Warli Paintings

Triangular human beings and animals with stick-like hands and legs dance in a loose, rhythmic pattern against an earthy background.

Warli paintings are popular because they are so alive, one can almost hear the drums beating and the tribals singing their folk songs.

Folk paintings from Maharashtra, they are traditionally done on mud, charcoal or cow-dung, using only white chalk powder made from rice-flour. The seasonal cycle, integral to the survival of the tribes, is a central motif. Circles are another motif of Warli paintings, representing the unending circle of life, and carrying forward this spiral movement that gives everlasting joy to the human race.

What you see above is my rather bastardised first attempt at Warli painting (not to mention quite decent first attempt at painting a wall!!) - if compared to an authentic painting (like the one you see here on Akshay's blog) it looks rather empty and spaced out, and well not authentic. But hell I'm so proud of it!

I'm fishing for compliments people! ;-)

A Glimpse into Anti-Semitism

That anti-Semitist sentiments have existed in the world long before Hitler, was something I knew (you can’t read The Merchant of Venice without realizing the extent to which Jews were disliked and prejudiced against – Shylock’s famous speech for mercy can be read at so many different levels, but that of course was the genius of Shakespeare), but I hadn’t realized that how many politically motivated movements against the Jews and Anti-Semitist writing existed nearly a century before Hitler was around. I came across a few while reading up for a French assignment last weekend...

In 1835, Arthur de Gobineau published his essay “Essai sur l'inégalité des races” (Essay on the Inegality of Races )which justified racism. Others who followed the same vein of thought were Alphonse de Toussenel who published “Les Juifs, rois de l'époque” (The Jews, kings of the era) and his disciple Eduoard Drumond. Drumond published "La France juive, essai d'histoire contemporaine" (The Jewish France, essay on contemporary history) and "Les Juifs contre la France" (The Jews against France), establishing the Anti-Semitist library of the newspaper La Libre Parole, which he founded.

And then there was the Dreyfus scandal:-

In 1894, a letter by a French official offering military secrets to Germany was discovered and soon after a Jewish official from Alsace, Alfred Dreyfus, Captain of the Artillery regiment attached to the Secret Services of the State was accused of treachery. The proof? Similarity in handwriting. He was condemned and publicly shorn off his status in the army at the Invalides in Paris, after which he was deported to the Devil Island in Guyana, on exile for life.

Dreyfus's degradation after his conviction: he is stripped of his braid and buttons, and his sword is broken. (Le Petit Journal, January 13, 1895. )

Efforts by his family and supporters to prove his innocence continued, and two years later the case was re-opened and a new suspect, Esterhazy was tried. However, he was acquitted and the President of counsel stated that “Il n’y a pas d’affaire Dreyfus” (There is no Dreyfus affair).

This political scandal ended up dividing France into two ideologies :- the Dreyfusards, who were in favour of The Rights of Man, a secular state and justice and the anti-Dreyfusards or those who following the principles of the old monarchists and Catholic conservatives were leaning towards militarism and nationalism. This was the first time France was being divided idelogically into two parties :- the Left and the Right. (The Socialist Party in France was officially formed for the first time during the course of this scandal that stretched for a decade, in 1901 by George Clemenceau, one of Dreyfus’ supporters.)

The Dreyfus Affair produced an enormous amount of postcards. This card uses the well-known anti-Semitic image of the treacherous Jew (Dreyfus) in the form of a snake. (From the postcard series "Museum of Horror," no. 6 : "The Traitor." )

While journalists like Edouard Drumont were writing anti-Semitist articles in leading papers like La Libre Parole (The Free Word), others like Emile Zola came out in staunch defense of Dreyfus and publicly criticized the government and courts of law for their slight in ruling. Zola, was sentenced to one year in prison after the publication of his “J’accuse” in a leading newspaper “L’Aurore” (The Dawn) – a paper run by Clemenceau. Zola’s open letter to the President brought attention back to the case and it was re-opned once again after the discovery of new proof of his innocence…only for Dreyfus to be sentenced to 10 years of prison on the basis of “attenuating circumstances” (sic) – it was ten years later that Dreyfus was finally absolved of all charges and re-instated into the army in 1906 under the government on Clemenceau.

It took La Croix, France's Roman Catholic daily paper, a 100 years to apologize for its anti-Semitic editorials during the Dreyfus affair. It finally did so on the 100th annversary of the publication of "J'accuse" in 1998.

What snagged my interest the most while reading about this, was one of the international repercussions of this scandal. A young Jewish journalist, revolted by the French anti-Semitism had concluded that it had now become essential to form a state for the Jews. And thus Israel was born in 1948.

Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you - Nicola...

With all this talk about Women’s Day and strong women going around, I thought I’d unleash Nicola on you –

“They knew her as Nicola. They called her Lady Nick. The feminine avatar of Old Nick – Nick the devil. She could reduce a man to a quivering mass of hormones ruled by his senses with a single slicing look of those sharp black eyes. All she had to do was set her eyes on the man and he was hers. “She’s had more lovers than I’ve had hot dinners,” was how they had introduced her in one talk-show. Lady Nick, they called her. Lady Nick, the home-breaker. You couldn’t cross her without regretting it. Lady Nick, they called her. Lady Nick, the ball breaker.”

She’s up there on Literary Mosaic – go get acquainted and don’t forget to let me know if you like her! ;-)

Currently:-

• Mulling over this statement I came across in a review of a new Franco-Israeli film, titled “La Fiancée Syriénne.”
  « ... Comme si l'espoir était devenu obsolète. » (...as if hope had become obsolete)
• Reading up about a political scandal that took place in France in the 1890s that led to the publishing of Emile Zola’s famous « J’accuse », a drastic evolution of the French press with greater liberty and criticism of the government being introduced, division of the society into two halves, the growth of the Socialist party in France, the first political anti-Semitist writings and the birth of Israel, as a country for the Jews. It’s interesting to say the least.
• Listening to Eagle Eye Cherry’s Save Tonight, off Jukebox Favourites.

Sauvez-moi Dieu! Il ya trop des idiots dans le monde!

I was under the rather wrong impression that only old people with nothing better to do go around finding unmarried young men and women and then harass them to get married. It seems this annoying hobby isn’t restricted to the elderly, as was proven by my rather exasperatingly frustrating conversation earlier this week with a classmate from AFP:-

Girl:- Ai, Geetanjali how old are you?

Me:- *Looking up from book* Hey, didn’t see you come in! I’m 23 – suddenly kyu poocha?

Girl:- So when are you getting married? I mean ab to umar ho gayi hai na?

Me:- *clearing throat* Excuse me? Umar ho gayi hai? Sweetheart est-ce-que tu as vingt ans ou quatre-vingt ans? (Are you 20 years old or 80?)

Girl:- No yaar 23 is the perfect age to get married…you don’t want to get married kya?

Me:- *wickedly* Na re I plan to take the vow of celibacy and join a sisterhood that shall have as it’s ultimate goal the re-establishment of the feminine sacred over patriarchy bring those men begging at our feet, forced to finally admit that women are the superior sex!

Girl:- *giving me a blank look* What all shit you people talk yaar. This is why I don’t read.

ME:- Weird, I thought you were doing French Literature and must be someone who enjoys reading…

Girl:- Accha so tell me, do you know how to cook?

Me:- Yeah. Like how do you think I survived in Germany for three months?

Girl:- Phir?

Me:- Phir kya?

Girl:- Arre, then why don’t you get married?

Me:- Duh! I’m afraid I don’t quite see the logic here. So I know how to cook, so I get married? Like knowing how to cook is the only qualification or something to get that oh-so-desirable job of a wife? *am getting irritated now*

Girl:- I’m sure you have a boyfriend…

Me:- *stifling the urge to throw the dictionary at her* Sure I do, more than one. But none of them are interested in tying the knot yet…

Girl:- *horrified* You are two-timing your guy?

Me:- Two-timing – let’s see now, with one guy in here in Pune, one in Bombay, another somewhere in Europe and…

Girl:- Ai don’t make fun of me! Tell na…

Me:- *smiling sweetly* I did. I adore each one of them and don’t waste a single opportunity to tell them that…

(Silence for a while, during which I go back to reading…)

Girl:- Arre you used to work na?

Me:- *thinking she finally got the message* Yeah, was freelancing as a copywriter for this design studio back in Bombay…but it didn’t work out.

Girl:- Why?

Me:- Ego on both sides, It didn’t help that I was doing this work just to prevent my brains from rusting and didn’t really see myself making it a career. Besides I’m in no hurry to pile up the green stuff in my account. Studying is what I do best – so I’m going to do that for a while longer, and then take up what I really want to do…

Girl:- You should take up a job in a call center. French. They pay well yaar.

Me:- I don’t find the idea of working in a call center attractive. Somehow it gives me the hibbie-jibbies, the idea of sitting with headphones and answering calls for hours at end, pretending I’m Georgia when I’m so not!

Girl:- No but if you do that, then you can work at night, study in the evening and still have time to cook for your husband, na?

Me:- Ummm? Sweetheart I thought it was established that I’m unmarried!

Girl:- Haan wohi to…get married!

ARGH!!!

GOD SAVE ME FROM SUCH IDIOTS!

Currently:-

• Listening to O Samba – a very good compilation of Latin dance numbers, sent to me by my adorable German friend.
• Excited about lunch – a friend, who’s been avoiding coming over to my place for over a month, has finally agreed to come today for lunch and I’m cooking. What’s on the menu? Nothing fancy – just some Onion soup, Veg-au-gratin, Stuffed Capsicums, Cucumber and peanut salad, served with French Bread. Banana loaf for dessert.
• Btw, I so don’t get it – why do guys have this problem about going over to their (girl) friend’s place? What’s with the “avoid parents and homes and anything remotely resembling family” attitude? Only Kunu doesn’t behave this way – but then he’s the most intelligent and mature guy I know, not to mention that he’s been coming over since he was 10...

Worth reading :-

• Observations from the Rooftop :- it’s a rather polemic blog, if I may say so, touching on issues ranging from the Party scene in Pune to the Nature of Love…

I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For

"I have climbed highest mountain

I have run through the fields

Only to be with you

Only to be with you

I have run

I have crawled

I have scaled these city walls

These city walls

Only to be with you

But I still haven't found what I'm looking for

But I still haven't found what I'm looking for..."

U2 (Read complete lyrics here...)

Woke up early this morning - partly because I slept so badly last night, partly because I'd already set the alarm with intentions of practicising those grey cells before the sun rose over the horizon; something I used to be good at. I've always been a person who preferred getting up early to study, rather than studying late. But with this new lethargy I seem to have forgotten the pleasures of waking up early, listening to music of my choice on Rewind or on one of my old CDs...brewing my own coffee even while it's still dark outside and then sipping it slowly while standing on the terrace/balcony cradling my big yellow with blue trim mug in my hands...and then sitting and doing some mental exercises that kick-start the day and keep those grey cells active all day, not to mention keep the angsty emotions at bay, providing a sense of calm, peace and order inside my cauldron of a head....

This was the first song I heard this morning, moving onto other 80s classics and then some Blazing Drums and now it's Trilok Gurtu. It's 9.41 a.m and I can feel the weight on my heart lifting and a smile teasing at the corners of my lips, as the music takes over and weaves it's magic spell over me.

P.S A new story is up on Literary Mosaic - waiting to be read and reviewed! :-)

Cold

It's snowing in Kasmir - freak weather they say. It's snowing elsewhere in the world also, like never before. Temperatures are falling all over the world. It's cold outside.

And so am I. Cold from inside.

Just cold.

So cold.

Ruminations...

Friendships mean a lot to me. So much that sometimes I give them more importance than family relationships and that it is my friends who know me better than my family. I don’t open up easily to people – am extremely choosy about the people I associate with and befriend. Not being of the rude and blunt nature I often end up being nice to people I don’t think much of, and would rather they stay as far from me as possible, but these ‘acquaintances’ never become friends. So it is, that when I open my heart out to someone, it’s with complete trust that they will not hurt me. And so it is, that when they do hurt me, I feel the prick of the wound sharper than expected in normal circumstances. With almost every friendship of mine that has meant something to me, I’ve erred in expecting too much from the other person and at some time or the other, they have inadvertently hurt me. :-(

Someone recently said that relationships should not become a burden, a liability and a responsibility towards the other – wherein you fear hurting them or letting them down. That there should be freedom in a relationship – freedom to be who you are without the need to explain anything. Yes there should be. But does the freedom to be true to your own self imply that you have the right to be callous about other’s feelings? Does the freedom to be true to your convictions and beliefs and attitudes imply that you have the right to squash any other opposing thought and not even give it a fair hearing? Does an occasional compromise for the one you care about, really have to be such a pain?

Currently :-

• Planning the week ahead of me – it’s going to be a busy one with Dr.M in town with wife – so there are corporate dinners to look forward to, and the delightful role of the MD’s daughter to live upto! Plus I have to get myself back into the groove of studies.
• Disciplining my mind and body – started with the body a fortnight ago. Ab dimaag ki baari hai.
• Listening to Come Undone by Duran Duran – sexy song! Incredibly sexy!

Alzheimer's Disease

Alzheimer’s Disease.

To me, it’s the one of the most humiliating and crippling diseases to be afflicted by. To be afflicted by a disease that leads to the debilitation of the mind, is so much more painful than being inflicted by a disease that affects the body. Seeing your body rot away and being racked with pain day-in and day-out is a torture, but to not even know what “pain” is?

I finally saw Black this weekend – needless to say, the performances are superlative and if the actors don’t sweep away all the awards next year, it’s going to be a disgrace, for I don’t think anyone can top these performances for the next few years. I’d been told that it’s a heart-breaking and touching movie, but I didn’t expect it to move me so much. To say that I had tears in my eyes is an understatement – they flowed down my cheeks and at one point I was sniffling quite loudly. I don’t normally cry in movies so this left me shocked – either I’m more of a softy than I let on, or those oscillating hormones were at work again – I was pre-disposed to the mood anyway, so the movie seemed to just let the dam down! While most people have raved about the movie, there are some who have given it the absolute thumbs-down, which leaves me a little rattled. I don’t get it. I mean so the movie is “depressing” (I think “serious” is more apt) and doesn’t provide mass-entertainment by means of wild song-n-dance routines, but what about the treatment of subject, performances, direction? Does that not count?

In the movie, Mr.Sahay, Michelle’s teacher is afflicted by Alzheimer’s. For someone who has spent a lifetime teaching the blind and deaf the meaning of words, leading them to light, when all that surrounds them is darkness, there couldn’t be a worse fate. To forget who you are, what you are, to forget what words mean – I can’t even imagine it.

After the movie I was ruminating over this, and I remembered my post on Iris Murdoch, writer par excellence.From the mid-1990s Murdoch suffered from Alzheimer disease. First signs were seen on visits to Israel, where Murdoch, who always spoke slowly, had difficulties answering questions. Nissim Ezekiel, father of Modern Indian English poetry and a highly respected professor of English also suffered from the same till his death last year. It made me think about how an author/poet would deal with Alzheimer's Disease - how difficult it would be for them to face not being able to complete a sentence they started, suddenly not knowing what words meant and so on.

Iris, ofcourse is a movie that deals with this subject very well, interweaving the crippling effect of the disease with the biography of the writer. I’d strongly recommend the movie – apart from brilliant performances by Kate Winslet and Judi Dench, it has been made with great skill and feel for the subject.

And ofcourse – BLACK. It’s a MUST SEE!

C'est Moi

Riding the rollercoaster of life at neck-breaking speed should be fun me thinks sometimes. But it ain’t for me – I’ve always taken life one step at a time, cautiously, sensibly. The only time I tried to take large steps encompassing two tiles with each step, I exhausted myself and ended as drained as a dish-water rag once the job is done. That I felt like that, during that one year, used and ready to be tossed out of the window kinda added that essential ingredient in my exhaustion.

But I’m back to my take one step at a time – so I’m dog-headedly pursuing one thing, stubborn as a river intent on its destination. I may meander along the way, but I know where I’m headed. So what if the others think I’m just an aimless petite little thing who’s too frail and delicate for the real world, and needs others to make decisions for her. Ha. Little do they know how stubborn I am and who takes the decisions. Moi. Seulement moi. Personne autre.

I like to think they are mostly the right decisions and that when I err I learn from my mistakes. Once bitten, twice shy – yes that’s me. Not to mention my ego doesn’t permit me to fail, or compromise on perfection in goals yet to be achieved, in dreams yet to be realized. I shall settle for nothing less than what I first set my eyes on. Absit Omen.

So here I am plodding along steadily towards my goals – just took the next step towards it. For a while there was this huge hurdle, which I couldn’t remove from my path all alone – now it’s gone and am I pleased as punch! Wondering what I’m gassing about?:-)

Classes for Diplome Superieur at Alliance Francaise de Ponna finally started this week. Merci Bon Dieu! I was quite climbing walls in frustration – it’s all nice to be vella for a while, to indulge yourself in siestas, and lazy meanderings of the mind, to pamper one’s mind by giving it a rest, but believe me once the ennui sets in, little can prevent the eventual rusting. It’s inevitable. Ever wondered why house-wives have nothing to talk about but what they will cook for dinner tonight or what their neighbour wore to who’s party? It’s not because as a member of the female species they haven’t got the intelligence to discuss anything else. It’s not even because they do nothing – trust me a housewife’s job is the most tiring job around, not so much due to the physical/mental/emotional work involved but due to the thankless nature of the work. And that is what eventually makes a housewife feel she’s doing nothing worthwhile and then sets in the ennui towards the monotony of daily routines – and la voila la, the rust sets in.

That’s not going to happen to me. Don’t get me wrong here. I’m not saying I don’t respect housewives – home-makers, I think is less pejorative a term. Infact I sometimes think we women are lucky to have this choice – no one thinks less of us if we choose to stay home, putting our homes and our families first, instead of going out into the battle-field to fight for the daily bread. We can actually even do both – quite well, if we set our minds to it. The other half of humanity doesn’t have that one choice (the only choice perhaps that they don’t have, apart from that of giving birth) nor, is it capable of balancing the two worlds as skillfully as we are. But I don’t think I could sit at home and cook meals for someone who will come home fagged out at the end of the day and think that only he has had a difficult day – nopes that won’t happen to me. I know that I need to be gainfully employed in something that brings me a feeling of accomplishment and contentment and fulfillment. I need to important for the few people I am surrounded with. And I need to be able to be there for them, and do for them, what others can’t. I have no grand ambitions mind you. I don’t see my name writ up there with the immortals of humankind – but I don’t want my epitaph to read “She lived…She died.” In place of the elision, I’d like it to read “She lived her life fully. She died content. She won’t be remembered by the entire mankind. But we sure as hell will remember her for what she was.”

Ah oui, c’est moi. Egoistic petite little moi. And you know what? I quite like me :-)

• Current Music :- Beautiful Girl – INXS
• Current Mood :- Cheerful. Naughty. Wicked.

Ranting Bitch

Rant.

I want to rant today.

I’ve become quite accustomed to life in this hamlet, to the idea of living far-away from the main city (far by Pune standards) in an area where the roads are nearly non-existent for most of the year and rickshaw-wallahs disappear in the afternoon for a siesta so even if you don’t wanna risk your life in a PMT bus you really have no choice but to wait at the nukkad for the next bus going to Corporation. I’ve become accustomed to people arching their eyebrows in shock and disbelief when I tell them where I live in Pune, to rickshaw-wallahs laughing in my face when I ask them to go there after sundown and if I’m lucky to find one who’s willing to go, then to haggle with them over the fare! I’ve gotten accustomed to the utter peace and quiet of the colony, for once you enter in, you are quite isolated from the hustle-bustle of the outside world. It’s nice to fall asleep to the sound of the wind outside, hammering wildly at the windows begging to be let in so it can force my curtains to fly high up. It’s nice to walk into a colony kept clean by an army of sweepers, with plants and trees lining the long avenue that leads up to the bungalows at the end of the colony, nice to go for walks in the evening around the bungalows, wondering at the obscene amount of wealth people have that they can maintain Ekta-Kapoor-show-type bungalows and not stay in them!

But I have not become accustomed to the antics of the gaon-wallahs. I used to think noisy baraats were a custom of the rather loud and noisy Punjabis, and even though the custom seems to have pilferated into other communities, Maharashtrians still didn’t have this ridiculous custom. I was wrong. So incredibly, terribly wrong. For the Keshavnagar-wasis sure have very loud, very noisy and very long drawn-out baraats. And to make it worse, for some god-forsaken reason the Maharashtrians here don’t have weddings in the morning (as is normal in their community) but in the middle of the night. So their god-damned baraats are arriving in all their zor-shor close to midnight and they continue to revel in their noise till atleast 1 am. And it sure doesn’t help that they position of the buildings is such that all this noise ricochetes wildly and echoes like nobody’s business!

ARGH!

And oh did I mention that there seem to be way too many people in this bloody gaon, getting married, like perenially? The cacophony outside persists almost through-out the year. A few weeks of peace in January and it’s peak wedding season again!

GRRR!

Why can’t we Indians learn to conduct ourselves in a more dignified, sober manner and show some consideration for others? You wanna have a garish wedding, go have it – but why make my life miserable at the same time?

ICK!

• Current mood :- Grumpy as a sleep deprived bear. Tired. Thirsting for some blood and longing to sink my fangs into the next available victim.
• Current music:- Runaway Train – Soul Asylum. Listening to my favorites from the 80s and 90s – they made real music back then! :-)
• Current read :- Rushdie’s Haroun and the Sea of Stories and Ill-made Mute by Cecelia Dart-Thornton. After a long time, I’m reading again and enjoying the sheer magic words can spin, c’est vrai, authors are magicians!

Furor Scribendi?

I’d like call myself a writer – a writer who has a way with words, a natural flair and a style that is unmistakable. Not to mention content worth reading – more than once. I’m nowhere near that today, I know, but one day I hope to be there. As of now, as a writer, I’m erratic. I can’t bind myself to the practice, for I bore of it soon if there’s an obligation to write. Yet at times I feel a ‘furor scribendi’ and what I must say comes out of me like an out-pouring of sorts, almost a cathartic vomiting. As for style – I can’t really say I have a marked style of my own. Like Pune’s voltage system it fluctuates like nobody’s business and is yet to grow and mature into something I can proudly identify as distinctly and quintessentially mine.

Lately I’ve been finding myself impatient and lazy with the words – I can’t bring myself to write anything remotely worthwhile and actually complete it. The year began with a bang that left me strapped to the bed, and then proceeded to race crazily down the track with no sense of direction and purpose. I thought a hiatus from the monotony of my purpose-less long vacation would do me good, so I took off to Bbay for a rushed trip, returning to Pune only to pack my bags and set off for Bangalore.

A week away from Pune did me some good, especially since I spent the time mostly ruminating and allowing the mind to drift aimlessly as I sat in my cousins’ balcony looking over the tree-tops at the clear skies dotted with pristine clouds. The sounds of quotidian activities would drift up to my ears keeping me connected yet not really jarring my reverie. It was a nice and pleasant break – anti social, for I didn’t meet anyone but my cousins with whom I stayed (had no choice there, did I? ;-) ) and Bua-Phuphaji who also stay in the Garden city.

The city has changed drastically since I went there in summer 2000 with Aprajita, transforming Bua-Phuphaji’s quiet, residential Indira Nagar into a bustling, active, very noisy and traffic-congested area that left me at quite a loss of words. As for the traffic in the city on the whole – they aren’t far from Bombay when it comes to mindless traffic jams. I still find the city nice in terms of weather, having experienced pleasant weather and sweet breezes during my stay, not to mention the usual Bangalore showers that brought back the breezes and forced down the rising temperatures.

And the shopping in the city never fails to please me – I stepped out just once to shop and visited just one mall (didn’t even hit M.G road/Brigade Road and the quintessentially Banglore Commercial Street, leave alone the much-famed new mall in Koramangala), yet I came back pleased with my purchases. Few, terribly so for my usual shopping habits, but good buys.

Creatively speaking the holiday was good, for I splashed some paint on my cousins’ wall adorning it with Berger paint (Rangoli – Brick Red) and then some Warli painting to add that dash of drama and ethno-chic to their living room. Apart from restoring my confidence in my ‘artistic’ inclinations, it also set free my rather dormant creativity, giving rise to a panoramic gamut of ideas and projects in my mind; enough to keep me and my brushes busy in the next few months. :-)

I came back several days ago, but yet that apathetic ennui dogs me – there is a disturbing desultoriness in my thoughts and ways, that I have resolved to break free off, before it worms its way into my system for good. Amen to that! :-)

We are Feminists...

Because
woman's work is under paid or unpaid &
what we look like is
more important than what we do &
if we love women it's
because we can't get a real
man & if we expect community care for
our family we are selfish & if we stand up
for our rights we are loud & if we don't
we are typical weak females &
if we want to get married we are out to trap a man &
if we don't we are unnatural &
because we aren't deemed responsible enough
to decide if, when and
how we give birth,
we are feminists

- Joyce Stevens (an activist over many years in the left, union and feminist movements, starting with her membership in the Eureka Youth League in 1942 and in the Communist Party of Australia (CPA) in 1945). This was written in 1975 for an International Women's Day broadsheet; the words which followed have been republished on postcards, stickers, posters and t-shirts in Australia and overseas. She has also worked for environmental, Aboriginal and mulit-cultural issues.

Waiting...

Waiting. Waiting to Exhale. Waiting. Waiting for Godot.

Well not really. I was simply waiting outside a gynecologist’s clinic, waiting for my sister-in-law and mother to come out, marveling at the number of pregnant, big-bellied women emerging from the seemingly cool interiors of the clinic. Quite eerie really – suddenly had this image of a dozen-odd women in labour screaming blue murder at their husbands for getting them into this position (I hear that does actually happen; it’s not just an urban myth, contrary to what I used to think)…and then remembered that quote by a radical feminist (Adrienne Rich, wasn't it?) who said that giving birth to a child is like shitting a pumpkin! (sic) *Giggles convulsively*

Cutting away from that, I’m going to indulge in some flashback – weekend was nice. Quite nice. Lazy Saturday, spent browsing my book of foreign phrases. Sunday, I spent with new friend, getting my ‘brain picked’ and talking myself hoarse. After a very interesting lunch (ahem), we went to the University where I fell in love with this place – there’s a crater kind of a depression in which monsoon water has stagnated, a few odd-weeds have sprouted and a charming watch-tower kind of a construction stands – nice and peaceful and oddly romantic. I was charmed. Totally. Some more conversation. And then I met my folks and we went for Chinese – decent fare at the Chinese Room. For a change I dragged my father away from his beloved Whispering Bamboos at the Blue D! :-) Nice day it was...

Was thinking later that night and I marveled at how many male friends I have today who I consider good friends – they aren’t mere acquaintances. They are people I share some of my deepest thoughts with, who are clued into my mood swings and craziness and form that core group of people who are my strength. Whoever said that you can’t be good friends (and just that) with someone of the opposite sex?

Haven’t been reading much that last few months and it’s starting to trouble me. The last book I read and devoured was The Handmaid’s Tale – since then I’ve started on several, but not gotten beyond the first 20 pages or so. Hmm...must fix this new malady. *Coughs*…once I’m over this nasty cough. For now it’s early to bed and late to rise for this dainty little creature ;-)

PS. I forgot to mention one movie that I saw at PIFF – Ben’s Biography. Nice it was. A funny yet serious movie about Ben who suffers from several hang-ups due to a rather traumatic childhood – a satire on conscientious bringing-up of children to make them into ultra talented/successful adults, on psychiatry, on academicians, on the Israeli army etc etc.

PIFF – Pune International Film Festival 2005.

PIFF – Pune International Film Festival 2005.
I first heard about it from the infamous Mr T***** (who I dare not name, out of the fear of being sued for using his name without due permissions et al) and then read about it on Akshay’s blog. The enthusiasm they both expressed more than did justice to it – a week-long orgy of movies, coffees, iced teas and sandwiches at ESquare later, I’m down with a cold from going in-n-out of A/C halls and have a husky voice from a sore throat (a la Phoebe of F.R.I.E.N.D.S) and a head that’s still buzzing with all those movies I saw and all that sudden input, some of which has made me curious about subjects and issues I didn’t think about earlier and of countries I didn’t give 2 peeps about…

The plan initially was to watch as many French films as I could, above all other films and catch a few interesting films in between. I ended up seeing 3-4 movies a day and almost lived at ESquare, except for the last 2 days when my brain and body started protesting and going on a strike – even when I was a couch-potato and television addict, I didn’t sit in front of the screen for like 7-8 hours a day. And this was a much bigger screen too ;-)

I had wanted and planned to put in a daily PIFF 2005 report, but I was returning home too tired to want to sit in front of a screen and type out my experiences – so here’s what I’m going to do (probably less winding and boring for you guys anyways!). Here’s the list of movies I saw and what hit me about them – be it the plot, photography, acting, concept, theme, treatment of subject; whether I liked it, disliked it, fell asleep while watching it, checked my watch every 15 minutes for how much longer I’d have to bear it…that kinda thing!

Day 1.
Ah Si J’etais Riche (If I was Rich) – France; Dir. Michel Munz
A light-hearted silly movie about a loser who hits the jackpot one fine day and how he first goes about blowing up his money all by himself, till conscience knocks on his door and the charm of being rich in isolation flies out of the door. Then begin the Samaritan acts and his life turns into prosperity and happiness lane. Nothing great. But not bad either. Funny. Enjoyable. OK I’m biased towards French films. So kill me, ok?

Day 2.
A La Petite Semaine (Nickel and Dime) – France; Dir. Sam Karmann.
A dark movie about some a bunch of guys, who hang out at a Parisian café called Chez Roger (one of the guys) and who have always walked the wrong side of the road – some have suffered the consequences and hopped over the divider, some are yet to learn the lesson. What I liked about it was the portrayal of relationships – between friends, between mother and a grown up son, between husband and wife… very real.

Love Stories – Poland; Dir Jerzy Stuhr
An interesting movie. For starters the director is in the movie, not a la Subash Ghai in a “special performance” but as the main lead, in 4 roles! The film revolves around 4 stories which are all about when love and the practicalities of everyday life become impossible to reconcile. A teacher finds out that one of his pupils is hopelessly infatuated with him; a priest learns that he is has a love-child who desperately needs his help, a colonel in the Polish army is torn between loyalty to his country and his passionate feelings for his Russian lover; and a convict finds he is unable to dampen the fiery feelings in his heart for the woman who put him in jail for seven years. Stuhr's message is simple: whatever the cost we may have to pay for it, we should love. If we cannot, we are damned.
The way he’s portrayed God and St.Peter is really cool – infact the whole concept.

Ring of Fire – Lebanon; dir Bahj Hojeij
Mr T***** chose this movie. *clears throat* I didn’t quite get the essence of the movie. It shows a professor in civil-war torn Beirut and how hi life hits rock-bottom after a scintillating incident with a female student, as they all take shelter in a dark room during shelling. What follows in a series of mindless incidents, that show how everything goes crazy and nothing makes sense at such times – innumerable cups of coffee and cigarettes later he breaks down. I, too, felt the same.

Day 3.
Jardin de Papa (Father’s Garden) - French ; Dir. Zeka Laplaine
A French couple goes to Africa for their honeymoon – an Africa that is taut with tension on the eve of the next Presidential elections. A series of unfortunate incidents follows suit – the movie is a wonderful metaphor for the oppressor-oppressed relationship, whether colonizer v/s colonized or man v/s woman. A disturbing movie, it ends on a positive note, as the two leading women, one black, one white, emerge as beacons of hope of equality and a better tomorrow.
P.S The guy was a total jerk in this movie – itched to reach into to screen and slap him quite a few times!

The Rose Seller – Columbia; Dir Victor Garcia.
Very disturbing. It portrayed the life of street children, in particular Monica – these kids who run away from home survive on the streets selling roses, sniffing glue, hanging out with dopes who peddle drugs to bigger dopes and sometimes end up prostituting themselves, all to buy new clothes and go dancing. It got too disturbing for us and we ended up leaving before the movie ended.

The Wind Bird – Sri Lanka; Dir. Inoka Satyangini
A story of a young Sinhalese woman who has come to the city to work – she finds herself pregnant, only to discover that her Tamil tiger boyfriend is already married and wants her to abort the child. A film that deals with issues such as female emancipation, life of single young women in cities, abortion and single motherhood, it was pretty clichéd and extremely depressing – what I liked about it was the photography. The most aesthetically pleasing scene has to be the one where she opens the window of her shack to find a cobweb hanging there. Gossamer fine, delicately spun by the spider it had trapped in its network a hapless insect – beautiful metaphor of her own position at that time.

Day 4.
Un Homme Vrai (A Real Man) – France; Dir Jean-Marie Larrieu
A satire on the concept of a real man (macho and indifferent, or sensitive and mushy) and on the concept of love and relationships – this was a very interesting, beautiful and aesthetically pleasing movie. The film explores several issues of a modern relationship between two people, yet retains a light-heartedness that makes you smile and laugh with each new turn the character’s lives take. The scene in the Pyrenees where they’ve captured the mating dance of the mysterious black grouse is breathtakingly beautiful!

White Noise – India, Dir.Vinta Nanda
Scheduled for release in March’05, this film starring Rahul Bose (deliciously talented) and Koel Purie (funky as it gets) deals with the life is young upcoming professionals in our crazy television world – as the synopsis said, the movie is a comment on love, marriage, family and Mumbai itself as the city of dreams – where expression and talent are often replaced by Ego and Judgement. (Ibid)

Rahul Bose is brilliant as always – I’m finally beginning to accept that there is more to Koel Purie than funky clothes that scream “Look at me” – she did a pretty good job at portraying a hysterical woman at the edge of sanity in some of those scenes. Question – why, at the end, when she finally finds peace within herself and realizes her dream, does she take to wearing everyday, boringly regular jeans and tee-shirt?

Le Coeur des Hommes (French Men) – France; Dir. Marc Esposito.
A story about four guys who’ve been friends since the time they played on the same football team in a Paris suburb – it tracks their lives – their work-lives and love-lives.A light-hearted cute film about friendships and love in general…

Bored in Bruno – Czech; Dir. Vladimir Moraveck
A crazy film about sex – I’m not kidding. It starts with the story of two young, mentally challenged lovers who are about to spend the night together and goes onto involve other stories in its ever expanding frame – a crash course on sex and sexual perversions! I was almost sure it was semi-porn – still can’t get over it. Outrageous to a limit, it’s an incredibly hilarious movie!

Day 5.
17 fois Cecile Cassard (17 times Cecile Cassard) – France; Dir. Jean- Marie Larrieu and Arnaud Larrieu
A movie that deals with the life of a young widow – how she can’t get a grip on life after the sudden death of her husband and goes away temporarily to Toulouse, leaving her son behind – it explores her raher numb life initially and how she goes onto to form new relationships...a rather disturbing film, which I couldn’t quite sit through for two reasons – one, I coudn’t figure out where it was going and two, Mr T***** messaged saying that if I didn’t get my butt to screen 5 ASAP he wouldn’t be able to save my seat for the next movie...so I abandoned and ran for...

Page 3 – India, Dir. Madhur Bhandarkar
We all know what the movie is about – the ubiquitous Page 3 socialities – an expose on the dirt beneath the glam of the high and glittering lifestyles of the rich and famous, it’s a comment on the life of those in power and how they (mis) use it, on the difference between life and lifestyle, on the invincible spirit of good ol’ Bombay – and yes, also a salute to the invincible spirit of the young journalist played by the extremely talented Konkona Sen Sharma.
Un peu clichéd if you ask me, but a good movie to watch – could be an eye-opener for some, though if you ask me, it kinda plays to the galleries.

Amu – India; Dir. Shonali Bose
It was a true test of Konkona’s talent to see her transform from a young journalist with your everyday aam-junta accent to an Amrika-returned Bangali young girl with a very real American accent in just 15 minutes! (And I’m remembering her very authentic portrayal of a Southie in Mr. and Mrs. Iyer) A story of a young girl who comes back to India from L.A to learn more about her roots, it takes a dark turn as she stumbles onto secrets buried long ago and starts to ask some very uncomfortable questions – uncomfortable for her adoptive family who doesn’t want her to know the truth, uncomfortable for the parents of her friend Kabir (Ankur Khanna – sexy as hell!)who don’t want to face their role in the gruesome past. The film raises some very uncomfortable questions about our passive role in the history of our nation, and of the lack of justice for the victims of the 1984 riots, or any other riots for that matter.
MUST WATCH

Day 6.
Black Friday – India; Dir. Anurag Kashyap
It was a no-show because of some confusions – so I sat for Amu again, till Mr T***** decreed that I must not see it again and ‘rescued’ me for coffee at Savera.

Day 7.
Black Friday – India; Dir. Anurag Kashyap
They did screen it this time – I wonder now if the movie will come to cinemas, (Read more) and I’m glad I went for it, even though my body was protesting and a day away from the A/C hall would have done the trick of stopping this nasty cold in its tracks…yet I went, just to see this one movie on the last day of the festival. Based on the book ‘Black Friday’ the movie traces the story of the Bombay blasts, the conspiracy and planning behind the execution of the blasts, the investigations after the blasts and how the ploice tracked down those involved – it is above all a strong comment on the cyclical nature of violence and a powerful indictment on our passive roles.
Stark. Harsh. Brutally realistic in it’s portrayals of the gruesome aftermath scenes of the blasts and the riots – the movie shakes you to the core. If it does get released – it’s a MUST WATCH!

Today evening, I almost asked my brother to get a DVD ’coz I was feeling like I’ve not seen a movie in ages – then I stopped myself. Needless to say an outburst of giggles followed suit…gotten quite accustomed to seeing movies! Never seen so many movies at a shot – hell I probably don’t see so many movies in a year. And I actually went for some movies alone…am quite amazed. Of course it’s no great feat for I bumped into some people at the Festival who sit through all 5 shows daily for all 7 days of the festival – that’s movie-buffs for you people! :-)

I like Chopin - Gazebo

(One of those songs I rely on to lift the layer of clouds blocking the sunshine - I sang this all the way from Berlin to Milan, after I found out that I had twice the baggage weight I was permitted to carry and would have to leave one bag behind with my friend who promised to send it by cargo - by the time I reached Milan, my friend was fed-up of the song, and I knew everything would be alright. After all, I was going back home! Counting on it to work its magic again today...)

Remember that piano, so delightful, unusual
That classic sensation, sentimental confusion

Used to say
"I like Chopin"
Love me now and again, wooh

Rainy days never say goodbye
To desire when we are together
Rainy days growing in your eyes
Tell me where's my way

Imagine you're face
In a sunshine reflection
A vision of blue skies,
Forever distractions

Used to say
"I like Chopin"
Love me now and again, wooh

Rainy days never say goodbye
To desire when we are together
Rainy days growing in your eyes
Tell me where's my way

Rainy days never say goodbye
To desire when we are together
Rainy days growing in your eyes
Tell me where's my way

Rainy days never say goodbye
To desire when we are together
Rainy days growing in your eyes
Tell me where's my way

:-) :-) :-) :-) :-)

:-) :-) :-) :-) :-)

As you can see I’m quite happy with life – not that all I want has suddenly dropped in my lap; far from it, I’m still laying the path to the goal…hopefully by the end of this year, it will all start falling into place. Absit Omen!

Now what then could be the reason for this sudden cheer? Bingo – Bombay it is!

Was there for a very short trip this weekend – to attend the wedding reception of a friend’s (Shivaji, who I once taught French!) elder brother – but as usual the trip packed a wallop! The wedding reception experience by itself was a mixture of fun; interesting conversations and some very nice people I met as well as some moments of boredom and exasperation. Typic wedding experiences I guess – what struck me the most in the one day I spent with them was how close-knit they were as an extended family. Sanjato’s (Shivaji’s elder bro) friends are an extremely interesting lot – warm, grounded people who’s affection for each other is very visible. Makes the heart grow warm seeing friendships like that, where you don’t consider your friend’s relatives as just that, but as part of your own family; where you care for your friend and bend backward if necessary and come to his/her aid immediately; where the level of comfort is so high, that you don’t mind any criticism, infact you welcome it and enjoy the chance to lock horns with your friend (or opponent in this case) knowing that the exchange is a healthy one that will lead you to a resolution of conflicts/dilemmas…hope my friendships are headed in that direction! Vive l’amitie! Ofcourse there was the entire Bong experience, which deserves an entire post by itself – soon I promise!

Apart from that, let’s see – I managed to meet both my favourite men (Amit and Kunal) and gave them the Banana Cake I’d baked for them…spent two lovely evenings with them. Also managed to meet Smita aunty this time – she’s not only abandoned her husband in Pune, she’s forgotten about our existence too; so I went to remind her that we are still alive! ;-) And ofcourse Tasu – very girl-discussion-rendezvous where we shared our woes about men, love, relationships and the future as far as career is concerned…

All in all a fab trip – also managed to earn some brownie points by coming to the aid of a friend, who, at the last moment, needed to have his girlfriend from out of town put up somewhere coz she had nowhere to go and he could definitely not take her home! Just hope my samaritan actions don’t boomerang on me!

Looking forward to the Pune International Film Festival, which starts on Friday – lotsa interesting movies to watch, specially the French ones. More about that later ofcourse, as I go through the experience. But right at the outset – I must thank the two guys who made me aware of PIFF (Akshay and T*****); specially T***** for leaving me with little choice but to register. :- )

PS Just made me some delicious Dutch waffles, which were very unlike the French waffles I had atop the Eiffel Tower, but yet sent me down nostalgia lane. Ok people I need you to pray that my plans work out, so I can go back to France and relive all those mind-blowing, soul-enriching experiences!

PPS Bombay had too many mosquitoes this time! :-(

Indi Blog Awards

Voting for the IndiBlog Awards started on January 10, 2005 and will continue till the 22nd. Exercise your vote people!!!

PS A talented friend has been nominated for Best Photoblog - Hints, Allegations and things left unsaid... Dare I say Vote for Him? ;-)

Earthquake Gyan...

Just amazing to note that many of the earthquakes that appeared all over the world in the recent past were all on the date 26.

2001 January 26 Gujarat

2001 September 26 Chennai

2002 December 26 China

2003 January 26 New Zealand

2003 May 26 Japan / Taiwan

2003 September 26 Japan(Hokaido)

2003 October 26 China (Sunsu)

2003 December 26 Iran

2004 December 26 South East Asia

TEN TIPS FOR EARTHQUAKE SAFETY
The author is Doug Copp. He is the Rescue Chief and Disaster Manager of the American Rescue Team International (ARTI), the world's most experienced rescue team. The information in this article will save lives in an earthquake.

1) Most everyone who simply "ducks and covers" WHEN BUILDINGS COLLAPSE are crushed to death. People who get under objects, like desks or cars, are crushed.

2) Cats, dogs and babies often naturally curl up in the fetal position. You should too in an earthquake. It is a natural safety/survival instinct. You can survive in a smaller void. Get next to an object, next to a sofa, next to a large bulky object that will compress slightly but leave a void next to it.

3) Wooden buildings are the safest type of construction to be in during an earthquake. Wood is flexible and moves with the force of the earthquake. If the wooden building does collapse, large survival voids are created. Also, the wooden building has less concentrated, crushing weight. Brick buildings will break into individual bricks. Bricks will cause many injuries but less squashed bodies than concrete slabs.

4) If you are in bed during the night and an earthquake occurs, simply roll off the bed. A safe void will exist around the bed. Hotels can achieve a much greater survival rate in earthquakes, simply by posting a sign on the back of the door of every room telling occupants to lie down on the floor, next to the bottom of the bed during an earthquake.

5) If an earthquake happens and you cannot easily escape by getting out the door or window, then lie down and curl up in the fetal position next to a sofa, or large chair.

6) Most everyone who gets under a doorway when buildings collapse is killed. How? If you stand under a doorway and the doorjamb falls forward or backward you will be crushed by the ceiling above. If the door jam falls sideways you will be cut in half by the doorway. In either case, you will be killed!

7) Never go to the stairs. The stairs have a different "moment of frequency" (they swing separately from the main part of the building). The stairs and remainder of the building continuously bump into each other until structural failure of the stairs takes place. The people who get on stairs before they fail are chopped up by the stair treads - horribly mutilated. Even if the building doesn't collapse, stay away from the stairs. The stairs are a likely part of the building to be damaged. Even if the stairs are not collapsed by the earthquake, they may collapse later when overloaded by fleeing people. They should always be checked for safety, even when the rest of the building is not damaged.

8) Get Near the Outer Walls Of Buildings Or Outside Of Them If Possible - It is much better to be near the outside of the building rather than the interior. The farther inside you are from the outside perimeter of the building the greater the probability that your escape route will be blocked;

9) People inside of their vehicles are crushed when the road above falls in an earthquake and crushes their vehicles; which is exactly what happened with the slabs between the decks of the Nimitz Freeway. The victims of the San Francisco earthquake all stayed inside of their vehicles. They were all killed. They could have easily survived by getting out and sitting or lying next to their vehicles. Everyone killed would have survived if they had been able to get out of their cars and sit or lie next to them. All the crushed cars had voids 3 feet high next to them, except for the cars that had columns fall directly across them.

10) I discovered, while crawling inside of collapsed newspaper offices and other offices with a lot of paper, that paper does not compact. Large voids are found surrounding stacks of paper.

Hung-over

Well I’ll be danged – New Year’s Eve sure packed a wallop this year. It took me three damn days to get over the hang-over from New Year’s Eve! Not that I drank that much – come to think of it, I only touched orange juice and didn’t even finish that! Then what hang-over? Hang-over of the fever and cold I have been suffering from since 31st Dec 2004!

This has got to be the most miserable New Year’s Eve ever (I think worse than the year my friends gate-crashed in order to prevent me from spending it wallowing in self-pity and despair and buckets of tears) – the barbeque dinner was at a wonderful place in Baner which opened into a private lawn, beyond which was the hill. Sit out under the porch and you just saw the outline of the hill rising up in front of you and the clear skies dotted with stars – quite romantic and almost sublime…from my perspective that night, though, it was too darn cold and windy and no fun at all! The music (pulled out from my favourites and currently touring Bangalore, instead of me) usually has me increasing the volume, making my hips swing and groove to the beat – but on that night I was actually wondering why people enjoy listening to loud music. Felt like hammers pounding on my head. Misreable as I could be, by 11 p.m I was begging to be allowed to go home, and dragged my family out minutes after midnight and everyone was through with cheerfully wishing each other and kissing the air around each other’s cheeks! Sheesh, such enthusiasm for an event that’s just brought us closer to the apocalyptic end!

Spent the next 2 days laid up in bed nursing a fever and a very nasty cold, because of which I had to postpone my Bangalore trip as well. Not fair!!! I was so looking forward to visiting the Garden City, spending time with my favourite jiju jani, meeting some cousins who are down from the Land of Dreams & other relatives, as well as catching up with some friends & acquaintances who stay there! :-(

Definitely not the most rocking beginning for the New Year, but then as a newly-made-dear friend said, if I start the year at rock-bottom, the only place I can go from here is up! (I won’t say who s/he is or quote exactly out of the fear that a lawyer shall be present at our next conversation to ensure that I do not use his/her words against him/her!) ;-)

I finally felt good enough today to drag myself out of bed and start attacking the Blogger’s world anew – but me thinks me’s close to the end of my energy reserves now – feeling that strain in my chest again. Better go rest some more before it blows into full-blown palpitations and chest-aches. Ah the wonders of having an enlarged heart – you gotta tread carefully even when it’s just a mere cold.

PS On a rather disgusted note – the members of the Society I’m staying in started a campaign to collect money to send to the Tsunami Relief Fund – considering that 75% of the residents here are from the Defense I expected generous donations – was extremely appalled and disgusted to see the miserly amounts that were doled out and one Brigadier who went as far as entering his name in the list, only to put N-I-L next to it…sheesh, if you don’t have the heart (or conscience) to donate, atleast don’t announce your miserliness!

Arriverdeci 2004, Bienvenue 2005!

Adieu 2004 – Snapshots from the Year

• Brought in the year with new friends at Magdeburg – some are still around, closer than ever, while other’s drifted out of my life, just as they had drifted in. Kuch pal ke saati the woh…
• Back home after a 3-month hiatus & jumped straight into the rat-race that’s quintessentially Bombay
• Drove down to Bhopal for a wedding – all 5 of us, for a change – met all my aunts & uncles under 1 roof and some cousins and distant relatives I don’t get the opportunity to meet often. Phenomenal trip!
• OvG students came down for a Dharavi project – showed my German & Czech friends around town – Annika, my favourite German stayed back for another month. I still miss seeing her walk around the house in her striped socks, her head bent in concentration as one of us spoke to her!
• M.A II (Eng) examinations, Alliance Francaise III examinations – loads of studying
• Summer vacations – a trip to Ahmedabad and Udaipur (Devigadh) with Kunal, mon cher ami!
• More rendezvous with friends – bidding adieu to them, even as I started packing to shift to Pune with bag, baggage, dog and family! ;-)
• Tears and tantrums and nasty quarrels with one of my most cherished friends, Appu – me getting paranoid that we’ve drifted apart made me insecure and silly. Patched up now (we’ve both grown up!) – and miss her so much. Delhi is too frigging far –away!
• Some really cherished moments spent with Amit this year – won’t be forgetting any of them any time soon. :-)
• Mansi was here in June, for her annual India vacation – ran to Bbay ever so often to spend time with her. Still recall some of those crazy conversations we had in Suku’s 6th floor apartment, while the rain pelted the Bbay streets way into the wee hours of the night. Already waiting for next June!
• Adjusted to this hamlet (Keshavnagar, Mundhwa, Pune) – signed up for Diplome at Alliance Francaise de Poona. (AFP)
• Papa set up the factory of Phoenix Mecano India at Priangut, Pune and it was officially inaugurated on the 9th Nov, 2004. PMI also celebrated its 10th anniversary the next day – with some decent news coverage as well! My father rocks! :-)
• Set up my own room for the first-time – already too accustomed to “my” space -pottering around in my room, using it as a dressing room (who changes in the bathroom anymore?), messing around my antique desk, picking up a book frm my shelves, falling asleep listening to my favourite CDs…
• Loads of problems with AFP – wrecked class schedules, pre-poned exam schedules, class politics, inefficiency and lack of communication – all translated into loads of headaches & Dispirins popping into my mouth way too often for my liking
• Way too many angsty moments for my liking - though alot lesser than the previous two years. So I guess there's been some improvement there!
• More Gyan Better Geets Project – Art and Mythology are just 2 of the things I’ve been reading up on.
• Geebaby has grown to become more than ‘just’ a blog – it’s my baby. It’s an obsession. It keeps me going. It revitalizes me. It opens new worlds for me…
• Caferati – a new chapter in my life. New friends, read-meets, writing & exploring my ‘talents’ – still to decide if there’s enough of that!
• Some really good movies this year – Maqbool, Morning Raga, Khamosh Pani, Raincoat, Hyderbad Blues 2 and a few firang flicks too.
• Stayed as far from the Bollywood fairy-tales as I could, but fell victim to Veer Zara at the year-end.
• Patricia and Bernard visited us for Christmas – they are here for their honeymoon (I couldn’t go for their wedding, despite the invitation and the temptation). Showed them around. Felt good to be with them again this year – last year Xmas was at their homes in Bordeaux!
• Kunal came again to Pune – he’s the only one of all my friends who actually lived up to the threat of piling on, except for Tasu, who has other reasons to visit Pune ;-)
• Oodles of time spent with cousins this year – as some of them made frequent trips to Pune. Rakhi, Diwali, Bhai Duj and New Year’s Eve this year were purely family affairs.

• Looking forward now to 2005, which will start with a short trip to Bangalore, followed by a trip to Delhi (soon, I hope) – and perhaps some more traveling
• We’ll be welcoming a new person into the family in the third week of May – trying to get attuned to the idea of seeing a baby crawling around the house. A play-mate for Schnapps. A new responsibility and a new role for me! :-)
• Have some critical decisions to take next year regarding my career and future – get sweaty palms and headaches thinking about it. Hope it all falls into place. Touchwood.
• Praying that the next year doesn’t bring anymore catastrophes to our nation – let it be a smoother sail all year round, let the sun shine, the rains come, the farms yield good crop and the Gods smile down at us Indians! Let fewer of us fly away to greener pastures, staying back to enrich our own soils. Amen!

On that note, I shall bid adieu a phenomenal year 2004, which has brought many surprises and many changes in my life – good and bad, but mostly good. I look back and see how much I’ve grown and changed in the past one year (and I’m not just talking about the waist-line and hips!) – hope the improvement and growth continues into the next year! Here’s to the coming year – may it bring you all much prosperity, joy and success –much, much, much more than I hope for myself!

Arriverdeci 2004, Bienvenue 2005!

Bombay Hang-over

The year-end has been busy, filled with frantic activity. A cousin in the hospital, operated for gall-bladder stones meant frequent visits to the Command Hospital, Pune, which is like the other side of town for us, followed by visits home while she was convalescing. All this just before my trip to Bombay, which was even more hectic than ever before, was sapping out my energy reserves (not to mention, patience reserves).

Bombay was crazy as ever. Hot and humid, with no sign of winter – I left Pune huddled up in my sweater, wishing I’d worn something thicker, and when I emerged from the car in Bombay I was wishing I’d packed sleeveless stuff – the sweater was definitely not going to be used! Hmm…Bombay after a month. More changes in the area I’ve grown up in – as always I greedily soaked in the sights and smells (yes, even the smells)! It was crazy – having to cancel previously fixed rendezvous in order to spend more time with someone else (flushes guiltily), but it was worth every bit of the exhaustion, sleepless nights and running around trying to reach places at the right time!

Threw caution to the winds and went in for a daring (for me) short step-cut, bidding adieu to the waist-long hair that’s my only vanity…it will be some months before I’ll be able to run a comb down those long heavy tresses and fling them over my shoulder…sure as hell feel light-weighted with half my hair gone! But looks good, if I may so myself – pretty sexy for me! Hehehe! Let’s see how long I enjoy this – probably start pining for my braid within a few days! ;-)

Pop Tate’s is still churning out good food and attracting wanna-bes and groupies and the hep-n-happening – spent a nice lazy afternoon there with Kunu Baba.

Barista Versova hasn’t seen much change except for a new guy at the counter who was actually trying to flirt with me! Actually had me turning around to see if there’s someone behind me – jeepers bleepers – doesn’t he know no one flirts with Plain Jane a.k.a Ice Maiden Geets! ;-)

Spent oodles of time with Amit – getting my bheja-fried and falling prey to his usual tactics at raising my hackles – when will I learn! Smart ass that he is, he sure knows how to get under my skin…but then I adore him for that. Stop complaining Geets – you enjoy every minute of it! ;-) Saw Khamosh Pani at Fame Adlabs and shared more than one Candy-floss. Word of advice – never have more than one Candy-floss on a nearly empty stomach, no matter how high the temptation; it leaves you feeling very very queasy.

Snatched two evenings with cousins and two of my favourite nieces – spent a night with them, giving up my usual independence in Bombay – I’ve been spoilt by the luxury of having Suku’s fully finished flat available, through which I can waltz in-n-out without worrying about other people’s schedules or offending someone with the time I’m returning!

Finally managed to go meet Mechthild – the German student who’s down this year for the exchange programme with the Univ of Mumbai. Gave her some pointers on where she should go, what would be the better option for traveling etc etc. Since I was at the University I also dropped in to meet my mentor Dr Bharucha – oh it felt so damn good to knock on the office of Head of Department, and walk in to see her and not the ogre Dr.Bhongle! The Department is FINALLY in good hands!

Patricia and Bernard (mes amis Francais) are here for their honeymoon – I got them back with me to Pune. Showed them around for 2 days – oh how much we walked – saw some areas of Pune for the first time myself – including the red-light area in Budhwar Peth, that we stumbled on inadvertently and backed out hurriedly when I saw the looks we were getting. *Shudder* Sumptuous dinner at Riverview for Xmas eve, when Kunal joined us rather late, coming in from Bombay after a full day’s work. Christmas day was equally nice with a visit to Lonavala, Bushy dam where we discovered a lovely spot by the water, perfect for a picnic and yet another sumptuous meal, at Fariyas this time. After bidding adieu to Patricia & Bernard, Kunal and I went for Raincoat, after a long leisurely walk in Nala Park. Finished off a bottle of Montbazillac later that night – excellent wine!

Now – we’ve got some cousins who’ve driven down from Bangalore – the year sure is spiraling into a busy end!

Raincoat (2004)

Raincoat – I went for the movie with more than a slight trepidation. The reason being Ms.Rai and her ability to set my nerves on the edge with her hysterical, over-the-top ‘acting’. I am glad I didn’t allow myself to fall prey to my prejudice against her. Inspired by O Henry's classic short story The Gift of Magi, the film narrates the tale of two estranged lovers who meet on a rainy afternoon in a dingy room of a house in South Calcutta. Poetic, subtle, intelligent, sensitive, heart-touchingly romantic, depressing and witty – the movie is all that and more. I have to hand it to Rituparno Ghosh for penning such a brilliant script and producing such fine acting from his cast compromising of Ajay Devgan and Annu Kapoor, apart from the ubiquitous Ms. Rai. What I loved the most about the film was the moments of dark humour and the nasty, yet poignant little exchanges between the character of Manoj and his wife’s friend.

The art design, the cinematography, the dialogues, the acting – it all compiled to make a must-watch movie. Shubha Mudgal’s soulful rendering of the theme song ensures that you’re choked up at the poignant moments of the film – the film leaves you’re eyes damp without resorting to any clichés or melodrama. Simply told, it is perhaps one of the most beautiful movies I’ve seen, on par with Mr and Mrs Iyer.

I’m going to go grab a copy of the soundtrack ASAP – you go watch the movie!

Khamosh Pani (2003)

Directed by debutante film-maker Sabiha Sumar, Khamosh Pani (Still Waters) narrates the tale of Ayesha (Kiron Kher), a woman well into her forties who has devoted her life to bringing up her son in a small village in the Punjab district of Pakistan. Set in 1979, when General Zia-ul-Haq has imposed martial law and the country was decreed a Muslim state, the film raises probing and rather uncomfortable questions about the partition, without resorting to the usual hysteria, melodrama and violence one associates and expects from a movie dealing with as volatile a subject. Though a Pakistani, she presents an unbiased view of the partition, when many Sikh and Muslim women were cold-bloodedly killed by their own families in order to avoid dishonour at the hands of the ‘enemy’. The irony in this narrative is that the women were perhaps safer left in the enemy’s hands. Sumar also deals with the themes of women’s emancipation, dreams of the youth in a country struggling to assert its identity, the need for a vocation and a goal in life and how easy it is to fall victim to fundamentalism in the absence of such a goal.

An absolutely brilliant movie – it is subtle and simple, but extremely effective. Excellent acting by the cast and a taut script drove home the point, without making the film a propaganda, unlike most movies on Partition. The movie has already won critical acclaim at international film festivals and received good reviews world-wide. Take my advice – go see it, before it vanishes from the Cinemas!

Of Silver Linings and Rainbows

Me's saying me's posted new story on Literary Mosaic ! Please read and comment...meanwhile I shall go bite my nails and wait nervously for the verdict!

Edgar Degas (1834- 1917)

I have been reading up on Impressionism for the past few weeks (Essential Impressionists, ed Hurrel Karen,© Parragon, 2000 and Artchive.com) – a style of painting favoured by a group of artists, who preferred painting outdoors in plein-air, recording the changing conditions of light and atmosphere, as well as their individual sensations before nature. The emphasis was on the over-all visual impression, stamped on the senses by a transitory visual experience – my favourite is undeniably Claude Monet, whose Giverny: Spring(1900) and The Japanese Bridge (1900) stole my breath away and made me itch to own it…I’ll never afford it in this lifetime, I know – but I’ve promised myself that my foyer shall boast a replication/poster one day.

But this post isn’t about Monet, it’s about Degas. Edgar Degas, acknowledged as the master of drawing human figures. Before I started studying Impressionism, I wasn’t really fond of nudes, per se. But Degas’ nudes are something else all together. Beauty personified. The ultimate compliment paid to the woman. Voyeuristic. Passionate. Objective. Real. Brilliant. Sensual. Sensuous.

Rejecting the idea of formal beauty as seen in the Salon nudes with their rosy nipple et al, he was often seen as a misogynist. "Why do you paint women so ugly, Monsieur Degas?" some hostess unwisely asked him. "Parce que la femme en general est laide, madame, " growled back Degas, in his characteristic Great Bear style.("Because, madam, women in general are ugly." )

This couldn’t be further from the truth; all you have to do to discover Degas’ true feelings is to take a look at his nudes, painted in the 1880s and 1890s. Some critics still find them "clinical," because they seem to be done from a point outside the model's awareness, as though she did not know he was there and were not, actually, posing. This is partly true. The series of ‘Key-Hole’ bathers, which caused a scandalous uproar in gentile Parisian society, showed the woman at her toilette, and was exhibited at the 8th Impressionist exhibition in 1886. In this series, Degas painted the woman as he viewed her from his vantage point at the key-hole, as a voyeur.

Critic J.K Huysman said “It seems as though [Degas]…has determined to retaliate and fling in the face of the century the worst insult he can devise, overturning that cherished idol, woman, degrading her by showing her actually in her bath, in the most humiliating postures of her toilette.” Despite all the criticism and flak the series earned itself, over half the paintings were sold before the exhibition opened. What could, after all, be more appealing to the eyes, the senses?

Degas himself described the woman, as the “human creature preoccupied with itself, a cat that licks itself.” Later he admitted that “Perhaps I have treated women too much as animals” (I chewed and ruminated and masticated over these statements, trying to be offended, but ended up struck by the sheer sensuality of the words. And they say the man was impotent? Well, the passion his contemporary women lost out on, the art world gained – big time!)


I found some of the nudes online:-











Monet’s work will definitely grace my home one day; but I hope to have one of these as well – though for that I’m going to have to find one helluva tolerant husband (not that difficult. I’m sure few guys would object to having a Nude to admire on a daily basis ;-)) and even more tolerant in-laws! (Now that’s going to be a task – can’t imagine too many in-laws being happy with the prospect of putting up a nude – art or not, nude it is!)

The Vegetable Vendor Is No More

My dear friend Annika who lives in Magdeburg recently wrote to me after the vegetable vendor's shop at the end of her street, Gutenberg Strasse, shut down. A vegetarian, she was deeply affected by this new development - and wrote a very moving email to me, sharing her woes with me, in characterstic Annika style! And as usual I was clapping my hands in glee at the way she put it! I had to share it with you - so here it is :-

I'm dead blue. The vegetable vendor in my block is no more.
Minute of silence.
He opened up in August and brought sunshine into my life:
fresh vegetables within a few steps of my house,
no more carrying of heavy loads across the whole city,
personal sale instead of self-take box, amounts according to my wishes
instead of prepacked portions --
I could buy a single carrot, okay,
that is possible at Real as well but only for bio veges
and they cost more.
Now he is no longer.
The sales in this small road with hardly any stores must have been to small.
The only chance was that the people visiting the bakery next door
would also frequent the veg store but I guess fewest of them did.
So he closed down.
Leaving behind a sad, vegless, paintorn Annika.
© Annika Schlee

Ain't she good? :-)

Grrrrrr

Grrr…I’m snarling like a nasty bull-dog. So irritated. And frustrated. Feel like tearing someone’s hair out. Clawing at someone’s face with my claws…oh, but I don’t have any. Damn. Why can’t I grow my nails into long painted red talons like other women do? Now I know the purpose they serve. Hehe smart bimbos, have to hand it to them! Muhahaha…that makes me feel better. I’m laughing – even if it’s a raucous hysterical laughter of a witch! Ok it isn’t – so no scratching, and no laughing like witches either. Sigh – kya kismat hai! *Giggles hysterically*

Don’t ask what brought on this mood – long story. You don’t want to read about it. Trust me.

Accomplishments of the day :- Finally picked up the CD of Morning Raga – also Def Lepard’s Best Hits and Shania Twain – Best Hits. Looking forward to listening to them for the next few days…

Short Story

"Hang your head Tom Dooley" – as I kept humming that tune inside my head, I realised it can sound quite menacing and all of a sudden an image of “poor Laura” holding a knife popped into my head. So I sat me down at the computer and let my fingers build the image further – came up with a short story which I’ve posted on Literary Mosaic for feelers – as before, comments are more than welcome. Leave them here or at LM! :-)

Had a pretty decent weekend apart from the enforced movie-experience – filled with late night Biryani dinners, great conversations and a Caferati meet. The week has been its usual lazy, vella self so far, except for yesterday evening which passed in a flurry of activities as I put in my two-bit for a dinner party – need to stop being lazy and go to AFP and MMB-Pune to get some formalities out of the way, and thinking of making a painting for Dr.B…

Pardon Me...

Veer Zara. A Yash Chopra extravaganza. A love story to rival the greatest love stories of all time. Boasting the golden melodies of Madan Mohan and the brilliant performances of the nation’s favourite Khan, with two beautiful damsels to support him. What more could you want?

I don’t know the answer to that. But I do know what I don’t want. I don’t want to be subjected to three hours of clichés. Mr.Chopra tugged at every string he could, not leaving anything to chance. So he tossed in the elements and come up with a mind-blowing granola. The love-story with insurmountable difficulties that tore the lovers apart. The Hindu-Muslim conflict. The India-Pakistan war. The Partition. The commonalities between us - “sanskar” in the youth, loving parents, rich traditions preserved through the years… The childless couple who brought up their relatives orphaned child, and would but obviously have had an inter-community love marriage and been the pioneering couple of the village. The fields of golden corn (or was it wheat I saw) and colourful flowers in bloom. The patriotic songs of “Yeh mera desh hai aisa…jaisa desh hai tera.” The designer dresses and exquisite embroidery. And oh, let’s not forget the “bebe” (an old maid who served the family through-out her life and brought up the heroine) who maintained a child’s joie de vivre till the day she lay on her death-bed and decided she wants her ashes to be thrown into an Indian river, for after all, she was an Indian at heart, even though she had spent her entire life in Pakistan.

Pardon me for predicting every turn in the story.
Pardon me for questioning how Zara managed to fit half a dozen heavy salwar-kurtas and matching jewellery into a small rucksack.
Pardon me for wondering if all Punjabi farmers look as robust and wear as colourful clothes to the fields.
Pardon me for groaning as they belted out clichéd songs about the richness of their soil, and their traditions.
Pardon me for analyzing Kiron Kher’s nails & thinking she probably doesn’t lift a glass at home, as she inflicted another tear-jerking dialogue on the audience.
Pardon me for admiring the architecture and wondering if the monument is really in Pakistan, or that red fort next to the Taj Mahal, as Veer Pratap Singh lets his Zara know that she must marry the guy chosen by her parents and produce 8-10 children after which she can come visit him in his village and they can take a ride around it, on a bicycle…no, a tractor.
Pardon me for preferring the maid Shabbo’s simple clothes and the Punjabi farmers’ floral lungis over Zara’s richly embroidered ensembles.
Pardon me for remembering my friend Saima, who also has crochet done on all her dupattas to show that she is not a widow and regretting the fall-out in our friendship, instead of empathizing with Zara’s pain.
Pardon me for wondering why I agreed to go for this movie, after successfully resisting K3G, KHNH, MHN et al…
Pardon me for paying more attention to the ushers at E-Square, who reprimanded those using their cell phones in the hall, and escorting them out (probably to fine them), than to the dialogues.
Pardon me for asking you to go grab a DVD/VCD of Morning Raga (it disappeared from cinemas within a week) and avoid this sob-story like the plague.
Pardon me for resisting the great Indian tradition of extravagant Bollywood love stories.
Pardon me for praying I never, ever, again have to do this as a family duty.

Hang Your Head Tom Dooley..

Hang your head Tom Dooley, Hang your head and cry,
Killed poor Laura Foster, And you know you’re bound to die…

Running through my head like an endless refrain – it’s stuck there and won’t go away. But then I’m not doing anything to make it go away – music inside my head lightens my mood, brushes away those dark clouds of dourness, wipes that scowl away, brings back the light in eyes that were reflecting a boiling cauldron of emotions a few hours ago. So I continue to hum at the back of mind, this classic by The Kingston Trio…

Peeled my eyes open this morning – something that’s been happening a lot lately, since I’ve been sleeping late, after having spent hours curled up in my razai devouring some book or the other and then spending at least half-an-hour, if not more, tossing around in bed trying to fall asleep. But the thoughts don’t let me – sometimes I’m just mulling over what I’ve just read; sometimes I’m composing something in my mind; sometimes I’m wondering where I will be next year – is it where I want to be or will I end up somewhere else,; sometimes I’m trying to shut the Pandora’s Box of emotions that I wish were filtered and subdued, wishing I could let them stream out unbridled, but knowing that would mess things up real bad and I don’t want that to happen…

So I sleep late and there is no reason to wake up early – I definitely don’t want the day to stretch endlessly in front of me, late nights don’t call for early mornings – so I wake up leisurely when Apollo has already made it’s way half-way up, when the birds have stopped twittering in delight over a new day, when the early morning activities in the kitchen have died away…I groggily force one eye-lid apart, peer like a blind owl at my bed-side clock that informs me it’s 8.30 a.m and I wait for Schnapps to come bounding into my room to inform me that I’m the only one still in bed. A jab with his wet, rather cold nose and I lazily poke one leg out of the razai…it’s a brand new day, let’s get out of bed and get those crooked teeth brushed and shiny. Yawn! Putting Schnapps on my cupboard so he can bark at the team of sweepers busy sprucing up the avenue that leads up to the bungalows beyond the buildings, I reach for my glasses, smile as the world clears up, and make my way to the breakfast table – some toast with eggs/jam/tomatoes (I’m not particular), some fruit and coffee, a jostle over the newspaper with my father who’s intent on reading every tiny bit of news in there before he leaves for his office in the ‘dongar’ and I’m set for the day.

But this morning it all went out of kilter – an enquiry from my mother regarding which tickets to ask my brother to book for a movie I’m not particularly (make that, not at all) keen on seeing led to a rather nasty show-down between my brother and me. Barely awake, I was breathing down fumes and shooting daggers at him with my eyes – argh I hate it when men put on this “I’m so busy, you oughtta be glad I’m running this errand for you” act. Makes me want to throw something at them – something crystal, something that would make a nice loud crash as it hits that thick skull! Itched to tell him he can take those tickets and go to hell for all I care, it’s not me who wants to watch the latest addition to sob-love-stories! Ick – I hate it even more when I have to swallow my anger to ensure the smiles stay intact on other’s faces!!!

Hang your head Tom Dooley, Hang your head and cry,
Killed poor Laura Foster, And you know you’re bound to die…

Currently:-

• Reading William Dalrymple’s mammoth work, White Moghuls, after having finished The Handmaid’s Tale. (Find my review of this classic by Margaret Atwood at Literary Mosaic)
• Itching to head to Bombay and vent this hoarded up energy by walking down Marine Drive, breathing in that salty air & letting the wind play with my hair for a change, sharing my woes with one of my bosom buddies, and then over to Causeway - Mondegar for supper or mayhaps to Oxford (I haven’t been there in aeons) for a tall glass of iced tea and a nice Turkish salad. Hmm…