Latest news with #PontiusPilate
Economic Times
05-07-2025
- General
- Economic Times
A bad ad for veganism leads to an odd 'debate'
A bad ad for veganism leads to an odd 'debate' I experienced my Pontius Pilate moment last week when a vociferous digital platform interlocutor, who had first taken offence on account of an ad, and then taken umbrage because I had disagreed with him, challenged me to disprove a single thing he had written. When I gently explained that some of his notions would not be defensible in a court of law, he decried the notion of objective information altogether. Had this been all, I might have dismissed the matter from my mind. After all, his refusal to separate reality from fiction was a pervasive delusion championed by many heads of state, politicians, startup entrepreneurs, and social media personalities. But he urged me to follow suit. I felt no such impulse. Instead, I felt compelled to reply. His original ire was directed at a Peta message displayed on a hoarding, pleading for more people to consider going vegan. The promotion was poorly conceived, and even more poorly executed. It displayed a woman carrying aloft in her left hand a large street dog, whose bewilderment was exacerbated by the fact that the adult human female was suckling one of her teats. The even more execrable copy read: 'If you wouldn't drink dogs' milk, why drink the milk of any other species? Please. Try vegan.' This image and the message were, so he claimed, a direct assault on Hindu sensibilities because it made a mockery of milk, and by extension, veneration of the cow. I admitted that it showed poor taste, but that it did not seek to denigrate the cow. Furthermore, I wrote, calves all over the world were either mercilessly slaughtered to enable the profitable growth of the dairy industry, sometimes within hours of being born, or were left to fend for themselves, hungry and homeless, far from the comforting care of their mothers. This, he insisted, was the problem: Peta was trying to force Hindus to equate milk with meat, and was criticising a habit that was far more innocuous than the wholesale slaughter of animals. I tried to reason with him. I wrote that if Hindus sought insult in every message, then, like the proverbial eavesdropper, they were sure to be affronted at every instance. He responded that, as a proud Hindu, he was ready to respond to any slur. I then opined that Hinduism was too heterogeneous to be monolithic. Its philosophical systems were proof against any form of frivolous assault. This was not, he answered somewhat curiously, a matter of chemistry, which could differentiate between homogeneity and its opposite. Taken aback, I tried to reason more literally, explaining that Peta had probably made a concerted push with the community because vast majority of Hindus in north India were vegetarian, on account of their ancient and indelible Buddhist roots. At this point, he sent me a private message and requested a voice call. Sensing that I might yet convince him by acquiescing to his request, I readily agreed. 'I think,' he began without preamble, 'that the government should immediately ban Peta'. 'That would be extremely unreasonable,' I retorted. 'It would be tantamount to shutting down Alcoholics Anonymous for using, say, canine urine as an absurd proxy to promote abstinence.' He laughed. I felt that I had finally broken the ice of unreason. 'But this,' he said, quickly disabusing me of any such hope, 'is not a dog. It is a cow that is being ridiculed. It is sacred. This is unforgivable.' I appealed to his sense of reverence for India's plethora of sages, scholars, and leaders, including Mahatma Gandhi who, I informed him, had seen a connection between diet and equality, viewing veganism as the ultimate expression of ahimsa, a cornerstone of Hindu dharma. But he urged me to allow him to enjoy his version of the truth, based on individual experience and personal choice, rather than binding fact or onerous learning. 'Tolerance, after all, is key,' he said. 'It allows us to discover our own path.' His reasonable response beguiled me into sharing my credo. 'That is exactly how I became a vegan,' I said without hesitation. 'Bloody infidel,' he spat back in Hindi after a moment's silence, and hung up. The writer is founder-CEO, ALSOWISE Content Solutions (Disclaimer: The opinions expressed in this column are that of the writer. The facts and opinions expressed here do not reflect the views of Elevate your knowledge and leadership skills at a cost cheaper than your daily tea. Zepto has slowed, and Aadit Palicha needs more than a big fund raise to fix it Drones have become a winning strategy in war; can they be in investing? How the sinking of MSC Elsa 3 exposed India's maritime blind spots Ozempic, Wegovy, Mounjaro: Are GLP-1 drugs weight loss wonders or health gamble? Darkness at noon: Can this reform succeed after failing four times? Stock picks of the week: 5 stocks with consistent score improvement and return potential of more than 29% in 1 year Stock Radar: Nippon Life stock gives a breakout from Cup pattern in June; check target & stop loss for long positions From takeovers to a makeover: Are cement stocks ready for re-rating? 8 cement stocks with upside potential from 6 to 42%
Yahoo
19-05-2025
- General
- Yahoo
I hated my last name growing up but still didn't change it when I married. Now, my kids have it, too.
Growing up in Staten Island, my last name made me stand out. I thought I'd change my name once I got married, but that didn't happen. My husband and I eventually decided to hyphenate our last names when it came to our kids. In my predominantly Italian hometown of Staten Island, New York, you were Irish if your last name didn't end in a vowel. And if you weren't Irish, you were other. I fell squarely into that category. Couple that with the fact that my last name, though short, was hard to pronounce and easy to make fun of (butt kiss, body gas, so many options), and marriage seemed like my only salvation — a socially acceptable path to a more socially acceptable last name. I even found my husband early in middle school. I liked him for many reasons, not least of all his possession of a lyrical Italian last name with an equal amount of vowels and consonants. It's welcome in Staten Island and elsewhere and seemingly impossible to mock everywhere. I never expected to keep my name and give it to our kids. Fast-forward 12 years, when we were finally getting hitched. A long courtship gave me lots of time to think about how only a handful of people in the world have my last name. Of that handful, I was the only one of the youngest generation planning to have children. Letting this last name die felt worse than my children potentially being on the receiving end of body gas taunts. Separately, my husband's last name lost some of its appeal. One night during our engagement, we were paying for our meal at our neighborhood Italian joint. When our server returned to our table with my husband's credit card, the server muttered my husband's last name with disgust and then pretended to spit on our receipt. We figured he was joking, but we didn't get the joke. Eventually, we learned my husband's last name meant he likely descended from Pontius Pilate, aka the Roman who demanded Jesus be crucified. Not the greatest branch of a family tree, nor a name I could continue to believe was categorically better than mine. On the other hand, my last name came from the German word for "bathhouse." Whether this meant my ancestors owned one, just frequented one, or used it to get clean or engage in more scandalous activities, this felt like a hilarious part of my identity I couldn't lose. Our wedding came and went. My name stayed the same. Five years later, I was expecting our first child. It was tougher to choose his last name than his first. Around this time, we were also trying to sell our apartment and buy a house. Then we got some bad news from our real estate attorney: There was a lien on our apartment. We were flummoxed when our lawyer gave us the unfamiliar name of the person who placed the lien. What was more confusing: The person lived nowhere near us. The one thing we knew was that until we removed the lien, no one was going to buy our apartment. It turned out the lien was intended for some ne'er-do-well with my husband's exact same name, a guy who owed a lot of people a lot of money. A couple of affidavits later, the lien problem was resolved. But then I got a threatening social media message from a different creditor in upstate New York, convinced they'd found a way to get a note to the apparently hard-to-reach ne'er-do-well. I told the messenger they had the wrong guy. He didn't apologize, but he never contacted me again. With my almost-unique last name, my kids would never be the wrong guy. That felt like a nice gift to pass down. After much back-and-forth, my husband and I decided to hyphenate our kids' last names. This ensured they would each be the one and only, impossible to confuse with any other individual. It also guaranteed rude comments: "How are they going to be able to spell all that?" "Did you name them that on purpose?" and the especially astute, "Wow, that's a long name." Despite those real rude comments and some relatives who refuse to acknowledge both parts of their names, we're happy with our decision. Our kids, now 7 and 10, have fewer issues with their long name than I did with my short one. We live in a much more diverse area than my husband and I grew up in, so there are all kinds of names here, even other hyphenated ones. We talk all the time about how cool it is that there's no one else out there with their name, and they seem to appreciate that. I only wish I had done the same sooner. Read the original article on Business Insider
Business Insider
19-05-2025
- General
- Business Insider
I hated my last name growing up but still didn't change it when I married. Now, my kids have it, too.
Growing up in Staten Island, my last name made me stand out. I thought I'd change my name once I got married, but that didn't happen. My husband and I eventually decided to hyphenate our last names when it came to our kids. In my predominantly Italian hometown of Staten Island, New York, you were Irish if your last name didn't end in a vowel. And if you weren't Irish, you were other. I fell squarely into that category. Couple that with the fact that my last name, though short, was hard to pronounce and easy to make fun of (butt kiss, body gas, so many options), and marriage seemed like my only salvation — a socially acceptable path to a more socially acceptable last name. I even found my husband early in middle school. I liked him for many reasons, not least of all his possession of a lyrical Italian last name with an equal amount of vowels and consonants. It's welcome in Staten Island and elsewhere and seemingly impossible to mock everywhere. I never expected to keep my name and give it to our kids. I didn't think my husband's name was an option for me Fast-forward 12 years, when we were finally getting hitched. A long courtship gave me lots of time to think about how only a handful of people in the world have my last name. Of that handful, I was the only one of the youngest generation planning to have children. Letting this last name die felt worse than my children potentially being on the receiving end of body gas taunts. Separately, my husband's last name lost some of its appeal. One night during our engagement, we were paying for our meal at our neighborhood Italian joint. When our server returned to our table with my husband's credit card, the server muttered my husband's last name with disgust and then pretended to spit on our receipt. We figured he was joking, but we didn't get the joke. Eventually, we learned my husband's last name meant he likely descended from Pontius Pilate, aka the Roman who demanded Jesus be crucified. Not the greatest branch of a family tree, nor a name I could continue to believe was categorically better than mine. On the other hand, my last name came from the German word for "bathhouse." Whether this meant my ancestors owned one, just frequented one, or used it to get clean or engage in more scandalous activities, this felt like a hilarious part of my identity I couldn't lose. Our wedding came and went. My name stayed the same. I had a harder time with last names than first names when it came to our kids Five years later, I was expecting our first child. It was tougher to choose his last name than his first. Around this time, we were also trying to sell our apartment and buy a house. Then we got some bad news from our real estate attorney: There was a lien on our apartment. We were flummoxed when our lawyer gave us the unfamiliar name of the person who placed the lien. What was more confusing: The person lived nowhere near us. The one thing we knew was that until we removed the lien, no one was going to buy our apartment. It turned out the lien was intended for some ne'er-do-well with my husband's exact same name, a guy who owed a lot of people a lot of money. A couple of affidavits later, the lien problem was resolved. But then I got a threatening social media message from a different creditor in upstate New York, convinced they'd found a way to get a note to the apparently hard-to-reach ne'er-do-well. I told the messenger they had the wrong guy. He didn't apologize, but he never contacted me again. With my almost-unique last name, my kids would never be the wrong guy. That felt like a nice gift to pass down. After much back-and-forth, my husband and I decided to hyphenate our kids' last names. This ensured they would each be the one and only, impossible to confuse with any other individual. It also guaranteed rude comments: "How are they going to be able to spell all that?" "Did you name them that on purpose?" and the especially astute, "Wow, that's a long name." Despite those real rude comments and some relatives who refuse to acknowledge both parts of their names, we're happy with our decision. Our kids, now 7 and 10, have fewer issues with their long name than I did with my short one. We live in a much more diverse area than my husband and I grew up in, so there are all kinds of names here, even other hyphenated ones. We talk all the time about how cool it is that there's no one else out there with their name, and they seem to appreciate that. I only wish I had done the same sooner.
CBS News
18-04-2025
- General
- CBS News
Way of the Cross celebrations held across Chicago for Good Friday
The faithful are marking this Good Friday with many versions of the Way of the Cross. In Pilsen, the 48th Via Crucis started with a new look. The Last Supper, the prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane, and Jesus before Pontius Pilate took place outside. It's a big change from the traditional start in the basement of the Providence of God Church. The procession then traveled down the road, ending at St. Pius Church. Over in the Loop, the 20th Way of the Cross started at 9 a.m. with choral music, gospel readings, and more. The silent procession followed with the cross moving through downtown, making its way to Holy Name Cathedral.
