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Buoy the population of the soul
Toward their destination before they drown
~ Robert Pinsky
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Monday, 29. May 2006

A History Dig - A Spy Princess



Late last night before bed, after an evening of wading in mathematics, to take my mind off that stuff I was sniffing photos in a Time Life Book on the Resistance in Europe during World War II, a period of history for which I have endless fascination. I suppose this is because boys never grow up, and will always harbour romantic notions about distant wars.

Some of episodes described in this book were already familiar to me such as the daring sabotage attack on the German Heavy Water Plant in Norway via an book excerpt in the Indian version of Reader's Digest many years ago, or the assasinations of German Military officers carried out by the French Resistance, as shown in that old movie The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. However what caught my attention last night was this small section in the book that described the sterling work done by thousands of women in the Resistance. In particular, this photograph of a lady called Noor Inayat Khan caught my eye, and I was off on a chase in cyber-ia.

Noor had had a storied life. She was born to an Indian father (who was a descendant of Tipu Sultan) and an American mother in Moscow, and grew up in Tzarist Russia before the family was displaced to first England, from where poverty and prejudice caused a move to France. She went to Sorbonne, where she studied music and languages, and later became a freelance writer, who wrote stories for children. Then the war broke out, and she and her family evacuated to England, where she studied to become a nurse.

Subsequently she was recruited by the British SOE, and was parachuted into France to be a wireless operator codenamed "Madeliene". She was subsequently captured by the Gestapo, taken to Dachu, and executed by the German SS. This is a more detailed version of these events.

Obviously, since a life as intruiging as Noor's can't be kept away from the grubby hands of fiction, a novel losely based on her life called 'The Tiger Claw' by Shauna Singh Baldwin was recently published. Dammit! Why did I get to this story before! A more well known, i.e., best selling novel with similar thematic material is 'Charlotte Gray' by Sebastian Faulks. This novel is supposedly based on the life of another inspiring SOE agent, Nancy Wake. I actually picked up this novel for real cheap at a sale a few months ago.So now I think, it is time for me to unearth it from my book stacks and read it.




My Daily Notes

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Sunday, 28. May 2006

An Archived Note of Admiration



While I prefer being a reculse in this unfrequented corner of the cyber-ia - mainly because I have nothing interesting to say, in a consistent fashion, to the imagined and real 'blog' readership, and more important say it well (in marketing speak, the blog is not the product), I admire the work of bloggers like Amardeep Singh, who manage to unearth marvels and curiosities for all of us, the unwashed blogging masses, in posts such as this one on Ramo Samee, an Indian juggler in 19th century Britain.

So I left him this note:

Hi Amardeep,

I have enjoyed your very well written blog since I 'discovered' it a few months ago - so much so that I used it as an example of how blogs, in spite of their inherent limitations, can serve are unseful stations for thoughts departure in a recent conversation with a friend who doesn't care much for this medium. The example I used was the obscure connections you unearthed for us reader between Tagore and Latin America, via Silvina Ocampo. And this post further supports such claims on my part.

Keep them coming! :)

PS: Also coincidentally I read this poem on juggling in Richard Wilbur's "Collected Poems" earlier today.




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Salt



The cure for anything is salt water - sweat, tears, or the sea – Isak Dinesen

Since the sea is too distant From this landlocked city For drowning in,

And tears merely inappropriate For this green summer with its nesting Cardinals breakfasting at the bird feeder,

I have turned to sprinting For the requisite salt.




My Poems

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