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Don’t have time. But I want to say: Yay! And also:

1) Gay sex has not been legalised it has been decriminalised.

2) Some religious outfits are saying they do not oppose decriminalisation but have a moral problem with homosexuality. This is actually a positive sign, an opening for engagement and a debate about what is “natural” and “normal” and what is not, but the media’s effort to polarise the discussion in it’s ever hysterical voice does not help. Hair nearly fell out watching NDTV yesterday.

3) There are people who are gay and Muslim, gay and Hindu etc-why are they not being interviewed? Why is it only the religious leaders, i.e. geriatric men being asked for quotes?

4) This is a democracy, and a secular one at that. There’s space for all of us, Catholics, Muslims, Hindus, atheists etc because of that. And there isn’t one version of “Indian culture.” You old men on TV, remember that.

5) Many congratulations to the tireless Naz Foundation and all its supporters.

6) Sometimes judgments are a pain to read. This one is a treat. Couldn’t stop smiling with pride.

7)Same-Sex Love in India: Readings from Literature and History is an excellent book to read/re-read at this point and to recommend to all the “this is not Indian culture” advocates.

Family time

The parents are here for my sister R2, as she is graduating. Her tutors praised her so warmly-we were all bursting with pride. I feel like my babies R1 and R2 have grown up. A couple of months ago, R1 had her graduation ceremony, and I felt all weepy.

I’m also trying to get some work done for my dissertation (meeting due with supervisor: *shiver*) and manage a stange neck pain that has persisted for ten days. Luckily I need to interview my father for my dissertation. Nice to have intelligent parents, conceited though that sounds. Though I argue with them so much, it’s at times like these I realise how much I miss them. Maybe A and I will move back some day.

theloudestfirecrackerThis short book, of less than 200 pages, is Arun Krishnan’s debut novel, told through the eyes of Siddharth, a boy who loves cricket and whose father directs films. This is a book that is aimed both at young adults and the older reader.

The prologue introduces us to Siddharth and his father, at the point where Siddharth’s father has decided he’s had enough of making commercial Hindi cinema and walks out of a film set, abandoning a film before it is complete.

This decision means a move from Bombay to Pune, while Siddharth’s father works on his non-song and dance masterpeice. It also means an adjustment, for the whole family, to new circumstances in the quieter city. Siddharth’s mother is an expert reteller of myths; she uses these stories to help Siddharth answer the questions he has, and to reassure him, amidst the confusions and upsets the move brings.

Readers brought up in middle class homes in India, before the advent of liberalisation and channels other than Doordarshan, will recognise the familiar motifs of the eighties and the much slower pace of life that was common then. Some will also remember how it was a time of unease and violence, due to the presence of a certain brand of communal politics and the different shapes this took, from the anti-Sikh riots to Thackeray’s new vendettas.

This is a coming of age of tale, centred around key events that are triggered by the fact that Siddharth sets off a firecracker, a rare act of disobedience, on the day of a cricket match between India and Pakistan. The setting off of the firecracker results in events that cause Siddharth’s life to change irrevocably.

The consequences of setting off the firecracker are faced by Siddharth at home and at school. In addition, he faces changes outside-his best friend (who had given him the firecracker) is drawn to a local bully, who in turn is part of a right-wing party (the Narad Sena headed by Jajasaheb Baapre) that advocates the destruction and removal of Muslims from India. Siddharth is mostly repulsed, but also briefly attracted by the anti-Muslim rhetoric. How Siddharth deals with personal tragedy and the changes it brings, while simultaneously growing up and making sense of the world around him forms the gist of this book.

Krishnan is good at capturing the turbulence of growing up, weaving a tale that is at once humorous and tender. But one wishes he didn’t feel the need to spell things out so much-such as the thinly veiled reference to Bal Thackeray, motivated perhaps by the desire to clearly point him out as the villain in real life. Even children and young adults can be left to make up their own minds and don’t need everything explained to them. However, the meeting between Siddharth and Jajasaaheb and Jajasaaheb’s attempted manipulation of Siddharth’s tragedy to suit his own ends, realistically evokes how proponents of this brand of politics don’t actually care about the people they claim to represent.

The illustrations by Aditi Raychoudhary also suffer from being burdened by the need to spell things out. My only quibble about the drawings, which are otherwise sensitively executed, are the large titles they have emblazoned across them-one can surely guess, for example, that the illustration of the “man-lion,” is Narasimha (who is explicitly referred to and described in the text already) without the words telling us so? Ironically, the book’s website has this to say about the illustrations:

The Loudest Firecracker is sensitive to the needs of word-weary consumers of the information age. This is why The Loudest Firecracker includes beautiful illustrations that are a calming recipe for the tired mind.

The illustrations by Aditi Raychoudhury won’t wear you out by speaking a thousand words. They are content to remain silent so that you can bask in their exquisite detail.

Ultimately, Siddharth rejects the Narad Sena, his father makes a film without song and dance routines that does well, and he begins to overcome his tragedy: a game of tennis helps him to reach a decision of sorts and the sight of a dog brings back memories that give him hope for the future.

Monumental themes from mythology to Bollywood to communal riots have been tackled succintly and some may wish that Krishnan had developed some of these further, while others might simply accept the book as a description of life-changing vignettes recounted from a child’s perspective. Either way, one hopes that more Indian authors will write with young adults in mind and that this is just a beginning for Krishnan.

Note: The book’s official website with an excerpt can be found here. Thanks to Arun Krishnan for sending me the book, not once but twice, since it got lost in the mail the first time around.

Have been sitting on some awards for a while. Quite a few people have expressed the view that blog awards are getting rather nepotisitc and do the rounds among the same blogs, and ultimately everyone is awarded and there isn’t really a quality check. On the other hand, the rather democratic nature of this process where everyone is recognised is quite nice. No one need feel left out!

Start of aside:
Many years ago my parents were invited to judge some children in a play along with some others and award the “best actress of the evening” etc. In the end they decided to award everyone and insisted all the kids get a certificate because the play was a team effort. I was really mad at my parents. The school was too, and gave its own awards. But there was one change-everyone did get a certificate-a practice that hadn’t been followed previously-and their contribution from lighting to acting was noted on it. In every subsequent year too this practice was followed. Now that I am older and hopefully wiser, I think my parents did have a point. Blogs aren’t team efforts but neither are they entries for the Pulitzer. They are, among other things, a way of communicating with each other, sharing ideas and experiences and learning. A lot of us are friends online now as a result of blogging-offline some of us do tend to acknowledge those who make a difference to our lives. So a little bit of online nepotism, recognising ordinary people more than once is OK I think. End of aside.

Am going to use the awards not to award my favourites, who know who they are already, but to link to some other blogs that people might not have come across and might find interesting. If you know of an unknown, unawarded blog that needs highlighting, please leave a link in the comments and I will put it in the post.

Dipali gave me this one months ago. Thank you Dipali, I was very touched.
“Some bloggers give us Hope. They are bloggers who care, for ALL THE CITIZENS of this World. These bloggers can see above the generalizations of Caste, Community, Religion, Language, Region, Race and National boundaries. They are the hope of our UNITY IN DIVERSITY.”

Bloggers For World Peace Award

Links:
Here are some blogs that are interesting to read on matters of peace (and therefore controversial matters of conflict):

This blog is written by Dr. Binayak Sen’s brother. As a lot of people already know, Sen was detained for two years, accused of supporting Naxals. He has recently been released on bail. Sen himself has condemned violence and all those who know him speak of him as a gentle and compassionate doctor who gave up the prospect of a glittering career after winning gold medals at CMC to tend to the poorest of the poor in remote parts of the country.

The South Asian Idea explores ideas about South Asia, on peace, violence, identity, education and many other issues. You can even ask a question to start a discussion. A treasure trove.

Raza Rumi is a Pakistani Sufi blogger already familiar to many, who finds and promotes peace through his spirituality. He writes on a range of interesting things.

Finally, here is the blog of a google group I am a part of. This is a shameless plug for our group. The blog hasn’t been updated in a while but hopefully that will change.

The lovely blogger award is also from Dipali. I think she’s absolutely lovely too. Her comments as well her posts convey the “intangible warmth” this blog is about. I’m afraid I will be nepotisitc if I award this, so I will simply say thank you, and ask for nominations for the award so we all have some new blogs to read!

lovely_blogger
“for the intangible something that makes your posts sound so warm.”

Finally, the sisterhood award from Sujatha. Was really honoured to get this from her. She was one of the first bloggers I read and really admired, for her zen and calm and balanced approach to life. She’s also been an email friend, and though we’ve never met, she has been a great source of support, warmth, friendship and sisterhood:

sisterhood-award

The rules of the award are:

1. Put the logo on your blog or post.
2. Nominate at least 5 blogs which show great ATTITUDE and/or GRATITUDE.
3. Be sure to link to your nominees within your post.
4. Let them know that they have received this award by commenting on their blog.
5. Share the love and link this post to the person from whom you received your award.

Again, I would be re-awarding blogs if I did this, re-nominating people on Sujatha’s own list-so will just end by saying thank you. If anyone has any recommendations of blogs “that show great attitude and gratitude” please do share them!

Living with the blues

The last few years have been a struggle. The years before have been difficult too, only in the last couple of years it became steadily more obvious that something was disturbing me very deeply, making me very anxious, sad and angry, but what was it? I could identify things that were making me unhappy, and there was plenty going on in our lives that had gone on for years and that would make anyone miserable, not stuff that I’ve blogged about much.

There were things like my deep worry about and anger at family members. There was the fact that I had trained to be a lawyer but hated practice. I hated myself and my sense of failure.

There were many other things, mostly related to this sense of deep and abiding failure: I felt I wasn’t any good and could not perform my duties of looking after those near and dear to me (solution: get angry with them). Above all, there was my inability to show and tell A how much I loved him, because I was just so caught up in my own sadness and sense of failure. And that hurt the most.

No one thing alone could add up to that indefinable greyness that was steadily overtaking me. Bad things happen to many people, yet they manage to pull through, without making a big deal of it. I couldn’t cope with the fact that I was struggling to even face the morning. Something was the matter with me, not just the people around me, and the way I was reacting to situations.

I told quite a few people last year I was depressed because I wanted friends to know that I wasn’t quite “all there,” not because I wanted to ignore them, but because I had some issues of my own and needed time to deal with them. Now, in some ways, I regret this, because many people view the fact that you express you are depressed as a)selfishness b)a complaint/whine for attention when you have nothing to complain about c)tell you to get on with it as if you’d just had a minor bruise or something d)something you should have kept secret and not talked about. Exposing a vulnerability like this is looked down upon.

In other ways, I don’t regret telling people that I was feeling a little more than sad, because it’s at times like these you realise who considers you a friend and who considers you an acquaintance. Thus, while you may regret sharing something so deeply personal, at least you learn something about the people around you. Also, some of the secretive people I know (as opposed to those who are discrete) are also the most suspicious of other human beings, as well as being the most friendless, bitter, nasty and alone. While they may have reason to be suspicious, having been hurt in the past, as I was when I made my disclosure, I don’t want to live a life being distrustful of those I consider friends or to stop making friends. If I didn’t tell some friends and relatives I wanted to share my sadness with that I was feeling really low, it was because I wanted to protect them and not burden them at a time I knew they were struggling with their own problems.

One might say (and some did, with good intentions) that I should have counted my blessings and that I lead a fairly privileged life and in the grander scheme of things I had nothing to be miserable about. I already knew that, and was beating myself up with guilt over the fact that I was feeling even a twinge of sadness. But that doesn’t help.

Suppose you hurt your arm and it’s in sling, someone telling you to feel happy your illness isn’t terminal, or that you should be happy that at least you live in a big house, isn’t going to take the pain in the arm away. So telling myself I shouldn’t feel sad, because I had so much compared to others or others telling me the same did not help. Rather than feeling guilty about being unhappy, I had to acknowledge that I was unhappy, try to find out why, and do something about it. Then I could begin to enjoy my blessings leave alone counting them.

When we first moved into this house, I had little experience of gardening. We have a small front garden and a bigger back garden. The front garden is south facing, which means it should get a lot of sun and lots of brightly coloured plants should be able to grow there. But they don’t, because the front garden also has three big trees that shade the beds underneath. The garden at the back is north facing, and has a densely wooded part. The walls were covered in ivy, as ivy grows in shade and covers bare surfaces rapidly. I began digging with a vengeance, spraining the thighs and the lower back. It felt like all my anger and anxiety and sadness could disappear down those muddy holes. I planted sun-loving plants in the shade, in the hope that I could reproduce the vibrant reds and oranges of India in my garden, even if I did not have the courage to wear these colours in England. I planted perennials because I thought annuals were a waste.

Gardening websites and books describe the amount of sunlight a plant needs to grow as “shade,” “partial shade” and “full sun.” Most beautiful things grow in full sun. I tried to fool myself that the front was in partial shade, when at the height of summer it is actually in full shade. I stubbornly planted things like lavendar and colourful flowers that are supposed to cope with partial shade. Some plants grew and others did not. Most of those that did grow, grew violently sideways, trying to catch the sunlight from the neighbour’s garden (he nurtures rubbish dumps).

I began taking out the ivy and other such overwhelming plants, and patches of the garden began to look bare. Young replacements took a while to grow as tall as the ivy. Every winter, when some of the plants died back, A complained that the front garden looked exactly the same as when we had moved in, if not worse, and asked why I did not plant this or that brightly coloured plant he had seen somewhere else.

blue phlox

I began to notice that the whites, blues and pinks do better in the shade. And that, in their own British way, they could be quite beautiful. Some come out in the spring when the trees don’t have all their leaves yet, and allow more sunlight to filter through. I still love the reds and oranges more, but blues lighten the shade. And one can have colour in the form of annuals. It’s not the end of the world if things have to be planted again and again. It gives you a chance to arrange things differently. Some nondescript plants that do really well in shade may just look like dark hedging, but smell beautiful.

When one is depressed, anxious and angry, one can come across as very self-involved, and in a way, one is. The thing is, you can recognise this about yourself and feel worse. The way out of this self-defeating spiral is, strangely, to become even more self-involved, in that you begin examining yourself and your thoughts closely, and deliberately set out to do things that make you happy, to spend more time with your negative thoughts and to challenge them.

With help, and A’s unstinting support, I began to observe my thoughts and actions. Began to realise I had to stop fighting and loathing myself, and that I deserved some happiness without feeling guilty about it. I am learning to stop being so angry with other people and to change my reaction to them. I have wasted years waiting for other people to change, and not getting on with my own life as a result. Certainly I had an over-inflated sense of responsibility and what I could achieve vis-a-vis others.

I’m learning to cut myself some slack, like myself a little better and not be in self-attack mode all the time. And while I haven’t got rid of those debilitating moments of sadness and self-loathing entirely, I can see them coming and I know how to get out of them. It may take a little bit of time but it’s nice to know that I can be in control, and I can be happy, even if the colours aren’t quite always what I want them to be.

updated to add in response to some comments and emails I received: Thanks all very much for your concern. Am MUCH better now-last year was the worst. I realise it may have sounded like I am still very low but am much happier than I’ve been in a long while :)

Behag

Some time ago, someone gave me a cd “Thaanam” of Rama Varma playing the Veena, which, has among other things, a very beautiful Behag. The cd isn’t available commercially, so it’s nice to see his Behag on youtube (and some Kapi and Mishra Pilu). A meeting of Hindustani and Carnatic music:

Aalaapana and Thaanam

Thaanam and Ragamalika with a dash of some Bach

c

We’ve returned from holiday having stayed in some pretty expensive hotels. Marble bathrooms and toilets and all that. Everything was perfect from the pressure in the showers to the six unnecessary towels each. But as usual there was a lack, the lack of what one has variously heard called a hygiene shower, a potty shower (the mother’s name for it), hand faucet etc.

In other words, the shower next to the pot that we South Asians and South East Asians have in our loos, replacing the trusty bucket and mug/lota to wash our bums.

I don’t know about you, but I refuse to be satisfied with dry toilet paper, though that is also required.

What I don’t get is, these hotels are in Asia-where people wash their bottoms regularly. Are they expecting a purely European clientele? Some of them construct loos far away from any source of water, usually separate from the bathroom area and the washbasins.

All right, it might be nice to have the pot far away from where the shower is, in a bathroom the size of a small football field, but how about at least a tap near the pot? Step out of the fancy five stars in Indonesia and Thailand and walk into a “local” loo and you’ll immediately spot the shower, or a bucket and a mug.

I thought at least the hotels in India would have the bum showers but it turns out not to be the case.

Of course, we have them here in our loos at home in London, transported all the way from India.

Vidya’s post triggered by reading about a girl in Thane who had a thread ceremony, discusses some texts that sanctioned this practice for women, but cautions against viewing the past with rose tinted spectacles when it comes to women and their access to scriptural knowledge.

On Mukul Shivputra

An article on one of my favourite musicians, who sings rarely and spends most of his time wandering the country:
It’s not easy being Kumar Gandharva’s son, even if you are a Mukul Shivputra

Karangasem East Bali (1)

Though we had been to Bali before, we had never visited the east of the island, which forms the regency of Karangasem. This time we went, and I am so glad we did. Less crowded and touristy than the south and Ubud, it has beautiful beaches and mountains, and very interesting cultural history. Our base in Manggis was the starting point of our explorations.

The sea was glassy and excellent for swimming. A’s happy feet:

happy feet

We went snorkelling after which I dried off in the intense and delicious heat on the top deck of the boat.

Lovely Green Water seen from boat:green glass water

Me baking (mmm):

snoozing

At moments like these, with the sun warm on my back, I feel really grateful to be alive and to be lucky enough to visit such beautiful places with someone I love.

Bali’s most sacred mountain, the volcanic Gunung Agung, is believed to be a copy of Mount Meru. Besakih, the holiest Balinese temple, rests on the slopes of Gunung Agung. I visited Besakih, while A arose at the crack of dawn and went to Pasar Agung, another temple on Gunung Agung, in order to get the best photographs. These two temples provide the two routes up the mountain.

Mount Agung from the foothills:

mt agung from foothills

Pasar Agung. A has made this photograph look slightly extra dramatic with hdr but I love the way Balinese gates seemingly arise in the middle of nowhere, with two columns on either side, but no horizontal connection. It’s as if they are magical doors between different dimensions that look the same but actually aren’t:

pasar agung gates hdr

Besakih. It was quite dark and cloudy when I went, just before the regular evening thundershowers. The stone used is so black because it’s volcanic.The steps have the Pandavas on one side and the Kauravas on the other. The Balinese are preoccupied with balance, and the act of maintaining it:

Besakih 047

Temple rooftops-black palm fibre and gold:

Besakih 057

Besakih can be a bit of a hassle to visit (it’s actually a vast warren of shrines) because of the numerous touts and guides. The guides don’t really give you any information that you can’t find out for yourself quite easily, but you can only explore the outside without one. I was happy I did take a guide, because he took me to a shrine to be blessed by a female priest and showed me how to place my offering etc. Since Balinese temples are very different from Indian ones, I was grateful for this instruction.

Priestess who blessed me. Next to her can be seen the holy water with which she blessed me and behind her some Balinese winged lions that perform a protective function, like dwarapalas. I have a green winged lion who is currently regarding me with a friendly snarl:

Besakih, priest 052

One of the local temples curs. He’d just finished barking and growling madly at an intruder to his shrine and is seen here taking a well deserved rest:

dog asleep at besakih 053

The temple I most enjoyed visiting was Pura Kehan in Bangli. Very quiet and with some beautiful carvings, and situated in a beautiful area. Balinese temples are quite different to Indian temples. They don’t really worship idols in the way we do. There are idols, but they are often locked away and brought out only on important occasions. Offerings are placed everywhere, to spirits and the Gods, on the ground and on specially made pedestals (Balinese offerings are a complex topic in themselves) but usually not in front of an image or idol of God. Also, the temples, can be quite spartan and stark. A lot of carving indicates that the temple was constructed by a wealthy king/family/village.

Pura Kehen disappearing into the greenery:

Pura Kehan in greenery 027

Detail, Pura Kehan:

Pura Kehan 026

Updated to add: A took most of the pictures.

Of Ubud, coughs and Kecak

raangda
Rangda

So the holiday started a bit inauspiciously. We left with A feeling a bit unwell with a sore throat. What with all the swine flu scares, after a few coughs on the plane he received some suspicious stares, causing him to spray his throat assiduously with this throat spray he swears by. He started feeling better on the flight. Meanwhile he leaned lovingly close to me and was talking to me with his mouth inches away from my nose and mouth, as if just about to land me a kiss. While I moved backwards and asked him to pay attention and NOT share water with me on my flight by absent-mindedly drinking from my glass. I was paranoid because I’m really good at getting coughs and when I get a cough I start vomiting. Anyway, I got a cough.

Our second day in Ubud and I was coughing, vomitting and had a stomach upset. Couldn’t eat and a doctor had to be called from Denpasar, who recommended an expectorant! I grabbed the anti-nausea pills and said that’s all I need. Needless to say I vomited the first couple of those out as well. A, who rightly figured I had just acid in my stomach and needed to keep something down with the pills sat down with me at 2am and insisted I eat some bread dipped in water (a prisoner’s diet, but it was the only thing I could countenance). The last time this had happened in London, I was put on a drip, but he wasn’t having that in Indonesia, as we weren’t sure about the hospitals. It took an hour to get through a slice, and much glaring at A from me, but the bread did the trick with the medicine.

Me at the ornately carved Pura Taman Saraswati before the coughing became major:

DSC_3534

This was the second time we had been in Ubud and both times I have felt slightly cheated being there. Last time I felt time was too short, it rained throughout, and A had a bad stomach. This time, the weather was good, we had some lovely hot hours (though it did rain-it always rains in Ubud, but they were brief tropical thunderstorms that clear up soon) but I had to waste time by falling ill. There was so much I wanted to do and see that I missed out on, including some temples and rice field treks. But there will be a next time.

stonecarver 3

Not that we didn’t do anything while in Ubud. We managed, among other things, to get to Batubulan and get some beautiful stone carvings of a Balinese Brahma and Vishnu (they look completely different from Indian representations) and watch some Kecak at the Pura Dalem in Ubud (a Pura Dalem is a temple of the dead. Pura=temple). About a hundred men chant “cak” in unison and a scene from the Ramayana is enacted by dancers. There is no musical accompaniment save for the human voices. Hanuman looks like a real, frightening, large, old bearded monkey. A bit more of the jungle than our versions.

The performance was followed by a man dancing on burning coals. These performances used to be a part of trance/exorcism rituals, and I think they still are. But I wonder about things like dancing on coals. Is it still done because there is an audience?

Here’s a video from youtube of a Kecak dance:

I got much better and the holiday didn’t end here.

From the Inbox:
Woven Tales from the North East

presented by Morarka Centre and NCPA, Mumbai.

conceptualised by Siyahi

Tuesday, 16th June 2009.

Woven Tales from the North East is a day of delving into the storytelling traditions which are richly depicted in textiles and weaves of North Eastern states of India. Traditionally, textiles, with its age-old motifs, weaves, dyes and prints, have been a medium of telling stories, recording legends and perpetuating myths and folklore. This conference will bring together textile experts, art historians, designers, authors, poets, narrators, performers, and musicians. Rahul Bhattacharya, Sentila T. Yanger, Desmond L Kharmawphlang, Zasha Colah, Cherrie Chhangte and K. Sobita Devi will be creating the connect between story telling traditions and the art of creating rich textiles during sessions like The Luingamla Keshan, The Naga Shawls, The Sherdukpens, Hmar & Paitei Textiles and The Manipur Textiles. The day will end with a special performance of weavers’ song, Aye Kuzu Le by the Sumi Tribe from Nagaland.

The conference will focus on the myths, stories, tales and folk narratives in the textiles traditions of the North East India. The conference will take into account the quantum of this diversity in art and culture, which is evident from the multitude of languages, ethnic groups and their common collective memory. It will be a unique conference dealing with the art of story telling on the cloth in context to the development of North Eastern culture and civilization.

For more information please visit www.siyahi.in

Concerts in London

From My Inbox: if you want to go leave a comment or mail me at girlmumbai at gmail dot com. Sorry this is late, as I am abroad and just saw the mail.

Morning,

At Kings Place we thought it would be interesting for you and your blog followers to receive information about the Indian music events happening in our venue this week as part of the series East Meets West (20-23 May). We are very pleased to welcome such important artists as:

Amjad Ali Khan
Wajahat Khan
Sinfonia Viva
Kala Ramnath
Artists from the Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan

We would be very happy to give away a pair of tickets for you or one of your readers. The conditions of the give away can be decided by you. We would only need the name of the person that would pick up the tickets on the day. In exchange, could it be possible to mention the events in your blog and/or in any e-mail communication, in case you plan to send any message today or tomorrow?

You can find a press release enclosed and a link to the events below:

http://www.kingsplace.co.uk/music/weekly-themes?theme=48

Here and Away

I haven’t been blogging because life offline has taken over. Just finished a paper, had a lot to do at home (spring madness-happens every year and I can’t sleep because plants have taken over my brain) and have been working on some stuff part-time. Many part-times make quite a full time if you know what I mean. The mind has been a mish mash of legal-pluralism, sharia, dharma, diaspora, clematis, roses, A’s shirts, my missing dupatta, Purandaradasa, open air cremations, court cases and Bharatanatyam. Plus we travel in two days and we’re going a bit mad trying to get things done before then.
So shall be here only off and on for a while but am trying to keep twitter updated. Twitter is just an experiment for now. A bit boring, because it doesn’t allow one to EXPOUND and go on and anon like blogging . Much prefer reading other people’s tweets.

Fading notes

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