ten things seven
ten things:
1. in my village we call each other big or little brother or sister, or aunt or uncle, which serves the dual roles of fostering a sense of family unity and tamping down that peculiar sort of sexual tension that occurs when a large group of children’s minds housed in the fully functioning bodies of adults is gathered.
2. excerpt:
the maoshis come to my village from surrounding ones to take care of the tasks that we cannot take care of ourselves, either because we lack the manpower or the brain capacity. a thirty-seven year old with the mind of a infant cannot light the stove and cook up a dahl. i haven’t the slightest idea how to plumb a squat toilet (those things are more complicated than they look). and so the maoshis come. sometimes they do laundry while i draw pictures, or scrub the splattered bugs off the lights while i think about art. today they make chapattis while i prepare a soon-to-be muraled wall with white paint.
most maoshis are older, cracked women, hard and strong from years of buffalo whipping and child birthing, less-is-more machines built for living wrapped in soft silk saris. there is one long-necked maoshi with flash-eyes and young skin who is far more beautiful than the rest. And so she is hated in the way that only beautiful people can be hated. while the rest of the maoshis squat together she squats quietly alone washing plates with a dirty rag, her heels touching and her feet pointing in opposite directions. the others kneed unleavened dough and roll it out into thin rounds. they slap it on a concave hotplate, giggle as it crisps, sing a snatch of a hindi song, retuck the pleat of a sari, and do it all in the general direction of the beautiful maoshi. it's all a show, for her, certainly, but also for me.
in this context i am the exotic one and therefore my attention is coveted. and so every day the maoshis put on a different performance for me. sometimes they pretend to be angry with me and then burst into laughter, sometimes they sing and pretend not to know that i listen, or they pull a treat out of a shiny metal canister and pretend it's not for me. now the curtain rises on today's show: they want to try out their new english phrases and hear my american music. no hindi today, they say. listen us english music, real english music. please, Joke, please. i turn on elvis, devil in disguise. they clap and squeal and now somehow i've ended up onstage, feeling something like ed sullivan must have after the king walked offstage.
3. Prince’s When Doves Cry, which has an obvious secret that makes complete sense.
here is a timeline: first you loved it for what it was to you when you found it. you thought it might be something else, but you loved it even before you knew the truth about it. and when you learned the truth it was still the other and lesser things, but also something new and better - not different, just more. it hooked you and then revealed itself to you. also you can dance to it. and so, it is Great Art.
4.
5. dead dog in a ditch: eight days, bloated python in a puddle: two days, small parrot draped across the eaves of the great hall: three weeks, five days, and counting
6. a translucent bag full of orange carnations and a prayer: own the mushy wire, own the mushy wire
7. making much of a muchness
8. the gifts of the magpie
9. india rejoices! less taxes = more biscuits
10. the woman motorcycle driver wearing a sari, aviator's goggles, and two long white leather gloves
1. in my village we call each other big or little brother or sister, or aunt or uncle, which serves the dual roles of fostering a sense of family unity and tamping down that peculiar sort of sexual tension that occurs when a large group of children’s minds housed in the fully functioning bodies of adults is gathered.
2. excerpt:
the maoshis come to my village from surrounding ones to take care of the tasks that we cannot take care of ourselves, either because we lack the manpower or the brain capacity. a thirty-seven year old with the mind of a infant cannot light the stove and cook up a dahl. i haven’t the slightest idea how to plumb a squat toilet (those things are more complicated than they look). and so the maoshis come. sometimes they do laundry while i draw pictures, or scrub the splattered bugs off the lights while i think about art. today they make chapattis while i prepare a soon-to-be muraled wall with white paint.
most maoshis are older, cracked women, hard and strong from years of buffalo whipping and child birthing, less-is-more machines built for living wrapped in soft silk saris. there is one long-necked maoshi with flash-eyes and young skin who is far more beautiful than the rest. And so she is hated in the way that only beautiful people can be hated. while the rest of the maoshis squat together she squats quietly alone washing plates with a dirty rag, her heels touching and her feet pointing in opposite directions. the others kneed unleavened dough and roll it out into thin rounds. they slap it on a concave hotplate, giggle as it crisps, sing a snatch of a hindi song, retuck the pleat of a sari, and do it all in the general direction of the beautiful maoshi. it's all a show, for her, certainly, but also for me.
in this context i am the exotic one and therefore my attention is coveted. and so every day the maoshis put on a different performance for me. sometimes they pretend to be angry with me and then burst into laughter, sometimes they sing and pretend not to know that i listen, or they pull a treat out of a shiny metal canister and pretend it's not for me. now the curtain rises on today's show: they want to try out their new english phrases and hear my american music. no hindi today, they say. listen us english music, real english music. please, Joke, please. i turn on elvis, devil in disguise. they clap and squeal and now somehow i've ended up onstage, feeling something like ed sullivan must have after the king walked offstage.
3. Prince’s When Doves Cry, which has an obvious secret that makes complete sense.
here is a timeline: first you loved it for what it was to you when you found it. you thought it might be something else, but you loved it even before you knew the truth about it. and when you learned the truth it was still the other and lesser things, but also something new and better - not different, just more. it hooked you and then revealed itself to you. also you can dance to it. and so, it is Great Art.
4.
5. dead dog in a ditch: eight days, bloated python in a puddle: two days, small parrot draped across the eaves of the great hall: three weeks, five days, and counting
6. a translucent bag full of orange carnations and a prayer: own the mushy wire, own the mushy wire
7. making much of a muchness
8. the gifts of the magpie
9. india rejoices! less taxes = more biscuits
10. the woman motorcycle driver wearing a sari, aviator's goggles, and two long white leather gloves
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