KUNG FU WARRIOR PRINCESS (Inner Peace, Inner Peace...)

When I was a child at school in India, I discovered I shared my name with a Mughal warrior called Shaista Khan. A male warrior, who, being Muslim, was the enemy of the Indian nation at the time. It got worse. In a battle with the Indian hero Shivaji, Shaista Khan fled, but not before losing three fingers to the hero's sword. Children can be cruel... "How come you still have all your fingers, Shaista Khan?" Ha. Ha.
But a funny thing happened (a pattern set to this day) - I became perversely proud of my connection to the beleaguered anti-hero. I quite liked the idea of a shadowy warrior balancing the prettier meanings of my name. Warriors can be graceful too.
So when a Karate Sensei came to our school and proposed classes, I signed up with my brothers. We were not to know that our teacher was a violent man, with an inclination to psychotic bursts of physical rage, which we numbly witnessed, paralysed by their suddenness. I seemed to be protected by my ability to recite. In a clear voice, from memory, I would dutifully recite the Dojo poem-prayers. Poetry has been my protector in unexpected ways. (Most likely, my brothers and I were protected by the fact that Sensei seemed quite afeared of our mother)...

During my week in hospital I discovered Kung Fu Panda on the little tv, and gloried in the lightheartedness of it all. I have decided perhaps it is time to make a return to some form of martial art, even if only T'ai Chi. What do you think?
While home from hospital, I had an unexpected and wonderful visit from Fiona, one of my Irish friends on Twitter

 

and she was so full of energy that I felt very strong myself, and during my monoclonal infusion two days ago, I asked my nurse Annama to take a picture of me, kung fu style...

Of course I was laughing my head off too much for that first picture to be serious - Annama thought I was CRAZY! "Are you mad?" she asked. "What is this picture for?"

But how about this?? Do I look fierce? Or do I?!! Don't mess.