"... From India, China - They're All The Same."
I limped around the entire day. I went to the library, and I did some grocery shopping.
At around 17:15, I stood in front of my cupbord half-dressed, wondering if I should make a run to K.K. for a chicken rice takeaway. My spending so much time on my feet didn't seem to help the bloody pain. In fact, I think it's even more painful to move around today, because not only is my left sole hurting me, my right buttock is aching from the strain of favoring my left leg and my left calf muscles is aching from my constantly tensed left foot.
But the thought of a chicken rice dinner won out, and I limped my way to K.K.'s.
"Ten minutes," the girl at the counter told me after I'd placed and paid for my order.
A Friday evening, so near dinner time, K.K.'s tiny eat-in area was filling up, and I didn't want to take up a table and seat as I waited for my takeaway, so I went for a little limp along Cuba Street.
I thought I'd spend my time at Bellamy's Books (there are hardly any greater joys than being surrounded by shelves over-crammed with pre-loved books), but for some odd reason, I found myself turning into Left Bank-Cuba Mall. I've been in Welly for a little over three years, but I've never really explored this little alley between Cuba and Victoria Streets.
Towards the back of Left Bank, there was a rather spacious shop filled with exotic carvings and paintings, and I stopped outside, gazing in wonder at the wooden statues - a mix of Indian and African. There was a gentleman standing outside the shop with a cigarette and a book whom I'd initially missed (obviously I don't have 20/20 vision) until he said, "Go in and take a look."
I glanced over at him, smiled ruefully and shook my head. I'd felt too intimidated by the shop to go in. But he closed his book and repeated, "Go in and have a better look - looking is free."
He started telling me about the different carvings - which part of Africa they are from, and from what sort of wood they were carved. Then we went into the shop.
Inside his shop, the first thing I noticed was the background music - Hindi, from Bollywood's golden years. He took me around his shop, pointing out various artefacts. The most amazing things I saw were huge wall arts which he told me were made by first drawing out pictures in pencil on the foundation (not paper - maybe wood - I can't remember now), then painstakingly getting wood chips of specific colors and shapes and sizes to fill out the drawings, and finally varnished when completed.
There was a picture of two birds that looked remarkably Chinese and like phoenixes to me and I said so. He said they were peacocks, and, "Peacocks - from India, China - they're all the same, no?"
"Yeah, they are," I said, and we laughed.
After a small pause, I pointed to the stereo tucked in a corner and asked, "Is that Mohammed Rafi?"
He looked at me in surprise and smiled, "No, that's Kishore Kumar." He gave me a friendly gentle slap on the back. "You know?"
Of course I know - I just can't differentiate between their voices ... yet.
In the end, I spent a good twenty minutes in his shop, with him telling me about the different artefacts on display, and his two wall murals (one of a temple in Trimurti, and the other of the African outback) which went surprisingly well together. I learned that he'd spent four months in Singapore in 1982 (I was barely a toddler then!) and married a Kiwi woman named Mary; his name is Murthy.
We spoke a bit about Bollywood, commiserating that the recent movies were becoming too much like Hollywood, and how, perhaps, the movies of yore were better. He asked who my favorite hero was - "Uh ... actually, I like Meena Kumari." - and then invited me to his place for a meal ("I cook - you like Indian food?" "Of course!") and to raid his collection of old Bolly films.
Regrettably, I had to leave before his wife came to the shop and they close up. He said I should meet his wife and come back often to his shop to chat. It was a complete pleasure to have met him, and I said so - and I will go back there; maybe next Friday.
I went back to K.K. to collect my takeaway and couldn't stop smiling.
You know what? This is serendipity - something that doesn't happen to me too often - and I'm just so thankful for whenever it deigns to occur.
:::
I came home and told Aileen about meeting Murthy and how I fully intended to take on his invitation; she said I was too guillible.
"You'll trust anyone, as long as they're into Bollywood," she tsk-tsked, and Alwyn laughed.
Okay, yeah - so maybe she has a point there.
But how can I be suspicious of Murthy when he looks like Boman Irani in Munnabhai M.B.B.S.?
At around 17:15, I stood in front of my cupbord half-dressed, wondering if I should make a run to K.K. for a chicken rice takeaway. My spending so much time on my feet didn't seem to help the bloody pain. In fact, I think it's even more painful to move around today, because not only is my left sole hurting me, my right buttock is aching from the strain of favoring my left leg and my left calf muscles is aching from my constantly tensed left foot.
But the thought of a chicken rice dinner won out, and I limped my way to K.K.'s.
"Ten minutes," the girl at the counter told me after I'd placed and paid for my order.
A Friday evening, so near dinner time, K.K.'s tiny eat-in area was filling up, and I didn't want to take up a table and seat as I waited for my takeaway, so I went for a little limp along Cuba Street.
I thought I'd spend my time at Bellamy's Books (there are hardly any greater joys than being surrounded by shelves over-crammed with pre-loved books), but for some odd reason, I found myself turning into Left Bank-Cuba Mall. I've been in Welly for a little over three years, but I've never really explored this little alley between Cuba and Victoria Streets.
Towards the back of Left Bank, there was a rather spacious shop filled with exotic carvings and paintings, and I stopped outside, gazing in wonder at the wooden statues - a mix of Indian and African. There was a gentleman standing outside the shop with a cigarette and a book whom I'd initially missed (obviously I don't have 20/20 vision) until he said, "Go in and take a look."
I glanced over at him, smiled ruefully and shook my head. I'd felt too intimidated by the shop to go in. But he closed his book and repeated, "Go in and have a better look - looking is free."
He started telling me about the different carvings - which part of Africa they are from, and from what sort of wood they were carved. Then we went into the shop.
Inside his shop, the first thing I noticed was the background music - Hindi, from Bollywood's golden years. He took me around his shop, pointing out various artefacts. The most amazing things I saw were huge wall arts which he told me were made by first drawing out pictures in pencil on the foundation (not paper - maybe wood - I can't remember now), then painstakingly getting wood chips of specific colors and shapes and sizes to fill out the drawings, and finally varnished when completed.
There was a picture of two birds that looked remarkably Chinese and like phoenixes to me and I said so. He said they were peacocks, and, "Peacocks - from India, China - they're all the same, no?"
"Yeah, they are," I said, and we laughed.
After a small pause, I pointed to the stereo tucked in a corner and asked, "Is that Mohammed Rafi?"
He looked at me in surprise and smiled, "No, that's Kishore Kumar." He gave me a friendly gentle slap on the back. "You know?"
Of course I know - I just can't differentiate between their voices ... yet.
In the end, I spent a good twenty minutes in his shop, with him telling me about the different artefacts on display, and his two wall murals (one of a temple in Trimurti, and the other of the African outback) which went surprisingly well together. I learned that he'd spent four months in Singapore in 1982 (I was barely a toddler then!) and married a Kiwi woman named Mary; his name is Murthy.
We spoke a bit about Bollywood, commiserating that the recent movies were becoming too much like Hollywood, and how, perhaps, the movies of yore were better. He asked who my favorite hero was - "Uh ... actually, I like Meena Kumari." - and then invited me to his place for a meal ("I cook - you like Indian food?" "Of course!") and to raid his collection of old Bolly films.
Regrettably, I had to leave before his wife came to the shop and they close up. He said I should meet his wife and come back often to his shop to chat. It was a complete pleasure to have met him, and I said so - and I will go back there; maybe next Friday.
I went back to K.K. to collect my takeaway and couldn't stop smiling.
You know what? This is serendipity - something that doesn't happen to me too often - and I'm just so thankful for whenever it deigns to occur.
I came home and told Aileen about meeting Murthy and how I fully intended to take on his invitation; she said I was too guillible.
"You'll trust anyone, as long as they're into Bollywood," she tsk-tsked, and Alwyn laughed.
Okay, yeah - so maybe she has a point there.
But how can I be suspicious of Murthy when he looks like Boman Irani in Munnabhai M.B.B.S.?
posted by s at 19:32
1 Comments:
i'm especially suspicious of people who like old Hindi movies and hate new ones!
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