Day 718

For 6 years I’ve been thinking about it. Fascinated with tribal, scripted and patterned decorative band-like tattoos on arms and forearms, I’ve got myself temporary ones whilst on holiday but haven’t had the guts to get a real one.

At work I am often amused to see big huge biker type, heavily tattooed men, claiming to be needle-phobic. One of them last week had his life story written all over him – kid’s and grand-kid’s names and dates of birth, many birds and butterflies, some pretty girls, hearts and crosses and even the football team he supports!

This morning I woke up with a resolve. Today is the day I get a tattoo on my left arm. The tiny city centre of Lagos has 3 or 4 tattoo parlours. I got a recommendation from the yoga instructor and went along to see John. He opens his shop from 3-7pm only. So cool! Initially I thought I would like a row of elephants going around the arm. That would be in line with Saagar’s elephant tattoos. When I really thought about it, I realised that all I wanted was ‘Saagar’. Although his soul is formless and nameless, he exists as Saagar, my beautiful son, in his and my earthly life. I love him and always will. So that’s what it was going to be.

Luckily I was the only customer in the shop and had John’s full attention. Luckily he asked me no questions about the set of letters. Very professional! We went through a range of fonts and patterns, sizes and shapes, colours and widths, styles and embellishments. It was a tough choice as I wanted something which brought together Hindi and English scripts, given he was a self-confessed ‘coconut’ (brown on the outside, white on the inside). Something really simple.

It was painful. Especially the first 10 minutes. In all it was three quarters of an hour of trying not to scrunch up my face with pain, of maintaining a slow, regular and rhythmic breathing pattern, allowing myself to be distracted by unfamiliar music playing in the shop and tapping my right foot to the beats while keeping my upper body absolutely still. Once or twice I was completely overwhelmed by the pain but managed to keep it together, just like when I was in labour.

It is simple and sweet.
He is always with me and always will be. Love you my darling!

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Day 717

Sunday lunch at the start of autumn on a warm day of blue skies and a warm sun, sitting under a wise old carob tree with supported branches and multiple dried brown beans hanging from a wide umbrella of dark green leaves with friends and strangers making introductions followed by conversations, smiles and laughter, references to this and that, occupations, travels and hobbies, daughters and mothers, food and wine, so on and so forth …. as if straight out of a film set infused with a sweet subtle smell of eucalyptus.

All of it completely meaningless, empty, futile, feckless, inane and pointless. Words, words and more words! Exhausting! I had to get up and walk away with my i-pad and take pictures of something. Anything.

In 2 weeks time he will be dead. Around this time 2 years ago he was scoring max on his depression scores and he gave it in writing to his GP in the form of a PHQ-9 form but got no help. No escalation of care. No attention. No mention of ‘suicide’ to us and yet holding a firm belief that a safety plan was in place. Sent home with the suggestion, “It will get better. Give it time. Rome was not built in one day” and a piece of paper.

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It was early autumn then and it is early autumn now.
I lived in what I thought was our world then.
I live in a world of my own now. It sort of overlaps with this one in places but most of this one is irrelevant to me.

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Day 716

Today I was a tourist in Lagos, Portugal.

This is our second visit here. Aside from having friends here, what brought us back is its pace and ease of life. It is an ancient seaside town, loaded with natural beauty and a few tourists.

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The Saturday Market, a short bike ride away from home was the highlight of this morning. With baskets hanging off the handles of our bikes, pretending to be two of the locals, we feigned annoyance at the ‘tourists’ getting in our way. Once in the market, the truth about us came spilling out. Out came our cameras and a huge appreciation for the ability to buy produce from the farmers directly. Friendly, relaxed faces manning tiny stalls sold locally grown seasonal produce – figs, chillies, grapes, olives, almonds, rosemary honey, tomatos, greens, homemade breads, sweetmeats, fresh and dried herbs, flowers, plants and other everyday little things. Saagar would have loved the real peri-peri.

The market reminded me of my childhood in India, buying real food from real people, sharing with them the value of their land and labour. It reminded me of sweeter, simpler times. Times when we had a feel for the land and a connection with each other through the food that it produced.

Simplicity is indeed a virtue, be it a town or a person.
The simple joy of breathing clean air, priceless.
So many simple things are now lost in many parts of the world!

“Simplicity is the ultimate sophistication.”
Leonardo da Vinci

Day 386

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The ‘tricycle’ in the Philippines is a regular mode of transport that can easily carry 4 if not 5 people. It is a regular motorcycle with a side car attached to it. It is commonly used in rural areas for traveling short distances. It is the perfect car alternative – it is covered and has ventilation. Lots of it!

We had the good fortune of getting a ride on a tricycle today, up and down a mountainous road, some parts of it in poor condition. The tricycle valiantly dragged us up slopes that would be difficult to walk. It was exciting in many ways – we could feel the wind, every pothole on the road and the immense torque on the front wheel. In addition the sounds emanating from the engine while under various degrees of strain were entertaining too, and a testament to the driver’s skill.

The visit to the local farmer’s market was fascinating. Most of the fruits and veg had travelled just a few miles to be there. Fruit was clearly tree ripened. The fish market was so clean that it hardly smelt of fish. The yellow fin tuna was being sold whole. Sadly the difference in size of fish from 20 years ago was remarkable. These ones were just one quarter the size they used to be. Speaking to the locals, it was clear that the waters have been overfished.

Trays full of eggs the colour of Potassium Permanganate! Yes. I thought I was seeing things but they were for real. They are salted duck eggs that are cured in a mixture of clay, salt and water for about 18 days and then boiled for 30 minutes. I was curious enough to buy them but haven’t tried one out yet. I think they look very pretty. Too pretty to break.

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