The Stench of Saffron

Should I stay or should I go?

The Clash asked that, rhythm and rhyming the approach-avoidance syndrome, backing it with a driving incessant beat, and…leaving the question unanswered, now that I think about it; which doesn’t help me a lot, or any.

See, the thing is, I’ve remained in India for the past decade and half in highly addictive expat comforts. This in spite of the best efforts of the Foreigners Regulation and Registration Office and its bureaucratically brilliant systems for making life just that little bit more pebble-in-the-shoe-ish. I shouldn’t be surprised. I mean, you take bureau… I beg your pardon, Bureaucracy, which India has had for a lot longer than most other places, and you clothe it in the Eton-Harrow-OxBridge pomposities that pass for governance and administration, and what you get is the FRRO, and their ability to trigger ‘screw it, what’s the travel agent’s e-address, sorts of thoughts and impulses. But, I digress.

The FRRO is not the reason I’ve bookmarked Lonely Planet and know where my passport and traveling pants are. [Aren’t cargos just the absolute tits?]  For the first time in 15 years I’m starting to get uncomfortable with the smell of teen spirit. An appreciable, increasingly aggressive, portion of India’s youth, the generation that Narendra ‘BigMo’ Modi has so assiduously wooed and won, have embraced the concept of Indian National Cultural Values (INCV) (All concepts in India are labeled and acronym-ed. It’s a cultural thing) and are looking to impose the same on the rest of India. As an example let me cite the attempt by some of Young Modern India (YoMo’In) (concept again) to exercise their perfectly reasonable right to show affection, one for the other, in public and with due regard for the decencies necessary. Towards this end a ‘Kiss-in’ was organized and announced. This did not meet with the approval of the Religious Right (RR) (also a concept), who, in short order deployed their youth wing. There are altogether too many upper case concepts of that wing for me to list. Suffice it to say that they are manifold and are, without exception, large, testosterone driven and ready to rumble. Pumped with ideology, righteous anger, and, I suspect but cannot prove, steroids, these myrmidons of INCV were able to intimidate the local police into backing their play in preventing the Kiss-in from happening. The cops must have figured that worst YoMo’In could do was kiss them in protest while the RR youth wing was armed, but I’m guessing.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying that things have reached the twin lightning insignia stage but one gets the feeling that saffron shirts and khaki shorts are being bulk ordered and stockpiled. Certainly saffron is starting to replace the admittedly condescending Congress white in the halls and seats of power, bringing with it the stench of faith based governance and reminding me of the reasons I left home, hearth, and health insurance to remain in India. But now…

I wonder if the FRRO in Vietnam has better manners.

Militant Religiosity

I find myself becoming quite religious in my antipathy to reli…no, actually, that should be, Religion. I find myself proselytizing and preaching on the dangers of institutionalized faith. My semi-libation – I’m clumsy and tend to spill things – toasts to polymath Dawkins are starting to take on the aspects of ritual, tending uncomfortably towards dogma and cant. My accountant tells me that she is considering submitting my bar bills as a tithing expense. I find myself surfing anti-Religion web sites for arguments that I then plagiarize and pass off as revelations. Hell, I’ve found myself taking out my articles of faith, polishing them, and presenting them as the only Truth that makes sense, ignoring, as I do so, the obvious holes in my logic, over-riding objections with the power of oratory. In short, I seem to have become Religious.

Oh, I have my justifications and my rationalizations, but, they all boil down to fear. No difference there, then. I mean reli… Religion got started because of fear in the first place. Fear of the night. Fear of the unknown. Fear of thunder, lightning, and the voices of the gods in the howling wind, the naked ape cowering in the sturm and whimpering in the drang . All of which is as close to a selfie as I care to get. Not that I'm scared of thunder and the voices of the gods, you understand. Those have been explained, to my satisfaction, by rationality and science No, my fear is of the rising tides of militant religiosity.

 Saffron the designated color of Hinduism, as opposed to the condiment, seems to be subsuming the philosophical and much heralded Colors of India. That’s colors, plural, as in many and varied; a heady mixture of creative concepts to explain the mysteries of life; each limning, shading, on occasion merging, with the other, to create a reasonably amicable, (for a given value of amity), system of social order that has served the sub-continent well for a few thousand years. The philosophies were not so much competing, as much as finding their place in the pavane of governance and individual rights and responsibilities. At least, that’s the way it used to be. Not so much now.

Now, here, in this land where diversity, and the right to be different, was enshrined in the Constitutional clauses of sovereignty and nationhood, the monoculture rigidity of militant Hinduism, the Religion, is, with increasing frequency, occupying the public spaces of India. Saffron robes have become the official office wear of an increasing number of legislators and law makers, who in their zealotry are passing laws and ordinances that pay little heed to the rights of the Other. Saffron rituals take precedence minority ways, and no back talk. Taking cues from Mosque and Church, Hinduism has embraced apostasy (apostasy – in a philosophy – can you dig it?) as a control mechanism. No more multiple pathways to the god head; one, and only one, saffron hued, officially approved, mandated, road to salvation. A philosophy that accepted, encouraged, questioning, and dialog is being perverted into a religion with all its authoritarian implications.

I have to stop. This is getting depressing.

The Saffron March

Cassandra… no, wait, was it Cassandra? You know, the lady who warned folks of ill times and was reviled and jeered at for her troubles. Well, if it wasn’t she, it ought to have been, her name has the proper sibilance. Anyway, I think I hear her, but, I’m not jeering, ‘cuz, much as I don’t want to, I’m beginning to see what she is going on about here in, but not limited to, India. Indeed not.

But…

The worldwide [I mean, check out the state of affairs in the putatively non-religious Russia; the 12 Labors of Hercules (beta), Vladimir Putin and his heroic battle against the non-believers as visualized by State commissioned Art. And then there is all too obvious ISIL, the US Supreme Court decision that redefined ‘separation of Church and State’ not to mention North Kores], where was I? Oh yes, the worldwide trend of religion as governance, and the deification of politicians, is making itself more and more visible in the governance of India and that is a crying shame. And that, as Cassandra will have it, bodes for those who have the seeing of it..

Boding is not good. It darkens the vision and saps the spirit. Tomorrow becomes a bogey in the intervening night and can blind the senses to possibilities. Perceptions become selective and it becomes more and more difficult to remember that India is a young vibrant construct that has been more successful in this business of democracy and people power than have any of her contemporaneous bits and pieces of crumbled Empire

India has in 6 and a little bit decades reached a degree of social consciousness it has taken the US two centuries to realize. Largely, I think, because of a long tradition, culture, of tolerance and respect of difference, known as hinduism, the philosophy [h_p].

But…

The same tradition, culture, and philosophy, is being elevated to the upper case status of Hinduism, the Religion [H^R]. As Cassandra is pointing out, H^R is planting its pennons in the halls of power and governance. Saffron is becoming the Office wear of a number, an influential number, of India’s law makers. There are places in India where history is being re-formed into interpretations that suit the purposes of Faith and Belief, and included in school curricula.Local ordinances against hurt religious sentiments are being,  enforced, sometimes forcibly. Zealots, armed with cudgels and bricks, can enforce faith based rules and moralities with impunity and too often immunity. Religion based gerrymandering of the electorate is a fact of the politics of gover…

Wait one second. I’ve been through this once before. Let’s see, when was that? Oh yes, I recall, Ronald Reagan’s triumphant march, Crusader colors, symbols, justifications, and all. Which begat Dubya, a Right wing Supreme Court, the Republican Senate and Dick Cheney. And we can see the result of all of that, live, [you should pardon the expression], and bloody color  on CNN International any hour of the day or night.

I wonder if Cassandra would be willing to join me in a bottle of retsina.

Expat Opinions

Here’s the irritating thing about being a son of the soil expat… that probably requires some sort of clarification, doesn’t it?

Okay – Son of the Soil = born and spent early childhood Here, India, then whisked off to There, USA. Five plus decades, and one citizenship change later, back, semi-voluntarily, to Here; which, now that I think about it, makes me an expatriate squared [xp²], with all of its horrifying implications.

However...

This is about irritation; the expat irritation, the itch, deep in one’s soul, when one has to adhere to Guest Conduct, Rules of; the ones that constrain opinions that might not be in concert with prevailing cultural trends. Such as, to take a completely random, (honest), example, there is this business of the rising tide of religiosity in the public weal. There are folks, good folks, who think that this is a good thing. Folks who, should I suggest otherwise, take umbrage, quite often in an emphatic and loud manner, and suggest, in no uncertain terms, that I ought to keep my videshi, that is to say foreign, opinions to my traitorous self. [Full disclosure – usually when I’m winning the, uh, discussion.] Admittedly, I’d be a lot less itchy if I was to limit my political and/or cultural opinions to generalities; oh you know, things like the universally accepted perfidy of politicians and how things were much better, culturally, back when… etc.

But, the irreducible fact of the matter is that culture, and the politics of that culture, have very little, actually, nothing, to do with national boundaries and visa status. Folks, to paraphrase an ad of yore, is folks. Where folks are from, what they look like, the time zone they live in, have as a commonality, a to-the-bone, written-in-the-gene, as-God-is-my-witness commonality, the human condition. Politics, Culture, and religion are artefacts of that condition. Artefacts re the, as some social scientists will have it, the extelligence, the external manifestations of a particular collective of humans and their conditions. I don’t see what visa status has to do with having the right to comment on the idi…irra…inadvisability of a social current that has proven to be harmful, historically and even as we speak. This seems to be particularly so in the case of Religion and its body functions, the extelligence of Holy Places [public conditionally invited], mass gatherings of piety, governance based on Holy Writings notwithstanding.

I rarely get to make that point. It is generally more prudent to move a few, or more, stools down the bar.

Expatriation

“Back home.” Russell said, referencing some stark contrast with the way things are here, in Bengaluru, and the way they are, uh, back home. Blues Bobby and I nodded in agreement.

We are ex-pats, the three of us, voluntarily – for a given value of voluntary – expatriated from lives of rigorous middle class existences in the land that set the standard for rigorous middle class existences, USA, the putative home.

Between us we have a cumulative 42 plus years’ worth of expatriation, which makes the word home problematic.

I have been in B’luru for getting on to fifteen years.

Blues Bobby has spent the past twenty years in, … you know, he doesn’t really talk about specifics much but I get the impression that it was somewhere along the Adriatic coast. [He keeps looking over his shoulder as he mutters and slurs his way through the non-specifics. I’ve learned that it is best not to get too curious.] Blues Bobby is currently domiciled in B'luru and is showing unmistakable symptoms, and, he has found a blues band that, from time to time, invites him to sing lead.  Anyway, in that span of time, neither of us has been ‘back home’ for longer than the three weeks it took to deal with visa issues; Blues Bobby twice, and I, once. Russell, in his decade here, returns once a year with armloads of grandchildren gifts, all glitter and ethnic chic, but, about 5 to 6 weeks into the mid-western summer he starts missing his lungi and its commando option. Me? I’ve been here since the turn of the century. Though India born, I was whisked off to the US in late childhood and my body and my soul show the unmistakable signs of having come of age in the ‘60s, with all the implications of that smoke wreathed transformative time.

Which begs the question, actually, begs a lot of questions, but right up there on the list is, why? Why would 3 men in the, let’s call it, early to mid-evening of their lives, choose to turn their inevitably waning energies away from all that is familiar to establish, re-establish, their edge-of-curmudgeonly routines into the mad energy that is Bangalore today? And having done so, why would they still refer to the US as home when it is patently not so?

The answer, I think, lies in the aforementioned ‘60s. That was when the three of us began to think of home as the place where nothing happened. The place where same old, same old was actively sought; the starting point, the stultifying boredom of which started each of us on our peripatetic journey into adulthood, the larger world, and its promise of a new tomorrow, peace, love, rock ‘n’ roll, and creativity released from the bonds of tradition.

Relased creativity pretty well describes Modern India (Mo’In) (right?) in general and B’luru in particular. Strangers living next door to strangers makes for really interesting cooking. India feels like the San Francisco Sixties all up in here. There is a psychedelic tinge to the happenings of the street. Reality is being re-defined and anyone over thirty is being ignored, politely, but quite firmly. I can tell. Blues Bobby is getting more gigs.

Peace.

Navratri and Love Jihad

Hinduism^R-the Religion,[as differentiated from hinduism_p-the philosophy], is saying, and doing, some ugly things.

For starters, Hinduism^R, is starting to show signs of becoming, Official.

Hinduism^R has begun to wa… stride the corridors of power. Law makers and administrators are making laws and rules that have their rationale in the religiously held belief that Majority makes Right; which makes the minority Wrong and in need of corrective measures. Human rights are being viewed through saffron tinted lens and are beginning to be found irrelevant to the cause of making India a Hindu^R nation. Which is so far away from hinduism_p (a philosophy that says, in short – Think, and you’ll see), that given the curvature of space/time, it is meeting Hinduism^R (a faith that says, at length - Believe and We’ll tell you what you are seeing), from the other side. Given the muscular aggression of Hinduism^R and the essential live and let live attitudes of hinduism_p, things are starting to bode.

Let me illustrate.

Word is that religious right-wingers, some in elected office, have ordered organizers of the Navratri (a nine night acknowledgment of Goddess Power) celebrations, to keep Muslim men out of venues that hold the Garba dances Garba dancing, for those of you who might be wondering, is a folk tradition involving energetic graceful choreography to driving rhythms, for the most part, although not exclusively, performed by young women. The edict, which in some places flaunts the imprimatur of Official Elected Satraps [OES], is the Saffron Satraps’ [SS], [talk about synergy], counter strategy to their belief that Islam^R has initiated a Love Jihad as part of their war against Hinduism^R. It seems Islam^R has tasked Muslim men with seducing Hindu^R women into marriage, conversion and Muslim baby production. The Garba dances, it seems, were to be targets of opportunity for the love jihadists, what with lithe bodies gyrating to driving rhythms and all.

And there you have it, a celebration of woman power; a decidedly hindu_p concept co-opted by the self serving paranoia of Hinduism^R.

Not that this comes as a surprise. Most, if not all, certainly all the so called Major Religions, take what start out as simple, graceful, caring philosophies, and distort them into grotesque self serving mechanisms of power; the original intent of amicable social contract and mediated compromise lost in the deluge of bombastic claims of salvation and truth; faith in higher power morphs into veneration of power.

The weird thing is that that some Islamist jihadists are going to think that a good plan and are, even as we speak, acquiring Hindu credentials and recharging their cell phone cameras.

I despair.

Religion in Governance

Religion and faith based governance, in a democracy, wow.

I don’t know why the oxymoronic quality of that doesn’t strike more folks, especially to the folks who vote saffron, skull cap, cross, what have you.

No, that’s not true, I do know why. They just haven’t thought about it. They cannot have. No thoughtful examination of the concept will fail to point to the contradiction of including “… because HE/SHE/IT says so” in a, of the people, by the people, for the people, system of the governance. Religion, as far as I can see, doesn’t allow for a whole lot of yeah-but-we’ve-been-thinking from their congregations. Rules is rules, they thunder, (hey, religion doesn’t have to be grammatical, or even coherent, come to that), from pulpits. It is not for you, you imperfect worm, they continue, to question the Word. Yours is to do or die. And we, the anointed voices of HE/SHE/IT, will tell you what to do, when to do it, and more often than not, how to do it, and no back-talk.

And there you have it.

Back-talk is exactly what makes a democracy, well, democratic. Back-talk, adversarial points of view, out-of-the-box thinking, and yes, even fringe opinions, are all part of the mix in the governance of as varied a lot of beings as we citizens; our individual self interests, corners rounded off by the compromises necessary for the existence of a collective well being, subsumed into the greater good, each of those corners discussed, deliberated, and only then fit into the whole.  Arguing with the power structure is what democracy is all about. Not a lot of that in the practice of religion which is given to edicts, commandments, and holy writ, a top down theory of governance. Which puts paid to any impulse to check with the People to see what they think about, oh, let’s say, killing in the name of the God-whose-Voice-is-all-Terrible. Nope, no consultation, no focus groups, no referenda, and most certainly, no back talk.

 That this, faith based governance, is happening here in India, home of lower case hinduism, the philosophy, is particularly galling. Saffron clad satraps have bullied their way into the halls of governance. It should be noted here that Saffron has become the battle color for upper case Hinduism, now an Official Religion, replete with rules, regulations, and intolerant righteousness. Pontificating from their tax exempt pulpits the Saffron Sages (SS) have been able to parlay their quite often irrational interpretations of the tenets of hinduism(lc) into the right and the power to impose on the rest of us their version of a pure State. Beef, they orate, and the eating of the same is antithetical to the dictates of Our One True God(s) and any Hindu who thinks otherwise is apostate. One such SS politician has gone on record as saying that cattle abattoirs are the source of Islamic Jihadists funding. Or so she believes and the fact that she is wearing Saffron when she goes to the office, well, that says it all, doesn’t it?  

I have no idea on how to deal with any of this. Religion and Faith have taken the place of rational discourse, world over. And all i can think to do is ... Holy Smoke.

What an idea, sirji.

47 Virgins

So, I got to thinking about the cannon fodder Caliph Whacko al-Insani calls to his banner. More specifically, I got to examining the blandishments offered to his foot soldiers. Especially the bit about the 47 virgins the young men, (which begs the question, what is on offer to the young women strapping on suicide vests and such? doesn’t it?), are promised on dying in holy battle. As a result the aged Uncle Undertoad in me is demanding his right to an opinion.

So, listen up, all you testosterone laden fighters for Truth, Justice and the Caliph’s way, you guys need to start thinking about the specifics of your promised paradise.

Take this business of paradise being perfect. That does have the implication that, upon entry you are somehow shed of your imperfections, the ones that go into making you. Oh you know which ones I mean – there’s the nose pick and thoughtful evaluation that you do when you think you are alone but your friends, the close chaddhi buddies (literal–underwear), (draw your own inferences), know better than to shake your hand till they have seen you wash; than there’s your unfortunate, and ill-controlled, lactose intolerance and the concomitant laundry issues. I could go on, but I’m pretty sure you know what I mean, all those little quirks and twitches that your mother loved and wouldn’t change for, well, paradise. Now, either those are stripped from you, without your say so, leaving you with nothing that you could call personality and you are granted entry into an amorphous undifferentiated mass of perfect, or, you are on parole and are enjoined to watch your every quirk and twitch, which is not going to be easy what with the All-Seeing being so close and all. Perfection is well worth striving for but I am not at all sure it is that much fun when you get there.

And now to the business of the promised 47 virgins and the implications thereof, guys, you need to pay attention here. Mine is the voice of long but not necessarily frequent experience and I have learned a couple of things along the way and you may want to consider them.

Virgins, in any endeavor, require a tremendous amount of patience and self control. Qualities which, if you are honest with yourself, you will admit, are not your strong points.   You, judging by the net videos, want to be out there doing. Slow, step by persuasive steps towards your vision of paradise and bliss don’t seem to be part of your skill set, unfortunately. I say unfortunately because, in dealing with virgins, soft and, (dare I say it), seductive, steps are the order of the day. After all, the virgin is taking a big step in her, (presumably – I don’t judge), life. There is very little pleasure, or even comfort, in forcing the issue. Force, as you no doubt are aware, leads to pain which in the case of virgins inevitably leads to acrimony and in extreme cases revenge and is considered by one and all as imperfect; which means that your tenure in paradise could come to an abrupt end. Of course, not all of the virgins will require force, some may merely be quiescent, non responsive, empty rag dolls who have to be told what to do and when; which is about as much fun as your hand used to be. Believe me, you don’t want to hear her say – hurry up and let me know when you are done, I need to wash my hair.

Going through that 47 times? Guys, that’s just plain masochism.

The 'is-ness' of the IS

The ‘is-ness’ of the IS, is beginning to scare the reason out of me. I can think of no other explanation for wondering if it might not be time for the United Nations.org to contract with Mossad to deal with the problem; which is a terrible thing for a pacifist, dyed-in-the-wool, one world anti death  penalty, hippie freak to have to admit.

On the one hand, there is this. A caliphate needs, must have, a caliph, a leader appointed due to his proximity to god, One whose Voice must be obeyed, thoughtlessly. A vast swathe of the Middle East is now under the command of just such a Caliph. Catastrophically for some, a huge number of some, unfortunately for the rest of us, that Caliph seems to be the kind that thinks blood is a good cleansing fluid and that the world needs a good cleansing, as per His god. Proof of that, according to him, is the wealth of resource that His god has given unto him; wealth that He can use to convince testosterone stoked young men who think virgins are actually fun to…uh, you know, have a relationship with. These young men are, of course, in no mood to think about the bloody task that has been given to them. Their blood is not cooling their brains. Their dumb-sticks are driving the tanks that seem to be the favored mode of transportation for the cleaning crews. Besides, they don’t do any thinking. All of the thinking is done by the Caliph, who knows everything and has shown them the map to paradise.

Now, under those circumstances, does it not make sense for the rest of us to do something about our, (yes, our, we, all of us allowed him to happen – but that’s another chain of thought), Caliph and his delusions? Caliphates are not hydra headed monsters. One head, one motivator, remove him and his thoughtless followers can be treated as the petty, if violent, directionless criminals that they are. Mossad has shown itself to be quite proficient at surgical strikes, quite a few times. Why not let ‘em loose on Whacko al-Insani of the IS? Think of the amount of concentrated misery that can be alleviated. Think of the resources being squandered that can be put to far better use. There is an emotional satisfaction in the thought that the Caliph’s demise could bring closure for some of his victims.

The other hand has a whole bunch of “Yeah, buts…”; among the whole for-very-good-reasons thing about political assassinations not being conducive to amity and world peace. Then there’s the killing for justice and its oxymoronic euphony; ethical, public trial and conviction before condemnation thing, working its way into the confusion of what-to-dos and the need to do something. The knowledge that killing the head is not getting to the root reason for the Rise of the Monsters

My head hurts.

Better Governance

How to make India better, how to make the United Nations better, how to make governance better, how to be a better parent, child, teacher, student – worthy as those concepts are, they miss the well intentioned point. The simple (okay- simple and easy don't mean the same thing, yeah?) one-stroke solution to the aforementioned Gordian knots would be for each of us, as, individuals, social individuals, to wonder how we are doing on the homo sapience-y scale; whether the self is in balance with the awareness.

Self is, uh, self-evident.

Awareness, okay, yeah, here’s where things start to get messy. For instance, I was just apprised of a couple of young women physically assaulted, in consecutive incidents,   for having the courage to defy an upper-caste (my fingers feel slimy as I type those words) khap panchayat ruling of exile imposed on their family for being kin to arrested, tried, and convicted felons. The beatings administered for non-compliance with the exile orders, to wit, arrogantly continuing their pursuit of education, which, by the bye, the young women were doing by trekking long rural distances and then doing well in their studies. And there you have it; an instance of selves and their degrees of awareness.  On one side an inner directed collective of selves and their awareness, on the other a more educated sense of self and its place in the larger scheme of things. Are those Young Women better persons? Is the upper (yuck) caste (even more yuck) behavior closer to the animal in man, somewhat lower on the whole personhood scale? Yes and yes. Will the Young Women make better governors of a multi cultural, many-self world? Hell yes. The khap panchayat selves?  Uh, D’oh.

Oh, and mention needs to be made about the personhood of the husbands of the Young Women, who abandoned their wives on imposition of the exile. Way to go guys; so much for the holy vows you took to protect and honor your, no doubt, underage brides. I’m sure god will understand.

Saffron Rock

There’s an oily sort of feeling to the politics of India today. There is a nausea inducing sort of slipperiness masquerading as the process of governance. Faith and religion’s imperatives are working their way into the oh-so-fragile skin of reason that is attempting to hold this billion plus collection of ego and emotion together.

And, it all feels so familiar. There is déjà vu happening all up in here. It’s like I’m hearing Carl ‘Retro’ Rove and his Christian Crew tuning up to play a gig in India; Christian Rock morphed into Saffron Rock (lyrics by RSS). Thrash music that assaults and overpowers the sense of the listener; rhyme and reason battered into submission by the screaming chorus of Because My God Says So.

Not that I’m accusing the Hindu Right of plagiarism, not at all, I hasten to add, as quickly as possible. I just think that the brains trust of India’s new Governors saw something that worked and by adding the much richer masala that is this ancient culture, made it their own.

Take this business of Ancient Culture as a simple solution to the trials and issues of a not at all ancient, far from simple, social organism. Do this. Don’t do that - Edicts of a simpler time as the way to manage the mad mélange of self-interest that is this modern construct, India. Any suggestion that those Ancient Rules of Behavior might not be an exact, or even comfortable, fit on the modern body politic is dismissed as the work of the devil, quite often, the foreign devil. Any argument that Ancient Writings, Vedas, Commandments, what have you, are guidelines and not, as it were, carved in stone, is howled down as anti-national and disloyal, treasonous, Christian America and Hindu India. Culture elevated to the status of Religion. It wasn’t that good a song when Ronnie and the Republicans were doing their thing; it hasn’t gotten any better by adding masala to it. But for some reason, or the lack thereof, Ronnie and the Reps were able to spawn a faith based form of governance that produced George W. Bush and the Democracy Destroyers. It took a while, but Carl and Crew got there. I don’t think it is going to take that long in India. After all India is doing in 60 years what took the USA 200 years to do.

I guess I’m hoping that India’s lean and hungry youth will do better than the fat and happy US electorate. Maybe India’s youthful intelligence will recognize the dangers of isolate purity and vote for the exhilaration of diversity. Festivals are best when new meets old and dances in the melodies so created.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  

The Indian Body Politic [Paradise by the Dashboard Light

Thinking about how to make India a better place while listening to Meatloaf's, Paradise by the Dashboard Light, the long version, adds an interesting tinge to one's thoughts.

There is much in Indian politics that mirrors the desperate groping towards the paradise of the song; the same urgent pleas for, uh, closeness from the desperate suitor; the same equally urgent demands for commitment from the sought.

Seekers of office promise heavenly delights if only the electorate will allow them into the driver’s seat, as it were. Paradise, the Pols aver, is just a touch away. Okay, they admit, in honeyed tones, there may have to be a bit of fiddling around on the way to that paradise, but, it’s all good, everybody is going to go home satisfied. Will it be forever? The harmonic, if slightly plaintive, voice of the body rises in counterpoint. The suitors ignore the question, pressing suit with renewed insistence and ardor. But is this going last, signs of fatigue showing in the harmonics?  The body starts to relax into submission, the desire to be loved and cared for leaking into the narrative. Sensing victory assurances are quick, double timed, the tempo rising with each promise of good days. With one last attempt at maintaining some semblance of self respect, an answer is insisted upon. Let me sleep on it, counters Meatloaf, showing remarkable agility for a being large enough to have its own satellites. Eventually, inevitably, sadly, emotion prevails over reason and the suit is consummated, 

Interestingly, to me at least, the satisfied sounds at the end of the song are all from Meatloaf, her defeated insistence for an answer drowned by his triumphant conclusion

reasonable questions

I’m thinking that India needs more lawyers, trial lawyers, to report the news. They know how to ask uncomfortable questions and insist on an answer.

Take the episode of the Party in Power (PiP) politician who took physical umbrage at the quality of the food he was getting at subsidized prices. In a shocking display of the way he was raised, the gentleman (by statute) attempted to force feed the protesting server tasked with the responsibility of dealing with unhappy diners. This after having publicly, on camera, decried the food stuff as being unfit for man or beast. A representative of the people, sworn to uphold the rights and the dignity of his constituents, used physical force to augment his opinion. Captured on tape, that example of the arrogance of power ruled the news channels. Points of view were sought; spokespersons of every political color voiced, shouted, their opinions, often simultaneously. The political satrap was asked to explain his behavior. He claimed innocence and purity of motive. Much valuable air time was spent exploring the communal – read, racist – over and undertones of his motives and actions. Emotions ruled the hour. Justifications, denials,  equivocations, spin, had the air-waves humming.  Eventually, of course, everyone went home to bed, strangely satisfied, ideological underpinnings undamaged, and the salient point unexplored; do we or do we not believe that all men are equal with rights and dignities on par with any in the land?

Me? I’m still wondering how a democratically elected person thought that it permissible to invade the personal space of a fellow, theoretically anyway, citizen without that citizen’s approval and consent. As far as I know that is the law, in any democratic system. As far as I know unwanted touch is actionable and the perpetrator can be brought to book and reparation. I know for a fact that in the US that unfortunate episode was, is, a fat payday for the target of the Misuse of Power by an elected official with a dash of Threat and Physical Intimidation as icing. Official arrogance can be quite expensive.

I kept waiting for someone to… no, wait, there were voices, lawyer type voices that did try to make that point, but were drowned about by the more emotive issues. They, the lawyer type voices, poor souls, were probably more used to the civilized methods of argument used in trial. Just as much invective, bile, and emotional ugliness, but one that insists that a question be answered and the holes in the response explained. Reason is sought, with emotion and motive mere garnish.

A trial lawyer reporter would have made that his/her first avenue of enquiry. The whole roza, communal fandango would have been recognized as the distraction that it is.

Walking the Talk

India’s Prime Minister, Sri Narendra Modi, or BigMo  (for Momentum), is, to all appearances, Walking the Talk. Corruption – check, Development – check, Infrastructure – check, Emancipation for Corporations – cheq…check.  There is much activity and motion in the machinery of governance. Wheels are turning, albeit with no small amount of rusty groans. Files are being closed, lubricated by fear of professional and public consequences, replacing the hitherto indispensable WD40 of file movement, money. People-, Citizen-, Mango People – oriented programs are bursting with green shoots. Newspapers are replete with portraits of well-fed, well-clothed middle-class mangoes beaming with satisfaction at Budgets that sop up their territorial fears with the refrain happy days are here again.

All to the good, no doubt; India has been governed by the Talking the Talk is More than Enough folks for far too long.

But, the things that BigMo didn’t, has not, talked about are beginning to get worrisome. For instance, Mr. Modi has not made any mention of the role of particularized morality in governance. He has not categorically stated, (as he has on corruption, et.al), that religiosity is a private matter and has no place in public administration. He has not had a quiet word with the young lions in his government A result of that is, revisionist governors of dubious intellect and incomplete information are able to thump legislative tables and demand restrictions on swim-wear. Others, in the mode of Sarah Palin, and irrespective of party affiliation, feel free to blame cell phones for rape and demand legislation to curb access and use. Still others, party loyalists and fellow travelers, are emboldened into pouring vituperation and bile on bloggers who wonder about clay, feet, and idols. Across the nation religion and religious teachings are becoming the reason (hah) and the rhyme of rules and ordinances; almost as if the whole saffron clad lot of them stride the halls of power proclaiming, “He didn’t say we couldn’t, so we’re gonna, neener, neener, neener.”

Mr. Modi, sir, wonder if I could ask to have a word with those folks when you get back from Brazil. Or, at the very least, give your very able lieutenants the okay to talk some sense into the right wing of your party. After all, I have heard you say, the welfare of all the people is your concern in your new hand at the till speech. I’m not sure your myrmidons heard you. I am also assuming that your silence on stifling the voices of dissent is an over sight and not tacit approval.

rough shod robber-barons

I wonder if there is something inherent in the democratic process that insists that the society go through a robber-baron phase. 

The headlines about politicians, their kin, their dog-walkers, running rough shod over constitutionally guaranteed rights and constitutionally mandated responsibilities, remind me of the US headlines of the early 20th century, or even earlier actually. Wealth, usually accrued by less than legal, or even moral, means, brought with it proximity to the servants of the People. A negligible investment of money here, a touch of muscle there, and next thing the robber barons were the political leaders, with red, white, and blue bathis on cars that they lent to their kin, and occasionally the dog-walker. Post WW2 there was a cleansing of the system by men, and women, of goodwill, sustained by the anger of an increasingly better informed middle class who started demanding better of their representatives, and, in the main, getting it. Social consciousness, rights and their counter balance, responsibilities, dignity and respect for the human condition, became necessary attributes for any political aspirant to have. Watch was kept on them and they were made accountable for not only their own actions but also that of the dog walker in their employ. [I hasten to add that I do not believe that the system remained clean. The Religious Right Posse, unleashed by Ronnie and his Merry Men took care of that little hitch in the get-a-long of the Oligarch’s march; although, I must also add that there is a valiant, and with any luck, ultimately successful, opposition.] It took that democracy, made up of good-hearted and generous mang…uh, apple-pie folks pretty close to 150 years to get to a place that could control the Powerful. Perhaps because there is just so damn much unbounded real estate there. NIMBY simply meant that you hitched up the wagon and moved further into the big empty. Not so easy to do on real estate that is 1/3rd the size with 3 times the population.

And yet, in only 60, quite odd, years, and in many ways, India is far ahead in this, ‘We the People’, inclusion, tolerance, social consciousness business. Women have been, officially at least, been enfranchised right from the get go. Minorities, again on paper, have never been considered as 2/3rds of a human being. The separation of church and state is a constitutional mandate, without the intervention of a Supreme Court, all very laudable and praiseworthy. 

And then, we go ahead and make a virtue out of worshipping power.

Power is seen as a divine gift to the worthy, to use as they see fit.. We insist, while currying favor, on touching the feet of the Powerful, practically inviting a kick in the face. We are quick to call sportsmen god and build houses of worship to them. The term ‘god-men’ is not heard for the oxymoron that it is. Worship ought not to be equated with respect, and yet, that is what we do, publicly, with garlands of money. Quite disgusting, that is. 

Worship, ought to be a private act. Displays of power need to be exposed as the bad manners that they are. Acquiring a barony by robbing the commoner leads to Robin Hoods and Robin Hoods eventually lead to naxalism. Flaunting power and position by barons and their myrmidons disrespects and dispossess the rights of us mango folk. Quite often, too often, those rights are the only possession we have. Respect the position, by all means, but do not equate respect and worship. India needs to let her political satraps know that they will be held accountable for word and deed. They must be assured that misuse of their powers will have consequences. They must be held responsible for the actions of the misbehavior of their sons and sycophants. Courtesy needs to be incorporated into their Official oaths permitted.

I also believe in the Easter bunny, tooth fairy, and that the earth is flat.

dogs and governance

The things my dogs have taught me about governance, of self, if nothing else.

1. The importance of a common language. -- I think I can safely say that neither my dogs nor I were born speaking each other’s language. But we did communicate with each other, effectively. There was no doubt in my mind that my dogs were pleased at my return from an absence. The younger, more energetic ones had to be acculturated into curbing their enthusiasm; all wagging hind quarters, face rubs, soft excited yips, exhibited with due regard for my home-coming rituals. My vocalizations in human, they heard in dog; the vocalizations, no doubt, a not always melodic sound-track to my body language. To underline the obvious, dogs use their bodies to communicate, a lot, like a lot, lot. I’m reasonably certain that my grammar, intonation, pronunciation and syntax, in dog were not up to their standards. I’m absolutely certain that they, the dogs, made allowances and met me half way; allowing me to put down the milk, loosen collars, belts and the constraints of public behavior. The older, more secure ones, more relieved than pleased, communicated their satisfaction in less energy intensive ways, they settled more comfortably into their naps. No raised voices. No threats of violence. No personal spaces invaded, inadvertently or otherwise. Boundaries respected, gracefully. Governments, social groups, Religions, hell, couples and parents, need to learn from that.

2. Love is not unconditional, (neither is hate, actually, now that I think about it) – In fact, it is a motivator for conditions. My dogs loved me because I provided them with security, sustenance, and leadership in a clement atmosphere. In return, they used their abilities to protect my sleep, be my early warning system and provide me a furry scruff of the neck to bury my face in when necessary. In short, conditions. Value given for value received. No hidden charges and all cost over-runs subject to discussion and compromise. No pooping or peeing in the house and in return I forgive, and clean up, the occasional ill considered, indigestible, snack, yellow-green slime and all, without recrimination, some grumbling allowed. 

3. Rules and structure are necessary for social amity. – Otherwise you have dogs who have not earned the right hogging the most comfortable place in front of the TV, dogs using might to grab the meatiest bone, dogs cutting willy-nilly into the ear-scratch rotation. All of which can lead to resentment and social unrest, which when combined with powerful, crushing jaws and teeth, can get very messy indeed. This was not easy for an anarchist hippy to learn. But then political entities are not, by definition, anarchists, are they? So it ought to be relatively easier for Them.

mp junkets

To the kind attention of our MPs, MLAs, City Corporators, Mayors, Bureaucracy Big Bosses, and other such Seekers of Substance and Knowledge at the exchequer’s expense.

Actually, I need to digress for a bit. That kind attention business (pro forma, I’m given to understand, in all Official communications) is getting on my nerves. It sounds too much like a supplication; more in line with an Animal Farm, some-are-more-equal-than-others, type of democracy. Power is not doing me any favors when it pays attention to my concerns. It’s your job, you  Khas Admi *&^%(^. There is no kindness necessary. We the taxpayers, the Aam Admi, have the right to your full-time attention without having to wait till you have a moment in which to cast a kindly thought our way. We pay you salaries (handsome) which include allowances (Official and otherwise) for which we expect your attention, kind or otherwise.

There, feeling much better now, thank you for asking.

Attention: MPs, MLAs, City Corporators, Mayors, Bureaucracy Big Bosses, and other such Seekers of Substance and Knowledge at the exchequer’s expense. Here’s an idea. Instead of you folks wandering, at 5-Star expense, to far way, and quite incidentally, (I’m sure), salubrious locales, in search of solutions to India’s infrastructural needs, why not bring the managers of those salubrious locales here, to India. I mean, if San Francisco, is managing its waste disposal in a manner that has caught your attention and you think that your constituents can benefit from that expertise, why not invite the manager of that waste disposal system to come to India for a couple of weeks. That way he/she can assess the circumstances live and in color (and, it must be said, odor). That way he/she could see if the methods used to deal with trash in SF, a city with access to vast empty spaces and good roads on which to get to them, could be re-jiggered to accommodate India’s rather more cramped conditions. Surely that would be more efficient than relying on you half hour breakfast meeting with the aide to the mayor if San Francisco. You could, pay an honorarium, to the visiting bureaucrat [n.b. lower case), put her/him in a decent, oh hell, luxurious, paying guest accommodation, provide a driver and an amanuensis, let him/her mingle with us mango folk, learn what can be learned real-time and at the end of his/her sojourn, get a report that you can then submit to your colleagues. I’m sure your colleagues will appreciate the coherence and relevance of that submission, as opposed to the google-search, copy and paste reports you’d be submitting when you return from your, no doubt too exhausting for c&r, junkets. Read the report, or, at least, have it read to you what with you being khas and all and you may actually be able to fulfill your duty to your constituents.

I’m betting that would cost the exchequer far, far less than the cost of hauling your butts and betas around the world.

Kind attention, indeed.

I think about how much the BJP-RSS folks  remind me of the way that the Cheney-Rove-Fundamentalist  Posse worked their mojo, to such self serving, not to mention profitable, results, during the reign of George the Dubya, and I despair.  Then I remember that the CRF Crew didn't get it right the first time. Ronnie, and to a lesser degree George the First, played footsie with the religious right, but never really let them get to second base. A little tonsil hockey from time to time, sure, but nothing beyond that. That brings a modicum of hope. Here's hoping that Mr. Modi continues to walk the talk. Actually I hope he flies the talk  and at a pace that reminds the wings, left and right, that it is the brain that controls the whole staying aloft thing  

Not the only national language

The Union Home Ministry’s directive to give priority to Hindi in social media and official communications has mala fide intentions. The eighth schedule to the Constitution recognises 22 languages. Giving priority to Hindi is tantamount to undermining the regional languages, including the four rich southern classical languages. In 1965, when the Lal Bahadur Shastri government declared Hindi as the official language, it led to massive anti-Hindi agitations and riots in Tamil Nadu and the eastern states, forcing the centre to accept Hindi and English as official languages for purpose of communication.  The three-language formula adopted in the 1950s was not honoured, resulting in most of the states opting for regional languages as the medium of instruction in schools and colleges, neglecting Hindi and English. This has done irreparable damage to the vernacular medium students in the employment market. Now the Hindi-speaking people want to impose Hindi on the rest of India, because they do not want to learn English. This is strange, considering the fact that English is lingua franca at the international level and the social networking media. The realisation of the importance of English has made the French and the Chinese governments to promote English in a big way.  And we in India want to reduce its importance. In the name of national language, the centre is dividing the people into pro-Hindi and anti-Hindi groups – the north vs south. What is the rationale in having Hindi as the official language, when we are a multi-linguistic country with so many languages and hundreds of dialects? Let the Modi government concentrate on economic growth and development, as promised during the elections, instead.

G Ramachandram

I found this in the letters section of the freepressjournal.in.

well said, G. Ramachandran.Egos and emotions are getting in the way of an efficient tool which facilitates communication. Communication brings about consensus and with it the greater good.

It seems to me that a language that is enforced is no longer serving its function of communicating, except within the boundaries of its closed society. India is an integral part of a network of societies and cultures that are increasingly using english to communicate with each other. BJP and BigMo, you ought not to worry. You have folks who can make english dance to the tune they are calling. Presumably You, BigMo, and you, BJP, are  the ones writing the music, in whichever language you choose. But, if need the rest of us to understand you, english seems like the low-impact choice

just sayin'

There
is an internet accessible video clip of an enraged bull leaping the fence of his
enclosure and landing among those gathered to watch that bull being taunted and
eventually killed by a costumed bull fighter.

An
understandable, but not a fully thought out reaction, that.

One
can sympathize with a life force that decides that it is not going to take it
anymore; that it was time that he, the bull, did something to rid himself of
the circumstances that had him in the middle of a ring being poked, prodded and
other wise annoyed by folks in elaborate costumes. Aside from the physical
discomfort, all that poking was distracting him, the bull, from his task of
teaching some manners to the foppishly dressed young person waving a cape and
taunting him. Stopping to catch his breath, he, the bull, probably noticed that
his armed antagonist, the fop, was being encouraged by whole bunches of
two-legs gathered behind the safety of a barrier. Insult upon injury. Direct
action must have seemed like a good idea, at the time. He, the bull, with a
prodigious effort, cleared the barrier and landed, all two tons of enraged bull
flesh, on the risers where bull fighting aficionados had gathered and were now
departing, as rapidly as they could; which was rapid indeed, two-legs negotiating
the stepped amphitheatre with efficiency and ease.

Not
so much for the bull.

He,
poor frustrated fellow, found the height and width of the risers ill-suited for
four-legs, no matter how enraged, leaving him, flanks heaving, a stationary
threat.

The
crowd, having retreated to a safe perimeter, watched his frustration with
arrogant mockery.

I
don’t know how it all ended, ‘cuz I stopped watching. I’m hoping he was
humanely captured and then retired to stud.

Maybe
it is my purple-hazed perceptions, but, the whole thing reminded me of Mr.
Kejriwal’s foray into politics and governance. 

I’m not going to presume to tell Mr. Modi how to do his job, especially given the alacrity and efficiency with which he seems to have woken the upper echelons of bureaucracy from their sinecure siestas.

But...

I’m sort of wondering why Big Mo hasn’t had a word with the Appropriate Authorities about the egregious use, by leaders – read, demagogues – of organizations that voice their opinions violently. If hurting the sentiments of those groups can be grounds for authority abetted censorship, then surely those same hurt sentiments can be prosecuted for exhibiting their anguish by murder most foul.

Why, I’m wondering, is Mr. Modi remaining so deafeningly silent on the current spate of Religious Arrogance initiated crimes?

And I just read a report on the fear in Pune’s minority community. Surely, it is worthy of Prime Ministerial mention when a section of his constituency are afraid to wear the symbols of their faith. Maybe he will get the message if we, the majority religion, follow the lead of the Danes in WW2, when the entire population, of whatever faith, wore the Nazi mandated yellow star that marked those of the Jewish faith. It may be instructive to not that the King of Denmark started the movement. Oh, wait, I’m forgetting Mr. Modi’s aversion to skull caps.

Never mind. 

 

It gets unnerving, sometimes being a returned son of the soil, rss, lower case. All that native blood (nb) and genetic coding(gc) having to contend with elsewhere grown, age-ed, flesh, sensibility, and muscle memory. Quite exhausting.

Take this business  Of Rajya Sabha and its composition. 

Okay, I can, if I use slightly skewed tools, draw parallels between the RS and the US Senate but India's way of getting bums on lordly seats seems silly, to my admittedly small understanding. I mean, moving superannuated luminaries to party strong holds at party convenience, hmmm. Now I'm not saying that US senate is not Ruling Party heavy but the best a senate aspirant can hope for is Party-in-power BigButt - PBB  (hey-we're talking about the US here - #1 on the World's Fattest Nation list, ok? Although it might be instructive to note that India is #3 on that list, just behind - heh-heh - China. - just sayin') anyway, back to BigButts, all the aspirant can expect is for PBB to show up at election time and say nice things To represent a district the aspirant has to be actually known to the local political structure and money, it must be said. Not just be awed into acquiescence by the Prime Minster and his/her myrmidons. Anent which, that title itself, Prime Minister to which Higher Power? Smacks of Royalism, and ministerial obsequies, to my 'We, the People Sensibility'.

Phew, that feels much better.

Thanks for letting me vent.

Let's Make India A Better Place - Police and Judicial Reforms - Community - Google+

Let's Make India A Better Place - Police and Judicial Reforms - Community - Google+:



'via Blog this'

This has been an itch in my brain for a while now and i guess this is as good a place as any to scratch that itch.  Here goes.
I’m thinking that India will be a much better place if we stop referring to the police forces as law enforcement agencies. The police, a peace keeping force, cannot be enforcers of the law in a system that presumes innocence and places the burden of proof of guilt on the State. The sole function of a policing agency is to take the ACCUSED breakers of the Peace to a place of Judgment. Law enforcement happens only after that judgment. Enforcement of any Law needs the imprimatur of a Reasoned Judgment. Anything other sounds, and is, like jackboots and armored fists on village doors.
Neuro-linguistic programming is a thing. Look it up if you want to. Telling a child something is hard rather than difficult, has a cognitive affect on maturation. Telling a peace keeper that he is an enforcer leads to the Napoleonic Code with its concomitant shift in the burden of proof. Vide: Iran, any number of African ‘Governments', and increasingly, the 'United' States of America.

Google News

Invoking god during election amounts to
cheapening divinity – read the headline, encapsulating the opinion of the
Honorable Justice Rajinder Sachar. Sadly, for India, the good
Justice is retired and his opinion is just that, lower case, and does not carry
the weight of an Opinion from the bench. From the Delhi High Court, his
erstwhile Office, that Opinion would have brought a much needed breath of cool
rationality into the present hormone driven teenage phase of the maturing
Indian Democracy.

 Bummer.

‘Cuz, you speak truth, Mr. Justice; if not
the whole truth.

The whole truth is that relig… I beg your
pardon, Religion cheapens divinity. That which started out as philosophy, with
its questions, curiosities, and conundrums, seems to have devolved into
rigidities. Hindutva, defined as the practice of the Hindu Way, a super
highway, lane markings, toll booths, speed traps, and exit signs into perfidy
and retribution included, has taken the place of hindutva, a far less insistent
passage from here to There. Or, so it seems to me. That upper case demand for respect
seems so at odds with the hinduism 
taught to me by my very Tulu, very hindu, grandmother. She wouldn’t eat
beef but she had no problems with a grandson who did. She’d shudder at the
thought of banning anyone, of any faith, or no faith, from entering a temple.
She’d be incensed to hear of Hindu Temples that bar the entry of non-Hindus. Most
certainly she’d not countenance the tearing down of a Mosque.  Her hinduism, her hindutva, was a meandering,
stop -and - smell - the - flowers; eschew ritual in prayer, path through the
spiritual life. The gods she worsh… respected, were the ones who didn’t mind a
question or two about dicta and their interpretations, an altogether amiable,
if argumentative, sort of relationship. My way, her hindutva said, or, your own
way. She would not take it upon herself to find fault with a way other her own,
whatever her thoughts might be. Pitfalls will be found and dealt with, or not,
she might have said, had she spoken english.

I should probably add that I use Hindutva v
hindutva merely as illustration. Okay and also because I sense the stench of
Religion rising from the body politic, here in India, a nation in which there
are those who have made names for themselves proclaiming the Right of Way based
on numbers of Hindus in Hindustan. Not unlike the system in Pakistan, Sri
Lanka, Iran, Israel, and the United States. [What? You don’t think Big Money is
a Religion? Check out Bechtel’s head quarter building while browsing photos of
Winchester Cathedral, Tirumala Temple, et al. Interesting architecture, no?

You know what? – Toad asked, expectantly.

I’m afraid to ask – said Mrs. Toad, hopelessly.

Nevertheless, USians – boy, pronounce that as a word and all sorts of national characteristics start popping up, don’t they? – anyway,  USians may have a point when aspirants for public office have to open their books, all of them, to public scrutiny. That means we of the inquiring minds get to know, legally, if wives, extra or impaired, are tucked away, children have gotten tattoos and piercings, whether pets ride on top of the SUV, or if First Ladies have substance abuse problems; all this notwithstanding the privacy protection constitutional enshrinements – said Toad, trampling hope.

And what would the relevance of any of that be, especially in Indian Politics? – Mrs. T asked before she could stop herself, her need for relevance, once again, trapping her – Not to mention the Right to Privacy issues – she continued, her tongue betraying her will.

Toad’s joy was palpable. Mrs. Toad tucked her hands into the folds of her pallu. She watched as his pontification glands expand. Rapid response was, she realized, the order of the day.  Toad – she said, raising an admonitory finger – before you start, why don’t we wait and see what how the e-universe responds to your assertion, ok?

Urk – said Toad.