Silver Screen

There had been a few times when we had taken the car that we had passed a small video store. There are many in the city, that is true. But, this one was different because it had a lot of posters of foreign films taped to its window front.

I asked Marie if she wanted to check it out; maybe it could become our movie rental hang-out?

We walk in a somber shop, no lights on. From floor to ceiling it is filled with DVDs. We ask our young driver if he can translate our questions to the man sitting behind the counter.

First question is answered; the man points at a wall behind us which is filled with foreign DVDs. A twinge of excitment flares up in my brain.

Second question is answered: to become a member, you must be introduced by someone they know. It so happens that our driver has a good friend who works at an internet cafe just around the corner. He tells us he will go and fetch him and have him vouch for us.

Marie and I are standing on air we are so happy. We are now proud members of "Padma Videos". And what videos! For our first selection we went Hindi and got two films : "Black" and "Veer-Zaaraa".

"Black" is a story based on Helen Keller: a young girl who is deaf and blind makes her way into the world with the help of her teacher. The film is exquisitely shot with matted colour tones and, although the acting was, as always, a bit overdone, the way the parts were played by the young child, Rani Mukerjee and Amitha Bachan, were excellent. A very poignant film.

"Veer-Zaaraa", as we will discover tomorrow, is supposed to be a famous movie because of the fact that it deals with a forbidden love between a Pakistani woman and an Indian man. Preity Zita plays the leading role while Shah Ruk Khan plays the hero. Although the subject of the story is good and the songs are beautiful, we found the acting a bit too overdone and the movie way too long. However, I still highly recommend it because the story is quite beautiful (and that was Siskel and Ebert for you...Thank you Ladies and Gentlemen).

Strike Three!

Speaks for itself.....

Third strike in a month. All is quiet today : no shops open, no rickshaws or buses running, even no rain.

All is quiet today : Marie is agonizing in front of a non-existent internet connection or of the non-existent computer screen for that matter.

I stumble out of my bedroom, trying to find my way out of my usual morning fogs.

We have a small gift to give for the boys today as Marie and I wanted to share with them the celebration of our first month here as well as thank them for all their help.

They are waiting for us downstairs.

Marie is extremely concentrated on the tecky problem; I'll have the give the present.

You have no idea....Imagine me barely half awake, facing to young men expecting something. Sigh....I hand them their gift with a sleepy smile and tell them that it is a small token of our celebration and thanks. I also believe to have muttered an excuse for Marie's absence in this common gesture.

They smile back sweetly, thank us and leave.

I feel like an absolute dud; Madam returns to the sleepy eyed child that she is when she is not awake in the mornings...

The rest of the day dozes on.

Make A Wish!

Happy Birthday!!!!!

It is hard to believe we are already celebrating our "one month since we got here" today.

For Marie and I life seems to have always been here; we have fallen into its intimacy without losing the awe of first-times.



Thank you dad.

Master of His Art

When we had gone to see M. Mouli on Wednesday, he had given us the name of Balaramapuram, a town a few kilometers away from Trivandrum, which specializes in the typical Kerala cotton loom. He also gave us the name of "Kasilingom" (spelled Kachilingam) a weaving house which could probably show us how they do the traditional weaving.

So, off we go with Girish (we had previously asked the good name of our driver) down the mysteries of the keralese roads. The mysteries lie beyond them; they are embedded in the green maze of its country paths, well protected from the traveller's constant staring. We see before us the roads wide open like a woman with stretched legs, expecting, offering us its lush palm trees, colorful, noisy streets and beyond, in its most intimate place, the endless blue sky. Yet, it is an illusion, there is much more....

Through a small, bumpy road, covered in weaving stores, we arrive in the middle of a small town square. Small because in the middle of it stands a huge, blue temple. The sizes are completely disproportionate.

A man guides us to the store where we explain the reason of our visit. The young owner obliges and we are off to see, a few blocks away, where they do their traditional dhotis (men's skirts). We enter a middle size hut and find two old men, standing below street level, conscienciously and seriously weaving the fabric. What strikes me first is the face of one of them, a kind dark figure with fluffs of white hair and a lovely, toothless smile. Our "namaskaram" is warmly received. The second thing I notice is the three small dishes sitting next to the weavers. One of them contains a very small portion of rice. A young boy, eyes down, quickly comes in and delivers two thumbles of chaia (tea). The mood is set, we only hear the clicking of the wooden slates, activated by our weavers' feet.

We return to the shop and start looking at all the different fabrics. There are different varieties of weaving : one sided (cheap), two sided (expensive), with gold threads (expensive) or copper and silver (cheaper). The speciality of the region is plain material with coloured lines or plain sarees with intricate designs, mainly birds or what they call here "mangoes" - cashmere design for us. They have very few coloured sarees with golden or copper linings.

Although Marie and I do not like the designs (too heavy for our taste) we cannot help but admire the fine work and the days filled with patience as well as minutie which result in the much coveted fabrics.

But, we have yet to discover what true masterweaving is...

One of the weavers specialized in traditional designs will show us how it is done. He is located 7 km away from the shop.

We are engulfed in the car, surrounded by our driver, a colossal young man named Ashokma and an old one. We speed down windy, country roads, deeper into Kerala, further into its entrails.

Finally, we stop in the middle of "nowhere". A dirt road, no signs, a few sporadic bungalows, many trees. The air is cool and sweet. A couple of little girls walk by, stop and stare at us, offering us a very shy "hiiee". The sun isn't the only one to shine in India; smiles are extremely bright and communicative here....

We follow our guides through narrow, mounted earth paths, no wider than two feet put together. I look above and see shady green umbrellas; I look around and see splashes of faded colours which stands as bungalows; I stare below and see I am following the same road as a colony of red ants. The sensation of absolute freedom comes with the sensation of absolute adventure.

We arrive in a small compound where three homes and a shop stand quietly. I hear a rustling of activity as we approach the compound. A small, thin and middle aged man greets us shyly; he is the Head Master. We offer an honoured "Namaskaram".

The whole family is there to greet us ; his brother with his wife and children, the dog, the weavers and other poking heads who must be other relatives.

We start the tour with the shop where the Head Master shows us some of the sarees he has recently woven; masterpieces....A garden of cream coloured fabric where golden peacocks with emerald eyes run wild and proud...

The Head Master then takes us to one of his huts where a weaver finishes off a fabric quietly. We then ask if by chance he also does silver weaving. Ashokma explains to us that they are not specialized in that but it has become an increasing demand so they do a bit. It turns out there are some fabrics with silver linings waiting to be finished. What he shows us is exquisite in simplicity : a white fabric doned with a checkered white and silver border, and another one with silver and golden lining, in the shape of losanges.

Already, early evening begins to show its familiar, tranquil face. A moment of peace sets in the compound. Our host offers us fresh coconut juice. It is hacked up in front of us and a small hole is carved for the mouth. It is my first one!!! An outpour of offers follows : sweet lime juice? A banana from the garden and to top it off, with a piece of cut coconut, they spoon out the inside of one; a fleshy and gelatenous white flesh is presented to my mouth. My tastebuds are unfamiliar to all of this. I eat everything but half-heartedly. I will just have to let it grow on me.

Ashokma explains to us that two years back the head Master had received the highest award from the Prime Minister. Proudly, he shows us pictures of the ceremony.

It is time for us to go; since we have no references as to what is abusing the hospitality of an Indian host, we feel we can no longer disrupt his day any longer. However, as they all have been so charming, I cannot leave without taking any pictures of them. Fortunately, they have a visiting card with the address. I promise to send him copies of the shots.

We leave reluctantly.

Once again, we are engulfed in the car, bumpily riding along the unbeating roads.

We are suddenly reimmersed into real life : live streets filled with buyers, walkers, onlookers; rainbow plastic coloured dishes, mats, nightgowns; gas spurting buses, honking cars....

Ashokma an the old man are dropped off in the town.

We ride back into the light of the keralese roads, looking beyond its infinite flamboyant sky.

Our hearts left behind in the shadows of the compound.

Faster Than The Speed of Shiva

It's hard to believe it is already Saturday.

The speed of Shiva went into turbo this week, letting Marie and I hop on its dizzying ride. But, it is now time, on this tranquil and sunny morning, to get back to my narrator's duties and resume what has happened in these past few days.

The first part of the week was dedicated to checking out all the fabric stores in the city that Uma had recommended to us. Thanks to her, we were able to see that what they call here "Boutiques" do exist and do have some interesting material to offer to their clients. However, Marie and I agreed that compared to the lay-out, the service and the quality of the fabrics, "Ethnic Weaves" was really the store that topped them all off.

We went buzzing around in our superflies, from one part of town to another and, we discovered that, although we love rickshaw rides, it isn't that comfortable and it isn't an ideal representation of a certain business standard. We talk of buying a car....

In the midst of all this grudging sightseeing and fabric hunting (joke), we also make a point to do some administrative detours. Hence, on Monday we also have the opportunity to meet with the M. Mouli in order to give him an idea of what is going on with us and if, by chance, amongst his clients, he doesn't have any that are in the textile business. To which he, as always, kindly makes all sorts of calls to his contacts and checks things out for us. He will have names for us on Wednesday. Perfect! We were planning on coming back to the bank that same day to pay the rent. Marie and I adore this man! Even though we are aware that he is doing all this out of a certain interest, we still sense he is one of our most precious allies.

To top off Monday, Asianet comes by in order to install the modem on our laptop. Hurray you might say. Well, don't be so sure because the technicians realize that the computer is an Apple. They have no training in Apple. Asianet has to send an expert. He will come tomorrow (Tuesday). But, Marie and I do not lose hope : the cables are installed, the modem is set up...

The force of internet will come to us this week!!!!!!!!!

Off to the bank. While waiting for our appointment with M. Mouli, we start talking to Sreejith, a lovely and friendly bank officer. For some reason, we ask him if he knows of a car rental service, figuring we can lease a car on a monthly basis and hire a driver. He has even better for us. The bank works with a tour operator that does car leasing which includes driver, gas and insurance. All for a very good price. He sets up an appointment for us for that afternoon.

We are then taken to M. Mouli's office where we are offered contacts galore on a platter. For instance, the phone number of his sister-in-law who knows very good stitchers. Bingo! as we are looking for stitchers who would work impeccably on our clothes.

Thursday. Many errands to run. We find out that Bina will be in town today but, when?

The internet expert still hasn't come so, with the car service, we set off to Asianet's headquarters. They know who we are! (figures, with all the calling and complaining we had done....ha). The expert will come tomorrow, Friday.

We set off to IDEA Mobile in order to set up the internet connection on the cellphone. For that, we would have to go to the main office. Will have to be tomorrow.

We get a call from Uma's sister, Lakshmi, asking us when Bina could stop by the house. As we are out and about, it will have to be late afternoon.

We come back home, tired but feeling very fulfilled with all that was taken care of.

Marie and I realize how easy and pleasant it is to have the driving service. Not only is it more comfortable in terms of seating, you do not feel the many holes in the roads, you are not at nose level with the bus' exhaust pipe and we have windows big enough to see the outside world.

Bina and Uma arrive around 6. We are anxiously awaiting her reactions of how we rearranged the house. We are pleased to see that she notices the great care we have given it. We have a very friendly chat for about an hour and, as a way of closing this pleasant evening, Bina finally reveals to us the famous lighting of the lamp ritual in the temple.

The house can now fully be.

Today was a purely administrative. An Apple "expert" came in the morning to set up the internet settings on the laptop. It seems to work but Marie is skeptical on what he has done; Apple is very particular and all settings have to be put in manually. Indeed, later in the evening we discover that all the settings have to be put in all over again.

However, we have been able to install the GPRS system on the mobile. We went to the IDEA headquarters and spent a good hour and half dealing with the internet set-up. We can now browse the web anywhere in India and get MSN Messenger. The only unfortunate thing is the size of the screen; it isn't that practical.

Marie and I have the impression to be a three legged dog; everything is almost there to make the animal complete.

Une même Lumière nous guide

Ici tout est source de dévotion et de spiritualité, les temples multicolores fleurissent dans le vert tropical, les chants se mêlent au brouhaha de la faune exubérante , les cloches des églises embrassent le rythme des tablas. Bienvenue en INDE.
Les murs de la ville, comme les pages d'un livre de prières, sont couverts de versets de la Bible et de pensées de mystiques indiens.
Au pays de Gandhi, les affiches immenses de Jésus Christ super star côtoient le dieu Coca-Cola avec une apparente désinvolture, et pendant que Krishna flirt avec Pepsi, Ganesh trône en plein coeur d'un grand magasin à la mode, ces mélanges hasardeux et troublant se retrouvent jusque dans les rickshaws , où tout ce petit monde se voit familièrement collé les uns à côtés des autres comme autant de promesses de chances et bonne fortune. Il ne faut cependant pas se méprendre, sous l'apparente légèreté des choses se cache une foi réelle et sincère.



Longtemps depuis l'enfance elle avait vu la danse et compris le chant rituel qui transporte d'un souffle léger les danseuses du Temple, si souvent elle avait repris dans la solitude de sa chambre close à tout regard, la danse tant aimé, la danse dédiée au " tant aimé".
Exilée dans son paradis intérieur, sa dévotion pour le "tant aimé" était si profonde, qu'elle aurait put du jour venant à la nuit finissante, danser , danser... danser encore et toujours, bercée par le chant de son amant mystique.
Et le vert délicat de son regard enfantin embrassait l'horizon sans fin à la recherche du "tant aimé". Le bruissement des branches, le souffle du vent, le claquement de la vague clamaient sa présence, mais cependant le jour venait et la nuit finissait sans que jamais elle ne le voit.

Du temps passa, le jour et la nuit s'unirent en un temps unique, la beauté de sa danse et la pureté de son chant était d'une tel perfection qu'elle officiait seul dans le Temple, pour le plus grand plaisir des pèlerins réunis.
Mais le vert délicat de son regard embrassait toujours l'horizon sans fin à la recherche du "tant aimé". Et désormais c'était le bruissement de ses voiles, le souffle de son chant, le claquement de son pied sur le sol qui clamait la présence de son amant divin.

Du temps passa...

Par une nuit pourpre, à la lumière du rayon de Lune, à l'heure où tout dort encore , elle se rendit dans le Temple, sa présence si familière n'avait pas perturbé le sommeil des dieux bienveillants. Elle s'enveloppa de fines étoffes, ainsi préparée pour la danse, nourrit d' amour et de dévotion, elle entonna un nouveau chant , ce chant se répandit dans le temple comme une brise légère, un souffle de béatitude, ses voiles soyeux glissaient
sur les statues des dieux endormis, les clochettes de ses chevilles scintillaient dans la nuit comme autant d'étoiles dans la voie lactée. Un bruit distinct se fit alors entendre, un son long et lourd emplit soudain l'enceinte du temple. Le souffle coupé, elle arrêta sa danse un instant, tout semblait immobile. Bravant sa crainte, elle parcourut le temple. Le bruit se fit de nouveau entendre, à deux pas ... Eclairé par l'astre lunaire, une statue avait bougée de son socle, les yeux mi-clos, le sourire épanouis, il était là depuis toujours, invisible au regard du passant inattentif. Le visage voilé dans la soie précieuse, les mains chargées de fleurs, elle s'avança doucement.... Au petit matin lorsque le prête ouvrit les portes du temple, le jasmin odorant parfumait les lieux plus qu'à l'ordinaire, le sol était jonché de pétales roses et de fleurs d'hibiscus, le vent d'un souffle les dispersa...

Nul ne revit plus la danseuse, mais aujourd'hui encore une statue au yeux de jade sourit dans le temple....




Au coeur de notre maison, au centre, se trouve une toute petite pièce sans fenêtre, c'est notre temple, honoré de la représentation de nombreux Dieux , hormis le Dieu Hanuman et le Dieu Ganesh je n'en reconnais aucun, j'ai cependant dès les premiers jours pris la charge de ce temple, matin et soir j'en ouvre religieusement la porte.
Après une nuit de sommeil rien ne m'ai plus agréable que de descendre notre escalier , il fait à peine jour, le bruit des animaux est encore discret et c'est dans ce demi silence que j'entrouvre la porte de notre temple, un parfum concentré d'ambre et de musc s'en dégage invariablement, peu à peu le cri de la faune reprend le dessus, des cris exotiques se font entendre et me rappellent à l'ordre ... le jour est là , je ne sais combien de temps dure ma méditation matinale.... Je referme la porte, la nuit tombante je reviendrais.
Le jour finissant , bien avant que le soleil ne disparaisse complètement derrière la ligne d'horizon, il faudra de nouveau ouvrir la porte du temple, honorer une dernière foi, les dieux qui veillent immuables , dans une étonnante promiscuité. Le nombre des cadres est impressionnant, chacun à sa place, mais parmi les objets rituels, la lampe à huile trône au centre de l'hôtel. Le soir venant, je prépare la lampe, je dépose tout d'abord les mèches de coton au creux de la lampe, je les dispose selon la règle, puis je verse l'huile de sésame, j'allume enfin les deux mèches ensembles et à leur flamme j'allume deux bâtons d'encens que je d'un mouvement léger je fais danser dans la pièce pour mieux répandre leur parfum. Ce rituel accomplis la lampe brûlera un long moment encore, je laisse la porte ouverte, comme autant de porte ouverte qui mène à Dieu, car dans chaque contrées dans chaque pays quelque soit notre culture, là où un homme prie, la flamme de la bougie ou de la lampe illumine nos temples et nos maisons , et si nos n'avons pas le même Dieu, c'est la même lumière qui nous guide.