Monday, January 30, 2012

Sunday family outing

There is  a difference between holiday makers and residents. If you happen to pass through Petersfield in Hampshire, you could plan to visit  the museum. If you are a resident, you have already been with school several times depending on how many children you have. You know that it is not worth the walk. If you live in Ankara , the Castle is where the Ramadan cannon is fired from and you would not bother to go there unless you want to have an evening raki therapy in one of the converted houses. The houses have old ethnic mills, scary dummies of local women with matted haired  and glassy eyes making flat bread with a long stick like rolling pins. Residents hardly go to the Wax Museum in London, for travelers and  holiday makers it is a must. 
 Residents 'live' in the place.  They go through the boring, humdrum parts of the cities they occupy. They know where to get the best simit, the best Cornish pasty in Yorkshire, and  the shortest short cut home. Travellers have to go to the most popular sunset cafes, the former pulls the curtains when the sun comes into the living room. Travellers take the scenic bus, residents drive home. They become comfortable with the place they spend time in. I remember, when we were in Hong Kong the resident 'gwalios' were the ones who read the paper on the ferry. They would have photos of themselves only in the first couple of months. Then familiarity sinks in, the journey on the ferry( however lovely it may sound) becomes a burden. You want to go home and have a shower , sit in front of the TV and start the evening. Travellers check their itinerary, count days, tick the places they have been and they are going to visit. It turns in to a 'token' life. Been there, seen it. Most of the time you really have to be there and see it to come home and watch TV.
' To be able to watch TV in the evening , we need to see Mumbai more'. I said to the rest of my family. They knew what was coming: yet another temple with  mummy. This time I am taking them to Global Pagoda on Gorai Creek. It is big, new, on the edge of a creek and there is a ferry  ride as well. It will take some time to get there. Everything does. The nearest anything is half an hour, forty minutes away. Ram our driver with a lovely red temple mark on his forehead came to pick us up and off we went. I wonder why the two hours in the car is more unbearable that going to Reading from Petersfield for example.  We sit in a comfortable people carrier, we have water, A.C, music, each other but it takes such a long time before we reach anywhere. We get bored with our conversation, with each other and still we are in that car.  We went through rows and rows of buildings, slums, hundreds of rickshaws, rickshaw repair places, dead ones, restaurants, fields, tall buildings, temples, churches, and we are still going. How many children with bare bottoms can we see in two hours? How many saris can my little  eye   encounter? We leave Greater Mumbai and turn left. There are hills on the right and salt pans on the left. There are small streets, small villages with colourful huts, one storey buildings, tiny village shops with millions of hanging tiny parcels, tuk tuks comfortably parked in front of these little huts waiting for their owner to take his children for a Sunday ride.

The whole place is new. Made in 1998. It is the biggest of its kind. One single wedged stone holds the dome. Nick nods, he is impressed. Kitty is getting tired and wants to head back.  The whole place is not complete, There is scaffolding everywhere, the shimmering bright gold is not gold but gold paint. It has dripped on the concrete floor, the doors are machine carved, the big fibre glass Buddha is newly built, wants to move his legs in to a more comfortable position.
 It is getting hot, we are getting hungry. Nick and Kitty have looked at all the pictures, stood and posed for me whenever and where ever I wanted; now, they want to go home. They have earned their Sunday afternoon peace.
 Only after I hit the big gong a couple of times. Then I can put a tick on this place in my Lonely planet book. Soon we will be residents here.

Saturday, January 28, 2012

bir cumartesi daha

Sabah kosarak kahvaltiya indik. cok gec uyandik cunku. Hala Apart Oteldeyiz. Iki odali salonlu kocaman mutfakli 'daire' de kalmaya devam ediyoruz. Hayat oldukca kolay. Sabah servis dugmesine basiyorum, gelip evi topluyorlar, bulasiklari yikiyorlar. Kitty nin ayisi 'Teddy' yi yatagin ustune degisik pozlarda yerlestiriyorlar.   Dun de kahvaltiya inerken mavi dugmeye bastim, gelip yataklari yapacaklar.
 Tasinacagimiz eve mobilya alinmasi lazim. Mumbai'de Ikea yok.  calisma masasi, yatak, ivir zivir icin dukkan geziyoruz. Birincisinde sadece ofis masalari var, ve Buddha heykelleri. Baska bir alis veris merkezine gidiyoruz. Yollar kalabalik. Tuktuklar, kamyonetler, inekli ineksiz dilenciler, ara sira at ustunde insanlar, bunlarin arasinda cok pahali arabalar yogun trafik icinde ilerliyoruz. Buyuk bir alis veris merkesine daha girerken Nick Kitty ile beni uyariyor. 'Sadece yatak bakacagiz'. Biz onun uyarisini ututtuk bile o tokaci senin bu cantaci benim kaybolduk koridorlarda. Nick geleneksel erkek olarak mobilyaciyi bulmus yataklara bakiyor , biz daha dukkanin girisindeyiz. Duvar susleri, tuzluk biberlik bakiyoruz. Tam ustumuzde bir guvercin yuvasi var. Olmaz birsey degil, kuslar gelir yuva yaparlar magazalara,kovalarsin yine gelirler, cok da sasirmadim. Havalandirma borusunun altina tenekeneden yuva yapmislar guvercin ailesine, ona da sasirmadim. Benim sevgili Turkiye'mde de olur boyle seyler. Nick'in yalvarislarina kulak verip yataklara baktik. Beyenmedik, onun yerine tuzluk biberlik ve su matarasi almak daha keyifli. Vazgecilmesi cok zor bir sey daha var: Bardak kenarlarina yapistirilan kucuk silicon kuslar. Nick soylenmeye basladi bile. Daha evde yatak yok, calisma masasi yokken ( mutfakta catal bicak, tabak canakta yok ama onun sorumlulugu altinda degil o bolge) 'bardakkenarinayapistirimakusu'unun alinmasini anliyamiyor. Kitty ile ben cok mutluyuz, gereksiz ama cok sevimli bir sey ordusuna kuslari da katacagimiz icin. Nick bizi acele ile baska yatakciya goturmek istiyor, biz baska sevimli seylere - balik kilcigi seklinde sabunluk, duvara yapistirlan el aynasi seklinde aynalar, ipe dizilmis on tane yanar doner yusufcuk, guzel kokulu yaglar, mumlar sitilize Ganej heykelcigi, ucan maymum tanri Hannuman kullugu-bakmak istiyoruz. Hafif mutsuzluk yaklasmaya basliyor. Yatak almak Cumartesi eylemi olmamali, ivir zivir almak daha mutlu yapacak bizi.  Ama  Nick duzenli bir adamdir, bugun yatak alinacak, ivir zivir degil, elindeki kagittan bu dukkanin da ustunu ciziyor. Ayaklarimizi  surukliyerek disari yollaniyoruz, ne yatak aldik ne de silikon kus.
 Yukardaki guvercin intikamimizi aldi cabucak.  Nick'in ensesine, gomlek yakasindan iceri kocaman bir tane birakiverdi. Turkiye'de olsa Milli Piyango alirdik.



 Dip Not: Islak medille bir guzel sildik ensesini. Sonra da gidip bu  gunu hatirlamak icin silikon kus aldim( bakiniz face book foto). Biraz islak enseliyiz ama biz cok mutluyuz. 

Thursday, January 26, 2012

I am cross with myself


Nick is called ‘Sir’ here. I am ‘madam’. Kitty is the Princess. We have a people carrier and a driver. We have had quite a few since we came here.  Some of them spoke good English, some of them none. Some of them wanted to converse, take part in the in car conversation, some of them just drove us to the places we want. The latest one is a very quiet one. His level of English is lower than we think it is; lower than he thinks it is. In English examiner terms= Entry 1.  We communicate. 
We had to show him where the school was. It was not very easy since we did not know where it was ourselves. We call the school ‘Ecole- Short of Ecole Mondiale’. The street map we have is an old one and the school is not marked on it.  With a group effort we found it. Every day he drops Kitty to school then Nick to work. So far so good.  Then he comes to pick me up to take me to places. To the supermarket for example.  ‘Star Bazaar’.  He is late; we think he has stopped for his morning tea somewhere. I climb up to my seat in the car, ‘you are late.’ I say, He turns and smiles at me from his driver seat. That is all the communication we can have.  ‘Star Bazaar’ I declare. He gives me the emptiest, the most glazed, the hollowest look ever. His eyes are as dark and barren as deep meteor craters. I repeat ‘Star Bazaar’. We look at each other. He does not say anything, does not do anything, and leaves all the responsibility of communication to me.  I look back at him. ‘No?, you don’t know where it is?’ It is the only supermarket before the nearest horizon but he does not know it and he is not going to make an effort to understand what I am trying to say. We sit in the car quietly. The AC buzzes in the silence. I call the previous driver to tell him the directions. He accepts ungratefully, we go the Supermarket. He waits for me in the car park. I finish my shopping and give him a buzz he comes and finds me. He carries my bags for me and puts them in the car. I only push the trolley smugly.
Then, he drives me to where ever I ask him to. To the school, the coffee mornings, to Gloria Jeans, to  museums.  To get to anywhere in Mumbai I either have to take a taxi to the place or take a taxi to the nearest train station or ask him to take me here and there. I totally depend on him. I do not know a lot of places, I show him on non-updated map where I want to go he takes me there. The map is more alien to him than me. We look at the pages together. I underline the street on the map he contemplates on it and off we go. He plays his Hindi music on the radio.   We don’t talk to each other. He is as oblivious to the outside world as I am. He does not mind the street urchins, does not find people selling scooters on the motorway funny, He looks always a bit tired, a bit fed up, almost no expression on his face at all. I say my ‘thank you’s and ‘please’s to him, whenever necessary he bows his head, I sometimes get a head wobble. He knows where I go, who I see, how long I stay in those places. He knows my routine more than my husband. I cannot hail a taxi and ask them to take me to ‘to Cafe Costa where Jenny goes please.’  ‘to Ecole please’. I wait for him in the morning to turn up. I wait upstairs for him to arrive and give me a call. Then I will descend and show my face to the world. If I go downstairs to the lobby before him, I will be just waiting around. I don’t know which is worse really.

Today he was supposed to turn up to take me to the dreaded Star Bazaar. He did not. I gave him the benefit of the doubt until 9.40. He was not still here. Then I called him, mobile turned off, then I called Nick, then Nick called him, and the drivers’ manager.  I am so cross with myself that I have to wait for a driver, that I have wasted more than an hour hanging around rather than getting on with my ‘nothingmuchishappeninganyway’ life, cross with him that he just disappeared whatever his excuse is, even more cross that I am stuck in this place depending on other people for transportation.  Whatever you do, wherever you are, if you depend on other people for mobility then you are stuck in your little world. I understand how Saudi women feel.

Monday, January 23, 2012

kavsakta yasam

Buraya geleli nerdeyse bir ay olmus.  Ilk gunlerde ki 'aman yarabbi bu da ne boyle!' bir sehre biraz alismisa benzeriz. Yollar, binalar biraz daha  tanidik geliyor. Kitty'nin okulunu kendi basima bulabilevegime emin degilim ama  JVPD Otobus garaj ni kestirebiliyorum. Kaldigimiz otelin biraz otesinde  buyukce bir kavsak var.  Sola donen araclarin isigi beklemeden gecmeleri icin ayri bir yol kocaman ucgen ciceklikle ayrilmis. Ciceklik diyorum ama ustune uc, bes agac dikilebilecek, Ankara'da olsa bir iki Ankara kecisi heykeli yerlestirilebilecek  buyuklukte, kenarlari asagi yukari 20-25 metre bir ucgen . Yagmur mevisimi olmadigi icin, son 10 yilin  en soguk kisi ( 20'C) oldugu icin ortalik toz, gecen seneden kalma kurumus camur, cop, hindistan cevizi kabugu, naylon torbalar, tapinaklara sunulmus cicek artigi dolu. Buraya kadar hersey olagan. Bu ucgenin uc tarafinda insanlar yasiyor.  Anane, babanne yasinda, babannesin annesi yasinda hanimlar, yeni dogmus bebekler, yuva, ana okulu, okul yasinda bir suru cocuk ortalikta oturuyor, dolasiyor, oynuyor, yemek pisiriyor, camasir yikiyor ve gelen gecen arabalaradan dileniyor.   Butun esyalari naylon torbalarla cicekligin ustune konmus. Kendileri asvaltta oturuyor , torbalar ciceklerin arasinda. Uzun sariler, atletler ne oldugu belli olmayan cul capul kumas parcalari ucgendeki calilara takilmis. Gele gide bir iki tanesini taniyabiliyorum. Ilk okul uc yaslarinda bir kiz cocugu var.  Acik mavi firfirli bir elbisesi var. Kosarken hafifce dalgalaniyor. Obur elbisesi ince askili, icine uzun kollu sifir yakali kazak giyiyor. Ikinci elbisenin de kazagin da rengi atmis, gri ile acik kahverengi arasi herhangi bir renge donusmus.  Ayaklar ciplak. Orda ortalikta yasayan bu buyuk aile grubunun hic birinin ayakkabisi, sipidik terligi, tokyosu, hic bir seyi yok.  Ustune oturacak kilim,  hasir, gazete kagidi, hali eskisi yaygi, sergi, hic bir sey yok. Oyle caddenin, asvaltin ustundeler. Orda  hepbirlikte, yere uzanmis, comelmis, bagdas kurmus, (ama hep asvaltin ustunde. cicekligin ustunde degil) keyif yapiyorlar. Yattiklari yerden bir karis otede arabalar, tuk tuklar geciyor, bellerinden sadece ip bagli alti acik cocuklar her an kamyonlarin altinda kalacaklarmis kadar yakinlar, ama kimse korkmuyor, aldirmiyor bile. Pacavralara sarinip duvar dibinde degil asvaltin ortasina yakin bir yerde istedikleri zaman istedikleri kadar ve istedikleri yerde uyuyorlar. Bazen uyuyorlar mi olmusler mi belli degil. Aralarda kopekler dolasiyor. Kucuk cocuklar kopeklerle ayni tuvalet aliskanligini kullaniyor.  Ara sira akillarina birden bire gelmis gibi kalkip bir bebek alip kollarina, kirmizi isikta duran arabalara yaklasiyorlar, camlara 'tik tik' parmaklari ile vuruyorlar. ( Bizim sofor hemen kapilari kitliyor  'shik, shik') Elleri ile golge yapip camdan iceri gormeye calisiyorlar. Sofor baska tarafa bakiyor. Obur arabalara bakiyorum, her kezin tavri ayni. Onlar disardan kollarindaki bebekleri gosterip evrensel  'yemek, yemek' isareti yaparken, icerdekiler baska tarafa bakiyorlar.  Yesil yaninca biz yolumuza, onlar ucgen kenarina.
 Bir kere bir araba durdu yakinca bir yerde. Arabanin bagajini acti bir hanim. Uzun beyaz  koton pantolon ve tunik giymisti.  Shali beyaz, iki ucu arkadan sallaniyor. Once kucuk cocuklar, sonra biraz buyukler, yavas yavas arabanin cevresini sardilar. Arabanin bagajinda tepsi tepsi yemek vardi. Butun aile  sakinakli ve duzenli oraya yanastilar, itismeden kakismadan yemek aldilar. Beyaz pilav ve  patates yemegi gibi bir sey asvaltin her tarafaina oturup gule oynaya yediler.  Cok ac gozukmuyorlardi, cok mutesekkir de.  Sanki her gun o koseden yemek yiyorlarmis gibi, buyuk bir rahatlikla kabul ettiler. Yesil yandi, biz gittik.  Aksam geri geldigimizde ne araba vardi, ne de beyazli hanim.
Kucuk kiz hala seke seke arabalara dogru geliyor, taranmamis saclarinda mavimsi bir kurdela...

Friday, January 20, 2012

two religions, two temples 1


Haji Ali was a very kind Muslim. He helped people a lot and after some time he wanted to on Haj to Saudi. He did not make it and died on the way. His coffin miraculously drifted on the Arabian Sea and arrived on rocks in Mumbai. They built a mosque there on the rocks for him and a little school and an orphanage later. It was on a small island, only accessible at low tide, so they added a causeway for easy access. The beggars, religious tat sellers, food stall holders and 'your photo in front of the Haji Ali Mosque gate in 5 minutes for 50 Rupees' people became very grateful. Apart from the beggars the permanent crowd is on the left of the causeway. Frilly and glittery table cloths ( why, I wonder) and white flowers, red roses on string sellers, key chains, Ray Ban glasses, rusty nails, rusty horse shoes, scarves, woolly hats ( it is 30 'C), plastic toys of every colour and shape- including a parrot which sings when you clap your hands are on sale. The causeway is a kilometre long and the music from the left side, the monotone of the single prayer from the beggars on the right accompany you to the mosque entrance. Inside there is a humble, small, off white mosque and Haji Ali's tomb. Women enter from left, men enter from right. We take our shoes of. There are headscarves behind the young boy who looks after the shoes for you and if you had an uncontrollable desire to see the mosque and forgot to take your head scarf with you, he lends one to you conveniently for 10 Rupees. Luckily, I have Kitty's Hard Rock Cafe scarf. 'Love all serve all'. It is kind of the same message. I follow my fellow female visitors, they have neatly folded newspapers in their hands, white flowers and red roses on the strings and small bags of sweet roasted chickpeas. Some have brought coconuts. They wait for their turn and a white capped man near the tomb takes the bundles from them, rips the papers open, and reveals the most colourful table cloths. They have the brightest mango greens, neon yellows, Marlboro reds, shiniest glitters, sweetest melon colours. He opens them one by one and places them on the tomb. Rips up the rose petals in to a bowl. White sugar coated chickpeas are opened and placed on the counter. Coconuts are hacked with a machete and people coming in give stuff, take stuff back and dither until the white capped man pats them on the head several times with a broom of tired peacock feathers. This is a blessing and the happiness can be seen from their faces. They put their necks forward to be patted by the man murmuring a silent prayer .The men touch the base of the tomb and touch their faces, kiss the long Islamic green cover on it and depart backwards. Ladies who have brought their own head cover and the ones borrowed from the young man look around to find suitable places to tie their wish strings. On the trees, on the bushes, big wooden door, wherever they think is more propitious for a wish; the colourful strings are tied there- or wherever they can reach. The man places endless table cloths on the tomb, the men feverishly kiss its base.
The mosque is on a tiny island. The tide is out to expose black granite stones. There is also a Haji Ali Cafe there, sweet cloudy masala teas, rice with something, potatoes with something else, snacks in small bags are taken to the black rocks and eaten there by the whole family. Children carry the tatty toys they have just bought or crying because they haven't bought, or waiting for the wish string to work for the toys to be bought on the way back. It is a happy and eating crowd.
I take photographs of them secretly when their backs are turned to me. When they are not aware of being looked at-not that they would mind. They do it all the time to me. They gaze. Hands behind their back, legs akin, they examine me with their eyes- not in a nasty way. The way we look at primates and realise how similar yet different they are to us. They look at my feet (small like ours-cleaner), they look at my earrings (small, like ours), my hair (not like ours), my t shirt (just a t-shirt), my skirt (a skirt! not long leggings) until our eyes meet, then they change their gaze and start looking at something else- a seagull, or somebody else- a child until they are satisfied with their analysis. I take photographs of them gazing at me. They don't like it, they feel caught. So I take their photographs when they are on the phone, looking at the sea, giggling with friends, drinking tea...
The tide is out, there are huge bundles around the black rocks. I look at them closely, they are empty water bottles. Bisleri. The TV ad has a dinosaur and a song goes 'Bisleriii' ,'Bisleriiii'. The water is sold in Bisleri bottles in the cafe in the mosque area. I walk away with a hidden panic 'Bisleriii' screaming in my head. I am hot and tired. I have my water with me but I need the loo and a place to sit and look around a bit. The rocks are covered with small paper rice plates and paper masala tea cups. They do not mind eating on the rocks and leaving the rubbish there, on the spot. The next family comes and brushes the rubbish away and have their rice, potatoes and masala tea, leave the cups there too.
One day if you wish to go to Haji Ali mosque take your water and head scarf with you. Sit on the black rocks and look at the seas. Look at the sea gulls and fishing boats coming in, families having sweet chickpeas. Look at the street urchins flying their kites on your left, sky scrapers in the haze on your right. Think about the religions you know, religions you don’t know and how difficult it is to keep the world clean and orderly.  Be happy, be content, all is well.
Avoid the loos...


Tuesday, January 17, 2012

iki din, iki tapinak 2

Bazi yerler vardir sadece kendi basima gidebilirim. Ne Nick, ne Kitty benimle gelmeye heves ederler. Noel'deki gece ayini, Portsmouth'da deniz askerlerininin yuruyusu, sunnet dugunu, Ankara'da  annemin yakinindaki Persembe pazari bunlardan bir kacidir. Bu siraya Mumbai'de sokakta yurumek, yoldan bir sey yemek, trene binmek (Allah muhafaza) ve tapinaklara gitmek de eklendi. En son benimle Hare Krishna tapinaginin yillik ayinine geldiler ve seslerini cikarmadan benim milyonlarca kare fotograf cekmeme, her tapinak rahibi ile konusmama ses cikarmadilar ama 'hadi yemek yiyelim', 'cocuk dans gosterisine  iki bilet buldum n'olur girelim' ricalarima gozlerini dondurduler. Uzun bir sure onlari bir yere surukliyemem. Haji Ali Dergahina kendim gitmemin bir nedeni de buydu.
 Dergahtan cikip alt gecitten karsiya geciyorum, bir tuvalet bulmam, bir sey icmem, elimi yikamam, kilimali bir nefes almam lazim. Boyle durumlarda en iyi yer Mc Donald's dir. Hic bir sey konusmaniz gerekmez, 'menu 1', 'kola' demek yeterlidir. Ulkenin para birimini bile bilmeseniz olur, kasada yazar cunku. Ve tuvaletleri ( Beijing'dekinin disinda) girilebilecek gibidir, oyle karga marga bakmaz tepenizden ( Dergahta oldugu gibi). Yuruyorum, yolda hic bilmedigim kucuk dut kurusuna benzeyen, ve hic bir seye benzemeyen meyve satan bir suru adam, kadin, kaldirima capraz uyumayi secen fakir fukara, khaki uniformali bir suru guvenlik gorevlisi ( her seyi koruyorlar- apartman girisleri, garaj girisleri, araba parki girisi, kapi, kapi araligi) var ama bir Cafe, bir Mc Donald's yok. Zaten Burger King hic yok. KFC de yok bu yolda.  Ama caddenin karsisinda ( gecebilirsem tabii) bir kocaman tapinak var. Uc kubbeli. Kubbe degil tabii, Ters cevrilmis dondurma kulahi. Bir guzel suslenmis, acik mor, acik pembe, gul kurusu, ucuk sari cizgilerle suslenmis ters dondurma kulahlari. Havada kesif bir buhur kokusu. Hint elbisesi, Hint bakkali kokusu.  Insanlar giriyor, cikiyor, cikmiyor, oyle dolaniyorlar ortada. Yeni yilin ilk gunu , Mumbai deki ucuncu gunumuzde araba ile gecerken gormustuk bu tapinagi. Insan selinden gorememistik bile. Bugun demir islemeli kapidan kolayca girdim iceri. Her tanrinin, her evinin, her onundeki manzaraayni.  Kucuk dukkanciklarda din satiyorlar. Din degisir, tanri degisir, dini kitch hic degismez.  Nereye giderseniz gidin tanri ile ilgili herseyi satin alabilirsiniz. Tapinak ne kadar onemli ise, alinan sey o kadar daha tanriya yakindir. Roma'da daha cok katolik olunur, Efes'de daha cok Meryem, Hac'tan gelen yuzuk daha dini butundur. Haji Ali den 786 kolyesi alinir.   Burda Sandal agaci var.  Demek ki burda bu alinirmis. Iki parmak kalinliginda, koyu renkli olanlar daha pahali (40 Ruppe), zerdecal renkli olan daha makul ( 20 Rupee). Alna surulecek kirmizi, sari tozlar da var, Fil tanri Ganesh'in kucuk buyuk plastic heykelcikleri,  Krishna'nin boyun atkisi, ayak izi cikartmasi, kapi kenarina asilacak seyler ( basasagi asilmis siyah bir adam!?), gamali hac, kucuk takunyalar, tesbihler, her eve lazim hersey var. 

Hani cok eskiden Japon kiz kartpostallari vardi. Gulumseyen hostes kizimiz karti kimildatinca goz kirpardi. goz kirpti, gulumsedi, goz kirpti, gulumsedi. Hatirladiniz mi?  Burdaki kartta  Ganesh ayak ucunda oturan yol arkadasi fareye bakiyor, fare ayaga kalkiyor, Ganesh bakiyor, fare kalkiyor. Beyaz carsafli  Rahip meditasyon yapiyor, size bakiyor; yan yatmis, yan yatmamis. Bir duvar dolusu istemediginiz kadar her ruzgarda her harekette kimil kimil kart postallar var. Hemen yaninda 'ilahi kisi, mumtaz insan' resimi. Gormek o kadar kolay degil. Hatirlayin, eskiden Pazar gazetesi eki olarak verilirdi. Gazeteyi bir kol boyu uzakta tutup, gozlerinizi daldirinca gizlenen bir resim size vuku olurdu. Aynisini yaparak Krishnayi, yada bir ulu rahibi gormeniz mumkun.  Inananlar kol boyu tuttuklari resme bakiyorlar, gizli resmi gorenle, gormeden gordum diyenin bagirislari birbirine karisiyor. Uzun sacli, uzun abali,uzun parmakli, gozleri surmeli bir adam yakaliyip bilegime kirmizili sarili bir ip bagliyor. 'Adin ne? diyor; 'Istemiyorum' . 'Istemoor'la baslayip uzun bur dua okuyor, cebinden cikardigi bicagi ( Imdat!) ile ipin ucunu kesiyour ve 100 Rupee diyor. 10 Rupee ye anlasiyorum ( Haji Ali de o kadar vermistim ayakkabici cocuga). Ilerliyorum, daha tuvalet bulamadim, suyum bitmek uzere. Siseleri kovalarda su icine koymuslar.  Iyi ki Kitty yok. Karsidaki sokak da bir suru bakkal var oradan su bulabilirim belki.
 Sokak basinda polis var. Butun yazilar, trafik isaretleri bile Hint alfabesi ile yazilmis . Bir tane Ingilizce bir harf yok. Hint alfabesi  cizgiye oturmaz, cizgiden sallanir. Bizim bildigimiz alfabe ile hic alakasi yoktur, hangisi harf ,hangisi murekkep lekesi belli bile degildir. Oyle bir sokaga giriyorum iste. Bakkalar icecek yerine yicecek  ve cicek satiyor. yasemin cicegi, hafif acilmis lotus (su dolu bir kaba daldirip cikartiyor, islak ve daha taze) kuruyup kalmis nohut gibi seyler, kavru kuvru erik kurusu, ekmek ufalagi gibi seyleri bir sepete koyuyor. bakkal degil zaten, gazete bufesi  gibi kulubeler  ve hanimlar arkada degil ciceklerin yemislerin arasinda oturuyor bir ayagini altina almis.  Elinde kucuk kagitlara yazilmis numaralar. Yerde bir suru ayakkabi. Nerede bu insanlar? sanki teyzeden cicek, nohut kurusu almis, ve paralel evrene yolculuga cikmis gibi. Kendileri yok, ayakkabilari kalmis geride. Ayakkabi tepeleri buyuyor yurdukce. Demek ki adet bu. Ayakkabini teyzeye birakiyorsun, sana numara veriyor, tapinaktan ciktiktan sonra geri aliyorsun ayakkabini. Dunya da vermem ayakkabimi. Torbama koyuyorum.  Ayakkabisiz yuruyorum. Iyi ki Kitty yok. Sokak yemis kabuklari, hindistan cevizi parcalari, kagit, kagit tabak, buhur kulu, yasemin yapragi, toz boya icinde sepet ala, numara vere ilerliyor. Yerde oturan insanlar yine ayakkabi pesinde. ellerinde sopalarla geleni geceni durdup ayakkabi topluyorlar. Her adamin numara kagidi baska renkte. Tapinaktan iceri girmek icin merdiven cikiliyor.Hanimlar, erkekler ayri giriliyor. Cantalari kontrol eden, canta fermuri  acan, 'cantani suraya koy' diyen, cantayi alan, numara veren,  aletle ustunu yoklayan ( kac kisi oldu?) koruma gorevlileri arasindan gecip tapinaga giriyorlar.  Duz, sade, oldukca mutevazi bir tapinak. Fotograf cekmek yok. makinami aldilar ve numara verdiler. Benim kapi gibi Nikon D60im   45 numara ile degistirildi. Geri alamazsam Nick'e ne soyliyecegimi tahmin bile edemiyorum :'Tapinak girisinde biraktim. bana 45 numara verdiler, sonra bulamadilar'.

 Yine bir kuyruk; yavas yavas hanimlarla birlikte itis kakis siraya giriyoruz, sarilerin rengi saclardaki yasemin kokusuna karisiyor, kupeler kulaklardan buyuk, isil isil, burunlarda hizmalar, alinlarda  en kirmizi toz boya, Krishna gorecegiz. Abisi, Krishna  ve kiz kardesi , yanyana oturmuslar gelene gecene bakiyorlar. Kucuk heykelcik bunlar benim yari belime bile gelmez. Gozleri yuzlerine kocaman.  Ingilizce hic bir yazi yok, heykellerin ne kadar eski yada  ne kadar yeni oldugunu bilmiyorum. Eve gidince Internetten bakarim.  Orta okul Resim Elisi dersi icin bastan savma yapilmis gibi, heybetsiz, biraz safsakca oturuyorlar her ucu de. Ama onlari gormeye gelen hanimlar, sepet sepet cicek koyuyorlar ortaya, yuzlerinde bir sevinc, bir heyecan. Tasa el surup yuzlerini sivazliyorlar, sirayla geciyoruz Krishna ve kardeslerinin onunden. Ben Ona bakiyorum O bana. 'Zengin insanlarin tapinagi degil burasi' diyor, 'Idare et'. Hanimlar grubu sel halinde akiyoruz, grup nereye cekerse beni gidiyorum, merdiven iniyoruz,( iyi ki Kitty yok) yemek salonu var az otede, ama gruptan kopup gidemiyorum oraya. Deniz kenarina gelmisiz.  'Hindistan cevizi kabuklarini birakmayin' yaziyor. Peki. Ben yavas yavas geri yukari cikiyorum.  Yalin ayakiz. Butun bu grup sokaktan, tapinaga kadar yalin ayak yuruduk, oturduk, kalktik, yemekhane bolumunde pilav, yufka ekmegi ve patates sadece sag elle yediler (ben haric).

 Tuvalet karsida. Merdivenden inince sol tarafta.  Yalinayak hanimlar yemekten sonra gitmisler, keyifli , kikirdiyarak merdivenden cikiyorlar. Iyi ki Kitty yok.

Monday, January 16, 2012

Iki din, iki tapinak 1

Bir kilometre boyunca sol tarafta saticilar, sag tarafta dilenciler. Sol tarafta sarkilar caliniyor, sag tarafta ayni dua tekrarlaniyor. Sol taraf romantik. Ipe dizilmis beyaz cicekler, kirmizi guller, guzel koku dumanlari yukseliyor, piriltili bas ortusu, masa ortusu gibi seyler dizi dizi sallaniyor, arada yemekler yapiliyor,  keciler var, kucuk kagit tabaklar icinde pilav ve ucgen muska boregi gibi seyler yeniliyor, sag tarafta yuzleri yarali, ayaklari yamulmus sakatlar, kadinlar cocuklar miril miril sadaka istiyorlar. Sol tarafta kucuk plastik oyuncaklar var, kocaman boynuzlu plastik brahman inekleri , papagan,  anahtarlik, mavi goz boncuklu asmalik seyler, takmalik seyler,  kupeler, bilezikelr, kolyeler,sol taraf cumbus, sag taraf kendinden bezmis...
 Bir kilometrenin sonunda beyaz minareli camii ve minaresi yukseliyor. kucuk camiii, guduk minare. Bodrum minareleri gibi.  Muson yagmurlari izini birakmis coktan. Fotograf cekmek ne mumkun, ziyaretciden cok fotografci var ortalikta. Iki buyuk gunes semsiyesinin  altinda birer diz ustu komputer birer printer,  camiinin giris merdivenlerinde durup poz veriyorsun iki dakika icinde basip veriyor sana .50 Rupee... Akilli is, Benim gibi koca makinayi oraya buraya tasimak gerekmiyor,  sip sak orda fotoshopluyorlar bile senin icin...
 Icerde tamirat var. Uc yildir suren ve bitecege benzemiyen tamirat.  Giriste sol tarafta ipe dizilmis ciceklerle birlikte ozenle katlanmis gazete kagitlari var. Tepe tepe.  Hanimlar bir demet gazete kagidi, bir iki cicek, seker leblebi ( hatirlayin hani beyaz, seker kapli leblebi, kucukken yerdik - ben hala yiyorum Turkiye'ye geldigimde) torbalari, kenarlari firfirli piriltili masa ortuleri alip iceri giriyorlar.  Icersi Turbe. Haci Ali Efendi, tuccarmis, iyilikler yapmis, Haca giderken vefat etmis, sandukasi denizleri asip burda kiyiya vurmus, falan filan, orda  Turbe yapmislar.  Sandukasi kocaman biraz tozlanmis, kristalleri biraz dokulmus avizenin altinda. Hanimlar bu taraftan giriyor , erkekler obur taraftan.  Ayakkabilar cikariliyor, ayakkabici delikanlilar karar veriyor bas ortu gerekip gerkmedigine. Ben Kitty'nin Hard Rock  Cafe bandanasini takiyorum, bana 'gec' izni veriyor, yeni yetme oglan. Icerde sandukanun yaninda beyaz namaz sapkali beyaz uzun giysili bir gorevli hic durmadan insanlardan getirdiklerini aliyor, masa orulerini teker teker acip sandikanin ustune koyuyor, leblebi seker torbalarini acip ortaya koyuyor,  hindistan cevizi kiriyor kocaman kilicla, cicekleri buyuk kaplara yolakliyor, insanlar masa ortusu verip, seker leblebi alip, cicek yapraklarini ceplerine , torbalara koyup beklesiyorlar. Ara sira beyaz namaz sapkali adam havi kacmis tavus kusu supurgesi ile beklesen insanlarin basina dokunuyor, insanlar bu supurge ile dokunulmayi umarak, istereyek kimildasiyorlar, sonra en alttaki sanduka otusune el surerek, yuz surerek, geri geri  cikiyorlar.  Kapilara, agaclara, daha dogrusu nereyi uygun goruslerse oraya dilek iplikeri bagliyorlar. mir mir bir seyler dileyerek. Cop bidonun arkasindaki agaca bagladigin dilek tutar mi? Bes dakka once tukurdugun duvarin dibi dilegini yere getirir mi?
  Camii kucuk bir adacik ustunde. Adayi ana karaya baglayan yol bir kilometre uzunlugunda, deniz kabarirken, muson zamanlarinda   yurunmuyormus eskiden ama biraz yukseltmisler, artik sorun degilmis . 'Yolda elektrik direkleri var, su altinda kalinca, elektrik ve su iyi gitmez ' demisti sevgili esim Nick bir sure once. Bu yorumunu duymamislar anlasilan. Deniz cekilmis, yolun kenarindaki kayalar ve kamyonetten buyuk bir torba plastik su sisesileri  duruyor. tam karsisinda benzer siselerde su ve meyve suyu satan adamlar var.

 Hava sicak, insanlar turbenin arkasindaki kayalara oturmuslar,  koyu sutlu cay, pilav, nohutlu yemek  gibi seyler atistiriyorlar. Kagit tabaklar yemek bittigi anda onlara ait degil artik. Soyle yanlarina birakiveriyorlar. Duvar dibine, cop kovasina koymak yok. Burda yediler, burda biraktilar. Surda ayaklarini  yikadilar, ayni yerde agizlarini calkaladilar. Akan suyun ustune basarak gectiler, kenara oturdular. Gerisi onlari ilgilendirmiyor. Nerdeyse ortaliktaki gazete yikinlarini,  kucuk kagit tabak obeklerini, kagit cay fincanlarini gormeden o daginiklik ve pisligin farkina varmadan, aldirmadan cekilmis denize bakiyorlar. Keyifleri yerinde. Siyah kayalarin ustunde atliya ziplaya denize ulasmaya calisiyorlar.  Bir kenarda kandinlar midye kaziyor, cocuklar ucurtma ucuyor, adamin biri kavunici ortusunu yikamis deniz suyunda, duvara asmis, ciplacik onun kurumasini bekliyor. Itismiyorlar, seslerini yukletmiyorlar, bir kalabalik, bir karmasa var ama kargasa yok. Kadinlar uzun arkadan tek orulmus saclarina yasemin cicekleri takmis, sariler tek omuzlarindan asagida, cocuklar kocaman gozlu, sumuklu , sonsuza kadar saskin. Benimle fotograf cektirmek istiyorlar( niye acaba?), elimi oglunun omzuna koyup poz veriyorum, bir grup genc teker teker yanimda duruyor, grup halinde poz veriyorlar bana. ( niye acaba?)
 Eger giderseniz, suyunuzu yaninizda goturun, oturun siz de kayalarin ustune, bakin dunyaya, denize,   sag tarafinizda Bombay gokdelenleri sislerin arasindan yukselsin, sol tarafta   yoksulluk, balikci tekneleri, 786 yazili kolye uclari, dilenciler, dualar, buhur kokulari...  ama sakin tuvalate gitmeyin.

Sunday, January 15, 2012

Linking Road

 There is a street half an hour way from where I stay ( live actually, have been there for more than two weeks), called Linking Road. It is a shopping street full of stalls. In the middle of it on the right there is KFC and on the left Mc Donalds.  I asked the driver to drop me off at Mc Donald's and pick me up at KFc at 2.30.  The two sides of the street is full of arcades, shops and stalls selling Indian flip flops, bags, t shirts, shalvar kamez, saris, flip flops, bags and more flip flops. They have separated stalls with whatever they are selling, when you are in their little enclave you are surrounded with flip flops or legging on Indian bummed bottoms. They also hang them , you are attacked from the air too.  The stall people (there are more than one man- always men) do not leave you alone. As soon as they see you up on the horizon, they summon 'very good shoes madame', 'very good for you madame' and point at the most hideous plastic flip flops you might consider wearing as a part of a dare. There follows sari tops. I am size 12-14. A bare tummy tank top,however pink, however yellow is a definite no. They point at  frilly salvar kamez  tunics, the baggiest harem trousers and exclaim 'your size madame'. I am very experienced at street markets. I will not yield to their deep  black kholled eyes,  their prayed white caps, soft voices calling me 'come, very good for you'.  I wave my hand feverishly at every stall in a refusing manner, I keep walking and looking. I want a humble knee high  skirt. I don't want tight blue jeans, leggings, skimpy denim shorts, middle aged denim shorts, I want a skirt. It does not exist. No one wears over the knee skirts here. They wear mostly long summery ones you see in Indian shops  in England or  jeggings and a tunic.
I do not want a tunic either. When travelling, there is a period between settling in and accepting your existence there and accepting their existence. I do not want to look like them yet, but I can not find the 'me ' stuff yet either. Back in England wearing Monsoon style clothes is  lovely; the mango yellows, the papaya oranges, one or two sequins here and there add shine to the grayness of UK winter. Here the colours, the sequins sneer on you. It becomes an uncomfortable mishmash of Krishna design and the gorgeous pink the beggar street urchins clothe themselves in. Nothing looks comfortable on me yet, I am still January pale, (Goras living here are naturally more tanned than me) and hotel food plump. I am still wearing the black pencil skirt I brought from Petersfield and couple of shirts.  It is still January (Jan as they say it here), my body and soul are not ready for  pool side conversations  wrapped in sarongs.
 I look at the shorts and tell the men I want skirts. They open bundles for me digging from the deep crevices of their stalls, 'your size madame'. It is size 20. 'very good size madame' -it is size 8. I leave the stalls without any comment. They whistle at me. It is their way of calling. It is wolf whistle but the function is different. I am taken to another stall, another bundle, another 'your size madame'. How much is this I ask, 'normal price 1200 Rupees, bargained price 550 Rupees'. What on earth does that mean? 'Flat 600 Rupee' somebody else says. I walk away. It becomes flat 500. 'come', they say. It is not a call, it is an invitation 'come...', intonation falling slightly, 'come, your size'. I hold a size 8 skirt on my body, it barely covers half of my hips. My size? He looks at me 'your size your decision, why are you asking for my approval?' No skirt for me today.
  There are mountains of t shirts for 150 Rupees.  It makes less than £2.00. Shall I bargain to bring it down? The designs look familiar. I look at their labels: there is a Primark label, and George, and another Primark, and TU, Top Shop, and  New Look. They are on top of eachother, in the same mountain of t shirts. ZARA ones are more expensive, they are on the sides, 200 Rupees.  On the pavement  I almost step on to  another mountain of M.A.C. make up stuff. In this heat, between  tatty Primark  t shirts,'your size Madame', 'flat one twenty' and wobbly head conversations,  I feel a soft touch on my shoulder: a glittery  sari,  best kholled eyes, shimmery nose stud to the ear, hands hennaed to the fore arms, mumbles  something to me showing wood blocks in plastic bags. I turn my back to her diving more in to the t shirt mountain. She walks away.
It is enough for the day. Time to go back and pick Kitty up from the school. The driver will pick me up in front of the KFC. I go in to buy refreshing 'Crushems'. I recommend this. Fresh mint leaves and a couple of slices of lemon, crush them a bit add ice and  lemonade. It is one of the best things I have tried in hot weather. Next to the sleeping dog and street urchins wanting money I wait for the driver. I do what everybody else does- completely ignore the little beggars, turning my back whichever side they approach me. This is my minty drink, not sharing.

 I suddenly realise what the lady was selling in the plastic bags: Henna tattoo blocks  for arms. That was the only thing I could have bought and I missed it. Some other day...

Friday, January 13, 2012

reflections for a Haiku from Kitty

  This is from Kitty:

'Whitecaps on the bay:
A broken signboard banging
In the April wind.

Richard Wright

The poem I have chosen to write about is the Haiku about the sea side. When I read this poem it reminds me of the English sea side because “A broken signboard banging” is just like to have an old sign on the top of the sand banks from many years ago. The poem brings back memories from when I went to the sea side with my family and friends, picking up pebbles on the coble beach then painting them when I got home and trying to find good sand to make a sturdy sandcastle.
I utterly understand the line “In the April wind.” because when you are on the beach a crisp sharp wind blows onto your face and it feels like it is cutting your face and you wished that you had remembered to put on a scarf. Where it says “Whitecaps on the bay” is when the waves are coming in and I used to play a game when you have to run as close as you can to the sea then run away when a wave comes in then getting wet and then having a warm fish and chips.
That is why I like Richard Wright’s Haiku because although it is only three lines long it captures the scene perfectly and I think for anyone who lives along the coast of England or has been to the English coast knows exactly what the poem is about.'
 She wrote this for  homework, she must be missing home.




Thursday, January 12, 2012

sabah sabah

Ah yine bir sabah! Yine sari uniforma, siyah pantolon, beyaz gomlek, asagiya restorana kahvaltiya inme telasi. Ucumuz de uykuluyuz, ben direniyorum. Yoksa  'Bugun kimseyi bir yere gondermiyorum, geri yataga hemen' deyip kendimi beyaz carsaflara ve klimanin serinligine atmak cok kolay. Artik ogrendik,kahvaltidan sonra dis fircalamak icin yukari cikacagimiza dis fircasini asagida goturuyoruz vakit kazaniliyor.  Belki de biraz fazla kaldik bu otelde, belki' memsahip'lige alisiliyor yavas yavas, garsonlarin cayi gec getirmelerine soylenir oldum.  'Her sabah sagi yukari ayni kahvalti isteniyor, ogrensinler artik!', 'Serviste iyi degil bu Hindistan'da' demeye basladim bile.   Cay makinasi yok, garson istege gore cay yada kahve servisi yapiyor. Ayni tepside cay ve kahve yok. Ilkonce soruyor,  kahve degil cay; sonra tepsi ile kahve getiriyor, servisini yapiyor, sutu kendisi ekliyor( sen oturdugun yerden 'daha cok kahve, fincani agzina kadar doldurma, sut koy, sicak olsun ekledigin sut ' diye yol gosteriyorsun), sonra obur masalara gidip ayni muhabbet orda da yapliyor. Kahve icmeyen ben, cay bekliyorum. Butun masalara kahve bitince ( bu arada gordugum her garsona 'ben cay  istiyorum' diye aglasiyorum, 'yes Maaam' diyorlar bana. Cay may getiren yok ama. )  ayni genc delikanli cay servisine basliyor, benzer muhabbet cay icinde gecerli. Eger masalari ve insanlari eski tek katli buyuk bahceli bir evin verandasina tasisak, hanimlara uzun, firfir yakali, acik rek uzun kollu yere kadar efil efil elbiseler giydirsek, kahve cay takimlari porselen olsa ve piril piril gumus sekerliklerle sunulsa, kendimi Kralice Viktoria donemi Hindistan'da sanabilirim.  Yardimci genc erkek egilerek cay sunar, servisten sonra elinin  zarif tersi ile 'cekilebilirsin' hareketi yapilir, verandanin arkasindaki beyaz sarikli bir adam perde yelpazeyi sallar.  Hava sicaktir, biraz kibir,biraz kendini onemseme hakimdir ortaliga.Oteldekilerin tavirlari ve garsonlarin hizmet bicimi sanki hic degismemis. Otelde iki degisik grup kaliyor, bir bizim gibi tam yabancilar, Mumbai'de calismaya gelen, kendilerine yer buluncaya kadar kalan insan grubu, esleri, falan filan  bir de Hindistan kokenli, ulkelerine geri donen, yada is icin bu otelde kalan is adamlari, esleri, falan filan. Sadece birinci gurup, Ingilizce'nin icine islemis, her cumlenin basina sonuna konan 'lutfen'' tesekkur ederim', 'aferdersiniz' kibarliklarini kullaniyor. Ikinci grubun dili daha buyrukcu, 'getir', 'koy', 'gec geldi bu'. Birinci gurup hafif irkiliyor 'lutfensiz' konusma duyunca. Ama burasi onlarin ulkesi. Ingilizler artik en yabanci bu ulkeye, yapacak bir seyleri yok. Ikinci grubun dili birinci grubun kibirliligini almis, kendini beyenmisligini de.

 Ben sut istemeyince kafalarini iki sana sallayip, 'OK, Maam' diyorlar, sutsuz cay icilebilecegine hayret ederek...    Cay nasil koyu, nasil demli, anlatamam. Ama hala direniyorum cay icmeye. Masala cayi da denedim. Yine caydanlikla geliyor, yine ayni 'cay istiyorum' haykirislari arasinda, sutlu cay renginde biraz daha koyuca, tarcin, kakule, birazda sahlep tadinda, cok koyu sutlu fincan geldi masama. Lezzetli. Cay icin lezzetli sifati ne kadar uygunsa bunun icinde oyle. Sabah sabah benim icin cok agir, ve cok sutlu. Onu buyuk Hint krepi ile birlikte iciyorlar. Krep cok ince,  normal tavadan buyuk, rulo yapip getiriliyor masaya.  Icine kucuk kaplardan koyu renkli, cok lezzetli ve baharatli gozuken ezme gibi bir sey koyuyorlar, kucuk parcalar kopartip yiyorlar. Ogle yemeginde sunulmuyor bu. Bence tam aksam ustu kahvaltisina uygun bir sey. Ben sadece koyu cay iciyorum.
 Kahvalti bitti.  Masalardaki insanlar yavas yavas cekildiler, bahcede siyah kargalar, sakayik kuslari  , tombul guvercinler kahvalti artiklari bekliyor, hava ilik, bir yerlerden ates kokusu geliyor ,ezan okunuyor cok uzakta bir yerde. Gazetenin 'Guzin abla' kosesini bile okudum. Dini ogutler bolumunu daha sonraya sakliyorum, sabah sabah ruhum Masala cayinin sicak ve yogun baharatli tadi ile dolu,   Mumbai'de uzun bir gunun basindayim daha.

Wednesday, January 11, 2012

Kitty okulda

Sabah erkence  uyaniyoruz 7.00 gibi.  Nick'de ise gidecek, ben bir Nick'e hadi diyorum, bir Kitty'ye. Evde olsa  Petersfield Radyosu'nu acardim. Burda televizyonu, BBC yi aciyorum. Ses olsun sabah sabah, saatin kac oldugunu hatirliyayim, bakalim dun geceden beri asayis berkemal mi ogreneyim. Kuzey Hindistan'da kar var. Avrupa soguk. Ocak ayinda oldugumuza inanmak zor. Hala hirkasiziz, hala klima calistirmam lazim hafif serin olsun diye.
 Sabah sabah iki kisi evden gidecekken bu kadar karmasa olur mu? Mutlaka biri corabini bulamazsa oburku tokasini kaybeder, sac fircasi bu otele de bizle birlikte gelen Kara Delikte kapi anahtari, mobil telefon ve cay kasigi ile yerini alir.  Yarim saat icinde odadan cikilmasi gerekiyor. Kahvalti asagida otelin restaurantinda. Acik bufe kahvalti daha uzun zaman istiyor acikcasi. Soyle uzun uzun caylar, krepler, cok ustaca yapilmis cilbirlar arasinda gazete okunarak gecirilecek zaman lazim. Bir kosturmaca ile kizarmis ekmek, kucuk krep yenilip dis fircalamaya yukari cikiliyor sonra soforle okula gidiliyor. Ben geride kalip kahvaltinin keyfini cikariyorum. Taze cay, meyve, peynir. Yerimden kimildamam gerekmiyor bir sure.
 Kitty ogle yemegini okulda yiyor.  Her gun geldiginde ne yedigini soruyorum, bana tarif ediyor. 'Soyle durum gibi birseyin icine soyle birsey koyduk'. Adini bilmiyor daha yediklerinin. Arkadaslari okul yemegi yerine evden getiriyorlarmis. Yemek cantalari tasimiyorlar. Evde yapilan yemekler sefer taslari gibi kutulara konup, ogle yemegi zamani okula getiriliyor. Burda adet boyle. Bisikletli bir adam 10 -15 tane yemek cantasini salkim salkim getiriyor, her sinifin ayri  kutularina konuyor sonra  okul kafeteryasina cikartiliyor (mus).
 Okul 3.20 de bitiyor. Ben 3.10 da ordayim. Cok suslu hanimlar, ( saclar bes dakka once yaptirilmis, ruj yenilenmis, buram buram parfum) ayagini suruyerek yalpalayarak yuruyen sariili  hizmetciler, soforler sira sira cocuk bekliyorlar. Her kez kendi sinifini biliyor, anneler birbirlerine gulumsiyerek, sen sakrak konusuyorlar,  pirlanta kupeler,piril piril yuzukler, yeni ayakkabilar hemen farkediliyor.  Cocuklar akin akin geliyorlar, sari ekose etek, beyaz gomlek, yesil sirt cantasi. Sari kafali kizimi ariyorum, onu bulmak cok kolay burda.  Benim kizim nerdeyse iki yasindan beri yollarda. Bir Singapur, bir Huddersfield, bir Petersfield, ara sira Turkiye, hic sesini cikarmadan bizle birlikte dolasiyor. 13 yasindaki suslu bir kiz icin zor olmali arkadaslarini, okulunu, rahat hayatini birakip anne babasinin pesinden yollari uyuyan kopek dolu bu sehre gelmek, donem arasinda okula baslamak. Yeni arkadaslarinin adlari degisik. Emily, Lily degil. Akilda tutmak zor.  Memnun hayatindan, otele onerken  derslerini anlatiyor, kukla yapacaklarmis , Karagoz gibi golge kuklasi yapmayi secmis. Dans dersinde Turk gobek havasini sunacakmis,  matematik de iyimis, bir siir ogrenecekmis bu yakinlarda. Bicir bicir yari Turkce yari Ingilizce konusuyor, Turkce hala bizim gizli dilimiz, kimsenin anlamasini istemedigimiz zaman onu seciyoruz, kikirdasmak daha kolay.
 Ikimiz oteldeyiz, Nick aksam gelecek. Ne garip; nerde oldugumuz hic onemli degil nerdeyse. Okul konustuk, eve geldik, okul sonrasi bir seyler atistirmak, odev yapmak ile vakit gececek.  Ocak ayinda, Mumbai'de, 26 derece sicaklikta sebzeli turlu ve kucuk taze patates yiyecegiz aksam yemeginde . Bir iki televizyon programindan sonra uyku zamani gelecek. Bir gunde boyle gecmis olacak. Konstantin Kavafi'nin 'O sehir' siiri aklimda hep... Bugun iyi bir gundu. Yarina Allah Kerim.



sozunu ettigim Konstantin Kavafi siirini buldum, ama Cevat capan'in cevirisi ile degil. Bu da guzel

Dedin, "Bir başka ülkeye, bir başka denize gideceğim.
Bundan daha iyi bir baÅŸka kent bulunur elbet.
Yazgıdır yakama yapışır nereye kalkışsam;
ve yüreğim gömülü bir ceset sanki.
Aklım daha nice kalacak bu çorak ülkede.
Nereye çevirsem gözlerimi, nereye baksam
hayatımın kara yıkıntıları çıkıyor karşıma,
yıllarıma kıydığım, boşa harcadığım."

Yeni ülkeler bulamayacaksın, başka denizler bulamayacaksın.
Bu kent peşini bırakmayacak. Aynı sokaklarda dolaşacaksın.
Aynı mahallede yaşlanacaksın;
aynı evlerde kır düşecek saçlarına.
Bu kenttir gidip gideceğin yer. Bir başkasını umma-

Bir gemi yok, bir yol yok sana
Değil mi ki, hayatına kıydın burada
bu küçücük köşede, ona kıydın demektir bütün dünyada.

Çeviren: Barış Pirhasan, Erdal Alova


Tuesday, January 10, 2012

lazy housewife syndrome

How easy it is to become inactive. There is nothing planned, scheduled for me to do today. Nick and Kitty are out, I have had my breakfast, had millions of dark cups of tea, checked my e mails (nothing  interesting), checked Facebook (nothing dramatic), read the newspapers, (nothing intelligent), looked at the kitchen and decided not to do anything, did the same for the bedrooms, looked out of the window several times for several minutes, ( my men and the dogs are there in various positions). I need to make some phone calls, but it is too early to make domestic calls ( just after 9.00, people are still having their last cup of tea), too early to make professional calls ( just after 9.00, people have not had their cup of tea yet).  UK is fast asleep, Turkey is in a deeper sleep. What am I supposed to  do then? There are two books I am reading, it is too early to get comfortable with a book on the sofa. I cannot go for a walk, it is impossible to go for a walk here. There are pigeons drinking  water from the swimming pool, so that is out. Gym was never in the equation ( I  have a bad heel which make me limp even on a good day). If I turn the TV on, I will be sucked into meaningless films, jolly Indian dancing music, news from far away countries which I can not do anything about.
 I am sure there are women in and around this hotel thinking exactly the same. During breakfast after I send off NickandKitty, when I sit down with my tea and the paper there are 'left behind' women who accompanied their husbands here.  We smile at each other shyly, each one of us trying to suppress that scream- 'help I will be going mad soon!'-  We drag our bodies to the rooms doing more or less the same thing ( If they have found something better to do  and not telling me I will be very cross!). We will be wandering around trying to make ourselves useful until the people who are engaged in life  come back in the evening.  You can think of  menus for the dinner,  and tomorrow's dinner, if you want a challenge plan for the day after. Then you can iron socks if you wish or have another cup of tea. Until some friends are found or something to do  during the day, this will be the daily activity. Slowly, surely you will lose yourself  in the shady sleepiness  of the rooms.
But then writing a blog helps. It is past that dead time between 9.00 and 10.00.  I can make phone calls and go to the Temple, visit the bookshop, take some photos, say 'Nahi, Nahi''* to the  begging street urchins, look at 'chicken stall' and watch how they hack the necks of the chickens and pluck the feathers there and then, I can even go to the 'Rude Lounge' and see what is rude about it.  If I want an instant upset stomach I can try the things unknown to me sold by men on street corners under dusty, faded parasols. Then it will be people coming back to the Hotel full of  school and office stories about lunches and friends and homework and drivers.
 I need to get going then. The day is quite short, there are lots of things to do.



* No, No

Monday, January 9, 2012

Star Supermarket

Annem ne kadar sansli Ankara'da. Evinin iki adim dibinde kac tane supermarket var. Birini beyenmezsen oburkune git. Bir asansor seyahati otede. Burda oyle degil. Yeni soforumuz Krishna'ya telefon edince minibus gibi kocaman araba beni supermarkete goturmek icin bekliyor.  20 dakika uzaklikta market, beni indirip bir kenarda bekliyecek. Guvenlik kapisindan geciliyor ve bir hanim gorevli cantama bakiyor, oburu aletle ustumu ariyor. Bir sey yok gecebilirim.   Girer girmez sol tarafta alkol bolumu var. Ordan bira alip ayri odeniyor ucreti. Sonra kremler, sampuanlar.  Asagi yukari bildigimzi markalar. Daha cok cilt beyazligina , purusuz ve lekesiz olmasina yonelik kremler var.  Yiyecek bolumu daha ilgimi cekiyor.  Yogurt var. Adi 'Dahi'. Bizim yogurtlarimiz gibi. Bu sevindirici. Yogurtla ne gider ? salatalik. Bakalim var mi o da. Var. Ama kucuk ve guduk, cekirdegi az. Biraz tursuluk salataliga benziyor ama olsun var ya. Oda iyi.  Peynir?  Yorel peynirin adi 'Paneer'. Beyaz peynire benzer ama tuzsuz ( tuzlusu da varsa daha bilmiyorum), sanki kalip Lor peyniri gibi. Kasar peyniri de var. Yorel degil ama butceyi cok rahatsiz edicek kadar da pahali degil. Bir sure hamburger peyniri, krem peynir var.  Baska ne lazim? Domates. Evet bir obek var orda. Biraz yamru yumru, Uyuyan Guzel'in elmasi gibi bir kismi kirmizi obur tarafi yesil. Ama tek tek guzelleri secilebilir. Bu da iyi.  Yani yogurt, salatalik, domates,  beyaz peynir ( gibi sey) var. Zeytin kavanozda tuzsuz cekirdekiz.  Olsun ben ona sos yaparim zeytin yagla. Zeytin yag? Ispanyol asilli, kucuk siselerde. 

 Bakin sofranin salatasi hazir bile. Simdi asil yemek bulmali. Patates var. havuclar biraz baska renkte ince ve uzun boylu, sogan bir suru, yesil fasulye borulce gibi ve borulcenin zayif kuzeni gibi. Bamya var. Hakaret olani kadar kucuk degil. Gururla karsilastirilabilir.   Ispanak var. Uc gun uc gece yikansa yine de yikanmasi gereken cinsinden. Maydonoz yok ama kisnis yapraklari var. Sabunsu tadini seviyorsaniz yasadiniz. Yoksa Turkiye den maydonoz tohumu getirmek lazim. Bilmedigim bir suru, birazda korkunc gorulen uzun acur gibi seyler var. Ne yapilir acaba? Portakal, uzum, papaya, karpuz ( uc cesit), kavun ( 4 cesit)   elma armut  var ( pahali). Muz kucuk ve esmer lekeli. varillerde 10 -12 cesit pirinc. Kirik, cok kirik, haslanmis kurutulmus, basmati, daha uzun taneli, yaseminli, yaseminsiz. ama bizim kisa ve tombalacik Baldo pirinci yok. Kaldik yine Calrose princine. Makarna ithal. Uzun cubuk makarna ve burgu var. Hint halki cok makarna duskunu degil bizim gibi herhalde. Uc supermarket koridoru makarna reyonu yok.   Ekmek var. Izmir kumrusu kadar kucuk, biraz tikiz, ama sandvic yapilacak ekmek var ve tabii ki tost ekmegi de.
 Bir suru biskuvi var ama hic Eti yok, Ulker yok. En sevdigim seylerden biri olan gofret yok.  Turkiye ye gidinceye kadar beklemek cok zor. Abuk subuk her sey var ama. Bilmedgim adini hic duymadigim, kavrulmus tel sehriyeden tutunda nefes ferahlatici kisnis karmasasina kadar bir cok sey var. Gofret yok. Onumde uzun  tek orgusu,sacinin ayrimindan iki kasinin ortasina kadar kirmizi tozunu surmus, sariisine sarilmis, soyle sol omzunun ustunden arkaya sallandirmis orta yasli bir teyze, sipidik parmak arasi terliklerini surukliyerek sepetine bir iki torba koyuyor. Gidip bakiyorum, susam kapli naftalin toplari gibi bir sey. Bu gun almiyim . Onun yerine bildigim badem, uzum, antep fistigi ve incir alayim.
 Aksama yemekte salata, cacik, beyaz peynir,  kekik soslu zaytinyagi eklenmis siyah zeytin, karpuz kavun uzum tabagi var. Zeytinyagli borulce, yogurtlu ispanak kavurma da. Ne eksik? soyle buzlu bardakta beyazlik. Arap Denizi manzarali balkonda ne guzel giderdi simdi.
 Sisesini alan buyursun gelsin.

Sunday, January 8, 2012

Monday morning

This is the first Monday morning I have been on my own since we got here. In the morning we got up earlier than usual, school starts at 7.50  here. We had breakfast downstairs in the Restaurant. It is funny to have breakfast in a hotel in school uniform. It is very tempting to have holiday menu, doughnuts and milk shakes. Going to school deserves cornflakes and toast-that kind of boring stuff.Then the driver came and Nick and Kitty left the hotel. Other people at breakfast are business people, ties, black trousers, crisp ironed white shirts, aftershave, and my darling Kitty in her school uniform, carrying her heavy bag gets  in the car happily. 'bye bye mummy'.  I go back to the table , pick up the Bombay Times and have a long breakfast with the voices of  three Indian businessmen from Texas (more American than Indian) talking about pros and cons of Wall mart in America.  They sound like oral presentations of 1st year   University students.
 What shall I do today? I look out of the window. There is a big empty field next to the hotel. There are two sometimes three men sitting in white plastic chairs everyday, all day long. There are also some dogs in that field doing exactly the same. They are not guard dogs, nor they are pets. They are just dogs. The men sit there, the dogs sleep around, sometimes the dogs sit there the men sleep around. When I open the curtains that is what I see. I call them 'my men'.  They do less than I do. I do less than they do.

Today, I want to visit the temple we went yesterday and spend some time there. Yesterday, there was a very keen young monk from Mauritius who gave information about the temple, their ideology, etc. He wants us to go their hospital, see what they have been doing for the community, and visit their Ashram too. We call him 'my converter'.   There needs to be more to convince me into an Ashram, but he does not know it -yet.
 Then I will go to the supermarket. I will have to be driven there since it is half an hour away and I want to do a big shop. Living in a hotel is lovely but restaurant food every evening gets to you. We want boiled potatoes, my type of veg, eat as much as I want , not to feel bad about leaving food on the plate, and yogurt, and salad with my type of dressing. How spoilt I get. There is food prepared waiting  for us and I want boiled tatties.  I should practice a bit more Buddhist or Hindu or Christian or Muslim  ideology of being grateful.
 I make my self a cup of tea in the room (a flat actually) and push the 'service' button. It means that they will come and tidy it up. Lovely! I do not need to do anything.   I can read the book I bought yesterday, watch Indian films on TV, read small quirky stories in the newspaper and then it will be time to pick Kitty up. I can survive like this for a week perhaps, After that I have to work. I have to do something with myself.
 The telephone rings  in a tone I can not recognise. It is a cheap, new, blue mobile we bought for local calls. It is so light, so small and the ringing tone is so alien to me that every time it rings I panic. We need to go and look at some flats, have photographs taken, shopping needs to be done earlier. My little world of plans have changed, changed utterly! The lazy plan of the day is gone.  'My men' have shifted themselves to a shade. The dogs are still asleep.

Reflections on a Sunday

One day when Ramana Maharshi was sitting in his uncle's house a sudden unmistakable fear of death seized him. He did not panic and wanted to understand the feeling more. He extended his limbs and held his breath until he was stiff as if rigor mortis had set in.  He stayed in that position watching 'proceedings as a witness to determine the reality of existance'. He was trying to answer the question 'with the death of the body am I dead?' He  stayed in that stretched position until he could not hold his breath any longer and 'felt the full force of his personality and even the sound of 'I' within himself apart from the body'. Then he further realised that 'I am' is the spirit and and it is eternal and indivisible . 'I am ' is the eternal spirit. Then he must have taken a long breath.

 'I am' becomes   the deathless spirit and the fear of death vanishes.The world and the mind set together simultaneously but the world owes its existence to the mind ( If  a tree falls and you do not know it , has it still fallen?- in this case it has not ).  The mind is a collection  of  thoughts which are linked together by the initial 'i' thought. The initial 'I ' thought was the thought of  being, the thought of existence.  This often is misunderstood and  and used interchangeably with the concept of the body or self. . When this happens  the body becomes more important, worldly pleasures, vanity, judgments,  the betterment of ones outer self becomes predominant than the eternal 'I'. 'Having lost ourselves in the body and  the sense perceptions we end up owning the pains and pleasures, successes and failures misery and delight and all the experiences the body undergoes'
 The realisation of  the mind, the 'I am' gives the person comfort.  It is not important where you live, what you wear any more. You exist. What you perceive, think or do is not important, but what you are is. All that yoga and meditation,  and praying can not lead to freedom you need to follow the source of the first 'i' thought- that you are eternal.  It doe snot matter if you are in the gutter, if you live on the round about of the main road, if you find the food you share with the dogs come from a rubbish tip.

The core of the all religions, what The Book  or the Guru says   and the interpretation of it gets  diluted all the way down until it reaches  the masses.   It becomes  a hazy shadow of the initial  idea ,  only a glimpse of the underlying  principles.  Rituals become more important than  the principles. Things are done in a certain way because they have been done in that way for a long time under the name of principles.
 I see lots of rituals here. I see lots of 'things are like this because it has been like this for a long time'.  The acceptance of how life is and  accepting  'I' being more important than body/self  as the basic principle  may help to explain how life is here.  If  the crucial aspect of being is 'I', then the other 'I's are less important than the  thinker. this can lead to improving one's self and closing down the personal space. It is possible to live in a very crowded place and not to care/think about others. Then you only clean your own space, exist in your own territory ( how ever small or big it is), in your own 'I'.  It becomes possible to see and accept as ordinary  the masses begging ,  living in the street, next to a bus shelter, or just on the corner of the pavement in front of designer Coffee shop. This reality becomes not a responsibility for the 'I'.

 There you go.  After almost a week and ahalf I have the answer to India. The quotations are taken from the Mumbai Times Saturday edition page 3. I was going to add thelink but the cleaners took away yesterday's paper with my almonds on plate. The 'I' was having a cup of tea  then...


 

Friday, January 6, 2012

bir hafta iki gun

Buraya geleli bir hafta iki gun 14 saat olmus. Bu surede 4 oda, uc sofor, iki araba degistirdik; Nick ise, Kitty okul basladi, iki ev beyendik, allerji olduk, ve bir suru yemek yedik.  Otelin yollarini biraz ogrendik.  Her yere araba ile gidince yon duygusu ve nerde oldugumuzu cikarmak pek kolay degil. Kaldigimiz yerde cok belirgin 'bakkaldan  sola don sofor evladim' denecek kose basilari yok ( gibi).  Eski kullanilmayan otobus mezarligi gibi gozuken yer megersem JVPD otobus terminali imis. Onun kenarinda  cok supheli gozuken tek katli kirmizi isikli teneke kapli bina ' Rude Pub'.  Gercekten icerde 'rude' seyler yapilir gibi duruyor. Sonra bir iki bos arazi, sonra bizim otel.  Elimizdeki sehir haritasi gercekten cok farkli ( NLP nin sozlerinden biri bu).
 Bugun Cumartesi. Ev halki uyuyor daha. Birazdan iki ev bakmaya gidecegiz, sonra Hare Krishna Tapinaginda ogle yemegi ve Gun Ortasi Ayinini gorecegiz. Hare Krishna inananlari saclarini kaziyip, uzun carsaflara sarinip sokaklarda ellerinde zillerle 'hare krisha, hare hare' diye cigrisanlar ( sarki soyleyen diyecegim, degil, dua okuyan diyecegim ; o da degil, ziller ve sesi bozuk adamlarin sallanarak eylenceyle yaptiklari ise 'cigirmak ' daha uygun geldi. ) ogleden sonra da yakindaki buyuk havuzlu ' The club' a gidip havuz basi muhabbeti yapariz artik. Bir gun de boyle gecer.

 Sokak karmasasi, kalabalik, yoksulluk, tuktuklar,yollarda obek obek yasayan insanlar, dilelen cocuklar, bakimsizlik, toz, cop, pislik, kaldirimda uyuyan kopeklere alisinca biraz yol yordam ogrenince pek de fena degil burasi. Bu kargasanin arasinda saklanan Italyan restaurant bulunabiliyor mesela,  Birincilik kupasina yazi yazan kucuk dukkanda. Tommy Hillfiger da, Benetton da. Bankamatikten nasil para cekildigini ogrendikten sonra Costa Coffee' de klimada oturup gelene gecene bakmak eylenceli hemde.  Her yedigimiz yemegin ne kadar az olursa olsun yinede baharatli olmasi da eylenceli. Su siselerinin sarap gibi sunulmasi da. Supermarkette 25 cesit pirinc olmasi ve makarnanin o kadar cesidi  olmamasi da. Hatta aycicek yaginin torbalarda satilmasi bile konusma konusu olabilir.  Her dinden insanin yasadigi, her bireyin kendi tapinaklarina devamli gittigi ve  her dinin bas kurallarindan birinin temizlik ve yoksula yardim edilmesi olduguna gore buralarin neden bu kadar pis  ve yoksul oldugunu tartismak keyifli bir kahve muhabbeti degil.
 Burada mumbaiconnextions diye gonullu bir hanim grubu varmis. Toplanip mah jong ve bric oynarlar, kitap okuyup tartisirlar ve yoksul cocuklara yardim ederlermis. Pazartesi onlarla kahve icmeye gidecegim. Nedense icimden ' beni kabul edecek hic bir gruba katilmak istemiyorum'.  demek geliyorsa da  on yargili olmamak lazim. Belki Elif Safak okuruz birlikte.

 Iste bu kadar. Gideyim kendi basima cay icegim, kahvalti yapayim. Uykucu ailem bugun kahvaltiyi kaciracak anlasilan.
Not=1. Ay yildizli yuzugumun markazit tasi dustu. cok uzuldum
2.Turkce karakter nasil bulacagim? okunmasi kolay degil bunun. Bilen varsa soylesin bana

Tuesday, January 3, 2012

turkce 3

Hala burdayiz. buyuk odaya ciktik. Oda da degil bir apartman dairesi. Iki yatak odasi, kocaman salon mutfak, iki banyo. Kitty buyuk odayi kapti. Banyoda kuvet var. Ne zamandir Kitty ve Nick in ozledikleri bir sey.   Bu odaya yarim saat icinde tasindik. her seyi bavullara geri koyup geldik. Neyin nerde oldugunu hatirlamiyorum bile.   Ama Turkiyeden, Ingiltere den gelirken neyi unuttugumu hatirliyorum.  Sac banti, tarak, allerji kremi, antihistamin, mide ilaci,  ay cekirdegi,  aseton, yara banti, 12 adet pasaport tipi fotograf, parmak arasi sandalet, islak mendil, limom kolonyasi. Neler mi getirmisim? Sari leblebi ( son anda Banu cantama tikti),lokum, nane sekeri, plastik kasik !? ( ucaktan kalmis olmali), kucuk sabun, mavi moncuk, ikili fis ( hic ise yaramiyor), kulotlu corap,  uc tane atki ( 30'C disarisi), yuksek topuklu kapali siyah ayakkabi... Bugun Kitty nin okuluna gorusmeye gittik.  Irlandali mudur ogrenci  anababalarinin film direktorleri, artizleri oldugunu soyledi.  Pek etkilenmedik, Bilmedigim unlu, unlu mudur?  Turkiye'de bile meshur insan hatirlamiyorum, benim hatirladiklarim cok once insanlari, eski film kahramanlari.
 Uniforma sari, sari ekose etek, beyaz gomlek, koyu yesil kisa corap, siyah ayakkabi. Kitty ye yeni siyah babet almistik gecn gun. ayaklari benden buyuk bu yil, benim de gozum vardi o yakkabida. Ingilizce bolum baskani ile konusuyoruz, koltugunun altinda kocaman bir karabaocek sirt ustu yatiyor, kapinin arkasinda bir tane daha var. 'Bugun okulun ilk gunu yeni donduk' diyor. Biz biraz daha derli toplu oturuyoruz.
 Disarda oglanlar futbol oynuyor, kizlar kikirdasiyor,  Kitty ne yapar acaba?  iki sinif siniflarda 19 kisi varmis.  yuzme havuzu, basket sahasi, ve gym de var.Eger islemler biterse yarin basliyacak. Eminim heyecanlidir, ama sakin sakin oturuyor yanimizda.
 Yatin daha uzun yazarim

Monday, January 2, 2012

sabah kahvaltisi

sabah saat 10.00 dan once uyanip asagiya kahvaltiya inmek lazim. tatildeyken, hele gec de yatmisken sabah 9.00 da kalkip, giyinip insanlara gozukmek kolay degil. Kitty nin kendi odasi var.  Ben onunla yatiyorum ara sira. sabah kalkip Nick i ise yolcu edip geri Kitty nin odasinda gidip gurultu yapiyorum uyansin diye, banamisin demiyor. Iteliye kalkaliya uyandiriyorum, asagida kahvaltidayiz.  Bu gun disarda bahcede otutalim dedik. Bahce degil, suyu bosaltilmis havuz. fincanla cay iciyorum, sut koymayisima hayret ediyorlar. Bu sabah ne yesek? Daha dogrusu ne yemesek.  Turkiye de Berliner dedikleri donut yemeyeli, haslanmis, ikiye kesilmis mantar ve yumurta sarisi ile yeniden doldurulmis yumurta, et turlusu, hint krepi de yemeyelim. Cimlenmis nohut, daha onceden sutu konulmus misir gecregide. Ne kaldi yiyecek? kizarmis ekmek. Recel, zeytin, kucuk kasarpeyniri ucgenleri ( uc cesit), karpuz, kivi ve kucuk bardaklarda yogun pembe yesil sari muhallebi gibi  seyler.    Ben Turk usulu yaklasirken, Kitty her turlu tatli, kremali, cukulatali yiyecekleri topluyor tabagina. Ustune karpuz suyu.
 kapkara karga, simarik gurultucu sakayik, tombul guvercinler birirmediklerimizi talan etmek icin sira bekliyorlar. Uzakta sehrin gurultusu.
 Bugun Supermarket gezisi yapacagiz. Sofor bizi kapida birakiyor. Uc yil once kotu bir terorist saldiridan sonra guvenligi biraz abartmislar- belki de guvenmediklerinden cantamin fermuarini bagliyorlar.   Disarda yemekten biraz yorulduk. makarna istiyoruz bu aksam. Makarna pisirmek ne kadar kalabalik bir liste bilemezsiniz: makarna, yag, yogurt, sogan, yesil fasulye, arkasindan karpuz, kavun. hepsini macera ile aliyoruz. bilmedigim bir sure sebze var ortalikta. Hint peyniri aliyorum. Rastlantiya bakin adi Paneer. Tuzsuz kalip halinde lor peyniri. Yogurdun adi  'Dahi' yada markasi.  Tezgahtaki cocuklara soruyorum, 'bu daha iyi' diyor 'ben bunu seviyorum'. Peki ondan da aldik. kasar peyniri de aldik, ince bir dilim. Dirsek makarna 'Bambino'. Eminim cocuklar icin olanindan almisimdir.   Ve gereksiz bir suru cukulata, ciklet, nane sekeri.
 Aksam mutfakta makarna pisirdik. Kitty karpuz, kavun kesti. Ben  yesil fasulyeli, kirmizi soganli fasulye yaptim. icine peynir koyduk, yanina yogurt ( keske yemeden resmini cekseydim). Buraya geldigimizden beri baharatli yemekten yorgun dusen midelerimiz rahat etti. Demek ki hayatta kalabilecegiz burda. Domatesler cok kotu, salatalik cok sert. Tuz almayi unutmusuz. Rejim yemegi oldu.
 Bu kadar resim koyabildim. Bu resimdeki adam, odadaki sivri sinekleri avliyor o elindeki tenis raketi gibi seyle.

 Arkadindan mikro dalgada misir patlamisi. Hayat cekilir hale geliyor. Yarin onemli bir gun. Neden mi? Onu da yarin yazarim....

Sunday, January 1, 2012

I will go and get more abuk sabuk breakfast mummy...

If you want to have breakfast after 10.00, you are pushing it. I wake up for Nick, but in Kitty's room. Then I go to our room, and exchange morning niceties with Nick. When he goes to work I go back to Kitty's room and wake her up 9.00ish to drag her to breakfast area. It is downstairs.  10 or so tables, open buffet style. On the left there are  three types of cheese triangles. Doughnuts, cream and chocolate button filled little rolled pancakes. Then mueslies,  cucumbers, side by side  Indian flat breads. Then mushroom filled devilled eggs, sprouted beans and beef stew. On the other corner papaya , water melon and kiwi slices. Shot glasses filled with dense pink green and white substances.  White bread? Ask for toast. Tea? will be served at the table. ( not a pot. ) I try everything a little bit. But there is a limit. I am not going to have beef stew, nor baked beans or bacon this morning.  Devilled eggs are eyeing me. I settle in for tea, fruits and toast and cheese, and olives and the pink thing in the  shot glass. Oh and the fruit juice is watermelon juice. If I have that I do not need to go to Ayurvedik colon cleansing class. Today I am going to have tea.
 Kitty? Kitty is having doughnuts, sweet pancakes, sweet everything. 'Go and have something proper' I say. It is so boring to have cornflakes when you can have anything and everything on the menu.  She steals my olives and water melon.  I want to miss lunch. I can not face the hassle of choosing food from the lunch menu today. Whatever we eat does not resemble anything we have had before. Nothing tastes similar, almost everything is a bit disappointing. Piri piri steak burger is minced chicken patty.  penne pasta has a lovely Indian perfume taste. So have big breakfast.  'I will go and get more abuk sabuk breakfast mummy' she says. We settle for water melon slices.
 I did not have my camera with me. I will have to take photos of the little butter tabs.  They have a picture of a cartoon girl with a butter knife.They are  the same level of 'kithch'ness  with the new telephones we bought. My telephone is so blue, so light so artificial. It is almost a blue toy mobile with silly ring tone which says 'hello, may I hep you?' , 'i love you', 'i love you' 'i love you' in that toy voice.
 I call Nick between the papaya slices and the cold toast. His voice is calm, business like. I want to say 'hello, may i hep you?' but stop myself. He is at the office. He has his serious hat on.  There are birds shrieking around us. Scary ravens, noisy magpies, pigeons with their soothing coos. Time to go to the room.
 PS: The little pink mush in the shot glasses are yogurts. Very sweet , very.

yeni yil kutlamasi

gece 9.30 da yukari pariye ciktik. Bombostu her yer.  10.30-11.00 e kadar kimse gelmedi. acik bufede yemedigimiz kalmadi. Bana en ilginc gelen haslanmis makarna ( spagetti ve burgu )nin sosunu orda yapip sunmalari. makarnayi seciyorsun sonra baharatlari, tereyaginda cevirip sos olarak ustune koyup servis yapiyor.  Cok ogunerek onerdiler, biz ilgi gostermedik acikcasi.
  Gece 1.30 da kadar yukarda idik. Kitty anne ve babasinin dansetmesini biraz mahcup olarak izlediysede  hic aldirmadik. Bizim bildigimiz muziklerle birlikte Hint Pop muzigi de caldilar. Bizim kizlarimiz daha guzel danseder.  En populer sarkilarda oratya atilanlar yok, sarkiya eslik eden yok,Bunlar hafif kimildamalarla  hareket  ediyorlar, o Hint film danslari edeni hic gormedim butun gece.
Sabah tabii ki cok gec kalktik. Biz Mumbai inin banliyosu gibi bir yerde kaliyoruz. , sehrin merkesine dogru gidelim ve Pazar gunu insanlar yeni yil partisinden uykularindan uyanmadan, kalabalik olmadan gorelim diye dusunduk. Ne buyuk hata. Her kez de ayni seyi dusunmus olmali. Iki saat te gittik, iki saatte geri geldik.
 Burada araba gerekli ve sofor de gerekli. Kuzeyden guneye sehri kesen trene binip bir yere gitmek biraz zor gorunuyor.  Tren istasyonuna bile gitmek icin ya tuktuk lazim, ya da taxi...
Yarin Nick ise gidecek. Biz Kitty ile tek basimiza kalacagiz. ne macera. Bakalim ne yapacagiz.

Down town Mumbai

 We are still here. Do not like the hotel that much but we have a room each so it is bearable.  I dial Kitty's room number to wake her up in the morning.  It gives us the space and privacy we need. Hotel rooms could be quite claustrophobic after some time.We went to bed so late last night after the party and  we woke up quite late.
 It was a funny New Year's Eve part. We went upstairs to the Roof top at 9.30 pm to see that we were the only ones. There were masks on the tables. The waiters served us really well, bringing starters and explaining every single dish. They were all spicy, very tasty but I think my taste buds are suffering a bit.  We ate everything and ate a bit more. After 10.30 people started to come in. They must have eaten somewhere else , they ate a little and danced. They are timid dancers. Not like the moves we see in Bollywood films. They move very little compared to Turkish party animals. Any Turkish music everyone would be on the dance floor, here may be they needed more drink. They did not count down at 12.00, there were not sparklers or things like that. We looked at the fire works of the city, did ohhhhs, ahhhhs and  left at 1.30.  Kitty was getting very embarrassed seeing mummy and daddy dancing.
Today we decided to go to Gate way to India. It is a big Arch by the water.  I thought Sunday was a good day to go. Less traffic, less people. What a mistake! Everybody and their mother was there. The tradition was to spend the first day of the year out and about having picnics by the sea.  It was so crowded that we decided to go to the biggest Hotel in Mumbai -and have a cup of tea there.
 I am glad we did. (I add lots of pictures to Facebook. I wonder if I should add here too.) It took us two hours to get home after the lovely high tea. It is 12.00 and I am still full.
 Tomorrow Nick is going to work. Kitty and I a are on our own. We will try to go to the small shopping arcade near the hotel. What a challenge!...