The Great Game - A thought provoking Painting by Liu Yi.

Beijing 2008

Found this article floating around on Facebook and thought it was quite provocative and intriguing. In a way the Great Game is being played more dangerously than we have ever thought. My Personal Opinion - Japan is not as "oblivious" or "lost" as it depicts. In fact it is Japan that can have quite a significant bearing on this game if and when it decides to look up. Also, not seen in the painting but lurking nearby is the unknown player called India which doesn't understand the mahjong game but is now starting to slowly learn it.

Amazing thought-provoking painting "Beijing 2008" by Chinese-Canadian artist Liu Yi.

The woman with the tattoos on her back is China. On the left, focused intensely on the game, is Japan. The one with the shirt and head cocked to the side is America. Lying provocatively on the floor is Russia. And the little girl standing to the side is Taiwan.

This painting, named “Beijing 2008”, has been the subject of much discussion in the west as well as on the internet. What’s interesting is that this painting is called “Beijing 2008”, yet it depicts four women playing mahjong, and conceals a wealth of meaning within…

China’s visible set of tiles “East Wind” has a dual meaning. First, it signifies China’s revival as a world power. Second, it signifies the military might and weaponry that China possesses has already been placed on the table. On one hand, China appears to be in a good position, but we cannot see the rest of her hand. Additionally, she is also handling some hidden tiles below the table.

America looks confident, but is glancing at Taiwan, trying to read something off of Taiwan’s expression, and at the same time seems to be hinting something at Taiwan.

Russia appears to be disinterested in the game, but this is far from the truth. One foot hooks coyly at America, while her hand passes a hidden tile to China, both countries can be said to be exchanging benefits in secret. Japan is all seriousness while staring at her own set of tiles, and is oblivious to the actions of the others in her self-focused state.

Taiwan wears a traditional red slip, symbolizing that she is the true heir of Chinese culture and civilization. In one hand she has a bowl of fruit, and in the other, a paring knife. Her expression as she stares at China is full of anger, sadness, and hatred, but to no avail; unless she enters the game, no matter who ends up as the victor, she is doomed to a fate of serving fruit.

Outside the riverbank is darkened by storm clouds, suggesting the high tension between the two nations is dangerously explosive. The painting hanging on the wall is also very meaningful; Mao’s face, but with Chiang Kai Shek’s bald head, and Sun Yat-Sen’s mustache.

The four women’s state of undress represent the situation in each country. China is naked on top, clothed with a skirt and underwear on the bottom. America wears a bra and a light jacket, but is naked on the bottom. Russia has only her underwear left. Japan has nothing left.

At first glance, America appears to be most composed and seems to be the best position, as all the others are in various states of nakedness. However, while America may look radiant, her vulnerability has already been exposed. China and Russia may look naked, yet their key private parts remain hidden.

If the stakes of this game is that the loser strips off a piece of clothing, then if China loses, she will be in the same state as Russia (similar to when the USSR dissolved). If America loses, she also ends up in the same state as Russia. If Russia loses, she loses all. Japan has already lost everything.

Russia seems to be a mere “filler” player, but in fact is exchanging tiles with China. The real “filler” player is Japan, for Japan has nothing more to lose, and if she loses just once more she is immediately out of the game. 

America may look like she is in the best position, but in fact is in a lot of danger, if she loses this round, she will give up her position as a world power. Russia is the most sinister, playing along with both sides, much like when China was de-occupied, she leaned towards the USSR and then towards America; as she did not have the ability to survive on her own, she had to weave between both sides in order to survive and develop.

There are too many of China’s tiles that we cannot see. Perhaps suggesting that China has several hidden aces? Additionally China is also exchanging tiles with Russia, while America can only guess from Taiwan’s expression of what actions have transpired between Russia and China. Japan on the other hand is completely oblivious, still focused solely on her own set of tiles.

Taiwan stares coldly at the game from aside. She sees everything that the players at the table are doing, she understands everything that is going on. But she doesn’t have the means or permission to join the game, she isn’t even given the right to speak. Even if she has a dearth of complaints, she cannot voice it to anyone, all she can do is to be a good page girl, and bring fresh fruit to the victor. 

The final victor lies between China and America, this much is apparent. But look closely; while America is capable, they are playing Chinese Mahjong, not Western Poker. Playing by the rules of China, how much chance at victory does America really have?...

The life of Annapurna Devi - The stuff of Legends

Posting below an article from the Indian Express by Suanshu Khurana called 'Notes from behind a locked door' about the forgotten by most but a legend among the musically literate - Annapurna Devi; unfortunately always known by most as the ex-wife of Pandit Ravi Shankar and not as a musical legend in her own right when she definitely is one.

I am putting this story here for myself more than others to remind me of this lady and her simplicity and musical genius.

Read on for the story (Link):


------ A gifted musician who chose obscurity. A recluse in her Mumbai apartment for 50 years. That’s Annapurna Devi, Ravi Shankar’s first wife, Anoushka Shankar’s and Norah Jones’s stepmother, and she has an extraordinary story to tell. Only, she wouldn’t meet a reporter, or anyone, and she wouldn’t take a phone call.
So Suanshu Khurana wrote her a long letter, and Annapurna Devi wrote back, on her life, on her husband and on why she never believed in recording her music.
There, on the sixth floor of that tall building on Warden Road, south Mumbai, is where she lives. Some say she is a musician, though neighbours cannot be sure. They have hardly seen her. The stillness around her apartment stirs only at night, when a hand plucks notes from a deep-throated sitar. A board nailed to the door is the only allowance to the world outside and it declines all intrusion: ‘The door will not be opened on Mondays and Fridays. Please ring the bell only thrice. If no one opens, please leave your name and address. Thank you.
Inconvenience is regretted’.
Only a few come this far, dogged music lovers who heard, on a cold winter morning, a scratched record of Annapurna Devi playing Raga Kaushiki and could never forget. Those who heard spoken in hushed awe, at baithaks and mehfils, the legend of the only surbahar player in the world, and were moved to seek an audience. Daughter and disciple of the musical genius who founded the Maihar gharana, Ustad Alauddin Khan; sister of sarod maestro Ustad Ali Akbar Khan; the first wife of Pandit Ravi Shankar; and a musician whose mastery over a little-known, demanding instrument is the stuff of lore.
This is the closest one can get to her. Over half a century ago, Annapurna Devi shuttered her music in silence, refusing all recordings, all concerts. Nothing has been important enough to draw her out. Not the Padma Bhushan, awarded to her in 1977, which had to be delivered to her home. Not offers of recordings or concerts. Not the overtures from the best musicians. In an age of manic self-advertisement, she achieved the unthinkable—freed herself of the need for an audience.
So when I write to her, requesting a meeting, I am trying for the impossible. There is no e-mail address, no fax number where I can reach her. Apt, I think, as I walk to the post office, a hand-written letter clutched in my hand — here it is, for what it is worth, my message to an artist lost to the world, through the lost medium of letters. My only hope is Sahana Gupta, her grand-niece, with whom I have been in touch with for the past year now.
Three weeks later, a letter arrives, written by a Rajan Vathiyath, with a message: ‘She is an extremely private person and doesn’t do any personal interviews. Since you have come through Ms Gupta, she will answer your questions if you write to her.’
Suddenly, there is a crack in the door.
I write back, with a set of questions and wait for her reply. A month and a half passes before a yellow envelope lands at my address. Inside is a six-page long, double spaced, neatly typed response, on a letterhead that reads ‘Padmabhushan Dr Annapurna Devi’. The black letters seem impersonal, holding back even the traces of her handwriting. “I do really live in my flat 365 days a year and I do have instructions on my door requesting people not to disturb me. However, within my flat, I do live a very normal life. I only go out when I require some medical care like eye check-ups, dental treatments etc,” she writes.
The sentences are short, the idiom unadorned, but the effect is powerful—like the inward, brooding notes of the surbahar—especially when she talks of her father, Ustad Alauddin Khan. ‘Baba’ towers over all the stories she tells of her life and of Maihar, a small town near Jabalpur, home to her childhood and rigorous schooling in music. “I always remember Baba with respect, awe and love. I had shraddha in him from my very childhood..He used to say that every note you play should touch one’s soul. I practice what he taught me as a form of meditation or prayer,” she writes.
There she is, a ten-year-old, drawn inexorably to the tanpura that her father kept away from her. Khan had seen what bitterness it brought for his elder daughter Jahanara, whose in-laws refused to let her sing. “He was in a dilemma whether to teach me or not. But I used to listen to and remember what he taught Dada (Ustad Ali Akbar Khan). One day when Baba went to the market, Dada was practising his lessons on the sarod. Dada suddenly made a mistake and I started correcting him. I was so involved that I did not notice that Baba had returned. And then suddenly I became aware of his presence—he was standing right behind me. I was scared,” she writes. “But instead of scolding me, Baba called me to his room and gave me a tanpura. This was the beginning of my taleem.”
Khan was “exacting, a purist and a perfectionist”, more guru than doting father, famous for a fierce and unpredictable temper. “While I was a student, I never dared ask Baba what his favourite ragas were, nor did he ever speak about his performances. All my time was spent in learning and practising,” she writes. “He encouraged his students to imbue the music with their own feelings. That is why the same phrase played by Dada and Pandit Ravi Shankar would sound different.”
She began by learning the sitar but her father had chosen a different path for her—one that was strikingly opposite to the trajectory of his other famous student, Ravi Shankar. He asked Annapurna to play the surbahar or the bass sitar, a pensive, more meditative version of the sitar. “He told me, ‘I feel that you can preserve my guru’s gift because you love music. However, you will have to give up playing the sitar, an instrument liked by connoisseurs as well as the commoners. The surbahar on the other hand will be appreciated only by discerning listeners who understand the depth of music. The commoners might throw tomatoes at you. So what is your decision?’ I was dumbfounded,” she writes. She assented, of course. “And now, whenever I play the instrument I experience a feeling of surrender, compassion and peace,” she writes.
Only four years of taleem and Annapurna blossomed as a performer. Around that time, dancer Uday Shankar proposed marriage between younger brother Ravi and Annapurna. She was only 15. Shankar was 21. But Khan agreed to the match with his much-loved student, despite that it would be a Hindu-Muslim marriage, a rarity in those days. “Baba was deeply religious but ecumenical in spirit. He worshipped Sharda Ma and also read his namaz five times a day. He was the most secular individual I have known. I did not become Annapurna after marriage. I was born on Chaiti Purnima (a full moon day) and the Maharaja of Maihar, Brijnath Singh, named me Annapurna,” she writes. Her Muslim name was Roshanara.
A son was born to Shankar and Annapurna soon after their marriage in 1942. But the relationship was not meant to survive. She was the introverted traditionalist keeping her father’s austere legacy alive, who spurned concerts and recordings, indeed all audience. The one recording that exists of her playing Raag Maand Khamaj was “surreptitiously made”, she tells us. He revelled in the showmanship of modern performance, bending rules to making his music more audience-friendly, and would go on to become an international superstar. She doesn’t dwell on their troubled marriage in this letter, except to say she is not in touch with ‘Panditji’ or his daughters—Anoushka Shankar and Norah Jones. Two words dismiss questions of their differences: ‘No comment’.
But in an answer to another question, she seems to sum up the difference between the two. “Emotional and aesthetic expression have more to do with the artiste’s personality. An introspective artiste might go for sur and alaap while an extrovert might opt for leyakari,” she writes.
More than musical styles came between Ravi Shankar and his wife. There were his rumoured dalliances. Two years after their marriage, he was drawn to his brother’s sister-in-law Kamala. Shankar and Annapurna had just moved to Mumbai when the affair blossomed. An enraged Annapurna returned to Maihar with her son. In Ravi Shankar: An Autobiography, Shankar wrote, “This was first time in my marriage that I had become deeply attracted to somebody else. Annapurna doubted me with everyone anyway. So it was nothing new for her to doubt me with Kamala—only this time it was true. I was not in a state to think reasonably. Perhaps the moment reason set in, love frayed at the edges. She is so gifted! But she has a tremendous temper. Like her father. And at that time even I was very ill-tempered. So we both would flare up together….”
Annapurna eventually returned to her husband in Mumbai but the following years were equally turbulent. “By 1956, there were many problems in our marriage and in January there was a serious breakdown,” writes Shankar. They divorced in 1962, when Annapurna retreated into her Mumbai flat to teach a handful of students. “Baba had told me, that if ever the need arose, I would be able to earn my living through music and be economically independent,” she writes.
Barring a few performances with Panditji, she refused to play for the public or record her music. Only a couple of grainy videos of her performing float around on YouTube. There are a handful of rare recordings with a few collectors. “Personally I did not enjoy performing... For me music has always been my offering to God. I never felt comfortable recording it,” she says.
Like her father, it’s as a guru that she identifies herself now—among her famous students are Pandit Hariprasad Chaurasia and Nikhil Banerjee. “I don’t feel I have deprived people of my music since I freely taught whatever I learnt from Baba to my disciples,” she writes. She teaches her small class the sitar, the flute, the sarod and vocal music though not the surbahar— they are not even manufactured anymore.
Legend has it that she teaches only after midnight and her sessions last till dawn. Sarod player Pradeep Kumar Barot, 57, who has been learning from her for the past 35 years, says, “I consider myself blessed. There are not many who get to have Ma as their guru. In spite of being such a great musician, she is so simple and warm.” To her grand-niece Sahana, she is an “extremely warm” person who “loves spending time with my kids”. To students like Barot, she is a demanding teacher, who on rare occasions “makes Bengali-style fish curry” for them.
In 1982, she married her student Rooshi Kumar Pandya, 13 years younger than her. “Pandya ji has been taking care of me since our marriage. I am alive and able to teach because of him all these years. I don’t think I would have lived this long without his care,” she writes.
Pandya, who has helped much of this interview take place, tells us of their relationship. “I met her in 1974,” he says. “I was learning from Ali Akbar Khan sahab in the US but then I had to shift to India because of work. So to make sure that I continued my taleem, he told me to learn from his sister.” He came to Mumbai and learnt music from her for almost eight years before asking her to marry him. “When I thought of asking her to marry me, I did feel a little anxious. But we both were single. I knew that the risk was that she will not teach me again. When I asked her, she said that she has been hurt before and it is a difficult decision for her. But she agreed after four days,” says Pandya. She is still a guru to him, he adds.
In 1992, her son from her first marriage, Shubhendra, a sitar player who performed often with Pandit Ravi Shankar, died of intestinal problems in the US with none of his parents by his side. “Shubho’s death was a great shock to me and I think it could have been prevented,” she writes. Shubhendra’s children Som and Kaveri Shankar who are now settled with their mother in the US also visit her sometimes. “Shubho’s daughter Kaveri is a Bharatnatayam dancer. She came and stayed with me for a few days and we immensely enjoyed each other’s company,” she writes.
To my question if she would like to perform ever again, she says a firm no. Could I meet her once, not as a journalist but as a musician? “Please forgive me but I don’t think so since I don’t meet anybody.”
This is Annapurna Devi then, a spare life, pared of people and distractions, immersed in her Baba’s learning. “I am at peace when I am teaching a few of my students or when I am practicing or feeding pigeons,” she writes.
That’s the image I’d like to depart with, the artist of a forgotten world, who lives in the shadows, but imperiously, on her own terms. But of this I am sure, come midnight, she will make her surbahar weep, for the gods she left behind in Maihar.--------

Links to some of her Music: Annapurna Devi Music on Parrikar.Org 

Life & Death

Death asked Life: "Why does everyone love you and hate me"

Life Replied: "Because I am a beautiful Lie and you are a painful Truth"

Memoirs of a Hindu Girl in Pakistan (from Dawn.Com)

A very lovely and heartrending article from an unlikely (from my Indian coloured perspective sadly...) though definitely a refreshing source - Faiza Mirza on Dawn.Com - regarding the plight of a Hindu Woman in Pakistan. You can find this article and her other pieces here: http://dawn.com/author/faizamirza/



Memoirs of a Hindu Girl:

I grew up in fear – every face around me depicted nothing but fear. I am sure that the first expression on my parent’s face on my birth as a female child born to Hindu parents living in Kandhkot would have been that of fear also. Why did I bring so much fear into the lives of my parents? I grew up always wondering what is it about me that continues to terrify. But I always drew a blank. How naïve I was.

Before I knew it, the time to attend school had arrived. School was comfortable; however, there were times when I felt like an outsider, finding it difficult to gel in with rest of the majority. Perhaps the snide remarks and incidents of discrimination led me to believe that I am not one of ‘them’. Of those incidents, I still vividly remember no one eating with me and refusing to sip from the cup I drank from.

Home wasn’t very different either. My mother asked questions about my life at school and otherwise looking for answers that would somehow relinquish her from the unknown fear. Afraid to disappoint her, I realised very early in my life that my mother could not be my confidant.

Growing up was not easy.

And then it happened. The fears of my mother and many Hindu mothers like her materialised. I went out to one of the largest markets of Kandhkot and was abducted by a man I knew very well. He was none other than the guard who was responsible for safeguarding our temples.

Knowing his face well prompted me to sit with him in his car without protest, however, instead of taking me to my house he turned to an alley that I wasn’t too familiar with. Scared and unsure about what lay ahead I started screaming just to hear my abductor scream louder and threaten me. Astonished and unable to comprehend the gravity of the situation I sat still until it was time to step out of the car to a small house which looked abandoned.

We entered the house to find a large room devoid of any furniture and other bearings except for a carpet that covered the floor. I was made to sit down on the floor.

Uncertain about what was going to happen to me; my mind raced with thoughts of the recent news of the abductions and forced conversions of Hindu girls. I sat there shuddering. The realisation struck me and I could see my entire life in front of me in kaleidoscope. My mother’s fears, my father’s warnings, the alienation I felt, the yearning to be a part of the circle of friends, the search for a confidant, a friend.

My worst fears were reaffirmed when a man wearing a turban entered the room to teach me about a religion which I grew up hearing about, however, felt no urge to practise or embrace. He kept sermonising me for hours but was unable to get me to listen to him, realising that he left asking me to ponder about the true religion.

His departure did not ignite any fire for eternal glory inside me but only made me wonder why did my parents not relocate to another country when they had the chance to do so? Why did they continue to live in fear waiting for the inevitable to happen instead of making a move to safer pastures? And, what made me think that I am any different from countless girls who are forced to change their faith?

Each passing day appeared to be more and more surreal. The ritual of preaching continued for days, I lost track. Eventually, when preaching did not do the trick, my abductor threatened me.

The routine ranging from threats to persuasion and from glorifying the paradise to the wrath of God for non-believers only made me wonder: Do we not all pray to the same God — a God who is manifested in nature, colours, happiness and love? Why would he punish me for being a Hindu?

Somewhere along this relentless persuasion, came that horrifying threat of harming my family – I gave in. My approval followed a small ceremony in which I was forced to embrace Islam and later married off to the man who will always be remembered as the ‘messiah’ who for saved me from the unknown territory of sin and infidelity I was treading on.

After the ceremony, instead of receiving blessings for a happy and prosperous life ahead, I was immediately escorted to a local court where a Muslim magistrate declared my conversion and marriage in accordance with the law.

The news of my conversion and marriage to a Muslim man spread like wildfire. I dreaded the moment of meeting my parents. I never wanted to see pain and agony on their faces let alone be the reason for all their grief. Sure enough, one look at my mother made me yearn for my own death.

I wanted to tell her that I love her and that her safety was all I had in mind when I converted. I wanted to tell my father to keep my sisters safe. I wanted to tell my brothers to leave the country whilst they still could. I wanted to say much more but their silent pain and suffering made me wish if only I wasn’t born a girl, if only I wasn’t born in Pakistan, if only I had the right to be myself and practise my faith without being herded into a religion that I failed to comprehend, if only I could make them all understand that there is just one God for all, if only I could give us all an identity that we rightly deserve.

Looking at all the faces that once seemed familiar; I wondered: who am I?

I am one but share the pain of many. I am Rachna Kumari, Rinkle Kumari, Manisha Kumari and the many more Hindu girls who will be forced to convert in Pakistan. I am the fear of their families and the agony that they undergo. I am the misery of those girls who die a little every day for the injustices done to them.

I am a minority living in an intolerant society.

Unstoppable!

Amazing advertisement from the Canadian Paralympic association. Define...UNSTOPPABLE! 

Oscar Wilde & "V"!

Oscar Wilde - "Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the Truth." 


In case you haven't seen this pic before, find and watch the movie - V for Vendetta. Its a must!

Micro-Irrigation scheme guidelines in India; Steps required for the subsidies program

Guidelines for the Micro Irrigation (MI) scheme as set up by the Central government of India:

• Subsidy of 50% of the cost of the MI system to be provided to the beneficiary.
• Subsidy will be split between the Central government – 40% and the State Government – at least 10% while the rest would be paid by the beneficiary.
• The maximum area covered is 5 Hectares per family.
• At least 25% of the planned allocation for a district has to be small and marginal farmers.
• The Panchayati Raj institutions will be involved in the selection of the beneficiaries. They will be represented on the board of the State Micro irrigation committee which will be the arm of the state government in overseeing the scheme.
• This scheme covers both Drip and Sprinkler irrigation systems. However, Sprinkler systems will be given due consideration only if drip irrigation systems are found to be uneconomical.
• The implementing Agency (IA) will be appointed by the State government while the Central government will release the funds for the scheme as planned. IA will forward action plans through SMIC.
• Payment to the farmer/ beneficiary will be in the form of a crossed cheque. The Supplier will be paid by the farmer/ beneficiary.
• The Manufacturers will have to register with the State Micro irrigation committee to be allowed to supply equipment to the farmers. Further, the equipment must be BIS (Bureau of Indian Standards) certified.
• The estimated cost of installing drip irrigation systems are as follows. The estimates are as of 2006 in Indian Rupees. This has to be taken as a guideline for installing systems.

Spacing (Metre)			Area, (hectares)
	0.4	1	2	3	4	5
12x12	10600	16700	25200	32600	53700	71300
10x10	12100	18000	27700	36000	57900	76900
9x9	12400	22100	35500	55900	61400	81100
8x8	12900	19900	31300	41700	65500	86200
6x6	14400	30200	51200	70300	105800	137400
5x5	15100	32800	56600	83100	117100	150800
4x4	16900	39300	63100	100700	142200	179300
3x3	17900	35600	71400	96100	130800	158300
3x1.5	19700	40200	80500	109700	146100	180900
2.5x2.5	20000	39800	81400	111200	199500	239600
2x2	21300	49800	86400	122700	164900	223400
1.5x1.5	26100	55000	109500	165100	205900	281000
1x1	26500	57600	96500	146500	199900	249200

•  These estimates are further split into 3 categories as per existing demand and network. This depends on level of awareness, proximity to manufacturing units, distance in transportation, and cost of drip irrigation systems. The costs would be estimated for the zones as follows.

Category	Estimates	States Covered
A	Cost as mentioned above	Andhra Pradesh, Gujarat, Karnataka, Kerala, Tamil Nadu & Maharashtra
B	15% higher than Category A	All others except A & the Himalayan belt states
C	25% higher than Category A	NE States, Sikkim, Himachal Pradesh, Jammu & Kashmir, Uttarakhand

• Scheme covers crops like fruit, vegetables, potato, onion and other tuber crops, spices, medicinal and aromatic plants and all other plantation crops except tea, coffee, rubber and oil palm.
• For small farm holdings, a group of farmers would be encouraged to avail the benefits of drip irrigation through a common water source up to a maximum of 5 Ha per grouping.
• In case of Inter-cropping, the farmer decides on the crop and therefore the spacing to be used for cost calculations.
• Power and Water source requirements as specified by the government have to be met for the subsidy to be sanctioned.
• The manufacturers need to register with the state government by paying a fee of INR 50,000 per annum. This fee will be used for promoting micro irrigation schemes in the state.

Installation process guidelines will be as follows:

1. IA will provide list of suppliers to farmers.
2. Supplier will assess crop water requirement, prepare a cost estimate and submit that to the IA which will be approved by the IA as per requirements.
3. Beneficiary will make the payment to the supplier as per the cost estimate decided.
4. After satisfactory installation of system, the IA will release payment to the beneficiary through a crossed cheque or demand draft.
5. IA ensures that subsidy is paid within a month from the date of installation of the system.
6. BIS and other quality assurance officials to make frequent inspection of systems to ensure quality.

Reference: http://agricoop.nic.in