For whom the bell rang

The bell rang in mid-morning. Everyone was so busy in the usual hurrying and scurrying to take a bath / meditate /cook /get out of the maid's way and a hundred other things that one does out here, so I went to answer the door bell ouside the main gates. It turned out to be a stranger and so I gave my normal 'Nahi chahiye' (I dont want whatever that you are selling). Only this guy didnt look like a hawker. He was wearing white dhoti and kurta and had a red tilak on his forehead marking him out to be a member of some religious sect or the other.

'I am not selling anything. I just want to inform you that there will be a 'prabachan' on Shirdi Sai baba (Guru of Sai baba of the afro hairdo fame) at saket tomorrow. Please come with your family members'. I should have ended the conversation then and there since we wont be going to any prabachan, not today and definitely not tomorrow and even if we did, Saket was on the other end of the world. But somehow I didn't. And he continued, outside the iron gates and me inside the main doors with only my head sticking out.

- Have you heard of Shirdi Sai baba?
- Yes. ( I drove down to Shirdi with some friends from aurangabad in 1997, I think...not so much because I wanted to, but because my friends, incidentally my hosts, wanted to. It was the usual thing. Buying some sweets, flowers, incense sticks to be given as prasad, queuing up for a darshan...but not being able to manage more than couple of seconds in front of Shirdi Sai baba, because of the rush. The only interesting thing that happened was when a hushed sort of buzz went around: It seems Dawood Ibrahim's henchman was there for a darshan as well. A stout, middle aged gentleman with green eyes, wifey and daughter. Dont quite know why or how it went around, but all of us were trying our best to look at them without seeming to! Who knows if he was or wasnt...but it was sort of interesting to think he was).
- OK. There is some good news coming your way by the 16th of August. So if you are planning a trip to Shirdi, dont go before the 16th.
(Interesting....)
- And Behena (sister in hindi), I see saturn's shadow over you. (So a hundred odd pandits and astro have told my ma), so dont wear any black clothing (I dont....or atleast rarely). And behena, your parents havent raised you like a daughter (they havent? Sob, sob). They have raised you like a son. (I wonder why?). And are you married? Yes? So your wedding must have taken place suddenly. You must have....

And just as he was (I am sure) about to tell me about me finding my personal pot of gold at the end of a rainbow, our fascinating conversation, sorry monologue was cut short since my bro-in-law came up behind me and said rather loudly 'what is all this bakwas (nonsense)?'. I gave a hasty nod cum namaskar to the chap and shut the door.

I wonder would he have said the same thing to my m-i-l / f-i-l/ b-i-l /maid had they opened the doors? or am I being cynical and should have more faith in miracles?! Hehe...time will tell.
August 16th isn't so far away is it?...I might even blog about it.....

A curious hobby

I have a new hobby, interest, pastime; call it what you may...it is a bit unusual and infact I feel a trifle silly writing about it. But it is really most addictive and I find myself indulging in it often, despite the horrible weather when, most who have the option, stay indoors. Yes its an outdoor hobby. My in-laws have a small garden in the front with a assorted bunch of shrubs, ivies and plants and three trees all growing in a kind of wild tangled profusion. Orange blossoms, pink and white flowers of the madhabi lata, white 'bel', white nayantara, red hibiscus and a few more. And ofcourse the varied green of the leaves of each of these. These interest me. In between the green foliage, there are a few leaves that have turned yellow. Touch them and they come away from their branch. You don't even have to pluck them out. I have spent many a hot and clammy hour collecting the yellow leaves and then throwing them away. I have to be careful ofcourse not to over do it otherwise I will have to wait for quite some time till more leaves yellow!

Most evenings, I go for a walk to a park across the road. I usually take a brisk 8 rounds (2 kms) in about 15 minutes or so. But now it takes me longer because on each round, I stop in mid-stride to pluck out a leaf from a shrub. At first, I would choose the shrubs at the corners and when there was no one passing by, but now I stop whenever I choose and ignore the curious on-lookers! Its kind of like bursting the bubles in a bubble wrap!

If hobbies reflect the persona...then I shudder to think what mine must be telling you all about me...the heat, the domesticity, my joblessness must be taking its toll, what?!

Our Menagerie

When we say India is the 2nd most populous country in the world after China, we are not referring to people alone...but to domestic lizards and cockroaches too! Infact we would come out on top beating all other nations hollow! Looks like our tropical weather is high fertility inducing in more than one species!!

Normally, cockroaches would make a tasty snack for lizards, but in our house, they seem to have struck a deal and stick to their well defined territories and ignore each other,
the cockroaches concentrating their energy and efforts to the kitchen and around food stuff and even inside the refridgerator while the lizards are content to creep around the light fixtures.

One more point on this fascinating topic - the lizards are quite plump and largish as compared to those in kolkata(perhaps the pollution out there, stunts their growth) but I would say smaller than their brethren in Mumbai. Now how do I know this? Well I do. My Uncle (dad's bro) on each of his visits to Kolkata would spend some quality time in comparing Kolkata with Mumbai and ofcourse Kolkata would come out very badly in all respects...civic amenities, work culture, pollution etc etc. But not content with that, our dear uncle would even come up with special points:- You (meaning us poor kolkatans) have petty thieves; We (the lucky mumbaikars) have Mafia. You call these lizars?! Ha! Ha! Should see ours...They are dinosaurs!!

Hmmph!

The Mango Festival

There was a mango festival this weekend at the stadium, a 10 minute walk from home. There were yellow green boards all over the town announcing the 4th mango festival.

We in this part of the world, I dare say, know about mangoes more than others. I used to make such a show of being a connoisseur of mangoes while in France! I would pick one up, peer at it, sniff it and then put it back with a shake of my head. No sir, this isn't a good 'Mangue'!! And there was no one out there to tell me otherwise. But this festival put in my place and proper! I realized that I knew only three of four varieties and that too, only their names - Alfonso, langra, chausa, himsagar and a few more. I cannot identify them for the life of me! The wide variety had me jaw dropped! There were 348 varieties spread out on 6 long tables.

There were the ones which looked amazing :-
Nazuk pasand (delicate choice, roughly translated) a regular mango but with an ear like flap sticking out at one end.
Chitla - banana yellow smallish mangoes with green specks.
Kalmi Bela - same banana yellow but with green stripes.
Tota pari asli - (Tota is hindi for parrot) - each mango ends in the most astonishing pointed beak.
Gola (Cannon ball) - is large and heavy.
Laila ki Unglian (Laila's fingers) - really slender tiny mangoes some one and a half inch in size!

Then the variety

Papita - large heavy mango looking exactly like Papayas.
Button - tiny plum sized perfectly formed mangoes
Malika - Long sensuous ones
Husn Ara - A lovely delicate golden colour
Maharani - about the size of a lime.

Then there were the ones with the odd names. I would have liked to ask the organisers about their origin but for the mad rush.

Mishti Sona (roughly translated, sweet darling, in bengali)
Padriwala - The Priest
Bhutto - After Ex-Pak PM Butto?
Mr Ford - (Mind boggles at the name)
Then there were the Bhog, rasgolas, amrit kalash all named after Indian deserts. And lastly there was 'Laila Majnu' a pair of medium mangoes in a dish!

We have been to so many food exhibitions in our little town back in France...all serving their specialites - pate, sausages, breads, biscuits in bite sized portions. So, we were expecting some sort of samples here as well. Alas, these were only for viewing and not for tasting. There were stalls selling mangoes by the crate (roughly 4 kilos per crate) which one had to buy using one's mango buying prowess or like in our case, a wild hunch.

I consoled myself by saying that if they started to give out samples out here, the would a) go bankrupt b) there'd be a wild stampede c) or both!!

Later on I found out that there indeed is a much larger festival in Talkotra in delhi where there they give out mangoes to sample. Well anyhow, this wasn't too bad and the mangoes we bought were quite sweet!

The Ambassador

I spied an Ambassador today and was really surprised. A private one at that. The car, and not the embassy head. Imagine!

Time was when the mighty Ambassador ruled the Indian roadways. There were a few others cars. Fiat was one. But Ambassador was The car for many a decade when a tiny car - Maruti -appeared on the Indian car scene and changed its face for ever. Now we have a huge range of Indian cars as well as foreign ones to choose from. Ambassadors are still being manufactured but mostly for ministers, IAS officers, other governmnet officials and taxi cabs. I have not heard of anyone and I mean anyone going and buying one!

How simpler life was back then. I should know. We are in the process of buying a car and the decision making is taking forever. Everyone has his or her own favourite. Zen, Santro, Honda City, Maruti etc etc. Which one looks better, which one gives better mileage and so on and so forth. But no one mentions the Ambassador. I wonder what will happen should I suggest it as my choice? Everyone will surely keel over.

And yet, this sturdy Indian car cannot be dissmissed so easily. It has something in common with - Rolls Royce no less! Till very recently, these two were entirely hand assembled and not rolled off some assembly line! But for entirely different reasons:- Rolls Royce...well because its a Rolls silly and not just another car; and the Ambassador, because thats just how they did it in the begining and never bothered to change! Maybe they haven't changed and are being hand assembled even as I write!

Pressing Business

Unlike in France where one does everything, hired help is the norm in India. In India, almost everyone has hired help. Atleast one for most, to many, for the affluent. M-i-l does most of the cooking, there is a woman to do the washing and another who does the floors and dishes. So what was it that I could do? The answer was :- 'Ironing'! I could iron mine and A's clothes. Yes.

M-i-l thought it would be easier if I just gave it to the 'press-walla'. I ignored her advice and struggled bravely with my ironing, in between the power cuts. Without an ironing board, I had to squat by the bed side to iron and the ceiling fan has to be switched off to keep the clothes from flapping. So by the time I finished, I was drenched, hot and bothered and my clothes half creased, no better than before ironing. In the meanwhile, our press walla worked wonders on my in-laws' clothes. Every neighbourhood has one. His shop is just a shack with a back wall formed by stacking bricks in between pillars of the park railings. Bamboo sticks covered with tarpaulin forms the roof, an oven to heat his iron which has a small tray on which glowing embers are put.

No fancy laundry starch, no latest iron with multi faceted options. His ironing board is a rickety wooden table- no doubt a cast off. And yet with these bare infrastructure…he presses and folds our clothes with the precision that would have you swear it was from the best laundry in town. What sharp creases, perfect folds, wrinkle free collars.

After pooh-poohing the need of the press walla, I couldn’t stop ironing all of a sudden and so I began sneaking off one or two of our clothes along with the in-laws’ bundles and yesterday, I boldly marched off with a whole bunch of my own. No more sweating, no more creased clothes, no more getting hot and bothered, wielding a heavy iron and what’s more his rates are really cheap - Re 1/- per clothing and Rs 3/- for a sari. Much less than my electricity bill…if the power happens to be there that is!

Now, I am a frequent visitor. I dont even have to mention my address. He knows it although he never greets me. He merely gives the briefest of nods or if he is in an unusually good mood, he grunts. His tiny bird like wife accompanies him as do his 2 kids – a tiny, solemn little girl. I have tried to speak to her and smile at her, in vain. Perhaps she gets it from her taciturn father. She usually brings the ironed clothes folded across her tiny arms and yells out ‘Press’and waits till someone comes and takes the clothes…she being too tiny to open the main gates let alone ring the bell. She is usually followed by her toddler brother who in contrast is very friendly as he toddles unsteadily up and down the road. He smiles at everyone and stretches out his tiny arms if he sees someone approaching with clothes in their arms!

The press-walla is very important and I suspect he knows it. He is there everyday ironing clothes with that heavy iron from 9.30am till sundown and a normal fixture of the neighbourhood normally that one gets used to. People take little notice of his presence but if he were to be absent even for a day, practically the whole of the neighbourhood would sit up and take collective notice!

Local Fauna

The monkey menace continues. They don’t visit us everyday - what a relief. They come and check out the fruits on the guava and pomegranate trees and return only when the fruits are just right for plucking and eating. They eat some, throw some, while we sit behind the safety of the screen doors and gnash our teeth. The other day a whole herd descended. Mothers with babies clinging to their underbelly, skippy young adults, old ones along with the alpha male leader who sat on a low branch and surveyed all around him placidly while the rest made a mess of our backyard. They threw all our laundry from where they were hung to dry, tore some of them and bizarrely, left my father-in-law's shirt intact on the line. Perhaps a sense of respect from one head of a house to another?! We made threatening noises, brandished a stick but they paid little attention. They came and left at their own will and for a while, and in a neat reversal of roles ...it was us humans behind bars and they out in the open!

Today, I read in a newsletter that our sector's Resident Welfare association publishes that the monkey menace has increased with some kid being mauled by them and yet we haven’t done anything about it while some of the other sectors have found a suitable solution:- they have hired the services of a langur walla (for those of you who aren’t familiar...these are larger simians with a long tail and black faces) and all he has to do is walk around the monkey infested areas with his langur and all the monkeys simply run away.

And as if this weren’t enough, the newsletter also announces that stampeding cattle in a nearby sector has caused considerable damage to cars parked on the road! Phew what exciting times...

As I am slowing getting acquainted with my neighbourhood...my blogs will now be full of details about it and like this post...you will come to know just how exciting and fun a time I am having!

SHAME

The olympic torch came and left. We sure have a unique way to show our interest in the Olympic games. Filmstars and big brand sponsorship. I was in the vicinity on that day and the place was awash with posters of a cola giant and an electronic brand some sort of sponsors of the event. And the line-up of celebrities who would carry the torch were filmstars and couple of sports persons bizzarely from cricket which is not one of the sports in the Olympics. At the end of it all, one would have been forgiven for thinking that it was a film world event sponsored by a popular cola.

A lot of people have protested against this mainly in the letters to editors of various news papers and one of them even suggested that there was a brighter side of using filmstars to carry the torch. Atleast it got people interested in the what, where and why of the Olympics! The Union minister for sports said it was not the centre's fault that we had film stars and not sports men and women carrying the torch after it arrived back in India after 4 decades. Where were PT Usha, Leslie Claudius, Milkha Singh.....Instead we had Rani Mukherje, Aishwariya, Vivek Oberoi....

Well the state of affairs is well represented in our showing at the Olympics....

What a shame. Maybe our sports persons should all emigrate to some other country where they value their sportspersons and do not reduce one of the most hallowed sporting events into a cheap tamasha. I feel tremendously ashamed for this and I as an Indian apologise to each and every Indian sports person.

A suitable job

Last couple of weeks have been really hectic. Apart from a quick heat stroke and stomach upset, I had some good news – job interviews! One after the other. Imagine. I spend the better part of my stay in France applying to jobs and getting rejected. Infact I received so many reject letters that I could have honestly stuffed a mattress with them! And out here, within a month, I get three!

The first of these were with a to be launched magazine. They are looking for free lancers and liked some of my posts from this blog and asked me to submit some articles and take it from there. Alas…the minute I walked out of the interview, writer’ (or not yet writer but soon to be) block struck. I haven’t been able to pen a single word of the article I am to submit to them!

Next came an offer from a famous publisher’s. This is one job I’d like. Imagine someone paying me to read! I was duly asked for an editorial test. And it wasn’t as easy as I thought it would be! How is an omlette spelt? Omelette or ommelette? Ocassion or occasion? And so on and so forth. There were 8 progressively tougher excercises in all and I felt terribly drained at the end of it which I blamed on the heat stroke ofcourse. I am still keeping my fingers and toes crossed!

And just this week, I appeared for and got a job (albeit a short lived one) with a famous artist who wanted some research assistant. I spent two dreary days doing really boring administrative tasks…waiting for things to settle so that things could be explained to me better…and it was, yesterday, in a way. It got really late last night and instead of explaining my role and responsibilities, the artist kept asking me If I shared his concerns (about what may I ask?), did I feel connected with him (what ever does it mean?) and how was I feeling about it all? ‘Chaotic’ was my answer which I guess left him a wee bit disappointed. He wanted to discuss it over dinner…just the two of us which I declined (putting it mildly) and didn’t report to work this morning and wont be in future! Phew!

Wish me luck that I do get the publishing job or something nice…

The Great Change

One of the first things that I did on my arrival in India was to have my palms read by a famous astrologer. My m-i-l is very keen on astrology and I am not too unkeen myself! It's like visiting a cheap shrink: Instant dose of courage and optimism!

This astrologer is an elderly lady with a piercing gaze and a very blunt manner of speaking. Unlike others, her charges are very low and she is quite accessible despite the fact that her clientele is mostly the rich and famous including our ex-PM and at the time I visited her, the general elections had just ended and a new government was being formed. She was beset with urgent visits by wives of politicians!

Anyway, she told me that a great change was headed my way and soon. It's been nearly two weeks since then and while we wait for the big change, we find that all the appliances in our house seem to have chosen this moment to collapse. The inverter (the batteries and the machine), the air conditioner, the television, the old car which was recently sold. And just this morning, m-i-l’s glasses broke as did the handle to our bedroom door. Things are breaking down almost as fast as we are replacing the old ones! Things around us at home are changing bit by bit. This then must be the ‘Great Change’ in my life, that she was talking about?!

Dust Rules

Dust Rules. Dust is king; at least it is, here. Not the oily soot of Kolkata, but a fine dust which silently creeps in and covers everything and everyone. Look into the deepest corner of your wardrobe farthest from a door or a window…sure enough…you will find some. Where does it all come from? Neighbouring Rajasthan? Or perhaps from the endless construction work all around. There are plenty of trees and plants all around, lining the roads, in gardens, but all dulled by dust.

Dust the furniture and it will be back not by evening, but within couple of hours! So the only recourse is to keep the windows and doors shut and boil inside. Atleast you are dust free. Somwhat that is. That helps to keep the bulk of the mosquitoes out too. Only a few 100 make their way in. So mosquito nets are de rigueur! Thankgod for air conditioners.

But no, wait. Once, and only once you are neatly tucked in your beds under the mosquito nets and the room has cooled down and the drone of the air con is lulling you to sleep, off goes the power. Creep out of the bed (stealthily so that the mosquitoes don’t get in) and switch off the air con, switch on the overhead ceiling fan and creep back in (hopefully the inverter is working otherwise the fan won't work) and try to sleep while the room gets progressively stuffy, hot and clammy. Somedays, the powers goes off and comes back 2 or 3 times and so the whole process is repeated as many times…till one finds it time to get up! Luckily, I can catch up on my sleep in the afternoons!

On some days, the skies darken and I feel so thrilled that I am going to experience a good and proper Indian thunderstorm. Not really. Its more likely to be a dust storm. Two days back, there was this really big dust storm all night long which played havoc with the buckets, brooms and other paraphernalia in the backyard creating quite a racket, while we sweated sleeplessly inside and did I mention the power went off!

The premonsoons are here (I hope I haven’t spoken too soon)…things are much cooler now.

Our maid has gone on leave and mother in law (mil) and I have tackled the cleaning, dusting, wiping, sweeping of our large bungalow and were congratulating ourselves on a job well done and before we could even put our brooms and buckets and dusters aside, WHOOOOSH there arose another dust storm and covered up everyone and everything in sight.

Did I mention? Dust rules?

Monkey Business

The heat is incredible. Now I understand why it was called 'The Burning Plains'. I am stuck indoors (by choice till sundown even though the that does nothing to bring the temperature down.

However, I am more tired of answering the same two questions - Arent you a teeny bit sad at leaving France? And isn't the heat too much for you? No, No. I am not even a teeny bit sad....it was nice when we were there and now we are not. Period. And the heat is equally bad for all of us....even though I have just returned from a mild spring weather... I have lived through La Canicule in France last year - more of the same is expected this year as well.

Our house and neighbourhood is over run by monkeys who are upto what they do best - monkey business. Tearing up our prized potted plants....cutting up our neighbour water pipes which then caused a huge seepage in our common wall. We go upstairs to the terrace armed with something handy to take a swipe at them (they can be vicious). But like A remarked - where do they go? This was their home before we moved in and they were pushed more and more and now they have no where else to go...

My last note from France!

Bon, je pars! Mais…je vous promis, je reviendrais bientôt, bien sûr !

Shortly, our PC will go, followed by our net connection and phone line!

By Sunday, I will be back 'en Inde'! I will take sometime to settle down and hopefully be back with my Notes from India. So till we meet again,

Au Revoir, mes amis!

Poverty of Nations

Poverty is always a sobering sight. In India, poor people on the road are a common enough sight and naturally the western press is so full of poverty in the 3rd world country.

In contrast, the only poor people we see or hear about, here, are the SDFs (Sans domicile fixé). But most of these are winos or drug addicts or hobos. Many seem quite content to live on the road or wayside and in the metros even. One guy we meet all over the place, travels by train and carried a backpack with a fat cat balancing on it and an equally fat Labrador at his heels. Not the India kind of poverty. So imagine my surprise when I encountered it here, in France.

The branch of Red Cross in our town is open only on Tuesday afternoons. A and I went around 2pm with some of our clothes and my big black coat (my post of Sunday, February 01, 2004), most of which were in mint conditions. We have just outgrown them (girth wise). A big crowd was already there, behind the big iron doors, waiting patiently in a line. Couldn’t figure out if they were donors or donees. We hesitated a bit and then some one asked me if he could help. I recognised him…have seen him several times…a blind man. I told him I had some clothes to donate and where could I keep them. He told me that there should be a carton somewhere there. Sure enough there was one. The crowd obediently parted while we dumped our clothes into the box. They didn’t immediately crowd over the box. We left and then I remembered that I had to ask if they took utensils as well and so returned. They had all crowded around the box and were looking at our clothes. There was a long queue up the stairs to the office. They let me go through to ask a rather grumpy lady in the office upstairs, if I could give my utensils. No I couldn’t. I walked back. Our clothes were being minutely examined by various people.

These other kind of poor people, who live on donations of others', I met for the first time. And to my surprise, these were not unfamiliar faces. I have met them on several occasions … walked past them, or on a bus.

Naïve of me to think there would be no poor people out here…but I could be forgiven for thinking so…It is a land of plenty…, with a good social support structure or atleast it seems so, compared to India!

Doony et Beignet

I having been stuffing myself silly with all the French goodies that I won’t get back home. All of them are not gourmet stuff. Top of the list is the humble donut (known as 'Doony' in France) and their hole-less brethren ‘beignet’. They are wonderful. And much better than any I have tasted elsewhere including those in the US. So, any of you planning to visit France, do see the monuments, the musées but don’t forget to bite into a delicious doony or beignet (or indeed why not both)!

A apology to Claude Francois

I guess I owe an apology to all fans of Claude François. Clo-Clo as he is known in France is still a very very big star although he passed away in 1978, at the height of his fame. I had earlier written some stuff about Clo-clo in my post of Sunday, February 15, 2004 THE GREAT DIVIDE ….I was miffed with the reactions of the French audience to a hindi classic ‘Sahib bibi aur ghulam’ and it was my way of getting back…childish. I accept.

So what made me change my mind? I found out yesterday (so very belatedly) that it was Claude François who had composed the music and co-wrote the lyrics for Comme d’habitude in 1967, which was later to become My Way (Paul Anka, Frank Sinatra, Elvis Presley). Comme d’habitude (As usual) was a sad love song and while the english version had the same music, the text of My Way was very different.

Later on came a Spanish version mi manera by Michel Sardou, a german version by Herald Juhnke. Clo-Clo himself sang the Italian version come sempre and ironically, just a few months before his death, the English version... “now, the end is near and so I face the final curtain...”

I think all explanations are unnecessary.

Lyrics to the French, English, german version and Spanish version HERE.

Aab dilli door nahin!

Another 7 days and our French sojourn ends. Back to India. In the earlier days, how I used to pine to go back…but now that it’s going to be a reality, I think I am going to miss this place. The tranquillity of it all. Back to the hustle bustle, the heat and the dust and the cacophony that is India. Make no mistake…I am not complaining that I am going back. After all, it’s home. But a bit of me will miss France. Each time I go out, I pay special attention to every road, every house, every shop, nook and cranny…perhaps this'll be the last time I'll be seeing them! We are just back from our Saturday marché (the farmers market or what we call ‘haat’ in Bengali). I felt like saying goodbye to the friendly chicken seller, the Arab vegetable vendor, the white jacketed seller of grilled chicken. I wont be seeing them again. But I just made small talk. A goodbye is so final!

There is so much to be done. How clutter piles up. Packing is almost over. With a steely heart, I threw away anything that I won’t be using in India. That includes letters and cards that I got from friends(I re-read them all over again…you’d be surprised how small things can add up to the dreaded ‘excess baggage’), old clothing (if you haven’t worn something for 1 year or so..you wont ever… no matter how much you promise yourself that you will diet and fit into those jeans), books (once you have read them…you are not going to read them again…except perhaps a few classics)…the list is a big one!

But I am not literally throwing them out with the garbage. I walked down to the cathedral and got a list of places to donate stuff to. I was surprised to find that a small place like our town is so well organised. The two old ladies at the cathedral were most helpful and pointed out who would like what while giving me the list. La Croix Rouge (Red Cross) would probably take our old clothes, Accueil des personnes sans domicile fixé or Reception of homeless persons would take our pillows, blankets and possibly mattresses, and lastly (and one which makes me very happy) my well stocked kitchen I can donate to Restos Du Coeur (Restuarants of the heart) which runs an open kitchen through donation of food stuff from donors. Books are going to a friend to whom I will possibly donate my Bengali spices – radhuni, panch phoron or Bengali five spice, posto – poppy seeds or khus khus in hindi, kalonji seeds, mustard seeds, ajwain etc. (the French wouldn’t know what to do with them – they use cumin, coriander and haldi which is known as the mouthful ‘circuma’). Furniture (what little we have) is going to be sold at La Trocante – this huge depot of mind boggling array of second hand stuff…anything you can think of, they have it hat stand to CDs, to books to oak chests!

Notifying the electricity board – EDF, our insurance (home and medical), France Telecom for our telephone. And only four days (Monday to Thursday) to do it all. The dreaded ‘l’etat des lieux’ is scheduled for Friday. The house agents will be coming to check the state of our apartment before we finally hand in the keys. Its strange how two people with the occasional guest can manage to smear, blot, stain walls and floors and how! And ofcourse it is helped by the heavy Indian cooking. This despite my mania of cleanliness (A claims it makes him tired just to see me cleaning, washing and dusting)!!

No matter….I am ready to attack it all…with special bleaches, brushes etc.

I will try and post…but if not, I will be back soon with ‘Notes from India’!


PS - AAB DILLI DOOR NAHIN! - Delhi is not so far, now.

These are a few of my favourite things!

A list of my favourite things about our town. Its been nearly 3 years out here, but its coming to an end, soon.

Brie–Yes that delicious soft creamy cheese. Put it in the frigo and 'wow' the ripe smells!

The River front (very wishful sounding this is). For La Marne as it flows through our town is but a couple of 100 metres wide. But its beautiful with the 5 bridges spanning it. Each bridge with different flowers hanging from pots on the lampposts. And wonderful houses on either side. The swathe of green at the river’s edge and last but not the least, the quaint boats(not the flashy Riviera variety) moored.

The ugliest house – A rose tree artfully planted so that its branches droop at the ground floor and first and second floor levels and covers the ugly cemented façade of the tiny three storied house standing cheek by jowl along the usual lovely houses. And like now, a sudden burst of rose covers the house from top to bottom. What a sight!

La Fôret: On the opposite end of the river, the foret is a very mild friendly sort of a place. A broad dirt road winds its way through it. A big green swathe run parallel just outside A favourite place for kids, joggers, cyclists and dog walkers. The whole thing is obviously very carefully done up to look like the real thing!

Avenue Clemenceau and Rue Gambetta: Full of the most wonderful houses with the most beautiful gardens. How often have I crept by, Alice-like, looking for the key to the gardens. Alas, never did find those keys! (Very common names these, for roads here in France, much like MG Road in India).

Place Henri IV – A square paved area in the middle of Centre Ville, with trees and benches. A favourite place for geriatrics. And where we often spend the evenings in summer, waiting for our west facing flat to cool down. Would have been romantic except for the tiny almost invisible insects that descend in hoards on everyone and everything in summer.

La Moulin – Our favourite eatery. Its got solid, comfortable French home fare. The daily menu chalked on the blackboard outside the door. The chef, the owner and maitre d’, the bar man all come out and shake hands with us and go through the small routine of “ça va? Oui, ça va”! Many a pleasant meal we have had there.

Rue long Perrier – A road, entirely unremarkable but for the high wall which runs alongside, with a veritable garden hanging over. Last time I passed by, I counted 6 shades of green, rust, deep marron, great big purple blossoms, white flowers. Marvellous but can be a bit risky (try walking with your head turned upwards on a busy road)!

The curious shopping arcade behind the only cinema hall in Place du Theatre – its domed tiled roof is of black flint with white metal trimmings looking very much like the cover of an ornate wine decanter!

The wonderful paysage (countryside). Undulating fields of every shade of green, brilliant mustard, deep brown of freshly mown earth, dotted here and there with clumps of red tiled houses and tall church spires. One can never get enough of it. Never.

This list is by no means over! I will probably turn up with more things tomorow. Apologies if you should find it boring. But this is really for myself... a list to keep the memories fresh in my mind, once I have gone….

New posts to my other blogs:

My other English blog
A bigger EU
Lily of the valley for the 1st of May

My bengali blog
পয়লা মে

The Mona Lisa smile

Mona Lisa or La Joconde as she is know here in France has the curators of Louvre worried, although they did say they didn’t want to minimise or exaggerate « ni minimiser ni dramatiser », their worries about what is possibly the most famous painting in the world. The poplar wood panel on which Mona Lisa is painted is more ‘warped than previously’. The museum has launched a study. Fortunately (for tourists) the painting will remain in view throughout the period. Leonardo Da Vinci painted it sometime between 1503 and 1506 and it is said to be the portrait of the wife of a Florentine gentleman Francesco di Bartolomeo di Zanoli del Giocondo and therefore, in France, she is known as La Joconde.

The Louvre is an enormous museum with three floors and 4 wings and it is very easy to get lost and should some one really set out to see it properly, it would take a week, or maybe a fortnight or even longer. And yet, we all know what the big draw is. La Joconde. Past the entrance through the crystal pyramid and beyond the ticket counter, there are, at regular intervals, prints of Mona Lisa with a red arrow pointing the way to the where she is, in a large room, with 2 and a half walls to herself. I guess the authorities have grown tired of asking people not to film or photograph her. There are officials present who try to dissuade people from taking photos but are totally ineffective since the minute they turn their attention towards someone, some one takes the opportunity of this diversion to quickly take a snap! Infact, the hall through which one has to go through to reach the Mona Lisa, is split into two by a thick rope: One side for entering the room and the other for exiting. This is a pity because the hall contains some wonderful paintings including Da Vinci’s Virgin on the Rocks. But the huge line of people will impatiently shove you forward if you linger in front of the photos. And Mona Lisa herself is surrounded by people at all times 10 deep if not more. So more often than not, one ends up with a photo of a several heads all with cameras and a dark brownish picture! The painting has taken on a brownish cast due to the accumulation of dust and dirt and chemical changes to the varnish covering its surface. And then it is covered by a thick piece of glass for protection against a million flashes. It seems that the painting was originally larger and two coloumns one on the left and on the right have been cut away and so we don’t see Mona Lisa sitting on a terrace. The painting was damaged by acid in 1956 and took several years to restore. Louvre has so far resisted pressure to restore the painting to its original colours.

Da Vinci came to France at the invitation of Fracois 1er, spent his last days here. He sold the painting to him where it toured the chateaus of Versailles, Fontainebleau and for a time, hung in Napoleon’s bedroom and finally came to Louvre. It was stolen on August 21, 1911 by an Italian painter Vincenzo Peruggia, who wanted to return it to the country of origin. But the picture was found in Italy about two years later. Earlier, in the 60’s and 70’s, it was taken to New York, Tokyo and Moscow, but now any journey has been ruled out!