A Bend in the Lane

This seems to be a season of talking about family :-) ****************** I and my dad constantly bicker. Over everything. Over the laptop, over the last peanut in the packet, over the ‘mess’ in my room, over his lack of ‘cool’ clothes, over his 35 km/h driving, over the best place on the couch. Everything. Dad clogs up the laptop with guzillion web browsers talking about the latest political scandal rocking the old country in three languages (English, Hindi, Telugu). Dad belongs to the generation that considers work as the essence of life. Well, ethics too. And also, honour. And integrity. And..well, nevermind, let me get on. Dad can be as quiet as a cat when he wishes to sneak up to you and catch your greedy hand in the ice-cream tub. He reserves all his clumsiness, breaking unbreakable plates, banging into furniture for the wee hours of the morning. Even his morning Yoga exercises cause weird noises that awaken the stray cats in our building. Dad gives 200% to anythi...

It’s common knowledge that I am a huge fan of Bette Davis. So after an all too long time, I watched another Bette Davis movie – The Private Lives of Elizabeth and Essex (1938) in garish Technicolor . Bette of course delivered a stunning performance. There might be some places where she went a tad bit overboard but that was the way they acted back in those days (late 30s). She went as far as to shave her head to create the bald look of the aging queen. Her face was painted white for the entire movie. In all this hideousness, there was something heartbreaking about her portrayal of the Queen. There is this famous scene where she goes on a mirror shattering rampage in the palace. In about 4 seconds in this scene, she examines herself in the looking glass - at her most insecure, most vulnerable, most yearning and most without-a-mask moment. My heart went crack when I saw her just for these 4 seconds. For a minute when you see Bette acting out this breathtaking turmoil on screen, u do...

Today will be one of those Long Nights. I feel it in my bones. At times at these, my comforts are the thoughts of - Bells that jostle, ships that sound horns, sea spray by the cliffs, creaking of wooden bridges across brooks, the groan of the aging grandfather clock, the whisper of willows, the spatter of summer showers, lightning without thunder in the faraway night skies, green leprechauns and the warmth of my mother’s bosom. With these comforts, one can rise above cracked hearts and broken promises

Why does an overwhelming sadness envelop us, for some of the most trivial reasons? Just two hours ago, I had reasons to be very jubilant. Now, here I am, forlorn in my darkness. What ails our souls? Are they meant to be this fickle? I am singing the song, Que Sera Sera, Whatever Will Be Will Be, over and over again, it doesnt help. I have danced (more like mad hopping) to plenty of music - it doesnt help today. I read my journal from 1999 - it doesnt help. What will become of this sadness? I cant prick it like a balloon, neither can I bottle it and toss it into the Pacific. I cannot snuff it away like a candle, neither can I suck it out like venom. I cannot bury it like a secret, neither can I pass it forward like a recycled gift. I shall let it be. Let it be just for tonight. It is going to be one of my Long Nights.

The Nazis financed their war effort through looted gold – either from occupied nations or individual victims of concentration camps. Remember the infamous Melmer account in the Reichsbank? SS Officer Bruno Melmer, transferred gold from victims of concentration camps to an SS account in Reichsbank. The notorious Melmer shipment list consisted of 29 columns of gruesome types of loot - "Gold and Silver Coins," "Purses," "Knives, Forks, Jewels," "Gold and Diamond Rings," "Watches," "Dental Gold," "Broken Gold," etc. Remember those tales of prisoners being forced to rip dental gold and jewelry from piles of bodies of their fellow prisoners? All this gold was smelted into gold bars and then transferred from SS accounts in the Reichsbank to Swiss National Bank (SNB). The SNB must have at one point known the illegitimate nature of the gold– maybe not the gruesome origins. The figures are utterly astounding ($3.5 bill...

Someone asked the Q why name the blog “A Bend in the Lane”. When I was sitting there signing up for the blog, I felt exactly like Anne of Green Gables did at the end of the novel – I didn’t know what the future held, I didn’t know if it would be stormy or quiet seas, thunder or clear skies…all I saw was a bend in the lane. So I stole the title of the last chapter of Anne of Green Gables.

I am a dog person. I adore them. I dislike cats. But I am a cat magnet. It’s a 24 year love triangle. Cats stalk me, cats purr against my legs, cats do a “mary had a little lamb” with me. I used to be annoyed. Now I am resigned to it. I perceived these skulking creatures to be evil. Not so much anymore. I mean, you always like those who like you, but you do not always like those you like, right? There is pitch black, well-mannered cat waiting for me at the end of the corridor every morning when I leave for work. Being polite, I “meow” at it. And it always “meows” back. Always. This cat got me curious. I mean, just what makes cats attracted to certain people? I posed this question to a bunch of wise people over the course of months. Here is a sample of answers I received – Friend 1: “You should be honoured. They approach people they trust” Random Estonian old woman selling amber: “Perhaps the devil in the person….” Friend 2: “I’ve read somewhere that c...