Mulling over

Every day, as I step out of my little enclave, I pass this gate called Vijai Pol. Victory Gate. It must lead somewhere, but I’ve never seen it open. Having glimpsed what often exists behind closed gates in India, I probably don’t want to know. Tomorrow I will be finished my first draft in its entirety. I can always breathe a little easier. A definite victory of sorts. Now, assuming all is fine with Shriji, the fun begins. I suppose it’s a bit like polishing a rough stone sculpture after the hard hacking’s been done. At least it feels that way to me.

I walked around the grounds of the hotel today. Gardening is something that does not seem to come naturally to Indians. Historically, they never gardened for beauty’s sake, all the beauty they needed existed in romantic tales told about the gods. Beauty was also seen in things that sparkled – gems, silver, gold, and mirrors. Hence the natural attraction to crystal.

This changed when the Mughal emperors came with all their Persian grandeur. Now they loved their geometric gardens, with fountains and flowers and bridges over streams. With peacocks and parrots and dragon flies hovering over cascading foliage. But when they conquered this part of the world around the fifteenth century, they had to reimagine gardens without the luxury of fast-running streams. Indeed without too much water at all. They ultimately managed okay with fountains and geometric squares, and lots of cusped arches framing colourful trees.

Then came the British and a whole new layer was added to the notion of symmetry. Now they had lawns to worry about. I don’t see too many of them, but formal institutions like hotels still keep vast expanses of grass. Mowing is a major business. About ten people sweat away around one lawnmower. Endless wires plug into extension cord after extension cord. Probably connected to some dodgy powerpoint wobbling on a wall somewhere.

Be that as it may, Indians have no problem with the decorative arts. All around the mowed dried lawns with their scraggly edges are massive beaten brass flower pots growing a species that looks a little like a poverty-stricken lilly-pilly struggling to survive.