I blame our friend Nitin. He started me on this. While everybody else
is binge-watching The Crown or Stranger Things, what have I got hooked on? Romil and Jugal. It’s loosely inspired by Romeo and Juliet, except the star-crossed
lovers are two college boys in a hill station town in northern India. Their
families aren’t so much feuding, although the fathers are rivals at work, and
there’s a north/south Indian culture thing I’m just learning about, with Romil’s
family being flambuoyant northerners while Jugal’s family are buttoned-up “Tam-Brahms”
(the highest caste from Tamil Nadu). But of course the real crossed stars are
the love that dare not speak its name. Sodomy is still a crime on the books in
India (though the Supreme Court may reconsider the infamous “Section 377” this
year). Romil and Jugal was originally planned as a feature film but they feared
it would be butchered by the censor board that regulates films in India.
Instead it was produced for streaming media which is less regulated. Not that
it’s very racy at all, certainly by American standards. It’s a light-hearted
soap opera, a little goofy, sweet in its earnestness, the boys are adorable,
and it’s hard not to root for them. Of course I would think that, but judging
by fan comments I’ve read, it really appears to be winning over a new
generation in India. I saw many comments from people confessing they’d had
negative attitudes about homosexuality but seeing this show helped them realize
that love is love. This is exactly the sort of thing that turns tides,
recognizing that love transcends arbitrary human bounds. Speaking of love
stories crossing boundaries, there is one little hitch I should point out if
you’re tempted to check it out. I’m watching it in Hindi. You can also get it
in Tamil, Telugu, or Malayalam, but not in English. Not that I understand any Hindi,
but it turns out that the way a lot of people naturally speak in northern India
is more like “Hinglish”, Hindi with a lot of English mixed in. Between the
action, expressions, tone, and the partial English, you can follow along
enjoyably enough without knowing any Hindi. Love is love in any language. (Also,
the first five episodes are free, but then you have to spring a few rupees.)
(Update: After watching 9 episodes without translation, I discovered there's an option for English captions by hitting a button on the lower right corner of the browser.)
Nobody knows the day or the hour. Plans and dreams can be swept away in a blink. Cherish the people in your life and be grateful for every day you live. I lit candles and said prayers today for two friends. Both about my age, living well, every outward expectation of many good long years ahead. One received a grim diagnosis last month and is now in the ICU. The other had seemed to be putting breast cancer behind her, but went into the hospital unexpectedly a couple days ago and passed away this morning. Cancer sucks.
Today was my first encounter with the legendary foodie cluster near USC called the Mercado La Paloma. Lots of good choices to try, but I zeroed in on Holbox, a mariscos bar serving some amazing fresh shellfish and fish. This is what Jiro might have dreamt of if he grew up in San Felipe instead of Tokyo. The place is arranged like a sushi bar, with patrons sitting around three sides of the prep area watching the master ceviche makers at work. I had a yellowtail ceviche tostada with avocado below and chile morita salsa on top, wonderfully fresh and the lime and salsa just make it pop. Then I treated myself to a half dozen patas de mula or "blood clams", dark bivalves with a shell containing hemoglobin. Until a few years ago, their import had been prohibited and you could only find them in Baja California. With minced onion, salsa, and fresh herbs, these were mouth-pleasing flavor bombs.
After lunch, I wandered in search of a couple of landmark churches I'd been wanting to visit. Strolling past the Galen Center, with its brick relief murals of sports figures, the classic Automobile Club building, and the classic mid-century Felix Chevrolet neon sign, I came to the St. Vincent de Paul church, facing diagonally to the corner of Figueroa and Adams. It's quite visible from the 110 freeway, and I've often admired it on my commute. It was dedicated in 1925, designed by noted architect Albert C. Martin (who also designed LA City Hall and the Million Dollar Theater building), and largely financed by oilman Edward Doheny whose mansion was nearby. The architectural style is called Churrigueresque, a very ornate Spanish Baroque style originally popular in the early 1700s, and notably revived in the buildings for the 1915 Exposition in Balboa Park, San Diego. The church's intricate plaster ornamentation and multicolored tile domes are striking. Entering through the oversized dark wood doors, one finds the interior is every bit as grand as the exterior. The vaulted cathedral-like space is lined with light-colored stone (travertine?), with rounded arches and dark wood exposed beam rafters. An impressively ornate guilded reredos lies in front, with richly carved wood altars in the side chapels. If you want someplace solemn to light a candle (and I did want that today), this is the place.
After spending time appreciating the beauty of this sacred space, I wandered just a block up Adams to see how St. John's, the Episcopal Cathedral of Los Angeles, would compare. Also built in 1925, and also grand in its way, though more restrained in its Romanesque Revival style. Its basic structure is more rectangular and austere, though it has some lovely ornamentation etched into its stone. A banner declares it a "house of prayer for all people", though apparently not at all days or hours, as, unlike the Catholic church, it did not appear to be open on a Friday afternoon. I'll have to find another time to discover what the interior looks like.
(See full album of photos from this day.)
Outstanding! What a great story, and tremendous performances from both Streep and Hanks. Not only a great story about the crucial role of a free press in checking government abuse, but the transformation of a socialite wife into a formidable publisher. A story of nearly 50 years ago, and yet sharply relevant to the present moment.
