Against Forgetting


“The struggle of man against power is the struggle of memory against forgetting”

Milan Kundera’s oft quoted statement kept slipping in and out of the shadows over the last 9 days – literal shadows hunching around street corners, lurking under flyovers, while the insidious kinds, cloaked within statements and observations doled out with a frivolousness characteristic of the middle class have-none-want-it-alls, lurched around ponderously.

Dick Francis, Clive Cussler, P.D. James and a host of others took up residence across wooden shelves ensconced in the three corners of that little library. There were other people too. Names that hover around when I close my eyes but vanish when I reach out to them. A lot of Hardy Boys and Tom Swift as well. I remember that because when I did start reading them years later, the name Dixon sprang across from the cover and sunk its pointy ‘X’ into my face.

Above all else, I remember the smell of that place. It was a short walk from home. My mother walked me there a few times after which I made the journey on my own. Kindly old man would let me in and give me a stool to sit on. I didn’t read much. Just looked at the covers, those beautiful, colorful, fascinating, mysterious book covers. So full of life, adventure and things I didn’t know the words for back then. They were all there. But I didn’t read much. I just took in the smell of that place. Old books. Nothing quite like that smell.

Present day Bangalore, and a bookstore called Blossoms. Nothing as romantic as whatever childhood had conjured up and distilled in my mind with respect to libraries and old bookstores, but it’s a nice place. Struck up a conversation with an American there who was looking for books his young daughter could read. Steinbeck was one of the authors he was looking at. There was a moment where I found the one affordable copy of Mice and Men that both of us wanted and handed it over to him. There was a bit of no please take it, no, no, you take it, are you sure? yes I’m sure. He gave it back once his wife told him that someone dies in the end. I didn’t know that. In between laughing he said he was sorry for spoiling it for me. I said it’s okay. Steinbeck always kills someone, as long as I don’t know who, I’m good. It was a moment of sorts.

I picked up a whole bunch of books. I wonder if my shuffling through the aisles aimlessly after a point wasn’t an excuse to dwell in the memory of that childhood library. He had those pull up blinds in his little office. They were still a novelty back then. To me anyway. Glass panes with a blinds membrane. Brown panels holding those panes in place. A small stool outside the office. Book shelves towering over me. The smell from all those old books floating down to pool around my feet. I think that’s why I have a soft corner for used/old books. Not just the smell. Buying them is giving them a home again. I could never part with my books. They are too much a part of me. The memories created through them, around them, with them – how does one just give it away?

Anyway. I digress.

Memories. Is where it’s at my man/woman.

A wonderful trip to the south of the country. From Bangalore through Mysore to Ooty and then onwards to Coonoor.

Beautiful place, friends, family, food, two very interesting neighbors and their dog made for an exhilarating week.

I won’t get into the place, friends, family, food so much. I want to talk about the neighbors. An abstract painter, Antonio E Costa and his partner, the poet/painter Tanya Mendonsa, living in the tea estates with their dog Ninoshka.

ninoshka

Ninoshka

Tanya Mendonsa

Tanya Mendonsa

Antonio E Costa

Antonio E Costa

Antonio is a tour de force, to put it succinctly. At 74 his energy puts to shame the fittest of us and his zest for life and what every day brings is an absolute joy to behold. From tales of growing up in Africa to his life in Canada, from meeting Santana to watching Hendrix play, Antonio, much like a tornado, can talk up a storm out of absolutely nothing. There was a moment during dinner one night where a particular song swept him on top of the chair and we witnessed dancing – unbridled and pure. We didn’t spend as much time with Tanya but a writer/poet has their own way of pulling you into their world. Together, they will have you putting away food and wine with little regard for time or the world that awaits you back home.

It’s the people in your life, mine at least, that make it interesting. I’ve always believed that and karma/life/chance holds that belief of mine in good stead.

By the end of the trip, old memories that had been swirling around unhindered were being pushed aside doggedly by the new ones. New friends and books took up domicile wherever they so chose to and I just went along.

There were a tense few minutes with a Gaur though, the dense memory of which will not be swirled away so easily.

Coming around a corner we came up against this adult Gaur or Indian Bison. Barely 15 feet from us, he looked at us, snorted a few times and then let us pass. We held our steps, breath and bowel movement till he did. I think having Ninoshka with us had something to do with it. I’d like to think so anyway. Assuming I have a choice in the matter, being smeared against the ground by a 2.5 tonne vegetarian isn’t how I’d like to leave this planet.

**********
Some photographs from the trip.

SKA_3338_resize SKA_3345_resize SKA_3351_resize SKA_3357_resize
SKA_3375_resize

Ninoshka – amazing guide and watch dog and all round face licker.

SKA_3382_resize SKA_3385_resize
SKA_3432_resize

Gaur or Indian Bisons move through the tea plantations much like sharks gliding through placid waters.

SKA_3441_resize SKA_3456_resize SKA_3457_resize SKA_3458_resize
SKA_3460_resize

Arvind and Ninoshka had a little race. Ninoshka got many kisses at the end of it. Arvind not so much.

SKA_3466_resize
SKA_3469_resize

My sister lording over her boyfriend. It’s like this always.

SKA_3479_resize

The Fat Black Flappy bird

SKA_3482_resize

The Blue Fat Flappy bird.

SKA_3491_resize

Edgar DeMello’s beautiful house where we stayed courtesy of his son.

SKA_3497_resize SKA_3500_resize
SKA_3505_resize

The elder of my two sisters is seen here beseeching her boyfriend to do or not do something. We can never be sure.

SKA_3510_resize

This one is quite special

SKA_3517_resize
SKA_3518_resize

My wife attempts a smoulder while eating watermelons. She’s a fascinating woman.

SKA_3523_resize SKA_3551_resize SKA_3553_resize
SKA_3562_resize

This right here is the stuff of internet legends. This is Rahul in the foreground. Telling us all to stop walking and just stay still. Why? There’s a Gaur right behind him. Ninoshka in the middle. We weren’t sure if the Gaur was going to walk towards us or mow us down. So, we froze.

SKA_3563_resize

At this point Ninoshka seems to have had a quick chat with this fellow and he took what appears to be the high ground.

SKA_3564_resize

One of two photographs that he allowed me to take from barely 15 feet away.

SKA_3565_resize

Was glad to see that when I turned around Death wasn’t charging full pelt towards us.

SKA_3580_resize SKA_3589_resize SKA_3593_resize
SKA_3614_resize

Antonio showing off a homegrown pumpkin that had managed to attain near biblical proportions.

SKA_3618_resize
SKA_3632_resize

Edgar DeMello’s House K – 1

SKA_3639_resize

Edgar DeMello’s House K – 2

SKA_3644_resize

Edgar DeMello’s House K – 3

SKA_3655_resize

Edgar DeMello’s House K – 4

SKA_3658_resize

Edgar DeMello’s House K – 5

SKA_3663_resize

Edgar DeMello’s House K – 7

SKA_3648_resize
SKA_3652_resize

Abstract piece by Antonio – 1

SKA_3653_resize

Abstract piece by Antonio – 2

SKA_3791_resize

Abstract piece by Antonio – 3

SKA_3706_resize SKA_3727_resize SKA_3733_resize SKA_3737_resize
SKA_3739_resize

Churchill, Freud and Capone. The cigars are the connection in case you were wondering.

SKA_3756_resize SKA_3762_resize SKA_3770_resize SKA_3787_resize landscape_resize

Comments (9)

  1. Edgar

    the natural and the man-made,
    built and the unbuilt
    man, woman, friend, beast … an antique land.
    the oldest physical outcrop on the planet, one hears.
    very succinctly captured, in word and image.
    kudos kashif
    allow me to quote from ‘for K’, its last stanza
    written in 2011, before the house was imagined

    ‘the river flows, as it has always done
    two hundred and forty moons go by
    the house has become the landscape;
    and the little girl, now twenty-one
    through mist and hazy memory
    raises a toast to her grandfather’

    Reply
    • kashif

      You humble me Edgar. Thank you so much for the kind words and the poem with its lovely sentiment. Would love to read it in its entirety.

      – Kashif.

      Reply
  2. Tanya Mendonsa

    That is so beautiful and heartwarming, Kashif…..as if I could ever forget, anyway, a writer-man who has TS Eliot tattooed on his forearm! Love from all of us, Tanya

    Reply
    • kashif

      Thank you for welcoming us the way you did, Tanya. Looking forward to our next tête-à-tête and possibly taking Antonio up on his offer of letting us camp on the premises 🙂

      Reply
  3. ambika

    This is beautiful ! Everything. The photos, your writing and the people and animals you document !
    Hope you travel more and take us to all those places through your writing 🙂

    Reply
  4. Cheego

    So very beautifully written and captured! You are all heart K and you have such a beautiful family! “…and magic makes forgetting hard.”

    May this magic be engraved upon your hearts!

    Lots of love,
    P

    Reply

Leave a Reply to ambika Cancel reply