Cold Mountain

It’s cold and rugged and cruel. The atmosphere in a little village up in the mountains somewhere in Western America. During the Civil War.

When deserters are shot, able men have to be in the Army..dont understand then why some men are left behind to kill and loot and take the law in their hands.

Renée Zellweger consents to look ugly and terrible in the part of hardworking farm labourer, swaddled in thick layers and wearing boots and striding around in uncombed hair. But she did win an award for this I think.

Nicole Kidman wears almost the same things but can her beauty ever be swaddled. She shines through as an idealistic young girl waiting for her 'true love' with so much belief and passion.

And it does win through. 3 of her 103 letters get through and Inman (it sounds so Muslim) battles through hostile country to reach her, scarred from his experiences.

This movie is a lot about strong women and a little about bestial men.
On the way, Inman takes shelter with several people. Different little stories.
One a preacher who is crying because he 'has to' kill the slave girl he has impregnated. One old woman lives by herself in the forest with a couple of goats who nurses him through a gun wound. One moment she is petting the goat and the next, she drives a knife neatly into it.
Another lone woman who has lost her husband and lives with her baby and cant understand her own craving for human warmth in his form.

But essentially its success is in the thread of love that stays and persists against all odds. Or gives a meaning to life which is bleak otherwise.

Are all the great stories of the world love stories?

On Small Remedies

My mother died when she was 55. I heard my grandmother who was 75, moan the passing of a child before her own end. And it came to me, that it must be a terrible thing to see your child die; to see the body lie perfectly still, to see ‘her’ become an ‘it’ to be taken away for ever.

I don’t know if one can truly understand the emotion from the outside. Shashi Deshpande tells one how it can be in Small Remedies. To lose a beloved child; one who was the centre of existence and then to deal with the guilt and the nothingness thereafter.

Small remedies are the remedies we try so hopefully and routinely and sometimes desperately to stave off bad luck and invite some good. The mango thoranams, the rituals to ward off the evil eye, the prayers and offerings to gods and saints, the fasts.
But they can’t keep the big troubles at bay, can they?

Madhu, the protagonist of the book tries hard. Like the hero of Joseph Heller’s Something Happened, she knows something is going to happen and tries all the Small Remedies she can to keep it at bay.

She embraces marriage and motherhood wholeheartedly only to be bereaved of both roles suddenly. How she recuperates slowly in the house of a young couple watching their love and writing the story of a legendary singer is the thread of the book.

There are many rooms in the mind of the protagonist, Madhu. She lifts the curtain to one room, gives us a glimpse and skips to the next coming back to the first only later. There are many unexpected corners to turn and rooms to explore .We get the story in little glimpses that keep us enthralled and immersed. A story teller who is not linear but who narrates in colorful kaleidoscope allowing the reader to put the story together in her own mind.

Madhu traces the stories of two greats - each so different from the other. One, a singer who steps across a conservative threshold to make her way in the world of music to die a legend; while the other, her aunt, is a social worker and union leader who finds love in an unlikely person. Women who strive to break the invisible barriers and what they each give up to get what they want.

Shashi Desphande is a woman writer writing of women and their lives. Of their thoughts and their relationships with people. In so many intimate, telling flashes, that you think, this is so true.

There are many females in her books. And you almost always recognise each one of them as someone you know. Sometimes you see a bit of each in yourself.

Each character is etched out in the way they speak and behave. Clothes are hardly mentioned, appearances almost never except where necessary; as of the beautiful singer who has to be beautiful to hold the stage and men. She doesn’t judge but portrays them in completeness even though they may appear as glimpses.

Food is incidental except for the occasional hot ginger chai drunk in rain while trees and young growing things are mentioned with passion

The relationships within couples which keep changing - between Som and Madhu – Tony and Rekha – Latha and Hari - Leela and Joe teach us life can never be static between two people. The one that stays nebulous is between the singer and her tabla player. But then, the singer never does become real.

The nuances of life keep turning up in unexpected ways – ‘thin white limbs as Munni runs to relieve herself behind a bush ‘; Hari studying the problem of where to place a bucket when it starts raining to catch the drips - so many little glimpses of life that ring true.

The story holds you and slowly leads you on. It is a book to be sipped slowly and relished, not to be read in one gulp to get to the end. Because you know this is a picture of a slice of life and its not going anywhere.

Some books match our mood of life at the moment. And this one met mine.

posted on zine5 on Nov 29, 2007

Ocean's Eleven

Probably anyone reading this would think 'where has she been?' but I thought Ocean's Eleven had something to do with a ship on an ocean. All I knew was there were lot of big names in it; and Julia Roberts.And there was a lot of hype.

It is a charming movie, James Bond style. Lots of macho style precision with laser beams, vaults, gaming tables, punch lines, cool guys who dont flap,even a cyclotron type of machine.

The heist is of course the strong point of the movie with lots of suprises turning up when you are expecting the usual. It kept me glued resulting in a couple of burnt pans and a rather disgruntled husband since he likes his wife to keep her attention on his dinner instead of rushing off between dosais to see what's happening next.

Julia Roberts is hardly there except to look fabulous and to provide a story point.

Would a husband exchange his wife for millions of dollars or rupees? I think he would. If it were Julia Roberts? :-))

Cough, Cold and fever

Vipasana is a sort of yoga practice when you isolate yourself mentally from the world for 10 days. You don’t speak, read, write or do anything. You are alone with yourself and your thoughts.

Well, it’s been a vipasana like existence for me for the past few days.

A hoarse throat should have warned me to keep quiet. Over the past week, I had a different engagement everyday with different people. I blithely poured out my croaky voice and thoughts on a lot of friends, who being friends, didn’t seem to mind. Or put up with it gamely. I was game too, eating everything laid out especially the icecream, of which I get very little back home.

Retribution did strike and hard.

Nose and eyes that didn’t stop watering, a cough right out from the movies had me staggering around clutching wash basin and stomach alternately. Not to mention a voice that wouldn’t come out.

Sadly, it really doesn’t have to was what I discovered.

If people called, they rang off in a couple of minutes, saying I‘ll call you later very cheerfully instead of commiserating deeply with my woes.
My husband didn’t really seem to mind me not talking to him at all. In a strange way, he seemed relieved not to have to listen to my insightful comments on life while he read whatever he read. When I said complainingly ‘why don’t you listen, my throat hurts when I have to repeat it’, he said ‘why say it at all? ‘ Very Buddha istic.
My maid was glad she could get on with her chores without instructions or comments.
My kids roared with laughter, saying ‘ma, icecream at your age!’ ‘Okay, what are you doing?’ was what they asked; not seeming to understand that here I was prostrated by this deadly germ.

Thank God for the internet, so I can sound off on my own without sound bytes.

Attack!

“What’s the time,” he asked. I answered.

“What’s your name,” he asked. “None of your business” I said.

He came closer and I was getting jittery. His eyes looked red. He meant business.
“I only want 500 Rs., ” he said.
“I don’t have it, don’t come near me”

The next minute I was grappling with his arms.
Screaming ‘help’ (like some bloody English woman) and what else I can’t recall.
I was dragging him along to the hotel nearby.
I found myself on my back on the road and I was thinking “God I don’t want him to jump on me”. I struggled to get up before he did.

He had moved a couple of feet away. I found a stone and threw it at him.

He was saying’ don’t scream like this. I only did it for fun..thappa ninaikaathenga”
I was saying, “come to the hotel with me, naye”

I stayed safely 10’ away while I looked for stones to throw at him. He left while I stood there shaking.

After a few minutes I heard the sound of voices. I went down the road to see if he had some friends, or someone could catch him. He was not to be seen.

I didn’t kick him in the groin, I didn’t give him an elbow twist or punch him as all these manuals tell you to do. At that moment, you are not really thinking.

What I remember is physical fear. Some primitive thing that pops up when a male becomes aggressive. He was thin and young. Maybe I could have beaten him up. Maybe chased him and got him punished by whoever was passing by. But I wanted to get away.

I went to the hotel nearby to tell the security. It could happen to their guests. The security person was happy that I was talking to him and not really taking in anything. “Our guests go by car,” he said. Why didn’t you go by auto?”
What we see in the movies when people run from pillar to post after rape or injustice seemed so true in my mind.

That this could happen to me, in our peaceful town is still mind boggling. On a road I have been walking for so many years. He could have been some junkie taking a risk.

I don’t want to tell my family.” why do you walk along that lonely road you owl,” is what they would say.

It seems like a dream. Bu the ache in my arms and my thumbs that got twisted are good reminders. And he could have slipped a knife in easily, is something I don’t want to think about.

Dancing

What is it that makes some people move with a natural grace and the unlucky among us miss out on this life-richening trait? With singing you can understand that you either have it or don’t. But is it so with dancing too?

Watching groups of performers, the eye is naturally attracted to one or two of them. A wise choreographer usually puts them in front.

They know the moves, they are concentrating on them and do it well with what looks like effortless ease, they don’t seem to have inhibitions, they like what they are doing and are happy about it all.

Oh well.

Children's Day

Being asked to hoist the National flag is an honour; however blasé one pretends to be. Since I don’t try to be blasé anyway, I was very thrilled. I looked out for a saree in orange and green though my daughter said she didn’t see any connection actually since it was Children’s day. I said it was at least colorful.

The kids were even more colorful, many of them in their Deepavali best ready to perform dances. Most of the clothes had glittering zari on them, further embellished by gilded jewellery and bright lipstick.

One song was from Dhoom2, and the dance moves from TV, showing us what national integration is about.

There were lots of little boys yelling out their speeches loudly about Nehru, tree planting and whatever the teachers thought appropriate. In a village school, many of the children are not shy and are bursting to show their prowess. When the littlest boys were reciting, I could make out it was in English only because I couldn’t understand it at all.

But all of them pushed and shoved in an effort to come up close to me and wish me Good morning. It is something inborn in us to make our presence felt. A friend had been asking me why we always feel we have to say something in a crowd, why we have to make a remark, voice our opinion? We know it’s futile anyway and it’s not going to change anyone else’s stance. But still something makes us say something, anything so other people ‘see us’.

After a while, when the heat and the noise got too much, I wanted to go home. The games were going on by then, sack races, lime and spoon and obstacle races. I did feel rather guilty about breaking up the occasion a little. But I kind of justified it to myself saying actually, my presence didn’t make a difference.

We distributed the prizes- soap boxes, pens and pencils. The teachers had to deal with a lot of little ones clamoring for prizes too. How do they cope? We had tea and I came home with a feel of a morning well spent.

Diwali

We had a good diwali. About 15 of us gathered to make it memorable. And it was worth the effort of traveling from different places to be together.

When I ask around, most people said Diwali day was not very exciting. In nuclear families, festivals are getting more and more boring. Rituals and activities are getting shortened. People are in a rush to finish things so they can relax in front of the TV. Which seems to have replaced our socializing.

Kids are the biggest change. Crackers, new clothes, sweets- they are not too interested in anything. They have a surfeit of stuff throughout the year so what is so special about this day? And they really don’t want to come out with you and visit people they find 'boring' and hardly know. They can’t bring up the excitement we were suffused with. And that depressed parents all the more.

The times have changed. And we have to find new rituals to replace the old to make these occasions happy ones.

Dick Francis - Under Orders

Its very sad and disconcerting when you go 'off' an author you've enjoyed for years. Dick Francis has been a prime favorite for years. I would walk for miles to get one.
But now his latest, Under Orders seems so so-so.

I don't know whether I have moved on or he has become a little stale but I just read through this book fast.

I can see some changes in him though. Before, the hero never found true love. The lover would move on or they would quarrel ..it was never happy married domesticity. But Francis seems to have mellowed in this department.

"To love someone is a delight, to be loved back as well is a joy beyond measure.”

Well, well, who would expect it of cynical, one armed, steel hearted Sid Halley or Dick.

Another change is little nuggets of information. Dick's books always have a theme- aero taxis, guns, jewellery business, wine making, art, glass blowing- for which he does a lot of research besides the constant background of horse racing. But now he digresses from the story to include bits of history.

The sharp sentences, the wit, the pain filled climax, the analysis of why the villain is what he is, human insights are all there.
Hopefully I will get to enjoy it all once more.

Letting Go

I’ve been giving away things, big and small recently and they never stayed in my mind. But giving away the old TV is reverberating in my mind. It’s like parting with a member of the family. That might seem an exaggerated statement but in the Indian context, many people can identify with it.

The first TV is a major event in a middle class family especially in one which started out about 25 years ago. I remember buying this Tv with so much hope and excitement, on installment. It brought so much of the outside world, so much entertainment into our lives when we were largely housebound with 2 young children.

Now that we have a sleeker version and my mother-in-law is long gone, we really don’t need a second TV in a household of two people. So, the decision to let it go.

And relishing the excitement of the maid and her young family makes me relive all that excitement we had long ago.

A Beautiful Relationship

I was chatting with Vanaja. About relationships.
She was feeling sad that her son seemed to be immersed with his wife and new son and seemed to have moved away from his parents. The Parent-child relationship is something that doesn’t improve but only grows downwards, she said. Sons seem to feel that parents can take care of themselves. And they get caught up with their own families, however close they may have been before.

Every relationship needs space. And you find you can only realte best with yourself as time goes. You have to go inwards,she said. Is that like finding God, or your Self ?I asked . Whatever, but still you can only find peace within you.

So I was asking her, doesn’t true love exist? What is true love but Love that endures for a lifetime?

And then we heard Mr and Mrs Pilgin were outside so we rushed out. Ms. Pilgin is one of those legends. She brought up the whole Toda community even battling with Nehru once. Brought up by Xtian missionaries, she went to Germany to learn nursing, came back to fight, cajole and push her community out of its decadence.
Her bright nature attracted Wiederman, 15 years her junior, who married her and came to Ooty to establish a farm and settle down into lively domestic life with her.

Now more than 50 years down the line. She’s practically immobile after a couple of heart attacks and strokes and the devotion with which he looks after her! Devotes himself to making her comfortable, shifting her around and talking to her, though she responds little.

And he is so cheerful and sweet about it, cracking jokes and loving her.

Another person of the same mold was my cousin Babu, who came to stay for a week this summer. I remember his very intelligent and attractive wife, declaring proudly ‘he dotes on me’ 25 years ago, when he broke family norms to marry out of community.
They moved to England and she developed Multiple sclerosis. Now she is moved from bed to wheel chair, propped in front of a tv, fed spoon by spoon, and pampered with day and night creams.

There is something very special when men take to looking after their wives. Maybe it’s because nurturing is not the gender role usually allotted to them. No one remarks very much when women do the caring. Maybe we do it bad grace. Or minus the jokes and the camradiere. Maybe its just the different way we view men and women.

Still, these are very special men and very special relationships.