acknowledging the discrepancies within our own social fabric and the stigma the violated victim suffers from.

While the book’s storyline is dark, by virtue of being an excellent writer Harold transports us easily from the US expat mansions to the remote villages of the NWFP. Through his words we are able to feel the vastness of a land still untamed, and also the wild spirit of the tribes who refuse to submit to Pakistani rule and their war against USA.

Though the terrorism angle is brought in towards the end of the book, it does have relevance in the plot and is believable. The anger against the U.S. amongst the Pakistani people is palpable and the risks that the American women take, despite repeated warnings lands them in trouble time and time again. The question of assimilation itself does not arise when these people are basically visiting only for a short duration and it seems naïve to think that their one small victory makes any difference in the grand scheme of things.

In the end the book is about the insurmountable human spirit that endures despite all that life throws its way.

San Diego Fires, Chinese Smog and Desi Dung Patties

Originally published on Desicritics on 11/7/07

Finally! We are breathing more easily. I look out across San Diego Bay and the sky is clear for the first time in two weeks. Only a week ago I looked at the setting sun and saw an angry grey sky and an orange-red orb. The news on T V had little else on it, fires, thousand of square miles of wild fires which ravaged San Diego County, burning more than a thousand homes and causing a billion dollars in property damage.

There were satellite pictures of the smoke plumes that drifted out across the Pacific Ocean, driven by what we call Santa Anna winds which come from the east. These winds drove the fires and made the job of putting them out very difficult. The plumes looked like grey-white smears. Carbon emissions of the worst kind! It is hard to imagine how many thousands of tons of carbon were represented in those smoke plumes and what that did to the atmosphere. This was another contributor to global warming, and yes, an inconvenient truth.

The grey yellow smog that used to blanket the Los Angeles area has been reduced in the last ten years, but a vast amount of carbon fuel consumed by vehicles in California; vehicles are daily throwing tons of carbon into the air, our atmosphere. The simple fact is that the hundreds of millions of vehicles operating in the United States on a daily basis is a major factor in atmospheric pollution that continues to plague the earth. America continues to contribute a huge share of global atmospheric carbon. From time to time I glance at Visible Earth for NASA images to see what the earth looks like. What amazing images these are, smog and smoke plumes show up dramatically in various localities on our planet.

Almost one month ago, there were computer enhanced models of smoke which were spooky. Grey-brown in nature, they moved from west to east across Pakistan, India, and Bangladesh across the Himalayas into Tibet and onwards. Curious I checked and saw other such satellite pictures made last year and the year before. I read about the ‘smog’ that is rising from across the sub-continent constantly. China is upset because her own terrible pollution problem is aggravated by the grey-brown plumes moving in from the east. Kiran Nagarkar describes this phenomenon from Bombay in a report dated 11/06/07, “From Bombay with Smog.” He writes, “Bombay is already considered the world’s most polluted city. In ten years, it will become the most populated one.”

Justin Huggler writes in 2005 in “India Smog Hides Deeper Fear” that India is the fifth-largest producer of carbon emissions in the world releasing 50 million tons into the atmosphere a year, more than any European country. He explains that the main factor is the demand for power generation, for large cities like Bombay and Delhi. The big problem, he says, is that most of India’s power stations are still coal-fired, and the domestically mined coal is of poor quality, leading to carbon emissions. So, the need for electricity is the reason such vast amounts of coal are burned daily. But there are other areas of pollution that are unique to India.

Imagine five hundred million common folk who can not afford natural gas or kerosene, all cooking their breakfast and dinner. I can imagine.

As a child I squatted next to chulas and blew on dung fires with a pipe to heat the water for tea, the griddle to make chappati. Six of us, all kids, living in Taxila would follow the cattle to the fields, and I can remember the feeling of warm dung I picked up for my friends to take to their homes. I remember plastering the dung patties on sun facing walls to dry. My mom would ask me what I did while I ‘played with the Indian kids’ and my reply was always, having fun. I would always return home dirty, to her chagrin. My dad, a doctor, worked in the hospital operating on hundreds of people, removing their cataracts. That hospital had a large godaam which stored coal for fires and heaters. The dust from that coal was fair game for anyone to take away. My friends picked up small particles and swept up black dust to take home to add to the fresh cow dung. Round bricks were made from this mixture with finger holes poked in them to burn evenly. In America kids play with mud from time to time. I played making black dung bricks.

Imagine how difficult it is for poor folk to cook their food. Fortunately many of them have cattle; for milk, ghee, curds and yogurt, and the by-product, dung. The cow is really a boon to India, holy cow, it feeds people and then even helps do the cooking besides. Recently I read that there are perhaps four hundred million of them in India. Oh, oh, natural gas. All of this adds onto the picture I see on Visible Earth, images of Indian plumes of pollution that cover the land in a thick cloud, drifting eastward toward China.

“The clouds consist of ash, acidic chemicals and carbon, which come from the burning of fossil fuels and wildfire. One of the most intensely polluted and most studied brown clouds, which hangs over the Indian Ocean, has recently been found to consist largely of the smoke from dried manure used for cooking." (C.Venkataram et al. Science 307, 1454-1456:2005). Obviously such visible brown clouds drifting eastward become smoking international political issues.

So what do the Chinese burn? Coal. A report about this warns, “Beijingers Told to Stay Indoors As Smog Hangs Over North China”. Lots and lots of dirty coal is being burned, 6000 coal-fire heating furnaces and up to two million home coal burners in Beijing send the toxic mess up into the atmosphere; Olympic games here we come! The rural peasants also burn twigs, grasses, branches, leaves, anything that will burn, including cow dung. Entire forests have been denuded. The resultant? China has one of the worst air environments in the world. In the larger cities the skies were always grey; when I was there a few months ago and I was amazed that I seldom saw ‘blue skies smiling at me’. After a few days one gets used to it, except for the cough and sneezing and tight feeling in the chest.

Above the Amazon basin a smoke plume billows. Slash and burn. Slash and burn the rain forests to make room for farmers who need fields to plant crops. Millions of them. What do you say to a guy that wants a hectare or two to feed his family? Rain forests are natural air purifiers and they are going, going, --- The rain forests are the earth’s natural purifiers and they are rapidly being cut down by people in need. The issue is people need fuel, farms and food. People and more people with needs! From my perspective the greatest area of environmental pollution is the hot population growth, unchecked population growth that is straining the earth’s capabilities.

The San Diego fires threw up a lot of smoke. Top ‘world’ politicians throw up smoke screens or ignore the warnings in favor of continued economic development. Air pollution is certainly a factor in global warming that many wish to ignore. Making money, keeping the economy going is the cry. Even if the problem were taken seriously right now, we as global inhabitants are leaving behind us a legacy which will change the nature of life for our children.

The answer to the need for cheap and clean energy production may well be in the realm of nuclear and fuel technology for India’s “civilian program...” Nuclear Friends in Need, Yale Global Outline, July 12, 2007. No easy solutions. Few Indians living in the millions of small villages use electric stoves to cook food, nor will they in the future. God, what a lot of problems there are! Nero fiddled while Rome burns. We are global fiddlers too. I look back to my simple, carefree childhood with feelings of warm pleasure; a hot cow-dung patty in my hand. Fuel for thought.

India's Monkey Business

Originally published on Desicritics on 11/2/07

When animals are endangered we take immediate notice. But recently I had to smile a bit, perhaps wryly, that those endangered were not mammals such as Asiatic Lions, vultures or River Dolphins but human beings. “Man Dies, Attacked by Monkeys in Delhi” “Tourist’s Spectacles Stolen by Monkey” “Monkey Business in Indian Airport” “Monkey Man with Iron Claws.” On and on, reports of huge numbers of monkeys in Delhi, perhaps more than twenty thousand, on the rampage. Stealing, snatching, entering dwellings, acting so aggressively that in spite of a reverence for the monkeys, people were picking up sticks and stones, even swords to drive them off, ward off the pests. Even tourists were endangered! My goodness, please not that! Such monkey business gets the attention of journalists, it makes interesting press. We read and shake our heads and smile and think, oh well, yes there is a problem but what can we do anyway?

I read also that a high Indian official had banned the export and sale of monkeys to the United States because the treatment they received had violated the agreements for how monkeys were to be handled. Some reports stated that twenty thousand Indian monkeys a year had been shipped for medical research purposes, such as the development of Polio vaccine. Now exportation was to stop. No more monkeys to be sold, at high cost, to the States.

What is the solution to this overpopulation problem of monkeys? Avenues for addressing the problem have been suggested by researchers but are then quickly dismissed. No killing of monkeys because of religious beliefs, Hanuman, and respect for monkeys in India! Removing and taking so many monkeys to remote areas was impossible and too costly and involved risks to humans and monkeys alike. Introduce larger Langurs which would chase them away; no, this only multiplies the problem. Birth control measures for monkeys would be difficult to administer and involve risks, moreover, would be costly and the drug’s effectiveness wears off unless consistent measures are applied. Sterilization of large populations of monkeys seemed difficult because of the lack of appropriate technologies to administer to so many animals safely, such as in tablet form. Injections require capture, sedation and risks to handlers. Status quo; no killing, no way to prevent monkey births, no way to sterilize and no way to sell them to an eager market. (It will take five years before the breeding facilities in the States will be able to supply the annual demand for monkeys for research and medical development.) Sounds grim.

Perhaps there is hope, however; in drugs which could be inserted into food and given to monkeys that could sterilize them. So far there does not appear to be any such drug available. Implants and injections are used widely for sterilization, but orally administered drugs have not been developed and used as far as I can ascertain. Could it be developed and administered safely and not cause a social problem? So many aspects of our environment are controlled, actively and passively by new inventions. Why not invent a safe sterilization agent to help solve the monkey problem? Actions need to be taken because there are possible serious health issues involved in the monkey and human interaction equation. In such cases science could inform politics.

The latest National Geographic Magazine, October 2007 has an excellent article by David Quammen, “Deadly Contact”, discussing zoonosis. Briefly, zoonosis means, “animal disease” and in this article it refers to such diseases in animals which jump to humans, “when pathogens leap”. Ebola Virus, SARS, HIV and even Monkey Pox are horrific diseases that ‘leap’ from animal populations to human beings with terrible consequences. Quammen makes the point that it takes certain viruses to leap across species barriers and they evolve quickly and are...”unaffected by antibiotics, they can be elusive, they can be versatile and they can inflict extremely high rates of mortality, and they are fiendishly simple.” He points out that close contact ... “between two species represents opportunity for a pathogen to expand its horizon and possibilities.” Pathogens take risks for the “big payoff”. Pathogens do not literally jump from one species to another; they are transported, carried by animals to people who contact animals in intimate ways. (I can hear the rattle of the small hand-held drum on the top of a stick announcing dholna that the monkey wallah is going to put on a show. Or is it the man with the dancing bear?) Intimate contact, prolonged intimate contact between animal species enhances the opportunity for viral transfer.

Many deadly viruses have been involved in Zoonosis in Africa where very intimate contacts were made with monkeys and apes. Very intimate simian contact! People ate them. Bush meat is one means many Africans have to get animal protein. The monkey or ape meat is not always thoroughly cooked; the meat is handled with no regard for hygiene. Live animals, particularly baby animals, are kept when their mothers are slaughtered, especially apes and monkeys.

I was surprised by one thing that was emphasized in Quammen’s article. Bats! Bats can carry deadly diseases such as the Hendra virus. Certain bats carry and die of rabies but can pass this deadly disease to other animals such as cows, dogs or directly to people. Hendra, the newly discovered viral disease is deadly. Bats, fruit bats, chimgadar, hang around in colonies and leave droppings of feces and urinate on grasses and leaves. Other animals such as cattle, birds and monkeys ingest feces and become infected. People eat the infected animals, or get into close touching contact with them and become infected. Many people eat with their hands, and many do not thoroughly wash before eating after handling dead animals. Africa has had tremendous problems with the spread of deadly disease through human contact with animals, particularly monkeys and apes.

Monkeys are a really big problem in India and their close and frequent contact with people creates a situation that may be optimal for zoonosis, that is, if a given virus is present at the right time that allows pathogens to make that crucial leap. The problem, monkeys, is multiplying rapidly without control; good sources of food are available, human food, often provided by kind ‘faithful’ people. Bandar log are becoming more aggressive and their fear of humans has diminished so they encroach intimately.

It is not just the nuisance factor of having too many monkeys around too many human beings. It is a matter of public health and safety. Solutions to the monkey problem can be found through scientific means. It is a matter of using reasoned care for precious human populations by India’s leaders, informed by researchers and public health workers. This is a problem that will only get worse. Monkey business is serious business.

Indian Railways - Whose Legacy?

Originally published on Desicritics on 10/30/07

“The Indian railways traverse through the length and width of the country; the routes cover a total length of 63,140 km (39,462 miles). It is one of the largest and busiest rail networks in the world, transporting just over six billion passengers and almost 750 million tonnes of freight annually. Indian Railway is the world's largest commercial or utility employer, with more than 1.6 million employees. The entire railway reservation system was streamlined with computerisation in 1995.”
Indian Railways Network, WorldJute.com.

"What an amazing system, one of the world’s greatest! Six billion passengers is a lot of people to transport. Indian railways provide jobs to more than a million and a half employees! How in the world did it get so big, so important to the social, economic and cultural life of India?"
(See: Exploring Indian Railway, OUP India, New Edition, 1996, by Bill Aitken.)

Here are a few statements to consider.

India’s trains are a shining legacy of the British Raj, a track record of which they can be proud. The railway system unified India as little else did, sparking economic development and social sharing. The system of rails that ran from Calcutta to the Khyber Pass provided employment, training and a way of life for thousands upon thousands of Indians. The development of a railway system necessitated the construction of thousands of miles of steel tracks which sparked industrial development, galvanized the iron and steel producing industry. Trains became social levelers which broke down caste as millions shared crowded quarters. Trains facilitated the movement of vast numbers of Muslims who moved to Pakistan and millions of Hindus who moved to India.

Without the railway system the present economic boom in India would never have taken place. The British Raj left behind an efficient and smoothly operating infrastructure, India Railway, second to none in the world!

Sound familiar?

True? It depends on who writes the history.

“It is peculiar that so many educated Indians fondly remember the Raj. The British Empire ruled India for more than 200 years; British rule drained India of natural resources, induced famines by interfering with agricultural production and the distribution of foodstuffs, dismantled previously competitive Indian industries (e.g. shipbuilding, steel production), and acerbated poverty. The British parliament never considered conferring citizenship to Indian...” Indian nostalgia for the Raj; What’s going on?,

To the vast majority of Indians who travel on the trains such statements may mean little. To Indians who remember an India before partition, the statements may spark fire. To the steel developers, such as at Tata, the track record of the development of the railway system is a history of struggle against the policies of the Raj which supported English steel mills, English manufacturing plants, to the detriment of economic development within India. Indian cotton was shipped out to be processed into cloth in England to bring back to sell to Indians who could have produced their own textiles. As far as being a social leveler, travelers developed their own systems of segregation. Do you remember?

“Hindu Pani!” How often I heard the cry as a kid at the railway stations. I remember there was a third class, a second class, an inter-class and first class reserved compartments. I remember that only select folk were welcomed in the train stations’ catering tea-rest rooms. Being a gora sahib was all it took to be served there. When the British left India, the train system had been sorely neglected and it took the new Indian government some time to get it running well.

Wait, let’s give credit where credit is due; what was started by the British was a legacy, an enduring infrastructure that facilitated future development. I was traveling in Baluchistan by car some years ago and came across a beautifully constructed railway bridge. On it was the year of its construction, 1932. That bridge is still functioning very well, thank you, as are thousands in India that were designed by British engineers and constructed in the early years of the development of the railway system. Yet it was Indians that took it over who made it what it is today.

Trains played a huge role in the development of the United States. There are some parallels to the development of the Indian railways to that system.

Do you remember the legendary American golden spike that was pounded into the ties at Promotional Point, when the two railway lines met, one coming from the east, the other from the west. At that time, the old saying, ‘go west, young man, go west!’ took on new meaning. No longer did a lad with a gun slung across his shoulder, have to hike two thousand miles, fight Indians, and critters to get to the WEST. Now, for the price of a train ticket people could move, and move rather quickly for the time. The date was May 10th. 1896.

The transcontinental railroad unified America. It surely was an impetus in the great western movement; in the eventual development of California, Oregon and Washington. It enhanced the ‘gold rush’; it served the North in the Civil War. The railway became a social mixer; people of all walks of life used it for trade, for bilking others, for carpet baggers and snake-oil salesmen who used the train to find their markets. It made the slaughter of the American Bison a reality, since meat, skins and eventually bones could be shipped to the east by rail. Traditional folk, called Indians were strongly affected by the rail which brought droves of white men with guns into their territories, and eventually led to their being placed on reservations. “The only good Indian is a dead Indian.” Remember Custer’s last stand? It is true that the railway provided employment for thousands to build the track system. Remember the role the Chinese ‘slaves’ had in laying tracks? They slaved for pennies a day and died by the hundreds and then, imagine, government policies cut off Chinese immigration in the Exclusion Act and made interracial marriages illegal. The rails carried mail, bullion, building materials and fancy dresses and booze. Goods were shipped all the way from Paris to ‘Californ-eye-aye’. It is the stuff that old Western movies are made of.

Thousands of miles of steel tracks had to be made for this American transcontinental railway line. The eastern steel mills roared; millions of dollars were made by tycoons who invested in steel mills, and they did not have to pay capital gains taxes. Yes, the railway was a significant factor in development of all types and opened communications from east to west.

I have traveled across the United States on trains and I give them a B- for impact and A for effort. Yes, today the trains still operate, many with government subsidies. Amtrak’s stock is owned by the Federal Government and employs some 19,000 people. (Compare this to how many work for the railways in India.) But Henry Ford certainly changed American’s ideas of how to get around. Cheap cars, Model A and Model T Fords became affordable and people loved having their own way of getting from point A to B. The vast majority of cars that fill America’s highways have no passengers, only the driver. Roads, roads, ‘grand trunk’ roads were developed from north to south, east to west and began to eclipse the impact of the railroads. ‘A chicken in every pot’ and later a car for every home were the slogans. Extensive roads brought the development of huge trucks called semis (sem eyes) which currently carry the vast majority of goods within the country.

In 1896 a gold spike was driven in America, celebrating the construction of a railway line across the country.

What was happening in India at that time?

“After the first passenger train run between thane and bori bander, almost six years later, on March 3, 1859, the first Railway Line in North India was laid between Allahabad and Kanpur. This was followed, in 1889, by the Delhi-Amballa-Kalka line. Both Bombay and Calcutta were competing for the first train run in British India. One of the major reason behind the introduction of the Railways in India help movement of freight, particularly cotton, from the interiors Gujarat and Maharashtra to the coastal cities like Bombay. In the early 1850s British cotton and textile industry was booming and it was decided to tap the Indian cotton market. Bombay had a stronger cotton market and advantage of neigbouring cotton producing states and won the race for the first train. The services in Calcutta began the following year.”(Spelling recorded as written)

India beat the Americans at the railroad game, or was it the British in India? I was amazed at the speed of the development of rail lines in India. (Howrah Station for Hoogly, August 15th, 1885.); a small beginning of only 24 miles, but by 1880, an Indian railway system had developed which had a route of 9000 miles! What a lot of track to lay, what brutal labouring conditions! And you think the Chinese coolies in America had it bad.

“The Railways became the pride of British India, but their construction aroused fears that contributed to the great rebellion, or mutiny of 1857-8.” (Illustration no.11) in The Lion and the Tiger, The Rise and Fall of the British Raj, Denis Judd, Oxford University Press, 2004.

Judd’s book The Lion and the Tiger is a good read, including the animal imagery. Yet Judd mentions the trains only in passing in his book, seems to avoid dealing with them and the controversies which surrounded them in India’s struggle for nationhood. I think that the railway system was a real Tiger, the Sher Khan of India. ‘Sher Khan’ is a reality, and could well be the name for the vast Indian rail system that has developed since the British left; all 39,462 miles of it! (Excluding Pakistan)

He does say, “Trainloads of waylaid and murdered refugees steamed into their final destinations, the flies swarming over the corpses and the stench of death hanging over the carriages like a miasma.” Page 188.

The trains got bad press in 1947!

Trains are very much an Indian institution. Billions of people use them. I can not imagine an India without trains. People of all ‘castes’, of all walks of life, of all social groups, move around in India on trains. Roads, such as the Grand Trunk Road may move millions, but the common man in India does not own a car and relies on trains, the grand trains, broad gage and narrow gauge, that service the sub-continent so very well.

In recent years, communications along the railways occur in local vernacular; signs are posted in English, Marathi, even the Devanagari script. (Rajendra Allekar, Vernacular Languages in Indian Railways). Schedules are computerized; trains have entered the digital age and few are steaming about it.

The old Indian trains with their grand steam engines foster nostalgia, memories of sounds and sights that remain with me for a lifetime. Hissing steam engines, clouds of black smoke filled with coal cinders that got in one’s eyes, clothing and food; toilets that gave one a view of the filthy ‘tracks of time’ clacking below, bistar bunds rolled out in the luggage racks, Hardwar monkeys during the great Kumbha Mela festival that swarm over the loaded carriages and steal passengers’ food, wails of the train whistle in the night answered by jackals, and buying aloo cholay, oranges and sugar cane from vendors through the passenger windows at a train station. Water any one? “Hindu Pani” “Chai, garam chai!” “Thande ande”

TRAIN TRACK TREASURES

Wails of passing Lucknow train
Cries of jackal, answer in yipping tunes
Black night, black, life sounds far, far
Away, away, sleeping children awake, listen
Stir on squeaky charpai, tomorrow, tomorrow
Six copper coins on the table near the bed
King George Two Annas, tomorrow’s treasure!

Shiny-topped tracks run hot, silvery, away-away
Listening ears against the metal, glistening eyes
Sea shell sounds, messages of distant motion
Rumbles of a metal surf, clacking waves of steel
Railgaree telegraphs, rumbling, excitement moving near
Excited smiles and nods; its coming, watch out, hurry!
Six coins placed, set carefully on the tracks

Hissing, chuffing, rumbling, puffing, hooting
Get away, away! Black and charging it comes
Annas neatly laid two feet apart; stand back!
Engineer waves and people hanging from doors
Shouting, wind blows dhotis, black smoke billows
Steam escapes in short pants, a track star.
Pistons push, push, huge iron wheels rumble
Coins flatten, flatten, flatten small chappaties!

Tracks, all shiny with birthday cake medallions
Six copper discs shine, sparkle brightly in the sun
Children shriek, pick up their track treasures
One by one, compare, laugh, rub surfaces
Smooth against their cheeks, stroking cool flat discs
Busy little fingertips explore, thumbs flip coppers
Spinning up, catch the sun, no heads, no tails.

Wails of the Lucknow train cry in the distance.
Harold Bergsma, San Diego, 2007

Ammonites and Sri Salagrama Shila

Originally published 9/29/07 on Desicritics

The Ammonites were nothing but trouble for ancient Israel. Ammon, according to Genesis 19:38 was a son of Lot who had lots of descendants who were nomadic types and thus warlike and bothersome to other descendants of Abraham. They pillaged their towns and because of their worship ceremonies which required human sacrifices, were abhorred by ancient descendants of Israel. But once in a while beauty won over caution. Solomon had a gorgeous wife who was an Ammonite. (Ezekiel 25:6 and Kings 2, 23:13)

Ammon as a term that is now commonly used by scientists and historians alike harks back to a Greek word, Ammon, derived from the ancient Egyptians who called their god Amun. Amun had curled horns like a ram on his head, thus the application to modern usages of the word in our vocabulary. In medicine there is the cornu ammonis, a region of the hippocampus in the brain which literally means “Amun’s Horns”. Shelled extinct cephalopods have spiral shells resembling a ram’s and Ammon’s horns. We call them ammonites. Even our word ammonia, a chemical is named as a derivation from Ammon.

Alexander the Great, who visited Taxila, was once greeted as Ammon’s son because of his veneration and respect for the Egyptian deity. He had the temerity to have a coin struck with his profile on which the whorls of hair are shaped to resemble the ram’s horn. He had other godly images of himself struck as well. Some of those ancient misshapen, thick, copper coins got buried in pottery in Taxila and one of them, as well as others that bear his image, are beside my computer as I write. Ammon, the horns of the ram. But the story does not end here or in Taxila, it eventually takes us to the Kali Gandaki River of Nepal.

Long before the great cosmic collision that killed many of earth’s terrestrial creatures, including the dinosaurs, there were creatures in the depths of the ocean that survived, that rose to the shallows to feed, great and small ammonites, the chambered nautiluses. “The long voyages of the nautilus, from the depths into the shallow each night, are thus a perfect metaphor for its evolutionary history, which comes up to our world unchanged from the depths of time.” (Megalania Dinosaur Page—Dinosaur News)

Also on my table, next to the computer for inspiration and reference, is in my bolo-tie. It is a magnificent fossil form, cut, shaped and polished like a jewel, revealing the swirl, the ram’s horn configuration that formed some 65 to 140 million years ago. From a tiny living cephalopod-mollusk the size of a grain of basmati rice, it grew, expanded and made new rooms for itself, in the shape we all know so well, room upon room, chamber upon chamber, as it occupied progressively larger rooms which it made for itself. The Chambered Nautilus!

This ammonite has captured the minds of many throughout history, bards, poets, and religious saints. Hear the words of Ayappa Suprabhatam: “A handsome mien, the entire world yearned, with a holy stone around his neck, and with a luster, none in the world dreamed, grew the holy babe, King of souls, oh my Lord, to you ... holy and a pleasant...” (by Narayana lyer, translated by P.R. Ramachander)

Or hear Oliver Wendell Holmes who caught the idea of the progression of the soul in his poem “The Chambered Nautilus”. “Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, as the swift seasons roll! Leave thy low-vaulted past! Let each new temple, nobler than the last, shut thee room, heaven with a dome more vast, Till thou at length art free, Leaving thine outgrown shell by life’s unresting sea!” How lovely. Transmigration, reincarnation, the imprint of growth leaving behind a jewel!

The Skanda Purana states that, “a genuine Salagram Sila (or Shila) is directly a manifestation of the Supreme Lord Vishnu and does not require installation.” It states that, “Merely by touching a genuine Salagram Sila one becomes free from the sins of millions of births, so what to speak of worshiping Him. By puja of Salagrama Sila one gains the direct association of Lord Hari” (Vedic Sacred Stones)

***

It was many, many, years ago, in 1949 that I climbed through the deep valley of the Kali Gandaki valley, moving slowly in the rarified air toward the Tibetan border, Jomosom and Muchtinath, an altitude of almost 12,000 feet. Often alone during the long day’s hike, I stopped to eat my chappati and canned cheese. The river ran out from Tibet on the dark stones, shiny and crystal, icy cold from the snows high above. Re-billed Choughs played on up-currents of air calling to each other as they did acrobatics above me.

My feet rested on damp rocks, my eyes feasted on the view. I stood and dislodged a rock, not a large one but roundish and black. I bent to pick it up and was surprised at how heavy it was. It was the size of a very large mango. Its surface had been polished by the moving water for eons and was shiny and black. One edge was unusual, looking almost carved, whorls that faced each other forming a labial configuration. The imagination of a youth! I held the stone, hefted it, held it near my cheek and felt it cool and magical. What is this, I wondered? There was a large boulder near me. I took the stone and threw it with force against the boulder. It broke in two, evenly, revealing the most astonishing sight! Jewels, arranged in a spiraling whorl, as if the eternal Jeweler had arranged the smallest ‘diamond’ crystals in the center and then progressively increased their size, room by room, until the picture that emerged was that of a twisted, curling ram’s horn. I set the two halves on the boulder and looked at the ancient wonder, sparkling in the sun, now upset that I had violated this hidden wonderful microcosm of growth which had lain for some one hundred million years, unseen by mortal man. This rock was here because of the up-thrust of the mountains, the Himalayas, which were once under the deepest seas. What a migration for this rock, and what karma for me to have touched it.

My pack was heavy, filled with skinning tools, a water canteen, a camera, film, ammunition, food and clothes for the day. The stone was heavy. To carry it one mile would be easy, eighteen, problematic, for three months, wearisome. I sighed, kissed each side goodbye, put the halves together and placed the stone back where I had found it, humming to myself. OM MANI PADME HUM.

It is the song of Tibet, sung by many who traverse the cruel trails leading from Tibet to Tansing along the Kali Gandaki River. The devout among them moved along and murmured, counting their beads, trying to concentrate their minds. Many carry Mani Stones, on which is carved this very mantra; of compassions which vibrate, resonate and develop a corresponding feeling in the heart; as if by these vocal repetitions and sounds and by using the mind intoxicating words a new state of spiritual awareness would occur. In the brutality of their life and environment, the deprivation of adequate food, the hard earth as their bed, OM MANI PADME HUM lifted them up, up and away.

I sat with the carriers that night and we talked about their grueling day of labor, each carrying about seventy pounds on their backs supported by head straps that cut into their foreheads. Their karma, coolies! They huddled over a hot coal on which a pea-sized greenish substance, bhang, was placed and with straws inhaled the sweet smoke and sighed, their aches and pains, their hunger assuaged for a lingering moment, even the humming now a vague memory. I told them of the stone I had found and they sat up more alert and questioned me. Where? How far back? Could I take them there to retrieve the stone? Sadly, I said that of the thousand steps I took that day, I could not return to that exact spot. They murmured, “Sri Salagrama Shila” and shook their heads sadly. They looked at me strangely now.

I travel back in time to that memory of holding a sacred stone, the Salagrama Shila, a manifestation of the Supreme Lord Vishnu. Was my kiss an appropriate puja? Was my smashing the stone to reveal its hidden splendor a mystic violation? Or was the peek into the spiral arrangement of rooms of the primordial creature a portent of the rooms of my own life?

CHAMBERED NAUTILUS

Kaligandaki River
Winds, a snake, black
Between high rock walls
Primordial thrusts, upheavals
Erecting earth extensions high
Himalaya fingers proudly holding
Creatures born yesterday in sea chambers
Black time warps, frozen stone sea memories
Bathed for centuries, awash in earth’s salty solutions
Sea mummies, mysterious black stone folds, cupped secrets
Held silently in frozen time, millions of years unseen, unknown
This fossil form, just a stone picked up by wandering callow youth
Tossed against a boulder, cracks and unfolds its obsidian hands holding
Sleeping places, bejeweled rooms, crystal filled, chambers of once soft life
Shining mantras of yesterdays.


Self Grows Slowly
Tortuously formed fossil stuff
Tomorrows, chambered though brief years
Birthday parties, picnics on white sands, report cards
Tears, new sneakers, joy and insecurities neatly packaged
Accretions, unnoticed, forming, reforming, life’s lost wax molds
Castings, edges rough, unending parades in self or other’s lives, in, out,
Nudging, pushing at delicate stuff, mind tissues, will struggles, love strokes,
Calligraphy marks of pain and joy, diplomas, gold stars, motorcycle licenses
Diagnosis and life prescriptions

Pulsating and Throbbing
Growths under this deep sea of stars
Planet creatures that crawl on dirt and sand
Life forms filling time and space, mere calcifications
Just human reefs; libraries, compact discs, Taxila ruins,
Sand Castle construction, aching retractions, hopeful advances
Cycles, shock waves of life energy, human anemones undulating
Old lives and shadows, petrified human forests, memories of yesterday
Rediscovered anew, soft memories stored in calcified chambers, limitations
Of our own life’s rooms

From : Soft Shoe in Soft Rain, Poems
by Harold Bergsma, Copyright 2004