THIS ABOVE ALL
No love for religion
Khushwant Singh

WHEN a person does not value his own life, he has no respect for other peoples’ lives. He or she becomes a suicide bomber — more lethal and more dangerous. Along with taking away his own life, he deprives many others of their lives. Be he a Hindu, a Muslim, or a Sikh, his motivation is not his religion but hatred towards those who, he believes, have criticised it.

This was displayed by the terrorists who flew passenger planes into the twin World Trade Centre towers in New York, killing themselves and the passengers on board, as well as little birds and those living or working in the buildings.

This also happened in the attack in Mumbai three years ago. Ten Pakistanis created terror in the city and took the lives of scores of Hindus, Muslims and Sikhs by firing on them indiscriminately.

They pretended to have love for Islam but, in fact, displayed their hatred towards those who, they believed, were the religion’s enemies. Hate is more powerful than love. Such persons are a nuisance to civilised society and need to be treated as vermin and eliminated ruthlessly.

Fruity

London tabloids are increasingly using the word fruity to describe a pretty, animated, girl acceptable in high society. What it has to do with fruit is not clear. It cannot be a banana, or apple or orange. It could be a peach, which is also used to describe a young, good-looking girl. They make good spies as they infiltrate into enemy territory and get valuable information for their own country.

The stereotype of a woman spy is Mata Hari, which is way off the mark. Men are not taken up by good-looking beauties but they fall for saucy young women and give them all the information they want. The nearest Hindustani word is chatpati.

I can understand why they use items of food for a good-looking damsel. Food is the man’s first priority; next comes sex. When describing a beautiful woman, mostly her eyes are described first. They are generally compared to gazelle. Women with beautiful eyes are often referred to as doe-eyed beauties. The most beautiful eyes are those of the giraffe. It has large eyes and eyelashes, which curve upwards. To the best of my knowledge, no one has compared human eyes with those of a giraffe because the rest of its body does not lend itself to anything beautiful.

My favourite description of beauty is that which, though vivid, does not even mention what it is about. The first example is:

Her face was like the King’s command when all the servants are drawn (Christopher Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus). Another one:

Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars (Belloc).

Do you know anyone who matches up to this description? Yes, I do. She spends her winter months in Delhi. Her name is Dilshad Sheikh.

A Polish man moved from Poland to the US and married an American girl. Although his English was far from perfect, they got along very well. One day he rushed into a lawyer’s office and asked him if he could arrange a divorce for him. The lawyer said that getting a divorce would depend on the circumstances, and asked him the following questions:

"Have you any grounds?"

The Polish man said: "Yes, an acre and a half and a nice little home."

Said the lawyer: "No, I mean what is the foundation of this case?"

"It is made of concrete."

Lawyer: "I don’t think you understand. Does either of you have a real grudge?"

"No, we have carport, and not need one."

Lawyer: "I mean what are your relations like?"

"All my relations still in Poland."

Lawyer: "Is there any infidelity in your marriage?"

"We have a hi-fidelity stereo and a good DVD player."

Lawyer: "Does your wife beat you up?"

"No, I’m always up before her."

Lawyer: "Is your wife a nagger?"

"No, she’s white."

Lawyer: "Why do you want this divorce?"

"She is going to kill me."

Lawyer: " What makes you think that?"

"I got proof."

"What kind of proof?"

"She is going to poison me. She buy a bottle at drug store and put on shelf in bathroom. I can read, and it says: Polish Remover."

I hope my readers will forgive me for not answering their letters. My hands have started shaking and I cannot write. It is a part of the ageing process. I am 97.