The Grass Bezoar

The horses and their sports are not well rooted in Indian subcontinent as some western scholars insinuate to the young readers, as they did not have enough Leg rooms. Horses are not native to Indian Subcontinent similar to the lions. Hunting and Ashwamedha Yaga are viewed with suspicion and there are long held beliefs that these forces played a major role in shaping of Indian history culture. 

The spectacle of cruel horse sacrifice and Necrophilia linked with the queen is directly propagated and aimed at the Brahmin Priests to have killed the pain related to addiction to the fast sports, hunting, gambling and related maladies of the ancient times. The emblematic horses on the Ashoka Chakra remains as an ambiguous symbol singing the glory of the war horses and cautionary tales of an impending danger. The Ashwamedha Yaga sacrificial priests who have tamed the spirits at the times of distress are often made scape goats for denying to recreate the spectre of horrors of the history. Did the Ashwamedha Yaga prized horses that are trained to run relentlessly covering vast scapes of unmarked territories to create empires for the kings, lacked the training when to trot gracefully and halt and retreat to safe places?

When the young mind is given a picture to digest, of the Queens being made to sleep with the slaughtered horses, it triggers a strong image of the role of the priest. The ancient anxiety trickles down generation after generation, without any accompanying subtext or explanation.

The plight of the persons bonded with the fast running species calls for our attention to evaluate critically the method behind the madness. Race horses and Grass Sickness condition throws more light in to this ancient horror. Race horses that run enviable distances to conquer the lands for their kings and the jackpot for their gamblers when fall in to the precipices, the gloom of the spasms descend on all the stakeholders. The bowels craving for the missing joy of daily running congests, twists, bloats and the agonised anti-peristaltic frothing and rolling on the grounds is a price the kings and the gamblers pay for nurturing this trait.

It is a million dollar venture to save the horses who walk blindly in to this gambit. The transference and the sympathetic pain that descends on to the stake holders of the dying horse is unquestionable. The bezoars of the blocked bowels of the kings and horses becomes the responsibility of the so called Brahmin Priests, or any other professionals who could allay their misery. It evokes how this is narrated at different points in history to suit the needs of the people who want to ascend to the power. If Brahmin bashing becomes a common currency to rise to power, all the rituals associated with the class acquire the dark veils and shadows.

The queen who is made to sleep with the slaughtered animal in distress to compensate for the voracious appetite and the ensuing pangs of guilts of the king, is the question that remains unanswered. The kings may become supposedly guilt free through this act. What is left at the remains of the Queens explains the fallacy of quick fixes for Kings to come. The champions who tamed the spirits of the horse race gambling without leaving any pangs of envy, leave an indelible mark in the histories, which keeps resonating in the works of Sculptor Sri.M.N. Jayaraman Nagappa, in Chennai Anna Flyover.

Anatomy of a Fallacy : 'P' Value

If you get 4 out of 5 times correct, that is enough to generate a value of scientific confidence. How does it work in the generating a proposition in humanities. 'The Hunger Artist' of Franz Kafka is a powerful metaphor. The man who does not love food, finds a new mission to lie down in front of a public audience for 40 days. The appreciation works it charm during this show. The show owner loses interest in this game after 40 days of starvation and fires the hunger artist. Even after the show is over the man continues to starve himself to death. 'Kafkaesque' in action. 

Loss of love towards food is one of the varieties of disturbance that makes a dominant presence in formulating many a maladies of the mind. The bureaucratic process maps of the social institutes for recovering from mental illness find hard to recreate the lost magic towards food. It is not 'what is on the offer' culture that creates the space for reigniting the love for food. It is how it is offered and the music and languages that follows before and during the process. The tyranny without tyrant is the Kafkaesque essence that creates metabolic syndromes and clinical buddhas of the fallen men. It is often repeated that there are many trees and few Indians in the social institutes. More managers and less people on the shop floor. The eating never stops, the hunger never stops as there is no Love that feedbacks or guides the fallen...

There is no personal trainer you can fall in love without boundaries who can put you on the long leash of ketogenic diet or 8 litres of water a day. Does this generate a scientific confidence value, that Kafkaesque social institutes promoting recovery falls flat on its lofty ambitions. It is my fourth attempt in trying to link a few ideas together to generate a truth like proposition. My bladder is getting irritable and urges me to take a leave at this juncture every other time I cross this point. There is no 'P' Value in Humanities, Only 'Pee' Waves'. Getting seriously pissed off repeatedly. 

That's when the dream never stops of Annapooranis who kick in with magic wands out of of frogs' legs, blue cheeses, burgers, red wines.. 'Time enough' mothers. Hari Om Tat Sat...

‘Do’ or ‘Docere’

‘Do’ or ‘Docere’ : 

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The roots of doctor are found in Latin to ‘Docere’. To Teach good ways of living. Teaching by example and a personal one to one transmission of the essential is an utopian dream of a good teacher. When the cultural icons are busy plundering and amassing wealth, escaping from tyranny, legalising slave trade, seeing the world as a market, their gurus inevitably catch up on the restlessness of their ages keeping the art of doctoring a distant utopian dream. Hence the watered down version of ‘To Preach’ becomes a restless norm for the desirable ‘To Teach’. 

Now preaching by the priests has its own enemies. Dogs testicles hanging out prominently are called Bollocks. A common slang that refers to the Priest’s Cloaks, for prominently displaying the agenda of proselytising in masses to bring the spirits in tune with the restless empire building forces. There is no time for the discontent except for the marked emptiness of the missionaries. 

Doctors sharing the restlessness of their times have maintained the pangs of anxiety that is transmitted generation after generation perpetuating several myths of the state. I have shared two poems of Writer Payon that captures the essence of this Crux from Indian milieu. I have sought his permission to modify it in version two of first poem and the second poem to capture and mix the essence of post colonial angst. 

The Iyer, Priest and Psychiatrist share the kindred spirits in promulgating the modern myths from the Vedic times. Good rituals from Humanities and Psychoanalyst the effective personal guru in bad times have been silenced by the restless charitable acts far too quickly. This kind of addresses why psychiatry and sociology of the West continue to fail in making an effective appeal. 

Poem 1:

ஓய்! அயிறே
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மனப்பாடம் செய்த மந்திரத்தை சீக்கிரம் கக்கு
அட்சரம் பிசகத் திருப்பிச் சொல்கிறேன் 

உன் கூட்டத்தின் ஓலம் தவிர்க்க நேற்று மாட்டிய வெண்பாம்பைப் பார்த்து நானும் உன் மந்தை என ஏமாறாதே 

நீ மூக்கை நோண்டிவிட்டு வேட்டியில் துடைக்கும் கையால் பிடித்துவைத்த சோற்றுருண்டையில்
என் அப்பா குந்தியிருக்கிறார்
எனப் பிதற்றாதே

நாலு பருக்கை போடும் வரை பசியில் அலைவார் என மிரட்டாதே 

ஆளை நெருப்புக்குள் தள்ளி விட்டுக் காலையிலிருந்து என்னை ஈரத்துணியில் உட்காரவைத்திருக்கிறாய்.

Poem 2: Modified Version 2

ஓய்! ஸைக்கியாட்ரிஸ்ட்டே
———————————-

மனப்பாடம் செய்த மந்திரத்தை சீக்கிரம் கக்கு
அட்சரம் பிசகத் திருப்பிச் சொல்கிறேன் 

உன் கூட்டத்தின் ஓலம் தவிர்க்க நேற்று மாட்டிய வெண்பாம்பைப் பார்த்து நானும் உன் மந்தை என ஏமாறாதே 

நீ மூக்கை நோண்டிவிட்டு வேட்டியில் துடைக்கும் கையால் பிடித்துவைத்த சோற்றுருண்டையில்
என் அப்பாவின் ஜீன் குந்தியிருக்கிறார்
எனப் பிதற்றாதே

நாலு பருக்கை போடும் வரை பசியில் அலைவார் என மிரட்டாதே 

ஆளை நெருப்புக்குள் தள்ளி விட்டுக் காலையிலிருந்து என்னை ஈரத்துணியில் உட்காரவைத்திருக்கிறாய்.

Poem 2

ஓஹோ!
————

பாட்டன், முப்பாட்டன் எல்லாம் 

காக்கை உருவத்தில் வருவார்களாமா? 

டோபமைன் உருவத்தில் வருவார்களாமா? 

“கா கா” என்று நாம் கத்தினால் அன்பாக ஓடி வந்து ஒயிட் ரைஸைத் தின்பார்களாமா? 

சாலைப் பெருச்சாளிகளை அக்கு அக்காகக் கொத்தித் தின்ற பின் அத்தனூண்டு வயிற்றில் இடம் இருக்குமாமா?

Reproduced [ Poem 1] and Modified [ Poem 2 and 3]  with Permission from Writer Payon. 

Reference:  

வாழ்வின் இயக்கத்தில் மனிதனின் தனிமை,  பேயோன் ,  2018