“through the act of living, the discovery of oneself is made concurrently with the discovery of the world around us. . ."

Friday, May 7, 2010

Society and Homosexuality

(Courtsey http://joshuapundit.blogspot.com/2006/04/open-season-death-squads-targeting.html)
(Gay individuals being hanged to death in Iraq)

Now that Delhi High Court legalized homosexuality and the news kept glaring in the front pages, it is with great relief that one can talk about homosexuality in public forums in India. More than the legal sanction, the real impact of the verdict is on the lifting of the social taboo that had persisted since centuries in this country. For the ‘normal’ heterosexuals that formed majority of the population, the topic of homosexuality has been repulsive. Yet it had thrived all the while, from pedophilic priests to soldier bunkers, to nauseating public toilets, to the privacy of bedrooms and to pornographic sites in the Internet. Like the proverbial cat lapping up milk keeping its eyes shut, the society pretended ignorance.

I always sympathized with the transvestites, the effeminate, the social limitations of those people who preferred same-sex partners - the trauma of stigmatization they suffered has always struck a chord in my heart as it should for those who are deprived of freedom and liberty due to reasons beyond them. The mainstream society treats them with ridicule and contempt (there is a Malayalam movie, Chaandupottu, in which the hero is an effeminate male. While the tone is light humor, poking fun at him, one cannot forget the vicious undertones and thin borderline between fun and outright hostility) to rage resulting in physical abuse. I have observed many individuals, watched documentaries and read books depicting and defending the plight of this minority. As much as I empathize with them, sometimes I am unable to understand the need to centralize sex in their lives. I agree that sex is an integral part of life, yet to focus on it as if their survival depended on it seems to me a bit stretched. As one of the heterosexual crowd, I am sure I too will be ostracized if I projected my sexual needs in an uncontrolled manner.

In some instances, I have come to learn that heterosexual depravity has been the cause of resorting to homosexuality. In some cases among women, sexual abuse by men in a young age had turned them into lesbians. A majority might have genetic or hereditary disposition for their sexual preference. Many of the Hijdas (Indian community of transvestites) have been forced and physically tortured to become one as young children or youth. What I would like to underline is that there could be justifiable reasons for being different from the mass.

To take in the scene with a wide-angle lens, one should be liberal and broadminded to accept the innumerable, irreversible deviance that exists in human society. Deviance from the mainstream, socially accepted culture and practices should not be condemned so long as it does not infringe upon others’ right to live in peace. This broad vision should include not only humans, other cultures and other religions but other species also, including plant and animals, with love and tolerance that collectively would radiate beyond the confines of the planet to the entire Cosmos, of which we all are part. It is not a utopian fantasy, but a reality that can be strived for.

***************Balachandran, Trivandrum 09.10.2010

Thursday, May 6, 2010

‘Our Children’

(Courtesy Pather Panchali - Satyajit Ray)


The book that I can remember the farthest back in my childhood is a big red book called ‘Nammude Kunjungal’ (Our Children). If I remember correctly, it has been in my possession since I was 4 or 5 years old (early ‘60s). The pencil-drawn graffiti and the crooked Malayalam alphabets strewn among the pages is ample proof for this. In a black and white picture, the face of a mother punishing her son by pulling his cheeks has been angrily scratched with a pencil. I remember the rage whenever I looked at that mother.


The book is still with me. It is a Malayalam translation of ‘Our Children’, written by Flora H Williams and published by Orient Longman Publishing House, Pune, India. Nearly two decades ago, I chanced upon the English original at a roadside hawker. Both adorn the shelf.


The book is about child rearing, the qualities that should be instilled at a young age, the grooming and character building that prepares the child for its adult life. Each chapter is about a single quality; like discipline, honesty, procrastination, courage, corporal punishment etc. The first part of chapter is an essay on the topic followed by one or two illustrative stories. For example, the chapter on honesty. There is a beautiful story about a poor newspaper boy. He sells an evening newspaper. One day he is unable to sell most of the copies and is so dejected because the pittance that he earns from it keeps the kettle boiling in his poor home. Then he meets another boy who boasts that he sold his entire copies. The boy advises him that all he has to do is to shout something like ‘War in America!’ or ‘Terrible train accident in New York!’ or some sensational thing like that. He should run away before the buyer gets to read the news. The boy wonders how he can say that when there is no such news in the paper. He hesitates – in his mind he sees the happy face of his mother as he hands over the money to her. But then he realizes he would have to lie. The boy turns fiercely to his friend and tells him, ‘No! I won’t lie even if I can’t sell a single copy’. As the boys gather around him and tease him for a being a coward, a passing elderly gentleman overhears the commotion and learns about the issue. He admires the boy’s courage and honesty and gives him a good job in his office. End of the story.


Needless to say, all these stories with several illustrations, some even in colour had made a great impression on my young mind. But certain qualities like laziness, procrastination etc remained. Even as a child I was aware and ashamed of my shortcomings.


Even now, I read the book once in a while. The Malayalam translation is archaic but kind of nostalgic. The photographs are beautiful; photographs both Indian and American, of children and people from the ‘40s and ‘50s. How pretty and innocent they looked! The old-fashioned clothes, hairstyles! Landscapes, which have gone forever! Many of the young children would be now old and even dead!


The book is one of the best I have come across in this subject. It belongs to another era long gone. Out of print and out of circulation, the book is as extinct as its contents. It would seem so absurd and anachronous to uphold the values and qualities it extols.


I wonder what I should tell my son. I have reached middle age. The lesson that I have learned from my life is that to be virtuous, not to be ambitious and greedy and cunning is to fail in the life I am forced to live in this society. To be honest is to be dumb. To be truthful is to be cheated. To love is to be foolish. We now live in a world that scoffs at these virtues. I have to tell my son not to fall into the trap of virtues. Yet I have no weapons other than my sentimental, honest heart to pass on to him. The life as I see around, crowds me into a narrowing circle. My heart thuds, my mouth turns dry as the mocking mob draw out their daggers.

********** Balachandran, Trivandrum 06.05.2010

Sunday, April 25, 2010

Tommy


Today afternoon as I gave Sancho his food, I took a morsel from his bowl and threw it in the direction of Tommy’s grave. Tommy died day before yesterday. He was only 12 years old; had a couple more years in him. But since last three weeks he had been ailing. I had been force-feeding him all these days. It started with urinary tract infection. Then a cyst was found in his urinary bladder. In the last week he developed complications of the liver. All sort of possible medicines were administered, miracle was hoped for. On Thursday night he limped into my room and slept beside me on the floor. Occasionally I would wake up, caress and whisper to him. Friday morning, I gave him Glucose and water. He tried to get up a couple of times, fell down, but dragged himself out to the courtyard. Exhausted, he passed a little urine, I could see, with lot of pain. I gave him a sponging with Dettol and warm water. Tommy laid his head on my lap. With my right hand I fanned off the flies. And then, with a little yelp, he went away.

Though there were always dogs in my house, Tommy was the first one to be born here. His mother, Kunchi, had a long innings but succumbed to Mastitis. Tommy was an ordinary mongrel, if you go by breeds. But, those who knew him would agree that Tommy was the most elegant, refined, cultured, wise dog that ever walked on this earth. He had a gentle way with him. I remember the numerous occasions when persons who were scared or disliked dogs visited us. Tommy would immediately sense their unease. It was a treat to see how he would gently, lovingly win their trust. Many are those who became dog-lovers after meeting Tommy.

I had carried him as a new-born pup; now I carried him as I carefully put him down in his grave. I miss him terribly. I miss his trusting, loving, caring eyes. I miss his wet nose and kiss. I miss him, I miss him so much.

******** Balachandran, Trivandrum 25.04.2010.

Below is a poem I wrote on Tommy a few years ago.


Lessons in Love

It ain’t easy to write about love,

The blind can see better than I.

The deaf has ears sharper than mine,

The dumb has voice sweeter than mine.


What do I feel, what do I sense

I do not know what is love.

Is it sorrow, is it joy,

Is it the lust betwixt my legs?


I listen to songs, if I feel the same

I like the lines, nothing more.

I read the books, stare at the words,

Aay bee cee dee, eee eff gee.


Weary from travel, home am bound

Opens the gate- then hears the bark.

A blur of a dog leaps at me

I can’t see, for he licks my eyes.


I can’t walk, for he jumps at me,

Bites me, pulls me, howls at me.

Am scratched with nails, splattered with dirt,

He tugs my shirt and whirls around.


Sitting on haunches, I hug him close

Taking care he not bites my nose.

His cheeks on mine, kisses on ears,

In my arms he holds so still.


In my arms, is the thing called love

In my heart, a cup so full.

In his eyes, the limpid pools,

I see my face, I know it not.


Ladies and Gents, your lesson in love.

*************************

Kottayam 18/08/04


Monday, April 19, 2010

Inherit the Wind



Yesterday evening I watched a movie, ' Inherit the Wind', directed by Stanley Kramer in 1960. Teacher B.T. Cates is arrested for teaching Darwin's theories. Famous lawyer Henry Drummond defends him; fundamentalist politician Matthew Brady prosecutes. The period is sometime in the early 1920s. In those times, a heated debate was going on in America between the Bible-centered christians who belived in the Genesis according to the Bible and the scientific theory of evolution by Charles Darwin. Most of the film is shot in courtroom scenes. In spite of the long dialogues, the film is riveting. It is more than Genesis Vs Evolution; it is more about truth Vs faith. It is about the right for an individual to think. It is about breaking away from the accepted, unquestioned notions of life and probing and unraveling knowledge.


The story is very thought provoking from both points of view, the evolutionist and the fundamentalist Christian. Even though the leanings towards rational, scientific thinking is obvious, it goes to the credit of the movie that it offers a balanced view of either sides. Look at the following lines:

"That if you take a law like evolution and you make it a crime to teach it... tomorrow you may make it a crime to read about it. And soon you may ban books... because fanaticism and ignorance is forever busy, and needs feeding.” The advocate for the fundamentalists retort that 'our children will turn into a godless mob with no direction without the teachings of the Bible'. Isn't that what has happened some 90+ years after the story takes place? But then, fundamentalism has not been much different either, has it? While these opposing views draw battle lines in the movie, an interesting third perspective is offered by a cynical newspaper reporter who believes in neither – it is not his cup of tea either to uphold Christian faith or the flag of scientific enquiry. Alone, he is the typical observer who must burn under the glare.


The choice is ours. Between the comfort that faith offers and the suffering in quest of truth. Between ignorance and submission on one side and knowledge and challenge on the other. The problem with faith is that the faithful tends to defend their faith; for that they would go to any extreme, including violence to suppress any force that questions their faith.


Extrapolating the above conflict, one can see that most of the issues in our world are actually between liberalism and conservatism. Be it religion, politics, culture, economics, enviroment – any aspect of our life, the contrasting views are based on either of the above.

************* Balachandran V, 17.04.10

Saturday, April 17, 2010

A Favorite Poem



The other day a friend asked me about my favorite poem or poet in English. It is such a vast ocean, and what i have taken to my lips are but a few droplets. Yet, I sat back and suddenly one poem came to my mind. On second thoughts, there are much more better poems than this one, but strange that it should pop out of nowhere and snuggle up my chest. I would like to share it with you...


A Blessing
James Wright
Just off the Highway to Rochester, Minnesota
Twilight bounds softly forth on the grass.
And the eyes of those two Indian ponies
Darken with kindness.
They have come gladly out of the willows
To welcome my friend and me.
We step over the barbed wire into the pasture
Where they have been grazing all day, alone.
They ripple tensely, they can hardly contain their happiness
That we have come.
They bow shyly as wet swans. They love each other.
There is no loneliness like theirs.
At home once more,
They begin munching the young tufts of spring in the darkness.
I would like to hold the slenderer one in my arms,
For she has walked over to me
And nuzzled my left hand.
She is black and white,
Her mane falls wild on her forehead,
And the light breeze moves me to caress her long ear
That is delicate as the skin over a girl's wrist.
Suddenly I realize
That if I stepped out of my body I would break
Into blossom.
*************

Saturday, April 10, 2010

Tribute to Sarat


This beautiful piece of writing appeared in the 'Friday Review' of the The Hindu. Do read it.

Friday, April 2, 2010

Losing a friend



I lost a friend yesterday. Saratchandran. Sarat was a documentary filmmaker. His interests were environmental and social issues. More than that, he was one of the few who persevered in the cause of nature conservation in Kerala. Through his documentaries on Silent Valley, Attapady, Chaliyar River, Plachimada Coca-Cola and several others, Sarat tried to make people aware of the issues. Through his touring film festival he called ‘Nottam’ ( Look), Sarat went up and down the state and even outside the state with his collection of documentaries ( made by others too) showing them at schools and other gatherings.

Though I had known Sarat for a long time, more than 20 years, we met only infrequently. Sarat came to see me a couple of months back. He had come to Trivandrum to attend the Film Festival. Hugging and kissing me, Sarat recollected our few journeys together, discussed his new documentaries and said that he had this sudden urge to see me and that’s why, drunk at a late hour, he had barged in. He had a great baritone and spoke well. I have seen several men of my generation succumbing to alcohol. It is my nature not to be critical or judgmental, but to witness the deterioration of their faculties, the transformation from brilliant, energetic minds to a dull, slobbering souls was sad. I enjoy my dollop of whisky, but I make sure they remain dollops.

Day before yesterday, while traveling by train late in the night, Sarat slipped as he tried to hold to another man who was about to fall. Both fell and died. Knowing him, I could see him doing that, risking his life for another. Looking at Sarat lying in the deep freezer of the mobile mortuary reminded me of my mango tree. I was like a green leaf watching another being taken away by the wind. Sorrow welled up in me as I watched Sarat’s mother calling out to him, asking him not to go away.

Yesterday late in the night, I googled Sarat. His film company, Third Eye Films, has a website. He has a Facebook page. I looked at it and realized he would never be there to attend to my ‘friend request’. But I sent him one, anyway. Who knows, he might reply. I sent him a message – ‘Goodbye, Sarat. You will always be in my thoughts’.

Now, at 1000hrs, his body would be being lifted up from his house for his last journey to the crematorium. Within an hour, Sarat would become a handful of ash and bones. Later he would come occasionally, like reflections in the water, and leave when I sigh.

********* Balachandran , Trivandrum 02.04.2010

http://www.hindu.com/2010/04/02/stories/2010040255750400.htm

http://www.hindu.com/fr/2010/04/09/stories/2010040951400400.htm

http://www.ecofilms.gr/popup2005en.asp?Year=2005&reqid=M-01

www.thirdeyefilms.org/

Wednesday, March 24, 2010

Waiting one’s turn




In the air conditioned room we sat
Facing each other, though not really
Facing each other.
If chanced to catch the other’s eyes
We glanced swiftly away – and then
Would covertly watch each other.

We waited our turn – though having arrived later
I guessed he would go in first.
It was awkward, our faces said, to sit
In nothing but a gown that reached just below our knees
And flaps held together by bits of Velcro.
Sometimes, I saw him demurely pulling down
The gown; the inside of his thighs could be seen.

To the head-capped, green-gowned who passed by now and then
We would have seemed like specimens in the biology lab
Waiting
To be dissected
To be disemboweled
And sewn up back.

It looked lewd
The tubes stuck to our hands
That ended up in sachets hung from stands.
My forearm, shaven, felt embarrassingly nude.

Our hearts were hung in question marks
As catheters would wriggle up our veins
Probe the innards of our hearts, if need be
Balloon, stent or bypass – new words in my vocabulary.

Caught unawares, our glances meet – he smiles; I smile back.
He could be in his seventies, I in my fifties.
We exchange pleasantries,
Strangely comforted by each other
Like comrades in despair.

Whenever the swing door opened
I could see my wife, friends standing outside
A glimpse of a face, a smile, a wave of the hand.
Calm, I waited, wondering with regret
How my dogs would miss me
Not knowing what befell me
What prevented me
From coming home.

Then I realized that if I were to die
It would be this old man’s face
That I would carry to my grave.

I was comforted, in a strange way
That even in my dogs’ memories
I am unlikely to find a permanent place.

******** Balachandran V. Trivandrum 24.03.2010

A different view




People sprouted on either side
Slightly angular, they seemed to grow
Away from me.
Farther, outside the wire mesh
I saw trees growing away from me.
Overhead, across the whitewashed ceiling
The wiring, the lights and the fans ran past
Like blood vessels and organs splayed, of a roadkill.


Pulled, pushed, turned and twisted
From corridor to corridor, elevator to elevator
I hung on, in a limbo.

The stretcher offers perspectives strange…
******** Balachandran Trivandrum 23.03.2010

Wednesday, March 10, 2010

Man and Dog





One topic I will never get tired of talking, but in the process tire others, is Dogs. Perhaps most dog lovers are like that. I just want to share a poem I love - by Siegfried Sassoon.

Man and Dog
Siegfried Sassoon

Who's this—alone with stone and sky?
It's only my old dog and I—
It's only him; it's only me;
Alone with stone and grass and tree.

What share we most—we two together?
Smells, and awareness of the weather.
What is it makes us more than dust?
My trust in him; in me his trust.

Here's anyhow one decent thing
That life to man and dog can bring;
One decent thing, remultiplied
Till earth's last dog and man have died.

********* Balachandran, Trivandrum 10.03.2010

Tuesday, March 9, 2010

SS Dara



I remember reading somewhere about an indigenous people- Africa or South America or some place – they refuse to be photographed. They believe that their souls would be captured in the images and they would be damned forever.
Ruminating over the past, I recollect many faces. Some having some significance, some relation, some reason to remember. But curiously, there are so many others who had just passed through my life – a casual meeting, a glance- and their faces have been imprinted in my mind forever. I am, I guess, carrying a little bit of their souls in me...

When I was a little boy in the early 60s – it must have been in '64 or '65, an obituary used to appear in the Malayala Manorama Daily every year. I think it kept on appearing till mid-70s. Either I would have forgotten to look or it stopped being published. Anyway, I am sure that it hasn't come since the 80s. It was a black and white picture of a beautiful young mother with a western kind of hairstyle of the 50s. 

Those who are familiar with Phantom Comics would remember Ms Diana Palmer, Phantom's girl friend and later wife, who was an Olympic diver. It was kind of bobbed, fluffed above the forehead and reached upto shoulders. This lady had the same hairstyle as that of Diana. ( Now, my young friends, laugh if you wish, but Phantom was our staple diet in the 60's. Beautiful comic books, comic strips in Sunday edition of Malayala Manorma, in the Illustrated Weekly – how I miss Illustrated Weekly – every issue would carry one SINGLE picture of a scantily-clad woman – usually in a bikini – my sister and I would conspiratorially giggle looking at it - it was very rare to see the kind of pictures that are common now.

Sorry, I have digressed. This mother and child, yes. The box said - 'In Memoriam', above the picture. The mother sat slightly turned towards her left. The young child sat on her lap. I remember she had a beautiful profile. I have forgotten her name, but beneath the photo it said - SS Dara – 1961.

I remember I was fascinated by them. Every year they would appear and I would look at them longingly, with great pain. Then, after a few years, it must have settled down at the bottom of my heart, like a decaying leaf, gently, gently...

A couple of months back, I remembered them. I googled SS DARA and there it was! On 8th April 1961, the S S Dara was on its way from Bombay to Kuwait. After leaving Oman, just a few nautical miles off shore, it blew up. It is said that it was bombed by an Omani terrorist. The sea was rough, the captain couldn't turn the ship back to the harbour. Other ships came to the rescue, but 238 passengers perished. This is what a book on SS Dara’s mishap says : "The explosion of a bomb in Dara, a steamship of the British India Line, in the early hours of 8th April, 1961, when she was at sea in the Persian Gulf with 819 passengers on board, has been attributed to Omani rebels. It was an act of war in peacetime, and its victims were Indians, Pakistanis and Arabs - men, women and children Two hundred and thirty-eight people lost their lives in the flames or in the sea...

This young mother and child must have been passengers in it. I tried tracing them through a journalist friend in Malayala Manorama, but their archives haven't been digitized that way back; he has said he would give it a try. One day I casually mentioned this to my colleagues in the Bank, and Susan, in her late 50s, said she too remembered them. What a coincidence! Susan even remembered their names; Gloria and Sayu mol.

Sometime back I had written about how seemingly unimportant incidents cling on in our memory. A face there, a face here, a flower here, a breeze there. I agree with you when you pooh-pooh all this sentimental mush. Absolutely meaningless. Quite likely the lady's husband too would have passed away. There might not be any family. Even if there is, how many would remember or care to remember something that happened 50 years ago?

Well, I would, if you don't mind. SS Dara is part of my boyhood, my life. I wish they weren't dead, that beautiful mother and sweet child. I remember a young boy of 7 or 8 lying on the floor and reading the newspaper spread before him. His chin supported by the left palm, the right, holding down the paper, he swung his calves alternately and gazed at the picture with pain in his heart. I love that boy; therefore I cannot forget SS Dara.










********** Balachandran, Trivandrum, 09.03.2010

POST SCRIPT DATED 12.06.2013

Ms Nabila Khanam, whose comment can be seen below sent me the following information about the SS Dara incident. Her aunts who are now no more,  were among the survivors of the mishap. I hope those readers who are searching on SS Dara would find it useful.  Among those who succumbed were fathers and mothers and family members of many amongst you. My prayers and condolences to all of you. May the departed souls rest in peace. 


DOCUMENT #1

DARA



M.V. Dara was a British Indian Steam Navigation Company liner, built in 1948, Barclay, Curle and Co; 5,030 tons 398.7 x 54.8; 14 knotts; oil engines.

Dara mostly travelled between the Arabian Gulf and the Indian continent, carrying expatriate passengers who had employment in the Gulf States. She had accomodation for 20 1st Class, 54 2nd Class and 1377 deck passengers.
A bomb exploded on board, while off the coast of Dubai, on the 8th April 1961 which caused the vessel to eventually sink. It was never clearly established who planted the bomb, or why, but there was a high loss of life attributed to the incident, despite the fact that no one was on board when it sank. At the time, it was the worst peace time disasters on the high seas, second to the Titanic. There is some conjecture that, due to the circumstances, the perpetrator of the crime may also have been on board at the time of the explosion. Captained by Charles Elson, there was a total of 819 on board, including 19 officers and 113 crew; 238 died from burns or drowning.
The vessel had sailed from Bombay on the 23rd May on a round trip to Basera, calling at intermediate ports. It had arrived at Dubai on the 7th April and was unloading cargo, embarking and disembarking passengers when a violent storm of wind and rain prevented further work. Capt. Elison decided to take the ship out of harbour to ride the storm. There was not time to disembark persons on board who did not intend to travel. These included relatives and friends seeing off the passengers, hawkers, cargo labourers and shipping/ immigration officials. It was while returning to harbour after the storm, at about 04.40 Hrs on the morning of the 8th, that there was a heavy explosion between decks (Click here to see plan) and the ship caught fire.
There was a certain amount of panic among the crew and passengers and many perished by jumping into the sea or by over crowded lifeboats, which capsized. There were several ships close at hand and help was given by British, German, Japanese and Norwegian vessels.
Three British frigates and a US destroyer, sent parties on board and were able to get the fire under control. Dara was then taken in tow by the the Glasgow salvage vessel OCEAN SALVOR, but sank at 09.20 Hrs on April 10th.



REPORT From HMS Buldog 22/05/70: -

The wreck lies in approximately 15 m of water and is in a 093°/273° direction with her bowes pointing East. It lies on its starboard side and the main mast is visible at 2m above mean high water.

RAF Search and Rescue: -

The following message was left in the guest book by Jack Frith on the 21/10/04. He has kindly agreed for me to repeat the message here, (thanks Jack).
I was the captain of the Search and Rescue Shackleton that was sent from Aden to search for and aid the Dara. The photograph that you are using was taken by one of my crew from the beam position on the aircraft when we arrived on scene. I dropped a Lindholm rescue gear (contained a dingy, food, water etc) to what appeared to be some surviviors in the water but since no effort was made to reach the gear it had to be assumed that we were too late. Seems a long time ago now.

First Hand Account of Events: -

The following is an abridged message left on the 13/12/06 by Peter Jordan, ex Chief Officer at the time on the Dara. (thanks Peter).
I was in fact chief officer on board that terrible night, so am fully aware of the sequence of events.
The explosion occurred outside the vishiwala galley which went through to the engine room bulkhead and up through 2 decks, which were the passenger and main lounge. Having checked, as best as possible, there was no way of containing the fire due to the fact that the bomb had disrupted all electrical, fire water and steering module, so we had no choice but to abandon ship.
Alarms by this time were already going off, crew were alerted and due to the weather, which was almost gale force, the fires spread rapidly. We launched lifeboats, but due to the panic, one lifeboat in particular, I recall, was overcrowded and overturned in the rough sea. Another life boat manned by the second officer Charlie ??(can't remember) had been damaged by a Greek Vessel which had dragged her anchor and collided with our bow and damaged the lifeboat and a few other parts of the ship some hours prior to the explosion! This lifeboat full of people, though almost sinking due to the damage, was rescued by a Norwegian Tanker's Lifeboat. This same Norwegian Tanker came steaming in despite the fact they were not gas free ( i.e. at high risk themselves of exploding) and saved many many lives including my own. I wish to thank them very much.
As for, dare I say it, the Empire Guillemot, we called her by Morse light and asked for help, but due to her cargo of bombs and explosives she could not and would not come close for fear of explosion; that is a fact!! She sat out there like, well I’m sorry there was no excuse, they were the nearest ship to us, and sat there, they could have steamed in, dropped some lifeboats and moved on, but alas did not. As for reports I have read, that they saved lives, well they did not, they may have had survivors picked up by the Norwegians transferred to their ship, but that is all.
I am 75 years of age now, so can speak freely of the events that occurred that night. I do not wish to incite any anger or change to what has been said and written, but facts are facts, and I can only say the truth as it was. I do not wish to put a damper on the Dara as a Dive site, however, for me at least she is Gravesite for all the people who lost their lives that terrible day and should be respected as such.
* Note by Clive: - While respecting Peter’s views regarding Dara being used as a dive site, and it may be appropriated to regard it as a memorial to those who died, it is my information that the ship had been boarded by US and British naval personnel, as explained above, and was in tow when it went down. As such it is assumed that all the crew and passengers had had the chance to leave the ship. There may have been the bodies of anyone killed by the blast, still on board but I can say that in almost fifty years the wreck has been dived, I had never heard of anyone coming across any remains.

Diving on Dara

In the late 70s and early 80s the writer was a member of the local diving club in Dubai and dived, with the other members of the club, on the wreck of Dara.
Many souvenirs were taken from the wreck at this time, in the way of portholes lanterns, and anything brass. One of these portholes now serves as opening in brick fireplace which views into a fish tank behind; another has been made into a clock. It is doubtful whether the wreck, to date, has anything left to be to relinquish. One of the club members' eventually bought the salvage rights of the wreck and by now there may be little left. (Perhaps anyone reading this, who knows the site and the current state of the wreck, might leave a message in the guest book on the Home Page). 
This is a recent account of the wreck. Kindly provided,on the 10/12/06, by Doug Fontaine who is a current member of the 406 club. Thanks Doug.
The Dara is well broken up now and it’s easy to get lost, the bow is still fairly well intact or should I say one side of it is; the anchor is still in place, the two masts now lie on the seabed, heading towards the wreck with the masts in front of you the bows are to your right.
DOCUMENT #2

SINKING OF THE M.V. "DARA"

HL Deb 11 April 1961 vol 230 cc244-5244
3.38 p.m.
My Lords, I think it might be convenient if I intervened at this stage to make a statement similar to that which has just been made by my right honourable friend the Minister of Transport in another place.
I am informed that the British India Steam Navigation Company's motor vessel "Dara", of 5,030 gross tons, was anchored in the port of Dubai on Friday evening, April 7, when she was struck by another vessel which had dragged anchor. The master decided to put to sea as the weather was deteriorating, intending to return in the morning. A total of 770 persons, including 132 members of the crew, are known to have been on board.
Early on Saturday morning, an S.O.S. was sent reporting the outbreak of fire, and the ship was abandoned at about 6.30 a.m., when some 40 miles from the shore. An Army tank landing craft, a number of ships of the Royal Navy, and several British and foreign merchant ships proceeded to the scene and picked up survivors. Five hundred and eighty persons were saved, but it is feared that the 190 who are missing, including 30 members of the crew, have lost their lives.
After the ship had been abandoned, fire-fighting operations were undertaken from alongside the vessel in difficult conditions by three Royal Navy frigates. She was taken in tow, but finally sank on Monday morning some five miles off the coast before she could be beached.
My right honourable friend the Minister of Transport has ordered a formal investigation, which will be held in public, into the tragic circumstances attending the loss of this ship, and the necessary preliminary inquiries are already in hand. The House will wish me to express its deep sympathy with the relatives of those who have lost their lives and with the injured, and to pay tribute to the efforts of all those who took part in rescue operations, without which the loss of life would undoubtedly have been even more serious.
My Lords, I am grateful to the noble Lord for giving the House the statement made in another place on this shocking disaster. We join with him in extending our sympathy, as I am sure all Members of the House will desire to do, with the relatives of those who have lost their lives. I do not think that it is possible at this time to make any comment on the incident. There will be an inquiry. One wonders how such a thing could have happened so suddenly, and I do not know whether we shall ever be able to get the true facts. I hope that as soon as the Minister is able, he will publish a report of the inquiry and give us a chance of studying it.
My Lords, on behalf of noble Lords on these Benches, I also should like to thank the Minister for the statement he has made, and to associate my noble friends and myself with the sympathy expressed to the relatives of those who have lost their lives in this disaster.







 
 
  








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Saturday, March 6, 2010

Moral of the story

(c) http://chennaitamilnaduindia.blogspot.com/


Subbu had commented in my post, ' Riding into sunset' that all my posts have a message; it could be true if one looks for a message. But yes, I guess a moral or a message appears in them. This is probably due to the reflective nature of my posts. That is my ego at work.

In the last post, 'Jack of all trades etc', I had said that my ego had taken severe beatings at times. The word ego is one among the most misunderstood words. We have given it a negative colouring. Mostly we mean 'egotist' or 'egocentric' when we say 'egoist'. I will not bring in Freud or Jung here, but my old Collins dictionary. 'Ego' is the self or the 'conscious thinking subject'. 'Egoism' is the theory that bases morality on self-interest. Coming to 'egotist', the negative sense of self-conceit or selfishness or self-centredness appears.

Sometime ago a friend asked me how I 'dare' to write such personal, intimate thoughts in the blog. I replied that, that I find a universality in many of my experiences is the reason. When I write about family matters, relationships with others, connecting with nature, of romance, of personal grief – when I write – it takes on a universal dimension. I realise that my petty problems or simple pleasures are not unique but common. In my poems too, I have tried to convey something more than the obvious. Like Subbu or Sandy if others too sense it, I am happy. I try to connect, you see. I share. This is egoism at work, not egocentrism.

Long ago in one of my solo trips to Himalayas, as I sat in the bus that rode through the foothills of the mountains, I saw a hoarding. It said – 'Share your Joy and Double it!' I do not remember whose ad it was, but given to solo trips, it struck me somewhere.

Today I gave away my spare 14” colour TV to a friend who lives in the forests. He is a Kani, an indigenous people. They have solar power, but no TV channel. He has grown-up children who would like to watch movies in a CD player. I gave him K's bicycle, old but serviceable which the kids in the hamlet can ride. My friend's family and mine know each other for more than 20 years. His daughter is at K's age. His father was P's tracker and guide during her reseach days. Whenever the city gets too much for me, I run away to this little patch of solitude in the woods.

I don't know about doubling my joy, I can't be bothered with that. But with a shy smile, hoping that it will not have a tinge of patronisation or condescension, I would like to imagine my friend and family sitting in front of the TV and enjoying the movies. I would like to imagine the little boys and girls vying for a ride on K's BSA Champ which would go jumping and hopping and clanging over the unpaved paths and the dogs barking and running after them. I would like to imagine their laughter, the laughter of freedom.

********** Balachandran, Trivandrum 6-03-2010