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IN THIS ISSUE

• Richard Ross resumes his stories from India
• Verda Cook describes unusual residents in Chicago
• Jack Peaker forwards more of Murphy´s laws
• Catherine Green sends the story of the cabbie and the nun
• Kate Brookfield´s story justifies high salaries for CEOs
• Zvonko Springer questions the value of healthy living
• Bruce Galway suggests a site with an interesting quiz

Richard Ross continues his

INDIAN CHRONICLES

Namaste! ("Hello" in Hindi)

I hope everyone is happy, healthy, and braced for the big election! I have attended a few Democrats Abroad happy hours myself and without question, the Indian expat community, if called upon, is poised to make the difference!

A few weeks have now passed since the launch of the Indian Chronicles. During our time apart, I have diligently embraced the dramatic relocation of South-East Asia. To my credit, I´ve digested the curry, maneuvered the crowds, bargained for rickshaws, and befriended a tailor. I´ve kept both my head and balance in the caprice of the Indian culture - a culture that buoys its reputation flawlessly. The thrilling melange of color, spice, smell, and widespread bizarreness proves to be as wonderful as it is whiplashing. For many things unfamiliar I´ve acquired fascination, enjoyment, but of greatest importance, a sense of tolerance.

In this world of difference, if you do not learn how to be tolerant, in particular, patient, you might as well stay on the runway. Patience, however, is more a virtue for the outsider. It protects you against the endemic impatience found within India. As an American, according to the whole world, we too are always in a hurry. But here in India, the hurry is different. Here, hurry makes things align evenly, fall into place correctly. Hurrying, it seems in Delhi, is accomplished so simultaneously that the city slows down more than speeds up. I read in Time Out, Delhi´s hippest magazine, that every day over 110 million traffic violations occur on the road, scientifically concluding that if a driver follows the formal rules laid out, he increases his risk for an accident exponentially. India´s anarchical nature - as many would similarly argue about the corruption in the government - needs to be left unbothered for the society to fully function. In America, where rules define every action, the only upshot of our hurried nature appears to be in our continual coffee stains and fender-benders.

I´ve come to view India as a gigantic slightly-opened treasure chest, with 1/3 of the population who live inside, 1/3 of the population who cling to the sides, and 1/3 who live completely outside. Those who live inside were either born there or have lifted themselves up and over. Those who cling, cling because they can, thanks to the last few decades of improved socio-economic condition. Lastly, those who remain at the bottom of the chest may not even know about the treasure inside - just as the 1/3 living inside have no way of seeing what´s outside. The treasure chest both separates and blinds the population to one another - breeding complacency on the top and breeding complacency on the bottom - leaving the clingers in the middle to test the degree of social mobility available in the current system. Some days I´m overly impressed with the high quality of life in New Delhi: the rich sophistication and liberal expression presented in their fashion, architecture, art, literature, language, and general decorum could compete with any progressive culture. Inside the many McDonalds, hundreds of teenagers exchange mobile numbers, discuss their plans to study abroad, and devour Big Macs recreated with chicken. Other days, however, I am not so impressed.

I have adjusted to the of pungent smell and the heaps of garbage, but what I have not and cannot adjust to is the tattered 4-year-old, who without any chaperone, ruffles through the rotten trash with an eerie resemblance to how his privileged contemporaries ruffle through pits of plastic balls. Past midnight, the sidewalks of Delhi resemble a fenceless refugee encampment. These tens of thousands of homeless are Indian born, displaced outside not by a civil war or hurricane, but by the mere misfortune of a wretched fate. The misery of India begins and ends in inequality. Its segregation is as multi-dimensional as the treasure chest I speak of, and depending if you´re in, out, or in between the golden treasure chest, mother India can be kind or she can be cruel.

Let us move away from the miracles and failings of India and focus a little more on what I´ve been up to. Quite frankly, I´ve been up to a lot. In the course of no more than three weeks, I´ve ascended to the highest peaks in the world; I´ve swum in perhaps the holiest water on Earth; and I have stood face to face with one of man´s greatest creations. To say the least, I´m terribly grateful to be handed this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, for which I mainly owe my sister, Gabrielle, and her family, for without them, I may never have come within a 1,000 miles of India!

I do plan to share my prolonged bus ride to the Taj Mahal and action-packed camping weekend on the Ganges River, but now I will thaw out my memories of a colder India: a breathtaking hideaway, lodged in the Himalayas, where the heavens truly meet the earth.

SEVEN DAYS IN TIBET

An hour north of Delhi, snuggled beneath the lofty, snow-strewn peaks of the Himalayas, A Buddhist oasis known as Ladakh still manages to breathe fresh air in a politically-polluted region of Northern India. Commonly referred to as "Little Tibet", the Ladakh region, located in the notorious disputed Jammu and Kashmir province, has removed itself from the border wars between India and Pakistan: gruesome violence that without cease has defined the way of life for the common Kashmiri. Instead, the Ladakhi people are the proud products of Buddhist philosophy, where the silence of tranquility and the goodwill of compassion can only whisper at the side of thunderous explosions and rampant firings.

In light of this, as one of the few preserves of peace in the Indian Himalayas, Ladakh is not surprisingly the cradle of

northern tourism. Since the early 1970s, when the first Westerner unveiled his pale skin, Leh, the capital of the Ladakh region, developed, fully conscious of the fruitful rewards tourism can provide. Today, downtown Leh teems with internet cafes, Patagonia fleeces, scrambled egg breakfasts, hotels, and enough spoken and written English to rival Wichita, Kansas. Between May and October, herds of European tourists - in particular the French - crowd the shops and sidewalks. After a few days trekking the wondrous mountain side, frozen but sun-scorched foreigners return and rapidly thaw amidst the peaceful warmth of the locals.

The local Ladakhi are living beings unlike any other. They dress in skins as tough and rigid as the bark of an old Sequoia tree, and bear smiles so bright they could melt a solar ice cap. The young girls all possess a common beauty as raw, rugged, and unspoiled as the ground they walk on. Each in her own style reveals the oneness with nature that only Pocahontas may have achieved. The older generations walk freely with hunched backs and the same weathered mystique as a Victorian armoire.

To be continued.

Verda and Stanley Cook recently returned from a family visit. Here Verda tells the unlikely story of

WILD PARROTS IN CHICAGO

We have just returned from a two-week stay with our son and his family in a suburb of Chicago, Illinois (Blue Island). We certainly learned a lot about the economic situation there which one does not find out from radio and TV.

During one visit to our place, our son had told us of a colony of parrots that had taken up residence down the street from their house. I was very skeptical because as a rule parrots are tropical, so how could they survive winters out in the open? Soon after we arrived, our son said he wanted us to walk with him to the parrot neighbourhood. What an interesting excursion!

Some years ago a truck transporting a load of parrots to a pet shop was involved in a collision and the parrots escaped. These are birds from China, not the tropics, and they quickly acclimatized and took ownership of this middle-class neighbourhood.

During our time of observing we counted a dozen parrots in the top of a dying tree. They continually flew over our heads, squawking as they flew. Unfortunately, they did not sit still long enough for us to take a photo of them. They are the type of parrot one sees in pet shops: bright green plumage with a splash of red near the beak and a yellowish wash on the underside. They are smaller than the Amazon parrot and perhaps would be considered by some bird fanciers as parakeets. I´m not knowledgeable enough to know the various categories.

I was curious about how the residents in that area feel about having such a noisy flock of birds in their backyards. It was evident they didn´t mind, because we saw chairs and tables set out on decks facing the tree with the nests. Our son told us the residents are very protective of these birds. An unexpected bonus to our visit.

We are having a brilliant autumn here in Ontario. All was green when we left for the U.S. and in multi-color when we returned. Temperatures have plunged now but it has been a very prolonged mild autumn; only recently had to bring plants in from the balcony. Stanley and I are keeping ourselves very busy, so we have no time to become bored.

ED. NOTE: Verda took pictures of the nests the parrots have created in one huge blue spruce tree. One photo is a close-up of the nests while the other shows the size of the tree in which the nests are built. To see these photos, go to http://members.shaw.ca/vjsansum/and or http://nw-seniors.org/stories.html

Jack Peaker forwards

THE LAWS OF LIFE

- Law of Mechanical Repair - After your hands become coated with grease, your nose will begin to itch or you´ll have to pee.

- Law of the Workshop - Any tool, when dropped, will roll to the least accessible corner.

- Law of the Alibi - If you tell the boss you were late for work because you had a flat tire, the very next morning you will have a flat tire.

- Law of the Bath - When the body is fully immersed in water, the telephone rings.

- Law of the Result - When you try to prove to someone that a machine won´t work, it will.

- Law of Coffee - As soon as you sit down to a cup of hot coffee, your boss will ask you to do something which will last until the coffee is cold.

- Murphy´s Law of Lockers - If there are only two people in a locker room, they will have adjacent lockers.

- Law of Rugs/Carpets - The chances of an open-faced jelly sandwich landing face down on a floor covering are directly correlated to the newness and cost of the carpet/rug.

- Law of Location - No matter where you go, there you are.

- Brown´s Law - If the shoe fits, it´s ugly.

- Oliver´s Law - A closed mouth gathers no feet.

- Wilson´s Law - As soon as you find a product that you really like, they will stop making it. (This one is true every time!)

- Doctors´ Law - If you don´t feel well, make an appointment to go to the doctor, by the time you get there you´ll feel better. Don´t make an appointment and you´ll stay sick.

Catherine Green sends this seasonal story:

THE CAB DRIVER AND THE NUN

A cabbie picks up a nun. She gets into the cab, and notices that the very handsome cab driver won´t stop staring at her. She asks him why he is staring.

He replies: "I have a question to ask you but I don´t want to offend you."

She answers, "My son, you cannot offend me. When you´re as old as I am and have been a nun as long as I have, you get a chance to see and hear just about everything. I´m sure that there´s nothing you could say or ask that I would find offensive."

"Well, I´ve always had a fantasy to have a nun kiss me."

She responds, "Well, let´s see what we can do about that. First, you have to be single and second, you must be Catholic."

The cab driver is very excited and says, "Yes, I´m single and Catholic!"

"Okay," the nun says. "Pull into the next alley."

The nun fulfills his fantasy with a kiss that would make a hooker blush.

But when they get back on the road, the cab driver starts crying.

"My dear child," says the nun, "why are you crying?"

"Forgive me but I´ve sinned. I lied and I must confess. I´m married and I´m Jewish."

The nun says, "That´s okay. My name is Kevin and I´m going to a Halloween party."

Kate Brookfield´s story illustrates why CEOs are paid such astronomical salaries:

THE CEO IN ACTION

A large company, feeling it was time for a shakeup, hired a new CEO.

The new boss was determined to rid the company of all slackers. On a tour of the facilities, he noticed a guy leaning on a wall.

The room was full of workers and he wanted to let them know that he meant business. He walked up to the guy leaning against the wall and asked, "How much money do you make a week?"

A little surprised, the young man looked at him and replied, "I make $400 a week. Why?"

The CEO then handed the guy $1,600 in cash and screamed, "Here´s four weeks´ pay. Now GET OUT and don´t come back."

Feeling pretty good about himself the CEO looked around the room and asked, "Does anyone want to tell me what that goof-ball did around here?"

From across the room came a voice, "Pizza delivery guy from Domino´s."

Zvonko Springer sends the story of

THE BRAN MUFFINS

The couple was 85 years old and had been married for sixty years. Though they were far from rich, they managed to get by because they watched their pennies. Though not young, they were both in very good health, largely due to the wife´s insistence on healthy foods and exercise for the last decade.

One day, their good health didn´t help when they went on a rare vacation and their plane crashed, sending them off to Heaven.

They reached the pearly gates, and St. Peter escorted them inside. He took them to a beautiful mansion, furnished in gold and fine silks, with a fully-stocked kitchen and a waterfall in the master bath. A maid could be seen hanging their favourite clothes in the closet. They gasped in astonishment when he said, "Welcome to Heaven. This will be your home now."

The old man asked Peter how much all this was going to cost. "Why, nothing," Peter replied. "Remember, this is your reward in Heaven."

The old man looked out the window and right there he saw a championship golf course, finer and more beautiful than any ever built on earth.

"What are the greens fees?" grumbled the old man.

"This is heaven," St. Peter replied. "You can play for free, every day."

Next they went to the clubhouse and saw the lavish buffet lunch, with every imaginable cuisine laid out before them, from seafood to steaks to exotic deserts, free-flowing beverages.

"Don´t even ask," said St. Peter to the man. "This is Heaven; it is all free for you to enjoy."

The old man looked around and glanced nervously at his wife. "Well, where are the low fat and low cholesterol foods and the decaffeinated tea?" he asked.

"That´s the best part," St. Peter replied. "You can eat and drink as much as you like of whatever you like and you will never get fat or sick. This is Heaven!"

The old man pushed, "No gym to work out at?"

"Not unless you want to," was the answer.

"No testing my sugar or blood pressure or...."

"Never again. All you do here is enjoy yourself."

The old man glared at his wife and said, "You and your damn bran muffins. We could have been here ten years ago!"

SUGGESTED WEBSITES

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