Bangalore part one

The writers hit Bangalore bookshops

What a day we had in Bangalore on Thursday. After the surreal peace and languid pace of Nrityagram, it was a dramatic change, but also welcome. As soon as we hit the road, it felt like "Hang on for the ride." I had the front seat.  Nabina, Eugene and Birgitta were in the back and not so close to the "action," so they were laughing at me, because I let out a little gasp every few minutes as the driver negotiated around the cows, pedestrians, whole families on motorbikes, slow-moving trucks (oh...aside....I hear the Archies singing somewhere...You are my candy girl! I think it's someone's ringtone), bicycles laden with a truckoad of merchandise. But our driver was good. I thought David would appreciate his driving. He used the horn (as they do here) to warn other vehicles and his concentration must have been total. (I once asked David, "what do you think about when you're driving?" "Driving," he said. This man was like that.)

We drove through the outskirts of Bangalore (known in the local Kannada language as Bengaluru. I love the sound of it) past new apartment complexes, roadside shops of every kind, piles of vegetables and fruits, machinery, furniture (woodworkers outside sanding beds in the sun), cows, garbage, cows foraging in garbage, wreaths of marigolds and bouquets of flowers for sale, goats in rubble, lots of rubble, big billboards advertising expensive watches, small roadside piles of burning debris. And people. There are so many people.

Since it's a big city, people are of all kinds. One of the traveler's perennial concerns (or mine at least) is what to wear so that you don't stand out like a sore thumb. After experiencing Bangalore, I won't worry about that any more. Many people are dressed in western clothing, but usually with a certain Indian flare. One of the most common outfits for women, especially young women, is the kurta, the longish shirt with slits on the sides and jeans or a slim legging type thing underneath. (It's pretty common for men too). This is a flattering and practical garment and I couldn't wait to buy one. (Another aside: I'm sitting outside and watching a cow walking along with a white bird riding on his back)

We made a stop at Arshia's apartment (we were so lucky to have our daytrip all mapped out for us by locals), then to a street lined with shops of all kinds. Birgitta, the Swedish editor, recommended a shop called Cottage... something.  Ack! I'm not much of a shopper at home, but I do have a real weakness for textiles of any kind. This shop was an Indian textile kingdom, full of tablecloths, scarves, rugs,and bedding -- so gorgeous. The colours are the colours of India: rusts, cayenne oranges, indigo blues, saffron and turmeric yellows, curry leaf greens. Natural dyes and many hand-embroidered. The salesclerk saw my interest and began pulling down bedspreads and shaking them out to show me. When I said he didn't have to pull down everything I touched, he said, "It's my job Madam."

Since I'm going to London in a few days and had already planned to ship a bag home with my London clothes, I thought it was my chance to buy something I never would have bought when I traveled as a twenty-four year-old backpacker. After falling for just about everything he pulled off the shelf, (creamy white embroidered with browns and golden yellow leaves; the softest pink with fine, vine-like green flowers...) I decided on a rusty orange (Khal would say "orange, of course!") to remind me of the colour of this Nrityagram soil which has already stained my feet and shoes.

After an hour or so, we called the driver and he returned in about two minutes with the cab for us (!) and took us to Church Street to Coconut Grove restaurant for a Kerala style lunch: meen pappas (fish curry, very fresh), kozhi nadan kari (chicken), malabar poratta (paratha bread), sadham (plain rice) and of course chai. Oh but first a glass of lime water (soda water with lime squeezed into it and a bit of sugar--delicious) to chase the shopping.

Nirmala, a journalist who works with Sangam House and a born and bred Bangalore-ite who loves the city, met us at lunch and we went next to Blossom Bookstore. Very much like my beloved Penticton Books n Things, they have a framed letter from the renowned Indian poet Rabindranath Tagore. Apparently someone bought one of his books there and found the letter, dated Dec. 27, 1931 and returned to the store to give it back to them. Some of the Canadian writers' books I saw there: Rohinton Mistry, Yann Martel, Margaret Atwood.

I bought a beautiful old book of poetry by Rabindranath Tagore. Birgitta, who is a wealth of information on literary India, said there are better translations than the ones he did himself (this one in 1918), and probably the best are by William Radice. But I do love this: "In the light of this thriftless day of spring, my poet, sing of those who pass by and do not linger, who laugh as they run and never look back....Do not sit quietly, to tell the beads of your past tears and smiles,--do not stop to pick up the dropped petals from the flowers of overnight, do not go to seek things that evade you, to know the meaning that is not plain,--leave the gaps in your life where they are, for the music to come out of their depths."

And with that in mind, it's back to work with me. More on Bangalore later.



Things to do when the power goes out

Nabina, Mangala, & Birgitta

I've come to look forward to the momentary gasp when the power goes out here in this starlit little part of the world outside of Bangalore. I forget if I mentioned that the constellations seem to be upsidedown. I can recognize Orion's belt, but it's much higher in the sky, almost directly overhead, Cassiopeia, which is also upsidedown, and the little dipper. I can't find the big dipper. Tonight as soon as the lights went out, we looked for the moon and couldn't see it. A few minutes later it rose out of the clouds, as orange as the past two nights. There's a lot of smoke in the air and maybe that's causing the effect. I'm not sure where the smoke comes from but it's always there. I did notice on my walk the other morning that they'd been burning fields. Reminds me of the prairies back in the 70s. Do they still do that?

Last night when the power died just as darkness fell, Nabina taught me a raga, called Yaman. It's one of the first ragas that a student of Hindustani classical music will learn and the lyrics say something about "My love is far away in a foreign land and here I am staring at the stars." Fitting. Also, it's an evening raga, meant to be sung in the first quarter of the evening, around 6-9 p.m. It was beautiful to be standing in the dark, looking out at the first stars and singing.

This morning I woke up before dawn. I guess I'm still off-kilter with the time change. I lay awake as it got light and then finally at 7 o'clock I got up and went for a run. First thing I saw was several green parrots twittering in the trees.

Tomorrow we have a big trip planned to Bangalore. But first, we eat sausages for breakfast. A blip in our incredibly healthy diets here.

Another moon

The moon tonight rose a huge, vibrant orange, like a harvest moon. We all rushed out with our iphones and cameras trying to capture it. The picture can't really capture it, but at least it can remind you: I was there, smoke hung in the air, dogs were howling, the breeze was warm. The nights here are magical, but so are the days. When the sun goes down, the mosquitoes come out. But it's nothing like I expected when I was warned to bring my Deet repellent. I have lived in Winnipeg. I've camped in the Whiteshell. I pictured clouds of them, so that we'd have to retreat to the safety of our rooms. There are a few buzzing around, and by 7 o'clock they're mostly gone. Still, I'm taking my Malarone malaria medication, because my doctor told me to and everyone seems to think it's best to. I've had no ill effects from it.

We were talking earlier about whether it's the right word to call the accommodations here "spartan." For me that word has positive associations. I think I may have been a monk in another life. Sometimes the word is used ironically, but not in this case. We have everything we need, including beauty: a simple built-in stone desk facing the window, a lovely wooden bed with a futon type mattress and beautiful cotton bedding, a bedside lamp, an emergency backup lamp for when the power goes out and a bathroom with hot water twice a day, once at  about 10 a.m. and again at about 5 p.m. Something about waiting for the water, looking out the window to see if the fire under the heater has been stoked yet, makes it seem like such a luxury.

the all-important water heater

 We also each have a framed photograph in our room of the two principle dancers, Shurupa and Bijoyni. They have been at Nrityagram for about 20 years, since the school was first established. I can't remember the name of the photographer right now.

The architect who designed this building lives in a cottage just a few metres across from us. He joined us for dinner last night. I think it must be gratifying to see your building at work, kind of like catching someone with her head buried in the book you've written. I've been thinking a lot about structure, as I always do especially when starting a novel. I have two main threads of narrative going in this one, but one is the main story. The tricky thing is how to find the right balance between making the secondary story compelling but not having it overshadow the main one. Right now I'm finding that I'm drawn to one thread and totally immersed in that world and leave it only reluctantly.

Full moon in India

Okay, indulge me. It's a full moon in India!

It's warmer tonight. Soft, perfect temperature all day. Now we have no power, but we have a full moon and our Internet connection. Not sure how that works. Today was a good writing day. It was so quiet here; even the birds seemed subdued.

Birgitta and I both picked up some chunks of rock to use as footstools under our desks. But I spent most of the day outside writing on a yellow newsprint pad (my favourite that I brought from home). I kept noticing how soft the air was, how comfortable, and then how beautiful the light becomes in the afternoon. I think the orange earth contributes to that tone of light.

It's strange, but at home I was working on the India section of my novel and now here I'm working on the Manitoba section. That seems to fit the way I do research. Maybe I just need to imagine the setting first. Nabina and I were talking about that today. I prefer to write first and research later as I revise or as I need to know something particular. But I also do a lot of preliminary reading in a broad way.

The power had come back on but now it's out again and I can hear many dogs barking and howling in the distance so it's kind of haunting. Some of them sound like coyotes but apparently there are no coyotes here and no Indian equivalent (except maybe wild dogs). Back on again!

Evening at Nrityagram

Lakshmi, who works here. She was working outside my window this afternoon. Dressed so beautifully, even to work.

It's evening now, about 7 o'clock. Night falls quickly here; there's very little twilight. I just closed one of the shutters to my room. I was scoffing at the mention of "chilly" weather here, but even though it's very warm in the daytime (in the 20s), the evenings do cool off and early this morning was misty and definitely chilly. Gorgeous mild and sunny day today. I did a morning walk with Nabina, one of the other writers here, and an afternoon walk with Birgitta, an editor and translator from Sweden.

I spent a fair bit of time last night and today watching the dancers practice. I feel so privileged to be able to watch them. The two principle dancers are Shurupa and Bijoyini (my spelling may be wrong). They're going to Chennai tomorrow to receive an award that is normally only given to much older dancers. These women are amazing. They begin practice at 9 a.m. after yoga and a run, and they practice all day. They sweat as they practice and I know from the little yoga I've done that the poses they hold must be very demanding, yet they manage to look incredibly graceful as well as strong. From the sound of it (the drumming and singing carries; our rooms are at the other end of the compound, through winding garden paths, maybe a 1/4 kilometre away), they're finished for the night, but last night they practiced past 7:00. They're working on some new pieces right now so it's neat to watch this process.

I'll try to convey what I've learned so far. First of all, this style of dance is earth-oriented. I was told it is somewhat related to flamenco. There's a lot of slapping of feet to the floor in time with the music. The timings they use are very intricate and of course exact. Apparently Shurupa has an unerring mathematical sense for this. The dancers and the musicians are always counting and so Shurupa might say "Okay, I'll meet you at beat 148." Today I heard her say to her partner, "Three? How do you put three into seventeen?" Last night I watched them go over and over a short section of a piece where the two of them were spinning in unison but couldn't get the timings to their satisfaction. The musicians very patiently listened to Shurupa's comments and played it over and over. Finally, I think they ended up changing the choreography of that portion (I watched it again today and it was different).

The musicians too have amazing endurance. They sit cross-legged for hours. The vocalist sings all day long. I commented on this to him at lunch today and he said if he has a short rest now and then he's fine after that. I'm learning a few things about the singing. For instance, in Western music we have the seven notes (do re mi...etc) that are each separate notes. In Indian singing there are also seven notes (sa, re, ga, ma, pa, dha, ni...that brings you back to sa) and there are sharps like in Western music. But there are also micronotes or micro pitches between the notes and that gives the kind of bending sound you hear in Indian singing. I asked about this, too, how to do it. I was told "practice." It's harder than you might think.

Sangam House day 2

The garden in the morning

Cows and birds

Beautiful morning here at Sangam House. There was a green hummingbird outside my window. They take very good care of us here. Arshia made us a "gentle stew" for dinner last night, of chicken and potatoes and carrots.  I fell into bed around 10 p.m., suddenly overcome by losing a day somewhere over the Atlanic.  And I fell asleep to crickets and faint music from somewhere.

Mangala is sweeping my room and her bracelets are tinkling. That sound of sweeping is an almost constant backdrop here, the gentle rhythmic brushing of grass brooms against stone walkways or fallen leaves. Now I hear the drone of an instrument, not sure what it is or where.

I went for a walk; I'll post a few photos. They may be a bit fuzzy, as I have to use my iphone camera; I forgot the cord to transfer photos from my camera. It's very rural here and slow-moving, like rural places everywhere. I walked down the red dirt roads through open fields and passed cows, each with their own attendant white bird, something like a heron. A few people passing through on motorbikes. Women walking in the most beautifully coloured saris and salwar kameez: saffron yellow, emerald green, orange, turquoise. Some wear orange flowers in their hair. I was thinking the men seem plain in comparison when a man in a bright orange tunic came by.

The fields around Nrityagram

Poinsettas grow here and are in bloom now. Also hibiscus (coral), bougainvillea (pink and white), bananas and papayas, and magnolias (very fragrant).  Marigolds, squash, basil, various other kitchen garden plants. Sangam House is in a dance village called Nrityagram. The dancers start their practice at about 9 each morning and we can go and watch them. Visitors come from all over, too, and walk the grounds and watch the dancers.

An interesting fruit of some kind

A small temple

Sangam House day one - jetlagged

I'm sitting at my desk at the window with a lovely warm breeze wafting in and the sound of someone sweeping beneath the sound of an obnoxious bird cawing, maybe a crow? The morning was crazy with birdsong and the shutters were open, so at about 7 a.m. the hazy light was filling the room and the birds sounded like they were in my room. Luckily I brought earplugs which I can see I will need. I also brought a lavender-scented eye mask ( a loan from my yoga teacher). It will come in handy.

All the travel connections went so smoothly. I arrived in Bangalore to find my baggage which I had parted with in Kelowna thinking, "goodbye forever." It seemed impossible that it would find its way to a carousel 12,000 kilometres away (is it really that far? google says so). Yet there it was, in India. I had been told to look for the sign with (no, not my name) Sangam House on it. I stepped out of the airport into the humid night to a long line of people with signs. And there it was, again. I said "hello" and the man said, "Frances?" Almost as good as a sign with my name on it. Maybe better.


We walked to his cab and I got in the back seat and looked for the seatbelt. "Not necessary. No problem," he said. But as we took to the highway, I heard my son's voice, "Mom!" so when there was a lull in traffic I asked if he'd mind if I moved to the front seat. Once there, I buckled up. It's not like when I was 24 and mentally made the sign of the cross like the Mexican bus drivers do, then surrendered. I'm 50 and I'll damn well sit in the front seat with a seat belt. The drive was a bit surreal. Quickly out of the city and onto a shortcut, down narrow red dirt rural roads closed over by gnarly, vine covered trees, past sleeping little villages. We were stopped at one point by a railroad crossing. The driver got out, looked down the track, then went to a little house and called out the sleepy guard who raised the arm for us to pass through.

My room

This place is incredibly beautiful and peaceful. I just had one of the best hot showers of my life and walked down to the dance studio (open air) to watch the practice. I've heard I can join them for yoga in the morning. I'll attach a couple of pictures.

Through one of the window screens