text:
At Half Mast
by Abhishek Hazra
Abhishek Hazra uses video, performance and text with an ironic fascination for theoretical debates around knowledge production and historiography. His recent series of lecture performances explore questions around affect, precarity and provincial cosmopolitanism. Abhishek has exhibited widely, including Kochi Muziris Biennale, Experiment Marathon Reykjavik and MAXXI Museum, Rome. He has been an artist-in-residence in various residences including Gasworks, London and SymbioticA, Perth. Abhishek has also been the recipient of multiple awards including the Sanskriti Award for Visual Art.
Filling the entire Indian Peninsula from the oceans to the Himalayas, here lies bonded labor spreadeagled, kamiya-whore Douloti Nagesia's tormented corpse, putrified with venereal disease, having vomited up all the blood in her desiccated lungs. … What will Mohan do now? Douloti is all over India.[1]
One is besieged by a strange disquiet as one confronts Half Mast, Probir Gupta's recent body of work that simultaneously straddles the practices of both painting and installation. As one negotiates between painted surfaces and objects, that disquiet pitches its unrelenting intensity even higher. You soon realize that Probir's works, in fact his entire approach to art-making, is predicated on an incessant excavation of the paroxysms of our lifeworld: something that affects you at a very visceral level.
Take, for example, the work titled White Man's Paranoia, where monumental figures emerge from a wasteland saturated with the detritus of industrial machinery. Irrespective of their age or gender the figures bear the all too evident markers of their Islamic 'ethnicity'. What however frames their monumentality are the dwarfed fragments of classical European architecture that are interleaved between these resolute bodies. Probir doesn't leave us in any doubt that the immediate context for this work (and a few others in this exhibition) is the brutality of the American occupation in Iraq and the post-9/11 world where the vilification of Islam as a pre-modern evil threatening the very fabric of western civilization has been overproduced with a paranoid fervor. As we locate the echoes of a portal or an arched gateway in those architectural fragments, we are reminded of other more contemporary portals that have come to be associated as the sites where the American paranoia with anything even remotely Islamic finds a very precise deployment: the security check in international airports. However, it would be erroneous to equate Probir's position as merely anti-American or anti-Bush. His is a critique against the sheer recalcitrance of neo-imperialism: a process in which the majority of Western powers ("white man" in Probir's impassioned partisanship) find themselves irrefutably complicit. We will come back to this point a little later.
Though the work is more or less monochromatic -predominately black and white with sharp accents of red reminiscent of a Russian Constructivist palette, there is a usage of blue that takes one by surprise. In what could be possibly called a widely asymmetrical diptych, Probir literally attaches a thin strip of blue sky. It reminds one of those hand painted backdrops that are still found in small photo-studios, backdrops that transport the photographed subjects into the cities and gardens of their fantasy. Here the sky expands the pictorial space dramatically and accentuates its overall scale. Perhaps because of its sharp disjuncture from the rest of the canvas one finds oneself squinting and trying to visualize the work shorn of its blue extension. But the retinal intensity of the color forces you to include it back in your visual field. An interesting oscillation is thus set up where the canvas seems to alternately dilate and contract. As you track the trajectory of this oscillation you notice that those figures in the foreground seems to rise and fall synchronously, trapped in a sky-less prison house of a remorseless grey they appear much smaller than their confident assertion in presence of the sky. One could allegorize this movement as that crucial process where one abandons the mentality of victim hood to attempt a realization of one's agency, to attempt a full-bodied engagement with history, even if at its tenuous margins. Perhaps the paranoia that Probir refers to in the title is really the paranoid resistance to this very transformation: as long as the people most affected in the on going global theatre of violence can be perpetuated as victims, they can be easily co-opted in those benevolent instruments of capitalist liberalism like 'human rights' and 'democracy'.
As you internally replay the images served up from the media amphitheatres that sprout around those sites of violence - Iraq, Lebanon, Kosovo, Rwanda, Sudan, Kashmir - you begin to sense that all of Probir's works embody a deep violence, or rather an acute awareness of the sheer pervasiveness of violence. His paintings assault you with their scarred, turbulent surfaces. Those encrustations of paint evoke not only the bloodied nightmares of incinerated flesh and of devastated hearths but also the latent violence that marks our contemporary life/world. But what could possibly animate this affective power of Probir's paintings? It cannot be just the frenetic and layered application of paint. We are familiar with the fact that as a formal device impasto has had a long history and that perhaps there is nothing particularly novel -at least at a purely formal level - in attempting to foreground the sheer materiality of paint and the manifest marks of its material manipulation. As a possible answer one could tentatively point to that intense relay that Probir sets up between the tropes of the machine and the body.
One has to see his works The Blue Print and Dislocated Spine or The Protected Monument and the Quilt to witness how Probir ruptures the formal, physical coherence of both machine and human and captures their attempt to re-constitute themselves even as they disintegrate into each other. As we try to delineate the contours of a shadowy human form from what appears to be the eviscerated remains of a mutilated body - streaks of ruptured arteries or clumps of suppurating tissue - our gaze is repeatedly interrupted by recognizable fragments of machinery: a piston, a shock absorber, a hinge, a joint, a corkscrew. Confronted with this vision of disintegration, we seem to symbolically experience a strange dissolution of our own bodies: our awareness of our corporeality seems to transgress the limits of our skin to leak out and lap at the boundaries of other objects, other bodies.
Perhaps this extremely disorienting experience has the potential to offer us a vantage point. A vantage point from which we could begin to map our own complicity in the very history that we wish to disassociate ourselves from. It goes without saying that such a cartography will never mimic the silken tracks of a GPS map and would demand a torturous unpacking of the desires and fears we intimately inhabit. Alain Resnais, in his 31 minute documentary on the Holocaust captured that moment of depressing epiphany when our complicity confronts us in all its concreteness. Shot within the abandoned sites of the Auschwitz and Majdanek concentration camps just ten years after their liberation, "Night and Fog"juxtaposes 1955 color photography of the camps with black and white archival footage of the samecamps humming with activity as engines ofgenocide.Inthe closing sequence, the camera goes to the top of an observation tower in one of the camps. The voiceover reminds us:
Who among us keeps watch from this strange watchtower to warn of the arrival of our new executioners? Are their faces really different from our own? … With our sincere gaze we survey these ruins, as if the old monster lay crushed forever beneath the rubble. We pretend to take up hope again as the image recedes into the past, as if we were cured once and for all of the scourge of the camps. We pretend it all happened only once, at a given time and place. We turn a blind eye to what surrounds us and a deaf ear to humanity's never-ending cry.
Only in such recapitulations of history can one even begin to imagine a proper mourning. The architectural structure of a memorial is then perhaps condemned to betray its intended function. With its bravura performance of trying to give memory a concrete shape, doesn't it actually erase the very memory of the event it is meant to remember? It then becomes easy for us to slip into amnesia as we conveniently relinquish the actual task of remembering to the monument. In the process we become increasingly unmoored from that traumatic moment in history that demands our vigilant engagement.
The title work of the show, At Half Mast attempts to underscore this impossibility of a memorial. An upturned canon is installed in front of small framed drawings of flowers. The drawings are all 'naïve' attempts at picture making, actually the product of mentally challenged children whom Probir met through the series of innovative workshops he has been organizing with children from various Delhi schools. The main cylinder of the canon bears the kind of layered, black and white smears that figure repeatedly in Probir's canvases. The canon is upturned in a manner that positions this cylinder vertically, almost perfectly perpendicular to its more normal horizontal position. In this vertical position the canon literally seems to wilt in shame before a field of cheerful flowers. Beyond the irony of the phallic subtext, how are we to read this wilting canon? As a nation-state 'hanging its head in shame' for having abdicated its own responsibility? Or has it been forced to adopt this fake performance of shame as a fleeting substitute for the memorial it will never build: a memorial that could have attempted to remember the millions like Douloti who have perished at the forgotten margins of the nation state.
At another level, one could read this installation as an ironic reworking of images and scenarios that continue to define the sixties counter-cultural moment in public memory. The symbolic field of flowers and the canon reminds you of that Pete Seeger song, "Where have all the flowers gone?" or that mediatised image of a vivacious girl breaking through an army procession to slip a flower into a soldier's gun-barrel. But surely, an antiquated canon could never have been part of those elaborate instruments of warfare - weapons of mass destruction, if you will - that were being deployed by America then. In thus creating a historical dissonance, is Probir urging us to think more carefully on the intimate ties that bind the nation-state to the organized practice of violence? In fact, one doesn't have to probe too hard to realize that political modernity is predicated on a centralized nation-state monopolizing violence. For the state, the unpardonable transgression of the terrorist resides not in the actual acts of violence, per se, but in upsetting the state's unquestioned monopoly on violence. In thus positioning themselves in the penumbra of the nation-state, the figure of the terrorist throws into relief the very fiction of the nation-state: an entity which in spite of its correspondence with a particular territory is simply not an immutable given and has to be imagined into existence.
It is precisely those processes of the national imaginary that are alluded to in Products of a Product where pehelwans (traditional Indian wrestlers) lock themselves into a pitched combat under the shadow of an oversized kidney. Indian nationalism, echoing the nationalisms of other nations, has repeatedly framed the body as a crucial site for its own display. The somaticity of athleticism, particularly the tradition of kushti with its attendant figure of the North Indian, male, Hindu pehelwan has been used to symbolically stand in for a fit and virile nation-state. For the nationalist imaginary, the pehelwan however is not just a fit figure fluent in complicated manoeuvres of the body. His is a figure that is placed under the sign of 'purity,' for isn't it within the pure space of his akhara (gym) that the corrupting influences of an 'external' (read 'western') modernity can be cleansed away to yield a more authentic 'inner' reality of a patriarchal nation-state? Now apart from their purifying function, kidneys also help in maintaining the homeostasis - the dynamic equilibrium of myriad components - in our bodies. Watching over the spectacle of those wrestling figures, the glowering red of the kidney perhaps reiterates the tired but seldom learnt truth of 'national purity': unlike the physiological universe of our bodies, purity in our body-politic produces the very opposite of homeostasis and what remains in its wake is devastation and trauma.
Some centuries back, it was the trauma of suffering soldiers that pushed Ambroise Pare (1510-1590) to his legendary surgical innovations in the treatment of gunshot wounds. Widely considered as one of the early pioneers of surgery, Pare was born into a barber's family but worked his way up to become the surgeon to four successive kings of France. In Brain Damage Probir reproduces some of the surgical implements devised by Pare for the treatment of cranial injury in a way that confounds our expectations of scale (in the installation the instruments measure close to seven feet long). Fabricated out of rusty sheet metal, they stand in stark contrast to the gleaming stainless-steel contraptions that we now usually associate with something as critical as brain surgery. Menacing in their scale, they initially remind you of the crude, home grown weapons that play such a decisive role in the violent micro-politics that convulse our forgotten hinterlands. Obviously in Probir's installation they are no longer a scaled-up version of Ambroise's instruments. But then, what are these things? Are they the terrible harvest of our violent modernity? Have Pare's abandoned instruments been secretly nourished by that infinitude of soldiers whose lives have been erased in the name of the nation? When indeed does an instrumentof healing invert itself into its exact opposite: an instrument for inflicting pain and suffering? [2]
The other half of this installation features avery shallow circular disc mounted on a tripod withwheels.Onthe convex surface of the disc a painted face confronts us with a gaze that is insistent and searching even as it is fixed on something distant. Screws, nuts and hooks attached to the surface of the disc seem to cut into this vulnerable face. Is this the victim of a damaged brain who had to be immediately wheeled into an emergency operation? As we return our gaze back to the face, we start noticing the blue monochrome of the face more intensely. The circular form of the disc, its curious vertical configuration that almost makes it hover in mid-air, the swirling streaks of blue and white on its surface - all these somehow seem to point you to the familiar image of the earth's luminous orb as seen from outer space. Confronted with the scale of that image - the 'totality' of the earth's body seen from thousands of miles away - you realize that perhaps the damaged brain doesn't belong to an individual body. The body, complete with its wounds and damages, is infinitely vast here: it is perhaps the collective body of our imagination, the body politic of our life/world.
We had earlier mentioned that though Probir condemns the American occupation in Iraq, he refuses to collapse his critique into a merely anti-American one. He feels that in many instances a blinkered anti-Americanism runs the considerable risk of glossing over the hegemonic violence that western powers continue to exercise through the bogus emancipatory gestures of globalization. It is to Probir's credit that even when he recapitulates histories with which we as postcolonial subjects are only too familiar, he succeeds in bypassing mere pedantry to arrive at something that insists on our engagement. The arrogance of power that is so grotesquely framed in those three laughing faces in This is Not a Pipe reminds us once more of the force with which the certitude of mainstream history, produced in those very triumphal centers of power, impinges on our collective worldview. Predictably enough, such histories also remain oblivious to the epistemic violence which marks its own enterprise. Are those clumps of vegetation - fruit stalks about to burst open - a comment on the terrible fecundity of such epistemic violence? In juxtaposing Magritte's pipe - that iconic statement on the representational quandary inherent in the vexed relationship between the signifier and signified - with the apparently objective methodology of cartographic representation, Probir reminds us once again of the historical ties between cartography and the nineteenth century Empire building projects of the European powers.
The installation Potato Eaters also cites another canonical painting - the early Van Gogh masterpiece Potato Eaters - as one of its reference points. The installation's main element is an anthropomorphic metal chair whose shallow seat has been stuffed with actual potatoes. A slowly rotating crankshaft is lowered onto that mass of potatoes. Working almost as the spinal column of this imaginary chair-figure, the crankshaft also seems to point to the irreducible physicality of human labor. This chair is placed against two sets of photographs hung on the wall.
One set frames a diverse grouping of subaltern subjects from domestic maids to car mechanics.
The other set documents a neighborhood wall close to Probir's studio in Aya Nagar, a relatively newer settlement in South Delhi that is caught up within the tensions of being an unregulated settlement pushed into the configurations of a 'proper' colony. The photographs actually record the gradual disintegration of election posters that an enterprising youth from the neighbourhood had put up as part of his campaign for the office of the local municipality. In recasting mundane objects within the tropes of the 'mechanical' (crank-shaft) and the 'organic' (potatoes) the work also seem to operate within a certain Beuysian sensibility. In fact the presence of actual potatoes (organic matter not immune from the bio-physical processes of decay and decrepitude) imbues the work with a strange urgency. In Van Gogh's painting, though darkness envelopes the peasant family they still remain visible. However, in Probir's installation it is the absence of the subaltern subject - or rather the absence of the figure of the labouring body - that gets powerfully foregrounded. Even as we scan the photographs on the walls and so in a literal way actually see faces and bodies, a sense of loss continues to haunt us as these figures seem to become representative of the forgotten detritus of 'progress'.
The consensual hallucination of 'progress' talks back to us even in the installation Mirage of an Oasis. Within the spatial configuration of the exhibition's installation, Mirage was in fact the first work of "Half Mast" that the viewer encountered upon entering. Conceptualized initially for a Khoj Public Arts Residency at the JNU (Jawaharlal Nehru University) campus, the work seems to simulate a veritable graveyard of communication: rows of old, black telephones, their surfaces smeared over with a palimpsest of newspaper texts, are placed over equally old and dysfunctional electrical stabilizers. Each telephone/stabilizer combine is perched atop a tall black stool. Perhaps these dead phones are an ironic comment on its more contemporary cousin, the mobile phone. Today, the image of the mobile phone has become a handy abbreviation for a range of 'feel good' thematics - pervasive connectivity, social mobility, promises of untapped consumer markets. The kitsch image of the jubilant farmer speaking into a mobile phone would like us to believe in a garrulous nation in conversation with itself. But that old questions remains: who gets heard? Who speaks? Which mobile phone could have the residents of Harsud [3] picked up when rapid action forces stormed into their town? Who does one turn to when one is imprisoned within silence? One could perhaps read the quilt in The Protected Monument and the Quilt as a sensitive gesture of sympathy and solidarity. Within the nightmare of Abu Gharib, who would have comforted the shivering Iraqi, shattered by humiliation and torture, with the warmth of a quilt? A quilt decorated with the sumptuous flowers of a heavenly garden? When delusions like 'the clash of civilizations' attempt to explain everything away, the quilt becomes in a way a humane gift from one ancient civilization to another. In the warmth of that sharing the boundaries of geopolitical reality cease to be meaningful: Baghdad and Delhi become neighboring by-lanes.
In Farq, Probir erects a roughly hewn wooden door held in place by a basic metal frame. On top of this frame he places a small color television that plays ashort film that Probir made on the Nizami brothers, accomplished Sufi singers from the Dargah of Nizamuddin Aulia who trace their lineage back to the legendarymusician, Amir Khusru. A cheap tin suitcase whose basehasbeenremoved out is placed over this entire TV/door assemblage. In India, the tin suitcase, particularly the kind used in this work, is an inescapable marker of subaltern itinerancy: you are bound to spot it in the makeshift 'shanties' that dot the rapidly proliferating construction sites in any prominent city. The door - that supremely liminal object that simultaneously exists both inside and outside, between architecture and furniture - does not lead to any home here. Neither does it lead to any ration-shop, panchayat (local government) office, bookstore or cricket ground. However, it does invite us to imagine the spaces that it could have possibly led into. Obviously, we think first of the room of the migrant labourer only to realize the bitter irony of such a slippage. And then we also notice that the door doesn't open up to a room but ascends to the real house of the labourer: the cramped caverns of a tin-suitcase.
The video in Farq is essentially a long and relaxed interview with the Nizami brothers. The brothers speak about Qawwali [4], their vocation and passion, and their life that is quite literally woven around that rich musical form. They also reflect on the notion of difference (farq) and the Sufi interpretation of the "other". They dwell on the epistemological inevitability of difference - the difference between material things, between self and other, etc. - and the how difference shades into discrimination. The Sufi worldview and its inherent humanism recur frequently in the conversation. Bauls [5]-and their philosophy of Shobar opore Manush Shotto, Tahar Opore Nai ("Humanity, above all, is the supreme lodestar") enter quite naturally into this discussion. As I was watching the film, I was reminded of an incident that Probir had recounted to me. An untrained, but natural singer and musician, Probir was excited by the sheer diversity of musical practice that he encountered in Paris during his extended stay there in the early Eighties. The Rastafarians fascinated him particularly. Apart from the vigour and grace of their performance, what intrigued him was their invocation of Kali, the Hindu Goddess of death and destruction particularly popular in Probir's home state of Bengal. Unaware of the particularities of Jamaican history, he found that geographical leap of imagination intensely liberating. Though he later became familiar with the hybridity of Jamaican history and the cultural trajectory of the "India" of a diasporic girmitya (indentured labourers), the 'Rasta Kali' with its resonance of cultural linkages breaching a kupamundak [6]space-time, continued to fascinate him. Probir, in fact sees Rastafarianism and Sufism as kindred spirits in their celebration of the transgressive camaraderie of humanity [7]. A mobile, fluid humanity that weaves itself into existence even as it shifts and travels. But we would be only too foolish to be over-enthusiastic about the transformative potential of travel. Migration and displacement are not always epistemological peepholes into the contradictions of an affluent, metropolitan postcoloniality. Sometimes they are also about getting beaten up for being an illegal peddler on metropolitan streets. Perched on its doorframe like an obdurate gargoyle, that tin suitcase is perhaps meant to ward off any such misleading reverie of globalization.
[1] From Mahasweta Devi's short story "Douloti the Bountiful", in Imaginary Maps: Three Stories. New York & London: Routledge, 1995. Douloti, the daughter of a tribal bonded worker, is abducted by the upper caste (nontribal) Indian from her home with a false promise of marriage. She is sold into bonded prostitution, ostensibly to repay her father's loan. Devastated by venereal disease, she accomplishes a journey to a hospital, only to be directed to another hospital, much further away. She decides to walk home instead. It gets dark. Douloti comes across a patch of clean clay and lies down to rest there. The patch of clean clay was in fact, the clay courtyard of the village school, where the rural school schoolmaster, Mohan, had inscribed a large map of India in preparation for the Independence Day. In the next morning, Mohan and his students discover the dead body of Douloti on the map.
[2] I am fully aware that as imperfect categories of corporeal experience, there are problems in viewing 'pleasure' and 'pain' as the stark opposites of each other. As much of the recent scholarship on body has shown us that there can be contexts where pain, as part of a larger consensual play, can indeed be emancipatory, or at least appear to be so. Here however, I am referring to the kind of degrading, dehumanizing pain that Douloti might have suffered in the final moments of her life.
[3] Harsud was a 700 year old town in the Narmada Valley that was erased out of existence by the Sardar Sarovar Dam Project
[4] Qawwali is the devotional music of the Sufis. Originally performed mainly at Sufi shrines throughout the Indian subcontinent, it has also gained popularity in the mainstream, especially through the work of artists like Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan. Qawwali is a vibrant musical tradition that stretches back more than 700 years, the roots of which can be traced back to 8th century Persia. However, Qawwali in the form we know it today was essentially created by Amir Khusrau in the late 13th century in India. (from http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Qawwali)
[5] Bauls are a group of mystic minstrels from the Bengal region (Bangladesh and West Bengal). They are thought to have been influenced greatly by the Hindu tantric sect of the Kartabhajas. Bauls travel in search of the internal ideal, Maner Manush (Man of the Heart). The music of the Bauls carries influences of Hindu bhakti movements as well as the shuphi, a form of Sufi song mediated by many thousand miles of cultural intermixing, exemplified by the songs of Kabir, for instance. The Baul movement was at its peak in the 19th and early 20th centuries but even today one comes across the occasional Baul with his ektara (one-stringed musical instrument) and begging bowl, singing across the farflung villages of rural Bengal or traveling in local trains and singing from compartment to compartment. One of the biggest festivals for Bauls is held in the month of January at Kenduli in the Midnapore district, a four-day fest organised in memory of the poet Jaydeb. (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Baul)
[6] In Sanskrit, kupa means well and mundak frog. The following is an excerpt from Swami Vivekananda's address at theParliament of Religions, Chicago, Why We Disagree (15th September, 1893) A frog lived in a well. It had lived there for a longtime. It was born there and brought up there, and yet was a little, small frog. Of course theevolutionists were not there then to tell us whether thefrog lost itseyes or not, but, for our story's sake, we must take it for granted that it had its eyes, and that it every day cleansed the water of all the worms and bacilli that lived in it with an energy that would do credit to our modern bacteriologists. In this way it went on and became a little sleek and fat. Well, one day another frog that lived in the sea came and fell into the well. "Where are you from?" "I am from the sea." "The sea! How big is that? Is it as big as my well?" and he took a leap from one side of the well to the other. "My friend", said the frog of the sea, "how do you compare the sea with your little well?" Then the frog took another leap and asked, "Is your sea so big?" "What nonsense you speak, to compare the sea with your well" "Well, then," said the frog of the well, "nothing can be bigger than my well; there can be nothing bigger than this; this fellow is a liar, so turn him out." (http://www.sriramakrishna.org/chicago.htm)
[7] Here again, I would like to demarcate the usage of 'humanity' from the Enlightenment construct of 'humanism' and its deep linkages with western modernity. I do not obviously agree to that other prevalent argument of 'humanity' being a primordial yearning that somehow stands outside history. Perhaps, my frustration at articulation here is in itself a pointer to the difficulties and contradictions in bringing into language that lived experience of a shared humanity. From the exhibition catalogue published by Nature Morte and Bose Pacia (2006).


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redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaStackExchange


Partially responsible for Long Winter TO and any pop-ups your "booking" friends hold in basements and loft spaces, WAVELENGTH MUSIC FESTIVAL slow danced with Toronto last week and kept a few guitars warm. #WL14 – as it's been dubbed this year – really just kept things simple by adhering to its independent makeup and seizing the downtown core with indie risers such as Marnie Stern, Colin Stetson, Phèdre, Biblical, The Wet Secrets, TOPS, and US Girls. Stern had to bow out due to Jack Frost leaving her stranded in New York and even though we missed a few nights because of icy conditions, we still found a way to take in some of the action. DIANA and ODONIS ODONIS antagonized Adelaide Hall with two tremendous sets while COUSINS and GREYS marched into The Garrison and ruptured spleens on a Sunday. All of the above were a win for Wavelength 14 and we have the photos to prove it.
Next articleGoing Live: Kings Of Leon, Gary Clark Jr.


Moving from a traditional Indian village to the bustling modern metropolis of Mumbai, to Los Angeles and back again, this is a heartbreaking and beautiful portrait of an unlikely friendship --- a story of love, betrayal and, ultimately, redemption. Eventually the only way to write some difficult scenes has to experience the emotions of the character and face the moment the character is showing me. The story of The Color of Our Sky and the emotion that Amita brings to you with her words is something that will stay with me for the rest of my life. They also release gases including carbon dioxide, sulfur dioxide, hydrogen sulfide, hydrogen chloride, and methane. India, 1986: Mukta, a 10-year-old village girl from the lower caste Yellama cult has come of age and must fulfill her destiny of becoming a temple prostitute, as her mother and grandmother did before her.
This process is called Rayleigh scattering. Shortly thereafter, Tara and her father move to America. After awhile, the molecule radiates releases, or gives off the light in a different direction. Follow Blog via Email Enter your email address to follow this blog and receive notifications of new posts by email. When light hits these large particles, it gets reflected, or bounced off, in different directions.
We can see the different colors of the spectrum by splitting the light with a prism. Melati Ahmad looks like your typical movie-going, Beatles-obsessed sixteen-year-old. The colors blend continuously into one another. Gardner's wife goes mad, and he locks her in the attic. Electromagnetic Waves It is one small part of a larger range of vibrating electromagnetic fields. Seeking to create a truly alien life form, he drew inspiration from numerous fiction and nonfiction sources.
Were you disappointed or pleased by her decision? India, 1986: Mukta, a ten-year-old village girl from the lower caste Yellama cult has come of age and must fulfill her destiny of becoming a temple prostitute, as her mother and grandmother did before her. To reach you, the scattered blue light must pass through more air. What would have become of Asha otherwise? We have to know our place in society. Colors of Light Visible light is the part of the electromagnetic spectrum that our eyes can see. The Gardners' neighbours leave their homes and flee the area. As light moves through the atmosphere, it continues to go straight until it bumps into a bit of dust or a gas molecule. Many of these are toxic, or can contribute to acid rain.
Shortly after the onset of Mrs. These gradually shade into yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet. In an attempt to escape this legacy that binds her, Mukta is transported to a foster family in Bombay. The blue color of the sky is due to Rayleigh scattering. Tara and her father move to the United States but fail to outrun their grief. As time goes by, their bond grows to be as strong as that between sisters.
On a clear sunny day, the sky above us is a brilliant blue. The Color of Our Sky : India, 1986: Mukta, a ten-year-old village girl from the lower caste Yellama cult has come of age and must fulfill her destiny of becoming a temple prostitute, as her mother and grandmother did before her. But it took a backseat and focused more on friendship, family, innocence and forgiveness. One of Gardner's sons, Thaddeus, also goes mad, and Gardner locks him in a different room of the attic. As light moves through the atmosphere, most of the longer wavelengths pass straight through. Some of it gets scattered away again in other directions.
Mukta is a child who sees beauty in nature, she loves the small things and she finds a great deal of her strength to survive from this sensitivity of hers. A new life in Los Angeles awaits them but Tara never recovers from the loss of her best friend, or stops wondering if she was somehow responsible for Mukta's abduction. Light from the sun or a light bulb may look white, but it is actually a combination of many colors. On a clear sunny day, the sky above us is a brilliant blue. In the evening, the sunset puts on a beautiful show of reds, pinks and oranges.
There she discovers a friend in the daughter of the family, high spirited eight-year-old Tara, who helps her recover from the wounds of her past. She returns to India in order to find Mukta, who had been kidnapped 11 years earlier. And also, please recommend me some books based in India. But one night in 1993, Mukta is kidnapped from Tara's family home and disappears. There are also small amounts of other gases, plus many small solid particles, like dust, soot and ashes, pollen, and salt from the oceans. I asked myself if I can trust Tara.
ARC REVIEW: The Color of Our Sky by Amita Trasi // PLUS, Book Quotes!
On the evening of May 13th, 1969, racial tensions in her home city of Kuala Lumpur boil over. The energy of the radiation depends on its wavelength and frequency. I did not there was even a tradition like that. Writing a journal got me through a very tumultuous time in my life. Not only that this book has diversity in it but it also has such a beautiful story.
On Earth, the sun appears yellow. I love starry book covers! What do you think of the love between Sanjeev and Mukta? To answer these questions, we must learn about light, the Earth's atmosphere, and how these two things interact. Why is the sky blue? Eleven years later, Tara, now an adult, returns to India determined to find Mukta. In an attempt to escape this legacy that binds her, Mukta is transported to a foster family in Bombay. Frequency is the number of waves that pass by each second.


text:
We talked to five Memphis restaurants to see what goes on behind-the-scenes in their to-go order processes.
Each restaurant is grateful for every to-go order. They each say the to-go business is sustaining their restaurants, and they expect that takeout will remain an integral part of their businesses post-pandemic.
Another common denominator is that to-go is more work than a dine-in order, and they hope customers remember that when choosing how to tip.
Huey's
Huey's restaurants are used to takeout orders. It's an integral part of their business. The separate takeout entrance at the East Memphis location was so successful, Huey's decided to add one to the Cordova location when the restaurant was remodeled and now plans to add one at each new location.
That said, the volume of takeout orders during the pandemic has substantially increased. In addition to call-in orders, Huey's added DoorDash and ChowNow to its ordering options.
"Some of our restaurants are still doing 50% of their business to-go," area manager Hollis Ranson said.
He explained that to box and double check each order may only add 3 or 4 seconds to each box, but all those seconds add up when you are doing dozens of boxes at a time.
"To make sure everything is hot, fresh and good-to-go makes our ticket times a bit longer than normal," Ranson said.
At most Huey's restaurants, all employees work on a tip pool. For that reason, Huey's has added a 15% gratuity to every takeout order.
"We actually have on some shifts more employees working than before the pandemic," Ranson said. "The gratuity ensures everyone is paid."
Blue Plate Café
Blue Plate Café manager Shelley Arthur spends a large part of her day on the phone taking orders. "It can be tough when the phone is ringing and I have a customer asking me to read them the menu over the phone while I have a customer standing in front of me waiting to be helped," said Arthur.
Like at most restaurants, Blue Plate's employees are all working more than role to take care of their customers.
While many Blue Plate customers have been very generous, Arthur said there are a handful that don't tip.
"I just think that people don't realize how much work goes into a to-go order or they don't know they should tip," Arthur said. "I don't expect a 20% tip on a takeout order, but at least acknowledge our time and effort and leave something."
Takeout was not an integral part of Tsunami's business before March, but it is now for this fine dining eatery in Cooper-Young.
"We are doing more work than ever before," owner Ben Smith said. "Everybody is doing every single thing. It's additional effort on everyone's behalf."
Smith said his small kitchen was not designed for high-volume takeout. He has had to set up two to-go stations in the dining room, one for packaging and the other for orders ready to go.
"Tip pooling is everything," said Smith, explaining how a server waiting on a table is often pulled away to wait on a to-go customer. The attention to detail from his staff is at the same level for to-go as it is for in-house dining. "I know we don't need to do it, but we write thank you notes on every to-go order."
Pete & Sam's
Judd Tashie said Pete & Sam's is doing more takeout than ever. This Italian institution has always had a robust takeout business, with a dedicated to-go counter, but the volume taken home over the last several months is exponentially larger than before the pandemic.
Tashie, who is co-owner of Pete & Sam's and owner of Ciao Bella, said tipping on to-go is optional, but he thinks many people don't realize how much work goes into preparing an order.
"$100 of takeout takes a lot more time and energy to put together than a meal eaten at the restaurant," Tashie said, citing details like packaging and keeping meals hot and fresh.
His goal is that customers have the same experience with food and customer service with a to-go order as they would dining in. "You make a person feel special, and hopefully they will take care of you in return."
The Bar-B-Q Shop
Memphians have always picked up to-go orders from The Bar-B-Q Shop in Midtown. The difference between now and pre-pandemic is that most to-go orders were single meals; now they are meals for an entire family.
Owner Eric Vernon loves the new to-go business, but admits that it is more work.
"We try to think of everything. What do we serve on the table that they may not have at home? Things like barbecue sauce and ketchup," Vernon said. "We don't want a customer to get home and be missing something."
Like Ben Smith at Tsunami, Vernon had to get creative for a staging area for takeout orders. Space, packaging and logistics for takeout are all new aspects of his business model to be considered.
He also hopes that his employees will be compensated for the extra work they are putting in.
"Think about your favorite server at a restaurant," Vernon said. "If you want them to be there when this is all over, you have to take care of them now so they don't go get another job that pays better."
New Memphis restaurants on the way in 2021. Here are 8 you shouldn't miss. From wings to wine: Here are the Memphis restaurants that opened in December A fond farewell. A look at the Memphis restaurants we said goodbye to in 2020. 'Let's Eat, Memphis': Join the conversation on Facebook
Jennifer Chandler is the Food & Dining reporter at The Commercial Appeal. She can be reached at jennifer.chandler@commercialappeal.com and you can follow her on Twitter and Instagram at @cookwjennifer.

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaCommonCrawl


Horton Automatics has developed a broad offering of manual sliding "barn door" configurations for the healthcare market. These products also have applications outside the healthcare universe, such as offices, laboratories, equipment rooms, etc. As with all Horton Automatics products the engineering criteria addresses commercial quality, durability and building code compliances.
For assistance with your application, design and specification please contact your Regional Business Manager.


Nolan Tremelling was the Founding Student of Team 6643. Through dedicated coordination with school officials, Nolan started the team. He, alongside Lead Mentor Ted Weaver, recruited the entire competition team for the 2017 build season. Nolan was responsible for the great majority of the team's early developments, and continues to take a major role in team activities through his position as Team Captain today. As Team Captain, Nolan is responsible for the team's mission and vision, the execution of strategies, the final budgets for all committees, interfacing with administrative officials on behalf of the team, and making executive decisions on behalf of the Voting Body. Nolan was the author of the team's first Standard Operating Procedure. He later worked alongside Ben Brussat to create the current, updated Procedure. Nolan wrote most of the team's original funding grants, and continues to be involved with the grant acquisition process. Nolan recruited most of the team's first generation sponsors, including RUSD, Badger Meter, Lafave LLC, A&E, and Global Thermoforming, Inc.. He continues to foster these valuable relationships. Nolan presents the entire team with a mission to follow, and helps to guide all efforts, from construction to communications, towards the team's end goal of creating a more STEM aware society.
Team Captains work with members of the Voting Body to keep the team true to its philosophical Mission and Vision. Team Captains are, in some cases, responsible for representing the entire team to administrative figures of authority. The Team Captain is a member of the Voting Body, along with all other Captainship level positions. Team Captains are also, in some cases, responsible for interfacing with longtime sponsors on behalf of the team, and the upkeep of sponsor relationships. The Team Captain is responsible for, reversely, representing the team's mentors to the Voting Body, and vice versa. Committee budgets are also the task of the Team Captainship. The Team Captainship like all other leadership members, is elected each April 1st in the full post-competition team vote. The Team Captain reports directly to the Lead Mentor and to any other school official.


Recalling elements of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind and Vanishing Waves, fantastical and haunting mystery romance Real falls just shy of greatness. Some of the special effects are a tad underdeveloped and the story ultimately errs on the side of sweetness, but more often than not, it's a subtly chilling, light science fiction character piece dealing with the nature of guilt, love and memory, and how each can twist the others into elaborate knots.
The unravelling of these mnemonic entanglements is approached in much the same manner as the aforementioned films and, yes, even The Cell: one party enters the other's subconscious. In this case, it's a young man taking part in a cutting edge medical procedure that allows him to enter the mind of his comatose lover, Atsumi Kazu (Haruka Ayase), a successful Manga artist.
Right away, this is ostensibly a salvage mission; Koichi's entire motivation is to see if he can help her wake up. Unlike similar dream-diving efforts, they make contact easily and she's unperturbed by the knowledge that all this is taking place inside her unconscious mind. Insightfully commenting on the obsessive work ethic widely held in Japan, Atsumi can only seem to remember herself when she's feverishly putting pencil to paper. During every early "sensing," as the doctors label the procedure, she's busy logging intangible pages of art for the popular Manga series that's been on hold since she was hospitalized.
Hallucinations begin to plague Koichi between sessions, as one of the side effects of linking brain waves. While he searches for an old drawing of a dinosaur to kick-start his wife's memory, he begins seeing flesh and blood versions of the corpses in Atsumi's gory drawings, along with glimpses of a waterlogged little boy. The scene becomes increasingly fraught with paranoia and unease as the lines of reality blur more and more drastically.
Kurosawa does a fantastic job creating a sense of the perpetually off-kilter, subtly shifting the framing of shots between cuts and painstakingly applying eerie sound effects to ratchet up the tension and feeling that something is very wrong at the edges of perception.
Packing unexpected twists, cinematography that captures great beauty and creates serious willies with equal aplomb, as well as a score that commensurately blends the lovely with the creepy, Real will reward those who stick with it through the occasional stumble.


text:
Naso: The Limits of Hearing
May 28, 2015 at 11:31 pm	· Filed under 4. Numbers, Naso
Torah Portion: Naso
Manoach pleaded with the Lord. "Oh, my Lord!" he said, "please let the man of God that You sent come to us again, and let him instruct us how to act with the child that is to be born." (Shoftim/ Judges 13:8)
Good evening! This week's haftarah is the story of the birth of Shimshon (usually called Samson in English), who grows up to be a great, albeit greatly flawed, hero of ancient Israel. The connection with the Torah portion is probably the laws of the nazir, or nazirite, a kind of special religious status that people could choose for various lengths of time. (See more about that here and go here for a light-hearted but insightful theory of why this haftarah was chosen for this portion. )
Among the laws of the nazir are refraining from alcohol and letting the hair grow uncut; these are the instructions that an angel gives to Shimshon's mother in the opening verses of the haftarah. Manoach's unnamed wife then repeats these instructions to her husband, who offered up the prayer above- to be instructed on how to raise the child, even though his wife has just told him what the angel said!
Not only that, but when the angel returns, Manoach asks again what his instructions are, even though he's heard them from his wife, and the angel patiently repeats what he had said earlier. Perhaps there's a teeny bit of angelic snark when he adds "she must observe all that I commanded her," (verse 14) thus implicitly reminding Manoach that he's already given these instructions once before, but nevertheless, the angel repeats the commands for raising their child and doesn't overtly rebuke Manoach for needing to hear things again.
I've usually read this story with the thought that Manoach is not the brightest light on the memorial board, given that he seems not to understand fairly straightforward narratives and instructions. This year, however, I read this story in light of my work at the hospital, where I often encounter smart people unable to grasp simple but shocking statements, usually because they are overwhelmed by the changes and new realities implied by what they are being told. In its most poignant form, I've seen families listen to a doctor explain what can or cannot be done for a loved one and then turn to each other in almost blank incomprehension after the doctor leaves. They are not stupid, but rather not ready to hear that their loved one is near the end or that their family will face difficult challenges of caregiving, to give just two common examples.
In Manoach's case, perhaps he had a certain dream for his child, a dream wildly interrupted by the angel proclaiming that his son will be a nazir who will save Israel from the Philistines, or perhaps after years of infertility he had given up on his hope for children and can't quite believe that his quiet life will be turned upside down by parenthood after all. The important point for us is to see in Manoach someone who is taking in only as much as he can, under circumstances which might otherwise completely overwhelm his natural resilience. We've all been there, and all of us will someday have a chance to be a patient angel to another person when they need help in slowly awakening to a new and disorienting reality. Manoach isn't just the father of a great hero, he's also everyone who has desperately wanted the world to slow down when it's moving too fast. This calls for great mercy and compassion, which may be easy for angels but requires thought, love and dedication from the rest of us.
The views expressed are my own and do not reflect that of Vassar Brothers Medical Center or Health-Quest.
Behar-Bechukotai: What Do We Do With Rebuke?
May 14, 2015 at 8:33 pm	· Filed under 3. Leviticus, Bechukotai, Behar/Bechukotai
I am proud that this week's commentary was first published as the Mekor Chaim weekly email by the Jewish Federations of North America.
The Torah portion Bechukotai, often doubled up with the preceding portion, is not easy reading. A big portion of the text is called tochecha, or rebuke, which here means detailed descriptions of blessings and curses from Heaven that will ensue if the Torah is either followed or disregarded. For many contemporary Jews, linking sin with suffering is both an intellectual and moral impossibility: intellectually, we know that many good people suffer without cause, and morally, we cannot blame God for the choices of human beings which cause pain, grief and despair.
So perhaps it makes more sense to read these the tochecha as descriptive of the people's spiritual or emotional experience rather than as a promise of Divine retribution. A people that makes itself worthy by acts of justice and compassion will feel itself blessed, but a society built on idolatry (worship of vain things), greed and oppression will tear itself apart and feel itself to be in a hostile cosmos. While at first glance the blessings and curses seem to be economic in nature- blessing comes from the land and the curses are when the land no longer produces- the text also makes clear that ultimate blessing is a sense of the Divine in our midst:
And I will walk among you, and will be your God, and you shall be My people. (Vayikra/ Leviticus 26:12)
Conversely, the rabbis imagine that the ultimate punishment is the loss of a spiritual center:
And if, for all that, you do not obey Me, I will go on to discipline you sevenfold for your sins, and I will break your proud glory. . . . . (Vayikra/ Leviticus 26:18-19)
In this case, they interpret "proud glory" (or "pride of your power") as referring to the Temple of Jerusalem, which was "broken" not once but twice in Jewish history. While it's hard to imagine God breaking the Temple to make a moral point, the ancient sages believed that losing the Temple, the symbol of Jewish spirituality and vitality, was a greater calamity than bad harvests or military defeat. Without reading these words literally- as a promise of Heavenly retribution- we can read them with great empathy, as expressing the experience of those who lost the sense of the Divine Presence when Jerusalem was overthrown.
So what do we do with these difficult texts? First we should to allow ourselves to be moved by the intense spiritual longing in the Torah and its commentaries: the feeling that the poetry conveys is that the ultimate blessing is nothing material but the Divine Presence itself, and when that is lost, hardly anything else matters. Second, we should allow the tochecha to challenge any moral complacency we have about ourselves or our community: are we really as individuals or a polity doing all we can to be loyal to the Torah's values of justice and mercy, or are we letting these things slip from us without a care? Are we going to a society which makes and shares the blessing, or do we deserve the rebuke these verses offer?
These are hard questions, but nothing important was ever easy.
Achrei Mot-Kedoshim: Authentic Atonement
May 1, 2015 at 11:20 am	· Filed under 3. Leviticus, Acharei Mot, Acharei Mot/Kedoshim
Torah Portion: Achrei Mot-Kedoshim
And Aaron shall present the bullock of the sin-offering, which is for himself, and make atonement for himself, and for his house. (Vayikra/ Leviticus 16:6)
This week we have a double portion, the first of which is rules for Yom Kippur and then lots of laws of sexual conduct, and the second of which is beautiful ethical principles and then lots more laws of sexual conduct.
Going back to the beginning of the first portion, Achrei Mot, the Kohen Gadol, or High Priest, is instructed to purify himself before doing the complex rituals of offering atonement sacrifices on behalf of the people. Not only that, but as in the verse above, before he can offer a sacrifice of atonement on behalf of the entire Israelite community, he has to do so for himself, and his household. Presumably, not only is the Kohen Gadol's personal offering an example of repentance and humility for the rest of the Jewish people, but it's also a matter of kavannah, or personal focus/ intention/ mindfulness. After all, how can he be completely spiritually present in offering atonement for the nation if he has not fully atoned for his personal mistakes and misdeeds?
The issue of leadership and collective atonement is actually in the news this week, so let's look at current example. Perhaps just in time for Achrei Mot- Kedoshim, the Prime Minister of Japan, Shinzo Abe, gave a speech to a joint session of Congress, in which he expressed a personal "deep repentance in my heart"along with prayer for the dead of WWII, followed by a collective regret:
on behalf of Japan and the Japanese people, I offer with profound respect my eternal condolences to the souls of all American people that were lost during World War II. (full text of speech here.)
Now, to be fair, he did say later in the speech that his country's actions "caused suffering" in Asia, and his people "felt remorse," but still, one is struck by the lack of apology or explicit acknowledgement of Japan's aggression and imperialism. His personal "deep repentance" is appropriate, but while a Prime Minister is not a priest, I and many other commentators (go forth and Google) felt that he missed an opportunity to be a true leader, to go against his parliamentary pressures and express a real apology on behalf of the nation he represents. That would have taken personal and political courage, but what else is leadership?
Yet debates about what a politician should or shouldn't have said are endless, but ultimately the real question is: what about the example of the Kohen Gadol applies to us, who do not lead nations or occupy high office? First, let's note the order in which the Torah presents the High Priest's atonement offerings: first for himself, then for his family, then for his people. We cannot ask others to do what we are not willing to do- if the people's job was to think hard and humble themselves on Yom Kippur, then the job of the Kohen Gadol was to go first, to show the way in taking his own moral inventory.
Besides the imperative to do our own work before rebuking others, let's note that according to the commentators, the atonement of the High Priest also involved confession, which in Judaism is always a verbal enumeration of specific ways we fall short. Just as in our Yom Kippur liturgy, confession is explicit- we recite long lists in synagogue but it's meant to be personal, something we apply to our own unique actions. This is where the contrast with Mr. Abe's political speech (and so many other wishy-washy vague "apologies") becomes apparent- there is little confession, little grappling with hard, specific truths, without which atonement and confession become a matter of "mistakes were made," which leaves both parties incompletely reconciled.
The language of sin, atonement, and confession is difficult- it seems so archaic and "judgmental." Yet here's the beautiful thing: it's not meant to weigh us down, but to unshackle burdens of guilt and fear, to leave us free, to effect reconciliation and promote a forgiving love. The only path forward to that forgiving love is speaking hard truths, but nothing could be more worth it.


text:
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}
{\ttfamily \#include $<$iostream$>$}\\*
{\ttfamily \#include $<$cstdlib$>$}\\*
{\ttfamily \#include $<$cstring$>$}\\*
{\ttfamily \#include $<$sys/types.\-h$>$}\\*
{\ttfamily \#include $<$sys/ipc.\-h$>$}\\*
{\ttfamily \#include $<$sys/shm.\-h$>$}\\*
{\ttfamily \#include $<$unistd.\-h$>$}\\*
{\ttfamily \#include \char`\"{}../definition.\-h\char`\"{}}\\*
Graphe des dépendances par inclusion de share\-\_\-server.\-h\-:
\subsection*{Classes}
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struct \hyperlink{struct__share_m}{\-\_\-share\-M}
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class \hyperlink{classs_server}{s\-Server}
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typedef struct \hyperlink{struct__share_m}{\-\_\-share\-M} \hyperlink{share__server_8h_ad73ea60fc164d7d224a2499bd77a1f35}{share\-Memory\-\_\-t}
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\subsection{Documentation des définitions de type}
\hypertarget{share__server_8h_ad73ea60fc164d7d224a2499bd77a1f35}{\index{share\-\_\-server.\-h@{share\-\_\-server.\-h}!share\-Memory\-\_\-t@{share\-Memory\-\_\-t}}
\index{share\-Memory\-\_\-t@{share\-Memory\-\_\-t}!share_server.h@{share\-\_\-server.\-h}}
\subsubsection[{share\-Memory\-\_\-t}]{\setlength{\rightskip}{0pt plus 5cm}typedef struct {\bf \-\_\-share\-M} {\bf share\-Memory\-\_\-t}}}\label{share__server_8h_ad73ea60fc164d7d224a2499bd77a1f35}

Définition à la ligne 19 du fichier share\-\_\-server.\-h.

redpajama_set_name: RedPajamaGithub


Hainan Airlines is planning to order 30 787-9 aircraft in a deal worth $7.7bn at current list prices.
The airline said it would use the aircraft to meet growing demand from China's burgeoning middle-classes who, with more disposable income, are traveling more frequently.
The order would be Boeing's biggest so far this year and would bring the OEM's backlog for the mid-sized version of its 787 to 855 aircraft.
To meet demand, Boeing said it plans to increase its 787 production to 14 a month by 2020.