The Queen and Diana

As I sit down to write this is, the concert for Diana is on TV.

Last week I saw The Queen, a Hollywood production that brought Helen Mirren the Oscar. August is the month of 10th anniversary of the death of Princess Diana. The film brought it all back. I am not sure where I was when she died, but I wasn't in India. I do remember the outpouring of grief and the public outrage over her death, at that time.

The film - in very moving manner - presents both sides of the story as the British people experienced it: how the Royal family reacted and how the people reacted. And, in the midst of this, the role of the then recently elected Prime Minister Tony Blair,who takes it upon himself to advise the Queen on how to respond to the death. Helen Mirrren does an excellent job of portraying the Queen. Diana is portrayed in TV and print media clips.

In our discussion after the film we talked about how easy it is judge the royal family and be sympathetic to Diana, especially when during the last two years of her life. However, in retrospect, Diana grew increasingly irresponsible over the years. Granted she was a commoner (but not that common), she chose to move into the royal family. Not everyone can understand how hard it could have been to be a part of the royal family, but given the nature of royalty, it's not that hard.

Prince Charles was no angel, but somehow that didn't give Diana the permission to behave the way she did. Since her death there is increasing evidence of her irresponsible behaviour. Where does one draw the line?

In some ways moving into a family is not easy. In India young women move into homes and families of the men they marry, living in joint families. Sometimes, they move out into a nuclear unit. In most cases, it is a difficult transition. I can imagine what Diana went through. Young and fairly naive (and so much in love!) it must have taken some doing on adjusting to her new life. Diana's case is not different from millions of women who find themselves in relationships that don't work for them. And, making them work, also requires commitment and patience.

In the final analysis, it's a question of choice, and choosing wisely about our lives and loves. While love is great and fairy tale romances ideal, the bubble does burst sometime. Then there is heartache and sorrow, regret, anger, and many other negative emotions.

Diana's 10th death anniversary is a time to remember this, and more.

An Invitation

Come Into My Home

Walk through the gate

into the garden, the verandah

The front door is open and inviting

There are electric and candle lights

Have a seat here, and here

What will you drink?

You want to see the house?

This is the back garden

Thank you for noticing the smell and flowers

You like the size you say? I do too.

Here is the guest room

where you can stay when you come to spend the night

Let us go up the stairs

The family room - leading into the terrace

Let us enjoy the breeze, the sunset to the west

How green it is, you say? It surely is

You like all the artifacts? Thank you for that

Let us sit down and talk

A toast to all of us, as we raise our glasses

The dog is at our feet, tail wagging, wanting to be included

It's dinner time

I light the candles and go into the kitchen

The food is ready, in the serving dishes

Oh dear! The grilled vegetables look somewhat shrivelled

But the chicken and rice looks beautiful

(yellow with saffron and yellow peppers)

The potates in the shrimp are uncooked

The salad is fresh and the dressing tasty

(the mango and kiwi give it the touch)

The pasta with pesto is green and soothing

We sit at the table, give thanks, eat and drink

The talk is good and friendly, a lot of laughs

For desert we move into the sitting area

Rice pudding, cool and white, with almonds

A dish of fruits - cherries, plums and apricots

More talks and laughs

The hour is late

It's time to leave

The moon is high and full

And there is a gentle breeze

Hugs and kisses

Goodby, goodbye, come again

An evening of love, laughter, and togetherness

So much to be thankful for

The Bookcase

I am sitting across my bookcase.

On Wednesday, my husband and I moved the work desk and chairs around, so we could sit under the air conditioning vent. Let me explain. My husband and I work at the same table, on either side, facing each other. I chose to face the book shelf.

Since Thursday, I have been sitting here, writing an article on Coping with Loneliness for a national magazine. In between, I watch TV (also facing the book case), talk on the phone, read, check my email, drink tea and coffee, talk to my husband who sits across me, and blog - all facing the bookcase.

I must say I like it. We had the bookcase built three years ago. They are of light wood, in four panels, from the floor to a foot away from the ceiling. The two outer panels have nine shelves and the two middle ones have five large shelves and four smaller ones. They were designed by our architect friend Jeyanthi. Since then the design of the shelves has changed. We put an AC in last year and this required removing a panel. It blends in nicely though. And the coolness is more than welcome.

Arranging the books has been a challenge. We had a lot of books. In 1991 when we moved back to India, we had one lot shipped from my house in Pennsylvania, US and two lots from Rome, Italy (mine and my husbands). We then divided them in several places - at our various homes and offices. When we moved in here we still had three places to house books - this home, my clinic, and Mahesh's office. However, we had begun to weed out the books. I had come to believe that like a garden which needs to be weeded to thrive, bookshelves also needed weeding (for us to thrive). For too long we had books on Marxism and Feminism (and other things) that were once important to us. However, time and isms had marched on. What tune were we marching to? I believed it stopped us from moving on.

So, every year we started taking out books we did not think we wanted to house with us anymore - offering them to friends, libraries and charities. People and institutions were delighted. So were we. Our goal was to have just one large bookcase - this one - of books.

So, now we have three shelves for books related to cooking and food. Four shelves of psychology, self help, and healing. One for gardening, trees, alternative therapies. Three shelves for large size coffee table and reference books on art, travel, photography, jewelry, kilims, houses, etc. One shelf of books written by me. Four shelves of CDs and DVDs, arranged in order of western classical, jazz and pop, blues; Indian classical and vocal; and Spanish, Italian, French and Portuguese.

The books are sometimes separated by an artifact. The shelf with travel books has a black and burgundy Japanese lunch box. The shelf with my books has a vase, a gift from my nephew who is a pilot, based in Dubai. The shelf of 'weighty' fiction has a wooden cat with dangling arms and legs, made by Indian folk artists. The shelf of dictionaries (English, Hindi, Italian, Spanish, Urdu, and Sanskrit) houses a cigar box.

On the three topmost shelves to the extreme left, I look at artifacts collected from our travels - to Myanmar, Senegal, Nepal, Afghanistan, Egypt, China and Korea.

At the centre of the bookcase sits the gold plated Buddha statue, given as a house warming gift by Phuntshok, my Bhutanese friend, blessed by the high priest of the Tibetan monastery. Around it are three river stones gifted by Gretchen, collected by her on her January trip to Rishikesh - a spiritual place in North India.

I love looking at the book case - the various colours on the spines of the books, their names, authors and the memory of reading them. While the books have their own way of sitting on the shelf, the CDs are immaculate in their order, always being the same size, unlike books. The artifacts ground me and take me back to the places I collected them.

In the various houses we have lived, we have always had bookcases. But never custom made, like this one, to suit our needs. The books and the CDs were measured, like any good custom made things are. When we arrange them (and this has changed over the years) I am conscious of how they will sit on the shelves - what spines do I want to look at when I am on the couch, by the round take, the easy chair? And now, the work table. A whole new dimension is added by moving furniture and ourselves around. Who would have guessed?

As I sit here writing this, I think about all the people who wrote those books, the song writers, the companies that produced them; the artisans who produced the artifacts; and the love of friends and family whose gifts we hold dear.

It's such a rich tapestry. And, all in a bookcase. Imagine.

Bliss

Bliss

Waking up in the morning
Having a good nights sleep
Talking Aloe for a walk
The first cup of tea
Working from home in casual clothes
The mid morning cup of coffee
Burning incense
Filling a bowl with water for the Buddha statue
Placing a flower in it
Reading the morning paper
The afternoon nap
The 5 PM cup of Earl Grey tea
Talking to friends and family
Sitting in front of the AC vent
Listening to music on World Space
Watching BBC while I eat (not news)
Sitting on the terrace watching the sun go down
Reading before I fall asleep
Meeting friends for coffee
Lying on the couch and watching movies
The smell of coffee all over the house
The sounds of birds
The butterflies in the garden
Wild mushrooms in the lawn
The beauty of my house
Being hugged by my son
Being loved by my husband
Writing
and

Blogging!

Digging to America

From Anne Tyler comes her latest novel Digging to America.

I first encountered (?) Tyler when I lived in Washington DC, in the late 70s and early 80s. Browsing in the bookshop, I came across a hardback of Morgan's Passing. I leafed through it and bought it. From beginning to end, I was transported into Morgan's world created by Tyler, the Baltimore based writer.

I used to go to Baltimore at least twice a month - for seafood. After reading the book, every time I went, I thought of Tyler. I wondered what part of town she lived in. What did her house look like? What did she look like?

Morgan's Passing is an exquisite piece of work. Every detail of Morgan - his house, his appearance, his friends, his community - appeared in my mind, crystal clear. After this, I became a diehard Tyler fan, reading every book she wrote.

Digging to America is about the ultimate immigrant experience. Based in Baltimore (where most of her books are based) it's about the story of two families (and their families) connected by the adoption of Korean girls. In some ways the families couldn't be different. One is first generation Iranian and the other full blooded American. They first meet at the airport, where they're collected to receive their babies. Slowly they begin to get to know each other, and became friends. They have their individual and collective tensions, cultural differences, petty jealousies and comparisons. But, despite this they are there for each other - cooking, babysitting, car pooling, hand holding, and giving support.

The story is woven around family and parties. The two families begin to organize ‘Arrival parties’ (to mark the day the girls arrived from Korea). And, like most families, a great deal is revealed in family gatherings. It is amusing, tiring, poignant and familiar – all together and separately.

Tyler was married to an Iranian psychiatrist man (who died some years ago), so her immigrant experience in some ways is first hand. Simple things such as finding the word in the mother tongue, and panicking that it is forgetting. Longing for a 'home', a culture, environment, that is no longer there. Not knowing where one belongs. It's the stuff that the immigrant experience is made of.

And of course there is love. What brings people together? Is it a common language, values, habits, experiences, or what? And, intergenerational relationships. How much to intrude? When to pull away? What do you do with loneliness when you are protecting your territory?
What do you do with fear - of intimacy and relationships?

While I enjoyed Digging to America, I enjoyed Tyler's earlier books more. Maybe it's in the head. However, I still recommend her latest work to all those interested in multicultural relationships and good, interactive writing.

Books, coffee and lounging

Two days ago, I spent a rather lovely late morning among books, coffee and a serious lounge.

I visited the Oxford bookshop and cafe in Connaught Place, in the heart of Delhi. It's an area which is built in a circle with radial roads set off it, containing office buildings, apartments, shops, restaurants and cafes. Built in the 1930s, it has been a ’hot spot' for Delhites, fashionable and modest. For visiting tourists a visit to the area was a must. Over a period of time, as other smarter places came up, Connaught Place declined. Landlords lost interest in their properties as tenants (in the properties for years) refused to pay increased rents or move out. The place began to look run down and unappealing.

My husband is rather attached to Connaught Place. I did not grow up in New Delhi, and while my visits to the city did include Connaught Place, it doesn't have the same meaning for me (i.e. no nostalgia!). However, with the economy on the upswing, Connaught Place is going to get a face life. Plans are afoot to make it a real 'hot spot', and bring back some of the old glory, in a new way. Some of the work began several years ago when the underground Metro had a stop in Connaught Place.

One of the historical and classic buildings in Connaught Place is Statesman House. The Statesman is a English language paper which enjoyed a solid reputation before the introduction of highly commercial mainstream dailies of today. A few years ago, the owners decided to renovate the building, as it was in a major state of disrepair. Some of us applauded; others attached to the building, protested. Finally, the renovation went through, but, with the facade of the building being retained.

One of the highlights of the newly renovated building was a bookshop called the Oxford Bookshop, which boasted a cafe. I had heard of it, and been invited to many book launches and readings. But, I only got myself there two days ago.

Entering the area around the building there are signs for the bookshop, which itself is on the top of the UTI Bank. A curved staircase goes up from the ground floor to a large open space, with an open garden. The bookshop entrance opens into an interior with a bright red and white decor, and a great deal of real and artificial light. The architecture is sharp, with curves and colours, large glass windows that allow the atmosphere of Connaught Place to come in. The cafe, which is to the left as you enter, has comfortable chairs and tables, a red lounge sofa, and an antique chest sitting regally on a large red/orange kilim.

After walking around to get a flavour of the place, I ordered a cappuccino, and sat down. I soon lost myself in books on homes, gardens, inner and outer spaces. I was excited, getting ideas about what I could do at home, with the space, artifacts, plants etc. I watched people come and go - young and old, stylish and regular. I took some photographs. The waiters were young and friendly. Conversations veered from the light to the serious. The range of books was limited, and their arrangement a little pedestrian. It has a Barnes and Noble feel to it. I felt the bookshop could use a touch of someone who loved books. But, they tried.

My selection of books? Digging to America by Anne Tyler, The Folk Songs of Southern India (a book first published in 1871 and re-issued in 2002), Temptations of the West by Pankaj Mishra, and In Black and White, a biography of the very talented Indian painter Manjit Bawa (and a favourite of mine).

As I left with my bag of books, I was pleased. The Oxford Bookshop is one of the few in the city that has a cafe. There are cafes with a cut-out area called a bookshop, but they are lack soul. As a lover of books, coffee and lounging, I eagerly look forward to more such spaces.

But, for the time being, the Oxford Bookshop is a good place to go - for a browse, to meet a friend over coffee, tea and snacks, or simply, just to lounge and enjoy a view of Connaught Place.

A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini

I am not sure why the book is called A Thousand Splendid Suns. But, it doesn’t matter really. It’s a beautiful story, and been eagerly awaited since the author’s first book The Kite Runner, published in 2003, became a runaway success. Hosseini was born in Afghanistan, and like millions of Afghans left his country during the very long period of foreign occupation and internal strife. His family moved to US and he is a medical doctor.

A Thousand Splendid Suns is a magnificent story spanning three generations of women and men. Its protagonists are two women – Miriam and Laila – who are a generation apart. Their fates come together as they are married to the same man – Rasheed – whose first wife and child have died. Miriam is a harami or a child born out of wedlock. Her mother was a maid and her father the man she worked for, who had three wives, and multiple children. Her mother was banished to a distant hut, outside the northern city of Herat, where Miriam was raised by her mother – seeing her father once a week, when he visited them. At the age of 15, Miriam runs away to her fathers’ house; her mother hangs herself; and Miriam’s life changes in ways she could not have imagined. Her father and wives arrange her marriage to the 40 year old Rasheed.

Miriam moves to Kabul where Rasheed owns a leather shop. Her life is sad and lonely. She has a miscarriage, and after that no living children. In a society where children - especially male - are so desired - Miriam becomes a living ghost in her home. Meanwhile, on their street are two families whose children, Laila and Tariq - unlike Miriam - are loved and wanted, cherished and desired. And, they transform Miriam’s life. Laila, in a series of mishaps ends up in their home and becomes Rasheed’s new wife (she is pregnant with Tariq’s child). It takes a while for Miriam and Laila, joined as they are in their mutual dislike for Rasheed, to develop a bond. So much so, Miriam while trying to save Laila’s life kills Rasheed. For this, she is sentenced to death.

Through the Soviet occupation, the Mujahedeen, the Taliban, everyone’s life is thrown in disarray. Lives are lost; men, women and children despair and no one can make sense of anything. A certain kind of de-humanization takes place – people have nowhere to turn to and nowhere to go. They cry, silently and loudly and often lose themselves, and their minds.

Through the trials and tribulations of loves and lives lost and gained, Hosseini weaves a magnificent tale. His descriptions of people, the landscape, and the state of mind of the characters is rich and pertinent. His prose is precise. His humanity is complete. His descriptions are accurate.

The strength of Hosseinis’ writing is his understanding of the world and people he left behind, as well as the world and people he went to.

As I read the book, I felt I was in Afghanistan. I read The Kite Runner before my first trip to Afghanistan in 2004. It enabled me to picture Afghanistan in a way no other book did. Now, after my second trip to Afghanistan in 2006, A Thousand Splendid Suns takes on greater meaning. I walked in the markets Mariam and Laila walked. I know the streets Hosseini writes about; I know the customs of the people; I witnessed their generosity and love first hand. I heard their stories and know that they match Hosseinis’.

Like the Kite Runner, A Thousand Splendid Suns comes full circle. Laila, Tariq and their children, who left Afghanistan for Pakistan during the Taliban regime, return. They want to contribute to the new Afghanistan. Like the Kite Runner, in this book, love triumphs over everything else – betrayal, jealousy, hatred, misfortune, and many more negative emotions.

In the end, and in the book, it is love that triumphs over death and destruction. This is the central message of the book. Those wanting to understand the nature of relationships in Afghanistan must read this book. It is historical, it is contemporary, it is sad, it is happy. Most of all, it is written from the heart.

A Thousand Splendid Suns is published by Bloomsbury and is 372 pages.

Recommending - The Witch of Portobello

Paulo Coelho's latest work of fiction released in 2007 is The Witch of Portobello.

It is also the 20th anniversary of Coelho's medieval pilgrimage route to Santiago in Brazil, which resulted in his book The Pilgrimage, describing his experiences and discovery that the extraordinary occurs in the lives of ordinary people. After a few years of getting the publishing world to recognize his writing, Coelho's books became a runaway success, globally.

The Witch of Portobello is the story of Athena, a woman born in Romania, raised in Beirut and living in London and Dubai. Her story is told by the many people who came in contact with her - journalist, husband, biological mother, adopted father and mother,actress, boss, landlord, historian, seamstress, restaurant owner, a Bedouin, numerologist and a priest. A rich perspective of views and perceptions.

Each chapter, therefore, is small and manageable, and kept my attention as I read the book. When my attention lagged it was my hurry to get through the book and reach the end (my weakness!).

The book is about Athena's search for herself, her restless and wandering self. Blessed with an intuitive attraction to the spiritual world, she studied about the saints, took to dancing and getting into trances and during this time speaking through the voice of Hagia Sofia, a prophetic voice - manifested through her by Mother, the Mother of the earth. She saw things that others did not see. She developed a following and began to be sought after in Portobello.

But, having a certain power also means that people are wary of you, afraid of you, and may want to get rid of you. It is this fear that drives people to close their hearts and minds an prevents them from finding themselves. This was also Athena's experience. The more she saw and learned about herself, the more she wanted. And, in this quest, she alienated and kept away those who loved her.

Athena's mother - who gave her up for adoption - was a gypsy, and when Athena finds her way to her, there is a poignant and yet distant reconciliation. Athena and her mother are both guarded, afraid to let their long lost love show. Athena leaves for her world, and her mother stays in hers. But, they have connected and are more at peace with themselves and each other.

Athena seemed to touch every life she encountered. And the Sufi trance like dances generated energy for herself and made a her more evolved person, bringing her closer in touch with herself. Yet, as I read the book, Athena, as a person, did not appeal to me. There was something distant and cold about her.

The Witch of Portobello, like every other book of Coelho's is about finding the courage to be to true to ourselves - even if we are unsure of who we are. Can this be done?

And, like his other works it takes us beyond the realm of the known into the unknown. It's an opportunity to explore this unknown, in order to understand the known. It is magical and gripping. It's ancient and contemporary. It's old fashioned and modern. It brings together the political and personal in a persuasive and appealing way.

Every reader can find something to relate to. It's a great read and a must for all those interested, and not interested, in human growth and search for self.

The Kabul Beauty School

Book Review: The Kabul Beauty School - The Art of Friendship and Freedom

By Deborah Rodriguez with Kristin Ohlson

Published by Random House, New York and Hodder and Stoughton, London, 2007. 269 pages.

A work of non-fiction Deborah Rodriguez’s book could almost be fictional. Only that it isn’t. It’s a story about determination, challenge, love and heartache. It is the story of an American woman who catapulted herself from Holland, Michigan to Kabul, Afghanistan.

A maverick by nature, Rodriguez came to Afghanistan in 2002, with an American non-governmental organization (NGO) trained in emergencies. Also gregarious by nature, Rodriguez very early on turned her attention to befriending Afghans who spoke some English. Her checkered background in multitasking and a rich personal life helped her in being sought after what was badly need in Kabul - hairdressing. With this, she developed a deep bond with Afghan women, who were just coming out of the tyranny of living under the Taliban. Their heart rending stories are told poignantly by Rodriguez throughout the book.

I lived in Kabul for a month in 2004 and for four months in 2006. I also went o Rodriguez’s beauty parlour, Oasis, in April 2006, with a friend. It took us forever to find it, as houses have no names or numbers in Kabul (security reasons). I called her four times on her cell phone to get to the right place. I waited while my friend got a haircut, was served tea, and got a chance to observe my surroundings. She had a presence and charisma that was hard to miss. Her energy was infectious. When Rodriguez took a cigarette break, she told us parts of her story, all in the book.

I first read about The Kabul Beauty School in an opinion piece posted in the Kabul Guide e-list I subscribe to, a few months ago. It talked about how some people that worked with Rodriguez in starting the Beauty School felt they did not get the credit they deserved in the book. And, that in the beginning of the book (enjoyable and shocking to me) is a piece about Rodriguez helping an Afghan bride fake her virginity on her wedding night by providing her with a blood stained handkerchief. Shouldn’t this be the mother’s role, questioned the author of the article? I smiled as I read this.

There were so many roles for women (just as there are for men) in Afghanistan that it could get tiring. Except, there are more restrictions for women. In most traditional societies in transition to modernity, these roles are shifting. Yet, both Afghans and non Afghans have a hard time with this. What to cling to, what to let go? What to support, what to oppose?

However, Rodriguez had little patience with all this questioning. With a fierce determination she dealt with men and women, ministries, bureaucracies, hoodlums, louts, children and older people. She wore her heart on her sleeve, and was not afraid to show her emotions – be it anger, frustration, love or appreciation. She was certainly not a coward.

She did some pretty unconventional things. Most of all, she married an Afghan, and became his second wife. The first wife, with her seven children, lived in Saudi Arabia. He supported her in many things and said no when he couldn’t. While Rodriguez did a lot to blend in, she also held on dearly to what she believed in, from her upbringing.

Rodriguez weaves the book around her own story and those of the women she comes across in Afghanistan. Choosing to focus on setting up a beauty school, she opted to work with women most of the time. She loved them, got cross with them, and yelled at them. She cried with them, danced with them and got involved in their most intimate stories – from violence to sex.

Raised in a country where life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness are guaranteed in the constitution, Rodriguez was often outraged about what she discovered and experienced in Afghanistan. This is understandable. But, slowly she learned and adapted, often at a high cost to herself and others around her. However, that is the nature of life and work as an expatriate in Afghanistan or any other post conflict country. I myself made some mistakes in dealing with the Afghans I worked and interacted with. I too experienced all the emotions Rodriguez did.

Rodriguez ends her book in May 2006, just after riots and curfews in Kabul. I was also there. The women who have studied and graduated from her beauty school have gone their various paths – some to new lives and others back to the old ones (but as changed and economically independent persons, with a skill). Rodriguez’s experience in Afghanistan transformed her life and the women around her. Her book is deeply personal and gives a pretty accurate picture of what goes on in today’s Afghanistan.

There are whisperings (quietly and openly) that Rodriguez has betrayed and endangered the women of the beauty school – that they could be targeted by conservative elements. Also, about her going back on her promises of getting them out of the country to safe and greener pastures. And, was she going to share the profits of her book with the women whose stories she told?

Whatever the answers to these questions, the reality of Afghan woman can be changed by themselves -with some help from the Debbie Rodriguez’ of the world. Just like development aid and expatriate technical assistance and expertise, it is only a helping hand to the Afghans. And, all this will take time. Decades of oppression from inside and outside Afghanistan, have left a deep impression on Afghan women and men, in separate ways. They suffered collectively and differently, each to their own, in their own way. I too, heard many of these stories.

Rodriguez offered freedom and friendship, within the confines of Afghan society. More than that she could not do, and no outsider can. The book rings true, reads well, and is highly descriptive of a country and people Rodriguez was privileged to be part of. And, that, no one can take away from her. Just like no one can take away from the Afghan women what they got from Rodriquez.

It's a great book and I would recommend it to you all.