The distance between heart and heart is the closest and the farthest. Lonely people are out of place. However, everything can be fashionable. -Zhou
Spring is the season for poets and autumn is the season for philosophers. -Zhou
When vulgarity pretends to be sublime, sublime is ashamed to go out and hide. -Zhou
Everyone knows that death is inevitable. It is a guest who was told to visit us as soon as we were born, and now it is approaching us day and night. However, when it knocked on our door, we felt suddenly and blamed it for being the most abrupt uninvited guest. -Zhou
Our only time is now. With the present, we have the past and the future.
—————————————— Zhou
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Ganges at the end of the year
Author: Han Shaogong
Before visiting India, an airport in New Delhi was burned down and dengue fever broke out again. Within a few days, 100 people died of illness, and thousands of people were hospitalized for emergency treatment. The authorities had to vacate some schools and institutions as temporary hospitals. Several times on TV, Indian military and police have been dispatched to spray drugs in the urban area, which has an atmosphere of being an enemy.
These shots made me a little nervous, so I quickly asked about the preventive measures for boarding. Fortunately, Hainan Island, where I live, used to be very popular, and it was almost extinct in recent ten years. But quite a few doctors are more experienced in this disease. A doctor named Ling told me on the phone that there is no vaccine for dengue fever so far, and there is no vaccination or preventive medicine. Considering that the disease is mainly spread by a mosquito, the only way to prevent it is to wear long clothes, trousers and stockings and bring more mosquito-repellent oil.
In late autumn in New Delhi, the temperature turns cold in the morning and evening, and long clothes, trousers and stockings can be used. However, I didn't expect that I couldn't prevent mosquitoes in India, because I was wrapped up and carried all kinds of anti-mosquito drugs with me. Everything in a star-rated hotel is clean. As long as you tip more, the waiter will smile. But no matter how many smiling faces there are, you can still hear the buzzing mosquitoes from time to time, which is frightening and makes people feel "dignified". Sometimes, several colleagues are talking and laughing, and I don't know where some suspicious screams come from. Everyone will inevitably turn pale and look around in a hurry, and a good topic will have to be above the average. Out of the habit of a China person, I certainly never let go of floaters in front of me. Interestingly, my actions always attract the surprised and puzzled eyes of Indians around me, as if I had done something wrong.
Officials from the Embassy of China also prepared anti-mosquito oil for us. Later, they told me that India is a religious country, and most people abide by the religious regulations prohibiting killing, and this compassion is beneficial to mosquitoes. Mosquitoes are also life. They can be driven away, but they must not be killed. Of course, they are not used to the bloody atrocities that my hands make a loud noise.
Only then did I realize that they looked back again and again in surprise and doubt.
Only then can we understand the epidemic of dengue fever.
Mosquitoes living in India are really happy. However, mosquitoes are happy. What about the more than 100 people who died of dengue fever? Of course, human beings can be sad for all plants, animals and even mosquitoes, but what reason can human beings not be sad for their own kind? Why can you value your own record of good deeds more than the life of the same kind?
In India, not only mosquitoes are happy, but also all kinds of creatures except humans are happy. On the streets of New Delhi, there are often grass skirt monkeys jumping over you, climbing trees or walls and playing leisurely. There are squirrels running back and forth in every shade of the road, and sometimes they swagger into your outstretched palm. There is also a flood of crows and birds, which seems to come from Tagore's transparent and dreamy prose. Wave after wave slaps the sunset to meet your surprise. Wherever you go, you seem to be in a natural zoo and a fairy tale world. Some public service places around you often have such fairy-tale bulletin boards: "This exhibition hall is open at sunrise and closed at sunset." This time expression of refusing clocks and watches has long been ignored by news, laws, textbooks and business documents, and has the tone of a shepherd or a prince in a fairy tale.
The earth used to be a paradise for all kinds of animals, but when there were only humans, the landscape in many places became more and more monotonous. I seldom hear birds chirping in China. Those childhood chatter went out one by one, of course, to the diners' stomachs, to the colorful cold dishes or hot pots of China people, to the steamer or oven, and to all kinds of restaurants all over the urban and rural areas. People in China can really eat. I dare to eat anything except human flesh. A secular country with weak religion, a sex-addicted public without a vegetarian tradition, is flushed and has become a universal manifestation of interpersonal communication. People are eating one almost extinct species after another. With the development and prosperity of food culture, it seems that even loach and frog are not spared. The daughter of a relative of mine, when she is eight years old, can only know tadpoles in picture books.
India is also a country with a large population, but it is by no means so many restaurants that are horrible to animals in China. This, of course, makes newcomers in China very unaccustomed. Sometimes, after searching several streets, I finally find a place with the smell of fireworks. The menu is always so simple that China diners are quite unwilling. Cows are sacred in Hinduism. No matter how many old or fat cows there are in the wild, beef can't enter the kitchen. Due to the influence of Islam, pork is also taboo in most restaurants. Even fish are rarely seen on the menu, which reminds me that Tibetans don't eat fish very much. I wonder if the customs of the two places are related. As you can imagine, with these items alone, the scenery on the table has disappeared, and it is impossible to expect any other exotic meat. In this country where fasting and dieting are almost a daily habit, my friends and I have to endure the same bread, bread and bread every day, plus chicken to speak our minds. After half a month, we have been in a state of semi-starvation, losing weight, and our eyes seem to swell a little.
When I swallowed the cake, I had to ask a question: Is the Indian army a vegetarian? If so, were they a little overwhelmed when they took the lead? Are Indian athletes vegetarian? If so, how to ensure their necessary nutrition and calories? How can we ensure that they are physically strong enough to compete with tigers and wolves fed steak and pork chops in other countries? No wonder at the recent World Olympic Games, such a big India actually won only one medal. This sad record originally puzzled me, but now it makes me feel logical. Perhaps vegetarians are born innocent-a considerable number of Indians have no fate from the beginning with all kinds of struggles and struggles in the arena.
It seems more suitable for them to enter the temples of Hinduism, Islam and Buddhism, where they are calm, have no desires and thoughts, and accept the care and home from God. When they get old, they will probably become statues of philosophers like all the old Indians I have seen, scattered under the eaves or at the intersection of urban and rural areas. No matter how poor they are, no matter how scrawny their bodies are and how shabby their clothes are, no matter whether they beg or visit their neighbors, they are self-respecting, calm, kind, wise and considerate, and they are very familiar with your expression. Their eyes have bright insight into the world.
The result of a medal has caused controversy in India, which has caused some Indians to analyze and criticize sports policies, management systems and cultural traditions. Sure enough, an Indian friend proudly said to me, "We don't need a gold medal."
"Why?"
"Gold medal is the depravity of sports. This kind of sports, driven by huge bonuses and at the expense of many athletes' disabilities, is becoming more and more news-oriented and commercialized. What is invariance? " He once again stressed, "We don't need a gold medal, we just need a healthy and harmonious life. "
When we say these words, we are at the gate of a theater in Bangalore, waiting for the performance of a local traditional drama to begin. With the 1996 miss world beauty contest held in this city, they are also protesting this vulgar western farce.
We talk in English. To tell the truth, English has been Indonesian here, which is hard to understand. Voiced consonants are all hard and voiced, and the difference between them and British and American English is probably no less than that between Mandarin and Hunan dialect. The translator of our delegation, surnamed Niu, was born in English and slept in the northwest for many years. He was also a little nervous when listening to this English, and his face showed a vacant expression from time to time. Of course, I feel more inferior than the group. Fortunately, Indians have no obstacles in listening to our English, and the unbalanced language exchange can generally continue. The bigger problem is that we don't have Hindi translation, so it's hard to get to the bottom of society here, and it's hard to know more with gestures. English is only one of the official languages here, belonging only to the upper class and people with higher education, while most people speak Hindi or other native languages-there are as many as 20 kinds of "Putonghua" in India. This country has always been divided in language, including ethnic division and class division. There is no Qin Shihuang in their history, and there are different people and books in the main society so far. They didn't have such revolutionary operation as 1949, and the separation system between nobles and untouchables remained unchanged. In other words, they have not experienced the great destruction of culture, nor have they experienced the great unity of culture. I don't know. Is the social rift preventing their language unification? Or is the language rift hindering the elimination of their class and the integration of the nation?
Under the guidance of English, of course, you can only enter some kind of British India: parliament, newspapers, museums, happy families of civil servants, world-class scientific research bases and universities, and independent, knowledgeable and elegant intellectuals who watch British TV and American newspapers directly every day. But just around these English-speaking islands, just outside the gates of these elites, it is a broken and broader reality. Streets are aging, cars are aging, fences and ports are aging, sunlight and fallen leaves are aging, and even the police are mostly aging. These white-haired old people are copying sticks and have no temper at all. When they see a car breaking the rules, they just pat it on the ass. Many times, they fall asleep in the shade with a wooden stick or a lost sleeve gun, and let the car scurry in the street, covering the sun and the moon. The doors of all buses were simply removed, and the towers inside could not be squeezed, so they piled up on the top of the carriage to watch the wind and be in high spirits. Driving such a free or even too free car into Ganges Bridge Square in Kolkata, you may feel that the world has collapsed with a bang. You can imagine that any house in front of you is in ruins. Imagine that it is not citizens who are surging in the streets, but millions of nomadic tribes are marching into the city and camping everywhere. Members of these tribes live in tents on the roadside, cook with stones and bathe in the rain. Too much sunlight is deposited on their dark backs. It seems that they don't have to wear anything or eat anything. Just put a little noodles in your mouth, and it seems that you can get through the day and grow meat. Of course they beg. Generally speaking, they always beg for success. Their success is not because India has many restaurants, but because India has many temples. They take the moral tradition that Indians are used to giving alms as their survival premise and religious compassion as their stable source of food and clothing.
Faced with these thrilling scenes, what can an old policeman do without sleeping? What about several times and dozens of times more policemen? Fortunately, people have no reason to despair. Although the traffic is chaotic, it is orderly in chaos; Although this market is shabby, it is not dangerous. Their doors and windows don't have an anti-theft net like an iron cage, which is enough to be a sign of good social order and to make China people feel ashamed. When foreigners come here, not only will they not see three or five groups of sneaky people making trouble in the street, not only will they not encounter things like cutting bags and grabbing necklaces, not only will they not see pornography, gambling, drugs and forced trading, but even loud quarrels are hard to find. Indians are surprisingly peaceful and serene in their eyes, and are modest and polite to others. Finally, people can almost believe that it doesn't matter if the old police here sleep.
A nation that does not need security doors is a nation with deep dignity. Perhaps the peaceful tradition of Hinduism and Gandhi's non-violence are most likely to grow up in the cleanliness and gentleness of this country. I have seen a movie called "The Biography of Gandhi", and I have always regarded Gandhi as a mysterious figure in my heart. This skinny old man is always bald and barefoot, spinning and growing grain by himself. In order to protest against the unreasonable salt tax, he once refused to eat English salt with men, women and children, and walked all the way to the seaside to dry and filter the salt himself. His historic feat of overthrowing the colonial rule of the British Empire did not require an army or huge sums of money. Once he made up his mind, all that remained was to leave the house silently. March for peace. He walked from village to village, from plain to plain, and the team behind him grew bigger and bigger like a snowball until it covered the whole horizon, almost the whole nation. When they were blocked by troops, bayonets and sticks, they would rather sacrifice than resist. They just silently stepped forward and let themselves fall bloody under bayonets and sticks. The first row fell down and the second row went up again; The second row fell down and the third row went up ... until all the reporters present closed their eyes, until all the oppressors' eyes and hands were shaking, until they fled these unarmed people in horror and finally handed over power.
Gandhi finally died in the assassination of his compatriots. Some of his relatives and heirs also died in the assassination. In a sense, these successful assassinations can't explain anything else, but only prove that this nation lacks experience and ability to prevent violence. Because they have never resisted the military police, they don't know much about how to deal with the assassination.
As the soul of India, Gandhi, unlike Lenin in Russia, Mao Zedong in China, Tito in Yugoslavia and Guevara in Latin America, completed India's independence without a bullet, which is one of the political miracles and myths of the 20th century. Perhaps the most incomprehensible part of this kind of politics is what Indians can understand best: it is a Hindu politics, a vegetarian and vagrant politics, which comes from Gandhi's profound understanding of India. The theory and practice of this "non-violence and non-cooperation" movement is nothing more than a genius to find a most powerful form of existence for a poor and weak nation, and to find a way of struggle that is most suitable for people's feelings and easy to operate-for example, just sit down or lie down in front of the military and police. In the eyes of other martial arts soldiers, this is not a struggle at all, or even just a daily habit of beggars.
Now, they are still sitting or lying on the street, protesting against the entry of foreign capital that endangers national industries, protesting against the demolition of old cities, protesting against floods and storms and anything that makes people unhappy, or they don't care about protests at all. Protests are meaningless, but they just don't know how to send themselves away. Sitting or lying down has become a habit. Times have changed, and they are no longer faced with British military and police, but with a difficult modernization plan. When these naked and hungry people were ignited by a great goal, they all became heroes in barefoot gowns, all of whom were extremely powerful. When this sitting or lying posture continues into the future, it may become a heavy burden of history, and it may even be the turn of the next Indian government. At the end of the 20th century, the global integrated economy was surrounded by iron walls, and no continent could escape the challenge. So, which government can organize, manage and provide them with adequate housing, food, education and job opportunities? More fundamentally, which government can let vegetarians compete while vagrants obey discipline? If not, can he create an economic myth again, just as he created a political myth in those days? In other words, can he find a Hindu economy, a vegetarian and a vagrant, and surprise the world again?
When we are about to leave India, it happens to be the New Year's Day of a certain ethnic group in Calcutta, which is one of many New Year's Days in this country. Rows of small oil lamps are arranged on the steps, and sporadic fireworks are flashing in the distant air from time to time. The women in the festival are very beautiful, covered with colorful sand and blooming in the fragrance of the festival. It's just that this kind of sari is good at concealing and tangled, and it is a goddess rather than a woman's costume. It means it is convenient to look from a distance and refuse to approach. Unlike some western-style women's dresses, they don't ask for a thin dew, and even use the style of "cans" to seduce impulses.
The festivals here are also different from those in China: the streets are not busy, but they are a bit strangely dark and sparsely populated; There are no cups, but all restaurants and kitchens are closed-people greet the New Year with the traditional custom of fasting for one day. They don't celebrate with sensual indulgence, but with the cessation of desire. Their hunger is sacred, happiness and memory. This hunger with a long history, from father's hunger for daughter, brother's hunger for sister, son's hunger for mother, wife's hunger for husband, host's hunger for guests, friend's hunger for friends, people's hunger for trees and land, has become a mysterious ceremony handed down from generation to generation and a grand festival for them.
Mom, come back, come back,
Returning from the rolling waves of the Ganges,
Come back from every leaf on the tree,
Come back from every footprint on the road,
Come back from my sleep and tears.
……
There are many songs and tides on the river bank. This is the Ganges River, pronounced "Gangga" in Hindi, which flows through Kolkata in a mighty way. This reminds me of the "Gongga" airport in Tibet, which has a similar sound, and is close to the upper reaches of the Ganges River, that is, the Yarlung Zangbo River. The driver translated the main idea of the lyrics to me and led me here to see people bid farewell to Carrie, the mother of people on both sides of the Ganges River. She is a person who must be worshipped every New Year. She is almost naked, young and beautiful, but the standard shape on the throne is a bit strange: her mouth is open and her tongue is hanging in surprise, with a sword in one hand and a bloody head in the other. There are many such heads under her feet. I can't understand all the complicated plots about these avatars because of the language barrier. I only know that in a famous battle to sweep away demons from the world, she killed more than 20 opponents and her husband, with her head in her hand.
Only then did she reach out and stick out her tongue like a rude awakening.
From that moment on, she solidified into eternal surprise and loneliness.
It's the second day of the New Year, and the folk celebrations are coming to an end. People beat drums and trumpets, sang and danced, and flocked from all corners of the city. They gathered in a sea of people on the banks of the Ganges River and sent their respective goddess Carrie into the river, so that eternal surprises and eternal loneliness of different sizes and colors floated down with the water and disappeared into the depths of the night. This is their agreement with the Ganges River year after year. It can be seen that these farewell people are poor, disheveled and covered in dust, and most of their hair has become a ball or a grass nest. They were nervous and even panicked, their eyes were wide open and they shouted in a hurry. Once they are out of step, the goddess on her shoulders will shake. They roared, splashing water with one foot deep and one foot shallow, and when they came back from the river, they became crazy water ghosts, dripping with water and shining in the fire. But they are still intoxicated with the drums, singing in a neat or irregular voice, and dancing wildly among people they know or don't know-not so much dancing as torturing every joint of themselves, hoping to crush themselves and melt them into the drums.
A lame man with a crutch is also jumping, and the crutch pokes a dense mud eye in the ground.
Come back from every footprint on the road, mom;
Come back from my sleep and tears, mother.
……
On the other side of the Ganges, several spotlights are illuminating the huge Coca-Cola billboard and the red giant bottle that is popular all over the world. At that moment, I suddenly felt that Carrie, who was far away, looked back with a bloody blade. What surprised her all the time when she stuck out her tongue was not that her husband's head fell to the ground, but that a century that we couldn't predict at all was coming quietly.
I looked up and saw that the other side retreated quickly, leaving me an infinitely wide river.
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