Amit Chaudhuri and Calcutta

 Amit Chaudhuri in conversation with Ananya Vaijpeyi is soft spoken and unassuming.  Listening politely and earnestly answering questions and drawing the audience into his Calcutta- Two Years in the City - the subject and title of his latest book, released in New Delhi on Friday, February 21, 2013.

I did not know much about Chaudhuri till the Jaipur Lit Fest I attended at the end of January this year. I didn’t see or hear him but heard Ananya Vaijpeyi talk about his literary criticism work.  So, when I received the e-invite from Penguin and the magazine Caravan I decided to go.  Calcutta is close to my heart – my past and my present. I was born and raised in West Bengal; a four hour train ride from Calcutta and am currently working on an illustrated book for young people on Calcutta. I am immersing myself in all things Calcutta.

I Googled Chaudhuri and read his interview in the Guardian about his writing the book. I learned a little bit more about him. I liked his stories about the process of his writing the book, his experiences and his passion for the green slatted windows and doors.  I share that passion, growing up as a visitor to Calcutta for my monthly dental work (with Dr. Ghosh) and as an adult, studying and working in Calcutta, other Indian cities and countries.  My photos taken in Italy, Philippines, Switzerland and many other places suggest my attraction to the same woodwork and architecture.

I too, witnessed the golden period of Calcutta in the 1960s early 1970s, going back to it like a moth to light and slowly over the years, the change. While not actively living in Calcutta I continued to be engaged in things Calcutta, Bengali and everything else that surrounds it – in my heart and mind.

The evening was held in Oh! Calcutta, a Bengali restaurant in South Delhi and one of my favourite eating places.  Astrid (a friend visiting from Edinburgh) and I had lunch earlier in the day, took a side trip to Hauz Khas Village and came back at 5.30.  The room was transformed, chairs rearranged, tables pushed against the walls and there were cameras and lights. As you stepped into the restaurant, on the right, a table with his books were displayed. An impromptu stage was set up, in the natural step up area of the restaurant with a table and two chairs, and a backdrop announcing the function.

The conversation was good; the reading Chaudhuri picked was about the purchase of the green slatted window and door. His knowledge of music surprised and pleased me and the connections he made between his life, the city and other cities all came together.

Astrid gifted me the book and I bought five other paperbacks, to catch up with what I have missed. I am reading the book, transported into the Calcutta of my child and adulthood. It’s going to be a good Amit Chaudhuri weekend.

Mindfulness in a Group

Yesterday, from 11 AM to 4 PM, I took the time to be mindful with the group of people - called the Sangha - following Thich Nhat Hanh's teachings.
We met at a beautiful place called Anandgram, which is a retreat for artists and writers - a place to contemplate and create. I have been there several times over the last 15 years, for lunches, meetings and retreats. Under a beautiful tree, straw mats were spread on the ground, on which were placed cushions to soothe the sitting. Shantanum, who led the day's mindfulness, spoke about people's pre-occupations and anguish over the Mumbai attacks and how we can heal. We read from Thay's (as Thich Nhat Hanh is fondly called) teachings and meditated - the basis of which is breathing in and out..
This was followed by a walking meditation through the very well envisioned and l planted space, stopping to admire the trees, and ended up at the patch where we would be planting seeds - herbs, flowers and vegetables. We all planted them; I chose the Indian mustard seeds, which would bloom in the spring. Children also participated in the planting. This, many said later, gave them the feeling that they were doing something to rejuvenate themselves and planting hope for the future.
It was time for lunch. There was a long table laid out with food that we all - about 50 of us - had brought. I took mixed vegetables - broad green beans, carrots and potatoes - and parathas (bread Indian style), oranges and apples. There was plenty for everyone, and O.P. Jain, who created Anandgram, contributed rice and guava juice. We ate in silence, sitting on the ground in a circle. For those who have a hard time being on the ground, chairs are always provided.
After lunch we did some sharing and almost everyone talked about how they dealt with the Mumbai attacks and what peace being part of the Sangha brought to them. Before we left, we walked over to the trees that had been planted by a Sanga group three years ago and to a tree planted by Thay, six weeks ago. We offered marigolds.
As people began to leave, some of us chatted by the organic stall that one of the Sangha members helped organise - he is a naturalist and part of an organic movement. He had organised the organic seeds. I bought some apricot face scrub, apricot kernel oil, ramadana (amaranthus) and red chilies. Some of the things I wanted to get were already gone. Next time.
It was such a beautiful way to spend a Saturday -which is usually spent in shopping, driving around crazily etc. For me, its my Clinic day. As we were getting ready to disperse Shantanum asked if this was a good time to meet. Several people suggested later in the day may be better. Others said it would be getting dark as winter was setting in. The truth is, as I said later (and I thought this), there is no good time for everyone. One has to make the time. Sometimes it is not possible, but if we want to, we can do it. It's up to us.
The next gathering as a large group is next month. I look forward to it. I hope you enjoy the pictures.

Nature Bazaar, Revisited

I went back to the Nature Bazaar (see previous posting) with my friend Krish yesterday. It was a very balmy day - which means slight sun, slight haze and thus, inclination towards slight movement!

Our friend Krish, arrived on Saturday and yesterday we set out at about 2.30 PM after a cup of home made vegetable (delicious) soup and toast. We made a stop at the petrol pump to get a punctured tyre fixed. Krish made a purchase of cashews at the In and Out convenience store and I added a chocolate bar to it. We found parking at the back entrance of Dilli Haat and went into the Bazaar. The tickets are Rs. 15 for adults (less than US 50 cents) and we had to get our bags checked.

Being Sunday, it was very crowded. It was often hard to get to the stalls because of the people. I saw that my missing soap stalls had returned. And, Krish came excitedly talking about poo paper. What is that? Its paper made from the poo of elephants and camels, in this case. I said we must see it on the way back. We proceeded to the recycled paper stall - bags - computer and carrying bags - so lovely. As you can guess, I wanted them ALL!!

We saw a stall with animals, homes, trees, all made from coconut husk and string. I wanted all this too. We walked to to where I had seen the Bangladesh stall with the fine kantha work. This is like quilting - on silk, wool and cotton - and they offered scarves, shawls, bed covers and more shawls. Trish got into a conversation (as she lives in Bangladesh) with the organisers. Yesterday there was a man with lots of facial hair (turned out he was the Indian consultant to the project) and a German woman (who I had spoken with the other say). We exchanged business cards and promised to stay in touch, as she was moving to Delhi.

Krish wanted to buy some Delhi blue pottery (actually made in Jaipur) and we did that, stopping on the way, admiring various stalls, watching people and enjoying ourselves. I met several people I knew and we stopped to chat. The sun - whatever there was of it - was going down and we decided it was time for tea. Before that I bought a lovely piece of cotton made in Andhra Pradesh, a state in the middle of the country. I wanted to get more but I decided to order it on the web. So, I picked up the picked up the brochure to check them out, later when summer comes around.

We decided to stop for tea and momos - a Chinese delicacy a bit like dim sum, chicken, vegetable or mutton wrapped in a flour roll and steamed. It's served with a hot sauce and a bone broth. We each had a plate (8 momos to a plate) and hot tea. Delicious! Slowly, we wound our way to the back entrance, stopping to buy bars of handmade soap, some poo paper products (I got a notebook with the Delhi metro map) and a small 2009 calendar.

The photos I am sharing are mostly of things I liked - textiles. My friend Krish is in some of the picture and I think you will see that. The last three pictures are of the Bangladeshi stall and work I wrote about in a previous post and here. The red shawl is made int he Northeast of India, very close to the Chinese border, as are the bead necklaces that Krish is examining.

It was such a lovely afternoon, said Krish and as we drove off to see a movie with another friend. We both liked many of the same things and it was good that we were able to share the joy of these beautiful hand made products, among other things.

I hope you enjoy the pictures too.

555 Pages - The World is What it Is

The World is What it Is, by Patrick French, is the authorised biography of the well known writer V.S. Naipaul. Naipaul was born in the West Indian island of Trinidad and his grandparents originally came from India. He left for Britain as a teenager to study at Oxford and only returned to Trinidad to visit. In 2001 he was awarded the Nobel Prize for Literature.

As a brilliant writer - and I am a fan of his - Napaul's essays, novels, commentary and fiction span about four decades and the continents of Asia, Africa, Latin America, North America and Europe. As a writer his range is amazing, his prose polished, his descriptions vivid and his imagination fertile. He writes harshly and plainly, offending many. His critics are equally harsh with him.

This book took a decade to write. French, a British writer, painstakingly traveled to all the places Naipaul went to, interviewed people, poured over thousands of pages of documents, journals and reviews, to prepare for the writing of the book. He is neither for or against Naipaul. He presents the human face of Naipaul, one that many people miss when they write or talk about him.

Naipaul is a complicated man. He is full of neurosis, complexes and difficulty in establishing and maintaining relationships. Critics and friends have called him 'racist', 'miserly' and 'unkind'. He had a long and seemingly cruel marriage with a British woman - Patricia Hale - whom he met at Oxford. They had a troubled relationship, childless and sexually frustrating. He says in his journals 'he didn't know much about sex and nor did she'. He had a long extra marital relationship with an Argentinean woman called Margaret Murray. When Naipaul's wife died, three months later he married a Pakistani woman, Nadira.

A few weeks before his book was released in India, the media highlighted Naipual's admisison of visiting prostitutes and paying for sex. Many were intrigued by this and commented on it as well. In the book, however, it comes across as more humane than it would be as reported in the media. And, his relationships with Pat, his wife and Margaret, his mistress were indeed complicated and troublesome.

I like the book. French takes great pain to bring a balance to his writing by covering the many faces of Naipaul. Having read almost all the books written by Naipaul, in some ways, it's like going over the books again. although in a parallel journey. The book is intimate, easy to read and a marvelous portrait of a flawed and great man.

As French writes: My approach to writing biography is as it was when I began my first book. I wrote then that the aim of the biographer should not be to sit in judgement, but to expose the subject with ruthless clarity to the calm eye of the reader. Since writing about the writer for the first time, I have become more doubtful about the emotion that an artistic creator should be expected to explain himself. Anyone who has written imaginatively will know that the process remains mysterious, even to the author, however hard you try to unpick it. The best writing can be examined only in its effect.

He goes further to say: A biographer can never fully reveal the source of its subject. The commonplace that a biographer has found the 'key' to a person's life - usually something as arbitrary like the death of a sibling, or moving house - is implausible. People are too complicated and inconsistent for this to be true. The best a biographer can hope for is to illuminate aspects of a life and seek to give glimpses of the subject, and that way tell a story.

And, French does this well, with Naipaul as his inspiration.

Picasa Web Albums - Anita - Desktop

Picasa Web Albums - Anita - Desktop

What the eye can see

Yesterday, my husband and I had an appointment with a company that specialises in kitchen and bathrooms.

We are trying to get the unfinished business in our kitchen (since the last four years) completed. The showroom of this company is only 5 kms from the President's residence. It's called Kalkaji, after a rather famous temple in the area. It also has another famous site - the ISKON temple - the Krishna Consciousness people. The first time we drove there - about a month ago - it was quite a challenge - very busy and congested and it was hard to find a parking place.

Yesterday, we took a different route, which was more manageable. We got a parking spot across the showroom. We were listening to a rather nice ghazal in the car and my husband suggested we wait till it finished. As we sat, we looked at what was ahead of us. Right at the tip of the car headlights, a tea shop run by a woman with about six men seated around, drinking tea and chewing tobacco. Beyond that was a string of clothes drying - several pairs of jeans, blouses and shorts. Beyond that, a mound of rubble mostly of construction material - bricks, stones, etc. And, beyond that, homes, with people of the roof tops.

Among all this, was a stench of urine. We were also surrounded by rickshaws - a three wheeler transport, a bicycle with a seat for two people with a canopy, used by a driver in front of the rickshaw. They are the poor person's vehicles, and in a city like Delhi with faster moving traffic, they move slowly, being one cause for traffic jams. About 50 of them were scattered around the rubble heap, almost parked there, but also in various stages of repair.

Looking around I felt sad - that India - which is claiming to be the next superpower, with its 9 per cent economic growth - cannot even keep this eye sore from happening. I also felt angry that the people responsible for maintaining the city would allow this to happen and not carry out its commitment to basic sanitation and hygiene, which then creates problems with water borne diseases. There are few to almost no community toilets. Indians and non-Indian alike complain when people use public space as a private urinal or toilet. What are they to do?

Sometimes I think that when the eye can see so much beauty, why do we have to see the seamier side of life?

When people ask why I came back to India after living in North America and Europe for so long, I say it's because I wanted to and one of the things I like about living in India is being face to face with the contradictions of India - rich and poor, built and unbuilt, well fed and hungry. But, I say this knowing I am on the winning side. What if I were poor, hungry, roofless? Would I still feel the same?

My husband and I had a long discussion about this driving away from the place. Mostly it was an angry and disappointing discussion about what could be done and what isn't done. We drove by the annual Surajkund Mela - a fair held from February 1-15, attracting thousands and showcasing craftspersons from the Southasian region and other countries. Everything for the Mela looked perfect. There were police on the roads, guiding traffic. The parking lot had several hundred cars, parked perfectly. There were no jams, no back up, no garbage. When we want to do something we can.

In retrospect, I am glad that the eye sees so much. With beauty, it also sees the darker side of life.

Do bloggers struggle with these contradictions in their lives?

The Magnificent Marigold

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This bunch of marigolds grow in the area outside my gate, under the shade of ficus and bougainvillea - which we have cordoned off with a gate. They also grow in the back yard, between the roses and creepers. The gardener planted them around October and they are in full blossom now, and a magnificent sight.

Marigolds are called gaanda in Hindi and used in offerings in temples - individually, in groups or made into garlands. In marriages garlands are exchanged between couples and once the bride and groom become a couple marigold petals are showered on them, along with rose petals. During various auspicious occasions and religious festivals women and children make patterns on the ground , mixing the marigold petals with rice powder and vivid colours.

Marigolds have a rather heady fragrance and therefore, are very useful in keeping away pests and insects. They are often used as soil fixers and planted between and around crops.

I really like the marigolds, their colour and fragrance. They come in various shades of orange and yellow and sit rather majestically among the lush green.

Do you have marigolds where you live and do you like them?