Endings

Yesterday I for the first time felt a kind of sadness of all that I will leave behind when I move to Scotland. It was at the library where I sometimes work and I was talking to one of the more frequent visitors. When he had left I realised that I would miss our talks. And there's going to be a lot of that in the coming months, a lot of last rounds, a lot of goodbyes.

But today, also, I felt a surprising kind of strength. I felt secure in myself. Previously when I've felt secure, it has only been in a certain situation, but lately I've felt secure in general, in my position in life. I feel comfortable with who I am, what I do and where I am. I no longer settle for punching below my weight.

So much to say. But one must also sleep.

(And to those of you who are familiar with the library's frequent visitors, the man I was referring to is not Elvismannen!)

Keyboards and such

It's comparatively quiet at the office, but for the constant clicking of human fingers on computer keyboards. I'm going through my inbox in outlook. With only a month left there's stuff to sort out, get rid of. Most e-mails serve no purpose any more, but some should be saved for future references and so go into my little archive. Some kind of monument over what I've done here the last years. But I'm glancing at the window. Is there sunshine on the outside? Should I take a manuscript and proofread it by the waterside? Should I stay or should I go? What would Clash do?

Poems and memories

The birds are singing and I think the sun is getting ready to rise. I haven't gone to bed yet, instead I've been watching In her Shoes and getting sentimental. 

I like that film a lot and I've seen it many times. There's much to say about it but what brought on my sentimentality tonight was the poem by e. e. cummings Maggie (Cameron Diaz) is reading to Rose (Toni Collette) on Rose's wedding. It's a beautiful poem called i carry your heart, and it's the kind of poem I'd like to know, well, by heart.

The thing about romantic poetry (in English) is that it always reminds me of Jenny. She once, when I was in Australia in 2001, sent me three poems by e-mail. I had written to her and told her that I was feeling a bit lonely and sad, and so she sent me those poems. I didn't get them until a few days later because I'd been out walking in the desert, out of reach. But when I got back to civilisation (Alice Springs in fact) I got them. I printed them out and went to a café and had a turkey sandwich with cranberry sauce and read them. I was so incredibly touched by them, by the gesture.

I'm not generally sentimental, but I have a few weak spots, or what you might call them, and Jenny is such a spot. And the funny thing is that it doesn't have to be those three particular poems to remind me. None of the three poems were by e. e. cummings for example, like the poem in the film, but it doesn't matter. It's not the poem in itself, it's the poem as such that reminds me. 

My life would be considerably poorer without the poems, without Jenny. And even though we haven't seen each other for many years, my happy memories will never disappear. 

And now, I borrow my last words from another poem by cummings, maggie and milly and molly and may. The last words are:

For whatever we lose(like a you or a me)

it's always ourselves we find in the sea

Meet Me in St Louis

There are so many good films out there, so many great directors. Meet Me in St Louis is definitely one of those films and its director Vincente Minnelli one of those directors. Smooth, complex camera movements and expressive colouring, exquisite tenderness and emotional frenzy, are the most obvious hallmarks of his films, but there's more. There's such passion, such depth of feeling, it's sometimes close to unbearable. But, as I said, there's also tenderness. Here's a beautiful scene with Judy Garland seducing the man she's after.

A done deed

I just finished my dvd column for the next issue of Filmrutan (The Film Image) and it's such a relief. Deadline was today and with everything going on I haven't had the time to sit down and do it calmly and quietly but had to do it all in two days, or rather two evenings. 

But now that's over and done with, and not only that. I've done a lot of things this week that was important and pressing, and I will actually be able to relax this long (four days) weekend. There's a part of me that's hoping it's going to rain and that I will stay in bed, reading The Atlantic and listening to, say, Sophie Zelmani.

Regardless of the stress, it's been a very good week. Nice weather, nice friends and yesterday a very good talk by Anthony Beevor about D-Day and the allied invasion of Normandy on June 6 1944. Been wanting to read his book about the Spanish Civil War for many years. Now might be the time to actually do it.

Childhood, mine and/or others

To follow up on my last post. Of all the things that needs to be done in India, maybe the most important and difficult thing is to take care of the rampant corruption. And as for the rest of my Saturday, yes, there was time for both. I actually sat outside for maybe four hours reading in the sun. Oh, it was heavenly. Then the sun disappeared behind the trees and there was nothing heavenly about that I can tell you.

I was awake when Lisa called me this morning, but I didn't feel like I was. But soon enough I was myself again and we were in her sofa, Maeby sleeping on my leg. I think it's safe to say that that is what I'm going to miss the most.

Yesterday I visited the spring exhibition at Konstfack (University College of Arts, Crafts and Design) and it was slightly boring. There's usually something that's abjectionally pretentious and something that's inspiring and/or beautiful. This year I found nothing to excite me. Is it me or was it a bad year?

In the evening me and my brother saw Les quatre cents coups, François Truffaut's first feature. It's a film very dear to me, like few other films. I've seen it many times, and the occasion this time was that it's 50 years since it had it's premiere. It's just so wonderful, the music, the images, the sadness and the tenderness. It feels like it could've been about my own childhood, or, since it's not because my childhood was anything like the one shown in the film but because it touches me so, at least that of a close friend. But in away it is that of a close friend, because I've always felt like Truffaut was a personal friend, even though I never met him. I was ten years old when he died. 

(Here's a wonderful scene from the film, Antoine in front of the mirror(s))

India's election and personal stuff

Yesterday I had breakfast with Lisa and Maeby, lunch with the deputy prime mininster and dinner with my cousin, the children and the cats. In between I got a fee waiver scholarship from St Andrews. £11 000 or something. I hope they will find it was money well spent.

Congress (and the alliance UPA) won the elections in India, and that's a relief. There are many parts of BJP (the main opposition party), such as it's close links to RSS (an extreme hindu nationalist organization) which are downright scary. Hopefully this election will lead to a more powerful government, with Congress less dependent on the communists for support, because there's so very much that needs to be done in India. Reducing poverty, expanding infrastructure, making peace with Pakistan and in Kashmir and reforming the political system (for example getting rid of the overwhelming number of harden criminals in parliament and in regional politics.) India may be the world's biggest democracy but it is also deeply flawed.

Now I'm listening to Gustavo Santaolalla and wondering what to do today. Low-key is the theme. I recently got up. There are two options. Either return to bed and read the latest issue of The Atlantic, or go on a biking trip with a book. But why choose, there's time for a bit of both.

Coincidence?

It just occurred to me that I have a book with Truffaut's letters, translated from French to English by Adair.

Rain and Tea and Influences

It's been a windy day and now it's raining. Soon my tea is ready and I will drink it whilst either reading Surfing the Zeitgeist, a collection of Gilbert Adair's culture criticism from the 1990s, or watching the last episode of David Attenborough's The Trials of Life. 

Adair is occasionally confusing, such as when he says that there's no such thing as television history (because according to Adair there has never been a classic tv-series or classic show which has stood the test of time like old movies have, which if you ask me is just poppycock) but more often than not he's rather brilliant.

Attenborough is never less than brilliant, but more on him later. He is after all one of the defining individuals in my life, outside friends and family. (Others that belong in that category are Alfred Hitchcock, François Truffaut, Enid Blyton and Jan Lindblad.)

Department of Foreign Affairs

You can really tell a lot about someone's feelings towards you by the way she introduces you to other people. I've thought about if before and yesterday and today I've had ample reason to think about it again. I spent yesterday with Lisa and Maeby. Leaving them won't be easy...

At work I've begun clearing the deck. I'm throwing away lots, both physical and digital stuff, and it's ever so satisfying. And just emptying the mailbox is a fulltime job, make no mistake about it! It's a good thing I have two months left. But it's not all deck clearing, I spent two hours at a cocktail party at the department for foreign affairs. Much fun.

I've taken a break from Pankaj Mishra, and I'm reading David Hume instead. As Scotland's foremost philosopher, I feel it's my duty. It would be something if I were to get my Ph.D. in 2011, his tercentenary.

But actually, I'm supposed to be writing a short essay about Bergman's soap commercials now so no more blogging for now.

don't think of me

It's late, I'm drinking tea and listening to Dido. When I was in Auckland, New Zeeland, in 2002 I spent a lot of time at the big Border bookstore which also sold music and where you could listen to the albums for free. Dido was what I listened to most, Dido and Mano Chau.

I've got a new bed, much bigger that my previous, and it feels good. I've got some books with me in bed, four of them actually, lying on top of each other, and when I wake up, I don't want to leave the bed but stay there the whole day. If it wasn't for the warmth and the sun I probably would. Apparently it's going to rain on Monday so...

Right now I'm reading Temptations of the West: How to be Modern in India, Pakistan and Beyond  by Pankaj Mishra and Britton on Film - The Complete Film Criticism by Andrew Britton. The first one is excellent, Mishra is a favourite. He's writing about politics in South Asia, both on a personal level and on a national level. Here he's slightly repetitive, which may be due to the fact that the book as a collection of essays previously published in various newspapers and magazines, and now re-edited for a book. 

Andrew Britton is also good, when writing about films. When writing about politics he's much less astute. It's the other way around with Mishra.