Tea... eventually

Remember when tea was putting the kettle on and pouring boiling water on a teabag? That was then... this is now. Tea Mauritian-style is hardly that simple. First you bring water to boil in a saucepan. While that's going on, you put a teaspoon of powdered milk in a mug. Then you add enough liquid milk to make it into a smooth paste, and then add more milk. This two-step approach is essential to prevent milk clots. As soon as the water boils, you add a teaspoon of dried tea leaves to it, switch off the heat and allow it to brew. Sugar is optional.

The final step is to add the tea to the milk through a strainer until the colour is just so. When you finally drink it in two minutes, you have to wash the saucepan and the strainer and wipe up the mess you made while pouring from a spoutless pot.

Life is made of sweet nothings...

"We could easily have been born as each other. Not just the Muslim question, but on the gender question, it's pure chance whether you are born a man or woman, pure chance whether you are born Hindu or Muslim. So you just have to consider that we could have been born as each other and therefore there is no particular reason for aggrandising yourself just because you happen to be born a man, because you happen to be born a Hindu, or in a particular class of society. This is to start the process of thinking about that."

-Vikram Seth in an Interview with Sheela Reddy, Outlook India

This quite contradicts the idea of being born who you are because of your karma and what you did in your previous life. Is belief in karma what ends up sometimes giving people such inordinate faith in their superiority when it comes to caste for example? Of course there is no dearth of excuses for people who want to differentiate between human beings and claim their superiority.

I wonder.

Touching down

Mauritius is heart-wrenchingly beautiful when seen from the air. Green square fields, turquoise lagoon lapping up to slim white beaches, funnily-shaped mountains.

Here's a question from a little English boy sitting behind me to his mum: "Mum, isn't this island the place where they plant marijuana and heroin? Is that what we're seeing down there?"

I set him right before we left the plane, and explained that while there must be some of that going on, those fields are mostly sugar and tea. :)

Restless thoughts

In my last 2 days here, taking a break from the hulchul of sorting, shopping, packing and meeting, I have to stop and ask: "Is there ever one right choice?"

People from one angle obviously feel that a decision is right or wrong when seen through their prism. They don't know the one you're using to evaluate circumstances.

The way I see it is that there are only two certainties: I was born. I will die. What goes on between the two, what will make anyone happy, what is good or bad... who knows? I'm not advocating total relativism. The question is going through my mind and I will have ample time to find out as I go along.

In the end, isn't all the counts that you simply follow your heart and take yourself closer to inner peace, or are there more important things? Can you choose in such a way as to forestall regret, or do you simply make the "best" decision within a given situation and live with it?

People who seem so much more categorical about their choices than I am often puzzle me. I have convictions, but no certainties. With some luck (or wisdom) I'll be that sure when I'm seventy.

And of course, beyond my self-centred reflexions over the past few weeks, there have been earthquakes, hurricanes, trials, deaths, Nobel prizes, lock-outs, a woman Chancellor, H5F1, explosions, births...

Dans la langue nationale... (5 de 5)

Je me souviendrai de mon premier automne, aux feuilles d'un rouge si intense accompagnées de ciel parfois tellement bleu. Je me rappellerai des batailles dans les bancs épais de neige sur les bords des rues, et m'être gelé le nez en patinant au Vieux-Port. Je reverrai la première "sloche" quand, en attendant le "véritable" printemps, j'ai appris à tolérer la boue qui envahit Montréal. Et je sourirai toujours au début de juin, lorsqu'enfin à Montréal, tout le monde pourra se mettre en sandales dans les parcs. J'ai appris à accepter avec sérénité ce que peut bien nous lancer la nature en vivant ici, au Québec.

Il y aura surtout toutes ces choses que je ne réalise pas encore: ces choses que j'ai fini par prendre pour acquises, parce que cela fait quatre ans, et dont je n'apprécierai la valeur que lorsque j'en serai loin. Montréal existe dans mon coeur, et il y aura encore, dans 20 ans, dans 30 ans, une partie de chaque personne rencontrée cachée au fond de moi.

Mais je pars pour reconnaître et redécouvrir mon pays, toutes ces choses et ces personnes qui sont une partie de moi aussi. Et il ne faut jamais dire jamais ...

Dans la langue nationale... (4 de 5)

À mon ventre manqueront les paninis aux légumes grillés du Café du Port, les paninis avocat et oeufs du Café Luna d'Oro, les bleuets enrobés de chocolat, les cannerberges séchées, les cerises de terre, la poutine (moins souvent), les accras de morue du Réservoir, le pita shish taouk de chez Amir, les fajitas, du zakuska, la crème brûlée de Claude Postel, le pain aux olives de chez Au Pain Doré, les glaces de Bilboquet et de M. Pinchot, les 722 combinaisons de pâtes de La Popessa, les olives au citron de Milano, les tomates séchées au soleil, le hot-dog à l'agneau de Raphaella, la pizza au poulet de Al-Taïb, les pizza originales de Pizzédélic, le riz au poulet grillé sucré vietnamien, les vinaigrettes exotiques et les découvertes culinaires de chez Caroline.

Dans la langue nationale... (3 de 5)

Il me manquera de ne pas entendre débattre de l'identité propre au Québec, de ne pas écouter CBC (et le reste du monde) se moquer d'Ottawa, de ne pas connaître les réactions des Québécois au dernier scandale, et de ne pas savoir qu'une commission d'enquête fiable aura quand même été mise sur pied. Les élections municipales, provinciales, fédérales et le référendum, si référendum il y a, je les suivrai de loin, mais je regretterai de ne pas être à table au milieu des discussions.

J'aurai envie de savoir comment le maire s'y est pris à la dernière minute pour rapatrier les Championnats Aquatiques ou le Grand Prix!

Dans la langue nationale... (2 de 5)

De Montréal, je songerai aux autobus chronométrés à la minute et dont on peut vérifier l'horaire par téléphone, aux appels téléphoniques gratuits *soupir*, à ces sourires d'inconnus dans la rue qui ont juste besoin de partager leur euphorie des premiers jours d'été, aux voitures de police comme dans les films mais dont les policiers ont toujours un peu peur du "danger", aux conversations qui deviennent English dès qu'on passe à l'ouest de la Place-des-Arts, à ces retours chez soi en toute sécurité même à 2h00 du matin.

Je penserai aux personnes qui vous tendent des gobelets en polystyrène pour quêter, de sorte que quelqu'un qui prend un café dans la rue pourrait passer pour un "itinérant", aux petits cafés alternatifs où soudain un groupe se met à jouer un mini-concert, à toutes ces activités culturelles dont raffole la ville de Montréal et dont ne raffolent pas toujours les Montréalais, mais grâce auxquelles j'ai découvert de nouveaux horizons artistiques.

Dans la langue nationale... (1 de 5)

Maintenant que je suis à une semaine de quitter le pays où j'ai passé quatre années des plus marquantes de ma vie, voici, en cinq parties, les choses qui me manqueront.

Les gens d'abord. J'ai pris du temps avant de vraiment les aimer. Au début, l'accent québécois me dérangeait énormément. Je pensais que c'était important de ne pas me laisser influencer, avant de comprendre que pour comprendre un peuple, il faut quand même un peu oublier sa différence. Et je crois avoir un peu compris, et avoir un peu pris de l'accent. J'ai connu certaines réalités moins agréables mais grâce à plusieurs QuébécoisEs "de souche", j'ai surtout appris leur douceur, leur sagesse, leur loyauté, et leur générosité. Et grâce à ceux que j'ai rencontrés qui avaient adopté le Canada comme pays, j'ai connu le coeur du monde.

J'en suis reconnaissante.

A seasonal one

 


Well, it's autumn! This is the park one block away from where I live.

Beyond the labels

It never ceases to amaze me how relevant the rules of being a good photographer are to simply being a decent human being.

"Seeing, in the finest and broadest sense, means using your senses, your intellect, and your emotions. It means encountering your subject matter with your whole being. It means looking beyond the labels of things and discovering the remarkable world around you."

-Freeman Patterson-
Here's a link to another one of his quotes that proves true everytime.

The importance of an Angel

A little over three months ago, I adopted a little angel. She's the well-trained bunny rabbit whom my cousin had to leave behind when she moved back home, and, after understanding what it entailed, I figured I was ready to take it on rather than have it go to the SPCA. She came already named Angel.

At first I tried to rush things, because I had read that rabbits need affection. I would try to cuddle her but she remained indifferent. I was disappointed, but figured that as long as she was at least polite if a little aloof, we'd survive together. After three weeks of soft approach, I tried holding her and cuddling her again, but I must have bruised more than her ego, because she bit me slightly. I was upset, and started questioning my decision to take her. Still, I thought, let's keep trying this. Three weeks is not much, although I'm not exactly known for my patience.

We settled into an acceptable arrangement, where I talked to her and respected her territory while reminding her regularly about the things that were unacceptable (like trying to chew the wall, the couch and the table legs), and also keeping reign over my territory.

For the past three weeks, Angel has been coming to me on her own, everyday. She sits besides me on the couch, and huddles as close as possible to me, then flattens herself while I stroke her and talk a lot of nonsense to her. This can go on for about an hour before she snaps out of her semi-hypnosis and starts running about and hopping and sniffing the air. She now only chews the piece of wood in her cage, and her special piece of cloth. And she acts all curious and worried when she feels I'm not in top mood.

Here's what she reminded me of about life, and taught me about myself:
- Taming, or what Saint-Exupéry calls "apprivoiser" knows no speed. It takes the time it takes, and a lot of patience.
- Loving a little being and feeling responsible for it is a great source of strength.
- I'm not very sentimental, and when there's a limit, there's a limit. A few hours of sulking on each side work well before dialogue has to be resumed.
- If I'm ever lucky to be a mother, I might be one of those "kid-proud" parents who will rave about every dribble and scribble her kids do, unaware that this could be perceived as boring self-flattery, because of my own genuine amazement at their specialness. (I did just write all this on my rabbit!).
- I hope to learn to hide it in critical moments to avoid serious breaches to my kids' reputations.

Animals are just animals, but I feel lucky to have had Angel for those few months. Now that I have to go, I'm glad I found someone whom I feel will be able to take care of her. I wish I was not leaving her behind, but I believe she will bring a lot to someone else, while I hope that she will keep being a happy little one.