The unusual month of December

This month of December is proving to be quite unique and unusual. I had planned for it to be exciting and fun and instead here I am baby-sitting my teenage niece Sujata.

It all started when my brother got a call from France that my nephew is unwell and he had to depart unexpectedly to attend to him leaving me as the designated guardian for the duration of his trip. At first, I was a bit apprehensive given that teenagers can be quite independent and sometimes challenging but I must say that we hit it out right from Day 1. As the days have unfolded, I have discovered that spending time with Sujata is the most delightful experience ever. We have conversations about her interests, school, and she shared with me her awesome results of the semester where she performed really well. I've introduced her to her first ever Bollywood movie, we went to watch Wonka and everyday we play with Matou, her two months old kitten, I help her prepare her breakfast every morning and  more importantly I've come to realize that I've found myself embracing the role of not just a guardian but also a friend. This unexpected arrangement is fostering a special bond between us making this December a unique and memorable one.

We have to arrange for Jay's homecoming now. It's a challenging time for both him and his family and also for us at large as we navigate through this distressing situation. Jay, usually all smiling and composed has been grappling with overwhelming emotions and stressors that led to his breakdown. We should be able to provide him with the support and understanding that he needs during his recovery and in the process try not to lose our own bearings. It is going to be a sobering experience as this is a path we have never trodden on before. There are quite a few antecedents of people suffering from depression in my family; my dadi, my dad and I believe to a certain degree my aunt but never to the point of being sedated and admitted into a psychiatric ward. Too much pressure, he confessed to Mike who went to visit him. How can a 19-year old undergo that much pressure as to become broken? That's all very strange to me. Where did the pressure come from? His family? Himself? Identifying the root cause of it all could be the starting point towards a quicker recovery, a beaming light allowing him to emerge stronger from this difficult period in his life. Maybe we should all educate ourselves better about mental health to better support him.

Over the years, I have assumed the responsibility of providing as much emotional support as possible to every member of my family and strived to create a stable and nurturing environment. It has been a journey filled with challenges and while my siblings may have their own families to support them, I've found purpose and fulfillment in being there for my immediate family. Though my path has been different, the commitment to their well-being has been unwavering, even at the expense of my own relationships sometimes . Like most of my friends, I could have left to have a life of my own abroad far from inquisitive eyes and embarrassing questions but I chose to stay and be happy here and as I look back today, I am relieved to have succeeded pretty well in that aspect. I don't and will probably never have as much money or assets as the rest of the family but I've managed to secure both a joyful and peaceful life for myself whilst preserving the dignity of my parents, taking care of them, providing for them, loving them. I even found love after decades of sentimental chaos, one which has come in the form of someone who accepts, loves and understands me, someone who pacifies my heart when I am angry and  provides me with nuggets of wisdom when I am lost, someone who tells me don't worry, I've got your back when I struggle a little, someone whom I fight with only when it comes to which radio channel to swap to when we are in the car.

This December has brought an unexpected twist in our lives adding a touch of unpredictability to the month. The hustle and bustle of preparations intertwine with the peculiar events that seem to unfold with Lao Lao's deteriorating health and Wen Rong's marathon strain and fatigue. In the midst of holiday rituals, anything can happen this year as each day holds the potential for a delightful surprise as well as sad news. But then again, we’ll face anything that comes our way and get through it, just like resilient and united families usually do.

 

Chacha Kresh + nostalgia (again)

When I was 12, chacha Kresh would sit his son Ashis, and me down on his couch and read us stories from the Reader's Digest. "It will help you improve your english" he kept saying. Now that I recall this fond memory of him, I also tell myself that maybe he was experimenting with us, maybe he perceived himself as a sort of teacher bestowed with the duty and responsibility of transmitting something valuable to the younger generation. It was nice to witness the passion burning inside of him and watch the gleam in his eyes. He loved all his children dearly and always made me feel that I was very much part of his tribe.

Chacha Kresh never recovered from the passing of Shalini, his daughter. She was in her early 40s and succumbed from brain tumor. That was it. That was the day the gleam in his eyes faded away, his mental health went into a slow decline and his unbearable suffering became so palpable that we could almost physically feel it.

Chachi Sona is a strong person. She stood by her husband, year after year, supporting him despite her own pain. It is no secret that women are stronger than men. Women tend to worry about all sorts of things but we, men, on the other hand have fears. It is an affliction which renders us even more vulnerable.

Ashis became a recluse and Poupoune, the youngest of the siblings never got married. It all sounds like a very sad story but actually it's the reality of so many families when the laughter inside the home suddenly stops for whichever reason and a heavy silence descends and fills the air.

Bidding farewell to chacha Kresh yesterday felt both strange and poignant for me, it was an experience marked again by both sadness and nostalgia. It was a moment that carried the weight of both cherished memories and the reality of separation. The last time I visited him was last year when I brought the family litchis from our garden. He reacted by smiling at me when I took his hands into mine. It was a moment charged with emotions. I expressed gratitude to him then for having me in his family as I was growing up and for the many stories he read to me. I don't know if he understood everything I was saying but I believe it was important to say it loud when he was still alive. It was my goodbye and blessing to him.

Chacha Kresh passed away the same day his daughter Shalini did, on the 29th of November. How more symbolic can this be? Farewells are a natural part of life, marking the ebb and flow of relationships and experiences. I am turning 51 today and I just feel another milestone has been reached in my journey of personal growth. 

Mamie Ruhee + nostalgia

Last Tuesday, we went to bid farewell to our beloved Mamie Ruhee, a woman of poise, class and character, surrounded all her life by wealth and comfort. Mamou Ram and Mamie took great pride in having all members of the family gathered around them at new year’s. They would throw those grandiose dinners where everyone would bond and Mamie would also ensure each nephew, niece or grand child goes back home with a little token. Later the same night, I would carefully place everything in my piggy bank knowing how helpful it would be during the course of the year. Those little acts of caring, we carry in our hearts forever and try to replicate later as we become adults.

Looking at her house in Port Louis brought warm thoughts and beautiful souvenirs to me. It's funny how nostalgia often paints the past with a rosy hue, emphasizing the positive aspects and filtering out the challenges and complexities.

The souvenir of that bygone era serves as a tangible trigger in the form of childhood laughter, fashion, food and even the scent of a particular place - in this very specific case, the smell of the small tv room where we were introduced to advanced technology in the form of a betamax vcr and watched Zeenat Aman taking revenge after getting molested in 'Insaf ka Tarazu' (for the molesting part, all children were ordered out of the room, to go and play in the compound where they would come up with their own little theories). Life seemed simpler, more innocent, or perhaps filled with a unique charm back then.

Nostalgia can be both comforting and bittersweet, offering a sense of continuity and connection to one's personal history, allowing us to revisit the joys and sentiments of the past and providing us with a source of solace in the face of life's uncertainties. Threats and danger seem almost unavoidable in this rapidly changing world and as such, the selective souvenirs of a bygone era become cherished tokens, preserving a sense of identity and belonging. Embracing nostalgia can be a way to celebrate the richness of our personal histories and find meaning in the passage of time, a reminder of where we've been, how far we've come and the lessons we've learned along the way. True, we choose to set aside the challenges of the past, we choose to gloss over the hardships we've faced and we prefer to stick to an idealized version of reality but it is not merely an indulgence in sentimentality. After all, what harm is there in simply wanting to cling to things which make us feel good? If we think about it, it might actually be the only life buoy that saves us from insanity in this mad world.

Farewell Devianee poupou (as my father would call her), thank you for bestowing us with many moments of happiness and for all the lessons you’ve taught us about giving and caring, they will always be remembered.

D’un Voyage

D'un voyage, il y a les récits que l'on raconte. Et puis, il y a toutes ces dizaines d’autres petites histoires que l'on tait car trop précieuses, trop vibrantes, celles que l'on garde au creux de soi de peur de ne pouvoir trouver les mots justes qui sauraient retranscrire ces moments intenses, ceux-là même qu'on laisse flotter dans l'air comme ces bulles de savon aux reflets multicolores que personne n'ose toucher de peur qu'elles éclatent. La mémoire est un choix et, certains souvenirs, si besoin est qu'on en parle, se doivent d'être filtrés, palpés et relatés avec une minutieuse sélection de mots. 

Mais quoi raconter? Et surtout, à qui raconter?

Comment faire pour que cet éclat qui rayonne dans nos yeux scintille également dans notre bouche et fasse flancher le coeur de celui qui écoute? Explosion ou implosion, qu’importe? 

En quittant l'ile, Antish et moi étions portés par une intention mais voilà que nous rentrons de cette grande virée, conquis et quelquepeu déstabilisés. Difficile de réconcilier ce qu'on a vécu là-bas avec notre quotidien d'ici. Par où commencer? 'Allow things to dissolve by themselves' nous a conseillé Jetsunma Tenzin Palmo, ' life has its own way of bringing you where you need to be'. 

Népal 2018 / Népal 2023: la vie a creusé son sillon et si elle a fait de Kundan un moine aux responsabilités multiples, elle a également décuplé sa bonté et sa sagesse. "Always things do with clean heart. Important! No things do if lazy or cannot " m'a-t-il dit dans son anglais approximatif un après-midi en me prenant en aparté. Venant de Kundan-La, cette phrase vaut tout son pesant d'or, lui mon mentor, mon guide.

A Dharamshala, nous nous sommes retrouvés à moins d'un mètre de Sa Sainteté. Il a posé son regard sur Antish et lui a sourit. 

Tout est dit. 

Le voilà béni à jamais. 

La vénération que le peuple tibétain porte à Sa Sainteté Le Dalaï Lama est indescriptible, cela a laissé une trace indélébile sur moi et m'a fait prendre conscience à quel point beaucoup de choses m'échappent, moi qui suis confiné sur un si petit bout de terre à l'autre bout du monde. Les images à la télé ne pourront jamais tout dire. Il y  tant de vérité que l’on ressent sur sa peau lorsqu’on se retrouve dans un tel lieu.

A Chitwan, c'est dans des circonstances les plus folkloriques et sympathiques qui soient que nous avons fait la connaissance de Roopakali, une femelle éléphant . Sous une chaleur invivable et avec l'aide du cornac, nous sommes partis lui donner son bain dans une rivière à l'eau boueuse et opaque. Une petite heure de pur bonheur, notre paranthèse magique à nous qui a accouché d'une de mes plus belles photos. Cela valait amplement la peine de parcourir 6000 kms pour immortaliser ce moment.

Et puis il y a Kathmandu où nous sommes allés rendre hommage à Lama Zopa et où j'ai eu le privilège de prendre refuge auprès de Khenrinpoche Lama Chonyi, le grand Abbot de Kopan. Jamais de mon existence j'eus imaginé avoir la chance de porter un prénom tibétain suite à une divination. Serai-je finalement l'individu complet que j'aspirais à devenir, celui avec une appartenance? L'errance d'une vie s'est-elle conclue là, dans cette petite chambre feutrée au premier du grand gompa? J'ose le croire.

Autre moment clé, celui passé avec le vénérable Ang Lo Sang dans son apartement privé. Une conversation extrêmement enrichissante autour de l’importance des pratiques déclenche une profonde réflexion en moi. J'ai soudain cette étrange impression qu'il nous attendait, qu’il s’agit en fait d’un scénario écrit d'avance. Un peu comme dans un songe, chaque question posée me mène vers une évidence, vers une réponse tellement simple et utile, vers  quelquechose qui ne m’avait encore jamais effleuré l’esprit jusque-là. C'est très difficile à expliquer mais j’ai vraiment eu la sensation d’un moment mystique, hors du temps où toutes les pratiques que j’avais effectuées depuis un an portaient désormais leurs fruits. 

Comment conclure sans faire mention de Bodha,? Comment exprimer ce bonheur suprême de faire le kora autour du grand Stupa? Cinq ans après, alors que j'y repose les pieds, j'ai tout de suite la gorge serrée, submergé par l'émotion d'être revenu à l'endroit même qui avait fait naître en moi une infinie de possibilités. Bodha, l'envoûtant. Bodha et son parfum d'encens. A l'instant précis où j'écris, ce moment explose de nouveau dans ma tête. Dévotion, foi, compassion, effort, tout y est présent. Bodha, c'est un peu comme se retrouver au centre de l'univers.  

J’ai conscience de cette tendance que j’ai à ajouter beaucoup de lumière à mes récits, semblables aux modifications que j'apporte à mes photos en y rajoutant des filtres. C’est plus fort que moi. C'est ainsi que j’ai toujours vécu ma vie, en y améliorant tout ce qui sort de ma tête et en caressant cette mémoire lovée en moi. Je préfère parfois le ressenti des souvenirs aux images figées, histoire de rendre tout ce qui est abstrait palpable et incarné, vif et tranchant. 

D’un voyage, il y a les récits que l'on raconte. 

Et puis, il y a toutes ces dizaines d’autres petites histoires que l’on tait.

Que la vie nous porte

Te rends-tu seulement compte de la chance que nous avons? Dans quelques heures, les mains tremblantes de bonheur, nous volerons au-dessus de l'Ocean Indien vers le grand continent. Cette nuit, nous verra voyager sous nous bonnes étoiles, celles sous lesquelles nous sommes nées, celles qui nous protègent et qui nous guident vers Sa Sainteté le Dalaï Lama. Un périple qui nous ménera également à rencontrer Jetsunma Tenzin Palmo et d'autres vénérables êtres qui portent en eux une lumière qui éclairera nos vies et saura, j'espère, faire de nous de meilleures personnes.

Kathmandu nous attend. Kathmandu, la magique. Kathmandu, la douce. Tu en as rêvé, ton père aussi. Moi je savais que j'y retournerai un jour pour me baigner à nouveau dans la bonté des gens, pour faire le kora autour du grand stupa de Bodha en début de soirée, pour me promener dans les jardins de Kopan et surtout pour retrouver Kundan le sage, celui avec qui je partage un lien karmique. 

Pour vivre pleinement sa vie il ne s'agit pas uniquement d'agir, pour vivre sa vie, il est indispensable d'être. Y a-t-il meilleur endroit au monde que Kathmandu et sa vallée pour 'être'? J'espère que cette immersion dans la culture Newar te sera aussi bénéfique qu'elle l'a été pour moi, que là où l'hindouisme et le bouddhisme sont imbriqués pour créer une magie unique, tu en ressortiras rayonnant.

Je suis tellement heureux de faire ce voyage avec toi pour aller à la rencontre de Chenrezig, contempler l'Himalaya, voir les éléphants de Chitwan, se recueillir à Lumbini, voir le lever du soleil à Nagarkot, goûter à une soupe thukpa dans une ruelle bruyante de Thamel,  Je suis tellement heureux de dormir et de me réveiller à tes côtés, toi mon compagnon spirtituel.

Ek Shaadi

Countless little stories weave around Hanshinee and Yogesh's wedding; the engagement, the preparations, the planning, the organization, the hurdles, the hindrances, the crossing of an ocean to harvest the needed funds, the sighs of relief, the tears of joys and the underlying stress which comes with bundle, all this with hope that the event be a successful one pleasing both families and making guests feel welcome. Within the blink of an eye, the shaadi finally takes place and tears of both joy and sorrow flow freely as the newlyweds bid farewell to the wedding hall, marking the beginning of their shared life journey. In the midst of the whirlwind of emotions, the parents stood in a daze, their exhaustion palpable as they complete the final rites of kanyadaan, a mixture of pride and fatigue etched on their faces.

The whole week preceding the wedding, Antish's bright eyes had been dampened with tears; that of  pride, relief, happiness and melancholy. His duty as a brother was being fulfilled and though he was confident in the success of the event, a lingering anxiety persisted, a silent prayer that everything would unfold seamlessly. With that many mantras of protection and auspiciousness uttered, I could hardly foresee what would have landed them into any situation of extreme stress.

The whole nine yard itself was classic and traditional: kathaa, geet gawai, tilak, haldi, shaadi, chawtaree... my favorite part being to watch a beautiful veil being unfolded to hide the groom as he went on applying sindoor at the parting of the bride's hair. With all the glitter around, this intimate part where modesty and purity reclaim their role is always a refreshing reminder of  how sacred the union of two souls is. Symbolism is incorporated into every rituals and rites in Hindu weddings and this is probably why people like attending them, just so to be reconnected with ancient customs and traditions and for some, maybe, to acknowledge their part to a lineage. From the fire which is kept as a witness of the vows taken to the flowers showered over the couple as a blessing, from the handful of rice thrown by the bride over her head to symbolize the repayment to her parents for all that they have given her throughout the years to the washing of her feet by her brother as she departs, symbolism is everywhere. One cannot remain insensitive to the meaning given to express ideas or qualities. As the wedding music filled the air, the actual act of walking away from her family to join a new one must have been quite overwhelming for Hanshinee (this is why ceremonial weeping to me is something completely natural). 

Days have passed and everyone is adjusting to a new routine now, the smiles are back and life has resumed to its peaceful rhythm. All the lavish and celebrations surrounding the wedding are slowly starting to fade out. Not totally though...there is still the soon-to-come release of the super production 'film mariaz' where immediately the collective joyful vibes will kick in again. Once more all family members will gather to recall and comment each and every moment, to laugh and, needless to say, to add a pinch of massala gossip and ensure that the whole curry is stirred to perfection, a real testament to the enduring spirit of celebration and togetherness.

Why’s not wise - Relinquishing the self-cherishing mind.

 

Jeunesse savait, vieillesse peut.

En rentrant à la maison l'autre soir, j'ai pensé à avant, à ces deferlements de petites reflexions toutes bêtes qui habitaient mon esprit. Oui, je l'avoue, j'ai repensé à cet avant et à la complexité d'être jeune et à se croire vaillant, courageux et aussi à comment j'avais orchestré mon monde autour d'une perpetuelle fuite vers l'avant sans savoir pourquoi. Aujourd'hui encore, l'énigme reste entier. Il fallait avancer,  juste avancer, toujours avancer, ne jamais s'arrêter.

La petite mémoire de cet avant pâlit. Je n'ai plus envie de ces rires d'antan, de cette frivolité et de cette candeur qui me collaient des couleurs aux joues. Tout cela avait trouvé leur place bien au chaud dans une case. Tout y était dans cette grande commode étiquetée "Ordre établi des choses". Mais tout ça c'était  avant qu’advienne le point de bascule. Il fallait que ce soit. Ainsi, il en a été. 

Je savais qu'un jour minuit sonnerait et que dès lors que le sort se mettrait à inverser la mécanique bien huilée de ma vie, c'en serait fini de ma jeunesse. Ce moment fatidique arriva alors que je remontais une rue de la capitale un jour et sentis tout-à-coup mes jambes fléchir et peiner à avancer. C'était un jour tout bête, une date anecdotique dans le calendrier, un après-midi sans saveur. Telle une maîtresse déçue, ma jeunesse me quittait dans cette rue bruyante et s’en allait sans se retourner, même pas pour un dernier au-revoir. Au début on a toujours un peu de mal à saisir les nuances de cet abandon, puis on s'y résigne. Ainsi va la vie.

Désormais, il y a aujourd'hui et aujourd'hui est amplement suffisant. L'énergie que je déploie n'imbrique ni ambition, ni besoin de bien matériel, ni plan d'avenir. Elle se recycle et me suffit à mener une vie simple, sans fla-fla, sans chichi mais avec une belle palette de couleurs. Je suis enraciné dans cette terre qu’est mon île, je l’ai toujours été et je le serai toujours. Mes branches portent un seul et unique fruit à la saveur de sérénité et cela me remplit de plénitude. Ainsi soit-il.

Speed writing

bla bla bla bla bla bla bla bla

I could go on for hours with hope that something potable finally comes out.

I can't write anymore.