Encounters - Συναντήσεις ΙΙ

www.evakesselring.com

 

Payl Simon | Πωλ Σάιμον | 1941-

  

Μαρίκα Παπαγκίκα | Marika Papagkika | 1890-1943

Encounters - Συναντήσεις Ι

www.evakesselring.com

George Gershwin | Τζωρτζ Γκέρσουιν | 1898-1937

Μανώλης Χιώτης | Manolis Chiotis | 1921-1970

                               

Feels Like Home

Something in your eyes

Makes me wanna lose myself

Makes me wanna lose myself

In your arms.

There's something in your voice

Makes my heart beat fast

Hope this feeling lasts

The rest of my life.

If you knew how lonely my life has been

And how low I've felt for so long.

If you knew how I wanted someone to come along

And change my world the way you've done.

Feels like home to me

Feels like home to me

Feels like I'm all the way back

Where I come from.

Feels like home to me

Feels like home to me 

Feels like I'm all the way back

Where I belong.

A window breaks 

Down a long dark street

And a siren wails in the night.

But that's all right 

'Cause I have you here with me

And I can almost see

Through the dark there's light.

If you knew how much this moment means to me

And how long I've waited for your touch.

If you knew how happy you are making me.

Oh I never thought I'd love anyone so much.

Feels like home to me

Feels like home to me

Feels like I'm all the way back where I come from.

Feels like home to me

Feels like home to me

Feels like I'm all the way back where I belong.

Feels like I'm all the way back where I belong.

- Randy Newman -

"Feels like I'm all the way back where I come from"

                    and yet I'm not and never can be.

"Feels like I'm all the way back where I belong"

                    and yet what'll keep us together, is being free.

"Feels like home to me"

                   means you feel like me to me, and it's so good to have you/me back...

Transformations

Thème du jour: the allure and terror of transformation. I use the term "du jour" in a scandalously broad sense, for in fact the topic has been a major player throughout my life thus far but more so in the last three years, give or take.

I seem to have spent more of my life exercising my transforming abilities than most. Role-playing games were  a staple of my younger brother David's and my seemingly endless afternoon hours, in our earlier childhood. And what roles they were! Larger than life, fantastic characters, donned with the earnestness and attention to detail that only children can muster and which the most gifted actors spend their entire existence striving to recapture. Later I remember discovering my capacity to simultaneously be the character while also consciously being my own spectator, a mesmerizing state to be in. This gradually became second nature to me, as I went from dancer to actress, to singer and performer. But these are, at the end of the day, just "games", right? Roles, played. Right?

Right. Until one day I caught one of these characters red-handed as it had insinuated itself in my "real" life. I happened to listen to a message I left on a friend's answering machine (remember those?) in the character's voice! I was shocked. I very soon decided that I couldn't be whatever character I was portraying at any given instance, 24/7. I felt that in doing so, I was running the serious peril of losing sight of the "real I", which after all was fuelling all these characters. So the character got neatly put away at the end of a rehearsal or performance, along with its costume, until our next encounter, at the next rehearsal or performance, and this has served me well.

Characters being what they are, imaginary persons in imaginary extraordinary situations (ordinary situations are notoriously bland when placed on a stage or screen), they tend to be wildly alluring but also in a sense frightening, if for no other reason than their intensity. Real life is by comparison tame and safe, like a cocoon. 

What of this tame, safe, spectator self? Is it a constant? 

Are we meant to exit this world (stage left) in the exact same state we entered it? No drama, no journey? No transformation? I should certainly hope not. Seems like an awful waste of life, to me.

And yet, how terrifying the prospect of change! For even in the will to change lies the tacit acknowledgement of our inadequacies. Even as we profess, in that endless esoteric debate (it's not just me, is it?) wanting to be "more this" or "less that", a part of us is also resisting these very desires because they are an admission of "not being enough this" and "being too much of that" while still strutting our stuff, thinking we're the swankiest thing to have graced this planet since the demise of the Rat Pack. So much for the tameness and safety of "real life". 

Change is frightening in that it will inevitably cause us to part ways with what is familiar. Old slippers may be tatty and coffee-stained and we wouldn't want to wear them on a hot date, but -boy!- are they comfy! But the real terror hasn't hit yet. Guess what? Change is inevitable. Everything, everything, changes constantly and we change right along with it all. You can't step into the same river twice (thanks for making my day, Heraclitus, I love you too!).

To make matters worse still, it would appear that this flux has been, gently at first, more forcibly later, accelerating. The river is no longer the lazy lazy river by the old mill run, and even the most nonchalant glance out the port-hole will tell you we're headed for the rapids. 

It transpires (and Charles, I know you're going to love this!) that a call for transformation is imminent. "Change or perish" roars the waterfall and the latter is rather the type of transformation that I, for one, would just as soon pass on.

Thus far, what was thought to be safe & comfy proved to be more hazardous than waltzing through a Cambodian mine field in floppy old slippers and Change went from being a half-assed New Year's Resolutions list first, to being an inevitable evil  not unlike the sagging of breasts and the recession of hairlines and then, in a truly majestic coup de théâtre, to being a no-nonsense, wake-up-and-smell-the-coffee necessity.

There you have it, and it's quite the challenge.

Change doesn't look half bad now, does it. And so the idea is finally dawning that transformation might actually be a pretty nifty thing. 

I am now again reminded of Peter Economidis' invitation to imagine the future, secure in the knowledge that we have the power to. Collectively and individually. It may well take a leap of faith, but it seems clear that leap we must. Leap I must. 

And leap I damn well will!

Frankly, the cocoon hasn't been a safe harbour in a very long time. Just a sad dark cramped closet. So I guess this would be a good time to remember my dancing days and my role-playing skills to jump-start myself and emerge a splendid, alluring, shimmering creature, in risky but sexy Manolos (no less!).

Eight days shy of my 44th birthday, I stand here today, stretching out my mind, flexing my heart and my unfolding wings to embrace a life-saving transformation with all the tightness of focus that my 7-year-old self once displayed so effortlessly.

Next trick will be to keep from getting pinned down.

Being Alive (Happy New Year!)

The magnificent rear end of the year most recently shown out the door thought it appropriate to leave a lasting impression on my psyche's retina. Had I been paying closer attention (instead of vaguely musing on the trivia of everyday blah) I'd like to think that I would have read the unmistakeable message of her lilting sashay, of the cryptic smile thrown in my direction over her weathered shoulder: "Brace yourself, lass! Things are about to get interesting."

She may have been a tramp, but true to form and despite her unnerving knack for understatement, she was no liar.

Certainly, I have had momentous encounters & have made life-changing choices in the past but never before did the realization of them hit me so swiftly. What followed was nothing less than breathtaking and I found myself being simultaneously swept by this electrifying sequence of events, thoughts & feelings and observing myself undergo this experience, as the mesmerized viewer of a high-end drama. 

I have been struggling for days to make sense of the upheaval that my encounter with you brought about. Had I been asked a few short weeks ago if I thought it a plausible string of events I most likely would have cracked a bitter-sweet smile that said "I should be so lucky". [And you would have dismissed the line with a quick "I don't believe in luck".]

I have no trouble remembering that first exchange almost verbatim, so profound an impact did it pack for me --- Why? It probably boils down to who & "where" we were at, of course. Also, I can no longer pretend to ignore the state of waiting I was in --- bursting at the seams (as you were very swift to read) with longing, my restlessness living just "under my skin".

Yearning for my focus to be pulled, to be engaged in a conversation that communicated something true, something of substance ---- finally to touch and be touched. And I did. And I was.

I now find myself wondering if I still have it in me to wait this out, as I have done in the past, earning myself the handle of "long distance runner". No longer in my first youth, do I have one last Marathon in me?

Even as I am writing this, another realization: in truth, there is no appropriate course of action to take, no choice to make, no right and no wrong to be done, for this is greater than both you and I.

I am reminded of that jewel of a scene in Casino Royale, when Woody Allen's character, Jimmy Bond is reluctantly led before an execution squad, breaking free over a wall defiantly shouting "so long, suckers!" only to land on the other side, at the feet of a prisoner as another squad opens fire.

To do this or that, now strikes me as futile as raising my forearms to protect myself from flying bullets or popping open my pink parasol against a tidal wave.

Therefore, be welcome, Wave!

You are, beyond the shadow of a doubt, the most annoying man to have crossed my path. You challenge me and arouse me. You hold me too close and you ruin my sleep. And as the brilliant Mr. Sondheim points out, you make me aware of being alive.

As we inescapably converge, I have but one more thing to say to you:

Thank you.

I love you.

Ok, so that's two things. So sue me!

Maison Et Décoration

Είπαμε -- δεν το'χω με τον Νοέμβριο.

Έτσι, επιστρατεύοντας όλο μου το "βάζουμε το ένα ποδαράκι μπροστά στο άλλο και προχωράμε", έστω και με baby steps, ξεκίνησα πρόβες για ένα ολοκαίνουργιο project και ήταν τέτοιος ο ενθουσιασμός μου που το ηθικό πήρε την ανιούσα σε χρόνο DT --τόσο που ξεχείλησα και άρχισε να απλώνεται και μες το σπίτι μου.

Με την βοήθεια του Κωστή Μαρκή (όπου "βοήθεια" βλέπε "εκείνος τράβηξε το ζόρι κι εγώ έκανα ψιλοκουβεντούλα και μακαρονάδες") πραγματοποιήθηκε ένα σχέδιο που είχα συλλάβει μόλις εγκαταστάθηκα στο σπίτι αλλά μπήκε άνω τελεία μέχρι να επιστρέψω απ την Ινδία. 

Ξεκίνησε -ειλικρινώς- με "Κωστή, σε παρακαλώ, θα μου δανείσεις το τριβείο σου που θέλω να τρίψω μια βιβλιοθήκη για να την βάψω;" και εκείνος πολύ ευγενικά δέχτηκε. Στην συνέχεια, προσφέρθηκε να κάνει εκείνος το τρίψημο, μιας και το κουλαντρίζει καλύτερα το εργαλείο και εγώ δεν είχα ακόμα συνέρθει εντελώς από μια (ακόμα) ασθματική βρογχίτιδα και ήμουν με αντιβίωση. 

Μετά είπε να περάσει και τη βελατούρα.

Την συνέχεια την φαντάζεται ακόμα κι ένας οδοντοτεχνίτης.

Γελάσαμε πολύ, ήρθε και η φίλη μου η Francine, όσο στέγνωνε το πρώτο χέρι παίξαμε και μια παρτίδα Trivial Pursuit!

Η εν λόγω βιβλιοθήκη-secrétaire υπήρχε ήδη στο σπίτι, "εντοιχισμένη" στην βορειοανατολική γωνία του living-room, που τώρα πια φιλοξενεί την τραπεζαρία μου, δίπλα σε ένα μεγάλο παράθυρο. Ήταν σκούρο καφέ και κάποτε λουστραρισμένο --τώρα πια το είχε σχεδόν απορροφήσει ολοκληρωτικά το ξύλο. Ποτέ δεν αγάπησα τα βαριά και σκούρα έπιπλα και η κατά τα άλλα μια-χαρά-κούκλα-και-χρήσιμη βιβλιοθήκη φάνταζε σαν "μαύρη τρύπα".  Με την σύγκατάθεση του φίλου μου (και κατά το 1/3 σπιτονοικοκύρη μου) του Σταμάτη, αποφάσισα να βαφτεί σε ένα πολύ ανοιχτό γαλάζιο του πάγου, με μία υποψία κόκκινου μέσα, ίσα να τραβήξει προς λουλακί (το χρώμα-φετίχ).

WAIT, THERE'S MORE!!

Unikko

Αυτό είναι το αγαπημένο μου κλασικό σχέδιο Unikko της φιλανδικής εταιρίας υφασμάτων (και όχι μόνο) Marimekko. Η γιαγιά μου η Λιλή μου την έμαθε, και έγινα fan με την σειρά μου. 

Ο Κωστής ζωγράφισε πάλι, in more ways than one! 

Το τρόλλεϋ ήταν δικό της, Δανέζικης κατασκευής late 60s-very early 70s (?) και το θυμάμαι όσα χρόνια θυμάμαι και τον εαυτό μου. Με τον καιρό, είχε υποστεί κακουχίες και ήταν καιρός να ξαναβρεί την αίγλη του! 1000 μπράβο και περισότερα ακόμα ευχαριστώ, Κωστή!

Teaser Προσεχώς --- Για την αιτία του ενθουσιασμού θα σας πω σε επόμενο επεισόδιο. Μέχρι τότε σας αφήνω με μία μόνο λέξη: Bluezuki!

Novender

Ο Νοέμβριος ήταν ανέκαθεν ο χειρότερός μου μήνας. Η -μονόπλευρη, απ όσο γνωρίζω- αντιπάθεια δεν σχετίζεται με την πτώση θερμοκρασίας ή την αύξηση των βροχοπτώσεων (είμαι κορίτσι παντός καιρού).

Σχετίζεται με την (κακή) ποιότητα και την (ανεπαρκή) ποσότητα του φωτός.
Ναι, ναι εννοώ αυτές τις λίγες ώρες γκρίζας φλαταδούρας για τις οποίες -συμπαθάτε με- δεν βλέπω τον λόγο να  σηκωθώ απ το κρεββάτι μου, frankly.

Επίσης είναι ο άγαρμπος εκείνος μήνας-κενό ανάμεσα στο πολυαγαπημένο Καλοκαίρι και εκείνες τις εβδομάδες του Δεκεμβρίου που κάθε χρόνο πεισματικά ελπίζω πως θα ζήσω τις γιορτές  που ονειρεύομαι.

Ε μετά, κοντοζυγώνουν τα γεννέθλια μου κατά τα τέλη Ιανουαρίου (τα επόμενα θα είναι 44α μου!) που πάντα τα γιορτάζω σαν  παιδί (για να είμαι εντελώς ειλικρινείς, δεν θυμάμαι πότε άκριβως άρχισε να εμφανίζεται και το μοτίβο "επέζησα έναν χρόνο ακόμα, φτού μου!" στο όλο κλίμα) και ετσι το πάω μετά, από γεννέθλια σε γεννέθλια αγαπημένων μου, σημαδούρες της αντοχής μου, μέχρι τον Μάιο.

Μετά είμαι home free, μέχρι τον επόμενο Νοέμβριο.

Και μη μου πείτε για τις χάρες του Χειμώνα, για σοκολάτες μπροστά στο τζάκι και σεξ στις φλοκάτες. Για όνομα! Πού τα βρήκατε, ήθελα να'ξερα!

Και για σένα που πετάχτηκες αμέσως να με πεις υπερβολική ("are you talking to moi??") να σε ενημερώσω πως οι πρώτες ώρες του μήνα με βρήκαν στα επείγοντα του νοσοκομείου Σωτηρία, μιας και είπε να με επισκεφθεί  -πάνω που έλεγα πως με ξέχασε η γρουσούζα- για 2η φορά αυτή η απαίσια ασθματική βρογχίτιδα, σήμα κατατεθέν την εξάντλησής μου.

Εντούτοις, το αίσθημα δικαίου με αναγκάζει να αναγνωρίσω και τα καλά. Τα φετινά, έστω. Δηλαδή τι καλά --- κάλλιστα!

Οι αγκαλιές των αγαπημένων μου φίλων με το που γύρισα στην Αθήνα, ακόμα και εκείνων που είναι crappy at hugs.
Τα χουρχουρχούρ και πατούμ-πατούμ του Καραμουζάκη και του Μπάφου.
Το τραπέζι-πατέντα που κατασκεύασε ο πατέρας μου και εγκατέστησε ο αδερφός μου στο μπαλκόνι μου, για να το βρω έτοιμο μόλις γυρίσω...
Τα μηνύματα για Happy Diwali.
Το πρώτο Παρασκευιάτικο απομεσήμερο στην Κληματαριά, με τον Τάσο, τον Παναγιώτη και τον Αντώνη.
Το diy ράφι του μπάνιου και οι μικρές χαρές maison et décoration.
Τα γέλια με τον Γιώργο που τώρα πια μένει στο "παλιό" μου σπίτι (και ποθεί το τωρινό μου).
Μεσημέρι στην πολυθρόνα του Σταμάτη και βραδάκι στον καναπέ μου, με την Νατάσα.
Η έκθεση σΕΞΑΡΣΗ στο Booze.
Η πρώτη πρόβα με απαρτία Μπλουζούκι! (εδώ σταθείτε -- είναι προάγγελος ΠΟΛΥ ωραίων πραγμάτων)
Το μαγικό massage του Γιάννη.
Το πρώτο μουσικό αφιέρωμα του Γαβρίλη (με την σειρά μου, το μοιράζομαι μαζί σας γιατί είναι έξοχο!)

Κι έτσι, με μια τόση δα μετατόπιση της οπτικής γωνίας, το novender γίνεται από τέλος, αρχή.

Last Minutes In Room Three Oh Three

Sure, there were plateaus, but on the whole these two months have sped by and here we are, Georgia and I, all packed, waiting for the car that will take us to Indira Gandhi International Airport.

Predictably, I’m in limbo, the most uneasy state for me to be in. 'Did You Ever Get A Feeling' that you wanted to go, but still you had the feeling that you wanted to stay? Ah, Jimmy...

I suppose the full force of the joy of being reunited with loved ones will kick in once I get back to Athens. Until then, I'll just bathe in the nascent nostalgia of what I'm leaving behind.

Famously, nostalgia washes over in fragments of sensations. Images, sounds, feelings.

Kulfi on a hot afternoon. 

Riding a rickshaw in darkness, against a full moon and oncoming traffic, laughing girlishly. 

Taking in the sounds and sights of I.N.A. Market. 

Watching Georgia fighting her glorious fight, stringing her victories!

Enjoying a night-time cigarette on the front steps in the company of Arab men.
The sound of the jingles on anklets that speak of breakfast.
Jamming it up with Louis on guitar & Jake on... buckets!

The sweet aroma of a champa flower picked at Qutab Minar.
Discussing the subtleties of the various kinds of kurtas and sarees with Jyoti.

Singing "Leaving On A Jet Plane" in a saree, while looking into smiling eyes that have become dear.
Bargaining for a pair of Punjabi juttis at Dilli Haat.

The explosion of the phone that insists "Penny! Penny! Penny!" as Georgia very accurately pointed out.

Memories, more memories, and then some...

Oh,  the gratitude!

Equinox

September 21st.


We (Georgia and I) left Athens on August 21st, and are due to return on October 21st.
This is the half-way mark. 


Appropriately enough, it is also the Equinox. This is the day that in my mind heralds the end of Summer and ushers in the dreaded Winter. As of tomorrow, each day will be shorter than the one before and true to my nature, I will wane right along with the daylight. What can I say? I have suspected for a long time now that I may be part-bear.


I find myself torn between the longing to return to my own turf, my family and friends, Bafos and Karamouzakis (my loving feline concubines), my partners in music, my work, my own hours and my own bed (in my new and practically yet unlived-in home) and the entirely surprising desire to stay.


Stay? Where? Surely, not here here.
What have I seen of this wondrous strange land that would create such a pull?
Nothing. Three blocks worth of street at Green Park. The route to and from Gautam Nagar. Part of a gigantic western-type shopping mall that goes by the improbable sobriquet of "Select CityWalk".


And yet!


I think that what I am really finding so enchanting is that, unbelievably (considering the millennia of History that have unfolded on this soil), the overwhelming sensation that reverberates in every aspect of this place, is one of promise. Of things to come. Of things unborn. Of potential. 


I don't consider myself to be a mindless creature. Not unintelligent, still, I primarily  perceive the world at large with my gut. Invariably I will gather as much data about a given topic as I can. But ultimately, I will fly by the seat of my pants. Play it by ear.
Against all reasoning, more than about the Past, more than about the Present, this feels like it's about the Future.


But then again, had I not been told that this is the land of Paradox?
Had I not read the textbook tales of slums next to unfathomable wealth? Of illiteracy and scientific cutting edge avant-garde? Of filthy cities and virgin nature? Of gaudiness and breathtaking artistic expression?


Still, what I sense goes farther, much much farther than any of these (even though they seem  to hold perfectly true).


For instance: Supposedly, this is meant to be the epitome of, as James Brown put it in his inimitable manner, A Man's Man's Man's World.


And yet, the energy here is unmistakeably female. In the sense that it is nurturing. It feels like a womb.It feels like a fluvial delta or basin, rich with sediment. I mean, just take a look at the geographical map, for crying out loud! It even looks like a womb! Interestingly enough, the Greek word for pelvis (wherein the womb) and basin, is one and the same: λεκάνη [lekáni].


One feels safe here. Protected. Not by virtue of might, but by virtue, alone. 
While sitting with a slumbering child's cheek resting on your lap, you might make the assumption that you are its guardian. But if you think about it, you will realize that the assumption is false. It is you who are kept safe by the child's presence, alone. This is how I feel here in India.

I realize I must sound like I'm "not all there" but I know what I am sensing and anyone who knows me, will tell you I'm not prone to flighty metaphysics. 

This sentiment is equally manifest in the people I have encountered here. The same nurturing smile. The authentic kind: their smiles reside in their eyes, not their mouths. Again, I had been told of the Indian people's politeness. "Politeness" is a notion that never sat comfortably with me. It leaves me with an after-taste of pretence (as indeed does my other pet peeve: "nice"). I have not found the Indian people to be in the least bit "polite". Or "nice". I have found them to be gentle, especially when verbal communication is difficult. Supposedly famous for their lack of display, emotion is definitely palpable, barely contained in skin. Gentle and caring. Attentive and unassuming. And delightfully, disarmingly, liberatingly funny. 


In the meantime, the atmosphere permeating the various communication channels with my home town is becoming increasingly alarming. Angst. Fear. Unrest. Some have gone as far as saying "you will not be returning to the same country you left behind". It's not meant as a good thing. 


My particular situation seems precarious to say the least. The "season" is almost upon us, yet I haven't the faintest clue as to where, how and under what circumstances I will (will I?) be engaging in my profession.


Seems to me, that the best thing to do is adopt the local attitude to all things temporal, that is to ignore them.


After all, this is the half way mark.


So I'll leave it at that, for now.


Before I surrender to this Equinox though, I will venture two predictions:


There will be tears at both ends of our journey back to Athens.


I will be returning to this blessed land.

Εδώδιμα - Αποικιακά, Παντζάμπα Πράγμα!

Μια ζωή με καθησυχάζουν πως το σεξ είναι σαν το ποδήλατο.

Αυτό που δεν σου λένε είναι πως το γράψιμο είναι σαν την μπιρίμπα. 

Δεν θυμάμαι Χριστό από μπιρίμπα. Μόνο κάτι με 1ο πακέτο, 2ο πακέτο (ή μήπως μικρό και μεγάλο;). Και μπάζες. Ή μπάζα. Ή μήπως αυτά ήταν με το σεξ; 

Σκατά.

Δε πόιντ ιζ, πως μέρες τώρα για διάφορους λόγους -θα ακολουθήσουν αναλύτικα- ["ΜΠΡΕΗΣ! ΜΠΡΕΗΣ!"] αναβάλλω το ποστ αυτό, και δεν μου φτάνει ο δικός μου ψυχαναγκασμός, έχω και τα μηνύματα "άντε, πότε θα γράψεις;" [τραβάτε με κι ας κλαίω, κατακολακευμένη λέμε!]

By public demand λοιπόν, βουαλά, αφού δεν βαστιέστε, πάρτε premenstrual post, να γουστάρετε.

Λοιπόν, είσαι ο και λέγεσαι.

[Φοβερό αλλά με το που κάθομαι να γράψω θελώ αυτομάτως να ανάψω ένα τσιγάρο...]

Η τελευταία εβδομάδα είχε τα ζόρια της. Δεν θα μπω σε τρελές λεπτομέρειες, αλλά τα δύο βασικά προβλήματα ήταν αφ ενός ο επίμονος βήχας που ταλαιπώρησε την Τζώρτζια σε τέτοιο βαθμό που της έσπασε τελικά τα νεύρα, αφού την έκανε να πνίγεται όποτε πήγαινε να μιλήσει, να φάει ή να κάνει τις ασκήσεις της. Μιλάμε για εξάντληση. Δική της, εννοείται. 

Επιπλέον, δυσκολία έφεραν οι λεπτές και ευαίσθητες φλέβες της, στο να της χορηγούνται αντιβιωτικά για την καταπολέμηση του βακτηριδίου που ευθύνεται για την νόσο του Λάιμ, το μπορέλια.

Γνωρίζετε, φαντάζομαι, πως τα παιδικά παραμύθια μιλάνε την γλώσσα του συμβολισμού και πως ο βάτραχος δεν είναι ποτέ βάτραχος. Αν έχετε ακουστά το παραμύθι με το μπιζέλι κάτω από αμέτρητα στρώματα που έκανε την όμορφη και ντελικάτη πριγκήπισα να μελανιάζει, να ξέρετε πως το μπιζέλι είναι βελόνα και πως την πριγκήπισα την λένε Τζώρτζια. Στο σημείο αυτό όμως να ξεκαθαρίσουμε επίσης πως αν κάτι μοιάζει με πάπια, ακούγεται σαν πάπια και περπατάει σαν πάπια, τότε μάλλον είναι πάπια. Μιλάμε για πόνο και βάσανο. Δικά της, εννοείται.

Και από δίπλα, και δικά μου: τίποτα δεν με τσακίζει περισότερο απ το να είμαι ανήμπορη να βοηθήσω μια κατάσταση (πόσο μάλλον όταν αυτός είναι ο ρόλος μου) και να βλέπω έναν άνθρωπο (πόσο μάλλον την Τζώρτζια) να βασανίζεται.

Όμως τίποτα δεν αφέθηκε στη τύχη. Το μπιζέλι αντικαταστάθηκε με άλφα άλφα και το σιρόπι για τον βήχα με εκνεφωτή [πάπια] και από χτες το πρωί όλα βελτιώνονται σταθερά και η Τζώρτζια πήρε τ'απάνω της και επανήρθε δημήτριος, γιατί η πριγκήπισα είναι παλικάρι [πάπια], και ζούμε και οι δύο καλύτερα. [Σε βλέπω εσένα που μπερδεύτηκες: ποιό μέρος του "πάπια" δεν κατάλαβες;;]

Η φυσικοθεραπείες της προχωράνε περίφημα και με πολύ θετικά πρώτα σημάδια (ο θεραπευτής συλλαβίζει τις πρώτες του ελληνικές λέξεις: μπράβο, σιγά-σιγά, πάμε, μωρή, Τζώρτζια, αρρώστεια, θεά, καλημέρα, καλησπέρα και yashooooo!), και οι εργοθεραπείες της επίσης.

Κατά τα άλλα, μας προσάπτουν ότι γκομενίζουμε, λέει. Πρώτον, δεν είμαστε εμείς λιχούδες, αυτοί είναι kulfi (προφέρεται κούλφι, όχι κουλφοί) --- και ΤΙ κούλφοι (ο κούλφος, όπως λέμε ο γλύκας): Βεγγάλης, Παντζάμπ, γιου νέημ ιτ, γουήβ γκοτ ιτ! Και ωχού, για να ξεμπερδεύουμε: guilty as charged. Γιατί μπορούμε.

Σε άλλα νέα (ειδησεο)γραφικού χαρακτήρα, με συνεπήρε το Dr. Kildare-Ben-Casey theme και μπήκα στο τριπάκι φουλ τσεκ απ πλατίνες λάδια μπουζί. Μέχρι στιγμής Pap Test, αιματολογικές, εξέταση ούρων τζιτζί. Μια μικρή τρομάρα πήρα με τη μαστογραφία αλλά τελικά ήταν μπιζέλι και όχι πάπια. Μένει η lower spine μαγνητική και η εξέταση ΩΡΛ.

Αύριο είναι ημιαργία (όπως κάθε Σάββατο) οπότε μόνο 1 φυσικοθεραπεία και 1 εργοθεραπεία και "σχολάμε" σχετικά νωρίς, στις 12 το μεσημέρι.. Λέμε αν δεν βρέχει (οι μουσώνες για λόγους που δεν γνωρίζουμε και για τους οποίους σαφέστατα δεν ευθυνόμαστε εμείς, έχουν πάρει παράταση και τις τελευταίες μέρες έριξε καρεκλοπόδαρα!) και αν δεν σημειωθούν βομβιστικές ενέργειες (για τις οποίες σαφέστατα δεν ευθυνόμαστε εμείς) ή σεισμοί (για τους οποίους σαφέστατα δεν ευθυνόμαστε εμείς) να τολμήσουμε μια μικρή βόλτα μέχρι την Green Park Market (οδός Γκρην Παρκ Μάρκετ).

Χτες το βράδυ πετάχτηκα μόνη μου μέχρι εκεί για να ψωνίσω γλυκά (πάπια) απ το λατρεμμένο Evergreen (o Ινδός Βάρσος) και στην επιστροφή πέτυχα παρέλαση-υπερπαραγωγή με 3-4 διαφορετικές μπάντες (τύπου ταρατατζούμ), γιόρταζαν (αν κατάλαβα καλά) τον θεό Ganesha, με άρματα με χορεύτριες, άλλα με τρισδιάστατες αναπαραστάσεις σε φυσικό μέγεθος, πλαισιομένα σε όλο το μήκος της παρέλασης από βαστάζους που κουβαλούσαν μεγάλα φωτιστικά, όλα συνδεδεμένα με ένα τρακτέρ-ηλεκτρογεννήτρια που ακολουθούσε την οπισθοφυλακή! ΜΑΓΕΙΑ! Εννοείται πως επέστρεψα στην κλινική ΜΕΣΑ στην παρέλαση με τρομπέτες και τύμπανα ολούθε γύρω μου!!

"...with rings on her fingers and bells on her toes, 
she shall have music wherever she goes..."

Home from Home

The notion of home seems to be a recurring one, throughout my life, but in the past few weeks in particular.

Strange, how it has been manifesting itself of late, in so many different forms. Now it returns, now that I find myself so far from "home", on the Asian continent for the first time in my life, under very specific circumstances.

I'll be candid and I'll say that visiting India never was a top priority for me, even though -as anyone who knows me at all will confirm- I thrive on travelling. I think that what turned me off (and this has absolutely no foundation in any pragmatic sense, as I know next to nothing of this amazing land) most, was the flavour left me of Europeans and Americans who went on the ashram trip. Let there be no room for misunderstanding here: it's neither the country nor its places of spiritual quest that repelled me. It is the generic European who sought them out. India just suffered by association. As it turns out, as the most tragic kind of victim there is: the Innocent.

Did I not relish Indian food when I was living in London as a student? Have I not marvelled at the beautiful fabrics? The amazing architecture? Have I not been the grateful recipient of ayurvedic massage since last October (when nothing could be farther removed from my mind than the prospect of "A Passage To India")?

I have been here almost a week. "Here" is New Delhi. Actually, that is also false. "Here" is room 303 of the clinic that will be my "home" for the next 7 weeks, in New Delhi. I still know next to nothing about this place, this city, let alone this land, which for all practical purposes is an entire continent in itself. That is to say, that I have no rational knowledge.

But what of the knowledge that comes of the gut & heart?

What struck me almost immediately is how -considering it took me two flights and 8 hours to get here- I never got the feeling of being "elsewhere". Sure, the air is hotter and moister. The traffic is mad. The vehicles are exotic. The lemons are dwarfish. The people have darker skin (not really a feat -- few are paler than I). And yet, no sign of the "culture shock" friends had been warning me about.

Which brings me back to the notion that People are Home.

I don't yet have specifics, but I do have an "aroma", an impression if you will. And this is, the aroma of gentleness, of kindness, of intelligence.

There's something about the eyes, the depth of their gaze. It speaks of understanding. Something about the tone of the voices. They speak of awareness and caring. Something about the readiness of laughter. Even the most precious kind: the one directed at one's self. Something about the fluidity of movement. It speaks of ease and generosity.

I am reminded of a intimate anecdote: My father was present in the delivery room during my birth. When first he saw me he was overwhelmed, as only a man becoming a father for the first time, and to a daughter to boot, can be. He turned to my mother and said: "This is no child we have here... This is 'mukhti'!"

The word means nothing in Greek. It was an expletive of an onomatopoeic nature, meant to convey my looks (or, perhaps more precisely, the emotion my looks brought forth in him). In any case, the word stuck with me and became my nickname, used only by members of my immediate family (nowadays only by my father and my brother).

I later found out it is a noun of the Hindi language that -according to context- translates as:

liberation, release, emancipation, deliverance, rescue, immunity, saving, absolution, vacation, immunization.

I will no doubt be returning to these thoughts in the near future. For the time being I'll just enjoy basking in the feeling of being "at home" :)

Come Wander With Me

Να! Έτσι τα νανουρίζουν τα κορίτσια, για να έχουν όνειρα σάμαλι...

He said come wander with me love
Come wander with me
Away from this sad world
Come wander with me

He came from the sunset
He came from the sea
He came from my sorrow
And can love only me...