I have thought about this almost every time I visit India, how death is so close to the surface here, and yet India is so full of life. In the West I feel that we gloss over so many things that are difficult to deal with; from where we get our meat, to illness, and death. We want to package things up neatly and we don’t want to discuss our true feelings. But India is not neatly packaged. Perhaps this is a stretch, but I think this can be compared to our sense of smell. These are the tropics, and with heat and humidity everything smells more pungent.
Tranquil Resort, Wayanad, Kerala
I began writing this two days ago, but as I sit on the porch of a tree house at Tranquil, a coffee plantation resort, I am continuing to think about it. How do I put this into words without insulting anyone? I don’t think it’s very polite to discuss the way someone’s home or country smells, yet I want to be honest and record my impressions.
It’s monsoon season and I am listening to a rushing stream down below as I sit on our deck in the tree canopy. It continues to rain this morning but I am enjoying the storm. I woke up to a rhesus monkey peering in our window and everything smells lush and green. How much better does it get? This is life and I feel lucky to be able to experience it. But underneath the freshness of life is danger, decay and death. My son fears snakes, but it’s the leeches we have to look out for as we walk the trails. India is messy. We actually took a walk today. Ashwin and I both got leeches but Vinuta Auntie was prepared with salt and they came off easily. See? Not so bad after all. They are also just trying to survive.
Thinking back to Bangalore, when we landed in the early morning in the dark and quiet, there was the telltale smell of damp and spice. Gopal, at 84, is there to meet us as usual. We drive through the streets which are already busy at 3 a.m. and smell early morning fires and exhaust from vehicles. The streets already have a fair amount of traffic. Upon entering the ground floor I’m faced with the smell of dog, Bubble has become old and smelly. We walk up the stairs to the Cloudhouse for a nap and as we walk by the door to the apartment on the first floor I smell cats. While eating breakfast there is the smell of death on the breeze. There it is – death, never far away. An animal is decaying somewhere on the property next door. We know that Saras Auntie died in the room off the living room. That room also had a pungent smell when she was alive, and Ashwin is still nervous to enter. Then there is the smell of compost. It’s all vegetable matter breaking down, but it smells like the manure that’s spread in the fields of Indiana when Gopal turns it over. It wafts through the living room. Then suddenly, a strong smell of ripe mango as the breeze blows across the fruit basket on the window sill, or jasmine growing outside the kitchen window. The strong smell of incense is suddenly on par with everything else, not overpowering as it is at home. Does any of this make sense? I’m not sure. They are just my thoughts and this little corner of the India I know.
Yesterday afternoon, Ashwin’s grandfather wanted to buy a gift for him, so they made a visit to Modern Tailors. If you know Ashwin, you know he has style, and loves to dress in a shirt and tie. This is his first time being fitted for some hand stitched shirts and pants.
First, the tailor takes your measurements and estimates how much fabric to buy. Then you must go to the fabric shop to buy yardage and take it back to the tailor for stitching. Having clothes stitched by a tailor is still pretty commonplace in India, but there are many more readymade clothes available than there used to be. I think many younger Indians are wearing store bought clothes, especially in the city. Surprisingly, they tend to be more expensive than custom tailored clothes.
Tools of the trade.
Just when I think I’m over jetlag and I have been sleeping through the night, I’m up at 1:30 in the morning and unable to go back to sleep. Time to write a blog. Today is Venkatesh’s birthday and will probably be busy, but yesterday the day began quietly with coffee. We didn’t have to go anywhere and I wandered through the house taking some pictures.
Some things for a pooja in the kitchen.
Red oxide floors in the front hall.
Vegetables waiting to be cooked by Shivama.
Venkatesh and I took a small walk to the stationery shop around the corner. He wanted to buy an inexpensive Hero fountain pen. They are made in China but were used by school children when they started fifth standard in India. We bought the last one with the old body design and were told they won’t be getting any more. No one asks for them.
We walked past shops and stopped for a coffee at a small breakfast place. Coffee is piping hot and served in a 2 ounce glass with milk and sugar. You stand and drink it on the sidewalk then put the dirty glass in a tub. The price is 10 rupees or approximately one and one half cents. That’s the first time I’ve calculated the cost in dollars and the price is crazy! Goodbye Starbucks! Strangely enough, Starbucks does exist in India and the coffee is just as expensive as it is in the U.S. How can these two options exist in the same market, on the same block?
One of my favorite shop signs on 8th Main, Malleswaram.
Local snack shop on 8th Main.
While traveling to India this time, we flew Emirates through Dubai Airport. The first leg of the journey was over 13 hours but it worked out well. Once the dinner was over and the lights dimmed, we still had plenty of time left to sleep for the night, and it didn’t feel like we were jolted awake at 3 in the morning. I was very excited to see Dubai from the plane and although we didn’t have window seats, our plane had cameras that we could access on our movie screens. One view pointed directly down to the ground and one showed the pilots view. We watched as our plane went over the downtown area with all the skyscrapers, and we watched the buildings dwindle in height as we flew toward the airport. Eventually random squares were dispersed in the desert, some filling with wind driven sand. Most areas were sandy with scrubby brush, then a bright green rectangle would appear, or one filled with trees and plants in a line. The highways from above looked very orderly and geometric, with many roundabouts.
As we entered Dubai Airport, the first thing we noticed was the quiet – this is a no announcement airport. It is a very sleek , modern airport and we had to take several elevators and a tram to get to our terminal. As we went up an escalator suddenly we heard a soft Namaz, call to prayer, it was soothing and ethereal. I still feel this is one of the most beautiful sounds in the world. This airport was a dream – not crowded or noisy, no lines, and we didn’t have to go through yet another security check. We could go from terminal to terminal freely. I feel that this is the way to travel in future.
One easy four hour flight and we were in Bangalore. Gopal, my 84 year old father in law, was there to meet us as usual at 3 a.m. Bangalore time. He is truly amazing. So we are now SOD in Bangalore and battling jetlag.
Who knew I could fall in love again after 50? …..with a new medium! I have been taking pottery classes since last November and although I have a lot to learn and I need practice, I absolutely love it. I didn’t take a picture of my first two mugs (not worth showing) but this is one of the first bowls I made. I like the black and white glaze with the yellow eggs.
I am enjoying making utilitarian objects and when I’m at the wheel, I don’t think about anything else in my life – just clay, just form. It is such a pleasure. I’m experimenting with glazes and I have to say, this is the part that I find the hardest to understand. I have had a few failures. These small ice cream bowls were all thrown from the same large mound and the interior was finished with a cd to make the curve.
My first attempt at sgraffito went pretty well, but I think I liked the bird vase better before glazing – although I do like the ‘sunset surprise’. I used a small sgraffito tool that was a bit difficult to control, so I bought a new set of small carving tools and my next attempt went much better.
The bright colored tools come in many shapes and sizes. This shows the octopus in progress, before firing. I’m much happier with this one. I’m hoping to do a lot more work like this as my skills improve. For now I’m just experimenting but I will be keeping the glaze very simple on this one. Perhaps just transparent white.
I made some cups and played with glazes with some better results. These two will be going to India for my mother and father-in-law (please don’t spoil the surprise).
I think this is my new favorite glaze.
I feel that showing up at the studio every week and making something useful has made me feel more creative in other areas of my life. It keeps the juices flowing and I have been feeling very inspired when I sit down to draw.
Whereas humans have X and Y chromosomes, chickens have Z and W. ZZ for male and ZW for female. The male side has a spur on its leg, a red comb and wattle, a greater mass of breast structure and a heavier bone structure. Split down the middle with brown on one side, gold and white on the other, this is a true male-female chimera.
This is the story of the bimorphic gynandromorph who couldn’t sing. He/she is split down the middle, with the red side being male and the gray side female.
The following is from a BBC article on gynandromorph animals by David Robson:
‘Unsurprisingly, courtship for these animals sometimes presents difficulties…..The other birds largely seemed to ignore it. This isolation is apparently common for gynandromorphs. Either they are quietly shunned, or actively attacked, by their peers’
Haven’t we all felt this at some time in our lives? There is something so sad and beautiful about this bird with no mate and no song.