Back to HatLand!

So this was first published on October 25, 2010. More than 9 years ago and my first year in Sweden. I remember thinking, ok now I can get back to my hats and sweaters. I used to collect hats. Not any more. Time, age and interest all change. And it is really cold, you ought to be practical. Mossa, the soft knitted or wool hats are the most used. Then there are the fur hats, that I wear sometime. Like the ones you see in Dr. Zhivago. You know the Russian Kind. Then there is a that special strip that covers your ears. Finally, I got to use ear muffs at some point. But the last two years its been so warm in Christmas. And Goteborg where i spent the last semester, is fairly warm. I did not even need gloves. As much as I love snow, i won't deny I enjoy it.


So here is this for you to read. I remember sharing it with a friend's son, who was 11 at the time. He read the whole thing and then wrote me an email 'Didn't know someone could write so much about hats!!'. Kids, as they are...

Hope you enjoy this.

Yes the images are altered!!

Simple tools allow us to alter images drastically. Here, the features used are saturation, tint, and altering the contrast of the original.

Although it was a sunny day here on September 15, 2010, I could feel the chill. 

Yesterday (September 28), we experienced minus 2 degrees centigrade.

My coldest September ever. 

Inside the house, without any heat, we can feel the drop in temperature late August and have to turn on the heat. I am still not at a complaining stage. Not Yet.
Funnily enough, I enjoy it. 

But when I compare to my September in Pennsylvania which was always pleasantly warm, this is really cold. In Pennsylvania, one starts wearing jackets middle or late October. But here it seems that we never really pack our sweat shirts and fleece jackets. Even in June, the rainiest of month. 

On this blog, I have tried to keep away from personal stuff. I write generic thoughts with wide applicability. Then the personal stuff goes in ‘several’ of my journals, which is getting difficult to maintain. Reading and writing are a part of my day job. There’s not a single day when I do not have to read or write. 

I think meditation should be a required subject at all levels of education. A little talk on meditation will come later. In another blog entry. 

Today I wanted to write about my love of hats. And a need for them as well.

Even as a child, I loved hats. May be because I did not like my face much, hats were a perfect accessory. But in winters, in North India, you need them. 

Then my decade and a half (nearly) in the US (east coast) made them a necessity. I used some cotton ones in Fiji, but what I really needed there were straw hats and baseball hats. I wore both. But not often. I just got used to sweltering heat, and sweat beads trickling down my face. 

Over the years, I have piled up a good collection of hats and scarves. All colors and sizes.
Around mid September I pulled my hats out, from the suitcase that has barely been opened in the last five years. It has my woolens. I took out crumpled sweaters, wrinkled scarfs and bent out-of-shape hats. 

This one, plain cotton, slightly stretchable, solid black, looks almost like an Amish hat. The first thought that came to my mind as I walked out the door, and realized everything just fit-- was…

“Ah, Back to Hatland!!”

Although slightly formal, it did not feel out of place, and fit well. I remember D, a friend from Penn State saying, you wear these with a “panache”. Someone else had called me a ‘topiwali’--the wo(man) with hats.

However, I always thought of hats, as both a necessity in winters and a symbol of cultural pride. 

Hats, like outfits, are indicators of their geography and occasions. Or they used to be. The ones with feathers, the ones with embroidery, velvet caps from Russia, Woolen caps from Afghanistan, the Gandhi cap, simple and modern enough to unite India, the baseball hat that has much wider and functional use now than just on the field or just in the US. Then there were several type of turbans in India. Sometimes to cover the head in cold climates, and sometimes as a protection from heat. I especially love the ones from Rajasthan, bright, colorful that don the heads of dark skinned men that lead the caravans, sing deep from the heart, and dance with the same abandon as does a peacock in rain. One look at them and I think of all the colors of rainbow!! And the simplicity with which they carry themselves.

My closest contact with them was at Apna Ustav (Our festival), a country wide festival of folk culture in India organized by the then Prime Minister Rajiv Gandhi. Folk artists came to schools and colleges and exposed us to their ways of life, singing, dancing, pottery, painting and much more. 

So, here in Sweden, a world far, far away from all that color and heat, I just felt a kinship with all the ‘hat people’ as I thought of all those lovely people and the various reasons for which they dress their heads.

In the middle of the day, while going out for lunch, I ran into a man who I had never seen before. 

He pointed at my head, moved his hand back and forward in emphasis, and said, “that is a perfect hat!!”. I loved his accent.

I, wanting to respond in Swedish, fumbling for words, could say nothing but gave me a smile too wide and broad for a cold, mildly sunny day and simple bowed from my waist. Almost like bowing to a king. I was thanking him for noticing!!

As, I walked away, I wished I had said something but I think my gesture was expressive enough. And not always are my jokes and gestures understood, because of the language. Learning Swedish is taking time. Men, svenska inte latt (But, Swedish isn’t easy).

Two days later, I ran into him again. This time I was without a hat, but my smile was just as bright, and he said, “you are just a happy, happy person, both inside out.”

“Thank you”. Although at mid day I had already had a long day.

He pointed at a ‘cross’ on my backpack’s strap. You from Switzerland?

“No, from India, but ….”

“The US?”

“I lived there a long time...and you?”

“I am from Alabama maself.” This time I definitely heard a twang. Ah, so that was the accent.

“Really?” I wondered if he is just putting the accent on.

Look, he pointed at a sticker of the US Flag, pasted on his cart. “I came here many years ago, married a Swedish woman, started a family,” he leaned against the cart, “and now can’t get out.” and smiled regardless of his words. 

I still thought he was joking. 

“You must like it here though”

“Something like that.”

For a short while, I was home, and I connected as I would with someone I consider from ‘home’. I never lived in the South, but those division diminish with distance. And the US is the US and a little southern ‘twang’ can even sound close to home and heart. Much that I am deeply grateful that I left the US, every once in a while I get separation pangs. It is as if you got to know something and then were not allowed to claim it. The love of lands and those things that come with it, be it hats, or accents, is much like the deep romantic love, that is never lost, even when it may never see fruition. No matter how many ‘new’ or ‘practical’ loves come between you and your beloved. And one memory can bridge the distance, and melt the heart. 

\
Surreal? no!! super surreal!!

I have seen him one more time since. He told me that with the years his trips to the US have reduced. He reiterated the same thing that a gentleman I met in England way back in the 90s had said to me, “If you decide to go back, do it when you are young, first I missed my siblings and parents, now I can’t live without my children.”

Always a prisoner, I thought, of love. May be fear is a better word. Fear of being alone, which we remain no matter what, no matter where, no matter with who.
What he said made me think of both the enormity and precariousness of my own continent hopping lifestyle, and yet acknowledge my miniscule, inconsequential existence. I remain everywhere, and yet complain when I am inside my skin. I am ‘every woman’ and ‘man’ who struggles to find meaning, yet limited to the ways in which I want to seek it.

For a few moments I was silent inside. Just like we all are, for a fraction of a second, right before we realize any level of intensity in our mind...pain, pleasure, joy, euphoria. If you notice, right between the stimulus and response there is a split moment, when we are simply too immersed in it to think or react. That, interestingly, is also the moment when we do not relate to anything and exist in the absolute present, Shortly after that silence and acknowledging that all the issues I struggle with still remain unresolved, I walked on my way, albeit with a smile. 

My family knows that I have an old habit of breaking into songs when there is nothing left to say…..and this time, here is what came to mind…..an old favorite, featuring one of my favorite faces in the world…(you will know who…)
Jeevan ke din chote sahi,Hum bhi bade dil waleKal ki hamein phursat kahanSochen jo hum matwale

Short are the days of life
[But] we have large hearts
Who shall worry about tomorrow [I say]?
[when] we are carefree & [too] busy enjoying today!
Welcome to HatLand!!
Where under the warmth and shades of hats,
with reduced hours of light,
Lengthened hours indoors
the head and the heart unite!!
(PS: This meaningless rhyming of words is mine!).
PS: Here is someone who can sing pretty good himself.