April is the cruelest month

April is the cruelest month wrote t s Eliot and it sure was one for us. As April began so did the heat,from the first week to the next the searing heat intensified into a heatwave across the south with madras being by far the coolest hovering between 39-40degrees c. It was also a month when my mother turned 85. Eighty five holds untold terrors for me. At 85 my father had a stroke and a man who was very much master of his life,grew old and grey overnight,his memory at odds with him,struggling to maintain his sense of ease and for me that age will always remain a frightening prospect. Small wonder then that I wanted to indulge my mother,something I never managed with my father and which to this day makes me feel guilty,but as I can't change the past I decided to control the present. My sisters were informed that it was a special day(something they should have known for themselves but one can never depend on my siblings to do much about it,hence the reminders). Miracles do happen and both turned up as promised (I neve take their promises too seriously ,they being infamous for breaking them,actually just one of them but then...) and my mother was super delighted. Our ex cook also turned up and cooked up a storm which made things a lot easier( my mother at best of times refused to exit the front door so all celebrations must come to her).

In the midst of all the happiness was great sorry. One of the cousins,the one who help everyone of the cousins on my moms side together,who was the fountain of all news....suffering from cancer she was on her last legs and as April came along I was mentally prepared for her death. But it's never easy especially to think of a brave woman (who in the face of suffering,could still crack jokes and keep us amused) dead at 63. We believed she had more years left but that was not to be and two days before my mothers birthday she passed away. To keep a grip on grief and to pretend that all is well,isn't easy either but knowing my mothers fragile psychological state,I kept the news for until after her birthday. The rest of the month passed in sadness. There was a wedding which wasn't talked about much,coming as it did soon after the death. The heat took over my sadness and as i wilted and suffered through the days,I did stop to count my blessings. I was happy that the birthday went off as it did,I was glad that the heat was not as bad as it was in the other states,I was happy that despite the heat the mangoes ripened and the market was full of fruit.

As May is on us I wait for the dog days to begin. 21 days of relentless heat is what I am in for and every year it gets worse,and every year my friends and I mourn about it like its something new and by the end of it we learn to adapt and forget as the weather turns .

Mad March

Mad as March hares I've been told from early days. It's a birthday month and we didn't have a single guest. After the hectic February March was relatively tame. Twice a year both times in March we make it a habit to go out for lunch ....it used to be dinner but that has stopped since the old mother came to stay. Having been doing this for eighteen years and having come away disappointed because the food wasn't so great or the price didn't justify the quality and realising that if one is a good and innovative cook then (other than the hype and the chance not to be in the kitchen for a day) it really isn't such a big deal after all to be eating out . This year we called out ex cook back to cook for both days. He made all my favourites,entertained us with tales of his life and cooking and all in all saved me the cooking and we enjoyed it all and we're happy not to have gone out after all. 

The heat on the other hand has been edging up to summer levels and the air conditioning had to come on. On the exercise front we managed a respectable number of hours and I for one managed to stay meat free thanks to a group challenge for lent. Not to say I wasn't looking forward to Easter. By good Friday my meat cravings looked like it would make me give in to temptation but one did manage to last the course. Unfortunately nothing positive in terms of weight loss or even lost inches to talk about so other than proving to myself that I could handle a food challenge,nothing else to write home about.

My straggly container garden long in need of some attention got a much needed makeover thanks to unearthing a Gardner who actually knew his job. Suddenly it's all looking a lot better maintained and some fresh soil had done wonders. My vegetable garden had come down to some basics so the chilli and tomato ,basil and rocket are all flourishing and it's a great joy to harvest ripe red tomatoes and birds eye chilli. Considering chilli hasn't been my strong point it's great to see them bloom and ripen .

A quiet March and a restful one at that and once again a prayer of thanks for seeing us through the third month of the year.

Farmers markets,Indian style

Many trips abroad to little villages have made me an ardent fan of the farmers market. To me it represents all that's good about food producers knowing their food and being passionate about it. It's a hunting ground for home made produce,cheese from small farms,olive oil and the handmade soaps and other produce. Ofcourse cured meats are a big part of it. The emphasis is on healthy eating and nothing commercial is sold. It's all about small holdings who use the traditional ways of farming,cheese making and curing meats. There are no labels screaming vegan ,gluten free or organic. I must admit that my experiences abroad have been limited to European villages.

In India the farmers markets are mostly about fruit and vegetables,also some baskets and other home needs. I love going to them as the vegetables and fruits are fresh ,most often than not the farmer has grown it himself and it for a short durations thanks to not having the benefits of refrigerators. There are no fancy produce there just locally grown produce. In the hills ofcourse one get a differs kind of fruits but they will be misshapen but sweet and natural.

In madras I have been searching for a market but most of them are in the part of the city inhabited by the well healed (read rich and famous) and are frequented mostly by people who suffer from what I call food guilt. Most people are on diets,giving up on one food or the other because it's the current trend but they will have enough research to prove all its benefits. To someone like me (who believes in eating all foods that are local and in season and who has no fear of oils and fat and who eats anything that once walked the earth or swam in the sea) food guilt I can't relate to. Last Sunday I finally got an opportunity to go to a farmers market. The address already told me the kind of folk that would frequent it but go I did. There were many a wilting vegetable and all of them said organic and farm fresh. Kiwi fruit on the table. Since when did that become local?. Home made cakes and brownies and cookies yes very nice . Cheese from the hills was good too. Honey from farms all over India. Good but not enough information on how the bees are kept,the farms that they are reared in but the people in the stall wer friendly and knew some stuff but I suspect they are distributors and not the actual bee keepers. Some of the flavours were suspect but I did buy a natural honey. Homemade pickles ,yes I did pick a few but sad to say my mothers pickles are far far superior. The soaps all handmade and well packaged but having bought some handmade soaps from a farmer in Germany I was a bit disappointed at the total lack of fragrance. Plenty of clothes but sadly nothing suited for the heat of madras why not just stock cottons linens and mulls. There was one shop with linen but ofcourse it was way too expensive. The herbs sold were all from the hills and no one in the stall could tell me if they could be grown in madras. Ofcourse enthusiasm was very much in evidence and all of them telling me it will grow but having tried my hand at growing them and knowing full well that it won't take root,it was disappointing to note that no one in the stall who claimed to be farmers ,had actually grown them in the city and tested it out. Altogether not a bad experience but as expected the place was full of well dressed stick thin women and the stalls were mostly manned by young things with their Apple computers at the ready,well dressed,very much on diets and a passion for food guilt. We wer allowed to taste a lot of the produce so I had stuff made of mullets,rice with husks still in evidence and everyone beaming at me and telling me it is all good and healthy . Point taken but what about taste. Thank god for samples,honestly if healthy means tasteless I would prefer an early grave thank you very much. So for now I will continue to research the so called farmers markets until I find some where the farmer (even if he or she can't speak English) will be on hand to explain what it takes to have grow the produce and why he thinks his methods are good and sustainable,until then it will just be another outing for me

Fun February

February is one month that's short on days and full of demons for me. Ghosts lurk in the corners of everyday and I live in constant fear of something going amiss. Many February s have made me fear it for its unhappy turn of events,so it's not unusual for me to not look forward to this month. This year the husband decided to disappear for a week visiting his parents so the start of the month already looked bleak. Deciding that I must lay to rest some of ,my ghosts,I decided to fill my days with company,and invited a friend over for tea. This meant having to clean the house with spit and polish and bake a cake or two,and kept me on a feverish high. The friend although she came late,cheered me up no end and it was a fun evening. Then things got a bit better. A nephew who we hadn't seen in a year landed up for two days but extended it for a week and the mother and I had company to keep us going. Being a chatty type once he gets started he kept me entertained all evenings. By the time the husband came back I was well into entertaining mode and decided to gather all my childhood friends for a meal. Ofcourse this turned into a right Royal riot. The girls all landed up loaded with sweets and all manner of  stories,jokes and laughter. Some we hadn't seen in thirty odd years turned up and the lunch extended into tea and the noise we created was so much for an otherwise silent home ,that the neighbours wanted to know what was going on. Following close on the heels of the schoolgirls was the elder sister,quiet unexpectedly. Resident clown and all round entertainer she kept us all in good humour for three days. A breather of a few days and the other sister and husband also land up in yet another unexpected visit . Their stay for a week brought to end and eventful February where I didn't have time to brood,or think and where despite all the guests I managed to keep close to an exercise routine,managed to stay off meat for lent and managed to stay sane and stress free. It was almost like Christmas came in February and for that I am greatful.

High on a bullet train

It's eleven in the morning,the train station of Santa Maria novella is crowded with tourists. It's not a very large station but is noisy and busy. Yet it's clean ,people walk off the trains and exit without a fuss. There are no large families crowing around meeting and greeting . The sign boards are clear. Our train is a high speed one to Roma termini and will go at a speed of 225 km/ hour. The countryside goes past ,large tracks of grassland mountains in the distance thick forests of pine and local trees. Tunnels abound on this stretch. People  toil on the land and it's currently sunny and hot. The train itself is far better than the etihad flight we came on. There is enough leg room ,air conditioning works, and it's soundless and fast. The husband is already comparing it to India,wondering if such a train can run between Bangalore and madras. I have to gently remind him that in India bullet  trains are the stuff of election campaigns and slogan shouting. It takes political will and a sense of duty to ones people to provide such facilities. In my lifetime I would be surprised if we saw anything like this. Ordinary people travel on this train. In our country if and when it did happen it would be out of reach of the common man. I decide that this is a futile exercise and concentrate instead on enjoying the journey. After all it isn't every day that I travel across Italy on high speed trains. 

My geography lesson

Geography,the study of regions and terrains was a favourite subject but as one grows up,it's impact on the humans living in different regions can't be emphasised more. From food to culture to attitudes geography plays a vital role. In lush green surroundings people are are passionate about gardening,growing their own vegetables and fruits,the convert excess to wines,liquor and all manner of vinegars. If winters are harsh,meat is cured,fruits preserved and vegetables pickled. The harsh winters makes for a robust physique. Most often than not the harsh winters makes people speak out exciting sport,skiing,mountain climbing,snowboarding and others. Their cultures are different too. Mountain people tend to stay close to each other knowing that the elements can change their lives in minutes.

Move over to the deserts. Flying over endless miles of sand dunes it comes to me that this endless brown arid terrain without a trace of vegetation can drive anyone crazy. The sand is fine and treacherous. It's misleading,distances become mirages and people can die in intense heat. Searching for water is the biggest obsession and when they find it then life starts. 

Brown and green,white and blue seem to be the predominant colours of geography. The Mediterranean on the other hand is all shimmering blue and rich in vegetation. Sometimes I think they have the best of everything,mild temperate climate,and vegetation that can grow in sunlight and rain and mild winters. Small wonder then that they claim to have the best diets. Talk of balance.

Then the Pacific. A large continent like Australia is a totally different place altogether. It has it all,the sea,the desert the island feel the outback and a small population so far away from the rest of the world that they are a law unto themselves. Laid back ,happy outdoor people,with the occasional headaches of migrants and boat people.

My reflections are all limited to my small holidays taken abroad. They have no factual strength but I was never strong on facts. To me watching people,connecting them to their environment,observing their lifestyles teaches me lessons that no geography class ever did. I combine my learning of geography with my study of psychology and the combination is fascinating. Listening to Europeans who lived at the time of the wars,to understand what it's like to be bombed,to watch refugees struggle to escape and then find that they have jumped from the fat into the fire,it reinforces that our perceptions move us to places,places where we think we will have a life,places closer to our homelands but entirely different and I wonder....would I have the courage to uproot myself ever from my comfort zone or does war and famine and repression render people choice less....I keep wondering and learning

Counting blessings in January

As the year draws to a close I ask myself ...was it a good year,or a stressful one...and for the life of me I can't remember. Of course my mind is like a sieve and has been so always but this year the decision was to record all the good things that happen month on month. I've decided to make 2016 a year of counting my blessings . Will I carry it through is a million dollar question but let's make a start.

Jan 2016 slid quietly by just as I wanted it too. All that noise and partying are things of the past so except for the crackers shattering the silence for an hour or two I slept the sleep of the dead and woke up refreshed. The mother for some reason gives us money as gifts for the new year and even though we don't need it we accept it with gratitude and it makes her happy. Adding joy to someone's life can be quiet pleasurable.

My container garden flourished and bore fruit despite some of my baby plants had to be rescued from torrential rain which vey nearly killed them. It is getting a kind of pattern now and doesn't look as disheveled as it did a month ago. I hope to harvest some cherry tomatoes very soon. 

 Our first guest of the year arrived and even though the visit was only for two days it was a relaxing time for me spending it with a friend and her mother,both of whom I have know for close to thirty years.

A friend who has shared many joys and sorrows and who's house was like a second home for me until she went away across the seas to England. Despite extending invitations year on year she has never come to stay but did so this year. To see her relax and to see her mom eat my food with relish was such joy. Time well spent catching up on conversations.

Our next guest was a couple very much like us albeit much younger but we share the same love of all things food and as my basil plant was growing into a little tree we invited them for an Italian meal to relive our experiences of Italy and to indulge in some good food and wine. An evening well spent and lots of fun.

Jan also saw a reasonable amount of swimming in the new pool. Smaller and shallower than the old one it nevertheless stand in the shade of some high walls and trees so swimming in the afternoon heat isn't as bad as it was in previous years. Not having a clock means that I manage to have long pleasurable swims.

My great love of all seafood has me checking prices on a daily basis and what joy to find fish prices dropped in Jan. The fridge is now so full of fish that I can indulge my passion for fish pickle,fish and chips and everything else fishy.

The mother got a clean chit from her doctor and seems in high spirits which is a blessing.

The mornings are still cool so walking hasn't Ben painful and leaving windows open to fresh air is an added bonus.

The first month of the year has sailed past and it's been a good one.

Warm January

It's a warm January afternoon and I am half way through a novel on racing. The description of the race course,the imagery of the place are all so wonderful and calming and for a moment I thought I must try and describe my surroundings. Of course compared to English country side,the dusty descriptions of an Indian city can hardly compare but this is my home and my life and perhaps,just perhaps,it may be interesting to those who live amongst beauty and don't quiet appreciate it.

It's meant to be the coldest month in this part of the world but the temperature hovers around thirty degrees centigrade,the sun shines brightly. The room is full of furniture of a bygone past,all scavenged from ansestors long gone or from parents still a around. Clothes pile up for ironing but the ironing man doesn't come (we hardly iron our own clothes nowadays,this is a land of pelenty of people and everyone needs a job).

The air is thick with traffic sounds,an ambulance with sirens blaring comes around almost every hour. The trees are heavy with dust and the only birds one hears are the crows. Silence is unheard of in this town. Houses are stark all concrete and glass adding to the insufferable heat. My thick red curtains keep out most of the light in an attempt to keep cool. The fans whirl non stop and the house is filled with the aroma of a thousand spices. Food is served piping hot and it induces a sense of lethargy which invariably means afternoon naps are the order of the day. The sound of water trickling isn't from any brook or stream ,it's from a tap, a car being washed of the grime of a journey or two. Dogs are being cooled down by warm tepid water. Hot water runs in our taps,boiled by the sun,plants wilt in the heat and it's not even summer.

I walk in the afternoon heat (with dust rising with every footstep) to a swimming pool to exercise and cool off. The water is hot but a few laps and one is happy. Desert like flora offer some shade and the afternoon calm is only broken by the pigeons dipping into the pool to drink of the water. It's all silence here and I can only hear my feet and arms trashing through the water.

This is a day in a hot tropical city where cold in unheard of,where the heat rises each year making it hotter and hotter. There is no respite but in its own way this is what I've lived with all my life and if rolling hills and horses were what I was offered ,yes I would like that too but sooner than later I would want to come back to the familiar heat and dust of an Indian city.

Goodbye Germany

Finally the holiday ends. A mixture of seeing places,living like locals and generally doing nothing. I have experienced extreme heat and cold and must admit that there is something very alluring about temperatures in single digits. A part of my heart lies in Germany simply because it's a beautiful place unspoilt by tourism. If there are any tourist they are Germans exploring thei own country. Difficult to find English speaking tours here. Most people wonder why I make my trips to Germany.  Friends apart,it is a beautiful place for many reasons. It's cities have some old building,it's weather is mild to cold everything one imagines of Europe. The people are conservative,thrifty,hardworking and practical. I rarely have come across a stylish German. Sold footwear and well wearing coats are more their thing. Contrast this with France or Italy and one has only to look at the woman. All high heels and high fashion they are a treat to the eye. The style can be intimidating but in Germany it's fine to be unstylish.

The landscape again is almost like England,with lush green fields,cows,horses and farms. Farmers markets abound and the fruits and vegetables are fresh. Small farmers sell local produce,and are proud of being local. The food unlike Italy and France is nothing to write home about. It's solid meat ,potato and salad and of course the pickled cabbage and some others. The beer is splendid in its variety. Even in the cold they can drink chilled beer and be happy. One doesn't have to worry about wine etiquette,unless one wants to or would like to be a snob. 

Quaint little dolls and garden gnomes do every garden,the forests which inspired the brothers grim ,continue to bring fairy tales alive. Many a tradition is unique to Germany.

Germans have no problem acknowledging their religion. They are Christian and proud to be so. I was surprised to see an entire story on immigrants based on the bible at the airport,but in now way does this belief infringe on another's freedom. For a history that cannot be forgotten,this belief comes as welcome fact. 

Being green is not an alien concept for the average German ,as is obeying rules. Does it ever occur to them to break a rule?. Perhaps but not too often. Trust is another big thing here. They actually trust the government and their people. They will faithfully bag garbage in to organic,plastic and paper waste. Bottles are recycled into green blue and white bottles. No one makes a mistake on the colours. In my country to get people to bag garbage is a huge task leave alone asking them to segregate it ,unless one is a snob or the foreign returned rich Indian who likes to think they are different from others and who live is gated communities where it is easy or the in thing to do.

I have learnt to wipe kitchen surfaces and keep it all sparkling something I find difficult to do in ,y own house

Of course like in all countries they have their issues but a German would be shocked if a system in his country didn't work. Efficiency is a given and for me it's amazing how everything run like clockwork. Never have I had to wait for a bus beyond the time mentioned. Trains have come to the same platform that they were promised to arrive on six months ahead. The order in contrast to ,my chaos is what brings me back. In small towns women and girls walk home late at night,run in parks any time of day and despite being deserted,they have no fear. I loved walking here in the sure knowledge that I was safe. Never in all my life have I felt so safe,not even in the suburb wher I have lived all my life. Why do I take the car out even to go a short distance in the night? I have to constantly look over my shoulder if I walk alone in a deserted street and fear is always around the corner. I know there is crime in this country as no country is perfect but one is almost certain that atleast eight percent will be punished for their crimes. Isn't that a great way to live. Yes life isn't easy. No servants,no gardeners even if you have a garden. All the work to be done besides holding full time jobs. Shops close at six thirty in the evenings. No one to iron ones clothes,or wash ones dishes.....yet for all those luxuries in my country I would happily trade it for a hard but efficient life the German way.

The past and the present

All it was ,was a memory of forty odd years ago ,of childhood summers spent in a house many miles from the place I call home. A large six bedroom house its gates heaved under the weight of colourful bougainvillea in a riot of colours. This was where we would swing to and fro just for the fun of it. The main door had four panels with wooden stoppers,those doors have long passed their prime but the old houses keep them. The garden between house and gate was filled with fine pebbles that crumched as you walked up to the front door. No one could come in unannounced you were heard before you were seen. A veranda skirted the house on all sides and this was filled with potted plants of roses,poppies,strange colourful leafy varieties of croutons. The living room had a red carpet running all the way to the back of the house. Walk through the door and one enters a room that had no real purpose except to serve as a meeting place for all the family. The dinning room was a long corridor and behind it on the outside ther was a chicken coup . Fresh eggs had to be collected everyday for breakfast.

Childhood was spent roaming the grounds behind the house where all manner of fruit and vegetables grew. Menus were decided on what was in season and children like us had the pleasure of plucking anything that was in season.

Years later with the grandparents dead the house went to rack and ruin. It's silence was defending at times,no children played on the lawns,no adults had heated discussions and slowly the flowers died of neglect and the fruit trees turned to birds to keep them alive.

I return with my memory intact to try and re create the memory that is so fresh in my mind. I remember the steep road that led to the house and I recognise the bus stop but for the life of me I cannot find the road. There is no address ,for in those days we had only to name our grandfather to find our house but finding someone of that generation is difficult. The main road is packed bumper to bumper with cars ( in our days a bus was a rare occurrence). We have to call a cousin to get directions only to find that we have gone on the road twice but haven't found the house.

Forty years and development has taken its toll. The road has been widened to accommodate all ever increasing traffic and our beautiful pebbled lawn has now become road. The wide sweep to our front door is gone. My cousins have sold part of the garden and in the place of mulberry bushes and cashew nut trees,we now have an ugly tin building. Finally thanks to a frail uncle ( the purpose of the visit besides the memories) sitting in his easy chair watching the world go by,we find the other house in the same compound. It's more modern than I remember I bu it holds no memories. I rush back to the old house to take some pictures. The backyard remains the same wild and overgrown and I recognise some vegetables of my childhood. The side road is still the narrow country parth it was those many years ago and the front door hasn't changed but it has that sad depleted look of a country house once a glorious landmark ,now stripped of its grand status or does one as a small child see things much larger than I now see it as an adult? Whatever the reason I decide to hold on to my childhood memory. It's a lot more real,a lot more colourful and no fancy photography is required to hold it safe in my mind.

The brave walk

I have been afflicted by this strange European hangover and the symptoms are quiet disturbing. Having spent twenty five days walking at all hours of the day and night -in the relative safety of knowing that crime is not as rampant as it is in India-,in Europe, I came home to a life that requires me to take the car out for even short distances. Blistering heat prevents one from walking but when it rained and the temperature dropped,I decided rather foolishly to walk some two kilometres to the library and to do some shopping. Full of enthusiasm and ready to take on the world I donned my walking shoes,took a shopping bag and ventured forth. Little did I realise that not only was it treacherous,dangerous and a totally wrong decision. For one I didn't contend with the state of our roads.  The rain had left large pools of water and the slush was engineered to make even the most sure footed to slip.Bravely I trod on the footpath only to find that most of it was overtaken by hawkers and there I had to tred back on the road,only to be met by on coming traffic which as in all of India doesn't follow any rules. By the time I dodged out of the way of two wheelers,cars and all manner of dizzying traffic I had reached the main road and unscathed may I add. The challenge was to cross to the other side. Now in India it's always the survival of the fittest. Politely waiting for the traffic light to turn green ( there are no traffic light here on this road) is silly. Waiting for vehicles to stop for pedestrians as they do in other countries is to delude oneself of ones own importance. So I straighten my shoulders,take a deep breath and plunge into the traffic as if to the road born. I make it safely to the other side having been cursed by many a driver for having the audacity to cross when they were coming at full speed but like I said what has to be done must be done and walking on Indian roads in peak traffic in the absence of footpaths is not for the faint hearted.

I reach the road where forty years ago we walked every evening stopping to talk to friends on the way. Not a car would be in sight and both sides of the road were lined with houses. Today the houses,(all but a few remain) have given way to commercial establishments,and the crowds have swelled. By the time I reached my destination,survival skills that were lying dormant (thanks in part to have taken to driving for many years now) had kicked in. The return home was a lot easier. I walked with a swagger my Europe hangover almost gone but lesson learnt not to be forgotten ,I discovered the footpath that no self respecting pedestrian in India will use,but I did use it at the risk of falling or slipping thanks to undulations,but was forced to give up in many places. 

As I braved the slush,the traffic and the maniac drivers,I felt proud of myself for taking the risk of walking in peak traffic and in the process I discovered many things about my country,the first being that pedestrians are not a respected lot. This is a country for drivers and not walkers. Will I venture out again.?....well who knows when the spirit of adventure takes over. Until then I think I shall just drive.

My travel companion

Travelling with the husband is like a walk in the park. Overly cautious and always on high alert he is my navigator ,expert map reader,accountant ,personal shopper and travel planner. The kind of person who will plan most details of trips so we have a jolly good time. He wil scan price tags and remember them do quick calculations in his head so we get the best deals and all I have to do is make shopping lists,decide what to eat,read up on enough history and follow him around. The down side(there always is one) is that we will be in bed by ten every night even in the cities with the most happening night life. We won't take very early morning flights and will always get our beauty sleep unless economy dictates otherwise. I am the kind who can depend on a mobile aap to do most of my work. I will happily use gps to find my way in strange cities as physical maps have such fine print it's guaranteed to give me a headache in minutes. I am a wanderer ,it means I can go around in circles and eventually find my way and not get too bothered,while the husband can find the shortest way to any place and get anxious if we get lost. But we make a good travelling pair with a bit of give and take and frankly I can't imagine traveling with anyone else.

The sofa diary

It's three thirty in the afternoon and as is usual for me ,I am lying on a sofa . The big difference is that this is a large roomy sofa and super comfortable,the temperature is 18 degrees c, there are dark clouds outside with a threat of rain and the defending silence is broken only by the sound of a lawn mower in the distance,children's voices in the park ,my stomach grumbles and the sound of my breathing. In my ordinary life I would be lying on the sofa,the fan at full speed,sweating despite it,wondering if silence was a sound and contemplating what to make for dinner. How different.

Morning wa spent walking down many a cobbled street up and down ,curved and hilly and then down to the river to watch swans and ducks swim by peacefully. The walk took us through a tree lined park. The trees in perfect symmetry,the paths full of fallen autumn leaves,birds singing in the branches. People browsing in shops. From one park to another to a sudden spate of shops,we ambled for hours,huddled in coats enjoying the chill air on our skin. In my other life my mornings would mean a one hour walk after which the clothes would have to be peeled off thanks to sweat. The morning would then mean watering some wilting plants ,cooking breakfast while the heat continues to a increase to uncomfortable levels....such is life ...what can't be overcome must be endured.

It's the differences that I embrace.....the present is for memories to be relived in a series of pictures. The regular must be endured and that is life. Each with its own ups and downs. Holidays are all about the ups but real life is a mixture of joy,sorrow and living. Harder yes but also to be enjoyed. The collage of my holiday memories keeps me going. Someone asks why I laze around on a sofa when on holiday. Don't I want to see places and take photos and shop. Yes I've done that too but for me it has to be a mixture. Nature in all its beauty must be appreciated in silence,unbroken and peaceful and for someone who lives in a city this is almost like seeing a place ,it's a new experience. To be in sync with all that's beautiful and wild that for me is pure joy.

The sofa takes it all.

It's a faded pink must have been red at one time. It's the centrepiece of the living room and is about ten years old. I dream about it every so often . It's kind of a premium place to rest oneself ad it's everyone's favourite. A three seater sofa it is and in terms of comfort it's the intimate. One can sink into its comfortable cushions and I don't mean sit,I mean sink. It's relaxes you instantly . Getting out is always a problem,because one never wants to. No one spends much time sitting on it. Most often than not its occupied by someone lounging on it whoever made this piece of furniture was either a pretty lazy person who imagined spending most of his days lounging or it was someone who knew the meaning of comfort and that luxurious feeling. Now don't get me wrong,it's not those designer ones with soft cushions et al. It's cushions are made of canvas,it's colour is faded and in terms of looks it's just another sofa. It wouldn't get a second glance,it wouldn't get rave reviews in the looks departments either. But like a well worn piece of furniture it's not something one would give up easily. It's everyone's favourite seat in the house and when the present owner who has no intentions of giving it up,ever decides to do so I will be standing in line for it. Never mind that I don't have space in the flat. This is one piece of sofa that I have my heart set on.

It's a little bit special

The Italy holiday is over and we are back in Germany to our friends home. This is the last leg of the journey and it's a time to spend with friends and to simply chill ,enjoy the weather and not worry about a thing. We have spent our time in the town square mixing with locals ,enjoying three market days when Italian and French farmers showcased their produce in stalls selling cheese,meat,oil and fresh food. It's a time to eat and drink and browse. Staying at home involves barbecue in the garden,eating fresh apples and plums from trees,watching hilarious French movies and talking non stop with friends. What more can one ask for.

The sun shines and the temperature is around 18 degrees. It's warm in the sun and cool in the shade. I spend my time ogling at the shops. Kitchen stuff is my weakness and I can't believe my eyes at all the beautiful things that are available. The possibilities of decorating things the little art pieces etc are so lovely and simple I want to take it all back home. But of course I can't and will it stick out like a sore thumb in my city's flat. Of course it will so I look and am happy.

Lunch is eaten is and we continue to stroll. Plenty of grape wines in the neighbourhood and I eat them with juice running down my throat. Reminds me of the poem " the goblin men" . The beauty of living in a small town in Europe is are the quaint shops,the cafes,the people and the dogs. It's a laid back life but everyone is productive in their own way. There are no idlers around,no one is wasting time. It's clean and it bright and beautiful. It's another two days and I will be back home to India and I need these memories to keep me going until the next holiday. 

The silence as usual is so unusual I can hear myself breath. This is the kind of peace one craves for. Do I every get this silence back home. Perhaps in the hills but certainly not when houses have common walls and one can literally peak into the other house. Lovely is such a sad word to describe this place because it more than lovely....it's just so special

Heat waves

If there is one thing I dislike it's heat. I have lived all my life in a hot country where the temperature can go up to 42 degrees c and will only drop to aroun 28 c at the best of times. The few times I get a chance to go on holiday I choose cool or cold countries in a bid to escape the relentless heat. Unfortunately even though he cold countries get into heat wave mode when I get there. Our fist holiday in Europe was so hot that I had to fill bath tubs with cold water to sit in. Paris,Berlin and Amsterdam were all at 35 degrees. Our next holiday in England. A land which is always suffering from rain but the moment I landed there was a heatwave. Last holiday in Austria and Germany and Budapest and Prague were everything I hoped for. Cold,cool but never hot. I enjoyed every minute of it so here I am back in Europe in autumn or so I imagined and the heat is killing me. Italy has been in the late twenties and the heat unrelenting. Germany was lovely but not cold but I hope by the time I get back it becomes freezing.

The problem with the heat is that it tires me out. In my hometown I don't have to go out and see places. I stay at home with the fans on or in extreme hear I have the option of air conditioning but when one is visiting new countries there is som much to see that one is forced to move out. Today in Rome I had decided to stay in the hotel but guilt propelled me outside. How could I spend an entire afternoon in the hotel room after spending so much to travel to this place. So I stepped out and stayed out. Soon I was drenched in sweat,add to that the amount one has to walk in the heat,and then to get on a crowded bus packed like sardines. In my hometown I don't need to get into crowded buses here one simply has to. By the end of the evening I am in a foul mood. I think a cold shower should help but it only makes me feel hotter. The air conditioning remains at 25 degrees and it's not helping. I am taking out my frustration on the husband and he is stressing and getting me stressed also. It doesn't make for a happy situation. The times when I travelled in June I was told that it was summer in Europe from June to August. September I was told was was a good time to travel . In Rome and in Florence we were told that this heat is unusual. So am I a global warming machine on my own. Honestly my next holiday will not be in Europe . Next time I am spending my holidays with the polar bears and that's a promise.

Pisa and Luca

It's our last day of touring and we are off to Pisa and Luca but as the Italians would say,we are off to peesa and looka. Our friendly tour company is used to us by now having taken a few tours with them. This time our guide is Sara a diminutive thing but with a voice that s strong enough to get everyone going. She starts our tour introducing herself first in English and then in Spanish. The husband for the life of him can't figure out when the English stops and the Spanish begins. To be fair to him it's a pretty task,I have to leesen very carefully to understand what she says. Of course I am getting the hang of it.

It takes us an hour and a half to reach peesa (in keeping with the Italian way of speaking English some words will have to be read the way they are written....I know my spellings aren't good but this is deliberate). It's a small town with a few houses dominated by the leaning tower,the Pisa cathedral and the baptistery.

The Italians like I mentioned earlier are quiet unlike the Germans,time keeping isn't their finest virtue so the guide ees late. Sara is on her phone for a while and we are handed over to our new guide ( a doctor Spock lookalike). He arrives in blue jeans,tight t shirt,muscles bulging ,flat stomach and all . Rather a fit man one would imagine and then he tells us his name is Roberto (big emphasis on the r). He is obviously a veteran tour guide,quickly sizes up the group,talks in Japanese ,German,French and English with a bit of double Dutch thrown in. When it's our turn he tells us of all the places he's visited in the south of India ( did he read it off a brochure we will never know ) and we are suitably impressed. Roberto is hilarious he keeps us in splits and also has enough knowledge to explain it all. Most cathedrals in Italy have three elements,the cathedral,the bell tower and the baptistery. I didn't bother seeing previous guides what the baptistery was for but Roberts tells us that in the olden days,people who were not baptised and hence considered non Christian couldn't enter the church. So during the festivals they would have group baptisms in a large font kept in the baptistery after which they were free to walk into church. Roberto has a word with all the security personal,hugs all the women on duty and is generally in the know. Even the security guards with guns have to break into smiles when he is around....his favourite phrase is ....'I beg of you". By far the best guide we have had. We move on to the leaning tower of Pisa which I must admit is a wonderful sight. To think that an architectural mistake can bring people all over the world to see it is truly amazing.the tower itself is worth a climb. 296 steps to climb and I am determined to huff and puff my way to the top and we do it. A good photo at the top and we get a 360 degree view of the city.  We are told that the tower was a watchtower in the old days as all the provinces in Italy were at war with each other and they had to see the enemy coming. We have climbed many such monuments but this ones marble steps are worn out with the millions walking on it. Half way down we can feel the tilt of the tower and are wondering why we are tilting but realise soon enough the lay of the land. Back on the ground and we are off  to Luca.

Luca is a walled city and is called the city of a hundred churches but actually has only some seventy odd churches. It's a quaint place but by the time we reach the husband is tired and refuses to walk. He is done with walking and here I am all ready to go all over the place. My map reader then issues an ultimatum. He is planning to sit it out and I can be off with a map and do whatever it is that I have to do. Good plan indeed except that if you leave me with a map and all the time in the world then it's no problem I will find my way but expecting me to come back in an hour is all too much. Quick action is required and after years of practise I know the ropes. A quick salty bite from a nice little cafe where the English speaking Italian who quickly figures my dilemma ,and a gelato kind of puts some energy into the husband. There is one pLce he wants to visit so we walk at a real slow pace to reach it. An espresso and objective achieved. We reach the walls of Luca and the sight is so beautiful,the husband forgets his fatigue. Thank god for patience ( was in danger of loosing my cool). We take the mandatory pictures find a nice park bench for the husband and I am on my way walking on the walls. The sight is serenity itself . Large expanses of green lawns below the walls. Trees that stand like sentries on the horizon and ancient walls that protect a city within. Who ever thought up all this. And how well they preserve it. I am sure we have beautiful places like this in our country but we don't even have clean public toilets so when will we learn? Our trip is over and we are back in Florence . Our Tuscany adventure is all but over and the decision to visit this beautiful part of Italy was well worth it.

People watching

It's almost ten days since we arrived  in Italy and am beginning to speak English like them. It's amazing how a little drag on the words can make a difference or a strong emphasis on the R s. It's all about a big smile,greeting everyone with a Bon journo in the morning till noon,a bona Serra in the evening.  We have learnt to compliment chefs on the quality of their food with a fantastico and everyone is happy. 

 We meet so many people along the way and everyone is a story waiting to be told. We loose track of so many of these memories as each day is filled with new ones. So let's start at the very beginning.

Our hotel in Rome ,the two girls at the reception.one a twenty something fresh to work with all the exuberance of youth. Gets a joke when cracked,gives good advice on places to eat on shoe strings and always has a smile. The older girl probably in her early thirties is all busy and efficient. She won't get too friendly but will keep professional distance. She is always in a rush,smartly dressed,does about two jobs in a day and is responsible for all that happens in the hotel. 

Our tour guide in Rome on our first tour. She looke like an ageing Sofia Loren all nutty brown tan ,skinny but with the confidence of one who has been a tour guide in ages. Ofcourse her strong Italian accent made the English next to impossible to understand and at the end of the day all that concentration to understand what she was saying took its toll. If the pope had any intentions of making saints of anyone that day I would have stood a very good chance.

The nuns and fathers in Rome. Coming from a country where we expect priests to be  godly( not all but we like to delude ourselves that they don't drink or smoke and that makes them good) and nuns to sty in the cloisters it's may come as a shock to us to see Nuns wander the streets of Rome taking in the sights,checking the directions on iPhones ( what ever happened to vows of poverty),priests who can drink many of us under the table. One in particular started with beer,went on to wine and sampled quiet a few. Members of his parish seemed more than happy to stand him a few drinks and everyone was all jolly and happy at the end of it all. Some of the priests are so good looking it might be a sin to just look at them. I saw many a nun and priest stroll down the streets in animated conversations and if a picture of them were sent to my mother she may have plenty to say on the subject of church and morality. In the interest of peace I refrained from using my camera.

Tuscany has a lot more atmosphere than Rome. There is a certain vibrancy in the air and people look a lot more relaxed. 

We are creatures of habit and will find a place like it and stick to it so tarratoria corneliius was home for the next few days for food. The place is manned by a surly twenty something with an attitude to match. He flicks his gelled hair at regular intervals speaks or rather mutters under his breadth and will shrug nonchalantly if he doesn't want to answer. Like twenty something's all over the world he is true to character but not rude and very decent,does a good job too. Once in a while he will pull our legs with some joke said with such seriousness that the husband took him seriously and we ended up laughing . But not our boy,a gleam in his eye was the only indication of any emotion. Our others well built tattooed waiter is the very opposite of our twenty something. He is all charm and passion. Practises his English on all the guests and is ready with a smile a greeting and something to chat about.  An overweight American arrived and ordered a pepperoni pizza and our boy just couldn't help himself,he laughed charmingly and told the shocked American that in Italy pepperoni meant green peppers and not salami but all done with such charm that one couldn't fault him on anything. Of course after some six or seven meals in the same place he was our friend. Told me the panzanella was not his favourite food in face he disliked it and wanted to make sure I knew what I was ordering. Was terribly amused when I asked for a recipe and since thee chef couldn't speak English he got the Indian pizza maker to give me thee recipe (not that the boys English was any better) but the recipe is with me now though I was warned that the taste was all down to good Italian tomatoes and cheese.

Angelina our in house nona (she owns the hotel) is a class act. This hotel is run by a fairly typical Italian family. The parents do the afternoon shifts which means the father stays in his room watching tv,the mother talks to gues and boy can she talk. Of course half the time she forgets what she was about to do but a few exchange of recipes and she's won over. She thinks I need to stay back and make a curry and tandoori chicken as her beefy,English speaking son wants to eat it. He obviously is the apple of her eye. She tells me every day to look after the husband. According to her I know what I have,may it know what you willl get so look after him. She can talk endlessly about the TV serials and shopping and prices. Honestly how can I miss my mother when I have found a very similar one in Florence. She is very disappointing we are leaving because after a week she s now involved in our lives and waits to hear about our day when we get back in the evenings. Her husband is a smart Italian hotelier who looks like he is not all there but that's just a farce. He knows exactly what's going on. The son is a nice friendly chap ready to give advice on all things to look out for in Italy and his English is so good one could imagine he was English. The daughter in law like most of them world over is long suffering,does the breakfast in the morning,doesn't speak a word of English and is a bit of a mouse. The husband thinks she can get a bit mad if pushed but she seems to be in the shadows all the time.

Our little Cupid was the cutest of the lot. Lesson learnt in Italy. If one is standing in never ending lines to get into places,the most amusing way to pass time is to watch babies and play with dogs. The baby in question was a smart cookie. All of some one and a half years he had chubby cheeks and could understand every thing that was said to him. He could pull a happy face by shutting his eyes and grinning from ear to ear,then pull his mouth down to tell us he is sad. Adept at using the iPhone he would watch videos of him self and gurgle with glee. He watch the husband doing his stretches ( the husband was hungry and tired and had nothing better to do) and promptly started imitating him. He did this for quiet a while enough to keep us busy. Then the mother started her song...." The wheels of the bus go round and round".... The song stuck in our heads for the rest of the day as did the image of rosy cheeks,dimpled chin and all.

Self absorption

Our last but one evening in Florence and we decide to walk around the city seeing its sights and watching the sights and sounds. After an afternoon spent resting we walk down the narrow streets to the duomo cathedral. Here we decide to take a break,sit on its marble steps and watch the world go by. After all the piazza is the place to do just that. The Bangladesh vendors are all out selling selfie sticks and paintings or even roses for the romantically inclined. We then spot two Indian groups and we sit up and take notice of our country men and women. This is a mixed bunch. One young man got down on his knees,kissed the ground and crossed himself.....Goan catholic we decide. His wife is I address so suspicion confirmed. The others are probably from Bombay. The young women are fashionably dressed by indian standards but the men are all talking Hindi and without exception,have pot bellies. This is the one distinguishing feature of most Indian men. Shirts tucked into jeans,they pose with arms around their significant other,the photos ,proof of having visited a foreign country. One young woman with a child in a stroller is determined to take selfies. I watch fascinated as she spends time tossing her hair this way and that,posing to the right angle,her selfie stick is working overtime and in a space of a few seconds she has taken atleast ten selfies. Never mind that not a single one of her photos are of the duomo cathedral. I am enthralled by such self absorption,not having seen it thus far though a few Japanese woman can put the Indian ones to shame on the selfie scale. Finished with her selfies she starts to work on her young daughter who must be a little over two perhaps three or even less. She is obviously well trained and poses dutifully to all instructions from the mother. The group in the meanwhile has moved on but nothing can come in the way of a selfie and time and tide can wait for all she cares. We marvel at the fact that we care so little for time and discipline. The tours we go on are all about being on time ,staying with the group etc and when will we indians ever learn such simp,e etiquette?. The tour guide looks at the end of her patience but a job has to be done. Now our attention moves to the other Indian group. This time a group of young men mainly from the north with a few women thrown in. The husband eavesdrop s on their conversation which is all in Hindi. Again the self absorption is evident. It's alla out the photos. There are two guides,one Indian and one Italian. The young men pay no attention to either and carry on with their own agenda. Soon the group is fragmented but we are indian and chaos is all part of our DNA .the husband and I have spent a delightful evening watching the people and understanding differences between cultures . A lesson learnt in a very interesting manner.

Day trippers

After a long trip out of Florence yesterday we are tired enough to take it easy today but food beckons. The local market is a stones throw away and a must visit. All around the coved market are shops selling belts,jackets handbags and all manner of leather goods. Some of the handbags are well both a buy but the husband has me on a tight budget and considering I don't use handbags all that much I do not protest too much but as ogling is free I indulge happily. The market inside opens at eight thirty in the morning and we have our shopping lists at the ready. The first thing we do is to take a quick walk around the place,the husband makes a quick calculation of the prices ,converts it into Indian currency and decided if it's a good buy or not. I simply indulge my sense of taste and visual appeal. I drool over the fish. The anchovies and sardines and shinning their eyes bright,I want to pick them up and cook them but move on. There are many cheese shops but our hotel owne ( a nice Italian nona) has told us that the age of the cheese will be displayed and we must ask for a taste. There is one shop which does exactly this. It's surprising how I can understand perfectly well what the man is telling me in rapid fire Italian when the subject is food. Is it greed or some inner communication between lovers of food. I trust my instincts on this. He cuts thin slices for me to taste and I eat and enjoy. The husband meanwhile is busy doing the maths in his head. Ready to move on to the next store he cannot understand my need to chat with the Italian shopkeepers in sign language. Mercifully for him the owners son arrives and actually speaks English. All the cheese bought,we move over to the mushroom shop. Recommended by the cheese seller this shop is full of porcini mushrooms fresh and dried,the prices come in ranges but is decided on the bases of stems,caps or mixed. The husband would like to understand the science and economics behind such classifications but for me porcini mushrooms have stolen my taste buds,I want them caps or stems or roots. How does it matter when I can't get them in India. It's a taste for which I will happily travel the world so after much talking we get ourselves a mix just to be on the safe side. Next stop for spices. Spices in Italy when we come from the land of spices you may well ask but these are interesting. Mixed spices for pasta. Now that's something I can see much use for considering our love of all things Italian. Picante is an useful word I have learnt so when the word combined with my brown skin gets the message across perfectly. The shopkeeper happy at the business I give him offers truffle in oil on a cracker. I eat happily,the husband refuses politely. He offers us amaretto biscuits but that I refuse to eat. I simply can't stand it but with our bags now full we are ready to leave. The lovely tomato sauce called passata has to be left behind as the bottle is too heavy....well you win some you loose some. We head back to the hotel and I tell the husband that we simply have to see Michelangelo s David . What I don't tell him is that the lines can be punishing. Now unfortunately I have three things on my wish list and not enough time to do it. I want to clime the 400 steps to the dome of the duomo cathedral,I also want to climb the bell tower and go the the piazza Michelangelo but if I have to choose I need to see David. Our hotel manager tells us it's next to impossible to go there t such short notice but the husband loves a challenge and for that I am greatful . So we set off and find the lines snaking into the streets. The husband does a quick calculation ( it's all about numbers with him) and decided that based on the movement of the lines,it should take us an hour to get a ticket.he then suggests we have lunch. Determined not to miss out on David ( the husband can imagine what the fuss is all about,left to himself he would rather see the only David in our family expected later in the month at our home...a grand nephew) . I use all the charm at my disposal and some logic to let him know that the lines can only get longer so better sense prevails and we wait. The wait goes on for two hours in the noon sun. It's hot it's humid but we wait,and finally we are in. David stand right at the end of a corridor a majestic figure in marble. His hands are those of a young man though he is a boy in the bible. I am near certain he was clothed in the bible after all shepherd boys don't roam around the countryside naked do they ?. But this is a masterpiece,this is Michelangelo s interpretation of David so I put aside all those thought of mine and concentrate instead of the piece itself. How he sculpted the veins and the nails and every muscle of the body from a piece of marble is what makes so many. Ill ion people gape in wonder. To think that such creativity existed in times when one had to crave every little bit with ones hands. I have a good look and move on to all the other paintings in the gallery. It was well worth the wait for me and we exit quickly for lunch and after a good meal we get back to the hotel so my excellent map reader can get a good rest,ready to face the evening ahead. I am still working on ways to get him to agree on the other two things on my list....time will tell