I started reading "Memories: From Moscow to the Black Sea" by Teffi. It's basically an autobiographical account of Teffi, the (as I understand) the really popular (my Russian advisor could not recognize her but his wife did) Russian author of old who escaped Russia during the Bolshevik revolution. It's a really interesting read and I may write about it in some detail later. I had to buy the book because I was instantly intrigued by its first page which had this beautiful poem:
"Before a map of Russia"
In a strange house, in a faraway land,
her portrait hangs on the wall;
she herself is dying like a beggar woman,
lying on straw, in pain that can't be told.
But here she looks as she always did look:
young, rich, and draped
in that luxurious green cloak
in which she was always portrayed.
I gaze at your countenance as if at an icon...
"Blessed be your name, slaughtered Rus!"
I quietly touch your cloak with one hand;
and with that same hand make the sign of the cross.
---TEFFI
This is just such a gorgeous poem. I feel like Teffi took my thoughts about India out of my head. This painting hangs possible nowhere but in my head.
The world has changed so much. Are those poor people in Russian villages Teffi describes still living without basic water and sanitation? Russia is just such a strange place. I can imagine. The cold Russian winters. Pack of cigarettes. Grimy coats and broken teeth under Ushankas. Wretched boots wading cumbersomely in the slush of beaten snow and broken paths leading to nowhere. I'd like to go back at some point and visit my childhood school in Moscow. Will it be the same old? My parents said that a Russian flower-seller gave them a free bouquet because she was so happy to see an Indian couple for the first time in her life; otherwise she'd only seen them in Indian movies. Raj Kapoor was a thing back then among Russians. I was even asked about Raj Kapoor by an old Russian man on the bus in Boston once. And another one once asked me about Ravi Shankar. The Soviets used to have a thing for Indians, naming their streets after Nehru, Gandhi. But things are different now from what I understand. That closeness is a thing of the past. For now, there only remain tenuous links through language. My experience may not be as it was of my parents. So who knows how it will be?
"Before a map of Russia"
In a strange house, in a faraway land,
her portrait hangs on the wall;
she herself is dying like a beggar woman,
lying on straw, in pain that can't be told.
But here she looks as she always did look:
young, rich, and draped
in that luxurious green cloak
in which she was always portrayed.
I gaze at your countenance as if at an icon...
"Blessed be your name, slaughtered Rus!"
I quietly touch your cloak with one hand;
and with that same hand make the sign of the cross.
---TEFFI
This is just such a gorgeous poem. I feel like Teffi took my thoughts about India out of my head. This painting hangs possible nowhere but in my head.
The world has changed so much. Are those poor people in Russian villages Teffi describes still living without basic water and sanitation? Russia is just such a strange place. I can imagine. The cold Russian winters. Pack of cigarettes. Grimy coats and broken teeth under Ushankas. Wretched boots wading cumbersomely in the slush of beaten snow and broken paths leading to nowhere. I'd like to go back at some point and visit my childhood school in Moscow. Will it be the same old? My parents said that a Russian flower-seller gave them a free bouquet because she was so happy to see an Indian couple for the first time in her life; otherwise she'd only seen them in Indian movies. Raj Kapoor was a thing back then among Russians. I was even asked about Raj Kapoor by an old Russian man on the bus in Boston once. And another one once asked me about Ravi Shankar. The Soviets used to have a thing for Indians, naming their streets after Nehru, Gandhi. But things are different now from what I understand. That closeness is a thing of the past. For now, there only remain tenuous links through language. My experience may not be as it was of my parents. So who knows how it will be?
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