So I got all started on a new section – bric-a-brac cabinet to show off some knick-knack I deem precious and cool. And yet again I failed to make it past one post. Lugging this heavy failure around, beaten and pummeled by laziness, I have now risen from the ashes to write a post under That Was The Week That Was ( twtwtw, if you will).
Please be kind.
Where I live, a week consists of roughly 12-20 days. I live in Omicron Persei 8. And nothing worth writing a post about happened the last week. Although one could say that the kolusu incident deserves a significant mention.
I was on the train the other day when this gypsy trinkets seller charmed me into buying a pair of seed-bead anklets. Now, I am not an anklets person but they were so dainty and I just wanted to have them. So, I bought a pair. YAY! Look how pretty they are on me.
But that is not the end of the story. The anklet doesn’t have a hook mechanism, but the gypsy had deftly slid it up my foot. My brain was probably on stand by coz I did not for a minute think how I would remove it at the end of the day. And when said end of day arrived, I couldn’t remove it – No surprises there. The only way to get it off was to cut it. But it looked so pretty and I did not want to do that. It was the effort of a poor and industrious gypsy woman and I did not want to snip that labour into shreds. (But I also kinda think she cheated me, and I should have bargained).
It has been a week now and I am still wearing it. I wear it to work. I wear it when I am sleeping. Yeah, I like that it is hippie. I like hippie. But my love for it is slowly turning cold now. I am no longer excited about it. Of course, When i am on the toilet seat and there is nothing else to do, I stare at my foot and admire it. But there is only so much quality time one can dedicate to a well meaning anklet. I feel like it is now drawing unsolicited attentions and some feeble giggles at work. I also think that when I walk to the food counter everyone is pointing to my anklet and engaging in very animated conversations. I want to cut it off but I also don’t want to. I want to wait a month before I do. So, whenever I am walking about at work, I pray to the seed bead deities to get the ones on my ankle to scurry and hide inside my salwar. But isn’t is like the job description of gods to not answer prayers? Maybe I will cut it tomorrow.
I watched the movie Hidden Figures yesterday. An outstanding film I would say. It is a beautiful story about the forgotten women who contributed immensely in turning men into heroes during the space race. That they had to face so many daunting challenges and yet be able to deliver is a real inspiration. It is equally sad that they were so easily forgotten, hidden under all the bling & show, and eventually faded out of memory. I think these women were heroes themselves. I feel happy-proud of them. Very happy, very proud.
Incidentally, I was reading Neither Here Nor There, a hilarious book by Bill Bryson on his travels in Europe. The book is legit funny. There is one place in the book where it gets warm and touching. Outside of this, it is very funny and you should read it.
In chapter 8, there was this passage that tugged at my heartstrings.
Afterwards I strolled on to the Anne Frank House on Prinsengracht. It was packed, but moving none the less. Eight people spent three years hiding in a secret flat above Otto Frank’s spice business, and now an endless line of visitors shuffles through it every day, to see the famous bookcase that hid the secret entrance and the five rooms in which they lived. The tragic part is that when the Franks and their companions were anonymously betrayed and finally captured in August 1944, the Allies were on the brink of liberating Holland. A few more weeks and they would have been saved. As it was, seven of the eight died in concentration camps. Only Anne’s father survived.
The Anne Frank museum is excellent at conveying the horror of what happened to the Jews, but it is a shame that it appears not to give even a passing mention to the Dutch people who risked their own lives in helping the Franks and others like them. Miep Gies, Otto Frank’s secretary, had to find food each day for eight people, as well as herself and her husband, for three years at a time of the strictest rationing. It must have been extremely trying, not to mention risky. Yet this was hardly a rare act: twenty thousand people in Holland sheltered Jews during the war at considerable peril to themselves. They deserve to be remembered too.
As much as Glenn Powell and Katherine Johnson were heroes, so were Frank’s secretary and his family. Right? I am proud of them too. But kinda sad-proud.
Too many unsung heroes. Way too many.
Anyway, I shall stop right here. No, I will stop right after telling you what I have been listening to too many times this week
Go on, love it.