So much has happened in this one month since Darby left. For one, I have started teaching English again which means I can sponsor a trip for the two of us. I have been all over the city which comes to life in summer just like any other city in Europe. And so I have had fun at two amazing concerts featuring ‘The Highlanders’ from the south of Poland and the ‘No Smoking Orchestra’ as part of the Serbian film festival organised by the film school in Łodź. What can I say about how the atmo was? Electrifying!!! The bands were so different from each other and yet so robust and dynamic and sizzling. And, how can I forget that I got to see the famous Serbian film director Emir Kasturica perform for his band, 'No Smoking...'. The most popular number of the night to which I shouted my lungs out was 'Do you agree? F*** you MTV'. Serbs have such a thing against the Big Brother. I was attending it with a friend who is majorly into all things Serbian. I was not sure how I would enjoy it but boy, did I have fun or what! For one, I danced like a woman possessed, after a long time. My girlfriends attribute it to escape from a husband. Poor Darby! But seriously, it was impossible not to dance. And then, I discovered the men! They were so hot! I remember this particularly hot couple in their forties. I didn’t know whom I was staring at more—the man or his gorgeous girlfriend. Ah, give me those cheekbones!
I always find it amusing to check out the reactions of men the moment a hottie of the opposite sex makes an entrance. I must say I was not disappointed. There was this Jesus-lookalike in a small group who just couldn’t take his eyes off a blonde bombshell the moment she stepped into the arena. Ah, how the primeval hunting man overtook the civilised, soft-spoken film-grad! Some things are not meant to change. No wonder then, that on the second day of the festival, he looked crestfallen to find that she was not attending…which brings me to what I discovered on my own in this city. If you are spotted with a man, who could very well be your plumber with whom you could be discussing a particularly nagging leak in your toilet, no one will give you a look other than that of ‘you are so off-limits’. But if you are walking on your own, not essentially screaming ‘I’m single/ unattached/ for god’s sake, divorced, so take me', there will be plenty trying to chat you up, and I mean not just in pubs or cafés but also on the way to the supermarket. I’ve got used to the ‘Dzindobry, Pani’ coming my way and I will kind of miss it when Darby returns. But it is a safe city for women and couples. The drunken hools might bother men but are very respectful of the women, chaperoned or otherwise.
I have been the object of a lot of stares in my ‘gheras’ which Poles are quick to associate with gypsies and considering how brown I have become under the Polish sun, I am often mistaken for one. Once, four little girls danced a crazy little dance when they saw me in a ‘ghera’ and kept referring to me as a gypsy. Then again gypsies are not liked and are not really a part of the Polish society.
Oh! I almost forgot mentioning this but while walking in Palmiarnia the other day, I saw a group of tourists that included an Indian family, Bong at that. I wouldn’t have noticed if the teenaged-boy with them had not found me interesting, as if he had stumbled upon a Benfish stall in Siberia. How do I know they were Bong? The scarf around the woman’s head—a complete giveaway, not to mention the batik print silk saree and the ‘loha’ peeping from under the kashmiri shawl. And shawl reminds me that it is actually very hot here. Missing ceiling fans and their drone in the lazy afternoons. Oh, Calcutta! Of course, it has been very unpredictable as well. The Indians are being blamed for bringing the rains to Łodź which is more used to occasional thunderstorms in the summer. When it pours, it can get chilly and just last week, Brit tragic hero, Polish Goddess and I were almost soaked during the open-air screening of Allen’s ‘Scoop’. My heart almost broke at the thought of leaving the place and Hugh Jackman. What a delicious serial killer. Ahem! I have as usual been watching loads of movies and reading as well but mostly outdoors, in the glorious sunshine, in some forgotten corner of a park. Dying to watch ‘Coco Avant Chanel’. May be I will this weekend. I also have plans to go out of the city this Saturday or Sunday. But then, I am so impulsive, I might just take off tomorrow. But I can’t. I almost forgot that I have classes with a very disparate group, each of them so different from the other, that it is quite a task keeping tempers in control. ‘I’m lovin' it.’
Plan to meet Darby in Warsaw next weekend, that is, if I manage not to board the wrong train with the wrong ticket. Apparently there are two new trains that leave for Warsaw, one eight minutes after the other, and if I do not get my Polish right by next weekend, I will not be able to find out from the conductors which one I should board, and I will be oh-so-screwed. Which once again reminds me, apparently, since I have been away from my man for more than a month now, I am supposed to be excessively conscious of my suppressed hormones which, someone suspects, will erupt violently on Darby’s return. I did flush on hearing that but not exactly because I felt coy. I am anything but coy. Hello! I am a big girl, footloose and fancy free in a city and don't give me crap about my hormones, dirty man. But I have been good. Occasional flirting does not count in Europe.
Lots more coming up.
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1 comment:
That was such a fun post! Enjoyed hearing what you've been up to - and what exactly are gheras? I think I have a general idea, given your talk of gypsies, but still, why don't you post a pic of you in one?
So did the ... er ... suppressed hormones erupt on the husband's return? :D
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