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Ravindra
CFR
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Posted: Fri Apr 7th, 2006 06:50 am |
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Hi all, as many of you know I wrote Parts 1 and 2 and posted them on the homepage here http://www.cornelia-ida.com/Anna%20Catherina.htm
This final part of my virtual journey is one of deep reflection and I hope you enjoy it, although you may not relate to all the details. Cheers Ravi
Anna Catherina: Reflections from Afar© Part 3
The New Migrants
The Anna Catherina south east housing scheme was created out of a pasture in the late fifties/early sixties to accommodate the overflow of displaced CI logie residents. Alas, after working the lands of Cornelia Ida estate, and participating in the growth of a tight knit estate community, there was no land at Cornelia Ida to accommodate all the logie people. The residents of Anna Catherina south east housing scheme, CI’s eternal loss, were to refuge themselves out of this pasture.
The former logie residents set about to forge a different architecture for this housing scheme. It was to be mostly concrete bungalows, as opposed to the wooden houses that were being built by their compatriots at Cornelia Ida. Probably inspired by the houses of supervisory and managerial personnel on the Estates, these were to be trendy new modern concrete bungalows with polished hardwood floors and inside kitchen sinks, amenities foreign to the people at that time. A total of fifteen contracts were signed by George Macey for construction of the concrete bungalows but Macey absconded after partial completion of only three houses. The art of concrete residential construction was not quite developed among the local artisans and soon enough the south east housing scheme only had three concrete bungalows, for people reverted to the common wooden homes.
Churchill to Gandhi
Two of the concrete bungalows greet me as I enter the head of the scheme off the middle walk dam. Aunty Gladys’s house on the south side is a model of good plant husbandry; well laid out bajee beds, laden with chowrai and poi bajee, adorn the front, side and back of the house, for street consumption. Her lone chameli flower plant, wanting for a drink, competes for real estate space and Mr. Gladys’s attention. On the north side next to the temple is the second concrete bungalow in its usual quiet self, for the low keyed brothers Chiney and Japan are ‘busy’ minding their own business. Across the street, the more robust and out-and-about brothers Churchill and Hitler are vociferously engaged in a matter of great urgency which could soon require arbitration and the questionable dispute resolution services of their neighbor Mr. Gandhi.
Mr. Gandhi, a.k.a. Violence, formally recognized as Mr. Harry James, estate laborer, part-time carpenter, part-time Hindi school teacher, local tool lender and negotiator, and proprietor of the famous dunks tree was generous enough to loan his tools to many a people during the initial years of street settlement. Mr. Gandhi also rode his bike to Cornelia Ida to help teach Hindi to young kids at the Temple School and was ably assisted by his partner in life, Aunty Jane, a proficient bhajan singer and goja maker. Perhaps more than anything though, Mr. Gandhi enjoyed his dialogues at The Shop, which was akin to the School of Athens.
The School of Athens
Today, the host of the School of Athens, Uncle Sugrim, a.k.a. Suzie, a.k.a. Diplomat, of strong Socratic disposition from the days of CI Line-Top, is busy preparing for the evening’s session where he will manage court. Against the backdrop of the Russian Bear Bar, amid nostalgic Hindi tunes of well worn 78’s, 33’s and 45’s, off his neatly manicured lawn, and from his newly constructed home made lawn bench, Uncle Sugrim will engage Mr. Gandhi, Mr. Brukup, and Mr. Badrinath a.k.a. Lullabai along with out of town guests Mssrs. Shivmangal Seewah Persaud a.k.a. Bhaijee and Mr. Ghir a.k.a. Kakoo on topics ranging from the virtues of Hinduism to the solution of the country’s political problems. A young extended family member Prem interrupts with an intrusion and Uncle Sugrim is keen to demonstrate his diplomacy in the absence of Violence!
Perched on the back rest of the newly constructed lawn bench with both feet resting on the seat, twelve year old Prem taps away gently with the dull side of his cutlass. Uncle Suzie rises to the tap and approaches almost disinterestedly, “bai, yu nah Prem?” “Yes, Poopah”, says Prem. “Bai yu nah live ovah dey?” “Yes, Poopah” the bemused young man replied. “Bai, when mi ready fu bruk dong dis bench mi go call yu.” Prem, not sure what wrong he could have done, departs quietly to his house next door.
Another interruption comes from around the corner and the elderly Mr. Nakas, severely inebriated, captures the eternal pain of the indentured estate Indian in his wailing. “Mi bai name Nakas and me wuk haad; mi drink and mi happy; mi bai nah gat nobady; mi bai nah gat nobady; when mi bai dead, nobady na go remembah mi…” Nephew Cyril walks over; with one eye on Mr. Nakas’s well gardened domicile, and another on his aged cha cha, Cyril offers some comforting words, “Ow chach mi nah dey hey fu yu?”
The Animal Kingdom and My Bungalow
Cyril’s session is mirrored across the street where Plimpah Hag is being comforted for the mysterious disappearance of her biggest Fowl Cack. The search continues but Mrs. Hag is distraught over her loss for the upcoming Xmas holidays. Neighbour Tiger a.k.a. Labah continues to offer warm words of comfort, “nah worry, di fowl cack mussi just get last fu now.” A cold waar seemed in the making!
As I progress along the Animal Kingdom, I come to the abandoned cross-street just before my concrete bungalow; it is clean as usual. A heavily worn rectangular patch stands out at the head waiting for men to return and play trup chaal or sit and listen to cricket or Tigah’s shelf radio. A well worn track leads to my side gate. Beyond the gate stands my concrete bungalow, small but majestic for the heads that it has sheltered. The wire-mesh fence looks a lot lower than in 1966, when the British soldier, enforcing a curfew of the scheme, had leapt over in one motion to accost my father in his quest to get water from the front tank. The crotons, quite mature beyond the pieces “donated” by the manjah yard’s gardener, have procreated beyond my fence and introduced themselves to the scheme’s residents. The pongramah tree, a provider of many a cool fruit to hot sweaty workers who laid the electricity line for the scheme a long long time ago, sits proudly but alone from the twenty other fruit trees in the backyard.
The golden apple tree stands tall in the centre of the back yard and shelters the cricket pitch which bears its signs of overuse. Here, one time Guyana’s, Surrey’s and England’s cricket player Monty Lynch was initiated into the national passion, learning to face Jahn Snow a.k.a. Ravindra, while ensuring that he kept in his base to avoid being stumped by Keith Prince a.k.a Ping. Here too is the site of the initial experience and excitement that inspired the formation of Anna Catherina lil-boys club with the charismatic Jagnarine Mohan as Captain and Sakand Punch as fast bowler. No flying saucer is visible over the cane field behind my bungalow on this day, but it is minus a few stalks of sugar cane as Bringle and J.J. Slacks jump the fohfoot onto the cross-street and move northwards towards the scheme. At its appointed time, Big-bilah will draw and redraw the same line some kilometer away until 1973.
A healthy plantation of carrion crow bush graces the cross-street’s northern fringe. Black malibunta whiz among brilliant yellow “flowers” and occasionally deviate into Buddy Sunny Bezze’s yard to disturb Sister Shakun from beating clothes at the shed as if she gon kill dem. Beyond the carrion crow, large black sage bushes spread randomly along the decrepit Willie Jodha factory fence to provide ready made tooth brushes for the street community. A lone jumbie bird sits atop Sholo’s saijan tree close to the cross-street. Khemchand and Kakhai, slingshots in hand, are having a spirited debate as to whether this jumbie bird really gat wan jill in hi head.
A call comes from Shunk to Khemchand, “wah happen dey nah swah, come le abbi go walk a sideline side nah?” Khemchand a.k.a. Tellel a.k.a. Bazar, brother of the indomitable Dato, joins Shunk, Bringle, J.J. Slacks, Crappokak, Maaga and Gully towards the sideline journey. A pensive J.J. Slacks gets a negative nod from Gully over the edibility of neighbor Sunny Bezze’s pet turtle. Buddy Anand a.k.a. Buddy Ano joins the Shunk posse despite a stern watch from Kadan Ajee. Aja, sitting over the draft board and manning the cake shop, joins Ajee in a joint warning “Ayu nah go thief none baddi mango now.” Pet Ajee observes in silence.
The Cake Shop and Mobile Vendors
The five long shelves in the cake shop have an overgrown population of dry goods, shak-shaks, rack-an-roll, Chico sweetie and bladdah at this time, in anticipation of some Christmas shopping. After all, the Chee-a-tows do not come anymore with their van to sell goods and Aunty Maary will not take away customers or give away sweetie to children in the scheme! The tired, aching, dust laden exotic items of macaroni and mustard, long past their shelf life, sit in anticipation of ending their misery this Christmas season. A lone bunch of over speckled sweet fig bananas hangs tall from an oversized rope that might have once pulled a punt. The glass case sits atop the moat of four saddin punt, half filled with cooking oil; brave black ants return to their maker as they attempt to get past the moat. Others are drooling over the newly baked, Dayman salara and buns, beyond the spotless glass case.
Down the scheme, Rabi and Ramesh are drooling over their newly acquired blow-blows from mobile vendor Farouk. Farouk’s cart, canopy on top, is dressed for the festive season. Long sheets of multicolored maaroh paper drape the handle and canopy of the rubber wheeled donkey cart. Farouk, dressed as Father Christmas, sits behind the cart jingling the bells from his well worn but spotless long boots as the lil grey-brown donkey trudge on through the Animal Kingdom. A stop is made in front of neighbors, Uncle Kumar, a.k.a. Kownahkam, a.k.a. Watrash and Mr. Buffalo. Uncle Wattie turns up the juke box to match the excitement as children peek in Farouk’s cart to see a toy density not unlike Bookers or Forgaty’s. Small toy soldiers, blow-blows, whistles, cap guns and click-clicks jingle in unison from the makeshift garland along the canopy’s top. Ruby Cha-Chee subtle deliberations over finding something for her girls is quickly put to rest with choices by neighbor and friend, the gregarious Ms. Khatijan; Mrs. Buffalo makes a modest investment in a cap gun for young son Beesham a.k.a. Shittah with the agreement that he will wear pants during the festive season.
The Buffalos and Whites
A look beyond the Buffalos’ “fence” reveals a state of commotion at their bottom house. Aja Bakar is brandishing a shortened well edged twenty-two over the mysterious disappearance of two brooms from his room. The industrious old man journeys weekly to Hague Back Dam to pick up old coconut branches for his broom production. Locked securely behind closed doors, with bedroom window half open, the old man leaves his inventory and makes his way to the Leonora market to peddle his product at twenty five cents a piece. This day, grandson Ramchand Mahase better known as Kakhai, has infiltrated the security system via the gap in the window and the skillful improvisation of a grass knife and long bamboo. A timely visit at the Buffalo gate by neighbor Lily a.k.a. Mrs. Lily White, breaks the tension, as she offers to buy two new brooms from Aja Bakar.
Two doors down from the Buffalos, neighbor Mahadeo, a.k.a. John White is tending to the hibiscus hedge that borders his front fence. The battle scars of working the back dam cane cutting shows on his aged face. The once fair complexion has retreated to hide under his khaki pants and plaid shirt. The coarse hands, strong enough to carry the cane bundle, are gentle in swiping the doubled-edged cutlass back and forth to make the perfectly symmetrical hibiscus arch over the gate. The mathematical precision of the arch is tribute to a talent gone waste because of the injustices of his parents’ financial limitations to provide educational opportunities for a once bright and intelligent young man. The bare feet, strangers in companion of shoes, delicately balance on the edge of the raised peerhah to make the final touches on the arch. A gentle call comes, “Lilly, you cyan use the new broom now fu sweep up the leaf dem. Muss put am a front a Sadhu so his sheep cyan eat am.”
Neighborly and Natural Justice
“Gg-waaa-an Gg-waaa-an,” comes the almost unintelligible call from the scheme’s most visible disenfranchised and handicapped citizen, Sadhu, false-named Pakaakee, as he guides his family’s cows through their narrow gate and over the slanting one meter wide bridge. A low keyed distinct whistle guides the flock of sheep towards the pile of hibiscus cuttings, recently deposited beside the rubbage heap in front of the yard. A count is made to confirm that no sheep fell prey to the estate cow catcher’s antics; today the news is good for Dougla the estate cow catcher has not paraded the sideline dam where the local cows and sheep graze. Sadhu remains with his flock as they are having dinner, when the call comes, “hey Pakaakee yu muss keep yu cow a canah; look how he mess abbi taaga game.”
If neighborly and human justice did not exist at all times to stand up for Sadhu, natural justice prevailed on occasions, like today; Balram stands pondering over the retrieval of his favorite taaga from the recently deposited gobar! Devo, a.k.a. Sakand Punch, ahead in the taaga game, provokes with advice, “wah yu nah pick am up and wash am out a di well pipe” only to get some bad words. Balram’s frustration comes out with another “Pa, Pa, Pa, Pa—Kaaakh” to which Sadhu attempts a feeble defense. Aid finally comes from Aunty Caafee, “a wah ayu a fatigue dah bai fa?”
Pusur Pusur and Ovaltine Cans
Auntys Caafee, Dookhie and Bipti, recently returned from hauling shrimps a sideline, are in the middle of the road chatting away pusur pusur when Ole Man, a.k.a. Graphic, a.k.a Homan Crosbie comes along with “eh, sisee a wah ayu a talk?” Some wild cusses are dished out liberally, along with some name calling that sends Ole Man dashing for cover. Another person is running for a cover, as Shabir runs on command from elder brother Feroze to retrieve the ovaltine can’s missile, projected from the explosion of spit and carbon.
A call comes from Feroze’s mother “Feroze and Shabir?” “Ji?” is the one word unusual but dignified Urdu/Hindi response, as the boys scramble to hide the ovaltine can with its precious twenty five cents of carbon. Scrambling in a hurry is a not a problem for Feroze today as he has always been an active and swift chap. In earlier days, his swiftness and his childhood folly of skulking from school to engage in his favorite pastime of playing bumpah ball had led to some curtailment in the form of an ovaltine can and chain around his ankle. While many were amused, and some indeed sympathetic, the elder Mr. Khan, felt it was in his son’s best interest to padlock the can around his son’s leg and restrain him from running away from school. Today, my childhood friend Feroze explodes the ovaltine can with great joy.
Dholi Chalde Dhulan Sasuraal
The joy of live public singing is on show down the street as Mr. Haniff, a.k.a. Mukesh renders Mahendra Kapoor’s dholi chalde dhulhan sasuraal for his young son Rafeek, a.k.a. Feek. The elder Mr. Haniff eases into his more comfortable zone of Mukesh renditions upon a prompt from Buddy Freddy next door. Mr. Haniff’s Hindi/Urdu diction is exceptional among the scheme’s residents having inherited great knowledge from his father and other elders from the days of living at the logies at Cornelia Ida estate. Young son Feek, a naturally gifted artist, soaks in the tunes in preparation for a mighty Mukah double of Diwana and Awara tonight at Monarch and fends off his sister’s call to play choor next door.
The sisters Kamla, Mona, Tara, Shanta and Gita are in the middle of wrapping up their bun house and nancy stories and want to start a game of choor. Their mother Aunty Pong, sitting on the front step, behind the ranch styled fence, recognizes me and calls out, “how you do baab. You come walk?” “Yes Aunty. How ayu a do? All baddi get big now. Walter get big now and he does always thank you for jumping in the high sideline and save am from drowning. Thank you Aunty.” My feeble attempt to repay a mother of seven, who risked her life to save my brother’s life, is “aright me go call Balchand and Tulsie and abbi go play the game of choor.” Aunty Pong nods in appreciation as she looks at me and then at the sideline next to her home. The sideline is not too high today!
Sweet Chameli and Rubbage Heap
An invitation comes from the Shunk posse who are gathered at the sideline bridge next door. The bearer of the invitation, Khemchand, replaces me on the choor team, much to the dismay of my partners and I head over to the sideline bridge. A healthy accumulation of genip and green mango skins are in the middle of the posse and a warm greeting is extended in the form of tun mango and salt and pepper. The boys are planning an attack on Mrs. Plimpah Hag, where the skins mixed with sweet smelling chameli, hibiscus and carrion crow yellow flowers and a smoky dry coconut shell will be deposited in front of the innocent lady’s gate, with intent to say that one of her neighbors wants to put jumbie pan she.
An over-powering smoky smell from the humongous rubbage heap at the head of the sideline draws my attention and I excuse myself from the Shunk posse, with a promise to return after a stroll on the now dark sideline dam. I stop to have a look at the cricket “pitch” where many battles of bumpah ball were fought between scheme and roadside and which Hameed a.k.a. Bougs had once threatened to faak if he didn’t get game. The jumbie and carrion crow bushes densely cover the mounds of dirt left by the dragline and provide ample hiding spots for gun shooting during this Christmas season. Across the Cornelia Ida sideline, I can see that people are eyeing up the bandin which will be opened at 4 A.M., to the joy of all who will go hauling for hassar, hoorie, yarrow and the occasional alligator! I look further down backdam side by the Dutchman tree but tonight the Dutchman jumbies are resting amidst the fireflies. I proceed towards the rubbage heap, where the Leonora Estate is burning a temporary accumulation of dry clay to make red bricks for local street pavement. A rattling noise followed by “bai wey yu a go?” makes my skin grow and I peek over at the ominous calabash trees amid the coconut plantation of the Fellow Yard to see Daling jumbie is about to attack. Relief comes in the form of Mr. Jadoo’s son Baboo!
Socrates to Plato
The mild mannered Baboo, a once strong and powerfully built young man, hurriedly exits through a jumbie bush off makeshift crutches to greet me. A gentle rub of my head reminds me of the days when he came over to my home and cut my hair as a favor to my father. Today he stands, still strong in upper body, but visibly weakened by skinny legs and major spinal injury. My emotions get the better part of me as I look at him and I glance at the tall coconut trees in Fellow’s Yard; the cruel fall from one of those were to leave this humble man disabled for much of his life. But Baboo’s robustness and cheery attitude lifts my spirits and we head over to watch the rubbage heap. Our dialogues are long and far reaching and before long I conclude that Baboo has made the most of life despite his disability. If Uncle Suzie led the School of Athens as Socrates, then Plato was certainly standing in front of me.
The Pantheon
The School of Athens is in session as I get back near the Shop. A debate is in progress and Bhaijee is making a case about the shortcomings of the English Language: “The Language is incomplete, I say. If one a dem bai ovah dey call out and sey “Uncle come over hay lil bit nah, which one ayu go get up?” Mr. Kakoo nods in agreement but Mr. Brukup says “well all the young man gat fu do is say, which uncle or he cyan say Mr. so and so.” The debate rages on over the subjunctive mood, the split infinitive, passive modals, etc. and Uncle Suzie momentarily eases away and singles me out from the Shunk Posse with the gentlest of nods; I move closer to the elite panel of scholars: uncles Badrinath, Bhaijee Seewah, Brukup, Kakoo and Gandhi. A small lemonade and a salara is presented to me and small talk is made. I ease away back to the posse only to hear Uncle Suzie lauding the value of education, “ayu see dah bai come back from Calgary; dem prapah wok hard and get wan good education.” Mr. Bruckup responds “well mi hear he say dat dem does drive pan ice ovah deh.” “It is not ice, it is snooow!” comes the response from Bhaijee. Mr. Gandhi interrupts “well ice and snow are the same thing; they are just in different forms.” Uncle Suzie adds “well the proper thing to say is that they are in different states.” Mr. Badrinath pitches in “yes, all a dem a watah” and then wonders aloud “a wah kinda song Wattie a play deh?”
Uncle Wattie in a more somber mood tonight has deviated from the regular Mukesh rendition of saawan kaa mahiinaa pawan kare sor for local renditions of oh maninja oh maninja cane a cut and price nah pay a tall and oh my mother you dead and gone brothers and sisters must live as one. Shunk and the posse of Chaparchat Jr. Maaga, Bringle, and Gullie have planted the chameli concoction at Mrs. Plimpah Hag’s gate and are now vigorously protesting on the merits of the Mukesh and the maninja song. An argument breaks out and Mr. Gandhi, a more subdued philosopher tonight, is beckoned over from the Shop to bring resolution to the proceedings, without violence.
The Departure
It is quiet and calm now; silence has regained its empire; the philosophers have retreated to their domicile. Uncle Wattie has toned down his oh my mother you dead and gone rendition and I return from The Shop, well fed in the philosophy and mechanics of diplomacy, logic, and the value of intonation and accentuation as court theatrics. I sit on the bench in front of my concrete bungalow; a lone light burns at the house next door; a young man studies. Soon the cocks will crow and he will retire for another day’s journey to Zeeburg Secondary. Uncle Wattie’s oh my mother tune lingers on and leads me to the head of the scheme, across the middle walk, to make my visit. The legs are lead-heavy now, the palms sweaty and my heart pounding for the poignancy of the moment is upon me as I near my journey’s end. I look far and deep in the burial ground and the smile brings me comfort, eases my heart and gives me strength to go forward. “Be strong my son, travel well for I will always love you.” I look and I smile and I cry for here I walked as a little boy with my mother some three decades ago, only to return to my concrete bungalow without her. Thirty years have gone and Anna Catherina remains a part of me.
The author, D. Ravindra Persaud of http://www.cornelia-ida.com limits commercial reproduction and/or publication of this article unless a donation is made to a charity of his choice. Ravindra is a native of West Demerara and writes from Calgary, Alberta, Canada. He can be reached by email at cornelia@cornelia-ida.com
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Na(m)an
Member
| Joined: | Wed Dec 31st, 1969 |
| Location: | Thailand |
| Posts: | 225 |
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Posted: Sat Apr 8th, 2006 05:39 pm |
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| Ravi, nice work. Can u combine all three parts into one and republish. When I get time I'll write on Rohan, Chataks, Blacks
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triloki
Banned
| Joined: | Wed Dec 31st, 1969 |
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| Posts: | 16 |
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Posted: Thu Apr 20th, 2006 06:03 am |
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Ravi, no offence meant, but what were you trying to achieve with this article? I cannot avoid thinking that this article is more a cry for some kind of intellectual recognition. I also get the impression you may have unknowingly swallowed a dictionary - not a complement by the way. Did you really think the mere reference big names such as Churchill and Hitler, Socrates and Plato etc would grant you intellectual recognition? Perhaps that was your intention and you thought your audience would praise you after being stung with such "big words" and names? Really, you certainly did underestimate at least one of the readers of this article.
Finally, the article is pompous, inconsistent, subjective, personal and last but not least, a lot of trash.
Best regards,
Ramanan Triloki Rampersaud
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Na(m)an
Member
| Joined: | Wed Dec 31st, 1969 |
| Location: | Thailand |
| Posts: | 225 |
| Mana: | |
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Posted: Thu Apr 20th, 2006 03:25 pm |
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Posted: Thu Apr 20th, 2006 12:03 pm
Ravi, no offence meant, but what were you trying to achieve with this article? I cannot avoid thinking that this article is more a cry for some kind of intellectual recognition. I also get the impression you may have unknowingly swallowed a dictionary - not a complement by the way. Did you really think the mere reference big names such as Churchill and Hitler, Socrates and Plato etc would grant you intellectual recognition? Perhaps that was your intention and you thought your audience would praise you after being stung with such "big words" and names? Really, you certainly did underestimate at least one of the readers of this article.
Finally, the article is pompous, inconsistent, subjective, personal and last but not least, a lot of trash.
Best regards,
Ramanan Triloki Rampersaud
Dear Mr Ramanan Triloki Rampersaud:
"You do not know me, but I know you well."
I suppose a well read young man like you, someone so keen to try to match intellectual wits with a stranger, would know why I have placed my opening sentence in quotation marks. And I suppose that you would know the tradition that that quote is extracted from.
One would have thought that your knowledge of this tradition would also have afforded you some appreciation of one of the most fundamental institutions of social life:community, and that perhaps your expansive knowledge would have allowed you to recognize that mode of historical enquiry that has been dubbed 'local history' by social historians.
But perhaps you are NOT as well read as you would like this community, linked in its facelessness by electronic communication, to believe. Perhaps after all, though you may indeed be able to locate the by-now common names in Ravi's social history of Anna catherina south east housing scheme, you are, like me, an intellectual peasant, ignorant of the virtues of modesty and disrespectful of modern conventions of intellectual exchange.
In this way, you see Mr Ramanan Triloki Rampersaud, we are blood brothers. For even though I saw a lot to celebrate in Ravi's article while you saw 'a lot of trash', you and I are united by our shallow intellectual posturing, peasants though we are.
The difference between us, I suppose, is more than this expansive ocean which separates us. Quite simply, Mr Ramanan Triloki Rampersaud, the main difference is that I enjoy my peasant status while I watch fellow peasants like you pretending to be sophisticsted plebians lose their sense of public decency.
But, be that as it may, I must thank you. I must thank you for coming to my intellectual rescue and the rescue of my colleagues on this forum. You are, as you said, 'at least one of the readers of this article' not to be 'underestimate'. Your self-appointment as hero to this CI community ignorants is an act of compassion and sacrifice for which I am grateful and for which others may wish to thank you as well.
Come brother, wecome aboard to http://www.cornelia_ida.com.
yours very sincerely,
na(m)an
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Na(m)an
Member
| Joined: | Wed Dec 31st, 1969 |
| Location: | Thailand |
| Posts: | 225 |
| Mana: | |
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Posted: Thu Apr 20th, 2006 04:21 pm |
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Posted: Thu Apr 20th, 2006 12:03 pm
Ravi, no offence meant, but what were you trying to achieve with this article? I cannot avoid thinking that this article is more a cry for some kind of intellectual recognition. I also get the impression you may have unknowingly swallowed a dictionary - not a complement by the way. Did you really think the mere reference big names such as Churchill and Hitler, Socrates and Plato etc would grant you intellectual recognition? Perhaps that was your intention and you thought your audience would praise you after being stung with such "big words" and names? Really, you certainly did underestimate at least one of the readers of this article.
Finally, the article is pompous, inconsistent, subjective, personal and last but not least, a lot of trash.
Best regards,
Ramanan Triloki Rampersaud
==========================================
Dear Mr Ramanan Triloki Rampersaud:
"You do not know me, but I know you well."
I suppose a well read young man like you, someone so keen to try to match intellectual wits with a stranger, would know why I have placed my opening sentence in quotation marks. And I suppose that you would know the tradition that that quote is extracted from.
One would have thought that your knowledge of this tradition would also have afforded you some appreciation of one of the most fundamental institutions of social life:community, and that perhaps your expansive knowledge would have allowed you to recognize that mode of historical enquiry that has been dubbed 'local history' by social historians.
But perhaps you are NOT as well read as you would like this community, linked in its facelessness by electronic communication, to believe. Perhaps after all, though you may indeed be able to locate the by-now common names in Ravi's social history of Anna Catherina south east housing scheme, you are, like me, an intellectual peasant, ignorant of the virtues of modesty and disrespectful of modern conventions of intellectual exchange.
In this way, you see Mr Ramanan Triloki Rampersaud, we are blood brothers. For even though I saw a lot to celebrate in Ravi's article while you saw 'a lot of trash', you and I are united by our shallow intellectual posturing, peasants that we are.
The difference between us, I suppose, is more than this expansive ocean which separates us. Quite simply, Mr Ramanan Triloki Rampersaud, the main difference is that I enjoy my peasant status while I watch fellow peasants like you pretending to be sophisticsted plebians lose their sense of public decency.
But, be that as it may, I must thank you. I must thank you for coming to my intellectual rescue and the rescue of my colleagues on this forum. You are, as you said, 'at least one of the readers of this article' not to be 'underestimate'. Your self-appointment as hero to this "community of ignorants" is an act of compassion and sacrifice for which I am grateful and for which others may wish to thank you as well.
Come brother, wecome aboard to http://www.cornelia_ida.com.
yours very sincerely,
na(m)an
____________________
Na(m)an
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triloki
Banned
| Joined: | Wed Dec 31st, 1969 |
| Location: | |
| Posts: | 16 |
| Mana: | |
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Posted: Thu Apr 20th, 2006 09:06 pm |
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Na(m)an,
First, your criticism of my critique is rather stupid. What a waste!
Second, I am happy to hear that you think you know me very well.
Third, I am happy I don’t know you.
It's sad to see a man (maybe even a woman - I can't really tell from your name), would enjoy such peasant status while the rest of mankind endeavours to become civilised and educated human beings. However, and as you've quite correctly avowed, you are a peasant and as such it is quite natural that you would try to pull others down into your pit. From what you write it is easy to think you enjoy being there.
Nonetheless, I am a man of few words and I should have no more to say to you than - I will not lower my standards to get equal to you.
Best regards,
RTR
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Na(m)an
Member
| Joined: | Wed Dec 31st, 1969 |
| Location: | Thailand |
| Posts: | 225 |
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Posted: Fri Apr 21st, 2006 03:07 am |
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Na(m)an,
First, your criticism of my critique is rather stupid. What a waste!
Second, I am happy to hear that you think you know me very well.
Third, I am happy I don’t know you.
It's sad to see a man (maybe even a woman - I can't really tell from your name), would enjoy such peasant status while the rest of mankind endeavours to become civilised and educated human beings. However, and as you've quite correctly avowed, you are a peasant and as such it is quite natural that you would try to pull others down into your pit. From what you write it is easy to think you enjoy being there.
Nonetheless, I am a man of few words and I should have no more to say to you than - I will not lower my standards to get equal to you.
Best regards,
RTR
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
Now Now Mr RTR:
The fun has just started, so "Babe, pleaseeeeeeeeeeeeee don't go, no...I'm begging you to stay." Know that song Mr RTR. Try Styx, 1980.
Well, my short resonse to your piece seems to have turned you into an emotional roller-coaster. Look at what you wrote, and with such precision...1..., 2...,3....Oh boy!
In your second sentence you are "happy to hear ..."
In your third sentence, you are "happy I don’t know you"
And in your fourth sentence "It's sad to see"
What's happening to you Mr. RTR? As someone who has known you all these years, I hope, sincerely so, that my short response is not the cause of your evident emotional instability becuase as a civilized American, I am afraid that you may even think of suing me. But, Jai yen yen, as we say in my neck of the jungle.
You may wonder why I haven't commented on your first sentence. Well brother, it's to save you more stress. Between you and me, your first sentence refers to your "critique", but I am still looking for it.
As a lowly peasant, may I suggest you join some of the discussions at the "School of Athens" where the difference between words such as 'critique' and 'criticism' are routinely discussed? Or, if you can't make it that far, just re-re-read your copy of Habermas.
Mr. Ramanan Triloki Rampersaud, a.k.a. "RTR", CI "man of few words", and American endeavouring "to become civilised", even your "few words", as abi use to sey in Guyana, 'a just plain fat talk'. Buns once asked someone like you if he 'gat verbal dieahreeya' or he just 'lost e sense'.
So Mr. Ramanan Triloki Rampersaud, a.k.a. "RTR", "Babe, pleaseeeeeeeeeeeeee don't go, no... I'm begging you to stay," to accept responsibility for your words of wisdom and rub shoulders again with a fellow village peasant.
Your sincere fellow peasant,
na(m)an
PS: So what if I'm a woman? You 'frighten me'?
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triloki
Banned
| Joined: | Wed Dec 31st, 1969 |
| Location: | |
| Posts: | 16 |
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Posted: Fri Apr 21st, 2006 09:27 am |
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Sorry mate, but you are even more pathetic than I thought.
I rest my case!
Cheers,
RTR
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Na(m)an
Member
| Joined: | Wed Dec 31st, 1969 |
| Location: | Thailand |
| Posts: | 225 |
| Mana: | |
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Posted: Fri Apr 21st, 2006 04:51 pm |
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Hey RTR:
What has happened, Bro? Why are you "resting you case" so fast? Actually, if you let your case rest as it is now in a court of law, you will lose. Haven't we just begun? I thought you will teach us all a thing or two. What kind of English teacher are you?
You need to have guts to back up your mouth. As an English teacher, actually no, as a "native speaker" you must have (here 'must' is used as subjunctive rather than imperative) some more words you can impart to this peasant. So, pls. don't go. Ah begging you to stay... cuz you started this wonderful 'exchange of ideas'.
Oh, and be careful, in Guyana among us peasants, when someone use the word "mate" we usually think they are a batee-man.
Sawadee khap,
Yours very sincerely
na(m)an
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Duchess
Member
| Joined: | Wed Dec 31st, 1969 |
| Location: | |
| Posts: | 9 |
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Posted: Tue Apr 25th, 2006 02:48 am |
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Hey Trolik
You are quite immature, intellectually and mentally. The essay written by Ravi will go down as a classic and you will eat crow. You have no idea who Ravi is and yet you accuse and try to belittle him. I know Ravi; you cannot match him in any regard so I suggest you lick your wounds and rest your case.
By the way Trolik, I feel sorry for you. Na(m)an really give you a whipping.
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triloki
Banned
| Joined: | Wed Dec 31st, 1969 |
| Location: | |
| Posts: | 16 |
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Posted: Tue Apr 25th, 2006 07:39 pm |
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honey, you're sooo sweet.
But from what I can see, it seems you have many more wounds to lick than I!!!
Perhaps you and that other idiot should form a new club and name it 'home of the idiots' or something to that effect.
Best regards darling,
RTRLast edited on Tue Apr 25th, 2006 07:40 pm by triloki |
Na(m)an
Member
| Joined: | Wed Dec 31st, 1969 |
| Location: | Thailand |
| Posts: | 225 |
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Posted: Thu Apr 27th, 2006 09:12 am |
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honey, you're sooo sweet.
But from what I can see, it seems you have many more wounds to lick than I!!!
Perhaps you and that other idiot should form a new club and name it 'home of the idiots' or something to that effect.
Best regards darling,
RTR
===============
Mr. Ramanand Trioiloke whatever:
It seems the 'batee-man' category really fits you well, as after my last post, you suddenly come out of the closet and start using words like 'honey' and 'darling'. Boy, Duchess is a woman not a man like you think. If you want wan man, try somewhere else.
Gwan Now, gwan! Gwan!
na(m)an
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triloki
Banned
| Joined: | Wed Dec 31st, 1969 |
| Location: | |
| Posts: | 16 |
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Posted: Thu Apr 27th, 2006 10:38 am |
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Na(m)an, I'm going to say this to you one last time:
YOU ARE VERY PRIMITIVE AND YOU ARE A BIG IDIOT. Just telling you this is probably a waste of my time – you might not even get.
I really haven't got time to waist on you MATE. You should look up the meanings of that word you fool.
Last edited on Thu Apr 27th, 2006 10:41 am by triloki |
Na(m)an
Member
| Joined: | Wed Dec 31st, 1969 |
| Location: | Thailand |
| Posts: | 225 |
| Mana: | |
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Posted: Thu Apr 27th, 2006 05:23 pm |
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Ramanand Trilokey whatever,
Ah hope you are enjoying yourself as you seem like a very very lonely "man" (sorry if I offend you by calling you "man".)
Alright, you don't want to gwan, all right it seems like you like punishment. At least you get some attention.
Let me give you a suggestion: find a book and read. It would also improve your spelling. If you don't know where to start, just ask the librarian where the children section is. The graded readers should not be too difficult.
Now gwan, read, and when you done, you can come back and somebody else will have to help you out and talk to you because I have other things to do. Sorry, to leave you alone.
Your "friend" (na tek this the wrang way now!!)
na(m)an
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triloki
Banned
| Joined: | Wed Dec 31st, 1969 |
| Location: | |
| Posts: | 16 |
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Posted: Thu Apr 27th, 2006 09:49 pm |
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| Edited out by Ravi. Last edited on Sat May 6th, 2006 06:49 am by Ravindra |
Ravindra
CFR
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Posted: Sat May 6th, 2006 07:21 am |
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| I will watch this thread closely from now on.
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Ravindra
CFR
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Posted: Wed May 10th, 2006 07:29 pm |
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Ramanan Triloki Rampersaud wrote: Ravi, no offence meant, but what were you trying to achieve with this article? I cannot avoid thinking that this article is more a cry for some kind of intellectual recognition. I also get the impression you may have unknowingly swallowed a dictionary - not a complement by the way. Did you really think the mere reference big names such as Churchill and Hitler, Socrates and Plato etc would grant you intellectual recognition? Perhaps that was your intention and you thought your audience would praise you after being stung with such "big words" and names? Really, you certainly did underestimate at least one of the readers of this article.
Finally, the article is pompous, inconsistent, subjective, personal and last but not least, a lot of trash.
Best regards,
Ramanan Triloki Rampersaud
http://www.sayitinenglish.de
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Ramanan Triloki Rampersaud further wrote:Ravi, this was not intended to be on the forum. It’s not my style to do such a thing in public.
Now regarding Naman, I wonder what he will be up to next - it sounds like he now wants to fight with me or even kill me. So much for his intellectual gibberish - or rather a verification of his peasantry?
Generally I enjoy debating and discussing, however not at such a low level offered him and that babe… I'm now their enemy!!! ??? But then again, I didn't expect anything else from this forum.
Also, I will debate with anyone who can correctly identify themselves and with individuals with such fake identities as Dutchess and Na(m)an (you know already what I think about illusiveness.) Anyway, neither of these criterion can be fulfilled by either of the two self pseudo- intellectuals.
Best regards,
Triloki Ramanan Rampersaud
http://www.sayitinenglish.de
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Triloki
I have had great difficulty in understanding your so called "critique" above. And I have toiled on how to respond to your blatantly rude and offensive private messages and public postings.
I have toiled to respond to you because I have known your family like my own ( of which I made explained in detail to you) and it has been difficult to understand your crude and crappy behaviour. I cannot bring myself to utter a bad word to you, not because of YOU, but because of your family. I know all of them will not tolerate what you have said here and will give you a piece of their mind.
Regarding Na(m)an and Duchess, well you never lived up to much on the intellectual front and you jumbed in the gutter to fight. Those crude remarks concerning Na(m)an were edited out. Those crude remarks have also resulted in your forefeiture of rights to this forum as a member. You have the proud distinction of being the first person to be banned on this forum.
Ravi
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Brickwall46kk
Member
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Posted: Mon Aug 28th, 2006 01:31 pm |
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| Oh....this was truly awesome,U made me feel that i was there throughout the entire episode.This is great...u have to be proud of yourself to capture such a vivid picture of your past years.Congrats Don....keep up the good work...and thank u for making my day
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