Tag Archives: jaipur

roopstar songs on youtube: new videos from the politicalpoet

dear readers,

i have a passion for music, and i come from a long line of singers. if you don’t know, now you know. here are a couple cuts i’ve been working on over here in kerela, south india. i grew up on hip hop and indian spirituals. so i riff off both of those styles when i sing or rap. enjoy. and remember, get your paper ladies, don’t let los tigres distract you. xoxoxo.

dedicated to my shadow:

this one goes out to my global south folks. may the dope cultural connection between south america, the caribbean, and india only continue to grow through scholarship and art.

leave those youtube comments!

peace,
roopstar
the politicalpoet

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jaipur: photos from my fam’s fav sabji mandi/vegetable market

dear readers,

this is not your lonely planet jaipur, this is the way we live. the sabji mandi in jaipur is striking in its abundance. check it out:

my uncle on the right, dealers in onions and potatos in the foreground

vendors have their own 'lil lights, shining on their wares, what a scene

watermelon season, this is a favorite pic, the motion, the colors

abundance

my cousin bro and uncle choosing mangos

night time at the sabji mandi

they say i brought the rain, i say i can make it rain, in so many ways. stay tuned for more from india.

peace,
prof. singh

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on doing the math: politics, sports, media critique, and poetry

Dear Readers,

The homie Assata quoted to me today from James Baldwin, on the gut wrench pain of writing being only secondary to the pain of not writing. I understand.

July 8, 2008

On a day like today, when the front page is all carnage, I am so glad for yesterday’s front page on Wimbledon.

On a day like today, India targeted, innocent Afghani lives lost. May 13, 2008, wasn’t that long ago. Nine synchronized bombings in Jaipur on the good people’s Tuesday trek to the God of Strength, Hanuman. They bombed when the people would be out in full force, to pray. Hanuman who crossed an ocean in the name of loyalty and with the encouragement of an elder. When I talked to my cousin brother and Mausi Ji (mother’s sister) who live in Jaipur, “near Agricultural farm” one must add when talking to the rickshaw driver, where green and blue parakeets fly dense, and the boy next door plays the flute like Krishna himself, both said quickly, deadpanned, “nothing has changed.” Which is a sure sign, everything has changed.

And today, July 8, 2008, a bomb in Afghanistan, at the entrance to the Indian embassy.

What kind of wealth is this? What price will we pay for it?

(Photo: Pajhwok News Agency, via Agence France-Presse)

“KABUL, Afghanistan — A huge blast from a suicide car bomb at the gates of the Indian Embassy in Kabul killed 41 people and wounded more than 130 on Monday in the latest sign of a sharp deterioration in Afghanistan, where combat deaths have surpassed Iraq’s in the past two months.” (Wafa and Cowell reporting for the New York Times)

Two reporters credited on this story, Abdul Waheed Wafa, and Alan Cowell. Notably, The Times website gives Cowell a link to his previous articles. But Waheed Wafa gets no link love. Even though Wafa has reported extensively for the Times (U.S. paper of record) and the International Herald Tribune (International paper of record).

If you’d like to learn more about Afghani journalist, Abdul Waheed Wafa: CLICK HERE.

On a day like today, I’m so glad yesterday’s front page of the Times featured the Wimbledon game in excited glee, reporter Christopher Clarey called it an “epic battle,” a “classic,” “one of the greatest tennis matches ever played,” using words like “drained,” “delighted,” “tears,” “emotional,” and “dramatic.” Rafael Nadal of Spain won this battle to the bone. Had the gall and balls to be humble. The match ended in the dark. Reporters are on the players like bees on honey. Federer, the loser-albeit 5 time WImbeldon champ-is like, there’s nothing worse than this, so give me a motherfucking minute.

When things like Wimbledon make the front page, I feel sense of near quadratic relief.

Wrote a poem about it, here it goes:

quadratic relief

ax squared + bx + c = 0

(life is a) non-linear equation

(i want to be) coeffecient (not codependent)

(is it dumb to want some kind of) constant

(internal) squared (just a dork, me and these lines, these blank, dense canvases)

(life is) real and complex (the battle sand is still red at the part)

(my) roots (real and complex)

a (survivors life) does not equal zero

(i am) irreducible

*

Stay tuned for more, from me.

Love,

RS/n

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