A snippet of conversation from Ganga View Cafe, one that would make me mental anywhere:
Guy: Sanskrit is about the sound of the Universe, it's about the vibration, it's all about tapping into that sound.
Girl: That is so cool. That is SO cool.
Vanessa! How could you leave me and take your delightful Canadian sarcasm with you?
Okay, and just so youse all get the full picture, let me just say I'm sure I heard someone mentally retching while I was asking Alec about the Mercury aspect in my Astrological chart, and the effects of having Pluto, Jupiter and Uranus (uhm, you know how I get about this type of thing if I can't conjugate a verb without laughing) in my Sixth House, the house of health, as it were. Yes, I can dish it out but I can't stand the heat in kitchen. Kitchen? Frig! Parlour, whatever!
And here's my other favourite snippet from this morning, with the two Italians sitting next to me. They freaked out when they saw how Ganga View makes the milk espresso Italian style, with an Italian stovetop coffee-maker.
"Ma guarde un po!" Meaning Would you get a load of this!
"Next time we come we'll bring our own coffee. We can buy this element thing!"
"Of course! We just rent a bigger room, and set it up- "
"And pop, pah, pow, we make -"
" -our own spaghetti!"
" - exactly!"
I kept laughing through their conversation so they started looking over, and I thought I best just keep to myself because eavesdropping is rude, especially when you're caught. I had a moment where I thought I could say "How are you feeling about Berlusconi winning?" but that's not a conversation starter.
The absolute best was listening to them complain about how long it took to get a coffee: "These guys don't like to do anything fast!" You get my 'Ha ha moment'? An Italian is complaining he thinks an Indian doesn't like to do anything fast. Uhm, I know it's been a lifetime since I was in Italy and I was only a child, but as far as I could see, the only thing Italians liked to do fast was talk and drive.
I've become addicted to ending on a happy note, as much as possible for someone with a family history of depression and suicide. Tangent alert! Can you believe I once had a writing teacher tell me that choosing the happy ending for my play because 'I liked it' meant I was an irresponsible writer, since that's not real life? I'm sure you can.
My reply: "Well, I don't think so. I prefer it." And why not, if I'm in charge of that particular Universe, and I AM! I know, I know, what yoga-quasi-spiritual-pursuit is this? I haven't seen my preferences, my likes and dislikes diminish at all - I've just seen them on the big Bollywood screen. Oh, there's a heck of a lotta of dancing around. Maybe I just need to brush up on the moves and the whole sequence won't look, won't feel so - So what? Wrong? There it is again, inner struggled splattered all over the blog when I had to think about it all.
In the words of smarter people, I take my leave of you.
Take it away Ms. Hay:
"Often what we think of as the things "wrong" with us are only our expressions of our own individuality. We are meant to be different. When we can accept this, then there is no competition and no comparison - to try to be like another is to shrivel our soul. We have come to this planet to express who we are."
Thursday, April 17, 2008
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Abi Hindi Katam
Now Hindi Finish.
Here's the thing, I could have put this toddler-type sentence together last week, before I spent the rupees to be taught bad Hindi-Urdu-Nepalese-MishMash. Vanessa and I met early this morning to try and figure out from her notes what the formulas were for all the tenses we whipped through - Present Indefinite all the way to Future Indefinite.
It nearly gave her a brain annuerysm as she tried to figure it out and teach me. I spaced out during the last class yesterday morning and was like, if this guy gives me another exercise to do I will freak out. I missed one class from being sick with a stomach that reached all the way back to Pushkar, and when i would flip through my notes, Mister would say "Huh, you don't know 'she'. You forgot He? Huh."
He had this very odd habit of saying "huh" - it was partially nasal and partially aspirated and 100% annoying. I think it meant "okay" or "yes something", but not really - I could think it was funny at first, but after you've decided you want to murder someone, nothing they do is charming or funny anymore. Weird, huh?
Before Vanessa arrived, Ilu at Little Buddha tried practising Hindi with me this morning - asking me the real brain teaser - where are you from? I did not understand. Hello! He says - "I see you in class there every day - what you learn?" What could I say? All in all I'm just another brick in the wall? Oh there's some proverbs translated into Hindi like: a poor carpenter blames his tools, but much like the translation of Rome wasn't built in a day, where Vanessa and I could find no evidence of the word Rome or day, some things don't translate. Or in the case of what I understood from this man: kuch nahee. Nothing.
There were two other girls learning in the time slot after us, and they were ESL, or possibly E4thL, and the teacher was bahut ESL, and they thought he was great, until one of them showed her Indian friend her notes and her friend told her, "this isn't Hindi, this is some Hindi, some Urdu, and possibly some Nepalese."
Vanessa reported this to me and decided that after we made our notes cohesive, we would do examples for each tense and quiz ourselves. After 2 hours of notes and talking about the meaning of life according to us (no disrespect your Holiness!) and everything in-between, I'm about to go to the bathroom when Vanessa checks her new Colloquial Hindi book and says "We're screwed." She explains how the tense we were working on is not translated correctly. And the waiters look at our text and can't understand what it means, and they have been telling us different words than the ones we have written down, day after excruciating day.
Vanessa: Oh my god! The difference between what this sentence is saying it is and what it really is is the difference between "I'm going to eat" and "I blew up a house last year."
Okay, so here's the scene now, I'm sitting at the internet, sad and a little lonely, having just said good-bye to Vanessa, on her way back to Bangalore. I can hardly believe we met less than a week ago, and we will meet again when she comes to Vancouver, so her goodbye was bahut bidiyay (perfect) "I'll see you soon."
I'm also laughing to myself, alot, going through my notes from our Hindi class. I should clarify, I'm mostly alone, the way one can be so alone in an internet place with 4 guys, all Indian sitting around and playing on all the other computers (Yes, they work here.) All of you who have travelled to bharat will understand, or as Vanessa said one day, "You know - how one guy will fry an egg and four guys will watch him do it." And I keep laughing, and for the 14th time, I kid you not, they have played James Blunt's You're Beautiful.
And I'm a little sad, but I am laughing a lot. An hour ago, I stood on a swinging steel bridge over the Ganges in the moonlight, while the wind whipped up so much that there were waves on the river. I know, me very lucky, some might say bahut lucky.
On the other side of Laxman Jhulla, the steel and concrete bridge that swings in the wind, Vanessa handed me a cd with all the hits from all the Shah Rukh Khan movies (one of India's Tom Cruises, they appear to have 2) including: Om Shanti Om! Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, plus the fabulous Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge, which you'll all remember as The Braveheart blah blah blah.
I mean, maybe we should have clued in when we would ask:
"How do you say 'bus'?"
"Bus."
"How do you say 'school'?"
"School."
"How do you say 'kitchen'?"
"Kitchen."
The last one we made a fuss about and got "Rasor Gar" - but like, for all we know, this could be the way they say kitchen in a remote village in Pakistan, where it could also mean "hole with chappati cooking fire in it". Or maybe it's the way they said it in Persia in the 14th century. At least I know I'll be useless in 3 countries with my Hindurdulese. I'm signing up for Esperanto when I get back.
Well, truly we knew he was a terrible teacher, so it seems like just one of those things, we were just destined to meet this way, in a Hindi class under a tarp at Freedom Cafe, me and the Italian-mother-Gujarati-father bahut sundar gal, aur hosey-something, the word for smart, she'll know the one I'm talking about (bilkul mira dost?)
So, off I go, to wake up with no class or Hindi practice to look forward to tomorrow. Good news is the stomach's better, I only look 3 months pregnant now as opposed to six. Yoga, what yoga? You try lying on a pumpkin and moving into upward dog.
And, it's only phir milenge, which we found out is "meet" - as in "we'll meet again", though it's translated for Westerners as "see you later."
I'll leave you all on this note because I have laughed bahut over this and the "I blew up a house last year" exchange.
Vanessa: At least he didn't perv out on us.
Eufemia: Uhm, he put his arms around us in the photo*. And he tried to hug you.
(*This is simply not done here, at all. One has to try and act "casual" and "groovy" - which is not easy for an uptight fella from a no-contact-till-you're-married-culture to do. They don't shake hands with women. They don't hug. In some places, they are not allowed to speak during the "Will this be the one?" marriage interview conducted by family members on behalf of the couple. And plus, his hands were too low for the teacher - student sitch, as Vanessa would say. Would say, did we cover that tense?) I digress! Back to:
Vanessa: At least he didn't perv out on us.
Eufemia: Uhm, he put...And he tried to hug you
Vanessa: I know. Fuck.
Here's the thing, I could have put this toddler-type sentence together last week, before I spent the rupees to be taught bad Hindi-Urdu-Nepalese-MishMash. Vanessa and I met early this morning to try and figure out from her notes what the formulas were for all the tenses we whipped through - Present Indefinite all the way to Future Indefinite.
It nearly gave her a brain annuerysm as she tried to figure it out and teach me. I spaced out during the last class yesterday morning and was like, if this guy gives me another exercise to do I will freak out. I missed one class from being sick with a stomach that reached all the way back to Pushkar, and when i would flip through my notes, Mister would say "Huh, you don't know 'she'. You forgot He? Huh."
He had this very odd habit of saying "huh" - it was partially nasal and partially aspirated and 100% annoying. I think it meant "okay" or "yes something", but not really - I could think it was funny at first, but after you've decided you want to murder someone, nothing they do is charming or funny anymore. Weird, huh?
Before Vanessa arrived, Ilu at Little Buddha tried practising Hindi with me this morning - asking me the real brain teaser - where are you from? I did not understand. Hello! He says - "I see you in class there every day - what you learn?" What could I say? All in all I'm just another brick in the wall? Oh there's some proverbs translated into Hindi like: a poor carpenter blames his tools, but much like the translation of Rome wasn't built in a day, where Vanessa and I could find no evidence of the word Rome or day, some things don't translate. Or in the case of what I understood from this man: kuch nahee. Nothing.
There were two other girls learning in the time slot after us, and they were ESL, or possibly E4thL, and the teacher was bahut ESL, and they thought he was great, until one of them showed her Indian friend her notes and her friend told her, "this isn't Hindi, this is some Hindi, some Urdu, and possibly some Nepalese."
Vanessa reported this to me and decided that after we made our notes cohesive, we would do examples for each tense and quiz ourselves. After 2 hours of notes and talking about the meaning of life according to us (no disrespect your Holiness!) and everything in-between, I'm about to go to the bathroom when Vanessa checks her new Colloquial Hindi book and says "We're screwed." She explains how the tense we were working on is not translated correctly. And the waiters look at our text and can't understand what it means, and they have been telling us different words than the ones we have written down, day after excruciating day.
Vanessa: Oh my god! The difference between what this sentence is saying it is and what it really is is the difference between "I'm going to eat" and "I blew up a house last year."
Okay, so here's the scene now, I'm sitting at the internet, sad and a little lonely, having just said good-bye to Vanessa, on her way back to Bangalore. I can hardly believe we met less than a week ago, and we will meet again when she comes to Vancouver, so her goodbye was bahut bidiyay (perfect) "I'll see you soon."
I'm also laughing to myself, alot, going through my notes from our Hindi class. I should clarify, I'm mostly alone, the way one can be so alone in an internet place with 4 guys, all Indian sitting around and playing on all the other computers (Yes, they work here.) All of you who have travelled to bharat will understand, or as Vanessa said one day, "You know - how one guy will fry an egg and four guys will watch him do it." And I keep laughing, and for the 14th time, I kid you not, they have played James Blunt's You're Beautiful.
And I'm a little sad, but I am laughing a lot. An hour ago, I stood on a swinging steel bridge over the Ganges in the moonlight, while the wind whipped up so much that there were waves on the river. I know, me very lucky, some might say bahut lucky.
On the other side of Laxman Jhulla, the steel and concrete bridge that swings in the wind, Vanessa handed me a cd with all the hits from all the Shah Rukh Khan movies (one of India's Tom Cruises, they appear to have 2) including: Om Shanti Om! Kuch Kuch Hota Hai, plus the fabulous Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge, which you'll all remember as The Braveheart blah blah blah.
I mean, maybe we should have clued in when we would ask:
"How do you say 'bus'?"
"Bus."
"How do you say 'school'?"
"School."
"How do you say 'kitchen'?"
"Kitchen."
The last one we made a fuss about and got "Rasor Gar" - but like, for all we know, this could be the way they say kitchen in a remote village in Pakistan, where it could also mean "hole with chappati cooking fire in it". Or maybe it's the way they said it in Persia in the 14th century. At least I know I'll be useless in 3 countries with my Hindurdulese. I'm signing up for Esperanto when I get back.
Well, truly we knew he was a terrible teacher, so it seems like just one of those things, we were just destined to meet this way, in a Hindi class under a tarp at Freedom Cafe, me and the Italian-mother-Gujarati-father bahut sundar gal, aur hosey-something, the word for smart, she'll know the one I'm talking about (bilkul mira dost?)
So, off I go, to wake up with no class or Hindi practice to look forward to tomorrow. Good news is the stomach's better, I only look 3 months pregnant now as opposed to six. Yoga, what yoga? You try lying on a pumpkin and moving into upward dog.
And, it's only phir milenge, which we found out is "meet" - as in "we'll meet again", though it's translated for Westerners as "see you later."
I'll leave you all on this note because I have laughed bahut over this and the "I blew up a house last year" exchange.
Vanessa: At least he didn't perv out on us.
Eufemia: Uhm, he put his arms around us in the photo*. And he tried to hug you.
(*This is simply not done here, at all. One has to try and act "casual" and "groovy" - which is not easy for an uptight fella from a no-contact-till-you're-married-culture to do. They don't shake hands with women. They don't hug. In some places, they are not allowed to speak during the "Will this be the one?" marriage interview conducted by family members on behalf of the couple. And plus, his hands were too low for the teacher - student sitch, as Vanessa would say. Would say, did we cover that tense?) I digress! Back to:
Vanessa: At least he didn't perv out on us.
Eufemia: Uhm, he put...And he tried to hug you
Vanessa: I know. Fuck.
Tuesday, April 15, 2008
The True Meaning of Life by His Holiness
We are visitors on this planet
we are here for ninety
or one hundred years
at the very most.
During that period
we must try to do something
good, something useful
with our lives.
If you contribute to other
people's happiness, you will find the true goal,
the true meaning of life.
- His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama
Bonus additional quote, but first an anecdote: At the internet this afternoon I started copying down a quote that was attributed to Mother Theresa. The fellow running the shop said "What are you doing? You think Mother Theresa said that?"
Eufemia: She didn't?
Fellow: No. I think if they not spell her name right on the poster, this could all be wrong.
Eufemia: Her name is spelled wrong?
Her name was spelled Mother Theresa, and a quick internet check shows me that's not wrong, though according to the fellow, it should be "Theressa, double 's', because she was Italian."
Well, not unless Albania is a province in Italy now, but then, my geography is sketchy.
I didn't disagree, or argue, because, well, see previous notes to self on disgreeing with/correcting men. It's not so much that one shouldn't disagree, really, but perhaps I should learn how to do it without sounding so exasperated and like "Stop talking to me - please, talk to the hand until you know what you're talking about, because the hand doesn't have a mind of it's own, so it won't just reach across this desk and slap you in your smug face for being so annoying."
I feel really childish and want to say "He started it!" Because you should hear the tone he used - it was like "Hey MORON, you think Mother Theresa actually said that?"
Hmmm....Golly.
Shanti, shanti.
I may need these quotes tattooed across my forehead. So, Ladies & Gents, from that famous now deceased Italian resident of Kolkatta, I give you:
Three things in human life are important:
The first is to be kind
The second is to be kind
And the third is to be kind.
You said it, Mother.
we are here for ninety
or one hundred years
at the very most.
During that period
we must try to do something
good, something useful
with our lives.
If you contribute to other
people's happiness, you will find the true goal,
the true meaning of life.
- His Holiness the 14th Dalai Lama
Bonus additional quote, but first an anecdote: At the internet this afternoon I started copying down a quote that was attributed to Mother Theresa. The fellow running the shop said "What are you doing? You think Mother Theresa said that?"
Eufemia: She didn't?
Fellow: No. I think if they not spell her name right on the poster, this could all be wrong.
Eufemia: Her name is spelled wrong?
Her name was spelled Mother Theresa, and a quick internet check shows me that's not wrong, though according to the fellow, it should be "Theressa, double 's', because she was Italian."
Well, not unless Albania is a province in Italy now, but then, my geography is sketchy.
I didn't disagree, or argue, because, well, see previous notes to self on disgreeing with/correcting men. It's not so much that one shouldn't disagree, really, but perhaps I should learn how to do it without sounding so exasperated and like "Stop talking to me - please, talk to the hand until you know what you're talking about, because the hand doesn't have a mind of it's own, so it won't just reach across this desk and slap you in your smug face for being so annoying."
I feel really childish and want to say "He started it!" Because you should hear the tone he used - it was like "Hey MORON, you think Mother Theresa actually said that?"
Hmmm....Golly.
Shanti, shanti.
I may need these quotes tattooed across my forehead. So, Ladies & Gents, from that famous now deceased Italian resident of Kolkatta, I give you:
Three things in human life are important:
The first is to be kind
The second is to be kind
And the third is to be kind.
You said it, Mother.
Monday, April 14, 2008
Say it Ain't So
More excerpts - I swear one can't help but eavesdrop here, you simply can't help it.
Tourist Question: Where can I wash my hands?
Restaurant Employee Answer: On the toilet.
This one kills me because I knew he meant in the toilet, because the sink outside the bathroom at Freedom nahee working, but the sink inside the loo runs all the time, sometimes non-stop. Still, I was most amused this morning, listening and thinking "She doesn't understand - he means 'in the toilet'.... Wait, that doesn't sound right either.."
Today's Hindi class, the second last one, is really where Vanessa kicked our teacher's arse, which she's been doing for days, coming up with formula's to help make sense of the language, otherwise we would be completely lost. (She's a math tutor and we've discovered we both love formula's, Lemonanas and Bollywood movies.)
Lemonana, by the way (called a Nimboonana in Hindi!*) please make it a.s.a.p - it's crushed ice, lemon juice and fresh blended mint aur torah chini, kripya. And little sugar. (That's pretty much my one week of Hindi in action and put to good use. I can order a drink with some sugar added, please.) *I stand corrected, please see Ayelet's note!
Here's your Hindi Sentence Structure Full Power Formula:
Subject + Indirect Object + Postposition + Direct Object + Action + Doing + Auxilary Verb
Simple, nay?
This would be why I am drinking coffee translates into Main coffee pee rahi hun.
The verb to drink is peena, and this would be why I love this sentence.
For anyone wondering how I graduated from middle school, I'm wondering the same thing. And the crisis I had when I turned 30, where I thought "My God, I am the same foolish person I was at 19! How could this be, How could God let this happen?!" Well, imagine the trauma that would have ensued had I realised my true level of maturity.
I haven't even told you about the night in Pushkar when Mahesh was trying to explain masculine and feminine to me and Sarah and how I could not stop laughing at this exchange:
Mahesh: Water is male, like Shiva. Fire is female, like Durga....
Sarah: What about everyday things like fruit?
Mahesh: ...Banana is male.
Sarah: Go figure.
more discourse and then...
Mahesh: Fountain is male -
Sarah: Really? But the water, oh of course, like the banana.
Five minutes later, Sarah looks over at me and says to Mahesh, who's looking at me like I'm on drugs because I can't stop laughing "She's still laughing about the banana." And I swear, that made it even harder to stop, then knowing he would think I was rude or "a bad girl" for laughing about the ridiculously obvious genderisation of a banana. I know, genderisation is not a word - but as I just noted, I still don't know how I passed Grade 8.
The Hindi classes would be a total bust without Vanessa, who is one smart cookie asking all the right questions but unfortunately this also really points out our teacher's ineptitude. For example - he wants us to translate sentences like "I had slept when he come."
Teacher: You have already slept, then He, the direct object, he cames to you.
Eufemia: The thing is, no one would ever say that in English.
The best part was Vanessa getting translations for "like" - as in 'Make me a coffee like hers' and the really important questions, "How do you say crushed ice?" at the end of class. I was still feeling bahut under the weather so I said "Oh my god, I'm going kill you." Because I woulda thought she coulda got that translation in Goa, when she was there...When she was there... When she is going....She will be going....Present Indefinite tense...Future tense...
Vanessa leaves in 2 days. Sigh. Big big sigh.
Yesterday, my favouriteVanessa quote was: I just don't have time to stop and make small talk with anyone.
And wouldn't you know, she was going to help me put my pictures on this blog and no joke, no site in Rishikesh will let us do it. (Not just us, Pedro can't upload his business information with the images he needs to post)
Here's 2 things I wanted to tell you: The movie's correct title The Braveheart will take the Bride had subtitles in English, Tamil, Telugu, Kannada, Malayam, Gujarati and Bengali. Like, I've heard of one of those, Bengali, beforehand. Kannada, (pronounced like Canada, my home and native land!) is spoken in Bangalore.
And perhaps this dialogue exchange, taken direct from the English subtitle translation, will point out what I find heart-breaking about India, or moreover, some of the situations I've heard of in India (Though let's remember my tendency to melancholy. Though let's also remember this country is making me wonder bahut about my father and mother's childhoods in postwar Southern Italy):
Daughter, upon realising she has to get married soon to someone she has never met: I had forgotten I have no right to dream.
Mother: Of course you can dream. Just don't expect it to come true.
The thing is, would this have been the longest running movie in India's history if love didn't triumph in the end? After several nail-biting plot twists (I kid, I kid) fab dance sequences and a crazy martial arts duel almost to the death plus lots of pontificating about Hindustani honour, love wins over arranged marriage. The movie was made in 1995, and according to our restaurant employee source, it ran until 2002, non-stop in one cinema in Mumbai.... I'm thinking of how long movies like Titanic ran back home, or in Japan with a large teeny-boppy Leonardo following.
Seven years? That means there had to have been an audience for it. Interesting.
Tourist Question: Where can I wash my hands?
Restaurant Employee Answer: On the toilet.
This one kills me because I knew he meant in the toilet, because the sink outside the bathroom at Freedom nahee working, but the sink inside the loo runs all the time, sometimes non-stop. Still, I was most amused this morning, listening and thinking "She doesn't understand - he means 'in the toilet'.... Wait, that doesn't sound right either.."
Today's Hindi class, the second last one, is really where Vanessa kicked our teacher's arse, which she's been doing for days, coming up with formula's to help make sense of the language, otherwise we would be completely lost. (She's a math tutor and we've discovered we both love formula's, Lemonanas and Bollywood movies.)
Lemonana, by the way (called a Nimboonana in Hindi!*) please make it a.s.a.p - it's crushed ice, lemon juice and fresh blended mint aur torah chini, kripya. And little sugar. (That's pretty much my one week of Hindi in action and put to good use. I can order a drink with some sugar added, please.) *I stand corrected, please see Ayelet's note!
Here's your Hindi Sentence Structure Full Power Formula:
Subject + Indirect Object + Postposition + Direct Object + Action + Doing + Auxilary Verb
Simple, nay?
This would be why I am drinking coffee translates into Main coffee pee rahi hun.
The verb to drink is peena, and this would be why I love this sentence.
For anyone wondering how I graduated from middle school, I'm wondering the same thing. And the crisis I had when I turned 30, where I thought "My God, I am the same foolish person I was at 19! How could this be, How could God let this happen?!" Well, imagine the trauma that would have ensued had I realised my true level of maturity.
I haven't even told you about the night in Pushkar when Mahesh was trying to explain masculine and feminine to me and Sarah and how I could not stop laughing at this exchange:
Mahesh: Water is male, like Shiva. Fire is female, like Durga....
Sarah: What about everyday things like fruit?
Mahesh: ...Banana is male.
Sarah: Go figure.
more discourse and then...
Mahesh: Fountain is male -
Sarah: Really? But the water, oh of course, like the banana.
Five minutes later, Sarah looks over at me and says to Mahesh, who's looking at me like I'm on drugs because I can't stop laughing "She's still laughing about the banana." And I swear, that made it even harder to stop, then knowing he would think I was rude or "a bad girl" for laughing about the ridiculously obvious genderisation of a banana. I know, genderisation is not a word - but as I just noted, I still don't know how I passed Grade 8.
The Hindi classes would be a total bust without Vanessa, who is one smart cookie asking all the right questions but unfortunately this also really points out our teacher's ineptitude. For example - he wants us to translate sentences like "I had slept when he come."
Teacher: You have already slept, then He, the direct object, he cames to you.
Eufemia: The thing is, no one would ever say that in English.
The best part was Vanessa getting translations for "like" - as in 'Make me a coffee like hers' and the really important questions, "How do you say crushed ice?" at the end of class. I was still feeling bahut under the weather so I said "Oh my god, I'm going kill you." Because I woulda thought she coulda got that translation in Goa, when she was there...When she was there... When she is going....She will be going....Present Indefinite tense...Future tense...
Vanessa leaves in 2 days. Sigh. Big big sigh.
Yesterday, my favouriteVanessa quote was: I just don't have time to stop and make small talk with anyone.
And wouldn't you know, she was going to help me put my pictures on this blog and no joke, no site in Rishikesh will let us do it. (Not just us, Pedro can't upload his business information with the images he needs to post)
Here's 2 things I wanted to tell you: The movie's correct title The Braveheart will take the Bride had subtitles in English, Tamil, Telugu, Kannada, Malayam, Gujarati and Bengali. Like, I've heard of one of those, Bengali, beforehand. Kannada, (pronounced like Canada, my home and native land!) is spoken in Bangalore.
And perhaps this dialogue exchange, taken direct from the English subtitle translation, will point out what I find heart-breaking about India, or moreover, some of the situations I've heard of in India (Though let's remember my tendency to melancholy. Though let's also remember this country is making me wonder bahut about my father and mother's childhoods in postwar Southern Italy):
Daughter, upon realising she has to get married soon to someone she has never met: I had forgotten I have no right to dream.
Mother: Of course you can dream. Just don't expect it to come true.
The thing is, would this have been the longest running movie in India's history if love didn't triumph in the end? After several nail-biting plot twists (I kid, I kid) fab dance sequences and a crazy martial arts duel almost to the death plus lots of pontificating about Hindustani honour, love wins over arranged marriage. The movie was made in 1995, and according to our restaurant employee source, it ran until 2002, non-stop in one cinema in Mumbai.... I'm thinking of how long movies like Titanic ran back home, or in Japan with a large teeny-boppy Leonardo following.
Seven years? That means there had to have been an audience for it. Interesting.
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Amoebas are People too
My other potential title for this blog was: Alive & Kicking, Just Barely.
I managed to sleep in a position mostly sitting up, though truth be told there was very little sleeping. At one point I thought I should have moved into the bathroom just to save getting up and down, and the feeling of nausea, and the waves of thinking I wasn't going to make it and really should have put my affairs in order before I left home (I'm not so sure you can use internet writing as a legal document. Would you all be forced to gather around the solicitor's office while he read my Last Will by Blog?)
This settled the question as to whether I could go to PhoolChatti Ashram today. I emailed them yesterday and the were very nice, saying "Hope you get over your tummy bug soon." I nearly started crying at the words tummy bug.
The thing about getting sick is how much it makes you want your Mom come along, say words like tummy bug, and help prop you up on the couch in front of the TV. Then you are healed.
My morning looked not too dissimilar, so don't feel bad, I know I can whinge. After lying down around 6 a.m, I woke up at 7. By 8 a.m I had walked with Sarah over to Pedro's roof where they yoga'd, and I went in search of a doctor or pharmacy.
I'm fascinated by the Pharmacy culture here. No one goes to the doctor. For example: Vanessa got valium over the counter just by asking for it. There was a moment of "You need a prescription," from the Pharmacologist and then "Okay, here". Forty rupees later 40 valium are hers. That's $1.05 in Canuck bucks. Prescriptions, by the way, in case you forgot my adventures with Rich, are written on a ripped piece of paper or cardboard, no letterhead or official stationary. What are you, fussy?
Pedro had some medication that sounded incredibly hardcore, after first being offered penicillin by the doctor he went to in Gujarat. He called his doctor back in Europe who advised that the other medication he'd been given definitely what he suspected: Intense. It was a medication you can't get outside of a hospital anywhere else in the world, and it's used to treat tuberculosis. His doctor in Portugal said, "So no problem, take it only if you get really sick and then not for more than 15 days in a row." Because Pedro had been really sick on his trip here last year and he still has some scars see and...
Right around this point, I'm watching Pedro and Vanessa eat they're amazing breakfasts of Fruit salad, muesli, curd, milk espressos, orange juice. You know what comes in a fruit salad here at the ol' Freedom Cafe? Everything: papaya, pomegranate, banana, grapes, mango. I kept looking at their food and feeling like I can't believe this - breakfast of Champions for $3 and I can't eat any of it. I've got to find a place called Moonlight Cafe that will make me Kichari, or just have plain rice. Perhaps a banana. Whoo hoo. A banana? Say it ain't so, doc.
But he did. I found this wonderful Ayurvedic Doctor, after I went back to bed, thrilled about being able to lie down and woke up late for Hindi, walked slowly down to Freedom to apologise to our teacher and Vanessa (who is kicking my arse in Hindi and I'd like to tell you it's because she's part Indian but no, her Papaji's from Gujarat and speaks Gujarati so she the gift) and walked back to this doctor's office. The young women who just came out of his medical room was almost in the same boat as me but had also just found out she was pregnant. (So I guess it was more like I was like in the rowboat peddling away from her Rainbow Warrior.)
Eufemia: Wow - really?
Traveler: Yes, so I don't have any medicine from back home. I am completely unprepared.
I wanted to say "I'll say," but I let it go and just sat there. Because I'm telling you, last night I thought an Alien would burst out of my stomach, or a fully grown adult like in the original series-turned-movie The Kingdom.
The doctor held my wrist and said "Stomach upset. Even before this not digesting properly. And insomnia. Nausea." After giving me multiple pills and instructions and re-hydration salts, ($9 later) he sends me on my way advising maybe it's best if I stay outta the sun and heat.
I've heard about winter back home, in Vancouver and Toronto, so I know, no one's crying me a Ganga back home but truly, staying out of the sun in India? This is nahee milega. Not possible.
I meant to tell you all about the other night when Vanessa & I got to watch a movie at the Himalya Cafe, a movie I bought in Pushkar called Paheli (Translation: Riddle, India's official entry into the Oscars in 2006) It was quite the feat, considering it stopped alot and skipped parts, and the guy at the cafe wanted us to watch the other movie I had Dilwale Dulhania le Jayenge, which translates into The Braveheart Captures the Bride. It soon became obvious why, after we picked Paheli, (the movie that was 2 hours and 10 minutes over the 3 hour plus movie.)
"This is called a chick flick in our country," I told him. And he sweetly let us watch it till the end and then said "Can take TV back now? Elections going on in Nepal now."
Well by all means! There we were watching a chick flick when the first democratic election in 250 years is happening in Nepal. I felt a tad superficial.
So tonight we're heading back to watch the other DVD, and inviting a small crowd. The Braveheart Captures the Bride is the longest running movie in Bollywood's history - running non-stop for 7 years (or 5, depending on who's telling the story) in a Mumbai Cinema. I'm fascinated by that and it's also the story of Indians living abroad, in England. The love story, of course.
I'm going to prop myself up and tell everyone to keep asking me about my tummy bug. That and a few banana's, I should be better in no time.
I managed to sleep in a position mostly sitting up, though truth be told there was very little sleeping. At one point I thought I should have moved into the bathroom just to save getting up and down, and the feeling of nausea, and the waves of thinking I wasn't going to make it and really should have put my affairs in order before I left home (I'm not so sure you can use internet writing as a legal document. Would you all be forced to gather around the solicitor's office while he read my Last Will by Blog?)
This settled the question as to whether I could go to PhoolChatti Ashram today. I emailed them yesterday and the were very nice, saying "Hope you get over your tummy bug soon." I nearly started crying at the words tummy bug.
The thing about getting sick is how much it makes you want your Mom come along, say words like tummy bug, and help prop you up on the couch in front of the TV. Then you are healed.
My morning looked not too dissimilar, so don't feel bad, I know I can whinge. After lying down around 6 a.m, I woke up at 7. By 8 a.m I had walked with Sarah over to Pedro's roof where they yoga'd, and I went in search of a doctor or pharmacy.
I'm fascinated by the Pharmacy culture here. No one goes to the doctor. For example: Vanessa got valium over the counter just by asking for it. There was a moment of "You need a prescription," from the Pharmacologist and then "Okay, here". Forty rupees later 40 valium are hers. That's $1.05 in Canuck bucks. Prescriptions, by the way, in case you forgot my adventures with Rich, are written on a ripped piece of paper or cardboard, no letterhead or official stationary. What are you, fussy?
Pedro had some medication that sounded incredibly hardcore, after first being offered penicillin by the doctor he went to in Gujarat. He called his doctor back in Europe who advised that the other medication he'd been given definitely what he suspected: Intense. It was a medication you can't get outside of a hospital anywhere else in the world, and it's used to treat tuberculosis. His doctor in Portugal said, "So no problem, take it only if you get really sick and then not for more than 15 days in a row." Because Pedro had been really sick on his trip here last year and he still has some scars see and...
Right around this point, I'm watching Pedro and Vanessa eat they're amazing breakfasts of Fruit salad, muesli, curd, milk espressos, orange juice. You know what comes in a fruit salad here at the ol' Freedom Cafe? Everything: papaya, pomegranate, banana, grapes, mango. I kept looking at their food and feeling like I can't believe this - breakfast of Champions for $3 and I can't eat any of it. I've got to find a place called Moonlight Cafe that will make me Kichari, or just have plain rice. Perhaps a banana. Whoo hoo. A banana? Say it ain't so, doc.
But he did. I found this wonderful Ayurvedic Doctor, after I went back to bed, thrilled about being able to lie down and woke up late for Hindi, walked slowly down to Freedom to apologise to our teacher and Vanessa (who is kicking my arse in Hindi and I'd like to tell you it's because she's part Indian but no, her Papaji's from Gujarat and speaks Gujarati so she the gift) and walked back to this doctor's office. The young women who just came out of his medical room was almost in the same boat as me but had also just found out she was pregnant. (So I guess it was more like I was like in the rowboat peddling away from her Rainbow Warrior.)
Eufemia: Wow - really?
Traveler: Yes, so I don't have any medicine from back home. I am completely unprepared.
I wanted to say "I'll say," but I let it go and just sat there. Because I'm telling you, last night I thought an Alien would burst out of my stomach, or a fully grown adult like in the original series-turned-movie The Kingdom.
The doctor held my wrist and said "Stomach upset. Even before this not digesting properly. And insomnia. Nausea." After giving me multiple pills and instructions and re-hydration salts, ($9 later) he sends me on my way advising maybe it's best if I stay outta the sun and heat.
I've heard about winter back home, in Vancouver and Toronto, so I know, no one's crying me a Ganga back home but truly, staying out of the sun in India? This is nahee milega. Not possible.
I meant to tell you all about the other night when Vanessa & I got to watch a movie at the Himalya Cafe, a movie I bought in Pushkar called Paheli (Translation: Riddle, India's official entry into the Oscars in 2006) It was quite the feat, considering it stopped alot and skipped parts, and the guy at the cafe wanted us to watch the other movie I had Dilwale Dulhania le Jayenge, which translates into The Braveheart Captures the Bride. It soon became obvious why, after we picked Paheli, (the movie that was 2 hours and 10 minutes over the 3 hour plus movie.)
"This is called a chick flick in our country," I told him. And he sweetly let us watch it till the end and then said "Can take TV back now? Elections going on in Nepal now."
Well by all means! There we were watching a chick flick when the first democratic election in 250 years is happening in Nepal. I felt a tad superficial.
So tonight we're heading back to watch the other DVD, and inviting a small crowd. The Braveheart Captures the Bride is the longest running movie in Bollywood's history - running non-stop for 7 years (or 5, depending on who's telling the story) in a Mumbai Cinema. I'm fascinated by that and it's also the story of Indians living abroad, in England. The love story, of course.
I'm going to prop myself up and tell everyone to keep asking me about my tummy bug. That and a few banana's, I should be better in no time.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
New Song Title: You say Amoeba, I say Aaargh
Oh my god, who knew?
Who knew that anything could feel so awful?
I appear to have swallowed a pumpkin.
God bless Vanessa and her cardamon flavoured syrup, I may be able to walk tomorrow. I have no memory of ever feeling so grosteque in my entire life. A cautionary tale this is - though apparently it's very common to walk around India like there's a gourd trapped in your intestines.
And I was stressed about the mosquito bites.
As we left the cafe where I felt very touch and go-go-go to the toilet, I raised my head skyward and said, "Kill me now," and then I quickly added "I'm just kidding."
Because I was. Just kidding.
Now, I'm not so sure.
Who knew that anything could feel so awful?
I appear to have swallowed a pumpkin.
God bless Vanessa and her cardamon flavoured syrup, I may be able to walk tomorrow. I have no memory of ever feeling so grosteque in my entire life. A cautionary tale this is - though apparently it's very common to walk around India like there's a gourd trapped in your intestines.
And I was stressed about the mosquito bites.
As we left the cafe where I felt very touch and go-go-go to the toilet, I raised my head skyward and said, "Kill me now," and then I quickly added "I'm just kidding."
Because I was. Just kidding.
Now, I'm not so sure.
Wednesday, April 9, 2008
Hindi 101
I was looking up the word "later" in the phrasebook Jessie gave me so that I could say "Maybe later," a concept that could be difficult to grasp in India, as I've noticed time and tense seems to get a little confusing for me. Not to mention the folks I try to converse with.
For example, I was speaking with Rakesh and he said "Yes, now can-" so I got up to get my camera for him and he said "Where are you going? No, not now-"
Eufemia: When you say now, you mean -
Rakesh: Not now. No, not now.
Eufemia: Okay, because now means-
Rakesh: Yes, I know, now means now but not now, okay? Later.
Rakesh: Okay, yes, give me now, I take it.
Eufemia: Like, really now, or fake now?
Rakesh: Now, now!
Eufemia: Okay! Now, now! You say it like I'm confusing you but trust me, it's the other way around.
There I go again. I was looking up the word later, taking my sweet time and dawdling through the vocabulary when I came across movie = film, (that's a toughie, I'm gotta write that down somewhere) and menstruation = mahavari. Why I wanted you all to know that I don't know. Perhaps everyone needs to know one word in every language (Italian, Spanish, Farsi, keep going) and I think why not one of these two? Take your pick and head for the Berlitz Language Books in Chapters and you'll be on your way. For more than half of the world's population, this is very important information. You can all thank me later. I still haven't found that word.
Perhaps I'll ask my Nepalese Hindi teacher tomorrow. Yes, once again, I found a Hindi teacher who is not Indian. How did that happen? This time it was really simple, he had a sign up at the Freedom Cafe advertising that he's teaching Hindi . And what do you know, I'm studying with a fellow Canadian (Go team You-know-who!!) In fact, our teacher's study sheets, the ones filled with common expressions for us to practice has the phrase "Where are you from?" answered by "I am from Canada." Yesterday I asked "You teach lots of Canadians?" and he said "Yes."
With a glowing heart I see thee rise, the True North strong and free!
God keep the land glorious and free!
You'll pardon my adjustments, I hope.
So, yes, today, Day 2 of Hindi lessons I made a sentence: I run. Main daudhti hun. You think it looks so easy but I had to match my gender, for crikey's sake! I tell myself you have to walk before you can run, especially in India.
My internal monologue: Why am I learning the verb "to run"? Nobody runs here. Swamiji's daughter-in-law just had a physical exam for a job application, where she had to run for the first time in her life and she's 38. Nobody runs in India.
Still, this class will hopefully be easier than learning from a book. Especially since the phrasebook has a section called Dowry Problem. Example sentence: Pascam mem ham sunte haim ki bharat mem dahej ke lie nav vadhu ko jala diya jata hai. Translation: In the West we hear that in India, for dowry, brides are burnt to death. Uhm, say what? I'm thinking of that golden rule of conversation where one doesn't discuss sex, religion or politics over dinner. How would it really go over if I was introduced to someone and said that? Not. Also, this seems a bit ambitious as a sentence for me. What could I say to the bantering reply? I eat. I sleep. I am from Canada.
Not to mention the part, when flipping through the phrasebook, and I found the verb to kill = marna, but I misread the word as mama.
Whoa, huh?
For example, I was speaking with Rakesh and he said "Yes, now can-" so I got up to get my camera for him and he said "Where are you going? No, not now-"
Eufemia: When you say now, you mean -
Rakesh: Not now. No, not now.
Eufemia: Okay, because now means-
Rakesh: Yes, I know, now means now but not now, okay? Later.
Later...
Rakesh: Okay, yes, give me now, I take it.
Eufemia: Like, really now, or fake now?
Rakesh: Now, now!
Eufemia: Okay! Now, now! You say it like I'm confusing you but trust me, it's the other way around.
There I go again. I was looking up the word later, taking my sweet time and dawdling through the vocabulary when I came across movie = film, (that's a toughie, I'm gotta write that down somewhere) and menstruation = mahavari. Why I wanted you all to know that I don't know. Perhaps everyone needs to know one word in every language (Italian, Spanish, Farsi, keep going) and I think why not one of these two? Take your pick and head for the Berlitz Language Books in Chapters and you'll be on your way. For more than half of the world's population, this is very important information. You can all thank me later. I still haven't found that word.
Perhaps I'll ask my Nepalese Hindi teacher tomorrow. Yes, once again, I found a Hindi teacher who is not Indian. How did that happen? This time it was really simple, he had a sign up at the Freedom Cafe advertising that he's teaching Hindi . And what do you know, I'm studying with a fellow Canadian (Go team You-know-who!!) In fact, our teacher's study sheets, the ones filled with common expressions for us to practice has the phrase "Where are you from?" answered by "I am from Canada." Yesterday I asked "You teach lots of Canadians?" and he said "Yes."
With a glowing heart I see thee rise, the True North strong and free!
God keep the land glorious and free!
You'll pardon my adjustments, I hope.
So, yes, today, Day 2 of Hindi lessons I made a sentence: I run. Main daudhti hun. You think it looks so easy but I had to match my gender, for crikey's sake! I tell myself you have to walk before you can run, especially in India.
My internal monologue: Why am I learning the verb "to run"? Nobody runs here. Swamiji's daughter-in-law just had a physical exam for a job application, where she had to run for the first time in her life and she's 38. Nobody runs in India.
Still, this class will hopefully be easier than learning from a book. Especially since the phrasebook has a section called Dowry Problem. Example sentence: Pascam mem ham sunte haim ki bharat mem dahej ke lie nav vadhu ko jala diya jata hai. Translation: In the West we hear that in India, for dowry, brides are burnt to death. Uhm, say what? I'm thinking of that golden rule of conversation where one doesn't discuss sex, religion or politics over dinner. How would it really go over if I was introduced to someone and said that? Not. Also, this seems a bit ambitious as a sentence for me. What could I say to the bantering reply? I eat. I sleep. I am from Canada.
Not to mention the part, when flipping through the phrasebook, and I found the verb to kill = marna, but I misread the word as mama.
Whoa, huh?
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