Exhibitions

Last year, I went to a photo exhibition. There is something quite absorbing about an exhibition. You gaze long enough at a photo taken by another person, you add your own meaning to the scene, you build stories about how the photographer reached the place, about the life of the people in the picture, about the relationship between the photographer and the photographed and you spin webs around many other aspects.

Yet, there is another dimension to the exhibition. There is a life happening right at the venue – life of each of the people, life of the buildings, life of the organizers and a life outside the venue. It was on one such day that we went to the exhibition. It was one of the days of festival in Heidelberg. The hauptstrasse was lined with stalls on either side. We walked through one of the side streets, passed a square of festivities and returned to the cross the hauptstrasse into the detour to the gallery until we spotted the signs indicating where we needed to go.

We walked in, bought the tickets from a young girl at the entrance. The wall behind her was lined with photographs, all arranged systematically. She was cheerful and friendly. The sunlight fell on the photographs giving them an additional framing effect of the shadows of the windows opposite. I had already started weaving my stories in my mind.

Having been to this gallery on another occasion at another time of the day, for another photography exhibition, I was prepared for the vastness of the gallery. Yet, the effect of a gallery also depends on the environment of the day. Having come at night, into a gallery lit with fluorescent lights, the harsh lines seemed to have been enhanced. During day time with sun streaming through some windows while some parts remained protected in the shadow, an emptiness enveloped me. Was it the lack of people or was it the type of photographs? I could not really tell. Even the props, though very quaint and painting like, seemed to have been left by someone who was in a hurry to go somewhere.

As I wandered along the walls downstairs, I noticed people walking up the stairs – unlike last time, I could not see any pictures there. There seemed to be some type of non-photo like activity going there. Thinking there might be some voyeuristic pleasure for my camera from a bird’s eye view – to take pictures without being noticed by my subject, I walked up. A beanbag faced a screen – headphones seemed connected to some audio. As time passed, visitors, who had more time than others, took seat one by one on the bean bag, pulled the headphones over their heads and listened. Others stood with the headphones pulled over the ears, listened for a few minutes and left.

In the main hall there were still some people at one corner still assembling some chairs. It almost seemed like an altar where the choir was about to take their position. The atmosphere seemed serene and holy broken only by the shuffle of feet and the drag of the chairs. A piano and the note stands indicated the possibility for a concert. The photograph that served as a backdrop to the orchestra might have induced the sacrosanct feeling – on the other hand the elements in photograph struggled against the atmosphere. How should I interpret this – as love being god given or as a rebellion against the sanctified?

As we came away, I was struck by the myriad of emotions captured in different corners of the exhibition gallery. On one side was calm, on the other side was loneliness, on yet another side was rebellion and yet there was the togetherness of a family all kept together in hundreds of small frames. The welcome signs hardly referred to this opulence of sensibilities that would be generated. The turkish wedding video playing in one of the anterooms seemed an anomaly against the silent tongues all around trying to tell me something. Housed in a dark room, it seemed to want to take you away from those mute conflicts outside.

As I stood at the small hundreds of frames and tried to map the people across the photographs, new wonder set in. With the pictures set in Japan, a country I have always wanted to visit, I tried to understand how many families were represented here. Unlike other pictures in the gallery, this seemed to be the only wall where a normal life seemed represented. All the other pictures could be “modeled” for the purpose of the picture. These ones did not need to be “posed” though some of them were – just like when we take family pictures in studios – just as in normal life.

As we left, we found that there would be an opening concert and a party the next afternoon – unfortunately we were already committed elsewhere.

2010 in review

Hmmmm…. Did great??? Not that sure….

The stats helper monkeys at WordPress.com mulled over how this blog did in 2010, and here’s a high level summary of its overall blog health:

The Blog-Health-o-Meter™ reads Wow.

Crunchy numbers

A Boeing 747-400 passenger jet can hold 416 passengers. This blog was viewed about 1,300 times in 2010. That’s about 3 full 747s.

In 2010, there were 22 new posts, growing the total archive of this blog to 48 posts. There were 62 pictures uploaded, taking up a total of 54mb. That’s about 1 pictures per week.

The busiest day of the year was February 19th with 31 views. The most popular post that day was Issues in life… 72 days to go.

Where did they come from?

The top referring sites in 2010 were r1rk9np7bpcsfoeekl0khkd2juj27q3o.a.friendconnect.gmodules.com, sitemeter.com, thotflow.blogspot.com, amateurishwriting.blogspot.com, and hornswoggle.blogspot.com.

Some visitors came searching, mostly for lesse, lesse kayak, la lesse, headless chicken, and ladder walk rochehaut.

Attractions in 2010

These are the posts and pages that got the most views in 2010.

1

Issues in life… 72 days to go February 2010
10 comments

2

Unemployed – Chronicles no. 1 June 2010
9 comments

3

Eerie clear skies April 2010
4 comments

4

Cheese and me… October 2010
5 comments

5

Calm and quiet childhood January 2010
6 comments

Reflecting on the weekend

This has been a wonderful weekend. Listening to Johann Strauss I decided to capture this. I am doing a countdown of all days I have left in Brussels. There are 84 days more.  I want to capture the essence of my life in Brussels in the days coming.

On Friday, when cleaning and reflecting on the weekend to come, I was not very confident. I had left cleaning to Thursday evening and then not done it. On Friday evening I started – the reinforcement I expected in the form of my husband did not turn up – “Too much work” he said. I grunted. So left to myself, as posted earlier, I cleaned and cleaned and cleaned. There was a lunch and singing party organized at home for 15 people on Saturday. There was no grocery at home, I had not cleaned or unpacked since I came back from India/Dubai.

Panic never strikes me twice – it ONLY strikes me in the last minute. So on Saturday morning I sat in front of the computer and declared “I am going to be systematic – after all I cleaned the whole place and now I can manage the rest too. I am leaving now to shop and I will go to ‘Welcome to Rob’ in Woluwe St. Piere at 8:30″. It was 8 in the morning. At 9:15, I raised myself up from my addiction and started running like a chicken without a head…

After going to Le Pain Quotidien, Delhaize for shopping, I returned without rice. “Marinate chicken and then leave for GB to get the rice” I told myself. After all, though I took about 1.5 hours to shop for groceries, my guests were expected only at 1:00 p.m. The bell rang and I started! What – already? I looked into the intercom hoping to see my friend, Nadia,  who was supposed to help cook and instead seeing another friend. “doh! oh! Francis”. I buzzed him in..

I had been dieting and had had no sweet edibles at home except sugar all week. Pleasantries exchanged, I happily and greedily glanced at the heavy cream pastry he held in his hand and then promptly proceeded to employ him in my least favourite job – cutting onions. My other friend joined us and we talked and cooked. Come 1:00 p.m, I could sense Francis wilting of hunger – “I did not have breakfast thinking it was late breakfast you had mentioned” – he explained.

Come 1:45, we were still waiting when I realized I had no salt or rice at home and my toilet bulb had konked out. I rn downstairs to the GB around the corner. I had finally agreed we no longer need to wait when by quirk of fate everyone started turning up. It is a lesson in expat life in Brussels – on a Saturday, no one ever turns up on time. All were out till wee hours of the morning on Friday to come earlier than 2:15.

We had a wonderful afternoon of lazy lunch and lovely singing with different songs from different culture.

and I was forced to sing this…

This lasted until 2:00 a.m again with just three of us until the end (ok… I agree I had no choice but I did not want one). At the beginning of the day I had started off with 4 bottles of red wine and 1 bottle of white wine. At the end of the day I was left with 6 bottles though we drank 4 red and 1 white.

Here is a glimpse into the music…

Sunday, after a full day of addiction, I asked Francis whether he would like to join for tea. Marco dropped in to pick up his guitars just as we were sipping our tea with bread snacks with hummus topped by chopped tomatoes, red onions and coriander leaves. We spent a good part of 2 hours chatting about BPO in India, Marco’s and Katja’s wedding in Portugal, issues with cross-cultural weddings or relationships and the interesting part of such relationships and how it opens out ones mind. Being an expat in a very different culture with friends and colleagues very different from my upbringing I could very well identify with what he said. It reminded me of something another friend mentioned quite in the passing last week about cultural differences and not knowing the other persons background at all.

When they left together with Francis helping Marco carry this guitar amplifiers and guitars, I smiled contently like a cat who has just had his milk and looked out into the southern bluish grey horizon while yellow lamps glowed in my living room. “Life was worth living” as I embarked on my new hobby – peeling off the labels from the wine bottles of the wines I shall consume this year. The best one today – a hungarian wine brought by the best singer of the evening, a hungarian girl, whom I had not met before and who I hope will become a good friend.

Another well earned quiet evening

I called the Rochehaut tourist office after trying for days to find a website where I could get more information on the Ladder walk. A colleague had recommended this walk and had sent me a website in Dutch. I could hardly glean any information from this except the name Rochehaut (pronounced something like Roshou). So after many google searches, I decided to check the website of Rochehaut and found some more details on the Promenade des Echelles. Then I called the tourist office:

Lady at the tourist office: “Are you sure you want to take that walk?”

me: “Yes… this is the one with the ladders – right?”

L: “Ladders? I am not sure what mean you”

me: “Echelons” (Ae she lons)

L: “I do not understand but Promenade 84 is very dangerous and I will tell you tomorrow another walk and you can take that. 84 is not recommended for children.”

me: “There are no children”

L: “The walk is not recommended for old people”

me: “We are all young – you know we are all 35″

L: “I will take a look with you tomorrow and recommend another more beautiful walk”

me: “What is so dangerous? Are the ladders dangerous?” – not to be deprived of an exciting walk…

L: “The ladder will be 6m high and the walk will be slippery”

me (thinking – ‘whatever’): “Ok… let us decide tomorrow”.

We were finally five of us who went for the walk. It was a cloudy day though there seemed to be no forecast of rain. We reached Rochehaut, a small little town hidden in the Ardennes. We had agreed to meet at the church. Paul came to meet us “We assumed this was the church – the steeple is not very big”. We searched for the tourist office and found it hidden inside a Boucherie. On being asked for a map, the lady picked out one and handed it over to us and continued with her work (there was no mention of danger or decisions).

We started on the walk. All through the way we encountered signs proclaiming that it is dangerous to continue under wet or humid conditions. Knowing better than local people and anyone else, we decided to continue. After all how slippery can ladders get? As we crossed the last sign before the forest we hesitated only for a second to laugh at the sign there and entered the forest.

All of a sudden well laid out paths disappeared. The slope with loose soil and fallen leaves laid out in front of us. Small footholds of roots of trees promised us some security. Yet, as we laid the sure soles of our hiking boots on the roots and small rocks to get the foothold, our feet slipped. While we girls slowly and gingerly felt our way through, Paul, a seasoned hiker, jumped through the roots and down the slopes. I was the first one to fall and for once acknowledged the advantages of being short and fat. Short meant I fell shorter vertical height and fat meant that my fall was well cushioned.

We soon came to the river slowing slowly – it had the same colour as the one that we had gone kayaking on last week. There were beautiful forest flowers and wonderful berries including mulberry. We plucked the berries from the trees – not as sweet as the ones in the shops (of course, they were not yet ripe).  As we slid towards the river, we found another group at the river side breaking for their picnic. We found a small spot next to them and opened ours. They would be our companions for the rest of the day. During our picnic a couple of kayaks went by and suddenly around the corner came two swans (the biggest and the most whitest I have ever seen) flying low and in perfect formation – the white broke the complete greenery that was all around.

We started walking again this time next to the river.

As the path become even more narrow, there was one part where there was just a slippery rock, no firm foothold and a vertical slope into the river. As I sat, I realized that my small legs would not be able to do what Paul had just done – jump quickly over the rock. Gingerly sitting on the rock, I tried to inch forward and slipped. Paul extended his arms and I knew it was still too far for me to jump. Just as I inched forward again, Paul’s mobile rang. Seeing the number he picked it up and talked into it. I waited sitting precariously over the rock and sliding closer towards the direction where Paul was. He finished talking and I was close enough to jump. First obstacle crossed. It was not long before we came to the next one – a ladder and slippery shoes from all the wet ground.

As we crossed 4 ladders

and many more slippery rocks and firm roots, went up and down the mountains (to exclamations from Paul – “and we thought Belgium is a flat country”), I felt I have been walking in one of the more beautiful walks I have been on and the most thrilling one. If you want a real experience an yet a short and not too difficult hike, then this is the one to be on. Here are some pictures.

and we offered some prayers as we came out.

Dinaut and Ardennes

Everytime I cross Dinaut on my way to Germany it reminds me of Dina Aunty and then Dina Pathak’s face comes floating into my mind. Another image that stands out clearly are the cows on green meadows in between fields. Though it reminds me a lot of Swiss landscape, there is a difference and both are extremely beautiful countryside.

Once I had to take a detour due to a traffic jam. I cursed the traffic jam and then the navigation system (god bless these in such situations though at other times I view this with suspicion…) suggested a detour to help me. As I cruised through a rustic village with stone houses and farmyards with signs of fresh butter for sale, I blessed the traffic jam too and dreamt of an idyllic farmland life raising cows sending them to graze and churning butter. As I joined the highway back, I was awakened into my fast life with a jolt. For a minute it had me wonder why I was on a roller coaster fast life not even waiting to stop to take a look.

In recent times though Dinaut region in Ardennes in Belgium has been taking a different kind of meaning. Whenever any outdoor activity comes up, I find it is in the area of Dinaut and the Ardennes.  Hike through La Roche, my book said, and find beautiful castles and water. Next time I crossed the area I looked closely as the sign at the exit said “Neufchateaux” (Nine castles) – my hand itched to turn there.

So there was no question when a colleague/friend asked me whether I would like to go Kayaking.

“I do not know swimming”.

“You get life jacket” – she said.

“The water is not too deep” – another colleague chimed in.

Having been denied the opportunity a few years ago, I said yes, ever willing to try a new adventure. This morning as I woke up and saw the SMS that the colleague supposed to come with me could not make it. I panicked – am I crazy? Now my other colleagues will also have to take care of me and I will not have a partner. I considered canceling and then decided to go.

As I approached the water, having agreed with another colleague and good friend that we could be together I shivered on this warm day and settled into the kayak. It was THE most beautiful place I have taken a long trip through – dense leaves hung on either side, rocks jutted out and our kayak’s bottom growled as we passed the rocks too close at times. We got stuck many times and Francis, the gentleman he is, got out and pulled the kayak from the top of the rock or from in between. We got stuck in between 2 trees in between and he gallantly stood on the tree truck to push two kayaks out. We helped and bumped into other kayakers. As the castle loomed up on the cliff of perpendicular rocks we inhaled a quick and deep breath.  We laughed through as Francis said turn right and I promptly went left getting us into the stickiest places.

People had picnic on the pebbled beaches, we stopped at “the” Friterie, there were kayaks with dogs in them and 2 golden retrievers who came swimming towards us. A dark blue dragon fly with bright blue wings danced around us… small fish tried to escape our feet as we walked towards the pebbled beaches. Ducks slept on the banks below the tree trucks and long grass on the banks of the river. White butterflies flew around us. An occasional train reminded me that we are a part of a technical world though soon after this, horsemen/women passed behind the trees transporting me centuries back making me think that there were knights on look out for the spy that I was trying to reach the cliff on which the castle sat to climb into the castle’s chamber to assassinate and usurp the ownership and the lordship of the area.

There are no words to describe this trip – I leave you with some links to the place since I did not carry my camera.

A rival company kayaks on the Lesse river:

Kayaking from Houyet to Anseremme – 21kms:

and here is a website with many pictures including the castle (it is highly recommended).

Snippets

Nancy asks whether I am learning from Wannabe – so I thought it was time to resurface. I have had a few topics to write about but I kept thinking I should put some extra thought into it. Last few weeks have seen me extremely tied up with work, trying to find a balance between work and life with too much of both, refusing social engagements and dealing with fatigue. So my instinct to pick up the laptop after returning late from work or during the weekend was squashed. I did manage to write part of a post on paper and found it to be a difficult exercise – I write slower and fall over my words in a hurry!!!  It is a bit like speaking in Malayalam for me (being out of touch). 

A few things stand out in my mind about the last few weeks:

• 20-th anniversary of Tiannamen Square massacre – reminded me of the impact of the news when I was still in 10-th Std. It makes me question today, what am I doing that can change the life of people?
• Air France disappearing over the Atlantic – even if the May Day call had come are we equipped to react to tragedies far over the ocean? – it really takes you back to the Titanic day. When I heard it I thought of my French friend who traveled to another country just the day before and sat numb when I thought of how I would react if he disappeared one day from my life. I just found in the twitter update of another friend that he had flowen over the area just an hour before the Air France flight – I shudder to think it could have been him. It is surely a time to reach out to all those who mean so much to us
• Memorial Day: Belgium celebrates the Memorial Day every year. An article in the Bulletin (an expat magazine) calls for people to remember the American soldiers buried in the Belgian soil far away from home – to remember those who died fighting courageously for the freedom of people far away from their lives. It asks us to put away skepticism of fighting wars away from home and to take a look at the prosperous lives in the Western Europe every time we think of “unnecessary” wars. Can we hope to have a Europe-like Afghanistan or Iraq?

In the meantime we celebrated our 10-th wedding anniversary away from each other raising the question – ok! How much longer is this going to continue? We had 2 long weekends together soon after and just before. I find that weekends together are becoming dreadful in anticipation of the impending separation at the end of it.

“End it if it is making you unhappy” – says Mummy who knows me well.

“Why don’t you just come back?” – says husband.

A close friend from IMD resigned to take a break and relax – oh! If only I could find the courage to do so and pursue something I always wanted to do… in the meantime happiness about staying here comes in cycles when I concentrate on work and it goes well. Evenings, sitting in a dimly lit living room with the orange glow of the setting sun out of the balcony, cello or piano streaming keep my spirits up and my brains ticking.

The article on changing fashion in the world of classical music got me thinking – even I have phases in which I am completely devoted to one particular type of music or composer. I had a phase of listening all the time to Strauss… Vivaldi with the Four Seasons, later it was Swan Lake, and then came Bach, Beethoven and when I started learning to play the piano it was Satie Gymnopaedie. The article talked about Handel and Mendelssohn – I have not heard much of these though we used to sing “Hallelujah – The Messiah” when we were in school for the church Christmas concert. 

2 weeks back husband and I attended a Flamenco concert. On the way to the concert I bought a CD on Gregorian Chants with an amazing Cello fit to bring in the dusk. Yet, it competes with Hariprasad Chaurasia, L. Shankar and carnatic classical violin pieces. Today I sit with Music Trois playing piano in low bass.

4 completed books and the 5-th one on its way to getting completed, 2 long weekends and a music festival – there are plenty of topics to write about. The question is where to start… – perhaps the half written post from the paper to electronic format will make a good beginning.