Rest in peace, Sophia Maria Conchita Gonzales.

I remember you had a few play dates with Oquirrh before you came to us.  You were cute and soft and all, but I was overwhelmed with school, and nothing could distract my love and affection for Oquirrh – my dog.  When you first came to live with us, we didn’t really click and I don’t think I understood why until we knew that you were a permanent member of our family (about a year later).  I was afraid to love you if I knew you were just going to leave.

You were Oquirrh’s foil – perhaps this difference was alienating to me at first.  Oquirrh was impulsive, pushy and loud and self-assured.  When you first joined our household you were the most timid creature I have ever met – afraid to bark, cowering at loud sounds, hiding from people and the world.  Mom always told me that Oquirrh and I were alike, and I don’t think she meant just in appearance.  I suppose my first reaction was that you were something of an intruder who took attention away from “my” puppy. 

Au contraire.  As soon as I learned that we had fully adopted you, my heart warmed and you won me over.  I was intrigued by this change in me.  And realized – you didn’t take away from (my) Oquirrh – you gave to her.  You became her best friend, and one of mine. 

You could never run as fast as Oquirrh, jump as high, or do as many tricks.  After a while, once in a while, you did begin to run in the hills with joyful abandon, instead of cowering alongside us slowpoke humans.  Watching you break free was as joyful and liberating for me, I think, as it must have been for you. 

But Oquirrh could never be as “good”, obedient, or compassionate as you.  You taught her how to slow down and how to love, I think.  (Ad in turn, you taught me how to love as well).  Or at least, to not chew up people’s shoes. 

Through all your transformations, however – learning to playfight, learning to bark at people and dogs who dared to cross our window, learning to sit on the prime spot of people’s feet under the dining room table, and learning to run free – you never lost your sweetness and caring.  You were the type of dog people dream of, the one who always puts her head in your lap at the time of need.  Oquirrh, not so much.  But she learned from you. 

One of my most favorite memories of you was just this winter.  I took you and Oquirrh on a long walk/run in the hills.  As we were leaving Perry’s Hollow, you ran off and Oquirrh remained by my side.  You had taken off on your own rebellion, something you would never have done when we first met.  I felt proud of your discovered strength and freedom. 

I see you and Oquirrh as two sides of feminism.  Oquirrh is the go-getter, do-anything-er, nothing can stop my achievement of great speeds and tricks and prizes.  She is inspirational in her strength and overcoming of odds, but sometimes, if you don’t play her game, you’re a sissy and really, just in the way.  “Give me pets, because I deserve them!”  And you, Sophie, are the submissive, chaste, docile housewife, the woman who is not afraid to be feminine and not afraid to love.  You empower others and give to the world, saying “my choice is to be a gentle girl, now just don’t exploit me or take advantage of it, if you please.  And if it’s not too much trouble now, how about a little ear-scratching?”

I love you dearly, Sophie girl, I am so sad to lose you.  I will miss your soft head, sweet nuzzles, and kindhearted demeanor.  The world is not a better place without your empathetic soul.  But what you have taught (by consideration, example, and affection), will carry on (to the best of our ability) through those whom you have touched. 

journaladge

5^th Feb, 2007Today we had a lecture on Bhakti in Indian art, took a dance class from 3 very talented women, received a lecture and concert from “Chamuprana”, and attended the last half of a class on Hindi.  It was a long and wonderful day.            I was misconceived about Bhakti.  I assumed that it was just like any other religious movement or devotion – but our lecturer described it as a deeply personal relationship with a God/dess, in which one is “divided” from the world and “united” with the God/dess.  According to our lecturer, Bhakti is about love, whereas religious devotion is more based on fear. 
            Speaking of religion – I was glad to go to the Mosque and the
Hindu
Temple yesterday; one of the things I love about
India is the spirituality seemingly ingrained in everything.  However I think I missed being surrounded by it – not just learning about it and seeing examples of it – it felt really good to be in a location where people were praying.  I thought a lot about my own limitations when it comes to meditation and prayer – the feeling that I need to understand something, to figure it out before I can let it go, the difficulty for me to have faith in something I cannot see, or something someone tells me to worship.  So I liked when our lecturer described the Indian understanding that God is unborn unless humans give him/her human form (through words, imagination, and ones’ own consciousness), such as in one ritual where the devotee gives communion to the deity in its anthropromorphic form, and dissolves the deity at the end of the ritual.  He connected this to Yates.  The love of Bhakti is focused.  Whereas some religions can make you lose your capacity to love by demanding that you love your enemy as your friend, followers of Bhakti create the object to love, embodying ones’ own temperament.  The love is so intense that the object disappears; such as, “the color and the page are all” (not what they depict) – and eventually one becomes able to love as Buddha and Jesus did.  I would probably follow the sort of Bhakti that worships a formless God/dess (Nirguna Bhakti).  I love these aspects of Bhakti:  empowering the downtrodden, paradoxes and spontaneity in art forms, incorporating aspects of folk and other cultures, freedom from convention, and that passion is more important than technique.  In incorporating folk and Islamic art into traditional Hindu art, were Bhakti followers appropriators?  Or fusionists?  If race is an social construct, and culture is a blurry many-layered something that for many must be defined post facto, if language is becoming more uniform and globalization more multifaceted, where do appropriation and fusion begin and end?  No idea is new or fresh.  Where do they come from if not from another space/time?  Are superstitions really challenged in Bhakti?  What is
India without superstition?  Is there a balance or synthesis between Yogi and Commissar world-changing?  If the world is an illusion, then what isn’t?  If senses are paths of greed, then what isn’t?  It is interesting to hear how different each person’s definition of Rasa is.  Today: “all that is capable of engaging and moving us produces Rasa”.How Bhakti is accepted and suppressed to the world?1)       It exhibits great ebullience, creativity, enlightenment, and energy (what do Hindustanis think of creativity?  Can it exist?  In FPA 111 we learned that nothing is ever new, nothing is creative – we are simply art-producers.  I suppose then we could talk about art-ownership)2)       It flies in the face of establishment, and establishment oppresses3)       It goes underground or compromises with establishments – creativity ceases, theological writings increase, and the creativity goes somewhere else.  I always take the side of the underdog – anti-establishment.  But if transgressions against the norm become normative, then “the establishment” becomes the transgressor.  I wonder if this is a common dynamic between Muslims and Hindus.  It becomes so very complex when you consider multi-normatives and multi-transgressions (ie, add the English into the equation).  Fanton (in our first custom courseware reading) says that this conflict is necessary for a national identity to emerge post-colonialism.  I am very curious about the process of compromise that follows the realization or introduction of “difference” – from modernity in
India to the incorporation of western instruments into Indian music (the flow of tradition).   

From the documentary:  I would like to learn more about the differences and similarities of Indian and Western documentary methods – symbolism, perspective, angles, and choice of music.  I would like to learn more about connections (which is perhaps the new study for poor ole binary lovers) between religions in different parts of the world, such as the saint of education in
South America compared with Sarswati, female deities and their affect on “collective consciousness”, and so on.  It what ways does a documentary artist impact those he/she is studying – by existing, by filtering, by editing? 

And concerning the concert.  Strong, medium, medium, strong seems as common in Hindustani music as it is in pipe music.  What can I say but how lucky we are to have evolved ears and brains sensitive to colorful vibrations, vibrations which “remove physical dust and psychological dust and stain”.  The self shines forth (swara)… like scent, music can have the ability to evoke memory.  When I am lucky enough to listen to in-the-moment engaging music, I am reminded of times in my life when I have felt very alone, but strong in that alone-ness, and knowing that in the end, alone is really what my experience on this earth will amount to – but that this experience is shared by everyone.  Connected to how Rebecca reacted to the musings on Bhakti, perhaps we are never alone (the god/dess is within us).   

February 10^th, 2007            I have a lot on my head from the lectures with which we have been treated here in
Delhi.  I love being immersed in this artsy world, here on the other side of the earth.  Lucky me.  So here goes… something of an expanded list, I suppose.   

On “universal” emotionsThere are 8, 9, or 10 Rasas/ Bhavas (I am unclear on the difference between these two).  In my biased upbringing, I learned of fewer base emotions – sadness, joy, anger, and fear.  (Elham says they are just fear and doubt, in the west).In Rasa, they are:Love in union and separationHumorPathos/sorrowAnger/wrathHeroismFear/panicDistaste/recoil/disgustWonderment/surprisePeaceShyness 

A little bird told me I love to classify.  I’ll just call it organization, or simplification… 

Sadness:Love in separationPathos 

Joy:HumorHeroismWonderment/surprisePeace 

Anger/wrath 

Fear/panic:Distaste/recoil/disgustShyness 

These emotions are also associated with color… intriguingly different from western counterparts:Love in union/separation = green = jealousyHumor = white = purityPathos/sorrow = dove = I’m assuming this is gray = dullness, industry (SFU!)Anger/wrath = red = anger, eroticismHeroism = wheat brown = dirtFear/panic = black = deathDistaste/recoil/disgust = blue = calm, coolnessWonderment/surprise = yellow = cheer 

Do these inconsistencies mean anything?  I am reminded of personality tests that ask you to organize color or gain some meaning from your favorite colors.  I guess, then, that “meaning of color” is a cultural construct.  There being different scales of culture – perhaps the “meaning of colors” is different at individual, familial, community, city, state, national, world, and universal levels?  Are emotions felt differently by color-blind people and animals?  Do we all perceive colors differently?

I am reminded of another connection.  I met Rahul, an art critic, on the art-installation field-trip bus.  After much discussion of structuralism and post-structuralism and truth and identity, he told me about one perspective in which we are defined by who we are not.  Kind of like, a color is actually whatever is not reflected.  I like that.              In the same vein, are there implications of meaning in sound?  In the west, we seem to have adopted Shakespeare’s “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet”, while here, syllables and sounds carry more meaning (such as “om”).  Are certain sounds more masculine and feminine, and does this create division in language and experience as well as in gender?  Perhaps the meanings and genders of sounds carry over to non-human acoustics. 

 

 

Somewhere between minimalism and ornamentationCan ornamentation be un-superficial?  Can it be simple?  I am drawn to both simplicity and complexity.  I love fractals, where the mega-structure is similar to the micro-structure, such as flowers and galaxies, atoms and planets.  I love intricate detail (in doodles, visual art, music, and dance).  I am drawn to ideas such as “words within words” and “reading between the lines.”  I loved how Matvi Gupta, an Orissi dance instructor, described pieces as flowering – the gradual addition of more and more detail and ornamentation.  Maybe it is the contrast, or balance, between minimalism and ornamentation that strikes me (is this possible?).   Is there a difference between contrast and balance (not to confuse balance with symmetry)?  The division between a fraction and the whole leads me to discretization.  Whenever we take photos, take notes, or attempt to document an event, we discretize it.  We no longer experience it continuously.  Yet, engagement (for me) is never continuous either (I filter and fall in and out of focus).  Some people prefer analog photography to digital because the discretization of the silver particles is irregular as opposed to regular – it is possible that we are aware of this subconsciously if not consciously.  We can apply this concept to acoustic vs. digital music as well.  I haven’t really thought about irregular vs. regular discretization before, but maybe this is why I fell in love with Chuck Close in high school, and gush over mosaics whenever I come across them.  Maybe it’s also the notion of creating a whole from fragments and broken parts (potential trash).  Every particle is as important as the whole (though perhaps the whole is greater than the sum of its parts).  Mosaics seem to exist the world around. 

Where clothing is more erotic than nudityKavita Singh, in discussing Indian miniatures, told us that in
India the clothed female is considered to be more erotic than the nude.  Most sculptures of females that we have seen here in lectures and on tours are nude, and to my eyes appear erotic.  In much of the “obsessively erotic art of Khajuraho and Konarak” shown in Partha Mitter’s Indian Art – the sculptures are nude, but perhaps it is their actions (“oral sex, group sex, and bestiality”) which make them erotic (not their clothing).  Perhaps it is in Islamic art that the female body is more erotic when clad and in Hindu art that it is also erotic when unclad.  Certainly clothing can make a person appear more sexual than no clothing (if it is cloth which accentuates the titillating hot spots of the time).  I find contradiction in Partha Mitter’s descriptions of ideal beauty and the ideals that we have seen.  She quotes the ideal as “Slim, youthful, with the eyes of a frightened doe, fine teeth and red lips like the bimba fruit, slim waisted, deep-navelled, slowed down by the weight of the hips and bent by her full breasts, she is the best of her gender created by god”.  The Cola bronzes we have seen in lecture and in Indian Art are quite slender at the hip.  Many of the female sculptures we have seen are round, and many of them are slender.  The turn of the century artist Abanindranath Tagore, in search of an “indigenous style eventually led to his paintings on the divine lovers, Radha and Krsna, which introduced to the Bengali audience an alternative, emaciated ideal of feminine beauty” (Mitter).  I suppose beauty is different all over
India and throughout time, as well as different around the world.  And concerning eyes of a frightened doe: coming from a different time period, many of the women in the movies we have seen are more belligerent than “frightened” or “submissive”.  Hooray for variety.  I liked the embracing of Akka in the documentary we watched the other day – that her nudity was not a symbol of sex, but a symbol of asceticism.  However… I wish it wouldn’t have been such a bad thing for her to be a sexual figure.Are breast portrayed differently around the world?  Are they smaller in Western or East Asian art than South Asian?  I remember going through art museums in the states and in
Europe when I was younger, and marveling at the often odd looking breasts (maybe they are difficult for artists to mould).  Like any other Westerner, I am fascinated by temple-connected erotic art in
India, and I want to romanticize the roles of Devidasis.  I want to be able to appreciate sexuality, beauty, and eroticism (whether male or female).  It is not always exploitative – it can empower women (such as Prof. Shamsul Islam’s impression of the Cabaret in 1900s
France).  I suppose one example is the Tantric movement – “Yoginis or female ascetic-sorceresses were feared because of their association with Tantric practices.”  And -  “the mother cult: Prehistoric north-west India was part of a large swathe extending from the Indus valley to
Asia Minor where a matriarchal religion of sexual cults and sacred prostitution was practiced.”  PARTS OF
INDIA WERE ONCE MATRIARCHAL??  Tell me more.  Power and repression have such strange cycles and manifestations.  It makes me sad that most religions and societies are hell-bent on virginal purity (especially with women).  It makes me sad that women oppress other women because they themselves have been oppressed.  How are these sculptures horrific and erotic at the same time, as described by Professor Naman Ahuja?  Is this a social construct? 

It is fascinating to me that sculpture can be revered to the point of having a legal identity, yet sculpture artists/producers lived and worked on the outskirts of town (according to Professor Ahuja) because what they did was “dirty” work – physical as opposed to intellectual labor.  Elham and I, looking at a sculpture in a museum one day, talked about how we looked at it: I think about the artist’s intent, and what they would be proud of in the “finished product”.  Elham gives importance to the art production process, and that is the artfulness that matters, which resonates in the final object.  Both of us consider the “production process” to be potentially meditative, which in my mind is intellectual.  But not always – sometimes work can be pretty wretched.  Often workers produced art that was for a religious purpose different from their own, which leads to a questioning of the importance of intent.The destruction of these sculptures is such a powerful image – Taliban destruction of Buddhist sculptures, stealth bombing of archaeological sites.  To me it is tragic, but clearly others have different agendas.  I am mystified by (the living, breathing) Prof Shamsul Islam’s Bush-bashing experience. Was it because of ignorance, repression, and fear?  The same reasons that over half of
America voted for Bush in the first place?The destruction and undervaluing of sculptures is sad, and inevitable, but also seems to be necessary.  There is so much artistic production – will it fill up the world?  Would this be such a bad thing? 

The bird as a symbol of connection to the heavensThe hyma bird, in the miniatures, was a symbol of royalty.  The Muslims spread corn kernels for the birds at the Jamu Mashi Mosque.  A stork (escaped from the local zoo) brought my sister’s soul to my mother before she was born.   

Narratives.  There are so many different methods – syncretic, synoptic, continuous, frame-by-frame, aural/oral, musical, dance, film… For a time, Western art was as connected to the bible as Indian art is to the Ramayan or Mahabharat.  Like life in the west, I believe the art has become less dependent on the bible for inspiration.  Yet, as an art student deficient in Biblical understanding, I feel I can still appreciate Western artwork (though I may not understand the background or context).  Would this be possible in Indian art?  Perhaps it is the emphasis on the narrative in so much of the Indian art that we have seen that would make appreciation less difficult without understanding.  Or maybe I know more about Western Biblical references than I think.  Anyway, the timelines and evolutions of art seem to be different everywhere, depending very so much on social, political, and economic situations. 

The importance of DarshanAccording to Prof. Ahuja, when one removes an artwork from its environment, it loses a sense of scale, context, and understanding.  Does it removed darshan, as well?  How does darshan exist to people who believe more in nonimage?  Are works in
India less precious because of the notion of nonimage (such as the “Jain Nonimage” representation shown in class)? Can devotion be as strong to a nonimage as it is to a religion or God/dess, to an art form, to a parent or lover?  Devotion requires faith, I think, which is perhaps why it eludes me – but it fascinates me – I think one can gain a more in depth experience and understanding of the devoted, with devotion.  It seems so connected to passion and love.  I’d like to explore this further.  Can the process of de/recontextualization (at the same time) be experienced by a non-image? 

On the evolution of religion, tree spirits, and sculpture“The Pagan” has influenced religion in Europe, India, and the
Americas (as well as other places, probably).  Mythic stories evolve into bibles and moral codes, such as the “abducted woman” evolving into Sita.  I am drawn to the Yaksha/Yakshini figure of old who reciprocates and embodies nature – the tree spirit who gives the Buddha a hand as he walks over water, the protector – exhibiting grace, seductiveness, and ornamentation, and symbolizing fertility.  (According to the professor that I’m in love with, they are represented best by terracotta for its fluidity, freedom, and immediacy). How are they represented in religion today?  I was very moved, also, by the (simple) earth goddess image we saw in class. 

A few questions on symbols.Garnet eyes are so striking in an otherwise stone/clay sculpture – this contrast I am sure is experienced much differently when the sculpture is painted “garishly” (we have no idea).How did the British respond to the use of human bones for ritual purposes?The simple symbol of Tripataka (palmed hand facing forward) is everywhere… in Southwestern American Indian rock-art, the Hand of Fatima, the symbol for Buddhism, and a mutra in Indian dance.  It is a symbol I like so much I wouldn’t mind getting a tattoo of it on my body.  But due to its ubiquitous-ness, does it have more potential to become the new Swastika?  I am interested in the dress/ceremonial gear aspect of a cultural production.  There is such a ritual to costuming oneself.  My band certainly performs better when we are in uniform – some people believe that children who wear uniforms to school do better.   

FearlessnessIn cultures where dance is a part of every-day life, imperfection and wild abandon seems okay and even commonplace (such as, the spontaneous dance).  The connection to other people via body movement is sometimes seen as a path toward enlightenment (for example, whirling dervishes).  Many people in my social circles back home fear dancing and body movement, feeling self-conscious and awkward.  Does the lack of fear in these “other cultures” carry over to different aspects of life?  Is it evidence of an alternative aesthetic that classical Indian art (eg dance) seems more open to portrayals/appreciation of life-ugliness and awkwardness than classical art in the west?

fun with fusion/appropriation… sari charlie

In Varanasi with Pamela and Elham

this is exciting

Last Tuesday we went to Shubendra and Saskia’s beautiful gracious home for refreshments and a lec/dem.  Shubendra lived and studied with his guru Ravi Shankar for 10 years.  Saskia is Hildegaard Westerkamp’s niece and introduced cello to Indian classical music.  The evening was eye-opening, and the concert was one of the most engaging and mind-altering that I have ever experienced.  Shubendra and Saskia kindly agreed to meet with me periodically while I am in Delhi to teach me more.  Durjey, the head-bobbing-master tabla player agreed to perform with me for my presentation on Indian influence in Western music (and vice versa).  I am the luckiest girl in the world.
Today I went to Shubendra’s house, introduced him to the pipes, and learned more about how I can apply Indian music to them.  I will go again in a few days.  Certainly I won’t learn to play a raag- that would take years and years to learn.  But hopefully I will gain some understanding of the language/grammar, culture, tradition, and history, and further free my pipes (and self) from limitations.  Maybe, even, we’ll get to jam.
Sa Ri Ga Ma Pa Dha Ni.

adventures in Delhi

We went to the Independence day parade our first day in Delhi, and met a man from Texas.  Our prefessor is from Texas so of course they knew each other (joke) and there was instant connection.  We planned to all have lunch together but went back to his hotel first, which was nearby, to grab some water.  He was staying at a very very expensively rich hotel.  We had fun playing on the mod couches and riding the elevators.  Our friend (Steve) was leaving town the next day but would be back later on.  A few days ago he called us to say he was back in Delhi and invited us for dinner and drinks at his hotel.  So 6 of us girls, Patricia, Martin, and their two sons, and the token male student all giggled and drank wine in his hotel room replete with vanities, sundries, and “mood lighting” options of orange and blue.  After dinner, we students went to a bar lounge where our host catered to every possible whim (waiter: wine, water, chips, chocolate, waiter: please turn down that light, waiter: could you change the music?).  Fascinating.  I danced chatted with 2 Hollanders and a man from Denmark dressed as Aladdin.  When the bar/lounge closed and everyone else was ready to go home, I wanted to keep dancing, so said goodbye to my friends, promised to be safe and good, and went with Aladdin to another club.  Two locals in front of us in line at the door got us in quickly.
Alladin quickly became upset at the attention I was getting (males and females alike).  I felt no need to give in to demands that I felt were silly and controlling, and while trying to explain myself he removed himself of his “responsibility” for me and we parted ways.  One of the men who had gotten me into the door, Karen, tried to entertain me with magic tricks.  I didn’t get to dance very long before the club closed.  Karen and his friend drove me home to the hotel.
The next day Karen phoned and begged to go to dinner.  I was tired from the previous late night, and knew I had to get up for school relatively early, so was just planning to grab a quick bite nearby with my roomie, Brett.  I told Karen this, and he said he’d join us.  He said he would meet us at 8:00 at a more central hotel than ours.
In India, if you ask where something is and the unfortunate responder doesn’t know, he (I say he because this has been my experience) usually gives you directions anyway.  “down the street, take a left.”  Not there.  20 questions later, Brett and I mounted a cycle rickshaw that turned out to be broken, and arrived at the “central” hotel at 8:40.  Karen wasn’t there, so I phoned him – “I’m so close.  10 minutes, I’ll be there.”  An hour later, I phoned him again – “I got into an accident with a motorcycle.  I’m so close.  10 minutes, I’ll be there.”  20 minutes later he arrived with his friend, Also Karen.  But before we went to dinner we had to pick up a shirt from another friend who lived nearby.  Karen was adamant that Also Karen not get out of the car when we got there, but that Brett and I should come meet his friend.
Karen described his friend as “very fair, my best friend since elementary school.”  He turned out to be the most feminine man Brett and I had ever met, very sweet and gentle – the demeanor of Mr. Rogers, a shirt like where’s Waldo, and the hand gestures of Albert in The Birdcage.
Back in the car, we asked Also Karen what the conflict was between the two.  Also Karen said, “You know, he just likes me too much, like he’s obsessed with me, he’s just too sensitive, like if we became friends he’d be too afraid of losing friendship.  He’s totally straight, he’s just a sensitive guy.”  Brett and I knew full well the taboo of homosexuality in India, but Brett asked, “Do you guys know any homosexuals?”  “No no, of course not.”   Brett asked, “Do you think it’s strange that we have homosexual marriages in Canada?”   “I mean, homosexual sex happens all the time, just behind closed doors, no one talks about it.”
We drove and drove and drove, Brett and I looking at one another with suprise, because we thought we were going somewhere quick and close.  Of course not… 30-45 minutes later we arrived at a club.  Hungry tired Sylvias aren’t so good when it comes to not getting what they were expecting, especially when GETTING FOOD IN THE BODY RIGHT NOW and SLEEP are on the line.  I try to not let it affect those around me, but I’m pretty terrible at being opaque.  Brett had a much better attitude.  We found seats in the crowded loud upstairs, ordered food, and looked in awe at the model-esque Europeans all around us.  Maybe a third of the patrons looked Indian.  Downstairs, imitations of erotic Indian sculptures canoodled on the walls.
As we waited for our food, our suspisions that our driver was completely insane were confirmed.  He constantly asked us about his hair, his appearance, he introduced us to all of his friends! but got upset when we talked to other people for too long, he asked us to marry him an tell others of our plans.  He was practically manic.  Brett guessed coke.  I didn’t know.
After too long at the club, I demanded that we leave.  “Let’s dance for 5 minutes.”  “By 5 minutes do you mean an hour?”  “You are so rude!”  “I want to go home.”  “Let’s just say goodbye first, okay?”  So we did.
Also Karen had left earlier because of work.  On our way home, Karen talked to Brett in the front about how upset I was, what was wrong with me, about how fair his father and friend were, about his own appearance, about who was the prettiest girl at the club, about how amazing club climax was on a Saturday night!, about his birthday on the 6th of Feb!.  Brett, the incredible actress, played along.  When she tried to explain why I wasn’t happy chipper, he became very defensive.  Denial, not a river in India.  It is a strange experience to sit in the backseat of a car listening to “she’s upset!  she’s upset!  what’s wrong with her!  such an attitude!  so rude!”  With curiosity, I said nothing, aware that my silence probaby perpetuated the problem.
When we got to our neighborhood, Karen was lost.  He asked me to drive because he was tired.  “No, thank you.”  He begged for 2 minutes to rest.  “No, we need to go home.”  When we stopped to ask for directions he appeared to sleep.  When Brett said she needed to go to the bathroom, he insisted that he stop – “No.”  He complained about us not going to his house to drink champagne and have a good time.  He was somehow unable to follow the directions that we tried to gather 4 times.  When Brett and I said we would find an auto rickshaw to take us home, he became very distressed and hurt.
The next time he stopped, I got out of the car.  As Brett tried to get out, he started driving.  She escaped with no trouble, and we approached some auto-rickshaw drivers (who are relievingly and unbelievably ubiquitous) to take us home.  As they debated over where our hotel was, Karen joined us, arguing that he would drive us home.  Brett and I got into the rickshaw.  Karen followed us all the way to the hotel.  We said our goodbyes when we paid the rickshaw driver, but Karen followed us into the hotel “to use the bathroom”.  Brett and I joined the comforting arms of a few of our friends who were in the lobby lounge finishing their journals for school; Karen came to talk to us but the hotel administrators pulled him away.  When we went up to our room, he was still talking to them.
Since then, our phone has rung at least 8 times.  We don’t answer it any more.
Hooray for bonding times and funny stories:)