Jesus of Suburbia

I had the real pleasure of being in Kerala during the Christmas season. For me one of the things that makes Kerala, magic, is that being born to her fertile, fussy womb, is like a toothache.
You have to concentrate and will, overcome, pretend, become another ....thing, to be anything other than Malayali.
While religon in parts of the country nay the world, has become a volitional platform to essay the boundless, infinitely inventive art of human hatred. Kerala seems to regard religious polarisation with the amused equanimity of a parent at their child's temporary conversion to the religious order of the "Mighty Morpin' Power Rangers."

I think it is secret knowledge bred into the cranial cavity of Keralite progeny that no religious power or principality can move that head of hair; such is it's cargo of Malayali pride and "Vellichanne"
Anyway, I think what I am trying to say is pretty much summed up in the picture below. I took it on the long walk from my then apartment to a telephone booth, the only one in the municipality, to engage in what then became my epithet - an international call!!!
My epithet incidentally translates to STD-boy. An abbreviation whose internationally accepted exansion is not the least bit flattering. Like the superhero side-kick of VD-man. Veiled in shadow, secrecy, public disdain and LATEX.

Anyway.............

A fiberglass neon coconut christmas tree, would be the natural course of rationale if religion was tailored to fit people rather than the other way around. It is the the suppressed madness in us that makes us want to force Santa Claus bundled up for openair supersonic stratospheric travel into a chimney designed for spicy fish curry vapours.
The same madness that mandates the death of a million surgical cotton enrobed conifers each year, crucified to the bloated muggy heat of the tropics.
So, this tree (and the other one) thrilled the rationalist in me quite a bit! Plus, you have to agree, in 8th standard craft period terms, the gluemanship deserves five smileys!!!




But, the curry-ification of christmas cheer is not restricted to christmas flora.
We decided to drive one night, to the "Arthungal Palli" (Arthungal church) a gothic vestige of the 18th century when Christianity in India still had that fresh "Made in the foreign" sticker on it.
Arthungal is a church of St. Sebastian.
The prelates of today have a serious quandary on their hands in honouring the martyrdom of St. Sebastian who was first tied to a tree and perforated by a death squad of archers - lived - spread the holy (Oh god! horrible pun) word of god, and was then beaten to death - died-.
I am not sure if pontifical consent was procured on this one, but the entertainment the evening we visited was an energetic, dance-aerobics demonstration set to a Tamil song entitled "Chickoo Buckoo, Chickoo Buckoo Railae"
















I guess the point I am trying to make is that Kerala's take on "God" and the possible plural thereof is something really refreshing.






Oh! and it was only a matter of time right.....
Communism already claims responsibility for so many things we consider sacrosanct,
like Siberian prison camps and Cuban cigars!
The precept of Christianity is but another star on it's tunic.
I can quite easily imagine the scrupulous comrade in the P.R. department at C.P.I [M] world headquarters getting a double quota of state sponsored Brandy and a "Mao's little helper" badge for this idea. Many people like icons of religious scripture, many people also are not communists. Whoa!! hold on a minute!!! What if we........!?

Who knew.....the star that the three wise men were using as a beacon was actually the enigmatic refulgence of Marxism!!

Star streck

It is a rather pleasant evening here at Kochi.
I think I saw a monarch butterfly earlier. It was splattered against the windshield of the bus I was traveling in so it might have been anything from a largish dragon-fly to a smallish albatross, it is hard to be sure.
The bus by the way was my first VOLVO experience, I positioned myself at a wonderful vantage spot behind the driver and watched him with rapt attention for several hours. I must say, I was pretty impressed with the little studio apartment the driver has.
For trekkers such as myself, the similarity to the helm of the USS Enterprise, in ST:TNG; is more than obvious and infinitely thrilling! Also, as a spatial reference I was sitting roughly where Counsellor Deanna Troy would be (I also sat for a brief period in Lt. Cmdr. Riker’s seat and before you point it out, I did sit as slanty as I could and as is customary employed only one butt cheek. But, most awesome is the fact that the pneumatic door actuator sounds almost like the bridge door on USS Voyager. How cool is that!!!!! “Captain on the bridge!!!!” “Bridge is yours number 1”

Gear changes are at 2000 rpm. Something, I never knew before, I wonder if it is approximately the range on all buses. DIESEL TORQUE ROCKS! or more accurately TWISTS! I love diesel engines, they are never whiny, never high strung, take all the torture in the world with a manly grunt and run happily with with no fancy electrical bits, they are the bull-mastiffs of the automotive world, where formula 1 engines are the Chihuahuas.