The Ocean and Carolina

Yesterday I did my first field trip and went to Dundee, the nearest town. Not much of a town, but with a well equipped Borders bookstore. Bought five books, The Unaccustomed Earth by Jhumpa Lahiri (short stories by one of my favourite writers), Netherland by Joseph O'Neill (a novel), Ascent by Jed Mercurio (part novel, part historical fact), God is Not Great by Christopher Hitchens (on religion, or rather, Hitchens' attack on religion) and The Daily Druckerby Peter Drucker (about management). Ascent was an impulse, but the others were books I've been meaning to get for some time now but haven't for various reasons. But now the gloves are off. My three years in St Andrews will not only be spent on film, but on all the things that interest me. The aim is to expand all my intellectual horizons. (And besides, I got a 20% student discount.)

But I also found the time for an evening celebrating the Bengal film tradition, with wine, dance and a screening of Satyajit Ray's film Devi (1960).

And I bought the weekend's issue of The Guardian, which I will sink my teeth into now. The luxury of living in Britain.

Another luxury is living next to the ocean. I've been going there every evening, when it's dark and quiet, and I stand there and listen to the waves, all alone. It's a wonderful feeling, very relaxing. Soothing. This time I went right after I'd chatted with Carolina. Now that's a way of ending your day!

The photos are from Deans Court where I live. The garden, and the door from the garden to my house.

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.

Neighbours and Novels

One month from today I'm moving, and I'm very happy about that. But one good thing about my present location is that it always makes for good dinner conversation. Here's a priest who gives wild parties every other week, elevators that work at random, plumbing that works even more seldom, weird transvestites who occasionally comes barging in, demanding that I stop walking around without socks in my apartment, and that I stop vacuum cleaning in the middle of the night (my angry denial of such vile deeds was met with the comment "yeah, whatever"). To get to the nearest bus station, please to walk through the underground parking lot of a hospital. So part of me will miss this crazy building, affectionately known (at least in the good old days) as Chlamydia Tower.

I'm still reading The Namesake, by Jhumpa Lahiri. I love it, it's so real and nuanced. I feel every breath of the characters, I can see them, smell them, I know them better than I know myself. When I read it I feel like I'm there, with them. I am Nikhil (or Gogol, as he was called when young).

I like to read a book which engage you so much that afterwards you have memories of things, that you only after a little while realises are not your memories, but things that happened in the book that you read. The first part of Fasting, Feasting, by Anita Desai, takes place in India, in a big house, and I feel like I have been there. I have been sitting on that porch on agonisingly hot days, watching the air shiver in the sun.

Jhumpa Lahiri has won the Pulitzer Prize, I wonder when I will.

Being Disconnected

Last Friday evening suddenly I no longer had access to Internet. Today, at long last, I was finally able to get back online. I'm not saying it has been all bad. Felt kinda nice for a while. Yesterday I talked on the phone for three hours with a certain someone for example, and it was ever so nice. She had suggested we talk on the Internet, but I gave her my phone number instead, and it might have been old fashioned, but I loved every second of it.

I have decided to quit my job, or rather, they thought they gave me an offer I couldn't refuse, but I did. So as of the first of 2007 I no longer have a job. At the same time I have a new apartment. Everything changes. What'll I do? I don't know. But it feels great! I feel like I can do anything. Maybe write here every single day. There's a buck in that racket, no?

I'm supporting a project to save tigers in India, maybe I will go there and support them with more than just money. Or I will go back to University, or find a new job, or go to Australia. I might combine all three alternatives, and go and work and study in Australia.

But now I will go back to my book, The Namesake, by Jhumpa Lahiri. I've read 50 pages so far and I'm hooked.