and we are finally somewhat friends. we dined at theirs. he showed me pics from when he was young, mustachioed. she fed us warmly, like we were her kids. their son licked the palm of his right hand clean when eating and then reached out with his fingers for some honeydew she cut for all of us; she scolded and protested in tamil, and the two of us smiled and helped ourselves to the fruit (which she had cut despite my "please don't bother" because he chose unthinking when she gave him options to choose from). their regular house help had gone off for a month and the woman helping left soon after dinner was served, but dirty dishes kept disappearing as if someone was washing them in between bits of our conversation. she didn't know where bones should be thrown when we were searching for their bin, and I forked them into her lil compost bin confirming it was compost material. he barked instructions at me to get the top right drawer and some spoons from it. I couldn't figure how it opened so I kept opening everything else around it. later he seemed annoyed when I wanted a serving spoon for something that didn't have one in it; that made me smile inwardly. they invited us over because we had some crisis level water problems. I really felt for her and warmed to her. they argued with each other over the role of the Supreme Court and the CJI in the institutions and politics of these times, even though they all have the same political inclinations. I felt like I hadn't learned how to swim in those waters, and both of us smiled to each other like we knew their weaknesses and stared from one of their faces to another. we realised they barely knew the shops in the market between our houses or they barely ate outside food. he flinched a lil and smiled and mumbled in embarrassment when i looked at him directly and complained against his distaste for a netflix series i thought was very good. I felt her eyes on me and him then, wondering how much we knew each other. I was meeting her after about 5-6 years. she is a morning person, always rushing from one thing to another, taking care of others more than herself, dislikes exercise other than swimming, is a doting mother, and has a caring soft spoken manner. other than being an economist and writer I admire. he is a lil impatient, not always aware of how his words might hurt or possibly believing that honesty is more important and the casualties worth it, trying incessantly to make sense of things, curious, and willing to be corrected. both have a frankness about them, simplicity, a sense of humor, and an awareness of the fragility of things. both are precious. my mind has been replaying words said and the expressions on their faces this whole week, sometimes also continuing conversations beyond where they were interrupted by failings of memory or thought, keeping me awake sometimes.

I was reading Sarah Polly's memoir of all kinds of trauma in her life. The bit about her erasing from her memory and retaining no recollection of a bad sexual episode and being choked and how she slowly recalls it in the midst of other similar reports only when her siblings remind her of her own, and her unpacking of it, was like nothing I've ever read or understood before. Like I've said before, sex is a lot more and a lot less than we give it credit. People remember selectively, they lie about it, they depict themselves in it selectively, and they manipulate their recollections of it to sometimes manufacture an image of themselves that they are comfortable with or that they would desire or that they can live with.

I am now reading Jill Ciment's memoir of growing up. And waiting to get my hands on her second memoir called Consent.

I think I'll always be in love with the idea of someone being in love with me. Of someone being curious about me to the extent of wanting to know my every thought, every motivation behind my every choice and action, every lil habit of mine, every practiced gesture. to be cont'd....

(Update on June 9th: randomly came across a movie that felt like it needed to be watched today. Sis was visiting. But she found it too heavy. Women Talking. Realised it's been written and directed by Sarah Polley. And so beautifully written, every word carefully chosen, to describe in a thought experiment, or a metaphor of a situation that tries to capture the entire argument relating to patriarchy and feminism. He and I ended up finishing the movie, me crying as usual; this time about why not everyone can understand this and why the world needs to be so messed up.)

we were in Kashmir this last week, mom sis and me. multiple aunts/uncles/in-laws with a certain political party/man loyalty kept telling us that kashmir had become safe overnight or that tourism had been restored there overnight since the abrogated of Article 370. talking to the locals we met, there did not seem to be much reaction or change since then. seemed like it was more the revival and tourism surge post covid that they found worth mentioning. 

in Srinagar we stayed in a cute cottage on the grounds of a professor couple. we saw the beautiful and long tailed Asian paradise flycatcher there a couple times. the couple's gardens had beautiful irises, lupins, apple orchard, a small pond (where apparently the flycatcher dives in). later we saw one of the same flycatchers flying and dipping in front of a local bus along the Dal lake as well. 

There were crazy rain forecasts for our days in Srinagar and Pahalgam and against our hopes that is exactly what happened. we got out in between rains, we saw some mughal gardens, we walked along the Dal lake, we walked into local bakeries (esp in Srinagar) and came out with bags of different kinds of breads, kulchas, khatais, rotis, bhakar vadis (seems like kashmiris don't cook rotis at home unlike mainland indians; they eat rice for main meals and buy open, literally by hand, from local bakeries for morning/evening snacktimes). the chinar trees were beautiful. our local driver and guides told us names of trees, flowers, food, and stories of bollywood songs shot in different places. the local taxis played bollywood songs from the 80s and 90s. between srinagar and pahalgam, there is a large industry making cricket bats; there were stacks of their wood lying open to drench in the rain which would harden them. After bollywood, or maybe before, cricket seems to be the other source of fandom. Our driver told us Sachin had recently visited and stayed for a week. i tried the various lamb dishes part of their wazwan: daniya/daniwal korma, goshtaba, yakhni; i tried the mouthwatering displays of halwa and paratha in the market next to Hazratbal; and we had kashmiri pulao and ferni in different places. their food is low on spices that are perfectly blended. they use a lot of yogurt, their yakhni is essentially a delicious yogurt gravy which you can find in veg versions for lotus stem (nadru) and louki (al) as well. Kashmiri people were very sweet, friendly, curious about us especially the women, and hospitable. One place in Pahalgam after the rains finally stopped i took mom and sis for a long aimless walk. we met lots of men walking with huge bags or cars that would stop with men's faces poking out trying to sell us shawls and lots of women/girls who would glance at us curiously and then break into large smiles in response to ours. some would simply ask us how we were and where we were from or where we were staying. a group of small girls shadowed mom for a bit and asked her where she came from or where she was going... and in response to similar questions from us told us they were on their way to see a new bride. i asked them if the bride was their age to which they responded with "woh to bahut badi hai". they stopped at a house near where we were looking for a hotel/restaurant to stop for tea, and they guided us to a resort two houses down. at that place mom and sis's grumbling about sugar in kehwa got the attention of a young Kashmiri couple on the table next to ours who demanded the restaurant guys to make freshly brewed kehwa for us without sugar. they turned out to have done wood/interiors for the resort. after we chatted with them awhile and had finished rounds of kehwa, they and the waiters refused to let us pay citing Kashmiri hospitality. that walk gave us some stunning views around Pahalgam that all the much touted tourist points would not have. Betaab/Hajan valley, named after the movie shot there, and Aru were beautiful though. in Betaab there is this dear little river running through, the banks of which are stone-studded and perfect for a picnic and birdwatching. we saw lots of Citrine wagtails (identification thanks to a friend) there, and some white capped redstarts. In Aru mom captured the cute little Plumbeous water redstart. we tried everywhere to distance ourselves from the busy touristy mule paths and to evade the calls for 'sightseeing', 'horse-ride', etc. 

Toilets on highways in Kashmir are dirty. and in many places only the women loos are indian. there is still a big gender difference in many ways and i kept wondering if tourists' presence and the internet (when it wasn't shut by the govt) did not make the youth question their culture. 

And then we went to Sonmarg. soon before that i felt like i was ready to go back home, or that i should go back home because hubby was traveling and had not locked our frontdoor well. i got this funny feeling like my holiday was done. there was also doubt to our Sonmarg plan because the rain had blocked part of the road to there. but the road cleared up and we did get there. even before we arrived the sights around me made me feel like we shouldn't have come, like we were trespassing in such stunning and outlandish landscapes and with such thick snow frozen around the road, that our car and the road built for cars like ours was somehow spoiling it. there was also an under-construction tunnel underway to substitute for when the external road is blocked/damaged by landslides and bad weather. i kept thinking that the weather and the lack of good roads is the place's only protection against us humans, that we should let it be. upon arrival i felt even sadder: it seemed like all the hotels, concrete infrastructure was built in the last 5-6 years, there were roads/bridges under construction and cement dust everywhere at teh foot of these grand jagged rock mountains capped with thick snow. and the 'town' was full of men with mules calling out to every tourist "tajwas glacier; sightseeing; horse ride; only 20 minutes; discount; ...". our car rode up on a mule path to our hotel. we had heaters in bathrooms although the hot water in my bathroom wouldn't work well throughout my stay. and i kept thinking that one should come here only if one was on foot and looking to trek. apparently the Kashmir great lakes trek starts from there. we wandered around aimlessly on those beautiful slopes avoiding the road and its cement colored dust of progress. i found what seemed like remains of a picnic/meal with plastic spoons, paper plates, eggshells, empty plastic bottles of water trashed around. there were mules left to graze with their front legs tied together so that they wouldn't go far. there was plastic waste all around. amidst all of this were some Eurasian hoopoes that would fly away as i tried to get closer to get their pics. i walked up once to some isolated huts that supposedly were homes of goatherds or of those who owned some mules. our hotel did not have Kashmiri food, everything was generic and north indian. the town in the center of the valley was new, dirty, and an eye sore to the majestic beauty of the surrounding peaks. i kept feeling sad that i had come and that the whole infrastructure had been set up to enable my coming. and on the night before we had to leave the place my tummy gave up. i groaned and flitted between my bed and the loo, thankful for the heater next to it. 

The security at Srinagar airport is weird. you have to take all your bags out of the car even before you reach the airport gates, and have them scanned and then put them back in the car. coolie-like men ask if you need their help for a fee for the whole process.

Oh and more than one Kashmiri driver regaled us with stories of how unsafe Paharganj and Purani dilli are...

I realise my sense of morality, ethics, right and wrong, have been moulded by cinema quite a bit, especially Hindi cinema. it might sound ridiculous. especially if i use the word 'bollywood' to describe hindi cinema. but there are numerous gems in hindi cinema that people who reject it are unaware of. i recently met Sudhir Mishra in the market near our home and gushed to him about Hazaaron... and then realised that most of my colleagues were either unaware or barely aware of him and his movies (i on the other hand have watched many of his movies and interviews). then this colleague/friend who is a major foreign films buff but rejects everything indian got curious when i mentioned Om Puri because for him that name stands for 'art cinema' which to his sensibility might merit attention whereas 'bollywood' certaintly did not. this same friend also rolled his eyes when i equated Leo diCaprio's stardom - such that he no longer feels like a character in a movie but always this larger than life star that he has become - and why i no longer like his movies to something similar with Aamir Khan and SRK back home. i realise also how much definitions and boxes irritate me. Om Puri himself in an interview says that he had to accept many mainstream movies because the so-called art/independent/parallel scene did not offer enough money to survive. and then there are all these brilliant people who made and acted in movies that meander across the boundaries of 'art' and 'commercial' movies. have you seen Mahesh Bhatt's Zakhm? that is a classic example. hubby hadn't seen it; he has had somewhat of an aglophile upbringing and found one of its songs ridiculous and was laughing. i started to explain the context and found myself crying, the emotions portrayed in the movie and that song are so powerful even after years in my memory of it. the song is 'Padh likh kar bada hokar....'. it is these movies that shaped my liberal views even before i lived in that country where i still think human ideals are alive and discussed.