Last Saturday, morning jog as usual. The security guard is always amused that someone should be up (earlier than the weekdays) on a Saturday and off for a jog. He wished me a good morning. I saw him waiting for a bus when I returned and wished him a a good weekend.
As I went ahead a bit, a 'foreign worker', who also has no choice but to be up early on a Saturday and set out to work, wished me a 'Good Morning'. The tone however was complex. It indicated many a feeling s : 'If I was someone else, you would be wishing me first', 'I am worth wishing too', 'Do you think I don't know English' and other similar things. I wished him back. I am sure I heard a 'Hmhhmm' with the tone like the third Chinese tone - rising one - meaning 'that is better'. May be I am exaggerating but I don't think so.
Then I went a bit ahead, rounded the stairs of a pedestrian bridge and saw this white guy standing at the bottom of the stairs. I wished him a 'Good Morning'. He said 'Fuck You'. This time there was not need to read between the lines. It was loud and clear. I looked at him of course. He had clearly had a long Friday night. Must have been drunk for most of it and looked like he had a hangover (not far from the same spot, I have seen a white guy getting out of a cab on a Saturday morning to get rid of the contents of his stomach which wouldnt stay inside). By this time I had moved a few metres and replied to him in sign language. My irritation increased as I went ahead and I tried to formulate words to match his. Difficult ... may be it was too early in the morning for me. Then I decided at least to have a word with him. He was too drunk to sustain any talking. Unless he had a weapon, he wouldn't have been able to fight either. He had a hangover, I had run just enough to have been warmed up. The recent Football world cup had enthused me enought to try a few kicks so I wasn't afraid though sober (him) I guess I wouldnt have been able to match him.
I turned back and jogged back to the spot where he was. He was no more standing but was supporting himself on a raling. Waiting for a taxi? Waiting for a friend to pick him up? Waiting to throw up (you know the feeling? It is so good after you have thrown up provided it is not a long continuous process...). Face down in the cushion of his folded arms that rested on the railing. I had a mind to shoo him up but then decided against. Don't know what I avoided but I did.
Further up, crossed another man waking to work. Could ahve been from any of the coutries in SE Asia. He walked straight past staying well out of line of my jog and sight, I jogged without turning my head. None of us wished each other. Dont know what we didn't start but we didn't.
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Touch reflection in water.
Normally rain does not fall in the month of February in that town. It is one of those places where one does not need a weather forecast. Everyone knows what the day's weather will be like. But sometimes ... . That is that town - my town. There are many places we call our own but they really are not our own. We also have a need to call some place 'my town', 'village', 'city' whatever. Same with me. Same with 'my town'. If anyone I know can call it her/his town, it is she. Having lived there all her life and had a lifelong ambition to move there when she was not there and having moved there ... proud and happy.
It rained in the afternoon almost till the sun set. I finished my work without getting caught in the rain and parked the scooter in front of the house. A cup of tea was the next normal step but the offer did'nt come as I put my stuff on the table and began to remove my shoes. " Do you have some time?" "Hmmm, yes", I wasn't sure what was coming. Could be a small errand, could be something else but the time of the day was not for any such things. It had been for a long time the time to be home. "I mean now" almost reading my thoughts. "Well yes..." "I just wanted to go to the Khandoba*(for details : see also Wikipedia) temple. We just take the scooter and it won't be long. Have your tea as soon as we come back". "OK" I said, retying the lace of my shoe.
A cool breeze blew about and the scent of the wet earth was in the air. It is unique, I tell you, that scent. It is not a scent that you would find in many places on earth. I can't describe it and you would either know it or not know it. Hope and wish you are one of those that has known this scent.
I started the scooter an she sat pillion Amazon style (some are very surpirsed that this is the normal way (it was then) as was I when I saw ladies sit straddled on seats) and went to the hill at the top of which was the Khanderao temple. One parked at the bottom of the small hill and walked up. We did the same. The path went through small bushes and the almost setting sun provided what little light was needed to make this 10 minute trek. Twigs, normally dry but weakened by the day's rain snapped ubder our feet as we went up. There was not a lot to be spoken. There was a lot to be thought. The temple itself is a small cement structure and not one of those mini real temples. As we we approached the door the interiors came in to view. Mostly dark. A small oil lamp flickered in front of the deity. The image of the deity riding a bull / buffalo was clear even if the stone statue had worn with time.
*(Khanderao : Khandoba
Khandoba, also called Khanderao, is a local deity of the Hindus, worshipped by the people of the Deccan regions, Maharashtra, parts of Andhra Pradesh, and Karnataka states of India. It is believed that the worship of Khandoba developed during the 9th/10th centuries, and he is believed to have developed from a folk deity into a deity having composite characters and attributes of Shiva, Bhairava, and according to some scholars, also of Surya.)
The cumulusclouds gave way to more cirrus types and the western sky turned pink. Real pink. I had till then only read about a pink sky but had never seen one. Strange, that we can go through life not knowing what we don't know and assume what w know is what is there. I had alsways assumed that the color orange that was commonly seen by me was a representatio of the pink sky.
We did not spend a lot of time t the temple. A namaskar, a few quiet moments and we turned back.
We walked quietly back. Just as I was about to start the scooter she said ' do you know the dargah by the KLE Socity building?' . I said Yes. ' Could we go there?' Hmmm...yes. Why not. OK then let us.
I had passedd by the small grassy track that led to the place by side of a guest house of a bank that was the KLE society. Once in a while I had sen people go in there and out but never been there myself.
I parked by side of the sanotorium. The untimely rain had left the streets deserted and quiet. A cool breeze blew carrying around the scnet of the rain. It was much darker now and the street lights ahd come on. The dargah itself was just a place with a grave and a tin roof supported by four bamboos. Whiel it the grass track was unlit the light from the street and the tube light that was on in the dargah made the walk easy. Only around the middle of the path did one experience total darkness. As we came near the dargah I could see the details. Just that there was not a lot more. The bamboos supported the tin roof and I culd see what I had not seen from the street. A grave covered in a green cloth. What was there to be painted oncluding the grave was painted white. The tubelight's white light shone off the whiete color and it was almost as if there was a continuous exchange of light between the tube and the floor. The place was very bright. And clean. I was lost. What does one do here. I looked around to see what she was doing and was surprised to see that it was for her a temple. She had her hands held in a namaskar and was praying with closed eyes. I was amused. Those days, the animosity was nowhere near what it is today but to be and even if I was not brought up (or grow up) a fanatic hindu...praying in a dargah Hindu style was still strange for me.
This visit was short too. After the prayer, she turned around and started to walk back, the silence deeper.
By the time we came back home, there rest were already there. She disapperaed in to the kitchen while I lingered around the house till my quiet had sufficiently disappeared and then joined the rest . 'Where did you go?" oh just around here... . The question was more a formality that curiosity.
Soon the household was normal ... food, chit chatting TV.
I went off to my room early. The silent images of the evening moved in front of my eyes... slowly. The rain, the sky, the temple, the dargah, temple - dark, red, old lamp flckering, dargah - white green tube light bright but steady, what would be happening in those places for the rest of the day? A visitor to one would have awakend to a silent prayer in his home would have done his day's work and been to the temple to sing amidst taal and part with a prasad. The other would have been awakend by a Mullah's call over the loudspeaker, said the namaz through the day and visted the dargah.
Dark and white, green and red, silent and loud, food and water. That was completeness. The prurposes of the two visits was clear... if they were verablized or just felt or undertood I do not know. It was also not prudent to ask...like touching the reflection in water to check if it there.
It rained in the afternoon almost till the sun set. I finished my work without getting caught in the rain and parked the scooter in front of the house. A cup of tea was the next normal step but the offer did'nt come as I put my stuff on the table and began to remove my shoes. " Do you have some time?" "Hmmm, yes", I wasn't sure what was coming. Could be a small errand, could be something else but the time of the day was not for any such things. It had been for a long time the time to be home. "I mean now" almost reading my thoughts. "Well yes..." "I just wanted to go to the Khandoba*(for details : see also Wikipedia) temple. We just take the scooter and it won't be long. Have your tea as soon as we come back". "OK" I said, retying the lace of my shoe.
A cool breeze blew about and the scent of the wet earth was in the air. It is unique, I tell you, that scent. It is not a scent that you would find in many places on earth. I can't describe it and you would either know it or not know it. Hope and wish you are one of those that has known this scent.
I started the scooter an she sat pillion Amazon style (some are very surpirsed that this is the normal way (it was then) as was I when I saw ladies sit straddled on seats) and went to the hill at the top of which was the Khanderao temple. One parked at the bottom of the small hill and walked up. We did the same. The path went through small bushes and the almost setting sun provided what little light was needed to make this 10 minute trek. Twigs, normally dry but weakened by the day's rain snapped ubder our feet as we went up. There was not a lot to be spoken. There was a lot to be thought. The temple itself is a small cement structure and not one of those mini real temples. As we we approached the door the interiors came in to view. Mostly dark. A small oil lamp flickered in front of the deity. The image of the deity riding a bull / buffalo was clear even if the stone statue had worn with time.
*(Khanderao : Khandoba
Khandoba, also called Khanderao, is a local deity of the Hindus, worshipped by the people of the Deccan regions, Maharashtra, parts of Andhra Pradesh, and Karnataka states of India. It is believed that the worship of Khandoba developed during the 9th/10th centuries, and he is believed to have developed from a folk deity into a deity having composite characters and attributes of Shiva, Bhairava, and according to some scholars, also of Surya.)
The cumulusclouds gave way to more cirrus types and the western sky turned pink. Real pink. I had till then only read about a pink sky but had never seen one. Strange, that we can go through life not knowing what we don't know and assume what w know is what is there. I had alsways assumed that the color orange that was commonly seen by me was a representatio of the pink sky.
We did not spend a lot of time t the temple. A namaskar, a few quiet moments and we turned back.
We walked quietly back. Just as I was about to start the scooter she said ' do you know the dargah by the KLE Socity building?' . I said Yes. ' Could we go there?' Hmmm...yes. Why not. OK then let us.
I had passedd by the small grassy track that led to the place by side of a guest house of a bank that was the KLE society. Once in a while I had sen people go in there and out but never been there myself.
I parked by side of the sanotorium. The untimely rain had left the streets deserted and quiet. A cool breeze blew carrying around the scnet of the rain. It was much darker now and the street lights ahd come on. The dargah itself was just a place with a grave and a tin roof supported by four bamboos. Whiel it the grass track was unlit the light from the street and the tube light that was on in the dargah made the walk easy. Only around the middle of the path did one experience total darkness. As we came near the dargah I could see the details. Just that there was not a lot more. The bamboos supported the tin roof and I culd see what I had not seen from the street. A grave covered in a green cloth. What was there to be painted oncluding the grave was painted white. The tubelight's white light shone off the whiete color and it was almost as if there was a continuous exchange of light between the tube and the floor. The place was very bright. And clean. I was lost. What does one do here. I looked around to see what she was doing and was surprised to see that it was for her a temple. She had her hands held in a namaskar and was praying with closed eyes. I was amused. Those days, the animosity was nowhere near what it is today but to be and even if I was not brought up (or grow up) a fanatic hindu...praying in a dargah Hindu style was still strange for me.
This visit was short too. After the prayer, she turned around and started to walk back, the silence deeper.
By the time we came back home, there rest were already there. She disapperaed in to the kitchen while I lingered around the house till my quiet had sufficiently disappeared and then joined the rest . 'Where did you go?" oh just around here... . The question was more a formality that curiosity.
Soon the household was normal ... food, chit chatting TV.
I went off to my room early. The silent images of the evening moved in front of my eyes... slowly. The rain, the sky, the temple, the dargah, temple - dark, red, old lamp flckering, dargah - white green tube light bright but steady, what would be happening in those places for the rest of the day? A visitor to one would have awakend to a silent prayer in his home would have done his day's work and been to the temple to sing amidst taal and part with a prasad. The other would have been awakend by a Mullah's call over the loudspeaker, said the namaz through the day and visted the dargah.
Dark and white, green and red, silent and loud, food and water. That was completeness. The prurposes of the two visits was clear... if they were verablized or just felt or undertood I do not know. It was also not prudent to ask...like touching the reflection in water to check if it there.
Friday, December 26, 2008
Nov 5 2008
Yes, it was Nov 5 when the Nov 4 things were happening in the US. Up in the morning to see what could be on...the count was somewhere at 190 / 200. A short bathroom break and the magic number had been crossed. McCain soon appeared for the concession speech. Even without the benefit of seeing the reporters comments in the papers, I thought it was a gracious speech. Always good to know that the journalists agree with you ;-) .
In scenes unprecedented, blacks and whites wept and laughed together. These were strange sights. It was normal for them...not for the rest. The special thing that the victory was was possible only because of the many who didn't think it to be special. So what if he is black... . He was elected because he was special, ran a great campaign, ...
Shortly afterwards, the whole family appeared, giving us all the pictures that will surely be even more famous than they already are.
It was an early off for a journey to an outstation location. As you can see from the picture of the Metro Station, I was in Paris that day. May be someday there will be a talk about where were you the day ...? This is not really to answer that question and one would not have to think a lot to answer that question because these kind of events never let you forget where you were. A lone black girl sat on the bench in the metro station. Was her morning somehow special today? Will she remember that she was at the Luxembourg metro station early on the 5th November morning (even if it was ...like every other day).
My own train arrived soon to take me with a change and Halle to Gare d'Lyon.
On the train a black drunk sang ' Obama president'. He was given a dirty look by...only a black girl in glasses. May be she wanted to say '...at least today, behave'.
Most of them sitting here in Halle are blacks. What is to be considered? That some of them could be having a worse off life than some of the other people in France or that they could be having a better life than if they (or their older generations) had somehow not reached France.
The TGV ride was not too long. It was a wet and rainy day and we passed the Avignon nuclear power station (if you look hasrd you can see the cooling toweres in the picture). The debates will continue. Nuclear, thermal, hydraulic, big dams... but somehow this day was a pause.
A bridge in the south of France. Not THE one that peeps out of the clouds but quite an impressive one any way. The two lines that you see are actually one bridge for the to and fro railway tracks. This is close to Avignon. The popes lived here in the 14th and the 15th centuries instead of in Rome. I have tried to find out why the pope moved here but in a short time could not do that. May be someone could leave a comment to that.
Picture of the Rhone. Only miles to go to Arles and split in to teh Grand and Petit Rhone and in to the Mediterranean Sea.
Starting back after work. This is the TGV station in Avignon - a special architecture. A mini of the world trade centre in Tokyo, the architecture of the inverted boat. Apparently is not considered pretty by the French...by some of the French at least ...as for me it is OK only the design does not seem optimal and why is the platform (not seen here) wooden, among other things a safety hazard (this is being put in to thank the colleague who accompanied me on the trip and acknowledge his direct and indirect contribution to the information in this blog including the bit on the wooden platform).
The news was all Obama.
Back in Paris and the platforms of the metro. The picture quality is bad (of course) and/but it hides the litter on the platform.
Look cloesly and you may see some litter.
See the girl with the white bag? She was approached by a beggar and she shooed him away. He came to me and spoke something in French. I told him I did not speak French and he switched to perfect English. I gave him some money. For some reason he went back to the girl again and this time she gave him some money. Either busy with her phone or for another reason she did not look up. I did not see her expression.
This black man and his family / friend were on the train. On this day of all days, one can't but not notice black.
Changing again at Halle. More black people at the station.
Dinner at the ..... . There was this group of Americans and their French friends. The conversation was difficult to catch and neither did I intend to but the accent was unmistakble.
It was late, the streets were empty. I was tired. But not tired enough to stop feeling the momentous day. It wasn't over yet.
There were plans to be made
Iraq or Afghanistan had'nt disappeared.
But from today, the dreamer will be taken a bit more serioulsy.
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Start the start.
Sometimes it is so but the start has to be started. It does not mean anything - no problem if you need to start the start or find it hard to start. A smooth start does not mean a smooth afterward. Nonetheless it is important to start. There may not be an end but there is always a beginning.
Some are going to ask why. Here is an answer...in part. The perfect answers are only two : Yes and No. And they are valid when specifically asked. Perfect is true...? Always...?
22nd Nov. 2008. Let us draw a line at 11th November. There are many things associated with this date. Silly Season, end of World War I... some one's birthday. This sentence has to remain...don't ask.
Many things are the result of coincidences. Life is. So here is what happened.
Going just before (the dates being mentioned), Oliver Stone and Alice Walker both talked about meditation. Oliver Stone said even a five minute meditation per day has it's benefits. I don't remember what Alice Walker exactly said but she also talked about the ... among other things... (the complexities arising from God made man in His image etc. but how it is actually the other way round and that is actually the basis of the problem)... the situation faced by people who have to worship a God in whose image they are not made. This hit hard, very hard. This was before Nov. 4. 2008. You may not see all the coincidences yet but this was the start. Like always, in the mind first and now it is here.
Some are going to ask why. Here is an answer...in part. The perfect answers are only two : Yes and No. And they are valid when specifically asked. Perfect is true...? Always...?
22nd Nov. 2008. Let us draw a line at 11th November. There are many things associated with this date. Silly Season, end of World War I... some one's birthday. This sentence has to remain...don't ask.
Many things are the result of coincidences. Life is. So here is what happened.
Going just before (the dates being mentioned), Oliver Stone and Alice Walker both talked about meditation. Oliver Stone said even a five minute meditation per day has it's benefits. I don't remember what Alice Walker exactly said but she also talked about the ... among other things... (the complexities arising from God made man in His image etc. but how it is actually the other way round and that is actually the basis of the problem)... the situation faced by people who have to worship a God in whose image they are not made. This hit hard, very hard. This was before Nov. 4. 2008. You may not see all the coincidences yet but this was the start. Like always, in the mind first and now it is here.
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