Poster in the Underground

Today I saw a poster in the Bond Street Tube Station which really caught my attention. It was a part of the campaign started by a charity called “Changing Faces” which wants to create awareness about the pain and suffering of those with facial disfigurement.

Those whose lives are happy and peacefully uneventful, those who have not known injuries or crippling illnesses may never know the distress of those who have to live with scars or asymmetrical faces. People are so used to seeing everyone healthy and normal, deeply engaged in the race for long-lasting youth and physical beauty, that they often can’t bear to see a face which is not “normal”. People either look away or are unable to hide their sense of horror or even repulsion. Either way they end up hurting the disfigured person. Children with disfigured faces get bullied at school and the adults can never get a good job. Those who most need compassion are often treated as if they were invisible.

Our world is full of information but has so little wisdom. By starting this charity to help those who have this particular handicap “Changing Faces” is doing a truly commendable work. For more information look up changingfaces.org.uk

Here is one more sign that London is indeed a city with a heart.

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London in bloom

Summer is here at last. The long days, women in flowery skirts, pretty sandals, people sitting outside at cafés, men in T-shirts, all announce that the season has changed.

The trees in our back garden, which were so bare until a couple of weeks ago, are now suddenly all leafy and green.

The bluebells are gone but the daisies are out. The great discovery for me this year are the flowering hawthorn trees. Their tiny flowers look to me like minuscule roses.

And then there are the tall chestnut trees, made more beautiful by their white and pink flowering spikes, reminding me endlessly of the summers spent in Paris.

I know that while I am enjoying the sweet expressions of Nature here in London there are others, somewhere far away, closer to where I come from, who are witnessing her cruelty.

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Flowers, London

Daisies

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The Actors’ Church

Actors’ church, London

The Cherry Blossom Season has started in Tokyo and we are missing it. So we decided to have our own Cherry Blossom viewing in London. Yesterday we went to see the two large cherry trees at the Actors’ Church at Covent Garden. The sun was shining through the pink flowers, letting us know that Spring was here at last.

We sat on one of the benches in the little garden. I couldn’t help reading all the inscriptions on the benches. This is an idea that would touch an Indian heart. Just when your legs are aching to sit down somewhere you find a bench which has been donated in the memory of a loved one.

I had never heard of any of these actors, actresses or playwrights but I was so glad to know that they had been so loved. And that love had materialised itself as a bench in a garden on which I could sit down and admire the two lovely cherry trees.

Theatre actors rarely find the kind of fame that film actors do, so it’s good to know that there is a special Church in their name in London. If you happen to be there don’t miss the beautiful painting of the Madonna above the alter.

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Spring Tree, London

Magnolia, London

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Discovery at Foyles

Yesterday I was in the children’s section at Foyles, the famous bookshop. One of the things that continues to fascinate me in London is the way children’s sections are decorated to make the young readers feel relaxed and completely at ease. While I was studying the layout of their shelves I heard a girl’s voice utter the words “Malory Towers”. Wasn’t that the name of the series of boarding school stories written by Enid Blyton?

I found them sitting on the large couch in front of the bookshelf crammed with paperbacks, the girl who was about 12 years old and her grandmother. Indeed almost the entire display rack was occupied by books written by Enid Blyton. The grandmother was suggesting titles which the young girl was then looking at. “I read them when I was growing up,” the lady told me “then my daughter read them when she was a girl and now my granddaughter is reading them.”

That is something amazing! In a world which is so completely changed children still enjoy reading about the Famous Five and the girls at Malory Towers. I would never have imagined while I was reading those very books in the early 1970s that I would still see them on bookshelves in the year 2008. Just goes to show that it isn’t what you write about that really matters as long as you know how to say it. Perhaps it also shows that the inner world of the child is still the same even though the outer world has undergone a sea-change.

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Girish Karnad

Last night there was a talk at the Nehru Centre given by Girish Karnad. This was the first time that the Ravi Dayal memorial lectures were being held and so to a large extent the purpose was to acquaint the listeners about the work of Ravi Dayal and his contribution to the world of publishing.

Of course, it was the name of Girish Karnad that made me decide to attend the talk. Ever since I had to study his play Tughlaq for my M.A. examination I have had a fascination for him. Not that I was deeply moved by the play.

The fact was, until then I only knew him as a film actor and had admired him for his subdued acting in the roles he played opposite actresses like Smita Patil and Shabana Azmi. In the seventies and eighties a film actor’s life was limited to the screen and the illusion was carefully nurtured that he was the role he played and not a real life man. There was no TV in India and so you could only buy a film magazine to see your favourite star in a still photo. And an actor’s main job was to look good, he wasn’t supposed to think. In such an ambience to actually read a play written by an actor you had seen on the screen was unthinkable, and that too for an examination in English literature. Wasn’t this the man whom I had seen holding Shabana in his arms, or exchanging passionate looks with Smita, how could he write a play?

It is this versatile nature of his creative mind that made him my hero. He straddled the worlds that seemed so difficult to reconcile. Besides acting he was also a script-writer, director and a producer, and Tughlaq wasn’t his only play, he was a prominent figure in the literary scene. He is also among the very few who write in English as well as in an Indian language. As if that wasn’t enough he had also been the director of the Nehru Centre and been associated with the administration of many other centres of culture and learning. And last night I learnt that he had also been an assistant editor for Oxford University Press and that it had been his first job. It was such a treat to hear him talk about the world of publishing, about the little known, behind-the-scene, stories and the people who choose to remain anonymous while those whose writing styles they had brought to perfection become celebrities.

But there was something else that made him go up several metres in my esteem. Before the lectures started there was an opening of an exhibition in the ground floor of the Nehru Centre and to mark the inauguration the ceremonial oil lamp with a figure of Ganesh was lit by those who were involved in the event. Being so eminent a personality Girish Karnad was also asked to light one of the lamps. To my utter admiration and surprise he first, very discreetly, removed his shoes before lighting it. This to my mind was the sign of a truly cultured man.

Today I see him not only as someone who could combine in himself the world of Bombay show-business and high literary style but also the beautiful traditions of the East and the modern thinking of the West. It was so good to see you, Mr.Karnad.

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Magnolia, London

Magnolia

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April 2008

Waking up this morning I was surprised to see the snowfall. Wasn’t this the first week of April? What would Chaucer say if he came back to this world? He would have to make a few corrections to his words about the month of April. Luckily, by afternoon the snow had melted and we could admire the cherry-blossom in the neighbour’s garden.

Today is also the day when the Olympic torch was being taken through London. The protesters created quite an impression. It is a pity that the Olympic Games which are supposed to bring the world together in a joyous way and are above all political colouring have got entangled in the stories of political clashes. Of course, the Tibetans need everyone’s support but perhaps there should be some things in this world that should be left out of what goes on in the political field.

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Satyajit Ray Award, London

On 12th March I attended an award ceremony at the BFI Southbank. The Satyajit Ray Foundation was giving their 2008 award for the best first feature film. The work which had been chosen for this honour was “California Dreamin’ (Endless)” by a Rumanian director called Cristian Nemescu who had unfortunately died in a car accident during the post-production phase of the film.

I went without any expectations as the synopsis was rather short and didn’t say anything more than the basic facts. Initially I decided to go more for the joy of participating in an event organised by the Satyajit Ray Foundation than for watching a new film. So, the bad weather notwithstanding, I reached there well in advance. It was only after seeing the first ten minutes of the film that I realised that had I not come I would really have missed something wonderful.

The award was given before the screening and it was the editor of the film who had come to receive it. The fact that this had been the first feature film of the director who had died makes us wonder what other masterpieces he would have created had he lived. And this thought I am sure must have crossed the minds of all those who were sitting in that packed cinema that day – we were watching the first as well as the last film of the director, that there would not be another one like it.

This award is given every year to a film which has the same qualities of humanity and sensitivity which Satyajit Ray himself brought to his creations. In this respect the film was rightly chosen. There were many memorable moments where one felt the gentle humour and the compassionate eye of the director. Specially funny and moving was the scene where Monica, the heroine, tries to communicate with the American soldier David. As she doesn’t speak English she is forced to bring in her classmate who is besotted with her to interpret for them. The character of the enamoured classmate/interpreter is very well played by the young actor who in this scene deliberately mistranslates everything that the two lovers want to say to each other. Ironically, Monica and David don’t need words to understand their powerful mutual attraction.

Surprisingly, there were fewer Indians than I had expected to see in the audience. The sad truth is that the younger generation of Indians are more at home with Bollywood films and can’t connect to Satyajit Ray. Even in India Ray remains only a name, although everyone has heard of him hardly anyone has actually seen any of his films. However, it was heartening to see such a large gathering of English men and women to whom Ray means something. It was not only at the BFI that I was happy to see this appreciation, but even in the local library of Willesden Green I have found, to my joy, copies of DVDs of Ray’s films such as “Nayak” and “Charulata” on display.

Two happy thoughts crossed my mind as I crossed the bridge over the Thames on that windy evening. The first was about the right decision of the jury in selecting this film and the second was the reassuring knowledge that Satyajit Ray’s memory still lives on in the hearts of his admirers – even here in London. There was also a third happy thought – that cinema can indeed become a bridge that connects the different cultures of the world.

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Spring, London

Only once in four year we get to see the 29th of February but this year there is the added celebration of the 40th anniversary of the foundation of Auroville.

The Golden Day was celebrated here too in London in a quiet way.

The daffodils in Green Park are the most enjoyable sight at this time of the year. People are out, walking through the park, even though it continues to be quite cold.

The exhibition of paintings at the Royal Academy is a must see. The collection is from Russia but there are several famous paintings done by French artists. Of particular interest are the those of the Impressionists. The last two rooms are entirely devoted to modern Russian artists. The main attraction is “The Dance” by Matisse which to my surprise was actually commissioned by a Russian collector.

Having a cup of coffee on the ground floor is in itself a prolongation of the mood of the exhibition. Each wall of the large cafeteria has a painting from a different period of European art. Especially attractive is the painting over the entrance, in the late Victorian style, showing Spring pushing Winter out. When you walk up the road to Green Park you can see the perfect daffodils bravely standing in the cold wind. And you know exactly what the artist had in mind while he was painting his picture.

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Daffodils, London

daffodlils, London

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Back from Pondicherry

Beach cafe Pondicherry

Beach cafe, Pondicherry

We are just back from India and are still a bit jet-lagged, sleeping through the day and up all night. Although we are trying to get back to our normal London rhythm the impressions of Pondicherry are still very fresh in our minds, because the Pondicherry which we visited this time is nothing like the Pondicherry we had lived in only a couple of years ago. The pace of change is clearly visible and for once there are so many positive changes that we are still talking about them.

For a start, the beach road is unrecognisable. There is now a parallel road built over the rocks and there are more people walking on it than on the road itself. New Hotels, restaurants and cafes have come up at the far end, near the Park Guest House and there is even a stretch where palm trees have been planted on either side of the pavement. There are toilets at various places and garbage bins where people are likely to buy street food. “Le Cafe” near the Gandhi statue is all spruced up, attracting the wealthier tourists who can sip a coffee or a masala tea on the extended sit-out as they watch the locals strolling around with their families. Gone are the crumbling walls and moss-covered rocks on which the waves broke, sending up the salt spray as you had your tasteless coffee in a chipped cup.

Passing by the park at night we had to stop, so much we were struck by its beauty. The French-styled grilles now make it possible to lock up the gates at night. No, this was not that dark and shabby park which we used to see on our way back from our evening walk by the beach. This was a clean, neat, green cluster of gardens, lit up by a row of elegant lamps and an island of silence in the night.

The next remarkable feature of Pondy is the transformed Nehru Street. The pavements, at last, have been levelled up very neat paving tiles. The metal barriers have been taken out and there are far fewer hawkers sitting outside the shops, clogging up the pedestrian’s space. The new air-conditioned supermarkets are a pleasure to be in. On several occasions when we went to stock up on fruits and vegetables, as I went to the exit with my basket of melons and pomegranates I thought it was no different from shopping at Kingsbury in London.

And the railway station, that stinking platform and that dust-covered hall where you stood for hours to book a ticket? Well, all that’s gone. Now you have a shiny new structure with a cash machine outside, a clean and wide platform with electronic display boards showing you exactly where the coaches will be placed when you catch your direct superfast express to Bhubaneshwar.

Back in London, as we try to keep our eyes open after five pm, we hope that one day our we will be able to see our ultimate dream fulfilled when we will be able to walk on wide and even pavements in Pondicherry. Surely one day even that will happen when we will able to leave the scooter at home and walk down to the beach road, unhampered and unafraid of the traffic.

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Lotus, India

Lotus, India

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Sunrise, India

Sunrise, India

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Pond, Orissa

Pond, Orissa

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New Year Fireworks, London

Fireworks, Waterloo

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Christmas, London

Piccadilly

Being in London at the end of the year can be exciting in spite of the freezing weather. I love looking at the decorated shop windows, the Christmas trees and the lights in the streets. More than anything else it is the decorated tree which reminds you that this is really the celebration of the forces of nature and the endless cycles in which nature manifests herself, and even in the darkness there is a hope for light. The important thing is to enjoy this special atmosphere, this gentle beauty, knowing that this is not going to be there for long – almost a metaphor for life itself.

May the New Year bring more harmony and beauty to the world.

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Sri Aurobindo at Cambridge

Here are Sri Aurobindo’s own famous words which reveal something about himself and more particularly how he was conscious of his purpose in life right from his early youth.

“I know I have the strength to deliver this fallen race. It is not physical strength, – I am not going to fight with sword or gun, – but the strength of knowledge. The power of Kshatriya is not the only one; there is also the strength of the Brahmin, the power that is founded on knowledge. This feeling is not new to me, it is not of today. I was born with it, it is in my very marrow. God sent me to earth to accomplish this great mission. The seed began to sprout when I was fourteen; by the time I was eighteen the roots of the resolution had grown firm and unshakable.”

So, the question that rises in our minds is “Where was Sri Aurobindo when he was eighteen?” He was at Cambridge, actually. This clue is enough to make us want to go there and see for ourselves this very special place, only a short train ride to the north of London. It was in the summer of 2004 but it is still so clear in my memory.

Continued…

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Blue Plaque

It was something that we will all remember for a long time. After all, we had been waiting for this moment for six years. At 2.30 this afternoon a blue plaque marking one of the houses where Sri Aurobindo had lived in London was unveiled. It was here, at 49 St. Stephen’s Avenue, that he had lived with his brothers under the care of Mrs. Drewett while he was a pupil at St.Paul’s School. It is quite possible that they occupied the entire house although today the property is divided into flats.

The proposal for this blue plaque was sent in 2001 by Giles, my husband, and we had to patiently wait for English Heritage to take the decision and go through the various stages of this lengthy process before the final date of unveiling could be chosen.

However, today we felt it was worth the time and trouble that Giles had to put in as we saw the plaque finally in place. The skies were kind and there was clear sunshine as we stood outside this historic house and spent a few moments together. Not only were there devotees from all the centres but also those people from English Heritage who had been involved in this project along with a few local representatives. There was an atmosphere of joyous concentration as well as pride in our hearts that the Master had been recognised and honoured in the city where he grew up.

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