Pujo Quotes

But as the Pujo Committee finds “the so-called control of life insurance companies by policy-holders through mutualization is a farce” and “its only result is to keep in office a self-constituted, self-perpetuating management.

Cual de todas soy…! Soy una mujer, una niña interna, una abuela sabionda. El mar embravecido pidiendo amor a gritos. La lengua que no tiene descanso en su andar diario guiando a sus hijos. Aquella que con el tiempo aprendió que la prudencia es necesaria para sobrevivir en estos campos. Soy esa mujer que no deja de soñar, ni de sentir. Soy el Tocororo enamorado que aunque pasen muchos años sigue allí sin perder su raíz. Soy una mujer que se equivoca. Que se ha caído mil veces y aun alza su frente con orgullo. Haciendo más fuerte su andar. Sirviendo de ejemplo a los hijos que supo engendrar. Soy una mujer que ha llorado hasta derramar su alma en un canto. Que ha perdido su nido en un torbellino y lo ha vuelto a armar porque ha tenido fuerzas para luchar. Soy un vientre de mujer, soy el ovulo fecundado. El esperma que ha llegado para engendrar lo más bello que existe y que se crea dentro de mí. Soy un pujo en el ocaso dando al mundo un nuevo ser. Soy una mujer, un papalote de sueños. El mes de marzo lleno de amor. Una barca en alta mar luchando con las olas en su vaivén peculiar. Hasta podría ser una princesa, un hada encantada, una gaviota extraviada. Soy una mujer en un beso una luciérnaga que vuela sobre mares y montañas buscando el amor entre tanta soledad. Y me preguntas tú, cual de todas soy….? Soy una mujer, una niña interna, una abuela sabionda. Soy la mujer, la amiga, la hermana, la madre, una fragancia empedernida. Unos pechos que amantan el sabor del nuevo día.

It was Durga Pujo, the city’s most anticipated days. The stores, the sidewalks, were overflowing. At the ends of certain alleys, or in gaps among buildings, she saw the pandals. Durga armed with her weapons, flanked by her four children, depicted and worshiped in so many versions. Made of plaster, made of clay. She was resplendent, formidable. A lion helped to conquer the demon at her feet. She was a daughter visiting her family, visiting the city, transforming it for a time.

The financial methods which he sponsored did much—as we have seen—to widen the gulf between rich and poor; to levy, as it were, a heavy Wall Street tax upon the production of goods, a tax sometimes too heavy to be borne. Whether the gulf might not have been still wider and the tax heavier if he had not lived, whether the concentration of power and of wealth was not inevitable anyhow, whether indeed it did not bring with it advantages—in commercial development—which outweighed its disadvantages, will always be matters of sharp disagreement. Yet even those who look bitterly upon the privileges of concentrated capital which Morgan did so much to extend, cannot fairly deny that he possessed in high degree that quality to which he so often referred in the Pujo inquiry: character. Among those who knew him as a man and not simply as the generator and symbol of enormous power, he was trusted. If such power had to exist, the country was fortunate to have him wield it, and not a less scrupulous man.

These same banks, ironically, would shortly be hauled before the Pujo Committee as the abominable Money Trust. What the public wouldn’t know was that the Money Trust had been forged, in part, by Washington itself in its quest for foreign influence.

That the goddess comes to town with her children, leaving her reluctant-householder husband behind on Mount Kailash, makes Pujo a singular celebration of family values and domesticity, unlike the Kill Bill independence of Kali.