Listen to Seven Drunken Nights

Seven Drunken Nights

Seven Drunken Nights
(Traditional Irish Song)

___

As I went home on Monday night as drunk as drunk could be

I saw a horse outside the door where my old horse should be

Well, I called me wife and I said to her: Will you kindly tell to me

Who owns that horse outside the door where my old horse should be?

Ah, you're drunk,

you're drunk you silly old fool,

still you can not see

That's a lovely sow that me mother sent to me

Well, it's many a day I've travelled a hundred miles or more

But a saddle on a sow sure I never saw before.

---

And as I went home on Tuesday night as drunk as drunk could be

I saw a coat behind the door where my old coat should be

Well, I called me wife and I said to her: Will you kindly tell to me

Who owns that coat behind the door where my old coat should be

Ah, you're drunk,
you're drunk you silly old fool,
still you can not see

That's a woollen blanket that me mother sent to me

Well, it's many a day I've travelled a hundred miles or more

But buttons in a blanket sure I never saw before.

---

And as I went home on Wednesday night as drunk as drunk could be

I saw a pipe up on the chair where my old pipe should be

Well, I called me wife and I said to her: Will you kindly tell to me

Who owns that pipe up on the chair where my old pipe should be

Ah, you're drunk,
you're drunk you silly old fool,
still you can not see

That's a lovely tin whistle that me mother sent to me

Well, it's many a day I've travelled a hundred miles or more

But tobacco in a tin whistle sure I never saw before.

---

And as I went home on Thursday night as drunk as drunk could be

I saw two boots beneath the bed where my old boots should be

Well, I called me wife and I said to her: Will you kindly tell to me

Who owns them boots beneath the bed where my old boots should be

Ah, you're drunk,
you're drunk you silly old fool,
still you can not see

They're two lovely Geranium pots me mother sent to me

Well, it's many a day I've travelled a hundred miles or more

But laces in Geranium pots I never saw before.

---

And as I went home on Friday night as drunk as drunk could be

I saw a head upon the bed where my old head should be

Well, I called me wife and I said to her: Will you kindly tell to me

Who owns that head upon the bed where my old head should be

Ah, you're drunk,
you're drunk you silly old fool,
still you can not see

That's a baby boy that me mother sent to me

Well, it's many a day I've travelled a hundred miles or more

But a baby boy with his whiskers on sure I never saw before.

---

And as I went home on Saturday night as drunk as drunk could be

I saw two hands upon her breasts where my old hands should be

Well, I called me wife and I said to her: Will you kindly tell to me

Who owns them hands upon your breasts where my old hands should be

Ah, you're drunk,
you're drunk you silly old fool,
still you can not see

That's a lovely night gown that me mother sent to me

Well, it's many a day I've travelled a hundred miles or more

But fingers in a night gown sure I never saw before.

---

As I went home on Sunday night as drunk as drunk could be

I saw a thing in her thing where my old thing should be

Well, I called me wife and I said to her: Will you kindly tell to me

Who owns that thing in your thing where my old thing should be

Ah, you're drunk,
you're drunk you silly old fool,
still you can not see

That's a lovely tin whistle that me mother sent to me

Well, it's many a day I've travelled a hundred miles or more

But hair on a tin whistle sure I never saw before.

A visit to the barber

From Out of butter and water: the Hindu creation by Sudhanva Deshpande

To the extent that India is still a predominantly agricultural society, these festivals, and the various rituals that go with them, are an organic part of people’s lives, and not just corporate inducements to an urban elite to consume more and more in the globalized marketplace. Yet, since these festivals and rituals have actually evolved over a very long period of time, they are now most often taken for granted; like the self-existent creator, they just exist, with neither beginning nor end. For most practitioners of these rituals, much of the original meaning is either unimportant, or simply lost under centuries of cultural sedimentation.

Yet ideas persist over centuries and pop up at you when you least expect them. Last week, I needed a haircut, and so I went to the barber who has performed this service since I was about ten. It is a veritable ritual, evolved over two decades or so. It begins with his magnanimously offering me tea, and ends with his never returning change. In between, he asks about my family, I about his; he checks if I am still off smoking, I if he is off drink. Through all this, of course, we discuss politics, sports, and anything else of topical interest. This time, I asked him how he was told the universe came into being. He laughed, snipped off a tuft of hair on my forehead, and said: “Who knows how all this was created? Who was around to see? Even the gods were born after something existed, so who can tell what happened when nothing existed?”

My barber has not read the Rig Veda. But if he were to, some day, he will be struck by the following hymn:
Then even nothingness was not, nor existence.
There was no air then, nor the heavens beyond it.
Who covered it? Where was it? In whose keeping?
Was there then cosmic water, in depths unfathomed?
But, after all, who knows, and who can say,
Whence it all came, and how creation happened?
The gods themselves are later than creation,
So who knows truly whence it has arisen?
(Rig Veda, X, 129)

http://www.unesco.org/courier/2001_05/uk/doss24.htm

Hum sab azaad ho gaye

From the rediff special Death ruled the beautiful mountains:

I noticed a man laughing on a bridge. I heard him say, "The police died in the thana (police station) and the qaidis (the prisoners) died in the jailkhana (prison). Hum sab azaad ho gaye (we are all free)." He was a schoolteacher who had lost his senses because more than 300 students and teachers at the Springfield School in Bagh died in the earthquake. He was one of the few survivors.

--Hamid Mir, Islamabad.