Thoughts on the net

My favourite sentences of 2010

2010-12-29T18:17:00.005+05:30

1) When are you coming back, akkà?

My beautiful Indian children kept asking it when I was in Bijapur and now they're asking it over the phone; akkà means "elder sister"

2) When I was 5 years old I learnt to read: it was the most beautiful thing that ever happened to me in my life.

Mario Vargas Llosa heard in a radio programme

3) Roberto Saviano is a patrimony of mankind.

Roberto Benigni in a TV programme called Vieni via con me (Come away with me)

Happy New Year!

The best pupils ever! Bijapur, May 2010

Happiness only real when shared

2010-11-18T16:17:00.018+05:30

I left for India for many reasons, and Chris McCandless' voice inside of me through the beautiful book by Jon Krakauer and the beautiful movie by Sean Penn was certainly one of them.

I didn't look for a spiritual experience, but in the end I think it's impossible to go to such places without being touched deep inside. The innermost you is necessarily left bare and shaken. Emotions rock you as much as they wish and this is even clearer to me since I'm back in Italy.

It's hard only to look at the pictures I took there now. But I promised I would share my experience with everyone I could reach, so here you'll see my 12 most significant photos. As you'll notice, they're all of people. The children I loved and who loved me, the slum women, their stares... I hope you'll feel the mark they've left on me.

Pupils of the Child Labourers School (CLS), Bijapur, January 2010

Children at a recital, Bijapur, Xmas 2009

Bataroni women, a Hindu group originally coming from Rajasthan, during their weekly meeting with the social workers, Bijapur, September 2010

Children partying for the Goddess Renuka, Bijapur, June 2010

Women washing vessels and clothes at a well in Mundgod, August 2010

Senior citizens meeting at the slum office, Bijapur, August 2010

A nun of the Tibetan colony in Mundgod, August 2010

CLS children, Bijapur, Xmas 2009

Bombay mix

2010-08-15T16:35:00.013+05:30

Today a lot of flags were hoisted around the country to celebrate the Indian Independence Day (15 August 1947).

However, out of decency I'm not going to say anything else about it because the ritual by law must take place before 9 o'clock, and since it's Sunday at that time - of course - I was happily and blissfully sleeping. Anyway, I'm sure millions of early-rising Indians were eager to participate...

Just not to be too shameless, I'll give you the link to the Prime Minister Manmohan Singh's sober address to the nation.

Duty done.

The core of this post is actually another topic: on 19th July I went on a day trip in Mumbai and here below I'm eventually publishing the photos.

In truth, “Bombay mix” is something edible, a tasty combination of spicy nuts and salty fried noodles, but I'm using it to label the metropolis because I think it wraps up nicely its essence. Mumbai, indeed, is en enormous monster of 14 million people that displays a shocking mixture of dreadful slums (inhabited by 55% of its population) and fancy places: some bars and restaurants seem really stolen from Milan and planted on the Indian soil.

My pictures, however, will give you an idea especially of the run-down city, because I believe it's still the most representative; it's the one that surrounds you and chokes you at every step.

The first three photos portray the dhobi ghat (Mahalaxmi Station), a huge open air laundry where hundreds of men work for 16 hours a day to wash or dye thousands of clothes coming from hospitals, firms, hotels, etc.

The following shacks, instead, are part of a mini-slum along the Keshavro Khadye Marg, a road that connects the ghat to the Haji Ali Dargah.

The last images, finally, were taken at the Dargah. Built on an islet and linked to the continent through a concrete causeway which disappears at high tide, this place of cult is one of the most important in Mumbai.

Indian rhythm

2010-07-07T20:13:00.004+05:30

Warning: my knowledge of Indian music is still ridiculous.

Nonetheless, especially in the last couple of months I have enjoyed quite a lot nodding my head and swinging my hips on Bollywood tunes, so I thought I could share with you my favourites: soak in the colours and the energy of a country in which people love to sing and dance – and do so shamelessly!

Bole chudiyan (My bangles say): a great hit from the movie Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham (2001), everyone loves it here...

Ashaon ke pankh (Feathers to your wishes): hasn't it got an amazing rhythm and a catchy melody?

Ishq Barse: this tune is from the successful political movie Raajneeti (2010), and for its modern sound it makes me think of Mumbai.

Twin people

2010-06-10T17:41:00.011+05:30

At the Jod Gumbad, the burial place of an Adil Shahi general and his sufi spiritual advisor, Abdul Razaq Qadiri. Bijapur was for centuries an important centre for sufism.

After a few months in India, I've reached the conclusion that Italians and Indians are similar in many aspects.

I guess everyone can think immediately of at least two things we have in common: religion and food. Devotion to God and good meals is definitely paramount in both cultures, even though in India people revere Shiva or Allah and “ann, saru, pallè” (rice, curry and spicy vegetables); and in Italy it's all about the 3Ps: pizza, pasta and the Pope.

The most popular question, however, is exactly the same: hai mangiato? Uta aità? Did you eat?

Two days ago Nadia and I were going back home by tuk-tuk when we got stuck in a mini traffic jam because people were partying for one of India's many goddesses, Renuka.

Besides, there are other interesting similarities:

1) An Indian saying (roughly) states that if you put three Indians together to discuss a topic, at least 9 opinions will be heard: how familiar is this for an Italian...
2) One of the consequences of such a truth, is that in both countries a law is not a law: it's a bunch of words suitable to be interpreted at anyone's lovely wish;
3) Bureaucracy is ever depressing, but luckily we have a great sense of humour and a teasing attitude to get over unfair battles;
4) Our Republics have almost the same age, 64 ours and 60 theirs...

Republic day in India is celebrated on 26th January because on that day in 1950 a new comprehensive constitution was approved; Nadia and I participated in the rituals at the nearby school, offering flowers, incense, and coconuts to the images of the two Fathers of the nation: B.R. Ambedkar and Gandhiji.

5) And our nations share the same amiable civic sense (include the endemic corruption, too);

A sign displayed on the walls of the Gol Gumbaz, Bijapur's most famous landmark.

6) Both people are artists in skipping queues and fighting “elbows up” for a seat on a bus or a train;
7) Finally, men go numb in front of the TV for a cricket or for a soccer match in exactly the same way...

Escape to Hyderabad

2010-05-22T11:00:00.010+05:30

Last weekend Nadia and I went to Hyderabad to explore a tiny bit of India and leave Bijapur behind at least for 48 hours.

A European could hardly define Indian cities as beautiful, and Hyderabad is no exception: the buildings are ugly and crumbling, the streets are dusty and badly kept; unsteady shacks, noise and nasty smells rule unbeaten.

Here and there, however, you can find little gems; a precious landmark, a memory of the past:

1) The Buddha statue, completed and put on a plinth in the middle of a lake in 1990, sunk and then raised again undamaged in 1992: Andra Pradesh (Lonely Planet docet) has been an important centre for Buddhism since the 3rd century BC. However, 95% of its population is Hindu, and a good portion of Hyderabadis is Muslim.

2) The Charminar, erected by Mohammed Quli Qutb Shah to commemorate the end of epidemics and the birth of the city in 1591. The Qutb Shahi dynasty has ruled over Hyderabad for 1 century ca.

3) View from the Charminar, market alleys.

Beside sightseeing, we enjoyed two wonderful dinners at the Hotel Shadab (High court road) and at Sagar Papaji Ka Dhaba (Hanuman Tekdi road)... Thank you Lonely Planet! Overlooking the hygienic and the aesthetic point of view, the food was great. In the first place we had lovely chunks of butter naan, veg fried rice and chicken hyderabadi (with cashew nuts and a slightly hot curry). In the second we had soft chicken kebab and superb butter naan. Mmmh, I feel hungry only thinking about them!

Pictures!

2010-05-10T07:41:00.029+05:30

Yesterday I went to the bazar to get a few items and I brought my camera with me.

These are the pictures I've selected for you, I hope you like them!

A proper Bijapur cow with proper Bijapur pigs

Autorickshaws at Gandhi Chowk, the main crossroads of the town

A local bus

Bikes in front of the market

Fruit stalls: 4 mangoes cost 20 rupies, circa 30 eurocents.

The street market viewed from above.

Lentils and chickpeas and rice...

Bella-bella, or jaggery (unrefined sugar).

Coloured powder (kumkum): they use it for ceremonies, festivals, and the typical hindu mark on the forehead called bindi.

Loads of coconuts, also used in ceremonies or for great chutneys.

Even if the supermarket behind the bullock is probably one of the most modern in Bijapur, as you can see the system used to carry the goods remains ancient...

An introduction (second edition)

2010-05-04T07:46:00.003+05:30

This is a post I actually wrote and published in December 2009 but then removed it for very secret reasons...

Bijapur means dust, cows, pigs, mangy dogs and loads of mosquitoes.

It means autorickshaw drivers with loud indo-tec music who signal their existence with surreal horns: "Pirupirupirupi! Boooop! Squeeeaaak!".

It means bazar: fruits and vegetables on worn-out tables or on the ground, child labourers, shoe stores, spices, tea and bright colours in powder. Hours upon hours initially wasted looking for anything, like yogurt and coloured paper.

It means depressing internet points and connections that drive me crazy every time I need them.

It means sights of surprising beauty, an heritage of an epoch long gone by: in the 16th and 17th century a family of sultans, the Adil Shahi, built wonderful monuments like the Gol Gumbaz and the Ibrahim Rouza.

It means coconut palms, flat roofs and hand-made laundry.

Children, boys and adults who ask every three seconds: "what's your name? what's your name? what's your name? what's your name?".

Or still:

- Your country?
- Italy.
- Ah, Sonia Gandhi.

- Country name?
- Italy.
- Ah, Sonia Gandhi. Great character, very good politician.

I think this is one of the few places in the world where Italy is not known for pizza, spaghetti mafia and mandolins.

Ready for India

2009-11-28T18:05:00.004+05:30

The trolley and the rucksack are full, my head is empty and my feelings are a mess. Sad, excited, scared, depressed, euphoric... Every new departure brings a whole new tide of emotions that washes my soul and leaves it bare: ready to discover new worlds, new cultures.

In order to capture a tiny fraction of what is India, I have prepared a list of books and movies (I've already gone through most of them):

Shantaram, Gregory David Roberts;
The Indian hope, Federico Rampini;
The God of small things, Arundhati roy;
City of Joy, Dominique Lapierre;
Midnight's children, Salman Rushdie;
Sacred games, Vikram Chandra;
Gandhi, Richard Attenborough;
Water, Deepa Mehta;
Slumdog Millionaire, Danny Boyle;
Salam Bombay, Mira Nair.

Have you got other titles? I will be glad to look for them in the fascinating East...

A big hug to everyone!

Goodbye London!

2009-09-29T20:56:00.008+05:30

I have lived in London for 1 year, 1 month and 25 days.

How flat is this sentence?

I'm sure it doesn't mean much to you, but I read it and I see the smiles of my new friends and I feel their affection; I picture the beauty of the London Eye and of the Parliament from the dirty window of a 159 crossing the Westminster Bridge at dusk; I remember my trips to Scotland, Manchester, Dorset and the characters I met along the way; I chuckle at the traffic noise that has haunted me for countless nights and wow at the cultural bonanza I've enjoyed.

I think of the small and big truths learnt and discovered, such as:

1) I love Tic Tacs - why on earth I had stopped eating them back in the early Nineties?
2) I hate the Credit Crunch - even if these words sound like a yummy chocolate bar, we all know too well unfortunately that they mean "many people can bite nothing but their hands";
3) In a metropolis with more than 7 million inhabitants it's quite easy to feel lonely and it's less easy to have the patience to be proved wrong;
4) The statement: each individual interprets the world from a very peculiar point of view has acquired a sharper meaning after working in an office;
5) After hearing many British people refer to us cousins on the firm ground as "Europe" and "The Continent" I have to surrender: they don't feel European;
6) They are not (but I love them anyway);
7) Never stop dreaming.

I bow to you, London, and exit the scene.

... This is a Victoria line train to Walthamstow Central.

The next station is Stockwell, change here for the Northern line...

The fear

2009-08-24T03:20:00.009+05:30

I am a bit ashamed of myself: I'm a horrible virtual mother!

In December 2008 I put extreme care in setting up the second version of my baby-blog, only to abandon it to the overwhelming immensity of the net after a few posts (7 to be precise).

Since I feel so guilty, I'm coming back on my tiptoes with a very short text.

This song expresses well the aspect of London that I see and perceive at the moment.

p.s. I love Lily Allen.

Time Out!

2009-04-26T17:24:00.004+05:30

After two merciless months of cloudy grey skies (January and February) and a crazy March, the sun is finally shining happily over the big city.

To be honest, cultural activities are evergreen in London, but this wonderful weather gives high spirits to enjoy them to the fullest.

The opportunities are never ending: whether you like modern art, gigs, musicals or quirky collections, this is definitely the place you want to live in.

There is so much choice, that the problem could be finding the best offers, if there weren't a magazine doing the job for you: Time Out.

Founded in 1968 (what a year!), at the beginning TO resembled a very cheap high-school magazine with listings. Now it's a huge publishing company that alongside the weekly fashionable bible (edited in several cities of the globe), “bakes” a whole range of guides about restaurants, cities, special adventures, etc.

I'm hopelessly addicted to it: I buy and collect an issue of Time Out London every week. Following TO's advice, I have explored the Victoria Park in Hackney, the Museum of Brands in Notting Hill, I went to a rock gig in Angel and kept track of all the movies being released.

And now? Considering the smiling sun, I've spent enough time in front of my PC.
I'm off to the Tate Britain to see William Blake's 1809 solo show.

Take this!

And suddenly I'm flying

2009-03-10T02:27:00.014+05:30

A few months ago Beppe Severgnini, an Italian journalist with a popular forum, asked his readers around the world to write a short story set in a particular hour of the day.

The recreational authors had to submit their work online so that people could express their preference. The most voted tales were later gathered in an e-book.

Eagerly I conceived my artistic baby, but unfortunately I wasn't able to send it because of technical problems. Since then, as a result, it has been dozing lazily among my folders.

On Sunday, however, I woke it up again and... Surprise! I didn't feel like denying it. I still liked it.

So here it is: first in Italian (the original version) and then in English.

And suddenly I’m flying, flying like a bird / Like electricity, electricity/ Sparks inside of me / And I’m free, I’m free!
Billy lancia la cartella al papa’ e fa una capriola all’indietro. Mentre volteggia Francesca, Stefania ed io ci guardiamo raggianti. Siamo nell’ultima fila del Grand Circle del Victoria Palace Theatre e ci godiamo lo spettacolo da una pendenza vertiginosa. Anche se lo conosciamo gia’, il finale ci commuove fino alle lacrime: Billy vola verso il successo, i minatori risprofondano nel “ventre vuoto e maledettamente freddo”.
Noi fanciulle torniamo alla nostra realta’ spensierata. Solo il clima e’ tagliente: e’ appena il 4 ottobre ma l’Inghilterra ha deciso di offrire alle mie ospiti un’accoglienza gelida e ventosa. Tiriamo su bene le giacche e attraversiamo Westminster Bridge mentre cala il buio e si accendono le luci. L’Occhio si tinge di rosa, il parlamento di giallo. Foto, foto, foto. Fra e Ste sono estasiate, io sono felice.
Ammiro il Tamigi e penso a Siviglia, la città magica in cui ci siamo conosciute grazie all'Erasmus. Guardo Charing Cross e vedo gli aranci in fiore. Col freddo che fa è anche un wishful thinking. Il Jubilee Bridge è davanti a noi. Francesca domanda: “Cosa vi ricorda?” “Il puente del Alamillo!” rispondiamo prontamente Ste ed io. “Nooooo!” ma la spiegazione di Fra si perde fra i ponti di Calatrava e il fascino della Tate Modern. E' il turno del Millennium Bridge e lo percorriamo velocemente in entrambi i sensi, sferzate dal vento e intrattenute dalle registrazioni audio dei gabbiani.
St Paul è rassicurante, Londra e’ davvero bella. Dentro di me canto Volando voy / volando vengo, vengo/ volando voy / volando vengo, vengo / y por el camino / yo me entretengo / por el camino / yo me entretengo.

And suddenly I’m flying, flying like a bird / Like electricity, electricity/ Sparks inside of me / And I’m free, I’m free!
Billy throws his satchel to his dad and does a back somersault. While he vaults Francesca, Stefania and I look at each other beaming. We're in the last row of the Grand Circle of the Victoria Palace Theatre and we are enjoying the show from a dizzy inclination. Even if we know it already, the ending moves us to tears: Billy flies to success, the miners re-sink into “the ground empty and cold as hell”.
We go back to our light-hearted reality. Only the weather is sharp: it's 4th October and England has decided to offer my guests a freezing windy welcome. We button our jackets up tight and we cross Westminster Bridge, while darkness wraps us and lights turn on. The Eye becomes tinged with pink, the parliament with yellow. Picture, picture, picture. Fra and Ste are enraptured, I'm happy.
I admire the Thames and I think of Seville, the magic city in which we met thanks to the Erasmus project. I look at Charing Cross and I see the blossoming orange trees. It's so cold that it could be a wishful thinking. The Jubilee Bridge is in front of us, Francesca asks: “What does it remind you of?” “The Alamillo Bridge!” Ste and I reply promptly. “Noooooo!” but Fra's explanation gets lost between Calatrava's bridges and the charm of the Tate Modern. It's the turn of the Millennium Bridge and we cover it quickly in both directions, whipped by the wind and entertained by the audiotapes of gulls.
St Paul is reassuring, London is really beautiful. Inside my mind I sing Volando voy / volando vengo, vengo/ volando voy / volando vengo, vengo / y por el camino / yo me entretengo / por el camino / yo me entretengo.

The miracle of snow

2009-02-03T03:54:00.017+05:30

Yesterday afternoon it started snowing heavily & heavenly and what you can see here below is the result.

What a gorgeous Monday: the streets have been a lot quieter, parents and kids have played together for hours in the park (the Streatham Common) and strangers have smiled shamelessly at each other.

Of course, Laura, Belen (my housemates) and I have taken advantage of this unexpected gift and have had a beautiful long walk.

From my window

A dancing Laura

A teeny tiny snowman with Laura, Belen and me

The Ritzy

2009-01-28T02:11:00.008+05:30

I love it.

Since I moved to Streatham in mid-August, it has been a constant charmer of my experience as a South Londoner.

I see it every day on my way to work and back, but nonetheless it has taken me 5 months to set foot in it: I was enjoying too much the flirting.

The Ritzy is a movie theatre originally built in 1911. It is situated in Brixton one hundred metres away from the underground station.

Outside, people and cars and buses and taxis rush around frantically. Inside, it’s magic.

Movies and goodies are advertised on blackboards; the rooms are old-fashioned and cosy.

Downstairs there are a bar and a lounge hall where people can chill out and have a drink on comfy sofas.

Upstairs, there is a second bar that on selected nights offers groovy live music - for free. It has also nice ciabatte and a cute view on the outside. The only flaw: naughty draughts run through it.

So far I have seen 4 movies at the Ritzy, and they were one better than the other: Changeling, Che – Part 1, Slumdog Millionaire and Milk.

Don’t miss them!

Top of the pop

2009-01-20T04:13:00.011+05:30

One of the things I will miss the most when I'll leave London will be the UK television.

British TV is not good, it's excellent: it's educational, entertaining, hilarious and outrageous.

The programmes I prefer, which abound on BBC2 and Channel 4, are usually documentaries. I like them because whether they talk about faith or swarms, junk mail or grumpy old men, they tickle one of our best qualities: curiosity.

I would have liked to link a few of them to my blog, but unfortunately they are not available on the net.

There's only one documentary with a few clips for the surfers, and all in all it's so British that you can view it as a great compulsory choice.

It's called “Stephen Fry in America” and as you can guess from the title it spins around two columns: Stephen Fry AND America.

While America cannot be captured, Stephen Fry can be introduced as follows:

Quintessentially English, he dresses horribly, speaks with a distinctive posh drawl and is so excentric that he travels across the States with a black London cab.

Click here

Urban soundtracks

2008-12-21T16:59:00.011+05:30

When I went to Sydney I shared the beginning of my experience with a group of people coming from all over the world: Brazil, Germany, Canada, Australia, France, Denmark and the States.

We were so close that at the end of the 4th month, when a few of them had to go back to their countries, we prepared a CD with the songs that had been the soundtrack of our pub crawls, home parties and strolls downtown.

It was a great idea that can actually work for everybody: if you think about it, every period of our life is characterised by particular tunes. So from then on, I've kept track of all the songs that have accompanied me throughout my wonderings.

Here below you will find the ones that make me think of London, of the people I've met so far and of the friends who paid me a visit from Italy:

Piazza New York Catcher, Belle and Sebastian [Sorry, it's a cover, but they've removed all the videos with the original song... How unholy!];
Strawberry Swing, Coldplay;
Uno, Marlene Kuntz;
Mina do condominio, Seu Jorge;
5 Years Time, Noah and the Whale;
Gobbledigook, Sigur Ros;
Mad World, REM;
Pain It Black, Rolling Stones.

Unfortunately, there are some important real-life-bits that are left out in this list: the recorded voices of buses and tubes.

The public transport of London is probably the chattiest I've ever met around the world. Female voices are constantly reminding people of the bus number, train direction, and future stations: a very kind help for tourists, a jolly nightmare for Londoners.

It's not the same thing as hearing them, but...Here are, for example, my last four bus stops:

One-O-Nine to Croydon Town Centre: Becmead Avenue!
One-O-Nine to Croydon Town Centre: St. Leonard's Church!
One-O-Nine to Croydon Town Centre: Streatham Station!
One-O-Nine to Croydon Town Centre: Streatham Ice Arena!

And off I go.

When I catch the tube in Brixton, instead, the refrain is the following:

This is a Victoria line train to Walthamstow Central.
The next station is Stockwell: change here for the Northern line.
This is Stockwell: change here for the Northern Line.
This is a Victoria line train to Walthamstow Central.
The next station is Vauxhall: change here for National Rail Services.
This is Vauxhall: change here for National Rail Services.

At peak times, then, the recorded messages of the tube are reinforced by Transport for London staff who keep an eye on the situation and have their own array of sentences:

“There is a good service on the Victoria line. Move right down inside the car, please. Move right down inside the car, please. This train is now ready to depart. This train is now ready to depart. Stand clear. Mind the closing doors, please. Mind the closing doors, please.”

About queuing and buses

2008-12-03T03:20:00.008+05:30

After centuries of silence, I am back on the blogosphere again – from London!

Before I came here someone told me that I would be amazed by the fact that English people queue at the bus stop. In Italy you usually spit in the eyes of those around you to grab a seat, but in the UK – Oh, everything is different.

I believed it because I had already experienced the same situation in two countries: Canada and Ireland. It was marvellous: wherever I went, people would line up one after the other like perfect beads of an invisible necklace.

Well, let me put this straight: there’s nothing as poetical here in London. If possible, everything is even more ruthless than in Italy. Only one law applies: elbows up, or I’ll chew the leg of the horrible creature who will get the seat one second before me.

To curb a little bit this slightly violent behaviours towards fellow human beings, the Transport for London have invented ads with cartoons that remind me of the Southpark characters (probably to appeal especially to youth).

Every cool dude states something polite, such as:

I will offer that person my seat;
I will say thank you;
I won’t play my music out loud;

And my favourite one ever:

I won’t eat smelly food.

Ha. A large amount of the population here must be blind.

I mean, I love double-deckers, they are a cheap real life Cinerama. I could spend a lifetime on the upper deck and, indeed, even if I’ve been living in London already for 4 months, I never miss the chance to enjoy the trip from upstairs.

This said, I wish with all my heart that Mr Mayor Boris Johnson gave me the right to defenestrate all the annoying people who get on the bus at any hour of the day with spiced rice & mince meat, stinky fish and chips and greasy McDonald’s.