Pretty Woman, Walking Down the Street

Ok, today is another Monday filled with very serious errands to do : go to the bank to give the Head Manager some details as to how things are going for us in terms of the registration of the company, ask him if in his clients he knows some textile manufacturers and go check out a clothing store Uma had recommended to us.

We won't even ask about internet.

As always, since our arrival, M. Mouli (the Bank's Head Manager) gives us precious information as to whom we may be able to contact in the textile business. We are to meet with him again on Wednesday so that he can give us the necessary phone numbers and names. In any case, it becomes more and more apparent that we will have to travel up north, to Kannur (Kerala), Madras and Bangalore if we want to see how the fabrics our made.

Next stop, "Ethnic Weaves", brand new fabric store that is supposed to have it all. It certainly comes very close. The store has two sides : one is comprised of textiles that are sold as Dupattas (shawls) and that can be made into shirts or tops. The other one deals with sarees and fabric to make three piece suits (top, pants and shawl). Marie and I are floored by the beauty of the textiles : raw silk, jude silk, cotton, pashmina, plain color, block imprints, weaves, etc...Marie does not resist and buys herself four beautiful shawls.

During our exploration of this wondrous land, we are approached by a very fashionable woman. It turns out that Frida (that is her name) is the owner of the store. Ensues a conversation where we briefly explain to her that we are also here to start a line of clothing. At that point, something absolutely incredible happens, Friday tells us it might be interesting if we worked together with her. What an amazing thing to have thought and to have said. Of course, Marie and I immediately see and understand the implications such a partnership might have and, as we move on to the next store, where we discover more beautiful fabrics, we completely forget Frida and plunge into the world of clothes.

And for the first time since our arrival, we decide to have outfits made (there is a tailor at the shop, of course).

Like Julia Roberts in "Pretty Woman", Marie and I spend hours chosing our fabric, posing and giggling with delight, feeling like true "ladies".

I'll Have a Pinch of Culture With That Please

It rained heavily early this morning. Heavily enough that I opened one eye only to see daybreak and to hear a continuous flow of raindrops.

Marie and I want to do something cultural today. Trivandrum has a well-known museum so we were thinking of visiting it. Unfortunately, Justin tells us it is closed. Well then, we'll go and see a very famous temple which is located just on the outskirts of the city : the Sree Padmanabhava Swami Temple, dedicated to Krishan and the Snake God Anantha.

And, low and behold! A ray of hope amidst the low sky and ticklish wind, Marie and I see working men stopping in front of our home, installing the internet cable connection!!!!!

In my case, all I had to do was to think to myself last night, on the way to the theater, that the best thing was not fight and just give up hope, plain and simple. Now, see!!! Something concrete!!! As Marie remarked, now, maybe we will have internet in two weeks instead of three.....

Off we go to the temple, zipping along in the little rickshaw. A pause to reflect on how much I love rickshaws : they always make me think of these superpowered, highly intelligent flies that just speedily buzz along the roads. As I was saying, our superpowered fly drops us off in front of the temple and we find ourselves under a blazing sun, with the main street leading up to the building, deserted and dusty. An occasional open souvenir stall doesn't even bring life to the atmosphere : the gadgets as well as their sellers are quietly dozing in the shade.

A little man gives us a tour of the building. I warn Marie that it isn't out of spontaneity that he is doing this but to get money. She accepts the implicit deal.

Although the monument is quite old and is guilded with intrisic details, I find it rather basic and not the best example of historic Indian architecture as we may think of. After the tour finished, a couple of pictures taken with our guide and a rather large tip, Marie and I are off to explore the surroundings of the temple.

In front of it has been built a vast ritual bathing area. I suddenly realize how hot it is and look longingly at the glistening and promisly (or so I think) cool water of the baths. I tell Marie that we must go to the Taj and dive in over and over again in their pool.

We continue to walk around the area of the temple where we see brightly coloured shops, filled with plastic toys, fresh juices and synthetic garments. We even dare go in an Ayuervedic Pharmacy to figure out how it works. "What is the symptom?" the pharmacist asks. We try to tell him that if for example....But the example idea doesn't work and we finally grasp that where we are is a counter where you can only get prescribed medicine.

As we continue to walk on, the heat becomes to hard on me. I ask Marie if she would mind us going to get something fresh to drink. We decide on our favourite hang-out place "Coffee Beanz". Hey, with such heat, even a cold coffee sounds like heaven to me!!!!! Now, how to describe this place? Well, it's definitely where the young, hip crowd hangs out. Fortunately, the music doesn't blare out too much. it's like a cafe only the quality of the service is like that of a three star restaurant. The waiters are dressed in black and orange, they open the door for you, guide you to your table and take your order with extreme politeness. We had gone their once before just to have a bite to eat and were surprised by the quality of the food. This time, we just wanted something sweet and cold to drink. Aaaahhhh! Total bliss...Air conditioning and cold chocolate coffee.....

Marie and I happily hope into one of the buzzing flies on our way back home. We realize how much it is nice to go out of the house and explore our area. We miss being out and about; we can longer easily hope on a bus or the subway to go somewhere. On the other hand, we are just as delighted to come back to the familiarity and quietness of our home.

It might seriously be time to think of getting a car....

Hopes Masala

Pradeem has called the internet company and has given them directions to our house. Someone will come by today to check the connection.

Not only Marie and I are we happy and thankful that Pradeem has given us new hope but our excitment is also increased with the fact that today we have chosen to go to the movies.

"Paheli" is a Bollywood film that has just come out here. Although we have no idea what the title means, it seems very promising. Indeed, Shah Ruk Khan and Amitabh Bhavan are acting in it! And the trailor is very intriguing: we see them both acting and dancing as if they were puppets....

The afternoon dazily stumbles in after a quiet morning. Marie and I change seats every hour, fiddling around, waiting for internet, trying to bide our time as best as possible. Pradeem and I are often on the look-out, I sighing and having to return to an activity which does not interest me.

By 4:30 we understand that no one will be coming. I make a weak suggestion that we call headquarters again but, offices are closed. Another sigh punctuates my composure.

We are expecting our rickshaw for 5:30 as the movie starts at 6:15. At 5:20 rain starts drizzling down from the sky, tauntingly licking the streets and the walls around us. I give up and tell Marie it looks like its going to be a Scrabble night.

A horn honks close by; our rickshaw has arrived. Hope comes back to life as we are forced to go out.

By the time we arrive at the movie theater, the rain has stopped and the air is once again sweet with a refreshed nature. We stand in front of a big building, very 1950s. A few youngsters are hanging out on the front steps wearing jeans and tee-shirts. Some, especially the guys, are hanging around on their motorcycles. We go in without even sensing on our backs the usual amused glance.

Pradeem had told us that the most expensive seats were located on the balcony and that they generally cost 35 rupees. There also are other prices for a theater ticket, depending on where you want to be seated : 10 rupees for the ground floor, then 20 for the middle balcony. But our decision of where to be seated is in any case chosen for us by the person in the booth : balcony it is.

We march upstairs, arrive at a long and rather bare corridor. On the left side, hidden by an angle is the food and beverage stand. I ask for some dried, fryed bananas, Marie for some water. A thin, little old man holds the door for us and tears part of our ticket.

We enter the projection room and discover in awe a HUGE theater with a HUGE screen. The front row seats, straight in the middle are not taken, everybody is sitting as of the second one. To our advantage think we....of course, we soon find out it is the main passageway. Oh well! We'll know for the next time.

After a few commercials - mainly for jewellers - where we see one blond girl arriving at a Indian friends' house and going out on a shopping spree with them, cannot decide on which set to buy but doesn't have to bother about it any more because the brother of one of her friends offers her a set as a marriage proposal and it ends with her getting ready for her wedding with him ( I then turn to Marie and tell her we must check out the jeweller because who knows what it could bring us...ha! ), the film finally begins.

It begins with the celebration of a young woman who has been wed and who must follow her new husband to his home. Although the set in itself is rather beautiful yet simple, the costums and the colours are absolutely exquisite.

As there are no subtitles whatsoever, Marie and I try to make our way through the storyline. Apparently, the young girl has wed a man who is only interested in business matters. As they voyage on to his home, they stop to refresh themselves. There, a geny sees them and falls in love with the girl. As soon as the newlyweds arrive to the home of the husband does he have to leave again for business. The geny decides to substitute himself to him and live his life. He explains to the girl that he is a geny but that he is in love with her. They fall in love and she becomes pregnant. The husband returns unexpectedly just when she is giving birth and finds himself considered as an imposter. His father decides to clarify things with the village elders and brings the geny and the husband to be confronted with a very special kind of shepherd. In the meantime, the girl is very sad.

Marie and I have speculated on the ending as we are not quite sure what exactly happened. At least, we understood the ending was a happy one but how....We will definitely have to see it again on DVD to figure it all out, especially to understand the meaning of the title.

In the meantime, we leave the theater extremely happy to have gone to the movies, to have seen one that wasn't grandiose but that told a lovely story and was punctuated by charming songs.

We will definitely recommend it to our friends!

Hey! An Ordinary Day!

A sunny sky awaits me yet a fierce wind outside does not allow me to open the dining room doors.

After a good breakfast and catching up on the written news, I sit down and finally take the time to write a long letter to my goddaughter.

Then, I get down to a bit of business and call Ramesh in order to give him our new numbers.

In the meantime, we ask Justin if he can call the internet company again in order to find out what the story is. The news is somewhat good : they have had to put a cable from the cable connection to our house. Normally, everything will be set up by tomorrow. We will just need to call in order for someone to come and check the connection.

We will cry victory when we see it....

There are a few errands to do today : go to the post office in order to send my letter and get postcard stamps, go to a pharmacy to get some much needed anti-mosquitoe itching cream and buy food in order for Chandrika to cook us one of the recipes Marie and I have chosen from the new cookbook.

At the store, we find bars of chocolate that look very promising : apricot/raison and cashew. Well, why not splurge?

We come back home at about three, give Chandrika specific instructions regarding the cooking, try to call Bina Nair and Gulf Air with neither one answering.

Sun sets at 6; time seems to stretch on when night falls. At 7 we eat and fully enjoy the dish Chandrika has prepared for us: vegetable stew in a coconut sauce.

We decide to treat ourselves to "Mission Cléopâtre" and some chocolate. Rain starts pouring and the room is hot with moisture.

Our evenings without any social activity are becoming a burden to us....

Books Galore

When Uma came to visit us on Tuesday, Marie and I had eagerly pried her with information regarding fashion boutiques we would have to look up in Trivandrum and if there was any decent bookstore where we could have our fix of reading.

So, this afternoon, Marie and I decided it was time to have our intellectual fill.

As we walk up a narrow and quiet street, seeing a promising banner in the distance saying "Modern Book Center", a young man on a bicycle passes us and stops to say "bonjour". He is one of the young men who belong to the "Amis de l'Alliance", who sang a song in French on Tuesday. We start having a very pleasant conversation and he accompanies us to the bookstore as he tells us the owner is a friend of his.

What we discover lives up beyond our expectations ; a true treasure cave filled up to the ceiling with books of medicine, accounting, dictionaries, international magazines and, of course, fiction.

Our young friends leaves us with the promise of getting back in touch and off Marie and I go into a quest for books. After quite some time, I happily stock under my arm a series of books that should guarantee many fulfilling nights. I discover that not only Marie had already bought hers but that she got a whole classical collection of Indian writers and poetry. How perfect as I, on the contrary, only aimed for contemporary Indian writers!!!!

It is only after Marie has been tempted once again by a couple of books and has bought them that we leave the bookstore, treasures at hand.

We come back home, content with our prizes, taking them out of our bags, caressing their covers gently and excitedly discussing our choices. How reassuring, how soothing it is to have the company of books.

Somehow, Marie and I respectfully eclipse ourselves from each others presence, somehow wanting to be alone with our new belongings. Before I fall alseep, I take hold of one of the books that I bought, a kerala cookbook, and start - like the true daughter of my father - checking recipes that our maid can do for us.

Yes, we will definitely go back to that bookstore.

Down The Trivandrum Roads

Today is a beautiful day.

Although the sky is patched with several dark clouds, it is still more infinitely bluer than what we had suffered in the last few days.

It is also a day of strike. The buses, taxis and rickshaws are not running. The BJP has organized it in order to complain of the increase in the price of petrol. If a driver dare use his auto, he can be lynched by the strikers.

The streets are empty of any passing vehicule; they are entirely ours.

Marie and I can no longer resist one of our first original urges since we had arrived, going for a walk.

So, at 2 o'clock, we decide to set off the Trivandrum roads. The boys are in their bunker, unattentive to our quiet escape. Marie has to speak loudly in French and I to open the gate in order for them to come out, wondering what is going on. We laugh together spontaneously. My godness, they haven't finished wondering what to do with us.

"Which way do you want to go? How long will you be gone? How many kilometers will you be doing?", they ask a bit too inquisitively, (although we know it is for our own good sake). Baahhhh..."we'll see", we reply and we happily trail off, leaving the boys perplexed.

We wonder off on the back roads. Few people are out due to the sun peak. Voices in Malayalam filter out of windows and doors, through the shadiness of gardens and homes.

Very soon, people come out of their homes to stare at us. A little child says "hallo" and giggles with the rest of his family, a grandfather taking a walk with his little grandson asks us where were from and women give us big, shy smiles.

Where there is usually a buslting street of shops, buses, pedestrians, bicycles and wondering dogs is only left a ghost town. Some men are sitting in front of their little roadside shop, others zoom by on their motorcycle, honking at us and saying "hayeee" but, a part from that, life is quietly still.

As we let ourselves be guided by the windy road, we discover what is our neighbourhood. Mile after mile do we notice the ever continuous lushness of the area. It is the trees that reign in this kingdom; houses and people are only its uninvited guests.

Marie and I are struck by the architecture of the homes : a majority of them are in retreat and below road level which means the roof is on the level of the street. And for those who are not, they look like miny expensive Floridian homes, with paved driveways, palm trees, plastic pink flamingoes, curtained windows and "post no bills" signs painted on the outer walls.

What delights me the most during our walk is the women who look at us with their lovely and trustworthy smile. Some quickly pick up their little children and have them wave at us, almost as if, in some way, us being there makes it such a novelty that it is as if we were considered as gods who could give them blessings. Some children follow us, giggling. Others are scooted out by their mother, too shy to take a peak at us.

We come back to the house sweaty and happy to have used our legs for the first time in two weeks.

Supercalifraligisticexpialidocious

Today is a very important day. Today is "La Fete de la Musique" in France and the Alliance Française of Trivandrum has organized its own festival. Marie and I are greatly anticipating this event as it will be our first social and official outing since our arrival. It had been about a week that we had started discussing the outfits we would be wearing : not too elaborate but not too casual either. Yes, it was going to be a grand moment.

And today was also important because a) we would be taking care of our cellphone in order to have it set up efficiently; b) we were to meet another one of Mrs Nair's friend, Uma, who knew all the right shops in the city. This was someone to take great care of...and I forget c) the connection of internet as well as the delivery of my mattresses.

The first point was a breeze.

The second was interesting.

The third....at 6 pm, we knew wouldn't happen.

As for the fourth, well....we got a call at 3, saying they would deliver in a half an hour. Then they called at 3:30 and said they would deliver at 4. Then at 4:30 they called again asking if they could come at 5. And then, at 5:30, they called again and asked if they could come at 6. To which I replied that if they didn't come at 6, they could put their mattresses in a very unpleasant place. At 6 they called to say they were lost but that they would be arriving as quickly as possible. The rickshaw that was supposed to take us to the Alliance was ordered for 6:30. The delivery of the mattresses arrived at the same time. And, to make things easier, they had forgotten to bring the bill. Upon which, they asked if we could come with them to the shop in order to pay. To which we politely replied we hoped they were joking. It all ended by them leaving with no payment, a promise they would come on Thursday (and not us going to the store) and poor Pradeem having to look for a new rickshaw. Might I add that we had to negociate the time they would come on Thursday. I asked for 10 to which was pushed to 10:30 and finally negociated for 11.

Do not misunderstand the purpose of my giving these details. It is most definitely not to look down upon the customs here. On the contrary, I have learned to appreciate them for what they are and to deal with them on a daily living basis. It is just a way of explaining how things work.

So, here we are, the mattresses finally delivered. With the promise of a good night sleep in mind, Marie and I, two French ladies nicely dressed for an Indo-French evening of culture, set off for the Alliance.

We get there only to find the gates locked and the guard telling us the offices are closed. We try to explain to him that we wanted to go to the Music Festival to which he points to a banner on which is written a different address. He kindly calls us another rickshaw and gives him precise directions on where to take us.

Our rickshaw gets completely lost : he asks policemen at a men's club, passers by, other rickshaw drivers and a traffic policeman. Finally, cursing under his breath, he finds in a narrow street the music theatre where the Festival is taking place. I can sense Marie and I are already wary and perplexed by how this evening - that we had been waiting for for so long - is starting.

We enter a lovely space where a beautiful, open building serves as the theatre. The loveliness of the place is somewhat perturbed by a rather unmelodious sound, which turns out to be a woman singing karaoke. Barefoot, we enter the theatre and sit down. Two minutes later, I feel my cheekbones picking up, getting ready for that unreasonable and yet what is now almost my daily exercise of histerical laughter. I look at Marie with big wide eyes, which can hopefully compensate the irrisistible desire to open my mouth and let irrepressible sounds come out of it. She looks back at me, knowing the feeling.

We applaude politely at the end of the song.

We then give our greetings to the wife of the director of the Alliance Française.

We return to the matters of our evening, ensuing a short series of karaoke and a young courageous woman playing Massenet on her violin. Things get interesting when a group of young musicians start playing Indian fusion music. What they play definitely speaks to us. The director of the Alliance joins us and we chitchat for a bit. I ask him if a special event will also be organized for the 14th of July to which he replies no because of the fact that he will be on holiday. I suddenly feel alone and far away from my friends and family.

I do realize though that it is wonderful to be living the Music Festival in India. It still often feels unreal to be here, to living our dream. Soo many strong emotions we feel each day.

By 9:30, our stomachs project their own type of karaoke. Many keralese have already left as 9 o' clock is considered late. Marie and I therefore decide to try the restaurant the director of the Alliance had recommended during our brief conversation. After a prompt goodbye, we tiptoe out of the singing theater.

We arrive at the doorstep of a very "fancy" hotel. We are quickly and diligently guided to the restaurant. I notice the cushiony carpet on its doors. We wait a minute and has no one comes to greet us, we open the door. We enter in a rather dim dining room. A musician finishes playing live reggae music. A few tables are filled by families but most of the room is empty. And, as I continue to quickly glance around, I notice the first - of many - detail that makes me want to, once again, explode with laughter : each table and chair is covered in impeccable with linen, except that the chairs have an additional touch to them : a lovely, fat, pink satteny ribbon wrapped around their back.

Once our very professional waiters have taken our order and poured us some mineral water, Marie and I have a better chance to take a closer look and this room and reflect on how the day has gone so far. Marie makes me notice another precious detail, reflecting the standards of the restaurant : a lovely plastic piece of paper protects our chandelier from its candle. We are definitely reassured as to the quality of this place.

Our food comes and suddenly, with it, a rather persistent background techno music. In bewilderment, we begin to eat. Marie as a vegetable stew, cooked in coconut and a rice pancake. I chose Avial, which is coconut mashed with vegetables and curd rice or, should I say, rice in yogurt.

We eat in silence. I, trying to compensate the coolness of the curd rice with the spiciness of the coconut. As for Marie, things seem to be happening differently. She tells me her food is undercooked and has no taste whatsoever. In addition, she bit into a green chili and thought a volcano had burst into her mouth.

Needless to say, we do not finish our food and pay promptly so as to go home as quickly as possible.

This can only be a night to remember.

Totally Supercalifraligisticexpialidocious!!!!!!!!

Our Dream House

I'll skip the details of Sunday. In short, let's just say that Marie and I had in mind of doing a shopping splurge at "Style Plus", found it closed (yes, Indians also have at least a days rest), went food shopping instead, got back home frustrated (getting bug killer is not really what we had aimed for), lounged around, got totally bored, watched the monsoon rain fall for hours, watched "The Lady Vanishes", ate by candle light because the rain had cut off all electrical circuits, freaked out when we saw how early it was, decided to watch another DVD "L'Assassin habite au 21" and went to bed at 10 pm. At that rate, might as well make nunnery our business.

Anyway, Monday. Monday HAD to be a better day than the day before.

And it was. What we hadn't been able to do on Sunday at "Style Plus", we did on Monday. This resulted in two ladies in a tiny rickshaw bulging on each side from huge shopping bags. We very much felt like "Preity Woman" (with the Indian accent) in Trivandrum. Plus, I had the wonderful satisfaction of ordering two new mattresses which (and the satisfaction is even greater) would be delivered to the house in the evening.

When we got back, Justin had, very sweetly, the discretion to keep to himself any facial expression reflecting astonishement or disapproval.

Once we got our new house goodies installed, I asked Justin to contact the internet company to find out when they would be coming. As we were waiting for a call back from their headquarters, Justin and I started talking. I was eager to do so as I wanted to find out a bit more about their working rythm.

I then asked him THE question Marie and I had been thinking of since we had arrived : "what does "Sankalpam" - the name of the house - mean?" "It means the house team", he replies. I beg your pardon....Did I understand correctly? "You mean as a football team? As a group?" I ask. No, no. Let's try this again. He tries to explain to me that the house we are staying in had been imagined by Bina Nair. Aaaahhhhhh!!!! Now it is clear! Our house is called "Our dream house".

Aaaaaaahhhhhh!!!!! How lovely it is to know that this very place, this very living room and bedrooms was imagined and loved by its owner.

Knowing that simple detail made the rest of our day....until 6:30pm....when the delivery of the mattresses hadn't come and I knew I would have to sleep another night on what I had been sleeping on for the past two weeks.

During the day, an uncomfortable piece of information lingered in the back of my mind. Chandrika has had to take her afternoon off as she has had to go and ask for a new roof for her home. She has to go to a certain place in order to get her demand approved. Justin and Pradeem had told us she came from a poor family but, through my morning discussion with Justin, I slowly and painfully grasp the meaning of what they meant by "poor". Indeed, apparently her roof was made of plastic and it had caved in due to the heavy rains. In addition, she is all alone to raise her 19 year old son and has mother, brothers and sisters to look after. My fit to have my mattresses suddenly feels very futile and I am ashamed.

The afternoon is interrupted by the expected visit of the chartered accountant. He will be able to give us all the necessary procedures in order for us to register our company. M. Kumar arrives with his partner and I start explaining exactly the purpose of our meeting. Through their patient explanation, Marie and I come to understand the following : no matter what, if we want our company to be Indian, it will have to have an Indian partner; if we go into a business partnership and our Indian partner withdraws, the company ends; if we open a Limited business, we still need to have a Indian business partner, either as a director or as a shareholder. The partner owns a part of the company only in case of loan. However, the chartered accountants tell us it is possible to ask for dual citizenship after 6 months of residency in India. If that is the case then it is possible for one of us to ask for it and buy the shares of the original Indian partner.

The process seems clear yet it will take a few more weeks. We will not be able to open our business account with the bank right away.

As we accompany the two gentlemen at the door and thank them for their advice, Marie and I begin to see what will have to be done.

Into the night, we elaborate our strategy.

Bed of Green

There it is, where the earth meets the ocean into a never ending path of blue.

Dawn has slowly risen and above, as the plane slowly descends to our destination, we see out the window sporadic flashes of pink lightning.

"Has the monsoon started yet?", we wonder.

And then, as we approach, we see it even better : the sun glistening on a bed of green, slowly tickling with its morning rays all the palm trees that cover this new land, our new home.

We arrive at the small airport of Trivandrum. The air is already warm and humid. Our first fear; the policeman at the counter wants to know our address. Of course! Neither one of us thought of writing it down. Fortunately, it is only a formality and we move on into the internal jungle of finding our luggage. Our second fear: we see boxes after boxes of things some of the indian families that have travelled with us have brought back from the Emirates. But no suitases. After almost an hour's wait and jetlag heavily hitting us, we find our things and walk out into the hot, early morning air.

Amidst the wave of families in waiting, we find our guide. Ramesh Menon, Kalpana's husband, greets us with a bright, already sweaty smile and strong embrace. "Welcome to India!", he says. "Where is our bed?", we impolitely think. It doesn't matter. We are swept up and put in a car with Ramesh happily talking what we think is English (indeed it is, but our jetlag falses our impression). We eagerly open our eyes to the outside world, the world which Trivandrum will now offer us as its inhabitants. And in the new overload of colors and smells, we catch some key words from our host: "police car", "staying in house of Senior Chief Police Officer of Trivandrum". We nod in politeness and return to our staring.

And then, we stumble upon our new home and its past owners. Once again, we are swept inside, embraced by the wife and warmly greeted by the husband. And here starts the whirlwind of questions, talking, laughing, eyeing, etc. Bina Nair (the wife) offers us breakfast: idli with sauce and a coconut type of puree. Politely, we eat....with our right hand. The spices hit Marie first. Her eyes get bigger but due to her French upbringing her composure still the same. Finally, the fatigue and the difficulty in fully grasping the language gives in on her and she has to excuse herself for not being able to finish.

In the meantime it has been established that the signature of the contract will be at 10:30 am; auspicious time for doing business. We talk, laugh and continue to eye each other. I try to find out if it possible to take some money out in order to pay the Nairs' their lease. Since they have to catch a flight in the early afternoon, show us the house and sign the contract, there is no time to quibble about money. So, instead, they give us 2000 rupees (!!!) for food and we give them in exchange, for proof of our good faith, 10 euros. Ramesh laughs saying it is the first time Lessors pay Lessees to stay in their house.

I forgot to mention something very important. A detail to some but of absolute truth and naturalness to us. As we explained the reason of our moving here, Ramesh and the Nairs' asked us if we had everything taken care of in terms of administrative procedures: bank account, phone number, etc. No sooner had we told them we had not been able to do so did they immediately pick up their cellphones (two for each person mind you) and called the necessary services.

By the time they left and the house became once again very still, had we appointments to settle everything at the beginning of the following week.

This desire to help has, so far, not failed. On the contrary, every single day, we have proof that this natural kindness and help is an inherent part of the Indians.

As Ramesh and the Nairs' depart, Marie and I do not yet find ourselves fully alone in our new home. Indeed, this time we face two policemen who continually guard the house : Justin and Pradeem. They are here if we need anything. Imagine the scene in "Le Bon, La Brute et le Mechant": two young women facing two young men. A mixture of curiosity, discomfort and respect. Who will give in first into this new situation? Finally, we let them know that we need to rest and so they gently leave us be.

We got up the stairs and take possession of our rooms : Marie has the one with the dark wood. I, the one with the white walls. I collapse on the, what I am about to discover, very hard mattress and fall into a deep, warm sleep, leaving Marie to her fate.

I wake up and stumble, dazed, into our first house crisis: Marie's room is full of ants and small stinging creatures. She is covered in bites and Justin, who is with her, stands in the middle of a room which has been stripped naked of all sheets and curtains. This action will give all its meaning to Marie's new surname : "The curtaintor". What to do? I call the Nairs who nonchalantely tell me to put all beauty products in the middle of a bassin filled with water. Marie is definitely not satisfied with that answer. I call my father (the one who knows all in terms of India) who tells us to relax and yell at the ants in French, sure thing to make them go away. I knew I did the right thing by calling him...

Little by little, as I slowly emerge from my drowsiness does Marie explain the situation to me: in fact, she had noticed a couple of ants in her bathroom and had therefore asked Justin to put some anti-ant product. This action was fatal as it brought out all the ants and bugs that had been hiding in her bedroom. I had arrived just in time for the invasion.

The crisis passes and the evening softly invites itself into the house.

Justin has gone out to get us some bread and butter. We sit in our new kitchen, softly munching on our stuffy white slices, not fully realizing yet that this is a place, a town or a life that we can now call "home".

Béatitudes Indiennes

Partir........
c'est aujourd'hui, c'est ce matin.
C'est se lever tôt, prendre le taxi appeler la veille.
C'est Maman et Moi dans l'aéroport encore désert, lourd de silence...
C'est l'arrivée d'Elianne, Joy et Richard...
C'est le décollage....
Je me souviens davantage de notre départ en termes de sensations qu'en nombre de faits.
Images et sons éclatent dans ma tête, comme autant de sensations multipliées et amplifiées, par l' incompressible sentiment de bonheur d'accomplir enfin, ce à quoi nous travaillons depuis si longtemps déjà.
Avoir un objectif et l' atteindre.

En Inde en des temps très anciens, un valeureux Maître d'arme avait trois apprentis.
La flèche de son arc épousait le vent,
La justesse de son tir pourfendait sa proie.
Ce vaillant arché réunit les trois jeunes seigneurs,
"Je vous ai enseigné tout mon art, je souhaite aujourd'hui mesurer la portée de mon enseignement, nous partirons demain, dès l'aube, aux pieds des Sept Montagnes"
Ainsi avait parlé le vieux Maître.
Ils partirent avec leurs arcs et des flèches pour seul et unique bagage.
La marche fut rude, et le trajet périlleux.
Mais au matin du deuxième jours, Ils arrivèrent enfin aux pieds des Sept Montagnes, là où l'aigle et le faucon déchirent les nuages.
"Que chacun d'entre vous choisisse sa proie, mais avant de tirer votre flèche, vous devrez tour à tour me dire ce que vous voyez"
Ainsi avait parlé le vieux Maître.
Le premier choisit sa proie et dit au Maître " Maître, je vois le ciel et les nuages, je vois la puissance de l'aigle dans son envole, je vois...."
Mais le Maître l'interrompit " range ton arc, range tes flèches, tu ne pourras pas tirer de flèche aujourd'hui, ni les jours suivants "
Ainsi avait parlé le vieux Maître.
Le second choisit sa proie et dit au Maître " Maître, je vois la montagne où niche l'aigle, je vois ses plumes, je vois ses ailes...."
Mais le Maître l'interrompit " range ton arc, range tes flèches, tu ne pourras pas tirer de flèche aujourd'hui, ni les jours suivants "
Ainsi avait parlé le vieux Maître.
Et toi que vois tu ? dit le Maître au dernier de ses apprentis " ho Maître! L'aigle est sur le flanc de la montagne, je vois son oeil"
"Tire dès maintenant, ne tarde pas, rien ne doit s'accomplir si tu ne distingues pas parfaitement le point le plus sensible de ta cible"
Ainsi avait parlé le vieux Maître.
Avoir un objectif et apprendre à l' atteindre, le Prince fit bon usage de la leçon, et longtemps encore résonnèrent en lui les paroles de son Maître " ne vise rien qui ne soit pas réel, ne vise rien que ne tu distingues pas précisément et clairement ".
Car ainsi parlait le vieux Maître.

Comme des flashs syncopés je revois depuis notre avion , notre descente vers cette Terre Indienne.
Mes yeux étaient plongés dans le vert si dense de la forêt tropicale. L'avion lui-même semblait happé par cette jungle. Dès lors une partie de ma conscience c'est envolée , l'Inde est une voleuse d'âme...
C'était un peu comme de rentrer chez soit après une trop longue absence, à la sortie de l'avion la moiteur de l'air, la chaleur, tout me semblait si étrangement familier. Il nous fallait reprendre les bagages, puis sortir de l'aéroport, une foule immense était là, pressée contre les barrières extérieures, un milliard d'yeux, un milliard d'âmes.
Dans un invraisemblable chaos de couleurs et bruits au milieu de cette vague humaine, surgissant de nul part Ramesh nous guide... il me fallait suivre Elianne, suivre Ramesh ne pas les perdre de vue, mais regarder aussi... regarder encore et toujours.... regarder à en perdre le souffle, et toutes ces sensations qui s'emmêlaient et s'entremêlaient me plongeaient dans un délicieux tourbillon.
Longtemps encore je me souviendrait de ce moment dans la voiture qui nous menait à la maison, cette ivresse, cette douce béatitude ... chaque sons , chaque couleurs me parlaient plus qu'à l'ordinaire, car l'Inde est colorée et musicale, noyée dans un flot de verdure où des plantes démesurées plongent leurs racines dans une terre rouge gorgée des eaux de la mousson.....
Le cri incessant des animaux nous surprend jusque tard dans la nuit, l'orchestre tropical a plus d'une corde à son arc , les sonorités sont si variées que j'oublie trop souvent de dormir pour mieux les entendre, et je reprends le plus tôt possible, le jour se levant mon écoute attentive.
Rien ne serait perturber cette état de grâce dans lequel l'Inde me baigne depuis mon arrivée, L'Inde m'est familière, tout m'y semble simple, si étrangement proche, la chaleur humide, la poussière rouge des routes, le vert si vert . Je ressens une intimité naturelle avec ce monde pourtant tellement nouveau, mais déjà si profondément inscrit dans ma mémoire.
En Inde, le temps aussi prend son temps, tout vit au ralenti dans une incroyable richesse de petits événements qui font de ce pays une Terre si attachante.

Béatitudes Indiennes

Partir........
c'est aujourd'hui, c'est ce matin.
C'est se lever tôt, prendre le taxi appeler la veille.
C'est Maman et Moi dans l'aéroport encore désert, lourd de silence...
C'est l'arrivée d'Elianne, Joy et Richard...
C'est le décollage....
Je me souviens davantage de notre départ en termes de sensations qu'en nombre de faits.
Images et sons éclatent dans ma tête, comme autant de sensations multipliées et amplifiées, par l' incompressible sentiment de bonheur d'accomplir enfin, ce à quoi nous travaillons depuis si longtemps déjà.
Avoir un objectif et l' atteindre.

En Inde en des temps très anciens, un valeureux Maître d'arme avait trois apprentis.
La flèche de son arc épousait le vent,
La justesse de son tir pourfendait sa proie.
Ce vaillant arché réunit les trois jeunes seigneurs,
"Je vous ai enseigné tout mon art, je souhaite aujourd'hui mesurer la portée de mon enseignement, nous partirons demain, dès l'aube, aux pieds des Sept Montagnes"
Ainsi avait parlé le vieux Maître.
Ils partirent avec leurs arcs et des flèches pour seul et unique bagage.
La marche fut rude, et le trajet périlleux.
Mais au matin du deuxième jours, Ils arrivèrent enfin aux pieds des Sept Montagnes, là où l'aigle et le faucon déchirent les nuages.
"Que chacun d'entre vous choisisse sa proie, mais avant de tirer votre flèche, vous devrez tour à tour me dire ce que vous voyez"
Ainsi avait parlé le vieux Maître.
Le premier choisit sa proie et dit au Maître " Maître, je vois le ciel et les nuages, je vois la puissance de l'aigle dans son envole, je vois...."
Mais le Maître l'interrompit " range ton arc, range tes flèches, tu ne pourras pas tirer de flèche aujourd'hui, ni les jours suivants "
Ainsi avait parlé le vieux Maître.
Le second choisit sa proie et dit au Maître " Maître, je vois la montagne où niche l'aigle, je vois ses plumes, je vois ses ailes...."
Mais le Maître l'interrompit " range ton arc, range tes flèches, tu ne pourras pas tirer de flèche aujourd'hui, ni les jours suivants "
Ainsi avait parlé le vieux Maître.
Et toi que vois tu ? dit le Maître au dernier de ses apprentis " ho Maître! L'aigle est sur le flanc de la montagne, je vois son oeil"
"Tire dès maintenant, ne tarde pas, rien ne doit s'accomplir si tu ne distingues pas parfaitement le point le plus sensible de ta cible"
Ainsi avait parlé le vieux Maître.
Avoir un objectif et apprendre à l' atteindre, le Prince fit bon usage de la leçon, et longtemps encore résonnèrent en lui les paroles de son Maître " ne vise rien qui ne soit pas réel, ne vise rien que ne tu distingues pas précisément et clairement ".
Car ainsi parlait le vieux Maître.

Comme des flashs syncopés je revois depuis notre avion , notre descente vers cette Terre Indienne.
Mes yeux étaient plongés dans le vert si dense de la forêt tropicale. L'avion lui-même semblait happé par cette jungle. Dès lors une partie de ma conscience c'est envolée , l'Inde est une voleuse d'âme...
C'était un peu comme de rentrer chez soit après une trop longue absence, à la sortie de l'avion la moiteur de l'air, la chaleur, tout me semblait si étrangement familier. Il nous fallait reprendre les bagages, puis sortir de l'aéroport, une foule immense était là, pressée contre les barrières extérieures, un milliard d'yeux, un milliard d'âmes.
Dans un invraisemblable chaos de couleurs et bruits au milieu de cette vague humaine, surgissant de nul part Ramesh nous guide... il me fallait suivre Elianne, suivre Ramesh ne pas les perdre de vue, mais regarder aussi... regarder encore et toujours.... regarder à en perdre le souffle, et toutes ces sensations qui s'emmêlaient et s'entremêlaient me plongeaient dans un délicieux tourbillon.
Longtemps encore je me souviendrait de ce moment dans la voiture qui nous menait à la maison, cette ivresse, cette douce béatitude ... chaque sons , chaque couleurs me parlaient plus qu'à l'ordinaire, car l'Inde est colorée et musicale, noyée dans un flot de verdure où des plantes démesurées plongent leurs racines dans une terre rouge gorgée des eaux de la mousson.....
Le cri incessant des animaux nous surprend jusque tard dans la nuit, l'orchestre tropical a plus d'une corde à son arc , les sonorités sont si variées que j'oublie trop souvent de dormir pour mieux les entendre, et je reprends le plus tôt possible, le jour se levant mon écoute attentive.
Rien ne serait perturber cette état de grâce dans lequel l'Inde me baigne depuis mon arrivée, L'Inde m'est familière, tout m'y semble simple, si étrangement proche, la chaleur humide, la poussière rouge des routes, le vert si vert . Je ressens une intimité naturelle avec ce monde pourtant tellement nouveau, mais déjà si profondément inscrit dans ma mémoire.
En Inde, le temps aussi prend son temps, tout vit au ralenti dans une incroyable richesse de petits événements qui font de ce pays une Terre si attachante.