The silence of Zizkov is nothing like the silence found in the suburbs of Lahore on fog ridden winter nights but its everything like the silence of Friedrichshain in east Berlin. It remains dead calm amongst the blocks and the cars parked in between but all it takes is to open the door to any tavern and a world of life beckons from within. There is warmth, soothing light and the openness of all of Prague to be found there. Moments melt away into hours as people smile, laugh, smoke, converse, shout, talk and exchange moments with each other. It was an extended weekend due to national holiday and since Czechs take to the countryside at every instance they can find, Sunday evening turned out to be the time when they all gravitated back to bohemian Zizkov. All the tables in the tavern were packed by people who had not yet gone home to drop off their luggage and instead had headed straight for the taverns to exchange stories about the adventures that had been had over the past few days. Jonsa and I ended up in such a tavern and got lost in Zizkov that night.
Going to Praha, as the Czechs refer to it, has been a romantic affair in waiting for a long time but this union was fulfilled only over the past few days. Arriving into Praha in a group of four we only stopped in Jonsa’s working class neighbourhood of Kommunardu for a few minutes to dump the bags. Entrusted in Jonsa’s hands who being a local promised to introduce both sides of Praha, that which the tourists got to see and that which the residents got to see. It was late when we arrived but hunger held out and we landed in the heart of the old town searching for a place to dine. The first impressions of Praha’s old market square were fairytale. The magical aura of the cathedral bears a great resemblance to a fairy tale castle. The square was all we could take that night and we decided to not explore the city until the wee hours and get some sleep instead.
In the morning, Jonsa and his girlfriend took us back to the old market square so we could see it in the light of day. The city was never bombed in the two world wars therefore almost all of the old buildings remain intact especially those from Praha’s golden era under the fourteenth century holy roman emperor Charles IV who made Praha’s his seat of government. It was only decent to pay our respects to the glory of tourist ridden old Praha so we did the rounds of the castle perched on elevation overlooking the city with its thousand spires pointing into the sky, did the rounds of its various courtyards, peeped in the gothic cathedral which honestly is the same as the Koln Dom, the one in Strasbourg, in Heidelberg and numerous others seen in pictures. Nonetheless each one has its own charm and so did this one. Jonsa’s girlfriend, Jana professed her Jewishness and disavowed the place as one of charm. The couple then left us to go spend time on their own so Joachim, Verena and I wound our way down from the castle to the hustle and bustle of the main street down below to satisfy Verena’s craving for ice cream. What should have taken a few moments ended up in a walk past ice cream shops which lasted for over an hour and included a bench stop at a park overlooking the Valtava river which snakes right through Praha. Soaking in the visuals of the day which included the cobblestone streets of the city, the Karl Most (Charles bridge, which incidentally has stood solidly over the Valtava for 700 years now), the various steeples and churches (we climbed one such a steeple) and bumming around with the throngs of tourists had borne down hard. Arriving at Jonsa’s apartment Verena snuggled into her sleeping bag for a brief siesta. I decided to make myself useful and did the dishes. By the time I got done Joachim too had snuggled into bed and it was not even seven in the evening on a Saturday night. Abandoned by the dozers I too slipped into my sleeping bag and got some shut-eye until a phone call woke me up. Verena emerged from her brief siesta and hour and a half later, still tired. Joachim was inspired by me doing the dishes and went on to make him-self useful around the house. He took all of Jonsa’s laundry out of the washing machine and delicately spread it out to dry. Verena and I harassed him about Jonsa’s underwear. Joachim, being Joachim turned red in the face and coolly denied any links to homosexuality, yet again. Jonsa’s arrival a short while later brought the prospect of visiting Zizkov. We had to get on one of Praha’s quaint charming trams and then into the subway which was very reminiscent of the Moscow metro although not as beautiful. However I wish to be a tram driver some day since they can drive as fast as they possibly can.
Acropolis was the name of the place where Jonsa and Jana introduced us to 3 other locals, 2 men and one other woman, Camilla. This attractive-tall-Slavic-blonde-woman had two claims to fame. One was that she was the sister of the equally attractive but shorter Jana and the second was that she was a Lieutenant on the Praha police force. Joachim happened to be strategically placed right next to her so he proceeded to flirt. Although one shouldn’t really call that flirting since Joachim is the straightforward epitomy of German efficiency and directness. I proceeded to admire her from across the table and think of what she would look like when fully clad in police gear while Verena proclaimed that Jana was a notch above her more illustrious sister.
Afterwards Joachim, Verena and I walked down the street eventually catching a taxi to the city center to watch young American, British and German tourists who happened to be predominantly men hunt around town for Praha’s legendary night life. We thought of entering a couple of clubs but prospects of charged American-British-German hormones was a put off, instead we chose a tavern and stayed there until we were ready to collapse and eventually went home. Verena and Joachim had classes on Monday so they caught trains home to Berlin whereas I stayed behind an extra night.
What happens to be stated in the first paragraph happened at this point. May I also add that Jonsa and I also met a friend of his, Helena who joined us on our tavern crawl. Being a long time resident of Zizkov she knew the places to visit. The Bohemian spirit of the neighbourhood cuts right through the streets although they remain deserted. If there is one place that I want to live in Praha, it is Zizkov. And apart from the working class flavour of Kommunardu where we stayed in Jonsa’s apartment it is the spirit of Zizkov that I miss most about Praha.
Praha is every bit fantastic that people say it is. It is the 4th or the 5th most visited city of Europe but beyond the throngs of tourists there is much that Praha offers to the traveller. The hustle and bustle of its soviet subway system, the quirkiness of its ancient racing tram network, its old town charm untouched by devastation and war that swept much of Europe last century, the resilience of its thought and sturdy Czech populace, its fantastic transition from the communist system to a liberal system and most of all its intellectual and bohemian flavour cuts right through the city. It is the city of Kafka, Hrabal, Kundera, Capek, Neruda and countless other thinkers. Prague is small in geographic proportions but large enough for someone to loose them self in.
Wednesday, October 04, 2006
Monday, September 25, 2006
being Muslim in India Today:Some reflections by Yoginder Sikand
Communal prejudices, already deeply-rooted in the minds of most Indians, have been further reinforced owing to a series of events and developments in recent years, both at home and abroad. These prejudices are almost universal in India, and the state has never seriously sought to counter them except by pious proclamations of 'Hindu-Muslim Unity', 'Respect for All Religions' and so on. Being thus left largely unchallenged, these prejudices, actively promoted by various right-wing, conservative and traditionalist religious groups, have succeeded in preventing the emergence of a truly secular society.
Anti-Muslim prejudice and what is now called 'Islamophobia' are not a new phenomena, but these have received a tremendous boost in recent years. The attacks of 9/11, the blasts in Benaras, Delhi and Mumbai and the continuing conflict in Kashmir have further fuelled the flames of hatred and prejudice against Muslims among many Hindus, so much so that the claim that Islam preaches terrorism, hatred for other religions and their adherents, misogyny, disloyalty to states where Muslims are not a majority or the ruling community and so on, actively propagated by Hindutva forces, has become an integral part of the social 'common sense' of a vast number of non-Muslim Indians. This has been facilitated by ever-expanding media networks, few of which are controlled by Muslims, and many of which have clear Hindutva affiliations. The US-led 'war on terror' is only further exacerbating this, with Hindutva forces and large sections of the Hindu-owned Indian media lending support to what many Muslims see is an all-out war directed against Islam and Muslims in general.
The recent series of violent attacks have been used to tar all Muslims with the same brush, as essentially terrorists or potential terrorists. In the case of some of these attacks the actual perpetrators remain unknown but they are somehow automatically assumed by the non-Muslim media to have been the handiwork of Muslims. In the case of certain violent attacks where certain Muslims were indeed responsible, the underlying causes for growing resentment among Muslims, a host of economic and political factors, are ignored, and Islam itself comes to be projected as the underlying reason. Thus, for instance, supposing the recent Mumbai blasts were indeed the handiwork of a group of Muslims (a claim made by the media but not as yet fully ascertained), the fact that the slaughter some three thousand innocent Muslims in Gujarat in a state-organised pogrom might have something to dowith the anger that motivated the perpetrators has been totally ignored. Rather, most newspapers claim, it is simply the expression of an uncontrollable and blind rage, of irrepressible intolerance and hatred of non-Muslims that, they argue, Islam allegedly preaches. No such attribution to Hinduism was made, of course, when Hindu mobs embarked on that bloody slaughter of Muslims in Gujarat or in the case of innumerable cases of such violence prior to the Gujarat genocide, in which the principal victims were Muslims. Likewise, the killings of hundreds of thousands of Iraqis, Afghans, Koreans, Vietnamese and so on by American forces has never been attributed by the media to Christianity. One wonders why Muslims must be singled out as an exception in this regard. What of the rich contributions of Muslims to the country's composite culture? In large measure, this is now given mere lip-sympathy to, being 'mummified' and confined to museums and mushairas, and presented as a sort of exotic add-on to what is presented as 'Indian culture', which is defined in essentially Brahminical Hindu terms. But if Hindutva leaders were to have their way, even this ritual recognition would cease, and the cultural contributions of the Indian Muslims would either be destroyed or else appropriated and presented as actually 'Hindu', in the same way as, for instance, the Dravidian gods, Buddha, Kabir and Nanak later came to be heralded as 'Hindu' in order to negate their challenge to the Brahminical system. A classic case of Hindutva denial of the Muslim contribution to India's culture relates to the Taj Mahal, with Hindutva ideologues now insisting that it was actually 'Tejo Mahalya', a supposedly Rajput Hindu palace, and that Delhi's famed Mughal Red Fort was, in fact, the Hindu 'Lal Kot'.
The most effective means to dissolve communal prejudices is through close personal interaction between people of different communities, in the course of which people begin to discover their common humanity, transcending narrow religious barriers. Although such interaction does take place between many Hindus and Muslims, in some communally-mixed workplaces and schools, scope for this is contracting. Muslims are being forced, through compulsion, fear, the need for security, poverty and mounting anti-Muslim prejudice, to move into their own neglected and squalid ghettos, obviously much to the satisfaction of communal forces, both Hindu and Muslim, who thrive on such geographical, in addition to religious, separation.Non-governmental organizations (NGOs) have a vital role to play in bringing together people of different communities to work on issues of common concern, such as economic and educational development and empowerment, and in the process, promoting inter-community interaction and countering communal stereotypes. One would have thought that in the face of growing anti-Muslim feelings in the country NGOs would have taken up this issue with the seriousness that it deserves. This, however, has not happened on a significant scale, for several reasons. In north India especially, Muslims have few such organizations and most of them work for Muslims alone. Further, most Muslim NGOs are religious charities devoted to Islamic education. This is both a result as well as a cause of the influence of the ulama, who, given the miniscule Muslim middle class, are able to present themselves as authoritative spokesmen of the entire Muslim community. And, given the insular sort of training that they receive, the ulama and the NGOs that they run are not best equipped to promote better relations with others. On the other hand, relatively few non-Muslim NGOs work with Muslims as a community, Muslims typically not being seen by these groups as a marginalized group in the same way as as Dalits or Adiviasis are, although the living conditions of most Muslims are almost as pathetic as theirs. The work of many of the few non-Muslim NGOs that are engaged with Muslims as a community is often limited simply to promoting communal harmony, ignoring, unconsciously or otherwise, the crucial issue of Muslim economic and educational empowerment, the lack of which is responsible, in part, for sustaining the authority of conservative religious groups among sections of the Muslim community, which, in turn, further strengthens negative stereotypes about Muslims.
The implications for mounting anti-Muslim sentiments for India as a whole, and not just for Muslims alone, are frightening, to say the least. Conservative 'upper' caste Hindu forces are actively fanning these prejudices among marginalized 'lower' castes so as to use them as foot-soldiers in organized anti-Muslim pogroms. Consequently, these marginalized castes are being subtly co-opted, their attention being turned from their real oppressors onto the imaginary and carefully constructed 'menacing other' in the form of Muslims. The dangerous consequences that this has for the struggles of Dalit, Adivasis and Other Backward Castes for their rights and empowerment are enormous. As the 'Muslim question' comes to dominate media discourses, the continued oppression of the 'low' castes, the social and economic mounting inequalities in the country, the ruling classes' nexus with imperialist forces and so on, are all being deliberately displaced from public consciousness. And as anti-Muslim hatred is being so actively fanned at the same time as India is being sold to Western multinational corporations, Hindutva forces, who never tire of proclaiming themselves as super-patriots, appear least concerned about the prospects of civil war and continuous bloodshed that their actions are designed to promote.
That said, the general Muslim response to mounting Islamophobia has met with little success. Muslims are now forced on the defensive and somehow feel forced to prove their patriotism. Islam does not preach terrorism, Muslim leaders now tirelessly argue, but since Muslim organizations have few links with the non-Muslim media, and because large sections of this media have no interest in countering negative stereotypes about Muslims, these claims generally fall on deaf ears. The Urdu media, where these voices are mainly articulated, is read almost entirely by Muslims alone, and so non-Muslims are left unaware of Muslims seeking to clear Muslims of charges of 'terrorism'. Muslim organisations lack a proper media policy, being run almost entirely by conservative ulama, whose knowledge of the complexities of the real world, including the media, is limited, to say the least. The ulama's insistence that Muslims, by definition, cannot be terrorists because the Quran lays down that to take the life of an innocent is like slaying the whole of humanity has few non-Muslim takers, for non-Muslims have plenty of groups to point to, in South Asia and elsewhere, who define themselves as 'Islamic' and who seek to justify their actions in the name of Islam. Middle class Muslims, who might have played the role of countering anti-Islamic media discourses more effectively because of their different cultural capital, are, by and large, silent, content with their quest for material comfort, having little or no organic links with the community at large.
For the general masses of the Muslims, mostly of 'low' caste background, mired in desperate poverty and illiteracy, the mounting wave of Islamophobia, occasioned, in part, by the actions of self-styled champions of Islam, has meant even less hope for their myriad social and economic problems to be addressed. The media insists that Muslims themselves are responsible for their plight and that the main cause of their 'backwardness' is not, as the case really is, the macro-structures of heavily unequal distribution of and access to resources and assets, further skewed by economic 'liberalisation' and 'globalisation'. Instead, it is argued, the fundamental causes of Muslim 'backwardness' are what are labeled as 'medieval madrasas' 'obscurantist mullahs' and radical Islamists. Hence, it is asserted, Muslim 'backwardness' does not require active state intervention, but, instead, can be 'cured' only if the ulama and their madrasas are 'reformed' and if Muslims take on the Islamists. In this way, both the cause of and the solution to Muslim 'backwardness' are sought by the media to be firmly located internally, within the Muslim community, as if state policies, international factors and anti-Muslim discrimination have nothing to do with this. This argument, tagged on to the growing indifference to the marginalisation of the Muslim masses promoted by mounting anti-Muslim propaganda in India and in the West, has made it increasingly difficult for Indian Muslims to press their claims on the state for economic, educational and political empowerment.
To add to this is the fact that as anti-Muslim feelings grow, conservative Muslim religious forces, too, receive a shot in the arm as a reaction, presenting themselves as saviours of Islam and representatives of all Muslims. And so the vicious circle of competing brands of religious conservatism and fundamentalism feeding on each other gets continually reinforced.
===========================================
* The author works with the Centre for Jawaharlal Nehru Studies, Jamia Millia Islamia, New Delhi. He moderates an online discussion group called "South Asian Leftists Dialoguing With Religion" ( http://groups.yahoo.com/group/saldwr/)
Anti-Muslim prejudice and what is now called 'Islamophobia' are not a new phenomena, but these have received a tremendous boost in recent years. The attacks of 9/11, the blasts in Benaras, Delhi and Mumbai and the continuing conflict in Kashmir have further fuelled the flames of hatred and prejudice against Muslims among many Hindus, so much so that the claim that Islam preaches terrorism, hatred for other religions and their adherents, misogyny, disloyalty to states where Muslims are not a majority or the ruling community and so on, actively propagated by Hindutva forces, has become an integral part of the social 'common sense' of a vast number of non-Muslim Indians. This has been facilitated by ever-expanding media networks, few of which are controlled by Muslims, and many of which have clear Hindutva affiliations. The US-led 'war on terror' is only further exacerbating this, with Hindutva forces and large sections of the Hindu-owned Indian media lending support to what many Muslims see is an all-out war directed against Islam and Muslims in general.
The recent series of violent attacks have been used to tar all Muslims with the same brush, as essentially terrorists or potential terrorists. In the case of some of these attacks the actual perpetrators remain unknown but they are somehow automatically assumed by the non-Muslim media to have been the handiwork of Muslims. In the case of certain violent attacks where certain Muslims were indeed responsible, the underlying causes for growing resentment among Muslims, a host of economic and political factors, are ignored, and Islam itself comes to be projected as the underlying reason. Thus, for instance, supposing the recent Mumbai blasts were indeed the handiwork of a group of Muslims (a claim made by the media but not as yet fully ascertained), the fact that the slaughter some three thousand innocent Muslims in Gujarat in a state-organised pogrom might have something to dowith the anger that motivated the perpetrators has been totally ignored. Rather, most newspapers claim, it is simply the expression of an uncontrollable and blind rage, of irrepressible intolerance and hatred of non-Muslims that, they argue, Islam allegedly preaches. No such attribution to Hinduism was made, of course, when Hindu mobs embarked on that bloody slaughter of Muslims in Gujarat or in the case of innumerable cases of such violence prior to the Gujarat genocide, in which the principal victims were Muslims. Likewise, the killings of hundreds of thousands of Iraqis, Afghans, Koreans, Vietnamese and so on by American forces has never been attributed by the media to Christianity. One wonders why Muslims must be singled out as an exception in this regard. What of the rich contributions of Muslims to the country's composite culture? In large measure, this is now given mere lip-sympathy to, being 'mummified' and confined to museums and mushairas, and presented as a sort of exotic add-on to what is presented as 'Indian culture', which is defined in essentially Brahminical Hindu terms. But if Hindutva leaders were to have their way, even this ritual recognition would cease, and the cultural contributions of the Indian Muslims would either be destroyed or else appropriated and presented as actually 'Hindu', in the same way as, for instance, the Dravidian gods, Buddha, Kabir and Nanak later came to be heralded as 'Hindu' in order to negate their challenge to the Brahminical system. A classic case of Hindutva denial of the Muslim contribution to India's culture relates to the Taj Mahal, with Hindutva ideologues now insisting that it was actually 'Tejo Mahalya', a supposedly Rajput Hindu palace, and that Delhi's famed Mughal Red Fort was, in fact, the Hindu 'Lal Kot'.
The most effective means to dissolve communal prejudices is through close personal interaction between people of different communities, in the course of which people begin to discover their common humanity, transcending narrow religious barriers. Although such interaction does take place between many Hindus and Muslims, in some communally-mixed workplaces and schools, scope for this is contracting. Muslims are being forced, through compulsion, fear, the need for security, poverty and mounting anti-Muslim prejudice, to move into their own neglected and squalid ghettos, obviously much to the satisfaction of communal forces, both Hindu and Muslim, who thrive on such geographical, in addition to religious, separation.Non-governmental organizations (NGOs) have a vital role to play in bringing together people of different communities to work on issues of common concern, such as economic and educational development and empowerment, and in the process, promoting inter-community interaction and countering communal stereotypes. One would have thought that in the face of growing anti-Muslim feelings in the country NGOs would have taken up this issue with the seriousness that it deserves. This, however, has not happened on a significant scale, for several reasons. In north India especially, Muslims have few such organizations and most of them work for Muslims alone. Further, most Muslim NGOs are religious charities devoted to Islamic education. This is both a result as well as a cause of the influence of the ulama, who, given the miniscule Muslim middle class, are able to present themselves as authoritative spokesmen of the entire Muslim community. And, given the insular sort of training that they receive, the ulama and the NGOs that they run are not best equipped to promote better relations with others. On the other hand, relatively few non-Muslim NGOs work with Muslims as a community, Muslims typically not being seen by these groups as a marginalized group in the same way as as Dalits or Adiviasis are, although the living conditions of most Muslims are almost as pathetic as theirs. The work of many of the few non-Muslim NGOs that are engaged with Muslims as a community is often limited simply to promoting communal harmony, ignoring, unconsciously or otherwise, the crucial issue of Muslim economic and educational empowerment, the lack of which is responsible, in part, for sustaining the authority of conservative religious groups among sections of the Muslim community, which, in turn, further strengthens negative stereotypes about Muslims.
The implications for mounting anti-Muslim sentiments for India as a whole, and not just for Muslims alone, are frightening, to say the least. Conservative 'upper' caste Hindu forces are actively fanning these prejudices among marginalized 'lower' castes so as to use them as foot-soldiers in organized anti-Muslim pogroms. Consequently, these marginalized castes are being subtly co-opted, their attention being turned from their real oppressors onto the imaginary and carefully constructed 'menacing other' in the form of Muslims. The dangerous consequences that this has for the struggles of Dalit, Adivasis and Other Backward Castes for their rights and empowerment are enormous. As the 'Muslim question' comes to dominate media discourses, the continued oppression of the 'low' castes, the social and economic mounting inequalities in the country, the ruling classes' nexus with imperialist forces and so on, are all being deliberately displaced from public consciousness. And as anti-Muslim hatred is being so actively fanned at the same time as India is being sold to Western multinational corporations, Hindutva forces, who never tire of proclaiming themselves as super-patriots, appear least concerned about the prospects of civil war and continuous bloodshed that their actions are designed to promote.
That said, the general Muslim response to mounting Islamophobia has met with little success. Muslims are now forced on the defensive and somehow feel forced to prove their patriotism. Islam does not preach terrorism, Muslim leaders now tirelessly argue, but since Muslim organizations have few links with the non-Muslim media, and because large sections of this media have no interest in countering negative stereotypes about Muslims, these claims generally fall on deaf ears. The Urdu media, where these voices are mainly articulated, is read almost entirely by Muslims alone, and so non-Muslims are left unaware of Muslims seeking to clear Muslims of charges of 'terrorism'. Muslim organisations lack a proper media policy, being run almost entirely by conservative ulama, whose knowledge of the complexities of the real world, including the media, is limited, to say the least. The ulama's insistence that Muslims, by definition, cannot be terrorists because the Quran lays down that to take the life of an innocent is like slaying the whole of humanity has few non-Muslim takers, for non-Muslims have plenty of groups to point to, in South Asia and elsewhere, who define themselves as 'Islamic' and who seek to justify their actions in the name of Islam. Middle class Muslims, who might have played the role of countering anti-Islamic media discourses more effectively because of their different cultural capital, are, by and large, silent, content with their quest for material comfort, having little or no organic links with the community at large.
For the general masses of the Muslims, mostly of 'low' caste background, mired in desperate poverty and illiteracy, the mounting wave of Islamophobia, occasioned, in part, by the actions of self-styled champions of Islam, has meant even less hope for their myriad social and economic problems to be addressed. The media insists that Muslims themselves are responsible for their plight and that the main cause of their 'backwardness' is not, as the case really is, the macro-structures of heavily unequal distribution of and access to resources and assets, further skewed by economic 'liberalisation' and 'globalisation'. Instead, it is argued, the fundamental causes of Muslim 'backwardness' are what are labeled as 'medieval madrasas' 'obscurantist mullahs' and radical Islamists. Hence, it is asserted, Muslim 'backwardness' does not require active state intervention, but, instead, can be 'cured' only if the ulama and their madrasas are 'reformed' and if Muslims take on the Islamists. In this way, both the cause of and the solution to Muslim 'backwardness' are sought by the media to be firmly located internally, within the Muslim community, as if state policies, international factors and anti-Muslim discrimination have nothing to do with this. This argument, tagged on to the growing indifference to the marginalisation of the Muslim masses promoted by mounting anti-Muslim propaganda in India and in the West, has made it increasingly difficult for Indian Muslims to press their claims on the state for economic, educational and political empowerment.
To add to this is the fact that as anti-Muslim feelings grow, conservative Muslim religious forces, too, receive a shot in the arm as a reaction, presenting themselves as saviours of Islam and representatives of all Muslims. And so the vicious circle of competing brands of religious conservatism and fundamentalism feeding on each other gets continually reinforced.
===========================================
* The author works with the Centre for Jawaharlal Nehru Studies, Jamia Millia Islamia, New Delhi. He moderates an online discussion group called "South Asian Leftists Dialoguing With Religion" ( http://groups.yahoo.com/group/saldwr/)
Thursday, September 14, 2006
Things Keep Falling Apart - follow up to the post 'Things Fall Apart'
Well the update is that the damsel exploded infront of Mr.C and accused him of deliberately trying to shoo her away. Mr.C was obviosuly very shocked by this accusation and indeed offended. But he followed my advice and was just 'nice' to her. He put himself at her feet and sought forgiveness. Seeing Mr. C in this position the damsel went into overkill mode and gave him no respite.
Several hours and milliards of insults later Mr. C finally gave away. He suggested that he bear the cost of the damsels flight back to england since she was so unhappy at being with him. So they proceeded to try and reschedule her flight from 2 days later to the next immediate possible availability..... upon finding a seat the damsel did a u-turn and backtracked. She then proceeded to accuse Mr. C of trying to really get rid of her and that he hadn't really let up on what transpired the night before.
Upon hearing this comment Mr.C's darkest fears about the damsel being an extremely unstable and irrational human being came true. Mr. C put a lid on all verbal exchange and led the damsel in a beeline to the bed. There he proceeded to allow verbal speech to be drowned out and other modes of communication to take preference. This situation lasted for the whole of sunday night, monday, monday night and till 7 on tuesday evening.
After dropping her off at the Tegel Mr. C came over for a post mortem and cried his heart out. He had tried and failed in love but had squeezed as much as possible out before she left. I told him that he had been a bastard upon which he was most offended. Anyhow so ends another love saga.
Several hours and milliards of insults later Mr. C finally gave away. He suggested that he bear the cost of the damsels flight back to england since she was so unhappy at being with him. So they proceeded to try and reschedule her flight from 2 days later to the next immediate possible availability..... upon finding a seat the damsel did a u-turn and backtracked. She then proceeded to accuse Mr. C of trying to really get rid of her and that he hadn't really let up on what transpired the night before.
Upon hearing this comment Mr.C's darkest fears about the damsel being an extremely unstable and irrational human being came true. Mr. C put a lid on all verbal exchange and led the damsel in a beeline to the bed. There he proceeded to allow verbal speech to be drowned out and other modes of communication to take preference. This situation lasted for the whole of sunday night, monday, monday night and till 7 on tuesday evening.
After dropping her off at the Tegel Mr. C came over for a post mortem and cried his heart out. He had tried and failed in love but had squeezed as much as possible out before she left. I told him that he had been a bastard upon which he was most offended. Anyhow so ends another love saga.
Tuesday, September 12, 2006
Things Fall Apart - an West African love saga
THE CHARACTERS:
Mr. C: A dear friend from the African continent who is deadly against the French. French colonialism seems to have left a lasting imprint on him. Although his first language was French in addition to a tribal language he NEVER speaks in French. I mean NEVER. His english accent has strong and distinct french + tribal remnants, making him illegible to the untrained ear. Even after a year is unable to pronounce my name correctly and I am ‘Ishwa’ to him. He is a tall, chiseled and beautiful specimen of the west African kind and luckily he was not born 200 years ago, for surely he would have ended up on a farm somewhere in the American South being molested by the plantation owners wife and daughters.
The Damsel: is a bad tempered and generally bitchy young lady. She is from the same place as Mr. C and was his love interest untill the filing of this blog. She is an impatient woman who is constantly whining and suffers moodswings like a pendulum. having said that, the only reason why Mr.C tolerated her and others may is because she has a reputation that precedes her. apparently she is a whirlwind when the candle is snuffed out.
The Polizei: Their job as custodian of the law is to uphold and maintain public law and order
THE BACKGROUND:
Well anyway, with much fanfare Mr. C (he shall be referred to as Mr.C here forth) prepared to receive his love interest who was to visit him last weekend from England. Mr.C made sure he got all prior assignments out of the way so that a weekend of intense romantic passion would not be disturbed for anything. So Mr.C disappeared from public life for a few days prior to his concierge’s landing. I met him a couple of days before her arrival and he was in good spirits. I inquired whether sexual adventurism was the sole purpose of the next few days. To which Mr.C immediately went thoughtful and responded with a resolute ‘no’. The trip was to make certain whether she was the right one since Mr.C wanted desperately to live the American dream with a wife, children, car, house and the works. So the trip was to be a very important one.
THE SHIT HITS THE FAN:
Mr.C emerged on Saturday evening en-route to THE PARTY. A high-end club had been booked for a very important party and it was to be a night to remember. Mr.C and his companion arrived very well dressed and arm in arm. Upon arrival Mr.C introduced the lady as his companion for the evening and launched for the bar. After a while I noticed the damsel sitting alone by herself and Mr.C swinging with a glass of wine. I may as well add at this point that Mr.C can absolutely not hold his alcohol. According to his own self, the last time he consumed alcohol in his African homeland, many many years ago he found himself sprawled on the bar floor in the morning with his pockets and effects picked clean and no recollection of how he ended up there. So I was a little alarmed to see him in that position with the damsel keeping the sofa warm in the meanwhile. 3 hours, several glasses of wine, and 4 women later I vaguely remember Mr. C staggers out of the club with the damsel in one arm. It was roughly 1 a.m.
It was 9 in the morning on the following morning when I was roused rudely from deep slumber. I had stayed out till 4 and had barely made it home before collapsing at 5 am. I staggered to the door to open it and see Mr. C in the flesh, who invited himself in proclaiming to be a ‘dead man walking’. Apparently on the way home, Mr. C had proceeded to puke his guts out on to his pants and shirt upon which his damsel apparently very embarrassed at being with him had simply moved away from his presence and into another rail carriage. Mr. C then exited at some random train station where he was supposed to make a change without a second thought to the damsel, who was in town for the very first time and did not speak a word of the language. Mr. C, at that point clearly astray proceeded to stagger around the rail station searching for his connection when he was picked up by the police for public indecency and thrown into a lockup for the next 6 hours. He was unable to recall which station it was that he exited at. Early next morning the police let him go after giving him a dressing down for meandering about the rail station in an unruly manner posing a menace to the public order and decorum. They then gave him a jail bird outfit and pushed him along his way. The damsel had simply disappeared and Mr. C was fretting his guts out about how she was a stranger in a strange country and kept repeating how he was a ‘dead man walking’.
Mr. C fretted and fretted about how this was a disaster and how the police were racist and they prolly ran identity checks on him. And how he had to piss really badly and they wouldn't let him out of the lockup. He maintained decorum in the cell and did not pee at all. He then proceeded to explain how he felt about the damsel and how this was a test of the strength of the relationship and she had failed miserably. If she could not stand beside him in his hour or lecherous, debauch, drunken, puke infested stupor then how could he trust her to stick around him for the rest of his life? I immediately nodded in agreement. my hangover was not helping at all but I still wanted to be a good friend and listened. Since I have purchased a new bike I seem to have become a good listener.
The only problem was that where was the damsel after all. soon enough his phone began to ring and some guy informed Mr. C that his damsel was safe and sound with him and she had called him in great distress last night, when she discovered that she did not know anyone on that train and now he wanted our address cause he wanted to bring her 'home'. After putting the phone down Mr. C proceeded with expletives liking her to one in the prostitution business. She was not supposed to know anyone else in Berlin and she had a spent a 'whole night' with a man when she was apparently empotionally very unstable...and vulnerable ...hence there had to be something fishy. or else why would she walk away from him, abandoning him in the train the way she did? if she really was a stranger in the city.
I advised extreme caution when she arrived but cannot verify it. Mr.C has not remerged from his quarters in 3 days since the damsel's flight back to mancy is not be untill 3 additional days.
LESSONS LEARNT, the hard way:
Mr.C cannot hold his booze therefore he should not drink.
The Damsel is not a stranger in Berlin
She will not be the mother of Mr. C's children
Mr. C: A dear friend from the African continent who is deadly against the French. French colonialism seems to have left a lasting imprint on him. Although his first language was French in addition to a tribal language he NEVER speaks in French. I mean NEVER. His english accent has strong and distinct french + tribal remnants, making him illegible to the untrained ear. Even after a year is unable to pronounce my name correctly and I am ‘Ishwa’ to him. He is a tall, chiseled and beautiful specimen of the west African kind and luckily he was not born 200 years ago, for surely he would have ended up on a farm somewhere in the American South being molested by the plantation owners wife and daughters.
The Damsel: is a bad tempered and generally bitchy young lady. She is from the same place as Mr. C and was his love interest untill the filing of this blog. She is an impatient woman who is constantly whining and suffers moodswings like a pendulum. having said that, the only reason why Mr.C tolerated her and others may is because she has a reputation that precedes her. apparently she is a whirlwind when the candle is snuffed out.
The Polizei: Their job as custodian of the law is to uphold and maintain public law and order
THE BACKGROUND:
Well anyway, with much fanfare Mr. C (he shall be referred to as Mr.C here forth) prepared to receive his love interest who was to visit him last weekend from England. Mr.C made sure he got all prior assignments out of the way so that a weekend of intense romantic passion would not be disturbed for anything. So Mr.C disappeared from public life for a few days prior to his concierge’s landing. I met him a couple of days before her arrival and he was in good spirits. I inquired whether sexual adventurism was the sole purpose of the next few days. To which Mr.C immediately went thoughtful and responded with a resolute ‘no’. The trip was to make certain whether she was the right one since Mr.C wanted desperately to live the American dream with a wife, children, car, house and the works. So the trip was to be a very important one.
THE SHIT HITS THE FAN:
Mr.C emerged on Saturday evening en-route to THE PARTY. A high-end club had been booked for a very important party and it was to be a night to remember. Mr.C and his companion arrived very well dressed and arm in arm. Upon arrival Mr.C introduced the lady as his companion for the evening and launched for the bar. After a while I noticed the damsel sitting alone by herself and Mr.C swinging with a glass of wine. I may as well add at this point that Mr.C can absolutely not hold his alcohol. According to his own self, the last time he consumed alcohol in his African homeland, many many years ago he found himself sprawled on the bar floor in the morning with his pockets and effects picked clean and no recollection of how he ended up there. So I was a little alarmed to see him in that position with the damsel keeping the sofa warm in the meanwhile. 3 hours, several glasses of wine, and 4 women later I vaguely remember Mr. C staggers out of the club with the damsel in one arm. It was roughly 1 a.m.
It was 9 in the morning on the following morning when I was roused rudely from deep slumber. I had stayed out till 4 and had barely made it home before collapsing at 5 am. I staggered to the door to open it and see Mr. C in the flesh, who invited himself in proclaiming to be a ‘dead man walking’. Apparently on the way home, Mr. C had proceeded to puke his guts out on to his pants and shirt upon which his damsel apparently very embarrassed at being with him had simply moved away from his presence and into another rail carriage. Mr. C then exited at some random train station where he was supposed to make a change without a second thought to the damsel, who was in town for the very first time and did not speak a word of the language. Mr. C, at that point clearly astray proceeded to stagger around the rail station searching for his connection when he was picked up by the police for public indecency and thrown into a lockup for the next 6 hours. He was unable to recall which station it was that he exited at. Early next morning the police let him go after giving him a dressing down for meandering about the rail station in an unruly manner posing a menace to the public order and decorum. They then gave him a jail bird outfit and pushed him along his way. The damsel had simply disappeared and Mr. C was fretting his guts out about how she was a stranger in a strange country and kept repeating how he was a ‘dead man walking’.
Mr. C fretted and fretted about how this was a disaster and how the police were racist and they prolly ran identity checks on him. And how he had to piss really badly and they wouldn't let him out of the lockup. He maintained decorum in the cell and did not pee at all. He then proceeded to explain how he felt about the damsel and how this was a test of the strength of the relationship and she had failed miserably. If she could not stand beside him in his hour or lecherous, debauch, drunken, puke infested stupor then how could he trust her to stick around him for the rest of his life? I immediately nodded in agreement. my hangover was not helping at all but I still wanted to be a good friend and listened. Since I have purchased a new bike I seem to have become a good listener.
The only problem was that where was the damsel after all. soon enough his phone began to ring and some guy informed Mr. C that his damsel was safe and sound with him and she had called him in great distress last night, when she discovered that she did not know anyone on that train and now he wanted our address cause he wanted to bring her 'home'. After putting the phone down Mr. C proceeded with expletives liking her to one in the prostitution business. She was not supposed to know anyone else in Berlin and she had a spent a 'whole night' with a man when she was apparently empotionally very unstable...and vulnerable ...hence there had to be something fishy. or else why would she walk away from him, abandoning him in the train the way she did? if she really was a stranger in the city.
I advised extreme caution when she arrived but cannot verify it. Mr.C has not remerged from his quarters in 3 days since the damsel's flight back to mancy is not be untill 3 additional days.
LESSONS LEARNT, the hard way:
Mr.C cannot hold his booze therefore he should not drink.
The Damsel is not a stranger in Berlin
She will not be the mother of Mr. C's children
Friday, July 21, 2006
well the reprise for soldier kidnappings has been all out war. As lebanon gets bombed back to the 70's and Hizbullah rockets up to political domination in Lebanon , i do not understand what the west is up to? if the situation is to be understood in geo-political terms then so far Israel is suffering and so far Iran and Syria have pretty much come out on top. Lebanon is suffering most. actually Lets not even talk about lebanon because the presidents's recation to a question in the press conference sums it up. he cried.
Israel has really hurt stability in the mid-east and cast serious doubts over the already bullshit peace process. Israel had better prepare to deal with a hizbullah government in power in the future because after the dust settles , if it does settle without dragging the rest of us in, then the winners will be Hizbullah. they will have a entire country with no infrastructure and hence they will be the sole service providers. this is exactly how the israeli's assited the Hamas many months ago when they bombed the PLA structure in west bank and gaza. what the hell do the zionists want? to live in perpetual terror and conflict? is this their idea of a promised land?
The US is fantastic though. they take the cake. unashamedly suportive of israel, the US, GB and Germany have really taken the cake this time around. Hizbullah isn't just any terrorist organisation that they want to deal with. this is their confrontatoin , mind you, THE confrontation they were seeking for with Iran and Syria. They even accused Iranian officials of being present at the north korean missile launches. ridiculous moves like that only show cowboy Jack's trigger happiness. and the tacit support that arab-sunni countries are providing to them is another dimension. afraid of Iran's rising regional power status and path to nuclear armament they are silent. the arab league is toothlessly silent as Israel unleashes against its neighbors like a rabid dog. this conflict is going absolutely nowhere. there will be no winners. its a sick geo-political game that western 'alllies' are playing through their satrapy in the middle east-zionist israel- and they will achieve everything but victory. if the conflict does not spill into Syria, then the victors will be Hizbullah.
And none of these so called global powers have said a meaningful word about the hundreds of dead civilians in lebanon and palestinian territories
Israel has really hurt stability in the mid-east and cast serious doubts over the already bullshit peace process. Israel had better prepare to deal with a hizbullah government in power in the future because after the dust settles , if it does settle without dragging the rest of us in, then the winners will be Hizbullah. they will have a entire country with no infrastructure and hence they will be the sole service providers. this is exactly how the israeli's assited the Hamas many months ago when they bombed the PLA structure in west bank and gaza. what the hell do the zionists want? to live in perpetual terror and conflict? is this their idea of a promised land?
The US is fantastic though. they take the cake. unashamedly suportive of israel, the US, GB and Germany have really taken the cake this time around. Hizbullah isn't just any terrorist organisation that they want to deal with. this is their confrontatoin , mind you, THE confrontation they were seeking for with Iran and Syria. They even accused Iranian officials of being present at the north korean missile launches. ridiculous moves like that only show cowboy Jack's trigger happiness. and the tacit support that arab-sunni countries are providing to them is another dimension. afraid of Iran's rising regional power status and path to nuclear armament they are silent. the arab league is toothlessly silent as Israel unleashes against its neighbors like a rabid dog. this conflict is going absolutely nowhere. there will be no winners. its a sick geo-political game that western 'alllies' are playing through their satrapy in the middle east-zionist israel- and they will achieve everything but victory. if the conflict does not spill into Syria, then the victors will be Hizbullah.
And none of these so called global powers have said a meaningful word about the hundreds of dead civilians in lebanon and palestinian territories
Thursday, June 29, 2006
The Kitty Chronicles
One day while on the way back home from work I was rudely interrupted from my thoughtful 20 minute bus journey mode by the ringing of my phone. I had made clear to all that I was not to be called unless there was some matter of extreme urgency since I was on German roaming charges while in Geneva.
‘Ritze!’ (my Sicilian roommate was unable to pronounce my name, so I was given this Italian twist)
‘Yes? Is everything okay’ (I immediately recognized both the voice and the sense of disaster)‘Sorry to disturb-ay you like-ay this-ay’ (my roommate spoke with a marked Italian accent) ‘but-ay the stupid-ay cat did a KAKA (kaka is italian for shit) in front of our doors!!’
We were two interns in Geneva that summer amongst hordes of others trying to get something gainful out of the experience. She was desperately hunting for a contract and so was usually not amused very easily and mostly tended to be very serious. We were both living in the apartment of an old Swiss lady who was between 60 and 65 but had acquired a taste for young African men. Our fourth flatmate was Citronelle, the overfed 10 year old cat. Actually the word cat is an understatement for this fine feline specimen. It could actually be described as a lazy, small sized tiger.
‘The Crisis Develops’
‘Kaka? Whaqt do you mean?’
‘Kaka I mean-ay shit! The cat did shit in front of our door and I want our stupid-ay land lady’s number so I can tell her! Do you have her number?’
‘Well let me see…..actually I don’t since she doesn’t speak a word of English so I don’t ever talk to her. I have her son’s number. You want that?’
‘Okay then Ritze give me that-ay. I am gonna really give it to him!’
‘Uhhh well, just wait for me to get home okay? And we will figure this out. Okay?’
I gave the son’s number and went straight home. When I arrived and opened the door I found her slamming the phone shut after uttering a line of Italian expletives. Disaster had struck and I was too late in making it home to save the day. The landlady’s son had been abused and the Sicilian had travelled too far down the road. There were tears of frustration and anger in the eyes. I hadn’t quite laid my eyes on the problem and asked to be taken to the scene of the crime. I saw the kitty very comfortably sprawled on the carpet with her eyes half close. Nothing seemed to bother her. The Sicilian then marched me to the crime scene where I saw 2 very large sized kaka samples. One partly in front of my door and one directly in front of the bathroom door. One piece was placed on the table where the kitty often came over for her afternoon siesta. At first I could not believe that a cat was capable of ‘kaka’ that size. Those samples looked very human and very large to be coming out of a kitty. But then again the cat was rather big…then again, it was massive sized kaka. I could understand the Sicilians reason for the emotional implosion when faced with such a sight after a tough and long day at work. But then again the explosion and the liberal use of expletives with Stefan (landlady’s son) were also bound to land her in trouble. I was afraid that there was already too much water under the bridge. The Sicilian collected a few contacts and uttering the worst of Italian expletives slammed the main door shut on her way out. (‘kulo’, ‘putanaa’ and the works)
The Sicilian proceeded to make phone calls left right and center trying to arrange for a new place to live in since she was pretty sure that Stefan would come good on his threat of conveying the unacceptable behaviour to his mom who would then see to eviction. The Sicilian intended to find a place and save face when the landlady returned. The whole problem had actually started when the landlady left unannounced with her black lover for the Alps. She had a taste for young African males and tended to take off with them for romantic sojourns every now and then. She left the kitty behind who knew that she had a couple of days to fool around before the landlady returned. And hence the Kaka. The Sicilian slammed the door shut on the way out to meet landlords/ladies for the appointments that had just been made.
‘The Crisis Deepens’
The next morning I was jolted out of my slumber by the scream of the Sicilian. I sprung out of bed and yanked opened my door to expect the worse of the worst situations in progress outside in the hall. I saw the Sicilian with a hand on the mouth, holding back a gush of puke. I followed the Sicilian’s gaze to see the kitty feasting on a piece of her own Kaka. She was gingerly picking through the Kaka, separating the parts that won her fancy. It was amongst the more disgusting sights in recent memory and the Sicilian and I both scrambled for the bathroom sink to gag and puke. We left the apartment as soon as possible without washing up that morning vowing to let the landlady really have it later that night. So after spending a trauma struck day at work we both arrived at the apartment late at night. We sat up in the lounge flipping channels on the telly waiting for the landlady to arrive. When she finally arrived she was not in high spirits. The whole issue of the liberal use of Italian expletives had not sat well with Stefan who understood some Italian and had conveyed the finer points translated into French to his mum. When we took her to the hall to show the crimes committed by the kitty a day earlier, we found a friendly purring kitty faithfully snuggling in between the landlady’s legs and no sign of the kaka. All that remained were stains which were explained as vomit by poor Citronelle who had digestive problems sometimes. The Sicilian and I were profoundly shocked at having discovered that the kitty had digested all available evidence of its crimes and made us look extremely ridiculous.
‘The Kitty Strikes Back’
I managed to escape unscathed because of my inability to communicate in French but it was time for the Sicilian to go. A few weeks and a new roommate later the landlady took off yet again with a young black male of Madagascarian descent somewhere deep inside the Swiss alps for 3 days. She had Stefan convey the message that the kitty was being locked up in the landlady’s private bathroom with enough food and water for 3 days. The new roommate and I were more than happy with this arrangement as it allowed us complete use and freedom of the apartment. When the landlady returned 3 days later and let the kitty out the loo, it must have been pretty peeved at being shut up like that because it continued to regularly deposit kaka on and around the landlady’s bed whenever it got the chance to for an entire week.
‘Ritze!’ (my Sicilian roommate was unable to pronounce my name, so I was given this Italian twist)
‘Yes? Is everything okay’ (I immediately recognized both the voice and the sense of disaster)‘Sorry to disturb-ay you like-ay this-ay’ (my roommate spoke with a marked Italian accent) ‘but-ay the stupid-ay cat did a KAKA (kaka is italian for shit) in front of our doors!!’
We were two interns in Geneva that summer amongst hordes of others trying to get something gainful out of the experience. She was desperately hunting for a contract and so was usually not amused very easily and mostly tended to be very serious. We were both living in the apartment of an old Swiss lady who was between 60 and 65 but had acquired a taste for young African men. Our fourth flatmate was Citronelle, the overfed 10 year old cat. Actually the word cat is an understatement for this fine feline specimen. It could actually be described as a lazy, small sized tiger.
‘The Crisis Develops’
‘Kaka? Whaqt do you mean?’
‘Kaka I mean-ay shit! The cat did shit in front of our door and I want our stupid-ay land lady’s number so I can tell her! Do you have her number?’
‘Well let me see…..actually I don’t since she doesn’t speak a word of English so I don’t ever talk to her. I have her son’s number. You want that?’
‘Okay then Ritze give me that-ay. I am gonna really give it to him!’
‘Uhhh well, just wait for me to get home okay? And we will figure this out. Okay?’
I gave the son’s number and went straight home. When I arrived and opened the door I found her slamming the phone shut after uttering a line of Italian expletives. Disaster had struck and I was too late in making it home to save the day. The landlady’s son had been abused and the Sicilian had travelled too far down the road. There were tears of frustration and anger in the eyes. I hadn’t quite laid my eyes on the problem and asked to be taken to the scene of the crime. I saw the kitty very comfortably sprawled on the carpet with her eyes half close. Nothing seemed to bother her. The Sicilian then marched me to the crime scene where I saw 2 very large sized kaka samples. One partly in front of my door and one directly in front of the bathroom door. One piece was placed on the table where the kitty often came over for her afternoon siesta. At first I could not believe that a cat was capable of ‘kaka’ that size. Those samples looked very human and very large to be coming out of a kitty. But then again the cat was rather big…then again, it was massive sized kaka. I could understand the Sicilians reason for the emotional implosion when faced with such a sight after a tough and long day at work. But then again the explosion and the liberal use of expletives with Stefan (landlady’s son) were also bound to land her in trouble. I was afraid that there was already too much water under the bridge. The Sicilian collected a few contacts and uttering the worst of Italian expletives slammed the main door shut on her way out. (‘kulo’, ‘putanaa’ and the works)
The Sicilian proceeded to make phone calls left right and center trying to arrange for a new place to live in since she was pretty sure that Stefan would come good on his threat of conveying the unacceptable behaviour to his mom who would then see to eviction. The Sicilian intended to find a place and save face when the landlady returned. The whole problem had actually started when the landlady left unannounced with her black lover for the Alps. She had a taste for young African males and tended to take off with them for romantic sojourns every now and then. She left the kitty behind who knew that she had a couple of days to fool around before the landlady returned. And hence the Kaka. The Sicilian slammed the door shut on the way out to meet landlords/ladies for the appointments that had just been made.
‘The Crisis Deepens’
The next morning I was jolted out of my slumber by the scream of the Sicilian. I sprung out of bed and yanked opened my door to expect the worse of the worst situations in progress outside in the hall. I saw the Sicilian with a hand on the mouth, holding back a gush of puke. I followed the Sicilian’s gaze to see the kitty feasting on a piece of her own Kaka. She was gingerly picking through the Kaka, separating the parts that won her fancy. It was amongst the more disgusting sights in recent memory and the Sicilian and I both scrambled for the bathroom sink to gag and puke. We left the apartment as soon as possible without washing up that morning vowing to let the landlady really have it later that night. So after spending a trauma struck day at work we both arrived at the apartment late at night. We sat up in the lounge flipping channels on the telly waiting for the landlady to arrive. When she finally arrived she was not in high spirits. The whole issue of the liberal use of Italian expletives had not sat well with Stefan who understood some Italian and had conveyed the finer points translated into French to his mum. When we took her to the hall to show the crimes committed by the kitty a day earlier, we found a friendly purring kitty faithfully snuggling in between the landlady’s legs and no sign of the kaka. All that remained were stains which were explained as vomit by poor Citronelle who had digestive problems sometimes. The Sicilian and I were profoundly shocked at having discovered that the kitty had digested all available evidence of its crimes and made us look extremely ridiculous.
‘The Kitty Strikes Back’
I managed to escape unscathed because of my inability to communicate in French but it was time for the Sicilian to go. A few weeks and a new roommate later the landlady took off yet again with a young black male of Madagascarian descent somewhere deep inside the Swiss alps for 3 days. She had Stefan convey the message that the kitty was being locked up in the landlady’s private bathroom with enough food and water for 3 days. The new roommate and I were more than happy with this arrangement as it allowed us complete use and freedom of the apartment. When the landlady returned 3 days later and let the kitty out the loo, it must have been pretty peeved at being shut up like that because it continued to regularly deposit kaka on and around the landlady’s bed whenever it got the chance to for an entire week.
Thursday, May 11, 2006
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