Elections are next year in India. But Narendra Modi, the man who wants to be the next prime minister of India is holding his first major rally in the nation’s capital. Everything is outsized about it. The mammoth audience. The three levels of security the press has to go through. The one hundred foot tall cut out of the man towering over the crowd – welcoming or menacing depending on your point of view.
Love in India is often over the top. In the weekly magazine Open I read about a 30-year old lawyer in the town of Patna. He leaves I love you notes for his girlfriend written in blood. But he doesn’t slit his wrists to do it because he says one needs to be innovative, not stupid. So it’s a little surprising to find a Hindi film making a splash with a love story so low key, so subtle, one can hardly call it a romance. The lovers don’t meet. They just exchange notes in a lunchbox. Real handwritten notes . About life. And food.
September 5th is always Teachers Day in India. That means no studies, little song-and-dance programs in classrooms and gifts of sweets for teachers.
My old teacher and school prefect Father Camille Bouche would have found little favour with today’s parents. A pink-faced Jesuit priest from Luxembourg he spoke English with a heavy Gallic accent. He smoked incessantly, stubbing out his cigarette as he walked into class, sometimes dropping ash down our collars. He used his cane liberally.