BollysLife

Catching Up

2007-11-06T09:13:00.000+01:00

G'day Mates!

Ah yes, well, doesn't sound too much like an Indian greeting does it?

Bijuli is going places, modestly trying to seduce the ladies of the world and conquering the universal market (no less mouah ah ah) . No worries, Bijuli is still Indian at heart, with its feet firmly planted in the rich Kerala earth.

The solidity of our little sap is taking its roots deeper into the soil thanks to Marie, the Production Unit manager. While Elianne is off and about getting new deals - and new expressions - Marie has been the keeper and watcher for a few months now.

It hasn't been easy, this year was yet another very wet year. Floods were very heavy in southern India, decimating homes, halting trains. Marie once told me she once spent a whole day stuck in a train because the rains had flooded the tracks. "Fortunately", she said," everybody showed good spirits, laughed, shared their foods, passed around business cards and just dealt calmly with the situation."

She also had to deal with the damage the rains had done to our unit : windows and sewing machines broken, flooded floors and dampened clothes to the core. Not only had she had to redoe some of the items but she had to deal with knowing the orders would never be ready on time. Not because the unit was not up and running again but because, this time, the postal services were stranded and overflooded in their own way with delays.

It wasn't easy but she pulled it through.

In the meantime, Elianne was in France spreading the good word to all those who listened: Bijuli clothes could now be bought online and shipped internationally! For the next few months, and with the help of all of our friends, a French & European Bijuli network was established : Paris, Manchester, Berlin, Avignon, Orange, Marseille here it comes!

But unfortunately for Europe and France, this summer turned out to be catastrophical for any beach and sun shopping. Quite a few individual sales were done but the good weather didn't catch on. Even Autumn was a no-show making it a distastrous year for the fashion industry.

So, to look on the bright side of things (well, and mainly for personal reasons) Elianne flew off to Sydney, Australia in order to check out what the further east south-asian market was made of.

And boy does it look guuuuud.

Affaire a suivre...

Desert March

2007-03-16T18:22:00.000+01:00

You can tell Marie and I have been living in India for quite a while now when I start writing to you about the changes in the weather from one year to the next.

A small recap on Trivandrum weather: from January until April, total bliss, it's 25C, blue sky, warm breeze, tourists buzzing in the city; April and May, hottest months of the year, 40C in the shade, cracked, dirty earth, not a dog or a human in sight between noon and 5 pm; from June until let's say September, summer monsoon, torrents of rain, temperatures drop to 16C sometimes, everybody goes abroad where the sun is (ha); October until November, off and on rains but mainly cool, tranquil weather, about 25C, sometimes winter monsoon will start in November, rains are fewer but impressive thunder and lightening occur often; December, the mild, lovely weather starts again.

This year, the weather starts with last year's summer monsoon. It began precisely on the 3d of June. I remember because on the 2d it was blue sky, cloudless, 35C minimum and on the 3d it was a sheet of rain, low grey clouds, couldn't see a mile away, 16C. The summer monsoon ran all the way from June until end of November. It took on it's friend the winter monsoon for a ride and both gave us, free, big bonuses of rain with thunder and lightening included. Five whole months of it.

Our clothes were damp, our sheets and pillows were damp, we were damp, the tourist season was late and businesses along Kovalam were getting desperate.

Then December came. The first charters filled with white skinned British arrived and on a night we decided to eat out in Kovalam, Marie and I found ourselves surrounded by Club Med.

We got used to the pace again as January and February walked in. Businesses were up and running again, charters flowing in like easy cash.

And now March should be pretty much the same as it's two earlier fellow months. But this year, since everything is upside down because of last year, March has been pushed aside and the heat of April has already landed on our heads. And let me tell you, what heat. Of course, it isn't Arizona desert kind of heat but it's enough to turn your body into putty. I'm sure after a while we will get used to it but, in the meantime, it affects us a lot more than meets the eye.

At first, the heat comes and stagnates over the city. The sky is eternally blue, not a cloud in sight. The crickets buzz day and night. The umbrellas make there appearance. As a foreigner, the first few days you're absolutely delighted. You hear that in France it's 10C and your having 35C in the shade. Living here is too cool. But that sensation of having it easy dwindles out as fast as a flame that eats the last of the wicker.

I've gone out in the middle of the afternoon at the beginning. Five minutes into a rickshaw and I began having a headache. I would stand still in the middle of my relatively cool living room and sweat. My work energy was thankfully still in stimulation.

It's been almost a week now that this heat has started. Not even a week and I take two to three showers per day. I went swimming in our pool in the morning, dried off in the shade and still managed to get a sunburn on my back. My energy level is nearing zero. I want to sleep and sleep and sleep all day. I have to force myself to work. All I want to do is eat ice-cream while walking around with a cold shower above my head. There are none of our stray dogs on the streets. I try not to go out between 11 am and 5:30pm. The worst part is that it is starting to weigh on our minds. Believe it or not, because the heat wraps us all around starting early in the morning into sometimes very late at night, the body gets hardly any break. And therefore the mind neither. It isn't unusual to notice a tendency towards morosity, sadness and even depression.

Not much can be done about it except drinks tons of water, have toilets at hands reach (for after water drinking), a can of water to spray on your face and body and use an umbrella if you must go out.

And of course, stay inside, wondering what suprises this April will bring!

And The Winner Is...

2007-01-25T18:24:00.000+01:00

For Miss Trivandrum 2007....

Our very own Bijuli model: Ragitha!

Yes, guys, you've read correctly. Our lovely, young lady who, nothing more than being a brilliant student, a helper in her family, a modest human being and a beautiful figure in pictures, has won the covated prize of Miss Trivandrum 2007.

And she is going for Miss Kerala!

Marie and I are very attached to this young lady. We care for her, I suppose like mentors or big sisters.

She doesn't have a bad life. I mean she is not poor, she wears cool, western clothes, she has her mobile phone next to her always, she eats every day and has a roof over her head. But, she hasn't seen her father who has been working in the Gulf for a very long time, her mother tries to keep a disciplined and kind figure. Ragitha also wakes up at 6 every morning to go to Airhostessing class in the hopes of earning a good job to bring home money for her family. She goes to university at 9 until 3pm and studies late to be an honour student.

Her dream is to go to the Journalism university here in Trivandrum. It costs money that she doesn't have so she wants to fly the international skies quickly. The clouds speak to her of a worriless world.

She keeps in touch, keeping us in her life even though we have finished the first photo shoot for the time being. That is how Marie and I know how she is doing, how her family is and what excellent grades she has been getting.

I wish never to let her out of our sight. To follow her in her growth as a strong and vibrant woman.

I wish, when Marie and I can, help her in making her dream come true...

Now excuse me for a minute while I brag:

Nee ner, nee ner, nee ner, nee ner, nee ner...et toc!

Sa Ri Ga....

2007-01-21T14:22:00.000+01:00

One of my long time projects, ever since I moved to India, was to tackle its music. I mean, hands on, learn it.

First, I had to chose whether I wanted to deal with the dance aspect of it, learn an instrument or make my voice through its notes. It was a close tie with the last two.

Second, I had to chose which instrument: the tabla? the violin? the drum? the veena? I actually fell in love with the veena and hence decided that was the instrument that would suit me most.

Third, I had to find a music school. I wanted one that catered trivandrumites. Like yoga classes here, you can find music schools who cater to tourists but my objective was not to have a glossy, westernized overview.

I finally found my school. Nadabrahama is located not very far from where I live. When I first went there to enroll, I was met with busy children running to piano, guitar, violin etc with serious over looking parents. I thought it was perfect.

The last thing I had to tackle with before starting my classes was my own apprehension to my lack of knowledge in the musical domain. I had enrolled in veena (which was already a scary thought for me) but also in Carnatic Vocal. This seemed like a major step. I had always admired my mother for her beautiful singing and felt that somewhere, as her daughter, I may not be able to live up to her standard (the things we put in our heads, really....). But I'm not one not to give it a try.

It's been a bit over a month now that I've started. I thoroughly enjoy my time at the school and just can't wait for the week to begin to go there and learn new things.

I love my classes. They each bring me great pleasure in human contact as well as, of course, learning to understand an aspect of my life that I love so much: music.

My veena teacher is a sweet, young woman who is often accompanied by her daughter of no more than 6. I like coming there early enough to watch them tune the instrument together. Her daughter plays beautifully which amazes me each time. Neither of them speak much English. That's ok. I am learning and with my little Malayalam, we get to understand each other. My teacher always gets a kick when I speak her language. During the last class, she dared ask me some more personal questions. The one that floored her the most was when I told her my age! Which makes me think that she is younger than me!

The Veena is the southern sibling of the Sitar and it is the musical instrument attributed to the Goddess Saraswati. It looks very imposing when you see it for the first time but, it is actually very light (although bulky). The strings are made of steel which, after a few lessons, make your fingers tender. When you press your fingers hard on the cords and on the metal bars of the veena, a beautiful, lingering sound comes out. And you're the one making it!

I'll spare you the details of the different parts of the instrument and their use. However, if you would like to know more about Indian instruments, the following website offers a good overview of the available variety:

http://www.chandrakantha.com/articles/indian_music/instruments.html

My Carnatic Vocal teacher is very different. I have become fond of her too. When I first arrived in her class, I found her extremely contempt, belittling her students. As I came to her classes I realized that in fact she had a sense of humor which made all the students laugh, that she knew what she was doing (her voice is loud and lovely) and that her English was impeccable. I like her for the way she is: because she sits at the end of the room like a queen, dressed in her sarees, her head high, her mobile phone always close by, patiently singing with us our false or timid notes. And when we succeed in singing our lines without any mistake and have her smile of approval, it just makes our day.

There is another reason why I really like my vocal class: I'm practically the only adult. The first day of class I opened the door only to find little people (kids) sitting quietly and attentively around the teacher. They all looked up at me (a giant for them) with big, round eyes. They scooted their little bodies to make room for my long legs...

Now I have some buddies, some smiling faces I look forward to seeing. A little girl no older than 4 with her timid smile, a little boy with big, almond eyes and such a sweet smile. The other day he sang his lines, trying very hard. When he was finished, we looked at each other and I gave him a smiling wobble. He looked soo proud. And then there is my very spunky, bucked tooth friend, Aganta. She is no more than 12 and is a real hoot. We're like buds you know. And what an amazing voice she has! And she can hold her breath! She's better than any of the cute 16-20 year old girls that are there.

Examples of a conversation I had with Aganta: she asks, " Do you like spiders?" I reply, " I don't care." She defiantly, " I see one, I squash it." Me, " Do you eat it afterwards?" "HUH?"
Or, "Do you know what is the best car on the market?", "No", "The Toyota Innova", "The best car on the market is one that doesn't pollute the air. It's a bicycle", "HUH? " Hmmm. The other day I told my teacher about water turning into combus, combustion. She didn't believe me."

Or, "See you next Saturday!" "Ok, see you next sunny" "What?" "Next sunny"" Eleena, you gotta practice your malayalam!"

By the way, the title of today's blog is in fact the first notes of the Indian scale. They are called Saptasvaras. Sapta meaning "7". Svaras (pronounced "swaras") meaning notes. They go higher in pitch in the first line: Sa Ri Ga Ma Pa Da Ni Sa. And then go down: Sa Ni Da Pa Ma Ga Ri Sa.

Anyone want a singer & veena player for a party?

Reflections

2007-01-18T18:21:00.000+01:00

Happy New Year to all our dearest friends, family & kind strangers!!!!

2007 is the year of radical changes, of complete happiness, of unbound successes, of amazing growth, of resolving conflicts, of looking at the roads of our lives heads high and hearts at peace.

May this wish be whispered in your ears and spoken out in your daily life.

Today I've bumped into an old friend. One whom I haven't seen in over a year but whom I have thought of for all that time. He hadn't changed much. Still the same interface, the same creative possibilities. Maybe a few newer options...

It feels good to be back on our blog again. I've missed it terribly. I know that it has been missed by some of you too...

I look back at our last date of entry and realize how much time has flown by.

As you can imagine, many events took place in our lives between July 2005 and January 2007. Some have been extremely joyful. Some extremely painful. They are probably the main reason why we left our friend behind.

Don't ask.

The importance doesn't lie in the need to explain why, how and when. In that year, Marie and I laid down the foundations of our life in Kerala. This year, we are setting up its walls and roof. This is what we'll hopefully write about...

Don't worry. We promise to still bring you the quirky, the reflective and the poetic of our daily living.

Good night old friend and let us talk again tomorrow...

Qu'est-ce que la bise indienne?

2007-01-18T17:13:00.000+01:00

Pour la bise indienne tout depend de la saison...

Pendant la mousson tu es balaye par les vents et la pluie avant de pouvoir la faire...

Pendant la saison seche, tu fonds sur place avant de reussir a t'approcher de la personne a qui tu veux la faire...

Et pendant la saison intermediaire, tu ne peux pas la faire car de toute facon ce n'est pas correcte.

Pour resumer, la bise indienne est une bise que tu souhaites faire mais que ton karma t'empeche d'accomplir...

Silver Screen

2005-07-06T17:19:00.000+02:00

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!

2005-07-05T17:18:00.000+02:00

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!

2005-07-04T17:17:00.000+02:00

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

2005-07-02T17:16:00.000+02:00

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

2005-07-01T17:15:00.000+02:00

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

2005-07-01T16:32:00.001+02:00

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.

Pretty Woman, Walking Down the Street

2005-06-27T17:14:00.000+02:00

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

2005-06-26T17:12:00.000+02:00

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

2005-06-26T17:11:00.000+02:00

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!

2005-06-24T17:10:00.000+02:00

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

2005-06-23T17:10:00.000+02:00

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

2005-06-22T17:08:00.000+02:00

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

2005-06-21T17:07:00.000+02:00

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

2005-06-20T17:05:00.000+02:00

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

2005-06-04T17:02:00.000+02:00

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

2005-06-03T19:01:00.001+02:00

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

2005-06-03T19:01:00.000+02:00