I'm saying that not in the spirit of a lost soul in the forest, plaintive and pathetic. But as concession to the fact that it's the first step on the journey to understand.
I do not understand how:
I can have a fight with the Man, over something so stupid and idiotic and utterly pointless (utterly pointless because we both know that we will never agree on this, but instead of just agreeing to disagree we have a tacit understanding that we will scream each other's brains out and then slam each and every door in the world before going into a sulk with each other for a week).
And then.
Post-fight,
I go out and have a lonely but lovely day.
And then.
Meet a friend and have a GORGEOUS evening with her, full of giggles and much mutual understanding and hand holding and spontaneous, loving, utterly enchanting adventures.
And then.
I can walk home in the dark feeling uplifted and smelling the sweet spring air and having a bounce in my step and looking at my own shadow and admiring the beauty of my own legs (:P) and feeling that all is alright with the world.
And then.
I walk into the door and I know he's home and I expect him to mirror that feeling.
But.
There's a black cloud in the room and, suddenly, and, again,
a black cloud around my heart.
Bah.
I do not understand how this can happen.
Bah.
Thursday, 12 March 2009
Sunday, 8 March 2009
Airkissing is awful
Somebody explain the ritual of air kissing around the cheeks.
We all know it:
Airkisser: "Daahling, helllo, how ARE you... *SMMACK."
Airkissee: "Oh I'm fabulous.... *SMMMACK.. and you? *SMMMACK."
What I really want to say, is:
If there's one thing the Indians should spread like propaganda all over the world it's the art of Namaste.
And the worst thing? It's a FAKE kiss! A pretend kiss!
You know how fabulous things turn deadly disgusting when they're 'imitation'?
Like the difference between burnished gold and 'gold plated, madam, yexport quality.'
Kisses in general - the genuine ones that you really mean from the bottom of your bottom are FABULOUS things. They're right up there with singing angels and starlight.
But this sort of kiss?
This kiss is a gold plated, yexport quality windbag.
It's not a real smack or a slurp or anything of that ilk. It's a chewing-gum sound directed at the air around your face. In no other social interaction would we smile tolerantly while someone lied so blatantly. And to lie with a kiss? That's just bad form. The gentlemen who actively do this are called rude names starting with B.
I know I have an aura. And in some social situations, I suppose it's positively STICKY with charm and magnetic radiance.
But PLEASE. If you're not good friends enough to KISS MY FACE (there's no acne there anymore, so that is not an excuse) - like mouth to skin action,- then you have no business kissing the air around it. After all, the aura is even more sacred than the actual physical entity. At least in my book. So you can't go kissing it randomly, with no emotion other than 'Fuck, where's the bar and what perfume is she wearing?'
Besides, in England at least, it's downright criminal to pass on your viral load of flu. I'm already dealing with my own. My monocytes don't want your critters as well, thanks.
So please.
People.
When we meet, give my shoulder a warm squeeze, reach for my hand, smile. Say hi. Give me a hug. In fact, that's a good indicator. Can you give your airkissee a sincere hug?
If yes, KISS their cheek. Or do something warm, welcoming and show them you're happy to see them.
If not, say hi, how are you and proceed straight to the bar.
---
*Disclaimer -
Circumstances under which air kissing might be allowed:
a.) You're Mediterranean - preferably honey coloured and Italian, and this is a general ciao bella thing that denotes how much you love everyone you encounter (it also allows the airkissee to get close enough to you to smell your Italian scent. Mummmeeeeee);
b.) The airkissee is someone you're meant to actually hug and kiss but they've got a big green gunk filled spot on the corner of their mouth. In this case, air kiss from six feet away at least;
c.) Airkissee and airkisser both have a tacit understanding that they will, in about two minutes time, be outta this stuffy party for fucks' sake and back in either of their appartments, throwing a party for two of their own. In which case the air kissing keeps up social appearances of hahn there's nothing going on with the two of them, while allowing you to disappear and fuck each other's brains out.
We all know it:
Airkisser: "Daahling, helllo, how ARE you... *SMMACK."
Airkissee: "Oh I'm fabulous.... *SMMMACK.. and you? *SMMMACK."
What I really want to say, is:
If there's one thing the Indians should spread like propaganda all over the world it's the art of Namaste.
And the worst thing? It's a FAKE kiss! A pretend kiss!
You know how fabulous things turn deadly disgusting when they're 'imitation'?
Like the difference between burnished gold and 'gold plated, madam, yexport quality.'
Kisses in general - the genuine ones that you really mean from the bottom of your bottom are FABULOUS things. They're right up there with singing angels and starlight.
But this sort of kiss?
This kiss is a gold plated, yexport quality windbag.
It's not a real smack or a slurp or anything of that ilk. It's a chewing-gum sound directed at the air around your face. In no other social interaction would we smile tolerantly while someone lied so blatantly. And to lie with a kiss? That's just bad form. The gentlemen who actively do this are called rude names starting with B.
I know I have an aura. And in some social situations, I suppose it's positively STICKY with charm and magnetic radiance.
But PLEASE. If you're not good friends enough to KISS MY FACE (there's no acne there anymore, so that is not an excuse) - like mouth to skin action,- then you have no business kissing the air around it. After all, the aura is even more sacred than the actual physical entity. At least in my book. So you can't go kissing it randomly, with no emotion other than 'Fuck, where's the bar and what perfume is she wearing?'
Besides, in England at least, it's downright criminal to pass on your viral load of flu. I'm already dealing with my own. My monocytes don't want your critters as well, thanks.
So please.
People.
When we meet, give my shoulder a warm squeeze, reach for my hand, smile. Say hi. Give me a hug. In fact, that's a good indicator. Can you give your airkissee a sincere hug?
If yes, KISS their cheek. Or do something warm, welcoming and show them you're happy to see them.
If not, say hi, how are you and proceed straight to the bar.
---
*Disclaimer -
Circumstances under which air kissing might be allowed:
a.) You're Mediterranean - preferably honey coloured and Italian, and this is a general ciao bella thing that denotes how much you love everyone you encounter (it also allows the airkissee to get close enough to you to smell your Italian scent. Mummmeeeeee);
b.) The airkissee is someone you're meant to actually hug and kiss but they've got a big green gunk filled spot on the corner of their mouth. In this case, air kiss from six feet away at least;
c.) Airkissee and airkisser both have a tacit understanding that they will, in about two minutes time, be outta this stuffy party for fucks' sake and back in either of their appartments, throwing a party for two of their own. In which case the air kissing keeps up social appearances of hahn there's nothing going on with the two of them, while allowing you to disappear and fuck each other's brains out.
Today was the day when a spanner was thrown into every best laid plan.
First:
I'd planned to see Kundun with a friend. It rained cats and dogs - hell - it rained donkeys and the girl who was supposed to bring the DVD never showed and the screening was cancelled.
But then. We decided to have late lunch instead. And we spent a very pleasant hour demolishing a meal and giggling hysterically over the bullshit each of us sometimes encounters during fieldwork.
We bussed it back to town, and I got off at the Odeon bus stop, only to see that the Man had called me. His phone was off, so I couldn't return his call. He wasn't answering the house phone.
Dang it, I thought. He's out. I turned a corner and thought: I'll just nip to Cafe Nero and see if he's there. If not, too bad, I'll have to be alone this evening. I looked up right that minute and saw him standing outside Cafe Nero, just about to go call me again. I'm thinking of the tiny wheels and levers in some great big machine of time and coordination and coincidence that allowed that to happen. We had a very nice coffee, read AA Gill's HILARIOUS piece in today's Times and stepped out of the cafe, into..
a hailstorm that lasted for EXACTLY the amount of time it took for us to walk home.
As soon as we got to the front door, there was transluscent sunshine and elfin light.
This evening we were meant to watch the Vagina Monologues on campus.
We missed the bus. We looked at each other and said "Dinner!!" at once. Noodle bar had a treasure trove of dry noodles and lemonade and crackers and a warm corner to sit in. And both us finally got down to learning to eat with chopsticks! Somehow I ate my entire dinner with them! And he ate rice! And we totally couldn't do that before! Not to sound too Nike, but we literally Just Did It!
So. I had three outings today, each utterly by chance, each the result of something else not happening. I BET if I'd planned to meet Ambra for lunch, have coffee with the man and a dinner date later, none of the three would've happened. Also, today was the first day EVER that I've seen the moon from my bedroom window in this house. It was just after the rain/hail/sleet/disgusting-but-beautifully-lit thingy that drenched us on our way home from the cafe. I was sitting on the window sill (it's a wide sill) and talking to the man / kissing the back of his neck and I saw it set amongst the blue of a freshly washed sky and the russet of freshly washed tiled roofs.
Like a chip of ice. And tonight, after dinner, I noticed that it was shining DIRECTLY onto our front door.
Am I over-seeing or was today totally CRAMMED with unexpected joy? Startling, fresh, spontaneous, destined. Gorgeous day. Thank you universe.
(Though really, could you also arrange for Kundun and The Vagina Monologues to happen some time please? Was really looking forward to them both.)
First:
I'd planned to see Kundun with a friend. It rained cats and dogs - hell - it rained donkeys and the girl who was supposed to bring the DVD never showed and the screening was cancelled.
But then. We decided to have late lunch instead. And we spent a very pleasant hour demolishing a meal and giggling hysterically over the bullshit each of us sometimes encounters during fieldwork.
We bussed it back to town, and I got off at the Odeon bus stop, only to see that the Man had called me. His phone was off, so I couldn't return his call. He wasn't answering the house phone.
Dang it, I thought. He's out. I turned a corner and thought: I'll just nip to Cafe Nero and see if he's there. If not, too bad, I'll have to be alone this evening. I looked up right that minute and saw him standing outside Cafe Nero, just about to go call me again. I'm thinking of the tiny wheels and levers in some great big machine of time and coordination and coincidence that allowed that to happen. We had a very nice coffee, read AA Gill's HILARIOUS piece in today's Times and stepped out of the cafe, into..
a hailstorm that lasted for EXACTLY the amount of time it took for us to walk home.
As soon as we got to the front door, there was transluscent sunshine and elfin light.
This evening we were meant to watch the Vagina Monologues on campus.
We missed the bus. We looked at each other and said "Dinner!!" at once. Noodle bar had a treasure trove of dry noodles and lemonade and crackers and a warm corner to sit in. And both us finally got down to learning to eat with chopsticks! Somehow I ate my entire dinner with them! And he ate rice! And we totally couldn't do that before! Not to sound too Nike, but we literally Just Did It!
So. I had three outings today, each utterly by chance, each the result of something else not happening. I BET if I'd planned to meet Ambra for lunch, have coffee with the man and a dinner date later, none of the three would've happened. Also, today was the first day EVER that I've seen the moon from my bedroom window in this house. It was just after the rain/hail/sleet/disgusting-but-beautifully-lit thingy that drenched us on our way home from the cafe. I was sitting on the window sill (it's a wide sill) and talking to the man / kissing the back of his neck and I saw it set amongst the blue of a freshly washed sky and the russet of freshly washed tiled roofs.
Like a chip of ice. And tonight, after dinner, I noticed that it was shining DIRECTLY onto our front door.
Am I over-seeing or was today totally CRAMMED with unexpected joy? Startling, fresh, spontaneous, destined. Gorgeous day. Thank you universe.
(Though really, could you also arrange for Kundun and The Vagina Monologues to happen some time please? Was really looking forward to them both.)
Saturday, 7 March 2009
Melancholia
You know how sometimes that solitary space inside your head can have a full-blown conversation (ok now I sound coocoo on top of everything, but bear with me) or narrate a full-blown commentary to... absolutely no one?
Well today I imagined I was writing as I walked down the street to buy a computer chair for the Man who was severely desperately in need of one.
Specifically, this is what I thought to you, dear reader, sweet blog:
Picture this:
I'm walking down a crowded narrow pavement and there is a press of people on either side. Old people young people punks wheelchair users a policeman. There's a group of excruciatingly loud teenage girls in PIIINK! sweatshirts and overly tight jeans walking in the sunshine on the other side of the road. There's a girl wearing fuchsia hair and leather trousers and HUGE boots, walking arm in arm with her boyfriend. And there's an old gentleman with a walking stick slowly threading his way through this market yard of weirdness.
Remember My Fair Lady?
Remember Professor Higgins?
Think of an older, more sober version.
Perhaps I'm going too much by appearances? (But what an appearance!! Dark green hat, old looking tan leather gloves, a beige trench coat, shoes exactly the colour of the gloves, his back upright despite the walking stick, his gait perfectly controlled. The trench belted shut, I notice, not flapping all over the place. Every buckle done up just so. To suggest polish, not stiffness. Ten years younger and I'd have kissed him.)
He radiated class and poise and finesse. And none of it appeared put on.
And I wondered: What does he think?
And, (all hail, the inevitable cliche!) I felt sad. Who cares?!
And (all hail, the ego!!) I felt a tiny stab of holier-than-though annoyance at everybody else for appearing to not give a fuck.
I wondered:
What's he seen, where's he from? Such a long life! He still dresses like it's the '40s. Is that habit or taste? What can he tell me - or us - that we really need to know. What can he speak about, what issues can he comment on and still sound relevant? And what is 'beyond' him? What does he think of the fuchsia hair? What can he tell us about living through an economic crisis, a world war, bigotry, social movements, transformative social change, human rights, exploration, discovery. What does he think now, about heartache and loving? Would he recommend we waste our time on it? Did he waste his time on it? What can he tell us about living the best possible version of each of our lives? What would he have done differently? Does he recommend the experience of living? Or in retrospect, does it all seem like a jolly old (a phrase I guarantee he uses!!) waste of time? What can he teach me? What can I teach him? Is there anything I know that he doesn't. Is there anything he knows that I really really should? Anything he can say that we should all listen very carefully to?
I suspect he can say a lot.
Even if he says nothing, or very little. A life lived in such interesting, challenging and gut-wrenching times!! We should be celebrating him as a triumph of nature! He lived through all that! Any other species, an individual gets to that age and an ecologist would give it a metaphorical thump on the back and say well done, you! Our species, someone survives life and still goes for walks on Saturday afternoons, we should say well done, you!
And everybody was just passing him by, not even looking. Like they also passed by the sunset. The pinkest, most luscious sunset this week. The whole sky was aflame with it and wreathed in feathers as the doves settled down to roost. And they just passed, passed it by, looking at the pavement.
Well today I imagined I was writing as I walked down the street to buy a computer chair for the Man who was severely desperately in need of one.
Specifically, this is what I thought to you, dear reader, sweet blog:
Picture this:
I'm walking down a crowded narrow pavement and there is a press of people on either side. Old people young people punks wheelchair users a policeman. There's a group of excruciatingly loud teenage girls in PIIINK! sweatshirts and overly tight jeans walking in the sunshine on the other side of the road. There's a girl wearing fuchsia hair and leather trousers and HUGE boots, walking arm in arm with her boyfriend. And there's an old gentleman with a walking stick slowly threading his way through this market yard of weirdness.
Remember My Fair Lady?
Remember Professor Higgins?
Think of an older, more sober version.
Perhaps I'm going too much by appearances? (But what an appearance!! Dark green hat, old looking tan leather gloves, a beige trench coat, shoes exactly the colour of the gloves, his back upright despite the walking stick, his gait perfectly controlled. The trench belted shut, I notice, not flapping all over the place. Every buckle done up just so. To suggest polish, not stiffness. Ten years younger and I'd have kissed him.)
He radiated class and poise and finesse. And none of it appeared put on.
And I wondered: What does he think?
And, (all hail, the inevitable cliche!) I felt sad. Who cares?!
And (all hail, the ego!!) I felt a tiny stab of holier-than-though annoyance at everybody else for appearing to not give a fuck.
I wondered:
What's he seen, where's he from? Such a long life! He still dresses like it's the '40s. Is that habit or taste? What can he tell me - or us - that we really need to know. What can he speak about, what issues can he comment on and still sound relevant? And what is 'beyond' him? What does he think of the fuchsia hair? What can he tell us about living through an economic crisis, a world war, bigotry, social movements, transformative social change, human rights, exploration, discovery. What does he think now, about heartache and loving? Would he recommend we waste our time on it? Did he waste his time on it? What can he tell us about living the best possible version of each of our lives? What would he have done differently? Does he recommend the experience of living? Or in retrospect, does it all seem like a jolly old (a phrase I guarantee he uses!!) waste of time? What can he teach me? What can I teach him? Is there anything I know that he doesn't. Is there anything he knows that I really really should? Anything he can say that we should all listen very carefully to?
I suspect he can say a lot.
Even if he says nothing, or very little. A life lived in such interesting, challenging and gut-wrenching times!! We should be celebrating him as a triumph of nature! He lived through all that! Any other species, an individual gets to that age and an ecologist would give it a metaphorical thump on the back and say well done, you! Our species, someone survives life and still goes for walks on Saturday afternoons, we should say well done, you!
And everybody was just passing him by, not even looking. Like they also passed by the sunset. The pinkest, most luscious sunset this week. The whole sky was aflame with it and wreathed in feathers as the doves settled down to roost. And they just passed, passed it by, looking at the pavement.
quote of the day
It is a little embarrassing that, after forty-five years of research and study, the best advice I can give to people is to be a little kinder to each other.
- Aldous Huxley
- Aldous Huxley
Thursday, 26 February 2009
Fieldwork
This quote by Czeslaw Milosz is exactly right for thinking about, remembering, planning or doing fieldwork in India.
At the entrance, my bare feet on the dirt floor, Here, gusts of heat; at my back, white clouds. I stare and stare. It seems I was called for this: To glorify things just because they are.
At the entrance, my bare feet on the dirt floor, Here, gusts of heat; at my back, white clouds. I stare and stare. It seems I was called for this: To glorify things just because they are.
Sunday, 22 February 2009
New Developments
The Shark has a job.
A hotshot wear-a-suit type of job.
Smooth talking snake.
I knew he could do it. I'm so proud!
Except.
(There is always an except) -
So far, the only relationship in my life that hasn't been ruined by the onset (or the end) of a career change / advancement has been my love affair with my cat.
Who, I am completely confident, will never EVER put me second to his rat race or resented me working on mine (in fact, he spends hours sitting by my side as I read. Silently. But with love. Something a human man could never do.)
Oh, Pasha! Love of my life! Why couldn't you have been a man instead of a baby tiger?
A hotshot wear-a-suit type of job.
Smooth talking snake.
I knew he could do it. I'm so proud!
Except.
(There is always an except) -
So far, the only relationship in my life that hasn't been ruined by the onset (or the end) of a career change / advancement has been my love affair with my cat.
Who, I am completely confident, will never EVER put me second to his rat race or resented me working on mine (in fact, he spends hours sitting by my side as I read. Silently. But with love. Something a human man could never do.)
Oh, Pasha! Love of my life! Why couldn't you have been a man instead of a baby tiger?
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