November 17, 2005
HELLO! Hoping you are all well.
(COMMENT
- It is a new season and I always wonder if there will be anything to write,
when along come these images that just keep flashing, until I write them
down. They are very random things. Unexpected.
You are such good friends. Nobody
ever says, “Stop!” Thank You. It is great fun to share.)
Patterns of Long Ago:
This week… my cell phone saga
continues… required several rickshaw trips down the hill into the town site (3
miles square??) of Thiruvanamali. It is always shocking to my system to
‘go to town’: the noise! horns and buzzers are constant… often loud
speakers blaring out political speeches; municipal news; or advertising
products. The confusion of vehicles,
people, animals; the smells of rotting garbage, sewers, exhaust; the
multiplicity of small 10X10 open faced shops with their wares hung in
profusion. I always return home with a slight headache and quite
exhausted, but somehow nourished too! What is it that seeps into me,
ringing some bell that pleases these ol’ bones??
It seems to me the pleasure comes
from the still present tracings of the medieval times that are the basis of
this town, regardless of its 2 cell towers, motorized vehicles, plastic buckets
and lawn chairs. The village huts (many with walls made of sticks and
roofs of layered palm fronds) are busy with the women squatting around the open
doorways attending to domestic chores such as sifting rice, drying grains, washing
clothes, combing hair… maintaining a constant chatter. The family animals
are in close vicinity: the cow may be tied to a porch pole, or is on a long
leash wandering up the street; the chickens wandering in and out of the
hut's always open doors and windows. I see the pottery man with a crude
wheel turning pots; the basket man weaving grass (or plastic!); the iron man
welding; the shoemaker with a mound of broken sandals in front of him… all at
the side of the road. Then, there are the small shops with sacks of grains and
lentils, dried red peppers hanging. Life! is so incredibly visible,
including the small boy clutching his shirt to his chest so it does not blow
forward and get wet, as he pees into the open gutter in front of his hut. There
is very little order (though the road in front of each doorway is always swept
and dampened down to prevent dust). Yet, the sense of functionality is so
strong.
The Temple, rather than the castle,
is the centralizing force for this medieval town. The town grew to serve
those who preside, tend and visit the Temple. This Shiva Temple town is
over 1100 years old. It has grown slowly, for the most part… until
recently. Perhaps the last 20 years has seen the most change. So! for the
most part, the early town of 900AD is still very present. There was a
progress from the stick hut to the small 1 or 2 room brick hut and only
recently have there been 2 story brick and cement ‘villas’ for the middle class.
There are still some of the larger, rambling multi-roomed stick homes for the
middleclass of the medieval times. Now there are 2 story cement stores;
sprawling government multi-building cement compounds. There are even banks and shops with plate
glass fronts! Yet, what vibrates most strongly in me, is the presence of the
most simple … the primitive basics of town life.
How fortunate, it seems to me, to
have the bell from that distant past rung! Some part of me lives with
more fullness… more ground. I can’t imagine the bells that must chime if
one were to come upon a primitive tribe in a truly uncivilized area. We
have had so many descriptions and stories of such adventures, but I can’t remember
a writer telling how it was for them… well, maybe … Conrad's “Heart of
Darkness”?? To be of a modern age and be with the primitive/uncivilized
must be amazing.
When Caroline and I traveled India
in year 2000, we had a small taste… and even that taste struck me to the
core. I literally fell ill, for no good reason. We had all eaten
the same food, but I became ill. We were
fortunate to be able to go on a safari, just out of the ancient town of
Rishikesh (northern India at the foot of the Himalayas). Our safari guide
was formerly a famous National car racer, currently a rather famous
photographer. So! a modern man. At the point we met him, he was in
his hometown of Haridware (the old British colonial town just south of Rishikesh)
where he offered safaris during the tourist season into the local National
Park, an elephant sanctuary. He grew up roaming this park as a schoolboy
and got to know the tribal peoples of the area. His way of supporting
these old friends now, is to pay them for offering lodging to his safari
quests.
Little did Caroline and I know that
we would be spending the night in a tribal village. The sun had set; we
had just had a marvelous experience of sighting a leopard! and then we entered
the village… the only light, a campfire. There were 3 or 4 families in
this small village, all sharing the main ‘living’ enclosure where we were
invited for dinner… a lentil stew and black tea. There we sat on rope
beds around the fire in the center of this large one room lodge. No one
spoke English. It appeared that our guide told of our recent
sighting. There was questioning back and forth, then some stories.
The men went on with their stories for some time; the women and oldest girls
saw to our needs and chatted amongst themselves; the children shyly came to us
with smiles, touching our clothing... our skin, trying out their few words of
English. Two children sang for us. Caroline entertained with shadow
puppets. At the finish of the evening, we were taken out of the lodge to
our room-for-the-night… the barn. That far north, it was really
cold! We huddled in all our clothing, clutching the one blanket we had
been provided, and burrowed into the straw.
I was scared to death! What
would crawl into our ‘bed’! Was our guide to be trusted! Would our
money be stolen?? Such primitive fears surfaced, regardless of the good
company we had shared.
The next day when I was trundled out
by oxen cart, too weakened by stomach ills to walk to the jeep, I was haunted
by wild images of the primitive life. Yet! so pleased with myself.
I have never forgotten that night… the fire… the shadows… the smoky, dreamlike
quality of the evening. Did I even
breathe? Just a taste! of what must have been. It does something to
you. Life broadens. The past includes you.
(Do! have my new cell phone, but won't
give out the number yet; have yet to be able to make calls
consistently. :-)
Friday, November 25, 2005
A Tropical Storm... and
Butterfly Days... in the Garden of Eden
We’ve had five days of tropical
storms. So intense! Strong winds and periodic absolute downpours,
hour, after hour, after hour. It’s 24/26C. So it is, as if, there
were steam, as well as, wind and rain. Everything is damp through.
Nothing dries whether it is hanging indoors or not. Steamy!
Right now, one of the absolute
downpours is pummeling the metal shades above my open windows. Such a
racket… you can imagine in the night. Buckets! of water poured straight
down. Within the half hour the terraces have 3-4 inches of water… small
lakes. (Interestingly, they are gone, if the rain stops for half an
hour. Such drainage!) The Palm and
Neem trees positively billow with the buffeting winds, giving the sensation of
a steaming earth even greater impact. The constant sway gives a background
noise… rather like Mexican ‘rain sticks’ used in yoga classes, or a leafy
waterfall. Then there are the coconuts that fall from a great height… smacking
the roof or window shade, adding a little bit of punch to all the mistiness.
I can smell the steam. Not as
smothering as in a steam bath, but just as dense, nonetheless. The damp
earth permeates the nostrils. No wonder my carrots and beans rot within a
day or two. Heat and damp… we live in a compost. My ceiling
has damp spots; my books have started to ripple; my towels smell of mold; my
toast softens within seconds; and the striking surface on the side of the safety
matches I use to light the propane burner become so soft a strike is not
possible. You look for a rough spot on a corner… hoping for the
best. Thank goodness for the electric coils to heat water (one cup size,
one bucket size)… when there is electricity.
Orange porridge for lunch!!
Why not? The juice and pulp from an orange with raisins and almonds… wish
I had a bit of clove? Anyway. I was very pleased with my creation;
and warmed. Once in a while the wind can feel quite cool… for a
bit. Then, it is on with my sweater and shawl. There is no heat; either
electric, propane, or wood. Not that you really need it… but how to
weather a storm without cuddling next to a fire?? You can tell my
instincts are all wrong. Fresh baked bread, hot chocolate, soup… so
porridge it is, right or wrong: a
Canadian weathering a storm in tropical India.
The surprise is that there is no
exhilaration, like in a Canadian storm.
In fact, it is the opposite. There is a depressive quality.
I am used to the southeasters that blow on our West coast, particularly up on
the islands… like Quadra. The wind funnels up that inside passage and
gives a real beating. But it is always so dramatic: waves and trees
whipping in all directions. Then! When it stops… it’s a fresh day! more
like a fresh year!! Everything sparkles
like it is new. Here… in the tropics… there is gloom, even with the
high wind. Why? It seems to me it is the steam. Even though
the wind cools (a bit), it does not refresh. Everything is heavy with
dampness. The relief, when it ends, is the blessed sunlight! Not a
refreshing feeling, so much as a feeling of openness... lightness. The sky lifts… so does the
mood.
In wonderful contrast were the sunny
days last week: An afternoon of butterflies in our marvelous Eden-like
compound. Everywhere I glanced, I would catch sight of 3 or 4 butterflies…
all fluttering, as if dancing around the trees: The small yellow ones
most prolific, but the beautiful turquoise and black or raspberry and black so
spectacular. A dusty-grey one with dark brown & white tail; the
striking monarchs; a small black with orange markings; a small beige with white
and black markings; a very! small orange one: This is what I could spot
in 5 minutes. Dozens swoop and swirl. I stand in wonder.
My section of the compound holds the
fruit trees: several varieties of orange (the hard nobly Valencia?? & the
soft skinned mandarin); the lime; the grapefruit (ooo… so bitter); the mango, the
coconut. The blooming trees are across by the big house… I can see
orange, red, yellow, raspberry blooms. Then, of course, the worms and
caterpillars… buckets of them! Especially the 1 inch black worm with
orange dots along each side… dozens group together wherever there is
dampness. There is also a long 2-inch red backed black worm… some get to
be 3+ inches. Gross. The little flies; the mosquito; the green fly;
the sleek black fly… on it goes. This morning! a 3-4 foot long silver
snake was writhing over the lip of the well (saw one last year too)! The
place teams with life. And it is beautiful.
And ‘Adam’??? well! What can I
say!! I have to admit that Ganesan’s tall, well-muscled gardener is a
sight to see… working hard, stripped of his shirt, with his ‘dhoti’ (long
wrapped skirt) folded up to short’s length. All man. And Eve??? (Certainly
not me.) I see my ‘Eve’ moving
gracefully around the compound, soft eyes downcast. But! what a confident walk…
ankle bracelet tinkling rhythmically. Barefoot. She is the gatekeeper’s
daughter… perhaps 22 years of age; with a small, lithe body; and a long,
glossy, black braid. Such vibrancy!
All woman. All of this, within the
absolute quiet of the garden: Eden.
Love
to you all, from the Garden of Eden.
Saturday, December 17, 2005
STILL IT RAINS:
Still it rains! Now over a
month… we’ve had a few sunny days here and there but predominately cloudy with
absolute downpours. Madras has had some floods, but we have been ok
here. I pulled one of my backpacks out the other day… covered in
mildew. I can only hope that when the dry heat comes back later in
January all this stuff is going to dry out. This is now called a ‘cold
spell’… am using a summer sleeping bag and! a wool blanket at nights.
I left out so many of the images
with my Garden of Eden scenario. I just have to add them!! The image
continues to be strong for me. The frogs! Tiny (a half inch or less),
little brown frogs that come out only with the rain. They are everywhere…
you have to watch where you are placing each foot… they are impossible to see
on the wet brown earth, unless they move. Also, there are the large 4-inch
lime green frogs that are popping around keeping you on your toes…
literally. Of course, there is the local troop of monkeys that I have
spoken of so often; and the chipmunks; add to that the multitude of
grasshoppers that chorus at night… and bounce off your head when you come out
the door. Then… there are those things that enter the ‘kutir’ (cottage)
through the open pipes: the gecko that lived in my toilet??? which
I discovered after! rising from the seat (No sympathy for the gecko, please!).
The caterpillar/worms that swarm (a dozen or so at a time) up the floor drain
in the bathroom; the snail easing its way through the overflow drain in my
bathroom sink… one draped across the sink plug the other day… how?? Must have come up the drain?? The ants
that swarmed under my propane canister that I had put on my steps for pick-up…
and had already laid a couple of hundred eggs when I discovered it!
Couldn’t have been more than a couple of hours. Ants everywhere… all food
items I keep in plastic wrappers. Oh!! And the lizards… large eyed, green
like the grass, motionless that watch me as I walk past on my way to the midden
with my garbage. These ones are not too large, just startling. But!
the 8 inch long, 4 inch diameter chest Lizard… on my screen door… flicking its
tongue. Next time I hear feet and don’t! see anyone, I will know what to
look for. Literally, everything moving.
It is life! Enough! Maybe I have finished with this motif!
My
next news: I now have a cleaning/washing
attendant, the wife of the gatekeeper’s first son. The 3 of us
living in the little kutirs… (Annette from Tennessee; Gayle from California ;
and myself) really just wanted someone to do the washing and ironing once a
week. One does go through the dresses in the heat… or rain. But no,
that probably wasn’t enough work. So we have “Alamelu” working for each
of us, an hour every morning. We will each pay her 200Rs/month. (that’s
$6 Cdn). We have been duly warned, “There are to be no presents or
bonuses… it would make the other staff jealous.” If, at the end of the
Season, we want to give a little something to each of the staff (8 or so), they
can be assembled for that purpose. This
is Ganesan’s secretary, Anurhada’s dictum.
We three foreigners have to try very hard to maintain the necessary
decorum… it is not natural to us.
So! am I pleased or what!! My little
cottage (remember 12 X 14 ft., with its’ 6 X 8ft. bathroom) is cleaned every
day: swept from top to bottom, and the straw floor mats taken out for airing
(and drying); all the counters wiped (of the gnats that die by the dozen in the
evening with the lights); dishes done; and the bathroom scrubbed twice a
week. Then there is the washing… 3 or 4 items/day; and ironing (I do have
to teach her how to iron my long shirtdresses… the sari is not ironed; men’s
shirts ironed by the itinerant ironer.)
I have learned there is no such
thing as the decorative touch… all things are placed back in an ‘orderly’ line,
flush with the walls (I noticed this in Anurahda’s house, as well…
beautiful mahogany furniture 3 separate pieces… all pushed to the side walls;
she! has a swing… 4ft seat… hanging from the ceiling in the middle of her main
room… the puja room.) I tend to put the pillows from my bed against the
wall (artfully, of course) in the middle of the bed… so it is more like a day couch.
No. Each day they are back at the head
of the bed, as pillows should be. (She really must think I am a slow
learner: ‘Different style’ is a concept
that would never occur to her.)
I now have a clothesline strung
between the 2 coconut palms (16 foot distance) beside my cottage. (I am
actually quite pleased with this domestication of my Eden scene.) I was
also told to get a ‘scrub’ broom… these are sticks about the diameter of a
matchstick, that are tied together with long dried grasses at one end… 3ft?? They are used for scrubbing the concrete
bathroom floor (you can find scrub brushes downtown… but! this is a country
woman and her ways are eons old). Remember, that no implements
whether it is a shovel, hoe, or broom has a long handle… all have about a 1-2
ft shank to grip. “Bending” over a task is the favored position. What are their lower backs like??! I never
see them stand and rub the back. All these women, here in
the country, cook over an open fire in their courtyard… again, in a squat
and bend. I guess the muscles stretch and strengthen at an early
age? The children start doing some domestic tasks at about 7yrs of age…girls…
the chalk design (rangoli) in front of the doorstep; putting containers on
the head to get water from the well; peeling veggies; sweeping. The dirt
in front of my doorstep is swept daily… no rangoli… maybe I will have to learn
(you can buy design books downtown.) I noticed a couple of scratches on my new
Teflon coated campfire fry pan, which I brought from home (can’t buy fry pans
here). I think the metal scrub was used. Must tell her about
‘teflon’… not that she speaks English.
Next time I write, I will try to do
justice to the “Deepam” festival that happens this month. It’s a 10 day affair. Already by the sixth
day of the month, the downtown temple and some of the tanks (where sadus do
their absolutions) were strung with lights and hung with greenery... looks like
Xmas! (It is the most exciting festival
of the year.) Venders pick their places
early in the month, sleeping beside their wares at night. I was downtown during
the first week (my propane tank needed fixing), it was as busy as NY City.
My friend, Venkatesh, (whose propane
canister I am borrowing) will be making the climb to the top of the mountain
this year on Deepam night, with the team that carries the 1000 gallon iron colander
of ghee up the mountain to be lit… signifying the moment Shiva took the form of
the sacred mountain; and symbolizing the flame of our internal ‘Self’.
When I saw him yesterday, he had just come from the downtown temple, where he has
been blessed by one of the priests for the occasion. He had been given 3
strings of Shiva beads: red, white, and brown to wear around his neck; and
was dressed in an ochre dhoti (wrapped skirt) and scarf, which he will wear for
the climb. He will be climbing to ask for a special blessing for himself
and his partner. Permission is not granted to many, so I am not quite sure
why he has been so honored. I do know he is very proud to do this feat…
he has already started to fast: 1 meal/day and 1 glass of water for the
next 13 days.
Merry Christmas all!! Will
update you on Deepam and! Xmas at the same time.
Love Paula
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