Absolutely WRITE

Tonight I can write so many lines... (that's a play on some Pablo Neruda poetry)

I have been greatly inspired by this artist that I met up with yesterday. I met her at a party where she told me about her peripatetic project in Cairo. I asked her if I could walk along with her, and write about it as an article.

So just from meeting her at a party, I had an idea for an article. And walking with her has taken me down so many avenues of thought already, although it was only yesterday that we walked together.

I also realized that much as she breaks out of her ken by walking with different people, I break out of mine through my job as a journalist. I write about people and experiences I have never known before, and my job forces the structure of my approach. I go, I question, I find out, and I write. And like her, I have had accompaniment on all my journeys; in my case, a more or less constant one: my editor, Joe. And Joe has often pushed me to go at a faster speed, or to go beyond my imposed self-restrictions, basically beyond my set route or map to discover newer terrain, just as Amira discovers new places and experiences the city anew with people she goes with.

I was also thinking about how I get ideas for writing my articles. I remembered that while attending another concert yesterday as well, I sat next to this bunch, and I ended up eavesdropping on their conversations. Their comments will no doubt make their way into my writing as they did in my observation of the event. And the were also talking about Cairo Ultimate - a frisbee sport group which I then looked up on facebook, and then pitched to another editor as a story for an article.

It is funny how comments, conversations, and the stuff of everyday life makes its way into your work, and your writing. As is right. Absolutely!

The Way Back Home

The way back home was three months long. What were the three months in India like? people ask. And I find myself at a lack for a summary that I could provide. They were long, confused, mixed months filled with family and a few friends that I can still find in India (MD and Hansa and Niraj and now Dharini). Then there was my cousin's wedding, which was large and spread out over 4 days, despite its attempts to be otherwise. So, overall, my time was good, in the way that life is good when you look back on it, but can be painful and tedious while you go and grow through it.

Despite friends' complaints that I wasn't my usual gchat self, I was actually regularly tied to email. And the internet was my tether to the Promised Land of Cairo. And while in Goa, I could not help but think of Gouna, and Mumbai was laden with comparisons to Cairo - mainly about how easily I could move from one place to another in Misr.

So it's good to be back. Back to my room, my bed, my laptop (which was also in Cairo), and mostly back to my self. The chill here in Cairo (comparative again to the 30-odd degrees celsius in Mumbai) is pleasant. It makes me take pleasure in the warmth of Indian tea, and even in the cold breath I take in - which tricks me into thinks it's fresh and unpolluted by Cairo traffic. Soon I will complain... As one guy said about Palestine, you can only call a place your own when you complain about it... I'm looking forward to it.

Cafe Riche Conversations

As I passed by from the KLM office having bought a ticket to Germany, I stopped at Cafe Riche... Earlier I had stopped at the Dar el Kutub el Iraaqi and looked at their Arabic collection.

In Cafe Riche, as usual, sat Magdy - the co-owner of the restaurant; the other owner is his brother Mikhail. I came in to say Hello and mention that I'd be writing an article on Um Kulthum, and would pass by Sunday or Monday to see him. Instead, he sat me down for at least another 2 hours, where we talked about the people, and the times, that made Cairo what it is today.

He showed me a folder - which he remembers as the red folder - where he had saved announcements of shows being performed at the Cafe Riche. Among them is the opening of Um Kulthum's first show at the Cafe Riche.

He tells me it was Sheikh abu Alaa` who brought her here in 1923. And at the same time since her hiatus in 1921, Mounira el Muhallaiyya sang again in 1923, too, in Cafe Riche theatre.

That Rose el Yusuf and another woman (Laila Mourad?) were three women that first performed at Cafe Riche. I tell him the times seemed ot have passed, and that I want to write about Um Kulthum in her context, in her time.

He pulls out Abd el Rahman El Refai's "Thawra 1919" - Taarikh Masr el Qawmi 1914-1921.

He says how Cafe Riche again was a central part of that time, being one of the secret places for discussions.

Among other "muntaqqa sirri" (secret places) were the Old Groppi (didn't know there was one - apparently on what is now Abdel Khaled Tharwat street, and was then Sharia Manakh), Beit el Umma, on Dar Ibrahim Basha Said, cafe Salt on Fouad Street, Bar el Lewa (lewa means General) which is in Amarat el Lewa, Ahwa (cafes) Guindi, and Salam, both on Midan Opera, Dar Abd el Rahman Fahmy Bek in Kasr el Aini, Dar Amin Bek El Refai in Helmiyya, Dar Mustafa Sheikh Ayyati in Sukkarriyya (Mahfouz's "Sugar Street"), Dar Mahmoud Sulaiman Pasha in Falaki, and so on...

I tell Magdy I also want to write about Ahmed Fouad Negm. He tells me Cafe Riche is where he first met his first wife: Safeyya (Safinaz on the internet).

Negm even wrote a song on the Cafe Riche he said, that was sung in Algeria by Sheikh Imam. Magdy says he has the original paper on which Negm wrote the song.

Everywhere I look I find signs of the one that is missing, not realising instead that I should have felt fullness instead of lack

We talk about writers and the times past, and somehow, Enaam Kejaji and "The American Granddaughter" came up. Magdy corrected my pronunciation of her last name - told me more than I knew about her: that she had written an article "attacking" him (then he later rephrased to criticising), and that her husband owned a sheesha cafe in France which shut down because of the public ban on smoking, that he had given her a picture of Um Kulthum for the cafe, that she came when she was in Cairo to visit him, and that she had given him a signed copy of her book.

Apparently in the article attacking him, she'd said that "Here is a fat man, who sits in the cafe and does not change, while the world changes around him."

Magdy invited me to come sit in the cafe every now and then and talk to people. They were the minds, he said, the real source.

Adli Rizkallah, painter and illustrator, walked in. He said I should perhaps talk to people that were more into talking. Anyhow he gave me his card and said he would go on a 3-week isolation into his studio. Magdy informed me that Rizkallah was friends with Ahmed Fouad Negm, and that he was the one that had first brough Kejaji to the cafe.

A world passes through his cafe, doesn't it? :) And revolves around it... like conversations. :)

I could be...

...charging my mobile phone, which makes complaints like an underfed pet.
...watching two youtubes, one finished loading, one still loading.
...working on my unfinished, sometimes unstarted, novel.
...writing poetry.
...writing postcards to friends as I had imagined (the imaginary postcards, not the friends).
...taking a shower, being in daytime clothes, appropriate for the present hour of 3:33pm.

...but then I would not be a Pajama Girl. And you know what, that is such unmissable bliss - why give that away? :)

So, speaking of pajama habits, which will be recorded henceforth.

Presently: blue pajamas, with dark-grey anorak to keep off the cold filtering in through my balcony. Said balcony brings in air from the Nile, of which I do have a not-too-bad view, albeit blocked by a few piles of concrete. (Although one must remember, one lives in said pile of concrete, too).

Time till which was in Pajama-uniform: 3:36 plus.

Yesterday I went to a poorly-attended desi concert at the Gomhorriya theatre, featuring some really commendable performances by Indian artistes. It felt so good to go up to countrymen after and talk to them. They were all very cordial, too. I would love to culturally liaise with India. It's a very tempting thought, that might almost convince me to stay. It would be like having one foot in each of the worlds I love best: Egypt and India.

For long now, I've been waxing nostalgic and pathetic about moving back to India - coming up with the hackneyed, "but the pani puri of India," and "but the Diwali of India," and "but the movies of India," and sometimes even "but the boys of India." (look what I've come to).

So yeah, at times, it does seem like I've reached high time to leave Umm el Duniya (Egypt), and return to the MatruBhumi (India). And following on that temptation, I have applied to publishers a la HarperCollins, hoping they'll give me a second glance. :)

Reasons they should take me.
1) I am funny. I can talk like an Indian and walk like an Egyptian.
2) I know I am funny. I was and am mental - I admit.
3) That makes me funnier. If I can make fun of me, you can make fun of me. What an irresistible offer.

Plus, I like pajama-lifestyle. How no-fussy can you get? Feed me pani puri, show me Indian movie, give me a holiday on Diwali and dangle a picture of Abhishek Bacchan at me - and I'm sold. Will work. How hard is that?

But I don't think HC are reading this, and if they are.... well, they should take me! :)

Otherwise, I'll be shaking hands and taking pictures with the Indians that make it here for concerts, lectures, talks, events... and write about them.

Signing off - the phoenix rising from her bedcovers. Pajama girl signs off at late afternoon 3:45 pm. Proudly Pajamas.
love.