Who's the Fairest

I'm always surprised when I look in the mirror these days. I feel like what India has changed inside me.. should somehow be reflected on the outside. I suppose I'm lucky that it doesn't work that way, or else I'm sure I'd have grey hair and leprosy and crossed eyes for what this place does.. But I'm always.. surprised. That I don't have more wrinkles, that what I think isn't written clear across my forehead, that it doesn't look like I've been crying. I know that outwardly, I look exactly the same as I did 8 months ago. And yet somehow.. somehow I feel that inside, all my parts have been rearranged and that they must look older and tired and sad and be decorated with a lot of dirty sequins. It's precocious to tell people "I may look the same, but I'm not.". And yet that's what I think everytime I look in the mirror.

Worth Two in the Bush..

Put down your book in hand.. two new novels are arriving in September! (well.. and countless others.. but two of personal note.) Zadie Smith (White Teeth, The Autograph Man) has a new book "On Beauty" out on September 13th, and Salman Rushdie (Fury, Shame, Midnight's Children) has a new book "Shalimar the Clown" out on September 6th. Save your pennies - from what I've read, these two are worth the hardcover versions.

Who Knew That 1 Less Person in a City of 15 Million Would Make a Difference?

Already I miss Bryan. Delhi feels emptier, lonlier, without him here. There is something about knowing that the person you love is even in your city, that makes you feel better. They don't have to be right beside you, but knowing that they are near, a ten, fifteen minute drive away.. makes it easier.

I went with Bryan to the airport last night, to eke out what few minutes I had left with him. He should be almost in Frankfurt now, and then on to the US. It felt like he'd been leaving for such a long time, that we've been preparing for this - and yet nothing could have gotten me ready to have to walk away from him, to turn around and walk out of the airport. It's one of the hardest things I've had to do in a long, long time.

I've travelled with him, laughed with him, been sick with him - he's been my best friend. And still is. Two and a half months and I'll be in Washington.. It seems like such a very long time. I'm sure it will go quickly, as they say - but for now? Now.. Delhi is just empty.

I'm a friggin' genius..

So our internet isn't working at the house, but luckily it's up and running at work - which doesn't make a spit shine of difference if my new computer won't let me post to my blog. (On my breaks. Of course.)

Luckily I remembered you can use that nifty "post via e-mail" deal - so here I am! It's not going to be pretty, but it will do until I'm connected at home. Sorry for the delay in figuring that out - my synapses just haven't been firing post haste this week. So much so, that I actually have my hair braided today. Braided. Right.

I see Bryan off to the airport today.. Definately not exactly a red letter day. 29 days left in India without my best friend. Great. Who exactly is going to tease me about my dirty feet and my aversion to cooked vegetables and point out my saggy butt jeans? Hunny.. I can't wait to see you in Washington. I'll keep my feet extra dirty just for you.

Camping.. Squatting.. Really.. Is there a difference?

Due to immense monsoon flooding in Mumbai, Chandigargh and parts of our beloved Delhi - our entire communications network has been washed out. We have no internet, no long distance, no e-mail.. nothing. It's simultaneously mildly unsettling, and kind of liberating. Not, mind you, for our head political officer, who has a deputy Minister coming to visit from Ottawa, and we haven't had any (any) of our questions answered. (Or, as they like to say, "Any of our Q's A'd".)

This is only the stem of the cherry that's been put on my over-hectic banana split of a schedual. We just moved houses, and are no longer living on the embassy grounds (interesting choice in these days of murder and mayhem in the world) but in the West End of Delhi, about a 15 minute drive from work. At the same time, Bryan has been packed up and leaves for Washington tomorrow night (Thursday). At the same time as this, I've got my first real taste of what real, honest to goodness 3rd World sickness, and have lost 5 pounds in the process. And I've changed jobs (halfway), changed offices... *phew* I'm exhausted, and am ready for a break. I just need to get through this week without pulling my hair out, and I'll be ok. I think.

I can't believe that Bryan is on his way already. It seems like just yesterday that we were in Riskikesh, in Rajasthan, at the Black and White Ball.. and all of a sudden he's on his way. We've decided to keep seeing each other - there's no reason to break up just because of the distance. I'm going down (up?) to Washington on a long weekend in October, and for a break in November. And we'll see when he can come up to Canada. I'm kind of excited. Other than Bryan (and the monuments, and Georgetown and all that cool stuff) the Corcoran Gallery is there (with Frieda Kahlo, Jackson Pollock and Georgia O'Keefe all inside!!) and the Smithsonian as well. So I have a feeling I might like Washington. Especially now that there's no beltway sniper. ;-)

So because Bryan's belongings all go over to Washington in a sea shipment, they got packed up and shiped about a week ago. He was basically left with the Embassy furnishings, and the "welcome" kit, which just kills me. Utility pots and pans and three bowls and a wine opener etc.. It's great. We've basically been camping out in this huge empty house, sans tv, music.. anything. It's awesome. We can run laps in the dining room. It's this interesting mix of feeling like squatters and.. hm.. well.. Maybe just squatters. It's fun though. We get to eat everything on the floor.

My new house is pretty nice - semi-colonial/victorian/indian in white. A nice little part of town. Closer to some things, farther to others - kinda like whenever you move. *laugh* My mum likes it, which essentially, is all that really matters in the long run. It will be nice, I have to admit, to be off the compound and away from the feeling that everyone is watching you - I'm happy for that, in the very least.

This turned out to be much longer than I had intended! I hope all is well with everyone. I won't be in contact much this next little while, as our internet is out. Take care of each other.

Naked.. Aggression?

Haven't had too much time to read lately. As I mentioned, I'm working on a mixed list of Pulitzer Prize Winners and Nobel Literature Prize winners.. and then this list of New York Times "10 worst books" and "10 Best books". (I may make note that Malcolm X's Autobiography topped both lists.)

So I decided to start reading some William S. Burroughs. I finished up "Queer".. which was pretty amazing for it's pretty blunt portrayal of homosexuality and addiction. I have to say - it's probably the most straightforward, no words minced account of both. I really admire the way it was written - and when you finish reading it.. and see that it was written sometime in the 40's - you have to give the guy some credit. (Even if it wasn't published in it's entirety until like, 1980.) Even if it wasn't a thouroughly enjoyable novel (he makes you feel his addiction and withdrawl with such accuracy that you swear you've got the shakes) it was definately a good book. So, I decided to take on "Naked Lunch" - his most famous book, also centered on his personal struggle with addiction. (To everything. Litterally.)

This may be one of the only books (other than Little Women.. which is funny that they are in the same catagory) that I may not finish. Gruesome, rude, disgusting, displacing, uncomfortable.. I'm all for books that make you think. That make you uncomfortable. It means that the writer has put you outside of what you traditionally find acceptable, you're stretching your boundaries like a literary aneuryism. It's not pleasant, but its neccessary. "Naked Lunch" goes so far beyond that. It's a nightmare of perversity (somewhere along the lines of the Marquis de Sade - but worse, if you can believe it.) and inhuman, and inhumane passages lie one after another

Perhaps what's worse.. is that some of it's good. That some of the ideas and feelings are palpable they are so well presented. He succeeds in saying everything that everyone else will not - but sometimes people don't say things for good reason. But overall - it's just repetative, like some drug riddled nightmare that you just can't wake up from, with each and every page. I keep expecting the story to change, that it will move forward and progress - but it just gets progressively worse and more depraved and heartwrenching.

Which is.. perhaps.. the most apt portrayal of addiction that there is.

You Can Wait

I wouldn’t want to be of an ethnic minority and late for work in London anytime soon.

London plain clothes policemen shot and killed a man running for the subway this past week. Can’t you just hear the civil liberties people taking a deep breath? The wailing and bellyaching? The tearful mothers, the bewildered community? "He was such a nice guy."

Here are the facts - a young, foreign gentleman was being tailed by 4 plainclothes policemen, when he entered into the London Metro system. Given the state of affairs in London right now, I have no doubt that the heartbeats of those policemen increased 5 fold. He was told to stop, at which point he began to run, jumped the turnstile, and attempted to get on the Metro. He was shot, 5 times, and killed.

The London Police have since apologized, as he appears to be without connection to anyone they were looking for. But with this mornings news - a raid on a house, which just happens to be the same house that this young man was living in. Coincidences like that.. Aren’t coincidence.

They’ve got a shoot to kill policy. They’ve advised the public of this - you will not be getting shot in the arm, in the leg - you will be killed. If you’ve got a bomb in your backpack, we do not want to disable your legs.

I think they did what they were supposed to - if that guy had gotten on the train, and had had a bomb, and had killed dozens of people - the uproar would have been incredible at those four policemen.

So maybe - just to be safe - catch the next train. Do you really need to run?

That's Some Freaky Economics

Just finished reading Steven Levitt's "Freakonomics". Really neat book, akin to Gladwell's "Blink". Not pertinent information - but interesting. You'd never guess why crime ACTUALLY dropped in the 1990's..

Just Wait Until I Get These Training Wheels Off..

I’m not sure why – I’m not the overly sporty type – but I’m completely addicted to Le Tour de France. Maybe it’s because Bryan gets so into it – maybe it’s because it’s just a really neat thing to watch. I like learning about it – and I’ve got an excellent teacher. I know your supposed to drink wine and eat olives and snails while watching it.. But we drank beer and ate peanuts and Tibetan food and it was just as good. I’m sure it was. Check it out if you have the chance – it’s addictive. And, I might admit.. I might have the tiniest celebrity crush on Lance Armstrong and team mate George Hincapie. But that’s ok. I think Bryan might too.

When I Wendt Away..

When I was in Sri Lanka, I fell in love with this photographer, Lionel Wendt. Unfortunately, his best photographs are nowhere to be found online, but I got to see a number of them while I was there. He lived and worked in Sri Lanka, after first practicing law and studying music in London. If you ever get a chance to see an exhibition of his, or even just pick up a book on him, please do. Or hey - you can come for tea and look at mine.

Oh Margaret...

On Bastille Day -

"Who can trust a people who celebrate, as their national event, a jailbreak?"

-Margaret Thatcher

(No wonder they don't like the British.)

"Allons enfants de la Patrie..."

Yesterday was "Bastille Day" - French National Day. We were invited to the much anticipated French National Day reception - which I’d heard numerous stories regarding the plethora of cheese, champagne and general bonhomie. That, and the incredible rudeness of our.. Ahem.. host country.

So Bryan and I, looking very lovely if I do say so, Bryan in his smashing summer uniform and I looking appropriately stylish, perhaps even a little French, minus the armpit hair.. Took off to the relatively early reception at 6:30.

Now, for this particular story I will need to give you a brief physical description of the reception hall. Shaped like a square, with four squares cut out of every corner, and filled with water, leaving a cross shape in the middle. The door is at one end, and the stage immediately across the room. On the two remaining sides (and any other remaining free space) there were tables laden with red wine, champagne.. And loads of beef and pork pate. Which, if you will remember, are two forbidden foods for a number of religions here. ;-)

The hall filled up pretty quickly - it seems like everyone who is invited attends, which is evidence in itself that it’s a self propagating good time. So as the hall filled to capacity with hundreds of people, Bryan and I decided to wander over to the food, see what was good, maybe try a little pate. Only to be completely astonished by the people (without plates) simply winging (because there is no more appropriate a word for "throwing food to the back of ones craw in rapid precision succession..) food into their mouths while walking up and down the length of the banquet.

Now, this food was all labelled in French. So, with some things, I would be willing to forgive a few linguistic mistakes in your non-religious friendly food choices. Poisson? Fish. You’d never guess. But hey, you can tell by the smell. But c’mon people. Porc? Pork. And whether it’s with a c, or a k, Mr. Singh you should not be eating it by the half pound on a 3 ounce Ritz cracker. Beouf? Beef. Mrs. Aggarawal, it’s not mashed or whipped into something you couldn’t identify - these are fist sized hunks of veiny, beefy beef! For the sake of all that’s holy, put it down!

If the food was a veritable horror movie, the drinks were just a comedy. At one point I witnessed an Indian woman balancing two glasses (one champagne, the other red wine) in one hand, and a plate of food in the other, left to look forlornly around at who would feed her, or, alternately, who would catch her sticking her face in her plate. The poor bartenders couldn’t keep the glasses filled, people were simply guzzling, GUZZLING the wine and champagne.

Finally, a moment of respite. The French Ambassador took the stage to welcome us with the Indian National Anthem, then the French. Now, as in most countries, the National Anthem brings about some brief moments of silence. It wasn’t until "La Marseillaise" began the that Indians took it among themselves to being talking again! Good thing the French anthem is sung by some big busty woman with a good set of pipes, or bread was going to fly.

By this time, people were getting antsy. Refrains of "Where is the cheese? Where is the cheese?" could be heard echoing faintly across the hall. Truth is, they have to keep the French cheese covered (a relatively rare and poor quality product in this part of the world) or people simply won’t stay still for the speech. Appallingly, it was hard enough for the French Ambassador to get the crowd quiet enough for the minute of silence dedicated to London. It was horrible.

As his speech ended, they took away the white curtain backdrop to reveal - The cheese! A giant table filled with Camembert, Brie, Swiss, Emmental, Gruyere, Beaufort.... Every and any bacteria laden milk you could imagine. We could feel the crowd surge behind us as literally, people were pushing their way to the front. Somebody had already fallen into the water, and people had their heads down and were moving like this cheese was the last meal they’d ever get.

Last year apparently somebody was stuffing a wheel of brie in their pocket. I didn’t see anything as blatant as that this year - but Bryan and I hid behind a pillar, huddled over our pilfered plate of cheese, watching people contemplate walking through the water to get to the cheese. It was incredible. I was worried that somebody might mistake me for a brie rind, my skin is so pale. Heathens.

It was phenomenal. The food was amazing, the drink was spectacular.. But the people, the people are what made it worthwhile. An old lady snatched a piece of quiche right out from my fingers. My feet were covered in other peoples spilt champagne. I hope I’m here next year...I’m wearin’ the pants with the big pockets next time.

And Don't Iron

Seriously. Anyone have a spare bucket o' ocean?

Just One of Those Days

I’m having one of those days - those days where your sadness feels like it lies just beneath your skin, waiting to come out at the slightest prick - that tearjerking human interest story, a touching commercial.. Or just that moment when it feels like the bottom of your heart is going to drop out and everything is going to slide down your leg, pushing that forgotten pair of underwear in your jeans leg down into your flip flop.

Its just one of those days, those days when it seems like every news story is impossible (Kids running for candy from American GI’s blown up in Bagdhad by a car bomb?) the weather is so damp and humid that it would unkink Anna Nicole Smith.. You know those days. The ones where not only do you wish you’d stayed in bed, but that your bed had turned over with you in it and you could hide for the next eon, or at least until they found a cure for bug bite itches and ill fitting britches.

Instead, I’m in my office attempting to write about the ill fated and somewhat humorous plan to link all of India’s rivers together (Then they’ll all be holy!) in some cockeyed attempt to irrigate this un-irrigatable and increasingly irritable country.

And to top it off, the only bookstore I really like is near a Parsee cemetary, where this particular religion dictates you should just mumify in the sun, or, god willing, be eaten by the increasingly rare (and increasingly sacred) brown vulture. So now I can’t figure out if it’s the self help books I’m reading that stink, or an unfortunate Parsee getting their final suntan.

Deliver me.

A Curious Book in the Daytime

So I read "The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Nightime". In fact, yesterday, I picked it up around 11am, and finished it that night around 6. (And yes, I work. Which I did. And read. Intermittently)

It really is an excellent book - very touching - a little sad. I found that for hours after finishing the book my mind was working in the same staccato, point form narrative that the book was written in. So it left a mark, that’s for sure.

It’s a book that should be read - some lovely, although sometimes incredibly sad, viewpoints on life and people. A simple read, and a good story if nothing else. Thanks for the recommendation!

Universal Laws of Passport Photos

1. How you look in everyday life will be the exponential inverse of how you look in your passport photos.

2. Should you ever have a day when you are looking good, this will not be the day that you will have passport photo’s taken. (Which leads directly to law 3)

3. Should you have a day where you look the worst you’ve looked in years, this will be the day you need a new passport photo taken.

4. All passport photos require women to wear their hair down. On the surprise day where you need to have passport photos taken, this will be the day where you have cinched an elastic so tightly around your hair that when removed, makes you appear as though you have a dent in your head.

5. However unlikely you are to smile in everyday pictures is the inverse of how likely you are to smile in your passport photo’s, incrementally more when the photographer is instructing you NOT to smile.

Spin Spin Sugar!

Vinyl sales are up 90% from last year. The World Is Listening!

B and Me

B and Me.

Be Proud!

I was watching a public interest story on BBC this morning - Thought I might relay it here.

An NGO in Kenya called "Pride Africa" has started a division called "Drum Net". It really demonstrates how information really is power in the world today.

When you're a small farmer (anywhere in the world) your costs are higher. You're the only one transporting your crop, in a truck that may not be full, to a market where you may not get the best price, because you're selling so little. So what Drum Net does is distributes cell phones to rural farmers. When a particular farmer is ready to sell his, lets say, baby corn, he calls Drum Net, who gives him the numbers to contact other farmers ready to sell. They then hire a truck that is then filled to capacity (as opposed to each farmer hiring a truck) and pool their crops so they can get the best price. Drum Net also provides them with the information they need to get the best price, so that they don't get ripped off. Neat hey? It was really neat to see these rural farmers talking on cell phones, planning babycorn car pools.

Best of all? Rural farmers profits have gone up 40%. And their crops are getting better because of all the info provided by Drum Net on new farming practices.

Now, your chance to be proud to be a Canadian - This project is funded in part by IDRC, (International Development Research Centre) which is Canadian!

Nice House..

If you have a chance, rent "House of D". Try to disregard any and all impressions you may have of the actors in it (Tea Leoni, Robin Williams.. David Duchovney) and the director (.. David Duchovney..) Because it really is amazing, and worth a watch. It's a really sweet, witty film about growing up, and even Robin Williams is toned down enough to make other members of the cast necessary. It's a great film, and the young lead actor Anton Yelchin is really lovely. A nice film to watch with a friend.