New York

In the book "The Reluctant Fundamentalist", by Mohsin Hamid, the narrator meets a young American tourist in a café in Lahore, the second largest city of Pakistan. Well educated and articulated, he describes the impact of urbanization in the districts of Lahore, but refers to the old parts of the city, particularly to the one where they are staying, as "more democratically urban". That is when the American asks him if the Pakistani would compare it with Manhattan:
"(...) Yes, precisely! And that was one of the reasons why for me moving to New York felt - so unexpectedly - like coming home. But there were other reasons as well: the fact that Urdu was spoken by taxi-cab drivers; the presence, only two blocks from my East Village apartment, of a samosa- and channa-serving establishment called the Pak-Punjab Deli; the coincidence of crossing Fifth Avenue during a parade and hearing, from loudspeakers mounted on the South Asian Gay and Lesbian Association float, a song to which I had danced at my cousin´s wedding.
In a subway car, my skin would typically fall in the middle of the color spectrum. On street corners, tourists would ask me for directions. I was, in four and a half years, never an American; I was immediately a New Yorker. What? My voice is rising? You are right; I tend to become sentimental when I think of that city. It still occupies a place of great fondness in my heart, which is quite something, I must say, given the circumstances under which, after only eight months of residence, I would later depart."

Books

This blog has been taking a different path in the last few weeks or months. Inspired by the books I have been reading in the last year, I started to post excerpts that spoke to my heart, words that reminded me of situations lived in the past. Books also lead us to cities. And, of course, there are the unforgettable ones: the cities that made us whom we are today.

Spring

"Spring´s pardon comes, a sweetening of the air,

the light made fairer by an hour, time

as forgiveness, granted in the murmured colouring

of flowers, rain´s mantra of reprieve, reprieve, reprieve.

The lovers waking in the lightening rooms believe

that something holds them, as they hold themselves,

within a kind of grace, a soft embrace, an absolution

from their stolen hours, their necessary lies. And this is wise:

to know that music's gold is carried in the frayed purse

of a bird, to pick affection´s herb, to see the sun and moon

half-rhyme their light across the vacant, papery sky.

Trees, in their blossoms, young queens, flounce for clemency"

(by Carol Ann Duffy, in the book Rapture, 2005, Picador)

Peace

Moville, Co. Donegal, Ireland

by the shores of the Lough Foyle, overlooking Northern Ireland

May 10th, 2009

Pensata

Belfast, Ireland

Tuesday afternoon

May 12th, 2009

Que alívio!

Estava escrevendo há pouco uma nota de repúdio contra a visita que o presidente do Irã Mahmoud Ahmadinejad faria ao Brasil nesta quarta-feira. E me chega, agora, a notícia de que o Itamaraty confirmou o cancelamento da viagem. O pedido partiu do próprio governo iraniano. Viva!

May

May has been more generous to us than wrote the poet Wendy Cope in "English Weather". Today is the 2nd of May and we have already had two days of sunshine:

January's grey and slushy,
February's chill and drear,
March is wild and wet and windy,
April seldom brings much cheer.
In May, a day or two of sunshine,
Three or four in June, perhaps.
July is usually filthy,
August skies are open taps.
In September things start dying,
Then comes cold October mist.
November we make plans to spend
The best part of December pissed.