Bent nail syndrome

The story first appeared about a week ago in an Italian magazine called "Venerdi" that comes out as Friday supplement of a newspaper and is the talk of radio shows and forums in Italy. It is about a disease and it is rare for news about illnesses to get such wide publicity. So much so that people in bars, sipping the morning cappuccinos and caffes, have been reported to smile snidely as they ask each other if they have got the chiodo piegato, or "Bent nail syndrome".

It seems that the northern province of Treviso, close to Venice has the distinction of being the Italian capital of persons affected with this disease. It is also well known among orthopaedic surgeons in USA where it is also called Texas syndrome since it seems to affect the Texans more than any one else.

The disease affects middle aged men, between 40 to 60 years old, especially those who are away from home, staying in a hotel for the weekend and especially those who use viagra tablets. The Italian doctor with largest experience about the disease says that it does happens mostly with men who have younger girl friends, who try to impress them that they still have the vigour of younger men and want to try more exciting of kamasutra positions. It does not happen with wives since there one tends go by habbit, in the usual positions.

You must have guessed by now, what is this disease! A fracture of the penis. The doctor goes on, the men are often asking that their wives should not be informed, though it is difficult to hide this condition since the plaster cast on their dicks is not easy to hide!

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Sounds and lunatics

".. any way, no wild land is entirely still and silent. It has its own discords and detonations. Earth collapses with the engineering of the ants; lizards smack the pebbles with their tails; the sun fires seeds in salvos from their pods; pigeons misconnect with dry branches; and stones left loosely to their own devices, can find the muscle to descend the hill."

Wonderful language. Makes me think of flat pebbles bouncing on the surface of the water so lightly that they hardly makes a splash. I am reading Quarantine by Jim Grace. I like to read aloud the parts that strike me particularly.

Opening my mouth wide and articulating each word, trying to see it take form and spread its wings before flying away. What is the speed of the sound? In a few seconds, the sound viberations, rising from my vocal cords trembling like a diapson, spread out in the world, like children suddenly grown up and wishing to be independent, travelling kilometers in that unseen dimension, colliding with sound waves of that couple fighting, that boy whistling, the girl gasping... and finally coming to stop near that blade of grass, making it tremble exactly like the diapson of my vocal cords.

I read on.

"This was the season of the lunatics: the first new moon of spring was summoning those men - lunatics are mostly men. They have the time and opportunity - to exorcize that part of them which sent them mad. Mad with grief, that is. Or shame. Or love.Or illnesses and visions. Mad enough to think that every thing they did, no matter how vain or trivial, was of interest to their god. Mad enough to think that forty days of discomfort could put their world in order."

Lunatic. Touched by Luna, the moon. I think of my head line going up from the mound of Mars, going over the mound of Mercury, stopping just short of the mound of the moon. "Emotional, but balanced by the rational pull towards the Jupiter. This cross here, this is the island of death. It means the death of the persons, who will love you." That was the Pandit ji in Mohan Nagar ages ago in another life. What does it mean?

No one has died. Does it mean that people in my life don't really love me? Or does it mean that gods does not have the time to sit down and mark lines properly on our hands?

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West African dances

Last night I went to see the west African dance show in the Villa Angeletti garden. It was supposed to start at 9.30 PM but at 9.40, when I reached there, it was not yet started. They had set up two bars on two sides, one of which was blaring out loud music and had a hyperactive DJ.

In another corner of the park they were showing the old classic film "Casablanca", but its sound was drowned in the loud music.

University students from near by Galaxy hostel thronged the place, drinking beer, chatting, smoking. At 10.30 PM, they had still not started the show. I told myself that I will wait for another 15 minutes and if they don't start, I will go away. They started just before it was time for me to leave. Some drums, they were not bad but not that great as well.

Then there was a group of Italian girls doing the dance with their west african teacher from Guinea Konkry. It was nothing like the lovely west African dances done by Footprints international from Ghana that I had seen in January.

I am gearing up for more travel. Rome, London, Quito-Cuenca-Gauyaquil (all in Ecuador), all in July. I am sure to get good pictures for the blogs.

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Holidays are almost over

The days have passed quickly in Bibione. Tomorrow we shall go back to Bologna, even if I don't start working till Wednesday 29th June.

Writing three blogs (in English, Hindi and Italian) has been impossible and I decided to give precedence to the blog in Hindi. I have written it in unicode even if because of the Italian keyboard, I am unable to write 'e' and some other signs.

Long walks along the sea, lot of sun, some swimming in the sea and some reading, that can be the summary of these holidays. I have turned darker and hopefully leaner in these days, though I am afraid to go and check my weight on the weighing machine!

Fortunately it is still not very hot but Bologna would be hotter and more humid.

In the June issue of Hindi magazine Hans, I have read Mini didi's poems and one very powerful self-story or atam-katha by a professor of journalism in Delhi, Mr. Shauraj Singh Bechain. It is really well written story of his life as a child labourer and his journey from being "Ganghi chamar's grandson" to the school. The contrast between the situations in the story and the holiday life here with the seaside tourists is so extreme. Probably because of it, words from his story keep on resounding in my head for days.

Here are some pictures from these holidays in Bibione.

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Finally Holidays in Bibione

Finally the holidays in Bibione.

In my opinion, this is the saddest part of the holidays when they actually begin, since it means that soon they will be over!

I have a long list of things to do during these holidays. I want to start with the second draft of my book, write something in Hindi, make some interactive animations with the help of flash and a graphic tablet... For my birthday, I asked Miriam for a graphic tablet and it is wonderful to design with a pen on it and see the designs on the computer.

I am sitting on the terrace in Bibione and it is raining and there is a cold wind. I am back in Bibione after two years. Last time I had come for a couple of days with Meghna in July 2003. Nadia and Marco have gone to the supermarket. In the afternoon when we had arrived, it was sunny and warm. Marco had fixed the long beach chair and I had plonked myself on it with the newspaper, saying that after half an hour I will go the beach for my first swim. I think that I fell asleep after ten minutes. Two hours later, when I woke, the sky was already covered with clouds.

On the way to Bibione, near Portogruaro we had left the main road to go to Brussa, a small village lost among a vast area of green fields, small canals and lovely house, to an old restaurant called Mazorak, where they serve wonderful fried fish. You can also go there by boat and there is a Mazorak boat stop. I must have gone there for the first time with Miriam and Lino, probably in 1982 or 1983, before Marco was born. It was a simple place, eating there didn't cost much and food was superb even if their menu was limited. The menu is still the same, the food is as good, but the place is not so simple or cheap any more. It is now really famous with people travelling 50-80 kms to come and eat there.

The owner of Mazorak, once he knew us all. He would greet us like long lost friends. Marco, a small baby at that time, played with puppies in their house behind the restaurant, while his wife cooked polenta with corn flour. Now his children are all grown up and his grandchildren work in the restaurant. Today, his wife was no where to be seen and the owner, he looked old and sick, while a line of cooks worked like an assembly line production in a factory to produce roasted polenta for the thronging crowds. I am glad for their success but it made me feel a little sad.

Then, Nadia said, "One day we will come here with Marco's wife." I said, "May be we will come one day with Marco's children! While they will eat, we will take out the children for a walk." "You remember that time in Connaught Place, when Marco was crying so much, that you had to take him out and we had to eat by turns?" Nadia asked. Marco rolled up his eyes, he has heard this story hundreds of times!

Suddenly it is wonderful to be on holidays.

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Pictures from Bologna Per Tot festival

Came back from London last night.

My cold was getting worse and I had a board meeting, yet I found time to run to park of Villa Angeletti to watch preparations for Bologna Per tot parade. In the local Bologna dialect, "per tot" means "for every one". It is the festival for welcoming the summer, organized by students from Bologna University and local associations.

This year though summer seems to be hesitating if it should come or not. The Par Tot parade was a riot of colours. There were mainly students and young persons, a few smoking pot, almost everyone drinking wine and having fun. There was even an Anand Marg group in the parade with Acharya Kamleshwar Nanda from India.

I clicked a lot of pictures. Even after deleting many of them because they were blurred, still there are so many nice ones. Here is just a sample of those pictures.

If you like these images and want to see more pictures of the Bologna Par Tot parade from different years, check them on the photo-archives on Kalpana.

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Buskers in London underground

I am developing a cold. And I am back in London.

The underground train to Liverpool station stops every five minutes. "We are sorry for the delays caused by lack of sufficient staff in East London", they announce. Every day they make the same announcements. It sounds as if staff shortage is kind of disease or tsunami, a natural disaster. Perhaps, they are all ill with cold and fever? This is London, the capital of one of the most powerful and rich countries in the world!

I love the buskers in the London underground. They have their regular spaces authorized properly. Wonder if they have to pay for it. My favourite is at Piccadilly. It is always wonderful though I remember with nostalgia, once hearing a busker on saxophone playing Bolero. It gives me goose pimples, just to think of it. As escalators go deep down into bowels of earth, the acoustics are great.

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