My Stromboli (1950)

It's been a while since I have written something.
There were times that I wanted to, but just couldn't bring myself to it. what for, what for, was the dominant voice in my head. Now there are some who would ask me if I was mad ( in the crazy sense). That seems to be the usual response to anything remotely funny that I try to do, in my world, these days.
Well, that definition of madness is wrong, according to me. Madness is when you hurt people -- with words, with actions. Not when you try to make people smile, maybe ,even happy -- a little, for an instant. Now that -- trying to make people feel good -other people- is stupid.

What for, anyway? When I look back at my life, I realize it has been pretty much cringeworthily stupid, and meaningless.
So much so that at times I feel I should have become a nun when I had the chance!

And that is nothing new either. Let me explain.

I saw this movie, Stromboli by Roberto Rossellini. An island in the Mediterranean in the late nineteen forties, after the Second World War. The movie starts in a camp for displaced persons. Karen (Karin?) , a Lithuanian woman in that camp chooses to escape her situation by marrying a young Italian soldier, Antonio.
He sings to her from the other side of the barbed wire that separates the two camps, she is not that into him, because she has plans to emigrate to Argentina. But when that plan falls through, she marries this man. She has a past too of which he knows nothing much. And for her part, she doesn't have a clue of what he or his home was like. One cannot help thinking of the parallels between the usual arranged marriages that used to ,and even now, take  place in my country.

Karen, played by the great Ingrid Bergman, is an independent, courageous woman of the modern world (no wimp like some of us). When she marries this young fisherman turned soldier, and follows him to his world, she escapes from a camp of women, but what for? To a place and people stuck in the past. A petrified barren island with no sliver of green in sight. To top it all, there is  an active volcano looming over them , controlling, terrorizing. That island kind of shook my idea of a romantic rustic Italy filled with poppies and olive trees and sunflowers and vineyards. (I know they are there, but, obviously, this is another part of it). This island is a symbol of the world in general, of life.

Why do I say that? Because like the people in that village, we struggle along. holding on to our petty desires, possessions, fears and prejudices. and a pathetic faith in an indifferent, superior power who protects us. all for what? to die. the absurd drama of life -- the upward climb of youth, then the downward fall to old age, sickness and death. Well, I read that Rossellini was known for his neorealistic ways of moviemaking. So obviously, he intended it to be understood as a realistic piece of story telling about existence.

And such an existence! I cannot imagine what these people have gone through. Each of those women in the camps, each of those soldiers, the villagers -- I am not talking just about the movie here -- the havoc that war wreaks, the choices we make at such times, It creates grey areas in the  so called moral world. (Karin, in her past life, had chosen to have an affair with an enemy soldier. Remember Kate Winslet's character in The Reader? That would be another facet of such times) But there is another side to this. It is these same disasters that changes values, beliefs and status quo. .  No one welcomes wars, or any other catastrophes, but sometimes it is these hardships that act as catalysts for great change, especially for the next generation. And that makes greater nations, where the rights of till then forgotten masses are acknowledged. For instance, that is when women started to get lives of their own, outside their homes.

Karin's needs are not seen as important by her simple husband. He is not being mean or bad. It is just what he is used to, what he knows. He takes it for granted that his wife will follow him wherever he goes. So what if it is completely alien to her? That no one welcomes her, that the very harshness of the land chokes her? She is supposed to adapt, to adjust.

Karen rises above the rest of the characters, because of her longing to be free, to be courageous. But she has her petty sense of pride and feelings of superiority too. And the need to be free -- another Madame Bovary. But  Karen is different in her self-realization. And in that she is not punished by being killed off in the end.

That is enough of the serious stuff. phew! what I want to mention is the beauty of Ingrid Bergman. There is a scene where she languishes on one of those lifeless black rocks that line the sea. She is breathtakingly, divinely, one with the rocks there, a luminous part of nature. So different, yet so much a part of it all. Innocent, and knowing simutaneously. For a brief moment, she is free, happy. Now that is an image that speaks to me -- the message being that we are all part of this universe, which at once is alien to me, and my own. The final epiphanic scene where she becomes aware of the mystery and beauty of the universe, to me, is foreshadowed here. And also that the director was in love with her. ( I don't know if my eyes are failing -- but to me, all the main male characters looked like Montgomery Clift, one of my models of male handsomemess) yikes!.

Now for the ending -- open ending, I am glad. But instead of the "what for" the voice now is "God" "oh God" . Did she find God ? I had gleefully watched her dismissing the villagers' God all along, even trying to seduce the priest to aid her escape. But no, she sees the world through new eyes -- of appreciation, of humility and of love. Which is all very sublime.

But I think she is going to be a nun. hehe.

Muziris : the Kerala -Roman connection

http://hindu.com/2004/03/23/stories/2004032303340500.htm

http://www.keralatourism.org/muziris/

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Indo-Roman_relations

a nostalgic bit ( for Malayalis)

remembering the evergreen Prem Nazir, the totally nonchalant, unselfconscious movie-romancer-lip -syncher.. master of "romancin' 'round the trees" --as we named it "maram-chutti-premam", got to admit -- he nailed it. Add to it the heavenly voice of K.J.Yesudas who actually sings these sweet nothings -- together they take us on a fantastic ride on that flying carpet they mention. :)

And let's not forget Jayabharathi. I mean, at least Prem Nazir has the singing to do. Poor Jayabharathi has to be there, doing sweet nothings, without bursting out in laughter. :) But seriously, she does such a commendable job. I always admired her great talent as an actress.

Ellie Smith and Lisbeth Salander -- "daddy's girls" revisited

A while ago I had read The Daughters of Cain by Colin Dexter. It was after seeing an Inspector Morse Mystery on television. I was in India at that time. There is a character in there named Kay Eleanor Brooks or Ellie Smith, as she calls herself later. A girl who fights back, in ways that maybe an outsider wouldn't understand, but which are perfectly plausible. A wild, seemingly antisocial, but intelligent and purposeful person is our Ellie. And there is that unrealized/unrealizable forever kind of sexual and emotional tension between the moody, irascible, almost antisocial Morse  an unlikely hero, and this at the same time awkward and confident girl with the double nose rings, and colorful hair. Something enduring, that we only see in books, for in real life, the tension becomes either a rope to strangle the relationship, or a nuisance that we are eager to be rid of. Anyway, needless to say I identified with both the characters. I am sure they are Aquarians, with a touch of Virgo.

Years later, another fascinating girl comes along, another fighter/survivor. And this time around, the whole world looks up. (The world had got smaller in the intervening years). Stieg Larsson's The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo aka Lisbeth Salander. Again I am caught up by this character. The same awkward but sure character. Back then I had wished to know more of Ellie, wanted her to succeed, and that wish came true with Lisbeth. I have a vague memory of Ellie appearing in  another novel, and some tragedy, but I may be wrong.

By now I am way older. But that does not affect the identification process. I couldn't help thinking that had I grown up in a Western country, this could have been one of the persons I would have become. (could be wishful thinking) And Ellie came back to my mind. Both girls  are smartly self sufficient but pathetically vulnerable. Both are attracted to older men  in the stories. I liked both the unlikeable heroes, but I prefer Morse, maybe. Because he is that annoying sort of  romantic who is in love with the idea of being in love, which creates its own set of problems. He is the passive wait-specialist, eternal student type who pushes away any sort of culmination, consummation, ending. It is the waiting that thrills him, again, bringing to mind the Aquarian personality. This is the type that even picks a fight for no reason so that that eternal waiting is not changed, and just the yearning is left. yikes! On the other hand, Blomquist, the other type of romantic, is promiscuous. He seems to have no trouble with beginnings and endings.  When it comes to women, one -- Morse, as the true classicist -- seems to put them on a pedestal, and the other seems to just fall into their beds rather too easily. And going with that, whereas Ellie is voluptuous, Lisbeth is waif-like, almost androgynous, as Aquarians usually are said to be! It is the same classicism that juxtaposes the goddess and the fallen woman. But the Swedish heroine/anti-hero cannot be classified as "fallen", nor does she get punished for her amorality, which makes me as a reader and a woman, happy. And my preference for the hero could be defined by fact that  at this point, I  am older and Morse is the character that is older than me now!

Ellie and Lisbeth could be sisters separated by years. They have traumatic experiences with their real father or father figures. Whatever it was, there is a lack of a good father figure in their lives. I  do not want to feed that assumption of a sexual attachment between fathers and daughters, (or mothers and sons, for that matter) as that is a fantasy of perverted/sick minds, or people trying to look sophisticated and highbrow, or unique and different. ( I know I sound dogmatic or naive or stupid when I say that. I am talking about good fathers, not pedophiles.  Normal humans have evolved beyond incest, I believe and hope). Needless to say, it doesn't apply to regular, normal father-daughter relationship. But you could associate it with that longing for kindness,  security and protection. And usually people who are older and who have your welfare at heart tend to provide that more. That person could be an older brother or a father. Like I said before, both the girls look up to older men, the "heroes".

While both possess that raw, unpolished intellect, Lisbeth seems to be an advanced version of Ellie. An Ellie in a digitalized world. A player on a global level,  in the Aquarian Age. A self-taught computer whiz who knows how to use her exploiters to win the war between good and evil -- what she sees as good or evil. One who is more than biology, who uses more than biology to survive, and falls for another flawed hero. Lisbeth is allowed to think like a man, like a girl more influenced by her dad, if she had one around, and if he did not mind her being a tomboy inside and out -- another social expectation matter. (I was no tomboy, but we did not have much choice back then, back home. I wonder -- what if. But I know I wanted to be more like my dad, rather than mom. And on the other end of the spectrum, when we have had the perfect dad, we do look for him, if he is gone forever, just to have him as dad). The difference between the two may be the difference in the outlook of their makers and their heroes. While Dexter seems to be a classicist like Morse, in his handling of his characters, Larsson is more modern, not beyond transcending gender stereotypes, not altogether, but to a greater extent. 

PS : I wish they'd asked Lady Gaga to be the girl with the dragon tattoo. :)

Chaplin was right! :)

All I need to make a comedy is a park, a policeman and a pretty girl -- Charlie Chaplin. I believe! I believe!  :)

making sense of fall



Vermont Autumn by Vicky Brago-Mitchell

I am talking seasons here. I don't much like the other kinds of falls -- falling down, falling in love and such. Neither do I like falling skies, but I do admire a waterfall. And I feel for the fallen angel, the fallen woman, and the fall guy.

The color of winter surely is white, and a bit of grey? It is hard. The color of spring, of course, is green. And it feels like rain. How about summer? yellow! red! blue! the brightest of those colors. It burns. And the color of fall is burnt orange, and caramel.. That golden, honey-hued, sunlight-trapped amber. It soothes.

One of the best things about living here, is that I can experience the wondrous phenomenon of changing seasons. The very conspicuous, blatant transformation. It is not the simultaneous life and death hullabaloo going on in the tropics. there, it is a drama all the time -- either the blazing sun or the lashing thunderstorms. I admit all that has its own beauty, and I did enjoy that. In fact I long for it at times. It is a Bollywood masala movie. But I am always amazed at the more elaborate, highly demarcated play of  birth, growth, old age, and death, enacted annually, in these parts. This here is a Kathakali performance.

Now to  the tastes -- the taste of spring is that of the dewdrop-like nectar from the velvety  flowers of the banana tree, back home. Like  green tea made of lime leaves,with  a kick of ginger, and a hint of lemongrass. The slow, languorous but refreshing  wake-up cup. Nature is itching to go! Like frisky little bunnies, and lambs. Summer is a tall, cool glass of freshly squeezed lemonade. It has the earthy taste of grilled food. It is fun, but it is also sweat and toil.  Fall tastes and smells like apples with caramel ,and cinnamon. Such an accomodating season! Its colors reverberate all over -- on the trees, in the very color of its light, its foods, in the soft glow of a bonfire, or of the little flame inside a lantern-- that warm caramel color. I think I eat winter when I eat ice cream. But winter tastes like hot chocolate. And roasts. And at times, it feels like shrouded death -- cold and bare.

Come to think of it, I like all seasons. That gradual thawing, unfolding of life. The struggle of the tiny green shoot rising from the ground. After all that waiting, spring moves in fits and starts. But winter's iron hand is slow to let go. It comes in the form of  frost, killing off new buds. And the rain -- those sudden dampenings, sometimes, almost as an afterthought. Like a wet blanket, it restrains the soul raring to fly. Nevertheless, it finally eases away, making room for summer's frolic and thirst. Summertime, it sometimes goes by in a flash. A jog, a bout of yardwork, a few grillings on the patio, if you are lucky, a stroll under the blue skies, outglaring the sun's glare on a beach. The hot, parched earth looks for a gentle coolness.  And then comes Fall.

The apple pie season. I had never tasted an apple pie before I came here. The minute I did, I fell for it. It was perfect. The right balance of sweet and tart and spice. My kind of delicious. It was the proverbial feast for the senses. Surprisingly, I felt  like I had tasted it before! Like I was revisiting a familiar flavor.

So, is fall my favorite season? Am I falling for Fall? (couldn't resist it haha) Maybe. In any case, Fall  is cool, and cozy. Nature has retired, content, after a lifetime of intensities -- the wet longing of spring and the fiery passion of summer are gone. Fall is memories, and the reaping of what one  planted. It is as though nature is pleasantly spent, ready to put her feet up. She exhales. Even the leaves fall with a sigh -- of relief? of resignation? because they know that it is the beginning of the end. Death is coming, but for now, we are sitting around the flickering fire, wrapped in warm coats, relaxed, remembering. At peace with the earth, the sky, the stars, and hopefully, one's companions.

Now, to the apple pie - it's baking in the oven. :)
The season and the food are so happily joined and let me share a slice of that pie with you! :

Have a great fall! ;)

PS: This piece is so full of cliches, makes me want to puke. but still I meant every word. :)