Posted by Naim Naqvi

We paint their pictures with greatness that is ideal but fake – not real. The irony is that they all want to rectify the world in their own way but fail to clear their own backyards of life. The greatness is not real and hangs heavy round their neck

THE KIND of leaders who dominate the different horizons of civilisation are not the real greats or the embodiment of virtues, as we want to believe. We conceive an ideal image with our own selected and desired attributes and then we impart and cloak our loving subjects with those farce qualities. We lie about our relations, friends, priests, guides and leaders. We boast them to be in possession of those traits, which they don’t carry.

We paint their pictures with greatness that is ideal but fake – not real. Most of these greats are/were mediocre. But they were successful manipulators, attention seekers and imposters. I do never allow myself to be deluded by those so-called leaders or experts of their fields who are showered with the unlimited praise or critics barbs. The irony is that they all want to rectify the world in their own way but fail to clear their own backyards of life. The greatness is not real and hangs heavy round their neck.

We are still passing under the yoke of world-wide economic depression. Who is responsible for this plight of the world? No unknown race had invaded our planet with it’s super techniques. The catastrophe was brought by the very best of the best CEO’s who had the best of the best academic credentials. The super brains pushed the world to the brink of unknown abyss.

We have the best of the religions and their best of the founders who preached nothing but love, compassion, respect, tolerance and understanding. The end product is chaos, hatred and blood shed. No one is immune here. We have the commercial great godmen who promise to walk on water and get killed the kids in their Ashrams. People grace their premises with their smiling portraits.

We had ’The Great Emancipator’ – Abraham Lincoln, who was instrumental in abolishing slavery. He was the ’Champion of Black’. Surprisingly, he never allowed a black to enter in his inner household circle. On August 21, before a crowd of 10,000 people at Ottawa, he declared:

“I have no purpose directly on indirectly to interfere with the institution of slavery in the states where it exists. I have no lawful right to do so, and I have no inclination to do so.’

We have the best of the artists and one of the most saleable and successful painter among them loves to paint goddess in the nude. At his ripe age he could discover spirituality only in nudity. He would slip down by the wayside for any damsel and make the painting / film for her if any of them is willing to accommodate. He would sacrifice his trade-mark beard for the sake of looking young or different to look more appealing. He was the one who had bent backward and forward during emergency and painted the then PM as goddess on horse. He is great and he is afraid to come back because of fear to his life.

We had the finest and greatest showman who loved to show the female natural assets for any inventive excuse. He was proud salesman of “Mera Dil Hai Hindustani.” We had, in our own backyard, many learned and sophisticated Presidents who were, at times, biased and most of the times humblest protégé of PMs. We have the biggest and tallest actor, the thespian who lied about his marriage and caught in camera at their wedding bed.

We have best of the players who doped and used the drugs to boost their performances. We hade Mussolini, the dictator of Italy who wanted to conquer the world found hiding under the heaps of military uniforms when caught. Not to talk of the disgraceful dictator Saddam.

Till yesterday, my favorite and great Statesman President Obama, whom I thought, would change and challenge the world, failed in the first test. He could not withstand the pressures a Black President had to undergo if he had to support a black victim – a scholar of repute against the white racist police of US. He has expressed his regrets today to support a black.

We have the smart PM, who is the pristine innocent, who would sacrifice his post for becoming a member of nuclear club, created the biggest fiasco in the International Politics with including “Baluchistan” into an agenda with the Pak PM. He had given a political victory on platter to a nation till yesterday was pariah in international community.

We also have best of the doctor who has allegedly killed the best of the pop-singer ever born.

Most of them have the feet of clay; they are fakes and moonshine.

Naim Naqvi

Did his graduation in Science discipline from AMU in 1972-73. He was Secretary of University Ali Society in 1970 and M.M. Hall Literary Society in early 70 's and member of Tayyabji Literary Society. Did his Diploma in Bakery Administration from HTT College Oxford Street London in 1987. Worked with National Herald - Delhi, Blitz - Bombay as Trainee Journalist and in Production Department with 'Naya Sansar Pictures' of Khwaja Ahmed Abbas at Bombay in early 70's. Traveled for study and training purposes to Germany, U.K., Switzerland, France, Dubai, Oman, AbuDhabi, Bahrain and Philepines.

Jul

2009

Palestine – Cry thy motherland

Posted by Naim Naqvi

Since the tragic war of 1967, the people of Palestine, have come to terms with the reality of Israel. They have accepted it is as a part of the world community within its 1948 boundaries.

IF YOU thought that South Africa was the last country where apartheid was practiced – you are wrong. If you believe that with the rise of the charismatic statesman, Nelson Mandela, and the consequent collapse of the white regime of the Bothas, the last vestiges of discrimination were relegated to folklore, you are wrong. There is place upon earth – the holy of the holiest of lands for all the major monotheistic religions – where the darkest and harshest of crimes against humanity were committed in the name of belief and with the active support and connivance of the modern State – a darling of the West. It is a place where the self-proclaimed victim of Hitler’s atrocities and suicide bombers, assumes the mantle of a monster of defiance, cruelty, indifference, suppression and hate, all welded together, to deny justice to the hapless people of Palestine. It is the modern state of Israel.

Since the tragic war of 1967, the people of Palestine, have come to terms with the reality of Israel. They have accepted it is as a part of the world community within its 1948 boundaries. That abject surrender by Arabs doesn’t suit the designs and strategies of Israeli governments. They are actively involved in building the so-called ‘security fence’ which divides the Palestinian land like the cracked wind shield of a car. They are regularly building ’outposts’ and ’settlements’ in occupied territories which are in flagrant violation of international law. Jewish settlers believe that they have a God-gifted mandate to settle anywhere in the Holy Land. According to them, it’s a precondition to their Messiah’s arrival. So, the others should bow to their whims and make sacrifices to ensure the fulfilment of the promise made to the Jews.

Israel has a right to exist; it has the right also to protect itself. What is wrong, however, is its occupation of a land that doesn’t belong to it. There is no end to its “perceived need for safety.” It is a case of putting the cart before the horse and not the horse before the cart. The government and Israeli public know that these settlements gravely upset every Palestinian. They are like the red rag before the bull. These outposts and the military boots, feed the undercurrent of resentment that ultimately explodes into hatred and violence; this environment is responsible for moulding the mind of a suicide bomber.

With the erection of safety fences, outposts and settlements, Israel is trying to create new geo-political realities. Israel is colonising the Arab land in order to consolidate the demographic and geographical changes it is engineering. It is a well thought-out strategy to thwart the birth of any viable Palestinian state. It is intended to neutralise the facts of the case – when was the community in question established? Was it a Palestinian habitat or an Israeli outpost? These questions are bound to haunt the Israeli State as and when the world community feels the moral compunction to force the errant State to sign a permanent status agreement with Arabs.

Israel knows very well that to stop this vicious circle of violence, it has to dismantle old settlements and outposts; it has to withdraw its military support to settlers and it has to allow them to return as original inhabitants. The ‘safety fence’ is nothing but a de facto annexation of Palestinian territories. By building the wall and settlements, it has indirectly retained the rights and powers to control all important Palestinian economic areas, agricultural grounds and natural resources, including water.

Do you know that the West Bank settlement domestically consumes 280lt of water per person per day, as compared to 86lt of water pppd by poor Palestinians. According to the WHO, 100lt pppd is the average water requirement of a human being. Israel pulls up that water in the name of domestic requirement and squanders the water resources; a natural property of Palestine is being used for Israel’s farming and industrial development. The so-called ‘Green Revolution’ is a farce to steal, plunder, and confiscate Palestinian assets. Apart from the safety fence that cuts across Palestinian agricultural and industrial land, today there are 122 Israeli settlements and 102 outposts established by the ’Democratic Republic of Israel’. Settlements are built on less than 3 per cent of the area of the West Bank. But due to the presence of an extensive network of roads and restrictions on Palestinians accessing their own land, Israel dominates 40-45 per cent of Palestinian lands in the West Bank.

It seems, with the advent of President Obama’s pricks of conscience, the world is waking up to this travesty of truth and injustice, where Israel, in fact a perpetrator, successfully portrays itself as a victim of atrocities. With the clandestine backing of the West, Israel has so far flouted each and every resolution of the UN Security Council. It needs to keep a certain level of irritation going, so it provokes reactions and outbursts of violence so that it has an excuse for crying – “We are victims ! We are being attacked ! We are innocents ! Please support us !” The truth is otherwise.

Naim Naqvi

Jul

2009

Rivers – A dirge to the divine

Posted by Naim Naqvi

The Hindan river brought back enchanting childhood memories of fresh water, country boats and the burst of flora and fauna. But the sight the river had to offer me on a recent visit, was very different.

THE OTHER day, I was crossing the river Hindan near the capital Delhi. I stopped at the bridge, as its banks have always fascinated me. I love to delve into history and this was the place where, in 1857, the great convulsion of Indian history took place. It had been witness to crucial moments that wrote the future course of the country‘s destiny. It was the place where mutineers had gathered to take up positions against the advancing British regiment. Mirza Abu Bakr, the cowardly son of Emperor Bhahdur Shah Zafar, was in command of the Indian army. He fled the battlefield as soon a few shots were fired from the English side. A battle was lost without a fight.

I remember from my childhood experiences, a stop at the bank of river Hindan where the transport facility had failed at the bridge and all passengers had to disembark till repairs were completed. The Hindan was overflowing with fresh water; there were plenty of fish and fisherman and a burst of flora and fauna at the banks of the river. There were country boats sailing past. All the irritation at the disruption of the journey had disappeared before the enchanting beauty of the river. But the sight the river had to offer me on my recent visit, was very different – it was only a dry river bed, with parched pieces of earth and a few carcasses of pigs and dogs. It was a pathetic sight.

Where had the beauty and the water gone? Maybe a seasonal dry spell could be an excuse now, but was this case with every river? Those were the thoughts crowding my mind when I sat down to write a dirge for the river. Rivers – be it the Amazon or the Mississippi, Danube or Seine, Thames or own Ganges, Jamuna or Jhelum – have supported, nourished, nurtured and shaped the development of our civilisations since time immemorial. Their moving waters create beautiful landscapes, canyons, gorges and fertile deltas and basins. They bringing up new islands and have also forced lands to disappear from the earth’s surface.

They give us a feel of freedom, freshness and a larger life. Their wild flow is immune to petty thoughts. They know no boundaries and they refuse to accept the divisions between man and man. When did you last crossed a river at a leisurely place? Do you remember the full moon at the river bank? If you have been lucky enough to witness such beautiful sights, they would certain be the source of recurring visions. Find time to sit at river banks. Enjoy their ravishing beauty. See the placid and pleasant world of green and blue as the murmuring water flows – sometimes fast sometimes slow. See a kite flying high up in the blue sky suddenly take a dive into the river, catch a fish with its claws and disappear back up majestically. See the twittering birds through the undergrowth and listen to the koyel singing from a distant neem tree on the opposite side of the bank. She would be charging nothing for the most beautiful song on earth. The bounties of nature are free for everyone. Let there be takers.

Rivers are goddesses; they are the symbols of spirituality and they are divine. Their music has given birth to the ‘sargam’ of life. The devotees worship them and immerse themselves in their sacred water. They wash their sins in the holy water – this water that is the fountain of spirituality, is today being polluted with every conceivable impurity. Rivers have been most benevolent and kind to us, yet we have inflicted the unkindest cut to their existence. They impart beauty and we offer them death. What a thankless reward!

Naim Naqvi

Jul

2009

Romance, idealism and practicality

Posted by Naim Naqvi

For many die-hard successful practical people romantics are fools. For those who disagree – anyone practical is no fun to talk about and should be shunned. Practicality, beyond doubt, is an indispensable attribute to succeed in any realm of life

AS A greenhorn, I had always been more of a romantic idealist than a realist bloke. We all grow up on the tales of fantasy and romance. There is a time in everyone’s life when a sense of poetry pervades in our life.

We believe in love, in true love, and we have the assurance that love overcomes every obstacle in life. With a heart of Romeo or Farhad, you could surmount any hillock of difficulties. Unfortunately, the reality tells otherwise. Everyone bears his own cross and disappointments.

Long time of my life, of course the most precious one also, was consumed to clamber up the steep curve of learning through hardships. The process is still continued and I am still learning. Journeying through life I have had my own disappointments and I had also disappointed few; neither is pleasurable when I look back through hindsight.

I do sometimes wonder if realist and romantic are incompatible. Idealist doesn’t necessarily mean one who thinks a lot and does nothing. People at leisure would tell you the stories of how, once upon a time, the native and migratory birds used to be so clean, bright and spry; how the chirping and twittering of birds used to echo at every dawn and every evening and life so beautifully hummed.

Some would recall how brilliant shadows of banyan, peepal and pilkhun trees in the vicinity gave the refuge, cool, protection, peace and happiness to the travelers and to every animate object that moved. They have disappeared or suffering degradation. Alas! these experts of nostalgia and romantics always talked the same subjects and did nothing about the protection of environment – when you ask. They just talk and dream about what could be and would be environmentally beneficial.

However, for many die-hard successful practical people romantics are fools. For those who disagree – anyone practical is no fun to talk about and should be shunned. They are all kill-joys.

Practicality, beyond doubt, is an indispensable attribute to succeed in any realm of life. Pragmatism guarantees the very survival. There are people who have transformed their physical sufferings into a thundering success. However, sole practical approach could provide a person with only an ephemeral success. Our options confine and our thought process narrows down when we try to behave practical in every realm of life. Over-practicality impedes the visions of broader aspects in every field. Similarly, investments based on pure emotions push one to the brink of bankrupt relationships.

For a rational and ordinary human being, practical romance could be identified with realism. We are inspired to achieve the higher goals because we are idealist. However, romance is the prelude to enlightenment. Romance is not only restricted to relationships. It’s an attitude, an approach to life. I do still enjoy the romantic-idealistic stories because they are the integral part of my ethereal self. But I never forget that it is practicality, which carries me to the platform of life where I could appreciate the beauty and feelings.

In real life, practical wisdom enables us to live, and it is the romantic vision of people which gives us something to live for.

There is a third option – dualism. It’s the synthesis of the two extremes.

Naim Naqvi

Jun

2009

A tribute to father on Father’s Day

Posted by Naim Naqvi

On this Father’s Day, the author, here has given a tribute to his father, who despite all his financial and social problems never complained. Who Kept the family going in tough times and finally gave up his life for family’s well being…

MY FATHER was an ordinary man. He was neither a prodigy of piety, virtue and gentility nor a villain by any means. However, as I remember him, he was a conscientious, faithful, sagacious, sincere and honourable man.

He was a Zamindar till the Iron Man of India Sardar Patel abolished ‘Zamindari System’ with one stroke of pen and made my father an ex-Zamindar and brought him on the road. My grandfather, as the people and old town chronicles say, was a Taluqdar (a feudal lord), who owned orchards and fields so vast their farthest limits would melt into the sky. All those proverbial pelf and riches were reduced to realities and confounded into the Bermuda Triangle of loving relatives and friends of our family, who were strangers after a little while.

He never complained; never gave us details lest it would spoil the future relationships and never talked about the family deceits. There has always been a nonchalant silence in his dealings. Life was tough and demanding as means of livelihood were drying up and cluster of four hens and a goat were left with my mother to claim as her moving assets. My father was a born aristocrat and no profession other than ICS officer could have hanged gracefully round his stiff neck. He had no experience out side the domain of feudal system.

We were, seven of us all, were too young and the arrival of eight member of the family announced a tumultuous storm that shook the edifice of the family to its roots. There was no money to pay to the mid-wife, the local aaya, for the service she had rendered in the delivery of my new sister.

We were accustomed to the gloom of poverty and impecuniousness and we had never dreamed the snowy mountains tops of luxury in the distant horizon. If ever we saw, we saw a fleeting smile but not a laugh on our mother’s face. Now, as weakness was catching on, her body, after the childbirth needed nutrition. New baby needed diapers and soaps to clean. All those expenses accrued together and the sense of honour of my father refused him to ask any help from relatives.

He made the fatal decision to sell the goat, which was the main source of sustenance for the family along with the four quacking reddish – yellowish hens.

With tears welling in every eye, pats on the rear and kisses on the horn and muzzle we said good-bye to the goat we lovingly called Bakri-Ammi. She was till that moment was an integral part of our family. Baba left with the goat leashed in his trembling hands for the Animal Bazar. We all watch the spoor helplessly. This farewell might have been a photo opportunity for animal lovers to immortalise for posterity. There was an eerie silence in the house after the father left – not even the youngest sister did cry.

After a few agonising hours father came back from the animal market – not on his legs but on the shoulders of strangers. An ominous crowd of noisy and lamenting worried town folk barged into our house. They informed us that father had met some kind of silent collapse, while handing over the goat to the butcher, who was, at present, also looking at us with a curious pain and sorrow. They put his body on the empty cot. A chapter of family history was closed. Here was a weather beaten man, a man who was, as some old relatives say, once was a dynamo of gaiety and wit and humor. To us he was not a strong traveler as he left us behind to meet the sunrise with a new misery and sunset with a new challenge.

The new captain of the ship, my mother, on whose face we never saw a ringing mirth, took us successfully through the journey of life. She was a realist and optimist and recompensed for the absence of the father.

No love, no friendship and no act of kindness cross the path of our destiny without its marks. Baba, you are no more but you have left an imprint on our heart and your presence in our soul. We love you baba forever.

Naim Naqvi

Jun

2009

The shoe-keeper at Mehrauli

Posted by Naim Naqvi

At a low moment in his life, a father takes comfort in the lessons of history that his children had playfully discussed.

“DO YOU know what Gen Grant said to Gen Lee when the later surrendered during the American Civil War?,” asked Junaid, the eldest of his three siblings. He was testing the general knowledge of his younger sister and brother.

“He said – War is a strange game where the best warriors lose,” Sayeeda replied back proudly.

“It is not exactly what he said!” Junaid said, trying to assert his supremacy.
“It may not be exactly what he said but it was exactly what he meant,” replied Sayeeda who was confident of her reply.

Abid, the youngest, was amused by this exchange. He, all of 8 years, decide it was his turn to demonstrate his manhood by flaunting his IQ and he fired a question his teacher had asked in school two days back. “Do you know what Porus had said to Sikandar when Porus was defeated in the battlefield and Sikandar asked him – “What treatment do you expect from me when you have lost?” Both the elder kids exhaled in unison: “A treatment which a victor emperor thinks fit for the vanquished king.”

Father was enjoying this vibrant exchange from behind the curtain and mother was proud at this demonstration of her kid’s intelligence.

The children were soon aware of their father’s presence and they cried with joy “Daddy is back, Mama. Dad is back from work.”

The usual exchange of queries and answers followed as the father emerged on the scene.

Abid asked, “Dad, have you ever see a vanquished soldier?”
“No son, this is no longer the era of conventional wars. I had seen the coffins of the martyrs only.” As the subject turned serious and dreary, nothing more was said on this topic.Days and nights went by in the same pleasant rhythm. The family could have lived the common life of happiness had the pink slip not appeared on the father’s desk one day.

For long, he had a very good job. It was steady, safe and secure. He used to attend many seminars and lectures; he used to go on company sponsored tours and visits, national and international.A bolt from the blue came when the big corporations and banks across the world began to collapse. A time that had began with pleasant certainties seemed to be turning into the darkest evening. That day he returned home a different man. That day, he believed he had an answer to the last question asked by Abid.He thought he might have said, “I have not seen a vanquished soldier but look at your dad today and you can see what you were looking for.” He was imagining how Gen Lee or Raja Porus must have felt when they returned home to face their wives after defeat. Everyone has to fight his own kind of battle and everyone has to bear his own cross. He was a modern day Lee and Porus welded into one.

Instead of going home he went to the dargah at Mehrauli. It was a place that had seen the rise and fall of many dynasties; it was the place where the last Mughal emperor Bhahdur Shah Zafar wanted to come after his throne was thrown into the dust. It was the place where Prithivi Raj Chauhan had meted eighteen defeats to Mohammed Gori. It seems that when nothing else can console, history takes you in its lap. You sleep while you are awake. As he entered the gate of the dargah, the shoe-keeper asked him to hand over his shoes. When he checked his pocket for change, he realized that he had forgotten his purse in the company toilet.

Resigned to fate, dejected and disappointed, he told the shoe-keeper,”I have no money to give today. Let my shoes be there. No one will take them.”
“Whoever has taken your money from you will also arrange for the removal of your shoes. Give them to me. I shall keep them for you. I am not asking you for money,” Reluctantly he agreed. He spent some time inside the dargah. He emerged from the dargah relieved, and the shoe-keeper welcomed him with a broad smile.

“Listen brother, you might have been a poor man when you entered this gate. You are a rich man now. You went with faith and hope. As long as you hope there is a possibility of better life. Hope is the antidote against cynicism, fear, apathy and malaise. Have you not had any faith you wouldn’t have come here.”
Suddenly there was a ring from his mobile. The call was from his boss.
“We are sorry for the letter we had issued this morning. Come back tomorrow and resume your duty. Your purse is lying in my office. Have a nice evening.”

Naim Naqvi

Jun

2009

Place for NRIs in parliament

Posted by Naim Naqvi

The problems of non-resident Indians, include poor work and living conditions, which are at times worse than that of those who spend their life on the footpaths of Mumbai.

HAVING SPENT more than two decades of my life in the West and the Middle East, I have had first-hand experience of the problems and aspirations of non-resident Indians (NRIs). Believe me it is never an easy life. You can divide NRIs into two broad categories. There is the creamy layer: the highly-educated and well-paid executives and businessmen, both in the West and the Middle East, who live in the lap of luxury by dint of their abilities and qualifications. Their problems centere on money transfer, purchase of real estate, setting up factories and businesses, and sometimes legal problems and sometimes even adoption. However, aside from their imperious airs and attitudes, they also face racial discrimination and insults in their adopted countries. Back home, their relatives and their government consider them treasure-troves.

There is another lot of NRIs – the hapless, less-educated and helpless souls you may call ‘indentured labour’ or ‘contract labour’ who drudge through their lives in these Gulf countries. Death is never pretty but when it visits an expatriate in the Gulf, it is one hell. No one knows when the body will be cleared by authorities; when it will be out of the mortuary and when it will be buried or sent back. Let the readers know that at least half a dozen Indians die in the Gulf every week.

There are many who are never paid on time and live in the worst possible conditions that would be beyond the imagination of even a person roughing it up on the foot-paths of Mumbai. Even sending home the money he earns, is a nightmare as there are long lines at money transfer counters. Many times the drafts are lost in post and everyone back home suffers. His job is based on the whims of the all-powerful Kafil or sponsor. He can be met with the worst of humiliations which he must stoically bear as embassy staff are usually beyond approach and indifferent. Even sickness is a dreadful challenge.

Those who are in between the creamy layer and underdogs face a different set of problems. Their kids are discriminated back home and admissions are an uphill and almost impossible task. They are fleeced in the name of a legal NRI quota and exploited at every front. There are a number of women workers employed as house-maids and nurses. A plethora of tales can be gathered and epics could be written about the miseries and hardship they face in alien lands. They are sometimes even pushed into prostitution.

The rehabilitation of NRIs is another serious issue as this simple pardesi loses touch with the ground realities of India – the Indian way of life and Indian way of communication. There are always cheats awaiting him right from the airport to his neighbourhood. Let the countrymen know that 90 per cent of total foreign direct investment comes from 20 million NRIs whose economic production equals that of one billion Indians. These unsung heroes of the Indian economy should be given their due representation in parliament as one way of assisting them in facing the problems I have mentioned above. I apologize to those expatriates whose problems I have failed to mention here.

Naim Naqvi

Jun

2009

A cynic has nothing better to do

Posted by Naim Naqvi

Cynics are also masters of sarcasm. They expect you to laugh with them when they poke fun at you. If you don’t they feel you have no sense of humour. They are competent to find fault in everything and everyone.

“A GOOD friend is indeed an asset; a bad companion is a recurring liability.” Take care when you pick up your friend! There are people who excel the art of criticism; there are people who can pick hole in every velvet; there are people who didn’t agree the way you cried when your loved one died and there are people who won’t forgive the way you laugh.

They are competent to find fault in everything and everyone. Present them a mini-replica of Taj Mahal and they would say: “It doesn’t inspire the same love as the real one.” Offer them a rose and they would ignore it and brag about the fragrance of lavender. Tell them you like Dilip Kumar and they would say that Guru Datt was a better actor.

These cynics could be so pervasive that they would quench the optimist in the dull gray clouds of suspicion. They have a keen sense where to stick the knife; they would scorn and berate people without intention or purpose and obviously they lack direction.

Cynics are also masters of sarcasm. They expect you to laugh with them when they poke fun at you. If you don’t they feel you have no sense of humour.

We can’t totally avoid such people. They could prop up as your boss, your subordinate or your colleague; may be your wife or girl friend if you had been insane enough. We may have to accept them how they are and give up the attempts to change them beyond a certain limit. At times cynicism is deadly and infectious. A highly charged cynic can transform a wedding celebration into a “zone of silence” or even into a “tower of silence.”

There had been cynics in the field of art and literature also.

Algernon Swinburne, a famous English poet of 18th century was infuriated when Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote him ‘a literary leper and a mere sodomite’. The intense and vitriolic reply of Swinburne is preserved in the archives of English literature:

“ I… am not sufficiently expert in the dialect of the cesspool and dung cart to retort in their own kind on these venerable gentleman – I, whose ears and lips alike are unused to the amenities of conversation embroiled with such fragments of flowery rhetoric as may be fished up by the congenial tongues out of the sewage of Sodom……..”

To diffuse the cynicism and defeat their negativity we have to stand firmly to these bullies, showing concerns for gripers and communicating with them assertively.

We should and must protect ourselves from negativity. We can influence and bring a little bit change in them with little patience and resolve; with acts of compassions, love and kindness. A bully is a bully because he is afraid. Love is letting go for fear.

Best is to keep the cynic at arms length.

Naim Naqvi

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Category Archives: Uncategorized

All about ‘the greats’

Naim Naqvi

Palestine – Cry thy motherland

Naim Naqvi

Rivers – A dirge to the divine

Naim Naqvi

Romance, idealism and practicality

Naim Naqvi

The shoe-keeper at Mehrauli

Naim Naqvi

Place for NRIs in parliament

Naim Naqvi

A cynic has nothing better to do

Naim Naqvi