RIP Adrienne Rich

NYT ran a pretty good piece on the poet.  And Tumblr users seem to have uploaded more than a few tributes and poems.

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SONG

You’re wondering if I’m lonely:
OK then, yes, I’m lonely
as a plane rides lonely and level
on its radio beam, aiming
across the Rockies
for the blue-strung aisles
of an airfield on the ocean.

You want to ask, am I lonely?
Well, of course, lonely
as a woman driving across country
day after day, leaving behind
mile after mile
little towns she might have stopped
and lived and died in, lonely

If I’m lonely
it must be the loneliness
of waking first, of breathing
dawns’ first cold breath on the city
of being the one awake
in a house wrapped in sleep

If I’m lonely
it’s with the rowboat ice-fast on the shore
in the last red light of the year
that knows what it is, that knows it’s neither
ice nor mud nor winter light
but wood, with a gift for burning.

Back in Sydney

Review of Ra.One here.

And since I have been travelling and travel arouses ambiguous thoughts, an excerpt from an Elizabeth Bishop poem.

Think of the long trip home.
Should we have stayed at home and thought of here?
Where should we be today?
Is it right to be watching strangers in a play
in this strangest of theatres?
What childishness is it that while there's a breath of life
in our bodies, we are determined to rush
to see the sun the other way around?
The tiniest green hummingbird in the world?
To stare at some inexplicable old stonework,
inexplicable and impenetrable,
at any view,
instantly seen and always, always delightful?
Oh, must we dream our dreams
and have them, too?
And have we room
for one more folded sunset, still quite warm?

Rest of the poem here.

My Mother's Clothes

I don't think I know anyone as particular about clothes as my mother.

Not though in terms of dressing au courant or fashionably.  More that she had a very defined aesthetic and anyone straying from this would arouse a great deal of irritation in her.  

If I had to label her style, it would be simple, modern and classic. This was however compromised by her fear of her mother and the desire to please her. Consequently there are few occasions when my mother pretty much abandoned the South Indian look or indeed wore much make-up. When she did, she shone because it felt true.

These pictures taken in 1969 or so in Chandigarh are one of few times which are definitely her own aesthetic.  I particularly like the one below, which looks like Bombay Dyeing ads of the time. 

Our styles differed a lot and though once in awhile my mother would appreciate my sense of colour and bohemianism, many a time I have had to return things that didn't meet with her approval.  It wasn't that she wanted to control my tastes as much as it disturbed her sense of harmony. 

Rightly or wrongly, I have retained my own tastes.

But I like to look at her pictures now and then and think of her elegance and grace. I remember all her sarees and its nice to recall their look and feel, her own thoughts about them.

Good taste endures. 

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For my mother (1944-1993).

Walserisms

At the moment I want to read everything by Robert Walser.  I might soon be raiding Flipkart. 

And I am late to the party in discovering text on image. It tried a few but Phixr has been serving me well for the moment.

So here are a few experiments "illustrating" the current Walser fixation.

French Clothing/Indian Film

Rather unusually for me, disinterest has resulted in the lack of a clothes post in a while. Internally I have been grappling with the oh so important problem of transitioning my wardrobe to something more mature but it hardly feels pressing or interesting so I have done little apart from a burst of auditing this month. Selvedge, a textile magazine I subscribe to, however still offers many pleasures (some day I hope to do an article for them on the itinerant sari sellers of India – surely a dying breed – some day….) and I have been savouring the latest issue in bits and pieces. One of the pieces in the magazine was on the new movement towards modesty in clothing, perhaps in reaction to a decade of body con dresses, lycra and the like. Embodying this modesty is Le Vestiaire De Jeanne, a fashion line started by its designer for her younger sister. Germaine Greer once wrote that the French were one of few people who knew how to dress their young appropriately. And this line does steer clear of frills, pink and Disney pop-tart fashion. It’s a bit like a marriage between convent girl attire and Japanese minimalism and it mostly works though it could do with introducing some colour.

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I finally got around to watching a few Satyajit Ray movies I had picked up in India but after all that anticipation, they were slightly disappointing. Disappointing when compared to other Ray films i.e., they are head and shoulders above the fare I have been reviewing. Devi - in which an old man sees the Goddess in his young daughter-in-law- is about the suffocating, hallucinatory nature of superstition. Though beautifully shot and performed, it was ultimately a bit of a let down because it is a tad didactic – especially in the conversations between the young husband and his professor, representing of course the forces of reason. Without in any way endorsing superstition, there is also a hint of the smug, bourgeois sensibility endemic to such films.

Shatranj Ke Khiladi was one of Ray’s few Hindi film outings and is based on a Premchand story set in the dying days of Awadh as a princely state. It’s effete elites are part of the high culture of Lucknow and are devoted to poetry (the Nawab, played by Amjad Khan) or to chess (the players of the title). Meanwhile the British, robust and vulgar, have taken steps towards annexation – an event that would lead to the Mutiny and eventually the removal of the Company Bahadur. There are a lot of things to like in this movie and it works perfectly well when the focus is on the chess players, Mirza and Mir (Sanjeev Kumar and Saeed Jaffrey). Unfortunately there is a heavy handed voiceover explaining the events of the time (by Mr Bachchan), long dialogues on the underlying politics both in the Nawab’s court and in the British camp and though all this is meant as a compare and contrast with Mir and Mirza's chess game, it feels both lifeless and superfluous. Here and there it works, e.g. Wajid Ali Shah’s dance, the Prime Minister's (Victor Banerjee) recognition that nothing can save Awadh but for the most part it doesn’t. There is a comparison of text and film here, whatever Premchand’s intentions were it appears to have been modified for 1970s audiences and not for the better. The movie looks at 1856 through the telescope of later events but would have been much better had it let the audience connect the dots. It is hard to believe that Awadh’s rulers or the British were being little other than politically expedient and myopic, as people usually are when events are unfurling in real time. And perhaps Ray doesn’t entirely get Premchand, his Sadgati from memory also had mixed reviews.

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No Stiff Upper Lips or Trousers for Awadhi Toffs

Back to frivolity and let’s end with clothes. Apparently the fashions of 1856 dictated wide pantaloons, a long tunic and gossamer thin shawls for men and women. Unfortunately, given India is still giddy with being in the body con era, I don’t think we will be seeing an immediate revival :-)

You can see more of the clothes - and an excellent song n dance - here.  Shortly after the Prime Minister informs the Nawab that he has little choice but to sign the new treaty and quit town. 

And on the pain of quitting, a Wajid Ali Shah thumri here. As he says to his distraught Prime Minister on the verge of losing Oudh, "only poetry and music can bring tears to a man's eyes."

Devayani Behaving Badly

This week as Republic Day approaches, a review of Naam Iruvar here. As a result of reviewing the film, I ended up with a slight (OK major) Bharathi obsession for awhile. A poem I liked which is poignant in view of Bharathi’s life.

Did you think I too will

Spend my days in search of food,

Tell petty tales,

Worry myself with thoughts,

Hurt others by my acts,

Turn senile with grey hair

And end up as fodder to the

relentless march of time
As yet another faceless man?
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ACK's Devayani is mighty coy

I found a copy of Amar Chitra Katha’s Kacha and Devayani the other day. When I was young Devayani seemed enormously interesting and hard done by. First there was Kacha with his “But I am your brother!” I mean what was that! Commitment phobe much! Then the Yayati-Devayani-Sharmishtha triangle where poor Devayani was always worsted. Albeit it was a mess of her own making. Devayani is arrogant, selfish and manipulative but also upfront, she is an alpha female used to getting what she wants who finds that men are an obdurate species who will always elude her grasp. Really Devayani is quite modern, I mean she could star in her own afternoon soap called “Devayani Behaving Badly” where Kacha could be her half-brother providing for incestuous, illicit amore. Devayani could engage in verbal stoushes with Sharmishtha (who is quite the biatch at times what with pushing poor Devayani into a well) culminating in a ginormous catfight in which Yayati is the hapless stud bull prize. And if that’s too much for Indian housewives, Devayani can always make a comic strip appearance as the perfect antidote to Savita Bhabhi. Savita Bhabhi is the perfect male fantasy, nothing but a scantily clad woman who offers mindless fucks. Devayani on the other hand - whose desires are raw, immediate and honest - would leave most men terrified. Kacha and Yayati are no exception.

In a departure from my fervid imagination, Pradip Bhattacharya as usual offers an interesting take on Kacha, Devayani and Yayati. My frivolous mind is rather taken up with that “Dark Maidens with Copper Bright Nails” bit in his text. Excellent name for a female rock band!

There was one bit I never understood in the Kacha-Devayani tale. Why did Shukracharya, quite the besotted Dad, not teach Devayani the Sanjeevani? Not only would Bad Girl Devayani be provided with an intellectual side but a whole lot of grief could have been avoided! I feel a Kate Beaton cartoon coming on.

Sydney Blues

I will probably do a review later but in the meantime a filler post on actors who should be hearthrobs but aren't:-)

And more filler to kick off 2012 by way of pictures taken on a hot Sydney summer day which was pretty much cloudless.

Thistles

Awhile back the thistles were in full bloom. I decided to photograph them before they entirely disappeared and whilst most by now are more thistledown than flower, a few blooms remain. 

And a poem from a Ted Hughes book of poems I have been reading.

Thistles

Against the rubber tongues of cows and the hoeing hands of men

Thistles spike the summer air

And crackle open under a blue-black pressure

Every one a revengeful burst

of resurrection, a grasped fistful

of splintered weapons and Icelandic frost thrust up

From the underground stain of a decayed Viking

They are like pale hair and the gutturals of dialects

Every one manages a plume of blood

Then they grow grey like men

Mown down, it is a feud. Their sons appear

Stiff with weapons, fighting back over the same ground.

A visual interpretation of the poem on youtube.

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And so the year is dispersed and it ends to be replaced by a new one.

The Week Before Christmas

Review of Majboor on the phillum blog.

The lead up to Christmas here is often exhausting, especially if you feel disinclined to shop as happened to me this year. On Friday evening I watched Majboor and wrote up the review.  Saturday was taken up with shopping for gifts because I couldn't put it off any longer. I bypassed the malls and went to the outdoor  Rocks Market which was fairly pleasant given that we are still having rather cold and cloudy days well into the summer.  Then the packaging of gifts, the making of cards, the weekly grocery shopping, the weekly cooking, a fine tune of the Majboor piece and the weekend had just slipped away.

One important gift still remains.  My niece is of an age (4) when she has been sucked completely into the world of Disney (something that alarms me but that's a separate story) and Ariel is a particular favourite of hers.  Anyway a few months back we got talking about Ursula the Sea Witch who features in the animated series (naturally as a fat blue woman) and then somehow we got to the meaning of the name Ursula with my niece - a somewhat opinionated child - refusing to believe that it meant "little bear" because "you are very wrong Anu Periamma, Ursula is a sea witch!" Then she had one of those moments where she suddenly got what I meant (and I love these moments, its like watching a light suddenly shining in her mind!).  This carries its own dangers because she became immensely preoccupied with Ursula and the potential of another story that featured a bear.  Rashly I promised her a story of Ursula and the Bear to be delivered by Christmas but I have yet to start on it.  Hopefully inspiration strikes soon otherwise I will have a somewhat disappointed niece on my hands.

The shopping trip was slightly sobering too.  The markets were deserted and a girl at a stall told me that this year they would be making little or no profit during the crucial holiday season.  In my suburb, the Eastern European man who opened a small store of cheap bed n bath stuff has seen no customers and has grown progressively sadder and more dishevelled.  Perhaps it's fears of another financial crisis. Or perhaps everyone is online.

Speaking of which the highlight of my weekend was a trip to my favourite bookstore, Abbeys.  A wave of pure happiness engulfs me in nice bookstores so I remain loyal to dead tree books and can't contemplate an electronic one. Ever :-) 

And here are pictures of an Australian summer that has seen more rain and cold than the fabled sun of tourist brochures.

Dog Days

I have been dog-sitting.

The dog belongs to my uncle and is quite the apple of his eye. So I had to move in to keep an eye on the dog while he is away.  The dog has been behaving thus far and in an effort to establish friendship has shown me its bones hidden all over the garden. He's a Lab of some sort and fairly gentle as dogs go.

As I am away most of the day a walker comes around during the day.  This hasn't stopped the dog from attempting to bamboozle me into a walk.  Most often he loiters around the house but now and then he comes and barks at me, these appear to be requests for bone time or walks. Or he will hang around hoping for food, his stomach is a bottomless pit.

Bone time is very sacred and must be adhered to every day, its the hour when he bonds with you by chewing on a bone while you sit close by.  I have to take a book and sit by him till the bone is chewed to the...bone.  Of late we seem to have swung back into winter which makes this slightly unpleasant - especially when the demand comes at 9:00 pm.

I am not entirely sure why but I talk to the dog in Tamil, maybe because its the language I employ for babies.  It hardly makes a difference to the dog of course who only responds to a few important words.  I sing nonsense verse to it once in awhile too but it always leaves the room when I do so which hasn't done much for my pride in my singing :-)

The suburb my uncle lives in is fairly unremarkable, there are streets of suburban houses, schools, the odd community centre, a Railway Parade.  Over it all lies that Anglo-Saxon somonolence (as Murray Bail once put it in a book) peculiar to the more far flung suburbs of Sydney. 

This part of Sydney is also quite green and leafy and is a part of town where the city's early vegetable gardens were established.  One sunny day the dog and I went for a walk.  The park nearby is a mix of native and foreign trees and full of bird life.  I took a picture of galahs which are abundant in this part of town. And just a few general pictures in and around the park.

Yesterday I was putting away some stuff and the dog looked extremely doleful.  It then struck me that it thought I was also packing and leaving. Much petting and endearments later he looked happier.  Of course when I do leave he will hardly notice because the family will be back:-)

Initially the dog-sitting seemed a bit of a hassle coming as it did in the midst of a busy work spell but it's turned out to be a bit of a change and a mini-vacation.  Perhaps a staycation keeping house and dog for people on real vacations is a perfectly acceptable way to step out of one's routine:-)

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Separately the guy I buy The Big Issue from informed me today that he was now married to one of his customers.  When I first met him he was homeless, separated, had lost custody of his children and had just started selling the magazine.  Since then he had bought a place, earned a diploma. And now the marriage.  It made for a happy story.