Finished reading “The Covenant of Water” by Abraham Verghese. It is a book written by an American, born in Ethiopia, to Malayali parents. It is a story of three generations of a Christian family from 1900 to 1977, based in my place, Trivandrum, along with a diverse cast including a missionary from Sweden and a doctor from Scotland. It made it to Barack Obama’s last year’s book list. Despite its size (700 pgs), it was a breezy read and at stretches felt like the book I needed right now with a story of good people, with kind hearts. My eyes were wet while reading some parts. There are love stories of many in these generations and medical adventures including one in which a doctor finding an innovative way to make an unborn baby retract his hand that stuck out of an abdominal injury to his mother. I felt uneasy reading about the lives of lower caste, upper class privilege and politics - while the author has taken care to bring out a counter view, I am not convinced since I feel it felt like a superficial treatment. Overall a good read. Some good quotes (from many good surprising sentences all throughout).
Halfway through the book, Big Ammachi wants Philipose to ask Koshy Saar if this Moby-Dick isn’t all made up. “It’s entertaining. But isn’t it one big lie? Ask him.” Koshy Saar’s response is indignant. “It’s fiction! Fiction is the great lie that tells the truth about how the world lives!”
“But, oh, Elsie, please wait. Give me at least a few years.” The couple in the seat in front turns to glare at him—he must have spoken aloud. The man says to his wife, “Avaneu vatta.” Yes, I am mad. You can’t set out to achieve your goals without a little madness.”
“She had learned a lesson: to show weakness, to be tearful or shattered didn’t serve her. One shouldn’t just hope to be treated well: one must insist on it.”
“If two people at the very same moment hold visions of each other, perhaps atoms coalesce into invisible forms, like radio waves, and connect them.”
2.
Two of my favourite words are deja vu and serendipity. A song that I was humming a minute back coming on the FM radio. Going through situations which seem to be repetitions as if in a dream long back. It must all be coincidences, but every time something like that happens, it is a wonder.
I came across this tweet one morning this past week, about an artist hearing his music being played in a cafe and the satisfaction and smile on his face when it happens. About “finding your creations in the wild”. I was thinking about that, what would it feel like to see something you created come across you unexpectedly. Then later that day, read the same thing in the Covenant of Water.
“I met my painting again in your living room just now,” Elsie said, smiling. He waited, but there wasn’t more.
“What’s it like to see your work long after you let it go?”
A fleeting trace of pleasure crossed her face, an emotion that hadn’t found purchase for a while. She considered her response, “It was like.. running into myself in the wild.” He nodded. Their voices were low. “After I got over the surprise, I was pleased with it. Usually I want to fix things. But I was satisfied… I also knew that the artist was no longer the same person. If I did it again, it might be quite different.”
She looked down at her hands, which were quite still in her lap.
Digby said, “Art is never finished. Only abandoned.”
3.
Attended the marriage of a good friend this week, took a day leave and travelled to Cochin, via train. We had gotten into the habit of driving everywhere, to Kollam and even to Bangalore and Chennai multiple times and hence I had a break of a few years on the train journey, almost forgot when I travelled by train last. It is its own vibe I guess. I took second class sitting, it was crowded with almost all seats taken, many travelling for work in the morning and returning in the evening. I saw the person who sat next to me in the morning while returning in the evening. What are the chances of that in such a crowd? I think the change in these years is that there is less talking among passengers since everyone is buried in their phones.
Marriage was a calm ceremony, with a small crowd. There was no rush to have food and run, no long speeches by the priests. My friend’s father, whom I hadn’t met before, sat down and spoke to me at the end, after most guests had left and he was peaceful. My friend had gone through a lot, with sickness in the family and many setbacks ever since Covid. While leaving, he held on to my arm to stand up and walk and the familiarity was touching.
4.
Today morning, I was going through my playlists on Spotify and favourites saved on youtube and adding some of them that I hadn’t listened to in a long time in a queue. It made me remember someone I had followed on Twitter. Some days, often late at night when she couldn’t sleep, she used to ask her friends to suggest songs and she used to post some new discoveries and from those, I had picked up some new music. She had quirky views about life, full of energy, picking fights, trying activism. Many people posture in social media, for likes, for self promotion, but hers was like a genuine life force. About five years back, I messaged her once out of the blue, thanking her. I felt it was nice to let people know. She passed away during Covid - one week she was talking about something she wanted to do, then we hear a post about her passing away suddenly and so many people pouring in their interactions with her. I couldn’t believe that, even though I didn’t know her at all.
This was one of her suggestions - Reflejo de Lune, Alacran. It also reminded me about this quote - we carry pieces of memories and habits from others through our life.
“You think that maybe the romantics are right. Maybe, you will find home in some other person, a better half. But the truth is that you will find a piece of you in every place you have ever been, in every person you have ever loved. You paint your nails the way that senior in your school did when you were 12 years old. And there's an album in the corner of your room that your first kiss suggested for you to listen to, and that's how you discovered your favourite rock band. You find your habits lingering in the way your brother arranges his books—separating hardcovers from paperbacks and organising them by colour. Nobody does that, you think.
You realise that blueberry yogurt on toast and little flowers of butter and orange jam isn't your recipe; it's the way your Mother used to make toast for you when you were five. You notice that your best friend still plays your road trip playlist when she drives, and you cook chicken the same way your roommate in college taught you. You share your habit of clicking pictures of flowers by the roads with your Dad, and like your ex, you always check traffic on maps before leaving. Even if you don't talk to them anymore, you will always have tenderness in your heart for people. You will realise that so much of them is you, and so much of you is them.”
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