Impression - Le Reveillon

I have, ever since I started understanding what little I understand about art, been an ardent admirer of the Impressionists, especially Edgar Degas and Claude Monet. My joy and delight was absolutely undiluted and unbriddled when I went for the Impressionist exhibition last year at the Museum in Montpellier, so much so that at one point I had the guard following me suspiciously! Even now when I recall the moment when I walked into the hall which housed Monet's biggest works, my skin breaks into goosebumps. It is strange then, that I haven't blogged at all about Claude Monet (1840-1926) whose painting, Impression, Soleil Levant (Sunrise) gave the name to the school of artists who primarily painted in plein air, making the most of the natural light and atmosphere and allowing it to reflect in their oeuvre along with their own individual perceptions and sensations vis-à-vis the subject. Last night as I revisited some of my favourite poems and browsed through the poems archive discovering previously unknown treasures, I found myself reading Oscar Wilde's Impression - Le Reveillon, which beautifully encapsulates my very own thoughts on the sublime beauty of a sunrise, the natural and the artistic interpretation. Since I find myself incapable of expressing the beauty of Claude Monet's oeuvre in my own words, I am shamelessly borrowing Wilde's words...

The sky is laced with fitful red,
The circling mists and shadows flee,
The dawn is rising from the sea,
Like a white lady from her bed.

And jagged brazen arrows fall
Athwart the feathers of the night,
And a long wave of yellow light
Breaks silently on tower and hall,

And spreading wide across the wold
Wakes into flight some fluttering bird,
And all the chestnut tops are stirred,
And all the branches streaked with gold.

Diwali is in the Air...

There's a nip in the air and a song in my heart ever since I got back from Bombay and despite some incredibly frustratingly annoying events and people and the fact that I constantly look for Papa to fulfill certain traditions, I feel a certain content inside of me that, for me, is synonymous with Diwali :-) Sure I love getting new outfits and I enjoy buying gifts for our family and friends, but what I really treasure are the simple rituals of cleaning the house, stringing the Diwali lights and Akashdeep Kandils, making the Diwali sweets, feasting on gujiyas, kheer and malpua made by Ma, lighting the hand-made diyas for धनतेरस and नरकचौदस, preparing for the Diwali pooja and finally the pooja itself...tomorrow is Diwali. May it usher in a year filled with joys and all that is right.

Keeping Traditions Alive...

I've been writing out the Diwali cards - an annual Diwali ritual and something I did with Papa. Some of my earliest memories of Diwali involve helping him choose the cards at a card shop or in a gift expo we'd visit before Diwali, and then sitting by his side at the dinner table, licking the stamps and painstakingly sticking them on the envelopes. I soon graduated to dictating the addresses to him, then writing the addresses on the envelopes...and over the years as his handwriting got worse and he got busier, the task of writing the cards shifted to me. But I never did it without him - whenever I took it up, he was there beside me, even if he was working...

I refused to write or send cards in 2006, still furious at the cruel twist of fate that had left me without him. It was only sometime during the Diwali pooja that it struck me that he would have wanted me to continue the tradition of sending the Diwali cards and he would have been disappointed with my juvenile and selfish behaviour. So last year, for the first time I sat alone and wrote cards to the whole family. Fortunately there were some cards remaining from the 2005, the last time I'd written Diwali cards. There was no pleasure in it at all; just a mechanical process, ...and I asked Papa if I had to keep this tradition alive.

Last night, nearly a year later I had my answer. It wasn't just about keeping the tradition alive, it was about making it mine. This morning, before running other errands, I bought the Diwali cards. For the first time, alone, without Papa to discuss which designs to choose and how many cards we'd need. I started writing the cards this evening. Papa was right there with me through out...and as I ticked off the last name in our usual list and then pulled out some more cards to send to my own set of friends and colleagues, I could see him smiling in approval.

We Live and We Learn

19th November 2005
14:00 - 16:00 Patrakar Nagar, Salle 1
My first day in class - it was a cours d'enfants (kid's class). I was overwhelmed by all the tiny tots, demanding attention and talking at the same time! It used to take all my patience and energy to keep them apart, get them to do something with a pedagogic purpose and enjoy at the same time...and I used to be drained and ready to drop at the end of those 2 hours every Saturday.
4th October 2008
14:00 - 16:00 Patrakar Nagar, Salle 1
Far from my first day in class - this time around Niveau 2 (level 2), and a group of adolescents and young adults. I was overwhelmed by all the students demanding attention and talking at the same time! It took all my patience and energy keeping them apart, and getting them to do something with a pedagogic purpose and yet enjoy themselves...and I was drained and ready to drop at the end of the 2 hours this Saturday.

Moral of the Story :
There is not much difference in teaching 10 year olds and 20 year olds!

A Tale of Two Cities

Over lunch with ex-students I recently narrated the story of our fish who led a very high-drama life with evil plots, murders and suicides. Immensely amused, they were convinced I'd invented the whole story. I did add some mirch-masala I admit, but the aggressive attacks, the murders and the suicides all happened for real, as did the inter-city rivalry for space between the fish from Bombay and those from Pune. I have re-produced the tale for Literary Mosaic - do go read it if you're looking for some deliciously melodramatic nonsense!