A little more distance

Instead of staying in my home I’ve been spending a few days with my Indian friends. This family, my Syrian girl friend and I all used to live on the same floor in the building next door where there was a lot of meal sharing (sometimes Sunday breakfasts still in pjs), cookie making, a belly dance lesson or two, raclettes and events too numerous to mention. No one missed anything big that the others participated in. There was sharing of frustrations but between us all the joys big and small prevailed.

Now we are spread out. I live across the lake and spend a lot of time in France. My Syrian friend is in Paris so time together with any of these good people is precious.

During my visit this time, we have been running our own Indian film festival with new DVDs he brought back from a recent trip to India, a greater treat because my host and hostess are quick to explain the subtleties of the culture that I would otherwise miss.

Thursday I am going to Paris to catch up with my Syrian friend.

As my hostess was standing at the stove preparing one of her vegetable dishes, the smell of cumin scenting the air, we were discussing my plans. “It is like the old days,” she said, “but instead of walking across the hall when you see us all you have to take a train.” Or two buses and a tram.