20-Italy for me-3
Firenze or Florence was 2 hours train ride from Venice.
Hotel Lungarno was close to the station, overlooking the River. Although we were booked for the river view we were told all rooms with the view had been taken. Kusum looked at me and looked at the Italian at the counter and decided to act ‘Indian’. She flashed her Gold, sorry, Platinum American Express card at him and demanded to talk to ‘The incharge’. We were immediately asked to wait with a cup of tea and then upgraded to special suits although still not with the ‘view’. The bathroom was huge with 2 separate showerheads for him and her I suppose.
We decided to take a walk in the city, Capital of Tuscany and were amazed at the narrow streets, mostly one way or cobbled but lined with the most exquisite and famous brand name stores. Across the bridge was the ‘Jewels’ street filled with Gold and Diamonds galore. Every few steps one heard music from the strings of a Guitar or drums beating to tapping feet of hovering tourists like us. As the Sun set on the waters of the River, my friend would spot a spot for a glass of Wine and Pasta for Dinner.
According to UNESCO 60% of world’s most important Art works are in Italy and half of these are in Florence. It is the city of the Great personalities of the 16th century like Leonardo, Raffaello and Michelangelo, replete with their works. After a tiring morning tour of the Uffizi gallery and the Duomo or Cathedral, we walked to Galleria Academia which houses ‘David’ the young shepherd who was to become the King of Israel, the ‘Biblical hero’ who had defeated the giant Goliath. Nothing said could prepare you for the grandeur, the perfect proportions and beauty of the sculpture of David, indeed the handsomest man I ever experienced even though in Marble.
Life of Michelangelo was entirely dedicated to art. Not only did he sculpt, he was an astounding painter, an Architect and a poet. A long and existential route fed on passionate research and maniacal energy that seemed to be born from an infinite pain, melancholy and extravagant temperament. He worked without a pause absorbed by creative frenzy and an unquenchable thirst for beauty. So it is said, and we believe, that ‘Genius and desperation seem universal and timeless’.
We took a day trip to Sienna, capital of Chianti, which may sound a familiar bell for the wine connoisseurs. The Tuscan country side is set across rolling hills, valleys, rows of Cypresses, deep green vineyards, Olives, olives and olive trees. No wonder, the lady sitting next to me with a ruddy complexion, said this was her 13th trip to Tuscany from the U.S. She with 3 others was on a Bicycle tour, staying in a private villa they had discovered earlier. The bus dropped us at a point outside the walled town San Giovanni, perched on a hilltop. Main street was lined by little Tuscan ceramic pottery shops, art galleries, pastticcerias (pastry shops) and geleterias (gelato being an incomparable hand made Italian Icecream) of which I had a lick from Kusum who was not counting calories at this moment. At the end was a Piazza named after a well at the center, ancient palaces and a huge Cathedral on one side.
Sienna further down has the Town hall with Bells, which can be heard all the way to Rome, if the wind is right. The heart shaped Piazza is the urban meeting point where the world famous Palio horse race is held every year. Its main cathedral has striking Zebra like Black and white marble stripes on the walls and inlays of mythological figures from the Old Testament on the floor.
We were taken for Lunch to what seemed like a dark dungeon like basement but was enchanting once the eyes adjusted. Of course we wined and ate in candle-light. Kusum a doctor of kids struck up friendship with Amy across our table, a 3 year old who was also touring with her ‘Male mom and Dad’.
The day done, we found tea by the setting Sun, not enough hot, for us from India and boarded the bus to Firenze and then the train next morning to Rome and then the plane, Delta and KLM to our respective destinations, Delhi and the big Apple New york.
Veena
Thursday, October 28, 2010
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
20- Italy for me-2
20-Italy for me- 2
It was darkish when I opened my eyes. I could hear my friend Kusum’s heavy breathing. Having come from Delhi, I had gained 5 hours and traveling East, she had lost 5. We were dealing with this along with other mis-matches, like her excessive energy and faster reflexes compared to mine, her dynamism compared to my laid backish-ness, her fondness for the various little edible residents of the Sea with bubbly wine to my having detached somewhat from desires of fanciful foods etc.
Under the soft blankets I, dorsi and planter flexed my toes to get a head start, I squeezed various muscles of the top and low back, I dug my shoulders, small of the spine and Knees into the mattress and finally stealthily got out, responding to my nature’s call.
The ‘loo’ was as luxurious as the room. Outside the window, the sky was turning a slight pink. The Brick building was the Stazione/station with sparse tourists at this time. The steps going down, a wide platform and then the Canal, the Grand Canal which was the main street of Venice, right beneath my window---. A boat stopped at the Hotel steps with boxes, which were downloaded by the staff. Another boat with groceries, a water taxi as they call it speeded fast, the passenger water bus stopping across with hardly any people, suitcases coming out of the hotel queuing before another boat----. It was fantastic, so much going on so smoothly, the muffled sounds and the natural lapping of the waves of water flowing on----. The sky was brightening------
We had had a 4 hour run by Euro-rail from Rome and reached here yesterday. It was better than 1st class travel back home. Outside, were the range of Blue hills under Blue skies. The train would advance into them and then get enclosed by Chalets, villas, fields and the valley. Lunch was lavish with many courses and lots of pasta and Meat.
Orienting ourselves to this water city and reaching Hotel Carlton was a bit tough with our bags but once in, we were really taken in.
Called the Queen of the Adriatic, Venice was built on 117 small islands with many bridges and a town settlement around Rivo Alto later called Rialto. It was an enduring Mercantile Sea-power in the 5th-6th AD but down the years has become neglected and polluted. It nevertheless, is always bursting with tourists visiting its monuments, Boroque back street churches and quaint markets.
St. Mark’s Basilica is a spectacular house of worship with Golden Mosaics and 12th century marble pavement.
St. Mark’s square with the columns and bell-tower of San Marco, was chosen, plundered and housed by Napoleon, later flocked by pigeons and tourists alike. A statue of Garibaldi stands with the ‘winged Lion’.
Rialto with its stone Bridge is the commercial center of Venice. In the interior one can find the over full vegetable market called the ’Erbaria’, the ‘Drapperria’ for the sale of fabric and finest silk, the ‘Beccaria for the sale of meats, the ‘Caseri’ for cheese and Pescheria’ for fish--- Every day, among sardines, and giltheads, clams, tramps, basses and sturgeions a tradition is celebrated. All around are also several Artisan shops with Glass works from famous Murano and colorful jewelry items.
Personally after riding the Shikaras of Kashmir I was a little disappointed with the famous Gondola ride which was rather expensive and cold at night---
Ofcourse when they sang “O Sole Mio and Be Sami Mucho” I was truly missing Vikram Seth’s---- ‘Equal Music’, the part where Michael and Julia re-visit Venice and go to the performance---Was it Bach? Mozart? “No, Monteverdi and Vivaldi”, she had said.
“The gleaming fractured ochre and black floor of the main hall led to the rooms. Each room became more fantastical, filled with the assorted brilliance and bric-a-brac of centuries, tapestries, gilt sofas with Brocade backs, painted doors, huge ornate green marble topped tables, glass candelabra bursting into wings and flowers, clocks supported by yawning bears, little statuettes peering and beckoning at us from every niche and corner------ ” goes on Vikram Seth.
Sorry I got carried away ---He does that to me----
And so then, we were carried to the Stazione by the water boat and left the Adriatic also known as the city of the ‘Winged Lion’.
Veena Kapoor
It was darkish when I opened my eyes. I could hear my friend Kusum’s heavy breathing. Having come from Delhi, I had gained 5 hours and traveling East, she had lost 5. We were dealing with this along with other mis-matches, like her excessive energy and faster reflexes compared to mine, her dynamism compared to my laid backish-ness, her fondness for the various little edible residents of the Sea with bubbly wine to my having detached somewhat from desires of fanciful foods etc.
Under the soft blankets I, dorsi and planter flexed my toes to get a head start, I squeezed various muscles of the top and low back, I dug my shoulders, small of the spine and Knees into the mattress and finally stealthily got out, responding to my nature’s call.
The ‘loo’ was as luxurious as the room. Outside the window, the sky was turning a slight pink. The Brick building was the Stazione/station with sparse tourists at this time. The steps going down, a wide platform and then the Canal, the Grand Canal which was the main street of Venice, right beneath my window---. A boat stopped at the Hotel steps with boxes, which were downloaded by the staff. Another boat with groceries, a water taxi as they call it speeded fast, the passenger water bus stopping across with hardly any people, suitcases coming out of the hotel queuing before another boat----. It was fantastic, so much going on so smoothly, the muffled sounds and the natural lapping of the waves of water flowing on----. The sky was brightening------
We had had a 4 hour run by Euro-rail from Rome and reached here yesterday. It was better than 1st class travel back home. Outside, were the range of Blue hills under Blue skies. The train would advance into them and then get enclosed by Chalets, villas, fields and the valley. Lunch was lavish with many courses and lots of pasta and Meat.
Orienting ourselves to this water city and reaching Hotel Carlton was a bit tough with our bags but once in, we were really taken in.
Called the Queen of the Adriatic, Venice was built on 117 small islands with many bridges and a town settlement around Rivo Alto later called Rialto. It was an enduring Mercantile Sea-power in the 5th-6th AD but down the years has become neglected and polluted. It nevertheless, is always bursting with tourists visiting its monuments, Boroque back street churches and quaint markets.
St. Mark’s Basilica is a spectacular house of worship with Golden Mosaics and 12th century marble pavement.
St. Mark’s square with the columns and bell-tower of San Marco, was chosen, plundered and housed by Napoleon, later flocked by pigeons and tourists alike. A statue of Garibaldi stands with the ‘winged Lion’.
Rialto with its stone Bridge is the commercial center of Venice. In the interior one can find the over full vegetable market called the ’Erbaria’, the ‘Drapperria’ for the sale of fabric and finest silk, the ‘Beccaria for the sale of meats, the ‘Caseri’ for cheese and Pescheria’ for fish--- Every day, among sardines, and giltheads, clams, tramps, basses and sturgeions a tradition is celebrated. All around are also several Artisan shops with Glass works from famous Murano and colorful jewelry items.
Personally after riding the Shikaras of Kashmir I was a little disappointed with the famous Gondola ride which was rather expensive and cold at night---
Ofcourse when they sang “O Sole Mio and Be Sami Mucho” I was truly missing Vikram Seth’s---- ‘Equal Music’, the part where Michael and Julia re-visit Venice and go to the performance---Was it Bach? Mozart? “No, Monteverdi and Vivaldi”, she had said.
“The gleaming fractured ochre and black floor of the main hall led to the rooms. Each room became more fantastical, filled with the assorted brilliance and bric-a-brac of centuries, tapestries, gilt sofas with Brocade backs, painted doors, huge ornate green marble topped tables, glass candelabra bursting into wings and flowers, clocks supported by yawning bears, little statuettes peering and beckoning at us from every niche and corner------ ” goes on Vikram Seth.
Sorry I got carried away ---He does that to me----
And so then, we were carried to the Stazione by the water boat and left the Adriatic also known as the city of the ‘Winged Lion’.
Veena Kapoor
Saturday, October 16, 2010
20-Italy for me-1
20-Italy for me-1
Friday- 9.30 PM- Delhi-Oct.2003
Just flicking the TV channels I thought I would check on today’s Movie, and lo and behold Universal and Dreamworks production ‘Gladiator’ was on. Since I had missed seeing it earlier I stayed on to watch Russell Crowe, the Oscar winner. Absolutely fantastic! Especially so, as my friend Kusum and I had planned an Italian Holiday soon after.
I had taken the cab at Leonardo da vinci air port and had entered Rome of the Romans, passing by lot of familiar and not so familiar structures, images from History - “Is that the Coliseum” I asked the fat cab guy. He nodded his head in affirmative. Wow!
Passed by lots and lots of narrow winding streets and sharp bends and finally reached the Hotel. Parted with 80 Euro which I felt was steep and buzzed Kusum who was slumbering, having arrived 3 hours ahead of me from Manhattan, New York.
She laughed in mirth when she saw and met me. You see, she has been a friend of 40 years, right from the times we ‘shared’ the hostel room at Maulana Azad and of course also the Matching Chunnies and Salwars which, never could I find when in need. But she had been a good friend helping me in many of my life’s ‘crisis’ as ‘life’ rolled by, a roller coaster ride on the virtual Disney globe of ours.
We charted our plans after a ‘cuppa’. First things first, the room roared of ‘Bikes’ on the road going at Suicidal speed. It was customary to go without silencers in Rome, I learnt later. So we moved the room to the other side, also with an adjoining little open balcony where Kusum inhaled the breath from the Italian Sky and I from Delhi, glanced through the windows feeling the chill. (Lack of Thyroid did not seem to bother her)
The Hotel stood on the top edge of Spanish steps and commanded an excellent view of the ‘Steps’ and those perched on them. At the bottom was the Boat shaped fountain of Bernini surrounded by the Piazza and the Musicians ‘hanging around’, who I learnt were always there, one group or another.
‘Italo’ was the guide and ‘Amalo’ was the driver of our first city tour.
I was conscious of the shift from 3rd world humanity to 1st around me, from disarray to array, indiscipline to discipline, disorder to some rational order in the general scheme of things.
Rome was probably one of the first cities that came up 7-800BC around River Tiber. The people were gregarious as they are even today (we have seen them in the series of ‘Godfathers’) and the Empire spread from Northern England to Mesopotamia, River Danube in North to the Nile in the South. After the Monarchs, the Soldiers, the Barbarians and the Republicans there was the rise of Christianity in the 10th century and the pope got powerful. Things were lavish and pilgrims came from all over. The great Artists Raphel, Bernini, Medicis transformed Rome into a wonderland. As we did the tours we realized, Rome meant History, layers and layers of it. The Imperial temples, the Churches, Renaissance palaces and Boroque basilicas are all breathtaking. Roman Forum now in ruins, used to be the political and religious center in Ancient times, reminded me of Purana Kila and the Tughlakabad Fort at Delhi.
The Coliseum built in 80 AD was the amphitheater that could house 50,000 spectators, a sample of the setting of the Modern Olympics. It actually seemed a house of Horrors, a sample of which is shown by Russel Crowe as the Gladiator in the ‘Gladiator’ who saved the honor of Rome and had returned it to the Romans from the tyranny of a useless Monarch.
Trevi fountain is the famous ‘3 coins in the fountain’ attracting most romantics and most coins in the world. I could not but miss the rather assertive Bangla-deshi boys selling red Roses to young couples, making plenty of Euros for a living. Needless to say, we put our coins, hummed, “Three coins in the fountain, which one shall it -----“, sat gazing at the fountains and ruminating over past and future ‘loves’.
Vatican City in the heart of Rome is the World’s smallest independent state. Headed by the Pope it is house to a million Catholics worldwide. It is probably per square foot the richest country in the world owning an astonishing collection of priceless art treasures including Michelangelo’s work in the Sistine Chapel. If I had one place to see in the world I would see the ‘Vatican’.
Rome ostensibly remains a tourist center with Sculpture and marble at every nook, Wine with every meal and Pasta, pasta and more pasta-----
Veena
Friday- 9.30 PM- Delhi-Oct.2003
Just flicking the TV channels I thought I would check on today’s Movie, and lo and behold Universal and Dreamworks production ‘Gladiator’ was on. Since I had missed seeing it earlier I stayed on to watch Russell Crowe, the Oscar winner. Absolutely fantastic! Especially so, as my friend Kusum and I had planned an Italian Holiday soon after.
I had taken the cab at Leonardo da vinci air port and had entered Rome of the Romans, passing by lot of familiar and not so familiar structures, images from History - “Is that the Coliseum” I asked the fat cab guy. He nodded his head in affirmative. Wow!
Passed by lots and lots of narrow winding streets and sharp bends and finally reached the Hotel. Parted with 80 Euro which I felt was steep and buzzed Kusum who was slumbering, having arrived 3 hours ahead of me from Manhattan, New York.
She laughed in mirth when she saw and met me. You see, she has been a friend of 40 years, right from the times we ‘shared’ the hostel room at Maulana Azad and of course also the Matching Chunnies and Salwars which, never could I find when in need. But she had been a good friend helping me in many of my life’s ‘crisis’ as ‘life’ rolled by, a roller coaster ride on the virtual Disney globe of ours.
We charted our plans after a ‘cuppa’. First things first, the room roared of ‘Bikes’ on the road going at Suicidal speed. It was customary to go without silencers in Rome, I learnt later. So we moved the room to the other side, also with an adjoining little open balcony where Kusum inhaled the breath from the Italian Sky and I from Delhi, glanced through the windows feeling the chill. (Lack of Thyroid did not seem to bother her)
The Hotel stood on the top edge of Spanish steps and commanded an excellent view of the ‘Steps’ and those perched on them. At the bottom was the Boat shaped fountain of Bernini surrounded by the Piazza and the Musicians ‘hanging around’, who I learnt were always there, one group or another.
‘Italo’ was the guide and ‘Amalo’ was the driver of our first city tour.
I was conscious of the shift from 3rd world humanity to 1st around me, from disarray to array, indiscipline to discipline, disorder to some rational order in the general scheme of things.
Rome was probably one of the first cities that came up 7-800BC around River Tiber. The people were gregarious as they are even today (we have seen them in the series of ‘Godfathers’) and the Empire spread from Northern England to Mesopotamia, River Danube in North to the Nile in the South. After the Monarchs, the Soldiers, the Barbarians and the Republicans there was the rise of Christianity in the 10th century and the pope got powerful. Things were lavish and pilgrims came from all over. The great Artists Raphel, Bernini, Medicis transformed Rome into a wonderland. As we did the tours we realized, Rome meant History, layers and layers of it. The Imperial temples, the Churches, Renaissance palaces and Boroque basilicas are all breathtaking. Roman Forum now in ruins, used to be the political and religious center in Ancient times, reminded me of Purana Kila and the Tughlakabad Fort at Delhi.
The Coliseum built in 80 AD was the amphitheater that could house 50,000 spectators, a sample of the setting of the Modern Olympics. It actually seemed a house of Horrors, a sample of which is shown by Russel Crowe as the Gladiator in the ‘Gladiator’ who saved the honor of Rome and had returned it to the Romans from the tyranny of a useless Monarch.
Trevi fountain is the famous ‘3 coins in the fountain’ attracting most romantics and most coins in the world. I could not but miss the rather assertive Bangla-deshi boys selling red Roses to young couples, making plenty of Euros for a living. Needless to say, we put our coins, hummed, “Three coins in the fountain, which one shall it -----“, sat gazing at the fountains and ruminating over past and future ‘loves’.
Vatican City in the heart of Rome is the World’s smallest independent state. Headed by the Pope it is house to a million Catholics worldwide. It is probably per square foot the richest country in the world owning an astonishing collection of priceless art treasures including Michelangelo’s work in the Sistine Chapel. If I had one place to see in the world I would see the ‘Vatican’.
Rome ostensibly remains a tourist center with Sculpture and marble at every nook, Wine with every meal and Pasta, pasta and more pasta-----
Veena
Sunday, October 10, 2010
19- My DIVE
19- My Dive
July 2002- I am looking at my toes at the edge of the pool, arms hanging limply by the side. Narindar the coach, shouts,” Madam taango ke beech mein se peeche dekhiye or kood jaiye”. I look between my unshapely legs, conscious of the bulging thighs beneath the tight black costume that I had bought from New York in 1994 when I was feeling ‘young and slim’ and assumed I would always be so. Pali my friend in the pool shouted, “come Veena Jump”. I focused at the depth of the water in my head without looking in, still focusing actually at the wobbly knees , bent them a bit, pushed the edge with the toes and WOW , WENT deep, head in and then all else----
Summer of 1958- Father pushed us to do the most, learn the most------ unlike mother who would have preferred nice coy homely girls. So the Herd of us teenage daughters of the 2 families joined ‘Swimming’ in the morning and Driving at noon. Floating on our back quickly followed treading/ cycling in the deep. The Coach would pull each of us by turn almost cradling the body ON HIS. Strange bulges underneath, strange movements, strange discoveries and strange feelings, confusing and frightening to say the least. Today those bulges of Anatomy of the Male are no more strange but that was ‘some plunge into the ‘Waters deep’.
Becoming Doctors in 1965- M.Azad Hostel to trips to the NSCI pool with Kusum, Bimla, Ina, Rajinder and Shashi. Splashes in the Rain with hot Tea and Pakodas on the side.
‘The first serious LIFE DIVE-1966’ Marriage
Honey Moon at GOA -1967– The Sea around was stormy, the waves relentless. I conceived ‘to be Divya’.
Isle of Wight, UK- 1968- Hovercrft rides from Southhampton and Portsmouth with Divya in our laps and then toddling around. We were with the Brits.
London- 1970- 1st trip trip to Europe with the Sabharwals after crossing the English Channel from Dover in his car. Brussels, Bonn, Cologne, Munich, Vienna the awesome, Salzburg, Innsbruck in Austria, lake Lucerne, Zurich, Geneva in Switzerland, picnics by the Autobahns, bed and breakfasts and finally unfriendly and exorbitant Paris with the famous Eiffel, Moulin rouge, German Beer and French wine.
Edgeware-1971- our first owned home. Trips to the Sea at Brighton, Blackpool, Norwich, Yarmouth, Inverness, Lochness with the monster, Edinburgh, Dundee, Aberdeen of Scotland and Cardiff at Wales------ Arrival of Karan.
I take Divya to the indoor pool and teach her to swim in the shallow end. A baby book dares me to dip Karan, face in, in the bath-tub at home while I practice blowing bubbles in the same tub.
US of A here we come! Cincinnati- 1976- We buy a home with our own pool. B’day parties galore and splashing in, from the circular ‘slide’ all the kids in a row. Every one seems to be swimming and frolicking----- I begin to slowly sink in my personal life ????
Psychiatry helps me stay afloat, or so it seems!!!!
Birmingham- 1980—I determine to stay afloat !!!!
Tommy Charles had custom built a beautiful White Ranch house. It was in the 13th elitest, affluent, part of the US called Mountain Brook. We were the first semibrown family to move in. Azaleas and Camillias filled the surroundings; Dogflower Branches hung outside the large picture windows. The heated pool with multiple color lights sat in the midst of a large deck overhung by picturesque Weeping willows. Wrought Iron chairs below and tall dense pines of the surrounding hillside above. All the bedrooms opened towards the pool with sliding glass doors. The shimmering rays of Sun falling on the water played on the walls inside.
First Rebecca, then Bernice and then Lilian took care of the family.
I began to sink again----!!!!!
1982-Sugar beeches of Florida and the Gulf coast. The sand was lovely, the sea devouring---- the salt would choke me and the waves were drowning me------
The Shrimps, the whiskey, the cigarettes---I walked alone on the sand at Sunrise, I thought alone on the sand at Sunset------
1984-I inhaled deep. A master stroke and I land at Sundar Nagar , Delhi. I walked alone in the by-lanes recovering from the ‘loss’, loss of my marriage, work, my beautiful home, the new adopted country, also my Uterus after a Hysterectomy of 10 days------ Karan kept me going. I began to surface from ‘my inner depth’.
1985- Divya graduated from Mountain Brook High, the first Indian. Karan and I took a trip for the graduation via the Pacific crossing the International midnight zone and reliving a day. From Gieshas of Tokyo to Disney land at Los Angeles where Shashi, Mona and Dips joined us. We toured the Grand Canyon, Las Vegas my favorite, picked up Divya from Birmingham, Panama city, Orlando with Disney world and returned via Hong-Kong and Macao back to Delhi.
1995- Baden-baden in the Snow with Bittony whom I escorted because of her flight Phobia. The 12 Baths in a row (coming from the Roman tradition of beauty) with changing temps. and variable speeds from gently flowing rivulets to thunderous falls like the Niagra had to be experienced from ‘Skin to Bone’ to be believed.
1998- Kusum hurt her knee. We spent 10 days by the Atlantic at Amagansett, The Hamptons, and Long Island, New York (Bill Clinton visited the neighbors).
Also experienced the Amazing Gulf of the Arabian Sea at Abu-Dhabi with the Pingles and Muscat with Manish while coming and going.
2000-Attending Psych. meets with friend V Garyali became ‘meetings of the mind, Brain and soul’. Guwahati in the East, Goa in the West, Arunachal in the North and Kanya-Kumari in the South where the Waters of the Bay of Bengal, Arabian Sea and the Indian Ocean inter-mingle and become one at the Vivekananda’s Rock.
2002- I drag my still slumbering bones to the pool of my local club and try to wiggle in the deep to whispers from within ‘wakey-wakey’!
A splash! a giggle! Another splash, a group of teenage ‘budding’ girls, are here on ‘special off’ from School to practice for their inter-School Swim contest. ‘I wake up’.
Each is perfecting her own ‘Stroke’. The tall one is fast with the ‘free style’, the plumpy one is bobbing up and down in her Canary yellow cap doing the ‘Butterfly’, the littlest, never mind the absence of the breasts dives in doing the Breast- stroke and last, I spot a lean and lanky green spotty costume on her ‘back’ trying to catch up with the others in spite of the disadvantaged position. They are full of Zeal to get ahead, fast, quick---be the first— ‘in the School contest’.
“Don’t stop to look”, the Swim coach yells, “keep going, take a breath, put your head in and kick hard”.
I kick hard too; kick hard to get to my next goal.
Veena
July 2002- I am looking at my toes at the edge of the pool, arms hanging limply by the side. Narindar the coach, shouts,” Madam taango ke beech mein se peeche dekhiye or kood jaiye”. I look between my unshapely legs, conscious of the bulging thighs beneath the tight black costume that I had bought from New York in 1994 when I was feeling ‘young and slim’ and assumed I would always be so. Pali my friend in the pool shouted, “come Veena Jump”. I focused at the depth of the water in my head without looking in, still focusing actually at the wobbly knees , bent them a bit, pushed the edge with the toes and WOW , WENT deep, head in and then all else----
Summer of 1958- Father pushed us to do the most, learn the most------ unlike mother who would have preferred nice coy homely girls. So the Herd of us teenage daughters of the 2 families joined ‘Swimming’ in the morning and Driving at noon. Floating on our back quickly followed treading/ cycling in the deep. The Coach would pull each of us by turn almost cradling the body ON HIS. Strange bulges underneath, strange movements, strange discoveries and strange feelings, confusing and frightening to say the least. Today those bulges of Anatomy of the Male are no more strange but that was ‘some plunge into the ‘Waters deep’.
Becoming Doctors in 1965- M.Azad Hostel to trips to the NSCI pool with Kusum, Bimla, Ina, Rajinder and Shashi. Splashes in the Rain with hot Tea and Pakodas on the side.
‘The first serious LIFE DIVE-1966’ Marriage
Honey Moon at GOA -1967– The Sea around was stormy, the waves relentless. I conceived ‘to be Divya’.
Isle of Wight, UK- 1968- Hovercrft rides from Southhampton and Portsmouth with Divya in our laps and then toddling around. We were with the Brits.
London- 1970- 1st trip trip to Europe with the Sabharwals after crossing the English Channel from Dover in his car. Brussels, Bonn, Cologne, Munich, Vienna the awesome, Salzburg, Innsbruck in Austria, lake Lucerne, Zurich, Geneva in Switzerland, picnics by the Autobahns, bed and breakfasts and finally unfriendly and exorbitant Paris with the famous Eiffel, Moulin rouge, German Beer and French wine.
Edgeware-1971- our first owned home. Trips to the Sea at Brighton, Blackpool, Norwich, Yarmouth, Inverness, Lochness with the monster, Edinburgh, Dundee, Aberdeen of Scotland and Cardiff at Wales------ Arrival of Karan.
I take Divya to the indoor pool and teach her to swim in the shallow end. A baby book dares me to dip Karan, face in, in the bath-tub at home while I practice blowing bubbles in the same tub.
US of A here we come! Cincinnati- 1976- We buy a home with our own pool. B’day parties galore and splashing in, from the circular ‘slide’ all the kids in a row. Every one seems to be swimming and frolicking----- I begin to slowly sink in my personal life ????
Psychiatry helps me stay afloat, or so it seems!!!!
Birmingham- 1980—I determine to stay afloat !!!!
Tommy Charles had custom built a beautiful White Ranch house. It was in the 13th elitest, affluent, part of the US called Mountain Brook. We were the first semibrown family to move in. Azaleas and Camillias filled the surroundings; Dogflower Branches hung outside the large picture windows. The heated pool with multiple color lights sat in the midst of a large deck overhung by picturesque Weeping willows. Wrought Iron chairs below and tall dense pines of the surrounding hillside above. All the bedrooms opened towards the pool with sliding glass doors. The shimmering rays of Sun falling on the water played on the walls inside.
First Rebecca, then Bernice and then Lilian took care of the family.
I began to sink again----!!!!!
1982-Sugar beeches of Florida and the Gulf coast. The sand was lovely, the sea devouring---- the salt would choke me and the waves were drowning me------
The Shrimps, the whiskey, the cigarettes---I walked alone on the sand at Sunrise, I thought alone on the sand at Sunset------
1984-I inhaled deep. A master stroke and I land at Sundar Nagar , Delhi. I walked alone in the by-lanes recovering from the ‘loss’, loss of my marriage, work, my beautiful home, the new adopted country, also my Uterus after a Hysterectomy of 10 days------ Karan kept me going. I began to surface from ‘my inner depth’.
1985- Divya graduated from Mountain Brook High, the first Indian. Karan and I took a trip for the graduation via the Pacific crossing the International midnight zone and reliving a day. From Gieshas of Tokyo to Disney land at Los Angeles where Shashi, Mona and Dips joined us. We toured the Grand Canyon, Las Vegas my favorite, picked up Divya from Birmingham, Panama city, Orlando with Disney world and returned via Hong-Kong and Macao back to Delhi.
1995- Baden-baden in the Snow with Bittony whom I escorted because of her flight Phobia. The 12 Baths in a row (coming from the Roman tradition of beauty) with changing temps. and variable speeds from gently flowing rivulets to thunderous falls like the Niagra had to be experienced from ‘Skin to Bone’ to be believed.
1998- Kusum hurt her knee. We spent 10 days by the Atlantic at Amagansett, The Hamptons, and Long Island, New York (Bill Clinton visited the neighbors).
Also experienced the Amazing Gulf of the Arabian Sea at Abu-Dhabi with the Pingles and Muscat with Manish while coming and going.
2000-Attending Psych. meets with friend V Garyali became ‘meetings of the mind, Brain and soul’. Guwahati in the East, Goa in the West, Arunachal in the North and Kanya-Kumari in the South where the Waters of the Bay of Bengal, Arabian Sea and the Indian Ocean inter-mingle and become one at the Vivekananda’s Rock.
2002- I drag my still slumbering bones to the pool of my local club and try to wiggle in the deep to whispers from within ‘wakey-wakey’!
A splash! a giggle! Another splash, a group of teenage ‘budding’ girls, are here on ‘special off’ from School to practice for their inter-School Swim contest. ‘I wake up’.
Each is perfecting her own ‘Stroke’. The tall one is fast with the ‘free style’, the plumpy one is bobbing up and down in her Canary yellow cap doing the ‘Butterfly’, the littlest, never mind the absence of the breasts dives in doing the Breast- stroke and last, I spot a lean and lanky green spotty costume on her ‘back’ trying to catch up with the others in spite of the disadvantaged position. They are full of Zeal to get ahead, fast, quick---be the first— ‘in the School contest’.
“Don’t stop to look”, the Swim coach yells, “keep going, take a breath, put your head in and kick hard”.
I kick hard too; kick hard to get to my next goal.
Veena
Saturday, October 2, 2010
18- Chachaji
18-Chacha ji
Everyone has a Ma. Every one has a Pa. Many of us have an in-between generation Uncle or Aunt with whom there is a genetic and non-genetic sharing of mind and time.
My Father lost his real sibs and father early in life, he, independently took care of his Ma.
He was Mentor to the rest of the larger family and his youngest cousin Sushil, a decade older than me, became ‘that’ person.
He was in and out of our home through life.
Father himself a man of Finance, was also ‘bit’ by the ‘doctor bug’ and tried each Gumthala born after him to learn the Physics, Chemistry and Biology of the human body.
Well, Chachaji became a Doctor of Plants, studying Botany. He would bring some exotic Plant species from the Pusa Institute and teach us ‘Plant Classification’.
He then went to Madison, Wisconsin, USA for his Doctorate and thesis in Pathology in the ‘Potato’ and I guess many other Doctorates of life one does in one’s Youth.
On return after 5 years he was very Americanized, telling us tales of people, places, countries with jest and enthusiasm no one can match. That happened 40 years ago. He still narrates those as if it happened yesterday with nostalgia and a seething romance with another culture on the other side of the world.
He married Subodh and bought Land at Dhampur at the basin of River Ganga, ironically again becoming a ‘Farmer’ of sorts, growing Potatoes and storing them in a Cold Storage. He also had an Ice making unit in the Summer, a Rice shredding Mill, cattle on the farm and a sprawling Bungalow with loads of Gladioli and exotic Roses in the front lined by the tall Royal Palms and fruit trees at the back with broad leafy Teaks interspersed.
Sabina, Gesu and Gaurav, the offspring mostly schooled in Hostels in Cities and later settled with their spouses in the Corporate life of Bombay.
2 years ago Subodh had been seen for an Angiography at AIIMS. She had collapsed and shifted to the ICU. She recovered but expressed the one wish that Gorav be married while she was alive with or without the by-pass. Little did one believe that the count down had begun and this was not to be. She took treatment but her heart gave way suddenly.
We drove to the ‘Chautha’.
The house stood the same, sort of deep into and away from the main road. Some cars in the driveway, tent slightly blowing in the wind, dry earth, of the mid-afternoon Sun.
Some familiar and some strange faces, familiar with their expressions yet, accumulated unspoken emotion different than earlier exuberant times. We had reached late having taken the wrong turning. Nirman and his wife came to ask for Lunch. The people were ready for the ‘Pagri ceremony’. We politely asked to continue. Chachaji came and gave a soft hug, to Jhai, and me, again not saying ‘What’.
I sat amongst the ladies. We went through the rituals. Gorav was ‘Pagried’, seemed strange. Remembered the pudgy 6 month old who barely could sit steady in the center of the big ‘aangan’ where he later would play Table Tennis beating every one hollow.
The evening Sun was setting in the distance behind the leafless trees.
The crimson hue colored the barren earth, which had been dug out two days before. The potatoes lay in heaps uncounted, un-weighed and unbagged--- I could sight no Peacocks on land or on the Eucalyptus trees, just occasional chirping of some lone bird---.
The chowkidar came and wanted the attendance marked for the last 3 days. The laborer girls had been coming but leaving ‘un-reporting’ as Subodh was not there any more. Chcchaji picked up the register, opened a fresh page, drew a line for names and another for date and asked for their names. From now on they would have to report to him, some smiling bashfully, others with ‘no care’ in the world. I had my digital camera to catch the glimpses of the living farm. All showed interest and posed graciously in lines to be clicked.
‘The men’ had been around but actually it was ‘the women’ who seemed to have been sowing, nurturing, watering, watching, digging ------. While Sushil Uncle was around too, it had been Subodh who seemed to account for all and sundry. Although her own kids Sabina, Gesu and Gorav had moved to hostels after kindergarten, she was the ‘Mata’ of those who stayed on the farm.
She belonged to a family of Politicians of UP and I suppose there was some logic to owning and working on a farm by the Ganges if you are truly part of India, which as they say is 80% agriculture and farms. When she married him, he had returned from USA. After having tried his luck in Delhi and Calcutta where my father was posted he took up a job at the Punjab agricultural univ. Ludhiana and had a short posting at Abohar a small town not catering to the fancies of a foreign return Desi. He, we, had lands, not so fertile in Haryana, so the final decision of disposing them to move to Dhampur.
Of course she had also been actively involved in the Indian women’s organization and had formed the Dhampur chapter where a lot was being done.
Post the ‘Chautha’ my mother and I stayed on with the family of which we have always felt a part of. Things were in low-key, Sabina trying to get into her Mom’s shoes and taking care of the indoors and Gorav trying to ‘bond’ even stronger with the Dad and the farm clan, Gesu the middle sib unsure of her duties and emotions as was the Dad, of present, near or distant future.
The present was, this farm, forlorn without Subodh, without electricity for 10 hours a day, without grown children all products of high-tech management Schools, working high tech-jobs and settled in high-tech and high-rise Mumbai.
His life got amputated without Subodh. The future was a question mark?
“I feel forlorn and despondent. Gloom has engulfed me. Ambience deflects unbearable sadness. Nimbus overcast, Saturated Breeze, Seclusion around”.
We tried to communicate more often. He began to marvel at the way I had busied myself in my life living alone. Every time I met him I found, the gregarious fun loving guy in him was dwindling. “Evening is fast gliding into night on wayward roads. The last stretch is rather desolate for the forlorn recluse. Pensiveness sways me”, he wrote.
When I was small I began commuting to school on his bike in Kanpur. Now he saw me as the grown-up to commute with, to help find the meaning of remaining life.
He decided to dispose off the farm at Dhampur and move to Mumbai, nearer his kids and grand kids. I noticed he was walking with a slight limp, said his knee was getting Osteo-arthritic, had never been so before. Well I believe him but also believe that he will limp back to LIFE, his gregarious Fun Self again.
Veena
Everyone has a Ma. Every one has a Pa. Many of us have an in-between generation Uncle or Aunt with whom there is a genetic and non-genetic sharing of mind and time.
My Father lost his real sibs and father early in life, he, independently took care of his Ma.
He was Mentor to the rest of the larger family and his youngest cousin Sushil, a decade older than me, became ‘that’ person.
He was in and out of our home through life.
Father himself a man of Finance, was also ‘bit’ by the ‘doctor bug’ and tried each Gumthala born after him to learn the Physics, Chemistry and Biology of the human body.
Well, Chachaji became a Doctor of Plants, studying Botany. He would bring some exotic Plant species from the Pusa Institute and teach us ‘Plant Classification’.
He then went to Madison, Wisconsin, USA for his Doctorate and thesis in Pathology in the ‘Potato’ and I guess many other Doctorates of life one does in one’s Youth.
On return after 5 years he was very Americanized, telling us tales of people, places, countries with jest and enthusiasm no one can match. That happened 40 years ago. He still narrates those as if it happened yesterday with nostalgia and a seething romance with another culture on the other side of the world.
He married Subodh and bought Land at Dhampur at the basin of River Ganga, ironically again becoming a ‘Farmer’ of sorts, growing Potatoes and storing them in a Cold Storage. He also had an Ice making unit in the Summer, a Rice shredding Mill, cattle on the farm and a sprawling Bungalow with loads of Gladioli and exotic Roses in the front lined by the tall Royal Palms and fruit trees at the back with broad leafy Teaks interspersed.
Sabina, Gesu and Gaurav, the offspring mostly schooled in Hostels in Cities and later settled with their spouses in the Corporate life of Bombay.
2 years ago Subodh had been seen for an Angiography at AIIMS. She had collapsed and shifted to the ICU. She recovered but expressed the one wish that Gorav be married while she was alive with or without the by-pass. Little did one believe that the count down had begun and this was not to be. She took treatment but her heart gave way suddenly.
We drove to the ‘Chautha’.
The house stood the same, sort of deep into and away from the main road. Some cars in the driveway, tent slightly blowing in the wind, dry earth, of the mid-afternoon Sun.
Some familiar and some strange faces, familiar with their expressions yet, accumulated unspoken emotion different than earlier exuberant times. We had reached late having taken the wrong turning. Nirman and his wife came to ask for Lunch. The people were ready for the ‘Pagri ceremony’. We politely asked to continue. Chachaji came and gave a soft hug, to Jhai, and me, again not saying ‘What’.
I sat amongst the ladies. We went through the rituals. Gorav was ‘Pagried’, seemed strange. Remembered the pudgy 6 month old who barely could sit steady in the center of the big ‘aangan’ where he later would play Table Tennis beating every one hollow.
The evening Sun was setting in the distance behind the leafless trees.
The crimson hue colored the barren earth, which had been dug out two days before. The potatoes lay in heaps uncounted, un-weighed and unbagged--- I could sight no Peacocks on land or on the Eucalyptus trees, just occasional chirping of some lone bird---.
The chowkidar came and wanted the attendance marked for the last 3 days. The laborer girls had been coming but leaving ‘un-reporting’ as Subodh was not there any more. Chcchaji picked up the register, opened a fresh page, drew a line for names and another for date and asked for their names. From now on they would have to report to him, some smiling bashfully, others with ‘no care’ in the world. I had my digital camera to catch the glimpses of the living farm. All showed interest and posed graciously in lines to be clicked.
‘The men’ had been around but actually it was ‘the women’ who seemed to have been sowing, nurturing, watering, watching, digging ------. While Sushil Uncle was around too, it had been Subodh who seemed to account for all and sundry. Although her own kids Sabina, Gesu and Gorav had moved to hostels after kindergarten, she was the ‘Mata’ of those who stayed on the farm.
She belonged to a family of Politicians of UP and I suppose there was some logic to owning and working on a farm by the Ganges if you are truly part of India, which as they say is 80% agriculture and farms. When she married him, he had returned from USA. After having tried his luck in Delhi and Calcutta where my father was posted he took up a job at the Punjab agricultural univ. Ludhiana and had a short posting at Abohar a small town not catering to the fancies of a foreign return Desi. He, we, had lands, not so fertile in Haryana, so the final decision of disposing them to move to Dhampur.
Of course she had also been actively involved in the Indian women’s organization and had formed the Dhampur chapter where a lot was being done.
Post the ‘Chautha’ my mother and I stayed on with the family of which we have always felt a part of. Things were in low-key, Sabina trying to get into her Mom’s shoes and taking care of the indoors and Gorav trying to ‘bond’ even stronger with the Dad and the farm clan, Gesu the middle sib unsure of her duties and emotions as was the Dad, of present, near or distant future.
The present was, this farm, forlorn without Subodh, without electricity for 10 hours a day, without grown children all products of high-tech management Schools, working high tech-jobs and settled in high-tech and high-rise Mumbai.
His life got amputated without Subodh. The future was a question mark?
“I feel forlorn and despondent. Gloom has engulfed me. Ambience deflects unbearable sadness. Nimbus overcast, Saturated Breeze, Seclusion around”.
We tried to communicate more often. He began to marvel at the way I had busied myself in my life living alone. Every time I met him I found, the gregarious fun loving guy in him was dwindling. “Evening is fast gliding into night on wayward roads. The last stretch is rather desolate for the forlorn recluse. Pensiveness sways me”, he wrote.
When I was small I began commuting to school on his bike in Kanpur. Now he saw me as the grown-up to commute with, to help find the meaning of remaining life.
He decided to dispose off the farm at Dhampur and move to Mumbai, nearer his kids and grand kids. I noticed he was walking with a slight limp, said his knee was getting Osteo-arthritic, had never been so before. Well I believe him but also believe that he will limp back to LIFE, his gregarious Fun Self again.
Veena
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