In boot camp our platoon, 444, competed against two other platoons, 442 and
443, and a major part of that competition involved marching and going through
various routines with our rifles. In looking at the 11:23 minute video
following your incident-video, I noticed several circumstances that my D.I.
would have criticized (and punish corporeally, which D.I.’s could do in my
day). For example, after some smart high-kicking, once the Indian soldier got
to his prescribed location, he was allowed to play with his feathers. That
doesn’t seem right. ;-)
Also, I question why the men wear a beautiful head full of red feathers, but
the women get to wear only one feather. That seems discriminatory.
Interestingly, the longer video following the 11:23 minute one; which is in 4K
definition was sponsored by B&H, the Jewish store with their main offices in
New York. Their brief add said “we love the Indian Army” or something like
that.
As to your incident video, the subsequent analysis seemed to be blaming the
Pakistani soldier for starting the fight, but I think the Indian solder started
it by taking a step toward the Pakistani – not that I object. I little
fighting was probably readily forgiven and even applauded, I would think.
As to being in a flight path, on one of the programs I worked on in Long Beach
I was located in an end office at the end or the beginning of one of the Long
Beach airport runways. Planes landing were easy to get used to, but it was
very difficult to do any actual work if a plane was taking off and heading
right toward my window.
Lawrence
From: lit-ideas-bounce@xxxxxxxxxxxxx [mailto:lit-ideas-bounce@xxxxxxxxxxxxx] On ;
Behalf Of david ritchie
Sent: Sunday, March 03, 2019 1:29 PM
To: lit-ideas@xxxxxxxxxxxxx
Subject: [lit-ideas] Hereabouts
Borders and border crossings are on my mind, which may account for
this piece being more like a “carry on” than a “hereabouts.”
Quite what happened in this clip is not clear to me—I don’t speak
the language-- but the soldiers seem to be hitting one another with folded
flags. What an advanced form of warfare: channel violence into ritual and keep
the weaponry soft!
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P92ohWrCXy8
If you haven’t seen Michael Palin on the retreat ceremony, do. It
may take your mind off the fact that people from the two countries are
currently shooting at one another, killing one another and…destroying trees.
Buried in the New York Times story about funerals (yes, I noticed my own choice
of words), is the fact that Pakistan is threatening to, “lodge a formal
complaint against India at the United Nations, accusing it of ‘eco-terrorism’
over the bombs that damaged several pine trees.” Eco-terrorism!
One of the events to be contemplated when I walk Hamish is the
overflying of fighter jets. In case there’s some military value to the
information I won’t say when this occurs, but hereabouts there’s a window in
the landing pattern of civil planes, a temporal gap that allows fighters to go
scooting out to sea to practice whatever it is they practice. All that varies
is the formation, sometimes two and two, yesterday three in a line and then two
and two.
As we walked in San Diego last weekend, we saw three naval Lear
jets land, observed personnel playing round their own golf course, noted that
those who are able to afford homes near the ocean seem to include retired naval
personnel.
The day after I wrote of Mimo’s return to equal status, she emerged
once again henpecked. But thereafter, she’s been on an upward curve. When
they doze the chickens often perch in a two and one formation. It’s to do with
the way the wind blows and the shelter they get. No doubt once I close the
door, things shift. But each evening Mimo has been part of the two, not the
one. And the other day I caught her strolling alone looking for all the world
as if she knew that Karl Lagerfeld had died and an opening has emerged in the
cast of the world’s fashion glitterati. “I am a muse and I am amusing. Look
at me, what do you see? Hot poo!” I did my version of the border ceremony
walk. You could see her taking notes.
I had imagined when snow fell that the whiteness dissolving would
wash the chicken shit away., saving some of the usual sweeping. But no. Away
went the white blanket and evidence of chicken presence emerged, “fresh frozen
defrosted,” as the supermarkets in California were wont to describe fish.
Isn’t that a weird term? “Fresh frozen defrosted?” Try to imagine people
using it to sell fish in say France or Switzerland.
In America people say that small nuisances are “chickenshit,” the
sort of thing the army commands you to do when the golf courses become too
crowded and there’s no border preening on the docket. “O.K., we want you, you
and you to whitewash stoness. The others…practice hitting one another with
flags.”
Each time we go towards the door Hamish thinks, “Squirrels” or
“Invade Russia.” Burst out of the door, bark at whatever is leaving a smell
underneath the deck, get right on with the invasion or herding or… whatever.
When it turns out I’m only feeding and watering the chickens or carrying stuff
to the garbage or recycling, off he runs on his rounds, hoping that when he’s
done more work will be made available. I think I should buy him a llama to
play with or something of that ilk. Maybe some goats?
You know what they need on the India/Pakistan border? Collies.
Keep everyone herded onto their side of the line. And happy…ish.
David Ritchie,
Portland, Oregon
