All posts by betty.belanus@gmail.com

Peacock Pandemic

#myculturemystory, culture, memories, peacocks, travel, West Bengal, ,

It all started with the Emotional Support Peacock.

The news of its owner trying to wrangle her bird onto a United flight broke the same day our Communities Connecting Heritage program group left for Kolkata, India.  In our giddy state of excitement about the trip, we all giggled heartily about the ridiculousness of the idea.

When we got to India, we immediately began seeing images of peacocks – everywhere, including a huge photo of one near the baggage claim of the Kolkata airport.  Were peacocks following us?  Or were we just hyper sensitive to them in the near-out-of-body-experience of having flown halfway across the world on very little sleep?  

Well, it turns out, the peacock is the National Bird of India.  It also figures prominently in Hindu mythology.   As we traveled around West Bengal, I started taking photos of all the peacock images we saw.

 

My favorite was a saucy peacock depicted in a small scroll painting which I purchased in Naya Village, serving as the conveyance of one of the Hindu gods who is carrying an arrow.  (This is probably Kartikeya or Murugan, god of war, but depending on which story you want to go with, there could be some other contenders.)   

Our colleague Ananya in Kolkata recently sent us some English translations of baul songs, which we had been asking about.  As I read through the first one, I found – you guessed it – reference to peacocks.  Here is the excerpt:

“What color is your cottage/on the shore of this bogus world?/The frame of your home is made of bones/and the roof is thatched with skin./But the pair of peacocks/on the landing-pier/hardly know that/they will end one day.”

I’m not sure exactly what that means, though I know it has something to do with the bauls believing that god lives within us.  But it is beautiful poetry, especially the peacock part.

The very next song started with this phrase – I kid you not –

“If you wish to board an airplane/you must travel light/to be safe from the danger of a crash.”

Perhaps the United Airlines personnel who banned the Emotional Support Peacock from that flight had been listening to the bauls, as should we all.

Spring By the Sea

#hiltonheadisland, beach, poetry, ,

I have always loved the ocean, which I am sure I have mentioned before.  My mother retired to Hilton Head Island many years ago, within easy walking distance of one of the white, sandy expanses of beach on Hilton Head Island, SC.  She’s 92 and hasn’t walked there since her knees gave out.  I try to make it for sunrise but usually end up sleeping too late.

When I visited this time, I walked down on a cool April afternoon.  A few brave souls were in the water, but mostly there was just a scattering of people.  The sun was bright but the wind did not carry any warmth.  I was inspired to write a poem, while huddled against a wooden box that holds beach rental items, with fine white sand sifting into my sandals.  Here goes:

Gray brown waves/Riled by breeze/Sizzling the sand

Wayfarers in neon green, purple, blue/Constricting nature into backdrop

Weathered wooden chairs/With no warmth/Awaiting summer occupants

Solitary seagull/Feathers ruffling/Scavenging scraps

Tiny seashells/Silent, testifying/To ocean depths

Soon, spring shall yield/To summer, hot, frenzied/Smelling of cocoanut

No longer fresh.

 

West Bengal Chronicles, Part Five (and Last): Search for the Church and Other Kolkata Final Adventures

#myculturemystory, culture, memories, travel, West Bengal, , , , ,

The last day of our grand adventure in West Bengal had come, and after some administrative business in the Contact Base offices, we set off by car to the teaming commercial center of the Bara Bazar to find a historic Armenian church.   The driver got us to the approximate location of Armenian Street, after the first set of location negotiations among people on the street.  He let us out to fine-tune the directions on foot.

The next set of location negotiations took us along the busy main drag, lined with merchandise (ranging from cosmetics to underwear to toys to plastic containers of all sizes and shapes) from the sides of cars and the backs of trucks.  The more well established sellers lined the narrow streets which we hurried down in search of Armenian Street, which seemed to be at the center of a maze of alleyways.  The variety of colors, sounds, smells and the level of activity was exhilarating, but we did not pause for purchasing since we were on a mission.

We nearly missed the doors leading into the churchyard, which was wedged between shops and announced by a small plaque.  Inside the double wooden doors stood the large church and burial ground.  We were not allowed to take photos, so check out these to see what we were rewarded with by sticking to our quest.

Having whet our appetite for sacred building searches, we set out to find a synagog that was reputed to be nearby.  This took yet another set of location negotiations, leading to a staircase off the main street that seemed highly unlikely to lead to any sort of holy edifice.  But, having faith, we climbed up and found not one but two synagogs, the second even more large and impressive than the first.  There are apparently not enough Jews in Kolkata to maintain the synagogues, and the larger of the two has just been beautifully restored to be used as a venue for concerts and other public events.

After a quick tour of the synagogues, we set out for our final touring destination, the sacred river of the Ganges.  It being Valentines Day, the park we walked through to get to the Princep Ghat (flight of stairs leading to the river) was full of young lovers, and we even witnessed a proposal.  The breeze was fresh, the vista of the wide river and imposing bridge was majestic, but alas, we only had a few short minutes to gaze and contemplate.

All too soon, we dashed for the car and headed back to our guest house to pack for our return home.  We took a quick side excursion to one of Kolkata’s most tantalizing sweet shops, so that we could bring home actual sweets as well as sweet memories from our two weeks in West Bengal.

 

 

West Bengal Chronicles, Part Four: Tepantar

West Bengal Chronicles, Part Three: Songs at Sunset

#myculturemystory, culture, memories, West Bengal, ,

As the sun descended, and the warm day gave way to a fresh-breezed evening, our small group folded ourselves down on cloth mats in a open-sided hut fashioned of bamboo.  We had come to share music with bauls from Joydev Kenduli.

We had met the two brothers taking the lead on the visit, Sudhu and Kangal Das, earlier in our trip when they participated in the Sur Jahan festival in Kolkata.  I had instantly liked them — because they are infinitely likable, resembling two colorfully dressed teddy bears who smile a lot and sing like angels.  So, here we were in their village, listening to spiritual songs accompanied by stringed instruments, drums, and bells.

The approach to this peaceful oasis had come through a wave of choking dust kicked up along the wide dry river bed by what seemed like a never-ending sea of trucks.  I recall thinking that this could not possibly be the home of the bauls, whose music is joyous and meditative.  But, here we were, a short distance from the town, overlooking that same river bed from a whole different perspective.

Notice I said “sharing music” because despite the fact that most of our US-based group were self-professed non-musicians, we had been asked to sing an American song.  I was, not so secretly, dreading this part of the evening, but I was the one who came up with the song that we should sing.  Woody Guthrie’s This Land is Your Land fit the mood somehow, evoking landscape and espousing freedom, although with typical Guthrie irony.  None of us could remember more than the first two of the seven verses, but we all joined in bravely and the bauls took over with the instrumentals once they caught the melody.

I wanted that evening to go on forever, despite the fact that I was hungry and I really had to go to the bathroom.  Bodily needs could wait while the music floated on the air and we sat, swaying to the hypnotic songs and strings.  But we finally had to unfold ourselves and walk by cell phone flashlight back toward the harsh glare of the main road.  But, writing this weeks later, I feel as though a tiny piece of that evening lodged comfortably in my heart and will hopefully remain there for good.

 

West Bengal Chronicles, Part Two: A View of the Scroll Village

communities connecting hertiage, culture, Naya Village; scroll painting, West Bengal

Imagine a whole small village of families who make their modest living painting and singing. It sounds idyllic, but I am sure it is harder than it seems. For one thing, you can’t just paint and sing all day – you need to cook, take care of children, and tend gardens, fields and animals. Plus, what if you just don’t feel inspired to paint that day – you have to anyhow, its your livelihood.

Naya village, an area in the larger Pingla district north of Kolkata, is such a place. Walk down a narrow dirt lane off the main street and you encounter neat rows of small houses with front porches devoted to sales areas, piled with scrolls and other products painted with motifs. The sides of the homes are decorated with scroll images: mostly flora and fauna.

At the end of the lane is a large modern two-story building which serves as a museum, community center and guest house. Our group is ushered into an open upstairs room, and what seems like the whole village follows. Party time!

What followed was a sort of “getting to know you” workshop. The scroll painters (included some we had already met while they were in Kolkata personning a sales booth at the Sur Jahan Festival we had attended the weekend before) showed us their work and sang us some scroll songs. Then, they brought out a variety of natural materials which they use to make paints – flowers, leaves, berries, and fresh tumeric – and we all laughed as they showed us how to squeeze and squish these to produce vibrant colors.

At some point in this process, one young man, Bapi Chitrakar, came up to me as I was taking photos with my phone camera. Could he borrow my phone to take some photos? (We didn’t need a common language for this transaction, gestures worked just fine.) I was slightly reductant, but we were all becoming friends here, so why not? After all, it would allow me to more fully devote myself to mashing colors into my “field notebook.”

Bapi got into the animation function (as well as the collage and burst functions), so many of the photos dance and wiggle, and capture the childlike fun we were having playing with the natural dyes and getting to know the painters. I dare say they were having fun, too, laughing with, and at, us.  I’ve included some of those here.

The day ended with us presenting an idea for a scroll which they will be producing in the coming months, the story of the history and current use of the National Mall in Washington, D.C. None of them have ever seen the National Mall; we provided photos and the storyline, but we have no idea how the final scroll painting (and possibly an accompanying song) will turn out. It will be one of the many surprises and delights of this whole cultural exchange experience.

West Bengal Chronicles, Part One: North Kolkata, Inside and Out

Hidden in Plain Site: Downtown DC

memorials, museums, , ,

Last Saturday, my best friend since fifth grade, Debi, and I went on a DC downtown adventure (a very late celebration of her birthday, which is in October).  We met at a very crowded Renwick Gallery to take in one of the last days of the Murder is Her Hobby exhibit.  Visitors huddled around the little murder rooms, created by Frances Glessner Lee, depicting sordid deaths of the working class.  We all speculated freely about what had happened to the hapless victims.  It was grisly fun.

We then pigged out on delicious cheese redundancy at the nearby GCDC Grilled Cheese Bar.  A shared ramekin of lobster mac and cheese and cheeseburger grilled cheese sandwich later, we rolled out and sought caffeine at Compass Coffee a few blocks away.

Time for a walk.  Consulting a map attached to the side of a bus stop, we set off to visit an obscure monument to The Nuns of the Battlefield.  But we got distracted by St. Matthew’s Cathedral and totally missed the monument.  Yes, there is a cathedral in the middle of downtown DC and it is gorgeous inside, with a majestic rotunda and interesting art in all the side chapels.  We spent some time reading about all the artwork and marveling at its intricacy.  (I’ve attempted my first ever Word Press Gallery here to showcase some highlights!)

After walking blocks out of our way, and finding another little known monument to German homeopath Samuel Hahnemann, we got some intelligence from a passerby that the Nuns were located, logically, right across the street from St. Matthew’s and we had walked right past their monument.  We circled back to pay homage.   There they were, the noble ladies, in bas relief flanked by female warriors in 3-D.  Elsewhere in the city, modern day female warriors were marching in their pink hats and chanting in support of other noble causes.  Here, hidden in plain site, was the quiet testimony to these Civil War era women who did what they could, when they were needed.  Visit them sometime if you can find them.

 

Keeping Christmas

#gingerbread, culture, memories,

The Dynamic Gingerbread Trio – Katie, Khamo and I – just finished our goopy, inedible creation, which we’ve been meaning to make for about a week now, or at least in time for Russian (Orthodox) Christmas (January 7).  Inedible because it is a kit that I purchased for $1.50 at after Christmas sales about five years ago.  The “ready to use” frosting was so hard that we had to revive it with hot water to make it usable, and it smelled nasty.

But who cares?  We laughed a lot, we got creative with frosting and garish candies, and we extended that holiday feeling into the darkest and gloomiest (and lately the coldest) part of the year.  That’s what “keeping Christmas” is all about.

We were also late, but not that late, with our tree, which has become a new holiday tradition at our house.   We spend Christmas (the December 25th version) with my mom, sister and brother in law in Hilton Head, SC.  It is usually about 75 and not feeling at all like Christmas, the only “white” part being the beach sand.  When we return to Arlington on the 26th, we start the ritual of finding a Christmas tree – on the street.

Yes, there are people who ditch their tree the day after Christmas, as sad as that might seem.  (They are probably the ones who put it up on Thanksgiving Day.)  Poor, forlorn trees thrown to the curb, sometimes with a bit of tinsel or some missed ornament clinging to them.  We pick one and give it a new life as our Christmas tree.  I like to think they are happy to have a second life in our living room.  Soon enough they will be turned into mulch, why not give them a little reprieve?

So, my advice, don’t let Christmas go too soon.  Keep the feeling of creativity, togetherness, and light as long as you can – all year if possible.  But maybe don’t wait five years to use your gingerbread house kit.

 

Water Features, Holiday Edition

#hiltonheadisland, beach,

Since my sister, brother-in-law and mostly-immobile 91-year old mother live in Hilton Head, South Carolina, we are the ones who have made the trek southward for the holidays in the past five, six, seven (who’s keeping track?) years.  This year, my husband and I took a circuitous route through Charlotte and Asheville, North Carolina and Charleston, SC on our way to our Low Country Christmas.  We arrived a week early to help my mother with her preparations – the tree, the gift shopping, the laying-in of a huge supply of foodstuffs, the baking and of course the annual Cookie Decorating Extravaganza.

To keep sanity around all this hyperactive holiday hubbub, I seek the water.  Not a problem down there – it’s water, water everywhere.  The first documented water feature of the trip was in Charleston. We strolled with our friends Bob and Carolyn along the waterfront and visited the Pineapple Fountain, an impressive mass of stone in the shape of the traditional Southern hospitality symbol.

After arriving at Hilton Head, I sought out early morning or late afternoon water features to bookend the busy days.  Palmetto Dunes, the “plantation” in which my relatives reside abounds in water features (not a real plantation, but that’s what they call multi-use developments there – it sounds so much more Southern and gentile, no?).  Lagoons, canals, creeks, and other waterways criss-cross the resident clusters, golf courses and clubhouses.  One evening, my daughter snapped some photos of a couple of local birds, a cormorant and a blue heron, perching stealthily in the trees at sunset along one of these waterways not far from my mother’s condo.

Palmetto Dunes also boasts its own beachfront, a fine lengthy stretch of uninterrupted sand which is a perfect place to watch the sun rise.  If you can get yourself out of bed early enough, which I finally did the very last day we were there, the day after Christmas.  After the bustle and over-stimulation of Christmas, a tranquil moment on the beach was the best present of all.

Goodbye, ocean, you king of all water features.  I know that, despite everything, you will always be there for me as a touchstone, whether in the SC low country or elsewhere around the world.

Happy 2018.  Enjoy the water features in your own lives in the new year.