A rant , a moan and a celebration (?)

Quite an eventful week this past one has been. Ms Winfrey arrived in the country and a burp in an espresso cup  gripped the chatterati up at the Jaipur 'Glit' Fest. Things were read that apparently should not have been read. I say 'apparently' because I am yet to be offended by said piece of 'offensive' literature. Unlikely assassination plots were revealed concerning individuals with positively farcical sounding names. There were denials and protestations of innocence and eventually all blame settled on the elusive 'central intelligence'.

The 'offending' author eventually said his piece by video interview with a certain Ms Dutt. Everyone and their mother spoke of freedom of expression. A bunch of fundamentalist cretins showed their disapproval of god knows what ( as all evidence points to no one involved having read a word of what they were protesting) by bursting on to the venue of the lit fest and doing a namaz! For pity's sake - get a life!

Ms. Winfrey got it absolutely right when she called India 'the greatest show on earth'. We love making fools of ourselves it would seem even as we take ourselves too seriously. How we manage such extreme paradoxical behavior is beyond me. We can in the same breath extol the virtues of cleanliness in every country we visit and yet seem completely complacent with public urination in our backyard ( sometimes quite literally in our backyard!) . Gentlemen , public urination is NOT a fundamental right- just so you know.  We preach ritual purity in a hundred ways and yet cannot seem to stop the practice of public spitting.

Okay maybe these disgusting behaviors are the result of some kind of pandemic of incontinence of oral and other varieties. But what about space? What pray explains the need to stick like a limpet to the back of the person standing in front of you in any number of lines waiting for any number of things?  A word of advice to those who think it's perfectly okay to stand 'that' close- it is absolutely disgusting . An arm's length is a respectable distance. And I would say that it's an economical distance considering that we seem to be really pushing the envelope as far as the population is concerned and showing no signs of stopping- EVER!

End of rant.

The current week began on a sad note with Sukumar Azhikode, that giant of  Kerala public life passing away.  He will be missed.

Also waiting to see what happens at Tahrir today. Cannot believe it's been a whole year!

Across the Empty Quarter

Wilfred Thesiger (Source: Here)

I've just finished reading a slim volume titled Across the Empty Quarter- an account of the late British explorer Wilfred Thesiger's journey across the fabled Rub al Khali or the Empty Quarter in southern Arabia between 1946 and 1948. The journey is a story of a lost way of life and the story of the endurance of man in the face of the most extreme conditions that nature has to offer.

This is a travel diary that recounts in great detail the journey across one of the harshest landscapes in the world. Thesiger has captured the romance of the Bedouin way of life as well as its perils. This story of a lost world and time are beautifully told as only a person who has completely immersed himself in it can.

While being a keen observer of those around him, Thesiger is also brutally honest about his own feelings , experiences and shortcomings. My favorite parts in the book are the vivid descriptions of the punishing climb up the treacherously steep dune of the Uruq al Shaiba as well as Thesiger's recounting of the three nights that he spent without food while his companions went looking for supplies in the desert settlement of Liwa.

Source: Here

Of course for those interested in a detailed record of Thesiger's travels through Arabia nothing beats the brilliant Arabian Sands.

Thesiger's life is an inspiration to every restless wanderer. And for those of us who feel compelled to lose ourselves in the beauty of the unexplored his is a life that is testament to the rewards of such compulsions.

Also check out this photo essay about the Rub al Khali in the Saudi Aramco Magazine.

The Girl with the Encyclopedia of Bottles

Source: Here

There's a girl I know and quite an unusual creature she is too. A ridiculously talented artist with the most peculiarly wonderful way of seeing the world around her. She seems to have a thing for bottles. Bottles that to you and me are just that ,somehow in her eyes transform into magical things that make you feel you've gone through the looking glass or fallen down a rabbit-hole. Come to think of it , I wouldn't put it past her to have done either or both those things. See for yourself...

Check out her latest work here.

Encounters

Lali was a fisher-woman who came every other day. She sat in her black abaya against the white wall of the house next door. A woven basket containing chunks of tuna, big pieces of king fish , pomfrets the size of plates , sat in front of her. She sat there from 9 in the morning until 12 . Cats walked up to her ,their eyes glazed over with pleasure from the smell of the fish. The housewives , a mix of Indian and Pakistani expatriates and Omani-Baloushi  women, trooped to where Lali sat. But this was not just a business. It was, for Lali and the women in the neighborhood, a place to exchange gossip about everyone living in the homes under the great acacia tree.

I think my love of fish dates back to that time.I can see her still in my mind's eye as if it were just yesterday. The fish was bought fresh each morning at the Muttrah fish market. And it actually smelled -good even before it was made into all the fragrant curries in the different households. Odd thing to say about fish I know. But it really wasn't smelly. The basket smelled like the sea as did Lali herself. I sometimes wish I could draw her. There was something wonderfully interesting about her face. She seemed of indeterminate age. But now that I think of it she could easily have been middle-aged or near enough. Her plump happy face framed by the black hijab with the sun-browned skin and the big silver nose stud and the twinkly eyes immediately invited one to spill whatever secrets one may or may not be carrying. Her smile was wide and her teeth crooked and yellowed. I wonder what kept her so happy. It could not have been an easy life.

Another thing- she was always good tempered. Even when the haggling began with her customers who invariably quoted ridiculously low prices she never once lost her temper or shouted back. Then again, her voice was loud and booming enough to be heard without her having to shout/shriek/scream. She was nice to the cats. I remember that too. No matter how annoyingly close they got or rubbed themselves up against her -ingratiating themselves to her no doubt in the hopes of having a piece ( or wonder of wonders- an entire fish!) thrown at them.

I always wondered about her. Did she have a family? Where did she go when she wasn't sitting there? I don't think anyone asked. My mother, one of the most curious women you'll ever meet, never knew much about Lali except that she was a Baloushi woman. Did no one ask her? I wish sometimes I'd been old enough to ask. How did it all play out for her- life, love, family, I wonder...

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Another encounter a couple of decades later- this time in the 2000's. I was in Jebel Akhdhar in Oman. It must have been sometime in November. I went trekking there with my parents. We came to a point where stone steps had been cut into the side of a steep hill. The way down was dotted here and there with walnut and almond trees- bare at that time of year except for a few leaves. Somehow , slipping and sliding over the lose stones, we managed to get down to the wadi which was dry and filled with tan colored boulders and rocks of various sizes. I found a ledge to sit on and rest a bit- taking in the pleasant silent solitude of the place. In the distance on the mountains lining the other side of the wadi there were ruins of some old settlements. And then we heard it - a slow steady dull thud of something hitting the rocks in the wadi. It came closer and closer until suddenly round a bend close to where were sitting, a wizened old man in a dishdasha and muzzar came by on crutches. His left leg had been amputated above the knee. But he seemed perfectly balanced on the wooden crutches and deftly negotiated the rocks in the wadi.

Source: Here

Seeing us , he flashed a nearly toothless smile and came closer and struck up a conversation with my father. Dad being fluent enough in the language sussed out that the old gentleman was on his way to a village nearby to meet his friend. The friend's village was five kilometers away from where we were and his village was about seven kilometers in the direction he'd just come from. Further questioning revealed that he'd lost his leg in the war in the 1950's that the Omani forces had fought with the British forces against the invading Saudis. He had apparently been a young lad of 17 or so at the time. There had been shelling and his unit had been hit. He had survived but they had had to amputate the leg. The story was punctuated with lots of  Allah Kareems ( Allah is Merciful) , both by him and my father. We then asked him why did he have to walk to see his friend- it seemed an exhausting thing to do. He said he enjoyed it- the weather was wonderful at that time of year and he couldn't wait around for his children to drive him down as he had already put off the visit for too many weeks. He was his best friend you see- this one that he was going to see. We talked some more and then he was off.

Confessions of a closet gardener

So, I'm a closet gardener. Or at least that's how I think of it. I don't have seed catalogs. I don't have gardening gloves and equipment and all the other paraphernalia. I don't even have a watering can come to think of it! But I love plants. I love having them around. I love playing in the mud. I love digging right into the mud with my hands. I love the smell of the mud when water is poured into it.

I love coming home at the end of a long day at work and going to each of my plants and stroking their leaves, touching the blooms, sticking a finger in the mud to see if they have enough water. I love seeing them early in the morning before I begin my day. And yes, I might as well tell you, I love talking to them. Admittedly I don't have long gossipy conversations with them. I like telling them bits of my day or even simply asking them sometimes how they're doing. I know , I know it sounds like I'm nuts. But the truth is there is something comforting about the way they stand there steady and somehow eternal and silent.

The best bit of growing plants though is when the flowering ones bloom. There are few things as satisfying as seeing that first bud grow, fatten, feel the life grow in it and then finally one fine morning the petals open -sometimes slowly and sometimes all of a sudden in a glorious burst of life and pure happiness and color.

Miss Violet with her first blooms

I plan to make a tropical forest in my balcony if it kills me or even if makes my nails absolutely ragged and dirty!I love those beauties. And the first ones to burst into bloom have been my African Violet and my beautiful Begonia. Violet here is a bit of a fuss pot with all her exacting temperature and water requirements but it's been a pleasure watching her bloom...The Begonia though has been bursting with waxy red blooms ever since she arrived. And for such a little plant she's been quite prolific.

Begonia

 







We have also acquired two different kinds of jasmine, a couple of geraniums and a deep red salvia. Can't wait for them to bloom!

The other residents

I often imagine these guys just sitting there and contemplating life. Or not contemplating. But simply being. That sense of just being. Breathing, drinking, blooming, growing. Silently. Steadily. Always. You do see a world in a wild flower. No wonder a bunch of daffodils moved a man to write a poem. How could one not? These lovelies make poets out of the driest of us I think. And let me tell you something else- there is nothing more startlingly wonderful than the encounter between a child and a plant. Ever seen that happen? There are few things that will surprise you as much as that, trust me...

2012

Source: here

The last few weeks of the past year were given over to various illnesses and end of the year stuff. So, a new year and a clean slate-well an almost clean slate. This is the time for new beginnings and wonderful new resolutions and standing at the beginning of a sparkling new year that is now about a week old, the thoughts of potential adventures , potential mistakes , potential victories and a whole bunch of other potentials have me excited.

This year also happens to be the first time that I'm entering a brand new year with no plans at all. I have always been one of those creatures that had a bunch of things that had to be achieved in a particular year. But now I think I may have finally learned to let go. I have decided that this year I will take each day as it comes. I will take lots of time for myself. I will indulge in all the things that interest me at any given time. I will live in the moment and travel wherever I can. I would also like to do something that makes me go weak at the knees. Hmm. Cliches they may be. But those really are the things I would like to do.

I think - and maybe this is the Indian/mystical new agey person in me talking- but opening one door is going to let in all sorts of other possibilities. And for an eternally restless, chronically dissatisfied person like me, the thought of possibilities is deeply comforting.

Happy New Year!