I’ve been away, as many of you know, happy to share the kids’ school break and happier still to help Verne pack up what’s left of our Houstonian existence and ship it to Pondicherry.
What you may not have known, what I think none of us really ever knows in transitions such as these, is with what precise words to express the jumble of feelings that invariably arise in between the joy of the present and the certainty of departure. There is much that binds us still to H-town–very dear friendships, work, just plain old love and comfort and familiarity–but the property ties are gone now, so returns will have to be of a different character and there’s simply no denying that. Hence the need this time for a vocabulary of loss–which I found in three parts: a word, a visual collage, and a song.
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The Word: Saudade
Saudade. The Portugese word came to me as my very special student-friend (with the always superlatively great hair) Monica and I stumbled upon Project Row Houses in Houston’s Third Ward, one of the city’s older African-American neighborhoods (after a very fun lunch at Doshi House, stories about which will follow soon). It’s crazy, but all those years and I’d never been to PRH, so I took it as a special sign that my quest to find the new and innovative Indian eateries in town naturally lead me both to the city’s telling of its own stories, and to the vocabulary to narrate my own.
“The love that remains.” A melancholic incompleteness. The lingering sense of a life once lived. The knowledge that one would have the smells of the air, or the sound of the city, or the warmth of the sun on a crisp, bright Houston fall day for only so long and no longer. The impossibility of bottling all these up and keeping them preserved. That sense that traces and fragments and stolen-away artifacts were all that would remain to love.
[And steal them I did: this time back, I think I had more spices and edibles, masa harina and anchovies, than even clothes in my luggage. Had to leave poppy seeds behind though, damn the regulations of flying through Dubai.]
The collage: Chef Chris Shepherd's Underbelly
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It took us a while to get to Underbelly on Westheimer, and when we did it was for a quick lunch before the next round of errands, sorting, organizing, packing, and clearing. The restaurant claims to tell “the story of Houston food,” somehow linking the “endless array of ingredients and cultures” that characterize this bustling port city into a singularly rich creole. Much as I like the concept, I know the place is not for those of us who don’t ordinarily have wine with meals and whose taste for butchery is limited to the very rare (but well done) steak or burger indulgence. Much as I’ve personally and professionally questioned the multiculturalist premise that “I” must per force be represented in the literature I read, I was truly surprised to find Underbelly had no engagement with Indian ingredients–though it’s well-near impossible to imagine the city without its massive, unavoidable Indian presence and influences. What gives?
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But the visual and culinary ideas of collage we found there appealed deeply; what a beautiful idea to narrate the story of Houston though its foods and food traditions, and to set up a community table where all could come and sit with strangers and share. So Underbelly’s story was incomplete. Wasn’t it up to us to complete it anyway?
So here, inspired by Underbelly’s culinary and visual collage, is our collage–of this visit, of our love of Houston’s lively culinary offerings, of our favorites and must-visits and new adventures. [Click on the images to get to larger versions and more detail on Pâticheri’s Flickr photostream.]
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The song: "Tonight you belong to me"
Finally, the song. Years ago, my sweet librarian sister singer taught me this little number from the movie The Jerk, starring Steve Martin and Bernadette Peters, though I confess its meaning wasn’t at all clear to me until it was time to leave Houston. And then I think I finally got it. That our time anywhere is really just that short; that we can’t take it with us–but for just a brief tonight, the perfect emerald green of the Pacific ocean, or the awesome proportions of the Andes, or the pause of a Sunday morning before life calls us this way or that, is wholly and undeniably ours.
Our recording is far from perfect, though it speaks to the moment that precedes and precipitates saudade. And when it’s time to let go, it’s good to do so with the affected melancholy of the inimitable kazoo.
Take one devolved into laughter because the younger of my two was in a temper and interrupting. Take two completes the song, against the odds.
Take 1:
Take 2:
Merry Christmas, all.
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Deepa,
This is another beautiful post and this one hits “close to home” for me. I was surprised and delighted that you discovered my favorite Portuguese word “saudade.” I love the explanation that was on the sign, but it is indeed difficult to explain the profound and deep meaning of this word for Brazilians. I am thankful for all of the moments in my life that have created “a love that remains,” and the “love that remains” has helped me through those difficult transitions. So, we, in Houston, will “saudade voce” but will take the love that remain and look forward to future visits and adventures.
Bridget, thanks for that lovely comment and especially for the hopefulness and anticipation of its closing line. Yes I sensed that there were volumes in “saudade” but only had a little time to research it properly –and then decided I was no expert to get into its cultural nuances — before composing this post. But I’d love, love to know more; I understand it can also function as a literary trope? Maybe even a personality type? And that it’s a concept developed in literature and the arts as much as in daily interactions? Anthropologists tend to like concepts such as these, precisely because they contain so much and can be used as methodological/analytical tools to evoke the specificity of cultural meanings/experiences. For me, this time, it was a simple lesson with many dimensions. Take what time you have, for it’s all that will ever be. Be ready to live with the love that remains, tinged as it will be with the pain of loss and insufficiency. I think I feel these things anytime someone I love leaves me–or I leave behind the place and people I love dearly. When will I get used to it? Probably never. But thinking of it as “the love that remains” perhaps appeals to my anthropological sensibilities, and is oddly comforting.
Yeah, I wish we had had more time to sing togethaws. And that grrowly man in the airport made his appearance in our picture. That was an awful goodbye. Next time, a proper goodbye. Hopefully a proper hello too 😀
The reason I thought that little song so fitting was because it seems to acknowledge that we (any of us really) have certain things or people only for these very fleeting blips of time–before school work, love interests, work interests, work outs, laundry and life itself call and pull in innumerable other directions. Yeah? So I’m ready now never to expect a proper hello or a proper goodbye (what are those anyway?) so long as the time in between is as perfect as it can be. Which it was, especially while we were singing. Wouldn’t you say? Music has always done that for us, smoothened over so much else, has it not? All love.
There is a Brazilian song called “Chega de Saudade,” and it describes the melancholy of saudade. Lincoln told me that the concept of “saudade” is also a prominent trope in music and can especially be seen in songs written by exiled singers during the military dictatorship between 1964-1984 which was the golden age of Brazilian music and poetry. Some of the most creative, beautiful and profound music and poetry were created in this time. Here is the YouTube link to the song: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G-G8-M10BZ4. The translation is at the following site: http://lyricstranslate.com/en/chega-de-saudade-chega-de-saudade.html. I will definitely research this more and write more about the concept of “saudade” here as well as thinking about it for my own research. Thanks for the writing spark and if you are ever in this part of the world in the near future, a trip to Brazil would be in order! 🙂
Lovely. No surprise really that exile (of one sort or other) produces the feeling/experience that is saudade in particularly intense form. I wonder if there are other Latin American counterparts, given that so much of the history of that region of the world has been dominated by such histories. It makes me want to re-read Julie Taylor’s Paper Tangoes, as another resource on tracking emotional, artistic, and political frameworks (though that text is about Argentina). And don’t even begin to talk about a trip to Brazil as it makes me want to get on a plane right this moment! Possible to experience saudade for something you’ve never experienced but only imagined? (That’s actually a serious question!)
Oh you swinging, singing sisters! That was such a treat! You are ready to cut an album–no kidding!
What a sweet way to start 2013! Thank you! Sending love and good wishes your way for the year upcoming. If we cut that album, you’ll be the first to know!
saudade is so rich psychoanalytically! it is simultaneously an ambivalence, inability and a creative mourning. love it! will be doing some research into it of my own.
Another perfect new year’s gift in that comment, Ann — yes, saudade is brimming over with analytic possibilities, and I love how you capture it in your own description:” ambivalence, inability, and creative mourning.” Keep me posted as you develop in your own work!
Deepa, the videos are awesome – you have such great voices, and I joke not! How did I miss this post?????
I am totally taken in with Saudade, but then I love most words that speak of some ‘indescribable quality’ or feeling.
Thanks so much (gratitude no less sincere for being late!) for those kind words. And yes, I share your love for words that index (cultural) feelings and thoughts and ideas without completely pinning them down, or carry with them a certain je ne sais quoi… Saudade seems very much one such. I know I’m glad I found it!
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