NOSTALGIA

I have been in Sofia for almost five days now. I am mostly home looking after my grandmother. So every time I step out for a breather, it is like a brainwave of nostalgia. It is funny how the people we have been slowly vanish into some secret compartment of our brains, which gets unlocked by the strangest of things. In my case, songs I hear on the radio while in a cab, names and faces in newspapers (now mostly gone white and wrinkled), ad jingles, old book covers, old jokes… And suddenly I am 15 again, carelessly walking the streets of ‘this town where I was born’ (another old song I heard in a cab today). I am my old lanky and carefree self. Memories flow in and I almost have the feeling I am peeking into someone else’s life. I look at the people around me, and I can see how their dreams, lives have changed since I have been away. And I realise how far removed from all this I have become. And honestly, I can’t decide if this is wrong or right… I feel home, and yet I feel completely lost. I realise that my brain takes more time to process information delivered in Bulgarian. I ask people to repeat things and explain again. They must be thinking I am retarded or something! When Gurtaj calls me on the phone, I suddenly get an Eastern European accent I have never had before, and I feel I speak English with a Bulgarian sing song in it.

THE WORLD FROM THE AIR

I am on a flight from Bombay to London (final destination – Sofia) and I am flying over the most amazing landscape of arid mountains, gorges and plateaus. As far as the eye can see, all there is, is brown land, at places creased and wrinkled like old cardboard. No water. A lonely little town is in the distance, and I can see a long, straight road cutting through, going into the unknown. Ashkhabad and Mashhad. This is all the tangible information I can get from the map provided on my screen. Never very good at geography, I am clueless as per what country I am flying over. I will definitely have to look it over as soon as I get an Internet connection. My heart swells as I look down at this land so far removed from my reality, and from the reality of most passengers on this airplane. I am trying to imagine the lives of those living underneath, how they cope with this unforgiving landscape. I wonder what animals live down below… Will I ever visit this place in my lifetime? We are soon going to fly over Baku, Yerevan (and several other ex-Soviet strongholds with exotic names) and Kiev… Then on to Vienna, etc. etc. The world is so incredibly big! So much to see! So many stories and different lifestyles, most of them never to be known to me! It is amazing and sad at the same time. A strange feeling of insignificance and loneliness also creeps in. I feel a particle of something far beyond full understanding.

A FEW DAYS LATER: And here is some information on Ashkhabad:

It is the capital and largest city of Turkmenistan, a country in Central Asia. It has a population of 695,300 and is situated between the Kara Kum desert (which I must have seen from the plane) and the Kopet Dag mountain range. Ashgabat has a primarily Turkmen population, with minorities of ethnic Russians, Armenians and Azeris. It is 250 km from the second largest city in Iran, Mashhad (another name I saw on the electronic route map). The name is believed to derive from the Persian Ashk-ābād meaning "the City of Arsaces." Another explanation is that the name is a dialect version of the Persian عشق (eshq meaning "love") and آباد (ābād meaning "cultivated place" or "city", etymologically "abode"), and hence loosely translates as "the city of love."Ashgabat is a relatively young city, growing out of a village of the same name established in 1818. It is not far from the site of Nisa, ancient capital of the Parthians and the ruins of the Silk Road city of Konjikala, which had been destroyed either by an earthquake in the first decade BC, or by the Mongols in the 13th century. It remained a part of Persia until 1884. In 1869, Russian soldiers built a fortress on a hill near the village, and this added security soon attracted merchants and craftsmen to the area. Tsarist Russia annexed the region in 1884 from Persia under he terms of Akhal Treaty, and chose to develop the town as a regional center due to its proximity to the border of British-influenced Persia. It was regarded as a pleasant town with European style buildings, shops and hotels. It was re-named Poltoratsk under Soviet rule. A merciless earthquake in 1948 killed 2\3rd of its population... Pictures on the Internet show a beautiful city with gold cupolas and impressive buildings, nothing to do with the arid landscape I saw...

Life is what happens while you’re busy making other plans

I love this quote (which today I found out is from a John Lennon song) and I find it is so true! You just have to look at all the disasters happening around in the world and realise how fickle any sort of major life plan is, even if it is for a short period of time.
I am talking about another sort of disaster here. While I was busy planning a blissful first month in our new home, in complete privacy (with the cook, driver and maid on leave!), my grandma in Bulgaria fell (after a very strong dizzy spell which caused disorientation – yet not diagnosed why) and injured her back. She is bed-ridden now and my aunt has been looking after her. My mum, just a few months before retiring from the Bulgarian embassy in Delhi, has been grounded by me – I have put my foot down that she can’t travel now. So to make her feel less guilty, I am heading to Sofia to spend time with my granny. Life happened, with all my other plans going into flames.
I have been strangely stressed about leaving, almost feeling like I will be traveling ‘abroad’ and thus uprooting myself from my Bombay life. And of course, having to face some harsh realities:
- my family getting older and frailer
- rubbing in the distance factor
- domestic issues that are so well taken care of here, which drive my family and friends in Bulgaria insane
- complete lack of control and comfort in the country that used to be my own
- my mother being in the same position one day and me being the only child
Weird realizations…

The good thing is that the control freak in me is finally starting to lay lower, understanding that the more I want to control something, the more life is amused to throw a wrench in the wheel of my just about steady bicycle wheel. So all of you control freaks out there, remember: hope for the best but be ready for the worst; if you have the chance to finish off something, do it NOW; if you want to do something positive for yourself or others, just jump at the deep end, don’t start with endless excel sheets and daydreaming – just do it if you have the time.
Another positive thought: the definition of ‘luxury’ for me today is the fact that I can just get up and go because I have to and because I want to. I can lean back on an incredibly supportive husband and a really cool boss, and I don’t need to worry financially. I am so grateful for that!

So now my plans are to spend quality time with granny and finally get around to doing that book on childhood recipes that make me feel home; catching up on reading and on the latest gossip in my cousin’s lives; going on a diet while I am there (!!!) and of course loading up on my favourite Bulgarian designers whenever I get the time to go shopping!

And by the way, here’s John Lennon’s song with the above quote:

BEAUTIFUL BOY
Close your eyes
Have no fear
The monster's gone
He's on the run and your daddy's here
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful
Beautiful boy
Before you go to sleep
Say a little prayer
Every day in every way
It's getting better and better
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful
Beautiful boy
Out on the ocean sailing away
I can hardly wait to see you come of age
But I guess we'll both just have to be patient
'Cause it's a long way to go
A hard row to hoe
Yes it's a long way to go
But in the meantime
Before you cross the street
Take my hand
Life is what happens to you
While you're busy making other plans

DAY DREAMING

At office... My soul feels like a trapped bird. Today I want to...
- feel winter air in my lungs
- look at fresh blossoms
- plant basil on my kitchen window sill
- browse a shop for vintage clothes
- sit in the Tuilerries garden and sip on a Perimenthe
- hug a dog
- walk and feel the fresh spring air in my face
- explore a city with a camera in hand
- see something excruciatingly beautiful and feel my heart swell
- take black and white photos of Gurtaj
- have coffee with my mother
- arrange flowers
- learn to mambo
- eat strawberry sorbet at Ile Saint Louis
- visit my grandmother and talk about the old times
- run my fingers through her white curly hair
- create a beautiful living room
- rinse my hair with diluted apple vinegar for extra shine
- look at a clear blue sky and feel like crying with joy
- take a bus and miss my stop, just because I felt like
- I want to be greeted with a smile and smell of cinnamon at the neighbourhood baker
- sit on a wooden planks floor and listen to jazz while leafing through magazines

Thought of the day...

Virginia Woolfe's interpretation of incandescence in ‘A Room of Her Own’:
Being independent and owing nothing to anybody is essential to achieve the state of mind necessary to produce great art. With material and financial independence, "no force in the world can take from me my five hundred pounds. Food, house and clothing are mine for ever. I need not hate any man; he can not hurt me. I need not flatter any man; he has nothing to give me" Material independence grants its owner an emotional independence, it allows one to be free of "grudges and spites and antipathies," to have one's mind unclouded by "alien emotions like fear and hatred". Woolf calls this state of mind "incandescence".

Just wasting time...

This little girl was blissfully playing with her own hands at the Kemps Corner traffic light, creating a little world of fun, all her own.

Dia

I met her at Tanah Lok temple in Bali. She was trying to sell me some colourful souvenirs with quiet desperation on her face. She had no time for my niceties. She was here to do a job. There are plenty of street children in India trying to sell me stuff, but Dia somehow tore my heart with her grown up almond eyes, neat ponytail, clean clothes and sling bag, translucent flawless skin and serious expression. I could not touch her on the head, as I read in The Lonely Planet that here the head is considered the home of the spirit, and it is very rude to touch it. So I just made eye contact and spoke to her gently, asking her to smile and then showing her the photo on my digicam. This somehow brightened her up, until she disappeared into the crowd of tourists, on a mission.

Of dogs and golfers with soft hearts

What you see is the most expensive grass that a golf course would have - "The Green". No one, and I repeat, no one is allowed to step on it without special golf shoes. And no one (except the caddie) could even dream of hanging out there while a golfer is putting towards the hole. But at Tollygunge Golf Club in Kolkata, the rules are different. Here, stray dogs are allowed, loved and welcomed everywhere.

Meet Julie, supposedly 18 years old. I watched her with my heart in my mouth, shuffling with her arthritic legs to The Green, and lying down there, blissfully soaking up the sun. A group of golfers were all around, and one of them cautiously started approaching her. Just when I though he would tap her with his golf club and prod her to go away, he... bent down and patted her with utmost care and affection!!! Julie is also the only dog allowed within The Shamiana - the open air cafe at the club, where players and guests can have tea, snacks or breakfast. She has her own little food and water bowls in a corner, and is a permanent 'fixture' around. She was sleeping peacefully one morning, until a table of elderly gentlemen (the type I would normally assume hate dogs) was served hot steaming omelettes and toast. Almost blind Julie woke up, smelled the air, and slowly limped towards their table. She stood there for good 5-10 minutes, patiently. Until one of the men lovingly cut a piece of omelette and gave it to her, patting her on the head for dessert. The fact is, The Shamiana was full, and everyone's table was laden with delicious treats. Why did she go to this table?

The next day at breakfast, I saw a lady giving Julie her daily dose of vitamins (!). She told me that on days when the kitchen is closed, she comes especially from home to make sure the old lady is fed and happy!

It would have been hard to miss a horde of small puppies running around. In the evening, the club staff secures them in an old concrete tub, and covers them with cardboard, so that the jackals which abound around the premises, don't eat them up at night. Someone is responsible for taking them out at the crack of dawn. And yes, "a doctor did come around last week to check out their skin disease, madam". And part of the watchman's duties is to make sure the puppies stay off the drive in alley of the club (which he demonstrated proudly, gently using a short stick).

Thought of the day...

I recently discovered an amazing blog by Janice, living in DC, a musician fascinated by jewellery. If you need something to spark off your creativity on a dull day, visit http://goddessfindingsjewelsforthespirit.blogspot.com/

I am grateful to janice for publishing an excerpt of one of my favourite books, Like Water for Chocolate, by Laura Esquivel:

“In 1669, Brandt, a chemist from Hamburg, was searching for the philosophers stone discovered phosphorous. My grandmother Morning Star, she was a Kikapu Indian, she used to say that we’re all born with a box of matches inside. We can’t light them by ourselves. Just like in this experiment, we need oxygen and the help of a candle. Except that in our case, the oxygen has to come, for example, from a lover’s breath. The candle can be anything: a melody, a word, a caress, a sound anything that pulls the trigger and sets off one of the matches, Everyone has to discover what will pull his trigger and enable him to live because it it’s the explosive flair of a match that feeds our souls. If there’s nothing to trigger the explosion, our box of matches becomes damp an then we’ll never be able to light any of them."

So what lights up your inner fire?

American Gangster follow up

I recently saw American Gangster and as I always get super excited about real stories, I decided to read up a bit more on Frank Lucas. And stumbled upon this amazing piece by a New York Magazine journalist who actually spent a whole day with Lucas and recorded his memories. A rare, mesmerizing insight: http://nymag.com/nymetro/news/people/features/3649/

Glimpses of Kala Ghoda

Once a year, in February, the heritage area of Kala Ghoda ("the black horse", named after a statue which is now in the Byculla Zoo of Bombay), transforms into a bustling non-traffic zone full of street stalls selling crafts and books, open air exhibitions and performances, and all kinds of cool stuff. I love this time of the year!

The nip is still in the Bombay air...

Love, actually...

Have always looked forward to reading The Speaking Tree, the spirituality column in The Times Of India. And I really enjoyed this one. Wishing everyone happy Valentine's Day!

ALL YOU EVER WANTED TO KNOW ABOUT LOVE

By Ashok Vohra, published in The Times Of India, February 14th, 2008
Love is a basic emotion, yet you cannot plan to fall in love or create conditions for being in love. It is something over which you have no control. Either you fall in love or you do not. It is ordained. Ramakrishna explains this with the following analogy: "When a huge tidal wave comes, all the little brooks and ditches become full to the brim without any effort or consciousness on their own part”. However, there are some criteria for judging whether one is in love or not.

The first test is that you do not want exclusive possession of the object of your love. You wish the world to know of your love. You could declare your love from the rooftop. And you wish to do or say whatever makes the person you love happy. M K Gandhi said: "Love and exclusive possession can never go together. Theoretically where there is perfect love, there must be perfect non-possession”.

The second test of love is that there can be no bargain. It does not recognise reward or punishment. Love itself is a merit, and itself its own reward. Beyond itself love seeks neither cause nor outcome; the outcome of it is one with the practice of it. You love something or someone for its own sake and not because you want or desire a favour in return. Love is not a means to some ephemeral or non-ephemeral end, but is an end in itself. Love is not a response to a certain positive situation. You can go on loving... for when you give your love it comes back millions of times more. The notion of giving is so consequential to love that "if you do not give it, it goes, it becomes dead, it becomes a dead weight on you. It becomes hatred — it turns into its very opposite. It becomes fear, it becomes jealousy, it becomes possessiveness”, said Osho.

The third test of real love is the annihilation of the ego. It obliterates the distinction between the self and the other by an unconditional surrender to the other; rather it is a total merger, a complete synthesis with the beloved. In true love the lover and the beloved are one. The sense of your own identity and individuality vanishes. The other, therefore, does not place a limit on the lover’s freedom; rather, communion with the beloved leads to unbound freedom. It frees us from limits imposed on us by our ahamkara — ego.

The fourth test of real love is that it knows no fear. Fear could be of unfulfilled desires. If your love springs from fear of punishment, or from your desires being fulfilled, then it is no love at all. Love and fear are incompatible, because in love there is no place for desire.

The fifth test of love is that you love what you consider to be the best. Therefore, the beloved person, object, or ideal is unique. It is the highest from the perspective of the lover; from others’ perspective it may not be so. For others some other ideal could be higher than this one. But for the lover the beloved is the best.

The sixth test of real love is that the lover does not so much believe in pedantic and powerless reason which merely argues but is not able to establish a direct contact with the beloved. The lover gives up the fruitless intellectual groping in the dark, and trusts his own direct experience. He does not give reasons and argu-ments, nor depend upon inference but depends on direct perception and lived life experience.
The writer is head, department of philosophy, Delhi University

A Day In The Life Of Bombay

- The fascist party of the Shiv Sena is at it again, beating up 'outsiders' and vandalising signs in English. Newspapers are overflowing with letters and interviews where people inanimously say that Bombay is for everyone and its beauty lies in its cosmopilitan natur. Anyone listening?

- a couple drowns (!!!) in the sea near Bandra Bandstand

- real estate prices are soaring - again

- 6 LeT men were arrested just before blowing up bombs at Churchgate station

- a headline in the newspaper says that in the 21st century shining India, child sacrifice (mainly girls) is rampant in West Bengol.

I am angry.

Sick to the stomach.

Speechless.

Furious.

Wondering.

Sad.

Then a phone call comes. Gurtaj tells me that cars on Bombay's busiest intersection all stopped so that a man can shift an injured pigeon from the middle of the road to the foot path.

I am hopeful.

Kinky Boots

Mom and I had a movie marathon recently, and caught one of the best feel-good movies I have seen recently - Kinky Boots. A very Brit comedy, I found out today that it was actually based on a true story: Charlie Brown's family has been running a shoe factory for more than hundred years. And just as Charlie decides to defy the family tradition and move out of town, his father dies and he has to take over the reins of the factory. He very soon finds out that his father has been steadily losing business without telling anyone. After laying off several people, Charlie decides to do something to save the factory... A chance meeting with a drag queen, Lola, changes everything... And soon they come out with their very own collection of drag queen foot wear (built to support the weight of a man on stilettos). Really cool, really light, and really inspiring.