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?

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.