User:Casimir Declan O'Conchobhar
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[edit] CASIMIR RURAIDH DECLAN FECHIN O'CONCHOBHAR
Name: Pratap Patrick Paikaray [Pratibha Rani Sixer]
Date of Birth: 29th October, 1972 CE
Languages Understood: Bangla, Bhojpuri, English, Hindi, Oriya and Urdu
Current Address: 2nd Room, 2nd Floor, Right Wing, 15/1 Robertson Road [Moore Road Cross], Frazer Town, Bangalore - 560005, Karnataka [India].
Permanent Address: Flat #129, Sector 28, Arun Vihar, NOIDA - 201303, Pashchimanchal, Uttar Pradesh [West], India [PHONE: 01204310967/09899137345].
Education: Undergraduate [II MBBS Part II, St. John's Medical College, Bangalore University]
Experience:
7 months marketing time shares as Global Vacations Counsellor at Resorts & Condiminiums International [RCI]
11 months as a Contract Salesperson selling Lee Jeans and Excalibur formals on the showroom floor for Arvind Mills [Bangalore]
11 months as a Hindi Tuition Teacher [Private]
22 months as Customer Service Agent at Firstsource [primarily selling clothes, lingerie & household goods to British customers of Reality Home Shopping Catalogues including Great Universal or GUS, Kays, Choice & Marshall Ward]: inbound voice process
18 months as [Desktop Hardware] Technical Support Expert [for customers in USA] at Dell International Services in Bengalooru: inbound voice process
7 months as Senior Customer Care Consultant [Internet Technical Support for customers in USA at AOL Time Warner in Bengalooru]: inbound voice process
13 months as Telemarketing Executive with 24/7 marketing Business Intelligence and Enterprise Performance Management id est, BI & BPM solutions to senior executives, CEOs & CFOs of enterprises in Holland [Feedback from Oracle & Hyperion EMEA Marketing Projects Manager, Ms Gabrielle Walker, 'a real treasure…the saving grace of the team']: outbound voice process
Interests:
Reading [Ecumenism, Epistemology, Literature, Physiology, Poetry, Psychology, Queer Theory, Sociology & Theology]: And further, by these, my son, be admonished: of making many books there is no end; and much study is a weariness of the flesh. [Ecclesiastes 12:12]
Music [Hindustani, Thumri, Ghazals, Qawwali, Classical, Rock, Folk, Country & Spirituals et al]
Films [Commercial and Art Films]
Choir [RC: Bass and Alto]
Writing and Proofreading
Favourite Books & Authors
Abha Dawesar [BABYJI]: Queer American
Abraham Verghese [MY OWN COUNTRY]: Queer American
Aldous Leonard Huxley [THE DOORS OF PERCEPTION]: English Literature
Alex Haley [ROOTS]: American History
Ali Smith [THE ACCIDENTAL]: Queer Celtic
Angelia R Wilson [A SIMPLE MATTER OF JUSTICE]: Queer Theory
Anthony de Mello, SJ [THE PRAYER OF THE FROG]: Asian Theology
Archibald Joseph Cronin [THE CITADEL]: Scottish Catholic
Arthur C Guyton [TEXTBOOK OF MEDICAL PHYSIOLOGY]: Medical Physiology
Arthur Golden [MEMOIRS OF A GEISHA]: Queer Japanese
Arundhati Roy [THE GOD OF SMALL THINGS]: Asian Catholic
Arvind Narrain [BECAUSE I HAVE A VOICE: QUEER POLITICS IN INDIA]: Queer Theory
Bapsi Sidhwa [ICE CANDY MAN]: Zoroastrian Literature
Bibhuti Bhusan Banerjee [PATHER PANCHALI]: Asian Literature
Boris Leonidovich Pasternak [DOCTOR ZHIVAGO]: Ideological Literature
Bram Stoker [DRACULA]: Gothic Literature
Chakravarti Rajagopalachari [MAHABHARATA]: Mythological Epic
Charles John Huffam Dickens [A CHRISTMAS CAROL]: English Protestant
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie [HALF OF A YELLOW SUN]: African Catholic
Colleen McCullough [THE THORNBIRDS]: Australian Catholic
Daphne du Maurier [REBECCA]: British Literature
David Herbert Lawrence [LADY CHATTERLEY'S LOVER]: English Literature
Edward Ricardo Braithwaite [TO SIR, WITH LOVE]: Guyanese Romanticism
Ernest Hemingway [THE OLD MAN AND THE SEA]: Existential Literature
Fyodor Mikhailovich Dostoevsky [THE BROTHERS KARAMAZOV]: Russian Literature
Gabriel José García Márquez [ONE HUNDRED YEARS OF SOLITUDE]: Magical Realism
George Orwell [ANIMAL FARM]: Anglican Allegory
Gustave Flaubert [MADAME BOVARY]: French Realism
Harper Lee [TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD]: American Literature
Haruki Murakami [AFTER DARK]: Postmodern Literature
Herman Melville [MOBY DICK]: Adventure Epic
Ian McEwan [SATURDAY]: Celtic Existentialism
Irwin Allan Sealy [THE EVEREST HOTEL]: Queer Catholic
Jacques Dupuis, SJ [TOWARDS A CHRISTIAN THEOLOGY OF RELIGIOUS PLURALISM]: Asian Theology
Jeremy Leven [SATAN: HIS PSYCHOTHERAPY AND CURE BY THE UNFORTUNATE DR. KASSLER, JSPS]: Jewish American
Jerome David Salinger [THE CATCHER IN THE RYE]: American Existentialism
John Boswell [SAME SEX UNIONS IN PREMODERN EUROPE]: Queer History
John Irving [THE WORLD ACCORDING TO GARP]: Social Psychoanalysis
John Ronald Reuel Tolkien [THE LORD OF THE RINGS]: Celtic Mythology
John Saul [SUFFER THE CHILDREN]: Supernatural Horror
John Steinbeck [THE GRAPES OF WRATH]: Ideological Literature
Joseph Heller [SOMETHING HAPPENED]: Existential Modernism
Kahlil Gibran [THE PROPHET]: Asian Catholic
Kazuo Ishiguro [THE REMAINS OF THE DAY]: British Classic
Khaled Hosseini [THE KITE RUNNER]: American Romanticism
Khushwant Singh [TRAIN TO PAKISTAN]: Romantic Tragedy
Kiran Desai [THE INHERITANCE OF LOSS]: Indian Fiction
Luis M Bermejo, SJ [TOWARDS CHRISTIAN REUNION]: Basque Ecumenism
Margaret Munnerlyn Mitchell [GONE WITH THE WIND]: American History
Mark Twain [HUCKLEBERRY FINN]: American Literature
Mary Margaret Kaye [THE FAR PAVILIONS]: Indian History
Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley [FRANKENSTEIN]: Science Fiction
Michael Ondaatje [ANIL'S GHOST]: War Literature
Mohammed Marmaduke Pickthall [THE MEANING OF THE HOLY QURAN]: English Exegesis
Monica Ali [BRICK LANE]: British Feminism
Nathaniel Hawthorne [THE SCARLET LETTER]: Feminist Classic
Nikos Kazantzakis [THE LAST TEMPTATION OF CHRIST]: Greek Orthodox
Orhan Pamuk [SNOW]: Psychoanalytical Literature
Oscar Wilde [THE PICTURE OF DORIAN GRAY]: Queer Celtic
Peter Carey [OSCAR AND LUCINDA]: Existential Classic
Pierre-François-Marie-Louis Boulle [THE BRIDGE ON THE RIVER KWAI]: Historical Novel
Poppy Z Brite [EXQUISITE CORPSE]: Queer Classic
Rasipuram Krishnaswami Narayan [THE GUIDE]: Indian Literature
Robert James Waller [THE BRIDGES OF MADISON COUNTY]: American Romanticism
Rohinton Mistry [SUCH A LONG JOURNEY]: Zoroastrian Literature
Salman Rushdie [THE MOOR’S LAST SIGH]: Magical Realism
Sheldon B Kopp [IF YOU MEET THE BUDDHA ON THE ROAD, KILL HIM: THE PILGRIMAGE OF PSYCHOTHERAPY PATIENTS]: Jewish Philosophy
Shyam Selvadurai [SWIMMING IN THE MONSOON SEA]: Canadian Classic
Stephen Crane [THE RED BADGE OF COURAGE]: American History
Thomas Keneally [SCHINDLER'S LIST]: Historical Novel
Thomas Merton, OCSO [HE IS RISEN]: Trappist Theology
Tissa Balasuriya, OMI [MARY AND HUMAN LIBERATION]: Asian Mariology
Vikram Chandra [SACRED GAMES]: Partition Literature
Vladimir Nabokov [LOLITA]: American Metafiction
Walter Scott [IVANHOE]: Historical Novel
William Golding [THE LORD OF THE FLIES]: Neomanichaean Allegory
Yukio Mishima [CONFESSIONS OF A MASK]: Queer Existentialism
Zadie Smith [ON BEAUTY]: British Romanticism
[edit] DOGGERELS
BENEDICT XVI – PRATAP PATRICK PAIKARAY
Peace on earth: Goodwill to men!
They clapped and screamed and prayed
As gathered in their holy den
Their peace with God they made.
They fed on carrion grief
Which they sought with vulture's eye
And when the ship was on the reef
They lifted hands on high
And to the shipwrecked weary said
That they should sin no more
For yonder widow's son was dead
And little did she know
That in her dark confusion
Their voices would ensnare
Her soul in absolution
'coz Jesus dwelleth there!
OLDER – PRATAP PATRICK PAIKARAY
Autumn rains and funny skies
Stories of love, hate and lies
A strange unnerving primal call
The years like leaves about to fall.
The aching need to follow on
The evening sun, the indifferent morn
Memories of a different time
A chant with a familiar rhyme.
The priests at the altar of God
The heavy yoke upon the sod
The heedless early Yuletide thrill
The desolation upon the hill:
The succour of angels and of men
The questions how and why and when
The melody of an Autumn song
A different muse: 'tis been so long!
VIOLETS – PRATAP PATRICK PAIKARAY
Far 'yond the horizon he rides the black nightmare
Galloping onwards thro' the rain
Each breath he draws the world to dare
To calm the pursuit of his pain.
Thro' the bastions of tradition
Mosques and temples crossed
He rides yet 'yond the gates of fiction
'pon the mare he hors'd.
Sleek and black she snorts out fire
She flies on wings of lust
That thirsts for quenching of desire
Ere the twain return to dust.
The rainbow chides the mare borne Dost
To tarry: maybe stay
But he dreams of his nuptial toast
And the bed on which I lay.
His urgency sustains my soul
And guards my lonely night
While I [his sacrificial bowl]
Await the moon so bright
That 'twill burn me with its coldness
On the night that I shall pray
When he discards his harness
By the bed on which I lay.
WINTER LULLABY – PRATAP PATRICK PAIKARAY
Hush, gently walk ye stranger folk upon this beaten lane
And let the swaying oaks of yore repeat their tale again.
Why do their leafshorn naked limbs whisper, heave and sigh?
Why this music of melancholy from the brook that ripples nigh?
Linger yet upon this dale 'haps ye will comprehend
The silent words that speak of one who died without a friend.
Hearest ye the heinous crime that chilled men to the bone:
Her falt'rin' footsteps in these woods condemned to walk alone?
And how hope dwindled with each dusk, her cry of anguish died,
How parched lips loving waters spurned and how the sad brook cried!
The fall'n twigs her tomb became to guard from mortal sight
Her weary frame upon the dust: her journey thro' the night.
Hush! Gently walk ye stranger folk upon these beaten ways
E'en the Winter sunshine here shall bring warmth to your days!
For high above these treetops still the angels sing and weep
That lonesome tired passersby may rest awhile and sleep.
UGADI WITH DOCTOR ROSHAN DAS NAIR – PRATAP PATRICK PAIKARAY
A faithless heart that's loved before, a body touched and seen
And nights when pain just wouldn't go and places I've been;
Fears that gather round about and memories that now fade
A rock on a hillside jutting out: a game I often played.
Two centuries, five millennia that passed before we met
And futile rhymes that tell the hour when truth and terror set:
I hear howling in the wilderness, bones mingle in the mud;
Look! The sun is turned to darkness now; the moon has turned to blood!
[edit] ACRONYMS
AOL: America Online Time Warner
BI: Business Intelligence
BPM: Business Performance Management
CE: Common Era
COL: Colonel
DIS: Dell International Services
DR: Doctor
GB: Great Britain
HFM: Hyperion Financial Management
HS9: Hyperion System Nine
HUS: Hyperion Upstream Software
ICICI: Industrial Credit and Investment Corporation of India Limited
MBBS: Medicinæ Baccalavrevs et Baccalavrevs Chirvrgiæ [Bachelor of Medicine and Bachelor of Surgery]
NL: The Netherlands [Holland]
OCSO: Ordo Cisterciensis Strictioris Observantiae [Order of Cistercians of the Strict Observance]
OMI: Oblates of Mary Immaculate
PLN: Hyperion Planning
RC: Roman Catholic
RCI: Resorts & Condiminiums International
SJ: Society of Jesus
SQL: Structured Query Language
UK: [The] United Kingdom [of Great Britain and Northern Ireland]
UP: Uttar Pradesh
US: [The] United States
USA: [The] United States of America
[edit] SHORTLIST OF FAVOURITE BOOKS
ANIL'S GHOST: Michael Ondaatje
BABYJI: Abha Dawesar
CONFESSIONS OF A MASK: Yukio Mishima
EXQUISITE CORPSE: Poppy Z Brite
ICE CANDY MAN: Bapsi Sidhwa
MEMOIRS OF A GEISHA: Arthur Golden
MY OWN COUNTRY: Abraham Verghese
ON BEAUTY: Zadie Smith
OSCAR AND LUCINDA: Peter Carey
ROOTS: Alex Haley
SATAN: HIS PSYCHOTHERAPY AND CURE BY THE UNFORTUNATE DR. KASSLER, JSPS: Jeremy Leven
SOMETHING HAPPENED: Joseph Heller
SUFFER THE CHILDREN: John Saul
SWIMMING IN THE MONSOON SEA: Shyam Selvadurai
THE BRIDGES OF MADISON COUNTY: Robert James Waller
THE CATCHER IN THE RYE: Jerome David Salinger
THE EVEREST HOTEL: Irwin Allan Sealy
THE GUIDE: Rasipuram Krishnaswami Narayan
THE KITE RUNNER: Khaled Hosseini
THE LORD OF THE FLIES: William Golding
THE OLD MAN AND THE SEA: Ernest Hemingway
THE REMAINS OF THE DAY: Kazuo Ishiguro
THE WORLD ACCORDING TO GARP: John Irving
TO KILL A MOCKINGBIRD: Harper Lee
TRAIN TO PAKISTAN: Khushwant Singh
[edit] A TIME TO MOURN - PRATAP PATRICK PAIKARAY
"He was a pillar of the Church...," the priest droned on. Pillar, hah! He was more like the shivalingam of the Church with a milky Ganges spouting from its tip. Whatever was that sister of his drying her eyes for? Bitch! Angel always lamented she wouldn't discuss his woes with him. She'd just pretend the whole thing didn't exist. When Riaz ditched him and he went crying to her room, she started telling him how upset she was her tomato sauce tasted like pudding. Whore! Her angel was a sweetheart, her angel never looked at girls, her angel certainly didn't letch at guys, her angel was a born actor, a born comedian, those tears weren't real, it was just that her angel could act so convincingly he didn't need glycerine, her angel, her poor angel died of cancer, not AIDS -- bitch -- she killed him -- if she had listened, he wouldn't have gone crazy painting the town pink, tempting the furies and the Bug.
Funny they named him Angel -- considering the kind of things he liked to do with men, he would have had a miserable time getting the wings out of the way. Talking of angels, there is Lucifer himself looking sombre and perfectly ridiculous in his black sherwani. Funny how murderers make a religion out of attending their victims' funerals. I wonder how many Catholics he's sent to glory everlasting. He knows the responses by heart. He didn't send me though. How could I ever fall for his looks, his transparent serpentine guile -- serpentine as in the serpent of Eden -- that's nice, I'm thinking erudite, maybe I'm getting scholarly, even religious! I mean that Eden bit sounded like I got a doctorate in comparative religion.
"Lift up your hearts...
My heart, yes, but not my butt, I'm not standing, forget kneeling for this mumbo-jumbo. That hypocrite Riaz is kneeling now. I'm sure he gets kicks thinking how he's done in one more Catholic. He never forgave that Jesuit who molested him in school -- and I thought he was praying when he started coming for Mass to take me for a ride! I almost went Angel's way. Coming to think of it, that's what made me fall for Riaz. His acting, his mannerisms, the way he pulled faces, the way he'd pout when I said I had night-duty and just couldn't bunk it. That, and the fact he's Muslim. Muslim, ha! Lucifer's a kafir if ever one existed, but still he was circumcised and I have a fixation for circumcised cocks -- Muslim, not Jewish -- I'm not antisemitic, its just that the Jews I know are so cocky and self-assured [as if they were Einstein's kids and had siblings in Mossad], and have such ghastly olive complexions that I...well, they turn me off; for chrissake, I shouldn't be thinking like this, after all, it is Angel's funeral. Poor thing, he wasn't an actor, Angel was actually a seminarian, if he hadn't left the seminary when he did, he would have gone crazy. He wasn't philosophical, he was just a kid and too sentimental at that; when he cheated on his god, he left the seminary, and when Riaz cheated on him, he promptly went on a death spree and they say he hates rubber. That was asking for it. I wonder if we've slept with the same guys. There's Riaz of course, but Riaz doesn't have it so I probably don't have it. Besides I use those damn rubbers every now and then. I heard Saul doesn't use 'em either. There he is, Holy Virgin, a Jew in Church, but what the heck, I'm not antisemitic, I'm not even a Catholic, a lapsed Catholic perhaps. Hey! I'm getting really erudite, well, say fluent and articulate -- articulate, bullshit, I still stammer when Riaz looks at me like that.
Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day
Earth's joys grow dim, its glories pass away
Change and decayin' all around I see
O Thou Who changest not, abide with me!
There goes Mother Church, crooning a lullaby to put the sons of Sodom and Gomorrah to sleep. We aren't your kids Mama Rome. We got exchanged in hospital. Save your stupid songs for your real offspring -- the kind who go forth and multiply, and not in their Catholic homes either, I've seen them queue up in Lalbagh for quickies. Lalbagh of all places! At least our Cubbon Park's got class. And they call us perverts! Well damn them and their Catholic souls! Saul's weeping. Sop! His namesake killed Christians, became one and then fought with the first Pope so that Christians could keep their foreskins. Damn him and his namesake! At least he cared for Angel. I think he had a crush on him. Riaz tried to hook Saul as well but Saul's not dumb, he's Jewish after all and Malayalee at that. Riaz likes Jews. I think he's got a complex about being Muslim. I mean he hates Palestinians and loves Jews. And he loves being called Lucifer: Luci for short. Luci sounds like Lucy -- very queeny and camp, very pansy -- the perfect stereotype. But Riaz isn't pansy, he's Adonis. He's got Lucifer's looks except they say Lucifer's straight. Mama Rome thinks Lucifer's straight or else she would've burnt wizards and not witches on the stakes. How could I fall for his looks? He's got problems in life and not just about being Muslim. He's got problems about being gay, about being handsome, about everything, which is probably why he likes playing with other guys; it gives his neurotic self real kicks to see guys go crazy about him. I'm not on that list. I haven't gone crazy. I never believed in 'falling in love' to start with. The phrase itself sounds funny, like Lucifer's falling from grace -- whatever that means. I just used Riaz to confirm what I already believed. I didn't go crying to big sister. I didn't get drunk. I didn't get suicidal painting Cubbon Park pink, at least not the way Angel did.
The Bug's really eaten this guy. I mean his coffin's so light. Three of his four pallbearers are gay. There's Saul and he's looking at me queerly -- that's what they call us -- queer. Lucifer in his sherwani and David -- that's Angel's kid brother -- are hoisting Angel's feet. Can't those guys coordinate? They're practically running and its making Saul and me stumble in the slush. The clouds are gathering again. Does it never stop raining in this accursed place? At least now padré will stop acting solemn and get over with this instead of dragging it on like he loves to.
I am the Resurrection and the Life, he that believeth in me though he were dead yet shall he live and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.
Mother of God! They're putting Angel away. My poor Angel; I sang with him in the choir. No, I'm not a sop like Saul. He's looking at me again. We are all going to die. Last Sunday at Cubbon Park they were saying he'd got cancer. He had Kaposi’s all over his face for Chrissake, and they say he's got cancer! Cancer's fine but no one's talking about the Bug and half of them actually saw him doing it! Maybe that's why they're blind. They know we are all dying and it's just like Indians to pretend we're not. Fools! I'm patriotic enough but I'm no fool. Ken's from the States and he says rubber is religion there. But Indians, we'll attain common sense when we attain salvation, or damnation...whatever. Maybe the existential jokers have a point. We'll all die and therefore life's one big joke. "Let's get out of here. Why don't you drop in at my place?" Just like a Jew to make a pass at a funeral. But I do need to get away. Besides, it’s going to rain and Saul's got a bike. The road's slippery and the joker's speeding. At this rate we won't need the Bug to kill us.
"Take it easy, honey!"
"Relax Paddy! I know what I'm doing and it’s going to pour. We'll just about make it. And sit closer, I won't rape you. I'll lose my balance if you keep perching at the end."
That does it. He's slim, my type and quite attractive, never mind the olive complexion. And it makes me feel kinda kinky now that he's asked me home -- he's never invited Riaz. Besides, right now, we need each other. I'm sure Luci's in the Park, hunting for fresh prey. But Saul doesn't like rubber. Frankly, neither do I. Either way Indian rubbers are substandard. The WHO says so. Those jokers in Delhi have family planning in their thick skulls when they make rubbers. The Bug, however, is smaller than the male seed and gets through Indian rubbers like nobody's business and will help the Government cut the world's largest democracy to size in more ways than originally planned. And whoever thought up flavoured condoms! I mean if I wanted strawberry I'd go to Snow White's Icecream Parlour. Besides even doctors aren't sure about the actual risk involved in queer intercourse. At any rate, I'm sick of sex -- and men. Maybe I'll become a priest.
"Why don't you stay over?"
"Why not?" I'm going to relish celibacy. But I'll stay back. His skin's smooth -- like olives. Oh, oh! No kidding -- this'll be the last time.
