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

                               

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.

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.

Thursday's Child

Monday's child is fair of face,
Tuesday's child is full of grace,
Wednesday's child is full of woe,
Thursday's child has far to go,
Friday's child is loving and giving,
Saturday's child works hard for his living,
And the child that is born on the Sabbath day
Is bonny and blithe, and good and gay.

---Nursery rhyme

Η Τζώρτζια κι εγώ είμαστε παιδιά της Πέμπτης. Κι έτσι η "γεννέθλια" μέρα , μας φέρθηκε με στοργή και προδέρμ!

Σηκωθήκαμε χαλαρά κατά τις 8μιση (φαίνεται πως αυτή η ώρα "κλείδωσε") και αρχίσαμε την προετοιμασία για την πρώτη "procedure" (ούτε το "διαδικασία" μου κάνει, ούτε το "επέμβαση" καθότι παραπέμπει σε νυστέρια, τα οποία δεν εμπλέκονται στο σενάριο."Πρωτόκολο" μήπως; Ουφφφφ... Decisions, decisions, decisions!), δηλαδή την πρώτη εντοπισμένη ένεση βλαστοκυττάρων, εν προκειμένω στην βάση της σπονδυλικής στήλης, στην ουρίτσα (εξού και "caudal"). Ένα τέταρτο της ώρας υπόθεση όλη κι όλη, αλλά μετά αυστηρά 2 ώρες ξάπλα ανάσκελα και ακινησία. Απ τις 2 το μεσημέρι και μετά, είμασταν ελεύθερες περιορισμών!

Η υπόλοιπη μέρα κύλησε σχετικά ήρεμα, μόνο οι καθιερομένες πιά χορηγήσεις αντιβιωτικών κτλ. Οι ρυθμοί χαλάρωσαν, πήραμε μια ανάσα :)

Στα μεγάλα wins της ημέρας, η εγκατάσταση ασύρματου router, που μας έλυσε τα χέρια (κυριολεκτικά) και πλέον συνδεόμαστε και τα δύο internet junkies ταυτόχρονα και μάλιστα απ την άνεση των κρεββατιών μας!

Το βράδυ η Τζώρτζια ανέπτυξε έναν μικρό σπαστικό βήχα.. Η πιθανές αιτίες είναι πολλές και οι συνδυασμοί τους ακόμα πιο πολλοί. Πιθανώς να είναι αντίδραση στην αντιβίωση ("herxing") ή, τόσες μέρες που μπαινοβγαίναμε από τους ζεστούς, υγρούς, αποπνικτικούς εξωτερικούς χώρους σε κλιματιζόμενα νοσοκομεία-ψυγεία, την άρπαξε. Την ταλαιπόρησε αρκετά ο βήχας, όποτε προσπαθούσε να μιλήσει, να φάει ή να πιεί. Η θερμοκρασία της όμως κανονικότατη. Το αναφέραμε στον γιατρό βάρδιας, και μας έφεραν οι νοσοκόμες ένα σιρόπι με γευση μπλιάχ, αλλά ήταν γενναία και κατάπιε την αηδία και μάλιστα χωρίς συνοδευτική κουταλιά ζάχαρης ;)

Χρειάστηκε να την αφήσω για λίγο μόνη στο δωμάτιο, καθότι με κάλεσε το καλλιτεχνικό μου καθήκον (μουσική υπόκρουση που υποδηλώνει βαρυσήμαντη αποκάλυψη εδώ, παρακαλώ) και το καθήκον, ως γνωστόν, δεν περιμένει!

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