tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52254087985530806632024-03-22T00:18:05.583+11:00Prathapar's MusingsPrathaparhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08387799812741863178noreply@blogger.comBlogger84125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5225408798553080663.post-70706293126603112742023-07-19T21:54:00.000+10:002023-07-19T21:54:08.089+10:00Discovering Dhivehi Raajje<p><span lang="EN-US" style="background: white; color: #202122;">For those who do not know where </span><span style="background: white; color: #202122;">Dhivehi
Raajje is, it is the native name of the Maldives. Their language is Dhivehi, a
kingdom ruled by a Royal Family until 1968, hence the name. I spent about ten days in May 2023, primarily
working but also taking some time to relax.
The work took me to three islands, Thoddoo, Masafahi, and
Hanamadhoo. So, ten days on planes,
boats, Taxis, and Foot.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background: white; color: #202122; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Until I went to Maldives and spoke to
locals, I assumed that the name Maldives is derived from Maalai (garland in
Tamil) and Theevu (Island in Tamil), an archipelago shaped like a garland. To my eyes, the archipelago does look like a garland. No one in the Maldives has heard of this
interpretation – it looks like it is made up in Sri Lanka (or probably in my
imagination because Tamil is my native language). Locals explain that Mal is from the Arabic
Word, Mahall, meaning a stopping place, and Dives meaning deep.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="background: white; color: #202122; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg_MfPvvtRMstDuJv9UbHSMld00a0PM_J0TGU2REaJqc8lfZiPZvbI0nngVgkpMikdDzRfbkL94Uc46ys9m9OM9Cl3kCGxPdQWXDwQDZAPxgT8znd4tw-WhhgAZFBfioTGMSY6vLWqx0c-5OPpjxvZVwy9oZ9EA_CGjsi0_tkYQxYQvgW5eGmbeaIjQKqiX" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="791" data-original-width="479" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEg_MfPvvtRMstDuJv9UbHSMld00a0PM_J0TGU2REaJqc8lfZiPZvbI0nngVgkpMikdDzRfbkL94Uc46ys9m9OM9Cl3kCGxPdQWXDwQDZAPxgT8znd4tw-WhhgAZFBfioTGMSY6vLWqx0c-5OPpjxvZVwy9oZ9EA_CGjsi0_tkYQxYQvgW5eGmbeaIjQKqiX=w387-h640" width="387" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The Maldives</div><br />The Maldives comprises approximately 1200 islands, of which about 200 were inhabited. In addition, it has a
countless number of lagoons. A population
concentration drive reduced the number of inhabited islands to 186, but an
electoral reorganization ended it to 187.
Each Island has at least a Jetty, a Mosque, a School, a Hospital, a Court,
a Soccer grounds, and an Island Council Office.
All basic amenities are available on each Island and paid for by the
public purse. Some have airports to land
propeller aircraft, which brings the Tourists to remote Islands.
Each Atoll has an Atoll Capital, and ferry services are available daily from
these Capitals to each Inhabited Island within the Atoll.<p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="background: white; color: #202122; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">A few Agricultural entrepreneurs have leased some uninhabited islands to
grow tropical vegetables and fruits to supply other islands. In addition, the hospitality industry had
leased a few uninhabited islands and built Resorts. They are the ones used to promote tourism in the
Maldives, depicting the sun, waves, beaches, and the ocean. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="background: white; color: #202122; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">Tourism promotion does not accurately reflect the local
culture.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="background: white; color: #202122; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgn6VDrUOshA26Tgouy8ZeFewH4zLcuQsnWrUCUXl8Nyc8Q6v5-NmLXVkULkWKZQEjP1qf9GEP20SHxMw6vEpnS6Gpd3mI5U3G_0Mu9uPyYTh9Ob7Or7AO0XCs8qEyoyyOeLRtE7ZIB4ocnDbZYA7IyAS-xdSRs3ArO8jBnygNxl0bjXaNbUt6yDFHX_9YS" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="262" data-original-width="924" height="170" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgn6VDrUOshA26Tgouy8ZeFewH4zLcuQsnWrUCUXl8Nyc8Q6v5-NmLXVkULkWKZQEjP1qf9GEP20SHxMw6vEpnS6Gpd3mI5U3G_0Mu9uPyYTh9Ob7Or7AO0XCs8qEyoyyOeLRtE7ZIB4ocnDbZYA7IyAS-xdSRs3ArO8jBnygNxl0bjXaNbUt6yDFHX_9YS=w602-h170" width="602" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">View of a Resort Island</div><br />The culture in inhabited islands is Islamic, but in the Resort islands, flexible
to meet the requirements of tourists. I
noticed that women live actively on inhabited islands within Islamic strictures. They enjoy the beaches and are very mobile
(on scooters), which is very pleasing compared to other Islamic countries I have
lived or been to. <p></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEizS9lhNOT2bALhYQ7PWU5SslcwhR5OpMQMBFnJLoe1vjjOKscGi27Ajoz2awttYFyzC5nM7epqykciqjzEJVBh6O7bBJ3_mpVGkLTuMxZeI6gZ2vJNDooWOgnhntIDuwtAdOP7_xam6cokmdanCQBqSzZWIwPuPScSFKLSGS5k3_1Ys0iN7-QaiFKaLcL5" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="875" data-original-width="496" height="511" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEizS9lhNOT2bALhYQ7PWU5SslcwhR5OpMQMBFnJLoe1vjjOKscGi27Ajoz2awttYFyzC5nM7epqykciqjzEJVBh6O7bBJ3_mpVGkLTuMxZeI6gZ2vJNDooWOgnhntIDuwtAdOP7_xam6cokmdanCQBqSzZWIwPuPScSFKLSGS5k3_1Ys0iN7-QaiFKaLcL5=w290-h511" width="290" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">Mobility of Women</div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #202122;"><br /></span></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; text-align: left;">Tourism, Fisheries, and low population have made Maldives the most
developed South Asian Nation.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; text-align: left;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; text-align: left;">The
workforce is largely from South Asia.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; text-align: left;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; text-align: left;">The
combination of the Islamic lifestyle, the South Asian Workforce, </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; text-align: left;"> </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; text-align: left;">and the state of development reminded me of
Oman, where I lived for nine years.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; text-align: left;">
</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; text-align: left;">Their appearance, the many words they speak, and their phonetics reminded
me of Sri Lanka, where I was born and grew up. I was very comfortable there!</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><br /></p><span lang="EN-US" style="background: white; color: #202122; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><o:p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgVpOKsAXFpEym5knfnM9X_W5yGmE2tQgAIT_cGbEEonFMzveUaLyd6SG2Pv27JsYpgVmQbqGK_XkNlKB_jj7F6HPeuq40p1eKj0-HTfmVuiPDJK_vwpLENCuAQ1b-Gaqn-nEwoQxiYd0WparQQBh74VFLH89LLOIvJSShEfMjXVLywClwmscP0NbBN86m_" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="680" data-original-width="680" height="418" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgVpOKsAXFpEym5knfnM9X_W5yGmE2tQgAIT_cGbEEonFMzveUaLyd6SG2Pv27JsYpgVmQbqGK_XkNlKB_jj7F6HPeuq40p1eKj0-HTfmVuiPDJK_vwpLENCuAQ1b-Gaqn-nEwoQxiYd0WparQQBh74VFLH89LLOIvJSShEfMjXVLywClwmscP0NbBN86m_=w418-h418" width="418" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Fisheries - A Major Economic Sector</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: justify;"><span style="text-align: left;">The streets of Male, especially in the older part, reminded me of
Europe. They were laid with bricks, and
both sides were treelined. Scooters parked
neatly and tightly along the sides, stacked like sardines. Most of the city's speed limits are about 30
km/h, and the cars take a gentle stroll.
The tariff of Taxis is fixed – transport within a locality is 30
MVR ( <2 USD), and between localities is 55 MVR (~3.5 USD). There's no metering or haggling. Expats are not allowed to drive Taxis, and
most Taxi drivers speak well in English.
Traffic is largely disciplined, although Police are not visible.</span></div></o:p></span><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; text-align: left;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjLgDLioga1ahYD1HWadeSMPNlBtRFwO6TxnGFXUxJBWHZsmkhcRlMgSDzNHkM_jFNhoWMFqdChJ1WeGcH9ctAq4JC_tAJt4YD0gMLg07nDSpw07JNPx8OX0Z91CWaHUL7LttcsvQLw9lR85PnnN6kvANCl7u93jMW-4egQSeKZXoIHimckm2JIdYCklTTu" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="879" data-original-width="661" height="460" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjLgDLioga1ahYD1HWadeSMPNlBtRFwO6TxnGFXUxJBWHZsmkhcRlMgSDzNHkM_jFNhoWMFqdChJ1WeGcH9ctAq4JC_tAJt4YD0gMLg07nDSpw07JNPx8OX0Z91CWaHUL7LttcsvQLw9lR85PnnN6kvANCl7u93jMW-4egQSeKZXoIHimckm2JIdYCklTTu=w345-h460" width="345" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Streets of Male</div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122; text-align: left;">Even on inhabited islands, tourism is the mainstay. All consumed goods have three taxes and a
special fourth one for tourists.
Approximately 35% of what you pay is for the Government, in different
taxes. </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi_fg-gBN-i1Xq9xaAj4WOsKINymSHaiJVDPiBU7XDJBZSCzBQ66019mD6IvMpD833qaEMsw_Rl7V4pGjlN33m0pt7sJhSl3ZJI-hPKeYyWhtmbrMpOPXlpSH5VGWNOFFJWr2-6kC39fwlY27o_H0mp8wx2sYciEUBT8RrtDdGlMDgYVyYMjpSvvFFQd9l9" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="482" data-original-width="718" height="215" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi_fg-gBN-i1Xq9xaAj4WOsKINymSHaiJVDPiBU7XDJBZSCzBQ66019mD6IvMpD833qaEMsw_Rl7V4pGjlN33m0pt7sJhSl3ZJI-hPKeYyWhtmbrMpOPXlpSH5VGWNOFFJWr2-6kC39fwlY27o_H0mp8wx2sYciEUBT8RrtDdGlMDgYVyYMjpSvvFFQd9l9" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">The Thoddoo Island</div><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="background: white; color: #202122; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">I was on an Island named Thoddoo, a population of 2000, of which half are expats. The size is about 4 km<sup>2</sup>, with about 60 Motels and a dedicated
beach for tourists, where requirements of swimming attire are relaxed. Swimming suits are not allowed outside this
dedicated beach, and the locals avoid these beaches. They have their own!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgq3atGy_w83xARB_p-6Jpso1WmZTc7xkhx5wVU10m2n_ftyelqzkaokmV00uZbPldtamG-xP3yrusnmq_biKhXxp0nLWGLaG-z0g3rNFw6uT8lPOKP_z801-X5-1ebCq6o_105KG48n_tmskd6qHGu7NT0nWcxVW-IWrlzlcDoMKiVgxyO-UAqUNkna11J" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="778" data-original-width="778" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgq3atGy_w83xARB_p-6Jpso1WmZTc7xkhx5wVU10m2n_ftyelqzkaokmV00uZbPldtamG-xP3yrusnmq_biKhXxp0nLWGLaG-z0g3rNFw6uT8lPOKP_z801-X5-1ebCq6o_105KG48n_tmskd6qHGu7NT0nWcxVW-IWrlzlcDoMKiVgxyO-UAqUNkna11J=w400-h400" width="400" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">A dedicated beach for Tourists at Thoddoo</div><br /><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US" style="background: white; color: #202122; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Calibri; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-latin;">In addition to the Islands, countless Ocean Lagoons provide different
ecosystems and offer a potential for reclamation. The lagoons have coral barriers, preventing
Ocean waters from mixing with Lagoon water.
Waves are stopped by these coral barriers, making the corals look like white
fences. The water inside the lagoon
remains calm and, based on the depth, provides different hues of blue. Some Lagoons near the Capital, Male, are
being reclaimed for habitation. I stayed
in one of them named Hulhumale. The
development is in several phases, and the first has been completed. Hulhumale is connected to Male by a bridge,
providing access to the airport and Government Offices in Male.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjF7RAXPOKZDC4FP28fM6mN8_DLH4TyW46lasnEYkRahRIfKRCA5BJwLv1j6dxzVVXaAzDYWncu4Sx7c_4D37MV4zr2f3hcVrq8OmgE2PFJ5f5pKFZuNcsQ2fIgEQJ3mlf1yUHAjvdIZdg8oAkROrgQtt00GiVi1x5AYl3voq9hP0fG95bm2CScqTZ6CtFd" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="956" data-original-width="956" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjF7RAXPOKZDC4FP28fM6mN8_DLH4TyW46lasnEYkRahRIfKRCA5BJwLv1j6dxzVVXaAzDYWncu4Sx7c_4D37MV4zr2f3hcVrq8OmgE2PFJ5f5pKFZuNcsQ2fIgEQJ3mlf1yUHAjvdIZdg8oAkROrgQtt00GiVi1x5AYl3voq9hP0fG95bm2CScqTZ6CtFd=w400-h400" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Reclaiming Lagoons</div><br /><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;">The Capital, Male, is very vibrant, but the islands are the
opposite – just too quiet. So, it is your destination if you want to be in a vibrant as well as a quiet
place. And, of course, if you have a lot
of money to spend, there are Resort Islands, some offer Rooms for 25,000 USD
per night, I am told. On average, a room
in Male will cost about 75 USD; in a resort, it will cost about 250 USD per
night.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #202122;"> </span>Prathaparhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08387799812741863178noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5225408798553080663.post-61736626651605372472023-05-11T04:05:00.004+10:002023-05-11T04:05:58.867+10:00The Chaos Continues at Lahore Airport<p>I have
lived in Lahore for 4.5 years since October 1996 and have been a regular
visitor since 2003. I have many friends
there, and they make me feel very welcome every time I go there. It’s a highly family-oriented country, rich in
culture, and most Pakistanis will do anything for their family and friends. They are willing to work hard – I always feel
sorry for the laborers toiling on road works at high noon. I just love their food, textiles, and leather products.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXEwWvMAKfCbJe0CaHsnU7rkhQ8rUZYkOfr85gD52f9U_17Dh_XCtgCYRr-na7cCSxe8SqTBnT-Ihh5qp-EitZn5et1wXCwFioRG4akGmLstMe4PwV_0z2VYD-ugKthVsB-8HI0gxkJua66qmCaiGhwqaWi6Ptlee2DuhCqzZDrlvt0LtsW9svGENsnA/s4032/20230124_172515.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1816" data-original-width="4032" height="144" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjXEwWvMAKfCbJe0CaHsnU7rkhQ8rUZYkOfr85gD52f9U_17Dh_XCtgCYRr-na7cCSxe8SqTBnT-Ihh5qp-EitZn5et1wXCwFioRG4akGmLstMe4PwV_0z2VYD-ugKthVsB-8HI0gxkJua66qmCaiGhwqaWi6Ptlee2DuhCqzZDrlvt0LtsW9svGENsnA/s320/20230124_172515.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTsyUyc7-in2rOMUh-kS7Y-5dFincoadX217gtf70CaGeFz20SGJeRozspqWn8IuZmMyES9KsKJE8Ei81MJXk9h_IM6gC42E1y-il2fCoU0wlPDUC_N2sfm5pqzF5VcRfQPfsjyqYktvt1OLePmD8JQV_8Y45j2AFJXn5AY2yXPx3HZtDwqmJWsX110A/s733/PK002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="549" data-original-width="733" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgTsyUyc7-in2rOMUh-kS7Y-5dFincoadX217gtf70CaGeFz20SGJeRozspqWn8IuZmMyES9KsKJE8Ei81MJXk9h_IM6gC42E1y-il2fCoU0wlPDUC_N2sfm5pqzF5VcRfQPfsjyqYktvt1OLePmD8JQV_8Y45j2AFJXn5AY2yXPx3HZtDwqmJWsX110A/s320/PK002.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7ivoXTlf2U2xG4sTgCk7hIz8rDo8lUmBColcg6tbj0aQ3pcKKwEeb1tjPwJscn-fKCOWENVgHOdIi58GqTYawGfcgF1eruuN8fI26PNhiVam34iE0dmevnLJlV7gAGY19KFgJA-JgdNbFDGxETuHZZjPWywBd3Tmm-HvjA1jcvpz-bv9JDJlO1BlUXg/s4032/20230118_145714.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><br /><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="1816" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7ivoXTlf2U2xG4sTgCk7hIz8rDo8lUmBColcg6tbj0aQ3pcKKwEeb1tjPwJscn-fKCOWENVgHOdIi58GqTYawGfcgF1eruuN8fI26PNhiVam34iE0dmevnLJlV7gAGY19KFgJA-JgdNbFDGxETuHZZjPWywBd3Tmm-HvjA1jcvpz-bv9JDJlO1BlUXg/s320/20230118_145714.jpg" width="144" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDIFtBqjog-OpHT5FFR_DuOjwOFB9Z-GsZCmnTUhmWfICvniMAV00qDf8eLlkm2R32wrdSIboEfKjIhwcaG9M2lXyChWlvBALhVfdE0tVMjF-crb2aDjq5xLXVp4LkT3PeerwGxeCjuN3SHhtxhOo8r8cXR4TBBzKi7FqhanW-hHu69Yi-bCPapHwY-w/s4032/20230120_192056.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1816" data-original-width="4032" height="144" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhDIFtBqjog-OpHT5FFR_DuOjwOFB9Z-GsZCmnTUhmWfICvniMAV00qDf8eLlkm2R32wrdSIboEfKjIhwcaG9M2lXyChWlvBALhVfdE0tVMjF-crb2aDjq5xLXVp4LkT3PeerwGxeCjuN3SHhtxhOo8r8cXR4TBBzKi7FqhanW-hHu69Yi-bCPapHwY-w/s320/20230120_192056.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6KAb3FKmOnCji1fo1oxvhFWo_37dPjDvBi4YseMu70NxmjcAYDA2RMqjsOekLjkHqgcKn7-oVIdoMOdIgFm6ip3xF_feorzcxpQnJp55acd3nHGGQmVnAvX9VMDkEQLWwl5JTM2Dv1oVQ_cxnsu-VN8My6fBAIcQm0uQjBA2Xi9gFxwoHbbvBFWcjZg/s733/PK001.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="549" data-original-width="733" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj6KAb3FKmOnCji1fo1oxvhFWo_37dPjDvBi4YseMu70NxmjcAYDA2RMqjsOekLjkHqgcKn7-oVIdoMOdIgFm6ip3xF_feorzcxpQnJp55acd3nHGGQmVnAvX9VMDkEQLWwl5JTM2Dv1oVQ_cxnsu-VN8My6fBAIcQm0uQjBA2Xi9gFxwoHbbvBFWcjZg/s320/PK001.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><p><br /></p>But, their attitude and behavior in Public
and adherence to simple etiquette are less than desired. <p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">In 1996, I was
in Lahore and on my way to Colombo. I
had to fly from Lahore to Karachi by PIA and then to Colombo by Air Lanka. I went to Lahore airport to find out that my
flight to Karachi was canceled due to technical reasons. There was chaos. No one was there to give clear advice to the
stranded passengers. I approached a PIA
officer and asked for help. He shrugged his
shoulders and said, I quote, “This is Pakistan.” I had to go to the Air Lanka office in the
city, rebook my flights, spend two days in Karachi, and go to Colombo.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">I was at
Lahore airport a few days ago, waiting in the queue for Foreign Passport
holders to emigrate. I realized that the
line was full of Pakistanis. There were
many queues for them, but only one for Foreign Passport holders. In front of me was a family that looked
educated, and a man in his forties, appeared to be the head of the clan. I complained to him that he was in the queue
for Foreigners. He, too, shrugged his
shoulders, pointed out to other Pakistanis in Foreigner’s column, and asked me
if they all looked like Foreigners. I
said that’s very smart, sarcastically.
He came back and said, “Yeah, I am smart, but you are not.” In my heart, I agreed with him. If I were smart enough, I wouldn’t have picked
up an argument with him. He continued: This is Pakistan - There’’s only one rule
here – that is, there’s NO RULE. He then
asked if I was a Sri Lankan, and I answered positively. He retorted, “Defaulters.”; and I responded, “We
are paying it back.” He didn’t have an
answer.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">I then
stopped an Immigration Officer passing by and complained. He replied – Stay in the queue and wait for
your turn. The Officer who has to enforce
a rule is unwilling, and the passenger who has to follow the rule was not
complying. I had to give way to those
incorrectly denying my privilege.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">They are not alone in this – most South Asians are like this. I have come across queue jumpers in India and Sri Lanka as well. </span>I am not
sure why we, the South Asians, misbehave in our home countries but follow all
courtesies, rules, and etiquette when we are in the West. It must be the environment – it’s not genetic. It appears that if we care to be decent, we will not get anywhere in our home countries.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p><br />Prathaparhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08387799812741863178noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5225408798553080663.post-11541412100264746882023-04-29T18:50:00.000+10:002023-04-29T18:50:58.578+10:00Looking for Something, Anything to do!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Being semi-retired has its blessings and agony. I do have more time to what I want to do, but do not have many exciting things to do. I get bored easily, and it is painful. During one of these agonising moments, I received an offer from the Sri Lankan Airlines, offering a return ticket from Australia to Sri Lanka for a dollar. As always, there are caveats. I need to pay the taxes, buy a return ticket from Sydney to Melbourne and surrender 10,000 frequent flyer miles. The third one is easy, I had no plans for the frequent flyer points, and the first two cost me 480 AUD. In summary, get a return ticket to Colombo for about 40% of the going market price. Not bad after all. My wife grudgingly approved my travel, and I found a week when I did not have any commitments as a consultant. So, I hit the road; I mean the skies.<br>
<br>
The travel took about 20 hours door to door in total; for a Melbournian, it would have been 15 hours the most. It was the first time, I envied the Melbournians, but once I thought of Melbourne’s weather, I was happy to be a Sydney Sider.<br>
<br>
My experience with the Australian Border Security at Melbourne airport was not great. The person, who was brushing for traces of drugs, used the same filter-paper for three people, including me. I had no idea who the other two were. I made an inconsequential protest, which he did not like. He said he was trying to be efficient, and 99.99% of the travellers are traces-free. I smiled and moved on. The next thing I know was another officer, walked straight to me, and pulled me from the queue for a body scan. He was rude for Australian standards of etiquettes, and probably suited for a security guard at an airport in Saudi Arabia. Well, there was nothing to be found on me, and he felt that he had settled the score on behalf of his lazy mate.<br>
<br>
The flight on Sri Lankan airlines was okay – nothing to brag about. The staff were courteous, food was average, some of the electronics in the plane were not working, and there was a urine stench in toilets. But the flight was half empty, which is a rare thing in flights out of Sydney.<br>
<br>
I spent the first day catching up with my friends at my former employer; it was nice to be received friendly after 3.5 years. It is the organisation I worked for seven years, which took me to many parts of the world, and introduced me to several cultures. I reminisced the good old days with my friends, who are also now getting old.<br>
<br>
Now, looking for something to do. I wanted to do things I haven’t done before. The Eastern Province of Sri Lanka is largely Tamil (my mother-tongue) speaking area, and I knew very little. I went to one of its major cities Batticaloa, in 1979, and to the other, Trincomalee, in 1997. So, it became the candidate for me to do anything.<br>
<br>
I took a train from Colombo to Vaalaichenai, the train station near the world famous Pasikudah beach. I had a reserved seat in second class, but the train was not crowded. In fact, one of the 3rd class compartments was completely empty. It was very different to the days I travelled by train in Sri Lanka in the Seventies. I had hung holding onto the train and travelled between stations before I could get in, find a place under seats to spread newspaper and sleep for the remainder of the journey. When I reach my destination, my shirts and pants will be full of grime. Now, the empty compartments. I guess people prefer road travel, which gives them better flexibility and comfort. The travel was very rocky. I felt all my bones were being displaced as the train sped, or crawled to a halt. My attempt to read a book was futile.<br>
<br>
But, the train was moving to schedule – something that did not happen in the Seventies. Hawkers were selling savoury snacks, gingelly candies, and fresh produce. As the train moved from urbanised areas through forested areas, fresh produce was on sale. Mangoes, wood apple, corn and so on. I tried some savoury snacks, a steamed cake (Alampi), and a semi-ripe mango, sliced and sprinkled with a mix of chilly and salt powder. That was yum and reminded a common snack when I was kid growing in Jaffna.<br>
<br>
Finding a guest house was not difficult at Pasikudah. The Auto driver spoke Tamil with beautiful Batticaloa accent. He took me to a guest house; I did not like, the owner called another and recommended I go there, we went there. The second place had a room only for a night, but I wanted for two. So, the second owner called the third guesthouse and checked if rooms are available for two nights, and they were. The auto guy took me to the third one; I wanted to see the rooms, they were clean, we agreed on a price, and I decided to stay. The hoteliers (Guest-House-liers?), were looking after each other. I am sure the Auto driver would have got his commission. He gave me his phone number and asked me to call him if I wanted to go anywhere.<br>
<br>
The Guesthouse I stayed was in Kalkudah, about 100 m from the Kalkudah Beach, and a kilometre from Pasikudah beach. Both at walking distances, but differed significantly. Kudah in Tamil means a gulf. Pasikudah has a coral beach – no sands, so the hoteliers have trucked in sands to welcome the westerners. It has a shallow pool for swimmers, but full of algae and sea-weeds, known in Tamil as Pasi. During the rainy season, a river discharge near these Kudahs. This makes the water murky, especially in the shallow Pasikudah. Corals and fish are not visible during rainy season. Kalkudah beach, on the other hand, has beautiful sands, but the sea floor is steep, so it gets neck-deep within 15 m from the coast. Because of the depth and active waves, the water remains clear. The day I went to this beach, there were only five people. It was just empty. For good swimmers looking to get lost in nature, it’s an ideal place to be.<br>
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Pasikudah Beach</div>
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The Guesthouse I stayed had only three rooms; all were occupied when I was there. It was run by two women, likely to be in their thirties. They offer home cooked food for their guests. This is important because there are no restaurants to eat out, except those in hotels. The ladies were efficient, friendly but maintain a respectable distance from the guests. The guest house had a long veranda for the guest to enjoy the sea breeze. I liked it very much, spent hours idling there. Unfortunately, there are scrublands between the veranda and the sea, which conceal the sea view. I am sure that the scrubland will be cleared, and a hotel will be built shortly.<br>
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The Verandah at the Guesthouse</div>
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During off-season, both Kudahs have no active life. I felt there were more stray dogs and cattle than people in this part of the world. There are scars of the civil war with LTTE, and the mayhem wreaked by the Tsunami. There’s also gratitude to the Government for being looked after both. An Australian Government sponsored poster warned people-smugglers and attempts against illegal entry to Australia.<br>
<br>
I walked from one end of Pasikudah beach to the other, a distance of about 2 km, to reach a small landing site for local fishermen. There were about 20 boats there, all in good condition, an indicator of Government subsidies and/or thriving business. It is probably the smallest fish landing site I have ever been. An auctioneer seems to be in charge of the site, and the bidders purchased fish for retailing elsewhere. I arrived together with a boat with Spanish mackerel. An old balance was used to weigh fish, and the weight-measures were rusted and worn. Despite much technological advancement in daily life in many parts of Sri Lanka, this landing site has not adopted any of them. It could do with an electronic balance, the least. The auctioneer’s assistant weighed two or three fish at a time. I did a quick count of fish on the floor and estimated that the pile is about 50 kilos. The Weighing Man declared it was fifty-two kilos. I was very happy with my assessment ability. There were only two bidders for the pile, the first offered LKR300 per kg (1.95 USD), then next offered LKR320 (2.08 USD) per kg, and the sale was sealed.<br>
<br>
No longer having anything more to do at the Kudahs, I travelled to Trincomalee by bus. The bus was painted in and out, with cartoon characters from the movie Madagascar. Not sure what the fascination was. Several speakers were blaring Tamil movie songs of the eighties and nineties. It was intolerable at the beginning, but my ears settled down and even started to enjoy some of the songs I recognised. The journey took 2.5 hours (About 30 years ago, it took more than 8 hours), thanks to a new road connecting Batticaloa and Trincomalee. The road network in Sri Lanka is very good, and all credit goes to the ex-President, Mahinda Rajapaksa. He remains immensely popular, and it appears he will win the next elections if he chooses to compete.<br>
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The colorful bus, I travelled in</div>
<br>
Demography of Trincomalee is unique in Sri Lanka. It has all three ethnic communities, Tamil, Muslim and Sinhala communities in significant numbers. Only other district similar to Trincomalee is the Capital District, Colombo. Tamils used to be the majority in the sixties, but, emigration of Tamils and higher birth rates among Muslims have made Muslims the majority community in 2007.<br>
P<br>
I was keen to visit the Koneswaram Temple, originally built in 205 B.C. It’s a temple for Lord Shiva, and over the centuries, occasionally referred to in Tamil Hindu Literature, mostly by South Indian Saints. It was destroyed by Portuguese and rebuilt during the 17th century. One of statues of Lord Nandi belonging to the 7th Century was found very recently in 2013, during some excavation works. There may be still be others still buried.<br>
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Koneswaram Temple</div>
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Koneswaram reminded the obvious fact that that religion and language are different from each other. Unfortunately in Sri Lanka, whenever communal riots occurred, mobs identified Buddhism with Sinhalese and Hinduism with Tamils. Consequently, places of worship of both religions were attacked and robbed. I doubt that will occur in future. I have witnessed scores of Sinhala disciples at Hindu Temples, and Tamil disciples in Buddhist temples in recent years. The day I went to Koneswaram, almost every disciple at the Temple was Sinhalese.<br>
<br>
I also went to Swami Lakshmi Narayan Temple, a very recent one at Trincomalee. The Swami Lakshmi Narayan Sect, originated in Gujarat, has been building very beautiful temples all over the world. I am fortunate to visit their oldest temple in Gujarat, their largest temple near-Delhi, and the one in Trincomalee. It’s a Temple for Vishnu, the Hindu God for Protection (Brahma is the God for Creation and Shiva is the God for Destruction). I also think the Temple in Trincomalee will be the second largest Hindu Temple in Sri Lanka in size, second only to the Murugan Temple at Nallur, Jaffna. Another attraction at Trincomalee is the Kanniya Hot springs. This site has archaeological ruins of a Buddhist Temple and a Shiva Temple.<br>
<br>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiF5vE8mzzsTAKbiJuI3CvAKclen72XeMIj3R2Kw7V2R_Fj5N1tDGtmUhooJcvrMrHHZzMBtT6mG_Q4GglGvcEXn3cbzYETsiZ8hoT_ePiStI6COHpYfMB_SOktR_kKPvnZTxuFkaUVD6h/s1600/20171105_102224.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgiF5vE8mzzsTAKbiJuI3CvAKclen72XeMIj3R2Kw7V2R_Fj5N1tDGtmUhooJcvrMrHHZzMBtT6mG_Q4GglGvcEXn3cbzYETsiZ8hoT_ePiStI6COHpYfMB_SOktR_kKPvnZTxuFkaUVD6h/s320/20171105_102224.jpg" width="320"></a></div>
<br>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Sri Lakshmi Narayan Temple, Trincomalee</div>
<br>
In addition to my religious-cum-tourist excursions, I enjoyed my stay at a Guesthouse near the beach, and home cooked sea food at my in-laws house. The beach was better than the ones at Kudahs. There are hundreds of guest-houses which offered inexpensive but decent accommodation and sea-food restaurants. I had dinner at one of them and was turned off by a westerner who smoked marijuana in the dining area. Some of the tourists do not respect local rules and customs, and some of locals put-up with such transgression, for the dollars. Not good. I found my way back to Colombo by a night bus, which departed Trincomalee at 10 pm, and reached Colombo at 4 am. Pretty good compared to conditions before.<br>
<br>
The cost of living remain very high for locals in Sri Lanka, and for my regret, some bad habits of South Asia such as spitting on the streets and queue jumping are also common. However, in many ways, Sri Lanka has changed for better since the end of the Civil War. Hardly anyone wanted to talk about it, whoever did talk, expressed relief that the war is over. The economy seems to be doing well; there are constructions everywhere in Colombo. There are not too many beggars on the streets, and most of slums near Colombo had been cleared, and people are re-settled elsewhere.<br>
<br>
My return flight on Sri Lankan airlines was better than the previous one. I slept continuously for six hours, a feat I have not done in any of my previous flights. The drinks, food and the time of the flight contributed to this rest. When woke, I watched a Sinhala movie titled, Thanha Rathi Ranga, illustrating an untended consequence of the war - too many guns in wrong hands, which was a thriller with a good sense of humor, but ending up in a tragedy. We arrived half an hour ahead of schedule in Melbourne, from where I found my way home in Sydney.<br>
<br>
I set on a journey, looking for anything to do, but ended up doing a lot of things which I wanted to do over the years. I am glad that I could do so.</div>
Prathaparhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08387799812741863178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5225408798553080663.post-51074073469984873392023-04-29T17:06:00.047+10:002023-04-29T17:37:27.845+10:00Travel in Sri Lanka using public transport<p>I had been
in SL for 11 days, one in Colombo, another in Vavuniya, and the rest were in
Negombo, at a quiet resort near the Airport.
I mainly traveled by public transport on this trip, and this blog is
about my observations.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnXaGZHH848636ea0A3_QAOmTOtLneR2--vFoQfTavI3Y--37wV6xEGFeA6wzqtaXaKEnoN9zgMF5ehX1cKUnwP7wB4IDilY1t4ZTRZf0PisOXmSR6nH7TYA-IKFe8JUQ6nzGHR3NxAnMiguc0sb9wZwSzJZVrCMuL-UD7zNPMmyU9nlkZ51h1h7-O9g/s4032/20230217_170441.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1816" data-original-width="4032" height="144" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnXaGZHH848636ea0A3_QAOmTOtLneR2--vFoQfTavI3Y--37wV6xEGFeA6wzqtaXaKEnoN9zgMF5ehX1cKUnwP7wB4IDilY1t4ZTRZf0PisOXmSR6nH7TYA-IKFe8JUQ6nzGHR3NxAnMiguc0sb9wZwSzJZVrCMuL-UD7zNPMmyU9nlkZ51h1h7-O9g/s320/20230217_170441.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Galleface Beach, Colombo</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf9-kRcekHn6Gz2tHVfpGiFu782-nucTioDKeBJm_9b_9WJ9G6-208xDrJlBIND51mvTNjMqM7FQaNXaw5pS8hR-PSZsIubZg9e0wdRQaobD1LqlA9iQB4cAEMIDcRboIhoKVYPBkvGaxlNbiGqxrMqGIyV39NAnhloKk3ernU94vcTYhZzH435oxHjw/s4032/20230217_155940.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1816" data-original-width="4032" height="144" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjf9-kRcekHn6Gz2tHVfpGiFu782-nucTioDKeBJm_9b_9WJ9G6-208xDrJlBIND51mvTNjMqM7FQaNXaw5pS8hR-PSZsIubZg9e0wdRQaobD1LqlA9iQB4cAEMIDcRboIhoKVYPBkvGaxlNbiGqxrMqGIyV39NAnhloKk3ernU94vcTYhZzH435oxHjw/s320/20230217_155940.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Independent Square, Colombo</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyDHlhEHKdlMPlF5QT0i79CtxKMdPACAB3bHzrmKWrvUBhkRLYQVKpWjd3IoYx-5iUPL3ekIHSHTfZnCL7wRh-Tz8LSW8m0bnD9_kHygpG91MUbewmFymq3KbjBLnKGUc_KwnqdiRolIZ-kBRiskRREFJGsYK-CCL36KlKAy_9N8ihcYUFLxmWF9yqdg/s4032/20230217_144424.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1816" data-original-width="4032" height="144" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyDHlhEHKdlMPlF5QT0i79CtxKMdPACAB3bHzrmKWrvUBhkRLYQVKpWjd3IoYx-5iUPL3ekIHSHTfZnCL7wRh-Tz8LSW8m0bnD9_kHygpG91MUbewmFymq3KbjBLnKGUc_KwnqdiRolIZ-kBRiskRREFJGsYK-CCL36KlKAy_9N8ihcYUFLxmWF9yqdg/s320/20230217_144424.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">The Museum, Colombo</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1J2TvHXnA8vTD8LxMfpHMKQX6wvzrhzQrcmlZp0ecgLh4ImlmGPXhhdGqukpuFdRkyNtic1reXZN99bud7DkOAuj0YKLwY0hCc3y_w0KtiyEkX82Qd5FBXzkErhAkmca8fWnQmaP6tJIh1hXwiRxVkn4WXMZhk8GFeuVlfE1g6beFMbs2eHgD4q1iuw/s4032/20230216_180012.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1816" data-original-width="4032" height="144" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh1J2TvHXnA8vTD8LxMfpHMKQX6wvzrhzQrcmlZp0ecgLh4ImlmGPXhhdGqukpuFdRkyNtic1reXZN99bud7DkOAuj0YKLwY0hCc3y_w0KtiyEkX82Qd5FBXzkErhAkmca8fWnQmaP6tJIh1hXwiRxVkn4WXMZhk8GFeuVlfE1g6beFMbs2eHgD4q1iuw/s320/20230216_180012.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Sunset in Colombo</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8l5nYkYiA1XH7OPPcFKUuR5dxeDRt7Ejj8FCNp9gAacUS-8wVIeG_OI0lrmlPwmsWnqXwYdnc8VbF0lCjlYK5tzEENZSpGy1r0cEffYHXa_mUUoJ9YA5FaKXABP31rCrz2jz8Xqv6gEUmmHaWprjqs061E8xsugpeYlmItyGsHBvqn2exGhHzr4g8vw/s4032/20230215_184614.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1816" data-original-width="4032" height="144" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8l5nYkYiA1XH7OPPcFKUuR5dxeDRt7Ejj8FCNp9gAacUS-8wVIeG_OI0lrmlPwmsWnqXwYdnc8VbF0lCjlYK5tzEENZSpGy1r0cEffYHXa_mUUoJ9YA5FaKXABP31rCrz2jz8Xqv6gEUmmHaWprjqs061E8xsugpeYlmItyGsHBvqn2exGhHzr4g8vw/s320/20230215_184614.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">What happened to the Sun at Galleface?</div><p>I took an
overnight bus from Colombo to Vavuniya, about 265 km. The bus left at 9 PM and reached Vavuniya at
1 AM the next day. The travel included a
stop in the middle of nowhere for stretching, relieving the bladder, and, of
course, for refreshments. So, 265 km in
3.5 hours was pretty good. The roads in Sri Lanka are
perfect for a South Asian country, a credit to the Rajapakse regime. How they used infrastructure development to
plunder the country is a well-known story. </p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-US">I was
looking forward to loud Tamil songs and a Tamil Movie and was satisfied; the bus had it all. But I was exhausted and could not keep my eyes
open. I mainly slept during the
travel. One thing I enjoyed was taking a
leak on the streetside. I know it's not hygienic,
but considering the stop was in a semi-forest, I felt good as my bladder pressure
eased. Next was a cup of black tea for 50 LKR. There was plenty of sugar and a few juliennes
of ginger; it was more like ginger syrup than the tea.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">I was the
only one to get down in Vavuniya, there were a few auto rickshaws, and I hired
one. The driver wanted 200 LKR for a
distance of 300 m. It's twice the daytime
rate, and it was only 1 AUD; I was happy to pay. I stayed in a two-star hotel with a very
spacious Air Conditioned Room. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib2EFHMrZNsyfYr6I2Az9xZKcepPDR9abx37AJPRwccsUUFBWAW9ap10O-GtwzKRaCA2mJFKkkMWYFBt_H3TlywWQB3LKGly9zMHQgcp7e_Qasyb6gFQPPpEdsc2M4PDcdCKHgBA9Dk1Mefo64MscZdcJsSmfISP06Fj_8biUp1x17NVy6Gl42Ex0EYQ/s3024/20230421_055857.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib2EFHMrZNsyfYr6I2Az9xZKcepPDR9abx37AJPRwccsUUFBWAW9ap10O-GtwzKRaCA2mJFKkkMWYFBt_H3TlywWQB3LKGly9zMHQgcp7e_Qasyb6gFQPPpEdsc2M4PDcdCKHgBA9Dk1Mefo64MscZdcJsSmfISP06Fj_8biUp1x17NVy6Gl42Ex0EYQ/s320/20230421_055857.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;">Sticker on the Hotel Room Door</div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">They
charged me only for a day, as I checked in at 1:30 AM and checked out at 10:30
PM. Most International Hotels would have
charged me for two days. The hotel was
reasonably patronized.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWBpNp67zzwIdbWRWCash64l-DGMHAqxKpNO5H9D4IkshXFC5qMgC2MrmdnG_g9FHjNHshiiDc3SFfeEWBrLV4FizqUwkaPkPLxvXHZB7_UHyADCRgKNJODyWIGxVwueuNR-j14c_lnCb4sb9mVf6mwlxPdY_Ruz9_erky1N6c_x10dEi3_IS3J7kxrA/s4032/20230421_145512.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWBpNp67zzwIdbWRWCash64l-DGMHAqxKpNO5H9D4IkshXFC5qMgC2MrmdnG_g9FHjNHshiiDc3SFfeEWBrLV4FizqUwkaPkPLxvXHZB7_UHyADCRgKNJODyWIGxVwueuNR-j14c_lnCb4sb9mVf6mwlxPdY_Ruz9_erky1N6c_x10dEi3_IS3J7kxrA/s320/20230421_145512.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Vattrapalai Kannahi Amman Temple</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie-sZHQanp29cch4c1mKFF3HHwCnSOmFA9DnAhoMZSa6tSxgBJzkrj8g2dXd0E9IeaZw6x4Q6BABAbHSqE-iSDliBq5t4sniTfo9avgsoeL9XFBpsUQ4a1QyyP_FSahRY6pe3O9P_CAtxn3j0PBmyg5xgK18GkWQC6FaoLq2qBkj_W-CNJ4oIC3Dfupg/s4032/20230421_123536.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEie-sZHQanp29cch4c1mKFF3HHwCnSOmFA9DnAhoMZSa6tSxgBJzkrj8g2dXd0E9IeaZw6x4Q6BABAbHSqE-iSDliBq5t4sniTfo9avgsoeL9XFBpsUQ4a1QyyP_FSahRY6pe3O9P_CAtxn3j0PBmyg5xgK18GkWQC6FaoLq2qBkj_W-CNJ4oIC3Dfupg/s320/20230421_123536.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Madam at Thiruketheeswaram</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEF07Hal4Itu9CeBJQbXYwmIcA946YY5tYwzF0lwkgPahZSqPpnBGEHfFmkMVeLr5SVQHRPy8QzSBMbslJ8nwFjdmjARA4c2g3Ld5aRbQSz7auHkkW2Pg9-gNKqWsKeWwLMMwtvHaX3N3YTuCxmxrfvSIEQBu3q8YeD9siuCZ54t2H4WaToI2EB6d1Zw/s3024/20230421_105304.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEF07Hal4Itu9CeBJQbXYwmIcA946YY5tYwzF0lwkgPahZSqPpnBGEHfFmkMVeLr5SVQHRPy8QzSBMbslJ8nwFjdmjARA4c2g3Ld5aRbQSz7auHkkW2Pg9-gNKqWsKeWwLMMwtvHaX3N3YTuCxmxrfvSIEQBu3q8YeD9siuCZ54t2H4WaToI2EB6d1Zw/s320/20230421_105304.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Historic Madu Church</div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">My return bus to Colombo left Vavuniya at 11:30 PM and arrived in Colombo at 4
AM. Very similar to the journey to
Vavuniya, without entertainment. I
didn’t even notice it. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">One sad
observation - The passengers who sat next to me on both trips were much younger
than me, Tamils, overweight, on the phone before departure, cursing some third
party. There is a lot of
negative energy in the youngsters.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Since then,
and until yesterday, I had been holed up in a hotel in Negombo, working, walking,
eating, and sleeping. <o:p></o:p></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTqBTen5RvmBdqCAyrY5aDrI9On-eLK7qunROn5zZprdXgrUifZgX5DWHH97fdX7EMXi-fMu154-2i1iMVTd5-4WZkDE_QU3zrogXF7TFBSv2h29F72OG2gxRvnIXTRud4bIJIRLAKZF9-eG_dFxfUCYU7qXRYlm2tA8A9RFTZEFj6gt4tmkxuElGamA/s1280/IMG-20230425-WA0004.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1280" data-original-width="960" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTqBTen5RvmBdqCAyrY5aDrI9On-eLK7qunROn5zZprdXgrUifZgX5DWHH97fdX7EMXi-fMu154-2i1iMVTd5-4WZkDE_QU3zrogXF7TFBSv2h29F72OG2gxRvnIXTRud4bIJIRLAKZF9-eG_dFxfUCYU7qXRYlm2tA8A9RFTZEFj6gt4tmkxuElGamA/s320/IMG-20230425-WA0004.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-US">Rain Clouds forming at Negombo Beach.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Yesterday,
I visited a friend I hadn’t seen for at least 50 years. He was in Colombo, and I went to see him by
public transport. The first leg was from
Negombo to Colombo by bus. I went to
Negombo bus station at noon; two men were hollering for passengers to Colombo. There were three or four passengers when I
got in. They waited 40 minutes until the
bus was full. A young Turkish Woman sat beside
me on an extension seat to mine. Until
then, I thought it was my armrest. They
have spent a day in Negombo and are now heading for better South beaches. Within 40 minutes, we were in Pettah, the busiest
marketplace in Colombo. I remember going
there as a kid, and it looks about the same even now.
Men were pulling carts loaded with consignment - sad. It was crowded, noisy, and the weather was
horrible – hot and humid.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxqUskIXMSnVhEL8-bWzfL_QMQ1cxnbukFiIjWE9VgU2aG4Ifx70uJunwPwOS793jUyt6ETpAHyTAr762gxWEfUevyK1Mrq2fMJnNjmik32Hy6ARUx2IgtszRvPDpsxjiFj39PuZw3kUGrVdsRlxlMCylxFrWuxoT0cCQb2bEVJBCIOlqB2aO2_gAt0w/s4032/20230423_181424.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2268" data-original-width="4032" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxqUskIXMSnVhEL8-bWzfL_QMQ1cxnbukFiIjWE9VgU2aG4Ifx70uJunwPwOS793jUyt6ETpAHyTAr762gxWEfUevyK1Mrq2fMJnNjmik32Hy6ARUx2IgtszRvPDpsxjiFj39PuZw3kUGrVdsRlxlMCylxFrWuxoT0cCQb2bEVJBCIOlqB2aO2_gAt0w/s320/20230423_181424.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Sunsets at Negombo Lagoon</div><p class="MsoNormal">I looked
for a place for lunch and found a vegetarian restaurant commonly known in Colombo
as SaivaKade. They had only a few items on
their menu, and I asked for Dosa. These
dosas at SaivaKade’s are very different from those you get elsewhere. They are thick pan-fried soft bread. He served two of them and topped them with six scoops of sambar (a vegetable stew) and
sambal (green chilies, coconut, salt, and onions ground together). I don’t even remember the last time I ate
this combo. It cost me 2 AUD, including
a generous 20% tip. I was worried that it
would cause an upset stomach. It has
been 24 hours since then, and I am fine. </p><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Now, I have
to go to Dehiwela, I had a few options, but I wanted to travel by Train. The view for passengers of a coastal train in
Colombo is spectacular, and I have done it many times, but I always wanted it once
more. After a ten-minute walk under the
hot sun, I reached the station where the Train was about to move. I felt as if it was waiting for me. Good feeling to watch the Ocean, ignoring the
slums between the railway track and the beach.
How easy is it to ignore the suffering of others, I wondered.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRpk9P7h6HKoulpT7i_cM2eqxrFu9X5QlSpxy-1F5Dwf4DRVw8GZVvBvyWfKN_n_oNwV0JcJUAzOjXRrfiQvpIbVPxtIk8bEHqYM7BFFK4rIEppxhLxl0cgHSWCUvePKOsUHMS-W-f6R7u5juCKVsZPja22jUPU41HfsHEbcPA6byEYGmUG2m2S_avhQ/s4032/20220426_081402.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRpk9P7h6HKoulpT7i_cM2eqxrFu9X5QlSpxy-1F5Dwf4DRVw8GZVvBvyWfKN_n_oNwV0JcJUAzOjXRrfiQvpIbVPxtIk8bEHqYM7BFFK4rIEppxhLxl0cgHSWCUvePKOsUHMS-W-f6R7u5juCKVsZPja22jUPU41HfsHEbcPA6byEYGmUG2m2S_avhQ/s320/20220426_081402.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv7LKHlG6DrwPpB_tLTfKRRF5Za2UFF_3q294JixOH2WEy3E4xYGTFuxjoz6veUdj5g31LQY61sUHkJrE3x6R9OIqWjnCBArWO6kDekgBEgwv9xb4KpaToDV4uhjKEzQVzignduaDvIZBYIM920sEeScnPo_0DaH0veErIRtGhUJlFufT3gaczzdHN1w/s4032/20220426_081219.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhv7LKHlG6DrwPpB_tLTfKRRF5Za2UFF_3q294JixOH2WEy3E4xYGTFuxjoz6veUdj5g31LQY61sUHkJrE3x6R9OIqWjnCBArWO6kDekgBEgwv9xb4KpaToDV4uhjKEzQVzignduaDvIZBYIM920sEeScnPo_0DaH0veErIRtGhUJlFufT3gaczzdHN1w/s320/20220426_081219.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Colombo Coastal Trains</div><br />After
visiting my friend, I returned to Dehiwela and asked the counter clerk if I
could go to Negombo by Train. He said,
can’t you read the board with train schedules?
I was unhappy with his response but went to the board, which said there
was a train to Chilaw (not Negombo). I
did not know that the Chilaw train stopped at Negombo. I confirmed it by asking the person updating the
board with a whiteboard marker. Then I
went to the counter and bought the ticket.<span lang="EN-US"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">The Train
was about 20 minutes late, and when it arrived, there were vacant seats, so I
took one of them. The Train moved on,
again caressing the coastline of Colombo, providing a panchromatic view of the
sunset, and then gently rolled into Colombo Fort. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">Now I entered a phase of Train travel, typical of a developing
country, which I wanted to experience again. Passengers kept on embarking until
everyone was almost touching their fellow passengers. There was breathing room only. The windows of the Train were shut to prevent
rainwater from entering. Gradually the
heat and humidity built up, and I was treated to a free sauna. After 20 minutes, the Train moved to the next
station, Maradana, about a km away. Again
another twenty-minute wait, and now, I am suffocating. Being the passenger next to the window, I
tried to open the shutters. I got help
from a fellow passenger, and we opened and relieved all. That was a good feeling.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">A 38 km
journey took 90 minutes. The Train
stopped every 2 to 3 km. It was a suburban train. I kept watching the world pass by in slow motion. Houses, shops, and everything else remains as
they were 40 years ago. They are small,
the architecture has not changed, and they are lit mainly by mercury bulbs. There
were Autorickshaws and scooters, which were not common 40 years ago. Reasonably new cars are parked at some
houses. The Train crossed several road
crossings, where road users were waiting and giving way to the Train. I felt superior to them since they were
waiting to give me way. What a silly
feeling!<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">I arrived
at Khurana, a station before Negombo, closer to my hotel. The feeling was incredibly familiar. It reminded me of the days we arrived at
Sarasaviuyanna, the University of Peradeniya train station. It was wet, raining, and a few passengers, and
when I got out of the station, there was hardly anything. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US">With this travel, my to-do list is one less thing to do. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-US"> </span></p>Prathaparhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08387799812741863178noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5225408798553080663.post-48490782138738473792021-01-22T15:05:00.000+11:002021-01-22T15:05:34.161+11:00Uncivil War<p><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I had been dismayed over the language spoken on the US Cable channels, especially at Fox in recent years. The language is often rowdy, sarcasm was everywhere, facts were twisted, and used selectively. The hosts never had intellectuals on their shows. Probably they are not smart enough to handle them.</span></p><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I could never think of the best way to describe it, till, I heard President Biden called it, what it is. It's an uncivil war. </div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><div><br /></div><div>Sadly, the FNC's hosts (Hannity, Ingraham, Hilton, and Carlson), have huge followings. I wonder why these people can't be charged for hate speech? </div><div><br /></div><div>They even throw doubt on the hard work the scientists do or have done. They have seeded doubts on the merits of vaccinations. This is what the Taliban did in Afghanistan against polio vaccinations. I wonder how Fox hosts differed from the Taliban. I like to see the companies producing the vaccines take them to court - just the way the Voting Machine manufacturers did to them to shut them up.</div><div><br /></div><div>Now the race is on to take credit. The Trumpians want to take credit for vaccines being available in less than a year in the USA. Wonder how long it took for the Chinese, British, Indians, and Russians to produce the vaccines, and distribute them around the world? Will the Trumpians take credit for all of that too? It is the hard work of scientists, and the investments various governments made resulted in the vaccines being available within a year. The USA, just like many other governments made the investment. Good on them.</div><div><br /></div><div>Australians invested in four projects and brought one to a close because the results were poor. That's what science is all about. Discovery through educated trials (expect errors too)! Our space programs failed - Appolo 13 crashed miserably. The whole world mourned. No one criticized the scientists, Thank god, there was no Fox those days.</div></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></div><div style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">I hope the Americans wake up on their own. The trouble instigator in chief has been isolated, at least for now. Hope he stays that way and the uncivil war ends soon. The world can do away with the nastiness of the past four years.</div>Prathaparhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08387799812741863178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5225408798553080663.post-5556280240392295692020-03-24T12:51:00.000+11:002020-03-26T10:28:28.906+11:00An Extraordinary evening with Ordinary People<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Although I left Sri Lanka in Aug 1980, I am privileged to
live or travel to South Asian countries frequently since then.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When I meet people from ordinary walks of
life in such countries, I feel good.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This
is not to say that there are no ordinary people in Australia or the USA, where
I lived a considerable number of years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>But, in my heart, they are different types of ordinary people, and they
do not warm my heart as those I meet in South Asian countries.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Galle face from Shangri La, Colombo</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Recently, I was in Colombo, and I wanted to go to a temple
around 6 pm.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I came out of the hotel and
waved at an auto-rickshaw for transport.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Autorickshaws (autos) in Colombo are metered, and mostly, the drivers
turn the meter on, as the passenger gets in.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>This is not the case in India, where I have used autos regularly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead, the fare needs to be agreed before
the journey starts.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
The Lake View from Shangri La, Colombo</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The driver, recognizing that I have come from overseas,
asked me if I wanted to buy gems.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
declined.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After a brief silence, he told
me that for every potential customer he takes to the jeweller, he gets a voucher
for 2 litres of petrol worthy of 2 USD, irrespective of whether the customer
purchases anything or not.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He said that
all that I needed to do was to spend 5 to 10 minutes, pretend to purchase
something.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
A failed attempt of the Lotus Tower and clouds to mask the Sun</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
After a few minutes of contemplation, I agreed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did want to buy small jewellery for my wife
and wanted to get a feel for the prices and selections.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I entered the jeweller, I was warmly
welcomed by a salesman.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There were several
of them, but I was the only customer at that time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The shop was VERY brightly lit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The salesman greeted me in English, gave me
his business card, and asked where I had come from.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I said that I am a native of Jaffna, but now
Australia is home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The salesman said
that he spoke Tamil, my mother tongue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Since then the conversation took place in Tamil.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Minute by minute, the number of people who wanted to help
the salesman increased, and the price of the jewellery I showed interest in
dropped by a few dollars.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was offered
a cup of tea, which I declined as I was feeling guilty for wasting their time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I did not want to continue the charade, so, I
politely told them I am only looking to get the feel for prices and selection
and left the shop.<o:p></o:p><br />
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The auto driver was happily waiting for me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He asked me if I bought anything, and I said
no.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Had I purchased something he may
have received an additional commission.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He then took me to the temple, where I wanted to go.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the temple, he showed me the voucher and offered
a discount to the fare.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I guess he wanted
to do the right thing by me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I declined
his offer and paid him in full.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He was
willing to wait until I have finished my prayers and take me back to the hotel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That too I declined.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I had something else in my mind.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Kathiresan Temple, Bambalapitiya, Colombo</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I have been to this temple many times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My first memory of the temple is in the late
50’s as a little boy, going there with my parents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The temple has gone through several rounds of
refurbishment since then, it looked very clean and well lit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was at the temple after the scheduled hours of <i>pooja</i>,
so, hardly anyone there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wanted to
make a special offering to Lord Shiva in memory of my deceased family
members.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I waited in front of the
Shrine, a young priest, approached me and waited till I opened my eyes (I have
a habit of saying prayers with my eyes closed).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>He took details of my deceased ancestors from me, and did the prayer,
and gave me the offering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The offering was
a collection of few betel leaves, two bananas, flowers, and a small quantity of
holy ashes.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I gave him a <i>thatchanai</i>
(an appreciation for his services) thanked him and left the temple.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
Sri Lankan Beaches, Second to None</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My plan then was to get some alcohol, snacks, street food, and
return to the hotel, watch darkening skies of Colombo as it went to sleep (my
room was on the 32<sup>nd</sup> floor of the hotel) as I enjoy my acquisitions
of the evening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<br />
Within ten minutes of walking, I
found a supermarket, but that store was not licensed to sell alcohol.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I took a packet of peanuts and walked to the
checkout.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The cashier was a young Tamil girl,
she recognized me as a Hindu (I was holding the offerings from the temple in
one hand, and had holy ash on my forehead), and wanted to be friendly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She teasingly asked me in Tamil if I would give her the
bananas, and she did so as a conversation opener.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I immediately offered, but she felt a bit shy,
so, I insisted that she takes them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
smiled, and called the security guard standing nearby, and asked if he would
like to have the beetle leaves.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The man
did not have any teeth to chew, and he said so and declined.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then the girl asked him if he would like to
take it for someone in his family, and he said he would.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The girl took the offerings from me, took
some holy ash with piety, applied on her forehead and handed over the beetle
leaves, bananas and flowers to the security guard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I paid for the peanuts, and as I exited the
shop, I saw the security guard eating the bananas I gave.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I felt good and started looking for an auto to
return to the Hotel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">Galle face taking on a new face under SWRD's supervision</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I woke up an auto driver from his slumber, and he agreed to
take me back to the hotel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I told him
that I would like to get some alcohol and some street food.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He took me to a liquor shop, which is a small version of Dan Murphy's in Australia. A variety of alcohol, mostly beyond the reach of an average Sri Lankan was on display. I bought the local rum (Arack) and some ice. As I got back to the auto, the driver was concerned if the prices were unfair. I reassured him that the prices are fair. Then I asked him to take me to the Galle-face green, my favourite
place for street food, before dropping me at the hotel.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Got a good portion of squid and local bread (paratha) for dinner, and returned to the auto driver for dropping me at the hotel. </span>I paid his dues and extra 80 LKR (50 US
Cents), and he was very happy.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Within a few hours, I met two auto drivers, a bunch of
jewellery salesmen, a priest, a salesgirl, and a security guard.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> The first auto driver wanted to share his commission, the priest was willing to wait for me, the sales girl was friendly, pious and generous, and the second auto driver was concerned if I had paid more than necessary for the booze. </span>They are the ordinary people missing in my
daily routine.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think I made a small
difference to their evening, and so did they to mine.</div>
</div>
Prathaparhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08387799812741863178noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5225408798553080663.post-34805388830089122742020-02-26T19:36:00.000+11:002020-02-28T11:02:14.857+11:002020 version of Jaffna Hindu Funeral Rites in Sydney<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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On the 8<sup>th</sup> of February 2020, my world became less
generous, less gentle and less gracious, because my Mother in Law (MIL) passed
away in Sydney.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is one of the most
generous, gentle and gracious people, I have known.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She was unwell for nearly three years and taught
us how to suffer gracefully during the last two years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This blog is about the funeral rites that followed
her death, and how it differed from Hindu funeral rites in Jaffna, Sri Lanka, where
I was born.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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My MIL passed away at the Westmead Hospital in Sydney.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The hospital staff wanted to take over the
body within four hours, to clean and store in the mortuary.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The immediate family who were present, obliged.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She died on a Saturday early morning, and the
funeral directors could not access her till the Monday morning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Furthermore, the funeral directors had other
commitments, and hence the funeral was scheduled for the 12<sup>th</sup>.<o:p></o:p></div>
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In Jaffna, the family will mourn in the presence of the
deceased for nearly 12 hours, while the arrangements for the funeral will be
taking place.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Typically, the body will
be cremated within 24 hours of death, following the funeral rites at home.<o:p></o:p></div>
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On the 12<sup>th</sup> morning, the immediate family ‘viewed’
the deceased at 8:30 AM and the rest of the family and friends did so till 10
AM.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Funeral rites followed that in the
presence of mourners.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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In Jaffna, there was a group of priests who were ordained to
administer the funeral rites.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In Sydney,
it was done by volunteers, attached to the Hindu Society (popularly known as
the Sydney Saiva Manram) for a modest fee to pay for various consumables for
administering the rites.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The chief volunteer
was supported by two additional volunteers from the Sri Lankan Hindu community
in Sydney.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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The rites started with the invocation of Lord Ganesha, a
Hindu God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Lord Ganesha is the God of Beginnings.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A cone of ground-turmeric paste mounted with grass
is formed to depict Ganesha, and a prayer is offered to him.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He is asked to oversee and ensure the
proceedings are completed properly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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The second rite is the invocation of Lord Shiva, the supreme
God.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A metal pot with a narrow neck (Kudam
in Tamil), is filled with water, and a coconut is kept up-side-down to cover
the opening of the pot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This formation
depicts Lord Shiva, also known as the destroyer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Prayers are offered to Lord Shiva, and he is
requested to accept the deceased soul.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The third rite is the invocation of the departed soul.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Instead of a metal pot, a mud-pot is used to create
another formation for the soul and prayers are offered to invite the wandering
soul to come and settle in the water within the mud-pot.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The fourth rite is to physically purify the body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In Jaffna, herbal shampoo and oil are applied
liberally to the body, and the body will be washed and dressed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In Sydney, the washing of the body is done at
the hospital soon after the death and dressing of the body is done by the funeral
directors a day before the funeral.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Hence, the fourth rite in Sydney is only ceremonial to symbolize what was
done in Jaffna.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Friends and family were
invited to apply a drop each of herbal shampoo, oil, and water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is then assumed that the body is cleansed
and dressed.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The fifth rite is to prepare a blend of fragrances and perfumes
for the deceased.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The mixing is done in
a pestle with mortar when a close relative pounds the substances as the volunteers
recite prayers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Subsequently, the
fragrant concoction is applied to the deceased.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The sixth rite is to offer the deceased <i>vakkarisi</i> a
mixture of rice and other grains.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This
is an offering reluctantly and sorrowfully made by the immediate family,
reflecting the good things the deceased had done to them over the years.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A handful of rice is placed at the mouth of
the deceased by each, often bring tears to those involved. Rice, instead of paddy-which can germinate, symbolize, the prayer seeking no rebirth for the deceased. <o:p></o:p></div>
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At this stage, in Jaffna, the coffin is closed, and the body
is taken to the cemetery in a procession where the body is to be cremated.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In Sydney, where the cremation takes place at
the parlour itself, remaining rituals continue, as if it is only now the deceased
has arrived at the parlour.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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In Jaffna, the pot in which the deceased soul is invoked is
carried on the left shoulder by a male member of the immediate family.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>He will walk around the deceased on the
funeral pyre, three times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The family
barber will walk behind the pot-carrier and pierce the pot at the end of each round
and let the water drain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the end of
the three rounds, the pot-carrier will drop the pot behind him, crashing the
pot, and releasing the water.<o:p></o:p></div>
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In Sydney, the key volunteer replaces the barber, and
instead of piercing the pot, he will only tap the pot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Once the three rounds are over, the pot-carrier
walks outside the parlour and drops the pot releasing the water.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This is done so to prevent the parlour floor from
getting wet. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Recall that the pot is where the soul is invoked.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During the leakage of water, the soul is released
to find its way to meet the greater soul, the Paramatma.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In Sydney, then the coffin is sealed, placed
on a stage, a piece of camphor is alight, and the curtain is drawn.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Later, the funeral directors will transfer
the body to a crematorium to cremate the body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>In Jaffna, the pyre will be set on fire, to cremate the body, after the
pot is crashed.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The Jaffna-migrant community in Sydney does its best to
cling on to the traditions of Jaffna.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
manner in which my Mother in Law’s funeral was held shows the extent to which
the community tried to stick to its traditions, but also flexible enough to
adapt to the new environment, and Sydney-living!.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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I believe there will be more adaptations with time, largely
due to the apathy and (in)convenience among the next generation of Jaffna-origin Hindus in Sydney.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I also think some of the practices of Hindus
from other parts of the world, as well as the practices of other religions and
communities, will blend with the traditions from Jaffna.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An example is the delivery of tributes and
vote of thanks at my Mother in Law’s funeral, which is a common practice at
Christian Funerals, that never happens in Jaffna.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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The merger of respectful practices, irrespective of their
origins are always welcome.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Prathaparhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08387799812741863178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5225408798553080663.post-67262996265684874562020-02-03T20:45:00.001+11:002020-02-04T11:47:02.860+11:00Ayutthaya is not Ayodhya<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Until very recently, I often wondered what could be common between Ayutthaya in Thailand, and Ayodhya in Uttar Pradesh, India. I was confused between the two, because, both names sounded the same, many Hindu fables are very much in conversation in Thailand, and Thais and the Indians consider Rama, as God. Rama was born in Ayodhya, but he had nothing to do with Ayutthaya. Ayutthaya was founded in circa 1350 and was destroyed by an invading Burmese army in the 18th Century. It was the second largest city of Siam and was a centre for Buddhist culture, as long as it thrived.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjlRZY5vi2c6IhLaGUU60FbozGaJDske4RfYe86Gn7sC7ASe8NOaUCnybiODaWeNZQ7h0YfukjFgTCVuqyNmGZ_h1YISdvMr31YI8pw7UFgo7BqVbKofbnWpvYQ5PPj-kI6Or9mK_e0LOg/s1600/Panoramic+View+of+the+History+Park.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="336" data-original-width="1600" height="67" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjlRZY5vi2c6IhLaGUU60FbozGaJDske4RfYe86Gn7sC7ASe8NOaUCnybiODaWeNZQ7h0YfukjFgTCVuqyNmGZ_h1YISdvMr31YI8pw7UFgo7BqVbKofbnWpvYQ5PPj-kI6Or9mK_e0LOg/s320/Panoramic+View+of+the+History+Park.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Panoramic View of the History Park, Ayutthaya</div>
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Thanks to an email from Thai Airways, informing that some of my frequent flyer points are about to expire, I took a three-day trip to Bangkok recently. I went there for the first time in 1993, had been there for work, representing CSIRO, IWMI, SQU Oman, and ADB, the institutions I worked for. I have also transited Bangkok many times, travelling between Sydney and Lahore/Muscat/Colombo. But I was never a serious tourist, except until now.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNv4M8YdQmzecLIE14ARZ3yda_1woC874pu6s-9lK4A8HbvGiocp3Py4cBdNnzAP0CZuySww834YQGguZhzFbp01x2CCmGMlQ_2BDfpyU7M-HxWKZ3OZoX_mqKzL388ALajesc05Pg2df6/s1600/The+Ministry+of+Defense.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNv4M8YdQmzecLIE14ARZ3yda_1woC874pu6s-9lK4A8HbvGiocp3Py4cBdNnzAP0CZuySww834YQGguZhzFbp01x2CCmGMlQ_2BDfpyU7M-HxWKZ3OZoX_mqKzL388ALajesc05Pg2df6/s320/The+Ministry+of+Defense.jpg" width="180" /></a></div>
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The Ministry of Defence, Thailand. Note the new King's portrait</div>
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I wanted to go to Ayutthaya from Bangkok by train. I did my homework, figured out that I need to take the Airport Rail Link from Lat Krabang to a Railway Junction, Hua Lamphong, and then get the train to Ayutthaya. I took a Taxi from the hotel around 6 AM and told the driver to take me to Lat Krabang. I showed him the Airport Rail Map, and we interrogated Google Maps in Thai and English, and we were on our way. Except, instead of the Airport Rail Link Station, he dropped me at an intersection in Lat Krabang, and I realized that I need to try another mode of transport.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAgBZqzkgGIg_Hohuk0MFmjpH65M2X59TAKMApHkW6URG67BZkhBum1AQsv4tgXbrhIQBCQO7xwbJYgPbCKHgrELy5VcGT6lCula0uI4EsCzyyzn8LX3d9yuQtUbXK05dLrU6gDQR65FXp/s1600/The+Grand+Palace.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhAgBZqzkgGIg_Hohuk0MFmjpH65M2X59TAKMApHkW6URG67BZkhBum1AQsv4tgXbrhIQBCQO7xwbJYgPbCKHgrELy5VcGT6lCula0uI4EsCzyyzn8LX3d9yuQtUbXK05dLrU6gDQR65FXp/s320/The+Grand+Palace.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The Grand Palace - as it welcomes you</div>
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I saw four men sitting around a small coffee table and drinking beer and a Thai alcohol concoction around 6 AM. I asked them for directions to the Airport Link station, but the communication was not going well. Finally, one of them, who spoke a bit of English, asked me what I wanted to do. I said that I wanted to go to Ayutthaya. He offered to arrange a taxi for the day for 70USD. I agreed. He called one of his friends, who was a Taxi driver. When the taxi arrived, the broker took a commission of 5 USD from the driver and introduced me to the driver. The Driver spoke less English than the guy who arranged the trip, but, on his smartphone, he had an App, which translated Thai to English and vice versa. What a blessing! I gave him a list of ten sites I wanted to visit in Ayutthaya, and we were on our way!<br />
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Alms Giving at a Buddhist Temple - Actually, there's no giving. You help yourself!</div>
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The first stop was Wat Yai Chaimongkorn, a monastery built in the 14th Century to house Scholars exchanged between Thailand, and Sri Lanka. I was very proud to read that. It was the same feeling I had when I went to Sarnath and Bodh Gaya, both were ‘rediscovered’ by Anagarika Dharmapala, a Sri Lankan Buddhist Scholar, who led the rehabilitation of both sacred sites. I then wondered how such Sri Lankan Scholars permitted the growth of a ‘fundamentalist’ stream of Buddhism in Sri Lanka. I hope they assert the values of Buddha and remove the politicians, and fundamentalists bringing disrepute to the Lord. It’s never too late.<br />
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Wat Yai Chai Mongkorn - Where Scholars trained in Sri Lanka Stayed<br />
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Wat Chaiwatthanaram - In memory of the Queen Mother</div>
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One after the other, I went to the sites I wanted to see. All looked grand, ruined and similar. Where ever I went, the Lord was sleeping, meditating or blessing. He wasn’t angry as some of the Hindu deities are, or in pain, as Jesus is.<br />
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Sleeping Buddha at Wat Lokaya Sutha, Ayuthaya</div>
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At Wat Mahathat the roots of the tree had embraced the Lord. </div>
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At another, a massive Buddha, 19 m tall, was called, Golden Buddha. Not sure if it is made of gold, but it is possible that a smaller one, just in front of the BIG one is made of gold.<br />
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Golden Buddha</div>
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At two sites in Ayutthaya, I saw several yellow t-shirt groups being lectured on how to prevent the spread of the Corona Virus, which is menacing China, Thailand, the Philippines, and the others. I assumed that the speakers were from the health department or an NGO. The volunteers, once well-informed, were to go on spreading the message. I sensed a community spirit among them.<br />
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One of the organizers explained what was going on to me, and was happy to tell me that he had been to the Temple of Tooth, in Sri Lanka. I recalled a Nepali, I met a few years ago, who told me about his pilgrimage to Nagadeepa, another Buddhist shrine in Sri Lanka. I have not heard of Sri Lanka, promoted as a religious-tourist location. I think the Government needs to consider promoting Sri Lanka, at least in the Far-East as a Religious tourist destination.<br />
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Wishing 'Well' at Wat Yai Chai Mongkhorn - </div>
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People make a wish and drop a coin from the top of the Stupa</div>
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The next day, I visited the Grand Palace, the Emerald Buddha Chappel, and Wat Pho. <br />
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Having got used to the driver, and I asked him if he would like to show me around the sites of Bangkok, for a similar fee. He declined and advised me to take public transport, the Airport Link and the Metropolitan Rapid Transit. He said it will be more efficient and would cost me a fraction. And, he was right. There are three rail links in Bangkok, the Airport Rail Link, Metropolitan Rapid Transit, and the State Railway of Thailand. Unfortunately, they are not seamlessly woven together, but it is not difficult to go from one to another, where they intersect. I used the MRT and the ARL, very inexpensive and well connected.<br />
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At the Wat Pho, where the reclining Buddha is, I witnessed something very sweet. Along the walls, there are wishing bowls, in which people drop a coin and make a wish. I saw a young man with European appearance, must be British, because, he made his wish in English, followed by his wife/girlfriend. The man wished that he should have a baby soon, and the women followed him said, 'I wish the same'. I too wish the same for both of them.<br />
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The Reclining Buddha at Wat Pho</div>
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The Grand Palace - You must see to appreciate the grandeur</div>
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The Emerald Buddha Chappel at the Grand Palace</div>
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And finally, it will be remiss of me, if I do not comment on the sex industry in Bangkok. In 1993, when I went, I was stalked by prostitutes and harassed by pimps. It is no longer the case. Maybe I look old enough so that I attract neither of them. But, I think the city has developed, citizens are better educated, and the industry is better regulated. Yes, it is all there, but, only for those looking for them, not, for others.</div>
Prathaparhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08387799812741863178noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5225408798553080663.post-41280311127905201042020-01-28T13:53:00.001+11:002020-01-28T16:43:40.529+11:00The Tadpole Island – Corregidor, the Philippines<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
At the entrance to the Manila Bay, a tadpole-shaped island stands guard to the Manila harbor. For well over 1000 years, the island had been an invaluable real estate for those excelled in piracy as well as trade in the South China Sea, or as Filipinos call it, the North-Western Philippines Sea. The island is a major tourist attraction for visitors to Manila and managed by a monopoly, a Filipino Company, with access to the ruling elite. The company, Sun Rises, runs the ferry between Manila and Corregidor, owns the only hotel on the island, and conducts guided tours for visitors. I have not seen such an arrangement elsewhere. Without them, no one can enter the island. The cost of the trip is relatively high (about 60 USD for the ferry, lunch and the guided tour of four hours). A return trip to another port nearby, Bataan, by ferry will cost 12 USD. The lunch is very ordinary, and the artifacts/exhibits are very few.<br />
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Tadpole Island. Corregidor</div>
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The ferry can take up to 285 passengers comfortably, the ride takes about 2 hours each way, and the ambiance gives a feeling of being in a small cruise ship – clean, well maintained, and the crew dressed as naval officers. They looked smart. The day I traveled, there were about 200 passengers, most of them were a delegation from a Mormon Church based in California. As we arrived at Corregidor, Trams were waiting for us to be taken to the exhibits. Each Tram could take up to 35 passengers, and there were seven of them waiting for us.<br />
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Trams with Guides, Ready for Showtime </div>
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So, what is special about Corregidor? It was the theatre where Japan demonstrated its might, and where it was soundly defeated during WW II. It was the base for Douglas McArthur, who commanded the Allied Forces in the Pacific and Australasia.<br />
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Douglas McArthur, Promises to his troops: I Shall Return</div>
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The Island was second only to Malta, in terms of the number of bombs fell during the WW-II. The Allied forces lost the island to the Japanese in 1942 and regained in 1945. We were told, that the island was almost burnt by the end of the war, but, now the Island looks luscious, just like any tropical forests. This gave me the hope, that, if we stop messing up the world, it may recover, and the earth may forgive us.<br />
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Luscious Corregidor</div>
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Major exhibits at the island were some mortars used to bomb ships, a few cannons, a lighthouse, a cemetery for the Japanese, a memorial for the Allied forces, a mile-long barrack, and the Malinta Tunnel.<br />
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Pacific War Memorial</div>
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We were told, that the technology to bomb ships entering the Manila Bay was very primitive. Along the coasts were ‘spotters’, who will send a telex to a ‘command center’ of mortars, who will calculate the angle to fire, and then fire the mortars. Some of them could shoot a 1000 lbs bomb to a distance of 7-8 miles. Many of them missed the targets, but, obviously, enough hit the targets for the island to be lost and won in four years.<br />
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A mortar, almost ready to fire</div>
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The lighthouse had been re-furbished, the mile-long barrack (its actually three miles long barrack) is in ruins, and the Malinta Tunnels offers a sound and lights show, telling how the war was lost and won by the Allied forces.<br />
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The Mile Long Barrack</div>
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Each Tram had a guide, our guy put on a good show, often repeating the same old jokes. His narration was pro Americans, and it suited the passengers well. I paid a lot of attention to the narration provided by the Guide, not for the content though. He depicted the Americans in good light, the Japanese as brutal conquerors, and the Filipinos as confused people. He lamented the discrimination of the Filipinos by the Americans and complained that the Filipinos paid a very high price. About 100,000 Americans and 1.2 million Filipinos died during the war. He was reasonably funny, and every time he told a joke, I wondered how many times he would have told the same joke again and again. He could sing a little bit – actually most Filipinos sing reasonably well, and they are not shy to sing in public. I thought he earned his keeps.<br />
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Lord Buddha at the Japanese Cemetry</div>
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The passenger next to me in the Ferry, Mike, is a retired OB-GYN from California. A tall 5’ 16” guy. Yep, not 6’ and 4”, as others would see him. He heads the Mormon Mission in Manila and has been living in Manila for about 18 months. His name tag identified him (and several other men) as Elders. All women in the group were identified as “sisters”. I wondered why Mike was not a brother, and how come none of the women were ‘Elders’. Mike was very proud to introduce himself as the father of seven children and grandfather of fourteen children. We discussed my faith in God. I told him that I belong to the Church of Prathapar, I have my own rules and beliefs. I told him that I do not believe in Hell or Heaven after death, both are just around us. I also said that I believe that, each one of us should be net-givers than net-takers, which will be the yardstick how we have lived our lives. He talked about Mormon church briefly, wanted to know I like to have a copy of the Mormon’s Guide book. I told him about one of my supervisors in the USA, who gave me a copy, which I still have in Sydney. I was very comfortable talking to him, and I think he too was. When we departed, he said that he felt enriched – I hope he meant it.<br />
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The Sun Rise Liner - Note it is only one at the Dockyard</div>
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Overall, it was a good day to be out, instead of sitting in my flat, watching TV.<br />
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Prathaparhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08387799812741863178noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5225408798553080663.post-58149940162235177862019-04-25T12:32:00.003+10:002019-04-25T12:32:27.308+10:00The City of Joy<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I grew up in Jaffna, and as a teenager, my sources of
information were Tamil weeklies and monthlies from Tamil Nadu, India.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was aware of developments in Tamil Cinema
and Tamil Nadu Politics.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I probably knew
more about Tamil Nadu than an average citizen of Tamil Nadu.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tamil Nadu publications in the sixties were
largely pro-Congress, praised Gandhi and Nehru, but the Cinema was tilting
towards the Dravidian movement.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>That too
I followed closely, developed respect for EVR, CNA, MK, and MGR.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Beyond these leaders, I read about Bose, Tagore, Ray, Mother
Teresa, Swami Vivekananda and Swami Ramakrishna Parama Hamsar.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They all had one thing in common – they
called Calcutta – Kolkata, the City of Joy, Home!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Despite travelling across the Indian
sub-continent, and having been to all states from Baluchistan, Pakistan to
Kulna of Bangladesh, I haven’t had the opportunity to visit the State of West
Bengal, home of Kolkata.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This changed
last month when I managed to spend 36 hours in Kolkata.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5wBjGfoqZ0q_17uezr2WLZwQFHhE4yuJUdowPRRtZ9GKy-dPG62kcnLvGt_jTvD-wZnRJ907CqH9SGSTLp4D59Z8jNDLf1v1IBQtaNoJAuPYJz1XhIYmqJBNEEmI9jnJSv-fBNFgYf2dv/s1600/20190126_141743.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5wBjGfoqZ0q_17uezr2WLZwQFHhE4yuJUdowPRRtZ9GKy-dPG62kcnLvGt_jTvD-wZnRJ907CqH9SGSTLp4D59Z8jNDLf1v1IBQtaNoJAuPYJz1XhIYmqJBNEEmI9jnJSv-fBNFgYf2dv/s320/20190126_141743.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Queen Victoria Building, Kolkatta</div>
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After checking in at a hotel near the airport, I decided to
venture out around noon on a Friday afternoon.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I was looking for downtown, and Google said that the City Center is
about 5 km away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I Ubered my way
there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I assumed it would be the
‘downtown', and I was wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It did not
resemble India at all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have seen
modern malls amid congested areas of Delhi, but this City Center was very
different.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is next to a very modern
freeway on a service road, just the way you expect to see in the western
world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is a mid-size mall, a five-story
building, with all modern and fashionable boutiques, cinemas and restaurants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It even had a cricket practice net on its
rooftop.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Cricket Crazy Indians, I
murmured.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A Khadi shop attracted my
attention, bought a couple of Khadi shirts, thinking of Gandhi; treated myself
to some Bengali sweets and a Masala Chai.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Then I had no more interest in the mall.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></div>
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A Cricket Practice Net on Top of a Mall</div>
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Hired a Taxi for the next stop and told the driver that I
wanted to see Howrah bridge and go pass the Howrah Railway station – key landmarks
of Kolkata.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I neared Howrah, I
witnessed the Indian Kolkata again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Crowded & congested, traffic jam, trams, Ambassador-Taxis and the
works.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This part of India must have been
a posh area at one time.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For some
reason, the streets reminded me of Paris, both sides with four to five-story
apartments built at least 100 years ago.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Pedestrian walk areas were occupied by squatters or hawkers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We finally reached Howrah station, but it was
only about 5 pm, and the evening is still young.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Taxi driver was not interested in leaving
me, he offered to take me to other places, and we agreed that he will take me
to Ramakrishna Mutt, which was on my list to do next day.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4DBIz2itNa-Is-ch-jjtcJWWlBasbb1t_XCx7oqEZP0h8zxiym6RUssMQhl7eklfMsve3ZzcPK2JsaNe26cEtueqPLiDxqn8stZ-gYrgVp01PelSi3KWUGuf2mcCYecbehwK1iCza_aS-/s1600/20190125_170952.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi4DBIz2itNa-Is-ch-jjtcJWWlBasbb1t_XCx7oqEZP0h8zxiym6RUssMQhl7eklfMsve3ZzcPK2JsaNe26cEtueqPLiDxqn8stZ-gYrgVp01PelSi3KWUGuf2mcCYecbehwK1iCza_aS-/s320/20190125_170952.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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The Hoogly River from Ramakrishna Mutt - Shri Dakshineswar Temple in the background</div>
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I was very glad that I went to the Mutt when the sun was
about to set.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Mutt is along the
Hooghly River, a distributary of mighty Ganges.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>There were libraries, museums and eateries.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The main shrine reminded me of Sultan Qaboos
Mosque in Muscat.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some exceptional
architecture.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I spent time quietly,
enjoying the breeze from the river and the tranquillity a shrine could
offer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>An elderly western woman
(probably my age) started conversations if I am an Indian.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>When her friend, an Indian lady, probably in
her eighties realized that I am from Sri Lanka, she started chatting about Sri
Lankan politics and state of its cricket.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Neither were great at the moment, I must admit.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I returned to the Hotel and had a quiet
evening.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIxNbloQl2JFfD5DS5eVByW2uSIYWr_miWycfjOb2K3640QrVEx7xYq6KJhirrcvBFQCkW8t8x-JZFixzsDsCbzXydKhE0B7lI4NC8s8pyBShR6HMMZzJgQpFm-8e5fIXROiaDE1lKOybQ/s1600/20190125_170405.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIxNbloQl2JFfD5DS5eVByW2uSIYWr_miWycfjOb2K3640QrVEx7xYq6KJhirrcvBFQCkW8t8x-JZFixzsDsCbzXydKhE0B7lI4NC8s8pyBShR6HMMZzJgQpFm-8e5fIXROiaDE1lKOybQ/s320/20190125_170405.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Ramakrishna Mutt</div>
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The next day was India’s Republic Day.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The hotel I stayed was a part of a ‘Colony’,
in the West known as a housing complex.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Well-dressed
middle-aged and elderly residents gathered around an empty swimming pool with a
flag mask.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I realized that they were
about to celebrate Republic Day and wanted to be a part of it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Quickly got dressed and went to the
gathering.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Together, they sang the
National Anthem, an elderly man hoisted the flag, then they sang more patriotic
songs, and served sweets to all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
National Pride was in everyone face.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
got back to my hotel room, and watched the celebrations in Delhi, the parade
and of course the PM walking at the end to greet some of the visitors and
giving them high-fives!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYnDjiAwsR1ZrsZ6CYv9FblNx0nRdMAM-oCsjHi9Npfac3gEq_JovRehjnCUUscX4Wa8fTwcVmwB1VhSz3eDOJO1Uuc5W_NvroGh5bRTgSmZekUd-gE9utStZ3g6wXojHexsuSfrD92YuV/s1600/20190126_094325.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYnDjiAwsR1ZrsZ6CYv9FblNx0nRdMAM-oCsjHi9Npfac3gEq_JovRehjnCUUscX4Wa8fTwcVmwB1VhSz3eDOJO1Uuc5W_NvroGh5bRTgSmZekUd-gE9utStZ3g6wXojHexsuSfrD92YuV/s320/20190126_094325.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Republic Day Celebration at a Colony</div>
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It was time for me to check out and I still have about 10
hours for my flight.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hired a Taxi and
went to Mother Theresa’s home.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was
very simple, clean, and there were a shrine, museum and the tomb of the
mother.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mother's bed/office room is kept
the way it was.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It's hardly more than 3
m by 3 m in space, a single bed with a thin mattress, wooden desk, meeting
table and a wardrobe were arranged neatly within it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A Crown of Thorn was hanging on the wall,
said to be the one the mother was looking at as she passed away.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She lived in this room all her life, the room
did not have air conditioning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>World
leaders, including the Pope, met her in this room.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I realized the meagre materials we need for
our living, yet our wants are unlimited, leading to enduring pain.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I became emotional and promised myself that I
will treat every human being with due respect.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I think that was the lesson, the Mother was trying to preach.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCS-vIHdb1VW_lrtDfngycbhrU4I8YJSig8TWFPQ07nIxYmScYPxJ_tkTmFvvP9yPdAb6r12P8vjcLF16rnNO5vo8oMixQ9xW9LoDDdbi_9-EwWrvoXb9LW9iNyUGb-xWui-o2W1GGcKGW/s1600/20190126_131730.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCS-vIHdb1VW_lrtDfngycbhrU4I8YJSig8TWFPQ07nIxYmScYPxJ_tkTmFvvP9yPdAb6r12P8vjcLF16rnNO5vo8oMixQ9xW9LoDDdbi_9-EwWrvoXb9LW9iNyUGb-xWui-o2W1GGcKGW/s320/20190126_131730.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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The Mother is IN!</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ8MdDzbOxNH3ZQO6pa7_RDgIkvy4EBtZhsymibfIgkNBBfVexm8tAub4VrTyE0Lw6kFYBowH7M-rC7rPs5waDz4BFWGN_K641pIm1PP7kEr3TTuFoTeYs-yAjl9Lsmu3jdXBOqf20xeBn/s1600/20190126_124851.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjZ8MdDzbOxNH3ZQO6pa7_RDgIkvy4EBtZhsymibfIgkNBBfVexm8tAub4VrTyE0Lw6kFYBowH7M-rC7rPs5waDz4BFWGN_K641pIm1PP7kEr3TTuFoTeYs-yAjl9Lsmu3jdXBOqf20xeBn/s320/20190126_124851.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Mother Theresa's Tomb</div>
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I continued to fulfil my tourist duties, stopping at the
Queen Victoria Palace, the Eden Gardens, St Paul’s Cathedral, and Birla’s
Planetarium.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The disappointing stop was
the Kalighat Kali Temple.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It was
crowded, full of hawkers and stray dogs within the shrine compound, and
‘thieves’, claiming to be Hindu Priests exploiting worshippers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What a contrast to the cleanliness and
tranquillity Ramakrishna Mutt?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Two Hindu
shrines in the same city with contrasting settings.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYAf1UnHcDcPyBmprmL3_Kbo7p00Xrr5hZOeAtCZdncjeYBYnWQIrJD9PTGdqRC9n1oNT2mYN2aRbmccyBO8eDmIj07bJTk5YgwUbdXqFBH23PIvBifElMhWJY32DCLqOF4Wu06SmZ1SkU/s1600/20190126_153541.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYAf1UnHcDcPyBmprmL3_Kbo7p00Xrr5hZOeAtCZdncjeYBYnWQIrJD9PTGdqRC9n1oNT2mYN2aRbmccyBO8eDmIj07bJTk5YgwUbdXqFBH23PIvBifElMhWJY32DCLqOF4Wu06SmZ1SkU/s320/20190126_153541.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Kalighat Kali Temple</div>
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My final stop was the Mother’s Wax Museum, modelled after
Madame Tussaud’s Museum in London.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most
of the Figurines are of popular Bengalis, although there were a few other
Indian and International Celebrities.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
was very happy to see the Figurine of Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, who led Bangladesh
to independence.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Except for the
Religion, Pakistanis and Bangladeshis have nothing in common, I think.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As I walked through, I could not resist photographing
with Einstein and Julia Roberts.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz0a3ArO54ihTBGAxemaXxrxA7y-BlGabV868E7YavhGirfgdVr8NEjjpeo01fPWzfpMqelTuMuloLy_4Lb5s9YKzU5dwgbu0yCb-jpyXzy0N7gk7oDWb1sz0NOg-obnRbr4_Xvs_U5oqk/s1600/20190126_172326.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjz0a3ArO54ihTBGAxemaXxrxA7y-BlGabV868E7YavhGirfgdVr8NEjjpeo01fPWzfpMqelTuMuloLy_4Lb5s9YKzU5dwgbu0yCb-jpyXzy0N7gk7oDWb1sz0NOg-obnRbr4_Xvs_U5oqk/s320/20190126_172326.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Sheikh Mujibur Rahman</div>
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Now, it’s time for me to depart Kolkatta, the City of Joy,
so I headed to the airport!<o:p></o:p></div>
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Prathaparhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08387799812741863178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5225408798553080663.post-71730907234023685142019-02-19T15:03:00.003+11:002019-02-21T03:19:22.358+11:00If anything can wrong<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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On a Tuesday afternoon (15<sup>th</sup> January 2019), I was asked to join on a Mission from Manila, the Philippines to Bihar, India. I thought that I had the Indian visa because I had a double entry visa and had used only one entry in October 2018. I also thought the second entry is valid for 6 months since the first entry. I planned that I will leave on Manila on Friday (18-01-2019), stop at Allahabad to visit the Kumbha Mela, and then proceed to Patna to join the mission on Monday (21st Jan 2019). Kumbha is a major congregation of Hindus, occurs once in 12 years (some would argue it happens once in 6 years), which attracts over 120 million pilgrims. I wanted to be one of them in 2019. I booked my tickets from Manila to Delhi, Delhi to Allahabad, then to Patna, then to Manila via Kolkatta, an Indian city I have never been to. I was very excited.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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On the Wednesday afternoon (16/01/2019), I was going through my passport and realized that my second entry to India was valid only for 60 days after initial entry, not, for six months. I panicked but immediately applied for Indian eVisa through their portal. The previous time, I received the eVisa within 24 hours. So, I was hopeful that I will get the visa on time so that I could depart on Friday as planned. <br />
<br />
The portal was under maintenance, it came alive after a few hours, but still would not accept the payment from my Filipino debit card. I tried six times and failed. Then I contacted my wife in Sydney, who was able to make the payment at her second attempt. I was still hopeful that I will get the visa on time for departure on Friday.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br />
I did not receive the visa till Friday afternoon at 3 pm, so I thought of checking whether the payment from my wife’s credit card went through to the Indian Immigration. My wife checked the credit card statement and found that the payment has not gone through. I am now panicking. I reapplied for the eVisa, at an additional cost of 80 USD, called the travel agent and asked her to cancel my plans to attend Kumbha, rebook the ticket to depart on Sunday, so that, I could get my visa and attend the official assignment on Monday. I was disappointed, and in the process, I have lost another 250 USD. No major loss except for disappointment that I could not go to Kumbha Mela. Saturday came and went, and on Sunday (20/1/2019) at 11 AM I got the visa for my first application.</div>
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<o:p></o:p></div>
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I was to arrive in Delhi at 3 AM on Monday morning, and through a hotel booking site, I booked a room for me to stay on Monday till 4 pm when my next flight from Delhi to Patna was due. Then I sent an email to the Hotel, requesting them to pick me from Delhi Airport at 3 AM. They immediately replied and informed that the website was incorrect to accept my booking as they were fully booked on Sunday night. I contacted the booking website, after going through various options, I managed to ‘chat’ with a staff of the website. She contacted the hotel, which informed her that the hotel is fully booked. She agreed only to refund me in full but after two weeks. I accepted the reality – I know we are now managed by computers! <br />
<br />
I have now decided not to push my luck anymore and decided to stay at Delhi Airport from 3 AM till 4 PM on Monday.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I left Manila Sunday evening and at 3 AM Indian time on Monday morning I arrived in Delhi. Went through the immigration, had a ‘small’ friendly chat with the immigration officer who, from my application details, recognized my employer. He wanted to join the Multi-Donor Development Bank I work for and asked how he could join. For an Indian bureaucrat, he was friendly.<br />
<o:p></o:p></div>
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When I went to collect my luggage, it was not there. The luggage belt staff said that I need to wait till 10 AM to talk to the Airline staff. My frustrations continued. At 10 AM, I went to the airline office, and after initial reluctance of the receptionist to entertain my request, and due to my persistence, the reception staff called a Senior Staff to talk to me. The Senior Staff told me that another passenger has mistakenly taken my bag from the belt but has returned it. That was better than not having my bag at all. I had to go to another location within the airport to collect the bag. I then reached Patna that evening.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Next morning, while checking my emails, I found that the eVisa officer has rejected my application. S/He was unhappy that I had applied twice. Instead of rejecting my second application, s/he has chosen to reject my first application, for which the visa was already granted, and I am inside the Country already. This email gave me continuous stress for the next six days, while I was in India. I did my best to concentrate on my assignment, but in the back of mind, I was very traumatized. I briefed my situation to an Indian Colleague, who was previously an Indian Bureaucrat, who told me to have all documents ready, in case I was interrogated while exiting the country.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Finally, I reached Kolkata airport to exit, and a young immigration officer attended to me. Before he asked anything, I confessed that there could be a problem with my visa. He was a bit surprised, and told me that there was no problem, and then enquired about my employer and the assignment! <br />
<br />
I went to the lounge relieved, desperately looking for a drink, after a week of trauma. But again, no luck – it was a dry day in India, being the Indian Republic day (26<sup>th</sup> Jan 2019). There too, things did not go my way!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
When things can go wrong, they will!</div>
</div>
Prathaparhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08387799812741863178noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5225408798553080663.post-51567810703728183222018-07-28T17:47:00.003+10:002018-07-31T18:19:36.380+10:00Are you serious, Again?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Are you serious?” was the response of our guide, when I
asked the bus to stop, so that I could take a photo of Vladimir Lenin’s statue.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We were about 30 people in four mini vans, on
our way to visit a Soviet era-built dam in Norak.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was in the first vehicle next to the
driver, and the guide was sitting two rows behind me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Until then, I haven’t had a chance to talk to
her.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And now I decided that I should ask
her reasons for her response.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
suspected that she did not like Lenin.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmWFLMTfkR47UWvc38CSTeaePiekIzfzIBUQYEzYs5tVxzjMRNo5j2zuvW4pOy9wDhCsYQqvDcyMJ44kaiO83t2gXzi54ELpP9vedx0ErX99bzPFgzjZt7dkeruxMcpz8Hsy1Xb_yA0oag/s1600/20180727_111700.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmWFLMTfkR47UWvc38CSTeaePiekIzfzIBUQYEzYs5tVxzjMRNo5j2zuvW4pOy9wDhCsYQqvDcyMJ44kaiO83t2gXzi54ELpP9vedx0ErX99bzPFgzjZt7dkeruxMcpz8Hsy1Xb_yA0oag/s320/20180727_111700.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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With Lenin at Norak</div>
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<br /></div>
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And, I did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Her
response surprised me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She thought that
I wouldn’t have heard of Lenin, and said she has a lot of respect for him, but
more so for the current President of Tajikistan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She is 23, born after the Soviet Union
collapsed, and when Tajikistan was in a civil war.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She said that brothers were killing brothers,
and the Tajiks were taking refuge in Afghanistan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The President united the country and brought
peace and prosperity.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She showed a lot of respect for the Russians,
and complemented that Norak City is so clean, because most of the dwellers are
Russian descendants.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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Dil Naz is a graduate in International Relations, spoke
English, Tajik and Russian fluently, and showed-off her Hindi skills, she got
watching Hindi movies.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She translated
her name as a ‘Shy Heart’, but she was not shy.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Extremely bubbly and friendly, I thought.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Sharukh Khan was her hero.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>On that day, she was helping her friend who
was the tour operator.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>At the end of the
conversation, I asked her if I could take her photo, and she agreed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then I told her that I write blogs, and I
will put her photo in my blog.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She
smiled and said, “Are you Serious?”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
winked!<o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8EBlqekEh4zRcq1qeCDARcmhWia2xpiYTy4xUHhInNCHgCsvU7ctZvcJZL06WwurZbAtqR87carFPbMOAJYoNyUzwk0d4zRWKIgcKr4XZVy9TwXeCuF9u7vOdAdIDyAbEJm1UvjwImN4v/s1600/20180727_113921.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8EBlqekEh4zRcq1qeCDARcmhWia2xpiYTy4xUHhInNCHgCsvU7ctZvcJZL06WwurZbAtqR87carFPbMOAJYoNyUzwk0d4zRWKIgcKr4XZVy9TwXeCuF9u7vOdAdIDyAbEJm1UvjwImN4v/s320/20180727_113921.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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Dil Naz - Not too Shy, I reckon</div>
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My mind started wondering about development during Soviet era
in that area.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The site we were visiting is
part of the upper catchment of Amu Darya River, which originates in Tajikistan flows
through Uzbekistan and drains into the infamous Aral Sea.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The Soviets had built 32 dams on various
tributaries of the Amu Darya.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>These dams
cascaded water from to the other, sequentially generating hydro-power, to share
across the Central Asian Republics.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
practice continues even today.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The dam and
the city we visited share the same name, Nurek (Norak).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It is 75 km east of Dushanbe, 304 m tall,
making it the second tallest dam in the world.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>The roads to the dam were well constructed, and included a tunnel
through the mountains, approximately 5 km long.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>All were done between 1961 and 1980. A very impressive infrastructure. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc2ElOlmGl4cVgY4crlmdIj7AD4KACnrIwyWsaVDzkCBoKP4BlGE_uS-qONVXtiG_b5hvQXbglCNWXadKTv0NYvYyEClSlrwUo6nUzLrTTi8vdCjmF9r6thftz2C5VjNMYV-GMKtiuXMwg/s1600/20180727_113625.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc2ElOlmGl4cVgY4crlmdIj7AD4KACnrIwyWsaVDzkCBoKP4BlGE_uS-qONVXtiG_b5hvQXbglCNWXadKTv0NYvYyEClSlrwUo6nUzLrTTi8vdCjmF9r6thftz2C5VjNMYV-GMKtiuXMwg/s320/20180727_113625.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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Second Tallest Dam at Norak</div>
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<br /></div>
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Not just in Norak, but wherever we went, we could see the ingenuity
and hard work of the Soviets.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If only
they did not enter an arms race with the Americans, as the wise Chinese have
done, they may still be in power.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In one
of streets in Dushanbe, I saw a USSR souvenir shop, suggesting lhe Soviets
are very much alive in Tajikistan. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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Back to my excursion/mission, which gave me firsthand understanding
of the regional politics.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The mission was
a part of a training to Afghani Hydrogeologists who work on a project funded by the
agency I work for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Hence, the training must
be conducted in a country, who is a shareholder in the agency I work for.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> This excluded Dubai, which would have been an ideal location. </span>The training contract was given to a British company,
who had a Pakistani trainer.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Afghanis
blame Pakistan chiefly for their predicament, so, they were not keen to go to Pakistan.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pakistanis lament that the terrorists from Pakistan
are originally from Afghanistan, who went to Pakistan as refugees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Because a trainer is from Pakistan, the
training could not be held in India.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And
when it comes to visa for Afghanis, only India and Tajikistan are sympathetic.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So, the training was organized in Tajikistan. Despite the cumbersome travel I had to incur, I am glad I went and witnessed a unique landscape and people!<o:p></o:p></div>
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Upstream of Norak Dam - Waksh River<br />
<br /></div>
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There were about 25 Afghanis, and I was so dumbfounded when
I saw them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>None of them fitted the
picture of an Afghani I had in mind watching TV news.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Men
in Salwar-Kameeze and turban on motorbikes, traversing rugged mountains.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> Instead, t</span>hey were of aged between 30s and 60s, in
perfect casual-smart western clothes – very stylish – I must say.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> None were obese. </span>Only one had a beard, not too long, and nicely
trimmed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of all, he spoke the best English,
and was engaged with instructors of all sessions.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a matter of fact, the keenness to learn was
very evident in all of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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I tried to start a conversation about security matters in Afghanistan
with almost everyone I met privately.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Hardly anyone was keen on the topic, but I could put a picture together.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The westerners said the security in Kabul is
Okay, and they avoid peak traffic hours.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>A few districts of Kabul are relatively safe with gated communities and private security guards.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I have
seen different forms of gated communities in Delhi, Lahore, Kuala Lumpur and Manila.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Must be something like them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The city is under surveillance continuously
by the Americans.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If anyone launches an attack,
Black Hawks will take them on instantly.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>An Afghani hydrogeologist told me that the Taliban does not disturb his
work in provinces – their target is the army.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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I was told, and I believe, Afghanistan is NOT a failed state
as Yemen or Somalia, and if the Soviets had stayed (till their Union collapsed), it would
have been better for Afghanis and the region.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Only if the
Americans left it to the Soviets, as they are now doing in Syria!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Possibly true.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In hind sight all are wiser.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><br />
<br />
It appears that Russian are very much active
to prevent terrorists moving from Afghanistan to Tajikistan, just like the way
NATO is guarding Afghani borders by staying within Afghanistan. When the NATO and the Russians are collaborating in major
theaters today, why do the Americans want the Europeans to spend more money to
beat-up the Russians?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Shouldn’t they be cutting
down on their defense budget and provide better health care to their
citizens?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Something very wrong with the Americans these days, I
reckon.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The excursion was on a Friday, and I expected all to go to a
mosque for lunch prayer – I was wrong.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>They reminded me of the Omanis, who basically postpone their prayer
till the journey is finished.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My
Pakistani friends/colleagues would have stopped work when it is time for
prayers.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a matter of fact, not only
on Friday when we were on an excursion, the topic of prayers was never brought up
during any day of the week.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Obviously, it’s
a private matter to all of them.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></div>
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Lunch is getting ready</div>
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The Table & Chairs are set for Lunch</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I too have my religious restrictions – I do not eat non-vegetarian
food on Fridays.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I expressed my
requirement to Dil Naz, and she said, “Are you Serious, Again?” with a giggle,
but organized Tajik Made French Fries for my lunch.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Prathaparhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08387799812741863178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5225408798553080663.post-58198641932244784192018-04-02T11:31:00.003+10:002018-04-09T09:48:58.498+10:00Aussie Cricket Shame<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
Last week was a sad week for Australian Cricket, and for Australians in general. Three cricketers caught red-handed of impropriety, confessed and apologized after being punished by the CA. My heart went out to all three and the coach as well.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Later, I started wondering what would have happened, if the act was not caught on camera? Why would the South African Commentator and ex-fast bowler, Fannie de Villers advise the cameramen to track the Aussie bowlers? Why will we now find out that an Aussie Umpire, Daryl Harper, warned Steve Smith and David Warner, during a Sheffield Shield game of possible ball tampering? I can only conclude that these two cricketers, Captain and Vice-Captain of the Australian team had been indulging in foul-play and getting away with it. Why would the two most successful batsmen indulge in this, I wonder! If they were not caught, then they will continue to do so and have corrupted more youngsters, as in the case of Cameron Bancroft.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Australia is a great country to live, and the Australians take pride in fair-play. But incidents like these make me wonder if it is still the case. I am aware of many Senior Bureaucrats in Australian Public-Sector organizations rife with nepotism or cronyism. Most of them get away. Some get trapped when their excesses are caught on tape, as in the case of a Senior Water Bureaucrat in NSW. Before he was forced to move-on, he has already corrupted his next-levels of administrators to do his bidding. It was too late for very qualified and well-meaning staff. The next level administrators are condemned for rest of their career. No respect from peers, and no self-confidence in their ability to make a sound judgment.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Australians are some of the most fortunate people in the world. We enjoy a very high standard of living and almost all believe in hard work and fair play. This culture needs to be preserved. In the case of the Cricketers, the PM Turnbull has made the correct calls, and the Cricket Australia has acted swiftly. It's in everyone's interest that all of us are mindful of Aussie ethos, refuse to be corrupted, and blow the whistle when there's a shred of foul play. <br />
<br />
We need not wait to be caught and embarrassed. <o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Prathaparhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08387799812741863178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5225408798553080663.post-58012987385323998242018-01-30T13:12:00.001+11:002018-01-31T11:15:17.398+11:00The Filipino<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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“The Filipino is worth dying for”, proclaimed Ninoy Aquino. And he did die for them. His killing was one of the most brutal killings of an opposition leader in modern history. He was shot as he got down on the tarmac, by an assailant supposedly at the behest of the then ruler, Ferdinand Marcos.<br />
<br />
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<div style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-AU">An inscription at the Edsa Shrine</span></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Benazir Bhutto, as an opposition leader of Pakistan too, was killed brutally but her death seems to be in vain, considering what has transpired since then. Ninoy Aquino’s death led to a people’s revolution, a lasting one indeed. It was very different to the transfer of power, which took place in Zimbabwe, recently, where the military insisted on the transfer of power. Ninoy’s widow, with the help of the Catholic Clergy, was able to arouse and lead the masses to protest daily, until the then Defence personnel decided to side with the People. It’s over 30 years since then, and the Philippines have changed Presidents in an orderly manner through elections every six years.<br />
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The People Power Monument</div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">So, what was special about the Filipino, Ninoy was willing to sacrifice his life for? I am not sure. I have been in the Philippines for two weeks, and my observations are only nascent. But, they have been very positive.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">Metro Manila, a city of 12 million residents and another few million-floating daily, functions in an orderly manner. The City, at least the part I have been to, is very clean. There are very little chaos and filth that I saw in South Asian Capitals. People queue for their turn for everything. There are queues in supermarkets, bus stops, and even to enter elevators. There’s no pushing or shoving. No one tries to jump the queue. </span>Manila, is a ‘Concrete Jungle’ and green spaces are rare. But buildings are done in an orderly manner, and there’s sufficient concern for pedestrians. </div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">A view from a fly-over for pedestrians</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">I am often reminded of my Filipino colleagues Beth, Fe, Ella, and Jacquie, who supported my work in Oman. I dealt with a young real estate agent to find an apartment to live, and she was very prompt, and the deal was done very professionally. People address you as ‘Sir’, in each sentence; even when they do not agree with what you want. Once, a security guard stopped me entering a car park to cross from one street to other. He asked me whether I have parked a car, and I answered no. Then he said, “I can’t let you pass through, SIR”. Assertive denial, yet with respect. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">I went to the former US Air Base at Clark, which is about two hours from Metro Manila. Once you leave the metro region, there’s plenty of greenery and agricultural fields. I was accompanied by three Filipinos, all three were good company. They explained the history of the Philippines, recent as well as the earlier ones, what they inherited from the Spaniards and the Americans. They were circumspect about discussing recent politics, and the criticism of human right agencies, which was very understandable. As we drove, we could witness the impact of the volcanic eruption of Mt Pinatubo, well after 25 years. The river beds are silver grey, and they shone as the water flew over. </span><br />
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<span lang="EN-AU">Glistening River Bed at Clark Air Base</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">I am told that there are suspended particles from the volcanic eruption in the exosphere and thermosphere, defying gravity, but trapping a range of wavelengths from solar radiation. They result in spectacular sun rises and the sun sets.</span><br />
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Sunrise from my bedroom: I wake-up to witness a new portrait every morning</div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">The Clark Base is being redeveloped into a Green-City, and my host assured me that they will host the South-East Asia games at the new city in 2019. That’s not even two years away. This is in an area, which has not developed and was affected by the Mt. Pinatubo. But, the Engineer-in-charge was confident that it will be done. I hope he succeeds, and the sports facilities will be done on time.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-AU">I do not want to give a rosy picture of Manila, as I am repeatedly told that the crime in Manila is high. Bag snatching from pedestrians at gunpoint and pick-pocketing in MRT are too frequent. The day I arrived in Manila, I used my credit card at the duty-free shop. My details were stolen, and a total of 1800 AUD was charged to it in two instances fraudulently. The credit card company has refunded the money, but the card is now canceled. So, I will take necessary precautions to protect myself, and I will caution you to do the same.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Prathaparhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08387799812741863178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5225408798553080663.post-1869954782288473902017-11-21T12:00:00.003+11:002017-11-21T21:27:59.170+11:00Delhi Chalo - Let's Go to Delhi<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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After 3.5 years, I spent about two weeks in Delhi as a part
of an assignment. Having been a resident
of Delhi for two years, and despite mixed feelings about my residence there, I
was keen to go back and relive my earlier days.</div>
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<o:p></o:p><span style="text-align: center;">Birla Mandir, New Delhi</span></div>
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Travel to India always excites me, but, it starts with a bad
taste.
Getting Indian visa is not easy but the Indian visa process has become a
lot easier in recent years. An eVisa can
be obtained through an online portal,
which is not easy to navigate and crash
you out if all instructions are not strictly followed. There are even stringent restrictions on the
size of files to be uploaded. Once the
application is complete – it took me more than two hours, then the eVisa is
received via email after three days.
Phew!</div>
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I flew to Delhi from Sydney by Air India, which offers a
non-stop direct flight of 12 hours. Air
India flies a 787-800 Dreamliner, which is one of the modern aircrafts. It regulates light and noise to maximise
comfort to the passengers. The airfare
was competitive; there’s an excellent
choice of movies on-demand, three sumptuous Indian meals in 12 hours, and a generous
supply of alcohol. Some of the
electronics of the plane had been tampered
with, probably due to ignorance of previous passengers on how to use them. The flight was exclusively of North Indians, most
were Moms and Dads in their sixties, travelling to be with their sons and
daughters, who had chosen Australia HOME.
All in all, the flight was very comfortable. Younger Immigration Officers at Delhi Indira
Gandhi Airport are more courteous than their older peers. Older ones tend to be nosy, or picky, or
both. Despite them, Delhi IGA is one of
the modern and efficient airports, I had
been through. <o:p></o:p></div>
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My travel to Delhi coincided with me watching a movie, Delhi
in a Day (2012), and reading a book titled, White Tiger by Arvind Adiga. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Delhi in a Day is about Bhatia Family, a middle class - middle
aged couple with a grown – unmarried daughter, and her grand-father. Their lifestyle is supported by seven servants, who also live in the same
house. After being accused of stealing
money from an English houseguest, the Bhatia family servants have only 24 hours
to replace the cash or face arrest.
But the offender was the grown-up daughter, and the Mother was willing
to sacrifice a loyal and old servant to protect the daughter. The White Tiger is about a Boss and his
Driver. The Driver wants to become a
Boss, kills the Boss, run-away to become another Boss, and ends us doing
everything that was unacceptable to him
when he was a Driver. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The movie and book follow my imagination of India; there are
two Indias - one a rich/educated India of 300 million people, whose lifestyle is supported by the poor/less educated 900
million Indians. During my travel,
intentionally or otherwise, I was looking for evidences to support my imagination
and corroborate what I observed in the movie and the book. It was not difficult.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The Congress Party was in power when I lived in Delhi, and I
was curious how things have changed with BJP at the Centre and AAP in charge of
Delhi NCR. There are improvements, the
City looked cleaner, and except for fewer instances, the traffic was tolerable. Still, there’s a long way for Delhi to go to
be comparable to modern capitals. Air pollution, in particular, is atrocious, partly
due to geographic factors, but also due to the apathy that exist among Delhiites. In fact, one of the Indian Novelists, Pankaj
Mishra, claims that the successful Delhiites consider that it is their right to
litter and pollute the city at their whim, and they take pride in doing so. I hope he is proven wrong.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The Guesthouse I stayed in was very much like the guest-house in
the movie, Delhi in a Day. A couple, two
daughters and a son, supported by about 7 live-in servants. They rent three of their rooms
to guests at a reasonable price, and it’s a good value for money. Most of the servants are with them for well
over twenty years, who serve the family and the Guests who stay there. The Couple were very welcoming and hospitable. The servants were very prompt to meet any
requests from the Guests. Fortunately,
my experience at the Guesthouse was much better than what happened to the Guest
in the movie.<o:p></o:p></div>
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My transport from the
Guesthouse to my office was arranged by the Agency I was consulting with. I
was picked-up on time in a Diplomatic Plated car – a real symbol of power in
Delhi. I had none of the power, but my hosts thought that I had. I did not try to dissuade them. Usually, the drivers in Asia are very
resourceful, but most will offer the information,
only when asked. The driver assigned to
me was also very resourceful, and he volunteered information without asking,
and I was very happy to receive. He told
me that he ran away from his parents when he was 15. He is now in his fifties, he is married and his daughter is doing a MS
degree. He spoke about Hinduism at length, and told me about a few cults that I did
not know about. I noticed that he was a voracious reader of
internet. One day, he wanted to talk to
me about free-radicals and oxidative-stress.
I quietly listened – I had nothing to add. <o:p></o:p></div>
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The driver will return me to the Guesthouse after 5 pm, and I
had nothing to do till I go to sleep.
The room I stayed did not have a Television, and the Guesthouse had a
fixed menu for dinner. I thought I
deserved better in Delhi, and, I sure did make
the most of it.<o:p></o:p></div>
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The guesthouse I lived was about 1.5 km from Karol Bagh, a
major shopping area in Delhi. I could
easily walk, do some shopping and get some dinner. I could have a delicious meal for 5 USD or
less. I could have Chicken Biriyani for
less than than a dollar. There are Delhi
Styled FOOD-Courts everywhere. Within a
50 sq m space, food from different states are offered at street corners. There’s standing space only, and I did not
like the way used plates and containers were disposed of. The food is made in front of you, so, it’s up
to you to eat it or not. I could not
resist a south Indian stall, where I had Uthappam and Vada for less than 2 USD.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I also did some Indian dress shopping at Karol Bagh for my
wife and daughters. Another place for
cheap-shopping is Paalika Bazar near Rajiv Chowk. Shop keepers will demand very high prices,
but, I had a thumb rule for prices there.
I think of the price in Sydney, divide by three and make a counter
offer. In almost all cases they will
agree. Another place to visit in Delhi
is Dilli Haat, where handcrafts and food from various Indian States are on
offer. If you are lucky, you could also
attend a regional music concert or a dance programme, there. I am told
that shopping and street food at Chandni Chowk are exceptional, but unfortunately I could not go there.<o:p></o:p></div>
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There were plenty of massage parlours in Delhi, most of them
are cover for brothels. There are
exceptions too, and one of them is Pachouli at Rajendra Nagar. Very modern, reasonably priced (35 USD for one
hour oil massage and a steam bath), I really
felt refreshing. After the ‘treatment’,
I was offered a cup of tea in their cafe,
and witnessed a Senior Staff counselling a young female client on diet and
nutrition. The young women looked rich,
modern and pretty. Still, there was
anxiety on her face as she paid attention to the Dietician. She must have very caring parents who have
send her to Pachouli, but, unhappy the way things were to her, I thought. I wonder what was, or who was bothering
her! <o:p></o:p></div>
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Unfortunately, no sooner I got out of the parlour, my body
and mind went back to the conditions, prior to
the massage. Sadly, Delhi’s ambience is so punishing.<o:p></o:p></div>
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I travelled everywhere in Delhi by public transport. For less than 50 Cents US, I could go
anywhere within Delhi in an air-conditioned bus. They are not particularly comfortable, and every
time the bus shifts it gears, it ensures that our bones get a free jolt. And, after 6 pm or so, these buses are 50%
empty. I practiced my broken Hindi with
my fellow passengers or the conductor, who often replied to me in their broken
English.<o:p></o:p></div>
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Hindustani Music Concert at IHC</div>
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A sitar concert at IHC - The Sitarist deserved better audience!</div>
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An Israeli Pianist at IHC - It was almost House Full, and he played non-stop for 90 minutes.</div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">Now to the best part of my stay in Delhi – The India Habitat
Centre. Its website claims, “the INDIA
HABITAT CENTRE was conceived to provide a physical environment which would
serve as a catalyst for a synergetic relationship between individuals and
institutions working in diverse habitat related areas and therefore, maximise
their total effectiveness. To facilitate this interaction, the Centre provides
a range of facilities”. So it
does. </span></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">My attraction to it was the free
movies, concerts, and dance programmes. There
was something that interested me every day.
Within my 13 day stay, I went there five days. During the period, I was there, the same
month India was celebrating its 70</span><sup style="text-align: left;">th</sup><span style="text-align: left;"> year of Independence, there
were a string of movies related to its independence, and socio-cultural issues
ensued. Movies watched were (1) Kushwant
Singh’s Train to Pakistan, (2) three short films on Kashmir – Waiting, Rizwaan,
and Goodbye, May fly and (3) Shyam Benegal’s Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose. </span></div>
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<span style="text-align: left;">All three short movies depicted the suffering
of Kashmiris since 1989, when the
militancy and army activities started. There
was a discussion among patr</span><span style="text-align: left;">ons, moderated by a Delhi University Professor soon
after the short films. Unfortunately,
the discussion moved away from the artistic nature of movies, to the conflict itself. Having lived in Pakistan, and listening to
the emotional outbursts from both sides, I could not see an end to this
conflict.</span></div>
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Chennai Airport Welcomes You.</div>
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The Hall with One-Thousand Pillars at Madurai Meenakshi Amman Temple</div>
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Sri Ranganatheswarar Temple, Trichy</div>
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After two weeks in Delhi, I went to Tamil Nadu for a
week. Despite Tamil being my mother
tongue, I am surprised that I am now more comfortable in Delhi, than in
Chennai, a city I had been many time since 1980’s. Delhi has a tendency to engulf you with
time. It is not just its history and its
monuments. It’s the people I meet, the
characters in the movie I watched and the book I just read. <br />
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I love Delhi as much as I hate it, and I am
sure I will get back there, sooner or later.</div>
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Prathaparhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08387799812741863178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5225408798553080663.post-63481805085542321252017-07-01T12:39:00.002+10:002017-07-01T12:39:40.602+10:00A Farewell Note<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-size: 12.8px;">As you may all know by now, today is the last day at DPI Water for Prathapar, who managed the Groundwater Modelling team for the last few years, as well as a long history of involvement going back decades working both for us and with us in various roles.</span></div>
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I would like to thank Prathapar on behalf of all of us for his immense contributions to our department, both professional and personal, over that time. His knowledge of hydrogeology and groundwater modelling is of the highest order, and I always knew that when we asked for advice in modelling for Water Resource Plans, State Significant Developments, Salinity Assessments, or anything else that came up, we could have total confidence that we were getting the very best you could ask for.</div>
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And Prathapar could always frame it so you could understand it, whether as a technical peer or to a non-technical audience. Prathapar was a great colleague and mentor to staff he worked with, happy to teach and share knowledge, to "talk science" and to do so in a highly personable manner that made it a pleasure to work with him.</div>
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I know that this view is shared with our Water Planners, with the following acknowledgement from Beth Hanson:</div>
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"It's a rare skill to be able to translate complex technical information into plain English and adjust it to suit a variety of audiences. Prathapar holds that rare skill. Prathapar designed a session for groundwater planners where he explained how groundwater models are designed conceptually and the scope and limits of their application. This equipped the planners to better communicate with the modelling staff on our working groups, and also provide context to stakeholders in our consultations. </div>
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Prathapar accompanied me along with the hydrogeologists to present to the GVIA on how the Lower Gwydir Groundwater Source had behaved since the water sharing plan commencement and what model updates and calibrations had been made to improve our understanding and better inform decision making. The stakeholders were very impressed and appreciative of his knowledge and willingness to answer their questions to a level of detail that satisfied their interests. </div>
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As a colleague, I can only describe him as a gentleman and a scholar and it has been an absolute pleasure and privilege to work with him."</div>
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I can't put it any better than Beth has finished with,.</div>
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We wish you all the best in the future and know that you will continue to do well as you deserve to. </div>
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Prathaparhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08387799812741863178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5225408798553080663.post-63498916591062333522017-04-18T16:05:00.001+10:002017-04-24T12:06:12.839+10:00Experiencing Discrimination<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Discrimination occurs when a person is treated less favourably than others by their race, ethnicity, nationality, disability, age, gender, sexual orientation, marital status, etc.<br />
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My hometown Jaffna is rife with discrimination. An age old caste system discriminates a person based on the family he or she was born into. A Brahmin’s son is a Brahmin, demands respect and special privileges, irrespective of whether the young Brahmin adheres to conduct worthy of Brahmins. As a child, I have seen many of lower caste were not allowed into temples in Jaffna, because of their castes. The caste based discrimination changed gradually, thanks to legislative interventions, enforcement by Police, and the code of conduct demanded by LTTE, which controlled Jaffna for many years. Some of the progress made in this regard is disappearing, but I am confident that it will not recede to the practices of pre-1960s.<br />
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The Government of Sri Lanka instituted statutory forms of discrimination in the 1970s. Tamils, one of the ethnic communities of Sri Lanka were required to obtain higher University entry scores compared to other two major communities of Sri Lanka. Sri Lanka paid dearly for this type of discriminatory policies over 30 years, including a loss of over 70,000 lives and migration of over a million Tamils. The brain, property and productivity losses to the country had been immeasurable.<br />
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I am one of those emigrated, first to the USA for higher studies and later to Australia for employment. As a student in the US, I need not worry about discrimination. I was better than an average student, won a National Award, scored high GPAs for my MS and Ph.D., and earned a post-doctoral position. I know I did not experience any form of discrimination and I have many fond memories of my life in the USA for seven years. Later too, I worked with Americans in Australia, Pakistan and Sri Lanka, some of them were my bosses and the others were colleagues. Almost without exceptions, none discriminated me because of my origins.<br />
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Australia too was very fair to me during my early days. As an immigrant, I soon realised that I need to produce 120% instead of 100% if I have to make progress, and I did. The Agency I worked for recognised my productivity and rewarded me regularly until I reached a point at which I sought administrative or leadership positions. I was not successful twice. It was then I thought of seeking employment in the international arena.<br />
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My first international appointment at UN-Director Level appointment in an International Agency was in Pakistan. I could swear that I NEVER felt any form of discrimination there. Despite the prevalence of feudalism, and I being a Hindu in a Muslim country, these differences did not make ANY impact at any level I dealt with. I recall dining with the President, Governors, Generals, Ministers, Secretaries and Peasants. Wherever I went, my ethnicity, my religion, my colour of skin, my national origin – none of those were detrimental to me.<br />
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My second international appointment was in Oman. In Oman, Omanis received special privileges not provided to expatriates – but only in very few circumstances, such as highest executive positions in Universities and Ministries. But at middle and senior level positions that type of discernment was not there. I moved steadily through ranks and became a senior level administrator. I was fairly and affectionately treated by my Omani superiors, colleagues, and students for nine years. They were very good days.<br />
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My third international appointment was in India; again a UN-Director Level appointment at an International Agency and I never felt discriminated either. In fact, some of my Indian colleagues would say that there’s no premium for the skin colour, a scorn that was in place for many years, where whites held senior positions in the British Raj, because of their skin colour.<br />
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Now I am back in Australia, trying to secure a managerial or leadership position at mid to senior level without any luck. These positions are at lower levels than those I held in Pakistan, Oman or India at agencies of International stature. I get rejection letters which contain polite language with zero feedback on why I am not good enough. They remind me of the rejection letters I had received in Australia before I took on international assignments.<br />
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Am I being discriminated because of my age and ethnic origin, I wonder! A State Government agency in Australia which employs about 350 staff, 20 to 30% of migrants, mostly from Asia, has appointed approximately 30 new Directors and Managers, not a single one has dark skin. Everyone appointed through external advertisement is a white woman, and every internal candidate got promoted is white.<br />
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My reflections are leading to a new hypothesis about discrimination in the Public Sector in Australia. I am beginning to think that the white Australians can not see coloured skin people as potential managers or leaders, irrespective of their educational background or experience. Non-Anglo-Saxon names on applications and resumes turn them off straight away. This invisibility problem may not be there for my kids, who are growing up with white kids, who are seeing them from their childhood. I wish I am correct.<br />
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">I think one of the solutions to fight discrimination is to talk/write about it. Single handedly fighting discrimination and winning is very difficult. Most of the time, we are discriminated by something much stronger and bigger than us - like a Govt agency. I was afraid to complain because I feared that I could be punished. My insecurities and ambitions inhibited me from taking on the big guys. At younger ages, fighting is even more difficult, because there's always a possibility of being branded as a 'trouble maker', which then affects the rest of the career. It would have been too hard on us, who grew up with discrimination, trying to establish a new life in a completely new environment and culture. Now I am about to retire, I feel I should voice it because it may do some good to the next generation, including my kids. </span><br />
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Will this lead to under productivity at the workplace? Isn’t this is what the ultimate price of discrimination? Only time will tell. I am only hoping that the Australian public sector will wake up soon to the folly they are in. When almost all Asian countries around Australia are rapidly developing, Australia can ill afford to be colour-blind for long. <o:p></o:p></div>
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Prathaparhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08387799812741863178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5225408798553080663.post-59166731586896138532017-01-27T13:01:00.003+11:002017-03-06T11:49:28.395+11:00Money & Mani<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
My nickname is Mani, and it sounds like Money when said in Tamil, my mother tongue. I was introduced to a five-year-old nephew, who called me Uncle Cash (money of course), Uncle Time (in Tamil Mani is Time), and Uncle Bell (in Tamil, Mani is also a Bell).<br />
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My first encounter with Money was when I was a six-year-old, studying year 2. I found a fifty cents coin on a table at home on my way to school. I took it and bought candies – I got 100 pieces and generously gave it to everyone in the class. I became instantly popular among classmates. When I came home, my mother realized it was me who took the fifty cents, and she beat me till her hand ached. Ill gotten money brought me popularity and pain almost instantly! A pretty good lesson for a six-year-old, isn't it?<br />
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I do not remember much about having money as a kid, except on Tamil New Year days. My granddad will give us a red five rupee note each, and that was a big deal, especially when savory snack cost five cents.<br />
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But, I do remember very well, not having money as I grew. My parents struggled to meet day to day expenses, often pawning jewelry, or borrowing money from granddad. Occasionally they borrowed from neighbors and relatives too. My parents always paid back whatever they borrowed, but the stigma of being poor was not erasable. I, the eldest in the family will have to go to the pawn shops or ask someone to lend us money. I hated it but did it. There was no choice. When a National Bank started pawning, I was about 17; I gradually moved all jewelry from private lenders to the bank. It saved us on interest, and no one in the neighborhood will come to know that we were pawning.<br />
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An old Tamil adage says that it is cruel to be poor, worse yet is being poor when young. I think it is largely true. When poor, one feels small in front of peers, and angry at times for being unable to change the situation almost immediately. However, it may also develop a disciplinary attitude to money. In my case, I learned to live with meager means and did not develop a liking for expensive items. I am happy to have a decent car, not aspire for a Mercedes. I am sure this attitude has saved me a lot of money and agony.<br />
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In addition to my granddad, a cousin of my dad, a prominent Senator, also helped me generously through my H.Sc. and B.Sc. Every four months or so, I will go and see him. He will write a check for my pocket expenses and will say I should repay him when I start to work. My dues accrued to 7000 Rs. One day I went to tell him that I was going overseas for my graduate studies and I will settle my dues, once I settle down. He laughed and said that it was not necessary, wrote another cheque for 1000 Rs, and told me to do well in my studies. That was the last time I saw him.<br />
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The other person, who made me feel rich, was a friend who hired me as a tutor at his Tuition Centre. He paid me for my work, but also generously paid for my meals whenever we went to cafes and bought clothes, whenever he bought for himself. I am grateful to my granddad, the Senator and my friend, for making my life financially comfortable, as I grew up.<br />
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I started giving private tuitions when I was 17, and the father who hired me as the tutor to his son gave me 20 Rs as the monthly fee. From then, till now, I am never short of money for my needs. I think of the father with a lot of gratitude. He must have meant well.<br />
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When I turned 42, I was free of debts of all sorts. My wife and I had paid for the cars we drove and the house we lived in. From then on, we made money more than what we had to spend on. It was then I realized, whether you have money or not, money is a problem. The surplus income had to be spent judiciously. We did help out a few who needed financial help, but mostly we saved the surplus for our future.<br />
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A friend of mine in the financial sector often teased me, asking what money is. There are many definitions. My Father-in-Law told me when he was a student, he had to write an essay on, ‘Money is what it does!'. His teacher, and probably his teacher's teacher and so on, always knew money is what it does.<br />
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At 62, I can relate to this definition very well. Money provided popularity and pain; facilitated a comfortable education; paid for our family's needs and wants; allowed us to help a few along the way; and now, it provides us with a sense of financial security, that we will be able to meet our needs once we retire!<br />
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Prathaparhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08387799812741863178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5225408798553080663.post-65067830657719456322016-06-16T16:39:00.000+10:002016-07-30T08:26:54.186+10:00Rendezvous in Rajasthan<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">The Indian State of Rajasthan was the land of Kings. Being the largest state in India, it is the king of Lands at present. It was also a part of the Indus Civilization, and most of the state is now desert. As a kid, I read Tamil monthlies which had many short stories of bravery and romance from Rajasthan. Emperor Akbar's wife Jodha was from Jaipur of Rajasthan. Among the kings was my namesake – Maha Rana
Pratap, whose name is everywhere in Udaipur. He kept the Moguls at bay, and finally ended
with agreements with them to cohabit. The
state is full of yellowish sandstone forts, distinctively different to the Red
Stone forts built by the Moguls across India. Princess Gayatri Devi, when she got elected to Parliament in the 1970s, she was so elated, she is said to have showered gold coins from a tower in Jaipur. Rajasthan is also home to Jaipur, widely known as the Pink City with castles all around. Together,
Rajasthan evoked thoughts of bravery, romance in desert kingdoms to me.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><i>The City Palace, Udaipur</i></b></span></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">The Lake Palace, Udaipur</span></i></b></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Between 2012 and 2014, I went to Rajasthan many times,
as a part of a project. It was led by a
Rajasthani Australian, and he ensured that the project team experienced
Rajasthan’s best. We stayed in Havelis
by lakes, did our touristic duties, and enjoyed Rajasthani hospitality.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><i>Night view from a Haveli - Can you spot the full moon?</i></b></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><i><br /></i></b></span>
<span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><b><i>Witnessing sun rise from a Haveli</i></b></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Once we went to an unusual hill-top restaurant. This is in the outskirts of Udaipur; a hill top
has been flattened to build a traditional Rajasthani Restaurant. As we
walked there was a mud-veranda, where an old man was doing magic tricks.
Not bad, and I was glad that he did not choke on the metal balls he was spewing
out. Then there was a kid on a balancing rope, with pots stacked on his
head, and plates as shoes on a rope about 5 m above ground. He marched up
and down, and came down to collect money. Then there was a puppet show which was
fun to watch. Finally, two girls danced for Rajasthani songs, not that
great but were OK. Then the food, where
in a long hall, we scot and ate a very high cholesterol diet, ghee, butter,
sugar, cottage cheese and so on. Rajasthan is well known for its dairy products. The best part was that one of the waiters
insisted on feeding me! Don’t get funny
ideas – he was a middle aged man.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">Rajasthani Dancing</span></i></b></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">Once
I hired an auto-rickshaw in Udaipur. The
driver was so skinny; I could easily see his jaw-bones. From his appearances, I felt that he must be
really poor. I asked him to take me to a
liquor shop and bring me back. He said
it will cost me 40 INR, and I said fine.
After a few minutes, he said he could take me to another one closer to
my hotel, and it would cost me 35 INR.
Again I said fine. When he
brought me back I gave him 40 INR, and he was puzzled. He returned 5 INR, but I insisted that he
kept it. He was a bit reluctant, but
took the money with appreciation. Other
big Indian cities would have been different.
Once in Madras an Auto-driver took be a distance of about 5 km, and
wanted 1000 INR. It should not have been
more than 50 INR those days. He started
swearing and shouting, and finally settled for 500 INR. I should have negotiated the fare before I
went with him. I am glad that these
petty thieves live only in big cities.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;">A Rajasthani Farmer</span></i></b></div>
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<b><i><span style="font-family: "times" , "times new roman" , serif;"><br /></span></i></b></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">On another occasion, I hired a taxi driver to take me
around Udaipur. He was really dark in color,
wore a number of necklaces, some with big pendants, and ear studs with big
stones in both ears. He had an unusual hairstyle including a short
pony-tail. It was so short, you could see only if you pay
close attention. Instead of ribbons or scrunchies as my daughters would
wear to hold their hair together, he had a rubber-band holding his hair together
at the end of the tail - not at the beginning. I thought he must have
jumped out a cartoon-book. However, he
was very polite, held his arms and hands crossed and head bowed in a
subservient manner whenever I spoke, a sight I have seen in old Tamil
movies. There was nothing wrong with his behavior</span><span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">, only my attitude about
dress codes and appearances was warped.</span><span style="font-family: "calibri" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "trebuchet ms" , sans-serif;">I have traveled widely in India, and each state has its own attraction. But some or other Rajasthan stands out in my mind, may be because it is very different to Tamil Nadu, I am most familiar with. Udaipur, the city I spent most time in Rajasthan is undoubtedly picturesque and cleaner than most cities in India.</span></div>
</div>
Prathaparhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08387799812741863178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5225408798553080663.post-79309460332974082372016-05-18T10:22:00.000+10:002016-05-19T08:50:08.458+10:00A Dog killed The Cat<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
I live with my family in Sydney, but my work is based at
Queanbeyan, about three-hour drive from my Home. Hence, I have rented a granny-flat (one
bedroom flat – detached from the main house) for my stay in Queanbeyan. On the average I spend about three nights a
week at my flat. The Land Lords are Tracey
and John, a young couple, probably in their forties. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The day I moved in, and while unloading my stuff from the
car, a black cat with three legs got into the flat meowing loudly. Its handicap did not seem to limit its
movements. It went into the bath room,
the living room and the bed room, as if it was the land lord, showing me the
flat. Once I finished unloading, I
shooed it out of the flat. Later in the
afternoon, I met John, who said in a firm but friendly tone that I should not
entertain the cat in my flat. That was
okay with me – I do not consider myself a pet-lover. Whenever, I went to my flat during the past
15 months, the cat would get up, limp around and meows to welcome me. Once when my Land Lords were on a holiday, I
fed the cat for a day. My attachment to
the cat was nothing more.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yesterday, when I walked back to the flat after work around
4:30 pm, and as I neared the flat, I saw my neighbor waving at me. Well, that’s what I thought, but in fact she
was signalling a pick-up to stop. The
pick-up went passed me and stopped in front of the main house. The pick-up was from the City Council, and
its passengers were two Rangers, a man and a woman. They got off the pick-up, and started a
conversation with my neighbor, who pointed a dog to them. I am not an expert on dog breeds, but I think
it is a kind of a Terrier. There was a leash,
but it appeared to have severed from an anchor.
The dog was calm but looked menacing.
One of the Rangers got hold of the leash. Just in front of the dog was the cat – dead. I could see the flesh of the cat, and redness
around the dog’s mouth and jaws. I could
easily figure out what had happened. I
started to wonder whether the cat became an easy victim, because of its
handicap. Else, it could have probably run
away and climbed a tree.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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My neighbor was visibly upset, approached me and said that
the cat gave a good fight. Not sure it
meant that she saw the cat fighting for its life, or she was deducing from the
state its body was in. I have never
spoken to her before, and was not sure what I should say in return. Our conversation ended there. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The Rangers spoke softly, showing respect to the deceased,
and their faces were glum. They got busy, photographing the dog and the
cat. They also ran a metal detector over
the cat and the dog, and found that the dog had a chip installed in its body,
but the cat did not. Their pick-up had
two pens and a stairway, stuck underneath.
One of the Rangers opened a pen, drew the stairway, guided the dog
into the pen, and secured it. The other
took a plastic bag, wrapped the cat, and put it in the second pen. The Rangers left their contact details for my
Land Lords in the mail box, and asked me to convey the bad news to my Land
Lords. Later, when I conveyed the bad
news to John, he kept on repeating that he was upset. I patted his back, and left him to break the
bad news to Tracey.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I was sad that the cat was mauled to death. The incident reminded me of the day when I
watched a pigeon dying in Delhi (http://prathapar.blogspot.com.au/2013/01/death-of-pigeon.html). <span style="background: white; color: #333333;">Just like the shoe polisher who looked after
the dying pigeon in Delhi, the Rangers and my neighbor acted humanely and took
care of the dead cat, and the disturbed dog. </span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background: white; color: #333333;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background: white; color: #333333;">The way people react to death is the same, irrespective
of where the person lives - in a developing country or in a developed
country. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: inherit;">People are just the same – there’s Godliness within every one
of us.</span></div>
</div>
Prathaparhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08387799812741863178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5225408798553080663.post-52058134758589389212016-05-10T15:30:00.002+10:002016-05-10T15:30:42.118+10:00US Elections: Why do I care?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal">
My first impression of USA was a photo of Nehru (Indian PM)
walking with the US President JFK. It
was in the sixties. The photo appeared
in a Tamil weekly published in India. I
was not even a Teen then, but was an avid reader of Tamil weeklies form
India. Most of them were full of praise
to Nehru; he was a National Hero, deservedly revered. He was also known to be kind to kids, and was
called an Uncle by them. I too was a kid
at that time, and I was probably happy to have a fictional uncle like Nehru. In the photo was my fictional uncle, with a charismatic
leader of the country, which won the Second World War. I have heard of anecdotes of life in Jaffna
during the war from my grandparents. That’s
how I connected JFK and Nehru, and both became and remain my favorite leaders
even now. The next impression was when
Neil Armstrong landed on the moon. We
sat around a LARGE analogue radio in Jaffna and listened to the live commentary. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Later, I became critical of the Americans. I could not understand why they were fighting
in Vietnam and opposed Bangladesh Liberation war.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Yet, the coverage USA received in Sri Lankan newspapers
were sufficient to keep my interest in US politics.
In particular, I was fascinated to read about CREEP (the Committee to Re
Elect the President – Nixon), and their role in Watergate Scandal, impeachment
of Nixon, and election of Jimmy Carter. As
Carter was facing re-election in 1980, I went to USA for my higher studies. My first night in a Washington DC hotel, I
watched Ted Kennedy’s speech at the Democratic Party Convention. From then till now, I am sort of obsessed
with US Presidential Politics. Should I
be? After all, USA is one of the six
countries I have lived in, and for only about 12% of my life. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My fascination with US Politics is not just personal. I believe what happens in USA will affect me
and my children for many years to come.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It is the USA, which guarantees global peace, to some extent
at its own expense. It has been 70 years
since the Second World War ended, and it is largely through the efforts of the
Americans, we have not had a war of such magnitude. Yes, there are at least twenty ongoing wars today,
but none are at global scale, and casualties are not in millions. Even in these wars, US play a role to mediate
peace and minimize casualties. Military
alliances with USA are providing a sense of security on a day to day basis to
Billions around the world including Australians like me.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
America’s investment in health has contributed to
advancement in treatments for diseases such as cancer; containment of deadly
epidemics like Ebola and Zika; and reduction in child mortality by more than
50% since 1990s. It is the scarcity of labour
in US farms, which led to mechanization and automation of broad-acre Agriculture, and feed the world today. When all
developed nations are cutting down on research in Agriculture and Health, Americans
continue to fund research, finding ways to produce more and better quality of
food, and a healthier world. They
continue to build capacity of agriculturalists and medical professionals in
Asia and Africa, where food supplies are insecure, water supplies are unreliable and health institutions are inaccessible.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It is the USA, which had been the home of innovation. American technology has always been a part of
my life. I am grateful to Benjamin
Franklin, Thomas Edison, Bill Gates, Steve Jobs and many alike. I also believe it is the USA, which has shown
the world that major societal changes can come within a short period of
time. When Asians struggle to beat the
caste system, and the Europeans struggle to beat remnants of imperialism, the
Americans have got rid of slavery, and preserved civil rights, all within two
centuries. Despite being the bastion of
Capitalism, it is in America where many social programs are successfully
infused to improve day to day life of the downtrodden.<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Why were all these feats possible? Because, it has the third largest land mass and the third
largest population in the world. The population
came from all parts of the world, only in hope to do better than they were in
their respective homelands. The
combination of the wealth (in the form of land), and the aspiring population
led to the phenomenal success, which is America today. <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
For non-Americans, they have shown the way to build a secure
(military, health, and food security) world, and assisted them along the way. It is the leaders Americans elect, help rest
of the world feel secure. What a
difference President Obama has made to the world, which he inherited from GWB? I like to see the benefits continue, not just
for me, but for my children. That’s why
I remain interested in US politics. <span style="background: white; font-family: Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: 11.5pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p></o:p></div>
</div>
Prathaparhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08387799812741863178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5225408798553080663.post-61082402703095533222016-01-05T11:45:00.004+11:002016-01-05T13:58:59.916+11:00Merry Christmas & HNY 2016<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Being born and grew up in Jaffna, Christmas was not a big event for most part of my early life. Christians, mostly lived along the coastal part of the Jaffna peninsula, and I had very little interactions with them as a kid. I do not recall a single Christian class mate during my primary and secondary education. I did go to a Cathedral occasionally, but not during Christmas. These were the days without TV in Jaffna, so the opportunity to watch Christmas celebrations weren’t there either. I did have Catholic roommates while at Peradeniya, but they hardly discussed religion with me. I should also mention that during Christmas, I had University holidays, so, Christmas was another day I was on holidays. <br />
<br />
As Christmas 1980 approached, a friend of mine of Mexican origin asked me to spend the holidays with him in Monterrey, Mexico. The offer was hard to refuse – he wanted to me to share the cost of gasoline for the 8-hour drive. I took him on. Having lived in Texas since Aug 1980, I was getting accustomed to ‘First World’ living. I was quickly reminded of third world conditions when I crossed the border. I crossed from one country to another by land the very first time, enjoyed homemade Mexican food for a week, went to a Bull-Fight, and partied every day at his friends or family. <br />
<br />
For Christmas in 1981, I visited my friends at Penn State; I walked through a meter high snow, and enjoyed my first white Christmas. Visit to an Amish village was the highlight. <br />
<br />
Subsequent Christmases in USA came and went. Like everyone else, I took advantage of the sales, although my requirements as a single person weren’t much.<br />
<br />
Christmas 1987 had a completely different feel to Christmases I had before. I was in Griffith, NSW, Australia, an inland country town of 15,000. Not much happens here, and the temperature is in forties in December. Aussies are not that religious, but they do enjoy their holidays. There were plenty of barbecues (and flies) of course. <br />
<br />
I spent Christmas 1988 in a small village in West Germany. Everything – climate, rains, crisp air, green landscapes, rings from chapels, well decorated shops, and the general cheer gave me a real Christmas feel. Visit to the Berlin wall was the high light of this holiday.<br />
<br />
I was in Pakistan for Christmas 1996, and that was a non-event, I felt. A few top-end hotels had Christmas trees and decorations to make their western guests feel home. But, many Pakistani Christians hide their identity by adapting Muslim names for better employment opportunities or to avoid harassment. However, Christmas is a holiday there, not because Jesus was born on that day, but the Father of the Country, Mohammed Ali Jinnah was born on that day. My Pakistani Christian friends consider it the biggest favour Jinnah did for them. Celebrations, if any are muted.<br />
<br />
Christmas in Oman is a non-event too, but, Christians celebrate it more overtly than in Pakistan, I think. There are several Churches in Muscat, and prayers go on all day. Divisions among services are based on their nationality and denominations (Despite God's wish to unite us, we as human beings have to find reasons to divide us, isn’t it!). Although it is not a national holiday, most Christians are at liberty to take time off from work to attend masses. Hotels and super markets look festive, again to make their western guests feel welcome, I believe.<br />
<br />
Christmas 2011 in Delhi was very much like celebrations in Colombo or elsewhere. For my surprise, it was not a holiday where I have joined to work. This was a small non-government office, and there weren’t any Christians in the staff. I could understand the reasoning, but I still felt that it should have been a holiday. In subsequent years, Christmas was declared a holiday in our office, and I felt good.<br />
<br />
We as a family have just finished celebrating Christmas 2015, the Aussie way. My immediate family members, about 30 in total, met at a park near our house for a picnic lunch. Kids had a gala time, adults sat and watched. I tried to stretch my muscles, riding a bike or playing cricket, but it was not easy. Then we all went to our house for dinner. Remaining holidays were busy too, I went to the new-year eve fireworks at Sydney harbor, and for a swim at the Sydney Olympic park, both for the first time, although we are ‘residents’ of Sydney since 1996! The holidays gave me sufficient time to catch-up with my family and recharge myself. <br />
<br />
I paid attention to Christmas messages on Australian TV, all without exception appealed Australians to embrace refugees from Middle East. It was very heartening to hear such messages at a time of global turbulence.<br />
<br />
I am aware that Christmas is a religious event for Christians, but its universality astounds me. I can’t think of any other religious festival embraced widely as Christmas across the world. I consider myself fortunate to witness Christmas in a range of settings, and all are different.<br />
<br />
Merry Christmas & HNY 2016.<br />
<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
</div>
Prathaparhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08387799812741863178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5225408798553080663.post-27603291090857136762015-11-17T10:24:00.000+11:002015-11-18T08:58:46.325+11:00CGIAR in South Asia<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
IWMI is one of the members of the CGIAR, the Consultative Group for International Agricultural Research, was my employer for seven years. The CGIAR was founded in 1971, and four research centers formed the core of it. Since then the members increased to nineteen and now to fifteen. One of its founder institute, IRRI and its researchers in late 1970s inspired my education and career. I always considered that it would be a privilege to work for CGIAR. My ambition came to fruition when I joined IWMI in late 1996 for a four year period, and then returned to IWMI in 2011 for another three years. During the seven year period, I held senior management positions, lived as IWMI employee in three South Asian countries, and conducted research in all South Asian countries, except in Afghanistan and Bhutan. It is imperative that a Senior Officer of CGIAR to engage with National Agricultural Research Systems (NARS) in host countries, so, I was able to witness the progress the National Systems have made between 1990s and 2010s.<br />
<br />
During the 1970s CGIAR Centers were largely concerned about food security of the world, and it’s poor in particular. Ambitious breeding programs, spearheaded by IRRI increased rice production rapidly across South Asia. IRRI directly engaged with every NARS in Asia and improved their capacity. It trained more than 20,000 researchers over the years. By 2000, Asian rice productivity tripled per unit of land, and doubled for unit of water evaporated. Other commodity centers have similar success stories to convey with pride.<br />
<br />
These centers were home for many eminent scientists from the west who willingly gave up their comforts to serve the poor in exotic lands. Now, the supply of experts to contribute to CGIAR centers from the west has dwindled over the years. Higher education in Agriculture, especially to produce primary commodities is no longer a priority in Universities in the west. In most developed countries less than 5% of the population is in agriculture, and the food is produced by major corporations. This production model has no resemblance to the subsistence level of production in poorest parts of Asia, where CGIAR wishes to serve. In the absence of appropriately trained experts from the west, CGIAR Centers now draw their cadre either from those who are redundant in the west, or from those who are extremely successful in Asian NARS. Taking an Asian from a NARS and appointing him or her as an expert in his home country adds very little to the intellectual pool or injection of new ideas. It just depletes their National capacity. Having said this, I am aware that there are exceptions. There are cases where, professional jealousies, bureaucracy, red-tape and lethargy zap energy from many bright minds in South Asia and make them under productive. For them, the CGIAR Centers are very attractive, not just to increase their income, but for their self-esteem as well.<br />
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Over the years, CGIAR’s mission has broadened from food security to food security and poverty alleviation within sustainable ecosystems. These three goals, food security, poverty alleviation and environmental sustainability are noble ones, but not simultaneously attainable within socio-economic constraints in South Asia. For example, land fragmentation and tenure deter farmers from investing their time or money in the Eastern Gangetic Plains of South Asia. Almost 80% of the farmers have less than 1 ha of land. These farmers are well aware that no matter how much time and money they invest in such a small piece of land, they will remain poor and will not meet the needs of their families. In Bihar, where village after village live below poverty line, only about 2/3rd the population has anything to do with Agriculture, and even for them, Agriculture provides about 1/3rd of their family income. Men are in cities in India and in Arabian Gulf, toiling to raise their kids living in a village in Bihar. I believe these socio-economic constraints such as land fragmentation or caste are the invisible elephants, and are beyond CGIAR’s ability to tame.<br />
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So, what should CGIAR Centres do in South Asia? It could declare victory over food insecurity in Asia and get out. OR, it has to redefine its agenda.<br />
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The new role could be focused on job creation in rural parts of poor-Asia to prevent urban migration and adequate income generation. The current generation of farmers may not shift away from their lands, but their children want to. I have never met a child of a farmer in Asia, who wants to be in farming. If they abandon their inheritance of even smaller parcels of land, there will be a lot of abandoned small parcels of land, threatening the victory over food insecurity.<br />
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I feel it’s time that CGIAR plans this transition. In the interim, the CGIAR could formulate think-tanks to facilitate evaluation of market-oriented institutions, which are capable of breaking social (caste), economic (economy of scale), supply chain (diesel supplies), and structural constraints (small land parcels).<br />
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Well, looks like I have spent my two-cents already! <br />
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Prathaparhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08387799812741863178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5225408798553080663.post-89828383548347801652015-11-03T08:32:00.000+11:002015-11-03T08:34:43.567+11:00Witnessing Deaths<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
As I grow older and older, I seem to know a lot of dead people. Two of my sisters have died; my parents have died; three of my uncles have died; many of my teachers at high school have died. The movie directors who inspired me, the music directors who hypnotized me, the playback singers who eased my heart, the actors who made me cry and laugh, the sportsmen who enthralled me, and the politicians who gave me hope and despair – well, some of them are dead too. The scary fact is that some of my classmates and batch-mates are also DEAD. They would have been plus or minus five years of my age. <br />
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Yes, I am aware that death is something very certain, but when the news falls on my ears, it arouses memories and grief – the degree depends on how close we were, whenever we shared our lives.<br />
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The news of death reaches me at least once a month these days. But witnessing death is different to hearing the news of death. It’s instructive, I think. I will share my observations of two men, whom I knew from my very early days, both are now dead. I remember both of them as tall men, capable of very clearly articulating what they wanted to say, and commanded attention of others when present. <br />
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The first one, just like any other men, cared a lot about his family, enjoyed a cigarette and an occasional drink. As his children got married and left home, he spent time publishing his views on issues, especially about children and religion. When his health failed, he was bed-ridden for about six to nine months, and then he died. He was 74 at death.<br />
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The second one, again just like any other men, cared a lot about his family, did not smoke or drink. He always wanted to help anyone knocked on his doors, and he did more of that, when his children got married and left home. When his health failed, he was bed-ridden for about six to nine months, and then he died. He was 84 at death.<br />
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The second one enjoyed his grand-kids and society about a decade longer than the first one. That is the reward for taking care of your health when young. But, the pain and suffering before death had been the same for both men. Modern day health facilities ensure that every possible attempt is made to save one’s life, even if the body has become vegetative. <br />
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So, what have I learnt by witnessing these deaths? Am I advising you that you should take care of your health, and enjoy your grand kids longer ? No, because you know that already. <br />
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What I have learnt and want to share with you is, prepare yourself to be in pain and agony for a year before your death. It’s just like the way you waited outside the principal’s class room waiting to be caned. It will not alleviate the pain, but, the thought, that you already knew it was coming, will help you face it better.<br />
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Prathaparhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08387799812741863178noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5225408798553080663.post-87758036541019586192015-05-27T09:51:00.003+10:002019-02-21T03:39:01.271+11:00Gang Rapes in Delhi and Jaffna<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<b>Incidents:</b> In Dec 2012, a Physiotherapy student was raped in a bus roaming across Delhi. Her body was penetrated with an iron rod, she and her boyfriend were thrown onto the street. She developed various complications in multiple organs, and despite attempts to save her, she died after a month. On the 13th of May 2015, a teenage girl was gang-raped and murdered in Jaffna, my home town.<br />
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<b>The response of Police:</b> Delhi Police acted swiftly. First, the bus was identified from CCTV records, then the owner, then the driver, and then three more. Statements provided by the victim's boyfriend were very helpful to the Police. One of the four was an adolescent. Another was arrested in his hometown in Bihar, about 1000 Km away from the incident. Police in Jaffna did not take the incident seriously when the girl was reported missing on the same day. It dismissed the complaint as if the girl has eloped with her boyfriend. But, it acted swiftly when the brother found the girl's body at a remote site. Three were arrested immediately. Following an inquiry, another six were arrested. One was a foreign national of 19 years of age. He managed to leave Police custody in Jaffna and traveled to Colombo, 400 km away. But again arrested in Colombo. Police who had mishandled his arrest in Jaffna are being transferred.<br />
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<b>The response of the Society</b>: In both cases, there was an outrage, differed only in proportion to the size of the cities. Delhi with 21 million people was no comparison to Jaffna, where a few hundred thousand lives. Delhi saw massive demonstrations for weeks - barricades everywhere, tires were burnt 24X7, water cannons and tear gas were brought to disperse crowds and public property was damaged. Scores were arrested, charged, prosecuted or released. The protests went beyond Delhi to other states, speaking different languages, but sharing similar pains. Civil society was out on the street demanding Justice, not just for the victim, but for all victims of similar crime. A Policeman died during protests. Jaffna too responded in a similar manner, schools went on strike, markets were closed etc. There were similar protests in other Tamil speaking districts of North and East. 130 demonstrators were arrested, and two Policemen suffered minor injuries. The Police were determined not to seek the Army's help, A very wise decision. The army is not a trusted institution in Jaffna. Police's inability to communicate in Tamil well with locals was a disadvantage. The rest of the country remained aloof to the plight for almost two weeks, until a Female Attorney at Law, Shamila Daluwatte called for a protest in Colombo (https://www.facebook.com/shamila.daluwatte). A muted response at the end, still a welcome one.<br />
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<b>The response of the Politicians</b>: In Delhi, all political parties condemned the violence. The Parliament acted expeditiously and enacted laws to punish criminals quickly. One of the four accused hung himself in his cell, the adolescent was sent to Juvenile Detention, and the other two are sentenced to death. None of the parties wanted to score political points on a tragedy. In Sri Lanka, a party pride itself as the party of heritage (JHU) showed its ugly face once more. It accused the demonstrators that their objective was to intimidate Sinhalese living in Jaffna. Maybe it should call itself the party for Sinhalese, not for all Sri Lankans. The former President MR insinuated that extreme elements akin to LTTE were behind demonstrations. He must have a poor memory of history. Comparing the reasons for the formation of LTTE to a gang-rape shows how little he understood the reasons for the formation of LTTE, and the price paid by millions over three decades. Shame on him. The NPC Chief Minister C Wigneswaran made the right call. He appealed the masses to refrain from damaging public property, and demonstrate peacefully. I wish the politicians of 1970s and 1980s had his wisdom. Both, Tamil and Sinhala politicians fanned violence on innocent people then. Further investigations reveal that pro-MR Tamil groups were behind the violence in Jaffna. They still feel loyal to MR, and want to show the current Government in poor light. A CID group in Jaffna was pursuing investigations. Finally, the President himself had gone to Jaffna, assuring Justice to victim's parents.<br />
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<b>My Take</b>: Tragic events like these could be game-changers. There had been gang-rapes in India & Sri Lanka before and after these incidents. India has legislated in such a way that the criminals will be pursued and punished vigorously. In the case of Sri Lanka, I have always felt that the main reason for the conflict in was the disrespect of ethnic groups for other ethnic groups. Tamils by-and-large had no respect for the Sinhalese, and so were the Sinhalese towards Tamils. If you do not respect the other group, it really does not matter whatever happens to them, isn't it? This is what Hitler did to Jews, Israelis do to Palestinians, ISIS do to non-Muslims. But a small group of people like Shamila Daluwatte is looking at these problems as crimes against women rather than an ethnic issue. We need more people like Daluwatte & Friends. We also need to eliminate politicians who use every tragedy for their gains. True reconciliation in Sri Lanka will come only when both groups appreciate and treat each other with dignity. Can this tragedy sow the seeds for true reconciliation?<br />
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Prathaparhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08387799812741863178noreply@blogger.com0