Be Deviant

Muggins in 2020

Hands up if you feel at odds with the world these days?

I’ve been feeling decidedly odd these last couple of years. And while part of me knows this will probably always be the case, I was beginning to think there was something I was doing wrong. Something I had to fix in order to fit in.

Then I read this:

To be at peace with a troubled world: this is not a reasonable aim…
If you don’t fit in,
if you feel at odds with the world,
if your identity is troubled and frayed,
if you feel lost and ashamed
it could be because you have retained the human values you were supposed to have discarded.
You are a deviant. Be proud.

~ George monbiot, quoted in
This one wild and precious life


This One Wild and Precious Life came out in 2020, just as we were starting to comprehend the magnitude of a global pandemic.


Many people found their lives suddenly on pause; too much time to sit with their thoughts, nowhere to go to escape them – except Netflix, perhaps.


We watched as wildlife returned timidly to the streets, the skies cleared of smog and a slow motion disintegration of lives and economies spread around the globe.


In Australia, we were just reeling from the devastation of fires that turned our summer skies black, and destroyed unthinkable numbers of wildlife.


I had just finished my life long sentence as a renter, and become a mortgagee. I’d barely had time to unpack, let alone invite visitors, before we were plunged into lockdown and ordering desks online so we could work from home.


I was more than a little resentful, to be honest, to be imprisoned in my tiny office working harder than ever for my 8.5 hours-a-day income, while my welfare dependent sister had received a pay rise from the government to stay at home and do nothing!


I was supposed to be grateful to still have a job, but instead, I felt trapped in the Upsidedown and no one could hear me scream!

Barb disappears in Stranger Things – Netflix


It was into this WTF moment that Sarah Wilson’s well-timed love letter whispered its thought provoking “beautiful questions”.


I needed some perspective; a path through my despair and rage. And that’s exactly what she gave.


Wilson, for those wondering what’s her claim to fame, was a one-time editor of Cosmopolitan Australia, a former journalist and TV presenter, now author, hiker and activist. She somehow manages to balance life in the mainstream limelight with a frugal, environmentally aware existence and now shares her insights with anyone who will listen – in her book, podcast and newsletter.


Wilson, in her book as in life, seeks to find Rumi’s field, the field beyond the loneliness, despair and rage tearing our world apart, “where we stop disputing issues and instead discuss values. Soul values.”

Could this be Rumi’s field?


She does this by gently teasing out what she sees are the three ‘C’s” of our collective unease:

  • The crisis of Connection in a technology enabling “connection-lite” culture – one that allows us to opt out of the vulnerability of IRL interactions, and instead opt in to the kind of hate speech that real life tends to counteract.
  • The failure of an endless “more, more, more” consumerist model of economy (shhh, I think she means Capitalism) to meet our need to be part of a thriving collective.
  • The elephant-in-the-room Climate crisis – not helped by the proliferation of disposable coffee cups, plastic packaging and fast fashion trends of a consumerist economy.

Wilson manages to disguise solid research and science packed analysis in a conversational style that encourages us to bravely confront difficult to refute, and equally difficult to swallow, truths.

Speaking to an uncomfortable rising panic, Wilson acknowledges that this “’societal shitstorm’” is “manifestly impossible” for us to comprehend.

Are we all in the Upsidedown?


There’s no wonder we get trapped in a “fear–guilt–anger–despair–overwhelm cycle.”

It is the grace of Wilson’s extended human hand that makes you read on, and confront the beautiful, terrifying question: “What are we going to do about it?”

As an avid hiker, Wilson takes us on an incredible journey through hiking trails across England to Switzerland, Crete, Japan and Jordan (to name a few). As she goes, she gathers wisdom from around the globe to weave this “hopeful path forward” she has promised.

It doesn’t disappoint.

There are many strategies she offers as a way to turn our despair into action. For me, the two that resonate the most are probably the easiest to achieve:


Hike, just hike


Wilson delves into the benefits of green walks and forest bathing.


We all know that taking a walk in the bush makes us feel good. But what’s illuminating to me are studies that suggest the “healing effect of trees” is beyond some kind of esoteric feeling, and in fact routed in science.


As Wilson reflects, evolutionary responses to fear and stress were always tangible, “emotion was passed through, with the aid of the physical reaction”. In this sense, hiking is an “effective, honest and primal” way to process stress from our body.


And it doesn’t have to be a mountain climb. Even a twenty minute walk amongst trees lowers “salivary cortisol (the stress hormone) by 53 percent”.


There’s a word for the “joy of walking in nature”: biophilia. Similarly, there’s even a word for “homesickness from nature”: solastalgia.


It makes sense, then, that to reconnect with nature is the first step in the “fight to save what we love”. It is forward motion.


Start where you are

It’s easy to be defeated by the immensity of the task ahead of us – as if the small actions of one person can make any difference!

What Wilson proposes is refreshingly simple. Don’t try to be a hero, crusader, leader of some undiscovered genius to Net Zero.


Start where you are – with what is not being done, in your street, neighbourhood or workplace. Start small, ordinary, necessary. Be of service.


I struggled with this at first. And then I listened to myself, mentally berating my neighbours every time I walked past another bit of rubbish on the curb.


Start where you are at right now. With what you can already do.


The way forward is then a breathtaking relief.


“You start. Then it spreads. Action begets action. Care begets care”.


Where this forward motion takes us may indeed be a place of sacrifice or challenge beyond this “nice interlude” – such as buying less, getting comfortable with uncertainty or embracing activism.


When in doubt? One final beautiful question to set one’s moral compass by:


“Does this choice enlarge or diminish life?”


It’s a profoundly confronting question. How to be a big human, in a world that wants us to stay small?

Care less, you'll be less stressed.
I’ve been told to Care Less my whole life. But is that really the answer we’re looking for? (PS. I don’t like being told to Care Less.)

Will her book convert the science denying, anti-everything conspiracy theorists into climate activists? Probably not.


Are her lifestyle choices always relatable to the average stuck-in-a-rut full-time employed muggins, like myself? Not always.

What Wilson’s book does offer is a starting point for those of us who feel the imbalance but have no clue what to make of it, and even less what to do about it. A means of examining where we are, and how we get to where we want to be.

I’m very, very far from where I want to be. Stuck in my smallness, inside my small suburban bubble, looking out.


But what Wilson has given me is hope. I know, now, what I need to do. Or at least, I have an idea.


What will follow is an attempt to keep myself accountable, as I put one small step ahead of the other to Go Wild. Quietly.


It’s time to embrace deviance (like there was ever any other choice!). I hope you’ll join me on that journey, even if it’s just to laugh at all the dumb mistakes I make along the way.

Rage of the Heart

 

Hello. Did you miss me?

I missed me.

I think I’m nearly ready to do this thing again. Differently, though.

Go Wild. Quietly.

What does that even mean?

Our worlds have become so small. At least in Melbourne, with the world’s longest lockdown on record.

Our workplaces now reduced to two small screens, are in no way large enough to contain the petty politics of a fragmented workforce.

We’re all a little demented. Consumed with Mask Rage and Vax Rage and These-four-walls Rage.

From my upstairs window, I’ve been watching my neighbours dump regular gifts of bread for the crows to glut their babies’ bellies with.

I’m incensed with Bread Rage.

I’ve become the local mad hat, masked and gloved and stabbing my pickup stick at other people’s bread gifts.

The crows are incensed with Me.

They don’t understand. Maybe none of us do.

You might love this as much as I do: the word courage quite literally breaks down to ‘rage’ of the ‘heart’ (coeur in French).

~ Sarah Wilson, This One Wild and Precious Life

After six lockdowns totalling what will be 263 days inside our isolated urban bubbles, it’s the simple things you miss the most.

The smell of a freshly watered rainforest – no humans in sight.

The brisk, unfiltered rush of clean, inhaled air.

The happy, garbled chatter of cafe clientele, backdrop to the hiss – gurgle – crack of brewed coffee on the make.

That First. Eager. Slurp.

Freedom is the small things.

The temporary loss of these small pleasures has revealed the fault lines of our complicated, global existence.

We rage over their loss, because we don’t know how to deal with the Big. Unfathomable. Things.

Life is out of kilter. Perhaps it always was.

From the standpoint of today, what we thought was Normal is beginning to look like a fool’s wet dream. And tomorrow?

How do we re-emerge into this strangely unfamiliar Covid Normal world?

What will it look like ten or twenty or fifty years from now?

It’s through these Unfathomable Things that Sarah Wilson winds a “hopeful path forward” in her book This One Wild and Precious Life.

A book that is truly of its time, it whispered to me last year, quite by surprise, as I wandered aimlessly through a discount bookstore in what would become a rare and luxurious moment between lockdowns.

I was looking for an answer to my question: What, exactly, is going wild, quietly?

And how do I get back there?

The cover beckoned to me with an arresting image (I only later realised) of the very place where my own earliest memories of life in the wild began – out there, on the road to Cradle Mountain.

I had to buy it. And it was the most transformative read since Quiet; the Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking, by Susan Cain. The perfect sequel, in a way, on my Go Wild. Quietly quest.

Tune in to my next post and beyond, where I delve into a review of the book and its power to enlarge one’s world.

Where are you at these days?

Rearview

Rearview Blog

Six(teen) months down

And every morning

As I drive into the sunrise –

I see You.

Rear view.

I go from house to house

And in between the cracks

Of 1950’s bath tiles

Like memory gathering mildew –

It’s a glimpse of You.

Too much of this

And too little of that

And no time

(Nothing but time).

The sadness in the voices

Of all the little old ladies

(And all the not so little, not so old);

It’s aching in my bones

And numbing all the voices in my head.

And I get it now.

As long as we stay busy

We’re okay.

(We’re not okay).

∼⁄∼

Dear beautiful readers,

I don’t know where to begin. Should I apologise for my inexcusable absence? Promise to do better on the return run? Quit before the next false start?

But who would I be convincing?

You, my beautiful readers, deserve more credit than that. So I’ll just make a list:

Things that have happened since I last blogged

  • I became Certified to Care, fell horribly sick, got a job caring for the aged in their own homes, fell horribly sick again, survived the winter and have now made it to almost a year in (not really) part-time employ.
  • I learned to channel my “inner granny” by getting up at 5am, falling asleep before 9pm, and listening to Clare Bowditch on ABC Radio.
  • True to my possum friend’s omen, I moved to a new house. With space. And light. And floor tiles that need cleaning. All. The. Time.
  • My partner and I travelled to India, a place of “no rrrules”, according to our delightfully well humoured driver (pictured above).
  • I didn’t get sick in the land of no rules.
  • Apple stopped supporting my operating system.
  • Google stopped supporting my internet browser.
  • iTunes backup stopped supporting my iPhone.
  • My parents learned how to use an iPad (what???).
  • I developed an ice chewing addiction (the cube, not the drug).
  • My doctor asked if I’m depressed.

And that about brings us up-to-date!

The most important thing I have to say is this:

I MISS YOU. And to all those precious souls who came by to visit, to check on my well-being, to gently kick my (frustrated) writer’s ass…I appreciate you more than you will ever know.

With luck, you might see me around from time to time, but I won’t be making empty promises. Let’s just say, you’re in my sights.

What’s in your rear view?

Get Real

The last domino has crash landed on the eve of 2015. It’s been such a mad rush to the finish line I’ve not had a chance to fill you in on the most important happenings this side of tomorrow.

Soon-to-be Flat Person

Soon-to-be Flat Person

It’s time for a career change.

And, by that, I’m not referring to my love affair with football. We all knew that would only be a short term fling.

Nor am I talking about writing, which will always be the end game, no matter the mirage that stretches in between the Me and It.

I’m talking about REAL WORLD stuff. And the need to live in it. To breathe and touch and listen to it. To be. 3D. Again.

Don’t you ever feel that? Like you’ve spent so long staring into a flat screen that you might any second turn into a flat person, whose beating heart has no where to go except up, and out, and bursting ’til you scream, and smash something, and run away and join a commune where the only technology is a hand held water pump and real life people for defibrillators.

Kickstart.

It’s ok. I’m not going to join a commune.

But I have completed a first aid course. And I have been studying to regain my humanity, in the form of a Certificate III in Aged Care.

In exactly four days (but whose counting?) I will be commencing a full time 120 hour placement in an Aged Care Facility, after which I will be licensed to kill claw back some of the feeling in my fingers and toes after a lifetime of sedentary labour.

Hell, what have I done?

Actually, the hardest part so far has been finding a pair of black, non-figure hugging pants with real, functional pockets. See! Even the fashions are trying to make us flat.

I don’t want to be a flat person.

I want to get my hands dirty. To know that what I am doing to survive is worth something to someone else. That it is real.

Just like these tomato plants, that burst out of my compost unannounced.

TomatoJumping

There will be a place for writing, I am sure of it. Once the Certificate is passed, a job and a routine is established.

A short term disruption for longer term gain. Survival. Stability. A sense of self worth. All necessary ingredients for a writer to write. And to mean it.

So, I guess what I’m saying is, 2015 is the year to Get Real. Who wants to join me? Go on, I dare you to 😉

Happy New Year, loyal bloggers. What’s your phrase for the year ahead?

Domino Effect – Part 2

On 17 September, after a nine month struggle with brain cancer, my mother’s twin sister slipped away from us. In many ways, she was like a second mother to my siblings and me. It’s been difficult to put into words the profound and unexpected impact of her loss, considering a year ago we were celebrating the twins 70th, unaware of what would come.


17 November 2014

Dear Aunty Barb,

It’s been two months since you left us. A week since I’ve been trying to write you my farewell.

There was so much I never had the chance to say to you.

You’re with me, in my kitchen, everyday.

The gifts you gave are more than they appear.

GlassYou’re the twist of lemonade in an ordinary drinking glass (you never did like plain old H2O).

You’re the kick of chilli in the curry powder tin (and I can hear your wicked cackle, now).

But it’s right that this is where your memory dwells.

You spent your life nourishing the family, and that extended out, to the community beyond.

You did it with a flair and an originality that was all your own – a fairy garden here, a hand crafted zombie pop-up there.

You always took such joy in the little details of our lives. Like my dream to write.

It was a doing kind of love you had. And I wish you knew how much that meant to us. To me.

But even as I say it, I know you knew, very well, the value of the things you did.

It was me who was slow to cotton on.

Cottonon

I was supposed to help you write down your memoirs. My deepest regret is never making time for that – I never did stay over like you hoped I would. The reasons why seem trivial, at best, now that you’re gone.

You left too soon.

You had your first sip of alcohol only after 60.

JarAge 69, you and your friends were out til 5am for New Year’s Eve, putting to shame the next generation who preferred to go to bed.

You loved spending time with us. It helped to keep you young, you said.

But your outlook always was more youthful than your age.

Which is why your departure, at 70, has come as such a shock.

In hindsight, all the signs were there. The refusal to participate. The angry depression. The impenetrable loneliness. The slips in memory.

When the tumour was discovered, your withdrawal penetrated our realities with slow motion, domino effect.

Who were we, without you?

Grandmother_0002

I always assumed my place was on the fringe. Most of what I knew of my cousins was from stories you would tell me of their lives. Somehow, as you took your leave of us, I found myself drawn in.

Nothing is the same as it was a year ago. When we gathered for the 70th reunion, I didn’t want to be there. And I left with an embittered sense of invisibility. A belief that no one understood.

But maybe it was me who didn’t understand.

Your departure has made us see things in a different light. For what we are, and for what we aren’t. To pull together in a way we’ve probably never done before.

My grief for you is that you missed out on the chance to know what else life had to offer you.

You were the centre of our family’s universe. You were a twin, a sister, a wife, a mother, a nanna, an aunt. You did what had to be done, perhaps beyond what we could rightfully expect.

You wouldn’t have it any other way, of course. And yet, you never did get the answer to your question.

Who were you, without us?

Barbara

Beyond the duties and obligations that defined you, the woman I knew was creative and curious and brave. Fun loving and spirited and shrewd.

That’s the person I will drink a toast to every year.

The one whose stories I will treasure, and whose laughter I will miss.

Whose lessons I will carry to my great unknown.

So cheers to you, Aunty Barb!

You came into the world as you left it – unexpectedly. A surprise package, as you liked to say, until the end.

Who are you thankful for, today?

 

Domino Effect – Part 1

domino1A whole month just disappeared.

The ‘Open’ sign has yellowed and the tumbleweeds are doing cartwheels in the wind.

[Enter iconic movie track – the Good, the Bad and the Ugly].

Waa wa waaaa

So much for “I’m back!”

You’d be forgiven for wondering when I’ll take the rusted shingle down. Board up all the windows. Exchange the dream for complimentary tickets to the show.

It does feel like, in the space of a few months, the whole landscape of my life has changed.

And I’m standing on my porch, wondering how to start explaining where I’ve been.

So I guess I’ll just go from the beginning. Where the first Domino fell…

You may remember me telling you, a couple of ‘New Year’s’ ago, about my need to get a job.

LSAH-PepiBut then how I was saved from the horror of job interviews by a paid video gig that I agreed to do in honour of Pepi.

As happens in this kind of work, the project scope was extended and mysteriously delayed until I gave up all hope of any kind of outcome and decided to get a job selling tickets to the footy.

In its well-timed sense of irony, the universe conspired to deliver the long awaited (and hence now URGENT) green light for the video completion in the same week that I started my indentured labour!

So commenced a month of craziness, followed by another couple of months of tying up loose ends.

Until the time has come to say goodbye for good.

  • To video as a source of income.
  • To more than six years of self employment during which I managed to feed myself (but only just).
  • To a creative occupation that, however meaningful, didn’t really leave room for the primary passion that is writing.

So what was all the fuss about?

Lort Smith Animal Hospital is the largest not-for-profit animal hospital in Australia. It was originally established to assist people of modest means in providing vet care for their animals (which included none other than hers truly and her merry menagerie).

Given its unique history in veterinary care and female philanthropy, the hospital was keen to record the stories of key people who have supported the hospital since the 1940’s.

The first stage was recording seventeen interviews, which are now part of a digital archive for the hospital.

The second was creating a short memoir on the history of Lort Smith.

At 11 minutes, the video is far from epic! But, with any luck, is enough to inspire people to want to get involved.

Now that the credits have rolled on video, the question remains whether selling footy tickets will motivate me into writing a best seller…

Of all the jobs you’ve ever had, what was the one you were happiest to leave?

Flux

When I told you I’d be Missing in Action a few weeks ago, I honestly had no idea it would be this long.

It turns out, waking up at 6.00 in the morning and actually having to eat breakfast before 9.00 am is much harder than I thought.

Not to mention the extreme challenge of learning to differentiate between the varieties of footy (ie. football) in this country.

Prior to starting in this job, my footy knowledge went like this:

  • There’s a ball.
  • They kick it.
  • It goes on for months and months and ends sometime in September.

"Dynamism of a Soccer Player" Umberto Boccioni. 1913, courtesy shooting_brooklyn

“Dynamism of a Soccer Player” by Umberto Boccioni. 1913, courtesy shooting_brooklyn

Now, in case there’s any doubt, what I just said is plain and simply un-Ostralyin.

Way worse than not attending church.

If you don’t follow a footy team (go the Dogs!), then it’s pretty much social suicide. Which, when you work at home alone, is no big deal.

But when your job is taking bookings for manic footy fans?

I’ve been learning a whole new vocabulary.

“Freo” stands for Fremantle, “The Cats” are actually Geelong, the “Rabbitohs” are Souths (which, by the way, are Manly) and no, that’s not the AFL (Australian Football League), that’s NRL (National Rugby League) and never mind The Asian Cup (what the heck is soccer, anyway?).

I’ve learned what the centre line and the fence line are, but I’m still unsure about the wing. I have been winging it a lot, though. Which is what happens when you are looking at a map of a roughly square stadium with no compass or description as a guide.

It may also explain why some fans were booked seats with the opposing Cheersquad (oops!).

Until recently, I thought Home and Away was just a bad Aussie soapie. But apparently there are things called Home and Away teams, and which team is Home and which team is Away makes a difference as to where you sit.

And while we’re on the topic of vocabulary.

You know those words you only ever read, and never have to say out loud until you’re talking to a customer?

Rodriguez.

Repeat after me. It’s Rod-ree-gss. Not Rod-rig-yooz. O.o

And just when you thought things couldn’t get any more miserable…

Les Miserables.

The good thing about being Australian is, you only have to say Lay Miz and you’ll be right!

It certainly has been an education.

Not enough of one to excuse my lengthy absence, though.

The WindThat is down to a few not wholly unexpected, and yet confounding, life twists, which I hope to make known to you in due course.

For now, it is enough to say that life is in flux. And that I’ve missed you. And I’m back!

Maybe less predictably than I once was, but let’s face it, I never was that good at keeping pace 🙂

Looking forward to catching up with you all soon. xox

 

What’s one new thing you’ve learned these past two months?

Missing In Action

Previously on Go Wild. Quietly, you may have caught casual mention of a new part time job. As I have now officially been caught and tagged, all that wild action is momentarily reserved for learning new behaviours.

I’ve made it through my first four days of full time training and in ten hours time I’ll be killing it out on the phones!

Normal programming will resume one of these days, in the meantime, enjoy this intermission with one of Pepi’s favourite songs

What music is motivating you this week?


Don’t know who Pepi is yet?

He’s this little guy, waiting for you to take him home…

TakeMeHome

 

The (Bitter) Pill

Sometimes I wonder how the people who invented the pill imagined the future.

MastersofSex

The Master in Masters of Sex

Was there an upper class of childless retirees, sipping cocktails and smacking their still youthful lips together by the pool?

Were children brought up in laboratories and rented to the highest bidder, or grown off shore in new world economies?

Or maybe, instead of a lifetime of hedonism and debauchery, people volunteered their time and wealth to protecting panda bears?

It’s hard to know what they dreamed, but I doubt they expected to still be debating the pros and cons of paternity leave, much less reproductive rights.

It’s a peculiar little world we live in.

The other day an article was sent to my Inbox.

Screen shot 2014-07-30 at 10.40.25 AM

It immediately had me contemplating a new form of glass ceiling I’ve encountered in my quest for jobs and houses.

Part-time work is hard to come by. You know immediately when you see the words “Suits mother returning to work” that you’re doomed.

Glass ceiling

Wannabe writers need not apply

A person who writes mediocre blogs in their spare time simply can’t compete with the Queen Bees of the labour force.

And yet, I ask you, who’s the safer bet?

The woman whose thankless progeny are determined to make her late to work two days out of three, or the one who’s just figured out that at her current rate of pay she’ll be working till 105 to save for her retirement?

It’s no more logical than the ads for three bedroom rentals. “Perfect family home. Close to schools and transport…”

Like the only people in need of public transport are those who procreate.

Like two childless women don’t need an extra room to house their nephews, nieces and hordes of child popping relatives.

And just before you say it. I’m not childless because I dislike the snotty nosed!

(Did you know this is an actual book?)

(Did you know this is an actual book?)

I love children. And that is why I’m childless. (I make a way better Aunt than I ever would a mum. Just ask Pepi.)

But I wonder why, fifty years on from the sexual revolution, this is still a choice we need to justify?

The whole topic makes me want to spontaneously break into a Lily Allen flash dance…

“It’s hard out here for a b****” 

(*childless wannabe writer)

Only I just got a call from an employer.

And they want to hire me. Me?!

And here’s the stunner:

My childless delusions of creative grandeur appear to have been deemed an asset!

Of course, if I tell you it’s in the entertainment industry, I know what you’ll be thinking.

And that may well have been my next port of call.

But this is legit. As of this week, I’ll be a ticketing officer (which is my fancy way of saying I’ll be working in a call centre).

Real money, for real work, with real people and stuff.

So now I’m swallowing my words. And busting out another kind of glass…

champagne

What did you think the pill would do for you?

The Tiffin

TiffinFull

Nothing spells ‘alive’ like a hot, home cooked curry.

Imagine sitting at your cubicle at work, your tummy just about to grumble for its midday meal, and in rolls lunch.

A tiffin of two or three different curries, a chapatti and some rice.

You open up the insulated carry bag just to get a whiff, and OMG…

Hungry yet?

This hunger is really the premise behind “The Lunchbox”, a movie Ms and I saw on a desperate, mid-winter whim the other night.

Set in the heady bustle of Mumbai, it’s a story about Saajan, a lonely widowed accountant on the brink of retirement, and the misplaced tiffin of Ila, a neglected young wife.

The food is cooked with love, and delivered to the wrong man with the right appreciation for the cook’s craft.

A conversation begins through a series of illicit hand written notes, passed back and forth in the tiffin, courtesy of the dabbawallahs’ flawless delivery system (as declared by Harvard University).

From the moment Saajan encounters the first note, we are transported to our childhood – to the days before iPhones and email, when kids wrote notes and traded sandwiches.

2nd-week-box-office-collection-of-the-lunchbox

Everything about this movie is real. The noise, dirt, sweat. The claustrophobia. The smell of yellowed office files, hot curry and cigarette smoke. The graininess of analogue video and romance of handwritten notes.

Looking at the overcrowded transport, there’s the sense of a city under strain. Development misplaced. Out of context. Fucked up in a million different ways.

And that is part of the reason the film has a universal resonance.

When Ila shares her dream of escaping to Bhutan, where the value of one rupee becomes five and the only GDP is “Gross Domestic Happiness”, we understand.

We’ve all been there. Longing for a simplicity lost to the world as we know it.

A world constantly filtered through a digital interface that screams for our attention, day and night.

While most of us manage some kind of escape – a tree change, a sea change or a holiday to Bali, for Ila and Saajan, there is no escape.

Except through food.

The poetry infused in Ila’s cooking comes alive in Saajan’s writing, as the very act of taste reignites his joie de vivre.

There’s a moment in the film where we hear the voiceover of Saajan as he writes to Ila. We see him standing on his balcony, drawing on a cigarette and Ila, pouring herself a cup of masala tea, as she sits to ponder on his note.

the-lunchbox

Right in that moment, there is nothing else in the world except two people connected by a single piece of paper, and the freedom to reflect.

It made me want to throw out my computer and write, the way I used to.

Uncensored and unencumbered. With a piece of paper and a pen. No thoughts. Just a feeling bleeding on the page.

A real page.

I’m heartened by that thought, as I am by the number of requests I’ve had these past two weeks for hard copies of the Hello Pepi books.

It’s a 3D world that tugs at us, reminding us that we are more than just a hologram.

We crave touch. And taste. And smell.

The kind we don’t even know we’re missing until we feel it, once again. We are alive!

There’s an oft repeated line in the film that goes:

Sometimes the wrong train will get you to the right station.”

Maybe books aren’t dead. Maybe it’s time to go and find a publisher.

And so the journey carries on… 🙂

When was the last time you tasted something so divine, the world stopped spinning?


Speaking of joie de vivre

PFTTakeMeHomePepi’s First Things, FREE until Monday.

This Toy Dog is for Real – Take him home!

Don’t believe me? Check out Mamta Chakravorty’s review – Pepi’s first fan from Bangalore!