The Ballad of Reading Gaol

This poem was written by Oscar Wilde when he was put in prison in 1895 at the age of 41. As he watched a man who had killed his own wife get ready to be hung, he wrote the following verses:

Yet each man kills the thing he loves,

By each let this be heard,

Some do it with a bitter look,

Some with a flattering word,

The coward does it with a kiss,

The brave man with a sword!

---

Some kill their love when they are young,

And some when they are old;

Some strangle with the hands of Lust,

Some with the hands of Gold:

The kindest use a knife, because

The dead so so soon grow cold.

---

Some love too little, some too long,

Some sell, and others buy;

Some do the deed with many tears,

And some without a sigh:

For each man kills the thing he loves,

Yet each man does not die.

Accatolico Cemetary

On my last visit to Rome, I spent over an hour at their Accatolico Cemetary, basically meaning non-Catholic people's cemetary. You could find everything and everyone in there from the poets Keats and Shelley, to India's first ambassador to Italy, Dewan Raam Lall.

As I kept walking through the cemetary, which in itself is a rewarding experience, not only because reminding yourself about mortality is necessary every now and then, but there is also something fascinating about the lives of people and their final resting place where little remains but a name and a stone.

On one tomb of a person named Gregory Corso (1930-2001), the following beautiful words were written:

Spirit

Is life

It flows through

The death of me

Endlessly

Like a river

Unafraid

Of becoming

The sea

In the midst of all the graves, I thought I saw something written in Arabic, and as I came closer, I found this:

Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji3oon
"Verily to God we belong and verily to Him is our return"
-The Quran, Chapter 2 Vers 156

Crutchball

Our main shopping street, Queen Street, or rather Queer Street after the latest encounter with the "clean, fresh, Muslim woman" maniac, has produced yet another interesting happening.

What looked like a man from Brazil, played what I could only describe as "crutchball" using his crutches, head and a football. Amazing really.

Download his performance here.

I still don't know how to host videos, but ah well a file will have to do.

La7me- The bird flu song

In Paris at the seminar I attended, my crazy Jordanian friend had a song playing on her mp3. Apparently a Palestinian or Jordanian Swede, living in the southern parts of Sweden recorded this song as a reaction to the chicken hysteria surrounding the bird flu. La7me (lahme), meaning meat in Arabic is the name of this absolutely mad song:

Ana ba7ib el la7me kteer*
whether it's there or here
for the la7me I drive an hour
because la7me gives me power

Chilling eating shish kebab
I even eat it at my job
People say "you want some lunch?"
only if it's chicken you a** munch

Put the chicken in my mouth
Put it always in the south
You don't know what you're doing
I love the chicken brewing.

When I have no la7me I feel like I'm gonna die
if you give me la7me I feel like I can fly
La7me is the best creation in ze universe
if the la7me not existing I will just curse

La7me la7me la7me la7me
Ana bah7ib el la7me kteer, ana ba7ib el la7me

* ana ba7ib el la7me kteer= I love meat a lot

Download song here.

Poll Result: Swearing

19% swear but don't wanna admit it. 26 % swear and are proud of it. 11 % are prudent. 40 % your average human. Now what does the 4% who said they don't know (although there are ample alternative replies presented for them) mean? Any suggestions?

Do vote in my next Poll, inspired by a post on Samuraisam's blog: "Is there a difference in taste between Coca-Cola and Pepsi?"

Chocolate Lovers

If in Paris (or even Japan), don't miss out on Pierre Hermé and Christian Constant. Both have taken chocolate and pastries to another level with ingredients like ginger, frangipani, verbena and isphahan.

Apparently Pierre Hermé started in Japan, and now he can only be found there and in Paris. It would explain why I saw a bus load of Japanese tourists queuing outside Hermé's just after I had done my shopping there.

In the guide book First Class, Christian Constant has been rated the best chocolatier in Paris, with Pierre Hermé at number 6. If you want chocolate alone I would recommend CC, a man that travels the world in search of new exciting flavors to incorporate into his chocolate making, however if you are into pastries, PH is your man.

Yusuf Islam in Dubai

Formerly known as Cat Stevens, Yusuf Islam will be in Dubai on May 11th at 5 pm, signing his new album Footsteps in The Light. For more information and directions click here.

The album is basically voice and drum only, a style he adopted when he became Muslim. However, he has now diversified his style in music using not only his trademark guitar but other instruments as well. This has placed him in the line of verbal fire among some Muslims unfortunately. He writes an interesting reflection on the subject: Music, a question of Faith or Da'wah?

Stockholm, Tweezers and "Fresh, Muslim Women"

Scene 1

I met up with an old friend of mine today for coffee in the city centre. We had loads of catching up to do and before sitting down at a café decided to take a walk. The main shopping street in Stockholm being Drottninggatan or Queen Street, we strolled along it eyeing the stores and chatting away like usual. A man comes out of nowhere and walks alongside us.

Man: Weren't you on TV a while back?
Me: Yes...?
Man: It makes me so proud. Ahhh!!!! Clean, fresh, Muslim women!
Me, thinking to myself: What the...??!
Man: You know I am Muslim myself, from Morocco.
Me: ............????!!!!
Man: Ahh you know I'm thinking of getting married and I don't want a mattress like these girls here, you know what I mean?
Me: .....????!!!!
Man: Yeah I'm telling you, no, I want a clean, fresh, Muslim woman!! And she should want lots of kids, ha ha ha you know what I mean? And I'm thinking, should I go back home and get a wife or should I find one here. You know, if I get one in Morocco it means I have to pay 50 000 kr every three years.
Me, by now so dumbfounded I actually wanna know why he needs to pay 50 000 kr: Umm, why 50 000?
Man: Well you see, she will wanna go back every now and then and show her parents what she's got, and if we have kids too, well, then she will wanna show her kids to her parents and you know, I can't be selfish, I am not a selfish man.

Praise the Lord, he is a saint...

Man: Yeah these people here, akhhhhh! Disgusting! They only spread diseases amongst themselves, yeah I'm telling you, don't you believe me?
Me: Hmm, if you say so.
Man (almost jumping up and down while he speaks): Yeah, but there's nothing like a clean, fresh, Muslim woman who wants lots of kids!!! I heard the local Mosque helps people find partners, do you now anything about it?
Me: I don't know anything about that, but I am sure they know Moroccan families (i.e. future victims), maybe you should go talk to them.
Man: Yeah, you know I am at an age where I need to get married, and there's nothing wrong with me you know, (and he takes out his hand and starts counting on his fingers), I have money, my own 3 bedroom apartment, I have my own company that I started, I am a mohtaram (respectful) Muslim, you know what I mean?

What a huge shock he ain't married yet...

Scene 2

We later on enter a café, in dire need of both coffee and tea after that clean, fresh, Muslim woman encounter. So we sit down on a sofa in the Café, sipping our tea and watching people go in and out.

On the same sofa further away, a woman in her mid-forties is sitting alone with a cup of coffee. From the corner of my eye I notice some strange hand movements. I turn my head to my right to see what she's doing.

In her hand, she's holding a tweezer and casually plucking the hairs from under her chin like it was the most natural thing to do in a coffee shop in central Stockholm.

I turned to my friend and gave her one look. We put our coffee and tea down and decided to call it a night.

London Lunacy

I was staying with a dear friend, HM, just outside of London and we decided, rather late, to go out and grab a bite to eat on Edgeware Road, the Arabistan and hub of all Arab food activity in London. Home of restaurants with "creative and catchy" names like The Halal Restaurant or The Lebanese Restaurant.

Being nearly 10 pm, and slightly "far" away, we took the car in order for us to be able to come and go without worrying about train timings. The car we decide to park barely a block away from the restaurant, and I read a sign saying "Pay and display", however on weekends I am told it's free.

Dinner was good, we even bought some sweets to take along with us home and after barely an hour and a half decided to return to our car. It was now around midnight and we walked along the cars in the car park, yet couldn't find ours.

Me: Are you sure this is the right car park?
HM: Yeah I'm positive, and this is the Mercedes we parked next to, I remember it cause it was taking up so much space.
Me: But there is no car next to it?
HM: I know...

So HM calls the police, reports a missing car, either stolen or towed away, license plate, adress bla bla bla.

It was really cold and for some reason HM had left her jacket in the car, which was no longer there. We decide that the only thing to do now is take the train home, and go sleep hoping for the best. A thought however, strikes my mind:

Me: Umm, HM, where are the home keys?
HM: ...........

They were, lo and behold, in the car that of course was no longer there. So we decide we have to call her landlord, who lives in another city. He doesn't pick up, so all we can do is send a text and find the train and go back home to a home without keys.

As we sit on the train waiting for it to leave the platform, freezing and homeless, HM's phone rings. It's the police.

Police: I have some good and bad news.
HM: Ok...
Police: The good news is; your car has been towed away. The bad news is, you will have to pay 200 pounds.

So now it is hitting 1 am and we rush off the train just before it leaves the station and grab a taxi to the car pound in Park Lane, where our dearly beloved car and home keys are.

At the front desk, a man greets us with a look of "oh, here we go, another case". Apparently he was not our man, and he directed us towards a door that led to a long underground narrow corridor á la "perfect crime scene".

We walk, on the "straight path" for a long long time, just enough time to ponder over every thing you have done in the last decade or so, like why you pierced your nose twice. Anyway, we finally get to the payment office where HM filled out forms and paperwork and naturally had to pay the 200 pounds.

To make things lovelier, we have to walk back again the same way we came from, in order to pick up our car that was waiting for us on the outside where another man who worked as an "unlocker" of the towed cars sat.

What was the reason for towing away our car, and fining us 200 pounds after only being away 1 and a half hour?

Parking in a residential parking space.

Wouldn't it have been easier to just place a ticket of 200 pounds on the car?

Our conclusion after the long and highly eventful evening was that in the minds of the British Blair, towing our car enables four men to sit all night in an underground parking lot, and get paid for it.

Now there's an unemployment plan...

Back from the Mawlid

Just got back from London today, attended the Mawlid at the Wembley Conference Centre. Was an interesting experience to say the least. Pakistani visitors definitely dominated the scene and all of a sudden Urdu was the default language among the crowd.

Yusuf Islam, formerly known as Cat Stevens was there which was a major surprise. My parents met him when I was a little baby. He had come to Sweden to talk about how he became Muslim. A lot of people don't know this but Yusuf Islam is half Swedish.

Anyway, he has taken up his guitar again and he played an amazing version of the old and famous Muslim spiritual song Tala al badro 3alayna (The white moon rose over us), a song that was sung by the people of Medina upon the arrival of the Prophet Mohammad* to the city. It was good to see him with his guitar again.

What was even more interesting were the people I met during the breaks at the Mawlid, and the stalls with all kinds of interesting books, clothes and crafts. In particular there were two calligraphy stalls of which I must write a separate post on.