Myst-erious Ramblings

You might not know this but I was in the Boy Scouts way back when I was in school. That’s right folks, before dinosaurs got it into their thick heads that it would be a good idea to roam and rule the Earth, I had given education the old college try and and even mucked about trying to be a Cub Scout, a Scout, and a Cadet. For some reason (actually several reasons, but that’s another story) they wouldn’t let me near any musical instruments so the School Band was off limits.

‘Be prepared’ used to be my motto… although, come to think of it, I can’t remember a time when I actually was prepared for anything in my life.

In those days our Akeyla, (that’s Scout Leader I think, or it could mean ‘grumbly old coot’ since our Akeyla happened to be Mrs. George — who some older Majeedhiyan’s might remember — used to gather us around in the playground every day and ask us what our good deed for the day was.

Now, I’m still not sure exactly what it is that Boy Scouts are really supposed to do besides learn to tie a lot of complicated knots (the best I managed was to tie my hands and legs together in particularly complicated knots that ended with me crawling to the Scout Master for help in getting free) and go on Jamborees (that’s sort of like a picnic in an uninhabited island and exclusively for boys. Very gay!) but I do remember that the official promise of the Boy Scouts ended with the phrase: “…and I promise to do a good deed every day.”

Ergo, (Yay! I’ve really wanted to use that word ever since I saw “The Matrix Reloaded”) the question by Mrs George. Ergo also the reason why the gathered cub scouts furrow their brows in deep concentration as they quickly tried to come up with something that could be considered a good deed.

For myself, I usually went with the ol’ reliable, which was: ‘I helped an old lady cross the road today’, never mind the fact that she never wanted to cross any stinkin’ roads in the first place and would beat me over the head repeatedly with a closed umbrella or a rolled up newspaper while I navigated through oncoming traffic. I played it safe, as do a couple of other kids, but there were also those overachievers in our midst who just had to stand apart from the dweebs (that’s me and a few other kids) and draw attention to themselves by their breathtakingly adventurous good deeds. Saving infants from burning buildings, landing stricken airplanes about to blow up, snatching drowning babies from the jaws of death in shark-infested seas, it was all in a day’s work for these young heroes who apparently lived to do good deeds and help their fellow men and women. Man alive, how I hated them! If I could have come up with stories half as good as theirs I would have been able to pass English with better marks in Grade 7 and 8, instead of barely making a C.

All this ‘good deed’ stuff came back to me today, as I opened the door to the house where my office was located, and mentally prepared myself to climb the stairs to the fourth floor and saw a pile of boxes with a pair of human legs below it coming slowly down the stairs. Due to the boxes I couldn’t see above the guy’s waist, as they were piled one on top of the other so high that it went well above the man’s head, but judging from the tremble in the man’s hands as he carefully put one foot down on the stairs below the one which he was standing, he must have been carrying the boxes from some time.

The man took another slow step down and I could finally see his face from a side: a middle-aged man with thinning hair, a moustache and sweat pouring down his face in rivulets. The staircase was located straight in front of the door and there was no way I could have gone past the man because of the wide load he was carrying. I could have ducked under the boxes but that would have been so impolite, right? The dormant Boy Scout instincts in me kicked out and I realized here was a chance for me to do my good deed for the day. I immediately opened the door as wide as it would go and held it open for him so that he could easily make his way out without having to pull the door open with his foot or something. The door was equipped with an automatic door closer that kept the door from slamming shut. Due to that I needed to hold the door open until he could go out.

So there I was holding the door open, with a smile on my face that would have shamed a Halloween pumpkin, when I realized that it had been a good minute and the man carrying the boxes was still standing at the bottom of the stairs and not making any effort to go out. The slight tremble in his hands had progressed to full blown shaking and even the boxes on top were now teetering. I could even hear his breath coming in short gasps. In that small enclosed space at the bottom of the stairs there really was no room for any maneuvering and I wondered whether he had even seen me opening the door for him.

“Er… I’m holding the door open,” I said, finally. “You can go out. The door’s open.”

The man said something but it was too muffled by the boxes in front and I had to ask, “What?”

“I’m not… taking the… boxes… outside,” the man gasped.

“Oh?” That’s strange, I thought, maybe he’s exercising. I wondered whether I should close the door or not but the Boy Scout instinct in me wouldn’t have none of it. Help the man at all costs and do your good deed for the day, it said.

The man said something, I wasn’t sure what, but the boxes were definitely keeling over now. The man drew a sharp breath and pitched forward slightly to straighten the pile, inadvertently taking another step down the stairs. “So…” I said eventually, seeing as I was now face to box with the man and he was not making any move to go back up. “What are you doing with the boxes?”

“Could you… close the… door? — wheeze! pant! — I need… to put these… in the storage space…. under the stairs!”

The what now? Oh right. The storage space under the stairs. Finally, realization dawned on me. He wasn’t taking the boxes outside. He was trying to keep the boxes under the stairs! But he couldn’t get past me because I was blocking his way in my effort to hold the door open. Yeesh! Just my luck, I thought. Try to help a man and you end up doing the opposite.

“Sorry,” I mumbled and after deliberating about it for a second, ducked under his arms and started climbing the stairs behind him. He should be able to drop the boxes under the stairs now. Too late, I realized that the door was equipped with a door closer and it was now swinging shut, with glacial slowness, forcing the man to wait, holding the precariously balanced and heavy pile of boxes on his hands, until the door closed completely before he could move down.

Should I go back, duck under the boxes again and close the door for him? I scrapped the idea. I had done enough damage already. The man was sweating buckets now even his legs seemed to be very shaky.

Yep, definitely time for me to go, I decided, and began bounding up the stairs. I had reached the fourth floor, where my office was, when I heard a loud scream from downstairs followed by a tremendous crash. A few seconds later I there was the sound of the door closing softly.

NOTE: This is an old blog entry from my Multiply account. I’m transferring some of the old blog entries here to my new blog at WordPress.)

It’s been a few days since the former President’s body was brought to Maldives and buried with all the fanfare reserved for a once-President. From the moment I heard the news of his death I’ve felt like I was watching a tennis match.

On one side were those who considered President Nasir to be a dictator and tyrant, directly responsible for the death of a large number of Maldivians and only a step behind (or forward, depending on who you ask) Maumoon in ruthlessness and hunger for power. On the other side were the people who seemed to think he was the best thing that had happened to the country. So… there were people who thought he was great and almost an equal number of people who thought he was nothing but a big tyrant. There were even those who thought he was a bit of both: a great big tyrant!

Despite the fact that he was a former President I didn’t feel compelled to go and take a look at his dead body while it was displayed for the public inside the Presidential Palace. It was nothing personal since I really felt nothing against him; I was just not interested and there more immediate things that required my attention. The thought of checking out the much hyped about “wonders” inside the Presidential Palace was a big draw, I admit, but in the end it wasn’t enough.

Considering the amount of people who went to see the body, I’m inclined to think there were those who went there just to brag about having seen a dead president, some who genuinely wanted to pay their last respects to a person they considered to be great, some who just wanted to grab the chance to enter the Presidential Palace and those who just wanted to make sure that Nasir really was dead.

Even on the MVBlogs it was the same. There were several blogs that praised him while an equal amount seemed to say good riddance to bad rubbish. The media however seemed entirely focused on portraying the former President in a good light. Every positive aspect of the development of Maldives has now more or less attributed to him, leaving ex-President Maumoon with egg on his face.

There were some who were on the fence too. I think I could be counted among those. Some of my friends hate Nasir because of the Havaru Thinadhoo incident. Those friends whose relatives were directly affected by the incident hate Nasir with a vengeance. To me Nasir was a non-entity. Maumoon came into power long before I was old enough to even understand what a Government was. None of my family members were affected either way (as far as I know) by the change in Government and so I wasn’t raised in an environment where people discussed the heinous crimes said to have been committed by Nasir. Even if it was discussed, I have no recollection of it.

While rummaging through the Dhivehi book shelves at the old National Library I saw many issues of “Aabaaru” (I think it was called) which had cartoons that depicted Nasir as a demon intent on amassing as much wealth as he could before Maumoon the Saviour sent him packing. For many years during my childhood I thought Nasir was a fictional monster, like Foolhu Dhigu Handi or Rannamaari (ok, so they seemed pretty real at the time). Then later, during Social Studies classes in school, I did learn some of the history of Maldives including the bit that the President who was in power before Maumoon was residing in Singapore — but to me that was nothing more than a fact to memorize to ensure an extra mark on my exams.

During the last few days I’ve heard more about how great and how evil Nasir was than I want to know and that has really left me conflicted. So will the real Nasir please stand up? Oh wait. Too late.

It’s the final day of campaigning and I can’t help wondering how things will turn out in two days time. I’m excited, and at the same time a little cautious, at the thought of what changes Maldives would go through if Maumoon is voted out. It’s a big ‘if’ though.

As the first round of the election proved, not everyone wants a president who was already extremely old when some pharaoh came up with the idea to build pyramids. Watching our geriatric leader talk about the new heights that he’s going to take the country to and the tough decisions that the next president will likely have to make, I can’t help but wonder what makes him so sure that he’s even going to be around in a few years time. Sure he’s managed to make it this far (a remarkable achievement, I’m sure) but how much longer can he hold out against the relentless flow of time? He’s likely to just keel over any day now and doctors will find that, no matter the circumstances surrounding his death, he had died of extreme old age. How’s he gonna make tough decisions about the future if he ain’t gonna be in it?

As Chris Rock says “I don’t want a president with a Bucket List!”

I have no doubt that, given the current state of Maldives, Anni has a very good chance of beating Maumoon in a free and fair election. But that’s the thing, right? Is it going to be a free and fair election? From what we’ve seen in the past I have a suspicion that Maumoon is going to win the election with over a 60% majority, regardless of who gets the most votes.

What do you think?

“So who did you vote for in the first round?”

The question came from a close friend whose PC I was trying to disinfect from a whole plethora of nasty viruses and malware. Usually I would respond to that question with some idiotic joke about iBra and how his presidency would revolutionize the lingerie industry. But this time, possibly because I was a little preoccupied with trying to find a particularly nasty malware, I sort of automatically responded with the truth.

“The good doctor got my vote that time,” I said.

“Really? Doctor Jameela? The she-man? Why?”

“Why not? Seemed like the best choice to me and that’s reason enough to vote for him. Who did you vote for?”

“Maumoon, of course!” he said.

“But of course; you can’t imagine anyone else being president can you?”

“That’s because no one else is qualified,” he responded promptly. “What about in the runoff?”

“I’m undecided at the moment,” I said. “But I’m leaning towards Anni, much as I’d hate to have a moronic clown as a president, the alternative is worse.”

“Ah, but you’re wrong there!”

“Am I?”

“Yessss!!! Let me give you a sneak peek into Aneh Dhivehiraajje and then you will see that our salvation can only come if Maumoon remains as President.”

“Sure, go ahead,” I said. “Knock yourself out. I’m almost done with your PC anyway.”

“Hmmm… so let’s say Anni becomes president,” he began in a soft voice. “Everyone knows that he smokes weed and probably does more hardcore drugs as well, which explains his bloodshot eyes and squeaky, cracked voice. He drinks alcohol and it’s no secret that many of his relatives aren’t even Muslim. So you have to agree that in Anni’s Aneh Dhivehiraajje most of our youth will be intoxicated and high on drugs. As a result crime will skyrocket, and national productivity will plunge. Since he’s not a Muslim he would allow people of other religions to go ahead and spread their filthy beliefs throughout the country. Anarchy is sure to follow and total chaos will reign. Most of the businessmen are behind him so almost all of the country’s wealth will be funneled into their bank accounts and nationwide poverty will be unavoidable. And let’s not even talk about the economy! Adhaalath Party is also behind him and no doubt that means religious fundamentalism will have a very strong foothold in the country. Women will be forced to wear those black, full-body veils and all their rights will be for naught! Maldives will become another Afghanistan or Saudi Arabia!”

By then I had begun ignoring the alert messages flashing on the computer monitor and given my full attention to my friend. His voice had become somewhat louder by the end of his monologue.

“Hmmm… daimn! That’s quite a dystopian future you’ve envisioned for Aneh Dhivehiraajje.” I finally said, deciding to ignore the numerous contradictions he had presented during his… er, vision.

“You know I am right! You aren’t stupid.” he said.

“Well, see… the thing is,” I tried to try and make him understand one last time. “What you’ve envisioned for the future is almost, if not exactly, the same as our present. What you’ve just said very accurately describes the state of Maldives right now. And quite surprisingly, we got here with Maumoon as our benevolent and fearless leader.”

My friend stopped. He opened his mouth to say something and then closed it.

“You know I am right!” I told him. “And since we already are living in your version of Aneh Dhivehiraajje, I’m thinking I’ll go vote for change and see if we could get back to our Maldives somehow. It’s worth taking the chance, right?”

After three weeks in the Garden of Eden, God came to visit Eve.

“So, how is everything going?” God inquired.

“It is all so beautiful, God,” she replied. “The sunrises and sunsets are breathtaking. The smells, the sights, everything is wonderful. But I have just one problem. It’s these breasts you have given me. The middle one pushes the other two out and I am constantly knocking them with my arms, catching them on branches and snagging them on bushes. They are a real pain,” Eve reported.

And Eve went on to tell God that since many other parts of her body came in pairs, such as her limbs, eyes, ears, etc, she felt that having only two breasts might leave her body more “symmetrically balanced,” as she put it.

“That is a fair point,” God replied. “But it was my first shot at this, you know. I gave the animals six breasts, so I figured that you needed only half of those, but I see that you are right. I will fix it up right away.” And God reached down, removed the middle breast and tossed it into the bushes.

Three weeks passed and God once again visited Eve in the Garden of Eden. “Well, Eve, how is my favourite creation?”

“Just fantastic,” she replied. “But for one oversight on your part: You see all the animals are paired off. The ewe has a ram and the cow has her bull. All the animals have a mate except me. I feel so alone.”

God thought for a moment and said: “You know, Eve, you are right. How could I have overlooked this? You do need a mate and I will immediately create a man from a part of you. Now let’s see, where did I put that useless boob…?”

Now: doesn’t that make more sense than all that crap about the rib or thigh?

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Came across this ‘joke’ while Stumbling. I thought this was a worthwhile addition to all those lovely  myths about the creation of man… heheheh

I should have known this would happen eventually when I started uploading my digital paintings and photos to DeviantArt, but it still came as somewhat of a shock. What happened is that someone’s “stolen” one of my works on DA and used part of it on some Rapidshare links forum’s banner graphic without my permission. I got the heads-up from a friend on DA who just sent a simple message saying “check this link”. At first I didn’t realise what he was trying to show to me but the photo at the top did look a little familiar. It took a few seconds for realization to dawn.

Link to the forum

http://www.hotspiceworld.com/forums/

Here is a low-res version of my original painting.

Some time back, when I was very active on DA, several of my DA friends were very upset when their artworks were stolen from DA and put up on Photobucket, sometimes for sale even. It had become quite a big problem for DA users. I was kinda expecting some of my works to end up on Photobucket and wondering how I would react to it but the situation never came about (as far as I know). Probably coz my work isn’t good enough to steal.

Anyway, having finally experienced getting my work used by someone else for their own purposes without my permission, I have to admit that at first I felt quite flattered, probably because it felt good to find out that someone thought my work was actually good enough to steal. But after the initial rush, I’m not feeling too good about it. The feeling isn’t particularly pleasant. ugh!