I was searching one of my old notebooks for some plans for a photo project today and I bumped into few sketches I doodled in the art history class. I put them here one by one to see if they could be of any help to evoke a “memoir involontaire”!
[unfortuantely blogger didn't let me to attach a pic!...i'll try later]
Yes here I start my english posts. I chose the title “Proustian Memoir” for my weblog first to indicate the importance of my memories in forming all my thoughts and writings- naturally I am a nostalgic person and this is how I approach the possible hidden meanings of life- and then to talk about a unique and wonderful experience I had in my life: I was able to read the complete volumes of Marcel Proust’s novel, Á la Recherche du Temps Perdu.
This is a bilingual weblog; persian and english. Since some importat parts of my life experiences formed in both languages I decided to write about them in the related language, however the translation bridge will not be neglected.
So for my first post in english I would like to put the first part of “meg’s memoir”:
A debriefing from India
On Meg Walker’s journey to Hindoustan
By Siamak Delzendeh
Yes…….here is India. I can tell you from the cows walking freely in the streets. There is a city here. And there are wide streets and narrow alleys. And cows are here and there. One can see a few small trees on the sidewalk. I’m passing an intersection to get into a small alley. At the corner there is a nutmeg tree. I pick up the nut and let the Meg keep going through this narrow alley. What might she see if I suddenly write that it’s the night here and there’s no light on there, because it’s a quite small alley? And what if a cow is sitting there in the middle of the path?
She has a small light in her pocket and can see her way to the sixth door on the left where her host is waiting for her. She puts the light on the ground and I see there’s no cow in this alley. Alas!
O! Beautiful cow,
How rare you were in this world,
Ready for the thirst and
Leaden flowers of the grass. [i]
Yeh, here is the land of mysticism, the land of Buddha and the tree of conscious.
Meg is traveling north to south, spending few days here and there; passing by the cows on the roads, people everywhere and the real life as she would mention it later. She visits villages, people, seashore as well as monuments, palaces and India. Where is India? Maura- a friend of Meg who spent almost a year to find India in India- could show us India on the map; actually she would take us to an Indian restaurant in Montreal after that. To me she is India, she breathes like India and at least I cannot imagine her without her Indian side. Does India exist on the map? We should ask Meg when she is back. But to me India is somewhere Meg is traveling to; somewhere a cow gazing at you and you don’t know if you have to gaze back at her or look for a map in your bookshelf; somewhere, a hidden side of Maura or an invisible city is gazing at me; at Meg.
Fri, 13 Jan 2006 10:18:46 -0800
From: "meg walker"
To: "siamak delzendeh" sia***@yahoo.com
yes, the land of incense, of princes and demons, of endless music, of deserts and mountains and lush greenery - i'm ready. i'm flying to Delhi and will see Agra immediately (and the Taj Mahal!) with cousins, then spend about 3 weeks in Delhi itself, then ... 2 weeks to figure out
Now I would like to write a bit about the negative spaces such as the corner of my cousin’s apartment hall. There’s a wooden window frame with lots of delicate carvings on it. I prefer to imagine it is made of sandal wood and I touch it and rub it several times to let the fragrance release. I can hear a cow mooing out the door. In such a beautiful afternoon I’m enjoying the coziness of this corner and the smooth smell of sandal (!!) mixed with the cow’s moo.
[i] Ardabili, Bahram. Gaav-e-zibaa. Tehran: Persian Poetry, 1960s.
to be continued...
No comments:
Post a Comment