Monthly Archives: October 2010

The Thing In The Corner

When I first viewed the home I now own, I took this picture:

It was impossible to miss one particular feature of the house – the thing in the corner.

Into the bay corner of the sitting room, a walled pool had been sunk. About three feet deep and five feet wide, covered in swimming-pool blue, mosaic tiles, the base resembled a health club jacuzzi.

From the centre of the pool, on a short sturdy column, rose a white concrete, lotus-shaped fountain base. Above the lotus, a golden drum.

Crowning the folly, perched at a rather jaunty angle, sat a massive silver jug.

From the jug’s spout, water could be cascaded to deafening effect.

This fantasy of concrete, ceramics and colour rose about seven feet above a marble floor.

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Somehow, I never felt quite at home with such Levantine exuberance.

On gazing at my newly acquired water feature, it seemed I might have taken a wrong turn and wandered perhaps into an Abu Dhabi shopping mall.

When friends or family visited from Europe or the States, as they said their goodbyes,  I was invariably advised, “If I were you, I would do something about that thing in the corner”.

The problem was, knowing quite what to do.

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For several months, with more urgent renovations needing attention, I turned my back on the thing in the corner, and tried to ignore it.

But one morning, in a paroxysm of decisive action, I made my wishes known to Shaji, my house-manager. The silver jug and golden drum were to be amputated – with immediate effect.

Workers were hastily summoned. A pneumatic drill and hand-held chisels were requisitioned. Emergency surgery was performed.

The feature was now definitely smaller but its crudely pruned form and garish colours still offended.

The walls of the “jacuzzi” were occasionally handy for craftsmen to sit on but the thing in the corner had little function and no aesthetic appeal.

It was neither use nor ornament.

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Three months ago, with the impending arrival of more guests, I was finally spurred into having the pool re-tiled in more suitable colours.

The fountain was tamed: just a quiet trickle of water now falls gently from the white lotus top to the pool below.

Plants were purchased to soften its geometry.

Fish were introduced to its waters.

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Shaji has taken the project to his heart. He is rapidly becoming an expert on aquarium management.

Dalila, my cook, and Anu, my house-boy, are entranced by the various fish.

Babu, my plumber and electrician, now calls by each week, to check on the pump and the piping.

As for me, I have more ambitious developments in mind:

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But for now, I am content to continue sitting with my back to the thing in the corner.

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..And Sultry Sunsets

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Yesterday gave almost twenty-four hours of continuous rain.

But at dusk the onset of silence, partnered by fine shafts of rose-gold light piercing the rattan blinds, signalled a change of mood.

The clouds parted a little to offer, as if in recompense, a dramatic sunset over the Arabian Sea.

Twilight is brief in the tropics but often spectacular.

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“How strange this fear of death is! We are never frightened at a sunset.”  George MacDonald

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Pictures taken from my roof terrace.

Dhobi Days..

My dhobi visits unannounced, about twice a week. This always entails a short but tightly scripted ritual.

The dhobi returns a pile of newly washed, ironed and neatly folded clothes and linen, which he places on an armchair.

A basket containing my dirty washing is fetched from beneath my bed by Anu, my house-boy, who makes a quick dash around the house, collecting any other out-lying towels, sheets and linen.

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All of my dirty laundry is brought down to the hall. It is then publicly shaken out and counted in front of Shaji and Dalila (the husband and wife, cooking and house-keeping team, who look after me), Anu and myself, before being packed away in a large cloth.

Having been informed how much I owe, I pass the money to Shaji.

He, in turn, solemnly pays the dhobi, who bicycles away with my dirty washing.

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Following the dhobi’s departure, my house staff respectfully retire to the kitchen, allowing “Sir” to discretely remove his now pristine underwear from the pile. Only then, can they put away the bed linen, towels - and the rest of my clothing.

Modesty and decorum, of sorts, have been preserved.

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New Dawns?

 

This morning Cochin’s sun rose on a marginally different world.

 

During October millions of Indians will vote in local government elections and yesterday was polling day for Cochin..

A new dawn will bring victories, defeats and a certain degree of indifference.

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Politicians here promise dedication, devotion and diligence – for a price:

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Whatever the result, little is likely to change.

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A Journey

There are times when movement is difficult,

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The way ahead blocked,

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And choice is limited.

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The light appears almost beyond reach..

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But one final climb calls…

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Translation of the final of Richard Strauss’ “Four Last Songs”
“Im Abendrot” (“At sunset”)

(Text: Joseph von Eichendorff)

We have gone through sorrow and joy hand in hand;

Now we can rest from our wandering above the quiet land.

Around us, the valleys fall away; the air is growing darker.

Just two skylarks soar upwards dreamily into the fragrant air.

Come close to me, and let them flutter.

Soon it will be time for sleep.

Let us not lose our way in this solitude.

O vast, tranquil peace, so deep at sunset!

How weary we are of wandering—

Is this perhaps death?

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(Pictures taken in the Holy Land. October 2010.)


Deconstructing Art

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A Private Hanging

Some months ago Sunil Laal, a young and rising Kerala artist, was in search of a temporary studio. I offered him the use of my out-house for a few weeks.

Sunil painted a diptych, “The Hidden Flower”, and kindly gave the pictures to me.

Today my carpenter, Sebastian, came to hang them in my hall.

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These events are rarely quite as simple as envisaged: my concrete walls proved to be exceedingly tough and a more powerful drill had to be fetched; the furniture needed rearranging into new and more pleasing symmetries once the pictures were up. But the task is now happily complete.

Sebastian has been hastily dispatched upstairs: to hang more pictures in the upper hall and move a wall cabinet to a different room. His wife has just delivered a new baby. I don’t know when he will be free again..

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