to skip a chronological beat back....
i should mention the time i spent in the bosom of my wonderful, big-hearted mother. we met in Delhi - she groggy with jet-lag and endless sleepless, sermon-scribbling nights, and me with guts-a-grumbling ominously. and there began two weeks of smart to very smart hotels, smooth airconditioned passages through knots of chaos and traffic, a Damascene conversion to bananas on Mater's part, gin, food and...shopping. dear Mum, like a dog in a field of lamposts, just couldn't get enough of that shiny multicoloured stuff - "stop the car! i can see Rajasthani brollies!" etc.
all was well (no arguments! minimum nagging!) and it was good to have a fresh perspective on things. all was well, that is, until it came to our final night together in Mumbai. there i was, lounging by the turquoise roof top pool of our ridiculously flash hotel, when she calls me over. there is something she wants me to see. i slope over to where she is standing looking, from the roof of the hotel, across at the slums of Mumbai. there are tears in her eyes. immediately adjacent to this cluster of grey is Mumbai airport. we watch as a plane trundles up the runway and circles a roundabout. the noise is deafening. "how do they manage to get a baby to sleep?" Mum shouts over the roar. we watch in silence for a while, until two tall frosty glasses of 'Mumbai' Sapphire arrive at our table. the circle is complete. it has take the luxury of a five-star hotel to set us apart; to cause us to remember something we had forgotten we knew. it was the usual story: we had grown accustomed; our sight was dimmed; our imagination stunted. but here it was - like a slap in the face! us! them! rich! poor! my mind registered with inescapable clarity an idea that had been lying dormant (in the antechamber of my mind). India has changed me, but not for the better. i have undergone a change of heart, but it has been a hardening, a sealing over. it is part survival, part cowardice, part confusion, for in India, where does love begin, and where does it end? love in India is like a snowflake in a ocean of need. my Missionaries of Charity experience was a drop in that ocean and, dare i say it, and i speak only for myself, knowing my own motives, an example of cheap grace. the people who haunt me are a couple who i have never met, who took their young children to live, permanently, in the slums, somewhere in South America. it is a kind of staying awake in Gethsemane. the warning words of Arundhati Roy sang in the dusk light over that little roof top scene: do not complicate what is simple. do not simplify what is complicated. the bush is on fire. there is an arrow of stars in the sky. is anyone awake? is anyone taking notes? i only know that i am too good at shoving this thing - this question mark that hooks and seals my fate - under the carpet. paying off the Hound with the bloody bone of token gestures.
......
i remain ensconced at the foot of the Himalayas. my body is adjusting to the cold. the sun shines today, and i have sloughed off some layers, like a snake shedding its skin. i walk in the mountains, i am wide-eyed at the thunderstorms. i take in alot of movies, the odd cooking class and daily conversation classes. we have been doing Haikus:
when His Holiness
walks into Dharamsala
classes are empty.
Kate is back in the frame. she sits and makes her jewellry, i sit and read a book. it is all very agreeable. next stop, Nepal, for the visa run and i daresay some trekking.
and in other news, happy happy congratulatories to Stuart who is with child! (or to be more precise, Stuart's soon-to-be Missus, Emma)
may it be the fattest, happiest baby the world has ever known, and may your partying never, ever be diminished!
i should mention the time i spent in the bosom of my wonderful, big-hearted mother. we met in Delhi - she groggy with jet-lag and endless sleepless, sermon-scribbling nights, and me with guts-a-grumbling ominously. and there began two weeks of smart to very smart hotels, smooth airconditioned passages through knots of chaos and traffic, a Damascene conversion to bananas on Mater's part, gin, food and...shopping. dear Mum, like a dog in a field of lamposts, just couldn't get enough of that shiny multicoloured stuff - "stop the car! i can see Rajasthani brollies!" etc.
all was well (no arguments! minimum nagging!) and it was good to have a fresh perspective on things. all was well, that is, until it came to our final night together in Mumbai. there i was, lounging by the turquoise roof top pool of our ridiculously flash hotel, when she calls me over. there is something she wants me to see. i slope over to where she is standing looking, from the roof of the hotel, across at the slums of Mumbai. there are tears in her eyes. immediately adjacent to this cluster of grey is Mumbai airport. we watch as a plane trundles up the runway and circles a roundabout. the noise is deafening. "how do they manage to get a baby to sleep?" Mum shouts over the roar. we watch in silence for a while, until two tall frosty glasses of 'Mumbai' Sapphire arrive at our table. the circle is complete. it has take the luxury of a five-star hotel to set us apart; to cause us to remember something we had forgotten we knew. it was the usual story: we had grown accustomed; our sight was dimmed; our imagination stunted. but here it was - like a slap in the face! us! them! rich! poor! my mind registered with inescapable clarity an idea that had been lying dormant (in the antechamber of my mind). India has changed me, but not for the better. i have undergone a change of heart, but it has been a hardening, a sealing over. it is part survival, part cowardice, part confusion, for in India, where does love begin, and where does it end? love in India is like a snowflake in a ocean of need. my Missionaries of Charity experience was a drop in that ocean and, dare i say it, and i speak only for myself, knowing my own motives, an example of cheap grace. the people who haunt me are a couple who i have never met, who took their young children to live, permanently, in the slums, somewhere in South America. it is a kind of staying awake in Gethsemane. the warning words of Arundhati Roy sang in the dusk light over that little roof top scene: do not complicate what is simple. do not simplify what is complicated. the bush is on fire. there is an arrow of stars in the sky. is anyone awake? is anyone taking notes? i only know that i am too good at shoving this thing - this question mark that hooks and seals my fate - under the carpet. paying off the Hound with the bloody bone of token gestures.
......
i remain ensconced at the foot of the Himalayas. my body is adjusting to the cold. the sun shines today, and i have sloughed off some layers, like a snake shedding its skin. i walk in the mountains, i am wide-eyed at the thunderstorms. i take in alot of movies, the odd cooking class and daily conversation classes. we have been doing Haikus:
when His Holiness
walks into Dharamsala
classes are empty.
Kate is back in the frame. she sits and makes her jewellry, i sit and read a book. it is all very agreeable. next stop, Nepal, for the visa run and i daresay some trekking.
and in other news, happy happy congratulatories to Stuart who is with child! (or to be more precise, Stuart's soon-to-be Missus, Emma)
may it be the fattest, happiest baby the world has ever known, and may your partying never, ever be diminished!
posted by effie at 12:20 AM
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