Limerick

There was a young lady called Lucy
Who made up things spicy and juicy
That drove people mad
They said she was bad
She laughed: I'd be able to use this!

New Year's Reading - Not Compulsory

A bit of reading for you if you're bored. Feel free to be put off.


The third night I made love on the roof. Scratched and bruised all over my body (back and knees got the worst, of course), I was exhausted and puzzled. Did it really happen? I floated in the air feeling as light as I would have ever imagined. My fingertips were imprinted on your body and the fact that it was here, here in India where these things simply do not happen, made it even better. Black and white, day and night. Just like you and me. I love the poetry of our different skin colours. White chocolate. Coffee with cream - bitter and sweet at the same time.
Your body is in harmony with the night but mine just shines into the dark. Sometimes it even screams. You say it reflects the stars and the moon like a mirror but I just think you are trying to flatter me.
Still it was not you who made me realize.
The following night I could not resist the temptation to climb up that shaky ladder once again. Maybe in a hope that you would come again, maybe just because I wanted to see what else could happen.
I had to wait for some time. Nearly lost my patience. Of course I know you would never come again. Stupid me. What am I expecting?
And there you stood. I could not really focus on your figure first. I was not sure if it was not just your shadow. It was not. It was somebody else. I know him. You?! Up here?
I love your inner sexuality, you said. What do you know about my inner sexuality? I can feel it, you replied. And that is why I spent that night with you. And never regretted.
Then another night came and another man with it. He would not even untie his turban, which is maybe worse than keeping the socks on. And your hairy chest that felt like touching a teddy bear. Oh my god, I was making love to a teddy bear. But still enjoyed.
From that time on I climbed up that ladder every night. All the time it was one of you coming to me. Sometimes I would just chat with you for hours or silently smoke Golden Flake cigarettes. In curiosity and expectation I would be squatting behind the small wall on that flat Indian roof pretending not to be there but obviously you would always find me and say I had not changed at all.
It was you who would beat me the more I had wanted you to stop, my nails in your flesh and traces of blood on the sheet. Who cares you can dance samba and turn three pirouettes? You whose morning coffee I loved the most.
You came too. I had to laugh remembering you started to giggle each time I’d clutch your tiny butt.
And you whom I have never even touched despite adoring endlessly your forearms and the soft hairs on them.
I invited even you who made me feel like a prostitute. Kitne? Ten thousand rupees. Only.
But the next night I stayed alone. I simply had to. Needed to. I wished to chase you all away and never see you again. You all tried to knock but I pretended not to be in, not to hear. I did not want to see anything masculine at all. In this bloody country.
The following morning looked brighter. I woke up knowing I’d come up there again. Determined to let the nicer of you in. We smoked a lot. We chatted a bit. Embraced and said goodbye. I loved you all at that moment. At the moment when it was happening and days after. Even now, sometimes, I still love you because I know you all made me feel special. For a few minutes maybe. Some of you for seconds, just one look, or long long years.
I was so glad for that third night.
This meant I’d be coming to the roof from this time on. Being sure I’d find at least one of you there. And I did. I still do.
I met you who smell of herbs. You whose ring I lost. You who never asked. You who knew.
These nights I’ve learnt something about you and … myself.
I am not afraid of that ladder anymore.
I am so glad for that third night.
And regret I wasted the two nights before.

Colours II

This one is rather sad.

Co mi letos Jezisek nenadelil...

Vite, jak probihaji Vanoce v Chandigarhu? Velmi nevanocne:
Muj mily denicku,
22/12
Ritim se na kole z prace, musim balit. Nahazet moje veci do kufru nezabralo moc casu, zato vyhazet vsechny ty veci po predchozich najemnicich... Ale co s tim? Nakonec jsme se usnesli, ze ctyri tasky a jeden kufr "kramu" dame na charitu a obleceni detem ze slumu. Do toho jeste louceni s Voskresiji, odjizdi po sesti mesicich z Indie. Naporad. Tvrdila, ze uz se sem nikdy nevrati, tahle zeme je prilis narocna na preziti. Trochu ji zavidim. Bude na Vanoce doma. Vanoce? Uz za dva dny... Nepripada mi to. Tak jo, jsme prestehovani, nemam silu vybalit ten dalsi kufr. Snad zitra.
23/12
Zabity den v praci, nefunguje elektrina. Vsichni sedi v tmavych kancelarich a vykladaji. Domu se jit nemuze, sef to nepovolil. Jeden student mi prinesl vanocni dort, ktery sam upekl. Ma'am, chtel jsem vam donest lahev cerveneho, ale pak jsem si to rozmyslel. Jaka skoda! To vino by mi bylo milejsi. Jsem nevdecna? No co z dortu, kdyz ho musite stejne rozdat. A vino jsem nemela... ani nepamatuju. Od te doby, co jsem prijela. Presne. Nakupuju veci na zitra, jeste dva darky, dovybaluju kufr, koukame na video, ctu knizku. Po dlouhe dobe jsem se k tomu konecne dostala. Samozrejme usinam po prvnich peti strankach, bryle porad na nose.
24/12
Vstavam, je Stedry den. Doma je desny neporadek, to je tak, kdyz bydlite s dalsimi lidmi. Jean a Ryan zvoni u dveri, jedeme do meho byvaleho domova vyzvednout nadobi. Vracim se domu. Takze dneska jsou Vanoce? OK. Jen ze venku je osmnact stupnu a naprosto nic vanocne nepusobi. Rozvesujeme vanocni vyzdobu aspon u nas doma. Udelam bramborovy salat, chcete? Dame si ho k veceri. Takovy, co mame kazdy rok doma s kaprem. Zasnim se. Jak vypocitave, takhle jim podstrkovat ceske Vanoce. Nastesti nejsem jedina, pro koho je dnesek dulezitejsi nez zitrek. Jeste s Ninou do sektoru 17, nakoupit posledni darky. Zajdes se mnou k holici? Je to prijemne. Jeste nikdy jsem nebyla na Stedry den u holice. Davame si kafe. Je ji spatne. Vypada, ze ma horecku a taky prujem. Tohle je Indie. Zaleze do postele. Vidim, ze je ji smutno. Kdyz je vam na Vanoce spatne a chybi vam rodina, je to spatne. Snazim se ji rozveselit. Prichazeji ostatni. S Kathryn chystame veceri. Vejce, rajcata, chipsy, bramborovy salat, timos, jakasi paliva omacka, olivy a horky rum. Vsem chutnalo. Tancime. Jeste islandsky film, jsme na sebe namackani a cpeme se Kurkure (mistni chipsy, jsou desne palive). Prichazi Germain a Marine, takze je nas v dome celkem... deset? Matraci je pet. Kde se tu vsichni najednou vzali? Nasi mi volaji, mluvim s babickou, tata hraje do telefonu koledy. Jeje, tak daleko. Darky az zitra.
25/12
Peru, snad to do vecera uschne. Presouvame se do Panchkuly, maji tam stromecek a darky, kazdy prispivame svou troskou. Kupi se to. Hrajeme stolni hry a poslouchame vanocni pisnicky. George Michael vitezi na plne care. Darky. Vrhame se na ne jako male deti. Kurta od Julie se mi moc libi. Marine mi dala francouzsky bulvarni casopis. Tesim se, jak si s nim zalezu do spacaku. Vseobecne nadseni a otazky: to mam od tebe? Prinaseji vanocni veceri: brambory (studene), dusena zelenina, kure (ruzove, neumi ho tu udelat), chapati, ryze, paneer, nadivka, brusinky, kvetak. Nevim, co to do me vjelo, mam tendenci ohrnovat nos. Muj salat byl stokrat lepsi. Jsem nevdecnice. Nejlepsi je dezert, dva cokoladove dorty a jeden anglicky vanocni, presne takovy jsem jedla v Yorkshire. A zmrzlina, jupii. Mam pocit, ze prasknu. Tohle je pravy vanocni pocit. No konecne. Jeste telefonat babicce, doma je vsechno pri starem. Shanime autoriksu zpatky, chce nas natahnout, musime smlouvat. Hermankovy caj a spacak. Diky, Jezisku.
26/12
Rozhodla jsem se, ze se konecne vyrovnam s realitou. Nejdriv jsem si chtela namlouvat, ze jsem letos Vanoce vubec nemela, ale to je nesmysl. Mela, jen byly hodne jine. Napisu dopis Jeziskovi, coze mi to vsechno letos neprinesl. Zacnu urcite snehem, vune vanocniho cukrovi, stromecek, kapr, cervene vino, vajecny konak, knedlik a zeli... Omlouva ho, ze to ma tak daleko. A komu by se sem chtelo.

Zas tak hrozne to nebylo, nove zazitky k ulozeni do hlavy a do srdicka. Ctrl+S. Hotovo.

Stastny novy rok 2006 vsem!

Bhangra and Punjabi Dances

Tak o tomhle presne pisu v zurnalu. Pandzabska tradicni hudba, natraset rameny a jedeeeeem. Tohle jsou profesionalove, civiliste u toho mnohdy vypadaji podstatne... zajimaveji? Snad je to to spravne slovo, ktere nikoho neurazi.

Taj Mahal

Fatehpur Sikri

Just 40km away from Agra, this quiet place offers a nice escape from the tourist buzz you experience in the Taj Mahal. I probably even enjoyed this a bit more.
The only thing I really disliked was the spits all over the mosque. Very disgusting especially as you have to walk barefoot.

Delhi

Sydney? No! Lotus Temple in Delhi.
Autorickshaws in Delhi are yellow and green while blue in Chandigarh.



Arc de Triomphe in Paris? No way! India Gate in Delhi...



Connaught Place.

Haridwar and Rishikesh

Peaceful I said...

View from the chair lift in Haridwar.

Street in Haridwar.
My feet in the Ganges.

Green Ganges in Rishikesh.

Rishikesh

Rishikesh is just by the Ganges, very peaceful. A lot of tourists and yogis. Relaxing place.


The cow has come to the bank for its savings.

Wedding

A byla svatba. Nevesta je v tradicni cervene a myslim, ze ji to slusi. Jidla bylo spousta, kopce zmrzliny a dokonce i kafe (indicke, preslazene). Libilo se mi to.
Muzika byla velmi hlucna a vytrvala... A taky docela na jedno brdo, ale "holky" tancily a chrastily naramky neunavne, bez prestavky.

Pes bezzuby

Tati, ty nemas zuby? Nebo kdo to vlastne nema zuby? Cau pse! No to je dost. V Hindi se pes rekne KUTA, ale taky je to nadavka, neco ve smyslu YOU DIRTY MIND!

Komentare

Jupii, on to snad nekdo i cte. Nebo aspon prohlizi. Velice dekuji za cenne prispevky, jen prosim mile prispivatele o podpis. Marne si hlavu lamu, kdo napriklad Zeleny Raul jest. Nekde uz jsem to slysela... Nebo snad cetla. Rikali mi, ze moc ctu. Ale dobre, mate pravo zustat anonymni. (Jenze indicka kontrarozvedka vas stejne vypatra.)

Indiani

Tak se podivejte, jak vypadaji pravi Indiani, zadni rudosi. V anglictine je uzasne, ze Indian je to same jako Indian... Some more pics...

Hanuman and the Monkeys

In Shimla they have this Jakhu Temple devoted to Hanuman (the monkey-face Hindu god). The monkeys really behave as if they owned the place and are extremely aggressive stealing everything they can see. People with specs are most endangered. We just took a few pictures and left because they were really annoying.

Shimla

Shimla is a hill station in Himachal Pradesh, "discovered" by the British. The Government used to move there every summer to escape the heat.
We enjoyed the fresh air and walk through the Mall... and a wonderful huge chocolate cake at Barista cafe.