HangMyHat

Miklos the hobo is a man with a plan.  Every summer he goes very R.L Stevensonesque, what with the twinkling stars as his bed companions and his bread dipped in the proverbial river.  Come winter, he cosies up by the hearth, or better still under downed blankets and makes himself quite at home in the houses that he burgles. 

Not that Miklos is one to over extend his welcome.  It is all part of the “let’s get into prison” deal where he enjoys the true hospitality of the state in the cold months.  Meals on time, clean clothes, clean sheets and cable television.  A couple of years back, Miklos chose Gabor’s parents summer-house as his winter time hideaway till the cops came and got him.  Eventually.

On an unrelated matter, the hill life is rife with cats.  The cats have some unspoken code of conduct – each adopts a resident family and expects to be fed by them come cold season.  In return, the cat provides the family with steady companionship – like it or lump it.  

Ginger the cat has adopted us.  He accompanies us on our daily jaunts around the hill, scoping the land for rodents.  And Ginger is blessed with a fine set of vocal chords that he chooses to exercise come day or night, rain or shine.  The blessed cat does not cease to meow.  Ever!  To paraphrase, I have the cat filed under “general nuisance”

Back to Miklos, whose residency permit at the local prison ended last week.  One cold dark evening we heard a crash and a bang and some indignant voices outside the kitchen window.  We seldom have visitors braving the cold just to say hello, so Gabor decided to have a look-see.

Turns out, it was the police.  They had come to warn us about “the return of Miklos”.  And while floundering in the darkness, they managed to get a little too close for comfort and Ginger gave them a right fright.    If the police can’t get past Ginger, there is no hope for Miklos.  I now stand corrected.  Ginger’s insistent meowing is music to our ears and one couldn’t ask for a better or for that matter greedier guard cat.

Mikloses of the world be warned!  We are clawed and dangerous!

Kati Neni won’t be receiving that phonecall afterall!!
New Well – Check
Water in said well – Check
Pumping rate of water in said well – 10 lts per minute!! Check Check Check!!!!
Am I going crazy or am I going crazy!!!!

Kati Neni (aunt Kati) has a special skill-set.  This septuagenarian can find an underground source of water with the aid of a very simplified gizmo – two protruding metal sticks with handles.

This is how the mumbo jumbo works.  Neni holds them in her hands with a firm grasp and walks on the property where you are trying to find water.  The sticks stay unmoving in her hands until they “sense” the water – then they sway gently to and fro, until they finally “locate” the exact source of the water, at which point they go berserk moving every which way, in every direction.  Et Voila!  You have to dig to a depth recommended by Kati Neni and there you have it, your very own bird bath!

Gabor & I have tried to fruitlessly revive the old well at SargaHaz.  It was time to move on and look for a new source of water on our land.  Our friendly neighbours (they’re moving to the hills from Eastern Hungary and are in process of building a house, digging a well etc,  just like us) recommended Kati Neni and her super-duper powers.  Gabor drove to her village, asked around, found her eventually – she was away on a water trail for some other fellow, and drove her down to SargaHaz.

Out came the specialised stickeroos, mad they went when Kati Neni walked around the KiwiHaz (the rundown structure that does nothing except prop up our Kiwi Trees) and there made Kati Neni her prophecy – “Dig 20m deep at this spot and you shall have your water and your well.”  Might I add that Kati Neni has never, not once failed at this job………….

Or so she says. 42m deep and counting, we’ve managed to find the water, but we still don’t know if it is a never-ending source – plus “the walls” caved into this hole which means the water we’ve located is a thick slushy sandy concoction, suitable for:

• Nothing. 

We have to dig still deeper – into our pockets that is, to “pump” out this sludge, clear out the path for the water, and see if it all works.   I know I don’t want to be the first one to break it down to Kati Neni that her gizmos are probably beyond retirement age and have called it a day. 

So, how about a little faith in the unknown.  Gabor has some guys working on the water pumping, well bottom clearing project and we shall soon find out if Kati Neni and her spindly wonders work for real.

Till then, its Water Water everywhere, but not a drop to drink!

The Goya visited the Kovacs-Berry household on the 3rd of July with a beautiful baby girl in tow!  Antara Kovacs-Berry is here to stay!  Gabor & I are loving our forage into parenthood and we couldn’t have wished for a more perfect creation.  The hills are resonating with the joyful coos of Antara and oohs and aahs that accompany her wherever she goes.  And our small household is  finally a home.

Gabor and I have looked forward to reaping nature’s bounty at Sarga Haz ever since we had the privilege of being its proud new owners.  And every single time, we’ve had help, unsolicited help at that.

It started with the walnuts last year.  J – our neighbour from across (of neighbour’s envy, owner’s pride fame) helped himself to our and the surrounding lands entire walnut produce last year, uninvited, unannounced.  Almonds too.  And then bragged about how he has 30 kgs of almonds neatly stored in sacks – this from a man who has not a single almond tree on his land.  Forgiven and almost forgotten.

Then come Summer 2010, we’ve had the pleasure of sampling but a dozen odd cherries – ripe, juicy and ready for the picking from our cherry tree (of soapbox fame).  The rest, were a feast for those aerial f(r)iends, the seregely, (pronounced sher-e-gaye).  That too in a matter of a couple of days – while we planned on returning and picking the cherries, these winged wonders decided to do the needful. 

Woe! I was looking forward to making some cherry jam this year, with the help of my lovely ma-in-law!  I’d really like to be philosophical about it all, especially since Gabor & I have contributed precious little, ok alright, no effort had been made from our end to grow either trees for that matter. 

Nature giveth, nature and neighbour taketh.  Easy come, easy go!

Its been a quiet couple months on the home front.  Not to say that things have been stagnant.  The Berry household has been subjected to a life altering circumstance – the loss of my dearest friend, my darling mother Chitralekha. 

Anything I could ever have to share or say on this subject would just feel and sound trivial to my ears, so I won’t attempt.  But to continue writing without acknowledging the terrible abyss that mummy’s passing has left in our lives would just not seem right. 

It’s not something that I can dismiss with a flick of a hand or a slight nod of the head.  This was a human being -cherished, loved and respected by all, in Tennyson’s terms, was “truest friend and noblest foe” – her adversary being her dreaded illness – cancer – a disease that she fought to survive with all her might, with unprecedented courage, with a smile on her face and with a strength of character and will that her daughters shall find hard to emulate in years to come.

I have never been what you could term conventionally religious, but I find myself taking comfort in my Hindu upbringing and philosophy that teaches me to believe in the cycle of rebirth, and when the mood is dark and ominous, I think of mum being in a better place, at the brink of a fantastic new life, sans pain sans suffering. 

While her physical being has left us, her very core, her very soul is now someplace, being transformed and given a new life, much like SargaHaz, or so I’d like to believe.

Enough said.  Time and tide waits for no man, life too has a way of dusting the seat of its proverbial pants and moving on and making way for change.  And so we continue forth and so we strive.  One day at a time.

Here’s to you ma, my inspiration, my guide, my wonderwoman, my pride.

Mid November last year, the Hungarian skies turned a listless grey,  and the landscape was soon barren – shrubs and trees had shed their hues of green and gold leaving only branches and trunks to brave the lashings of an unforgiving cold winter.  The birds had long since ceased their insistent chirping and fled to warmer climates, and I too followed suit.

After escaping a dreary Hungarian winter and spending it under sunny Indian skies, I am back just in time to greet Spring.   Homecoming has never been this sweet.  The contrast in nature as I left it and as I encounter it now is stark.  Once again we hear an akward symphony of glorious songbirds at our window, and the almond trees – the first to blossom sway their flower laden branches gently keeping perfect time with the occassional chilly Spring breeze.

We spotted a Goya (stork) the other day.  Gabor educates me on Goya Etiquette.  After a long winters’ migration, to North Africa, the male bird returns first to the nest, readying it for the female to fly back to.  The female flaps over from the neighbouring continent to inspect the nest.  If it passes muster, et voila – you have a real Goya Home.

Storks and the Kovacs-Berry duo are in a similar situation this year.  While Gabor works on building and readying our nest, I head back to Bombay again, to return in the summer, just in time to inspect the shelter he has created, laden with the fruit of our joint venture – Baby KoBe (Kovacs-Berry).  This year is one of many new beginnings.

A toast to change and the natural flow and progression of life.