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Holy Jackfruit!

A friend at work lent me the somewhat-tackily-named Holy Cow! An Indian Adventure to read while supervising visits. I remember saying to her, “Am I going to hate this book because it bashes India?” when she handed it to me. She laughed at me and said, “Maybe.” Now, I am halfway through, and it seems like Sarah Macdonald is maybe not bashing India so much as trying to entertain through highlighting India’s differences to Western countries. It is more like having a playful poke at an endearing-yet-indelibly-strange cousin.

And, to my surprise, I am inspired. Reading about Ms Macdonald’s escapades makes me want to write about my own (albeit brief) experiences in the subcontinent. I certainly didn’t attend marijuana-soaked Holi parties, lose my hair from a bout of double pneumonia, or become a ‘chameleon of karma’ (still not sure what that means), but the genre of autobiographical-travel writing still beckons.

So, what follows is a hasty fragment of what very well be my debut into the world of almost-non-fiction: Holy Jackfruit! A Bangladeshi Adventure.

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Word nerd

Unofficially, I am reading a funny bit of fantasy called The One Tree, by Stephen Donaldson (who I keep wanting to call Donald Stephenson). I have missed the previous four books in the Thomas Covenant saga, as well as the following seven, so I am a little adrift when it comes to understanding it, but most of the narrative hangs together. My biggest complaint is probably the silliness of many of the interpersonal interactions going on – it reads a little like a teen movie, a little like a Mills & Boon book, a little like Lord of the Rings. That aside, though, Donaldson’s impressive vocabulary is driving me back to a dictionary every time I read, which hasn’t happened, like, ever.

Consider the following extract from Chapter 7:

Suddenly, power seemed to flash around her as if she had been dropped like a coal into a tinderbox. Bells clanged in her head – chimes ringing in cotillion on all sides. Bubbles of glauconite and carbuncle burst in her blood; the air burned like a thurible; the world reeled.

Stunned and gaping, she panted for breath. She had been translated by water and travertine to another place altogether – a place of eldritch astonsihment. An opalescent sky stretched over her, with the suggestive evanescence of night and the specificity of day. And under its magic, wonders thronged in corybantic succession. Nearby grew a silver sapling. Like flakes of precious metal, the leaves formed a chiaroscuro around the tree, casting glints and spangles as they whirled. A furry shape like a jarcol went gambolling past, and appeared to trip. Sprawling, it became a profuse scatter of flowers. Blooms that resembled peony and amaryllis sprayed open across the glistening greensward. Birds flew overhead, warbling incrnate. Cavorting in circles, they swept against each other, merged to form an abrupt pillar of fire in the air. A moment later, the fire leapt into sparks, and the sparks became gems – ruby and morganite, sapphire and porphyry, like a trail of stars.

And these were only the nearest entrancements. Other sights abounded; grand statues of water; a pool with its surface woven like an arras; shrubs which flowed through a myriad elegant forms; catenulate sequences of marble, draped from nowhere to nowhere; animals that leaped into the air as birds and drfted down again as snow; swept-wing shapes of malachite flying in gracile curves; sunflowers the size of Giants, with imbricated ophite petals.

And everywhere rang the music of bells – cymbals in carillon, chimes wefted into tapestries of tinkling, tones scattered on all sides – the metal-and-crystal language of Elemesnedene.

Words to learn and use (though perhaps not in everyday conversation) include: eldritch (supernatural, unearthly), imbricate (to regularly overlap), ophite (mottled green), porphyry (rock with large, conspicuous crystals), arras (a wall hanging or tapestry), catenulate (chain-like), exigency (a quality of requiring much effort or urgency), anadem (a wreath or garland for the head), and copasetic (satisfactory).

Across the oily river where the road had been

The rain came down yesterday.

Driving to uni was fun, though a little scary. I enjoy driving in the rain – windscreen wipers provide soothing rhythms, back and forth, back and forth, sometimes in time to the radio’s artificial beats. I can feel the tyres slipping to and fro on the oil-slicked road, and there’s puddles lying just out of reach. Street lights and headlamps cast hot argent pools across footpaths and grass which sparkles with tiny pinpricks of fire. As the hidden sun sets, I notice how green the grass is.

The dash from the Macquarie Centre to campus is made somehow longer by the pounding rain, and by the time I reach the pedestrian crossing which bridges the shops to the university, I am already soaking. A river of umbrellas, bristling with spikes which threaten to take an eye out, makes its way in exile towards the bus stands. I had forgotten my umbrella. I half-run, half-walk against the horizontal rain, but I stop at the bridge over the dry creek bed when I notice, in the half-light, that it’s no longer a dry creek bed. The river runs again, with actual water, churning from the northern end of the campus towards the lake. It’s worth getting wet to watch it for a while. Then, shaking my head dog-like, I run for the labs.

In other news, I have discovered Skype, a free Internet telephony client that lets me call other Skype users from my computer, for nix! If you are in contact with me by phone (or want to be), I highly recommend you save yourself the expensive phone calls and download this nifty piece of software (requires a microphone).