#First Independence Day of India

[manasastuff-blog]

"15 August 1947: First Independence Day of India Celebrations"

Watch Video : https://youtu.be/e86Hj73znLA

On 15 August 1947, India celebrated its First Independence Day, marking the end of British rule and the beginning of a new era. This video takes you back to that historic day, showcasing the grand celebrations across the nation, the pride and joy felt by millions of Indians, and the pivotal moments that defined the dawn of India's freedom. Learn about the events, speeches, and the overwhelming unity and patriotism that swept the country. Dive into the heart of India's struggle for independence and witness the birth of a free nation. Whether you're a history enthusiast or just curious about this monumental day, this video provides an in-depth look at how India commemorated its newfound freedom. Watch to relive the emotions, the triumphs, and the spirit of 15 August 1947.

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#IndependenceDay1947#IndiaFirstIndependenceDay#15August1947 #IndiaFreedom#HistoricIndia#IndiaCelebrations#IndianHistory#PatrioticIndia#IndependenceDayCelebrations#FreedomDayIndia#trending#viral

[ssavaart]

Rabindranath Tagore

One of the things I love the most about making content online is... I've grown so much as a human being.

My art has gotten better too, of course.

But every day I'm introduced to so many cultures and customs and people from all different walks of life and it has honestly made me a better person because of that.

Just today, I was introduced to Rabindranath Tagore. And I think the thing that made me immediately want to learn more about him was that he was referred to as "The Bard of Bengal."

He was a Polymath (which, I think means he was really smart in a lot of different subjects) from Bengal who became the first non-European and the first lyricist to win the Nobel Prize in Literature

He was a poet, writer, playwright, composer, philosopher, social reformer, and painter.

He was a humanist, universalist, internationalist, and ardent critic of nationalism, he denounced the British Rule over India and advocated independence from Britain.

He hung out with Einstein and Gandhi and seemed like a generally cool guy.

Both India and Bangladesh use his works as their national anthems.

And while I'm getting most of my information from Wikipedia... my subscribers from India and Bengal assured me that Rabindranath Tagore is absolutely beloved and truly someone more people should know about.

Sending Big Hugs from the Hobbit Hole. ♥♥♥

Scott

[depressedraisin]

here's how armand can still be bengali

why do i think so? no other good reason than i am bengali myself and i want armand to be. (also assad zaman's family is from bangladesh. bengali solidarity!!!)

bengal: the region in south asia comprising present-day bangladesh and the indian states of west bengal, odisha, assam and parts of bihar.

armand said in the season one finale, that takes place in 2022, he is a 514 year old vampire. is it 514 years including or excluding his human years? let's go with including. that means armand would have been born in 1508.

now what was going on in india and bengal in 1508? well, the mughals hadn't come to india yet; it's still about two decades before babur makes his way here. delhi was under the rule of the lodi dynasty, the delhi sultanate was in its dying days. most of north india, mainly uttar pradesh and bihar was under the jaunpur sultanate. bengal was still it's own independent kingdom, called the bengal sultanate. alauddin hussain shah had just seized power and become the sultan of bengal in 1494, beginning the hussain shahi dynasty (they ruled in bengal till 1538 when the mughals captured the region).

india as a country did not exist yet. even it's conception would be a few centuries away still. the subcontinent was a collection of big and small kingdoms and sultanates, constantly warring amongst themselves, some ruled by hindu rulers others by muslims, each with their own distinct histories and cultures. bengal was one of the most prosperous and thriving among them. the bangla language and bengali culture was just beginning to develop.

vasco da gama had arrived in india in 1498, landing at kozhikode on the malabar coast. this began the arrival of the portugese in india, and soon other european colonialists followed. they soon set up their capital in goa, built forts all along the western coast and established trade through obtaining licenses and exclusive permits from local rulers. they first made their way to the bay of bengal region around 1516, with the first portugese representative- a guy called joao coelho- coming to chittagong (present day bangladesh). the first factory was set up in chittagong the next year.

the portugese traded in spices and cotton and fruits and muslin and also slaves. the european indian ocean slave trade began with the coming of the portugese in the early 16th century. slavery in south asian societies had obviously existed long before, and it was a deeply complex and diverse system of dependency and regimes of slavery. slavery of youth and children was also pretty prevalent: it would not be uncommon for poor, farming families to sell away themselves or their children to zamindars (landlords) and colonial overlords in desperation. there were many, many cases of young children being forced to get onboard ships where they'd be held agains their will and taken to europe, the americas or south-east asia. goa and lisbon were the two cities that linked the movement of goods and people between the indian and atlantic oceans, but goa wasn't the only place where enslaved children were traded in portugese india nor lisbon the only european they were taken to.

one of those kids might as well have been arun.

i know the brief glimpse at the talamasca files showed armand's origin to be in delhi but in this particular scene he clearly says that he was sent *to* delhi, thinking he was going to work on a merchant boat.

this is just a theory i have btw. armand could've been from maharastra or the deccan as well idk. anyway.

armand is a monster, a vicious, villanious creature of unfathomable powers and ferocity. but he is also so deeply tragic. he had been forcibly torn away from his people and his land. he has no memory of his family or his humanity. he has lived for over half a millenium. the india he might've known hasn't existed for centuries, and he never got to know the one that exists today. the bangla he might've spoken no one remembers anymore. he has nothing left of the human he was except that name.

further readings (STRONGLY SUGGESTED!!!):

[mariacallous]

Until she fled Bangladesh on Monday, Prime Minister Sheikh Hasina governed as if she still had full legitimacy, even as students and protesters had been on the streets for days asking her to resign. The trigger for the demonstrations—civil service job quotas for Bangladeshi freedom fighters and their families—had become a distant memory. Collective anger about years of human rights abuses, corruption, and rigged elections had coalesced into an uprising.

In a conversation over the weekend, Zonayed Saki, the left-leaning leader of the Ganosamhati Andolan party—himself a student activist against military rule in the 1990s—said, “The people’s sentiment is that she has to go first. The government had lost moral and political legitimacy.”

Hasina believed that she was elected democratically. She won an unprecedented fourth term in a flawed vote in January, which most of the major opposition parties had boycotted and the United States, the United Kingdom, and human rights groups criticized for not being free or fair. Still, other major governments congratulated Hasina on the victory. The bureaucracy, the media, the police, and the army were on her side. What could go wrong?

Over the weekend, Hasina declared a curfew again, cut off the internet, and encouraged the youth wing of the ruling Awami League party to take to the streets. Trigger-happy security forces, who were blamed for the deaths of more than 200 people as the protests turned violent in mid-July, were out in full force. Nearly 100 more people died over the weekend, including 14 police officers; video emerged showing security forces shooting point-blank at nonviolent protesters.

Hasina spoke darkly of Islamists spreading terrorism by co-opting the protests, but the students remained undeterred. A long march was announced for Aug. 5 to demand her resignation. Hasina declared a three-day public holiday in response. But by midday Monday, she had resigned, fleeing the country in a helicopter. The first stop would be India and after that an unknown destination.

Meanwhile, the situation on the ground has turned volatile amid the power vacuum. Thousands of demonstrators rushed to the Ganabhaban, the prime minister’s official residence in Dhaka, looting souvenirs and frolicking on the premises. People have also reportedly attacked the home of Bangladesh’s chief justice. There are also reports of the toppling of a statue of Hasina’s father, Sheikh Mujibur Rahman, who led Bangladesh’s independence movement and then ruled the country until he was assassinated in 1975. Mujib’s family home, now a museum, went up in flames in an act of grotesque retribution. These incidents stand in contrast to the disciplined and peaceful demonstrations led by students, who have urged for calm and were seen appealing to the looters to return stolen property.

Bangladesh’s army has called for calm, but it has not yet intervened. The country’s armed forces overthrew elected governments in the 1970s and 1980s and attempted coups in later years. But now, the generals would naturally want to play it safe: They cannot afford to lose the confidence of Bangladeshis and are aware of the deep distrust that Bangladeshis have developed for the armed forces because their political interventions have weakened the country’s democracy.

There is another calculation at play, too: Bangladesh is among the largest suppliers of soldiers to the United Nations peacekeeping forces, and it won’t antagonize the international community by letting its soldiers act at will. (Those peacekeeping arrangements mean the armed forces are less reliant on Bangladesh’s state budget.) In mid-July, when military vehicles with U.N. insignia were deployed on Dhaka’s streets, foreign diplomats rightly complained; Bangladeshi officials gave weak excuses and promised not to use U.N. equipment to settle domestic unrest.

Hasina seemed to have two options: to seek a graceful exit or to dig her heels in and let the troops take all necessary means to protect her regime. In the end, she fled. Where she will settle is unclear. India would pose problems for Prime Minister Narendra Modi; ruling party politicians have routinely criticized undocumented Bangladeshis in India, even creating legislation to identify and possibly deport them. The United Kingdom may be risky for Hasina because while it hosts many Bangladeshi immigrants, they include dissidents forced into exile during her 15-year rule as well as supporters of the opposition Bangladesh Nationalist Party.

Had Hasina dug in, there would have been bloody consequences. Even if the army had shown restraint toward the protesters, there is no telling if Bangladesh’s notorious border guards or the Rapid Action Battalion—which has faced criticism from human rights groups—would have acted responsibly. There has been violence on both sides, but it has come primarily from the Bangladeshi state. As of Monday, as many as 32 children had died, according to UNICEF.

By stepping aside disgracefully, Hasina leaves chaos in her wake. It is crucial that any interim administration restore order quickly, but it can only do so if it has the backing of the army. A list of bureaucrats, civil society veterans, and others who might form the nucleus of such a government has been released, but the situation is too fluid to consider such lists final. In the early 2000s, Bangladesh had an unelected but legitimate caretaker government to help assist its transition to democracy after a military intervention—which it did, paving the way for Hasina’s election in December 2008.

Hasina has long demonized Bangladesh’s Islamist political forces. But Islamic fundamentalist parties have secured more than 10 percent of the vote only once, in 1991; in all subsequent elections, their vote share has been closer to 5 to 6 percent. Most Bangladeshis are Muslims, but they aren’t extremists; in Bangladeshi American poet Tarfia Faizullah’s famous words, when a Pakistani soldier assaulted a Bengali woman in 1971 and asked her if she was Muslim or Bengali, she defiantly said, “Both.”

The song accompanying many videos of the protests last week was from the pre-Partition poet Dwijendralal Ray, a Hindu, celebrating the golden land of Bengal. To see Bangladesh in binary terms—of Muslim or not Muslim—shows a profound misreading of a complex society. It reveals the myopia of external observers, notably analysts close to the current Indian government, who had invested hugely in Hasina and irrationally fear that an Islamic republic is the only alternative to her rule. In so doing, they frittered away some of the goodwill that India had earned in Bangladesh over the years, particularly for its support during the liberation war.

As a result, the current situation in Bangladesh will complicate things for Modi, Hasina’s close friend. His government had invested hugely in their relationship, aiming to build a trade corridor across Bangladesh and seeking Bangladeshi support to curb separatism in northeastern India. This alienated India from Bangladeshis, who expected New Delhi to defend democratic forces in Dhaka. Nobel laureate Muhammad Yunus, whom Hasina condemned and called a “bloodsucker of the poor,” chided India for not doing enough: South Asia is a family, he said in a recent interview, and when a house is burning, brothers should come and help.

With Hasina fleeing, India has lost an ally it thought it could rely on. The road ahead for Bangladesh will be difficult. Expectations will be high, and the people will want early elections. If those are free and fair, a different Bangladesh can emerge. Whether it will be consistent with the liberal, secular, democratic ethos that Bangladesh’s founders fought for remains to be seen.

[tiredguyswag]

August 15th was India’s 78th Independence Day! A 31 year old postgraduate medical trainee, Dr. Moumita Debnath, was raped and murdered in her sleep at RG Kar medical college. Our country has come so far from when it first got independence! She was bleeding from her eyes, mouth, and private parts. Chak de India! Maa tujhe salaam! The initial statement given to her family was that she was psychotic and committed suicide. Check out this patriotic reel! This wasn’t even a headline case until people started talking about it. I’m so proud of my country! The college dean gave an initial statement saying “what was she even doing [in the seminar room where she’d fallen asleep] in the first place?”. Vande mataram! One of her rapists, Sanjay Roy, was granted access to college grounds because he had personal relations with senior police officers, despite being an outsider. I love this video, love from India 🇮🇳! The people in control are trying to let this case fade away from public consciousness. Her aggressors still walk free.

happy belated independence day. we still don’t have anything worthwhile to show for it. jai hind.

[madridfangirl]

Star crossed lovers (Jude Bellingham fanfic)

Chapter 1

(Series Link)

Jude * female reader. No warnings.

Synopsis: A chance encounter in a tiny Madrid cafe with the newest superstar of her fav club. The two couldn't be more different, yet both feel the pull toward the other. Would this girl be the one he finally falls for? Would she make him change his ways? Even though she resists him every step of the way, would he fight all odds (& her) to have her in his life? Or would life come in the way of these star-crossed lovers?

……………………………………

Madrid was such a beautiful city. Ananya had been here for nearly four months now, yet couldn’t stop marvelling almost daily over some or the other detail she kept discovering. She loved the hustle bustle but also the quaint historical aesthetic that the city provided. That way, it was quite similar to Delhi, the city she was from.

She was practically in a different continent now, far far away from India. To move to another country, with a completely different language and culture, while she was just 20, had been a tough choice. But she was offered a great job in her undergraduate college placements and no career-minded adult would say no to such an opportunity. So, she had managed to convince her overprotective parents to let her move to Madrid, on her own. Her parents thought she would want to return in a few months itself, but she surprised even her own self with how well she was adjusting to the city. Madrid was beautiful, after all.

As she sat in a sweet little cafe on the side of a small road, close to her office in downtown Madrid, on a Friday evening, she smiled to herself on how the last few months had transpired. So much had changed in her life, and she was loving the ride she was on. An independent girl, with a decently fancy job in one of the best European cities. Life was good right now.

This tiny cafe was one of her favourite spots in the city. It was run by an older couple who always greeted her with a smile and the best churros in the galaxy. It was never too crowded, most people just took takeouts. So it was an ideal place to relax, and it was walking distance from her office.

She pulled out her laptop while munching on her plate of churros. It was already Friday evening but she still had a few hours of work left. Investment banking was fun but the hours came with it. Mr. Iglesias (the owner) quietly placed a cup of cappuccino, her usual, next to her plate. She smiled gleefully at his hospitality, then engrossed herself in her work.

30 minutes later, a distinct baritone and accent broke her out of her reverie.

‘A Spanish omelette please?’

Ananya turned around, drawn to the voice. A tall man, wearing stylish all black attire, was standing at the counter. She could only see his back.

Mr. Iglesias drew a blank expression. The tall man tried again.

‘Umm, an omelette, Spanish omelette, por favor?’

‘Un tortilla de patatas, senor.’

Mr. Iglesias nodded happily at the man and signalled 10 mins with his hands.

The man whipped his head in her direction, and smiled gratefully at her.

She had to look away. Immediately. Not just because he had the most infectious smile in the world. But because she recognised who it was and she absolutely would die if she acted crazy at this instant. No, she willed to not make a fool of herself.

But he was walking over to her now.

‘Hey, thanks a ton for that.’

She had taken a few deep breaths by now and was back to her typical poise.

‘No problem at all. I could see you were struggling there.’

He hung his head and laughed sheepishly.

‘I did learn what it was called in Spanish, I swear. But had a long day and completely blanked out. Umm, Spanish is not my first language you see. But I am learning.’

Despite the situation, she somehow managed to smile back genuinely at how he was trying to explain himself to a complete stranger.

‘Well, I am new to the city and the language as well. But my favourite dishes are something I never forget. Can’t go without those, right?’

He smiled at her again. A smile that lit up his whole face. A smile that could light up a black hole. She was amazed at how real, how normal he came across. He was wearing his cap backwards and had glasses on to serve as some disguise she supposed, but she doubted whether those would generally be of any help to him. Not anymore at least.

He played with the back of the chair opposite hers, and looked around.

‘Umm, are you alone? May I join you?’

She channelled all her inner poise before answering.

‘Yeah sure.’

And he flashed her another joyful smile while settling on the small table, opposite her. Man could charge 1000 euros for each smile and people would line up to pay.

He removed the godforsaken glasses, unveiling his big, coffee brown eyes. The hat he just turned backwards, which somehow suited his chiseled face even more.

‘You said you are not from here. May I ask where you are from?’

‘Sure, I am from India.’

‘Wow. I have heard so much about that place. Some of my neighbors back home are also from India. Would love to visit sometime.’

‘You should. There are many flavours to India which you could only experience when you visit.’

He nodded along, agreeing with her wholeheartedly. Mr. Iglesias waved to him from the counter, signalling 5 mins more. He smiled at him as well. Was that his default setting? Not that she was complaining. Oh hell, no.

He suddenly looked back at her.

‘Hey, I didn’t catch your name. So silly of me to not ask earlier.’

She found herself smiling again.

‘Ananya.’

‘A-nan-ya?’

He tried to break down the foreign sounding name in syllables. It was her turn to giggle now, and he rubbed the back of his head sheepishly.

‘Not A as in Ancelloti but A as in Alvaro Morata.’

He leaned back in his chair, still rubbing the back of his head, and looked straight into her eyes.

‘So, you do know who I am?’

She tuned her laptop towards him. The screensaver was her in the trophy room at the Bernabeu, along with the 14 Champions League trophies.

He looked at the photo and her beaming smile. Her love for the club was evident.

‘Been a Madridista since 2009. 15 years. That’s 75% of my life. So yes, I do know who you are Jude.’

Somehow, just somehow she had managed to find her footing amidst all this madness and was having what would appear to be a fairly normal conversation with a global superstar. She felt it was because of him, though. Because how easygoing and grounded he seemed.

‘Wow. That’s awesome. You know, I didn’t even like football at that age? It’s strange, I know. My dad always wondered what was wrong with me. But one day, suddenly, I decided I wanted to play.’

‘I get it. Sometimes god acts in mysterious ways. You won’t even know how or when, it just happens.’

‘I know right.’

They fell into a comfortable silence. Just looking at each other. And smiling. Both couldn’t stop smiling for some reason.

Mr. Iglesias appeared then with the omelette and Jude nearly hugged him in delight.

He stuffed his face with a gigantic bite, moaning at the taste. Then, he ended up coughing vigorously because the bite was almost one third of his plate.

‘Easy. Here, take this.’

Ananya offered her glass of water to him, which he gulped down in three sips. Then rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand as he looked back into her eyes.

‘My mom had once gotten me an omelette from this place. Felt like little drops of heaven. Since then I have been meaning to have this. Sorry for the clumsiness, I got a little carried away.’

He was apologising to her again, which was so endearing. And that accent made everything sound twice as cute.

They went back to their food, and the comfortable silence was back. But she was learning that he couldn’t stay silent for long.

‘Since you already have a head start in knowing about me, would you tell me something about you? What brings you to Madrid?’

‘I work at an investment bank here. Kind of my dream job and my dream firm.’

He leaned forward, tapping his fingers on the table.

‘Ooooh fancy.’

‘Yeah right. Look who is talking.’

‘No, it is fancy. Seems like a smart person thing. I had a feeling you were like that.’

He spent the next 15 mins learning about her job, and by the end he accused her of showing off by using big terms he won’t understand. She neither confirmed nor denied that accusation.

He took another mouthful again, completely ignoring what happened the last time. She couldn’t help but be amused at his antics.

‘So, have you seen any match live?’

Her whole demeanour changed and she was practically bouncing off the chair now. He found that extremely amusing.

‘Oh yes. I was here for internship last year and I managed to watch one game. Vini scored two kickass goals and we won. It was amazing - easily one of the best days of my life.’

‘Um-hmm.’

Something in his tone was off but she was too happy to care.

‘Is he…your favourite player, then?’

‘Oh he’s amazing. Us fans have seen him since he was 17 I guess? And look at the journey. Love the player he has become. But my favourite will only ever be one. I am a Ronaldo fan girl.’

Well, that seemed to cheer him up. He kind of figured that given she had mentioned 2009.

He watched her face fondly for a few seconds as she turned nostalgic and relived the memories in her head.

‘Nothing this season, then?’

‘No luck. The tickets are always sold out. Last year also it was our firm which arranged them for us.’

‘Hmm.’

She hadn’t seen him play, then.

He went back to his last bite and turned it around with his fork a few times, pondering over his next words.

‘Well, there is a home game tomorrow.’

‘A HOME GAME? It’s the first Classico of the season. Ofcourse I know that. God I am so nervous. Hated them winning the league last year. Hate their guts. Jude, you guys better win tomorrow, please. ’

He watched her keenly though her rant, thoroughly amused.

‘Thanks for the order. But, what I meant was, do you want to watch the game tomorrow?

‘But, Classicos get sold out in the beginning of the season right?

She looked confused. Still not getting the point. He realised he would have to spell it out for her.

So smart in her work but not as much in this, which was cute in its own way.

‘Ananya, do you want to watch the match tomorrow from my box? Because you are welcome to do that.’

Oh. Oh.

She stayed still, and he scanned her face for a response.

A volcano erupted inside her. She had been so lost in talking about Madrid and that match that she had completely missed the way he had been looking at her. And what he had asked her just now.

He could tell from her face that something deep was holding her back.

‘Listen, bring your friends / colleagues if you want to. Many of my friends have attended. Plus the boxes are all next to each other so the media / fans can’t really tell who is in whose box, if that’s what’s concerning you. You can just attend as a friend, that’s it.’

She wasn’t buying the last line.

‘That’s it?’

She called his bluff while meeting his gaze. Which he admired. The smart girl was back.

‘Well, after the match, we could grab a bite maybe? Doesn’t have to be a public place, don’t need that drama. So maybe, your place? Or….mine?’

She shook her head sadly.

‘Jude…it’s not that you are not…but…we live in very different worlds and…’

He had an inkling of what was coming and he cut her off before she could finish the sentence. Taking no for an answer was not an acceptable option right now, not when the last 30 mins had been so pleasant and refreshing.

‘What if I score tomorrow? Against the team you detest? How about then?’

She looked at him with her mouth half open. Which made him look down to her lips. But he had the good sense to quickly revert to her eyes.

‘Won’t you want to give me some extra motivation to score against Barca? Or would you rather I be sad and distracted tomorrow?’

She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. He was really doubling down on this.

‘Let me get this straight. You are seriously using my love for Real Madrid to get me to go out with you?’

He leaned back in his chair, smirked that gorgeous smirk, and shrugged casually, with an iota of arrogance, knowing he was going to win this. Even the arrogance suited him, for crying out loud.

But then, he leaned forward and covered her hand with his, expression all sincere. Her breath hitched at his touch.

‘Look. I just want to spend some time with you, and I really would love for you to see me play. I get that my lifestyle comes with a zillion challenges but that’s step 10. Can we please just spend a few hours together, just you and me, where we talk and get to know each other? I promise, that’s all I am asking. And you don’t have to say yes to that now. You can decide tomorrow after the match. How does that sound?’

The earnestness in his silky smooth voice was drawing her in. She believed him, and was on the verge of saying yes.

But he got restless and played his final card, which he always had up his sleeve.

‘Also, Zidane is going to be there. Their box is just two rows down from where you would be.’

She burst out laughing and threw the table napkin in his face, which he caught easily. Then flashed her a million dollar smile.

‘You really are something aren’t you?’

‘Well, I try.’

She had forgotten that his hand was still on top of hers and was reminded of it when he squeezed it briefly, then withdrew it.

He pulled out his phone and slid it in front of her.

‘Gonna need your number to send the passes.’

Her mind was still registering what she had agreed to but her body reacted involuntarily and typed in her number.

He saved it quickly and sent over the passes in seconds.

‘So, I will see you tomorrow then?’

‘Yes. You leave me no choice. And you better win now, after what you just pulled.’

His phone chimed with a reminder then, for an evening home fitness session prior to the match. He had to leave, she could tell.

He stood up, and she got reminded of how tall he was. His lean physique made him look even taller.

He reached out for her hand again, shaking it this time. And lingered for a few seconds.

‘I will have to go thank my mom now for recommending this place.’

He chuckled, while finally getting go of her hand. She couldn’t stop admiring how his eyes crinkled when he smiled.

‘Can I drop you home?’

‘I have some work to finish - you carry on.’

‘Ok. Looks like it’s gonna rain tonight so pls leave soon.’

Gosh, could this guy get any more charming?

‘Yeah, I will.’

Grudgingly, he went towards the door of the small cafe but looked back one final time.

‘Ananya - such a beautiful name.’

He said it perfectly this time and she gave him a hearty smile, exactly what he needed before he made his way out.

She fell back in her chair, buried her face in her hands and tried to make sense of what had just happened. Tomorrow was going to be nuts. She was going to see Zidane, who she loved to bits. She was gonna watch El Classico. And then, if Jude had his way, she was going to go out on a date with him.

………………………………………………………..

Author’s note: This is set in October and pls assume the classicos were reversed :)

Lots more to come, hope you liked the setup.

[thekatebridgerton]

Today on another episode of stories I'm too sleep deprived to write: Jekyll and Hyde Bridgerton boys au

Since the Bridgerton boys tend to get so bipolar around their love interest, what if it was actually a day/night curse that only true love can... blend in.

Take Anthony, Benedict and Colin, respectable gentlemen by day, rakes by night.

During daylight, Anthony is respectfully courting Edwina and trading barbs with Kate, but during any night time ball he's cornering Kate in dark libraries and whispering sensually in her ear about all the things he wants to do to her. Kate finds him distasteful at first, easily cluing in that during daylight hours, Anthony is too rational to attempt to seduce her, and running away from him during night time balls, but his changes in mood are getting out of hand, she's taken to staying at home for the past number of balls and Edwina swears that Viscount Bridgerton is beginning to scare her. The less of Kate he sees at night, the more his ungentleman side wants to have her. And Kate is running out of options to avoid him, she's falling for him and if she doesn't do something drastic she's going to end up ruined, or worse, married to the insufferable man, so in a last ditch attempt to save herself she's just announced she's going to India... Now Anthony's unrestrained side has started blending in with his good one in an attempt to stop Kate from leaving him and it's not good, not good at all

Benedict thought he was spared the most unsavory sides of the curse, some night time debauchery here and there was a small price to pay for keeping his reputation as the ton's darling. That until he met the lady in silver, and for the first time the wild side of the curse got out of control. The one that got away drove his nocturnal self mad with want. For 2 years he fought against it only for Sophie Beckett to bring it out of him more strongly than before. Sophie Beckett isn't scared of anything, she should be scared of Benedict, who gets her a job in the morning, then demands she be his mistress at night. But she's figured that even at his worst she can push him back and he won't hurt her. Sure he's determined to help her establish herself independently during daylight and demands she depend only on him during his nighttime adventures, but Sophie is strong, she's dealt with worse. At least until gentlemen daylight Benedict starts seducing her in a very rakish way. And wild untamed nighttime Benedict starts romancing her like a gentleman in love

Colin... Well Colin has always known he's cursed. He learned to work around it, keeping his darker nature under control with decadent food and debauched travels and the occasional gambling. Until Penelope Featherington asked his nighttime self for a kiss and got in the way of his neatly laid plans. Penelope is clever, too clever, his daylight self might hate her, but oh his nighttime self can't live without her and she thrives on it. Truly it irks Colin to know that she prefers him at his worst during the night and rejects his at his best during daylight. She with her lady Whistledown secrets, smiling as she indulges his every hungry whim during secret nighttime meetings and then pretends the man she's taken for lover is not Colin Bridgerton. If she didn't frustrate him so, he might think himself inlove with her. Penelope Featherington knows Colin's secret, truthfully she doesn't mind if he knows hers, as lady Whistledown its only fair that he knows she can ruin his life if he dares to ruin hers. His nighttime self is fun, savage, and completely enamored with her body, nothing like daylight Colin. Penelope adores that side of him. Part of her doesn't even want to admit they're the same person because Daylight Colin is the popular charmer of the ton who can't even look her in the eye and calls her his dear friend. But nighttime Colin is hers and he doesn't demand anything out of her as her lover, truly its the best arrangement in the world... That is until an overprotective Colin Bridgerton ravishes her in a carriage and proposes marriage in front of all her family, all in the same morning. Could it be his two personalities are blending??

And Gregory Bridgerton, he's seventeen and afraid, very afraid about when he'll reach a point where his curse will be triggered and what that will mean for his best friend Lucy Abernathy. Because Greg knows he's going to respect Lucy till the day he dies, but he also knows he can't live without her and he can almost feel the want in his bones, how little it would take for his Lucy to be his undoing and the reason he needs to lock himself up at night... It's going to happen eventually but Gregory hopes it takes longer than a few years, for Lucy's sake and for his own.

[pop-goes-the-weasel]

Tumblr, allow me to present a Substack I have started: Tagore Tales.

Rabindranath Tagore is the first non-white Nobel Laureate and is a polymath commonly most known for his poetry. He is among the most significant litterateurs of South Asia, who lived through and participated in the tumultuous days of India's Independence Movement, all while founding a University and advocating for social development.

This Substack will focus on his short stories. All his writing is in public domain, but many of the translations are not. Thus, I will be sharing some of my own

This humble effort by yours truly to acquaint you with the stories that touch the heart of nearly every Bengali child in school and still serve as our guiding light in a rapidly deteriorating world.

See you on the 9th of May!

[ant111fragile]

Hiiiiiiiiiiiii. Ok let me introduce myself. my name is seri. I’m a master shifter and my main destinations are different points in history. I have no idea why history isn’t more popular in the shifting community. Like the things I’ve experienced first hand are amazing. Like I’ve seen things with my own eyes that we learn about in history textbooks. It’s the most amazing experience. I’ve been to alot of drs too like hogwarts, mcu, fame, love dr, avatar and so many more but nothing compares to seeing our worlds history for myself.

Some of my fave times I’ve been too: ( I changed my gender to a boy for most of these drs because I wouldn’t be able to experience it properly as a woman because of the time periods and I didn’t want to change history )

The making of the pyramids

Cleopatras ruling

King Tutankhamen

The making of the Great Wall of China

The first man to land on the moon ( I scripted I was a part of crew for the mission )

Queen Elizabeth the firsts ruling

The independence of America

The battle of Hastings

Ancient Greek

Ancient Rome

Seeing the Mona Lisa being made

Meeting Vincent Van Gogh

The Black Death ( I didn’t go to see people die I lived as a part of the government cause I always wanted to know how they tried to deal with it. There was so much panic )

Seeing Martin Luther kind jr give his “ I have a dream” speech in person

The crowning of queen elizabeth the seconds coronation

Meeting William Shakespeare

The Christmas truce

Pompeii before it way destroyed ( it was beautiful )

Seeing the 7 wonders of the ancient world

Hanging garden of babylon

Seeing ancient structures when they were actually In use ( the colosseum, temple of Hera, so many more I can’t even list )

Getting the great honour to learn kalaripayattu in ancient India

And genuinely just getting to live life seeing these people go about their own lives. Beautiful

I’m not going to list anymore cause there so many but I have experienced the beginning of the first humans millions of years ago to the making of the I phone. I am so honoured I get to experience these events and meet the people in the stories we learn. It’s crazy because to us it’s this amazing history we can only imagine but to them it’s just life. They no nothing else. They don’t know how truely incredible they are in our history. I can’t wait to experience more. Maybe one day I’ll even go into the future. Who knows.

Also something else I did was meet Van Gogh and take him to the dr future to the Van Gogh museum so he can see he wasn’t a failure. So he could see he made it. I took this idea after watching doctor who and it was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. I still get chills. To see this man who died thinking he was nothing getting to see a the future where he is known as one of the greatest artists of all time. My favorite shifting experience ever

Woooaaahhhh!! That's like suppoerr cooll!! I'm so happy for you and that is such a cool idea ajajajsk😭❣️

[unhetalia]

"Timed Choice"

Word Count: 1,011.

Rating: Teen. Contains mentioned England/Portugal.

Summary: The day America tells you he's going to get over you, you realise you're in love with him.

Notes: Written for @usukweek Day 2 - Time. A quick one, once again not yet edited. This one isn't as clear in it's connection to 'time' as my fairy tale fic, but hopefully still works!

***

“Um, England, I was wondering if I could talk to you after the meeting.”

It’s America, looking uncharacteristically unsure. He’s approached you during a short recess, and you’re ready to refuse him - you have plans with Portugal, who is obviously more important to you than an ex-colony you barely get along with. Still, for some reason you agree, adding as long as you make it quick to your affirmative just so he knows not to waste your time.

“It will be,” he assures. It’s so odd to see him serious.

You wait for America when the meeting ends, and he leads you to a private meeting room. You’re surprised, since the rooms require someone to book them. Apparently, this talk is important enough that America had organised it beforehand. You start getting nervous, you wonder if America’s about to tell you something catastrophic about the economy, or advise you that his government is pulling out of something that requires American intervention. Bugger.

You take a seat, and he sits in front of you. 

“Firstly, I just wanted to say this meeting isn’t about politics or work,” America starts. You feel relief sweep through your body, though now you’re curious. What does America have to say to you that isn’t work-related?

“And to be honest, this is hard enough, so I’d really like it if you just… let me say everything I need to say first, okay?” he asks. 

Normally you’d protest, but the relief from not having to deal with a secret recession or having to tell his boss the Americans are pulling out of so-and-so project makes you more amenable. “Fine,” you grumble. “You have ten minutes! I have to meet Portugal for dinner.”

You see America fail to hide a wince. For some reason, he doesn’t seem to like Portugal, though he hides it well. You wonders if this is America trying to air his grievances about your boyfriend. Well, tough luck, you think. I’m not breaking up with him just because you don’t like him. You gave up being my little brother in the 1700s, you don’t get to interfere in my romantic life.

“Look,” America begins. “I know you’re with Portugal, and I’m not trying to get you to break up with him. I just feel like I need to say this, for me, you know?”

Is he actually going to complain to me about my boyfriend?

“The truth is, it’s time for me to be honest. More importantly, it’s time for me to move on…” America pauses, and you wait for him to continue. You decide that if he complains about Portugal, you’ll interrupt him, no matter what you’d agreed to do before, but for now you keep your mouth shut. 

“The truth is, I feel like I’ve always been waiting for you. When I was a kid, I was always waiting for you to come back from wherever you were. When I gained independence, I had to wait for you to see me as a country, then as an adult….”

America takes a deep breath. “Then when I first realised I was in love with you, you were with India. When you and her broke up, you got super drunk and told me that you’d never fall in love again. So I waited for you to feel ready, but I guess I timed it all wrong because a year later you were with Portugal.”

You know you’re gaping. You were ready to argue with him - it wasn’t your fault you always had to leave back then - but now all you can think about is the fact that America has just said he’s in love with you. America. In love with you. What? When? How? Why? You genuinely can’t comprehend what America has just told you, and yet he keeps going, not even giving you the courtesy to digest everything he’s saying.

“I realised lately that I’ve still been waiting for you, and how unfair that was to both of us. It was unfair of me to wish you’d break up with a boyfriend you’re happy with, and it was unfair of me to - to waste my time on something that would never happen. I talked about it with my sis - Maria watches a lot of those dramas so she’s like, an expert, and she told me the first step to moving on is closure. I needed to like, just rip the bandaid off and tell you, I guess. Tell you that I loved you for so goddamn long but that I’m trying to move on. I’m gonna do the whole shebang - go on stupid dates and meet a few murderers on Grindr before eventually falling in love with someone who loves me back.”

America finishes his spiel. “So yeah. That’s it, I guess. You don’t need to feel obligated to say anything. I just… needed to do this. Sorry if it was awkward, or if I’ve made future meetings weird for you… I promise I’m gonna be totally chill!” 

You try to find words - any words - but you can’t. America stands and starts to leave, offering a quick goodbye and an aborted pat on your shoulder. You want to stop him, tell him to sit back down and go through everything again, step by step. You don’t. You just allow him to leave.

When he’s gone, you sit in the empty meeting room. Your whole world has shifted, because today America told you that he’s been in love with you for years in the same breath he told you he’s going to get over you, and in doing so it made you realise - 

Well, he’s made you realise he was an option all that time. And it dawns on you that had you known he was an option, you would have picked him with no hesitation. You’re ten years into a relationship, and it took a five minute conversation to destroy it and make you want something that’s just been taken off the table.

What now?

You guess this time, it’s your turn to wait. 

[dyns33]

Down the Pit - Part 2

I think I'll make like 5 or 6 part for this story. While writing other Bane's stories, because I love the man.

Tag : @jaxitaxibolehlaf (I remembered, I hope you'll like it)

It had been almost five years since Y/N had left the Pit.

The world had continued to turn, she had found a new job, a bigger apartment, but nothing made sense anymore.

Out of curiosity, Y/N had done some research on Ra's al ghul, but it had yielded nothing. No information either on the infernal prison of India, on Talia or Bane.

She held out hope that just typing these names into Google or whispering them in the street would one day bring them up, since the ninja leader had found her that way the first time.

It was also possible, even certain, that he had never lost sight of her since. Y/N didn’t feel like she was being monitored, but they were probably very good at it. It wouldn't make any difference if she indicated that she wanted them to show themselves, they would stay hidden.

Maybe if they made a lot of noise, they would have moved. By going to an independent journalist to tell them her whole story, with the certainty that he would publish even if she had no proof to offer.

But they would find a way to make it all disappear. They would kill the journalist, and maybe they would kill her too.

So Y/N waited, without really waiting, remaining alone with her memories and her nightmares.

However, she didn't think about all that at all when someone knocked on her door and she went to open it without looking at who it was.

The girl was brunette, her hair tied in a messy ponytail. Her large almost black eyes stared at her while her face remained impassive. The clothes she wore were slightly too big, as if she didn't know how to dress or had grabbed what she could. She couldn't have been more than thirteen or fourteen.

It's been almost five years. But it only took a moment, a brief moment, for Y/N to forget how to breathe, taking the girl into her arms.

“Talia !” she cried, hugging her tightly. "Talia, I'm so happy to see you. I missed you so much !"

"… I missed you too." the little girl whispered, shyly returning her embrace.

Obviously, her father didn't hold her often. The master of the League of Shadows, as Talia told her it was called, preferred to train her so that she would be ready to take his place when the time came.

It wasn't really the life Y/N would have wanted for the little girl she had practically raised in the Pit. It had nothing to do with the bedtime stories she told her.

While eating chocolate for the first time, Talia told her about what she was learning from her instructor, a man named Barsad. The girl didn't like him too much, because he was too strict and he had vulture eyes according to her.

In addition to basic lessons like writing, math, and geography, Talia learned to fight, kill, manipulate weak minds, lead troops of soldiers, and many other things a child of her age shouldn't have to learn.

Locked in a temple in the Himalayas, she had only seen the things Y/N had told her about in pictures. Except the snow. There was a lot of snow, an intense cold, absolutely not alleviated by the people around her.

That was why Talia had decided to look for Y/N as soon as she had the chance. Her father had told her that she had abandoned her, leaving her in his care while begging to be sent home, and with the promise that she would never hear from the child again.

"I believed him… I was young and stupid. I hated you for a long time, and then I realized that he must have been lying, because you would never have done that ! You wouldn't have left me. When Barsad told me I was going on my first overseas mission, I knew it was time."

Thanks to everything he had taught her, it was easy to escape the surveillance of Barsad and his men. After finding a disguise, Talia had managed to get to Gotham without attracting attention, until she found Y/N's apartment.

It might have been difficult, but with her training, stalking someone was perfectly natural.

In addition to the need to see Y/N again, Talia also wanted to see the world she had dreamed of so much when she was in the Pit.

The plane had scared her a little, she wasn't sure she liked the city with all the noises, the smells, the lights, but seeing so many people was fascinating for her.

The feeling of new freedom was exhilarating. She could go wherever she wanted, whenever she wanted, talk to whoever she wanted, eat whatever she wanted… And Talia wanted it all.

"I want to watch TV ! I want to dance ! I want to go to the beach !" the little princess of shadows almost ordered, jumping around in circles in the living room. “Now, now, now !”

"Calm down, Talia. You should probably call your father, he'll be worried."

"I don't care ! He lied to me. I want to try pizza."

"And… What about Bane ? Have you heard from Bane ?" Y/N asked with a bit of fear.

Talia stopped jumping, staring at her with a serious look. For a moment, Y/N trembled, thinking that she was going to tell her that he was dead, or that Ra's al ghul had refused to go get him.

"Bane… is fine. I'll call him."

There were many things her father had denied her, but going to save the man who had kept her safe since birth didn't seem possible.

Since he was strong and intelligent, as well as being completely devoted to Talia, it was decided that he could be useful, and he was allowed to join the League of Shadows. He quickly became an important member, earning the title of lieutenant.

Talia didn't see him often, at least not as often as she would have liked. As if he didn't want them to be together, her father sent Bane on missions outside the temple very regularly, and when he didn't have to report, he trained the new recruits.

Obedient, because he owed him his life and respect, the giant still found time to come and see Talia training. He asked Barsad, whom he treated like a brother, to give him news and watch over her in his absence.

Shyly, the girl admitted that he hadn't spoken about Y/N once since he was taken out of the Pit. No questions, no worries. Perhaps he also believed that she had abandoned them, or perhaps he had understood that their leader did not want her to be part of their lives.

The call was quick, calm. Talia gave the address where she was, firmly requesting that Bane and no one else come pick her up. No doubt she wanted to offer them a moment alone, all three of them, like before.

The tension was almost palpable when three knocks were given on the door. As Y/N took a deep breath, she was held back by the girl, who stared at her with great seriousness, but also what looked like fear.

“Promise me you’ll always love him.”

"… What ?"

"You love Bane. Nothing has changed."

"Of course. Why are you so worried ? Do you think… Do you think he doesn't want to be here ?"

"He'll be the happiest of all. Promise me."

Y/N promised her. She understood better the reasons for this insistence when she opened the door.

Taller than she remembered, Bane stood still until she invited him inside. Like his pupil, his eyes showed nothing, the only part of his face visible between a hat and a huge scarf.

It wasn't exactly cold outside, but since he was coming from a snowy mountain, Y/N figured he didn't have time to check the temperature of Gotham.

As he greeted Talia, he seemed to hesitate. It was not polite to keep his face hidden like that. With a gesture of her head, the young girl gave him a silent order. Then the presence of the scarf was clear.

The mask was strange. Impossible to say if it was so complicated and imposing for technical reasons, or also in order to scare.

For a moment, Y/N was afraid. But not because of Bane. More for him, wondering why he had that horrible mask, what had happened to him, but not knowing if she had the right to ask such a thing.

When he first spoke, his voice was weird, distorted. The pronunciation was also not normal. Sparing her any torture, between asking and staying in the dark.

"The other prisoners didn't accept that I help you escape. With everyone against me, I didn't have the slightest chance. But the doctor finished the job, trying to treat me."

“You… Are you in pain ?”

"No."

She wanted to know more, but Y/N decided now wasn’t the time. She would see later if he could remove it or if it might kill him. It didn't matter anyway, as she had promised Talia.

Instead, she held him in her arms, as she had held the child, letting her tears fall. This seemed to scare the giant, but he stood still, letting her do so.

"I missed you both so much. I'm so happy you're here."

"… Habibi." he whispered, his head leaning slightly to rest against hers.

The separaton was not easy.

Talia did not want to leave, while fully understanding that her father would not accept her staying. There would be consequences. Bane knew it too, and he was more adult, even if Y/N sometimes felt his hand brushing against hers, hesitant to take it.

No doubt he wouldn't have had the will to let go of her if he had given in.

Before agreeing to return to the temple, the young girl called her father, to present an absolutely insincere apology, promising to focus on her training, if in exchange she had the right to stay in contact with Y/N.

Ra's agreed, reluctantly. He knew nothing could stop his child anyway.

"We'll be back soon. I'll call you every day."

"You promise ?"

"Yes !" Talia said solemnly with bright eyes.

"The master agreed for you to come back. He didn't say anything about me."

"You are my protector. You will have to come with me, that's logical."

Translation, her father would have no choice. He had managed to separate them once, he wouldn't have that chance again. And since he was clever, he saw that the compromise was fair.

His daughter would continue to follow her destiny, as the future leader of the League of Shadows, not sticking to Bane when she was with her followers, but she would have the small freedom to see him and be with Y/N when she went in Gotham, from time to time.

All that remained was to define this time.

But since Y/N had waited five years, she was willing to wait a few more months, knowing now that they were fine, and that she could call them if she missed them too much.

[mapsontheweb]

The Hellenistic world

"Atlante storico tascabile", Istituto Geografico De Agostini, Novara,1999

via cartesdhistoire

In 323 BC, Alexander died without heirs, possibly from the plague. His empire, already facing insurrectionary movements, did not outlive him. His generals, the Diadochi, began a protracted struggle for power: Antipater in Macedonia, Lysimachus in Thrace, Ptolemy in Egypt, Antigonus Monophthalmos in Asia Minor and Syria, and Seleucus in Babylon.

The first phase of the war among the Diadochi concluded at Ipsus in Phrygia in 301 BC, with the "battle of the kings." Lysimachus, Seleucus, and Cassander, son of Antipater, defeated Antigonus, who had been consistently victorious until then. Seleucus and Ptolemy, prudent rulers, founded dynasties destined for long endurance, even though they were not immune to the temptation of rebuilding Alexander's empire. The focal point of the conflict became Macedonia, and long wars ensued for its dominion.

The Epigones, successors of the Diadochi, instead supported the status quo. The kings of Egypt and Syria founded new cities, respecting the rights of existing poleis.

Nearly all Hellenistic kings surrounded themselves with scholars, artists, and scientists. Ptolemy I founded the largest library of antiquity in Alexandria, Egypt.

In 277 BC, the Galatians, of Celtic descent, settled in Asia Minor. Some provinces declared independence, including the kingdom of Pergamon, a city renowned for being built on terraces, distinguished by the splendor of its culture and art, exemplified by a library of 400,000 volumes.

The kingdom of Bactria, situated in the northern region of present-day Afghanistan, was also significant, representing the eastern extent of Hellenistic influence and serving as a crossroads between the cultures of the Mediterranean region and those of China and India.

Antiochus III, the greatest of the Seleucids, expanded the empire's territories. However, the invasion of Greece in 192 BC triggered a war with Rome. Following the war, the king was compelled to accept peace, marking the beginning of the inexorable decline of his empire.

[bfpnola]

definitely a longer piece so these excerpts are far from showcasing everything this piece has to offer! read the whole thing on your own time, and in general, just check out jewish currents, an educational, leftist, anti-zionist jewish magazine!

Every August, the township of Edison, New Jersey—where one in five residents is of Indian origin—holds a parade to celebrate India’s Independence Day. In 2022, a long line of floats rolled through the streets, decked out in images of Hindu deities and colorful advertisements for local businesses. People cheered from the sidelines or joined the cavalcade, dancing to pulsing Bollywood music. In the middle of the procession came another kind of vehicle: A wheel loader, which looks like a small bulldozer, rumbled along the route bearing an image of Indian Prime Minister Narendra Modi aloft in its bucket. For South Asian Muslims, the meaning of the addition was hard to miss. A few months earlier, during the month of Ramadan, Indian government officials had sent bulldozers into Delhi’s Muslim neighborhoods, where they damaged a mosque and leveled homes and storefronts. The Washington Post called the bulldozer “a polarizing symbol of state power under Narendra Modi,” whose ruling Bharatiya Janata Party (BJP) is increasingly enacting a program of Hindu supremacy and Muslim subjugation. In the weeks after the parade, one Muslim resident of Edison, who is of Indian origin, told The New York Times that he understood the bulldozer much as Jews would a swastika or Black Americans would a Klansman’s hood. Its inclusion underscored the parade’s other nods to the ideology known as Hindutva, which seeks to transform India into an ethnonationalist Hindu state. The event’s grand marshal was the BJP’s national spokesperson, Sambit Patra, who flew in from India. Other invitees were affiliated with the Hindu Swayamsevak Sangh (HSS), the international arm of the Hindu nationalist paramilitary force Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS), of which Modi is a longtime member.

...

On December 6th, 1992, a mob of 150,000 Hindus, many of whom were affiliated with the paramilitary group the RSS, gathered at the Babri Masjid, a centuries-old mosque that is one of the most contested sacred sites in the world. Over the preceding century, far-right Hindus had claimed that the mosque, located in the North Indian city of Ayodhya, was built not only upon the site where the Hindu deity Ram was born but atop the foundations of a demolished Hindu temple. The RSS and its affiliates had been campaigning to, in the words of a BJP minister, correct the “historical mistake” of the mosque’s existence, a task the mob completed that December afternoon. “They climbed on top of the domes and tombs,” one witness told NPR. “They were carrying hammers and these three-pronged spears from Hindu scripture. They started hacking at the mosque. By night, it was destroyed.” The demolition sparked riots that lasted months and killed an estimated 2,000 people across the country.

The destruction of the Babri Masjid was arguably Hindu nationalism’s greatest triumph to date. Since its establishment in 1925, the RSS—whose founders sought what one of them called a “military regeneration of the Hindus,” inspired by Mussolini’s Black Shirts and Nazi “race pride”—had been a marginal presence in India: Its members held no elected office, and it was temporarily designated a terrorist organization after one of its affiliates shot and killed Mohandas Gandhi in 1948. But the leveling of the Babri Masjid activated a virulently ethnonationalist base and paved the way for three decades of Hindutva ascendance. In 1998, the BJP formed a government for the first time; in 2014, it returned to power, winning a staggering 282 out of 543 seats in parliament and propelling Modi into India’s highest office. Since then, journalist Samanth Subramanian notes, all of the country’s governmental and civil society institutions “have been pressured to fall in line” with a Hindutva agenda—a phenomenon on full display in 2019, when the Supreme Court of India awarded the land where the Babri Masjid once stood to a government run by the very Hindu nationalists who illegally destroyed it. (Modi has since laid a foundation stone for a new Ram temple in Ayodhya, an event that a prominent RSS activist celebrated with a billboard in Times Square.) The Ayodhya verdict came in the same year that Modi stripped constitutional protections from residents of the Muslim-majority region of Kashmir and passed a law that creates a fast track to citizenship for non-Muslim immigrants, laying the groundwork for a religious test for Indian nationality. Under Modi, “the Hinduization of India is almost complete,” as journalist Yasmeen Serhan has written in The Atlantic.

To achieve its goals, the RSS has worked via a dense network of organizations that call themselves the “Sangh Parivar” (“joint family”) of Hindu nationalism. The BJP, which holds more seats in the Indian parliament than every other party combined, is the Sangh’s electoral face. The Vishwa Hindu Parishad (VHP) is the movement’s cultural wing, responsible for “Hinduizing” Indian society at the grassroots level. The Bajrang Dal is the project’s militant arm, which enforces Hindu supremacy through violence. Dozens of other organizations contribute money and platforms to the Sangh. The sheer number of groups affords the Sangh what human rights activist Pranay Somayajula has referred to as a “tactical politics of plausible deniability,” in which the many degrees of separation between the governing elements and their vigilante partners shields the former from backlash. This explains how, until 2018, the CIA could describe the VHP and Bajrang Dal as “militant religious organizations”—a designation that applies to non-electoral groups exerting political pressure—even as successive US governments have maintained a warm relationship with their parliamentary counterpart, the BJP.

...

The most extreme figures in the Hindu nationalist and Zionist movements were especially frank about the nature of their partnership: “Whether you call them Palestinians, Afghans, or Pakistanis, the root of the problem for Hindus and Jews is Islam,” Bajrang Dal affiliate Rohit Vyasmaan told The New York Times of his friendly relationship with Mike Guzofsky, a member of a violent militant group connected to the infamous Jewish supremacist Meir Kahane’s Kach Party.

...

In 2003, Gary Ackerman—a Jewish former congressman who was awarded India’s third-highest civilian honor for helping to found the Congressional Caucus on India—told a gathering of AJC and AIPAC representatives and their Indian counterparts that “Israel [is] surrounded by 120 million Muslims,” while “India has 120 million [within].” Tom Lantos, another Jewish member of the caucus, likewise enjoined the two communities to collaborate: “We are drawn together by mindless, vicious, fanatic, Islamic terrorism.”

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 7/2/2024

as of friday i have lived in texas for a full year. that's the most neutrally diplomatic thing i can say about my time in this state so far

listening

i did a lot of driving last week and had the first album from genshin impact's legally-not-France nation on loop bc it's a lot of vivaldi inspired stuff and i find that soothing. however! one of my favorite pieces of music from this nation is this battle track. i don't have any music words but i do like the.. pipe organ emphasis? on the little flourish at 0:28. catholic brain go brrrr

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reading

thank you mackintosh.

i liked gotham city: year one! many many many callbacks but framed in a way "and this is the start of the blueprint for how everything would go" which made me less annoyed than callbacks for their own sake. a very chandler-esque take on noir, by which i mean a fundamentally good (but tired) man gets beaten to shit and survives a doublecross as he unravels a fucked up little family dynamic for the pure nosy sake of unraveling it.

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watching

The Ministry of Ungentlemanly Warfare (2024, dir. Ritchie). a spy/action/comedy thing about Operation Postmaster, a wwii special operation off the west coast of Africa to disrupt nazi u-boat supplies.

i did not like this at all.

i generally like a guy ritchie film-- the holmes duolgy are movies i would happily rewatch at any time, but this one is very flat. there's very little banter and remarkably little dialogue-- long stretches of this film are of people getting from place to place in perfect silence. even the soundtrack is remarkably toned down. most of it sounds like ai-generatred morricone (very few of the musical passages like. resolve in any sensible manner. there is no theming and no noticeable leitmotif. one of the worst covers of mack the knife ive ever heard is at the climax of the fuckin film. what if someone ominously tapped a hihat to create tension for literally half the movie with NO other accompaniment). when it doesn't sound ai-generated and kind of off (morricone's cowboy western work is not what i expect for a largely seafaring wwii movie) it sounds like they rented a jazz five-piece for a weekend. one of the worst soundtracks i've ever heard. it was extremely distracting.

this is a heist movie that never really figured out how to effectively intercut actions its team is independently taking. there are also a lot of places where the cuts are very strange, especially in the final harbor scene flicking back and forth from the land crew to the boat crew. just felt very underbaked as a movie. i was frequently bored. not an effective comedy, action, or spy movie. just barely a coherent war movie, though not a very enjoyable one.

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playing

the breath of the wild to genshin ripoff pipeline is pretty clear, esp in the legally-not-India nation with lots of legally-not-koroks. u get a bunch of chests and achievements if u find all 76, i finally sat down on friday with an hour-long walkthough video and found them all. every single four-leaf clover sigil is where one of these fuckers was. and to get to this point, i had to do a whole DIFFERENT quest chain with different collectibles to unlock some of the legally-not-koroks and also make room on my map to free up 76 markers. very annoying process. i fucking hate collectibles for the sake of collectibles and padding out gameplay. i could not imagine doing this if i were employed

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making

cross stitch update.

i got this belt for the ren faire when my sister came down, finally got around to pulling it out of the freezer and cleaning it the other day, and it was what i can only call yucky-disgusting. an inordinate amount of scunge for a belt with very few signs of wear. it's impossible to photograph bc it's quite late and i did not think to take a before shot, but it straight up changed color. it is much lighter now

[genericpuff]

This anon is Portuguese :D

So there's a few tidbits that I really enjoy:

- In Portuguese, there's a word that inspires a big part of our culture (music, literature, paintings, you name it), which is saudade. It describes the feeling of longing for something that is gone, may it be temporarily or permanently.

- We have quite a few legends in the country but my favorite is about the death of Inês de Castro. For context: one of our Kings, D. Pedro I, fell in love with his arranged wife's aid, Inês de Castro. But since Inês has ties to the neighboring kingdom, Pedro's father feared a loss of independence and had her assassinated in the Quinta das Lágrimas.

Now the legend is about the consequences of the assassination: D. Pedro went mad in his grief, battled his own father and hunted after the assassins. He only caught 2 of them and proceeded to execute them by ripping their hearts out, one through the front and the other through the back. He also declared Inês queen and had her corpse be sat on the throne and her hand kissed by the court. There's even records of this, if I recall correctly.

- We have a genre of music called the Fado, very celebrated in Portugal. Unfortunately it's not as popular anymore but it's still a iconic part of our culture here. I don't personally know much about it though but I do encourage looking into it, if anyone wants to listen to a few of those songs :]

- We have had plenty of amazing writers: poets like Fernando Pessoa, novelists like José Saramago, all pretty influential in Portuguese culture but none as important as Luís de Camões (Portugal Day is even on the day he supposedly died). This man was a poet and one of his works, The Lusiads, is pretty much THE Portuguese piece of literature. It's considered an epic, which has over 1k stanzas total and is a hero-ified tale of the first travels to India that passed below South Africa, back in the 15th century.

Aaahhh these are all wonderful! I wanna read more about Inês now ( ; ω ; ) (and I'm def gonna hunt down The Lusiads and read up on it!!) Thank you for sharing!!! <3

[sometipsygnostalgic]

The myth of the "Third World"

There is this false notion of "lesser economically developed countries", or "third world countries", wherein people from the "more economically developed countries" believe if the other places Did It Right, then they would become as prosperous and have as high living standards as the "first world".

This is false, because the "first world"'s entire way of living depends entirely on the "third world" taking a different trajectory.

There is literally no possible way for China to live like the UK without, for example, dominating other countries and using them as their main means of production instead, which is what the UK and the USA and France and Germany have done. We have exported our industries and imported all the benefits they bring.

This is why environmentalism is a fucking joke. The UK is so proud of being a greener country but we are simply exporting all our enviromental damage to China and India by having all our factories made there, and having all our vegetation made elsewhere in Europe. We make charts and say we are doing better! Our emissions are down! Look, we've banned petrol cars from London! Then we point to China and go, look how bad their environmental standards are! Look how bad that air pollution is!

Who is responsible for the air pollution in China? It isn't the Chinese. What if one day, China went "fuck this, your factories are ruining our lives and we aren't going to run them anymore"? Would China just get sanctioned into oblivion? Would they lose all the completely necessary economic development that the UK claims China is so behind on?

That's it though, if you're not top of the food chain like the UK was a century or so ago, you need to take a different route to get there because you haven't got the same means of enslavement and resources. And that either involves the domination of nearby countries, and exporting resources there to improve local quality of life, or it involves sacrificing your own environment in order to become an economically powerful country.

I think a lot of people in the UK still don't understand the great power that China and India have developed taking this path, they don't understand that if those countries stopped cooperating, the UK would die within a couple of months. We are not a strong, independent country with a good quality of life. We are like an old abusive relative who is taking advantage of our background of colonialism to exploit countries that are working way harder and better to grow.