365/365

Why do we tend to keep the time of reflection and introspection for the end of the year as a kind of closure when it should be an ongoing process? That said, if you ask me what 2022 had in store for me, I will simply tell you that the year has been kinder to me than I expected. 'Tout ne tient qu'à un fil' dit-on généralement, disons que j'ai fait de sorte à ce que ce fil soit suffisamment solide pour que l'harmonie règne au sein de la maison et dans ma vie de façon générale.

Antish, lui, a connu des heures plus sombres, de grands moments de solitude où je n'ai pas pu faire grand chose pour lui sinon le garder dans mes prières et espérer qu'il trouve le courage d'accepter de faire face à la réalité tout en se transcendant et tenant les doutes et la vulnérabilité à distance raisonnable. Tel le prince Sidharta qui jadis quitta son royaume en quête de vérité, il s'en est parti traverser les épreuves de la vie en quête de validité. J'espère qu'il saura trouver les mots pour nous faire le récit de ce voyage initiatique, on aura tous tellement à apprendre de lui. 

Every chapter of our life challenges us just like those same chapters need to come to an end before new ones begin. I think this is the real beauty of life, looking forward to writing new chapters, slowly letting go of unnecessary thoughts and mental formations, giving up on limiting beliefs that we have about ourselves, accepting that there are as many kind-hearted people and well-wishers in the world as there are rude and aggressive beings.

This year has been dominated by war, a war causing pain and we cannot stick our head in the sand and ignore it. Oppression, domination, enslavement, ignorance, fear all have causes and causes can be eliminated and because causes can be eliminated, I have hope for a better future. Maybe not in this life but...eventually, somehow.

2022 is drawing to its end, 2023 is loading and my wish is for people to finally rest their head on safe pillows at night and wake up to peaceful mornings. I know that the nature of existence will not allow this to happen any day soon but we are close to midnight and wishful thinking during the hours that precede a new beginning does carry its load of magic, so here's to a better new year and to new beginnings. Cheers!

It was all worth the wait

Those uncanny feelings I had on the eve dissolved the moment our skins touched. Breathing the same air, on the same ground revivified us and when the boat carrying you sailed to faraway shores at dusk, I sat by my window and reflected at how easy it was to laugh with you again during those precious few hours that December offered us.

Let the image of us sitting high up on deck 11, with Port Louis at our feet paying its respect be engraved in our beings forever. Always remember how during a micro-second, we felt as if the harbor, the bustling city centre and the mountain range all silently bowed to us telling us in its own quiet language: 'you are part of us, we are part of you, we are your homeland, we seek your blessing and we give you ours.'

Not in a million years had we imagined that December would treat us with such a tender and romantic moment. Thank you for the most special x-mas gift ever my love.

Turning 50

50 and a decade of great mystery now awaits me.

'Be grateful to have made it that far' says Antish ' not everyone is given the opportunity to turn 50 in pretty good shape'. There's truth in it but over and above that, it's the way that he said it that prompted me to let go of my anguishes. At 40, you know that there are still some punches that you can bring onto the battlefield. At 50, you start thinking in terms of strategy and lean on the little wisdom acquired along the years hoping it will help you forge ahead without too many bruises.

I am fortunate to feel profoundly 'loved', something which in today's world is very much of a luxury. It's not something trivial, it's precious. I could easily go by funny slogans like "Turning 50, looking 30, feeling 20" but nah, that's not me. As far as I am concerned I have turned 50, I look 50, I feel 50 and that's as good as it gets :) I can finally start wearing shoes that don't match my clothes and continue throwing those 'yeah...whatever...can't be bothered' looks to people just like I did in my 20s, 30s and 40s. Some things definitely don't change.

Ce qui nous secoue gentiment

Novembre dans toute sa splendeur. Il y a des jours hors du temps, comme ce dimanche à Blue Bay où l'on sent au fond de soi que chaque minute passée avec les gens qu'on aime revêt un cachet doux-amer. Plus on prend de l'âge, plus le sens de la vie se dévoile à nous de façon étrange, parfois même stupide et l'on reste suspendu à la fragilité de ces moments. 

Le temps qui passe nous transforme et nous métamorphose déjà en souvenir au fil de notre présent. Avant on prenait le temps de vieillir alors que maintenant les jours saccadés précipitent le processus. Du réveil au coucher, j'ai cette impression que plusieurs mois s'écoulent dans ce simple quotidien. Je ne peux  disposer des gens que j'aime à volonté, je le pensais possible autrefois mais cette année m'a prouvé le contraire, elle m'a démontré que parfois même les vivants sont là sans être là. Ce qui me rend un brin nostalgique c'est d'avoir cru soutenir certaines relations familiales, amicales alors qu'en vérité nous vieillissons tous de manière singulière et ne pouvons raccorder nos vies. Les années où l'on pouvait parler de mille choses, aussi petites fussent-elles, sont bel et bien révolues, cédant la place à un chant lancinant, une même rhétorique qui s'emploie à tourner indéfiniment.

Il a fait beau aujourd'hui. L'été est tombé comme un couperet et avec lui la fraicheur du soir s’est soudain transformée en tiédeur. Cela me rappelle les grandes vacances d'antan riches de moments enivrants. 

C'est aussi la saison des films de noël à la télé, ces long métrages où tout y est aseptisé, du décor aux dialogues, ces téléfilms aux répliques rabibochées censés nous instiller du baume au coeur et nous mettre dans l'ambiance des fêtes alors que tout y est tellement faux et surfait que c'en est à pleurer. J'en ai regardé un hier, essayant vainement à m'amollir le coeur. Non, rien n'y fit. J'ai eu droit à un véritable festival de papier glacé: personages aux mensurations parfaites, au brushing parfait, au sourire parfait, à la dentition parfaite, aux répliques parfaites, même aux larmes parfaites, le package marketing total tout droit sorti d'une usine pathos 2.0. J'ai failli m'étrangler vu le nombre fois où je sentis un rire à l'effluve de venin trébucher dans ma gorge. 

  

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15th October

1008 lunar cycles

D'Homme à Homme

Festival du livre de Trou D'Eau Douce vendredi dernier: cela me fait un bien fou de faire partie du public, d'écouter avec gourmandise tous ces écrivains poser leurs regards sur la vie. L'espace de quelques minutes, je m'imagine secrètement dans leur peau en train de manier avec verve et allégresse cette belle langue française et faire preuve de lyrisme, devenant le temps d'une petite heure cette source d'où coulent paroles, idées, clairvoyance, imaginaire et parfois même prophéties. Les écrivains ne détiennent certainement pas les réponses à tout mais leur quête d'absolu est noble et ils la portent telle une charge héroique devant la face du monde.

Entendre Ananda Devi confier que, pour un écrivain, écrire est le plus pénible des exercices, le plus douloureux car c'est vouloir formuler et retranscrire un ressenti qui se termine inéluctablement sur un goût d'inachevé, c'est prendre conscience de la tâche monumentale qui l'attend face à la page blanche. Toujours ce même effort pour enfanter, pour améliorer, pour aller plus loin que là où la plume s'arrête. Et à Mohamed Mbougar Sarr d'enchérir qu'au fond la littérature ne peut se contenter de n'être qu'un regard anondin, elle a le devoir d'être un point de vue franc et cru, elle porte en elle la responsabilité du changement qui opère dans le monde.

Je suis heureux de connaitre Umar. J'aimerai le côtoyer plus souvent mais le temps nous fait défaut. Il n'a pas tellement changé au fil des années, il a simplement évolué avec bonhomie, toujours porté par ce courage supplantant ses doutes. Il s'abreuve de connaissance et de liberté, de fausses angoisses aussi. Il m'est arrivé à plusieurs reprises de penser qu'il est ce deuxième frère que j'aurais souhaité avoir, celui qui aurait su trouver les mots pour m'encourager, me pousser, me faire réfléchir, me remettre en question et je ne me serai pas senti petit à côté de son talent, peut être même que j'aurais existé et que, comme lui, je serai parti à la recherche des mots et des vérités. Le destin aidant, je me serai même touvé un peu de talent. Non, ça c'est lui qui l'eût déniché, tapis au fond de moi, lui qui n'a pas cette colère hostile et discriminatoire face à la médiocrité des gens. Le grondement qui fait vibrer sa chair, il le canalise et l'exprime par des propos toujours mesurés. Lui, a su trouver l'amour, le support, la stabilité (forcément c'était écrit d'avance car c'est un homme bon), lui, a su évoluer d'écrivain à photographe et a accompli bien des choses malgré ses fausses angoisses. Lui, a "réussi sa vie".

Il y a des gens qui sont nés pour exister, pour briller et il y en a d'autres, comme moi, qui malgré tous leurs efforts arrivent à peine à se démarquer. J'eûs étudié assidûment et fait l'apprentissage de chaque syllabe, travaillé, retravaillé, encore et toujours re-retravaillé mon texte, le soigner, le peaufiner, l'embellir de belles courbes et de jolies formules inspirantes que je n'y serai jamais parvenu. Ecrire, c'est dire la vérité, c'est se livrer et ce genre de courage on l'a ou on ne l'a pas. Il y a des gens qui croient en leur talent, il y en d'autres qui croient avoir du talent, je ne suis pas dupe, je connais ma place dans l'ordre de l'univers. On peut s'affranchir de certaines choses dans la vie mais à quoi bon essayer de chercher des prédispositions qui n'existent nul part en vous? La voilà peut-être la conversation que j'aurais souhaité avoir avec Umar un jour, à la dernière limite de ma vie, pouvoir lui confesser ces choses que d'homme à homme on ne dit pas, histoire qu'il me réponde "au fond, c'est pas très grave, tu sais."

 

Things you hear at home on Doorga Pooja day

Ale rode flerr, pas blié kasse ene feye mangue, tone kassé feye bétel? Nettoye Mahabishwami propre, pou sanze pavillon zordi, tire gobelet, mett feye banane, tone metté coca glassé? kraze sa pomme damour la, kan to fini coupe sa brede la fin fin, passe ene koutt mop dan la cuisine, mette enpé délo so pou baigner, lagazette? tone alle serser la gazette?, pa blié pren gaz, gaz la salle de bain pou fini, tire mo tablett lor charge pou mett la priere zwer lor youtube, amene mo banc, lave sa 2-3 bols la ene coup, tonne gagné flerrs, mette ene koutt lorde lor la table, fini install tou pou déjeuner talerr, tire ti kwiyerr pou manze yoplait, kot feye mangue la? Tone kassé? kifer tone instal sa nappe la  koumsa, li pa bon, to bizin mett li dan lott direction, mett sa bol la laba, tonne sofé délo pou baigner, bé kifer to penkor sofe délo? tire ross cari pou kraze chaat, lave sa 2- bols la ene coup (2ème partie) fini prepare loya pou fer puri, bane la pou vini la, tone ale sersser la gazette? Tou la gazette pou fini la, kass enpé camphre to mett dan ti bol la, hein rode sa zoli la prière Doorga la ene coup lor youtube, nooooon pas sanela, lott la, amene ene torsson prope pou mwa, pa seki dan la samm dresser la, seki dan larmoire la, amene mo linette ene koutt, kot twa? tone couvert manzé dan la kwizinn? pas laisse nanien decouvert la, ayoooo pa sa torsson la mone dire twa, seki zoli la, dans larmoire la, Sadhna koté kifer li penkor vini, appel li, tone ale sersser lagazette? (3ème partie)

                                               

                                                            ...Mothers...

Remembering places

L'assaut des émotions face à un souvenir olfactif se produit en moi dès lors que je me retrouve dans le rayon des produits de lessive au supermarché. Le temps se fige et je me retrouve immédiatement projeté dans ma tête dans ce lavomatique au rez-de-chaussée du Barbican Hostel à Londres. Inlasablement mes sens me ramènent à 1998, l'année de toutes les explorations.

Si mon aujourd'hui est relié à ce hier, à ce passé si vrai, si réel, c'est parcequ'il m'a offert une immensité sans mesure où, bonheur après bonheur, je me suis construit. J'étais innocent et friable et sans doute trop occupé à m'emerveiller d'un rien pour me laisser distraire par le cynisme des autres. Même mon imaginaire, pourtant fertile, ne m'avait préparé à ce que j'allais vivre. Dans ce temps ralenti du mois de juin 1998 tout me semblait doux et palpable. Il y a des vies qui passent sans que rien ne s'y passe, il y en a d'autres où le bonheur étoffe chaque chapitre.

Visiter un lieu où les bruits au petit matin sont différents, observer les gens se précipiter vers un métro le visage fermé et en ressortir comme abasourdis, parcourir des endroits où les odeurs ne sont pas celles d'une ile tropicale mais d'une ville moderne, le parfum du croissant chaud et du café brûlant émanant d’un bistrot, goûter à des herbes fines dont on ne connaissait même pas l’existence sont autant de révélations pour des sens inhabitués.

Et puis, il y a la balade dans des lieux improbables, où à un coin de rue on tombe sur une ancienne bâtisse (jamais vieille, toujours ancienne) et on en touche les mûrs dans l’espoir qu’une histoire nous soit transmise tel un électrochoc comme dans les films. Les pierres parlent. Tout autour de soi les gens glissent dans le bleuté du jour. Ces endroits attirent du monde, attirent LE monde vers leur sein nourricier comme pour les abreuvoir de sensations. Nos yeux se referment sur leurs paupières devinant les gloires et les troubles que ces abris ont jadis engendrés. Tout est bref et vif. Et ainsi de suite, on passe d'un site à un autre, toujours prêt à recommencer le même exercice vibrant.

Il y a bien un pont qui relie mes émotions d'aujourd'hui à celles d'antan. Les significations du présent ne sont certainement pas les mêmes de celles d'hier et c'est tant mieux. On a grandi entretemps, d'autres perspectives se sont offertes à nous, ont croisé nos routes, d'autres douleurs aussi, comme celle de vieillir et la frayeur que ces mêmes souvenirs s’estompent trop vite. Rien n’est jamais perdu pour autant. Il me reste l'espoir d'en fabriquer d'autres, avec cette fois à mes côtés quelqu'un qui porte déjà en lui la même curiosité et le même sourire d'émerveillement que je portai à son âge. Chaque couche de l’existence offre son lot d’intensité.Voyager ce n'est pas voir les choses, c'est les vivre.

Début des années 90

So, I found this autobiographical piece on a sheet of paper in a book. A look at my handwriting, this must have been penned in the late nineties.

Je m'en souviens comme-ci c'était hier. Assis sur la banquette arrière d'un autobus récalcitrant qui peinait à avancer sur la montée de Floréal menant à Curepipe, je contemplais la matinée grise et tiède à travers la fenêtre, le coeur battant un peu plus fort que d'habitude, une angoisse me faisant à chaque fois avaler de grosses boules de salive. C'était un dimanche de fin d'avril où l'été commence déjà à tirer sa révérence, je n'avais pas 20 ans et je m'en allais à la rencontre d'un groupe de jeunes randonneurs.

Un peu plus tôt dans la semaine j'étais tombé sur une annonce dans le journal et le nom du groupe m'avait quelquepeu interpellé: Miami Boys. Faire le rapprochement entre cette ville de l'Est des Etats-Unis et notre petite ile m'avait semblé incohérent et pour dire vrai j'avais même trouvé ce nom un peu grotesque.Qu'importe, moi, tout ce qui m'intéressait c'était de sortir voir de nouvelles têtes et oublier que ma vie, à cette époque, ne ressemblait qu'à une sombre histoire de rien du tout. Je me souviens même assez clairement de ce qui avait déclenché le déclic en moi pour me pousser à me rendre à ce rendez-vous devant le bureau de poste; la veille j'avais entendu les paroles d'une chanson de Madonna qui disaient:" Take a day out of life" et cela m'avait inspiré. Se permettre une journée hors de son quotidien, cela paraissait tout à fait attrayant comme perspective. 

Pas grand monde au rendez-vous; une ou deux personnes aux regards fuyants et qui semblaient aussi hésitants que moi à entamer la conversation. Ma montre indiquait 07H30, pile à l'heure et je me disais que les autres n'allaient certainement plus tarder à arriver. Je me grattais un peu nerveusement la tête me demandant quelle attitude adopter devant des personnes inconnues lorsqu'une voix grave et riante me sortit de ma réflexion: "Twa ci to dan groupe?" A côté de moi se tenait un grand gaillard, plutôt rondelet au sourire fraternel et généreux. Je lui répondis que j'étais là suite à l'annonce parue dans le journal et que je ne connaissais encore personne et à son tour il se présenta comme Shanawaz et me serra la main certainement avide de se faire un nouvel ami. Il tint à me rassurer que toutes les personnes du groupe étaient sympathiques et que le chef d'orchestre qui menait un peu  tout le monde à la baguette s'appelait Reza. La conversation à peine débutée, voilà que le Reza en question fit son apparition et que mon copain de quelques secondes me laissa sur place pour se diriger vers lui avant de se retourner un peu penaud, se rappelant tout à coup ma présence pour me lancer: "Vini, ala Reza la". Je m'approchais afin de dévisager ce jeune homme frêle, voire maigrichon occupé à bavarder avec quelqu'un. Dans le décor une petite foule avait commencé à s'amasser.

Lorsque les présentations furent faites, Reza me regarda fixement et longuement avant de me souhaiter la bienvenue dans le groupe. A cet instant précis, j'étais fort loin de me douter que le destin allait nous lier dans une relation amicale des plus tortueuses et éreintantes pour les années à venir. Même aujourd'hui avec du recul je réalise que Reza reste le personage le plus complexe et bourré de contradictions jamais rencontré dans mon existence. Le décrire comme 'bizarre' était certainement injuste de ma part et je l'ai regretté plus tard.

Quant à l'individu avec lequel Reza conversait, il était vêtu d'une façon pour le moins surprenante à mes yeux. Il portait une salopette blanche avec des rayures noires, exactement la même dont Vanilla Ice, rappeur au succès éphémère, s'était accoutrée dans Ice, Ice baby. Je devais être assez coincé à l'époque car je n'avais  jamais imaginé que quelqu'un puisse s'habiller de la sorte à Maurice. Ce jeune homme souriait et laissait apparaitre des fossettes. Il portait du parfum (pas du déodorant mais bel et bien du parfum) et cela me troubla. Lorsqu'il se mit à parler, il le fit avec un charme presque calculé, ce qui déclencha en moi la pensée qu'il devait être l'archétype du mec au sourire dévastateur auquel aucune fille ne résistait. Cela me frappa et sur le moment je pris conscience que j'étais debout là, sous les arcades Salaffa, dans la tièdeur d'un dimanche matin d'avril face à un cliché, un vrai, grand cliché et cela me fit presque pouffer de rire. C'était déconcertant et intéressant à la fois. Il s'appelait Kiran, il avait un regard plein de malice. Lui, allait quelques mois plus tard, commettre l'acte le plus surréel et improbable du monde, celui-là même qui changerait le cours de ma vie à tout jamais...

 

Don't we love to play the victims?

My latest Buddhist practice consists of writing down in a notebook, during 45 consecutive days, all the pains I underwent from age 5 till now, the wrong deeds I did, the hurtful things I said.

- 45 days!!! I exclaimed thinking I would be done by the day 3.Well, guess what? I've hit my 23rd day and I still have plenty to retell. The more I write the more anecdotes keep popping up, tiny little stories I had completely forgotten about which managed to find a way to hide remotely somewhere under my skull. Given the proper impetus, the mind definitely starts working in mysterious ways, as does the subconscious.

It is such a liberating exercise though, one which is greatly helping me to reconcile with periods of my life where I had unfairly bracketed people or misjudged situations. I am coming to terms with the unnecessary dramas I had created or nurtured just so to give substance to my life. I wrongly thought that everyone needed a little melodrama to make life more interesting and it feels so shallow when I ponder about it today.

I am trying to assess my current operational behavior as opposed to that of my 20s when I was carefree and generous, driven by that happy-go-lucky nature that characterized me so perfectly well. Today, I tend to worry a bit about how to make ends meet when honestly, I shouldn't have to. True that I can't have the same level of material comfort I had ten years ago but I am in a much better place today, better than I have ever been before. The world is a tough place to evolve in if you don't have money but I know I will somehow manage to navigate my way through. quietly. peacefully.

Who you do it with...

J'ai été à un dîner d'anniversaire très festif cette semaine, un de ces dîners bruyants où tout le monde parle en même temps et la conversation avec son voisin de table est soudainement interrompue par le rire sonore de la personne assise cinq chaises plus loin. On se retourne pour voir ce qui a déclenché un tel esclaffement et l'entrain communicatif fini par nous rattraper pour nous faire rire tout autant de bon coeur.  Oui, c'est le genre de dîner 'thérapeutique' où la rotation du chakra au niveau du plexus solaire décide de pousser sa p'tite accéleration, histoire de générer de bonnes ondes. On prend deux bouchées, on rit, on reprend deux bouchées, on re-rit.

Aperçu: Chandni prendre Radha dans ses bras et lui dire 'viens, on prend la pose pour la photo'. Y aurait-il un Bouddha de la réconciliation dont nul ne m'aurait fait mention jusqu'ici? Hmmm, affaire à suivre.

Vu: Sheila commencer à se décontracter, FINALEMENT!!! Respire, Sheila, respire, on va y arriver... 

Entendu: Ishwari faire un commentaire coquin. Mais kescekiété ?!?

Vu: Krissy et Ashley, ze leuvebeuuuurds, se fondre dans la masse.

Entendu: Radha dire qu'elle aimerait avoir le super pouvoir de réciter des mantras. Mais Radha ô, pas bizin super pouvoir pou sa!!!

Quand la géométrie sociale se dessine en courbes parfaites les soirs d'hiver, on n'a pas vraiment envie de rentrer chez soi.

The Wait

 

The song goes " Why does this happen in life that suddenly after someone leaves, the heart remembers every little thing about them?"

Looking, searching, planning.

I am very much of a loner these days. 

The news bulletins on tv keep bombarding us with depressing images; melting of glaciers, aggressions, heat waves, floods, inflation, war in Ukraine, the atrocities committed on Catholics in Nigeria and, not later than this morning, the assassination of the ex-prime minister of Japan. Kalyug, kalyug mo dire ou. People say that destruction and chaos have existed on this planet since the dawn of times, that struggles were actually worse during eras where crusades and slavery pervaded, the only variation today being the torrential images of afflictions that smash you right in your face day in, day out.

And yet, in this mad, mad world Antish and I have somehow managed to create a space of our own where we laugh at simple things. Not one single evening where we went to bed without a smile in our respective hearts after talking to each other. How I miss diving into those glowing hazelnut eyes of his when he laughs! 

The only thing that fuels me is listening to melancholic Italian music and preparing our forthcoming trip. I secretly portray us visiting Paris together, walking at our own pace with me as usual leading the way and him slowly strolling behind, venturing in the small alleys near the canal Saint Martin or walking down Prévert's street at La Place du Tertre with an accordion playing in the background, eventually ending up at the foot of the Eiffel Tower at sunset as the latter elegantly draws out it gown of glittering lights and finally getting pleasantly lost as we try to find our way back home.

The second option would be a milestone that would carry us to that one step above in our spiritual life to a dwelling never even imagined. This would translate into attending a teaching by HH the 14th Dalai Lama at Dharamshala. The travels that are truly impactful are the ones where reality surpasses dreams and from time to time one does have to deliberately choose where one's future is to take place. We fall in love with people as we fall in love with life-changing moments. Our thirst remains unquenched and we yearn for more. India may not have the sophistication of Europe but there is a tanginess to it that the latter will always lack.

Well, we'll see, both continents are packed with hidden treasures anyway and whatever comes along, we'll just open up to the experience that manifests (even better if it comes with a good laugh).

Bringing you out on a date Ticocasse

Today marks the 5th anniversary of our meeting. Separated by the Indian Ocean & a few other seas, we will not be able to celebrate it together so I'll just pretend that you are here and bring you out on a date. For a few hours I'll try to forget about this virtual connection that sucks and the time difference that hinders our conversations. To be honest, I've tried to pull myself together and not feel too miserable since your departure but the truth is I miss you...a fuckin' damn lot. I console myself in the thought that being apart does enhance a sense of belonging to someone.

But no whining here, specially not today. Today, we celebrate 5 years of me pinching your sexy ass and teasing you. The sun is finally back after all the grey that poured through the window the whole of this  week.

I wonder where I will bring you though? Shall we go for Long Island Ice Tea?😁 or take a walk round Trou-aux-Cerfs in the chill of the evening? or even better, go watch Top Gun Maverick just so to check whether Tom Cruise is aging well and confirm that he can still pull a trick or two.

I'll shave, dress up nice and even put some cologne for the occasion. I'll buy 2 tickets, one for you and one for me and we'll eat popcorn because there's no place you like eating popcorn more than at the movies. As I drive you back home after the movie, we'll pick Berlin's 'Take my breath away' from the playlist and jam to the creole version of it: to pren mo respiration twalé é é é é é é é é é é é é é é é é                                                                            to pren mo respiration twalé é é é é é é é é é é é é é é é é

In, my love?

Battre la mesure

Mesurer le temps écoulé, mesurer sa vie à travers une multitude d'anecdotes, mesurer son bonheur, mesurer ses propos, toujours et encore tout mesurer afin de donner du sens à son existence. Mesurer ce nombre infini de certitudes qui s'entassent en moi, dans mon être comme sur ma chair, mesurer toute cette conviction qui nourrit un égo tel que le mien pour finalement me retrouver démuni devant cet amour si particulier qui protège des aléas de la passion.

Il m'est arrivé d'aimer sous toutes les coutures le moment où la sensation du désir a commencé à naître en moi. Mais l'adolescence est ainsi faite qu'elle laisse parfois quelques séquelles dont on a bien du mal à se défaire après. Puis s'ensuit une vie d'homme avec son lot de ni trop, ni trop peu d'aventures qui aujourd'hui permet de synthétiser, digérer, comprendre et réaliser que, contrairement aux idées reçues, le coeur ne s'emballe pas lorsque l'amour, le vrai, s'invite dans votre vie. Il devient apaisé et souriant. 

D'un cri libérateur on lâche " Au diable tous les autres!" Vous n'étiez que leurres et apprentissages, un chemin tortueux mais ô combien nécessaire qu'il eût fallu parcourir pour que ce coeur apprenne enfin à battre en toute sérénité.

Come what May

Le mois de mai à Maurice a ceci de particulier qu'il est celui de la transition de l'été vers l'hiver et lance ainsi son invitation à des températures plus douces que d'habitude.

Hier c'était jour de marché, j'y ai accompagné ma mère et me suis fondu dans cette petite masse de gens aux yeux hagards devant la flambée des prix. Je ne reconnais pas forcément tous les visages, du moins pas autant que les gestes et les cris des maraichers et des discussions autour des prix qui n'en finissent jamais d'augmenter.

Depuis ma plus tendre enfance je me suis toujours fait à l'idée qu'au 'bazar' on passait inlassablement les chansons de Kishore Kumar, surtout ses succès des années 70 où Rajesh Khanna incarnait à l'écran le héros romantique par excellence devenant, le temps d'un tube, l'instrument de ce chanteur populaire qui faisait vibrer les coeurs dans les salles obscurs et surtout le mien dès lors même que j'arpentais les allées du marché. Les choses ont bien changé depuis quelques temps. La voix de Kishore semble s'être tue. Du vieux transistor colmaté avec un morceau de ruban adhésif, d'un élastique usé et posé à même une pile de bringelles difformes, une musique faible, presque inaudible émane. Elle semble s'excuser de feindre l'air. Moi qui aimais bien me raccrocher à ce côté désuet et bancal, cette 'chose' artisanale qui faisait le charme de mon samedi matin, j'ai maintenant l'impression de vivre dans un demi-monde.

Il y a les grands drames de ce monde tels que la guerre et l'oppression et puis il y a ces petites morts palpables de notre quotidien qui, eux, à la longue, se révèlent  tragiques à leur façon. Nous craignons que certains sons, certaines odeurs, certains gestes et réflexes voire certaines habitudes finissent un jour par nous manquer sachant qu'ils font partie de cette petite mémoire qui, rassemblée, compose tout un patchwork donnant un sens à notre vie, ces choses simples et sans chichis.

Je regarde par la fenêtre et je me dis qu'il me reste encore ce ciel du mois de mai le soir tombant pour pousser des soupirs. Il n'y a rien de plus fascinant dans l'entre-saison, que d'admirer ce ciel couleur de vin brut rosé, dépourvu d'horizon me raconter un récit différent chaque soir avant qu'apparaisse la première étoile. Si l'ambiance dans le pays oscille entre amour et désamour envers les dirigeants, entre craintes et doutes sur lesquels se construisent notre quotidien, je me raccroche à la beauté des lieux et à ces moments fébriles mais purs de la journée qui façonnent notre imaginaire et nous poussent à lire entre les lignes pour comprendre que sur cette ile si petite, si tendue, la magie ne subsiste pas uniquement dans la nostalgie mais aussi et surtout dans ce qui nous entoure.

Chacha 2000v

My dad's younger brother, Chacha Sat, "bid farewell and passed into another sphere of the universe" as poetically announced by Sim Sim on whatsapp yesterday. So, off we went to lend a hand, pay respect and show her and my Chachi Sado support. Having anticipated that I would shed a tear, I dreaded the moment I would step into their house. For some unknown reason though, upon reaching there, no particular emotion ran through me. On the contrary, I felt rather desensitized in front of the 'agony' displayed by my aunts; Poupou Anita throwing herself on the couch and going berserk was more of a  scary sight than a sad one. As one of the youngest sisters, she has always been deeply attached to all her siblings and losing one brother after another at every decade must be indescribably painful knowing that at the end of the day, chances are, she might be the last tree standing. I think I was too busy being practical and caught up in the hal chal of how to get things organized to have time to mourn properly.

Two days earlier I had had the honor of attending Antish's elder sister, Hanshinee's engagement ceremony. It was a delight to witness how happily and fully involved her whole family was in the event. I had reached the place with a knot in my stomach (overly)conscious that I was going to be subjected to scrutiny or maybe ridicule. The sound of the busy household however became a music so pleasing to the ear that it quickly made me realize that the whole thing was not about me anyway. As I watched this parivar coming together in joy and laughter I wished that growing up I, too, could have experienced this warm feeling of belonging. Every family is unique and relationships can be nurtured with love but sometimes [and sadly] with resentments too.

Talking about resentment, how immensely wide the gap between both experiences has been finally; on one hand I had witnessed bonding within a happy family and on the other, the tragedy of sisters and brother not talking - if not to defy one another. I found myself standing in a place where mourning was more about the death of relationships than about the departed himself. 'Behaviors speak as much as actions' said the pandit as we were about to head towards the cremation ground and looking at the crowd gathered in the yard, those words resonated profoundly within us yesterday.

Chacha Sat died just like he lived; quickly, sharply, energetically. He was admitted at 2pm to hospital on Monday, moved to ICU 30 minutes later, passed away at 2am and by 3pm the following day his funeral was already over, à l’image du personage, a restless character always in a rush to go God-knows-where. I will remember him as the adult who brought my brother and I to a horse stable in Albion as kids and showed us how to pat those noble creatures. Also comes to my mind the time he won a second-hand VW beetle in a lottery at a school fancy-fair or how he was always in a hurry to leave a place, be it a haldi, a birthday party or a funeral, calling out to his wife ' kot sa tifi la? A nou allé ene fois ta tifi, to pou ress la to pou bakko meme, to pou fer to sovaz meme la" (yeah, he wasn't the softest of persons). He wore a hat, stylishly, like JR in Dallas but he was also always busy entertaining deranged and incoherent conversations or writing weird stories about him being a CIA agent working for the US government (freaky. very freaky. yet captivating). More affectionately, I will always remember that the last time we visited him he made us roti and sang "jeena yahan, marna yahan, iske siva jaana kahan" to us. 

True to his Sewtohul genes, Chacha Sat created a strange bubble inside which he lived and the souvenir of him makes me hesitate between which smile to wear. Of the different types of existing smiles, only a handful are related to something positive, the rest happen when we're embarrassed or out of incredulity. If I had to choose my pick though, I think I'd go for one which oscillates between happy and dampened. 

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May your soul be blessed Chacha 2000v

Open-heartedly

A candid and open-hearted conversation with my partner tonight could have degenerated into an openly heated one. There's such a thin line that separates the rational from the irrational when it comes to that common 'acquaintance' of ours, whose name will not be cited on this blog tonight. Antish has a solid and valid point and I am surprised at how clear headed he can be when expresses himself like that. I tend to play with words when I feel ambushed but not him, he will find a way to make his point and jeez is he good at that! 

I am very bad at lying or hiding things and unsurprisingly got caught red-handed last week. In trying to avoid some sulking which, in my opinion, was unnecessary and uncalled for, instant karma ferociously kicked in and things started taking an ugly turn. Now, eight days later, I am realizing that there is nothing minor or insignificant about this situation. This tiny omission of mine is giving way to long and reflective conversations which now stand as a test of how strong our relationship is. That my friend 'tolerates' the presence of my partner is not something to be ignored. It needs to be tackled with maturity and seriousness. And God knows I am navigating in the middle of troubled waters this time.

How many times have I had to make choices in my life, tough ones and honestly it is so infuriating and odd to feel I am back to square one again. Years have passed and I foolishly ask myself how I managed to find myself in that familiar position where I look around and realize that there is no one to blame except myself. Things are not going to get better if I do not act upon them.  I am aware it's a tough call but Antish is right, I cannot just sit there and watch things fall apart in our relationship. We've built something together, something rare and precious. The teachings that we receive enable us to be the couple that we are today, honest and mindful, strong and practical. What if we were to lose touch with dharma? Wouldn't it be the beginning of our downfall both as a couple and individually? 

Here's how the equation goes:

• There's dharma
• There's us
• There's a 'teacher' in the middle whose teachings are a blessing but whose behavior has become somekind of a threat by obstinately refusing to acknowledge her flaws

Let's alter the situation a little, see the reaction and thereon decide how to manoeuvre.

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'bout last night

We went to watch The Kashmir Files at the movies last evening. Before the projection, and for some obscure reason, both the Mauritian and Indian national anthems were played and everyone stood up. Everyone? Not quite, my very good friend refused to budge an inch, detecting a propaganda smell behind.

I respect his choice and will not discuss it. But at the same time this gave me food for thought about how we, human beings, perceive things. To me, one should show respect towards a national anthem no matter what. Patrice on the other hand brought the situation to a whole new level by intellectualizing it. A national anthem shouldn't be used for any purpose, less so for some obscure reasons in a cinema when about to project a movie revolving around such a sensitive issue. Good point. But then, was it really propaganda? If yes, which purpose was it serving? Was it to protect one group from another? If yes, whom against whom? Or was it a way that the hindus in India found for extracting support from mauritians due to what is happening in Kashmir?

I believe we were both right and wrong. Maybe I reacted too quickly and didn’t stretch my brain enough to analyze what was going on. Or maybe he didn’t see that there was a message of patriotism underneath it all, one not meant to hurt any specific group but simply to portray the ugly truth of what this conflict is  about. Now that I think about it, maybe the Indian anthem was played because it was an Indian production of not just any commercial film. Had the movie been a Pakistani production and their anthem played, I would have stood up just the same. Not everything needs to be a political act.

This is what probably differs us. For Patrice, everything is a political statement and he is driven by this passion of right and wrong. This is actually what I like about him, this thrive and energy he has to fight against injustices, just like my brother. I, on the other hand, am not like that. I do not carry such passion. The authenticity of our friendship was highlighted yesterday with him remaining seated and me standing without any of us feeling embarrassed in front of the other. We took a stand as per our very own perception, our outlook on life and we felt enough respect towards each other by not arguing over it.

As for Antish, he did not know that people usually stand up for the national anthem of any country, not only theirs. He learned it last night and did it for the Indian anthem. If for any reason, he chose not to stand up, I wouldn't have argued with him either. People are responsible for their own choices and should be respected for that.

I will not talk about the movie itself here. It was uncomfortable to watch with layers of it that I still need to digest. 

Published and Unread

I have been reading posts from my fellow colleagues on LinkedIn and there is one which struck me particularly by the sheer authenticity of its content; 'Lessons from an unpublished draft' by Deepa.  Beautifully penned, it encourages me to venture into an unfamiliar terrain. 

See, I am no writer. I wish I was but I am not. But the way Deepa went, giving a handful of useful tips about this whole process of writing echoed in me, with  #7 being the point which brought a smile to my lips: ' You can't please everyone...you're not chai', a punchline which I suppose sums up pretty well the wit and humor that characterizes her. I know I shouldn't compare myself to others but jeez, wouldn't it be nice if I could come up with punchlines or witty formulas like that?

I keep reading that article over and over again and I tell myself that maybe I should keep publishing on LinkedIn too. It would be taking the risk of being exposed to scrutiny  but hey, a man's gotta do what he's gotta do to exist on a network. I know, one just cannot throw anything in there. Drama and emotions are for FB, whereas on Linked things need to be thought provoking, as Akhi would put it, otherwise what's the use of posting? Writing to exercise style would not be of no appeal.

This blog is where I publish my thoughts and they remain unread with the exception of Antish who reads everything, not because he finds what I write particularly interesting but because he is my partner and somehow feels that he needs to show support. Occasionally, he needs to check what's going inside my bloody head too. Being too aware that I am unable to grow enough thick-skin to appreciate criticism about thoughts that I lay here, I have never looked for an audience as such. I know it might sound paradoxical to write on public space and at the same time thoroughly enjoy not being read, well, that's me, the guy who goes out there without going out there. 

Maybe it's time I pull my shit together and start caring, if I want to move forward professionally. Maybe it's time I ask myself whether my writing skill has evolved over this past decade.

'Write to express not to impress'. That one I can easily remember I think.

March

Uninspired and with a brain on strike, can't be bothered about finding a title to this post. To some it may sound solemn but I actually can't think of anything else as subject. No particular stuff that I want to write about either, just throwing in something before April marches in.

First post on LinkedIn for professional reasons and  I wrote about responsibility, a topic we have tackled in class last Saturday. I must admit I did feel guilty pleasure writing it.

Meditation classes have resumed on Wednesdays at the center and it's a good thing that we go. It strengthens our bond and bring yet another dimension to our relationship. Antish & I live like an old couple (in the good sense of the term) doing 'activities' together. It's funny, positive and healthy. I don't know the constraints and restrictions that await us in the future but for the time being we try to make the most of everything. I always say that it is a luxury to be able to go to the movies, eat around the street corner, go to the beach, meet family members, all that in a sane and beautiful environment. War reminds us everyday of how privileged we are. We dedicate our merits to the people of both Ukraine and Russia and we pray for this carnage to stop soon. From a Buddhist perspective, I cannot think about what is happening as fair or unfair. And no, I do not use karma as an excuse to explain things. I am a firm believer in the law of cause and effect and I get it that the world is going where it's meant to go, that purification prayers and helping in whatever way we can is the only path to help settle things for this moment.

Not later than yesterday afternoon we were talking in the car about how difficult it is to remain on a spiritual path, at how easily we could derail at any moment. We keep witnessing numerous examples around us and we are conscious that we are not exempt from giving in to the temptations of worldly pleasures, to sloth and torpor present in so many aspects of our very own lives. Being in daily contact with the teachings is the only constant that allows us to remain cool headed, to keep us away from the dangers of our environment. At the same time, the very reflection of my own well-being conveys me with a sense of superiority to others. Instead of feeling different, I think of myself as being better and I can't fight it. There is tremendous work for me to accomplish before I even learn about what humility is. I pray that writing about it here could be the starting point of something impactful though.

Dubai - Briani Vacations

I completely forgot that tomorrow we'll be in March and I haven't posted anything this month. A few more hours and I would have missed that train. 

On the eve of leaving Dubai, Russia launched its first attack on Ukraine and the whole world's attention is now drawn towards tragic events which will surely impact our individual lives. I came back with stories to tell and pictures to post on Instagram but I don't have the heart to do it out of respect for the people who are finding themselves drawn into a complete turmoil. 

And talking about indecency, I think I've witnessed my share of it during my trip. It was good to have a balance of the raw and the glamorous and observe how the fauna evolves in a place where everything goes about pushing the limits. Visiting Palm Island almost made me throw up, not only was everything unimpressive or not worth admiring in an area mostly inhabited by ruffians but the whole place itself had no soul. Bizarrely, I can understand that people are attracted to bling-bling and flakiness and that which they consider as a 'lifestyle' simply comes down to a desire to show off.

Don't get me wrong though, I had strong and beautiful moments in Dubai. I bonded with my brother, met my best friend, made new friends and the expo was just mind-blowing. Having tea in the desert at sunset in lovely company and canoeing in that superb lake in Hatta are but a few of the highlights of my stay. That said, I still think that the city itself lacks charm and substance and has been built only to attract money. On my way to the airport, we stopped at Global Village which appeared to be spectacular from afar but turned out to be quite hideous actually, to the point it made me feel dizzy and I had to request to leave . That's my very own and subjective opinion though. Great place for kids or for adults who enjoy standing in front of tasteless façades, watching people with bored faces trying to entertain them. 

This post  is entitled 'briani' as it pretty much sums up my trip which has been a mix of everything: white rice on top with the right amount of jafran, too much spices and ghee on the inside, warm and delicious but go for that extra spoon and be certain to end up with an indigestion. 

Then there was Michael. We talked about everything sauf l'essentiel. I can't help feeling that there was something missing in our conversations. Meeting him after a long streak of 08 years, I had imagined things differently. A few acts of his made me think that he is still looking for validation and left me perplexed. It drew me to the conclusion that he doesn't tell me everything after all. C'est probablement mieux ainsi. He needed to be in good company, to relax and forget about his everyday routine stuck in what he calls a loveless marriage. Thing is, you cannot perpetually need small breaks in life, one needs peace of mind and serenity else it comes to a point where you go astray. I will so ever be in his debt for the conversation he had with my brother in a café at night. It came as a starting point for us three to probably start seeing life from a more empathetic perspective. It was as if circumstances had brought the two of them to lash things out while I was being the observant. I couldn't say much if not to have my mouth shut. Served me right actually, next time I'll be more cautious about voicing out my opinion about things I clearly don't understand. I guess it says a lot about my 'celibacy' status. Unmarried, I will never be able to put myself into the shoes of someone whose couple-life is wrecked. A few days later, my brother would refer to Jaysen, Vasant, Meyvin, Satyen and some of his other peers at college, at how trapped they are into unhappy marriages, how things did not unfold as they had imagined. I was moved by that confession and felt for him but at the same time it got me thinking about this whole generation who aspired to ambitious careers while being trapped into old lifestyles, unable to reconcile those two worlds.

What a strange and interesting vacation it has been. I spent a wonderful time with good people in a place I could not specially connect to, a destination I would not have chosen to go had my brother not sent me a free ticket and I am pretty glad it happened. It forced me to witness aspects of his life I was incapable of seeing, to shut up and listen and to exempt both him and Michael from mon côté donneur de leçons.

Autobiographic attempt

My brother's attempt at an autobiographic essay in his recueil 'Paradise Club' has paid off in quite a spectacular manner. From an outsider's point of view, it would appear all fun and sympathetic but from mine, it brought out something more vivid and very real as I took profound pleasure at visualizing specific parcels of my childhood again. Whether some characters have been changed to Adolphe and Sunil while I fondly remember the real persons as being Clovis and Vijay is just an insignificant detail.

That said, the depiction of the characters made me wary about my very own self as I started to ponder about which description would suit me best if ever I was to appear in one of his novels. It might be most fitting to go with something like: In his world everything goes by wanting to look clean and pleasant, cultured and sympathetic, the typical creature who keeps books in his room to appear erudite but just ask him to cite a single sonnet from the 'Selected Poems & Letters of Keats' which adorns his shelf and he would only be to mumble "my heart aches and drowsy numbness pains my senses". That would be it, the rest of the poem being an improbable improvisation which would merely make sense. Yes, people are very attached to their own delusions.

Sous la plume de mon frère je prends conscience de l'ampleur de ma fadeur et de mon côté très lisse. je n'irai pas dire que je suis médiocre, un qualificatif bien trop exagéré, mais fade, fade, oui, semblerait me convenir tout à fait, je le reconnais. Carl de Souza a dit de mon frère lors d'un salon du livre, qu'il avait le 'talent' d'être 'foutant', pas sarcastique ou cynique mais bel et bien 'foutant', un adjectif difficilement explicable qui, émanant de la bouche de cet auteur ne sonna pas franchement comme un compliment. Je me souviens de cette impression d'irritation dès lors même qu'il prononçât ce mot.

Mais bon, isn't it the aim of a writer anyway, to be thought-provoking? Or is it just me who is bringing the thing to a whole new level; that of admiration coupled to the tension that binds me to my brother. We have never really known how to revolve around each other after all and it might as well be that I have been wrong about him all these years, who knows?  Inexpensive psychiatry would reveal that I am simply looking for validation. It is a sad fact that I lose all my means and credibility in a confrontation with him. I don't know if he's lived to the edge but he has always had the courage of venturing into territories which at first glance never appeared to be made for him, those which were very much appealing to him, dark places where people were raw and authentic. He never crossed the border totally but still ventured far enough to experiment and observe and later put it in his writings, a bit like Hemingway did, with the exception that Hemingway was a larger-than-life character and my brother isn't. Maybe this is what tortures him so much. But enough with hypothesis...

My brother is extremely talented and the ease with which he expresses himself is something I envy. Talent is the prerogative of the happy few and in his case, hard work has allowed him to stretch his to lengths that cannot be ignored. It must have taken him years and years of writing and practicing to be able to be so sharp, analytical and humorous altogether. No wonder he sees me as a caricature, something which constantly infuriates me more-so because I admit that there are elements of truth attached to it.

It took Antish's sagacity and gentleness to calm me down from an unexpected urge of anxiety last night. Had he not tucked me with soft and reassuring words, I would have rolled in my bed all night with non-virtuous thoughts and woken up in pretty poor shape. What's left to say if not thank you to these two capricorns who enlighten my world in their very own individual ways. Antish for his patience and for acknowledging my fears, uncertainties and doubts about myself and my brother for the formidable reminisce of childhood and teenage souvenirs so colorfully described in his story.

                                                                                                                                       with love.

Be my, be my baby

Out of the unexpected throbs the unbelievable.

We plugged in and we lit up.

 

A buzz in the air

Could it be that 2022 is going to be better than 2021? Well, there's always hope that it will be. The emerging reality thrives us to allow the dust to settle over what have been two pretty uncomfortable years and should I listen to the little voice inside my head, I am sure a transformational change is yet to happen again in my life, one that will allow me to claw my way up the professional ladder and dig into my past experiences to shine again. I cannot wait to explore and harvest the creative fields inside of me.

Was I a better person in 2021 than I was in 2020? Will I be a better human being in 2022 than I have been in 2021? Having a clear mind, a devoted heart, commitment towards myself and towards others should help pave the way to an exciting journey. So let me just buckle up, breathe in, stay alert and enjoy yet another ride!