And life slips by like a field mouse...

And the days are not full enough
And the nights are not full enough
And life slips by like a field mouse
Not shaking the grass.....

Ezra Pound

You remember noting this down sitting on the floor next to one of the many book cupboards at C's beautiful house. Settling down on the floor, that's what you usually did the few times you visited C and her husband, German expats living in the city since many years. Their penthouse flat was full of huge wooden cupboards, filled with books collected from across the world on their many travels – your dream house.

It was also one of the most tastefully decorated houses you've ever seen, but then for you, those book shelves were it, the lodestone that drew you. You rarely spoke to anyone once you entered the house, almost to the point of rudeness - :) - from cupboard to cupboard you moved, often settling down on the floor with a book, while people moved around you, talking, glasses in their hands. You were relieved if you didn’t know anyone in the group.

You were never very good at small talk, and books were the straw you always grabbed at, to escape into. It was there, on that floor, that you remembered that you always did this when you were a painfully shy kid/young person, forced into company – grab at any printed material lying in the room, and keep your head in it the rest of the evening. The scariest place on earth was a house without books or magazines :)

Go to the ant

Every time it rains, ant houses must be flooded, right? And so throughout the rainy season, do ants spend most of their time choking with rain water and mud, having the roof come down on their heads, struggling to get out, watching their families die, their carefully stored food all washed away, and then when the rain stops, go down and bring out all that mud in small lilliputian mouthfuls, without pausing to grieve - and then go through the entire process again and again and again? (Any myrmecologists out there who can answer this?)

You mean they live through this destruction and reconstruction and destruction, ad infinitum, all their short lives?

And is it easier for them to be Sisyphus-es because they cannot think or remember, and therefore cannot despair?

"Go to the ant, thou sluggard. Consider her ways, and be wise"*.

Is there another lesson here apart from hard work?

*Proverbs 6:6. The Old Testament

Picture from Google Images

Phase 2

2006. On weekends, you sometimes go to Nani Cinématheque on Miller's Road, the film school with a small hall where film societies screen movies. You are usually the first to enter. And then maybe around five people come. That's it. The rest of the world has more exciting things to do on Saturday evenings. For you, all these foreign films are ways of traveling across the world and observing other ways of living. Even if the film is not wildly exciting, it's okay, you get to see another country, another culture, you get to learn something new, your world is that much broader, your mind that less narrow.

What you have been fearing has finally happened. They can't afford these screenings anymore. Not enough members. This is the last screening by Vikalp. Film by a young German director Lukas Schmid, called Phase 2.

So you go to watch this film, heavy-hearted. The lady from Vikalp introduces you to Lukas and his wife and a friend, because they came up with you in the lift. He speaks good English. You go and sit alone in the hall as usual. You quite like this time you get to sit by yourself, on one of the black minimalist chairs, a stage in front of you, beyond that the screen, with dim back-lighting, the silence an unobtrusive presence, the outside world shut-out, non-existent.

Six thirty comes and goes. No one. And then Lukas and his wife and the other lady come in and walk straight towards you and sit next to you. You are taken aback. It appears that you are the only person who has come to watch the film! So he wanted to know whether you still want to watch it, and if you want to hear about the film. You feel terrible for this man. You are not going to sadden him any further by making him feel that no one in Bangalore cares to watch his film. You say, “But of course.”, if it’s not a bother for them. He smiles, he’s happy to screen it just for you.

My Picture in Ant Heaven :)

Sitting at the back of the house, at the door facing the well - your favorite place at your parents’ house -  and removing skins from roasted groundnuts to make chutney powder, one sunny evening. You can watch and hear birds, squirrels and butterflies from here.

And then you see a big black ant dragging half a groundnut which had fallen from your plate. You watch it drag the huge piece [in proportion to its ant-size], and go quite some distance, towards the car-shed wall on the right. You are waiting to see where its house is. And then you remember that this was one of your major occupations during childhood. Watching ants, following their trails to find out where they lived. (Well, we didn’t have TV in the 70s :))

And then you see him trying to lift it up a straight wall [just an enclosure for plants, in human terms]. He struggles up, walking backwards, dragging huge groundnut. At the third attempt he makes it to the top of this wall, after much falling. Then he has to climb again, this time a taller wall. You watch with bated breath, stopping your groundnut work.  By this time, this has become your problem too :)

He climbs and he climbs - and when he is right at the top - he falls all the way back - to the ground, even below the first wall! Shucks. And he tries again. The second time he falls, just when he is almost there, after much effort and change of angles and tactics, you cannot take it anymore. You go get a dry jackfruit tree leaf, try to scoop him up with the half-nut from the mid-way he had reached. You get the nut, but he leaves it and runs away down. You are disappointed, but keep the nut on the top of the wall where he wanted to take it.

Resurrection

Not so very long back, one gray rainy freezing cold morning in Québec City. The family you are staying with has not yet woken up. You are wandering the deserted wet streets. A city reminiscent of old Europe, with its cobbled streets and small shops and cozy restaurants.

Wrapped up in all the warm clothes you have, you walk up and down the steep roads, occasionally pausing to look at the St. Lawrence river down below.

You are not walking completely aimlessly. It is Easter Sunday. You need to find a church. You are not Christian, but you have always been moved by the concept of resurrection. You have always been moved by this young man, who bears on his shoulders not just the weight of the cross, but the burden of watching so many innocents slaughtered in his name - again, and again.

A young man who had thought that his agony would end with the nails.

You have been seeing ancient churches along the way, but with their doors closed, not welcoming to strangers as they always are. Then it finally strikes you - it must be because of the biting cold. You stop at the next ancient church. You gently push open the huge door. The church is packed with people. Easter Mass is going on. And it's in French. You understand that in all languages, suffering and hope sound the same.

You stand shivering alone at the back, slowly absorbing in the warmth. And you smile at the crucified figure. I am here. Today I have not come to ask you anything. Though I am homesick beyond any known definitions of the word. Today I am here for you, not for me.

When you step out, you notice that this is April, that Easter coincides with Spring, in the Northern Hemisphere. The first few buds are coming out on the trees, even though the cold still has not left for its kingdom far up north.

It feels right, that Resurrection and the arrival of Spring happen at the same time.

Dec 2006

An island life

Easter lunch at the the F… family reunion, on the beautiful island of Ile d’Orléans, in the St.Lawrence river, Québec. You are the only foreigner in this 40-strong crowd of French Canadians. M himself does not know most of the crowd as they meet very rarely, and this is his rich uncle’s house by the way. You are slowly getting used to the weirdness of it all. Especially enjoying the high regard people now seem to have for India. No more mention of elephants and kings, like during your visit to France 10years ago.

After lunch, served at a huge table with a vast variety of dishes, many of which you have to ask M's wife A to explain, you go Easter egg hunting with the kids in the huge beautiful garden outside.

When it is time to return to Toronto, M calls a taxi for you to go to Québec City airport. Stéphane, the young taxi driver, has his small baby strapped in a baby seat in the back. He is delighted to know that you speak French – and that too “original” French, not the Canadian one. You are also happy, when you realize that your French hasn’t rusted as much as you had feared. So we no speaka any English at all.

Tripping on Oxygen

On the back-breaking, nerve-wracking two-day journey in a mini-bus from Manali to Leh in Ladakh (in the Himalaya mountains, on the border with China), we Indians are a minority in a motley crowd of foreigners. After hours of steep climbing up to 14, 000 feet on the first day, you are rapidly succumbing to altitude sickness, but struggling against it, since everyone else seems to be all healthy and fit.

What the hell, how can they all be so happy and cheerful and talking and laughing? How come they all can breathe? Idiots. The heat is killing. Dry desert mountains all around. No human habitation anywhere. The chattering of the Korean girls ahead is driving you mad. You have just had some Maggi noodles and biscuits the whole day, that’s more or less what you get in the few tent stops along the way. 

Just when you think you can’t take it anymore, you look at the Israeli woman sitting on your right. She is reading a book from back to front. Yes, from back to front. The back cover of the book is in the front, facing you, and the front page is at the back. 

Oh God, you have started hallucinating. Oh God, this can’t be happening.