Idle Thoughts in Grenoble...

Sitting here in my neat and tidy room staring out of the window at the snow-capped mountains in front of me, cradling my glass of tea in my hand (I haven't gotten around to getting myself a mug yet) and letting the steam rising from the glass warm my face, my mind drifts idly...

I should have posted earlier - I've been here nearly a fortnight now and I've had plenty of time and opportunities to write, but something held me back each time. A certain lack of motivation, if you please. Or perhaps, a certain inquietude and inner conflict vis-à-vis what I really wanted to say and what I can really say...

When I got my passport in 2003 and left home for the first time to spend three months in Germany, I had never imagined how much the unmeasurable wealth of experiences would change me, and how much personal growth there would be in such an incredibly short span of time...or even that it was just the beginning of what now seems like a long-term relationship with Europe. I returned in 2007. More growth happened. Changes that were not really subtle. 2009. I'm here for the longest stay yet, after two tumultous years from which I'm still recovering . I wonder what lies ahead...

Boarding Pass

A year ago was when I first seriously considered taking things further. I hesitated, nervous, wondering if it was the right thing to do at this point in life. I questioned my sanity. I tried reasoning with myself that doing this without the safety net would be quite a risk. And then I knew that if I didn't take the plunge, I'd regret it for the rest of my life. I should have known I'd do it.

The final decision to go back to studies and fund it myself, even if it is only for a short course was a relief, even if I'm now extremely nervous about the whole deal. Nervous enough to have bitten two of my nails into half! Now sitting just a day away from the first day at Centre Universitaire d'Études de Français, Université Stendhal, Grenoble the import of my decision finally stamped on to my conscious and unconscious mind, I can only hope that this will bring to me everything I expect.

A Cinematic Journey

2005. My first edition of Pune International Film Festival, introduced to me by a then new acquaintance. I went for the festival, only because the focus that year was on French films and it would be an excellent opportunity for me to improve on my Compréhension Orale. Geek. I know. I hadn't expected to emerge from that dizzying week of films, films and more films with an extremely dear friend who has been responsible in many ways for the person I am today and a mind that had grown so much within seven days that I am almost ashamed to admit how ignorant and foolish I was before... Ever since then, PIFF has represented two things : seven days of excellent cinema, mind-fucking, intellectual, or just plain silly and the birth of one of the most precious friendships I have forged.

From 2005 to 2009...it's been one helluva journey for my friend and me, for cinema and me. Our friendship has weathered the worst and survived. My taste in cinema is far more defined and informed (and I'd like to believe, more intelligent), though I continue to stay ignorant about the technicalities of film-making. This year, there isn't single chance of my friend making it for PIFF and even though I have a free pass (I get around you know) I haven't seen a single film yet. It is no big deal I know. Film festivals happen. Work happens. Life happens. You have to miss film festivals. But I feel as though I'm committing blasphemy. It's almost a sacrilege to be in Pune, hold a pass and not go watch some uber-mind-fucking excellent cinema.

I haven't made any resolutions this year - but here's one today. I will watch at least one film at PIFF before it ends...and I embark on the next journey. Amen.

Vinaigrette

Taking advantage of my break, I decided to indulge in some spring-cleaning and re-organising of my cupboards. My wardrobe was an easy task, since it rarely gets disorganised and a cleaning mission merely means putting the already neat stacks of clothes into neater stacks so they do not cross the invisible frontiers between them (I know I'm a freak, don't look at me like that!).

My study however is a different matter all together - it took me the better half of the day. A tiring task, but an extremely satisfying one, at the end of which I discovered treasures from my childhood. Stickers my father had brought back for me from Germany when I was ten years old - Papa would get back Staedtler colour pencils, felt-pens, stickers and other stationary for me on each of his trips to Europe. Back then, in the late 80s and early 90s such stuff was not easily available and I treasured each thing Papa brought back for me. The way I was brought up, the stuff was not given to me directly. They used to be kept in the cupboard in our living room which housed all the stationary used in the house. Whenever I wanted to use the stickers, I would ask Amma and she would open the cupboard, a treasure trove in my eyes, and let me choose. There were no restrictions, but I knew I couldn't waste them and I shouldn't go around randomly sticking them just anywhere I so pleased.

There are at least five complete sheets left and a couple more with a few stickers remaining. My bhabhi was shocked when I told her how long back Papa had bought them for me and even more when I calmly told her that I still have the Caran D'Ache felt-pens he got me from Switzerland when I was 14. Assuming I had kept them as a souvenir, as I have with several things Papa had gifted me over the years, she shrugged it off, only to stare at me with her jaws dropped when I pulled them out and proceeded to use them a little later in the evening. I wouldn't say I was a frugal and miserly child who did not use the stuff because of its "special" value. I used them - I've always enjoyed doing creative stuff so all the things I had were put to their maximum use, but I was also taught how to take care of my things and to use them in the right way so they lasted long and were not wasted. My parents firmly believed that creativity was tested not by using in carefree abundance the resources at hand, but by making the most of what one had and learning to recycle and produce something beautiful...something that has stayed with me till date.

This evening after giving some of those stickers to my nephew, I watched in horror as he immediately and carelessly stuck them on his cupboard. He is still very young and the notions of making things last and taking care of his belongings haven't really formed completely in his head, but I wondered if he will ever be taught to use things the way I was taught by my parents and the way most of my contemporaries were taught by theirs. I wondered if I'll be able to pass on the same habits to my nephews and (possible) children...and then wondered if the habits have the same value today, as they did in my childhood...

Musing over how times have changed, I wondered whether I envy my nephew his childhood...and close on the heels of the realisation that I do not envy him the least bit, came the realisation that slowly and steadily I am ageing. I'd like to think like good wine, but I sometimes wonder if it isn't more like sour vinegar!

The New Age Martyr - The Modern Mother!

It is quite a traumatising affair to hear an infant cry almost incessantly especially when you can’t fathom what is troubling the child so much and can do scant little to make him stop crying! It is little wonder that post-partum depression is so common in the West, where women have absolutely no relief from their baby’s wailing and the consequent stress.

Yet, I find myself rather uncompromising and unforgiving towards women who think their only duty lies in giving birth to the baby and they have little responsibility towards bringing up the child, leaving it to the grandparents to run after the child. Why should the grandparents be responsible for the child’s upbringing? Haven’t they already done their fair share of work when they brought up their own children? I am not saying that new mothers do not need or deserve help – they do. But "help" is different from handing the baby over to the mother or expecting the mother-in-law to run the house for you because you are now otherwise occupied! In an age, when we are so eager to claim credit for every thing we achieve and beat our chests in triumphant independance as soon as we can, is it fair to drag our parents back into the realm of family responsibilities just because we haven’t planned our lives properly and don’t want to compromise or sacrifice anything? It is hardly taboo any more to not have children at all or have just one child, then why must people produce children when they have neither the time nor inclination to look after them?

Perhaps I’m being unreasonable and harsh but I also fail to see light when women these days make it seem like the fact that they’ve given birth to a child and are making adjustments in their life, makes them worthy of an award. Our mothers have all done it, sometimes with far greater responsibilities to shoulder and much lesser help, facilities and knowledge at hand. I don’t see any of them queuing up for the Padma Vibhushan. There are few women these days who I can truly admire as mothers, where I see a certain balance and sense being applied to the whole process of pregnancy, post-natal adjustment and then bringing the child up (J and S being two of them)…and them I truly admire, because I also admit that bringing up a child is no easy task at all! Having said all of this, I must admit that I hope I never live to see the day where I am forced to eat these words and retract my statements.