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Wednesday, August 23, 2023

What Sixties!

 What Sixties!


The pic attached to this post, popped up in my news feed, and I thought it’s time I used it. I have been reading and seeing in movies versions and facets of these, and marveled at the same. Sixties! Seventies! A revolutionary time in many places around the world. And what was I doing? I was a child in the sixties, a tween and teen in the seventies, into the eighties. Hadn't heard anything about any of these, let alone do anything remotely close to any of it. Got raked with the eyes of angry, judgmental nuns, got disciplined by mom, and other relatives, still managed to giggle with friends. That's all. Even though we lived in a small town in God's own country,, now I know it could very well have been the hicks. It was not Mumbai or Calcutta , not even Kochi. Back then, I may have seen an odd hippie sauntering through our parts, but even that is rare. It could have been a pic in a magazine that I saw, or a caricature in one of our movies. The other hippie I knew of was Appi Hippie in Bobanum Moliyum. Anyway, if I saw one, I dont remmeber what my thoughts were. Someone from another planet? Jesus Christ in disguise? A travelling monk or saadhu? A beggar? Maybe for my friends and I all foreigners were hippies?

At some point, maybe in college, they symbolized freedom, although nothing I could aspire to, in my wildest dreams, being a good girl among all the other good girls in a "respectable" part of the planet. After coming to the US, I heard talk about the wild sixties, and how people lived an extreme sort of life, with many falling into addictions of all kinds, and some not surviving the times. While others reformed and lead normal lives.

Now that post and the way those experiences have been described, is the upbeat version. Now let us look at one of the other sides of that. An example would be the story of the boy in the book I am reading right now. (Yes -- now you are in for it. I need to tell stories, sometimes mine, sometimes others' )

Child of a drug addict, alcoholic mother, who had him when she was sixteen. The boy's father died before he was born. His mother gets a new boyfriend. Soon the boy is introduced to the foster parent system You know where this is going. The name of the book is Demon Copperhead, if any of you want to read it. O liver Twist seems to be nestling in the lap of luxury compared to this liitle guy. For someone like me, from another country, another culture, one could get an education in the foster system, social workers. All created in the best interests of the families and chikdren, but often flawed in its implementation, ended io hurting who it set about protecting in the first place. Even though broken families were not as prevalent or public, as here, where I come from, it doesn't mean everyone was deliriously happy all the time, or that no parent messed up their child. And it is not that we do not have our own addicts and abusers, the only fact being the way such matters were dealt with. And that was mainly by containing it all within the walls of one's own home, cloaked in respectability. Mostly we are adepts at sweeping unsavory things under the rug, by just not talking about them, let alone showing. Extreme cases were subject to ridicule, punishment, pity etc and of course handled by religious institutions. (Social media is bursting some of those bubbles now, I know.)

That is why certain parts of the movie, Slumdog Millionaire was a shock to me , and a matter of embarrassment. It was so far removed from my own little corner. I kept thinking, Why? why show it? they will think all of India is like this! I know, what does it matter! Obviously, It is India too, and there are people in my part of world too who could identify with that kid from the slum. I understand . Coincidentally, there is a character in this book, an Indian untouchable, who grew up in a slum, and naturally, this white American "hillbilly" boy can identify with him.

And even though the book at times, reads like a case study or case work from the files of a social worker, I still find myself rooting for the guy. wanting to know and caring about what happens to young Damon. The old magic of words, strung like pearls on a gold wire, flowing like a babbling brook, raging like the ocean, telling stories, connecting cultures. That luminous net of imagination. I am ready to fall into it again. Surrender my disbelief for greater rewards - most importantly, of awareness.

Bonus, for sure, I can identify with this young person, on a human level, but more than that, in one aspect of his character__ the wanting more. Which as we all know, can lead to great happiness and its great opposite. This is a story, but there is no doubt that it is based on reality. By the way, I am not surprised at why not many in this country, and these days, even in my old country, will find it easy to relate to my stories. My books will remain unread!










Monday, August 21, 2023

Back to reading

August 15 was my dad's birthday. He would have been ninety. It has been thirteen years since he died. Yes, DIED. Not "gone", "left us", "departed". As usual, I sent a happy birthday out into the emptiness, and hoped he rests in peace, wherever he is, or not. As I went around doing my usual doings, this particular day, as usual, brought back memories. Memories which made my heart heavy, and brought tears to my eyes.


And feelings of shame and guilt. I have let him down, badly. He would find it hard to recognize this person that I have become. Maybe not. Maybe he always knew. He was so proud of me, deservedly or not. I realize now that he had nothing to be proud of about me. He was the one. He was the one we all were proud of. Deservedly. He did the toughest thing in the world -- loved us. Stood by us. Hoped for us, with us. And I let him down.

The most shameful thing is that I stopped reading. Sure, I read news items, flipped through magazines, read a few Mysteries and best sellers here and there, old and new, even bought a number of books, hoping I would read them. I never did, to my utter mortification. Books were my life. Classic, contemporary, many novels were devoured eagerly. Literary criticism, history, narrative theories, philosophy, psychology ... I loved the printed word. The smell of books, of libraries. And I loved research, and connecting the dots, and analyzing and imagining. And I even wrote one, which my father read, and raved about(Surprise!🙂)

Then he died. My world, which was already getting rather shaky, crumbled. And the next shameful matter. My father would have been shocked at what can only be called my lack of character. I came to the conclusion that I was jealous of writers who were published, whose books were read by people. I kept away from them. And when I did manage to read , my attention was on the narrative technique of the writer. It was as if the magic was gone. I found flaws, chinks in the stories they built, and I was put off. Even as I knew that it was all part of my resistance, my self-sabotaging system. Gone were the days when I loved a book so much that I did not want it to end.
I, who had always thought myself to be above petty jealousies and greed, who could laugh at anything, who saw everyone as a friend, became distant, and paralyzed- With fear. Of failure, of success, of life. Even old friends had to be avoided. As I am no longer an academic, or a writer not even a reader, I felt I did not belong in their world.

I know, my father is dead. He is not seeing or feeling anything, let alone my self-bashing. But on this birthday of his, I decided to start reading again. To go to the library. Just like that. I had made such decisions before, and given up soon enough. And I had stopped trusting myself. But this time I think, I hope it is different. Because I detect that old yearning to get back to the books. And I did. For a day.

I should have known. I started to read, but my numerous chores seemed to jump up on me. Hanging on to me, clawing at me, trying to grab my attention. It was then I realized how scattered my attention and energies were. I wasn't that busy, these days, I had thought. Wrong! Time for myself, to sit quietly and away from it all is not the reality. Or did I create all these routines and tasks to avoid sitting still and thinking?

Maybe both, but this time I am glad I want to get back to my book. I already finished one, and am on the second. And in that first book, the protagonist is a woman whose life came to a standstill when her sister died. And she tries to write, unsuccessfully, an interesting coincidence.

And when I do sit down to read, what amuses me is the surprised and puzzled look on my dog's face. She is used to seeing the phone in my hand, and she eyes the book suspiciously, sniffing at it curiously. She seems to be a little miffed that she doesn’t get my complete attention when I am reading. She will get used to it soon enough, I hope my new found longing to read doesn’t fizzle out.








Friday, August 18, 2023

Awaara - Part 2 or changed my mind

 So, I ended my last essay wondering what I was doing here -- "here" could mean home, country, planet ... . I still am not sure why I am here, but I am glad I am here. Now why am I sure about that? 

I always admired Abraham Lincoln. Who could not? (And he is an Aquarian like me.) Today we visited the Lincoln Museum in Springfield. A chance to get a glimpse of his life and times. I went in expecting to see some old world items and photos and writings. I did not expect to feel anything intense. Was I wrong! It was an emotional experience to go through those rooms. This was some man! The legend. The hero. The martyr. The saint. I felt as if I were walking on hallowed grounds. I was humbled at the great suffering that he went through. The extensive, deeply hurtful, shameful public ridicule, the criticism, the mockery that he and his family was subject to. I had no idea.

The great ambition of this boy who was not born with a silver spoon, who went on to get a good education, became the President of the United States, twice, put his family name among the ones in the top societal roster, single handedly. The strength of character, of purpose, of vision. And the dreams he had, the sublime goals he met, despite people pulling him in opposite directions, despite his own melancholy, the sweeping changes he could bring about, I was moved, to say the least.  My thinking about his wife underwent a transformation too. Not the unstable old lady that I have heard about at all. An educated, intelligent woman who knew her own mind, but who suffered along with her husband.

I have never felt anything like this before, I am sure. Even in the Holy Land, I was not as emotional as I had thought I would be. This person brought about some tangible changes for a better world. He was crucified by words and actions, and in the end, assassinated. He did not die to wash away my original sin, but for the very real, dangerous sins of hatred and bigotry. No religion has sprouted up in his name, nor has that religion plundered the world in its name. He is not God. He was the 16th President of the United States of America. 

And I am glad I live here, in the Land of Lincoln. I am fortunate. 



 

Thursday, August 17, 2023

Awaara



"Awaara hoon!" I used to like that song. "My shoes are from Japan, my trousers are from England, and my red hat is from Russia." Raj Kapoor, as the lovable vagrant singing his heart out as he roams around, the citizen of the world.

These days, as I walk my dog, I feel the same. I even look like him, at least my outfit does. I don't look lovable, though. And I am no citizen of the world. I live in America. As I get older, I am more and more aware of my "homelessness". I do not belong anywhere. Like many an expatriate, I feel alienated and alone no matter where I am. I know you will say that alienation is felt by many people, even in their own homelands, even in their own homes.True. And that there are people who are really homeless. True, again. Just that this is one other offshoot of this thing called "life', and mind.


I love watching the geese and their young ones. I love to watch them cross busy streets. The leader up front, stepping gracefully, pompously even, the rest following, with another adult keeping guard, at the very end, checking to see if all the youngsters are gathered all right. I know they are a nuisance to many, as they waste the time of busy people who are on the go, holding up the traffic. And especially when they dirty up the sidewalks and yards. That does not make me stop feeling sorry for them. When we installed ponds and lakes in our neighborhoods maybe we didn't think that these exotic guests would arrive. Or maybe we thought they would leave. But they either liked it here or they just did not have the energy to leave, or they just did not have any place to go to anymore, or cannot go at all. Not that those who are not visitors, but existed (anywhere) way before, fared any better.


I love watching the geese and their young ones. I love to watch them cross busy streets. The leader up front, stepping gracefully, pompously even, the rest following, with another adult keeping guard, at the very end, checking to see if all the youngsters are gathered all right. I know they are a nuisance to many, as they waste the time of busy people who are on the go, holding up the traffic. And especially when they dirty up the sidewalks and yards. That does not make me stop feeling sorry for them. When we installed ponds and lakes in our neighborhoods maybe we didn't think that these exotic guests would arrive. Or maybe we thought they would leave. But they either liked it here or they just did not have the energy to leave, or they just did not have any place to go to anymore, or cannot go at all. Not that those who are not visitors, but existed (anywhere) way before, fared any better.


I find myself asking a goose who comes close to my parked car, hoping for a treat-- why are you even here, you silly goose? No one wants you here anymore, they never did.  Why don't you go back to where you came from? They have already started killing you, your babies, destroying your eggs before they hatched. Run! Run as far away as you can! But-- you can fly! did you forget that? Fly! Fly away! Far away! Where no one will touch you. Get away! for yourself! For your babies! For the survival of your species.

I am in my well- worn linen pants that shrunk in the wash, so they reach just above the ankle, my faded oversize jacket, and my walking shoes and khaki hat.  As I walk my dog, thinking I look like a clown, I amend myself, no, not just a clown, but an "awaara"--vagrant.  And, what AM I doing here? 

Tuesday, July 25, 2023

Indiana Jones and the Dial of Destiny



Can someone get me an Antikythera mechanism? The ancient astronomical prediction machine is the Dial of Destiny in the new Indiana Jones movie. In the movie, it has time travel power. Which is always attractive to this multiverse hopeful. And the moment when Indy meets Archimedes! Wow! Tear inducing emotional moment. And they had just been to his tomb and retrieved the other half of the mechanism from the remains. Now to see the man in person. I am not sure if age has anything to do with my reaction. Time. The passing of time. The ability to stop its movement, even for a few minutes, the ability to travel through different time periods, places, worlds, past, present, future. The possibilities. And you never die!

I love it when they show time travel in movies. And in this one, when they show the late sixties, that is the moon landing time, in New York, those scenes could really make me feel I was a part of it. That I was in it! Amazing power of this thing called movies!

On the way out of the movie theater, I was thinking which time period would I like to visit, or live in for a little time or longer? The romanticized version of the Middle Ages? At Taxila or the later Nalanda? During the Indus Valley civilization? On the Silk road? Which figure in history would I like to meet? The Buddha? Bronte sisters? Dracula? Just random names. But now I know whoever it is, those people may not choose to meet me! Or if they did, maybe I will not think it as special as I may have imagined! I came to the conclusion that I would want to live it all! Travel through all times, all places, be all people, be each person! Impossible? Shouldn’t be. What if I am already doing it? How can you or I tell if I am not?

Before going to the movie, I had read a few reviews about it. One reviewer was miffed about Indy getting old and having to be rescued by a girl, even as he acknowledged the passing of the torch to the young. That latter part, yes, but did not feel that Indy was being weak, or that he was “rescued” by a girl. I thought he still held his own. And it is more of an equal opportunity thing. Maybe some do not like that. Also, Indy is more philosophical, which is usually what happens as we get older. We learn from our experiences, from the world around us. And I totally understand the character wanting to stay in that other world. What else to do if we don’t have anything to come back to?

And you will be philosophical if you see the world through the lens of history. Nothing has changed much, on many levels. Wars, for instance. The movie begins with World War II. It ends in the Battle of Syracuse between Greeks and Romans in 213 BC. Now that doesn’t mean you cannot try and make the world a better place for everyone or that you shouldn’t live a good life, but it is as it is. There are moon landings and parades and loving and laughing in between, as then, as now. “Life” is something else, all right!

Holy Land Notes



1. Herod the Great or Herod I is the Herod in the Bible. There were other Herods, his sons. 

2. Herod was not Jewish. He was from Edom, and his mother was a Nabatean, that is an Arab of the famous Petra area in Jordan.

3. Herod had a huge security detail that included Celtic and Germanic soldiers. It was a small world. Long before the Crusaders! Modern globalization is nothing.

4. Herod the great lived at the same time as Cleopatra and Mark Antony. They met.

5. St George is not English! He was a Roman soldier of Greek ancestry.

6. There were mummies in Israel too, because of the Egyptian influence. Egypt ruled over the land at one point.

7. Many of the people I met call cedars, pine, and they call cypress, oak. I heard this both in Israel and Jordan.

8. Limestone is called Jerusalem rock. All those mountains! And walls and buildings made of limestone!

9. Mountains and valleys, and valleys and mountains. Up and down and around them. Amazing landscape. The olive groves, pomegranate tree groves, vineyards. The blue skies and lush gardens.

Now they have banana and mango plantations. Thriving too.

10. Bedouins, the nomads, in Jordan have houses and cars, and of course, tents.

11. The interesting customs and traditions of the orthodox Jews and Muslims and Christians that are so alike, in spite of our preconceived notions about just the differences.

12. The keys to the place where Jesus is buried is held by a Muslim family. They open it every morning, and close it every night, apparently. This is because of the power struggles among the different Churches. Obviously everyone wants the key!

13. The place where Jesus ascended to the Heavens is a mosque owned by a Muslim who lets everyone in to visit.

14. The promised land is Jericho that Moses saw from the top of Mt Nebo. And Jericho is in Palestine.

15. The Dead sea scrolls in the Qumran caves were stored in clay urn. 

16. The innumerable excavations, the well preserved layers of history - ancient, Byzantine, Roman.
The cities and markets unearthed. The highly ascetic, disciplined (and misogynistic) lives of the scribes at the Qumran site.

17. Noah’s ark and the flood happened in Turkey. Had forgotten that point.

18. St Peter’s fish is Tilapia.

19. The significance of the undying olive trees- the tree of life. 

20. The beauty of the Sea of Galilee, which is really a lake cradled among mountains.

21. Pomegranate is the royal fruit because of the crown on it. I saw ancient pomegranates unearthed from the long time ago in Egypt or Cyprus in the 13th/ 14th century BC in the Israeli Museum.

22. Jerusalem Cross, with its 4 little extra crosses

23. The myna birds, originally from India, are considered to be invasive in Israel

24. The utter isolation and barrenness of the Valley of the Shadow of Death, near Jericho. Still, the Bedouins breath life into it.Hump backed mountains all around me. And the caves.

25. If you wondered how Queen Helena (later St Helena) knew where these significant spots were, where Jesus walked, did his miracles, preached, and died and rose again, the answer is simple. When Jesus died, and his followers started to multiply, the Romans went and built their temples in all those spots. Made it easy for Helena, I was told.

And last, but not the least, The incredible feeling of sadness and resignation. 
I had thought I would feel sad/emotional ( because even though I am not religious, I am suggestible, even gullible) when I saw the places where Jesus the man who preached indiscriminate love, walked. I did feel a little sad, at the Dominus Flevit, where Jesus wept looking at Jerusalem.

And at the fourth station in the Via Dolorosa, when Mary saw her son,beaten, bloodied and hurt and carrying this huge cross, her heart broke.Even though it was all overshadowed by the bustling market streets of the bazaar. All the life around me. it kept coming back to me in quiet moments.

Just like the amazing rock formations in southern Jordan. Some like temple gopurams carved into rocks. Others resembling elephants and camels and fish and such, and the colors on them!

Wadi Musa - Moses’ Valley- where Petra is. The mountains that built walls to block the skies.

The incredible feeling of sadness and resignation came from the extraordinary number of European churches in the most significant spots for Christians. Including the Holy Sepulcher church, (built by Queen Helena)where the tomb of Jesus is. The divisions. Among Christians, and between religions. I did feel like a new convert, Judaism being the old religion. A convert in India, where Hinduism is the old religion. A convert in Israel, where Judaism is the old religion. Yes, I am repeating myself. The paradox. And Christianity is over 2000 years old. Can’t really call it new! And my ancestors are supposed to have been Christians since that time. So it doesn’t make sense, really. But I felt the rift, the alienation, the futility- but then that’s me! 

Well, it may have been because I got a glimpse of what many Jews thought or not thought at all about Jesus and Christians. I had never given it much thought before. It was a jolt. How do they see something that doesn’t exist for them? 

However, I loved the landscapes, and the histories enveloping them, underneath them. I felt I was an organic part of it, in spite of the superficial alienation of which I spoke of earlier.

And Petra! The stories those rocks and the siqs could tell! Thousands of years worth. The camel caravans laid with goods from all corners of the then known world! The traders, the travellers, the monks. The ideas that were exchanged. The eyes that were opened to new wonders and thoughts. The crimes that must have been committed. Solved. Hidden.For ages.
The wailings. The laughter. 
The hopes.
The life. 
The death.

Fun fact: Our Lord’s prayer is displayed in many languages in the church where Jesus was supposed to have taught it to his disciples. Malayalam is there. And Sanskrit. But Sanskrit is not Sanskrit. It is Manglish! Hehe

I was a little miffed at the power of the different churches displayed in the holy spots. The Greek Orthodox, Roman Catholic, represented by the Italian, French and Spanish contingents, the Coptic, the Ethiopian. Yes we are Roman Catholics.But we are not there! And we are one of the oldest. Why did we run after the Europeans? Isn’t it time we had our own Church?