I was only recently introduced to this instrument when a street artist was playing it in Venice. The 'hang' or 'spacedrum' was developed in as recently as 2000 in Switzerland. Can you tell that it is partially influenced by the 'ghatam', among other idiophones? I was transfixed by the sound when I first heard it, mostly because I couldn't figure out how it plays. You'd think someone is playing a string instrument!
Showing posts with label inspiration. Show all posts
Showing posts with label inspiration. Show all posts
Sunday, July 27, 2014
Get a hang!
I was only recently introduced to this instrument when a street artist was playing it in Venice. The 'hang' or 'spacedrum' was developed in as recently as 2000 in Switzerland. Can you tell that it is partially influenced by the 'ghatam', among other idiophones? I was transfixed by the sound when I first heard it, mostly because I couldn't figure out how it plays. You'd think someone is playing a string instrument!
Monday, July 14, 2014
My World Cup Fever
After the FIFA WC ended in 2010, I remember updating my status on FB to say that I am relieved it's over. Life can go back to normal and my page will have some meaningful posts once again. We were living in Bangalore then and I was surprised by my countrymen's interest in a game they had no stake in, at least not a national one like we see for cricket.
This year, I have been humbled by my own curiosity and have been shown my place, rightly so. I don't follow any sport religiously. But decent doses of patriotism and display of loyalty by the various teams put me in the chair in front of screens across the city showing WC matches. I don't claim to have seen them all. But the few that I saw were enough to seal the deal!
One aspect of the game that had me glued was sheer athleticism. A player it reported to run nearly 7 miles in the course of a single match! Add to that the shock the body takes when players collide, fall or simply break their run to kick the ball around. It's one thing to marvel at the human body's capacity to absorb this shock (as seen in the Finals when Christoph Kramer was struck in the head) and it's another to actually go through it and come out fine and dandy!
The other vital thing that helped me form an interest was my drum group. The afro-brazilian drum association is run by a fantastic percussionist from Salvador in Brazil and the form of art is Brazilian too. On opening night, when Brazil played Cameroon, we got together to play and lend beats to a local samba group. Before and after the match and during the break, we played as if consumed by the indigenous gods! The ambiance was nothing short of the much acclaimed carnivals of Rio.
Other than Brazil, I found myself supporting France, which is currently my country of residence and Algeria, because a large majority of my fellow citizens are Algerians (When none of these played, the underdog got my support.) In fact, the French team has a lot of players of Algerian origin. And I am sure the security officials heaved a sigh of relief when France did not meet Algeria in what would have been an extremely aggressive face-off! Violent fans are a part of any game and this one match would have met with its fair share, without doubt. Whenever Algeria played, the roads would be lined up with police cars and officials would be found patrolling by-lanes and streets to make sure things are peaceful. When they qualified for the Cup, riots broke out in Lyon, Marseilles and Paris.
Any major sporting event is organised on the weak and marginalized shoulders of labourers and sometime, at the cost of national interest, as we saw from the 2013 protests across Brazil. And already, the Qatar World Cup 2022 is in news for allegations of ongoing corruption and the plight of labourers who have immigrated from poorer countries for construction jobs. A number of them have lost their lives under pathetic living conditions meted out by the officials. To all of this, FIFA has turned a blind eye.
I love a good event, where displays of inspiring sportsmanship and camaraderie make it worth the time. But when fanaticism, violence and reports of prejudice, discrimination and unequal treatment become abound, it's vital to remember that it's just a game. And that there are more urgent matters at hand that require global attention.
This year, I have been humbled by my own curiosity and have been shown my place, rightly so. I don't follow any sport religiously. But decent doses of patriotism and display of loyalty by the various teams put me in the chair in front of screens across the city showing WC matches. I don't claim to have seen them all. But the few that I saw were enough to seal the deal!
One aspect of the game that had me glued was sheer athleticism. A player it reported to run nearly 7 miles in the course of a single match! Add to that the shock the body takes when players collide, fall or simply break their run to kick the ball around. It's one thing to marvel at the human body's capacity to absorb this shock (as seen in the Finals when Christoph Kramer was struck in the head) and it's another to actually go through it and come out fine and dandy!
The other vital thing that helped me form an interest was my drum group. The afro-brazilian drum association is run by a fantastic percussionist from Salvador in Brazil and the form of art is Brazilian too. On opening night, when Brazil played Cameroon, we got together to play and lend beats to a local samba group. Before and after the match and during the break, we played as if consumed by the indigenous gods! The ambiance was nothing short of the much acclaimed carnivals of Rio.
Other than Brazil, I found myself supporting France, which is currently my country of residence and Algeria, because a large majority of my fellow citizens are Algerians (When none of these played, the underdog got my support.) In fact, the French team has a lot of players of Algerian origin. And I am sure the security officials heaved a sigh of relief when France did not meet Algeria in what would have been an extremely aggressive face-off! Violent fans are a part of any game and this one match would have met with its fair share, without doubt. Whenever Algeria played, the roads would be lined up with police cars and officials would be found patrolling by-lanes and streets to make sure things are peaceful. When they qualified for the Cup, riots broke out in Lyon, Marseilles and Paris.
Any major sporting event is organised on the weak and marginalized shoulders of labourers and sometime, at the cost of national interest, as we saw from the 2013 protests across Brazil. And already, the Qatar World Cup 2022 is in news for allegations of ongoing corruption and the plight of labourers who have immigrated from poorer countries for construction jobs. A number of them have lost their lives under pathetic living conditions meted out by the officials. To all of this, FIFA has turned a blind eye.
I love a good event, where displays of inspiring sportsmanship and camaraderie make it worth the time. But when fanaticism, violence and reports of prejudice, discrimination and unequal treatment become abound, it's vital to remember that it's just a game. And that there are more urgent matters at hand that require global attention.
Sunday, May 11, 2014
4th time and counting
D and I just got back from a visit to Paris, this time accompanying D's parents who are visiting. Paris doesn't leave your system.You fall hard for it every time you visit, till a point arrives where it becomes unattainable. You cannot break through that invisible wall of je ne sais qoui. You are not a Parisien. You are only a tourist. And you cannot come to terms with the city until you live in it. You can only remain in awe.
On Day 1, we took the train to Giverny in Vernon, where the Monet Foundation is situated. Except for the fact that it was chilly and raining, the day was great and we got to see the region of Normandy pass us by.
Since we'd already been to the tick-mark places in our past 3 visits and the mood this time was really not to spend a lot of money, we walked. The day after we visited Giverny was a bright, sunny day. Perfect for my in-laws to go up the tower. We waited in line in their place till the ticket windows opened and saw them in. We had about 3 hours to kill. And we ended up walking about 5 kms from the tower to Alexandre and Rene Parodi Square. Took the bus back, which took us along the periphery. This was a more open area of Paris, less congested, equally beautiful.
The next day, after helping parents take the train to Louvre and going to deposit our bags at the cloak room at Gare de Lyon, we took the metro back to Cite, where we had French onion soup by the Notre Dame and I bought a book from Shakespeare and Co. And we walked aimlessly in the Latin Quarter district, along some academic institutes to Jussieu. It was a beautiful, gloomy day. Not a lot of crowd because it was Saturday.
This visit afforded us the time to really walk around and take in the sights and sounds of the city. Ever so grateful...
On Day 1, we took the train to Giverny in Vernon, where the Monet Foundation is situated. Except for the fact that it was chilly and raining, the day was great and we got to see the region of Normandy pass us by.
Since we'd already been to the tick-mark places in our past 3 visits and the mood this time was really not to spend a lot of money, we walked. The day after we visited Giverny was a bright, sunny day. Perfect for my in-laws to go up the tower. We waited in line in their place till the ticket windows opened and saw them in. We had about 3 hours to kill. And we ended up walking about 5 kms from the tower to Alexandre and Rene Parodi Square. Took the bus back, which took us along the periphery. This was a more open area of Paris, less congested, equally beautiful.
The next day, after helping parents take the train to Louvre and going to deposit our bags at the cloak room at Gare de Lyon, we took the metro back to Cite, where we had French onion soup by the Notre Dame and I bought a book from Shakespeare and Co. And we walked aimlessly in the Latin Quarter district, along some academic institutes to Jussieu. It was a beautiful, gloomy day. Not a lot of crowd because it was Saturday.
This visit afforded us the time to really walk around and take in the sights and sounds of the city. Ever so grateful...
 |
| Under the iron lattice, you could hear a dozen languages and a million dreams coming true. |
Friday, March 28, 2014
Solidarity
I spent this afternoon with my friend whom I met in drum class. She was planting some things in her garden and had given a shout out to anyone who was keen to help.
Naturally, I went to her place and to help her plant some tomatoes, strawberries, aubergines, and courgettes. On her terrace, there is a heightened platform of about a feet high, and about 4 by 4 in size. The earth in it had to be turned, pebbles removed, little weeds pulled out. A bunch of her other female friends had turned up too.
It turned out to be an afternoon of fun. I was meeting a few women for the first time. But over snacks and tales, we became acquainted and I found solidarity in this group which spanned across different ages and nationalities.
I know I am right when I smile at a stranger. I know it's the right foot forward when I say 'yes' to almost everything and 'no' almost never crosses my mind. I know I am right when I ask a question and am answered back in kind. And that's how a conversation begins.
That's all one needs to do to live a life filled with a colourful bouquet of experiences.
Naturally, I went to her place and to help her plant some tomatoes, strawberries, aubergines, and courgettes. On her terrace, there is a heightened platform of about a feet high, and about 4 by 4 in size. The earth in it had to be turned, pebbles removed, little weeds pulled out. A bunch of her other female friends had turned up too.
It turned out to be an afternoon of fun. I was meeting a few women for the first time. But over snacks and tales, we became acquainted and I found solidarity in this group which spanned across different ages and nationalities.
I know I am right when I smile at a stranger. I know it's the right foot forward when I say 'yes' to almost everything and 'no' almost never crosses my mind. I know I am right when I ask a question and am answered back in kind. And that's how a conversation begins.
That's all one needs to do to live a life filled with a colourful bouquet of experiences.
Thursday, January 2, 2014
Time
Time is endless in Your hands, O God. There is none to count Your minutes.
Days and nights pass, and ages bloom and face like flowers. You know how to wait.
Your centuries follow one another in perfecting a small wildflower.
We have no time to lose, and having no time, we must scramble for our chances. We are too poor to be late.
Thus it is that time goes by, while I give it to every querulous person who claims it, and Your altar is empty of all offerings to the last.
At the end of the day, I hasten in fear lest the gate be shut, but I find that there is yet time.
- 'The Heart of God' - Prayers of Rabindranath Tagore,
Selected and edited by Herbert F. Vetter
Thursday, December 19, 2013
Tranquil
I am learning how to use Photoshop for Rasadhwani.
I look outside to see dense fog and rain at 4:30 PM.
There is a bad cold in my head, threatening to spoil the first few days of a short trip we are embarking upon tomorrow.
Last night, at the party announcing Xmas break at drum class, I realized I might be heart broken when we finally have to move back home to India.
Pi's lullaby is on repeat.
There is a soft glow in the room from the lamp besides me.
Another year is coming to an end and I don't mind going down on my knees to say thanks to the powers that are.
I know 2014 is bringing me loads of positiveness and contentment, and I hope you find yours.
I look outside to see dense fog and rain at 4:30 PM.
There is a bad cold in my head, threatening to spoil the first few days of a short trip we are embarking upon tomorrow.
Last night, at the party announcing Xmas break at drum class, I realized I might be heart broken when we finally have to move back home to India.
Pi's lullaby is on repeat.
There is a soft glow in the room from the lamp besides me.
Another year is coming to an end and I don't mind going down on my knees to say thanks to the powers that are.
I know 2014 is bringing me loads of positiveness and contentment, and I hope you find yours.
Saturday, November 23, 2013
The Parisian Affair
(Part 1 and 2 are here and here.)
(This trip officially got over roughly a month and a half ago. That I am writing about it only now shows how lazy I have been about it. Bear with me! When I forget something, I look at pictures, close my eyes, or turn around and ask my husband. It helps that I do not have any major responsibilities bogging me down!)
As we bid goodbye to Germany and drove towards Paris, I felt a little melancholic. We were leaving behind the green mountains, which will soon be barren and ready for the white blanket of snow.
Big city Paris awaited us and I was really looking forward to visiting the city a second time. But it was a long way to go and just as we entered France from Germany, we decided to head to Strasbourg. It was on the way, no detour was required, and it doesn't hurt to spend some time in a new city. Strasbourg is just across the border, a big French city, heavily influenced by German architecture.
We parked near the city centre, walked towards the centre and came across a beautiful music shop selling excellent music. I bought a Brazilian capoeira music CD and my SIL got a classic...I think Bach. I could be wrong.
A walk around town brought us to a cathedral with Gothic architecture and beautiful colored glasses inside. Some pictures of Strasbourg.
I was really excited to see Paris again and see it through a fresh pair of eyes and also see it through my own memory. We left Strasbourg at around 1 that afternoon and estimated the arrival time at Paris around 5 hours later. It took us longer than that. We underestimated driving into the city, through the city. Not only were we met with traffic as we entered the city, but we also had to find our way through the city to our hotel. Small lanes, sometimes uphill, made navigation difficult. Eventually, we reached the hotel reception centre where the receptionist was practically waiting for us at the door. We quickly went through the formalities. We were told the studio used to be Picasso's studio while he lived in this district! My SIL and I decided to walk to the apartment and the guys followed reluctantly by car.
It was late by the time we settled in and we still had to go and deliver the car. We were tired after 2 hours of driving rather aimlessly in city traffic and must have broken a few traffic rules as well. It was absolute horror because we were racing across the city to deliver the car before 11 that night or face being charged for another day and we couldn't find a gas station. We managed fine with a few gentle souls to help us along the way.
I cannot begin to describe the excitement of living in the SAME apartment where Picasso lived! And we had direct, clear view of the Eiffel tower! For the next 4 days, we had unrestricted access to Paris as never before. We were not confined by schedules and maps. My brother and his wife were! But D and I were visiting for the second time and we just walked around, planned around their plans, and soaked in the very unique atmosphere of the city.
One particular moment stands out. D and I were at Sacré-Cœur Basilica in the Montmartre district of Paris. It was around noon. The sun was shining bright and we joined the other tourists and sat at the stairs. Our backs faced the basilica and we had a direct view of the city from the hilltop. There was a artist playing the harp and just as we sat, he started to play the Canon D. Now this tune is so close to my heart and I was in this marvelous city...the moment caught up on me and it was pure magic! I literally teared up behind my glasses!
Over the next few days, we ate pastries, cooked at the studio, stared at the tower from our windows till after midnight, visited Les Invalides and the Catacombs. The fees at the former were a little steep and we stood in line to enter the Catacombs but they stopped entry just when it was our turn. N and S were able to visit it the next day, though. We walked to the Panthéon and we were able to attend the mass service one fine Sunday morning at the Notre Dame Cathedral!
I played guide where I could, we ate ice cream and ate the lovely, hot French-onion soup, listened to artists and stopped to applaud and drop a few coins everywhere we saw them, at metro stations, under bridges, on the roadside. We repeated the bicycle tour we took the first time, in which we cycled around the city for 3 hours as night set upon us and then took a cruise along the Seine. D and I took walk tours and walked around the city with locals showing us the unknown nooks and corners of the city.
If it were possible, I'd be the one getting caught red-handed having a passionate affair with the city. Nothing I say and nothing you read and watch on TV can come close to describing the feeling of being IN the city. Would I live there? Perhaps a younger and careless self would have loved it. But the current self is just happy it got to visit the city a 3rd time, only for a weekend, to watch a dance recital! I planned my weekend in such a way that I allowed only 12 hours under the roof of a friend. The entire time I was out and about, walking along the Seine, sitting by the Eiffel and visiting the Musée d'Orsay.
Anyways, I had to get back to Marseille to commence dance lessons so D and I got back in the morning train and the other two followed at night. We were upon our last leg of this marvelous tour! Like always, when I end a travel post, I realise how lucky I have been to be able to see the places I have and experience these different cultures. An open heart and a smile on the face can get you some very good education.
(This trip officially got over roughly a month and a half ago. That I am writing about it only now shows how lazy I have been about it. Bear with me! When I forget something, I look at pictures, close my eyes, or turn around and ask my husband. It helps that I do not have any major responsibilities bogging me down!)
As we bid goodbye to Germany and drove towards Paris, I felt a little melancholic. We were leaving behind the green mountains, which will soon be barren and ready for the white blanket of snow.
Big city Paris awaited us and I was really looking forward to visiting the city a second time. But it was a long way to go and just as we entered France from Germany, we decided to head to Strasbourg. It was on the way, no detour was required, and it doesn't hurt to spend some time in a new city. Strasbourg is just across the border, a big French city, heavily influenced by German architecture.
We parked near the city centre, walked towards the centre and came across a beautiful music shop selling excellent music. I bought a Brazilian capoeira music CD and my SIL got a classic...I think Bach. I could be wrong.
A walk around town brought us to a cathedral with Gothic architecture and beautiful colored glasses inside. Some pictures of Strasbourg.
It was late by the time we settled in and we still had to go and deliver the car. We were tired after 2 hours of driving rather aimlessly in city traffic and must have broken a few traffic rules as well. It was absolute horror because we were racing across the city to deliver the car before 11 that night or face being charged for another day and we couldn't find a gas station. We managed fine with a few gentle souls to help us along the way.
I cannot begin to describe the excitement of living in the SAME apartment where Picasso lived! And we had direct, clear view of the Eiffel tower! For the next 4 days, we had unrestricted access to Paris as never before. We were not confined by schedules and maps. My brother and his wife were! But D and I were visiting for the second time and we just walked around, planned around their plans, and soaked in the very unique atmosphere of the city.
One particular moment stands out. D and I were at Sacré-Cœur Basilica in the Montmartre district of Paris. It was around noon. The sun was shining bright and we joined the other tourists and sat at the stairs. Our backs faced the basilica and we had a direct view of the city from the hilltop. There was a artist playing the harp and just as we sat, he started to play the Canon D. Now this tune is so close to my heart and I was in this marvelous city...the moment caught up on me and it was pure magic! I literally teared up behind my glasses!
Over the next few days, we ate pastries, cooked at the studio, stared at the tower from our windows till after midnight, visited Les Invalides and the Catacombs. The fees at the former were a little steep and we stood in line to enter the Catacombs but they stopped entry just when it was our turn. N and S were able to visit it the next day, though. We walked to the Panthéon and we were able to attend the mass service one fine Sunday morning at the Notre Dame Cathedral!
I played guide where I could, we ate ice cream and ate the lovely, hot French-onion soup, listened to artists and stopped to applaud and drop a few coins everywhere we saw them, at metro stations, under bridges, on the roadside. We repeated the bicycle tour we took the first time, in which we cycled around the city for 3 hours as night set upon us and then took a cruise along the Seine. D and I took walk tours and walked around the city with locals showing us the unknown nooks and corners of the city.
If it were possible, I'd be the one getting caught red-handed having a passionate affair with the city. Nothing I say and nothing you read and watch on TV can come close to describing the feeling of being IN the city. Would I live there? Perhaps a younger and careless self would have loved it. But the current self is just happy it got to visit the city a 3rd time, only for a weekend, to watch a dance recital! I planned my weekend in such a way that I allowed only 12 hours under the roof of a friend. The entire time I was out and about, walking along the Seine, sitting by the Eiffel and visiting the Musée d'Orsay.
Anyways, I had to get back to Marseille to commence dance lessons so D and I got back in the morning train and the other two followed at night. We were upon our last leg of this marvelous tour! Like always, when I end a travel post, I realise how lucky I have been to be able to see the places I have and experience these different cultures. An open heart and a smile on the face can get you some very good education.
Sunday, November 10, 2013
Too much on my plate is a good thing.
I have yet to write the 3rd and final part of our September trip. It is will be about Paris, the city I have been to once more since the trip, and the French Riviera. I will write about it all soon.
I have been caught up with some stuff. As you might know, my mum and sister run a dance school in Ahmedabad. Rasadhwani is celebrating 25 years and we are planning to celebrate in style. I maintain a blog for Rasadhwani. The idea is to invite people from different backgrounds to talk about art. If you or anyone you know is interested, please send an e-mail to rasadhwani.info@gmail.com.
I started a travel blog about 6 months ago. But it hasn't seen much activity, not for lack of action on the travel front but for the lack of time to maintain 3 blogs. I think I am going to delete it.
Since the beginning of October, I have started teaching Hindi once a week to a 55 year-old Argentinean who is a high-school Spanish teacher, knows 12 different languages including Greek, Hebrew and Yiddish and has written a book on tango. He already knows quite a bit of Hindi. I think I help him revise and get comfortable with the language. He lives in a small apartment , sort of like a loft. All four walls, from ceiling to floor are filled with racks of books. He must easily have close to 2000 books in different languages. It reminds me of Sean Connery's apartment in Finding Forrester. I say I go to teach but one can safely say I come back learning more!
I also take a private dance lesson once a week for an Indian lady. And, D and I go learn afro-brazilian percussion! This has been such a great find!! We absolutely love going there. There are about 5 different types of percussion and we picked the one we liked in the first class and continue to learn on that. It's like playing in a band. If you want to see what I mean, go see this video.
It's cold and windy as I speak. Because of the time of the year, combined with the end of day lights saving, it gets dark earlier. I have been told to watch out for Jan and Feb when it gets really bad. We'll have to wait and see!
I have been caught up with some stuff. As you might know, my mum and sister run a dance school in Ahmedabad. Rasadhwani is celebrating 25 years and we are planning to celebrate in style. I maintain a blog for Rasadhwani. The idea is to invite people from different backgrounds to talk about art. If you or anyone you know is interested, please send an e-mail to rasadhwani.info@gmail.com.
I started a travel blog about 6 months ago. But it hasn't seen much activity, not for lack of action on the travel front but for the lack of time to maintain 3 blogs. I think I am going to delete it.
Since the beginning of October, I have started teaching Hindi once a week to a 55 year-old Argentinean who is a high-school Spanish teacher, knows 12 different languages including Greek, Hebrew and Yiddish and has written a book on tango. He already knows quite a bit of Hindi. I think I help him revise and get comfortable with the language. He lives in a small apartment , sort of like a loft. All four walls, from ceiling to floor are filled with racks of books. He must easily have close to 2000 books in different languages. It reminds me of Sean Connery's apartment in Finding Forrester. I say I go to teach but one can safely say I come back learning more!
I also take a private dance lesson once a week for an Indian lady. And, D and I go learn afro-brazilian percussion! This has been such a great find!! We absolutely love going there. There are about 5 different types of percussion and we picked the one we liked in the first class and continue to learn on that. It's like playing in a band. If you want to see what I mean, go see this video.
It's cold and windy as I speak. Because of the time of the year, combined with the end of day lights saving, it gets dark earlier. I have been told to watch out for Jan and Feb when it gets really bad. We'll have to wait and see!
Sunday, September 29, 2013
Reality bites
Someone hit me, and hit me fast! Tomorrow is Monday and I need to get back to reality. For, after 18 days of travelling and pinching myself to make sure I wasn't dreaming, only a punch in the face can bring me back to the ground.
On our latest trip we had company that we were most grateful for. When we first announced our impending move to France, my brother and his wife were the first to announce and confirm that they'll be visiting us before the year was up. And visit they did! After a few months of deciding which places to visit while they were here (which was some what influenced by travel shows on TV and pictures posted by other people on FB), we picked Switzerland, Black Forest in Germany, Paris and of course Marseille and the French Riviera. It was the first time around in Europe for all of us and we were as excited as we can be!
Except for when they flew in to Zurich, we were on land to get from point to point. We used the Swiss Pass in Switzerland, rented a car to get to Germany and drive around Baden-Baden and onto Paris where we used the lovely metro system, reserved ourselves some seats in the TGV to get back home to Marseille and rented a car again to drive along the southern coast of France.
We reached Switzerland via Geneva on the 13th and met them in Interlaken to begin this memorable adventure. The first few days, they were without fresh clothes since their bags hadn't reached them. But we had loads of extra warm clothing and this little hiccup didn't seem to matter at all.
The first 8 days of our trip looked like the map below. We looked online for cheap, clean places to stay in Interlaken, Lucerne, Baden-Baden and Paris for this leg of the tour. I can say from the bottom of my heart that a little room in a warm, wooden cottage in a village offers more pleasure and adds lovely vignettes to your memories than a standard sized room in a hotel in the middle of a city.
After we spent 5 days in Paris and got back home, we drove to lake Sainte-Croix and the region around it (which the two of us visited some time back and I wrote about it here.) It was very different at this time of the year and we were able to stop at a vineyard to taste some wine and buy a bottle or two! The two-day drive along the coast that we ventured out on looked like the map below. We took the scenic route when we started and took the freeway to get home faster.
I am tired and a little sad because the house is back to its silent self after they left this afternoon. But I have a prayer in my heart for the safe trip we had, for the places we saw and the people we met along the way, for the ability and the means we are given to see these beautiful foreign lands, for the times we spent together, for making our dreams come true. I do not take it for granted one bit. Yes, travel is much more common today than before. Yes, people rattle off names of countries they've visited like they do the months of a year. But that is not for me and I am ever so thankful.
I'll post some pictures soon and try and talk about how each place was different from the other.
On our latest trip we had company that we were most grateful for. When we first announced our impending move to France, my brother and his wife were the first to announce and confirm that they'll be visiting us before the year was up. And visit they did! After a few months of deciding which places to visit while they were here (which was some what influenced by travel shows on TV and pictures posted by other people on FB), we picked Switzerland, Black Forest in Germany, Paris and of course Marseille and the French Riviera. It was the first time around in Europe for all of us and we were as excited as we can be!
Except for when they flew in to Zurich, we were on land to get from point to point. We used the Swiss Pass in Switzerland, rented a car to get to Germany and drive around Baden-Baden and onto Paris where we used the lovely metro system, reserved ourselves some seats in the TGV to get back home to Marseille and rented a car again to drive along the southern coast of France.
We reached Switzerland via Geneva on the 13th and met them in Interlaken to begin this memorable adventure. The first few days, they were without fresh clothes since their bags hadn't reached them. But we had loads of extra warm clothing and this little hiccup didn't seem to matter at all.
The first 8 days of our trip looked like the map below. We looked online for cheap, clean places to stay in Interlaken, Lucerne, Baden-Baden and Paris for this leg of the tour. I can say from the bottom of my heart that a little room in a warm, wooden cottage in a village offers more pleasure and adds lovely vignettes to your memories than a standard sized room in a hotel in the middle of a city.
After we spent 5 days in Paris and got back home, we drove to lake Sainte-Croix and the region around it (which the two of us visited some time back and I wrote about it here.) It was very different at this time of the year and we were able to stop at a vineyard to taste some wine and buy a bottle or two! The two-day drive along the coast that we ventured out on looked like the map below. We took the scenic route when we started and took the freeway to get home faster.
I am tired and a little sad because the house is back to its silent self after they left this afternoon. But I have a prayer in my heart for the safe trip we had, for the places we saw and the people we met along the way, for the ability and the means we are given to see these beautiful foreign lands, for the times we spent together, for making our dreams come true. I do not take it for granted one bit. Yes, travel is much more common today than before. Yes, people rattle off names of countries they've visited like they do the months of a year. But that is not for me and I am ever so thankful.
I'll post some pictures soon and try and talk about how each place was different from the other.
Friday, September 6, 2013
Hello...
It's like someone turned on a switch which made the crowds disappear, the heat more bearable, evenings shorter and the nights chillier. The music, which earlier sounded of cheerful beats and choruses is now mournful, accompanied by a trumpet and a rasta crooning songs of longing. In the past one week itself we heard of a couple of shootings around town. Seems like they too were waiting for the happy summer to pass. Everyone is now back to business!
For tomorrow, the city is preparing for a parade of the sail boats big and small. We will go watch this from the Pharo, a fort with an advantage of height and a direct view of the bay. Sunday brings in the VIVACITE, when I am putting up a performance. (Do watch out for yours truly in the video provided in the link!) I finally got my residency card and am much relieved that I'll be able to travel outside France without any worry. The end of next week brings my brother and his wife to Europe. I look forward to it. If it were left to me, I would load all my favourite people in a van and drive them across the world to my place here. And I would house them with me and I would cook for them delicious food that encourages heady conversations around dining tables.
A couple of weeks ago, we went hiking along a trail just outside Marseille. We were more keen on seeing a calanque. So after about 1/2 an hour of walking when we realized we were moving away from the coast, we turned back and made a beeline for the sea. It was rough, there was a chill in the air, it was very windy, and fortunately the sun was out. You know that place where you go to relax and gather your thoughts, that place that you can call your own? I think I found mine.
For tomorrow, the city is preparing for a parade of the sail boats big and small. We will go watch this from the Pharo, a fort with an advantage of height and a direct view of the bay. Sunday brings in the VIVACITE, when I am putting up a performance. (Do watch out for yours truly in the video provided in the link!) I finally got my residency card and am much relieved that I'll be able to travel outside France without any worry. The end of next week brings my brother and his wife to Europe. I look forward to it. If it were left to me, I would load all my favourite people in a van and drive them across the world to my place here. And I would house them with me and I would cook for them delicious food that encourages heady conversations around dining tables.
A couple of weeks ago, we went hiking along a trail just outside Marseille. We were more keen on seeing a calanque. So after about 1/2 an hour of walking when we realized we were moving away from the coast, we turned back and made a beeline for the sea. It was rough, there was a chill in the air, it was very windy, and fortunately the sun was out. You know that place where you go to relax and gather your thoughts, that place that you can call your own? I think I found mine.
Thursday, July 18, 2013
Put the gods in the check-in, please.
If you've read my criticism of Tirupati, you'd chastise and think the worst of this Hindu/ Brahmin/ Shaivite female. But let me give you a reason to think otherwise. Or add to your reprimand of me.
The first time I was packing all of my stuff into big bags was when I was to move to Bangalore where I was to settle after marriage. Mum gave me a packet of cotton wicks and a pouch with silver pooja samaan in it. Now that I think of it, she must have given me those to make some point. One of her two daughters out of three children was moving away to make a world of her own and she had to make sure she was armed with the right things. We did not grow up in a religious environment. But mum did believe in a little havan once in a while, and she never failed to light diyas twice a day. Only when she wouldn't want to break the flow of whatever she was doing (mostly writing/reading for her doctorate), she'd ask us to light it. Nothing was enforced upon us.
The scenario surrounding temple visits is quite laughable. Our apartment shared a wall with a temple. I have seen that temple grow STEADILY. While as a child, I never understood how, I think I have a fair idea now. I don't remember a single day when my mum visited. Her entire life, she has visited only two temples, and they turn out to be her late mother's favorites. Religious festivals at this temple behind our house meant blaring loud speakers, which was a constant point of annoyance during exams. On an occasion or two, Daddy may have gone and cut the electric wires that connected to the sound system.
The second time I was packing my stuff was 2.5 years later, to make a move half way across the world to spend a year in Atlanta in the U.S. By now, my religious sensitivities had expanded a bit to include those of my husband's family's. That meant visiting a temple once in a while. There was a corner in the kitchen cabinet with photo frames of various gods, some vermilion and the requirements needed to light diyas. Only I know the number of times that corner was used...mostly before embarking upon journeys - "Keep the house safe, may we return home safely, may we face no obstacles". My mother-in-law did not enforce upon me a thing and I saw that my husband was quite cool about the whole deal. To carry with me to the U.S., she made sure I packed these gods. Pappa wrapped them in newspaper. Again, that omnipresent packet of wicks from my mum, some small books. Again, I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I used those wicks. (There were Indian stores in Atlanta that housed an abundance of anything you'd want for any religious activity. So it turned out no one should have worried, really!)
Within a few months of our return, we booked our first flat and I knew what I wanted from both sets of parents. From my mother, I asked for a set of books of hymns, slokas, the works. From D's mother, I asked for a small wooden mandir to be built when the flat was ready. She was very moved because she had thought of the same thing. By now, I was lighting diyas at least once a day. What was it? Was I finally becoming 'religious'? I think it was my way of asking for help, forgiveness, saying thanks...all-in-one. I must agree, there is a sense of sukoon in lighting diyas. Whenever D's parents came and stayed with us, I made sure to ask mum to light the diya in the morning because I know how much a part of her life it is, this activity.
The third time I found myself packing my stuff was 3 years later when we were moving to Marseille, where we are currently. This time, due to a very limited baggage allowance, I carried only two photo frames of gods, a male and a female (!!). I thought I had carried that packet of cotton wicks, but it turned out I hadn't. Was I fretful and disturbed? No. By now, I had come to realize the ease with which I can come across things to feed my sense of faith. I thought I will, one day, yearn for some religious permanence in daily life. But my photo-framed companions are gathering dust, I am afraid to say.
With no routine to follow and no need to rush through the day, I have observed the seasonal changes. I have seen and experienced smiles and greeting and friendliness in the eyes of strangers. Every evening, depending on how low the fiery ball of fire is in the horizon, any one - and only one - of the thousand windowpanes in this part of the city catches that fierce orange light. There I see the diya...and I pay my respects.
The first time I was packing all of my stuff into big bags was when I was to move to Bangalore where I was to settle after marriage. Mum gave me a packet of cotton wicks and a pouch with silver pooja samaan in it. Now that I think of it, she must have given me those to make some point. One of her two daughters out of three children was moving away to make a world of her own and she had to make sure she was armed with the right things. We did not grow up in a religious environment. But mum did believe in a little havan once in a while, and she never failed to light diyas twice a day. Only when she wouldn't want to break the flow of whatever she was doing (mostly writing/reading for her doctorate), she'd ask us to light it. Nothing was enforced upon us.
The scenario surrounding temple visits is quite laughable. Our apartment shared a wall with a temple. I have seen that temple grow STEADILY. While as a child, I never understood how, I think I have a fair idea now. I don't remember a single day when my mum visited. Her entire life, she has visited only two temples, and they turn out to be her late mother's favorites. Religious festivals at this temple behind our house meant blaring loud speakers, which was a constant point of annoyance during exams. On an occasion or two, Daddy may have gone and cut the electric wires that connected to the sound system.
The second time I was packing my stuff was 2.5 years later, to make a move half way across the world to spend a year in Atlanta in the U.S. By now, my religious sensitivities had expanded a bit to include those of my husband's family's. That meant visiting a temple once in a while. There was a corner in the kitchen cabinet with photo frames of various gods, some vermilion and the requirements needed to light diyas. Only I know the number of times that corner was used...mostly before embarking upon journeys - "Keep the house safe, may we return home safely, may we face no obstacles". My mother-in-law did not enforce upon me a thing and I saw that my husband was quite cool about the whole deal. To carry with me to the U.S., she made sure I packed these gods. Pappa wrapped them in newspaper. Again, that omnipresent packet of wicks from my mum, some small books. Again, I can count on the fingers of one hand the number of times I used those wicks. (There were Indian stores in Atlanta that housed an abundance of anything you'd want for any religious activity. So it turned out no one should have worried, really!)
Within a few months of our return, we booked our first flat and I knew what I wanted from both sets of parents. From my mother, I asked for a set of books of hymns, slokas, the works. From D's mother, I asked for a small wooden mandir to be built when the flat was ready. She was very moved because she had thought of the same thing. By now, I was lighting diyas at least once a day. What was it? Was I finally becoming 'religious'? I think it was my way of asking for help, forgiveness, saying thanks...all-in-one. I must agree, there is a sense of sukoon in lighting diyas. Whenever D's parents came and stayed with us, I made sure to ask mum to light the diya in the morning because I know how much a part of her life it is, this activity.
The third time I found myself packing my stuff was 3 years later when we were moving to Marseille, where we are currently. This time, due to a very limited baggage allowance, I carried only two photo frames of gods, a male and a female (!!). I thought I had carried that packet of cotton wicks, but it turned out I hadn't. Was I fretful and disturbed? No. By now, I had come to realize the ease with which I can come across things to feed my sense of faith. I thought I will, one day, yearn for some religious permanence in daily life. But my photo-framed companions are gathering dust, I am afraid to say.
With no routine to follow and no need to rush through the day, I have observed the seasonal changes. I have seen and experienced smiles and greeting and friendliness in the eyes of strangers. Every evening, depending on how low the fiery ball of fire is in the horizon, any one - and only one - of the thousand windowpanes in this part of the city catches that fierce orange light. There I see the diya...and I pay my respects.
Monday, July 15, 2013
Let's backtrack...
14th July, 2013
Bastille Day, I think, is synonymous to August 15th, 1947. Except that the common French kicked royalty and the church in their respective butts when they decided to revolt about 2 centuries ago. The essence of the revolt is probably lost, as is the case with most countries whose forefathers fought colonialism to gain independence. That does not deter the French from celebrating their national day with pomp and fanfare!
We are so lucky to living bang in the middle of the city where ALL the action takes place. In the evening, we got a glimpse of the airshow they were conducting near the beach. We were told to watch out for fireworks later that night. I thought we'll get a good look from the window in our living room. D thought we ought to go out and see them. So around 9:00 last night we headed out with the camera and walked around to get a good place to sit and that offered a good view.
As is the case with celebrations in Vieux Port, restaurants were loaded with people, terraces were filled with people enjoying their private BBQ parties, roads were blocked to vehicular traffic and everybody was literally pouring onto the streets.
Once we found a place to sit, we settled and waited patiently for the 2- minute fireworks display to start. At the exact moment it was about to start, they shut the street lights and the show began. I cannot begin to explain the magnanimity of the event nor the scale at which it was being conducted. Huge lights, lasers, synchronized music and fireworks...that's what we saw for the next 25 minutes. It was enthralling, to say the least!
Videos and pictures do not do justice. But go here and here for a glimpse.
6th July, 2013
Bastille Day, I think, is synonymous to August 15th, 1947. Except that the common French kicked royalty and the church in their respective butts when they decided to revolt about 2 centuries ago. The essence of the revolt is probably lost, as is the case with most countries whose forefathers fought colonialism to gain independence. That does not deter the French from celebrating their national day with pomp and fanfare!
We are so lucky to living bang in the middle of the city where ALL the action takes place. In the evening, we got a glimpse of the airshow they were conducting near the beach. We were told to watch out for fireworks later that night. I thought we'll get a good look from the window in our living room. D thought we ought to go out and see them. So around 9:00 last night we headed out with the camera and walked around to get a good place to sit and that offered a good view.
As is the case with celebrations in Vieux Port, restaurants were loaded with people, terraces were filled with people enjoying their private BBQ parties, roads were blocked to vehicular traffic and everybody was literally pouring onto the streets.
Once we found a place to sit, we settled and waited patiently for the 2- minute fireworks display to start. At the exact moment it was about to start, they shut the street lights and the show began. I cannot begin to explain the magnanimity of the event nor the scale at which it was being conducted. Huge lights, lasers, synchronized music and fireworks...that's what we saw for the next 25 minutes. It was enthralling, to say the least!
Videos and pictures do not do justice. But go here and here for a glimpse.
 |
| Calling it a night... |
Lavender blooms around this time of the year. Fields of purple hue are left to fully bloom till they are harvested by the end of July. From the time they start appearing till they are harvested, there is a window of opportunity of about 2-3 weeks to go see these beautiful flowers, take pictures and trample around the French country side.
After twice being told to delay the visit by a week because they hadn't bloom as fully, we finally went the week before last to check what the whole deal is. There are conducted day tours and since we do not own a car, we thought this the best option.
With 20 other tourists of American and Chinese origin and a very knowledgeable guide, we spent the day viewing lavender fields in Plateau of Valensole, understanding the history of the area, visiting Moustiers-Ste-Marie, a medieval village where ceramic ware is made and sold. The surprise was the Sainte Croix Lake, created by a dam. You are not allowed to use motorized boats, thus keep the water pollution-free. It's the peak of summer and the lake was full of people swimming, boating, jumping off the cliffs. It was lovely and made me yearn for such places back home where the community comes together to enjoy and appreciate nature.
This region, Provence, is marvelous!
This region, Provence, is marvelous!
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| Lavender and olive trees |
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| The darker in lavendine, the lighter lavender. Both have different purposes. |
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| Wheat and lavender side-by-side |
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| Moustiers-Ste-Marie perched up those cliffs |
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| Church in M-S-M |
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| Alps ka THANDA pani |
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| Lake St. Croix |
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| The combination of the sun and the minerals the water brings out this colour |
3rd July, 2013
The finish line of the 5th Stage of Tour de France was in Marseille and I was able to go see them. The main event was preluded by a lot of fanfare and companies giving out freebies. It was a fantastic moment to see them as they swooshed past you.
I was able to take a video and this picture just as they took that turn!
As you can see, it's been a good summer so far!
Monday, July 1, 2013
Coincidences...
...I love!
1. On Sunday, I was checking out books on flipkart. I searched for 'The Count of Monte Cristo'. They had a sample from the e-book version. I clicked on the first chapter which turned out to 'The Arrival at Marseilles', which is where I am at currently!
2. Yesterday afternoon, I watched 'The Shawshank Redemption'. In the night, they made a reference to the movie in the sit-com 'The New Girl', S02E01, which I have seen already once before. But last night I picked it randomly to pass some time before sleep!
3. Watching 'The English Patient' this afternoon led me to read about Ralph Fiennes on Wikipedia, which told me he has also acted in the movie 'The Constant Gardener', the book version of which I am reading currently!
:)
1. On Sunday, I was checking out books on flipkart. I searched for 'The Count of Monte Cristo'. They had a sample from the e-book version. I clicked on the first chapter which turned out to 'The Arrival at Marseilles', which is where I am at currently!
2. Yesterday afternoon, I watched 'The Shawshank Redemption'. In the night, they made a reference to the movie in the sit-com 'The New Girl', S02E01, which I have seen already once before. But last night I picked it randomly to pass some time before sleep!
3. Watching 'The English Patient' this afternoon led me to read about Ralph Fiennes on Wikipedia, which told me he has also acted in the movie 'The Constant Gardener', the book version of which I am reading currently!
:)
Tuesday, May 14, 2013
Paris
I thought Marseille felt historical...and then I went to Paris.
What can I say that's not already been told about this beautiful city? We played tourists here; went up and down its many 'rues'; gawked, admired, stared at, counted the maze that is the Eiffel, came back amazed by its mind-boggling metro network and are now raring to go back.
History lessons under trees, while eating ice-cream, while cycling amidst vehicular and foot traffic, while walking in the lesser known parts of the city...I couldn't have asked for a better class!
Watching street artists performing their act while waiting for the Eiffel to light up, experiencing the shouts of delight around you when it finally does, listening to Native Indian music and wondering how they arrived in a city so far from home....that was first-time Paris for me, now tightly stored into a corner of my mind, to be pulled out when nostalgia strikes!
What can I say that's not already been told about this beautiful city? We played tourists here; went up and down its many 'rues'; gawked, admired, stared at, counted the maze that is the Eiffel, came back amazed by its mind-boggling metro network and are now raring to go back.
History lessons under trees, while eating ice-cream, while cycling amidst vehicular and foot traffic, while walking in the lesser known parts of the city...I couldn't have asked for a better class!
Watching street artists performing their act while waiting for the Eiffel to light up, experiencing the shouts of delight around you when it finally does, listening to Native Indian music and wondering how they arrived in a city so far from home....that was first-time Paris for me, now tightly stored into a corner of my mind, to be pulled out when nostalgia strikes!
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| The first view...teasing you from behinds the trees |
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| Art work/ maze/ just a piece of metal |
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| Volatile Seine |
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| Ceiling somewhere inside the Louvre |
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| Louvre which was formerly a palace |
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| Love locks on the Pont des Art |
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| Cycling by Louvre at dusk |
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| 'Light me up' - view from the boat |
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| Versailles palace |
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| Dome at Gallerie Laffayete |
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| Antique market - where a small Iranian rug sold for 1000 euros! |
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| Trinkets |
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| Leather bound books! |
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| Pastries at the 'Fete de Pain' celebrating 850 years of the Notre Dame |
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| Shakespeare and Co.!!!! |
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| The famous university |
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| Rickshaws!!! |
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| Guide the way... |
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| Oscar Wilde's grave |
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| JRD and his parents laid to rest here |
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