Whodunnit: Blogger/Writer/CyberSmurf

Geneva Diaries #17*

6 Blind men and The Elephant – Grislidis Real Geneva – Strasbourg – Cult of Mithras

3/28/10

Dear Purnima,

On my way back from an incredible weekend in Zermatt, your classic and quaint alpine ski resort with the misty mysterious Matterhorn looming in the backdrop. The skiing was incredible, and I met a charming Parisian who insisted on carrying my skies.

I absolutely love this place, i have to return to explore its many mysteries!

Ah Zermatt,

You know, I’m very jealous ! And a Parisian to carry your skis to boot. Another invitation for Paris perhaps ?

Speaking of Paris, we are there right now, in fact, at the Salon des Livres: besides the book fair, we’ve managed to see two plays and two films – it’s such a magical city !

Have a good week and a wonderful trip to Morocco. I’ll be thinking of you,

Roger

Dear Roger,

I would LOVE to meet your friend who is “too sexy for Versailles”, when are you going to arrange this steamy match??

Yes, as you noticed, I am always championing the cause for liberty and justice. I seek to highlight the plight of those that have been persecuted, unjustly treated and forgotten, denied what I believe are base human rights (specifically those most vulnerable, women and children both in times of peace and war), and so through my travels I select persons scattered through history and weave them into my story giving them breath and a chance to express a position man and time has denied. With the hope that through these expressions we might get a step closer to understanding, identifying and coming to a consensus on these basic or integral human rights, the ones that make us “Who We Be”.

Through the tale of Grislidis Real, the most famous prostitute in Geneva who eventually devoted her time to fight for the rights of other women in her profession, I seek to highlight (taking at extreme example) about the victimization and vulnerability of women in society across the board. In this story I wished to show how women can be abused whether at home, work, or out on the streets often because they are vulnerable and are carrying babies on their backs. I also wished to demonstrate that prostitution, one of the oldest professions in the world, has always existed and will continue to do so (technology might mould this and provide us with a sex vending machine promising to morph into your every fantasy and provide a no touch orgasm side by side with the soda machine and possibly subsidized by it) and yet, society both demands this service and devastatingly degrades its service providers. These women work hard for their money, so hard for you honey, so you better treat them right…do check out Donna Summers below:

Donna Summers: She Works Hard for the Money:

https://youtu.be/Br0jW_MzFyQ

In my last email, I realized that I had left a gaping hole, a missing link, a cultural parallel, by not fully elaborating what I understand to be the core right of Freedom of Conscience which found reflection in the words of John Lilburne in his earlier mentioned 1647 pamphlet “No man should be punished for preaching or publishing his opinion on religion”. The crucial word as I understood it, was OPINION. This idea of Freedom of Conscience that I gleaned from the above quotation appeared much broader than the often repeated freedom to pursue any faith or religion that we understand today, and mirrored the ideas of the place where I was coming from which I would love to share with you and would greatly appreciate your feedback. Freedom of Conscience as I understand it, is whatever spiritual, religious, moral view either expressed in a collective group or community through rituals, customs of dress and diet, or kept private, quiet within the core of a persons soul; is a freedom so intrinsic to man that it has been the core cause of conflict and struggle through history of man as one group seeks to stifle and control this very core thereby controlling the man.

However, as I mentioned above, the crucial word to note is “opinion” and this encompasses not just those who follow a religious order and believe in the right to preach and publish the same (which has often resulted in magnificent expressions of art, architecture, creativity thereby encouraging the flourishing of a culture, resulting in the inspiration that drives perfection), but also those that hold a faith or belief in nothingness, a form of Nihilism. From my cultural (Vedic) context I know that there were always (in the days of yore, less so today) many groups of Hindus, Buddhists, Jains and Nihilists (possibly even a form of modern day Atheists) who shared a common platform where they expressed themselves, argued debated. These debates and discussions only propelled them to attain an alternate perspective a clearer viewpoint. The essence being, that if you held a certain belief or faith and wished to live in a society where you may express it, how can you deny another from doing the same and still affirm that you uphold the core principles of a Democracy.

This brings me to my favorite story from the Panchatantra (Indian folk tales much beloved by children) of the Six Blind men and the Elephant.

See below Six Blind Men and the Elephant:

Another tale retold in my words (tweaked and twirled). There were six blind men who went to inspect an elephant and upon being asked what they were touching each retorted adamantly that he had touching either a rope (the one holding the tail), a wall (the one holding the stomach) or a pipe (the one holding the trunk). Each describing the part he could identify from his experience. The 6th blind man (in my version) who upon hearing all his buddies describe the individual body parts and realizing that such a composite beast did not exist in his experience denied each of his 5 blind buddy’s individual experiences. Then of course the normal ruckus followed with the 6 blind men beating each other up to affirm their own idea and the 6th joining in the fray denying all their versions as logic and his experience told him that such a composite beast did not exist.

The question often posed to the kids is who is right and who is wrong. And, since television has proved irrefutably that we, (the majority of humanity) ARE NOT smarter than a 5th grader, our laws must be comprehensible at a minimal to a 5th grader, don’t you agree? Did you see that TV program?

Panchatantra Tales: https://youtu.be/bJVBQefNXIw

“The Blind Men and the Elephant” by John G. Saxe

Is each blind man’s experience false? One that has had the experience of a tail and believes that to be his truth, then what about the man touching the trunk and the tusks? Is not each experience true for each man in his own space? What about the 6th blind man, is he stretching his knowledge and experience to interpret the unknown, perhaps the unknowable through these devices (ironically that is what logic propels me to postulate)? the fact that he too joins in the fray hitting the others over their head and asserting the denial of the existence of such a creature, is he by his denial closer to the truth (Dawkins)?

From my perspective(this is where I get into hot soup), the vehemently positive experiences and the denial of the same are two opposite sides of the same coin with each claiming to have superior knowledge or the truth. In my opinion (which is probably why I have been chased to the hills by the hordes – The Legend of the Legendary Outlaw), the spiritual experience is an individual, private one which cannot really be spread over the masses trying to persuade all that one particular experience is the truth and must be collectively affirmed. Thus, as you can see, I choose to call myself Agnostic, the one who just does not know, has not reached, acquired the knowledge that spiritual plane where I can claim to clearly view the truth, but of course something apart from my all possessing grey matter tells me that this cannot be all, I want to know, I want to know, I want to know (Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull)!!!

Do check me out as Cate Blanchett in Indiana Jones and the Crystal Skull:

I Want To Know

Did she say it was all about Love…?

Good night!

Purnima

On Jun 10, 2010, “Roger Stevenson” wrote:

Dear Purnima,

I did indeed get it, and it came in triple. It was odd that I didn’t get it before. I also check my spam folder regularly and it wasn’t there either. It not arriving in my mailbox explains everything, and here I thought that it was my email that hadn’t reached you.

It was a delight to see you this afternoon. You always look so fresh and lovely, and the outfit you were wearing was totally light and airy and becoming. Thanks also for the marvelous meal. I loved the fish curry and the grilled eggplant and yogurt dish. I’m going to have to try and make it myself.

It was fun meeting your friend. The UN is a huge organization.

I loved your reaction to our project about an online guide to Japan. We hope to begin working on it a bit more in the next few weeks, but the trip to Valencia will get in the way. I just started to download (I’ve become an internet pirate !) a film by Wim Wenders about Tokyo, Tokyo Ga, which was released in 1985, but that apparently is an excellent reference to the city of Tokyo. I’ll let you know how it is. In the meantime, I’ll bounce some other ideas off of you. Your vision of things is always leaps and bounds ahead of anyone else’s.

And Montreux ! ! ! You’re right it’s one of the all-time great festivals, and there has been some wonderful music presented and recorded there. It has gone down a bit in my estimation of pure jazz festivals, however, since it has broadened the range of music it books (My favorite festival is still Jazz a Vienne just south of Lyon. I’ve seen some marvelous concerts there). Keith Jarrett, my all-time favorite jazz pianist, is playing Montreux this year, but the ticket prices are really very steep – upwards of 280 CHF, and I decided the other night that it was just too much to pay for a three-hour concert, especially since I got to see him in Brussels last fall. What else on the program looks appealing to you?

More later. I’ve still got my little ear story to tell you (it’s really nothing terribly grandiose – nothing at all like your chasing the handsome young ski instructor down the slopes of Crans-Montana, but another Murakami oddity to relate).

Sweet dreams,

Roger

Montreux : https://www.myswitzerland.com/en-us/destinations/montreux-riviera/

6/17/10

Dear Purnima,

It’s been hard to get at a computer the last couple of days. Although there are a lot of them around, they are in high demand.

Sorry my dear. I have absolutely no contact with my supposedly well-endowed friend of my bike racing days, so a steamy match with him is not very likely. I always thought the tongue was the most satisfying of all – Your too sexy for KISS !

Grislidis is a wonderful champion of her profession, and you are totally correct to point out the hypocrisy of society in the disdain it shows for the oldest profession in the world: It’s the males of society who insist on easy access to women, thereby creating the demand, and yet when ever there is a perceived need for a crackdown on prostitution, it is always the girls themselves who are victimized by the law, hardly ever their customers (except in Sweden, of course).

I finished White Tiger yesterday and really liked it. It is amazing how the author is able to set up his narrative so you are cheering for his “hero” to carry through with his despicable act of murder and robbery. The vengeance is just too sweet, and the fact that he gets away with it it also in a perverse sort of way quite satisfying. And, of course, I can very readily see you writing the same kind of book with your wonderful prose. (I loved his little reference to Switzerland when he talked about dictators and big businesses that hide their money in a small, European country full of white people and black money.

I was very curious as to the reaction to the book in India and found a couple of blogs and reviews of the book that seemed to suggest that some quarters in Indian society were not very happy with it. Some of the reviewers, I felt, picked on really stupid things to criticize him for in order to dump on the book, like for instance, saying that his character couldn’t possibly have had he intelligence and insight to be able to understand the workings of the master-servant relationship in India so well, and that his dialogues rang false and were aimed at largely a non-Indian readership. Or that his device of writing to the Chinese prime minister didn’t work very well (I thought it was masterful, myself), or that he tied all the loose ends in the novel together a little too neatly in the end (not at all. He left us with the suggestion that his young nephew was in the process of figuring things out and could very possibly turn out to be his undoing, unless he was satisfied with simply insuring his continued supply of milk and ice cream.

Got to run and go shoe shopping (for me, of course !) More later. Hope you are having a good week.

Hugs,

Roger

White Tiger Movie Trailer

6/26/10

Les Liasions Dangereuse: Cecile de Volanges 20 years later in Strasbourg!

Dear Roger,

I am off the following week on a long train ride ending in Strasbourg where I meet a childhood friend, yes, the young Cecile de Volanges (very much a part of the cast of Les Liaisons Dangereuses and a part she played brilliantly) with the core story starting out, like ours, in Manhattan. There are other members of the cast I would love to introduce to you! While she performed the naive and vulnerable Cecile de Volanges on Amir Raza Hussain’s stage (one of Delhi’s great theatre actor-directors), my stage was real life 😉

Do check out Les Liasions Dangereuse on youtube:

However, 20 years is a long time, and there has been a name change Cecile is now Begum married to one whom I call the prophet of “khatirdari” himself found forever stirring a cauldron of spicy curry prophetizing the next vegetable to be decapitated and succumb to is bubbling depths (if you peer closely enough you’ll see still remnants of the old finance and banking world, iconic Wall Street landmarks, a tale for another day) is a madrassa buddy (my source for the “heh, heh, heh”) from our infamous madrassa (Cambridge certainly has a hand in this somewhere).

Khatirdari is a Hindi/Urdu word with a deep cultural significance in Indian subcontinent and generally connotes hospitality or welcoming of a guest into one’s home. https://www.quora.com/What-is-the-meaning-of-Hindi-Urdu-word-Khaatirdaari

Hope to hear from you soon.

Good night.

Purnima

See Ayesha and Purnima in Strasbourg below.

7/22/10

Dear Roger,

Its well past midnight but I cant go to bed, I feel I must tell you about my adventures in Strasbourg before I lose them to the day. Strasbourg, the capital of the Alsace region in North East France on the border with Germany was established as a Celtic town in the 3rd century BC. It has since exchanged hands between France and Germany many times through its history. A city, very much like Geneva and New York, though not a capital city but just as important, being the base for large international organizations and in this instance the seat for large European ones. Strasbourg, with it’s historic center, this Grand Island, surrounded by the river Ill, charming buildings, grand structures and fascinating facades has been classified as a world heritage site by UNESCO and is a “must see”! (Do check out the pictures posted below)

Strasbourg: https://www.britannica.com/place/Strasbourg

Strasbourg courtyard with friends and family:

_{Strasbourg-Photos by Purnima Viswanathan}

https://www.dropbox.com/sh/j6mcndrgqsko7qh/AAA-cvgBrJ6OVAqH1QK-ODaZa?dl=0

I was first introduced to this region by a close friend Marian Sofaer in California who had embarked on a journey to document her roots through the moving story of the dynamic and determined Poumy, her grand aunt, who secured and saved her family as she worked silently for the French resistance. This first attempt at film making was well received and a glimpse of the the region for curious eyes like mine who wanted to see the film, the scenery and the story through the eyes of an American journeying through time back to her roots. I have pasted a clip from her movie “Poumy” for you below , do check it out:

Poumy (on youtube) a film by Marian Sofaer

My first stop during the tour of the historic city center was the grand Roman catholic cathedral of Strasbourg (Notre Dame) one of the finest examples of gothic architecture, with its intricate carvings and dramatic spires touching the sky, visible from across great distances tall and imposing (see pic above). Then I learned a very interesting fact, that in 1794, the Enrages who were in control of the area planned to tear down these dramatic spires based on the notion that it hurt the principle of equality! The smart citizens apparently gathered together and covered the spire with a Phrygian cap thereby saving the spire.

Phrygian cap: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Phrygian_cap

The story behind the Phrygian cap, forever the symbol of freedom and liberty has intrigued me for a while encouraging me to put on the Indiana Jones hat and take you back with me on a journey to San Jose California, I promise you an adventure for there is a brilliant Egyptian museum (see link below it’s a must visit), in these remote recesses of the universe. The museum has a theatre and in this theatre they screen many fascinating films. I assure you that with my budding egyptologist all of 5years old, I was dragged southwards to San Jose to the point where i was reading the Rosetta stone in my dreams. It was here in the midst of the mummies and the deep dark crypt that I was introduced to the cult of Mithras and the Mithraeum. Yes, a never ending film which we saw forever. The cult of Mithras, a Roman pagan cult that was popular during the early part of the first millennium across Europe was subsequently subjugated/eradicated. This was a mystery cult worshipped in deep dark caves where the central figure of the carving was shown slaying a bull, there were symbols of a dog, snake, sun and moon gods, raven all possibly astronomical symbols depicting the skies (perhaps the knowledge of which would be very important for farmers and those dependent upon agriculture). The central figure slaying the bull is often depicted wearing this Phrygian cap, perhaps a symbol of their freedom to practice their cult/belief, an expression of their liberty to practice any faith/religion (and as you know liberty is my favorite topic).

Rosicrucian Egyptian Museum: https://egyptianmuseum.org

Check this out at the Louvre: Mithras Slaying the Bull

http://www.mithraeum.eu/monumenta.php?mid=tauroctony_louvre

This of course brought me to Strasbourg where I was meant to find the grand Mithraeum with its majestic reliefs embedded in the subterranean caverns awaiting my arrival and introduction to the world. This was also of special interest to me since Mitras is a prominent Vedic deity featured in the Rig Veda with its counterpart in the Persian pantheon, and of course Mitran from Mitra is the name of my grand uncle (a part of my French connection @Sorbonne). Unfortunately, even though I got to the dark basement of the museum that promised to house its relics, i could not get to my final destination, which sounds like a return trip to Strasbourg, perhaps you would like to accompany me?

Then of course there was the much awaited meeting with my childhood friend Cecile de Volages, one with whom I have shared my oldest and fondest memories, and whose life has paralleled mine as we have traipsed across the world with bubble baths, babies, bags and 6ft tall baggages. One with whom I treasured sharing my fears and sorrows, stories and journeys, secrets and mail. As I sat across her in the charming 16th century courtyard (see pic above) pouring my heart out, I momentarily slipped out of my shell and watched us both bend over the table so that our whispers might contain and not float over the ledge to eager ears, two birds of Asia having journeyed far from their watering hole, getting together in this remote region far from home, sharing stories, making stories, and translating your stories in our accents. I wish you were these to see how Guttenberg’s incredible invention of the printing press here in Strasbourg was translating your epics in the exotic tongues of the East, Persian and Sanskrit (see pic above)!

The journey back to Geneva was altogether another story/nightmare. The misty memories of childhood evaporated and I was faced with practical mom and my pragmatic childhood buddy, who after being introduced to my adventures in Geneva said, “time for a reality check…wake up and smell the coffee, you are a train wreck”! No, not a sympathetic ear, not a tear, just horror at hearing about the bulging eyes, darting glances, villainous vermin…

Cecile reiterated for the nth time that “It’s just an Illusion” check it out this tune from my time on youtube: https://youtu.be/uY4cVhXxW64

Hope to hear from you soon.

Good night!

Purnima

PS: Despite what Cecile may say…This WHODUNNIT points to the 🚬 🔫 in Geneva Diaries #16* don’t forget to visit Villa Pondicherry in the link below:

https://purrnima.blog/2020/09/14/geneva-diaries-16-2/

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

Geneva Diaries #16*

Villa Pondicherry – Cyberlaws – Wanted Dead or Alive – Women Equal Pay for Equal Work

02/09/10

Dear Roger,

I sitting down to write on my new desk in my new room. Yes, things have been juggled once again and I am where I started off…Snakes and Ladders I guess, but all i want to play is LUDO (a game for me with a Indo-French accent that i was introduced to decades ago while visiting family in Pondicherry which I can’t wait to introduce to you!).

Pondicherry: https://theculturetrip.com/asia/india/articles/the-top-12-things-to-do-and-see-in-pondicherry-india/

https://www.independent.co.uk/travel/asia/pondicherry-a-corner-of-india-that-is-forever-france-8449052.html

Ludo evolved from an Indian Board Game Pachisi(see below) referenced in the 2000 year old Indian epic Mahabharata and painted on the walls of The Ajanta Caves: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ludo_(board_game)

By Daniel Schwen – Own work, CC BY-SA 4.0, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=17204822

Some scholars even debate whether the origin of this game is to be traced to an even earlier date of 2500 BC, to The Indus Valley Civilization, where uncannily similar game pieces were found. See below an images of the four ancient river valley civilizations and an image of the game pieces found in the Indus Valley Civilization from the National Museum in New Delhi, India.

_{The Four River Valley Civilizations— National Museum Delhi- Photo by Purnima Viswanathan}

Pondicherry set up as a trading post by the French in India in the late 1600’s is a charming palm fringed town by the sea with the architecture, language, food reflecting a fascinating mix of Indo-French culture. This was our home away from home, our anchor in the south, my family’s winter destination: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pondicherry

Until I returned in 2017…

Ce qui s’est passé chez Villa Pondicherry?

Hotel California or Villa Pondicherry?

Some Images of a Charming Villa in Pondicherry with a Painted Map: Time to remove the satin ribbons…ce qui s’est passé chez Villa Pondicherry?

Hotel Californie ou Villa Pondicherry? Photo by Purnima Viswanathan

Villa Pondicherry – Photo by Purnima Viswanathan

Pondicherry – Photo by Purnima Viswanathan

Hotel California or Villa Pondicherry? Looking over the candlelit table he said in his distinctive southern drawl… “We haven’t had that spirit here since 1969”

The blues twinkled reminiscing the dawn, the years of his youth and the music as the magic of 69′ wafted over Villa Pondicherry and encircled our space. See below an image by my friend Robert L. Cunningham dedicated to the dawn, to youth, to a cherished time.

Dawn in Sanskrit is Usha: https://www.whatisthemeaningofname.com/what-is-the-meaning-of-the-name-usha-21850/

Photo by Robert L. Cunningham dedicated to Usha, the Dawn- L’lle Saint-Louis

See Hotel California by The Eagles: https://youtu.be/FVsbvFkhzY4

https://youtu.be/VaOQtDvnlHs

Eagles – Hotel California

I will now borrow your wand for a while to which I shall add my kisses…

I agree with you regarding the rain check on my trip to Paris, I can’t wait to visit. Especially now, since my newly acquired hairdo with the spiky ponytail has finally merged me into the Japanese comics I once mentioned and straight into the arms of my Japanese comic counterpart (do you remember that story?). Do me see below in the charming Japanese print of two celestial lovers captured in legend and celebrated in The Star Festival- Tanabata from The Asian Art Museum in San Francisco: https://japanesegarden.org/events/tanabata-the-star-festival-2021/

Orihime and Hikoboshi – Asian Art Museum SF-Photo by Purnima Viswanathan

In this surreal slightly altered state of OD’ing on Ovomaltine I find myself imagining What If…I do eventually morph into my avatar and cease to subsist but minimally on this earth. And here, in the realm of avatars, I find my one true love. However, in his case, he is just here for a ride and he lives and breathes in the real world. What If…we meet explore and fall in love. He loves everything he sees, everything he hears and experiences: The long lustrous hair, the sparkling eyes and the tiny waist and athletic frame of the avatar. What If we have a marriage, a virtual marriage, a virtual life and a brilliant and creative companionship… and What If he is still not satisfied. What If… decades hence he decides to embark on a quest/an ordeal of discovery, to find the warm breath behind the being. What If he finally tracks a spot on the earth from where the signal was strong and bursts in on the room to find Java the Huts twin sister! And as you may have guessed its no longer What if.

Unlike the movie Avatar, this story does not have such a happy ending. What Then happens to my 20 years, our 20 years online, all our babies (bundles and bundles of artistic expression/creative cohabitation)? What happens to our virtual home, assets, friends, relationships? What about our virtual marriage, is the time I spent, my 20 years online, devoting each moment to his every quirk, every need, every sms, all just virtual? My commitment and effort were real, my time spent tangible (to the extent that that space became my primary residence), our understanding to marry/co-habit was tangible in the sense that anything is which is recorded and stored by two consenting competent adults. Where would I go for redress, what is the appropriate forum? Who has jurisdiction?What are the rules that apply, And finally but most significantly, which temples are recognized? I would love to hear you!

Talking about temples, I must tell you that even though I did not get back to Murakami on the Shore, I have returned to Richard Dawkins and my unfinished book, The God Delusion. After watching his brilliant performance on youtube clips where he effortlessly decimates the opposition, I decided to revisit his book and read him anew! As I peered at him from behind my facade of agnosticism, I was blinded by the stark reality of my overburdening handicaps dragging me kicking and screaming from my original position to this sickeningly hedged, all appeasing, all appealing agnosticism. My conclusion is that Dawkins IS a higher life form!

The Case for Atheism– See below Dawkins reasons for why there is no god – (don’t miss that impervious smirk):

Despite the diarrhea, I also managed to check out the New Freakonomics ( the first book was brilliant). Unfortunately, despite engaging topics like: drowning in horse manure, how a street prostitute is like a department store Santa and why should suicide bombers buy life insurance, all sounding VERRY Murakami-ish, the book was a bit of a let down. However, it did end with a colorful splash about an experiment with capuchin monkeys where it was demonstrated that monkeys can recognize the concept of money to the extent that they can be induced to purchasing favors,Yes, paying money for SEX! Incredible is the chaos that is created in the life of the “chap” the minute money is introduced! Don’t you agree? See below an image by Andy Warhol which I would like to retitle Monkey Business – B$A$N$A$N$A$S:

Andy Warhol -SFMOMA-Photo by Purnima Viswanathan

See below- Incredible is the chaos that is created in the life of the “chap”/capuchin the minute money is introduced!

See experiment in link below where a capuchin (sounds like “chap” and acts like a chap) monkey slams piece of cucumber back into the face of his boss when his colleague is given a grape for the same task. This capuchin should be a poster child for the Emancipated Woman- It’s Equal Pay for Equal Work dummy see what the chap/capuchin would do under the same circumstances:https://youtu.be/meiU6TxysCg

Learn from The Capuchin-Equal Pay For Equal Work!

Back to my favorite topic of journeys, I wish to share with you a wonderful evening here in Geneva where the host was not just brilliant but most entertaining, (a serious contender for the next host of Comedy Central), where we discussed the journeys of food and language and how in some parts of India Arabic and Persian have evolved and merged into the common language of the people Urdu/Hindustani. The process of evolution and the roots are well recognized, whereas in the south(India), many Arabic words have been assimilated “wholly”, directly without any recognition of its origin or source (as I discovered with the story of the dish “Ish-too”, the local distortion of the word stew which is then incorporated in to the local language, local cuisine as a local dish called Ish-too which has no connection, bearing or similarity with its English cousin and is a delicate gruel made out potatoes) , like with many things that come from the sea whose source and origin is unknown but become a part of us. As you know, we have in India among the various communities that appear to have held on to some of their ancient origins, the Syrian Christian communities and the Kerala Jews (who trace their origins to an incredibly ancient time before the fall of the first temple), but once again like all exotic things that come from the sea, no one can really place the root, time or the origin of the journeys of these peoples and these gifts of people and language are assimilated as a whole.

See link Malabar Vegetable Ishtu: https://maunikagowardhan.co.uk/cook-in-a-curry/malabar-vegetable-ishtu-southern-indian-vegetable-stew-with-coconut-curry-leaves-and-black-pepper/

And on the subject of language, specifically Urdu, I was surfing my very favorite actor, director, producer Guru Dutt from Indian Cinema of the 1950s and 60’s http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Guru_Dutt , the Bangla Babu, or at least the boy with the Bengali name. His movies had an imprint of his fascination with Bengal and Bengali culture, with the themes, dress, and style that reflected how he had embraced and so authentically depicted the culture of Bengal. Bengal is dear to me, as Calcutta is a place with many happy memories, so I spent the weekend replaying many of his popular songs over and over again (Chaudhvin ka Chand which I had sent earlier was one). I realized that even though I knew the songs by heart (and soul), the exact meaning of the words eluded me. I had probably taken them for granted all these many many years. And now, since I had acquired this incredible gift of morphing into a virtual form, reaching out into the film, and embracing Guru Dutt in person, I felt intensely that I must know the meaning of the words as I sing them back to him. So I surfed and surfed and surfed for a good online dictionary that would use the English (roman script) and transcribe for me keeping the gist to that which I understood it to be. Let me tell you Roger, it was not an easy journey, and not one that I have embarked upon for the first time, but I found the dictionary of my choice with Hindi, Urdu, Persian, English, Sanskrit (and if required a French Sanskrit dictionary for kids), at the University of Chicago website! It was perfect and it was bookmarked over and over again. How I kicked myself for the nth time for not having gone to Chicago when I had the opportunity, especially now when all my searches uncannily seem to lead me there! Do you know Chicago?

The computer has announced in its robotic alien voice again: its one o’clock, so this will be my last chapter! But, since we are exchanging music clips, (and I have so enjoyed your last few clips), I feel its time I share this one favorite all American melody with you as I reminisce about my time back in California where I eerily used to hear this blaring from my car radio EVERYTIME I got in to my Black Jeep Grand Cherokee and turned on the ignition: Bon Jovi- Wanted Dead or Alive (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SRvCvsRp5ho).

What do you think…Am I wanted?…Dead?? or Alive???

Good night!

Purnima

On Feb 12, 2010, at 4:34 PM, “Roger Stevenson” wrote:

Dear Purnima,

It sounds like musical bedrooms at your place. Does that mean that you are once again sharing the bedroom the massageathon addict ?

And a ponytail to boot. Can’t wait to see it, but am curious about the effects of Ovomaltine on your physiognomy, and as far as finding your one true love in a virtual world where you fall in love and marry, albeit to an avatar that can hide the true features of your virtual lover, I am just a bit dubious, as you seem to be also, about the long-term consequences of such a union.. Who knows whether he/it is really a prince charming or a Jabba the Hut lurking in the outer reaches of cyberspace and playing his deadly game with countless beautiful and willing nubile creatures. And how would you ever know whether you were really right for one another when there was only a virtual osmosis joining your two beings ? How satisfying can it possibly be to “make love” to a virtual entity where there would be no actual and physical joining and mingling ? and your little creations crawling around a virtual nursery could actually remain such throughout time, never aging and, therefore, never leaving the cybernest ? And would Google have evolved and morphed into the be-it-all jurisdictional authority to deal with such matters as separations, child custody, alimony, inheritance rights, etc. Or maybe Steve Jobs will have become the final arbiter of justice with a market place savvy that settles all conflicts with his new i-judge software and hand-held, touch screen, app-driven i-tort (that may actually be a better source of justice than our present, very flawed and political interest driven system or the justice frequently meted out by the religions of the day).

I finished my third tome of Millennium two days ago. After more than 2,000 pages of Lisbeth Salander, I am more than ready to move on to other vistas. I was actually a bit let down by the third installment of the trilogy, and felt that Steig Larsson left too many loose threads dangling. But I read somewhere where he actually had intended to write a series of ten novels in the series before he was felled by a heart attack shortly after delivering his trilogy to the publishers. There is supposedly a fourth novel in the possession of his long-standing, live-in partner, but whether it will ever be published depends on the Swedish courts’ decisions about who actually owns the rights to it and who should be in charge of editing it. That’s a tricky legal dilemma for you. There is no provision in Swedish law for a concubine to inherit anything from her partner if they were not married (That is not the case in French law, but apparently for Sweden, one of the most advanced social countries in Europe, an unmarried partner has no inheritance rights regardless of how much time they lived together). Larsson’s father and brother have become filthy rich because of the international success of the novels, whereas his life-long partner has absolutely nothing. I could tell you about another case closer to home, in fact in Geneva itself, but that’s the subject of another email or chat.

What I started to say, however, was that I have begun to read Kafka on the Shore, but I can understand your fascination with Dawkins and wanting to probe his thinking.

Thanks for the great Bon Jovi clip. I’ve got to try and find one of my favorites from the 70’s. You are definitely wanted, my dear, dead or alive, preferably alive, but the question you should really ask is : Am I wanted, virtual or real ?

Are you free for coffee on Tuesday morning ? Do you have a Migro class then ?

Lots of warm hugs on this chilly Friday,

Roger

P.S. I’ve only been to Chicago once, and that was in the dead of winter to attend the annual Modern Language Association of America meetings, It was dreadfully cold and snowy and I’m glad I survived the treacherous drive down from Madison, Wisconsin.

Roger Stevenson

See below- Incredible is the chaos that is created in the life of the “chap”/capuchin the minute money is introduced!

EQUAL PAY FOR EQUAL WORK

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

Geneva Diaries #15

Hafiz and Rosnard et 69 Année érotique

Connaist-tu la poésie de Ronsard ?

1/28/10

Dear Purnima,

Just when all but the highest piles of snow on either side of our driveway had melted, everything is white again this morning. I must admit that it is incredibly beautiful, but it always makes driving interesting.

Saw a wonderful film on Serge Gainsbourg last weekend, Serge Gainsbourg: une vie héroique. Although I’m not much into pop music, I do remember very well several of his big hits, and seeing the film + a great documentary on TV (France 3), Serge Gainsbourg et les femmes, I have a much more profound respect for his artistic sense and his enormous talent. There were, of course, numerous contradictions in his life, but he had a real knack for writing just the right song for the right up-and-coming starlet at the right time. One of the things I have always appreciated about him was his sense of provocation and daring, often very subtly, to poke fun at the social norms of his time. His great hit, and the one that really made him very rich, was a song he wrote and recorded (twice) in the late 1960’s – once with Brigitte Bardot (she made him promise not to release it) and then shortly after with his new girlfriend Jane Birkin (which was released). Je t’aime, moi non plus was, without being crass, extremely suggestive, and it was promptly banned in many countries and put on the Vatican’s index. Every time I hear it I get quite nostalgic in thinking back to my very first torrid love affair with an English woman who loved the song.

Serge Gainsbourg-Je t’aime, moi non plus: https://youtu.be/GlpDf6XX_j0

https://lightintheattic.net/releases/482-je-t-aime-moi-non-plus

By May be found at the following website: eBay, Fair use, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=56094283

Another of his really risqué songs was one he wrote for a young singer who was totally innocent and overly-protected by a dotting father/manager. It was called La Sucette (Lollipop) She was so naive that she didn’t realize that the song was really a thinly veiled reference to oral sex. The eventual realization on her part really threw her for a loop. https://youtu.be/9yWALE1IFbM

By http://www.discogs.com/viewimages?release=659965, Fair use, https://en.wikipedia.org/w/index.php?curid=24285458

And I remember how much I loved his reggae version of La Marseillaise, a song that enraged the conservative right in France. https://youtu.be/mLq7EcvRaf0

https://youtu.be/mLq7EcvRaf0

Reggae version of La Marseillaise: https://www.faena.com/aleph/articles/serge-gainsbourg-and-his-dangerous-version-of-la-marseillaise/

Stay warm. Hugs on this cold, wintry day,

Roger

On Jan 22, 2010, “Roger Stevenson” wrote:

Dear Purnima,

It was delightful to see you again on Tuesday. It had been far toooooooo long ! You were as radiantly beautiful as ever, and seemed really upbeat. All those massages and chants on the beaches of Goa were definitely good for you.

I’m a bit puzzled trying to interpret the two lines of Hafez you sent.

Another attempt at getting unlost in translation:

“That beautiful Shirazi Turk, took control and my heart stole,

I’ll give Samarkand & Bukhara, for her Hindu beauty mole.

O wine-bearer bring me wine, such wine not found in Heavens

By running brooks, in flowery fields, spend your days and stroll.

Alas, these sweet gypsy clowns, these agitators of our town

Took the patience of my heart, like looting Turks take their toll.

Such unfinished love as ours, the Beloved has no need,

For the Perfect Beauty, frills and adornments play no role…”

Interesting that in the version you sent it was “his” dark mole, and in the version above it is “her” beauty mole.

Connaist-tu la poésie de Ronsard ?

Roger

Dear Roger

The translators (often persons from your universe) superimpose their world upon ours and so you and I read the translations posted, the photos published and words printed! I have often wondered why photos of men from my universe appear with a particularly startled expression with curly black hair protruding from every orifice ( i later realized Its an art form to set off a fire cracker before the photographer says “Say Cheeze”).

All The Birds of Asia

The images from Asia, the beaks, the colors, the calls and the dances are as varied as the birds that inhabit this vast landmass. On the subject of Hafez, perhaps I should share with you a image of a bird from the northern stretches of Asia, a pic of my maternal grandfather with his distinctive dark mole, a dignified image of a man from the Punjab (from the shadows of the Himalayan Weisshorn), for you to contrast with the faces projected by western media.

See pasted below All The Faces of of The Birds of Asia – Jai Dev Shourie:

Jai Dev Shourie – Photo courtesy Vijay Shourie

As I understand it, Hafez’s verse goes:https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Shirazi_Turk

If only my beloved would take my heart in hand;

For that beautiful one with the dark mole,

I would relinquish the wealth of Samarkand and Bukhara in whole!

Here Hinduyash does not mean the Hindu spot but represents the dark beauty spot on the face of the youth (Hindu represents the people of Hindustan with their darker skin). And of course, it the Shirazi Turk was a “him” and not “her” as the “angrez” translated. My translation of the verse fits me, and my story perfectly!

Will tell u one day…

Hugs

Purnima

8/2/21

Dear Roger,

Here are some images of my conception of Hafez’s Shirazi Turk with his seductive dark mole for which all is relinquished. See below some more images from Asia:

Hafez’s Shirazi Turk with the Dark Mole – photo courtesy Siddharth Kapila

My friend Sid sporting my artwork-the polka dot ((:

—

Dear Roger,

I loved both the youtube clips and especially his reggae version of La Marseillaise. Very cool, very sexy. Its amazing to see how he managed to challenge norms, provoke, and poke fun as you said and do it in such a sexy sophisticated manner. I can see absolutely nothing crass or vulgar that can be attributed to either one of the clips, unfortunately unlike many of our modern day rappers (whom I have bouncing on my iphone) who often cross that line!

I have a clip to share as well, a dream from my youth, where my beloved is so smitten that he is questioning whether I am the full moon or the brilliance of the sun… whatever I am, I am beyond compare. Such is the love i was seeking and I find myself in Shrek II painted in the unmistakable color :GREEEEEEEEEN. Alien Green!!

Do see youtube Mohammad Rafi : Chaudvin ka chand

https://youtu.be/5Ud2rsMT5ng

Pls help me to find the one who fits into that achkan (coat).

See you soon!

Hugs

Purnima

PS: I have to add this song of Serge Gainsbourg which just flashed on my screen and which reminds me of you Roger, as this embodies your time, and your music which drew us to your shores. For Roger, I am convinced people journey for love, for the freedom to love, live, pray, work and cherish. And as these tunes wafted over to our shores, it stirred many a journey to these distant lands. And even as I hear drum beats of war in the distance, these are the times and the tunes I love to return to just to remember why these difficult journeys were undertaken in the first place.

See below Serge Gainsbourg et Jane Birkin “69 année érotique” or 1969 The erotic year: https://youtu.be/0HhitAUML4A

See below Serge Gainsbourg and Jane Birkin – CNN Style article on Birkin and the Bag: https://www.cnn.com/style/article/jane-birkin-serge-gainsbourg/index.html

https://www.cnn.com/style/article/jane-birkin-serge-gainsbourg/index.html

Dear Roger,

I have been feeling the same way, anxious about not ever hearing from you or speaking to you again! In fact, I took the hallucination to another level, and thought that What If…you were just a figment of my imagination, something I conjured up, a best friend with whom I can chat, be clever, be foolish and drink a lot of coffee. And, then i received your last email, and heaved a sigh of relief…you see I’ve grown accustomed to your face, accustomed to your smile, accustomed to your ways…in this very short while.

Yes, things have been busy and I have kept myself twirling from the time I returned from India. You would be pleased to know that I did rejoin ecole migros and have started my French classes; fortunately, I have now jumped in at a level I can comprehend. I have also joined a gym close by to battle these cold grey winter days…And then of course there is “the lovely bird with azure wings, and song that said a thousand things, and seemed to say them all for me”: A Love Story.

I am off to Paris on the 9th for two days, veryyyyy excited about it. I am so looking forward to meeting my frog prince (I wish you could join us, even u will not be able to resist his charms, just as long as u beware of his kisses…its an immediate transformation into “frogginess”). I also hope to practice some French, and finally but most crucially hope to find the markers for “The Holy Grail”!

Purrnima and The Frog Prince- Photo courtesy Polina Steier

You do know that I have been on a lifelong pursuit of understanding the idea, exploring the concept of privacy, which, as we have discussed in the past, is getting more alarmingly relevant in this technologically accelerated universe of ours. And, in my opinion, should form the core, the fulcrum, the basis upon which any legal system that is to be relevant in this world is to be built. The French, somehow so intrinsically live, breathe, and represent this idea that it appears to be enmeshed in them and their culture. Which makes my journey to their heart soooo attractive. I am convinced somewhere within its alleyways lies the Holy Grail!

Hope to see you very soon in your charming ponytail and desigual coat. Give my love to Barcelona!

Hugs,

Purnima

Dear Purnima,

What a terrible hallucination. Reduced to a figment of your imagination ! And how could you ever think that I would never write or see you again ?, and a nice allusion to George Bernard Shaw and Lerner and Loewe ! Not bad. I, too, was relieved.

It’s lovely to wake up each morning to a clear, blue sky and temperatures that are somewhat clement. I checked the weather in Geneva last night, and it still looks pretty cold and wintry. At least you have filled your life with both some old and new activities. Glad the level at Migros is more to your liking, and I’m envious about your upcoming Paris adventure, holy grail and all. It’s really a magical and fairytale-like city for lovers. But as far as our discussions of privacy in our technologically driven society, I’m not so sure that you will find your long-sought-after Holy Grail in Paris. Unfortunately, I think France is fast becoming a security conscious, fear ridden place where CCTV cameras are sprouting like mushrooms in the urban decor, and where the possibility of eavesdropping in on our phone, email and even personal conversations is increasingly likely. One of the truly intriguing aspects of the Lisbeth Salander character in Millennium is her ability as a computer hacker to intrude into information systems and manipulate them. The is also a citizen of “The Hackers Republic”. She and her fellow hackers can crack nearly any computer system they want (at least in this fictional world). It’s a fascinating and yet murky world, but I can’t help but wonder how much of this fantasizing isn’t really very close to the reality where Big Brother will be able to pry into the private lives of anyone, at any time.

Off the the central Mercado for some fresh fruit and vegetables and great cheeses, followed by a tapas of two for lunch. Wish you could join us.

Roger

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.

Purnima Viswanathan

Geneva Diaries #14

Indian Mythology, Temples and Spiritual Journeys, Vamana, Jatayu, Servetus, 9/11, Privacy and The New Social Contract

1/16/10

Dear Roger,

We last left off in Goa, the Indo-Portugese paradise with swaying palm tree, blue beaches and white washed churches. At that time, despite Murakami lying besides me, I opted for Dawkins whom I relished but could not complete as (and for a change) many real life adventures lay awaiting. So, leaving Dawkin’s (The God Delusion) incomplete by my bedside, I left Goa for my much awaited spiritual quest.

I travelled from Delhi to the state Of Andhra Pradesh on the south east coast of India. This journey to the south, to my paternal heritage, which was accompanied by the vivid and familiar sounds of my grandmother’s slender long fingers playing the Veena to the music of M.S. Subbulaxmi in the background, to the much revered Hindu Temple devoted to lord Vishnu the preserver (part of the Vedic trinity), a much revered temple and pilgrimage site called Tirupati. The temple Sri Venkateshwara is dedicated to the deity Vishnu (a part of the Hindu trinity) and all his avatars or reincarnations predominantly the Varaha or boar avatar who saves the earth or Bhu Devi by lifting her out of the flood waters with his tusks (The Hindu Flood Legend). See sculpture of Vishnu and Varaha below from the collection of The Asian Art Museum of San Francisco. Here the exquisite sculpture of Vishnu is from Cambodia.

_{Vishnu-Asian Art Museum SF-Photo by Purnima Viswanathan}

M.S. Subbulakshmi: https://www.culturalindia.net/indian-music/classical-singers/m-s-subbulakshmi.html

Hanuman Chalisa – MS Subbulakshmi: https://youtu.be/VBeUatFx7HI

See below the sculptures that adorn the journey up the Seven Hills to the temple of Tirupati:

See below what looks uncannily like the sculpture the smiling Cheshire Cat…for where Alice goes Chess follows:

Lion/Cat Sculpture-Tirupati- Photos by purnima Viswanathan

As I may have mentioned to you earlier, my journey from Dawkins and The God Delusion to the spiritual journey was seamless and each piece was enjoyed in its own space. As you may have heard me say before, for me, there has never been a conflict between science and spirituality as I have seen the very religious, the agnostic and the budding atheist existing harmoniously, side by side in my own household. A place where physics and mathematics, history and literature was discussed interspersed with melodic Sanskrit poetry and verses from the Vedas (often recited from sheer memory), recreating in our own little living room, 5000 miles away, some of the brilliance of Balliol.

And so, searching for my 101 answers, I embarked upon this journey down south via air and on foot, all alone (me and my ponytail) up the seven hills to the sacred site of this ancient Hindu temple build in 300 AD – Venkateshwara Temple, Tirupati. This external journey, this arduous climb, reflected the spiritual journey/quest within. I was hoping that concentration, silence solitude and an immersion in the symbols (and spectacular sculptures) of my culture would bring me a step closer to resolving the turmoil within. As I passed each landmark, each vibrant expression of my culture, history, mythology, I searched the symbolisms and the stories to better understand and interpret my predicament. I passed the larger than life, 30 foot figure of Hanuman (the monkey god) or “pawan putra”, the god of the wind and prayed that he shelter and protect me as he sends favorable winds in my direction for the journey beyond.

See sculpture of Hanuman: https://images.app.goo.gl/aXLHPr1ovVmFKwf46

Venkateshwara temple: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Venkateswara_Temple,_Tirumala

The sculptures, and relics of ancient art seemed to come to life cheering me on my way. I passed the exquisite sculpture of Vamana, the fabled diminutive (dwarf) brahmin, and had to pause and stare at the unbelievable handiwork of the sculptor, so perfect was his work that the world blurred and the story unfolded…King MahaBali, the ruler of the grand and beautiful land of Kerala, the just and honest king, the epitome of virtue, much loved by his subjects was not content with being the ruler of the earth and the netherworld and desired to conquer the heavens. The petrified gods fled to Vishnu (the preserver and the patron deity of Tirupati) and begged for help (imagine gods begging for help?). Vishnu realized that despite King MahaBali’s great virtues, the king had been overtaken by the greatest vice of all, the ego, and returns to earth in the form, the Avatar, (yes, the origin of our cyber realities can be traced bak many thousand years to Vedic mythology) of a diminutive brahmin. In Indian mythology we have the gods and the demons playing out their theatrics similar to Greek mythology, but we have a third element, the wily brahmin, who comes in the most simple and humble form and whenever he appears, he inevitably wins the day. For it is he who wields the pen and it is he who writes the story…(heh, heh, heh).

Back to the story: King Mahabali had invited all the scholars or “pundits” of the land for a great ceremonial prayer sacrifice or “havan”, upon the completion of which, as was customary, each scholar received a generous gift. However, when it was Vamana’s turn, the king found that he had an empty treasury and was unable to offer a gift. Vamana, the diminutive “pundit” feeling very much slighted asked for three paces of land, one he could cover in three strides. The king, despite being advised against it, and looking at the diminutive form of the brahmin (the diminutive form is representative of the relinquished ego, which of course in our culture portends immeasurable power) laughingly agreed. Vamana then grew gigantic, blocking the sun and the skies, in one stride he took the netherworld, in the second the earth, and asked the king where he should put his foot for the third. The king recognizing his folly and being the good and virtuous king he was, kept his word, and offered his head for Vamana to rest his foot. King MahaBali was pushed down into the netherworld, but Vishnu recognizing his virtuous qualities made him immortal offering to let him rejoin his people on earth once a year post harvest (which is celebrated in Kerala as the Onam festival). This diminutive form, this relinquishment of the ego, was the piece I embraced and charged ahead with renewed vigor and enthusiasm ready to take on the world.

However, my vigor and enthusiasm was short-lived as the next (mis) adventure loomed. As I embarked upon the climb through the forests up the seven hills in the late afternoon, my taxi driver who dropped me at the base, looked at me ominously nodding his head (I find I do the head nodding quite a bit myself, veddy veddy gud) and said that it would take at least 5 hours to get up and that it would be dark soon. I said veddy veddy gud and thanked him. I was a quarter of the way looking around at the beauty of the forest, the lovely deer and disregarding the looming posters warning of hyenas and other wild life when I found a woman pacing my step. A decoy. She asked me where I was from, upon hearing that I was from far away, she proceeded to ask me if I was traveling alone to which I smiled and replied “YES”. I think I need an official name change to D-O-N-K-E-Y. She laughed and rolled her head back, that was when I saw the fangs. She was none other than Surpanakha, the demoness that harassed Rama during his exile in the forest and had her nose cut off, the sister of the demi-god king Ravana, the story that instigated the grand epic Ramayana! She conveyed my situation to others along the path and I found myself being harassed by (her demon brothers) as I walked up. See the story of Surpanakha below:

It was getting dark, the forest seemed to be closing in and my nani, maternal grandmother, appeared in my vision. My nani, a no nonsense, steely and determined woman, with a face creased with lines of wisdom, was a woman who saw the fires of Partition (of India) first hand, as she had to flee home land and loved ones, secure infants and family, and rebuild all from a handful of saving (as they left Lahore for India). She in my mind embodies common sense and that seems to be the one quality I missed every time I had the option of selecting my choice of gems/attributes I desired for this lifetime. Commonsense seems to come in the “Kullar” or rustic earthen cup which this Indiana Jones never picks. My holy grail always appears to be in the cup that promises eternal youth and beauty, the diamond encrusted cup, with the promise of everlasting love. But this time the “Kullar” or earthen cup was flung at me by my grandmother and I folded my hand prayed fervently and ran as fast as I could up the mountain.

See below Indiana Jones and The Last Crusade – Choose Wisely:

They couldn’t possibly harass a pious pilgrim with a ponytail, could they??? I also envisioned lord Buddha (who is an avatar of Vishnu whose doorstep I was visiting) resisting the stones and calls as he went from village to village with a begging bowl. The music from the temple atop the mountain floated down and suddenly I found the sky overcast and Jatayu, (the nephew of Garuda, a mythical bird representing speed, strength and prowess found in both Hindu and Buddhist mythology and in the art, architecture of numerous cultures across south east Asia) with his wings spread at my feet. Jatayu is remembered for his noble and selfless act of devotion to Rama and Sita in the Ramayana as he attacks Ravana the demon king as he is abducting Sita and sacrifices his life in the bargain.

See below a scene from the Ramayana with a terracotta Jatayu (vulture) below attempting to rescue Sita from the tenacious grasp of the demon king Ravana who was abducting in his airborne charriot. From the collection of the Asian Art Museum San Francisco:

_{Jatayu – Asian Art Museum SF- Photo by Purnima Viswanathan}

See Jatayu below:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jatayu

Jatayu Nature Park – Kerala:

In my instance, Jatayu whisked me off my feet and flew me through the forests, the seven hills and deposited me at the last gate leaving me the last 50 steps to climb. Everyone was shocked to see me up the mountain in 2 hours instead of the five looking as crisp, clean and new as when I left; the driver rolled his eyes in disbelief and asked me if I had flown up, little did he know…

The final adventure of course was the next day when we visited another even more ancient temple (completely unplanned for) called Kalahasti.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Srikalahasteeswara_temple

A temple a little over two thousand years old, mentioned in Sangam literature and even supposed to have been visited by Sankaracharya. Kalahasti is a Shaivite temple (dedicated to Shiva, the destroyer, and a part of the Vedic trinity) and renowned for the famous Shiva lingam (sacred phallic symbol) also dedicated to Hanuman the son of the wind god or Monkey God; his presence being perceived in the lamps of the inner chambers which seem to flicker without the presence of any wind. The living temple, the richness of its art and sculpture, the sense of being one with my culture was more than I could have asked for in any one trip.

Light -SFMOMA-Photo by Purnima Viswanathan

Shiva Linga – India 400AD – Asian Art Museum San Francisco

Shiva Linga – A Publication of the Asian Art Museum San Francisco-Photo by Purnima Viswanathan

See bronze sculpture of Shiva from Tamil Nadu and stone sculpture of Shiva and Parvati as a loving couple below. Also see the magnificent Shiva and Parvati sculptures from Cambodia (from the collection of the Asian Art Museum San Francisco – AAMSF):

Shiva and Parvati embracing from The Asian Art Museum SF-Photo by Purnima Viswanathan

Shiva Bronze from Tamil Nadu-AAM SF-Photo by Purnima Viswanathan

Shiva and Parvati from Cambodia – Asian Art Museum SF

Shiva and Parvati- Cambodia- Asian Art Museum SF-Photo by Purnima Viswanathan

The temple is also renowned for the deity that represents the consort of lord Shiva (Parvati), and as I proceeded into the dark inner chambers, I saw the very pale outline of what appeared to be an ancient priest, almost one with the temple. The priest shone the lamp into my face smiled knowingly and declared that I had Rahu Rog, I was being chased by Rahu. Yes, the same Rahu of our last few correspondences, the demon that tyrannizes the heavens and periodically swallows the moon (ironically, Purnima means full moon in Sanskrit!). The priest then performed a little prayer on my behalf and chanted some verses but looked at me gravely but sympathetically as I left the inner chambers. I then found myself embraced in the inner chambers of the main deity, the Shiva Lingam, and while the young priest performed a prayer for the worshippers, the high priest in the distance, completed his rituals in front of the main deity. It was when the high priest turned around at stared at me standing right in front from the inner recesses of the chamber, that I thought I saw a sea of emotions and a flicker of recognition (yes you may contribute it to the incense or my legendary imagination), it was as though he was looking at a child from his ship, a sparkling child, one that was forever hanging from the look-out tower, raising yet another false alarm that India was here! I was after all a child from his community, and I saw him slowly retreat into the shadows as his head bent down.

The vision of the high priest receding into the darkness with the bent head stayed with me all the way back to Delhi and it was much later that I recognized where I had seen it before…The Cigogne, The story of the Crane!

Holel de la Cigogne – Geneva, Switzerland-Photo by Purnima Viswanathan

It follows…Do you wish to hear?

Goodnight.

Purnima

PS: The external journey was truly reflective of the journey within, with the culmination in the inner chamber in the presence of the deity, the deity within.

1/17/10

Dear Purnima,

What a treat to find three of your swirling and mindboggling stories waiting for me this morning when I open my inbox. Did your fingers spend the entire night dancing over the keyboard ? Insomnia or creative impulse ? I can imagine you still asleep this morning trying to recuperate from you night-long orgy of fantasy.

The most fascinating one for me was the Cigogne and the Story of the Crane and how you so deftly wove patterns of ancient mythology into the fabric of current reality – truly masterful !

I’m fascinated by the Siberian Crane and your father’s patient waiting for signs of its arrival and the fact that he included you in this annual quest for the fulfilment of a symbolic ideal. And those picture of his own special crane are haunting. Yes, of course, I recognize her, but I also recognize much that is you today in that radiant beauty of yesterday and those deep, penetrating eyes.

And you’re reading Dawkins now as well ! It’s also intriguing to me how you can mingle the symbols and religious figures of your inherent culture with the objective and logical thinking of an atheist. It reminds me of an episode of House where he is suffering from hallucinations, very real and vivid hallucinations, of the deceased girlfriend of his one and only friend. He can’t quite put his logical and objective mind around what is happening to him.

Hugs,

Roger

1/16/10

Dear Roger,

You must be wondering what I am doing up and writing to you at this late hour. Well, believe it or not, the din of my home has just quietened, and I finally have a few moments to myself (the last mail was spun out in complete chaos). AND, after a long day with the brats, and Fred Figglehorn and The World of Fred/youtube (where I made the fatal error of laughing and so was immediately initiated), I am yearning for adult company and I can’t think of one better than you, its time you created an Avatar that floats around when you are asleep.

Well, I did leave my last email incomplete…pending. The story of the crane needed to be told, so how could I go to sleep?

The Siberian Crane, a magnificent migratory bird, mentioned in my previous emails and one that has captivated the imagination of many people and cultures across Asia, is on the critically endangered list. The bird originates from Siberia and flies thousands of miles across many different terrains to its wintering and breeding grounds in the wetlands in the south The eastern branch of the crane migratory path passes through China, Korea and Japan where its deeply embedded in the myth, poem, art, embroidery/textile, story, sculpture and song and dance. The symbol of the crane stands for luck, long life and happiness. The central branch which flies 5000 kms from western Siberia to Bharatpur (or Keoladeo national Park in Rajasthan) close to my hometown, has not been sighted since 2002. Apart from the long and dangerous flight all the way from Siberia across the Central Asian republics, Afghanistan and Pakistan where it is trapped and shot, over the mighty Himalayan ranges all the way to Rajasthan in India, the loss of habitat (wetlands), human encroachment and poaching, environmental contamination are some reasons for it being pushed to the brink of extinction. There is no instinctive sense of this long migratory route, and so each population of crane has to have learned it from the previous population. Unfortunately, the central population of the Siberian crane that used to visit India has completely vanished, and the young one have no opportunity to learn the route to their winter homeland. See below The Siberian Crane (critically endangered): https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Siberian_crane

The Siberian Cranes

And then of course, there is the Tale of the Crane Wife. The popular folk tale being about the crane weaving her feathers into garments and thus having to remain behind on the land as wife.

My tale, a phantastic tale, however started with my last email to you where a charming knight besotted with the Siberian Crane visits the Bharatpur lake just for a fleeting glimpse. Then once upon having gazed at the crane pleads for it to remain, to take on human form and become his wife and partner.

They have a wonderful and vibrant life full of fun, and laughter, completed by a couple of babies who are told that if they believe it, they can fly. The knight dies, the babies are scattered and the Crane flies back to the wintery unapproachable recesses (within herself). However, there is one chirpy chick that is determined to undertake the adventure and wants to fly, fly far, faraway! Before the chick can squawk it wants to fly, before it can hop it wants to fly. It imagines itself as a great grand crane, but it is actually little nemo with a broken wing (in this instance, a faulty internal GPS system). So, one day it leaves with the clan, gets distracted and flies over the passes towards the rainbow. “Ooh, how beautiful is the rainbow”, she thinks as she dives and a twirls and across the passes. The others have been left far behind and only her two babies diving and flipping in tandem follow her. Well, she must not panic, she must act grown up and show the way for now she has young ones to care for. So she flies and she flies and she flies across mountains and oceans and endless oceans and yet again endless oceans when she seems to sight land in the distance. As it nears she sees a lake, “wow a lake so far away, this must be the one my father mentioned”.

But, she was way, way off course,( that faulty GPS) and grotesquely mistaken. This was NOT a lake, this was a reservoir! There were sign boards up in the air that she ignored that told her so, THIS IS NOT A LAKE, this is Hetch Hetchy reservoir! They landed, tired and hungry looking for some food and shelter, a moment to rest.

It was year 2001 and this was no space odyssey, there was something ominous in the air, the people seemed possessed, gripped by fear, there were cracks of gunfire being broadcast from all channels, the fear mongering was like an incessant beating of drums and loud ear blasting sounds of leaf blowers. The baby chicks ran helter-skelter for shelter among the rocks, then they moved to the bushes and then the trees but there was no respite. We were an unknown species that had landed in the wrong place at the wrong time.

The paranoia of an alien, inscrutable, unidentifiable image suspended in the midst of daily life became glaringly apparent… I had just dashed off to get a box of cereal leaving my shopping cart for a minute, I returned to find everyone under theirs with their eyes beckoning for a swat team, the cheerios flew up into the air like a thousand tiny handcuffs braced for action lol! My indistinguishable accent, a lean and sprightly frame (forever on my skis), my dark locks bouncing wildly on my shoulders, and a deep color that appeared vividly green caused a strike out I guess. The old cranes worried sick inquired, “how have you reached the Land of the handgun, home of the (Amburger, Ambbbuuurger, Hammburrgerrrr) Burger”? Get OUT of there asap, fly east and you will be guided. So, we set off across an incredible endless land mass till we reached the ocean. It was here that we were met by the Cigognes that flew with us wingtip to wingtip across a vast ocean till we saw land again (a vivid image of my last Swissair pilot comes to mind). Here, magically a crystal blue lake appeared out of nowhere and seemed to invite us in, the mountains on all sides seemed to be smiling and we landed smoothly, happily, knowing that we had landed on the lake my father so fondly remembered, we were on our way home. However, the shrill sounds of the reservoir, seemed to echo all the way across the oceans to this pristine lake. The Cigognes who were ever present and everywhere and saw all, shrank back into the shadows with their heads buried in their chests. A vision strangely familiar, one I had just experienced. The high priest in the inner chamber…my last email! I still wonder if it was my mind superimposing the image, perhaps, possibly!

See Kellog’s Fruit Loops below:

https://www.kelloggs.com/en_US/brands/froot-loops-consumer-brand.html

Hugs

Purnima

PS: 9/11, Privacy and The New Social Contract: As I continue on my exploration of human nature, I begin to recognize all the signs and see first hand how easily we relinquish all our layers of protection with each onslaught of fear mongering. Somehow this tussle between the all absorbing avaricious State with its looming shadow and the citizen ensnared beneath it all gets explained away with every alarm and emergency until we get to the inner sanctum, the inner temple, our sacred space, our core privacy, it is here that we need a roadblock for once that is relinquished we cease to exist as individuals. Is this Brave New World sans privacy portending a new social contract where for the sake of security we agree to relinquish our individuality and submit to being reduced to an agglomeration of data? If we cease to be, what then is the State? For as I mention repeatedly, The State is but a human construct and not an omnipresent being.

The Guardian – We need to build a new social contract for the digital age: https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2018/apr/04/we-need-to-build-a-new-social-contract-for-the-digital-age

Dear Roger,

This is the last and final story, I promise! And yes Back to Servitus and Geneva, Switzerland!

You have to hold my hand as I jump back and forth between Geneva 2009-10 and Geneva 1553: The trial of Servetus. The Spaniard whom I mentioned in my earlier emails was tried by the Genevan Council (under questionable issues of jurisdiction as it cannot be inferred that the crimes he was accused of were committed in the territory of Geneva and denied legal representation despite several requests), convicted of heresy and burned at the stake here in Champel.

Darkness seems to have fallen earlier than usual, the day seems abruptly curtailed. As I peer out with bewildered fascination from behind my sofa onto the main road in Champel I hear crowds stomping through the street carrying burning lamps above their heads, holding pitch forks and axes. Then I look again and see bundles of greenwood neatly tucked under their arms as they get ready for the burning at the stake of the blasphemous Servetus. However, the alarm has been sounded and Servetus is missing, so the crowds are scouring the streets searching for him, searching for me!

That is when one of the little kids sees a ponytail peeking out of the grand window of my living room and a familiar eye. He is heralded as a hero and I am clasped in chains and brought before the city council for my final verdict. This is when Farel comes onto the scene and says, “Purnima, all we are looking for is an admission”, “just say it”. In the original version, Farel requests Servetus to recant so that a less severe punishment might be imposed, but Servetus sticks to his ideals but begs for a more humane end and not that of the burning at the stake. But here, 500 years later, and to Purnima who so embraces the revolutionary essence of Servetus, Farel poses a different, yet similar question, and asks for a confession instead of a recantation. Farel says, “Purnima, all you need to do is just admit, for once just admit, that YOU ARE AN ALIEN”. “No, absolutely not”, I respond, and hold onto my position. Thus Farel sees no option for me but the burning at the stake and that too with GREEN WOOD…a slow painful death.

An Alien I am, an Alien from the murky and distant past where people still believed in the sanctity of ones innermost space, ones thoughts, ideas, views, beliefs. An Alien who still gasps as people laughing flaunt the oft repeated phrase that privacy does not exist. An Alien who does not believe that the human essence can be reduced to data, and refuses to be defined by the omnipresent and seemingly omnicient bits and bytes, even where they appear to be able to complete my sentences for they cannot complete me, substitute for me. And even as Farel stacks Green Wood around me, I retain my essence with all my books tied to my ankles and together we depart into ether.

As preparations are underway, I am overcome with grief and struggle to find my voice. Someone says, “she is trying to speak, say something”, and Farel once again turns around to me as I gather my tear chocked voice and ask for one last final wish. “So, you want a last wish”, he says, “sure, what is it, a phone call, a cigarette, a txt”? “No, no” I gasp, all I want is my …”what”, he says? “My, my, my…my lipstick”, I respond with my last breath. Yes, that’s all I asked for, that’s all I would have asked for as I envisioned my body floating up to the heavenly abode…how could I have met Him without any lipstick!?!

The following day of course I ran into Globus and ensured that I did not run out of Dior(D)rama for the next 500 years!

A final goodnight.

Purnima

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.

Purnima Viswanathan

Geneva Diaries #13

Goa and the Rickshaw driver, Madhubala in Manhattan, The Crane and The Magical Lake

12/24/09

Dear Roger,

Greetings from Glorious Goa! Sun, sand, surf and gooood smoke, a constant 30 degrees…it could not get better!

I absolutely have to bring u to my universe, this little Indo-Portugese haven on the west coast of India, even if it is for a brief visit.The food fresh out of the ocean, is spicy and just divine.The Goa prawn curry has your name written all over it! I find myself surrounded by palm trees swaying in the breeze, chilled out folks (many remnants of the hippy happy 60ties and 70ties), a landscape dotted with charming old whitewashed Indo-Portugese homes, silver sands, starfish, surreal sunsets, Goa trance, python crossings (yes, every time someone on zoom mentions python this is where my mind wanders) quaint churches with their distinctive Indo-Portugese art and architecture beaming me back in a flash to a corner of my living room in Geneva, a part of us, a part of India, with our own sculpture of St. Francis from these very shores that adores and adorns our home. Roger, you would just fall in love…the language, the food, the architecture, coloring every niche of these surroundings with the imprint of Vasco Da Gama’s famous adventure in search of India (while our buddy Columbus decided to take the “other” route, his famous shortcut to the Beach)…and a vivid reminder of not just having Arrived but so intrinsically having contributed to the Story of India…a saga that continues!

Vasco Da Gama’s Adventure in Search of India:https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vasco_da_Gama

See pics of Goa pasted below:

_{Goa Beach-photo by Purnima Viswanathan}

https://www.dropbox.com/sh/3p07tzxyfdpsq66/AAB0H51Avt4BO2zpbBe2U_j3a?dl=0

https://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/travel/destinations/chapora-fort/ss24872079.cms

I was thrilled to read that you enjoyed following my trail as I journeyed back to old Indian cinema and my reference to the Indian movie Mughal-e-Azam. I was even more excited to find that you loved Madhubala, and the youtube clip of the song Jab Pyar Kiya Toh Darna Kya. If you permit me, I would love to continue on this journey with you and perhaps through this introduce myself to your universe, a universe that just does not “Understand us” (Oh, how I love Jay-Z…he too speaks for me!).

If you remember, I shared a special moment, a glimpse of the all elusive “romance high” during my last trip to Manhattan. It was a stormy night, I was caught in a downpour clutching onto my precious Armani purchases on 5th avenue, when I saw a charming smile, a welcoming face that invited me to jump into the rickshaw with him. Yes, it was a rickshaw, and i was being driven down 5th avenue during a rainy stormy night by the most charming college student with twinkling bright blue eyes, a sexy foreign accent and a charming smile! I am not quite sure what it was that made me jump into that flimsy rickshaw and allow him to cycle me through maddening traffic down mid manhattan, but that is what we are all searching for isn’t it…that something special that cannot be explained? It was confirmed at every red light when he turned back to peer at me through the plastic sheet that separated us and continue telling me about himself and his life in Manhattan. See below exotic Indian eyes that peered through the plastic screen between two people from two different cultures that found themselves in a rickshaw drenched by a downpour in downtown Manhattan. Pasted below is a photo of a dear friend Neesha embracing my story and persona.

The Eyes that peered through the Screen from one culture to another-photo courtesy Neesha Singh

The smile the twinkle were irresistible! Fourteen blocks later, he deposited me outside my apartment, held out a large warm generous hand and helped me out of the rickshaw. I did not want to let go, and neither did he…but life is poignant and ironic and we said goodbye. He turned around as I did to look at me for the one last time, thinking of what it could have been…

You have to see me as Madhubala in Barsaat Ki Raat(the stormy/rainy night)! do check the youtube clip: Zindagi bhar nahin bhoolegi woh barsaat ki raat ek Anjan Hasina se Mulakat ki raat (I will never forget that one stormy night, meeting a charming stranger on that rainy stormy night – Barsaat ki Raat).

A classic from Indian Cinema – Barsaat ki Raat: https://youtu.be/drU9yX50g00

Of course, me being me, I could very easily have played the male poet part in the same movie!

will mail soon!

Hugs,

Purnima

PS: Check out this lovely little video clip on Goa below

12/28/09

Dear Purnima,

What a delight to awake to such a tantalizing evocation of a tropical paradise complements of Vasco Da Gamma. Those visions of palm trees swaying in a tropical breeze and quaint houses and churches sound like pure and unadulterated escapism for those of us who are surrounded by snow covered peaks, stormy, windy, sub-zero weather with the threat of snow on every weather forecast and tales of avalanche tragedies flooding the airwaves. I will dream all day long of the possibility of a flying carpet that could whisk me to the other side of the planet to partake of that enticing Goa prawn curry dish.

I just realized the danger of painting a too negative portrait of the climatic conditions in Geneva: you may not ever want to return !

I’ll definitely check out the other youtube clip.

You did write earlier about your rickshaw adventure through the streets of Manhattan, but not in quite such vivid detail. Do you understand fully the allure of your exotic beauty, of those deep and bewitching brown eyes, of the intelligence and wit that excite and attract rather than repel. It is no wonder that young rickshaw drivers and tapas masters fall under your spell.

I’m reading Murakami’s “South of the Border, West of the Sun” right now. It is a delightful and evocative first-person narrative of a young man who meets up again with his childhood friend and soul-mate after many years of flailing away in Japanese society looking for something that will bring him true happiness. It’s a more straight-forward narrative and far different from “Hard-Boiled Wonderland …” At one point in his life he is dating a young woman for whom he has a certain degree of affection, but not that something special, that je ne sais quoi that jumps out and grabs you when you least expect it (he likens it to listening to jazz. You go to clubs and listen to all kinds of music, some of which is rather mundane and unexciting, but you keep going back and spending countless hours listening because there is always the chance that you will be fortunate enough to enjoy one of those very special moments that sweep you of your feet – like a Keith Jarrett solo concert in Brussels). At one point in his relationship with the young woman – they haven’t even slept together – he meets her cousin. She is not a raving beauty, but she has that certain something about her that makes him aware that he just has to sleep with her, and he senses that the attraction is mutual. They soon embark on a purely sexual relationship of mad, passionate love-making. They scarcely exchange two words, but as soon as they meet on each of their assignations, they immediately tear each others clothes off and fall to the bed where they spend hours on end in fulfilling each others pent-up desires. They don’t love each other, but they have this overwhelming physical, almost mystical, attraction to each other. It reminded me of a delicious film I saw several years ago (I’ve forgotten the title), but it was about a man and a woman who met each Weds. afternoon in a London suburb where they made love. They knew absolutely nothing about each other and spoke very little, and the male character’s world is turned upside down when she fails to show up one Weds. afternoon.

Enjoy the beach and the warm, sunny weather. I’m terribly envious !

Tender hugs,

Roger

1/5/10

Dear Roger,

I never did manage to read Kafka on the Shore; there were far too many distractions on the Beach. Apart from the sun, sand and sea and Goan curry, there was the incredible Sunburn Festival, an annual three day music festival (a Rave on the beach) where we danced for hours non stop sandwiched by the “raving” crowds; a beautiful eternally flowing bar that spilled onto the beach right into our glasses; many, many indulgent massages with a view of the blue and an ideal idyllic New Years eve on the edge of the shore, with friends from what feels like a life in the past, around a little light, with music, a guitar and champagne. Excuses, excuses, excuses, I know But what wonderful excuses, just a book of my own!

Back to your story of Wednesdays and meeting a friend and soulmate, do I notice a hint of nostalgia, a connection from the past, a story of your own? I would love to get a first person account of that. I suspect there are many many books lurking, waiting to be discovered.

I am glad you enjoyed Madhubala in Manhattan. What other place in the world would you get the misty monsoons of Pondicherry mixing so beautifully with the Blues of the Urals… adding to the magic of 5th avenue. As we spoke, and he shared his story of a journey from a little village in the Urals to mad Manhattan (in that very foreign, very seductive accent), I felt that the little rickshaw had grown wings and flown high up into the sky somehow transporting me to a place in the Urals where he belonged. We seemed to have laughed, joked and toured the world returning 20 blocks downtown back in Manhattan. What a fabulous adventure, a story I will not forget. See below an artwork that captures the moment- Over the Town (Vitebsk) by Marc Chagall:

https://www.marcchagall.net/over-the-town.jsp

See below my friend Neesha as me in Indian dress flying over Manhattan in a magical chair. Nisha: https://youtu.be/tj7LHL8p2qw

Neesha Flying Over Manhattan in a Magical Chair – Photo courtesy Neesha Singh

But, talking about books, I have as always, picked up a bunch of books for the kids on Indian mythology, history, and ghost stories (to be read on a snowy night around the fireplace in Geneva) told by by Ruskin Bond an English author of British descent, born and raised in India, who best connects the pieces of my India, my past, the familiar names, the familiar places (Mussoorie, Simla and the hills), of chikoo (an incredible Indian fruit) orchards and Indian experiences, ironically, through whom I hope to introduce and connect these places and experiences to my children. In the midst of all this, I found lying in a stack the much searched for, Tintin in the Congo…a story begging to be told!

Ruskin Bond: https://www.famousauthors.org/ruskin-bond

https://www.thehindu.com/thread/reflections/my-bond-with-ruskin/article24724574.ece

Two more days and I will finally be packing and on my way back, but I have the incredible pilgrimage to share with you before then.

Will email soon.

Warm regards,

Purnima

Hi Roger,

Did you ever watch Avatar, the new age love story? I went with a bunch of friends but they just did not seem to connect. It looks like my generation or perhaps my group of friends, in their 30ties and 40ties have missed the boat!

I went to see the movie with absolutely no clue of what I was about to encounter, and even after seeing the movie it took me a day or two to fully assimilate it. It started as what seemed a hotch-potch of Jurassic park adventure and Sci-fi with the usual alien looking being suspended in amniotic fluid… I jumped to the usual conclusions and just switched off. It was somewhere midway through the film that I realized that we were witnessing a revolution in cinema, not just with the fantastic effects and technology but a storyline betting on a complete change in perception of the cinema viewer, or another type of cinema goer. This was not a sci-fi film, and certainly no jurassic park, but a warm touching love story. A much desired and much repeated theme in a new context. Here the hurdle between the lovers was not one of race, ethnicity or even species, but as I saw it, it was the unique and topical conflict of today, a conflict of realms and realities. The two existed in different realities, and in order for their love to be realized one had to give up his reality, this world and merge completely into hers. How often is this issue faced by the generation of today who spend so much of their time in the virtual world, who essentially are abandoning life in the world that you and I know to merge and live in another. What would be their dream but to design a perfect world, a perfect life and a perfect partner and subsist there for a while, for now or perhaps find a corridor as the hero did and subsist there for ever.

Do watch.

Hope to see you soon!

Purnima

Dear Purnima,

Sorry, I should have gotten back to you over the weekend, but we spent all day Sunday brainstorming about Japan (We’re going back again this spring for a month).

I haven’t seen Avatar yet. I did see the previews when we went to see Michael Moore’s latest film on Capitalism, and I must say that I wasn’t too impressed by the previews. I tend to avoid the big blockbuster films, especially those by James Cameron. It took me several years before I went to see Titanic, and I’ve always been fascinated by that story. I remember so clearly how moved I was when I saw the original black and white film about the sinking of the Titanic. I had dreams all that night about drowning. And I actually didn’t have any intention of going to see Avatar. However, when I read your analysis of the love thread in the plot and how it was necessary for the lovers to cross over into another realm, as opposed to simply another culture or ethnicity, to achieve total fulfillment in their love, I understood immediately why the film had so impressed you. It really does jive with our earlier conversations about moving back and forth between reality and a virtual world. OK, I’ll let you know when I’ve seen it and what my impressions are.

I may be coming to Geneva on Friday afternoon and would have time for coffee around 4:30. Is that too late for you ? I don’t know what time the kids get back from school. I’m dying to hear all your latest stories and adventures. If that works for you, where shall we meet ? I really like the café downstairs in the museum where we’ve gone before.

See you then, I hope,

Roger

Roger Stevenson

Michael Moore: Capitalism

https://youtu.be/LUpnFNUmfKw

Dear Purnima,

When I was a teenager, I was fascinated by a series of novels written by Edgar Rice Burroughs, the creator of Tarzan. He wrote several books that dealt with a secret and hidden world in the interior of the earth. If I remember correctly, they were called Tarzan in Pellucidar and Return to Pelucidar. I was really intrigued by the idea of a new and different realm that existed within the confines of the globe. He also did a whole series about space travel – John Carter on Mars – where the protagonist was able to transport himself to the planet Mars by the power of his thoughts and will. It was a fascinating series. I wonder if Avatar wasn’t a little bit inspired by the Pellucidar series ?

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pellucidar

Click to access Tarzan_Chron.pdf

Dear Roger,

It was also my parents 44th anniversary today and I unknowingly spent the day going through old photos especially those of their wedding. They were a beautiful couple, I can’t imagine what my mother has had to go through all these years without him around. He died at 48.

The photos also reminded me of him and his passion for birds and bird calls which I was forced to memorize and repeat(part of his general love for nature), and in particular his fascination with the Siberian Crane that used to visit India, and a sanctuary (Bharatpur Bird Sanctuary and Sultanpur) near home every winter. There was always the anxious anticipation, the scanning of news reports on the migration of the crane and the flurry of excitement when the first crane after its unbelievable long migratory flight from the icy tracks of Siberia came to winter in lush green India and touched down on Indian soil. I always compared this to the love my father had for my mother whom he jokingly called a Siberian,( and I continue to do so as you will realize when you experience a winter in her subzero bedroom). The black and white photos of my mother at the time of her marriage and especially one poised near the lake would lead anyone to believe that my fathers dream and desire took human form and came to live among us, had babies and now is slowly dying.

The Siberian Crane’s Journey to India: https://www.kolkatabirds.com/articles/siberiancraneindia.htmlhttps://www.kolkatabirds.com/articles/siberiancraneindia.html

I really do wish to share these memories and have attached a photo of the crane. Do you recognize her?

The Siberian Crane (mom looking v elegant in her saree) gazes longingly at The Magical Lake (Dal Lake Kashmir)

See you soon.

Purnima

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.

Purnima Viswanathan

Geneva Diaries #12

Big Macs – Geneva – Met Maya’s Dream , Tocqueville US Penitentiary System and Minors Kids Apps – Dire Straits

11/21/09

Dear Roger,

I have been yearning to write to you, but what do I write about this very grey, dull, uneventful week that “Flu”. Yes, multiple bouts for the kids and listless, unproductive, house arrest for me!

Unfortunately, this week that meant no more French classes for me. I had started to enjoy jumping up in the morning getting myself ready and organized bright and early, and scampering down through old town past Bourg de Four, where of course I paid my respects to Servetus, past the Palais de Justice, across the charming cobbled streets of Vielle Ville, often late for class and to the ringing of bells of the Cathedrale St. Pierre, down the hill to Rive carrying my little bag from the Met all the way to Ecole Migros.

Here is a little clip from youtube of a young girl walking around old town Geneva, it’s as close to home and me as it gets:

OLD TOWN GENEVA

As I clutched onto my Met bag, I felt I was not only skipping down the charming streets of old Geneva, but was adding part of another fabulous city, another exciting place, another favorite piece to this mix: The Metropolitan Museum of Art and New York! During my years in New York, I lived very close to the Met and find a trip back to NYC incomplete without a visit. On my last visit, I stumbled upon a wonderful sculpture placed at the end of the South Asian sculpture section, a magical Gandhara frieze (1st – 3rd AD) of Queen Maya’s Dream. This frieze depicted one of my favorite stories, the conception of the Buddha to be. In this story Queen Maya, who had been married for 20 years without a child, is often portrayed lying down attended by her maids while she has a vision, a dream. She dreams that she is visited by a white elephant that strikes her right side with his trunk and enters her womb resulting in the divine conception of prince Siddhartha who is to later become the Buddha. it is a beautiful story and a truly magical dream…a dream which I too dreamt as baby D came bouncing upon my lap. The only difference was that my story involved an exotic Japanese fantasy (much to tell…)!

The Metropolitan Museum of Art-The Dream of Queen Maya:

https://www.metmuseum.org/art/collection/search/38117

My picture of the Gandhara sculpture- Queen Maya’s Dream- Asian Art Museum San Francisco:

QUEEN MAYA’S DREAM – THE WHITE ELEPHANT- ASIAN ART MUSEUM SAN FRANCISCO-Photo by Purnima Viswanathan

Talking about D, this was his birthday week but since everyone was recovering from the flu, it was low key. We decided upon lunch and his much awaited skateboard. Whenever he has quizzed me (which he does repeatedly) about my favorite foods and places we should eat at, I have always responded with the standard: no fast food, no junk food, yucky this and that (a long list of his favorite places). My favorite food list extended to (not his first choice) sushi, barbecued eel, grilled meats, tofu and even foie gras. But this time, he with his usual persistent spirit, dug deeper and finally managed to crank open my deep dark closet… and there it was hidden in the far recesses, an act of complete denial…yes rolling and laughing with all its double patties and triple buns, dripping with mayo and with pickles sticking out of its teeth: a Big Mac! He came out into the daylight and said, ADMIT IT, ADMIT IT, I exist and YOU know me WELL. Now come on and take a big juicy bite. I guess 17 years is a long time and I have collected much of America, even unknown to me, in my closet. So exposed and embarrassed i quietly accompanied my son to Macdonalds on Rive (which looks like no Macdonalds outlet I have seen before, rather like a posh restaurant) and inhaled my Big Mac and fries in complete silence.

Hamburger – SFMOMA-Photo by Purnima Viswanathan

See Le Big Mac below:

LE BIG MAC

In this dull, dull, dull, grey weather, I have mulled over some issues, embraced some personas and counted down to my trip back to India!

Talking about America and personas, since we have covered sex in our last mail, shall we “Talk a While ” about the law? Yes, the person featured in the arts section of the newspaper that captivated me was Tocqueville and his journey to America in 1831. At first I looked at his photo and thought that the high collar and ruffled white shirt would look good on me as well, then I gazed at the mirror and thought that that particular determined look was naturally me. Of course his journey to America, his interest in prison reforms, his description of the system of Houses of refuge which were very effective for dealing with the issue of juvenile delinquents, and his keen insight I just lapped up and could not surf enough of. He and Beaumont had specifically journeyed to study the US penitentiary system, the new system in NY and Philadelphia, and its application to France. In fact, his research of the US penitentiary system apparently served as a model for many of the other evolving European penitentiary systems. This is an area I have thought about a lot, maybe we can chat about it one day over coffee and cake. But what is ironic, and what disturbs me, is despite being so ahead of the curve on a broad spectrum of legal matters and the penitentiary system(not excluding the fact that Tocqueville mentions a vibrant egalitarian democratic society, a first in the world of those times), today the headlines bleat “Imprisoning children: Sentencing children to life without the possibility of Parole”.

Yes, a reality of America today! The very fact that children, who are meant to be sheltered and protected by society and state, are subjected to such barbaric and unconscionable laws not only violates the eight amendment, prohibition against cruel and unusual punishment but also violates some core/universal human right (which all members of a civilized society should aspire to adhere to) by subjecting these vulnerable persons that are not only under the guardianship of their families but society and state but dependent upon them. For me, its alarming to see this issue come up repeatedly (where juveniles are repeatedly tried in adult courts and sentenced to adult jails). Its appalling to find that the judicial system does not appear to draw the pivotal distinction between child and adult, a point that should have been drilled into the cranium of the law makers if not by their law school professors then by the cultural and social conditioning that there are a set of laws for adults and one set of reformative rules for children under the age of 18. This particular article cites the case of a 13 year old boy sentenced to life without parole for a questionable sexual battery case, shocking, just shocking!

A child under 18 is generally under the guardianship of his family, society or the State. And, since often, these juveniles are either neglected, abandoned or abused, the onus of their welfare is even further upon the shoulders of society and state. How then, can this very society and state which should extend itself to protect these children, actually impose such unconscionable sentences upon them. Where is the onus/ liability of society/ state?

In fact, in many states (including California)in the case of domestic animals where a house-pet/dog causes harm or injury to another person, the owner is liable for the injury inflicted, even where the owner or one who has custody or control over the animal is not negligent. It’s a case of strict liability. If we (society) are able to craft and impose such strict rules in the case of guardians or owners of domestic animals, do you not think that society or the State must take on some of the liability or responsibility of injury caused by its wards? These are often neglected and vulnerable children, the idea of using authority and power to subject these very dependent vulnerable souls to terms of life seems downright criminal. Bottom line, there are rules for children and there are rules for adults and since the children are under our guardianship till they attain adulthood, we have to ensure that the laws that govern them help to further ensure their safety and protection. I have felt very passionately about this subject for a while, What do u think?

Now finally my computer has spoken (in its sonic spaceship voice) that its 3 AM and I must not trouble u any further. So, good night and sweet dreams (of white elephants and Big Macs)!

Purnima

11/21/09

Dear Purnima,

What a delight to discover yet another wonderfully poetic and stirring treatise from you so early in the morning. I don’t have time to write much right now, as we are leaving in about 30 minutes for our 4 ½ hour jaunt to the Ardeche.

Dreams about white elephants sound enchanting, but I can’t say the same about Big Macs. I loved your evocation of the recesses of your mind and the juicy, dripping with mayo monstrosity lurking there. It’s amazing at times what we must suffer to make our kids happy.

And staying up until 3 am ! But you appear to be all the more eloquent during those twilight moments after the bewitching hour.

« In this dull, dull, dull, grey weather, I have mulled over some issues, embraced some personas and counted down to my trip back to India! »

Could this by chance be part of your TOP SECRET disclosure ?

Can’t wait to see you on Tuesday. I can actually be there shortly after 12 :00, if that would also work for you.

Happy Sunday. Hope you got a bit of sleep.

Roger

Dear Purnima,

Hope you are ok and that you had a good weekend and found a better place to sleep ! ! !

It’s appears that winter has reared its ugly head already. I’m ready to head for Spain again and you’re probably feeling the same about leaving for India. I hope we can at least have coffee before you leave.

Take care of yourself,

Roger

Do you know this newspaper in India? A rather interesting article about it in Le Monde

11/30/09

Dear Roger,

It’s good to hear from you after a very difficult week. Perhaps its the lack of sun, perhaps its November…BUT in all probability its the same old story that refuses to end! Just trying to keep myself together till I get home.

Thank you for forwarding the article, but gosh, how do you expect me to read this after just two months of Ecole Migros! I know you gave me a fabulous foundation in French to build upon, BUT STILL… this is too much. You are serving a crane a tempting meal on a flat dish, how could u!!

See Panchatantra tale below (with a parallel in the Aesop’s Fables):

PANCHATANTRA – THE FOX AND THE CRANE

PANCHATANTRA

And there is more…

Dear Roger,

Interesting site, thank you for the intro. I have pasted below an article that might interest you. Once again, a journey to a place where the core rights that form the basis of our legal system and civilized society which are challenged in times of crisis: Right to Privacy. I would love your thoughts on the subject, hope the dessert is not served in too tall a glass!

https://www.aajtak.in/india/news/story/500-people-groups-write-to-cji-nv-ramana-seeking-intervention-in-pegasus-snooping-matter-ntc-1300155-2021-07-29

Touché

Dear Purnima,

How cleverly wicked you are! The glass was so deep that I could hardly see the bottom of it, let alone savour the contents. Are you suggesting that we both owe each other a translation?

Although the text is in French, a language that you read very well, the pictures themselves are what is interesting in the attached photomontage.

http://www.lepost.fr/article/2009/11/09/1782478_sarkozy-n-etait-pas-a-berlin-il-etait-partout-ailleurs.html#xtor=RSS-30

Bisous,

Roger

Envoyé : mercredi 24 février 2010

Objet : The New Age Mantra: Hardware for Nothing and Apps for Free! Dire

Straits – Money For Nothing

The New Age Mantra: Hardware for Nothing and Apps for Free! Dire Straits – Money For Nothing

Dear Roger

We are enjoying Crans Montana it’s sunshine wonderful slopes and

magnificent vistas but miss your company this morning as I sip my

chai and await for “the lazies” to alight. T turned ten yesterday,

a Big one, double digits now u know.

In order to get a breather I have allowed all gadgets on board,

iPhones, PSP’s, DVDs and with this deluge of applications and software I

have discovered a whole new dynamics, a new age and fast evolving

system of economics that is going to leave attorneys and institutions

befuddled. The young ones preteens and teens are being wholly DBS

completely sucked into the virtual area, the free apps invite them to

play and with each level and intensity of participation they are able

to redeem their virtual efforts/ virtual money with benefits from the

real world like songs and games and god knows what! How does one

follow this revenue trail, where is this effort generated to be

attributed accumulated and taxed! Hahaha( or hohoho and a bottle…)

have we finally found a way to outwit the establishment?!?

I would like to share this one clip, a part of my youth in a land far

far away, which was a part of the cookie that led the way our way to

u, to Kalifornia!

Check out this video on YouTube: Dire Straits – Money For Nothing

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6wSWSrA5A2Q&feature=youtube_gdata

DIRE STRAITS – MONEY FOR NOTHING

See u soon

PURNIMA

LETTER #12B- WHO WE BE – TOCQUEVILLE – ANARKALI – BIRBAL

22/11/09

Dear Roger,

This visit to India has reminded me of Tocqueville’s epic Journey to America which he undertook with Beaumont in 1831 to study the prison systems in America. This particular excerpt from a letter upon his reaching Montreal on August 23rd, 1831, struck a particular cord within me which I wished to share:

“I am astonished that this country is so unknown is France. Not six months ago I believed, with every one else, that Canada had become completely English. In my mind had always stuck the returns of 1763, which gave the French population as only 60,000 persons of French descent. I tell you that you can’t dispute them their origin. They are as French as you and I. They even resemble us more closely than the Americans of the United States resemble the English. I can’t express to you what pleasure we felt on finding ourselves in the midst of this population. We felt as if we were home, and everywhere we were received like compatriots, children of old France, as they say here. To my mind the epithet is badly chosen. Old France is in Canada; the new is with us. …”

Roger, I get a similar sense, that there is something unique, something universal about expatriate communities, they somehow cling and hold onto the customs and traditions of their people at the time of embarking upon their journey and pass on this piece of cultural knowledge to their children, somehow frozen in time, just so that there be some cultural connection, some continuity. This is a particularly prevalent phenomenon of the vast Indian (south asian) diaspora that has found itself everywhere from the coasts of Africa, across the US and to the remotest islands in the last couple of hundred years. And, this group, this diaspora has fervently held onto its food, dress, culture and customs regardless of the generations or thousands of miles separating the group from its ancestral lands, customs and habitat. Thus, similar to Tocqueville, if I were to visit any of these communities, and there are many even within the US, I would have a similar elated reaction to find my own people so far away from home, but realizing at the same time that they are a people whose ancestors came from India, and even though I am from the “Old country”, I would have to mirror Tocqueville and say, Old India is in America, the new is with us!

And all this I realized from myself, and my this trip back home, to India. I find I myself am stuck in time, clinging and grasping onto everything Indian. Trying to inhale the culture (and tons of dust particles), the food, the sounds and smells and transfer all this excitement to the kids…(if you heard their reaction, in their Yankee accents, at my every gasp of reminiscence, this would be a comedy series). But back to Tocqueville, what a truly astute observation, which applies with equal relevance today!

So, in order to fully immerse myself back into my home, my culture, i decided to spend every moment i had to spare (and I have had many as I have been sick sick sick), watching old Indian movies and some new ones. Since we were on the subject of the pomegranate last, I decided that the most appropriate movie would be the one about the legendary Anarkali (Anar is Persian for pomegranate and Kali is flower, pomegranate-flower). The tragic love story of Anarkali, a court dancer, with prince Salim, son of the great Mughal ruler Akbar which is beautifully picturized in the old epic film Mughal-e-Azam. The Mughals as you know were were a formidable tribe from central Asia which brought Bengal to Baluchistan and Kashmir to Kaveri under one administration: Babar, who was descended from both Tamerlane and Ghenghiz Khan invaded India(by invitation from the Lodi court), and established the Mughal empire in India. Through the Mughals there was an intermingling of Persian, Central Asian and Indian culture resulting in a vibrant expression of art, literature, architecture, customs, traditions, dress, food and language that was uniquely Mughal, uniquely Indian. This film made almost 60 years ago. This time and this much beloved love story is of a court dancer who falls in love with the crown prince who desires to make her his queen, she is buried alive for such a transgression. Anarkali is played by Madhubala, the epitome of Indian beauty, the one image every woman from my world desires to emulate as i did when i was growing up and especially saw myself as her in this particular song (Jab Pyar Kiya To Darna Kya – youtube), do check it out. Anarkali was from Lahore, the ancestral home of my maternal family. Yes, they settled for many millennia in the rich river fed plains of the Punjab not far from the shadows of the Shimshal WhiteHorn many universes away from its alpine namesake Weisshorn in whose shadows we find ourselves today (a part of the Ice Mommy Tale).

Trailer of the movie Mughal-e-Azam

https://youtu.be/j2av8NBncSo

BOLLYWOOD CLASSIC – MUGHAL-E-AZAM

Anarkali’s Tomb Lahore:

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tomb_of_Anarkali

Since we are on the story of the Mughals, I must introduce you to Birbal, one of emperor Akbars nine gems (or Navaratnas in Sanskrit). He was renowned for his wisdom and wit and this collection of stories reflecting his escapades where he has to balance the truth and justice with managing the ego of the emperor form a corpus of the much beloved Indian children’s stories. My favorite one is of the “Khichidi”, a gruel of rice and lentils. Here, through this tale, Birbal conveys his message to the emperor of the emperors error and injustice not in words but in a small theatrical production (as words might mean his loosing his head) and succeeds in not only conveying his point but also is able to secure a reward for the wronged party (the best advocate). This is something our 9 and 90year olds would enjoy.

Akbar and Birbal -The Tale of the Kichdi

BIRBAL TALES

Back to the Anar, or pomegranate, a fascinating fruit, (a fascination heightened by my personal connection/consumption, as mentioned in my last mail which led me to this journey), which I found is represented in various cultures of the world. However, this fruits origins lie in Persia and the Himalayas from where it journeyed to Egypt and held an important position in the homes and the lives of the Pharaohs depicted in wall murals of the burial chambers, sculpture and artifacts as it symbolized life after death, apparently king Tut took it into the after life with him. Greek culture from the ancient times to the modern is replete with its representations. The previously mentioned myth of Persephone and Hades found in red and black pottery, wall murals, mosaics sculpture and art in every form has some representation of the pomegranate. The Zoroastrians, Pre-arabicized Persians (the ones that reached the shores of India many hundreds of years before the Mughals), regard the pomegranate as a symbol of fertility and eternal life. The pomegranate is found widely represented in India and especially in Mughal art in all its forms, miniature paintings, sculpture, inlays and carvings and of course in jewelry, textiles and adornments which are worn and used in India today. And, Roger, since the story of this fruit is so intertwined with my culture, I took it with me to California and covered my Thanksgiving table with this fruit that signifies abundance and prosperity in my culture so that I might lend a piece of myself and my origins, my roots to our table.

Of course, as we know it was not to be…Anarkali, the beautiful red pomegranate blossom was converted to Anar-Kali, the fierce and formidable form of devi as mentioned earlier, wearing a garland of skulls, the devourer of demons! Thus in fantasy, I find I am unable to retain my petite feminine form, the masculine fits best whether it be Ekalavya’s sacrifice of his thumb for sage Drona so that his student Arjuna be forever the best marksmen archer, or Tocqueville with his keen eye intellect and curiosity Journeying to America. All I know is that the great sages of the Vedic pantheon stand above me (shaken from their meditations from the rumor of the pomegranate – High Treason – one that compels reality to merge into myth) chanting verses from our ancient and most sacred text the Rig Veda and I suspect disguised in a long white beard Oppenheimer stands among them…

Hope to hear from you soon.

Good night!

Purnima

Dear Purnima,

Ah, dear old de Tocqueville. He was amazingly perceptive in his analysis of American democracy and how America differed from Europe. And his analyses remain really quite relevant today. For one, he pointed out that Americans were singularly interested in amassing vast fortunes through hard work and individualism. It would certainly appear that, at least for a certain element of the ruling elite in the United States, getting rich by any means whatever is the primary directive in the game of global Monopoly.

But all of that is quite apart from your own particular observation about expat communities and their retention of cultural norms and traditions from the “homeland”. That was certainly the case for the first and part of the second generation of my Scandinavian ancestors who migrated to the States. They retained, as a means of holding on to that which they had left behind, a lot of the culinary and dress codes. But in many expat groups, the younger generations often find such collective demonstrations of who they really are quaint and even embarrassing because they single themselves out as being different from those they have chosen to live among. My grandparents didn’t ever teach my mother to speak Danish because they wanted her to blend in with the rest of the American children. And that is true of many immigrant groups. I wonder if those ethnic groups with very strong ties to their countries of origins and who have managed to impose stringent patterns of behaviour based on some kind of religious or mythological credos are not able to bond more closely the upcoming generations to the old cultural values. Is that what is happening to you right now in India, or is it a reaction to having spent the past year in Switzerland trying to adapt to life among the Protestant fence builders who would much prefer that even the rabble from Annemasse – just across the border – remain away ? We certainly don’t want anything as radical in our little paradise of a country as mosques and minarets.

I’m sorry you have been so sick. I hope that you soon feel better. The only positive thing about being sick is that you have time to read, watch old movies and think ! I loved your references, once again, to pomegranates and the fascinating, gyrating swirls of mythological patterns you are able to weave through your emails. Are you sure you have never red Tom Robbins ? (I really must get you a copy of “Even Cowgirls get the Blues”). I must admit to my near total ignorance of Indian cinema. I did check out Madhubala on youtube, and you are right. She is a stunning beauty). You’ll have to throw some more titles at me.

The cold snap and snow that hit Europe last week (minus 10 in Geneva on Saturday) have given way to much warmer temps and rain. It is a bit more comfortable now, but I must admit that I really liked the snow and the crispness of the cold. It really felt like winter and Christmas, but now it will be a green Christmas.

Tomorrow is decorate the house and Christmas tree day and begin to make some of the many dishes that will make up our annual Christmas feast. It’s truly a multi-cultural event with a melange of French, Danish and American food and customs. I guess you are right. Even I, a fourth generation Dane, still love to have the traditional Danish rice pudding dessert on Christmas Eve and put real candles and other Danish ornaments on the Christmas tree.

I hope you get well soon and have a wonderful Christmas. How widespread is Christmas celebrated in India ? There aren’t that many Christians.

More very soon. I’ve got some more Murakami sexual delights to share with you.

Love,

Roger

Jan 6, 2010, 1:31 PM

Dear Roger,

On this one day of respite in a month-long head spinning hectic swirl of activity, I find myself sitting down with a paper and pen trying to recap the adventures and experiences of the last three weeks. But before i can proceed any further and put pen to paper, I must fully respond to your last email and add to all that is so often left unsaid about expatriate communities and their experiences…as I am undergoing these experiences currently and in REAL LIFE.

I find, that the struggle of expatriate communities does somewhere boil down to the issue of identity and how the world perceives you, The one thing I have noticed across the globe is the unique impact of cinema in the moulding of this identity, and I wonder if we actually in someway mould ourselves to the images that cinema projects of us. This i have discovered is a special phenomenon in the Indian expatriate communities, where the first generation tries to introduce themselves, their background and culture to the young ones growing up in a world very different to the one they left behind, which is when they discover that Indian cinema is the one platform of universal appeal drawing bridges between the (old world boring) first generation and the (assimilated Americanized) next.

I grew up in an environment where there was very little television (unless you wanted to know the morphology of bugs that were infesting the wheat crop) and that too in black and white. We watched Indian films on Sundays to generally find peculiar characters we could mime and mimic. However, the world of cinema (in fact the entire audio visual world ) has jumped aboard Starship Enterprise (the sole highlight of our televised youth) and entered into another dimension! Have you seen Avatar???

The impact of cinema is so all pervasive, I find, whenever i mention that I am Indian, I have taxi drivers in Las Vegas of Ethiopian descent breaking out in a jig shouting Mother India, Mother India (one of the oldie goldies of Indian cinema) and entertaining me through my trip by singing songs from Raj Kapoors movies. An immediate connection develops, a sense of knowing and belonging a camaraderie. New York taxi drivers (coming from south, south-east, central Asia ) of course, have historically excused taxi fares upon finding Madhubala (you have to have some of the look, some of the tragedy, some of the charm) in the back seat. Then of course there is the delightful Eritrean at my favorite store in Geneva who knows me well as I try out yet another coat that I am unable to afford and she graciously indulges me as she hums the tune from Haathi Mere Saathi. Yes, the direct translation of Haathi Meera Saathi is Elephant my Companion, an superhit of the seventies starring Rajesh Khanna, the superstar of the seventies and my mothers heart throb as Rock Hudson was my grand mothers heart throb (she is still in denial about his death). Elephant, My Companion is NOT a movie about your spouse as it might appear to your ears, but a charming film that captures the essence of a time when I was growing up in India.

Haathi mere Saathi – Chal chal mere saathi

BOLLYWOOD – HATHI MERE SAATHI – ELEPHANT MY COMPANION

As a person of Indian origin, wherever i travel, all the way from Las Vegas to Geneva across northern Africa and south east Asia to the Fiji islands, Indian cinema seems to be painting my people, my world (a world I left behind)and creating connectivity. My personal connection somehow did peter off at Haathi mera Saathi, as I left India many eons ago. But, today I feel, that I must stay in touch I must put my children in touch, reconnect, ironically with the very medium I grew up ridiculing. A medium that forms the most direct connection with persons in the most remote corners of the globe and for nomads like us, that moved from continent to continent, this form a core of our identity.

Roger, surprisingly, while I was in California, I found this identity recognized by extra terrestrials…yes, from those across the borders, and received a barrage of telepathy telling me that in the Americas, yes, in the Americas there existed a replica of me, a unique expatriate community that reflected both my northern and southern heritage, both Punjab and Pondicherry…Toronto was calling Tocqueville!

Perhaps one day I will visit…

But today, is a day to mull and so you might hear from me again before sundown.

Hugs,

Purnima

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.

Purnima Viswanathan

Geneva Diaries # 8

Arundhati Roy, France, US, Sex, Kamasutra, Khajuraho, Tale of Genji, Catalan Cutie

10/16/09

On Fri, Nov 6, 2009, Roger Stevenson wrote:

Dear Purnima,

What a fantastic email, and no, I am not overdoing it when I say that you have many of the same traces of brilliance in your writing as does Arundhati Roy. While there might not be so many parallels in your respective personas, both of you leave me gasping for air. Indeed, Le Mole, the mountain that sticks up in the middle of the autoroute as you drive towards Chamonix, is right next to Saint Pierre. It is an extinct volcano with an interesting shaped crater on the opposite side, but it is beautiful with its mantle of white. I always gets excited for the ski season to begin when that first snow fall appears. I’m so glad you liked Murakami. I agree that he is one of the most interesting and bewitching writers I have encountered lately, and I love his eerie otherworldness that suggests there is another realm lurking behind everyday reality. I thought that he might appeal to you. and all those questions he has triggered in you ! I was intrigued by your statement that “…all u need for sex is mind” (I would have added an exclamation point or two). Is it really all in our heads ? Are there not different kinds of sex, and what role does love itself play in it all ? (Interesting to learn that we share something else in common – our favorite subject) It was so refreshing in Norwegian Wood, the first Murakami book I read, that he treated sex as a very important and vital aspect of life and not as the taboo subject that many societies categorize it as. He was very matter of fact about the sexual fantasies and practises of his main character, and the novel ends with a totally unexpected night of lovemaking between two characters that had had no previous physical connection or attraction. It’s hard to explain without telling the whole story of the novel, but it was such a perfect way to end things. The next Murakami novel that we must both read is Kafka on the Shore. I’ll find it for you as a post-birthday present. So much more to say and tell, but time is short tonight. Can’t wait to hear the tale of the matador and the Tapas bar. I have a French lesson in Geneva next Friday that finishes around 11:30. How does lunch sound ? Have a good weekend. I’ll think of you while we are enjoying the sun and warm weather of Tenerife.

Bisous,

Roger

De : purnima

Envoyé : jeudi 5 novembre2009

À : Roger Stevenson

Objet : Yes, Home Again to powdered peaks and peppermint waters and Murakami’s Hard Boiled Wonderland andThe End of the World!

Dear Roger,

Do you see the magnificent vistas that surround us, the first snowfall of winter dusting the Jura and the Alps which rise like snow cones in the distance, crisp cool air, and of course glistening Lake Geneva… absolutely exhilarating! I have so much to write about, to share with you, that I am unsure where to start. I did finish the book you gifted me for my birthday, but it was only upon reaching home and being confined at home because of the flu. All I can say in one short sentence, is that Murakami is absolutely brilliant! His words transport you to a bizarre multidimensional world where you become one with the animation. It’s fabulous and very current. It was so gripping reading the book, that I started getting an eerie feeling that in fact that I was being read! I connected with him and his style completely and could easily see myself in his coat, a body double, especially, as I found dotted throughout the book his many references to: The Morning Newspaper, Sex, Doors and DuranDuran! I know you have often mentioned Arundhati Roy and I have been absolutely flattered by the suggestion that I in any way remind you of her (more so after reading this superbly written article). However, I cannot permit you to elevate me to her super cerebral level, we don’t share much in persona other than as fervent female idealists perhaps. Unbind me! Roger, you must see that I speak in the tone of Juno (the movie) a naive mother of twins, who ten years and many adventures later stumbles upon a puzzling professor (The Wizard of Ashland). The Wizard then takes it upon himself to fill in the gaps: her education, her pronunciation, her non existent punctuation (of course an introduction to the world of magic: French)!

Back to Murakami and his journeys to the subconscious, It was incredible to find someone as obsessed with their morning newspaper, in fact most timeframes in the book were bench marked to the delivery of the morning paper. For me, my morning is incomplete without my tea and paper, sometimes I cheat myself and cast a cursory glance at the front page pretending my morning is complete.The last cursory glance yelled out “Azadi”, this was just as I was about to dash out of the front door to attend my French lessons. Well, that certainly made me backtrack, and pick up the paper to relook at something from home for the word azadi, means freedom in hindustani. But, this was an article about a place called Azadi Square in Aye-Ran! Yes, “azadi” was an Aye-Rain-Nean word, Farsi of course. But this word is so intrinsically a part of me, my mind and my subconscious…what is it doing all the way in Aye-Ran I pondered…

Sex: My favorite subject and Murakami can’t seem to turn the chapter without a healthy reference to the same! In fact, I have at all times TheTale of Genji, a fabulous literary work, and ancient Japanese tale written in the 11th century by an aristocratic woman: Murasaki Shikibu. Yes, a woman who so perfectly took upon the persona of a medieval Japanese aristocratic man, exploring his world and so realistically expressing his experience, writing perhaps the world’s first novel (which reminds me of another ancient great novel, another long tale which must be told: Kadambari by Banabhatta.

The Tale of Genji revolves around the amorous exploits of Genji, the son of the Emperor, his passions, alliances and love affairs. Genji never misses an opportunity to experience and explore his passions. Similarly, by having this book, The Tale of Genji, forever open on my bedside, I hope to find some thing in my environment that excites me, entertains me and compels me to express bringing out my finest feelings and deepest emotions fully embracing the Genji in me! Roger, I don’t know how I would write without the exclamation point, are there any bypasses? Help(!) Of course, there is the tale of the Matador and the Tapas Bar... for another day (no exclamation point).

Back to the book, Murakami says that without mind there can be no love, no feelings, just rituals and motion of life, and since we are still under the topic of Sex, I believe that all u need for sex is mind(no exclamation point ouch). In this book he is trapped (separated from his shadow who retains all his memories and who is slowly dying) in the seemingly perfect walled town(a part of his subconscious) where no one hurts or harms anyone, where there are no needs or wants. A land devoid of mind and all the ill will and conflict within it. However, there is an escape, a whirlpool, a passage back to the world of the author. Another instance of he walled town (the idea seems to resonate through popular media) reminds me of our favorite movie, Wall-E, where humans escape earth on a giant cruise (space) ship where every need and desire is catered to, every sense stimulated while lying laterally… humans degenerating into CyberJell-Os. A reality not so far, where mega corps control your mind, your life and all your desires leading us towards a mindless map like the walled town. Could we relinquish it all so easily, realistically? Or, as Murakami obliquely mentions in his book, would some other channels form, a spark from within the self jolting, drawing us back to the ultimate goal of the soul/self, leaving us much to think about. So in the book, the author is posed with the following choices: Does he stay in the walled town (relinquishing his mind) with the woman he loves who is without mind and cannot love him back. Does he leave with his shadow by jumping in to the whirlpool thereby regaining his old life and self. Let his shadow jump into the whirlpool leaving him without memories and banishment to the woods (perhaps with his love).

Questions: What is the price for freedom as the mind represents freedom? Would you relinquish your freedom for the one you love and live in eternal mindlessness? Would you relinquish your freedom for duty and bind yourself within the old town in the mindless inner recesses of your subconscious? Is there a point where you may relinquish this duty and jump into the whirlpool? Are there circumstances under which there are absolutely no options?

As you can see I still stay back in the walled town resigned to mindless eternity.

Goodnight,

Purnima

PS: Find link to my abs fav book Arundhati Roy’s The God of Small Things:https://www.theguardian.com/books/2010/apr/15/god-of-small-things-arundhati-roy

Dear Roger,

Yet another day under house arrest as the flu season has hit with a bang…”Thing 1″ is sniffling under the covers and I find myself, once again, home alone with the Cat in the Hat!

Upon revisiting your letters, I have found that many fascinating questions lie suspended and spaces unexplored, like SEX! So, let’s talk about it…

I was intrigued by your statement that “…all u need for sex is mind” (I would have added an exclamation point or two). Is it really all in our heads ? Are there not different kinds of sex, and what role does love itself play in it all ? (Interesting to learn that we share something else in common – our favorite subject)

The statement “all you need for sex is mind”, or as it was told to me, “it’s all in the mind”, words I cannot honestly claim and must correctly attribute to one of my fabulous female friends who owes humanity an encyclopedia on the subject. Yes, our very own modern day Vatsyayana, the Indian philosopher that lived during Gupta period, 4 century AD, and is known for authoring the Kama Sutra, the bible on eroticism. https://www.independent.co.uk/arts-entertainment/books/features/kama-sutra-sex-hindu-erotica-new-edition-translation-a8386366.html

Vatsyayana, returned in the most exotic female form to whisper these words in my ears as she saw me determined to embark upon this incredible journey of self exploration, anticipating the great CRASH ahead, “Of course there are many other FFF fixated on SIZE…and swear that that is what its all about; how little do they know, how far they have to go…!”

On the subject of eroticism, do you know that the erotic sculptures carved on the facades of the magnificent temples in Khajuraho, in central India almost a thousand years ago commissioned by the Chandella Rajput kings, depicting all forms of passion and intimacy, were reputed to have been sculpted by and possibly for the education of the “Bramacharis”. Brahmacharis are young men during the initial stage of life as specified according to Vedic tradition, who live in a hermitage and absorb themselves in education leading a celibate life. This is the stage before they re-enter into the world of the “Householder” where they marry and procreate. From what i was told, the very fact that these young boys were so deprived of female relationships, the sculptures they sculpted and the forms it took were voluptuous and exaggerated, reflecting in the female form the epitome of desire. Their hands carved the fantasies they could only visualize and had not yet experienced (similarly, have we not seen many authors of what was considered at that time seductive and erotic works in literature who themselves led a very staid and puritan life). The Brahmacharis were certainly exposed to these sculptures as a way to introduce them back into the world so they may fulfill the very important social role of householder. In fact, I just read something that cannot be put into better words about these sculptures of Khajuraho which I would like to share with you:

If the temples of Khajuraho can be said to have a theme, it is woman. A celebration of woman and her myriad moods and facets. Writing letters… applying kohl to her eyes… dancing with joyous abandon… playing with her child. Woman – innocent, coquettish, smiling – infinitely seductive, infinitely beautiful.

Warrants a visit for sure, shall we?

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kama_Sutra

Everything you need to know about Vatsyayana’s Kamasutra | Women in the Kamasutra (in Hindi see my English translation below):https://youtu.be/6meMpL6wMio

See my cursory English translation of the above-posted video below:

https://www.dropbox.com/sh/8ttserd79qoi2cy/AAC2I4ksob0PNNUBwQZW8dR9a?dl=0

Kamasutra audio 1

Kamasutra audio 2

Kamasutra audio 3

Kamasutra audio 4

Kamasutra audio 5

On the surrealists, I encountered references to your friend Andre Breton, all over Barcelona (if I have I told you how much I love that city, I could not have told you enough!). I need an introduction…please. The Miro museum was fascinating as usual, my second visit. But this time it was like rediscovering a whole new world. It seems like every visit unfolds something else, something new. This visit, I stumbled upon “The lion”, essentially a single black squiggly line over a brown paper canvas portraying a lion encaged in a circus. The only difference was that there were scratch marks on the canvas which added the multi dimensional multi sensory aspect to this incredible piece of art. With the scratches, you actually heard the lion attempting to burst out of the canvas. I think with this Miro took art to another level…engaging not just the visual but stimulating all the senses at once. Surreal for sure!

Miro Museum: Foundacio Miro, Barcelona: https://www.fmirobcn.org/en/foundation/

I also found a lot of Miro’s brilliant works remained blanked out, incomprehensible, where the title has no relevance to the art itself…much too much for my mind to encompass. Yes, unreachable, waiting for another time, an accumulation of experiences, before the doors unfold and the art unravels. See below a charming animation of Miro’s work.

The Matador and the Tapas Bar: Barcelona, with its bustling life, wide boulevards and Art, Food, Art for Food can be quite a heady experience! The best meal yet was at a famous Tapas Bar in the Born district. The restaurant was a bar table with everyone seated side by side and the cute cooks opposite us whipping up one fabulous tapas after another. We also had the next seating, our line of spectators standing directly behind us drooling over the dishes, both the cooked and live ones! Yes, the cooks were gorgeous Spaniards! The one serving us was like a matador with a narrow waist tied in red cloth and a charming smile. His brisk movements from one end of the table to the other, from one plateful to the next, juggling multiple demands of the hordes lined with their hungry heads towards him and the deftness with which he charmed and fed everyones appetite was a spectacle worth the wait! On our end, he was completely oblivious of the ogre seated at the other end, and proceeded to show me how to eat the tapas with my hands without removing his eyes from my face. I was hot, I was red, I was embarrassed by the flattering attention. He then offered me the first clam open with its juices and watched me eat it, he proceeded to do the same with the mussel dish…I had turned crimson by this point. So, I looked up and said politely “Thank you, that was delicious”. He held my gaze for a full minute before responding “YES”. Absolutely MIND BLOWING!!! Talking about mind, I have not been so turned ON for a long long long time. That man had certainly mastered the art of making love in the kitchen!

One Catalan for me please!

A Tapas Bar in Barcelona below (missing the best dish- a Catalan cutie):

Now let’s journey to the exact opposite place: I found the most curious signs adorning the handles of all our hotels in Spain which read “No Molestar” instead of the normal “Do Not Disturb”. No Molestar, are you serious! That is like an open invitation to molest. Its like a little voice saying ” in case it has not crossed your mind yet, let me suggest it… I have this sign hanging which says don’t molest”… any ideas wink wink! I absolutely refused to have that sign outside my hotel room but desperately wanted to carry it back as a memento.

Journeying around Europe has been quite an experience, between the “No Molestar” signs in Spain and the road signs that dot the autoroute in Germany which periodically say XXX”Farhts”, yes sounds like “Farts” indicating that you may exit (exit what???) . No one believes me, but the lady at the hotel we stayed in in Germany said “Goodbye” and “Have a good(ten) Fart(en)”, equivalent of have a good day, as we left the hotel. I was so chocked with laughter that I could not respond. Of course, I was ticked off by the ogre for being a brat kid as usual.

But, the “No Molestar” sign would have been very handy here in Geneva. As you know, I have had a bad knee problem but have been very hesitant to go for physio in Geneva. The last time I visited a physiotherapist, he set me up with his apprentice. I found myself on a bench with only my underclothes on and in walks a large obnoxious guy from Southern Cal who would have passed as a rogue football player. The rogue proceeds to stare and chat instead of working on my legs and getting me back on the slopes! Of course, after the appointment (I still cannot fathom what that was about), he tells the giggling nurse “Mal a tete”, yes, that I’m nuts! It’s for occasions like these that I need that “No Molestar” sign placed squarely on my chest with a skull and bones sign overlapping it!

So, I’m still hobbling but Megeve is not too far!

Hope to see you soon!

See attached Barcelona Adventures with my ski buddy girlfriend:

https://www.dropbox.com/sh/9osou5j1ko1jxcv/AAAl4rnZTLi6fCmOl0BHh2h8a?dl=0

Cava in Barcelona Museu Picasso-Photo by Purnima Viswanathan

Plaza Real Barcelona-Photo by Purnima Viswanathan

Museu Picasso Barcelona-Photo by Purnima Viswanathan

Purnima in Barcelona-Photo by purnima Viswanathan

Barcelona Street View-Photo by purnima Viswanathan

Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia Barcelona-Photo by Purnima Viswanathan

Stained Glass Windows – Casa Batllo Barcelona-Photo by Purnima Viswanathan

Gaudi’s Casa Battle Barcelona-Photo by Purnima Viswanathan

Barcelona Bar Scene-Photo by Purnima Viswanathan

Casa Battle Barcelona-Photo by Purnima Viswanathan

Dear Purnima,

What a tantalizing treatise on sex, visual seduction, Miro, Barcelona and Genji. It arrived just in time to rescue me from the boredom of illness – Yes, it seems the travel bug has mutated to a malicious head cold bug. It hit me Saturday morning and I thought I could shake it off quickly, but it feels a bit worse each day. At least I have some time to read. Now that I’ve finished my Danish translation of volume II of the Millennium trilogy with a truly original and unique female character and a plot so complicated that you don’t really fully understand what is going on until the final pages, I can move on to the next Murakami on my list, Kafka on the Shore (I’ll try and find a copy for you on my next trip to Geneva).

See below my fav image of an amorous couple from Ukiyo or the Floating World, a term used to describe the pleasure seeking aspects of the Edo Period Japan. From The Floating World exhibit at the Asian Art Museum San Francisco:

Amorous couple from Ukiyo or the Floating World-Photo by Purnima Viswanathan

Wow, your matador/Tapas chef sounds like a master at seduction with his mussel shell demonstrations and enchanting eyes. Too bad you were so shackled by the ogre and at the end of the bar. It is almost criminal to get someone so hot and bothered and then leave them dangling and blushing. And you didn’t even have your Tale of Genji with you for bedside reading. How did you manage to get through the night ?

Your sensual pleasure from eating Tapas reminds me of the several films where food and sex are intertwined, some more successfully than others. Did you ever see Peter Greenway’s The Cook,The Thief, His Wife & Her Lover ? It stars one of my favorite British actresses who can be as sultry as anyone on a given day, Helen Mirren, who can leave you panting. And then there is the famous eating scene in the film Tom Jones where each bite of a pear or chicken leg is as suggestive as a tender caress. Speaking of films about sex, did you ever see the French film adaptation of D.H. Lawrence’s Lady Chatterley’s Lover ? It won the French Cesar award for best film two or three years ago, and was such a delightful rendition of a very lonely woman’s journey of self discovery and exploration of her own sexuality, all, of course, overshadowed by the moors and customs of a puritanical Great Britain where class differences were, and are somewhat still, very important. The role of the neglected wife is played with such delicate innocence and yet delicious sensuality by a young French actress named Marianne Hands. It’s one of the most refreshing, open and genuine evocations of female sexuality that I have seen on screen.

More later, but I have to go play cook tonight – I’m doing a salmon soufflé – for our week-long house guest from southern France.

Bon courage with your Florence Nightingale duties and try and keep your mind from wandering too often south to those warm climes, hearts and sexy Catalan Tapas chefs.

Love,

Roger

Dear Purnima,

Yes, in spite of the solitary green apple, Brussels was a real treat. I had no idea you were a Tintin fan. There truly must be an abundance of French blood cursing through your veins – inherited no doubt from your Francophile aunt. Tintin is one of the favorites of French readers of nearly all ages, and he, of course, was omnipresent in Brussels. We went into a shop in downtown Brussels that was entirely devoted to the books, many in various translations, as well as all the other derivative products, and the place was really packed. We didn’t see a Tintin museum, but I’m sure there is one there just waiting to be thoroughly explored.

I found your description of your aunt’s encounters with the French extremely nostalgic. I think you are correct in saying that the French « represent an exceptional group of very cultured and sophisticated people with whom you could not ever associate racist behavior (vulgar) and profiling (too American). In fact, it is just for these reasons that they appear to take a stance that is completely and in every way contrasting with and contrary to that of the US. » In many ways that is true, but I fear that such attitudes are slowly changing, at least in the upper echelons of French society and the governing elite. In the past, France was indeed a country that was curious about and fascinated by all sorts of exotic places and peoples. Black American musicians and performers were always more readily accepted and revered here than they were in the States. Josephine Baker is probably the prime example, but there were numerous Black musicians who found a welcome home in Paris and the freedom to perform and express themselves. Many still call France home, such as Dee Dee Bridgewater and Archie Shepp, and where would Henry Miller have been able to write his wonderfully scandalous novels that form the backbone of his literary production (Quite Days in Clichy, for example), and that were banned for many years in the USA ?

However, that is not to say that there hasn’t been and isn’t today a certain French brand of racism, which, I’m convinced, has its roots in French colonialism. The Northern African immigrant workers who were brought to France in the 1950’s and 60’s to fuel the economic recovery following the war have never been fully accepted into French society. They have, instead, been shunted into housing projects on the outskirts of French cities that are today ghettos of despair – a stark reminder that the French national rallying call of « Fraternité, Liberté et Egalité » is a hollow echo in a society that is so hierarchically structured. And since Sarkozy and his pals have seized power, it seems to get worse every year. Brice Hortefeux’s not very subtle joke about trouble when there are a lot of them, I’m afraid, mirrors the official attitude of the ruling class in France today. And, I should add that it has been just recently that France has begun to come to grips with the realities of the Algerian war and the outrageous atrocities committed there by French troops.

I agree that there are lots of good things coming out of the Scandinavian countries, especially Sweden and Denmark. I read a poll last week that found that the Danes were the most satisfied with their lives among the inhabitants of any other European country (I think France was 12th on the list). And there are so many wonderful things Swedish – especially the marvelous films of Ingmar Bergmann. I’ve been thinking that a trip to Stockholm is in order. It’s not that far away and even in the cold of winter it would be a treat to visit.

What is a sqiggle ? Whatever it is, I am always ready.

Have a good weekend. Can I take you to lunch on Tuesday ?

Bises,

Roger

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.

Purnima Viswanathan

Geneva Diaries #11

ALL THE SONS OF GENEVA–EMIGRANTS TALE – PIRATES – DONNER PASS

12/07/09

Dear Roger,

There is much excitement all around, and we seem to be in the center of it all. Geneva is celebrating its annual festival L’Escalade, where the Genevois repelled a surprise attack on the night of December 11th, 1602, by the Duke of Savoy, Charles Emmanuel II. who was forever eyeing rich and independent Geneva. The Genevois legend goes that a mother of 14, poured a cauldron of burning soup on Savoyard soldiers which roused the citizens and helped foil the surprise attack. The Genevois returned victorious and remember this momentous event, I think symbolizing their essence, an innate desire for liberty, by drinking hot vegetable soup, a passionate run through the streets of old town by young and old (which passes almost by our home), mulled wine and not so mulled cheering. We joined the crowds and cheered the spirited runners, bought our chocolate cauldron, drank vegetable soup and hope to end the evening with a couple of bottles of wine!

See below Geneva – Fête de l’Escalade

Do see Tara below racing up the mountain in the 33rd Course de L’Escalade in Geneva:

33rd Course de L’Escalade in Geneva-Photo by Purnima Viswanathan

Regarding our tete-a-tete, or shall I say face to face, apparently in French Tete-a-tete has altogether another meaning…yes, amorous overtones and our very adversarial “face to face” is the equivalent of tete-a tete! So, shall we say ???

Let’s meet and find out!

See you Thursday at 12:30, ok?

Hugs,

Purnima

Dear Purnima,

I’m still haunted by the ending of Hard-boiled ….. Such wonderful, evocative prose and sense of nostalgia. I was shocked that he decided to stay in The End of the World, but then again, she had recovered (or better yet, he had recovered for her) her mind. In a way it makes sense, but then again . . .

Now I’ve tackled the beautifully written Trois femmes puissantes by Marie NDiaye. She won this year’s Goncourt Prize for the novel and also set off a storm of contention with her remarks about why she chose to move to Berlin shortly after Sarkoz’s election. She said she hated the coarseness and the climate of fear inherent in the Sarkozy administration. Her remarks prompted a rather ridiculous call on the part of a majority deputy in the National Assembly for recipients of literary prizes to be held to honor some nebulous “duty of reserve” when making statements about France and/or its political regime. I loved her response when she said that she still stood firmly behind her earlier statement and that the suggestion of a “duty of reserve” was nothing more than an excellent example of what she had been referring to.

Glad you enjoyed the Escalade with all its overtones of hot soup (Quasimodo used boiling oil).

A tête à tête Thursday at 12:30 sounds intriguing.

Tendres bisous,

Roger

Dear Roger

I was also shocked when I read about this reaction to Marie NDiaye and the expectation that she is no longer free to express as she has been elevated to this “highest of literary podiums”, what a clever way to restrict speech, enforce censorship!

How about censorship as our topic for Thursday?

A long long letter is brewing…

C u later

PURNIMA

Dear Roger,

I do hope the eye operation went off well… All the better to see me with???

As you know, I have taken my time to meet all the glittering ghosts of Geneva, but there are a few I would appreciate being introduced to, and the one currently topping my list is Jean-Jacques Rousseau (and I can’t think of anyone better than you Roger, to make the introduction). I have kept the card to the gallery Espace Rousseau right here in the Old Town, but await the right moment for such a momentous meeting, will you join me?

The current (minaret blowing) events that have taken Geneva by storm, in my mind, propels this son of Geneva right up and center.

Rousseau: The goal of government should be to secure freedom, equality, and justice for all within the state, regardless of the will of the majority.

How I wish to meet him, dashing, handsome, brilliant… he could be the one!

However, I found my adulation coming to a abrupt halt upon reading Rousseau’s response to d’Alembert’s article on Geneva where he very critical about a theatre in Geneva, citing its adverse impact on the morals of the citizens, fervently conveying that there is no place for it in this city. “OHH..”I plead, “but the theatre is the essence of me, don’t let me down!”

Then, I scrolled down through his letter and read his views on women, it left me gasping; in his letter, his response to d’Alembert’s Article on Geneva, he suggests that women produce the only gossip, and the moral decay of men, women and children. He states that though men have their vices, like drinking, they are far less harmful to society than women’s vices. He argues that the presence and authority of women in public spaces corrupts the male youth, turning them effeminate and void of patriotic passion. Oh you MMCP’s (medieval Male Chauvinist Pigs!). Another chap off my list for sure!

And talking about male chauvinist, I have the grand daddy of MCP’s tied around my neck! Thank you for inquiring, but the situation has just gone from bad to worse over the past year that we have been in Geneva. We only communicate via email if at all, and every time I get fuming mad, I write down a list of choice words that I have scanned from the the Oxford English dictionary to describe him. It ‘s incredible fun, a MUST share!

His choice of words for me however, cannot be put down in legible print, shocking, horrifying, mortifying! My only response is to embrace the persona that he has created of me in his mind and with his words, and strut the streets with a swagger, a sexy mini and a cigarette (cough, cough). Which brings me to our conversation of a couple of months ago where you mentioned that Geneva had reburied its favorite prostitute and social worker, Catin Revolutionaire, in the Cimetiere de Roi right next to Calvin, Jean Piaget and Candolle! Did you know Roger, that this revolutionary whore, Grislidis Real was a dedicated social worker and a talented writer who devoted herself to campaigning for the rights and dignity of the sex workers (it’s ironic that a service as much demanded by society and thus in existence across ages and cultures, is the one that is most reviled and degraded).

See Grislidis laid to rest in the Cimeterie du Plainpalais next to Calvin and Candolle (Don’t miss me with Gris):

Grislidis in the Cimeterie du Plainpalais – Photo by Purnima Viswanathan

https://www.dropbox.com/sh/g1e7ezxzoku8l2s/AAA1XhTDexu-F6IY3CgiWLCta?dl=0

Grislidis, the name itself comes from Boccaccios loyal and patient Griselda, the victim of an inconsiderate and brutal husband who permits the Devil to test her resolve. In my instance, the Devil has eyes of brilliant blue (and is French of course). Je ne lui resiste pas!

I thought since such shocking words were being leveled at me, why should I not assume the persona of the grandest and the greatest of all the whores to strut the streets of Geneva. So, in my mind, I became Grislidis Real (yes, the other persona being Tocqueville), but then something bizarre and mysterious happened, I found that the persona that I was wearing on my mind “the greatest whore in christendom”,(language plays a curiously insidious role for you are already prejudiced by the act of affirming that you are not Christian, not White and not a Man using the English language) was being reflected in the eyes of the people I passed on the street! This was impossible, I was certainly loosing it, how could anyone READ MY MIND! But, there it was, day after day, especially when I wore a particular coat “The Big Black Rapper Coat , with the …..”). I have never had so much attention from so many men from across the age spectrum. The plain “p”, “sis”, “cuzin”, the girl whose ponytail was always being pulled, has turned into a SEX BOMB in Geneva, all by using her imagination… wow! But then I sensed that it got lewd and lecherous, people had started eyeballing me, there was even a decrepit old man (at our notorious neighborhood park) that stuck out his tongue! I did not know whether to laugh or cry, so I ran! I found that the city that sported posters all over to an exhibition called “Stigmates”, was really reflected in the eyes of its people. So, I ran and I ran and I ran…

And I found myself back in the cemetery right next to Calvin.

Calvin – Cimeterie du Plainpalais – Photo by Purnima Viswanathan

2009, as you know is John Calvin’s quincentennial year, but, this is a special year as not only is it Calvin’s 500th birthday but its (my absolute all time favorite) Charles Darwin’s bicentennial! There has been much talk about the father of modern theory of evolution Vs the father of liberty. The war of the world views. I see no conflict, but surprising parallels: Calvin, this brilliant theologian, this man from Geneva, certainly a revolutionary of his time, challenging the current norms and dogma and proposing a novel idea (Roger, do correct me. have I grasped it right?): predeterminism, that life is pre ordained, we are born with “game plan” and thus there is no sinner and no sin, all we can do is to do our best to make this life the best resting spot we can make it and of course the controversial idea of the pre-selected/the chosen few. Thus with these ideas he hoped to further light the path, to get a step closer to understanding the world we live in which led to the Reformation. Similarly, Charles Darwin, a brilliant evolutionary biologist, who first described biological evolution with natural selection and whose “On the Origin of the Species” transformed the way we see the natural world. His theory that all life is linked by common ancestry threw the norms and ideas that formed the base of society, that the world around us was the result of divine creation, into a tailspin creating a revolutionary, a pirate! Darwin was aiming to free the human mind from these shackles and light up the mind using reason and science, whereas Calvin, on a similar journey wished to free the human mind and soul through the path of reform, religious and structural changes which he believed would bring us closer to god, spirituality and freedom of the soul and spirit. Thus one took the path of science and the other religion to reach the same goal, to free the human mind from the shackles of dogma!

But in this cosy corner of our graveyard, I see a bony hand being raised…Candolle! Yes, let’s not forget Candolle, a brilliant botanist and yet another luminous son of Geneva whose theory of Nature’s War, the warring of species and resulting evolutionary pressures probably lit the spark that culminated in Darwin revolutionary theory of Natural Selection. Of course, many loopholes to Darwin are “religiously” cited: brain development being one of them, which has not changed for millennia… have we reached the end? I always respond with: Perhaps our brains have reached that full potential (in any case, as we discussed, memory and storage are being kept outside), that perfect size where we can not only eliminate ourselves but everything else around us for eternity, so possibly, its time for the heart (metaphorically) to grow instead, to grow in empathy and feeling for our fellow humans which WILL give us humans the needed evolutionary advantage. What do you think Roger?

So much more to say but I have to be up in time for breakfast!

Good night.

All The Sons of Geneva:

12/07/09

Dear Purnima,

Wow, what a wonderful way to greet the day: I love reading your dazzling gyrations into history where you blend science, religion and sex into a mesmerizing concoction that leaves me weak in the knees.

I think your initial fascination with J.-J. Rousseau is quite understandable, but you were wise to probe his darker side as well. He was truly one of the precursors of literary Romanticism and one of the first to write about the I, the ME, and proclaim loudly to the world the “I am important, my subjectivity can be the object of literature and the way in which I write about ‘me’ is also reflected in the narrative structure of my essays and novels. Something we must be forever grateful for. But on the other hand, he was indeed a MCP and a reckless and neglectful father to his children.

Your treatise on Darwin and Calvin, both moving toward the same goal from differing viewpoints was inspired, but I still must take exception about Calvin. While he may have wanted to free the individual from the accepted dogma of his day, he, nevertheless, created his own version of restrictive rules that defined what was acceptable behavior and imposed penalties for those who failed to view things as he saw them, like being slowly burned at the stake for daring to differ with his vision of the universe ! ! ! Need I say more. I find Darwin ultimately a far greater liberator.

And yes, the eye surgery went very well. It’s really amazing when you think about it, but at least I can see very clearly now with both eyes, indeed, all the better to gaze longingly into your own penetrating, enticing and bewitching eyes.

And what persona will you adopt on Thursday ?

See you then,

12/18/09

Dear Roger,

It’s great to get your mail all the way here in India…a thread, a continuum of my life in a land far far away!

Yes, its does seem so very far away. I have crossed not only many lands and mountain ranges but feel that on this particular journey, I have travelled across many languages, many cultures. With my recent immersion and study of the French language, I seem to be finally connecting the dots. As you are well aware, language and specifically words, have over the millennia, embarked upon their own unique journey (since we are always on the topic of journeys), subtly moulding and changing as they go along from Sanskrit, to Hindi, to Urdu, to Persian, to Arabic and French and Italian, to English. I was always familiar with the first part of the journey, the basket of languages that fall under Hindustani, Hindi (with the Sanskrit basis), Urdu, Farsi which form our everyday parlance, and of course English, which is the language of choice and communication. But now, you have introduced me to the “missing link”, French, and my circle seems almost complete! It’s been fun and fascinating to see how the words I am familiar with have travelled, and have influenced the language I am anxious to learn. I would love to share this new found knowledge with you, if you care to indulge me once again just for a bit, a byte, a cup of coffee.

The other fascinating revelation traveling from Europe to Asia has been, the unique impact of culture and faith on language and the way it subtly, so very discretely moulds the user and the way he or she perceives the universe ( I would LOVE your feedback on this). English and the latin tongues with their Christian references, Sanskrit based languages with their Vedic, Hindu and Buddhist references, Urdu with its Islamic references, Persian with both Islamic and Zoroastrian references (this is the most fascinating of all stories which we need to fully explore, as it ties in with “our” Indus Project: the same three boat-full story, fleeing religious persecution to reach the shores of freedom, India).

Coming back to you mail, I would love to learn more about this offshoot of the Swedish Pirates Party that has anchored itself on your shores, what’s the core idea? Regarding the policing and enforcement of cyberspace, as we discussed, the current system of “Earthy Laws” are inapplicable, as there are no acceptable systems for monitoring and enforcement. This space needs its own monitors, legislatures, and enforcers. And as you know, this is the space where Pirates rule, and the only way this space can be organized is if there is a consensus among the pirates, a honor code (no, I didn’t intend to steal dialogue from the Pirates of the Caribbean…but I can’t think of a better reference from pop culture).

And talking about governments and their monitoring, their systems and their policing…spins me round and round, right back to places and people i wish to forget. Roger, I still find the impossible to remove stains of the pomegranate. Granat Fatal, remains with its distinctive hue upon my lips. See me below as the image of Proserpine by Dante Gabriel Rossetti ( a part of the Pre-Raffelites) holding the pomegranate which will eternally stain her lips and bind her for eternity to the netherworld:

Proserpine by Rossetti-Photo By Purnima Viswanathan

Donner pass, the road i took to my ski lodge innumerable times over all those winters in California, a place where over a century and a half ago California pioneer emigrants who (like us) journeyed in over the Sierra Nevadas to make it to California, instead found themselves trapped and snowbound in this cold inhospitable place. Their story of survival and rescue of course has taken mythic proportions but my mind often wanders back, back to The Emigrants Tale, to the grizzly piece about the Donner party and their consumption of “the food of the dead”.

The Donner Party: https://www.britannica.com/topic/Donner-party

I thought it was a turkey sandwich, how was I to know that there was a finger in my Hamburger*! Perhaps, the glares, the stares, the shifty glances from under upturned collars, that greeted me as I walked park Bertrand, perhaps the eyeballs that appeared to spring out from hooded cloaks seeming to inquire all the time “was it crunchy”,( to which i responded with an…eeeooow…please get that eye ball out of my face!) was a response to the vivid stain on my lips, on my body. For the longest time, the menu card at restaurants seemed a perpetual nightmare: finger fish, the fingers seemed to jump out and pull my nose, chicken breast (please no more body parts), leg of lamb and the list is endless! And then of course, there is the well known local restaurant just across the Palais de Justice, that I pass everyday on my way downtown, Au Pied-de-Cochon, or in English translation(perhaps not everything should be translated into English), Feet of PIG… I am still trying to reconcile with the palatability of that!

*Inspired by “the finger in the hamburger story” in my morning newspaper.

In bed in delhi nursing a cold, time to reconnect with Murakami!

Do keep writing and stay in touch. See you soon.

Purnima

Geneva – Au Pied De Cochon

Fri, May 15, 2009, 12:30 AM

Dear Purnima,

Thanks again for the delicious lunch last week. It was very thoughtful and I loved both the company and the food.

Have you blown up the mattress yet ? I hope it worked alright.

I’ve been following the elections in India somewhat. There have been some excellent articles in Le Monde about them. It would be interesting if there were a new woman prime minister elected. A was interviewed this morning on Swiss radio about a new book on Kofi Annan that she translated and adapted for the French edition. One of the questions she was asked was whether it would be a good idea to have a woman at the head of the UN. Her answer was an unqualified ‘Yes’ !

We’re going to Neuchatel today for A’s birthday and tomorrow we’re going to Milan by train. I wanted to see a stage of the Tour of Italy and couldn’t resist the idea of the spectacular train ride through the Swiss Alps. When are you going to Germany ? Still planning on Freiburg ?

Roger

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.

Purnima Viswanathan

Geneva Diaries #10

Tagore 17 Years, Alice, Art and Maths, Millennium, Wanted: Dead or Alive

11/21/09

She used to call his name M- – -…M- – -…m- – -…

Dear Roger,

As the 21st of March approaches, I look back on the 17 years…

I wish to share with you a poem by Rabindranath Tagore (Lipika) translated by Aurobindo Ghosh titled Seventeen Years. I have attempted to read this to an indifferent Mirko over the last few dismal years, telling him through Tagore that our time together is coming to an end, and that one day he will look back at our seventeen years which he so mindlessly threw away and think: “She used to call his name”.

And perhaps one day while leaning on his walking stick and gazing at the setting sun his mind will wander back to these years and query: “But those days and nights are no longer strung together by the binding thread of that name – they lie scattered.” …”Who shall call us together and surround us with her presence?”

And I will be gone, we never make it past our 17th year of that I am sure!

Seventeen Years – by Rabindranath Tagore

I had known her for seventeen years.

So many comings and goings, so many meetings, so many tetes-a-tetes!

Surrounding those years, so many dreams, so many conjectures, so many hints.

And then, sometimes, when half asleep, the light of the morning star; sometimes the scent of the Chameli flower in the dusk of a rainy day; sometimes the tired strains of the Nahabat in the last hours of the spring night!

All this had passed round his mind in the course of those seventeen years!

And, mingling with it all, she used to call his name.

The person that used to respond to this name was not merely a creation of God – he was created out of the seventeen years of her knowing him.

Sometimes in love, sometimes in neglect,

sometimes in work, sometimes in leisure,

sometimes in the midst of all, sometimes in privacy –

thus was he built in the heart of one person.

After that, seventeen more years had gone by.

But those days and nights are no longer strung together by the binding thread of that name – they lie scattered. Therefore the days ask me daily:

“Who shall call us together and surround us with her presence?”

I can give no answer – I pause and ponder.

But they, flying away with the wind, say:

“We go searching.”

“Whom?”

They know not whom.

So they wander hither and thither.

Like aimless clouds they sail across the sea of darkness and I can no longer see them.

3/21/10

Dear Purnima,

Sorry I’m so slow in answering your two very provocative emails of last week. The family was here for four days this week (they needed to escape the frenzy and horrific noise of the annual Fallas festival in Valencia), and I don’t manage to spend much time at my computer while they are here (long evening meals and discussions and/or a game or two after dinner).

Spain’s Las Fallas festival: A celebration of art, satire and fire

https://youtu.be/8aQZx8dCo2E

You’re right, it’s inconceivable that a progressive country like Sweden does not recognize the rights of what we in America call a common law marriage. The sheer injustice of all the royalties for the hugely popular trilogy going to the father and brother of Steig Larsson rather than to the person with whom he had shared his life for the past several decades and who had worked with him in writing the three novels. Swedish law definitely distinguishes between your “public ownership” of his works and the royalties that accumulate through sales. What will eventually happen to the rumored manuscript of a fourth novel, which is in the hands of his partner, is still very much up in the air.

I was, of course, being somewhat flippant with my take on Steve Jobs and an imaginary iTort device that would render justice in the future. It seems that our society is moving more and more in the direction of control by those little machines that send digital code back and forth. While I agree that there should be the subjective element in every legal decision rather than some blanket and uniformly administered take rendered by a machine. However, I must take issue with you in your seemingly blind faith in the legal system (but it is only logical given your own legal training and background) and especially in the judges that are selected to deal with our own inability to come up with viable decisions. Not only are they human beings and subject to the same foibles and inconsistencies as the rest of humanity, but they are also wont to frequently hand down judgements that are not only counter to what is best for society as a whole, but at times totally unjust and tainted with their own political leanings and the influences of powerful groups within any given country. The very fact that it is so important for each sitting president in the US to be able to appoint Supreme Court judges of a particular political leaning so that he/she can stack the Supreme Court with judges that think and decide along their respective position on the political spectrum is evidence enough that they are not all totally objective, to be blindly respected and that we should accept and live with their every decision. There is a long list of Supreme Court decisions that have had no positive impact on society or that have been subsequently overturned by later court decisions. Plessy vs Ferguson, a Supreme Court decision that declared that separate educational facilities for whites and blacks did not violate the 14th amendment, and , in essence, ruled that segregation was legal in the United States. That decision, I’m very happy to say, was overturned in the famous Brown vs Board of Education that said just the opposite was the case.

And then there is the case of current Supreme Court justice, Clarence Thomas. I remember how incensed I was during the hearings in the Senate when his nomination was being considered. He was, in my opinion, the weakest possible candidate for such a lofty office. Not only was he an alleged sexual predator who constantly harassed one of his former female law partners, but his intellectual grasp of the constitution and the legal decisions that he had rendered prior to his appointment left one with the impression that he was Mr. Mediocrity being thrust into one of the most important positions in the United States. I learned just recently that this same Clarence Thomas wrote the majority opinion in the landmark Supreme Court decision which gave Monsanto and other huge conglomerates the right to patent genetically modified organisms. Thus Monsanto now controls a large portion of the seed industry in the world and literally goes after those farmers they suspect of not buying their seeds from Monsanto each year but, as farmers throughout the centuries have done, saved their seeds from one crop to the next. Hundreds of cotton farmers in India, for example, have been hooked on the Monsanto modified cotton seeds, but have gone bankrupt in the process because they can’t afford the high cost of the seeds and the fertilizers and pesticides that they are told they have to use. The suicide rate among Indian cotton farmers, as you more than likely know, is astronomical in comparison to other similar groups. And guess what ? Clarence Thomas, before becoming a Supreme Court Judge, was a lawyer for Monsanto ! Sorry, all respect just flew out the window.

Enough of my ranting. I thought your 17 years song was great. Too bad for him that he never really listened to it. Is it ;your anniversary today ?

And, you also wrote , ” As I come near to the end of my time here in Geneva” Does that mean that you have definite plans to move on ?

I loved what ;you wrote about Alice in Wonderland. More on that later, but the new Tim Burton film version of his interpretation of Alice is playing in Geneva. A and A went to see it on Friday.

Off to watch election returns. At least Sarkozy is getting his just desserts.

Bisous,

Roger

Dear Purnima,

It sounds like musical bedrooms at your place. Does that mean that you are once again sharing the bedroom the massageathon addict ?

I finished my third tome of Millennium two days ago. After more than 2,000 pages of Lisbeth Salander, I am more than ready to move on to other vistas. I was actually a bit let down by the third instalment of the trilogy, and felt that Steig Larsson left too many loose threads dangling. But I read somewhere where he actually had intended to write a series of ten novels in the series before he was felled by a heart attack shortly after delivering his trilogy to the publishers. There is supposedly a fourth novel in the possession of his long-standing, live-in partner, but whether it will ever be published depends on the Swedish courts’ decisions about who actually owns the rights to it and who should be in charge of editing it. That’s a tricky legal dilemma for you. There is no provision in Swedish law for a concubine to inherit anything from her partner if they were not married (That is not the case in French law, but apparently for Sweden, one of the most advanced social countries in Europe, an unmarried partner has no inheritance rights regardless of how much time they lived together). Larsson’s father and brother have become filthy rich because of the international success of the novels, whereas his life-long partner has absolutely nothing. I could tell you about another case closer to home, in fact in Genevaitself, but that’s the subject of another email or chat.

What I started to say, however, was that I have begun to read Kafka on the Shore, but I can understand your fascination with Dawkins and wanting to probe his thinking.

Are you free for coffee on Tuesday morning ? Do you have a Migro class then ?

Lots of warm hugs on this chilly Friday,

Roger

Roger Stevenson

3/15/10

Dear Roger,

I could not let this mail go and drift into the “unanswered”. There were so many juicy openings for discussion and debate, even if I am unable to cover them all, I must struggle with some. You should see me now, bent with furrowed brow with my black rimmed glasses dangling from the tip of a rather long nose, with a sprightly ponytail bouncing in excitement at having been saved, as i pound away one finger at a time…

You had mentioned in your email that you finally managed to finish the Millennium trilogy and were left dissatisfied as the author died without completing his proposed series of 10.

There is no provision in Swedish law for a concubine to inherit anything from her partner if they were not married

That sounds very surprising for a progressive country like Sweden where I assume such relationships are the norm before or instead of marriage (and btw a male partner can also be a concubine!). In its most simplistic: this immensely popular work where the author has suddenly died at the peak of the fervor generated by the book which (from what you tell me) seems to have taken on a cult status. In my opinion, the ownership lies in all who embrace the story, the public. Therefore, the one who attempts to assume the authors place, edit, modify or expand the work has to not just attempt to stay true to the original, the essence but have the readers ultimate clearance. The substantial property rights of course in this instance go according to what is outlined in the law. However, the law has to accommodate, perhaps use this case to evolve, reflecting the ideas in popular culture, commitment and contribution of a partner. I, of course, would only hand over my pen to the image in the mirror!

Or maybe Steve Jobs will have become the final arbiter of justice with a market place savvy that settles all conflicts with his new i-judge software and hand-held, touch screen, app-driven i-tort (that may actually be a better source of justice than our present, very flawed and political interest driven system or the justice frequently meted out by the religions of the day).

Dear, dear Roger, you cannot underplay the human element to me! I cannot possibly conceive how a software program could make a judgement incorporating the essential elements of “timeframe” and “cultural context”, which would vary based on the issue at hand from decades to days, as we have seen in the rapidly evolving field of cyberlaw and technology where before the issue can be brought to court and final judgement be passed, it is redundant and replaced by a competing issue. Its at times and instances like these where there is need for the human, the subjective element, which can incorporate timeframe, cultural context, and the fall back on the core issues of common law before reaching a decision.

There is a reason why the judges are selected: they are known, respected and we recognize them for more than the mechanical application of their knowledge and their ability to identify issues. They are selected because we have read their decisions, recognize their positions and defer to their judgements EVEN when it goes against us, for we are programmed with the inherent belief that when we join society and submit ourselves to the law, we are a part of the whole. And, if the judgement passed is one against us, it must be passed for the greater benefit of society, and since we are a part of it, we vicariously benefit! Otherwise, I can’t imagine why we would agree to anything that binds us, making us vulnerable to decisions by men in wigs and men in frocks, can you?

You are definitely wanted, my dear, dead or alive, preferably alive, but the question you should really ask is : Am I wanted, virtual or real ?

Do I wish to subsist in this virtual medium or in the real world? The ultimate question is: Where would I be more real? What is the medium of today, one that would engage a broad spectrum of ages, education, background and ethnicity? The exciting aspect of the fast evolving virtual sphere is that, the medium is not merely one of language as we are historically used to (with that familiar feel of paper between the fingers), but an all engaging 3D multi-media medium encapsulating sight, sound, text, (and soon even tactile sensations) which are enmeshed and indistinguishable from each other. The only parallel I can think of from my “old world” is the realm of comics… A sizzling Japanese comic that captivates the pulse of the youth in a world language! Yes, I think I would like to live forever (like Minnie still sprightly at 80), the heroine of a Japanese comic. You would too, if you ever got a chance to meet the hero of my comic book… Boom, Boom, Pow!!

It’s well past midnight, and since I have not turned into a pumpkin, and since there is no chance of dancing with the prince, not even a little froggie, I guess i will just continue…

Apart from my favorite comics, I guess theatre has played the historic role (Roger, I need your input/feedback here…urgently) of reaching out and disseminating novel and radical thoughts, ideas and developments in the Arts, Sciences, Government. This historic role of theatre to disseminate new ideas and educate the public through a forum that was entertaining and perhaps comics permitted many radical thoughts to be so presented and disseminated which would have otherwise been strictly censored during its time. The impact of the theatre over time with its ability to permeate society in a similar multi-media format, would probably be akin to the realm that is today partially covered by the virtual world, don’t you agree?

Returning to our old favorite subject of interdisciplinary studies, I believe that incorporating elements of theatre in most traditional subjects still forms the most effective form of education and dissemination of information where the onlooker/participant is entertained as he is being educated. And talking about interdisciplinary studies, the oldest and dearest example from my childhood was Alice in Wonderland, Mathematics and Literature, with my father attempting to explain the mathematics behind the madness.

In fact, Lewis Carroll, a pen name for Charles Dodgson, a professor of mathematics at Oxford University, wrote Alice in Wonderland to satirize the then radical new ideas in the world of mathematics, where mathematics was getting more abstract with imaginary numbers, abstract symbolic algebra, non Euclidean geometry. He brilliantly used this fantastical piece of literature to present what he thought was the absurdities in the new mathematics. This was his forum, his stage to present his dissent, his point of view through a memorable and much beloved piece of literature in the form of a children’s book.

In order to satirize these new age ideas, he found fiction as the best forum to present his opinion, his dissent. Alice moved from a rational world through a rabbit hole to a land where even numbers behave irrationally, erratically. Thus this irrationality, reflecting the new age mathematics, was created by Dodgson as a construct of Alice’s mind which exists only in Wonderland as it did not need to conform to any laws of the real world. Dodgson has Alice continuously changing in size from 9 feet to 3 inches, but when Alice calls this world absurd, the caterpillar (“the worm” in her story) who lives in this irrational world pipes up and says that “it isn’t”! Here of course, I am tempted to draw the parallel with “the worm” in my story, who returns with the same response! As Dodgson through the madness that exists in Wonderland tries to highlight the dangers of the new symbolic algebra, I chant to keep my balance, my ratios constant Ignoring putty like contortions, sometimes oval, sometimes elliptical, moving from one form to another… finally looming overhead across magical glittering lake Geneva, in the smile of the Cheshire Cat that seems to know it all!

The Cheshire Cat looming above-Photo by Purnima Viswanathan

The Smile of The Cheshire Cat-Photo by Purnima Viswanathan

As I come near to the end of my time here in Geneva, so does my Geneva Diary which has been my friend and companion, and thanks to you, with whom I have dug up many a ghost, walked the cobbled streets of the old town and discovered the alleyways of this charming city. Like Alice in Wonderland, this has been written in a young voice, for the old and the young (I plan to reread it at 70!). And again like Alice, and my other favorite character Tintin, my stories and many (mis)adventures have aspired a light surrealistic touch with many looming body parts. Of course, I have woven in my area of experience, the law, and pivotal topical legal issues like privacy with a lot of bizarre storytelling.

In the story of Servetus, with his tombstone poignantly placed outside the university hospital, I have attempted to pose a reminder of Medicine and Ethics: Do not use Green Wood! If the case is terminal, the decision final, then let the end be painless, swift. In keeping with my mantra, this tale would cover the spectrum, the subjects of History, Theology, Medical Ethics, Law, Government and perhaps literature with a suggestion of substance abuse !

See below images of Geneva:

Geneva Images – Paved stone-welcome messages: Place du Molard Geneva

https://www.dropbox.com/sh/9f7rbfpzv8d1wll/AAC3F1ogIW8c4qeJciUsRH9-a?dl=0

_{Place Du Molard Geneva-Photos by Purnima Viswanathan}

Old Town Geneva:

Pont du Mont Blanc: Crystal Blue lake Geneva

Pont Du Mont Blanc Geneva-Photo by Purnima Viswanathan

Parc des Bastions-Playing Live Chess:

Live Chess – Parc Des Bastions Geneva- Photo by Purnima Viswanathan

Purnima Traversing the Blue Ridge Mountains – Wanted Dead or Alive:

https://www.dropbox.com/sh/5pu9s8sp7pq0z7m/AACcVmEhXH5-vfenZCleL3U5a?dl=0

The Blue Ridge Mountains, Virginia – Video by Purnima Viswanathan

Wanted-Video by Purnima Viswanathan

Good night!

Purnima

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.

Purnima Viswanathan

Geneva Diaries #7, #9

Geneva, Romania, Privacy, Pirates Manifesto,Magritte Museum, Rahu Ketu, Diwali and Diderot and d’Alembert

10/08/09

Dear Purnima,

I feel like I’m still floating in a sea of neglected chores and catch up after being gone for four days, and that after wading through the throngs of tourists in Barcelona on Sunday afternoon. We did catch a wonderful exhibit at the Barcelona Cultural Centre, “Le Siècle de Jazz” that traced the evolution of America’s one true and original art form and its influence on literature and art. It was a veritable flood of images, sounds, album covers, sheet music, books, paintings, more sounds, all of which evoked a cascade of memories from different times in my life and the countless hours I have spent listening and admiring, first on those little 45 rpm records, then on 78 rpm vinyl disks, then on cassette tapes and finally on CD’s and MP3 recordings.

Barcelona Cultural Center: https://www.cccb.org/en

When do you want to do lunch ? I had hoped to be able to come into Geneva this week, but it has been impossible. Would Monday work for you ? We are leaving again on Weds. for New York – yes, I know, I feel like a gadfly with all these trips, and it has only started. At least flying on Swiss will be more comfortable than the Easyjet flight we took from Barcelona to Geneva on Monday.

I hope you’ve been well and enjoying your car and the nice weather.

See you soon,

Roger

Dear Purnima,

We got home late last night after a return flight via Frankfort – an incredibly big airport, and it seemed like we had to walk for miles and miles to get to the right departure gate, but we were used to that after all the walking we did in Romania.

I have lots of ambivalent emotions about Romania. It certainly has a rich history and a colorful culture. Many of the old churches and medieval monuments are really marvelous, and then there are the grandiose remnants of the Ceausescu regime (He wanted to turn Bucharest into another Paris: there is a little Arc de Triomphe, an Avenue Charles de Gaulle, etc., etc.). The parliament building he built is huge and imposing, as are his several palaces, none of which we visited, as I don’t get off on former tyrannical fear mongers who literally starved the population so he could pay off his debts through foreign exports. However, we did go see one of the remnants of the monarchical past – the Castle of Peles in Sinaia. It was the summer residence of the king Carlos and is in magnificent shape today. It is richly decorated with exquisite wood panelling on both walls and ceilings, which is very impressive. However, there is just a little too much of a mixture of architectural and decorative styles to suit my tastes. It seemed horribly cluttered with all kinds of statues, paintings, ornaments, swords and pistols and armour. The guide was very proud to announce the fact that the castle had running water and a central heating system and even a central vacuum cleaning system, but I couldn’t help thinking how much it all cost and at what point the population of the country had the same kind of creature comforts in their homes.

The Castle of Peles, Sinaia, Romania:

On the other hand, the country seems like it is falling apart. The infrastructures are terribly dilapidated, and the older housing has not been very well maintained, and there seems to be litter everywhere – quite a contrast compared to Switzerland. And while the Romanian women are a mixed lot – some of the younger women are quite exquisitely beautiful and the older women seem to have let themselves go completely –, I didn’t see one pair of enticing; deep brown eyes that could possibly turn my head.

And I’ll wait until I see you in person to tell you about our experiences with bribing, or at least being offered the possibility of paying a small bribe to avoid a steeper fine for not having the right ticket, a bus ticket controlleur and being victims of a really talented pickpocket in a crowded bus in Brasov !

It’s very thoughtful of you to invite us for dinner at Lipps tomorrow night, but I’m afraid that we will have to decline that part of the evening. We are both, so very far behind after being gone for six days that all we will have time for is drinks at your place. I trust that part of the invitation will still be valid. I really want to meet your brother and I have a small gift for your birthday. What time do you plan to begin ?

A bientôt,

Roger

Dear Purnima,

I loved your latest coloring book, especially your take on the nakedness of the global community. I don’t know if you followed it, but a few weeks ago the former French Minister of Immigration and current Minister of the Interior, Brice Hortefeux, was caught on camera – an official camera of French TV – making a statement about Arab minorities during an end-of-summer political get together. He was introduced to a member of his party, UMP, who happened to be a Northern African immigrant. His reaction was : « We always have to have one of them. One of them is just fine. It’s when you have a lot of them that you have problems » (“Il en faut toujours un. Quand il y en a un, ça va. C’est quand il y en a beaucoup qu’il y a des problèmes.”)

http://www.lemonde.fr/politique/article/2009/09/10/le-derapage-de-brice-hortefeux-a-l-universite-d-ete-de-l-ump_1238744_823448.html

Le Monde put the footage up on its website, and it quickly spread to thousands of sites in the blogosphere and caused quite an uproar. Those who sprang to Hortefeux’s defense roundly trashed the internet as the source of all his/their troubles. It was a pretty feeble attempt to condemn the medium (messenger) and deflect attention away from the real content of his contemptible statement.

I’m sad that the Magritte/Keith Jarrett experience is now just a fond memory. That’s the trouble with the passage of time. Brussels is a really neat city on a much smaller and more human scale than Paris and considerably more lively and upbeat than Geneva, which sometimes seems rather staid.

The Magritte Museum is in a brand new building and the exhibit itself offers a chronological meandering through his career that is punctuated by a lot of sketches, notes, letters, photos and paintings from the various time periods. There was a lot of stuff that I had never seen before, but there were a lot of his more famous paintings that weren’t part of the exhibit. There was, for example, only one green apple in the entire museum ! I could feel your heels kicking in protest on my chest. No green apple heads under the bowler or inside rooms. But it was a wonderful exhibit and very well done – well worth the trip. https://www.musee-magritte-museum.be/en

The Magritte Museum Brussels

Rene Magritte – La Chambre d’Ecoute – The Listening Room (SFMOMA)- Photo by Purnima Viswanathan

Purnima with Rene Magritte’s Son of Man (SFMOMA)-Photo by Purnima Viswanathan

After the museum, we wandered through the quaint and colorful pedestrian streets of the center of the city and listened to the amazing mix of languages uttered by the many thousands of Bruxellois and tourists who were milling around, checked out the outrageous prices in the shops, withstood the daunting onslaught of restaurateurs trying to entice us to eat and eventually made our way to La Mort Subite – an artists’ café famous for its beer and clientele, which included in its time Jacques Brel.

The Jarrett concert that evening was nothing short of magical. He is a real genius, and the exuberant and enthusiastic standing ovations brought him back for five encores. It was a solo piano concert that was probably 90% improvisation. In fact, he stated at one point that he never knew what he was going to play when he came out on the stage, or when to stop, but I love his virtuosity, phrasing and very subtle way of expressing himself at the keyboard.

We decided that rather than catch our Easyjet flight back to Geneva at 8 :00 the next morning to instead take the train to Paris and spend Saturday night there. It was one of those wonderful, mild days in Paris when everyone in Paris, it seemed, was strolling through the streets of the Latin Quarter. In between window shopping, a cozy apero in a little literary cafe and dinner in one of our favorite Parisian restaurants, we caught two movies, including Ang Lee’s film on Woodstock. It was quite a gathering and signaled such important changes in society and the way the youth of the time viewed the world after the many long years of lies and war and rigid social conventions that were totally devoid of substance.https://www.discoverwalks.com/blog/10-things-to-see-in-the-latin-quarter/

Have you started reading Murakami yet ? I’m anxious to hear what you think of him.

Hope we can get together soon – I may be coming to Geneva Thursday or Friday late morning. I’ll let you know and we can see if that would work for you.

Fondly,

Roger

The sun did not shine, it was too wet to play, so I sat in the house coloring, All this cold, wet, Geneva day!

Dr Seuss: https://images.app.goo.gl/SYieoLG2KieFTKpYA

Dear Roger,

I’m home alone (with Thing 1 wrapped under the covers), captive to La Grippe on this dreary wet Geneva day. I was thrilled to get your recent email and await a longer one from Brussels. And, It feels so good to be able to share my coloring book with you, I am sure u smile at all my squiggles!

When I came across the article on Polanski by the law professor, Of course I was keen to share it with you, especially since you had recently brought him up in conversation, but, I also did it for myself as I thought it would be a good exercise to flex my severely diminished brain cells now clogged with olive oil and garlic (all that cooking) especially at such a time where my coherence and competence is being questioned by my near and dear ones. Do you know Roger, that there was a time where I used to call myself “The Fastest Gun in the West“, and strut around with a cool swagger, but like all good cowboys (girls), I guess I’ve been driven to dem dar hills awaiting the long journey home. The gun is rusty and the knee wounded, but i KNOW i can still ride!

Once again, and from your recent email, I understand your concern about the way the Swiss are dealing with the situation regarding the extradition of Polanski and i agree there are multiple complex legal issues surrounding this case but having spent as much time with the kids, I am now used to the 3 min elevator pitch. Regarding the Swiss reaction, I can only imagine the pressure this new world of technology poses to them and can’t wait to see how the Swiss reassert and redefine the Right to Privacy which they have managed to secure despite big burly neighbors and centuries of turmoil and change around them. The definition of this very sacred right with its wide and far reaching umbrella will not only secure them but also shed light on how the world should view the changes that technology is thrusting upon us at an accelerated pace (almost impossible to keep pace with legally).

Yes, technology has converted the globe into a huge nudist colony…a gigantic nude beach with the Swiss roaming around in Burkhas! What do u think everyone else on the beach is going to do, throw eggs on them of course. Strip them, pull off their floral underwear and place a nice big placard on their chests highlighting their every detail, name, birth, parents, school, girlfriends, bank account number, clients and what they floss with. Sorry, no more privacy, in the world of today IT JUST DOES NOT EXIST.

I was speaking to a friend from Afghanistan who has made Geneva home, and discussing how the two places had some remarkable similarities and striking differences. Both Switzerland and Afghanistan are mountainous landlocked countries with big burly powerful neighbors, and yet they could not be more different. Somewhere the Swiss had got their act together, and managed to avoid with their very intelligent policy of neutrality(?) (and possibly the only feasible one in their situation, love to hear your comments) exactly what the poor Afghans got caught up with (especially with Rahu and Ketu on their tail) and are still continue to struggle.

However in this new flattened world (how i try to avoid funky Friedman but he always barges in), the big burlys need not be bordering you but could be all the way across the Atlantic, and this even the Swiss have to figure how to grapple. So, in their attempts to grapple with this new world, the odd Polanski will be shipped off along with the other fat cats that have taken shelter straight to the sharks.

In Vedic astrology, Rahu is an asura who does his best to bring every area of life into chaos. Rahu is associated with the world of material manifestation and worldly desire. The mighty child of Maya (illusion/wealth). Ketu, has both good and bad ramifications as it causes material loss to force a spiritual outlook. The head of the great demon is known as Rahu and his tail as Ketu and one follows the others, they tyrannize together. Do these demons sound familiar???

Rahu-Ketu: https://www.awaaznation.com/religion-and-spirituality/folklore-mythology/story-of-rahu-ketu/

In a previous mail, I mentioned the story of Rahu and Ketu and the Churning of the sea of milk (Samudra Manthan), but never did get down to telling you about it. The churning of the ocean of milk is one of the most popular stories in Indian mythology. The Gods who had recently lost their power made a pact with the demons to churn the ocean of milk for the nectar of immortality. They used a mountain as the churning tool and a serpent Vasuki (ruler of the nether regions and one of the demons) as the rope to churn the ocean. Lord Vishnu, the preserver, was supporting the gods and he helped them to trick the demons (without whom they could not have churned out the nectar) ensuring that the gods got to drink the nectar first and finish it. However, the serpent Vasuki (or Rahu Ketu), realized the trickery and stood in line disguised as one of the gods. He was discovered by the Sun and the Moon gods as he was gulping down the nectar. Vishnu chopped off his head which remained immortal, so he had a head which was the demon Rahu and a tail which was the demon Ketu with which he tyrannized the heavens gobbling up the Sun and Moon on which he had much revenge to spew. This gobbling of the sun and the moon and their subsequent release from his gaping neck is the mythology around eclipses of the sun and the moon. So everytime there is an eclipse, the children are told that rahu is slowly devouring the sun and its emergence is because it has finally come out of the demons severed neck. See below Eclipse Stories from Around The World:

However, despite the challenges that technology poses, in my opinion, it also offers an incredible bonanza to such landlocked nations: For it offers them, for the first time, access to the seas, the Cyber-seas! Yes, a new parallel world HAS been created, and now it is for ones that can to rule!

And, as for the demons that rule the skies, Rahu and Ketu, they will always remain in the heavens but let’s leave them to terrorize this world and escape to ours.

Good night, have fun!

Purnima

10/15/19

The One Green Apple !

Dear Roger,

How I love your mails, especially the extensive descriptive ones like this. I do feel that I am journeying on your shoulder and viewing all the fun stuff u do. Brussels sounds delightful, and I can’t wait to visit for not only is this the home of my favorite Magritte but also the character I absolutely re-live, yes that slight yet determined youngster/investigative journalist, with a keen eye and smart instincts, always ready for his next adventure in some exotic part of the world and fortuitously finding his way out of as much trouble as he finds himself into, accompanied by his faithful hound who can sniff out the “baddies” and there are always baddies galore with their varied hues and in their many accents. Yes, Tintin in Tibet has to be my all time favorite and I will never tire of reading it! Did you come across a Tintin museum, he apparently celebrated his 100th year in 2007!

Tintin in Tibet: http://en.tintin.com/albums/show/id/44/page/0/0/tintin-in-tibet

All what I have gathered about the French are from my many conversations with my grandmother since childhood who seems to have had a French past life connection (in addition to our family Pondicherry connection). In fact, I remember, my grandmother repeating my aunt Kadambari’s many adventures in Paris, reading her letters out loud, as I sat wide eyed in wonder. Apparently the French loved everything about this lovely Tamil woman (my aunt), the sarees in their colorful hues, the bangles with their glitter and the fascinating bindis (dots) that adorned her forehead. Every time she stepped out, she was complemented not just on the fact that she was and IS a highly intelligent and sophisticated woman and but on her beautiful Asian attire and southern beauty. It appeared that she had landed in a place where people were curios, interested and thirsty to learn about different peoples and cultures.I wonder where those stories vanished? I do hope to find them one day. In the meanwhile, no transit through Paris!

Goodnight.

Purnima

10/17/09

And through us perhaps The Twain Shall Meet- In India, In the New India!

Dear Roger,

Today is Diwali. This is the day lord Rama returns from 14 years of exile back to a joyful Ayodhya where its citizens light up the streets and celebrate the return of the conquest of good over evil by lighting the lamp of light and knowledge to dispel the demons of darkness and ignorance. The epic Ramayana, as you may know is this journey , This odyssey (quite akin to The Odyssey) of a man and the demons and dilemmas he faces in this journey of life and how he surmounts it returning home victorious.

This is our new year and celebrated like you celebrate Christmas but for us this goes on for two weeks from Dussehra (the burning of the demon Ravana till the day of Diwali) with much fervor and festivities all over India. Sweets are specially prepared and distributed, new clothes are bought and worn, homes are a glitter with lamps and lights, the sky resounds with the sound of crackers, people spend this auspicious day gambling (a part of our story), eating and drinking ( its rumored that more scotch is consumed during these days in India than produced through the year in Scotland). And I was …home alone in gentle Geneva, (so quiet that I could almost hear a slash on the lake, where the Tooth Fairy of the Lake was returning with her bag full of goodies), with Thing 1 and Thing 2 watching Popeye the Sailor Man!

Some images of Diwali in India with sparklers, feasts, lights and floral floor decorations –Rangoli at home and at The Bangalore Club:

_{Rangoli at Home – Photos by Purnima Viswanathan}

Diwali reminds me of my most recent memories, of my time in California. You know, my response during my French class to the question about the weather in my hometown , “Il fait beau”, and I was talking about California because I still could feel the warmth of the sun on my back. India had been long gone!

Roger, I wish I could tell you all I did to introduce my culture and my background, myself to the people in the Bay Area ensuring that they embrace me and my children and make it the home we were seeking…

However, fortunately, because of of me being me, and my being home alone with the brats, I took this occasion, to chat with them (a “pre-teenager” and one that is fast loosing interest with what mommy has to say) about our stories, our mythology our culture which is so entwined with our festivals and our rituals. Despite being minimally religious, I embarked upon the whole puja ceremony (the rituals) with great gusto just so that some piece of my culture would rub off. Upon discovering that I had misplaced the ceremonial bell, my son return with his Swiss cow bell which he rang throughout the ceremony with devout fervor (holy cow I do have them hooked I think or do they…?). As you know, through the myths and mythology, many moral dilemmas are evoked and resolved and this forms the corpus of rules (informal laws) and customs which represent the wealth of knowledge of our people, and of humanity, that which has been handed down over millennia. Where ever we journey and what ever we leave behind, this I find I am unwilling and unable to abandon as this is tied to me.

So, I find myself trying to create this wormhole between my world and theirs, your world and mine; between the East and the West! Which took me on a journey, back to Rahu and Ketu, the demons that tyrannize the heavens, the churning of the ocean of milk , their representation in both Hindu and Buddhist art and so entwined with the culture and mythology found across Asia.

The Tibetan Buddhist story is similar in many respects to the Hindu Rahu Ketu story I mailed earlier, except that the main deity who cuts off the serpents head and chases the demon across the heavens is not Vishnu but Vajrapani. In buddhism, Vajrapani is represented as one of the three protectors of Buddha, Bodhisattva. In Sanskrit, Vajrapani means literally the holder of the thunderbolt, the Vedic god Indra. And, there have been references to the Vedic god Indra, as Purandra the breaker of forts, possibly the Aryan invasions that came in waves to settle on the rich river fed lands speculated as one of the reasons for the collapse of the Indus Valley Civilization (pushing history back 5000 years, another tale).

As I continued on my journey, I found the Rahu Ketu representations in the Ankor Vat temple art where Rahu is represented as the eclipse deity and Ketu as the eclipse; My Son (Vietnam) Rahu and Ketu on either side of lord Ganesha (our friend the Makara , sea goat /monster also showed up in the sandstone carvings); Sky Womb, 15c. Japanese art, with Buddha representing wisdom and compassion with the sun, moon, five planets and Rahu Ketu below; Then in Sri Lankan dance which are focussed on various deities, male and female demons, celestial bodies, I found references to Rahu and Ketu.

I then stumbled upon the Pole Star Scroll in Dunhuang, a dried lake bed at the end of the Tarim basin – Valley of a 1000 buddhas uncovered by Aurel Stein with a cache of the most extensive buddhist art found to date. As you know buddhism spread along the silk route from India all the way across Asia. The Indian emperor Ashoka the Great, 3rd century BC, did much to spread this by sending his monks/teachers to all four corners of the then known world leading the exchange of ideas and intermingling of cultures. One of the scrolls uncovered at Dunhuang represented the Pole Star with Ketu by his side mixing Daoist, Hindu and Buddhist traditions, and weaving the fascinating story of Asia. In fact, in Chinese art apparently there is a constant struggle at the cosmic level from keeping the serpent (Rahu/Ketu) from eating the moon, often represented by the pearl. Now u know what the designs represent when you look up from your bowl of hot noodle soup at your favorite restaurant!

See 1000 Buddha Embroidered art from Dunhuang at The National Museum Delhi, India:

_{National Museum Delhi- Dunhuang – Photos by Purnima Viswanathan}

Buddhism then expanded into central Asia and fused with Hellenistic influences resulting in Greco-Buddhism(the result of colonies of Alexanders troops left behind), a fusion of Greek and Buddhist features, like the details of the hair, the clothes, ornaments and the greek gods themselves. Here the Greek hero Hercules was adapted to represent Vajrapani . Lord Buddha that represents the light of the world, adapted to dispel darkness was represented as Apollo. The Vedic gods Brahma and Indra were represented Zeus and Achilles. All the while, shortening the gap between my world and yours to a point where our world met and married blossoming into a vibrant culture. It’s possible isn’t it in a world where “Anything is Possible“?

Good night,

Purnima

PIRATES MANIFESTO

Dear Roger,

After reading you, I can’t wait to jump into bed with Kafka; Murakami’s Kafka on the Shore lies by my bedside visibly, patiently.

As for The Pirates’ Manifesto, I need help… guidance… direction. At this point the doors appear shut and I don’t have the access codes yet. Perhaps, I need to read your highly recommended “Millennium” and fully embrace the persona of the Swedish Girl “Hacker”, Who Kicked the Hornets Nest, broke the codes and got her information! Did u say u had an English version or was it Danish?

As you know, it frustrates me endlessly to find that access to information is often restricted, denied, to the very people who might need it the most: the unpaid, unaligned, unfettered. I just cannot support subscribing to every journal and offering my contact to every site before gaining access. I wish to surf seamlessly, quietly and stealthily. But, as you mentioned in your mail, the world around us wishes to track and keep tabs, make tables and profiles, all of which I vehemently reject and work covertly (at least in my mind) to expose, sabotage these very schemes of control!

Then of course, I stumble upon Diderot! With whom I find, I share the inherent conviction that knowledge should not be confined, restricted to any group, subset, academies, class. Like this enigmatic Frenchman, I am totally and completely for the free perpetuation of knowledge, yes, even in this programmed world of today… am I being naive? This militant passion drove me all the way, through many wormholes, to the doorsteps of Diderot and d’Alembert, and their incredible project of compiling the knowledge, thoughts and ideas of the world of their times, the summary of the Enlightenment: the Encyclopedie! I discovered that this compilation of knowledge went on to have a pivotal impact on the society of their times, through the expansion of knowledge and the development of the critical modes of thought, lighting the spark that culminated in the French revolution.

The Enlightenment of course was about expanding the realm of knowledge to all people which struck a blow to all those that were out to control, contain and stifle reason and free thought. Knowledge was no longer in the hands of a select few: the Academies, the Clergy and the State, the average man (and what is even more important, the average woman) had access to the ideas of the age. No longer could the cosy relationship where the Clergy ( complemented and substituted in our day and age by the gargantuan educational institutions with their power, influence and billions) supports the divine right of kings (or presidents), and the other (the State) bestows an abundance of grants, tax free income and subsidiaries for such adulation and support! Yes, Roger, now you know which side of the argument I am on. Thus through the Encyclopedie and the free dissemination of information, Diderot aimed to erase the dogmatism of government, religion and illiteracy that pervaded. An idea more relevant than ever in the world of today, in this controlled and monitored world of today, the cyberworld of today. Carving out a mission for the modern day pirates!

See link – Diderot & d’Alembert’s Encyclopédie, the Central Enterprise of the French Enlightenment: https://www.historyofinformation.com/detail.php?entryid=2876

This of course brings us back to the pivotal question: what language should this (The Pirates Manifesto) be written in! In the time of Diderot, Paris was the intellectual capital of the world, thus many of the ideas written in this language had the ability to spread. His Encyclopedia encompassing all the novel and radical ideas of the times, easily disseminated, perpetuated. What do you think would be the universal language of tomorrow where knowledge could flow effortlessly, seamlessly, a platform for inspiration and consensus?

Surfing through the colossus, I came upon a wonderful paragraph taken from the very controversial article written by d’Alembert for the Encyclopedia on Geneva. I find this 16th century piece amusing and as relevant today, would love to hear what you think:

This is very – strange that a city with just 24,000 souls, and whose territory does not fragmented thirty villages, do not cease to be a sovereign state, and one of the most successful of Europe: rich in its liberty and its business, she often sees around her on fire and never feel it, the events which agitate Europe are a spectacle for her, she enjoys without take part: attached to the French by alliances and by his trade, his trade by Englishmen and by religion, she pronounces impartial justice of the wars that these two powerful nations are to each other, although ‘ it is also too wise to take no part in these wars, and judge all the sovereigns of Europe, without flattery, without injury, and without fear.

Hugs,

Purnima

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.

Purnima Viswanathan