Letters To Roger
Letter #1
6/16/09
Dear Purnima,
You so aptly characterized that period in the US. It was the time in my life where I was a graduate student, learning to see the world through different sets of eyes, loosing that sense of innocence I had about existence and understanding that all the Kool Aid, Hotdogs, Baseball, Fast Cars, Jeans, Ketchup, Marilyn Monroe, Bubble-gum, were just the flashy, surface, easily recognizable and oft-imitated facade of America. I also discovered little by little that there was a dark underside to this nation I had been taught to believe had some kind of manifest destiny. My trip down that road to a more acute awareness took many turns and detours. I still remember how devastated I was when John F. Kennedy was shot. It was such an unthinkable act and it left a rather large hole in my bubble of hope and optimism. But then the assassinations continued : ironically, I was living in France in 1968 and was traveling when both Martin Luther King and Robert Kennedy were felled by the assassin’s bullet. I was in Spain when I heard on my transistor radio (my constant companion then as now) that Martin Luther King had been shot and in Greece when Kennedy, who had been my hope for some sanity in the presidential election campaign, was shot in California. I have vivid memories of walking around Athens that day with my transistor to my ear listening for reports about his condition, and more than one Greek person realized why I was so glued to the radio and asked me about him. I also remember going to the American Embassy that night to sign a book of remembrance and express my grief about yet another senseless, dream-shattering act. And then there was Richard Nixon !
The next major crossroad was my eventual disillusion with a nation waging what I came to understand as an immoral and unjustified war in Southeast Asia. I was a graduate student at the University of Washington in Seattle when the campus protests against the war spread throughout the country, and I heard many a fiery speech denouncing America’s involvement and I willingly joined in many campus marches and demonstrations. The shootings by the National Guard at Kent State are firmly etched in my mind.
And once settled in a small university town in Southern Oregon, I saw more of Americana in action, from the Hippy movement to the Rajnishi’s to Haight Ashbury in San Francisco to the Berkeley Free Speech demonstrations – I used to listen to a talk station from San Francisco all the time, KGO, which I could pick up very easily at night in Southern Oregon, and I do indeed recall the discussions about Harvey Milk when he was killed.
No time to go into any more detail, but the lesson I learned from all of this was that for many people in America a gun and violent acts were almost always the preferred solution to anything they disagreed with. That and the superficial, crass materialism, the self-centered disinterest in the rest of the world so prevalent in the States have played a primary role in my choice to live in France. I’m sad that I wasn’t in California when you came looking for me, but you caught up with me in Geneva.
Don’t get me wrong, there are still a myriad of wonderful, unforgettable, inimitable and treasured aspects of America that are all part and parcel of who I am and how I conceive my birthplace : tough individualism, generosity, my Danish grandmother, skiing in the Rocky Mountains, the great films Hollywood gave us, Redwood forests on the Pacific Coast, Sunrise over Crater Lake, Tom Robbins, John Irvine, Harper Lee, Toni Morrison, a cold glass of milk with chocolat chip cookies, and, of course, Miles Davis, Chet Baker, Gerry Mulligan, Keith Jarrett, Mose Alison, Nina Simone, Thelonius Monk, John Coletrane, Cal Tjader . . . . .
Sweet dreams,
Roger
6/24/09
Letter #2
Dear Roger,
Just yesterday we visited the Perseus and Medusa exhibit at the Musee D’ethnographie. I was keen to show them this exhibit on African ritual masks as I thought it might stir the Picasso in my budding artists. The masks were hung around a dark room with strategically placed lights so that their shadows marked the wall behind them etching out fantastic designs and expressions. All very spooky, all very real. You could feel the drum beats of Africa. It was here that Dhruvum pointed out to me that the shadows were nothing like the original masks and sometimes eerily contrary(I am forever amazed at the world the kids see). The mask he pointed to appeared to have an oafish smile, however its shadow was the exact opposite…it had a sinister look, a fierce and fearsome frown.It appeared Alive and animated with one eye cut out larger than the other. The shadows appeared to be the real beings wearing these benign and sometimes comic masks as a front.I decided to continue in this very vein and keep up the interest of my tired and hot party, and managed to make it to the end of the exhibit. It was here that I suddenly saw an object almost physically jump off the shelf onto my lap. I called out theatrically for the kids to witness the spirits at play (knowing that it was probably the vibrations from their thundering feet) and Tara informed me that it was labelled the Chiefs Staff. The closer I looked, It seemed to dance even more and I clearly saw it eyeball me. (It DID and so did the red gnome/fire hydrant on Florissant. btw I have identified the red gnome as an object from the Art and History Museum, 1st century BC, Alexandria, Guardian of the Valley. must show you). And then however much we jumped, to make it move, it stopped bouncing. I ran out as the joke was on me…so much for animation, I seemed to have spooked myself more than the kids. Have you visited Africa?
Since we happen to be in Geneva during this historic 500th year of Calvin, and Calvin is so tied to this city. I was keen to take the kids for the Calvin exhibits around town and thus introduce them and myself to Calvin. Well, Parc des Bastions which was supposed to host of of the more elaborate exhibits was shuttered, so I sat down on my computer trying once again to fully comprehend Calvin and translate it in my own words and into a language/idea that I understand and I can translate. If you remember, I was trying to do the same thing when we first met, and I looked to you to help me figure it out. But, at that point you were very SERIOUS about your French lessons, and were not entertaining many distractions. Well, how about now, would you have the time to guide?
See below Cimeterie du Plainpalais – Calvin – Candolle et Moi:
https://www.dropbox.com/sh/h4glicerdbjv8nx/AAADnltcJb3hkgFP6UKPWo3Ma?dl=0
What can I add, what do you think?
See you soon.
Dear Roger,
I have to tell you more about the Chief’s Staff (from the Medusa and Perseus exhibit). As I had mentioned earlier, It was jumping about when I first saw it and shouting at me to wake up and sniff the cocoa beans. It was doing a furious dance as it demanded to know why I was attired in these strange clothes, and where I left the chiefs gear. Where were my tribal markings and the retinue of slaves and wives to fan and feed me! And who were these pesky dwarves that I have allowed to take control of me. Why are they such close proximity and how was I permitting them to tug at my clothes. Enough, enough, enough he shouted as he spun around and demanded I return to the World and my responsibilities.
Tell me Roger, do I have issues???
See below Musee d’Ethnographie Geneve:
See attached African Masks and Hunting Spirit Staff from The De Young Museum San Francisco:
https://www.dropbox.com/sh/iczh88t4j1kuldu/AAClJDxusLa3WGkgyNnPeyf0a?dl=0
Letter #3
Servitus, Black Swan, Ashland, (in)Tolerance
9/10/09
Dear Roger,
Do you believe that Servetus, a refugee from Spain, hunted by the inquisition in France and executed in Geneva, can still today burn here in Geneva?
The shadow of the Black Swan that fluttered above my head whispered into my ear, “Purnima, what are you doing here in Geneva?”. I looked up to see the kindest face furrowed with concern, it was MICHEL SERVETUS. What was I doing in Geneva, living here in Champel, (not too far from Spain) and two weeks short of my 42nd year!
He said that that he was on his way to Italy, and seduced by the lake and Calvin with whom he had many fiery exchanges, he came to rest here for a night. Servetus, this Spanish physician, philosopher, theologian, humanist was arrested, imprisoned, declared a heretic by the city council and burned at the stake in his 42nd year.
We walked together across Bourg-de-Four Square, him in chains and me in air, up rue de Saint-Antoine out towards Champel. My home, and the place he was tied with his book and burned. This burning of Servetus by the canton of Geneva symbolized the sacrifice of the freedom of conscience and due process of laws.
It was here that he, Servetus’s spirit, turned towards me and said that the judgement against me has been long delivered, it just waits execution. I must not hold out, I must not test my strength but beg for the sword, just beg for the sword!
See Servetus in the wikipedia link Below:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Michael_Servetus
Purnima on Servitus’s Trail – the Walk of Death Up Rue de Saint-Antoine to Champel.
On Aug 14, 2009, at 4:47 PM, “Roger Stevenson wrote:
Dear Purnima,
Wow, Talk about a random event – I just found this email in my spam box. It
is the first and only time that an email from you has been dumped there.
Totally fascinating that you should relate Black Swan to the theatre – at
the Ashland Shakespeare Festival, my very favorite theatre there was a small
(seats about 80), very intimate setting where they do more modern and
somewhat experimental plays. It’s called The Black Swan !
But on the other side of the mirror, I can indeed envision randomness in the
theatre. I think it would be outrageous to write and produce a play where
the action and the eventual outcome was based on the intrusion of totally
random events during the performance. It would have to entail actors who
were really capable of improvisation, and the potential for really boring
and meaningless performances would have to be accepted, but there would also
be the possibility of that extraordinary theatrical moment when new vistas
and visions were cracked open by the arrival of the Black Swan. To my
knowledge, nobody has ever attempted such a play. The Surrealists and the
subsequent Absurdists in France created some really fascinating plays in
which random happenings and chance occurrences were an element in everyday
life, but the structure of their plays was not such that such events had any
bearing on the way the play was staged – each night’s performance was the
same as the previous night’s.
But the high priest of Surrealism in France, André Breton, made many forays
into the world of dreams and chance happenings in his quest for a reality
that was superior to what we commonly refer to as reality. He and his
followers used such techniques as automatic writing and many of them used to
spend their afternoons wandering the streets of Paris in search of random
events that would then be incorporated into their art and poetry. Breton
met one of the women in his life during one such jaunt.
And in the virtual realm, we would have to infuse the many exciting features
of the theatre with elements of chaos theory. I’ll have to give that more
thought.
Hope you have a good weekend. When do you fly off to the land of illusions? You might find this book by Chris Hedges revealing:
http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=106853619
Gros bisous,
Roger
8/28/09
Loki and Co
Dear Purnima,
I’m back. It was a short but strenuous trip to the land of the Vikings and my Dutch steed was even a bit late ferrying me back to the shores of Helvetica. I dutifully kept a watchful eye for any unicorns in the various forests I travelled through and over, but the local bards all informed me that except for their symbolic representation as the principal motif on the Danish throne they were last seen as they began their migration to warmer climes in the mountains of Transylvania in eastern Romania and Moldavia. The forlorn mermaid in question was left dangling on the horn of indecision unable to make that fateful and often fatal choice, and even the counsel of Thor and Freyja could not budge her one way or the other. My suggestion to her was that she resume her lilting pose on her partially submerged stone at the entrance to Copenhagen’s harbor where she can at least observe, if not fully partake in, both worlds. As I slowly retreated into the alluring depths of post-modern Copenhagen, I could see her staring wistfully out over the horizon.
I always have real pangs of nostalgia when I leave the fairytale-like country of Denmark, and that was especially the case last night as we took off into the sunset and headed south.
Hope you had a good week. What are you up to at the beginning of next week? I’ve lots to relate and so do you. Hope we can get together then. I’m leaving again on Thursday, but headed south this time.
Sweet dreams,
Roger
Letter #4
Sep 11, 2009, 3:41 AM
to Roger,
Dear Roger,
The shadow of the Black Swan seems to be flapping above me, even though the book is long read. Somehow, I am stirred to write especially today, Jeune Genevois, September 10th, 2009, a day of fasting, a public holiday here in Geneva, where the citizens of Geneva held an annual fast in camaraderie with the protestants being persecuted all over France. And, weren’t the persecutors heartless, the inquisition drenched in the blood of whole villages…I read and read. After all, was Geneva not the hub of freedom and reformation, where intellectuals fled for protection of their faith and the freedom to express their ideas?
Heretic:
One who holds controversial opinions and dissents from the officially accepted dogma…
Anyone who does not conform to an established doctrine, attitude or principle.
A person with an opinion of his own who normally expresses it.
I then embarked upon a journey of meeting these Historical Heretics, the swans that had been tied and burned. I met Akenaten, the heretical pharaoh who challenged the prevailing order and established a new world oder with the worship of the sun at the singular deity; Joan of Arc, challenging convention, literally a woman in mans pants; Galileo, an astronomer, physicist, mathematician, who went against the geocentric Ptolemaic idea that had prevailed for over a millennia to propose a heliocentric world, emphasizing a separation of faith and science; Spinoza, one of the greatest philosophers and the greatest heretic of Judaism in his time, who emphasized on the guidance of reason; Giordano Bruno, a mathematician, philosopher and astronomer (who said that he went to Geneva so that he may live in liberty and security), proposed a heliocentric and infinite universe and the possibility of many parallel worlds(he has to be my favorite!), And then our very own Servetus, a physician, theologian, astronomer, humanist who questioned everything, challenged norms, who fleeing from his imprisonment in Vienna on his way to northern Italy, just stopped for the night in Geneva…
Denounced as heretics, assassinated, imprisoned, excommunicated, BURNED AT THE STAKE with their books tied to their ankles!
I come back to the Black Swan and the varied realities. The Black Swan represents that inconceivable, unfathomable, and unanticipate-able occurrence, an unknowable formula, a model that throws all others off, which if you accept the reality of, it would bring your carefully constructed world down, crashing! There is the underlying fear that the very existence of the Black Swan somehow denies your existence.The fact that you see the sun rising in the shape of a smiley banana, the sky raining kangaroos and the Porsche you worship turning into a frog with puckered lips looking at you for a ride (there is always a frog in my story!), makes you wonder whether you and everything you believe to be real exist at all. Or possibly if this exists , perhaps you don’t! How could you occupy the same space with this irrationality. So, violently and vehemently, you deny its existence at the same time reaffirming yours. You then use all the tools, laws and logic of your universe to erase the swan. Even the temples of learning and the high priests of wisdom succumb and burn the swan, the heretic, with the fires of vengeance into the ashes of silence.
Imagine 1500 years of “knowing” that the earth lies at the centre of the universe and we are all that life is about and everything revolves around us supported by fact, fiction, mythology, faith…and then you have jolly Galileo turning it all upside down. I guess you would have done what has been done to the Black Swans throughout history, denied their existence, to the extent of denying them their existence. Would you?
The story does not end…
Purnima
…
Dear Roger,
Do you believe that Servetus, a refugee from Spain, hunted by the inquisition in France and executed in Geneva, can still today burn here in Geneva?
The shadow of the Black Swan that fluttered above my head whispered into my ear, “Purnima, what are you doing here in Geneva?”. I looked up to see the kindest face furrowed with concern. What was I doing in Geneva, living here in Champel, from California (not too far from Spain) and two weeks short of my 42nd year!
He said that that he was on his way to Italy, and seduced by the lake and Calvin with whom he had many fiery exchanges, he came to rest here for a night. This Spanish physician, philosopher, theologian, humanist was arrested, imprisoned, declared a heretic by the city council and burned at the stake in his 42nd year.
We walked together across Bourg-de-Four Square, him in chains and me in air, up rue de saint-antoine out towards Champel. My home, and the place he was tied with his books and burned. It was here that he turned towards me and said that the judgement against me has been long delivered, it just waits execution. I must not hold out, I must not test my strength but beg for the sword, just beg for the sword!
So with this dramatic end, I must say goodnight and hope tomorrow is a sunny day.
goodnight
Purnima
Letter #5
Indiana Jones, Inspector Clouseau, Nadir Shah, Tavernier- The Eternal Quest for the Kohinoor
8/13/09
Dear Roger,
It’s bubbling up and bursting out to rival the jet d’eau, tell me how u like it?
I wish to persuade you that my life has not always been a dead end, and I am not a complete bore!
A sad, ironic, ridiculous tale of love and adventure:
The last time I spoke to my beloved froggie (btw, kermit now resides in NYC), he said I reminded him of Inspector Clouseau running around Paris in my trench coat.This took a lot of swallowing, and I begged in my mind that he would say it really was sexxxy Olga that he was referring to, But NO. Imagine having a crush on a guy who (fondly?) compares you to a fumbling, bumbling, bushy eyebrowed detective who is always in hot pursuit of the Pink Panther. I found myself looking in the mirror numerous times and still not able to quite grasp his image (despite giving up waxing, there was no bushy mustache and eyebrows to match).
But, as time passes I find in his description lies an uncanny prophecy, in some sense i find I have become inspector Clouseau. And The Pink Panther Strikes Again! I find myself continuously running being chased by a number of assassins from all over the world, who keep eyeballing me as they jog around the track in Park Betrand, waiting for their opportunity to strike. Of course, fortunately for me,I am Chief Inspector Clouseau, so they extinguish each other and I am left alone in my pursuit of the Pink Panther, the Kohinoor diamond. See Inspector Clouseau and The diamond below:
http://www.cartoonbucket.com/cartoons/inspector-clouseau-holding-diamond/
Well, since froggie so lovingly called me inspector Clouseau, and we both accepted this upside down world. I asked him in turn why the gods had sent Menaka in this form to distract me. See below the tale of Menaka the nymph of irresistible charm and exquisite beauty sent by the gods (of the Hindu Pantheon) to distract the great sage Vishwamitra from his meditations (I embody the great sage Vishwamitra as I descend from this great King turned sage from my grandmother’s side- Kowshiki). In our mythology, whenever an old brahmin/learned pundit goes into deep meditation stirring up the cosmos acquiring immense power and energy and thus the weapons of the gods, the gods get alarmed by this disruption of the balance of the universe(the balance has to be inclined in their favor of course), and send forth such distractions in the form of demons and nymphs to get the sages to put an end to their meditations. And BOY was I distracted! See below the Tale of Menaka and Vishwamitra incorporated in the art, literature and spirit of the Indian Subcontinent:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Menaka
And once Vishwamitra is awakened the story naturally proceeds to give birth to Shakuntala the melodious and magnificent love story written in Sanskrit by Indian epic poet Kalidasa in the 4th century AD. See below my canvas for the modern day Shakuntala as I borrow the paint brush from the hands of India’s celebrated artist Raja Ravi Verma who through his art vividly evokes and immortalizes the magical images of ancient India literature:
See below Raja Ravi Verma’s iconic works of art depicting Menaka and Vishwamitra and Shakuntala:
https://www.wikiart.org/en/raja-ravi-varma
See below my modern day rendition of the iconic image of Shakuntala holding out her hand with the ring of recognition, an image like the above by Raja Ravi Verma surrounded by magical backwaters and swaying palms of Kerala:
Since then I have fully embraced this role and added a couple of others to the mix (Indiana Jones, Tintin in Tibet, why is it that the boys always get the fun adventurous roles!), and continued my hunt for the Kohinoor. This magnificent stone has a complex and bloody history as it has changed hands, seen coups and invasions, imprisonments and assassinations by those that have beheld it (not only by those that have possessed it). My tryst with the Kohinoor occurred many a moon ago as The Jeweler to The Maharajas (and the narrator of my tale) ominously whispered into my ear on my wedding day that I should realize I was being bestowed The Kohinoor. See below NYT article on the book The Koh-i-Noor by William Dalrymple which depicts the tragic consequences of ones who entranced by its aura are driven in a frenzy to possess it:
It’s first mention was supposedly in the Baburnama, the memoirs of the great Mughal ruler Babur. However, it had yet to acquire its name Kohinoor (mountain of light) and so was mentioned as a large magnificent diamond in the Mughal treasury. There was another diamond called the Great Mogul, the largest known diamond, which was supposed to be 900 carats in the rough, the size of a hens egg in half, which was also a part of the Mughal treasury. The last detailed account of which was given by Jean Baptiste Tavernier in his six voyages, where he was invited to view the precious gems of the Mughal treasury during his visit to Aurangzeb’s court in 1665. We have since never heard of the Great Mogul diamond.
There have been various speculations regarding this magnificent stone: the primary one being that it was taken by Nadir Shah during his invasion of India in 1738 along with the Kohinoor (which he named) and the famous peacock throne. The second speculation is that the Great Mogul was probably cut down to make the Kohinoor diamond and others, as we don’t have any concrete information about the Kohinoor’s origins and no information about the Great Moguls endings. Finally, some have speculated that it journeyed all the way to Russia, and sits in the Kremlin as the Orloff diamond (I certainly have my next destination mapped out for me, mustache and eyebrows in tow!).
So here I am in Geneva, in hot pursuit of Tavernier who ended up purchasing the Barony of Aubonne (just outside Geneva in the canton of Vaud!). This incredible traveller (sixty thousand leagues overland), not only travelled far and wide in search of the treasures of the world. He was the greatest authority on gems in that time and wrote details of the glorious gems, gold, pearls, indigo, pepper that was to be found in the exotic shores of India. He was one of the people responsible for spinning the story of India in vivid hues that propelled the journeys to India in pursuit of these very treasures. His description of diamonds the size of Hens eggs, enormous pearls that hang from peacock tails, richly colored silks heavy with gold thread and of course his famous description of the peacock throne as:
A 4ft by 6ft (takht)bed with gold feet, distinguished by a peacock, whose outspread tail was made of blue sapphires and other colored gems, and whose body was of enameled gold studded with precious stones, and with a large ruby in front, whence hung a pear-shaped pearl, about 50 carats in weight, or 200 grains. On either side of the peacock, and at about the same height, there stood two bouquets, the flowers of which were of enameled gold and precious stones.
See below The Peacock Throne:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Peacock_Throne#/media/File:Shah_Jahan_op_de_pauwentroon.jpg
A 4ft by 6ft (takht)bed with gold feet, distinguished by a peacock, whose outspread tail was made of blue sapphires and other colored gems, and whose body was of enameled gold studded with precious stones, and with a large ruby in front, whence hung a pear-shaped pearl, about 50 carats in weight, or 200 grains. On either side of the peacock, and at about the same height, there stood two bouquets, the flowers of which were of enameled gold and precious stones.
Tavernier goes on to say that, “on the side of the throne facing the Court, there is an open-set jewel, whence hangs a diamond from 80 to 90 carats in weight, and surrounded by rubies and emeralds, and when the king is seated he has this jewel right in front of him.”
With descriptions such as the above, do you not think that the Spanish (and the other European wealthy states with colonial aspirations) would fund Columbus’s proposed voyage to India as he promises to return with cargo laden with diamonds the size of hen’s eggs and immeasurable gold. Now Zinn’s A Peoples History of the United States seems a step closer to reality, as I can envision how the natives must have been beaten and bled to extract their pound of gold. Where were the silks, the indigo, the pepper, how could they return empty handed home! All I can say is that we (in India) certainly “Started the fire…” and you landed America.
Back to Indiana Jones, Clouseau, The Pink Panther! It’s been told that the Kohinoor which found its way from Maharaja Ranjit Singh (A long journey from Nadir Shah, but all in the same neck of the woods), to queen Victoria and now it rests (no sits, how can the pink panther ever rest) in the tower of London embedded in a crown. So, I went to visit the Tower of London to see for myself…AND it was nooooot there! No buddy, it was not the pink panther. I know i will know it when I see it (after all I am the chief inspector!). So here I am in Geneva, in hot pursuit of Tavernier and his whereabouts. I thought I saw him, I thought I found him, our eyes met…but these bushy eyebrows got in the way and he was gone.
Roger, as you know, I have spent the summer in Geneva endlessly walking the dog (with the 22 assassins in hot pursuit), and entertaining the kids by taking them to the Geneva summer festival and museums. I was exhausted and we were all museum-ed out, when Tara, my 9 year old suggested that we visit the Museum of Natural History. “OK, well here I go again, another long day”, I though. So we trooped to the museum and wandered around, re-looking at the turtle with two heads for the nth time and trying to transcribe (fabricate/use creative license for) all the French headings. It was in this tired, bored and delirious state, wanting to break out of the “mommy” mould and make some mischief when we stumbled upon a long dark room filled with rocks and minerals. There it lay, proudly perched on its pedestal: the Pink Panther and the great Mogul, the gems of India! They were two, not one diamond as everyone had long speculated. There they lay bathed in soft unassuming light cradled in the “regular” display cabinet. So this is where Tavernier had brought them and placed them, posing as replicas only to be discovered by the sharp scrutinizing eye of the chief inspector Clouseau himself. What better surroundings, may they Rest In Peace!
See below the kids all time fav – Musee D’Histoire Naturelle de Suisse:
http://institutions.ville-geneve.ch/fr/mhn/
See you soon.
Purnima
Purnima in Chamonix with Saussure
PURNIMA VISWANATHAN
Disclaimer : P
All persons, places, events are fictitious; all imputed relationships purely aspirational. There were no men harmed during the penning of the Feminist Manifesto
Whodunnit: Blogger/Writer/CyberSmurf 
