Metz Snippets

sparrows: Two days back, the people above our apartment threw down their fungused rotis from their window. At first we thought that giant mushrooms had sprung overnight with all the rains, littering the lawn with brown and cream dotted circles. On a closer look, I knew these were food rejects of humans. I looked up at the closed window above. Two days later, the rains have continued and softened these human fungi. Now flocks of fluffed up winter sparrows nibble on these - and fly to the cedar, when I creep for a closer look. Now, the silence is filled with chirps.

chinese food: Across from us, and a little down our corridor, live a bunch of chinese students. I have seen them a few times, fleetingly, closing the door, walking out, in and out of laundry room. But most of all, I know them through the smells. As soon as I step into the corridor, I am assailed by smells that emanate through their closed door. Intense, unmistakable smells of really good chinese food. I salivate, drool, pause and then move on. I have now resolved to cook better - good indian food. Today I made patties-chole with coriander-mint-tamarind chutney. Yummy…I wonder if these smell reach their noses too? Maybe I should open the door.

fort queuleu: is only a short distance from our current home, 2 km on google map.  The other day, we took a walk to there.  There is a dense green forested park inside the stone fort - very few people around, only a couple of cars parked. We crossed this family of four, returning with large sacks of tree logs. We were surprised, that one could remove wood from a public park; but we were really shocked that all the wood they carried had been cleanly sliced, clearly cut from trees. As we returned, we saw the family loading into a posh SUV and drive off. So this happens, also in France, and also by rich in France - same as in India, huh?

18"x30"

We live in a tiny apartment in Metz, which has an arboretum, an art studio, nursery and kitchen garden - all on 18"x30".  I now have all I need.

Swimming

I swim. Its been more than two decades since I took to swimming - seriously. I swim for a variety of reasons - most very common. I swim for exercise, to de-stress, to take a break from staring at a screen, to help preserve a bad back. But I also swim to meditate, to play, to compete against my own self, to see if I can swim longer, faster, better, stroke counts without breath, under water, just feet paddle, and the list goes on. In other words, I swim, and I really like it. Almost unconsciously I have acquired a habit of clocking my swimming. And to my surprise, I discovered something interesting today.

Usually after a number of warm up laps, I start swimming fast. I consciously speed up, beat my legs harder, move my hands faster. Then slow down on my last lap and flip over floating and looking at sky while catching my breath and then jump out. Today I forgot to do that. I got too engrossed staring at the perfect butterflies coming together with a bubble heart in reflection in a breast stroke and the quiet paddle sound of rowing in the freestyle. I got too absorbed watching and listening to myself swim. And at getting out - found that I had broken all my previous records.

I had swum faster in effortless silence than in furious conscious speed. Interesting, huh?

On Dreams and a Drink

Several years back, on a trek in Colorado, my kids and I were crossed by an older couple. Many meters ahead, the woman paused, bent and picked something from the ground, turned around and approached us. With a smile she held out a Dandelion fluff ball and said "In my country, we blow on this and make a wish, to have a dream come true!"

Today, a walk through campus was lit by luminous, silken white floating seed balls parachuting idly between trees, across lawn, along tarmacs, all over in a dream-scape of wishes and desires. The fine fragile spheres became rainbow halos when lit by sun in a particular direction - a myriad brilliant possibilities, all within grasp, weighed by a seed, waiting to take root. I thought then that it was no different from my today - full of possibilities for a dream to take root - any or many dreams. The difficulty was in responsibility to fulfillment for a dream-sprout - the requirement to see a dream through. Or was this an artificial constraint? that it was ok for a million seeds to germinate and end - without purpose? that the burden of responsibility killed the joy of possibility of a million dreams simultaneously lived....??

I ponder on this with a drink:
1 fresh green chilli sliced lengthwise
4 cubes ice
generous decent vodka
a lemony fizz drink to top! YUM!

Rum, Rasam and Raaga

There was a phase in my youth that I recall where "rum and coca-cola" was a mood to swing to. Decades later, I discover the same pleasures with a different twist - ahem...maturity. This year has been particularly cold in Bangalore and a little while back I was introduced to all kinds of cocktails with indian twist...so now, I can imagine no greater pleasure than to be curled on my diwaan with a glass of rum n' pepper rasam all to the moods of some evening raaga - say Marwa?

Living Life Dangerously...

That night the skies rented and deluged the land. I lay awake to the rains pounding, drumming to heartbeats, quickened, elated, pumped up with adrenaline, to the percussion of thunder claps, flashes of lightening. In the blind black of my room sounded the running, pacy changing beats of teen-taal in this megh-night.

Next day, I started late for the farm. The underpass on my route was unpassable, thigh deep in water. Backtracking to catch a bus, I found that the morning rush hour had already started. The buses rushed by periliously tilted towards road with people hanging out in swarms. One such bus was stopped at the traffic signal, going in my direction. Running between wavy lines of halted cars, vehicles, I reached the bus and yelled at the people to 'make space' - a woman standing on the last step turned smiling and said "there is no more room inside" - I hesitated, undecided, weighed by a big clumsy bag that I carried in one hand, when the traffic signal turned green. The bus inched forward, and suddenly, without thought, I was squeezed between people, hanging out the last step, on this tilted bus, hanging on to my bag with one hand, and my hold on life with another....the bus sped on shiny, wet tar within reaching inches of other cars, scooters.

The wind blew against my face pushing my hair back - I was the last person on the bus - excited, elated, happy to be living life dangerously.

A New Year's Resolution--Kept!

Yeah! Yeah! Yeah! I know we aren't much into New 2009 at all - and yet, I have very successfully and resolutely kept this year's resolution- in fact, I have a guaranteed winner this time - I am fully certain. If the world, family, near-and-dear ones don't cross my path, impose outdated values, provoke guilt; if the venomous sting of jealousy does not impinge....etc. etc. then I do believe I have discovered a winner amongst resolutions! In fact, this year's resolution is blissfully and wonderfully easy to keep, good for my body, my mind, my spirit, my soul-it is a perfect recipe for improved motherhood, sisterhood, wifehood, neighbourly-hood, worldhood...in fact, I can bet with great certainty that the world, as well as me, will benefit greatly by my NYR! I can further add that this could easily become the most popular and beneficial R for the world to keep... no, no...I really don't mind, at all! No copyright laws, no patenting, no such bullshitting from me... let the whole world enjoy the benefit of my accidental discovery, and thus discover bliss!

It happened like this...I was being a really grumpy person, for many a good reasons ( and probably some bad) ..but lets not get into that now, that can be another story..so, as I was saying, bad humour had become my constant companion- my husband was harrassed , kids unhappy, workers sullen, neighbours distant, friends disappeared- who could blame them - I was not a happy person to be around...I myself felt crappy - often. Please be patient, this is my story, ya? Then let me tell it my own way... ya, ya I was coming to what I decided, but after that will you want to listen anymore to me? So let me tell you before hand, why it is that you should listen to me, and why this is the best way to help the world..

Ok, no lecture baazi, what occur-ed to me is this... if people need enough food to carry on with their lives, then they surely need enough sleep too. So my NYR is to sleep as much as I feel like on a daily basis - and THAT REALLY HELPS. No more improve myself type of Rs... what I have is feel better kind of R. How about responsibilities, duties and such likes? you say - well it helps to have accommodating husband, responsible children, otherwise, get back to bed after they leave home, or sleep on bus, in classes, while at work, sleep with your eyes open (I have heard it can be done!), or whatever it is that you do... one thing I can guarantee, it will add a glow to your skin, a spark to your eyes, a laughter in your voice, as no love has ever done before @!

Hope and Hopeless in Varanasi

Two stories that caught my attention today are given here and here.

A Week in Coorg: Diary Entries

The Homestead

I spent last week in Coorg. I spent it with friends from Bangalore, my hosts, in a small traditional home, within a coffee estate, embedded in a grove of tall rosewoods. The home was a comfortable urban dwelling and yet there was a simple, rural charm, with red oxide floors, hanging brass lamp and hurricane lanterns for those long hours without power, and a small veranda to stare out into the forest. Coffee dried on large tarps, saplings were stacked ready for planting, an orchid tumbled from a plastic mug - a gift. Three dogs bounded to greet us when we arrived, appearing from no where-and stayed with us while we remained.

The day started early for my hosts, with work to be organized, labor to be planned. I stayed in bed, enjoying the quietness, leisure of being a guest. Days flew by in conversation, long long walks with frequently forgotten details of which cousin owned which share of property, propriety and impropriety of the affair etc. What was memorable was the land-rolling hills, green, dense cover of trees, garlanded with pepper vines, and coffee bushes under. The valley floors were fertile, flooded with neon green patches of freshly sown rice; and all of this intermingled with cardamom, bananas, jackfruits, citruses of several varieties, wild flowers and a hundred different ferns still squeezed through the remaining space-dense, opulent, land of plenty...

An Evening at an Estate

That evening, I felt I had stepped back in time. A time that I only knew from old English writings - a world with chivalrous men, gracious ladies, large estate bunglows of wood and glass, shiny red floors, portraits of family and ancestors, gleaming brass, sparkling crystals; bunglows with sprawling gardens, jumbled with flowers, small islands of refinement and taste, carved out in jungles deep and dark, where cicadas chorused at deafening volume; evenings at long, deep verandas sipping that scotch to a sunset; dinner served on long wooden tables with good china, relaxed conversation about - only nothing in particular, always pleasant, non controversial, charming.

I played a role..attentive guest, interested, well behaved-mimicking graciousness, only to be defeated by an uncontrolled laughter, a slurried Bacardi-song, a non-rehearsed comment that escaped, unheeded, to my need to blend in, observe, study this strange world unobtrusively, not influencing their old world charm, faith, lifestyle, where men were men, accepted lords over feminine, whom they protect, cherish, at their will...

Bylakuppe, Kushalnagara

In the Mysore district of Karnataka, extending below the foothills of Coorg, lie Bylakuppe, and Kushalnagara, the second largest Tibetan settlement in India, outside Dharmashala. We knew we had arrived when the homes sported colourful fluttering flags offering prayers to the winds, shop fronts carried knick-knacks of a different world, restaurants advertised momos and thugpa, and lamas wandered streets in maroon robes or sped by on motorcycles. The agricultural patterns changed from small disorganised growing with human and cattle labor , to large holdings with mechanised farming, rotating sprinkler systems, a lush denseness to growth that only prosperity can bring-blessed again by tall poles carrying prayers. The community by its hard work and adaptability has achieved a level of economic success and stability rarely seen or matched in this nation-the Golden Temple complex at Bylakuppe is an outstanding testimony to this success. Seen from far and wide, across green fields and prayer flags, in a unsettling setting of tropical lushness, the temple stands tall, gleaming, blinding, unbearably colourful, attracting visitors from near and far. Done with patience, and love, only experienced by a threatened culture, each detail of their faith is remembered with ardor and reproduced with painstaking care. The giant doors are red and gilded, the walls frescoed with stories from life of Buddha, the fight of evil versus good, temptations of flesh, and finally at the alter, the enlightened being, Buddha himself with other Bodhidharma avataras on either side-enlightened and at peace, beyond the grasp of Maya.

We were in time for the afternoon prayers where a few hundred novices of boyish ages ran to their positions at the floor benches and then chanted in deep, sonorous voices, prayers which salved a heart, stilled a restless mind...

Economics of Education

It is a prevalent belief in certain circles, that education is a panacea for all social evils...I belonged to that club. The belief is founded on a myth, that education gives you a choice, a determination of livelihood, if not of life itself. Granted, if education gives you awareness, ability to think, assess, critically analyse, have an opinion...then those are all steps in the right direction. But, one usually takes a more particular stance of education removing global hunger, poverty, environmental crises, class disparities. Somehow, even within the educated class, providing education to the poor, is seen as a solution, that by providing economic security, resolves all other individual and social manifestation of poverty.

I have recently been thinking...questioning the premise...if all 6 billion of us were educated, capable of making a choice, would there still be choice?Would the world turn into a Lenon-ish Imagine-able utopia? or would the 'choice' still remain select, finite, now drawing from a much larger pool of wannabe capables? would not the global, market driven systems, then quickly short change the now redundant educated masses, for a rarer species of say, garbage collectors?

Probing, further, into shakier economic grounds, it appears that education cannot create wealth. Education leads (most frequently) to white collar jobs and allows flourishing of service sectors that help redistribute wealth. But can the entire global population become service providers-to the top percent of the truly wealthy, individuals, corporations, governments -the ones with wealth and capacity/power to generate wealth? What creates wealth? or more pertinently, who creates wealth? And can this wealth be created without the support (willing or abused) of global people, global resources. Is wealth, not just commodity - necessary or desirable?monetary currency just a facilitator of the earliest barter system for exchanges of goods? Then, how can education, generate wealth, prosperity, and ultimately peace? Are we chasing a pipe dream - or deliberately keeping our eyes closed, that we can dream a dream, not fully black?

Or...I am thinking completely wrong about this, and someone will tell me how- to let me dream a dream.

Small Harvests

Its been a while since I last visited my farm in Vardhenhalli. So, it was with a sense of excitement that I woke up at dawn last friday to catch a Magadi bus. Vardhenhalli handpost is now a prosperous T-junction with three shacks that all offer chilli pakoras and tea-an irresistible combination before ambling along the village road, through its jumble of mud homes, cows tied outside, goat kids skipping, dogs loitering or catching flies, cats napping and villagers sitting out on the jathi calling out to each passing visitor, asking about family, outside world and inviting for a cup of coffee. There is now a sense of familiarity about this village walk- chirping birds have replaced the usual city sounds, Savandurga is now a familiar rock dominating the landscape, there is an ease about the little children that run after me shouting 'aunty, bye,bye' or ignoring Johnny-that hateful dog who still does not accept my presence and bounds towards me for a sharp nip. Soon, even the homes and the children disappear around the bend and a solitary walk bellowing "man anand, anand chayo" in Raag Ahir Bhairav till I cross Prakash's farm with Anna, Akka, and then the tiled roof top of my home. Muniamma, my girl friday, has heard my singing and comes out to greet me with a smile and takes my bags.

This time around, Muniamma has plastered my home's threshold with a slurry of cowdung and mud, drawn intricate kolams in white and scattered marigolds around in honor of the recently past harvest festival. Marigold bushes circle the house, in full bloom, roses are creeping up the entrance, tall, sturdy, thorny and full of pink, red and white blossoms, lemon grasses are now over 10 feet tall, full of red and maroon small grass flowers that attract bugs, butterflies, papayas are in fruit, heavy and laden, and the single broad bean creeper has covered most of the tiled roof, entwined, circling, and dropping bean laden tendrils into the open central courtyard of the home. Time for harvest- a first small harvest.

Muniamma hitches her saree, I tie back my clothes and we both clamber up the roof on an unwieldy, tall bamboo ladder. The world from top encompasses my small farm, dry now for most part, colored in shades of silken straw and brown with a backdrop of the evergreen forested area. Peace and beauty fills my silent world as Muniamma and I start harvesting the beans, slow, careful, she surefooted and I wary of a slippery fall down. We keep dropping the gathered beans in folds of our clothes, now becoming a fat bundle on our back, as we move along. Several tiles have been broken by the creeper, the roof is a mess of shed leaves and decay-we pick it up, sniff and laugh-thats good 'gobara'(compost) thats happening on the roof top. We manage to harvest 4-5 kgs of beans and return to the top to cut down the creeper, roll it over
-it requires the two of us to shove this massive entangled mess down the slippery rooftop. I am thankful that I have not fallen off yet. Then sweeping the top, replacing broken tiles and we are done-ready for the summer and the next monsoons.
A couple of hours on the rooftop in all and I have harvested beans for many kitchens, quietness for my heart, silence for my soul and love for this life of mine, on my little farm

I do not Belong

I do not belong. I do not belong to this world- this rarified world of riches, glittering lapis pools under neon lights, temperature controlled, feeling controlled, where a smile is to be paid for, a drink-a weekly wage, a touch- a month's toil; everything is for sale, everything can be bought. Helping hand- available for a price, for a price- a piece of the sky, a bit of sand, song of waves. For a bit more, permission to air pollute, water pollute, noise pollute, land pollute, mind pollute-rubbish, filth everywhere.

I do not belong to this world of overfed, over drunk, bloated bodies, barely covered, glittering with jewels-vaccuous souls, nothing more,no spark, no song, no space in their buried hearts for a deep breath.

I do not belong-in this trap-a pina colada quietens the inner voice, quells the rebellious heart,furious swimming deadens the mind- the cost of these lapis pools, exhausts the clamoring heart- to escape, from all this human pollution of the educated, wealthy, priviledged, developed, westernized-to escape where the human heart dwells in innocence, where sharing is smile,food, home, heart, all-to realise how crumpled this own heart has become-to unfold, smoothen and set it free-to fly the wandering winds.

A message in my Inbox

Its another case of rape.
Skip over, ignore!
yoga stretches, swim session
pancake for breakfast
an hour of riyaz.

Its another case of rape.
Silent screams
mute voices
no human outrage
no social shame.....
shopping, mall hopping
cocktail party
dress with care
god knows who'll be there!

Its another case of rape.
brutality, horrible savagery,
violence, aggression,
mutiliation and destruction
of dignity,liberty....
gin n' tonic, chicken kebabs,
bright laughter, clever talk.

Its another case of rape-by police.
state sanctioned autrocities
a licensed violation of human rights...
so when you cant sleep,
darling, take a Restil-tonight.
--------------------------

According to the National Crime Records Bureau (NCRB)-India,

1 woman is murdered about every hour for dowry
1 woman is raped every half hour
1 woman is sexually harrassed every 12 minutes
1 woman faces domestic violence every 9 minutes
---------------------------

Check out the latest autrocity thats come to light at

//merinews.com/catFull.jsp?articleID=127237

A Decade of Decadence

Its been a decade since I made a honest living-or, for that matter, any living at all. I have been supported by my partner - in all respects, financially and otherwise-through adventures, mis-adventures, enterprise, endeavor, strife, frustrations and falls. Very soon into this 'retirment' I resolved not to 'earn' a living and thereby earn back a life - and the possibility of the 'unknown'.

Now, a decade later, I understand that the unexpected can only happen if allowed to happen, that the uncharted course is immensely fulfilling, and no goals is a reasonable choice for a life goal. The course is meandering, slowed and savouring-the choices more free, and momentuous, and the results more often surprising. I have learnt that this suits me - I like surprises.

Yet, a part of me still sometimes ponders - am I living off society? Definitely, even if I were earning, because I sit at the upper edge of a social pyramid where the contributions of the countless less financially abled to poor, sustain my lifestyle, my freedoms of choice, my consumption of more than my fair share of natural resources. My making a living has nothing to do with how I whittle away at all dwindling resources. I would probably "consume" much more had I earned a livelihood. So I swing wildly between attempts to practice a no-currency economy with ragi and saru, on my farm, to indulging in urban decadence, with gin-and-tonic and Japanese movies, in the city.

So while no-goal is still the goal, a desire to tread in balance remains-is that itself a goal? To tread, not just in balance, but to also tread lightly, carefully,
and consciously of my great priviledge - freedom to chart my own course.

Garbage,Glitter and Media

Its become a fashion these days for our dailies, weeklies and all manner of printed press to feature regular articles focussing on the glitter, the glitterarty and how the rich-and-famous live or should live. The printed material ranges from glossy centrefolds carrying full length articles on the latest upper class hang-out spots, to various looks you must sport with the 'must-have' wardrobes, shoes, makeup, jewellery, motorbikes, cars, cell phones and various accessories to be acceptable in these rarified zones. While most serious and mainstream newspapers attempt to sneak such material in to increase readership, others are directly catering to wannabe-rich phenomena or atleast a wannabe-rich look alike phenomena-forget news reporting, responsible journalism. Thus recently Outlook magazine offered a complimentary copy of a magazine called 'Envy' which focussed on those immensely out-of-reach objects of desire that could make an owner worthy of 'Envy' by a common man. Since when has it become cool to be 'envied'? or is promoting 'Envy' in line with keeping the corporate sponsorship happy and a frenzied consumersim booming? Yesterday 'Deccan Herald' an old Karnataka daily in English has come out with 'Hi-Life'- a free glossy supplement to show us what we are missing out on if we cannot afford 9 lakhs for a pen!!

As the world approaches Environment Day, it occurs to me that the very sector to which our media caters is also the sector that consumes most, pollutes most, produces most non-recyclable garbage. There is an overall correlation between the ecofootprint and the wealth of a nation. A look around seems to confirm that the same trend probably applies within nations, neighbourhoods, communities.

So why is the media promoting acquisitiveness and selling consumersim as a recipe for happiness? What if we all desired, could afford, and accumulate all this stuff for envy. Is there room on Earth to keep it all-for a possess and perish syndrome?