Trouble Helix

This one’s all thanks to Harper’s.
From a list complied tin 2006 by British police chiefs of more than 5,000 offences warranting that the DNA of an arrested suspect be retained for life in a national database

Violating king’s wife
Violating king’s eldest daughter
Violating wife of king’s eldest son and heir
Throwing offensive weapon or matter at sovereign with intent to alarm
Levying war against the sovereign in his or her realm
Buggery
Buggery with women
Buggery with animal
Buggery with man in private
Buggery with man other than in private
Procuring a woman who is defective
Procuring a woman by false pretences
Abducting unmarried girl under 18
Procuring poison to effect miscarriage
Supplying poison to procure miscarriage
Placing non human embryo in a woman
Counselling female to be circumcised
Riding horse furiously in street
Wantonly disturbing inhabitant by knocking on door or ringing doorbell
Keeping disorderly house
Removing buoys
Rout
Affray
Voyeurism
Sacrilege
Theft of wild flowers
Theft of wild creatires
Using explosive to take fish
Discharging stone or missile to kill or take fish
Handling salmon in suspicious circumstances
Cruelty to badgers
Disturbing badger when it is occupying badger lair
Possessing or controlling dead badger
Fraudulently evading bingo duty
Falsely pretending to be a deserter (Can someone explain this one to me?)
Failure to remove disguise when required by constable
Wasting police time

Run rabbit, run

It’s time – I can feel it in the air. Time to move – to escape from my existence. To live in a strange land for a while at least. The ties that I have with the few people I love will pull me back. But I will not think about that now. Now, I need to pack my bags, book my tickets and say goodbye to this city which has been my home for too many years.

My imaginary friends

Technically, I have 83 friends – at least that’s what my Facebook profile tells me. It’s not much; there are those with 400 friends. I wonder what it’s like to have 400 people you can count on. But coming back to my 83 friends – I haven’t spoken to most of them. And frankly, I don’t give a damn. (The ‘my dear’ has no space in this sentence). Friendships are transient affairs – you hope it lasts, but it rarely does. At least that’s my experience – I do not like spending time with a one-time good friend – where you have nothing to talk about, so you simply take a stroll down memory time. And we say, “Remember the time…” I don’t remember the time, and I don’t want to. For then you have to sift through the other junk – the regrets, the lost loves, the missed opportunities, the what ifs and the what nots. I couldn’t be bothered. I do that only when I’m PMSing – and it’s quite traumatic.
But I have 83 friends. With the exception of two, they don’t know anything about me, or care to. And I know nothing about them or care to. These 83 friends could well be my imaginary friends. You know, the ones you conjure up when you’re still a child. At least I did. I’d climb the mango tree in my garden and watch the street with my imaginary friends. They’ve proved to be more helpful than the real ones. They still are…

What really happens

It’s a sad day when we have to depend on The Guardian and The Independent to tell us what’s happening in the country. But we do.
Today
Me: Did you read The Guardian today? They’ve carried a story on how Banana Republic uses cheap labour in Delhi.
Editor: Really? Maybe they can give us some leads.
Last week
Me: Did you read The Observer’s story on what really happens in Goa?
Editor: Really? Maybe I’ll contact them to see if we can republish it.
Two weeks ago
Me: Did you read the story of these women who have taken the law into their hands to protect themselves from dacoits and also to get the government to build them some roads?
Editor: Where is this?
These days I simply read The Guardian to find out what’s happening in India.

Cold comfort

My greatest fear is not cancer – I can end my life if I ever get it. I’ve imagined doing it a million times. The feel of the knife on the wrist. That’s what cold comfort is all about. My greatest fear is mediocrity, and I think I’m living the mediocre dream. Eat, sleep, work, eat, sleep, work, pay bills, eat, sleep, work. It never stops, does it? Throw in a bit of sex and alcohol. And that’s my life… it wasn’t like this before. How did I land in this cesspool of mediocrity? Eat, sleep, work – I’ve become that happy, shiny, person I’ve always loathed.

Dalai Lama: Relic or revolutionary?

A colleague and friend was asked to write an opinion piece on whether the Dalai Lama was relevant in the greater political scheme of things. I was quite surprised by his stand. He brilliantly argued that the religious leader is the “only universally recognised leader, who in a violent world, espouses unqualified non-violence — not only as a way of life, but also as a means of political struggle”. But I disagree.
Yes, the Dalai Lama is synonymous with peace and peaceful protest, but it’s done Tibet little good. My colleague writes: If tomorrow the Dalai Lama gives his stamp of approval to a Tibetan version of the jihad, make no mistake, every single Tibetan alive on this planet would happily turn into a suicide bomber — all millions of them.
And all million of them will be squashed like pesky insects. An armed conflict will have little impact — not against the great Chinese machine that thinks nothing of quelling dissonance with a swift and effective blow. History has repeatedly proved that, and Tibet would be steamrollered and flattened under a brutal force that thinks nothing of sacrificing human life for what it perceives to be the greater good.
As the world panders to China — they cannot afford to do otherwise — the Dalai Lama is seen more as a benevolent, harmless leader of a religion that preaches the Middle Path. Even his followers are rebelling — they want their leader to be more assertive, to speak up for their rights.
But in an attempt to find that elusive Middle Path, the Dalai Lama has in many ways given up the good fight. Even now, he’s supportive of China hosting the Olympics. Even when the Tibetan culture is being threatened by the influx of Chinese migrants, even as the world wishes to pretend otherwise, the Dalai Lama does not react. Yes, in the world of morals and values, he is a leader. But in a brutal world where power is revered and respected, Tibet is nothing more than a fly in the greater scheme of things.
The Dalai Lama’s soft voice will be drowned in the clamor and chaos. In a few days, our attention will shift to another part of the world – Kosovo, Zimbabwe, Burma – take your pick. And the Dalai Lama will continue with his peaceful way of life, looking for the middle path. He knows that. Why else would he say that he is helpless? Why else would he say: “I'm a spokesman for the Tibetan people, not the controller, not the master. It's a peoples' movement, so it's up to them. Whatever they do, I have to act accordingly”?
Maybe the leader despairs, knowing that neither a violent nor peaceful protest will save his homeland.

Spring and Fall, To a Young Child

Margaret, are you grieving
Over Goldengrove unleaving?
Leaves, like the things of man, you
With your fresh thoughts care for, can you?
Ah! as the heart grows older
It will come to such sights colder
By and by, nor spare a sigh
Though worlds of wanwood leafmeal lie;
And yet you will weep and know why.
Now no matter, child, the name:
Sorrow's springs are the same.
Nor mouth had, no nor mind, expressed
What heart heard of, ghost guessed:
It is the blight man was born for,
It is Margaret you mourn for.
-- Gerard Manley Hopkins