"Wading neck deep in a swamp, your revolver is neither use nor ornament until you have had time to clean it" Mary H. Kingsley (1897)

work

Suspension Of Disbelief

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(Pictures taken from The Guardian, Reuters, The Telegraph and TravelPod)


Work, Rest And Play: The Practice Of Living

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The practice of living mainly revolves around mundane, repetitive tasks, which seem to lack glamour or heroism. But perhaps it is in these simple acts that the potential for growth and awareness lies.

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“Practice means to perform, over and over again in the face of all obstacles, some act of vision, of faith, of desire. Practice is a means of inviting the perfection desired.”*

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“We learn by practice. Whether it means to learn to dance by practicing dancing or to learn to live by practicing living, the principles are the same. One becomes in some area an athlete of God.”*

*Martha Graham

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Green Peace

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“If your knees aren’t green by the end of the day, you aught to seriously              re-examine your life.”     Bill Waterson.

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Washing The Monsoon Away

The front yard appeared to be covered with a sprinkling of icing sugar.

Bleach powder had been liberally applied:

Shaji has decided the monsoon mould and algae needs addressing.

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The next morning Shaji and Sumant are busy with water-hose and  brush;

Their soaking, soft-shoe shuffle.

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Road Works

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“Down these mean streets a man must go who is not himself mean, who is neither tarnished nor afraid. He is the hero..”   Raymond Chandler

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In our world of big names, curiously, our true heroes tend to be anonymous. In this life of illusion and quasi-illusion, the person of solid virtues who can be admired for something more substantial than his well-knownness often proves to be the unsung hero: the teacher, the nurse, the mother, the honest cop, the hard worker at lonely, underpaid, unglamorous, unpublicized jobs.”     Daniel J Boorstin.

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Patron To The Arts

I bought my home in Kerala eighteen months ago.

My final choice of house, like the decision to settle 5,00 miles from all that might seem safe and familiar, was not entirely logical.

The house is far too big for my needs and the outside grounds too small for a garden.

But life is not logical.

My home and living on the Malabar coast both give me immense happiness.

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As if to confirm the eccentricity of my purchase, the deal included an old, run-down outhouse, complete with rubbish

inside

and out.

Although my priority was to get the main house in good decorative and working order, I often wondered what should be done with the annex.

But a solution has been found.

The out-house has been painted.

My electrician summoned:

Lights and a fan installed,

Mosquito mesh fitted.

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A local artist is to use the upstairs space of the outhouse

for a studio.

A make-shift desk is created.

Sumant, my house-boy, finds himself requisitioned as a life-model.

Art is underway.

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(Please don’t wince, Lucille!)

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Caught In The Rush Hour

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“Rush hour: That hour when the traffic is almost at a standstill”

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I find I have fallen in love with my adopted home

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