Статті в журналах з теми "Età barocca"

Il Ms. Corsini 970 (olim 44.A.21) conservato all’Accademia Nazionale dei Lincei fornisce interessanti spunti di riflessione sui rapporti letterari fra Spagna e Italia in età tardorinascimentale e barocca. Confezionato con ogni probabilità a Roma, in seno alla corte del cardinal Ascanio Colonna tra la fine del xvi e gli inizi del XVII secolo, risulta nel suo insieme inedito. È costituito da un totale di 137 testi, di cui alcuni sono componimenti di tipo tradizionale, romances, quintillas e redondillas. Il componimento qui preso in esame, la Carta General de amor de Gaetán, è stato attribuito sia al Vicentino a che a Vozmediana, famoso per la traduzione della prima parte delle novelle di Giraldi Cinzio (Toledo, 1590).

FRONTINO, PAPA PAOLO V E LA CONFUSIONE TRA AQUA ALSIETINA E TRAIANAL'iscrizione sulla Fontana dell'Acqua Paola del Gianicolo, a Roma, contiene un errore significativo. Secondo l'iscrizione, infatti, Papa Paolo V ristorò l'acquedotto augusteo dell'Aqua Alsietina, mentre in realtà i suoi ingegneri usarono l'Aqua Traiana per migliorare il rifornimento idrico della città (c. 1610). Questo errore non è semplicemente casuale. L'amministrazione papale era a conoscenza della presenza dell'Aqua Alsietina sulla sponda destra del Tevere dal trattato De aquae ductu urbis Romae di Frontino, ma non sapeva che i Romani avevano costruito anche un altro acquedotto sulla stessa sponda, poiché questo non veniva invece menzionato da Frontino. In questo articolo si sostiene che Frontino († c. 100 d.C.) doveva essere universalmente conosciuto tra gli ingegneri idraulici e gli amministratori delle risorse idriche in età rinascimentale e barocca (come Vitruvio tra gli architetti). La ‘riscoperta’ moderna dell'Aqua Traiana non avvenne che nel 1680 con Raffaele Fabretti, che fece uso di fonti antiche disponibili anche alla cancelleria di Paolo V, se solo fossero state condotte altre ricerche oltre Frontino. Furono necessari altri 150 anni prima che le conclusioni di Fabretti divennero generalmente note. Per la prima volta, inoltre, questo articolo prende in esame tutta l'evidenza antica e medievale in cui viene nominata l'Aqua Traiana.

This article comes after a thorough study for a PhD dissertation on a book by Jean Etxepare (Beribilez, 1931). A comparative study is drawn between Jean Etxepare and Pío Baroja with the aim of finding their coincidences and differences. This research is based mostly in their basque identitary ideology, even though some attention is also paid to some philosophical issues. Both writers are part of the same European intellectual ambiance, and both are empathetic to the Basque Country. Broadly speaking, it can be said that their literary work was heavily determined by the profile of their hypothetical readers, as Jean Etxepare wrote mainly for Basque language speakers and Pío Baroja addressed his writings to Spanish ones.

En el presente documento se aportan los primeros datos sobre la biología de Onychogomphus cazuma Barona, Cardo et Díaz, 2020 en la región de Castilla-La Mancha (centro-este de España), confirmando su reproducción en dicho territorio mediante el hallazgo de exuvias y una hembra recién emergida. Hasta la fecha la especie solo se había detectado en la provincia de Valencia, en localidades situadas a más de 100 km. The first data on the biology of Onychogomphus cazuma Barona, Cardo et Díaz, 2020 in Castilla-La Mancha region are provided. Its reproduction in this territory is confirmed by the detection of exuvians and a teneral female. The species had been only detected in the province of Valencia, in locations more than 100 km away.

It has been argued that Antonio Machado was a late-comer to the so-called Generation of ‘98 and that, with his Campos de Castilla of 1912, he belatedly joined the general chorus for reform of his contemporary writers (Azorín, Baroja, etc.) and began to voice concerns with the backwardness of Castilian rural life and ‘the problem of Spain’ already broached earlier by the so-called Generation of ’98. In effect, Campos de Castilla continues much of the style of his earlier work with added realism. Only three poems of the forty-six of the first edition have explicit reference to a concern for Spain’s decline. With detailed reference to the poems, this article argues that the assertion that Machado was involved in the so-called reformist programme of the Generation of ‘98 needs to be called into question and that Machado in the Soria period was less than the reformist critics have claimed him to be.

La producción de trigo en el noroeste de México, ha evolucionado positivamente desde la década de los años 90's del siglo próximo pasado, apoyada en los altos rendimientos, en la mejora de los atributos de calidad industrial y en la superficie que se destina para su siembra. A nivel mundial, si bien el trigo cristalino o duro (Triticum durum Desf.) es la segunda especie en importancia dentro de los trigos cultivados, su consumo en la primera década del siglo XXI, ha crecido 1% frente al 1.3% del tipo panadero, aunque en algunos países tales como Argelia, Marruecos, Turquía e Italia la importancia del de esta clase de trigo es sustancialmente mayor. En el mundo se siembran alrededor de 18 millones de hectáreas del tipo duro, que aportan aproximadamente 30 millones de toneladas de grano con oscilaciones anuales importantes (25 a 34 millones de toneladas) INTA, 2001. En Sonora se producen aproximadamente 1.5 millones de toneladas anuales (promedio de los últimos 3 ciclos) de este tipo de trigo, de las cuales aproximadamente 50% se destina a la exportación. El cereal de esta región es tradicionalmente considerado de alta calidad, principalmente por razones climáticas y por las variedades que se siembran. Sin embargo, los cambios tecnológicos de las industrias semoleras y harineras (molienda, centrifugado, secado etc.), hizo que los requerimientos de calidad industrial fueran cambiando. Por ejemplo, actualmente se requiere de una granulometría más uniforme, se estima que lo óptimo es que, entre 70 y 90% de la sémola producida, corresponda a partículas de 200 a 400 μ. En antaño se requería de sémolas gruesas, actualmente las nuevas tecnologías de molienda producen sémolas más finas, que son más adecuadas para una buena hidratación en el proceso de amasado ya que las sémolas gruesas no se hidratan correctamente y producen manchas blancas en las pastas. Se requiere también de variedades con mayores contenidos de pigmento amarillo en las semolas, porque a menor tamaño de partícula en estas, más bajo será el color amarillo tan deseado en las pastas. Estos parámetros están fuertemente influenciados directa o indirectamente por la vitreosidad, panza blanca y contenido de proteína en el grano. Por lo que los programas de mejoramiento genético de trigo requieren nuevas variedades con parámetros de calidad adecuadas para los diferentes procesos industriales. El programa de mejoramiento genético de trigo del Campo Experimental Norman E. Borlaug (CENEB), perteneciente al Instituto Nacional de Investigaciones Forestales,Agrícolas y Pecuarias (INIFAP), en colaboración con el Centro Internacional de Mejoramiento de Maíz y Trigo (CIMMYT), liberó una nueva variedad de trigo duro, Baroyeca Oro C2013.

Background: Our objective in this research was to study the clinical profile of patients having iron deficiency anaemia.Methods: This was an observational cross sectional study conducted in Medicine out-patient and in-patient departments of Baroda Medical College and SSG Hospital, Vadodara from February, 2018 to November, 2018 and included all patients (N=50) above eighteen years of age who were diagnosed on admission with microcytic hypochromic or normocytic normochromic anaemia. Following detailed history, general examination and basic haematological investigations like complete blood count, haemoglobin, mean corpuscular volume, etc., statistical analysis of the data was performed.Results: In the present study, it was found that maximum number of patients belonged to a younger age group (mean=36.82 years) with a majority being females (74%). Most common presenting complaint was weakness seen in 96% cases while the commonest clinical finding was pallor present in 100% cases followed by koilonychia in 32%. The most common cause of iron deficiency anaemia was nutritional seen in 60% patients.Conclusions: Generalised weakness, breathlessness, and pedal edema were the commonest presenting complaints in our study while pallor, koilonychia, and pedal edema were the most common clinical findings. Maximum number of patients had IDA due to a nutritional cause. Chronic gastrointestinal bleeding, inflammatory bowel disease, and menorrhagia are other causes of IDA. Amongst addicted, alcohol addiction seen in most cases.

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This article is a critical appreciation of Raghav Kaneria’s welded sculptures done in scrap metal, mild steel, and stainless steel since 1962 to 2016.Though he has worked on many mediums like terracotta, bronze, wood, scrap metal, cement, assemblage etc. but in this article, I would like to concentrate only one medium and that is ‘sheet metal’ in its different forms like mild steel, stainless steel, and scrap metal. I have divided these works into three different phases depending on the style and treatment of his works and subject matter. His first phase works were mostly done with scrap metals where found objects were welded together to create new forms. Many of these works were done when he was studying in Faculty of Fine Arts (Vadodara) and later in a Mumbai factory. These works have a rugged quality of the scrap metal sculptures with its strange primitive vitality. His second phase works were the smooth polished surfaces of abstract forms which he calls ‘sprouting’, done during his studies in Royal college of Art, London and during his teaching period in Waltham Forest Technical College, London and Hull College of Art, London. These sculptures consist of smooth tubular forms created in mild steel which were not an assemblage of direct forms, but a meticulous execution of forms inspired by nature. His third phase is the sensuous, simplistic, and decorative forms of Bull which he calls ‘Nandi’. They were done in stainless steel sheets in Baroda, between 2014- 2016. These forms in stainless steel were created using huge flat steel sheets joined together by welding. They are simply called the Nandi forms. These three phases have different approach of execution. In this article I have tried to bring together a selection of his oeuvres made in ‘metal sheets’ but with very different approach in each series evoking diverse expressions.

RESUMEN A finales de 1924 se produjeron varias incursiones revolucionarias desde Francia para derrocar la Dictadura de Primo de Rivera. La entrada de un grupo de anarquistas por Vera* de Bidasoa la transfiguró literariamente Pío Baroja en el «Libro segundo» de la novela-crónica La familia de Errotacho. Lo más destacable en la literaturización de los acontecimientos, aun conociendo el anticlericalismo del escritor vasco, es la exagerada deformación parcial de la realidad respecto al comportamiento con los detenidos del obispo de Pamplona. *Mantenemos este topónimo con «v» porque así aparece escrito en todos los periódicos de entonces. LABURPENA 1924. urtearen bukaeran, zenbait iraultzaile talde sartu ziren Frantziatik, Primo de Riveraren diktadura erorarazteko. Anarkista talde bat Beratik* sartu zen, eta Pío Barojak gertaera hori modu literarioan jaso zuen, La familia de Errotacho kronika-eleberriko «Bigarren liburuan». Gertaera hori literaturara nola ekarri zen aztertzean, azpimarragarriena da, euskal idazle honen antiklerikalismoa ezagututa ere, zein era nabarmenean deformatu zuen errealitatea, partzialki, Iruñeko apezpikuak atxilotuekin izan zuen portaerari dagokionez. *Gaztelaniaz, toponimoa «v» letraz idatzi da, hala agertzen baita idatzita garai hartako egunkari guztietan. ABSTRACT At the end of 1924 there were several revolutionary incursions from France in order to overthrow the Primo de Rivera’s Dictatorship. The irruption of an anarchist group through Vera* de Bidasoa was changed into literature in the «Segundo libro» of the chronical-novel La familia de Errotacho. The most remarkable thing when a writer registers the events as literature, even knowing the anticlericalism of the Basque writer, is the partial exaggeration of the reality regarding the behaviour to the arrested ones by the bishop of Pamplona. * We write this toponym with «v» because this way appears in all the newspapers of that time.

Progressive development in the field of information technology (IT) has brought in remarkable changes in the products as well as methods of payment and settlement system in the banking sector. In India, various types of payment systems are functioning apart from the traditional payment systems where the instruments are physically exchanged and settled manually. Smart cards are a new form of retail payment instrument, installed to facilitate retail transactions through electronic means. In 1999, the Reserve Bank of India issued guidelines to the banks regarding introduction and usage of smart cards. Smart cards are currently being issued by several banks in India which have tied up with Financial Information Network and Operations Ltd. (FINO). The IDBI bank has introduced its smart card called MoneySmart; Corporation Bank has issued CorpSmart; and Bank of India has issued its e-purse cards. PNB, SBI, ABN Amro, ICICI Bank, Bank of Baroda and some other banks have also launched smart card-based banking solutions (Kaur & Kaur, 2008). The main objective of this study is to identify the factors that may vary between the adopters and the non-adopters of smart cards in Indian banks. Banks that have adopted the cards may have different characteristics from those that have not yet adopted the cards. In other words, with the exploration of various characteristics of the banks, the study tries to differentiate between the adopter and non-adopter categories of the banks regarding smart cards with respect to their profitability, size, competitive advantage, efficiency, asset quality, financing pattern, diversification, cost of operations, etc. The empirical results evidently reveal that the banks providing smart cards differ in their characteristics from that of the banks that have not yet adopted it. It shows that the banks that adopted smart cards are larger in size, more efficient, pay lesser wages, and have more industry advantage and thus, in terms of some characteristics, outperform the non-adopter banks.

Sin dai primi studi sul cantiere e sul processo costruttivo delle architetture antiche, esempi storicamente ben documentati di età medievale e moderna sono stati presi come riferimento e termine di paragone, al fine di comprendere più approfonditamente l'industria delle costruzioni nell'antica Roma. Questo contributo riflette circa la possibilità di utilizzare due casi di studio parzialmente simili per dimensioni, ubicazione e tecniche costruttive: la Basilica di San Pietro, di età rinascimentale e barocca, in comparazione con l'antico complesso di Domiziano, estensione dei Palazzi Flavi sul Palatino. I primi risultati, che si iscrivono in un progetto di studio sul Complesso domizianeo, aggiungono nuovi elementi alla ricostruzione teorica del cantiere e del ciclo costruttivo. Si analizzano diversi aspetti di questi due progetti architettonici di grandi dimensioni (XXL structures) – la committenza, la forza lavoro, l'approvvigionamento dei materiali da costruzione, l'allestimento del cantiere – evidenziando analogie e differenze, nel tentativo di ovviare alle lacune nella documentazione antica.

Si percorre l'evoluzione dell'interpretazione statuaria di Dioniso nel Santuario di Dioniso Eleutereo ad Atene, dallo xoanon arcaico del dio alla statua criselefantina di Alcamene, ai tipi Hope, alcamenico, e Sardanapalo, cefisodoteo. Questa tradizione figurativa, e l'Ermete con Dioniso di Cefisodoto il Vecchio, stanno alla base della ridefinizione del dio operata da Prassitele. L'immagine di Dioniso accreditata nelle 'Baccanti' di Euripide ebbe pure un rilevante impatto nelle cultura figurativa tardoclassica. Alla bottega di Prassitele è riconducibile la base di monumento coregico, con Dioniso e due Vittorie, che si trova ad Atene, Museo Archeologico Nazionale, n. 1463. Il Dioniso di Prassitele ricordato da Plinio e descritto da Callistrato può esser riconosciuto, grazie alla descrizione di questi, nel tipo Sambon/Grimani. Il Dioniso d'Elide, pure di Prassitele, è raffigurato su monete di questa città e riconoscibile nel tipo Tauromorfo Vaticano/Albani. L'Ermete con Dioniso di Olimpia è forse un donario degli Elei del 343 A. C. ed è quasi certamente un'opera originale di Prassitele. Ai figli di Prassitele è ascrivibile il Dioniso WoburnAbbey/Castle Howard, rimeditazione del tipo Sambon/Grimani. Il tipo Richelieu/Prado pare dipendere da una variante protoellenistica del tipo Woburn Abbey/Castle Howard, il tipo Jacobsen sembra essere un adattamento dello stesso alla temperie barocca, il tipo Terme pare costituire una rimeditazione del medesimo in chiave Rococo. Il tipo Cirene offre una soluzione tardorepubblicana dello stesso schema compositivo, rispondente all'esigenza eclettica di valorizzare le soluzioni ritenute migliori di Prassitele, Policleto e Lisippo. Il tipo Borghese/Colonna sembra un adattamento del ritmo Woburn Abbey alla predilezione neoattica per ritmi frontali. Il tipo Horti Lamiani/Holkham Hall pare un adattamento del tipo Woburn Abbey alla posizione di quinta architettonica destra di un ambiente. Il tipo Copenhagen/Valentini risponde al bisogno, tipico del classicismo romano, di dare movimento e vita alla creazione statuaria. Altri due Dionisi, che si trovano a Digione e a Cirene, sono variazioni del tipo Jacobsen. La documentazione raccolta dimostra che l'immagine del dio elaborata nella corrente prassitelica divenne quella consueta nella cultura iconografica di età ellenistica e imperiale.

El trabajo estudia la relación de Pío Baroja con acontecimientos históricos quenoveliza en los cinco libros que forman el volumen El cabo de las tormentas (1932): la Dictadura de Primo de Rivera (1923-19129), el anarquismo y el sindicalismo catalanes y la represión de Martínez Anido (1919-1922), la hegemonía de la Lliga Regionalista en Barcelona (1901-1923), los gobiernos Berenguer y Aznar, el regionalismo vasco, la insurrección republicana de Jaca (1930) y el advenimiento de la Segunda República (1931). A través de las cinco narraciones del libro, se desgranan las opiniones barojianas sobre todas estas cuestiones de la historia más reciente.El cabo de las tormentas (Ekaitzen lurmuturra) (1932) liburua osatzen dutenbost liburuetan jasotako gertaera historikoen —Primo de Riveraren diktadura(1923-19129), Kataluniako anarkismoa eta sindikalismoa eta Martínez Anidorenerrepresioa (1919-1922), Lliga Regionalistak Bartzelonan zuen nagusitasuna(1901-1923), Berenguerren eta Aznarren gobernuak, euskal erregionalismoa,Jakako matxinada errepublikanoa (1930) eta Bigarren Errepublikaren etorrera(1931)— eta Barojaren arteko harremana aztertzen du lanak. Liburuko bostkontakizunetan barrena, azkenaldiko historiaren gai horiei guztiei buruz Barojakzeuzkan iritziak azaltzen dira.This article studies the connection between Pío Baroja and the historical events he used in the five books of El Cabo de las tormentas (1932) : the Primo de RIVERA dictatorship (1923-19129), Catalan anarchism and unionisation and repressionunder Martínez Anido (1919-1922), the hegemony of Lliga Regionalista inBarcelona (1901-1923), the governments of Berenguer and Aznar, Basqueregionalism, the Republican insurrection in Jaca (1930) and the advent of the Second Republic (1931). Through the book's five stories, the article unravels theopinions of Pío Baroja regarding these events in recent history.

Este artículo analiza la función ideológica del paisaje en una serie de textos escritospor Pío Baroja, Miguel de Unamuno, Sabino Arana y Vicente Arana tras laabolición foral en 1876. A raíz de la supresión de los Fueros, esta serie de escritoresencuentran una brecha abierta para una reformulación de la identidad políticadel País Vasco finisecular. El paisajismo literario se convierte en la vía culturalque utilizan para materializar sus diferentes propuestas identitarias para el PaísVasco de fin de siglo.Pasaiaren funtzio ideologikoa aztertzen du artikulu honek, Pío Barojak, Miguelde Unamunok, Sabino Aranak eta Vicente Aranak 1876ko foru-abolizioaren ondorenidatzitako zenbait testutan. Foru-abolizioa dela-eta, idazle horiek irekitakoarrail bat aurkitzen dute mende-amaierako Euskal Herriaren nortasun politikoabirformulatzeko. Mende-amaierako beren nortasun-proposamenak gauzatzekoerabiltzen duten kultura-bide bihurtuko da paisajismo literarioa.This article analyses the ideological function of landscape in a series of textswritten by Pío Baroja, Miguel de Unamuno, Sabino Arana and Vicente Arana afterabolition of the Basque Fueros in 1876. As a result of the Fueros abolition, thisseries of writers found an open front to reformulate the Basque Country’s turn ofthe century political identity. The literary image of landscape became the culturalmeans to bring about a variety of identity proposals for the Basque Country at theend of the 19th century.

Many evaluation studies have been carried out with the help of bibliometrics study to know the growth ofresearch papers at national and international level, scientific productivity of authors and institutions, most relevant journals and their impact factor, citation analysis etc. This paper aimed to analysis of 2200 publications of with 23268 citations Maharaja Saiyajirao University of Baroda by using three indices, which hosted on Web of Knowledge platform i.e. Science Citation Index, Social Science Citation Index and Arts and Humanities Citation Index along with citations during the period of 2009 to 2018. Bibliometrix R tool used for summarizing results of Web of Science Data and VOSviewer used to demonstrate country’s collaborationmapping analysis.

In the earlier days, syllabi were designed by some experienced teachers or experts who got specialization in particular areas in all the education institutions. The students were graded on the marks scored in the assessment in which some students might score high and some might not be. This type of previous curriculum did not ensure what students need to learn or what they are learning in their classrooms. University Grant Commission (UGC) under MHRD, Government of India, has already submitted the final draft under “Quality Improvement Programme, 2018” aim at the development of “Learning Outcomes Based Curriculum Framework (LOCF)” at UG and PG Levels. The learning outcomes are designed to help students understand the objectives of the course provided to them. It is a framework based on the expected learning outcomes (such as disciplinary knowledge, communication skills, critical thinking, problem-solving, analytical reasoning, research-related skills, etc.) that are expected to be attained by the students at the completion of their graduation. In this research paper, the researcher attempts to elaborate about Curriculum designing based on the approaches provided by J.C. Richards and Learning-Outcomes based Curriculum Framework. This research paper also has taken into consideration the analysis of curriculum development for the subject offered by Department of English in Faculty of Commerce at first year undergraduate courses (UG Level) from the academic year 1979-80 till 2019-20.

Introduction: Blood based biomarkers can be useful as prognostic markers because these biomarkers can reflect variations in the tumour microenvironment and the immune system of the host. This study investigates some biomarkers in cancer patients experienced with radiotherapy to evaluate the effect of radiotherapy on the body. Aim: To assess radiotherapy induced changes in the biomarkers like serum total protein, albumin, creatinine and urea in cancer patients and compare to the healthy controls. Materials and Methods: This was a case-control study, conducted in the Biochemistry Department, Baroda Medical College, Gujarat, India, from October 2017 to August 2018. This study enrolled 537 patients, who underwent radiation therapy irrespective of any cancer and 537 healthy controls without any history of cancer or radiation therapy. Serum total protein, albumin, creatinine, and urea were measured. Statistical analysis was performed by descriptive statistics, independent t-test, Frequency, Pearson’s correlation coefficient (r). Results: In each of the groups, out of 537 subjects 185 subjects were females, 61.30±9.03 years was the mean age for females, and 352 subjects were males with a mean age of 61.02±8.93 years. Albumin had negative statistically significant correlation with all parameters. But total protein which was also composed of other acute phase positive reactants had higher values compared to control group which was statistically significant (p<0.001). Conclusion: It was found that patients with cancer, undergoing radiotherapy, suffered from radiation induced changes such as acute phase response, host defense mechanism etc., causing changes in the body which is reflected by biomarkers.

In every economy, banking sector plays a vital role and it is one of the fast growing sectors in India. In pursuit of gaining a competitive advantage, both private and public banks are making intense efforts to sustain and outperform each other. In the present scenario, banking sector is facing a lot of challenges such as changes in regulatory environment, evolution of online banking, significant financial consolidation etc. which in turn makes Indian financial industry to be highly competitive. In order to gain a competitive advantage and positive synergy, banks are adopting consolidation strategy to have an impact on the market. Mergers and acquisition not only give a synergy advantage but also open up various opportunities and, varied challenges, which may affect the efficiency of the banks, its employees and thereby its customers.

Attrition is one of the biggest challenge for any industry as it comes with many demerits such as loss of productivity, incurring of various costs such as training & development, recruitment etc. According to the Compensation Trends Survey conducted by Deloitte Human Capital Consulting, the IT/ITES industries of the Indian market have faced 15% of the attrition that is higher for any industry. Thus, the companies of this industry are focusing to decrease the turnover intention in order to reduce the actual employee turnover. The aim of this research is to find out the influence that Job Satisfaction and organizational commitment have on the turnover intention on the employees. Various research suggests that organizational commitment and turnover intentions are negatively correlated. Also, the studies suggest that Job Satisfaction and employee turnover intentions have a negative relationship. This study has been conducted to examine the relationship between Job Satisfaction, organizational commitment, and turnover intention for the IT/ITES industry employees with a special focus to BPO segment. The researchers have taken data from 500 employees of the BPO segment from 3 major cities of Gujarat i.e. Ahmedabad, Gandhinagar and Baroda. The researchers have used Multiple regression and ANOVA to examine the influence of the organizational commitment & job satisfaction on the turnover intention. The result shows that higher level of organizational commitment reduced the turnover intention. This research can help the BPO organizations to formulate & implement the strong retention strategies. Also, this study provides a direction to the academicians to explore further dimensions of the research in the various industries as well as various regional backgrounds.

Introduction: According to data available from National Poison Information Centre India, suicidal poisoning with household agents (organophosphates, carbamates etc.) is the most common modality of poisoning. There are reports suggesting relationship between prolonged corrected QT interval and the severity of Organophosphate (OP) poisoning. Corrected QT (QTc) interval is measured in 12 lead electrocardiograms taken on admission. Aim: To assess prognosis of acute organophosphate poisoning patients by studying association of corrected QT interval with its complications and mortality. Materials and Methods: The cohort study was conducted at Medicine Department of Medical College, Baroda and Sir Sayaji General Hospital, Vadodara, Gujarat, India, from December 2017 to November 2018. The study included 60 patients with a history of OP poisoning. The QTc interval in electrocardiogram was determined by using the Bazett formula. Prognostic importance of QTc interval was assessed by correlating it with Paradeniya Organophosphorus Poisoning Scale score, hospital stay, atropine requirement, requirement of ventilatory support and mortality. Data was analysed by using descriptive statistics and Chi-square test. Results: The organophosphate poisoning was seen more in younger age group, between 18-29 years (68.4%). The QTc prolongation was seen in 12, 80% of patients in moderate grade of Paradeniya Organophosphorus Poisoning Scale and in 9 (20%) patients among mild grade of Paradeniya Organophosphorus Poisoning Scale (p-value=0.0001). Amongst patients who needed hospital stay for more than 7 days, QTc prolongation was seen in 43% of patients, and in patients who needed hospital stay for less than 7 days QTc prolongation was seen in 9% of patients (p-value=0.0223). Statistically significant association was seen between atropine ampule requirement and QTc prolongation. Total 29 (48.3%) patients developed respiratory depression, and amongst them 19 (65.5%) had QTc prongation (p-value <0.0001). Thirteen (22%) patients died and amongst them 12 (92.31%) had QTc prolngation. In those who survived (47,78%) only 9 (19.15%) had QTc prolongation (p-value <0.0001). Conclusion: Prolonged QTc interval in electrocardiogram is a good prognostic indicator in patients with organophosphorus poisoning. Early identification of prolonged QTc interval and subsequent timely shifting of patients to Intensive Care Unit (ICU) and subsequent intensive management in a patient of OP poisoning would be of profound value at any level of health care setting for favourable outcomes.

Alors que l’américanisme, l’africanisme, l’européanisme, l’indianisme… sont reconnus, certifiés par des musées ou des sections de musée, des départements universitaires, des chapitres de manuels depuis les origines, l’anthropologie de la Méditerranée est une spécialité récente, prenant corps, sous l’égide des universités britanniques, dans les années 1950. Ce retard est dû, au moins en partie, à l’hétérogénéité du monde méditerranéen partagé entre les façades méridionale et orientale de la mer, qui relèvent, à première vue, de l’étude du monde arabo-musulman, et la façade septentrionale ressortissant de prime abord de l’ethnologie européenne. Le scepticisme, récusant la pertinence d’une anthropologie de la Méditerranée, peut encore trouver des arguments dans l’histoire des civilisations ou dans l’actualité. Contrairement à d’autres régions du monde, l’aire iranienne voisine par exemple, le monde méditerranéen ne forme une unité ni par ses langues ni par ses traditions religieuses. Faut-il rappeler que seul l’Empire romain l’a unifié pendant plusieurs siècles autour du « mare nostrum » en favorisant l’épanouissement d’une culture gréco-latine à vocation universelle et en développant tout autour de la mer des institutions politiques sur le modèle de Rome ? Puis l’histoire de la Méditerranée fut faite de partages, de schismes, de croisades, de guerres entre empires, de conquêtes coloniales qui aboutirent, au terme de péripéties violentes, à la situation contemporaine où coexistent trois ensembles eux-mêmes fractionnés : une Méditerranée latine, catholique, largement laïcisée , partie intégrante de l’Europe occidentale, une Méditerranée balkanique orthodoxe avec ses poches islamiques, une Méditerranée arabo-musulmane. En dépit de ces fractures, des hommes de lettres campèrent, dans les années 1930, une Méditerranée des échanges et de la convivenza, à laquelle donnent crédit des lieux et des épisodes remarquables de l’histoire (l’Andalousie au temps du califat omeyade, la Sicile de Frédéric II, des villes cosmopolites de la fin du XIXème siècle et du début du XXème siècle : Istanbul, Smyrne, Salonique, Beyrouth, Alexandrie, Alger, Tanger, Trieste, Marseille, etc.). Des revues (à Marseille, les Cahiers du sud de Jean Ballard, à Tunis Les Cahiers de la Barbarie d’Armand Guibert et Jean Amrouche , à Alger Rivages d’Edmond Charlot et Albert Camus, à Rabat Aguedal d’Henri Bosco) exaltèrent cette « fraternité méditerranéenne » tout autant imaginaire que réelle. Gabriel Audisio fut le chantre le plus exalté de cette commune « patrie méditerranéenne »: « Non, écrit-il, la Méditerranée n’a jamais séparé ses riverains. Même les grandes divisions de la Foi, et ce conflit spirituel de l’Orient et de l’Occident, la mer ne les a pas exaltés, au contraire adoucis en les réunissant au sommet sensible d’un flot de sagesse, au point suprême de l’équilibre ». Et à l’image d’une Méditerranée romaine (il veut « remettre Rome ‘à sa place’ ») il oppose celle d’une « synthèse méditerranéenne » : « À cette latinité racornie, j’oppose tout ce qui a fait la civilisation méditerranéenne : la Grèce, l’Égypte, Judas, Carthage, le Christ, l’Islam ». Cette Méditerranée qui « vous mélange tout ça sans aucune espèce de pudeur », dit-il encore, « se veut universelle ». Avant qu’un projet collectif d’anthropologie n’émerge, des ancêtres de la discipline, des géographes, des historiens, avaient apporté une contribution importante à la connaissance du monde méditerranéen. Maine, Robertson Smith, Frazer, etc. étaient classicistes ou historiens du droit et se référaient souvent aux sociétés antiques de la Méditerranée pour analyser coutumes et croyances ou encore les différentes formes d’organisation sociale (la tribu, la cité, etc.) et leur évolution. Plus tard, dans les premières décennies du XXème siècle, de remarquables études monographiques ou thématiques furent réalisées sur les différentes rives de la Méditerranée , telles celles de Maunier (1927) sur les échanges rituels en Afrique du nord, de Montagne (1930) sur les Berbères du sud Marocain, de Boucheman (1937) sur une petite cité caravanière de Syrie…Géographes et historiens, plus préoccupés par l’ancrage matériel des sociétés que par leur structure ou leurs valeurs, publièrent aussi des travaux importants, synthétiques ceux-ci, sur le monde méditerranéen ; ainsi Charles Parain, dans La Méditerranée, les hommes et les travaux (1936), campe une Méditerranée des infrastructures, celle qui prévaudra jusques et y compris dans les 320 premières pages de la thèse de Fernand Braudel (1949), celle des « ressources naturelles, des champs et des villages, de la variété des régimes de propriété, de la vie maritime, de la vie pastorale et de la vie agricole, des métiers et des techniques ». L’acte fondateur de l’anthropologie de la Méditerranée fut un colloque organisé en 1959 par Julian Pitt-Rivers, Jean Peristiany et Julio Caro Baroja, qui réunit, entre autres, Ernest Gellner, qui avait mené des travaux sur le Haut-Atlas, Pierre Bourdieu, alors spécialiste de la Kabylie, John K. Campbell, auteur de recherches sur les Saracatsans du nord de la Grèce. Cette rencontre, et celle qui suivit, en 1961, à Athènes donnèrent lieu à la publication de deux recueils fondamentaux (Pitt-Rivers, 1963, Peristiany, 1965), campant les principaux registres thématiques d’une anthropologie comparée des sociétés méditerranéennes (l’honneur, la honte, le clientélisme, le familialisme, la parenté spirituelle, etc.) et véritables coups d’envoi à des recherches monographiques s’inscrivant désormais dans des cadres conceptuels fortement charpentés. Les décennies 1960, 1970 et 1980 furent celles d’une croissance rapide et d’un épanouissement de l’anthropologie de la Méditerranée. Le monde méditerranéen est alors saisi à travers des valeurs communes : outre l’honneur et la honte, attachés au sang et au nom (Pitt-Rivers, 1977, Gilmore, 1987), la virilité qui combine puissance sexuelle, capacité à défendre les siens et une parole politique ferme qui ne transige pas et ne supporte pas les petits arrangements, l’hospitalité ostentatoire. C’est aussi un univers où domine une vision endogamique du monde, où l’on prise le mariage dans un degré rapproché, mieux la « république des cousins », où se marient préférentiellement le fils et la fille de deux frères, une formule surtout ancrée sur la rive sud et dans l’Antiquité pré-chrétienne, ; Jocaste ne dit-elle pas à Polynice : « Un conjoint pris au-dehors porte malheur » ? Ce à quoi Ibn Khaldoun fait écho : « La noblesse, l’honneur ne peuvent résulter que de l’absence de mélange », écrivait-il. Aux « républiques des beaux-frères », caractéristiques des sociétés primitives exogames étudiées par Claude Lévi-Strauss s’opposent ainsi les « républiques méditerranéennes des cousins », prohibant l'échange et ancrées dans l'endogamie patrilinéaire. Alors que dans les premières, « une solidarité usuelle unit le garçon avec les frères et les cousins de sa femme et avec les maris de ses sœurs », dans les secondes « les hommes (...) considèrent leurs devoirs de solidarité avec tous leurs parents en ligne paternelle comme plus importants que leurs autres obligations, - y compris, bien souvent, leurs obligations civiques et patriotiques ». Règne ainsi, dans le monde méditerranéen traditionnel, la prédilection pour le « vivre entre soi » auquel s’ajoute une ségrégation marquée entre les sexes, « un certain idéal de brutalité virile, dont le complément est une dramatisation de la vertu féminine », poursuit Germaine Tillion (1966). La Méditerranée, c’est aussi un monde de structures clientélaires, avec ses patrons et ses obligés, dans de vieilles sociétés étatiques où des relais s’imposent, à tous les sens du terme, entre le peuple et les pouvoirs; parallèlement, dans l’univers sacré, les intermédiaires, les saints, ne manquent pas entre les fidèles et la divinité ; ils sont nombreux, y compris en islam où leur culte est controversé. La violence avec ses pratiques vindicatoires (vendetta corse, disamistade sarde, gjak albanais, rekba kabyle…) fait aussi partie du hit-parade anthropologique des caractéristiques méditerranéennes et les auteurs analysent les moyens mis en œuvre pour sortir de ces conflits (Black-Michaud, 1975). Enfin, comment ne pas évoquer une communauté de comportements religieux, en particulier les lamentations funèbres, les dévotions dolorisantes autour des martyrs ? L’« inflation apologétique du martyre » est ainsi un trait commun au christianisme et à l’islam chiite pratiqué au Liban. La commémoration des martyrs fondateurs, dans le christianisme comme en islam chiite, donne lieu à des rituels d’affliction de part et d’autre de la Méditerranée. C’est en terre chrétienne la semaine sainte, avec ses spectaculaires processions de pénitents en Andalousie, ou, en Calabre, ces cérémonies où les hommes se flagellent les mollets et les cuisses jusqu’au sang. Au Liban les fidèles pratiquent, lors des processions et des prônes qui évoquent les tragiques événements fondateurs, des rituels dolorisants : ils se flagellent avec des chaînes, se frappent la poitrine avec les paumes des mains, voire se lacèrent le cuir chevelu avec un sabre. Dans le monde chrétien comme en islam chiite, des pièces de théâtre (mystères du Moyen Âge, ta’zie) ont été composées pour représenter le martyre du sauveur. Rituels chiites et chrétiens présentent donc un air de famille (Bromberger, 1979). Cette sensibilité au martyre dans les traditions religieuses méditerranéennes est à l’arrière-plan des manifestations laïques qui célèbrent les héros locaux ou nationaux tombés pour la juste cause. C’est le cas en Algérie. Toutes ces remarques peuvent paraître bien réductrices et caricaturales, éloignées des formes de la vie moderne et de la mondialisation qui l’enserre. Ne s’agit-il pas d’une Méditerranée perdue ? Les auteurs cependant nuancent leurs analyses et les insèrent dans le contexte spécifique où elles prennent sens. Dans leur généralité, elles offrent, malgré tout, une base de départ, un cadre comparatif et évolutif. Après une période faste, couronnée par un ouvrage de synthèse récapitulant les acquis (Davis, 1977), vint le temps des remises en cause. Plusieurs anthropologues (dont Michael Herzfeld, 1980, Josep Llobera,1986, Joao de Pina-Cabral,1989…) critiquèrent de façon radicale l'érection de la Méditerranée en « regional category » en fustigeant le caractère artificiel de l'objet, créé, selon eux, pour objectiver la distance nécessaire à l'exercice légitime de la discipline et qui s'abriterait derrière quelques thèmes fédérateurs fortement stéréotypés. À ces critiques virulentes venues des centres européens ou américains de l’anthropologie, se sont jointes celles d'ethnologues originaires des régions méditerranéennes, pour qui la référence à la Méditerranée est imaginaire et suspecte, et dont les travaux sont ignorés ou regardés de haut par les chercheurs formés à l’école britannique. Ce sentiment négatif a été d’autant plus accusé sur les rives méridionale et orientale de la Méditerranée que la mer qui, à différentes périodes, reliait est devenue un fossé aussi bien sur le plan économique que politique. Diverses initiatives et prises de position scientifiques ont donné un nouvel élan, dans les années 1990-2000, à l’anthropologie de la Méditerranée. Colloques et ouvrages (par exemple Albera, Blok, Bromberger, 2001) rendent compte de cette nouvelle conjoncture. On se garde désormais plus qu’avant de considérer le monde méditerranéen comme une aire culturelle qui présenterait, à travers le temps et l’espace, des caractéristiques communes stables. Au plus parlera-t-on d’un « air de famille » entre les sociétés riveraines de la mer en raison de contextes écologiques similaires, d’une histoire partagée, de la reconnaissance d’un seul et même Dieu. Cette perspective mesurée rejoint le point de vue de Horden et Purcell (2000), auteurs d’un ouvrage important tirant un bilan critique de l’histoire du monde méditerranéen. Pour eux, qui combinent points de vue interactionniste et écologique, la Méditerranée se définit par la mise en relation par la mer de territoires extrêmement fragmentés, par une « connectivity » facilitée par les Empires. Le titre énigmatique de leur livre, The Corruptive Sea, « La Mer corruptrice », prend dès lors tout son sens. Parce qu’elle met en relation, cette mer serait une menace pour le bon ordre social et pour la paix dans les familles. Cette proximité entre sociétés différentes qui se connaissent fait que le monde méditerranéen s’offre comme un terrain idéal au comparatisme « à bonne distance ». C’est sous le sceau de ce comparatisme raisonné que s’inscrivent désormais les travaux les plus convaincants, qu’ils se réclament explicitement ou non de l’anthropologie de la Méditerranée (voir sur la nourriture Fabre-Vassas, 1994, sur la parenté Bonte éd., 1994 , sur la sainteté Kerrou éd., 1998 et les traditions religieuses, sur les migrations et les réseaux Cesari, éd., 2002, sur le cosmopolitisme Driessen, 2005) Tantôt les recherches soulignent les proximités (Albera, 2005, 2009, Dakhlia, 2008, Dakhlia et Kaiser, 2011), tantôt elles les relativisent (Fernandez Morera, 2016, Bromberger, 2018), tantôt elles insistent sur les aspects conflictuels (Chaslin, 1997). Une autre voie est de considérer le monde méditerranéen, non pas comme un ensemble fait de similarités et de proximités mais comme un espace fait de différences qui forment système. Et ce sont ces différences complémentaires, s’inscrivant dans un champ réciproque, qui permettent de parler d’un système méditerranéen. Chacun se définit, ici peut-être plus qu’ailleurs, dans un jeu de miroirs (de coutumes, de comportements, d’affiliations) avec son voisin. Les comportements alimentaires, les normes régissant l’apparence vestimentaire et pileuse, le statut des images… opposent ainsi des populations revendiquant un même Dieu (Bromberger, 2018).

"verbiage very thinly sliced and plated up real nice" (Barrett 1)IntroductionMany of us share in an obsessive collecting of cookbooks and recipes. Torn or cut from newspapers and magazines, recipes sit swelling scrapbooks with bloated, unfilled desire. They’re non-hybrid seeds, peas under the mattress, an endless cycle of reproduction. Desire and narrative are folded into each other in our drive, as humans, to create meaning. But what holds us to narrative is good writing. And what can also drive desire is image—literal as well as metaphorical—the visceral pleasure of the gaze, or looking and viewing the sensually aesthetic and the work of the imagination. Creative WritingCooking, winemaking, and food and wine writing can all be considered art. For example, James Halliday (31), the eminent Australian wine critic, posed the question “Is winemaking an art?,” answering: “Most would say so” (31). Cookbooks are stories within stories, narratives that are both factual and imagined, everyday and fantastic—created by both writer and reader from where, along with its historical, cultural and publishing context, a text gets its meaning. Creative writing, in broad terms of genre, is either fiction (imagined, made-up) or creative nonfiction (true, factual). Genre comes from the human taxonomic impulse to create order from chaos through cataloguing and classification. In what might seem overwhelming infinite variety, we establish categories and within them formulas and conventions. But genres are not necessarily stable or clear-cut, and variation in a genre can contribute to its de/trans/formation (Curti 33). Creative nonfiction includes life writing (auto/biography) and food writing among other subgenres (although these subgenres can also be part of fiction). Cookbooks sit within the creative nonfiction genre. More clearly, dietary or nutrition manuals are nonfiction, technical rather than creative. Recipe writing specifically is perhaps less an art and more a technical exercise; generally it’s nonfiction, or between that and creative nonfiction. (One guide to writing recipes is Ostmann and Baker.) Creative writing is built upon approximately five, more or less, fundamentals of practice: point of view or focalisation or who narrates, structure (plot or story, and theme), characterisation, heightened or descriptive language, setting, and dialogue (not in any order of importance). (There are many handbooks on creative writing, that will take a writer through these fundamentals.) Style or voice derives from what a writer writes about (their recurring themes), and how they write about it (their vocabulary choice, particular use of imagery, rhythm, syntax etc.). Traditionally, as a reader, and writer, you are either a plot person or character person, but you can also be interested primarily in ideas or language, and in the popular or literary.Cookbooks as Creative NonfictionCookbooks often have a sense of their author’s persona or subjectivity as a character—that is, their proclivities, lives and thus ideology, and historical, social and cultural place and time. Memoir, a slice of the author–chef/cook’s autobiography, is often explicitly part of the cookbook, or implicit in the nature of the recipes, and the para-textual material which includes the book’s presentation and publishing context, and the writer’s biographical note and acknowledgements. And in relation to the latter, here's Australian wine educator Colin Corney telling us, in his biographical note, about his nascent passion for wine: “I returned home […] stony broke. So the next day I took a job as a bottleshop assistant at Moore Park Cellars […] to tide me over—I stayed three years!” (xi). In this context, character and place, in the broadest sense, are inevitably evoked. So in conjunction with this para-textual material, recipe ingredients and instructions, visual images and the book’s production values combine to become the components for authoring a fictive narrative of self, space and time—fictive, because writing inevitably, in a broad or conceptual sense, fictionalises everything, since it can only re-present through language and only from a particular point of view.The CookbooksTo talk about the art of cookbooks, I make a judgmental (from a creative-writer's point of view) case study of four cookbooks: Lyndey Milan and Colin Corney’s Balance: Matching Food and Wine, Sean Moran’s Let It Simmer (this is the first edition; the second is titled Let It Simmer: From Bush to Beach and Onto Your Plate), Kate Lamont’s Wine and Food, and Greg Duncan Powell’s Rump and a Rough Red (this is the second edition; the first was The Pig, the Olive & the Squid: Food & Wine from Humble Beginnings) I discuss reading, writing, imaging, and designing, which, together, form the nexus for interpreting these cookbooks in particular. The choice of these books was only relatively random, influenced by my desire to see how Australia, a major wine-producing country, was faring with discussion of wine and food choices; by the presence of discursive text beyond technical presentation of recipes, and of photographs and purposefully artful design; and by familiarity with names, restaurants and/or publishers. Reading Moran's cookbook is a model of good writing in its use of selective and specific detail directed towards a particular theme. The theme is further created or reinforced in the mix of narrative, language use, images and design. His writing has authenticity: a sense of an original, distinct voice.Moran’s aphoristic title could imply many things, but, in reading the cookbook, you realise it resonates with a mindfulness that ripples throughout his writing. The aphorism, with its laidback casualness (legendary Australian), is affectively in sync with the chef’s approach. Jacques Derrida said of the aphorism that it produces “an echo of really curious, indelible power” (67).Moran’s aim for his recipes is that they be about “honest, home-style cooking” and bringing “out a little bit of the professional chef in the home cook”, and they are “guidelines” available for “sparkle” and seduction from interpretation (4). The book lives out this persona and personal proclivities. Moran’s storytellings are specifically and solely highlighted in the Contents section which structures the book via broad categories (for example, "Grains" featuring "The dance of the paella" and "Heaven" featuring "A trifle coming on" for example). In comparison, Powell uses "The Lemon", for example, as well as "The Sheep". The first level of Contents in Lamont’s book is done by broad wine styles: sparkling, light white, robust white and so on, and the second level is the recipe list in each of these sections. Lamont’s "For me, matching food and wine comes down to flavour" (xiii) is not as dramatic or expressive as Powell’s "Wine: the forgotten condiment." Although food is first in Milan and Corney’s book’s subtitle, their first content is wine, then matching food with colour and specific grape, from Sauvignon Blanc to Barbera and more. Powell claims that the third of his rules (the idea of rules is playful but not comedic) for choosing the best wine per se is to combine region with grape variety. He covers a more detailed and diversified range of grape varieties than Lamont, systematically discussing them first-up. Where Lamont names wine styles, Powell points out where wine styles are best represented in Australian states and regions in a longish list (titled “13 of the best Australian grape and region combos”). Lamont only occasionally does this. Powell discusses the minor alternative white, Arneis, and major alternative reds such as Barbera and Nebbiolo (Allen 81, 85). This engaging detail engenders a committed reader. Pinot Gris, Viognier, Sangiovese, and Tempranillo are as alternative as Lamont gets. In contrast to Moran's laidbackness, Lamont emphasises professionalism: "My greatest pleasure as a chef is knowing that guests have enjoyed the entire food and wine experience […] That means I have done my job" (xiii). Her reminders of the obvious are, nevertheless, noteworthy: "Thankfully we have moved on from white wine/white meat and red wine/red meat" (xiv). She then addresses the alterations in flavour caused by "method of cooking" and "combination of ingredients", with examples. One such is poached chicken and mango crying "out for a vibrant, zesty Riesling" (xiii): but where from, I ask? Roast chicken with herbs and garlic would favour "red wine with silky tannin" and "chocolatey flavours" (xiii): again, I ask, where from? Powell claims "a different evolution" for his book "to the average cookbook" (7). In recipes that have "a wine focus", there are no "pretty […] little salads, or lavish […] cakes" but "brown" albeit tasty food that will not require ingredients from "poncy inner-city providores", be easy to cook, and go with a cheap, budget-based wine (7). While this identity-setting is empathetic for a Powell clone, and I am envious of his skill with verbiage, he doesn’t deliver dreaming or desire. Milan and Corney do their best job in an eye-catching, informative exemplar list of food and wine matches: "Red duck curry and Barossa Valley Shiraz" for example (7), and in wine "At-a-glance" tables, telling us, for example, that the best Australian regions for Chardonnay are Margaret River and the Adelaide Hills (53). WritingThe "Introduction" to Moran’s cookbook is a slice of memoir, a portrait of a chef as a young man: the coming into being of passion, skill, and professionalism. And the introduction to the introduction is most memorable, being a loving description of his frugal Australian childhood dinners: creations of his mother’s use of manufactured, canned, and bottled substitutes-for-the-real, including Gravox and Dessert Whip (1). From his travel-based international culinary education in handmade, agrarian food, he describes "a head of buffalo mozzarella stuffed with ricotta and studded with white truffles" as "sheer beauty", "ambrosial flavour" and "edible white 'terrazzo'." The consonants b, s, t, d, and r are picked up and repeated, as are the vowels e, a, and o. Notice, too, the comparison of classic Italian food to an equally classic Italian artefact. Later, in an interactive text, questions are posed: "Who could now imagine life without this peppery salad green?" (23). Moran uses the expected action verbs of peel, mince, toss, etc.: "A bucket of tiny clams needs a good tumble under the running tap" (92). But he also uses the unexpected hug, nab, snuggle, waltz, "wave of garlic" and "raining rice." Milan and Corney display a metaphoric-language play too: the bubbles of a sparkling wine matching red meat become "the little red broom […] sweep[ing] away the […] cloying richness" (114). In contrast, Lamont’s cookbook can seem flat, lacking distinctiveness. But with a title like Wine and Food, perhaps you are not expecting much more than information, plain directness. Moran delivers recipes as reproducible with ease and care. An image of a restaurant blackboard menu with the word "chook" forestalls intimidation. Good quality, basic ingredients and knowledge of their source and season carry weight. The message is that food and drink are due respect, and that cooking is neither a stressful, grandiose nor competitive activity. While both Moran and Lamont have recipes for Duck Liver Pâté—with the exception that Lamont’s is (disturbingly, for this cook) "Parfait", Moran also has Lentil Patties, a granola, and a number of breads. Lamont has Brioche (but, granted, without the yeast, seeming much easier to make). Powell’s Plateless Pork is "mud pies for grown-ups", and you are asked to cook a "vat" of sauce. This communal meal is "a great way to spread communicable diseases", but "fun." But his passionately delivered historical information mixed with the laconic attitude of a larrikin (legendary Australian again) transform him into a sage, a step up from the monastery (Powell is photographed in dress-up friar’s habit). Again, the obvious is noteworthy in Milan and Corney’s statement that Rosé "possesses qualities of both red and white wines" (116). "On a hot summery afternoon, sitting in the sun overlooking the view … what could be better?" (116). The interactive questioning also feeds in useful information: "there is a huge range of styles" for Rosé so "[g]rape variety is usually a good guide", and "increasingly we are seeing […] even […] Chambourcin" (116). Rosé is set next to a Bouillabaisse recipe, and, empathetically, Milan and Corney acknowledge that the traditional fish soup "can be intimidating" (116). Succinctly incorporated into the recipes are simple greyscale graphs of grape "Flavour Profiles" delineating the strength on the front and back palate and tongue (103).Imaging and DesigningThe cover of Moran’s cookbook in its first edition reproduces the colours of 1930–1940's beach towels, umbrellas or sunshades in matt stripes of blue, yellow, red, and green (Australian beaches traditionally have a grass verge; and, I am told (Costello), these were the colours of his restaurant Panoroma’s original upholstery). A second edition has the same back cover but a generic front cover shifting from the location of his restaurant to the food in a new subtitle: "From Bush to Beach and onto Your Plate". The front endpapers are Sydney’s iconic Bondi Beach where Panoroma restaurant is embedded on the lower wall of an old building of flats, ubiquitous in Bondi, like a halved avocado, or a small shallow elliptic cave in one of the sandstone cliff-faces. The cookbook’s back endpapers are his bush-shack country. Surfaces, cooking equipment, table linen, crockery, cutlery and glassware are not ostentatious, but simple and subdued, in the colours and textures of nature/culture: ivory, bone, ecru, and cream; and linen, wire, wood, and cardboard. The mundane, such as a colander, is highlighted: humbleness elevated, hands at work, cooking as an embodied activity. Moran is photographed throughout engaged in cooking, quietly fetching in his slim, clean-cut, short-haired, altar-boyish good-looks, dressed casually in plain bone apron, t-shirt (most often plain white), and jeans. While some recipes are traditionally constructed, with the headnote, the list of ingredients and the discursive instructions for cooking, on occasion this is done by a double-page spread of continuous prose, inviting you into the story-telling. The typeface of Simmer varies to include a hand-written lookalike. The book also has a varied layout. Notes and small images sit on selected pages, as often as not at an asymmetric angle, with faux tape, as if stuck there as an afterthought—but an excited and enthusiastic afterthought—and to signal that what is informally known is as valuable as professional knowledge/skill and the tried, tested, and formally presented.Lamont’s publishers have laid out recipe instructions on the right-hand side (traditional English-language Western reading is top down, left to right). But when the recipe requires more than one item to be cooked, there is no repeated title; the spacing and line-up are not necessarily clear; and some immediate, albeit temporary, confusion occurs. Her recipes, alongside images of classic fine dining, carry the implication of chefing rather than cooking. She is photographed as a professional, with a chef’s familiar striped apron, and if she is not wearing a chef’s jacket, tunic or shirt, her staff are. The food is beautiful to look at and imagine, but tackling it in the home kitchen becomes a secondary thought. The left-hand section divider pages are meant to signal the wines, with the appropriate colour, and repetitive pattern of circles; but I understood this belatedly, mistaking them for retro wallpaper bemusedly. On the other hand, Powell’s bog-in-don’t-wait everyday heartiness of a communal stewed dinner at a medieval inn (Peasy Lamb looks exactly like this) may be overcooked, and, without sensuousness, uninviting. Images in Lamont’s book tend toward the predictable and anonymous (broad sweep of grape-vined landscape; large groups of people with eating and drinking utensils). The Lamont family run a vineyard, and up-market restaurants, one photographed on Perth’s river dockside. But Sean's Panoroma has a specificity about it; it hasn’t lost its local flavour in the mix with the global. (Admittedly, Moran’s bush "shack", the origin of much Panoroma produce and the destination of Panoroma compost, looks architect-designed.) Powell’s book, given "rump" and "rough" in the title, stridently plays down glitz (large type size, minimum spacing, rustic surface imagery, full-page portraits of a chicken, rump, and cabbage etc). While not over-glam, the photography in Balance may at first appear unsubtle. Images fill whole pages. But their beautifully coloured and intriguing shapes—the yellow lime of a white-wine bottle base or a sparkling wine cork beneath its cage—shift them into hyperreality. White wine in a glass becomes the edge of a desert lake; an open fig, the jaws of an alien; the flesh of a lemon after squeezing, a sea anemone. The minimal number of images is a judicious choice. ConclusionReading can be immersive, but it can also hover critically at a meta level, especially if the writer foregrounds process. A conversation starts in this exchange, the reader imagining for themselves the worlds written about. Writers read as writers, to acquire a sense of what good writing is, who writing colleagues are, where writing is being published, and, comparably, to learn to judge their own writing. Writing is produced from a combination of passion and the discipline of everyday work. To be a writer in the world is to observe and remember/record, to be conscious of aiming to see the narrative potential in an array of experiences, events, and images, or, to put it another way, "to develop the habit of art" (Jolley 20). Photography makes significant whatever is photographed. The image is immobile in a literal sense but, because of its referential nature, evocative. Design, too, is about communication through aesthetics as a sensuous visual code for ideas or concepts. (There is a large amount of scholarship on the workings of image combined with text. Roland Barthes is a place to begin, particularly about photography. There are also textbooks dealing with visual literacy or culture, only one example being Shirato and Webb.) It is reasonable to think about why there is so much interest in food in this moment. Food has become folded into celebrity culture, but, naturally, obviously, food is about our security and survival, physically and emotionally. Given that our planet is under threat from global warming which is also driving climate change, and we are facing peak oil, and alternative forms of energy are still not taken seriously in a widespread manner, then food production is under threat. Food supply and production are also linked to the growing gap between poverty and wealth, and the movement of whole populations: food is about being at home. Creativity is associated with mastery of a discipline, openness to new experiences, and persistence and courage, among other things. We read, write, photograph, and design to argue and critique, to use the imagination, to shape and transform, to transmit ideas, to celebrate living and to live more fully.References Allen, Max. The Future Makers: Australian Wines for the 21st Century. Melbourne: Hardie Grant, 2010. Barratt, Virginia. “verbiage very thinly sliced and plated up real nice.” Assignment, ENG10022 Writing from the Edge. Lismore: Southern Cross U, 2009. [lower case in the title is the author's proclivity, and subsequently published in Carson and Dettori. Eds. Banquet: A Feast of New Writing and Arts by Queer Women]Costello, Patricia. Personal conversation. 31 May 2012. Curti, Lidia. Female Stories, Female Bodies: Narrative, Identity and Representation. UK: Macmillan, 1998.Derrida, Jacques. "Fifty-Two Aphorisms for a Foreword." Deconstruction: Omnibus Volume. Eds. Andreas Apadakis, Catherine Cook, and Andrew Benjamin. New York: Rizzoli, 1989.Halliday, James. “An Artist’s Spirit.” The Weekend Australian: The Weekend Australian Magazine 13-14 Feb. (2010): 31.Jolley, Elizabeth. Central Mischief. Ringwood: Viking/Penguin 1992. Lamont, Kate. Wine and Food. Perth: U of Western Australia P, 2009. Milan, Lyndey, and Corney, Colin. Balance: Matching Food and Wine: What Works and Why. South Melbourne: Lothian, 2005. Moran, Sean. Let It Simmer. Camberwell: Lantern/Penguin, 2006. Ostmann, Barbara Gibbs, and Jane L. Baker. The Recipe Writer's Handbook. Canada: John Wiley, 2001.Powell, Greg Duncan. Rump and a Rough Red. Millers Point: Murdoch, 2010. Shirato, Tony, and Jen Webb. Reading the Visual. Crows Nest: Allen & Unwin, 2004.

Introduction I am a transmigrant who has moved back and forth between the West and the Rest. I was born and raised in a Muslim family in a predominantly Muslim country, Bangladesh, but I spent several years of my childhood in Pakistan. After my marriage, I lived in the United States for a year and a half, the Middle East for 5 years, Australia for three years, back to the Middle East for another 5 years, then, finally, in Australia for the last 12 years. I speak Bengali (my mother tongue), Urdu (which I learnt in Pakistan), a bit of Arabic (learnt in the Middle East); but English has always been my medium of instruction. So where is home? Is it my place of origin, the Muslim umma, or my land of settlement? Or is it my ‘root’ or my ‘route’ (Blunt and Dowling)? Blunt and Dowling (199) observe that the lives of transmigrants are often interpreted in terms of their ‘roots’ and ‘routes’, which are two frameworks for thinking about home, homeland and diaspora. Whereas ‘roots’ might imply an original homeland from which people have scattered, and to which they might seek to return, ‘routes’ focuses on mobile, multiple and transcultural geographies of home. However, both ‘roots’ and ‘routes’ are attached to emotion and identity, and both invoke a sense of place, belonging or alienation that is intrinsically tied to a sense of self (Blunt and Dowling 196-219). In this paper, I equate home with my root (place of birth) and route (transnational homing) within the context of the ‘diaspora and belonging’. First I define the diaspora and possible criteria of belonging. Next I describe my transnational homing within the framework of diaspora and belonging. Finally, I consider how Australia can be a ‘home’ for me and other Muslim Australians. The Diaspora and Belonging Blunt and Dowling (199) define diaspora as “scattering of people over space and transnational connections between people and the places”. Cohen emphasised the ethno-cultural aspects of the diaspora setting; that is, how migrants identify and position themselves in other nations in terms of their (different) ethnic and cultural orientation. Hall argues that the diasporic subjects form a cultural identity through transformation and difference. Speaking of the Hindu diaspora in the UK and Caribbean, Vertovec (21-23) contends that the migrants’ contact with their original ‘home’ or diaspora depends on four factors: migration processes and factors of settlement, cultural composition, structural and political power, and community development. With regard to the first factor, migration processes and factors of settlement, Vertovec explains that if the migrants are political or economic refugees, or on a temporary visa, they are likely to live in a ‘myth of return’. In the cultural composition context, Vertovec argues that religion, language, region of origin, caste, and degree of cultural homogenisation are factors in which migrants are bound to their homeland. Concerning the social structure and political power issue, Vertovec suggests that the extent and nature of racial and ethnic pluralism or social stigma, class composition, degree of institutionalised racism, involvement in party politics (or active citizenship) determine migrants’ connection to their new or old home. Finally, community development, including membership in organisations (political, union, religious, cultural, leisure), leadership qualities, and ethnic convergence or conflict (trends towards intra-communal or inter-ethnic/inter-religious co-operation) would also affect the migrants’ sense of belonging. Using these scholarly ideas as triggers, I will examine my home and belonging over the last few decades. My Home In an initial stage of my transmigrant history, my home was my root (place of birth, Dhaka, Bangladesh). Subsequently, my routes (settlement in different countries) reshaped my homes. In all respects, the ethno-cultural factors have played a big part in my definition of ‘home’. But on some occasions my ethnic identification has been overridden by my religious identification and vice versa. By ethnic identity, I mean my language (mother tongue) and my connection to my people (Bangladeshi). By my religious identity, I mean my Muslim religion, and my spiritual connection to the umma, a Muslim nation transcending all boundaries. Umma refers to the Muslim identity and unity within a larger Muslim group across national boundaries. The only thing the members of the umma have in common is their Islamic belief (Spencer and Wollman 169-170). In my childhood my father, a banker, was relocated to Karachi, Pakistan (then West Pakistan). Although I lived in Pakistan for much of my childhood, I have never considered it to be my home, even though it is predominantly a Muslim country. In this case, my home was my root (Bangladesh) where my grandparents and extended family lived. Every year I used to visit my grandparents who resided in a small town in Bangladesh (then East Pakistan). Thus my connection with my home was sustained through my extended family, ethnic traditions, language (Bengali/Bangla), and the occasional visits to the landscape of Bangladesh. Smith (9-11) notes that people build their connection or identity to their homeland through their historic land, common historical memories, myths, symbols and traditions. Though Pakistan and Bangladesh had common histories, their traditions of language, dress and ethnic culture were very different. For example, the celebration of the Bengali New Year (Pohela Baishakh), folk dance, folk music and folk tales, drama, poetry, lyrics of poets Rabindranath Tagore (Rabindra Sangeet) and Nazrul Islam (Nazrul Geeti) are distinct in the cultural heritage of Bangladesh. Special musical instruments such as the banshi (a bamboo flute), dhol (drums), ektara (a single-stringed instrument) and dotara (a four-stringed instrument) are unique to Bangladeshi culture. The Bangladeshi cuisine (rice and freshwater fish) is also different from Pakistan where people mainly eat flat round bread (roti) and meat (gosh). However, my bonding factor to Bangladesh was my relatives, particularly my grandparents as they made me feel one of ‘us’. Their affection for me was irreplaceable. The train journey from Dhaka (capital city) to their town, Noakhali, was captivating. The hustle and bustle at the train station and the lush green paddy fields along the train journey reminded me that this was my ‘home’. Though I spoke the official language (Urdu) in Pakistan and had a few Pakistani friends in Karachi, they could never replace my feelings for my friends, extended relatives and cousins who lived in Bangladesh. I could not relate to the landscape or dry weather of Pakistan. More importantly, some Pakistani women (our neighbours) were critical of my mother’s traditional dress (saree), and described it as revealing because it showed a bit of her back. They took pride in their traditional dress (shalwar, kameez, dopatta), which they considered to be more covered and ‘Islamic’. So, because of our traditional dress (saree) and perhaps other differences, we were regarded as the ‘Other’. In 1970 my father was relocated back to Dhaka, Bangladesh, and I was glad to go home. It should be noted that both Pakistan and Bangladesh were separated from India in 1947 – first as one nation; then, in 1971, Bangladesh became independent from Pakistan. The conflict between Bangladesh (then East Pakistan) and Pakistan (then West Pakistan) originated for economic and political reasons. At this time I was a high school student and witnessed acts of genocide committed by the Pakistani regime against the Bangladeshis (March-December 1971). My memories of these acts are vivid and still very painful. After my marriage, I moved from Bangladesh to the United States. In this instance, my new route (Austin, Texas, USA), as it happened, did not become my home. Here the ethno-cultural and Islamic cultural factors took precedence. I spoke the English language, made some American friends, and studied history at the University of Texas. I appreciated the warm friendship extended to me in the US, but experienced a degree of culture shock. I did not appreciate the pub life, alcohol consumption, and what I perceived to be the lack of family bonds (children moving out at the age of 18, families only meeting occasionally on birthdays and Christmas). Furthermore, I could not relate to de facto relationships and acceptance of sex before marriage. However, to me ‘home’ meant a family orientation and living in close contact with family. Besides the cultural divide, my husband and I were living in the US on student visas and, as Vertovec (21-23) noted, temporary visa status can deter people from their sense of belonging to the host country. In retrospect I can see that we lived in the ‘myth of return’. However, our next move for a better life was not to our root (Bangladesh), but another route to the Muslim world of Dhahran in Saudi Arabia. My husband moved to Dhahran not because it was a Muslim world but because it gave him better economic opportunities. However, I thought this new destination would become my home – the home that was coined by Anderson as the imagined nation, or my Muslim umma. Anderson argues that the imagined communities are “to be distinguished, not by their falsity/genuineness, but by the style in which they are imagined” (6; Wood 61). Hall (122) asserts: identity is actually formed through unconscious processes over time, rather than being innate in consciousness at birth. There is always something ‘imaginary’ or fantasized about its unity. It always remains incomplete, is always ‘in process’, always ‘being formed’. As discussed above, when I had returned home to Bangladesh from Pakistan – both Muslim countries – my primary connection to my home country was my ethnic identity, language and traditions. My ethnic identity overshadowed the religious identity. But when I moved to Saudi Arabia, where my ethnic identity differed from that of the mainstream Arabs and Bedouin/nomadic Arabs, my connection to this new land was through my Islamic cultural and religious identity. Admittedly, this connection to the umma was more psychological than physical, but I was now in close proximity to Mecca, and to my home of Dhaka, Bangladesh. Mecca is an important city in Saudi Arabia for Muslims because it is the holy city of Islam, the home to the Ka’aba (the religious centre of Islam), and the birthplace of Prophet Muhammad [Peace Be Upon Him]. It is also the destination of the Hajj, one of the five pillars of Islamic faith. Therefore, Mecca is home to significant events in Islamic history, as well as being an important present day centre for the Islamic faith. We lived in Dhahran, Saudi Arabia for 5 years. Though it was a 2.5 hours flight away, I treasured Mecca’s proximity and regarded Dhahran as my second and spiritual home. Saudi Arabia had a restricted lifestyle for women, but I liked it because it was a Muslim country that gave me the opportunity to perform umrah Hajj (pilgrimage). However, Saudi Arabia did not allow citizenship to expatriates. Saudi Arabia’s government was keen to protect the status quo and did not want to compromise its cultural values or standard of living by allowing foreigners to become a permanent part of society. In exceptional circumstances only, the King granted citizenship to a foreigner for outstanding service to the state over a number of years. Children of foreigners born in Saudi Arabia did not have rights of local citizenship; they automatically assumed the nationality of their parents. If it was available, Saudi citizenship would assure expatriates a secure and permanent living in Saudi Arabia; as it was, there was a fear among the non-Saudis that they would have to leave the country once their job contract expired. Under the circumstances, though my spiritual connection to Mecca was strong, my husband was convinced that Saudi Arabia did not provide any job security. So, in 1987 when Australia offered migration to highly skilled people, my husband decided to migrate to Australia for a better and more secure economic life. I agreed to his decision, but quite reluctantly because we were again moving to a non-Muslim part of the world, which would be culturally different and far away from my original homeland (Bangladesh). In Australia, we lived first in Brisbane, then Adelaide, and after three years we took our Australian citizenship. At that stage I loved the Barossa Valley and Victor Harbour in South Australia, and the Gold Coast and Sunshine Coast in Queensland, but did not feel at home in Australia. We bought a house in Adelaide and I was a full time home-maker but was always apprehensive that my children (two boys) would lose their culture in this non-Muslim world. In 1990 we once again moved back to the Muslim world, this time to Muscat, Sultanate of Oman. My connection to this route was again spiritual. I valued the fact that we would live in a Muslim country and our children would be brought up in a Muslim environment. But my husband’s move was purely financial as he got a lucrative job offer in Muscat. We had another son in Oman. We enjoyed the luxurious lifestyle provided by my husband’s workplace and the service provided by the housemaid. I loved the beaches and freedom to drive my car, and I appreciated the friendly Omani people. I also enjoyed our frequent trips (4 hours flight) to my root, Dhaka, Bangladesh. So our children were raised within our ethnic and Islamic culture, remained close to my root (family in Dhaka), though they attended a British school in Muscat. But by the time I started considering Oman to be my second home, we had to leave once again for a place that could provide us with a more secure future. Oman was like Saudi Arabia; it employed expatriates only on a contract basis, and did not give them citizenship (not even fellow Muslims). So after 5 years it was time to move back to Australia. It was with great reluctance that I moved with my husband to Brisbane in 1995 because once again we were to face a different cultural context. As mentioned earlier, we lived in Brisbane in the late 1980s; I liked the weather, the landscape, but did not consider it home for cultural reasons. Our boys started attending expensive private schools and we bought a house in a prestigious Western suburb in Brisbane. Soon after arriving I started my tertiary education at the University of Queensland, and finished an MA in Historical Studies in Indian History in 1998. Still Australia was not my home. I kept thinking that we would return to my previous routes or the ‘imagined’ homeland somewhere in the Middle East, in close proximity to my root (Bangladesh), where we could remain economically secure in a Muslim country. But gradually I began to feel that Australia was becoming my ‘home’. I had gradually become involved in professional and community activities (with university colleagues, the Bangladeshi community and Muslim women’s organisations), and in retrospect I could see that this was an early stage of my ‘self-actualisation’ (Maslow). Through my involvement with diverse people, I felt emotionally connected with the concerns, hopes and dreams of my Muslim-Australian friends. Subsequently, I also felt connected with my mainstream Australian friends whose emotions and fears (9/11 incident, Bali bombing and 7/7 tragedy) were similar to mine. In late 1998 I started my PhD studies on the immigration history of Australia, with a particular focus on the historical settlement of Muslims in Australia. This entailed retrieving archival files and interviewing people, mostly Muslims and some mainstream Australians, and enquiring into relevant migration issues. I also became more active in community issues, and was not constrained by my circumstances. By circumstances, I mean that even though I belonged to a patriarchally structured Muslim family, where my husband was the main breadwinner, main decision-maker, my independence and research activities (entailing frequent interstate trips for data collection, and public speaking) were not frowned upon or forbidden (Khan 14-15); fortunately, my husband appreciated my passion for research and gave me his trust and support. This, along with the Muslim community’s support (interviews), and the wider community’s recognition (for example, the publication of my letters in Australian newspapers, interviews on radio and television) enabled me to develop my self-esteem and built up my bicultural identity as a Muslim in a predominantly Christian country and as a Bangladeshi-Australian. In 2005, for the sake of a better job opportunity, my husband moved to the UK, but this time I asserted that I would not move again. I felt that here in Australia (now in Perth) I had a job, an identity and a home. This time my husband was able to secure a good job back in Australia and was only away for a year. I no longer dream of finding a home in the Middle East. Through my bicultural identity here in Australia I feel connected to the wider community and to the Muslim umma. However, my attachment to the umma has become ambivalent. I feel proud of my Australian-Muslim identity but I am concerned about the jihadi ideology of militant Muslims. By jihadi ideology, I mean the extremist ideology of the al-Qaeda terrorist group (Farrar 2007). The Muslim umma now incorporates both moderate and radical Muslims. The radical Muslims (though only a tiny minority of 1.4 billion Muslims worldwide) pose a threat to their moderate counterparts as well as to non-Muslims. In the UK, some second- and third-generation Muslims identify themselves with the umma rather than their parents’ homelands or their country of birth (Husain). It should not be a matter of concern if these young Muslims adopt a ‘pure’ Muslim identity, providing at the same time they are loyal to their country of residence. But when they resort to terrorism with their ‘pure’ Muslim identity (e.g., the 7/7 London bombers) they defame my religion Islam, and undermine my spiritual connection to the umma. As a 1st generation immigrant, the defining criteria of my ‘homeliness’ in Australia are my ethno-cultural and religious identity (which includes my family), my active citizenship, and my community development/contribution through my research work – all of which allow me a sense of efficacy in my life. My ethnic and religious identities generally co-exist equally, but when I see some Muslims kill my fellow Australians (such as the Bali bombings in 2002 and 2005) my Australian identity takes precedence. I feel for the victims and condemn the perpetrators. On the other hand, when I see politics play a role over the human rights issues (e.g., the Tampa incident), my religious identity begs me to comment on it (see Kabir, Muslims in Australia 295-305). Problematising ‘Home’ for Muslim Australians In the European context, Grillo (863) and Werbner (904), and in the Australian context, Kabir (Muslims in Australia) and Poynting and Mason, have identified the diversity within Islam (national, ethnic, religious etc). Werbner (904) notes that in spite of the “wishful talk of the emergence of a ‘British Islam’, even today there are Pakistani, Bangladeshi and Arab mosques, as well as Turkish and Shia’a mosques”; thus British Muslims retain their separate identities. Similarly, in Australia, the existence of separate mosques for the Bangladeshi, Pakistani, Arab and Shia’a peoples indicates that Australian Muslims have also kept their ethnic identities discrete (Saeed 64-77). However, in times of crisis, such as the Salman Rushdie affair in 1989, and the 1990-1991 Gulf crises, both British and Australian Muslims were quick to unite and express their Islamic identity by way of resistance (Kabir, Muslims in Australia 160-162; Poynting and Mason 68-70). In both British and Australian contexts, I argue that a peaceful rally or resistance is indicative of active citizenship of Muslims as it reveals their sense of belonging (also Werbner 905). So when a transmigrant Muslim wants to make a peaceful demonstration, the Western world should be encouraged, not threatened – as long as the transmigrant’s allegiances lie also with the host country. In the European context, Grillo (868) writes: when I asked Mehmet if he was planning to stay in Germany he answered without hesitation: ‘Yes, of course’. And then, after a little break, he added ‘as long as we can live here as Muslims’. In this context, I support Mehmet’s desire to live as a Muslim in a non-Muslim world as long as this is peaceful. Paradoxically, living a Muslim life through ijtihad can be either socially progressive or destructive. The Canadian Muslim feminist Irshad Manji relies on ijtihad, but so does Osama bin Laden! Manji emphasises that ijtihad can be, on the one hand, the adaptation of Islam using independent reasoning, hybridity and the contesting of ‘traditional’ family values (c.f. Doogue and Kirkwood 275-276, 314); and, on the other, ijtihad can take the form of conservative, patriarchal and militant Islamic values. The al-Qaeda terrorist Osama bin Laden espouses the jihadi ideology of Sayyid Qutb (1906-1966), an Egyptian who early in his career might have been described as a Muslim modernist who believed that Islam and Western secular ideals could be reconciled. But he discarded that idea after going to the US in 1948-50; there he was treated as ‘different’ and that treatment turned him against the West. He came back to Egypt and embraced a much more rigid and militaristic form of Islam (Esposito 136). Other scholars, such as Cesari, have identified a third orientation – a ‘secularised Islam’, which stresses general beliefs in the values of Islam and an Islamic identity, without too much concern for practices. Grillo (871) observed Islam in the West emphasised diversity. He stressed that, “some [Muslims were] more quietest, some more secular, some more clamorous, some more negotiatory”, while some were exclusively characterised by Islamic identity, such as wearing the burqa (elaborate veils), hijabs (headscarves), beards by men and total abstinence from drinking alcohol. So Mehmet, cited above, could be living a Muslim life within the spectrum of these possibilities, ranging from an integrating mode to a strict, militant Muslim manner. In the UK context, Zubaida (96) contends that marginalised, culturally-impoverished youth are the people for whom radical, militant Islamism may have an appeal, though it must be noted that the 7/7 bombers belonged to affluent families (O’Sullivan 14; Husain). In Australia, Muslim Australians are facing three challenges. First, the Muslim unemployment rate: it was three times higher than the national total in 1996 and 2001 (Kabir, Muslims in Australia 266-278; Kabir, “What Does It Mean” 63). Second, some spiritual leaders have used extreme rhetoric to appeal to marginalised youth; in January 2007, the Australian-born imam of Lebanese background, Sheikh Feiz Mohammad, was alleged to have employed a DVD format to urge children to kill the enemies of Islam and to have praised martyrs with a violent interpretation of jihad (Chulov 2). Third, the proposed citizenship test has the potential to make new migrants’ – particularly Muslims’ – settlement in Australia stressful (Kabir, “What Does It Mean” 62-79); in May 2007, fuelled by perceptions that some migrants – especially Muslims – were not integrating quickly enough, the Howard government introduced a citizenship test bill that proposes to test applicants on their English language skills and knowledge of Australian history and ‘values’. I contend that being able to demonstrate knowledge of history and having English language skills is no guarantee that a migrant will be a good citizen. Through my transmigrant history, I have learnt that developing a bond with a new place takes time, acceptance and a gradual change of identity, which are less likely to happen when facing assimilationist constraints. I spoke English and studied history in the United States, but I did not consider it my home. I did not speak the Arabic language, and did not study Middle Eastern history while I was in the Middle East, but I felt connected to it for cultural and religious reasons. Through my knowledge of history and English language proficiency I did not make Australia my home when I first migrated to Australia. Australia became my home when I started interacting with other Australians, which was made possible by having the time at my disposal and by fortunate circumstances, which included a fairly high level of efficacy and affluence. If I had been rejected because of my lack of knowledge of ‘Australian values’, or had encountered discrimination in the job market, I would have been much less willing to embrace my host country and call it home. I believe a stringent citizenship test is more likely to alienate would-be citizens than to induce their adoption of values and loyalty to their new home. Conclusion Blunt (5) observes that current studies of home often investigate mobile geographies of dwelling and how it shapes one’s identity and belonging. Such geographies of home negotiate from the domestic to the global context, thus mobilising the home beyond a fixed, bounded and confining location. Similarly, in this paper I have discussed how my mobile geography, from the domestic (root) to global (route), has shaped my identity. Though I received a degree of culture shock in the United States, loved the Middle East, and was at first quite resistant to the idea of making Australia my second home, the confidence I acquired in residing in these ‘several homes’ were cumulative and eventually enabled me to regard Australia as my ‘home’. I loved the Middle East, but I did not pursue an active involvement with the Arab community because I was a busy mother. Also I lacked the communication skill (fluency in Arabic) with the local residents who lived outside the expatriates’ campus. 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Citation reference for this article MLA Style Kabir, Nahid. "Why I Call Australia ‘Home’?: A Transmigrant’s Perspective." M/C Journal 10.4 (2007). echo date('d M. Y'); ?> <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0708/15-kabir.php>. APA Style Kabir, N. (Aug. 2007) "Why I Call Australia ‘Home’?: A Transmigrant’s Perspective," M/C Journal, 10(4). Retrieved echo date('d M. Y'); ?> from <http://journal.media-culture.org.au/0708/15-kabir.php>.