Organised and how! Vintage Italian Men’s Wadrobe

Shelves, organisers, racks, drawers…and more

Rooftops & Canals, Brugge, Belgium

Doorknobs on Wheels

Cart selling quaint doorknobs at Chor Bazaar (translated as Market of Thieves :), Mumbai

A room with a view

Room in a Heritage Indo-Portuguese villa, belonging to James Ferrera, Khotachiwadi, Mumbai, India

Indo-Portuguese Heritage in Mumbai, India

Inside the Ferrera Home, Khotachiwadi, Mumbai, India

Christ, Lights, Altars, Crystal and Glasses

A slice of Portugal in Mumbai, India

An ode to Khotachiwadi, a Portuguese hamlet that resides in the city of Mumbai, India 

“How you came from so far, How you settled in our hearts. How you beautified our lanes. How you charmed our ways. How you learnt to dress demurely in a saree, while keeping your wild ways alive. How you learnt to cook with spices and curry, while you taught us to bake with love. How you became one of us, and we became so like you. Will you stay around to tell your stories to the city that never sleeps?”

The essence of the verse above in Konkani, an Indo-Portuguese language spoken in Goa, Mangalore and the Konkan region of India.

“Khein taoun ayelein, kashein monanth boslein, kashein sobeeth disleein, kashein saadion neslein, kashein bore bore randlein, kashein aamche zaalein. Raotaalein?”

Old Old house in Kolovery Village, Mumbai, India

Old old house with your threads so bare, who has hung a crisp white shirt on your door like a breath of fresh air; Old old house full of memories, who will sing all the songs that your walls conceal; Old old house with your silent gaze, will you soon be whipped up into a towering maze?

Old old house

Worry Dolls or rather ‘No more worries’ Dolls :)

“Tell these dolls your secret wishes. Tell them your problems. Tell them your dreams. And when you awake, you may find the magic within you to make your dreams come true.” 

A sweet lil folklore tale about the Mayans of Guatemala, who believe that one can let go their worries before sleeping at night, by telling them to worry dolls, (lil cloth dolls), and placing the dolls under their pillows. And by morning, the worries vanish!

It’s nice to belive in magic again!

 

Bayt

I didn’t know who Anthony Shahid was until I stumbled upon the news of his death on twitter. His twitter page is still alive, its timeline showing that the tweets stopped on February 9….

As I read about him, I got to know that apart from being a talented and brave journalist, reporting from the war zones of the Middle East, he was also an idealist, who chose to return from America to live in his ancestral home in old Marjayoun, then in Syria and now a part of Lebanon.

I followed a link to an essay he had written for his forthcoming memoir, ‘House of Stone’, that described the essence of a house in his culture, and in turn revealed the essence of the man himself. Here below, are some lines that spoke out to me. Of how a house is an undying identity beyond the individual. A sacred space that houses not just the human body, but the desires and dreams of the human spirit.

“In Arabic, the word “bayt” translates literally as house, but its connotations resonate beyond rooms and walls, summoning longings gathered about family and home. In the Middle East, bayt is sacred. Empires fall. Nations topple. Borders may shift. Old loyalties may dissolve or, without warning, be altered. Home, whether it be structure or familiar ground, is finally the identity that does not fade.”

“When they arrived in Marjayoun, the forefathers of Isber Samara carried with them the nomadic ways of the Houran and the Bedouin residents. Their possessions were few, but each family was said to have brought the wooden mihbaj, to prepare their coffee, and the iron saj, to bake their bread. The very sound of grinding coffee was considered an invitation to anyone and everyone to come. Stay, it suggested. Seek shelter.”

“I imagined the meals cooked, the dresses sewn, the pillows stitched, the farewells that had taken place here in this house. I thought of the houses empty around me and considered the work, the care of the stonemasons and artisans who left parts of their hopes and beliefs in this place. I saw myself arriving convinced of what I knew and never imagining this place could actually be mine.

This is bayt. This is what we imagine. This is home.”

(Anthony Shadid was a New York Times correspondent in the Middle East who died last week.)