There are signs everywhere of the man-made environmental damage resulting from not anticipating the consequences, concentrating on short term gains and our lack of care.
Even seas go missing. Due to all the above combined with local and global pressures.
All around the world, including in our backyard in Karnataka with the Kaveri river, there’s conflicts about water being taken from rivers and little being left for the communities further down.
Today’s cherishable sad and sweet memories are the times Manjula and I spent together.
Here
The writer Didion coined the term ‘vortex’ in her book ‘a year of magical thinking’ about the year after her husband died.
It helpfully describes when one is ambushed by trigger memories of good times spent together.
But I wasn’t ambushed, as I fully expected it.
These are sad and tearful yet happy treasured moments in central London. I know it so well yet it now has an other dimension.
I enjoy meeting new people for enlightening conversations. We cover an incredible range of subjects.
I’m regularly contacted by young people who arrange to drop in and talk and often borrow books from Manjula’s library.
Thank you, from happy old man
It’s the month before the BIG (reduced due to the pandemic) Mysore event of the year.
So it’s time to gently fix the roads, with broken bricks, making sure the repairs will not last beyond the event itself.
Then we’ll blame the monsoon.
I’m meandering locally.
These guys will have bought their flowers but you can begin to realise why people scour the area to nick flowers in the morning.
The old man went to yoga at 6.30 am on Wednesday only to discover start time had shifted to 6.00am
Doh
He went out today, saturday, up early at 5.00 so as not to mess up.
“I’m sitting in the yoga room all on my own, by 6.00 at 6.30 the receptionist comes in to say there no yoga as there’s a curfew. “
Double Doh
Back at home SB has already arrived due to the curfew and reminded me that we’d discussed it yesterday.
I give in, my idiocy evolves to decrepitude.
So why was the gym open?
Life is so confusing.
Mysore’s magic continues to show itself in special ways.
lunch in Indra Paras Hotel where the owners and staff were happy to see me and surprised I’d been in Mysore all this time.
The hotel owner thought I’d put on weight, so I blamed the pandemic and not the cream cakes from Sapa. Might have to hit that on the head though.
MAnjula’ bench (no 4) at my favourite museum in the old House used by the British after the fourth war of Mysore in 1799. It’s-now complete with sleeping Buddha.
Our local shopkeeper wondered why I was so red, it’s hanging out in the park vaguely directing the garden creation, with very little actual work.
Invented zero?
As usual, nothing is straightforward but I turn again to the wonderful Maria Popova and her illuminating brain pickings.
So was it India?
Plus which great books can you find when following the link, that are available in Manjula’s Library?
I’m now coming to the end of draft three of our story. There’s still a loooong way to go but thought I’d share something.
As a Hindu Manjula believed in reincarnation so it’s one area I’ve researched and found incredibly interesting.
For more details from me you’ll need to wait for the book or in the meantime check some of the resources I’ve listed here. The books are available in Manjula’s library.
There’s a great series on NETFLIX
Or check out this podcast
One of the many effects of finding and temporarily losing Manjula is to push me to reflect, and learn with an open heart. Thanks Manj.
today was a day of contrasts
I’d gone into the city for one of the endless visits to the city corporation (more of that later) then diverted to buy flowers in the Market. These will traditionally float in water in the brass Urli bowl beneath Madam’s photo and garland to go the photos themselves in each of our two halls (aka lounge or living room).
In the city were so many local women in sari’s going about their business, it reminded me of Manjula and how she connected me to so many aspects of life here. It brought a tear to my eye, not that that’s unusual.
I’d passed the iconic Lansdown building that has now been waiting years for a decision of whether they will renovate or demolish and rebuild. There’s no prize for guessing which the politicians in cahoots with the developers would prefer and why.
Then the day began to turn.
I went to a favourite ‘hotel’ (aka cafe) the Indra Paras, the owners son, manning the cash desk and the waiters all recognised and acknowledged me, creating a good feeling as I ate my Masala Dosa and Sev Dahi Potato Puri (crispy hollow puri balls, filled with a mix of crunchy, yoghurt, potato and a tinge of sweet) another favourite.
Then I squeezed past the guys selling clothing and material on the pavement and round the corner to the fruit salad, ice cream and traditional juices shop for my regular sarsaparilla and soda. Again the guys at the shop all asked how I’d been and wondered if I’d just come back. No I’ve been at home here in Mysore for two years, gifting me another warm vibe.
Then the usual, trying to find an auto with a working meter, after rejecting one and hanging about aimlessly by the roadside a guy hailed my as his friend stepped out from sharing the front bench seat.
The driver knew me, and Vasanth, and had taken many of our guests back home to the BnB. He’s friend couldn’t quite place me.
“It’s the cycle man”
So I pulled down my mask and he remembered me from nine years before when Vinay and I had started the cycle tours and he knew of our base at the Palace Plaza Hotel.
So a bittersweet mix, of missing Manjula and realising how she critically helped me adjust to my adopted city through re-connecting with people and sharing memories.
Next: More drinks to try are here
Me and MYCycle 