Oriental space

Recently, after starting to write again, I read from an old post how I had been missing the western style shopping malls and walking the corridors of a mall alone. I can say that I have been doing it a lot recently. Walking through the white, shiny corridors of shopping malls just by myself. And I have been wondering what is that thing, what is the calming factor of walking in the malls.

Last month I was doing it in two big Asian cities, Shanghai and Bangkok. In those huge, huge cities with millions and millions of people, the malls are like some weird luxury dream islands. The contrast between what is inside and what is outside is as big as are the buildings. Almost all of them air conditioned and clean, the malls hold a little different atmospheres inside. Some are almost silent and sophisticated, some are filled with too many things and little spaces and different sounds.

Long time ago in Spain, I used to visit churches to get some relief from the noise and heat of the streets. I remember how cooling it was inside a church, sitting on it's bench, being surrounded by the dim church lights and the silence. How refreshing it was. And many times a part of me wanted to stay there longer than what I actually did. Yet at the same time some images on the church walls like the bleeding Jesus on his cross made me feel a little uncomfortable and I just wanted to walk out. 

Malls. Big white spaces filled with luxuries. People gathering. Also places where you go hoping to attain something, hoping to fulfill some need. To find something, inner peace maybe, or just ice cream. Or just to window-shop whatever there would be to get. Malls are also like churches. And when I was visiting the malls in Shanghai and Bangkok, I couldn't help but notice the big images on the walls, they were the same in both places. The brands they are selling are the same, of course. The same western luxury brands. The images were perhaps of the same young female western models, and if not exactly the same, they were  look-alikes, all representing ideas of beauty and purity.

All those hundreds and thousands and millions Asian people around. And the images on the walls were of European looking girls, so young you could call them children. Their skin so white and smooth and the whole appearance so innocent and pure it made me think of the images of Madonna on South European church walls. I saw her in Shanghai, and then I saw her in Bangkok again.

In Shanghai I was staying close to West Nanjing Road and the big malls of the business district. It was not always easy to find everyday stuff like basic soap, but it would have been easy to find Prada and Gucci and the like. Yes, the luxury malls with all super expensive western brands were there, and restaurants were there, but finding affordable everyday goods seemed like a difficult task at first. I actually needed some help for finding a normal supermarket to begin with.

From outside, the malls did not look attractive at first. Too calculated, too big, too in-human. But when I understood going inside would mean a possibility to find a movie theatre and maybe even a supermarket, I went into one, and that one became my favourite. Among all those in-human places it became the one to trust. It offered  me silence, coolness and warmth and privacy for my wanders. It offered movies, food and ice cream. Protection from traffic and space and silence to think or not to think, depending on the situation. There was a little restaurant called Honeymoon Desserts where I had some honeymoon time with the Asian desserts all by myself. Moments to remember. 

I became a regular. Sometimes I just passed by and walked through the ground floor and it's ridiculously expensive cosmetic department, observing the spotless, clinical space  and trying the find the exit closest to my hotel. Or I went to movies on the top floor taking time for my self only, or even visiting Honeymoon Desserts, which only felt as special as a honeymoon on the first round. Or I walked around the grocery store on the minus one floor thinking what would be good  with the cucumbers for dinner and how overpriced some things there really were.


On my last day in Shanghai I went there again. It was raining. The water was dripping from my umbrella. The ladies behind their cashiers were smiling politely behind a comfortable distance, and as always, I could enjoy my round of just looking around without anyone really trying to sell me anything. There weren't much customers as it was in the middle of a weekday, and all those other malls were close enough, offering their spaces for the ones that preferred their kind of surroundings and care.

The background music was pleasantly the same around the whole floor. A singer and songwriter, perhaps, the woman was singing in English. The music was a little melancholic and good for the rainy afternoon and saying goodbyes. The familiarity and comfort of that space together with the music created an emotional vibe, which felt funny and real at the same time. Like the cars and trains that become alive in cartoons, it almost felt like this mall had become a living entity. All those walks and moments to remember had made this space something else. I was about to leave and this was my goodbye-walk. I didn't say goodbyes to many people, but I felt I was saying goodbye to everything there by walking through that mall. And if it would have been like in cartoons, that mall would have been saying goodbye to me.

Espanjalainen horoskooppi

Tulevan viikon horoskooppini alkaa näin:
"Estás a punto de entrar en una nueva etapa y es necesario que aproveches ésta semana para cerrar un ciclo de experiencia y crecimiento, tal vez relacionado con los estudios o en el extranjero, fe o religión. Lo cierto es que debes concluir algo para comenzar a otro nivel y en otro espacio".

Olen jo yli kymmenen vuoden ajan lukenut espanjalaisia horoskooppeja ainakin kerran viikossa. Monen vuoden ajan tein sitä useammin, parhaimmillaan tai pahimmillaan jopa kerran päivässä. Hassua tajuta, että tämä tapa on jatkunut niinkin pitkään. Ihan hyvä ja mukava tapa pitää kielitaitoa yllä. Viikon näkymät siis lyhyesti: On aika jättää yksi aikakausi taakse ja aloittaa uusi. Näihin sanoihin ja tunnelmiin.

Kumma juttu tämä. Aina on jokin sykli jäämässä toinen ja toinen alkamassa. Lue vaan horoskooppeja niin huomaat saman.

En ole enää Kiinassa, olen Thaimaassa. Tämä on yllätyksellinen käänne minulle itsellenikin. Ja täältä menen takaisin Intiaan. Että tulipa toivottua sinne palaamista siellä lentokoneessa.

Että ei tässä muuta, mukavaa alkavaa viikkoa.

Estimated departure time

I was watching the movie The Second best Marigold Hotel on the tiny screen of a Dragonair plane. It was the last of the flights of my long, long trip from Helsinki to Shanghai. In the movie, elderly European tourists were landing at their Indian retirement home, ready for the "final departure"  as was jokingly yet poetically said. I also  want to retire in India, that is for sure, I thought. After I just make this trip, and most propably some other trips too. Anyway, sitting there on the fourth day of traveling and wearing the same clothes the idea ot going back to something familiar was very soothing. 

Old, familiar, repeating. At some level I related myself to those old characters in the movie. During the three weeks I spent in Finland I had started thinking about getting an anti-age serum, the hottest thing on the cosmetic market as far as I know. I was testing the serums and even collecting different samples. It was weirdly fascinating. The plan was to enjoy the testing to the fullest and wait for the purchase until the airport and then. Leave the country with a little new.... something. And there I was in the plane,  with a bottle of that magical thing in my bag.

After leaving, I had spent two days at the Hong Kong international airport, as my connection flight and all the other  flights to Shanghai were canceled or delayed for unknown time for a reason no-one seemed to fully understand. Those two days were bizarre. I had nothing to do but to wait, walk around the corridors and do the things you can do at the airport. For one reason or another I kept returning to the same food counter to buy almost the same salad and sushi whenever I got hungry. Repeat, repeat. The serum advertisements kept haunting me, they were all over that airport as well. There would have been two unexpected extra days for choosing the right serum, making even a better decision, who knows.

The estimated departure time appeared over and over again on the big screens, being always far enough in the future. Like five hours. So you would think it's coming but there's plenty of time to enjoy the in-between place and kind of a parallel reality at where you were not supposed to be. Through the big waiting hall windows you cold see the mountains spreading  on both sides. How amazing is that! The view was attractive enough to make one think that the unexpected waiting time was something special.  

At some point the estimated departure time disappeared. Flight number, destination and then nothing. It was never a promise, but always just almost-a-promise. Then at some point it appeared again, and disappeared. 

At first all the delay didn't even bother me. At night I was sent to a very nice hotel in a taxi. It was too late to 
really enjoy the deal to the fullest but I have to say the hotel of the first night was pretty amazing. And when I was 
sitting in the taxi, I got to see something I otherwise would not have seen. Maybe I wouldn't have seen all that either, if staying in Hong Kong  would have been part of the travel plan. Unexpectedness can really open your eyes, for a while.  

All those hundreds and thousands of little windows of the big city buildings behind the taxi window. Each of them shining their own light, in a little different shades perhaps, looking like a nicely organized sea of pearls. In between waiting and getting frustrated I felt I was given some more extraordinary moments.  

By the next evening, the hopes of departure turned into tiredness and desperation. Hopes got bigger as the departure gate was also given, for the very first time during the whole delay circus. People got more and more restless, angry, rushing, even shouting. Everyone was ready to fly. Then the screen went empty again, estimated departure time changed to next morning. I started feeling devastated. Like a plane full of people was dropped out of the game and forgotten. 

Then through immigrations to a taxi again. Speciality got killed by repetition, the mind started taking over. Whereas  on the previous night I had been delighted to see the hotel, this time I felt like bitching about the service and facilities as the quality of this  hotel was not as high.  There was nothing wrong with this one either.  The shining little windows were still  there during the taxi drive, but instead of just admiring the beauty I heard my mind reminding how late it would be before I would hit the bed. I  already knew the driving time to the city center. And as I already knew or thought I knew, there was less space for wonder.   

Next morning I was flying again. Watching The Second Best Marigold Hotel. See, even the movie was a volume two. A hoped-to be a pleasant experience of something familiar. Oh, the balance between the old and the new. I opened the serum bottle in Shanghai. There was definitely magic in the air, but it was other kind of magic. It was the new territory kind of magic that no serum could ever beat. And I knew I would have plenty of time before anything in that place would feel old and usual.

Egotrip to Bangalore

We made a trip to Bangalore. I was bored of the every day life and ready to go. Longing for European atmosphere, longing for the western world. A hard-to-define dissatisfaction and longing for something else.

Whereas Mysore is seen as traditional, Bangalore is international, modern, big. More people, more traffic, more everything. I was dreaming of a mall; walking in a cool, air-conditioned white space, watching and touching some boring coloured (cotton!) western clothes. Vero Moda seemed like a dream. And secretly, I wanted to be there alone. That also being part of the European experience. Not having to follow the group, not having to explain and especially not having to wait for anyone else.

Before going, I checked the events on the internet and found out that there was a British comtemporary dance group performing that evening. Wow, maybe my longing for Europe would be nicely satisfied just by visiting Bangalore!

We stayed those three days with an Indian couple my boyfriend has known for about ten years. The kind of friends that actually feel more like a family. We were extremely well taken care of. It was very comfortable, but at the same time I got irritated because the same educational Indian experience kept going and things didn't go the way I wanted them to go. There's always too much sugar in tea for me, the dinner is after ten which means too late, and everyone is minding each other's business. You know, petty little things like that. But there were (and there still are) moments when I just wanted to scream and run away and just go to that mall all by myself and feel like a three year old again.

The new home is starting to feel like... home, in a sense of being too usual. The exotic has started to become ordinary. Looks like the mind has found a steady partner for trouble-making from nostalgia. As if the boring things like grey cotton shirts of some grey mall somewhere in Europe were all of a sudden better at being usual and boring than the so called boring and usual things over here. Of course this would happen anywhere, sooner or later.

There I was, having typical Indian meals with this group of people that felt like a family. We were watching English movies on tv and yes, the language was chosen in order to make me feel more comfortable. The way the Indian people take care of their quests! It's just amazing.

After getting overwhelmed and exhausted in a big Bangalorean supermarket we decided to go out with my friend Naveena and see the contemporary dance show that I so much wanted to see. I heard that the venue would be "quite far away" from where we stayed. One and a half hour should be enough for travelling, I thought. Turned out it wasn't. Ten minutes before the showtime we had just finished a 1hr 20 minute bus drive and were searching for the spot to catch a rikshaw for the rest of the way. That would have taken another 15 minutes even if lucky. Trying our best to avoid getting hit by the buses that where driving around mercilesly, we decided to give up and took a bus back home.

After three hours of bus driving an Indian home was all I needed. The unstructured ambience, a soft matress and a movie channel. Watching that tv I felt like home again. It felt so comfortable with these people. Finally relaxed, I had given up the battle at least for a while. Actually it felt like there was no battle anymore.

We did go to the mall, all four of us together. I never made it to Vero Moda or anything like that, by at the end it wouldn't have made any difference. I got pizza, a nice non-Indian food, and once again got a glimpse of understanding that in a way it is all the same anywhere. Sure, Indian pizza comes with extra masala. But still. The base is the base and cheese is cheese. You can miss the European cheese or the American cheese but back there it was just the same old. Just a pizza cheese.

After our bus drive Naveena told me that ten years back she had walked to work as there were just a few bus lines in the city. There had been more lakes in Bangalore, before they had been filled up and transformed to platforms for bus stands, buildings and other big city things. On her daily walk to work Naveena had passed a lake and seen lotus flowers growing in the water.

In ten yers Bangalore has grown tremendously. At the same time, the roads have remained quite narrow which is why the traffic is slow and chaotic and exhausting. As she told me about the past I imagined how the surface of the lake had reflected the early rays of the morning sun, how she had been walking on the most propably sandy road, looking at the pink lotus flowers, smiling and hearing the birds happily singing her peppy good morning songs. And there I was again! Imagining something more appealing somewhere else than the current situation.

Next morning we drove back to Mysore. When leaving Bangalore, it was the rush hour again and the traffic was jammed as usual. I heard that the subway is under construction. Finally, I thought. Back home I started thinking about the lost lakes of Bangalore. According to Wikipedia, most of them were constructed in sixteenth century. Yep! Man-made. Someone had been dreaming of lakes! And then then someones had been digging the land to make those lakes! And after some centuries, someone had been dreaming something else, etc.

Long distance auntie, Gosai Ghat

A little Sunday drive to Gosai Ghat, Srirangapatna. Or was it a Saturday? Last two weeks have passed without scheduals. The KPJAYI teachers' special course ended. Many friends left Mysore and, to be honest,  I have been feeling a little down. I got a new nephew, which is super happy news. But what is weird is that I saw him for the first time on Finnish MTV3 evening news. Not face to face, not even on Skype. The awkward moments of a long distance auntie. Anyway, here are the pictures. I am making plans for new trips.
 

Big words

Ei tästä mitään suomalaisuus-blogia pitänyt tulla. Mutta näyttää siltä, että jonkinlainen jurottava havumetsäsuomalainen sieluni syvyyksistä kurkistaa, kun rupean pohtimaan tuntojani. En ole kirjoittanut vähään aikaan. Osallistuin heinä-ja elokuussa intensiiviselle joogakurssille. Kelat vähän hidastuivat, enkä viitsinyt/jaksanut/kehdannut kirjoittaa ajatuksistani, sikäli kun sellaisia tuli.

Sanojen käyttö sai nyt minut kuitenkin mietteliääksi. Ja huomasin, että suosin suhteellisen laimeita ilmauksia. Siihen olen jostain syystä tottunut. Että on mukavampi sanoa, että kuuluu ihan hyvää vaikka vieressä amerikkalaiselle kaverille kuuluu pelkkää great:ia ja amazing:ia. Tai kun joku asia on mennyt niin tajuttoman huonosti, että kyseessä on ollut oikeasti ihan hirveä katastrofi, saattaisin sanoa että ei se nyt ihan mennyt kohdilleen. Tai että aika huonosti se meni. Ei ole syytä nostattaa suuria tunteita lähimmäisissä. Tai ainakaan siinä vieressä seisovassa amerikkalaisessa, joka voisi innostua ryöpsyämään entistä isompia ja kovempia superlatiiveja.

Mutta hinkkaanko suotta jo valmiiksi puhkikulunutta stereotypiaa, jos totean, että kun ei me suomalaiset tykätä pitää turhaa melua itsestämme. Että oikeastaan minua vähän jännittää sen viereisen amerikkalaisen reaktio siihen, jos sanon että wow, amazing tai how terrible. Tai I love your shirt. Saattaisin vaan sanoa sen jotenkin tökerösti, kun en ole tottunut ylenpalttisuuksiin. Tai sitten sen toisen hymy levenisi vielä entisestään ja mitäs sitten? Pitäisi jatkaa keskustelua kansainvälisesti, suvereenilla otteella.


Jotkut sanat tuntuvat suussa liian isoilta, liian messinkisiltä. Vähän niinkuin yrittäisin sanojen sijaan sylkäistä suustani jotain palkintopokaaleja. Tai sitten joku kokemus on jo maalannut ne niin vahvoilla merkityksillä, että sanojen käytössä ei ole järkeä. Otetaan nyt vaikka sanat passion, celebration ja bliss. Näitä on käyttänyt esimerkiksi Osho-niminen mies. Kontekstina meditaatio tai ihan vaan elämä. Nämä kaikki ovat isoja sanoja minulle.

Passion. Mieleen tulee ensin passion-hedelmä. Sitten Kristuksen kärsimykset. Ja sitten joku kuubalainen tai muu vastaava latino. Sliipattu, muhkeat rintakarvat omaava ja ylimmät kaulusnapit avannut salsatanssija. Joka tanssia liuhuttaa yli edellisten mielikuvien.

Celebration. Todella pitkä, ruokaa notkuva pöytä (täh, onko tämänkin mielikuva peräisin raamatusta?), jostain syystä iso liuta muhkeita italialaisia ihmisiä, meteliä, laulua ja tanssia. Ja seuraavana Madonnan Holiday-biisi. Tämä sana on vieraanmakuinen suomalaiseen suuhuni. Ei trimmaa sanan juhlinta-kanssa, vaan tavoittaa rakkaudellisesti koko maailman eikä ole niin väkisin tehty.

Bliss. No haluaisin kyllä. Mutta todennäköisesti en lähtisi hehkuttamaan sitä vieruskaverille, kun se osuu kohdalle. Mieleen tulee myös aika nopeasti chocolate bliss ja alkaa tehdä mieli raakasuklaakakkua.

Olenko liian tavallinen viljelläkseni tällaisia sanoja? Liian maanläheinen tai ihan vaan maalainen? Ehkä ne avautuvat, kun kokee kaiken ihan täysillä. Tanssien, syöden ja syöden yhdessä muiden kanssa eli juhlien. Let life bii ömeiziiiingg!!!

Sweet paste

I took these photos some weeks ago on my way to an ayurvedic clinic called Neo Pharmacy. I got interested in this one particular doctor because of the way my friend described him. How he is a man of few words and how he quietly and firmly "heals from inside" with the herb powders and ayurvedic pills.

With his simple gestures the doctor made it very clear that neither my questions nor my explanations were needed. He simply took my hand, felt the pulse, then quicly checked my eyes and tonque. Nothing extra. Everything required was clearly coded in the pulse, eyes and the coverings of my tongue. It seemed that for him words would have been some kind of an unwanted decoration, nothing substantial.

I have been to his appointment for four times now. After the awkwardness of the first time I have started to like him. He is so quiet and inexpressive. And most importantly, the paste he described me to eat twice a day is ahh so sweet and tasty. It distantly reminds me of a Finnish candy. I am happy to eat his medicine and so I keep returning. What is it doing to me, I really don't know.

As I eat the sweet healing paste (only one spoonful at a time!) my tongue keeps whispering memories of sweet liquorice. Memories of tastes and smells are obviously well stored in the unconscious mind as important factors of past experiences. Sweet liquorice, together with salty liquorice, would be in the top five list of my favourite homely tastes. With blueberries and strawberries, they would easily lead me for an imagenary trip to blue lakes, fresh forests and summer cottages.

While chewing the paste, I have been thinking how the background or the homeland culture is affecting us. How we have inhaled it, swalloved it, taken it inside of us, most of the time without realizing what is happening. We have been nourished by it, and shaped with it's help. Quietly it has settled inside us, and become a part of who we think we are.

With the memories of whatever sweet candy we had back home, the cultural background has kind of melted in us. Like a companion you just can't get rid off, it happily travels with us where ever we go, no matter how far we go. But as we change the surroundings and go to a different place and taste some new flavours, we can, at least sometimes, see it all more clearly. Recognizing the silliest attachments, seeing what we have grown to feel familiar with and what is yet to be learned. And then the new settles in. Sometimes just painting the surface with a different colour like a frosting, sometimes mixing the whole thing deep down.

I think for the first time in my life, I have forgotten that I am actually taking a medicine while eating the medicine. It's the sweetness, but it might also be that I really don't know anything of the whats and whys of that medicine. I don't even know what it is called, other than the sweet paste. My visits to that doctor are almost surreal. I think I will remember the fellow patients in the waiting room, the old magazines I was trying to read while waiting and the awkward cartoon curtain that separates the doctor's appointment room from the rest of the clinic. That curtain is kind of spooky and, at least for my eyes, pretty ugly. But it catches the attention. Those weird cartoon images have definitely already got a little spot in my memory, sharing the space with the important taste/smell memory of the healing paste. And together they'll blend to the background, to my unconscious mind, soon becoming something old, something familiar, a little detail of my past.