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Greek Course


Maria’s Diaries – Chapter-13

The sky was mackerel. She began the Greek studies. The coach was bespectacled like a kindred she found in an Athenian jest yet brimming with perspicacity. She matched the numbers. She was the last to turn out of the course. The halls were faintly illumined and there were rich shoots outside the cross divider and the unkempt edges in addition to sloppy others alert patches. She was crouching slightly because of the long duration at the craft zone with hardly three espressos the morning. In any case, that was functionally nice with that cereals breakfast when she began from home. mummy was debilitated. So she needed to do the dishes alone. Brother was sleeping after the late movie at the drive-in. Father had just gone for office. She wore her ikat salwar and sped to the interurban terminal.

Soon she leaves. She reviews once more…alpha (Α, α), beta (Β, β), gamma (Γ, γ), delta ,deltathe fourth (Δ, δ)……….nu ,13th (Ν, ν), a consonant, transliterated as n………..

Maria partakes in a battle in a bistro. Maria was insubordinate and didn’t stand any affront. She restricted male oppressive words signals and scoffs, that made her lesser throughout everyday life. right now, was helped by her companion, and relative, Joanna. Theirs is a fascinating gemütlichkeit scholarly, perhaps. The intriguing piece of the scene is that both were dreamers, attempting to locate the everlasting merger in a momentary world…

Maria was die-hard in multiple senses and she abhorred many friendships with guys around her. Especially chaps who examined her bearing and one such person was her supervisor at the work. He took her hands and she punched him in the belly. Furthermore, it was a season of mirth and she could dispatch the chronicles of that pursuit to some other dear self in another time… Here the character welcomed her to the java house and she left with him. He was in a way in front of the power mill and Maria was excited of that character yet the person was not totally fervent on her association and he asked Maria something that she was not equipped to dispense and look, Maria blows up. Moreover, hits him on his belly, you may recall not in the least. Also, her eyes flickered all through the time of these vindictive events. After the discharge of excitement, Maria was eased. Maria herself was not cognizant and she discarded that part. In her fifth class, while studying she will visit her grandad who sojourned close to river Tisa and there was that vicinity invaded by the satinettes and her colleague will bounce at the hopping bank. The reason was something not discussed. Further, Maria knocked him firm on his cast and his frontal teeth rolled out and the kid’s parent arrived at their residence and her daddy needed to proffer coverage for the crazy exercise of his little daughter.


– (From ‘Maria’s Story’, Long fiction)

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Madeleine de Scudéry

Madeleine de Scudéry was a French writer who was less appreciated mainly due to the opinion created by her more famous contemporaries. She was a genius in her own way, though many of her ideas were controversial and the literary merit of her works debatable.
She was born on 15 November 1607 in Le Havre, France and died on 2 June 1701 (aged 93). Orphaned at an early age she was in the care of her uncle and got a wide range of education. She received knowledge in Greek, Latin,Spanish, and Italian and also such varied topics as ancient history, agriculture, medicine and cooking. After 1637 she lived with her brother Georges de Scudéry, a playwright in Paris.  She often used her older brother’s name, George, for her works. She was admitted to the Hôtel de Rambouillet coterie of préciosité. Later she established a salon of her own under the title of the Société du samedi (Saturday Society). She was a prolific author , who wrote perhaps one of the longest novels in literature. Her themes were varied, moral psychology, free will, love, friendship, decency, levels of virtues and vices, theological questions such as God’s existence, artistic freedom and perception, the question of gender, Arcadia of love, the art of speaking or women’s issues. Characters included Cleopatra and Sappho. She was dubbed as a pedantic précieuse, by more famous literary figures, so the interest in her works suffered periodically though she continues to evoke deep interest from important quarters. Her significance emerged markedly in feminist aesthetic and humanistic circles.Once she stopped writing lengthy works and started to produce novellas. She gave new life to salon conversations and letter writing and intimate dialogues. The description of Sapho in vol. 10 of Le Grand Cyrus is largely autobiographical. Scudéry’s correspondence with Catherine Descartes, the niece of René Descartes, is marked by its deep philosophical content. Madeleine survived her brother by more than three decades and was deaf for the last four decades of her life. She had a close circle of friends. She was Sapho to friends such as Marie Dupré. She was honoured by the Academie Français, for her essay Discours sur la gloire.



Works-
Artamène, ou le Grand Cyrus (10 vols., 1648–53)-About 2.1 million words-Supposed to be the longest novel ever published.
Clélie (10 vols., 1654–61),
Ibrahim, ou l’illustre Bassa (4 vols., 1641),
Almahide, ou l’esclave reine (8 vols., 1661–63)
Les Femmes Illustres (1642)
Conversations Nouvelles sur Divers Sujets, Dediees Au Roy (1684) etc.
Her Life and Correspondence was published in 1873 [MM. Rathery and Boutron].
One can say she was a great human being, far ahead of her time.
………

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My Teachers


My teachers. It is with high reverence that I think of my teachers, notably those who taught me at school before I entered college. Some were like family . My mother who took good care of my education knew all of them on personal levels and also many of my friends and classmates.My cousin also studied in the same school, several years senior to me and our family kept those connections even when the school days were over. One teacher’s wife came for the selection of bridal dresses for my cousin’s espousal. Since it was a small town this type of lifestyle was possible .Unlike big cities where one seldom knows who is who. When I remember my boyhood days,I have sweet memories of having had tea or snacks at the houses of my teachers where my mother and their family with wife and kids were present. My father had a job in a faraway town, and we will see him only during recesses. After twenty or thirty years of the good-bye from school, when I met some of my teachers at their dwellings, they retrieved these bygone happy times… When I was three, my mother put me in a small school where there was only singing and serenadings and dancing and midday nap and it was a delightful beginning for rigorous studies ahead. Here, in this academy, learning happened through music and playful ventures. The headteacher was kind and caring. My first formal teacher was a young lady called Saras–y. She was a home tutor and when I was about 4 years old, she taught me readings, based on a handbook prescribed for the 5th class. And it had such a marvellous outcome that when sat for an entrance examination for the beginning level, I could easily get through. Reverent thoughts of her remained in my psyche throughout life, though I could never meet her even while living close to those pelagic areas again for a couple of years and wished to see the great lady. She was bespectacled and was in her early twenties. She might have just passed out of school, and looking for a regular job. My mother got a transfer and we moved to another part of the state. Then I got the teachers whom I cherished throughout my life. I was put in the school founded by German missionaries and the school had excellent standards. And these masters were great in their job and friendly. I adore the grand memories of those teachers like.SID, M. Thampi, N.K.and K.Paul, and U -. The last two great souls met with an untimely death. Whenever I address a meeting, (rarely happens) I remember these teachers before the event. Whenever I do so, a very special feeling pass through me. Some of these teachers are still living, and to preserve their privacy in their old age, I am using only their initials and not the full names.

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Dreamer and the Cook-Part-3

At that point, it happened that she wound up downcast, meandering in Venice, taking the gondolas and going to Santa Marco frequently and to the business sectors, Grand Canal and Libraria aqua Alta, boats and bathtubs and again those alleyways…He was the right hand of a virtuoso and after this, he had a fathomless enthusiasm for film and connected as the collaborator of a director and capitulated to the risk of living between two worlds, real and dreamy… The balls began with a mere goblet of wine, but towards wee hours, feet floundered, the mind was hazy. The countless frocks for new roles, tread through huge mansions devoid of music, she loathed herself for failing her original dream. It was after living with him for a decade. In the living room, he carved the stone bust male and female figure, with his and her faces on the reverse side and kept in the showcase. His frowzy associates never took care of her privacy, which she held as very grave and constantly matched each of them with her dad, and it drove her from teacher to teacher to unravel the puzzle of identity, this strange art of living holy in a hustling creation of make-belief and speedy turn of passions. Meanwhile, he made seven movies with her. She was additionally the heroine of the three movies and these were incredible hit. They did copious trials in innovation and measure and shot the flick in diverse ranges of the mainland and he was expressly gifted and he showed up in two international celebrations, and won accolades, particularly for photography, Altering and the job of the hero which his better half played. and eventually, went through a mixed saga of acting and affliction and when the seventh film was released, he was no more. Furthermore, she was associated with his fourth film, which she apprehended that…Meanwhile, another baby was born, a sweet girl. Then they had those minor disparities, and petty jealousies and the said-We should talk it along, she said. He felt that it was a useful thing. Talking it along. Who said that her progenitor was a thing and a comic, and such stuff. He ignored it. Regardless during that summer, around eventide when it was lovely with its breeze hitting the byway at random splits, they chatted strolling beside rice fields of unfamiliar estates to sort it out and they lost many days of quiet and tried to gain the other by a simper or a bright statement. Then chatted about her beginning and end and that stuff he had been catching on in his psyche. Unlimited things no uncertainty, for if there is a gathering of individuals, he would have related to that story over and over. After specific occurrences he had landed in such humour of verbose explanations and talking finally without a lot to pass on, then again, actually feeling of addressing and expressing. The gale was blowing hard. He was walking and now accomplished the stroll of the compass from the forking of the trail, a confectionary store was pointing towards the highway. It is continually pressed and new things… Her teacher asked simple questions but the answers were not simple though…For her, kindness is the only religion…Then spring came. Another frontier. The idea of that Spring season- eat drink, take a walk by the B.terrace, and here was where he went to a coma. Every time she viewed a burgeoning tract and a crystal sky her heart went soaring…
-[To continue]

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Man in Café

Full Story


1

Today is Sunday and a plausible day in the calendar for me at the cafe. Recently I had a lot of angst about how I spend my time. Attempting to get back all of it from unfruitful works. Cash had never been my principle vexation. Except at a specific time of life, when I appallingly felt its absence and thought how I could have shared some of it for society’s beneficial uses. But my thoughts only remained on paper. I did not bulk up any amount of mega wealth to satisfy all these dreams. At times when I was poor, I tried to console myself with the idea that health is wealth (as in those times of diseases in history) and did not feel miserable in this regard. But only as time passed, I realized that some works do not elevate my soul and are not worthy of pursuit during my stay here, which again is a brief period… Today another intriguing thing occurred toward the beginning of the day when I was leaving the bistro. That morning, first I went to an expensive one and in the wake of seeing the menu, requested an espresso since I was there just to be away from my routine of the week. And also, it guaranteed more moments to muse upon certain ball games where my presence is imperative.

At the point when I left the restaurant, a little girl of nine or ten moved toward me and she focused on the fruit vendor and requested a taste of it and I obliged. And I was buying this for her when her little sister came and needed one for her too. The seller was not hepped up to give these things to them, still, they were given, and he didn’t take the full price, however, reduced some cash, and started recounting that these youngsters are not on the right path. Without doubt that is a devious perception and who are we to pass such a judgment on these poor kids who are already carrying on with an existence of indigence. They were living in lanes and a good ways off, one could see their mother. This is where we are to refrain from verbalism yet do something that will not diminish the staidness of the scene. Then again your awful wishers -anyway though you are a peaceful joe, you have a few such on the planet-will make you interminably muffled on all such spells. Yes, you know the entire saga.

Then I went to this historic cafe, a fine edifice jutting into the sidewalks, with prominent pillars of azure blue and pink, and amber coloured glass panes and leaf motifs on primal walls ,a few hundred yards away from city enceinte. Two hundred years might have passed since its birth, and once it was the château of the gentry and later converted to a garrison and then a cafe. Old honchos gave way to new ones. The cafe was thronged by silk-stockings and the au courant and mixed populace lending it cosmopolitan aureole… It was still morning and the sun was young and the guests went to and fro, some getting down from limousines and others leaving the quarter. Here in this swank bistro on that December morning, I met the old gentleman, quiet and doddery in demeanour.

He might have been in his late sixties, with hair partly white and partly cinereous. He sat in the bistro for an hour or more languishing and now and then, fiddling the little cigarette lighter he kept in his palm. He carried a Dobermann of rare Isabella fawn hue with him. He grinned at the watchman and attempted to enter decisively because it was where pooches were permitted entry. At that point, the gatekeeper objected and so did the administrator and there was a tussle between the portcullis and the counter. The supervisor argued that a significant number of visitors were kids underneath the age ten and the Dobermann might scare them. And the supervisor’s words prevailed. This was the moment he chose to sit opposite me. I gave him a respectful smile as he seemed to be quite older than me. Though he smiled back, it was a reluctant one, and it seemed he was preoccupied in some serious thoughts. He wore light blue shirts with a wool chesterfield. The cargo pants was beige and démodé. Part of his teeth was visible in the frontal segment of the face. He had no portable stick though once in a while he looked in need of that. Later, alone looking at the empty seat he was in, I checked closer the scale of the jumbled emotions I went through while he was staying there. Then he left and the seat was vacant. I thought it was better when he remained there. Something huge went missing when he left that seat. That assumption of absence tarried with me on a few shots for the rest of the day. Amidst get-togethers varied and vain. I reminisced I gained something very distinct but later brushed it off as a bunch of nonsense.

When I went there the second time, the café was almost full. It was noon. As I had developed some presynaptic symptoms, I had been on two days leave and today felt fairly fine. It was, in fact, a peak time in the bistro, and I was searching for a seat and found a chair unoccupied in the central portion of the hall. When I looked opposite, I found that it was him. The old man with Dobermann. He now smiled warmly. Over breakfast, we talked as if we were friends for some time. He reeled off the story of an inconceivable man that he had been in the past as his snappy alliances testified. Scorned in workplaces with a rum ire that ripped many a chord of good relations. During the conversation, he smirked possibly to himself or the wide vacuum between the dawn-tinted dividers and seemed to summon up succour to let loose the next few driblets. He squandered his stock in wagering games and was thrown out of the house. His son had already left when at college and has not been traceable since then. He had two more espoused girls but after the wedlock, none of them was fair enough to bestow him some mercy. He lived in a lean-to next to the main drive with the pet quadruped.Paltry sums he got out of odd tasks, a security duty or carpenter’s job which he knew. At times he drew with colour chalks on pavements, a pleasant landscape or a popular figure and collected his money in a towel. Earlier I had seen some street artists in my town and had wondered what their past would have been, but now, I got an inkling of that issue. These things are among the secret folios of life that are hidden from us for some time or at times forever. My presence, he said, was a decent boost to him, though he would prefer to be alone. I wanted to help him with a passable amount because that week was also a fortuitous one in my calendar as I was clearing away some of my debts by selling a part of my house. The deed was executed months ago, but the first part of the deal came to my account only a fortnight ago. I asked him about his wife and he said she felt unsafe with him in his financial mayhem and is with the daughters. And he told me with a genuine feeling of sadness that though they were willing to help him, their spouses are totally against it. Let the old spendthrift suffer. Only then the goose will learn. One of them even mentioned a very bad jargon in the vocabulary in his presence. The funny part was that he was that fellow’s tutor in the tenth class. So Caliban can come from all parts of the earth at all times.

2

It was past the ides of January that I visited the café again. He was there. He said that his mother was of Romanian blood and his father was Indian. He studied in Paris. His mother was a Freemason and had her parent lodge in London. He did odd jobs after he had lost his regular job as the administrator of a prestigious institution, and after the school bus tragedy, he lost major jobs permanently, as some sources reported that he was the chief culprit in that incident that took away many innocent lives. After the incident, he had bouts of depression but on another personal side, lost his connection for good ones forever and was henceforth doing quaint jobs. In the past three years, the Dobermann was his sole companion and he told me that dog is a special animal, a very grateful brute and he is happy that his love for a living being is reciprocated immediately. We human beings, he said, do not express love from the heart, because we are more worried about the image we create before others than actually expressing it. He had for that reason liked certain types of women in his life who are pellucid and expressive in their emotional lives, than those who cultivate an image of goodness before society. If he gets a second chance in life, he said he would prefer living with such a woman, with whom he can uncloak his soul. According to him, promiscuity is not a big sin as we conceive, but a false emotional life certainly is, because it takes away the true joy of life forever and joy is an integral part of our being… That day, we were occupying the window chairs and the panes were wet in the morning drizzle and the air carried smell of fresh bitumen on dragways. Outside at a distance were manifest mighty stretches of silver poplars of heart-shaped and coarsely toothed leaves atremble in the wind. I asked him about his original home and he replied that his father kicked off when he was a small boy and he was brought up by his mother and aunts. They had a house near the Dacian citadels, and he left the country when his mother died. He was educated by his stepfather and he studied art in Paris and when his stepfather pegged out in the Second World War, he skived all connections with the immediate chain of relatives and travelled from city to city, country to country. The next ten years, he said, were the happiest in his whole life, and when he said that, a drop of tear touched the rim of his eyelashes. He claimed that his forefathers were Transylvanian Saxons and played a decisive role in the city’s development, but usually, I don’t take these genealogy tales very seriously because in my place every other household has written genealogy books, which contained only wrong historical data just to please those coming generations making them smug and dorky. He asked what I am into and I said, I am an aide to a mathematician who is doing some studies in Fibonacci numbers and also the 1202 book Liber Abaci. Then he called the waiter and asked him a tissue paper and after getting some of them took a red colour pencil from his coat pocket and drew -1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13 and 21, which surprised me more by the dramatic timbre of his gesture than by the actual scribblings…

3

It was another Sunday morning and my chief mathematician was in Pisa, wandering by the household of the Fibonacci writer. I was in this ancient town and had just returned yesterday from a trip to Argeș county, in the Southern Carpathians. And I saw the old man in the cafe. I could not guess his arrival because the Dobermann was not outside the storm door. This happened after several months from our previous meeting and readers should be aware that there was a gap of about five months between our first and last huddles. I was towards the caudal of my itinerary and was asked to come back forthwith cancelling further trips to my home department, where I was permanent staff. There was a recent calamity at home as my eldest son in high school, who was preparing himself to be a professional swimmer jumped into an ice-cold lake in Kashmir as part of training and narrowly escaped death thanks to rapid medical advertency. I was happy and grateful to all life in general and to the wonderful people I had met on these sacral tramps. I entered the cafe with a smile, stroking my hair that was falling on the baldness and touching the thick moustache that was a fashion in my city at that time. And I saw Francis, (it was his first name) in the cafe with a woman of exceptional beauty in the early fifties. Such beauty in such a journey of life was more a miracle than a remarkable spectacle. And I went to their table and gave the gentleman a firm handshake and a warm Namaste to the adorable lady in the Indian way. Alice is my wife, he introduced me to the lady. ‘Lisa, this is Pablo from India. His mother is Syrian — ‘. Francis continued: ‘He is the assistant to the famous mathematician, Mr.B – -. Now on a study trip’. The old belle smiled as if she saw her brother from another part of the globe. At the end of the introduction, I felt perplexed, as I was mostly loitering around in theatres and operas, places where western music and dance takes place. And also to obtain rare collections of Gregorian chants from the abbeys of their birth as my wife had told me. She aspired to enjoy the music as well as make a good impression in front of her sisters. It was Easter season and the last days of Lent. I was happy to finally see the old couple together despite old differences. And Francis, in a most informal gesture, invited me to the empty chair. When the lady smiled at me again, I was partly shocked by the semblance of her features to one of my cousins ​​on my mother’s side and also by the fact that my knowledge of ethnicity and race is very minimal. While having food, he said that he and his wife had separated from their children and that they were staying in a one-room apartment behind Strada Cerbului… In the conversation that followed, I asked the lady if she could act in a future film of my friend. My friend, a filmmaker, asked me months ago if I could spot a smart old lady for his imminent project. She responded in the negative and shifted the talk to other topics such as the barter in coffee beans which they were then engaged in and the embroidery work which is her passion. It was a fabulous evening and when we were at the exit door, the evening sun was setting and the red rays fell on the amber coloured glass panes of the lobby and further outside on layers of blue jewel hepatica and the picture lay imprinted in my memory for a long era. When we were in the lounge, Francis called me to his side and said in a whisper, that he did not expect to live long and he will wait for me in church for Holy Communion next Sunday. It might be my last fellowship, he said. In the Ippolit style (‘I have the honour to invite you to my funeral ..’), he said that my presence is beseeched for the last piece of his story. He gave me the address and kissed and went to the carriage. I assured him that I would be there for the priest’s sermon if not for the Eucharist because I do not know their traditions. But the following weeks were the most hectic of my entire touring season, as my senior mathematician called from Pisa, that he wanted more diligent labour from my part and warned that it is unethical to go sight-seeing on funds from the Research Institute. I was unable to keep Francis’ appointment… After two weeks I received a letter from his wife that Francis died of a heart attack and although she tried to contact me, she couldn’t because I was moving from place to place and some trips were far from the principal courses. The letter stated that his last services will be at – – Church and his former companions will attend. And also, as his last friend on this planet, I had a special place in his life. But it was too late. And I answered over the telephone that he was one of the most remarkable friends with whom I had been, even if I yearned that our friendship had occurred a little ahead in time. She said he was a great man, of course with certain idiosyncrasies and he was very unfortunate to have lost a grand career because of that accident for which he was partially responsible. I asked her how she was and she answered that she will not join her daughters. She had lately met her former classmate at school, who had a destiny similar to hers, whose children forsook her. Her school friend was a charwoman throughout her life and had raised her children to high standards, and one of them is in Chicago. But she has no regrets, and she only thought that she had finished her mission on earth before the invisible present.


It was an Easter time thirteen years ago, and when I think of this story, the Carpathian winds still ring in my ears.

…………………………………………………………





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The Dreamer and the Cook-Part-2

Mais son deuxième mariage n’a pas duré longtemps car il a été détecté de Glioblastoma multiforme (GBM) et est décédé bientôt. Elle a ensuite pris quelques années de congé sabbatique et a vécu de nouveau avec sa tante à Tokyo. C’est ici, en ville, à Suntory Hall, qu’elle a repris la danse sur scène (qu’elle avait pratiquée à l’école) où elle a rencontré son futur mari, le cinéaste italien. C’était, on pourrait facilement dire, le coup de foudre. Puis elle est allée avec lui en Europe, et plus tard son fils l’a rejoint. Ils avaient tous deux certaines affinités qu’ils partageaient, mais ils savaient qu’ils devaient compléter une partie d’entre eux d’une autre manière et le mariage aurait pu être une meilleure option. Mais quand elle est allée chez lui à la campagne, elle a été sidérée par la quantité de travail qu’elle avait à faire dans sa maison et cela a pratiquement changé les rythmes de sa vie. Un jour, son beau-père l’a invitée dans sa chambre privée qui était pleine de livres partout et très soigneusement, s’est assise sur la chaise et a enlevé le pantalon sur une jambe et a montré sa jambe prothétique. Comme s’il s’occupait d’un bébé, il a enlevé le couvercle et la prise, puis a félicité son médecin qui lui a donné une seconde vie après avoir rencontré cet accident il y a trois ans dans une voiture à Amsterdam. Il y avait des photos dans la chambre avec un enfant et un adolescent avec le même chirurgien avec des membres et des prises synthétiques et des protections en silicone et des articles cosmétiques en arrière-plan … Puis elle et son mari se sont rendus dans le champ de fleurs rouges et jaunes de Lisse dans le cadre de son programme de tournage de films et a voyagé plus loin dans un autre pays. À leur arrivée, c’était l’anniversaire du roi. Un coup d’État était prévu et la deuxième nuit, ils ont entendu des bruits de la foule devant le motel où ils étaient restés. Quand elle a jeté un coup d’œil par la vitre, elle a vu des visages agités du personnel de sécurité et des foules se précipiter dans les rues et il y a eu un incendie criminel et des incendies de véhicules et de bâtiments. La police a commencé à tirer et le matin, la rue était jonchée de cadavres. Ils ont dû rester à l’hôtel pendant quinze jours avant que les circonstances ne se calment. Pendant ce temps, l’héroïne du film et sa tante onéreuse [qui a insisté sur les meilleures suites pour la dame] se sont échappées après s’être retirée du contrat, et son mari lui a demandé: «Pouvez-vous jouer dans ce film?
Elle a demandé: «Quel rôle? “
Il a répondu: «L’héroïne.
Ce fut le début de sa grande carrière.
-[Continuer]-
……………..

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The Dreamer and the Cook-Part-1

Short Story

1

La cuisinière était assise dans sa chambre. Il y avait des fleurs jaunes tout autour. En face de la cabine, une personne âgée balayait avec sa nouvelle brosse à plancher et elle l’a regardé prudemment pendant un bon bout de temps et maintenant l’appel téléphonique est venu de son fils qui était à l’embarquement. Elle avait ses quarts de nuit et elle pensait qu’il était difficile d’aller à chacune de ses enquêtes car il avait besoin de beaucoup d’aide et de soins. Elle l’a donc mis dans une auberge de jeunesse dans une seule pièce avec le numéro 232 sur la porte. La chambre était fraîche et donnait sur un vaste paysage avec 500 acres de forêt. Il était un peu faible en mathématiques mais il dessine bien et a créé quelques morceaux de choses merveilleuses, agréables à l’œil et au cœur … Hong Kong avec ses avenues et ses allées qu’elle a trouvé en un clin d’œil et la promenade autour des individus en toute hâte et une ruée substantielle pour atteindre quelque chose au-delà de leur portée ou se réévaluer de leurs capacités pour ce rythme et ce mouvement. Les individus d’une telle masse de stress qu’ils redoutaient leur petit esprit ne contiendront pas toutes les choses qu’ils méditaient. Sa tante avait un hôtel près de West Kowloon Highway et elle a rejoint la compagnie de sa tante et de leur famille. Les couples n’avaient pas d’enfants. Le cuisinier était donc, bien sûr, leur fille adoptive. Ici, elle est devenue compétente dans les plats cantonais. Elle s’est également spécialisée dans les plats coréens et du sud-est asiatique et a également mélangé de la soupe de requin avec du riz “-Cantonese Yale: Yùhchi Lōufaahn- et aussi Congee ou congee, une sorte de bouillie de riz.

2
Le cuisinier s’appelle Eshima, ce qui signifiait la véritable intention, et elle était avec ses parents au Japon dans un village nommé Kitashiobara à environ quatre heures de Tokyo. Son père était un Roshi et elle était également préparée par deux professeurs aux principes zen Soto. Même vers la fin du voyage, elle n’avait aucune idée de ce qu’elle faisait ni du sens de chacune de ces pratiques. Ce moment. Ce moment présent. À part cela, elle ne réalisait rien pour décrire son développement. En fait, elle ne se développait pas par un effort d’imagination. Elle abandonnait juste toutes les chasses pour amasser, se multiplier. Au cas où elle aurait découvert une autre méthode pour la libérer de tous les bagages d’hier, dans un moment solitaire, une heure ou même plusieurs jours, elle serait passée par là. Puisqu’elle n’en a trouvé aucun, il valait mieux qu’elle s’en tienne à la façon dont son père l’avait éduquée. De son père, elle ne se souvient de pratiquement rien, à part la façon dont il a donné des coups de pied dans le seau une nuit bien après son retour de l’école un jour de tempête avec des brumes sombres tout autour. Elle ne se souvient que d’une ou deux choses à propos de son père. Qu’il était beau et aimant. Il s’habillait dans des vêtements blancs et amples et avait sept ans quand son père est décédé. Après cela, sa mère ne s’est pas mariée longtemps et a vécu avec son frère à Tokyo et elle a fait ses études à Tokyo. Puis un jour, sa mère lui a révélé qu’elle allait épouser sa cousine qui était aussi célibataire et avoir un jeune de son premier mariage. Le mariage a eu lieu dans le village à la vue de peu de personnes. En fait, peu ont été accueillis et la plupart des invités étaient les membres de sa famille plus étendue.

— (Continuer)

Picture – L.Benjamin

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Man in Café-Part-3

C’était un autre dimanche matin et mon mathématicien en chef était à Pise, errant près de la maison de l’écrivain Fibonacci. J’étais dans cette ancienne ville et je venais de arrivée rentrer hier d’un voyage dans le comté d’Argeș, dans les Carpates du Sud. Et j’ai vu l’homme dans le café. Je ne pouvais pas deviner son car le Dobermann n’était pas devant la porte. Cela s’est produit après plusieurs mois de notre réunion précédente et les lecteurs doivent être conscients qu’il y avait un écart d’environ cinq mois entre nos première et dernière réunions. J’étais dans la dernière partie de mon itinéraire et on m’a demandé de revenir immédiatement en annulant d’autres voyages dans mon département d’origine, où j’étais un employé permanent. Il y a eu récemment une calamité à la maison alors que mon fils aîné au lycée, qui se préparait à devenir un nageur professionnel, a sauté dans un lac glacé du Cachemire dans le cadre de la formation et a échappé de peu à la mort grâce à des soins médicaux immédiats. J’étais heureux et reconnaissant à toute la vie en général et aux merveilleuses personnes que j’avais rencontrées lors de ces voyages. J’entrai dans le café avec un sourire, caressant mes cheveux qui tombaient sur la calvitie et touchant l’épaisse moustache qui était à la mode dans ma ville à cette époque. Et j’ai vu Francis, (c’était son prénom) dans le café avec une femme d’une beauté exceptionnelle au début des années cinquante. Une telle beauté dans un tel voyage de la vie était plus un miracle qu’un spectacle remarquable. Et je suis allé à leur table et j’ai donné au monsieur une poignée de main ferme et un chaleureux Namaste à l’adorable dame à la manière indienne. Alice est ma femme, il m’a présenté à la dame. «Lisa, voici Pablo d’Inde. Sa mère est syrienne – ‘. Francis a poursuivi: “Il est l’assistant du célèbre mathématicien, Mr.B – -. Maintenant en voyage d’étude. La dame sourit comme si elle voyait son frère d’une autre partie du globe. À la fin de l’introduction, je me suis senti perplexe, comme je me promenais principalement dans des théâtres et des opéras, des endroits où la musique et la danse occidentales ont lieu.Et aussi pour obtenir des collections rares de chants grégoriens des abbayes de leur naissance comme ma femme me l’avait dit. et faire bonne impression devant ses sœurs. C’était la période de Pâques et les derniers jours du Carême. J’ai été très surpris de voir enfin le vieux couple malgré les vieilles différences. Et Francis, dans un geste des plus informels, m’a invité à la chaise vide. Lorsque la dame me sourit à nouveau, je fus en partie choquée par l’apparence de ses traits à l’un de mes cousins ​​du côté de ma mère et aussi par le fait que ma connaissance de l’ethnicité et de la race est très minime.

Pendant qu’il mangeait, il a dit que lui et sa femme s’étaient séparés de leurs enfants et qu’ils logeaient dans un studio derrière Strada Cerbului… Dans la conversation qui a suivi, j’ai demandé à la dame si elle allait jouer dans le futur film de mon ami. Mon ami, un cinéaste, m’a demandé il y a des mois si je pouvais repérer une vieille dame intelligente pour son projet imminent. Elle a répondu par la négative et a déplacé le discours vers d’autres sujets tels que le troc dans les grains de café dans lesquels ils étaient ensuite engagés et le travail de broderie qui est sa passion. Ce fut une soirée fantastique et quand nous étions à la porte de sortie, le soleil du soir se couchait et cette impression resta dans ma mémoire pendant une longue période. Quand je me suis séparé, François m’a dit dans un murmure m’appelant sur le côté, qu’il ne vivra pas longtemps et qu’il m’attendra à l’église pour la sainte communion dimanche prochain. Ce pourrait être ma dernière bourse, a-t-il dit. Dans le style Ippolit (“J’ai l’honneur de vous inviter à mes funérailles ..”), il a dit que ma présence était suppliée pour le dernier morceau de son histoire. Il m’a donné l’adresse et embrassé et est allé à la voiture. Je lui ai assuré que je serais là pour le sermon du prêtre sinon pour l’Eucharistie car je ne connais pas leurs traditions. Mais les semaines suivantes ont été les plus mouvementées de toute ma saison de tournées, comme mon principal mathématicien l’a appelé de Pise, qu’il voulait un travail plus diligent de ma part et a averti qu’il était contraire à l’éthique de faire du tourisme avec des fonds de l’Institut de recherche. Je n’ai pas pu respecter le rendez-vous de Francis. Après deux semaines, j’ai reçu une lettre de son épouse que Francis est décédé d’une crise cardiaque et bien qu’elle ait essayé de me contacter, elle n’a pas pu parce que je me déplaçais d’un endroit à l’autre et certains voyages étaient loin des cours principaux. La lettre indiquait que ses derniers services auront lieu à – – Church et ses anciens compagnons y assisteront. Et aussi, las son dernier ami sur cette planète, j’avais une place spéciale dans sa vie. Mais c’était trop tard. Et j’ai répondu par téléphone qu’il était l’un des amis les plus remarquables avec qui j’avais été, même si je soupirais que notre amitié avait eu un peu d’avance dans la vie. Elle a dit qu’il était un grand homme dans la vie, bien sûr avec certaines particularités et qu’il était très malheureux d’avoir perdu une glorieuse carrière à cause de ce malheureux accident dont il était partiellement responsable. Je lui ai demandé comment elle allait et elle a répondu qu’elle ne rejoindrait pas son fils ou sa fille. Elle avait récemment rencontré son camarade de classe à l’école, qui avait un destin semblable au sien, dont les enfants l’avaient abandonnée. Son amie d’école a été femme de ménage tout au long de sa vie et a élevé ses enfants à des niveaux élevés, et l’un d’eux est à Chicago.

Mais elle n’a aucun regret, et elle pensait seulement qu’elle avait terminé sa mission sur terre avant le présent invisible …

C’était à Pâques il y a treize ans, et quand je pense à cette histoire, les vents des Carpates résonnent encore à mes oreilles

………………………………………….



Picture -author
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Man in Café-Part-2

He said that his mother was of Romanian blood and his father was Indian. He studied in Paris.His mother was a Freemason and had her parent lodge in London.He had recently done odd jobs after he lost his regular job as the administrator of a school, and after the school bus tragedy, he lost cardinal jobs permanently, as some sources had reported that he was the chief culprit in that tragedy that took many innocent lives. After the incident, he underwent bouts of depression but on another personal side, lost his connection for good enterprises permanently and was henceforth did quaint jobs.In the past three years, the Dobermann was his chief companion and he told me that dog is a special animal, a very grateful brute and he is happy that his love for a living being is reciprocated immediately. We human beings, he said do not express love from the heart, because we are more concerned about the image we create before others than actually expressing it. He had for that reason liked certain types of women in his life who are pellucid and expressive in their emotional lives, than those who cultivate an image of goodness before society. If he gets a second chance in life, he said he would prefer living with such a woman, with whom he can uncloak his soul. According to him, promiscuity is not a big sin as we conceive, but a false emotional life certainly is, because it takes away the true joy of life
evermore and joy is an integral part of our being… That day, we were occupying the window chairs and the panes were wet in the morning drizzle.Outside at a distance, we could see huge stretches of silver poplar with heart-shaped with coarsely toothed leaves atremble in the wind. I asked him about his original home and he said that his father was dead when he was a small boy and he was brought up by his mother and aunts. They had a house near the Dacian citadels, and he left the country when his mother died. He was educated by his stepfather and he studied art in Paris and when his stepfather died in the Second World war, he skived all connections with the immediate chain of relatives and travelled from city to city, country to country.The next ten years, he said were the happiest in his whole life, and when he said that, a drop of tear touched the rim of his eyelashes… He claimed that his forefathers were Transylvanian Saxons and played a decisive role in the city’s development, but usually, I don’t take these genealogy tales very seriously because in my place every other household had written genealogy books, which contained only wrong historical data just to please those coming generations making them smug and dorky. He asked what I am into and I said, I am an aide to a mathematician who is doing some studies in Fibonacci numbers and also the 1202 book Liber Abaci. Then he called the waiter and asked him a tissue paper and after getting some of them took a red colour pencil from his coat pocket and drew -1, 1, 2, 3, 5, 8, 13 and 21,which surprised me more by the dramatic timbre of his gesture than by the actual scribblings………..




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fiction

Man in Café

Man in Café

(Short Story)

Today is Sunday and a plausible day in my calendar for me at a cafe. Recently I have been greatly worried about how I spend my time. Attempting to get back all of it from unfruitful works. Cash had never been my principle concern. Except at a specific time of life, when I appallingly felt its absence and thought how I could have shared some of it for society’s commendable uses. But my thoughts only remained on paper. I did not accrue any amount of huge wealth to satisfy all these dreams. At times when I was poor, I tried to console myself with the idea that health is wealth (as in those times of diseases in history) and did not feel miserable in this regard. But only as time passed, I realized that some works do not elevate my soul and so are not worthy of pursuit during my stay here, which again is a brief period… Today another intriguing thing occurred toward the beginning of the day when I was leaving the bistro in that morning, first I went to an expensive one and in the wake of seeing the menu, requested an espresso since I was there just to be away from my routine of the week. And also, it guaranteed me more occasion to muse upon certain ball games where my presence is imperative. At the point when I left the bistro, a little young girl of nine or ten moved toward me to purchase a morning meal for her. I was with my relative who knew the scope of my wallet and objected and proposed some another little thing. At that point, she focuses on the tender coconut vendors and told that it is adequate and I was buying this for her when her little sister came and needed one for her too. The seller was not hepped up to give these things to them, still, these were given, and he didn’t take the full price, however, decreased some cash, and starts recounting that these youngsters are not on the right way. In any case, without a doubt that is a deceptive perception and who are we to pass such a judgment on these poor kids who are now carrying on with an existence of indigence. They were living in lanes and a good ways off, one could see their mother. This is where we are to refrain from verbalism yet simply do something as indicated by our capacity to diminish the seriousness of the situation. Or then again your enemies or awful wishers anyway you are a peaceful man, you have a few such on the planet, to make you interminably quiet in all occasions. In reality, you know the whole saga. This man I found in the bistro in a December morning was, I contemplate that sort. A quiet old individual from appearance. I do not incline to judge things, anyway, I do acknowledge that he had a sort of issue like any, physical, ordinary or something else. He sat in the bistro for an hour or so anguishing and now and then, fiddling the little phone he had. Likewise, he finally left and I was there. Alone looking at the empty seat he was in. I examined how a bit of the horrendous feelings I had when he was staying there. Then he left. The seat was empty. I thought it was better when he remained there. Something huge went missing when he left that seat. That assumption of absence tarried with me many times on a few occasions of the rest of this day. Amidst specific get-togethers huge and irrelevant. Some were brought to the soul. I thought I got something very new or disregarded. However, done were a hard and fast pointless activity and I figured I would have been remarkable without it. In any occasion from the immediate point of view, I was in the bistro and he was sipping coffee to his heart’s content. He was orchestrating something and when he smiled in such a manner, it didn’t affect his image of an authority observable all-around control serving the country for two decades. He didn’t narrate his story to anyone else. However, it is truly evident in the manner he passed on with people that he was about such an inconceivable man in the past as his snappy alliances perceived. Be that as it may, by he was slightly unpopular in the workplaces he was employed. He went to the swank bistro in the where silk-stockings and the fashionable of the city frequented for up to 200 years or so under the colonial rule. The old managers have gone. The new bosses have risen. Also, that is certainly not something to be grateful for to adore in the crispness of the atmosphere. It is December and he had a half draw over. He went to the mass at the assembly close by much of the time. He stayed back. Nevertheless, not on all Sundays. At any rate, his loved one and young lady went routinely to these gatherings. He went maybe at one time a month or close. He sat in within spot of is with talks, basic and consistently futile. He has not stressed over the discourse all things considered clearly how he sees with others around. He knew about his style so far as that is concerned. He was around sixty-five years.Exposed in the front bit of his face. He routinely wore light blue shirts or white shirts with a blue check. That was his style. He never passed on a portable stick was once in a while requiring that…. 2 The first time when I saw him, he was carrying his Dobermann of rare Isabella fawn hue with him. He beamed at the keeper and tried to enter without irresolution because it was a cafe where pooches were privileged to enter. Then the guard objected followed by the manager and there was practically a tussle in between the door and the counter. Then the manager telephoned the chief manager , he was denied admission despite his best capabilities. The manager contended that a major part of the guests are kids below the age ten and the Doberman may scare them. So the manager’s words prevailed. This was the time he chose to sit opposite me. And I smiled as he seemed to be older than me. But his smile was a sort of reluctant one. The first run through when I saw was conveying his Doberman with him. He grinned at the watchman and attempted to enter decisively because it was where pooches were permitted to enter. At that point, the gatekeeper questioned him and so was the administrator and there was a tussle between the portcullis and the counter. At that point the supervisor called the main chief lastly he was precluded affirmation in show disdain toward from securing his best capacities. The supervisor battled that a significant piece of the visitors were kids underneath the age ten and the Dobermann may scare them. So the supervisor’s words won. This was the time he decided to sit inverse to me. What’s more, I grinned as he was by all accounts more established than me. In any case, his grin was a sort of reluctant oneAfter that, the long conversation and his story and interests… 3 The narrator was travelling to many places and the next year, he happened to be in this city. And the narrator meets the man for the second time. He notices that the old man has changed thoroughly. He is not that confident fellow of the earlier period with a lot of irritation in each gesture. Instead, now he grins at the open vacuum frequently and summons up something, maybe the courage to speak the next word. What happened to him. The following dialogue explains. He lost all in his wagering games and was thrown out of the house by his wife and the elderly sons. He had three sons and all were married and none of them was real enough to show him some sympathy which he craved or perhaps deserved. He has no apartment. The paltry sums he gets by odd jobs, by a security job or a carpenter job which he knew. He draws with chalk on roads, a good scenery or an interesting figure and collects his coins in a towel. Earlier I had seen some street artists in the town and had wondered often what their past would have been, but now at least I got some clue to that matter. These are some of the secrets of life, that is hidden from us somehow for some time or perhaps forever. He is one such mysterious artist. Today is a good day for him, for he got a small commission to draw the portrait of a gentleman. He got a better about for that venture, He remembered this cafe and the taste of the food served here. My presence, he said, was a moderate uplift to him, though he would have preferred to be alone. I tried to assist him with a passable amount because that week was also a fortuitous one in my calendar as I was clearing away some of my debts by selling a part of my house. Though I was not that well-off on that particular day, I was capable enough to give a small help to an old friend. I asked him about his daughters and he told me with a genuine feeling of sadness that though they were willing to help him, their husbands are totally against this venture. Let the old spendthrift suffer. Only then the goose will learn. One of them even mentioned a very bad word in the vocabulary in his presence. The funny part was that he was that fellow’s tutor in the tenth class. So Caliban can come from all parts of the earth at all times. …

-(To continue)-

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Private Letter

Somehow, I got admission into the archives turned museum in of Joanna auntie, who was a painter in the last stages of life. This auntie I had seen, once with my mother in our old country house… She was with my mom in Deolali. Though my mother did not read anything other than the newspaper and the scripture, she attained some connections with notable ladies of our time. Frankly, it was my mother who taught me to respect ladies in all possible ways, because the society we live in is still in a growing stage and the disparities of class and gender may not be wiped away in a lifetime and we should avoid its growth to a reverse orientation. And this Joanne auntie’s smile is worth reminiscing as she smiled from the heart. And whenever I thought of love in later cycles, I think of Joanna auntie’s smile. That day we did not grasp that she was destined to be a great woman, still, I assure you that one can feel greatness in whatever activity they are into, in case they are great. You may call it luck or chance, I had the good fortune to be in the company of a few people who exude greatness. And coming to Joanne auntie- Maria letters. I touched a few ones. She kept all the communications she received, almost all. I thought how brave she was to keep those letters before marriage full of privy details about herself and her friends. I immediately knew that Maria was not writing to anyone else, she was penning either to herself or to an idea she has fostered, a sort of beacon in life or perhaps to posterity. The last one could easily be ruled out since she was not much allured by fame. And the correspondence between the two women was engrossing…
‘Dear Joanna’, writes Maria-
You were there on the avenue of the garden and in the morning when the beams of early light fell upon you, I observed you, how dutiful and caring you were in those moments. Gardening in the flower beds when the ‘Mali’ [gardener] is on the other side. Then you went to the dressmaker and I saw your carriage passing. Probably for your husband’s new coat to be stitched [her husband was a military officer in the Calcutta regiment]. And the letter moves on with close details of the childhood they spend together. At that course in life, they stayed in two neighbouring lanes and could be seen if they stood on the topmost floor of each other’s house. And you may recall that Joanna and Maria were in a way connected by a woman whose breast milk on which both were fed as infants. For Maria’s mother due to complications in childbirth was unable to feed Maria and Joanna’s mother was the wet nurse. And both infants were almost of the same age, though Joanna might have been older by a few months, and their intimacy started at that early stage. Throughout life, though they had to part with each other due to work and other circumstances, they maintained that contact.
The letter goes on…Yesterday, after reading Boccaccio, I fell into an afternoon slumber and was eventually transported to a dream. There, I saw us both in Filario’s house among the guests and the men making wagers, but we were far above their conjectures. I could recognize each of our faces in the gathering, and you were so charming and hospitable to the visitors and there were the Italian author’s wart and wagers, but it has nothing to do with our annals though…The letter was full of private references to those things that only two of them knew…
And there were about thirty letters of the sort written in various stages of their lives…And I took these papers in my hand and caressed them. They were just papers, but I thought how at one time, they conducted the strong vibrations of the intimacy of two souls. Maria is no more, my friend said, but Joanna auntie could be reached by a four-hour trip by train, and he said, is with her youngest son, living as an ordinary woman, away from those momentous times…

–[Maria’s Story to continue]

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Le dernier jour était un beau jour

Le dernier jour était une belle journée avec des fleurs le long de la route quand il a quitté le spectacle. Il était minuit et il y avait encore du trafic dans la rue et deux d’entre eux discutaient, l’un vérifiait les ongles dans la rue sombre et tout d’un coup il riait et l’autre qui était à quelques pas de lui le faisait frissonner, c’était un chaussure de trucs horribles et le plus vieux du groupe qui avait les cheveux blancs ne riait pas à haute voix, au lieu de cela il prit sa serviette de la poche du manteau et couvrit un sourire, et la dame rit de toute la scène, le taxi vint et elle fut conduite par un jeune homme énergique qui avait une coiffure bizarre et ne parlait pas beaucoup, à part demander des directions. Les chiens aboyaient à chaque tour de roue, jusqu’à ce que la meute devienne une réalité lointaine. Cela s’est produit plusieurs fois au milieu de la nuit, il neige et la population du pays se prépare pour les heures de repos. . Une journée bien remplie s’est terminée calmement et les lumières se sont éteintes dans les maisons et les flammes des bougies ont clignoté et des chants et des prières divines à voix basse sont venus des colonies et de la musique attendait que quelqu’un vienne bientôt. Le gardien avec le bâton a fait un bruit fort en chemin alors qu’il traversait la colonie et a pris une bouteille colorée de la poche de son pantalon à intervalles réguliers et a siroté son contenu et l’effet de la boisson était visible sur son visage sinueux. Ses muscles faciaux lui faisaient mal à chaque gorgée. Elle avait été là … Côte ouest. Ses paysages variés englobant la jungle épaisse, les hauts plateaux et les Galapagos riches en faune. Dans les contreforts andins à une altitude supérieure à 2000 m, elle a trouvé une fois sa chambre privée … Dans sa propre ville, elle a vécu sa vie dans de beaux compartiments étudiant Kepler ou ses rêves dans des plis intimes de journaux appelés la vie, jusqu’à la calamité de le printemps dernier a eu un impact majeur sur son forçage à penser de manière inhabituelle. Elle a mangé dans les files d’attente, utilisé des cartes pour acheter des livres, séjourné dans de petites chambres d’hôtel au bord d’un port pendant environ un an, fréquentant une synagogue construite par des marins néerlandais. , s’est retirée de toutes les activités vendredi soir, a licencié sa femme de chambre comme sa mère l’avait fait dans sa journée et a lu ou pris du repos pendant une journée entière. Plus tard, lorsqu’elle a atteint sa ville natale, elle a débouclé et mangé la nuit ou s’est réveillée agitée et transpirant à intervalles réguliers. Elle dormait sur le canapé de la pièce de devant, n’ayant pas assez de force pour aller dormir dans la chambre. Les visiteurs la dérangeaient rarement et si quelqu’un faisait intrusion, elle se baissait et parlait depuis le porche. Ce n’était pas ses manières qui leur plaisaient, mais elle-même, son dévouement au cœur de l’affaire et les extérieurs étaient superflus. Son frère a apporté ces nouveaux livres de la seule librairie Marine Enclave, et elle a lu la plupart d’entre eux. Elle n’a lu que de la bonne fiction, car en ce sens elle a trouvé la vérité qu’elle recherchait dans la vie…

– (L’histoire de Maria continue)