all over the world

revolutions all over the world, in london , in the "arab world", in paris banlieues. As stupid and shortsighted as surely I am the demands all look the same:
employment and fair wages to pay a house and raise a family, freedom to speech, a state that protects and does not repress, a state that defends freedom and justice and is not a hidden inquisition.
In Israel (yes Israel) last week people were marching down the streets to ask for fair wages to match rents, (and  honestly it could have been paris )
Today and yesterday the markets were going crazy because again speculation implodes and explodes; how is it possible not to have the decency to behave? not to give up that small dividend , that small margin more on top of so much money when most of the people in the world , not the so called undeveloped world but this nice industrialised disfunctioning one , are struggling and shouting because they cannot make ends meet
How is it possible that nobody linked this so called unrest all over the world with the fact that maybe people are not able anymore to meet the basic happiness levels? How come that nobody looks at the big picture, that newspaper prefer to scare people about the unrest and unstability rather than seeing the common points ... because at the end what i can see is that everywhere everybody wants the same things,  a safe home and a kind of family, a nice porch to look at a sunset ,possibly in summer one beer after a hard day work or just an icecream (as for me)...but again I am surely not seeing it right and these other journalists and interpreters of the world must surely know better

talamone a pasqua

droplets

in that may night at gangotri temple people swarmed and bent like bees.
all in the temple chessboard lighting and exchanging sweets. I wonder whether this orange dressed sadhus walking up and down india felt at home, felt at peace in that place or they sensed the call of the road.
Or maybe the road is still to those that live in it.
There was this tall and thin old man . Bespectacled and frail, as if worn down by the wind and the sun. Makes me think of my dad, maybe everybody would think of his dad or how he can be in some few years.
He was sitting below the bell and was putting on again his shoes, they ressembled those espadrillas , no strings.
and he seemed not to manage to put the foot in any of them . So he tries and tries
and other people come by. Some old lady they come and small talk with him and with other bypassers . one  lady offers to help him but he gestures that he can do alone; again he bends his head over his shoes. He seems to manage to slip the first foot in. The second one is more demanding and there he sits on and on trying to get the second shoe on. His legs are so long and he looks like a gigant double legged spider all corners and bends. Another lady, another friend I guess, motherlike offers to help again and again he makes sign all is fine. And he goes on and on. All these ladies trying to help and the humble pride of the old man to manage his feet. (Does he feel alone here below the mountains? is it family to have somebody asking you if you need help? does he feel fragile ? or is it just me that feels so looking at him and thinking of me?)
then he steps up , now he is tall , long , longer and he has his stick to walk on . I do not know whether he managed to slip in his second foot or he let go and preferred to move on with his foot half out. He has already disappeared in the crowd along the ghats, maybe in a very few days from my memories.

 How small we all are... this is immortality...

the ganges dip ... is it good to erase the past?

This morning I was deeply appreciating the beauty of rishikesh location in the Ganges bend down below dense hills..
I was walking along the beach spotting few morning people already out to bathe . A very pleasant moment, zith the dry wind and a tasty silence as companions, I was walking between beaches and small mango orchards. I have even met a party of young students playing football, unique event in this land of cricket... quite unique also that the guys were up at seven in the morning...
At the end of this beautiful moment stolen to the busy commercial and bigotry driven Rishikesh I met an italian I had already made acquaintance with in Gangotri...Blah blah blah and then eventually he asks me whether I had bathed in the Ganges. In these moments I , instictively (and quite pleased by that), reply that no I do not have that amount of sins to wash and frankly i did not see the urgency to do so. Of course the first reaction is "are you sure ???'" with a shocked and unbelieving air... Of course I am sure, in perspective i do not think i have such a burden of sins, nor i think that anybody does ... then the guy, feeling the dead end started with another explanation and here we go.
the real wash in the sacred waters aims not at getting rid of the past bad actions but of the past tout court, better the conscience of the past , which is the only key to have a different future and perhaps a better future .
In fact , givent he righteousness of this traveller, the past and the conscience of it , would be the obstacle to the freedom and making the right decisions.
I found myself quite surprised by this research and then started my reflection: is it really a liberation to forget the past?
It is quite original in this era where we accuse relentlessly the power men to let the past go and repeat the same mistakes in history , see how fast is going the memory of the first years of 50s and how fast we are diving again in the same wars.
On the other hand this guy doctrine or thought was that the reasons why the children die and the wars go on is that mankind is the same and does not manage to move on because it is shackled to the past mistakes...
I think that in Strange Days (sorry dear Nanni but i love that movie, i love angela bassett wrestling for life and for love, I love ralph fiennes lost , i love skunk anansie singing 'selling Jesus again') , well in strange days Angela Bassett was accusing Ralph Fiennes not to move on because wanting to live and live again the same memories with Juliette Lewis, she argues that memories fade because they are done as such to let us move on.
A more serious chap,  Pavese used to say that knowing one's mistakes does not help in the least but only allows one to know what mistake he or she will repeat the next time...
Would we better without our past?
I cannot let it go because my past , the part i like and the part i do not like, is what i am and what i lived,. so i guess i do not have enough self renonciation to let go and let myself be part of the ocean.
But then again i personally prefer to think that eventhough we are still individuals, each note, be it out of tune , can be part of the musical ... it is actually the chorality and diversity that makes it fun and you do not have to be all melted together.
I can accept though that i will not make better choices because i remember my past, especially because i cannot be objective about it...
So i do not regret not to have dipped in the ganges . yet ?

UPRIVER

always trying to go upriver, only dead things go downriver ...
remembering mosquito coast movie

Koli villages

Mumbai is a fascinating city, it is like hell but probably the hell that made Oscar Wilde prefer it for the company.
It is a city of magic when the fairy chariots come out at night and let you be the king on that Marine Drive stroll, it is city of prayers and chants and sighs and small kids that manage to be witty and make up new jokes to sell you a henna stamp , just there in the middle of daily tragedies we would not even dare to accept in a soap.
Several destinies are made there and several worlds live next to another, the living and the dead , the businessman and the clowns, the priests and the devils. And several people, hindu, bengali, portuguese, english , nobody ever leaves Bombay , you just take a bit more distance at looking.
Mumbai does not show any signs of its past, a past made up of people who all despised but all fought to be there.
Said so, in the guidebooks it is written that if you travel up the northern local train line , after 45 mins drive you can catch a carry and stroll in fishermen villages , very much alike to those first fishermen communities that used to be there when the Portuguese arrived.
This is where I went .

This is the beach where the ferry brings us to the fishermen islands and villages. One can see the golden pagoda, site of a meditation centre well renowned (who would have believed at 50 mins from Mumbai downtown?)

As soon as I landed there , nobody was in sight, but at least the drying fishing nets consoled me and made me hope that it was not another fake authenticity trip sold by one guideboo: some fishermen must have been there

I was being misleaded by the unusual calm, one could even hear the wind, and after some meters the fishermen were there, straigthening out there nets. 

It was just matter of few minutes before reaching the village and more fish.
Eventhough at some point , these islands were inhabitated by koli people, the many "pereira" , "o'souza" family names hinted at portugues coming here and enjoying the secluded island.

On the other side of the island the fisherment boats were resting. It was already too hot.

The streets were really pleasant, I think that the villagers had not seen many tourists (and that day it was only me !) but they did not overwhelm in the usual , and sometimes fun sometimes exhausting, way. They had this kind of attitude like live and let live, i was certainly weird but no reason not to let me enjoy time with them.

 

Many houses had a kind of altar in the hindu style only dedicated to catholicism.
Rather than thinking of the first koli communities, it seemed to be in a lost bit of Goa.

Many ladies were sitting in the shades and separating dry fishes. It seemed to be the typical occupation at this time of the day and in a way the place was quietly busy.

From inside the houses, one could hear the televisions or hifi turned on. Sometimes there were tunes from a bollywood song or sometimes the goan music style (Konkani pop). You could hear the children dance and laugh from inside.
One of the things I love about India is that music is always there and it is there to be sung and to be danced through , as important as food or water (maybe that's too much)

On the other side of the village the open bay and the ocean. And of course at least one stall for snacks !!
Eventhough there were just some guys playing cricket .

These are children from the huts , there is a bidonville even in these places. The social ladders never fail in India

And just before boarding the train , one look at downtown from the village.. So close in the end 

KALI PUJA

I arrived in Calcutta on Diwali. During all night fireworks wrote lines in the sky. But on the overall it was quite calm.
Then the next evening, on my way back from a beautiful bhekti pathuri, I notice that on the streets some lorries and small vans go back and forth , families and group of friends are there and they sing and laugh and bring around a Kali image as overhere somebody would for their favourite league champion.
In triumph.

The atmosphere is exilarating, every van is proud of hiw own Kali image. The people quietly celebrating the night before now are out on the streets and in the usual simple and true Bengali way, they are out to be happy and share happiness. 

The next nights is time to bring back Kali to the Hooghly (Gange) and every family or neighborhood does so. Close to Baby Ghat where the idols are returned to Hooghly the vans have to slow down (they are in fact queuing). 

I followed a couple of vans and I have been soon welcomed as a member of family , it was one of the warmest night out i spend.

I loved this family, the grandmother asked me to take a picture of them and soon afterwards almost choked me with the most sincere and exuberant hug. 

When we arrived at the Hooghly Kali was let go with other more dances and fireworks. 

All the families were out, children and women all of them partying for this night.