The Evil Eye (aka Drishti)

Li’l D. fell in the park on Saturday. Not once, but twice. She ended up with a big series of scratches on her knee. She whimpered when I cleaned the bruise, and then went around displaying it with suitable misery to anyone who looked a little likely to sympathize with her.

Then, two days ago, there was a knock on the door, during a very unlikely-to-be-visitors hour in the evening. I opened the door, and was greeted by a bloody sight. Li’l D. had fallen on her face, and bruised her forehead, nose, and the area just above her lips. She sat quietly in shock, carried by her inconsolably stricken nanny.

For some reason, I didn’t fly into hysterics or turn into a blubbering mass of tears. I sent the nanny out to buy a medically proven antiseptic cream, while I cleaned D.’s bruises, and comforted her by hugging her close. Li’l D. braved the clean-up and the application of the cream with barely a murmur.

I then called up my mom – was there anything else I could do? To my relief, I had taken all the right steps. Except one. I think the kid has been targeted by the Evil Eye, mom said. You need to perform the counteractive measures. I listened silently, remembering the numerous times she used to ward off the Evil Eye – a handful of broomsticks were waved in all four directions, whilst a little incantation was chanted, and then the bundle was placed behind a doorway and lit. The higher the blaze, the louder the crackling - the more was the Evil Eye effect. When the flames had died down, a bit of the soot would be applied to our foreheads, hands and feet.

My dad took over – you never keep the black dot on her cheek or forehead to ward off the Evil Eye, that’s why these kind of things happen to the poor li’l girl. I continued listening silently.

My sister called – you know, you should take a handful of chillies and salt, wave it around the child, spit into it three times, and then without looking, dump it into the trash can. Again, I listened silently.

My other sister called – the best way is as soon as DH comes home, take his left shoe, wave it clock-wise thrice, and anti-clockwise thrice, around D. and then tap it thrice on the floor. All the Evil Eye effects will simply vanish. I was quiet during this part of the conversation.

I was exchanging notes with the nanny – li’l D. had not slept properly the whole night – she had not eaten also properly. The nanny was pretty sure – it was the Evil Eye – kids behaved like this when they were under the influence of the Evil Eye. I just listened quietly.

It’s difficult not to yield to such persuasion. I wonder if I’m doing the wrong thing, and putting the welfare of li’l D. in jeopardy. But I simply cannot bring myself to do things which have no apparent meaning or connection, and which to me, appear to be pure superstition. It troubles me, and several times, my resolve weakens – maybe I should just yield and do what they all say. Perhaps I’m being foolishly obstinate, but I simply cannot do it. Sorry, li’l D.

Weapon of Nap Destruction!

The persistent sound drags me out of my slumber like a bucket drawn out of a well. Through the mists of my befuddled grogginess, I can see the face of my cell phone blink luminously, like a lighthouse in a fog. I have been literally dragged away from a most engrossing scene in my dream.

It’s a wedding feast, and a kid comes screaming, “Mom! Mom! They are serving chicken pox fish!”

I’m a vegetarian, and gladly notice that there are whole, greyish-purple fish, with distinct cross-tiled markings on them, heaped on the banana leaves. I am so happy I don’t have to eat in this blasted place! I try to make my way out, which involves getting down from a precariously high, dark-red fence. (My dreams always make it incredibly hard to leave!)

I run into my old Mallu school-mate – the one with a fantastic sense of humour, and I’m trying to explain something to her - only I’m laughing so hard, that tears are streaming down my face!

I’m thinking – I can understand if they want us to climb these before the meal – the desperation of hunger would force us over, anyway! But, after the meal? What were they thinking? I am slowly collapsing with laughter, holding onto the fence for dear life, while my silk sari settles around me…

The foghorn keeps sounding, and the human body is simply amazing – I stumble through the room and actually reach for my phone. It shows “Private Number” on the display, and I answer it, thoroughly confused about this.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Ma’am. I’m calling from the telephone company. (Pause). We are offering a number as a service. If you dial the number..are you still there, ma’am?”

“Yes”. The brain is begin to splutter with life and is getting increasingly indignant about the intrusion through the Do Not Disturb sign.

“We’re offering this service, ma’am. If you dial this number, you can get music instead of your ring-tone. Would you be interested in this, ma’am?”

“No!”. By now, the danger levels of indignation are being reached, and the alarm bells are close to ringing out loud.

“No, ma’am?” Her incredulous, slightly injured tone suggests that I am the first neanderthal to actually reject this “next-best-thing-to-sliced-bread” offer, point-blank .

“NO!” The full blast of vehemence has undoubtedly tunneled through to her.

“Ok, thank you, ma’am!”

The mists of sleep have now lifted and have been replaced by storms of fury. I glare at the innocent-looking cell phone, and suppress the urge to hurl it out of something, somewhere!

It reminds me of a Blondie cartoon, which goes something like this –
Dagwood receives a call:
Have you enrolled yourself in the xyz service, so that you don’t get disturbed by telemarketers?
Yes.
Ok, terribly sorry, but while I have you on the phone….

Memories of Cairo - 3

Me: (on phone) You had called?

GG: Ah yes! Our designer has given some suggestions on the framing. She suggests a black background with a bamboo kind of frame…

Me: OK…

GG: It will cost about y extra because the size has increased – that is what I wanted to check with you…

Me: Hmm…can I call you back on this?

GG: Sure.


*********

We hire an older guide called Abdullah for the entire day. He is a charmer, and talks about his entire family, then quizzes us – he has not seen many Indian tourists. We chat about Indian movies on the way to our first stop – Memphis, near Saqqara. “We love Indian movies”, he says. “No logic, but very pretty girls! You know, if anyone acts crazy, we call him Hindi movie – no logic! One of your actors, very famous one…”, he pauses, searching for the name. We prompt him, and it turns out to be Amitabh. “Ah! He comes to Egypt, and everyone goes crazy!”

It’s a smallish museum, and the main attraction is a huge statue of Rameses, that lies on the floor. We quickly finish up there, and then head towards some carpet industries. Intricately designed carpets at exhorbitant prices are displayed to us, and we finally choose a modestly priced camel-hair rug, which has a camel motif.

From there, it’s on to the famed Pyramids of Giza! We spot them from afar, three in a row. As we draw closer, they loom into the clear sky. The largest is that of Khufu aka Cheops. Ironically, the only statue remaining of him is a really tiny one! The next is that of Khafre, Khufu’s son. And finally, that of Menkaure, son of Khafre. The blocks at the base are the size of huge halls, and when we look up, I am simply amazed at what the stubborn will of a few powerful men can accomplish, at the cost of several thousand human lives. The price of aiming to remain immortal! It needs to be experienced to be believed.

We have a hilarious camel ride before we are off to a perfumery. The owner gives us some delicious tea, whilst we examine his wares. He tells us that floral extracts from Egypt are exported to France, and make up the base of several popular perfumes. We finally settle on small vials of oil of Lotus, Rose, and an ambitiously named Sheherazade. Put a few drops in your bath, or massage it into your skin, he tells us, as he waves us good bye.

We go next to a papyrus factory, where the manufacturing details are explained painstakingly, and we are then allowed to browse thru different scrolls. I choose one, and the artist paints our names in Egyptian alphabets on either side – our very own personalized papyrus scroll!!

Off to the Sphinx then, where the cool evening settles down, and a fantastic laser show crowns our day. An amazing experience in the open-air amphitheatre there, with the enigmatic Sphinx clothed in various hues!

Dinner at the Felfela is simply fantastic, and the ambience is wonderful – all wood and plants and water gurgling. The Foul (some bean dish) and falafel is very good.

The last day sees us checking out the Citadel from outside, and a quick shopping spree at the Khan al Khalili, a souk with the typical narrow winding streets and bazaar atmosphere.

There are so many things we still haven’t seen, but still, when we bid farewell to Cairo, we know it’s a dream come true!

*********

The scroll is delivered. Never mind if the frame cost more than the picture.
Finally, it adorns our walls, and it looks awesome!
A piece of Egypt in our home.

Memories of Cairo - 2

Me: Here’s the piece that needs framing.

GG: (a foreigner of hard-to-ascertain-nationality) Ah! (caressing the piece) This is from Egypt?

Me: Yes.

GG: Which frame do you want?

Me: Which frame do you suggest?

GG: Oh! Anything that you’d be happy with.

Me: Hmmm… ok… perhaps that frame there with the pink and purple filler? You think that’s ok?

GG: This one?

Me: Yes – you see, I have another piece that’s got an antique frame which has pinkish flowers – I was thinking perhaps this would match that….

*********
The first few days I have all to myself. The hotel is a sprawling building, with countless rooms, conference rooms, ballrooms, restaurants, and lounges. The best part is the lush, six-acre garden, with the trees shaped in a peculiar russian-hat-like topiary.

The weather is balmy. I sit in the Garden Promenade café, and it’s easy to slip into a world of make-believe, pretending I’m an English memsaab in a novel, in my pretty flowery dress, sipping coffee and reading a book, while soaking in the surprisingly mild morning sunshine.

I wander into the casino at an unearthly mid-morning hour, and disturb a serious card-game in progress. The players watch me warily, which makes me overwhelmingly conscious of my intrusion. I bravely march in and play a game of slots, wishing desperately for the bustling anonymity of Las Vegas, before I quietly slink out.

We try out the Ristorante Tuscany and tuck in a hearty and delicious Italian dinner, the accompanying wine lulling us into a pleasant state of drowsiness. We try the Egyptian Nights, which is housed under a huge tent-like structure, with the waiters all dressed in traditional flowing robes, replete with tasseled cap. Our waiter is courteous and mildly interested in the fact that we are from India, and helps us choose vegetarian dishes. The bread is deliciously crisp with a saltish tang. The fava beans look like rajma, and we hungrily scoop it up, only to spit it out in disgust a moment later – they are as bitter as bitter can be! The sickeningly sweet aroma of the flavoured tobacco bubbling thru the ubiquitous shishas or hookahs fill the air – it gives me a mild headache, and I actually begin to long for the familiar cigarette tobacco variety!

And for the first time, I experience the overwhelming power of physical beauty. I am actually stunned by a tall, dusky, statesque brunette in a red gown, who passes us, a strong intoxicating perfume wafting behind her! DH rues his decision on the seating arrangement, and I enjoy adding to his regret by describing her eloquently! I find it incredible that there are so many beautiful women, with plunging necklines and slit skirts, but with head and arms completely covered.

Then, there’s the romantic cruise down the river Nile. We watch a belly-dancer, fascinated by the control she has on her body, whilst excited men whoop, and tourists click away. I get an opportunity to see her close, just before she takes to the floor, and I see she is more graceful than shapely.

One morning, I decide to hire a guide and go down to the Egyptian Museum of Antiquities. My guide is a young chap, earnest and serious about his job. He starts his spiel even before we enter, telling me about the history of Egypt, the upper and lower Egypt, the Old, Middle, and New Kingdoms, the lotus and the papyrus. He pauses every now and then to quiz me, and I answer dutifully. He is pleased with my answers, and I am a trifle amused. We pass through several exhibits, and by now, my head is reeling with Rameses and Khufu, Amenemhat and Hapteshut. The figurines are exquisite, and include several objects made of wood and covered with thin gold plating. The guide points out to me a statuette’s open-toed sandals, and I marvel at how modern it looks. 3000 years don’t seem so far away in the past after all. The mummies are morbidly fascinating – even pets have been mummified, and I hastily look away from an mummified cat which stares eerily ahead.

The artifacts of Tutankhamon are probably the last stop for today. It is a secure room, with uniformed personnel posted outside. Inside, the solid gold mask, gold coffin, and several other accessories sit serenely. Every part of the discovery of his tomb has been documented photographically, and preserved. I am too exhausted to marvel yet again. You need to be here for at least a few months before you can absorb it all.

I leave the museum, successfully overwhelmed. Not only by the wondrous treasures, but the entire system of well-informed, almost scholarly guides, who are such repositories of information, and the well-honed tourism industry at work. I feel bad for the scores of archaelogical treasures and sites we have in India, housed in dilapidated conditions, with grubby guides scrounging off tourists.

*********

GG: Ok, we can go with this frame if you are ok?

Me: Sure, go ahead.

GG: I will give you a rough estimate – x1 for the frame, x2 for the board, x3 for the glass, x4 for the labour – total is ….X.

Me: (Gulp!) Just a second…D….wait (she is making a beeline for the MetLife Snoopy who has dropped by for a photo session)

Me: (On mobile) Guess what, it will cost us X – do you remember what the scroll cost us?

DH: Umm…not sure…

Me: I’m pretty sure the frame is working out to more than the scroll!!

DH: (Laughs) Let’s wrap it up though, otherwise, we will never get around to framing it!

Me: I know – it’s been more than two years now!!

Me: (to GG) OK, you can go ahead – we’ll take it!

Memories of Cairo - 1

Me (on mobile): There’s a art gallery holding an exhibition down here. They have frames too – shall I check on the frame for that Egypt papyrus?

DH: Sure, go ahead.

Me: D look, li’l baby (pointing to a Rubenesque angel). Look, mum-mum (pointing to a still of fruits). Look, horsey (pointing to wild horses galloping across a wide canvas).

D: Ba-bee. Mum-mum. Tlot-tlot (making the noise with her tongue)

Me: Can I have your card? I do have something which needs framing…

*********

It was an unexpected bonanza – a holiday in Cairo! For the first time, we are flying into the heart of Islamic culture. I am surprised by the way religion is woven so tightly into their lives. Right from the console in the aircraft, that shows where Mecca lies, to the prayer area in the airport; the white-robe, red-checked head-covering clad sheikhs that I’d seen only in movies, the head-covered-with-scarf ladies who seem to be straight out of books... It’s a different world, and I absorb it a little uncomfortably, all too conscious of my uncovered head, and my rootless Hindu existence.

The taxi zips through the city, over the numerous flyovers and the broad, palm(?) lined avenues. We pull up at the Hotel Marriott which is our hotel through sheer luck rather than choice. It was a palace earlier, and the interiors are all a-glitter with gold, and unbelievably crowded. We check in and step out into the balcony of our comfortable room – it overlooks the river Nile! A greenish-blue sluggish ribbon, it’s the fabled Nile nevertheless! We have to pinch ourselves to believe it!

*********

Me: (rummaging through the cupboard) Where is that scroll? It was right here the last time I saw it!

DH: Ha! Ha!

Me: Ha, ha, indeed! There it is! Come on, D! Let’s go!