Word: foreheaded
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Pitilessly astringent, formally exact, observant, pessimistic and skeptical of "progress," Naipaul can also be, at times, intolerably nasty: Who but Naipaul, when asked what the red dot on a Hindu woman's forehead signified, would answer, "It means My head is empty"? Naipaul doesn't suffer fools gladly, and to him the world is full of fools. Fuller, perhaps, than it really is. But he has been known to hit targets that few others would touch at the time: witness, for instance, his scarifying treatment of the ugly pretensions of English "black power" in the 1960s, in The Return...
...short, sleeveless dresses and read Enid Blyton novels and the Guinness Book of World Records. But when they get a rare visit from Aslam and his family, things become tense. Aslam is a zealous member of Pakistan's Tableeghi Jamaat, a massive, well-organized Islamic proselytizing movement. His forehead bears a permanent mark from touching the ground in prayer. His wife, like most Pakistani women, does not work, and keeps her head and face covered by a veil. At Attiya's home, she complains that there is nowhere to pray, because Islam forbids prayer in the presence of human images...
...Hawaiian surf legend Jeff Johnson. At 16, Jack had a pro surfing contract and became the youngest-ever invitee to the ridiculously dangerous Pipe Masters. After he face-planted on a reef (an accident that left him with 150 stitches and extensive scars around his lip and forehead), Johnson made the transition into directing surf films. On "work" trips to Indonesia and Australia, he would entertain his buddies with mellow acoustic tunes, but never considered a career in music. "Because of where I grew up, music for me has always been just some guys sitting around, not really...
...there couldn't see the play and had to be alerted by spectators if the ball was coming their way. As the only male in our party, I was given a pair of scissors to cut a red ribbon tied around the stumps. Saffron paste was daubed on my forehead, a candle was lit, sugared sweets were given to me, a bat was put in my hand and the first ball was bowled...
...couple of weeks ago, the New York Times ran a photo of author and historian William Manchester on Page One. His face was the image of despair--diluted blue eyes, a ladder of creases on his forehead--though if one did not read the story that the photo illustrated, it might have appeared that Manchester had been caught at a moment of alert creativity. The story, however, was about his inability to create, to write. At age 79, paralyzed in his left leg by two strokes suffered after his wife's death in 1998, he finds that he cannot complete...