An Image

You know how some images stick in your mind for years, even though they may not mean anything very much; may not even be beautiful? I have a ruined hut in my mind which is like that. I had seen it in Chakwal, Pakistan, for a few minutes, in between some other things. I have written about my visit to Chakwal already.

My sister visited me in November, bringing with her a box of slides of Pakistan which I had left with her. Most of them have a nasty purplish overlay, which I've been trying to clear away through the magic of Photoshop. I was scanning the slides from Chakwal, and found one of the hut. Fittingly, perhaps, it was ruined; I couldn't bring it to life. And yet the photograph succeeds for me, because it suggests something coloured by the imagination:


I love the little tree, which someone carefully planted beside the door -- I had forgotten it. This is what I wrote:

It was the most rudimentary structure, enclosed within a low stone wall. The pale stones, mud mortar crumbling away, the half-fallen thatch of the roof through which blue sky was visible, the rotting door, the broken wooden bedstead -- all seemed touching. I wondered about the lives it had contained, and why they had left it. The air was very quiet, sunny, clear and cold.

Independence Day

August 15 is Indian Independence Day. Last night someone from Guest Relations called us and said that the hotel was having a flag-raising at 8:00 this morning, and invited us to attend. To my surprise, R agreed – he avoids ceremonies of any kind, and we never get up before 8:30. But we duly walked up to the hotel gate at five minutes to eight. A group of employees was arrayed around the flagpole; the security guards in their uniforms were trying to look military. Coffee and Indian sweets were kept ready at tables to one side. One of the staff came up to us holding a tray covered with pins in the colours of the Indian flag: saffron white green. R picked out a flag pin, I chose a small rosette shape. Then we waited. A few hotel guests trickled in, but most were staff. 8:00 came and went and R, always obsessed with time, began to be impatient. Finally, at 8:10, a car drove in the gate: the Manager had arrived. He drove a little beyond where we stood, got out and hurried back to the flagpole. As he passed us, R showed him his watch and said, “Independence came late to India.” (He told us afterwards that he had attended the Chief Minister’s flag-raising, which had been late.)

The flag was already at the top of the flagpole, folded into a small bundle. The Manager pulled the rope and unfurled the flag, from which flower petals showered onto the watchers below. Everyone applauded, and a tinny recording of the national anthem was played. The Manager shook hands with the assembled staff members, and we went to breakfast.

In the afternoon we will fly back home. When we scheduled our return for Independence Day we didn’t think twice about it; now, with the new state of high alertness, and an additional warning for today, we are dreading the prospect of delays at the airport. All passengers must now arrive at the airport 90 minutes before the flight time (for, in our case, a 20 minute flight). We don’t know whether we can carry on the laptop, my camera, R’s camera bag crammed with lenses – none of which we would like to pack into our suitcases.

It will all happen, one way or another. This day will slide into the past, and tomorrow morning I will wake up in hot Chennai, and walk downstairs to start the day, as if this place, with its concerns and ceremonies, never existed.

Carta de respuesta a Jovito Rivas Pérez

Quisiera replicar con esta carta las declaraciones realizadas en esta Tribuna por un militante de psdg-psoe de Vigo, que formo parte de una gestora designada a dedo hace 3 años, con total desprecio por las normas democratitas.

Según sus declaraciones en lo único que a ha usted ha acertado es, en que los militantes, mas de dos tercios, reclaman su derecho a no ser excluidos en el proceso de elección de candidatos a la alcaldía de Vigo. .

En dicha asamblea la totalidad de los asistentes, mas de 350, votaron en su mayoría y dando su apoyo a la solicitud anteriormente comentada, con la excepcion de 7 militante que votaron en contra, entre los que me supongo que usted estaría entre ellos.

Tacha usted de ejecutiva Cautiva, y desde mi entender eso es hablar por no estar callado. Es de notar su necesidad de protagonismo, asi como de su alergia a las urnas.

Es curioso que todas estas afirmaciones vengan de usted, que ha pertenecido a una gestora designada a dedo y que cuando los socialistas de Vigo recuperaron su capacidad de decidir, con libertad su futuro, enviaron a sus componentes ,entre ellos a usted, al baúl de los recuerdos.

Quisiera recordarle que la democracia mana del pueblo y de las urnas y que en esta ocasión la mayoría de militancia se ha decantado por una opción, que le guste a usted o no, es fruto de democracia. Es de lamentar que usted nunca haya conseguido que lo eligiesen sus compañeros, le recomiendo humildad y prudencia.

Seria interesante que reflexione. A nadie salvo a los autoritarios ,les gusta que otros tomen decisiones por la mayoría.. Así no, señor mío, así no. Libertad, por ti vivo.
Carta publicada en Faro de Vigo